#at least let them go to the point you don't have to think about it all the time

[mantis-lizbian]

okay, y'know what? let's go into this same. ignoring all the rules in 5e that i think are dumb, an itemized list with explanations. obviously, my list won't necessarily be the same as everyone's, but it'll illustrate the problem with suggestion in a practical sense, not just as a structural critique from the standpoint of game design, which i know a lot of people don't actually care about.

bare in mind that these are going to be criticisms with regards to the kind of game D&D 5e is and wants to be, and are largely going to use other editions of D&D as points of comparison, rather than other TTRPGs as a whole, just because to do so i feel could easily approach "i want a game about a witch looking for lost pets in the Alps" type stuff. no sense in criticizing D&D for not being Monsterhearts or GURPS, after all.

classes are too simple. any given berserker barbarian is functionally indistinguishable from another. for some classes, even different archetypes don't offer enough variation from each other to feel meaningfully distinct. here's a challenge: take your party of four and make an entire 6th-level party using only one class in each of 3.x, 4e, and 5e. depending on the class you choose, you may have more or less difficulty, but in two of those, you generally can manage to make four characters who can all function in a party together without feeling like clones of each other, and perhaps even able to actually complement each other.

classes are too complicated. for the most part, AD&D, BECMI, OD&D and the like, classes only have a couple of fairly basic features, most of which are granted from 1st level. this means that if a character dies, you can roll up a brand new one and jump straight back into play that same session. not being able to do this makes everyone, even the GM, resistant to allowing a character to die, defanging one of the only meaningful consequences to losing combat inherent to the mechanics.

battle master fighters restrict everyone's options in combat. if you're playing a melee combatant, there's very little you can do apart from run up to your chosen enemy and smack them in the face with your weapon until they die. disarming, feinting, tripping... these were all things any character could do in 3e, as outlined by the rules, and these things were possible in AD&D and the like because they weren't explicitly spelled out in the mechanics. the GM is free to adjudicate how to handle these maneuvers as they see fit, but because they aren't explicitly granted to a specific kind of character, they aren't implicitly denied to everyone else.

ability scores do not matter outside of Dexterity and whichever one your class cares about, and specific circumstances dependent on which saves are being targeted. 4e did start this, but even it made a conscious effort to make every class care about at least two scores alongside Dexterity, outside of saves. in AD&D, every score determined a number of things independent of your class (with the exception of Intelligence and Wisdom, if you weren't a spellcaster). and 3e required you to spend character resources (feats, specifically) to do things like use Dexterity on melee attack rolls, and even then it couldn't be added to damage, so there was still value to Strength even if you fought exclusively using daggers. all of this results in making it so that if you're using point-buy to determine ability scores, there is no meaningful mechanical consequence you can count on having to contend with for dropping every score to 8 so you can pump the ones you care about up to their maximum (in fact, i suspect that 5e makes point-buy cap out at 15 specifically to prevent players from doing exactly this to pump their two important scores to 18). unless you're a barbarian, even Constitution isn't as important as it should be, given the ingrained hesitancy 5e's design creates towards letting characters die.

only a couple of feats are actually better than taking the ability score boost, until you hit that cap of 20. even fewer are ever going to be meaningfully applicable to the same character as another, meaning that altogether, depending on what you were able to boost your class's main ability score to, by level 12 or so... you're likely to feel like meaningful pickings are slim for what to do with your remaining ASIs. it also becomes clearly apparent that the reason feats are an optional replacement for an ASI isn't so much an attempt to simplify the game compared to 3.x's notorious endless ocean of feats to wade through, and more about just having something to do with those ASIs after reaching 20 in your main score.

due to free Dex-to-damage, the only reliable consequence of a low Strength score left is encumbrance. which is often the first rule players choose to ignore, and even if they don't... an 8 Strength is still enough to wear full plate, and carry a pike and heavy crossbow and still having plenty of carrying capacity for a decent amount of random loot. so yeah... this is a rule that even if you aren't ignoring it, the rules are doing plenty to avoid it ever coming up anyway.

skills offer a great way to flesh out who your character is outside of "someone who rages" or "someone who chucks fireballs". unfortunately, your class still fully defines these things, outside of the two you get from your background, or if you choose to spend one of your feats/ASIs on gaining another three. at which point, you're probably going to have proficiency in more than half of all the available skills.

several excellent designers have gone into a number of other issues with D&D 5e's skills, from how overwhelmingly important ones like Perception are, how laughably irrelevant others are, and the issues in figuring out how to make good use of the knowledge and Investigation skills.

resting is... so... a lot of classes have nothing to do with a short rest. one time, i was playing as a warlock in a group that only ever took long rests because no one else got anything from just taking a short rest. which meant that the warlock essentially only had 2 spells per day. granted, this didn't mean nearly as much as it should thanks to cantrips, but i'll get to that later. so yeah, short rests were introduced in 4e where every class got equal value from them, and so they were more reliably used.

crafting is pointless. the example it gives of making a suit of plate armor taking 300 days means that it would take an entire year to make something that you're likely to find or at least afford with easily a month of adventuring. there's also no accounting for how good a craftsman you are. in 3e, that same suit of plate armor will take (assuming no failed checks along the way, to be fair) at most a month and a half. even assuming you fail half the checks, that's still only a quarter the time it takes to make that armor in 5e. this is still a decent time investment, but especially when you consider how having a higher Craft skill bonus (or even just a good roll) means you may be able to shorten that time, it brings it into the realm of "okay, that could be worth it, if i really wanted to".

bonus actions are only usable by a handful of classes, and may as well not exist for the rest, outside a couple of feats. with only one other action, alongside moving, that makes the kind of tactical combat built on the same principles of 3.x and 4e drag and feel incredibly monotonous (especially when, see #3). 3.x and 4e have alternative things you can do with your move action, which - especially alongside full-round actions - just as a way to open up design space means that there are a lot of ways to expand your options in combat. while AD&D also only features an action and movement - and doesn't even have a bonus action - combat is much smoother due to the overall simplicity of the game, and the fact that rounds represent a whole minute, not just 6 seconds.

cantrips are broken. they're usable at-will all day, which is fine. definitely an improvement i like over 3.x, and it gives your spellcasters something spellcastery they can reliably do any time. that's cool. but when they deal as much damage as a crossbow, and are based on your spellcasting score, it adds to the aforementioned thing about how most classes don't need to worry about more than one or two ability scores. why bother carrying around a crossbow when your fingers can shoot infinite crossbow bolts, possibly even targeting something other than AC and not dealing physical damage?

...oh wow. there's a character limit in posts...

im confused about the dnd 5e hatred. yall arent just ignoring rules that are dumb? ur dm actually follows every single thing in the book for real?

if you have to ignore some of the rules for the game to be good then the game is not good

[everythingspokenfor]

Part 2

─ ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ─

You were in the middle of packing, taking photos off the walls and putting them away in boxes, piles of clothes littered on the floor based on whether you were taking them or donating.

"Didn't realise we weren't close enough, eh?" Bakugou said, arms crossed leaning against the wall of your room.

Startled you looked at him clutching the photos close to your chest."Knock at least Katsuki, you scared the shit out of me." You grumbled as you regained composure and turned back to the task at hand. Partially to get it done, mostly to avoid Bakugou's gaze while you had this unavoidable confrontation.

You should have told him you were moving out, it was a rational thing, you were friends infact best friends, had seen each other at worst, dealt with it too. Should have had an adult conversation about it. But what would have you said "Hey! Katsuki I am moving out because I am in love with you but you have a girlfriend and the sole thought of her makes me sick" yeah not a good argument or maybe evening worst you would just end up crying sobbing pathetically while pointing out you were there for him more but that's not how it works, you suppose. He deserves happiness, and you are glad he found it. You just wanted to find yours too.

"Haruki, your assistant, let it slip that you are moving", Bakugou snarled, nostrils flaring, fists tightening, tell-tale signs that he is not mad but disheartened.

"I was going to tell you", you defended, turning to face him.

"When? huh, when were you going to tell me?", He hissed "When everything was packed, and you had to bid farewell like some sort of formality?", He continued ,moving towards you, for the first time locking eyes and seeing the red-rimmed, swollen eyes your cheeks were sunken too. "What happened, peanut?", He questioned, pulling the photos from your hand and setting the to the side. "Did I do something? I'll fix it, fucks sake talk to me, tell what was it that made you run I'll fix it", He cupped your face and made you look at him.

"I don't think you can fix this one, Suki", you murmured, voice almost catching in your throat because you'll lose him, you'll lose his friendship. For a moment you wished you weren't in love with him, that you could be normal around him, could be a part of his life, let him be a part of yours. But, you had to fall in love with him, ruin whatever ever you had.

"This new apartment is closer to my agency, plus how long do we go about living here, Suki?", you said before woefully pulling yourself away from him, choosing to pack up remaining of things.

"You should have said something, I deserve to at least know, you know? I go to work and your assistant, fucking Haruki, is looking for couches for you.", He said bitterly,"He knew, he was informed, he was fucking involved, and I wasn't, aren't we close? is that fucker closer to you, huh tell me?" He gritted out.

"If you were any less busy with your fucking girlfriend, then maybe you would have helped me," you yelled, words almost getting clogged in your throat, anger finally taking over.

Both of you stare wide eyed at each other, truth finally out, you behaviour making sense to Bakugou, you can see the wheels turning in his head.

He moved closer to you, reaching out, but you pull away like it burns because if you were being honest it does, Bakugou winces at you withdrawal. Your anger, your distance, you silence making sense you heart finally bared open in front of him.

"If you can't tell me what I want to hear then you shouldn't say anything",you croaked, knowing that you are being selfish,"I want a confession Suki and not consolation", you finalized.

Bakugou looked at you before he left the room, perhaps you already knew his decision but that didn't make your heart hurt any less.

─ ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ── ・┈ ・ ─

[the-oblivious-writer]

Let the Light In |8|

Tara Carpenter x Fem!Reader

Chapter Eight: Old Temptations

Summary: After hiding yourself away for weeks, Anika and Henry get you to return to the living. While you're at the party they bring you to, you run into Tara before a third-party runs into your fists.

Warning(s): Swearing, fighting - whoop whoop!! that's the sound, social interactions, and drinking (underage)

Notes: I made at least ten drafts, combined them, adjusted, and here is the final product. This is more of an R focused chapter, so you'll start to see more of the internal struggles she goes through along with a special guest start. As always, I hope you enjoy

Masterlist|Previous Part|Next Part

The incandescent lights of Henry's apartment building buzz overhead as you follow him and Anika up the concrete stairs. Your boots echo against each step, creating a hollow rhythm that matches your reluctant heartbeat. You've been dreading this party all week, but your friends had worn you down with their relentless enthusiasm and pointed comments about your "hermit tendencies."

"I still can't believe you actually agreed to come," Henry says over his shoulder, his keys jingling as he searches for the right one. "Usually getting you out after exams is like trying to coax a cat into taking a bath."

"Maybe I'm turning over a new leaf," you mutter, knowing full well it's a lie. The only reason you'd agreed was because they'd caught you in a moment of weakness—specifically, when you were coming down from a three-day study binge and your defenses were too low to properly deflect their persistent pestering.

Anika snorts, adjusting her glittering top that catches the harsh hallway light. "Right. And I'm going to start watching silent films with you."

"Charlie Chaplin’s a classic," you defend, following them into Henry's apartment. The familiar scent of his signature sandalwood candles hits you immediately. 

"Whatever you say, grandma," Henry teases, disappearing into his bedroom. You can hear him rummaging around, probably looking for whatever he plans to wear tonight.

You collapse onto his worn leather couch, the same one he'd rescued from a curb three years ago. Despite its questionable origins, it's the most comfortable piece of furniture you've ever encountered. Maybe if you sink deep enough into it, they'll forget you're here and leave without you.

Anika perches on the arm of the couch, already touching up her makeup in a compact mirror. "You know," she starts, and you recognize that tone—it's the one she uses when she's about to say something she thinks you won't like. "Tara might be there tonight."

Your stomach does an uncomfortable flip. "And why would I care about that?"

"Oh, I don't know," Anika draws out the words, applying another coat of mascara with practiced precision. "Maybe because you've been moping around ever since your little disappearing act?"

"I haven't been moping," you protest, but even you can hear how weak it sounds. "I've been studying. There's a difference."

"Right," she says, sarcasm dripping from her voice.

You open your mouth to argue, then close it again. The past few weeks have been a blur of textbooks, coffee, and a blend of mathematical formulas and historical documentations. You'd thrown yourself into exam preparation with perhaps more vigor than strictly necessary, but that was just your way of dealing with stress. 

It definitely had nothing to do with how you'd ignored her texts afterward.

Dork (3:47 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I can't make it tonight

Tara (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) oh. lemme knw when u can reschedule 

Dork (3:48 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Tara, don't do that

Tara (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) dont wat????

Dork (3:49 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) I know what 'oh' means

Tara (3:50 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) well then eblighten me cuz idk what ur ymmaring abt

Dork (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Enlighten/*yammering, and never mind

Tara (3:51 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) 🤓 is u fr 

Dork (3:52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) Excuse me? 

Tara (3: 52 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) i have to explain??? but i thougt u were all knowing!

Dork (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) *Thought. I know you know how to spell, you're just reckless with a keyboard

Tara (3:53 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) my question is when did i ask

Dork (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) That's an improvement

Tara (3:54 pm - 2 WEEKS AGO) stfup.

Henry emerges from his bedroom, now wearing a fitted crop-top that every guy wore in the 80’s. "Are we talking about the Tara situation?"

"There is no 'Tara situation,'" you insist, making air quotes with your fingers. "Can we please just go to this party so I can suffer through it and get back to my peaceful, drama-free existence?"

"Drama-free?" Henry laughs, grabbing his keys. "Is that what we're calling your one-person production of 'Hamlet' these last eighteen years?"

You bite your thumb at him, but there's no real heat behind it. These are your best friends, after all, and you know their teasing comes from a place of love. Even if they're being particularly annoying about it tonight.

The drive to the party is a blur of street lights and the sound of Abbey Road. You're behind the wheel of your beloved '70 Ford Maverick, a car that Henry constantly ridicules. Anika claims the passenger seat, still fussing with her makeup, while Henry sprawls in the back, giving you directions that are more confusing than helpful.

"No, no, turn left at the next—wait, I meant right. My other left."

"Your other left?" you deadpan, making the turn anyway. "How many lefts do you have?"

"Don't sass the navigator," he replies primly. "Oh, there it is! The house with all the cars out front."

You pull up to the curb about half a block away, already feeling your anxiety spike at the sight of the crowded frat house. Music pulses from within, so loud you can feel it in your chest even from here. People mill about on the front lawn, red cups in hand, their laughter carrying through the night air.

"Remind me again why I agreed to this?" you ask, killing the engine but making no move to get out of the car.

Anika turns to you, her expression softening slightly. "Because Henry threatened to sing the entire soundtrack of 'Cats' outside your bedroom door if you didn't come."

"That was a low blow," you mutter, finally unbuckling your seatbelt. "You know how much I hate that musical."

"Desperate times," Henry says cheerfully, already out of the car and bouncing on his heels with excitement. "Come on, let's go find out what kinds of terrible decisions we can make tonight!"

You follow your friends up the walkway, trying to ignore the way your palms are already sweating. The last party you'd attended had been... well, it had been a week before your self-imposed exile. The night Tara had looked at you with those impossibly dark eyes and asked if you wanted to get some air, and you'd panicked and made up an excuse about needing to check on your nonexistent fish.

The front door is already open, music and voices spilling out into the night. As soon as you cross the threshold, you're hit with a wall of sensory input that makes your head spin. The air is thick with artificial fog from a machine hidden somewhere in the corner, mixed with the distinctive scent of cheap beer and various perfumes and colognes. Multi-colored lights pulse in time with the music, turning everything into a strobing dreamscape and your nightmare.

Henry guides you through the crowd with a gentle hand on your back, navigating the sea of bodies with practiced ease. You catch glimpses of familiar faces as you pass. They all blur together in the dim light, becoming a kaleidoscope of features that makes your head swim.

You end up at yet another worn leather couch that's seen better days, probably around the same era as your car. Henry gestures for you to sit, and you do, grateful for something solid beneath you. The cushions seem to want to swallow you whole, and for once, you don't fight it.

"I'll get us drinks!" Henry shouts over the music, already backing away into the crowd. "Don't move!"

Anika lingers for a moment, looking torn between staying with you and pursuing whatever—or whoever—has caught her attention across the room. You wave her off with a weak smile. "Go. I'll be fine right here, becoming one with the furniture."

She hesitates another second before grinning. "Try to have some fun, okay? And text me if you need an escape plan." Then she's gone, disappearing into the crowd with the grace of Mindy, someone who actually enjoys these sorts of gatherings.

Left alone, you let yourself sink deeper into the couch, watching the party unfold around you. A group of girls near the makeshift dance floor are attempting some sort of choreographed routine, though the alcohol in their systems is making it more comedic than coordinated. Two guys are engaged in what appears to be an intense debate about pizza toppings, their gestures becoming more animated with each passing second.

The bass line of whatever song is playing thrums through your body, making your bones vibrate in a way that's not entirely unpleasant. You find yourself timing your breathing to it, using it as an anchor in the chaos. This isn't so bad, you think. You can handle this. It's just a few hours, and then you can go home and binge-watch your comfort shows until the sun comes up.

"Y/L/N special!" Henry's voice breaks through your thoughts as he returns, thrusting a red solo cup into your hands. The liquid inside is an alarming shade of orange that definitely doesn't occur in nature.

You eye it suspiciously. "What exactly makes it a ‘Y/L/N special'?"

"The fact that it's specifically designed for the same people who despise candy unless it's 99% cacao," he explains, dropping onto the couch beside you with his own drink—something amber-colored that you assume is actually beer.

"That's... oddly thoughtful," you admit, taking a tentative sip. It tastes like water that’s had lemons and limes soak in it for months, the kick makes your tongue tingle. "And dangerous."

"Just pace yourself," he advises, watching as more people filter into the already crowded space. "Oh hey, isn't that Charlotte?"

You follow his gaze to see Charlotte, the person you ended things with through a text message. You try to hide behind the red plastic in your hand as you sip, but you nearly spill your bitter bread water all over yourself when she notices you. You can tell it caught her off guard; her eyes slightly widened and she took an uncomfortably long pause mid-sentence. This pause caused her friends to look over which only made things even more awkward—at least for you. After shooting daggers at you and one of them flipping you off, they linked elbows with Charlotte and took her to a different room.

You know you deserved it.

Henry sucked his teeth. “Ouch. Casanova strikes again,” he chuckled with amusement.

“Ugh,” you express in response to the name for you before downing the last of the liquid in your cup. “I’m out. I’m gonna get one more.”

One drink turns into two, two turns into three, and somewhere during your debate with Henry over which Ninja Turtle’s the best one, you’re interrupted by a pair of familiar dark brown eyes meeting yours. Your attention always seemed to gravitate towards Tara Carpenter. 

You momentarily pause your expression of admiration for Leonardo, peeking over Henry’s shoulder to give Tara a downwards smile paired with a finger wave. She rolls her eyes and returns your finger wave in a mocking gesture. After Henry realizes what’s grabbed your attention, he makes an excuse to walk away.

You're nursing your fifth orange drink when she materializes beside you, seemingly out of thin air. "Seriously?" The word drips with exasperation. "You're actually hiding behind Henry?"

"I'm not hiding," you protest, pulling yourself up to what you hope is a dignified height. "I'm strategically positioning myself for optimal social avoidance."

Tara snorts—an inelegant sound that somehow makes her more endearing. "Is that what we're calling it?" 

The space between you crackles with a tension that's part irritation, part something else entirely. 

"I could ask you the same thing," you counter with a crack in your voice. Tara notices this and slightly raises an eyebrow while giving you a once-over. "Pretty sure you've been standing in the exact same spot for the last twenty minutes."

Her eyes narrow. "I'm observing."

"Stalking," you correct automatically.

"Strategically positioning myself," she throws your earlier words back at you, and there's a glint in her eye that makes your breath catch.

For a moment, you felt uncharacteristically at ease in such a setting—when you catch a fragment of a conversation that makes your blood run cold. 

“—Carpenter's got a mouth on her that could—"

The words slice through your alcohol-induced haze like a knife. Your head whips around so fast you almost give yourself whiplash, searching for the source of the comment. Two guys are leaning against the wall near the stairs, one of them making crude gestures as he continues to make vile comments about Tara.

The pleasant warmth in your system transforms instantly into liquid fire. You recognize one of them—Marcus Wheeler from your Calculus class, the one who always makes inappropriate comments during lectures and thinks he's God's gift to mathematics. The other is unfamiliar, but the way he's laughing and encouraging Marcus makes your skin crawl.

Your muscles tense. Tara notices immediately. "Don't," she warns, a single word packed with more meaning than should be possible.

But you're already moving, your body acting before your brain can fully process the decision. 

Your fist connects with his jaw before you even realize you've thrown the punch. There's a satisfying crack that you feel more than hear, followed by a burst of pain across your knuckles that you're too angry to properly register. The pain sends a rush through you, pushes you, tempts you for more. 

Marcus staggers back, both surprised and hurt, but recovers quickly. He lunges for you, but your muscle memory kicks in. You sidestep, using his momentum against him, and somehow you end up on top of him, getting in another solid hit before strong hands pull you away.

The world comes rushing back all at once. The music has stopped, replaced by the murmur of shocked voices and the ringing in your ears. Everyone is staring at you, their faces a blur of surprise and judgment. Marcus is on the ground, blood trickling from his split lip, and presumably broken nose, looking at you with a mixture of rage, disbelief, and fear.

Your chest feels too tight, like someone's wrapped steel bands around your ribcage and is slowly tightening them. The weight of what you've just done crashes over you like a wave, threatening to pull you under. You need to get out—now.

You shoulder your way through the crowd, ignoring Henry calling your name, ignoring the whispers that follow in your wake. Someone tries to grab your arm, but you shake them off, focused solely on reaching the door. The cool night air hits your face like a slap when you finally burst outside, but you keep walking, your hands shaking as the adrenaline starts to wear off.

The crisp winter air hits you like a slap when you stumble outside, your breath forming small clouds in the freezing night.

“Wait!”

When did she get here?

"Let me see," Tara's voice cuts through your alcohol-induced haze, her hand reaching for yours with a familiarity that makes your head spin—or maybe you've had one too many of those orange drinks.

You thrust your hand toward her dramatically, wincing as the movement sends a spike of pain through your bruised knuckles.

"I totally got that incel good," you slur, a giggle bubbling up from somewhere deep and slightly unhinged. The ice beneath your feet seems to shimmer with your triumph.

Tara's fingers hover just above your hand, not quite touching but close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from her skin. "You're going to need ice for that," she says, her tone caught between exasperation and something else���something softer.

"Ice, huh?" You look down at the ground, the irony not lost on you. 

With exaggerated precision, you bend down and scoop up a handful of snow, pressing it against your knuckles. The cold bites, but it's a welcome contrast to the burning anger and alcohol still coursing through your system.

"This works, right?" You look up at her, your eyes wide and slightly unfocused. The world tilts slightly, but Tara remains steady—an anchor in your spinning vision.

Something flickers in her eyes—amusement, maybe. "You're something else," she mutters, but there's no real bite to the words.

Emboldened by alcohol and adrenaline, you lean in closer. The words tumble out before you can stop them. "So… I never did get an answer to that proposal."

Tara goes very still. A smile begins to form, tentative and fragile as first light. 

She chuckles at your remark before shaking her head and scoffing to herself. "Sometimes I just don't get you," she says with a smile still etched on her face, but there's more complexity in those words than simple dismissal as she stares back into your eyes.

Confusion must show on your face because she looks away, the streetlight catching the curve of her cheek, the set of her jaw. You didn’t know what else to say so you just said the first thing that came to mind. 

“Merry birthday, Tar,” you said. 

She’s taken aback by this. She didn’t know what to say, yet still opened her mouth to respond. Maybe something would come to her, but before anything did—

"There you are!" Anika's voice cuts through the moment like a knife. Your car pulls up to the curb, engine running warm against the freezing air. "We need to get out of here before that guy calls the cops."

The moment dissolves. Tara takes a step back, creating distance that feels more emotional than physical. You're left standing there, snow melting between your fingers, the taste of unresolved everything burning at the back of your throat.

As you climb into the passenger seat, you catch one last glimpse of her in the side mirror—a silhouette, perfectly still and impossibly distant.

—

The drive home is mostly silent, broken only by the occasional sigh from Anika and the gentle humming of your car's engine. Your knuckles throb in time with your heartbeat, a steady reminder of your momentary loss of control. The adrenaline is wearing off now, replaced by a mixture of embarrassment and alcohol-induced wooziness that makes you slouch lower in your seat.

"You know," Anika finally says as she pulls into your shared apartment complex, "when I said you needed to be more social, starting another fight wasn't exactly what I had in mind."

You grunt in response, too busy focusing on the way the world is tilting slightly to form actual words. The drinks are hitting harder now that the excitement is over, making everything feel soft around the edges.

"Use your words," she chides, killing the engine. 

"Words are for people who don't punch assholes at parties," you mumble, fumbling with your seatbelt. The simple mechanism seems impossibly complex right now.

Anika reaches over to help you, her movements gentle despite her exasperated tone. "Come on, Rocky Balboa. Let's get you inside."

Getting up the stairs to your second-floor apartment proves to be an adventure. You insist you can do it yourself, but after the third time you miss a step, Anika wraps an arm around your waist and practically drags you up.

"I can walk," you protest, even as you lean heavily against her.

"Sure you can. Just like you can make rational decisions at parties, right?" 

You attempt to glare at her, but the effect is somewhat ruined when you stumble over your own feet. "He deserved it."

"Oh, I'm not arguing that point," Anika says, fishing her keys out of her purse while still supporting most of your weight. "Marcus Wheeler is definitely in the running for Biggest Douchebag of the Year. But maybe next time we could handle it without violence? You know, like adults?"

"Adulting is overrated," you declare as she manages to get the door open. "If I was a kid, I could just pull Tara's pigtails or something."

Anika steers you toward the kitchen, depositing you none too gently into one of the mismatched chairs around your small table. "Okay, first of all, that's not the approach to crushing on someone that you think it is. Second, stay put while I get the first aid kit."

You slump forward, resting your forehead against the cool surface of the table. "Not crushing," you mumble into the wood. "Just... emotionally compromised."

"Right," Anika calls from the bathroom, where you can hear her rummaging through cabinets. "And I'm just 'casually interested' in my hot girlfriend."

"That's different," you argue, lifting your head slightly. "You two are together. You’re attached to the hip—you don’t hide from each other."

"Ha! So you admit you were hiding!"

You let your head thunk back down onto the table. "I admit nothing. I was studying. Very intensely. In locations where certain people were statistically unlikely to appear."

Anika returns with the first aid kit and a bag of frozen peas, setting both on the table. "Sit up, you disaster. Let me see your hand."

You comply with a dramatic sigh, straightening in your chair and holding out your injured hand. Your knuckles are already starting to bruise, spots of purple blooming across the skin. There are a few small cuts, probably from where you caught Marcus's teeth.

"This might sting," Anika warns before dabbing at the cuts with an alcohol wipe. You hiss through your teeth but don't pull away. "So," she continues, her tone deceptively casual, "want to talk about what really happened back there?"

"Not particularly," you mutter, watching as she carefully cleans each cut. "Can we just chalk it up to temporary insanity and move on?"

"You punched a guy for talking shit about Tara." She applies antibiotic ointment with practiced efficiency. "That's not temporary insanity. That's feelings."

You try to pull your hand away, but she holds firm. "It's not— I just— He was being gross!"

"Mhmm." She wraps your knuckles in gauze with precise movements. "And the fact that it was about Tara specifically had nothing to do with your reaction?"

"I would have done the same for anyone," you insist, even though you both know it's a lie. "It's about basic human decency."

"Right. Basic human decency. That's why you've been moping around our apartment for two weeks, taking different routes, and muttering under your breath when you think I can't hear you."

Before you can form a suitably indignant response, your phone buzzes. Henry's face appears on the screen, caught mid-laugh at some long-ago hangout.

You put the call on speaker, feeling too exhausted to hold the phone. Henry's excited voice crackles through, bursting with energy.

"Holy shit! Are you okay? That was the most badass thing I've ever seen in my life!"

"I'm fine," you mutter, wincing as Anika presses a bag of frozen peas against your bruised knuckles. "Ow! Except for my so-called best friend trying to give me frostbite."

Anika's tone is no-nonsense. "Keep the ice on, or your hand will swell up like a balloon."

Henry can barely contain his excitement. "You should have seen Marcus's face after you left. He was completely shaken. I don't think anyone's ever stood up to him like that before."

You groan, tilting your head back. "Great. Now I'll be known as the crazy chick who starts fights at parties. That'll look amazing on my resume."

"Are you kidding? You're going to be a legend!" Henry starts, then suddenly there's a scuffle in the background.

"Am I on speaker?" you ask, suspicion rising in your voice.

"No!" Henry says simultaneously with another voice declaring, "Yes!"

You recognize the second voice immediately. "Henry James Martinez," you say, using his full name—knowing how much he hates it—"Are you and Tony back together?"

"No!" Henry protests. "His place flooded, and he needed a place to stay!"

"Sure thing, Hef," you chuckle, catching Anika's amused smile.

Tony's cheerful voice joins the conversation. "Hey, heard you knocked some douche on his ass for talking shit about your girlfriend. Nicely done."

"She's not my girlfriend," you respond quickly.

Henry can't resist. "Define girlfriend."

You're ready with a comeback. "Define sharing a living space with—"

"Uh oh, bad connection," Henry interrupts, and suddenly the line goes dead. Anika bursts into laughter.

“I’m gonna get you some aspirin,” Anika offered, patting your shoulder as she passed. “But just so you know that whole ‘emotionally compromised’ thing? Yeah, that’s basically the definition of crushing.”

You make an incoherent noise of protest into the table. 

"Oh, and by the way," Anika calls from the kitchen, "you're totally teaching me that right hook tomorrow. After your hangover wears off, of course."

You lift your head just enough to deadpan at her. 

"Love you too, champ. Now take your aspirin and go to bed before you fall asleep on the table. Again."

Not long after she went to her room, you stumble into the bathroom, hand throbbing and head spinning—the former a reminder of the night’s events. The light is harsh against your alcohol-fogged brain. The tile floor is cold beneath your bare feet as you stumble to the sink, turning on the water and splashing your face.

When you look up, he's there.

Your Uncle's bloody corpse stands behind you in the reflection, that familiar crooked smile that's always been more predatory than comforting. His appearance is exactly as you remember from old photographs—that slightly manic glint in his eye, the way he holds himself like violence is always just beneath the surface.

"Killer punch," he says, leaning against the bathroom wall. No greeting, no preamble. Just direct observation.

You don't jump but roll your eyes. "Go away," you mutter, gripping the sink's edge.

He chuckles—a sound that's more bark than laugh. "I saw myself in you tonight. That rage? That precise moment of calculated violence? Pure genetics that chose you."

"I'm nothing like you," you snap, turning to face him directly. The bathroom suddenly feels smaller.

He takes a step closer. "Oh, but you are. That moment when you heard those guys talking about your girl? That split second before the punch? That wasn't just anger. That was hunting instinct."

You close your eyes, trying to block him out. "I'm not a killer. I'm not you."

"Not yet," he says, and there's something almost proud in his voice. "But you've got the potential. I saw how you moved. How you calculated. How you knew exactly where to hit to cause maximum impact."

"My dad’s a professional pig," you counter. "It’s not like I attended murder school."

His laugh is sharp, brittle. "Call it what you want. But we both know there's something inside you. Something sharp. Something waiting."

The argument feels familiar—like every nightmare, every family gathering where his memory haunted the edges of conversation, their fear of the parallels you both held. You're tired of it. Tired of him.

"I'm going to bed," you declare, pushing past his spectral form.

He doesn't disappear immediately. Instead, his voice follows you. "We're not so different, you and me."

You pause at the doorway, not turning around, as your hand tightly grips the edges of the doorframe. "We're nothing alike." 

The silence that follows is answer enough.

As you crawl back into bed, the room feels normal again—just another night, just another internal argument with a ghost who refuses to stay buried.

But somewhere in the darkness, you can still feel him watching. Waiting.

-----------

A/N:

gobble, gobble

[parkersbliss]

if you’re willing to, how about 141 reacting to you saying “no one will hear you scream”? i know they’d all play the biggest uno reverse card, especially gaz because he just has such a sweet face you wouldn’t expect it.

I am always willing to!!! anon thank you for blessing me with this. you're so right like don't threaten the military men who are masters of stealth, now that's asking for trouble...

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x reader 

warnings: um, gaz threatening you? actually, all of them threatening you bc you threaten them

a/n: see me personally I would not mess with this. and certainly not price.

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Gaz:

It was easy to convince Kyle to come out here. In fact, he didn’t even think twice when you asked to go out on a hike. He had grabbed a light jacket, laced up his boots, and was out the door. He was an outdoorsman, after all, and any time he could spend with you was well spent. You weren’t going to hear an argument out of his pretty mouth. 

It’s nicer this time of the year. Not too hot and not too cold with the leaves changing into the sunset colors. Honestly, you were glad you had come out here, even if it was because you had other intentions than some fresh air. 

You were lagging behind Kyle, his hand flexing and calling for yours. You jog to grab his when you notice, swinging them as you approach a viewpoint. 

You can overlook the area below you, coming up on a small cliff that showcases the changing leaves and sun. There’s a slight breeze that ruffles your hair, making the tips of your ears a little cold. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Kyle breathes, taking in the view. 

You nod, gazing out at the leaves tumbling in the wind. Then, with a practiced ease, you say: “No one would hear you scream out here.”

Kyle steps back from the edge, whipping around to look at you. “What?”

“What?” You ask dumbly. 

“Don’t “what” me.” He points a finger at you. “I heard that shit.”

You step toward him, feeling guilty when you see his face. “Kyky-” you call. 

“Nope!” He grabs something from his pocket, pointing it at you.

You put your hands on your hips, scoffing and stepping back. “You brought a taser?”

“And I’m not afraid to use it.” He continues to point the weapon at you as you take steps back. You were messing with your boyfriend, but your boyfriend was not messing with you. 

“Babe, it was a joke!” You protest. 

He narrows his eyes. “Oh, not so funny now, huh? No one could hear you scream.” 

“Kyle!” You hiss at that, his point made.“Please put the taser away.”

“Please don’t threaten me,” he retorts, but relents and slips the taser back into his pocket. 

“Why do you even have that?”

Kyle shrugs. “You never know. As you just proved.” 

“Oh my god,” You said, walking back over to him tentatively. Once you’re close enough, he grabs your waist pulling you to his side. “Don’t ever say that shit again,” he whispers. 

You glance at the taser in his pocket. “Lesson learned.” 

Kyle smiles, kissing your cheek. “Ice cream?” 

Ghost:

You take a deep breath, letting the crisp autumn air fill your lungs. It’s cold, cutting through the skin of your throat, yet at the same time it’s comforting. It’s much better than the humidity-laced air of summer at least. Where each breath you took felt like you inhaled oven air. 

Simon glances over at you, cocking his head to silently ask what you were doing. 

“Just taking in the air,” You said. “’s nice.” 

He hums an agreement, walking along the stream you two were hiking. A few birds were chirping, leaves crunching under your boots, and the sound of water running over rocks. It’s a quiet you’re not used to from being in the military. That still doesn’t stop the idea from forming in your head. 

“No one would hear you scream out here,” You muse, falling in step beside Simon. You say it casually, not looking at him. You act as if you had just asked where he wanted to get dinner tonight. 

Simon, of course, is aware of everything. He stops walking, turning to you at an agonizingly slow pace. “Excuse me?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.” And continue along the trail. 

He doesn’t follow you. You can tell when his footsteps aren’t echoing yours, a little slower and more steady. Instead, they fall silent on deaf ears. You can’t hear anything and the hair on the back of your neck stands up at the sudden stillness of the forest. 

“Simon?” You call, turning to face him. And of course, he’s gone. You curse under your breath, spinning around to find him. You walk back to where he was, checking around the trees and the bushes. You shouldn’t threaten a lieutenant, the master of infiltration nonetheless. You peek around another tree, trying to get a view of him when a hand grabs your shoulder. You scream, throwing the hand off your shoulder and raising your fists. You come face to face with your boyfriend and drop your hands. 

Simon stares at you, a deadpan look on his face with arms crossed. “What was that about no one hearing me or, should I say you scream?” 

You swat at him. “It was a joke.”

“Damn right, it was. You think you could take me?” He begins walking again, offering his hand to you. He was a true gentleman even after he pulled that stunt. You really needed to learn to keep your eyes on him. 

You lace your fingers together, sighing. “No.” 

Simon is content with the answer, placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Let’s finish this hike without any other threats, hm, sweetheart?"

“It was a joke.” 

“Mine wasn’t.” 

“Simon—!” 

Soap:

Johnny took convincing to go out for a walk. He was more inclined to spend his days on the couch, relaxing next to you. Not some boring “walk for fresh air.” He would argue he’d already gone on plenty of walks while deployed. 

You dragged him out anyway, saying it’ll be good for him to do one without worrying about being shot at. 

So here you are, on a quiet trail in your local park, pointing at the various colored leaves and their unique shapes. 

“This is stupid,” Johnny said, kicking at a pinecone on the ground and sending it flying. 

You roll your eyes, squeezing his hand, which was intertwined with yours in his jacket pocket. “You could humor me a bit.” 

“What good would that do?” 

You huff. “I actually quite like it out here.” 

“‘m sure you do, love.” 

You tap your chin with your free hand. An idea forming in your head to spice things up a bit. Or at least raise the stakes for your walk. “Like, no one would hear you scream out here, you know?” A mischievous grin curls on your lips as you look at Johnny with innocence. 

“What?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed. He knew what you said, just hadn’t quite processed the implications yet. 

“I said, we can go get ice cream. As a peace offering.” 

Johnny removes his hand from yours, taking a step back. “I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t want ice cream?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m actually tired. Thinking we should head back now.” 

You jut your bottom lip out, enjoying the slight panic on his face. “Already?”

He spins on his heels. “Yep! Right now. Let’s go. Back in public. With people.” He urges, walking away from you at a brisk pace. 

You laugh to yourself, jogging after him. He glances at you over his shoulder, clearly paranoid and you feel a little bad about it. His pace quickens and within seconds, he’s out of your line of sight and you sigh. Damn him. 

You exit the trail, and back into the regular park, squinting your eyes to spot your boyfriend. You can’t find him anyway, which is weird because his mohawk makes him unmissable. 

A hand taps your shoulder and you jump. 

“Oh, relax,” Johnny said, holding out an ice cream cone for you. “We’re out of the woods now. Everyone would hear you scream here.” 

You take the ice cream from him, glaring at him and his smug look as he remixes your words against you. “Not funny.”

“Now imagine how I felt. Except I wouldn’t really have a problem if people heard.” 

“We’re going home.” 

Johnny laughs madly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “That’s all I wanted.” 

Price:

You stand at the end of your hike, overlooking the view beneath you. The cliff dips into a valley, scattered with red and orange trees, the telltale sign of the approaching cold. The sun sits high in the sky, blessing you with a little warmth as the clouds drift through the breeze. 

Price stands next to you, hands on his hips like a proud dad after completing the hike. He pushes his sunglasses to sit on his forehead, taking a deep breath. 

“We should do this more often,” he said.

“We should,” you agree, watching a pair of hawks circle and dive. “It’s so peaceful out here.” 

“So quiet,” Price added. 

You hum. “No one would hear you scream.” 

You knew the risk of saying something like that to your boyfriend, but you couldn’t help it. A little challenge for him. 

Price doesn’t hesitate, he takes a step back from you, putting considerable distance between the two of you. His eyes scan the trees, the valley below, the space behind you — he’s clearly checking for any threats. 

You take a step toward him and he holds up his hand. “No. Empty your pockets.”

“What?” You asked with a laugh. 

“You wanna say shit like that? Empty your pockets,” He said again. 

You stare at him, and you can see the serious look on his face. Within the minute you had uttered that sentence, you already regretted it. Leave it to John Price to take everything so seriously. Even when it was his girlfriend who could never hurt him. You sigh, dropping your phone, wallet, keys, tissues, and everything else. You stare at him. “Happy?” 

“Hands up.” 

“John!” 

“Not hearing you out, darling.”

You begrudgingly raise your hands as he steps towards you, patting you down and inspecting the things you’ve dropped. “It was a joke.” 

“Am I laughing?” His hands come to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them slightly. “Believe me, darling. You wouldn’t be able to scream before I drop you.” 

You spin around to face him, a shocked look on your face. He had gotten you there. Price wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you make any noise. 

“It was a joke,” He mocks you, a sly grin on his face. 

You purse your lips, grabbing your things off the ground. “Point made.” Price grabs the rest of your belongings, handing them to you with that sweet smile of his. 

“C’mon, let’s hike back down. We can go to your favorite sandwich place.” He places a hand on your back, leading you off the cliff.

“As long as you don’t slip poison into it.” 

“No promises.” 

-- END --

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[madameevil]

I'll try to divide this into 2 parts. First part using game codex entries, other DA canon media, etc to refute points or counter points. Second to point out how some of these points are due to personal interpretations differing. So basically... let's use "facts" for most of the first half and "opinions" in the second. No guarantee that'll work out as I type this but that's the goal at least.

"Solas already knows who Rook is. He doesn't need much time to know who Rook is, it's not a problem for him." Ok but he doesn't. He thinks he does. He thinks he has Rook all pinned down. It's why he doesn't expect Rook to escape the Prison of Regret but Rook does. Solas is convinced that all of his manipulation to get Rook to drown in regret is enough to keep them trapped in that prison. In his pride, he doesn't expect Rook to escape. He once again doesn't expect Rook to see through his final betrayal about the veil. He also doesn't expect Rook to have enough cards by the end to stop him (which is conditional based on what you do in the game)

"If Cassandra rebuilds the Seekers, she is able to deal with emerging cults and unrest quite swiftly (according to the endings)." The ending slide literally says "showing no interest in worldly affairs" - Are you thinking of a different ending slide? Or a different quote? I honestly don't remember this being mentioned at all and can't find any reference to it. Cassandra also spent time in the Hunterhorn Mountains north of Orlais, where she worked to rebuild the Seekers. For a time, the new Seekers remained reclusive, showing no interest in worldly affairs and working to a purpose few outside their order could guess.

"Also, Friends of the Red Jenny are implied to operate throughout the entire Thedas and have quite a history (they've been mentioned since DA:O). So, for them not to be mentioned at all during the events makes no sense." They started as an organization based out of Ferelden and expanded to (areas that we know) Kirkwall, Orlais, Starkhaven, Tantervale, and Nevarra. They're not described as a powerful global organization. They're peppered throughout Thedas where they can get a foothold. We don't have proof or any mention of them being a thing in Tevinter or Antiva.

"Venatori should not even be a thing. Venatori rose to power only because of the Corypheus" The Venatori at their core are a cult of Tevinter-Mage Supremacists. That ideology doesn't just vanish or appear suddenly. The ideology is deeply rooted in the Tevinter Imperium. Even Dorian points out that many magisters still privately support the Venatori's ideas. While they won't outright sanction it. The Venatori's power increase may be directly tied to Corypheus but these ideologies have been present in Tevinter for a long ass time.

"So, at best there should be some Venatori cults present - but they won't be having that much power because they no longer have structure, they no longer have their god-magister, and they have nothing to sway magisters on their side - especially if they failed to provide any alternative to Corypheus in 10 years and went back to worshipping the Old Gods. [...] To make them the main problem is lazy writing." I don't think we need to get into a lesson on power vacuums here but let's just use the definition of "when someone in a place of power, has lost control of something and no one has replaced them." With Corypheus gone there is a power vacuum. A cult of fanatics don't just say "oh well, guess we'll go home now." According to Tevinter Nights (which the franchise being a mixed-media franchise has it's own problems), while a lot distanced themselves from the Venatori there were still a good number of loyalists who remained active. This leads to Aelia trying to fill in that role. She does gain a decent amount of support for it. Even when she's "captured" she has enough sway to escape prison and cause problems. Why? Because the Venatori's ideology is appealing to a lot of people in Tevinter even if they don't directly associate with the cult. However, with her "failure" we have another power vacuum present - so why is it "lazy writing" to have the emergence of another powerful mage that speaks like Corypheus and offer power similarly to what he did fill that?

"It makes no sense for the Venatori to be the main bad guys because the entire Tevinter fucking sucks already. It's has a horrible, hedonistic and power-obsessed ruling class where dominating the weak is considered good manners. Dorian should be having his hands full by fighting the entire Senate on such concepts as "slavery is bad" and "we should treat non-mages as people" - because Tevinter abhors change and its power is full of assholes like Aurelian Titus. The Venatori are just one shade of ugly the Tevinter has - and not the most prominent one." The supremacist ideology of the Venatori embody everything you're saying here. The examples you're giving are all part of the supremacist mindset. Hedonistic and power-obsessed ruling class? Yep. "Slavery is bad" and "we should treat non-mages as people" Those two concepts are directly against the supremacists ideology. We also do get some notes from Dorian doing just that Veilguard. The Venatori isn't just one shade of ugly, it's the embodiment of everything wrong in Tevinter. It's the supremacist ideology given form.

"Yes, it makes sense for Varric and Harding to take part in the search for Solas - but I can't believe that Rook at least hadn't been approved by the Inquisitor. and that Rook doesn't have means to contact the Inquisitor for further instructions in case something happens to Varric, or Harding or both of them. This is counter-productive." Varric is the one tasked with forming a small team. It's his responsibility to form that team and onboard people and vet them. With the way it's framed in "The Missing" Varric had full authority to bring on whoever. He didn't need approval. They kept in touch via Charter and sent correspondence to the Inquisitor but there wasn't any need for approval. Varric is the main path and Harding is the back up. That's 2 channels. Until the incident happens to Varric that seems standard. When the incident happens with Varric, then I believe Harding should have introduced Rook and the Inquisitor sooner to keep that practice of a back up channel open. Harding does reach out to Charter pretty early to inform them about what happened to Varric and mention Rook. I would have liked an Inquisitor meeting or letter sooner though.

I think below is where different interpretations come in.

"Solas knows how Leliana and Josephine operate, but that's not going to stop them - and it should not stop them when the fate of the world is at stake." You think they wouldn't let that stop them. I think they're smart enough to not continue to play an active part if any information they get or send off is information Solas is spoon feeding them. If their continued involvement would cause more harm then good then yea, I think they would take a step back. I think they would hand off the reigns to others.

"However, it's going to be insanely ha[r]d to prove the threat to anyone else and then tell them to go find Solas. At the same time, intentionally holding back information about what Solas really is means sending the "someone Solas doesn't know" to their death. They go after Solas, thinking it's just a really strong mage - and they don't know that it's actually an ancient god." Given Varric's line to Neve at the beginning, Varric is upfront with the information: "I also told you he was an ancient elven god." Whether the person believes them is dependent on the person. Rook has been tracking Solas with Varric for a year or so. I think by now they've witnessed enough to believe Varric's information.

"And she is going to stop now, after it's revealed that the threat isn't gone? There is no way she won't be an active participant. Even the fact that Seekers aren't welcome isn't going to stop her." I do actually think that the threat of severe political consequences should a southern religious military group make moves in a northern territory under a different religion would dissuade her. Cassandra isn't stupid. We also see her get less rash in Inquisition. We see her stop and think things through more. So actually, yes I do think that since mobilizing Seekers in Northern territory could at worse be seen as an act of war she would let it stop her. She even says at the end of trespasser "we need to be careful."

"Basically, it meant that the Inquisitor and their allies were going to try harder, learn what they can and find new resources, new information, any leverage possible. This is why the Inquisitor sets their course for Tevinter at the end of Trespasser: they were preparing to cooperate with a controversial state, pulling strings and calling favors, finding people with an ample knowledge of magic and ancient history that could assist them with finding any clues;"

L: "My agents have found nothing with the eluvians he could be anywhere"

C: [Dialogue about whether you disbanded or kept the Inquisition]

L: "We have what we truly need."

C: "We will need to be careful."

L: "Solas knows everything about us. Who we are. How we work. Our strengths and weaknesses"

Inky: "Then we find people he doesn't know." [Dialogue about if you are saving him or stopping him]

I do think this means they were going to find new allies and new people. Tevinter Imperium is a good place to start looking for that. And all this plays out through the comics and Harding and Varric's stories. (which again making the series Mixed-media has it's own complications) They do find new allies through their journey. They do find people who have ample knowledge of magic and ancient history. This idea also continues to play out in Veilguard. We find someone who has connections. We find someone who has ample knowledge of ancient magics and history. We find someone who has ample knowledge of the fade since that's what Solas was directly trying to manipulate.

I do not think it implicitly means what you've interpreted it to. I think that's how you interpreted that and I think that's a valid interpretation of it. Unfortunately that's not where they took it. That's also now how I interpreted it. I think a lot of the fandom interpreted this in different ways and that leads to disappointment if their interpretation wasn't correct. I think that's what's happening to you here. I don't think Bioware not catering to your interpretation means "they don't care." or anything like that. I think it's just that what you predicted or assumed based on the information provided ended up being incorrect. Other people predicted it correctly. If anything this just means that the marketing team could have done better at setting expectations and making sure everyone was on the same page.

oh my god that was a lot to type.

I don't think the game is perfect by any standards (no game is). There are things I wish they could have included or flushed out more, but I don't think any of that was done by Bioware devs "not caring." I think the Bioware team does actually really love their world and lore of Dragon Age. To quote their artbook (which is actually insane to look at):

"Art books like this one are the perfect opportunity to showcase what you don't see in the finished product: the inspiration, the blueprints, the unused drafts. We barked up a lot of wrong trees. We explored some wild directions--some ending in dead ends, others ending in precious treasure. We also created a lot of material that we liked but didn't have the capacity to build (in this game, anyway)."

If Bioware truly didn't love and care for their world and lore, the artbook wouldn't be as beautiful and jam packed as it is. There wouldn't be other medias of the series: books, comics, animations, movies.

But Bioware can't just make whatever they want. Bioware is owned by EA (not just published through them. OWNED by them). Bioware has to pay people to make the games. They need to get the funding and approval from EA to do so. This means that no matter how passionate the team is, there's only so much they can do and EA gets a huge say in what that is. EA who explicitly stated earlier AFTER BG3 released that they don't think single player story based games are worth investing in. WHICH IS INSANE TO ME. EA had them start developing the game one way. EA had them change development midway. EA had them remove all multiplayer pieces. EA cut funding to Bioware forcing them to make cuts in staff.

I guess if we say that a lot of the post is us disagreeing on how things are interpreted and not a misunderstanding of the source material then I can say my main problem with posts like this is that it targets the developers. The developers do seem to really love and care for their world and do want to do more, but they can't do it all. They can't just do everything they want. They have a parent company constantly controlling what they can and can not do. I could agree with a lot more posts if they actually targeted the company causing a lot of the problems, EA - WHO WE ALL ALREADY KNOW IS A SHIT MONEY HUNGRY COMPANY. Instead of the Devs who busted their asses for 10 years wanting to do more and being told to change it or scrap it at every turn.

Bioware writing team has a comfy, sheltered life and it shows

I'm sorry, but how come that the only people Inquisitor sent to look for Solas were Varric and Harding? How come that the only people recruited in 10 years of pursuing Solas were Neve and Rook? Do the writers understand that this is NOT how a serious effort looks like?

What about Leliana? Divine or not, she is still Sister Nightingale with an immense spywork. You'd think she won't mobilize everything she has to track Solas and his followers?

What about Josephine? What, she decided "nah, I'm done" and didn't use any of her diplomatic talents and connections to let the Inquisitor's agents have access, permissions or information they need?

What about Dorian? As a political figure, you'd think he will be the first Minrathous contact for the Inquisitor allies, the one arranging things and providing insights?

What about Cassandra and her Seekers? Isn't she interested in stopping another world-ending threat?

What about Sera and her sabotaging potential? If she organized the group of people for performing vigilante acts, people who are her eyes and ears, how come nobody from her group is helping with the effort?

I get it why Varric takes part in it - he knew Solas, the Inquisitor trusts him and his judgement, but for the game to imply that all the responsibility was lumped on Varric's shoulders is fucking disgraceful. I get it writers, Varric is popular character, and you would use him as bait to your heart's content, but the context you've created implies that Varric might have been the only one to take the threat seriously, while the Inquisitor and the rest were doing God knows what.

Varric should have been handing the Rook information on all the contacts they can recruit, all the useful agents, all the people to work with, not tell them to ask Neve because she might know someone because detective (Neve is a good character, but the fact that people who were supposed to spend 10 years chasing Solas look up to her for finding them contacts is appalling).

"Oh, but all these people were in the previous parts and we don't want to mention previous parts because muh new players" - well, you shot yourselves in the foot. Maybe, just maybe, you should have AT LEAST cared more about the choices made in DAI.

Congrats.

[di-42]

Unfortunately once again I've only had time and mental energy for very short fictions that could fit in a commute or two this month. But, as it's always the case, there are a few wonderful gems among these! 

Please don't be fooled by the number of Kudos! Ao3 is not Amazon! 

As always I'll tag the writers whose tumblr usernames I know. If you're a writer and you want your story removed from this list please let me know.

And now, without further ado, let me tell you about the wonderful stories I've read this month, and the things I loved about them! ♥️

November’s Notable Fictions

WIPs:

Wavelengths & Frequencies, by @shadesofecclescakes and imposterssyndrome @maaikeatthefullmoon Rated E, chapters 15/?

This story is such a warm, cozy, comfort blanket. Enemies-to-lovers human AU where Aziraphale and Crowley work as DJ for the same media corporation. They have a history, but we don't know what it is at the beginning. Great story, great humour, great characterisation, great fuzzies, absolutely great banter! I look forward to every update and do a little joyful dance every time I get an update notification. This fiction is becoming one of my all time favourites.

You're The Bad Guys, by Nebz_AlphaCentauri @alphacentaurinebula Rated E, chapters 20/?

Cold war human AU in which Aziraphale is an MI6 agent and Crowley is a KGB agent. Each of them is assigned to a mission in Berlin, from opposite sides of course. Great characterisation, suspense and references to canon.

My own WIP, And I Did, rated E, chapters 14/15 (nearly there!)

In my not-a-summary I say that this is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Which is true. But I have come to think of it also as my apology dance to Crowley. My headcanon about Aziraphale has always been clear, but at first I wasn't sure about what Crowley would do after the final 15. I didn't see Crowley drinking himself oblivious or taking a road of self destruction. But I didn't know what he would do. Then it hit me, and that was when I started writing And I Did. I knew what Crowley would do. Crowley would do what Crowley does. And what does Crowley do best? This is a story about faith, about love, and about choices. Aziraphale is Supreme Archangel, Crowley is Grand Duke Of Hell, and they have to bring about the Second Coming. And of course they're not talking.

Complete stories:

The Small Ad by ladydragona and SylWritesStuff, rated E, 32k.

To overcome boredom, Crowley offers his services as a hired partner. Aziraphale is need of someone to pretend to be his partner. The rest is history. This is a lovely, hot, and sweet fake relationship fiction. Very interestingly, the POV changes at every paragraph, and because the story has two authors it left me wondering whether one wrote Crowley and one wrote Aziraphale, but kind of in real time.

The Angel’s Gambit, by Augenblickglotte, @dragonfire42 , rated T, 9k.

Aziraphale has been playing chess with the angel of Death for over 1500 years. You'll have to read it to find out why. I loved the banter between Aziraphale and Azrael. 

Percy, by Jackie Thomas (Jakie_Thomas), not rated, 10k.

This is the story that touched me the most this month. It's set 100 years in the future. Aziraphale leads a quiet existence in a cottage. When Adam Young dies of very old age, Crowley picks up Aziraphale to go to his funeral. He doesn't stay after that, and you'll have to read it to find out why. The story does have a (kind of) happy ending. Or a hopeful one, at least. But it digs deep in some of my very real, very human fears. Fear for the planet, fear of growing old, fear of growing apart, fear of everything ending without us ever getting a second chance of fixing things. I really loved this story and will go back to it again. It also gets extra points for reversing the roles of how the fandom usually see Aziraphale and Crowley! Top marks! 

Caramel Delight, by AJ_Constantine, rated E, 16k.

Lovely neighbours to lovers human AU. Crowley is instantly attracted to the new neighbour and his -oh, lord- forearms (and, I mean, who wouldn't?). But he's determined not to make things awkward, they are just friendly neighbours. That's why Aziraphale keeps knocking on his door for more of that caramel sauce Crowley makes so well. One of the tags in this fiction is: Aziraphale is bad at flirting. I very much beg to differ.

One shots and short stories: 

Can I Have Your Number? by AppleSeeds, rated G, 1.8k.

Aaawww. Aziraphale goes to order drinks for him and Tracy, and writes down his number for bartender Crowley. Crowley asked for it, right? RIGHT?? All well that ends well, this story is brief and sweet. 

Angels Don't Blow Their Own Trumpets, by shaggydogstail, rated E, 8k.

This story had me cackle! Crowley poisons himself by accident (well, by trying to be cool, point is he didn't mean to) and there's only an antidote that can save him. Please DO READ the tags for this one. 

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon And Airbnb Superhost, by TheOldAquarian, rated G, 3k.

A selection of reviews by guests who rented Crowley's flat on Airbnb. Very funny! 

Proving One’s Loyalty, by @indigovigilance , rated E, 4k.

Set towards the end of season 1, Aziraphale goes to heaven to speak with a higher authority only to find that Gabriel has taken Crowley prisoner. Aziraphale has to torture him in order to prove himself to heaven. Smut ensues. 

You Can't Un-See A Dog, by Dannye Chase (HolyCatsAndRabbits), HolyCatsAndRabbits @holycatsandrabbits rated T, 4k

This was one of the highlights of my month, fiction-wise! Crowley is summoned by two humans to be offered in sacrifice. Aziraphale knocks on their door within, like, 3 minutes. I just loved this story: The light banter and the interactions between Crowley and Aziraphale are chef's kiss; the adorable domesticity of their relationship shines through in a situation that really is not domestic at all; Aziraphale is being his incredibly brilliant self; AND there's a little mystery-solving thrown in for good measure! Top marks! 

Hold The Phone, by theRavenMuse, rated E, 1k.

Crowley listens in on Aziraphale having intimate moments by himself. But phones work two ways. Lovely and hot! 

Plausible Deniability, by GayDemonDisaster (scrapheapchallenge), rated E, 5k. 

This story was so, so lovely! Set before and after the first failed Armageddon and not season 2 complaint, but to me it really feels like it goes very well with my personal headcanon regarding season 2 in general and the final fifteen in particular: they do communicate and they don't need words. The story itself is about Aziraphale denying to himself that things are happening by pretending it's all a dream. The writer illustrates their deep connection and mutual understanding beautifully. 

The Co-Pilot, by beardo @e-rated-beardo rated E, 4k.

Incredibly hot human AU. Eh, I say human AU… incredibly hot AU. Tony is attracted to Az, but is afraid of acting on it because of what the author describes as an ‘overfamiliar demon’ who sometimes took the wheel for a minute. So he's content to just chat to Az at the pub. Yeah, like Az is ever going to shy away from an encounter with Crowley's inner demon.

Presque Vu, by NaroMoreau, rated E, 9k

Human AU. College student Aziraphale sees his ex Gabriel at a party he didn't want to go to to begin with, so of course he hides in the kitchen. Until his (and everybody's) impossible crush offers to pose as his boyfriend. This story is incredibly lovely and heartwarming!

Masturbation (Doesn't Count As Sex, Surely?), by Hellsgardener @hellsgardener01 (I think it's you?) rated E, 1.3k.

Very few fictions manage to convey such intense feelings of sweetness and hotness alike in such a short tale as this one! Aziraphale asks Crowley if he's ever had sex and reminisces about his own solo experiences.

To Bind Them, by LCwrites, rated E, 5k

Human AU with a lovely enchanted/supernatural/faerie element. Aziraphale is tipsy at Anathema’s Halloween party and when he overhears Crowley talking on the phone he wants to find out what he's up to. But that's not even the half of it.

Our Homeward Steps Were Just As Light, by On1OccasionFork, rated T, 7k.

I've seen this little gem recommended a lot recently, and with very good reason! Human AU where Pepper works in a nursing home. Anthony is a beloved guest prone to causing trouble, Aziraphale is a new guest. It's tender, deep, funny and original. Stirs things in you, a fiction like that. I loved it. Extra points for being in Pepper’s POV.

Hot Blood, Hot Thoughts, Hot Deeds, by Supergeek21, rated E, 3k.

This story was really up my street! Crowley is a vampire in search of a bride. Aziraphale should be scared, but he's too busy being aroused instead. Sweet, funny, and sexy.

A Newsworthy Affair, by @waitingtobebroken rated T, 1k.

A funny, adorable, fluffy fiction told through newspaper ads that the editors of the newspaper never authorised publishing. If you're in need of something to put a big smile on your face, this is it!

Merry Christmas, Hellspawn, by Libbyfay, rated G, 4k.

Beautiful Warlock’s POV fiction. It's the first Christmas since nanny and brother Francis left without a word, and Warlock feels lonely. He goes to what used to be brother Francis’ shed, goes through the box of Christmas decorations and reminisces about the past, until someone knocks on the door. I am quite partial to the few, precious Warlock’s POV stories, and the author does an excellent job at depicting the pain of an 11 year old and that casual, matter of fact way 11 year olds deal with great pain. This story is delicate, and beautiful and deeper than it might seem.

Series:

Wrong Number AU, by GaryOldman, rated T.

This was the loveliest, sweetest, fluffiest series. Best to read  the stories in order to fully enjoy it. In Text From An Unknown Number (12k) Aziraphale text Crowley’s number by mistake. They hit it off straight away, but of course things are never that simple. Most of the story is told via the texts they exchange (between themselves and with others) and it’s amazing how the author manages to convey excitement, feelings and a little angst in that way. I loved this fic, but I feel I have to give a little warning that the Harry Potter series is heavily used and referred to in this story. Sorry, Right Number (2.5k) is the super fluffy Christmassy continuation of TFAUN. Aaaaww, lovely! He's My Wrong Number, (1.6k) is possibly the fluffiest of the three and it's a real treat to read! A very happy ending to the series!

Poems:

DEATH Grinned-HE Didn't Have Much Choice, by @isiaiowin rated T.

Very evocative and powerful poem about Death.

Thinking Of Nanny, by @the-ineffable-dance

Another incredibly beautiful Warlock's POV fanwork to end this list. Warlock is all grown up and goes for a walk in St. James’s Park, where he sees someone familiar. The only complaint I have about this poem is that it was so difficult to read through the tears, really.

[elegantgardenrunaway]

If it's with you

Curly (mouthwashing) x reader

A/N: AAAAAAH FINALLY I FINISHED IT. Sorry for the delay, to be honest it was quite challenging for me to write this one. I hope I did Curly good enough for you.

This is the second (and last) part of this. But if you want to keep with the fluff then I would recommend skipping this.

Warnings: Jimmy (ofc), violence, mild gore(?), death, no happy ending (sorry guys not really), very hinted about what happened with Anya, but not explicit.

And bad grammar, probably. Sorry, English is not my first language.

He wishes he had kept his mouth shut.

Just for a day or two more, so at least the decorations wouldn't have been put to waste.

Such a birthday celebration. They must have put a lot of effort into it and he had to go and ruin everything.

Their reactions are still burning in his mind, like burning coal scorching his brain; Anya's worried voice, Swansea sarcastic remarks, Daisuke’s silence, Jimmy's accusations, your blank expression looking at the plate while you gripped the fork with white knuckles. No matter what, they are always there.

He sighs heavily, he needs to get to work soon.

He doesn't know how he will face the others now.

Yet he doesn't move, doesn't even hear that someone has entered the lounge. He later hears the shuffle of the couch as someone sits besides. He doesn't bother to look up nor start a conversation, too drained to give an explanation or even a half joke to break the ice.

They stand up again. He thinks they are going to leave him alone.

Then he hears the radio being turned on, followed by the sound of music, banishing the silence in the air.

He turns up, surprised and confused, finding you walking back to him with a nervous smile on your face.

For some reason, he's relieved that you are not Jimmy.

I mean, he definitely wouldn't do something like this.

You took his hands, lightly pulling him up. His hands had brushed against yours more than one time, on accident that is, due to your jobs or as a playful row during game nights. Now he realizes how warm and comforting your hands are to the point he hardly notices that he went up on his own, following you.

“Do you like to dance, Captain?” Your voice takes him out of his trance.

He blinks “... What?”

“... Um… Do you… do you like to dance? We can dance if you want. It's still your birthday party and it shouldn't end like this. Please, at least one dance”

He looked at them, dance… Dance? In a moment like this?

“We still have work to do,” he said, trying to give an excuse to get out of this.

“To hell with work,” you responded as you guided him “Forget the work, the company, everything. Tomorrow we'll drown. Today? Today we dance”

… That doesn't sound so bad.

He looks at your eyes. They hold such determination even if you look nervous. Your hands, your hands were holding him, he felt grounded. He repeated your words in his mind:

Today we dance. Ha, he isn't very good at it. He doesn't dance a lot, never had the time in a work like this.

He didn't refuse your proposal, didn't have the heart to tell you no, but he warned you about his lack of skill on the dance floor.

You laughed, he didn't know whether to feel embarrassed or offended or both, but your later reassurance lifted a weight from his shoulders. Soon he's holding you in his arms, bodies close, his head resting on you as you sway with the melody. His body is relaxed and the worries about the future are temporarily forgotten from his mind.

You don't judge him nor think less of him. Instead, you go at his pace and encourage him to try something different, something new, even if he's not really good at it, he can still learn.

Especially if it's with you.

Time seemed to disappear for both of you. A song became two, became three, became four until you had to let each other go, you had to go back to work.

But he didn’t want to do that. He wished he could stay with you, just a little bit longer.

But when you accepted that the time was up, you agreed to meet again for your next class the following day in the morning before work.

He was the first one to arrive. Entering the lounge way before your agreement. The holographic screen still shows the night sky. He didn't sleep, he couldn't. His friend has been giving him the cold shoulder and the rest of his crew is still shaken up from the news. Even though you tried to hide it, he still noticed.

And then, there is him. With a good reference secured. Which is good, but then again he still needs to figure out what he wants to do once he steps down for good.

What was life before the Tulpar? Who was Curly before the captain?

“Good morning” you yawned, trying to fix your appearance and open your eyes a little bit more “I see you're early, how long have you been here?”

“Uh?” He quickly turned upon hearing you, looking at you for a few seconds with a mixture of guilt and gratitude, he knew you were giving up some of the few hours of sleep you had in favor of this and he appreciates that. If the coffee machine wasn't empty, he would've made some for you.

“Oh, no… I just arrived, you have nothing to worry about” he lied and walked to your side “Thank you for doing this”

“Uh, don't mention it” you mumbled, yawning once more.

“Can I offer you something? Well, anything that is not coffee that is…”

“Heh, I'm alright, don't worry about it. Shall we start?”

How fast can someone get interested in another person?

Not to say he didn't pay attention to you before. It's just that now he does it in a different way, another eyes, another heart.

Suddenly he sees your expression when you smile, the wrinkles on your face when you laugh at Daisuke's bad jokes or the sudden energy boost you get with him and Anya, ; the way you listen to Swansea's rants or roll your eyes at Jimmy. Which he doesn't really like.

For six days you had taught Curly the basics of dance.

For six mornings Curly had felt excitement of waiting for a new day. He wanted to learn about dancing, learn about you.

And then …

System Failure

System Failure

System Failure

"…"

He wished he wasn't so stupid. That he was a better man and stopped Jimmy, gave him a better punishment for his actions. But then again, his options weren't very promising, especially if it involved everyone's last pay.

But maybe he's just making excuses.

He wants to scream, to apologize, to Anya, to Swansea, Daisuke and you.

Maybe he wasn't the one who set up the ship towards the asteroid, but practically served the option for Jimmy in a silver plate. So it was the same, at least in his mind, as if he was the one in the seat.

It kills him, it kills him to be a prisoner in his own, decaying body that refused to die or at least that the other refused to let die. He now has to depend on Anya —as if things weren't nightmarish enough — to even breathe properly.

You started to help Anya a little bit after he got stabilized. Seeing how she was struggling with him, you wanted to relieve some of the burden from her shoulders. The first thing you did was try to give him his pills. He will never forget the look on your eyes, the shine of betrayal and uncertainty, you seemed to be observing a bizarre creature, a monster.

That made him feel he was burning all over again.

And despite that, you did it again. You continued to give him his pills and learn from Anya how to take care of him the best you could with the little equipment you had, the fearful and horrified expression you desperately tried to conceal for his sake turned to a resigned, yet kind one. You get used to the bandages, the smell of burned fresh he still emits and soon replace Anya on the duty of giving him his pills, giving the woman a little peace of mind.

You talk to him, more often than not, you tell him about your day, the plans to have to ensure your survival, what would you do once you get back to earth, the ideas you have to get another job and one of two comments about redoing the dance lessons once he recovers from his injuries, though clarifying that it was only if he was interested. As if you would survive this.

For him, that was what was keeping him alive. He could only dream of that future you were telling him, the things you were telling yourself to give both of you hope, to desperately keep the shine in your eyes to keep shining.

Though that could only work for so long. Especially after you and the rest of the remaining crew discovered the contents of the cargo.

Mouthwash.

So that's what he was dedicating his own life for, the reason he was climbing ladders for…

He couldn't help but let out a pained chuckle, surprising you, making you look as if he just performed a miracle.

Well, he supposes that if is his suffering all it takes to impress you, then he'll gladly give it to you. Anything that could give you some hope.

Things started spiraling, you had told him and sometimes he could even hear it from his spot in the infirmary. How Swansea broke his sobriety after all these years, how Daisuke started to drink too, how Anya and you tried to keep the situation at float, but what he was most scared of was how Jimmy seemed to start to act more… aggressive. If that was even possible. He was more demanding, more prone to outburst and you and him had had rows more often.

He would be lying if he was afraid that he would do something to you. You, who still tries to hold some hope and share it with him. You are a balm that manages to soothe at least some of the despair that crushes his chest and the electric torture his own muscles give him.

He promises himself, that if you two get out of here alive and manages to at least become a somewhat functional living being, even if it meant having some kind of shitty prosthetics, even if he had to learn to walk again, he would take you to a nice place, get you some nice clothes and dance with you all night.

Yes, yes he would. And for that, he needs to keep himself alive. To take responsibility for what happened, to have a life with you.

Then suddenly, one day you came, with a look of shock. You didn't say too much that day, only a few words.

“I know... I-I know what he did”

And you didn't need to say anything else.

And you stopped talking to him for what felt like an eternity. It was a week and a half, but with the silence of the room and Anya and Jimmy being the only ones coming here, it was torture for him.

He never thought he would feel more relieved when you started talking to him again. He cried, it hurted, it hurted like hell. You shushed him gently.

But you never talked about the future again. Sometimes you still didn't talk at all, the shine in your eyes replaced by a resignation that gave him chills.

And then, everything fell apart the moment Anya locked herself in the nursery, asking if you could look after Daisuke to make sure he was doing okay, she could give him his medicines, assuring you that she was capable and that you didn't need to worry about it.

She didn't give him his medicines.

Instead, he was forced to witness how she twitched and withered on the floor until her body no longer moved.

He heard Daisuke's screams before he appeared from that vent. The young boy saw Anya, eyes glossy and horrified and tried to beg for her to talk, hoping that she was still somewhat alive, to tell him everything would be okay. And between guilty sobs, he mentioned Jimmy's name and that you were gravely injured too.

His heart stopped at that moment.

What happened to you? What did he do? Are you okay? Will you make it? Or is it too late for you too?

It couldn't be, it couldn't.

Then everything seemed to happen in a blur, he barely remembers what came next. Jimmy and Swansea were in the infirmary, the latter betaring the first one for his foolishness, for what he did to you and Daisuke. When they inevitably found nothing that would help them, they left. An hour or so later, Daisuke's screams echoed through the hall. The door was upon, but the position they were on didn't allow him to see much. But he did see how Swansea held the ax above Daisuke. Then, Daisuke's breathing stopped echoing in the halls, then Jimmy came and grabbed the gun….

The fucking gun that was under him all along.

The gun Anya hid because she was afraid of him. And he couldn't understand why at that time.

And now that he does, he can't help but laugh, as strong as his body allows him. He can't do anything anymore, he's fucking useless, he can't do a damn thing. He can't be a good captain, a good friend.

A fucking decent human being in general.

Then there came the struggling, the echo of the gunshots.

He knew he was next.

He thought he was next.

He wished he was next.

How? How could he not see the type of creature that it was Jimmy?

His crew, what once was his crew, their bodies, crudely slumped against the chairs around the table. A party, for the death and the damned, a judgment for the two sinners left in this godforsaken coffin.

Your body was on the left, next to Anya's corpse. The way blood seeped from your face told a horrifying story of your last moments on this world, at the mercy of the monster that now held him. How he wished he could have been there, to protect you, to protect all of them.

How he wished this was nothing but a nightmare, that he could wake up at any moment, go to the lounge and wait for you to appear in your groggy state, still having droll on your cheek and your uniform all messy. He would give you something to drink, maybe not coffee. The machine would always be empty.

But once again, his illusions were shattered with the piercing pain of the knife sawing his flesh.

He screamed, from the pain of his flesh being slayed and his bone being broken, from the sight of his crew rotting around a table, reduce as nothing put twisted puppets for Jimmy's entertainment, for the person he cherished and gave him a reason to keep going, the one who gave him a future, gave him bliss even if they were on the bottom of the deeps of hell and made him feel that his dreams were true, motionless in front of him, and he wasn't able to even say goodbye.

He wasn't even granted the mercy of death. The demon didn't allow it. His twisted conscience believed he could somehow redeem himself if he managed to keep him alive.

Even if it means feeding him his own leg.

Even if it means putting him in the last cryopod while the coward escaped by the least painful way.

He didn't even have the strength to curse him one last time.

As the cold ice burned his exposed flesh, he couldn't help but wonder if things could have been different somehow. If he had the strength to oppose Jimmy, to at the very least stop him from crashing the ship. Would it be different?

It probably doesn't matter anymore. Not when he is going to spend the next twenty years or so frozen in time. He doesn't want anyone to come, a captain must go down with the ship after all.

Death sounds better if you are waiting for him on the other side.

[grimdarling69]

Can I ask for part 9 of deaged dan and ellie please?🥹

Tbh I've been rereading it a lot and I'm excited to read what the batfam and jl reactions while going to where Damian and Dick is. I knowww that it's going to be a crazy ride especially with youngblood(is it really Youngblood? Or not?)

A large toxic blob incased the window on the door. Swirling and jumping individual blob ghosts. They cooed excitedly and pushed against the locked door in vain.

"I'm coming! I'm coming!" He finally reached the door and opened it in a practiced manner of hiding behind and ducking. The swarm of blobs rushed past him into the den.

"Calm yourselves one at a time." Damian spoke to them as he walked hesitantly-not fearfully, Damian-back into the room. They swarmed around his head and chittered in a weirdly familiar language. He couldn't understand the language, but he recognized it? He was gaining ecto if he could recognize ghost dialect. He couldn't let Damian know he'd blame himself if he thought he put him in danger by letting him stay in the Realms. He couldn't leave him alone and was scared while he went through this. Damian needed him just as much as he needed him.

"You must have made a mistake. There's absolutely no way she would betray me. She's-this can't be happening." He muttered the last part and pushed through the blobs around him. He went to the table. Frostbite dropped files yesterday as something to do while the storm passes. He hadn't realized the weather would follow them to death. Apparently, in some 'biomes' in the Realms, it has weather but not the same it's all different. All at different times and patterns. The weather couldn't hurt ghosts, but it could hurt buildings and structures. Their cabin, luckily, was on the side of the island that the storm didn't reach, so they were told to stay put. He had gotten frostbite to give them paperwork so that he could convince Damian to do that instead of attempting to injure himself or the cores. It kind of worked he only had to chase him a few times.

"What's happening, Damian? What did they say?" He questioned, keeping in an eye in the weirdly calm swarm landing on the couch next to him. He captured his sons hands so he couldn't pull his hair out like he tended to do now. Damian face was covered in worry, fear, and maybe some regret.

"A group of heroes, including some of the founders of the Justice League and Constantine, are being transported by Pandora and Youngblood." He winced and glanced outside the window like he could see their ship.

"Bruce?" "And Todd, Drake, Brown, and Thomas."

"Shit. Well, we just have to explain to them what you told me, and they'll back off. Jason will be more than happy to knock Bruce into his senses if he doesn't. "

"I don't want them to know about this, about me-or them..."

"Damian, come on, they'd have had to at least know about the babies eventually. When you came home even-if you came to...live with me." Damian glanced around nervously, never meeting his eyes. Oh my god.

"But you never planned on returning, did you? You were going to let us think you committed suicide without any sign at all. Right? That was your plan to-to make us think we lost you!" He was yelling, and a distant voice told him he needed to calm down, but he really couldn't care less right now.

"I- didn't mean to make you think -" Damian was tearing up. He thinks absently that he's seen damian cry more these past few months than the past four years he's known him.

"I was going to follow you!" Damian seemed like he wanted to say something, but he needed to get his point across. He took a deep breath.

"When I got to the bridge, I was-in hysterics. I couldn't help but imagine you in the-the water. Hurt scared in pain, knocked around in the water-er. I thought you could have cracked your head open or just anything, and I had to-to save you! I just thought if i could follow you over that bridge...i could save you. " it was hard to see through the bluryness, but damian was the only thing he needed to see anyway.

"You would have been killed too..."

"I know."

"So why...?"

"Because you matter more to me than anything. You are my son, and you are Bruce's son, and you are Talias son."

"I-..."

"Let me finish. If Bruce didn't want you, you would have never been in the manor. It is impossible to make Bruce do something he truly doesn't want to do. You are a member of this crazy ass family because we want you. Bruce wants you. I want you. So don't push us away, please. "

"I just-i never doubted you!" It's always been bruce.

"Or any of the others, it's only Bruce, why?" He's afraid of his reaction most of all, like he knows something about him Dick doesn't.

"I told you about Jack Fenton, right? Well, before he sacrificed himself, he was cutting me open. As I screamed and cried and begged him to stop. That i was alive that I was his son didn't matter. What did matter was vlad. Jazz-you maybe called him begged him to save you. He told them-my mom all about ghosts about himself, and that stopped him. He said sorry to vlad instead of sorry to the son lying open and organs strewn across the room on the table. It was you who rushed forward and helped me. You who was always on my side so I can never doubt you but Bruce...I've had my share of father's and they haven't always been the best."

"He tries-"

"Sometimes trying isn't enough. But I trust you so...I'll give him a chance. I want to live with you but maybe we'll visit him."

"That's all I'm asking, baby bat." Maybe everything will be fine. Damian will see that Bruce isn't Jack, and everything will be fine. He goes to put his hand comfortingly on his shoulder but damian bypasses him and grabs him tight around the waist, burying his head into dicks clothes. Gripping him so tightly it hurts but he doesn't complain much too happy just hold his son. He grips him as tightly as he dares and rests his head on Damian.

"Richard."

"What, dami?" He turned his cheek from where he placed it on damians head so he could hear better.

"I think the babies are coming..." he pulls away suddenly to look at him, and sure enough, his stomach is glowing so bright his shirt is see-through. Damians face is pulled into an expression of wonder and fear. Shit shit shit. They'd thought we would have more time.

"I'll get frostbite. Just sit down." He helps him to the couch, and after making sure he knows to control his breathing, he runs out of the cabin to Frostbites. Luckily, he wasn't actually in human labor, but it was still extremely painful because of the fact that damian isn't a full ghost. Typically, it was more like a budding reproduction that plants do. A ghost and a ghostling go intangible and divide from each other. Frostbite believes damian will be strong enough for that to happen if they use ecto-dejecto+. Something he modified from the Fentons. He is extremely worried about this, as you could guess. He trusts Frostbite. He's like a large frosty and very intelligent retriever, but he's worried about the side effects of after rather than the immediate. They have no other idea it's this or nothing. Frostbite had said if the kids couldn't get out on their own, he would have to... cut them out. Ecto-dejecto+ it is!

"Frostbite! Frostbite!" He slammed into the large door and banged on it. It was probably unlocked like always, but this was faster. "Is it time?" He hears the resounding yell at foot from the door, and he flips backward so he doesn't get knocked out again.

"Yes! Obviously!" He turns back around and runs back to the cabin. He ignores frostbites yelling about getting his tools.

By the time he gets back, damian isn't on the couch anymore.

"Damian! Damian, where are you?" He's searching wildly around the room throwing things around. It had only taken him 6 minutes to get here and back. Please don't him have...have...

"In here!" Damian! From his old bedroom? Frostbite and him had been working in changing it into a temporary nursery just in case. Had Damian already...?

"Damian..?" He pushed open the door slowly.

"Shh, look!" Damian was smiling freely for the first time in a while. Completely free of the pain from just a few minutes ago. He was holding a baby, and another rested in a blue banket on the bed pushed against the wall, eyes darting around. Damian held another in a pink blanket in his arms, standing in the center. The baby's face was red, and tears steamed down its cheeks, but it wasn't actively crying.

"She just stopped crying. Here Ellie meet your..." he trailed off handing the baby over to him waiting for him to decide what he wanted to be called. They hadn't talked about it...

He couldn't help but tear up seeing the little baby. It didn't look like a newborn but maybe a month or 2 old. Still very young but bypassing the actual infant stage.

"Aren't they beautiful...What do you want to be called?" Damian picked up Dante and rocked him around the baby stared into space. The baby smiled so definitely more than a month. From the books he read it took about 6 or so weeks to smile actually smile instead of just gas.

"I don't know. Didn't think that far ahead." He took the corner of the blanket and gently wiped away the drying tears on her face.

"Im here! Great one! Princess!" Frostbite took forever seriously. And he was ignoring the title everyone insisted on using for him. They had offered to change it to Prince, but then it just felt too real? When he's called princess, it's funnier, less real, and like a joke, not like he's a literal prince of the literal fabric of the universe.

He pushed open the door and signaled to Frostbite standing in the broken doorway with his finger on his lips a classic be quiet sign he's sure ghosts would understand.

"Oh, well, I suppose we were worrying for nothing." Frostbite said once he finally got over the surprise. He was leaning over his shoulder or entire body technically from how large he was to peer at the baby girl. It was quite comical when he reached out a finger seemingly mesmerized at Ellies tiny little hand barely wrapped around half the finger when she grabbed it.

"Oh, I just love younglings. It has been centuries since I've seen such young neverborns. Though I believe it is just their human half influencing their age." The giant yeti seemed perfectly content to be trapped by the small hand.

"Do you think they'll ever gain their memories back?" Damian was sitting in the hand-carved rocking chair with ice and star designs all over it. He still held Dante in his arms. The baby simply watched its surroundings.

"I don't believe so but their cores personality should be similar and they might have a sense of deja vu sometimes but the amount of damage to their cores...I don't believe they will ever fully gain anything back." The yeti provided his much needed wisdom. "This is a new opportunity for them and you would be wise not to waste it, great one."

"I know, I won't its just i will miss them." Damian stared into his sons eyes not looking up at them.

"I know it is of no reconciliation, but...I will as well." Frostbite gently unraveled his claw from the baby and gathered his supplies. Leaving behind the ecto-dejecos without a word.

"You never answered me earlier about what you want to be called..." Damian said absent mindly in tone but completely focused on him.

"I did not realize it was such a big deal to you." Dick did. If he took up the uncle mantle, it would solidify the fact they were only brothers, but if he took up the grandfather title, Bruce and Alfred would be left out. He knew what he wanted, but bruce...its not he thinks Bruce will be furious or something at him it's more the quiet disappointment or regret he's worried about. Bruce was easy to anger but hard to disappoint, and every time he saw that look on his face...Bruce could also be a very jealous man.

"I thought about it what they'll call you guys. Alfred will be pops or grandpa. Bruce can have gramps. And you...can be papa..?" He can recognize the hopeful phrasing in his voice.

"I..thought Papa was for dads..." it's not a question really more like a dazed statement, but damian treats it like it is anyway.

"Not in the Midwest where I first came from. I used to call my grandparents, gama and Papa, when I was younger in that life. Before they died, we would drive for hours every holiday or on long weekends to see them." It was weird to hear him reminiscence about another life. Ellie gurgled, and he glanced down at the wiggly baby. Her fingers were in her mouths, and her eyes were locked with him. For the first time, he feels himself really look at her like a haze was lifted from his eyes. She had a tuft of dark brown hair almost black, her eyes were a startling unrecognizable hazel, her skin was slightly tan but barely like it was only just beginning to change. She had curious eyes and wild extremities like she wanted to get up and touch everything. She had a tiny brown mole beside her nose on her cheek-right in a crevice-a little above her mouth.

"It must have been nice."

"Yeah, it was." It wasn't an awkward silence but a quiet one just holding the babies he glanced over at Damian and saw Dante was asleep. Ellie was just about to fall asleep. Sh kept closing and opening her eyes at weird times.

He locked eyes with Damian and motioned toward the cribs. They were pushed against the wall between a dresser it was obvious the room wasn't even half finished.

The large bed shoved out the way, the pushed out of the way rocking chair and cribs the only sign of a nursery. The various other pieces of furniture were mismatched and aged.

He rocked Ellie, hoping to get her tired enough. He spied Damian, setting Dante down slowly in his crib. He made his way over to the cribs as well, just as Damian was reswaddling Dante. If his age assessment was correct, they'd stop that soon, but for now. Dante stayed fast asleep. He set Ellie down and attempted to fix her swaddling. He hoped he wouldn't fully wake her by messing with it. Luckily, she seemed to get the memo and fell asleep quickly. They turned back toward eachother he let out a relieved sigh and watched as Damian said goodnight to the babies and left the room looking back every step. He took one final glance at them and closed the door softly.

"What are we going to use for a baby moniter? Could Tucker have something we could use?" How would they even connect it? Tucker had said they had once tried internet in the realms but it would just explode randomly.

"No need. We're bonded, I feel their emotions." Ghost bonds at it again.

"Really? What are they feeling?" He needed to know if they liked him of course.

Damian hummed and answered thoughtfully " Loved, happy, content."

"Good."

"There is a...meeting soon between the leaders. It's an annual diplomatic meeting to discuss mostly trade and news. Tucker will be announcing the children as heirs to the Realms and..." Damian trailed off but it was obvious what he was going to say. Me.

"I thought you would be discussing the future when your older...?"

"We will discuss if i succeed him as he succeeded me once before. Tucker has done great work as king, and he enjoys it more than I do. The ancients will disagree they didn't like the fact I named him and sam as my heirs in the first place. The way to calm them is to act like I will succeed until we find a better plan."

"Right. Sam... Do you think she is also back in our world? Tucker became a ghost, but he told me that both you and Sam disappeared around the same time. What if she was reincarnated as well?" Damian listened intently but didn't speak just thinking. Damian didn't seem to have thought about it before and was now trying to think of he knew her.

"I already thought of that, and I already found her-him him, actually." Tucker walked through the door unburdened by it. He was dressed casually with a faded yellow sweater and a patched beanie on his head. You would never expect him to be a king. He still looked like young, not high school, but college for sure.

"Him? Who? Did you contact them?" Dick scoured his brain trying to think of anyone matching Sams personality.

"You already know him actually. He's on his way now." Tucker continued motioning toward the nursery door.

"Be quiet. They're sleeping, but how did you contact them?" Damian whispered loudly. Tucker peeked into the bedroom.

"So cute! I might just start up my babysitting gig up again. You're first on the list, of course, best friend privileges!" Tucker gleefully spoke, voice lower but excited.

"Absolutely not! Do you remember what happened at your last babysitting gig?" Damian pulled the door shut softly in a joking but final manor. Tucker scoffed and indignantly argued, "That wasn't even my fault! It was my mom's! She's the one who baked them!"

"Your mom baked babies...?" They both turned and looked at him confused before breaking out into hysteric laughter. A laughter so contagious he could barely stand up right.

"She didn't actually bake any kids, right?" He finally asked once he caught his breath, sparking another violent outburst of laughter.

----------

BOOM

"YES! DO IT AGAIN! DO IT AGAIN!" Green Lantern yelled out at Captain Yungblood, who stood at a cannon throwing cannonballs at floating puple rocks. When it hit them, fireworks sparked and went everywhere in a mixture of purple, green, and white. Flash senior looked around nervously, trying to stop then both before the big bat heard and yelled at them.

He kinda felt bad for the guy. Jason so deserves a cigarette for empathy. He scrouges around his jacket and pockets empty handed he searches around the floor, growing increasingly agitated. He knows he just had them, Jason just shared with John just a few minutes ago! He looked around accusingly. One of the brats must have stolen it. Green reared it's head begging him to teach the thief a lesson.

He latches his eyes on Tim just as he throws them into the sky to get blown to bits by the idiots. They don't even notice the extra fuel.

"Asshole!" Green clouded his vision as he stomped over to him and picked him up by his suit straps.

"It was for your own good!" He felt the green roar and rage behind his eyes. He could barely see past it, and weird purple haze around them made things even worse.

"Fuck you! And your do goody pretentious attitude!" He threw him at the ships cabin hitting the wood and shaking the whole ship. He felt eyes on him but he didn't care, Red Robin unleashed the bostaff and knocked his legs out form under him in one motion

"Red Hood! Stand down." Batman called from the top of the cabin shadows dampen the greens as his cape billows around him after he jumped down.

"Don't you dare tell me what to do!" He turned the green on his father, throwing a punch Batman barely managed to dodge.

"Jason -" Bruce grabbed his arms and wrapped himself around him, locking him in. He struggles wildly he's vaguely aware of Steph and Duke picking Tim up from the floor. Tim limps away, glaring at the other heros, they scattered into the corners of the ship, suddenly desperate to not be on the deck. God, what's wrong with him... he'd promised he'd never hurt his family again...this was a mistake he should have stayed behind in Gotham. Jason stopped fighting and let go, forcing his dad to follow him to the floor.

"Rough one, aren't you?" Pandora asks the tall alien looking amazon leers over them both. He wasn't a child, but his face reddens at the blatant condescension and scolding.

"We apologize if we interrupted anything." Bruce answers instead, saving him the embarrassment. "Not at all. It's good you're finally getting help here then."

"I'm afraid I don't follow?" Will any of these stupid fucking spirits just have a straight answer for just one question.

"Your liminalty? I can sense the ectoplasm on you it feels...like unsealed wine..." Pandora wrinkled her face as if she was imagining it. "Liminality?" He couldn't help but question out loud. "Ectoplasm? It's the...green goo, right?" Could the...pits actually just be ectoplasm? Wouldn't Constantine have, like, i don't know, exercised them??

Pandora groaned at his rambling and shook her head as if she couldn't believe what she was hearing. "You should meet the chief. He'll fix you." With that sentence repeated in the same ever grave tone the giant warrior left. He turned to bruce, but he was only met with his stone cold thoughts he left without meeting his eyes, and Jason couldn't help but remember how many times he's heard 'i can fix you.' It made him nauseous. Before he could realise it he was standing on the open deck with only the purple and green smog surrounding him God fucking dammit.

A/n really sorry for how long it took to get this out i know most of the posts on this story are taking forever and I'm sorry about that I'm not discontinuing the story but I've had some major writers block lately and I've been trying to cure it by writing other stories but I've just been hating how all them turned out lately. I've been trying to write some captain marvel golden age i just feel like I'm missing parts of Billy and I just hate it so if anyone has some tips for writing him particularly please share otherwise hope yall enjoyed this part snd happy holidays to everyone!!

[hamsternella]

You and me | Stanford Pines x Reader

request: "Do you feel comfortable writing a Stanford Pines x Reader? Just something cute and fluffy. I was thinking a College Age Stanford meeting the reader at some party Fiddleford forced him to go to and they’re both shy but they both like science and Ford develops a crush on them."

cw: fluff

''Could you repeat the reason why I agreed to come with you?''

Fiddleford shrugged, muttering something that Pines was unable to make out under the raucous music blasting from the sorority house. A heavy, repetitive tune; the kind of music an appellant might come to like, not him. Stanford wasn't cut out for this sort of thing, but his best friend had been urging him on for a full month, even before the national baseball team's shindig was confirmed. It was even strange coming from McGucket.

He looked considerably nervous, but no less willing to let himself be led through the crowd toward the center of the common room. Ford tried to keep up with him—almost impossible, with so many arms and legs around him; so much shouting too close to his ears, leaving him lost for moments. The colored lights and the smell of raw sweat were making him sick to his stomach. Were it not for Fiddleford's sure grip dragging him into a safe shoving corner, Pines could have sworn he almost ended up a carpet on the floor.

''I really need you to repeat the reason,'' Ford shouted between heavy breaths, leaning on his friend's shoulder, ''because I still don't understand my own reasoning. This is insane!’’

''It's just a party!'' McGucket let out a forced laugh, trying to move his body to the beat of the new song bursting on the players. His eyes darted from one side of the room to the other. ''We have to understand their vibe and let ourselves go!''

''This is ridiculous,'' Ford breathed, adjusting his glasses. ''I think I'm going to—''

''—get a drink!'' Fiddleford nodded briskly, beginning to point a hand towards the free bar of drinks at the other end of the dance floor. ''I'll get you a drink!''

Stanford wanted to refuse immediately, but as soon as he prepared his throat to shout again, he noticed that his friend had already thrust half his body between the dancing couples; his legs kicked in all directions, seeking to propel himself among the people tempted by laughter. An occasional woman, unknown to Ford's eyes, had even extended an arm around McGucket's shoulders. Pines knew on a hunch that he wasn't going to see his friend again for a long while.

It's not like he could leave the party either. He wasn't going to leave him alone just like that.

Stanford hugged himself in the corner, leaning his back against the wall to let himself be devoured by the gloom. Occasionally he held his breath, if anything many people crossed his path with the dreadful aroma of alcohol and cigarette on them; other times he simply kept up a pleasant chat until the person in question fell defeated on the floor. At least two hours would have passed like this.

Fiddleford had disappeared, though occasionally his screams reached him through the music. He was clearly having too much fun; so much of that, that after a couple of disposable glasses, he seemed to have forgotten that his friend was still hibernating in a corner of the room.

Ford couldn't feel angry no matter how much he wanted to. The situation was certainly stressful, but particularly funny. At least this was something he could remind McGucket of when the weight of such a wild night fell on his shoulders in the morning.

"I guess that's your partner over there.”

Ford swore he heard the crunch of his own neck above the music as he turned his head to the side. Your sudden appearance, so close to his body, took him by surprise. He hadn't even gotten to see you out of the corner of his eye.

You were nervous, much more than your voice already denoted; the broken and clumsy words when you let them out. The tiny bottle in your hands trembled as if about to fall.

“Excuse me?” he asked.

You licked your lips, pointing your head toward the dance floor. Ford's face merged with the red lights of the crystal ball.

“Ah,” he sighed with a faint smile, “yes, he’s my friend. I guess he had more desire to come than I thought.”

"I see you're from Backupsmore," you leaned closer to Ford, trying to get your voice across. He couldn't help but inhale the freshness of your sweet musk, still dormant amid so much sweat and cigarette around. "How did both of you get here?”

“I-I don't get that question…”

Ford looked intently at the way you bit your lip, nervous again. You walked away almost immediately to his regret.

With one free hand, and leaving the beer bottle on the edge of a table beside you, you pointed towards the outer courtyard of the brotherhood. Stanford almost stumbles from shame—he didn't hesitate for a second to follow you like a dog.

This time the music was much weaker.

"I don't want the question to be received badly," you hastened to clarify, shaking both hands in front of you. "It's not usual for people from other universities to be here, that's all.”

"Are you a recurrent of these parties?”

"I was dragged here.”

Ford let out a cracking laugh, running one of his hands down his neck to dissipate the sweat. "Yes, my friend also dragged me here.”

There were still people around, but not as many as those who passed through the brotherhood. Without the disturbance of the masses, and without the music bursting over their heads, Ford and you found another corner to share glances and a pleasant talk; entertaining enough for both to forget about the shame. A ridiculous pity.

Pines tried not to lose his breath every time you returned the smiles. At no time, no matter how hard he tried, did you lose the thread of the conversation. You were an automatic machine of concrete answers. You gesticulated a lot, passing the weight of your body from one leg to the other; your eyes went from one direction to another, resting on imaginary points in the midst of darkness; your voice never wavered, your mind perhaps devoured by the charm of science. That was it: pure science. Nothing Ford didn't understand—though every time his gaze met yours, it was as if his brain was fried.

He couldn't let himself down so easily.

"What do you specialize in?" he suddenly asked. "You have such interesting ideas as to be wasting time at a party."

You drowned a laugh against the back of your hand. Ford had to bite his tongue to keep from smiling.

‘’Did I say something funny?’’

"It's ironic that you say it," you replied. "That's all... But yeah, it's no big deal, anyway. I finished my thesis about two months ago,’’ you shrugged. "Fifth dimensional calculus. Nothing special."

‘’Wait—what? You too?’’

‘’Me too, you say,’’ you smiled. ‘’Why is that? Big, smart boy got scared?’’

‘’Oh, please!’’

Ford rubbed his hands against each other, making it impossible to hide the smile that adorned his face. It felt hot. He wanted to think that this sensational discovery, this almost magical encounter, was stirring your heart as much as it happened to him in the midst of the icy breeze of the night.

He tried not to make obvious the need to open his mouth to bathe you in questions; Ford really wanted to endure the hunger to find out what else you held in that precious head of yours. But it was impossible. You didn't even hide your own interest. Your smile was to be far greater than his—though shyness burned in your eyes, and in the way your own hands trembled.

Pines really wanted to think that it was nerves and not cold.

"I didn't think someone so pretty could know so much about science," he muttered through his teeth. The way your face subtly changed made him choke on his own saliva. "I don't want it to be an insult!"

"Sounds like you're underestimating a couple of issues right now."

"That wasn't my—’’ Ford let out a heavy sigh, covering his face with both hands for a moment. Your laughter made him open his eyes. ’’Aren't you angry...?"

‘’Not really,’’ you shrugged, ‘’just playing with you. Sorry. I guess I’m kind of nervous.’’

‘’I can see that.’’

You and Ford laughed together; a soft sound, lost in the wind. He noticed your gaze searching his hands insistently. Shame struck him suddenly.

‘’My hands,’’ he sighed.

‘’I think they're cool,’’ you whispered, a little bit shy. Ford smiled at you. "Can I see them more closely?"

‘’Uh, sure, I-I guess.’’

Almost pathetically, Ford stretched out both hands in front of you before you could get close. His fingers brushed your palms as you extended your arms, making room to wrap his hands. Despite the cold, Ford's body emanated an intense heat that melted into your skin. It was nice. You prayed that your heartbeat wouldn't reach him—that it wouldn't be so obvious how nervous you were to hold him in your hands, caressing his fingers like a fool.

"I've never seen anything like it," you added in a broken voice. "Not in person, at least."

‘’Do you really think it’s cool?’’

‘’I mean, yeah, why not? You’re different and that’s super cool.’’

Almost immediately you let go of his hands, and Ford found it hard not to complain about how much he had begun to miss your touch. You didn't back down this time, anyway.

‘’So, six fingers,’’ you muttered. ‘’That would be… Sixier?’’

‘’I have a name, you know?’’ he frowned.

"It's not like you told me."

‘’Stanford Pines. That’s my name.’’ Ford streaked, pushing his glasses along the bridge of his nose, trying to distract himself. The heat returned to his face immediately as he heard you repeat it out loud. ‘’Yours?’’

You gave him your name. Ford recorded it in his head as a magical melody that settled into his brain immediately.

"I haven't seen you around the halls of college," he added.

"I attend the neighboring university," you replied, "the one that remains going to the valley. I was late for the Backupsmore inscription."

‘’It's a pity; we could have made a very good research team."

The smile you gave him made Ford's heart clench in his throat.

"I don't doubt it," you nodded. "I'd have something better to do than be at this party."

"Well, you have me here with you," he said. At the same time, a choking laugh slipped through his lips like a painfully dry cough. "I mean, we're together—talking, I meant, sorry. Not that we're together, of course. Not if you don't want to, obviously. I'm not pressuring you, anyway, don't think that."

You let out a laugh, almost as nervous as he was. Nothing one could hide from the other; it was all very obvious, but neither you nor Ford dared to break the illusion. The night had already improved too much, and there was nothing that could change that fact.

The music of the party, once strident and annoying, was now a whisper in which the battery of the players faded at the same time as the farewell of most of the guests present. There was no silence; just a murmur almost dead and far away. Ford looked behind him, sighing.

"Am I going to see you again?" he asked, returning to you, unable to hold your gaze. "I wouldn't want this to be a final goodbye."

"I wasn't planning on leaving you anyway, Stanford Pines," you smiled. "Backupsmore is opening its winter courses for advanced engineering and ultra-subject studies. I don't know if you wanted to, you know, go with me... "

Your voice became small and almost audible as you noticed the gleam in Ford's eyes increase. His gaze lit up with your proposal.

"We could work together on the cellular anomaly contest!" he exclaimed. "McGucket, my friend, is in charge of system maintenance; me, from research and fact-checking."

"I can help!" you nodded almost immediately. A huge smile on your face.

You patted the pockets of your pants until you hit a paper ball. Ford looked curiously at the colorful letters, recognizing the place of the indications as soon as he had it in front of him.

"I work making drinks at the student center cafe," you explained. "You and your friend can go there tomorrow. On Saturdays we make the breakfast special for champions; since the team qualified and that. He's going to need it because of the hangover."

"I don't think he will want to go..."

You thought about it for a moment, taking a deep breath.

"Then come alone," you said. "It is you I want to see.’’

This time Ford held your gaze; as much as he could, eyes wide and cheeks rosy. He didn't squat as he took the paper from your hands, brushing your fingers, quickly putting it in the back of his pocket, terrified of losing the only way to find you tomorrow.

‘’See you Saturday, then?’’ you asked. ‘’You and me.’’

He nodded, smiling alongside you. ‘’You and me,’’ he whispered.

Just you and him. That sounded too good to be true.

[lukolalove13]

Yes, another post about the ring. But this is different, I promise!

I'm not gonna beat a dead horse. I think by now all of us (or most of us, at least) have heard about the controversy surrounding the ring.

But what I want to focus on is HOW she's wearing the ring.

From what we know, she publically started to wear the ring in June (at least she's photographed wearing it) on her right hand with the heart pointed in. She is now wearing this on the left hand, heart tip pointed in. Which is how it's worn for marriage.

And what do we know about the ring?

-We know it was commissioned while L and N were on the WT because Chupi said it takes approx. six weeks to create.

So hypothetically, they're somewhere in between Australia and Italy and she decides to get this ring comissioned while she's on her WT with her co-star. Because, doesn't everyone decide to spend time doing that while they're traveling all over the world?!?!

Ok, fine. Maybe I can buy that. They're caught up in the excitement, etc...and she's like "You know, I'd love something to commemorate this moment," so she has it made.

Here are my thoughts on this:

-Why a Claddagh ring?

Nicola is ALL about symbolism. She KNOWS what it means to wear a Claddagh ring and in what position to wear a Claddagh ring. Can she just choose to ignore those "rules", I mean sure, she can. But why would she?

She's been wearing this ring in the "in a relationship" position since she's put it on!

Let that sink in!

So, playing Devil's Advocate, let's just imagine this.

She is on her WT with her co-star and she decides to get a ring made that symbolizes her time on Bridgerton.

She doesn't have it made before, so she can wear it to ALL of their stops. But, maybe it wasn't a thought until they were on their WT.

Ok, fine. So she has this thought 'I want a ring to symbolize my time on Bridgerton' and she doesn't want to wait until the WT is over to get it made. Because, I mean ...why would she? There's a sense of urgency for it. Isn't there?

No?

Oh ok.

Between all the chaos and interviews (where she is probably exhausted) she decides she needs to get this ring made! How is she going to get engaged photographed in Ireland without it?!

So she works with Chupi to create a customized ring. But not just any pretty ring that could symbolize Bridgerton. A Claddagh ring.

So now they're finally on that leg of the tour where they are in Ireland, and she stops by to pickup said ring (with her co-star) but I mean, it IS for Bridgerton. They then precede to spend time alone together with her family. Like any good co-worker/friends would do. And why else wouldn't they? She wants to show them her engagement Bridgerton ring and she wants them to spend some time with her fiance co-star.

Ok, so now we're back to London and it's June and we see this beautiful Claddagh ring she's had made for Bridgerton. BUT, it's in the "in a relationship" status. She knows this. We know this. She knows we know this.

But it's in this position for someone OTHER than her co-star. I mean, Obviously.

Doesn't it make sense to have a ring made while you're traveling the world with the co-star (who you have INSANE chemistry with, btw. So much so that everyone comments on it and you just say 'isnt that nice?' that people think we love each other? We never say we're just friends, because...you know what, why don't we ever say we're just friends? I mean, I'm in a relationship with someone else (atleast according to my ring) and everyone else knows you're in a relationship with someone else. So...don't you think that'll piss off our significant others if we don't clarify that we're "just friends"?

No, oh ok. Guess we're good then. I'll just wear this ring (that symbolizes the season where we were lovers. You know, the ring with rings on the hands that matches ones you wear? The one that we picked up together before you spent some time alone with me and my family) to say I'm in a relationship with this other person. They should totally be ok with that. I mean, they didn't care that we took nighttime walks on the beach alone or discussed how we didn't mind being naked together or the fact that we couldn't stop touching each other. Why would they care about this?

Now doesn't that seem a little...odd?? 🧐

The ring is on Chupi's website. Under the engagement section. It was removed once from that section (for unknown reasons) but it's back now!

[soulfulazrael]

Haven't watched Mastermind episode (and wont), but will talk about stuff I saw from it and heard about it

So... I as you who follow my ramblings here probably know (all 2 of you probably). I do not watch this show anymore because I don't care about it's story. Apparently this new episode is BEST OF THE SEASON, but since rest of the season at best gave me a feeling of pure apathy and at worst INCREDIBLE disdain and lack of faith in humanity I say good middle ground is talking about pieces I saw because at this point I don't think I can stand watching this show for longer than 5 minutes at a time.

I make my own story for HB/HH so I will make some comparisons to my own story and plans... Maybe one day I will do bigger post about how my versions of Sins and other things look. No arts though... no talent on my part. Eh... Or maybe... Eh we will see. Probably not, but... Maybe... I dunno.

Comparisons will be mostly about Sins. And the thing I reference is a fic called Song for the Quiet Bird that for now is center of my AU where I make things of Hellaverse in my own way.

So first off. Stella moment. Probably the first thing I saw from it when I heard about it. When I saw that scene I was like: Wow. Actually proper moment where Stella shows more of a character and maybe nuance aAAAAAAaaaand the smirk...

You are amazing at failing every expectation aren't you HB? YOU KNOW SHE LE EVIL!? YOU KNOW SHE BAD!? YOU KNOW STOLAS GOOD!?

Yes I do. I am deaf from the amount of SCREAMING you are throwing at me about this every other minute. Thank you. I am not a 5 year old. She evil. What you do with it? Also apparently NOW she has a brain compared all other times besides season 1 where she had more of a peanut there? What is it? Also incest with her brother? Great... Keep on going with this. I am sure at some point even completely blind AND deaf people will understand how evil she and Andy Magic are. I sadly missed the part where I am supposed to find them interesting. But HEY at least it gives such a great explanation of why Octavia sees Stella as better parent than Stolas which is clearly shown in some of that promotional material... entire one scene... that is not a minute long even and has no dialogue between them. No chemistry or anything... Let's be honest though. For most fans that's probably enough. Just slap one or two scenes later of Andy Magic and Stella saying how bad Stolas is and you are golden... Fuck my life as it is not even a joke. Jesus.

Okay. Besides that... tragedy? I dunno. There is also SINS! Leviathan and Belphegor...

Well... that's just amazingly underwhelming. You know there is a problem when I cannot tell if a character is even meant to be someone special. Because what the Hell (get it? HELL!) is this? They look like about nothing Demons. They are barely more interesting visually than any other shmuck we saw in this world. Ozzie keeps being the best design out of all of them with most distinct and accurate one and I am starting to feel like it is only because Viv took years in making it before hastily making ones for everyone else. Seriously, would you even be able to tell they are meant to be important characters? Because they look like everyone else in this world.

Now funnily enough I have my own concepts for those in my AU. Not exactly more interesting visually as again... not an artist and it is still more concept thing as I keep figuring things out, but this is the current form I want to get them across. I think they do the job on some level in terms of what they are meant to be. One is Leviathan. It is... interesting to portray it with 2 heads... a reason for that kind of eludes, but who am I to judge? But I know in my version it will just honestly a large beast swimming across endless waters of Envy. A giant sea monster that keeps itself in a giant form among domes of Envy where cities are with immeasurable wealth and power, a creature meant to be envied. But also a creature that envies deeper than any other over the loss of their partner at the hand of God, not being able to be close with anyone or even be understood. A creature who's deep resentment and pain created entire Ring around them.

If I made a scene like that with 'sins' meeting I think it would be with a High Demon that serves as a high priest/priestess of the Leviathan faith. As all very high rank demons like Sins, certain Goetia Kings and other VERY important figures have their own religion that Hellborn MUST adhere to, in a way choose their deity and in this case it would be a Demon from said church of Leviathan that interprets them... cluelessly.

While Belphegor would not be much different as a creature that also is a larger than life being. But this one being like a giant, anthropomorphic crocodile like being similar to SCP 682, but more... static. Basically giant center point of a garbage heap that is Sloth in my AU. In some ways beautiful, but also incredibly toxic and dangerous to everything wasteland. Very bottom of Hell. Horrible place where you can be killed by some horrifying monsters with no real mind that prey on the helpless. As Belphegor itself (dunno if it even has gender) exudes aura of sloth where most Demons that come to sloth will be at some point forced to lay down and stay in place. "Bask under non existent sun" which is a term used in that version of Hell a bit to call someone lazy and it comes from that which can spell someone's horrid death.

Those are my ideas for those. But next one is the big boy himself. The Big S. Adversary. Satan.

He looks alright. Nothing you would not imagine a Satan to be. He looks dragon like, buff (even if he skipped leg day) and has funny horns of Imps. Also he has little therapist... which is funny because in my fic I also have a trial with the main judge there (in that case Lucifugus or Lucifuge Rofocale) who also has his own little therapist thing (alongside some other annoyances... and far more misery). It is funny how I guess both me and Viv kind of agree people in high political power in Hell would have their own therapist. In my version though he keeps them deep within the tower he resides in. But either way. Can't say his design or personality is something I did not see coming.

As for my version I will go with... yeah it will be quite different. Better or not. Your choice. A centaur like being that has 4 big arms, molten lava in his veins and skull on top of his body looking like a goat or dragon like being (still thinking on that). A demented monstrosity who's head went awry due to their perpetual rage who can now think of nothing, but drowning everything in so much blood that he will one day swim on that tide of gore to the Pearly Gates and smash them open in ultimate showing of their superiority over all of creation. Something his kin the Imps for the most part also believe and praise. A promise of sea of gore and glorious war. Not the kind of creature that would hold a trial. In that world it's more of a Lucifuge thing... or Lucifer if he is mood for jokes and tormenting some poor souls for their amusement.

Also I hear Stolas lost all his wealth and power over... NOT the shitty things that he did, just that he was forced to lie for the sake of I.M.P.... Eh... The avoidance of responsibility continues. Even when characters face consequences it can NEVER be over their own actions. It has to be something that can be proven wrong and goddamn will that probably be true with Via as well. Because let me tell you they are most likely going to make her be in the wrong for hating poor little Stolas baby and I hate it already. I know making assumptions is not good, but by GOD were they good at making those expectations of nuance low so far...

Actually what expectations? I don't watch this show anymore. But I am passionate about it's ideas... and that hurts me. A lot. I made this entire post because of those... and make a fic that has now few HUNDRED THOUSAND words. Damn. No idea if my version is better or worse... but it is one I prefer. It is different definitely. Even though in certain ways it's weirdly similar.

[riniworld]

your only one

sorcerer!oc x magic!student

warnings|| mention of an injury, blood.

reference|| you, y/n, use of them two times.

a/n|| yall i have been writing this since jun 29 😭.

you were only a child when you got abandoned.

in a world where magic is forbidden, you were born with it, how? you didn't know, not your father nor your mather had magic, maybe it's just the cruel rule of the world, or your bad luck.

you should have been dead, long ago, but your parents loved you so much, you think. they managed to take you out of the city before anyone can hurt you, you don't remember alot of the events, foggy memories, stormy night, a tall man and his words "run...to a better place, anywhere away from here." and silent. you wonder, did they ever told you that they love you? not that you care that much, at least.

now, after eighteen years, you're living with your master in magic, in a village filled with magicians, it's hidden with a spell so no none magic person can see it.

he's the one who found you in the wild, he helped you, giving you a life and a family, you had always seen aurelius as a big brother, but did he?

"Y/N! come on! wake up!" aurelius voice echo in the small house.

you stir a little as you open your eyes and roll on your back looking at the roof untill you come to your senses, today you'll work with your master after years of studying under him.

you hop out of the bed in excitement, you've been waiting for this day to come for ages.

you stretched your body,regaining your energy, before you can go to do your morning routine, you hear a knock on your door and before you can respond the person come in.

"he-ah you're awake? why didn't you say something?." aurelius said as he enters the room.

"good mornin' master,sorry, i just woke up." you say with a sheepish smile.

"figured so." aurelius chuckle, pointing at your state,and made his way out of the room "come quickly then, beofre the breakfast gets cold." he says before closing the door behind him.

you run down the stairs in a hurry, the delicious smell getting closer, making your stomach growl.

you see your aunt, aurelius mother, bringing the food on the table, you go to help her.

"good mornin' aunty." you say as you take the plates from her hands.

"morning dear." she followed behind you.

you put the plates on the table and sit down, across from aurelius mother.

"so where is master?" you ask when you didn't notice aurelius on the table.

"he got an emergency medicine request, so he had to go to the clinic." she said sitting down, "he said he'll-" she begin but you where nowhere to see.

you appear behind aurelius,it was one of the simple spells he taught you,teleportation.

"that was faster than i thought" he says without looking at you,mixing some ingredients in a bowl.

you walk beside him, watching what he's doing "it was supposed to be my first day working with you, you can't just come without telling me."

"it's not the work hours yet , it was an emergency." he says matter of fact.

"even though..." you mutter to yourself.

"but you're here anyway so mind bringing me a small bottle glass from there?" he points to a shelf filled with glasses of all sizes and shapes.

"..right away" you walk to the shelf and look for what he wants "to whom is the medicine anyway?" you ask.

"to salami's daughter, her temperature is high...again" he sighs "i told him to not let her tires herself out in using her powers but i don't know who's the stubborn one in them."

"poor girl." you say as you hand him the glass.

"you put it in the bottle, weren't you just whining about working,so here." he says as he walks to the side giving you space to the bowl.

your eyes lit up in excitement as you begin to put the medicine in the bottle,since it's magic, everything should be put carefully so as a starter that was much of a trust aurelius has put on you.

"be careful." he whisper, his breath tickling your side, you shoukd be focused on the medicine but you're hyper aware of aurelius every move, maybe because you're nervous..?...or is he a little bit too close this time?

trying to not mess this up,while at the same time aurelius's present is heavy for some reason, you take a scoop from the bowl and put it in the bottle slowly, then repeated this a few times until the glass filled to the top.

"excellent." aurelius praises you as soon as the glass filled, he took the glass from your hand,his fingers brushing yours.

"now, may you take the medicine to salami's house?" he say as he close the glass bottle with a wooden piece "I'll open the store."

"sure." you say in a distant tone, you're still thinking about his intimidated presence a moment ago, that was the first time you feel like that by aurelius.

the next days were heaven to you and hell to aurelius.

the work was easier when the two of you did it together, and you were enjoying every second of it, how can you not when it's your dream?

and aurelius was happy that you loved what you did, and you were very passionate about it too, but he can't shake the bothering feeling in his chest whenever you talked to a client, he wasn't stupid he knew that he had fallen for you long ago.

but when he glanced at you and saw you talking to another client, that's wasn't the feeling he's used to, it's something dark, it's sting, and hurt.

he tried to control it and he couldn't, it's too strong for him to just ignore it, a lot of voices in his head, and it certainly were not angles, but he won't listen to them, after all your happiness is more important..

or it was more important before the last straw hit him.

"doctor!" someone yell, it was followed by a loud thud.

when you ran out of the back room to see what happened, you were greeted by a man carrying an unconscious man on his back...and he was bleeding!

the man looked at you, he was panicing "y/n! where is doctor aurelius?!"

"put him on that bed I'll take care of him!" you said frantically.

the man did what you told him quickly, the other groan as he put down, you left his shirt up,inspecting the wound on his stomach, it wasn't that deep but it sure was bleeding heavily.

"what happened?" you ask the man while taking a cloth bandage it on the other's wound to press temporarily,then start moving around preparing an ointment.

"we were hunting and-and a wild boar attacked us out of nowhere" he explained.

"are you okay?" you look up at him from the mixing bowl worriedly.

"uh-y-yes, yes I'm fine,but my friend isn't."

"don't worry I'll do everything i can do to help him"

you make the ointment as fast as you can,while also trying not to make a mistake, it's not common for someone to get an injury here, the people aren't alot anyway, so it was rare that you see aurelius treat one, but good thing he did teach you how to anyway.

not 15 minutes before you finish it, then take it quickly to the patient,you take off the bandage and the cloth, taking another cloth to clean the wound properly before putting the ointment on his injury, very carefully as to not press on it.

you were focusing entirely on it before you hear glass shattering that makes you jump and stop, you look up to the direction the sound came from in surprise, only to see aurelius standing in the doorway, the shattering came from a jar he has dropped.

"what are you doing?" his tone was natural, but his gaze was one of madness, a man lying down, your hand on his bare stomach, how can he not be mad?.

before you can reply the man spoke "doctor aurelius! please my friend is injured!" the man was nearly screaming but aurelius kept holding your gaze, you don't know why his stare gives you chills, you have never been scared of him but now? now he's not him.

aurelius took all the work, he treated the patient and told his friend to take him home and that he's going to visit between days.

now it's only awkward in the clinic,you know he's mad at you,but for what?.

"mas-"

"go home, you need to rest." he cut you off, his tone leaving no room to argue so you nod and left.

'why am i that angry, it was my choice to teach them and making them work with me, but god that's only testing me.....what i did was wrong..yes i shall fix this, and start all over again'

he unlock a box,and take a book from inside «forbidden magic» was the title.

may the world forgive him but he needs to do this.

a soft knock on your door, it's late but you couldn't sleep,"come in" hoping it was your master, and for your relief it was.

"hey,wanna join me for a drink on the rooftop?" he was holding two cups in his hands.

"sure" you agree, it wasn't uncommon for you two to drink on the rooftop, not necessarily alcohol, but it was refreshing.

"are you upset with me?" you ask warily, as you take a sip from your drink.

"upset? no why would i silly?" he says with a smile, it sounded genuine so you smiled back, taking another long sip from your drink.

aurelius was talking, you can hear his voice, but you can't make out most of what he is saying, your head throbbing and you feel dizzy,you eyes blurry.

"are y-k-ay?" you made out a few letters from what aurelius saying but you couldn't stay awake long before you fell down, the last thing you felt was a pair of hands holding you and then everything is dark.

"ey- y/n? y/n!" you wake up at someone, calling a name, your eyesight got better and you saw who it was.

"aurelius?" that came out naturally, like you knew him, did you? you do...a few image of him appear in the back of your head, but who exactly is he? why you know him?..wait who are you?

"oh thank god, you're awake" he exhale in relief

when he saw your confused expression he returned it "why are you looking at me like that?" he asks

"i don't know...i don't remember anything." you say hesitatly.

"what you don't remember? you just said my name"

"i-..i didn't think..it just came out,i don't know who are you exactly."

for a moment you swear you catch him smiling but it disappeared quickly.

"oh my...the accident must have really affected you." his tone is filled with sadness.

accident?

"what accident?" you ask.

"it's not worth mentioning, that might only hurt you." you trusted him..for some reason you did, but you can't tell why.

"then who are you?"

aurelius smile softly and look you in the eyes "I'm your husband"

have a good day/night♡

[nephriteknight]

okay i need to talk about the Voice of the Hero (this became a much longer ramble than i expected but here you go)

throughout the game, the Hero almost never takes action. he'll express his disapproval, he'll make his case as hard as he can, but he never defies your choices or moves your hand. most of the time, once you've made a choice he disagrees with he'll even back your play. many times the Hero tells the other voices that the player is "the decider", and that they shouldn't be doing things against his will.

the only times i can think of when the Hero takes action are to prevent the player from acting against their will. he tries to stop the Broken from making us kill ourself, and even then only when the Narrator reminds him he can do so. he tries to stop Skeptic and Paranoid from preventing you from throwing away the blade in the Cage, but they physically overpower him (lmao). he keeps the body alive in Nightmare, but only after Paranoid shows him its possible; similarly, he'll help us throw ourselves into the basement in the Wraith, but only after Paranoid/Cheated suggest it and the player agrees. maybe there's other examples i'm forgetting or haven't seen yet (i am so close to 100 percenting this game but not quite yet) but these are the only examples i could come up with.

most of the other voices, meanwhile, do take action at one point or another. the only ones that don't (at least not that i can remember), are the Cold (who doesn't much care what you all do and likes having a decider to cut boring arguments short) and the Opportunist (who's whole thing is sucking up to whoever's in charge). the Hero, though, doesn't have such a clear cut reason. sure, an argument could be made that part of his heroic-ness is preserving the players agency, but you could just as easily argue that a hero would try to stop the player from ending the world or from slaying Princesses the Hero trusts. i think the real reason he doesn't act on his own is that he doesn't believe in himself.

in the Razor, the Hero says that he's "terrible at spotting liars", and in the Nightmare he asks the Paranoid to decide who to trust because he doesn't trust his own judgement. if you leave with the Princess at the end of the game, he thanks you for making the hard choices along the way. the Hero will always side with you; even if you ignore him and choose to slay Princesses he trusts, even if you decide to force him into an eternity of boredom he very much does not want (while the Skeptic does fight back against you), whatever it is, the Hero decides to trust your judgement over his own. (i think the only time you can actually get him to give up on you is pledging to the Tower? and even then all he does is sulk in a corner, he doesn't try to stop you from acting on your decision, even though its going to end the world.)

the thing is, most of the time i appreciate the Hero for letting us make our own choices, but sometimes the voices' actions are good. the Hunted's reflexes are the best example, and that's not the only time a voice takes control and helps keep us alive. but the Hero never intervenes on his own -- not until the very end of the game.

if the player tries to reject his help during the final battle, the Hero tells you that he's taking you to the heart anyways. he knows this is what you need to do, he knows this is the only way you can do what you've decided to do - so he ignores you, and he saves you. he's still backing your plays, he's still helping with your goals rather than overriding them, but he knows what he's doing. he's confident in himself, and he ignores your choice because he knows he can help you. and he's right!

[cadaveerie]

cw: transphobia

i'll paste here a message i left in a certain community and add sth else, as i keep finding stuff like this:

i know a lot of us are critical of datv (in a lot of cases for good reason. and with nothing else behind it), but i think that if u have an ounce of respect for trans and nb ppl you should rly stop recommending videos in which, for example, a person not only misgenders a nb character and their creator who both go by they/them pronouns, but also rants about how ppl going by they/them pronouns are mentally ill. i dont give a shit about how "he makes a few good points", have some decency. it's incredible how little backbone some of you have, and that ppl think this is acceptable. if you want to get a point across, you can write it yourself. it's fucking pathetic that i even have to fucking say this. get a grip and have some principles. so much for progressive people, i feel so safe and welcomed right now.

this post was initially bc i saw this in a specific datv critical community, but i just saw a transphobic post in the general datv critical hashtag. it's unacceptable to misgender both a real person and a character that goes by they/them on purpose. there's literally no excuse for this, you're transphobic.

*please*, if you care about trans people, call this shit out. im not telling you to do posts "exposing" others, but to let them know that this is dehumanizing and unacceptable.. unless that's gonna help their algorithm, in which case... i'm not sure what's best at this point. probably not worth it to send comments at least. perhaps in some cases these comments might come from a good place (even if a lot of transphobes also pretend to be trans/lgbtq allies to avoid getting banned while openly displaying extremely bigoted views, so be aware of that.. but in the rare case they come from a good place, it might at least help people realize their mistakes. in a lot of situations im not sure of what the best reaction is, but i just hope you don't accept this behavior in smaller communities. please do not normalize this, these are extremely hard times for trans people and most of us are in distress.

[gothamite-rambler]

It's a start (Harley and Dick start to make amends)

Harley kicked in the door of Joker's warehouse, striding in confidently while wielding her iconic red and black bat. Dressed in a sleek anti-hero business suit, she felt empowered and ready for anything.

Harley (singing): Young and sweet, only seventeen, dancin' queen, feel the beat from the tangerine—why would a tangerine have a beat? Hm... anyways, Nightwing?!

Nightwing: Harley, turn to your left.

Harley turned, surprised when she spotted Nightwing trapped in a cage suspended above the ground. She waved enthusiastically, but he could only raise an eyebrow in response.

Nightwing (correcting casually): Also, the lyric was "tambourine," not "tangerine." It's not about a piece of fruit with a heart beat.

Harley: That makes more sense, thanks.

Nightwing (indifferent): No problem. Could you help me out here?

Harley (gasping quickly when she realized she was wasting time chit chatting): Sure! They set up this cage a good distance from the entrance; makes sense. But why is that vat over there empty?

Nightwing: They were going to fill it with Joker venom, but during the struggle, I managed to dump the original one they planned to use. So, they went off to get more.

Harley's expression shifted from curiosity to amusement as she began to giggle, which quickly morphed into her characteristic cackle. She quickly covered her mouth.

Harley (apologetic): Sorry! I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable, it's how I laugh with the Joker goop effects.

Nightwing shrugged, gripping the bars of his cage tightly.

Nightwing: I've been told my laugh is creepy. Apparently, I have a slight cackle too. They have to give me a break, I had Joker toxin in my blood a couple of times. I’m an adult! I don’t giggle anymore!

Harley shook her head with a smile as she approached the crane mechanism that held the cage in place.

Harley: You had a cute giggle when you were a kid, though. I remember when we first met. I was twenty-six at the time, and you had to be, what, eleven?

Nightwing (nodding): Yeah, eleven and three months. You were in your mid-twenties? You looked way younger back then. Honestly, I thought you were like nineteen.

Harley grinned widely, waving her hand as she maneuvered the crane to move the cage a safe distance from the empty vat, then began to slowly lower it to the ground.

Harley: I was smart, but not graduating from college early smart. Maybe it was the Joker goop on my skin and my obsession with skincare routines. I was tryin' to be like Paris Hilton for a while.

Nightwing (sweetly): Women like that get Botox, which robs us of our natural beauty. You're a bit insane-looking, but I won't argue that you're pretty too. I knew a few lady clowns in the circus that I… went to a lot as a kid and they were all gorgeous and you are too. There you go, elevated your mood for the night.

Harley (surprised by the compliment): Oh… wow, thank you! I wasn't expectin' ya to be nice to me. Are you just doin' that so I’ll actually save ya? Because I'd be helpin' ya either way.

Nightwing (shrugging): No, I’m being nice because it’s basic human decency. I don't trust you, but I've come to that point in my adulthood where I can let a couple of grudges go.

Harley shook her head with a teasing grin.

Harley: That's a healthy mindset. Batman raised ya well. My life before meetin' Joker never taught me to be kind; it was more about cursin' people out. Funny thing is, a couple of heroes have talked about how you're nicer to them than Batman. I thought they had to be exaggeratin'. You were Batman's sidekick and… you know.

Nightwing rolled his eyes.

Nightwing: While I do care about Batman, his antisocialness didn't rub off on me. I think that's what he wanted for me. He's… a good parent, to say the least.

Harley finished lowering the cage to the ground with a quick thud and then walked over, preparing her bat to break the lock.

Harley: I don't doubt that. Oh, stand back! I’m goin' to break the lock with my bat!

Nightwing stepped aside as Harley approached the cage, steadying her bat before slamming it against the lock repeatedly. With each strike, the lock buckled under her force.

Harley (while swinging): I swear I needed a Pops like that. Although college was tough, too! There was this guy, Melvin, who hated me because I kept turnin' him down for dates, and he was jealous I was smarter than him. He even started a rumor that I was sleepin' with my teachers for good grades.

After the fifth hit, the lock finally snapped, and Harley tossed it aside, stepping back to give Nightwing space. He pushed the cage door open, relieved to be free.

Nightwing (sympathetic smile): A vengeful nice guy in college wanted to ruin your reputation over that? I can believe it, sadly. I never actually believed the rumor. I read your case file with Batman once, and you earned your degree before you met the Joker.

Harley shrugged and rested her bat on her shoulder.

Harley: Blind love makes you do stupid, crazy, bad things, like tossin' aside every bit of progress you’ve made in life just to be with a guy who couldn't shut up about how, "One bad day can break a man." Ugh, blah, blah, blah! Lookin' back, he was all talk with that nihilism nonsense.

Nightwing nodded, letting out a soft sigh of agreement.

Harley: Anyways, I’m glad I could save ya, but I’ll give you some distance like you ya asked me to and head off. Ivy says hi, by the way.

Harley spun on her heel, but Nightwing stopped her, even though part of him wanted her to leave.

Nightwing (reluctantly): Well, don’t leave just yet. The Joker’s goons will be back soon, and I might… need assistance stopping them, especially from someone who used to work with them.

Harley turned back, her signature grin wide and genuine.

Nightwing (reluctantly): I might regret this later, but would you like to stay and help me?

Harley (hopeful): Does that mean ya comin' around to forgivin' me?

Nightwing placed his hands on his hips and chuckled.

Nightwing: It'll take time to fully forgive you or make amends. This is simply me being nice to someone trying to change. Just don't touch me, okay?

Harley: I won't, Ivy didn't go into specifics, but made it clear you don't want crazy women makin' any type of physical contact with ya. I get it honestly. I used to work at a dive bar for villains and goons. Not a fun time.

Nightwing (laughing softly while stretching his sore legs): I'm glad she didn't tell you everything and respects that secret.

Harley: Oh yeah, she won't admit it, but she doesn't hate ya . I'm glad she's got another person she "doesn't hate with a burning passion, but tolerates immensely." How was my impression of her?

Nightwing gave her a thumbs up trying not to joke around too much in the middle of a mission.

Nightwing: She always... said kind things about you even before you two got together.

Harley smiled proudly, warmed by his reassuring words. She felt a growing connection to Jason as she considered the idea of befriending one of the Batfam members. Yet, it was Nightwing's kindness and generosity, both towards her and others, that truly illuminated why so many people admired him.

Harley: See, this is a nice start. Jason put me on a probation period with his team, and you… you want me to stay here and help. Man, you boys are somethin' else, but I like that about ya. Ya wouldn’t hurt me like other men would, and I appreciate that.

Nightwing crossed his arms, a furrow of concern etched on his brow. Despite feeling encouraged by Harley's words, he still harbored doubts about her progress. The fear lingered in the back of his mind that one day she might slip back into the Joker's grasp. After all, he'd seen how easily the Joker had manipulated her before and with the right persuasion and even literal toxins at his disposal he had done it with others in the past.

Yet, Harley hadn’t faltered since finally cutting ties with him, and that was admirable. Nightwing couldn’t help but respect her tenacity. He recalled the darkness he had almost lost Jason to—anger, resentment, and the overwhelming weight of isolation had once threatened to swallow his friend whole. If Harley was indeed changing for the better, he didn't want to be the one who could potentially push her back toward evil.

Taking a breath, he reminded himself that everyone deserves a chance at redemption. But the stakes were high; he couldn’t shake the feeling that the moment he let his guard down, it could all unravel. Nightwing wanted to be a source of support for her, but he was also wary of the delicate balance between redemption and relapse, especially when it came to someone as unpredictable as Harley Quinn.

Nightwing (reassuringly): I would have to lose part of my brain and morals if I ever treated you like the Joker mistreated you. I'm... kind of proud of you for actually trying to be a better version of yourself.

Harley covered her mouth, stifling her emotions as she fought back tears. She nodded in understanding before walking over to Nightwing and sitting down on the ground beside him.

Harley: Want to sit with me? We can play cards. I always bring a deck!

Nightwing (slightly amused): Nah, I have to stand and keep watch. They’ll be here any minute, and I want to be ready. You can set up solitaire while we wait.

Harley: I love that game! Nightwing have ya ever been told you’re the best?

Nightwing (nonchalantly): I was born this way, but I appreciate the compliment.

As Harley set up her game, Nightwing stood watch at the door, his eyes scanning for any potential threats. He felt a bit more at ease giving her this chance. It might not be the same as the books Jason was gifted from her, but it was a start—one that he hoped would lead her further along the path of change.

Harley trying (and failing) to make amends with Nightwing

[sunllghtt]

Hi are you up for a messy scene analysis thing

Ofc it's this scene who do you think I am

I've been wanting to do this for God knows how long but I never had the balls and neither the words to (still don't) but I wanna try to properly talk about this scene. My primal instinct is to sit here and tell you how much this 30 second scene changed the trajectory of these characters in the next movies, how it made their friendship grow and develop and how much of a storytelling lesson it is (oh the so so deep understanding you need to have of your characters to have them say things so vaguely and still express exactly what they mean). I could also go down the emotional and subjective road and ramble about how much it means to me and how I resonate with it, but I've done that at least 837382 times and I think everyone knows it by now 😭 so!!! Let's get to the real thing

(I'm trying to keep it as analytical and straightforward as possible but please note that this is my favorite scene that's ever existed so neutrality is not really a possibility)

Rocket is a brat. He's restless, he's loud, he's always puffing up his chest and yelling at someone and picking fights with the wind cuz it was blowing in a way he didn't like and he's just an overall bastard. In this scene, though, we see him inside out. His head is low, his shoulders are slumped, he has his tail between his knees and he looks tired. He speaks quietly (curiously like he doesn't want anybody else to hear him), he's not deliberately insulting anyone and he's just..... defeated??

Up until that point I don't think we ever got to see Rocket like that. From what the movies have shown us he'd never had to. But in the past few days that led to this, Rocket had stolen batteries for no apparent reason (which we'll later learn why💀), ruined their ship, got literally kidnapped by Ravagers, blew up a creepy planet-guy-thing and oh my god attended his friend's dad's funeral. At least half of these things were directly or indirectly his fault and he knows it.

I don't think he ever doubted it was (we see it earlier in the movie when the Guardians leave to "The Chain" by Fleetwood Mac and Rocket scowls and winces like he either stepped in a pile of shit or got hit in the face by regret), but he still argued with Peter even knowing he was in the wrong just to keep up apparences or hold on to a little thread of pride when he was already feeling ashamed for being caught red-handed stealing shit he didn't need AND destroying their ship etc etc, and he just kinda fucked up big time. And I think that's (besides the general exhaustion of parenting a tree and fighting a planet and Yondu's death) is what got him so devastated in that scene.

Ofc Yondu played an extremely important role in that. He was the one to open Rocket's eyes, to give him some sort of reality check and show him the only thing isolation is ever gonna bring him is regret and bitterness (or, in other words, Yondu). Rocket is most of all hopeless and tired and just sad like that because he knows he hurt his friends. He knows he's chasing them away, that he yells at them, that he's always mean and that he steals batteries he doesn't need. He knows he's not awesome to put up with and seeing what happened to Yondu and his former friends probably made him terrified it'd happen to him and the Guardians too. He's stuck in this cycle of pushing them away with everything he can (and we could get into all his trauma regarding betrayal and death and literally endless other things but it's all very clear at this point) and he knows patience doesn't last forever. He's just scared, he feels bad and he's tired.

Now on the other hand we have Quill. He's also destroyed, he lost two fathers (3 if you count what Ego could've been, what he wanted him to be), basically relived his mother's death and had to watch literally every single one of them die. He's also scared and tired, yes, but all he has left is this unstable family of weird idiots who are learning how to show care and he's... pretty much fine with it. He wants it.

And when what Rocket's saying clicks, when he realizes who he's talking about, Quill, who's usually all smirks and teasing and bickering and name-calling, looks at his best friend like this,

because

(From vol 2 script!! Won't even try to comment on that last part before Quill's last line but I also really like that Peter just "shakes his head" over and over like he's just barely listening until he realizes what Rocket really means cuz it also shows a lot about his character. He's naturally a little slow and downright stupid when it comes to this kind of hidden emotional thing and he's also exhausted and depressed from everything that happened and STILL he stops and just. Sees Rocket, and sees Yondu.)

He's not doing well. He's probably sore and hurt and sad and miserable and yet he takes his sweet time to look down at Rocket, let go of his resentment from before and see right through him. In order to understand this scene it's important to remember he most likely doesn't know what Yondu told Rocket at all, he doesn't know anything they said to each other and how Yondu showed him they're mirrors. He doesn't know any of that. He just knows his best friend and his father and how much they resemble each other. He puts up with Rocket's bullshit because he knows how to deal with Yondu.

He could've just ignored him or pretended he didn't know what he was talking about. He could've made Rocket swallow his pride and "teach him a lesson" by making him say what he means without hiding behind metaphors and vague self-deprecation, because Rocket was probably vulnerable and defeated enough to be honest in that moment. And yet, he just looks at his friend, who's usually a loud and mean and restless brat, and is now staring at the floor with his ears droopy and his tail between his knees, and just says, as a form of reassurance and tenderness that's just as subtle and shy as Rocket's insecurities, "Well, of course not."

(The kind and soft and sweet DETERMINATION on his face tho like no!!! No we're not ditching you even though you suck I'm!!! Serious!!!!)