#no one is allowed to be surprised its him

[beanarie]

of course

in which the helicopter crashed with both our guys inside. inspired by this awesome post by @mooshkat

(tw: vomiting, heart issues, near death angst, biphobia mention)

~

Once the wave of agony subsides, and Tommy is reasonably sure he's done vomiting into the dirt, he blinks over at Evan appraisingly. "Is your arm broken or did your shoulder go out again?"

Evan grimaces and finishes tying off Tommy's splint. "Shoulder. And my hip's not feeling great. Cracked rib, maybe two. But of course you had to outdo me."

"Didn't do it on purpose." Tommy glares at the spot where his tibia poked through the skin, like he can intimidate the pain away. "Anyway you've got me on quantity."

"There's nothing else?"

"My head hurts," Tommy admits, "but there's not much we can do for that right now."

Evan leans in to compare his pupils. Tommy is very proud of himself for not flinching. "Dispatch had our location?" Evan asks, and instead of reminding him that he was there when they confirmed it, Tommy nods.

He knows he can't go to sleep, even if the leg would allow him. He finds a stick and starts tic tac toe. Evan chuckles and joins in.

He wins the next two games. Tommy blames his probable concussion.

Evan holds his bad arm tight around his midsection, but his eyes seem stormy for a different reason. "These people who hurt you in the past, what- what are their names?"

"Huh?" Tommy gives up on the game, scratching it out of the dirt. "You want a full list of legal names or just what I called them?"

"Was it Evan, for any of them?"

God, he's so transparent. Tommy laughs.

"Do you- do you judge everyone by who came before? Is that just what you do in a-all situations? One barista spilled coffee on you in 2011 and you pay for Starbucks with one of those grabby reacher things ever since?"

"Fuck's sake." Tommy doesn't even like Starbucks, but he doesn't say that.

Evan sort of shrugs before he remembers his shoulder with a wince. "It's not generally considered a sign of maturity. Ironic, I guess."

"Yeah, call me old. See where it gets you."

Evan brightens. "You're talking to me. I like my results so far."

There's something indefatigable about this man. Tommy can't help but surrender in the face of it, just a little. "How did you know I'd have to pinch hit for this fly along?"

"I didn't. I just hoped." His grin is just the slightest bit abashed. "Worst case scenario, get out of the engine for a day and I pump one of your coworkers for info."

"They have very little to pump," Tommy says. Evan and the codependent 118 are the aberration, and they're well aware of that. Tommy has great coworkers. They do their jobs and leave, with the exception of drinks once or twice a month. None of them gave him shit after the breakup. Few of them noticed. This is how most teams operate. Evan, however, looks surprised and a little sad. "What were you hoping to hear?"

"I don't know." Evan looks away, suddenly self conscious. "That you messed yourself up at least half as much as you did me."

Tommy rubs at his face. "I didn't mean to mess you up, Buck. Truly. We- It just ran its course. It doesn't reflect badly on you, or me. This just happens."

He looks upset at first, then calculating. "What if I hooked up with those Not-Evans?"

Tommy looks behind him, searching for something that makes sense. "What if you moved to the moon? I have no idea what you're getting at right now."

"Would I be experienced enough for you if I let them have a go? They were terrible for you, so it stands to reason they'll be terrible for me, too." He lifts a finger, his eyes lighting up in a way that turns Tommy's stomach. "Oh, I guess one or two of those might be women. They don't count. Some might be bi and married to women. Do they count as half? If I bag a threesome, is that like seventy-five percent? Do you give points for polyamory?"

Tommy feels about eighty years old, and not a fit eighty. "When did I say even one of those things?"

"The implications were pretty clear, Tommy. 'You're just young and excited. You don't know what you're feeling or how to interpret anything going on in front of you.'"

Tommy doesn't know what to say to that. It's not remotely what he meant, but he's never been good at communicating through panic.

"Did you love me?" Evan asks quietly. Tommy can't look him in the face. "It felt like you- like you did, but when you let me go like that, like chopping off the top bit of a carrot, it made me re- reevaluate everything I thought I knew about us."

The note of devastation in his voice almost tips him over, but ultimately what does it is the implication that Tommy made Evan lose faith in himself. He can't abide being responsible for that. "Of course I love you, Evan. How could I not?"

The tightness in his chest, that felt so much like raw emotion, intensifies, growing sharper. It's hard to breathe now, like sucking a milkshake through a coffee stirrer, and he realizes, something is very wrong. About as wrong as it could possibly be.

"Oh," he says. An attempt to inflate his lungs all the way makes his vision go sparkly at the edges.

"Tommy?"

Tommy drags his eyes up to meet Evan's. "S- Sorry, I-" I wouldn't have said any of those things if I knew. "Sorry. Evan." You deserve better than a fucking deathbed love confession.

A rough hand grasps his neck, slowing his descent to the ground. "No, hey. Hey hey hey. Tommy, we'll figure this out." Evan sniffles and tries to smile. His tears are falling everywhere. "You're okay. You're fine. Just keep- keep breathing."

The coffee stirrer is about a millimeter wide. Tommy can feel the muscles in his neck straining like he's deadlifting his own weight. Evan rips Tommy's shirt open and he swears floridly, miserably. They both know what this is; they've seen it in a hundred MVAs. Cardiac tamponade. When his heart gives out from the strain of all the blood surrounding it, chest compressions can be worse than useless. They could punch his ticket that much faster.

"Tommy," Evan says, pulling Tommy into his lap. The complaints from his splinted leg are distant, belonging to someone else entirely. Evan's voice is a ragged mess trying to piece itself together. His shoulder and ribs are probably killing him. "Don't run out again. You need to stay. Breathe."

Half a millimeter.

One quarter.

Tommy can't remember what comes after millimeter.

"That's it. I know it's hard, but keep trying. That's all I ask. Just try, okay? Look at me."

Micrometer? Is that it?

Evan's face is shadowed by the sun cresting over his shoulder. Tommy closes his eyes against the glare and is rewarded with a shake.

"Keep your eyes open. Stay with me. Just a little- little bit longer, please."

Fingers are running through his hair, lips are pressing against his forehead, and he thinks he can hear... sirens.

[peachesundercover]

planet x

g/t commission for @sizediscount

Pax, a space explorer, arrives on a new planet. It appears to be completely barren- that is, until he runs into one of the planet's particularly large inhabitants. I had so much fun writing this and developing some new characters!! I hope you enjoy it <3 word count: 2.9k

“Damnit!”

The swear left Pax’s mouth before he could control it, and within seconds he collapsed onto the dirt, a jolt of pain arising from his ankle. 

He paused, processing this new development, then huffed. As he slowly pushed himself to his knees, he dragged his thick white sleeve over his face, removing traces of gray soil. Irritation continued to pull at his chest with every passing second. 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he muttered out loud to himself. The enormous forest around him offered no answer. 

In fact, if Pax stayed completely still, he might think that he was looking at a painting. The trees stretched impossibly high above him, gray and rock-like, comparable to the mountains he had encountered on other planets. The white leaves were as frozen as ice. Not even a breeze or bird rustled them. Pax’s gaze traveled from the trees to the colorless dirt around him, and with a frown, he tugged a thick silver machine from his pocket.

“Twenty minutes after arrival. Planet X lacks color,” he muttered into the voice recorder, his green gaze glancing around at his surroundings. “No signs of life that I can see.”

He paused, as if someone might appear to prove him wrong, but the silence remained, dry and cold and overpowering. Disappointment tugged at his chest, and his gloved finger clicked the voice recorder off. He stowed it away.

Being a space explorer had its pros and cons, he decided as he pushed himself to his feet. The sheer material of his spacesuit offered an unpleasant scraping noise as he dusted himself off. He wrinkled his nose, then shook his head to dispel bits of gray soil from his umber hair. The only positive of this planet so far was its clear, safe oxygen levels, which allowed Pax to explore without wearing his uncomfortable helmet. That heavy nuisance was sitting back on his spaceship, somewhere far behind him.

A distant rumble sent a jolt of surprise down Pax’s spine. The explorer straightened up instantly, jaw tight, and listened intently.

In the gray, barren forest, something was undoubtedly moving. A low noise traveled through the ground, swaying leaves and disrupting the dry, empty air. Pax drew his bottom lip between his teeth, contemplating his next actions as his anxiety intertwined with his curiosity.

The noises were loud, but distant. Whatever was producing those large rumbles must be large itself, and while that worried Pax, he couldn’t deny that it intrigued him. What could possibly be thriving on such a dead planet?

Within seconds, he was given an answer.

The rumbling grew abruptly louder– evenly spaced, resounding footsteps, Pax realized with a jolt of surprise– and movement to his left caught his attention.

“Oh.”

The noise left Pax’s mouth in a hoarse, wobbly breath. Muscles within his torso tightened, cold and stiff.

“Oh.”

For a moment, he wondered if he was dreaming— if the massive, towering, unbelievably tall monster before him was just a figment of his imagination. Surely, Pax had to be dreaming.

Two enormous legs stretched up and up and up into a long torso and lean shoulders, blanketed by what appeared to be a thick white coat. Pax almost felt dizzy trying to make out the distant details. He took a wobbly step back, and couldn’t contain a soft gasp when those enormous shoulders turned, revealing the creature’s face.

A narrow, pale face scanned the massive trees (although the trees must seem small to him!), whitish skin highlighted by the milky skylight above. Strands of light hair swooped around the creature’s head, forming soft bangs. Enormous lavender eyes glimmered and narrowed.

Aside from its peculiar color palette and unbelievable size, the creature seemed startlingly human.

The iciness in Pax’s body melted into something more electrifying, and his numb legs finally began to move. He took three wobbly steps back, ignoring the continuous flaring of pain in his ankle and the lack of air in his lungs. As humanoid as the creature seemed, Pax didn’t dare to draw its attention. He couldn’t imagine how painful a fate he would endure if those enormous hands closed around him instead of that thick notebook it had clutched between its fingers.

“What the hell,” escaped Pax through gritted teeth, and suddenly he found himself digging his own thin notebook from his nylon pocket. He elected not to grab his voice recorder, considering he didn’t want to speak too loudly and draw this giant’s attention. His (usually neglected) notebook would have to do. 

His tense shoulders pressed into the rough, statue-like tree behind him, and he wobbly began to sketch out a description of the creature in front of him. He barely could tear his gaze away from it, and as his shaky hand flew over the paper he hoped he was doing the creature’s size justice. “What the hell,” he repeated.

This must be the native species of Planet X, then. Was its incredible size normal for this planet? Pax couldn’t deny that the towering trees above him seemed much less out of place next to another massive beast, as sickening as it was to realize.

Was Pax the outlier, then? Was he tiny?

He swallowed thickly, briefly glancing down at his notebook. A wobbly drawing scowled up at him, an embarrassing demonstration of his skills. He let out a frustrated breath, then snapped his green gaze back up to the giant. He watched, stomach freezing over, as the giant moved.

—

Lark twirled his pencil. 

“You are just lovely, aren’t you?” he murmured, lavender gaze traveling over the tree in front of him. In a moment of fondness he reached forward, tracing a thin-fingered hand under the curve of a twisted branch. Several white leaves fluttered. “Beautiful.”

He had been studying botany for four years now, and his love for it had never subsided. His lab director– an elderly, funny woman who always seemed thrilled to see him– had sent him into a deeper part of the woods this morning to retrieve samples of the unique plants there. The gray, rock-like trees fascinated him. As dead as they appeared, the trees thrived, producing beautiful white leaves that fluttered when Lark’s pale finger touched them.

Gently, he plucked a white leaf from the branch, and with his free hand he dug into his satchel. A dozen small glass jars rattled within. As soon as he retrieved an empty one, just barely the length of his finger, he tucked the leaf inside. He hummed pleasantly. Just as Lark tucked the jar away into his satchel, a distant scratching sound drew his attention.

He paused, squinting his lavender eyes as he strained to listen. No other sounds disturbed this side of the forest; the lack of wind made sure of that. The trees were comparable to statues, and as far as Lark could tell, there were no other signs of life here. Had he just imagined it?

…No. Something was producing a faint, rushed, scraping noise.

Lark’s shoulders turned slowly towards where he suspected the noise to be coming from, and as his narrowed gaze scanned the white leaves around him, the scratching noise went silent. Curiosity piquing, Lark tilted his head, waiting– yet, the noise didn’t return. Perhaps he had only imagined it.

He shrugged, content to push the distraction aside. Hoisting his satchel further up onto his straightened shoulders, he focused on his journey forward.

A tiny yet distinct shriek stopped him in his tracks.

Lark had barely taken three steps. Chest tightening in surprise, he dropped his gaze to the forest floor and scanned for the source of the unexpected noise.

For a moment the colorless dirt offered no explanation— then, in a flash of movement, something scrambled away from the smooth curve of Lark’s boot.

“Oh!” Lark’s shoulders tightened, and he instinctively jerked back from the tiny creature. In such a still part of the forest, he hadn’t expected to see a living creature— especially not one so small or fast.

It moved in a white and silver blur, blending into the gray tones of the forest floor. Lark moved his shoulders, and his shadow completely enveloped the small creature. 

He wasn’t inexperienced with small creatures, however, and on pure instinct he lifted his boot and scraped it down into the grayish dirt, directly in front of the creature’s path. Another distinct exclamation escaped it, but it couldn’t stop due to its momentum— and it skidded over the dirt directly into the side of Lark’s boot. 

The creature collapsed, dazed. Lark paused, momentarily concerned that he had injured it, and he took his chance to gently kneel down. The thick material of his pant leg pressed into the dirt.

“Oh,” Lark said again, softer. 

The bipedal creature stared up at him, dark eyes wide. A tiny chest heaved with quick breaths, while a pair of the tiniest hands Lark had ever seen dug into the dirt in a weak, useless effort to scramble away. It couldn’t seem to process that it was trying to escape, torso frozen, unable to tear its gaze away from Lark, who positively towered above it.

“You look like me,” Lark mused, almost to himself. His heart tugged a bit at the creature’s terrified reaction, and although it hurt, he understood. It didn’t seem to have any defense against someone as big as Lark.

Was it a he? Lark leaned closer, and the bone structure of the creature became more defined. A tan face and brown hair visibly trembled. Underneath its thick clothes and shiny gear, the creature seemed to be masculine, Lark assumed. He reached a gloved hand down, cautious of the way the creature yelped and jerked away, and gently brushed his finger against the skinny little arm. No natural defenses, it seemed.

“Here,” Lark murmured, and he scooped the creature up into his palm.

–

Pax couldn’t breathe.

Cold terror struck him, freezing his limbs to the forest floor. The monstrous being had knelt over him, unbelievably massive, blocking out the skylight with its towering shoulders and fluffy hair. Its sheer size sent all of Pax’s logical thoughts out the window.

He couldn’t seem to stop staring up and up and up, unable to tear his gaze away. A finger the size of his entire body had nudged at his arm, and his instincts went haywire, drawing a choked cry from his tight throat. 

“Here,” the being murmured, and for a second Pax’s mushy thoughts cleared just enough to acknowledge that wait, he speaks Exian too–?

–yet, before Pax could process the implications of a shared language between them, an enormous gloved hand closed around him.

A yelp  escaped Pax, sharp and panicked, but the hand didn’t relent. Five fingers, each one surpassing him in size, effortlessly scooped Pax into their overpowering grip. The smooth, leathery material was a harsh contrast to the gravel of the forest floor, and suddenly the juxtaposition brought all of Pax’s instincts rushing back. He thrashed.

The giant offered a soft “oh,” of surprise. Pax’s terror spilled over into his limbs, and he swung as hard as he could, punching and scratching at the gloved fingers. Devastation washed over him as the fingers only tightened, pressing his shaky limbs into his torso. Pax’s racing heart jumped directly into his throat.

“It’s okay,” the giant said, almost apologetically, the way one would speak to an animal. “I’m not gonna hurt you. It’s okay–”

“No!” 

Pax finally choked out a single word, voice breaking, and while the giant jerked back in surprise Pax fell into breathless pleas. 

“Don’t hurt– don’t hurt me, please, just let me go, please, please–!”

He broke off into terrified breaths, blinking hard as tears threatened to spill over. He was appalled that he hadn’t actually started crying yet; perhaps the sheer panic that had overtaken his body had prevented it. Now, as the giant stared down at him through wide lavender eyes, the water in Pax’s vision grew more prominent.

A beat of silence passed. Pax’s throat tightened.

“You–” the giant hesitated, his pale face processing Pax’s words, and in a surge of surprise his gloved fingers snapped open. Pax yelped in surprise as the grip around him subsided, and he crumpled in the center of the giant’s open palm. His heart pounded. “You speak Exian.”

Pax let out a shuddering, terrified sob, and he instinctively jerked back at the giant’s words, staring up at him. Light framed the giant’s head in a halo. “Wh-what?”

There was nothing stopping the giant from flattening Pax completely, or shoving him into the pocket of its lab coat, or tossing him down to the forest floor below. Pax’s imagination seemed particularly creative today, offering scenario after scenario of the different ways this giant could end him. 

This giant could do anything to him. Pax choked on his breath.

“Oh,” the giant said, voice flickering into something concerned. “Oh, please don’t cry.”

His voice completely overpowered Pax, despite how soft it was. Pax scrunched his eyes shut, whipping his face away, preparing for the inevitable.

Another beat of silence passed. Pax was, inexplicably, not killed instantly.

“Here,” the giant said, hushed, and suddenly something pressed into Pax’s arm. The explorer yelped in surprise, eyes snapping open, only to see an enormous, gloved finger rubbing at his shoulder. 

“Don’t—!” Pax jerked away, heart racing, and the giant stiffened.

“I’m sorry,” the giant said quickly. Pax whimpered.

The large finger retreated, and as those lavender eyes flickered with hesitance, Pax took a moment to try and calm his breathing. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes, drawing his knees towards his chest, and desperately tried to ignore the fact that he was currently being held at the mercy of a giant.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” the giant assured, worry lacing his tone. Pax couldn’t bear to look at him. “I’ve never seen anyone like you before. You speak Exian? Where are you from?” His voice flickered with something brighter. “This is fascinating. Do you have a name?”

The sudden onslaught of questions made Pax jerk back, a mixture of anxiety and frustration. He swallowed thickly, unable to focus. “What?” The word came out more angry than Pax intended, and he shuddered, dragging a shaky glove over his dirty face. “I’m sorry. I— I’m sorry. Just— just— please put me down.”

His thoughts were a jumbled mess. He couldn’t even attempt to think straight while sitting in this giant’s palm.

The giant tilted his head, apprehension crossing his pale face, and panic tugged at Pax's chest. 

“Will you run away?” The giant asked, worried. Pax lifted his eyebrows in surprise. “I want to know more about you.”

Pax drew his bottom lip between his teeth. Did this giant actually think Pax would be able to run away from him? He held all the power between them— that was obvious, right?

Weakly, Pax shook his head. “No. I just— I just wanna be put down.”

Lavender eyes blinked. “Sorry,” the giant mumbled, suddenly seeming to understand that he was holding Pax captive, and he lowered his hand to the forest floor.

Pax scrambled off the gloved hand before he could think. He let out a choked breath as he crumbled onto the gray dirt, knees digging into the gravel, comfortingly cold and still. “Oh, god.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m…” Pax took several shuddering breaths, then stared up, chest tight.

The giant’s face was… surprisingly soft, gazing down at Pax. His expression held only concern, traced in an innocent curiosity. Nothing malicious.

Pax blinked several times, drawing in a deep breath. The skylight framing the giant’s face reminded him briefly of a halo. 

“I’m okay,” Pax said, hoarsely, and the lavender eyes flickered in relief. “I’m… I’m Pax.”

The giant’s eyebrows knit together, curious. “Pax?”

“That’s my name.”

“Oh!” The giant understood. Pax watched, heart warming, as the giant’s feathers brightened. He couldn’t deny that the giant’s fascination with him was cute, despite being a little anxiety-inducing. “Oh, lovely. Pax. My name is Lark.”

The giant— Lark— shifted, providing Pax with a bit more space, and the explorer only jerked slightly in surprise. “I’m a botanist,” Lark explained, dropping his large hand into his even larger satchel. As he rummaged through what sounded like glass, he continued, “I’m studying these trees.”

He presented an enormous glass jar to Pax, and the explorer tried to hide his flinch. Icy anxiety flickered through his chest, and he tried to ignore the terrifying idea of Lark snatching him up and shoving him into the jar.

Within seconds, however, Pax processed that the jar was filled with a single white leaf. Lark beamed as he addressed the jar, falling into a ramble about the leaf’s pigmentation, and Park’s heart fluttered.

Lark didn’t seem intent on trapping Pax at all. 

He seemed… kind, Pax thought.

“Are you from this planet?” Pax asked in a moment of quiet, voice wobbling, and Lark tilted his head.

“Yes— are you not?”

“Well, no,” Pax responded as he gestured to himself, trying very hard not to add, obviously. “I’m exploring. This is the third planet I’ve arrived to on this side of the asteroid belt, but, um— I’m usually not so small here.”

“You’re an explorer?” Lark repeated, voice bright with fascination. He leaned closer, fluffy hair falling in strands over his eyes, and as he haphazardly shoved it away Pax couldn’t help but let out a shaky laugh. “How wonderful! Where is your home planet? Did you come here on a ship? How long have you been here?”

Pax relaxed his shoulders, heart warm, and he beamed up at the giant. He couldn’t deny the curiosity that they both shared. As terrifying as Lark had seemed at first, he clearly wasn’t intent on hurting Pax. His enthusiasm was honestly adorable.

“Do you want to sit down?” Pax offered, gesturing the giant closer, and Lark beamed. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

[queer-tssides]

There is no fandom I have seen be as unfairly mean to its creator than sanders sides in the past few years. ACTUAL BIG BUDGET SHOWS with endless resources and people working full time on it have had YEARS LONG hiatus' but because Thomas, one guy, is leaning towards shorter videos and Having Merchandise people are HORRIBLE towards him. I feel like it needs to be emphasised that he is not a showrunner. He is literally a youtuber and creator who is releasing what he likes to make and YOU are the FANS. He chose to start doing sanders sides, but does that mean he is no longer allowed do other things? I mean hes still MAKING stuff and it's still not good enough? You know he would be completely in his right to simply NOT make any sanders sides stuff because it's HIS SERIES? That stuff is SO HARD to make. He is playing, by now, SEVEN CHARACTERS? And the videos have gone from like 6 minutes to THIRTY. Not to mention how MUCH goes into every script and the editing, ETC. But you must understand, even if it took no work at all, even if he HAD all the money and time and people...he still does not OWE you more installments in his series. I wouldn't be surprised if he regrets ever making it in the first place with the needless pressure on him to do it. It was supposed to be fun, just another series to do on his YouTube channel. It is not a RESPONSIBILITY to keep making a comedy series on youtube. It's actually awful to see how many people are so RESENTFUL towards him for doing other things. He released a song recently, with Terrence, and a music video where they danced together. Because he wanted to! Is that not enough WORK because it's the wrong project for him to do? You can be disappointed, sure, if you were looking forward to more BIG sanders sides videos instead of the shorter ones. I am too! But that is NOT a reason to be as horrible as a lot of people are being. He is a type of creator who deserves your hate the LEAST. It is FREE, it is completely accessible. If you have his patreon, you can LEAVE. All of this bitterness towards him is so sad to see.

[ellstersmash]

Prompt time! Solas and Athi discuss at length if the other would love them as a worm. Please and thank you 🙏

“Are you comfortable in that form?”

Athi’s voice cuts into the quiet of the Fade and Solas’ own silent musings, the path they’re currently on less twisting, and therefore less mentally demanding, than most.

“This form?” he responds. “Or do you refer to another?”

“You know, most people don’t have to specify that.”

“I believe we can agree that I am not most people.”

Athi’s features scrunch together in amusement as she most certainly prepares to tease him—her favorite pastime, not that the Fade provides much of a variety from which to choose. “So true,” she says, the sing-song notes of it echoing in the shifting emptiness around them. “You’re very special.”

“Your approval of my circumstances is paramount,” he states dryly. “Which form are you currently curious about?”

“Your new—or, well, old—spirit form. It’s very… tendrily.”

Solas chuckles. “I can say with great confidence that I have never before been accused of being ‘tendrily.’”

“Love that we’re still finding firsts. Don’t you?” Athi nudges him with an elbow. The self-satisfied smile on her face makes its own light, her playfulness a beacon in the dull dark of this domain.

“You are right,” he says, “and I should hardly be surprised that you are still able to surprise me.”

“Or maybe you should be surprised by my surprising you, otherwise it’s not much of a surprise, is it? But back to my question: do you like to hang around as your tendrily spirit-self?”

“It is not so dissimilar to this one.”

“It floats.”

“Well, yes.”

“And you don’t have hands.”

Solas chuckles. “But many tendrils, as I’ve been recently informed. Besides, one does not need appendages to affect the Fade; only a capable mind and sufficient will.”

“Well, you need appendages to affect me,” Athi mumbles.

Solas grins over at her then, waiting until he catches her eye to lean closer, lower his voice, and ask, “Do I?”

She’s not the only one with the power to tease. It has the intended effect, of course: her eyes widen and unfocus for a few long moments, the air thickening with desire before she shakes it off.

“So is that a yes, then?” she asks.

“Yes, I am comfortable in that form, as I am comfortable in this one.”

“But not the wolf.”

This is not something he’s considered, and he takes his time answering. “The Dread Wolf was born of a specific need to threaten the evanuris and as a show of power and protection for those who would escape or oppose them. And, as you know, it takes a great deal of energy to maintain. I would not call it ‘comfortable’ by any stretch of the definition.”

“Cute, though.”

Solas rolls his eyes at her flippancy. “I refuse to dignify that statement with a response.”

“That is a response.” But she takes his hand and squeezes, warmth diffusing into Solas’ chest as her affection washes over him in gentle waves.

Some time later, it occurs to him to wonder why she brought this subject up in the first place. “Are you comfortable with my spirit form, Athi?”

“I mean, sure. It’s just new. And it is different, at least to me. Not as solid.”

“Different in a bad way?”

“No. I mean, yes in some ways. Harder to kiss you, for one thing.” She squeezes his hand again. “Also I’m never really sure which eyes to look into.”

“In truth, that form does not have eyes, or even sight in the way you’d experience it.” 

Athi looks up at him, a vacant expression which he can only classify as bewilderment on her face.

“There are other senses which allow me to perceive the world,” he continues. “Ones which are very difficult to explain to someone who cannot experience them, but rest assured that I know where you are and what you are doing, whether in spirit form or this one.”

“That clears things up less than I think you think it does.”

“I am sorry. Perhaps you might simply choose your favorite ‘eye’ with which to maintain contact as we converse.”

“Right, I’ll give that a go.” 

“Does it truly bother you? Does it change your opinion of me?”

Athi stops short, her hand still clasped in his tugging him to a halt in turn. “What? No, it doesn’t ‘bother’ me. It’s just different. And I have to be different with it.”

“But I am still…” He is unsure how to ask the right question, but feels it imperative that he discover the answer. “I am still Solas, to you? Even when I wear that form?”

“Who else would you be?”

“Does it change how you feel about me? Your—” It is still so hard for him to accept the concept that even forming the word is a challenge. “Your love for me?”

“Oh.” Athi’s whole being relaxes on a sigh and a soft smile. She lifts his hand to her lips and kisses two of his knuckles. “Don’t be ridiculous. Nothing can change that.”

“Well. That is a relief. Thank you.”

They continue along their path, but the quiet hardly has time to settle back in when Athi speaks again.

“Solas?”

He hums an acknowledgement.

“If I were in a different form, would you still love me?”

The answer is obvious, but he entertains the subject. “Temporarily?”

“No, I think permanently.”

“Of course I would. It is your spirit that I adore—though I am fond of your form as well.”

She laughs brightly. “Good answer! But what if it was really different? Like a fish? Or a worm? What if you woke up one day and I was a worm?”

“Is your spirit intact within this worm?”

“Let’s say yes.”

“Then yes, I would still love you. And I would learn to love your worm form in time.”

“Okay.” She’s silent long enough that he thinks the matter dropped, then: “But what if my spirit was changed, too? What if I had a worm spirit now?”

“That would be an impossibility.” Even more impossible than the premise, but he keeps that to himself. “If your spirit was no longer yours, but a worm’s, then there would be no you within it. I would cherish your memory into eternity, and leave the worm to live out its life.”

Athi gasps and stops again, dropping his hand to match her other one on her hip. “You would leave me?!”

“It would not be you, vhenan. It would be a worm.”

“But I would be the worm!”

“You’re not the worm. Without your spirit, the worm is just a worm.”

“What if I was always the worm?”

She appears genuinely distressed, and Solas isn’t sure he can reason his way out of a conversation this ridiculous. “Then we likely would never have met. You would not love me either.”

“You don’t know that!”

Solas sighs heavily, cradling his temples in one hand. “I fear we’ve stepped out of the incredibly hypothetical discussion we began and into a deeper one.”

Athi starts ahead without him. “You’ve certainly stepped into something.”

[ideasnstuff]

Not an idea but a short thing nevertheless.

One of my favourite skk scenes.

A description.

Looking at Chuuya at that precise moment had become extremely awkward.

Well, in reality it had always been embarrassing to look at Chuuya, when the boy shone as brightly as a blazing flame.

Looking at Chuuya had always been simultaneously embarrassing and a source of inexplicable irritation.

But now... now that he looked at the boy in front of him... the one taller, now felt small.

Blood bubbled violently in the pale veins, producing human heat that Dazai was not even aware of its existence.

It contrasted, therefore, with the cooled air of the light and melancholy night.

The previous conversation had been done casually, in an attempt to calm Chuuya, who - Dazai had realized - hadn't needed any reassurance.

But seeing the face covered in pungent stains of dried blood on the white skin, writhing in an expression of irritation and frustration, it had been enough to confirm Nakahara Chuuya's usual state.

The boy was fine, as he always was.

And Dazai, faced with so much willpower, so much resistance, stronger than the burden of fate, could only feel a certain respect.

Looking at the boy had become wrong. Looking at someone who had been through hell on earth was extremely shameful.

But Chuuya didn't seem fazed by this, speaking and treating Dazai, a mere mortal, as if nothing had happened.

Who would have thought, that the annoying boy and arrogant, had become the remedy for Dazai's eternal and inherent boredom.

Surely, a year ago, Dazai wouldn't have guessed such a thing.

Even though from the first day she had laid eyes on the boy, she had felt something different, something protective and... necessary... he'd never thought that would be enough to continue playing the game that people called life.

And for that very reason, Dazai looked with different eyes - or rather, with his only eye - with a feeling of admiration, respect and some inferiority towards Chuuya.

He felt small next to the boy.

Oh how his heart beat with atrocity against the fragile ribs...

He felt almost alive, the wind passing between them, like a caress from a mother's hand that neither had ever felt...

It was strange, but a pleasant and exciting strangeness.

So when Chuuya - altruistic and carefree Chuuya - had shown signs of wanting to sacrifice himself - the only person Dazai would eventually feel something for after his imminent death - had shown signs of his sacrifice - Dazai felt the need to at least try to stop that madness.

More for his own sake, that for the city's sake.

He knew he was selfish, but he couldn't let the flame that still burned, albeit a little less than usual, go out.

But... and so he told him what he felt, feelings camouflaged by excessive logic.

Chuuya had looked at him, eyes gradually larger with each passing second, the storm looming over his captivating iris and his features more surprised than he had planned.

Would he be... surprised?

Why would he be surprised?

In order to find out why, Dazai took a moment to look at him.

A mistake.

A big mistake.

Chuuya's eyes pierced into his soul as if trying to see behind the superficial layer that Dazai covered himself with.

Even with the layer of baggage in his eye.

Terrifying.

Absolutely terrifying.

But... so... magnetic.

It was the pair of eyes that had made him want to live a year ago.

Stormy, confusing, misty... beautiful...

And with his face dressed in pain and chaos... Dazai thought that Chuuya was... even more fascinating.

And as a source of attraction and interest, Dazai had to look away, feeling a certain heat in the cheeks, cooled by the night air.

Chuuya didn't look away, his gaze seemed to see everything, revealing everything.

The visible and invisible.

And Dazai felt even smaller and more naked, stumbling over the words and feelings implied.

He knew nothing would change Chuuya's decision, but he didn't want to be the one who got in Chuuya's way.

Just that once... he allowed himself to open his heart, because... someone as deserving and fascinating as Chuuya Nakahara deserved it.

He deserved honesty and Dazai could give it to him.

It was the least he could do.

And at the end of it all, with the boy asleep in his arms, Dazai finally allowed himself to release the breath he had suppressed.

A small, relieved smile appeared on his lips, looking down at Chuuya in his arms...

He could say, now for sure, with honesty and a delicacy unknown to him...

"Sleep now Chuuya"

And Chuuya, like the obedient dog he was, or out of extreme exhaustion...

Stayed still.

Chuuya was safe in those arms-

Dazai's arms.

His relatively misty eyes met Dazai's single eye before falling asleep in his arms... making Dazai suppress the emotional surprise that had invaded him, as soon as Chuuya had turned his head against his chest.

Peaceful and quiet, so... Chuuya-unlike.

But he had trusted Dazai.

The guy that nobody in the mafia trusted.

But Chuuya... Chuuya did.

(Dazai convinced himself that it was because he had no other choice and not because of the trust he had in him-)

But either way... Chuuya was lying in Dazai's arms, sleeping in his arms, using Dazai's chest as a pillow... and Dazai fed the fantasy that at least Chuuya had-

Chuuya had trusted him.

Chuuya had trusted his life to him.

He couldn't let him down.

He laughed a little, a laugh that was more desperate and relieved than funny.

(He ended up leaving Chuuya on the ground, after a brief caress on his bloody face, cleaning it with the sleeve of his coat.)

[a-court-of-lust-and-stardust]

Love on Ice Chapter 16: The Bracelets

Thanks again for keeping this story alive!!! Chapter 15 was posted a few moments ago, so make sure you read that first! Please leave comments on the story and art ❤️

26 Days until competition

“What do you mean you don't want to spend time with me?” Azriel questioned playfully. Socked feet propped up on the coffee table, Azriel stretched his body as he held his phone, content to watch Elain who had been frantically running around her kitchen for thirty minutes. 

On the other end of the video call, Elain snickered as she put the finishing touches on the cooled down cake. It was a simple red velvet cake covered in thick cream cheese frosting. 

“That is not what I said at all,” She chuckled, smoothing out the icing with a butter knife. “Nesta is having a girls’ night. I figured it would be good if I went for a little while.”

Azriel's heart squeezed in his chest. The meeting with Miryam and Drakon had been one of his best ideas. It’d only been a few days since then, but there was no trace of the doubts that had previously plagued her brain. She’d needed a reminder of what skating was all about. A reminder that she was strong and capable, and could give herself permission to be entertained. To open her heart and let love, any kind of love, burrow its way in. 

They’d spent a good two and a half hours at the Snowspell rink, jumping between showing the married couple their ice dance routine, and carefully learning intricate lifts only allowed in the pairs skating program. Miryam talked Elain’s ear off, sharing early stories of her and Drakon’s relationship while Drakon relentlessly teased Azriel any chance he got about the way he wore his heart on his sleeve. After they’d left the rink, Elain’s joy could be felt across Prythian. Azriel had dreamed of Elain’s lips on his cheek that same night. 

“I didn't realize you were so hellbent on seeing me anyway,” Elain taunted, licking the frosting from the knife when she’d finished. There was something so erotic about this sweet, soft woman licking what could double as a deadly weapon. 

“Spending time with you is the best part of my week,” Azriel answered truthfully, adjusting so that one arm was underneath his head. “There's nothing better.” 

“Not even hockey?” She asked quietly, doe eyes wide in surprise as she gingerly sprinkled pink hearts onto the cake. He’d gotten lost in those eyes on more than one occasion. He’d also caught those pretty brown eyes looking at him in a way she never had before. Almost as if he’d finally become something more to her than just a skating partner. More than just a friend. His cheeks warmed at the possibility. 

Azriel spoke softly, “No, not even that.” And it wasn’t a lie. Everything else dulled in comparison to spending whatever little time he could with her. 

“And what will you do while I am occupied tonight?” Either a genuine question, or a way to squash the palpable tension that could be felt even across a video call.

“Maybe I'll throw my own guys’ night,” He suggested, though a night alone was tempting. 

“Whatever you do, do not corrupt my nephew,” She said, pointing the knife at the camera. 

“I wouldn’t dream of stealing Cassian’s job.” A moment passed before he said more solemnly, “Promise me you’ll call if you need me for anything.” 

Elain’s face flushed. She wondered if her cheeks would always heat or her heart would always glow when he showed just how much he cared about her. “I promise.” 

Elain stood outside Nesta's door with the cake cradled between her hands. Her cheeks were tinted pink from the wind, matching the sprinkles on the sweet treat. Laughter erupted from behind the door, and Elain decided she couldn’t flee now even if she wanted to. A very tipsy Nesta had spotted her through the window and ran to fling open the door, enveloping Elain in a warm embrace. With a laugh, Elain gently scolded her older sister for almost crushing the cake. 

The inside of Nesta’s home smelled like cinnamon, embers from the fireplace, and three different types of alcohol. On the couch, Feyre lounged with a glass of red wine as dark as the accent pillows. Two girls sat on the floor, a brunette and a redhead, with a giant unopened box between them. 

“Am I late?” Elain asked sheepishly, nodding her hellos. She turned to Nesta. “You said to come over at eight. How are you already tipsy?” 

“No comment,” Nesta slurred, patting Elain’s cheeks. She must have had a few drinks before anyone arrived. “And you’re right on time. Elain, meet Emerie and Gwyn. Emerie teaches mixed martial arts here in the Night Region, and Gwyn owns a vocal studio in Summer.” 

All three girls flashed bright grins between each other. Elain placed the cake down on the kitchen table and said softly, “I baked a cake. I hope everyone likes red velvet.” 

Everyone did, in fact, enjoy red velvet cake. The treat was gone within the hour, along with most of Feyre’s delicately crafted charcuterie board. Gwyn’s exotic fruit tray had also been a hit, and the drinks were flowing and constantly being refilled. Bottles of wine, liquor, and even sparkling ciders were quickly becoming empty. 

Elain, to her sisters’ shock, had indulged in perhaps one too many drinks as well. She’d burst open from her shell, nodding along to Gwyn’s stories and laughing loudly at Emerie’s drunk antics. Feyre’s eyes glittered as she and Elain drunkenly swayed to music, and Nesta’s cackle could be heard all the way in Day region at Elain’s attempts at filthy jokes. 

“What’s in the box?” Elain motioned toward Gwyn, who eagerly unsnapped the locks and turned it around for everyone to get a better look. Elain’s hazy eyes took a moment to focus. 

“One of my vocal kiddos brought me this bracelet kit for Solstice last year,” She beamed, fiddling with the bracelet strings before passing them around. “I haven’t found time to make any yet, so I figured tonight would be perfect. Silly, harmless fun. There’s enough for me to make bracelets for all my students and for you all too, if you’d like.” 

Elain accepted her string, rubbing it between her fingers. In all her twenty six years, she’d never experienced something as simple as making a beaded bracelet with friends. Lighthearted, easy fun had never been a choice. 

And now it was.

So she grabbed another string, scooped a pile of beads and charms from the box, and permitted herself to create a memory that in years time, she’d hold dear to her heart. 

The last bottle of wine had just been cracked open as the doorbell shrieked. Emerie, closest to the door, opened it and blinked. 

“We heard there was a party.” 

Elain watched Nesta’s head whip toward the front door, mouth falling open as Cassian stomped into the house, followed closely by Rhys and…

“Azriel,” Elain breathed, not as quiet as she thought. His gaze found hers immediately, shooting a wink in her direction. 

She didn’t know where to look first. 

The short sleeve black shirt that seemed to suffocate his arms.

The gray sweatpants that hung loosely off his hips. 

The backward black cap. 

The molten hazel eyes. 

The smirk that always sent her heart into overdrive. 

She didn’t know where to look first, so she just…looked. 

And if he gave her shit about it, or tried to joke about her ogling him, she’d blame it on the three and a half glasses of wine she’d consumed. 

Elain stood, blocking out Rhys and Feyre’s conversation about Nyx’s bedtime routine with their sitter named Madja, and completely ignoring Cassian’s lame attempts at flirting with Nesta (who only seemed to be enjoying said attempts due to the large amount of vodka in her system). 

She walked right over to Azriel, whose grin was blinding. He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “What have you been up to, beautiful? You look like you’ve been having a good time.” 

Elain offered a lazy smile of her own, extending her hand and wiggling her fingers as the other was clenched behind her back. “Follow me.” She led him to the back porch, sticking out her tongue at Cassian’s wolf whistle (which earned him a smack on the chest from Nesta), before shutting the door for privacy. 

“I got you something,” Elain said, shaking her head at the mistake. Giggles erupted from her throat. “Well, technically, I made you something.” In a movement so swift she almost lost her balance, she presented her clenched fist toward him, revealing a pair of bracelets. She looked up at him, eyes wide. “I know you have my necklace, but now we have matching good luck charms, too.” 

Azriel blinked. 

Elain bit her lip, stained cherry red from the wine. “Is it stupid? We don’t have to wear them. They’re probably not good anyway since I’m a bit tipsy and couldn’t really see the colors of the beads but–.”

“Put it on me.” 

The rambling paused. “What?” 

He presented his wrist, saying thickly, “Put it on me.” 

A relieved breath escaped her lips as she secured the pink bracelet around his wrist. It took her five tries to finally knot the string, playfully pouting when Azriel teased her about watching her alcohol intake. The middle beads made up her name, and the blue bracelet she had him tie around her own wrist featured his name, too. A claiming of the sort. 

“Miryam told me that she and Drakon used to wear a matching set of rings on the day of their competition to bring them luck,” Elain hiccupped, covering her mouth when another set of drunken giggles left her mouth. Azriel leaned against the back of a chair on the porch, arms crossed and eyes mesmerized by the current state of his partner. “Cresseida and Varian have matching warm-up jackets, and I know Kallias and Viviane have each other’s initials tattooed on the inside of their wrists. They kiss the tattoos before they skate. I wanted us to have something, too. Even if it’s just a silly beaded bracelet made after one too many glasses of merlot.” 

Elain felt herself being pulled into Azriel’s chest. She sank into him, nuzzling her face into the fabric of his shirt. He held her to him, fingers running through her honey-gold strands. 

“I hope you know I’m never taking this off,” Azriel said, lips brushing against her hair. She smelled faintly of jasmine, honey, and the wine she’d consumed. Familiar and intoxicating. 

Elain, arms still wrapped tightly around Azriel’s torso, tilted her head back to say, “That’s the point.” 

They were content to embrace each other in the dark of the night. At least, Azriel truly was. But it was Elain who pulled away first, just enough so there was a sliver of space between their bodies. Azriel folded his arms over his chest, face easy as he watched Elain look him over unabashedly. 

“Checking me out?” He teased, lips quirking. 

He expected her to flush like she always did. And of course she did. But the rose color that blossomed high on her cheeks was accompanied by a sultry voice. “And if I am?” 

She stepped forward again, and Azriel audibly swallowed as her fingernail traced the dark ink along his bicep. Her movements were slow, exploratory, and hell he could do nothing but stand there and let her touch him. 

Her fingers grazed the tattoos on his neck next. Azriel bit his lip to stifle a groan before murmuring, “Then that makes two of us.” 

Indeed, because he was growing less subtle whenever his eyes lingered on her body over the last few days. The urge to touch her, taste her, had been far more consuming now than in the beginning of their partnership. 

But he wouldn’t touch her, nor would he taste her. 

Not yet. 

Not in this state. 

“Az?” She whispered into the night, index finger tracing the sharpness of his jaw, the outline of his lips. His pants visibly tightened, and he prayed to whatever entity existed that she didn’t look down, lest she be uncomfortable. 

“Mm?” 

“What’s it like?” She asked softly, thumbing the plushness of his bottom lip. Her eyes focused on his mouth, savoring the warmth of his breath, before saying, “To be kissed?” 

Every piece of Azriel froze. 

His thoughts and his bones and his blood and his breathing and his heart. Time was suspended as he let the question sink in.

“I’ve never been kissed before,” Elain went on, eyes a shade of deep brown. Azriel couldn’t, wouldn’t, tear his own gaze away from her. Not while she was looking at him as if she might ravish him wholly. “And I’ve never kissed anyone myself but I…” She swallowed then, the only outward show of nerves. “I think I’d like to kiss you one day.” 

Azriel’s heart leaped. He didn’t care that her words were a bit slurred and thick from the wine. Didn’t care that she was revealing a piece of herself while she wasn’t sober. Despite the alcohol in her veins, he knew her words were truthful. “I think I’d like to kiss you, too.” 

One moment, Elain’s eyes were roving over his face, his body, and her hands were tracing and gently gripping any sliver of exposed skin. The next second, her lips quivered and eyes shimmered with unshed tears. “But I can’t.” 

Azriel’s face fell, and he gripped her wrist in his hand, their bracelets glinting in the moonlight as he cradled her hand against his cheek. “Why not?” He asked in a broken rasp. 

Elain pulled away, although every instinct in her body told her not to. He looked visibly in pain, as if her words had sliced through his chest. “There’s too many reasons why we can’t do this. As much as I want to, we just…can’t.” 

He would get no more information out of her, he knew. So he accepted her answer with a curt nod of his head and released her wrist. He already missed the feeling of her skin. 

“I have a pretty good idea what some of those reasons are,” Azriel said. “But let me just say one thing.” And because he was a greedy bastard, he stepped forward and placed either of his hands on the sides of her neck, thumbs stroking her skin. Beneath her neck, he could feel the rapid thrum of her pulse. “If any of your reservations are because of…me…I need you to know I would never force you, never pressure you, to do anything. If anything ever happens between us, it will be on your terms, when you are ready.” 

Elain’s eyes flashed, Azriel’s face the depiction of wary. Full of conviction, she said, “None of those reasons are because of you, Azriel. Please never think that. I trust you with my body as much as I trust you with my life.” 

Azriel groaned, forehead bumping against hers. “Fuck, Elain. Tell me you understand I’d take care of you. Tell me you know that.” 

She nodded sheepishly. 

“No,” Instinctually, he gripped her chin between his fingers, never hard enough to cause pain. Only to keep her there with him just a bit longer. “Tell me.” 

She stood straighter, chest brushing against his own. Elain gauged the raw emotion in his eyes and said, “I know you would take care of me. In every way possible if I allowed you to.”

Azriel dipped his chin once, kissing her nose before breathing, “Good.” And because his mouth was just a hair's breadth away from her lips, and because the temptation to claim her was so strong, he pulled away and offered, “How about I take you home, yeah? You look like you’re going to pass out any minute.” 

Elain chuckled after stifling a well timed yawn. In her tipsy haze, she whispered, “Only if you promise to carry me to my bed if I fall asleep in the car.” 

And yes, Elain had fallen asleep within minutes of strapping her seatbelt. It took Azriel a moment to fish out her apartment key from her purse, but once he found it, he carefully maneuvered Elain out of his car, cradling her to his chest as he expertly unlocked the door. 

Even without the promise, he still would have carried her to bed anyway. The thought of changing her into something more comfortable infiltrated his mind, but he decided against it. He wasn't sure how she would feel in the morning if she knew he had seen her, if only for a brief moment, in a vulnerable state. 

So he laid her on the bed, peeling off her shoes before securing her under the puffy, white comforter blanket. After some rummaging in her bathroom cabinets, he found a pack of makeup remover wipes, and gingerly scrubbed her face. Even with all of the jostling, she remained fast asleep and as peaceful as a dove. 

Azriel knew he should’ve left right then, but he perched himself on the side of her bed and gently stroked her now makeup free cheek. He knew what this feeling meant inside his chest. The feeling he wanted to let erupt, but one he had to keep contained until she felt the same way. 

“You have my heart, Elain Archeron,” He whispered into the silent night, kissing her cheek before he stood from the bed. “I hope one day you let me into yours.” 

ARTWORK FOR THE CHAPTER BY @chachachai17: Here

DIVIDER BY: @saradika-graphics

[mamahoggs]

#4!!

#4: brutus - the buttress

send me a #1-50 for a sim based on my most played songs!!

[chitinleg]

got him off-balance!

[kingofattolia]

Quinlan and Aayla are the original Anakin and Ahsoka. Quinlan being Obi-Wan's age, and Aayla being seven years older than Anakin, Quinlan is only NINE years older than her. Legends Wookieepedia says he took her as his padawan when she was 10, which is patently ridiculous. Even if we age her up to a more new-canon-consistent age, that still gives us 23yo Quinlan and his 14yo padawan. Disaster duo. Terrifying gremlin pair.

[thcophagy]

upon finding lana cornered by one of his work colleagues at their last christmas party, a variety of emotions had come over sully and all revolved around how strikingly protective over her he had become. it had taken a lot of back and forth to get her to confess as to what was going on but once the nature of her previous job had been announced, those feelings of needing to defend her only grew more prevalent. it had been a shock to say the least, learning that not only had she slept with a man like that but she'd done so for money, he didn't know if it would be better for worse if for some strange reason she'd done it of her own accord. the details of her previous employment had been kept brief, namely because he didn't know how to address it delicately but also because he doubted his wife would be pleased with the notion of having a former sex worker looking after their kids. by that point, both sully and his kids were far too attached to let anything get in the way of making sure she stuck around, even if that meant keeping secrets and lying to his wife about why he'd made such a big deal about ending the party early that night. learning about her past had naturally brought about questions, for the next week or so he found it nearly impossible to go about his day without picturing her in all kinds of situations, both fetishizing her for that work and worrying about the possible things she had been made to endure as a result. he put himself in a difficult position of both needing to protect her from anything bad happening again and craving things from her that would have to come from her very exploitation. "oh, i think i'll leave it up to your imagination." he chuckled awkwardly and took a glance down to the hand that had settled on his shirt, in part because he felt it was wrong to be discussing his past rowdy behaviour, especially when he had worked so hard to leave it all in the dust and build himself into the man he was. although, he was also curious to what she thought him capable of. he'd engaged in the usual drunken debauchery expected of a man in his twenties, allowed himself to submit to each and every whim that came about no matter the cost, it had been a fun life but ultimately not maintainable. she was clearly very intoxicated, he didn't want to take anything she said or did too seriously or make her feel bad for acting out of sorts. the imagine of a bunch of young guys throwing themselves at lana didn't exactly fill him with joy but when delivered in that low, sultry tone, how could sully do any but do as she wished and pictured him there to save her? his arm tucked tight around her waist as he pulled her out from the dance floor, his hand wandering down the curve of her hips till his fingertips found the hem of her dress and helped pull it down to cover herself up, his days in clubs were far behind him but it was a nice thought nonetheless, one he banished immediately after he let it play out. he offered nothing but a small hum in response and before he could even think to answer her next questions, that nimble hand had made its way down his torso to the waistband of his pants. he didn't dare look down again, instead he kept his eyes on the road and swallowed back the surprised gasp that had threatened to come out. she'd always been a bold, confident girl but never to such an extreme, he chalked it up to the alcohol and god knows what else she might've ingested that night and quickly realised he had to be careful with how he dealt with her suggestive proposal. "you don't need to worry about me." carefully, he reached down and pried her hand away from his crotch, then brought it back over to her lap where he set it down with a gentle pat. "just relax, we'll be home soon." it didn't need to be a big deal. maybe she'd forget about it in the morning and they could both pretend it didn't happen, or perhaps she'd come to him apologising profusely and he would have the chance to comfort her once again. either way, sully knew he had to turn lana down before he was too weak to do so.

there were many factors at play when creating the taboo nature of lana and mr. landry's potential coupling— for one, there was the age difference. she'd thought it rude to ask specifically, but from what context clues she could pick up on, she'd guess he and his wife were around twice her age, but no matter the number, it was clear she and sully were in vastly different places in life with vastly different maturity levels. then, of course, there was the matter of him being her employer, and her landlord, and he was already married on top of that, which all combined gave him a great deal of power over her, and yet she couldn't help but feel like she was the one pulling the strings as she gazed at him from the passenger seat. as if she wasn't already worked up enough, there was just something about a man driving that really got her going, and she found herself becoming transfixed not by his face, or his broad chest just barely concealed by a flimsy t shirt, but by his hairy knuckles gripping the wheel. "i'm glad you came," she purred, lips slowly curling up into a lazy grin. no matter how hard she studied him, lana could never tell how exactly he felt about her. when she'd first taken the job, she figured she'd be dodging his advances left and right to try and form some basis of professionalism, but he'd been nothing but polite and respectful. at times he'd treat her with the detachment common for a boss, though as time went on and she became further integrated into the family, their dynamic shifted, lines blurring as he came to look out for her like one would a daughter. now that the incident at the party occurred— now that he knew what she used to do for a living— lana didn't know how exactly he saw her anymore, if it had planted some seed of sexual curiosity within his mind, or only made him that much more protective of her in a paternal sense. from what she picked up on, her attraction was far from one sided; it was merely a manner of helping him accept that he could act on his desires without jeopardizing his whole life. who knows? maybe she'd stumbled into that interview for a reason. perhaps some benevolent god had dropped her right onto his lap to help reinvigorate his lust for life, and he was just too boneheaded to accept it. "yeah?" her eyes were practically sparkling with intrigue, ink black lashes batting as she reached out to toy with the front of his shirt. "tell me about it..." her imagination was active, but she wanted something more concrete— had he merely engaged in the typical amount of debauchery for a man coming of age, or had he been particularly rowdy before marriage and fatherhood straightened him out? she'd liked to have seen him back then in his glory days, if for nothing else than to know for sure whether a mustache like that came pre or post twins. "i always do." as long as alcohol was involved, lana always had a good time, but going out now was almost bitter sweet when she remembered what she had back at home. "i should take you with me next time! maybe that'll stop random guys from grinding on me every five minutes." it was delivered in jest, though when spoken in her erotically inebriated tone of voice and when coupled with her sultry gaze which had drifted down to eye the crotch of his pajama pants, it may as well have been an invitation into her bed. "when's the last time you and mrs. landry went out, hm? you're always so busy... work, work, work..." the hand on his chest began traveling, working its way down to the waistband of his pants. "you work too hard taking care of everybody, mr. landry... who takes care of you?"

[lucabyte]

🐮

[ronithesnail]

The utter lack of bowuigi interaction (and really just luigi screentime in general) in the movie is genuinely disappointing because when i saw what a scared little guy luigi was i was fully expecting there to be an arc while hes captured where having to be around bowser and do what he says gradually teaches him to be less scared and stand up for himself all leading up to when he saves mario at the end

Like that ending wouldve been so much more impactful with a just a little more luigi screentime

[cookinary]

Totally Spies is so much more fucked up than I originally remembered and I fucking love it

So anyway, they most likely have ptsd from some of their missions because while they live in a cartoon world, I still love me some good long-lasting psychological trauma

Some more details under the cut if you're curious!

Mitch takes Jerry's place in this AU! He's chill and he loves his kids very much, and if any villain were to seriously hurt them, he'd chase them to the end of the Earth to make them pay

While the siblings (only in this AU of course) are based on Sam, Clover and Alex, they aren't a one on one perfect equivalent

Ophelia is the only one who doesn't wear makeup while Pedro and Denny are into it, but with more subtle things like eyeliner and nail polish

Of course they all fight in heels uwu

They're all homo, all the homo everywhere (which makes Mandy very confused when it comes to picking a rival to fight with over the new cutest boy in school)

[mxdotpng]

i genuinely dont know how tales of the abyss did what it did because ive never had a game hurt me so much with like sixteen separate character relationships. all at once.

[violentlydefending]

genuinely always so shocked to see mirei hate. like literally god forbid women do anything.

[omarwolaeth]

thinking 'bout how the lads interact with what the bracelets represent, especially in their decks