#this turned out way longer than i intended it to

[thef1diary]

omg dirtbag!daniel is so good I can’t stop thinking about it! also your writing style is to die for. Was wondering if there was any more fuel in the tank for more dirtbag!daniel?

thank you, nonnie! I always have more dirtbag!daniel thoughts 🤭 this is what’s been on my mind lately: spit kink, marking + a bit of bratty reader. it turned out longer than I initially intended. drop some thoughts and I’d love to chat

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate, or repost any of my work

Dirtbag!Daniel doesn’t own you. He never asked to, he never pretended to. But that didn’t stop him from treating you like you belonged to him, like your body existed solely for his amusement. Maybe it does, because no matter how filthy, how degrading his words get, you let him. You always come back for more.

Perhaps that’s why you were weaving your way through a packed bar, the dim lights flickering overhead and the bass of the music reverberating through your chest. The air is thick with humidity, the cloying scent of sweat and spilled beer clinging to every surface. It’s the kind of place where anonymity thrives—a place where you could disappear into the crowd if you wanted to.

But you didn’t come to disappear, no, you came because he called, and you were too far gone to resist.

You spot him almost immediately, leaning against the bar like he owned the place. One elbow rested lazily on the counter, a drink in his hand, his fingers curled loosely around the class. His head is tilted slightly, his dark eyes scanning the room, but there’s no mistaking the moment he sees you.

A smirk spreads across his face, slow and smug, and you feel the pull of it like a hook in your chest. It’s infuriating, that smirk. It always is. It’s the way he tells you—without words—he’s two steps ahead, already planning how to leave his mark on you, both physically and mentally.

The bar is too crowded for you to think clearly, the press of bodies around you amplifying your nerves. But as you approach him, the rest of the room blurs into the background. All you see is him, the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his shirt clings to his frame, and the glint in his eyes that promises trouble.

“Didn’t think you’d show up,” Daniel drawled, leaning in to speak to you over the din. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every inch of your body. It’s not fair, the way he makes you feel exposed without even touching you. Like he’s already imagined all the ways he’s going to break you tonight.

You force yourself to shrug, to play it cool. “Why wouldn’t I?”

He chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink before setting the glass down with a clink. “Figured you had more self-respect,” he said, his tone sharp enough to cut.

The grin that followed is demeaning, the kind that made your stomach twist in equal parts anger and want. “Guess not,” he added.

Your jaw tightened as his words sank in, the sharp edge of his insult cut deep—but not in the way they should. His insult only added to the simmering heat in your stomach, a twisted, shameful thrill curling low in your belly.

You hated how much you craved it—his mocking tone, the way he could peel you apart with a single look. But you won’t admit it. You opened your mouth to snap back, to tell him that you did have self-respect, thank you very much.

“I—”

But Daniel didn’t even give you the chance.

“Relax,” he said smoothly, interrupting without hesitation, his voice dripping with mockery. His fingers brushed against your arm as he leaned in closer, close enough that his breath ghosted over your ear. “I wasn’t looking for an argument, sweetheart. Don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Your breath hitched, and you hated the way his presence overwhelmed you, how his tone left no room for you to gain the upper hand. His smirk widened as he pulled back just enough to look at you, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement, like this was all a game to him.

“You wouldn’t be here if you weren’t craving something,” he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. “And we both know exactly what that is.”

Daniel didn’t even wait for you to respond, his smirk widening before he grabbed your wrist and yanked you closer. Before you could catch your breath, his mouth was on yours, the kiss filthy and unapologetic. His hand slid to the back of your neck, holding you in place as he devoured you, his tongue parting your lips with ease.

You melted into him, your resistance crumbling the moment he pulled you against his chest. The sheer force of his presence made your knees weak, and you hated how easily you gave in, how much you wanted this.

He almost chuckled into the kiss, the vibrations teasing against your lips, but he didn’t pull away. No, Daniel kissed you like he had something to prove, his teeth grazing your bottom lip, his tongue hot and insistent. It was consuming, like he wanted to claim every part of you here and now, and he didn’t give a damn who saw it.

You dimly registered the press of bodies around you, the muffled gasps and sidelong glances from strangers who couldn’t help but notice the spectacle he was making of you. But Daniel didn’t care, not even a little. If anything, the idea of an audience seemed to spur him on, his hand gripping your hip possessively, pulling you closer until there wasn’t an inch of space left between you.

When he finally pulled back, it was only by a fraction, his forehead brushing against yours as he smirked down at you, his breath fanning over your lips. His gaze was molten, full of arrogance and something darker, something that made your stomach flip.

“See? You’re too easy,” he muttered, his tone low and mocking, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you he loved every second of it. His thumb brushed over your kiss-swollen bottom lip, smearing the remnants of his own claim on you, and you felt your cheeks heat under his scrutiny.

Daniel looked back, the smirk on his face growing as he signaled the bartender with two fingers. “Whiskey for me,” he said, his tone relaxed, almost bored, before his gaze slid back to you. “And for her…” He looked you up and down like he was appraising you, his lip curling slightly. “Something sweet. She needs it.”

You bristled at the condescension in his tone, but the bartender was already nodding, turning to make the drinks. Daniel’s attention shifted back to you, and he leaned his hip against the bar, his stance casual but his gaze piercing.

The drinks arrived moments later, and he slid it toward you, his fingers brushing yours as he handed it over. “Go on,” he said, his voice low and coaxing, the words laced with challenge. “Show me just how good you are at taking what I give you.”

Your fingers closed around the glass, but your grip faltered as his words sank in, their double meaning curling around your chest and tightening like a vice.

“I don’t take orders from you, Daniel,” you managed to bite out. Daniel raised his eyebrows in mock surprise, “don’t you?”

His eyes dropped to the drink in your hand, then back to your face, challenging you. “C’mon, I know you can be good for me.”

Your grip tightened around the glass as you raised it to your lips, refusing to give him the satisfaction of looking away. Daniel’s gaze stayed fixed on you, intense and unwavering, his smirk deepening as if he could feel the fire burning under your skin.

The drink was just as he’d ordered—sweet and cloying, the kind of thing that lingered too long on your tongue. His eyes flickered to your throat as you tipped the glass back, watching the subtle motion of you finishing the drink. The heat in his gaze made your skin prickle, and your breath hitched as you placed the empty glass on the bar with deliberate finality.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice like silk, but there was a dangerous edge to it that sent a shiver down your spine.

Without another word, he picked up his whiskey and downed it in a single smooth motion, the glass hitting the bar with a quiet clink. His hand found yours before you could react, his fingers firm but not rough as he tugged you from the bar.

“Come on,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

You followed as he guided you through the crowd, his hand never leaving yours. He maneuvered you effortlessly, weaving through the bodies pressed close together until you reached a dark corner of the bar. The music was quieter here, the dim lighting casting long shadows that seemed to swallow you both whole.

Daniel turned to face you, his smirk growing as he backed you up against a wall. His eyes raked over you, dark and predatory, and for a moment, you felt like a cornered animal under his unrelenting gaze.

“Drop the act,” he murmured, his voice pitched low enough that only you could hear it over the muffled thrum of the music. “We both know why you’re here.”

“You couldn’t stay away, could you?” His eyes dragged over you, taking in every detail—the way your dress clung to your frame, the way your chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. His gaze lingered, unapologetic and ravenous, and you felt the heat of it searing into you. “Look at you,” he murmured, his tone low and cutting. “All dolled up, hoping I’d notice. Hoping I’d take one look at you and decide to ruin you.”

Your breath caught as his fingers brushed against your jaw, tilting your face up so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him. His smirk deepened, cruel and knowing, like he could see right through you

“You’re not even trying to deny it,” he went on, his thumb grazing your bottom lip. “The second I called, you came running, didn’t you? Like the desperate little slut you are.”

“Danny…” you murmured, the plea barely audible, your voice trembling under the weight of his words. Your cheeks burned, humiliation mingling with the thrill that coursed through you, leaving you lightheaded.

He simply chuckled, watching you squirm in place as he had you exactly where he wanted you. His grip was firm, his thumb pressing down just enough to part your lips. “Ah, ah,” he chided, his voice a mockery of sweetness. “Don’t get shy on me now. You wanted this. You wanted me. Isn’t that right?”

You nodded, desperately, the act slipping away as soon as he called you his slut—which was exactly what you were, what you’d always be for him.

“There it is,” he murmured, satisfaction dripping from his voice. “See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?” His smirk widened, his thumb tracing the edge of your lip before dragging it down your chin, a slow, deliberate motion that made you shiver. “I can see it, you know. The way you’re squirming, the way your eyes keep flicking to my mouth like you’re imagining all the filthy things I could do to you.”

You swallowed hard, your breath hitching as his words wrapped around you, tightening the coil of tension low in your belly.

“Say it,” he commanded, his voice dipping even lower, the edge of his accent sharpening his words. “Say you came here for me. Say you came here to let me ruin you.”

Your lips parted, the heat of his gaze pulling the words from you before you could stop them. “I did,” you whispered, voice trembling as your cheeks burned under his scrutiny. “I came here for you. I want you to ruin me.”

His hand slid up to your jaw, tilting your face toward his. “That’s my obedient little slut,” he murmured, a grin breaking out on his face.

The pad of his thumb pressed against your bottom lip, smudging your lipstick further—his kiss earlier already having ruined it—leaving a streak of red across your skin. His grin widened as his eyes followed the smear. “Such a pretty mess already. Let’s make it worse.”

“Open your mouth,” he ordered, his voice low and commanding. “Stick out your tongue.”

Your heart pounded in your chest as you obeyed, parting your lips and letting your tongue peek out, feeling utterly exposed under his watchful, predatory stare.

He tilted his head, letting a slow stream of spit fall from his mouth onto your waiting tongue. Heat bloomed in your cheeks as you held still, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made your knees weak.

“Close,” he instructed, and you did, your lips sealing around the weight of his demand.

“Swallow,” he said next, his voice sharp and deliberate, the edge of his accent making it sound even filthier.

You swallowed, the act leaving a warmth in your belly that had nothing to do with the heat of the room. His smirk grew, impossibly smug, as his thumb returned to your jaw, tilting your face further toward him.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his tone dripping with approval. “You take orders so well, don’t you? Makes me wonder what else that filthy mouth of yours is good for.”

You whimpered under the weight of his words, your knees threatening to give out as his free hand slid down to your shoulder, then lower, fingers toying with the strap of your dress. He tugged it down slightly, just enough to bare your skin to him—revealing a few more marks he left behind a couple days ago.

“Mine,” he muttered under his breath, leaning in close enough for you to feel the warmth of his breath on your skin. He pressed his lips to your shoulder, biting down gently, then harder, until you gasped. He pulled back to admire the mark blooming on your skin—a deep red imprint of his teeth.

“You look so much better when you’re marked up,” he murmured, his voice rough with satisfaction. “Everyone who sees these will know exactly who you belong to.”

His hand wandered back up, fingers brushing the column of your throat before tightening just enough to send a wave of heat coursing through you. “You like that, don’t you?” he asked, his thumb pressing against your pulse point, feeling it race under his touch. “Being claimed, being ruined. You’ve been craving this all night, haven’t you?”

“Yes,” you admitted breathlessly, your voice barely above a whisper as you leaned into his touch. “Please, Danny. I want more.”

His grin turned almost cruel as he leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear. “Oh, you’ll get more, sweetheart,” he promised, his voice a low, dangerous purr. “By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be ruined for anyone else.”

Perhaps you did belong to him, but the realization wasn’t as terrifying as you’d expected. In fact, it felt strangely natural, even comforting, as you found yourself agreeing with him without hesitation. Not that you ever had the strength to resist him in the first place. You were already a goner from the first time he degraded you like no other.

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[hyperions-light]

okay everyone today let’s talk about profound, overwhelming emotion as a theme in Veilguard

Sounds fun right

Gonna do like a sort of deconstructed essay thing (or I WAS, but this is an actual essay. Sigh)

Thesis: DATV is exploring how its characters confront and process emotions and events so overwhelming that they could define the characters entire lives if ignored or pushed aside; the player is encouraged to provide the characters with the appropriate emotional tools to dismantle the seemingly impossible obstacles that stand in their way, in order to complete their character arcs and contribute to the resolution of the central conflict.

WOagh this got way long, like REALLY long, so I am cutting here. I hope you didn't think the Grey Warden essay was verbose, bc this is much longer! You've been warned lol

PART I: ISATUNOLL

I feel like we have to talk about Harding first bc what’s more overwhelming than having the entire history of your race shoved on you at once? (I've decided to relocate to the computer, so you know I'm taking this seriously) So Harding gets magic rock powers, and then you have that sort of lull in her story where she's just trying to feel them out, but you can already see the game setting up the dilemma, because she's constantly checking against Rook to see what they think about it. She doesn't know how to feel-- should she be worried, excited? You can encourage her down different paths, but whatever you choose, you're providing a way for her to conceptualize this thing that (as far as she knows) has never really happened to anyone else.

And then when you go to meet the Oracle, the game introduces the idea of this overwhelming rage, this intense frustration that IS hers, but also isn't. She (probably) doesn't know what happened to the Titans by that point (you can do Regrets of the Dread Wolf pretty early but idk if it's able to be finished at that point?) but I think the stone giant you fight there is her inborn anger resonating with the much larger, dormant anger of the Titans. And you see her deny her own anger and her own feelings generally (the coffee scene with Lucanis, while tonally lighthearted, is intended to set this up). Again, Rook can intervene, and this time you also see your companions providing their own advice (Lucanis and Taash both tell her not to hide her anger/try to make people happy and Davrin repeatedly urges her to stand and face 'whatever it is' directly). So both Rook and their friends are supplying tools to deal with this upcoming confrontation.

So, the culmination of the arc comes in Isana Negat, where Harding faces the physically manifested anger of the Titans in the form of herself. She says it is her anger, and it IS, she is angry and they are angry, together; Isatunoll-- I am, we are. She did not know what to do with it, and that is why it is here; the game is positing that avoiding confrontation and acceptance of one's feelings can lead to harm for oneself AND for others. It IS Harding that is attacking you, because it was her raising the enemies in the cavern. But, at the same time, Harding is here out of a desire to protect others, and she is compassionate to this manifestation; she apologizes for not knowing how to confront it and letting it run wild in this way.

Fortunately, by this point Rook and company have already provided her with the tools to be successful in this encounter. She does not turn away from her anger, she does not attempt to run or dissemble as she might have done before. By the time Rook reaches the platform she has already absorbed the being; she is just having a hard time fully accepting it. Rook and the other companion physically grab hold of her, as Rook directs her down the path of acceptance through compassion, or acceptance through embracing anger. It is important that neither choice offers a denial. Through the strength of the unity of the team, here represented by physical closeness, and because Harding herself has changed as a character, she is able to integrate the Titans' anger and affirm that she and the other dwarves will continue to persist in spite of what was done to them. DAI players may recognize this as a well-placed echo of the conversation thread between Solas and Varric about the man who persisted in spite of losing everything; Varric said then that the fact that the man lived, that he continued, was a triumph in itself. The dwarves triumph as a race here, by not allowing the horrific violation committed against the Titans destroy them, and so does Harding.

The final piece of Harding's journey is her meeting with Stalgard and his sister outside of Isana Negat, in front of the mountain that was/is a Titan. She returns to them the knowledge that was lost for centuries, and the anger that comes with it, but affirms that they cannot return to what was; this brings change, GOOD change, to the dwarven people and will redefine them. By successfully accepting this outsized emotional trauma, Harding has helped her people, and becomes a more effective member of her team. Catharsis, acceptance, and emotional growth make her stronger.

PART II: I AM NOT THIS

When Rook meets Lucanis, he has been kept in a prison for a year, being tortured and violated by the Venatori, who have been attempting to turn him into a demon. It hasn't worked correctly, because Lucanis and Spite have an accord. However, you first see him just kind of running around killing whoever he comes across; Rook provide direction and a specific target, a chance for freedom. It is significant here that the prison is underwater; Lucanis is, metaphorically, drowning. The prison is also referred to as the Ossuary, which is a place you store the bones of the dead; the outside world believed he was dead, and, metaphorically, he did die here. You kill his torturer, but it is not enough; the woman who kidnapped him and the orchestrator of his violation still lives.

Rook returns to Treviso where Lucanis finds out that he has truly lost almost everything. His grandmother, Caterina, appears to be dead, and his city, Treviso, is occupied by the Antaam. The only thing he has left is Illario, and he immediately grabs onto the idea that Zara, who he believes killed Caterina, is going to kill Illario, too. He panics in response, but he is trained as a Crow to shut down his emotion, and practiced at doing so from his year spent constantly disassociating in the Ossuary. He says he needs to work; Illario and Teia protest, but he insists. He is returning to the thing he knows how to do, grabbing for a sense of normalcy when everything else is lost and he believes the little he has left is in danger. He will destroy the threat and this will also conveniently allow him to put off his real emotional trauma from the prior year.

Every cutscene Rook has with Lucanis between his major plot events in this section involves him trying to contain and ignore Spite. He tries to constantly stay awake to ensure that the demon cannot take over, and he tries to befriend and placate his new associates by buying them stuff (a VERY rich person thing to do) and taking care of them. He is trying to convince himself and them that he is NOT dangerous; he is not a demon, not an abomination. But he is not confronting his fear, he is only putting it off; often, in conversation with others he will be flippant about Spite, or he will deflect their concern about it. He chooses his 'bedroom' in part because it can contain Spite, and because it is the farthest possible location from the Eluvian, where Spite keeps trying to go (I just noticed that! Very fun!). In the meantime, he is also ignoring the fact that Illario is being extremely suspicious, because he doesn't want to know that his brother is the one who hurt him. Lucanis is an astute person by nature, and could certainly have observed this, had he not been deliberately trying to obscure it from himself.

Davrin is a huge problem for him because he is the most direct person in Veilguard. He shows up and tells Lucanis that if Spite overtakes him, he will kill him. This touches on Lucanis' fear of his own lack of control and drives too directly at what he wants to ignore. They are immediately at odds, which is made worse by Lucanis' 'failure' at Weisshaupt, which causes him to lash out at Davrin. He believes that the fact that he was unable to kill Ghilan'nain is indicative of him losing his abilities as an assassin, which is one of the only familiar things that he has left. Fortunately, Rook and company are there to reassure him; the situation is helped by the presence of Taash, Emmrich and Neve, who are unafraid of Spite, and whom he can rely on to control the demon if he cannot. However, the problem remains that he refuses to seriously deal with Spite in any way. As the inextricable representation of Lucanis' trauma (it would LITERALLY kill him to remove it), ignoring him means Lucanis is unable come to terms with what has happened.

This comes to a head when Illario kills Zara, and Lucanis is unable to stop Spite from almost murdering his brother with his own body in response. This is the final, most devastating loss of control. He apologizes to Rook for the lapse, and tries to refocus on Illario, who he now has definitive proof betrayed him. He says he is going to take everything away from him, but truly this is just another distraction; revenge is not going to be enough because it will just mean that he has nothing on which to focus his and Spite's combined ire, and then he will still have a demon inside him and no accord. What saves him is Rook, and finding out that Caterina is still alive. This is fantastic news because it means he hasn't lost everything, but it also presents a dilemma; is it more important to attack Illario, to seek revenge, even if it endangers Caterina's life? Does he risk what he values most-- his family-- to pursue his vengeance?

I was going to write an entirely separate post on the mind prison, my favorite part of Lucanis' arc, so I'll (try) to be brief here. The metaphorical Ossuary is a prison of Lucanis' fear; those he is scared he will hurt, or who will see him for what he believes he is: a demon. In order to get him out of it, Rook needs to cooperate with Spite, and confront each fear individually, breaking down their flawed presuppositions about Lucanis which are trapping him there. It is also significant that Lucanis himself is unable to articulate that he is trapped, and is even unable to ask for help; it is Spite who invites Rook in and concretizes Lucanis' emotional state. He can't get out alone. When Rook reaches Lucanis he admits that he has been avoiding his emotions but that, "It's just... so much. I don't know where to begin."

What happened to Lucanis was life-alteringly traumatic. It is unsurprising that he does not have the tools to effectively confront it. However, Rook encourages him here to begin the process by creating an agreement with Spite in the short-term. Process your trauma by breaking it down and taking it one step at a time. After this section in the game, the player can hear Lucanis converse with his friends about trying to work with Spite; about how the spirit is learning to understand the physical world, and they are no longer fighting. Again, we see that ignoring his emotions was hurting both Lucanis himself and other people, and that by moving forward, no matter how slowly, he can regain control of his life and build a new one alongside Spite, accepting the new circumstance.

When he confronts Illario for what he did and, incidentally, control over the Crows, he does not kill him. He never loses control and he and Spite work together to resist the blood magic that Illario attempts to use on them. Working through his problems with the support of his team allows Lucanis to preserve what he values-- his family, the Crows-- instead of pursuing an endless and ultimately pointless crusade of death in an attempt to avoid his problems. He makes the Crows stronger and heals himself through confronting and accepting his emotions.

PART III: I WILL GO AND SEEK ATONEMENT

Hey it's Solas! Remember how this game used to be called Dreadwolf? That was probably because he's the thematic anchor of the narrative. So, here we go. (This section is going to discuss the 'good ending' for Solas, because I don't think the others really feed into this theme much.)

Solas is the instigator of the conflict in Veilguard, and he may be an antagonistic force throughout the story, depending on how Rook chooses to deal with him. This game gives confirmation that Solas is a spirit, and so the generally established rules apply: he acts as you expect him to act, he is what you expect him to be, so the player is likely to have wildly variable experiences with him.

Throughout the game the player can encounter sections which depict his greatest regrets in his life so far; taking physical form, creating the weapon that severed the Titans' dreams, incidentally creating the Blight, accidentally sending Mythal to her death, and accidentally creating the Veil (dang, nothing goes right for this guy lol). This series of decisions led, in Solas' time, to monumental harm for countless people, and it is what has led him to his current course. He cannot stop because he is utterly trapped in his regret; these moments, though degraded, surrounded him within the Lighthouse while he planned for a decade. The Caretaker tells you that his regrets are so vicious that they are the teeth with which Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain are tearing into the Crossroads. Solas is destroying something beautiful he helped build because he is unable to let go of the past.

Although you, dear reader, may have your own opinion of him, Solas is undeniably compassionate. In DAI, he will give you massive amounts of approval for simply helping out villagers and performing menial tasks that serve no greater purpose than to alleviate suffering. The amount of suffering he (mostly) unintentionally caused could do nothing but horrify and pain him. His regret is oceanic. If you decide to persuade him to your side at the end of the game, one of the reasons he cites for continuing down his destructive path is because it would dishonor those he has wronged if he were to abandon his work. He is sunk cost fallacy-ing himself into mass murder, basically.

Part of the reason that he is doing this is because, like with Lucanis' issues, the emotion, the weight of the repeated failure is almost too big to effectively reckon with. But Rook can help him do it. Throughout the game Solas watches through his avatar in the Lighthouse; he sees Rook build their team, sees them solve the problems of the people around them and find strength in unity, and so when they appear in Minrathous he does actually believe that they can solve the problem that he cannot. He is deceiving Rook when he gives them the dagger, true, but this is his most valuable asset in the fight; if he did not believe in their success, it would be extremely foolish to give it to them and to commit himself to the comparatively lesser evil of Lusacan. So, Rook has effectively proven the Power of Friendship, as it were, through their actions in Veilguard.

To achieve the 'good end' for Solas, you need to have finished Regrets of the Dreadwolf and successfully confronted the fragment of Mythal that lives in the Crossroads. She will be impressed by your work in proportion to the amount of things in the game you've finished, so you must have bonded with your companions and you must have freed the Crossroads from the ravages of Solas' regrets. He helped make the mess, but other people can help him fix it, which is essentially the point that Mythal makes to him at the end; that he's not literally solely responsible for actually every bad thing that's ever happened.

You also have to tell the Inquisitor to attempt to reach him, which will lead to them saying something about forgiving his past actions if he stops trying to destroy the Veil presently (I assume the dialogue is similar in the friendship route; I have a Solas-romancing Inquisitor and that's basically what she said. I felt that part was general enough it probably carried over). All of these people and various pieces of Solas' past and present are here to break down the gigantic wall of regret that's preventing him from doing the right thing in this moment. All of his arguments for why he must keep going are refuted by these people he cared for, and to whom his regrets are attached.

Through Rook's actions they have demonstrated their ability to solve seemingly overwhelming problems. You can help Harding tame the anger of the Titans, you can help Lucanis confront his trauma, and you can help Solas finally see past his regret and be the hero he has always wanted to be. This is obviously not the only route the player can take through the game, but if they do, they help create a narrative that repeatedly deals with deconstructing and resolving overwhelming emotion. (Dear readers, remind me to make a post about Bioware games and participatory storytelling.) The story examines how intense emotion, ignored or denied, hurts oneself and others, and presents several solutions which all begin with asking for help. There is strength in unity, in compassion and togetherness, and if you cannot see the way forward alone, you will find it with other people.

WhEw okay if you actually finished reading that give yourself a high five and take a lollipop from the basket on your way out the door

on any other platform I think I would have hit a word limit of some kind, so thanks tumblr

edits incoming? very tired rn. Think I had some other point to make about Solas that I forgot maybe. I also think I could've added some of the other companions to this (Taash and Bellara were top candidates) but imo these two are the strongest for this particular theme. And it was already so long lol

okay I sleep soon. you can lmk what you think if you want? don't be a dick tho, I hope that goes without saying lmao

[crossdressingdeath]

One thing I will say for the ending of DAV is that it's made one thing from Trespasser that always confused me a bit finally make sense: the fact that Solas spares even low approval Quiz. Like, the fact that he does that means that affection clearly doesn't come into that decision! He may be nicer about it if he likes Quiz, but he's not sparing them because he likes them. But it makes a lot more sense in the context of him making an enemy of Rook and then leaving them alive when he meets them in Minrathous, just assuming that they'll do what he wants and not get in his way and being completely blindsided by them tricking him even though they have no reason to just go along with what he says. At the end of the day Solas just... doesn't respect either Rook or Quiz enough as equals to see them as a potential threat, and that both explains him sparing Quiz and ultimately leads to his downfall.

I mean, think about it. He killed Mythal. He killed Felassan. Clearly he is not above killing even the people he loves best, the very last remnants of the world he's supposedly in this to save at that, if their survival might get in the way of his plans! You can talk about how much he cares for high approval Quiz, or even how much he loves Lavellan in a Sol@vellan (censored to keep it out of the tags) worldstate, but love demonstrably would not stop him if he determined Quiz to be a threat! He does not love them more than Mythal (he really, really doesn't love them more than he loves Mythal, Christ on a bike the amount of shit he does for Mythal and then refuses to accept her culpability for the fallout of is insane), he does not love them more than Felassan, he does not have more reason to spare them when they say they're going to stop him (whether peacefully or by force) than he did those two, but he still does even if he hates them. Now Solas doesn't like killing (he just has no concept of what counts as actual necessity or willingness to stop when he's going to kill most of Thedas), so it makes sense he wouldn't want them dead if he could avoid it, but if he saw them as a threat he would not spare Quiz where he didn't spare Mythal or Felassan. He's not going to spare a Quiz he hates who's vowing to stop him at all costs where he killed the last remnants of the world he wants to save... unless of course he doesn't think they actually can stop him.

And him not thinking they can stop him makes sense when you his response to Rook, who breaks out of a prison Solas thought was inescapable and by Solas's own admission gets further in dealing with the Evanuris than Solas ever could have himself; he still just completely dismisses them as a real threat, takes no steps to prevent them from turning on him, has no plan for if they find out what killing Elgar'nan will do, and is caught completely off-guard if they trick him with a fake dagger. He sees Rook surpass his every expectation and do better than he himself ever could have, and he still completely fails to realize that they do in fact pose a threat! I do believe that he on at least some level can grow to respect and even care for Quiz and Rook as people who exist, but he always thinks he is ultimately above them. He totally fails to see them as potential threats, and that's what ultimately leads to his downfall: if he'd preemptively killed Quiz at the end of Trespasser, or killed Rook the second Elgar'nan fell and they were no longer needed, or even just made any sort of plan for what to do if either or both of them were in fact the threats they made it clear they intended to be he might very well have won! But his unbridled arrogance and refusal to accept that a mortal could ever outdo the Dread Wolf ultimately gets him locked in the Fade (including the ending where he goes willingly, which only happens because Rook faces down yet another god to make it work). It's a very fitting end for someone who muses about the parallels between him and Elgar'nan and him and Rook and fails to consider what it might mean for him when Rook fully steps into his place in the narrative.

[1920sladydectective]

Two Steps Forward, One Forest Back 2.8K

This is for @kkatsukiswife who had an awesome idea and let me write it! I hope it fulfils your expectations, it's a little longer than I'd intended.

Head of Medarda Oil Corp, Ambessa is exhausted by the silly environmental scientist who keeps ruining her expansion. There's only one way to fix that.

Cross posted to AO3

MINORS DNI

Warnings: Degradation, Tipsy Sex, Exhibitionism and Dumbification kinda, Choking, Bathroom Sex, mentions of bondage

This is NOT proofread cause fuck that:

It had only been three months and yet every moment spent working for the Medarda corporation seemed to shave years off of your life. 

You had gone in so rosy eyed, certain you would be changing the future for the better, making a huge environmental impact, finally able to regulate and report the bastards rotting the world. Your boss, manipulative asshole that she was, had basically promised as much. Instead you sat in opulent boardrooms, battling the wolves as they attempted to turn the world to ash and profit margins. 

CEO Ambessa Medarda was the worst to deal with, her children at least seemed to possess half a conscience. She, however, stared across the mahogany table and tried to devour your soul. It started as small things, not reading your reports before shareholder meetings, or perhaps misquoting some of your numbers. Easily corrected, if you could stand the dark gaze she’d send your way. 

“Of course,” She’d simper, “Thank you for that, my Dear,” 

Soon it became more outrageous, your body flooding with cortisol at every new email you received. Their drilling sight was in a forest, though if you were to point that out she would remind you it was well within the guidelines of oil drilling near wildlife and flora. Well within was a handful of metres, as close as they could have gotten, and every time your numbers remind you of that you have to do a meditative breathing exercise. This wasn’t enough for Ambessa though, there was more just within the treeline and her recent campaign had made it clear she wanted it regardless of the consequences. 

Meeting Four - 24th August 2024 - Recorded Minutes 

AM - Surely a matter of inches will make no impact, gentlemen, and look at the margin of profit. Nobody else has been able to secure a site like this, it would be sellable at an astounding premium. 

ES - Nobody has secured that sort of site for a reason, Mrs Medarda. The havoc it would cause to the local ecosystem is immense, and it is illegal for that reason. 

AM - Not illegal per new legislation, just heavily regulated. 

ES - Do you have any proposals to help you meet those regulations? I seem to be looking at stocks and traders and very little else. 

AM - All in due time

ES - Due time is now Mrs Medarda

You could still feel the air being sucked from the room. It was as bold as you had gotten so far, and her crimson smirk seemed to ward you off of doing it again. The day after the meeting, none of your alarms had gone off, your expensive eco-friendly coffee machine broke and your company key-card stopped working. It had to be a coincidence, but you had been looking over your shoulder ever since. 

Ambessa lingered like a shark who could smell blood. Her beautiful, towering form monitoring your every move. Sometimes, in the quiet early morning it would be only you and her in the building. Her scent seemed to linger, heady and sharp, her sparkling eyes and sarcastic smiles hyper focused on you. It was heavy, such attention, especially when a deep, villainous part of your soul would remind you that she was just your type. Imposing, commanding, insanely muscular. Had you seen her on the streets your mouth would have watered. She couldn’t know that though. Never, ever. She was flirtatious enough when she thought you had no interest, she’d rip your moral compass to shreds if she got a taste of your inner turmoil. She wanted to eat you and you would not let her. 

Her voice, melodic and low, was suddenly in your ear. For Fuck Sake.

“Another eighty nine page legal document in my inbox, darling,” She was so close, so close you twitched, “You really are ensuring the best for our company,” 

“Wouldn’t want you to rush into any development decisions without knowing all the facts,” You said, raising an eyebrow with a shrug, “Bad for business,”

“You’d know all about being bad for business,” She said alluringly, sharp teeth glinting behind her lips, making you gulp slightly. 

She walked away with no other words, her hips swaying impossibly slowly as she took long purposeful strides. You almost groaned, downing cold, bitter coffee beans. This job was going to kill you. 

Days passed in a blur, each one filled with heavy looks and cutting remarks. Each day she moved three steps forward and you pushed her four back. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment, you thought she’d throttle you against the wall for all to see. 

One day she did. 

You were gasping, body trembling, as she held you against the boardroom table by your throat, fingers trailing your inner thighs. Her gruff voice was taunting you, teasing your aching core as she squeezed your neck just enough for your vision to blur. She had had enough of your interference, showing you how weak you truly were. 

“You’d know all about being bad for business,” She mocked, licking your hard clit. 

There was nothing you could do but submit, babbling and grunting as she finally gave you the touch you craved. Her name fell from your lips in a perverse prayer, wanton and airy. 

You were so close, she could tell, eyes glossy as you thrust into her touch. Your orgasm ripped through you, making you scream. 

Neon numbers glimmered. 3:14AM. 

You’d just had a sex dream about your corrupt oil baron boss, real enough to dampen your sheets. Your body ached and against better judgement you reached into your nightstand, vibrator wiping your mind of all thoughts until you cummed yourself back to sleep. 

As the morning beckoned, so did your crippling, sticky guilt. You couldn’t keep going on like this, you had to get it out of your system and not by having graphic dreams about Ambessa Fucking Medarda. There was only one thing for it, you would have to get drunk at the artsy lesbian bar downtown and fuck a random stranger. Obviously. 

You felt good. Your hair had styled just right, your make up hadn’t made you screech irritatedly at your cat and for once heels didn’t feel awful. This was going well. You were going to get some. Or something. 

The bar was packed, full of swaying hips and swishing hair as you creeped your way to the bar. Cocktails were on offer, dangerous and delicious as you sat swinging your legs on a barstool. Music had you swaying in time, downing drink after drink as you fluttered your eyelashes at every pretty girl who glanced your way. You’d never been too good at the chase, but you were desperate enough to try. 

Dancing was freeing, body moving of its own accord as you twirled in circles and gripped strangers arms, moving fast and close together. Everything felt naturally fuzzy, light and right, exactly as you’d needed. She hadn’t even crossed your mi-

Ambessa stood tall, leaving lazily against the bar as a drunken brunette tried to chat her up. She was sweet enough, giggly and open, relishing in any attention she gave her. She wasn’t quite right though, Ambessa sighed, her parameters were incredibly specific tonight. Almost impossibly so and yet. There you were, tipsy yourself clearly, dancing in the arms of a short blonde woman. Ambessa’s lips curled into a devious grin, waiting patiently for you to catch her eye. 

No. Just no. 

Your gaze was stuck to hers, a magnet pulling you in as your mind swirled. She looked perfect, the confines of the business world had melted away to reveal raw sex appeal. Her muscles seemed larger, clearer as her shirt and trousers clung to her. Her thighs were too delicious, her gold make up adding a shimmer to her dark eyes. You faintly felt the blonde woman’s hands on your hips as you moved, mind full of cotton. Ambessa raised her glass, tilting it towards you mockingly, her grin eating at you. 

Want. Need. All consumin- No. Enough. Goodbye Ambessa. 

Your burning form turned away from her, extracting yourself from the dance and looping the long way back to the other side of the bar, hidden from Ambessa’s position. Downing a tequila shot, you grunted. Your plan was fucked and you needed to leave here as soon as possible, but she was right by the exit. Panicked, you slipped into the bathroom, fingers gripping the art deco sink for life as you huffed. You looked as good as you had when you left home and yet you felt a state, lips puffy and hair seemingly unkempt. 

Click

“Hello there, darling,” Ambessa’s honeyed voice echoed in the tiny bathroom as she locked the main door, “Fancy seeing you here,” 

Your mouth dried, her beauty almost stifling this close, “Mrs Medarda,”

“We’re in a gay bar Dear, you can call me Ambessa,” She snorted, stepping to rest just to your right. She was circling you in her head, your body the sweetest prey she could hope to hunt. 

“Ambessa,” You repeated, unsure, “What do you want?” 

She laughed almost pityingly, it was seductive, frustrating, just like the rest of her as she murmured your name. 

“Me?” Heat burns in your gut, making you cramp with need, the alcohol in your blood no match for the warmth of lust. 

“Of course,” Her hand cupped your chin, forcing you to hold her gaze, “I’ve always wanted you, you must know you drive me to distraction,”

It seemed unlikely, her distracted by anything, but it was such an arousing, tempting thought. Your mouth lulled open in a small gasp, her fingers tickling against your neck. You were done for, mind melting down between your legs the longer she looked at you. It felt like she could sense it, her other hand bending you slightly as your hands scrambled to lie against the ornate mirror so that you could steady yourself, stomach now against the sink. 

“What?” You stammered, as she sank to the floor, strong elbows nudging your legs apart. 

“You’re not naive, pretty girl,” She breathed, her words dancing across your bare thighs, “You’ve got too many brains in your soft head for that,” 

It was odd to be complimented by her, especially for your intelligence. It made you feel proud and happy. Her praise was immediately addictive, spilling forth from blood red lips as she kissed and nipped at your skin. Each word a nail in the coffin of your demise, each kiss a moment longer being drowned by her. You were stuck, and as you caught your own hazy, tipsy expression in the mirror you giggled. Oops. 

Ambessa rewarded your giggle with a lick against your clothed cunt, her tongue flat and slow. Everything went silent for a moment as you bucked against her grip, whining. 

“Good girl,” She hummed, “Soaked for me,” 

“God,” you slurred, she had you desperate and aching. 

“We can make that my name if you like,” She muttered mockingly, pushing aside your lacy underwear and lapping at your drenched hole. Her touch was considerate, fast and calculated as you huffed and sighed. Her strong hands gripped your hips, rocking you against the basin as she fucked you mercilessly with her tongue. She could feel the dwindling hesitance in you, the desire to submit held back by weak moral strings. It was okay, she thought, she’d snap those as you came into her mouth. 

Her goal was simple, make you an empty headed doll for her to ruin, mark and stuff you until you finally understood how to respect her. Then she might actually get somewhere. You were in your own world of pleasure, following her movements as you trembled and burned. It felt so good, better than any dream could have been. 

Your orgasm was close, taunting you and making your vision dance with pretty white stars. Some weak, nearly dead part of you wanted to resist it, to uphold some control. She didn’t own you. Not yet at least. The resistance was too late however, as thick, calloused fingers teased and stretched your cunt out of nowhere, just as she sucked your hard clit into her wet, perfect mouth. Your mind and morals shattered like pretty iridescent glass. 

“Fuck,” You cried against the mirror, eyes rolling into your head, “Shit fuck,” 

“That’s my slut,” Ambessa said, savouring the sloppy liquid dripping down your thighs. 

The nickname surprised and confused you, heavy head looking down at her. 

“What else could you be?” She said commandingly, sucking her fingers dry as your eyes glazed, “You’re so good for me, taking what I give you, like a whore would,” 

You nodded, legs trembling. You did want to take it. Take it all. Whatever she said. It almost made you feel drunker, though the tequila had long since floated through you now. 

“If I had known it would be this easy to make you pliant and soft,” She muttered huskily, words touching your ear as she stood, “I’d have bent you over my desk weeks ago, Little girl,” 

That enough made a small orgasm flutter out, your chest heaving as stared into her eyes in the reflection. Her hand slapped against your wet pussy, making you smile as you blew a little kiss her way. 

Ambessa snorted, smoothing over your slightly sweaty hairline. You were so pretty, even better now you were hers. 

“Watch yourself,” She muttered hypnotically, “In the mirror,” 

You hummed, glancing at yourself. She was pretty to stare at but you didn’t want to make her unhappy. Suddenly, it felt as though you were being lifted above the ground slightly, her strong arm holding you as she stuffed three fingers into you. 

The stretch burned, making you snarl slightly as she made you whole. That was how it felt. Complete and perfect, as the look of your clouded, slutty face made you hornier. You loved how she made you look, how she made you feel, obscene slapping sounds filling the bathroom. 

A light shove against the door, your moan choking in your throat as exhilaration at being quite suffocated you. 

“Oh,” A distant drunken sigh, “This bathroom’s closed for repairs, let’s try the other,” 

Ambessa bit your neck, sucking at your sweet spot, as she felt you clench and gush at the sound of voices, “You like that, Good girl? The thought of them knowing a horny mess is being fucked into oblivious in a random bar?”

You nodded, neck aching with the force as you continued to stare at yourself. Any time your gaze drifted to her she would stop dead, eyes dark. After the second time it nearly killed you and you forced yourself to meet your drooling expression. Ambessa seemed intent on sending you over the edge, thinking she had all of you but your longing voice proved her wrong. 

“My throat,” You moaned, “Need you to c-crush it, like my,” a desperate whine, “like my dreams,” 

Ambessa felt herself black out slightly at your request, your whimpering and begging making her own cunt twitch wantonly. She dropped your feet back onto the navy tile, hand wrapping around your neck with measured pressure. The change was immediate, your body no longer tense and twitching, but limp like the doll she’d dreamed off. You took her relentless thrusts, effortlessly, as she made your blood rush and pulse in her ears. Air wasn’t necessary unless she gave it to you, tongue lolling out of your mouth. You came as suddenly as last time, losing your vision as you squirted down her arm, lungs greedily inhaling air as she crushed your throat and released it. 

You don’t really remember how you’d moved from the bathroom, mind empty as strong arms tidied you up as much as possible and led you through the warm crowds. A long, sleek car sat waiting for her and you were gently placed in it. You’d never been in a limousine before, not that you had any brain capacity to appreciate it. 

“Precious girl,” She cooed, stroking your cheek as she pushed you onto the carpeted floor of the car, “I think it’s your turn, don’t you?” 

She’d slipped her trousers off and her cunt was bare for you to get lost in. You almost squealed in excitement, nuzzling and licking happily all to serve her. It took hours, moving from car, to against her front door and finally in her silky, warm bed. Toys, a violent pounding from behind and some soft ropes had you pleading to serve her, to be used and owned. 

You had been right, there was no coming back from the sweet bliss of her control, consequences be damned. 

Ambessa liked you against her, devoted and spent as she spun commands for you, all sinking into your malleable mind as she fed you sips of water and scratched your scalp. 

Pretty little girl. You were hers now, and so was that fucking forest.

[garfieldblunt]

Mouthwashing

I’m stepping away from RDR2 for a little bit because I found a new game obsession lmao

Let’s talk about Characters and their noses!! This is totally my opinion and NOT FACT so please take it with a grain of salt lmao

Jimmy: Jimmy has a nose that is bigger, bumped out a bit more and upturned, He thinks highly of himself and even sticks his nose in places they don't belong (pun intended) He is also a major character of the game, since it's from his perspective, I like to think the bump in his nose also shows how he is the bump in the road for everyone else in the Tulpar ship, He's the source of the problems and it stims from his ideals and thoughts of being a great Captain (Just like how the bump starts at his eyes. His point of view is the start of the downfall)

Swansea: His nose is more stout and rounder, showing how he went from a man who could care less if Daisuke was his intern or not, but the roundness shows how his views can come full circle in understanding the importance of Daisuke in his life, from a man who was nothing but drunk and unhappy to someone with a wife and kids, and with Daisuke being nothing but annoying to someone who could have taught Swansea a thing or two about the joy and innocence's of life, his nose is shorter, showing probably that he already didn't have much longer with Pony Express and how he was growing older anyway, his life isn't as long as the other members. His nose is also downturned showing that he's more pessimistic.

Daisuke: His nose is long almost like a button nose or an arrow. His his upturned and smaller, the opposite of Swansea's. He is energetic and light. He has more of a youthful nose, showing his innocence of the Tulper and the fact that he's only an intern. Though he has a longer nose, showing that he should have a longer life span, it's not the case with him. When Daisuke dies, He is hit right on the nose, and on his eyes. His eyes are kept close to keep him from knowing of his death. His nose is cut near the middle to show that his life was cut short in a way.

Anya: She has a thin, square shaped nose. She is seen very rarely in the game, but it's wider at the top than it is the bottom. Before the Crash, we see a lot of her we see her as Curly see's her, someone with depth and personality, but after the crash we see her as Jimmy, someone who is boiled down to weak and quiet. She is boxed off from the others in the med bay, she is always holding herself around Jimmy, She is not the big personality we see as Curly. Her nose is also more downturned since Jimmy looks down at her.

Curly: In the beginning, his nose is pointed outwards and in a more neutral position, neither upturned or down turned showing how he can't decide for the best of his crew of the best of his friend Jimmy, He is given a nose that is pointed outwards, showing that he is looking towards the future, he's only trying to keep things moving forward with a way to keep Pony Express going, or a new job, or getting Jimmy out of the trouble he could be in. He's trying to fix everything as well as keep his ideals neutral. However, you can ever so slightly tell that his nose is crooked. It is just ever so slightly off center showing that as much as he wants to be neutral, he leans towards Jimmy's favor. He doesn't want to show it, but he is. Also the developer said that he was into snow sports, so it could be a healed nose injury, but still it's just ever so slightly crooked by a few pixels.

Now, after the crash he no longer has a nose. He is no longer captain and can't imagine the future. He's stuck. He's not able to talk or even move to help anyone. His nose is even covered up, showing that everything he's done to prove that he's a worthy captain, all the hard work to prove that he's a good person, all the sacrifices he's made for his team are now covered up and hidden behind his own bandages. Found or not, he will not be able to show that he was a good, high ranking captain because this crash, the death of everyone on his ship, the blood soaked band aids are covering up the future his nose was pointing to.

[kirasworldofwords]

Webbonso + 55. Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

The Webbonso crowd has found me- Ngl though, although I'm not the biggest fan of Mark for obvious reasons (I'm more of a Seb person, lmao, and yk what happened with them), I do love myself some Webbonso. 🫶🏻

Prompt 55: Mutual Pining (+ Oblivious)

How many more times did Fernando want to watch as they created a disaster situation for PR through just... existing together, knowing what the fans screamed was a deep and personal wish on his part?

How many more times was Mark willing to let it all happen without going absolutely batshit crazy at the prospect of being seen as someone more than a friend to Fernando?

How many more times would they be able to stay silent? Unknowing if the other reciprocated their feelings or not?

Fernando had tried a few times - or, well, at least attempted to try. Whenever it got too serious, however, he backed out, afraid of Mark's reaction. And the Australian would just brush it off as Fernando being Fernando - he liked to bullshit around here or there, both on and off track. That was just his personality.

But he, too, had tried spilling his feelings to Fernando at least a few times already, too. Yet every time he even so much as thought of actually doing it, bile rose in his throat and he had to physically turn away, so as to not throw up on whatever was ahead of him at the time.

In short, Mark's pride literally made him sick whenever he tried to be vulnerable with the Spaniard.

Many nights, Fernando would stay up until the early morning hours, staring at the ceiling, journaling. He had found out not too much prior to him realizing he had a thing for Mark that journaling really helped him with his emotions.

Likewise, many times, Mark would stay awake as well, writing poems pleading with the world to finally give him the mental as well as physical strength to overcome his pride and finally say what he knew he needed to say to Fernando - or he'd write love letters to the Aston Martin driver, yet he'd always stuff them away immediately after proof-reading and correcting them, for fear Fernando would make fun of him if he ever found them.

One such letter, however... made its way into the wilderness that was Mark's bedroom one fateful day. The same day Fernando happened to be over for a beer or two.

His mind had been all over the place, uncertain and confused, scared on top of it all, too. Yet it was just as lovesick as it was terrified, the secret love he held for Mark soon overpowering the fear in the very core of his heart, to the point where he'd randomly cry to himself.

If Michael had been there, he'd have told Fernando to man up already and finally tell Mark.

If Sebastian had been there, he'd have told Mark to face his fears and let Fernando know, for his own sanity as well as the Spanish driver's, who must've already noticed by then - and he must've been so worried for his friend, too.

"But he doesn't see me like that" they'd both tell themselves, trying to think in relative terms whenever thoughts of confession so much as briefly came up.

Until Fernando found one of Mark's letters.

Under the guise of needing to use the bathroom, he snuck the piece of paper with him, locking himself in and sitting down on the closed lid of the toilet to read what the former Red Bull pilot had written there.

Only when his eyes finally fully registered a few wet spots on the paper, Fernando realized that he was crying. And his heart was racing, and it ached so much, and everything was unbearable and he felt so stuffed and trapped and-

"Nando? Are you okay in there? Do you need any help?"

Out. Out, out, he had to get out, right now...!

The door to the bathroom clicked and swung open, so suddenly that it almost gave the older Australian whiplash. What did give him whiplash, however, was the sight he received immediately after his brain finally adjusted to the sudden occurrences, eyes going wide in shock.

There, Fernando stood, tears rolling down his cheeks as he held a piece of paper in his left hand, in a way that almost screamed at Mark that Fernando wanted him to see it.

The Aussie's heart dropped, down to his smallest toe.

"Fernando... I... I can explain-"

But the Spanish man was quicker, rushing towards Mark and pressing their lips together in a kiss that took both of them by surprise - so much so, Mark couldn't even respond to it in any way there was, causing him to just stand there, pale-faced and absolutely horrified one minute before blushing like crazy the next. The paper Fernando held was long disregarded, having floated to the ground already, somewhere next to Fernando's feet. The younger man held Mark's face in his hands instead, in a slightly tighter grip than intended of him, as he glared at the Australian through glistening tears.

"Cállate, cabrón."

Before he could attempt to kiss Mark anew, the adrenaline and emotions in his system running as high as they never did before, Mark held him in place, pushing his hands against Fernando's chest to hold him back and looking at him worriedly.

"Nando, you know I don't speak Spanish..."

The wildly emotional look on Fernando's face softened at the sound of Mark's voice, which was barely above a whisper at this point, one last tear of high emotion betraying the Spaniard as it rolled down his cheek.

"I said shut up, asshole. ... And let me kiss you instead."

The tone of which Fernando made use was enough to cause Mark to smile gently, yet his words only deepened it, and he retreated his hands from the Aston Martin pilot's chest to reposition them on his waist instead.

"Gladly."

This time, both went into the kiss with clear intentions and expectations, both of which were met and fulfilled, executed perfectly, one might say. To them, it felt like an eternity and a half - though in reality, it was more like two minutes of them just standing there, in front of the open bathroom of which the light was turned on, still, both of them having forgotten the world around them and simply focusing on each other and themselves as they kissed without a care.

Once they did gently break apart again, however, Mark brought their foreheads together, nosing at Fernando's nose with his own.

"I thought you didn't see me in that way..."

The Spaniard chuckled brokenly, closing his eyes.

"What a coincidence... I thought the same of you."

They fell silent. For about five minutes, all they did was breathe in each other's air, reveling in the other's sheer presence. Soon, Fernando murmured almost inaudibly.

"... So... both of us had feelings for the other all this time..."

Mark didn't do much more than nod at this, maybe he hummed in tow, he couldn't quite tell. There was a noise, yes, but his mind was so far out of it, he couldn't tell who or what it came from. Could've just been a random outside noise for all he cared.

"Does that mean... I get to call you mine...? I've been hoping and praying for so long for a miracle like this to happen someday, and for us to find our ways to each other soon..."

Fernando smiled gratefully at the carefully curated words that left Mark's mouth, pecking his lips again shortly.

"Call me whatever you want... So long as I get to call you mi amor, I'm all fine with it."

The sight of his favorite Spaniard smiling like that was contagious, Mark had to admit - because he found himself smiling just the same way Fernando was.

"You got yourself a deal there, Nando."

[livinginadumpster]

One thing I really like in Dead Boy Detectives is the use of blood/gore/horror. With a TV-MA rating, a show with horror themes is obviously going to have some blood and violence, and there are clear instances if this in DBD, but while it's definitely there, it's almost never gratuitous. That's because scenes like the Devlin murders or Maxine's death aren't really about those deaths, rather, they're about the characters' reactions to them and the way the story is shaped by them.

In the Devlin house, the camera focuses not on the girls being killed but on Edwin, Crystal, and particularly Charles reacting to their murders with horror, shock, and anger. The blood splatters in a meaningful way, rather than simply a horrifying one, over the TV and the popcorn and the younger daughter's stuffed rabbit, tarnishing the innocence of everything it touches. While the tragedy of the murders themselves are important, the main focus is Charles' reaction to them as a result if his own trauma. Showing the minutia of the killings would take away from that, so it simply isn't there.

Even Maxine's death, while definitely played off more for shock value than the Devlin murders, serves a purpose. Episode 5 focuses on the failure of romantic relationships, on betrayals from those you thought you could trust, and the Maxine subplot adds to that. It begs the question, who can you trust in this world? At the end of the episode, the answer we are given is your friends, your found family, because love will kill.

It seems to me that the blood in hell represents the guilt of those it touches - Simon's wounds heal when he forgives himself; Edwin loses the blood covering him after Charles turns up to rescue him (albeit by a horrifying cause); the people in the Lust room are drenched in blood and get it on Edwin when they try to drag him down. It's not just there to demonstrate the horrors of hell, but to brand its inhabitants.

There are lots of other examples. The blood when Niko dies is there obviously because that's what happens when you get stabbed, but also (in my opinion) as a visual callback to her saying that red is the color of courage. The cat king's bloody corpse and Monty's blood-splattered face show Esther's ruthlessness and disregard for anyone in her path. Lilith is covered in blood as a symbolic part of her character design. Everything serves a purpose, narratively or symbolically.

(The only example of gore that served no particular purpose that I can think of was in episode one when the WWI ghost drooled blood all over Charles' face, but it was the pilot episode and that whole scene was meant to be shocking, so it can be forgiven.)

Anyway, I really like the way they use blood in DBD, because it shows such a level of detail and care. I enjoy horror but not gore so much, and to me it's refreshing to see it used so tastefully and executed so well.

[messiahzzz]

while it’s perfectly fine to have your own headcanons that are non-canon compliant — by all means, go wild. recognizing pieces of yourselves in fictional characters can be a very healing and validating experience. this is nonetheless a casual, well-intentioned reminder that gale, in fact, does not have bpd.

bpd is a pervasive pattern of instability affecting interpersonal relationships, self-image, and mood. the disorder is marked by impulsivity beginning in early adulthood and is present in a variety of contexts. a diagnosis requires at least 5 of the following 9 criteria to be met:

Fear of abandonment

Unstable or changing relationships

Unstable self-image; struggles with identity or sense of self

Impulsive or self-damaging behaviors (e.g., excessive spending, unsafe sex, substance abuse, reckless driving, binge eating).

Suicidal behavior or self-injury

Varied or random mood swings

Constant feelings of worthlessness or sadness

Problems with anger, including frequent loss of temper or physical fights

Stress-related paranoia or loss of contact with reality

source: [x]

i highlighted the criteria that do apply to gale in one way or another in a pretty purple.

i personally believe that it’s rather harmful to equate his relationship with mystra with her being “his fp”. she is a deity, his goddess, and the source of his powers, who is in in full control of the magic he wields.

gale: mystra commands all magic. salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withhold.

gale has been effectively groomed and conditioned to serve and revere her at every turn since early childhood. imo this comparison really undermines a lot of crucial points in gale’s story that deal with his overall trauma and abuse. after all, you wouldn’t call shar sh*dowhe*rt’s fp either.

gale doesn’t revile mystra, nor does he commit benevolent deeds solely motivated by the secret hope that she will somehow notice and take him back. when you meet gale in the game he has already fully come to terms with the fact that he has been abandoned by mystra with no hope of reconciliation whatsoever. he also had some very fitting lines in ea regarding this topic that i'm sad haven't been repurposed in the full release in some way.

gale: [the tadpoles] don't know that some things are impossible. they don't know that... they don't know. player: what is impossible about what you're being shown? gale: forgiveness. gale: it is mystra i see. and yet it cannot be her. there was a time when i would have believed - but no longer. gale: suffice it to say she would not bestow upon me the favors promised in these dreams. that is how i know they are delusions.

he has already reached the stage of acceptance. moreover, gale only starts to realize that mystra might have been in the wrong for requesting his death once the tadpole squad & tav speak some sense into him. and even then he doesn’t ever show that his emotions regarding mystra are anywhere along those lines. he is instead rightfully angered that she only saw value in his death, after he had been worshipping her loyally for years.

gale: i worshipped mystra loyally for years, and in that time she granted me the barest sliver of the power i was ready to wield. gale: even with the fate of the world at stake, she had little more to offer me than the means of blowing myself up at a more convenient time. she's done nothing to help us.

gale: you abandoned me in my hour of greatest need. i had no obligation to help you in yours. gale: because you had no right to ask that of me. you cast me out, remember?

gale doesn’t display rapid changes in mood either. he is a character who is generally very composed and has been known to remain nonchalant even in the face of utter horror. tim downie himself even commented on this once. source: [x]

the only instance i can think of is his sudden switch from resigned-to-death to utter-eye-sparkling-enthusiasm once he spots the crown of karsus. apart from crucial story reasons that i won’t touch upon in this post, i’d also like to add that it’s a rather common phenomenon for people who have just barely survived a suicide attempt to suddenly be filled with zeal and unbridled energy. he doesn't display impulsivity without thorough consideration when it comes to its acquisition either. he considers this a golden opportunity and is positively enthusiastic and elated that this might prove an alternative to him ending up in a cloud of netherese smoke. nonetheless, he knows what he is doing. evident in him actually succeeding in ascending in one of his endings.

gale: this is no passing whim, trust me. if i can obtain that crown, it will affect us all. it is not a decision i'll take lightly. gale: it's our future that i'm thinking of - we can't rely on anyone else to do it for us. gale: for now - we've learned all we can.

neither are his relationships that we do know of (namely elminster, tara, and morena) frequently changing. they are marked by years of mutual respect, care, and consistency. there is nothing unstable about them. while it's important to note that his relationship with tav is still in its honeymoon stages during the main game, there is no inclination of any push-and-pull dynamic between them whatsoever.

gale isn’t preoccupied with keeping up some sort of benevolent act in order to win (back) affection — he genuinely IS a good person and he proves this at every turn. moreover, to have a tressym become your familiar you must be of Good alignment.

(taken from tumblr user galedekarios's post.)

there is never a moment where his ideals or alignment suddenly change. in fact, i’d argue that he and wyll are most consistent in this regard when compared to the rest of the companions. gale makes his moral standpoint very clear from the beginning on and also explicitly states that he believes that in order to survive this entire ordeal it would be selfish of him if he wouldn’t be willing to compromise on his morals. this isn’t a sudden bout of ✨muahahaha wizard hubris✨ that he barely contained to hold in before, this is yet another act of selflessness — it is what he’s willing to do for the group and subsequently, the welfare of faerun.

player: i love unsavoury things. don't feel guilty on my account. gale: that's good to know. although i should say i do what i do out of a sense of utility and pragmatism, not a love of the unsavoury. gale: we're up against the greatest threat faerun has ever faced. i don't mind getting my hands dirty if it gives us a better chance of surviving. gale: whatever advantage i can gain for us. i will. and i refuse to feel guilty for it, no matter how much mystra's chidings might echo in my skull.

this is him, once again trying to be useful in whatever way he can. to give them an advantage, a slither of hope against seemingly impossible odds, so they might make it out of this in one piece. gale wouldn’t approve of those actions under normal circumstances, but their predicament is as far from any definition of “normal” as it can get.

gale is no fool, he realizes this is essentially about survival. he knows that he has no option left other than to tolerate, which is why he can be convinced to not immediately depart tav’s company even if they choose to commit atrocities. this is no character flaw of his or him displaying a previously dormant openness for cruelty, this is about recognizing the necessity.

player: you don't stand a chance alone. you're free to go. i dare you. gale: gods damn you - you're right. few things are more powerful than the will to live.

gale: i thought the orb to be the greatest of my sins, but i see now that there are darker depths to which i might yet sink. you may be content to sink into that abyss, but i assure you - i am not.

gale doesn’t lead a split existence. he has a very strong sense of identity. he knows what he wants, what he doesn’t want and he isn’t shy in expressing his boundaries either. which he has especially shown when it comes to his relationship with tav. i originally had intended to touch upon this in another post entirely but: i firmly believe his entire Gale of Waterdeep™ persona is more of a performance than him struggling to find a sense of identity and trying them on for size. it is an intentional decision to separate gale dekarios from the great wizard of waterdeep, to create distance and make sure his family name remains untarnished in case things should ever go sideways.

gale: i agree. and on the plus side, if i get myself into any truly cataclysmic straits during the remainder of our journey, my family name will go untarnished.

there is also a deep-rooted feeling of unworthiness and his firm belief that love and praise are conditional resources that he will only be granted through his talents alone, naturally. presenting himself as gale dekarios, the man, would mean highlighting his shortcomings and very human flaws, while distracting from the aspects of himself that are deemed praiseworthy, the ones that actually matter: his magical prowess.

i personally believe that part of the beauty of gale’s story is him realizing just how “little” it takes for him to be truly content. he gets his happy ending, with someone at his side who truly sees him, understands him and unabashedly commits to him. they worship and adore him in return — and it is well deserved. he isn’t reduced to be constantly and restlessly searching for some unattainable ideal to fill the gaping void within himself. he doesn’t secretly thirst for more power still or believes that in being with tav he is settling for something. instead, he is finally happy to just be. be and be accepted. teaching a class of unruly wizards and coming home to his spouse each day already fulfills him.

gale: that's how i feel with you - content. it's a rather unfamiliar feeling, i must say. not something gale of waterdeep ever craved.

even if he doesn’t pursue a romance with tav, he reaches a realization of “oh, it appears i am not irredeemably flawed and only able to reach true redemption through my own death. what i needed was actually with me all along.” throughout their journey and through his friend's support. i think that’s a very powerful and comforting message. he is very well capable of finding peace within himself.

devnotes: his default state is that he returned to waterdeep and became a professor of illusory magic at his former school, blackstaff academy. general vibe here is that this is a gale who's found peace with himself - he's a great teacher, one his students are mostly in awe of.

to repeat myself: sharing your headcanons is all in good fun, nor should you ever be discouraged from doing so. this is your personal tumblr experience, after all. but i personally think we should be mindful of unintentionally perpetuating negative stereotypes, such as narcissism being a general indicator or being deemed a classic depiction of bpd. i think we can all agree that the continuous longing for acceptance, connection, praise, and approval is something we all have in common deep down, regardless of whatever disorder we may have. [insert victoria justice meme here]

gale may be many things to many people, but he is no entitled narcissist.

[afewproblems]

A Clear and Present Threat of Tongue

Sooooo this idea shook me like a rag doll and wouldn't let me go until I got it all out, this is a Steddie Stranger Things New Girl AU taking place during the first kiss episode between Jess and Nick. But its waaay longer and more angsty than I anticipated. So.

Enjoy!

It’s all Gareth's fault in hindsight. 

As his best friend and confidant, Gareth really should have taken Eddie’s feelings into account when he suggested a party out loud in front of everyone.

Not that the party was a particularly bad idea, parties had been prime money making opportunities in the years before - although that had certainly dwindled, what with the murder accusations and earthquakes. 

And Eddie was trying to make it a point of avoiding dealing around the kids or Hoppers disapproving glare.

So no, it wasn't so much the party.

Steve had taken it upon himself to host, as per usual, and everyone had been invited. The gremlins, Nancy and Jonathan, Argyle, Gareth, Jeff, and Robin of course without question. Gareth brought Megan Walsh with him while Robin brought another underclassman, Vickie something, she seemed cool - a little quiet for Eddie's taste but that wouldn’t be the only reason she didn’t do it for him.

Nah, Eddie was looking for something a little taller, louder, with big brown eyes and plush pink lips he wanted to sink his teeth into and an ass that wouldn’t quit even if he begged. 

And Eddie didn’t beg.

It was an end of summer pool party that had extended beyond the warm sunshine and moved into the main house when the last few rays had swapped for the cool twilight of the evening. 

There had been no shortage of food and drinks and a few tokes in the garage from the decent Cali strain Argyle had brought with him. The kids had gone to bed one by one leaving the rest of them to move down to the basement as Steve had put it, ‘to keep the noise to a minimum while the little shits sleep’.

The combination of weed and beer had them floating in the sweet-spot, not that everyone had partaken - Argyle and Jonathan stuck to weed only while the girls nursed their beers.

Eddie, Gareth and Jeff were the only three that were on the floor and feeling alright by the time midnight had rolled around. 

“We should play a game,” Gareth says, blurting out the words from his place on the floor, he’s grinning a little with glazed eyes and wild hair splayed around his head like a halo.

And this, this should have been Eddie’s first warning. 

Now Uncle Wayne had a great rule, a fantastic rule, ‘Nothing good ever happens after midnight kiddo, remember that’.

Eddie should have listened to the old man.

Jeff hums lightly from the floor and Megan perks up at the idea, shifting up to the edge of the couch, trying to catch Gareth's glazed eyes.

"What kind of game?" She says, her voice lilting and curious, Eddie smirks and elbows Gareth in the side.

Gareth huffs out a groan at the contact and rolls slightly to level a glare at the metal-head, Eddie raises his eyebrows and darts his eyes from Gareth to Megan before raising a single eyebrow. 

Go for it man! 

Gareth cocks his head, a confused expression pulling at his brow as his red eyes pan from Eddie to the other side of the room and back again. 

Nowhere near Megan.

Just as Eddie makes to turn to wherever Gareth is looking, a small grin blooms on his best friend's otherwise lax face, the bassist sits up with a groan and shakes out his own wild mane of curls.

"Truth or Dare?"

"Choice game brochacho," Argyle laughs from the loveseat he's laid out across, Jonathan nods with his eyes closed. Everyone seems pleased with the situation if the chorus of 'sure's', and  'sounds good,' is anything to go by. 

Even Steve - who Eddie can’t help but notice has also stuck to beer most of the night and seems slightly tipsy as he wanders over from the far side of the room and drops onto the floor beside him. 

Steve says a quiet, 'cool,' as he brings his one knee up to his chest to lean on.

He smells of spice and pine tonight and Eddie fights the urge to curl against him.

Nancy volunteers to go first and picks dare, surprising everyone except for Jonathan and Steve, who laugh as Robin stumbles her way through crafting the perfect task for Nancy to perform.

Vickie whispers into Robin’s ear which elicits a delicate blush that settles over Robin’s cheeks and ears as she settles back against the couch with a soft smile.

“We dare you to do a cartwheel!” Robin crows, laying out her palm towards Vickie who immediately gives her an unapologetic high-five, Eddie rolls his eyes and nudges Steve beside him. 

“I expected better than that coming from Buckley,” he says just slightly over a whisper level if the death glare Robin shoots at him is any indication, Steve snorts and takes another sip of his drink.

“She’s just warming up Munson, you better watch out or you’ll paint a target on your back,” Steve stage whispers back, winking as he turns his attention to Nancy who has cleared a pathway next to their little circle to attempt her cartwheel. 

Eddie swallows and tries to fight down the blush that threatens to creep over his face. 

Fuck. He is so unfairly pretty. 

Steve's hair is remarkably untidy this evening, and his ears are slightly pink from the alcohol, and his stupid perfect jawline makes Eddie want to bite something - preferably Steve. 

He’s wearing one of his little polo’s, a light yellow number that accentuates his bright brown eyes and the dotting of moles and freckles dappling his face. 

Oh yeah, Eddie’s a goner. 

Nancy manages to half somersault and land on all fours before jumping to her feet in an Olympic pose that draws a mix of laughter and applause from the group. Eddie watches as Steve puts down his drink and politely claps as he smiles indulgently at Nancy, Eddie frowns slightly as he tamps down a flicker of jealousy that builds in his chest. 

He misses Robin stand up and stride towards Nancy before leaning in to whisper in her ear with a predatory grin. Nancy’s eyes drift from Robin to Eddie and back again, she nods once and turns back to the group, her facial expression betraying nothing. 

“Oh dude, you’re in for it now,” Steve murmurs to Eddie as Nancy and Robin resume their seats in the circle.

“What?” Eddie says as Nancy clears her throat and smiles at him, it's cutthroat and shark-like and Eddie is suddenly reminded why he’s always found Nancy intimidating.

“Eddie, truth or dare?” Nancy says in a silky voice, Jonathan seems to freeze at the tone and attempts to catch his eye, shaking his head like a mad-man and slicing a finger across his throat again and again, while Steve laughs softly beside him.

“Uh, Pft, Dare Wheeler,” Eddie says with a scoff and a wide grin, he stands up and starts stretching his arms across his chest, before cracking his neck and shaking out his shoulders, “just need to loosen up first here,” he claps his hands together, “okay what sort of gymnastics you got for me miss Nancy?”

Jonathan smacks his face into his hand in the corner while Robin giggles to Vickie, Eddie catches a few muttered words, but nothing concrete. Judging from the red face and ‘O’ shaped mouth that Vickie sends his way, it's definitely not good. 

Nancy clears her throat and waves her hand to catch his attention again, “eyes this way Munson,” she says slyly, and Eddie is suddenly sweating. 

“Eddie Munson, I dare you to take the person sitting closest to you into the spare bedroom for seven minutes in heaven. 

No one says a word for a moment. 

Eddie wishes for the basement floor to open and swallow him whole. He stares at the plush fibers of the rug, wondering if it would be at all possible to smother himself by pushing his face into the carpet. 

He absolutely refuses to look at Steve. 

The only person sitting beside him. 

He should have listened to the old man. 

***

Eddie paces the small space again and again, its five steps from wall to wall and it does nothing to ease the tension in the room. He tries to figure out how to tamp down the seemingly permanent flush that has stained his face since the two of them were pushed into the room. 

The door has been unceremoniously slammed shut behind them and a chorus of eight voices chant, ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss!’ over and over outside their temporary prison.

Damn Gareth for suggesting this stupid game, damn Nancy and Robin for conspiring against him and damn himself for his ridiculous delusional fantasy. 

Steve Harrington would never want to kiss someone like him, even if he did swing that way.

This was stupid and awful, damn everything.

Steve scoffs from his position on the foot of the bed, startling Eddie slightly.

“What is the big deal,” Steve sounds much more sober, and a lot more tired now that it's just the two of them, “lets just suck it up and french a little?”

Eddie nearly feels himself short-circuit at the words. 

He resists the urge to smack his head into the door and slowly turns on his heel to face Steve. 

His expression is bored, if slightly irritated to be stuck in this situation, but his arms are draped loosely on the bed and his shoulders are relaxed.

Huh. Not nervous then, but there is something else…

Eddie sighs and scrubs a ringed hand across his face, "Okay fine, but don’t say suck it up and french a little--"

"Do not complain to me Munson," Steve grumbles, his voice suddenly tight, "this is your fault. Let’s just do this," he shakes his hands out, Eddie notes the slightest tremor that runs over his left hand but it disappears the longer Eddie's gaze remains on it.

Fuck.

"Okay, okay, no, Steve this is not a big deal," Eddie says, his tone is light but gentle as he crosses over to the bed, he holds out his hands for Steve to take. 

Steve's eyes travel from his hands to Eddie's face, and back again. His expression flickers once before shuttering into the same bored expression from earlier. Steve clasps his hands once and squeezes them briefly before letting go and standing up to face Eddie.

"Right…not a big deal, let's just do it," Steve mumbles as he breathes out, he closes his eyes briefly and Eddie's never been this close before, he can count the freckles on his nose, "just do it Eds".

Oh god, oh god, he’s about to kiss Steve Harrington, this is fine, it's fine. It’s just a stupid party game, he can do this, he can be cool.

Eddie takes a deep breath, and raises his hands to grasp Steve by the shoulders before smoothing them down his arms, he leaves them loosely wrapped around his biceps, and Okay who the Hell gave him the right?

Focus.

He licks his lips and swallows his nerves, he can do this, he can do this!

Steve frowns, “Why are you licking your lips?” his voice pitched with confusion.

He can’t do this. 

“Should I not?” Eddie manages to say without stuttering, he coats his voice with false bravado as he rolls his shoulders and widens his stance, “you want dry lips Harrington?”

Steve scowls, “No”.

“Then I’m just licking them to make them better!” 

A pinched expression blooms over Steve’s face at the sudden rise in volume in Eddie’s words, he resists the urge to wipe the clammy sweat from his hands and instead lifts them from Steve’s biceps to his shoulders before placing his hands on the sides of Steve's face. Eddie’s fingers curl up into his hair behind each ear and Eddie swears for a moment he can feel Steve tilt his head into his hands -just slightly. 

“Ready?” Eddie murmurs, the earlier bravado gone as his eyes dart back and forth between Steve’s own. He’s looking just slightly up at Eddie, the barest hint of a smile playing on his lips.

“Ready,” Steve affirms with a small nod that jostles Eddie's hands.

“Okay,” Eddie breathes out through his nose slowly, “1, 2 -- I’m actually not going to do a count,” he lets go of Steve’s face, it’s too much, it’s ridiculous and Eddie feels as though he’s about to fly apart at any moment.

Steve doesn’t move but his eyes trail after Eddie's hands as they fall from his face before coming back up to meet Eddie’s gaze, “Okay?”

Eddie swallows, it feels like glass going down, this is not how he saw his night going, “That's not my style, when I kiss, I don’t, I don’t count down…”

Steve snorts and smiles slightly, biting his lip as he says, “Okay”.

Eddie breathes in sharply as Steve releases his lip to speak, he shakes his head once and reaches out with slightly unsteady hands, to grip Steve’s face once more, “Ready?”

Steve nods again, “Yes,” he’s looking up at Eddie with those warm brown eyes and long lashes and Eddie feels like he's going to faint.

Just move, he thinks to himself, just kiss him and then he can leave, never darken the door of the Harrington house again. He can pretend this never happened and go back to pining from afar. 

Eddie steels himself and tilts his head as he leans in slowly, he sweeps his thumb across Steve’s cheekbone, he can do this, he can do this. He continues moving forward as Steve suddenly rears back with a gasp.

There’s a slight tremor in his voice, as Steve says, “I’m, I’m sorry, you can’t do that…”

Eddie jerks backwards, “What did I do?” he cries out, he flings his hands away from Steve’s face, holding them up in something akin to surrender. He wracks his brain, running through the last thirty seconds, trying to think of what could have freaked Steve out this badly.

“Your fa-” Steve starts before clamping his mouth shut with a sharp click. He’s curling in on himself now, one arm slides up from his side to grasp his other arm.

It’s Eddie’s turn to stare.

“Were you, were you going to say my face?” Eddie says quietly, stepping back from Steve entirely, his now empty fists clench and unclench at his sides. There’s a flicker of anger an hurt in his chest, what the fuck did that mean?

They stare at each other for a moment, Eddie waits for Steve to elaborate but all he gets is a silent grimace.

“Yeah,” Steve says weakly, after a beat, his eyes anywhere but Eddie’s own, “you just…you can’t do that with your face dude”.

"Don’t call me dude right now," Eddie growls, breathing in deeply through his nose, this whole situation has been fucked from the start and he can't take it anymore. He's done.

“Okay, yeah, okay,” Eddie mutters before crossing the space to the closed door and pounding the flat of his palm against it, “Let me out of here!”

Behind him, Steve sighs as he moves over to the wall of the spare bedroom and slides down it until he’s seated with his legs splayed out. 

But Eddie doesn't care, he doesn't. He had prepared himself for this, he knew Steve wouldn't possibly feel the same way and now it was definitive. 

That didn't stop it from stinging.

Eddie growls as he tries for the handle again and the brass does nothing but rattle rather than turn.

“Why does this door lock from the outside? That can’t be safe,” Eddie mutters to himself as he turns away from the door to face Steve once more, he leans back against it and breathes out a sigh as the chorus of, ‘Kiss, Kiss, Kiss’ renews itself with vigor just outside.

Steve sighs again and raises both hands to rub down his face before dropping them heavily to the floor on either side of him, he stares at the wall for a moment before his expression flattens again. 

He looks up at Eddie with determination in his eyes before bringing his legs up to stand. 

“Okay,” Steve says softly, as he steps towards where Eddie is leaning against the door, “let’s just do this already, just kiss me--”

“No.” Eddie firmly huffs, he crosses his arms in front of his chest and nearly knocks his head against the door as he realizes there is nowhere else to go, “I don’t--I’m not gonna kiss you”.

Steve pauses in his approach, he seems so much smaller than normal, and Eddie hates every moment of this.

“Look, I’m sorry, okay?” Steve says quietly, he reaches up to pinch the tip of his nose and clears his throat, “you said it yourself, it’s not a big deal. If you don't want to do this that's, it's fine, you know how stubborn they are, I don't think they meant to lock the door--”

“I can’t--” Eddie cuts across him but Steve is still talking.

“I’m sorry that you got stuck with me,” Steve bites out, running a hand through his hair as he steps backwards now, away from Eddie, and sits on the end of the bed, “and I’m sorry that I got all weird just now, but--”

Eddie just can’t take it any longer.

“No Steve,” he says shrilly, not caring if the assholes outside the door are listening, not caring if the Loch Nora neighbors can hear him, not caring if the kids upstairs wake up, “It's, I just can’t, not like this!”

It takes a second for the words to register, they seem to float between them for a moment before each man registers what’s been said.

Steve stills on the bed, he doesn’t even look like he’s breathing, “What,” Steve says softly, “what, what does that mean?” 

Oh Fuck.

“Nothing,” Eddie blurts out, his heart is racing, the air is stale and thin in the basement bedroom and Eddie feels like he can’t breathe, “I didn’t mean it like, I just, we can’t like that because it's not, you know?”

Steve stares at him from the bed, “...what?”

Eddie has to leave, he can’t be in this room anymore, pinned to the door by a pair of soft brown eyes that have pinched in the middle into a confused and terrible frown.

“If you’ll excuse me,” Eddie says quietly, briskly walking past Steve and the bed as he moves towards the far wall with the single window.

“Where are you going? Eddie!” 

For the second time that night Eddie finds himself wishing he had listened to his old man. 

Attempting to climb out the window of the basement spare bedroom may not have been his best plan; as he hoisted himself up to the ledge, which was already up a good five feet at least, and popped the screen off, deaf to whatever words Steve was hissing at him, Eddie found himself sitting halfway in a window-well. 

About two feet from the open ground above.

And that was before his studded belt caught on the window ledge. 

“Fucking hell,” Eddie grits out as he shifts backwards only for the belt to wrench him back into place, no, no, no, this couldn’t be happening.

He hears a sigh behind him along with a low string of curses as quiet footsteps move away towards the far side of the room. Seven knocks sound on what he can only assume is the door in a strange pattern that halts the chant from the basement sitting room. A muffled voice he can’t quite make out says something that Steve responds to.

“Open up the goddamn door Buckley or I’ll never cover another morning shift again, we have a situation in here,” he says in a small, defeated voice. 

It all happens fairly quickly after that. 

Between Jeff, Nancy, and Argyle’s careful maneuvering they manage to extricate him from the window and lower him back to the floor. Nothing had prepared Eddie for the hot, tight feeling that would fill his chest as Argyle and Jeff snicker and high-five once he is back on solid ground. Nancy is smiling but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes as she looks from Steve and back to Eddie, expression slowly morphing into one of concern.

Robin is standing with Steve, both of them lean against the far back wall by the now open door. They seem to be having an intense whisper fight that ends with Steve storming out back into the main sitting room. 

Argyle knocks into him, suddenly draping an arm over Eddie’s shoulders and snatching his attention away from Robin and Steve. He herds Eddie forward on slightly unsteady legs to follow the rest of his rescue party as they all make their way out of the spare bedroom.

“That was freakin’ hilarious dude,” Argyle says with a warm laugh and bright, slightly hazy eyes,  “I mean Steve, Steve, he tried to climb out the window instead of kissing you, can you believe that?”

Steve stiffens from his new position on the loveseat but shakes his head after a beat and laughs; the sound rings hollow, a pale imitation to his usual beautiful laugh, “Eh, Robin just gets to add another tally to the ‘You Suck’ board, that’s all man”.

Argyle laughs and claps Eddie’s shoulder lightly one last time before moving towards Jonathan and Jeff, the trio grab a lighter from the coffee table and head back upstairs for another toke.

Robin and Nancy go back to join Vickie on the couch, their heads bent together in conversation, both girls looking up at Steve from time to time. 

Steve, meanwhile, is steadfastly staring at the floor.

I’m an idiot, Eddie thinks miserably to himself as he takes a seat on the floor next to Gareth who doesn't seem to have moved since his suggestion of Truth or Dare. 

"Hey man," Gareth says, turning his head slightly to see him better, "how'd it go?" 

Eddie says nothing, pinching the bridge of his nose with two fingers; he wants to tell Gareth about how much of a disaster the night was, how he's ruined everything way more than he could ever dreamed of and he still didn't get a kiss out of it.

"That well huh?" Gareth hums as he sits up and brings his legs in to sit cross-legged. 

The party has wound down significantly at this point, Steve has disappeared from the basement and Nancy has loudly announced she is leaving if anyone needs a ride home. Robin and Vickie trail after her with Megan not far on their heels, she sends an irritated glare their way, most likely directed at Gareth more-so than himself.

"Weird," Gareth mumbles, dragging his arm across his eyes clumsily, "I figured that would'a worked, with all the puppy-dog eyes he's been givin' you lately".

"What, uh, what?" Eddie says sharply, he must have heard him wrong or the weed has finally gotten to them, Gareth did not--

"Oh man, yeah I figured the Truth or Dare would totally give you an opening dude, you seemed on board?" 

Eddie's heart is racing now, his palms sweaty, what the fuck is he talking about?

"I mean you should've seen Harrington's face when you went in, all sunny an' shit, it's that Doe face you're always talking about--" 

"Gareth!" Eddie hisses, his face burning and shoulders tight, he stands up startling the other man as he paces the now empty sitting room.

He takes a deep breath and then another, bringing his hands up to press into his eyes roughly. 

"Okay, okay, so you're telling me," he says slowly, dropping his hands to his sides, "that you think Steve, Steve Harrington," he points a shaky finger to the ceiling, "is in to me?"

Gareth blinks, his eyebrows slowly climb into his wild curly hair, "Uh yeah dude".

He says it like it's the simplest thing in the universe. One plus one is two, the sky is blue, and Steve Harrington has feelings for one Eddie Munson. 

And suddenly, the words from earlier, the brittle broken sentence Steve uttered in their temporary prison, makes much more sense.

"I’m sorry that you got stuck with me". 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him? 

Steve thought Eddie had been stuck with him?

The soft looks, small touches, and blinding grins, each tiny moment over the last few months tumble and fall together.

Oh God…

"...I am an idiot," Eddie whispers as he turns on his heel and makes his way to the stairs.

"Yeah! Get him dude!" Gareth calls after him as he flips back into the plush carpet with a laugh. 

Eddie wanders the dark main floor, tiptoeing through the living room, avoiding a sea of sleeping bags and pillowed heads of the kids as he goes, there is a faint light ahead of him coming from the staircase to the second floor. 

He makes his way up, careful to avoid the fifth stair as, 'it always creaks,' and the last thing he needed was Dustin, or Max, or, Ozzy forbid, Mike, interrupting.

Eddie maneuvers down the familiar hallway, and halts when he gets to Steve's room. The door is slightly ajar and, at last he’s found the source of the soft yellow light spilling down the hall and stairwell.

Eddie tips the door open, wincing at the piercing creek of the hinges as it slowly swings open revealing Steve sitting on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. He doesn’t look up as Eddie steps into the room. 

“Hey Stevie,” Eddie says softly. 

He stuffs his hands into his pockets, suddenly unsure how to proceed, and awkwardly stands in the doorway, the wall to wall plaid threatens to burn his retinas but he holds firm. 

There are a few things in here Steve has clearly placed himself, the plush area rug covering up most of the chic parquet flooring running through the rest of the house. A new yellow duvet that clashes with the red plaid wallpaper, but it's Steve's choice for once. The picture of the car has been replaced by a small cork board, it's covered from top to bottom in Polaroids of Steve and the kids, candids of Robin and Eddie, posed silly pictures of Jonathan and Argyle after a smoke session, and a few of Nancy and Jonathan sitting in the Byers kitchen at Thanksgiving, almost collage like but for the pins holding them in place.

The room has transformed over the last few months, and it never ceases to make Eddie smile.

“Hey Eds,” Steve sighs after a long beat.

He looks up to meet Eddie’s gaze, that same blank expression from earlier tonight painted on his otherwise handsome face. 

Eddie swallows, his heart rate ticking up once again as soft brown eyes hold him in place, if he chickens out again he swears he'll fling himself down the stairs, creaky step be damned.

He opens his mouth only for Steve to speak, slowly, quietly.

"I'm sorry," Steve murmurs, his voice cracking around the words, "if that was weird today, for you".

Eddie manages to keep his face impassive as he nods, but his heart aches at what he hears, “Yeah, I mean, no it wasn't weird, just…”

Steve sits with his shoulders squared and his spine straight, stiff and still even in his own bedroom, but with each word that leaves Eddie’s mouth the line of his body slowly begins to curl in on itself.

“Just, different”. 

Steve nods as his arms come up to wrap around himself again, he swipes his right hand up his bare arm up to the sleeve and down again and Eddie wants nothing more than to wrap him up in his own arms. 

Steve eventually puts his hands on his knees with a muffled clap and stands up, padding across the carpet towards the door, towards Eddie. 

"Well that's not the worst thing someone's called me so I'll take it," Steve says with a smirk, his big brown eyes pan between Eddie's own as though searching for something, he nods to himself.

“Oh yeah?” Eddie ventures, leaning against the open door frame, linking his ankles together as his weight shifts to one foot. 

He can’t have this, someone as kind and funny and good as Steve saying these things, thinking that Eddie thinks them too. 

Enough is enough.

Steve snorts, tipping his face down. A lock of hair falls into his eyes and once again, Eddie's fraying resolve finally snaps.

He pushes himself off the door frame with his shoulder, stepping into Steve’s space, and reaches out with one hand to card his fingers into Steve’s hair, pushing it out of his face.  

Steve freezes at the sudden touch and proximity, "What, Ed-"

The words are lost as Eddie leans his head down and captures Steve's open lips for a kiss. 

He feels Steve stiffen slightly in his arms. 

Shit.

Eddie moves to pull away, cursing his own stupidity, but as he tries to pull away, Steve curls his arms around Eddie's neck and tilts his head, stepping closer into his arms.

And it's fireworks. It’s hearing Dio for the first time all over again, it’s finding out he was going to be staying with Wayne permanently. It’s jamming out with Gareth and Jeff and losing themselves in the music.

It's Steve.

Eddie brings his hands up to curl over Steve’s cheek and into his hair once more, he brings his fingers into tangle with the soft waves and gives them an experimental tug, startling a small moan out of Steve.

Eddie smiles into the kiss and takes the opportunity to lick into his mouth, letting his tongue slide over Steves, he tastes slightly like beer but Eddie doesn’t care because he’s finally kissing, and kissing, and kissing him. 

Eddie breaks away after what feels like an eternity, leaning away just far enough to place a small kiss on Steve’s nose and both cheeks, which have slowly turned a pretty pink, the arms wrapped around his neck tighten slightly at the contact and Steve’s eyes flutter closed. 

“I meant something like that,” Eddie whispers before leaning in again, swallowing a laugh that escapes Steve with another soft kiss to his smiling lips.

"I thought," Steve mumbles, chewing his bottom lip with harsh teeth, "I thought I messed it all up downstairs," the words are wet as Steve sniffs once and tips his head onto Eddie's shoulder.

Eddie slips his hands down from Steve's face to bring him in closer, wrapping his arms around his waist, "you didn't mess anything up, I've been wanting to do that for a long time,” he whispers in Steve’s ear, earning a hitching laugh. 

“Me too Eds,” Steve mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, he pulls back slowly and tips his head up to meet Eddie’s gaze, “I think, I’ve been wanting to do that since you woke up in the hospital”.

“Sorry I took so long sweetheart,” Eddie murmurs against his lips, a smile tugging at the corners of his own.

Steve hums and closes his eyes before running his nose back and forth against the tip of Eddie’s own, “Well,” he says softly, “I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me”.

Eddie laughs brightly and kicks the bedroom door shut with a snap.

Maybe his Uncle Wayne wasn’t always right.

[cringefailvox]

finishing up this chapter either tonight or tomorrow but g-d willing it WILL be out this weekend

[splickedylit]

I know most of my new followers are for Homestuck but I just reread the entirety of Eyeshield 21 and: football manga good. So you'll have to forgive a brief interlude of "Splickedy's favorite minor character (and guests)" haha. Anyway do you think any of the gangsters Agon canonically cuckolded ever mistook Unsui for his twin brother and beat the shit out of him?? Ignore me.

...also tho relatedly I made a post about college Hiruma/Unsui in January and now I'm 26,000 words in, because,,, idk I've lost control of my life? Because "I realized in college that I'm queer and I have a million tons of repressed emotions behind a very cracked dam" is a big mood and maps onto Unsui too easily for me to resist? Because I'm still incredibly amused by the thought of how pissed off Agon would be if his brother started dating Hiruma? All of those things, lmao.

[whenits--notreal]

➼ Batman hits Tim shouting "YOU DON'T KNOW A DAMN THING" in Batman (2016) issue #71 (1) (2). It is later explained that this [Batman spinning Tim's jaw] was a form of communication, a "language" which they had established between themselves beforehand. In this language, what Batman said roughly translates to "shut up". No, I'm not joking, this was later explained in issue #81.

➼ The exchange between Bruce and Damian in which Batman very much breaks character is from Batman (2016) issue #145. Spoiler alert: it's not Bruce. The whole dialogue went smthn like:

D: …is it really you? B: It is. D: prove it. B: After you moved in with me… you couldn't sleep. Nightmares. I'd sit in your room with you until you'd finally drift off. /The next day you'd always pretend like it never happened. D: Father… B: I'm back, son …and nothing can stop us.

Despite it not actually being Bruce, I included this for 2 main reasons: 1 ) because it's so obviously not Bruce and still his kids go [in the next panel] "So, the big question is… is it actually Bruce…" and 2 ) because it precedes a POV change to the actual Bruce who is trynna survive solo and is having a cute flashback in #147 (1) (2).

➼ The panel showing Bruce staying at home with a sick Jason instead of going on patrol is from Red Hood and the Outlaws (2012) issue #3. It's pretty self-explanatory, Jason was too sick to go on patrol so Bruce was gonna go alone, but then he changed his mind and cancelled patrol for the night. This is real big tho cuz he prioritised his son over his mission for once (1) (2) (3).

Context: RH and the Outlaws were in a situation where they had to leave their "most cherished memories" with this guy called S'aru as collateral and this was the memory that was taken from Jason (he doesn't want the memory back after they're done with their mission ☹). Also, the art is gorgeous.

➼ The one where B says that Tim isn't his soldier but his son is from Batman (2016) #127. It's an internal dialogue between him and Zur (the other Batman who is a bit bonkers). It's like when he's physically faced with the personification of his Batman persona and his mission, he is finally able to wrap his head around the fact that Robin or not, his kids are his kids, not his soldiers. Otherwise when it's just him, he kinda just ignores the fact and pretends that he doesn't feel/act in two completely conflicting ways when his kids are in question (1) (2) (3). He's a hypocrite and I'm still salty at the "In memory of -- Robin -- A good soldier".

Anyway, it's pretty heartwarming that this was one of the only instances in which he was able to keep the Batman of Zur-en-Arrh in check.

➼ The "I love you, dad" is from the 2016 Nightwing Comics #100 and while I have certain... qualms about Tom Taylor and his writing (don't get me wrong, he's a technically good writer and I enjoy reading what he writes. I just don't like what he's done with the bigger picture if that makes sense-- anyway), I really like this moment and B+N's relationship throughout the past few issues.

For me, Dick is a character with sooo much baggage to unpack and, honestly, I believe he's almost as emotionally closed off as Batman is, he just wears a smile while he's at it and believes the best of people where Batman assumes the worst. But when it comes to his own personal emotions, he bottles them up like he's Doraemon's pouch and has space to spare.

Here though, Bruce takes the initiative, taking off his cowl, and finally says what needed to be said long ago. With no miscommunications! In fact, Bruce delivers with eloquence! And he apologises! It only took Alfie dying...

Anyway, here're the panels: (0) (0.5) (1) (2) (3) (4)

(Added in a few extra pages because Dick was getting the recognition he deserves)

➼ Now following the comic with the heartfelt conversation and Nightwing appreciation, we have the sixth panel: Bruce knocking out Dick's tooth. Yippee. And that would be from Batman (2011) #7. Dick is angry at B cuz he swiped a tissue sample from him without telling him then B just backhands (Backfists? backpunches?) one of Dick's molars right out of his mouth (1).

The reason was that there was evidence in that very molar that Dick was selected by the court of owls when he was young to be trained as an assassin. (2) Now here's the thing, B had no evidence and instead of idk telling Dick about his thoughts (and this is all happening as Dick is going off at Bruce for keeping secrets) and taking an x-ray or smthn, he forcefully knocks it out.

And then they just move on like what just happened was okay. There's not even a hint of remorse or the like, instead, B just rebukes Dick for "underestimating" the Court of Owls. Bro, he was max 8 years old when he was still in the circus, why would he think something happened then? Anyway, Snyder has a real propensity for writing Bruce as a wacko imo.

➼ The next one really pisses me off. Bruce swiping Dick across the face and shouting, "DON'T YOU DARE BLAME ME FOR JASON'S DEATH! DON'T YOU DARE!" is from The New Titans (1988) #55. Let's put aside the fact that yes, it is his fault that a barely 15 y/o kid was trapesing the streets in glorified underwear and making enemies of psychologically challenged, overqualified, criminal masterminds and was eventually brutally beaten to death by one of said criminal masterminds in some twisted parody of a love confession.

Dick comes back from an off-world mission with the Titans 2 weeks after Jason's funeral. He ends up finding out about Jay's death from this little twat who I'm not even gonna bother naming and then after confirming the news he goes to comfort Bruce. He prioritised comforting Bruce over his own hurt at not being called or told in any way.

Bruce, in turn, takes to being an antagonistic asshole like they didn't both just lose the same person and subtly blames Dick for how things turned out. Dick goes, 'hey don't blame me' and Bruce goes 'DON'T YOU DARE BLAME ME' with a side of punch-to-the-face (1). Bruce then continues to rage at his own decision to take a sidekick (twice) but in a way that puts the blame on them (them being Dick and Jason), then he sort of disowns (?) Dick, and stomps out like the toddler that he is (2).

I could honestly never be Alfred.

➼ The page showing Bruce beating Jason is from Red Hood and The Outlaws (2016) #25. Jason shoots the Penguin (he doesn't die but neither B nor J know that) and Batman subsequently tracks him and beats him down like the loving father he is and Bizarro has to come save him (dk how much worse B could've done tbh) (1) (2).

Anyone with eyes would be able to understand why Jason finds it so hard to believe his father-figure loves him. Cuz he doesn't blood well act like it

➼ Next is Batman driving Dick Grayson to his new home or "hell" as he put it (weirdo?) after he officially made him his ward (consent wasn't included in the package). This is set in the Arkham Knight universe and is from All Star Batman & Robin, The Boy Wonder #2. I'm not gonna link any more than that because the whole run stars a messed up Bruce.

Idk in what world, the symbol of Justice of a city would think it's okay to legally kidnap a recently orphaned child, gas them in your car, and call them "dense" or "retarded" when they ask the genuine question, who tf are you? And then he slaps him for grieving his dead parents because, and I quote, "Grief is the enemy. [...] There's no room for grief. Grief turns into acceptance. Forgiveness. Grief forgives what can never be forgiven. Never."

And then he attacks Alfred for feeding him because 'woe is me, I (voluntarily) survived on rats and without any help and I decree that this young 8-year-old does the same'.

➼ And finally, the last one (Batman beating Damian and sending him flying across the floor) is from the Battle of the Super Sons Movie. To his credit, Batman's body was taken over by this starfish-looking parasite thing.

Not a fan of the movie, personally. Not much to say either, I just put it there cuz one of the key aspects of the movie was meant to be Dami and B's father-son relationship (and the gif was kinda funny).

By the time Damian came along, DC writers half-realised that blatant physical abuse towards your kids was not cool.

Anyway, this turned out wayyyyy longer than I'd originally intended. I was just gonna cite the sources at first, and then decided to give context for those weren't gonna read the comics, and then a bit of my opinion slipped in towards the end ┬┴┬┴┤(･_├┬┴┬┴ ...

Happy Father's day, ig?

[glass-noodle]

I'm curious Connor in you're au looks quite malnutritioned and tired what would Hank do if he became exceptionally sick or weak from kamskis experiments on him

He can tell that something’s off the minute he walks into the enclosure. Connor is lying half on the deck, half in the water, his tail hanging limply off the ledge. He barely lifts his head at the sound of Hank entering, eyes half-lidded and hazy.

Hank rushes forward, dropping his lunch bag on the deck and grabbing Connor by the shoulders. “Jesus — Connor! Hey, you okay?”

Connor looks worse than he ever has; purple shadows under his eyes dark as a bruise, skin sallow over protruding bones, grip weak as he reaches up to place a heavy hand on Hank’s arm. Hank feels anger simmer to life in his gut, the urge to storm straight into Kamski’s office and punch his teeth out for allowing Connor to wallow in this state (and likely causing it) rising like a maelstrom; but he manages to reign himself in for Connor’s sake, guiding him into a more comfortable position on the deck. “Hold on, kid,” he says urgently, shrugging off his jacket and draping it over the merman’s thin, pale frame. He turns to rummage quickly through his bag. “Here, what do you need? Food? Water?”

He holds out his daily catch to Connor. Connor looks blearily at the fish, eyes cloudy, then drops his head back onto the deck, murmuring insensibly.

Hank raises his head back up. “C’mon, kid, you need to eat,” he says, trying to keep his voice low despite his rising panic. He palms the kid’s face gently, noting how it’s burning up as he sits cross-legged by the water’s edge, guiding Connor’s head into his lap.

Connor barely reacts to the change in position. His eyes are closed, and his bony ribs rise and fall quickly, shallow breaths puffing past cracked lips. Hank decides it’s probably best to start with water. He reaches back into his bag to retrieve his bottle, uncapping it and placing it against Connor’s lips. “Come on, come on,” he mutters.

Connor does respond to that, at least, throat bobbing with difficulty as he sips slowly at what’s offered. Hank’s relief is short-lived, however; Connor’s eyes slip shut when Hank pulls the bottle away, and he murmurs a low, wounded sound as he turns his head weakly into Hank’s lap.

Hank hisses a curse between his teeth. He puts a hand on Connor’s burning forehead, pushing his sweat-soaked locks out of the way. He’s just about to consider running to get help — Kamski’s wrath be damned — when the enclosure door opens.

Hank turns quickly, stiffening. One of the scientists, the small blonde one, is standing in the doorway, holding several objects in her hands — one of which looks like a syringe filled with a pale blue fluid. She gives him a strange, lingering look.

“Mr. Anderson.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Hank growls. He doesn’t give a damn that he’s been caught breaking the rules. He eyes the syringe in her hand suspiciously as she walks towards them, clutching Connor tighter. “The hell are you gonna do to him?”

She stops a short distance away from them. “My name is Chloe,” she says, soft and careful. She holds out her hands placatingly, showing Hank everything that she has in her grasp. “I work directly under Dr. Kamski. Connor is sick. I have medicine for him.”

Hank eyes the syringe suspiciously. The girl doesn’t seem all that aggressive, but he doesn’t trust anyone in this place, least of all the fuckers who put Connor in this situation in the first place. “Right. How do I know you’re not just gonna shoot him up with more weird shit?”

Chloe’s hesitates, looking away. “I understand your concern,” she murmurs finally. “But I want you to know that I really don’t mean Connor any harm. I — I don’t like seeing him suffer, either.”

Hank snorts darkly at that. “Then set him free.”

Chloe says nothing; just gives him another long, considering look. On top of feeling pissed, her light-eyed stare is starting to make him feel uncomfortable, like she’s staring into his soul and grasping at his deepest, most guarded thoughts. Weird girl.

Connor stirs in his lap, dark eyes flickering open to peer hazily beyond Hank’s hovering form. He seems to recognize Chloe; he doesn’t shy away as she approaches them, at least. Rather, he shifts, and — to Hank’s surprise — holds out one pale, scarred arm.

Chloe kneels down, keeping her eyes on Hank. “May I?”

Hank would honestly like nothing less, but he’s not stupid. Connor needs more help than he can provide, and for whatever reason he seems to trust her marginally more than the other scientists Hank’s seen him interact with. “Whatever,” he grunts, keeping a tight grip on the merman. If she got the smart notion to try anything, Hank would be there to swing his weight around, anyhow.

Connor watches her as she swabs his skin delicately with alcohol, and Hank watches him in turn. His face pinches when she inserts the needle, but he seems no less uncomfortable than he was before; no trace of the anger or fear that normally twists his expression when the scientists enter his tank. In fact, he seems almost…relieved. His eyes slip closed when Chloe retracts the needle, and he lets out a shaky sigh, curling into Hank’s warmth.

Hank strokes a hand through the kid’s hair, watching Chloe discard the needle into a little yellow container and tape a piece of gauze over the puncture site. “You done now?”

Chloe shakes her head, looking regretful. “I’m afraid we’ll have to move Connor to the sick tank. He’ll need more than a single shot to recover, and he’ll need specific environmental conditions to help him heal properly.”

Hank feels that familiar anger ignite in him again, raising his hackles and knotting dark and tight in his chest. “He wouldn’t be sick if you would just stop doing this to him,” he growls, fixing the girl with a hard, baleful stare. Whatever she’d done to help Connor just now, it didn’t make up for everything she’d helped enable up until this point. It didn’t make up for all the suffering she and her team had put Connor through.

Chloe doesn’t speak for a long moment. “I’ll pass that on to Elijah,” she says eventually, tone soft and unreadable.

[fights4users]

Sending him away

How would Yori react to Tron getting transferred? (For the sake of the fic he wasn’t copied)

Tron regrets it the second the words leave his mouth, but she had to hear it from him. He has made a choice he’s come to regret once realizing it will mean leaving her.

Touchy, angsty but they ultimately have great communication skills.

-Comments encouraged-

[ctl-yuejie]

hello im the same anon as before i just learned about the new attack which was indeed premeditated. i thought the post was talking about what happened with the soccer fans. im very sorry!

tbh i considered ignoring this and obviously do not know who you are anon + i am leaving out the first message i got, because i do not want to drag any other blogs into this:

do not come into my ask box and tell me that i shouldn't reblog xyz's posts because they are a zionist

if the current posting trend on tumblr wasn't so particularly dire i'd use the "woman putting box on shelf meme" with the word zionist on it, but as it stands

i obviously do not vet all blogs in a reblog chain when i agree with the content of a post; i do not mind people coming to my dms/ask box to tell me that someone i reblogged from has posted heinous shit and that i should check whether i want to reblog them

however, that means pointing out that they actually said something specific (e.g. having no compassion for the people in gaza) and not just sending a dm with "btw blog xyz is zionist"

10 times out of 10, the people who contact me like that have first heard of zionism a year ago and have never done any reading beyond the english wiki since then +

any time i have seen posts like that on my dash they weren't even directed at zionists but jewish bloggers talking about the antisemetic bs going down on this website and in general

as for amsterdam:

it boggles my mind (not really) that people cannot comprehend that making fun of dead children in gaza is vile stuff but also doesn't justify people going on a 'jew hunt' in the streets.

i am beyond making presumptions, but i cannot help but feel that the activism in support of palestine by people who message me like this extends to just that - messaging me or others - and then never engaging in actual activism.

it is calling out racism and antisemitism when you encounter it, especially among your peers, giving money to organisations that actually try and provide help to people in gaza, it means calling and writing to politicians to make your voice heard (i've decided to mainly post on tumblr about the antisemitic attacks going on in europe etc. because i feel like some people on here do not want to accept the fact that antisemitic hate crimes are globally on the rise. as for the support for palestine: i do that offline, because i do not believe there is anything helpful i can achieve on this platform).

so, i reblogged that post not just because of the "new" attack, but also because of the attack from the day before.

[total-drama-brainrot]

Hello hello ophe 👋😇

I’m doing somewhat ok these days how about you? I hope you are getting better 😇

Anyways I got a crack idea and it sounds kinda stupid but hear me out

Bank robbery or crime gang au

You get Alejandro who is the one in charge

Noah the brains

Justin the distraction for the police and just the attractive distraction

Tyler is the “athletic” one really he’s also part of distraction the other one they shove in the vents

Wayne (don’t ask no one knows why he is even here) is the getaway driver

Cody the hacker and the one they shove into the vents

Trent is the second getaway driver is Wayne is knocked out and he’s also helps Cody when he is shoved in the vents (Trent tells where Cody need to go when Cody is in the vents)

Owen is also part of the distraction team and somehow supplies the group with firearms of all things?

Harold is the main hacker

Duncan is I guess the Jack of all trades?

Anyways yeah I don’t know why I thought of this….

-Ass Stars anon

Hello hello, A.S. Anon! 👋😄

I'm slowly getting better by means of an excessive amount of decongestants and painkillers! 💊

Total Drama Bank Heist AU sounds like a fun little crack idea, I'm on board.

If I could suggest something, I'd like to offer both Noah and Harold as the groups' 'Guy(s) In The Chair', with Noah using his canonical hacking abilities to scout out their chosen heist area using it's security cameras and/or downloading the bank's blueprints digitally (pretty sure he did something similar to this in Dramarama?) and Harold utilizing some of his various Mad Skills to plan the group's course of action and probably man their comms. I say this because Noah can't stand Harold, so making them work together as the groups' off-site organizers would/could be hindered by the two of them bickering instead of actually working. (Also because I can't imagine a world in which Noah would willingly do something as physically straining as robbing a bank. Mission intelligence, however, is right up his alley; he and Harold absolutely fight over who gets to be called 'Q'.)

Having Alejandro as the main group's de facto leader just feels right, and I don't think they'd need someone dedicated to being the 'Brains' with him around (though that title would go to Harold and Noah technically). He's quick witted enough to think up plans of action on the fly and devious enough to charm his way through a tough spot, all whilst being physically capable enough to fight his way through trouble- if anything I'd say Alejandro is the 'Jack of all Trades', thought 'The Leader' is probably a more appealing moniker to him.

Justin as 'The Eye Candy' also feels natural- it's his best (only) talent! He's been shown in canon to be a bit of a schmoozer, so complimenting/flirting his way through the banks' guards/employees and working as a distraction is perfect for him, especially since I doubt Justin would want to do any dirty work and risk damaging his 'perfect face/body'.

Duncan and Tyler would be 'The Brawn', with Duncan actually being an effective physical threat whilst Tyler is... Tyler...

Though Duncan could also be 'The Wildcard', since his loyalty isn't exactly assured at any given moment. Whilst I doubt he's ever rat the others out for his own assured freedom/safety, abandoning them at the scene while he makes his escape? That's a total Duncan Move (he learned it from Courtney in TDDDDI).

I honestly can't see Owen as a heister, unless he was somehow tricked/blackmailed into tagging along, but if he was he's be similar to Tyler- though his title would be something along the lines of 'The Beefcake'- just some extra muscle who's not particularly good at being extra muscle.

Cody would be the safe cracker. He's small and "quick on his feet" (his words), he's literally built for crawling through vents and cracking open safes! He's smart enough to be a code breaker, though he rarely shows it, and I also think it's a nice nod to his bomb diffusing fear- it's a similar course of action.

Trent as the getaway driver also just feels right. He's laid back enough to be contented to just sit and wait for the others to finish their heist, and his poker face is pretty good so one one really suspects him to be involved in the others' ongoings. He probably plays indie rock songs from the 80s as they speed away from the scenes of their crimes, and he absolutely owns a pair of mirrored shades that he only wears when it's Time To Go- he thinks they make him look cool (they don't, but no one has the heart to tell him).

I could see Cody as a secondary getaway driver as well, if Trent's unavailable, utilizing his baby face and unassuming demeanour to divert suspicion from himself. "No officer, I'm not a getaway driver. I'm just a baby, don't you see the learner's plate on my Vauxhall Corsa?" He has a terrible poker face though. If they were ever pulled over or caught he'd admit to everything without prompting.

I can't really think of a way of including Wayne, given the canonical age difference, unless said age difference is lessened in this AU. If he's, say, 16 whilst the rest of them are in their early 20s, I'd suggest that he's Owen's younger cousin who's tagging along because the group couldn't find a way to dissuade him from joining without him (either intentionally or inadvertently) tattling on their whole schtick. He's got no idea what's really happening- he's aware that they're heisting but Wayne doesn't have the, uh, cerebral constitution to connect "Bank Heist" to "Committing Actual Crimes"- but he's having a Great Time regardless! Alejandro has him on lookout duty (read: Wayne sits outside of the bank, oblivious to the legality of the situation) which Wayne takes very seriously... until he gets bored and hangs out with Trent/Cody in the car.

Now for extras!

Their main opposition is a specialised group of investigators who are assigned to their case- since they mark each heist with their group's name but have yet to be caught (They probably get Duncan to tag the side of their hit banks with a crudely drawn Bull Head or something in bright red spray paint). They're not cops, but they do work with them (ew) to try and finally catch the heisters.

Heather, alongside Courtney, Gwen, Leshawna, Lindsay, Beth and Sierra, work in this special ops. group; they're all specialised agents who are dispatched to the scenes of the heists to try and catch our boys in the act.

(I think Sierra would make a really good intelligence operator, given her canonical ability to run ~22+ blogs simultaneously and dig up private information on people. She'd direct the others towards whichever bank she finds Harold and Noah hacking into.)

They occasionally enlist the help of Izzy and Eva for the extra muscle, but the duo are too temperamental to be a full-time part of their operation.

(Yes I added my girlies as a rival group. It's Gender Wars Time. S1E14 all over again but this time there's less gross food and more LITERAL CRIME‼‼)