#Words Hard lmao

[orcelito]

would i spent over a hundred dollars on a reference pic for my fanfic?

yes.

[pimsri]

Happy Valentine's <3

[meamiki]

silly comic based on a time i struggled to read live on stream :thumbsup:

context clip compilation below ASDASDFASA

(cw for brief mention of hospitals/strokes)

[vaguely-concerned]

thinking about not only the specific people lucanis pulls in to represent the 'locks' in his psyche, but the storytelling that happens in the structure/order of them. the underlying ideas are presented something like:

the lucanis who went into the ossuary never came back out again; he died down there (the boy caterina raised is gone forever) -> you're putting yourself in danger doing this (by being close to me), you should leave because I can't bear it if you get hurt because of me -> it doesn't matter even if we do try this, it won't work anyway (again because of me) ('you know what he's like, you can open the door but he won't walk through it' :'( oofie doofie) -> what if the real secret is that there was never anything but the monster in here from the beginning. you should leave, there was never anything here worth saving in the first place. (implicitly: what if I deserved what happened, all along.)

it runs pretty cleanly from outward-oriented attachment anxiety ('caterina won't even want me back like this, she won't recognize me (the same way I no longer recognize myself)) and gradually deeper inwards until we reach self-image and self worth. or you know, the harrowing basic lack of it lol.

"careful -- they'll know we're not right," spite says in one of their first scenes... but clearly, some very deep part of lucanis has feared or suspected for much longer than that that there's something inherently not right at the core of him, way before any demon entered the picture. and the voice he gives those lines to is the person who should know him better than anyone in the world, who he has loved more than anyone in the world -- and who deliberately chose to hurt him so horrifically anyway. 'It's better if I'm just a monster and deserved what happened than it is to allow for the idea that the brother I love doesn't really exist and maybe never did'. it's better if he's fundamentally flawed in some way that needed fixing to help him survive, and that's why caterina chose to hurt him again and again -- out of love. (this one I think he might have a very sad wakeup call on one day if he ever ends up with the responsibility and care of a child of his own in some way and realizes just how alien the idea of ever intentionally hurting them for any reason is to him. oh buddy. also interesting that he keeps caterina as the outermost lock -- there IS a distance he keeps there that he hasn't with illario. he doesn't resent her 'anymore' he says, but he also keeps her carefully further away from his deepest self.)

as far as I could tell the only note in the mind prison that's fully hidden and needs to be uncovered is the sad painful helpless stupid little truth that even after all this, even knowing what happened... he still loves his brother. is there anything illario could ever do that would make lucanis completely stop loving him, do you think? sometimes the trouble with unconditional love is that it is, well. unconditional, even when some terms and conditions probably would have been in order haha.

that's the pattern you see there again and again; he would rather destroy and abandon and imprison himself at every turn than let go of love, even when it's just scraps, even when there's only ever enough of it to hurt him. it's only when rook shows up and as it were takes his hand and walks along with him that he can entertain the idea of changing the story of what walking out the door might mean in the end.

[steddieonbigboy]

Sleepwalkin'

written for @steddiemicrofic april prompt ‘fool’ wc: 454 | rated: T | cw: implied sexual content | read on ao3

🛌🛌🛌

Eddie stirs at the sound of shuffling footsteps and gets jolted awake as Steve drops face-first onto the bed.

"Mhmph. Where've you been?"

"Sleepwalkin'."

"Do anything fun?"

"I got into bed with Wayne." He mumbles into the pillow.

"Wait. What?!" Eddie sits up with a crazed grin, suddenly wide awake, "Steve, sweetheart, that's fucking hilarious."

"Yeah, Wayne thought so too," He rolls onto his side to face Eddie," I, on the other hand, am slightly mortified."

"Baby, I'm sorry but that is actually so funny. What did he say when he woke you up?"

"That's the thing! He didn't! So I obviously woke him up when I, y'know crawled into his bed and cuddled up to him-"

"You cuddled him?! Stevie, be careful, that's the most action he's gotten in years, he's gonna fall in love with you!"

"Fuck off," He reaches across to slap Eddie's shoulder, "Anyway, he just left me to sleep! I woke up to him snoring with his arm around me, and I was so fucking confused."

"How long were you there? I woke up earlier and you were gone but I just thought you were in the bathroom or something. Didn’t realise you’d deserted me."

"Probably like half the fucking night. I went back to sleep after I’d woken up because his bed’s comfier than yours. I only came back in because he went to work and I got cold."

"Is a bed warmer all I am to you, Stevie?" Eddie pouted, "I thought you loved me for my wit and charm and dashingly good looks, not because I keep you toasty."

"I love you for many reasons, including how warm you run, but if you don't like it," Steve shrugged, "I guess I'll have to go to Wayne next time I'm cold. I'm sure he'll warm me up."

"Please don't leave me for my Uncle."

"Well, you better give me a good reason to stay then."

"Nobody can go down on you as well as I can."

"Oh really? Might have to let you prove that you’re the best then."

Eddie just smirks as he slides down the bed.

—

Wayne’s just gotten home from work when Eddie clears his throat and nudges Steve in the ribs.

"Stevie. Don’t you have something to say to Wayne?"

"Huh? Oh, right," Steve looks at Wayne as sincerely as he can possibly manage right now, "I’m so sorry, Wayne, but we were fools to think it’d work out between us. I’ll never forget our wonderful night together though."

"Well shucks, son, you’re breakin’ my dang heart here but I guess I just gotta move on," Wayne gives Steve a wink, "You know where to find me if you change ya mind."

[lizzybeeee]

DATV explaining the 'Regret Prison'

A REGRET PRISON IS STUPID AND I'M TIRED OF PRETENDING THAT ITS NOT

TL;DR: a prison can serve as a metaphor but it shouldn't be entirely comprised of a metaphor.

From what I understood from what the game gave us: Solas has made a new prison to move the God's too - since bringing down the veil would free them from the Black City. This new prison is separate(?) from the fade or so far removed/contained that bringing down the veil would not compromise it...apparently. We interrupt his ritual, Solas gets sucked into the new prison he made, and the elven gods are free.

When Rook gets kicked into the fade they're physically there - which means it's a physical place in the fade, like how it was a mixture of physical/thought when we entered it in DAI. Which makes sense - the gods are real and living beings, they need to be in a place, there must be some aspect of physicality to it.

Alright, cool, it's a Black City 2.0 - I assume it's better defended to prevent people breaking in/out again?

NOPE.

We get there and it's a 'regret prison'?? It's tied to the regrets of those within it? Composed of regrets??? Solas had to wait for the right moment for Rook to be sufficiently 'full of regret' that they could switch places?

So is the prison tied to Solas's regrets? If so, how can Rook escape? The prison seems to work around the idea that it relies on the regrets of the person it's holding to work - which is how/why Rook was able to be trapped and later free themselves (along with whatever remains of the team apparently being able to do something on their end, not that we hear about it).

WHICH IS STUPID!

Are you telling me the prison intended to hold to megalomaniac elven gods was going to imprison them based on their own regrets? Is Solas assuming that Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are as self-pitying as he is? They'd break out quicker than Rook did! He made a time out corner for the elven gods to sit in and gave them an out if they reflected on their emotions/regrets or decided that they don't regret what they did. Elgar'nan, a spirit of tyranny, is not going to 'regret' his actions - he is going to justify them by telling himself and others that he knows what's best.

We can come across some of Solas's regrets in the prison if you run around a bit and explore:

Remnant of Failure - talking about the orb from Inquisition.

Remnant of Parting - talking about Mythal

Remnant of Reflection - more vague, talking about the Titans I believe.

So maybe he altered it - maybe he intended the prison to be 'locked' with his own regrets because after a millennia of having a pity party he still can't bring himself to self-reflect and look to the future. But what if Solas died? Or if his guilt lessened - would it diminish the strength of the regret prison?

We already have pre-established lore (though DATV has shown they don't really give a crap tbh) that once the being that has claimed/altered an area of the fade is slain, it's influence diminishes both in and outside of the fade. So if the prison was tied to his regrets then it would require Solas to basically live forever to keep it stable - especially if he brought down the veil and removed the one barrier that kept the world and the fade apart.

Rook and Solas needed some assistance to exit - but it doesn't seem like it was much! Solas used his dagger and Rook just...got out through a fade tear? This is Solas's 'more secure' second prison? It has a worse track record than the Black City! If Rook - who is not an elven god - managed to escape the regret prison what is to stop anyone else from breaking in and out of the prison?

And what did Solas intend to do with the blight - the bulk of which is apparently in the black city?? If bringing down the Veil would free the gods in the black city doesn't that mean that the blight would also be released?! Did he have a plan? Why does he go fully ahead with bringing down the veil at the end if the black city is still there and filled with blight?!

I get it: the 'regret prison' is a metaphor for how Solas holds onto the past and how Rook can move past their regrets and grow. He's trapped by the past - it's a prison. Cool. But this prison is supposed to by a physical place to contain the gods - not just to solely contain Solas. The mission is literally called 'A Cage for Gods'.

The Black City is an actual place that's so far out of reach of anywhere else in the fade that no mage can ever reach it while in dreams - let alone physically, which was only done once and took tremendous effort/blood sacrifices. It made sense - it was cool to see floating in the sky in DAO!

Though it's not said specifically, it's strongly implied that Arlathan is the Black City. You can see in the concept art that floating elven city is exactly the same as the black city in DAO! It's this foreboding thing just lurking in the sky - a constant reminder of the sin that led to the horrors of the blights and darkspawn. A real place with lore and history that also serves as a metaphor for the hubris and destruction of those who call themselves gods and act as tyrants -> for both the evanuris and the magisters.

I WANT TO UNDERSTAND THIS BIOWARE!

WHAT IS THIS KINGDOM HEARTS NONSENSE???!!

[arainaizevran]

list of wyll feedback/bugs

epilogue:

no hugs and kisses in the epilogue

wyll doesn't have specific lines for other companions being romanced in multiplayer (ie, when shadowheart is romanced by lae'zel origin, she has specific lines for that. wyll doesn't, except for a romanced illithid tav/origin.)

in blade of frontiers wyll ending, romanced tav/durge can go with wyll to avernus and hunt down mizora, but in the epilogue, wyll makes no mention of their adventures in avernus (my character is dressed in avernus armour but wyll isn't)

ulder and mizora don't have letters addressing wyll

in ulder's letter to the player, he makes no mention of a potential engagement/marriage with wyll

romance:

only one romance greeting, and only triggered in act 3. often bugged

no kiss greetings before/after

ulder and mizora have no reaction to a potential engagement/break up with wyll

there's no introduction to ulder and mizora as wyll's lover/partner

wyll's kisses and dialogue in the morphic pool area aren't repeatable

bugged act 3 romance scene for tall/dragonborn models

act 3 romance scene triggers upon talking to him in camp and doesn't start after long resting - unlike other companions and literally every other romance scene. the scene ends in camp again which is really awkward

general:

wyll's major choice re: his pact and his father in act 3 is something the player makes for him - unlike other companions whose choice hinges on a skill check or previous actions in the game

origin wyll's nightmare on the first long rest is only narrated, whereas a different origin has a fully animated nightmare sequence

wyll/lae'zel flirt banter was removed without adding a potential replacement for it - hence taking out more content for the companion who already has it the least

a lot of wyll's dialogue in early access still fit current wyll's character so there's no reason to not include those, or rework them at the very least to make up for the large disparity in content (this one's my personal opinion only, though i have no doubt some of you feel the same way)

here are just some of the feedbacks/bugs that wyll has if you wanna send feedback to larian. feel free to rb and/or add your own to the list

[emil1863]

Playing around with a concept. Might write a fic for it later...

[bacchuschucklefuck]

okay unironically I love so much that porter is like this world SUCKS its BAD here and it HURTS you why do you care abt it!!! and literally every single bad kid is like ngl we just hate ur ass it does not matter what ur philosophy is

[bathroom-sand]

the public response to neil gaiman being accused by several women of sexual assault is exactly why victims often struggle to come forward. like how is anyone gonna give the benefit of the doubt to a guy claiming one of his victims has “false memories” as if that isn’t the type of stupid ass rebuttal only a science fiction writer could come up with. 20 year olds don’t create false memories, neil, that’s pseudo science.

[hotelstares]

[faiell]

favour

for @drarrymicrofic, G, 900 words

Malfoy isn’t expecting anyone. He's hunched over his work with elbows like two knife points stabbed into the desk, one hand threading through his soft downy hair and the other fidgeting on his face, knuckle running back and forth against his bottom lip. The yellow light from his lamp flickers temperamentally, barely able to offer anything other than a glow on Malfoy's cheek. Malfoy squints at the cascade of parchment before him, then pushes his fingers against his eyes. He inhales, slow. Blinks his eyes back open, exhales.

Harry's been standing there a while. "Sorry to interrupt," he says.

Malfoy's mouth parts in surprise. It takes a moment before he registers that Harry is a very real thing, and not some conjured spectre. Then every part of him straightens into place. The papers flutter as he sweeps them back into their folders, snapping the covers shut—away from Harry's prying eyes, presumably.

"What are you doing here?" There's none of the usual bite to it, not when the small hours have got Malfoy whittled down like this. He looks feather-light, blurred to softness in the midnight blues and greys.

Harry approaches the desk and sets down his peace offering. It's Muggle coffee in a nondescript paper cup--Malfoy's favourite order from his favourite café, though he doesn't know it yet.

"My shift just started," he offers, which explains nothing at all. He sees Malfoy beginning to think through it, mouth and brow curving towards each other. "Picked this up for you on the way."

Malfoy’s expression of bafflement is delightfully wide-eyed. All of his usual mechanisms don't seem to be working. Harry keeps expecting a switch to flip, for Malfoy to shore up and retreat into icy waters, but it doesn't come. Instead his pale hands reach for the cup and cradle it, fingers skittering against the paper texture, thumbnail underlining the scrawl of 'Harry' on the side. The steam tickles his chin. With the coffee clutched close to him, Malfoy speaks, voice flaky and uncertain, "I can't accept this."

"Don't be daft," Harry insists. "It's two in the morning, take it."

Malfoy's frown grows deeper as he contemplates this additional fact. "There's nothing open this late."

It's true. Harry's kept that coffee under a stasis charm for twelve hours now. "I got it for Ron, but he's not in today," he amends, and gestures with the cup in his other hand, "Got myself one too."

Malfoy wants the coffee, craves it badly. Harry can see it in the way that he holds the warmth of it towards himself, shoulders drooping as he savours the rich chocolatey aroma. He's about to give into it, has brought the coffee all the way up to his mouth when he stops, eyes trained on Harry, glinting like burnished steel. "You must want something from me."

Harry shrugs, nonchalance teetering on his shoulder. He takes a sip of his own, lets it sit bittersweet on his tongue before swallowing it down. Malfoy's gaze slides from his mouth and catches on his throat, before it scuttles back to his own hands again.

"No, I don’t. You don't have to overthink it, Malfoy. It's just a favour."

The word holds more tension than it should. Harry knows Malfoy hates owing him, and that's why he's gone to all this trouble, cajoled him so carefully. He’s been at it for weeks now, first out of kindness, then out of spite, and now because…—well, because he’s tenacious, probably. The room slips into silence as Malfoy considers, until both of them become invisible and there’s just the coffee on the desk, lit up by weak lamplight. 

Harry’s so hopeful he forgets to breathe. His pulse climbs from his chest up to his head until it’s deafening. He’s sure he’s about to burst when, abruptly, Malfoy gives in with a little jerk of his shoulders, the scarcest of shrugs. He drinks. His lips wrap around the plastic and he tilts it back, slow and delicate, taking the shallowest sip.

Malfoy's eyes widen just a fraction when he recognizes the flavour of it. His tongue works inside his mouth as he rolls the taste around, once, twice, and again, just to be sure. A small, pleased sound comes out then, and before Harry can even register what that means, Malfoy brings the cup to his mouth again and takes three big gulps.

He sighs, eyes closed, contentment chasing away the shadows dragging at his face, and suddenly he’s years younger. There's cream on his upper lip. Harry is transfixed. The flickering lamp grows a bit brighter, buoyed by Malfoy's magic and finally illuminating the workstation properly, bathing his washed-out figure in warm hues.

"Well thanks," Malfoy says, smirking, because that's what he does instead of smiling. A pointed tongue darts out to catch some cream, missing most of it. "You should probably go, Potter. You don't even work on this floor."

[linterteatime]

It's 7000+ people that want them dead actually

[curse-of-dming-strahd]

it cracks me up how often the Curse of Strahd module read-aloud flavor text describes the environment as sad:

the wind is bummed out. the torches are bummed out. the dirt is sad that it's dirt. like listen I know it's a realm of eternal despair but I feel like they could have hit the thesaurus a little harder on this one

though shoutout to the flavor text of Wachterhaus, which may actually have diagnosable clinical depression:

[dulciechi]

finally grew desperate enough to write fanfic 😭

a short fic showing a small moment between my witness lamb and an imprisoned narinder <3 i hope you like it!

[ragnarokhound]

Trick or Treat! Thank you for sharing all your wonderful writing!!

Happy Halloween! Thank you so much for reading, I'm so happy you've enjoyed! <3 (holds jaytim up like the potato: i just think they're neat)

Okay this response got long so it's going under a cut, haha, enjoy!!

The curse is cruel. "You really think that you're a better Robin?" Jason sneers. His blood coats Jason's fist. "A better Robin?" Tim echoes through bloody teeth.

"That's what I said, pretender. Haven't you got any words of your own? You have to steal those from me too?" "Steal? From me too?" He gasps. The questions burn his mouth like acid, frustration and rage held prisoner by his traitorous tongue. Jason's brow furrows, then smooths in the space of an instant. "Pathetic," Jason taunts, abandoning confusion for disgust and disappointment. In a sharp, painful crack of his fist, the world goes black before Tim can agree. *** "How long has it been?" Jason says. It's been years. Smoke curls between the gaps in his cupped hands as the brief burst of flame dies to an ember, glowing vermillion at the end of his cigarette. "Long," Tim answers with a sigh. He can't even sign his own words, his hands always twisting into shapes first held by someone else's mouth. By the last person who spoke to him. The railing of the fire escape is icy beneath his elbows. He should have worn a thicker jacket, but he didn't have time tonight. Jason is leaving in the morning, and Tim wanted to see him before he goes. This new thing between them, this friendship on the cusp of something else— is fragile and hard-won. Tim wants to nurture it, to see if the warmth roiling under the surface can be coaxed to blazing life. Jason shuts his lighter with a snap. His shoulder is warm against Tim's. Tim watches him breathe in poison, and envies the poison. "And no one's figured it out? Who did this to you?" Tim rolls his eyes. "Figured it out," he restates flatly. Of course he knows who did this to him. Of course Bruce and the rest know. The who was easy. Fae and demons aren't subtle, and they aren't exactly commonplace. It makes for a short list to dig through. Jason grins, cherry-red and laughing at him. "Right, right. I mean, you ever figure out how to fix it? How to get your own words back? Yes or no," he tacks on helpfully. Only seldom does Jason remember to do that, to give Tim more options to choose from. It's not that he doesn't care, or that he isn't careful with his words. He just doesn't have to be. He's always had a knack for guessing what Tim means on the first try. Now that he isn't trying to punish Tim for using Jason's words like their his own. Like what he'd done with Robin.

Tim used to resent it, that of all the people in the world to guess what he's feeling, Jason Todd could do it best. Used to. Tim looks away. "Fix it," he murmurs. "Yes." Not that it matters. Jason cocks his head. His cigarette burns between his fingers, half-forgotten. "Why the fuck haven't you, then? If it were me—" Jason cuts himself off with a self-conscious laugh. "Ah, forget it. I'm sure you'd love to if you could, right?" Tim's eyes go wide. Jason's never said that to him before. One word of three that make the key. Tim knows what he feels. He knows how to break it. "And give the son of a bitch responsible a kiss in the teeth for good measure," Jason continues, oblivious to the effect of his words. Tim seizes Jason's arm, ignoring how he flinches. Hope is fleeting enough as it is. "Wha—" "Love to," Tim interrupts, urgent, heart tripping in his chest. "You..." He swallows, his throat closing up, not sure if he can say the last word. Not because of any curse, but because it's— it's too much. It's too bold. It won't work. So why not try? Jason stares at him, waiting for him to speak. "...kiss," he whispers. Tim begs him to understand. Jason raises his eyebrows. "...kiss?" Jason echoes softly, his voice thick. He cups the back of Tim's head in his free hand. "You want to kiss me, babybird?" He's relaxed a fraction, and Tim can tell he still doesn't get it. The one time he doesn't understand the full depth of Tim's meaning, and it had to be now. "Well, why didn't you say so?" Before Tim can express just how unimpressed he is by— Jason kisses him. He tastes like smoke and a hint of mint, and like skin and teeth and tongue. He licks into Tim's mouth when he gasps, and swallows every sound he makes. Like it's not enough to own Tim's words; he needs to own the rest of him as well. Tim doesn't even know if it will work. What makes a love true, anyway? When you've bled and fought for it, tooth and nail? When you didn't even want it at first, but you know, like it was inevitable, that you can't live anymore without it squeezing your heart in its fist? When magic cannot bind you anymore, because you don't belong wholly to yourself alone. When you've chosen to be beholden. When it was never a choice at all. The autumn air is freezing, but Jason's hands are searing hot on Tim's face, burning his cheeks with the shape of his fingers. Tim doesn't remember tucking his hands under Jason's jacket, or finding the broad stretch of his shoulderblades with his palms. But when he grazes the skin at the back of his neck, just above Jason's shirt collar, he shivers in Tim's grip. Jason pulls away abruptly, and Tim protests. "Do you want—" Jason started to ask. "Jason," Tim huffs, breathless. "Why'd you stop?" It rings in the air between them, clear as a bell. They both freeze. "...Tim?" Jason asks slowly. "Did you just—" "Jason," Tim says again, disbelieving. Then wondering. It's the first word that's belonged solely to him in years. The first word that's his. "Jason."

(For the trick or treat ask game! Send me a trick or treat ask and I'll share jaytim WIP snippets, or new 3-sentence -paragraph fics, etc :^) through the 31st!)