#also i think that people should know that activism doesn’t stop with one country and that talking about what’s happening in sudan and congo

[moonlight0934]

Being Robin is the best thing I've ever done

Damian curls up on the couch, flipping his book open. It’s quiet in the manor with almost all of its occupants out of town. Bruce is out of the country, helping the JL with some big mission while Alfred is visiting England. Jason had left town right after Bruce to visit Roy and Lian. Cass is working in Frace on a mission, and Stephanie is working a case with Dick. That leaves Tim and Damian as the only two vigilantes left in the city, though Damian honestly hasn’t minded. Sleeping is hard in this big, quiet house, and splitting the patrol routes with Tim leaves him out a lot longer than it normally would. It leaves him with less time sitting in the dark in his room. 

Tim has also been a quiet partner, not speaking much over the comms, which leads Damian to think that he’s got something else on his mind. He’s not normally that quiet, but Damian isn’t going to push. He’s probably working on a tough case. It has been pretty chill since they were left alone with no Rogue attacks, or major issues in Jason’s territory. Damian pauses his reading after a while, glancing down at his watch. 

“Hm, I lost track of time. I should start preparing dinner.” 

He gently places the bookmark into his book, but his phone starts ringing before he can stand up.

“Hello.” 

“Hey, can you get out on the streets? I’m working a gang case, and it turns out that drugs are involved. Now a few people are kinda trying to kill me.” 

“Make sure your tracker is on, and I’ll be there in a few,” Damian replies, trying not to sound exasperated. 

He’s not going to have time to make and eat dinner at this rate. They’re going to finish this, and then he’ll have maybe ten minutes before patrol, and that’s if he’s lucky. He can’t put patrol off since the area he’s covering is so large, and he has school tomorrow morning. He fixes his cape with a sigh. 

Guess I have to give up the idea of eating tonight. I’ll get up in time to have breakfast tomorrow. 

He pulls up Tim’s tracker, and heads off to his brother’s location. He makes the trip quickly between his grapple gun, and small sprints across rooftops. The wind is blowing pretty hard, ruffling his hair and cape. He finds Tim completely alone, tucked in an alleyway, dressing a small wound on his arm. 

“Red.” 

Tim waves briefly without looking up. 

“Where are the criminals, and who are we dealing with?” 

“They’re a few blocks back, but I wasn’t able to stop the deal yet. So they’ll either find us, or claim that they scared us off when the client asks about it. It’s one of Gotham’s ‘elite’. One of those socialite pricks. I don’t remember his name, but he’s the worst. Calls me names all the time,” Tim adds under his breath as he pins the bandage in place. 

“What kind of- Nevermind. We can discuss that later. Especially since we have an event in a few days.” 

“Will the others be back by then?” 

Damian shrugs. “I don’t know, but it currently isn’t looking like it. I was told that I would probably have to represent, so…” 

“Damn, must be serious, cause I thought he would never ask you. Anyway, we should stop that deal before the prick gets away.” 

Damian hums, motioning for Tim to lead the way. Damian follows Tim back to the warehouse where goons are gathering back up, obviously having given up on finding Tim. Damian clocks the socialite instantly since he’s the only one dressed up, and is actively rummaging through an absurd amount of drugs, all packed into tiny little bags. 

“He’s probably going to be hosting a party or something like that,” Tim says distastefully. 

“Is that normal?” 

“Well considering I got invited to a drug party the day after my dad’s funeral, I’ll say yes.” 

“That doesn’t seem socially appropriate.” Tim shrugs. 

“Gotham doesn’t even have common courtesy. I’ll go around back, you come from the side. Make sure to secure the drugs first. I’ll tie him up real fast, and then we can take out the goons.” 

Damian nods, hopping off of the building. He sees Tim race across to the next building so he can make his way around, and take them by surprise, and also take out the reinforcements lurking inside the warehouse. Damian waits a couple of minutes, perched on top of a lamppost, watching them talk. Then he swings over, landing between the socialite and the dealer. He knocks the dealer out with one swift hit, and slams the case of drugs closed. The socialite takes off, but Damian doesn’t bother with him, instead turning his attention back to the hordes of goons running towards him. 

Wow, this must have been a large deal. Maybe his first with these dealers, so they’re trying to prove something. Not that it matters how many of them there are. 

The next fifteen minutes are a blur of fighting making sure to keep the drugs in his peripheral. Finally, the only people left standing are him, and Tim, who’s standing a few feet away. 

“Ok, I’ll call the cops, and have them all taken in,” Tim says, grabbing his phone. 

Damian nods, a hand reaching up to his collarbone. There’s a small cut there, though quite deep. 

How did I get that? Ugh, doesn’t matter. I’ll deal with it later, once patrol is over. This took longer than I had hoped, and now I’m going to be late starting patrol if the cops take as long as they normally do to show up. Ugh, I’m going to get home so late. 

Damian can’t help the way his lips twist into a deep frown. Tim drops a hand onto Damian’s shoulder. 

“Hey, you good?” 

“I’m fine, just annoyed. I haven’t eaten today, and it looks like a late night is ahead of us.” 

“Well, how about this: we can go get some food, and I’ll take the last half hour of your patrol route if you’re not feeling up to it? You don’t have to answer now, but if you’re tired, or it’s getting too late, then you can comm me, and I’ll come to you.” 

Damian hesitates. 

“Alright, but I don’t need you to patrol for me. I can cover that.” 

“Ok, then you don’t have to reach out.” 

Tim puts a gentle hand on Damian’s shoulder, holding it there for a second. Damian’s shoulders slump, allowing himself to relax. He tenses as soon as the sound of the sirens reach them, and Tim pulls away. He walks over to the case, opening it, and counting the bags. 

Damn it, why didn’t I remember to do that? We’re always supposed to have our own files to give to Gordon so we can make sure the right amount makes it all the way to evidence. 

Damian strides off to meet the cops. Exactly as Damian thought it would, they end up taking forever to get everyone into custody, and gather all of the evidence, making Tim and Damian almost two hours late to start patrol. Damian ends up telling Tim that they should get started immediately since they’re so late, and he’ll eat when he gets home. By then, his head is spinning, and he’s a little dizzy. If Tim notices, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Make sure you let me know when you get home, Baby Bat.”

Damian nods, the world tilting even after he’s stilled. He doesn’t remember most of patrol, breezing through it without really being able to keep track of what’s going on. He’s coming to the last stretch when his legs give out. 

Damn, this shouldn’t be happening just cause I haven’t eaten, and didn’t sleep last night. I’ve trained for this. 

He stumbles back to his feet unsteadily, reaching for his comm. 

“Red, can you finish up my patrol? I think I need to get home. I don’t feel well,” he admits, the words feeling like poison rolling off of his tongue. 

“Of course, let me know when you get home. I’ll come check on you in a bit. I’ve got your location, so you can head back home now.” 

“Alright.” 

Damian flips his comm off with a tired sigh. He walks home since it’s not far, but it still takes forever, and his head is pounding in time with his heart by the time he gets there. He changes into shorts and a t-shirt, then heads for the kitchen. He reaches for the door of the fridge, then blinks in surprise at his purple nails. 

What the hell? 

He doesn’t even feel his legs go out this time, barely conscious enough to notice when his head hits the tiles.

Tim races across the rooftop at the end of Jason’s territory, keeping an eye out for any muggers, or small drug deals since Jason is pretty strict about that. This isn’t the first time that Jason has trusted Tim with his territory, but Tim always feels like he has to be hypervigilant since if something happens, Jason won’t be here to make an example out of the person at fault. Normally there’d be some dramatic ass retaliation like cutting out their tongue. 

He’s such a theater kid, so dramatic, but everything seems fine here. Guess I should go finish Dami’s patrol, and meet him at the house. He should have checked back in by now, but maybe he just forgot. He did seem off… I’m sure it’s fine. I’ll finish up quickly, and then head there. 

Tim races through the rest of Damian’s patrol, not even realizing how fast he’s going, but his anxiety doesn’t let him slow down. The mansion is quiet, even as he walks down the front hall. Tim doesn’t notice that he didn’t lock the door upon coming inside. A lump appears in Tim’s throat, and suddenly he’s unable to swallow. 

“Dames? You home?” 

There’s no answer, and the dread creeps down his throat, nestling in his chest. 

Calm down, maybe he’s in his room. 

“Dames?” he calls again, glancing into the sitting room. 

He continues walking upon finding no one there, and stops in the doorway to the kitchen. His heart stutters before he’s racing towards Damian. His baby brother is sprawled out across the floor, blood pooling around his head. There’s a cut across his forehead, which looks like he got it in the fall, but he’s not moving either. Tim looks him over, noting how his lips and nails are blue. He leans down to put his ear against Damian’s chest, the other hand held right above Damian’s lips. Tim finds his breathing far too shallow, and his heartbeat slow. 

He brushes Damian’s hair away from the cut, only to realize how cold Damian’s skin is. His eyes narrow in on a cut along Damian’s collarbone, small, but deep. 

“Careful, cause these guys are using some pretty nasty drugs, so don’t let ’em stick you with anything,” Jason had told him before leaving town. 

“You’re overdosing.” 

Tim rushes to pull his phone out of his pocket, knowing that he’s not equipped to deal with this alone. 

“He keeps the other hand pressed to the inside of Damian’s wrist. 

“Come on, Damian. Stay with me.” 

He explains the situation to the operator, claiming that Damian had gotten nicked with something while they were on a walk earlier as it was getting dark, but neither of them really thought much of it. They assumed it was nothing, but he was unconscious and barely breathing when Tim got back from grabbing dinner. Once the man on the other end gives Tim an estimate of ten minutes before the ambulance gets there, Tim hangs up, though the man did tell him to stay on the line. He doesn’t bother with that, turning his full attention to Damian. The door is unlocked already, so there’s no reason for him to focus on anything else. 

“Ok, stay with me, buddy,” Tim whispers as Damian’s breath stutters.

It evens out, and Tim releases a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. 

“It’s ok, Akh,” Tim whispers, the word feeling foreign in his mouth, but familiar to his ears. He’s not even sure when Damian had started calling him that, but it never quite felt right to say it back, as though he was overstepping a boundary, and Damian is so careful about the walls he’s built around himself. 

Tim cards a hand through Damian’s sweaty hair, pulling him fully onto his side to clear his airways. A few minutes later, Damian stirs for the first time, then vomits all over Tim, and down the front of his own shirt, almost choking. Tim pats his back, trying not to wince. 

“You’re ok, you’re ok,” he whispers over and over as if it will make Damian hold on. 

Then all of the sudden, paramedics are crashing into the room, and Tim is pulled away from his baby brother. He feels like crying, and pushing back to Damian, but he doesn’t do either. He merely sits back on his heels, and stays out of the way as they suction vomit out of Damian’s throat before placing an oxygen mask on him. He does follow them out to the ambulance, only stopping to grab a travel bag from the closet so he can change clothes once they get there. He tucks himself into the corner, farther from them, and watches. He watches every small deviation to Damian’s heart rate, and he watches Damian’s oxygen levels go down even though he’s having air pumped into his lungs. Thankfully he’s still stable by the time they reach the hospital, but Tim feels dread pool in his stomach when they take him back immediately. 

Reasonably he knows how bad it is, but this just confirms it for him. That Damian is critical, and requires care over everyone else there. He slips into the bathroom to change. Turns out this bag is Dick’s, so Tim has to roll the pants up, and tighten his belt the most he can, then pull the hoodie on just so the shirt will stay over his shoulders. It’s comforting despite being uncomfortable to have on, the clothes smell like Dick. They cling to him loose enough to feel like a hug, but tight enough to stay in place. He wraps one arm around himself, the other hand going for his phone. He’s dialing the number before he even registers what he’s doing. 

Stephanie sounds groggy when she answers, “Tim, it’s an ungodly hour, what’s going on?” 

“Is Dick with you?” he asks, knowing she was staying at his apartment while they were working the case. 

“He’s in his room. We only got back from working like three hours ago. Do you want me to get him?” 

“Yeah, I need to talk to both of you,” Tim says, his voice shaking. 

He can hear springs creaking, and Stephanie grunting as she forces herself out of bed. Probably on aching muscles, and tired bones if they were working a mere three hours ago. Tim can feel his own body beginning to shut down from everything he’s put it through, and the drop of adrenaline. They’re all used to the feeling though, being dragged out of bed to deal with something new right after climbing in, and falling asleep. 

“Dick.” He can hear knocking to accompany his oldest brother’s name. 

“Yeah, Steph, what’s up?” Dick asks, sounding sleepy. 

“Tim called me, and he wanted you to be here before he would tell me why,” Stephanie says, a bit of fear seeping into her voice. “You’re on speaker, Tim. Dick’s here.” 

“Hey, Timmy, what’s up?” Dick says, sounding concerned as well. 

“So, something happened. You guys are the only ones still in the country other than Jason, so I figured I’d call. I’m gonna text Bruce and Alfred, and they can call me when they have the chance. Anyway, Damian got hurt earlier. It was a small cut, but it ended up being used to transfer drugs into his system. He overdosed after getting home. We’re in the hospital now, but the guys were taken care of earlier.” 

“Is he ok?” Dick demands, and Tim can hear him snatch Stephanie’s phone out of her hands. 

“I don’t know. He was breathing when we got here, but his oxygen levels were horrible, and I didn’t have any Narcan on hand when I got home. So I couldn’t do anything, but call 911. He was taken in, and I finished changing clothes.” 

“We’ll be there in an hour.” 

“Do you have any more information?” Stephanie asks as Dick’s footsteps fade. 

“No.” 

“Are you alright?” 

“No,” Tim says, his voice breaking. 

“Alright, stay on the phone with me. We’ll be there soon. Sit down, and focus on breathing.” 

Tim drops into a chair in the waiting room, curling in on himself. Stephanie keeps up a soft, steady stream of quiet reassurances as she changes clothes, brushes her hair, and gets her shoes on. Tim listens, but doesn’t respond. He can still feel Damian’s cold skin, and sweaty hair; can see his blue nails and lips. Tim takes a deep breath to calm himself down, but he can smell the acrid scent of vomit all over him. He sobs, his chest hitching. Everything fades into the background until a small hand lands on his shoulder. Then he’s being pulled into Stephanie’s arms as she rubs her hand up and down his spine. 

“It’s ok. Let it out, I’m here. Dick’s checking in on Dami, and he’ll tell us Dami’s condition when he comes back. Everything’s going to be ok,” Stephanie reassures him, keeping him cradled in her arms. 

Tim continues crying, clinging onto Stephanie. Stephanie rocks him back and forth, keeping him close to her chest. It takes a while for him to calm down, his breathing still distinctly off. Stephanie softly wipes away his tears as Dick walks back over. At this point, they’re on the floor, and Tim is leaning against Stephanie. 

“He’s alive. He’s going to be transferred to the ICU soon, but he’s alive. I also called the others to tell them what happened. Are you sure you’re alright, Tim?” Dick asks, and Tim can’t even blame him. 

This reaction is so out of the ordinary, and far more emotional than he tends to be. Tim shudders, pressing his face into Stephanie’s neck as all of the noises around him get louder. 

“He’s running a temperature,” Stephanie whispers. 

“Ok, I want to see if we can get him checked out. I’ll go ask them. See if you can pull any information out of him about if anything could have happened to him too.” 

They’re still on the floor when Dick comes back, but Stephanie looks pensive. 

“He said that he got hurt right before Damian, but it was fine, because he only needed three stitches.” 

“Do you think drugs might have been involved with him too?” 

“It’s possible. I don’t think he’s overdosing, but I have no real way of knowing. Wouldn’t it have hit him sooner?” 

“Not necessarily, especially since Damian’s a lot smaller than Tim.” 

Dick puts a hand on Tim’s forehead, leaning him away from Stephanie. Tim whines, his eyes glossy. 

“Give him to me,” Dick commands. 

Stephanie pulls back, and Dick scoops Tim into his arms. 

“No, let go of me. I’m fine,” Tim argues, his movements slow as he tries to get away from Dick. He can’t even get his hands out of his hoodie sleeves though, making his efforts completely useless. He flops against Dick’s chest after only a few seconds, his eyes drooping with the effort. Dick says something, but it feels too far away for Tim to keep up, so he decides to go to sleep since that feels infinitely easier. 

Damian wakes up surprisingly unaware. Normally he’d be aware as soon as he’s conscious, but waking up feels slow this time. It’s not something that he’s used to, but it has happened before. Normally with concussions, or heavy medication. The first thing he notes when he manages to pry his heavy eyes open is that Brown is sitting nearby, one leg propped across her lap, a book settled against it. Her eyes trace the pages, not even noticing Damian. It’s quickly apparent where he is, and he tsks in disapproval. 

If Brown is here, then Grayson is too. That means I did something to land myself in the hospital, and pull them away from their case. But what was it? I can’t remember anything other than… going home to my book. 

“Brown.” 

Stephanie looks up, her eyes lighting up. 

“Hey, Dames. How are you feeling?” 

“Sore, and quite tired. What happened?” 

“You got drugged, overdosed. Tim called us.” 

“Timothy, we were-” Patrol. “Where is he?” 

“He’s also admitted. He’ll be fine, but they want to watch him while they get the rest of the drugs out of his system too. Dick wanted us to swap, but Tim insisted that I sit with you. Wanted to make sure that you were being watched by someone who would text him immediately. Speaking of which, I’m going to do that while we’re talking, I’m still listening.” 

“I remember everything. Everything except getting home. I was walking there, but I don’t actually remember making it home. Did I get there before passing out?” 

Stephanie nods. 

“Yep, no need to worry about what state you were in. The cover story has been taken care of too. The only thing you need to focus on is getting better.” 

Damian hums, having heard that a thousand times before. 

“I want to see Timothy.” 

“Yeah, and I’m sure he wants to see you too,” Stephanie replies, setting her phone back down on the nightstand. 

Damian proceeds to sit up, and reach for his IV. Stephanie barely has time to catch his hand before he can rip it out. 

“Chill, little dude. You’ll be able to see Tim in a bit. You need that though.” 

“Unhand me.” 

She lets him go. 

“Fine, but no trying to take that out again. Your dad is also on his way back. He was worried about you.” 

“Wonderful. Just what I needed.” 

“Hey, you guys handled things well. You made sure that the criminals were stopped, and you managed to get medical help before Dick and I got here. You didn’t need any help. You did a good job while you were alone.” Damian rolls his eyes. He yawns, and Stephanie pats his leg. 

“Try to get some more rest, and you can see Tim when you wake up.” 

Damian tries to argue, but finds he can barely keep his eyes open. So he gives in, and lets himself sleep. 

Someone is talking when he wakes up again, and he has half a mind to tell them to shut up, but then he recognizes the voice. His eyes snap open, Tim’s blurry shape coming into view. He’s wearing jeans, and a far too big hoodie, dark bags under his eyes. He’s talking to Dick, who’s standing in the doorway. 

“I have to go pick B up from the airport, or he’s going to drive here on no sleep in the last six days. I’ll be back.” 

He slips out, and Tim turns back to Damian. His eyes light up when he meets Damian’s. 

“Dami, you’re awake! Hey,” Tim says, sitting down in the chair Stephanie was in before. 

“Hello, Timothy. Are you alright?” 

“I’m alright. I had some drugs in my system, but I’m ok. You, on the other hand, almost died.” 

Tim reaches out to brush Damian’s hair back. Damian smiles. 

“You’re going to be alright. The doctors say you’re healing well, and Dick is on his way to pick up Bruce now.” 

Damian nods.

“I heard you speaking to Grayson… but I’m still tired.” 

Tim frowns. 

“Alright, you can go back to sleep. It’s ok.” 

Damian twists his fingers together, trying to figure out how to voice what he’s thinking. Apparently he doesn’t need to since Tim stands after a few seconds. 

“Scoot over. I get it, I don’t really want to feel like you’re not here either. I’m ok though, I promise.” 

Damian nods again, scooting to the side. Tim climbs up beside him, opening his arms. Damian nestles against Tim’s side, careful not to disrupt his IV. He sighs, letting his eyes close. He drifts off to Tim’s quiet breathing.

[jisnoir]

== carrd! == 27/01/2023 uyghur muslims, yemen, afghanistan, palestine, kashmir, POLICE BRUTALITY IN INDIA, philippines, serbia, antisemitism, black lives matter, educate racism, protest tips, lgbt rights, do the right thing, hongkong, more help carrds, escapes.

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: in your hands

authors note: welp. here i am, once again. we're back with yet another 'what if' scenario, prompted by you lovely people in an ask that i can't seem to find to link right now. smh.

words: 3.3k

warnings: none. just sam being sam.

song inspo: in your hands by halle

Roman should have stuck with his first mind. Stayed home. Texted her some excuse about being caught up with work. She would have never found out the truth, and even if she did, he wouldn’t have given two fucks. 

Because this shit doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

This dating thing. 

It’s gotta be at least the fifth or sixth one he’s taken her on, and each one has been just as miserable up until the point where he gets her on her knees, gagging or bouncing on his dick the minute they get back to his penthouse. Anything before that has been irksome, borderline miserable. 

Samantha is stunning. Has been since they were kids, and her body is the most desirable of the women he has on his roster. She leans on the thinner side of what he prefers, but the tits and ass are decent, regardless. She’s also just as kinky as him, which is why they’ve worked all these years.

But, the more “dates” Roman forces himself to power through, the more he’s starting to feel like bedroom activities is where it stops for them. 

Technically, he’s always known this. Even if he did have some level of desire to be in a real relationship with someone, which he doesn't, it would never be her. She’s vain, condescending, and seems to think she’s somehow better than the other women he fucks with.

If only she realized he views her just like he views the rest of the women. A warm body with a wet cunt to help him get his dick wet. 

“Roman!” Her voice cuts through his inner dialogue as he focuses on her cleavage. The dress she wore, short and tight, doesn’t help his desire to skip to the fucking part of this evening. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No.” Roman sees no sense in lying to her. “I probably don’t care either.”

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to continue like he literally didn’t just tell her he doesn’t care. “I was saying we should go somewhere.”

He’s partially intrigued now. Mostly because he’ll probably need to set her ass straight. “Where?”

She smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know. I was thinking Bora Bora.”

He shakes his head. “So go.”

She frowns, clarifying. “I said we should go, Roman.”

He scoffs, looking off at the ice sculpture in the middle of the upscale restaurant. A waste of money, in his opinion. “What the hell makes you think I have time to go to fucking Bora Bora with you?” He really wants to ask her what makes her think he would want to in the first place, but he’s trying to be somewhat less of an asshole to see if maybe this could work.

His Wise Man’s nervous voice balanced out with sage wisdom returning to the front of his mind.

“If the Elders are to force you into a marriage, why not with someone you already know? Especially someone who you know would have no issue in giving you an heir.”

If only Samantha wasn’t so fucking annoying.

She leans back in the chair. “You make time for these dates.”

Out of obligation. But, he won’t say that. “Yeah, but I can get my nut and send your ass packing in the same night. Can't do that if we're out of the fucking country.”

“You’re suck a di—”

“I’m so sorry.”

Soft. It’s the first thing that comes to mind hearing her voice. Light, almost. Kind. Even with just three words being spoken. And that’s just based off audio. Visually, Roman’s thoughts take an entirely different direction.

Stunning. 

Roman’s seen, entertained, and done a lot more with some beautiful women in his time, but the one standing at their table seems to have something more than all of them put together. She’s beautiful, easily one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever laid eyes on. And her smile, small but genuine makes him pause. As does her body.

She’s wearing the same uniform he’s noticed on the other waitresses, but none of them fill them out like she does. The white, long sleeved shirt that’s tucked into the knee length black pencil skirt can’t hide the curves he can practically see through the bland outfit. Nice, heavy breast. Curvy hips, thick thighs and an ass he can partially see from the front. 

This. This is his preferred body type. A woman who has something he can grab onto when he’s fucking her from behind. And Roman can only imagine what it would be like to be holding onto those luscious hips of hers while he—

“Oh my god, are you stupid?” Samantha’s annoying voice once again pulls him from his carnal fantasies. She gestures between herself and him. “Can you not see we’re in the middle of something?”

The girl, who Roman would guess is in her late twenties, early thirties at most, immediately looks repentant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I was just going to apologize for your wa—”

“Whatever.” Samantha lifts her hand, silencing the girl who’s now looking down at her shoes, clearly embarrassed. “What’s the special for this evening?”

“What’s your name?” Roman’s question comes out at the same time as Samantha’s inquiry. However, his voice clearly presents with more of a commanding nature. 

She swallows. “S–Solana.”

Pretty. Just like her. 

Samantha notices the way Roman is looking at her and is fully confused as to why he’s asking this fat troll for her name. She cuts in again, in that same nasty tone. “Hello? I asked you a question.” 

Solana is clearly struggling with Samantha’s aggressiveness, Roman wondering why this bitch is directing whatever unresolved feelings she has onto this innocent girl. “Umm, I think—”

Samantha scoffs, nose turned up. “You’re our waitress, and you don’t even know what the evening special is?”

“No ma’am, I do. I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s been a long day.” There’s a weight to her words, a sadness in her voice and in her pretty brown eyes. Roman notices all of these things and finds himself wondering what the story is. Everyone has one, and hers is suddenly of interest to him. For reasons he cannot understand. 

“Pretty unprofessional to bring up your personal life, don’t you think?”

Solana closes her eyes, pausing before answering. She looks exhausted. Mentally and physically. “It’s Squab. That’s the main co—”

“I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.” Roman rolls his eyes. This hoe has been saying that since they were in high school, yet every so often she goes back to having a normal fucking diet only to switch back to that salad shit. “What’s on your—”

“I’ll do us both a favor and get her to shut the fuck up.” Roman has had enough, both of Samantha’s grating voice but mostly her being a bitch to this girl for no reason. He’s a dick on the regular. He knows this. But, never has he come across someone like this Solana woman who, with just her presence alone, exudes such softness. Like, she doesn’t have a mean bone in her fine ass body. And she clearly doesn’t because anyone else would have probably lost their job by cussing Samantha out. Not that it wouldn’t be deserved.

Roman catches the faintest hint of a smile on Solana’s face as she redirects her attention to him. “Give her the salmon. I’ll take your best steak. For wine, you carry Madeira?” 

She’s pulled out her notepad and finishes taking down the order before answering with a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Roman’s jaw clenches at that sir bit. He could ruin this girl. “What do you recommend?”

She’s visibly taken back by his question, probably by the fact that he’s asking her for her opinion. “Umm—”

“Roman, I can rec—”

“I didn’t ask you,” he cuts that bitch off with the quickness, eyes never leaving the pretty girl before him. “I asked Solana.”

Her smiles widens as she answers in a more confident tone. “Julio Barros…..1950.”

Roman smirks. 

Exactly what he was going to order.

“I’ll take it.”

Their gazes linger on each other a second too long for Samantha’s liking as she cuts in once once more. “You can go now.”

Solana’s smile drops again, Roman suddenly finding himself all annoyed. Her smile is something pretty that he wouldn’t mind seeing more of, though that irritation is waned as he’s granted the view of her nice, round ass and curvy hips swaying as she walks to the back to turn in their order.

Samantha reaches over and touches his hand, Roman snatching it back and sneering at her. “What?”

She sighs. “Baby, I’m trying to talk about us.”

And just like that, he’s annoyed all over again. “There is no us.”

Samantha looks sad only for a brief second. “Roman, I’m not stupid. I know what these dates have been for. You’re trying to see if it could work.”

“If what could work?”

“Us.” She goes on to share. “There’s rumors that the Elders have been putting more pressure on you to settle down and make an heir.” Sam leans over the table, intentionally trying to emphasize her cleavage. It’s nice. He’ll give her that. But, he’s certain it’s nothing compared to Solana though and those big breast of her hers. “I can do that for you. Be that for you. Be your wife. The mother of your children.”

Not a damn thing she’s saying sounds even the least bit desirable. At all. 

“I mean, we’ve been fucking around since we were kids. Why not make it official?”

For a lot of reasons. All the reasons. The main one being Roman don’t like this bitch unless she’s choking on or riding his dick. 

What he does like, however, and finds solace in is the interactions with Ms. Solana as the evening goes on. They’re not very often outside of her bringing the bottle of wine and their food when it’s ready as well as a check-in here or there on how they’re doing.

Each time Samantha sending her the dirtiest look or just being an ol’e nasty bitch, to which Roman shuts down, cutting her off and even telling her to shut the fuck up.

The girl is just trying to do her damn job. And as his eyes locate and land on her on several different occasions, he can see that she works hard. Moving from table to table, almost saddened facial expression indicates she’s on the receiving end of more verbal lashings from people like Samantha.

That actually pisses him off, Roman having to control and stop himself from doing some out of pocket shit. 

Again, for what reason, he hasn’t the slightest clue. He just knows those brief glimpses of her actually smiling, usually when she’s chatting with a coworker, do something for him. 

Maybe even to him. 

And unbeknownst to him, the intrigue goes both ways, because as shitty a day Solana Miller was having, the handsome stranger with the rude girlfriend or wife or whatever has somehow, someway made this day just a little bit better.

It’s been some time, if ever, Solana has come across someone with such a presence about them. Him dining at this uppity restaurant she was able to score a job at tells her that he’s wealthy. His disposition and the fact that he somehow secured it to where the surrounding tables of where he sits have been marked as unavailable tells her that he has pull. But, the way he interacts with her, a literal nobody, she’s not sure what that means.

Especially with the beautiful woman he’s with, because while Solana thinks she’s every bit a bitch as most of the women who come into this place, she’s a stunning bitch. 

Which is why Solana can’t allow herself to believe that that equally beautiful looking man is looking at her in any sort of capacity. 

There’s no way in he—

“Solana.”

And just like that, she's frowning again. “Mami?”

The last thing she expected to see this evening was the sight of her mother, already dressed in her scrubs, baby in her arms. 

Solana’s baby. 

Her 11-month–old daughter, Soraya. 

The shock wears off as Nina gets closer, Solana shaking her head, “what are you—”

Nina shakes her head, face apologetic and tone contrite. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I got called into work. I can’t watch Raya.”

Shit

It's inconvenient, but Solana understands it. She remembers the countless times Nina had no other option but to leave her with a neighbor after being called into work at all kinds of hours. She’s always worked so hard to take care of the two of them when Solana was growing up. 

“It’s okay, mama.” Solana easily reaches for her daughter, a wave of relief and happiness washing over her as she holds and kisses her baby. The source of all her joy. All of the struggle, every bit of it, is worth it as long as she has her daughter. She’d do anything for her. “How was she?”

Nina gives a small chuckle. “She’s like you were and still are. An easy child.” Solana kisses Soraya’s temple. “Sol…..” And just like that, Solana already knows she’s probably not going to like what she’s about to hear. “I know you’ve said you don’t want to go after him for child support, but it’s not fair for you to be out here working two jobs while putting yourself through school to take care of his child.”

Solana holds Soraya just a smidge tighter. “She’s my baby, mami.” 

Nina counters. “She’s his biological child.” Solana looks away, hopeful her manager, Aldis, doesn’t come out and scold her for this little interaction. She’s scheduled to clock out in another half hour anyway. “He should be paying you child support.”

Her mom is right. Solana knows this, knows that it’s not fair for her to have to be the sole provider for her baby girl, while Cruz lives his best life as an absentee, deadbeat dad. And she’s considered on several occasions going to the courthouse to see what she needs to do to get that ball rolling. 

But, every time, she’s haunted by something he said the last time they spoke, not even a month after her daughter was born. 

“Don’t you get it? We were fine before she came in the picture! We could be fine again if she wasn’t.”

Solana’s never been more disturbed than she was to hear those words leave his mouth. That’s why she’s glad he’s gone, that he wants nothing to do with her or his child. Because she would never trust to leave her baby girl with him in the first place.

And if that means she does it without him contributing financially, that’s exactly what she’ll do. 

Solana shifts Soraya from one hip to the other. “I don’t need him, mami.” And she doesn’t. Because if Solana had to resort to sex work to take care of herself and her daughter, it’s exactly what she’d do.

Nina gives a heavy sigh. “Mija, you know I help you when I can.”

“I know.” Because she does. But, the same way that times are hard for her. They’re hard for her mom, too. Everyone’s struggling these days, it seems. Everyone except the rich people who wine and dine without a care in the world around them. “I’ll be okay.”

Always will be.

Nina gives a knowing nod, hugging her daughter and gently taking her granddaughter’s hand, kissing it, speaking in Spanish. “I’ll see you later, okay? Abuela loves you.”

Solana smiles. “Thanks, mama.”

“Always, baby.” 

Nina reaches Solana the diaper bag, Solana placing it on the bar stool, knowing it’s bound to be left alone. These rich ass people would never bother with the Ross purchase. With a final parting smile, Nina is off to the hospital, leaving Solana with her daughter who’s just now waking up.

“Hi, baby girl,” Solana giggles at the almost cranky expression on her baby’s face. Raya is definitely not the happiest camper when being woken up. 

A glance at the time reminds Solana that she technically is still on the clock and really shouldn’t have her child with her. But, with no other option, she accepts she’ll just have to clock out early and take whatever those consequences are.

But before that, the least she can do is grab the bill from the table where the handsome stranger and his girlfriend sat. She’s briefly disappointed to see the table empty, even if she remembers his deep voice thanking her for her assistance this evening as she brought them that same check earlier. 

It’s a silly thing, really. And she tries to push away the disappointment at not properly telling him goodbye. A stranger. 

Silly.

Soraya grasps at the collar of her shirt while Solana walks over to the table, pausing as she gets close enough to see that there’s more than just a bill with a signature. There’s cash. A stack of it. Money in hand, she’s confused, because this man paid with a black card, so what—

“Good.” 

Solana gaps and spins around, her eyes widening as she looks up. He’s a lot taller than she realized, burly body nearly eclipsing her view of anything else, silky black hair in such a neat, perfect bun. “Wanted to make sure you got it.”

Brows furrowed, it’s hard for her to speak for a lot of reasons. One of which is the fact that this man cannot be real. A man cannot be this handsome. But, he is real, and he’s looking at her.

And Soraya. 

“I—” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Is this—you already paid—”

“That’s not for the bill,” his voice is so velvety, smooth, and deep. “It’s your tip.”

Eyes widening, her gaze snaps to the wad of cash as Soraya continues to grasp and squeeze her shirt. She doesn’t even need to count to know that this is a nice amount of money. 

Too much.

“I can’t—it’s too much.” 

He chuckles, “do I look like I can’t afford it?” Her eyes roam over his big, muscular build dressed in fine, expensive looking clothes. He just oozes wealth. 

And power. 

“N–no.”

“Dealing with Samantha, trust me, you earned it.” Solana looks down, wanting to hide her small smile. His gaze redirects to the child in her arm. “Who is this?”

And just like that, Solana’s proud smile returns. “My daughter, Soraya.” It’s like Soraya knows she’s being discussed, lifting her little head to look at Roman. A big grin on her face before she buries her face into Solana’s neck. 

Roman makes a sound, and she can almost swear she sees the smallest smile on his handsome face. “She looks like you.”

That creates such a warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach, “thank you…..”

He looks at her a bit confused, like her unspoken question surprises him, before answering. “Roman.” Roman. “Roman Reigns.”

Roman Reigns. Even his name is powerful.

It fits him.

Solana shifts Soraya around as she starts to get wiggly in her arms. “Well, thank you, Mr. Reigns.” She’s certain the shock of just how much money this random, rich stranger has given her hasn’t truly set in. Because if it had, she’d have a much more visceral response. 

A lot more.

“Roman,” he corrects. “Call me Roman.” 

“Roman….” 

Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes, something that makes her feel a bit unnerved under his intense stare. It’s broken, however, by her now irritated daughter.

“Mama.” Soraya makes her dissatisfaction at being still for too long known by punching her tiny fist against Solana’s chest. “Mama!”

“Shhhhh,” Solana kisses her temple, trying to quiet her down before someone makes Aldis aware of her presence. She looks at Roman, eyes softening, “thank you again.”

Truly. Honestly. He hasn’t the slightest clue how much this will help her. It’s why she can stand here without anxiety and concern about making it to the bus stop on time. Tonight.....tonight she’ll treat herself and her baby with calling an Uber instead. 

Might even stop and pick up dinner.

Roman nods, eyes briefly glancing at her daughter again, the smallest smile on his face. “I’ll see you later, Solana.” His head dips a bit in acknowledgment towards her baby. “Soraya.”

The smile is plastered on her face even as he walks off without another word. And it’s only a good two minutes later that she catches onto what he said. A certain word in particular standing out the most. 

What did he mean by later?

[plow-and-propose]

Orange Flags (found in any post but especially ones about politics)

We don't always have the time and/or energy to do our own research, so here are some things to watch out for:

No sources. Obviously this doesn't 100% guarantee that the post contains misinformation but it does mean you can't easily verify it. Is OP right? Wrong? Outright lying? You don't know!

Contradicting sources in the notes. Again, doesn’t necessarily mean that OP is wrong, but you should absolutely do your own research before sharing if several different people are providing contradictory evidence.

'Unreliable' sources. What constitutes as unreliable depends a bit on context but be especially wary of unsourced screenshots (could be taken out of context), clearly biased sources (e.g. 'Nationalist News of [Country]' type newspapers), and second hand sources (e.g. a different, unsourced tumblr post).

Minor mistakes. Like an incorrect statistic, an exaggerated number, or a omitted detail - something fairly small. Maybe OP just misremembered or forgot about this one thing, but it could be a sign they've made an error or lied about something far more major.

Urgency. Obviously there is a lot of reason for urgency when dealing with crises, but if a post gives you the vibe of go go go there's no time to explain share this give money do it now don't think about it go then OP may not have stopped to check their sources, or even be actively using urgency to mislead you.

And lastly here's a tip: if you're not sure, save the post as a draft. More information might become available later.

Stopping the spread of misinformation is hard. We all want to help and sharing posts feels like a very quick and easy way to do it. But it's also very easy to share the wrong thing by mistake. Try to stop and think.

Source for this post: my own experience. These are things I've picked up over many years of being gullible online. I highly encourage you to take the time to educate yourself about how to stop the spread of misinformation.

[markleessodalite]

NCT Dream as Storm Chasers

content: just a little headcanon about nct dream as storm chasing youtubers :)

warnings: nonidol!dreamies, youtuber!dreamies, obviously talking about severe storms, very brief mentions of destruction but nothing super detailed. this is NOT meant to encourage storm chasing!!!! its an incredibly dangerous activity that should only be left to people who know with 100% certainty what they're doing!

a/n: i wasn't even planning on posting this but literally this entire week we've been having tornadoes in my area (nothing i'm not used to tbh) and that inspired this train of thought... actually lowk surprised that i haven't thought of something like this sooner though considering that storm chasing is one of my special interests and i literally studied meteorology in college lol (there's a timeline not too far off from this one where i become a storm chaser so this is also functioning as a fantasy fulfilment for me)

a/n pt 2: also fun fact the photo i used up here ^^ is from a tornado in Texas in 1997 that's known as the "Dead Man Walking" tornado-- bc the rotation system has two funnels that look like the legs of someone walking (weather is literally so fun)

nct dream who all run a youtube channel to document their storm chasing adventures and share critical information about upcoming severe storms

Jaemin, Jeno, and Chenle who make up the team that’s actually on the ground following the storms. Jaemin because he thinks they’re beautiful and he gets the best pictures and videos. Chenle because he can’t deny he loves a thrill and he’s brave enough to get up close and personal with the storm systems. And Jeno because the other two need at least one cautionary and sane person with them

Renjun and Mark who call themselves the “home base” who are the ones who know how to actually read the weather radars and are connected to radar stations across the country. Mark is the one who guides the ground team on where to travel to and where to stop, helping them maintain a distance that’s close but safe. And Renjun is the one communicating with the broadcast team, providing them with radar imagery and videos taken by the ground team, and translating information into words that can be understood by the general public.

And finally the broadcast team, comprised of Haechan and Jisung. Jisung, who actually doesn’t know much about meteorology compared to the others, is more than happy being the tech guy, making sure the live broadcast runs smoothly and sharing the images and videos provided by Renjun when needed. And Haechan, who is the face of the channel, whose professional yet playful demeanor is adored by regular viewers. Knowing exactly when to joke and when to be serious, he has a special charm that works wonders calming viewers during threats of severe weather.

Nct dream who grow to be the most popular storm chasers on youtube, evolving from a niche genre into a channel whose broadcasts rival the viewership of official news outlets. Nct dream as storm chasers who are known for providing aid to communities that have been damaged by the storms and encouraging their viewers to contribute to funds set up to help these communities. Nct dream who can’t deny the thrill of following tornadoes, wading through floods, enveloping themselves in barrages of hail and lightning, but who focus on the ethics behind storm chasing more than anything: providing information to help communities stay safe.

[multiheadcanons]

TF2 MERCS DRIVING

scout: scout is actually one of the better drivers. undistracted, and he will lecture anyone who attempts to take his eyes off the road. knows stick shift because soldier taught him how to drive stick shift because “men know stick shift”. however, he doesn’t have his license, so he is legally not allowed to drive for Mann Co. for whatever reason, THAT rule is the one they follow.

soldier: he’s…. definitely capable of driving. nobody would willingly ask him to drive anything that handles better than a campbells soup can, the dogshit cars always act so well maintained with him. he eats at mario kart tho. he’s allowed one (1) shitty car that doesn’t even turn over unless he’s the one with the key in hand. if you ask him about how he happens to start the car he says “just jiggle it!”

pyro: will eat up a vespa. wants so badly to drive a fire truck. can’t for obvious reasons. also eats at mario kart.

engineer: a GREAT driver until you get him on the back roads. then it’s “darlin’, i’ve been driving on texas roads longer than you could see above the wheel, i got this” while your drink is splashing onto your shirt and you’re holding onto the the car handles for dear life and it seems like he’s actively going out of his way to hit every single pot hole and whooping like he’s a kid jesus fucking christ—

heavy: also a great driver! does his best driving on snowy roads, and will not drive a car not within legal parameters. he refuses to allow sascha to be taken because of something as silly as the insurance. easily distracted on the roads though, does better with a passenger princess taking care of directions. brakes for critters, brakes harder for road rage. he does love a good fight.

demo: a bad driver with a lead foot. treats the actual roads like mario kart. he’s also not allowed in the drivers seat of the company cars. that’s why he’s the main user of the teleporters. he uses his turn signals though, and frankly he thinks that’s all that should matter. once tailgated heavy so hard that heavy pulled over and as demo got out, fully ready to fight, and made eye contact with heavy he jumped back in his car and sped off. that was a sobering experience. heavy still laughs about it though.

medic: please do not ask this man to drive. he will be making calls, eating, drinking, changing the radio station, yelling at everyone in the backseat who’s “distracting him”, swerving in and out of lanes, using his knees to keep the wheel straight so he can clap to whatever music he decides on, and if you try to call him out on it, this fucker… this fucker scoffs. “don’t be a baby! i’ve been driving longer than i haven’t been driving, i am a wonderful driver!” with road rage to boot. he is not in his lane half the time. the last time he was allowed to drive for the company he also got into it with heavy. he’s the only one who didn’t get back in his car, but he did apologize. he will fight anyone who asks to fight on the roads, he will race anyone who asks to race. it’s lawless country. sighs about the autobahn often.

sniper: a good enough, responsible enough driver, because he’s the only one (aside from soldier…. technically….) with his own van to maintain. he will never let anyone else in the car if he’s in the car; he has no interest in letting people find out if he’s a good driver or not because his van is his sanctuary and that means everyone else get out. spends most of his time in his van anyway. doesn’t like sedans. does have a habit of tailgating people, and if you are allowed the rare opportunity to be in the vehicle with him and say something about it he’ll go “oh! am i? i’ll stop, thanks for letting me know mate” and then you will never be allowed in the car again. only thing he hates more than passengers are backseat drivers. he will tailgate whoever he wants to. fuck off. has also tailgated heavy so hard heavy pulled over to fight him, and he also got immediately back in his car and waved him off with an appeasing smile. heavy laughs about that too.

spy: you ever wanted to feel like you’re the worst driver in the world? get in a car with spy. feels like james bond. drives with no music, and one of the few times he won’t smoke. feels like an uber frfr. please do not speak to him when he’s driving, he would like to forget about the life he’s actively living and you are a part of that. makes a KILLER getaway car driver. prompt, punctual, professional. won’t drive anything without window tints.

[she-posts-nerdy-stuff]

It’s one in the morning let’s talk Six of Crows analysis - it feels like it’s been ages since I did any analysis, which is like the entire point of this account so sorry about that but here we go: We should talk more about Adem Bajan you guys okay because first of all he effectively comes to represent the vast majority of everyday people in a clear juxtaposition to both Inej and Van Eck, but he also is in a position of far less choice than I think we give him credit for.

As a reminder, Bajan is a young Suli boy (presumably somewhere around 19 but we have no confirmation of that) working in the Van Eck household teaching Alys music. He is highly implied to be having or to have interest in having as affair with Alys, and was Van Eck’s chosen jailer for Inej at the beginning of Crooked Kingdom. Van Eck claims he made this choice because he thought “a Suli boy would be most conspicuous” when he was attempting to lure Kaz into a trap to save Inej, but it was also an inarguably smart decision in that, as Inej even comments herself, Bajan was easy to talk to, made her feel nostalgic, homesick, and alone, and very nearly succeeded in drawing information out of her without having to restore to torture. If anything, resorting to torture was Van Eck’s major mistake at this point but that’s really a conversation for another time. Bajan is a really interesting character because he doesn’t want to hurt Inej and specifically encourages her to tell him things so Van Eck won’t escalate things further, but when Van Eck does escalate things Bajan is unable - or possibly unwilling - to stop him. For this Inej calls him a monster, and when he claims he did nothing replies “no, you’re the man who stands idly by congratulating himself whilst the monster eats its fill”. She draws a Suli phrase on him that effectively means he’ll be rejected by the community forever and his spirit/soul won’t be accepted, and she describes it as the worst fate or something along those lines sorry I can’t remember exactly. But what’s the most interesting thing is that even though he claims not to believe in any of it Bajan gets noticeably upset by this and says “that’s not fair”. Inej is surprised that he’s this soft, and there’s a very clear juxtaposition between the lives they have lived.

BUT - let’s look at this from Bajan’s perspective. And remember - this is important - Bajan is not described as an employee of Van Eck’s, but an indenture. An indenture. So Bajan is a young boy indentured in a foreign country to a man as high up in the country’s government as you can get and who has clearly been illustrated to the reader as a terrible person on several different levels that I won’t dissect in too much detail right now. He appears to have acclimatised himself to Kerch surroundings and acts with elevation above his status, because that’s what he has to do to survive in the upper echelon of a deeply classist society that actively diminishes and disapproves of his culture. (<<if anyone wants references for that let me know and also I’ve written about it quite a bit before so that’s kicking around on my page somewhere) He refuses to speak to Inej in Suli because “it makes me maudlin” and my question to you is: is he rejecting the language to further attempt to fit in and as a product of internalised prejudice, or because it’s so incredibly painful to be half-connected to a culture not only that he has forced himself to reject but also that he feels he can never safely return to? Probably both. He tells Inej he doesn’t believe in Suli superstition, religion, or culture, and yet is deeply upset when she uses it against him. Is this because he actually does believe, or wants to believe, in the Saints and the Suli interpretation of them but has rejected them for survival and the supposed betterment of himself? Possibly.

Bajan strikes me as very similar to Jesper in the way he presents himself as free, flirty, and casual, but had a considerable weight to almost everything he says and considerable pain hidden closer to the surface than he may have realised. I think there are parallels between him and Inej if we want to see them, but also a very stark difference in the way Kerch and Ketterdam have treated them. Bajan may not be privileged but even as an indenture he has - or at least as far as we know has had - a far safer and kinder experience than Inej has. This could be related to gender since the hyper-sexualisation of Suli culture is mostly centred on women - “the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl” (I’ve intensely analysis this quote before so I won’t now but ugh there’s so much to say) - but we do know there are young boys captive at the pleasure houses as well although less commonly and it’s also possible that this difference is linked to Bajan’s decision to turn his back on Suli culture in order to appeal more to Kerch society whilst Inej continually embraced her culture and arguably became more religious in response to her experiences.

This is complicated because I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Bajan. I understand and support Inej’s perspective and everything she saw whilst in a far more dangerous position that he was, but is it possible that this was a lonely boy who saw someone he thought was like him and tried to communicate with her the only way he thought was safe? You are completely isolated in a foreign culture and hate yourself for having suppressed your own upbringing in order to survive, but now you meet someone else who yes, is in more danger than you, but who you might be able to help so that she can help you in return. You aren’t safe to speak freely and so you subtly tell her that you are an indenture, hoping she acknowledges that none of this is of your free will and because you know that she was indentured too (and remember from a societal pov there is very little understanding of what indentured girls at the pleasure houses actually go through and although that doesn’t excuse ignoring Inej’s trauma it may explain why he doesn’t fully acknowledge that their positions aren’t equal), you tell her that speaking your own shared language makes you feel maudlin, hoping she realises that you desperately miss your homeland and using your language makes you feel even further from your family than you already are because you can’t share it with them. She doesn’t seem to be taking any of it in, your employer has every intention of hurting her and you don’t know what else to do, so you make a last plea: you ask her about home. You think you’ve already made it clear that speaking about home is painful, so you ask her about it to invite that pain, to share it, so you both understand. But it fails, because she only sees your employer puppeteering you. You openly beg her to tell him the truth so that he won’t hurt her but she refuses to comply, and after all of your efforts and your desperate attempts to connect and beg her to help you both go home, her response is to turn your home against you and banish you from it for eternity. So when you see her the next morning, how could you possibly look her in the eye?

Bajan did not make all of the right choices in his brief time on the page. He didn’t. But maybe he was trying really hard, and he had no other options left.

Anyway I’m not saying this is definitive one way or the other it’s just an interpretation but I find him a very interesting and very sad character and I although I support all of Inej’s actions in these scenes from her point of view I do find myself wondering how she appeared to Bajan and how he felt in the aftermath.

[hyperpotamianarch]

For one, the belief that the truth is impossible to know feels like a way of shutting down further questioning,

As you said I can point out said covenant likely doesn’t exist, I can point out the historical evidence against the exodus, the fact the Israelites likely merged from previous Canaanite tribes, the aspects of the various stories clearly taken from the epic of Gilgamesh, etc etc

And I can also point out that if your god is just “holding the laws of the universe together” then the universe with your god in it is functionally exactly the same as a world without it.

I am not trying to force you to only believe in probably tree things, just like you can’t stop me from believing in a Flying Spaghetti Monster that only I can detect in any way, but you wouldn’t have to treat that belief with any special consideration correct?

The other aspect is how religious beliefs are somehow more “sacred” than secular ones? As you said thete is a difference between a theory like flat earth and belief in a creator deity, but belief in something like, say, astrology? Is THAT held with the same regard?

Heck, since this started with you arguing with an anti thrust (who I also disagree with for the record” what about their belief that all religions are evil or harmful? That belief is not disprovable, heck what about the hypothetical chaos worshipper you mentioned? Their belief is just as real as yours.

The belief that the truth is impossible to know isn't exactly what I've been bringing up here. The truth is possible to know and scientifically check in many matters. The existence of G-d might also be possible to know if He revealed Himself to you, despite the lack of possibility to disprove it. Of course, I'm also not asking you to accept my faith unquestioningly. Considering you say you're not an antitheist I'm not sure what my purpose here is considering you came to me - I initially assumed it would be to persuade you to respect my way of life.

The second point you raise is likely the best one here - because it would lead me to apologia and a series of explanations on the lack of archeological evidence of the Exodus. I honestly don't feel qualified to talk about this, but this is likely something I should consider, since it does matter for the sake of my faith.

Your third paragraph feels redundant, as this is kind of the point of indisprovability. It's impossible to see the difference between a world with G-d and a world without Him, but if it were different, if there was a perceivable difference, then the existence of G-d would've been a scientific question. As it stands, it's no more possible than proving or disproving the existence of a demon messing up with your experiments. Also, there might be differences - just not ones that can activate be empirically measured. And there is a difference to me, and to any other believing person in the world.

The rest of your message is a list of beliefs you claim should be getting equal rights to any other beliefs. For that, according to everything I said so far, they need to: 1. Be impossible to disprove using the scientific method, and 2. Not cause harm to anyone. This definition could be elaborated upon more, though.

The list of beliefs you supply are as follows:

Pastafarianism, or the belief in the Flying Spaghetti Monster

Astrology

Antitheism

Golbism, or the belief in the god of Chaos that wants all life destroyed.

So, let's go over them by order. First, is it possible to disprove the existence of the Flying Spaghetti Monster, as described by you (because I don't know the official Pastafarian definition of it)? I think we can safely say that it's impossible, because you claim that only you can perceive it. So the next question is, does that belief lead you to cause harm? To my knowledge, Pastafarianism does not include any tenet that is directed to hurt people. If that's so, then supposedly it's a religion like any other and deserves the same care as any other religion does. Some countries in Europe and around the world have given its practitioners such rights. However, Pastafarianism is also considered a satire religion in some places, leading me to ponder another criteria for deserving of respect - that this belief is genuinely held, and not used as a way to mock other beliefs. In theory it could count as harm, but I'm not really sure about that.

What is Astrology, this secular belief you are suggesting should get more respect? It's the practice of divining the future from the stars and constellations. So, is it disprovable using the scientific method? I think I can argue that yes, it is. If true, a practitioner should be able to accurately predict the future, to a certain degree, and it should be repeatable. If said practitioner has made predictions, and said predictions were proven untrue time and time again - that disproves it. If there is evidence that the practitioner is essentially using the Barnum effect to predict vague things that could be read as anything... Well, in that case it might be considered impossible to disprove, and as long as it's doesn't cause harm it shouldn't get more derision than any other religion. I'm not completely sure about that part, however - I need to consider if proving something uses the Barnum effect can be considered proving it untrue.

Then, we go on to the third belief: antitheism as framed by @mitchfynde. This definition is believing that all religions are inherently harmful, and that it would be best for the world if all of humanity willingly abandoned them. So, first question: is it disprovable?

Well, actually, I think it is! Sure, there are many religions in the world, but it's still a finite number. And even if it wasn't, technically finding one religion that doesn't cause bigotry among its believers would already disprove this belief. It would be harder, and perhaps impossible, to disprove the claim that the world will be better if everyone willingly abandoned religion. In theory, you could make an experiment, but considering it would need to be global it's kind of impossible. A possibility would be to gather a group of people who already willingly abandoned religion, from various backgrounds, and put them in an isolated, self-sufficient community. This experiment might be unethical, which would be a problem, but the mere possibility of it makes this a question of science.

Considering that, I think it's not a belief, but a theory - that, to my knowledge, is as of yet unproven. If proven, then by my own system no religion would be qualified as an acceptable belief, because it's harmful. I could try getting into whether or not this theory is harmful - it depends on what you define as harm, since in theory this shouldn't lead to violence or murder. It can lead, however, to coersion and erasure of cultures, or to verbal abuse. Personally, I'm not sure how I feel about the "willingly" disclaimer - not that I don't believe it's sincere, I'm not sure I believe it will work in practice. However, that remains to be seen, and if this theory is proven then decreasing the harm might be our next focus.

The last option, frankly, is your worst point in this entire ask - because you're completely ignoring why I brought Golbism out in the first place. Golbism might not be scientifically disprovable, but it's inherently harmful. It was a part of the definition: the belief in a god of Chaos who wants their followers to destroy all life. This is a classic case of a harmful belief, so regardless whether or not it's true or provable - the Last Scholar of Golb needs to be stopped, because they harm people. Possibly put in jail or an asylum, but I'm not going to debate proper treatment of it here. The problem isn't that they believe unprovable thongs, the problem is they cause harm.

All things considered, this system needs refinement. What does a belief being acceptable mean? How can you prove something is indisprovable using the scientific method? And what is defined as harm? Can you really gauge the genuinity in a belief, and should it be a criterion in deciding whether or not a belief is acceptable? And if so, what would you do with a belief that isn't genuine but is indisprovable and doesn't cause harm? It's not acceptable, but it's probably not the same as a harmful belief, and it's certainly not a scientific theory.

[vividiana]

chapter 3

pairing: Astarion x f!Durge · word count: 7k

rating: M for now, will change to E (18+)

tags: modern AU, witness protection, strangers to friends to lovers (see AO3 for a more exhaustive list)

summary: It’s been over a year since Eve had to uproot her life and assume a new identity—anything to distance herself from the past she wishes she could forget. When an erratic, if oddly charming, newcomer stumbles into her place of work, she recognizes something familiar within him and the two can’t seem to stay away from each other. But Eve is not the only one running from her past.

An alternative, modern take on the Dark Urge x Astarion romance, filled with friendship, secrets, healing, and ABBA.

a/n: this chapter was supposed to be like 5k tops OOPS. anyways, I can finally stop referring to Astarion as the "white-haired man" or "Note Guy!" 🥳 also, we get some ABBA, as promised! hope you enjoy 🧡

chapter-specific cw: heavy drinking, vomiting, references to past abuse/controlling behavior

previous chapter · read on AO3 · dividers

It’s been over a month since her first appointment with Halsin and Eve somehow managed to drag herself back to that office every Monday. At least it made Wyll happy. Following his advice, she did tell Halsin about her reaction to his assessment, and he assured her that they didn’t have to return to the subject before she was ready. Instead, they spent the last few sessions exploring Eve’s beliefs about herself and developing some more practical tools to deal with her anxiety (which she was reluctantly grateful for, as much as she’d hate to admit it).

Outside of work, she was more busy than ever. With the school year being over, Lae’zel had a lot more time on her hands and was always coming up with Fun Summer Activities for them to do. This mostly boiled down to various forms of physical exertion, which Eve bravely endured. The things we do for love.

After coming back from yet another hike, Eve collapses on the couch, bitching and moaning like she just crossed the entire country on foot. Lae’zel, however, seems to have endless reserves of energy, because she immediately heads to the kitchen to make them both protein shakes. She places one of them on the coffee table next to Eve, which she acknowledges with a light groan of gratitude.

“Don’t be dramatic. It was only seven miles,” Lae’zel says before she takes a sip of her shake.

“Yeah, it was also eighty-five degrees.”

“It would have been cooler if you woke up at six like I suggested.”

Eve doesn’t grace that with a response. She just watches as Lae downs her drink and starts to pace restlessly around the apartment.

“Are you okay?” she asks.

“I’m bored,” Lae says absentmindedly. Then, she stops in her tracks and looks at Eve with an odd glint in her eyes. “We should throw a party,” she says, before resuming her pacing.

This finally prompts Eve to sit up, against the collective protest from her muscles. She observes Lae’zel warily and says:

“I’m sorry, I think the heat is getting to me. I could swear I just heard you say you want to throw a party.”

“Correct.” 

“Are you on drugs?”

“It might be nice to see everyone before I leave for Córdoba.”

“Who is everyone?”

“You know, friends.” Lae gestures vaguely.

“I’m gonna need names,” Eve says. “And for the love of God, please sit down, you’re freaking me out.”

Lae’zel finally comes to a halt and sits on the armchair. She looks almost embarrassed, which is worrying in its own way.

“Who are these friends you’re talking about?”

“Wyll…?” Lae offers weakly.

“Wyll is not your friend, you met him one time ages ago when he came in here for the assessment. He’s not even my friend, it’s literally his job to spend time with me. So who else?”

“People from work.”

“What, like the biology teacher who has a crush on you? What was his name again?”

“Rath. And he doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“Sure.”

“Also Dammon.”

“Okay, that I can understand, you two actually hang out sometimes. Who else?”

“Zevlor.”

“Who the fuck is Zevlor? I have never heard that name from your mouth.”

“He’s my accountability partner at the gym.”

“Accountability partner…” Eve sighs, massaging her temples. “Lae, be for fucking real: is this about Jen?”

“You’re right, we could also invite Jen,” Lae’zel says with feigned excitement as if this has never occurred to her before. “That’s a great idea. You’re so smart.”

“And you’re a terrible liar.” 

“Fine,” Lae’zel sighs, exasperated. “Of course this is about her, who else?”

“I don’t get it, you already see each other a couple times a week. And you text, like, all the time.”

“Yes, but…” Lae’zel drops her gaze in a way that Eve would characterize as bashful, if she didn’t know any better. “Texting is nice, but when I see her, we don’t really talk, we’re busy with other things. And I would just like to… get to know her better.”

A foreign sort of warmth spreads through Eve’s chest as she listens to her friend describe what can only be considered a crush. Like a champ, she fights down the urge to yell I knew it!

“I see,” Eve starts gently, as if this version of Lae’zel were a precious fawn who could be easily startled by any sudden movement or snapping twig. “Have you considered asking her on a date?”

“I don’t do dates, Eve,” Lae’zel huffs with a determination that is likely meant to convince herself more than anything. “But if we throw a party, she will be just one of many guests, so it won’t be as obvious that I…” She trails off and shakes her head. “It has to happen before I go home. I’ll be gone for a month and I’m worried that if sex is all we have, then she’ll just find someone else to replace me. And that will be the end of it.”

“We can’t have that,” Eve says with a soft smile. “A party it is, then.”

“A party it is.” Lae’zel smiles back, her confidence returning. “I’ll need your help. As you pointed out, I don’t actually know that many people.”

“Me neither, but I’ll figure something out, don’t worry.”

“You should invite Note Guy.”

“I– Uh– Well, I guess if I find no other alternatives, then I might. For you. Just to make sure we have enough guests to make this party believable.” 

“Of course.” Lae’zel nods sagely. “No other reason.”

As Eve heads to work on Tuesday, it’s with an unusual sort of determination. She’s on a mission.

When it comes to party guests, Lakrissa is the obvious choice. Although they have never spent time together outside of work, Eve genuinely likes her, and they share this unique sense of camaraderie, being the only constants in the ever-changing array of waitstaff. A lot of people would join the team at the Blushing Mermaid only to quit after a couple months, or even weeks, but the two of them have held their post ever since Eve got the job a year and a half ago. She is not sure if it’s a testament to their determination or desperation—but either way, she finds Lakrissa’s presence grounding amidst all the chaos. 

Plus, Lakrissa seems to have a bustling social life, always sharing stories about her nights out, so Eve decides to extend the invitation to some of her friends. 

“Amazing!” she gasps when Eve chats her up in the kitchen. She pulls out her phone and starts typing rapidly. “I’ll text Kaldani and Rikka. Oh, and Danis too! He’ll probably bring his fiancé, is that alright?” 

“That’s perfect.”

On a whim, Eve also invites one of the line cooks, Minsc. He is a truly puzzling yet charming man with a thick Slavic accent—Eve is not sure what kind of Slavic exactly, because Minsc never talks about himself. He does, however, talk at length about his hamster Boo, to whoever will listen. He is a bit odd, to be sure, but he always seems to be in a good mood and equipped with a bottomless arsenal of anecdotes, making him the perfect guest.

After securing at least six new people for their party, Eve is pulled back into the whirlwind of clients and orders. Like clockwork, at 4 p.m. she finds herself carrying a plate of chicken tenders to the man at booth four.

“Hello Sir, what’s new?” she asks when she brings him the food.

“Thy wheel of fate turns ever to the light,” he says solemnly.

“Oh, that’s beautiful. Is it from a poem?”

“No.”

Eve waits for him to elaborate, but instead he picks up the utensils and starts cutting the chicken into little pieces. 

“Alright.” She shrugs. “Enjoy your meal.” 

“I will.”

Eve turns around and smiles when she sees that Note Guy has just arrived.

She was worried when he didn’t show up for a couple days after The Day When Everything That Could Have Gone Wrong, Went Wrong. It was a sudden change of routine that Eve felt personally to blame for, even if she realized how irrational and self-centered that was.

But then, one Friday, he came back, and it was as if that night had never happened. He was just as friendly as before, and she was once again in the right headspace to return his energy.

The days when he would come in felt lighter somehow. He was easy to talk to, even if their conversations were entirely surface-level. He quickly became her second-favorite regular—after all, the enigmatic Chicken Tenders Man would always have a special place in her heart. The two of them gave her something to look forward to during her otherwise arduous shifts. 

It’s no different this time, the two of them engaging in the now familiar banter as she takes his order.

Shortly after, Eve is heading over with his food, when Lakrissa stops her just a couple feet away from his table to ask if she should bring anything to the party. They briefly discuss the logistics before returning to work, Note Guy donning a curious smile when she finally walks up to him. 

“Hosting a party?” he asks.

“Yes. Well– It’s more of an elaborate excuse for my roommate to hang out with her crush, who she insists is not actually her crush.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah, she wants to spend more time with her, but she convinced herself that she doesn’t do romance, so she can’t just ask her out. It has to be a whole thing.”

“Naturally,” he says, amused. “And you’re organizing it?”

“Well, we both are, but I guess I was tasked with recruiting more guests, since we rarely do these types of things, it will be sort of like a patchwork situation…” 

Eve trails off once she realizes she’s rambling. 

Why are you telling him all these details?

“That sounds fun.”

Eve can’t tell if he genuinely thinks that, or if he’s just trying to be polite. There is a moment of silence, as they regard one another, her thoughts racing.

Ask him. 

Isn’t that weird though? We barely know each other.

If he thinks it’s weird, he can say no. Just ask him, goddammit.

“Anyways, enjoy your meal,” she blurts out before turning on her heel and walking away, cursing herself.

Good job.

When she eventually comes back to check up on him, she is still a bit embarrassed by her impressive inability to play it cool.

“Everything alright over here?”

“It’s perfect,” he says, as if their BLT were the most delicious meal known to man. Doubtful, but she appreciates the enthusiasm.

“Great, love to hear it. Can I get you anything else?”

“No, just the check, please, when you have a moment.”

Eve nods, ready to turn away, but then something inside her shifts. 

Fuck it.

“So um– About the party. I was just thinking that if you’re not doing anything Friday night, you could drop by if you wanted. It’s nothing crazy, just like ten or twelve people at our apartment. Could be a good way to meet some people since you’re new around here. No pressure, of course, I know this might be kinda weird cause we don’t really–”

“I’d love that,” he says with a genuineness that both reassures her and somehow makes her more nervous.

“Oh! Perfect. We’d love to have you. Um– It starts at seven, this Friday, like I said, and uh– Here, I’ll write down the address for you,” she says, fishing out her pen and notepad.

“You could also text it to me.”

She freezes for a moment and then can’t help but laugh as she puts the notepad away. The tension in her body eases along with the laughter and she feels more comfortable now in this familiar back-and-forth.

“Damn, that was smooth,” she admits, grabbing her phone instead.

“Yeah, I’m pretty proud of that one,” he says with a delightful grin.

Eve creates a new contact and hands the phone to him. When he returns it, she sees he saved his number as Astarion 🔥. She reads the name out loud, enjoying how it rolls off her tongue. 

“I’ve never met an Astarion before, it’s a pretty name. But why would you put fire next to it?”

“Well, isn’t it obvious?” he asks, flashing her his most charming smile.

Eve rolls her eyes and replaces the 🔥 with 🤓.

“I think this is more fitting,” she says, showing him the screen.

Astarion’s grin falters, eyes widening in genuine shock.

“I’ve never been more insulted in my life.”

“Why?” She checks the screen, then places it next to his face as her eyes move back and forth between the two. “It’s pretty accurate. You have the same glasses.”

“Hardly. And my teeth look nothing like that.”

Eve chuckles as she pockets her phone.

“What’s so funny?” he asks with a deep frown.

“It’s just a silly thing to get so defensive about.”

“I’m not defensive,” he scoffs. “It’s just–”

“I’ll be back with your check,” she cuts him off with a sweet smile, delighted by the annoyed huff he lets out as she starts walking away.

Eve spends the next three days dreading the consequences of her actions. 

Playful banter with a customer is one thing, but it’s something else entirely to have him in her home, on equal footing, with no predetermined structure and rehearsed pleasantries to fall back on. Eve is not sure how she feels about it, other than being utterly ridden with anxiety, though that’s nothing new.

On the upside, the apartment has never looked more pristine—a joint effort born out of the desire to make a good impression on their respective Special Guests, which neither of the women acknowledge out loud.

Suddenly, sooner than Eve would like, it’s the end of her Friday shift and she has two hours to pick up the final supplies for the party, make herself look presentable, and not smell like fries.

When she gets home, Lae’zel is finishing up her extensive hair routine. She’s wearing a boxy cropped tee and black bike shorts—nothing flashy, though Eve supposes the outfit is still more party-appropriate than Lae’s usual tracksuit.

Lae’zel takes the grocery bags off her hands and begins to unpack them, freezing when she pulls out an excessively large bottle of diet cherry Coke, which Eve put into her cart last-minute.

“What did you buy this for? This is a Pepsi household.”

“You never know, our guests might prefer Coke,” Eve says evasively before darting into the bathroom.

She hops into the shower and washes her freshly-dyed hair. Lae helped her with it last night after they both decided that her roots had gotten out of control and the intended mauve pink had washed out into an odd, pale shade of orange. 

When she makes it back to her room, she spends the next fifteen minutes trapped in a purgatory of indecision, before eventually settling for a sleeveless burgundy mock neck top and a pair of distressed baggy jeans. She puts on some green gel eyeliner and then wipes it off disgruntled, only to apply it again minutes later. After fiddling with her hair for way too long, she eventually puts the upper half of it into a bun, the rest brushing softly against her shoulders.

She almost jumps when the buzzer rings at 7 p.m. sharp.

“Hello?”

“Hi, this is Astarion. From the restaurant.”

“Thank you for specifying,” she chuckles as she buzzes him in. “Come on up.”

Her chest is tight with nerves as she lingers in the hallway. Finally, there is a light knock and something odd happens in Eve’s brain the moment she opens the door and sees him. For a second, all she can do is stare.

Astarion is wearing a black button-down with the sleeves rolled up and the top buttons undone, tucked into a pair of white wide-leg pants. It seems he opted for contacts today, because the familiar round glasses are gone, replaced by a pair of Lennon shades pushed up atop his orchestrated disarray of white curls.

“Hi,” he says with an awkward handwave, snapping her out of her stupor. 

She notices then the silver rings adorning his fingers, his well-groomed nails painted black. Eve suddenly feels very self-conscious about her torn jeans and bitten nails.

Before she gets a chance to respond, she hears Lae’zel’s voice from behind her:

“You’re early, Note Guy.”

Astarion checks his watch, brows furrowed.

“I thought you said seven.”

“No one ever shows up on time to parties,” Lae’zel says, “which means you’re early.”

“I see.” And then he cocks his head curiously when he says: “Wait, did you call me Note G–”

“Astarion, this is my roommate, Lae’zel,” Eve rushes in. “Lae’zel, this is Astarion.” She places emphasis on his actual name as she glares at her friend.

“I know,” Lae says and takes Astarion’s outstretched hand, gripping it harder than necessary. “Eve has told me a lot about you.”

“Has she now?” he asks, clearly amused. 

“Yes, I heard you’re rude to waitstaff.”

There is a moment of tense silence during which Eve wishes for the ground to come up and swallow her whole. But then Astarion pulls a bottle out of his tote bag and presents it to them with a weak smile.

“I brought gin.” 

“Great, come in, please.” Eve takes the bottle and beckons him inside. “Lae, could you check on the appetizers?”

“I don’t have to, they’re done.”

“Great, but could you please check? Just to make sure?”

Lae’zel rolls her eyes and heads to the kitchen, muttering something in Spanish under her breath.

Eve gives Astarion a very brief tour of the premises: shoes off (yes, ma’am), here’s the bathroom (got it), there’s the balcony if you want to smoke (I quit). Once that’s out of the way, she finds herself utterly at a loss for how to proceed. Perhaps Astarion senses that, because he looks around the empty apartment and offers:

“Can I help you with anything?”

“I think we’ve mostly got it covered–”

“You can be in charge of the music,” Lae’zel says, rejoining them with trays of food. She turns the TV on and navigates to device pairing. “But keep in mind that your Bluetooth privileges will be revoked if you fail,” she warns Astarion as she hands him the remote.

“I won’t let you down,” he says solemnly with an exaggerated salute. He turns to Eve with wide eyes, a soft smile tugging at his lips as if to say she’s fun! When he’s done setting up, he asks: “Any requests?”

They both shake their heads. 

“Okay, well, this is a lot of pressure.” He laughs nervously. “Guess I’ll just queue things up as I go. Ummm– Maybe let’s start with something calmer and go from there… This should work.”

Sounds that Eve can only describe as funky fill their living room. She doesn’t recognize the title of the song nor the name of the artist when they show up on the TV.

“I like it,” she says with a nod after a couple moments.

Astarion seems visibly relieved.

“Lae’zel, what’s the verdict?” he asks. 

“It will do for now.”

“That’s the spirit!” he says with a wide grin. “So what sort of music do you usually listen to?”

“I like eighties rock,” Lae’zel says.

“That makes sense, somehow. And you?” he asks, turning to Eve.

“I don’t really listen to music.”

“What do you mean?” Astarion asks, sounding genuinely baffled. 

“I don’t know,” she says, suddenly feeling embarrassed, like she failed some secret social test. “I guess I’ll just listen to whatever is playing, but I don’t really seek it out on my own. What about you?”

Apparently, Astarion listens to everything, which doesn’t exactly overlap with her nothing, but they somehow manage to keep the conversation going for a bit until Lakrissa mercifully shows up with her four friends. 

They all seem lovely and completely ignore Eve’s earlier insistence that they didn’t have to bring anything. Danis’ fiancé (Becky, was it? Eve already forgot half their names) hands her a baking dish of brownies, which Eve eyes cautiously.

“Are these…?”

“No, nothing funny in there!” the woman rushes to explain. “Well, except for a whole lot of chocolate and some raspberries. I just love baking! Danis and I are saving up to open a cat café.”

Shortly after, they’re joined by Dammon and Rath, followed by Minsc, who shows up with sunflowers.

“Eve, my friend, these are for you!” he bellows excitedly.

“Aw, you didn’t have to,” she says as she takes the ridiculously large bouquet off his hands.

“Oh, but I did have to! You are much like a sunflower, you see. Always brightening up Minsc’s day at work. It’s the least Minsc could do.”

Eve is not sure how exactly she brightens up his day, since they rarely interact and she is always in a sour mood at work. But the sincerity in Minsc’s tone leaves no space for disagreement.

“Do you like it?” he asks. “Boo helped pick the perfect bouquet.”

“I love it, thank you so much! And how did he help you, exactly?”

“Minsc hovered his hand above the flower display until Boo squeaked. It was much like a claw machine, where Minsc’s hand was the claw, and Boo was the child with a quarter.”

“You make a fantastic team then,” is all Eve can think to say to that as she nods thoughtfully and invites him inside.

The party slowly settles into a comfortable rhythm as people chat, eat, and drink, all to the sounds of Astarion’s improvised playlist. Eve is thoroughly relieved that despite not knowing one another, their guests manage to mingle and enjoy each other’s company.

At one point, Lae’zel pulls her aside to say:

“Eve, there is a rodent in our home.” 

She points to Minsc and sure enough, there is Boo, perched contentedly on the man’s muscular shoulder, looking comically tiny in comparison. 

“Oh that’s just Boo,” Eve explains with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Don’t worry, I heard he’s very well-trained. He won a bunch of gold medals at the Hamster Olympics.”

“That’s not a thing that exists.”

“Maybe not. But Minsc’s anecdotes are always so fun and detailed, I just don’t have the heart to fact-check him.”

She leaves Lae’zel confused and heads to the kitchen to fish out her designated drink for the night from the back of the fridge. It’s an overpriced craft IPA from a local brewery, because if she’s only going to have one, she might as well splurge. A single drink is all she ever allows herself, painfully aware that she cannot afford to let her guard down, lest she starts openly spilling information about her life that only a select few are privy to.

Jen shows up fashionably late, a fact that Lae’zel seems both relieved and distressed by. And yet, it is not too long before the two of them are off in a corner together, laughing and completely ignoring the commotion around them. 

Eve, on the other hand, finds herself pulled into a discussion about movies, which shortly leads to her and Astarion both freaking out about the third installment of the Knives Out series, the title of which was just announced a couple weeks ago.

A loud chime erupts from Lakrissa’s phone and she pulls it out of her pocket.

“It’s BeReal time!” she announces, angling her phone to take a selfie with the group. 

But before she can take the picture, Eve grabs the nearest chip bowl and excuses herself, rushing to the kitchen. She runs into Jen and Lae, the latter mixing their drinks, the former studying the space curiously.

“What’s this about?” Jen asks, pointing to a white board on their fridge.

Aside from more mundane notes like what kitchen staples they’re running low on, the board houses a list, sectioned off in the corner, that reads:

ghost

poet

ghost poet

philosophy professor (tenured)

retired living statue

PI

alien studying our culture

“It’s about Eve’s old man,” Lae’zel says, looking over her shoulder.

“He is not my old man,” Eve clarifies and then regales Jen with the tales of her favorite regular, making sure to quote some of his signature lines that he always refuses to elaborate on.

“We have a running list of theories about who he might be,” Lae’zel adds.

Jen hums curiously, then grabs a marker and adds another item to the bottom of the list: god of death(?)

“What do you mean?” Eve asks.

“I don’t know, it’s just a feeling.” Jen shrugs.

“You say the weirdest things sometimes,” Lae’zel says, shaking her head, as she hands her the drink.

“And you love it.” Jen takes the cup and turns on her heel to go join a conversation between Lakrissa’s friends.

Lae just stands there for a moment, staring blankly ahead.

“Well done,” Eve says, patting her on the shoulder.

When she returns to the living room, she catches Astarion’s gaze and he comes up to her, phone in one hand, drink in the other.

“There you are! I was thinking I could put on some Chappell Roan to liven up the crowd. What do you think, Eve?” he asks before taking a very generous sip of his gin and tonic.

“Who is Chappell Roan?”

Astarion drops his phone, gasping dramatically as his free hand clutches at his chest.

“You heathen! You did not just ask me that.”

Eve can’t help but laugh at his theatrics.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You’ve definitely heard some of her songs,” Rath chimes in. “Do you know Pink Pony Club?”

“Oh, that one! I’m sorry, I have nothing against her, but if I have to listen to that song one more time, I’m gonna lose my mind.”

“Excuse you, it’s a great song,” Astarion mutters as he picks his phone off the ground and checks for damage.

“It might be, but it gets so overplayed on the radio, and I have to listen to it at work, which tends to ruin a lot of songs for me.”

“Hmmm… Okay, that’s fair,” he decides, graciously. “So I’m assuming Good Luck, Babe! is off the table, too. Let’s see…” He scrolls on his phone until he’s satisfied. “Oh! This will do. Eve, your task for this weekend is to listen to this album and let me know what you think. Where is your phone?”

She opens Spotify and hands the phone to him. 

“Why do you have Spotify Premium if you don’t listen to music?”

“Podcasts,” she explains. “And ambient noise.”

“You’re fascinating,” he says, clicking something. “Here, I saved it for you.”

The song that’s currently playing is mellowing out and Astarion hands the phone back to her before looking around the room.

“Jen!” he exclaims, pointing at the woman in question with a surprising level of familiarity.

She turns in their direction.

“Huh?”

“You look like you might know the lyrics. I’m counting on you to sing along.”

“What is that supposed to–”

But then the song starts playing and Jen’s eyes widen with excitement as she laughs.

She way a playboy, Brigitte Bardot–

“That’s a weird way to out me, but you’re not wrong!”

She showed me things I didn’t know–

Astarion leans in towards Eve, brushing lightly against her side.

“I think she outed herself when she was kissing Lae’zel on the couch,” he whispers into her ear. “But what do I know?”

She did it right there, out on the deck–

Astarion pulls away to sing the next line in unison with Jen:

“Put her canine teeth in the side of my neck!”

Apparently everyone but Eve is quite fond of Chappell Roan, because more and more people start getting up and singing along, though the only person who manages to hit all the notes is Jen. During the chorus, she gets up onto the coffee table and dances, looking absolutely ethereal. Eve finds herself entranced as she watches her sway and sing, but it is Lae’zel who looks like the whole world just blurred around her and only Jen remains in focus.

The people demand more dance songs and the DJ is happy to deliver. Eve dims the lights and then leans against the wall, sipping her beer and watching with amusement as the guests lose their minds over a song that apparently holds no small amount of nostalgia. 

Coming out of my cage and I’ve been doing just fine–

Astarion catches her gaze and pushes past Dammon and Lae’zel to get to her. 

Just as she puts the bottle up to her lips for another sip, he grabs it and deposits it on a low table beside her.

“Excuse you–” she protests, however weakly.

“May I have this dance?” he asks, putting his hand out as he bows with an exaggerated flourish.

“You’re ridiculous.” She laughs, hoping the blush in her cheeks is not as obvious in the low light. “Sorry to disappoint yet again, but I can’t dance. Comes with being a heathen.”

He smiles, rising back to his full height, looking at her curiously like she is a puzzle he hopes to solve one day.

“You don’t need to know how to dance to enjoy it,” he assures her. “You can just jump around and sing along, and it’s great.”

“But I don’t know the lyrics!” she yells over the people singing what she assumes to be the chorus.

“They’re super repetitive, you’ll catch on!”

And so, with no arguments left, Eve takes Astarion’s hand and lets him pull her into the flurry of laughing, dancing bodies, yelling in unison:

“STARTED OUT WITH A KISS, HOW DID IT END UP LIKE THIS?”

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS,” Astarion shouts and then points at Eve in a your turn gesture.

“IT WAS ONLY A KISS!” they sing together.

Once the song ends, some people go to sit down, but as soon as the next one starts, they change their mind, because of course you can’t not dance to that. And so it goes on, Astarion queueing things up on the spot, balancing his musical responsibilities with making sure his glass is never empty. He intersperses throwback hits with more recent songs, making it impossible to catch a breath.

It’s almost midnight by the time their collective energy fizzles out and then they’re back to sitting around, chatting, and drinking, utterly spent. 

Eve is listening, captivated, to another of Minsc’s anecdotes of doubtful veracity, when she gets distracted by Astarion’s agitated voice. He is sitting on the floor, engrossed in some heated discussion with Danis, and he has been getting increasingly louder and more blunt with each passing minute.

“What do you mean it comes with the job?! Harassment? Oh for fuck’s sake, you can’t be serious!”

She doesn’t hear what Danis is trying to tell him, but Astarion shortly cuts him off:

“Just because they’re famous doesn’t mean anyone is entitled to their time and attention 24/7!”

Eve is not sure what they’re talking about exactly, but she can’t shake the impression that there is something odd under the layer of irritation, like this matter is important to him on more than just the ideological level.

“Did someone knock?” Lakrissa asks, prompting Eve to look away from Astarion.

“Huh?” 

But then there is a louder pounding at the door that cuts through the music, followed by the unmistakable voice of their upstairs neighbor:

“OPEN THE BLOODY DOOR.”

“Hi, Aradin,” Eve says sweetly when she grants him his wish. “Would you like to join us?”

“What I would like is to go to sleep. It’s one in the fucking morning, Eve, don’t make me call the cops.”

“Alright alright. We’ll be quiet.”

She closes the door unceremoniously in his face, then asks Astarion to turn down the music. He mumbles something incomprehensive, searching for his phone, but eventually complies.

Most guests decide to take this as their cue to leave, thanking Eve and Lae profusely for the invitation. Eve hugs people goodbye, but Lae just waves her hand from the couch, too invested in the hushed conversation she’s having with Jen.

Danis gets up from the floor, stumbling a little, and Astarion tries to follow. He props himself on a chair but loses his balance, the chair flipping over and clattering to the floor. With the lights on, the music quiet, and the crowd dispersed, his unfortunate state quickly becomes apparent. 

“Are you okay?” Eve asks as she rushes to pull him up from the floor.

He manages to stand up, swaying a little, his hand grabbing her shoulder for balance.

“Sorry ‘bout that…” he slurs as he takes his hand away.

“You can go lay down in my room if you’re not feeling well,” she offers.

He barks out a laugh.

“How forward of you.”

“Yup, okay, I think it’s time to go home.”

With Minsc’s help, she gathers Astarion’s things and manages to lead him outside and to her car.

“Do you wish for Minsc to come with you?” the man asks after he deposits Astarion onto her passenger seat and buckles him in.

“I’ll be fine, but thank you. And thank you again for the beautiful flowers, they made my day.”

“Mission accomplished, then,” Minsc says with a wide grin.

They exchange their goodbyes and Eve gets inside, the small space already reeking of alcohol. Astarion is leaning against the window with his eyes closed. 

“What’s your address?” she asks as she starts the car and plugs her phone in.

“124– Wait. 120–” He groans. “Something like that.”

“Cool. Do you have your license on you?”

He mumbles something incomprehensible.

“Astarion, please don’t make me go through your pockets.”

He groans again before fishing out his wallet from the tote bag and handing it to her.

Eve searches for his license, finding instead a non-driver ID. She doesn’t particularly want to pry, but it only takes one glance to learn quite a lot about him. Astarion Ancunín, the ID informs her. He somehow managed to look good in the photo, which Eve supposes shouldn’t come as a surprise. He was born only four years before her, on June 21st. 

Eve reads the date again, then looks at the screen on the center console of the car.

06/22/2024. 1:21 AM. 

A bittersweet feeling settles in her chest as she looks up at Astarion, who seems to have fallen asleep against the window. It’s almost flattering in a way, that he would choose her company, though a part of her wishes he could have spent his birthday with someone closer, not just some random waitress and her patchwork of friends. And yet, she is glad that he didn’t have to be alone. After all, he seemed like he was enjoying himself, even if this conclusion to the night is less than ideal.

Eve returns her attention to the document in her hand, and the address she was looking for in the first place. She types it into the navigation and notes with relief that it’s only a 12-minute drive across town. 

Astarion remains quiet as she pulls out of the parking lot. 

But it only takes two minutes or so before he peels himself off the window and sits up, informing her in a pained voice:

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” 

Oh, fuck me.

Since she can’t easily pull over at the moment, Eve reaches back to grab one of her reusable bags from the backseat and hands it to him.

Astarion bends forward and clutches the bag tightly as an unfortunate sound erupts from his throat, the sour smell of vomit immediately filling the car. Eve rolls all the windows down, the fresh air bringing a faint sort of relief.

It continues for a while before Astarion rests his forehead on the dashboard and groans:

“Fuck, you must think I’m a mess.”

“I don’t think that.”

“I jusss– Guess I don’t really know my limits.”

“So I take it you don’t drink too often, then?”

His body starts to shake and Eve is not entirely sure if he’s laughing or crying.

“No... He never let me. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.” 

Eve grips the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white as she glances to the side, a raw mixture of pain and understanding in her eyes. But Astarion is not looking at her as he cradles his face in his hands and chokes out an apology:

“I’m so sorry, Eve.”

They stop at a red light and to distract him, Eve grabs her phone and opens Spotify.

“What’s your favorite band?”

“Bah,” he mumbles against his palms.

“Bah?” she asks, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

“AAAA–bah.”

“Oh, okay,” she says and starts typing into the search bar.

“A-B–”

“Yes, I got it.”

“B-A.”

She selects the top album that comes up, and the speakers hum to life as the first song opens with a piano slide. Astarion lifts himself ever so slightly to look at the screen in the center of the console.

“900 weeks on the UK Albums Chart,” he mumbles, sounding surprisingly coherent all of a sudden. “Longest running top-100 album of all time.”

“Hm,” Eve hums noncommittally, unsure what to add.

“21 times Platinum as of this January.” 

“Oh, wow. What does that even mean, 21 times Platinum?”

“It means it fucking slaps.” And to emphasize his point, he throws up yet again.

Anybody could be that guy,

Night is young and the music’s high–

The navigation says 6 minutes, but Eve hopes to get there sooner, given how empty the roads are at this hour.

“Only se-ven-teeeeen,” Astarion mumbles beside her.

He hums for the remainder of the song, somehow managing to stay on pitch. 

Eve doesn’t recognize the next track. She feels her muscles tense once the chorus comes on.

Breaking up is never easy, I know,

But I have to go.

Knowing me, knowing you,

It’s the best I can do–

His face flashes before her eyes. The look of pure disbelief when they took him away. The betrayal. The disappointment.

“After everything I’ve done for you–”

Eve skips to the next song, glad to hear no protests from Astarion. She takes a deep breath as she eyes the navigation.

“We’re only two minutes away.”

“Why are you so kind?” he slurs.

Eve’s throat tightens. Kind. Nice. Good. Words that feel like a mistake whenever they are used to describe her. Like a slip of the tongue.

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

But even in his drunken stupor, Astarion is too insightful for his own good.

“Not an answer.”

And then, because she knows he won’t remember this conversation come morning, Eve says:

“Because I finally have a choice.”

Astarion hums semi-thoughtfully but, to her relief, doesn’t continue down this line of questioning. 

The navigation informs her she is on the correct street, and that Astarion’s place should be coming up soon. But instead of the apartment buildings she was expecting, it’s a series of single-family houses.

“Your destination is on your right,” the voice informs her.

It’s a small house, all the lights are off. 

“Is this you?” she asks, wondering if she somehow mistyped the address.

But Astarion hums a confirmation when he lifts his head to look out the window. 

Eve pulls into the driveway and helps him get out of the car. She watches patiently as he struggles to fit the key into the door, before finally offering to do it for him.

Once they’re inside, he sways dangerously, and she reaches out to support him, which is apparently a mistake. 

“Don’t touch me,” he barks, and Eve lets go instantly. She stands there, stunned, as she watches him stumble into the living room before collapsing onto the couch with his shoes on.

Eve takes a deep breath and heads to the kitchen to get him a cup of water. When she doesn’t find a medicine cabinet anywhere, she runs back to her car to grab some Advil. 

“You should take this,” she says when she returns, placing the pills on the coffee table by the cup. “Future Astarion will thank you.”

Present Astarion groans his dissent.

“At least take out your contacts?” 

No response this time. 

She sighs as she looks around the space. It’s not at all what she expected his home to look like. Astarion is so expressive when it comes to his clothes and general demeanor, but this—this feels so bland and impersonal. It’s as if he got the house along with all the staging furniture and then didn’t bother to change a single thing about it.

Light snoring reaches her from the couch and Eve decides she has overstayed her welcome. When the door locks behind her, she stands there for a moment, taking a deep breath of the crisp night air in an attempt to ground herself, to drown out the echo of Astarion’s words, running on loop in her mind. 

“He never let me. Didn’t want the alcohol to dull the pain.”

A car drives past and it snaps her back to the present. She makes her way back to poor Gizmo to assess the damage. Astarion’s aim left a lot to be desired, judging from the stains on the floor and car seat which become apparent in the light. She tosses the grocery bag into a bin by his driveway (it’s reusable, sure, but is it that reusable?) and then tries to clean up the rest with some wet wipes, but it’s a losing battle.

When she eventually makes it home, the lights are off in the living room, but she sees a thin slither of light coming from underneath Lae’s door. She walks over, hoping to get all of this off her chest, but as she reaches out to knock, she hears muffled conversation and Lae’zel laughing softly. Despite everything, she can’t help but smile as she takes her hand back. 

a/n: thank you for so much for taking the time to read! 🧡 I would love to hear your thoughts, your comments always brighten my day

taglist: @roguishcat @arzen9 ✨ (lmk if you'd like to be added!)

next chapter · my masterlist

[mynameismckenziemae]

What the fuck is happening? I scroll down your blog and see anon hate shit.

Good god.

For some people, social media is about the only thing left to bring some joy. I completely understand not wanting to talk politics on SM. We currently have elections here and trust me, all everyone talks about here is politics and the future of the country. Sometimes, social media is the only escape left. Meaning, just because people don’t talk politics here, doesn’t mean they don’t do so in real life.

And I gotta add, social media is not a good place to get news, get educated about politics etc. That’s what libraries, schools, and newspapers/sites are for. Should you learn more about the political system in your country. Yes. But I’m not gonna be upset if you don’t know. In fact, I’d rather you tell me “I don’t know enough about this subject to have an opinion or add to the conversation” than make up shit as you go.

So for the anon who said you sound uneducated, instead of judging people for not knowing and making yourself sound like a complete jackass, maybe share an article, a book title, a website where someone can start to learn. I’m assuming it was the same anon who sent all the other stuff. You preach “help your community”. Then help your online community! You seem to have the time.

Which leads me to the next thing. I can’t stand this guilt tripping shit some anons do. As if it’s a competition. “You struggle and you’re exhausted. Well I struggle and am exhausted too and still manage to do all the one million other things for the movements I’m involved in.”

Oh, so you admit that getting involved in a bunch of stuff outside your regular obligations is exhausting? You want others to suffer like you? It’s not a god damn honor badge. It’s not a competition. People have the right to protect their mental, physical, and emotional well being. People have a right to prioritize their family’s needs. If this means not being actively involved in community events (political or not), then so be it. And how do we know people aren’t doing their part? Not everyone boasts about their accomplishments, the way they help, etc. online. Some people prefer helping quietly.

Also, to suggest to spend lunch breaks on anything other than actually eating lunch and giving your brain a break is god damn evil. Constantly reading, hearing, watching news is not god damn healthy. This mentality of “if you’re not on 24 hours a day and involved with everything that happens around the world and helping all these causes, you’re a bad person” needs to stop. Healthcare workers and most service workers don’t get breaks long enough to eat, let alone call their local reps or whatever else was suggested.

Like some of this shit is so worrying. Some of these anons act like taking a break is a sin. Or someone not talking about politics means they don’t care. Like damn. As if one person spending thirty minutes on Tumblr would bring upon the apocalypse. Not to mention, anon/s, you’re on here, too. Maybe delete the app and do as you preach. Instead of being on here, get on the phone and call your rep.

Anyways,

I hope @mynameismckenziemae is having a good day. 💖

Luv you, girl.

Oh Vonny, this made me cry.

I just woke up and can’t think of anything other to say than thank you ❤️

You are the absolute sweetest friend. Luv ya too.

[g0g0at]

Malevolent part 47

Oooh let’s go

What is that sound???

Thank you for the exact hours Yorick, I’ll be putting that to good use

Oh one of those medieval prison things.

A gibbot? Joyous name mmm

Are we about to get a sick fic esc episode?

Arthur talking about the air again… he’s been doing that a lot this season…

John shaking Arthur “REST GODDAMNIT!!

Bro straight up has the plague

“If Arthur says he’s fine, he’s fine” NO THAT IS NOT TRUE FOR HIM

John is being so understanding

John pep talk

“He was just a man” he also SUCKED

Arthur you’re not a bad person for this my guy

Probably would be dead otherwise ngl

“I don’t have an answer that will make you feel better”

John is already human

I mean you can try but the plague is contagious

“You know what the right path forward is” I mean mostly

“Thanks you keeping us alive” part 2

Hehe John bragging a little

Oh witches hand?

Welp. Time to desecrate a corpse

ARTHUR SHOULD NOT CLIMB HIGH PLACES!! NOT WITH HIS FALLING OFF OF THINGD HISTORY!!

Yorick you’re being sneaky…

Why did I know he was gonna say eye?

Eye gouging time again 😔

Hand of Malevolen(t)ce

“I am in no rush” ok Yorick thanks

Is he seriously climbing this

Couldn’t he tip it?

The laughing cough BAHAHHA

“There are no wrong answers in brain storming” sounds like my highschool teachers

Shame he doesn’t have an axe

How are you gonna get the pin? Shake it?

John has had enough of being dead named

Haha! Rocks!

How good is your aim?

Hey he hit it! John sounds so proud

Wii Golf

Alexander heyo

Alexander please don’t eat the eyes

ALEXANDER STOP THAT!

“I scared him away 😞 “

Is Alexander actively against Yorick?

Bro is calling himself a nerd 💀

For someone “not good at athletics” he’s good and running a such

“You wanted to fit in” HEY HEY HEY

“If they could see me now” *throws rocks at a corpse*

WHAT WAS THAT

Was that John tapping the cage to guide him? That’s a new trick

Mist creature

Oh no split decision

And another hole!

RIGHT NOW?!! WHY NOW?!!

YORICK PRIORITIES PLEASE

Oh dear

This is not good

Arthur you are “folding” again

Black candle?

Dark magic…

Oh dear dark world shit

What is happening

Did it get rid of the creature?

Oh the vanguard and yorick are seperate?

Hmmm

Interesting…

Hey he called him John

Yorick lore

I thought the antithesis was gonna be “the hand of god” ngl

Oh that’s actually useful af

Haha it was the owl!

Lilith? Sent by Kayne maybe?

Oh ok nvm

Arthur is just getting chased by every second outer god oml

Shape shifters…

Maybe Arthur needed to die for whatever reason

Who is she…

Limited uses AUGHHHHH

SCRATCH

Is John hearing those whispers?

Oh dear

Ok ok so. Alexander is or works for Scratch. But if Arthur is her “favourite”. Then…

Mmmm maybe Arthur NEEDED to die and come back, for some reason

Oooh this episode has so much lore

Can you bluff a god like that??

Maybe don’t confront her…

Double lie

I mean you guys are both ok at lying

Arthur is struggling

Oooh ok it’s starting to make sense

So you only gotta worry about her if she’s nearby that’s some benefit

John and Yorick bonding moment?

John saying he’s projecting and that he thought Yorick was a mistake… does that mean… does that mean John thinks that he’s also a mistake?

“Purely for appearances” yeah ok

Very poetic, my friend

Looks like we’re ramping up to the final season(s)

“We’ll stare it down” well… John will

Yeah play it up! Arthur’s acting skills have improved since the train

John is getting excited too BAHHAHA

How close are you guys to the castle?

Oh they’ve all be cut down hmmmm

Mmmm storm environment

King Louis?

Was there an 8th Louis?

So we’re in a different timeline

That’s a LONG reign

King John hehhe

France and England become one country??

Oooooh world building

AYE CASTLE!!

Eeee I’m excited

Hopefully it’s not full of dead people like in Carcosa

“I know far too much, you will need to be more specific”

That’s a big question

He needs some cough drops

He sounds like he’s gonna pass out kinda

King in Yellow has some French influence, this’ll be interesting

Oh my god he needs some soup and cough drops

Yorick sounded kinda concerned for him there dang

Yeah probably better to rest in the castle than the rain

Cows might be difficult to fake

That cough sounds real (if Harlan recorded this while sick I guess it would be)

Gold ring, good choice

Lovely description from John

Oh is this castle fucked up

Good lord that is a horrid cough

Everart… that sounds familiar… oh that’s a disco elysium character

Oh my god he literally sounds like he’s dying

“Not the way you taught me”

He is mixed up HE HAS THE PLAGUE

“Lean on me” I thought he meant literally for a second ngl and was like “well good luck with that”

Let John handle it for a bit

Castle time!!!

Oh the sound design….

Is Yorick in the bag??? Doesn’t matter if he’s quiet if they can SEE HIM

Oh this sound design is AWESOME

Don’t get stabbed…

Oh WHAT

Of course the castle is fucked up why am I surprised

How does he eat? Does he? Fucked up castle

This imagery is nice

Maaaaaaaaan maybe this castle was a bad choice

AH CARCOSA MENTION

All righty castle time!!

Mmmm I’m nervous tho ngl

Oooh can’t wait for next week!! The castle!!

[jujumin-translates]

★ Main Story | Act 13 - Budding Spring | Chapter 11 - Pause & Pose

Citron: 《It seems that there are no problems regarding this matter.》

Personnel: 《Understood. Well then, there is one more thing I’d like to discuss--.》

Personnel: 《Actually, ever since your activities have become more widely known about to the general public, Citronia-sama, interest in foreign culture and arts has been growing.》

Personnel: 《There is a proposal that the country should take this opportunity to invite performances from abroad.》

Citron: 《I think that’s a wonderful idea. I will talk it over with my father.》

Personnel: 《If that’s the case, I will make putting together a rough outline my number one priority.》

Citron: 《I’ll be keeping an eye out for promising theater companies and other groups on my end.》

Personnel: 《Thank you very much for doing so. I will have a rough outline ready in time for the International Arts Festival, so please wait until then.》

Citron: 《Regarding that… please put the status of my attendance on hold due to scheduling circumstances.》

Personnel: 《Would you like someone else to attend in your place? His Majesty also said that this would be a good opportunity to promote Zahra to places abroad…》

Citron: 《No, if we do participate, I would be the person most suited for it… but I’m currently tied up with some other things. Please just give me some time.》

Personnel: 《Understood.》

Citron: …

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Typing*

Tsuzuru: …Phew.

Masumi: …It’s noon.

Tsuzuru: What are you? Some kinda hourly reporter? Chill, I’ll take a break soon.

*Phone buzzes*

Masumi: …

Tsuzuru: If you know who it is, you should answer right away.

Masumi: I know.

Masumi: …I’m answering a call, so get out.

Tsuzuru: Huh? I’m supposed to leave?

Masumi: Go.

Tsuzuru: Yeah, yeah, I’m going.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Door closes*

Tsuzuru: (Maybe this is Masumi’s way of getting me to take a break.)

Tsuzuru: (Guess I could go for a walk after I eat lunch…)

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

*Shop bell rings*

Shop Worker: Welcome. Please take a seat anywhere.

Tsuzuru: …

Syu: Oh, would you look at that, if it ain’t Minagi-sensei.

Tsuzuru: Huh--.

Tsuzuru: (I never would’ve expected to see Otomiya-san in a coffee shop like this, it’s like seeing an animal in the wrong environment… Like a bar would make sense, but here?)

Syu: I ain’t out drinkin’ all the time, y’know.

Tsuzuru: (Busted…)

Syu: You alone? Come ‘n hang out with me for a bit.

Tsuzuru: Ah, well, if you insist…

Tsuzuru: (He even acts like we’re in a bar.)

Syu: Damn, that Yukio’s really done it again.

Tsuzuru: Huh?

Syu: The Fleur Award.

Syu: This is Yukio we’re talkin’ about, so I bet he’s all “Theater is the best” and “It’s more fun when everyone’s aiming to win the Fleur Award ♪”

Syu: He probably hasn’t even stopped to think about all the people who got caught up in this and now can’t tell left from right in the confusion.

Tsuzuru: Haha…

Tsuzuru: (I’m really starting to feel like I’m one of those people…)

Syu: So, how are things goin’ for you? Figure out what you’re gonna do to win?

Tsuzuru: Ah, we’re thinking of doing sequels for our debut performances…

Syu: You don’t say. That sounds pretty interestin’.

Tsuzuru: It’s just, this is my first time writing a sequel, so I’m having a lot of trouble trying to figure out how to make it work and what kinds of things people are expecting from me. I’ve got a huge weight on my pen, so to speak.

Syu: Why can’t ya just keep doin’ what you’re doin’? Doesn’t the fact that you chose to do sequels to your debut performances show that you’ve got some kinda determination?

Tsuzuru: Well, I mean, I guess so.

Syu: Well, if you’re in need of some more help--.

Tsuzuru: ?

Syu: …Ever heard of a director named Akazaki?

Tsuzuru: Oh, I have. Isn’t he pretty famous?

Syu: He’s a director and a playwright, and every few years he runs a scriptwriting camp to train the younger generations.

Syu: He’s doin’ it again this year and asked me if I knew of any promising young talent.

Syu: I was actually gonna recommend you, Minagi-sensei, but I decided against it ‘cause I figured you’d be too busy for it.

Tsuzuru: A scriptwriting camp… those actually exist?

Syu: Playwrights who have participated in it in the past have done things like won theater awards overseas and have been selected to work on major dramas, so it’s got a proven track record.

Tsuzuru: I’ve never done anything like that before, so I’m really, really interested.

Tsuzuru: But considering that the results for the first quarter are gonna be announced in three months, I don’t know if I’d have the time for it…

Tsuzuru: (I’m pretty attracted to new challenges, but given the timing, I feel like I’ve gotta hold back on this one.)

Tsuzuru: I’ll definitely want to participate whenever the next one happens.

Syu: Got it. I’ll keep ya posted for when that time comes.

Syu: And like I said before, I think you’re doin’ fine as is, Minagi-sensei.

Syu: If you’re goin’ back to the basics, let your past self teach ya about ‘em within the script for your debut performance.

Syu: Think about what it is you wanna write about. It’s pretty easy to find that sorta thing in your first work.

Syu: Writin’ what you wanna write is one of the upsides to workin’ for a specific theater. This sequel’s somethin’ that only you can create, Minagi-sensei.

Syu: Do what you want whenever ya get the chance. Before it gets to a point where ya wanna read somethin’ but can’t.

Tsuzuru: --.

Tsuzuru: (...Right. He can’t read any more of Hakkaku-san’s sequels.)

Tsuzuru: (And if it weren’t for the changes in the Fleur Award system, we might’ve never brought up the idea of doing sequels to begin with.)

Tsuzuru: (Blindly clinging to the opportunities put in front of me. That’s how I did things back during RomiJuli.)

Tsuzuru: (Thinking it could’ve been both my first and last chance, I was willing to do anything and everything I possibly could.)

Tsuzuru: (That’s why now, I--.)

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[typewriter83]

Hi! I've been following your work for some time now, and I think you're such a prolifically skilled writer. I prefer the canon dynamic between Joel and Ellie, and the fact that their relationship has father-daughter themes but isnt purely that, yet also isn't romantic. However, I will dabble in some stories about Joellie and I do find that concept interesting. Just out of curiosity, I was wondering what your thoughts are on one of the OG fics, Flying to Wyoming? I noticed you mentioned it in a previous post listing fics. I know that while it's well-written, it's also considered a rather controversial (and at times, extreme) fic, and for good reason. I'm interested in seeing what other people think.

Oh, hello! First of all, sweet new cub, you’re too kind - I’m so touched that you enjoy my stories. Like sincerely touched. Thank you.

I came into the the TLOU fandom from the show, looking for Joel&Ellie stories, and had no interest in the romantic ship - shh, don’t tell the cubs - but it was fics that drew my attention and curiosity and eventually the brain rot sent in. I’m a fan of the canon dynamics too - minus Ellie’s treatment of Joel in Part 2, but that’s a topic for another day.

But yes, let’s talk about Flying to Wyoming because on the surface, it’s the quintessential Joellie story - discussion below the cut - it’s LONG, so buckle up.

FtW is one of those stories that I should have let lie, should have let it be a one and done, enjoyed it and never gone back. I read the entire 600k word behemoth in less than a week, which means I was speed-reading, skimming and not in great depth and detail. But at the end, those last paragraphs of the final installment, I was crying, like tears flowing down my cheeks and I wandered my house like I’d lost real people in my life. (Am dramatic, didn’t y’all know?)

The basic dynamics of the story are there - a sweeping epic, cross-country survival adventure where a teenaged orphan girl falls in love with her older male protector, one of the first people that’s ever protected her, ever put her first. Much like the canon story, Ellie starts off terrified of Joel and what he might be capable of, and Joel treats Ellie like cargo because he doesn’t want to get close to her and fail yet another that comes into his life. And, honestly, this story could have been a platonic story, 100% it would have worked - even with undertones of a teenager crushing on an older man, it would have worked. But, because of the twist the writer takes, we have a whole different angle that’s being built up to - trust me, guilt-ridden Joel is my bread and butter and there’s a lot of guilt in his inner dialogue. Ellie’s a very curious, horny teenager - which is pretty much on target for the character. I’ve written both these angles, myself, and so have others.

So, what’s my problem with it? It’s a lot. The change in dynamics after the FtW2 - it’s been awhile since I’ve read it, so if I mess up the timeline, that’s on me - Ellie is still 14 when they set out for SLC and the explicit sexual activities ramp up pretty quickly especially at the bed and breakfast. I’m judging here - okay, maybe a little, and I have no place to judge - but that’s a lot for a young teenage girl. My problem with it is simply a matter of opinion - Ellie was so young. Am I a prude? Was I sheltered? Maybe - or maybe it just wasn’t my cup of tea for reading material.

The writer is talented, his depictions of a broken world are brilliantly detailed. His depictions of how states would fight states and the scars left in the earth after battles that took place long before Ellie was born are gorgeously detailed. His descriptions of abandoned and desolate towns along the highways are incredible. Some of my favorite scenes come from their stops along the way, but namely the town at the edge of the Mississippi where they stop for bike repairs - it’s a real bonding moment for Joel & Ellie and the town’s description is vividly painted.

Those are my positive takeaways from the story - the writer draws you in with his depictions of the broken world and it’s part of the draw to the TLOU universe for me as well. The whole idea of two humans walking - or on the back of a bike - across a broken country, it’s just so compelling.

Back to the Joellie aspect of the saga.

It’s made very clear in the final story - which by the way is the best title: The Home at the End of the Road is just a perfect title to describe not only their home once they settle in Jackson, but Jackson itself is their home at the end of their long journey. I could weep - anyway, by the final story, it’s made clear that Ellie is considered an adult by end-of-the-world standards when she turns 16, and Joel is finally ready (at peace?) to give himself completely to her. I didn’t particularly care for the scene itself - it’s not how I would have written it, it’s not what I was looking for or expecting, but we’re not yucking on anyone’s yum here, it just wasn’t it for me.

The story jumps ahead by a good decade and immediately takes a sad, different kind of dark turn - we know Joel is mortal (for some of us, he’s not, but here he is) and the writer spends the last chapter showing that they’ve started a family but Joel’s mortality is this dark cloud over the home at the end of the road.

What I’m about to say next is entirely my opinion - I never had a chance to speak to the writer, he was long gone from ao3 by the time I read this story - this is my opinion. The idea of the war between FEDRA and surrounding communities felt like it was taken straight out of The Walking Dead - I don’t mean that in a bad way, just that it felt out of place for the universe. TWD and TLOU take place in different times beyond the start of their respective outbreaks - TWD is about 15ish years after the outbreak when the show ends and FtW is about 30-35 years after - that’s a big difference. I don’t think there are a lot of big communities out there in the TLOU universe - not like what was depicted in FtW, and an all out war against FEDRA. Again this is just my opinion.

When I set out to write Every Night Has Its Dawn, I wanted the epilogue to be an homage and draw inspiration from the final chapter of Home at the End of the Road. I wanted to show that living at the end of the world could be possible for Joel and Ellie and the family they have together. I was so devastated by FtW ending with not only Ellie losing Joel and one of her children, but then she loses her own life. It was too heartbreaking, and I had another vision.

That’s a lot of fucking rambling to get to the point. The story itself is a good story - the details and the way the Joel/Ellie relationship were written were not my cup of tea and I can see why you say that it’s an extreme example of the forbidden ship. It is. It’s a lot - there’s a lot of graphic descriptions of underage sexual activity, and it’s depraved, a lot of it. Does that make it bad? No, it makes it someone else’s enjoyment. It gives us writers inspiration though - there’s a lot he writes that I strive to write, but there’s a lot that I would change, and maybe did a little to fit into my universe.

Anyway, that’s my long winded take. If you stick around this long, y’all deserve a medal. Drop a line if you wanna add something to this. I would love to discuss more.

🫶🏻

[askgothamshitty]

One of my biggest gripes is the weird romantiziation of non western feminist who are really just terf reactionaries.

One of the core aspects on modern terf indoctrination online is this trauma porn approach where they bombard with horrific stories of women suffering (not even necessarily because of the patriarchy) and they use it as a way to dismiss any other form of commentary. The biggest and most egregious examples are femicide and fgm. They use these very tragic and horrifying stories to scare you into abiding by their policies and blocking any more nuanced discussions.

Non-western feminists are key in getting this done. A lot of it has to do with racism and orientalism. People view the people from these countries and regions as backward and primitive but also raw and natural. The idea is that no one in those countries are educated enough to have legit political beliefs, and they all act on instinct and tradition. They represent a pure form of patriarchy and feminism free of Western liberalism and a lot of western terfs cling to them for their horror stories and indoctrination.

Their activism isn't based on theory but real-world experiences. They don't have time to discuss optics and terminology since they're in the heat of the moment. Why should we, privileged Western liberals, criticize them for not discussing our nonsense niche issues like racism and transphobia? When the 4b movement started picking up steam out of sk there were naturally a lot of calling out the more problematic elements in the supporting ideology but they were immediately shut down because "korean women didn't think about that stuff" and "they have bigger problems".

But the majority of these women aren't educated (in feminist theories) and are just speaking from a position of observation. They notice the trends and harms in specific traditions, but they never really did the work to dig any deeper. They're reactionaries that are being given priority over educated experts in feminism. Their experiences are valuable and but they lack actual contextual analysis. And the excuse that western feminism doesn't include them is bogus when you realise there are normal a lot of well spoken feminist from their countries that co-sign the stuff the privileged Western feminist do even with their lived experiences.

I know what it's like a woman in [retracted for anonymity], but I still think trans people are people, and that class is an important detail to consider when discussing the experiences of women in my region. I am also black, which means I know how race affects women's experiences. These issues are global and should concern feminists globally. The only reason these women don't seem to care isn't because she's too focused on the current situation. It's because they never cared to learn.

Tldr: Stop automatically assuming these women are feminist.

Kinda falling asleep so this is all for now. Enjoy your tomorrow

I think I know what you mean, a common way TERFs dismiss accusations of transphobia is by saying “most TERFs are women in the global south”. Like, one, that’s not even true, they’re just pulling that out of their ass, and two, being of a certain identity or position or class doesn’t suddenly make bigotry excusable.

Some also seem to claim that LGBTQ issues are “first world problems”. While it is true that capitalism is what allowed queer identity to take shape in the global north, that doesn’t mean that gay and trans people don’t exist in other places. They’re just more likely to be in the closet. It’s like TERFs forget that extreme patriarchy also means extreme homophobia and transphobia.

Also - something that happens so often in radtwt is TERFs who claim to be the voices of third word women end up getting outed as part of their country’s comprador class. Like, one time a TERF let it slip that her family employs migrant women as servants. That’s just one example but it happens a lot lol

Love everything you have to say!

[junkiepunkie]

the Scottish hate crime law

[I’ll preface this with the fact I’m Scottish] So... a lot of bigots appear to be having trouble understanding the new Scottish hate crime law. Let me explain.

This law is a massive step forward for Scotland, in my opinion, in the fight for social equality. It criminalizes the targeted abuse/purposeful discrimination of trans and gender non-conforming people, disabled people, as well as some other categories. If a person is reported under the law they can be charged as committing a hate crime -which would be true as that is in fact what that is- and at the very least all reported cases would be investigated, at which point you could be either found not guilty, guilty of non-criminal hate or guilty of a hate crime. Now, to me this is ABSOLUTELY FAIR and COMPLETELY WARRANTED, because I’m not a piece of absolute shit. The only people who could possibly be worried by this law are people who actively commit hate crimes and whom we should therefore have no sympathy for regarding this matter.

But why do I think people don’t understand the law? Well, that’s simple. Some people are angry because Humza Yusaf (first minister and there for leader of the country) and a Tory MP who’s name escapes me right now have both been accused of hate crimes, but only the Tory MP is maybe going to be charged. Now, Humza is being reported over talk that he was racist -to fucking WHITE PEOPLE!! The literal dominant socio-economic race- in a speech made 4 years ago about George Floyd. Spoiler alert: what he said wasn’t racist it just made idiotic white people uncomfortable. The Tory MP, in stark contrast, compared identifying as non-binary to announcing you were a cat. ....People are mad.... that only.... one of these men.... is getting charged....

now, I know what you’re thinking. “Ok sure, that is pretty stupid, but I mean, people have a right under this new law to report what they deem to be hate towards their race and so they weren’t exactly wrong-“

except that this new law doesn’t deal with race, that law was passed years ago. If this comment Humza made was really that bad they could have reported it years ago, but instead a ridiculous amount of white cos people decided to try and play a racism card without even understanding the idiocy of their own actions. Idiots.

in conclusion, I’m proud of Scotland for passing laws to keep up with the times yet I am also deeply dissapointed in my country’s population for taking advantage of a new law to be bigoted.

terfs suck.

trans people are entitled to rights.

white people need to stop calling things that check their privelage attacks.

[backstage-if]

hi! since you said you were looking for an excuse to talk about the families... 👪 for all the ROs? (and Wille and MC too, if you want!)

YOU'RE A LIFE-SAVER. Of course, there will be more... nuance in the actual IF and some of these are spoilers.

👪 FAMILY - what is their family like? what is your ocs relationship to them? does your oc have any siblings?

Under the cut :)

MC They were raised by their mom and she is basically the only family MC knows. I think I said this before but her family cut contact before MC was born, so… no grandparents, no cousins. Their father is out of the picture, too. MC and their mom were basically on their own and all the other had, so they really clinged to each other for most years. They were glued when MC was little. The mom is very supportive and always encouraged MC to pursue arts. I think seeing their mom work so hard to raise them and also being the reason her parents stopped talking to her… can make MC scared to disappoint her? Also some of their abandonment issues come from THIS lack of other relatives. 

I can’t exactly say what their relationship is like now because I plan to leave it to the player, but what I CAN say is that their mom tries to be involved, at least. Also, no siblings. 

Bonus: I talked before about the mom having a close friend group, so, yeah, MC grew up with 3 aunts (!!) who all lived in different parts of the country, but they used to call on their birthday, send gifts and visit sometimes. 

C

A nurse dad (Jaymes), an accountant mom (Sloane) and a teenage sister (Meredith or just Edith). C’s relationship with their parents… used to be better. Things were fine when they were the funny kid who, yeah, sometimes got sent to the principal’s office for whatever reason, but also had the best grades in class year after year, graduated with honors and left for college. C’s parents don’t really understand why they want to be an actor and this really strained their relationship. C figured this out during their college years and just immediately went to San Thérese after graduating, so them and their parents didn't have much time to talk about it. The rest of their time together? Yeah, they get along well. 

C's parents are quite serious people, but they appreciate their child's humor. They like how C knows who they are (even if that's why they're butting heads) and how caring they can be. They really should just meet face to face and talk for a while. 

C gets along well with their sister, very grumpy (Edith) and sunshine (C) sibling dynamic. They talk at least a few times every week and are always sending each other random messages. Edith looks up to her older siblings, even if C doesn't see that.

NEIL

His mom (Cora) was Neil's favorite person, but she unfortunately passed away when he was 19. She just really loved being a mom and, even if she was busy because of her career, she always made time for him. Taking him to the theater, mom-son painting classes, being part of the activities at his school, things like that. Core also tried to make sure the media wasn’t pestering her son until he was old enough to decide if that was the life he wanted. She was the actress, not him. 

Things were different with Neil’s dad (Émile/Edwin). He wanted to be a dad, but didn’t know how to be a good one. Privacy and such were always a sore topic between him and Neil’s mom because too much attention made Neil overwhelmed at a young age and Émile was always using his dad title for good headlines and paparazzi pictures, but he didn’t actually find a way to connect with his son. As Neil got older, he was fine having a very neutral, kind of distant relationship with his dad, but then his mom got sick, his parents got a divorce and Neil finally accepted that his dad isn’t the kind of person he likes to have around. 

I don’t think his dad is an angry man, but Neil is the only one who knows how to get on his nerves.

Also, because Neil’s dad doesn’t really understand how to raise a child and keeps with his acting career, Neil has been basically raising his sister (Laurie, 8) since he turned 19. He makes sure she gets to school on time and she talks his ear off every day after coming back. They go to the park. Neil bakes brownies for her school’s fairs. He tries to be who his mom was to him and they get along well. Neil doesn’t introduce her to anyone he doesn’t consider a close friend.

JOY

Joy’s parents had some issues with their other pregnancies and she was a really wanted, loved baby… and child, teenager and adult. Joy and her parents simply are very close. She is an only child. 

Her dad (Dustin) is a dentist and her mom (Anne) is a historical-fiction writer. They both are interested in arts and it was their idea to introduce her to theater during her middle school years to see if some of her shyness disappeared. They were worried about her social life for a while. It worked, she blossomed. 

There’s nothing much to say aside from the fact that Joy loves her parents very much. She cares about their opinion and she always tries to make time for them, at least weekly. She moved to her aunt’s old apartment to try to be a little more independent and it worked. Their love can be a little suffocating, but they’re trying to listen more to her and spend less time worrying and living their own lifes.

Her aunt (Rey) was Joy’s inspiration when she was growing up. She is a very confident, laid-off woman who likes to spend her time traveling and meeting people. Joy thought she was awesome and she still does. Rey moved from her old apartment a few years ago to live with her wife and left it to her favorite niece. 

Also, Rey was the one who adopted Patroclus for Joy. 

SPENCER An English teacher dad (Corey), a restaurant-owner mom (Natália), an older sister (Helena/Lena, 28) and a younger brother (Jonas, 12). 

Spencer gets along greatly with both of their parents, but especially their mom (and they believe they’re her favorite). A lot of their curiosity and passion for trying new things comes from their parents. Corey likes to research, read and learn every aspect of the thing he sets his mind on. Nat likes to be more practical and simply… try, even if things go wrong at first. They’re very in sync as a couple and Spencer is quietly impressed by that because they’ve been together for a long time and are very stable.

Lena, the oldest, is where Spencer’s perfectionism comes from. Their sister has been a bit obsessed with being always right ever since her teenage years, but, while she got over this idea a while ago, Spencer is still kind of set on being the best. Even if Spencer is a very calm person, their competitiveness appears when it’s against their sister (their parents think it’s because they’re so close in age).

Jonas, the youngest, is a hurricane. He is always going by Spencer’s apartment uninvited, going with his friends to see their sibling at the coffee shop, messing with Spencer’s stuff to see if they get angry. They don’t. Spencer loves his brother and doesn’t care about his tricks, but sometimes pretends to do so he gets happy. 

A

Surgeon mom (Simran), musician dad (Azad) and half-brother (Rohan, 12). 

A lot of A’s selfishness comes from their parents and how they (A) views their divorce. 

They’re quite similar to their mom when it comes to personality, so they understand each other and it makes it easy for them to live together. They don't mess with each other's personal stuff, have a similar taste for food and know where to find the other when they want to talk. 

A small, childhood-constant part of A makes it hard for them to see their dad as absent. He tries not to be, but his career hasn’t yet launched and it takes a lot of his time and has been taking a lot of his time for years by now. It affects both of his children. 

A’s mom isn’t the biggest fan of theater. She watches plays, but doesn't have a passion for it or anything. Still, when her child came to her saying that they wanted to act, she supported it. 

A is close to their little brother, they see each other every month. It could be better, but it isn’t bad. 

WILLE Their parents (Veronica and Albert) have a clothing store together and Wille has twin siblings (Becca and Luke). 

Wille’s parents are pretty much still in love. They’re disgustingly sweet together. 

They wanted Wille to keep taking care of the store later in life, but they believe their parents are more relieved that they didn’t want to. 

Wille studied business at college because of their parents. 

If anyone asked Wille for the name of their siblings, they would have to think about it for at least a minute. 

They don’t really talk to each other and that’s all Wille wants people to know.