#team banal

[rickybaby]

Ugh that article came off so condescending and gross? Him dismissing anyone buying tickets to see Daniel in a VCARB….”more impact out of the car then in it” leeches til the end

These people will never understand why so many of us first became fans of Daniel in 2022, why we stuck with him through all the difficult times and why we would still have shown up to see him get P16 in a vcarb because he raced with as much passion in a midfield car as he did in a top car.

They’ll never understand Daniel’s true impact on this sport, but the one thing they understand is money. And they will see the impact of his loss on their bottom lines. While it’s infuriating to see how this guy only sees Daniel as a show pony, I’m going to feel vindicated when in a few weeks, when all the media and Red Bull have exhausted all the ways they could dismantle his career, there’s going to be quantifiable proof of his loss to this sport.

Money is the only thing that matters in this sport, and it’s about to hurt them where it counts the most

[ageofzero]

a crack in the wall

The thing that struck me immediately, like the first time I saw the scene, was the Director saying “...and now, we have a monster in our kingdom.”

framed like that, holding the sword she stole so she could frame Ballister.

My literal first thought was “yeah, I’m looking at one right fucking now”. Two seconds later she’s using that sword to get rid of a threat to her order, so like yeah.

It’s not subtle cinema language at all, it’s basically shouting it at me, but I liked it anyway. She’s a threat and the movie is no longer remotely hiding it.

[peppermintrer]

They work for Raytheon and Northrop Grumman…

"the evil trans people"

EVIL TRANS PEOPLE!?

MY BOANERR GETS HARD

[catgirlforeskin]

you think trans men use the word tboy bc they saw the word tgirl and wanted to steal it. you think cis men use the words DILF and himbo bc they hate all women and want to "gentrify" their spaces and their words. you can not be this stupid, it's got to be an act. like it makes you feel extra feminine if you say something utterly stupid which you don't actually believe and then people make fun of you for it, and this affirms your gender.

It’s strange that you’re so upset over the banal feminist talking point that tgirl, milf, and bimbo existed first as fetishistic porn categories, and then “tboy,” “dilf,” and “himbo” came second as feel-good positive memes, and that this perhaps illustrates something about how gender functions in our society. You’re fixating on inflammatory language and not any of the ideas discussed or why they matter. We’ll put aside your middling reading level and deranged misogyny for a moment, because you’re useful for illustrating a broader point.

These types of misogynists have to rely on bluster in dismissing feminism because they have no principled ideological framework for understanding gendered oppression, just a base instinct to handwave anything they can’t substantively argue against as ridiculous, which is itself an admission of guilt. It’s the McDonald’s playbook for corporate lawsuits, with the most famous example of “can you believe this crazy woman is suing us because her coffee was too hot?”

This ridicule relies on appeal to normativity, which is easy for misogynists to do because patriarchy is the norm, the misogynist always plays defense with the home team advantage. But those appeals are all they have in terms of argument, and when you give up the sanctity of normalcy, they’re worthless.

[angelstate]

“Unprioritized Love”

Husband!Price x Wife!Reader

Price is a loyal person, he thinks about everyone else before himself and doesn’t hesitate to do something he normally would be against if it means saving the people he cares for, it truly is a blessing at times, the way his priorities don’t falter…until they do.

because he is a loyal person but does not know or pretends not to know in which situations he should stand by one person instead of the other, it’s conflicting for him to choose someone when another person is also expecting his support.

it hurts a lot when you’re caught in that sort of situation with him, you’re his lover, his companion in life, and the person he returns home to, but you’re also the person he leaves behind for his team, you’re the one who waits around for him while the team gets him almost all the time.

and you know jealousy isn’t healthy, that you shouldn’t resent anyone because it's his job, he has to leave to provide for you, you cannot bite the hand that feeds you, it would be wrong, it wouldn’t be pretty, it wouldn’t be fair for him.

so you bite your tongue and nod like a child when he tells you about his job, about him going away once more, for longer this time. and the tears in your eyes are hard to be held back, because God, it hurts a lot to be left behind, all by yourself. away from your family and your lover, only an empty home to satisfy your basic needs.

He doesn’t mean to be an absent presence, the lack of a lover in your life. He truly doesn’t mean to give so little to you, to not hold you every night. but between his job and you…he knows which one he isn’t choosing even if he doesn’t say it out loud. 

“I'll be back when I can, alright?” he speaks, voice gruff as he looks around the room, his hands on his hips, you stay seated on the couch, knees close to your chest and your eyes glued to the TV for a distraction, is better to pretend you don’t care than to show him how much you are beginning to hate the dynamic he created in your life.

“mhm” you hum in agreement, taking a big breath and holding it in before exhaling through your nose, not trusting that if you open your mouth, a sob wouldn’t escape, Price notices the lack of words from your part, you always have something to say, a small joke to make about him better bringing you a souvenir or something from his “trip” but when this time you don’t speak or even dare to look at him makes him anxious.

“Want me to bring you something?” he asks, taking a few steps towards you, looking towards the TV, a baking program playing, and your focus on the show makes him raise an eyebrow, you aren’t one to enjoy cooking so he doesn't understand why you’re watching it. 

“no thanks” you respond, and the answer makes him feel like he’s done something wrong that made you upset, the last 4 days he’s been home replaying in his mind, trying to remember what could’ve made you get angry with him, nothing comes to mind sadly, and he feels clueless about everything surrounding you. 

“I thought you don’t like cooking” He decides to comment, shifting the conversation to something more banal and easy to speak about. “I started baking almost 8 months ago” you answer him back, voice flat and your eyes strained on the TV, the recipe to make pavlova having your main focus, it makes Price frustrated, how you won’t look at him, won’t give him the time of day when he’s leaving tomorrow.

you don’t expect him to know how your life develops and the things that change when he's away most of the time, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to pay you attention when he already has a tough and complicated job to do, his salary pays for the kitchen supplies and food after all. it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to know you... god, how stupid is that?

“You didn’t tell me” Price states, his voice carrying a heaviness that reveals he is irritated about not being told something he should’ve known if he paid attention to the new things in the kitchen like the stand mixer next to the electric oven. 

“I thought I mentioned it when I gave you to try the brownies I made yesterday” you retort, your eyes landing on him for a second before returning to the TV, your gaze isn’t welcoming or warm and it creates a pit on his stomach to see you so detached and unresponsive to something he knew should make you upset.

It brings a sort of heaviness to his chest as he notices he doesn’t have the right to feel offended about not being told something when you should be upset about him not noticing in the first place something that occurred in his own home. It is hypocritical and he knows it.

Price stays silent for a long time, the sound of the TV filling in the silence that was created between the two of you, he feels out of place, not knowing how to answer you, what to do, what is the problem he feels he should be fixing right now.

“you should start packing” you comment after almost five minutes, and that phrase is said with a monotone tone, not one of sadness or a little bit of frustration that he’s leaving again, it's a tone that just states the obvious, you declare that he should pack his bag once more because otherwise he would leave with nothing for his mission and that wouldn’t be optimal.

“Can you help me pack?” He asks for a favor you often offer without him mentioning wanting your help. tonight you don’t offer assistance, almost like you aren’t faced by his departure, used to his absence, used to his side of the bed being empty.

“I’m watching TV” you speak and his heart breaks a little bit, you don’t sound apologetic as you often do when you’re not able to help him, and he’s leaving but he feels you left instead, that the girl he married is no longer in the house even though he has you in front of him, too focused on looking at the tv to help him.

he nods at your answer and doesn’t try to persuade you into doing something you don’t want to, it wouldn’t be fair to force you to help him just because he wants you to, it isn’t fair for you to give a hand and for him to take your arm. Loving someone isn’t really fair.

Only when he leaves the living room to go pack do your tears make their way out of your eyes, running down your cheeks as you cry silently, vision too blurry to even distinguish the images on the TV, it feels almost pathetic to be crying alone, your lover packing to leave and not be able to bring yourself to help him abandon you once again.

If you were his pet it would be abuse for him to just leave, but you're a woman and therefore being alone and left behind isn’t unexpected, being the one to stay home is almost an obligation when your lover leaves to provide for you even if you wish they stayed.

you’re not sure how it begins to be fair to be put in this situation, when the missions of 4 weeks turned into 4 months. When knowing everything about each other turned into barely remembering anniversaries and birthdays.

You don’t want to say the relationship fell apart because you doubt there’s anything at all to be destroyed anymore, you love him though, the pain in your chest and the tears falling from your eyes are proof of that, but you are not sure John loves you.

It’s uncertain how he views you after not spending time together for almost two years, you doubt there is nothing more than just an acknowledgment of your existence in his life, a statement that he knows you're his partner but not enough love to call you his lover.

“Why are you crying darling?” the sudden voice of Price pulls you out of your thoughts, the place next to you on the couch sinking as he takes a sit beside you, resting his elbows on his knees while his eyes examine your expression, you look utterly distraught about something, your breathing uneven and shaky as you begin to sob loudly, unable to talk as all your emotions came crashing down.

and the sight of you crying, digging your nails into your thighs, and being desperate for a peace that will not come, makes a heavy feeling of guilt and worry sit on his shoulders, wrapping an arm around your waist and another under your knees, bringing you into his lap and putting your face on the crook of his neck while you cried, sobs muffled against his skin, your tears wetting his shirt.

“take a deep breath love” Price says in your ear, your breathing so erratic that it makes him worried you will suffocate at some point because of the lack of oxygen in your body, he feels your chest against him as you do as he told you, taking deep breaths the best you can, trying to calm down for your and his sake.

you’ve never been one to cry with so much despair, to need his comfort in times of need because you managed well on your own, he was never around to solve your sorrow either so why bother? But today, he is the reason you're crying and it seems fair that he is the one to comfort you, that your only chore is to cry and keep your breathing somewhat stable while he does everything else to fix what he broke.

He doesn't know where to begin though, unaware of where he stands or what he should do to bring peace into your mind, what words will fix his mistake, and what words will tear you apart even more, he doesn’t want to cause you harm, not consciously, not right now. it wouldn’t be fair to you, it wouldn’t be fair to your heart, it would be cruel. and he doesn’t want to be cruel to you, not anymore.

“I’m sorry love…I should’ve been good to you” he whispers, kissing the top of your head, rocking you back and forth on his lap, soothing you like he would to a child, his voice low and soft, his hand caressing your thighs in a comforting manner. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t notice that you started baking, it was wrong, I didn’t notice you when I should’ve noticed every change you’ve had over the last two years” he continuous, speaking out the guilt he carried in his chest the moment he saw you and heard you break down into tears, your sobs engraved in his mind.

“I’m really sorry for missing out on all of this when I was gone, I shouldn’t have been such a bad husband, you don’t deserve that” he sighs, his eyes stinting a little bit from the tears beginning to form, and your calmer now, sniffling and whimpering, the tears slowly stopping, but it seems that your distraught was transferred to him because he doesn’t feel at ease, he feels the guilt eat him alive while he soothes you.

“I don't want you to leave…” you mumble, adjusting on his lap, your head resting against his chest, you have never wanted him to leave home, to go on missions for months on end with little to no contact with your lover, it feels like you're mourning him every time he goes away and doesn’t give you a small message to let you know he wasn’t killed.

“I know sweet girl” he replies, he doesn’t want to leave either, he never wants to, even though he continues to do so. It's a complicated situation, one he doesn’t dare to think about too much because he’ll end up ripping his heart out, his loyalty not being able to distribute equally for you and his team, always the latter winning even if he doesn’t dare to admit it.

he wants to promise you he’ll return quickly this time and will take a leave just to spend time with you, to dedicate more time to what's left of your relationship, he doesn’t want your marriage to fail, you’re the only woman he wants, the only one he had ever seen himself grow old together, he doesn’t want to let that go because of his own stupid and selfish mistakes.

He has to leave tomorrow, but when he’s back he’ll fix everything.

“I'll be back soon” he mumbles against your hair, face buried in it as breathes in your smell, trying to engrave it in his mind, to not forget this time details about you he has always loved. 

Thankfully, his promise becomes reality, and after two weeks of loneliness that have never felt heavier on your chest, he returns, a bouquet of flowers in his hand and a smile on his lips, happy to see you, to see the warmth and loving gaze you always give him back in your eyes after all this time.

He steps through the door, your face pressed against his chest, refusing to let go of him, fearing he would leave even if it wasn’t unreasonable, he had returned early for you, he had seen his mistakes and was fixing what never should’ve been broken

Peace is restored in your home, love is flourishing once again in your marriage, and whatever plans you had made to start over get discarded, you’re already having a fresh start, one that doesn’t involve leaving your lover. this time is a start with a more conscious man who is ready to do everything right by you, to never let his job affect the way he loves you. He's learning that his wife comes first, that his life outside of the military also has the same and more importance than his job.

(little reminder: I'm taking requests if you want me to write something specific xx)

[anime-fan-05]

Haikyuu!! ~With a short reader 2nd part~

1st part is here.

Oikawa T.

He loves hugging you because he really likes the feeling of you in your arms, and especially your head resting on his chest

In fact, if you don't hug him in the morning in front of school, at lunch when you two meet to eat together and after his training (you often have to take him away from the gym) to go home together, he'll complain about not having received the right amount of affection from you (Iwa will hit him at least ten times due to that)

Sometimes he teases you a lot little because he enjoys seeing your pouty face: "(Y/N)-chan, do you mind if I rest my arm here? It's so tired from training." "Tooru, get your gross, sweaty arm off my head!" "But it's the perfect armrest!" "..." "Awwww, (Y/N)-chan, are you pouting? How cute!"

Despite that, although he never misses an opportunity to make you angry about your height, he still does everything he can to make you feel appreciated: he knows when to stop with the teasing and when to compliment you, even for the most seemingly banal things

Furthermore, if a fan mentions something involving your height negatively, he won't hesitate to confront her

Kuroo T.

His teasing (because, come on, we know he certainly does them) are... particular: seriously, sometimes he can be a huge pain, but he's always able to bring a smile to your face ("Here it's." "Why did you bring me milk? I asked you for a bottle of water." "So maybe you grow a little and can at least reach Yaku in height.")

His favorite thing to do is grab you by your waist, hold you up and spin you around, especially after he wins a game or when you see each other again after a long time; he doesn't care who is watching you (his entire team, who will make fun of him forever), because all he's focused on at that moment is the lovely smile stitched on your face

If you start playing with his hands, he'll be wide-eyed, wanting to scream about how adorable you're; nevertheless he won't do so, thinking your or his neighbors won't appreciate it

In addition, his heart will be going crazy in his chest: you've no right to be so pretty, he'll think; he'll pout when you let go of his hands

If you wear his jersey during his games, no ball will go past his blocks; after the match, which will have ended with Nekoma's victory, though, he'll become a little arrogant: "Oh? What are you wearing, chibi?"

Haiba L.

You two make a so cute couple!

You've something like fifty centimeters of difference, but he doesn't care it anyway: he's very direct, and he always lets you know you look super cute for him

Anyhow, since he's so direct and frank, he's sometimes a little insensitive without meaning to, and he may say things to you that can offend you; when that happens, after realizing you're hurt, he begs you to forgive him, even if you two are in public, and he continues until you say you forgive him ("(Y/N)-chaaaaaaaan, forgive me, pleaseeeeee!" "Lev, get up, everyone is watching us!" "Forgive meeeeeeeee!" "Okay, okay, I forgive you, just get up..." "Yay! Let's go to the bar!")

When you two hold your hands, he's the one comparing them: he intertwines them with his and plays with your fingers; "Your hands are so tiny compared to mine" is one of his most common phrases

Your way of hugging is very cute: when you two are standing, you're hugging him from behind literally like a koala, and it's funny because you're so tiny against him; when you two are sitting, instead, you really look like a child compared to him, since you're like a ball on his lap

Tendou S.

He's absolutely not making fun of you, not even as a joke: since he was insulted by other children as a child, he doesn't want you to feel as bad as he felt

If someone makes fun of you, he'll protect you: "So you think you can make fun of my darling like that?" "N-no... I was just saying she's shorter than most people here in Shiratorizawa... T-that's all." "Yes, and I think you-" "Satori." "Yes, beauty?" "No." "..." "Satori." "Yes..."

His typical nicknames for you have to do with beauty ("beauty", "beautiful", "my pretty one", "my pretty girl", "cutie"...); the reason is because he thinks you're really too beautiful: he loves your height, and he thinks you're perfect for him

Speaking of affection, he doesn't mind if he has to bend down to kiss you, but for a long time he proposed you stand on a stool to kiss, and the crazy thing is he even bought it for you!

Besides, I think he's both a small and big spoon: indeed, sometimes he just wants to be held by you (when it happens, it's very funny to see your position due to your height), other times he wants to wrap his arms around you

Goshiki T.

You two met when you showed up at Shiratorizawa's gym as a manager; when he saw you, he started blushing madly, because all he could think about was how adorable you were ("I-I'm G-G-Go... MY NAME IS GOSHIKI TSUTOMU, NICE TO MEET YOU!")

He's so protective of you! He knows very well how adorable you're and how you can appear naive due to your height: in fact, does someone insult you for your height? He'll come to your rescue by listing all the reasons why you're lovely. Is anyone hitting on you? He'll stand in front of you, scaring, or rather trying to scare, them

The best way to cheer him on during his games is to wear his team jersey: the boost of self-esteem he'll receive thanks to your action will be enormous!

In fact, he loves, loves seeing you wear his clothes: they fit huge on you and make you really cute; he would really like to show the whole world how beautiful you look when you've on them

Moreover, if you hug him from behind, he dies of embarrassment because he feels your face against his lower back and your little arms wrapped around him

Miya A.

He also loves to tease you in a playful way: his favorite actions are not bending over when you want to kiss him (so you've either to jump or to "climb" on him), messing up your hair and calling you "shorty"

When you get pouty due to his teasing, he can't help but smile and coo at you because he thinks you're very adorable (his mind only thinks this: awwww, (Y/N) is pouting, she's so, so, so, so, so, so lovely!); if he made you very angry, he would stop immediately and give you an awkward kiss on your cheek (that's his way of apologizing)

If someone makes his same teasing about you, though, he'll make everyone apologize: do you know how he scolded the girls who disturbed his first serve during the match against Karasuno? Here, he'll treat them like that

He loves bragging about you two to his brother (he often gets slapped or objects thrown at his head because of it): "Samu, look how cute my little girl is!" "Don't flaunt my photos around, Tsumu!" "Get out of my way, Atsumu!"

He likes a lot giving you kisses on the forehead, even if he has to bend down quite a bit to do so

💮 Rules 💮 Masterlist 💮

[cwseriesshowdown]

Quarterfinals: Riverdale vs Legends of Tomorrow

Riverdale: Archie Andrews starts the school year with the world weighing on his shoulders. He's decided he wants to pursue a future in the music business, but his recently ended clandestine relationship with the music teacher has left him without a mentor, and his friendship with Jughead Jones is in a bad place. Things look like they might be turning around when Veronica Lodge, a new girl, arrives. Despite the instant chemistry, Veronica is hesitant to risk a friendship with Betty -- who has a crush on Archie -- to pursue anything. Amidst all the small-town banality lurks a mystery: the recent tragic death of Jason Blossom, the twin brother of beautiful and popular troublemaker, Cheryl.

Legends of Tomorrow: After seeing what doom the future holds, time-traveling rogue Rip Hunter realizes heroes alone are not enough to prevent the impending catastrophe that threatens the planet. Tasked with recruiting both heroes and villains, Rip brings together a ragtag team of divergent talents, which includes the likes of Sara Lance, Ray Palmer, and Heat Wave. Although the team continually adds and loses members, their goal is always the same -- prevent supervillains from destroying time itself.

[active-mind-15]

MOAR ART RAHHHHHHH

Akashi Seijūrō birthday countdown ★ J-10 With Mayuzumi Chihiro and Shōta Higuchi

Higuchi was a 3rd year manager at Rakuzan, he joined Strky after graduating. He's a nightmare to draw because he only made a few appearances and he is never drawn with the same face, the hair, eyes and even eyebrows changed every time.

The drawing with Mayuzumi is not meant to be shippy (I'm focusing on friendship for this countdown) but you can interpret it however you want.

[girlfromflor]

atsumu and his infatuation with stoic!reader - part 1

wc: 1371 | tw: some swear words ig | a/n: i did not proofread this lol, part 2

atsumu was never one to think too hard about other people’s actions. he always thought that when someone said something, they meant it. when they didn’t say anything, well that’s just because there is nothing to be said. he was just as simple, so why worry, right? but that was before he met you. 

he still remembers the very first time he saw you come over practice. you seemed so lost, trying to speak to the coach and see if there was any chance you could be part of the club, only to have your voice completely drown in the loud sound of the balls hitting the court’s floor. atsumu was stunned, he had never seen you around and yet it felt like you were known, like that one person he can always count on. you were so gorgeous, your hair matching your pretty face and soft eyes. he almost immediately asked you to marry him. his eyes worked unceasingly to memorize every part of you. how you were a bit shorter than him, how the school uniform wrapped every part of your body oh so nicely, and he wondered how you would look rid of all those layers. so he gathered all his courage and after a deep breath he approached you, “uh, hi. i’m miya atsumu, do you need help?” 

you, with your ever so practical and stoic persona, had the immediate reaction to just say no. usually not one to chit chat or kill time doing something so trivial as talking about ordinary and banal things. but as you turned to answer the atsumu guy, you freezed. probably it was the first time you ever stood in a situation like this, but god, he was so absolutely gorgeous to you that your whole demeanor changed. you were a loss of words. flustered with your own traitor thoughts and, as you realized you were taking too much time to answer a simple question, your mind went blank for a minute. “sorry, what…?”

he laughed. and god, what a cute laugh he had. he wondered if you were always this distracted. “do you need help? with whatever it is that you’re doing…” and gave you a smile, trying his hardest to not add a random ‘love’ into the phrase. to his surprise you didn’t smile back, face expressionless as you said, “oh, right. yeah, i think i could use some help. i need to subscribe to some club activities and i thought maybe i could be part of the volleyball team… do you think that can happen?” after having a few seconds to recompose yourself you managed to mutter, thanking whatever wave of luck that allowed you not to stumble over your words.

and after that, atsumu knew he was in for a long journey. being head over heels for someone that he later learned to be a first-year, that he now would most likely see everyday and that – much to his dismay – did not utter a single word towards him, unless absolutely necessary. he did not understand any of it. why he felt so breathless around you and why you seemed so oblivious to his advances. he didn’t know how to deal with all of it, he just wanted to know you completely, to have access to your deepest desires and wills and have you share all parts of you and your life. 

but you never really seemed to realize how intensely he cared for you. and nowadays all he can do is to be deeply attentive to everything you do. whenever you say something – or when you don’t, for that matter – he’ll find a way to read your words and actions over and over again. he’s obsessed with it. he can’t imagine why in the world you are so little affected by the things he says and does. how could you not have any sort of reaction when he was around you doing all types of things to get your attention. it wasn’t until a random practice day that he realized just how much you actually noticed him.

he couldn’t help but reminisce that afternoon, it was very meaningful to him. after a few months of coexisting, he managed to remain well behaved with you. only exchanging a few words of politeness whenever you two met. he had just thrown another bad set to one of his teammates, growing frustrated and bothered by the minute. you don’t notice at first what’s wrong. nevertheless, you are the very first to really understand the problem. while all of the boys swim in confusion as to why atsumu seemed so lost in his thoughts during practice, you decide it’s time for him to focus already.

“atsumu,” you call, waiting for him to look at you. he lifts his eyes slowly, so caught up in his frustration to notice the soft glint of affection in yours. “yes…?” he answers at last, still not paying you full attention. 

“i know you’re stressed over exams…” and that’s enough to have him looking at you with attentive eyes, wondering how did you know that since you’re not usually aware of those things, always having the best grades of your class. “but it will be okay. you studied harder than ever, if that’s not enough then i don’t know what would be…”

he lets out an amused chuckle, thinking that you’re just trying to be practical and make him not waste a whole practice just because he’s worried. but then it clicks, he never mentioned exams. during the whole time he spent studying, he did not mention it once. he was pressured enough, he didn’t want anyone else to add up to his stress. he questions then, why would you assume that, of all things? 

little does he know that you noticed how he was getting a few minutes later than the others at practice, because he was finishing a summary of his exams topics. how he would look at the paper in his pocket from time to time to check if he had gotten the right answers to the questions he was mentally doing over and over. how he stopped staying after hours so he could get home sooner, probably to go over his notes about that one topic he never really manages to understand just right.

so he tilts his head a bit to the side, still looking at you with some amusement in his eyes and says, “is not only that, you know… i have to study so much to get good grades and can’t even set right while doing so, it makes me wonder if i won’t ever be able to do two things at the same time…”

and for that you just giggle. a light, sweet sound that just makes atsumu drown even more in his infatuation for you. you raise your eyebrows, hardly believing these words had really left his mouth. “atsumu…” is soft, trying to not sound aggressive, but all the boys that are paying attention can see that you’re actually dead serious when you say, matter-of-factly, “you’re recognized as the number one high school setter… what are you so concerned about?”

and that just hits him like a fucking punch, because you are not saying it to encourage him nor is it to make him feel better. you stating a fact, he is indeed one of the best players in high school, he should be able to study hard and still play well, it comes naturally to him anyway. his eyes fill up with something you can’t quite point out, his smirk spoke volumes though “well, i guess it just gets hard to remember that sometimes.”

after that short dialogue you two shared, he managed not to miss one move throughout the rest of their practice. his humor well recovered as he wonders just how much you watch him around and that, maybe, you think of him just as much as he thinks of you. but nothing could have prepared him for the next day, when he was changing at the locker room and found a note that said “so you don’t have a hard time remembering it” with a simple black bracelet underneath that had “best setter” engraved on it.

[carrie-tate]

Royal Smile

"Spending time in the company of friends, Todoroki Shoto sincerely wants to learn to rejoice with them. And they are happy to help him with this"

Lee! Todoroki, Ler!Uraraka and Midoriya [+ Iida]

Warnings: none, I guess? fluff, tickles and friendship :3

info: yes, I know you're used to me drawing here and not writing, but inspiration came over me and here we are… I'll tie this to the fact that I've overcome another milestone here. And yes, this is dedicated to the blurry fantasy au inspired by the 2nd ending of season 2

info2: according to the calculations, there are approximately +3.5k words here

***

The situation Shoto found himself in now was like the most banal plot from the books he read in their library. A team of completely different people gathered together, moving towards adventures to defeat a great evil. Midoriya Izuku, a simple and kind guy, an adventurer in its purest form. Ochako Uraraka, a sorceress and a witch, with a clearly positive outlook on life and fire in her eyes. Tenya Iida, a wandering knight who had accompanied the girl on her adventures even before their mutual meeting, clearly had a loyal and friendly disposition.

And himself. Todoroki Shoto. A runaway prince, tired of the pressure of status and his father, decided to accompany these three on their journey. It was a truly fairy tale plot.

Having become the fourth in this motley company, Shoto could already observe the established communication of the other three from the sidelines. Sociable, easy and without any formality. The complete opposite of what he had become accustomed to over the years of living within the palace walls. And it was worth admitting that he was starting to like these people.

Although for now he was still… on the sidelines. The other three did not dare to behave in a casual manner towards him, still taking into account his status and the fact that he might simply not like it. And Todoroki himself, due to his upbringing and simply the lack of proper experience, did not dare to take the first steps himself. Therefore, he remained a little further away, with an eternally thoughtful look.

But as the days passed, this awkwardness melted away like snow in the sun, quickly and imperceptibly. At least more and more often, someone from the company decided to joke with him or talk about all sorts of nonsense. A polite pat on the shoulder from Uraraka immediately became the first step for Shoto in their newly acquired friendship. And Todoroki sincerely wanted to respond to his comrades in the same way. At least try.

So one evening, when the company settled down for a rest at the edge of the forest, the prince made such an attempt. He tried to smile when he and Midoriya were collecting brushwood near the camp and the boy started talking about various plants that he managed to remember in this area and their properties. But seeing Shoto's face, Izuku stopped mid-sentence.

"What's... with your face..?" The young man asks carefully, choosing his words so as not to sound rude.

Todoroki's shaky attempt at a smile immediately disappeared from his face when the prince explained sheepishly.

"I... I was smiling," but it seemed to have turned out differently than planned, Shoto thought then. "Like you do it always..."

"Oh, good, and I already thought you had a cramp," Midoriya said rashly, but then realized how it sounded. Seeing Todoroki's even more gloomy face, he tried to smooth things over. "I mean, no! It wasn't that bad, like—!"

"I guess I don't have that skill at all..." The prince mutters resignedly.

This makes Midoriya sympathize. What kind of life do you have to live to... not have the skill to smile. He shifted the bundle of brushwood in one hand and patted Todoroki on the back with his free hand, trying to cheer him up.

"You don't have to despair that much," the boy says encouragingly when the prince turns his gaze to him. An awkward but sincere smile plays on Izuku's face as he watches Shoto sigh at his words. Midoriya doesn't hold back and honestly admits. "Although you really lack practice..." and then mutters to himself, having this habit of thinking out loud. "Although this usually happens on its own... it's not a skill at all..."

There was an awkward silence, broken by Midoriya's musings out loud, as they were still walking along the forest path, heading back to their camp. Then Todoroki made a completely unexpected request, looking at the boy.

"Can you... teach me?" He said it slowly. Even in a way, embarrassed, but still determined. The prince clearly wanted to get closer to his comrades and was eager to learn something new.

"Teach you?" Midoriya snapped out of his thoughts, blinking his eyes absentmindedly and looking at him. "How to smile?" He thought for a moment, thinking about how unusual it was. But at the same time… Why not? "What a challenge… But I can try."

Now Todoroki could try smiling again, he really wanted to. But the previous unsuccessful experience forced him to only nod very gratefully and expressively. But the prince's eyes clearly sparkled.

They continued walking as Midoriya continued to talk out loud about how exactly he should teach Shoto a skill that was literally natural from birth. He mumbled habitually, taking the new task habitually as a challenge for himself, raising his free hand to his chin.

“Although I don’t even know where to start…” Then he turns his gaze to Todoroki and asks. “What makes you happy? What made you smile last time?”

Walking next to him, the prince thought for a moment. And when was the last time he smiled? Not counting this attempt… Damn, he didn’t remember anything further than early childhood. And from there, the memories were too blurry. That is, he had absolutely no idea what to say to this. Shoto sheepishly admits:

“I… I don’t know.”

Midoriya frowned slightly, it sounded… seriously gloomy. "Has he really never smiled at anything for so many years?", Izuku couldn't help but think as he absentmindedly suggested:

"What, you didn't even have jesters in your castle…?"

"There were, but I never found them funny," Todoroki replied. He recalled the palace walls and its customs with obvious irritation.

"What, nothing at all?" Midoriya was horrified, even standing still for a moment, surprising Shoto. "No favorite book, no favorite music? I thought life in the palace should be filled with balls or other… celebrations?"

Todoroki also frowned at all of the above. Yes, he had read many books, they replaced people for him at times, but he wouldn't say that he could single out even one as his favorite. As for the celebrations and balls…

“They’re not nearly as fun as you might think,” the prince says. “There’s more hypocrisy and royal intrigue…”

“You don’t have to continue!” Midoriya interrupts the boy in a slight panic, realizing that he’s said something stupid again. He sighs as they continue approaching the camp. The situation turned out to be even more neglected than Izuku had assumed, and this clearly worried him. “But is it really nothing at all..?”

Todoroki thought about all this too. In fact, there was one thing that made him happy. Well, at least it looked like it. And he decides to suddenly voice it.

“I think our journey makes me happy,” in his usual neutral, thoughtful tone, but there was a sincere feeling of recognition in it. “Before you all, I didn’t feel so… appropriate.”

Izuku looked back at the prince with wide eyes. He had to admit, such a confession clearly touched him. Midoriya could even shed tears, but he held back. The guy smiles stupidly and nods.

“Well, then our goal now is for it to stay that way,” He answers when they have already approached the rest stop.

At this time, Ochako was once again sorting through the contents of her backpack. After all, any self-respecting sorceress should be aware of what she has and what she lacks. Herbs, flasks, notes, usually by the evening it all always got mixed up in one heap. Tenya, who was sitting next to her, was making sure that the hastily lit fire didn't go out before Midoriya and Todoroki arrived.

At the moment the two returned, Uraraka was examining, shaking and listening to a handful of crystals that she also carried with her, gathered into one chain on a string. The crystals rattled beautifully against each other, producing a quiet, pleasant music. But noticing how her friends came out into the clearing, Ochako immediately put this treasure aside, waving her hand at the guys. Mydoriya's words didn't go unnoticed by Iida.

"What's the goal?" The straightforward knight immediately asked.

Midoriya hesitated with his answer. He couldn't say so directly about Todoroki's request. He looked back at the prince and finally convinced himself that he didn't need to tell the details. Izuku laughed sheepishly and rubbed the back of his head with his free hand.

"Oh, it doesn't matter," he waved it off and finally put the brushwood on the ground near their fire. The guy decided to change the subject and his gaze fell on the crystals Ochako had left. He hadn't paid attention to them before, but now he saw this as an ideal excuse to change the topic. "And what is this?"

***

And now the conversation had flown in a completely different direction, where Uraraka, with her usual enthusiasm, was talking about her magical things. And then all three of them, plus Todoroki, who sat down next to them, discussed music, until the topic touched on dancing. It seemed that all three of them somehow remembered how they had a fun time listening to music with their cared ones.

“Now it’s clear why Midoriya had such an opinion about the festivities in the palace…” Shoto thought to himself, acting as an attentive listener. “It seems that others have it much… more fun.”

And the guy felt a slight prick from the opportunities he had missed. Only because he was unlucky enough to be born in these pompous royal conditions without the simple joys of life. But before he could fully immerse himself in his thoughts, Uraraka attracted everyone’s attention. She jumped to her feet and, folding her hands together in an energetic gesture, suggested.

“Let’s dance! I’ve missed it so much!” And as the most enthusiastic girl, she picked up her magic staff from the ground and immediately tried to remember a suitable trick for this.

A couple of magic words, a couple of ringing melodic crystals suspended from the nearest tree branch, and now soft music was heard throughout the clearing. Todoroki raised his eyebrows, once again convinced of the fairytale nature of the events he found himself in.

Midoriya was the first to be dragged off to dance, when Ochako pulled him by the arms with a wide smile. At first, the surprised boy kept stumbling, looking at his feet, until he finally relaxed and began to dance with the girl. Todoroki looked at them, then at Tenya, the knight restrainedly did not immediately give in to the fun of his friends.

But soon enough, Iida was dragged along. When even he, who seemed usually constrained by armor and rules, twisted dance steps that were more reminiscent of the movements of the hands of a clock in their precision than the wild jumps and turns from his sorceress friend. Todoroki looked at them with a mixture of envy and embarrassment, when Midoriya suddenly extended his hand to him with a wide smile.

And the persuasion that Shoto did not know the same dances as his friends did not help. The dances that he saw in the palace were more constrained and much more reserved... Fake, as the prince thought then. But he did not know how to real dance. But he was still raised to his feet and carried away to everyone else.

A step, a second, a third. Here he stumbled. Here he awkwardly tried to repeat the movement, turned and almost fell. But he was immediately caught back by the hands and put upright. The sounds of music and laughter mixed in his head. For the first time, Todoroki was not on the sidelines. He participated. He was a part of something. And this awareness spread in his chest with a pleasant warmth.

And this feeling made him want to smile, and it seemed that this time it was for real. But Shoto did not have time to consciously think about it. Uraraka, carried away by the dance, absentmindedly collided with him, nudging the prince in the side with her elbow. And before Todoroki could even think, a quiet gasp escaped his mouth.

There was silence, even the music died down. None of the three of them had heard such sounds from the prince in all these days. Izuku and Tenya exchanged confused glances when Ochako, assuming the worst, immediately rushed to apologize.

"Oh-oh, I'm so sorry, wait, did that hurt?"

"No," Shoto managed to answer confusedly. Honestly, he himself did not understand what happened. It happened so quickly that he himself did not realize why he... Almost screamed. Therefore, he assumed the most obvious thing for himself. "You... just caught me off guard, everything is fine."

The sorceress looked at Todoroki in confusion. At first, she was glad that she did not hurt him. But then she wondered why he reacted so... much. A wild thought crossed her mind, and Uraraka's face immediately blossomed into a grin of a guess as she asked.

"Wait, are you ticklish...?"

And in Todoroki's place, anyone would have been horrified by the mischievous sparkle in the girl's eyes. But Shoto didn't react at all, looking at Ochako with confusion and trying to understand what she was asking him about.

"Am I what..?"

"Huh? You don't know what this is?" Uraraka was surprised, even stopping her grin, although seeing his bewilderment, all three of them were confused.

In response, the prince shook his head, looking at the others and realizing that it seemed like he had missed something else in his life, something that everyone seemed to know. Midoriya tried to explain everything to him, speaking awkwardly.

“Well, it’s when one person touches another and…” The guy awkwardly gestures, trying to describe something so familiar and simple to him. “And they laughs..?”

Todoroki frowned, analyzing what he heard. This description did not fit anything from his life experience. And he could hardly imagine it. Midoriya was confusedly trying to think of a way to explain it clearly, but then Uraraka solved the problem.

“Something like that.”

Her thin hands quickly made their way under the breastplate of Iida's armor, squeezing his sides. Immediately causing a surprised wheeze from the knight, when he almost instantly almost folded in half, giggling, trying to move away from the girl. It was just the seconds.

Todoroki raised his eyebrows in surprise as the girl finally took her hands off her friend with a satisfied smirk. Tenya stumbled back, trying to catch his breath from the sudden attack.

“Uraraka!” The knight looked at her, trying to look menacing and angry, but it was clear that he was still smiling himself.

“I needed a demonstration.” The girl shrugged lightly, smiling innocently.

“You could have demonstrated it on someone else…”

Todoroki watched as Ochako snickered at Iida's frivolous indignation. At the same time, Shoto was trying to comprehend the whole process. It seemed simply crazy to him, could a simple touch to a certain spot in a certain way make someone laugh? And it seemed completely out of control…

At the same time, Izuku, who no one was paying attention to yet. He was also thinking. He analyzed Shoto's sudden reaction to this poke, suddenly deciding on a rash stupidity. The guy reached his hands to the prince's waist, when his fingers dug into his sides.

Todoroki's eyes instantly opened wider in surprise from the sudden contact. He didn't even think that Midoriya would think of such a thing. Exactly the same scream, even a squeak, burst out of his lungs from a shocking unfamiliar sensation, and after that, a quick and uncontrollable stream of giggles immediately followed.

"A-Ahhaha— Wh-What?"

And it was… A charming sound. Hoarse from unfamiliarity, but quickly revealed as a quiet and pretty laugh, which the guy honestly tried to suppress. It was worth admitting, no one expected such an immediate reaction. Iida and Uraraka were distracted from their joke argument and stared at Todoroki in amazement. At the same time, Midoriya rather only became more inspired, continuing to poke the prince here and there with curiosity, striking laughter out of the young man like sparks from flint.

Which Todoroki couldn't stop! It really was impossible to control, everything inside was shrinking into a lump from the influx of a new, unexplored feeling. Each new touch seemed to make laughter bubble in his throat with renewed vigor and burst out. Shoto did not even immediately realize that he could try to escape.

And when he tried, he took such a shaky step back that he stumbled and fell onto the grass, breathing heavily and hugging himself with his arms, trying to comprehend what had just happened. The smile was still firmly on his face when he hesitantly opened his closed eyes.

And he saw the three of them standing above him, exchanging glances, unable to contain their own giggles as they all seemed to share the thought that he looked… adorable. The smile did suit the prince unironically, and for the first time he looked alive, rather than as if he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Are you alright?" Midoriya asks, smiling slightly apologetically as he squatted down next to Todoroki.

It seemed that Todoroki managed to nod and say that he was fine. Only now did the boy notice how hot his own face seemed to him now. Shoto continued to lie on the ground, looking at his comrades, suspiciously noticing the smirks with which (even the usually serious Iida) they exchanged glances.

“Then fine!” The sorceress clapped her hands, suddenly kneeling on the ground next to them. On the other side of him, across from Izuku.

Todoroki was starting to get nervous about this… but not in a bad way. And when he raised his head, he saw that Tenya had also ended up lowering himself to the ground behind his head. The prince thought that he was surrounded, and he was clearly not mistaken. Because when he belatedly inquired about what these three were up to, Midoriya immediately answered him:

“Well, you wanted to learn how to smile,” a bright smile played on the boy’s face, in which a mischievous plan was clearly hidden. "I think now is the time."

And before Shoto could object, he felt Izuku's fingers move along his sides again, immediately causing another cry and an instant reaction, when the prince closed his eyes in another fit of laughter. Just as he was about to try to grab Midoriya's hands, almost at the same moment Ochako joined the guy, making her way with her fingers to his ribs, causing another surprised squeak from Todoroki. Shoto's laughter became louder, even seeming to rise an octave.

Here he finally recovered from the shock, making an attempt to wriggle out of their hands. Well, or at least fight back with his own hands, trying to catch someone by the wrists and pull them away from him. But this newfound ability to fight was also brazenly taken away from him. Pausing for a moment, Uraraka said:

“Iida, could you hold his arms…”

“No, wahait—” Then Shoto knew it was all over for him when Tenya easily caught his hands, which had weakened from laughter, and pinned them behind his head.

And before the prince could try to convince the three of them to come to their senses, they returned to their previous activities without a trace of shame. Laughter came from his mouth again as he helplessly threw his head back, squinting his eyes. He tugged at his hands, but the knight’s grip was unwavering. And this inability to even lower his own hands seemed to only intensify these feelings, driving him into a corner.

Everything was mixed up in his head again. This sudden helplessness seemed so unusual for the usually stoic Shoto. But even this thought did not stay in his head for long, quickly replaced by a stream of sensations that his brain was frantically trying to process. Because Midoriya and Uraraka, with obvious excitement, seemed to find a completely new spots on his body every time, causing a completely new sounds.

Whether it was the tried and tested running of fingers along his waist, causing the prince to instantly burst into giggles. Or the careful fingernails running along his ribs, as if counting them, causing a new yelp each time, accompanied by laughter. Even when Iida, pressing Shoto's wrists with one hand, scratched his fingers along his neck with his free hand, it caused the prince to squeak in a completely unroyal way and want to pull his head into his shoulders like a turtle.

Only a couple of minutes passed. For Shoto, it seemed like an eternity. Finally, they left him alone, allowing him to breathe fresh air into his lungs. When Todoroki realized that they were no longer holding his hands, he did not hesitate to immediately turn on his side and curl up into a ball, pressing his hands to his sides and still unable to suppress the laughter remaining in his chest. He did not even remember the last time he laughed like that and whether he ever laughed like that at all.

The three of them looked at each other, pleased with their work. Slowly, the playful atmosphere gave way to the evening gloom, when it became noticeable how quickly the sun was setting. Midoriya and Iida suddenly remembered about the fire, which they had completely forgotten about and which had almost died out.

While the two were dealing with the source of heat, Ochako stayed with Todoroki, modestly placing her hand on his shoulder as a consolation.

And Shoto himself was recovering from his thoughts for a long time, watching the others with narrowed eyes. Despite what he had experienced, despite the feeling of helplessness, for some reason he strangely felt… happy.

[christeli4]

Let's all admit that the November 2 is the 4th year of this wonderful rewrite by @fabuloustrash05 !

Here are all the sketches of Donnie and April's relationship from the season 1 when they started to get closer.

A new team name for them 💜💛

"Operation: break out"

It felt like even an ordinary hug always calmed him down. But at that time, he could count several times in his head how long he felt it had lasted long enough.

Or maybe he was just speechless from the hard weight of her hands on his neck.(?)

Fun fact: I decided that the colors around him would mean that he would have a spark instead of inserting banal hearts. This is most likely a new feeling of being needed by your best friend.

[shimylli]

So after some time to think about it, I will share my own though on Solavellan ending in Dragon Age The Veilguard, so SPOILER ahead.

ON ROOK AND SOLAS

First I would like to share a bit about them, because I really enjoyed their dynamics on the game.

« – Letting the veil collapse... – ... Is what you want. Making amend isn't about what you want. »

I wish so bad those words, and the whole cinematic would have been from my Inquisitor perspective. That she could be the one angry, and also saying the right word, she derseved it, after all this time.

But I am not angry at all, because like I said, I enjoy Rook and Solas relationship.

Solas treat Rook the way he would have never treated Lavellan. There is such a cruelty in trapping someone in an eternal and lonely prison, and Rook - specially if you play it as a supportive and forgiveful one - is one of the least to deserve it.

Rook see the manipulative, abusive and cruel side of the Trickser god. Solas never really let is guard down this time, He doesn't allow it considering how close he was to stop everything by the time of Inquisition.

Rook forgiving and believing in Solas, still, despite everything he has done to her, was also really impactful and satisfying. And for Solas, it was the first step through healing.

INQUISITOR INTERVENTION

As he still proceed on his plan, he hear the voice of the Inquisitor, and turn so fast.

It is so hearbeaking, and after all this time, he still calls her " Vhenan ".

And for her, he lets his guard down, again.

« – You think you've come too far to come back, but you're wrong. »

Lavellan plays a really mature and forgiving part, and I think it makes sense. In Inquisition, I played an angry Lavellan, the one who scream in elvish and then say " I would have had you trust me " while angrily entering his personal space. But it has been 10 years, and like us, she had time to think about it, to take distance and make peace about their relationship.

Solas is looking for every way to proove that he is undeserving of her forgiveness, give many excuses.

«– I forgive you ! »

I was so happy about the Voice Acting, when Lavellan assertively cut him and scream at him this sentence. She already failed 8 years ago to convince him to stay, and she will not let her second chance pass.

And then...

MYTHAL AND SOLAS

Ugh. Where to start.

I like what they did with Solas and Mythal relationship, seeing how abusive and manipulative Mythal was. In a way, it makes the time between Solas and Lavellan in Inquisition even softer, as she accepted him for the person he was and wanted to be. A person who gave advice and share his wisdom. An equal.

I also don't think that Mythal and Solas were romantically involved, and it would have been better to avoid the companions comment about it, making it moreconfusing. Actually, it would have been even better to not have the team reuniting to watch and comment the really personal memories of Solas like a TV Show.

Mythal is the third to offer forgiveness by sharing the weight of their mistakes, and even so I wish she would have been an optional intervention, I have to recognise that the scene is intense and painful - positevily - to watch.

This is the moment the Lost Elf theme start to play as the same time as the main DA TV theme with violin, they managed to make it even sader.

His body language. He is breaking, getting crushed by the weight from his pain. To see him, so vulnerable, so small, it was heartbreaking. And when Mythal release him, say the last word that finally free him, is like he can no longer stand, he fall crying.

Obviously, he was no longer bounded to Mythal since long, and every bad decision he took in the past were taken freely. Still, metaphorically, it was really symbolic. The guy has been suffering for thousand years.

SOLAS AND LAVELLAN

«– Banal Nadas Ar lath'ma Vhenan. »

And then Lavellan walks slowly towards him, and softly kneel to look him in the eyes. She is caring and supportive, and start saying reassuring words in elvhen. I feel like them speaking in elvhen makes so much sench, has it is kind of their tongue of truth and sincerity.

I love that Lavellan grew to be this person Solas could trust, and could be there for him, show compassion. She does not look submissive, but caring. She definitely is in control of the situation, and she chose to be here for him. Despite everything.

And again, the animation. The emotion in their looks. The tears in Solas' eyes.

The sadness of his gaze while he decide to take the hardest decision, and pay the consequences of his actions.

And while Rook and Morrigan look at him, proudly, there is this little frame.

Lavellan, smiling, lookind down. A bit of sadness in her eyes. I think it is the moment she realise that she have to take a decision. See him take his responsability, keeping him as dear memory, or leave everything to be by his side. And my head still remember what she said to him after the Well of Sorrow mission : " No matter what, you will be by my side. ".

I am not upsed by the ending. This is exactly what I had envision before the release of Veilguard.

Sure, Solas was the victime of Mythal abuse, but the pain and suffering he caused around him were all from decisions he took freely. He needed to make amend, and not a sacrificial reparation. The decision is even harder as it mirrors his fear that we know. Dying alone.

Every other ending is painful to watch when you remember that.

So for him to take his responsability, knowing that he would lead him to a life of solitude. Only, when he chose this path, with the end that awaits him, does it makes sens that the Inquisitor offer to follow him. The world is saved, she leave it in the good hands of people she trust, and she deserve to finally take a break.

And again, the game let you decide if you want to follow him, you can have a Lavellan who think that it was too much for her. But to me, it is the culminent point of their story taking a mythical level.

«– Ar ghilas vir banal. »

Solas speaking elvhen sounds so beautiful. Again, he rejects her, telling her that only terrible thing awaits her if she follow him. He wants to protect her, she doesn't have to face the same consequences as him, she has done nothing but trying to repare his mistakes. I think it shows that he still care, that he would not make her selfishly take the same burden as him.

I know, it is not a grand gesture, but the way he looks at her. I do believe she means everything to him.

And the kiss was so soft. I think us, solavellan fan are not use to it. And it bugged me also, as we had in the past more intimate scene. I think I would have prefere if he at least hugged her while kissing. Still, I think it goes well with the caring and softness of Lavellan, in this specific situation, who is in front of a bruised man.

I kind of count on the artist to make something more emotional.

So far, I enjoyed the ending, I just have a problem with the execution, and now that I am writting all of it, I realise that I even enjoyed the cinematic, I just think I was expecting more. A Trespasser level ending, that would feel more personal.

But I am also in peace with the ending, this is exactly what I wanted for them, and I am sure that they will make of this fade prison a special place for them to grow happy.

And again, thanks to the Solavellan fan to provide us with content that should be in the game. The way he looks at her :

I think this picture alone help me make peace with the end.

And I will just finish with my Lavellan and Rook smiling. I love them so much.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Homebrew Mechanic: Battles of Attrition

I think we can all agree that there’s something a little wonky with how d&d’s combat system changes between the early and mid/late game. Heroes go from being rightfully cautious about danger to being outright banal about it, confident that their accumulated power will be enough to dispatch all but the most outstanding foes.  The traditional solution is to put them up against stronger enemies but in my experience these mismatched encounters are a failing proposition: combat just gets more swingy and there’s only so many high level threats I can throw at them in a short period of time before it begins to strain credulity.   

While a lot of folks (Especially the OSR crowd) have taken the stance that 5e is broken because of how much it empowers players, I think the real fault lays with the lack of systems that exist to provide challenge outside of anything related to the damage based tug-of-war that is combat.  I think a lot of those systems were part of the non existent “exploration” pillar of the game before Hasbro realized they could make easy money selling the game in its unfinished state and gutted it along with the development team. 

Thankfully, I and other homebrewers are around to do what the megacorporations cant, namely have some original thoughts and try and figure out a way to add challenge back to the game without resenting those playing it for having fun. 

TLDR:  Trying to make our games challenging by upping damage numbers in combat is a losing proposition, in no small part because that part of the game is DESIGNED around the heroes winning. Instead, we up the overall difficulty by making them temporarily weaker with systems like sickness, stress, exhaustion, & item degradation. All of which I have details and guidelines on below the cut. 

First and foremost let me state some of my goals for these “attrition systems”, so we can all be on the same page. Whenever I make homebrew rules I try for something that’s going to require little to no paperwork on behalf of the players and can be seamlessly implemented into my DMing style. It’s not about realism, it’s not about punishing players, this is a way for me to add mechanical depth without bogging down the machine entirely. 

Attrition should be largely non-permanent.  The 5e audience invests a lot in their characters both emotionally and mechanically, so it won’t do to pile on debilitating debuff after debuff to the point of making a character useless. 

There should be an inverse relationship between the severity of the affliction and how long it lasts. Think in term of encounters, days, or weeks, (with the understanding that an attrition that goes on for long enough becomes a questhook in itself) 

The exception to this rule is if someone hits 0 hitpoints. I’m outspoken in my stance that characters should only die when it’s alternatively appropriate, but the dm is at liberty to inflict thematically devastating setbacks in the unlikely event that the party DOES suffer losses in the damage tug of war. 

We want to be sparing with how much attrition we throw at the party at once, so as to not create a “death spiral” where failures compound upon one another and make getting through the adventure impossible. 

In most cases suffering Attrition should be something the party is able to avoid by being fast/lucky/cautious/clever or whatever else the encounter requires. It’s there to add weight and consequence to their actions, and as a factor for DMs to build scenarios around. 

Exhaustion:  Unlike a lot of the other changes made in Oned&d, I actually quite like the overhaul of “each point of exhaustion is a cumulative -1 to all d20 rolls and spell dc, beyond 10 is death” as it allows us to play with exhaustion far more readily as an attrition. 

Every night you don’t rest in a haven (a safe comfortable place)  you need to make a con save or take a point of exhaustion, with the ruggedness of the environment determining the DC. Characters with the survival skill or natural explorer feat don’t have to make this roll. Only rest in a haven removes exhaustion at the rate of one point per night (though spaces like a luxury inn or a peaceful glade watched over by friendly fey may restore more)  

Hitting 0 hp and then being healed gives you a point of exhaustion. Nothing’s going to tire you out like getting magically defibulated so now everyone can stop complaining about healing word spam. 

Poison:  For our purposes, the “poisoned” condition as written  is too severe. Disadvantage on all attacks and ability checks is downright punishing for anything other than a single battle. Instead we’re going to make it work like charmed, where there’s a baseline effect for the purposes of resistance, but the status of each poison is dependant on the source.  

Poison falls in the “ short term big effect” side of attrition, specifically undermining a player’s ability to do most things since most effects end on a successful save or at the end of an encounter. Long lasting poisons should have more minor effects than the default poisoned condition, only applying to a few types of rolls or having a bane-like effect that makes judging the odds just a little bit more difficult.  

This makes poison great to use for dungeons and short-ranging exploration where the party is likely to face multiple encounters in one day. 

Diseases:  4e aced the design of these maladies by treating them as a contained skill challenge with their own CR  with various stages: stage 0: you were cured, stage 1: you suffered the initial effect, stage 2 or 3: you suffered a severe effect, with the final stage (3-4) being some effect that made the disease permanent.  When you got a disease it was usually stage 1, and you (usually) saved for it at the start of each day. Beating the DC by 5 or more meant you went down a stage (closer to 0), where as simply succeeding meant it stayed as bad as it was. Failing meant you got sicker, meaning a character could bounce up and down in wellness as an adventure went on. 

Diseases are best for longterm adventures, and often undermine one particular aspect of a character ( healing, actions assosiated with a particular stat).  Counterpoint to poisons, diseases should start out fairly gentle and then get worse the longer they’re left alone, leading to eventually devastating effects.  

Curses:  While borrowing the mechanics of diseases, I’d have curses be specifically weirder in their effects. The sort of thing that can make up the central hook or b-plot of a whole adventure.  This should also mean that curses are the hardest for the party to stumble into, but also the hardest to shake. 

Item Degradation: Detailed in a previous post HERE, the long and short of it is that item degradation is a form of player driven attrition that gently curbs their overall power level. If they go too hard, use their best items recklessly, get involved in needless fights, then they’re going to be in worse shape by the time they reach the final challenge. This was supposed be the idea behind HP/limited class abilities per day, but attrition systems cover that better IMO. 

Stress:  The psychological counterpoint to exhaustion,  I’ve already talked about Stress HERE. I tend to only use stress in horror themed adventures and campaigns, as it builds upon 5e’s optional “madness” system which fits the theme when gothic terrors and eldritch abominations but less so with the game’s usual heroic fare. 

Hunger & Supply:  I made a super lightweight system based off this idea of “depletion die” for potions and other consumables, check it out, it’s lightweight and fantastic.  Using this kind of system gives us another avenue to challenge our party, lengthening or shortening their lifeline as they lose supplies and seek out new caches. 

Thinking environmentally:  Part of the fantasy of being an adventurer is travelling to dangerous places and living to tell the tale.  We’re denying our party that fantasy if we don’t follow through on the threat the idea of these places imply.  You should risk sickness if you go into a swamp, sewer, or jungle, thirst should be a factor in desert exploration, just like freezing is for mountain and winter expeditions.  That’s to say nothing of magical hazards; cursed landscapes that drain your will to live dead marshes style, alchemical smog in a steampunk industrial zone, fading into nothingness as you approach the edge of existence.  

Figure out the natural hazards, make your party aware of the danger, and then build your adventure around the fact that they’ll need to save against the hazard each time they take a long rest.. Do they take a detour if it means having a safe place to camp? Is there a resource they need to manage along the way? Could encounters expose them to further dangers or make their current exposure worse? Keeping these ideas in mind especially when you’re planning a wilderness exploration adventure should give you lots of ideas to fill up those encounter tables. 

Adding insult to injury:  Giving enemies the ability to inflict attrition in various forms makes otherwise trivial  enemies a credible threat even to a seasoned adventuring party. As an example,  A party might breeze through a fight with some monstrous spiders ( or even ONE regular sized spider, if you can imagine) , but that spider encounter doesn’t need to be the most dangerous thing ever if their next encounter is a navigation challenge fording a river and a few of the heroes are still groggy thanks to the slow acting poison in their systems.  

In this way you can use attrition based battles to soften your party up for greater challenges, long after their HP totals and healing ability have outpaced the damage a single trap/encounter can do. 

Artist

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Ghosts - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Vi finds connections between past and future...

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Jinx's room, though. That's a different story.

Vi pushes the door inward. The hinges creak. Pale greenish matchsticks of light fall through the widening gap. They strike the mobiles of scrap-metal and colored glass hanging from the ceiling. Fractals of hypnotic blue and pink dance everywhere.

In the shifting ambiance, Vi makes out the room's dimensions. A vanity, a wardrobe, a chaise and a desk. The bed's an extravagant four-poster fit for a princess: all curlicued brasswork and flounced trimmings. The sort of bed Vi and Powder used to dream about as little girls, staring awestruck at old Piltie glossies scrounged from the junkyard.

Except there's a sad, abandoned quality to the fittings: pillows jammed against the headboard, sheets stirred into restless disarray, stuffed animals taking refuge under the mattress. 

It's as if the owner's been snatched from slumber in the middle of the night.

Or swallowed by her own nightmares.

Vi steps inside. Her bare feet sink into the plush rugs. Between her toes, there's a ticklish layer of dust. The room, colorfully cozy, is nonetheless steeped in neglect. Either Jinx hasn't spent much time here the last few days, or Silco's staff have orders not to intrude.

Both, Vi guesses.

Crossing inside, she can't help but stop to pick up the sheeny black leather jacket, dumped in a heap on the carpet, and straighten it. It's the same one her sister routinely sloughs off in her frenetic pacing through the Aerie's corridors. The weave of the silk lining is redolent of chemicals. The acrid whiff of gunpowder, the piercing bite of turpentine, the waxy fug of crayons—all overlaid by the musk of a wild night out.

Yet beneath the olio of adult grime, a sweet, soft note persists.

Eau de Urchin.

A pang of longing seizes Vi's heart. She lifts the jacket, burying her face in its folds. The scent that fills her nostrils is pure Powder. Redolent; unmistakable. For the briefest moment, the years fall away. Powder is in her arms, her heartbeat is music against Vi's ribs, and the world's a safe place.

It's a wish, and Vi holds on to it with every fiber of her being.

Then she sneezes, and the moment shivers away. 

Laying the jacket aside, she refocuses on the room. It's a Jinxian miscellany: cluttered, crammed, kaleidoscopic. But also nothing like Jinx at all.

In Vi's mind, she'd conjured a tiny replica of the Aerie. A hotbox of destruction, filled to the rafters with lethal gizmos. A mirror, in short, of Jinx's psyche: distorted and dangerous and dazzling.

Instead, she's fallen into a time-warp. The décor is a mishmash of hard-edged glamor and girlish whimsy: pastel plushies warring with bold posters of sultry-eyed cabaret stars; an antique dollhouse next to a pair of neon-pink go-go boots; a rosy little lampshade offset by a skull-themed lava lamp.

And the walls.

Good gods, the walls.

Every square inch is plastered with pictures. Many are Powderish crayon drawings, exuberantly signed with a monkey motif. Others are Jinxian marvels, surreally skewed. The subject-matter is a grab-bag: comic book heroines kicking ass and flaunting cleavage, cute little animals cannibalizing each other, fiendish caricatures of chem-barons reduced from bloodthirsty tyrants to fawning buffoons.

There is also a riot of photographs. The sort that'd give Caitlyn's forensics team a conniption. Plenty are polaroids Jinx obviously snapped as she'd stalked the streets, their backgrounds murky with the suggestion of flaming wrecks, smoking guns and dead men. Vi imagines she kept a record of her most prolific heists, back when she'd been Silco's top gun, and the Lanes had quaked in terror at the mere mention of her name.  Others, more innocuous, are a potluck of the crew—Ran, Lock, Dustin and sometimes a shadowed Sevika—in moments of hilarity, brutality, or simple, undistilled banality: target practicing with beer-bottles, ghoulishly lit with neon during poker games, posing like big game hunters with oversized trophies of squid at the harbor or sump-vole at the Deadlands.

In all, there's a dysfunctional joie-de-vivre. Not family, but the camaraderie born from different lives bound by a single cause.

Not, Vi senses, that Jinx cares.

Each photo, badly angled, imprecise, speaks of a childish ardency to be included in the fun, even as she's excluded from the frame. The crew's not her focal point; nor is the cause. Only a bone-deep dread of being left behind.

Then there's Silco.

Silco, Silco, Silco.

His presence dominates the walls. Even in the smallest scrap of artwork bears his imprint. A set of mismatched eyes coalescing from a cloud of stinging-red ink. Somber graphite slashes of a scarred profile in chiaroscuro. Impressionistic smears of an upturned collar, a pristine cravat, a long-fingered hand. In one, he's a long-legged sprawl on a throne of skulls. In another, an elegant silhouette by a window. In a third, a floating shadow at sea, the city rising up to engulf him like teeth.

A man, a monster. Sometimes both.

But always, always there.

In the photographs, his face is never in full focus. He's a blur of movement, half-turned away, or angled just out of reach. A trick of shadow, a distortion of light. In the rare instances Jinx captures his face, his expression seems caught in a series of fractured emotions: a grimace of annoyance, an unguarded frown, the tail end of a smile.

It's as if he's trying to escape from his own portrait. And Jinx, in turn, is trying to hold him in place. To capture a single, solitary truth, in a single, solitary moment.

It never works. Silco always slips away.

Except once.

It's a photostrip, like from a booth at the carnival. Four squares, two bodies. Jinx, plainly perched on Silco's knee, her arms passed around his neck. Her eyes are sparkly as lit fuses; her smile is ravenously wide. In her embrace, Silco is more subdued. He sits, not idly slouched but straightbacked, as if to keep their faces on a level. In the first square, he's plainly irritated to be there. His expression is walled-off, the shark-eye a chilled blank.  In the next, something in his temperature shifts, so infinitesimal that Vi wouldn't have caught it if not for the contrast between the frozen frames. A softening of the good eye, a thawing of the bad. By the third, his arm's encircling the slipping weight of Jinx's giggling body, as if to keep her from falling. By the fourth, their heads come closer, temple-to-temple, and he's smiling.

Smiling.

It's a gut-shock, that smile. Not the smile of a schemer biding his time, or a monster slinking through the dark. It's a smile of simple, unqualified human happiness, stolen from a man unwilling to be caught off-guard but unable to resist the thrill.

And it's not Silco's smile.

Not entirely. There's something about the curve of his lips, the way it softens the eerie luminosity of his shark-eye, and melts the scarred angles of his face, that's so familiar it hurts. Vi's seen that smile before. Seen it refracted through the lens of a whiskey glass in dreams, and split into a swarm of flaming facsimiles in nightmares.

It's Blut's smile.

And Jinx's, mirroring, is Powder's.

[cecoeur]

I for one am always excited when a 50+ year old man tells me they’ve got communication plans to market to younger age groups. He and his team surely have their finger on the pulse of trending media and are ready to greenlight the most banal engagement opportunities staring the two least interesting people you’ve ever met.

[quadrantadvisor]

Danny Phantom Crossover Angst Week: Prompt - GIW Experimentation

Fandom: Marvel "Team Red"

Words: 2,550

Read on AO3

The new government offices in the Kitchen were suspicious, simply by virtue how un-suspicious they were. Matt, Foggy, and Karen had poured over their documentation, and found it to be squeaky clean and overly banal. Not that it mattered, really, when Matt was going to stake out their building regardless. Newcomers on his turf had to prove themselves.

Matt didn’t like what he heard.

It may, in fact, be time to call in the cavalry. No matter how deeply, desperately, Matt did not want to do that.

-

“You hear that, Spidey?” Wade Wilson crooned. “Ol’ Hornhead needs our help.”

“Never thought I’d see the day,” Spiderman said mirthfully, shaking his head.

They’d been like this for several minutes. Matt was cataloging and systematically shuffling through his life choices, trying to decide which one in particular led him to this moment (so that if he ever had the opportunity to time travel, he could prevent this.)

“Listen,” he told them. “I called you because I have reason to believe this situation is urgent, but my source has been unable to retrieve certain necessary information.”

“Like what?” Spiderman asked before Deadpool could get a word in edgewise.

“Like the dimensions of the building. I know that they don’t match the official schematics, but not what they actually are.”

“That seems very unlikely,” Wade cut in. “I thought you had like, a psychic connection to every part of your kitchen. How does anyone build something without you knowing about it?”

“I’m not psychic,” Matt deadpanned. Who needed a sixth sense? Matt did just fine with the ones he had. “But the answer is, very carefully.”

“Sure, sure,” Spiderman said. “And what’s the actual emergency?”

“They’re holding someone against their will,” Matt told him, glad to cut to the chase. “I have reason to believe that this person is in a great deal of danger, and has been tortured and experimented on for a significant amount of time.”

“The US government is doing this?” Spiderman asked, surprised. “After how many human rights scandals we’ve had in the past few years? Are they stupid?”

“Yes,” Matt answered immediately. “But there seems to be some question of this person’s level of sentience. My source said the attitude of the agents was, ‘Don’t worry if it’s screaming, that means it’s working.’”

The cold slide of a katana being drawn made Matt realize that he should’ve been paying more attention to Deadpool, who had become strangely quiet.

“DP, you good?” Spiderman asked, because he was naive enough to ask questions he already knew the answer to. Matt had gotten caught up in his own urgency, and completely forgotten to take Wade’s history into account. He’d stumbled into a thorny web of traumas, and had no one to blame but himself.

“Doing great, Spidey!” Deadpool said with a cold cheer, and Matt fought the urge to shiver. “Feeling very ready to teach some remedial lessons on human/alien/magical and/or mechanical construct rights! C’mon, team, time’s a-wasting!” And he was off.

Spiderman turned towards Matt and paused, presumably trying to share some sort of look (which wouldn’t have worked regardless, did he forget he wore a full face mask?) Then he tensed to leap, and Matt followed suit, the two of them determined to clean up whatever mess Deadpool made.

-

Deadpool had been made emphatically aware that, if he killed on their watch, neither Spiderman nor Daredevil would ever work with him again. Matt guessed that that promise was the only thing keeping him from further brutality. The stench of blood grew quickly cloying.

“HEY!” Spiderman shouted on his left.

“What?” Deadpool asked in front of him. “It’s not like he needs both hands.”

Spiderman’s webbing thwip-ed out, staunching the wound. “You guys picked a really bad day to wear white,” he said to the swearing agent.

“Lay off the suits, freak!” another one said, aiming his strange weapon at Matt’s friend. Matt quickly disarmed him.

Their suits were entirely white? No wonder they smelled so strongly of starch and bleach. Another point towards government stupidity.

The three of them made their way deeper into the facility, and white suits were replaced with white lab coats, though the scientists still carried the little noisy pistols, powered by something Matt couldn’t identify by smell. Whatever kind of energy it was, it left strong taste on his tongue, like citrus and metal and sparking electricity.

Then, finally, they found what they were looking for.

As soon as he opened the door, Deadpool’s tone changed, from frightening mania to a solemn sort of despair. “Fuck,” he said under his breath.

Matt was in an unfamiliar building, having to feel his way through as he went. He’d had to navigate combat situations while ignoring a great many assaults upon his senses, from loud alarms to overwhelming scents to a completely unfamiliar power source that made his skin tingle. But the inside of that room was worse. Matt resisted the urge to plug his nose against the air saturated with bleach, old blood, and rotten… whatever it was.

Spiderman, seeing into the room, gasped, then composed himself, following Deadpool inside.

“Hey, kid,” Deadpool said softly. This was why, despite all the instincts telling him otherwise, Matt trusted Wade. Wade cared about vulnerable people, in a way that was both obvious and experienced. He wore his care on his sleeve. Matt couldn’t help but admire it, and felt a kinship he couldn’t quite deny. “We’re gonna get you out of here, okay?”

A mumble responded, drawing Matt’s attention, and he drew short. There was certainly a structure in the center of the room, and upon that structure (gurney?) was…

It was unlike anything Matt had ever experienced. It was in the shape of a person, yes, but it was almost like the absence of a person. Cold emanated from the space, but air seemed to pass right through it. Sound was drawn in by the shape, muffled. Was there really someone there? Matt’s skin prickled. (Matt still wasn’t psychic. But something about it didn’t feel right. Like it wanted him to be afraid.)

The figure wheezed.

“He can’t be older than sixteen,” Spiderman whispered.

“Hey, kid, hey, they really did a number on you, huh? Can you hear me?”

This time, there was no response, just the same shallow, painful breaths.

“Alright, up we go then,” Deadpool said, reaching for the figure. Matt almost called out, almost told him not to touch it. He half expected Deadpool’s hands to fall right through. But contact was made, and Deadpool hefted what apparently looked like a young teenaged boy into his arms.

“Alright besties, you clear the way and I’ll cart the kid out of here,” Deadpool said, tone comically sweet.

Again, Matt wanted to protest. Now that they had the captive, the rescue seemed less urgent. He wanted to know just what was going on here, what the subject was, why he was being studied. He had a bad feeling, was all.

Matt held his tounge. Deadpool and Spiderman’s hearts were both racing, and they radiated fear and concern. Something was leaking from the boy, something that smelled like the power source of the agent’s weapons but somehow more organic. Matt’s bad feeling didn’t matter, not until something bad actually happened. He could come back later and collect the information he needed, especially since he’d be able to use actual stealth to do it (thank you, Wade, for barging in.)

They went out the same way they’d come in, mowing through agents much less brutally now that Deadpool’s hands were fully. The number of people working in this building was frankly ridiculous.

The agents were not shy about targeting Deadpool, seeming unconcerned about any harm that may come to their captive. As they passed, they shouted at them, telling them to “Drop the subject!” or “Give up the Ghost Kid!”

(Ghost Kid? No, he couldn’t be a ghost. That was ridiculous. That wasn’t what ghosts were like, it couldn’t be.)

(Oh sweet Mother Mary.)

Spiderman started webbing the agents’ mouths shut.

When they had nearly reached their goal of escape, the figure began to murmur and shift.

“Hey kiddo, you with us?” Deadpool asked.

“Who’re you?” was the slurred response.

“Just your friendly neighborhood mercenary!” Deadpool chirped. “And I’m getting you out of here.”

“We’re leaving?” croaked the boy.

“Yep! Me’n my buddies,” Deadpool moved his head, gesturing to Matt and Spiderman, “we’ll keep you safe. These creeps aren’t gonna touch you, never again.”

The being moved suddenly, lurching up in Wade’s grasp, maybe meeting his eyes or grabbing his arm?

“The research,” he gasped, “the containment devices, the weapons, you have to destroy them! What they’re trying to do, it’s-” he broke off, coughing weakly.

“Kid?” Deadpool asked.

“An entire dimension,” the boy answered weakly. “They want to destroy an entire dimension.”

The alarms were still blaring. The number of agents coming in from different parts of the building hadn’t slowed. As bad as that sounded, and as much as Matt wanted to get their research away from them and into more capable and ethical hands (Karen), they didn’t have time if they didn’t want to take huge risks.

“We’re leaving,” Matt said, the full gravel of the devil in his voice. “We’ll stop them, but not tonight.”

“Yeah buddy, don’t worry, we’re gonna take care of it,” Spiderman assured him.

“You don’t understand,” the boy said, distraught.

Their group had reached the first floor. Matt was bruised and exhausted, but none of the combatants were experts in hand to hand. They were going to make it out of this, mission complete, none the worse for wear. It could’ve gone a lot worse.

“I’ll do it myself.”

The figure in Deadpool’s arms suddenly, inexplicably, dropped. No struggle, no loosening of Deadpool’s grip. It was like he fell straight through them.

Despite his weakness, the boy slipped away when Wade reached out for him. Then he, if Matt’s senses weren’t playing tricks on him, started floating.

“Back up,” he said, “and cover your ears.”

Matt didn’t like to muffle his senses, but he wasn’t an idiot. When a being like that said to protect your hearing, you did it. He pressed his palms tight to his ears and moved away.

It wasn’t enough.

What came from the thing could barely be called a sound. The sensation was almost physical, air distorting worse than the concussive blast of an explosion. He directed it down, down, through every level of the building, and the floor pushed back in waves as it fought against its own destruction. Inevitably, it failed, and Matt hugged desperately against the wall, hoping he wouldn’t lose the very ground beneath his feet. He sincerely doubted any electronics could survive the onslaught, meaning that whatever records and weapons were being stored here would be just as gone as the boy had wanted.

Matt didn’t know how long the attack lasted, maybe just seconds, regardless of how long it felt in his pain. The ringing in his head didn’t stop with the onslaught, and he removed his hands cautiously, hoping he wasn’t bleeding. Matt rose from his crouch, and tried to figure out what to do next. He couldn’t focus, couldn’t hear anything over the ringing, could only stand there and wonder if a single step would send him plunging to his death, if the ringing was just too loud or if his hearing was gone for good (he could do it, he could, but please, God, he didn’t want to, didn’t want to adjust, to lose such a huge part of the world around him, please, not again.)

He startled when someone touched his arm. “-hear me?” they asked, and Matt realized it was Spiderman, because he could feel his heartbeat through his fingers, knew the resonance of his voice in his chest, and Matt resisted the urge to cling to him for some sense of normalcy, because yes, even though he couldn’t hear him, he knew the vibrations of his body and could still interpret them.

“There you are,” Spiderman said. “Just mouth stuff at me, my ears are shot after that. You good?”

Matt grunted, and was disturbed by the lack of feedback within his own skull. “Can’t hear a thing,” he reluctantly admitted, doing his best to turn towards where he figured Spiderman’s eyeline was. He paused, uncomfortable, but added, “A bit dizzy, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got you,” Spiderman immediately replied, getting a better grip on Matt’s arm and starting to pull him somewhere. It wasn’t easy guidance, like Foggy would offer, it was a firm lead, something Spiderman would use to pull civilians away from danger. Matt suffered the indignity, seeing as he could barely stand straight and had almost no idea where the holes in the floor were. “Man, that kid scared the shit out of me. I’m so glad I managed to catch him.”

Catch him? That made sense, maybe, if whatever power that had kept him suspended gave out after that display. Spiderman didn’t have the boy now, though, so he must’ve handed him off to Deadpool, or maybe he’d used his webs.

The air changed, and Matt figured they’d made it outside. He expected Spiderman to let go of him, and felt both relieved and embarrassed when he didn’t.

Air moved, the ground vibrated, and Matt could tell someone approached them. Spiderman didn’t react negatively, so likely it was Deadpool. The mercenary stood in front of them, speaking, but the breeze whisked the vibrations away and Matt couldn’t make out his voice.

“Don’t ask me,” Spiderman replied. “Hey, you paying attention Double D? What the heck do we do with an incredibly powerful, partially human, transforming kid who may also be bleeding out?”

Transforming? Bleeding out? Matt had thought the blood smell was just Deadpool. Without thinking, he reached forward, seeking more information. After a moment, he made contact, and felt relieved at the familiar heart and breaths. Thus oriented, he moved his hand down to the figure in Wade’s arms.

It was a normal human boy. No uncanny not-there-ness, no hum of energy and power, just a kid with blood pumping through his veins and dripping from a poorly treated would along his torso.

“I don’t know,” Matt said. “Hospital?”

“I am not just dropping him off at a hospital,” Deadpool said. “If that’s your plan, I’ll just take him back to my place and-”

“Hey, Daredevil, didn’t you say you couldn’t hear?” Spiderman interrupted.

Matt nodded absentmindedly. “Not a thing.”

“We’re wearing full face masks,” Spiderman pointed out. “How do you know what we’re saying?”

Deadpool gasped dramatically. “He IS psychic!”

Matt sighed heavily, wishing he could drop his head into his hands, but that would necessitate letting go of his friends. “Claire is going to hate me for this,” he lamented.

“Who’s Claire?” Spiderman asked.

“He didn’t deny it!” Deadpool crowed.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Matt said, ignoring the mercenary. “You’re going to have to guide me though, I’m practically useless right now.”

“Sure thing,” Spiderman said, not needing more than that, and Matt knew that there was a reason he liked him.

Their group, much worse for wear and plus a new member, headed off again into the night.