#so if i needed something i just dealt with not having it

[iamluzgar]

I completely disagree...

Veilguard has the following themes explored: leadership (through Rook's journey, factions, gods, Solas), corruption (of people, of gods), myths (how the myths from Thedas were changed from the original story that we now know), traumas (of losing someone, of being raised violently in a family, of losing your family, of being invaded, of being molded into a specific person, of being betrayed, of being forced to do actions you don't want to do, of duty, of accepting the past of your people), invasion and resistance (of the blight, of the Antaam, of the gods), family (through Lucanis and Taash, but also through the way Neve considers the Shadow Dragons, through Bellara), identity (through Taash, Lucanis, Harding, to an extent to Emmrich), culture (through Taash again, Bellara, but also through the way older games gave us so much propaganda about Tevinter, because they only hear about the upper classes, and we actually get to experience a bit of its culture ingame), the fake division between spirit/demon (through Solas and Spite), blood magic (through the old elven gods and Solas), old elven magic, fade, death (through Emmrich in something that specifically targets the player: "how would you like your remains to be dealt with?"), mourning (Not gonna go into that one but you know several people who die during the game), chronic illness and/or terminal illnesses, the dwarves' past and culture. I probably forgot a lot more.

Like... Does the game asks you whether slavery is wrong or not? No, but the answer to that is obvious, it event shows you slaves and it is sickening. Does the game asks you to take a stand pro/against magister? No, but the answer to that is obvious. Does the game asks you whether we should believe in Andrastian religion? No, but the whole DAI situation showed that the Andrastian church was bullshit already, we know it is, and we know how much now from Veilguard. Does the game asks you to take a stand pro/against magic? I think we're past that point now. We know magic is a nuanced topic and that mages shouldn't be oppressed for who they are. We know there are cultures and society allowing them to thrives without being imprisoned. Those aren't complex sociopolitical issues, those are things that were explored and resolved in other games with a clear yes/no question. Dorian sided against slavery, because he learnt it was bad. At this point everyone and their mother know it's bad. We don't actually need artifically made points like in DA2 where, if you help the mages, they still fuck you up to make you consider maybe they don't deserve the right to exist (I love DA2, it's my fav, but that is not a deep serious political idea).

One point very positive Point of Veilguard is its nuance to the question it was visiting during the game. Should Harding try to commit to her kindness in the face of intense general trauma, or should she accept her anger? Should Taash go towards the Qun or should she go towards Rivain culture? Should Emmrich go Lich or should he keep Manfred? Should Bellara keep her culture's past or should she keep it? Those are all question that have no good answer, because they all come with nuances, with no clear yes/no question, with happiness and possible fulfillment in all cases. Just like in real life, and it's up to you, the player, to make an arbitration of whether you would live preferably in such a way or in another way for your characters. It's a personal discovery journey of what it means to be a person, a leader, a hero, of different pasts, colors, genders, family status, traumas, duties etc. Of making a choice and owning it, for the bad and the good. Veilguard is probably one of the most emotionally mature AAA game in the history of gaming, and we're AGAIN (hello DA2) gonna have to wait 10 years before people realize it.

Like sure, it's not perfect, it's rushed, it doesn't feel like 10 years has been put into it, some stuff in gameplay, level design and UI inventory aren't right, some narration choices aren't great, their choice of focus is debatable, you can't even be a healer mage. But on the themes, thesis, sociopolitical and larger issues? I completely disagree. They also matured in their game design quite a lot in regards to open worlds, quests and its number, and little QoL things I don't remember that made me go "aaah... That's great design". It's just not how we imagined it would be. And yes, me too, I would have loved to have a DA2 in Minrathous, making havroc freeing slaves and beating the shit out of magisters with Fenris, this would have been my favorite thing. This isn't what happened, the game is still very good, it still has incredible qualities if you take it for what it is and engage with the story, the characters and the environment.

I'm realizing there are 3 types of Dragon Age fans.

1) Gamers who play latest big flashy action game

2) UwU kissy dating and besties simulator

3) Interested in the sociopolitical and theological themes and thesis statements the series is historically known for

Veilguard is not made for fan #3. It is a very pretty game that has absolutely nothing it wants to say--to the point that what it says by saying nothing is often times pretty offensive.

[gloomwitchwrites]

How would the boys react to you having bratty attitude sorry if u have done this before

Technically, I did have someone send in something similar (which y'all can read HERE) but there is a distinct difference between the asks. But also, whenever any of y'all leave the prompt a bit open-ended, I will always allow myself to ignore my self-control and just go for unhinged spice. So, yes. Attitudes are dealt with...enjoy!

For the masterlist and how to submit your own request, click HERE

Task Force 141 x Female Reader

Content & Warnings: bratting, forced orgasm, orgasm denial, dom/sub dynamics, swearing, punishment, sex toys, overstimulation, collaring

Word Count: 1.3k

ao3 // main masterlist // imagines & what if masterlist

John Price

“Please, John. No more. I can’t.”

Your body trembles, wanting release but not receiving it. John moves the vibrator up and down your pussy, purposefully avoiding your clit or penetrating you with it. Somehow, you are overstimulated and yet entirely unsatisfied.

It was just a bit of bratting—a bit of fun. Goddamn him for making you regret it.

“Told you what the punishment would be. I was very clear, love,” murmurs John. He teasingly brings the vibrator up to your clit, allowing it to stimulate those nerves for a few seconds of perfect bliss before turning it off.

You whimper, hips bucking, wanting more. John tuts and taps the vibrator against your lips. It’s sticky with your slickness, and you obediently open your mouth. He slides it inside just enough to not choke you, but enough for you to clean some of yourself off of it.

Dipping his head, John lightly grazes your nipple with his teeth. It sends a sharp pang through you, only adding to the unfulfilled desire. Removing the vibrator from your mouth, he clicks it back on, running it up and down your body.

“I listed every possible punishment. We agreed that I would choose. And this is what I’ve chosen,” he says calmly, bringing it down to your pussy again.

“I hate it,” you moan, trying to angle your hips enough so that the device might make contact.

“Use your safe word if you have to, love.”

You keep your mouth shut.

John smiles against your skin. “Thought so.”

Kyle "Gaz" Garrick

“Feel good?” You nod. “Not too tight?” asks Kyle.

“It’s fine.”

He tilts his head, lips slightly pursed. “Let’s try it out.”

“Try it out?”

The collar buzzes, vibrating against your skin. “Jesus fucking Christ. What was that?”

“Did it hurt?”

“No,” you reply, confused. “Just—weird.”

Kyle grins. “Perfect.”

“Perfect? What is this?”

“Your punishment,” responds Kyle.

“My—oh.”

Oh, yes. The bratting from yesterday. The attitude and pushback you flaunted around all day because it felt good and you thought you could get away with.

Kyle drops onto the sofa and lightly taps the cushion next to him. You obediently sit, the fabric scratching against your bare ass. Now you understand why you’re naked.

“For the rest of the day, you have to get my permission to do anything.”

“Do I have permission to talk?”

“Only if it’s to ask me for something.”

You roll your eyes. “What about breathing?”

“This is what I’m talking about,” says Kyle. “That attitude.”

He’s right. This is the exact thing that has you in trouble with him in the first place. But if you’re going to be stuck like this on the sofa, you need something to drink.

Swallowing down your pride, you glance at Kyle. “May I please go to the kitchen?”

Kyle nods. “You may.”

You stand, and the buzzer in the collar goes off. Instinct as you turning to tell him off but Kyle is already talking. “Didn’t give you permission to stand.”

This fucking asshole.

“May I please—”

Buzz.

“Kyle—”

Buzz.

“What the fuck!”

“You’re still standing,” he says calmly.

You throw yourself back down onto the couch and, with a hint of a growl, say, “May I please stand?”

Kyle licks his lips. “Course you can, love.”

“Thank you,” you mutter, standing.

You make it three steps before the buzzer goes off again. Halting, you turn, and Kyle makes a gesture with his arms like he’s walking. You’re going to murder him after this.

“Do I have your permission to walk to the kitchen?”

Kyle grins, and nods.

Two minutes in and you’re already losing your mind.

You don’t walk to the kitchen. You stomp.

John "Soap" MacTavish

Johnny taps his phone screen with his thumb. The clitoral suction stimulator toy starts up again immediately. Every muscle within you viscerally reacts. The sharp clench causes your body to jerk in Johnny’s arms, but there is nowhere to go.

His thick, muscled arms keep you pinned against him and the bed. Your legs are spread wide, open to the bedroom, his knees forcing them apart. Between your legs is the suction toy, vibrating away, pulsing little bursts of air outward that feel like Johnny has his mouth on your clit and not a device. Johnny’s cock sits inside you to the hilt. He does not fuck you. His hips remain still as yours flex and rock, wanting to escape from the overstimulation but hardly moving at all.

“Thought I’d reward you for being a brat?” he murmurs against your ear.

Johnny taps the phone screen again and the toy’s suction shifts to a different rhythm. Your pussy clenches down on his cock and Johnny grunts.

You have no idea how many orgasms you’ve had. Johnny keeps forcing them out of you, one after the other. Sweat drenches your brow and the back of your neck.

“Please,” you whimper.

“Please, what?” prompts Johnny, adjusting the toy slightly.

The orgasm is ripped from you. It’s almost violent the way you cry out, fingers digging into his thigh and the bedsheets.

Another tap and the toy clicks off.

“Love,” he whispers, lightly rocking his hips, cock sliding in and out of you languidly. “You didn’t answer me.”

Just as you open your mouth to answer, Johnny taps the screen again. The stimulator turns on and your mind bends backwards, falling into a whirlwind of lust.

All you did was give him a bit of attitude—a bit of bratty banter. You expected Johnny to spank you or even bend you over the nearest surface and fuck your brains out. But this?

This is punishment.

“Guess I’ll keep going, love,” muses Johnny, clearly enjoying this. “Until you find your words.” He lowers his voice. “You had plenty to say earlier.”

Simon "Ghost" Riley

A punishment is brewing. You feel it like an innate instinct. Simon’s been simmering all day, bubbling like a witch’s cauldron. Whenever he gets like this, you know when you walk through the door, he’ll be on you, deliciously torturing you until you’re completely spent.

Sometimes it’s good to be bratty—to push back against the things he tells you to do even if they are good for you.

Did you eat breakfast this morning?

Drink some water.

Do the chores you’re supposed to do.

Complete those errands.

You’re independent. You’re an adult. But having Simon tell you what needs done just to do the opposite is a euphoric rush. Bratting is just a game. A bit of fun. There are really no stakes here, just an outlet for your attitude and a need to be playful.

“You’re late,” says Simon, checking his watch as you walk through the door. “You were supposed to be home an hour ago.”

“The time got away from me,” you shrug, depositing your purse and keys on the sofa and not in the designated spot near the front door.

Simon crosses his arms over his chest, observing you quietly for a few seconds before speaking. “Have something for you.” You eagerly follow him into the kitchen. “Sit,” he says, pointing to the kitchen table.

You drop into it, knowing that you’re about to get exactly what you want. Simon disappears for a full minute before returning. He sets a piece of lined paper down in front of you. You glance up at him, confused.

“What’s this?”

Instead of answering your question verbally, he places a pencil on top of it.

“Simon,” you probe.

“I want you to write ‘I will do as my dom says’ over and over until you fill up every line.”

You balk, as Simon takes a step back. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s perfectly fair,” shrugs Simon. “Think I was going to spank you? This is punishment. Do as your told and maybe I’ll give you a treat.”

“Simon,” you protest, watching him go. “Simon!”

He simply waves. “Don’t make me get the handcuffs.”

“Fucker,” you mutter, picking up the pencil.

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[uconnwbbcrashout]

last winter break

chapter i: “this is the love that we won’t get right”

paige x azzi

word count: 3.1k

content: mentions of underage drinking (of which i do not condone), swearing, even more angst

chapter list: here

author’s notes: back with some more angst (as requested)! a couple things: for the sake of this fic, they get longer than just a few days off for winter break before they have to start playing again. also, reminder again that azzi’s high school is in minnesota (like 15 minutes away from paige’s).

oh, and things will get worse before they get better :) enjoy!

Winter 2020-2021

Azzi is no stranger to pain.

It’s more or less the price you pay when you decide to dedicate your life to basketball—physical injuries are basically a given. Granted, you never know what the extent of those injuries might be, but it’s essentially a guarantee that there will be something.

And Azzi has dealt with her fair share of physical injuries over the years—bloody cuts, bruised legs, shin splints, pulled muscles, sprained ankles. They’re annoying, for sure, but Azzi has mostly learned to deal with them, doesn’t see them as excuses for having an off game. She’s learned to fight through them.

Then, of course, there was her ACL and MCL tear last year.

That had been a different beast entirely. One that she was wholly unprepared for.

A sharp, stinging sensation radiating through her knee, unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.

Perhaps the hardest part of it all, though, was the mental toll it took on her.

Azzi’s learned that basketball is as much of a mind game as it is a physical sport. It takes resilience, an steady mental fortitude to endure all the challenges it throws at you—blocked shots, missed game-winning buckets, losses in a championship game. Azzi was used to that, had been building up her mental toughness since the first time someone stole the ball from her at recess in first grade.

Going through a major injury like that, though, left her in a prolonged state of turmoil. It took away basketball, one of the greatest constants in her life, and turned it into an impossibility. It kept her glued to a seat, to the bench, helpless to be at her teammates’ sides when they needed her most. It fabricated nightmares late at night, making her wonder if she’d ever get to play the game she loved again.

It was almost too much to bear.

So, yeah, Azzi’s been through it all—all sorts of physical injuries and all sorts of emotional anguish. Anything you can think of, really.

At least, that’s what she had thought.

The way Paige had shattered her heart, though? Had left her alone to try to stitch the pieces back together?

Well, that was certainly up there among the worst of it.

It’s the heaviest ache, the deepest sorrow permeating throughout her entire being. The type of feeling that leaves a person completely hollow, numb to the world around them.

It’s not something you move on from.

Not for a long time.

If ever.

And how could she, really, when Paige was everywhere around her?

Over a thousand miles away yet still fucking finding a way to sneak into everything she could see, everything she could hear, everything she could feel.

Paige was in the creaking park swings across the street. She was in the lingering scent of cologne on Azzi’s pillows. She was in the warmth of a late August sunset. She was in the drip of a melting ice cream cone at the state fair. She was in the rustle of the leaves in the fall. She was in the bounce of a basketball on hardwood. In the soft fabric of a well-worn tournament hoodie. In the unwrapped birthday presents shoved into her closet. In the laughter ringing out across the neighborhood. In the music thumping in her car. In the first snowfall cascading down from above. In the sparkle of lights on a Christmas tree. In the burning of her lungs against the frozen winter. In the empty space beside her, in the ground she walked, in the air she breathed.

In everything.

Azzi has tried to forget her. Honestly, she has.

But Paige hasn’t made it easy on her. Always so damn talkative and blowing up her phone with message after message, even though she was the one who ended things between them. Never seeming to understand that every text, every word reopens the stitches holding her wounded heart together.

Even basketball is hardly an escape, not something she can throw herself into now. Game after game being postponed or cancelled. Practices with her teammates few and far between, cloth masks and distance between them. And the ever-present reminder of Paige that comes with anything even remotely basketball-related.

Needless to say, these last few months have been literal hell.

In hindsight, she should’ve known that this was only just the beginning.

*****

Azzi steps back from the bathroom counter, screwing the cap to her mascara back on and giving herself a once-over in the mirror. It’s just a New Year’s Eve party, so her outfit isn’t anything too crazy—her St. John’s varsity letterman jacket, a pair of tighter-fitting jeans, and some new Air Force 1s that she got from her parents for Christmas. Hoop earrings and a simple chain around her neck. She pulls at the twin curls framing either side of her face before tightening the hair tie holding up the rest of her hair.

It'll have to do, she relents, slipping out of the bathroom and grabbing her lanyard before making a beeline for the front door. Her hand is on the doorknob, just about to rush out—

“Azzi Fudd, where is your winter coat?”

Azzi drops her forehead against the doorframe, sighing dramatically.

So close.

“Mom, it’s, like, a five-minute walk. I’ll be fine.”

She catches her mother throwing her arms up in exasperation in her periphery. “It’s 15 degrees outside, Azzi. Just put on a coat.”

“No, I said it’s fine,” she protests. “I don’t need—”

But her mom is already in front of her, pushing her puffer coat into her hands.

Azzi opens her mouth to respond, but she sees the challenging look in her mom’s eye and decides not to test her tonight. She quickly shrugs the coat on and rolls her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. Can I go now?”

Her mom smiles and steps backwards into the living room, lifting her hands in the air. “You’re free to go.”

Azzi nods and reaches for the doorknob a second time.

“Oh, actually, I forgot to tell you something,” her mom says from the couch.

“Oh my god,” Azzi mumbles, pivoting to face her mom again. There’s a suspicious glint in her eye that’s making Azzi feel uneasy. “What is it? I’m already supposed to be at Taylor’s house by now.”

Her mom smiles and takes a sip from her coffee mug. “Okay, one, it’s not my fault you’re late. And, two, I just wanted to let you know that I saw her the other day.” At Azzi’s blank expression, she continues, “Paige, I mean.”

Fuck.

Azzi hates the way her heart rate quickens, the way her mouth feels dry, the way her throat tightens. She tries to mask her initial shock with disinterest, pretending to pick at something on her fingernail. “Oh, really? That’s cool.”

The grin on her mother’s face tells her that she’s failing miserably.

“Yeah, we were both in line at the grocery store. She asked me about you.”

Azzi’s eyes widen and she pulls at the collar of her coat, suddenly feeling like she’s suffocating underneath all these layers of clothing. “Yeah?” she asks quietly. “What’d she say?”

Her mom gestures with the coffee mug in her hands, a wide smile still adorning her face. “Oh, you know. Just wondering how you are and where you’ve been.” She shrugs. “Said she missed you and was hoping that maybe she could see you over break.”

None of this is news to Azzi—she’s heard this all before in the endless string of texts she’s gotten from Paige since July.

Even still, her breath catches in her throat at her words.

She wants to see me.

God, but what does it matter, really? Paige made it very clear that this wasn’t going to work between them. And Azzi made it very clear that she couldn’t go back to just being friends with her.

That should be the end of it.

So why isn’t it?

Why do I still care that she thinks about me? Why do I care that she misses me?

Why can’t I just let it go?

“Azzi?”

Azzi blinks hard a few times and glances back up at her mom, flashing her a smile that doesn’t quite meet her eyes. “Oh, yeah. That’s um—that’s great. Thanks for letting me know that.” She hooks her thumb over her shoulder towards the door. “I’m gonna go. For real now.”

“Be safe!” She hears her mom call before she slams the door shut behind her.

Azzi inhales raggedly, feels the sting of the cold night in her lungs, then releases her breath into a cloud in front of her.

I’m so fucked.

*****

It’s not the usual celebration this year. Normally, she’d be hanging out with her family, or perhaps Paige’s family, playing games and sharing smiles well into the night. Paige by her side, the warm press of her hand on her lower back, her laughter echoing off the walls of Azzi’s mind.

Obviously, nothing has gone to plan this year.

That’s why she finds herself here—in the basement of her friend Taylor’s house, sitting in a circle with the rest of her teammates. Half empty beer bottles are strewn across the floor and the midnight countdown sits abandoned on the TV.

With a warm buzz dulling her racing thoughts and the giggling of her teammates flowing through her ears, she thinks she likes this alternative, too.

It’s a welcome distraction from the chaos that her senior year has devolved into. Social distancing, cancelled basketball games, college decisions. Lost friends, new future teammates, empty spaces.

The breakup. The constant fight between anger and longing, between trying to move on and fantasizing about a life where everything just worked out.

She doesn’t have to think about any of it.

She’s hardly thought about Paige at all, actually. She hasn’t wondered what it would've been like to spend tonight with Paige instead. Hasn’t counted how many steps it would take her to get to Paige’s front door from here. Hasn’t even thought about the last time she counted down to midnight, the hungry look in Paige’s eyes, the way she pulled their bodies together and kissed her senseless, her breath caught in her throat and her hands wandering—

Okay, fine.

Maybe Paige crossed her mind once or twice.

Maybe she misses her. Just a little.

She’s still pissed at her for breaking her heart, though. And no amount of alcohol can make her completely forget that feeling.

*****

It’s well past midnight by the time Azzi finally makes her way home, probably at least 2 A.M. if she had to guess. Her parents are not going to be happy.

She’s sobered up a bit now, thoughts finally feeling a bit clearer in her head. The wind has picked up considerably, forcing Azzi to duck her head down into her coat and shove her hands into her pockets. She's suddenly glad that her mom had forced her to wear something warmer.

Just a few more blocks to go.

As Azzi approaches the corner ahead, her ears pick up on the sounds of distant chatter over the howling wind. Curious, she lifts her head up and settles her gaze upon the group ahead of her. A rambunctious bunch of people, probably around her own age.

She stops dead in her tracks.

Even with just the dim orange streetlight, Azzi doesn’t need to move closer to be sure—that lanky 5'11 frame is unmistakable.

Paige.

Azzi is frozen in time, completely entranced with the figure before her. She can barely see anything—can just make out blonde hair settled around broad shoulders and the strong line of a jaw—but it’s enough to capture all of her attention.

She isn’t sure how long she’s standing there, her mouth agape, before she realizes that the figure is moving towards her now, is calling out to her.

“Azzi? That you?”

Azzi snaps out of it then, the reality of the situation starting to unfold, and she’s spinning away and striding in the opposite direction before she can even think twice about it.

There are footsteps now, quickening, thumping louder in her ears.

“Azzi! Hey, slow down!”

The sound of snow crunching under sneakered feet.

“Yo, wait up!”

Azzi speeds up her pace.

“Azzi?”

The voice is clear now, merely a few feet behind her.

“Hey!”

Azzi steels herself for impact, tries to remind herself to keep her resolve.

A hand curls itself around her forearm and Azzi half expects to see a hole burned through her jacket when she looks down at it.

The hand is turning her now, spinning her to a stop right in front of icy blue eyes.

“Azzi,” Paige exhales, her breath rapidly coming out in puffs that disappear into the air. Her eyes are bright, her smile is wide, and Azzi’s heart aches. “Hey.”

She doesn’t look all that different from the last time Azzi saw her—it’s only been a few months, after all. Hair down, in a UConn sweatshirt, some sweatpants, and old basketball sneakers. That same stupid grin on her face, the one she reserves just for Azzi.

Against her will, Azzi’s body reacts instinctually, urging her to move closer into Paige’s space, and she has to use all of the strength she can muster to hold herself back.

“Hi,” Azzi whispers, biting her lip to stop herself from saying anything less than coherent.

“Hey,” Paige says again, her gaze still locked onto Azzi’s.

They stay like that, unmoving, for several long seconds.

Paige is still grasping onto her forearm, and Azzi clears her throat to get her attention.

Paige blinks and releases her hold on her arm, sheepishly glancing away. Maybe it’s just the cold, but Azzi swears she sees a pink tint spread its way across Paige’s face. “Sorry ‘bout that,” she mumbles. “It’s good to see you, Az.”

Azzi feels her resolve crack ever so slightly at the nickname, the ease at which it falls from Paige’s lips. She straightens her shoulders out and crosses her arms. “How you been, P?”

“Good. Real good.” Paige grins. “Love it at UConn. You watch any of our games?”

Azzi shrugs, aiming for indifference. Maybe she’s seen one or two.

Paige doesn’t need to know that.

Paige nods her head, shifting her balance from one foot to the other. She ducks her head a bit to catch Azzi’s eye. “You doin’ okay, too?”

“I’m fine,” she lies, rubbing her hands against her arms to try to keep herself warm.

Paige gives her a disbelieving look, her eyebrows furrowing in that familiar way. “You sure?”

“I’m fine, okay, P? I’m fine.” It comes out harsher than she means it to, and Paige brings her hands up in front of her.

“Okay, okay. I believe you.” She focuses her attention on the ground, cracking ice beneath the heel of her shoe.

A quiet moment. And then—

“I miss you.”

“Paige,” Azzi sighs.

“Listen, I know you decided on Maryland and all that, but you’d be so good at UConn, Az.”

“Paige, I don’t—”

“You were made to be there. You—you’re just perfect for the team, you know that? Just—"

“Paige—”

“—exactly what we need. I talked to Nika 'bout it. You could be that last piece, for real. And I’on wanna be the reason you turned it down—"

“Just stop! Okay?” Azzi brings up a hand in front of her, effectively silencing her. “I can’t fucking do this right now, Paige. I can’t.”

Paige takes a small step back, a canyon forming between them. Her voice is quiet when she says, “Just want what’s best for you, Azzi.”

A dam breaks open inside Azzi then, sending white-hot blood pumping through her veins.

“You think I can’t decide that for myself, P? First the breakup and now this. You think I don’t know what’s good for me?”

Paige’s eyes widen and she steps forward, waving her hands in front of her. “No, no. Didn’t mean it like that. I swear, I just—”

“Hey, P, you comin’?”

Azzi peers past Paige’s shoulder, squinting into the night to find the source of the voice—a smaller figure standing on the same corner Paige was just a few minutes ago.

“Hol’ up!” Paige yells back, but Azzi hardly hears her.

There’s something about the figure that looks so familiar, so much like something she’s seen before. Azzi’s wracking her brain, rewinding time, desperately searching for an answer as to who this could possibly be.

All she has to do is replay the last few minutes before it clicks.

It comes back to her in flashes then.

How could she have missed it? So caught up in a trance of Paige, Paige, Paige that she didn’t even recognize the scene that was in front of her—Paige, under the streetlight, standing tall. A woman, next to her, leaning into her space. Whispering in her ear. Laughing at one of her jokes. Grabbing onto her bicep. Trailing her fingers down her arm.

Azzi tastes bile rising in her throat. She nods her head toward the woman, eyes cold. “Who’s that?”

Paige looks between Azzi and the woman, her expression faltering. “Oh, she’s just someone I went to Hopkins with. I swear it’s not—I swear, it's nothin', Az.”

“It’s fine, Paige.”

“Nah, I’on even really know her that well. She’s the one comin’ onto me.”

Azzi scoffs. “You weren’t exactly pushing her away.”

“Azzi, look,” Paige pleads. “I know, I know, it looks bad. Like, so bad—"

“You know what?” Azzi cuts her off. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing here anymore. There’s no us, remember?” She backs up, putting some much-needed space between them.

“Azzi, please, come on. I promise there's nothin' there.”

But Azzi is already backing up, already knowing how this will end, already on her way out. “Do whatever you want, Paige. You’re free from me now.”

“Az—"

“Goodbye, P,” she calls over her shoulder, trudging back towards home.

Her mind is swirling now, distorting reality to the point that she can’t be sure of what she saw. Was Paige leaning in towards that woman, too? Was she laughing along with her? Was she brushing up against her side? Was she looking at her lips? Was she reaching out? Was she ghosting her fingers over her skin?

A thought occurs to her then: Paige is already moving on.

Or at least she’s thought about it.

And here I am, thinking she still cares about me.

She doesn’t let the tears fall, doesn’t let everything tumble out until she finally turns back onto her street.

And then it all floods in.

God, how could I be so stupid?

[esote-rika]

More of you to worship | Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gn!reader

Category: fluff, mild angst

Summary: Spencer Reid has insecurities about his changing body, and you assure him you love him regardless.

Content: body insecurity, established relationship, one mention of New Year

Word count: 1.5k

A/N: Quick little oneshot to end the year! You can thank @reidgif for this one because this gif rekindled my hyperfixation on his tummy. And then I saw a clip of Aisha (Tara’s actress) saying MGG weighs 11 pounds and has the metabolism of a rabbit on speed (lmfao) anyway, I took that and ran with it and now here we are. As someone who struggles with dysmorphia, I did my very best to be as sensitive with this as possible. Last fix of the year, I hope you enjoy it!

Spencer had begun to notice it a few weeks ago. At first, he had foolishly thought that there was simply something wrong with the shirt he had worn. Tactile sensitivity had always been something he dealt with, and this was no different. There had been a certain peculiarity in the fit of his shirt that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. Days continued, and it became a persistent bother, impeding his movement when he aimed, and inhibiting his general comfort.

It wasn’t until today, sitting in the bed—one he shared with you—that he finally had the time to inspect what was going on. The two of you had just gotten home from Rossi, who had graciously hosted a New Year’s dinner at his mansion. Spencer had admittedly eaten more than his fill, and that’s when he realized—it showed.

At once, the problem appeared. He was gaining weight. His shirts were bothering him because they were growing too tight, digging into places where they had previously been loose. The realization made him pause, as he stared down at himself.

Sitting on the bed, his stomach had gathered into a bulge, straining against the cloth. It was a new sight, not necessarily unwelcomed, but it seemed to send his mind reeling (to be fair, a lot sent his mind reeling nowadays, he was running on fumes, his only reprieve being you.)

He had never been muscular, had never found the need to be muscular. The team was nearly faultless because everyone filled a role, and they executed that well. He was, has always been, the genius, the expert on everything, as Hotch had called him once. Being the genius of the BAU meant that he had value. Relevance. It brought him great deal of pride, being able to contribute and pick up on patterns and little details that the majority of the team might miss.

It made him feel like he mattered. Needed.

So what if he couldn’t tackle a man down? They used to have Derek and Hotch for that, and now that role was being fulfilled by Luke and Matt, both of whom were utter specimens of the male physique.

But his time in prison had proven to him that he couldn’t rely on just his brains. Not when he had three burly inmates looking for trouble, looking for someone easy. It pained him that someone easy meant someone that looked like him. Tall, gangly, defenseless.

He took another breath and frowned as the fabric around his stomach grew tighter, taut at having to contain this belly that had formed over the course of the evening. A food baby, you liked to call it, because your own tummy was bonded to several factors as well—hormones, food, water intake—that made it fluctuate frequently, normally.

Normal. He tried to remind himself that this was normal, gaining weight was normal, but then again, how could someone tell what was normal when their—his—whole life, he had little experience with the word? Growing up a genius and taking care of an ailing mother skewed whatever sense of normalcy he could have developed.

Besides, his normal meant lanky, thin. His body, the way it was framed and built, had always been long and erring on the side of delicate. It wasn’t that he hadn’t tried to bulk up, it was that his muscles were lean; that was simply how his anatomy worked. It would take a lot more effort to gain more muscle, effort that he, admittedly, didn’t want to exert. It wasn’t his role.

And now, he looked down at his stomach with a crease on his brow, mind whirring with explanations. Weight fluctuations are normal, and they were okay, and he was nearing forty, anyway, of course his metabolism was beginning to slow down, human adults’ bodily functions tend to do that, it was scientific and —

“Honey?”

He looked up, and there you were, your loveliness framed by the plain doorway. Somehow, you made it seem more magical, less boring, as though your very presence just made everything better. He smiled, holding out a hand for you, forcing the wave of insecurity down his throat, down his chest, trying to bury it deep in the recesses of his body.

You walked closer, and the thoughts punched through his attempts to silence them—you wouldn’t find him attractive anymore.

Something must have shifted on his face, a sliver of that anxiety creating fresh lines between his brows, because you paused. A hand ran across your cheek, and he felt the weight of your concern in the action.

“What’s wrong, Spence?”

He drew you closer, pulled you onto his lap. He couldn’t lie to you, not out of his lack of skill, but due to your incessant ability to somehow sniff out the truth from him, one way or another.

“I think I’m outgrowing my shirts.” he said, softening the words with a chuckle. He was ashamed to admit that it was affecting him more than he anticipated; maybe humor would lessen its significance.

“Aren’t you a little too old to be going through puberty?” you asked, matching the teasing tone of his voice. The difference was glaring though; his voice was awfully strained, and yours was lighter, more at ease.

Still, he laughed, buried his face at the nape of your neck. “They’re getting tight around my stomach.”

At that, you pulled back. He swallowed the whine that threatened to leave his lips; he was already being so pathetic over a little pudge, he was reaching max capacity. With bated breath, he watched as your gaze ran over him, eyes flickering with recognition when they landed on his torso.

“Oh they are,” You replied, hands going up to his shoulders, tugging at the fabric there, “Here too. Huh, I guess we’ll have to go shopping then.”

He looked, patiently waited for more.

“What?” you asked, eyes crinkling oh so prettily at the corners that he couldn’t help but press a kiss over them.

“That’s it?” he murmured, disbelief coloring his voice. He had anticipated more of a reaction, maybe a suggestion of ‘oh maybe you should go to the gym’. But you took it with such stride that he was a little confused.

“Yeah, that’s it.” you laughed, brought a palm down to his stomach, that one place that’s causing him to basically break down, “Should there be more?”

He shrugged.

Perched on his lap, you frowned as you watched emotions flicker through his eyes. “Spence,” You murmured, kissing his temple, “Talk to me.”

“I just don't want you to think I'm unattractive anymore.” The words felt bitter in his tongue; it was a relief to release them, get them out of his system. “I was never - you know - sexy before, and now I'm gaining weight.”

“Spence,” You interrupted him gently. It wasn't something you did often; his rambles were one of the things you loved about him after all, but it pained you to hear him get so insecure about something so insignificant as his weight, especially since his body wasn't even the thing that made him attractive to you in the first place, “Belly pudge or scrawny, I think you're hot.”

His eyes softened, looking so impossibly hopeful that you couldn't stop the urge to lean in and kiss him. “Seriously,” You murmured, “It doesn't matter to me. You're handsome, but you're also so intelligent and passionate and sensitive, and those are so much more important than how you look.”

He sagged with relief, arms tightening around you. “Yeah?” He asked as he buried his face in your hair.

“Yeah, honey. I'm not with you because of your looks,” You replied, then with a little laugh, you added, “Although, they certainly are an added bonus.”

His shoulders shook as he chuckled, and you can feel his lips giving you tiny kisses at the crown of your head.

“Besides,” You continued, toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, “The way I see it, there's physically more of you now - more of you to hug, and to love, more of you to worship.”

He was silent, but his grip on you never faltered, breath fanning gently over your hair. “More of me to love.” He whispered, “You're right, that's - that's one way to look at it.”

“Mhmm,” You nodded, “But you really do need to go shopping, can't have you ripping your shirts while you're out on a case. You wouldn't want your team to think you're doing an impromptu strip tease.”

He bursted out laughing, and exhilaration filled your chest. You always took pride in making him laugh, and this was no exception.

“God, I love you.” He said, pulling back and resting his forehead against yours.

“I love you too.” You smiled, then added, “Besides, I think the pudge is cute. You're on your way to a dad bod.”

He laughed again, and if you could hear that sound on loop forever, then you would be in heaven

[truestoriesaboutme]

I'm seeing a lot of people who think Joy to the World ignores the character development of The Giggle and I don't think it does at all but to explain that we have to do something that it seems like no one wants to do.

Let's talk about the Bigeneration!

So what actually happened when the Doctor bigenerated? The text itself is very vague, which is probably for the best. You don't want to get bogged down in regeneration mechanics in the third act of the third act of your anniversary special. You're just supposed to feel it and move on.

But what actually happened though?

I don't mean in terms of the lore, necessarily. The lore is fun but ultimately subservient to the needs of the story. I mean, what happened in terms of the story and the meta narrative.

First, the meta narrative: Disney bought Doctor Who. That's what happened. More specifically, they bought exclusive worldwide streaming rights to any newly produced Doctor Who and nothing else. None of the previous seasons of New Who or Classic. And so, in order to sell it to new audiences on their services, Doctor Who has to, functionally, start over. They don't want to have a show on Disney+ that you have to go to a rival streaming service and watch 13 seasons of in order to understand. So RTD2 has to be, for all intents and purposes, a new show. Or perhaps more accurately, a new spinoff of an existing show that's also the same show.

But that's okay! Russell has done this before, back in 2005 when he created a brand new show that was also the same show. And back then, he dealt with Classic Who's previous cancellation by narrativizing it: it became the Time War. Don't know a thing about Classic Who? That's okay. That was before the Time War. So now that Doctor Who had to go through another backstage upheaval, it made sense to once again turn that into narrative.

This time it was a bit harder, though, because New Who was still going. So The Giggle had to function as a series finale for New Who while also being a backdoor pilot for the new spinoff which is also the same show. How do you do that?

First, you need David Tennant. Unambiguously the most popular New Who Doctor, RTD brought him back as the Fourteenth Doctor, a symbolic stand-in for the New Who Doctors in the same way that the War Doctor was for the Classic Who Doctors in the 50th anniversary. Throughout the 60th Anniversary specials, Fourteen carries the burden of every traumatic thing that happened to all of the New Who Doctors over the course of thirteen seasons of New Who. And so his story becomes about resolving all that trauma, about coming home to his best friend and retiring, about healing.

Meanwhile, all around him, the building blocks of a new television show are being pieced together, a new UNIT, a new TARDIS and a new emphasis on the supernatural.

And then it happens: bigeneration. A new Doctor physically splits off from the old one and, at that point, the show that started in 2005 is over and a new show has just begun. One that doesn't have to worry about the Time War or Trenzalore or The Flux or any of that stuff.

So based on all that, what does this mean for the Doctor(s) in the story? It means that Fourteen takes on all of the trauma of the last thirteen seasons so that Fifteen doesn't have to carry it. (Trauma, apparently, is carried in the trousers.) He retires and just fucking deals. Which incidentally, is why you're not seeing Fourteen helping out with world saving. It's not that he's just fucking around with Donna. Bitch, he's in therapy!

Meanwhile, Fifteen is the first Doctor since Seven to not have any Time War Angst. So, why is Fifteen still like that?

Well, have you even met Seven??

Trans writer Emily St. James has a great metaphor for finally dealing with gender dysphoria: it's like pulling up an old carpet and seeing all the stuff that was hiding underneath. When you finally get past the big thing that's been inhibiting your personal growth, that's when you're finally able to see everything else clearly for the first time and only then can the real work that you have to do on yourself truly begin. That's what's happening with Fifteen. He's finally able to deal with all the stuff that he couldn't even see because he was constantly having to deal with hitherto unheard of amounts of PTSD from countless universe ending apocalypses and companion deaths. Now he can finally work on self improvement.

And THAT'S what the Anita section of Joy to the World was about. About what comes next after recovery.

That and putting him in that cute Bob the Builder outfit.

[jadeshifting]

— THERE ARE PLENTY OF FATES WORSE THAN YOURS

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

alright, listen up, and let’s get one thing straight—you’re sitting on a goldmine of potential. you’ve unlocked the secrets of the universe, and yeah, it may take patience, but that’s nothing compared to being stuck in the mundane grind of never knowing or accepting the truths of our universe. let’s talk about Supernatural, specifically Season 4, Episode 17—because Dean Winchester learned a lesson you could stand to hear, so stick with me

most of us walk around complaining about how hard it is to shift, like we’re starring in some cosmic pity party. but guess what? there are plenty of fates worse than yours, and it’s time to put some respect on your ability to shift and your role in the grand scheme. buckle up, buttercup. it’s about to get real

★⋆. — “MOST PEOPLE LIVE AND DIE WITHOUT MOVING ANYTHING MORE THAN THE DIRT IT TAKES TO BURY THEM”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

in this particular (EXTREMELY shifting-coded) episode of Supernatural, Dean is feeling sorry for himself and the fact that he has to save the world—to teach him a lesson, he’s forced into an office job. Dean hated that office job. you could see the light leaving his eyes with every soul-crushing task. he wasn’t built for spreadsheets and watercooler chat. and you? you weren’t built to stay locked in just one version of existence either. the archangel’s lesson hit hard: most people live their whole lives without ever realizing there’s more out there.

think about it. billions of people out here just existing, tethered to their routine, their one-and-only timeline, their same-old, same-old. they’re not reaching for alternate realities, parallel worlds, or dream lives. you, though? you know what else is possible. shifting means you’re not just sitting back and accepting the cards you’re dealt. you’re taking the entire deck and shuffling it until it deals you a royal flush.

if you ever find yourself whining about how hard it is to shift, remember this: you’re already ahead of the game. you’ve got the keys to the multiverse in your back pocket. don’t waste time complaining when you could be making it happen right now.

★⋆. — “ARE YOU READY TO STAND UP AND BE WHO YOU REALLY ARE?”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

here’s the tea: shifting isn’t about sitting in your CR feeling sorry for yourself because you haven’t woken up in Hogwarts or a beachside villa in your DR yet. it’s about stepping into your power and deciding that you have. Dean had to face his destiny head-on, even when it scared him. and shifting is no different—it’s your call to make it happen

let’s be real. the process can be frustrating. you’ve been told over and over again that you need the affirmations, the visualizations, the rituals—that it all takes time. but every time you accept the idea that you have to work to earn this ‘prize’ (WRONG) and roll your eyes at the effort, ask yourself this: are you ready to be the main character in your own story? are you ready to open your eyes to your dream life and embrace the infinite possibilities waiting for you?

your DR self isn’t some far-off stranger living in some far away world—it’s you, in a different form, living the life you’ve dreamed of. so, what’s stopping you from standing up and saying, “i’m her, i’m there”? spoiler: it’s usually your own excuses and fear of failure. drop them like they’re hot

★⋆. — “FOR GOD’S SAKE, QUIT WHINING ABOUT IT”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

(technically the words of Archangel Gabriel from Supernatural. i wouldn’t generally be so rude, but the message is all the same.) Dean needed that tough love. and honestly? so do you. while shifting is a natural process, something everyone’s born with the right to do, knowing about shifting is a privilege. let me repeat that louder for the people in the back: knowing about shifting is a privilege

you’re out here rolling your eyes at the time it takes to meditate or how you can’t hold focus during visualization. meanwhile, there are folks who’ve never even heard of shifting, who don’t know they could rewrite their own story with a snap of their fingers !! what the fuck, right !!

every time you catch yourself moaning about ‘how hard it is to shift’, use my newly invented technique of imagining Dean Winchester (or literally anyone you prefer, really) sitting across from you, scowling and saying, “for God’s sake, quit whining about it.” because he’s right. every moment spent wallowing is a moment you could be aware of your DR, if you put that negative energy into deciding it for yourself. plenty would argue that the struggle, despite being an unnecessary product of overcomplication and misinformation, is part of the journey, and even that it makes success that much sweeter

★⋆. — “THERE ARE PLENTY OF FATES WORSE THAN YOURS”

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

this is the kicker. while you’re griping about not waking up in your DR, remember there are much, much worse things than waking up in your CR again

picture this: never knowing about shifting at all. never realizing you could step into any of infinite worlds where magic is real, where your favorite characters are your friends, where you’re the rightful star of every storyline, and you step into all of your desires as easy as breathing. that’s the true tragedy—not failing, but never trying. never even knowing to try

Dean learned that even when the stakes are high, it’s better to face the challenge than to live a life devoid of purpose. and for you, it’s better to keep working toward shifting than to settle for the status quo of your CR. you’ve been given the tools to break free. use them.

★⋆. — FINDING GRATITUDE ON YOUR PATH

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

everyone has dark moments—doubt, frustration, or even downright hopelessness. i’m not detracting from those feelings—they’re valid, and i get them too. but i implore you to, if nothing else, appreciate your journey so far. find beauty in your meditative moments, truly enjoy the excitement of scripting, and the anticipation of waking up in a new reality

when you start to feel frustrated, remember this: every affirmation, every visualization, every late-night meditation is a step closer to the life you already have, and just have to become aware of. and the fact that you even know about shifting? that’s a gift. gratitude for that isn’t just a nice thought or a pointless platitude—it can be the fuel that keeps you going

★⋆. — THE BOTTOM LINE: BE DEAN, NOT A DESK JOB

˚　　　　✦　　　.　　. 　 ˚　.　　　　　 . ✦　　　 　˚　　　　 . ★⋆. ࿐࿔

Dean’s lesson in that office job was clear: stop taking your path for granted. he might’ve hated the apocalypse gig, but it was better than the alternative—living a mundane life without meaning. and for you, the same truth applies

don’t complain about the perceived struggles of shifting when you’re one of the lucky ones who knows it’s possible. you’ve got the knowledge, the key to live a life beyond imagination. so for God’s sake, quit complaining about it, buckle down, and make it happen. because there are plenty of fates worse than yours—and staying stuck in your CR isn’t one you want to settle for

[siri-ike]

The last couple of years have been good to Danny... too good, apparently. He'd accidentally joined a gang, beat up so many would be r**ists, made cops look like fools (an easy feat when you have ghost powers;) and he learned how to properly format an excel spreadsheet. Why, now of all times, did shit have to hit the fan?

There were clues well before Danny realized someone was after him. Hightened ghost activity, all the letters he couldn't read because they were cursive, the occasional horse-drawn carriage becoming him inside. But when a neon green sticky note appeared in a puff of smoke, right in front of his face. That's when he knew Clockwork wanted his attention. Which always means disaster.

That morning, Danny followed his usual routine. He went to the same coffee place, got the same order (sweet tea, a late with 3 sugars and a bagel with jam) and he brought it to the boss just as he was about to bash someone's skull in. He was such a calm and kind natured man but was somehow always in a bad mood before Danny got there.

Even though he never removed his mask, Danny could tell Red Hood was smiling when he looked his way. Not the sadistic way he was smiling before he came in. This was a pleasant smile. Amazing what a cup of coffee can do.

Even though he hid it, Danny knew The Red Hood loves routine. Not just the exact same breakfast and 8 am. sharp every morning for 2 years. He had also ridden the same beat-up motorcycle and used the same gun the whole time they had known each other. He always sat down to read between the hours of 1 pm and 2 pm, then again from 8 pm to 9 pm. And despite clearly preferring to be up at night, he seemed to do everything during the day (as if out of spite).

Safe to say, he wasn't going to appreciate the request Danny had to make.

08:06 am

Hood had ordered his goons to leave. That was another routine. He liked to eat alone. At least, that's how he worded it, but he never seemed to want Danny gone. And so, he did as always; recited the list of things that need to be dealt with in order of importance. A lot of it was kind of depressing. Greedy businesses displacing orphans, a lab infecting animals with degenerative diseases, someone's been stealing wheelchairs and two other gangs plan to have a shoot out at a playground. After that, it was less important things like a meeting with the Don, a suspected traitor, and some kids were cought dealing weed and amphetamines. Slow news day.

A pit forms in Danny's stomach. There's no more putting it off. He takes a deep breath.

But that was enough to get his attention.

"Something wrong?" You wouldn't expect a crime boss to have such a soothing voice.

Danny diffencively grabbed his own arm. He knew it was a sign of distress, and he knew Hood could tell. But Danny's always been such a terrible liar. "I, ih, " He stammered. "I need" in... and out. "I need to take some time off." You could have heard a pin drop.

Finally, Hood spoke. "Are you in danger? Do you need protection?" There was genuine concern in his voice. How could someone so kind be so feared?

Of course, Danny couldn't tell him the real reason (he didn't know the real reason), but he did eventually convince Red to give him one week before checking in. He's so lucky to have a boss who cares so much.

On his way out, 18 different goons begged him to stay. He didn't know them. It wasn't even an organized effort. Each one was alone. He reassured them he'd most likely be back in less than a week, but they still tried to stop him.

It's not like he's worried either, Red Hood can more than take care of himself. Most of what Danny does is just personal assistant stuff, mixed in with a little "crime" sometimes. Plus, with how sweet Hood is, those goons have nothing to worry about.

He hadn't even exited their base when he heard what could only be the sound of a horse-drawn carriage emerging from green fire. (Green ghost fire makes a distinct hot screaming noise, unlike blue ghost fire, which sounds more like a sad scream or red, which sounds like angry botulism). Opening the door confirms his expectations. The same distinct horses as before, too. A bone horse and shadow horse in the front, a scrawny flesh horse and glowing white horse in the back. A short ghost in a fancy but old looking suit held the carriage door open. Danny took a deep breath and put on a brave face (or at least that's what he was going for)

It took mere seconds for them to dissappear from infront of the red hoods base and appear infront of a giant purple castle in the ghost zone. He'd say it looks haunted, but... yeah. He barely stepped out of the carriage before another short, well-dressed ghost opened the front doors.

Inside was Frostbite. The relief must have shown on his face because the yeti was clearly expecting a warm embrace. Frostbite may be covered in furr, and he may have a warm personality, but he is cold to the touch. Danny doesn't care, though. If he wanted heat, he'd put his arms around that piece of hot nope nope, Danny, that is your boss! Get those thoughts out of your head this instant!

"My boy! My how you've grown. Why, you're almost my size." Frostbite said, holding Danny in one arm.

Danny didn't acknowledge the lie. He looks up from where he had buried his face in Frostbites shoulder. "Do you know what this is all about? I assumed the creepy letters were from Walker, but then Clockwork sent a note." He sat up on Frostbites forearm like a parrot. "I know I haven't exactly been a law-abiding citizen lately, but what do ghosts care?" He confessed, far too openly.

Frosbite chuckled. "You think you're in trouble, young one? No, my liege." He placed the halfa down. "It has been 10 years since you defeated Pariah Dark, and no one has taken your title from you. It is time you take your rightful place on the throne." Frostbites eyes shined with pride, and his hands encompassed Danny's whole torso.

Danny couldn't believe it. He came to the ghost zone expecting to get arrested, proposed to, or challenged to a duel of some sort.

Not this.

Ok it’s not like I go here really, but I’ve been reading a bunch of DPxDC recently because it’s very good, and I had an idea that won’t go anywhere

The various gangs in Gotham have callsigns/uniforms or something right??? If not, they should, and imma say they do. Anyway. Redhood I think didn’t think too hard about what people in his gang on his turf should wear for identification purposes, but they sure did. And what they came up with was Red.

Wearing red in the vicinity of the ‘Bad Part’ of Gotham?? Part of the red hood gang. Generally head gear is the preferred method of wearing red. Red hats and beanies, red head scarfs and hijabs, red headbands, red masks. The idea has been communicated. To a certain point, wearing red even if you aren’t officially part of the gang is a great way to get an in with them, or be under protection if you’re the right age in the right area, as long as you’re willing to risk getting roped into low stakes gang activity, which can range from working the counter at money laundering sites to community service (guarding clinics and shelters and volunteering) to making deliveries to destroying certain hostile architecture. (Hood saves the real jobs with cops and shootings and turf disputes for actual members, that he knows the names faces and skills of, and who are at least above 18, but preferably over 20, and who wear real gear he supplies them with, not just whatever’s in their closet that’s red) (this does not entirely stop the smaller ‘members’ from getting into their own fights with the cops and turf wars, but Jason has found that giving them Something to do that feels like direct action helps curb those tendencies. And it’s not like those things aren’t things that don’t need doing, so it’s a win win. Mostly)

Danny, bless him, does not know any of this. But has been staying in the sketchier areas of Gotham because that’s where people don’t care how old you are or if your papers are real or not, and he absolutely does not want people looking into how old he is and wether his papers are real or not. He is also wearing an inadvisable and vaguely conspicuous amount of red. His converse are red, his signature baseball tee is white and red, and his hoodie is also red.

Clearly, this kid (he’s like 17) really wants in with the hood gang.

And eventually, they oblige him.

Random people will approach Danny and ask/tell him that them and a couple others are going somewhere to do (insert vaguely/definitely illegal job or act of community service here) and Danny, who is deeply directionless in life currently, and also pretty assured in his ability to eat danger for breakfast, and has never met an institutional authority he doesn’t disrespect at least a little bit, is totally down for some civil disobedience and chaotic good shenanigans.

And then it spirals from there. Like. A worrying amount.

It takes Danny actual months, almost a year, to realize that he’s been low key slow cooked into the criminal underbelly of Gotham, and like… he’s not really mad about it?? Honestly if he had a choice when he came to Gotham, he probably would have picked the redhood gang anyway. He just seems to vibe with them on a… Spiritual Level…

Hm

Anyway

Years go by, and while Danny doesn’t have the most going for him in terms of a normal person life, vis a vis higher education, official employment, health insurance, dating life, or any other benchmark one uses to measure the trajectory of their lives— Danny’s feeling pretty good! Jazz, Tucker, and Sam have all finagled their ways into Gotham, (Tucker has a WE internship, Jazz is working/doing work studies at Arkham, Sam does what she likes now that she is a legal adult and has her inheritance, and what she likes is environmental activism, and occasionally being spotted with fellow activist Damian Wayne, and someone who may or may not be poison ivy, sources differ) and Danny finds his obsession suspiciously well served as a hood goon. Hood hench? Redgoon? Hench hood?? Name pending, who cares.

Danny is also suspiciously good at, well, his job. One of the best runners, even when he gets caught and frisked they never seem to find the goods on him (they never do check IN him, but then why would they) very well liked at every volunteer spot they have, patient, kind, funny, good with old people, kids, bitter people, addicts and the homeless, the sick and injured. And yet also very competent in the field, when they finally let him do actually dangerous things. Act as protection detail to the working girls in the red light district, he’s very respectful, and very good at intimidation, de-escalation, and when push comes to shove, excellent in a fight. Knows when to keep pressing his advantage and when to make a retreat with whoever he’s guarding. Not afraid to fight scrappy, and presses through pain and fear like a true gothmite.

He gets so good at his not really a job job that he becomes essentially, Redhoods right hand man.

The rest of the bats are skeptical of this for several reasons. Because generally speaking, the people in Jason’s turf are not fans of the bats, but Jason does a lot of coordinating with them, and someone so close to him is going to pick that up eventually if they’re half as sharp and useful as Danny is. Other than that, secret identity issues, plus pit rage, plus the fact that Jason trusts pretty much nobody. But Jason has great feelings about this guy, he always feels more clear headed and even keeled when he’s around, and he helps Jason remember the community he’s trying to build, and the community he serves. Also he delegates and mother hens like nobody’s business, but Jason just really can’t seem to work up too much irritation about it.

It is around this time, however, that the past, and shady government organizations come knocking.

Perhaps the GIW has also noticed how ecto-contaminated and lawless Gotham is and decided that they could start doing research and experiments with its live and undead denizens instead of amity, where the portal has closed, and ghost activity is down since phantom disappeared. Or maybe the GIW has finally located phantom specifically and is interested in what they’re always interested in. Or maybe it’s various ghosts harassing Danny to take up the throne, which he’s been avoiding successfully, but having settled into a life routine that suites him his core has finally ‘settled’ (halfa cores fluctuate more than other cores due to the transient nature of being alive, but halfa people settle into lifelong patterns and relationships quicker than other people because of the static nature of being dead) he is mature enough by ghost standards to assume the throne, or at least begin preparing for it.

Regardless, danny is being tracked down for his childhood baggage’s extended warranty, and brings the entirety of the JL and almost all associated sidekicks, hero group spin-offs, and organizations into the thick of it.

Idk. I just got through Secretary Danny by DeathlySilent13 on ao3 and I thought man oh man wouldn’t it be neat if Danny got to be Jason’s second in command instead??? That could open up a lot of avenues I haven’t seen yet. I’m also just very curious about how the Jason’s runs his gang according to the fandom, and I think that with all the ACAB energy Danny has been assigned, he should have a little bit of community focused organized crime. As a treat. Like I said I don’t go here thou, I just needed to put this somewhere and see if it vibed with anybody besides me

[puddlejumper38]

Wind and Truth thoughts under the cut

Spoilers for the entire book.

-Oof. The ending. I will come back to that, but its first up because its overshadowing everything else like a giant storm cloud. - :( speaking of. Goddamn it, I liked the Stormfather.

-I want to note, right here, that I still do not trust Szeth to make a single good decision. I don't think he should be the law. I hope he goes back to sheep farming and has no power over anyone ever.

-Interestingly, I like Nale better after this book. He was just a terrifying figure before, but now he's interesting as a person too. (He's still scary)

-What The Fuck Was With Moash Getting Spiked? As a devoted Marsh fan, I am against spiking in general. I have no words about how much I do Not like Moash being crystal spiked.

(side note: I think I dislike Moash properly now. Yes, the guy has some points, but.... he continued even with his own emotions. Attacking bridge 4. That's.... thats too far for me. If he'd decided to fight anyone Except bridge 4 I could have dealt with that)

-Saw that Gav was being prepped to hate Dalinar. Was still as tricked as Navani.

-So. We meet Auxiliary and learn what the fuck with Sigzil. I still don't like the Sunlit Man as a book and it coloured how I viewed the Shattered Plains fight here. I do like Aux.

-I trust Ishar even less than Szeth, therapy or no

-I really enjoyed the flashbacks in the spiritual realm. I loved getting all the gaps filled in, finally. (Or most of them anyway.) Also it just felt like WoK in vibes in a way that I just really appreciated.

-Appreciated the trick with Venli on the Shattered Plains. Not... Hmm. Not sure it matters anymore though. We'll see.

-I particularly liked the Interludes here. I remember those took me a while to get used to back in WoK.

-Had seen enough theories to be unsurprised about Shallan's mother being Chana, but I doubt I'd have thought of it myself

-Formless wasn't there! I thought that was off, because Shallan never fully manifested her, but still didn't clock it. I do love that. There's always details in Sanderson's books that I just don't see coming.

-Jasnah's povs... I just didn't like them. Can't quite put my finger on why, but she shouldn't have played by Taravangian's rules in the first place. She lost, but I don't feel like she lost in the way she thinks she did. I hate her lack of flexible thinking and nuance from someone who is supposed to be a good scholar. I liked her better in WoK Prime. We'll see how her book is, years from now.

-Renarin and Rlain's pov's were another real highlight. I was worried about this one, because Branderson - bless his mormon socks - can be as hamhanded as Dalinar sometimes. But this was just very well handled in my opinion. In character, not forced, and remarkably relevant to the overall plot. Nice.

-I should have known as soon as Adolin wanted to see Dalinar again that he wouldn't. That was a major hint.

-Ah shit I should get to Dalinar.

-That could be its own post.

-Kaladin first then. I.... didn't want that for him. In any way. I could see it coming - because fuck knows it couldn't be Szeth and once these ideas are raised something has to happen. But still. Its not good for anyone and I can only hope its more temporary this time. Yes, he gets a bit of a break. No, he has no friends with him. Poor guy.

-All right. Dalinar.

-I have been angry at Dalinar since Oathbringer. I think he's a good character! But yikes. I mean all of the Blackthorn behaviour, not only Evi.

-I did not want him to be Honor.

(actually I don't think I want Anyone to pick up Shards)

-Hey, he's not Honor, though. Anymore.

-INSTEAD TARAVANGIAN IS!! HEY WHY IS THIS HAPPENING

-Cultivation can try to flee all she likes this is still her fault.

-Taravangian of all people.

-It was a Good Ending, its also terrifying for Roshar in the short term - but better in the long term! - and the cosmere in general

-Odium needed to be freed from Roshar, for all the reasons thrown at us readers with all the delicacy of a chull in a china shop in those last few chapters (read fond exasperation here, I Got It The First Few Times)(last few chapters of YatNP were similar)

-Retribution is a little More than just freeing Odium.

-That said; It could never be as simple as one side winning the contest and I'm glad it wasn't. That would've disappointed me.

-So no more Stormlight in the Stormlight Archives?? Well, we'll see.

-And Dalinar is gone. I am sorry for it. It was going to happen in some way or other (I'm not sure taking up a Shard counts as surviving)(I'm not sure being bound to serve Odium would count either). But... I am sorry for it. I'll miss him.

[manchestereyes]

it is you

summary: @/danisnotonfire: I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone D:

When Dan gets permission to spend a week with Phil in December, he has a stunning realisation.

rating: T

word count: 2.1k

tags: 2009, fluff, light angst, skype, falling in love

notes: written for the 2024 @phandomgiftexchange for @someone-stole-all-my-fruit! I hope you're having a wonderful holiday season! <3 2009 phan is always such a joy to write, so thank you so much for this lovely prompt!

Read on ao3

@/danisnotonfire: I wonder how biology can explain the physical pain you feel in your chest when all you want to do is be with someone D:

***

It’s not fair .

It’s so incredibly unfair, Dan thinks, that he should have to suffer this much when he’s already dealt with so much bullshit in his life. Why can’t Phil be right here? Or better yet, why can’t he be with Phil, far away in Manchester where reality can’t touch him?

Well. He knows the answer to that second question. But knowing doesn’t help the situation at all. Maybe that’s why his heart squeezes again when he glances back at the selfie Phil’s just sent him. Really, those puppy eyes should be illegal. It’s sure as hell making Dan want to do something that could land him in prison anyway…

His eyes flick back to the text he just sent, heart squeezing all over again at the insanity of it all. He should be happy he (barely) got permission to stay at Phil’s for a whole week, right? His mum’s breezy “Yeah, go ahead” shouldn’t be affecting him this much. It’s just how she is. Dan should know this after eighteen God-awful years.

And yet. And yet. After meeting Phil’s mum and dad last weekend, Dan can’t help but feel that old cavernous hole rip open anew. How come Phil got the perfect family and Dan ended up with his sorry excuse for a mum and dad who barely noticed if he was there or not? Sure, Phil’s regaled his own problems, how he doesn’t feel like he could ever come out to them, but Dan would still take a cordless hammer drill over the shouting that fills his sleepless nights. At least Phil’s parents actually like each other.

More than that, they like Phil. Dan knows he wasn’t planned, that he had thrown a baby-sized wrench into their world travel dreams. He can’t count how many times his dad had hurled those words at him when Dan fucked something up in the way only he can. 

Dan can’t remember the last time they looked at him with pride in their eyes. Meanwhile, Phil’s mum had greeted him with a hug that told Dan immediately where Phil had gotten his irresistible cuddle skills from.

His phone buzzes again then, a beam of light through his dark thoughts.

Phil: A week!!! I know it wasn’t the reaction u wanted but Dan we get a whole damn week together!

Ok, yeah. That was a pretty big thing to look forward to. Even if it still blows Dan’s mind that Phil wants to see him. Maybe that’s what pushes him to reply, despite the overwhelming pain weighing him down.

Dan: ur not gonna get tired of me before the end of it?

(He’s not being pathetic, he swears. It’s just all he can think about right now.)

Phil: Dan!!! Don’t ever say that plz. I could never get tired of u <3

And there it is. Seven little words, one emoticon. And somehow it means more to Dan than he could ever express. A smile crawls up his face before he can bite it back. (Not that he wants to.)

Dan: <3 thank u phil. i think i needed to hear that tonight

Dan sends the text before he can think twice about it. If these last few weeks are anything to go by, he shouldn’t have anything to worry about. Yet there’s still a voice screaming at him that it’s too much, that Phil doesn’t actually want to hear about all of Dan’s issues, that he’s just like his schoolmates…

Phil: Then I’ll say it a million times as much as u need. U really are the coolest person I’ve ever known. I can’t believe u wanna be with me tbh

Dan: rly? ur not just saying that?

Phil: Really honestly and truly. You’ve gone to reading festival when I still get stressed at youtube gatherings. You were a world of warcraft kid when I could barely tell my friends I liked buffy. I wish I had even a bit of ur confidence some days :3

Dan: rly? but u were in faintheart and the weakest link and you’ve been on youtube for years when i was almost too terrified to post my first video

Phil: So was I! But that’s the thing, Dan. I did those things scared shitless and they haven’t gotten any easier. I think u know by now that internet Phil and real Phil are entirely different people, yeah?

Dan: hmmmm ok. hey speaking of real phil can we continue this on skype?

No sooner had Dan sent the message than his laptop bleated with the old familiar ringtone. Like a figment from his wildest dreams, Phil’s pixelated face fills his screen in seconds, his positively giddy smile sparking a matching grin of Dan’s own.

“Really Dan, I can’t believe we get to have a whole week together!!” Phil claps his hands and his frame grows blurry for a few seconds. Dan can only guess he’s bouncing on his bed and his eyes squeeze shut at the adorableness of it all.

Yet a hint of that darkness still lingers, drawing bars across Dan’s heart. “I’m just glad to get away from here for a while,” he sighs. Then, hoping to erase the pout that appears on Phil’s face, he adds, “And to see you, obviously!”

Phil sticks his tongue out in response, the frame jiggling as his face comes closer until his ocean eyes take up half the screen. Dan is surprised to find his voice growing serious. “Dan. You know you can talk about anything with me. It kills me to know how rough you’ve had it. I wish I could’ve been there before but, well, I’m here now at least? And maybe that counts for something?”

“Phil.” Suddenly, Dan’s shifting his laptop onto his propped-up knees, pulling it closer and wishing more than anything that he could jump through the computer screen and into Phil’s arms And maybe it’s the pain in Phil’s eyes, a pain Dan’s felt a thousand times worse yet would do anything to prevent Phil from feeling, maybe it’s the hope in Phil’s voice--something melts away any of the trepidation he had before. 

“Phil, are you kidding?” Dan bursts out. “Of course it counts! I mean, I think it’s safe to say we’re best friends now, and isn’t that what best friends do?”

“I mean… I would hope we’re a little more than best friends by now?” And good lord, the smirk that crawls up Phil’s face and fills the bottom of the screen should be illegal. It’s so much that Dan has to tear his eyes away from the screen and stare at his tiny TV and dresser for a minute.

Not for the first time, it hits him that he’s really here , speaking to Phil in the very room where he spent countless hours watching that same man. How many times has he dreamed of kissing him, of holding him, of dancing through the streets of Manchester? How long has his heart ached for someone to ease its burden? And now… that someone is here, giggling from his laptop speakers and fulfilling every one of Dan’s hopes and dreams far better than Dan ever thought possible. 

It should be too good to be true. And yet, after everything he’s been through, doesn’t he deserve this one good thing?

They’re both silent for a few seconds until Phil asks softly, “Dan? What are you thinking about right now?”

“Oh, I dunno.” Dan picks up the bear he’s had his entire life from the nightstand and strokes its ears absentmindedly, something he’s always done when he’s nervous. When he speaks again, he chooses his next words carefully. “Lots of things, I guess. It’s just wild that… well, you know how long I’ve watched your videos. I don’t know if I’ve ever had a best friend. Not until now. Not until you.” A blush rises in Dan’s cheeks then, but he means every word.

“Dan. I mean, I had kind of picked some of that up, but are you sure?” Phil’s voice is just as soft as Dan’s, almost reverent. And yet some nasty part of Dan’s brain expects to see those blue eyes darken when he whispers “Well, yeah” in response. Surely this was too much. Surely Dan was too much for Phil, like he was for everyone. Surely Phil was about to…

Melt into the purest smile Dan’s ever seen from him? “Oh my God, I--I feel the exact same way.” Dan is shocked to find Phil’s next words tinged with relief. “I think you know how I always had the same group of friends through school, right?” Dan nods. “Well, they’re all great, but I… never felt as close to any of them as I do with you. I never felt like they got me, you know? And then you come along in my Twitter replies and suddenly you’re the only person I ever want to talk to. And somehow, you want to talk to me too? I feel like I’ve won the lottery here.”

Dan wants to take those words and lock them up in a box that only he can touch. Never in his eighteen years did he ever think he’d hear something like this. He’d barely even let himself hope for it. His heart squeezes to a point where he knows he won’t forget this moment, not as long as he has Phil. It’s a perfect moment he so deeply wants to live in forever.

So is it any wonder his voice catches and tears prick his eyes when he finally finds the strength to speak? “Really? God, I had no idea. And here I thought you had this perfect amazing life, all because your parents clearly lo--clearly care about you so much and you’ve had the same group of friends pretty much forever. I don’t know what that’s like.”

Dan can’t say why he freezes up at the word love just then. He’s just discussing Phil’s relationship with his parents, not declaring his love for Phil. Right?

Wait, does he love Phil? The rapid pace of his heart and the smile fighting to break through his face tell him yes, yes, a thousand times yes but he can’t say that here. Not on Skype. Not when there’s 300 kilometres separating him from Phil’s arms. He just has to keep his heart locked tight until their week together.

Of course Phil’s response makes that impossibly difficult. “Dan. Fuck, you don’t know how much I wish you knew how that feels.” The ache in his voice combined with his anxious fringe tugging has Dan squeezing his bear with everything he has in him just to expel some of his overwhelming feelings. 

“And sure, my parents are great and all, but I feel like they don’t get me. My mum still thinks the movies and things I’ve done are just a fun little hobby that can’t lead to anything. She doesn’t understand why I’m travelling to Ireland every other weekend, and my dad keeps telling me about these boring jobs I don’t want. I wanna see what else I can do with this YouTube thing, but it might not lead to anything. And then I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

By now, the tears have broken free and are streaming down Dan’s face. He doesn’t know exactly why, but he has a feeling they have something to do with the fear trapped in Phil’s eyes.

And yet, they’re not only sad tears. Sure, Dan’s heart is breaking just a bit for the boy on his screen, but it’s also light and airy for the first time since he was a tiny child. That’s when it hits him.

This light, airy, snuggly feeling-- it’s safety . Here in this tiny bubble with Phil, Dan feels safe. It’s unfamiliar, sure, but it’s not scary. He’ll be okay, as long as he has Phil.

It’s this thought that he holds tightly onto over the next few years. Even when the walls are closing in on him and Dan can barely breathe, Phil is always there--in his phone, across Manchester, and soon across the hall. 

Even when he’s sure he can’t feel any worse, he’ll be okay one day. Because he has Phil. And in the moments Phil’s heart shatters hard enough for the both of them, Dan is right there with cuddles and sweets and whispered words of comfort, whatever Phil needs in that moment. Because they’re Dan and Phil. And whatever they go through, they’ll go through it together.

If only eighteen-year-old Dan could see how well things would turn out. Yet as Dan thinks back on this moment fifteen years later, he thinks some part of him did know in a strange way. So much has changed, yet Dan is still that bright-eyed little boy with a dream at his core. And he still has Phil by his side.

[snobgoblin]

i want it to rain soon so i can try out my umbrella

[fatedroses]

The overwhelming power of the doting grandparent.

[a-story-teller]

I was in a major car accident yesterday (got t-boned) and was very luckily a) alone in the car, as the passenger side got walloped and b) not injured. However I took care of everything and then went home and proceeded to sleep for 19 out of the following 24 hours.

[cuteniaarts]

Digitalised + coloured + redesigned version of my Suiren and Vaatu sketch from two days ago, as promised!!

Coming up with Suiren’s design was a very long process of trying and failing because after you’ve drawn 9+ different versions of one character, the creativity starts to run a little dry, but I’m actually really proud of this one, she looks absolutely adorable <3

(Also yeah I did mostly just scribble Vaatu’s pattern because who has the energy to draw the all out accurately. Not me, that’s who, I’m chronically tired. People who draw him on the regular have my utmost respect. He’s still a funky little guy though :D)

Bonus, Raava incessantly screaming inside Suiren (and being completely ignored because Suiren is tired of her) while all this is happening:

[cacw]

puppy barnes copium

[iliveinprocrasti-nationn]

it sucks that so much of my family has also dealt with cancer but it's really lovely that they were able to give me warnings about things

[infinitethree]

Okay, you know what?

The bastard is almost, on an aesthetic level, not terrible to look at while he’s like this.

Asleep, he can’t be a fucking sociopath or an asshole. Those too-clever eyes of his aren’t judging and dissecting, they’re closed.

The absence of that bright blue gaze makes him seem surprisingly vulnerable.

So does the way Daz has, in the short while he’s been asleep, already snuggled up to him and is being clingy.

After the last few hours of running around looking for him, it’s a relief to know that he’s been mostly fine all along.

Naturally, when Daz didn’t come home, Raine got worried. The Council, aside from Lee who had been kept out of it, have been searching his known hidey-holes for hours now.

Obviously the HQ was one of the first places they checked, but the wall that leads into the hidden room was sealed off. They assumed that meant he wasn’t there, so they ignored it.

It wasn’t until Aster, in a last-ditch attempt, decided to open it up and check that the bastard was found.

He’d been fine, thankfully. Just having hyper fixated on the code and shut out everything else.

Aster carefully takes his com out and taps out a message to the others.

ShiningAster: bastard located. fine but asleep. focused on coding body for Innit, forgot he has a human body.

RaineStorm: seriously?? uhg, at least it’s normal shit this time

RaineStorm: as opposed to soul crushing despair and existential terror

Khons: need help moving him? ShiningAster: staying here. fell asleep on me, he has nightmares. also touched starved. might be less bastard if he gets good sleep

It’s only a little bit of a lie. Technically, none of that was wrong, but the implication was that Daz wasn’t strongarmed into accepting.

RaineStorm: yeah his nightmares are BAD and music only kinda helps.

ShiningAster: I think I can fix it. saying more will make him pissy

Khons: well if he’s not in trouble and staying there we’re going to bed

ShiningAster: night

RaineStorm: gn

RaineStorm: it’s gonna be really funny seeing him fall for you ngl

ShiningAster: its gonna be weird as fuck for me

After a moment, he switches to DMs.

ShiningAster: at some point we have a kid. Not adopted I think. looks just like him. her name is Azira. means rising star.

RaineStorm: WHAT THE FUCK??????

ShiningAster: also he made a deal to help with Innits body for seeing the same shit I do. but for me obviously

RaineStorm: oh my god that stupid asshole

RaineStorm: maybe he’ll learn his lesson. bc you’re def good to him, I know you.

ShiningAster: hes capable of being good to me back. too busy being petty for now though

RaineStorm: yeahhhhhh. he’s def an acquired taste. but he really is a great guy when you get past his him-ness

ShiningAster: lol

RaineStorm: he figured out I’d want a heated tub, art studio, and a porch. it’s freaky tbh but it’s nice.

ShiningAster: sounds fake but ok

RaineStorm: you’ve never seen him be like that so it’s hard to picture but it’s true!

That’s not quite right; Aster has seen Daz be kind and generous to others…he’s just never been the target.

No, maybe that’s not fair. He’s dragged Aster to a place of being better in a way he never would have done on his own. Despite his attitude, it did still benefit Aster.

Granted, he’s also been an asshole on purpose for literal years, so. That kind of events out.

ShiningAster: honestly just want to eat his damn food without being drugged

RaineStorm: something something the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach

ShiningAster: it sucks so bad to play chicken on if Ill suffer when I touch his cooking

ShiningAster: usually its worth it. at least until whatever he put in it hits

RaineStorm: and now we know why

ShiningAster: maybe therapy will fix him

RaineStorm: ngl I think not thinking he’ll kill anyone he loves will do wonders on its own

RaineStorm: but therapy will help too probably

ShiningAster: cant say much for obvious reasons but hes fundamentally broken. has been for most of his life.

ShiningAster: but Id never have a kid if he didnt seem in a good place. so whatever he does works

RaineStorm: have you considered it might be the power of love

ShiningAster: fuck you

RaineStorm: I’m serious!! think about it, he’s spent like 4 years thinking being loved will get that person killed

RaineStorm: he might have divine confirmation but he’s stubborn. might not feel real

RaineStorm: soooo someone who loves him despite his bullshit might be the thing that makes him be less…yknow

Ah, another reminder of how deeply fucked up Daz actually is.

ShiningAster: could be having someone who knows his secrets or even just Innit being out

RaineStorm: remind it that it needs a new name btw. too close to existing ones

RaineStorm: but yeah that probably helps too

RaineStorm: I feel awful I never noticed he was so…unwell

ShiningAster: hes good at hiding what he wants to hide. cant blame yourself when hes a master manipulator.

Said master manipulator mumbles into Aster’s chest, voice small, “I missed you.”

And, fuck, something in his chest feels like it cracks when Aster realizes what and who Daz must be dreaming about.

There’s nobody it could be but his former mentor. The person who gave him everything he ever wanted…and then committed an unspeakable sin against him.

Clearly, Daz still misses him. Despite what Dream had done to him, a part of him still misses the person who crushed him infinitely worse than anyone before him.

Despite only getting brief glimpses of that time, Aster gets the impression that Dream had been someone whose preciousness went beyond words.

Yet Daz couldn’t stomach letting him have his way after what he did. He rejected a place as a near-god beside someone who, despite the sickness in his soul, was devoted to him to a disturbing degree.

That…takes a strength of will that Aster isn’t completely sure he could match.

Fuck, nor does the decision to use the lethally broken enchantment as a backup plan.

If the rest of the server had failed to kill him, Daz would have chosen a death so agonizing that it chills Aster to his core.

It’s not hard to see why Daz is so…himself, honestly. Aster might not be able to think like him, nor agree with his actions, but in a fucked up way he can follow most of the logic now that he has the pieces.

He swallows as Daz’s voice wavers and cracks. “You said you’d protect me, so why…”

Aster adjusts his arms to a more comfortable positon, and messes with his hair more. “I’m not him, Daz. You’re not Tommy any more. Dream was sick– you know that.”

Horrifyingly, Daz starts shaking as he cries.

He rushes to add, “But– but you can have something new. Fuck, if you can be even halfway decent, I’d fall for you pretty damn quick. You can be charming, you know? And– and pretty romantic. It was– maybe it wouldn’t be awful. If you just stopped being such a bastard–”

At a loss for what else to do, he cuts himself off and starts humming.

Eventually, Daz slips back into deeper sleep.

But the memory of this unsettlingly fragile side of him will remain in the back of Aster’s head. Even when Daz is being the biggest bastard he can be…Aster knows he’ll remember this.