#still somewhere on that spec though

[deedeedeedeedeedeedee]

Realizing demiromantic might have been going too far. In fact, I think maybe, perhaps , I’m not as attracted to real life men as I thought. Whoops

[pierswife]

Once again sitting here kinda missing being called "lemon cardboard" as a term of endearment /lh

[arolesbianism]

Was going to do some oni file digging but got too distracted playing the actual video game. Anyways look at her <3

[naturally-dazed]

how are games for a decade old console the same price as they are for the ps5

[enbyboiwonder]

I feel like I always end up writing characters with an ace-spec slant even when I don’t mean to

[alchemistc]

Evil canon divergence (spec on the bucktommy storyline we would have gotten w/ a full season):

Buck doesn't come out to Eddie right away. After the Bad Date Buck just keeps on chugging along, doesn't talk to Maddie, doesn't come out to Eddie, he's just -- stuck in limbo, thinking about Tommy.

He can't stop thinking about Tommy.

Eddie keeps going to pick up games, and Chris keeps talking about Tommy, and -- Buck knows where the jealousy came from but it's still there, simmering, just... waiting. But obviously Buck's in his own head about it, and Tommy was right, because he can't even talk to his sister about this, he can't talk to his best friend about it.

Maddie and Chim still get married in a hospital room and Buck watches them wistfully and he wishes he knew how to handle all this weird shit roiling around inside of him at the thought that -- maybe one day that could be him. Maybe one day Bobby will pronounce him husband and wife -- or husband and husband. Which.

No one but Tommy even knows, and Buck is still thinking about him, and hearing about him from Eddie, from Chris, from Ravi for some reason??? Ravi got an invite to hang out with Eddie and Tommy and Buck isn't gonna, like, break his leg about it but he spends an entire day picturing Ravi in various states of mild annoyance. (A fly that won't stop landing on his plate of food. Check engine light keeps coming on but it's just faulty wiring causing the light to flicker. The barista at his local coffee shop keeps ignoring his request for light ice.)

And then there's the medal ceremony, and Buck is seeing Tommy for the first time since the date that Buck was so not ready for, but Tommy's kind, Tommy's funny, Tommy doesn't do anything weird that would tip anyone off that his lips have been on Buck's lips, and Buck is once again drawn in like a moth to flame. Tommy indulges it, for a bit, because maybe Eddie has told him Buck has been off lately, or maybe he just catches on to it himself, and he'd known there was a good chance they'd keep running into each other but he's also -- Buck flinches at the wings comment from Gerrard and Tommy sits himself down at a table with Chris and eats his weight in fucking cake and he isn't mean to Buck but clearly a line has been drawn.

And Buck is still thinking. He kinda can't stop thinking about Tommy.

And then Bobby happens. Eddie happens. Everything with Mara happens and Buck is spinning his wheels, Buck is trying to fix things, Buck wishes he had someone to talk to about all this.

He calls Tommy, and they're friendly, if a little strained. They meet up for coffee a couple of times. They buy their own coffee. It's fine. He's a good friend, tells Buck some of the horror stories from his time in the closet, listens to Buck work his way through the mountains of drama happening around Buck. There's a few heavy moments where Buck wonders if they're gonna start something up again.

Tommy makes it clear he's still interested, but also that he's not willing to be a dirty little secret. Buck -- doesn't have a fucking clue where to go with that. He gets it, though. He understands.

He doesn't know if he's ready.

Tommy doesn't push. He never does and Buck appreciates that but he sort of wishes he'd, like, give Buck the fucking answers?

Meanwhile Eddie's acting out, and yo-yoing between Buck and Tommy so they're constantly calling each other up to compare notes. Gerrard is running the 118 like he used to, and Buck is just constantly on the verge of punching that motherfucker in the face. So. He's -- calling Tommy up about that, too.

Somewhere in all the chaos, Hen and Karen are having Maddie and Chim over, and Buck's smashed in at the table between Denny and Mara, and maybe it's a Chim and Maddie moment he witnesses, or maybe it's a Hen and Karen moment he witnesses -- just the two of them, tucked together and quiet, at ease, one of them talking the other through something or other, supportive and present and Buck wants.

He brings over coffee to talk to Maddie. Tells her what he's figured out so far -- he's not actually an ally, he's building something with a man who just keeps showing up in all of Buck's worst moments and being there, yes he absolutely sprained Eddie's ankle accidentally on purpose all those months ago and also he'd fucked it up, right from the start, and now they're in this weird limbo and his best friend doesn't even know that Buck's halfway into a situationship with like, the only other person Eddie feels comfortable around right now.

Maddie reminds him of exactly how she and Chim had hit and missed, at the start. The work it took, the pain they'd caused one another by not being quite on the same page. Reminds him that he and Eddie have been through plenty and worked their way through it, so Buck can take however much time he needs.

End of season disaster happens. Pick your flavor -- it's a natural disaster, or a mass casualty, they spend an entire episode trying as hard as they can to save people, keep themselves alive. Have we had a flood yet? I can't remember if we've had a flood. (Dam break and lightning strike in the rain and tsunami but what about, just, like, a good old fashioned flood.)

Thirty minutes in, a chopper airlifting criticals out has some sort of system failure.

We all know whose chopper it is in the moments before it crashes.

And it's not like anyone knows they have a reason to keep Buck from this. Tommy's a friend to pretty much everyone on scene, there's no one who isn't gonna take it personal, they're all they've got.

Only Eddie watches Buck react to it a whole like like he'd reacted to Eddie getting shot, and in the aftermath, in a hospital waiting room, Eddie sits him down and waits for Buck to talk. So Buck talks.

Eventually a few people from Harbor start to trickle in at the end of their shifts, and Lucy gets one good look at soaked to the skin, wet sad puppy dog Buck and rolls her eyes. "Of course it's you," Lucy says, and plops her ass right down next to Buck to let him know that Tommy's been fucking brooding for months about a guy and if Buck isn't ready at this point he needs to be out those doors before Tommy wakes up.

Eddie cocks his head, well aware he doesn't have a leg to stand on but also he's just spent half an hour listening to Buck be smitten as hell and also worried out of his mind. Lucy gives Buck a stink eye.

Buck plants his ass firmly in the seat next to hers and waits.

(By the time Tommy's awake and coherent Buck has worked his way through any and every other hangup he might have and Buck kisses him in full view of like, six Harbor station folks etc etc the end.

"I know I said I didn't want to be a secret but I wasn't expecting quite this much exposure, Evan," Tommy says, still a little loopy from the drugs, and Lucy clears her throat from across the room, the only one who stuck around for the entirety of the sloppy makeout.

"No, please, continue," she says, and Tommy abuses his call button to complain to his nurse that Lucy is harassing him.)

[ghostf1ux]

"Who the Fuck are you Calling a Twig?"

Day 1: Broken Bones

Word Count: 3.8k

TW/CWs: Broken bones, drug talk/usage, Venom, guns, graphic violence, graphic injuries, general DCU-ness

-------------------------------------------------------

“Wow, boys, you really know how to make a guy feel welcomed.”

Jason's dry words echo mechanically through the warehouse, making it impossible for the men below to figure out its origin. He counts fourteen masked heads crowded around a large moving truck that whip around at the disturbance. Nine of them brandish some kind of automatic rifles– the others seem to just have handguns. Nothing he isn't used to.

“Who's there?” One of them calls out hesitantly, nerves clear by the way their voice wavers with the question. He smirks.

Much to Jason's amusement (and maybe disappointment) they never just look up. Despite years of Batman and his flock swinging around Gotham, its population, home to some grade A dumbasses, have never learned to just look up.

“Damn, guess I'm gonna have to get some more heads,” Jason sighs, shifting from his crouched position in the rafters to one knee. He continues without answering the question. “So, here's the deal: you take yourselves, sans your drugs as well as your dignity, and skedaddle. In return, you retain use of all your limbs for the foreseeable future.”

Personally, Jason thinks this is a good deal. He understands that these guys are probably just trying to get by, so he'd rather not have this turn into something more than it needs to be.

Plus, he was looking forward to an easy night.

The goons all look between each other, conversing quietly. Jason notes the way some of them shift uncertainly, glancing around despite the weapons in their hands trained on the surrounding shadows. It's a little pathetic.

Finally, one speaks up.

“How about you try saying that to our faces, or are you too chicken?” The goon near the driver's seat of the truck tightens his grip on his rifle, before motioning to the others to start searching the warehouse. Jason decides to call him the leader of this little ragtag group of thieves, though he isn't sure exactly who they're stealing for. His intel only pointed to there being a pretty big load of Venom that was missing from a drug bust he had orchestrated weeks ago. 

“You aren't from around here, are you?” Jason drawls curiously, tilting his head in consideration. Of course, the voice modulator makes it come out a whole lot more menacing, the effect made worse by the fact that they still haven't found him, despite how some of them have spread out. The immediate effect it has on them almost makes Jason laugh. Almost.

“What's it to ya? We ain't stayin’ for long,” a different voice answers. Jason stands, silently prowling the length of the beam he's on until he finds a group of four guys loosely tucked behind a stack of crates. 

“No, you aren't.”

He grins, and drops.

The first two guys are on the ground before they even notice he's there. He rips the rifle out of one of their hands to use as a bat to strike the third, putting him out instantly with a resounding crack. He uses the momentum to launch a high back hook kick at the fourth, who slams into the stack of crates and then crumples to the ground.

He manages to clip three more in the shoulders before gunfire is raining down on the crates between Jason and the truck. He thinks he hears shouting somewhere behind it, but it's unclear.

What he definitely hears is the start of a truck engine– listen, with how many god damn trucks he hears in this line of work, he can practically tell you the specs just based off the starting sound of the engine– and the squealing of tires against cement floors.

Swearing under his breath, Jason turns to dive through another barrage of bullets, racing through the maze of bullshit strewn about. He doesn't have time to worry about the hired guns getting away, what's important is getting that Venom before it can end up on the streets. His streets.

He fires a few shots blindly behind him– a twisted bit of satisfaction making him smile at the sound of bodies dropping on the floor with pained yells and swears– before whipping out his modified grapple gun, aiming for the ceiling above a hole in the upper wall– looks vaguely like it was exploded– above the exit the truck is taking off towards.

He grins when the line pulls taut and he's yanked past the truck– tracking his speed– tracking his trajectory– flying upupup–

And releases at just the right moment to fling himself through the hole and into the moist Gotham air. The truck pulls out far below him, gaining speed, but it isn't enough. He's too good at sending himself flying for anything else.

It's a hobby he takes great joy in.

Jason unsheathes one of his many knives mid-air, turning his body to dive and land in a roll on top of the hood of the moving truck. His speed and momentum was accounted for– he supposes he should thank Bruce's numerous lectures about thinking before pulling stunts like this– even if the rain wasn't as he tumbles over the roof of the storage and onto the hood over the driver and passenger seats themselves. Slamming the blade of his knife through the roof, he scrambles for purchase despite the way his weight wants to send him barreling past the windshield. 

Fortunately, he recovers before they can start trying to shoot what little of him they can see (he has the ruined edge of his bowie to thank for that) and he swings around to kick the passenger through the window– wait, wasn't this guy on the driver's side? Why is he in the passenger seat instead of driving–

But the goon doesn't knock the driver off course with the force of his kick that should've sent both out the driver's door.

The truck barely swerves. It only registers several seconds later why, when his ankle is grabbed and nearly fucking crushed.

See, a funny thing about hindsight is that it doesn't fucking help you. Ever.

That's what Jason thinks as he's ripped from his handhold into the tight front seat. The minimal skin of the leader goon he can see bulges with muscles that weren't there before, a yellow tinge to his veins just barely visible in the low light. His eyes are wild and bloodshot, pupils blown with the drug coursing through his system.

This is why Jason hates Venom. All it does is make his life– well, second life– harder.

Hm. Maybe he should call for some backup.

Jason considers this a moment before he grits his teeth as he's forcefully curled up and pushed against the windshield, the slowly cracking glass under his hands bracing against it like gunshots in his ear. It's taking nearly all of the strength in his legs to push back against the force and he's still losing, slowly, painfully folding up despite his joints grinding together.

A flash of metal (a gun, his mind supplies oh-so helpfully) in his peripheral catches his attention. Reflex and a burst of adrenaline makes him twist over the center console– fuck that stick did not feel good digging into his lower back– to wrestle the gun out of the driver's hands.

This time, the truck swerves. The gun goes flying– Jason thinks it ends up on the ground on the passenger side– before a sharp explosion of pain in his head nearly makes his vision go blurry. In reality, his head was just slammed into the steering wheel.

Maybe that shouldn't be said as nonchalant as it is, but… well. He's had worse.

He scrabbles against the body under him in the tight space, reaching for his thigh holster blindly. He manages to find it and draw the weapon in the tight space, but the leader– the guy high on Venom– snaps his arm like a twig before he can fire.

Jason hears himself scream and drops the gun– unable to do anything but scramble for something to stop the blinding pain– vaguely hearing unintelligible yelling that doesn't quite resonate in his mind– he feels himself get jostled around in his desperate movements–

And suddenly he hears shattering glass.

And suddenly he's in the air, all sense of direction lost.

And suddenly everything goes white when his body decides it's a good idea to shoulder check the ground– leading with his snapped arm. 

He tries to curl up in a ball out of reflex– protect his vital organs– but the street (when did they turn on to a street?) has different plans for him, apparently.

His vision still hasn't returned when creaking metal bends– groans– breaks–

He can only let out a hoarse, breathless shriek when cold, wet, sharp weight falls on his chest and legs– nearly cracking the asphalt below him. Something in him– several somethings, he thinks– grinds and pops and snaps–

His breath is ripped out of his chest again as he gasps for air, this ever-present weight crushing him until his bones grind into dust and all that's left is squished, soupy remains.

Despite this, the first thing Jason can actually register when his ears stop ringing and his vision fades back in from the white it was before is his heartbeat and the blood roaring in his ears. It's like he can feel the rapid pulse of his life force in his whole body, desperately trying to do something– keep him alive, probably. Though he can't quite say for sure from what.

Then he feels the cold spatter of raindrops on his face. Distantly his mind tells him that his helmet is broken from when he got his face bashed into a steering wheel. Yeah, that sounds about right to him. But his face shouldn't be as warm as it is. Something warm is on his face. Steadily dripping down his cheeks, his chin, his neck– maybe it's starting to gather underneath him? That would explain why his neck and back feel wet.

Burning rubber assaults his senses, something more toxic hidden beneath it. There's smoke, and coppery tang of something he's intimately familiar with that would normally make the acidic green flames in him sing–

Blurry shapes begin to take form next. Lights, blinding lights– but not many of them close. Tall walls flanking the road he's on, panes of glass between them. Distantly recognizable, to the part of his brain that's still muddled. Trash. Trickles of rain in the street flowing into gutters along the sides. The far away lights reflect on the dirty water, keeping his attention on them. Distracting him. 

Focus, Jason, a woman's voice cuts through the fog, silky-smooth but commanding all the same.

Assess, find an exit, another voice follows, this one gruff and deep. Masculine. It makes the fog clear rapidly in a way nothing else can.

Fuck, okay.

Jason's vision sharpens, fully registering the vehicle he's looking up at. He doesn't dare move his head, that deep voice vaguely rattling off possible head and neck injury procedures somewhere in the back of his mind.

Assess. He's on his back, trapped under a large vehicle. He's on the street, probably still in Crime Alley. No one is around, as far as he can tell.

The truck is on its side, the only saving grace for Jason's life. The side mirror is crushed directly to his left, between his chest and his arm, but it adds at least a little bit of leverage that keeps the full weight of the vehicle off of him. On top of that, his left arm– mostly uninjured, from what he can tell– is free.

Experimentally, he tries to move his hand.

He sucks in a sharp, white hot painful breath at the lightning bolt of pain shooting up his arm– it hurts like a bitch, but it isn't broken. His wrist might be fractured. Moving his arm fully doesn't hurt nearly as much as his wrist. 

His chest protests though, loudly. He has to bite back a whimper when the truck seems to sink into him– that had to be his imagination, right? Surely this can't be how he goes; crushed to death under a fucking truck full of–

Something.

Something important.

Focus, Jason. What's the situation?

Right.

The roof of the truck is digging into his chest, but his stomach has a lighter weight on it. At least, comparatively.

But then the lower edge of the window– broken, shattered window– digs into his right hip and the upper area of his left thigh. He manages to wiggle his toes, but the motion sends sparks of pain flaring up and down both legs, all the way up his ribs.

He can't even feel his right arm where it's trapped under the edge of the roof and the side edge of the window. 

Something tells him he really doesn't want to.

Glancing around, he sees his gun has fallen conveniently about arms length away on his left side. He doesn't try to reach for it. He wonders if he'd actually be able to get it if he tried. It's an expensive gun, he had it custom made as part of a set and it'd be really annoying to have to get another one–

Focus, Jason.

Shit, this is a bad situation, even by Jason's standards.

From what he can gather, there is no way to get out of this. Not by himself. He knows he's forgetting something. Something important. Something that can help him. But the thoughts slip through his fingers like smoke.

Fuck, he could really use a smoke right now.

Smoke.

Crushing weight.

Bones shattering under metal–

Waiting–

Pleading–

Alone–

No. Wait.

That's not right.

Someone was coming for him, then.

He's not alone. Not anymore.

Focus, Jason. What can you use to increase your chances of survival?

He slowly raises his free hand to a small switch on the unbroken side of his helmet. It's awkward and god does it hurt but–

“Need– need hel– help,” Jason manages to croak out, arm falling helplessly back onto asphalt. Copper drips into his mouth. He forces himself not to gag.

“What the fuck?”

“Hood?”

“Where are you?”

“What happened?”

“Hood are you okay?”

Voices clamber loudly over each other, but Jason is just focused on his rattling, forcefully shallow breaths. They all blur together into a cacophony of noise. That is, until one much deeper than the rest speaks over them.

“Hood, what happened?” the voice growls. Distantly, he recognizes it. The same one in his mind that echoed lessons from years past. Batman. Bruce. 

Dad.

“I– I can't–”

Jason's words are starting to stutter and slur, becoming harder to form. The dots of his thoughts struggling to connect into lines.

“Robin, report,” the same voice barks, sharper this time. It pulls him back to a time before he had all the issues he has now. The words come tumbling out without him even thinking about them.

“Trapped– Venom bust– was chasing, got– got pulled in close– truck flipped– ‘m trapped– can't– breathing is–” the words get stuck in his throat, shallow breaths speeding up. The movement forces pained whines from his throat.

He doesn't have the breath for those right now.

“Oracle, send the coordinates. Nightwing and Red Robin, get to Hood. Robin and I will stop by the cave to get the materials needed to stabilize him,” Batman finishes. His voice is clipped. Controlled. Some part of Jason wonders why.

“Affirmative. ETA four minutes,” A younger voice– Tim, Jason's mind reminds him– answers immediately.

“Make it two,” Batman snaps.

“We're coming, little wing. Just gotta hold on for us, okay? We're gonna get you out.” Dick's voice is assuring, gentle. It's the one used for victims. Usually Jason would snap at him for using it on him, but at the moment, he can't really find it in himself to care.

All he can care about is the slowly increasing pressure pushing down on his–

Well. His everything.

“T's like– like the world– world's worse f– fuckin’– weighted blanket,” Jason finds himself saying out loud. A sardonic chuckle escapes him, which is a huge mistake because now he wants to sob.

He blinks back the burning tears before they can escape. He thinks, at least.

There's a small, sharp intake of breath before someone talks again. A woman, this time.

“I can't find him on cameras live, since Crime Alley is pretty spotty, but I found the footage of the crash. Hood, you need to be on the lookout for whoever was in the passenger seat. It looks like he got thrown from the truck, but if he was on Venom then he might get back up. You need to focus until Nightwing and Red can get there.”

Focus, Jason. Who can still hurt you?

“T– tall order there, Barbie,” he manages, glancing around. It takes him far too long to clock a peculiar lump on the ground about fifteen yards away. 

A moving peculiar lump on the ground.

Jason blinks rapidly up at the sky, cursing every god that may or may not exist.

“Do you see him, Hood?”

“Yeah,” Jason breathes out, barely more than a whisper. His eyes trail down to his gun laying on the pavement. He almost whines with how far away it seems.

“Is he moving?”

Jason can only manage a vaguely affirmative hum as he begins dragging his arm towards the gun. Every muscle, nerve, and bone in his body screams at him to stop. To rest.

He chokes down a sob when only his fingertips brush the cool metal of the barrel. He reaches further and nearly screams, but manages to drag it close enough to get a good grip on it. 

“Almost there, little wing,” Dick whispers, his voice taut with pain and worry.

Jason turns his gaze up to the man now hobbling towards him, sporting a bloody grin.

“Caged birdie all alone… shouldn't have bitten off more than you could chew,” the man chides menacingly. The zombie stumble he's got going on also isn't really helping.

Suddenly he's closer. Too close for comfort. 

Jason raises the gun, putting all his effort into maintaining his steady aim. Only a small tremor betrays the agony his wrist is in.

“Twenty seconds–”

The man steps closer, picking up something off the ground with a pained grunt.

“Maybe this'll finally teach you a lesson about sticking your nose where it don't belong.”

There's a glint of metal.

A gunshot.

And then nothing.

---------------------

“--onna need the plane–”

“--wing, you with me?”

Gentle words coax Jason back to consciousness. Chatter continues in the background, but Jason is only aware of the pinched face of his brother above him. Despite the domino mask, he can see tear tracks on his cheeks.

Or maybe it's just the rain.

It's always raining in Gotham.

“Jay, come on, you gotta focus. We're gonna get you out you just gotta stay awake for a little bit longer,” Dick reassures despite the pained look on his face. He's trying not to worry Jason. He doesn't know if it's working or not.

“H– hurts,” Jason whines.

“I know, I know. I'm gonna take your helmet off, alright?”

Moments later there's a hiss of air before Dick gently works the broken helmet off Jason's head, setting it aside. He moves Jason's head into his lap, gently carding through the sweat-soaked curls. 

It's comforting. Distracting.

It almost makes Jason forget how much pain he's really in.

“Ho– how–?”

“B's gonna bring the plane around, and we'll hook the truck onto it so he can lift it off you,” Dick explains. The waver in his voice is there, betraying his anxiety at the situation despite his calm demeanor, but only the people close to him would ever be able to make it out.

Dick turns away to talk to Tim. Jason isn't paying attention. There's something else. There's a flaw in the plan. One only he knows about, because they can't see inside the truck. Not without putting more weight on him.

Focus, Jason. 

Weight.

A smaller weight.

Blood pooling.

But not his.

“Bod– body–” Jason rasps, quickly getting both boys’ attention.

“It’s fine, it was life or death. B won't be mad,” Tim offers him a reassuring smile. Jason grimaces, nearly shaking his head before thinking better of it.

“T– two. Stom– stomach.”

Dick furrows his brow, before his eyes widen. Tim seems to come to the same conclusion.

“Fuck, okay.” Dick rakes a hand through his damp hair, turning his gaze up to the sky as he takes a deep breath.

“B? Addition to the plan: Robin will need to repel into the car. There's another body in it, on Hood. We won't be able to get him out until it's gone…”

Jason lets the noise fade into the background, content to focus on Dick's fingers brushing through his hair rather than literally anything else. It's nice. The only nice thing in the cacophony of terrible no good awful things that make up his life right now.

But eventually, all good things must come to an end.

Distantly, he hears more talking. Organizing. Directing.

A weight gets lifted off his stomach.

Something hooks under his left arm. Someone else's arm, probably.

And then–

Well, being unaware of anything around you, thrown into a pool of evil magic battery acid mixed with mountain dew, and then subsequently ripped apart before being put back together was a really shit experience overall.

Being beaten nearly to death with a crowbar, then blown up and suffocating on smoke had been pretty terrible too.

This–

He won't remember being awake for this. It'll be a hole in his memory, one his brain will refuse to fill in… probably for the rest of his life. He'll think he passed out just before Bruce and Damien got there, and woke up safe and sound back at the Manor.

But his brothers won't be so lucky.

They'll never forget the piercing shriek that made all of them lock up as soon as the truck began to be lifted.

They'll never forget the wailing sobs that wracked the mangled body as pressure continued to be lifted. 

They'll never forget the screams that echoed off the surrounding buildings when he was dragged off the asphalt and onto a stretcher.

They'll never forget how his teal, bright teal eyes finally rolled back and they had to see how both legs were nearly crushed and torn to shreds, chest still never fully expanding to get oxygen that was so desperately needed, how a piece of bone stuck so far out of his forearm that bent in a ninety degree angle right near the middle, on top of a shoulder that was so clearly out of its socket it probably shouldn't even still be attached.

But Jason wouldn't remember.

He'd remember knowing that whenever he woke up, he'd be out. He'd be safe.

And for now, that was all he needed.

[steeb-stn]

bad batch ficlet!!!

just an idea i had that had to be written down

—-

“Omega,” Tech said, incessant. “Omega, you need to get up.”

Ugh.

“Go away,” she said, pulling the blanket over her head. Except there was no blanket. So she just kept laying where she was. 

Tech was never one for sleeping in, a skill her other brothers had perfected during their retirement on Pabu. He probably wanted her help with the rusty old hoverbike out in the back shed. Or maybe he was finally planning to tackle the leaky old water cycler in the garden.

“I never lived in the cliff house with you,” Tech said, ever patient. “You moved into the cliff house on Pabu after Tantiss, after the Havoc was destroyed, remember? I need you to get up, Omega.”

It felt so nice to just. Keep her eyes closed. There was something cold and wet on her face, it would get in her eyes if she opened them. 

“Omega!” Tech’s voice boomed through her aching head. “You must get up.” 

There’s a pungent, stringent smell. She wrinkles her nose at it.

“It’s fuel,” Tech said, as patiently as he ever explained the Marauder’s specs or the science behind hyperspace travel. “Your fuselage has been compromised. I estimate you have approximately ninety to one hundred seconds before the fuel contacts the core reactor.” 

She raised her head, groaning as the movement sent her into vertigo. She was lying on the floor of the cockpit, thrown away from the main console, which had crumpled in the crash like a tin can. A metal panel had landed across her legs, and she groaned as she pulled them out from under it. Stumbled toward the hatch, blinking blood from out of her eyes.

“Your comm, and your go bag,” Tech said. “You will need them. Hurry, Omega.”

She grabbed the bag and checked the comlink ,still attached to her wrist. She looked to the mess of the console for Tech’s glasses, where were they, probably somewhere in the wreck of the console, she couldn’t leave them- 

“They’re in your go bag,” Tech said. “Don’t worry about them. I’m always with you, regardless. Speaking of go, you must be going-”

She jumped out of the hatch and ran, able to make it on the other side of a steep ridge before her ship blew. She gave it a moment of silence, wincing at the thought of the tirade she was going to get from her squad commander. 

At least she’d be alive to hear it.

Had Tech been here? She’d dreamed of him, or she thought she had - could you dream while knocked unconcious? 

He’d woken her up. They’d been in their creaky little house on the cliffside in Pabu, and he’d wanted her help with something. 

Tech had never lived in that house, though. Never even got to see it. 

She rummaged through the bag hanging from her side, panic rising until she finally found them - his glasses. She felt sure she’d left them on the top of her console as she usually did, but here they were. 

I’m always with you, regardless.

She pressed them to her chest, briefly, then returned them to the bag and thought about her next move.

[coupleofdays]

Some Tron fans might be a little disappointed that TRON: Catalyst isn't a big fancy AAA game with cutting-edge graphics and whatnot, thinking that Disney doesn't care about the franchise enough to put huge sums of money into it (compared to, say, Star Wars games). But me, I was actually kind of relieved when I looked at the system requirements for the game and saw that it can most likely be run on my sligthly old, not-cutting-edge-specs computer. I'm happy that I won't have to buy a whole new computer, or a new game console, to keep up with the Tron franchise, at least not for a little while longer (who knows, maybe we'll get a big high-end game to tie in with TRON: Ares somewhere down the line?).

I felt similarly about TRON: Identity, and I might go so far as to say that I almost hope that Tron remains a "lesser" Disney franchise, if it means that we'll get more low-budget, but still well-made and interesting games set in its universe. To quote Jordan Mallory, "I want shorter games with worse graphics made by people who are paid more to work less and I'm not kidding."

At the same time, I will also admit that I'm happy that Catalyst does seem to have one important improvement over Identity: Voice acting. Even though that presumably require a slightly higher budget.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 3

Azriel x Third-oldest-Archeron-sibling!Reader

a/n: I think reader is beginning to realise something was up with Azzie’s behaviour…

Apologies if you’re not a gold-jewellery person (I’m not either, don’t worry)

warnings: general angst because you sickos love it for some reason (it’s affectionate, I swear), Pity Party by Melanie Martinez vibes, Elain

word count: 5,501

-Part 2- -Part 4-

You keep your eyes shut, hoping to waste another few hours, sleeping.

You want this day to be over as quickly as possible. It could never go fast enough.

Twenty-two.

Once, it was a third of your life—a quarter, if lucky. Now it’s a mere spec. A pebble beside a milestone. What is twenty-two in the face of immortality?

Awareness zips across your skin, feeling the soft drag of cotton against your toes; the warm wrap of your nightdress against the backs of your thighs. Remember how fingertips felt scraping up the skin, and tuck beneath the duvet, curling into a tight ball. Seconds tick by, slow and painful, each dragging its feet through a swamp of mud, tip-tapping and traipsing their dirty boots through your mind. You won’t get back to sleep.

But you don’t move, either.

Weighted like a stone in bed, bones made of lead, pressing you into the mattress. Even your sheets feel like soft shackles, binding your body like fine rope. A silky cocoon of your own making.

The sun rays slide down the wall, slithering across the rug, finally extinguishing as midday dawns in the city. Still, you don’t move.

Sweat beads beneath your arms, trickling down to your elbows, gathering behind your knees, saturating the sheets, making them sticky. It’s not enough to make you shift. You remain lying in the puddle of discomfort.

You push deeper beneath the duvet, temperature rising as the cotton clings to your body, sticking to you when you move to roll over. Frustration bubbles, and fizzes, then tears drip down your cheeks. They roll back into your hair, falling into your ears, and you sob harder.

The imagined smell of clean pillows, and crisp sheets revolves in your mind, and still you stay. Living through fantasy, counting the seconds.

Afternoon hits, and you’re still in bed.

Rolled onto your stomach, salty water sliding down your under arms, you turn the page. The parchment is dry, leeching moisture from your fingertips, making them feel pruny. The tears start rolling again.

Evening begins, and you’re stomach sobs with you, gnawing on your bones, as though eating itself with hunger. Sweat has dried, leaving your skin clammy and suffocated. Finally the thoughts start rolling in. The humiliation of rejection further dampening your cheeks. Merely picturing hazel eyes… You shut the book, and struggle out of bed.

The sheets are indeed tangled, wrapping and binding your limbs to the point you simply drop to the floor, hitting the wood painfully, skull clunking as your elbow whacks the bed frame. You lie still for more minutes. Wallowing. Eventually drag yourself out of the mess.

First, open the curtains wider, taking in the orange and pinks of the sky, the full, billowing clouds fluffing the cobalt… Blue siphons glitter behind your eyes, water spilling as your lip wobbles. They blaze with vibrant fury, simmering with unfathomable darkness, and the curtains snap shut.

You remove your night dress, throwing it into the wicker basket, dragging yourself to the washroom as your head pulses and aches from lying down too long. Heat ravishes your skin, a fresh wave of sweat coating your body. Water washes over your back, pouring down your front, bathing you until clean. Not an ounce of grime left marring your body.

You try the windows again, the heavens filled with orange and blue, purply-greys rising with the oncoming night. How have you nearly slept away the day? And yet it’s still not over.

Voices echo from somewhere below you—the kitchen. You cover your face with your hands, exhaling heavily. They’re all there. All waiting just beneath you. Knees nearly buckle.

Heart spikes in your chest at the thought of…

Birthdays used to be wonderful, full of gifts and vibrant colours, smelling of fresh flowers and tasting syrupy and sweet. Now they’re wretched and dull, a pressure around your throat as another year ticks by and nothing’s changed. You’ve done nothing. Sat around, taking up space, draining money, expending resources. And nothing to say for it. Just a stack of books by your bed, selling second after second, minute after minute, draining the days away. Draining the years away.

Muscle trembles, bones crumbles as you land on the floor, curled into a ball before the mirror, unable to look at the waste you’ve become. Everything has a function, everything has some sort of purpose, some duty to fulfil, executing their actions with mechanical precision. Moving because they have to. It’s what they’re formed to do. Yet bring choice into the equation, and everything stops. It becomes unreliable, and uncertain. Unpredictable.

So much choice it’s overwhelming. So many pathways, so many decisions. So many conclusions. Everything would be so much simpler if will was subtracted from the sum. Leaving you with narrow walls to keep you on course, the gust of wind propelling you forward. Without those things, your actions are your own, and you’ve plummeted from the path.

Mind buzzes and whirrs, firing off thoughts and clipped phrases, one blending into another. Chaos and mess fusing in a liquid covalent bond, linking their talons through sinew and cartilage. Hooking into your brain. Ripping into the tissue. Licking their fingers clean.

Three knocks tap to your skull, tripping through cartilage, tumbling to stone.

“Hello?” You call, forcing your voice to be even. Balancing out waves, crests and troughs synchronising.

“Are you going to be up soon? I haven’t seen you all day!” Feyre.

You scowl, hunching over yourself, nails raking through your hair, pushing the dried tails from your face. “I’ve been up for a while,” you reply, shortly, “reading.”

“Well, we’re having dinner together tonight, and it’s nearly ready, so come down soon!” She calls back, and you can imagine the way her ear is inevitably pressed flat against the door. Busybody, like the rest of them.

When you don’t reply, she steps back, walking away down the hallway, returning to the kitchen where the laughter blares and bubbles.

You slump over, spilling across the floor as you lie, limp. Strength falling from your muscles, as though they’re delocalising from your flesh and bone. You imagine sinking your hands onto your thighs, how your meat would come apart like perfectly prepared pulled pork. How your gluons would simply release; allow you to dissolve onto someone’s plate, drowned in gravy and dusted with rosemary.

Thoughts ebb and flow, trickling through your conscious like thickened cake batter over the edge of a mixing bowl, dripping from the table to splatter on the floor. Only to be wiped away seconds later, cleanly obliterated. Tiny explosions blow behind your eyelids, prickling until salt stings and spills.

The sun sinks, darkness settling like a veil over the city, horizon dimming to deeper, inky greys. Shoulders ache, bones grinding against one another, catching muscle and flesh between them. Still you lie, unmoving. Light, shallow breaths evenly dripping from your lips.

Another set of knocks in the same cadence. “Food’s ready!” She calls. The words thud dully in your ears, landing at the dried up base of the well. Prevented from settling deeper. “Will you be down soon?” She asks hopefully, voice blaring through your carefully cultivated silence. “Be down soon,” you call back, letters automatic and mechanical. Precise and unthinking. Words lilt and inflect, while your features remain stiff, eyes unseeing as they stare out.

She traipses away again.

Your mind falls back to sleep.

Tumbling through portals, falling into vortexes, tripping down tunnels. Flying through secret hatches in time, spilling across horizons and shooting up, up, up into the atmosphere.

Thoughts waver and crumble, disintegrating into galaxy coloured sprays of starlight, swirling and exploding like the movement of the Starry Night. Feyre had showed you that one, once.

When was the last time you’d had time to spend with any of them, individually? Now with Nyx around, her attention is spread thin. Navigating wife, sister, and mother. High Lady, too.

Mother, Wife, High Lady. Then Sister.

Maybe you were being harsh on her. After all, what do you know about having so many roles to play? Having achieved all those titles, fulfilled each one and continuing to do so while avoiding jeopardising another. Would you be able to handle what she does? A year younger than you. Already with a husband and a child. A whole Court at her fingertips.

Are you done with the nosey speculation into other people’s relationships, or is that how you’ve found yourself filling your time?

You blink, his voice ringing in your mind.

Is that how you’ve come to preoccupy yourself? Complaining about her success? What happened to being happy for her achievements? To being proud of your sister? At what point had it become a competition?

When had you started comparing yourself to them?

A stone sinks in your gut, plummeting through your stomach, dropping to your toes. Do you really fill your time by examining them? Analysing their relationships, dissecting their dynamics?

Go on, he’d said. Go on and tell me why I’m undeserving of her.

It had really come out so wrong. You hadn’t even planned on confessing to him. Had planned to keep it all to yourself. To wallow and drown, quietly, in your own secret corner.

You think you’re deserving of me?

He replays on an invisible symphonia, spinning through your world, making you dizzy as the sound whirls.

You think you’re deserving of me?

I think it’s cruel to continue asking after her when I so obviously answer every question you have just so you might pay me a little more attention.

Well done. Just open up your chest for him. Hand perfectly poised to pull your life’s muscle from your ribs. Instead he’d left it intact, an open wound to fester and turn gangrenous over time. To scar, deeply. To burn and burrow its way into your marrow. To turn bone deep, so you can begin to understand what you’d struck at.

You’d be better off turning your damn affections somewhere they’d actually be appreciated.

If you were even half the female she is, I’d be tempted to show a little interest.

How quickly the conversation had turned sour. How quickly it had flown off the pathway. How quickly blades had been drawn, poison tipped arrows fired.

At least she has someone interested in getting her into bed.

I doubt you can say the same.

A triptych of knocks lands on your door, making you flinch.

“Are you still coming down?” Feyre calls, “the food’s going to start getting cold!”

It takes a moment for your limbs to unfreeze, unstick themselves from your mind’s trap. “I’m—…” You’re not going down there. Not into that room, filled with so many people. She calls your name, a little confusion shining through, dragging you from your haze.

“I’m getting tired, Fey,” you manage back, not quite disguising the bone-deep fatigue that’s riddling your body. “I think I’m just going to go to bed,” you call.

“Oh…” she sounds surprised. A little crestfallen. “Are you sure? I mean, I haven’t seen you in a while, and we’re all down there, so…it would be nice. To spend time with you.”

You’re quiet, unable to formulate an appropriate response. You can hear her hesitating, too.

Then. “Can I come in?” She asks softly.

You freeze up, taking in your state. Clean, but messy. A few too many things out of place to be okay. Before you can skilfully deny her, she continues on. “I—… There are some things I want to ask you about.”

Her voice is soft, and quiet. Navigating High Lady and sister. Maybe you don’t give her enough credit. Then again, she should obviously be playing your sister right now.

“Let me put some more clothes on,” you respond with, swallowing as you get to your feet, picking up a few books here and there; grabbing your sheets to return them to the bed. Quickly, you shuck on a dress, tying your hair back into a neat-ish knot. “Okay,” you call, “I’m dressed.”

The door swings open, and her eyes scan the room, darting about before settling on you. She’s dressed nicely—she’s always dressed nicely. Whether it’s a jumper and slippers, or some kind of gown, she always looks lovely. Disgustingly put together. “What is it?” You ask, feigning sleepiness.

She shrugs casually, closing the door behind her. “I wanted to see how you were doing,” she explains, walking over to your bed. “Can I sit down?” You nod in response, then hesitate. “Maybe take the chair. It was boiling last night.” Her lips lift, a faint smile on her mouth, blue-grey eyes sparkling, “it was, wasn’t it? Rhys is going to show me how to put a temperature-maintaining ward around our bedroom. Nyx severely dislikes the heat.” Her voice lilts with laughter, and it’s easy to forget what she’s gone through. So easy to disregard every bloodied fragment when you see that smile.

“So?” She asks, conversationally. “How have you been?” You wince and her brow dips almost imperceptibly, “I really want to go to bed.”

“Oh.” She blinks. Nods slowly. “Okay.” She seems slightly upset at your not-so-subtle dismissal. At least it was gentle.

Feyre stands, runs her eyes over the stacks of books beside your bed, “have you read all these?” A heavy sigh blows from your chest, posture dissipating as your spine slouches, “Feyre…”

“Right. Yes. If you’re sure,” she says, watching you carefully. Intently. Eyes sharp. “I’m very sure,” you reply, managing a weak smile, hoping fatigue will cover for you.

She nods then, heading for the door. She stops, and you nearly groan.

“It wouldn’t…I mean, would it help if there were less of us?” She asks slowly. This time, you do groan. “Oh my gods, Feyre. I am tired. Please let me sleep.”

“So you’re not coming down at all? Even just s few minutes? Be with everyone for a bit?” She pushes, and irritation bubbles in your chest. You want to be done with this conversation. You don’t deign her with an answer. You’ve said what you want to, you’re not going to repeat yourself.

“If Azriel wasn’t there…” she says softly, taking a hesitant step toward you. You stiffen, blood freezing. “What do you mean.”

Feyre blows out a breath, brushing down her top, smoothing the nonexistent creases. “I’m not blind,” she murmurs, eyes latching onto you. “You’ve been off these past few days, and Elain—”

“What did Elain say?” You ask, skin leeching of warmth. Feyre pauses, watching you quietly. “Feyre,” you say, a little surprised at her hesitance. “If Elain said something, it’s fair for me to know.”

She sighs again, “I need you to be calm. I don’t want to argue with you. Not today. Not any other day, but particularly not today.”

“Sure. That’s why you brought this up when I’m obviously tired and irritable,” you shoot back.

She just observes you steadily, unfaltering. It makes you want to shift, and fidget. “Tell me what she said. I’ll be calm,” you say, finally, quieter than before. Still, she’s silent. Watching, weighing, judging. Busybody.

Finally, she opens her mouth, and her words nearly knock you off your feet. “She saw you in the library. Heard what you said to him.”

The floor opens up beneath you, and you spiral down. She heard your conversation with Azriel.

The nosey bitch. She had no right to pry like that. And then to bring it to your sister. The youngest of all of you.

How much more humiliation do you have to take?

“She what?” You whisper, unable to speak through your anger and hurt. Feyre gives you that look again, calming, steady, scolding. “You said you’d be calm,” she reminds, quietly. “Please keep your voice down.”

“That was none of her business!” You explode, voice raising as your hands scrunch into fists, sorrow giving way to rage. “And none of yours either, High Lady.” You spit out the title, so betrayed, and confused, you begin to switch off. It’s none of their business. They’re your emotions. Yours. Not things to be traded, and gossiped about. To be tossed around over some family dinner.

“I’m worried about you,” she says, brows curving with concern. “We all struggled with the cauldron. We struggled through the war, and everything that came after. But you’ve never shown any signs to warrant anxiousness.” Pain glimmers in her eyes, watching you steadily from across the room. Your room.

“Don’t use that as an excuse,” you bite back. “Don’t use it as an excuse to stick your nose into my life like that. It is my life.” Your voice wobbles, but remains strong, blaring through the space. “What happened between me and him is none of your concern. My relationship with Elain is none of your concern. Stop trying to find an issue with me. Something for you to fix, and put back together, so I can become part of your pretty, perfect family, too.” You nearly shout the end, vision blurring around the edges.

She blanches a little, “you need to quiet down. I will not be shouted at. You’re a grown woman, you can talk to me like one.”

“Treat me like one!” You nearly scream back, tears spilling. Her brows knot together, looking confused and disappointed. “I act, just like you,” you cry. “I’ve dealt with my own issues. I’ve kept them to myself. I’ve made. sure. not to be a burden. To you, or to anyone.” The words spill out, one after another. Brutal, and jagged in the light.

“I’ve been as cooperative as I can, I give answers if I have them, and I look for them if I don’t,” you sob, thinking of all the times he’d asked a question about Elain, so you’d repeated them back to her, stealing that information back for him. “I’ve never gone mute like Elain, I never sparked up like Nesta, I never spiralled into a depression like you. I kept myself intact. All by myself. And yet I’m the one everyone treats like a girl?” You shake as you cover your face with trembling hands, a small crack finally appearing in the damn you’ve been consistently reinforcing.

You push away your tears, trying to shut off the waterworks, finally meeting her glazed eyes. They clear when they realise you’re watching her.

“I can manage what happens between Azriel and me. It’s my business,” you repeat, the odd tear spilling as your lip wobbles. “I know I’m nothing compared to Elain. I know Mor would outshine me if I were next to her,” you cry, breaths heaving in and out in frenzied, uneven pants. Feyre’s eyes glimmer with pain, and she steps closer, arms widening a little. A silent offer. You ignore it.

“I know he doesn’t—” A sob cuts you off, lungs spasming as more walls break down, dissolving with the torrent you’ve kept at bay. Your shoulders hunch, eyes squeezing shut as you bite your lip.

“Nobody ever does,” you cry, softly, wrapping around yourself, back curving as you fold in on yourself. “He doesn’t even—… He’s never asked anything about me, but he knew…” I’m never the first choice.

Maybe the competition had been going on for longer than you’d realised.

Your voice grows softer, and her shoulders loose their tension, silence stretching through the room. Utter, devastating silence.

Not even a single, muffled laugh.

Your heart drops, stomach rising up into your throat.

You take a step forward, eyes wide.

Then vanish.

You reappear exactly one floor below, the silence not fitting in with a group of eight preternaturally still bodies. Seven pairs of eyes turn to you, filled with guilt. Almost instinctually, you seek out the darkest corner of the room, hazel piercing into you. Sharp and accusing.

You stumble under its intensity, flicking between the remaining pairs of eyes that seem to be pulling away from you. Lips part is surprise, flitting from violet, to grey-blue, to cocoa, returning to hazel.

“Good evening entertainment, huh?” You whisper, lips trembling. You don’t even know who to look at.

The High Lord opens his mouth, but Nyx begins screaming, shrill and cutting in the quiet.

Your jaw snaps shut, comprehending what just happened.

A heavy breath of air puffs from your lips, before you winnow yourself back upstairs.

Feyre’s already given you your privacy by the time you return.

————

A clock chimes somewhere in the house. Three in the morning.

The forced laughter and quiet shuffling of people had vanished around one. Two hours ago. Your stomach growls in the darkness.

How long has it been since you last ate?

You shake your head, not caring. You’re hungry, so you’ll get food.

On quiet feet, you pad into the hallway, peering both ways before tiptoeing down the corridor, listening for the sound of movement. Nothing. Silently, you descend the stairs, walking along another corridor that leads you to the kitchen. Stop in the doorway.

A cake lies on the table in the living room—adjoined to the kitchen. A polite pile of presents is stacked neatly beside it, a dull ache pressing down on your chest. Even from across the room, you can make out the pretty details. The pure white fondant, the foundations to the wobbly yellow and orange marigolds made from icing sugar, royal blue frosting squiggling the boarder, artfully dripping down the edges, like tears spilling over.

Stepping closer, the flaws become apparent, clearly decorated by people unaccustomed to creating cake toppings. The uneven petals, a dash of light blue marring the white fondant, the obvious blending point between yellow and orange. You wonder how long it took the three of them.

Sighing, you take a seat around the table, a single candle magically appearing and lighting atop it. You murmur thanks to the house, take a deep breath, and sharply puff the air out. It extinguishes instantly. Smoke drifts up in shadowy strings, the red ember winking out, and you pull the candle from the cake. A small knife appears at your side, and you cut a small chunk from its centre, getting the better part of a marigold at its tip.

It’s good—not too sweet, not too dry. Has weight to it, pleasantly spongy. The flavour lovely and—

Your vision blurs as you taste the vanilla, tiny pockets of jam infused throughout the cake. It’s the same as the recipe Elain practiced in cupcake form for a month. Practiced and persisted endlessly. Sampled until you both deemed it perfect.

No, you don’t forgive her for eavesdropping, for tattling to your sister, for being the reason the whole family now knows about your messy rejection. How unappealing you are. But she’d made this perfect for you, had practiced this recipe to death…and it counts for something.

You finish off the slice, ignoring the slight salty flavour that occasionally dripped over your lips, choosing to focus on the taste of the bespoke cake, instead.

Sitting a while in silence, thinking about everything that’s happened, you put it aside. Shift awkwardly toward the neat stack. Almost immediately drawn to the small royal blue gift box. It fits in your palm and you don’t need to read the note to know who it’s from. A tule bow is tidily pressed on the lid, shifting through vivid purples, reds, and pinks. Azriel’s gift.

It is stupid to be excited for his present?

You bite your lip, and shakily remove the top, peering down at the deep blue, satin cushion. A fearful smile lifts the edges of your mouth—disbelieving.

Inside the petite box, nestled within the plush pillow, are a pair of pearl earrings. They’re fashioned into small tear-drop like stones, golden hooks appearing at their crest. You pull them carefully from the cushion, holding them up in the moonlight, staring in wonder. They’re simple, yet elegant. An understated, subtle kind of beauty. The kind you only notice when you look closely.

You admire them for minutes, before raising them to your ears, neatly sliding them into the tiny holes. A comfortable weight, fun to play with, and tug on. You’re already in a better mood than when you came down here, a quiet smile on your lips as you remember their pretty shine.

Moving onto the next one, you begin filing through the gifts: A romance book from Nesta; from anyone else, it would have been obnoxious and self-centred, but you know how much she adores those books, and wants you to experience their happiness.

From Feyre, a miniature painting: Starfall rendered in blues, yellows, and oranges, in place of the irradiated greens and iridescent golds.

A silver embossed bookmark from Rhysand (spelled so you’ll never loose or misplace it, he’d written), making you smile.

From Cassian, necklace, a circular glass pendant hanging on the bronze chain. Peering into the glass, you can make out a small map of the world, containing the courts, the continent, and Hybern. Stretching down to the Mortal Lands too—acknowledging your past.

A small pot of crimson nail polish from Mor, coupled with a pink lipstick, making you laugh quietly. Attached is note saying she owes you a shopping trip—promising not to hijack it for clothes; to let you wonder about the various book stores.

And a 10,000 piece jigsaw from Amren—you can hear the challenge radiating from her as you pull the ribbon away.

All wonderful; all thoughtful. The seven pairs of guilty eyes that had been listening out of concern.

You rest your face in your hands, unable to resolve their opposites. The eavesdropping, but the clear attention they’ve all paid. Even if you’re in Rhys’ Inner Circle, you’d always thought you were somewhere measuring the circumference. Apparently they disagreed. You’re just as at its centre as they are.

Hot, wet droplets splash onto the wooden table, and you sniff quietly, taking long minutes to expel the sadness from behind your eyes. Finally, once they’ve dried, you reach toward Elain’s present. You’re not sure you want to see what’s inside, with how complicated your relationship has become. Still, you pull the lilac bow loose, raising the lid from the box. You stand up to look what’s contained within.

Your eyes bulge from their sockets, jaw dropping open as you see what’s inside. Slowly, carefully, you raise the mechanism from the padded inside of the box, setting it reverently on the table. Only then do you allow your hands to shake.

Sat politely before you, is an orrery.

Fingers tremble as you touch one of the planets, pushing it gently. When it moves, the cogs at its base align with one another, clicking together as each of the globes move harmoniously, spinning at their assigned paces. You wonder how accurate the spin is, what machinery they’ve used to delve so far into the universe. How wonderful it must be to live and explore.

Tears splash onto the table as you stare at the contraption. So incredible, rendered with such loving care you could cry. You are crying.

You peer closely, picking out the planet you’re on, how the world is carved into it: the land, the equator, no split lying between the previous human and faerie realms—the wall now gone. You thumb at the other spheres, staring with wide eyes as you trace small indentations made in their surface, peering and spinning the moons that rotate each. It’s utterly breathtaking; you have to blink away more wetness.

Seconds tick by, minutes draining in the blink of an eye. A clock chimes four in the morning and you’re still studying the mesmerising mechanism. How many centuries of research have created the stunning contraption? How many people dedicated their lives to discover the knowledge that is now rendered so extraordinarily before you? The detail is mind blowing, the loving rendition of the solar system, sitting on the table in a kitchen. Absolutely incredible.

You scan the array of gifts—the thoughtfulness and care that has gone into each and every one. The attention, the affection. All pieces of yourself, like looking at tiny fragments of your soul.

Muscles stiffen, eyes flicking to the empty, deep blue box. The royal blue cushion that you’d smiled so widely at. How giddy you’d been. It shrivels and warps besides the other gifts, an insult to compare them. While their gifts are clearly bespoke; unique; picked out with you in mind, the pearls…

Sorrow flushes your cheeks as you thumb free the earrings, staring at the demure jewellery. Beautiful, feminine, expensive…

Painfully generic.

A final smack in the face.

“You’re awake.”

Eyes flick up to meet cocoa. Lashes damp. Pearls tucked back in their box.

Elain walks forward on silent feet, gliding across the floor until she’s the other side of the table. Her eyes flick down to the cake, and a faint smile appears on her lips, “you had a slice.” She smoothes down her skirts, elegantly descending into a seat, “happy birthday.”

Pressure heats behind your eyelids, vision blurring, then spilling over. You bury your face in your hands as you sob, teeth biting into your lip as you try to quiet them, attempting to stop the cries that are leaking. You sniff, rubbing your skin until it feels raw. Hot and irritated from brushing tears away. Elain sits quietly, waiting for you to ready.

Once the sobs have dulled enough, you dry your eyes once more, looking at her. “Why did you tell Feyre?” You manage, throat wet, voice a little nasally from crying. Nose blocked. “Why did you listen?”

“She was worried. She asked about you, and I mentioned you’d seemed startled finding me and him in the library,” she answers calmly.

“It was none of your business,” you moan quietly, brushing away more tears. “You had no right to eavesdrop on us like that.”

Elain’s brow furrows, “I didn’t eavesdrop. All I heard were the things you said to him while I was in the room.”

You blink once. Twice.

She sighs. “I left as soon as I was out. You were in need of privacy.”

“But Feyre said you saw…what happened in the library,” you stumble, unable to bring yourself to say his name. “I did see you in the library. When you came in. And then I left.”

You blink again.

She hadn’t heard anything you and Azriel had said to one another. That was why he’d looked so accusatory. You’d gone and opened your mouth while everyone was listening. And your reaction…it didn’t make him look good.

Tears spill again as you bury your head in your hands. Shoulders shake and heave with sobs, hot liquid running between your fingers as they splash into the pool on the wooden table. He’s probably furious with you for being so oblivious. He would have noticed immediately. You cry harder.

A hand lands gently at your back, rubbing in soothing patterns. Staying beside you until you calm down. “I’m sorry…” you cry weakly, voice rasping in the silence. “I’m so sorry, ‘Lain. I thought… I’m so sorry…” Tears drip-drop steadily, but you regain control of your voice. “It’s okay,” she murmurs, and you feel her slide into the chair beside you. How long has it been since one of you cried in front of the other, unprompted? You can’t remember.

Maybe that’s what has you standing from your seat, pulling Elain with you as you cry into her. She’s stiff for a moment, then her arms slide over your shoulders, your own wrapping around her back, allowing the tears to pour. The world naturally leaning toward chaos.

After what feel like forever, you step away, drying your eyes once more.

“How are you feeling?” She asks gently, hand on your shoulder, thumb rubbing soothingly. “Better,” you sniff, managing to keep your eyes dry. They’re going to puff up badly, though. You snivel again, pushing the loose hairs from your face, wet with tears. “Thank you for the orrery,” you manage, softly. “Really. It’s so… I can’t even begin to explain how incredible it is. How great a gift it is. Thank you.” You hope you can at least begin to have her understand how much you love it through the sincerity in your voice. So she can hear it, even if you can’t explain it.

She smiles faintly. “I’m happy you’re happy.” It’s so Elain you nearly start crying again. “Nuan made it—she’s very skilled in her work.”

Nuan, who’d created Lucien’s eye. She must have…

Her eyes flick away for a moment, as if reading the question in your gaze, but return. “He and I… Things aren’t as tense as they once were. We’re… We’re doing better.” You stare at her, lips parted.

So she’s no longer after Azriel.

A wave of horror crashes over you as you comprehend the thought. Repeat it in your brain. Subconsciously, she’d been your saboteur. You’d seen her as competition, convinced you had to be better to keep his attention. How infatuated you’d become.

Two years you’d wanted him. Two years of late night thoughts, secret wishes, and strict obedience to him. Two years of living for someone else.

Such an idiot.

You’d been so happy to give as much as you could. To be as compliant and accommodating as possible. And he had fully taken advantage of that.

How much more is there for you to realise about him?

How much further does this have to go?

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke

[felassan]

Dragon Age: The Veilguard | High-Level Combat Parts 1-4 writeup

This post also contains transcriptions of the text that was in the video.

This was a four-part video series which has also been edited into a single standalone video for convenience. The video features an elven Warrior Rook from the Grey Warden background and who has taken the Champion spec.

Story/plot, flavor stuff, and other cool stuff

The footage in the new gameplay video was edited to avoid major spoilers, but there is still new story information in there.

Weisshaupt Fortress, the headquarters of the Grey Warden order located in the Anderfels, is under attack and under siege from the Blighted elven god Ghilan'nain, her Archdemon, and darkspawn. The darkspawn are following Ghilan'nain's orders. Rook and the Veilguard must stop her. They set off to find their allies in Weisshaupt and soon meet resistance from the darkspawn. Lots of sacs of Blight corruption are growing on the buildings that make up the fortress. Blight sacs (or something that looks like them. the lil parachute things) fall on the fortress too like missiles. Ghil's face watches the siege from the stormy sky.

This quest is called "The Siege of Weisshaupt". The fact that Weisshaupt would come under attack from the weird darkspawn and a dragon in DA:TV actually first emerged as a detail during a leak a few years ago. Stages and objectives in this questline include "Get to the War Room (Move along the wall)", "Find the dragon trap (Move along the wall)", "Find the dragon trap (Defeat the darkspawn)" and "Get to the Library (Defeat the darkspawn)". I'd guess that said dragon trap in this instance is for Ghil's Archdemon, though it makes sense why the Wardens would even have such a thing as a dragon trap seeing as the Archdemons, when they rise, are in dragon form. Could it be anything like the setup that had confined Ataashi in Trespasser? Also, lore says that Weisshaupt is home to an extensive library.

As this is high-level combat gameplay, the implication could potentially be that this storybeat occurs during the mid-to-late game?

It seems that at times certain companions are required to be taken along on certain quests (iirc this was previously reported in an article somewhere too). For example, Davrin is required during The Siege of Weisshaupt, as it is a Grey Warden quest and he is the Grey Warden companion.

I think Warden Rook's surname is Thorne (Grey Warden symbol in the image). The Rook in the video has the first name "Esha".

Solas' Lyrium dagger isn't only a story thing/magic maguffin artifact that can tear the Veil. When Rook gets it, it appears to have a function/use in gameplay as well. Rook can attach 3 runes to it in different slots. These runes have various functions and effects e.g. Scorch.

The companions are described like this:

Bellara - "Veil Jumper"

Davrin - "Grey Warden"

Emmrich - "Mourn Watcher"

Harding - "Inquisition Agent" (Agent of the remnants?)

Lucanis - "Antivan Crow"

Neve - "Shadow Dragon"

Taash - "Lord of Fortune"

We see additional descriptions for some of them:

Davrin - "Sword-and-board monster hunter commands a griffon"

Lucanis - "Swift and precise assassin with a demonic aura"

Emmrich - "Nevarran professor of death summons spirits"

Harding - "Potion-slinging scout's arrows shock and shred"

(I love these lil descriptions btw, the way they're written is like poetry)

Along with his demonic aura, Lucanis (called "The Demon" per TN) has an ability called Abominate. Implications.. intriguing :D

Lucanis' abilities tend towards crowd control. Davrin can call Assan to attack in battle. He flies down like a meteor or comet and it's so cool. :)

The video includes a bit of flavor text for Grey Wardens from an ability description and a specialization description:

Ultimate Ability [of Grey Warden Rook, presumably] – Warden’s Fire Unleash a barrage of strikes with the burning strength that resides within every Grey Warden. [this does fire damage] Specialization – Champion The pinnacle of Grey Warden combat prowess. The Champion is a born leader who rallies their allies, turns their fervor into flame, and wields a shield as a deadly weapon.

(^ The fire damage and fire motif contained in the above makes sense as darkspawn are vulnerable to elemental fire damage. also, I think when Rook uses Warden's Fire, they blow a horn 'Gondor calls for aid' style, which is super cool.)

The video includes new lore in the form of item descriptions for various gear pieces. Each item appears to be associated with one of the factions, as it has that faction's sigil on its info box.

These guys are darkspawn ghouls. One type is called a Greater Ghoul. (Does that imply the existence of "Lesser Ghouls" or just "Ghouls"?) These are melee mobs. Another darkspawn enemy type is Greater Hurlock Spiker. Those are ranged mobs that throw the spikes from their backs. There are also regular Greater Hurlocks (I think those are these guys) and Greater Hurlock Blighters. The Blighters seem to have sacs of red Blight corruption on their backs, and you can see them throwing globs of this around, thereby spreading the Blight like their name suggests. it seems like these globs explode after impact like grenades or bombs. of course, all darkspawn spread Blight, but that's like an evolution of spreading.

The video features new music.

Enemies can be Sparta-kicked off ledges. Throw your shield like Captain America! (or at least its energy-shadow thing) This Rook has an ability called Titan Stomp.

Lucanis sometimes leaps around in a dramatic burst of crow feathers, kinda flying (it feels like) down from above like a bird of prey.

Thoughts, speculation

Gameplay looks super cool and fun oh shit!

If the plotbeats described above (Ghil, Archdemon, Weisshaupt siege etc) aren't considered by BioWare to be "major spoilers", it makes me wonder about the plotbeats and twists they aren't revealing that would be. yknow?

If Ghilan'nain has an Archdemon, might Elgar'nan also? We've seen different concept art pieces and scenes with two dragons in them, and we have long speculated about a 'Double Blight' of some kind. Two Elven Gods have risen; handily, prior to DA:TV beginning, two Old Gods/Archdemons remained (Razikale and Lusacan). In DA:TV teaser murals and art pieces, the concentric circles motif still had the two 'lit' hemispheres around the outside. If they both have one, which Old God is paired with which Evanuris? BUT. Saying that. alternate theory. how do we even know that her Archdemon is a real Archdemon? Corypheus in DA:I used red lyrium to transform a High dragon into an imitation of an archdemon, his red lyrium dragon. Thedosians initially presumed that this was a real Archdemon. if Cory can do it, why not Ghil and Elgar'nan? Ghil at least has clearly been messing with red lyrium given the red lyrium darkspawn.

I hope we get to visit Weisshaupt at some point before the siege takes place, I'd like to see it as it was and explore it a bit before that happens. 🥺 Weisshaupt in the game looks so like previous concept arts we saw of it (one, two), it's so cool to see all the art pieces come to game-life as assets in-game. also I love all the lil griffon assets around Weisshaupt, like the sleepy statue. and could this scene be the Weisshaupt War Room?

On Ghil's face in the storm: on DA Day 2023 BioWare said:

"To the far west, three Grey Wardens patrol the Anderfels. Tremors have been causing disturbances of late. Their cause is unknown. Upon the distant horizon, a storm of ominous intent brews and darkens the skies."

they were being literal ig about the storm of ominous intent darkening the skies! and then I guess the storm in this concept art of Weisshaupt is the Ghilstorm.

Why would Ghil attack Weisshaupt with darkspawn? I'm sure there's more to it underneath the surface, but from what we know so far, the elven gods are "corrupt"/"Blighted" and are "hellbent on Blighting the world". and if you want to spread a Blight, it makes sense that you would target.. the HQ of the world's main and only defense against the Blight. it's also not a surprise that she is doing so (I don't mean this in a disparaging way. I just mean 'stories put out clues and foreshadowing for the next plotbeats, and if you were following the clues as intended' etc) - we knew that the Anderfels had been experiencing unknown tremors lately and that a storm of ominous intent was brewing there. also, the new darkspawn are mutated and in TN the Wardens discovered in Hormak that Ghil had/has twelve (now eleven) secret underground monster pools in the Deep Roads that mutate darkspawn. lyrium was also involved in that instance, albeit yellow-green.

Ghil's attack on Weisshaupt also explains why in the Thedas Calls teaser trailer, it sounded like Weisshaupt was under attack and under imminent threat. (Ctrl+F "Weisshaupt" in this post for more on that). For example, the line "Grey Wardens don’t hide in our castle. I won’t ask good soldiers to turn tail and run." - this sounds like a dialogue line spoken by a senior Warden specifically during the Seige of Weisshaupt.

It also explains why in this Thedas Calls shot of Weisshaupt, Weisshaupt looks afflicted by red lyrium, there's a dark ominous storm vibe, and things look ruined/threatened. and it explains screenshots and scenes like this and why in the character reveal trailer Davrin was fighting red lyrium darkspawn in a Blighted dark area with griffon assets. (read the "Davrin" section here for more)

"They set off to find their allies in Weisshaupt and soon meet resistance from the darkspawn" - could this be Evka and Antoine? :)

I don't think we see any or many Wardens around in the sections of this quest that we see in this video. I definitely saw at least one dead one. what has befallen them? I hope some of them are surviving somewhere inside the fortress ;-; and where is the First Warden in all this? also, this must be awful for Davrin to see :< A Grey Warden witnessing the attack of your order's heart.

Fighting a darkspawn siege on the walls and roof of a famous fortress is giving me Battle of Denerim, Fort Drakon-DA:O-style vibes and memories. it's perfect :)

With Lucanis' demonic aura and Abominate ability, it's probably time to revisit the idea that there's something inchresting/spirit-demonny going on there. I'm curious to see the take on it this time around and how it differs to e.g. Wynne, Anders.

I love the way hair and capes flip around and move in battle!

^ Ghil's Archdemon, or "Archdemon"? At this point it also looks like.. sacs of Blighted corruption (or something) are falling from the sky down onto Weisshaupt/being launched at Weisshaupt by the darkspawn/Ghil as part of the seige!! jesus!!

Some random other posts of things like stuff I noticed: Davrin and Lucanis height comparison (who knows if it's to scale on that screen though), Summon Baby Button, Davrin and Lucanis icons, Lucanis' smirk, Davrin picture compilation, Emmrich and Harding on the party screen, darkspawn advance, useable trebuchet/dead Warden/giant ominous tube, aeries?/griffon lamp/+2 Heartwood

Item description lore

Each item appears to be associated with a faction, as it has that faction's sigil on its info box. For example, the Golden Casque helm is a Lord of Fortune item.

GEAR WIELDED BY ROOK "Golden Casque – rare heavy helm – [Lords of Fortune] Tall and plumed, this fine helmet is the color of gold – but much harder to dent. The Iron Cast – rare heavy armor – [Mourn Watch] This armor’s vividly sculpted musculature is a testament to Nevarra’s unrivalled knowledge of anatomy. Necropolis Defender – rare targe [a targe is a type of shield historically used by Scottish Highlanders] – [Mourn Watch] The elite guards who stand watch at the gates of the Grand Necropolis use these shields to guard against both the living and the dead. Spellbound Longsword – rare longsword – [Shadow Dragons] This enchanted longsword is bound with burning magic. Andraste’s Will – unique ring – [Shadow Dragons] Andraste was tied to a stake and burned while her earthly husband turned his armies aside and did nothing, for his heart had been devoured. Amaranthine Loop – uncommon ring – [Antivan Crows] Favored by Crows, the uniform rows of stones add balance and precision to every blow. Also some elegance. Heart of Andraste – uncommon amulet – [Lords of Fortune] A charm given to newly anointed Fathers of the Imperial Chantry, the cracked stone serves as a reminder of Andraste’s mortal heart." Rook was also wielding a big hammer and wearing a belt, the icon did not pass over their infoboxes during the video. GEAR WIELDED BY DAVRIN "Blight Killer – rare longsword – [Grey Wardens] An intimidating, one-of-a-kind sword cut from solid obsidian. It is perfectly balanced. Reforged Bulwark – uncommon heater (shield) – [Grey Wardens] Reclaimed from the ruins of an old Warden stronghold, this shield honors the sacrifices of Wardens past while defending their future." Davrin was also wielding his iconic/default armor and what looked like a dagger or shortsword. The icon did not pass over their infoboxes during the video.

Part 1

Text notes in this part:

"Combat Part 1: Prepare For Battle This is an introduction to high-level combat. Footage has been edited for brevity and to avoid major spoilers. Weisshaupt Fortress is under attack from Ghilan’nain and her Archdemon. Rook and the Veilguard must stop her. Let’s get your warrior ready for battle. Abilities & Runes -  Assign abilities and an ultimate attack before jumping into battle. - Equip runes to enhance your power set and access unique abilities when activated. - Choose runes that boost a Warrior’s damage and help with crowd control. Skill Tree - Each combat class has an array of specializations to choose from. - Your Rook has chosen the Champion branch, which favors strong defensive skills. - Utilizing passive abilities like Heavy Armor Mastery will help boost defense if you are equipped with all heavy armor. - You’re going to be battling darkspawn, who are vulnerable to fire. Fiery Resolve will grant us “Flaming Weapons” for a duration when we parry an enemy attack. - We’ll be doing a deep dive on progression systems in the future. Inventory - For this build, you’ll want a full set of heavy armor to activate our Heavy Armor Mastery passive. - Rook is primarily using a Sword & Shield since it allows you to be more defensive. - If you prefer a more aggressive playstyle, two-handed weapons deal more damage, but have fewer defensive options. - The Spellbound Longsword deals high Stagger and can trigger powerful takedowns. - We’ll cover Stagger in Part of this series. - Rook has a fire-based, darkspawn-killer build. - This ring grants a bonus to the max number of burning stacks, which results in more damage over time. - This is just one type of build. Other examples include customizing to emphasize your Shield Toss or Takedowns. - Personalize yours to fit your preferred playstyle. - Selected companions can aid Rook by equipping complementary gear and passives. - This is a Grey Warden mission, so you should bring Davrin into battle with you. [Character selection screen] - In addition to Davrin, you decide to take Lucanis into battle based on his crowd control abilities."

This is what the character screen looks like. There are 'pages' for Map, Character, Companions, Skills and Library. (Library is for the codexes basically).

Gear-wise Rook can equip two different weapons (in this case they have a sword+shield and also a hammer in the 2h slot), helmet, an armor, and what looks like 1 belt/accessory, 1 necklace/accessory and 2 rings. Helmet has a 'hide helmet' toggle. Additionally, the Lyrium dagger has slots for 3 runes. There are also slots at the bottom for 3 abilities and 1 Ultimate Attack (I think). I think the Ultimate ability is based on Rook's background.

There looks like there's 3 different types of things we gather, plus another submenu if you press triangle to see the resources (heartwood etc). The one on the right looks like gold/coin. I wonder what the other two are?

This is what the equivalent pane for Davrin looks like in the Companions menu. Companions have less customizable gear slots than Rook.

This looks like the relationship meter. In this save, Davrin seems to be at relationship level 4 with Rook, a stage which is called "Comrade in Arms".

This is what the 'choose your team'/'gather your party' screen looks like. The companions' cards are these art pieces. At this point in this save, Neve is the only one with the Veilguard sigil above her card. Michael Gamble tweeted that this means "she is a hero of the Veilguard." [source] Maybe this means that her 'loyalty mission', or this game's equivalent thereof, has been completed so that Neve has been able to fully commit to the Veilguard?

Part 2

Text notes in this part:

“Combat Part 2: The Basics Now that Rook, Davrin & Lucanis have the right gear and skills, the team sets off to find their allies. Soon, they are met with resistance by the darkspawn, blighted creatures following Ghilan’nain’s orders. Assess The Battlefield - First, learn the enemy types to strategically exploit their weaknesses. Darkspawn are vulnerable to fire. - You will also see that they are resistant to Necrosis. - Enemies have a multitude of damage vulnerabilities and resistances. - Abilities which exploit weaknesses have a green outline. - Rook encounters a swarm of darkspawn ghouls who favor overwhelming melee. - The ghouls are joined by Hurlock spikers, ranged combatants who are also vulnerable to fire. - Time a Shield Block to parry an incoming attack, which provides an opportunity for a high-damage counterattack. - With this successful parry, the Fiery Resolve passive skill activates Flaming Weapons. Melee attacks will now do fire damage instead of physical. - Use the Kick ability to deal massive damage and knock enemies off ledges. - Shield Throw is an effective ranged attack that can destroy obstacles and quickly close the gap between you and an enemy. - Health pots are available throughout the world. Grab them to prepare for what’s ahead. - Use the Ability Wheel to pause the action, cast abilities, and direct your companions. - Some enemies have tougher additional protection that needs to be removed. A yellow bar indicates Armor Barrier. - Armor is resistant to most attacks. Heavy attacks are the most effective against it. - Here, the darkspawn horde begins to overwhelm. - You can cast Spectral Bulwark, which damages enemies who land melee hits. - This allows you to fearlessly get into the thick of battle. - Enemies have a lavender stagger bar that builds when you land hits. - While an enemy is Staggered, they take bonus damage, and you can deliver a powerful takedown."

Part 3

Text notes in this part:

“Combat Part 3: Buffs, Debuffs, & Crowd Control You’ve mastered your core abilities. Now it’s time to face down a variety of enemies, all at once. Spacing Strategy - This Rook is a Warrior, specializing in the Champion branch, which favors a defensive style of fighting. - Warriors are front-line fighters capable of devastating, up-close attacks. - Rook and their companions can also deploy different tools, such as area-of-effect attacks to uniquely manage various enemies. Buffs & Debuffs - Additionally, activate companion buffs and debuffs to apply status effects. - One example of a buff is Lucanis’ Adrenaline Rush ability which enhances Rook’s damage stats. - Davrin has Heroic Strike, which applies the overwhelmed debuff. This causes the target to take additional Stagger. Crowd Control - This build activates the Shield Volley Passive, which ricochets your shield 3 times if you hit it with a heavy attack. - Rook is getting attacked on all sides, so you command Lucanis to use Abominate to knock enemies down. Fighting At A Distance - Use abilities, like Davrin’s Death From Above, to deal damage from afar. - Or use your Grappling Spear to pull them close.”

Part 4

Text notes in this part:

“Combat Part 4: Primers, Detonators, & Ultimates As your fight progresses, use primers, detonators, and ultimates with strategic timing to turn the tide of battle. Primers & Detonators - Rook can create incredibly damaging combo detonations with the help of their companions. - Assess the situation, and determine which primers and detonators work best against each enemy type. - Command Davrin to Taunt to gather nearby enemies. - Activate the Crystallize rune to freeze the gathered group in place. - Lucanis can use Eviscerate to detonate the combo and strike the whole group. Ultimate Attacks - As the battle progresses, Rook can unleash a destructive ultimate attack. - Now that you��ve mastered these combat strategies and tactics, let’s see them all in action."

Abilities, passives etc

For these I focused mostly on the move’s name + its description. In some cases there's sort of two as there's the one from the Ability Wheel and the one from the Skill Tree.

ROOK Driving Kick – Focus all your strength and determination into one mighty kick. / Deals a very high amount of Stagger. Grappling Spear – Harpoon your targets with a strong throw and drag them in for a closer encounter. / Pulls your target towards you. Press [button] or [button] to perform a follow-up attack Spectral Bulwark – Hone your guard and protect yourself from enemies foolish enough to attack. Enemies who hit you with a melee attack take damage and very high […]. / While active, enemies who hit you with a melee attack take damage and very high Stagger. [Ultimate] Warden’s Fire – Unleash a barrage of strikes with the burning strength that resides within every Grey Warden. Applies Burning to enemies [Specialization] Champion – The pinnacle of Grey Warden combat prowess. The Champion is a born leader who rallies their allies, turns their fervor into flame, and wields a shield as a deadly weapon. [Greater Passive] Heavy Armor Mastery - +Defense while wearing a heavy helm and armor. You are now less likely to be disrupted when getting hit. [Greater Passive] Fiery Resolve – Gain Flaming Weapons on Perfect Defense. Flaming Weapons lasts 50% longer. Titan Stomp – Deals very high Stagger to nearby enemies. LUCANIS Adrenaline Rush – Grants enhanced damage Abominate – Deals high Barrier damage and applies Knocked down to enemies in the area Eviscerate – At half health of less, this deals bonus damage, increasing in effectiveness the closer the target is to death DAVRIN Death From Above – Deals high Stagger [summons Assan to attack] Heroic Strike – Deals high Stagger Battle Cry – Applies Taunted to enemies in the area

There were also names and info popups of different runes, e.g. Mend.

[source]

[theclaravoyant]

for bucktommy prompt: tommy's sibling/s

AN ~ ooh, I had fun with this one. and by fun i mean have some mild angst ft tommy past and protective buck. unfortunately no actual tommy in this one, but he's very present.

tw for implied (off screen & non graphic) fdv

Read on AO3

~1300wd, Rated T.

title is extremely loosely inspired by some of the press for upcoming eps, so one could consider this spec?, but def no spoilers

baggage

“Can I help you?” Bobby asks, and the visitor – who, like most visitors, is trying not to let on how awed she is by the enormous engines that stretch out before her – adjusts her grip on her handbag and smiles.

“Thank you, yes. I'm looking for my brother. I understand he used to work here – Thomas Kinard?”

“Tommy? Not for a long time, I'm sorry,” Bobby replies.

The woman's chest falls in obvious disappointment, but she battles through it. “Is there anyone here who could get a message to him? It's really important, but... he's been ignoring my calls.”

Something tells him, she means more than for just a day or two. Bobby presses his lips together in contemplation. He doesn't know Tommy all that well, but he does know estrangement. He knows Buck – and exactly how the man's hackles of protectiveness go up at any mention of Tommy's rather enigmatic family. But he knows remorse, too. And grief, and complicated love. Buck does too. So he prays for the Good Lord to bless the hotshot with some sense, and hollers for him.

It's not long before Buck clamours down the stairs, already protesting - “I swear, I didn't say it!” - but the words die on his lips. He'd recognise that jawline anywhere. Plus, Tommy's been tense lately; the missed calls, the weirdness about his mail... Pieces fall together, and his shoulders stiffen as the visitor holds out a hand for him to shake.

“Charlotte Kinard,” she offers. “Is there somewhere we could talk?”

-

Buck has heard of Charlotte once or twice – in the sense that, he's heard she exists, and that she and Tommy have hardly spoken since he moved out west a decade ago. He'd always kind of imagined her as a female Tommy; as if she'd walk in here in a tank top smeared with engine grease, going by 'Charlie', all deadpan humour and a cocky smile to be drawn out by the people that get her. The preppy soccer mum look she's got going on instead is something of a surprise, but weirdly, she still is kind of a female Tommy. They've got the same chin, the upright carriage, even the same colour hair, although hers has been straightened to within an inch of its life. Irony. Buck reminds himself they also share the same father, and so some of the same baggage, so he fights a scowl and tries to remind himself to be nice.

“So,” she asks once they're settled upstairs. “How do you know my brother? Did you work together?”

“...Something like that.”

Charlotte gives him a strange, scrutinising look – one that Buck is still getting used to – and he braces himself, unsure of where this conversation is going to go. In his head he rehearses so many other anwers. Biblically, he wishes he'd said, just to spite her,as springs to mind a particularly steamy moment from the morning's shower. Intimately. He knows how the man likes his eggs. That he has a soft spot for rom coms. That his ankles are more ticklish than his feet – and that exploiting that fact is liable to get one kicked with the strength of a horse. Better than you do, is what it comes down to.

“It's okay,” she promises uncertainly. “I know, about him.”

A bitter laugh escapes his attempt. “You don't know him.”

“He's my brother.”

“He's my boyfriend.”

For a moment, they reach an impasse. Buck readies himself for more pushback, but all he gets is another very Tommy moment where he watches an argument flicker over her face and she clenches her jaw ever so slightly and refuses to voice it.

“Regardless,” she says, even though it's very much the entire reason they're the ones having this conversation, “I wondered if you might pass on some news for me.”

Don't be an ass, Evan, Tommy's voice reminds him. He holds those gentle, quiet eyes in his mind. This is for Tommy, not for him.

“Sure.”

Charlotte puts a navy blue, modestly glossed flier down on the table and slides it across to him. The top line reads:

In Loving Memory of Colonel Thomas James Kinard

Buck feels his heart clench. He can still hear the way Tommy says his father's name, full of contempt. He's only ever heard it insincerely trotted out in a put-on voice or under a mock salute, Colonel Thomas James Kinard. For all the pain the man has caused Tommy, Buck has tried a time or two to prod something darker, more honest out of him. Catharsis and all that, right? He almost smiles down at the flier. Ding, dong, the witch is dead.

But he notices Charlotte is crying.

Not crying-crying. Kinard crying. The kind of crying where it's mostly an internal waterfall. Where you don't offer a tissue; the highest form of comfort is that you pretend you haven't noticed. Buck really wasn't built for stoicism, but he's getting the hang of speaking its language. He clears his throat of all the snarky shit, and his shoulders drop a little. It's hard to stay defensive, in the face of Kinard-crying.

“Yeah,” he manages. “I'll pass it on.”

“We're having a service next week.”

“I … don't think he'll come.”

“We'll pay to fly him out,” Charlotte promises. “He just has to answer the phone.”

“That's not the issue.”

You remember, right? Buck wants to prod her. You remember what that man did to you guys?

She seems, if anything, surprised that he knows. Not that he knows every deep dark moment of it all, but he's been let in on some things, and a bit of her own defensiveness seems to fall away as if assured that maybe he does know her brother after all. Still, she squirms a little, under the naked unexpected sympathy.

“Our father had his flaws,” Charlotte objects. “But he was only doing what he thought was right. Our father loved us.”

Buck shakes his head. “That's not love, Charlotte.”

His heart breaks for her a little, not unlike it did for Maddie remembering all the times she'd brushed off Doug's red flags; in denial, at least at first, of how he was eating her up inside and out. There's an echo in it too, of his own relationship with his parents. They've reached a sort of a truce these days, with time and communication and them trying to be in Jee's life and all, but he still remembers it all too well: that raw, scalding feeling like nothing he ever did was good enough. He's spent many a night contemplating how it must have gone for Tommy.

I'm terrible at football. Love me anyway.

I cried when Artax died. Love me anyway.

Dad, I'm gay. Love me anyway.

Love me anyway.

Love me anyway.

“Tell him anyway?” Charlotte insists. She takes something from her bag – a little blue butterfly keychain? - and leaves it on top of the memorial flier. “Tell him... Lottie says please.”

Then, brooking no further argument, nor pity, she gathers herself up, shakes her hair out smooth again over her shoulders, and heads downstairs. Questions swirl through Buck's brain; about the butterfly, and Lottie, and how she'd said it like Tommy will know what it means. He wonders, not for the first time, about Tommy's other lives and how much he has still to learn about the man.

Behind him, Eddie knocks on the bannister to break his concentration.

“Everything okay?”

Buck looks at the memorial flier; into the dark eyes and the trademark Kinard jawline of the man who had raised Tommy – who had scarred Tommy – and he wonders what he's just agreed to put his boyfriend through. He takes a deep breath.

“Yeah,” he says. “I've just got to make a call.”

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

If the reader SOMEHOW have a plush version of themselves, who would buy and actually take care of it?

(ik its a stupid question since this is a yandere we're talking about... those who loves us to death, but i just want confirmation)

Oh plenty would buy it, now the taking care of it part would be pretty interesting. Also I feel some characters may bounce around from category to category.

There’s a lot of characters so I just made a small list, and put whatever I could think of at the moment.

Buys the plush and takes care of it very well

Yoshikage Kira (both DIU and Jojolion) - neither of them are huge on plushes but would absolutely buy one if it’s you. The plush is kept in pristine condition, not even a spec of dust or a single stain will appear on your plus. Honestly the way they take care of your plush its condition somehow actually improves.

Vanilla Ice (It’s in a shrine with various other things somewhere)

Other characters who’d take great care of plush Avdol, Kakyoin, Jotaro, Will A Zeppeli, Gyro (keeps it clean completely through the race), Speedwagon, Bruford, Caesar, Lisa Lisa, Yukako, Jobin Higashikata, Mitsuba Higashikata, Norisuke Higashikata, Rai Mamezuku, Mountain Tim, Weather Report, N’doul, Rohan Kishibe, Aya Tsuji, Mikitaka Hazekura, Kei Nijimura, Giorno Giovanna, Dragona Joestar, Usagi alohaoe, Wammu, Funny Valentine

Carries it around/ cuddles the plush (still takes decent care of it)

Yasuho Hirose, Gappy (Pt 8 Josuke), Anasui (obsessively cuddles the thing if you’re not near him), Karera Sakunami, Daiya Higashikata, Hato Higashikata, Polnareff, Joseph (pt 2) (he prefers to cuddle it while no one’s looking), Jolyne, Foo Fighters, Okuyasu Nijimura, Trish Una, Narancia Ghirga (not that he’s usually a fan of plushes, it’s an exception for you though!) Guido Mista, Scarlet Valentine, Josefumi Kujo

(Dubious Territory) Joshu (doesn’t carry his out in public but has two copies, it’s best not to pry into what he does privately with the cuddled copy, but it’s not dirty!)

Would rather have you than a plush : Dio (all parts), Kars, Diavolo (Doppio is the one that likely has the plush of you), Toru (thinks it’s cute that you have a plush but would rather hang with you, he might eventually buy one later).

[n3wstxd]

𝐉𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒/𝐃𝐀𝐕𝐄 - 𝐆𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬

thanks to @thenaughtynun for giving me the motivation to write this

warnings: blow jobs, deepthroating, glasses kink, facials, slight hair-pulling,

nsfw below the cut :)

The first time James had seen Dave in those thin, wire-framed glasses that he used on occasion, he was enraptured. He looked like some kind of geek, like a computer programming nerd, though that couldn’t be further from the truth. 

It’s so tantalising, the way they perch on the bridge of his nose as he watches movies while sprawled out on their couch, and God, James never wanted to thank the divine more for myopia existing. His innocent adoration for Dave in glasses had soon enough morphed into something of an aching need to see his boyfriend utterly ruined in those specs. 

Come splattered across those delicate frames, lying low and crooked on his nosebridge. He’s have to wipe it off with his sleeve like some kind of dork cleaning his glasses, and somehow that thought was even more arousing than getting a blowie.

The thought took up most of the space in his mind, occupying most of his brain when he saw Dave walking around the house with them like a total slut. And James knows it isn’t his fault he looks so good in glasses, but it also kind of is, when he’s popping a boner every time he strolls past.

It was like a never ending hell of being turned on, unable to hide his very obvious arousal. God, it was torture, and Dave wasn’t even trying to be a tease (for once). 

It doesn’t help that Dave is very much an oblivious idiot, as well. So, whenever he catches James ogling his ass, he merely sends him a small grin, believing that he was being leered at because he was cute, not because of his glasses. Even worse, Dave always seemed to be wearing those damn glasses whenever they went somewhere together, the only time he took them off being in the car, where James couldn’t touch him..

It’s a late Sunday afternoon, and the two were currently relaxing at home, Dave settled into a comfortable looking sweater and his wire-frames,  scrolling through the TV channels. His eyebrows were furrowed in deep concentration, and James found himself unable to keep his eyes from trailing down the bridge of Dave’s nose, his eyes fixated on his boyfriend’s glasses. 

“What the hell are you staring at, James?” Dave murmurs without looking up, not missing a beat in his browsing.

James grits his teeth. Dave was such an oblivious idiot, but that was one thing he loved about him, as contradictory as that seemed. It wasn’t even like Dave was being purposely ignorant of the fact that he was the source of James’s obsession this time.. he was just naturally slow on the uptake. 

“Nothin’…” James muttered, still not taking his eyes off Dave. His fingers tapped nervously on the leather of the couch between them, his eyes flickering to his boyfriend’s specs, under the guise of staring him in the eyes.

Dave didn’t seem convinced, though, and he turned his head to face his boyfriend, finally peeling his eyes away from the television. “You need something or what?”

James hesitates for a moment, considering if he should just tell Dave the truth, or if he should just lie. The thing was, he knew Dave wouldn’t be opposed, not at all, but he wanted to see what his boyfriend would say, even if they both knew he wouldn’t mean it. 

Still, he didn’t want to be too blunt. Dave could be a pretty sensitive guy, and James would rather not say the wrong thing. “I want a blowjob.” Of course, he’s throwing all his considerations out the window because he wants—no, needs—to ruin Dave in those terribly erotic spectacles.

Dave stares at him for a moment, a blank look in his hazel eyes before he broke into a small scoff, shaking his head. “What, are you horny, Het? Go jerk off. You don’t need to give me a shitty excuse to tell me you want me to suck you off.”

Damn it. Dave could read him like a book, of course he could. Still, despite the fact that he knew Dave was kidding, he still acted offended, pretending like he really was giving an excuse. “I mean, don’t put it like that, I just want some attention, dude, come on… I haven’t gotten any in days, y’know? Come on, baby, please?” He whines, leaning forward and rubbing against him like some sort of cat, trying to get his attention. “Help a guy out.”

“You’re pathetic, I hope you know that.” Dave says, but he can’t keep a smirk from his face and he tilts his head, letting James nuzzle against him for a moment. “Can’t go a couple nights without head? Jesus, what are you, a teenage boy?”

“It’s been more than ‘a couple nights’.” James mumbles, sounding like a petulant child at this point, his body completely pressed against Dave’s by now. He can feel his cock growing stiflingly hard in his jeans, and he lets out a soft huff, moving up to press kisses to the side of Dave’s neck. “Just really want you tonight.”

That’s a half-truth. But he’s not going to tell Dave the real reason he’s all wound up or he’d never those glasses ever again.

It seems to work, though, because Dave lets out a soft huff of a sigh, placing one of his hands on the back of James’ neck, his fingers playing with the ends of his hair. “Okay, fine, alright. Fine, you win, you needy fuckin’ baby...” He sighs to himself, eyes rolling, but the teasing words lacked any sort of heat to them.

As Dave slides off the couch to sink to his knees, there’s that trembling sense of anticipation in his gut. Finally, he’ll get what he’s been wanting to see for the longest time, and the thought is even more blissful that it should be. 

Nimble hands pull his pants down to his mid-thigh, one step closer to freeing his aching dick from its confines. Then, he peels James’ boxers away, letting his cock spring free, a flushed and angry red. James practically salivates as Dave tucks his hair behind his ears, shuffling closer to hover his mouth over James’ throbbing length.

When Dave brings his mouth down, letting James sheath himself in that tight wet cavern that is his mouth, his hand settling to tightly grip those brassy curls as Dave hollows his cheeks and bobs up and down, able to take him to the hilt with a practiced ease. He groans as the shaft pushed past his throat, James shudders at the vibrations, pleasure tingling up his spine.

“Jesus—shit, ah, fuck—!”

Choking on a moan, James uses the back of his hand to cover his mouth, almost embarrassed by the lewd noises he lets out freely. However, the sounds encourage Dave even more, and he once again takes all of him, drool stating to dribble down his chin obscenely. 

Warm lips wrap around his cock perfectly, as if they were practically made for him, tonguing the base of James’ length. His eyes flutter shut, stars exploding behind his eyelids at the sensations, because Dave’s too damn good at blowjobs and knows exactly what makes him tick. 

“Fuck—”

Tears prickle the ginger’s eyes, his throat beginning to feel raw with each stab to the back of his throat with James’ tip, a had reaching down to cup and fondle his balls. James draws in a sharp breath, his grip on Dave’s hair increasing tenfold. Dave’s fingers dig into his thighs, and it would be stingingly painful if not for the bouts of pleasure his boyfriend presents to him. 

James’ balls throb gently in Dave’s hands, the thick vein on the underside of his shaft pulsating, twitching in his mouth like it was waiting for something to push him off the edge, to be granted his orgasm. So he increases his efforts tenfold, doing everything in his power to make James come even faster, wanting nothing more than to swallow his load and get back to Breaking Bad. 

“Dave, Dave, please, I’m gonna—”

Dave hums in response, the vibrations drawing a cry of ecstasy from his partner. He can feel James’ cock thicken in his mouth, strangled sounds wrenching themselves from his throat. As the blonde is about to come, he pulls Dave’s lecherous mouth off him, shooting ropes of spunk over his face and glasses. Taken aback, Dave doesn’t exactly know how to react well. 

“You fucker, you got it on my glasses!” Shooting a nasty glare at James, Dave looks as debauched as he had imagined, specs slanted and coated in his come, his seed dripping down his face. The man merely shrugs in response, with really nothing more to say. Dave doesn’t take his glasses off but grumbles something about having to clean them under his breath, another about getting a facial in front of Jesse Pinkman, and the look of his very come-coated face with those wiry frames has James jumping to full hardness again. 

“Hey, Dave…?” He asks, leaving his question unspoken, voice oh-so meek. 

“Yeah, yeah, help me outta my clothes.”

[anarchiii]

Lighten up all those shadows-1 —ACOTAR AU

Part One | warnings: fluff? Angst? | Azriel x Gwyn

Summary; All her roommates had always been lazy and rude, that was, until she met Azriel, fell for him.

Note: this is an AU it’s not in the books.

Masterlist

Gwyn’s POV

She nudged open the front door with her hip, keys hanging from her mouth while both her hands carried boxes, the sight that greeted her was barren, or as empty as a fully furnished floor could be, not a single picture frame or pillow, no trinkets or little touches, barren. That would definitely not do.

A door on the other side of the room as open, walking in, there was only a simple double bed and an oak desk and dresser In the room, the person she was now sharing this apartment with was apparently not a designer, there wasn’t even curtains covering the windows, disgraceful.

It seemed Gwyn had a lot of redecorating to do, whether the other inhabitant of this household appreciated it or not.

-

Three hours later and she was finished, blue bedding and rug, and cobalt curtains—which her friends had insisted she pack even though she had stated that there would be no need of them—remind her to listen to her friends more often. Gwyn had no idea what she would do without them. Speaking of, she placed a photo frame of them on her desk, all three of them wearing goofy smiles, Emerie’s glasses slightly askew and Nesta’s braces shining with her every smile.

She heard the front door freak open and decided to investigate, walking into the room, Gwyn came face to face with single-handedly the most beautiful man she had ever seen, his whiskey eyes flicking to her instantly, his fluffy onyx hair—that she oh so wanted to run her fingers through—strewn about. The man frowned. Glaring at her, what was that about? “Can you move? My bedroom is in that direction,” he said flatly, how rude, she crosses her arms and glared straight back at him, he scowled, she smirked. Two could play that game.

He seemed to realise she wasn’t giving up so he just sighed and walked around her, Gwyn did not notice that his scent was of Night chilled mist and Cedar and leather, not at all, neither did she notice that he walked with a unnatural grace or that tattoos peaked out from the sleeves of his very tight black shirt.

His shoulder bumped into hers as he walked past, she knew he did it on purpose, to see how riled up she could get from the simplest thing, “asshole,” she muttered, though she couldn’t be certain, Gwyn swore she saw him smiling, his tired eyes lighting up as he entered his room, closing the door surprisingly softly.

-

Gwyn woke up to the sounds of the kitchen, clinking of glass, crackling of the stove, draws opening, ect. She groaned as she got up. Nearly falling out of the bed onto the floor, she sat there for a moment before the delicious smell of food flooded her senses, she slid into her slippers and padded to the kitchen, nearly slipping when she beheld the sight.

There he was, shirtless, cooking pancakes and squeezing oranges into juice, and holy Mother— his muscles were gorgeous, he looked like a god made man, for a second. She thought she was drooling. Especially when those whiskey eyes landed on hers, she could almost make out specs of green in them but she would have to get closer— “what?” He said, oh shit, did she say those embarrassing things out loud? He looked positively delicious but that didn’t mean she wanted to tell him that.

He was staring at her incredulously and she had half the mind to look somewhere else, suddenly finding the espresso machine to be far more interesting, was she blushing? Surely she was beet red by now, Gwyn wanted to shrivel up and die from the way he was still staring at her, perhaps if she prayed enough to the Mother a hole would open up in the floor and it would swallow her up. But that was wishful thinking.

He seemed to realise he was staring and turned around, flipping the pancakes, she grabbed two plates and glasses before pouring the juice into the cups, Azriel putting all the food onto their respective plates before flicking off the stove and leading her to the horribly bland table.

Gwyn didn’t dare make eye contact with her roommate as she uttered out a ‘thank you’ and started pouring maple syrup onto her food.

They finished breakfast in silence and then left, Azriel seemingly going to work and her a nearby cafe to study.

-

Yawning, she made her way back to the apartment, her keys jingling, she unlocked the door, immediately met with the sounds of a football game coming from the Tv and the sound of very-male laughter along with the clinking of drinks, she wandered over to the noise, immediately spotting Azriel sipping from a Beer as he shouldered the guy next to him, the very handsome guy with long black hair tied into a bun with a subtle stubble lining his jaw. Next to him. Was another gorgeous guy, this one more elegant than rugged, his short black hair combed back, wearing a slightly rumpled suit.

She met eyes with Azriel, his expression immediately changing into a cringe at the attention, the other men didn’t seem to notice her presence as they yelled at the Tv, but he did, Azriel seemed to always do that, he got up, dusting off chip crumbs from his pants before standing in front of her.

He nodded his head in the direction of her room and didn’t say anything as they made their way to the room, once inside, he closed the door, turning to her, “I’m sorry,” he started, “I should have told you people were coming over,” sorry? What on earth could he be sorry for? “It’s fine, Azriel. Really, it didn’t bother me at all, you’re allowed to have company,” she said softly, his expression was still pained but lightened ever so slightly. “I—I’ve had a lot of a roommates before all I don’t know why but they all had something against me, yelling at me for the smallest things, I kinda stuck with me, y’know?” She nodded her head again. Who could ever do such a thing? And Azriel seemed like such a sweetheart. . .

She grabbed his hand and squeezed it tightly, “don’t worry about it, go, be with your friends,” she said, squeezing his hand once more for emphasis, he gulped, looking down at their hands, he didn’t say anything more before walking out of the room, leaving her with her own wondering thoughts.

The End.

Note: for my lovely friend, @cynthiesjmxazrielslover, I hope you enjoy this series.

-Taglist

@cynthiesjmxazrielslover

@azrielslittleslut

@shadowsingercassia

[cleo30300]

• M.A.A.D CITY , CHAPTER ONE! BACKSEAT FREESTYLE.

warnings : none!

previous part | next part.

— “ Miles Morales.. seventeen years old.. attends Brooklyn Visions…— “

A secretary reads the contract out loud, straightening the paper with the tips of her manicured fingers. She’s standing perfectly upright, professional glasses perched on her nose admirably. Miles is mentally sinking into his chair, but physically, he’s sitting in a cool manner with a stoic expression. Hazel eyes focused on the man rotating in his chair behind the beautifully carved wooden desk. Don’t take your eyes off of him. You hesitate, he hesitates.

He’s cracking his knuckles, trying to prevent his leg from bouncing so he doesn’t look nervous even though he is. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity. Once in a lifetime, people get signed by Norman Osborn and he just happens to be one of the lucky ones. Trophies and belts are plastered on the walls in elegant glass cases, and it only makes him feel more pressured. Miles bit the inside of his cheek, narrowing his eyes and trying to keep focus on what the secretary was saying.

“ He’s in the middle of his junior year at Brooklyn Visions and lives with his mother. “

“ Just his mother?.. And who is she? “, Norman’s gravelly voice echoes throughout the large office. Miles cringes at the way the older man enunciated the fact that he only lives with his mother.

“ Rio Morales, she’s forty one years old and works as a nurse. “

Miles is also cringing at the fact that they know so much about him and his family. Does he know everyone in the city?

“ Perfect! You have a nurse to go back to if you get injured on the job, kiddo! “, the man slaps his knee harshly and croaks out a laugh. Miles doesn’t think it’s very funny and his eyebrows furrow. His knuckles don’t make a popping noise when they crack anymore since he’s done it to every finger by now.

He wonders if they know about you and where you live.

Norman’s laughter dies down and he takes a sip of the water that looks like it’s been sitting there for a very long time.

“ You’re only seventeen and you’re all ready to go, huh?”, he says, popping his chapped lips, “ Yeah. That’s some passion, kid. We need young boys like you to join the ranks, ‘cause these old fools just aren’t doin’ it anymore. “

“ Thank you. “, the corners of Miles’ lips quirk up. This has been his dream since his uncle first showed him the belts he and his dad won ‘ back in the day. ‘. Since he entered the ring on the day of his very first match, it was shady and underground but it still counts. His dream expanded when he met you. A need to make you and his mama feel proud of him. He needs this.

“ It was nice to meet you, Mr. Osborn. “, he stands up from the velvet seat, fixing his jacket and making sure not to wrinkle the nice carpet that's under his feet.

“ It was good to meet you too, Morales. I think you and I are going to be good partners, eh? “

Miles nods, making a silent oath to his uncle and father that he’ll prevail in this industry. He’s not throwing away his shot.

“ He’s just like his mom, y’know? “, Ms. Morales’ voice cuts through your mind as you scrub the porcelain dish sitting in the sink. The atmosphere of the Morales home is always cosy and you’re glad that it stays domestic and comfortable even when Miles isn’t here to ensure you don't say the wrong thing. Which you haven’t, by the way, which gives you a point. ( Miles said you wouldn’t stand a chance without him. )

“ How so? “, you ask, drying the plate with a towel. She taps a spoon against a tall, plastic bowl to dump the rest of the leftovers from tonight's meal into it. “ Well, he’s stubborn. Doesn’t listen, cabeza dura. “

“ Those sound kinda negative. “, you laugh, smiling as you put the dishes in their respectful areas.

“ Yes, but— they’re good qualities. Means he doesn’t know when to quit and that’s a good thing. You keep trying and you get somewhere. “, she sighs, “ That’s where I want my little boy to be. ‘Cause he’s special and I know you see it, too. That’s where I want this whole boxing thing to take him, y’know? “

You hum, smiling warmly to yourself at this interaction with your best friend's mother. You’re glad she likes you and you’re glad that she can see that you see Miles the way she does. He’s a sweet boy, caring, a little sarcastic and silent but it’s okay. Because he makes up for it with the little things—like texting you goodmorning and goodnight— it’s the smaller things that make up for his slightly abrasive personality. You understand him like no other, you think. He understands you the same.

The front door’s knob rattles a bit before he’s walking in, unexpected but not unwelcome ( Not in his own home, of course. ) He’s not wearing a sour expression or sporting a black eye, instead, there’s a slight raise in his eyebrows. A slight glow in his already bright eyes. You’re smiling too, he notices as he looks up at you standing in the kitchen of his apartment.

“ Hey. “, you say, drying your hands and walking toward him.

“ Hey, “ and he’s inching closer towards you, placing a hand on your shoulder and trying to hold back his ecstatic smile. “ I got it. “

“ You got the contract? “

He nods, the whites of his teeth breaking through his lips as he closes his eyes and looks down towards the floor. Ms. Morales walks towards the both of you and wraps Miles into a big hug. “ Estoy tan orgulloso de ti, mi hijo! “

She looks at you and brushes your hair back with her hand, nodding, “ You’re a good one, dear. “ This has been his dream for a long time and he’s finally accomplishing it. She’s glad that you’re here with him, you make him better. Good.

You can’t help but nod, unsure of what to say. You feel like thank you would be too formal, but doing nothing at all would be rude. So you just nod.

“ No es así, mami. Ella es solo una amiga. “, he says, looking away from you and turning to her.

“ Oh, no seas así. Ella también es bonita! “

You understand bonita. It means pretty. She thinks you’re pretty and that’s all you want to know about their conversation. Ms. Morales exits the kitchen and walks off to her own room, smiling to herself. Miles looks at you bashfully, rubbing the back of his neck and sighing. “ Did you already eat somethin’? “

“ Did you? “

“ .. No. “

translations :

cabeza dura. - hardheaded.

Estoy tan orgulloso de ti, mi hijo! - I’m so proud of you, my son!

No es así, mami. Ella es solo una amiga. - It’s not like that, mami. She’s only a friend.

Oh, no seas así. Ella también es bonita! - Oh, don’t be like that. She’s pretty too!