#so far here is what I have done to just one character

[felassan]

David Gaider on Kieran, under a cut for length:

"CHARACTERS - DAY TWO: Kieran (Technically this is an addendum to yesterday, but I make the rules here so nyah!) Heading into DAI, I had a bite-sized problem on my hands. I knew Morrigan would feature. I also knew we were importing previous choices. So now I had to contend with: the Old God Baby. Here's the thing about honouring previous game choices, from a design perspective: it's a sucker's game. What many fans picture, when you mention it, is divergent *plot* -- the story changes path based on those major choices. How exciting! But you will never be able to deliver divergent plot. You can deliver flavour differences (usually in the form of divergent dialogue), character swaps (character X appears instead of Y), and extra content (such as a side quest) -- but plot branching, particularly the critical path? It's a question of resources, and there's never enough to go around. "Here Lies the Abyss" in DAI was about as good as it gets, and even that was a far cry from how I originally pictured it (hello last-minute insert of Stroud when a DAO Warden import got cut). The Old God Baby was one of the main choices from DAO -- Morrigan has a baby? With the Archdemon's soul?! Most DAO players who flagged that choice surely expected *monumental* consequences. World-shaking consequences! And we talked about it. We did. There were, like, three different designs of the DAI ending where OGB Kieran could cause complete divergence: new path, cutscenes, the whole nine yards. But it wasn't going to happen. It was a decision from *two games ago* that only a small minority (hello telemetry) would even choose. To the rest, they probably neither knew about it nor cared... so how many resources could you invest? To do what? Set up an even bigger divergence for the NEXT game? The other writers acknowledged my anxiety with a grim nod every time it came up, but they had no solutions. Finally, I realized there WAS a solution, and that was changing how I thought about the choice: don't make it about Kieran. The players don't know him, never have. Make it about Morrigan. Thus began a feverish three days where I wrote probably the most complicated scene of my career: Morrigan's reckoning with Flemeth in DAI and the fallout after. Three different versions (OGB Kieran, non-OGB Kieran, and no Kieran), each with branching for other choices (like the Well of Sorrows). I did it all at once. There was no other way to wrap my head around the complexity of it. It was also a tough sell to the team, considering the amount of cinematics work, but they agreed we had to do *something*. And still it felt... underwhelming, insofar as divergence goes. But it was also good. I remember when I first spoke with Claudia, about how this was Morrigan's story. This was about how motherhood had changed her, how she'd grown up. Claudia got a bit teary-eyed. It was a journey she was familiar with, she said. Her first son, Odin, had been born in 2005 not long after DAO came out. And, man, she killed with that performance! Kate, too, but I'll get to her later. Claudia dug down, and that scene where Morrigan tells Flemeth she'll never be the mother Flemeth was to her? That came from someplace very raw. It was devastating to witness in the booth. There were tears all around. Not long after, Claudia called and asked if maybe - just maybe - Odin could play Kieran? He was a bit young (not yet 5, then), but it felt... right? We agreed. Claudia was in the booth, gently coaching him through his lines, and I think that was the first moment I felt I'd done the right thing."

[source thread]

User: "Do you find it an odd choice that Kieran hasn’t been mentioned at all in Veilguard?" David Gaider: "If there’s less reactivity in DATV, I’m unsurprised. Continuing choice from up to 3 games earlier is… unsupportable. Yet DA established the expectation they would so… damned if you do, damned if you don’t?" [source]

User: "EA is one of the biggest game companies ever. I don't think more complex diverging plots are impossible." David Gaider: "Well, if only more writing was all it took. Sadly, it's also cinematics. Art time for all those reappearing characters you probably want to look *just* right. And let's not forget we have to test all those permutations! So I don't disagree with you in spirit, but I don't think it's the answer here." [source]

User: "is there a possibility of future kieran appearances in a book or something similar outside of the games?" David Gaider: "I'd have no way of knowing that." [source]

User: "I’m actually shocked so little people chose the dark ritual. That was basically the main reason Flemeth sent Morrigan with the wardens, no?" David Gaider: "The impression you get of what "most" players do - in almost any game, not just DA - is very different if you're online a lot. Consider here that it's not just the % of DAO players who chose the Dark Ritual, it's the % of DAI players WHO PLAYED DAO and cared to import that choice 5 years later." [source]

User: "Is there anything you wish you had done differently, in hindsight?" David Gaider: "Probably just to not ever do importing choices between games in the first place." [source]

User: "Kieran only existed in my DAI state b/c Morrigan as a mother really appealed to me. I wasn't expecting to be devastated by those scenes 😭 I guess when we complain about lack of consequences from prev choices in DAV we must also ask how MUCH are we willing to pay for those branches to exist?" David Gaider: "That's indeed it. Content directed towards reactivity would have to come from somewhere else. So essentially a shorter game overall for the sake of those hardcore fans who'd import - who would, I imagine, REALLY enjoy that... but it's a tough cost/benefit analysis to make." [source]

User: "mr gaider im gonna keep it real with you if i had to choose between my hof and hawke i would've simply passed away" David Gaider: "Right? That was the ENTIRE idea! I was very excited, and for a while it seemed possible." [source]

User: "This has been a very interesting read but I have to ask why they decided to use Stroud instead of the HoF" David Gaider: "1) Complexity of providing means for a player to build a Warden (which they did in DATV for the Inquisitor). Also spoiled the surprise. 2) We’d have needed to give the Warden a voice. Add these to the cost and it was deemed not worth it." [source]

User: "Genuine question, not a critique - but what made the OGB decision one that couldn't be handwaved as canon no matter what was or wasn't chosen? Leliana and Flemeth being around no matter what come to mind. Was OGB simultaneously too major and too minor of a decision?" David Gaider: "Flemeth and Leliana being alive were easily explainable, and we knew we were doing it even back then. Circumventing the Dark Ritual… that would be too cheap. We did talk about it, but it just felt too dishonest. Too high a price for what we’d get in return." [source]

David Gaider: "If I’d known the Well of Sorrows would only see reactivity in the confrontation with Flemeth, I’d probably have made a much bigger deal of it." [source]

David Gaider: "We could maybe have gotten past the need to "reconstruct" the Warden, much like the Inquisitor was reconstructed in DATV (so I understand), but the need to give the Warden a voice was the final nail. Too potentially disappointing for the very people who'd be excited about it, aside from the cost." [source]

[bunji-enthusiast]

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐝.

☀︎︎ || With a long awaited reunion, Jayce finally gathers the courage to do something he should’ve done a long time ago.

C/W || nothing nsfw honestly, just lots of fluff, Reader’s gender isn’t implied here, appearance isn’t descriptive, Jayce is just awkward with feelings.

Word Count || 3,433

Note || I feel I should clarify that my whole driving force behind this was inspired by all the jayvik scenes (however you view them lmao), and the song ‘young and beautiful’. Some other things inspired this but mainly these things.

This is also a first I’m posting a fic about a character from Arcane, or arcane at all honestly so some honest criticism for my writing would be appreciated.

That scream repeated over and over in his mind, again and of course – again. Jayce was becoming tired, worn down. His heart began dulling out the environment around him, causing him to look forward, no baggage weighing in on the astral shoulders of his that bore a weight so greatly, for the reality of the supposed great arcane. He was trapped in it for so long. 

Red, all he saw was red painting the calluses of his hands. His hands grabbing desperately onto yours, feeling the warmth, the sensation of that beloved warmth leaving your body. 

(All he could do was choke out a cry. Silent in the loudness of the world crashing down around the being of you both.)

Another fabric of time, which would have also been his reality. In which you were enemies, Jayce, he wasn’t sure what side to be on. All he knew was to destroy what was necessary, you otherwise wanted to destroy him. Jayce tried to converse with you, yet his growls fell on deaf ears. He was trying to end things, he really was. His want clashed with yours, the need to end things. Jayce just wanted you to not be in pain anymore, and that look in your eyes, the tense stance, pained breathing punishing sharply in the cavity of your chest – that confirmed it for him. 

But what was he becoming this time? (Man, or beast?) 

He couldn’t tell. 

A remaining constant rang true for him each and every time he was chained down in each memory, stone marble cracking in the face of your memory, he was almost beginning to forget what your face looked like. But that scream, it never left him. Your scream was the constant variable of which he experienced each and every time, and you almost always looked at him in fear.

Jayce hated that, he really hated that so much. Looked upon in unease, the sweat on your palms accumulating, and the trepidation rapidly beating in the confines of your ribcage; that heart of yours about ready to jump out, easily because of him. 

On that cobblestone floor, cracked by death and echoes of explosion. 

He couldn’t tell if you loved him–maybe as a friend–yet either way it was, once. He probably missed it, only looking past you right at others, Viktor, Mel, or even the face of the Hextech Gemstone. The way you were always so kind to greet him even if he didn’t remain a figure of importance in certain situations, you had always made an effort to include not only him, everyone else as well. You brought people together in a way he seldom noticed. But now that he was trapped in the belly of the beast, he thought about it more often. 

Jayce truly realized that you had. (But did he ever deserve it? He was beastly toward you often.) 

One step after the other, and he realized harshly–being brought back to the now. Something, or someone was far ahead of him. In this void of darkness, and even the occasion of the beautifully loud rainbow swarms, he had never come across someone real. So he began to rush forward, keeping a vice grip on his hammer. 

He choked out a shout, feeling his esophagus sore and weak. His body creaked, bones clicking against each other softly, and every which way he twisted himself — he could hear it. Jayce could clearly feel the way his joints had sanded, slowly creaking under the weight of herculean effort to press forward. 

The dull ache pressed in his chest, but he couldn't help the youth that springed him forward for a momentary transition in time.

A voice echoes, so strikingly similar to someone he holds dear. And he wonders if that was really the real deal, but he was easily proven wrong once the being speaks; “You must not fail, Jayce.”

Not Fail.

Must, not fail. The accursed organism had repeatedly told him that same mantra over and over again. He was pushed through the time lapse, and forced to relive the gruesome experience of being a human. The poor decisions made, the hope (and the false).

It was easily his driving force as he made it through the dark glowering of magicks that cursed his downfall, and the others around him. Jayce tried not to open his eyes as the sharp pains followed his limbs, intakes of breathing that punished him with every step he took. Yet it was sudden as he felt a ghostly touch impressed into his upper back, causing him to twitch, swerving his head nearly off the hinges as he looked to see whom the cause of the touch was. The crinkles beneath his eyes expressed clear frustration, as he was tricked once again. Jayce cursed himself mentally as he trudged forward, the onslaught of surprises resuming once again when the light gleamed – jarring as can be for a low fluorescent tone. He recapitulated his position, standing firmly into whatever ground there was irrespective of the pain. Jayce’s hands were worn with exhaustion, each and every ache screaming at him to fall down, rest. 

Imaginably he could, but he dared not too. (He couldn’t rest, not again.)

This was his last resort, he was not capable of letting it happen again. He needed to make sure nobody died, he needed to make sure it wasn’t out of bleeding, feeling cold. He knew it far too well, and he was going to make sure he was doing everything in his power to–

Oh wow. 

It was painful–painless–for a few moments, leaving him disoriented as he grunted, trying to accumulate to his new surroundings. He wondered where he was now, what would it show him next?

He blinks for a few moments, struggling to stand up as he supports his weight on the hammer. Inevitably cracking his neck, easing himself of the sore pains that riddled his neck and even the rest of his body. His leg was where it had really hurt for the matter, but no reason to worry, he was ready for whatever was gonna come next. 

“Jayce?” A gasp escapes his throat, ebbing it raw, his eyes blurring into clearness for the first time. He furrows his brow, attempting to get a clearer look at the source. The man was worn from battle–he tenses, fully rising to his height. 

(He heard a voice, and it was yours. Not an illusion, not a past memory. It was really that same cadence that not even the arcane could replicate.)

His throat bobs, churning with a burn that reminds him that he really is here. Where he had first disappeared in the first place, the accursed base of the HexGate facility. Jayce really, really had begun to hate HexTech. His eyes briefly scorn the intricate designs, almost weaved like the stories in tapestries. The stories were wrong, they always had been wrong. He should’ve listened to Heimerdinger, he should've listened to the professor. 

What was he doing?

Oh god.

“Is that you?” His eyes flicker back over to the one other person in the room, right in front of him. Jayce attempted—couldn’t—to look you in the eye, it was a difficult thing to do. His brows furrowed, a headache came to the forefront of his pain, and he closed his eyes. He heaved a heavy sigh–he was ashamed. 

Killing came so easy to him now, so why is this now any different?

Deciding to test the waters he quietly muttered your name, followed by a gentle greeting; “Hey.” Jayce murmurs, his bottom lip quivered for a moment.

You could see how cracked his lips were, and it made you almost worry for him. Of course, you should be. But you didn’t want to rush him, the way he had carried himself, you could see he was still far too tense and on edge. Both of you were thinking the same, worried about the other, still wanting to embrace each other–even so used to the touches of danger. It was in consideration, that made it all too painfully slow in this reunion. You nodded your head, taking a step forward. 

“You’ve been gone quite awhile,” You verbalized with a tilt of your head, gesturing about the length of his absence. “I was… worried.” He gave pause to your comment, a slight widening of his eyes as he lifted his gaze, albeit shortly enough to reach your torso. You looked different from what he remembered, just right there was enough to make him realize the passage of time. 

“How–I, how long have I been gone?” He internally winced at the way his voice sounded, his throat felt so sore. Jayce wasn’t sure himself, he felt it best to ask you. He understood that time had passed extensively, not how much for the matter, he felt it passing entirely differently during his time within the core of the arcane–whatever its physical being is. Something entirely reminiscent of a curse. He despised it so much for leaving you and the others without warning. But yet again, he hadn’t taken a step back to think about his words and actions, and how easily he could hurt others. Jayce knew better than that now, atleast. 

He could almost feel the hesitation radiating off of you, as if answering would be the end of all things. Jayce heaved a mournful breath, letting his eyes close. 

(Maybe it would, he wasn’t sure. Jayce didn’t want you to be afraid of him, is all.)

The room was cold, cold as the winter storm of the day he crossed paths with the arcane, he had almost forgotten that. Yet it was useless when he felt the warmth of something inexplicable touching his cheek, leathery he must feel. Jayce felt the way his skin hardened, the way his body tenses when he’s touched. But–that wasn’t the case here, no. 

A small gentle pad of the thumb swiped over the area, leaving him to open his eyes – inextricably locking gazes. Jayce was left surprised, almost recoiling for a split-moment. You kept a firm hold, your gaze all but gentle. Which was the last thing he expected, he searched any inch of your expression, and not once did your eyes falter in that interval of time. Jayce was tempted to stray away from your touch, every nerve in his being telling him to do so. However, it was something else that let him stay in the same position. That same stance, and he was unable to run away from it. 

Jayce grimaced, holding his head. Another episode, what he’s seen. Far too much of it, you concluded. 

He could see flashes of something unholy, far too close to the sun, or perhaps far too close to the moon. Jayce could see the debilitating deflections of creatures, something supernatural, the coarseness of rainbows. It was the way his lungs squeezed upon itself, twisting in a macabre manner of gestations that left him breathless for a meager few moments. You simply held him through it, and gently murmured, drawing his attention to you once more. Whatever he saw, it was the countless hours of death, it was inescapable. Blurry had it appeared to be once over, as he never wanted to recall the things he experienced. The last thing that had never been blocked out were those memories of you, dying over and over again, especially by his hands. It was in repetition that he blacked out so many times over, constantly finding himself in new arenas. Having to raise his hammer against someone else, seeing their blood splatter against the coldstone of the ground. Jayce wasn’t sure how he hadn’t–broken. 

It always felt far too real to him, he was sure it had. The heavy heart that corones his emotions, the way he acts. Probably in that alone that he had caused the deaths of so many innocents so many times, even for a different fabric in the space-fold of time, it still happened. Jayce didn’t want that to happen to you–not again–to anyone else. 

With the impossible decisions, and the road he had walked so far. There was nothing short of a future, or a dream for him anymore. He had to fight, even if that meant physically. Jayce knew there was something different in this life of his, he just wished this wasn’t the truth of it. He grieved it even, but he couldn’t truly be given time to process that. Life does not slow down for anyone, not even you, and not even him. One is only human after all, and you sure as hell make the most of it, the best you can, even if people may hate you for the smallest thing. It is innately the most human thing that truly makes each and every person kind, despite their supposed repugnant nature that makes mankind so infamous. 

“Jayce,” You murmured, a tone so soft, he didn’t deserve it. “Can you please look at me?” Almost to your whims, he felt so commanded. A rarity in such matters, that he didn’t mind it. Such a simple action, and it seemed so difficult though. But he tried, and succeeded. 

For the second time now, he locked eyes with you. His gaze was colored by bashfulness, leaving you to laugh. A tender touch, revering the inches of encroaching warmth that crawled back into his skin bit by bit. You breathed a puff of air, noting the cold atmosphere. 

‘He must’ve been cold before he came back out.’ You scrutinized the details for a moment, and considered how much time he spent. How long he went without proper warmth, the lack of temperature. Whatever or whomever it may have been that was his captor, you were glad he was finally freed for good, hopefully. You just were relieved that you could finally just see him, and know that he’s truly there (instead of just a delusion). Even if he appeared differently, he was still here. 

“I really did miss you.” You mentioned, seeing the flicker of surprise, surmising the life that brought back the color in his eyes. Less dull now, and far more colorful within the beautiful amber–almost had you wishing you could stay trapped in it forever. Not forever maybe, that would mean you’d never be face to face with him directly, like now, where you stood stronger than ever. As you were more than willing to be a pillar of support for the broken man, who you guess appeared to see so much, it nearly broke his mind. For the brief moment of pause, you could see his jaw tighten, as if he was contemplating something, but wary to air out the thought. 

He held the expectation that you would’ve been more fearful of him. Or at the very least angry, god knows he fully deserves that. 

Your brows tighten, almost wincing at the knot in your forehead. You’ve done that especially way too much lately, even since Jayce’s sudden disappearance. It was a question of your own, nothing short of anger, all it really was confusion. 

Jayce seemed to notice this, drawing you out of your short-lived predicament; “You… alright?” He muttered, somewhat hesitant to draw his hand over yours. He didn’t see himself deserving enough for that yet, not until he knew that it was by all rights okay with you. Only then you nodded to reassure him, biting the inside of your cheek as the moment passed. 

Finally garnering the courage to the breadth of your chest, “How… or why have you been gone so long?” Jayce simply looks at you with a half-unreadable expression, as if he had expected this question. One way or another, he was always going to be faced with such a question. After all, he had been trapped inside the palace of the arcane, a presumably long life-time of experiences; enough to age him noticeably. 

“I'll explain it,” He paused, a waver in his tone. “In time.” Jayce’s reluctance was more than easy to notice, so you nodded, not fully satisfied with the answer. But you had to wait for answers another time, there were reasonably far more important things to deal with right now. Whatever that may be considered. 

So you opted for a hug (entirely and completely out of the blue).

The affectionate gesture, which could mean many things, surprised him. He didn’t count for this happening—it made his knees buckle, the weight hounding you to fall with him. Even with the vice grip he previously held on the handle. He let go of his hammer, wanting and using both arms to just utterly hug you back with the whole of his heart, and he was fulfilled. Nose buried in the crook of your neck, it was filled with your scent. Your own hold on him didn’t vacillate at all–which in retrospect–it gave way to a level of solace he never felt before. 

He tightened his hold on you, a silent way of giving thanks, if nothing else. You were glad, happy even that he accepted your inhibited sudden gesture. 

You leaned back, slowly but surely, just to check that Jayce wasn’t uncomfortable. It was a failure however [as good as you were at reading expressions], there was naught a hint of it at all. You tilted your head, eliciting a soft laugh from the man. 

‘Mission successful!’ 

His soft laughter elicited a pavlovian response from you, leaving you to move your hands, cradling his face with both hands once again. Anything and everything seemed to fall short around you, for the long while you began to realize, lord you were far from attached to the thought however. His brows furrowed with a small grin, still finding it somewhat amusing with your subtle acts of nature. In spite of what preceded, the decedent time of passing made him begin to freeze. 

Color began creeping up against the patches of his skin that crawled from the beginning of his mandible, nape of the neck, and now up to the cheek bones. Expression faltering. (“Hey, uh…”) He tried to muster, but despite that, it fell on deaf ears. Your gaze made him hot, and he was always on the fence on whether or not how he should react. Jayce wasn’t sure how to handle it really, cause you look at him as if he was all that was there in the room. The spark of motivation behind your learning, or even the nights and transitions of time where you listen to him talk about what makes him so inspired. Of course, he always made the effort to do the same, but it had made him wonder if you felt so similarly. 

Yet, when he allowed his overthinking to fester, never bringing it up, he was afraid and just simply decided to not ask about it at all. Jayce was always a bit afraid about these things, but with what he's been through, he fears this may be the first and last time he’s allowed to see you. 

With that being his driving force, how his heart raced, it gave him a burst of confidence. Jayce lowered his left hand to your hip, the other to holding your face. His eyes were soft, brows raised as if he were asking. It was first and foremost, but his heart continued to beat right up against the cavity of his chest. 

There was a flicker of astonishment gleaming in your eyes, but it slowly disappeared, as if you ascertained what he was wanting, and frankly you found it sweet that he had asked for your permission. Nonetheless, you were more than delighted to oblige with his request. 

Warmth blossomed exuberant in his chest, as if fireworks were being set off. The sensation it ignited in him was soulful. A first tentative brush, then a second time, more sure than ever now. Jayce’s breathing almost labored when he pulled back, and he could figure the same for you. In a way, it was as if a weight was lifted from his shoulders by such a simple act of love. Even with the moments passing, the two of you leaned against one another, relishing in the feeling that heightened your tension. 

Though it did wear off quickly enough. 

Jayce watched with patience of a thousand men as you leaned back, re-adjusting yourself as you spoke. And wasn’t it ever the truth. 

“If you’ve done that earlier, then i probably wouldn’t even be here right now.” You remarked, causing him to laugh quietly. 

(No shit.)

He should’ve done this sooner.

[writingfics-passingtime]

hi, can you please write about the reader overthinking decorating a pumpkin and loki threatens to tickle them if they don't start it 🤗🤗

I can still post pumpkin content cause it's still November, right?

Here's a sassy, stoic reader, an absolute teasing menace Loki, and a tender, emotional ending (because I can't help myself).

word count: ~4300

pairing: Loki x female reader

content / warnings: sexual tension, suggestive banter, flirting and touching, tickling, swearing

minors dni: this work does not contain smut, but does contain a suggestive relationship between the reader and an adult-aged character. I am not comfortable with engagement from anyone under the age of 18. Thank you for your understanding and respect.

note: thank you anon ~ I wasn't going to respond yet because my prompts aren't open, but I've seen a few other writers receive and fulfil this ask, and I've liked seeing what other have done with it. My imagination went a little wild. Thanks for your message x

If anyone has an idea for a title, help a girl out

The room was alive with voices, clinking bottles, and the occasional scrape of a knife against pumpkin flesh. The compound’s main dining hall had been transformed into an unlikely tableau of domesticity. Avengers, gods, and spies bent over their assigned gourds with varying levels of skill and enthusiasm. Stark’s pumpkin already looked like a disaster of glitter and questionable wiring, while Natasha’s had been carved into a clean, menacing grin, a masterpiece of precision.

And then there was you.

Your pumpkin sat pristine and untouched in front of you, its smooth surface mocking your indecision. Brushes, carving tools, and paints were scattered around your space, all conspicuously unused. You held a small knife in your hand, twirling it absently as you stared at the blank canvas.

“Do mortals often find themselves defeated by vegetables, or is this particular weakness unique to you?”

Loki's voice slid over you like velvet, dark and rich, tinged with mockery.

You didn’t look up. “It’s a fruit, actually.”

“Ah,” he drawled, moving closer. “Semantics. How very like you.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you saw him lean against the edge of the table, his long, lean frame clothed in casual, dark fabrics that clung just enough to remind you that he wasn’t of your world. His sharp blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he surveyed your untouched pumpkin.

“You’ve been staring at it for nearly an hour,” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Surely even you can’t find this much to overthink.”

You exhaled sharply, finally meeting his gaze. “Maybe I’m waiting for inspiration.”

“Or perhaps you’re simply afraid to begin.” His lips curved into a slow, knowing smirk, the kind that made your pulse stumble. “One wrong cut, one poorly chosen stroke, and the whole thing could be ruined. What a tragic metaphor for your careful, overthought life.”

“Thanks for the analysis, Freud,” you said dryly, turning your attention back to the pumpkin. “Now, if you’re done, I have work to do.”

“Work?” His laugh was quiet, mocking. He moved closer, the faint rustle of his clothing brushing against your senses like a whisper. “Sitting frozen with indecision isn’t work, darling. It’s fear.”

You bristled but kept your voice calm. “If you’re so invested in this pumpkin, why don’t you decorate it yourself?”

“Because I find your quandary far more entertaining.”

He stepped around behind you then, his tall frame casting a shadow over your seat. His presence loomed, a magnetic pull you both resented and couldn’t entirely resist.

“I’ll give you a choice,” he said softly, his voice close now, the faintest trace of his breath against your ear. “Either you begin decorating this ridiculous fruit, or I’ll take matters into my own hands.”

You turned slightly, meeting his eyes over your shoulder. They gleamed with dark amusement, his smirk widening as he caught the way your lips parted involuntarily. “Oh? And how exactly would you do that?”

Loki’s smirk deepened, his gaze dropping briefly to your lips before returning to your eyes. “I could start with this.”

Before you could react, his fingers brushed against your sides, featherlight but enough to send a jolt through you. You stiffened, gripping the edge of the table as his touch lingered, just shy of maddening.

You twisted in your chair to glare at him. “That’s your plan? Tickle me into submission? How original.”

His chuckle was low, dark, a sound that sent a shiver up your spine. “Oh, I think it would be quite effective. And besides,” he murmured, leaning closer, “I suspect you’d secretly enjoy it.”

Your breath caught at the sheer audacity of him, the way his voice dipped into something so sultry, so intimate, that your stomach twisted. “Sounds like you're desperate for an excuse to touch me,” you shot back, your tone sharp despite the heat rising in your cheeks.

He tilted his head, his smirk softening into something more dangerous, more deliberate. “Desperate? No, darling. Just curious.”

His gaze swept over you, slow and deliberate, as if he could see straight through you to the rapid beat of your heart.

The air between you seemed to thicken, the tension coiling taut as his words hung there, daring you to respond.

Your grip on the table tightened as you forced yourself to meet his eyes, even as heat coiled low in your stomach.

It felt like gripping the steering wheel of a car spinning out, but you snapped the moment.

“You’re not as intimidating as you think you are."

Loki laughed, soft and wicked. “Of course not. And you're the picture of composure, as always."

His hand brushed against yours then, the faintest graze of his fingertips, and you swore the room tilted.

“Go on,” he urged, his voice a low murmur, his eyes locked on yours. “Prove me wrong. Pick up the brush. Start decorating. Show me you're not afraid of a little fun.”

You hesitated, your heart pounding so loudly you were certain he could hear it. The weight of his gaze, the dark amusement in his smirk, the sheer magnetic pull of him it was... intoxicating.

Finally, with a sharp exhale, you grabbed the brush. “Fine,” you said, your voice tight as you dipped it into the paint.

Loki straightened, his smirk triumphant but his eyes still glinting with wicked intent. “There’s a good girl,” he said softly, the words like a caress against your ear.

It left you burning long after he’d stepped away.

As you focused on the paint in front of you, doing your best to ignore the heat coursing through your veins, you felt the thrill of his words linger.

The brush hovered over the pumpkin, the orange, unsullied skin glaring up at you like a taunt. Loki had retreated to the far end of the room, his fingers tracing idle patterns on the edge of the table as he spoke with Thor. You knew it was only a matter of time before his attention flickered back to you, the heat of a flame too close for comfort.

You had no intention of giving him the satisfaction of seeing you squirm under his gaze any longer.

Sliding the brush down as quietly as possible, you rose from your seat. The soft scrape of your chair legs across the floor was muffled beneath the ambient chatter of the room, and Loki didn’t so much as glance your way. Your pulse quickened as you edged toward the door, heart hammering with every step.

He didn’t follow.

Once you’d slipped into the quiet of the hall, the tension in your chest eased, and you let out a breath you were very aware you'd been holding.

You made your way toward the compound’s library, the solitude of it a welcome balm. The others would still be occupied for at least another hour - enough time for you to lose yourself in the pages of your book and avoid whatever game Loki had been playing that almost made you crack.

The library greeted you with its familiar quiet, the scent of leather sofas and paper a comforting presence. You found your usual spot tucked away in a far corner, a large bay window cushioned with soft pillows overlooking the courtyard. Settling in with a contented sigh, you pulled your book from where you'd wedged it between the seat cushion and the wooden frame.

The story drew you in almost immediately, the tension of moments ago dissolving into the words on the page. The sunlight filtering through the window began softening into twilight, painting the room in hues of amber and shadow.

The quiet here was sacred, untouched by the chaos of the compound. As you turned the last few pages, your chest loosened, the illusion of safety creeping in.

Surely, he hadn’t followed you. Surely, Loki had other things to occupy himself-

Surely not.

“I expected better from you.”

The voice slithered into your ears, so low and sudden that your breath caught in your throat. With all your years of training, you managed to stay frozen. Futile, though. You knew he could see right through it.

You looked up, and there he stood, shadowed and immaculate, his silhouette framed by the dim glow of a single, golden lamp. His icy blue eyes glinted with cruel amusement, his lips curling into a smirk that made your stomach twist.

“How... predictable,” he continued, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. “You flee like a rabbit, thinking you can burrow away from the wolf.”

Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced yourself turn back your book. “I don’t recall fleeing,” you started, turning a page. “I walked out, actually. Perhaps you’ve forgotten the difference in your old age.”

He chuckled, the sound low and dangerous, like distant thunder rolling over jagged peaks. “Ah, there it is. That fire you wear like armour. Does it soothe you to pretend you’re unshakeable?”

You scoffed, even as your pulse betrayed you. “You’re awfully sure of yourself for someone whose only hobby seems to be tormenting me.”

“Torment?” he echoed, his voice silken as he closed more distance between you. “My dear, if I were tormenting you, you’d know it. Shall I demonstrate?”

You didn’t dignify that with a response, instead turning another page of your book. The words blurred before your eyes, but you kept your expression neutral. “If you think I’m going to feed your ego by reacting, you’re going to be sorely disappointed.”

"Why did you refuse to take part?" There was something unnervingly earnest in his voice that pulled at your heart. "Why did you leave?"

You looked up, wearing a mask of indifference and sarcasm. “I didn’t realise decorating pumpkins was a matter of state importance.”

The smirk tugging at his lips was slow and predatory, dark amusement glinting in his eyes. “Such sharp words, little rabbit. Always so quick with your tongue when your heart’s trying to claw its way out of your chest.”

Your pulse spiked, but you refused to let him see it. Instead, you tilted your head, letting a slow, sardonic smirk curve your lips. “You said you weren't desperate, Loki. But you seem to have taken to taunting me for sport."

The laugh that slipped from him was low and sinuous, curling like smoke through the still air. “Oh, I don’t need sport to occupy me. But you…” He leaned forward, the space between you vanishing in an instant. “You’re far too entertaining to resist. Especially when you’re trembling behind that mask of yours.”

“I’m not trembling.”

“No?” His voice was a purr now, his breath brushing your ear as he lowered himself just enough to meet you at eye level. “I suppose you weren’t squirming earlier, either. Like prey in my hands.”

Your cheeks flared with heat, but you kept your expression neutral. “You sound obsessed.”

“And you sound very ticklish.”

The way he said it - smooth, dark, laced with that damned smirk -sent a ripple of mortification through you. It was all the confirmation you needed of his intentions to follow through on his earlier threat.

It was inevitable.

So you leaned back, lifting your book as if to shield yourself from the weight of his gaze. If you were going down, you were going down swinging. Well, verbally, at least.

“You’re overplaying your hand.”

“Oh, am I?” He stood to his full height, towering over you now, his shadow eclipsing the faint light. “Because the ones who act so tough, so stoic, so unbothered... they’re always the most fun. It’s so very delicious to watch them fall apart.”

“Is that what you tell yourself at night?” You forced your tone into something light, dismissive, though your grip on the book tightened. “That you’ve got me figured out?”

His smirk deepened, his head tilting as he studied you like a puzzle he already knew how to solve. “I don’t need to tell myself anything. You do all the work for me.”

Your lips parted for a retort, but his eyes flickered down to the slight tremor in your fingers, the way your knees shifted restlessly against the cushions.

And you saw how his smile widened, satisfied and predatory, when he saw all the hallmarks of someone about to flee.

“Go ahead,” he murmured, voice dropping to a velvet whisper. “Run. It’ll be more fun for me.”

For a split second, you froze, torn between logic and instinct. Then you bolted, your book tumbling to the seat as you darted for the nearest gap.

But Loki was faster.

You didn't make it two full steps before he caught you with a preternatural ease, his ensnaring hands dragging you back against him in one smooth motion. His low chuckle brushed your ear as he manoeuvred you down onto the window seat, half-pinning you on your side with his arms wrapped firmly around your waist.

“Pitiful,” he drawled, his tone rich with mockery. “And here I thought you’d make it a challenge.”

You shoved at him, scowling. “Let me go, you overgrown-”

Whatever venom you’d prepared was shattered as his fingers pressed into your ribs, curling with precision against the fabric of your sweater. Laughter burst from you, loud and uncontrollable, and you immediately clamped your lips shut, mortified by the sound.

“Ah,” Loki purred, his grin widening. “There it is. That lovely sound you try so hard to keep from the world. Go on, darling. Let me hear it again.”

“Loki, wait- no!” you gasped, but his hands had already found the curve of your waist, his fingers pinching with precision that felt criminal.

“No?” he echoed, mockingly incredulous. “You were so calm a moment ago. What happened?”

He didn’t give you a chance to answer. His hands slipped beneath the hem of your sweater, squeezing tighter, his nails grazing the bare skin of your sides. You quaked at the contact, laughter spilling out uncontrollably as he found every sensitive spot with uncanny accuracy. Your hands clutched at his forearms, his chuckle hot and tempting against your neck as your head fell back in mirth.

“Tell me the truth,” he said, his voice low and commanding, the words a dark melody against your ear. “Why did you run?”

“I- I...” you wheezed, twisting in his hold, going nowhere. With a ferocious, defiant growl, you yelled, "I... walked!"

Loki paused, his lips curling in that knowing smirk, and then he tickled harder, digging in with precision. You crumpled back against him, laughing helplessly, unable to catch your breath. Every sound that left your mouth was a mix of laughter and helpless gasps, each one a surrender to him, to the unrelenting tickling.

“Let's try again,” Loki commanded, his voice low, his breath warm against your ear. “Tell me why you fled.”

You struggled to pull yourself together, trying to come up with another witty retort, but before you could speak, Loki found an especially sensitive spot, just under your ribs, and his fingers locked in with a brutal efficiency. You shrieked, squirming beneath him, but he held you there with the effortless force of a god, his smile widening against the shell of your ear.

You thrashed harder, your laughter raw and breaking, tears welling in your eyes. “I’ll- kill you-”

“You’ll what?” He laughed, low and dark, his fingers picking up speed again, pressing and kneading with wicked precision. Every stroke of his hands felt like it was designed to unravel you, to push you past your limits and then some.

The realisation hit like a blow: he could read you. Every shudder, every hitch in your breath, every twitch of your body. And worse, he was enjoying it, adjusting his touch with the kind of skill that only centuries of mischief could hone. His hands didn’t just tickle; they teased, tormented, mastered you.

"You- oh my g-" you gasped, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "You absolute fucking-"

“Such language,” he chided, his tone a tease of disapproval. “And after I’ve been so gentle.”

His fingers danced lower, teasing the curve of your hips, and the laugh that escaped you was so deep, so raw, it left your chest aching. Loki stilled for half a heartbeat, his grin sharp as he took in the sound, before redoubling his efforts. He pressed his thumbs into the tender space just above your hipbones, his fingers curling to squeeze in a way that had you screaming, your body writhing in his iron grip.

“Okay! Okay!” you gasped, tears of mirth welling in your eyes.

“Speak, then,” he commanded in low and silken voice, his fingers unrelenting. “And don’t lie to me. You won’t like the consequences.”

“I—” You hesitated, your breath hitching, but he gave you no mercy. His nails dragged lightly over your ribs, and the sound that tore from you was half a laugh, half a desperate gasp.

“Speak."

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself!” you finally choked out, your body trembling beneath his. “I didn’t want to make something stupid and have everyone see how bad it is!”

Immediately, his hands stilled, and you gulped in a shuddering breath. He unwrapped his arms from around you and leaned back, his smirk softening into something almost... fond. You shoved at him weakly, as if not quite believing he was retreating.

“Well,” he said, standing and staring down at you, admiring his handiwork, “you’ve certainly made a spectacle of yourself now.”

You glared at him, flushed and breathless. “You... are insufferable.”

“And you,” he countered, his grin returning, “are utterly fascinating. Shall we?”

Before you could protest, he hooked his arms under your knees and around your back, sweeping you up effortlessly, carrying you toward the door. You squirmed in his grasp.

“What the hell are you doing now?”

“Delivering you back to the battlefield,” he said, his smirk a knife’s edge. “You’re not escaping that easily. You’ve still got a pumpkin to ruin, and I, for one, am thoroughly invested in the spectacle.”

You groaned, your head falling back in defeat. "I hate you."

The smirk in his voice was undeniable. "No, you don't."

The dining hall was no longer the lively scene it had been earlier.

Now, it was deserted, shadows stretching long and dark across the room, flickering with the faint light of a few dying candles. The scent of melted wax and pumpkin guts permeated in the air, and the silence was nearly oppressive.

Loki carried you inside, his grip firm but not unkind, and though you didn’t resist, you couldn’t help but feel a smouldering irritation at the way he seemed to enjoy this small victory. When he set you down, his hands lingered at your waist, steadying you, as though daring you to bolt again.

You stepped forward, stopping just shy of your untouched pumpkin. Its smooth, orange surface gleamed in the low light, mocking you. The tools remained where you’d left them, and the weight of your earlier frustration pressed at the edges of your mind.

“I... don’t know what to do with it,” you said finally, turning back to Loki. You hated how the admission sounded - small, almost defeated - but there was no taking it back now.

Loki’s sharp gaze softened imperceptibly. His lips twitched, but the smirk didn’t fully form. “Then I shall help you,” he said, his voice low and smooth, offering no room for argument.

Before you could respond, he sat in your chair with that infuriating ease, his presence commanding even in the simplest of movements. His eyes met yours, glittering with a mixture of challenge and amusement, and he reached out a hand, curling his fingers in a silent demand.

“What are you-” The words barely left your mouth before you realised he was beckoning you to sit on his lap. Heat flushed through you, unbidden, and you scoffed, trying to mask it. “You do realise chairs are meant for one person, don’t you?”

Yet, unwilling to have him see how he was sliding under your skin, you turned and settled yourself against him. His muscled chest brushed against your back, his legs firm and solid as your seat.

“And yet, here we are,” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear as he spoke. His hand settled at your waist - an anchor, not a cage. “Now, let’s see if we can salvage your poor, neglected pumpkin.”

You scoffed, grabbing the carving tool. “Fine. Show me your masterful technique, Your Highness.”

The title came out sharper than intended, but Loki only chuckled, low and indulgent. He leaned closer, his shadow engulfing yours, and reached around your shoulder to guide your hand. His fingers slid over yours, his grip firm but not harsh. “Relax,” he murmured. His voice sent a delicious shiver down your spine. “You grip it like a weapon. This is art, not war.”

You bit back a retort and let him guide you. His body was close enough that his every movement brushed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Together, you began to carve into the pumpkin, slow and deliberate. His free hand flexed against your waist, your free hand steadying the canvas.

As the shapes emerged, you realised they weren’t ordinary designs. They were runes.

Norse runes. Delicate, intricate, and entirely unreadable to you.

Loki worked with a confidence that bordered on arrogance, his hand steady as he traced the lines with your hand.

“What does it say?” you asked eventually, breaking the silence.

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he leaned closer, his breath warm against your neck as he murmured, “You’ll see. Keep holding it steady."

The tension between you grew with every passing second. His touch lingered long, his presence close. Every shift of his body beneath yours was impossible to ignore, every brush of his breath against your skin a reminder of just how thin the line between teasing and something real had become.

When the carving was done, you slipped off his lap, feeling the need for a the brief moment of distance for your sanity, and retrieved a candle from the sideboard.

But the room felt colder without him holding you.

You lit the wick and placed the candle inside the pumpkin, watching as the light filled the carved runes, casting jagged shadows across the table.

You turned back to Loki. His expression was unreadable, his gaze fixed on you as though he could see straight through to your very thoughts.

Carefully, you sat back down on his lap, unable to ignore the magnetic pull he seemed to have on you. This time, you sat side-on. His hands settled instinctively, one on your back, one on your knee, holding you steady. With his height, your faces were almost level, but you still had to look ever so slightly up.

“What does it say?” you asked again, your voice quieter now, as if speaking too loudly might shatter whatever fragile thing had formed between you.

“The name of a great warrior,” he said, his tone mockingly reverent. “Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.”

You arched a brow, your lips twitching. “Let me guess. Your name?”

His grin widened, and the silence was answer enough for you.

You rolled your eyes, but a genuine smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet undeniably fascinating,” he countered, his voice a low purr. His gaze dropped to your lips, and his smirk faltered, replaced with something quieter, more tender. Relieved. "There it is." His words were almost a sigh.

You tilted your head, raising a brow in question.

“I was beginning to fear you didn’t know how to smile.”

The intimacy of his words rendered you speechless for several, long seconds. Your mind faltered, your fingers fidgeting in your lap.

“What? You don't remember what happened like... twenty minutes ago? I recall laughing to the point of tears, thanks to you.”

“That was different,” he said simply, his tone quieter, earnest.

The air between you thickened, heavy with unspoken things. His hand moved in slow, deliberate patterns against your back. “It must be exhausting,” he said after a moment, his voice gentle and laced with something that sounded dangerously close to sympathy. “Always bracing for the next crisis.”

His sudden sincerity caught you off-guard. You fidgeted with your hands, stained with pumpkin pulp, your gaze dropping to your lap. “It’s not like that,” you muttered, though the words felt hollow.

“Isn’t it?” His hand stilled on your back for a moment before continuing its slow, soothing movements. “You are allowed moments of meaningless joy. To partake in frivolity. It doesn’t make you weak.”

A bitter laugh escaped you, soft and humourless. “I take it you didn’t buy that I was embarrassed about the pumpkin?”

He tilted his head, his lips curving into a faint smirk. “Not for a second.”

You looked up, straight into him. "But you let me go."

His gaze fell to your lips, as if he were already missing your smile. Mourning it. Plotting a witty remark or flirtatious comment that might see its return.

He then looked back to your eyes, swallowing harder than usual, his voice now gentle. “I thought you were due for some mercy. You... seem to have very little for yourself.”

The words settled over you like a weight, heavy and undeniable.

And for a moment, you couldn’t breathe.

"It feels wrong," you admitted in little over a whisper. "To... do things like this when so many people-" The breath caught in your throat and you had to look back at your hands, sniffing to buy some time. "It's selfish. Carving pumpkins. Decorating. Laughing at stupid things. People are out there suffering, and I’m here playing holiday games. Safe.”

Loki was quiet for a long moment, his hand resuming its slow, deliberate movements along your back. It brought you far more comfort than you'd ever admit out loud. Not yet, at least.

When he finally spoke, his voice was soft, the usual sharp edges dulled. “You cannot bear the weight of your world every hour of every day. Even the strongest flame falters if it is not tended.”

The rawness of his words cut through your defences. You couldn’t meet his eyes, but your lips twitched as you tried to deflect. “You know,” you muttered, half-laughing as your head dipped, “getting tickled to death felt a lot less exposing than this conversation.”

His chest vibrated with a low chuckle, and when you glanced up, his smirk had returned, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. “I’m happy to oblige,” he drawled, his fingers curling against you as if preparing to pounce.

You shot him a warning look, though you couldn’t quite keep the corner of your mouth from twitching. “You wouldn't.”

“Oh, wouldn't I?” he teased, his hands still hovering ominously close.

"No," you shook your head, that twitch turning into a smirk. "I sat with you of my own free will. Trusting you. You won't jeopardise that."

The playful glint in his gaze softened slightly as he settled back, studying you with a quiet intensity. "The little rabbit may just be a fox after all," he mused, ceding his advantage.

He studied you for a good, long while, you both sitting in a comfortable silence as he traced idle patterns against your back, his thumb brushing your knee.

Finally, you swallowed your nerves, and broke the silence. "Thank you. For your help.”

You looked back to the table, eyes roaming over what he'd carved with your hand;

The name of a great warrior. He'd said. Renowned for wit, skill, and unmatched beauty.

"Runes are... actually quite beautiful."

He hummed softly in agreement.

You turned your head slightly, eyes still on the sharp lines. "What would my name look like?"

Then, you looked up at his face, and your breath caught.

His eyes were alight, faintly glittering from the flickering candle inside the artwork. Something between a smile and something far more satisfied curled onto his lips as he nodded at the runes.

"Exactly like that."

[coriphallus]

DA: The Veilguard Spoiler Review pt3 - Politiks

oh my little void in this world wide web, we are really in it now.

a little PSA before you read this word vomit, i am from westernmost middle east, and that will inform much of what i know about the topics i discuss. i wont know about race politics of america or the intricacies of it beyond what i can see online but as an immigrant i do have some perspective on western experience. so when i talk about heavy topics it will come from a foreign place. i do understand and admit that i cannot ignore that BW is a north american studio and that colours every theme they touch.

so there are two angles to approach this, 1st is to assess DAV on its own and 2nd is to assess it as a part of a whole and continuation of a franchise.

lets get 1st out of the way, its safely uncontroversial beyond taash's story. and eff-plays voiced my feeling verbatim on that subject more succinctly than anything i can possibly write.

2nd is very, very grim.

every DA game that came before had been interlaced with politics of its world so severely that its absence is disorienting. every game you were given the choice to change the political landscape of the countries youre playing in, for better or for worse. even the 2nd game with its vastly smaller scale sees hawke trying to navigate through their life as an immigrant, even at the games climax you are given a choice to drastically alter how this uprising will be remembered and it tells hawke that there are no half measures, they need to pick a side.

"Slavery or no, flesh is always for sale."

in my very first DAV playthrough i picked a shadow dragon elf, i didnt give her any backstory as i though being an elf in minrathous would shape her world view regardless.

first scene i got when organising my room rook pulls out the SHACKLES of a slave shes freed as she reminisces about how much good shes done, and puts them on her bedside. then proceeds to talk to a book and say "everybody looks down on elves but we were here first >:c"

(at this point i rerolled my character so i dont yet know how shadow dragon background plays out.)

at the very beginning of the game we see similar shackles and varric informs us that solas hates slavery, hes been freeing them.

when we make it to minrathous we learn that these people in neves circle have been freeing slaves.

alright so, the heavy handed deliveries aside, what purpose do all these scenes/expositions serve?

well, it makes these people look good. we know theres slavery in this part of thedas and these people are fighting against it not by any elaborate means but dont worry kitten <3.

[i had to look up the english for some of these terms so feel free to correct me if im wrong] patterson describes slavery as "one of the most extreme forms of the relation of domination, approaching the limits of total power from the viewpoint of the master, and of total powerlessness from the viewpoint of the slave". death of the soul, death of what makes one human -and for the purposes of this section- death in the eyes of state. slavery has such a long history that predates early modern colonization of africa by thousands of years. it is a staple of human history and where we have come from shapes what we are now. we can shun it, call it abhorrent but we cant pretend it never happened. theres always been people dead in the eyes of state.

heres the uncomfortable truth, there aint never been enough steel in the world to hold every hittite or mittani slave. to assume slavery is people getting abducted and put to irons is as naïve as human trafficking being a rando ruffying you and hauling you across the sea in a crate. yea, it could happen but 99% of the time its just a waste of time to physically hold someone against their will by force. and this idea makes us think its this far off thing that happened thousands of years ago by bad individuals doing very comically bad things, which is a very deliberate choice, because to depict period accurate slavery would be to portray social and economical classes, and that would be confronting how little we've changed in certain aspects.

people were born into that caste, shaped by it, worn down by it, and abused by it systematically.

in DAI Dorian says something -apparently- very controversial that i dont think this fandom has fully unpacked, and i aint gonna do that here either because im not remotely qualified. he likens the working class of south to slavery of north, theres no way to engage with this argument in any meaningful way, even as an elf, and in general people brush it off as dorians pro-slavery rhetorics.

try as DAV might to disregard, we actually did meet an ex-slave and trafficking victims on three separate occasions, and the games have set a premise already. we got to talk about their unique circumstances, and they were handled with some measure of dept. maybe you liked them, maybe you didnt, but you knew them and that makes a difference. they had agency in their own stories. a far cry from DAVs nameless faceless props for righteous gentiles to circle jerk about.

but, sure, lets tell ourselves showing them would be too gratuitous.

can you imagine how batshit insane it would look if zevran kept the belt her husband used to beat isabela with as a trinket, to display in his tent? that scene with rook disturbed me more than most anything in this entire franchise and coming from an anders supporter, thats saying something.

this is how little the writers were willing to engage with their source material. this is how little they are willing to engage with the world around them.

which makes the next blunder inevitable.

alot has been said about the absurdity of elves feeling responsible for the events of DAV, but maybe this hasnt been said enough; this is a blatant fascist rhetoric.

i will spell it out though, even though i never thought it needed to be said, the social performance of accountability indicates that the party who has done harm has benefited and continues to benefit from that harm, this is why reparations are paid, and thats what "check your priviledge" means. elves in DA have never benefited in any way from the warmongering of evanuris, they were enslaved by them.

to say that these people should feel some sort of responsibility towards what befell dwarves is a fascist rhetoric used irl to offload responsibility and divide and alienate the opposition further from eachother.

i cant tell you if this mouth piece is same everywhere but i know a few people who have clocked it immediately so im gonna assume it was obvious. and truthfully, i wouldnt even be annoyed if i thought it was intentional. genuinely, one of my favourite games is an unapologetic military propaganda whos protagonist would make ayn rand write sonnets about, and the game knows what it is. but no, i fully believe the studio tried to address the criticism they got about their lackluster handling of elves and either completely misunderstood or willfully disregarded the experiences of marginalised peoples that the games drew inspiration from.

the writing is so hollow beyond horrible dialogue that when writing an enby character whos also multicultural they didnt even notice the parallel theyve created. i know this because after an entire plotline about their struggle with binaries their story concludes with a binary decision on their culture. this just confirms to me that any dept this game has is completely accidental.

imma level with yall i dont subscribe to the belief that you need to have some type of experiences to write some type of characters and i find that "ofc a white person wrote it so..." response very tired because yea we should be allowed to expect more from white people. i too had OCs of different cultures that i wasnt very familiar with and handled poorly, but unlike me, a company can afford a consultant.

i played greedfall recently, and sure the maori tattoos were a shit decision, and im disappointed that after all the criticism they still stuck with it, and yes maybe its story was not sensitive enough but you know what? as the person whos recommended it to me said, i rather have a story who boldly engages with its own themes than one whos terrified of them. say what you will about its shortcomings but at least at the end of that game you can have an ending where the colonizers leave for good, and yes their plague is not healed but the narrative doesnt punish the natives for their isolationism. i am glad that the game allows that catharsis to its players.

DAV could have had 300 well thought-out endings and still not please everyone, but the endings they chose to include directly implicates the group theyre trying to appease and its literally just people who either want to punch or kiss solas, thats how fucking deep they think their fanbase it. not the people who wanted to end slavery, or achieve equilibrium with beings no matter how alien they are. or people who wanted to see a culture connect with its roots etc etc.

and maybe they were right, many people have been enjoying this game immensely and i am just, so fucking jealous. i wish i liked this game and enjoyed it and didnt want to tear out my hair every second i spent in treviso. i wish i wasnt seething white knuckling my sink like an insane person when a little kid wrote to crow rook that hes recruiting orphans now. i wish i had any belief in this game to read that as satire.

at least i wish i felt any form of vindication when i immediately realised this game was going to be a soulless cashgrab that unashamedly uses the name of a popular IP to push a sub-par product earlier this year, i just spend 80+ hours watching a company parade the carcass of a franchise i loved and beat it like a pinata as it continuously slapped me on the face with a botched wax figure of it.

i just feel this profound sense of sadness. i wish this game didnt exist. and no i dont feel any kind of brand loyalty, even when i actively enjoyed their work i didnt but i definitely dont now, not after 3 consecutive games that theyve delivered with more or less the same problems. as the company is today, i dont care whether bw survives or not, its been made clear time and again that the bw i liked is long gone and bw today is clearly not interested in making games for me.

even as i write this i dont feel fuelled by my anger for DAV but by the love a have for what came before. i still think the story deserved better, the fans deserved better, the people who contributed into making DA universe what it was before DAV deserved better. and, as rook told harding, our anger is justified.

but, hey. hair looks really good.

[manitole]

Emmrich x Rook = Ideas for Fanfic

 (This is going to be a REALLY long post)

Context: I’m an awkward millennial that doesn’t know Tumblr very well. I apologize in advance if this post is weird and not perfect, I’m still learning. My activities on this platform are mostly resharing awesome post on my page. Since the last few weeks, I must admit that the communities here around my tags are incredible, positive, academic and just kind of healing my heart. For this reason, I feel comfortable trying to be a little more invested. Introduction to the main theme: I’m really happy to see that I’m far from being the only one to be obsessed and hyperfocused on Emmrich Volkarin, especially his romance with Rook. His personality is different from my typical fictional crushes: this fact had opened new possibilities about scenarios in my imagination. The main theme: I love to write, but I have a thesis to finish. Plus, I’ve already started two fanfictions and I’m not close to be done with those two stories. Since I’m lacking time, experience in fanfiction, knowledge in the DA universe and expertise in the English language (I’m a native French speaker), I must conclude that writing a fanfic Emmrich X Rook would not be the best idea right now. I would LOVE to share some of my ideas if it can inspire some people out there:

A – Too much rigidity versus chaotic (Mortal): I would LOVE to see a fanfic which addresses the mountain struggles of Rook and Emmrich living together after the story of the game. This man has been alone for a long time. We don’t know if he already lived with someone else during a long period of time. Emmrich likes to have his books ‘’pristine’’. I’m also guessing he has a strict routine regarding mealtime. I see Rook being kind of chaotic, as letting their underwear lying around where they needed to remove them (around a bed, coffin, or on the dinning table after some sexy time… why not). I could also see Rook inviting old friends for a late dinner, at the last minute, while Emmrich is already in his night gown, ready to sleep. Anyway, I would LOVE to see character’s development around those struggles: Emmrich learning to be a little more flexible while Rook is learning to be a little less disorganized.

B – Feeling bored after saving the world (Mortal): Could be related with point A or not. I know that everyone has different opinions, but so far, I preferred Rook to also be a Mourn Watcher. It seems natural to think that after the end of the game, Emmrich, Rook and Manfred are going back to Neverra. I could see Emmrich going back to teaching. I could see both possibilities where he is satisfied with this (with Rook and Manfred in his life) VERSUS feeling bored after travelling so often for saving the world. I’m not sure what Rook would want to do with their life after the war. Could they even be able to stay at one place? I could see them needed to travel and leave Neverra for sometimes for fighting or geopolitical stuff. I could also see Rook being done with that kind of life and wanting a normal happy and almost boring routine. Let’s talk about marriage. We all know that Emmrich always thought he would get married someday. Would he be ready to marry Rook? If yes, does it mean that he has outcome the age gap problem (?). I don’t know about Rook since the character vary from person to person. They could want to wait for marriage. I see this possibility more in the Mortal route since I have NO idea how Lichdom works and if a Lich can marry someone…

Now. I must explain before going on with my next idea. I’m not a fan of any pronatalist outcome. I don’t think a couple should have children to be happy or have some news goals. I also love stories and fanfic that show childfree happy people. Having children is not and should not be seen as a normal progression of life. It’s a choice and it should be a free and informed joint decision. Childfree couples are NOT less interesting than parents. But I also can see the difference between real life and fiction, especially in a fantastic universe like DA. I think some fanfic that adds children into the story can be a good thing, especially if those are kind of REALISTIC (happy rainbow sunshine without any struggles at all) and talk about more than only the positive of parenthood. Now, we could argue about Manfred. For me, as a couple, Emmrich and Rook are already parental figures to Manfred. While it’s not a typical experience, there is still something there. Manfred doesn’t need to eat (nor to sleep?) but he can still burn some books by accident, requiring some ‘’parenting’’ from Emmrich or Rook.

C – Parenting: I could see the couple adopting a kid while the opportunity is there. I also think that Manfred would be an awesome big brother. Now, let’s talk about a Rook that could be pregnant (trigger for some people, so please go to point D if you don’t want to read about this idea or about parenting and or reproduction).

1 – Pregnancy (Mortal): I’ve been thinking A LOT about the last scene between Rook and Emmrich when they have sex in a coffin. I’m an artist geek but also a nerd scientific with a nursing degree. Both don’t always match well together. I don’t know a lot about contraception in fantastic universe, especially DA. I can’t stop myself thinking: did Emmrich and or Rook THOUGHT about this? One part of me think that Emmrich would not be the type of person to forget about any risk regarding that subject. It would seem easy for him to cast a charm for preventing a pregnancy? I don’t know. But on the other hand, the end of the world is happening, and him or Rook could not survive to the last battle. The party banter between Harding and Emmrich show that the necromancer can forget some things important when he is with Rook or just by being in a new relationship. So perhaps Emmrich didn't think about it. I could see Rook having sex without having that in mind at all, kind of like a YOLO attitude. They love Emmrich and they are like '' let’s have awesome lovemaking before perhaps dying or whatever''.

Nooooow. Let’s talk about that accidental pregnancy if we could agree that because of those circumstances, no one thought about contraception, because you know… ‘’ End of the world ‘’. Plus, while an accidental pregnancy could be the end of the world for some person, it could not be as horrible for others, like Emmrich and or Rook. So, the team beat Elgar’nan, Solas linked himself to the fade and all. The world is safe for now. It’s the time of celebration. Even after some rest, Rook doesn’t feel really good. They are kind of tired all the time but again, it’s normal since they have been on high adrenaline during the last few months (?). It could explain things. Them and Emmrich could think it is related to the fade or perhaps a curse. Eventually, I’m pretty sure Emmrich would realize the situation before Rook. He was able to spot that stiff wrist. He could see subtle difference regarding Rook. I could totally see his shocked face while understanding the situation. As for Rook, I could see them not thinking about that possibility because perhaps they weren’t having regular periods in the first place because of the hard activities while trying to save the world. Now, let’s ad point A and perhaps point B to this scenario. The couple is trying to live together in a new routine while also learning they are expecting a baby. I waaaaaant to read about that 52-53 years old necromancer realizing his partner is pregnant with his child. Everything is going too fast, and Harding could make snaky remarks on this. I want to read how Emmrich feel about this: He always wanted a family, and he already has Manfred and Rook, but having a child could be something positive to him for different reasons (legacy and pronatalist blabla). But because of his age, it could also be an experience kind of sad, realizing that he could not see his kid grow as much as he would love to. The reaction of Rook about all of this could be really different since again, Rook vary for each player. I would love to see some struggles (perhaps with a big fight?) with a pregnant Rook who still wants to fight and live their ''normal'' life and an overprotective Emmrich (with only good intentions) kind of overwhelming. I could also see Emmrich taking his retirement from teaching sooner than expected, since he wants to spend as much time as possible with his children. I also think he could be the main parent, as the most ‘’maternal’’, kind of overprotective, again.

I see Emmrich having a girl. I’m not sure why, but it flows better in my imagination. It would make a lot of sense if this girl had the name of a flower or a plant, and her middle name could be Emmrich's mother. With Rook and Emmrich as parents, this little girl would become a badass woman with high self-esteem, taking bullshit from no one. She would LOVE her big brother, and Manfred would also LOVE her. I like to think he will learn faster while being a brother figure. I really see the young girl saying to everyone she has a big brother called Manfred without ever explaining that he is actually a spirit in the body of a skeleton. I could see everyone kind of shocked while meeting Manfred for the first time without that context.

Plus: Vorgoth must be one of the godparents, please. And the family should eventually adopt a pig.

Bonus: a time jump where Emmrich is dying, more than satisfied with his life, and all of his family is around him. I don't mind crying.

2 – Lich route (kind of a silly idea): This idea is kind of a joke. I don’t know how Lichdom works, but I’m pretty sure that once you are a Lich, you are sterile? Now… An accidental pregnancy could happen if Emmrich and Rook had sex BEFORE Emmrich became a Lich. I think it would be really hard on him to outlive not only Rook but also his children and perhaps his grandchildren. I could only see this as possible and not heartbreaking if Rook and Emmrich have a kid who is also a mage and would eventually also become a Lich. I could totally see an awkward family tradition that goes on generation after generation where each child gifted with magic MUST become a Lich before they are 60 years old or something. Imagine: you are like 25-year-old mage and Lichdom don’t appeal to you at all, nor does necromancy. Your sibling doesn't have magic so all the expectations are ON you (and that sibling is, of course, jealous of you).  One of your parents is getting close to becoming a Lich, and the ceremony is approaching. You have a grandparent and a lot of great-grandparents who are also Liches, and the festivity dinners are always awkward. Your family is like famously known in Nevarra but from the inside, you just feel weird. Eventually, you take your courage to break this tradition, coming out to your parents, and they tell you: “You are too young to decide this yet. Your great-grandmother thought the same thing at your age. You will change your mind.” To prove your point, you decide to join the Grey Wardens (or any action making it impossible for you to become a Lich), and half of your family is MAD and saying, “Omg, your great-great-great-great-grandfather is SO disappointed in you.” Done. I just find this possibility really funny.

D – Age gap: I would also like lots of scenes where Rook reacts the opposite of expected regarding the age gap between Emmrich and them (this post as an example). I could see Emmrich being a little annoyed sometimes when people talk to him about this subject, but I would love a Rook who doesn’t seem to understand the problem and just reacts possessively, as if the people talking about it are just jealous. That would also reassure Emmrich (I think).

E – Cute little scenes: I want to read about Emmrich and Rook snuggling on the couch in front of a fire, while Emmrich reads aloud a book about some academic stuff. I also would love a scene where Emmrich gives a powerful massage to Rook (since he knows anatomy so well…).

This is it. Thank you very much for reading. Now that all of this is out of my system, I can go back in peace to my boring thesis. If you already know some fanfics with one of those subjects, please tell me. I’m trying to check on AO3 often, but I don’t always have the time.

[pinkandpurple360]

I wouldn't blame anyone for finding Look My Way too Stolas-sympathetic and weepy but honestly I think on the whole it's way better than most of the songs he gets in the show

and that's because it actually has a narrative arc to it. Stolas reflects on his life, realizes he is the problem between him and Blitzo, actually shows some empathy for the armor Blitzo has developed as a result of being impoverished, then decides on an action: making amends for making Blitzo a means to an end. and it retains his original classist character by having the impish plaything line that the show whitewashed over

it still has the same problem anything Stolas related does in that it's hard to care about his repeated pleas for Blitzo to look his way, but it's a far more concise view of him as a character and crucially he actually shows some ability to self reflect in it and then take action based on his conclusions

ParanoidDJ released the original after ep6 but honestly it would fit perfectly in the show after ep7, where Stolas comes back in from the party. instead of getting drunk, maybe he stops and makes himself think about where things went wrong

instead the songs he has in the show are

Stolas Sings - immediately implies Blitzo lied to him, so no self reflection or introspection. It's set up he'll go to get a crystal but that isn't referenced in the lyrics, it's just a split second freeze frame when he chucks his book into view of the camera which is bad storytelling. It's all self focused self pity - he's the victim and that's that. no sign of care for what he's done to Blitzo or Via unlike Look My Way.

All 2 U - a breakup reflection where he does no self reflection or introspection. blames Blitzo for stuff he did (let him get too close/go on too long/fell too far). all self focused self pity - he's the victim and that's that

duet number - does say he maybe did something wrong, but it only counts if Blitzo didn't actually want him (then when Blitzo confirms that, he proceeds to...show no self reflection or introspection - just he's the victim and that's that, you get the idea)

the show numbers not only fail to move the plot forward, they don't move Stolas' character forward at all. Look My Way really sticks out as one of his numbers because it's basically the only one where he does explicitly say 'I'm in the wrong and need to fix things' where in the show it's always 'maybe I did something wrong, maybe, but you hurt me so you're more wrong and I'm putting off doing any self reflection on what my issues are until Tuesday - when I'll put it off again'.

he's far more proactive in LMW too - he doesn't sound like he'll just give up on making amends at the first failure. meanwhile Show Stolas has done only two proactive things when it comes to Blitzo onscreen: making the deal and breaking the deal. both things were done for his own benefit and he's now back to being passive and expecting Blitzo to be the one to come crawling back to court him even though Blitzo has every reason to think he moved on with the succubus dude to spite him in particular

This moment here

It wasn’t him feeling some guilt/remorse for how obnoxious and forceful he behaved, or sympathy for Blitzs unhappiness. He is thinking “Aww….he doesn’t love me, that makes me so sad. Poor me. I deserve love. I just want a lover.”

Well anon, the simple explanation LMW stolas is so different…..is, Vivienne/Sam Haft didn’t write that. They both do think stolas is the more innocent and more victimised party. That’s why before Full Moons confrontation, stolas has sung not one, not two but three sad ballads about his soft boy romantic feelings. And it’s why stolas’ personality was changed drastically between his nasty truth seekers self to his Ozzies bleeding heart self. To make you forget his 1-6 self ever happened and pity him.

While blitz was only allowed to smirk and make sex jokes in a verse of stolas’ third sad song. With the intent of making him look like the “real” pervert with a cold black heart. His verse in when I see him was intended by Sam to set up “that your first instinct is that it’s always (gasp) about sex (closes eyes solemnly)” line. Stolas is allowed to have an inner monologue, desires, worries, regrets and hopes. Blitz is only allowed say “fuck” “penis” and “im traumatised”** with an asterisk saying that makes him an asshole and not “baby” stolas’ fault. Spoken to you in apology tour dialogue delivered by the lovely: Vivienne Mayday aka Verosika Medrano.

Viv didn’t write look my way, and disagrees with the narrative.

She hates Octavia for not being more grateful to her father and thinks stolas deserves to be free from being her parent. So took his line about her out of the song. Twitter emboldened her to go through with this belief. So she took her line out of LMW.

She hates blitz for disliking upper classes, implies he’s “just like a supremacist” against princes for it. I think this also came from Twitter. You are NOT allowed to point out the racism of stolas or you’ll be branded a striker sympathiser.

She agrees with stolas fans that the real reason blitz doesn’t trust stolas’ gifts with no catch is nothing to do with stolas’ previous exploitative transactional actions….it is….because of his own mean imp father? Because Cash taught him love is transaction. A very convenient excuse Viv absorbed again, from Twitter and YouTube.

Cuz….it was cash. Not the sexual extorter who held his job over his head. That’s his soulmate cause owls only mate once via eye contact and die of broken hearts if they can’t have their mate forever. His 25 year long lust for someone he only knew as a child isn’t weird at all wdym. In fact all the bad stuff is Blitzs fault.

She absorbed all of this nonsense from Twitter takes, specifically the stolas stans, because she thinks putting fandom talking points into canon is a safe bet. The actual story is out the window, there isn’t one.

See how letting the stolas fandom twitter write your story for you makes for a biased fucked up victim blaming story that coddles a sexual abuser with “involuntarily celibate” arguments?

When she makes stolas reflect and take accountability, the reaction she wants you to have is “Poor baby stolas blames himself which shows what a good little boy he is! Even though nothing is ever his fault!” She just wanted to make money off of someone else’s work.

[ismyteadoneyet]

Let's gooo (i haven't done a tag-game-thingy in a WHILE so it's about time I get back at it lol, thank you @squirrel-in-the-woods for the tag <33)

Last song: 'Sinner' by Deaf Havana ! as a recovering people pleaser, this song is such a delight because it gives me the vibe of "I'm beginnig my villain arc now !!1!1! I'm a MEANIE now !!! I'm setting BOUNDARIES And you can't stop me !!! 😤😤😤" even though that is probably not the actual intent. It's also the song I have assigned an OC of mine sooooo there's that too jsjsjdjs

(it is also funky af lol)

Currently watching: I'm incredibly bad at watching shows and movies ?? Dunno why??? But I watch quite a bit of booktube reviews and things and lately have been softly getting into drawing/art-related youtube videos I guess??? I watch a lot of random youtube essays too

Three Ships:

- I feel obligated to say Bree×Nick×Selwyn here from the Legendborn Cycle LOL. Any combination and/or mix of the three is fine with me, and I trust Tracy Deonn to make me cry of both happiness and heartache regardless of what ends up being the final endgame HSJSJD 😌😌

- Arlecchino×Furina from Genshin Impact, for the SOLE REASON of @draconicstella88888 's fanfic. I am completely unbiased here of course

- Larkin×William from The Legendborn Cycle. Have we had criminally few scenes of them together? Yes. Am I also a tumblr veteran, used to people shipping characters from completely different medias ? Also yes. I'm just gonna be thankful there is a GLIMMER of on-page chemistry between them before one or the other inevitably will probably meet their doom in the upcoming installments and I will stay delulu and happy until that moment arrives 😌😌 (but ofc, hopefully it doesn't lol)

Favorite color: i'm tempted to say "do you love the color of the sky?" because it's funny but also? Genuinely? Yes. But other than that, I seem to gather lavender/lilac/purple-colored things at an alarming rate it might also have to do with bts but we're gonna leave that can unopened okay lol

Currently consuming: behind the phone I'm typing this on is an unopened box of delicious-looking sushi and I am STARVING but I'm waiting for my parents to join me before I can dig in LOL 😭😭

First ship: how far back are we talking LOL? 💀💀 I'm gonna say Ten×Rose possibly? I don't think I got properly into shipping culture until my tumblr days and my superwholock era

Last movie: I rewatched 'Twilight' to get hold of a screenshot of the "this is the skin of a killer, Bella"-moment for a really silly Selwyn Kane cosplay and ngl, watching the movie now as an adult hits different in the absolute best way LOL

Currently working on: fanarts galore ! Finishing the BRICK that is 'Jonathan Strange & Mr. Norrell' (i am like 60 PAGES AWAY FROM FINALLY BEING DONE !! 😭😭 IT IS 774 PAGES LONG), about 4 different cosplays, and a story I hope to maybe grow into a proper novel one day, if I manage to treat it right hdjsjsj <3

Tags, (if you want to join!):

@draconicstella88888 @peanutbutter-nutella @chyuyuuz @nakaremfarlei @solovanmoln @sparrowandthesong @ficnoire2 @k0k0p3lli @totalpanik @knaveofpentacles

Tag game: tag nine people you’d like to know better.

Tagged by: @oneshoulderangel

Last song: At the moment, I have "Losing Your Memory" by Alan Star stuck in my head, which I suppose makes it my current song, not my last song. Hm. I get songs stuck in my head very easily, but the last one I had there for a significant amount of time was a mashup of different language versions of "Les Rois du Monde" for about a week. "Lehetsz Király", the Magyar version, is probably my favorite of them. It's worth a listen.

Currently watching: Normally, the answer would be "random mostly terrible old movies/shows" or "nothing much", but I currently have a hyperfixation on the musical Roméo et Juliette and have been watching it in multiple languages. (Thus, the song).

Three ships: This is hard. Maybe as a result of being on the ace and aro spectrums, I'm more likely to care about which characters are interacting than whether it's romantic or platonic. Here goes:

Kedivere/Bedikay. It can be romantic, platonic, or queerplatonic, but whichever way, I'm here for it. I probably spend too much time thinking about how in Cullwch and Olwen, when Cai gets mad at Arthur and marches out, Bedwyr stays behind, keeps acting like nothing's happened, and isn't the one to avenge Cai's death. The feeling of betrayal on both sides has a lot of unexplored potential. And the version where Bedivere dies and Kay fights to bring his body back safely while mortally wounded himself... And the version where Bedivere survives Camlann and Kay isn't said to fight in it, so they might be left together after their world has fallen apart...

Platonically or queerplatonically, Galahad and the Grail Heroine. I really like the tragic Grail Quest friendships, but I like theirs most, maybe because there's something weird and otherworldly about them both. I like it when characters are strange and endearing and doomed by the narrative.

Ever since reading John Matthews' retelling, which I read before the original, I've had a soft spot for Caradoc and Guinier. The Story of Caradoc is very disturbing, and I have some major qualms with Caradoc over a detail Matthews cut out, but all the same, there's a reason these two have the best track record with magical fidelity tests. Each of them would go to the ends of the earth for the other, and together, they're stronger than any curse.

Favorite Color: Blue, particularly royal blue and some teals.

Currently consuming: Black licorice with chocolate.

First ship: This is a hard one, since through elementary and most of middle school, I tended to go along with whatever I thought the author's intentions were and was more likely to unship something. The first non-endgame ship I got invested in was Sonya/Nikolai in War and Peace. I didn't like Nikolai, but Sonya did, and she was my favorite character, so I wanted her to be happy. The first non-canon couple I thought was meant to be together was also in War and Peace: Marya Bolkonskaya and Julie Karagina. My eighth grade self did not think their letters could be interpreted platonically. I still don't.

Last movie: If the musical doesn't count, the last movie I watched was Quest for Camelot, which was awful. Though not Robot Monster-level bad, Robot Monster has an elegance to its simplicity which Quest for Camelot lacks.

Currently working on: Various fics, most of them Arthuriana or CotRK-related (I am woefully behind on the Badfic Bingo), and (theoretically) an epic-style poem, though I haven't gotten much of it written for quite a while now.

Tagging: @gawrkin, @emperorcandy, @wildbasil, @gorewound, @knightsofsomethingorother, @ladyminaofcamelot, @tasosotaso, @amashelle, @gingersnaptaff (I have no idea who's been tagged so far, apart from the people on @oneshoulderangel's post, so I apologize for any multi-tags)

[charcubed]

"Did you love medical school?" Avery asks Max.

"Medical school is the greatest longest hardest thing you're ever going to do," Max says, not answering the question, as he is already fucking famous for doing to get out of talking about himself.

(But this is not a post about Max. This time.)

The use of the word love here and the subtle framing of medical school as a relationship... Well.

My theory for Avery since the start has been that part of her arc is going to be growing to understand herself and realizing that becoming a doctor is not synonymous with fulfillment.

In episode 2, we got her saying,

"I've given up everything good. Everything that matters. Relationships, family. All for this job. And at the end of the day… I'm alone. Adrift. With nothing to show for it. I'm never going to be a doctor. This is all there is for me."

(This follows a pattern of a thing this show does with dialogue where characters say things that are more revealing to us as the audience than the characters themselves are conscious of, but that's a point for another post.)

Her bucket list included,

"I want to know myself."

because she doesn't know herself yet.

And now we got,

“I always thought that if I became a doctor things would start to make sense.”

I think Avery wants far more than just being a doctor... or, to be fully honest with you, I think they're conceivably going to go the route where she decides she doesn’t need to be a doctor because she’s found fulfillment in her life and work (and love!) in other ways anyway. I’m not talking “Rachel gives her life up for Ross” type of bullshit with two men instead of one, but rather tied into the explicit arc of how Avery wants to know and understand herself because she doesn't currently, and the "you're never alone" theme. That's part of what this pregnancy and future abortion plotline is setting up anyway: it's a brute force tool for self-reflection for her.

Does Avery really want to be a doctor, especially at the expense of all other parts of her desires? Or has that just always been The Plan and is she unconsciously thinking that earning that title will fix the holes she feels in herself and in her life?

If you think this sounds tricky to pull off as a story, you'd be correct – but hey, so is polyamory, and yet they're doing that. They’d have to write Avery's arc well enough that it doesn’t come across as reductive, but I really think they could land it because of the character setup they seem to be doing for her – and I've thought that for several weeks already. This week just has me locking in on that possibility more.

Now, going off the rails here from meta to straight up crack theorizing even though it's way too early to be predicting shit...

Weeks ago I was already wondering… what if the season ends with Avery going to leave to become a doctor and the guys decide to follow her? Maybe even in a big dramatic traditional “they run off the ship / to the airport” sort of romantic scene sort of way lmaaaooo. And as the boys abandon ship to follow her, at the same time, SHE turns around to go back to them without knowing they were following her! Idk. Who knows! Not me. Like I said, way too early to know anything.

Regardless though, the Hot Take™️? I would not at all be surprised if Avery changes her mind about wanting to become a doctor. And I think it could, if done correctly, be a weirdly bold move (in a show that's already planning to pull off A Big Bold Move).

[rocksibblingsau]

The TBT got me thinking about the movie's writing again, so here's some thoughts. Clay being the only one to get an on-screen apologize doesn't make any sense narrative wise.

When you look exclusively at what's implicitly canon (so no 'he was at the tree that whole time' headcanons, even if they make some sense), Clay is the least in need of apologizing compared to the other three. Bruce is slightly more in need of apologizing than him because he was the second eldest and second to leave, but this point is not about him, it's about how it should have been either JD or Floyd (ideally it would be all of them apologizing actually, but again, not about that rn)

John Dory is practically the main force behind the movie's plot and emotional conflict, so we're talking about him first. John Dory in the movies, well, he kinda sucks a lot of ass. During the Brozone days, he was very bossy, overbearing, lowkey emotional/verbally abusive and the first to leave them all while being the oldest and implied to be their only caretaker outside of their elderly grandma. And even though some people give Clay and Bruce shit for how they behaved towards JD during the Rhonda fight scene, they were RIGHT, he was being bossy and a dick during that scene, and while all the bros were at fault about how they treated Branch during it, he was also the worst of them (like he was the only one who not only denied they would stay together after saving Floyd, but also actually made fun of Branch for even thinking so). And that is without mentioning how he got the the three of them trapped later in the film in the stupidest way possible.

This is NOT to say that he is some kinda of unredeemable abusive monster, no, even if its not said out loud in the movie, its left pretty implicit that he had his reasons for acting the way he did and that he was under a lot of stress himself running the band and caring for his 4 younger brothers while likely being a kid himself during the Brozone days. BUT, after all that, it feels so strange to have the time for one singular apologize apparently and to not give it to HIM of all people. He giving Branch the lead during the Family Harmony is the only thing he does that implies he changed his way after ALL of that, even Venner gets more redeemable qualities than that!

It just makes his storyline feel incomplete honestly, like the movie only bothers to drop slight hints that this man doesn't completely suck and then turns around and both doesn't build up further on those hints AND doesn't make him do anything to redeem himself with Branch and any of his other brothers.

And if for whatever reason it wasn't going to be John, why not Floyd??? I don't even care that much that we don't get a reason for why Floyd never went back, its kinda even implied that he never intended to come back and was just trying to comfort Branch by lying, but again, if you're going to set aside time for one-on-one apologizes after everything is set and done, why not use it for tying up one of the main story points set in the begging of the movie.

Is like they even forgot that they set up Floyd promising to come back and never doing so, because as far as I remember (could be wrong tho), after the introduction, Branch only refers to Floyd as "the only one who said goodbye". With for Branch's character makes sense really, but for the narrative feels plain unsatisfactory. It sets time aside to set up out loud that something was supposed to happen and it never did (crucially affecting the trajectory of the main character's life) and it just... never brought up again. No excuse, no Im sorry for that actually, no anything. Instead we get Clay, which in the movie, has no special relationship or plotline with Branch compared to the rest whatsoever, being the one that gets to have on-screen closure. Why?????

In conclusion, the movie could have an 100% better script and tighter emotional conclusion if they had just let the writers have two even ONE extra rewrites. But not, instead we get two plotlines that likely will never get resolved because got forbid this franchise actually has a proper continuity between films yippeeeeee

(Im truly sorry for this ramble, I just have too many thoughts and too little friends that even know what Trolls are, and by too little I do mean actual zero. Hope you enjoyed it at least, if not, Im sorry again)

I agree that Clay was the one Troll who had a good reason he never got to go back and visit or anything. It was definitely weird that he was the only one who apologized for never getting to see Branch grow up, but I think it says a lot about his character that he did.

[discordantwords]

Thank you so much for the tag @therealsaintscully!

How many works do you have on ao3? 48! 30 for BBC Sherlock and 18 for The X-Files.

What’s your total word count? 924,659 (whoa, that's a lot of words)

What are your top 5 fics by kudos? (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea White Knight Incidents with Dogs, Curious and Otherwise Another Auld Lang Syne The Dead Detective

Do you respond to comments? Why/why not?

I try to. I'm not always as on top of it as I intend to be. I find comments tremendously meaningful and I at times get emotional while reading them. They are important to me. I reread them often.

I often fear that I'm a poor conversationalist and overthink my responses, which can tend to freeze me up.

What's the fic you've written with the angstiest ending?

Most of my long fics have happy endings.

The Pillar upon Which England Rests is my ode to Mrs. Hudson. As she and John are grieving Sherlock's fall, she tells John all about how she and Sherlock first met. I don't think of it as a particularly sad story, but I suppose that ending counts as angsty, as Sherlock's eventual return is not addressed in the story.

I guess the shorter, more horrorish ones have angsty (or at least uneasy) endings.

Nothing Happened in Belarus has S4 Sherlock, in the throes of his breakdown, somehow briefly traveling through time and encountering S1 John, who cares for him. It's a brief reprieve for him in the midst of a personal hell, but there is no resolution. When he returns to his own time, he is still forced to face what's coming next.

At the end of Leaves, Sherlock and John have either successfully defeated the bloodthirsty plant that has invaded their flat, or they're being digested by it. I leave that decision up to the reader. :)

The Web has Sherlock returned from his time away and reunited with John, but there is a part of him that will always remain haunted and deeply paranoid.

What's the fic you've written with the happiest ending?

Most of them, heh. I like to leave my characters in a good place after putting them through hell.

I guess I'd have to say White Knight? I still get a little giddy when I think about the way Sherlock proposes at the end of that one, and how happy and free they both are after the crushing weight of misunderstandings and grief has fallen away.

Whirlwind has a pretty joyful ending, too.

Do you write crossovers?

I haven't written a crossover, but I have done a few fusion fics. The Dead Detective is a fusion with Jumpin' Jack Flash. Whirlwind is a fusion with Twister. Out There is a fusion with The X-Files.

Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not really. Most responses on AO3 have been warm and supportive. I have gotten a few unnecessarily vicious comments on some of my ficlets here on Tumblr, but I do my best to ignore those.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Most of my smut tends to be of the R-rated variety, because I'm frankly just not very good at writing it.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Yes, sort of, but I don't believe it was done maliciously and I don't intend to call attention to it.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes!

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have not. I'm open to the idea, but I honestly don't know if I'm cut out for it. I think my tendency to wing things and my utter lack of a consistent writing schedule would drive a potential writing partner mad.

What's your all-time favourite ship?

Mulder and Scully were my first true fandom love. I love Sherlock and John equally as much, if not more.

What's a WIP that you want to finish but don't think you ever will?

There are quite a few WIPs on my hard drive that may never see the light of day. As far as posted fics, my Sherlock/Knight Rider fusion probably won't be finished.

What are your writing strengths?

I like to think that I'm pretty good at capturing character mannerisms, and writing from a perspective that lets the reader feel what the POV character is feeling.

What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm not all that impressed with my smut writing abilities.

What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I steer clear of it. Although Google translate can be helpful, IMO there are too many opportunities to make embarrassing or inadvertently offensive mistakes.

What was the first fandom you wrote for?

The X-Files

What's a fandom/ship you haven't written for yet but want to?

I really enjoy the character dynamics between Hannibal/Will in Hannibal and Lestat/Louis in Interview with the Vampire. I think I'd have a harder time getting into their heads than I do with Sherlock and John, so I'll probably just continue admiring them from afar for now.

What's your favourite fic you've written?

This is such a hard question! I'm probably proudest of the work that went into Out There, but I have a huge soft spot for The Pillar upon Which England Rests and (Never) Turn Your Back to the Sea.

If anyone out there would like to share your thoughts on some of the things you've written, please do! I'll also tag @thetimemoves @arwamachine @raina-at @vulpesmellifera @iheardyou @totallysilvergirl @khorazir

[zabrak-show]

Palestine Fundraisers

I have held off doing something like this for far too long due to imposter syndrome and feeling like nothing i do is worth any monetary value, but i have nothing else to give. my husband has been unemployed since march and i'm barely making above min wage in 1 of the most expensive cities in the usa

i'm not saying any of this for you to feel bad for me, but just to give some context. I have been donating what little I can when I can to these campaigns. but i can't do it on my own.

So please, help me help these families. I have done my best to vet them as legit, but I'm not an expert and my process pretty much involves a few reverse google image searches and just talking to the folks involved. but use your own best judgment.

aid is not getting into gaza consistently or at all in some cases, israel has seen to that. these gofundmes are some of these families only chance right now. (still donate to orgs, it is still important, but rn these fundraisers are the most direct way to help)

so with all of that said, if you donate to any of these fundraisers and show me a screen shot, I will draw or write you something!

$10+ and I will sketch something for you in any of the fandoms I'm active in or if you just want like "flowers" or something

$20+ I will write you a ~1k fic of any fandom i'm in

$50+ I will send you some art and a personal note in the mail (this does require you to send me your mailing address)

I won't do anything for fandoms I'm not familiar with. I'm fine with any ship, but some characters I may not be as familiar with to write. (I'll let you know) I'm not really a porn artist yet but i can write smut. any other questions just let me know.

you can check out my ao3 for examples of my writing and fandoms i write for. my art can be found on here and on my side blog @zorak-show where all the non star wars related stuff goes.

even if only one or two of you does this it will mean the world to me and to the families you are helping it is literally life changing for them. thank you so much.

[sapphiresaphics]

Yeah see, you SAY this… but the show DOES explore these things. We DO see the ways grief and sadness affect different characters. In their actions. Their dialogue. And they have profound effects on the rest of the plot as a result. For multiple characters.

You’re also treating it like it’s done? When it’s not? We’re in the MIDDLE of the story and you’re treating it as if Caitlyn and Vi still aren’t going to grow or change or learn from the mistakes they’ve made so far.

I dunno about you, but seeing Jinx become less crazy and more self actualizing and willing to defend others when previously she was suicidal and insane is not “regressing her character” the way you seem to think it is. And we see her go through it, step by step.

Here let me even give you an example. Jinx is feeling better because she has Isha to take care of. She likes the way things are going and she’s content with not being the leader of the underground resistance (just like Vander by the way). She hasn’t had any psychotic hallucinations or anything for a long time because nothing is stressing her out anymore. Until Isha gets kidnapped by the Enforcers. Then suddenly she’s not just sad and angry and upset, she’s starting to have a relapse and full blown meltdown. Such a bad one that even Sevika is scared of how unhinged she’s become. Her sadness about what happened leads her actions to stepping up and freeing the people of the prison. And in that moment she receives the first piece of positive validation from the community that she’d always wanted. When the small gremlin lady gently pats her hand and smiles and nods as she silently walks away… you shouldn’t need someone screaming “YOU DID GOOD” for that message to be received.

What bothers me is that you CHOOSE to ignore that and claim the show ISN’T showing you any of this when it is. Arcane is a lot of things, but it is not subtle. It is IN YOUR FACE with its themes and messages and parallels.

The story is fine, you just choose NOT to take it in. You dismiss it when the story DOES present what’s happening to the characters and how it affects others.

And really cannot understand why other than you just CHOOSE to remain ignorant.

Not sure how to word this but people pushing back against arcane s2 criticism with “mEdiA LiTeRaCy” when said media literacy amounts to microanalyzing a character’s facial expression screams a disconnect in storytelling. I shouldn’t have to pause the screen and look at Cait’s eye crust to know that “akushally she never trusted Ambessa🤓☝️” when we should’ve naturally been led to that conclusion.

In s1, we know that Powder is desperate to prove herself and we know why she decided to go to Silco’s liar despite being told to stay put. Imagine if they cut out all those scenes of Mylo teasing/berating her, the moments where she screwed up on the mission, her feeling like a failure only for Vi to encourage, and inadvertently, enable her—imagine if they got rid of that and instead had a few scenes of her looking sad bc her gadgets broke and then deciding to go to Silco’s liar bc ??? like should we analyze the symbolic meaning of Powder’s shoes and Mylo’s eyebrows to understand why she did what she did? Is that good storytelling to yall? Idk

There’s a reason why s2 is getting a lot more pushback than s1 and it’s not because people just “don’t get it”.

[theenemyod]

*puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain**puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain**puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain**puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain* *puts my favourite character through pain*

[winteriron-trash]

rdj the (whitewashed) electric boogaloo

This is a reminder to everyone who's excited about RDJ's casting as Doctor Doom that this casting is whitewashing. Victor Von Doom is a Romani character and has been a Romani character since his introduction in the 1960s. (Fantastic Four Annual #2 [1964]) Not only that, but his Roma identity and the persecution he and his family faced due to it is integral to his character, it is what forms his identity. (Books of Doom by Ed Brubaker) Even if on the off chance this casting is meant to not be Victor but instead be some variant of Tony or whomever else becoming Doctor Doom, it is damaging to the character to rob him of that important cultural background. Doctor Doom does not exist without that history. Fans have been pushing hard to cast Doom as a Romani actor for years, especially since the MCU has whitewashed other Romani characters. (Wanda, Pietro, etc) This casting is not a celebration moment, it's fucking heartbreaking that the MCU repeatedly ignores the important and nuanced cultural backstories of characters.

I know I can't change anybody's mind on whether or not you want to be excited about RDJ's return to the MCU. But I do think at the very least you should be mad that the MCU is baiting us all and destroying nuanced and interesting characters for the sake of self-referential easter eggs and nostalgia bait. Because that's what it is. Feel how you'd like to feel about RDJ's return, but personally, this is soul-sucking. I had such a deep love for the MCU as a teenager, it was obviously something incredibly formative to me, especially Tony Stark. This isn't recreating what I fell in love with the MCU for. This is turning a well-planned and artistic storyline of adaptations into cheap cash grabs and fan service. Because, I think we're past the point of being able to call the MCU an adaptation of anything. They can use existing characters' names and powers, but to say they're being properly adapted is laughable.

This is not an adaptation of Doctor Doom. This is RDJ the Electric Boogaloo because Marvel's fear of losing the interest of dedicated MCU fans overrides their willingness to tell stories that are genuine to the characters. I don't know what there is to be excited about that. The MCU has lost its authenticity and aside from a few projects, feels heartless. Every movie is a copy of a copy. This announcement isn't something celebratory, it feels like a death knell of a cinematic universe that's so desperate to cling to relevancy it's resorting to nostalgia for a character/actor who hasn't even been dead for a decade. We're not getting anything new, we're just rinsing and repeating the same song and dance.

I get it. I love Tony Stark, his death destroyed me and I to this day, rue the ending he got in Endgame. It misunderstood his arc and it robbed him of a satisfying conclusion. But the solution to that isn't dragging the corpse out of the grave five years later to whitewash an existing character with rich and interesting nuance, just to forcibly tie his existence in the MCU to Tony. Whether he is a variant or not. Why would you want someone else's fave's legacy to be destroyed simply so your fave's legacy can go on? Hell, if we were really all so hellbent on the return of RDJ and/or Tony to the MCU, we have the multiverse for a reason. There were other ways to do it that didn't whitewash and ruin someone else. This just. Isn't something to be happy about.

[luck-of-the-drawings]

oh the dread, oh the worry! you love your sister so much and you need to know shes okay. you trust her but you cant trust the world, and more than anything else you cant trust yourself

[clowningaroundmars]

Hobie1610 pt. 3

part 3 has finally arrived!!! at a faster rate than part 2 but a bit of a wait nonetheless lol

not entirely sure how long this lil story will go on for but hope y'all are enjoying this ride regardless, whether it ends on the next part or in 3 more chapters ldfjkdhf

in this installment: thrilling action, a high stakes chase, and we get to learn more abt our beloved hobie jones! yippee!

>pt. 1 here<

>pt. 2 here<

♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧♤♧

By some miracle, Hobie did not mention the suit to Miles once they started texting semi-regularly.

Unfortunately, they also couldn't really make their lunch date (date? God, get it together, Morales. It is not a date…) as soon as Miles would have liked, due to a million different things getting in the way of them setting a solid day aside to chill together.

Just his luck, of course.

But in the hallways, Hobie actually deigned to give Miles a passing smile every now and then. They didn’t ever get to hang out like they did for those precious few moments on the first day of school, but Miles didn’t feel the crushing weight of guilt every time he saw Hobie in his same classroom anymore. What a relief!

So Miles was mostly okay with how things were going anyhow, even if the hangout ended up falling through and they both decided not to go in the end. He was able to patrol and do his homework in blissful peace for the first time in months.

… Kind of.

That look on Hobie’s handsome face as he looked down past Miles’ coat collar though…

That still ate away at an anxious part of Miles’ brain whenever he had the time to sit down and really let his worries manifest.

No time to think about that now, though. Miles was suited up again on a school night, hoping to get at least an hour’s worth of patrolling in before security at Visions noticed he was absent from his dorm room. He hoped Ganke would be able to cover for him like he always did.

It was yet another cold evening out in New York City, and Miles was steadily covering the edges of Brooklyn, heading towards Manhattan to do a quick sweep through Central Park like he did on occasion. There was always something going on in Manhattan, especially during the evening.

Miles decided it wouldn’t hurt to take a quick peek before calling it a night and heading back to Visions.

So away he went-- now fully in his Spiderman element-- vaulting and soaring over buildings, showing off every now and then by doing silly flips and tricks mid-air for the opportunistic New Yorkers looking to snap their Spiderman Sighting of the day. A little social media promo never hurt anyone, after all…

Spiderman finally swung down onto a tree branch on the western side of the park from a street lamp and was just about to lower himself down as inconspicuously as he could, before immediately feeling the tingling electricity of his Spider Senses race up and down his spine, giving him the usual headache along with it.

He crouched down quietly on a branch and watched as a familiar lanky figure streaked across the path underneath him onto the grass and beyond.

Whoever this runner was, he was fast. And hot on his trail was a gang of burly bumbling assholes cursing up a blue streak as they gave chase.

Spiderman’s eyes stayed glued to the fast runner like they were a lifeline. His senses honed in on the person and he erupted out of the leaves of the tree with one mighty leap, sailing through the air to shoot a web out and swing his way on over to the excitement.

Several joggers, people walking dogs after work, and mothers with baby carriages exclaimed and shouted as they were barreled into by the gang of men trying to keep up with their moving target. The runner didn’t seem to be giving up, though, as their long legs sent them flying over bushes and rocks and lounging people as gracefully as a ribbon in the air.

It was indeed getting dark soon again, but the darkness didn’t really affect Spiderman’s senses at all. His mask helped him fine-tune his powerful vision and anticipate the runner’s next moves.

It looked as though they were trying to make their way up towards the Great Lawn from Cedar Hill, but whether the person was planning to make a break for the now-empty Delacorte Theatre or the Metropolitan Museum Of Art… or beyond? That was the million dollar question.

Spiderman didn’t want to lose the person in case they happened to just be a petty thief, since that would be a quick and easy problem to fix. But as he silently chased down the runner alongside (and unbeknownst) to the gang, his suspicions gave way to some other... ideas.

Namely, that the runner seemed young, a bit too young for someone to be pissing off this many fully-grown gang members.

He pushed through his confusion and made a break for the theatre the second he guessed that the runner was pivoting in that direction.

The trees were getting thicker the closer they got to the Belvedere Castle and Spiderman eventually resorted himself to hoofing it, mindful of sticking to the shadows of the foliage that surrounded them on all sides.

He was super grateful now more than ever that his suit happened to be his signature sleek black and red, rather than the tacky and hyper-visible reds and blues of many of his Spider counterparts (sorry Peter!)

Once he confirmed that the suspicious target was indeed planning on hiding in the bleachers of the massive amphitheatre, he shot up a web to hoist himself into the infrastructure from the tall stadium lights. From there, he positioned himself a bit closer to the fray, hearing the loud and heavy boots of the gang following the runner, not far behind.

Then, he squinted into the dusk as he watched one of the entrances from his perch up high... and almost choked on his own saliva!

In comes none other than Hobie Motherfucking Jones, streaking down several steps like a shooting star, clutching onto… something tucked under one of his arms. He was breathless, panting loudly, and heading straight for the Belvedere Lake.

Upon hearing the heavy bootfalls get ever closer with every passing second, it seemed that Hobie got the idea to attempt a last-minute juke by throwing himself underneath the stairs that faced the lake, tucking himself as tightly as he could under the massive stage at the center.

Spiderman watched all of this happening with wide eyes, holding his own breath in. He prayed that the ugly thugs didn’t see Hobie’s sneaky last-second move, but climbed up high onto the stadium lights and prepared to swing down anyhow, just in case.

What was Hobie even doing here, out at this hour? And what the hell did he manage to steal that was so important to these men anyways? It was quite a chase they were caught up in, running nearly two entire miles all the way up to the amphitheatre just to catch him, and that was only from what he could see when he swung into action.

The group split up and pulled out flashlights, determinedly searching the bleachers and corners as best they could while the sky rapidly darkened above them.

From right below the webbed crime-fighter, Hobie poked his head out from the shadows and took a peek.

No, no, duck back down! Spiderman wanted to shout, but he couldn’t.

No one knew he had followed them and he was safe high above the action where he balanced himself on the metal bars that housed the bulbs. His muscles tensed as the bright beam of light from one guy’s flashlight swept a little too close to Hobie’s head. Damnit.

Spiderman couldn’t just sit there all day! He had a friend to save, stolen item be damned!

He rechecked his web shooters furtively and took aim.

He set his sights on another stadium light pole across from the stage, figuring that if he was quick and agile enough, he could time his swing well enough to scoop Hobie up from where he was hidden and avoid any detection. Hopefully.

Seemed like a solid enough plan though, until Hobie just. Shot out from his hiding place all of a sudden, the heels of his boots rapping loudly against the cement and echoing all around the stage as he made a beeline for the lakefront.

Shit!!!

Miles wanted to kill him. Those guys didn’t even suspect he was hiding where we was in the first place!

... Okay, plan B!

Spiderman’s brain whirred at breakneck speeds as he watched the thugs exclaim loudly and give chase yet again, this time much closer to Hobie than they ever were before.

Without thinking, he swung down from his perch and bowled over a couple of men in his haste to simply just… grab Hobie like a damsel in distress and fireman-carry him back around the gang to get a good line of web onto a nearby pole.

The men all cursed and shouted in surprise of course, flashlight beams waving around everywhere.

One of them even yelled, “what the hell was that?!” like a character in one of his dad’s favorite cheesy slasher movies.

Spiderman was too fast for them, a black blur simply whizzing by as he grabbed Hobie and hoisted the both of them up into the air with a mighty leap. Hobie yelped in surprise, grunting from the effort, and seemed to let whatever he stole slip out of his hands which then clattered loudly onto the ground below.

The thugs rejoiced then, shaking fists at Hobie and his rescuer as they flew up to the top of a tree and detached themselves so they could fall onto the stadium light opposite from Spiderman’s initial hiding spot.

Spiderman didn’t stop until he attached another web up to the lights and dangled there for a bit. Adrenaline still coursed through his veins as he shifted Hobie off of his shoulders and let him slide slowly onto his side, his friend’s wiry arms clutching him tightly.

They both watched with rapt attention at the goings-on several feet below them.

The thugs congregated around the fallen item, picking it up and turning it this way and that. It looked like a briefcase, though with the low lighting it really could’ve been anything. It was only when one of them-- the biggest and burliest of them all-- shouted out another colorful swear word that Hobie then seemed to come back to himself again.

He squeezed Spiderman’s shoulders with his arms and kicked at him. They swung a bit from the wiggling.

“Ouch!” Spiderman hissed, as quietly as he could. He was hoping the dark dusk would conceal their position now as long as they made No Noises, but even that wasn’t guaranteed.

“Go, go, go, go, man! Let’s get out of here!!” Hobie hissed right back into his ear, his face mere centimeters away from Spiderman’s mask.

Spiderman stubbornly ignored the heat radiating out from his face at that realization and jerked this way and that, looking for an easy escape from their conundrum.

Flashlight beams danced around the ground before finally swinging up to the trees and catching sight of a pair of shoes dangling in the sky.

The biggest and meanest one of the bunch pulled something out of his pocket and took aim.

Bullet! Spiderman’s senses screamed into his cerebellum.

“Goddamn,” he huffed ruefully as the shots rang out. Hobie panicked. “Bullets for us? That’s a little harsh, isn’t it?”

Hobie clung onto his hero for dear life. “Brother, if you do not get a move on from here, we are both gonna get turned into fish filets!” He shouted into Spiderman’s ear.

“Ow. Okay,” Spiderman grumbled, sticking himself to the side of the pole they dangled from and readjusting Hobie so that he clung onto his back instead.

He took a deep breath and narrowly dodged a bullet that whizzed unnervingly close to their heads. Hobie yelled again.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Spiderman began, speaking quickly. “Hold on, okay? Hold on tight. Just hold on and do not let me go for even a second!”

“On it!” Hobie shouted back, legs kicking a bit before wrapping themselves tightly around Spiderman’s torso.

They both took a breath and then Spiderman jumped, gaining some air before twin webs erupted from his web shooters-- aimed directly towards the seating area entrance.

Together, he and Hobie rocketed from their airborne position towards their escape route once the fluids connected to solid architecture. To his credit, Hobie only whimpered a little bit through the ride.

The thugs had no chance! They stumbled on tired, aching legs towards the very door the two teens had left out of, complaining and cursing some more as they searched through the steps and made their way out onto the theatre’s general admission and concessions area.

They searched and searched through the bushes and trees, going so far as to even check the sculptures near the structure.

After several tense moments of gruff shouting back-and-forth, the search eventually died down until only a couple of the men were left sweeping the area once more. The others had already given up their fruitless endeavor and called it a night.

“Fucking kids, man. What the hell,” Spiderman heard one of them grumble before kicking at the Romeo and Juliet statue angrily and following the rest of his cohorts down the path towards the Great Lawn again.

Hobie and Spiderman let out matching sighs of relief then, happy to have given the men the slip by managing to hide behind the giant 3D Delacorte Theatre sign right above the box offices. Lucky for them, most people don’t think to search behind lit-up signs, so they went completely undetected.

“… Wanna let me know what you were doing here this whole time? You could’ve gotten killed!” Spiderman breathed. He wanted his tone to be sharper, more authoritative… but he was just so glad to see his new friend still in one piece instead of riddled with more holes than a chunk of swiss cheese!

Hobie scoffed, tucking a loc behind his ear and sitting back. Thanks to the lighting of the sign and the other park lights in the area, Spiderman could see him digging around in his coat pocket and fishing out-- a USB drive?

Hobie held it up triumphantly, sleepy down-turned eyes glistening with pride.

“I got it! Suckers! Screw them by the way, I’m not the thief, if that’s what you’re wondering,”

Well. He was sneaky, alright. Spiderman had to hand that to him, at the very least.

He sat back on his heels as well and exhaled. “Fine. I believe you. What’s on that drive?”

Hobie squinted at him then, really giving him a good once-over now that the excitement had officially died down. “…Damn. You’re Spiderman,”

“Yeah, yeah. Hey, hi, nice to meet you, I’m your friendly neighborhood Sp-- ugh, seriously man, just tell me what all of that was back there or else I’m webbing you up and calling the cops.”

“Hey!” Hobie objected. “Like I said already, I’m the good guy here. I snagged this from those guys because I caught them snoopin’ around the museum over that way. I followed them and found out they were stealing this!”

Spiderman bobbed his head. “Okay? And what’s on it?”

Hobie turned the drive over a bit in his hands, admiring it. “Most likely? Security codes, schedules, maps. I’ve been uh… investigating those dudes for a while after watching them sniff around the museum for a few days now. It looks like they were just art thieves plannin' a heist, so I jumped on the opportunity to deliver justice myself.”

Hobie’s mischievous grin was met by Spiderman’s disapproving stare.

“And why didn’t you just call security and let them know? Like I said, super dangerous thing you did back there! If I wasn’t there to save you, you could’ve died, man.”

Hobie pocketed his USB drive again and rolled his eyes. “Y’know, for a vigilante hero with cool superpowers, you sure are a square.”

Spiderman sat up and placed a hand on his chest, feigning hurt. “Oof, ow. That’s mean,”

“Yeah, it is, but you know I’m right. If a kid like me walked up to some cops and tried to warn them of a possible art heist, you just know those pricks’ll laugh in my face and do literally nothing about it. I had to take matters into my own hands!” Hobie jutted his chin out defiantly.

Well. Couldn't really argue with that, especially considering PDNY’s less-than-stellar track record of taking preventative measures most times. All that they would most likely do is nod along to whatever Hobie was telling them and chuckle, shaking their heads as they walk away. Not their problem.

Spiderman rubbed his chin. “Point taken," he conceded. "So what’s your plan now?”

Hobie glanced around, as if he was checking for any eavesdroppers. “I’m gonna submit some photos to a journalist I met online before turning this in back to the museum. The journalist’ll help get those guys behind bars once a story's published and some actual adults talk to the cops. I am going to go collect my reward,”

Spiderman blinked. He had a bunch of questions swimming in his head, but the first question out of his mouth was, “what reward?”

“The reward for turning in precious security info, genius!” Hobie tapped at his forehead with a finger and grinned. “If I get to negotiate with them, I can get some money to save up and-- uh. Nevermind. Listen, are you gonna rat me out or not?”

Miles’ brow creased behind his mask. “… I don’t think I will. Sounds like you’re doing the right thing… mostly.”

Hobie cheered silently. “Yes! Okay, I take it back, Spidey. You are cool!”

Spiderman sighed. “But first, I need to know you’re gonna be safe. Like, actually, and that you’re not gonna get followed home.”

Hobie shrugged nonchalantly and pushed more locs out of his face again. “Yeah, you can walk me home if you want,”

“No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, that’s not the only thing I mean. I need you to promise me that you’re not gonna get into stupid stunts like this again. That was so dangerous and you really could’ve gotten hurt!”

Hobie exhaled as well. He stared intensely into the mask’s giant white lenses for a beat, making Spiderman shift uncomfortably.

Then, he held up his pinkie. “… Fine. I won’t do stupid shit like this again. I promise.”

Spiderman blinked a few more times and hooked his pinkie onto Hobie’s. “Uh. Okay, cool! Cool, that’s what I wanna hear, considering keeping New Yorkers safe is my job! I just wanna see you safe, that’s all. No more art heists, you gotta leave that to the professionals to handle,”

“What, professionals like you? You might’ve not even gotten to them in time before they snuck off with like millions of dollars worth of art, bro.”

“Anyone ever tell you you are just so mean? Dontcha have a little faith in me? The ‘vigilante hero with cool superpowers’?” Spiderman shot back.

They both laughed.

“Seriously, though. I do appreciate the fact that you saved my ass back there,” Hobie admitted, eyes cast downwards for a second. “I was actually gonna throw this thing into the lake and hope this drive got eaten by like… a fish or something.”

“And what about you?” Spiderman smiled despite himself.

“Well,” Hobie shrugged. “If I died, I died. I guess,”

It was Spiderman’s turn to scoff now. “You have a family, man. Don’t be ridiculous. You have friends and family that would miss you!”

Hobie’s expression turned dark, his entire face shadowing for a second before being replaced by cool detached nonchalance. A slight hint of annoyance stayed put underneath.

“… My family’s barely my family. I don’t have any friends, either. Don't worry about me.” Hobie admitted in a clipped tone. He stood up abruptly and started doing some casual stretches.

Spiderman stood up as well, knowing fully well how this song and dance was going to go.

He would never admit it out loud, but he’d seen his fair share of self-destructive citizens throwing themselves into the middle of danger in the short time he’d been doing this whole vigilante thing. He had talked many a melancholy or manic person from tossing themselves off of multiple different buildings, different bridges, stopped them from “falling” onto train tracks.

And as loath as he is to admit it, this Hobie’s particular brand of cool detachment was entirely too familiar to him as well.

A flash of his uncle Aaron’s face lit up a part of his brain that he hadn’t really allowed himself to acknowledge since that fateful day. He quickly stamped that out.

He cleared his throat and rubbed at his neck. “… Well. That sounds pretty depressing, man.”

He didn’t notice Hobie’s shoulders hitch at that phrase.

“But,” Spiderman continued, “You got people out here who care about you, even if you don’t know it. You’re still so young, you could be ending your life before you even meet, like, your favoritest person in the whole world, right? So just do me a quick favor, take care of yourself. For me. Live long enough to meet your favorite person, alright?”

Spiderman put on his best comforting expression that he could despite the mask most likely getting in the way of Hobie fully seeing it. He hoped his words were enough to convince him not to dive off the deep end, at least not anytime soon.

It seemed to work at least a little bit, because Hobie looked back at him with a much warmer-- albeit hesitant-- expression.

“Can I ask you something?” Hobie finally said after a few moments of silence.

“Uh, sure.” Spiderman replied.

“Do you know about a kid named Miles Morales at all?”

The air was sucked out of Spiderman’s lungs right then as he floundered like a fish for a minute, brain working into overdrive to make his answer sound both intelligent and convincing.

“U-uh, maaaybeee? I dunno, I meet a lot of New Yorkers everyday and I don’t get many names, yanno? S-sounds familiar, but sorr--”

“I knew it,” Hobie exhaled a laugh and surged forward to embrace Spiderman with both arms.

Spiderman stood frozen in his place, arms held in mid-air as he worked to process this.

“Uh. What--”

Spiderman felt Hobie’s chin dig into the side of his cheek a little as he turned his lips to his ear. “Your secret’s safe with me, by the way. I’m not telling anyone,”

Miles felt his whole world turn on its axis before shattering completely.

Oh no, no, no, no, no! Goddamnit!

Miles pushed Hobie off and stepped back, holding his hands up. “Oh hey, whoa, whoa, whoa. I dunno what you’re thinking or who you think I am, but--!”

Hobie sighed loudly. “Miles, I saw your suit.”

The world screeched to a halt.

Hobie picked his gaze back up off of his feet and even seemed apologetic, almost. “I, uhm. Like, back on the roof. At Visions. I wasn’t… a hundred percent sure I saw it, since it could’ve been any logo at all, but. Well, you’re a pretty bad liar too, y’know that, right?”

Miles sucked in a slightly shaky breath, gulping loudly. “Uh. W-well,”

Hobie smiled shyly. “You, uh… you’re like around the same height as Miles Morales, anyways. And you sure sound a lot like him, too.”

Damn. Damn it all.

Miles spun this way and that, placing his hands atop his head as he panicked slightly. “H-Hobie, you cannot tell anyone else about this, whatsoever. Do you understand? No one. At all. Or we’re both dead!”

Hobie held his hands up, lines creasing in his face. “Look bro, you’ve got secrets of mine too. We pinkie promised, remember? I don’t break promises.”

Miles didn’t point out that the promise was so that Hobie would stop getting himself into stupidly dangerous situations, but he accepted it anyways, albeit reluctantly.

“D-do… do you actually, like actually promise me you’ll never breathe a word about this to anyone? Ever? At all?”

Hobie held up his right hand into the air, as if taking an oath. “I, MJ, solemnly swear to never breathe a single word to anyone about your super secret identity, so help me god.”

Miles planted his fists on his hip and shook his head. “Oh my god,” he exhales on a shaky laugh.

“Don’t you believe me? What would I have to gain by selling you out? Oh,” Hobie stops suddenly, perking up. “We could even work together! I got me my sweet camera and my extensive connects, man. Think about it!”

“No, no. Hobie. Stop that, man. I’m not putting you into any danger after I just saved your skinny butt. Spiderman doesn’t do sidekicks anyways,”

Hobie looked a bit put out, but shrugged anyways. “Well, I mean… think about it sometime. We could seriously take down criminal activity around here, if you’re down! And, uh. You do have my number,”

Miles looked up and took a deep breath. “Mmnyes, I do. I do have your number. That’s… I mean you’re not wrong about that. Listen, I think it’s getting pretty late and we should both be heading back home now, though.”

The corners of Hobie’s mouth curled up mischievously. “True, true. It is a school night, after all.”

Miles couldn’t stop grinning despite the heavy anvil that threatened to burst out of his chest. “Yep, yes it is! Okay, time to get you home now. C’mon, let’s go.”

Miles moved to step into Hobie’s space and carry him on his back again so he could lower the both of them down from the lip of the theatre roof.

But before that happened, he felt Hobie place a cold but strong hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

Miles looked up inquisitively and felt his breath catch in his throat as he felt those same hands slowly slide up the smooth spandex of his suit, up his shoulders, and then they stopped at his neck, at the seam of where his suit and mask met.

The entire thing probably only took a few seconds to do, but to Miles it felt like eons passed as he felt every single muscle twitch and the pulse beating underneath Hobie’s skin while he ran those fingers up his arms.

He was standing so close to him! Oh god!

The entire ordeal was unbearably intimate, and Miles could barely stop the shudder that wracked his body suddenly.

Hobie’s soft lips were slightly parted, the lighting of the sign next to them caught in the dark brown portals that were his eyes.

“U-uhm. Sorry, this is weird...” he mumbled quietly. But his hands didn't move.

All around them, crickets started their soothing chorus.

Here they were, right behind the giant lettering of the Delacorte Theatre, intertwined in each other’s arms on a cold night-- and Miles’ core body temperature has never felt hotter before. He felt like he could melt steel, the way this night was going. He didn’t know when his hands raised to grasp onto Hobie’s arms, but they must’ve done it of their own accord because Miles then felt himself squeezing softly onto Hobie’s biceps.

Slowly, painstakingly, and carefully… Hobie made his move.

Every centimeter of the mask being pushed up was accompanied by a soft look that asked-- no, it begged-- for permission to continue. His hands seemed to move on their own eventually, as he slid the mask up over the back of Miles' head and then eased it up off of his nose.

Hobie wore a soft look of determination then, that fully came into view again once Miles felt his mask slide right up off of his eyes. Hobie’s soft hands eventually fell away, mask in one hand, no sounds in the air except for the wildlife of the park starting to wake now that the night has officially fallen.

Miles wasn’t sure why he did, but he held his breath.

After a few seconds of appraising gazes from each other, pupils meeting pupils, exchanging a million words a second with just a few looks… Hobie grinned beautifully.

“Damn. There you are,”

Miles felt a plume of heat erupt from his gut and rush up to his face. “Uh. Hm, y-yep. Here I am,” he blinked back at Hobie with his big brown eyes.

Hobie had a look of pure joy on his face before it started to melt away suddenly. “You know… I should backstab you for abandoning me out of nowhere that one time, though… I really should...”

The moment collapsed like an undone web, a delicate thing now completely destroyed as Miles leaped up in indignation.

“Hobie!”

Hobie stepped back and laughed loudly. “Re-lax! I’m not gonna actually do it. But. Y’know.”

“And if you do, I’ll leave you webbed up to that billboard near Visions,” Miles threatened, mostly light-heartedly.

“Psshh, and then get my mom’s two million lawyers on your ass? Good luck,”

“As if they could ever catch me! I’m Spiderman!”

Just as easily as they had stepped out of being just kids for a moment, they stepped right back into it, bickering like they'd been friends since forever.

Miles lowered the both of them from the sign and they headed towards the eastern side of the park, making their way over to Hunter’s Gate. They bickered and bantered back and forth the entire way there, and it was only once they made it to the outer gates of the park that Miles stopped them both.

With his mask back on and other New Yorkers now milling nearby, Miles made it a point to lower his voice as he turned to Hobie and puffed his chest out heroically.

“So, random citizen. Where are we off to today? I told you I’d take you back home safely, and that’s what I’m gonna do.”

“’Cause you promised, right?” Hobie smirked, tucking his hands into his coat pockets.

“Uhm. Yeah, yeah. I did. So, lead the way!” Spiderman made a grand ushering gesture, and Hobie chuckled good-naturedly as he stepped aside and exited Central Park.

“You gonna walk me home, Spiderman?” Hobie threw him a side-long glance.

“Yyyeah…? Why? You’d rather swing home?”

“I liked swinging, actually. Yeah,” Hobie stopped where he was on the sidewalk and nodded with an air of finality. “Yeah… let’s swing!”

Spiderman felt his heart do a few somersaults in his chest before he gestured towards his shoulders. Hobie quickly assumed the position, long lanky arms wrapping around him and leaning his body weight against Spiderman’s side.

Spiderman shot up a web to a nearby street lamp and gave his friend one more glance.

“You sure?” He asked again, really making sure that Hobie was okay with this. Not many people really liked swinging, which was understandable. Even Miles wasn't the biggest fan of it at times.

Hobie chuckled and ignored the onlookers as they slowly ambled past the two, throwing the teens questioning glances as they made their way past them.

“Yeah, I am! Let’s go,”

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Miles: Do you actually actually really like on your LIFE promise that you’re not ginna tell a soul about… well…

Miles: gonna*

MJ: Yes, Miles. I PROMISE [eyeroll emoji]

Miles: I KNOW WHERE YOU LIVE

MJ: Do you actually, though? ;)

Miles: No. But I can find out… I got connects

MJ: Uh huh. I’ll tell your “connects” that if you don’t take me out on that promised lunch date, our friendly neighborhood Spiderman just might be the next trending topic on ALL social media apps again very soon……..

Miles: Oh my god. You are Evil. I can’t believe this. My next arch nemesis… damn

Miles: What a killer plot twist. The greatest foe I have yet to face happens to be none other than one of my very own classmates

Miles: It be ya own people

From his family’s Lower Manhattan penthouse, Hobie laughs out loud as he reads the text messages, ignoring all of the curious glances thrown his way by various members of his team.

From Miles’ own humble dorm room at Visions, he laughs aloud as well.