#Like I have more thoughts but genuinely could not tell you what they are. The Ocean analysis is gonna be soooo fun

[rafedarling]

𝐬𝐩𝐚

pairing: drew starkey x you ft brooke starkey

summary: when you and brooke decide to pull a prank on drew during a casual saturday lunch at his house, it’s all in good fun. drew’s protective streak as both a big brother to brooke and a boyfriend to you has always been one of his most endearing and amusing qualities. so, when you drop a casual bombshell about having a “male waxer” at the spa, drew’s reaction is priceless. shock, confusion, and hilariously protective instincts take over as he tries to process this unexpected bit of news.

warning(s): english is not my native language. light humor, playful pranks, and drew’s classic overprotective antics, no use of y/n.

au: like, reblog and feedback are very much appreciated. please be nice, thank you and enjoy.

Drew was in high spirits as he set the table for lunch, a relaxed grin on his face. He’d spent so many months on set for Outer Banks, and it was clear he was thrilled to unwind with the people he cared most about. Little did he know, you and Brooke were about to test just how protective he could get.

As you and Brooke shared a mischievous look across the table, you kicked off the prank.

“Hey, Brooke,” you began casually, glancing at Drew to see if he was listening, “thanks for recommending that spa the other day! It was, uh… an experience.”

“Oh, you finally went!” Brooke said, playing along perfectly.

“How was it? I told you they’re really good, right?”

You nodded, trying to keep a straight face.

“Yeah, they assigned me a guy for the wax. Super professional and all, but, you know, unexpected.”

Drew’s fork froze halfway to his mouth, his eyes snapping to you, wide with surprise.

“Wait… a guy? Like, for… the wax?” He looked genuinely baffled, trying to process this information.

You fought so hard keep your expression neutral, nodding casually.

“Yeah, he was great at it, honestly. Didn’t feel a thing. Super smooth process.”

Drew’s face morphed from confusion to full-on disbelief. He put his fork down slowly, his mouth opening and closing as he searched for words.

“Wait… you mean… like a full wax? By a… guy? That’s even legal?”

You shrugged, pretending not to notice his growing panic. “Yeah! Brooke goes there too. And of course it was legal”

Brooke jumped in, barely able to suppress her grin.

“Oh, yeah, I get a guy a few time. They’re just more efficient, you know? Totally professional.”

Drew’s jaw practically dropped. He looked from Brooke to you, then back to Brooke, struggling to comprehend this new reality.

“Wait, Brooke… you, too? Both of you… by some random guy?”

You could see the protectiveness flaring in his eyes. Drew was always so protective of both of you, and he looked like he was about to burst with a mix of confusion, disbelief, and was that a hint of jealousy? not sure.

“Yeah, babe, it’s not a big deal,” you added, feigning nonchalance as you twirled your fork in your pasta.

“He was a total pro, super respectful.”

Drew’s eyes narrowed.

“Respectful or not, that’s still… strange, right?” He looked at Brooke, hoping she’d agree with him. “I mean, you don’t think that’s, like… kind of weird?”

Brooke shook her head, acting entirely unbothered. “Nope. Honestly, it’s easier you know they don’t make a big deal out of anything, and they’re more… what’s the word; thorough.”

Drew looked absolutely bewildered, his eyes flicking between you and Brooke as if waiting for one of you to reveal it was all a joke.

“Wait… thorough? What… what does that even mean? And how is that not weird?” He turned to you, looking betrayed.

“And why didn’t you tell me about this?” He asked.

You raised an eyebrow, trying to hide your smile. “I mean, Drew, it’s a spa treatment, not a big deal. It’s not like I’d come home and say, ‘Hey, I got waxed by a guy today.’ with a very proud face on.”

“But maybe you should have!” Drew said, crossing his arms with a pout. “I thought we told each other everything.”

“Oh, come on,” Brooke teased, nudging him with her elbow. “Don’t be so overprotective, Drew. It’s just a wax.”

Drew’s face was priceless with half annoyed, half helplessly confused.

“I’m not being overprotective, I’m just… I mean… come on!” He ran a hand through his hair, looking genuinely baffled. “This is just… I can’t believe both of you think this is totally fine.”

You and Brooke exchanged a glance, both struggling to keep from bursting out in laughter.

“Oh, Drew,” you sighed, leaning over to give him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

“He’s a professional. I didn’t even feel anything, it was so quick and easy.”

“‘Didn’t feel anything’?!” Drew repeated, looking even more scandalized. “I don’t care if it was painless! It was still a guy, right? Like, a random guy?”

Brooke grinned, piling on, “Oh, he’s not random. I think his name was… Carlos?”

“Oh, mine was Vincent, he’s Italian by the way.” You said

Drew’s face turned red.

“Carlos?! and Vincent?! So he’s got a name now? You ladies on a first-name basis with these guy who… I mean…” He trailed off, clearly struggling to articulate his thoughts. “Does this Carlos, Vincent know I exist?”

You bit your lip, feigning a thoughtful look. “Honestly, I didn’t mention you. But maybe next time?”

Drew groaned, burying his face in his hands. “Next time? Oh, come on, you’re kidding me.”

“Drew, calm down,” Brooke said, barely containing her laughter.

“We’re just trying to live our best, smooth-legged lives here. Can you blame us?”

Drew looked at her with an exasperated expression. “Yeah, but does that really have to include some guy named—whatever his name is? You know, it’s kind of my job to protect you both from… well… guys like that!”

At that, you couldn’t hold it in any longer. You and Brooke burst into laughter, doubling over as Drew continued to stare at you both in utter disbelief.

“Wait… are you two… Are you serious?” Drew asked, the realization slowly dawning on him as he watched you both laughing uncontrollably. “Oh my god, you’re messing with me, aren’t you?”

He continue, “Oh, yes you are, and it’s not fun ladies”

Through your laughter, you managed to say, “Yes, Drew! There’s no Carlos or Vincent! It’s a prank!”

Drew let out a sigh of relief, slumping back in his chair, though he couldn’t help but laugh along with you. “Oh, you two are evil. Seriously, I’ve been through a lot on set, and this is what I come home to?”

You wiped a tear from your eye, grinning. “Well, we missed you, so we thought we’d welcome you back with some… excitement.”

Drew chuckled, shaking his head as he reached over to pull you into a playful hug. “Excitement, huh? You know, payback’s coming for both of you. I’m just warning you now.”

“Oh, we’re ready,” Brooke teased, crossing her arms with a smirk. “Hit us with your best shot, Drew.”

Drew rolled his eyes, unable to keep from smiling.

“You two are lucky I love you, because if anyone else pulled something like that on me…” He shook his head, feigning a serious look. “Carlos and Vincent, though? Really?”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder. “We knew that would get you. What a sexy name for a man”

“Yeah, well, it did,” he admitted, sighing as he gave you a playful squeeze.

“But next time, I’m not falling for it. Just so you know.”

“Oh, we’ll see about that,” you said, grinning.

[unpopularly-opinionated]

I can respect that. I myself often struggle with simply existing in between what is and what should be. Ideally yes, the presidency shouldn't be decided based on who is better at selling snake oil, but that's also the reality we live in. So the question becomes: "Do we stoop to the level of making our candidate a showman/woman over an intellectual, or do we keep pushing the intellectual and hope it works one day?" And mind you, I'm using "intellectual" as more of a personality identifier than a compliment. An intellectual can have dumb as rock takes, so long as they talk smartly, they're going to come across as "intellectual". But this isn't an exact science, just my own thoughts on it, I suppose. Don't take this binary too seriously, I sure don't.

My take on why Kamala lost is somewhat of a long one. Since I feel this element of it is all but guaranteed to get me sidetracked, I'll push past the business about how she was unfairly thrust upon us as a candidate, thus proving the primaries are essentially "rigged" and pointless (at least as far as the DNC goes, but for all I know, the RNC could be the same. I'm not a Republican so I couldn't say really). This is a big reason against her though, so it shouldn't be ignored. There was no hand-waving this issue away, and we can sit here and discuss what alternatives did or didn't exist until we're blue in the face, but as I said, that would sidetrack us.

Beyond that, I believe her biggest issue is one that the Democrats have had for years now and that's just a blanket assumption that Dems will just "Vote Blue No Matter Who", the idiotic phrase I will argue against until the day I die it seems. This is most evident by her inability to work her own base to vote for her, and instead she's out parading around Liz Cheney in some feeble-minded attempt to try and win over people who do not want to vote for her.

I mean she had 7,000,000+ less people vote for her than Biden, meanwhile Trump has gained 13,000,000+ since 2016. We consistently hear about how "if everyone who didn't vote voted, statistically most of them would vote Democrat" and yet it never seems to click with Democrats that they should be currying favor from non-voters as opposed to Republican voters. I don't understand why they're so insistent on trying to flip voters when there are tons of undeclared votes just sitting there. There were around 90,000,000 people who didn't vote. Even just a few million of those in the right states would've won her the election.

And to jump back to my point about trying to flip votes, they don't even do that right either, not that there's much hope of it working to begin with. They send out completely mixed messages like sending Liz Cheney out to campaign with Kamala, indicating that yes, even some Republicans are voting for her, while simultaneously telling you that if you don't vote for her, you're an idiot, uneducated, etc.

Like I know this sounds obnoxious, but I also fail to see how it isn't just common sense. You can believe in your heart of hearts that Republicans are dumb backwater hillbilly hicks all you'd like, but when you're in the midst of an election and for some idiotic reason your candidate is trying to appeal to those dumb backwater hillbilly hicks, perhaps you should reserve your opinions of them until after the election. When applying for a job, maybe you shouldn't call the guy interviewing you a dumbass until after you've left the interview, even if he was in fact a dumbass.

I also disagree with the sentiment that Republicans are the only ones voting based on emotion. Did you not hear Democrats leading into, and post-election? They genuinely believe the end of the world was at stake. Republicans may have voted on the hope that Trump will be their savior, but Democrats voted on the fear that Trump would be their doom. Fear is just as much an irrational emotion as hope is.

To summarize because I feel like I probably didn't get my point across too clearly:

Forced on us as our candidate, completely disregarding democracy, proving once and for all the primaries are pointless and it's all rigged.

Blanket assumption that Democrats will vote Democrat regardless of candidate, their platform, or the way they run their campaign.

Complete disregard of their own base, in favor of flipping votes.

In addition to the last point, would rather fail to flip votes than work on getting any of the millions of non-voters involved.

Indecisive attitudes of "we are better than you, Republicans" but also "please vote for us, Republicans".

Scapegoating minorities not voting for them as why they didn't win, on top of just in general lacking understanding as to why they didn't win.

The entire DNC needs to be ripped up from the roots and replaced.

[l0stglitch]

Hi I hope you're doing well! Anyways, how do you think the four boys (Dwayne, David, Marko, Paul) would react if we just ran away, like went to our friends house and refused to come back to the cave? Also what punishments do they give, like after we ran away and in general? Also sorry if my grammer is bad English isn't my first language, anyways have a good day/night!

Running away headcannons

Platonic Yandere lost boys x reader

Notes- Hey I’m doing great thanks! Your English is very good- I couldn’t tell you weren’t a native speaker :)

Warnings- Choking, Yandere behaviour, Confinement, Psychological abuse, Dehumanisation

• I think it’s safe to say all four of your fathers would be absolutely LIVID if you ran away.

• They genuinely don’t understand why you would even think to do something so senseless. After all, it was them who saved you from your biological family when you first moved to Santa Carla.

• Not only that, but you had also stolen Dwayne’s bike (his being the obvious choice, as you spent the most time on it).

• They discovered your absence a few hours after you had snuck out, but couldn’t go after you due to the burning rays of the July sun.

• Meanwhile, you had found yourself at Bethany’s house. She knew enough about your parents to gladly let you stay as long as you need, despite your warnings about how dangerous they are.

• Coming back to the boys, I think their individual reactions would vary. Dwayne would be more worried than pissed off. The thought of his baby girl being out there alone without their protection fills him with this hopeless dread. He’s not even mad about the bike because he’s so scared that you’ve crashed somewhere and are lying under a mangled pile of metal, injured and alone.

• Marko is also terrified for you. As I’ve said before, he’s in denial about you growing up, so he won’t even entertain the idea that you might be able to look after yourself. He’s not used to being afraid. Out of everyone in the pack it’s generally agreed that Marko is the most sadistic and violent when it comes to preying on humans. He thrives off of scaring people (you included) so the fact that you are scaring him makes him angry.

• He finds himself pacing the cave, eyes shining a brilliant yellow and fangs on display as he pictures the moment they find you. David eventually has to tell him to knock it off or he’ll tire himself out before nightfall.

• Speaking of David, I think that out of everyone he’d be the least panicky. That’s not to say he isn’t worried about you, but he understands you better than the others do. He knows that it takes careful planning to pull off a stunt like this, and you aren’t stupid enough to get yourself caught up in anything too dangerous.

• This stems from the fact that David’s obsession with you doesn’t come from a deep rooted paternal desire like it does for the others. Sure, he loves you as his daughter and feels a strong sense of pride that they were the ones to mould you into who you are today, but it’s more complicated than that.

• The more you grow, the more he sees himself and the others within you, but beneath all that is someone else. A small fragment of a broken child waiting to spiral into something else. That’s what intrigues him. That hidden part of you locked behind years of painful love and comforting abuse.

• Paul’s reaction is a lot simpler than David’s. He feels guilty that their previous argument with you has led to you doing something so drastic. It’s not that he doesn’t trust you, he just doesn’t trust all the creepy men around that could hurt you.

• I don’t think he’d be on the verge of a complete meltdown like Dwayne and Marko, but he’d definitely be on edge, with a million different scenarios playing out through his head.

• Once the sun is finally down, it wouldn’t take them long to find you. You weren’t stupid enough to leave Dwayne’s bike right outside Bethany’s house, but it was still close enough for your fathers to track you down with relative ease.

• The only problem they faced was actually getting to you. Vampires have to be invited inside, and there was no way Bethany’s mother was going to let in a group of leather clad punks demanding to see their fifteen year old daughter.

• So naturally, they went to Max and begged asked him to politely introduce himself as your uncle and bring you home.

• Of course, with his charming nature Max had no problem getting invited into Bethany’s home.

• In all fairness, he didn’t lie. Sure, he had left out the part where Marko choked you until you were on the verge of passing out, but nothing he did say was untrue. It was more just a careful avoidance of certain details.

• You knew you were in deep shit when you came downstairs for dinner and saw your uncle sat at the table with a plate of lasagne of his own.

• It was an awkward dinner, well for you at least. Beth’s mum seemed pretty into Max, and he clearly loved the attention.

• Once the meal was over, Max announced that he would be taking you home, his tone stern- a subtle warning for you not to argue.

• So you didn’t argue. At least, not until you were out of Bethany’s house.

• As soon as her door clicked shut you bolted.

• It was a stupid idea really. Max’s car was parked right outside the driveway, so even if you did manage to get away from him, he’d easily be able to chase you down in the vehicle.

• It wasn’t Max who caught you though. In fact, he made little effort to chase you as you ran.

• That didn’t strike you as odd until the street you were sprinting down was suddenly lit by a harsh white light.

• For a moment you thought it was a car speeding towards you, but as your eyes adjusted it became clear that there were three beams of light, not two.

• Your fathers had been waiting round the corner for you and Max.

• You, being a stubborn teenager, didn’t stop running. You ignored the aggressive revving of their engines and legged it down the road.

• The gleaming headlights honed in on you, allowing no darkness to conceal your desperate escape.

• Their bikes almost seemed to leap forwards after you, as if they were an extension of your fathers, feeding from their obsessions.

• It only took a matter of seconds for them to catch up to you, even after you veered from the road and tried to make a break for the forest at the end of the street.

• They had you surrounded in an instant. David in front, Marko to your right and Dwayne and Paul sharing a bike to your left.

• Perhaps you would have found the sight amusing if it wasn’t for that look in their eyes.

• This must have been what it felt like to be a deer. Trapped under the gazes of four hungry wolves, with your only advantage being your primal fear of being dragged back to the cave- something that you knew would be your inevitable fate.

• Despite the futility of the situation, you still tried to break past them, spinning on your heel and dashing to the gap between Marko and David’s bikes.

• For a fleeting second you truly believed you had succeeded in getting past them, but then a hand snared in the neck of your top and yanked you back.

• The force of it pulled you to the ground, where you lay momentarily stunned, choking for air.

• David was quick the dismount his bike, crouching over where you lay on the sidewalk.

• There was nothing you could do except stare up at him, dazed as he pulled you to your feet and forced you onto the back of his bike.

• They didn’t speak to you on the ride back, only stopping once to pick up Dwayne’s discarded bike (after you’d been forced to hand over the keys).

• The only conversation was between Marko and Paul, who seemed almost giddy to return to the cave. You expected that from Marko, always the sadist, but Paul? That stung a little. You supposed he was just feeding off of his mate’s energy.

• David was clearly pissed off. You were surprised he hadn’t berated you yet, but it seemed as though he was waiting to get home for your punishment.

• As for Dwayne, you could tell he was deeply disappointed that you had even wanted to leave them, let alone actually do it.

• When it comes to punishments, David is usually in charge. He’s the leader of the pack and therefore creates the rules and enforces them the most out of everyone.

• The only exception being when Marko occasionally decides to make a new rule without telling any of the others so when you inevitably break it, he punishes you.

• There was a lot of debate between them about what the punishment for running away should be.

• Dwayne was more inclined to taking away certain privileges. No trips to the boardwalk, no choice in what you get to eat, no visiting Uncle Max and Thorn, etc.

• Marko would rather just break your legs. It solves the issue of you running away in the future and makes you completely dependent on them, solidifying how much you need your fathers to help you.

• In the end though, David gets the final call. He decided that if you don’t want to be around them then fine, but it won’t be in your terms.

• They left you chained up like a dog in a secluded part of the cave- far from where your fathers would be spending much of their time.

• You were left there for two months, only seeing David once a day when he brought you a bottle of water and a ham sandwich.

• Being treated like an animal slowly chips away at your sanity. David’s silent glare and the bland flavours of your basic meal are the only markers of the time spend in the darkness.

• The chain around your ankle feels heavier the longer you’re there. Your weight loss making you weaker by the day as you almost forget that Dwayne, Marko and Paul must be somewhere in the cave as well.

• You wondered if they thought about you as little as you thought about them.

• It felt like years before David finally brought a key along with your meagre meal.

• He watched silently as you ate your sandwich. You kept your gaze averted, staring at those cold leather boots as you chewed your way through the stale bread.

• “Not in the mood for talkin’ huh?”

• David twisted the keys around between his fingers. Your silence wasn’t much of a surprise to him, after all it had been a whole two months since you had spoken to him or your other fathers. He briefly wondered if you’d been talking to yourself to cope with the loneliness.

• How much damage could enough isolation do to a person?

• The chain unlocked with a small click, but you still made no effort to move.

• David sighed and cupped your cheek, guiding you to look at him. “You’re free now, punishment’s over. Cmon, the others have missed you.”

• You let him help you stand up- something you hadn’t done it a long time.

• David guided you back to the main area where Dwayne, Marko and Paul waited restlessly to see you again.

• Dwayne was the first to rush over to you, enveloping you in a big hug. You didn’t return it. It was hard to feel anything but the cold chill that still remained after those two long months.

• Your fathers were quick to wrap you in a thick blanket and curl up on the couch. Marko was practically spoon feeding you the bolognaise they had prepared earlier that day, but you hardly noticed.

• No one admitted it out loud, but it was clear that your isolation had scarred you a lot worse than a pair of broken legs from Marko would’ve.

• They were going to need to put in a lot of work to get you back.

Tag list- @bella-goths-wife @purple-lemon-8 @xjesterxjacksx @ursinaw @simplyreading96 @lostbetweenvampiresandmusic

(If anyone else wants to be added to the tag list then lmk!)

[bestofmultiverse]

Between the pages || 5

Aubrey plaza x fem!reader

"Whatever our struggles and triumphs, however we may suffer them, all too soon they bleed into a wash, just like watery ink on paper. A love like this is a dream.”

– Kafka on the Shore by Haruki Murakami

A/N : Idk if it good but i kinda felt like being sappy here.

1 • 2 • 3 • 4

The interview seemed to be going well, Y/N thought, watching from behind the scenes.

Aubrey had a knack for charming people with just one smile. She was relaxed as she spoke to Drew about her upcoming project, her confidence radiating in every word. Y/N felt her heart skip a beat as Aubrey flirted playfully (Y/N couldn’t blame her—it’s Drew Barrymore, for crying out loud!) and teased her fans with a casual grin that always left her weak in the knees.

Drew seemed to enjoy the banter, too. The two of them joked effortlessly, with Drew throwing in a few personal questions—ones Aubrey had agreed to answer beforehand. Y/N could sense the moment she’d been both dreading and anticipating inching closer.

Their relationship.

For some reason, even after months, people couldn’t seem to let it go. The world was fascinated by the unlikely pairing, endlessly dissecting it. Y/N figured it was because she wasn’t famous, nor did she live a very public life. People were either intrigued by her anonymity or bitter, labeling her a gold-digger.

Her social media was private, her career was far from glamorous, and even when her future book will be finally published—her own book, not just something she’d co-edited—she knew she’d still be considered “ordinary” next to Aubrey. She wasn’t an actress, a model, or an influencer. She was just a small-town girl who, somehow, had caught the Aubrey Plaza’s attention—and love.

A montage of pictures suddenly appeared on the screen, paired with Drew’s next question. Y/N watched nervously.

The first photo showed her lying on top of Aubrey on their couch, fast asleep with her face buried in Aubrey’s stomach. Aubrey, meanwhile, was smiling like she’d won the lottery. The second image was a messy selfie of them covered in eggs and flour, laughing with huge, silly grins. The last was from a Marvel party they’d attended together: Aubrey’s hand rested possessively on Y/N’s waist as they leaned in close, noses almost touching. Y/N had a crinkle in her nose, clearly giggling at something Aubrey had whispered.

From her seat, Y/N noticed Aubrey shift slightly, sitting a little straighter. It was subtle, but Y/N could tell—her girlfriend was nervous.

“So, there are a lot of rumors about your relationship,” Drew began warmly. “It’s not new news, but somehow it’s still keeping people on their toes. How do you feel about that? And how’s your girlfriend handling it?”

Drew’s tone was light, like a friend genuinely curious, not a journalist digging for a scoop.

Aubrey smiled softly. “How do I feel about it? Well… I’ve had a few relationships in my life—some public, some less so. Most were great in their own ways. But honestly, this one? This one’s it for me. She’s my person, and I’m happy. I just wish people could be more supportive of that.”

She paused for a moment, glancing briefly behind Drew to catch Y/N’s eye. When she saw Y/N’s encouraging thumbs-up and grin, Aubrey’s smile grew.

“But I get it,” she continued. “People wonder, they talk—and that’s fine, I guess. It’s part of the package deal. I just wish the hate wasn’t part of it. It’s one thing when it’s the media. Neither of us cares what some sleazy tabloid writer thinks. But when it’s from people who call themselves fans? That stings. For both of us.”

Drew nodded, her expression understanding. “Do you think addressing it will change anything? Or are you worried it might even get worse?”

Aubrey shrugged. “I don’t know. I’m not counting on this fixing anything. God, I hope it doesn’t get worse. But even if it does, we have a great relationship. I’m crazy about her, and that’s all that matters.”

She glanced over at Y/N and winked, making her laugh softly.

“Aren’t you a sweetheart,” Drew teased, grinning.

The conversation moved to lighter topics, including Aubrey’s notorious pranks on set and an embarrassing story about the time she accidentally walked into the wrong bathroom at an awards show. The tension from earlier melted away as they both dissolved into laughter. Y/N knew fans would love this part. Aubrey seemed lighter, too, like addressing the issue had lifted a weight off her shoulders.

After the interview aired, the two decided to ditch their phones for the evening. They curled up on the couch in Aubrey’s apartment, embracing the quiet.

Y/N rested her head on Aubrey’s shoulder, sighing contentedly. “Well, that wasn’t a complete disaster,” she teased.

“Disaster? That was amazing,” Aubrey replied, reaching over to run her fingers through Y/N’s hair. “And I killed it, if I do say so myself.”

Y/N snorted. “Humble as ever.”

“Hey, it’s not bragging if it’s true.” Aubrey smirked, leaning down to press a kiss to Y/N’s temple. “Besides, you were the real MVP, giving me that thumbs-up when I needed it. You’re my rock, you know that?”

“Stop. You’re making me blush,” Y/N mumbled, hiding her face against Aubrey’s neck.

“Good. You’re cute when you blush.”

They stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other, the world and its noise fading away. For now, all that mattered was the warmth of the moment and the peace of being together, on their own terms.

The morning light crept into Aubrey’s apartment, highlighting the lazy entanglement of limbs on the couch. Y/N stirred first, groaning softly as the realization dawned that they’d fallen asleep there. Aubrey, half-awake, tightened her arm around Y/N’s waist.

“Don’t move,” Aubrey murmured, her voice husky with sleep. “You’re my pillow.”

Y/N chuckled, brushing her fingers through Aubrey’s messy hair. “We’re not even in bed. My neck is going to hate me for this later.”

“It’s a small price to pay for cuddles,” Aubrey countered, pressing her face into Y/N’s shoulder.

The moment was warm and serene, but the peace was short-lived. Y/N glanced at her phone on the coffee table, her curiosity getting the better of her. Against her better judgment, she reached for it.

As soon as she unlocked it, her screen lit up with notifications. Dozens of missed messages, tagged posts, and news alerts. A quick scroll through Twitter showed one trending topic: #AubreyAndYN.

“Oh no,” Y/N muttered, biting her lip. “Aubrey, we’re trending again.”

Aubrey groaned dramatically, flopping onto her back like a starfish. “Of course we are. Can’t the world leave us alone for one day?”

“It’s… different this time,” Y/N said hesitantly, scrolling further. “Look.”

Curiosity piqued, Aubrey sat up and leaned over Y/N’s shoulder. What they found was unexpected.

Instead of the usual nasty gossip or conspiracy theories, the feed was flooded with supportive messages and heartwarming edits. Fans had clipped moments from the interview, adding captions like, “Aubrey loves her GF so much, I’m crying 🥹” and, “Finally, they addressed the haters. Good for them!”

A particularly popular tweet featured the marvel party photo that had appeared in the interview. It was captioned, “Find someone who looks at you like Aubrey looks at Y/N. Relationship goals!”

Y/N scrolled further, finding more positive reactions. One user wrote, “I wasn’t sure about them at first, but seeing Aubrey defend her GF so fiercely? Respect.”

Another said, “Y/N’s clearly the happiest thing to happen to Aubrey. Why can’t we just let them be in love?”

Aubrey raised an eyebrow, amused. “Wow. Are we in the Twilight Zone? Where’s all the hate?”

“There’s still some,” Y/N admitted, gesturing to a few bitter comments. “But it’s… quieter than usual.”

Aubrey grinned, clearly pleased. “Looks like our plan worked. I told you people just needed to see how awesome you are.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress her smile. “Sure. It’s totally because I’m awesome, not because you publicly declared your undying love for me on live television.”

“Well, that didn’t hurt,” Aubrey teased, wrapping her arms around Y/N’s waist and pulling her close. “Maybe I should do it more often.”

Y/N laughed, leaning into Aubrey’s embrace. “Let’s not push our luck.”

They spent the next hour scrolling through the posts, laughing at memes and reading comments aloud. By the time they set their phones down, the tension from the day before had all but disappeared.

Later, as they sat at the kitchen table, sharing a plate of pancakes Aubrey had lovingly burnt on one side, Y/N felt a strange sense of calm.

“You know,” she said, spearing a piece of pancake with her fork, “it’s kind of nice seeing people be supportive for a change.”

Aubrey nodded, sipping her coffee. “Yeah. Feels weird, though. Like, are we actually allowed to enjoy this?”

“I think so,” Y/N said with a small smile. “We deserve to enjoy it.”

Aubrey reached across the table to take Y/N’s hand, squeezing it gently. “We do. And for the record, I don’t care if we’re trending, ignored, or completely forgotten. As long as I have you, I’m good.”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed. “You’re such a sap.”

“You love it,” Aubrey shot back, her grin mischievous.

“Unfortunately, I do.”

They spent the rest of the morning laughing, teasing each other, and stealing bites of pancake from the same plate. No matter what the internet thought of them, they were happy—and that was all that mattered.

[86espresso]

he’s watching | jh86

warnings ; blood, knife play, fear play, mentions of murder, oral (f), voyerism but its a ghost that isn’t there?, abandoned house, ghostface/hannibal mask?, bf!jack x afab!reader,”, hide and seek :), and other freakish shit I had no idea I was lowkey attracted to. not proofread.

wc; 2.2k

a/n ; I started this during october and lost the motivation so have this in late november! I have no explanation, it is exactly what it looks like. if this is something you’re not into pleasee don’t read, this is twisted and nasty bc that’s how I function <3 once again, read at your own risk. with that, insane!jack can terrorize me anyyydayyy.

If it was anyone else stalking you down the halls of an abandoned house, with a legitimate knife and a scary mask, you would’ve ran out of the place like your ass was on fire.

However, it was only Jack. Your boyfriend.

You could tell something different in his low chuckles when he came closer to wherever you were hiding, the playful game of cat and mouse you had started turning into something more menacing in the dark rooms and hallways of the house.

The two of you were lovesick for all horror stories and urban legends, and you knew of the story of the haunted house at the end of the street, so you decided to venture there together to get away from the parties. Still clad in your Halloween costumes.

It was a slutty Halloween party, so you wore a tight fitting black top that showed more than it should and a black mini skirt. You had fake blood all over your cleavage, neck, and one single dried drop down the side of your temple. You matched with Jack’s muscle tee and black sweats, his obscured version of a ghostface-hannibal mask, and knife.

And now, Jack was doing everything in his power to ensure that your heart stayed thumping hard against your ribcage, your palms were sweaty, that you were genuinely scared before you use the code word for stopping any terrifying prank either of you were pulling on each other. You’ve never really said it before because neither of you were that easy to scare, and you didn’t take it that far.

For the record, Jack did have you feeling all of those things, not because you were scared, but because you were thrilled. Though, you’d have to admit, it was the thought of being so terrified that you liked it that really had your chest heaving with anticipation.

You wanted to know what the man in the mask could do. How he would use his knife.

“Jack?” You called out meekly, stepping carefully into the master bedroom, that had nothing but moonlight illuminating it. Your voice may be weak, but you were feeling the opposite inside, your heart burning with the desire to feel that knife against your throat at least once, to see nothing but Jack’s hooded eyes as he pressed hard enough to draw blood but not enough to really hurt you.

You knew he was near this area because you heard him here; any logical person would have turned right back but you ran towards the bullets.

You were about five steps into the bedroom when it slammed shut right behind you.

Again, any normal and sane person would’ve screamed, whipped around, ran—but you stayed still, breathing hard, a slow smirk spreading on your face. You didn’t turn around, you didn’t have to.

His shadow joined yours, standing right behind you and his heat radiated onto you, giving you much needed warmth to your bare shoulders and legs.

“Found you, doll.” He drawled, moving closer. You could hear the smirk in his voice.

“I wasn’t hiding.” You say as his chest lightly touches your shoulders, his hand barely ghosting over your waist before he grips it properly.

His palm is wet.

“Jack—”

“Blood.”

You gulp. “Whose?”

“Mine.”

You head starts spinning, as if he drew your blood. You feel a spark of concern, leaning back into him, trying to wordlessly communicate it.

“S’all good, doll.” He softens his voice slightly, leaning into you.

You stiffen up again, standing straight, falling back into ‘character’ instantly.

This time, his other arm snakes around your waist, you see the glint of the knife before it lays flat against your stomach. It’s like that for a moment before Jack abruptly turns you around.

“All that chasing—you liked that, hm?”

His bloody hand stays on your waist while the other traces the blunt edge of the knife over your breasts. The mask is pretty scary, but his raspy voice and cold blue eyes work more for you. The tip of the knife just barely touches the underside of your chin; if you nod, it would pierce your skin. The thought sent a rush of heat throughout your body, and you nod carefully, the blade pinching your chin. It wasn’t enough to draw blood, but Jack understood that’s what you wanted, you could see the smile reaching his eyes as he pushes the knife up just a bit. A wave of heat mixed with pain rushes over you as you feel the smallest trickle of blood run down your neck and mix with the fake blood on your tits.

Jack’s chest shakes with a small laugh. You’re sure you could drown in your arousal.

“Fuck, y’liked that too? What am I going to do with you?”

Before you could answer, he removed the knife and lifted his mask, putting the tip of it on his tongue and licking it clean. You let out a whimper at the action, unable to resist the burning desire in your lower stomach.

“Careful, baby,” he tutts, shaking his head slightly, tracing the blunt end down to the front of your mini skirt, “he could’ve heard you.”

‘He’ was the man who owned the house in the 19th century. ‘He’ murdered the intruder that came into his house and killed his wife. ‘He’ then turned the knife on himself out of sorrow.

Jack knew you admired that man’s story.

Your cheeks flush at the thought of a fucking ghost watching what Jack was about to do to you.

Jack’s bloody hand touched the blood on your chin, the two combining in his thumb. He puts his thumb in your bottom lip, silently demanding you to suck, and you do.

Jack huffs, feeling your tongue swirl around his thumb with so much eagerness as he swiftly tears your mini skirt with the knife, causing you to let go of his thumb when you gasped. The skirt hit the floor.

You weren’t wearing anything underneath the it, the coolness of the night making you shiver as Jack’s eyes drop to your lower half.

You intentionally wore nothing underneath your top and skirt, hoping that Jack would make quick work of fucking you when the two of you got home. Maybe get some roleplay in between to thrill you a little.

But this was way, way more than you hoped for and you could never complain. The hottest man you knew had full access to your body and he had a knife. You were at his mercy completely.

Jack softly kicks near your heal to push your legs further apart before the blunt edge traces up your inner thigh, the coolness of the knife making you shake slightly.

“Jack.”

Jack ignores your pathetic whimper and puts the blunt edge of the knife directly between your folds. He could see your thighs glistening and he was delighted to learn how turned on you were.

Your jaw drops and your nails dig into his muscular forearm. “Shit, J—”

“Not another sound, doll. Unless you’re screaming.” In fear.

He moves the knife deliciously against your clit, spreading your slickness through your pussy. His other (bloody) hand works up your waist and toys with the hem of your shirt.

You hear a floorboard creak in the hallway and still.

“Hm, y’hear that too, doll? Sounded like someone was right outside the door.”

Your eyes become teary as you bit down on your lip. Hard enough to taste the metallic flavor of blood. Something flashed in Jack’s eyes and he pulls the mask off.

His knifed hand doesn’t pause its movements while his other grabbed the back of your neck, pulling your mouth roughly against his. His lips meet yours in a tangle of tongues and harsh sucking to where your lip was bleeding.

You didn’t know his thing for blood was that strong.

He pulls away and removes the knife as well. He looks directly at you with his icy blue eyes and sticks his tongue out, laying it flat against the blunt end and licking your arousal clean. He hums in satisfaction.

“Not enough,” he says once the knife is clean. Your heart was pounding with desire and fear, waiting for his next move. “I’m gonna eat you,” he pauses and smirks, “out, of course.”

Making cannabalistic implications? He’s truly out of it.

You wait for his next move patiently, the thought of doing such a filthy thing in the one place people stay away from already making the desire in your stomach deepen.

To your surprise, he turns you around, your back now facing the slightly ajar door (didn’t Jack slam it shut?) and Jack’s back now facing the wall. He instructs you to lie down on the floor, and you prop yourself up with your elbows, knees spread and bent. Jack lies down in front of you on his stomach, hooking your legs over his shoulders and ghosting his lips up your thigh.

He could sense your confusion at the position. You knew that he knew that he could’ve just pushed you back a few steps, gotten on his knee, and eaten you out against the wall.

“Wanted your back facing the door,” he frees one of his hands to push the hair away from his face, “and, I wanted you lying down so when he walks in, he has a proper view.”

You can hardly believe the words left his mouth before he latched his lips onto your cunt, sucking and licking through your folds, trying to get as deep as he could. He could feel the moan building through your chest, so before you actually could, he grabs the knife from next to him and put it half an inch away from the spot he pierced earlier.

“What did I say?”

“Not a sound.” You echo his words from before and refrain from whimpering at the cold, almost dead look in his eyes. It’s like something possessed him.

He hums before licking a stripe through your folds again, his eyes not moving away from yours. Partially because he wanted to keep you intimidated and partially because the knife was still under your chin and he would rather die than risk a wrong movement.

“He’s watching us, baby.” You feel Jack’s smirk before you register his words. You look into his eyes for a plot second before he sucked your clit so harshly, you threw your head back to stop the moan clawing up your throat.

The mere thought of that ghost watching while Jack was buried deep between your legs caused the pool of warmth in your lower stomach increase.

You don’t know if it had been hours or seconds since Jack was alternating between giving attention to your clit and folds, how long Jack had been talking through it, heavy breathing while telling you about the ‘man’s every move. You don’t know exactly how out of it you’d been, but you look down to see your shirt ripped neatly down the middle, your tits hanging out and nipples hardening in the cool air, that you didn’t know when Jack even pulled away from you. The warmth of his hands on you never left.

He did it.

Subconsciously, you knew he didn’t do it, but the thought brought you closer regardless.

“He’s right behind you, doll.”

Your mouth parts in a silent whine and your eyes roll to the back of your head. Your elbows were sore from the position, so you lay fully down, tangling your fingers through Jack’s messy hair as him and his words nearly tip you over the edge. The last thing you see is his eyes flashing as he eagerly licks and sucks your clit, as if he really saw someone standing behind you. Your back arches off the floor and it takes everything within you not to let out the high-pitched moan you were holding in.

You don’t know if it was some arousal induced hallucination but you swore you saw a figure when you threw your head back while Jack worked through your orgasm, but you knew it was what really tipped you over. Jack groans into you, kissing your inner thighs before pulling away.

He was amused, admiring your cloudy eyes and dazed expression. He hasn’t even gotten to fucking you yet.

He pulled off the now damaged top off of you and tapped your cheek. “Not done with you yet, baby. Hands and knees.”

He leaned down and quickly kissed you, a stark contrast to earlier. “Don’t need t’stay quiet this time.”

The bargain was enough for you to roll on your front, entirely bare in front of him now. You hadn’t noticed the dirty floor length mirror next to the door (that was now halfway open) earlier.

Jack met your eyes in the mirror, making quick work of his sweats and boxers, using his other hand to wrap around your neck, keeping you upright. He lets go of your neck and instead form hooks his thick arm around your chest, the blood on your tits coming onto his arm.

Another burst of wind rocks the house, floorboards creaking and you were sure you heard another door slam shut. You look up into Jack’s eyes and mirror his smirk.

[yameoto]

yam love love love that analysis on cate you just posted and was curious what your thoughts are on queers (lesbians in specific obviously) reading her as a closeted lesbian going through comphet?

tbh i could talk about this for hours but would just like to say that she legitimately had queen maeve posters all over her childhood bedroom lol didn’t believe that soldier boy shit for a SECOND.

comphet reading of cate dunlap ft. mariecate

TLDR so u don’t have to read the whole thing; all of cate’s relationships with men are overall fake and do not revolve around love, rather the forging of an idealised identity formed around media (comphet Classic). cate’s only real raw genuine untainted relationship is with a woman. ft. mariecate

id love to my favourite hobby is looking at characters through a orangepinkwhite tinged lens. cate’s relationship with luke fits the comphet bill almost too well. firstly, cate being locked up her whole childhood means the formation of identity would be entirely based on media. a very heteronormative landscape of media, which aligns with traditional comphet. you could say her relationship with luke—literally golden boy—is comphet based, the ‘gold standard’ for a relationship cate’s drawn from all that she’s consumed in her childhood years. effectually, cate’s entire early life was robbed of her. and here, she achieves her perception’s ‘perfect’ idea of a life through luke, and forms her entire identity around him (hence her desperation to keep him). this is especially evident in the fact she changed her major to ‘hero management’ just to support luke’s career. to fully commit in shadowing him, for the rest of her life.

except, it’s fake. the entire relationship is fake. by the time of the show, cate has erased and changed and warped luke’s memory, his identity to the point where his mind breaks by the pilot. the fauxness and dysfunction of luke/cate’s relationship despite their image of unattainable perfection is probably her largest comphet indicator. maybe she loved him (not enough to remain faithful, however), but it reads as more of a subconscious love of what he represented, and something to anchor her identity to, which she’s never had a chance to form. as well as a means as to gain shetty’s affection and trust, no matter if she thought it was for his own good or not. her relationship with luke was poisoned, for a multitude of reasons.

(sidenote: cate/luke comphet reminds me of jiper comphet down to the false memories piper’s charmspeak and jason as the golden boy who literally explodes so like. there’s that’s free tidbit for anybody who is tapped the fuck in.)

cate has been so deprived of love she seeks it wherever she can find it. hence her stint with andre, which obviously ends in shambles because it’s foundations are already shaky, considering she’s cheating on luke with him, and andre is fucking his best friend’s girlfriend, but is also disingenuous, because cate’s compulsion powers arguably affect andre the secondmost to luke (though, by a wide margin). these are her two only romantic interests, and they suffer the worst consequences of it.

enter.. marie moreau. and cate’s relationship with marie is more genuine than any of her romantic relationships, which i think is the most telling thing. cate and marie serve as foils to each other: both in the manslaughter of their loved ones, the way shetty attempts to use them, and how can you NOT ship two reflections of each other?

in the finale, cate reaches out her hand, and andre can’t take it, because he doesn’t trust her. you can’t blame him. inversely, marie is the one always reaching out to cate, who is constantly defending cate’s intentions and her motivations to the others—when cate doesn’t deserve the benefit of doubt. partly, it’s because marie has known cate the least amount of time, making the betrayal sting the least. but also, cate’s relationship with marie is also the one least tainted by her compulsion powers; marie is the least affected by cate’s manipulations (to love her, to stay with her), and yet, despite marie not being compelled to do so; she still retains her faith in cate. that cate is good. that cate can be good, which is a fact not even cate believes in.

marie actively sees through cate’s compulsion, and later, nulls it. there’s a reason why marie is the one to discover cate’s betryal. there’s also a reason why marie is the one to blow cate’s arm off when saving jordan. in the same episode that cate reaches out and andre draws away, marie reaches out to cate, and cate draws away. that is a very direct comparison. it also speaks to cate’s larger unwillingness to accept love that is untainted, either fear she herself will ruin it, or because she doesn’t think she deserves it.

anyways, all this to say that yes, cate could totally be read as comphet. and mariecate is totally metal as they are, romantically involved or not.

[weemietime]

Okay okay, I’d like to preface this by saying that I’m already deeply ashamed and embarrassed of myself for my behaviour and all, so if you think I don’t feel guilty and am bandwagoning, I’m not, I’m genuinely upset about what I did and there’s no one who could possibly hate myself more than me. And also, I’m not Jewish myself, but you could probably tell by what I’m about to say next.

So I was one of the many people who was a radical supporter of whatever has become of the pro Palestine movement (yes, I know, embarrassing behaviour) and I was perpetuating a lot of antisemitic things and would get super defensive about it because I truly didn’t think that what I was saying and/or doing was antisemitism and I also thought that I was genuinely helping people by being so… radical about things. A few months ago, I took a break from social media and on that break I sort of realised how much I don’t know about the harmful radical movement I was supporting and the Jewish and Israeli people that I was actually hurting by not listening to, and I truly am sorry and I do wish to become an ally, a good ally at that, but I do wonder if I’ve done too much damage already, I probably have. So yeah, I guess I was just wondering how I could possibly do better. I probably shouldn’t even be asking you this, you can totally block me if you want, I swear I’m not trolling or anything, but yeahhhh

The best thing that you can do for yourself and your community is to be honest about your perspective! How it happened, how you got radicalized, the things you said and why you said them. Some people won't be ready to forgive you and that's ultimately their prerogative. But people like you are the reason I am here, because I believe it is possible to form a bridge between our people and find a way to dialogue and call people back in from the extremism they've been indoctrinated into.

I'm fairly open about my history on here, but when I was a child I got indoctrinated into a violent gang. I adopted a lot of extreme beliefs and engaged in horrible, violent acts both under duress and of my own volition. So when I talk about indoctrination I am talking about something I have personal experience with. The people who I victimized to this day probably still have legitimate hate for me, and that's their right. I don't need to convince them I'm a good person or a changed person or whatever, you can't really undo harm or make up for harm like that, that's not how it works.

Once you put that out there, that's it. But at the same time, kind acts and good acts stand on their own, too. So I try and do outreach like this, to share my perspectives, to educate people on how extremism and radicalism and appetitive aggression work because I can't fix what I broke. All I can do is serve as a warning beacon for others going down a bad path, and I don't have any ability to know if that makes me a cosmically good or bad person.

Baruch dayen ha'emet. It's what we say when people die: G-d is the true judge. Only G-d knows those answers and I just have to have faith that G-d will judge me with compassion and understanding, and allow me to state my case. It's an ongoing conversation, you aren't ever just one thing or another thing. You grow, and learn, and that slowly changes the landscape.

I hope this helps in some manner! And I appreciate you sending this, we need to keep these avenues open, we have to build these bridges or else nothing will change. It's that simple.

[ceratedfish24]

Do you have any particular thoughts on a scott x scar pairing or team up? Cleo once said in their stream that them being teamed up together would be evil unleashed, so I keep thinking about them

My mouth’s been watering over Scott x Scar team up, actually. Cleo’s so correct. They’re honestly never wrong. I know that Scott’s always the responsible one, but I think he could let loose and work with Scar to scam the entire server. It wouldn’t be an obvious scam, but, between their combined charisma, they could break the server into pieces. There’s so much potential there. I associate them with the song Grifters by Charming disaster.

Scar and Scott are kind of acquaintances. They respect each other, but they apparently don’t really know each other, which is understandable. They’ve been getting to know each other better, though, as of late. I think a Scar and Scott team up is not only possible but realistic! Scar tends to end up unwillingly alone in these series, and Scott has a habit of coaxing stray dogs onto his couch, whether that’s Cleo, Etho, or Martyn. It wouldn’t surprise me if, if there’s a next season, Scott ropes Scar into an alliance with him. They have so much potential for pettiness.

As for Scar and Scott pairing? I think it’s SO cute. Scar and Scott are both commonly paired with someone who doesn’t consistently show affection towards them, even though Scar and Scott themselves are pretty consistent in offering their own affection. Having each other would be so healing. Scott is a very loyal man, and he always feels like he has to earn his partner’s love and trust. Scar isn’t used to that. Scar has had people through him out once he’s red, leave him for a secret soulmate, choose their absent father over him, and backstab him. He’s not used to someone who thinks of him as greater than themselves.

Additionally, they’re both brutally honest. Scott is more consciously brutally honest, and he wouldn’t be afraid to tell Scar the hard truth instead of keeping secrets. Scar is casually brutally honest. He’ll say things out of left field that are true, but, goodness, Scar. He would be so quick to clock when Scott’s not caring of himself or when Scott’s feeling less than or when Scott is doing something because he thinks it will make Scar like him more as opposed to just being the same Scott who Scar fell in love with. It would startle Scott, to have someone who doesn’t sugarcoat or avoid hard topics, but I think he would appreciate it.

Scar says a lot of dirty things. Sometimes it’s genuinely unintentional, but, other times, he knows exactly what he’s saying. I think it would get a good laugh out of Scott, and I think that Scar would laugh at Scott’s dirty jokes as opposed to chastising him, too.

The Scar/Scott pairing is playful, vulnerable, warm, and healing, like a campfire. I would love to see more of them!!

[alwaysurvalentine]

🫣 okay, so maybe I wrote a lil something for this? I just thought it was such a cute idea - they're so sweet to each other.

~ Eddie’s been pretending to read for the last thirty minutes. It’s not like he’s really missing anything, this will be just about the hundredth time he’s cracked open his worn copy of The Silmarillion. Steve’s sitting on the opposite end of the couch facing the TV. Earlier he’d knocked on the door with a sheepish smile and a paper bag full of diner food. One of the benefits of having a boyfriend who worked as a server was getting lots of free food when he got off shift. 

Steve had looked tired when he walked in, flopping onto the couch for a moment before digging in. Now the only evidence of the burgers and fries he bought were empty wrappers on the able. He’s been working two jobs for a month now, trying to save up for a place big enough for Eddie and Robin to move into with him. It worries Eddie a little bit, seeing Steve leave early for one shift just to come home late in a different uniform. He’s been trying to help where he can, but selling’s been out of the question now that he’s in the same circle as Hopper and he can’t be on his feet for too long now. Once he’s got some more physical therapy under his belt he might be able to do more than just sitting at the counter at Music Warehouse hoping everyone finds what they were looking for. 

Again, Steve’s head tilts down slowly before he jerks up. He blinks slowly at the TV. Eddie knows if he asked about the game Steve wouldn’t have a clue on how to answer him. Time for an intervention. 

Luckily, he’s got just the thing. See, this isn’t the first time Steve’s fought sleep. Eddie’s confident it’s not going to be the last time either. So the last time he’d gone to the thrift store, he couldn’t leave without the solution to all of his problems. 

A deep navy blue sweater that’s about five sizes too big. He’d almost missed it in his hunt for a thick flannel for Wayne. But the texture had stopped his hand and despite it’s size, Eddie knew he had to have it. 

He gets up to search for it now, setting his book to the side and stretching. Steve’s eyes cut over to him, but he doesn’t comment on Eddie moving. As much as Eddie would like to think it’s because he’s struck the other boy speechless, he knows it’s because there isn’t a single thought circling Steve’s head right now. And that’s okay because he loves him thoughts or not. 

The sweater is just as soft as he remembers when he pulls it from his closet. It genuinely just looks like a pile of fabric when he carries it into the living room. Steve’s head is tilted back this time, neck bent harshly and arms crossed over his chest. 

“Hey, Stevie?” Even though he says it softly, Steve jolts and winces when his neck pops at the movement. “Wanna take a nap?” He can tell Steve wants to deny it, claim he’s fine like he always does – but then hazel eyes notice the blue sweater in Eddie’s hands.

“Hm? What’s that, baby?” Steve always calls him sweet things when he’s half asleep, words mumbling over endearments like syrup on waffles. Eddie grins at the question and starts to slip the sweater on.

“Oh this? This is my nap sweater. It’s sooo comfy. But you know what would make it better?” It’s just as big as he thought it would be, sleeves draping past his hands and the bottom hem landing in the middle of his thigh. Steve tilts his head in question, small smile tugging at his lips. “If someone would cuddle up with me and make sure I don’t fall off the couch. Don’t know if you know anyone that would do that? Because my boyfriend said he wasn’t tired so I’d hate for him to be bored.” Eddie knows he’s won when Steve finally gives in and smiles dopily at him, already shifting towards the other end of the couch where Eddie sat earlier. 

“I think that could be arranged. All you had to do was ask.” Eddie rolls his eyes but steps closer, taking his spot and stretching the length of the couch. Steve’s sitting up still, eyes soft when he looks at Eddie. He takes a moment to turn the TV off with a click and barks a laugh when he turns back to see Eddie holding the hem of his sweater up. 

“C’mon then. Get in here.” 

~

The trailer door swings open quietly and Eddie hears Wayne undoing his laces. Boots are set to the side and then his uncle’s face comes into view. A gentle grin spreads on Wayne’s face, but the older man says nothing, just shakes his head and keeps on walking towards the kitchen. Steve had opted to sleep against Eddie’s chest, so it looks like Eddie’s got thick brown chest hair protruding from his collar and a tangle of legs. He can’t bring himself to complain. Especially not when Steve snuffles in his sleep and nuzzles against his chest. Eddie presses a quick kiss to Steve’s head and leans back, comforted by the weight of Steve and the sounds of Wayne in the kitchen.

Between one blink and the next, Eddie joins him again and dreams.

You know those big "get along" sweaters where two people in an argument wear together? This but Eddie buy a huge well loved sweater on a thrift store so he and Steve can wear it to take a nap together

It's a way to make Steve REST because he insists he's fine but he's actually so tired. But he won't deny Eddie anything so 🫵 mandatory nap time

[vir-tanadahl]

The Herald and the Wolf

Summary: AU. After Felassan fails to secure the eluvian password, Solas summons him to Haven to assist in addressing the rising threat of Corypheus. When the situation takes a dire turn, Felassan accompanies Solas in joining the Inquisition. It isn’t long before Felassan recognizes that Marel Lavellan holds the key to saving this world—and possibly to altering Solas’s own plans. Find on Ao3!

The Fade shimmered around them, ethereal wisps of green and gold dancing in the air as Solas's piercing violet eyes bore into Felassan. The elf's jaw clenched, his lean frame rigid with barely contained fury. "You failed me, Felassan," Solas spat, his voice low and dangerous. "The eluvian password was within our reach, and yet you allowed it to slip through your fingers." Felassan lifted an eyebrow, his lips quirking into a sardonic smile. "Ah, yes, the infamous password to unleash your grand design. But tell me, old friend—have you ever paused to consider that this world might not be as disposable as you’ve convinced yourself?"

Solas's nostrils flared, his hands balling into fists at his sides. "This world is but a shadow of what it once was. Our people deserve to reclaim their birthright—their magic, their immortality. How can you not see the significance of this?"

"Oh, I see it," Felassan replied, his tone light but his violet eyes sharp. "I see a man so fixated on the past that he's blind to the present." He gestured around them, at the swirling mists of the Fade. "This world, flawed as it is, holds its own worth, Solas. Can you truly justify casting it all aside?"

Solas took a step forward, his voice dropping to a hiss. "I am prepared to do whatever is required to restore our people to their former glory. Your failure risks unraveling everything we have strived to achieve." Felassan's mind raced, weighing his words carefully. He had long served Solas, but doubts had been gnawing at him, growing stronger with each passing day. The world Solas envisioned seemed increasingly hollow, a fantasy built on the ruins of a vibrant, if flawed, reality.

"And what of the people who inhabit this world?" Felassan challenged, his usual playful demeanor giving way to genuine concern. "Their lives, their stories, their loves and losses—are they all meaningless to you? Tell me, Solas, is your perfect world truly worth erasing theirs?"

Solas's eyes flashed dangerously. "You forget yourself, Felassan. Our duty is to our people—to the true elves. This world is a mistake, a tragedy born of my own folly. It falls to me to set it right."

Felassan felt the weight of millennia pressing down on him, the burden of secrets and half-truths. He sighed, running a hand through his chestnut hair. "Perhaps, old friend. But tell me—on this path to correct the mistakes of the past, have you stopped to wonder if you’re about to commit a far greater one?" The tension between them crackled like lightning, two immovable forces locked in a battle of wills. Solas's grand design hung in the balance, and Felassan found himself teetering on the edge of a precipice, unsure if he could follow his friend into the abyss that awaited.

Solas's piercing violet eyes softened, a flicker of uncertainty passing across his angular features. He turned away, gazing into the swirling mists of the Fade. "Your doubts are not without merit, Felassan," Solas conceded, his voice scarcely more than a whisper. "But we cannot waver now. The road ahead is perilous, and I need your strength beside me."

Felassan raised an eyebrow, a ghost of his usual smirk playing on his lips. "Oh? And here I thought you were about to turn me into a rather dashing statue." Solas released a tired chuckle, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "Your wit remains as sharp as ever, I see. But no, my friend—I have a far more pressing task in mind for you. The Conclave at the Temple of Sacred Ashes—you must meet me in a village called Haven. Corypheus seeks to unlock my orb, and once he does, we must be ready to reclaim it."

Felassan's violet eyes widened. "Corypheus? The ancient magistrate? Fenedhis, Solas, what have you done?"

"What was necessary," Solas said, his tone grim. "Now go. Time is against us, and the fate of our people rests on what comes next." As Felassan vanished from the Fade, Solas's words echoed in his thoughts, a warning of the impending turmoil.

* * *

Marel's eyes snapped open, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Pain lanced through her left hand, a searing agony that threatened to consume her. She struggled to focus, to make sense of her surroundings. "Where...?" she croaked, her throat raw and parched.

The heavy wooden door slammed open, jarring Marel from her thoughts. Two women strode in, their faces etched with suspicion and barely contained anger. The taller one, clad in Seeker armor, circled Marel like a predator stalking its prey. Her voice rumbled like thunder, thick with a heavy Nevarran accent that dripped with suspicion and accusation. "Tell me why we shouldn't kill you now," she demanded, her eyes narrowing in mistrust as she clenched her fists at her sides

Marel's heart raced, but she kept her face impassive. "I don't understand. What's happening?" she asked, trying to hide the fear in her voice. The other woman, hooded and cloaked in shadow, stepped forward. Her voice, low and deliberate, sliced through the tension like a blade. "The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead.” She paused, the weight of her words hanging heavy in the air, "Except for you.”

Leliana. The name came unasked to Marel's mind, though she couldn't recall how she knew it. "That's not possible," Marel said, her voice steady despite the turmoil in her chest. "I would never—"

"Explain this," Cassandra demanded, her voice sharp as steel. She seized Marel's hand, her grip firm and unrelenting. The moment their skin touched, the strange mark burned to life, flaring with an otherworldly green light. It pulsed and flickered, casting eerie shadows across their faces, as if the light itself responded to her challenge.

Marel winced, pulling her hand back. "I... I can't."

"What do you mean you can't?" Cassandra's voice cut through the room, sharp and rising with frustration. Her eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as her fingers curled into fists at her sides. The tension radiating from her was palpable, her dwindling patience crackling in the air like a storm about to break. "I don’t know what that is or how it got there," Marel said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil beneath. She knew she was innocent—of that, she was certain. But how could she convince them? How could she make them see the truth?

Leliana’s voice sliced through the charged silence, cool and sharp as a blade. "You're lying," she said, her calm tone laced with an edge of certainty. Her piercing gaze locked onto her target, unflinching, as if daring them to deny it. Marel held her ground, her green eyes steady and unwavering as they locked onto the other woman's. "I'm not," she said, her voice firm despite the tension in the air. "I have no idea what's going on." The raw honesty in her tone matched the defiance in her gaze, unflinching even under scrutiny.

"I can't believe it," she murmured, more to herself than her interrogators. "All those people... dead?" Something in her tone must have reached Leilana, for the her stance softened slightly. "Do you remember what happened? How this began?"

Marel closed her eyes, her brow furrowing as she searched the fragments of her memory. "I remember running," she said slowly, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Her hands tightened in her chains as the images flickered in her mind. "There were... things chasing me. And then..." Her breath hitched. "A woman. I think." Her words trailed off, the memory slipping away like sand through her fingers.

"A woman?" Leliana's interest was piqued. Marel opened her mouth to say more, but Cassandra stepped forward, cutting her off with a commanding tone. "Go to the forward camp, Leliana," she ordered, her gaze flicking briefly to the spymaster before returning to Marel. "I will take her to the rift." There was no room for debate in her words, her presence sharp and unyielding, like a blade poised to strike.

As Cassandra led her out, Marel’s fingers twitched, brushing against the hum of magic thrumming beneath her skin. It was familiar, steady—like a heartbeat grounding her in the chaos. But beneath that comforting pulse, something deeper stirred, ancient and vast, like a whisper from a time long forgotten. The sensation sent a shiver through her, both unnerving and intriguing. Whatever caused the mark on her palm, it was old magic.

* * *

The air crackled with arcane energy as Marel stumbled forward, her marked hand pulsing in rhythm with the writhing rift before her. Suddenly, a crossbow bolt whizzed past her ear, followed by a throaty laugh.

"Ha! Got you, you ugly bastard!"

Marel spun around to face a stocky dwarf who was in the midst of reloading a formidable crossbow. Flanking him were two agile elves, one with a solemn expression and the other with an almost playful twinkle in his striking violet eyes. Felassan grinned and called out, "Solas, on your left!" His movements were fluid and almost playful as he sidestepped the demon’s swipe, twirling his staff with an effortless flourish to knock its claws aside. "Come on now, try to keep up!" he teased, a spark of amusement in his voice despite the chaos.

The bald elf—Solas—responded with a graceful pivot, encasing the demon in ice. "Thank you, Felassan. Though I might value fewer remarks and more spells."

Marel's fingers were restless, eager to jump into the fray; however, uncertainty restrained her. These unfamiliar individuals seamlessly coordinated their movements. Felassan caught her eye, grinning as he dispatched another demon. “Well, aren’t you a sight?” He flirted, “Care to join the fray, or should I keep the party going on my own?" His light-heartedness was jarring against the chaos.

"It seems we have very different ideas of what makes a party," Marel said dryly, stepping forward with deliberate grace. She raised her staff, its faint glow illuminating the chaos around them. Solas moved beside her, his steady presence grounding her in the storm’s midst. "Your mark," Solas said, his voice low and urgent as his gaze flicked to her glowing hand. "It may be the key to closing the rift." Marel’s grip tightened on her staff, her brow furrowing. "How can you be sure?"

"I am not," he admitted, his tone steady even as he raised a shimmering barrier to deflect a demon’s claws. The air crackled with tension as his sharp eyes locked on hers. "But we must try. Allow me."

Before she could respond, Solas stepped forward, his hand encircling hers with surprising firmness. He guided her marked hand toward the pulsing rift, its chaotic light casting jagged shadows across his determined expression. A searing pain shot up Marel’s arm, pulling a sharp gasp from her lips. Yet beneath the agony, a surge of raw, unrelenting power rushed through her veins, wild and untamed. Her knees threatened to buckle, but Solas’s grip remained steady, grounding her as the mark blazed with a brilliance that seemed to defy the rift’s overwhelming force.

‘Is this what it feels like to touch the Fade itself?’ The thought swept through Marel’s mind, a whirlwind of awe and terror. The raw power coursing through her mark was unlike anything she had ever known—wild, infinite, and almost alive. It was as though the very fabric of the Fade pressed against her soul, overwhelming and wonder. The rift surged before them, its jagged edges pulsing erratically, expanding and contracting like a living, breathing entity on the verge of breaking free. Its light spilled across the battlefield in blinding waves, and for a heart-stopping moment, Marel felt the crushing weight of its pull. The air itself seemed to tremble, thick with the promise of chaos.

A flicker of panic gripped her chest. Then came the crack—a sharp, deafening sound that split the air, reverberating in her bones. The rift convulsed violently, its pulsating energy twisting inward before stabilizing into a jagged tear. The relentless stream of demons halted, their forms dissolving into nothingness as silence fell, oppressive and final. Marel stumbled, her chest heaving, the mark dimming on her hand as the otherworldly power slipped away, leaving only the ghost of its presence behind.

Solas released her hand with deliberate care, his shoulders easing as a wave of relief softened his sharp features. For a moment, his usual composure faltered, and a faint smile flickered across his lips. "It seems my theory was correct," he said, his voice quieter now, almost admiring. Marel flexed her fingers, the mark still thrumming with an otherworldly energy that sent shivers up her arm. Her brow furrowed as she turned her hand over, the faint glow still pulsing beneath her skin. "What did you do?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion and curiosity.

"I did nothing," Solas replied, his gaze unwavering, the intensity in his eyes making her breath catch. "The credit is yours. The mark—it resonates with you alone. You wielded its power." His tone was calm, yet there was something beneath it—a flicker of admiration, perhaps, or respect for what she had just accomplished. Cassandra stepped forward, her brows furrowed in thought, “Meaning it could also close the breach itself?” She asked.

Solas turned to face Cassandra. “Possibly,” he replied before turning back to Marel. “It seems you hold the key to our salvation,” he remarked. The dwarf with the intricate crossbow adds, “Good to know! Here I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever,” His tone is both serious and playful as he introduced himself. “Varric Tethras. Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong,” he said with a wink directed at Cassandra.

Marel stared at the dwarf. “Are you with the chantry or…?” she asks hesitantly. Solas chuckled, “Was that a serious question?” he asked. Varric shrugged casually, tugging at the cuff of his jacket as though discussing the weather instead of his predicament. “Technically, I’m a prisoner, just like you,” he said, his tone light but edged with a wry humor.

Cassandra crossed her arms, her frown deepening. “I brought you here to recount a story for the Divine. Clearly, that plan no longer holds.” Varric’s grin widened, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “And yet, here I am,” he said, gesturing broadly as though to emphasize his presence. “Lucky for you, too, considering… well, current events.” His voice carried an unmistakable hint of smugness, as though even imprisonment hadn’t diminished his knack for being indispensable.

Marel watched their exchange in silence, her gaze thoughtful but guarded. Finally, she offered a small nod and said, “It’s good to meet you, Varric.”

Solas, standing just beside her, folded his arms with a faint smirk. “You may find reason to reconsider that sentiment… in time.”

Varric let out a low chuckle, leaning casually on his crossbow. “Aww, don’t be like that, Chuckles. I’m sure we’ll be the best of friends by the time we’re done with this valley.” His grin widened as he tilted his head toward Marel.

“My name is Solas,” he said, his voice calm and measured as he stepped forward, inclining his head slightly in acknowledgment. “If there are to be introductions. I am pleased to see you still live,” His tone carried a faint undercurrent of curiosity, as though already appraising the significance of her survival. Varric raised a hand, his tone dripping with playful sarcasm. “He means, ‘I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’”

Marel’s eyes shifted from Varric to Solas, her expression calm but searching. She tilted her head slightly, her curiosity evident as she met his steady gaze. “You seem to know a great deal about it all,” she remarked, her voice soft but laced with quiet intrigue. Cassandra’s tone was clipped as she addressed Marel. “Like you, Solas and his companion are apostates.”

Solas responded with a nonchalant shrug, his demeanor calm but unyielding. “Technically, Cassandra, all mages are apostates now,” he said, his words carrying an air of inevitability. His gaze turned toward the breach, its chaotic energy casting harsh shadows across his sharp features. “My travels have allowed me to learn much of the Fade, far beyond the experience of any circle mage.” He shifted his focus back to the group, his voice steady but grave. “I came to offer what help I can. If the breach is not closed, it will consume us all. If it is not closed, we are all doomed, regardless of origin.”

Felassan leaned on his staff, a playful glint in his violet eyes. “Felassan,” he said with a lazy smile, inclining his head just enough to seem polite. “Witty observer, occasional meddler, and—lucky for you—an expert at surviving all manner of unpleasantness.” He glanced at Marel, one brow lifting. “I have to say, you’re handling this whole ‘catastrophic disaster’ thing remarkably well. First time, or are you a veteran of world-ending chaos?” He paused, his smirk widening as his gaze flicked to Solas. “And before you ask—no, I’m not with the Chantry either. Too many rules.”

“I am Marel.” Marel’s lips curved into a faint, wry smile at Felassan’s remark. "First time, actually. But at this rate, I might end up an expert before too long."

Felassan’s smirk widened, his violet eyes glinting with amusement. “Ah, a quick learner. Good—Thedas could always use another expert in impending doom. Though, fair warning, the job comes with long hours and questionable company.” Cassandra made a disgusted noise. "This is hardly the time for jests," she said, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword. "We must reach the forward camp quickly."

The group trudged through the snow-covered valley, their footsteps crunching with each step. Solas broke the silence by initiating conversation. "You are Dalish, yet clearly away from the rest of your clan," Solas observed, his violet eyes studying her intently. "Did they send you here?" The question caught Marel off-guard. She hesitated, memories of her clan—of home—flooding her mind. "No," she replied softly. A lie. "I came of my own accord. To observe the Conclave, to understand what was happening in the world beyond our that could impact the People."

‘And now I'm at the center of it all’, she thought, a wave of loneliness threatening to overwhelm her. Marel took a deep breath, steadying herself. The weight of recent events pressed upon her, but curiosity sparked in her eyes as she regarded Solas. "What do you know of the Dalish?" she asked, her voice a mixture of challenge and genuine interest.

Solas's expression shifted, a flicker of something—regret or possibly frustration—passing over his features before settling into a mask of polite neutrality. "I have wandered many roads in my time," he replied, his tone measured, "and crossed paths with your people on more than one occasion." As he spoke, Marel found herself studying the apostate elf more closely. His posture, the way he held himself apart—it spoke of years of solitary travel. She wondered what encounters he might have had with her people, what stories lay behind his carefully chosen words. Your people, not our. ‘There's more he isn't saying’, she thought, noting the slight tension in his jaw. “What do you mean by ‘crossed paths,’ then?” Marel pressed, her tone quiet but insistent, her sharp gaze fixed on Solas as they walked.

He tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable but tinged with a faint bitterness. “I mean,” he began evenly, “that I offered to share knowledge, only to be attacked for no greater reason than their superstition.” His voice carried a measured calm, but a flicker of disdain crossed his face. His words hung in the air, a subtle edge of frustration underlying his otherwise composed demeanor. Felassan shook his head with a dramatic sigh, glancing at Marel. “What he means to say is, people tend to overreact when faced with someone who uses ‘sharing knowledge’ as a conversational icebreaker. A tragic flaw of his, really.” he remarked, glancing at Solas with a faint smirk.

Marel’s expression remained calm, but her green eyes sharpened with quiet intensity, as if peeling back the layers of his words. “Sharing knowledge is meant to build trust, not provoke conflict,” she said, her tone steady yet probing. “So what was different this time?”

Solas opened his mouth to respond, but Felassan cut in with a chuckle. "Oh, I'm sure our wandering friend here has tales aplenty. But perhaps we should save the cultural exchange for when we're not standing in the shadow of impending doom, hmm?"

Varric cleared his throat, breaking the tense silence that had fallen over the group. His eyes darted between Solas and Marel, a wry smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Can't you elves just play nice for once?" he quipped, his tone light but tinged with exasperation. Marel felt a flush creep up her neck, suddenly aware of how the conversation must have sounded to outsiders. "You’re right," she said, her posture straightening with resolve. "We should keep moving." Her green eyes met Solas’s, steady and thoughtful. "But later, if you’re willing, I’d like to hear more about your travels."

"Oh, Varric," Felassan drawled, his violet eyes sparkling with barely contained amusement. "Where is the fun? Centuries of cultural confusion make for the best stories—and even better awkward silences at the table." He cast Marel a conspiratorial wink, the corners of her lips twitching despite the weight of the moment. ‘How does he manage to diffuse tension so effortlessly?’ Marel wondered, studying Felassan's relaxed posture. His relaxed posture stood in stark contrast to the tension thick in the air, as if the looming threat of the Breach above them was little more than a passing inconvenience.

Solas, for his part, looked less than amused. His brow furrowed slightly as he regarded Felassan, a silent exchange passing between them that Marel couldn't quite decipher. She felt a pang of curiosity about their relationship, sensing layers of history and unspoken words beneath the surface. “Perhaps,” Marel interjected, her tone cutting through the tension like a blade, “we could save the cultural debates for when we’re not standing in the middle of a demon-infested ruin?” She lifted her marked hand, the green energy rippling faintly along her fingers, its pulse eerily not synchronized with her heartbeat, but someone else’s. Her gaze shifted between the others, calm but firm, a silent reminder of the more immediate threat surrounding them.

* * *

The air was thick with the hum of magic, the pulsing green rift tearing into the world like a festering wound as they enter the Temple of Sacred Ashes. Marel stood at its edge, her staff gripped tightly in one hand, the mark on her other hand burning faintly as if responding to the nearness of the rift. The energy was familiar, almost intimate, as though it recognized her. A shiver ran down her spine. Solas stepped closer, his voice soft but pointed. “This is where it began. You feel the echoes of it, don’t you?”

Marel nodded, her eyes fixed on the rift. The closer she got, the clearer the world around her seemed to shift. The present blurred with something… else.

“Someone help me,” a voice called out, “You must stop him.”

Cassandra’s breath hitched, her eyes widening as if struck by a sudden revelation. “That voice…” she gasped, her words laced with both awe and disbelief. “It’s Divine Justinia!”

Felassan, lounging a few paces behind, straightened slightly, his lighthearted tone cutting through the tension. “Echoes, memories, ancient magic—always so dramatic, aren’t they?”

Marel glanced over at him, her demeanor calm yet cautious. "I hope you're not taking this lightly," she said with a hint of concern in her voice. Felassan tilted his head, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. "Lightly? Never. I simply find that a well-timed joke makes impending doom so much more bearable." His violet eyes sparkled with mischief, but there was a flicker of something deeper beneath his playful tone. Without hesitation, she stepped closer to the rift. The others—Cassandra, Varric, Solas, and Felassan—watched, wary but unwilling to interfere. Her own voice echoed in the ruins of the temple: “What’s going on here?” The mark on her hand flared to life as she reached out, the green light pulling her into its depths.

Cassandra gasped, “That was your voice! Most-holy called out to you, but…”

The Fade surged around Marel, not the vibrant realm of dreams she knew, but a fractured, chaotic reflection of the world. A woman, robed in white and gold, bound in shimmering chains of light, knelt before an imposing male figure shrouded in shadow. The woman—Divine Justinia V—lifted her head, her gaze piercing through the haze.

“Run while you can! Warn them!” the Divine called to her. The imposing male figure shrouded in shadow spoke, “We have an intruder. Slay the elf.” The vision fades with a blast of power.

Cassandra turned towards her, voice sharp with urgency. "You were there! Who was the attacker? And what about the Divine? Is she...? Was the vision we saw real? What does it mean?"

“I don’t know—I don’t remember!” Marel said, her voice steady but laced with frustration, as if trying to grasp at something just out of reach. Solas spoke, his tone deliberate and reflective. "What we witnessed may well have been a memory, preserved within the Fade—a fragment of events from when the Breach first tore through this place. The Fade's presence here is unmistakable, seeping into the world around us."

Felassan, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, his usual grin replaced by a rare seriousness. “If it’s a memory, why doesn’t she remember it? The mark on her hand ties her to all this, doesn’t it?”

"Or it was taken from her," Solas replied, his gaze narrowing as it fixed on the rift. "This rift is not sealed, merely closed... for now. With the mark, I believe it can be reopened and then properly sealed—safely. However, doing so will almost certainly draw attention from the other side."

Cassandra nods and signals to the soldiers around them, her voice calm but urgent. "That means demons. Stand ready!"

The rift loomed ahead, its luminous aura flickering and distorting the air around it. Marel Lavellan stood at the front, her marked hand pulsing with a fiery glow as she neared the rift. Its powerful magic seemed to call out to her, in sync with the rhythm of her heartbeat. Determined, she extended her marked hand towards the rift and the light intensified, blinding and intense. The ground beneath them rumbled, and a deafening roar echoed from within the rift. A massive figure began to emerge—a hulking Pride demon wreathed in green fire, its form twisted and grotesque. Its prideful eyes gleamed as it surveyed the group.

As the mark on her arm flared with pain, Marel stumbled backwards and the demon advanced towards her. "Get your weapons ready!" Cassandra commanded, lifting her shield and charging forward without hesitation. The fight commenced. Cassandra blocked a swipe of the demon’s massive claws, the force of the blow driving her to one knee. “Marel, we can’t hold this thing forever!” she called out, swinging her sword to deflect another strike. Varric let out a low whistle as he fired bolts at the demon’s exposed side.

Solas raised his staff, a blast of ice struck the demon’s flaming arm, causing it to recoil with a howl. Felassan darted around the battlefield with surprising grace, flinging bursts of magic at the demon’s head. “Keep its attention off her!” he yelled, pointing toward Marel. “She’s the one who can end this.”

Marel’s heart pounded as she staggered closer to the rift, the mark on her hand blazing painfully bright. The closer she got, the more the rift seemed to pull at her, as though trying to consume her entirely. “Focus, Marel,” Felassan called, his usual teasing tone replaced with rare urgency. “It’s you or the demon—decide quickly.” The mark connected with the rift, sending a blast of green energy rippling outward. The Pride demon roared in pain, momentarily stunned as the rift’s power turned against it.

“Now!” Cassandra shouted, driving her blade into the demon’s leg. Solas and Felassan unleashed coordinated bursts of magic, striking at the demon’s weakened form. Varric’s bolts embedded themselves in its chest, one after another. Marel poured everything she had into the mark, her vision narrowing as the rift began to respond. The demon howled again, its form flickering like a flame in a storm. It lashed out wildly, sending Cassandra sprawling and nearly catching Varric with its claws.

“It’s weakening!” Solas called. “Hold it off a little longer!”

Marel gritted her teeth, stepping closer to the rift despite the searing pain in her arm. She could feel the power pulling at her, but she refused to let go. “Just… a little more!” The Pride demon made one final lunge toward her, its claws outstretched. Felassan intercepted with a blast of energy that sent it reeling. “Now!” he yelled. Marel let out a cry as she channeled the mark's power into the rift. The energy exploded outward, enveloping the Pride demon and pulling it back into the tear. The rift trembled violently, its glow intensifying before imploding with a deafening snap. Marel's sight dimmed as she channeled the last of her energy into the mark, her body quaking under the intense surge of power. The final burst of magic closed the portal, pulling the Pride demon into oblivion, but it drained her completely. And then, everything went dark.

* * *

As they made their way through the gates, a sense of heavy burden enveloped the group. The looming threat of the Breach weighed heavily on their minds, serving as a constant reminder of the chaos that awaited them. Felassan's attention was drawn to Cassandra carrying the unconscious body of Marel, her marked hand clenching tightly without her even realizing it. Felassan came to a realization: she was the key. Not only in sealing the rifts, but in altering the course of everything. Even for Solas.

"We face an uncertain path," Solas said softly, his eyes on the distant horizon. "But with determination and wisdom, we may yet prevail."

Felassan snorted. "Always the optimist, aren't you?" But his tone lacked its usual bite. Instead, he found himself studying Marel, noting the steel in her spine, the quiet resolve in her eyes. ‘Perhaps’, he thought, ‘there's hope for us all yet.’

[buckleybltch]

Do you think we’ll get some kind of hint about the chance of Tommy being back or is too soon? What is your speculation for Buck this week?

i honestly genuinely don’t know, but I have two trains of thought:

1. IF (very, very big if) Tim has had it planned from the beginning for BuckTommy to be following the romcom route and there is a planned reconciliation, then it could go either way next ep. Considering we haven’t even heard about Christopher and that’s meant to be a big plot line, I’m not expecting the show to be showing us more BuckTommy so soon, even if it’s a simple mention of Tommy in some obscure context. I simply don’t think the episodes are long enough for that. In an ideal world, sure, Buck might make another mention of Tommy just to keep the plot going and in viewers minds, but I think it’s unlikely. Should there be a planned reconciliation, I don’t think it will come till 8x10 at the earliest because the midseason finale and the spring premier should (in theory) be a two parter focused on an emergency with (most likely) no space for large character storylines outside the main plot.

2. I don’t really think Tim has it all planned out that far. They’ve wrapped filming on 8x09 but for all we know, not much beyond that has been written or even conceptualised. Tim has always been the “see where it goes” person, I think he likes to go with the flow rather than follow a strict plot he’s set himself, he likes to see where the story takes him, so part of me believes he hasn’t thought far enough in advance to know what’s going to happen. So, again, it could go either way.

For the most part, I don’t see any large BuckTommy mentions possibly coming till 8x10 or after, with the exception of Buck possibly mentioning Tommy in passing in 8x08 or 8x09, but this depends on if their relationship has been planned out beyond the breakup. I have plenty of thoughts already about Tommy’s text bubble being included in 8x07 and what it means, but if there is no future for their relationship, then there’s no reason to have a Tommy mention in the next two episodes. That being said, it doesn’t mean there’s no future if he isn’t mentioned, it just depends on what’s planned for them. Even if he doesn’t get mentioned, the door is still open for him to come back.

IF (another very big if) there is a Tommy mention in either 8x08 or 8x09 then I think that’s a good sign- usually we only get one mention of Buck’s exes in the episodes following a breakup, and that’s to tell Eddie that they broke up (or some variation- see 7x01 and 6x01 with Natalia and Taylor). Usually the exes are done and gone (with the exception of Abby, but she was also a main. so). However, it’s not a bad sign if we don’t. Not every episode is about Buck and what he’s going through; Denny got hit by a car in 8x06 and we didn’t hear anything about it in 8x07- many plots just go into the background.

I genuinely think Tim only has vague ideas of what he wants to happen and then he just sees where the story goes and where it takes him. We’ve already had two BuckTommy heavy episodes (8x05 and 8x06) so I dont see another one coming for a while either way. There’s other storylines that need wrapping up. Eddie needs to resolve the Christopher situation, Bobby and Athena need to build their house… These have been going on since season seven and have yet to be resolved, and I’m honestly disappointed that the Christopher plot has been on the back burner for so long.

If Tommy does come back, it’s going to take longer than we’d like because of all the other plots the show has to work through. A lot of plots go on the back burner with the intent to continue them, but other things take priority, so they drag on, leaving the viewers a bit like “???” (much like the Christopher plot line- wdym he’s been in Texas for six months and counting). I think and hope it’s a very real possibility that Tommy will return, but I also think we overestimate how much thought goes into the plot lines. It would be perfect if we were right and this is a long romcom plot and we’re just in the third act breakup, but I don’t know if I believe that’s how it’s being written. Might be a fluke, might be intentional.

The episodes are only so long and there’s so many characters and plots to work through. Buck’s had his spotlight episodes, now it’s time to move on to the other characters. They can only include so much in each episode, and we know that scenes get cut, so it won’t shock me if there’s no mention of Tommy for this reason. At the same time, I honestly don’t know if it’s been planned out this far and this show isn’t the best at foreshadowing, so even if a reconciliation is planned I don’t know if we’ll see much of it. The upcoming episodes aren’t about Buck so I’m not expecting his plot to continue in the spotlight right now. Truthfully, I’m not expecting Buck to get much screen time at all in the next eps if the pattern continues- the focus will be on someone else.

In summary, I will be very shocked if we do see Tommy in the next two eps. I think it’s 50/50 on if Buck mentions Tommy. If there’s a reconciliation, I don’t know if it’s already been planned or if Tim is still seeing where the story takes him, and I don’t think it’ll be till later in 8b if it happens.

Of course, I could be horrifically wrong and we’ve all been conned, and they’ve already planned, written, or filmed a reconciliation, but I think it’s highly unlikely. I don’t think the plot is going to continue till mid 8b, if it continues at all. I’m keeping a very open mind about all of this.

We can all hope for things to happen, such as Tommy returning and BuckTommy reconciling, but what we can’t do is expect them. I would love it if they get back together, even if it takes till mid 8b, but I do not expect it to happen. The show will take the course it wants to take and we might be let down- that’s the risk in watching TV instead of creating your own content. As long as Buck is alive, whatever plots his character goes through, I will be happy. I would be happier if Buck and Tommy were together, but for me? I win either way. I just want the characters to be happy and live.

Hopefully this is all coherent and makes sense :)

[voikiraz]

— through the camera . >< [ n.jm ]

Lovers . stranger to possibly lover!jaemin x fem!reader w. umm reader wears makeup, mentions of alcohol but no one consumed it thats it i think Step ? #751 M.recordings ! [ this was supposed to be just a thought. ]

syn. Your friend finally convinced you to go to a partie with her, and what you meet is way better than you expected

“Hurry! We’ll be late,” your best friend complained from the passenger seat, living up to the passenger princess title.

“Girl it's not something I can control, relax” You let out a breathy laugh at her eagerness, even though you were still pissed from the traffic, she just always made you cheery no matter what.

You were also somewhat excited, for the first time, she convinced you to go to one of her lame parties, you weren't super fond of parties, often finding peace in your alone time, where you enjoy doing your tasks in your room, under the calm breeze of winter.

But you felt like today was different, you wanted to go out, listen to music, dance a little and let go of some pressure, so when she invited you to go with her for the hundredth time, you said yes, catching the girl so off guard.

You two got ready together, picking up outfits for each other, and you let her experiment with your look for the day, makeup, hair, etc.

You felt different, but not bad different, you liked this, it felt like finally letting go of your worries, and accepting new experiences.

“Please play anything to waste time, if I hear one more honk I might go insane” you let out with a huff, and your friend followed, playing your shared playlist, and as you let the outside noise fall on deaf ears and moved with the songs, you found yourselves at the destination in no time.

As you entered the place, it was way different than what you expected, you thought it would have purple and blue lights everywhere, red solo cups on the floor, and crazy teenagers doing god knows what at a party at this time.

It was way too different, yet you were instantly hooked.

Wooden big swings decorated the corners of the open space, martini glasses on the fancy bar counter, a band standing on a small stage performing a jazz club-worthy song — you loved it all.

“Hello? I did not expect it to be like this” You got closer to your friend so she could hear you over the music, your voice sounding in awe.

She giggled at your reaction, “See, I told you you’d like it,” she looked around, finally seeing the boy she was here for, her ‘friend’, once she locked down his place she looked back at you.

“Come on, my friends are over there.” You followed after her.

You saw her friend whom you recognized from seeing him a few times and a guy next to him who you had never seen before, you talked a little bit and within minutes, you were left alone with the mystery boy who you later learned that his name is jaemin.

After chatting a little bit, you felt him pulling you towards the stage where the band was performing.

“This is my favorite song of theirs, I think you’ll like it,” he said with a sheepish smile, then he faced them and started singing along.

You stared at him. You didn't know what his deal was, but you were dying to figure it out. Everything about him was so inviting and alluring. The way he talked about the things he liked, even his smile, felt way too genuine. He pulled you in like the currents.

As you were losing yourself to the thought of him, you noticed him pulling out a camera, taking pictures of the band, capturing the moment so he could relive it for however long he wished, what you didn't expect is for him to capture you along his precious memories.

He turned to you, telling you to pose and you watched the huge smile that made its way on his face when you smiled for the camera, he snapped a few pictures, and he made a few comments about how they were museum-worthy. Your breath hitched and a red hue made its way to your cheeks.

You took the camera from him, telling him it was his time to get captured just like you, you watched him make some silly faces and poses, successfully pulling a few giggles out of you.

“So tell me” he started once the laughter had calmed down, and the music worked as background noise.

He stared at you so intensely you felt your insides dancing.

You were long gone thats for certain.

“Can I take out the pretty girl that made her way into my camera? And possibly into my heart?” 

© voikiraz 2O24

[katerinaaqu]

Hehe yeah i guess you could say that it's the timezone that made me finally clarify it after like 5 posts of it, though I genuinely love your analysis posts, idk why but i simply found myself smiling so damn widely whenever i read one of them.

Also another question i just thought (sorry if i have too many questions), i read from some sites that Eurylochus was cowardly and an unpleasant man (also i once read that after Odysseus got his man back after Circe turn them back to normal, Eurylochus insults him, I guess? Then Odysseus was tempted to kill him but the crew hold him back, idk if it's true or not), so with him being second in command, do you think that the crew would treat him differently despite his position as second? Like they would be a bit skeptical of Eurylochus or do they just respect him the same as Odysseus?

Genuinely sorry if this sounds like a stupid question, i am a very curious person.

Hahaha I understand 👍 and I also understand that not everyone wants to write their asks with their username so the adittional questions could be answered with reblogs or comments 😅 hehe I absolutely understand

Oh my that is so kind of you to say. Thank you very much! 🫶

Not at all it is a very good question and not stupid at all so here's what I think;

Like I mentioned before Eurylochus has been named Odysseus's rival in one way and most of the time he is seen opposing Odysseus either because he is scared or because he has had enough with the situation. Yes after Circe's adventure for example Odysseus goes to the beach to inform them on the change of the situation and Eurylochus opposes. He says that if they go then Circe would transform them all to pigs or wolves and lions to guard her palace and then he insults Odysseus by saying:

"And so had (followed) insolent Odysseus and so because of his recklessness they perished"

(Translation by me)

So basically he straight out insults Odysseus in front of everyone and Odysseus indeed had it and he did consider to kill him;

So he spoke and I was seriously considering whether to draw my pointy sword that was hanging from my thick hip and strike him there and then and take his head even if he was my brother in law (lit: kin by marriage) if it weren't of my other companions to restrain me with soft words

(Translation by me)

However I should say it is an unfair characteristic to call him "cowardly" or "unpleasant" all the time given what he has been through in the arduous trip and all and much of what he said was correct and his fears justified although spoken out of disrespect which was also kinda understandable given how tough their situation was.

Now for the main question it is hard to tell. Although I wouldn't go as far as to say they respected him the same as Odysseus. Odysseus was not just their king but he was also someone with so much knowledge talent and on top of that he was known to have direct contact with the gods. Which is why no one ever directly rebelled against him apart from Eurylochus himself or never staged a mutiny against him. I analyze most of it in some other analysis of mine

Odysseus was what kept them going. However Eurylochus does seem to be a character with plenty of influence. Perhaps the fact that he was the closest to Odysseus in terms of being his brother in law or the fact he was a prince himself and so he did have knowledge to rule was definitely the next possible candidate to take over things. However his power of persuasion seems to be the strongest when they all hit their lowest part; when they got desperate or hungry. Eurylochus persuaded them to slay the cows of Helios and he didn't deny to them the possibility of that meaning their death. But he also mentioned how death in the sea seemed quicker and more preferable than dying of hunger. In one way he is an influential figure but no. Once Odysseus takes over there is no doubt who has the most respect amidst their peers.

I hope this answers the question and it is not stupid at all. It is very intriguing and very important for the Odyssey. It shows how someone like Eurylochus openly insults or challenges Odysseus's leadership and why his peers seem to allow it. In fact Eurylochus brings many valid points and his behavior like come on who wouldn't be scared or worried for their safety and the rest of the men after what they had been through? And Eurylochus has stayed till the end in that nasty situation

[islassour]

luke castellan x reader angst plsss

ofc. 🫡

you should've come over.

luke castellan x reader

you always thought of that day that luke had left camp to serve kronos. you thought that you would've changed his mind if you didn't have that argument over him sneaking out, you really, really regretted everything you'd said. did he regret it too? only the gods above would know.

it trailed back into your head everyday as you passed by the hermes cabin, it was a bit more quiet and less hyper-active as it was. you missed the sound of them messing around and their stupid pillow fights they'd have almost every day.

"do you understand how worried i was?!" you whisper-shouted as you walked along the forest trail. it was only a month ago now.

'you need to chill out," luke rolled his eyes. "i got back here just fine, it was a little bit of fun thats it."

"it might have been, but i was genuinely gonna freak and go ask connor where you were at, and i really do not like that kid." you stated bluntly.

"can't you just come over to my cabin and i'll make it up to you? please?" he pleaded, his tone etched with annoyance.

"unlike you, i don't break the camp rules." you mumbled, glancing at him softly. "we'll just talk about this tomorrow, besides the celebrations on for percy-"

"oh my fucking gods. percy this, percy that, can you please stop talking about this kid?" he groaned again as he stopped in his tracks.

"what has gotten into you recently?" you took a step towards him with a mixture of concern and anger on your expression. "you've been really strange ever since you came back from your quest and its killing me not knowing whats up with you."

"oh come on, are you really that paranoid on everything?" he grunted with his hand running through his hair. "just- just please act like your not upset with me, not tonight."

"what makes this so different to any other night?" you scoffed. "don't make up stupid excuses cause you know i'm right."

"just stop getting so worried!" he snapped, immediate regret on his expression. "shit- i'm sorry, i really am-"

"what the fuck is up your ass?!" you yelled as your arms flew into the air for a split second. "you know- ugh forget it. i'll speak to you in the morning."

"no come on, don't do this." he shook his head, taking your forearm into his hand as he tried to tug you back. "please i really am sorry."

"your apologies don't mean anything to me right now." you scowled, you could tell he meant it but you were angry and upset.

"please." he begged, he acted as if he wouldn't be here ever again.

"goodnight, luke, i will see you in the morning." you growled, the passive aggressive tone in your voice thick.

little did you know, it really was the last day he would step foot in camp. and your heart ached, to hear his soothing words and feel his kind hands again.

[physics-of-one-piece]

Fizzy... Fizzy come closer...!

Your last post made me think!

What about Jealous Doffy? Jealous of that man at the bar thats flirting with his dead Brothers wife?! How dare he, am i right? How dare he have the audacity. Doesn't he know she had a husband?

Doesn't that poor man know Doffy takes care of her now? And He will be yeeted out of the next window by Doffy in a moment?!

And the bittersweet realization that Doffy feels the same for his brothers wife?!

What will Doffy do with that 😭😭

Hehehe, (comes closer) @daydreamer-in-training hii ❤️❤️❤️

I have been literally thinking about that exact situation today. It will be in the fic, don't you worry. Jealous Doffy is always active in that fic.

Those are his exact thoughts, help 😭

Doflamingo becomes like this if anyone flirts or (god forbid) touches you.

Yeeted out the window? Oh no.

No no no no. That's too light a punishment in Doflamingo's mind.

I genuinely think he takes out a gun and shoots the guy point blank. One moment the random guy is standing/sitting in front of you, the next, BANG! and the guy is on the floor, dead.

I don't think to him the realisation he feels like that for you is bittersweet. I think he figures out his own feelings and goes "yeah, that's natural. It's only natural I started feeling this way" bcs the guy still is working with that Celestial Dragon upbringing in mind. And guess what? You would've been his wife a day after Rosi died if they lived in Mariejois. He could choose to marry you, not just take care of you.

I think there is a tiny sliver of guilt or a "fuck, goddammit" that he feels. I mean, could I make him wrestle with that feeling? Yes. But do I think he as a character would think about the morality of it which is necessary to cause the aforementioned internal conflict? No.

His "internal conflict" will much more be him being angry Reader isn't figuring out what he feels for her (which fits Doflamingo's lack of properly communicating his emotions just as he most likely 99% certainly never explained to Baby 5 why he went around killing her "suitors") + he doesn't feel the need to explain himself. Why should a god give reasons for his actions or verbally communicate his emotions? You should figure that out on your own. When you don't do that, he's going to have to tell you point blank and he is pissed about it. He doesn't like talking about his emotions to such a deep degree, I think. It makes him feel vulnerable.

In short, RIP any guy who flirts with you.

[forestsareprettycool]

Vivid Dream about Shifting: A storytime

Holy crap I just had the most insane vivid dream about shifting, and I didn't even realise it was a dream for a while. Basically, I haven't really been having lucid and vivid dreams recently, and it's been weird cause I don't know how to function without them. I'm not gonna lie, but school messes with this stuff!! Yesterday, I decided to read some affirmations and just ignore the 3d for a while because it's bull. I had one vivid dream tonight that I remembered really well that didn't have anything to do with shifting. I woke up, wrote the dream down in my notes app, watched a YouTube video, and went back to sleep cause I was dozing off.

In the dream, I was in bed, and everything started feeling weird. Suddenly, I found myself in my chair, right next to my bed, and my eyes were closed. The chair started spinning. I felt it spinning like I feel my phone in my hands right now. After a while, I felt my environment change, and I opened my eyes. I was in this room with a bunch of people who felt familiar, but I couldn't tell you who they were. After this, I kept trying to shift again, but this time, to my DR. I swear to you that I kept seeing, feeling, and hearing stuff from my DR, and it was genuinely such an amazing experience. It was so loud in the room, though, that I decided to go find another room or area in this reality. I went downstairs, and I found a few members of my family there. I also noticed that it was my grandparents' house. I told them I was going outside, and I did. In the garden there were so many animals, it was so wonderful to see. I could tell this had traits of a lucid dream then, and I knew I could do whatever I wanted to. So I flew into the sky and sat on a cloud. As you do. (flying is so natural to us. Why can't we do it in this reality? It never fails to confuse me. I was meant to fly..) On the cloud, I started affirming and felt the world spin again, and BAM, guess what? I shifted once more. This time, I was in a room that looked like one of those tiny toilets, but it was not a toilet. (lmao) Outside, there was a bunch of people roaming around. And I probably closed my eyes and started getting glimpses of my DR again.

Honestly, I really needed this!! I feel incredibly motivated and happy that I had this dope experience. And again, this did not feel like a dream. It was so incredibly vivid that it confused me. But as a lucid dreamer, I know this does happen. Anyway, do y'all have any thoughts? Also, if you want shifting/lucid dreaming updates and stories, let me know. I'd love to do that.