#just to try to do the right thing just as hard as we can and to adjust course if ever we discover we've gone astray

[just-sg]

If the community doesn't welcome "cis men", then it excludes transmascs who pass or at bare minimum sends a message that the goal they worked so hard to achieve has made them less welcome in spaces that once supported them, actively punishing them for transitioning. It forces transfems to out themselves, which can be especially dangerous. It forces nonbinary amabs who can't or don't want to change their presentation to out themselves and sends a message that nonbinary people owe you androgyny or visual non-conformity. And if you think you can gauge any of these things by looking at someone, you're not doing the community any favors.

If the community doesn't welcome cis men, it excludes gay men. If men are welcome only when in a relationship with another man/person who reads enough like "a man", it excludes bi/pan/etc men and sends a message that what relationship they're in Right Now determines whether or not they're Queer Enough, you know, one of the core tenets of biphobia and erasure.

If the community doesn't welcome cis men, it excludes men all over the ace and aro spectrums. :) And yes actually, the heterosexual aromantic straw-man does deserve to be here just as much as anyone else. IF he's treating his partners like shit, then we judge him for that behavior, but queer people can be douchebags with shit views and we don't get to say they're not still queer. And if the het-aro dude is instead communicating honestly and being respectful-- a thing I promise is fully possible for humans to do-- then guess what, assuming he couldn't possibly be a decent person is just arophobia and maybe a side of puratinism.

Anyone questioning their identity, anyone who isn't actively questioning yet but later will, guys about to experience bi panic, transfem eggs who haven't clocked anything about themselves yet. Their early exposure to queer spaces being a hostile one is not going to help anyone, and can easily actively discourage people. We also need to be welcoming of supportive partners, siblings, parents, friends, etc, especially in cases where a queer person is disabled or otherwise has trouble going places on their own, or for helping ease anxiety in virtual spaces, etc.

Listen.

The nature of Being A Man is not and has never been the problem. And as much as some of you don't want to hear it, and as much as it fucking sucks and is objectively unfair when it does involve men who are participating in and benefiting from oppression, trying to turn the tables is never going to be an effective strategy. It's "not fair" that it's more dangerous for women to walk alone at night either but you hopefully wouldn't advocate against carrying mace on the basis no one "should" need it. Whether something is fair and whether it's true are not the same thing.

You cannot Get Revenge against a whole huge portion of the human population, and when you actively threaten or ostracize people, (a) you're mirroring the very thing you fight against, but (b) it makes people defensive!!! Some allocishet dudes would get defensive anyway at the idea of not being on top of the ladder anymore, but giving them more fuel won't change that. Dudes who'd have that kneejerk reaction but could be reasoned with won't be if no one bothers to try, or oftentimes even if someone bothers but it's immensely overshadowed with hostility. And people who were already allies can actively be pushed out and turned against the cause. (Not to mention perpetuating in-fighting.)

You catch more flies with honey, I'm sorry. And yes, we do need allies. Perpetuating the "us vs them" mentality helps no one, patriarchy does not target men in the same or as many ways as women but it is also harmful to many, and we will always have a better chance of fixing any system when we have people working for the cause inside and out. People using their positions of privilege to help provide extra leverage and voice to those with less privilege is always going to be desirable overall.

Even mainstream media writers throwing in crumbs of badly handled representation isn't without some merit, if only for proving it's not illegal and won't destroy sales to have Anything At All, which couldn't be said mere decades ago; if only for normalizing that queer people exist even the tiniest bit more. But just, normal people going about their normal lives. Just every random man who will frown at their coworker's homophobic joke and give a simple "not cool dude". Those little things adding up are important. When people hate you, it's easy to ignore you standing up for yourself, and harder to ignore people they like also standing up for you.

Cis queer men are not your enemy. Amabs who "read" cis to you and don't want to out themselves are not your enemy. Bi men who happen to be in relationships with women are not your enemy. Straight male partners of queer women are not your enemy! Allo cishet dudes married to allo cishet women with no queer kids or siblings or anything are not your enemy, not if they're behaving like friends.

People operating on ignorance, especially to a point of willful ignorance because they don't 'have' to deal with it, can be enemies-- inaction in the face of oppression is taking the side of oppressors, and all-- but even they're like... minion enemies if that makes sense. (That goes for men, women, questioning folks or folks who are definitively queer but don't feel like Part Of The Community, etc, to be clear.) It's not your personal job to educate every person, but when you can afford to, taking no shit but remaining civil will leave someone else a better chance of getting through to them. Picking a nasty drawn-out fight with that jackass on Twitter won't fix homophobia but may well increase his devotion to the enemy cause.

Prioritizing defense isn't always an option and I'm not saying it is. Sometimes you need whole riots to make a point, but even that involves group effort, and often times lashing out in your personal daily life can do more harm than good. THIS SUCKS. OF COURSE IT SUCKS. But it's a matter of the big picture. It's not about letting people "get away with" anything, it's about expressing disapproval in a calmer and more casual manner while trying to minimize anything they could twist into an excuse to be worse.

And that's with people who ARE actively shitty, the ones more casual and micro-aggressive about it but still ultimately against us. Lashing out pre-emptively on the assumption that people would be shitty does a lot more harm and no longterm good.

People joke about The Gay Agenda but honestly, yeah. The Agenda is ultimately for the queer community as a whole to be accepted, have the same rights and protections as anyone else, to end oppression, etc, right? Sometimes that's gonna mean dealing with being uncomfortable or uncertain or even biting your tongue in the name of forwarding the Agenda. Especially when it's literally about acceptance within our own communities. How can we reasonably expect everyone else to accept us if we're struggling to accept each other?

i don't care how uncomfortable you are around cis men, queer cis men still need places to go, and sometimes, those spaces will be shared with yours. disabled and neurodivergent queer men and queer men of color especially need a place to go. the queer community isn't the "fuck cis men" community. that is the rad fem community. if you think cis men and people who read as cis men are inherently "too scary" or shouldn't be allowed in queer spaces, you joined the wrong community.

[wolvietxt]

can you do overprotective with dean winchester?

from this prompt list 🩷: https://www.tumblr.com/wolvietxt/764960124626403328/overprotective-sunshine-is-about-to-do-something?source=share

DEAN’S voice cut through the air, sharp and unyielding, stopping you mid-step on the wooden ledge. 

“what the hell do you think you’re doing?”  

you froze, looking over your shoulder to see him stalking toward you, his expression hard enough to rival stone. his green eyes burned with something between frustration and fear, and it pinned you in place like a physical force.  

“we don’t have time to waste,” you said, trying to keep your voice calm. “i’ll go first and make sure it’s stable.”  

dean’s jaw clenched, and his boots ground into the gravel as he closed the distance between you. “no. you’re not stepping foot on that thing.”  

“dean - ”  

“don’t dean me,” he snapped, cutting you off. “you’re not doing it.”  

“someone has to,” you argued, gesturing toward the rickety bridge swaying precariously over the canyon. “we can’t just stand here debating.”  

“then i’ll do it,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “no way in hell am i letting you go out there first.”  

“why does it always have to be you?” you shot back, your irritation bubbling to the surface. “i’m not some damsel you have to protect, dean. i can handle myself.”  

“it’s not about that,” he said, his voice dropping low, rough with an emotion he rarely let slip. “it’s about me not being able to handle it if something happened to you. so stop being stubborn and let me do this.”  

his words hit you harder than you expected, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him. he didn’t look away, didn’t try to soften the intensity of his gaze. it was like he needed you to understand, to take him seriously.  

you sighed, stepping back slightly. “fine. but if you fall, i’m not carrying your ass back up.”  

the corner of his mouth twitched, almost like he wanted to smile but couldn’t quite manage it. “yeah, yeah,” he muttered, turning toward the bridge.  

he tested the first plank with his boot, his movements deliberate and cautious. the wood groaned under his weight, but it held, and he took another step. you watched, your hands clenched into fists at your sides as he made his way across.  

“dean,” you called, unable to keep the worry out of your voice.  

he glanced back over his shoulder, his expression softening for just a second. “i’m fine. just hang tight.”  

it felt like an eternity before he reached the other side and turned to face you.  

“all right,” he called. “your turn. take it slow.”  

you stepped onto the bridge, your heart hammering in your chest as the wood creaked beneath your feet. you kept your eyes on dean, his steady gaze a lifeline as you moved forward.  

when you finally reached him, his hand shot out, grabbing yours to help you over the last step.  

“see? no big deal,” you said, though your legs felt like jelly.  

“reckless,” he muttered, but his voice lacked its usual bite.  

“overprotective,” you shot back, your lips twitching into a smile.  

“damn right,” he said, his eyes scanning your face like he was memorizing every detail.  

you opened your mouth to respond, but before you could, dean leaned in, his lips brushing against yours. it was soft at first, tentative, like he wasn’t sure if you’d pull away. but when you didn’t, he deepened the kiss, his hand cupping your cheek as his thumb brushed against your skin.  

when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, and he let out a shaky breath. “you drive me crazy, you know that?”  

you grinned, your fingers curling into the front of his jacket. “yeah, but you love it.”  

he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “don’t push your luck, sunshine.”  

you giggled, the sound light and unburdened as the tension between you melted away. for once, you let yourself lean into the safety of his presence, knowing he’d always be there to catch you.

ᰔ dean winchester : @person-005, @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing, @jackles010378

taglist form linked in pinned post :3

[henry7931]

Chase:

Today is a really weird day and I didn’t know how I would feel about coming over to my best friend Bryce’s house especially after the incident.

Bryce and I have been friends for over 12 years now and him and I have always been a couple of scrawny gay nerds. We both love Minecraft legend of Zelda, just about every video game you can think of and one way we really bonded was figuring out that we are both gay.

Now for years, I’ve always known that Bryce had a crush on me. For me it was never that I didn’t like Bryce or I was never interested, but I never wanted to ruin the friendship. But then you have Walker is older brother. Walker is a few years older than us. He’s super handsome, athletic, charming, he could basically date anyone he laid his eyes on.

The truth is Walker was my sexual awakening for years. I’ve stayed at their house and spent the night and it wouldn’t be uncommon to see Walker come out and nothing but basketball shorts hell I don’t even think he would wear underwear sometimes.

I can remember the way seeing him made me blush, and I tried my hardest not to stare at him. I don’t know if Walker could tell that I was checking him out. Or maybe Walker was just used to people checking him out shouldn’t be any surprise that his little brother‘s gay friend had his eyes glued to him.

And somehow he continues to keep getting hotter and hotter and hotter…

So several weeks ago, Bryce and Walker’s family went on vacation to some tropical island. And something very strange happened while touring an old temple. How Bryce explained it to me was that they had a sign up that specifically said, “ please do not touch artifact.”

Bryce can be such a stickler for rules and I can almost see it in my head. It all went down. Bryce told Walker not to touch it. Walker likes to get on Bryce‘s nerves Walker reaches for it and then shit got real quick. Because Walker and Bryce have now switched bodies.

When Bryce was explaining all this to me, I really thought it was bullshit. I mean, who would believe that that sounds like something from a movie and yet even hearing Walker‘s voice, I can tell just by the tone that it’s Bryce.

So today is the first day that I have seen Bryce since he swapped bodies with Walker. And that’s why I feel all kinds of weird.

Now Bryce and I have stayed with each other like 1 million times and it’s really not unusual for us to be basically naked around each other. OK maybe not completely naked but like at least in her underwear.

And I have tried really, really hard to make him feel comfortable and I think I’m doing a really good job but having him standing in front of me in just his brother’s boxers is driving me a bit insane.

I’m sitting on Bryce‘s bed and walks back into his room just to ask me if I wanted anything from downstairs like something to drink or maybe a snack. I can barely get out the words because I can’t stop staring at the chiseled God in front of me.

“ chase you’re staying the night right?,” he asked me.

“ oh yeah, of course I’m staying the night as long as that’s OK.”

“ yeah man of course it’s okay! You know it’s okay man. No one cares you stay the night. You’re like basically family sides. My brother isn’t going to be home tonight. He’s wanted a lot of space since the whole. I’ve got his body thing. And both my parents are out of town so it’s just gonna be us,” he says with a side smirk.

“ well if it’s just us what do you wanna get into tonight?,” I say trying to make conversation.

I’m holding my eye contact directly at his face and I try my hardest not to look anywhere else, but he takes his hand and start scratching his balls and I can almost feel my whole cock twitch.

“ I mean since everybody’s not here tonight, we can always break into my parents liquor cabinet, whoop whoop!”

You know I am probably the most innocent 18 year-old alive, I don’t wanna attend parties nor do I really sneak around my parents but I feel like alcohol sounds like a great idea right now. I mean it I might be able to calm down a bit.

“Hell yeah! That’s sounds fun!,” I say with some enthusiasm.

“Bet! Be right back!”

I hear as heavy feet running down the stairs and all I can do is try to think of something that would totally turn me off like anything taxes, my grandparents, just something…

And yet all I can think about is how hot it would be if I could suck on his toes. I’ve had a thing for feet a while now and it’s taking me a little bit to accept it and a part of that I blame Walker for him because he has some sexy ass feet.

I can remember clearly the smell of his feet after he would finish football practice and he would pull off his shoes. Shit! Fuck! I’m so hard right now. I feel like I’m gonna have to sneak away and beat one out in the bathroom just to clear my head.

And then here comes Bryce with two glasses in his hand and a bottle of wine for the both of us just super eager.

I reposition myself to where I’m laying flat on my stomach so he doesn’t notice.

Bryce hops on to the bed with me and try’s his hardest to navigate a wine opener.

“Geez, I have no clue what I’m doing here…”

I eventually take it and started twisting in. I try to pull it out but struggle.

“Here since you now have all of the muscles.”

He rolls his eyes at me and tugs it out.

“Success!”

“Good team work there he-man,” I say playfully.

Bryce’s pours both of us a glass and at first I thought it tasted awful. But the second glass… now I see why people like it. I feel so warm inside and relaxed.

We both lay back in his bed.

“Is it super weird for you?,” I ask him.

“What?”

“You know… being in your Walkers body.”

“Um… yes. Yes and no I guess. I feel like everything has just moved so quick since the trip. I feel very different in public, like I’m so much more noticed. girls hit on me… so do guys. It’s a lot to take in especially since you and my family are the only ones who know about it.”

“What about Walker’s girlfriend?”

“Oh he broke up with her, thought it would be less weird. Although he had to do it over text because I refused to call or see her in person.”

“Damn! That’s crazy.”

“Yeah but she was like his girlfriend for the month, nothing serious.”

Of course…

“So is this pretty permanent?”

“Yeah I think so, unless you know of any other magic objects than can reverse it haha.”

“No, not off of the top of my head,”I say jokingly.

“Well… that answers your question. This is my body now. This is the new me I guess,” he says looking his muscles over.

I look them over as well and then my eyes draw this briefs… he’s got a hard on…

Bryce catches my eyes and says, “you wanna touch it?”

“What?!?”

“Come on Chase… don’t play games with me. I know you and I know you’ve had the hots for this body. I’ve known for years now.”

I take a deep breath… I feel my nervous all over again.

“It’s okay, I know you like this body. It’s my body now. And I want you to touch my massive dick.”

“But Bryce!”

“Shhh! Chase I’ve had a crush on you for years and I know you would never fool around with me. And now I have the body you’ve been lusting for years now. TOUCH MY MASSIVE DICK PLEASE!”

“Fuck, okay.”

I start touching it from the outside and it does feel huge!

“You know I love you Bryce, you’re the most important person to me. I just never wanted us to loose our friendship. It’s why I never tried anything with you.”

“I know. And listen I know you weren’t trying to go after my brother. I know what he looks like. Everyone does. But now I have the body and the personality so, I’m giving you no choice but to date me. Got it?”

“Ugh fine,” I say rolling my eyes.

“Now can you do me a favor?”

“Sure!”

“Can I see your feet?” he says to me.

Wow! Wasn’t expecting that!

“Wait why?”

“I hope you don’t think this is weird but I have a thing for them.”

“Shut up! So do I!”

“You do?!?”

“Yeah especially…,” I eye down to his feet and wiggles his toes.

“Oh my god! This is about to be a wild night!”

“Wait, can I kiss you?”

“Please!”

Part 2 Coming…

[atan-orofarne]

Not to be a party pooper and all, but…folks, you do know how many of these people making YouTube videos earn at least a portion of the money that allows them to spend time making the videos, right?

Yes, ads suck. And, yes, there's a big, shitty company involved. And I'm not shedding any tears for Google, but storing and serving up all that video is legitimately really expensive at the scale they're doing it at. Servers, hard drives and other storage, and electricity are not free. Neither is the time of the people who write the code to make it work. And, again, ad revenue can be an important source of income for people posting on YouTube.

People seem to expect that things on the internet should just be free of cost. But basically all of these things take time and money to produce. I regularly see people on Tumblr reblogging posts about how quiltmakers and knitters deserve to be paid for their time and labor when they make something. And how unreasonable it is when people devalue their time.

And there are obviously differences. With an artisan maker, there's usually not a big company involved.

But as big and shitty as those companies are, they're generally still the extremely, extremely imperfect conduit that money flows through to creators. To the people who make TV shows. To the people who make YouTube videos. To the journalists who do the vital job of reporting the news.

Thinking the system should change is valid. Not just valid, but absolutely true. The system should change. Ad revenue is an extremely shitty way to fund things. But if that's not the funding model we want, that stuff will still need to be funded. The people making it will still need to be paid. And expecting all this stuff to just be free…I still think that devalues the work of the creative professionals who are doing it.

And so…

*

And I just want to say, do not take this to be me doing a sideways lecture at people who cannot afford stuff. Honestly if you're a student or otherwise just don't have money, it's not exactly ethical, still, but it's absolutely understandable that one might pirate. I did it when I was a student, too. But I think it's worth being mindful about this stuff, too, even if you're in that position.

Though, as I can afford it, I do try to always support the shows and media I enjoy in whatever way it is that they make money.

youtube is pulling this bullshit again

praying for the firefox gods to save me once more...

[sierrale8ne]

40 DAYS AND 40 NIGHTS CHAPTER FIFTEEN

thought i’d be lying if i said ‘i didn’t want you to myself.’ when you look me in my eyes and, tell me that it’s mine, i…

pairing wnba!paige bueckers x singer!oc

taglist @thaatdigitaldiary @ohbueckers @wbbgetsmewetter @rosemariiaa @tndaqlifwy @pboogerswbb @xxloveralways14 @makethemhoesmad @slvt4her @luvapaigeeyy @hedidnotpleaseme @paigesbabygirl @mopopshop @omg-imtumbling @numberonepartyanth3m @wbb4l @authentic-girl03 @slut4uconnwbb @unadulteratedcyclepaper @kplum10 @fuddfanatic35 @avvwritesstufff @paigesluver @bueckersbitch @ryywyd

warnings sexual innuendos, yall are getting edged one last time 🙂‍↔️

kalena speakss 🪽! it’s finally here, everyone say thank you to sza cs without her album this wasn’t getting done. one more chapter after this one, i can’t believe it mannnnn 🥹

July 2025 — San Diego, California 

My hands are sweating more than they have ever before. I sit in silence in the driver's seat of my jeep, the car parked in the driveway. It’s a beautiful house. Costal, and fucking huge. There’s a four car garage and a driveway so big you could probably park two more cars next to mine. 

This car ride was definitely eye opening to say the least. In no world would you ever catch me driving more than 30 minutes let alone two hours to see another woman. 

I’d only ever do it for Maraye.

She’s heaven sent, just a completely unbelievable human being, and the second she sent that address I was in that car faster than I could blink.

It was always going to be her.

The sound of my foot bouncing on the car floor echos off the walls and I take that as the cue to go inside, I’ve been sitting here forever. I turn off my engine, sticking the keys in the pocket of my shorts before taking a deep breath. 

My feet feel heavy as they drag towards the wooden steps. Cedar fills my nose and calms me down, just enough.

The door swings open before I can even touch the handle.

I’m not sure if I should be pissed that Maraye looks so happy or, well, happy for her. She’s glowing, skin tanner than when I last saw her. Her curls look perfect, shiny and bouncy, perfectly framing her face. She got on these striped shorts that leave too much for my imagination and a USC Trojans cropped shirt. (Remind me to burn that.)

“You didn’t show up.”

I’m instantly taken aback by the immediate comment. My eyebrows furrow and I blink back my confusion.

“I—Huh?”

“My show. I wanted you there and you didn’t come.” She elaborates, crossing her arms over her chest and suddenly I’m losing focus and staring right there. 

I can’t help the laugh that escapes my throat, a smile spreads across my face. “That’s what you wanna talk to me ‘bout? Really?”

Maraye frowns, adjusting her position on her foot. I know she’s trying to look upset, and she probably is, but that fucking pout of her lips is the cutest thing I think I’ve ever seen.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.” I admit. “But y’know we should prolly talk about something else.” My eyes squint as I look over her body. Just briefly I notice a crack in her demeanor. The sternness of her eyes slips and her lip just barely quivers. It’s like she just now realized that me being here meant talking about it.

We have to. I don’t think I’d be able to go to Indiana, knowing that she’s in the stands without knowing if she hates my guts or not.

Raye sighs, but it comes off more as a deep breath. Her arms drop to her sides and she moves from the doorway, giving just enough room for me to step inside.

She doesn’t say a word, just walking into the house like there’s nothing more to say. But I follow her anyway, looking like a lost puppy and staring at her so hard I damn near forget to lock the door.

This house is way bigger than I thought it would be, I swear I walked past a game room and a gym within three seconds of one another. It has an older style, hardwood floors and cream carpets. The lighting is dim and aside from the natural light that comes from the windows, the chandeliers from the ceiling illuminate the room with a yellow light.

After what feels like hours of walking, she stops, opening another door and revealing the balcony.

“Your grandma had nice taste. This place is crazy.” I comment, looking slightly shocked. I knew the places in San Diego were nice but goddamn. 

Raye lets out a breathy laugh, approaching the outdoor seating area. It’s dark, but the fireplace that glows bright orange and yellow is more than enough for her to see me and for me to see her. She sits down without a word and I do too, right next to her on the off-white colored couch.

I can feel the warmth that radiates off her body, almost hotter than the fire itself. She crosses her legs under her as she sits and the movement of her thighs sends me into orbit. 

“I’m not gonna say anything.” She speaks up, looking at me with her tongue trailing over her bottom lip.

I look at her incredulously. “Really? You ain’t gonna say shit?”

Maraye nods slowly. “Last time I saw you, I didn’t let you talk. So I’m lettin’ you talk now, you have the floor.” She gestures to the space in front of us. “I promise.”

“You swear?”

She makes a big show of zipping her lips and tossing the imaginary key behind her and it’s things like that, that make me crazy over her. The theatrics and the laughs, she’s so unapologetically herself around me all the time, even when I piss her off and she wants to put my head on a platter.

“I swear.” She smiles, turning her full attention to me.

I clear my throat, suddenly feeling the pressure of this whole situation on my shoulder again. She’s the only person in the world that without fail makes my head empty. Raye looks at me, and within seconds I’ve lost everything that I’ve been practicing on saying in the car.

“Um. Fuck,” I sigh, shaking my head. “Ion even have a fuckin’ excuse for you. I jus’— I fucked up. Drank too much, saw her, I thought you were with Julian, and I made a big mistake, Raye.”

—

Hearing Paige say all that, made my throat tighten and my chest get all heavy all over again, the same way it did when I found out everything two weeks ago.

She can’t even look at me as she speaks, and that alone lets me know she’s telling the truth. That she feels bad, maybe even worse than what she says.

“You got every right to be mad at me.” She admits, she takes a breath with every few words. It’s like she’s having a shortcoming just by trying to apologize. 

A small part of me is happy to see her all stressed out like this, as if I think she deserves it. But I also fucking hate watching her struggle to get her words together. Normally she’s so confident, it’s the first time I think I’ve ever seen her so unsure of herself.

“I’m so sorry for everything. I always told you that you have a right to be upset or get emotional about things that people say, ‘cause you’re always thinkin’ you don’t get that luxury when you do.” Paige plays with her hands and it’s then when I notice the silver band on her pinky finger. “But as soon as you got mad at me, I told you that you don’t have a right to be mad.”

I nod, remembering it all. The downside of remembering everything is that I had to relive every word that she said to me that day when I woke up and when I went to bed and even in my sleep. 

“Paige it’s—”

“Nah, you said I have the floor, right? Swore you weren’t gon’ say shit.” She points at me with one finger, her other pointer finger over her lips. Very obviously telling me to shut up, and I do. 

I can’t help but smile at her. I think even now, with her hair in that messy ass bun and the purple star patch on her chin, she’s the prettiest girl I’ve ever seen. 

“You got every right in the world to be mad at me, because what I did to you was unforgivable.” Paige finally looks up at me and I think I’m about to drown in those eyes. “I made you cry, Raye. I’d never seen you cry before and I’m never gonna forget that shit. I’m so fuckin’ sorry.”

I sniffle a little at her words. Hearing it from her lips while she looks at me is completely different from over the phone. 

I’m actually very glad that I waited this long, because the silence on my end completely aids in making sure I listen. Like actually listening, I’m not thinking of a rebuttal, or a way to defend myself, I’m just listening. Taking it all in.

Paige runs a hand over her chin. I know that action. She does it whenever she’s frustrated, or thinking, I don’t think she’s ever done it before with me; other than when she’s trying to get in my pants. But she does it all the time in her postgame interviews.

“I can’t go this long without speakin’ to you, Raye. You just… you’re so much different than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re fuckin’ special and— I wanna try this. Us.”

It’s certain, the most certain I’ve heard Paige be since she sat down. “If y’ont want that it’s fine too. We can be friends, or even fuckin’ acquaintances, I just— I can’t imagine my life without you in it. You left your mark, permanently.”

My breath hitches. I can’t imagine my life without you in it. She doesn’t even stutter when she says that, and it brings tears to my waterline. I already know I’m falling for every word she says. 

I do it because she looks at me like I’ve hung the moon and the stars. Her body is even closer to mine than it was before, I can see every single shift in the blue of her eyes, every ridge of her face, I can point each brown eyelash on her eyes. I’d fall for any and everything she said if it meant I had her here. Close like this.

“You uh, you told me that I don’t know you. And I think you’re wrong.” It takes me aback briefly. I wasn’t expecting it from her, especially not right now. “I know what makes you smile, how to make you laugh, how to get on your nerves.”

I roll my eyes at Paige instantly. So hard that they were probably a few millimeters away from getting stuck in the back of my head.

She laughs, that full, high pitched laugh that I’ve missed so fucking bad. “I mean you got a point. Ion know where your parents are from or your favorite show or how you like your coffee. Or if you even like coffee. Do you? I’m getting distracted.

“—I do like coffee—” I butted in briefly, any attempt to ease her obvious growing anxiety.

“—But I know enough to know that I want you and only you. You’re it for me, Raye. And I swear to God I’ll do right by you if you give me a chance. Teach me how to be your person and I’ll teach you.”

Paige sighs and I let a similar one slip from my lips too.

“Jus’ please. I’m sorry.”

My heart feels heavy with everything she’s just said to me. I know I should forgive her, every bone in my body wants me too. 

Then there’s that small part of me that doubts her just a bit. It’s the same part that creates an image of her and that girl almost everyday, the same part that doesn’t allow me to give people second chances. 

I don’t even notice the tear that slipped until I’m dropping my head in my hands and I feel it. My palms run across the expanse of my face. “I can talk now?” I tease.

“Yeah, ma. You can.” Paige shakes her head in pure amusement, not even trying to fight off the grin on her face.

“It’s so hard to stay mad at you when you say shit like that.” I groan. “Ion give people second chances, Paige. Y’know that.”

“Technically, you didn’t give me a real first chance ‘cause you had a boyfriend.” She says pointedly, bobbing her hands as if she’s trying to convince me of my options. “Can you forgive me?”

“I don’t know.”

“You wan’ me to get on my knees? I’ll do it, I’ll beg.”

I’m laughing but Paige is completely serious, slipping off the cushion and looking at me expectantly.

“Y’ont have t—”

But she’s already doing it, sinking to her knees below the couch and looking up at me with that damn pout of hers. “—Please, Raye. Gimme another chance, angel. I’ll do anything. Please?”

There’s no one here but me and her, yet the sight of her on her knees is enough to make me burst out in that kind of embarrassed laughter. “Can you get up?” I grit through my teeth.

“Girl, I’m on my knees!” Paige sings horrendously, and I roll my eyes again at her song reference. No way this girl thought she was gonna sing some Lloyd to convince me.

“Shut up and stand up, Madison.” I say again, attempting to pull her up by her biceps that have definitely gotten bigger in these last few weeks.

“Answer me first.”

“Yes, yes okay. I forgive you, just get up!” I giggle, covering my eyes with my palm until I feel the cushion dip beside me. “Oh my God, you’re not real.” I mumble, finally dropping my hand to see how proud she is of herself. 

“C’mere.” She instructs with a smile, opening her arms and I waist maybe a second of time before I’m turning and wrapping my arms around her neck.

Her shampoo wafts through the night air and straight to my nose, the cool zipper of her grey tech jacket against my stomach makes me jump a little bit, but she holds me there, tight to her body with her head in my neck.

“I fuckin’ missed you, dude.” Paige inhales. Only she could go from being sappy to calling me dude all in the same breath. It’s so uniquely Paige.

“I missed you too.” I sigh, breathing in her scent again.

I don’t think I want to let go. Because she’s here, hugging me like I could run away at any fucking minute, running her thumb over the open space on my back that my crop top is giving her. 

I pull back to gaze at her. That look she used to give me all the time before we even started anything, it’s there. A slight lift of the apples of her cheeks and her pupils dilated like I swore they did back then. Only this time I don’t have to think it, I know it. I see it.

I trail my hands to her cheeks, my thumb over her bottom lip. And then suddenly I’m licking mine and leaning into her.

Except Paige pulls back before we get the chance to touch.

“You don’t wanna kiss me? Really?”

She chuckles, “no I do, trust me. I really really want to. But if I kiss you, I’m gonna wanna do so much more.”

“Oh so know y’ont wanna fuck me? Paige—”

“Damn, shout it from the rooftops then!” Her eyebrows furrow at my sudden vulgarity and she leans towards me more. “Trust, I wanna do a lot of that. I just wanna take you on a date more.” Paige smiles and she looks awfully proud of herself for the cute suggestion.

It is cute. The way her cheeks flush in nervousness. I let the blonde pull me into her lap fully, adjusting me perfectly on her lap. Her hands run distractingly on my thighs, so much so that I almost forget to respond to her.

“Can I take you out on a date?”

I nod almost in a trance.

“You wanna use your words, ma?”

“Uh huh.”

“You do? Y’wanna say yeah?” She’s teasing me, and finding amusement in it too.

“Yes. You can take me out.” I blink, slapping a hand against her shoulder, and then again when I hear that god awful cackle escape her. “You’re so annoying.”

Paige licks her lips, not taking a single second to look away from me as I loll my head down to face her. “Tomorrow night, after the three point? You are still goin’ to Indy, right?”

“I am. That sounds perfect, Paige.” I grin, leaning over to ghost my lips across her cheek.

I can’t help but do it again. Her skin is so soft and warm, a near perfect spot for my lips to meet over and over again until Paige is humming and tossing her head back in an attempt to keep a respectful distance. It’s cute that she doesn’t trust herself this much. Even cuter that I’m doing practically nothing and she’s falling victim to me.

“Ion know if you got the memo, but this is st—ill kissing.” She groans, pushing at my hips.

I grip her chin in my hand, pulling back just enough to turn her head in the other direction and place kisses there. “Mmm no s’not. Our lips ain’t even close.”

And I continue this for a while, my lips on her cheeks, her jaw, ghosting over the corner of her lips in hopes of making her give in to me like she’s done many times before in the past. Paige surprised me though, standing her ground.

When I look back, her bottom lip is wet and swollen. My guess from biting it too many times. She’s breathless, and anyone else would’ve thought I’d just made her finish right here.

“I— I need to get back home. I got a flight at four.” Paige mumbles, darting her tongue over her lips.

I frown. “Fly with me from here, then.”

“My bags are at home, ma. And aren’t you flyin’ out private?” She questions, sending a pinch to my hip.

“Yes… so? I’ll call and reroute from LAX and you can come with me.” I shrug as if it’s that simple, and it probably could be if I call the right people.

Paige smirks that infamous fucking smirk. “Ion do small planes, angel. You know this. S’cute that you wanna be with me that bad, tho.”

I cross my arms over my chest, pouting. “Please, please, please?”

—

July 2025 — Somewhere over Nevada

I need to find some kind of ground to stand on when It comes to this woman.

My hands clutch my armrests, eyes squeezed shut, and head tossed back. 

I’m not scared of heights. Before anyone starts thinking that. I’m scared of tiny ass planes and not enough people on them. It was fine when we were on the ground, but the second the flight attendants were out of view and I had to get strapped in I almost shit myself.

“Paige, you can relax.” I hear Maraye giggle from in front of me, her feet resting in my lap to attempt to ground me. It worked out a little, then she started fucking around and nudging her heel a little too close to my core and all of a sudden I was trying to distract myself from something other than the plane. “P?”

“What?”

The sound of her seat belt clinging cuts through the silence, and then her feet are leaving my body and instead I feel her; all of her. Raye grips my hands, peeling the from the arms of the chair. My eyes shoot open at the contact. 

“What the hell are you doin’? Sit down.” I tell her, slightly tripping out over this flight some more. 

She gets smart, straddling my lap and sitting on it rather than in her seat. I let out a groan because I know that any other time I’d be all over this shit. Since last night, after I told her I was holding out at least until our date, she’s made a very big show of trying to get me to fold. 

First on the drive back to LA, her hand drawing patterns on my free hand, or reaching over to play with my hair. She had perfect hands. Long, slender, fingers with a shade of deep royal purple manicured on her nails. They’re fucking soft too, prefect enough to distract me while I was driving. I couldn’t help but think about how they’d feel inside me. Or circling my clit, feeling my wetness from her alone. That’s how I knew I was in so deep, when I was thinking about Raye fucking me numb just from her touching my hand.

She was talking some crazy shit too, which on any other occasion I’d be willing to handle that. But I was serious. Our relationship wasn’t going to be started on the basis of sex. I wanted to do it right. She slept In my guest bedroom because I knew If we shared a bed we wouldn’t be sleeping. Rather anything but that.

The car ride this morning was similar. Which made me realize she wasn’t doing all this just to prove a point, but because she needed me. When she told me she’d had a dream about me, told me all the details in which that dream entailed, I was about to make her wish come true and get on the floor of the passenger seat and shove my tongue so deep inside her that she saw stars. And I knew she would’ve enjoyed every minute because Raye let me know from her own mouth that she would.

Which made my brief period of celibacy nearly impossible.

She’s also not wearing clothes.

Well, she is, but not really. Her top is tiny, a sliver of fabric that barely covers her tits and shorts that ride up as soon as she gets comfortable on my lap.

“You wanna yell at me like that again?” Raye looks at me crazy, a bite of her lip and a tilt of her head that makes my entire body melt into a puddle in this seat.

“You so freaked out.” I groan, hold her hips in place. “Why the hell did I let you convince me to do this shit.” I wonder aloud trying to avoid looking out the window, noticing the obvious racing of my heart. Except I don’t know if it’s because of the plane of because of her ass pressing up on me. Her hips grinding on mine, her covered cunt dragging across the seam of my shorts.

She shrugs while trailing a finger down the obvious vein in my neck. “I dunno. You could’ve told me no.”

The slight movement pushed her tits even closer to my face and I know I’m about to either pass out or take her right here. Spread her out, rip these tiny ass pieces of fabric off her body, and drive my fingers inside her until she’s falling apart for every crew member of this plane to hear.

“Killin’ me here, ma. Move over a lil bit.” I ask, clutching a hand at her side, stilling her as much as I can and running my thumb over her ribcage. That’s where I finally see it. That damned tattoo that had me reeling on my bedroom floor last night. 

John 13:7.

I think it’s the worst time for it to be staring at me, mostly because I’m thinking some very not-so-holy thoughts. She’s testing every bit of my resolve at the moment, I was confident in my ability to hold out, but we have maybe two more hours before landing, and Maraye looks like she’s going to make me work for it the whole time.

Raye catches me staring, and she pushes a stand of hair out of her own face. “You like it?”

I nod wordlessly. Every single part of her is mesmerizing. All the ink, and then that brown of her skin is addicting. Tan lines peeking out of that tube top and up out of the waistband of her shorts.

I dig into my own shorts, pulling my phone out of my pocket before flipping the screen towards her. The same bible quote on my lock screen almost as if it was fate.

She smiles, pressing her hands to my shoulder and laughing breathily. “We're just on the same wavelength, huh?” Raye asks, I’m about to answer when she presses down harder on my lap, testing every single bit of self control I have left with just one simple movement.

“Mmhmm. Same shit, baby.”

[filthweb]

I think this thirst will barely be considered dark, but I think it still fits the vibe of your blog, if not, no worries.

Sooo, imagine you meet these two charming young men, Satoru and Suguru. Satoru is head over heels for you, but you only have eyes for Suguru. Suguru has a thing for you too but by the time he realizes he'd already promised Satoru he'd help him get a date with you.

You have a cute friend movie date with them both at your place but unfortunately Satoru had something come up. He makes Suguru go anyway to hype him up. Not even halfway through the movie you're in Suguru's lap making out with him.

He pulls away "We shouldn't be doing this, I promised Satoru I'd help him get a date with you."

You grind your hips against his "Is that what you want? Me to go on a date with your friend?"

"No, but I also don't want to be a bad friend."

"Hmm, how about this, I promise I'll go on a date with Satoru, but ONLY if you promise fuck me after."

What he doesn't know can't hurt him right? So, after your cute cafe date with Satoru, he calls Suguru to gush about how perfect you are, how you might be the one, all the while Suguru is biting his lip trying to make sure he doesn't moan as you're riding him.

How long do you think the two of you can keep this going? Eventually Satoru is going to want to sleep with you, right? I mean, he's already got the names picked out for your future children. But Suguru has your heart (and pussy) and the thrill of sneaking around is so hot.

Will guilt get to Suguru before Satoru catches on?

shit i can't be caught posting this

okay but suguru had been doting on you before satoru confessed it out loud to him. despite the cool popular guy persona, satoru is a pussy in asking girls out. especially if someone's as pretty as you so he sends geto as his wingman. little did he know...

you are on the sofa with sugu while toru is arguing on the phone with someone.

"i gotta go. i am so sorry guys." and you don't even try to make him stay. you were hoping to be alone with geto (so did he deep down somewhere)

when it's just you two, you are so hyperfocused with each movement you make, not even remembering the storyline of the movie. you shift closer and closer to get till your thighs touch. your skins do too. one things lead to another and now you're straddling on his lap, making out sloppily, like a greedy bunny.

"fuck we shouldn't. he really likes you, baby."

"you can't say that and call me baby in the same sentence. c'mon sugu...i can feel it against my pussy, y'know? i know you wanna," you argue. he tries to debate but you're quicker,

"alright. i'll go out with him. but only if you..."you guide his hands to your pussy, "fuck her."

with that, all remorse and guilt was swallowed like he swallow curses. he needed you. this will never reach him anyways. toru gets a date and you both get to fuck. everyone wins.

but it was so hard to keep it down. your date with satoru was great but only because you were daydreaming about suguru fucking you after.

gojo calls him up, telling him how you were so sweet and all. geto has the phone on speaker, so you both can feel how wrong this is and how much it turns you in even more. suguru moans a few times but toru doesn't notice because he is busy yapping about you. you shove your tits in his mouth to keep him from making sounds, only removing so he can answer an eventual "hmm"

a few seconds later, satoru goes silent...the call is still on though? fuck did he catch on?

[lotsofmilfs]

Shades of Cool Part 2

Pairing : Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader

Summary : After sharing your magic with Agatha, the bond is stronger, so you start to tease her through it.

Word Count : 6.8kish

Notes : Part 3 soon! (NSFW 😏) i’m sorry if this ended up being repetitive, i’ve edited this for days in a row and keep changing things lmfao.

Part 1

The warmth of her touch lingers as Agatha steps back, her hand still loosely holding yours. The bond between you hums steadily now, like the soft rhythm of a heartbeat. Her magic flickers through the connection—not as strong as it once was centuries ago, but it’s alive, pulsing faintly like a spark waiting to ignite.

You’re exhausted, your body feeling lighter, almost hollow, but there’s no regret in the act. If anything, there’s a strange comfort in knowing she feels more whole now, even if it came at your expense.

Agatha seems to sense it, her sharp gaze softening. “You look like you’re about to collapse,” she says, her voice still laced with that familiar sardonic edge, but there’s an undercurrent of concern that wasn’t quite there before.

“I’m fine,” you say, though your knees threaten to betray you.

“Liar,” she mutters, her free hand reaching out instinctively to steady you. Her fingers brush your arm, firm but careful, and the bond thrums faintly in response. “You’re always so reckless, always giving and never thinking about the cost. You—” She stops herself, her expression twisting into something conflicted.

“Spit it out, Agatha,” you say tiredly, though there’s no real bite in your tone.

Her lips press into a thin line. For a moment, you think she won’t say anything, but then she exhales, her hand lingering on your arm. “You didn’t have to do that,” she says softly. “You didn’t have to… give up part of yourself for me.”

You meet her gaze, your exhaustion tempered by the raw vulnerability in her voice. “You think I’d just stand by and let you suffer like that? Agatha, we’re bonded. I feel what you feel. I couldn’t ignore it even if I wanted to.”

Her jaw tightens, and she looks away. “You’ve always been like this,” she mutters. “Too selfless for your own good. It’s so fucking infuriating.”

You laugh faintly, the sound dry but genuine. “And you’ve always been too stubborn to admit when you need help. So I guess we balance each other out.”

She doesn’t respond right away, her fingers still lightly gripping your arm. But there’s a warmth in your chest, and you can feel the gratitude she’s trying so hard not to voice.

“Come on,” she says after a beat, her tone lighter now. “Let’s get out of this wretched place before you decide to martyr yourself any further.”

She moves to step away, but you catch her hand before she can let go. Her eyes widen slightly at the gesture, and you can feel her surprise ripple faintly through the bond.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice steady despite your exhaustion. “Don’t let this go to waste.”

Her expression falters, her carefully crafted walls cracking just enough for you to see the emotion beneath. Slowly, almost hesitantly, she squeezes your hand in return.

“Okay I- I’ll try.” she says quietly, her voice carrying a weight that feels like a promise.

You nod, satisfied, and let her lead you forward. The mist around you begins to thin, the glowing blue light of the witches’ road shifting to a soft, golden hue. It feels like a small victory, like the road itself is acknowledging the fragile progress you’ve made.

As you walk, Agatha’s hand brushes against yours every now and then—not quite holding, but not quite letting go either.

The quiet between you feels different—less strained, more… charged. You try to ignore it, chalking it up to the magic you just shared, but the truth lingers at the edges of your thoughts. The bond isn’t just a connection of power; it’s always been more than that.

And now that it’s whole again, it’s impossible to ignore.

“Do you feel that?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

Agatha stops, her brow furrowing as she glances at you. “Feel what?”

“The bond,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “It’s… different now. More than it was before.”

Her lips press into a thin line, her gaze flickering away as if she’s considering how much to say. “Of course it’s different,” she replies, her voice carefully measured. “You gave me your magic. That kind of exchange would strengthen any connection.”

You narrow your eyes at her, sensing there’s more she’s not saying. The bond pulses faintly, carrying her unease like a ripple in a still pond.

“It’s not just the magic,” you press, stepping closer. “There’s something else. Something I didn’t feel before.”

Agatha exhales sharply, her jaw tightening. “You’re imagining things,” she mutters, though the flicker of guilt in her eyes betrays her.

“I’m not,” you insist, your voice firmer now. “Agatha, what aren’t you telling me?”

She hesitates, her fingers twitching at her sides. For a moment, you think she might deflect again, but then the bond hums with something deeper—an emotion that feels startlingly raw. It makes your eyes water slightly as it fills your chest.

“You’re not the only one who feels it,” she admits finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “The bond… Us… it’s always been more than just magic. But I buried it. I had to.”

You blink, the weight of her words settling heavily in your chest. “What do you mean?”

She looks at you then, her expression guarded but vulnerable in a way you’ve rarely seen. “When we first started to forge the bond, I felt it, those nights in the forest,” she says, her voice steadier now. “Something more than connection, more than power. But I couldn’t handle it—not then. I was too afraid of what it meant. So I ignored it. Tried to bury it deep enough that even you wouldn’t feel it.”

Her confession leaves you breathless, the bond between you flaring further as her emotions ripple through it. You remember those early days—the intensity of your connection, the way being near her felt like standing too close to a fire.

You’d thought it was just the magic, the strength of the starting bond itself. But now…

“Agatha,” you say softly, your voice tinged with disbelief. “Are you saying… you felt this back then? Even before…”

“Yes,” she says, her tone clipped but honest. “And I thought you did too. But you never said anything, so I assumed it was one-sided. That’s… Another reason why I left.”

Her words hit you like a punch to the gut, memories flooding back with startling clarity. The trial, the first night after she left, the ache of her absence that felt more than just betrayal. It wasn’t just the severed bond that hurt—it was losing her.

“I didn’t know what I was feeling back then,” you admit, your voice trembling. “I thought it was just… the magic. I didn’t realize…”

Your words trail off as you look at her, the weight of the moment settling between you. The bond pulses again, and this time, it’s impossible to deny the warmth that spreads through you.

Agatha steps closer, her gaze searching yours. “And now?” she asks, her voice quieter, almost hesitant.

You swallow hard, the air between you charged with something fragile but undeniable. “Now… I think I Do.”

Her breath catches, the bond roaring underneath your skin, as the truth settles between you. Slowly, tentatively, she reaches out, her fingers brushing against your wrist. The touch is light, hesitant, but it sends a jolt through you that makes your heart race.

The world around you feels distant, the golden mist fading into the background as your focus narrows to her—the way her eyes soften, the faint tremble in her hand as it lingers near yours.

“Don’t run again,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “If this is what we are—what we’ve always been—don’t run from it anymore.”

Her lips part, her expression flickering between fear and something softer. Slowly, she nods, her fingers curling around your wrist with a steadiness that surprises you both.

The stillness between you is filled with the quiet hum of the bond, stronger now, resonating like a steady undercurrent. Agatha’s thumb is brushing lightly against your skin—a small, unspoken gesture that sends heat pooling in your abdomen.

She’s not running this time. That realisation alone makes your throat tighten.

Neither of you moves to break the fragile moment, but the bond speaks louder than words. You feel her unease, the raw edges of her vulnerability, but also the faint flicker of something else: hope. It’s tentative and cautious, like a flame coaxed to life after years of darkness.

“I never wanted to hurt you, you know” she says finally, her voice low, almost trembling. Like she couldn’t keep it in anymore. “Leaving… it wasn’t because I didn’t care. It was because I cared too much. After… Listen like i said, you never said anything about any extra feelings and sometimes i just felt like I would die if i didn’t-” she cuts herself off and sighs deeply.

You blink, her words settling heavily in your chest. “You thought running away would help?”

Her lips twitch into a humourless smile. “I thought it would be easier to sever the bond and save us both the trouble, I was so scared, to feel more, to be more, to have everything with you. Clearly, I was wrong.”

“You think?” you say, though there’s no heat behind it. If anything, your voice is softer now, touched with the faintest trace of affection.

Agatha huffs a quiet laugh, her fingers sliding down to tangle with yours. “You don’t have to be smug about it.”

You bite back a smile, studying her carefully. In the glow of the road, her features are softer, less guarded. Her usual sharp edges—the sardonic quips, the biting humour—are still there, but muted, stripped down to something real.

“Why didn’t you come back sooner?” you ask, the question hanging heavy in the air.

Her gaze drops to where your hands are still joined. For a long moment, she doesn’t answer. When she does, her voice is quieter, almost a whisper.

“I thought you hated me,” she admits. “And I didn’t blame you. After what I did—after what I didn’t do—I thought it was better for you if I stayed away. I killed other witches for sport for years, I figured you’d move on, find someone stronger, someone who deserved…” She trails off, shaking her head.

“Deserved what?” you press gently, stepping closer.

She looks up, her eyes searching yours. “You,” she says simply.

The word hangs between you, heavy with meaning. You feel the bond flare again, emotions rushing through it too fast to parse: guilt, longing, regret, and something warmer, deeper, that makes your heart skip a beat.

For a moment, you’re at a loss for words. You’d spent centuries convincing yourself you didn’t need her, that the ache she left behind was just a relic of the bond. But now, standing here with her, the bond humming strong and full, you realised how wrong you were.

“You idiot,” you say softly, though your voice lacks any real venom. “You’ve always deserved me. I just didn’t realise what that meant until now.”

Agatha’s breath hitches, her hand tightening around yours. Her gaze flickers to your face, searching, as if waiting for the other shoe to drop. But you don’t pull away.

Instead, you lift your free hand and let it brush against her cheek, the touch light and hesitant. She freezes, her eyes wide, but she doesn’t pull back.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, the words soft but firm. “Not this time. And I’m not letting you go either.”

Her lips part as if to respond, but no words come. Instead, she leans into your touch, her eyes closing briefly. Through the bond, you feel the tension in her begin to melt, replaced by a quiet, cautious relief.

It’s a fragile thing, this moment, but it’s real.

When she finally opens her eyes, they’re softer than you’ve ever seen them. “You’re not making this easy,” she mutters, though there’s no real bite in her tone.

You smile faintly. “Good. You’ve made me wait long enough.”

Agatha huffs a laugh, shaking her head slightly. “Right, yeah it was all me.” Your palm cups her other cheek and she licks her lips before her gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest moment, and your breath catches. But instead of closing the distance, she presses her cheek into your left palm, her eyes closing again. It’s not quite a kiss, but the intimacy of it is enough to make your heart race.

“Come on,” she says finally, her voice quieter now. “We should keep moving. The road doesn’t wait forever.”

You nod, letting your hand fall reluctantly, though your fingers linger against hers for a moment longer than necessary.

As you walk side by side, the bond pulses steadily between you, stronger than it’s ever been. And for the first time in centuries, it feels like you’re finally moving forward—together.

Each step forward feels lighter, though the weight of the moment lingers between you. Agatha stays close, her hand brushing yours with each unintentional sway. It’s not deliberate—at least, not entirely—but the proximity is unmistakable.

You don’t speak, letting the bond fill the silence. It thrums with a steady rhythm, no longer jagged or uneven, but it carries a tension neither of you can quite shake.

When you glance at her, you find her doing the same—her sharp, calculating gaze flickering away as though you’d caught her in something private.

“Something on your mind?” you ask, your voice light, though your curiosity is anything but.

Agatha exhales sharply, her lips quirking into a faint smirk. “You, apparently.”

The admission catches you off guard, though her tone is sardonic enough to make you question how much she’s revealing. Still, the bond tells another story. The emotions simmering beneath her words—warmth, vulnerability, longing—are unfiltered and raw, impossible to ignore.

“Should I be flattered?” you tease, tilting your head to watch her reaction.

Her smirk falters, replaced by a flicker of something softer. “You always had a way of getting under my skin,” she mutters, her voice quieter now.

You slow your steps, turning to face her fully. “You’re one to talk.”

Agatha stops too, her arms crossing defensively even as her gaze softens. “You’re different than I remember,” she says, her voice almost wistful. “Or maybe… I just forgot.”

Her words settle between you like a confession, the bond humming faintly in response. Memories flash through your mind—moments of laughter, of quiet companionship, of stolen glances you never thought twice about back then.

“I don’t think you forgot,” you say softly, stepping closer. “I think you were just too scared to see it.”

Her jaw tightens, but she doesn’t deny it. Instead, she looks at you with an intensity that makes your chest tighten. “And you weren’t?”

You hesitate, the truth catching in your throat. “I was,” you admit, the words feeling heavier than you expected. “But I didn’t know what it was. I didn’t know what we were I thought we were just…”

“We should keep moving, this area” Agatha cuts you off gesturing around at the forest, “It’s getting cold,” she says, her voice steadier than you expected.

You nod, though you don’t miss the faint tremor in her body as she brushes past you. The bond hums softly, carrying her emotions—conflicted but warm, her resolve wavering but not breaking.

As you fall into step beside her again, the silence is less oppressive, though the tension remains.

The bond wasn’t just magic. It wasn’t just power or connection. It was something more. Something that always had the potential to be everything.

And now you’re starting to piece it together, you always knew there was a reason why you didn’t marry, but you didn’t realise why. Didn’t understand why you couldn’t get over the loss of Agatha, and now, you can’t help but test the waters.

You glance sideways at Agatha, noting how her eyes dart toward you and then quickly away, as if she doesn’t trust herself to look too long. The bond hums with her emotions, faint ripples of curiosity and unease laced with something sweeter—something she’s clearly trying very hard to ignore.

“Agatha,” you say, your tone light, playful.

She raises an eyebrow, her guarded expression slipping into something sharper. “What?”

You don’t answer right away. Instead, you let the bond speak for you, sending a gentle pulse through it—nothing overwhelming, just a soft nudge of warmth, like the magical equivalent of a hand brushing against hers.

Her steps falter for the briefest moment, and her sharp gaze snaps to yours.

“What was that?” she asks, her tone suspicious.

You feign innocence, your lips curling into a faint smile. “What was what?”

Agatha narrows her eyes, and through the bond, you can feel the flicker of her irritation—tinged with just a hint of something more. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

“Do I?” you tease, sending another soft ripple through the bond, this time carrying a spark of affection—light and fleeting, but unmistakable.

Her cheeks flush faintly, and she glares at you. “Stop that,” she says, though her voice lacks its usual edge.

“Stop what?” you ask, your smile widening.

“You’re actually impossible,” she mutters, picking up her pace as if putting distance between you will help.

You follow easily, keeping stride beside her. “I’m just trying to make this bond more... interactive,” you say, the bond pulsing again with a playful nudge.

Agatha groans, her hand rising to pinch the bridge of her nose. “I swear, if you don’t stop—”

“What?” you interrupt, your voice low, teasing.

Her steps halt abruptly, and she spins to face you, her eyes flashing with a mix of irritation and something deeper. The bond flares faintly, her emotions rippling through it—frustration, yes, but also warmth, fondness, and that ever-present flicker of longing.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” she says, her voice low and laced with warning.

You take a step closer, your smile softening. “Maybe.”

Her breath catches, and for a moment, she looks at you like she might actually give in—like she might say or do something that would change everything. But then she shakes her head, her lips quirking into a wry smile.

As you fall back into step beside her, the bond hums with a quiet warmth that feels like laughter, like the shared amusement of two people who are finally starting to understand each other.

You let it carry another ripple, this one deeper—a soft wave of warmth that lingers longer than the others. It’s not overwhelming, but it’s enough to be unmistakable, enough to make Agatha’s steps falter slightly.

Her head snaps toward you, eyes narrowed. “Seriously. What are you doing?”

You bite back a grin, your expression one of feigned innocence. “Walking,” you say simply.

“That wasn’t walking,” she snaps, her voice sharper than it needs to be. But through the bond, you feel the flicker of something else—frustration, yes, but also heat, a spark of something she’s trying desperately to ignore.

“Agatha,” you say, your voice light and teasing, “if I didn’t know better, I’d think you’re a little flustered.”

Her glare sharpens, but the faint flush creeping up her neck betrays her. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I?” you ask, and this time, you let the bond carry not just warmth, but a roaring heat in her abdomen, a phantom brush of your hand against hers. A hand sliding up a thigh.

She stops walking altogether, spinning to face you with an expression caught between irritation and something far more vulnerable. “Why are you doing this?”

“Because I’ve spent centuries not understanding what we were,” you say honestly, taking another step closer. “And now that I’m starting to figure it out, I want to see where it leads.”

Agatha stares at you, her expression flickering between disbelief and something softer. “You can’t just—”

But she doesn’t finish, because you send another wave through the bond, this one gentler, but more deliberate. It’s a feeling of closeness, of warmth, of trust—everything you’ve always felt for her but never quite put into words.

Finally, she exhales sharply, running a hand through her hair in a rare show of frustration. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing to me?”

You step closer still, until there’s barely any space between you. “Why don’t you just tell me? Please Agatha” You’re silent for a moment. The bond feels almost suffocating now, a shared pulse of magic between you, thick with what she’s been holding back.

She finally speaks, and when she does, the words feel like they’ve been ripped from the very core of her. “I’ve been trying to ignore it, to push it down… But you’re making me want you so badly, okay?” She meets your gaze, and you can feel the rawness in her words—her vulnerability laid bare, for once. “I’ve been trying so hard to pretend that this bond, that you aren’t driving me insane. But you are. And I’m so tired of fighting it.”

Your breath catches, the magic between you sparking with the sudden intensity of her admission. You step closer, your heart racing as her emotions flood through the bond—she’s frustrated, yes, but there’s something more, something far deeper: the longing you’ve always known was there.

She continues, her voice barely above a whisper, “Every time you get close, every time you… tease me, I can’t think. The bond, your magic, the way you look at me, I—” She cuts herself off, visibly exasperated. “I’m not saying it’s just magic, because it’s not. I can’t keep pretending like it is.”

You take a step closer, backing Agatha against a tree, and this time, she doesn’t move away. The space between you is a breath, a heartbeat, nothing more. You can feel the heat in her skin, the pulse of her heart beneath your fingers as they brush lightly against her arm.

“You never had to pretend,” you say, your voice quiet but firm. The bond hums in agreement, a feeling of closeness, of shared emotion, building. “Not with me.”

Her gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips, and the bond throbs, sending waves of heat, of longing, through both of you. She doesn’t speak, but you feel it in the way her breath hitches, in the way her hand shifts slightly, almost as if reaching for you. It’s too much, too close, and yet—there’s nowhere else either of you can go.

“Agatha…” You say her name, soft and almost pleading, as the bond pulses with magic too strong to ignore. “Please my angel… stop fighting this.”

She breathes in sharply, and before you can say another word, she closes the gap between you. Her lips crash against yours, urgent, hungry, desperate—as if the bond, the magic, everything between you is finally too much for her to fight.

The kiss is everything: the years of longing, the months of silence, the centuries of distance and heartache all colliding into one desperate, aching moment. Her magic flares around you, and you feel it in every touch, every press of her lips against yours. It’s not just a kiss—it’s everything, all at once, the bond weaving between you with threads of magic and emotion.

When she pulls back, breathless, her forehead resting against yours, she doesn’t say anything. She doesn’t have to. You both know now, in the deepest parts of your being, that this—whatever this is—is what you’ve both been craving for so long.

“I think I’ve been in love with you forever.” You lean forward and take her lower lip into your mouth, sucking on it and humming in response to her moan. You let the lip go with a pop and you look into her dark eyes. “I should’ve kissed you centuries ago.”

Agatha’s eyes are focused on your lips, unable to think of anything else, and she’s about to kiss you again when she hears the snap of a limb breaking underneath someone’s boot.

“Where the hell have you guys been! We’ve been walking hours!”

[queerdaisyjane]

oh sweetie, it’s so cute that you want to fuck me and think I’ll unlock you so you can, just because it’s Christmas and we’re on vacation. No sweetie, today is a big day for you. Go put on your sexiest little panties and meet me back here with your buttplug and lube bottle and I’ll tell you more. Excited? You should be. Ok are you ready? Lube your little boipussy first, darling. Get your fingers way deep inside and stretch your little hole open a bit. Now slowly but firmly force your largest butt plug into your sissy anus. Concentrate on how it feels as it stretches the tightest part of your anus, that inner ring. Pause and let it rest there a bit. Oh don’t cry babe; I know it’s hurting you. That’s the fun part for me! It will start to feel good in a minute.

Can you feel it now? How the pleasure will spread through you, radiating out from your tightest part of your anus? Pull the plug out and shove it back in a few times. Imagine it’s a big hard penis attached to a tall, dark, and sexy man. I know that’s what you truly desire, to give yourself completely to a man, to be his gay little sissy princess, his boiwife. Fuck yourself with the plug as you imagine it while I tell you the next part of the secret.

You know I’ve been fucking Marcus all the time we’ve been married. Yes, I know I gaslighted you relentlessly to make you think you were crazy, playing the innocent wifey. But you were right all along—I never stopped fucking my ex, even when we got married. When you came home and I seemed extra wet and excited for your little whiteboi peepee, four inches hard on a good day, it was because you were just fucking his black cum back into me. Couldn’t you smell it down there? His jizz smells so manly and rank to me, but I guess I’ve been trained by him to be super aroused by his scent.

Anyway, his brother Jamal is going to get out of prison soon and needs a place to stay. And Marcus’s lease is up on the apartment too babe. Yes, I told you it was a pied à terre for when i worked late, but really I was just sleeping there with Marcus. Yes, you paid for the very bed I, your lovely wife, fucked him in.

So here’s what I’m thinking. You’re going to sign over everything to me. Yes, every single thing. Then I’m going to divorce you, which you won’t contest, and Marcus will move in here. He will be my man and take your place in my bed. No i’m not marrying him! Do you think I’m an idiot? He’s just somebody to fuck. I’m done with men forever. Jamal will take the guest room and you will start to date him and sleep with him as his girlfriend. What do you think, sissy soon-to-be-ex hubby?

Well I don’t know sweetie, he’s been in prison, so I don’t really know much about him, other than he’s Marcus’ older brother. I know he played pro football for awhile but got busted for spousal abuse and was sentenced to four years away in a maximum security facility. Yes, she had to go to the hospital with multiple injuries but she didn’t die. She refused to press charges so he received a very light sentence, considering what he did to her.

Anyway, he’s had a little sissy whiteboi prison wife these past few years and decided he wanted to continue with one when he got out. Marcus showed me the poor boi’s picture. Jamal got him on HRT and starved him for months until he was the size and shape of a high school cheerleader. Problem solved! You’ll be Jamal’s next project. You can support him and all of us with your straight job earnings and you’ll do double duty when needed with Jamal’s clients, either as a drug mule, or as a tribute whore entertaining his business associates. I wouldn’t be surprised if he wants you to start on hormones too, babe. You’ll pay for your own feminization, of course.

Jamal is also part owner in a strip bar and runs an escort service from there, so I’d at least try to act as if I was very happy about the arrangement if you don’t want to work in a brothel for the rest of your short, sad, drug-addled life. Oh sweetie, don’t cry, I’m sure if he’s anything like Marcus, Jamal will have a magnificent penis that he can stuff in your all your holes anytime he wants.

[winonaparadise]

Maybe I’m somehow super unaware that I missed it but where’re you posting GWH nowadays? ;3;

Thank you for asking, and thank you for reading GWH! Unfortunately, it basically doesn't exist right now outside of like, the things I'm trying to make behind the scenes. I lost a lot of steam when the new format I worked really hard on lost a lot of traction and didn't sell as much as i had hoped (not anyone's fault besides my own and, maybe also Elon Musk's for kind of fundamentally destroying twitter dot com as we knew it) and also the second installment of it being 90% finished and then just being entirely lost to a hard drive failure also really just sent me into a spiral. And I also kind of just started hating my own work and art after that, have been working to try and improve, and keep my chin up despite watching a lot of my peers find success before me. Which is admitting one of my very selfish, ugly thoughts - but I do feel like maybe my webcomic was stupid and a waste of effort because it was never "legitimized" via publication like a lot of others surrounding me have been.

I've been kind of struggling with what to make lately. I have tried a lot of things that didn't really take off and it's left me confused about what to do. I feel like every shot I take at something isn't really met with much enthusiasm (again, nobody's fault but my own but if you want to blame this one on Musk as well sure why not) and I don't know how else to gauge if I'm doing the right thing. I think and write something for GWH almost every day, though. I am slowly chipping away at this vague idea of a "visual novel" version that will hopefully allow me to tell a contained story in one piece rather than falling off like I've done in the past. I really, really want to make that.

And in all total complete probably unsurprising honesty I'm just very depressed. Like seriously-considering-suicide-every-week-depressed. I'm sorry if that is a flippant way to express it, but I don't know how else to than to try and couch it in some flippant language. I don't have a lot of money, my health hasn't been very good, and I spend days and sometimes weeks entirely by myself. Making stuff is very difficult with these conditions and unfortunately (fortunately?) the cure to at least some of that is probably making more stuff! It's just taking some time and I really apologize for that. I hope you can forgive me and you'll like whatever I manage to make next. Thank you.

[niallerspayno]

Behind Closed Doors (Harry Styles x reader) - Fic Request

Masterlist

Anonymous request: Hiiiii can you do a imagine where it’s harry x reader and it’s during one direction and the reader is the sixth member of one direction and is dating harry but in secret because of the management and the boys catch them making out on the tour bus and never let them love it down? xx

Tags: Harry x reader, frat boy Harry era, friends to lovers, secret dating, fluff, smut

…

“You were amazing out there tonight,” Harry says softly, breaking the comfortable silence between you. He’s leaning back, his arm resting along the back of the couch, his green eyes fixed on you in a way that makes your stomach flip.

You smile, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “You say that after every show, Harry. You’re not tired of repeating yourself?”

“Never,” he replies, his voice unwavering. “Because it’s true. Every single time.”

You try to laugh it off, shrugging. “I’m just trying to keep up with you lot. You’re the real stars here.”

“Stop that,” he says suddenly, his tone serious. You glance at him in surprise, and he’s sitting up now, his eyes locked on yours. “Stop brushing it off like that. You belong here just as much as any of us. You’re incredible, and it’s about time you believed it.”

You feel heat creep up your neck, his words catching you off guard. “Harry, where’s this coming from?”

He hesitates, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows hard. “I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” he starts, his voice quieter now, more vulnerable. “And I’ve been putting it off because I wasn’t sure if I should, or if it would mess everything up, but…” He runs a hand through his curls, exhaling shakily. “I can’t keep it to myself anymore.”

Your heart pounds, the weight of his words settling over you. “What is it?” you ask softly.

“I care about you,” he says, his words rushing out. “More than I should, probably. More than just as… friends or bandmates. I have for a while now.”

Your breath catches, and you sit up straighter, your pulse thundering in your ears. “Harry…”

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping to his hands. “I know it’s selfish, and I’ve tried to push it down, but it’s always there. Every time I look at you, every time we laugh, every time you’re on that stage killing it… I can’t ignore it anymore.”

The vulnerability in his voice makes your chest ache, and you find yourself reaching out, your hand brushing his arm. “Harry, you’re not selfish,” you say, your voice trembling. “Because I feel the same way.”

His head snaps up, his eyes wide with surprise. “You do?”

You nod, your heart hammering. “I do. I’ve just been scared. Because of the band, because of management…”

“Then let’s not tell them,” he says quickly, shifting closer to you. “At least, not yet. It can just be our thing, something that’s just for us. Please. I don’t want to miss out on this—on us—because of them.”

You hesitate, the weight of the decision pressing on you. But when you look at him, his eyes filled with hope and fear and something else—something deeper—you know there’s no going back.

“Okay,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “Let’s keep it between us. For now.”

Relief washes over his face, and his smile is so full of emotion it nearly takes your breath away. He reaches out, his hand cradling your cheek as he searches your eyes. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he murmurs.

Before you can respond, his lips are on yours, soft and tentative at first, as if he’s afraid to push too far. But when you kiss him back, your hand sliding into his hair, he deepens the kiss, pouring everything he’s been holding back into it.

The world fades away, the distant sounds of the crew and the hum of the venue disappearing. It’s just you and Harry, and for the first time, everything feels right.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless. His forehead rests against yours, and he smiles, his dimples making your heart skip.

“One step at a time,” he says softly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. “We’ll figure this out together.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Together.”

And in that moment, you know you’ve just crossed a line you can never uncross—but you wouldn’t have it any other way.

…

A week later you’re snuggled with Harry in the back of the tour bus. Harry’s hand is warm against yours, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. The faint glow of his phone illuminates his face, casting shadows that highlight his cheekbones and the soft curve of his lips.

“You know,” he murmurs, his voice low to avoid waking anyone, “I think this might be my favorite part of touring.”

You raise an eyebrow, a teasing smile tugging at your lips. “Sitting on a lumpy couch in a moving box with no privacy? Sounds dreamy.”

He laughs softly, his dimples appearing as he leans in closer, his curls brushing against your temple. “No, smartass. Being with you. Like this.”

Your cheeks flush, and you’re about to respond when the bus lurches slightly, making you both laugh under your breath. The sound feels too loud in the otherwise quiet space, and you instinctively glance toward the curtain, half-expecting someone to appear.

“Relax,” Harry whispers, sensing your nerves. “They’re all dead asleep. Besides, they’d never look back here. Too lazy.”

You want to believe him, but the weight of the secret feels heavier in moments like this. “I just don’t want them to figure it out,” you admit, your voice barely audible. “Not yet.”

He squeezes your hand, his expression softening. “They won’t. And even if they do… it’s not the end of the world, yeah? They’d understand.”

Before you can respond, his lips brush against yours, soft and careful, like he’s savoring the moment. You kiss him back, your hand slipping into his hair, and for a brief second, it’s just the two of you in your own little world.

“Oi, where’s my charger?”

The voice snaps you apart like a rubber band snapping under pressure. You both freeze, your eyes wide as you hear Liam’s voice from the bunk area.

“Check by the table,” comes Niall’s sleepy reply.

There’s the sound of movement, and you can hear Liam’s footsteps coming closer. Harry quickly sits back, grabbing a pillow and tossing it into his lap, trying to look nonchalant. You scramble to fix your hair and sit up straight, your heart racing.

The curtain pulls back slightly, and Liam peers in, his brows furrowing. “What are you two doing back here?”

Harry’s quick to respond, his voice casual but steady. “Just talking. Couldn’t sleep.”

You nod, hoping your expression is neutral. “Yeah, same.”

Liam eyes the two of you suspiciously for a moment before shrugging. “Right. Well, if you see my charger, let me know.”

“Will do,” Harry says, offering a quick smile.

As soon as Liam disappears, you let out a shaky breath, your hand flying to your chest. “That was too close,” you whisper.

Harry grins, clearly amused by your reaction. “Admit it. You love the thrill.”

You glare at him, though you can’t suppress the small smile creeping onto your face. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, leaning in to steal one last quick kiss before settling back into the couch.

Despite the close call, you can’t help but feel the smallest thrill in your chest. For now, at least, your secret is safe.

…

The arena is buzzing with energy as the boys prep for soundcheck. The stage is set, crew members moving around to fine-tune everything before the show. You’re standing at the side, leaning against a speaker, watching them all warm up. Harry stands next to you, hands tucked in his pockets, his usual mischievous grin on full display.

You laugh at something he says, just a little louder than you intend, and Harry gives you a playful wink, leaning in closer. The way you two interact is casual, but it’s clear to anyone watching that there’s something more.

“Oi, what’s going on here?” Louis calls from the center of the stage, raising an eyebrow with a teasing smirk. “You two getting all cozy or something?”

You freeze for a split second, your stomach dropping as your heart picks up pace. Harry quickly shifts, straightening up as though nothing’s wrong, though the faintest glint of mischief dances in his eyes.

“What?” Harry says, throwing Louis an easy grin. “We’re just messing about.”

“Yeah, totally,” you add too quickly, nervously brushing your hair behind your ear. “We’re just joking.” You catch Harry’s eye, both of you fighting the urge to laugh, but the tension in the air is undeniable.

Zayn, who’s been quietly tuning his microphone, glances up from across the stage, a subtle but sharp look in your direction. He doesn’t say anything, but you catch the way his gaze lingers on you both.

Niall, ever the curious one, furrows his brow as he steps closer, his eyes flicking between you and Harry. “Really? You two are just ‘messing about,’ huh?”

You flash him a nervous smile, trying to keep your cool. “Yeah, of course. Just having a laugh.” Your voice comes out higher than usual, betraying your nerves.

Harry laughs lightly, a little too loudly. “Yeah, nothing to see here. Just good old banter, mate.” He nudges you with his elbow, leaning in slightly, making it look even more casual.

Louis narrows his eyes playfully but doesn’t push it. “Alright, alright. I’ll drop it. But, Harry,” he smirks, “You’re not trying to steal our secret weapon, are you?”

“What? You mean her charming personality?” Harry teases, a grin tugging at his lips.

You bite back a smile, but you can’t help but feel your cheeks heat up. “Harry’s right,” you say quickly, “I’m just full of charm.”

The other boys exchange looks, and Liam steps forward from where he’s been testing his mic. “You two are a bit too… familiar with each other. Are you sure there’s nothing more going on?”

You laugh nervously again, your hand instinctively reaching for your water bottle. “Nothing at all, Liam. Honestly.” You take a sip, hoping it’ll ease the tension, but it doesn’t seem to help.

Harry gives Liam a quick grin, trying to make light of it. “What can I say? We get along well. Nothing suspicious about that.”

Zayn’s gaze flicks between you two again, his expression unreadable. “Sure,” he says dryly, before turning his attention back to the mic stand.

Niall watches the two of you, a hint of suspicion in his eyes, but he shrugs it off with a grin. “Alright, whatever. You’re both weird, but I’m too hungry to care right now.” He heads toward the back of the stage, probably in search of snacks.

“Yeah, we’re all weird, Niall,” Louis chuckles, clearly dropping the subject. He starts fiddling with some drumsticks, but he shoots you both a look that lingers just a little too long.

The atmosphere in the room settles, but the unease lingers. You’re both careful now—trying to seem normal, to keep things light, but the tension between you and Harry is almost palpable.

Once the boys are distracted again, you exchange a quick look with Harry. His smile softens as he meets your gaze, his eyes saying everything words can’t.

“Close call,” you whisper, your voice still a little shaky.

“Yeah,” he agrees, though there’s a hint of amusement in his voice. “They’ll never figure it out.”

You roll your eyes, trying to suppress your smile. “You wish.”

He shrugs, looking far too pleased with himself. “Trust me, they’re too busy with themselves to catch on. But hey,” he adds, his voice dropping low, “we have to be careful.”

“I know,” you whisper back, feeling your heart race again, even as the other boys continue to rehearse. Despite the close call, you can’t shake the feeling that this game of pretending isn’t going to stay a secret for much longer. But for now, you’re safe—at least until the next time the boys catch on.

…

The tour bus hums softly as it barrels down the highway, the gentle motion lulling you closer to sleep. You’re curled up in your tiny bunk, the curtain pulled shut to block out the dim glow of the hallway light. Just as your eyelids grow heavy, you hear the rustle of the curtain, and Harry slips in without a word, his face illuminated by the faint glow of his phone.

“Harry, what are you doing?” you whisper sharply, your voice a little more panicked than you mean.

“Missed you,” he murmurs, his voice low, already sliding into the cramped space beside you. His body presses against yours, warmth flooding the small, cool space.

“This is a terrible idea,” you hiss, but you don’t push him away. Instead, you shift to make room for him, your heart pounding at the proximity.

“Relax,” he whispers, tugging the curtain closed behind him, blocking the hallway from view. He pulls you closer, his arm sliding around your waist as he presses a soft kiss to your temple. “No one will hear us. They’re all asleep.”

You want to protest, to tell him the risk isn’t worth it, but the feel of his body against yours makes it hard to think clearly. “One of these days, they’re going to catch us,” you mutter, though your words come out breathy.

“They won’t,” he promises, his voice confident but hushed. His hand slips under your shirt, the warm skin of his palm gliding slowly across your stomach. You shiver at the touch, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Before you can speak again, his lips find your neck, pressing soft, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin just below your ear. You try to swallow back a breathy gasp, biting your lip to keep quiet.

“Harry…” you whisper, your voice breaking as he nips at your skin.

“Hmmm?” He hums against your neck, his lips moving lower, brushing just below your jaw. His hand slides down, fingers lightly tracing your side, sending sparks of electricity through your body.

You can’t stop the soft hitch in your breath, and you quickly bite your lip harder to stop yourself from making noise. But it’s impossible to ignore the way his touch ignites something deep inside you, the heat between you two building with each soft caress.

“Harry, we can’t,” you breathe, your voice barely a whisper, trying to pull back slightly. But his hand moves to your waist, pulling you in even closer.

“I don’t care,” he murmurs against your skin, his lips trailing to the curve of your shoulder, the sound of his breath warming your neck. His fingers slide under the waistband of your shorts, fingertips brushing the sensitive skin of your hip, making you shiver.

Just as your mind is completely consumed with him, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

You freeze, your body going rigid against him as the footsteps draw closer.

“Where the bloody hell is my charger?” Niall’s voice rings out, groggy but loud enough that you can hear every word clearly.

You glance up at Harry, and his lips are still hovering near your neck, his eyes flashing with mischief and something darker. He doesn’t pull back. Instead, his lips press softly to the sensitive spot below your ear, his hands running up your side, his thumb grazing the sensitive skin just beneath your ribs.

You bite your lip hard to keep from making a sound, heart hammering in your chest as Niall’s footsteps come closer. You can hear him mumbling to himself as he shuffles toward the back of the bus, then opening a drawer.

“Check by the table!” Niall mutters, clearly distracted.

You press your forehead to Harry’s, barely able to breathe as your hands clutch onto his shirt. You’re too afraid to move, afraid that the tiniest sound will betray you.

There’s a faint sound of Niall rummaging through the kitchen area, followed by the dull clink of a cup. You wait, your pulse racing, and when the footsteps start to fade, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.

Harry’s hand slowly slides back down your side, and he pulls back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath hot on your lips. “Told you they wouldn’t catch us,” he murmurs, his voice thick with amusement.

You can’t help the small, breathy laugh that escapes your lips. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he teases, his hand coming up to gently cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your skin.

You shake your head, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips despite everything. He presses another soft kiss to your lips, and you can’t help but kiss him back, your body relaxing just a little, even though you know the danger isn’t over yet.

...

The concert venue is a maze of hallways and hidden nooks, and Louis has, unsurprisingly, decided to turn it into his playground.

“Hide and seek! Thirty seconds to hide, and I’m coming for you!” he declares, hands covering his face as he starts to count.

Everyone scatters, laughter and hurried footsteps echoing through the backstage area. You find yourself heading down a narrow hallway, your pulse already racing—not just from the game, but from the thought of Harry finding a way to be alone with you.

You turn a corner and nearly collide with him, his green eyes lighting up with amusement.

“Lost, are we?” he whispers, his voice low and teasing.

“Looking for a spot,” you reply, trying to sound calm despite the butterflies swarming in your chest.

Harry grabs your hand before you can take another step. “This way.”

Before you can argue, he pulls you toward a door marked Storage. He pushes it open, and the two of you slip inside. The small room smells faintly of cardboard and cleaning supplies, shelves stacked high with boxes and equipment. Harry closes the door softly, plunging you both into shadows, with only a faint glow of light from the crack under the door.

“Harry, this is—”

“Perfect,” he whispers, cutting you off as he turns to face you. His hands find your waist, pulling you against him.

“Not perfect,” you start to protest, but the words die on your lips as he leans in, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that’s anything but innocent.

You respond instinctively, your arms looping around his neck as his hands grip your waist, pulling you closer. The kiss deepens quickly, his lips moving with an urgency that sends your pulse racing.

“Harry,” you murmur against his mouth, but he doesn’t stop. His lips trail down to your jaw, then your neck, finding the sensitive spot just beneath your ear. You tilt your head, biting your lip to suppress a sound when his teeth graze your skin.

“Shhh,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. “They’ll hear us.”

His hands slide lower, one settling firmly on your hip while the other sneaks beneath your shirt, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin. The sensation sends a shiver down your spine, your body reacting to his touch despite the danger of being caught.

“Harry,” you try again, your voice barely a whisper, but he’s already moving. His hand slips lower, over the waistband of your leggings, and then beneath.

You gasp softly, your head falling back against the wall as his fingers find you, his touch deliberate and maddeningly slow.

“Quiet,” he murmurs, his lips finding yours again. He kisses you deeply, his free hand tangling in your hair to keep you anchored to him.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, your body arching into his as his fingers work their magic. The rhythm he sets is enough to make your knees weak, and you have to bite down on his shoulder to keep from making a sound.

“Harry,” you whisper, the word barely audible, but it’s enough to make him grin against your lips.

“You’ve got to be quiet,” he says, his voice low and filled with amusement.

You’re about to retort, but he presses his mouth to yours again, swallowing any sound you might’ve made. His fingers move faster, his precision making it nearly impossible to stay silent.

When you feel a moan threaten to escape, Harry’s hand comes up, covering your mouth gently. His eyes meet yours, his gaze dark and filled with both heat and a silent warning.

“Not a sound,” he whispers, leaning in to press kisses along your jaw.

You nod weakly, your body trembling as the pressure builds, his movements relentless. His free hand trails down your arm, anchoring you to him as his lips find the sensitive spot on your neck again.

Your breathing quickens, your grip on his shirt tightening as you come undone beneath his touch. He swallows your muffled cries with his kisses, his hand never faltering until you’re left breathless and boneless against the wall.

Just as you’re catching your breath, you hear footsteps in the hallway.

“Where are you lot hiding?” Louis’ voice echoes, followed by Niall’s laughter.

Your heart leaps into your throat, but Harry doesn’t pull away. Instead, he grins, his forehead pressing against yours as you both listen intently.

The footsteps pause outside the door, and you hold your breath, praying that Louis won’t check inside. After what feels like an eternity, the footsteps continue down the hall, and you exhale in relief.

“That was close,” you whisper, your voice still shaky.

Harry chuckles softly, brushing his lips against yours one more time before stepping back. “Close, but worth it.”

You roll your eyes, though you can’t stop the smile spreading across your face. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you love it,” he teases, grabbing your hand and giving it a quick squeeze.

As the two of you quietly slip back into the game, your cheeks still flushed and your heart racing, you can’t help but feel a little thrill at what just happened. But one thing’s for sure—this game of hide and seek has never been so memorable.

...

The concert had been electric, the adrenaline of the crowd still coursing through your veins as the five of you spill backstage. The boys are buzzing with post-show energy, laughing and recounting moments from the performance as they head toward the tour bus parked outside the venue.

You and Harry, however, hang back, exchanging lingering glances that spark something hotter than just the high of the show.

As the others disappear into the bus, Harry gives you a knowing smirk. “You coming?”

“Not yet,” you reply, your voice low and teasing, tilting your head toward the quiet corner of the lot.

His brows lift in mock surprise, but he doesn’t need convincing. Within seconds, he’s following you into the shadowed side of the bus, away from the bright floodlights and prying eyes.

The cool night air brushes your skin, but it does nothing to temper the heat building between you as Harry steps closer. His hands are on your waist before you can say another word, his mouth finding yours with a desperation that makes your heart race.

“You’re playing with fire,” he murmurs against your lips, his voice low and thick with amusement.

“Maybe I like the heat,” you reply, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him back into another kiss.

The kiss quickly deepens, his hands roaming over your back and slipping under the hem of your shirt. The rough pads of his fingers against your bare skin make you shiver, and you press closer, your body molding against his.

“You’re going to drive me mad,” he says, his lips brushing against your jaw as he trails kisses down your neck. His teeth graze your skin, and you bite your lip to keep from moaning, the memory of the storage closet still fresh in your mind.

“Good,” you whisper, your voice breathy as your hands slide under his shirt, your nails lightly scraping along his abdomen.

His breath hitches, and he retaliates by pinning you gently against the side of the bus, his thigh pressing between yours as his lips return to yours, hungrier this time. The faint smell of engine oil and the distant hum of voices inside the bus fade into the background, your entire focus consumed by the way his body feels against yours, the way his hands know exactly where to touch.

“Payback,” you murmur against his lips, your fingers toying with the waistband of his jeans.

“For what?” he asks, his voice rasping as he kisses the corner of your mouth.

“The closet,” you reply, tugging him closer.

He chuckles, low and deep. “You didn’t seem to mind.”

Before you can respond, the sound of a door swinging open makes you both freeze.

“Oi, where are you two—” Louis’ voice rings out, sharp and teasing, but it cuts off abruptly.

You turn your head just enough to see him standing there, his mouth agape. Behind him, Liam, Niall, and Zayn appear, each one registering the scene with varying degrees of shock, amusement, and disbelief.

“Oh, my God,” Niall mutters, a laugh bubbling out as he covers his mouth.

Harry steps back, his hands still lingering on your waist as he turns to face the boys, his expression a mix of guilt and defiance. “Uh, hey, lads.”

“You have got to be joking,” Louis says, a grin breaking across his face. “How long has this been going on?”

Liam crosses his arms, his brows furrowed. “So this is why you’ve been sneaking around?”

Zayn, ever the calm one, just smirks. “Well, that explains the looks.”

You feel your face flush, but Harry tightens his grip on your waist, grounding you. “Alright, fine,” he says, his tone firm despite the slight flush on his cheeks. “We’ve been seeing each other.”

“Secretly,” you add, your voice quieter.

“Obviously,” Louis quips, gesturing at the two of you. “What, you thought we wouldn’t notice the stolen glances and the disappearing acts?”

Harry runs a hand through his hair, clearly trying to keep his cool. “We just… didn’t want to make things complicated.”

“Too late for that, mate,” Niall says, grinning. “You’re both rubbish at hiding it, anyway.”

“Listen,” you interject, your voice more serious now. “You can’t tell anyone. Not yet.”

“Management,” Harry explains, his voice hardening slightly. “They’ll lose it if they find out. You know how they are.”

The boys exchange looks, their teasing expressions softening.

Liam nods first. “Alright. If it’s about management, we’ll keep it quiet—for now.”

“But,” Louis interjects, pointing a finger at both of you, “you owe us. Big time.”

“Agreed,” Niall says, still grinning. “This is prime blackmail material, and you’ve just handed it to us on a silver platter.”

Zayn shrugs, his smirk turning into a small smile. “As long as you’re happy, I’m not saying anything. But don’t think we won’t give you hell about it.”

“Fair enough,” Harry replies, his lips twitching into a grin.

“Seriously, though,” Liam adds, his tone softer. “You know we’ve got your backs. Just… try not to get caught like this again, yeah? We can’t cover for you forever.”

You nod, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. “Thank you.”

Louis claps his hands together, his mischievous grin returning. “Now, get on the bus before someone else catches you. And try not to make out too much in front of us. We don’t need the trauma.”

As the boys retreat back into the bus, still laughing and throwing jabs, you turn to Harry, your shoulders relaxing.

“Well, that could’ve been worse,” you murmur.

Harry chuckles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple. “Worth it,” he says, his green eyes sparkling with amusement and something softer as he looks at you.

The moment you and Harry step onto the bus, the teasing begins.

“Well, well, look who decided to grace us with their presence!” Louis exclaims, sprawling on one of the couches with a smug grin. “Our very own Bonnie and Clyde.”

“You guys done snogging, or do we need to give you more time?” Niall quips, his eyes twinkling with mischief as he munches on a bag of crisps.

You groan, your face heating up as you slip into the nearest seat, hoping the cushions will somehow swallow you whole. “Can we not make a big deal out of this?” you mumble, avoiding their gazes.

“Not a big deal?” Zayn drawls, raising an eyebrow as he leans casually against the wall. “You were practically glued together out there. Pretty sure the bus driver heard you.”

Liam sighs, though you can see the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Alright, guys, ease up. Let’s not traumatize them too much.”

“Oh, come on, Liam,” Louis says, grinning wickedly. “This is the highlight of my week. I mean, think about it—Harry Styles caught red-handed. And with our very own Y/N, no less!”

“Shocking,” Zayn deadpans.

Harry, to your surprise—and slight annoyance—takes it all in stride. He sprawls lazily beside you, draping an arm over the back of your seat with an infuriatingly smug grin. “Jealous, are you?” he drawls, shooting Louis a pointed look.

Louis clutches his chest dramatically. “Oh, absolutely gutted, mate. I thought we had something special.”

Harry laughs, his dimples flashing as he leans back. “Sorry to break it to you, Lou. My heart belongs to someone else.”

You swat at his arm, mortified. “Harry!”

“What?” he asks innocently, turning to you with a playful smirk. “It’s true.”

Niall lets out a low whistle, his grin widening. “Look at him. Not even embarrassed. Meanwhile, she looks like she wants to sink through the floor.”

“She’s not used to your incessant chatter,” Harry retorts, giving Niall a pointed look. “Give her a break, yeah?”

“Oi, don’t act all protective now,” Louis cuts in, his grin wicked. “You didn’t seem to mind showing off out there.”

“Showing off?” Harry repeats, raising an eyebrow. “Pretty sure you lot interrupted what was shaping up to be a very good time for me.”

The boys erupt into laughter, and your embarrassment deepens as you bury your face in your hands. “I hate all of you,” you groan, though there’s no real malice in your voice.

“Aw, she loves us really,” Niall says, his voice sing-song as he throws a crisp at you.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Zayn teases, smirking as he sits across from you.

Harry leans closer, his voice low enough for only you to hear. “They’ll let it go eventually. Maybe in a year or two.”

You glare at him, but his soft laugh and the sparkle in his eyes make it impossible to stay mad. “You’re not helping,” you mutter.

“Not trying to,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to your temple.

“Alright, enough,” Liam says, trying to restore some semblance of order. “Let’s at least agree not to bring it up in front of management, yeah? We promised we’d keep this quiet.”

“Fine, fine,” Louis says, waving a hand dismissively. “But you can’t stop me from enjoying the fact that you two got busted.”

“Enjoy it all you want,” Harry says, his smirk returning. “Just remember, I know all your secrets too.”

The boys exchange amused glances, and the teasing finally begins to die down as the conversation shifts to lighter topics. But you can still feel the occasional glance their way, and every now and then, a sly comment slips through.

Despite the endless ribbing, Harry’s calm confidence keeps you grounded. He doesn’t seem fazed by any of it, his hand casually resting on your thigh under the table where no one else can see. And when you catch his eye, the warmth in his smile reminds you why the chaos is worth it.

As the bus rolls into the night, the teasing fades into the background, and you find yourself leaning into Harry’s side, a small smile tugging at your lips. Because no matter what, you know you’ll face it together.

[velvetvexations]

"Women do traditionally feminine stuff because they are afraid of the men in their lives." Hilarious, because for me growing up all of the worst misogyny I faced was at the hands of other women, usually family and friends, and whenever I caved into the pressure to do feminine things I didn't want to it was specifically because I was seeking the approval of other women. None of the men in my life have ever forced femininity on me the way the cis women have. The people who made fun of me for dressing "badly" and not shaving and spread rumors I was secretly a boy were all girls. I kept trying to get into makeup, not because I wanted boys to think I was cute(all the guys who've shown interest in me have actually liked me just fine the way I am), but because I wanted the women around me to see me as one of them and I never felt like I was.

Even when women aren't pressuring me to do girly things I still feel the pressure because I'm the only woman I know who doesn't and it makes me feel like a freak. I don't care what the men around me think, a guy getting weird about my not shaving or wearing makeup would be instantly disqualified from my dating pool without a second thought, being raised a feminist very quickly inoculated me against giving a shit what men think, but the women? My whole life I have been trying so hard to be one of them and it's still hard work to ignore the annoying internalized patriarchal cisheteronormative bullshit in my head making me think I need to be more like them and less like me. And I genuinely don't know if there will ever come a day when I can hang out in a group of women and not feel like an imposter just waiting to be discovered and killed.

And I know that my experiences aren't universal any more than the person who originally said that's are, but like. It's just wild to me that trans people especially will chalk all of the pressure to conform to gender roles up to shitty men and completely ignore how heavily the patriarchy incentivizes women to not only violently police each other's femininity but also destroy ourselves seeking the approval of the very women who are violently policing our femininity.

EXACTLY.

I love cis women who our allies with all my heart and soul, but we need to stop being desperate for their approval. The cis women who DO care about us would be the first to admit they as a category need to do a lot better, so why do we pussyfoot around them being just as horrible to us as cis men can be?

With trans women it feels like we're just trying to link arms under the exact same oppressive patriarchy because it feels like that's what being a woman is, haha yeah, men hate us, I mean they hate us in different ways and you hate us too but what matters above all else is that we're the exact same thing right? Oh, sorry, like seventy percent of you don't believe that and are violently disgusted by the thought of coming anywhere near me? But I also fear men!

And trans men...

"Women are soooo scared of me, yeah you better cover your drink around trans men too, I mean not that I would do anything personally, but I could, because I'm a man, and that means I could oppress and hurt you, theoretically!"

Listen, bro, most cis women aren't scared of you, they're laughing at you, and frankly so am I, not because it's impossible for a trans man to be a person who's intimidating, but because you're so needy for validation that you've developed a patriarchy fetish you can't turn off.

None of this is to say we should ignore the crimes of cis men or that cis women aren't also another marginalized class, and again, I love cis women who're trans allies, they're amazing, wonderful people and I would never want to leave them behind or seem ungrateful.

[madameevil]

These are just my own thoughts, I'm not here to try and prove anything is right one way or another.

"Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains."

Those two didn't come across that way to me. Elgar'nan started out as a general of the army against the Titans. He didn't relinquish the power he obtained after that because he believed the Elven people needed guidance ("stern leadership") and that his strength could protect them from future threats. Mythal agreed in the sense that they needed leader to unite their people.

Elves being, as far as we're aware, the first spirits to take on a mortal form were not aware of the potential corruption that would occur. We know this occurs when they can't fulfill their initial purpose. Through this Elgar'nan grows to be a tyrant when he's unable to abide by his initial purpose. What was his initial purpose? Hard to say. Emmrich calls him a "Manifestation of Tyranny." We'd probably have to look into exactly how the spirit corrupted to then deduce what he was prior.

Ghilan'nain was the only (?) mortal elf brought into the pantheon. She used to create living wonders. After she was brought into the pantheon, we know that she grew to be more twisted. She sought to push the boundaries of creation further. Since she was mortal first, I don't think her corruption to "villainy" is like Elgar'nan's. Given the dialogue she has with Solas in one of the memories, I interpreted her need to keep pushing as "I have to continue to prove myself." / "Prove to the others that I actually belong here." because she doesn't have the distinction of being a first-born and immortal.

Now we take these character flaws and we add a dash of blight to them...

The blight comes from the compressed anger and suffering of the titans. It's anger and corruption seeps into the individual and slowly consumes them. So the blight would them amplify any anger those two had pushing them to the extremes. With the codex entries we get featuring letters, Solas's memories with the wolf statues, or his memories in the crossroads that we play through...or even the way Elgar'nan talks to. I wouldn't put them as "evil for evil's sake" villains. I think their character flaws or corruption they faced was simply amplified by the blight. The blight they thought they could control. Which leads me to "A God's Arrogance"

"For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure."

I think the concept of "A God's Arrogance" explains this fine. They're two individuals who still view themselves as Gods. If they viewed the far more advanced ancient elves as well beneath them then modern elves or any other beings are even lower. If ancient elves were cattle, modern creatures are ants. Why would a God ever think that an ant could be a problem? Why would a God ever think that an army of ants be a problem? From a more "evil" God perspective: If that's not enough then why kill something when you can try to break them down? Why kill them when you can relish in their squirming? And better yet, this one is a pawn to the only being you actually still view as a threat. So why not make them watch you break down their piece slowly?

Now if Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain were actually Gods then perhaps they would have just stepped on the ant and moved on. But they're not. They're pretending to be Gods. They're acting how they think Gods would act. It's honestly a difficult thing to write. Writing Gods in general is hard because we're physically incapable of putting ourselves in the shoes of a being with so much power. Writing someone who is acting like how they think Gods should act and then adding in thousands of years of isolated torture and corruption, is another thing.

"they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead?"

This also relates to "A God's Arrogance." When we play through Solas's memories in the Crossroads we hear Ghilan'nain claim she can control the blight. That she is somehow stronger and can hone it into something more than just a mindless raging plague. Elgar'nan then continuously reassures her of this fact if you eavesdrop on their conversations at the golden tree thing at the start of the Crossroads. Ghilan'nain believes she can take the blight and control it to not end up with everything/everyone dead. She believes this is the next step in evolution and it's a gift to receive it from her. This isn't "Because they are evil" , to me that is a gross oversimplification of their motivations.

Whether those motivations strike you as compelling is your choice.

"This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded."

The companions do discuss it. The reason they choose not to bring it up is because of how they believe it would impact the elves and there's nothing to gain by throwing the world into further chaos than it already is. The Elves are already discriminated against, then two of their Gods emerge and cause an apocalyptic situation, so why would they then choose to add another target on their back by challenging the chantry? I agreed with the characters here. I don't think it's the right time. I would love to see this lead to a gradual change in future games though!

Whether this reasoning is enough for you, is your choice.

"We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. [...] His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. [...] His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. [...]Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?"

I think there are far more eloquent people who can talk about Solas's role in the story and his motivations. His actions seem heavily based in both The Cycle of Abuse and Survivors Guilt. These are powerful motivators. These motivators also parallel the individual companion stories.

Lucanis has suffered abuse at the hands of his grandmother and family members. Lucanis also has survivors guilt when he believes his grandmother was killed. He tries to avoid it but you hear about it in his mind prison.

Davrin has suffered from institutional abuse. He's convinced his sole purpose in life is to die now. He brings it up constantly. He also suffers from survivors guilt after Weisshaupt. You can talk to him about it when he presents to you the wood carvings of his friends who didn't survive. He even shouts out, something along the lines of "why am I still here when they're not?"

Neve has survivors guilt about what happened to Rana's partner. She talks to you about how everyone around her dies or gets hurt.

Emmrich has survivors guilt about what happened to his parents that leads into his fear of dying. If you choose not to save Manfred, he's heard crying in his room and struggling to accept it.

Bellara has survivors guilt about what happened to her brother. She blames herself for it. She hopes that she can do enough that she'll be able to forgive herself.

I think Taash's story relates to Solas's predicament in a different way. I think their theme of struggling between two worlds whether that be culturally or with their gender can relate to Solas's struggle between the ancient culture he was born into and the modern elven culture he finds himself in. Since I'm not part of the nonbinary community or diaspora community, I can't talk in detail about this from their perspective and won't try to.

With all this in mind, I do think these comparisons help place Solas as a "foil character." Solas's reaction however is DRASTICALLY different from our protagonists (plural for companions included) but also offers a contrast to Rook (our protagonist) who inherits Varric's vision.

With all that though, I don't think his purpose in the narrative is "nothing." Whether making him a foil character was what he should have been or what was desired is up to you.

As for why he wants to tear down the Veil, a lot of it is hidden in subtext. "People are always dying. It's what they do." And it's his fault they are. Solas often always speaks in riddles and literally veils the true meaning. Every time he talks to Rook there's a hidden purpose and meaning behind it. If you analyze it, which others much better at literary analysis than me have, you may find more motivation, complexity, and reasoning. I think picking apart his words adds a good amount of nuance to it as well.

"It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic."

Is that not what happened? Her death was a catalyst to spur his rebellion against the Evanuris. It's her death and service that binds him and why she's required to get the good ending. She has to release him.

"I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that."

Would have been cool, but since all that seems left of them is the blighted part and that's thoroughly severed, I don't think it would have worked. Without some possession that helps sooth the anger, it's so maddened that it's not quite coherent. I didn't really ever expect them to wake up. I did expect to learn more about them from the Descent DLC in DAI and I did get to learn a lot more! So I was satisfied with that.

"The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games."

To me the Veil was more like a key aspect of World Building. You need to know about it to understand the religions, how magic works, how spirits and possession work, etc. So it makes sense to introduce it as a concept in each game. It takes a beating in the games and we see the effects of that. So in this game, it ending with it being fully repaired. It did have a role, could it have been bigger? Sure.

"It just ends, and everything is the same. I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins."

I don't know how it is the same. Elves have to reconcile the differences between what they believed and what they now know. They've uncovered ancient artifacts and have a grasp on the Eluvians now which they certainly didn't have in Origins. The blight is forever changed with the Veil fully repaired. There's no more small leak. The Calling is implied to be gone due to this. It's implied that the blight can be cured or slowly die away instead of lingering. Which brings me to this...

"The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares."

It is fully repaired now though. It's reinforced. It's not us slapping duct tape on it like we did with elven relics in DAI. The ending tells us this. Now this doesn't stop people from doing what the magisters did and poking holes in it in the future, but we also don't know how Solas (and possibly Inky) presence will affect it. Will it help prevent holes? Will it help ease the blight even more? There's a lot of room to expand on these, but it'll take time for the world to change. So I expect any consequences in future games - not immediate.

"For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn."

I actually think the game had a lot of complexity and nuance just perhaps, not in the way many went in expecting. There was complexity in the companions and their stories, how it intertwined with the overarching narrative and Solas's. How grief and regret shape a person. How all the propaganda the South had been feeding us for years wasn't always accurate. It's different from "moral complexity" of previous games but if I'm being honest, I never found the previous games to be morally complex. There was a clear cut "good" option and a clear cut "bad" option. Literally some choices people gush about boils down to "Is slavery bad? Yes or No?" ... it's bad guys. It's not complex. It's bad. "Is forced imprisonment from childhood bad? Yes or No?.... yes. Imprisoning children in a tower with police brutality is bad. It's not complex. It's always been pretty black or white. The complexity typically came from the factions we interacted with. The Wardens portrayed as glorious heroes have a darker side to them. We saw it in Origins. We see it in DAI. We see it in DAV with the Griffons. This organization isn't all white. It's more of a grey.

Meanwhile the opposite occurs with the crows. We get horrendous portrayals of them in DAO, DAII, and a little bit in DAI and yet we interact with a different family and we see, no this organization isn't actually all black. It's more of a grey.

All of that is still present and emphasized in DAV. I think the game just decided not to shove it in your face like it did in other games. It's more subtle but to me it's still there.

"The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why."

I honestly don't know why they would ever utter the phrase "Veilguard" specifically and why that should be a bad thing that they don't. It would just feel like an "Avengers Assemble" moment or forced in. Further more and relating to this piece:

"I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned…"

I don't think the game was ever going to be that. You are picked by Varric. Varric who watched what the Kirkwall companions did. Who watched what happened to the Inquisition. Varric who was going to go try and stop this friend from making a mistake when he couldn't in the past. The person Varric brought on the team wasn't going to be evil. They weren't going to disagree with his vision. They weren't going to go against him. They were going to be his second in command and by into what he told them. He is after all a famous storyteller. Viewing it as Rook is an extension of Varric and tasked with carrying on Varric's role...it limits the characters available. I don't necessarily mind this, but I think it's a big reason why people go so far as to say "it's not an RPG" which is honestly just disgusting. It is an RPG. You can't call Monster Hunter or FF that have little to no story or choice impact RPGs but not this.

In addition to that and to talk about this:

"They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems…"

Which is talking about our two escaped gods again, it's just QoL for the Game. It's a game first and foremost. Would you prefer everything be on a timer? Maybe you would, but many wouldn't. Many gamers actively hate timed quests. So this isn't a narrative reason so much as a gameplay reason. They want to give you time to do the quests. The same thing happens in all the other games. "Ah god we have to get to the top of the tower! ASAP!" - yea yea hold on I have to loot all 5 of these bodies and all these crates over here and do one last glance over. OR "Oh dear the empress is going to be assassinated we have to move quickly!" - Uh huh yea I get that but let me spend about 10 more hours in the Hinterlands trying to kill this fucking dragon. Not ever decision in the game is a narrative one. This one isn't.

How does this relate to the choice of the Veil coming down or staying up? This was never going to be a choice. The impact it would have would be too drastically different that there'd be no way to reconcile it in future games. You'd have to make two completely different games for that choice. So they were going to choose one or the other. In the end they chose this. Would the opposite have been cool? Maybe! Or it could have been the end of the world like that one proposed ending in the Artbook where everything is obliterated. I mean people are already pissed that "their world state is destroyed in the south" imagine the outcry if the whole world was wiped with the veil coming down. There just doesn't seem a good way to make this work for everyone or keep it a choice. Unfortunately.

Now that that's all done. These are just my thoughts and how I interpreted it. Part of the beauty of art and games by extension is that they should be open to multiple interpretations. There should be discussions surrounding the narrative that aren't just masked bigotry. And with that, Ima log off Tumblr since this too me way to long...and no I'm not going to reread it to make sure it's coherent. Ima just send it.

Castles in the Fade, or What Was the Point of the Veil Anyway

Something that will now haunt me until the end of time is why was the concept of the Veil ever introduced into this series.

We’ve been hearing about it since the very first game. There’s a codex entry about tears in the Veil in Origins. Tamlen mentions a thin spot in the Veil if you play a Dalish elf. Sandal has a prophecy in Dragon Age 2: “One day the magic will come back—all of it. Everyone will be just like they were. The shadows will part and the skies will open wide. When he rises, everyone will see.” Admittedly, this is just one line said by a character who often says odd things, but it hinted to the fact they were planning to do something with the Veil from the very beginning. The state of the Veil is repeatedly brought up. It all had to mean something! Or so I thought. 

When I saw “The Dread Wolf Rises” quest in Veilguard, I said, “Oh, here we go!” The Veil is coming down, magic is coming back, and it’s going to set up such an interesting story for the next game. 

Alas, no. 

I hadn’t really enjoyed my time playing Veilguard up until this point. It felt like the game was ducking and dodging every bit of world building and lore that could possibly bring nuance or complexity to the story. Every returning character or faction was a cardboard cutout of themself. They shoved Solas is a time-out box and gave him nothing to do. They refused to let him have any impact or influence on the story when he had been set up to be our main antagonist back in Trespasser. This game used to be called Dreadwolf! And while we learn about his past… we never talk to him about it. In the present, he’s in stasis.

Elgar’nan and Ghilan’nain are our villains. And they are your typical evil for evil’s sake villains. They are mad, bad, and only as dangerous as the narrative will allow as to not give Rook and co too much trouble. They are surprisingly patient while Rook fixes all their companions’ problems… until Elgar’nan moves the moon to cause an eclipse. A vital component in making his own lyrium dagger. For some reason. This guy can move a satellite!? And he just let Rook walk away in previous encounters… twice. Ok. Sure.

The Evil Duo need their own dagger ostensibly to tear down the Veil, because they want to unleash the full force of the Blight onto the world. Because they are evil. And they were thwarted last time they tried to Blight the entire world. Why do they think Blighting the world is a good idea? What’s the point of ruling a world if everyone is dead? I guess they haven’t thought that through, because of the madness and the evilness.

Ok, I thought. Perhaps the gods will be the one to tear down the Veil. Or maybe we’ll have a choice to let Solas do it his way before they can, which will be less chaotic and less full of Blight. Because the Veil has to be coming down one way or another? Why introduce the concept of the Veil, especially a Veil that has been thinning and failing since the series began, if it’s just going to… stay.

There is a principle in storytelling called Chekov’s gun. If something is mentioned in a story, it must have a purpose. If you keeping mentioning that gun hanging on the wall over the fireplace, it’s because at some point in the story, someone is going to take it down and use it. The Veil felt like Chekov’s gun to me. Chekov’s Veil, if you will. It’s been here from the beginning of our tale, the spectre hanging over our protagonists’ heads for multiple games.

The Veil has been a character unto itself. It was the central focus of the third game, and its dissolution was set up to be the core conflict of the fourth game. We learn everything we thought we knew about the Veil was a lie. It was not created by the Maker to separate the Fade from this world because of jealous spirits, it was created by a guy named Solas to trap the elven gods and the Blight from destroying the world. Also, the elven gods were never gods, and they are also evil.

This reveal will surely throw the Andrastian religion into chaos! This puts the very existence of the Maker into question! The Evanuris are a lie; it’s only fair Catholicism—oh, I mean—the Chantry is a lie too. We briefly touch on that in Veilguard… then it is quietly discarded. Religious crisis averted.

But I digress.

When the title of the fourth game was changed from Dreadwolf to Veilguard, I started to see the writing on the wall. Still, I held out hope the Veil would have some greater purpose in the story. That its introduction as a concept was for a reason. That something in this world would change.

Instead, from the get-go, the question of the Veil is no question at all. We only get Solas and Varric making oblique or catastrophizing statements about it. Solas says little beyond he has a plan. If I ever wanted to hear a villain monologue about their plan, it was now! Varric, on the other hand, decries Solas’s plan. He warns that should the Veil fall, it will destroy the world and drown it in demons. And that’s that.

We never really learn why Solas wants to tear the Veil down, or why he thinks it will help anyone. “The Veil is a wound inflicted upon this world. It must be healed,” he says. And that’s basically all he says about it in Veilguard. In Inquisition and Trespasser, we learn it took the immortality from the elves. It cut most of magic off from the world. Spirits are trapped and are being corrupted into demons, and most of what we know about spirits and demons is wrong. There are ancient elves possibly asleep? That part is left vague, but ancient elves are still about. We meet some in Mythal’s temple. There seems to have been some merit in bringing it down, because elves were flocking to Solas’s cause at the end of Trespasser. He had agents working for him already. What do they know that we don’t know?

Apparently nothing, because by the time Veilguard rolls around, there are no mention of agents. He is working alone. His only motivation now seems to be he’s too deep in his sunk-cost fallacy. The Veil is unnatural, so it must be removed—consequences be damned. We are never given any reason to think Solas has a leg to stand on in his pursuit of tearing down the Veil. We never hear any kind of counter argument from anyone, not even Solas, as to why the Veil should come down. We are only told it will destroy the world. It will drown the world in demons. This is all Solas’s fault.

There is no nuance. No complexity. No moral quandary to mull over. The game gives us vague warnings with no explanation as to what exactly is so world-annihilating about the Veil coming down. We must take Varric’s word at face value. We’re the heroes; Solas is the villain. Stop him.

It makes me wonder why Solas was ever a companion in Inquisition, let alone a romance option. Solas was presented to us as a complicated character in Inquisition. We had the potential throughout the game to make him see the value of this world, to help him realize he was wrong about it. “We aren’t even people to you,” the Inquisitor says in Trespasser. Solas replies, “Not at first. You showed me that I was wrong...again.” He began the third game viewing the world as tranquil, seeing the people in it as nothing more than figments in a nightmare, just as we saw our companions in the In Hushed Whispers quest. He ends the game having made friends, having recognized he was mistaken. He might have even fallen in love. (Or he may still seen no merit in this world if the Inquisitor antagonized him the entirety of their time together.) But something makes him continue with his plan to tear down the Veil, despite recognizing this world is real. He must know something we don’t. Something we’ll learn about in the next game.

We’ve been hearing about the Veil for three games now. We’ve set up our complex antivillain for the next installment, and he’s going to tear the Veil down. We swear to stop him or save him. But it has to be more complex than that. It can’t be so straightforward. Uncomplicated. Simple. Boring. Right? Right?

Nope. He really is just the villain, mustache-twirling and all. He apparently had no greater motivation, no as of yet unrevealed knowledge that would put this whole Veil thing into a new context. It was really as simple as the Veil falling will destroy the world, so Solas must be stopped. There is no new information that is revealed which makes us question what we are doing. Solas is never given any nuance or complexity to his actions. Nuance and complexity have actively been taken away. Both him and the Veil are looking like they are the worst things to be in a story: pointless. Why introduce the Veil if it’s just going to remain unchanged? Why introduce a character like Solas, bother humanizing him (for lack of a better term), giving us his backstory, setting him up as a cunning antagonist, only to make him look stupid, then put him on a shelf until the last ten minutes of your game?

Solas was the trickster archetype of this tale. He was our version of Loki from Norse mythology. What is the role of the trickster archetype? To challenge the status quo. To bring about events of extreme change, like say, the tearing down of a Veil that holds back all of magic. Loki is a huge contributing factor in Ragnarök. Through his manipulation, he causes the death of the beloved god, Baldr. This ushers in a long winter, which signifies the beginning of the end. Loki is imprisoned for this crime. When the final battle between gods and giants begins, the sun and moon are swallowed, plunging the earth into darkness. The earth shakes and Loki is freed to fight on the side of the giants. The world burns in raw chaos, falls beneath the sea, and is reborn. The world is remade, and a new realm of the gods and a new, better earth is formed.

It really felt like this was the setup they were going for. Solas causes the death of Mythal, and this is his catalyst for creating the Veil, which ushers in a world without magic. This could be seen as equivalent to the long winter. Solas falls asleep, trapped in dreams. He wakes and sets in motion bringing about the apocalypse. It’s not a perfect one to one, but it’s there if you squint. We have a war against the gods in Veilguard. I was expecting a few remaining Titans to wake and join the fight. But we don’t get any of that. There is a final battle, but it does not end in the end of the world. Or a better world. It just ends, and everything is the same.

It seems our trickster god caused his apocalypse thousands of years before our story started, when he created the Veil. His role in this tale was over before ours began, and he really is just some relic from a long-past age. He has no role, no purpose in this story. He is here to be thwarted. He is no Loki at all.

If you can’t tell, I wanted the Veil to come down. Did I think the Veil coming down would be painless? Have no negative consequences? No. Of course not. But keeping it up has negative consequences too. And it made for an interesting story. Or at least it could have. But we never explore that. The game presents no counter argument to having the Veil stay up, which, again, begs the question: what was the point of introducing the concept of the Veil at all?

Did I think the Veil coming down was actually the best solution to help Thedas become a better place? I don’t know, and I never will, because the game never argues for it one way or another. It just tells you to want it in place and to stop asking questions. In real life, a catastrophic event is not the best way to solve any of the world’s problems. But this is the realm of fiction. We have gods and monsters, magic and myth. We have introduced the status quo of Thedas, recognized it needs to change, then our trickster god appears ready to fulfill his role in the narrative. 

Instead, it all comes to nothing.

I got to the end of Veilguard… and everything was more or less the same as it was at the start of Origins. Veilguard actually tries its hardest to pretend any previously mentioned problems don’t exist, so of course the Veil coming down has no merit. There are no problems to solve in this world, apparently. Solas is just stuck in the past and can’t get with the times. Silly Solas.

The Veil isn’t even a permanent solution. It wasn’t to begin with. It was some duct tape wrapped around a broken pipe, and we’ve just slapped an extra piece of tape on it. It’s still leaking. It is still unnatural, and will fall eventually one way or another. Large amounts of bloodshed weaken it, so I guess Thedas better achieve world peace real quick to avoid any battles. There were seven super-powered mages holding it together… now there is just one. Ironically, the Veil was going to fall after two more Blights anyway. The Wardens were doing Solas’s work for him! It would also have released the full force of the Blight at that time… which Solas was trying to avoid, I presume.

It feels like keeping the Veil up just pushed a big problem onto Thedas’ future generations. We’ll keep slapping bandaids on it until it all falls apart. Someone else can deal with the fallout, but we’ll be dead by then, so who cares.

Primarily, I wanted the Veil to come down from a storytelling perspective. The Veil was an interesting concept and I wanted the story to do something interesting with it. Conflict is what makes stories stories and the Veil coming down could create so much compelling and complex conflict. And the Fade is weird, and I like weird. Stories are also about change, and I wanted to see Thedas change. Yet, Veilguard is over, and barely anything has changed. Instead of magic coming back being a conflict for the next game, they went with Fantasy Illuminati. Oh.

The Veil turned out to be a nothing-burger, and no problems in this world are even close to being solved. Slavery is still rampant in Tevinter. The elven people are still oppressed everywhere. Mages have no more rights in the South than they did in Origins. Spirits are still trapped and being corrupted. The Calling still exists, though might be different somehow now? They don’t really get into that. The Chantry’s validity is still not allowed to be questioned. The Blight still exists in some form, but again it’s vague. Oh, and we learn the dwarves have been gravely wronged, and the Titans are still tranquil. At least if you redeem Solas and a romanced Lavellan joins him, they can work together on healing the Blight and helping the Titans. Oh, good. One problem is being acknowledged and some action will be taken. Offscreen. Hurray? Solas doesn’t have a really great track record of fixing problems, so Lavellan is definitely going to need to be there to make sure he doesn’t fuck it up.

For some reason, this game seemed terrified of letting us think about anything for more than two seconds. It shied away from complexity or nuance at every turn. The game is called The Veilguard—ironically, that word is never uttered in the game—but we are given no real motive for guarding the Veil. We’re unquestionably the hero. The villains are uncomplicatedly evil. Save the world… never wonder what you are doing or why.

I wanted the game to make me question if the Veil staying up or coming down was the right choice. I needed to be given a real counter argument. Convince me the alternative would actually be better or worse, because as I mentioned… things suck quite a bit in Thedas already for a lot of people right now. Let the Veil’s fate be a difficult choice to make. If the conflict cannot be what to do about the Veil, it should be am I doing the right thing about the Veil. If the heart of your game is so thin on motive, everything else falls apart around it.

I hoped they were setting up a complex, Thedas-sized existential conflict for this game in Trespasser, but no. I wanted something to happen, but nothing did. 

I want to feel challenged and changed by a story, not left feeling empty. I’m tired of superficial entertainment. I want to sink my teeth into a narrative that doesn’t paint the world in broad strokes of black and white, good and evil, heroes and villains.

Ultimately, I think my issue is why even introduce a concept like The Veil if you’re not going to do anything interesting with it. Or anything at all. What I thought was Chekov’s Veil turned out to just be a MacGuffin. And that’s disappointing.

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One ThirtyEight

“Hey baby what are you...doing?”

There’s a tree in the lounge. A live one. It’s not that big, maybe four feet tall but...it’s in a bucket filled with dirt.

“Decorating the Christmas tree.”

“Right,” Steve can clearly see the trail of loose soil across the lounge carpet, where Eddie has had to wriggle the bucket back and forth to get it in. It looks like it was probably heavy. It’s also not a Christmas tree, which Steve figures is usually a...fir tree. Or a pine, something like that, anyway. But this tree...it’s just a regular tree.

“I thought we were going to go and pick one up?”

“I found a nice one here,” Eddie tells him, “and I don’t like that they cut them down.”

“Oh...so you’re just going to take that one back out, after?”

“Yeap,” Eddie’s concentrating really hard on getting the decorations on the tree, a task made even more difficult by the narrow, wispy looking branches. Eddie doesn’t actually have any decorations since they’re in the attic, but he’s doing a sound job of improvising; Steve’s pretty sure half his mother’s jewelry box is on there. Steve’s not one hundred percent sure about the sock Eddie has limply draped over one of the branches, though, “Baby, what’s with the sock?”

Eddie tilts his head, frowning, “we put socks on the mantle,” Eddie points to where their stocking hang, Steve took the blue one with the stars, and he likes to think he managed to be tasteful and understated with his decorations. Eddie’s looks like Christmas vomited on it.

“Those are stockings baby, that’s different.”

Eddie shrugs, “I really like socks, they keep my feet warm.”

“I have...no argument against that.”

“I couldn’t find the lights,” Eddie tells him, moving on to more important matters.

“Yeah, they’re in the attic, you want them?”

Eddie’s nose wrinkles as he finally looks over at Steve, “what’s the attic?”

“Uhm. There’s a ladder, it’s the space in the roof, we store stuff up there.”

Eddie blinks, then frowns, “inside the roof? The house roof?” He points up.

“Yeah, want to come and look?”

Eddie nods, getting up to follow Steve, eyes wide and then grinning when Steve pulls the ladder down, “hidden secret,” he says, suitably awed.

Steve laughs, following Eddie up the ladder. It’s dark up there, but when Steve finds the pull for the light, Eddie lets out an impressed, ‘ooooh’. The attic is kind of cluttered, lots of...stuff. Boxes of forgotten things that have been stored up here, some old pieces of furniture, long term storage of his mom’s clothes protected by plastic covers...just all sorts of dusty stuff. “The Christmas stuff is over here,” Steve pretty sure he hasn’t been up here since last Christmas, and he remembers coming up for the lights and decorations...Steve swallows thickly, Eddie was sick, and Steve decorated the tree to try and cheer him up, even though part of him knew it might be useless.

“Okay Stevie love?” Eddie asks as he opens a box.

“Yeah...yeah I’m fine. We can take whatever you want downstairs baby.”

They hunt for a little while, Eddie getting a little tangled in some lights, and Steve having to perform a very small rescue. Eddie keeps hunting through boxes, and Steve lets him, taking the box with the lights down, and then the box with the ornaments in case Eddie wants any of them for his tree.

“Stevie!” Eddie calls, “come and look at this!”

“What you found?” Steve ambles over, Eddie sitting criss cross apple sauce on the dusty floor. He has a thick book open on his lap, a photo album, “holy shit, I haven’t seen that stuff for years.”

“Photographs?”

“Yeah...that’s me,” Steve points. It’s summer, he’s wearing a floppy white hat, a yellow shirt and blue dungarees. Steve figures he might be two or so in the picture, he’s barefoot on the grass and his bare legs are chubby baby legs.

Eddie turns the page, “this you too?”

“Yeah, it’s probably mostly me.” There are a couple of staged family photos in there, but largely it’s just random toddler pictures of Steve.

Eddie sits, staring, and when he gets to the end of the book he flips it and goes right back to the start again, “can we take this with us?” he asks when he’s about half way through his second pass through the photos, “you’re just a little guy,” he adds absently.

Steve snorts a laugh, “sure baby, of course.”

They don’t add very many decorations to the tree, it just can’t hold them. They end up improvising and wrapping the bucket in lights, since the tree can’t handle many of those, either. It looks...charming, by the time they’re finished. Steve struggles vaguely for positive descriptors, but chooses to avoid them entirely and simply tells Eddie, “I really like it. I am absolutely sure no one has a tree like ours.”

Eddie grins, and they head into the kitchen to make dinner together.

They settle in for a film, some inane made for TV movie about the magic of Christmas and the little kids get their puppy at the end or something equally saccharine and painfully acted. Steve doesn’t remember nodding off, but he wakes up slumped over on the couch. Eddie’s not paying attention to him, he’s still looking through the box of photos and albums he chose to bring down from the attic, half watching the movie.

Steve blinks the rest of the way awake just as the children save the magic of Christmas, or whatever it is that’s happening. Steve yawns, joints cracking. Eddie sniffles.

Steve scooches the length of the couch immediately, “baby?”

“I’m okay.”

Eddie isn’t crying, but there’s a tell tale mark on his cheek; Eddie’s tears are a bit of an off color, even now, “what is it?”

Eddie’s attention is drawn back to the books in his lap, he’s found a picture of Steve, maybe eight years old? Grinning proudly, sitting on his new bike. It wasn’t that long after that that his parents lost interest, or at least, it doesn’t feel like it was. The next picture he’s on the couch with his mom, Steve has no idea what the photo was in aid of, they’re both just sat there, but they’re sitting close enough that it’s a bitter reminder of when his relationship with his mom was a good one. He’s never been that close with his dad, not really, the man has always been disinterested...but his mom, that was different. Steve thinks she really loved him, once upon a time.

Eddie has a loose picture in one of those card frames, another staged one, his mom holding baby Steve, swaddled all in white, dads hand resting carefully on her shoulder as he stands behind them. “This is a proper family, right?”

Steve shrugs, “I think family is...not a set thing. As long as you care for each other, then that’s family.”

“But you want kids?”

“I…” Steve considers lying, briefly, but doesn’t see what it’ll achieve. A lie won’t explain to Eddie how he feels, or why he’s changed his mind. A lie won’t tell Eddie how much he loves him. “I thought I did, at one time. But only because it feels like what I should do, find a nice girl, get married, have kids it...felt like something I had to do just because everyone's doing it. But I chose you Eddie, and everything that means, you know?”

Steve closes the book in Eddie’s lap, taking Eddie’s hand instead, they link fingers, the last little bit of Eddie’s webbing is really obvious when their hands are pressed together like this. His collection of rings kind of hide it though, or at least camouflage it, “don’t feel bad, okay? I love you,” Steve tells him.

“I love you too,” Steve senses a ‘but’. Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again. Sighs a little, like he’s thinking. Steve just plays with his rings a little while he waits for Eddie to arrive wherever it is he’s going. Eventually, finally, he just asks, “are you sure? I don’t want you to be sad you chose wrong. You know, later.”

“Nah. I’m sure. No regrets; I'm not choosing wrong."

“Okay,” Eddie leans over for a soft kiss, but Steve senses his melancholy, and doesn’t really know how to dispel it. The only way he can show Eddie he means it is to keep meaning it, and Steve intends too.

Eddie stands, looking out of the window, as Steve gets ready for bed. It's uncharacteristically clear out, so Steve’s fully prepared for everything to be frozen in the morning, “Stevie?”

“Yeah?”

“Santa...isn’t real. Like, he’s a bunch of stories right? Like...Santa’s been around a long time, but he’s not real? Right?”

“Yeah, pretty much. I mean I think there’s like...a saint or something, like historical figures that might be...might have kind of caused the story of Santa but, yeah, Santa’s not real,” Steve climbs into bed, but Eddie’s still there, looking at the sky.

“But reindeer are real. They’re in my book.”

“Yeah,” Steve snuggles into bed, “reindeer are absolutely real.”

Eddie hums, but doesn’t move from the window, watching the sky, “are there any reindeer in Indiana?”

“I...I mean maybe? In like, petting zoos maybe a few? I think they live in cold places though, normally," Steve yawns, "like Canada and stuff I guess."

“Oh...so I won’t see any?”

Finally, it clicks, “Eddie...reindeer can’t fly.”

“What?”

Steve laughs, “come to bed baby. Reindeer are real...but they don’t fly.”

“Oh for fucks sake. I’ve been looking every night all week!” Eddie comes to bed, grumbling, “how am I supposed to know?!”

Part Forty

[piastrisun]

this christmas, i chose you.

pairings: oscar piastri + fem reader.

summary: love once slipped through your fingers. at christmas party you ask oscar to rewrite their story with a hopeful beginning.

genre: fluff / angst.⠀word count: 2.1k.⠀ warning: none.

notes: very romcom, lovers to strangers to lovers?? hope you enjoy.

"maybe this is wishful thinkin' / probably mindless dreamin' / but if we loved again, i swear i'd love you right."

it's christmas eve, one year since you ended your one-year relationship with oscar. vulnerability scared you, and instead of accepting the steady love he offered, you pushed him away, leaving him with unanswered questions and heartbreak. now, regret weighs heavy in your chest, and you’ve decided to confront your fears. at a logan's holiday party, you plan to apologise and, maybe, find a way to make amends.

the warmth of the room feels suffocating as you step into the party. laughter bubbles over soft carols, but the festive energy doesn’t touch the ache in your chest. your eyes scan the room, weaving through familiar faces, searching for him. then, you see him.

oscar stands by the fireplace, holding a glass of gin and tonic. the amber light from the flames casts shadows on his sharp features. his posture is relaxed, almost casual, but there’s a weight in the way his shoulders slope—a burden you recognize all too well because you placed it there. he’s wearing that navy sweater you once teased him for owning in three identical shades. it looks good on him, and the sight of him steals the breath from your lungs.

your feet hesitate, rooted to the floor as nerves coil tightly in your stomach. you can’t decide if it’s fear or guilt—or both—that makes your palms sweat despite the room's heat. swallowing hard, you force yourself to move.

“hey, oscar,” you say, your voice almost lost in the hum of the party.

he turns, his dark eyes meeting yours. there’s a flicker of something familiar—recognition, maybe—but it fades quickly, replaced by polite detachment. his lips lift in a restrained smile. “hey. merry christmas.”

“merry christmas,” you echo, your hands twisting nervously in front of you. for a moment, you stand there, feeling the weight of all the words unspoken. then, gathering your courage, you ask, “can we talk? just for a minute—somewhere quieter?”

his brow furrows slightly, but he nods after a pause. “sure.”

you lead him to the balcony, the cold air biting your skin as the door clicks shut behind you. the muffled sounds of the party fade, leaving only the soft whisper of snow falling around you. you shiver, clutching your coat tighter, but the warmth in your chest is a firestorm of emotions.

“i know this is probably the last thing you want to do tonight,” you begin, your voice trembling, “but i had to see you. i needed to say i’m sorry.”

oscar leans against the railing, his arms crossed tightly over his chest. his expression is unreadable, but his jaw tenses. “sorry for what, exactly? for ending things? or for not telling me why?”

the sharpness in his tone makes you flinch. “for all of it,” you admit, your voice cracking under the weight of your own guilt. “for running when i should’ve stayed. for not being honest with you—or with myself.” you look down at your hands, trembling as you clutch the edge of the railing. “you were the first person who made me feel safe, like i could try. and instead of embracing that, i ran. i sabotaged everything we had. i was scared, oscar.”

his jaw tightens as he looks away, the muscle in his cheek twitching. “you didn’t just sabotage it. you left me standing there, wondering what i did wrong.”

you take a step closer, desperate to close the gap between you. “i know. i convinced myself you’d leave me eventually, so i thought… if i left first, if i threw it away. it wouldn’t hurt as much. but it did. it still does.”

he exhales, the puff of his breath visible in the icy air. “you didn’t just throw it away,” he says, his voice quieter now but no less cutting. “you left me with no explanation, no chance to understand. i thought we had something worth fighting for. i would’ve fought for you, but you didn’t even give me the chance.”

his words slice through you, raw and honest. you take a step closer, desperate to make him understand. “i know. i convinced myself you’d leave eventually, so i left first. but i was wrong, and i’ve regretted it every day since.” your voice breaks as tears prick your eyes. “i’m sorry, oscar. i know i can’t undo what i did, but i’m here now, asking for a chance to make it right.”

oscar’s gaze softens, but the pain lingers in his eyes. he looks away, his hand gripping the balcony railing. “you hurt me more than you realise,” he murmurs. “i loved you, i would’ve stayed through anything, but you didn’t trust me enough to let me try.”

tears blur your vision as the weight of his words sinks in. “i know i don’t deserve it, but is there any chance we could start over? even as friends?” your voice is barely above a whisper.

he studies you for a long moment, his face conflicted. “i don’t know,” he says finally. “forgiveness doesn’t come easy. but… i’ll think about it. that’s the best i can give you right now.”

you nod, tears slipping down your cheeks. “i’ll do whatever it takes. just… thank you for listening.”

inside, the party continues to hum with laughter and chatter, the soft glow of the fireplace casting golden light on the guests gathered around. but as you stand by the drink table, your cider untouched, your mind is elsewhere, lost in the weight of the conversation you just had. every laugh that echoes around you feels distant, every word spoken feels like it belongs to someone else. just as you’re debating leaving, the familiar sound of footsteps pulls you from your thoughts. logan appears beside you, his curious gaze flicking between you and oscar, who stands across the room, talking with a few friends.

“you look like someone who’s just seen a ghost,” logan teases, a mischievous smile playing on his lips.

you force a laugh, but it’s hollow, lacking any real humour. “more like someone who tried to bring one back to life.”

logan raises an eyebrow, the smile fading into something softer. “oscar?”

you nod, the tightness in your chest growing as the weight of your conversation with him comes rushing back. “yeah. but… i don’t think it mattered.”

logan studies you for a moment, his gaze flicking over to oscar, then back to you. his voice softens, a gentle understanding behind his words. “you talked to him?”

you nod again, the sadness creeping into your expression despite your best efforts to hide it. “i apologised. i don’t think it was enough.”

logan doesn’t say anything for a moment, his eyes holding yours with an empathy you don’t always expect from him. he knows how much oscar means to you, how hard it’s been to get to this point. but he also knows how much oscar hurt after you left, how heartbroken he was. finally, he gives you a small, knowing smile. “it’s never just about the apology, you know. sometimes, it’s about showing him you’re here, even when it’s hard.”

his words settle in your chest, making the ache feel a little less sharp. maybe he’s right. maybe it’s not enough to just apologise. maybe you need to show him that you’re not running anymore.

logan places a hand on your arm, his smile kind, and continues talking. “don’t be so sure it didn’t matter. he’s been quieter this year, but that doesn’t mean he’s stopped caring. people don’t forget that kind of love so easily. don’t give up too easily, okay?”

before you can respond, the lights flicker and go out, leaving the room lit only by the fireplace and a few candles. someone jokes about a ‘real christmas miracle,’ and laughter ripples through the guests. needing air, you grab your coat and slip outside again. the street is blanketed in fresh snow, and the distant sound of carolers fills the air. you’re lost in thought when footsteps crunch behind you.

“leaving already?” oscar’s voice slices through the stillness, low and steady, but it startles you like a sudden gust of wind.

you whip around, the crunch of snow beneath your boots echoing in the quiet. he’s there, hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat, the dim streetlight casting soft shadows on his face.

“i didn’t think you’d notice,” you say, your voice faltering, the words fumbling their way out.

he shrugs, a faint, almost wistful smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “it’s hard not to. you always leave before the best part.”

your brow furrows as a flicker of curiosity pushes past the ache that’s been building in your chest all evening. “what’s the best part?”

oscar tilts his head toward the sky, letting the snowflakes settle briefly on his dark hair. he gestures around him with a small nod. “this. the quiet moments where everything feels… still. like the world stops spinning, and you can just exist without running.”

the weight of his words lingers in the air, and you drop your gaze, the ache clawing deeper. “i’m not good at that, oscar. i never have been.” your voice is barely more than a whisper, laced with something between shame and resignation.

“i know,” he says, taking a careful step closer. his tone softens, like he’s afraid of breaking the fragile bubble that’s formed between you. “but you’re here, trying.”

the warmth in his words wraps around you like a lifeline, and for a moment, the ache eases. the snow continues to fall, and you wonder if he’s right—if maybe, just maybe, this quiet moment could be enough.

the snowflakes catch in your hair as you meet his gaze, your chest tightening with a fragile hope. “i wasn’t lying before. i miss you—not just as someone i loved, but as my best friend. the one person who saw the mess i am and didn’t run.”

oscar exhales slowly, his breath visible in the cold air, his shoulders finally relaxing. his voice is calm but full of emotion. “i never ran. you did. and it’s not just about trust—it’s about believing you won’t run again.”

the words hit harder than you expect, cutting through the layers of regret you’ve carried. tears sting your eyes as you take a shaky breath, your voice trembling. “i’m tired of running, oscar. please… let me prove it to you.”

he studies you, his gaze unwavering but gentle, as if weighing the truth in your words. the silence stretches between you, but it feels less like a wall and more like a bridge waiting to be crossed. finally, he nods, his voice quiet yet warm. “maybe we don’t have to figure it all out tonight. it’s christmas—a good night for second chances.”

relief washes over you, soft and unexpected, as he extends his hand. for the first time in what feels like forever, you reach for him, your fingers trembling as they curl around his. the warmth of his touch pushes back the lingering cold, and something fragile but real settles between you.

a flicker of his old playful smile lights his face. “don’t think this means i’m letting you off easy. you still owe me a dance.”

you laugh softly, the sound surprising even you. “deal. just don’t step on my toes this time.”

his smirk deepens, and together, you turn toward the glowing lights of the house. the sound of distant laughter and faint music reaches you as you step back inside, hand in hand. the glow of the firelight reflects not just warmth but the fragile beginnings of something new—not perfect, but worth every effort.

together, you walk back inside, the warmth of the house enveloping you as the firelight flickers and dances across the room. the shadows stretch long on the walls, and in their glow, something fragile begins to take shape between you—something new. not perfect, but real, and worth fighting for.

you look away, the weight of his words still pressing down on you. you blink quickly, trying to clear the emotion rising in your chest. “i’m trying, oscar. i really am.”

his gaze softens, and he steps closer, the air between you charged with the quiet understanding of everything unsaid. “i can see that,” he says gently, his voice steady but filled with a tenderness you haven’t heard in a long time. “it’s not easy, and still, you’re here. that’s something.”

your heart skips a beat as you meet his eyes, hope flickering there like a delicate flame. the ache that has lived inside you for so long starts to fade, replaced by something lighter, something stronger. “i don’t want to run anymore. not from you. not from us.”

he nods slowly, his expression guarded, yet there’s something open in it now, something softer. “we’ll see, won’t we?”

for the first time in a long while, the ache in your chest loosens, replaced by the fragile possibility of rebuilding something worth every step forward. the silence isn’t uncomfortable—no, it feels like the calm before a storm, like two people standing on the edge of something they’re afraid to fall into but are too drawn to resist.

©⠀piastrisun original work. please don’t translate, claim or repost any of my writing, 24’.

[scripts4dreamers]

Me and my one (1) friend who has also had their brain corrupted by the blight (dragon age) have been fighting about this for two days but I’m so sure I’m right, so I humbly present my thesis to you lovely people.

1. After the events of the Veilguard, if Rook and Neve ended up together, Neve tries to leave you.

LET ME EXPLAIN! (Spoilers for the Veilguard ending)

I love Neve. She’s my favorite romance from Veilguard, she’s an incredible character and she does not deserve all the hate she gets. Having said that, she does 1000% try and leave Rook.

The one thing we know about Neve, almost from the moment we meet her, is that she is not a believer. She doesn’t believe Solas is a god, at first, she doesn’t believe anyone will have her back, she doesn’t believe Minrathous will improve and she doesn’t believe she’s going to survive this job. But still she fights on, not out of a genuine belief that she can win, but because she has a soft spot for lost causes.

Neve has devoted her life to being the champion of lost causes. She tells Rook that, even if this job doesn’t get her, one of them will. She risks her life, day in and day out, in service of a city that has done nothing but hurt her. Neve believes she’s a dead woman walking, and all she wants to do is go down protecting the people of Dock Town because someone has to. Someone has to.

And then she meets Rook and Harding and now gods are real, and they’re destroying the world and oh well everything was always going to go down in flames, so why not help out? She’s always been a magnet for bad news, for bad luck, for the worst of humanity, so why not spend her last days fighting for what little good is left?

She tries to fight falling for Rook, but they’re everything she wishes the world could be. They’re the lifeline she’s been waiting for since before the world forced her to stop believing. They’re good and kind and full of life and how can she do anything but love them for that? But she’s already dead, they’re both already dead and she can’t survive another loss.

She throws herself into loving them only after she lost them to the Fade. Only after Harding/Davrin died. After her world already ended, because that’s when she really realizes how quickly it can all end and how much time she wasted pushing people away. The goddamn WORLD IS ENDING and the person you love is THERE and they’re REAL and they WANT YOU, so why not? What is there to lose? It’s easy to love someone when the world is ending. It’s easy to love someone when you’re both already doomed.

But then the world doesn’t end. The sun rises on a blighted Minrathous and they’re both still alive, and now she’s faced with rebuilding. There’s so much work to be done, she’s a bloody, scarred mess and the job she was brought in for is over, isn’t it? She’s not a cool noir detective who died saving the world anymore, she’s someone’s partner, someone’s friend and lover and those aren’t jobs she had ever prepared herself to take.

Suddenly, without the haze of panic and the urgency of stopping the gods, things look different. She needs a new apartment. Minrathous needs a detective. Life goes back to normal and Neve still isn’t a believer.

Of course, everyone says they’ll stay in touch. Bonds formed that can never be broken and all that, but Neve knows better. You don’t hang around once the party is over. You don’t give the world more ways to hurt you, more people to take. You don’t give people a chance to leave you.

So she leaves first.

She regrets it. She hates herself for it. She cries herself to sleep wondering how she could be such a coward, but she leaves. She packs a bag, writes a goodbye letter and leaves before morning.

Now, do I think her and Rook get back together? Absolutely I do. I just think that, with all the events of Veilguard happening in such a short time, there’s going to be some major questions for all the companions once the dust settles, and leaving before you can be left is Neve Gallus’ answer to those questions.

[fandomsandfeminism]

Ok. So I sat on this all day. Let me see if I can explain why this is so frustrating for me in a way that is clearer.

Here's how this discussion has gone, over and over on this and other posts of mine-

I say: prisons are bad and ineffective and inhumane. Getting rid of prisons would look like getting rid of pillories and the death penalty- it doesn't end crime but it also doesn't give criminals free reign. It just means that if someone is convicted, the options available to the state don't include prisons. There are a lot of options and there are a lot of studies about how effective each is. When we aren't funding prisons, those systems could be refined and made better.

And someone says: what if someone reoffends?

And I say: well, same thing that happens now. If they are convicted, a judge decides their sentence. But without prisons, that looks like fines, or community service, or rehabilitation programs, or restorative hearings, or vocational training, or mental health services, or restraining orders, or employment restrictions, or caseworker check ins, or halfway houses/group housing, or the restriction of access to firearms, etc.

And someone says: but what if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ...yeah, sometimes people reoffend multiple times. If they are convicted, the judge would sentence them, and that context might change which sentence is most appropriate. That could include increasingly high fines or automatic paycheck deductions, or more extensive rehabilitation programs, or more restrictions on their access to weapons or housing options. It would depend on the situation.

And someone says: but what if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ....yeah. so, same thing. A judge would choose an appropriate sentence based on that context. Like, recidivism is a hard thing, but it's also a huge problem right now with prisons. Would this result in more or less recidivism than the current system?

And someone says: you're dodging the question. What happens if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ....a judge sentences them based on the evidence and context. Just not to prison. Again, these programs are shown to reduce redivism compared to prison.

And someone says: but how do we keep people safe if they reoffend AGAIN?

And I say: ....do prisons keep people safe now? Do prisons reduce the amount of violent crime? Do prisons specifically reduce the amount of violent crimes committed by people who have gone to prison?

And someone says: you're dodging the question! What happens if they reoffend AGAIN?

And that's the loop. Because if the guy you're imagining is Jeffrey Dahmer or the Devil, the loop only ever ends if I say "prison" or "fuck I don't know" and then it's "ha! Prison abolitions never answer the obvious question."

People try to skip to the end of the loop by invoking whatever serial killer boogeyman suits them, because then it's supposed to be clear that the ONLY solution is prison, but like....even if we accept that some people are just broken and evil, you aren't *psychic*. The judge isn't psychic. The judge can't look at a guy and say "ah, it's clear that you're one of those guys who will just keep reoffending forever. Time to get dumped in the one last prison that exists just for evil people." That isn't a sustainable system, or one that would be particularly resistant to the obvious bias that already leads to the vast overrepresentation of men of color in the prison system. I dunno, I just don't trust the government to diagnose people with "evil".

Recidivism is a huge problem right now with the system as is. We know that all the other things we can do *result in less recidivism.*

Ending prisons is like ending the death penalty. It doesn't magically end all crime, but it also doesn't mean that crime has no consequences. It just means that we don't allow the government to inflict that specific form of violence on people if they do commit a crime.

So. It is very frustrating when I have answered the question "in a prisonless society, what happens when someone reoffends?" About a thousand times, and then get told that I...won't answer that question. It's frustrating, because if I ask any follow up questions that provides context for the discussion, I'm accused of dodging the question I've *already answered.* it's frustrating, because when I try to explain WHY it's frustrating, I'm told that this is actually a strawman, when I'm literally telling you how these conversations have gone.

If this is somehow NOT accurate to the question you think I'm answering, I'm gonna need you to ask it in a different way. Because I am pulling out my hair over here answering the same question, with sources and evidence, over and over.

Pretty sure @needabetternamelater has reblogged like 5 of my posts and then blocked me. So that's funny. But, just in case it's just a glitch that won't let me reblog those replies.

What do we do with rapists in a prisonless society? Well, 1. Fewer than 1% of rapists go to prison, so holding up prison as the standard that any other solution has to beat isn't hard. What do with do with rapists in a society with prisons? For 99+%? Not prison.

2. Prisons do not reduce the amount of rapes that happen. So again, prison fails pretty handedly at being both a prevention and a punishment. (It's a bit like arguing 'without the death penalty, what will we do with shop lifters?")

3. I've explain many times, on posts you've responded to, the variety of responses a justice system can have to any crime, including sexual assault. Mandatory counseling, restraining orders, restorative/reparation hearings, housing and employment restrictions, fines, caseworker check ins, mental health consults, and vocational training are all possible responses, and which would would have the best chance of preventing recidivism would depend on the specifics of that person and the risk factors in them reoffending.

In the past, we locked people in pillories and cut off their hands for crimes. Phasing out a cruel and ineffective punishment doesn't mean there's free reign for crime.