#i’m sure he does not expect more than a dozen. which i could do with my friends

[apollos-boyfriend]

i might post a survey for class in the upcoming days btw u guys better do it i need a good grade <3

[itsclydebitches]

Zevlor: An Angsty Character Analysis

Hey, Zevlor simps. Can I interest anyone in 4,000 words about our favorite disaster tiefling? 💀

“We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—we’re no fighters.”

Back during my first play-through this is the line that turned Zevlor from another dime-a-dozen, exposition spouting NPC to a character I was legitimately interested in. “We’re no fighters.” My DnD ignorance abounds, but even I could see that wasn’t an accurate statement. Here’s a mountain of a man sporting fancier armor than my level 2 Tav knows exists yet, having wrecked half the goblin hoard with his crossbow and, if you let him, he'll happily turn to punching as a solution to verbal disagreements. Plus, he’s clearly the one giving the orders, so what do you mean you’re not a fighter?

Having explored the Grove a bit I chalked it up to a generalized assessment of the refugees as a whole. They’re mostly kids, civilians, and would-be protectors who only look the part of fighters in cobbled-together armor. One woman is grappling with the guilt of killing someone for the first time, even an enemy. Lakrissa is sure they’re all going to get slaughtered and is willing to put money on that fact. Meanwhile, the couple you meet are more concerned with what pet they’ll get when they somehow, someway, make it to the city. Don't worry about how that'll happen. You learn later that even those like Ronan are small potatoes compared to most of the baddies you’ll face. On paper he looks and sounds like the real deal—dressed in robes, talking up an apprenticeship with the famous Lorroakan—but scenes like the celebration light show and his own fury at needing to be saved, again, highlight how far he still has to go. The point is that Zevlor is right: these aren’t fighters and he at 18 strength, paladin, former commander, is definitely the exception.

However, BG3 is the sort of detail-heavy game where I’d expect them to include that exception in the dialogue. “We can’t stay, but we’ll be slaughtered if we leave—these people aren’t fighters.” Zevlor’s inclusion of himself in this assessment continued to nag at me and it didn’t start to make sense until I delved into his tag here on tumblr, with more patient players than myself posting everything there is to know about the tiefling. (Thanks, all.) Zevlor is fascinating to me in part because he has this contradictory nature, one example of which is that he’s a very talented fighter who desperately doesn’t want to be a fighter anymore.

…but also he totally does.

We overhear in his dialogue to Tilses that Zevlor is adamant about shedding the titles he’s earned through combat: Hellrider, Commander, Sir. He insists that they’re just civilians now and it’s not like he’s being disingenuous here—note that he introduces himself as just “Zevlor” to Tav. Zevlor means what he says to Tilses and we can see that he’s trying to both reinforce his point and lesson the blow by referring to her as “Tilly.” The nickname is a sweet one, hinting at their close bond in just a single word, reminding her that he’s not saying this to hurt her, he cares for her… but the nickname is simultaneously something he never would have used as her commander. The intimacy meant to comfort is also a hard blow to weather. They're now people who use nicknames inappropriate for the hierarchy of battle.

So Zevlor means what he says here, means it enough that Tilses is convinced and drops her use of “Commander,” but there’s definitely a hint of bitterness in his voice. At least, I’ve always heard it. Zevlor is steadfast in his conviction here, even going so far as to say, “I’m done soldiering, Tilly” when discussing what will come next at Baldur’s Gate. Yet for all of that his tone conveys (understandable) anger and disappointment that it’s come to this. Zevlor doesn’t act like someone who truly wants this change, but rather someone who’s been forced to accept it.

Is it outside forces unwillingly influencing him then? Did Avernus truly change things irrevocably? No, not really. At least, not in the way Zevlor likes to claim. Tilses herself states that being a Hellrider is for life; nothing can take away that title. You lost your post? Your whole city? Most of the people under your protection? Doesn’t matter! You’re a Hellrider forever, no matter the circumstances. I can easily picture a time in Zevlor's life where he would have agreed with Tilses wholeheartedly. They are Hellriders, dammit, and so long as there’s one person looking for their help they will wield that title alongside their blades. And right now, Zevlor has a lot more than just one person in need of his assistance.

So it’s not that Avernus truly stripped them of that identity. Nothing can do that. Zevlor is not rejecting titles and planning retirement because the mechanisms of fate are forcing him to.

He’s doing all that because he’s lost confidence in himself.

Even as someone with a shaky understanding of DnD classes, I love the parallel between a broken oath and the rejection of a lifelong title. If Zevlor can fail in his oath—or in his faith entirely, according to the memories stemming from his pod—why-ever would he think that any other ‘permanent’ part of his identity was worth fighting for? If you can loose the very thing you’ve built your entire life around, every important aspect of yourself, tied to your very soul… what’s a bestowed title compared to that? Zevlor doesn’t believe himself worthy of being a Hellrider anymore, but I think that goes deeper than a string of horrific circumstances making him feel incompetent. As an Oathbreaker, Zevlor likely believes that if he couldn’t uphold that, he can’t uphold anything. Calling himself a Hellrider would be a lie. A fiction. A pathetic, dangerous, insulting fiction at that. It’s like calling yourself the “Hero” while continually failing those around you. Sure, others might insist it’s a title you’ve earned, one you will always carry with you, but you don’t believe them anymore and at a certain point calling yourself that feels worse than embracing the title of “Villain." You don’t want to be the villain… but you want to pretend you’re the hero even less. Pretending is exhausting.

We see this struggle in the many ways that Zevlor fails, or almost fails, to uphold the ideals that originally guided him. I use the term “villain” above deliberately because Zevlor is not merely a former hero-type who’s self confidence has been shattered, or who has been reduced to a civilian, or who thinks themselves useless; he’s actively fighting against temptations that, under less stressful situations, he’d never even consider. I don’t think he is a villain, I think he’s a flawed, struggling victim who sees his own, inevitable mistakes as villainous—and the longer that warped perspective continues the easier it is to fall into bad behaviors. This cycle is perfectly summarized in the autobiography Zevlor keeps by his bed:

“When every passer-by thinks you a thief and a heretic, it is deeply tempting to become one.”

We don’t know if this is Zevlor’s autobiography (as far as I’m aware, anyway) but even if it’s not the words have clearly resonated enough for him to keep them nearby. This particular line paints a pretty clear picture of Zevlor’s struggle. If everyone you meet says you’re devil-kin, vermin, or would-be criminal, isn’t it easier to just give them what they want? If you can’t persuade them otherwise, why put in the effort of trying? If he can’t be Faithful to his God, why have faith in anything at all? If he can’t save these people—setback after setback, mistake after mistake—why is he even making the effort?

Zevlor obviously is trying, very, very hard, which is why such thoughts are merely temptations rather than actual, questionable actions. Still, the Grove gives us numerous examples of the precipice he’s balanced on—and the ways Tav can tip him in one direction or another. You can talk Zevlor down from his anger and get him to acknowledge his disgust in nearly sinking to Aradin’s level. You can also let him boil over and punch the human at a time when the last thing anyone needs is more violence. You can convince Zevlor that there are peaceful ways of stopping Kagha's ritual, or you can help him in pursuing the darker temptation to kill her. It’s a “low” thought, but at his own admission he hasn’t been above entertaining it. Zevlor’s requests for help, though always polite and humble, carry a spark of manipulation in them too. He’s not above leveraging your previously selfless good deed to his advantage—"She owes you for saving this grove"—and if you approach him before speaking with Kagha he’ll claim that the ritual will “be trouble—for all of us.” Except, no? Not really? Tav can make it clear that they’re just here for a healer, they’re only passing through, and as a fighter they are not beholden to the Grove’s sanctuary as the teiflings are. It’s not trouble for everyone involved, yet Zevlor frames it as such in the hopes that (unnecessary) self-interest may motivate you if selflessness fails. Finally, if Zevlor dies in your play-through and you use Speak the Dead on him, he will admit to having “plenty” of secrets, none of which he’ll share. Admittedly, this may be the result of cut content, specifically a story-line in which Zevlor knowingly betrays the tieflings rather than being tricked by the Absolute. Still, the game as it stands is the story we have and within it we’re given a man who is both fighting against these dark urges (ha) and has a past riddled with secrets. If Zevlor is anything, it’s blunt when it comes to his own failings, accurate and otherwise. So how terrible must these secrets be that he outright refuses to divulge them when, generally speaking, most corpses speak freely in death?

However, out of all of this the struggle I’m most intrigued by is the one surrounding the gate. Zevlor represents the tieflings: persecuted refugees, vulnerable civilians, people seeking to survive through cooperation, specifically by joining a community. Kagha represents the druids (or at least a vocal subset of them in Halsin’s absence): bigoted individuals, powerful fighters, people seeking to survive by giving in to their fears, specifically by keeping themselves isolated. This is the moral dichotomy of the Grove and it is symbolized through the gate. Zevlor wants to open it to everyone whereas Kagha wants to close it, permanently.

So isn’t it odd that Zevlor is the one ordering it shut?

When the scene first starts Kanon shouts down that no, he won’t open the gate. Zevlor said that no one is allowed in. Notably, he’s saying this to Aradin and his crew, people that the Grove is at least passingly familiar with, given that Halsin left with them to search the temple. It’s also notable that Zevlor isn’t expecting goblins to attack the Grove. He’s shocked that this is suddenly a problem, brought about by Aradin’s decision—“You lead them here?”— and the entire point of staying at the Grove is that it’s at least comparatively safe. Yes, there have been more attacks lately, but Zevlor seems to be relying on the Grove’s relatively unknown location, as well as the fact that goblins are normally disorganized. The safety is only compromised because Aradin brought a hunting party back, so Zevlor has no reason to expect any visitors, let alone ones that would be a threat.

More importantly, he should welcome such visitors even if he did expect them. After all, that’s precisely what the tieflings are: strangers with no ulterior motives other than to survive. Broadly speaking it makes perfect sense why he'd shut the gates. Zevlor’s first priority is to his people, so anything that keeps them safe is, theoretically, a good thing. But through the lens of his specific characterization and this specific, moral dilemma, it’s an awfully hypocritical decision. Based on everything we’ve seen, our party would not have been welcomed by Zevlor if we’d arrived without danger on our heels and a rescue to endear him to us. So his people should be welcomed, trusted, kept safe, given the benefit of the doubt… but Zevlor isn’t necessarily willing to extend that same trust to others. At the end of the day, he and Kagha want a version of the same thing: safety for those they deem are worthy of it.

It’s precisely these flaws and temptations that make Zevlor such a great character to me, even before he’s tricked by the Absolute. The fandom has leaned hard into Zevlor’s self-loathing and let me tell you, I love it (kisses, hugs, and cookies for you all), but canonically I think he has more reason to fear himself than we tend to portray in the H/C fics. I’m not saying he’s a bad person. Rather, it’s precisely because Zevlor is such a good person that he has the capacity to fall so far. It’s his all-consuming desire to protect his family that leads Zevlor to do and consider so much that a paladin would normally balk at. Denying others the safety you’ve been granted. Subtly manipulating others to do your dirty work. Considering murder.

Zevlor is someone torn between doing the Right Thing and the thing he believes will help those under his care survive. Importantly, when we first meet him he considers these to be two separate courses of action. So can you imagine what goes through his head when he first sees Tav saving everyone and doing so righteously? I think it’s integral to Zevlor’s characterization that the game all but forces you to play the Good Guy in that initial encounter. A cut scene starts, you’re thrown into combat immediately afterwards, and unless you plan to start attacking the Grove members alongside the goblins (which the mechanics discourage through the coloring that distinguishes enemies from allies) you will always finish this fight as Zevlor’s hero. Sure, you can be an asshole afterwards and demand payment. You could already be plotting your betrayal and the slaughter of all the refugees. But in this moment you are nothing but a miracle made flesh in his eyes. Right from the start Tav is succeeding in all the ways Zevlor feels like he's failed. You're the hero.

More specifically, you’re an Every-Man Hero. We might have epic backstories for our Tavs, but within confines of the game you’re largely a nobody when not playing an Origin character. How powerful must that have been to witness then? A total stranger, someone who has no ties to the tieflings or even, depending on your class, any sworn reason to help others, putting their life on the line to save what is most precious to Zevlor? I think a lot about the fact that he never asks Wyll to step in and try to change Kagha’s mind. She owes him just as much as she does Tav—Wyll is an equal participant in that fight and, if your shoddy play style is anything like mine, he likely did more damage—and Wyll is clearly invested in the tiefling’s survival, training the kids as he is. Now, obviously Zevlor’s reticence is largely a question of assigned roles (we need to be the one engaging with Kagha because we’re the protagonist/player) but, like Zevlor’s choice to include himself in the Not a Fighter group, it would have been all too easy to explain this away within the narrative. One comment about how Wyll already tried and failed, or how Kagha doesn’t trust Warlocks, or hell, maybe you don’t meet Wyll in the Grove at all. It’s an easy thing to accomplish and though this is edging more into the realm of headcanon than anything else, I can’t help but think that Wyll isn’t the kind of person that Zevlor could turn to for help right now. Because he’s a folk hero. The Blade of Frontiers, known far and wide for his impressive, selfless deeds. Zevlor is struggling so hard to keep the tieflings safe, tempted by all the unsavory solutions that might achieve that, drowning in self-hatred as his past and current failings catch up with him, wanting nothing more than to be his peoples’ protector:

“I would be a paladin again—with a god’s purpose, a god’s power. Everything I needed to protect my people. And all the while, the cult tortured them. They fought, and ran, and died around me, while I imagined myself their savior.”

Three of the things Zevlor mutters while trapped in the pod are “Hellrider… for… life…,” “Trust… in me…,” and “Children… look away… look at me…” He wants to be the protector, the one children look to for reassurance, he wants his words to Tilly to be a lie and he wants a way to prove that he is a Hellrider for life… but he’s not. At least, Zevlor doesn’t believe it. He lost his titles while Wyll still proudly bears his. Wyll trains the children to fight while Zevlor can only get swept up in anger at them being threatened. The people trust Wyll, adore him, he’s the hero and Zevlor… is not. Not anymore.

It’s too painful to approach Wyll and admit all that. That would be a hell of a blow to Zevlor's pride. But Tav? A stranger? A nobody? The Every-man who had no reason to help or reputation pressuring them, saving them anyway? That’s inspiring. Someone like Tav could be the answer and even, perhaps, the proof that Zevlor could redeem himself. Neither of them are folk heroes, untouchable in their assumed perfection. Tav is a living, breathing example of how the flawed, everyday adventurer can be everything Zevlor strives for.

No wonder he won’t shut up about them in the Shadowlands.

All of this is why it’s so tragic that Zevlor wasn’t given a redemption arc. Sure, you can recruit him for the final battle against the Netherbrain, but there’s no quest to change the cast’s opinion of him—or change Zevlor’s opinion of himself. All his content at the end of Act 2 and Act 3 reinforces that self-hatred.

Let’s make a list, shall we?

Nearly every line of his reunion with Tav has Zevlor painting himself in the worst light possible, from “a lie kinder than the truth” to his refusal to join you because he believes he’ll stab you in the back. You cannot convince him of the Absolute’s manipulation and there’s no response to his belief that such horrors start within the person like, “Of course it does! Because we’re all flawed and equally capable of good and evil deeds! That potential doesn’t make you irredeemable, Zevlor, it makes you mortal!!”

He’s utterly failed as his peoples’ champion and he’s also deemed “unworthy” of being a True Soul. Obviously not being chosen by the Absolute is a good thing, but for a man drowning in self-loathing that’s one hell of a complicated rejection.

Nearly all the tieflings hate him now, all those people he’s been sacrificing his soul to keep safe. I found it particularly devastating that this is one of the rare occasions where nailing a persuasion check doesn’t change the person’s mind. There’s at least one tiefling at Moonrise (I’m drawing a blank on her name) who will believe you when you explain how the Absolute influenced Zevlor, but that doesn’t lead to forgiveness.

Zevlor is deemed unimportant on a literal, narrative level. He is very easy to miss in the pods (I nearly did on my first play-through) and the game does incredibly little to dissuade you from that mistake. Putting aside for a moment that obviously an Origin companion is more significant than a minor NPC, compare this to Shadowheart screaming from her own pod, the game making it abundantly clear that this is someone in need of help—someone worth rescuing. She’ll even say later that you could have run past, more concerned with your own survival and the big picture heroics to bother with her. How must it feel then, if Zevlor ever learns that Tav was there and never stopped for him?

If you do miss Zevlor… oh boy. We’ve probably all seen at least a recording of Orin’s so-called gift. There are plenty of characters who can meet untimely and devastating ends, but very few go through this level of horror. Zevlor—after being held captive, remember—is tortured by God’s Favorite Torturer. He is stripped of his personhood and reduced to a mere “message,” a “pet.” Zevlor is further humiliated in death by being literally stripped of his armor—not just vulnerable in his nakedness, but denied the last symbol of his faith, his status, his power—and it’s always struck me that this is the closest we see to him 'enjoying' an intimate moment, this parody in Orin’s painting. Zevlor is one of the NPC’s most in need of physical comfort and instead he’s forced into this torturous mockery of a sex scene. It also hits hard that when Tav first spots his body the narration says that Zevlor “might almost be sleeping.” Undoubtedly this is a man who isn’t taking good care of himself. He needs a good night’s rest, yet this horrifying trick is all he gets.

As if all this weren’t enough, most of your companion are VERY critical of Zevlor while commenting on his demise. It’s one thing for the tieflings to believe the worst given their ignorance and the fact that they are the ones who suffered from Zevlor’s failure, but your company understands the Absolute and the ways that she gets her hooks in people. Still, Astarion calls him a “wet rag” even if he did deserve better than this. Shadowheart wouldn’t have wished this on him either, but she can’t help but slip in a “no matter his failings.” Lae’zel, often the most blunt, straight up says that he was “always destined to fail his people—and to fail us.” Wyll shakes his head and intones that “even good intentions can lead us down deadly paths.” Only Gale and Karlach stick to mourning the dead rather than airing his shortcomings.

When I spoke to my allies before the final battle Zevlor didn’t have a cut scene. It became clear to me later that this must have been a bug in my play-through, but at the time it only reinforced my feelings that his story was incomplete. Looking on Youtube I’ve found recordings of him saying that he is a Hellrider once more and he would “die a proud man if [he] were to die this day”… but that rings as terribly hollow given where we left him. Last we were together, Zevlor was saying in no uncertain terms that he could not be trusted, he would fail again, he was unworthy of forgiveness. Where did this change of heart come from? It makes perfect sense that he would help Tav in this moment—he begs to be of some use after getting free—but not that he would present himself with such confidence. Within the story as it’s been told this feels… fake. Like Zevlor is putting on a mask to fit the mood of this lively, optimistic party. Which, in turn, gives the “I would die a proud man” line a terrifying implication to me. Does Zevlor expect to die this day? Does he intend to? What would persuade him not to lay down his life here and now? His mission is complete. The tieflings are safe—though not by his hand. There's no hero's welcome waiting for him after this battle. They hate him. He hates himself, and by his own admission the one thing that could still make him proud would be to die at Tav’s side, trying to do one last bit of good. If someone said that to me after everything Zevlor has been through I would keep them far away from the front lines.

(I did, for the record lol.)

I’m not saying anything new then when I go, “Larian, PLEASE add more to his story.” Give us a Zevlor side-quest to renew his oath. Let us invite him to our camp. Something to link the broken man mid-game and the confident fighter at the end so that the latter doesn’t feel like an alarm bell with two legs and a tail. I mean yeah, I get hooked on minor characters so 75% of this is simply me wanting more content of a fave, but I also I do legitimately believe that BG3’s story would benefit from tying up loose ends like this.

Zevlor is a fantastic character, someone who contains an astounding amount of complexity for so little screen time. You have to follow up on that complexity though. If he’s meant to be a purely tragic figure, okay, fine, that’s the ending you get with Orin. But one where he joins you with a smile and reclaims a title he's previously rejected with such fervor requires more work in the middle; a through-line that explains how someone with so much self-loathing learns to think of himself as the hero again.

Because it does all come down to Zevlor’s perception of himself. He was always a hero, flaws and all. He always was and always will be a Hellrider.

The UI knows what's up :)

[suzukiblu]

Ko-fi thank-you sentences for an anon; a fake cryptid and a real romantic.

“I think I’m gonna try making him a ruby and do that in a trilliant cut,” Superboy says decisively, which isn’t necessarily much progress towards “normal” friend-making but again, Clark doesn’t want to discourage either a hobby or a creative outlet for the kid. Or just literally anything that isn’t about being a superhero, even if the trilliant cut resembling the S-shield and making friends with a vigilante are only sort of “not about being a superhero”. 

Look, the kid’s six months old and was educated by ethically bankrupt scientists and absolutely exhausted grad student interns, absolutely none of whom had either normal childhoods or an interest in instilling any semblance of “normal” in their cloned Superman’s head. Clark’s not going to be picky here, he’s just gonna meet him where he’s at and go from there. 

Superboy has some unfortunate difficulties understanding the difference between celebrity attention versus genuine admiration and things like that, and also an unfortunate tendency towards causing a lot of unnecessary property damage and jumping to conclusions and temper issues, but he tries, and he clearly does think about things. There’s just a lot to figure out in the world, and he’s had to do it in speed-run mode and while being an active superhero. 

Really, Clark thinks the kid’s doing a lot better as a superhero than he would’ve done at his “age”, and he’d actually been that “age”. Superboy is frankly just about the best-case scenario that could’ve come out of a situation like Cadmus and also mercifully only seems to be minimally traumatized by the sorry excuse for a “childhood” he was provided, so . . .

“That sounds nice,” Clark says, smiling at him. “I’m sure you’ll do a good job with it.” 

“I’m gonna do a good job with it if it fucking kills me,” Superboy says, looking determined, which seems like a lot of intensity to put into making a gift for a friend, but again: six months old and educated by ethically bankrupt scientists. Clark is going to stick with the “meeting him where he’s at” approach. 

“Just do your best to start, maybe,” he says wryly, reaching over to pat the kid’s shoulder. Superboy grins at him, his expression turning pleased. 

“I will!” he says. “Wanna see some of the test ones?” 

“Sure,” Clark says, figuring Superboy will just–

Nope, no, Superboy just immediately stuck both hands into his jacket pockets and came up with two big fistfuls of a good dozen high-quality diamonds done in trilliant cuts. Very large diamonds. 

Heavens to Betsy, Clark thinks a little faintly. That is . . . that is so many diamonds for Superboy to just have in his pockets. They weren’t even zipped shut! They weren’t even buttoned! 

Superboy lays his series of diamonds all out in neat little rows on the ledge, because there are enough of them to require multiple rows, and then reaches back into his pockets for a few more, because of course there are more. Clark continues to feel vaguely faint and has absolutely no idea how to point out how much money this is. Even at lab diamond rates, this is so much money. Just–so much. 

At this point in his life Clark has seen entire planets made of diamond, mind, but he still grew up in smalltown Kansas as a farm kid, so there’s something about seeing quite this many virtually flawless ones just laid out on a Metropolis rooftop the same way he would’ve shown off his POG collection to his friends as a kid. Even the damn cuts are just shy of perfect. 

Well, at least Superboy’s enjoying his first hobby, he supposes. But also, Jesus H. Christ.

“They look good, kid,” Clark says, smiling at him encouragingly. No need to take the wind out of his sails, obviously. Though seeing them now, it does occur to him to wonder–“Where did you get the tools?” 

They must be good ones, because honestly he really wasn’t expecting results this good–or even half this good–from a six month-old teenager. Superboy could definitely ruin De Beers’s day with those.

Or their industry, again. 

. . . well, it is De Beers, so . . . 

“Oh, I don’t have any,” Superboy says, shaking his head. “I just use my TTK.” 

Clark . . . pauses, for a moment. 

Clark pauses for a long moment. 

“Tactile telekinesis can cut diamond?” he asks carefully. “This precisely?” 

“Yeah!” Superboy beams proudly at him. “Cool, right?” 

Clark looks very, very closely at the diamonds. The cuts on them are practically atom-sharp. 

Alright then, he thinks to himself even more carefully.

[puckpocketed]

So do you actually believe PLD is a good player or is that part of the bit?

The PLD Post

i spent a good 2 days giggling about this to friends. i cant tell if ur a curious caps fan, a person who knows me from my other teams, a disgruntled kings fan (i’ve mostly ruled this out because im pretty sure i know all of the active ones on here) or WHAT. but i’m laughing. the tone of this ask is hilarious and vaguely accusatory but i will take it in good faith and answer <3 tl;dr yes and no. he’s better than people think he is rn, but he’s likely never going to live up to the potential of his tools unless something . idk. recalibrates his entire being. who knows!

i was working on something longer and more complex but i thought about it for more than 5 seconds and i REFUSE to go hockey-bro mode and pull out the microstats and i don’t wanna make this into a full on PLD manifesto. so. caps girlies (gn) HERE are your adoption papers under the cut!

if you are looking at pierre luc dubois who is 6’4 + 220lb and thinking “Oh he’s a power forward” i have to inform you he is in fact THEEE smallest mouse to ever play hockey in the whole world and in all of history. he sips nectar out of a thimble and sleeps curled up in a match box and goes fishing in a boat made from nutshells and twigs . he’s big, but he sort of plays small.

this is not necessarily a bad thing — he relies on foot speed and skill over hitting.

he can throw hits but prefers to stick check. he leverages his big frame to guard the puck and to defend, and it makes him simultaneously VERY effective and very much what i like to call a Nexus Of Crime. he is either drawing ten thousand penalties because people have to do something to stop him from driving the net with speed OR he is taking ten thousand penalties because he gets eager in the corners.

PLUS he’s huge and refs do just assume he’s committing a crime when they can’t see what’s going on <3 hence, Nexus Of Crime! if there’s a penalty he’s probably involved LMAO

not a “dirty” player by any means. not physical unless he decides he wants to. and there is no violence inside of him unless he’s deeply horsebonded to his team <- IMPORTANT re; playoffs aspirations. you won’t see him put himself on the line simply for the love of the game, he HAS to be committed to the team.

to be committed to his team… i’m honestly not sure what that takes. i’d guess a combination of knowing his role on the ice and in the locker room (this was very unclear on lak) consistency of messaging from coaches (also seemed to be an issue on lak)

i know nothing about caps coaching or management or the team vibes but i’m sure you can fix him <3 i’m ready to fall in love and ride this team to the sunset

this failhorse will NOT shoot the puck and if he does it will be the saddest soggiest most pathetic shot you’ve ever seen. you will tear your hair out in chunks if you watch him expecting an elite goalscorer.

he’s a pass-first guy. likes to drop pass! likes to drive play from the middle but is also capable of getting pucks off the boards. he needs a finisher on his wing. i could pull up stats here, there are stats to be pulled up, but i know this in my HEART from watching dozens of kings games: he would have had 10-15 more points easily if he wasn’t stapled to the 3rd line and had better finishers. many times i watched him tee up a very good opportunity only for his guy to miss the net or fan or just get knocked off the puck

individually, he thrives in front of the net. his ass is fat and he’s about to use it to screen the goalie. hes good at catching loose pucks in the crease to send them home <3 see his performance at worlds. he scored basically all of his goals right up there!!

most media coverage/narratives will tell you his point production dropped off bc of effort (which is true) but even the MOST resentful kings watchers will say pld wasn’t given his best shot playing with inexperienced+fringe nhlers, being line shuffled the moment he got a bit comfortable, and also not getting ANY net front time on the lak pp. i factor this into all my judgements of his performance.

He’s def earned his diva rep LMAO!! this is personal opinion here but he seems like a sensitive and easily rattled little clam… like he will have a couple of bad shifts and if there’s nobody there to shake him out of it he’ll lose his grasp on the game and play like shit <3 a rolling joke on kingstwt was figuring out which PLD we were getting that game, and you could tell by his 5th if he was switched on or off!!

they hate him for this but EYE think this is nothing new for athletes and if he can consistently stay in the zone he’ll probably be pretty good. mental fortitude of a wet tissue my beloved….

moving onto the Vibes section!! he was always good humoured in media availability and didn’t shy away from scrums even when public opinion soured against him and critiques of both his hockey and his character had reached a fever pitch. i like this about him. he always gave authentic answers and tried his best to accomodate them, and never hid behind his captains.

he gets along quite well with teammates despite the narratives. no seriously!! some of the the kings had a hang out during off-season right before they went to worlds!! there’s bisexual lighting!!!!

there’s interviews from old jets teammates that are just like. “he used to turn up at my house with his dog and text IM HERE with no warning and that’s how we became friends” or “his obsession with euro soccer teams bewitched me”. he had control of the aux cord. he was a den mother and planned group gatherings. a genuine sweetheart to every teammate he’s ever had!!

I don’t think he’s some. idk. secret 100 point producing star 1C. but i truly believe with the right environment he’ll probably hit 60 points again.

thank you for your time if you made it this far and i hope to see you all in the trenches (caps lb) next season 👍

[harmlessghosty]

Saw the vamp!touchstarved character braunrote and I offer my opinions:

Vampire Vere would be ruthless before he really falls in love with reader. He's greedy and wouldn't think twice about draining someone. But tbh I think when he gets close/serious with reader he'd still be greedy and messy and shit but he'd drink readers blood like it's fine wine. He gets his main fix from other victims but really savours reader. Expect it to be extremely bloody tho, he likes it to look like a crime scene xD

Leander for sure tries to kinda hide it. Not hardcore, bit he tries not to tell EVERYONE. He won't go our of his way but also you wouldn't know by just looking at him. I also think he'd be hesitant to drink from his SO and would make it way romantic, or at least he'd try

Mhin would go out of their way to hide that their a vampire. Would NEVER EVER dream of drinking from a person. They and up having to do it but they won't be happy. Also if their SO asked for them to drink their blood Mhin would refuse 100 times before agreeing. Feels very bad that they actually enjoyed it.... Might have gone a bit overboard too (vere did find out and tease them to hell and back fs)

I don't have much on Ais and Kuras rn cause... Brain empty

VAMPIRE TOUCHSTARVED BRAINROT, LET’S GOOOO! I love love LOVE all of your headcanons. Absolutely love them.

—

Vampire Vere would definitely not think twice about murder. MC would find him dabbing at his crimson lips with bloodstained, monogrammed handkerchiefs more often than not. And when he wants to feed from his beloved? It’s an entire show he puts on. They get a candlelit room, a nice hot meal, tons of fluffy pillows and blankets…the whole nine yards, before he leans so close, his breath runs across the nape of their neck. “You smell delightful,” he whispers, a firm kiss pressing to their skin. “I’m sure you don’t mind that I eat after all of this preparation I’ve done for you, hm?”

Leander DEFINITELY tries to hide it. There are rumors, of course, swirling around Eridia, but no one really knows what’s true and what’s not. Turns out, being a contracted killer really helps conceal his vampiric identity! He can easily do away with bodies and no one will ask questions. Why do criminals keep appearing with two holes in the same spot on their neck? Weird. Maybe someone should hire Leander to look into that and find the culprit…and of course, he’ll take MC along for the journey, which seems a bit more roundabout than it should be. If he needs to feed during the trip, then perhaps they’re a good source of sustenance. After all, does it matter if his beloved knows his secret? They won’t tell a soul unless they’re trying to get themselves mysteriously killed too…

Mhin would never drink from a person…unless they’re absolutely starving to death. Even then, I imagine it to be a moment of disgust with themself—retching and vomiting the first few times they feed, then admitting they need to drink blood for their survival and doing it as humanely as possible. They knock out their victims and only drink until the hunger has barely subsided. They choose spots beneath clothes where marks could be mistaken for bug bites. Mhin struggles to admit they like MC’s blood more than anyone else’s; they really wish they didn’t, but they can’t get enough of it, to the point that they find it difficult to sleep beside them at night without absentmindedly running their fangs along MC’s skin. They’re just so hungry around their partner. Maybe…just a little sip…

Ais is a voracious beast and doesn’t try to hide his vampiric nature even a little bit. Everyone knows he’s dangerous, and everyone avoids him like the plague. And naturally, Ais with Vere is…horrifying. There’s a lot of begging for him to give mercy and let them live, but he’s no fool. If he lets too many of his victims live, then surely people will find a way to gang up on him. While that’s an interesting proposition, he’s not sure he wants to fight a dozen weak-ass humans when he’d much rather fight someone of his own caliper; humans are just too pathetic. When he meets MC, he’s constantly teasing them with flashes of his long fangs. “Scared? Should be, little sparrow,” he says, scrubbing dried blood off of his knuckles. He even sneaks up to feed from them, thinking MC will just be another victim, but somehow becomes smitten with their taste instead. They should be savored. It’s much more satisfying tasting them on occasion than devouring them whole so quickly.

Kuras is meticulous. He’s very much prone to drawing blood through proper means and drinking it from simple testing tubes in shot-like doses. If a patient needs a transfusion or a blood test, he’ll simply take an extra vial or two as payment. Yes, he feels guilty at first, but he can’t allow himself to starve when he needs to help the people of Eridia as a consequence of his terrible past. When MC is discovered practically bled out and armless, he makes sure to put them back together and doesn’t take a sample, not even a little, but he strongly considers it. He even has to wipe drool from his lips because they simply smell so strongly of beautiful blood. When they get closer to him and realize his true nature, he offers little more than a calm smile. “Would you like to sustain me as well, or do you prefer our current partnership instead?”

[jackwolfes]

oh oh oh!! could I please request a wesper drabble for 5/6/73? any or all or a combo if any of those call to you in any way! love your writing <3

“We shouldn’t be doing this.” / “Is there a reason you’re naked in my bed?” Prompts: [1] [2]

“We shouldn’t be doing this—”

Wylan snorts into the curve of Jesper’s throat, unable to help it. Jesper whines at him for it, but (Wylan notes this with complete pleasure) he doesn’t take his hand off of Wylan’s waist. Under the thin fabric of his t-shirt, his palm is warm.

“Merchling, I mean it—” 

Wylan nips Jesper’s throat just to be petty, then pulls away. “Ghezen’s hand, Jesper, why else are you naked in my bed?”

Jesper gives him a flat stare. “I already told you.”

“Well, I spilled kvas on my shirt is not a very good explanation!” 

Jesper takes the time to readjust where he’s lying flat atop Wylan’s mattress, leaning into the weight of his elbow and taking his hand off Wylan's waist so he can lift his fingers one at a time where Wylan can see. “First, it was a dress. Second, it was a lot of kvas. Third, I don’t think that you would have liked finding me in the middle of your bedroom with my dick out any more than you liked finding me under your bed sheets. If I were you, I’d be grateful that I bothered to hide instead of flashing you.”

It takes Wylan pressing his lips together tight enough to pinch for him to keep quiet. He imagines that he would have liked finding Jesper standing fully naked and unabashed quite a lot, actually. Then again, he did also like finding out that Jesper was naked under his sheets, too, once he was sure that he was on his own and hadn’t snuck away from Wylan’s birthday to shag someone in his bed. 

Too curious for his own good, a dozen more questions buzz for attention in Wylan’s head. Where are your tights? Why didn’t you go to the bathroom? Did you really come to my birthday party without wearing any underwear? Can we put all this behind us and take this further, please? Why don’t you think we should be doing this? 

Much to Wylan’s dismay, that last one rings loudest in his head. He sits back just far enough to give Jesper a little bit more space, although Jesper doesn’t sit up properly. 

“Do you want to stop?” 

“Saints, no,” Jesper blurts out. A look of concern flickers in Jesper’s eyes, blink and you’ll miss it quick, but Wylan sees it anyway. “Unless you want to—”

“I don’t,” Wylan interrupts. “You seemed like you wanted to stop!”

Jesper groans. “Oh, Nina’s going to kill me for this. There’s meant to be a surprise. In about—” He glances at the little alarm clock on Wylan’s nightstand, then winces. “— two minutes ago. Saints, I’m dead.”

Wylan’s eyebrows raise. “A surprise?” 

“It’s your birthday, kid. We weren’t just going to not surprise you.”

Gently, Wylan’s cheeks heat. “You did surprise me. Pretty spectacularly, Jes.”

He can’t say that he ever expected his birthday party to culminate in his best friend completely naked in his bed, or for that discovery to devolve into them senselessly and desperately rutting against each other, but he hardly minds. Jesper has been the object of his affections for months, if not years, and the idea that he would ever feel even slightly the same is quite possibly the best birthday miracle Wylan could have hoped for. 

Jesper doesn’t say anything, but he does get that grossly smitten look in his eye that makes Wylan’s stomach flip. He gnaws a little nervously at his bottom lip. “So you want to keep kissing me?” 

“Of course I do,” Jesper says, as if the notion of thinking otherwise is perfectly ridiculous. “I just don’t want you to miss out on your birthday gift.”

Affection blooms spectacularly in Wylan’s chest, which makes it incredibly difficult for him to pull away, but he manages — somehow. “Okay,” he finally says. “I still have questions—”

“When don’t you.”

“— but I suppose they can wait for later.” 

Jesper blows out a breath, looking a little flushed. “Later. Sure.” 

Privately, Wylan smiles. He sits up, willing the flush on his cheeks to calm. Jesper’s dress is hanging by the window to air out — and, in his defence, it does look like there was quite a lot of kvas. Wylan can just about spot Jesper’s fishnet tights on the back of his desk chair, too, which at the very least answers one question. 

He turns over his shoulder to look at Jesper, lying flat in his bed with a blanket haphazardly pulled over his crotch but not doing much to hide the fact he’s half-hard, or the beautiful expanse of dark skin from his bare chest. Wylan gives Jesper a happy little smile. 

“Later,” he confirms. “After you’ve given me the rest of my birthday gift.” 

Jesper lifts his eyebrows. “Who says I got you a present?” 

Wylan’s smile grows. He reaches behind himself and trails one finger slowly down the middle of Jesper’s chest, delighted by the way his mouth falls open and the sound of his weak, breathless little moan. He stops right before he gets to the edge of the blanket, and all it barely hides. 

“You little minx,” Jesper says weakly. “I changed my mind. Nina can wait. Stay in bed.”

“No, Jesper.”

“But—”

“Later.”

Jesper groans. “Oh, I hate you.”

Wylan laughs. “It’s my birthday!” 

Before he can stand Jesper shoots mostly upright, grabbing hold of Wylan around the waist and pulling him into a deep, dirty kiss. Sparks fly in the corner of his eyes and make him dizzy. This is the best birthday he’s ever had. 

“Alright, birthday boy. Ever had a birthday spanking before?” Jesper mumbles against his lips. Yeah, Wylan thinks, the best birthday he has ever had.

[iridescentpull]

Day three of Hideduo/FitPac Kiss Week – Small Peck & Hunter/Vampire AU

[ ao3 link here ] [ fic below cut! ]

Pac hums, watching from where he can see Fit slowly arrive at the mansion. 

This song and dance has been going on for a while now. Pac is not sure how long, but he does know that this has been the only thing making him look forward to for the centuries he’d been alive. The vampire hunter was so intriguing, so mysterious, and Pac was eager to uncover everything about him.

The vampire watched as the hunter reached the main entrance of the mansion, crossbow in hand, and took a deep breath before opening the door. He was greeted by the usual silence, with the occasional sound of water dripping, but no vampire.

It’s the same old routine. Fit walks into the large estate, looks around, eventually finds Pac in one of the dozens of rooms, fights him, and Pac manages to win or get away. The hunter’s attempts never changed, even after all the years of fighting, and Pac would always end up winning and frustrating the hunter.

It was like an unspoken game between the two. No one ever said anything, but it was obvious they were both enjoying it. They both enjoyed each other’s company, even if it was through combat.

Fit was quick to enter the mansion, looking around, listening carefully for any signs of life. The sound of the door closing echoed throughout the house, making the hunter a little anxious, but he pushed those feelings aside.

“You know, you’ve gotten pretty good at sneaking around.” Pac’s voice came from the left side of the foyer room, causing Fit to tense. The male looked over to the vampire who sat on a red velvet couch in the ballroom, his long legs crossed. Today he was wearing a silk, white shirt with ruffles along the bottom and blue designs, his dark hair a bit disheveled, but still looking elegant. His blue skin shone, which made his red eyes stand out more than usual.

Fit snorted. “And you’ve gotten a little less subtle.” Fit said, putting a hand on his hip.

The vampire giggled, shaking a hand. “You flatter me, Fitchi.”

Rolling his eyes with a hint of desperation, Fit didn’t say anything in response. He looked around, trying to find a way to approach the situation. This was odd, usually Pac would put in the effort to hide, not just sit and wait for him.

“So, how’s the weather outside?” Pac asked, trying to make small talk. He raised his legs to tuck them underneath himself, sitting in a more comfortable position.

The hunter raised an eyebrow. “Why are you asking?” He asked, narrowing his eyes and aiming his crossbow at the vampire’s head.

Pac shrugged. “I’m just making conversation.” He said, propping his head on top of his hand as he gazed at Fit. “Also, it’s kinda hard to see the weather when you’re a vampire– y’know, burning in the sun and stuff.”

“Hm.” Fit hummed, putting the crossbow down. “It’s a little cloudy today, might rain today but not too sure yet.”

A small smile formed on the vampire’s lips, and he nodded. "Seems fun." He says, his gaze softening. Pac felt a little strange talking about such mundane things, but he wasn’t against it. The vampire enjoyed any moment he had to talk to the hunter. “Fitch, can I ask something?” Pac asks, tilting his head to the side.

Fit nodded, shifting a little in his spot. “Sure, what’s on your mind?” He asks.

“Why do you keep coming back?” He asks, tilting his head as Fit tenses, not expecting the question. “It’s been months and you haven’t killed me, but you’re still coming back. Why? Do you have a vendetta or something?” He asks, crossing his arms.

The hunter sighs, his shoulders slumping as he stares at the floor. “...No, I don’t.” He admits.

“Then why? You’re a vampire hunter that has been tasked to kill me, and yet you don’t. You could easily leave and never come back, but you continue to show up. Why?” He asks, his red eyes focused on Fit.

Fit bites his lip, his hands gripping his crossbow tightly. He takes a deep breath and sighs, looking up at Pac. “...It’s nice to have a challenge once in a while.” He says, giving a weak smile.

Pac chuckles. “I’m not exactly a challenge.” He says, shaking his head. “You’re a great hunter, but I’m no match for you.”

“Don’t say that, Pac. You’re the only person who’s given me a run for my money– every time I think I have you caught, you slip away.” Fit says, giving an annoyed yet fond look. “And then I’m chasing you again. But it’s okay, I love the thrill.”

Pac’s eyebrows raise, his eyes wide. “Love? Is that so?” He asks, smirking.

Fit freezes, his face flushing. “I– uh…”

“Don’t worry, I feel the same.” Pac says, chuckling. “It’s been centuries since someone’s been able to catch me off guard like you do.” He stands, approaching the hunter. “So, what will you do now? Try and fight me or leave?”

Fit thinks for a second, watching the vampire approach. “I’m tired of running.” He says, putting his crossbow down. “I’d rather spend my time doing something else.”

The vampire stands up, walking towards the hunter. He extends a hand. “Will you dance with me?” He asks, smiling.

The hunter blinks, staring at the vampire's hand, before he smiles. “It would be my pleasure.” He says, grabbing his hand. Pac pulls him closer, the two now face to face, their bodies pressed against each other. Fit wraps his arms around the vampire’s waist, the other male wrapping his arms around the hunter’s neck.

They dance, slow and gentle, swaying from side to side as they gaze into each other’s eyes. The candles of the ballroom shine brightly, illuminating the two as they continue to dance. They continue until the sun goes down, and the night air is cold and silent. The pair slowly lean into each other, until their faces are only a few centimeters apart. 

“Hey Pac?” Asks the hunter, staring into the deep irises of the vampire.

The vampire hums. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry.” 

Pac feels a quick peck on his lips before a blade pierces his chest. The vampire’s eyes widen, and he gasps, looking down at the stake in the center of his chest. He looks back up, seeing Fit’s apologetic eyes as he feels blood start to seep out of the wound. 

“I’m so sorry.” Fit says, a single tear rolling down his cheek as he watched the blood pour out and the light leave Pac’s eyes. His cold body is getting colder, and he can feel the strength leave the other’s body. “I can’t let you live. I can’t .” Fit says, tears falling from his eyes.

The vampire smiles shakily, reaching a hand up and brushing the other male’s cheek, leaving a smear of his own blood on the hunter’s skin. His red eyes are dull and lifeless. “It’s okay.” He whispers. “Thank you for having one last dance with me.”

The hunter’s eyes widen. “What?” He asks, shocked.

“This is the first time... I’ve felt genuine happiness in years.” Pac whispers, a small smile forming on his lips. “It’s been centuries since I’ve danced with someone. And, it was with you. That’s all that matters to me.”

Regret washes over the hunter’s face, his expression full of guilt. He pulls back, watching the way Pac shakily collapses on the floor. He drops his weapon, kneeling down to the other male and pulling him close. “No, no no, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean for this to happen, I swear I didn’t." He says, holding Pac in his arms. “I was blackmailed and– oh God, what have I done? ”

“It’s okay.” Pac whispers, smiling weakly. “I forgive you.” He says, his voice starting to trail off. He leans into the other male’s touch, his body getting colder. “Fitch?”

“Yeah?” The hunter asks, his voice shaky as he does his best to stop the bleeding with the few supplies he brought with him. But Pac has lost too much blood, which is dangerous. Even more considering he’s a vampire. “What?”

“I’m scared.” He whispers. “Will you stay with me until I pass?” He asks, looking up at the other male with wide eyes.

Fit nods. “Of course, I won’t leave your side.” He promises.

“Thank you.” Pac says, smiling. He feels the hunter pull him closer, the warmth of his body bringing a slight comfort to him. He hasn’t felt warmth in so long, and the sensation is nice. His eyes start to droop, his vision fading, but he keeps his gaze on the hunter.

The hunter watches as the other male slowly closes his eyes, his breath slowing down. An idea comes to mind. “Feed off me.” He says, catching the vampire off guard. “Drink my blood and turn me. Maybe we can run away and do this dance again.”

Pac blinks, looking at the other male. “What?” He asks, unsure if he heard the hunter right.

“Please, Pac, turn me.” Fit pleads. “We can run away together, you won’t have to die, and we can continue dancing forever. Please.” He begs, holding the vampire closer.

It’s quiet, Pac staring at the hunter with a mix of emotions. He leans his head on the other’s shoulder, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. He can feel his fangs extend, his eyes going red. He turns his head, and without a word, his fangs pierce the hunter’s skin.

Fit’s eyes widen, but he doesn’t pull away, letting the vampire feed off of him. He can feel his body getting colder, his life fading away, but he doesn’t care. All he wants is to dance with Pac again, and he’ll do whatever it takes.

Once the vampire is done feeding, he pulls away, licking the blood off his lips. “Fit?” He asks, noticing the hunter is still and pale. “Fitch, are you okay?” He asks, cupping the other male’s cheeks and forcing him to look at the vampire.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Fit says, smiling. “Did it work?” He asks.

Pac stares at the hunter, his eyes widening when he sees the bite mark on his neck, a small trickle of blood coming out. He nods, his hands moving to his own neck. “I think so, but are you sure you want this?” He asks, looking concerned.

“I’m positive.” The ex-hunter says. “I want to be with you, together.”

And together they were. 

New hunters were advised to be wary of the couple that would haunt the mansion. It is said that every day exactly at sundown, the lights will come on, and the faint sound of music can be heard, with the echoes of laughter and chatter. Some hunters have dared to venture into the mansion, only to be greeted by a tall, dark figure that would chase them out and go back into the safety of the outside world. Others have heard the rumors of a beautiful vampire dancing with said figure in the darkness, and have stayed clear. It is not known how these rumors started, and no one knows how to prove or disprove the legend. The mystery of the mansion is still unsolved to this day, and will continue to be until the couple stops their dance.

But as they said, they have all the time in the world.

[farity]

In the Red of Night, part 5

Aemond’s loft was on the top floor - of course - of the building across the street from the coffee shop.  When he opened the front door, your determination to not be impressed by his wealth went right out the window.

“Oh wow.”

The door opened to a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows, with the colors of sunset filling the expanse of glass.  There were large light fixtures hovering over the large living area, and your first impression was of a refuge, a welcoming space for someone who had most likely seen much of just about every style of living and wanted peace and quiet.

The wall across from the wall of windows was filled with books, and you smiled, shaking your head.  “Have you read of all those?”

You turned to Aemond and realized he’d been watching you.  “Yes.  Do you approve?”

You let out a breath.  “Of course I approve.  This is amazing.”

“Let me show you around.”

You followed as he took you around the place, smiled when he took your hand and grabbed the bag off your shoulder.  When you reached his bedroom, you were again surprised by how normal it seemed.  Luxurious.  Expensive.  But all in all, pretty normal.

"Are you hungry for some food?”

* * * * * 

She did not want to go out, so they went over a dozen delivery options before they decided on Thai food.  

“Can you subsist on food or do you need to drink blood?” she asked halfway through her bowl of soup.

He looked at her, amazed that such a question could sound so casual coming from her.  “Do you really not care?”

She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin.  “Of course I care, I’m just curious.  I want to know everything.”  She smiled and he felt comforted, realizing how much he had needed that.

“Yes, I can subsist on either.  I like food, and there is so much variety of it nowadays,” he nodded at his plate.  “Back home it was meat and something on the side most days.  We had great cooks but basically ate the same most of the time.  Alys was into stews, she always made stews for us.”

“Alys?”

Aemond took a sip of his water.  “The one who turned me.  Alys Rivers.”

He saw the immediate change in her eyes.  From sweet to wary, from curious to fearful, and she went completely still.  “What is it?”

“How do you spell her name?”

Aemond tensed.  No one would ask that unless they’d seen some strange version of the original name.  “Do you know her?”

She took a deep breath while a thousand possibilities went through his head.

“A very posh woman came into the shop yesterday.  Her credit card said Alys Rivers.  A-L-Y-S.”  Her lips pressed together, as if she already knew the answer, “is that her?”

Aemond rubbed his face, the familiar dread heavy on his shoulders.  “Brunette, posh as you said, expensive everything, looks like she’s in her thirties?”

“More like forties with a lot of Botox and visits to a spa,” she smirked but her eyes were filled with fear.  

“I will not let her hurt you.”

“Would she?”

He wouldn’t lie to her.  Not when it could mean her death.  “If she knows who you are, and I don’t think her going to the shop was a coincidence,” he stared at her with sorrow in his soul, “yes, she would hurt you to get to me.”

She said nothing and Aemond cursed Alys, cursed himself.

“I am sorry.”

“What does that mean, Aemond?  I need to know.”  He saw how her fingers shook when she put down her glass of water.  “I have people I’m responsible for, my entire life is in that shop, I can’t disappear.”

“I can staff it with people who can defend themselves, give your employees a few weeks paid vacations-”

She ran a hand through her hair.  “Aemond, you can’t just throw money at things and expect them to be fixed.”

He smiled at her.  “You’d be surprised at how well it works.”  He stood and walked around the table. He realized he was far more afraid of her deciding he wasn’t worth it and leaving than he was of Alys, which might be incredibly stupid of him but at least Alys was a known quantity.  This brand new thing was so fragile, so tender, and he wasn’t completely sure he was indeed worth it to her.  “I really am sorry.  I never meant for you to be involved in this.”  

She touched his face, her smile soft, and he knew he had to offer, he had to give her an out even if it tore him apart.

“I can leave,” he began, “I can be gone by tomorrow, and Alys will follow my trail and never bother you as long as I am away from you.  You can have your life and your shop and not fear-”

She pressed her mouth to his, wrapped her arms around him, her tongue tracing his lower lip, and he opened for her, let her sweep in and taste him and then he was hauling her up in his arms, carrying her to his bedroom because whatever it was she was promising, he would take, however long she chose to be by his side.

“I don’t want you to go” she murmured between kisses.

“Then I won’t.”

When he placed her on the bed, she rose up onto her knees and pulled him down onto his back, straddling him while she pulled his shirt off.  He let his arms fall to his sides, letting her do as she willed.  

When she kissed his neck, he shivered, and she pressed her teeth against his skin.  “What does it feel like?”

He opened his eyes, “biting someone is power.  Cruelty if you hate them, possession if you love them, and when the blood flows, it’s the heat of them becoming part of you.”

“Show me.”

* * * * * 

You regretted the words the moment they came out of your mouth.  He might think it was all too much bother to deal with Alys and you and your worries about the shop.  Was he thinking he was just trading one needy woman for another?

“I’m sorry,” you said, “I shouldn’t ask-”

He lunged towards you, flipping you so it was you on your back now.  “I feel far too much for you.  I do not remember the last time I was this enthralled with someone,” he ran his hand under your shirt, “if you are offering willingly, then I will drink your blood, but know what that means to me.”

You watched him as his fingers cupped your breast and you sighed.

“Sex can be casual.  Drinking someone’s blood can also be casual, a different kind of exchange.  Since Alys used me and turned me, I have never done both with the same person.”

“Will it hurt?”

He smiled at your endless curiosity.  “I will not let it.”

You nodded, then, your mind made up.  You could understand what he meant, this was such an intimate act, but when he began kissing you, you stopped thinking and simply felt.  

It was so ironic that you felt safest in Aemond’s arms, when so much danger seemed to surround him, but as he pulled your shirt up over your head you closed your eyes, your trust in him complete.

There was a moment when you felt his lips brushing against your wrist that you felt a momentary panic, the human instinct to protect yourself strong even as you said you wanted this, but Aemond moved on, up the silky soft skin of your arm and over to kiss your neck and you arched back, fighting that instinct.  

He was pulling off the rest of your clothes, and you kicked off your pants and underwear, reaching down to undo his jeans with trembling hands.  He continued sucking and teasing your neck while you tried to distract yourself.  You wanted to know, you wanted to share this with him.  You were also kind of terrified.

“If you don’t want me to-”

“I do,” you said quickly, before he could change his mind, and he kissed you, gently and slowly while he kneed your legs apart, his hands tender on your face.  

When he began pushing inside you, you pulled your knees back, wanting him to have you completely, wanting him as deep as possible within you.  

“Tell me,” he whispered in your ear, “do you fear me?” 

He pulled back and then slammed back inside you, and you gasped, “no.” You wrapped your arms around him, your eyes on his.  “I don’t fear you, Aemond.”

He snapped his hips again, one hand fisting in your hair to keep you facing him.  “You terrify me,” he said, lips curved in a gentle smile, and then he sank his teeth into your neck.  

It did not hurt, as he’d promised, but instead it was a new awareness of him inside you, and as he drank, you felt yourself floating, the bed beneath you dissolving and there was only you and Aemond, his hands on you, the warmth of him against your skin.

* * * * * 

He wouldn’t take too much.

He would show her what it was like, he would be quick in drinking from her and give her so much pleasure she would know he meant it when he said there would be no pain.  For he meant this to be only the first of many.

When she came the first time, she cried out, her body straining with both pleasure and the new sensations coursing through her, and he held her, his lips now a comfort as he kissed her cheek, her temple, and then moved down to kiss the valley between her breasts.

As she tried to get her breathing back to normal, he kissed past her belly, her hip, and settled between her thighs.  He would have every taste of her, savor every moan and whimper and pleasure her until she knew nothing but him.

She reached down to grab his hand, to anchor herself, he knew, to hold on to something.  The taste of blood and the taste of her mixed on his tongue as her cries filled his head.  He made her come again, twice, three more times, until she was sobbing and he moved back up to taste her tears, too.

“You are mine,” he whispered as he filled her again, as she reached up to touch him, her fingers brushing against his chest.  “Mine.”

He rocked his hips, seeking his own release, and grabbed her hand to kiss her fingertips.  His last coherent thought before he came was that he would let nothing and no one hurt her.

* * * * * 

You awoke to find Aemond wrapped around you, his face against the back of your neck, arms around you, one long leg over both of yours.

In case you hadn’t realized it yet, the man was possessive.

You turned in his arms and nestled your head under his chin, and he stirred.  “Are you okay?” he murmured into your hair, his voice still gravelly with sleep.

“Mm-hmm.”  You wrapped your own arms around him and closed your eyes.  You didn’t feel any pain where he’d bit you, and at one point when you’d gone to the bathroom you’d looked at your neck, and other than two indentations, there was no sign of what he’d done.  Of what you’d asked him to do.  There was no discoloration, no tearing.  He hadn’t taken a lot of blood, and you felt no different.  

“I love waking up with you in my arms,” he added, “we should make a habit out of this.”

After you showered and dressed, you were looking out of the windows to your coffee shop.  There was a steady stream of customers, and you’d called in to make sure Bailey and Katie were.

“Don’t bother us, we’re very busy,” Katie had said and hung up on you, and you thought maybe she didn’t quite understand the dynamic of an employee-boss relationship.  Bailey had texted you later, letting you know all was well and to take as many days as you needed.

“I need to know everything-”

“I am well aware,” Aemond replied, raising an eyebrow.

You sighed, smiling.  “about how to deal with Alys.”

He nodded, and pulled you down to sit on the sofa with him.  “I know there are things that can be done to protect yourself from her.  From any of us, really.”  He looked at your hand in his, so much smaller.  “As long as you are human, you’re starting off at a disadvantage.”

He turned your hand over, kissing the center of your palm.  “I need you to think about this.  Because I’m in love with you, and if it means you start turning, then we start now, before-”

“What?”

“You don’t gain everything the moment you are turned, which is why older vampires are far more powerful-”

“No,” you looked at him, feeling your heart pounding in your ears.  “what you said before that.”

Aemond thought back and then looked back up at you.  “That I love you.”

“Yeah, that.”

He smiled gently.  “I do.  I have for a while.  You don’t have to say it back, you don’t need to feel obligated to anything.”  He waited while you took in his words and when you went into his arms, he simply held you.  “You are precious to me, so incredibly precious.”

“Aemond, I was in lust with you from the moment I first saw you,” you said quietly, pulling back.  “Then I thought you were so kind and funny, and then I wondered why the hell wasn’t there someone with you.”  You laughed, “I couldn’t imagine someone like you not having someone, you know?”

He caressed your cheek, but said nothing.

“And then I realized I wanted to be that someone, but then the whole mess with that guy happened and I found out what you were, and I thought, well now there is really no way this is happening.”

“But you are that someone.  You are the someone.”  He bit down on his lip, and looked at you nervously.  “I was fascinated, at first.  I kept waiting for you to decide it was too much work to open the cafe, and you didn’t, and then I walked in and you were so good at it.”  He laughed.  “And then you gave me sweets and I was ready to kneel at your feet, but I wanted more.  I wanted you.  And the more we talked, the more I wanted you, but I thought this was a burden I would not place on anyone.”

“And then ‘the whole mess with that guy happened’“ he smiled, quoting your words.  “I whether you wanted me back or not, I decided I would watch over you.”

You caressed his face, “I’ve slept with two other people in my lifetime.  The first because I was curious,” you explained, giving him a look when he laughed and nodded, “and the second because I thought I was in love.”  He took your hand from his cheek and kissed it again.  “And I wasn’t, and he was nice enough but I decided to not make that mistake again.  And I haven’t.”

He watched you, not moving, his eyes wide. 

“I love you, too.  And I don’t care what you’ve had to do to survive or how you’ve dealt with people before.  And if she comes for you or for me, we’ll deal with her.”

* * * * * 

Aemond thought that if it came down to killing Alys, he would do it, and then, as she finally stopped existing, he would say a posthumous thank you to her, for it was being turned that had allowed him to be around and meet the woman he now held in his arms.  

He explained a lot of what he knew, which granted, wasn’t everything because it wasn’t like there were a lot of others he could ask.  Many times he was the oldest one around, as was the case now, and he was the one who would get the questions.

He would not let Alys take this from him, too.

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[potatomountain]

Hi love I’m not sure if you are requesting anything to write? But if you are could you write a reaction for each member of Ateez. When there SO surprises them and takings them to an adult store to look at sex toys. I’m curious to see how shy or confident some of the members would be.

Ahhh I haven't don't a reaction before but since ily and this is a spicy one I haven't seen- LETS GO!!

just cuz i need a wee bit more context, this would be an SO surprising them with a visit after a talk about spicing things up in the bedroom or finding out that the member wants to do so :')

okay somehow it turned into a surprise to picking the item in said store that would drive the other crazy- jesus help me T^T

I also kept it as GN as possible!!

warnings: mentions of sex toys, oral, bdsm, temperature play, bondage, whips, gags, overstim, etc- MINORS DNI

Hongjoong: He didn't directly mention that he wanted to spice things up but you've noticed he had been looking at some things on his phone when he thought you were preoccupied. Coupled with a few pieces of dirty talk, it wasn't hard to put two and two together. There had been dozens of things you both had talked about wanting to try, but he was not expecting a sex store. He'd be confused at first, but he'd quickly get wrapped up in excitement, rambling about the different ways the two of you can use different pieces. But nothing excited him more than the bondage. "This rope looks the prettiest against your skin." He'd say holding up some bondage rope up to your neck, watching you as he always did; as if you were the most beautiful thing in the world and all his.

Later as he has you wrapped up in the rope with a matching blindfold, heated gaze running over your body, he'd nod in agreement. "Even more beautiful like this, and just for me."

----

Seonghwa: It started with you just wanting to repay him for all the times he's taken care of you, like a little gift or birthday surprise. You just asked his fantasies, the things he wanted to do to you, and while the list started off simple it quickly grew into some of his deeper fantasies when he realized you weren't opposed to any of them.

When you did surprise him with the unexpected visit, it went about the same way. He contained his excitement and wanted you to pick things out at first, content just watching you at first. At least until you got to the dildos and vibrators, egging him on just a little. "I think this one is bigger than you." He was still sweet, even paid for everything you picked up because "if my baby wants it they can have it."

It wasn't until later he let you know how he really felt, sitting in a chair across from the bed and watching the way you fucked the toy from earlier. "Is it still bigger than me? Does it fuck you better?" There were several toys next to you, all that he had ordered you to use on yourself. He liked watching you, leisurely palming himself through his pants as you made a mess of yourself. But he wanted to hear you beg and tell him that he still did it better. That no one, nothing can take care of you better than he can; even if he was using these toys.

---

Yunho: Yunho always goes by what you want. Sure he has his own fantasies but he's always worried he would hurt you or over do it, so to him as long as you were happy then so was he. But you were well aware he was holding back, so you attempted to get him to open up by shopping. You told him it was just for clothes, which honestly was the truth, but he did not expect lingerie. Each new piece you held up to your body his eyes would darken just a bit more, but he would force his happy little smile and tell you every single one would suit you.

it was because of the way he clenched his hands in front of him that you chose the set you did. He was quite for most of the visit, watching you and encouraging you to get what you wanted.

Of course later you'd realize that lingerie, while it seems to drive him wild, the flimsy material doesn't give it a long lasting life. You kept taunting him about how he ripped the lace on the bottoms until he had to physically shut you up with a hand around your throat in a way he could shove his index finger in your mouth. "You made me do this, Jagi, so you're going to take it all." He would grunt into your ear while going feral over you with the rest of his body.

---

Yeosang: Let's be honest, while he may be the cutest space cadet half the time he is always aware of his SO, especially when you are trying to be sneaking or even a tad off. And planning to drag him to the sex store would classify under that. So he knew what you were up to ever since you had the conversation about trying anything new. What had been an idle curiosity thanks to something Wooyoung had mention had turned into you wondering if he'd try anything more. Since then he had seen the way the wheels in your head turned, so he wasn't at all surprised when you pulled him shyly up to the store.

He sure did act like it though, in his usual unserious serious way that just flustered you more. You two bickered for a moment on whether or not Yeosang actually was okay being here, but he finally won and the two of you headed into the store. For the most part he stayed back while you looked over things. He gave his honest opinion with lingerie, giving more feedback with the pieces that you seemed to enjoy the most. But there wasn't much that did interest him; not until he came across the blindfolds and feathers. You had to explain to him what it was usually for, and it was the only thing he picked out, mentioning how it sounded interesting.

You later learned that he had a knack for it, leaving you seated in the middle of the bed with the blindfold keeping you from seeing just what he was doing. He took his sweet sweet time, his patience no joke as he had moved around you with the barest touches and gentlest kisses until you were putty in his hands. His breath on your skin felt more intense, the touch of his fingertips leaving a trail of goosebumps, but nothing prepared you for the shock of something cold on your nipples, your reaction earning a pleased hum from this. "I like this." Enough he took his time until you were trembling under his light touches, only then penetrating you.

---

San: Ever since it was brought up once San has not-so-subtly been mentioning how he wanted to buy toys with you, so really it wasn't much of a surprise when you dragged him to the store. The moment he saw it in sight he grabbed your hand and pulled you in. First it was the lingerie as he held up every piece to your body, but of course settled on the cat themed one. Then came the toys. He was curious and wide-eyed for most of it, but anytime something interested you, he'd lower his voice and lean in enough his breath fanned the back of your ear and he'd whisper just how he would want to use it on you.

You could hardly focus, not wanting to grab everything he taunted you for despite the thoughts of him using them. In an attempt to pay back, you had joked about him wearing one of the collars with a leash. He had gone red, but grabbed not one but two collars and several leashes. Any protest you had died as he would drag you to the checkout.

He was far too eager to use them, wearing one himself and letting you tug on the leash. Even then he was the one in charge, moaning between your legs about how much he was enjoying his treat for being a good boy at the store, his nails raking the inside of your thighs as he held them apart, promising your treat would be next. He'd make a comment about how could you look choking on his dick with a leash around your neck, the bell tingling with every bop of your head.

---

Mingi: He had absolutely no clue what you had planned. What had started as a conversation of exploration was a trip to the sex store the next day and he was excited about the surprise. The entire time he is clingy though, an arm wrapped around you or standing behind you with his hands on your hips as he maneuvered you to the things he wanted to try. It would go one of two ways: either he would bring up items he didn't understand and then want to use them. Or he would point out the ones he did already want to use and mutter, in detail, how he would use them.

The item he is most excited to try? He bought one of those pillows and a cock ring. He made good use of it later, keeping you propped up so he could see his cock bulge out your stomach with each relentless thrust. He wanted you over stimmed and crying, and that's exactly what he got, only taking off the ring so he could add the mess of your own cum with his.

---

Wooyoung: You don't surprise Wooyoung, he surprises you. The moment it's discussed trying new things he is the one dragging you to the store the moment you wake up the next day. He's telling you to get anything you want, but he shows off what he wants the most: bdsm equipment. There wasn't really any item he didn't buy. He dresses you up in leather, and explains in detail the things he wants you to do to him and vice versa.

When you need a bit more persuasion, he does what he does best and eggs you on. The first time you bring the whip down on his thigh and he moans, you're both mortified and wanting more. It's the first time Wooyoung let's you use him so thoroughly, and even as he cums for a second time he's still begging for more. "What? Twice wasn't enough? Such a filthy boy, what about my satisfaction?"

"i'll fuck you good this time, I promise." He'd pant and whine, gripping the sheets beneath him and rutting up. He'd let out the cutest contented sigh when you finally let him penetrate (or you penetrate him) and he would make good on his promise.

He'd be wearing his lash marks with pride the next day around the members that's for sure.

---

Jongho:

When you told him you were taking him somewhere for a surprise, Jongho had thought bookstore or theater or your favorite place to eat; a sex store was the last place he thought you would drag him to. Sure he had agreed to try new things with you but he hadn't thought toys.

He tried to turn and leave and mumble that he would be in the car, but with enough begging and whining you got him to head into the store. He was on edge and shy the whole time, unable to meet your eyes or hold your hand or give much of a response when you would ask your opinion on certain things. You had felt bad in the long run, but not wanting to leave it empty handed you bought a cuff and gag set at least.

"What's this?" He stared down at your cuffed wrists and the ball gag in your outstretched hands

"I feel bad for earlier so I thought... well if I frustrated you with it, you can take it out on me-" You pleaded with your eyes, but the smirk he gave in response had you feeling a bit tricked.

"Well if you insist..." He put the ball gag on you, tightening just enough that there was a dull ache. "So me how much you want me with just your body." He leaned back and patted his thigh. Part of you would wonder if he had this planned, but you were too desperate to appease him to indulge in that thought. Besides, if it had been true, that would just excite you more.

[scarletsaphire]

hello I am here to politely request more Gray Ghost

This is heavily based on the song In the Name Of Love by Martin Garrix and Bebe Rexha. Highly recommended great gray ghost vibes.

“Are you sure that dating is a good idea?” Valerie inhaled sharply through her nose at Danny’s words, immediately pushing down the sting of rejection. She doesn’t hide it very well, as Danny takes one look before he continues, panicked. “I don’t mean it like that! I just. Don’t know if its a good idea?”

“If you don’t like me, you can just say that,” she mumbles. She moves to turn away, but Danny grabs her wrist before she can.

“It’s not that! I do like you, and I would like to date you. I’m just worried that uh.” Danny’s face is beat red, and he lowers his voice until he’s mumbling as well. “I just don’t want something bad to happen.”

Valerie feels the sting of rejection fade slightly. “Like what?” she asks, slipping her wrist out of Danny’s grasp to properly hold her hand.

He looks down at it, face turning even redder. “I don’t know. I…” he trails off, looking towards the ground where he kicks at a loose piece of pavement. “I think you’re wonderful, and I don’t want to lose you.”

The last remnants of rejection turn to joy at his confession, and Valerie smiles softly at him, pulling him down to sit on the curb. “That’s why I’m asking you out, Danny. I think you’re wonderful too, and I like you a lot.”

He looks up at her so quickly she’s afraid he might have hurt his neck. “You do?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yea, I do. I’m pretty sure that’s a prerequisite to asking someone out on a date, you know?”

“Oh, right,” Danny says. He chuckles nervously, scratching at the back of his neck in the way he always does when he’s embarrassed. It’s adorable.

Valerie bites her lip and thinks over her next words carefully. “I don’t want to lose you either, you know. But I think we could really be good together, and if we don’t take that chance, we’ll be losing whatever we could have been. I’m willing to risk it, if you are.”

Danny meets her eyes, and she’s lost in the bright, deep blue, just like the last dozen times she’s seen them. He doesn’t answer for a minute, thinking so hard she can practically see the gears turning in his head. Finally, his face relaxes, and she gives her hand, which is still clasped in his slightly sweaty one, a gentle squeeze. “I think that I’d like that.”

—

“Are you busy tonight?” Danny asks, and Valerie jumps, hitting her hand against the locker door. “I’m sorry!” Danny says, grabbing it quickly and looking it over. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Valerie laughs. “Yea, yea, you never do.” She moves to take her hand away and finish emptying her locker, but Danny stops her. “Danny, I’m fine, you don’t need to worry about it.”

Danny smirks at her. He maintains eye contact with her as he brings her hand to his lips and gently kisses her knuckles. “There. Now you’re fine.” He lets her hand go.

Valerie flicks him in the arm. “Sap. I’m free tonight, after my shift. Why?”

“It’s supposed to be super clear then, and we should be able to see Venus without a telescope or anything. I was wondering if you’d like to go stargazing with me?”

“I think I should be able to,” she says slowly, thinking over her plans for the night. She was working until 9, and had told her father to expect her home around 11, for patrol. But she’d patrolled yesterday, and she so rarely found anything more troublesome than an ectopus. Surely, Phantom could handle Amity by himself for a few hours?

Danny smiled, bouncing so fast with excitement he might as well have been floating. “Great! I can meet you at the Nasty Burger after your shift and we can walk to the park?”

Valerie slammed her locker shut and lifted her backpack over her shoulder. “Actually, why don’t I pick you up? On the corner of Main and Jekyll?”

“Sounds good to me!” Danny agreed instantly. Then he paused in his bouncing. “But why?”

“You’ll see,” Valerie said. She hurried off down the hall, ignoring Danny’s shouted questions as she left his line of sight.

—

Valerie had her whole shift to worry about what she was planning on doing. She’d been thinking about telling Danny about her being Red Huntress for months now; there just never seemed to be a good time to do it. As nervous as she was about it, she was still certain this was the right time, if only because she needed to know what he looked like surrounded by the stars he loved so much.

Every customer in her ear piece, every load of french fries into the fryer, every tap of a key on the computer system, made her more and more jittery, both from stress and excitement. The second that the clock hit 9 Valerie was clocked out and changing out of her uniform at record speeds. She had scarcely made it behind the dumpster in the back before she was in her Red Huntress suit, soaring away on her hoverboard to the meeting place.

Sure enough, Danny stood in the dark, staring intently down the road in the direction of the Nasty Burger. Valerie floated down as gently as she could manage, getting to be a good seven feet off the ground before Danny turned to look at her. His face slackened in shock, his mouth falling open as he saw her.

She lifted back her visor and smiled at him. “What are you waiting for, Danny? Do you want to see the stars or not?” She held out her hand to him, and he took it without a second thought, stepping up on her hoverboard. He stood in front of her, with her arms wrapped around his torso to keep him secure. “I hope you’re not afraid of heights!” She called. Whatever his answer was, it was lost to the wind as they took to the skies.

Before long, the two of them found themselves floating high above the trees in Amity Park Park, sitting with their legs dangling off the side of the hoverboard and an endless expanse of night sky unbroken above them. Valerie drew her eyes away from the stars, turning them to Danny, and was surprised to see him looking at her in turn.

“Danny?” she asked, concerned. “Is something wrong?” Danny didn’t break her gaze, didn’t answer her question, just stared at her, thinking. “I know its a lot, and I’m sorry I never told you. I didn’t mean to go behind your back with all of this,” she said, panic settling in her chest. She should have thought this over more; of course he wouldn’t just accept this without a thought, she’s been keeping huge, life changing secrets from him!

“What if,” Danny said slowly. “I said this wasn’t the first time I’d been this high up?”

“What?” she asked, confused.

“Not in a plane or anything,” Danny continued. “But flying. Like this. What if I said it wasn’t my first time?”

“Well,” Valerie said, picking apart his words. They seemed so random, but they had to be leading somewhere. “I guess I’d ask when you were? And how?”

Danny hummed, and broke eye contact, looking up at the stars. “And if you didn’t like the answer?”

“I don’t understand,” Valerie said.

“What if I had the answer to that question, but it was one you hated? The type of answer that changed everything, that made you question everything you think you know?” Danny still didn’t look at her, sitting so still it didn’t even look like he was breathing. “Would you still want to know it?”

Valerie took a deep breath, the cold air stinging her nose, her lungs. “If it has to do with you, then yes. I want to know everything about you.”

Danny met her gaze that time, but what she saw was not the beautiful blue that she could get lost in for hours. Danny’s eyes were a burning, glowing green, so vibrant that they illuminated her hoverboard. “It’s not the first time I’ve been up this high. It’s not even the first time I’ve been up here with you.”

Valerie couldn’t have kept her eyes open even if she tried, as a flash of bright light emanated from Danny. She rubbed the spots out of her eyes, and then rubbed them again as she tried to figure out what she was seeing. Danny’s familiar figure had been replaced with a different figure, one just as familiar, if for very different reasons. The ghosts green eyes, the same green she had seen Danny with only moments prior, had once again drifted to the stars.

“What?” she asked, not able to speak over a whisper.

“There was an accident,” he said, and now that the answer had been placed in her lap she couldn’t help but recognize just how similar their voices were. Just how similar their everything was. “In freshman year. I died, but I didn’t do it right. I’m half ghost, and half human.”

This time it was Valerie who was slack jawed. Danny let her gather her thoughts. “I tried to end you.” The words were forced out, every syllable choked as if it hurt to say. In many ways, it did.

“I know you did. I’ve known its been you the whole time,” Danny said, and Valerie was left reeling again from that knowledge.

“But, why?” she asked finally. “If you knew it was me, why did you go out with me? Fuck, why did you try and be my friend?”

“I meant what I said. I think you’re wonderful, and you were trying to help,” Danny said. “It’s why I was worried it wouldn’t end well. I didn’t know what you would think about all of this.”

“I think,” Valerie said. It took effort to keep her voice even, but she managed. “I think that we’re both horrible at being honest.” Danny’s laughter echoed in the night, the haunting echo of a ghost. Normally that echoed chilled her, but it was still Danny’s laugh underneath it all. Danny’s laugh, which had never failed to lift her spirits. Now was not an exception. “No more secrets?” Valerie lifted her hand, pinky finger extended.

Danny looked over, and his smile wasn’t the one of glee he had worn earlier that day, but it was soft, and hopeful, and fit beautifully on his face. “No more secrets.” He looped his pinky finger around hers, locking their promise in place. His hands were ice cold. Valerie didn’t let go.

—-

Valerie didn’t bother trying to find the spare key for Fentonworks under the mat. Before she’d even started up the stairs she had an ectoblaster in her hand. By the time she made it to the top of the stairs the door handle was melted off, and she barreled in the house without breaking her momentum.

She careened through the house at top speed, slamming into walls instead of bothering to change course manually. She’d wasted too many seconds already; she couldn’t afford to be late.

She jumped down the steps to the basement, taking as many as she could at once without badly injuring herself. Even still her knees ached at the impact, but she didn’t slow down. She didn’t slow down until the Dr.’s Fenton came into view, each in their customary color coded jumpsuits, with additional surgery masks on their faces. “Stop!” she shouted, though it came out as more of a sob. “Don’t hurt him!”

Jack and Maddie shared a confused look. “Valerie, what are you doing here?” Maddie asked. Valerie didn’t answer, dashing between the two scientists to stand between them and Phantom, who was strapped to the table. “Valerie Gray, you get away from it! It’s dangerous!”

“He,” Valerie snarled. “is your son!” She didn’t bother looking at their confused faces, her full attention on Danny. He wasn’t hurt too badly, at least not for his standards. He was even still conscious, if only barely, his eyes rolled back in his head. “Danny, can you hear me?”

“Val?” he slurred, trying to turn his head towards her and failing.

“It’s me, Danny.” She fumbled at the mechanisms restraining him. “I’m gonna get you out of here, but I need you to go back to human. Can you do that for me?”

Danny squeezed his eyes the rest of the way shut as he focused. The start of his transformation rings appeared at his waist, but they sputtered out before anything could happen. “Can’t.”

Jack’s hand closed around Valerie’s wrist, firm yet gentle. “Valerie, you can’t be down here, its dangerous. I don’t know what you think it is, but its a ghost. They’re dangerous.”

“I know how dangerous ghosts can be,” she said, wrenching her arm free from Jack’s grip. “I’ve been fighting them with you for years.” She let her suit emerge, everything but the visor. “You know me, you know I’m a good ghost hunter. You’ve trusted me to help defend you in fights. So trust me now.” She pointed at Danny behind her. “That is your son, and you are hurting him. You need to let him go.”

Maddie and Jack stared at her, Jack’s shock clear on his face while Maddie had her eyes narrowed, assessing the situation. Finally, Maddie nodded her head, and moved towards the bed.

“If you’re wrong about this, we’ll be letting a dangerous creature back out into the world,” Maddie said as she worked to deactivate the restraints, Valerie hovering behind her. “But if you’re right, then we will never be able to live with ourselves.”

The restraints popped open, setting Danny free. This time, the rings didn’t petter out.

[fandsart]

Wishing for Roses

I didn’t expect to write anything for Valentine’s Day, but I got this idea at work in the middle of the day, so it’s a bit late in the day now

1983. Some girl comes into class and starts passing out roses for the school telegram program. Eddie hates Valentine's Day for the obvious consumer problem of it all, but it's also always just been a bit of a bummer to be left out of all kinds of festivities every year. With the roll of the eyes, he returns back to his worksheet, doodling in the free spaces.

He's working on some kind of sea demon and is debating on giving it a trident or something when a plop on his desk startles him from his focus. He looks up at the girl handing out the telegrams, waiting for her to 'whoops, I dropped this.' Instead she moves on. Eddie looks around the class, waiting for the snickers to start up. He checks the tag, finding that his name is actually printed on the paper; no message though. Obviously this is some kind of prank, in which case, whoever set it up would be ready to point out the absurdity to the rest of the class. But everyone else is either too focused on their own roses, or their disappointment, or anticipation as the girl works her way over to their tables. Instead of looking at the broad overlay of the room, Eddie decides to think of who is the most likely in the class to pull this kind of prank and hone in on their reaction.

Steve Harrington sits across the classroom and a row behind him. He is, in fact, the only one in the room who isn't following the crowd of the room. He's looking out the window, away from Eddie. The rose girl hasn't reached him yet, and Eddie feels like he knows how this is going to go down, how Harrington has probably scripted this out. He's going to get however many roses he's about to get. Popular jock he is will probably get a fucking dozen at least. Then he'll reveal that he sent Eddie's as a prank and his own stack of roses will certainly help with the statement of the whole thing. Harrington gets more than he needs of everything constantly and the only thing Eddie will ever get is a joke.

But the girl passes Steve's table, dropping nothing, and he doesn't even react. Ok, maybe Steve isn't the one who sent Eddie's rose.  Maybe he bribed someone to get his early. Honestly it doesn't matter, because now Eddie has a real mystery on his hands. He doesn't want to rule out that this could be a prank, but everyone knew the telegrams would be delivered during second period and why would someone send a prank when they couldn't even fulfill the thing. He didn't want to get his hopes up, but it actually seemed like he'd gotten a genuine telegram from someone. And well, it's not exactly like much will likely come of it, Eddie being gay and all, but it's a nice thought that he's not universally hated by everyone outside of his friend group.

He brings it up to the rest of the Hellfire Club later at lunch. He figures it's super possible that one of them decided to send it as an act of friendship or something. Seems a bit more of an actively affectionate act than his friends tend to participate in, but that's his best guess. But no, none of them sent it. The idea that it was a prank does come up, but Eddie sights all his reasons against it.

"It's still possible though," Gareth says cautiously.

"Yeah, I'm aware of that," Eddie says. "But I figure it's gotta be like a twenty percent chance at this point. And I'd still like to know who sent it. Besides, what kind of prank is it to not draw attention to?"

"The kind that makes you lose your mind in your own bafflement?" Nate asks. "Ok, sure. Thirty percent chance it's  a prank."

"Still, wouldn't you rather just let it go," Jeff suggests. "Either it's a prank or you're just going to draw attention to yourself trying to figure it out, and the big dogs around here are going to think you're doing the whole 'fake girlfriend' thing."

"I'm always drawing attention to myself at risk of social perspective. I don't think this is going to make people think any less of me."

"Well it's good you think that," Gareth says, "because you've been waving that rose around this whole time and Hagan and Harrington is coming this way. Heads up."

"Gift that to yourself, Munson?"

"Well, I was hoping it would still have thorns on it so I could slice your face open and say it was the school's fault for giving it to me," he snarks. "Oh well, se la vie."

"Do you know who gave it to you?" Steve asks.

"Bet she's 'from a different school,'" Hagan cackles with his baby hyena laugh.

"People from other schools can't send telegrams," Steve tells him.

"Yes! Exactly!"

"We don't know who sent it," Gareth interrupts.

"Well doesn't that just figure. So either she's fake, or there's some secret girl freak around here."

"Hey, Carol's here." Steve nods towards the entrance of the cafeteria where Carol Perkins strolls in.

"Hey, Carol!" Tommy calls. "Guess who got-"

"God, Tommy," Steve interrupts. "You can tell her when we sit down to eat. Yes, there's gotta be something seriously wrong with whoever sent that, but can we just go eat. I missed breakfast."

"Fine, fine." They turn to leave. "She's gonna flip though," Eddie hears him say as they get further away.

The rose doesn't make it home. Doesn't even make it outside the cafeteria room before it gets in the trash. Even in the small chance that it was serious, he feels less guilty getting rid of it when he sees a few other roses already in the bin.

He doesn't really think about it until the next Valentine's day when he gets another. He's even more prepared for this to be a prank than last time, given it got around that he sent himself one last year. But nothing comes. He makes sure to not carry it around with him this time. It comes home with him this year, 1984. It's not until he gets home this time that he realizes there's a message on the tag this time.

Sorry about the trouble from last year. Sorry I can't sign this off as "secret admirer." I don't have a crush on you or anything, but I think you're cool.

Ok, so this is some kind of weird platonic telegram. Except the only times he's ever seen that happening is between people who are already friends. He can only hope that this is some kind of gay boy in denial, but it's entirely possible that it's a straight girl in denial about her taste in men. 'He can only hope?' No. No no no no no. He's not going to start hoping that something comes of this. First of all, Eddie is a senior, a super senior at that. He's already ready to leave Hawkins and if it is the case that this is a gay denial case, then he can't really expect that they'll get over it in time for Eddie to graduate in like 4 months. Especially when whoever it is had been fixated on him for a year and still hasn't come to.

Most likely it's a girl, and if not, it's not worth dwelling on. Besides, if his first one came last year, whoever it was must have been a freshman and he was still a senior last year so that just feels like it would be a bit creepy.

It was probably just some underclassman who admired Eddie's self assuredness and open expression so sent one once, then felt embarrassed for Eddie when it got out of hand and just wanted to put through an apology. It's not a big deal.

=0=

Apparently it is a big deal though, because apparently it wasn't just an admiring underclassman who sent them, it was Steve fucking Harrington.

=0=

"I guess I couldn't accept the fact that Steve Harrington was actually... a good dude... and fuck I mean, I can't even believe I'm saying that after how you were in high school."

Steve snorts. "Yeah? You have a crush on Tammy too, or is this about my old friendship with Tommy."

"I don't really know what Tammy has to do with this, but I was mostly thinking about how there would 'have to be something seriously wrong with someone to like men's as you apparently thought."

Steve stops in his tracks. "Right. That whole thing."

"I'm surprised you remember. I mean, I get how that conversation would seem less impactful to you than me. Less memorable"

"I never said there would have to be something wrong with someone for liking you."

"Pretty sure that's exactly what you said. Again, I'm sure I remember it better than you."

"That might have been more memorable to me than you might think. I didn't say that. I said there must have been wrong with whoever sent the telegram."

"That's the same thing in that context."

"Not when you know who sent it."

Eddie sighs. "So it was a prank. Gotta admit, sending a second rose was a clever coverup."

"It wasn't a prank," Steve groans. "Why would someone try to coverup a prank anyway? That defeats the entire point."

"Ok, so if it wasn't a prank then we're just talking in circles. You think there's something wrong with someone because they sent me a rose. Are you going to tell me who it is by the way, or are you sworn to secrecy?"

"I sent you the fucking rose! Ok?"

It takes Eddie a moment to process that and he has to catch up with Steve who is storming ahead now. "But not as a prank?"

"No, man. I don't prank people."

"So... why?"

"I don't know, man. First time was on a whim. Second time I couldn't stop thinking about the previous year and how embarrassing that whole situation was. Figured I owed you an apology."

"You sent it... on a whim?"

"Yeah, man, kinda."

"'Kinda?' So you did have reasoning."

Steve groans. "Ok, yes. It's not like I drew the decision out of a hat. It's just... I thought you were cool, man. And I also knew you never got any and I never did either, so I just... I don't know. It was stupid."

"There's... so much to unpack here. First of all, that's... really sweet actually. Not stupid. Wait, what do you mean you never got any? Everyone fucking loves you."

"Literally name one person."

"Nancy."

Steve actually scoffs at the suggestion. "I liked her and opened her mind to the idea after an honestly embarrassing amount of time trying to woo her. The only people who actually chase after me don't want to get cute with me. They want what I'm capable of. No one's sending me fucking-" he let's out a broken laugh. "Yeah, I mean sure, if I bring someone's attention to it I guess. I've had Valentine's dates before, but I'm always the one to ask. I'm just not... associated with it I guess. And that's fine, you know. But that's why I sent them, you know? I felt bad because you probably don't even get to have that problem."

"I don't need your pity."

"Yeah, whatever. Sorry. I was just trying to be nice. Always fucking that up, huh?"

"No, just... for future reference ok? Don't go beating yourself up over it." Then an earthquake hit again.

Part 2>>

[pokegeek151]

Blue felt his heart clench before he even opened his eyes. The air around him was pleasantly warm, but his skin was still cold and clammy, and his sweat almost stung from the temperature difference.

“Fuck,” he managed to spit out around his chattering teeth. Thankfully, the carefully controlled environment was already helping his body adjust to not being cryogenically frozen, and his mind was quickly catching up.

A mechanical, unnervingly cheerful voice echoed through the speakers in the ceiling. “Good morning. You have been in suspension for nine nine nine nine-“

“Shut up,” Blue groaned, tuning out the announcement and sitting up carefully in the bed…pod…thing he was in.

He rubbed warmth back into his arms as he took stock of the room. Aside from the smooth, pristine plastic and chrome of the cryo pod, the room was unremarkable. There was a greenish-grey carpet with a pile low from dozens of occupants over time. The furniture was modern but cheap – MDF panels printed to look like rich wood grain, the scuffed corners revealing the plain fiber underneath. Embedded every few feet in the ceiling were fluorescent light fixtures buzzing just within his range of hearing. The space was reminiscent of a cheap motel pretending to be a mid-range motel. Was it sad that he found the familiar view as comforting as he did?

“Seems they’ve been losing funding,” he muttered, finally readying himself to swing his legs out of the pod.

The announcement he’d been ignoring cut off abruptly, leaving a strange gap in the soundscape. A few seconds later, a voice he’d never heard before came from outside his room.

“Hello? Is this the room with the live human in it?”

“What the f…”

Without thinking, he stumbled across the room to the door. He nearly toppled, still unsteady from cryosleep, but he caught himself on the wall. 

“Hello hello!” the voice called again. Too cheery for Blue’s liking. “Are you awake in there?”

“Gimme a second, geez.” He pushed himself back to standing, already feeling more secure on his legs.

The door stuck for a moment, which was not something Blue ever knew it to do. But after a few strong tugs (kind of strong – he was still waking up, give him a break), it popped open. 

Blue was expecting to see some lab rat with a clipboard or a medical cart or something here with a surprise test. Instead, his eyes met the empty Relaxation Center hallway. 

“Yoohoo! Hi!” 

With the door open, he could locate the voice. Almost directly above him was a glowing red eye hanging from the ceiling.

“Uh,” he said eloquently.

“You must be the human! Obviously. Nice to meet you!” By now, his eyes had adjusted to the dim light in the hallway (why were the lights out?) and he could make out a white-painted metal sphere surrounding the glowing red iris. “You can call me Red. I’m the Readjusted Emotional Development core. I think I can access your files?” Sliding metal sheets stylized into eyelids shifted in and out as Red thought. “We’re in quadrant F, block S, row A, so you should be…”

“Blue,” he cut off. “Just…call me Blue.”

Red’s mechanical pieces paused for a moment, then his eye opened wide in excitement. “Okay! Nice to meet you!” he said. Again. “Obviously you’re alive, which is a great step one. And your brain works enough to talk! And carry a conversation!” Something whirred inside the core. “Does this count as a conversation?”

“I guess.”

“Great! I think the important part is that you understand me and can respond. So, check!”

“What are you talking about?”

How a single dangling robot eye managed to look sheepish was beyond Blue’s understanding. “Well, you’ve been, ah, asleep for…a while. Longer than is…recommended. So I wanted to make sure you were…functioning. That your brain was functioning.”

Blue felt his heart clench. “How long is a while?”

Red hummed noncommittally. “The math is, uh, a bit tricky on that one.”

A chill wrapped itself around him, and he absently felt his shoulder hit the wall. An incalculable length of time in cryosleep. 

“Whoa, are you alright?”

“Fuck,” Blue whispered, sliding to the floor. He swore he could feel his brain matter refusing to thaw. Years in cryo. More than years. 

A violent shiver ran down his spine. He was supposed to be woken up every 50 days to make sure he didn’t fall apart. They told him he’d get used to it, but going back under was more daunting every time. Even now, in the slightly-warmer-than-average relaxation center room, he could feel the chill of the pod’s activation sweep over him like he was sitting in it. It hurt, every time. Like frostbite but with teeth in every cell of his body. 

He had told them that when they woke him up for his first requisite cognitive check. They had made a note on a little clipboard and told him they would ask him again next time. And then they had put him back in. Over and over. Until he had stopped describing it, and they had stopped making little notes. Just little ticks on a checklist and his own impending dread.

They had promised to wake him up every 50 days. All he could do was trust them to follow through. At least the cryo-inducement was consistent in its pain; he could trust his own senses. But he was apparently right to doubt their calendars.

“Blue? Blue, can you hear me?” Red’s concerned mechanical voice cut through the icy fog surrounding his thoughts. “I’m sorry if I scared you. You’re scaring me, now. Please, tell me you’re okay.”

Blue let out a slow breath, forcing the cold out of his lungs. “I’m fine. I’m fine.”

“Great! Because we need to leave.”

“What? Why?” He was already pulling himself to his feet.

“It’s a bit of a long story. Hypothetically, we should be relatively safe for now, but I don’t like our odds now that your room has been reactivated. He’ll notice eventually, and we should be somewhere very far from here when he does.”

Blue unzipped the upper half of old jumpsuit he was wearing and pulled it down his from his shoulders. “Who’s ‘he’?” he asked as he tied the sleeves around his waist.

Red twisted around on the rail he was attached to. “Vio, of course. He runs everything. Now, let’s get out of here!”

[robotnik-mun]

So, while I primarily jaw about Sonic stuff? I’m also a pretty avid Deltarune fan, and like most in the Fandom I got my own ideas and theories of where this is all heading to. Now, the Big Stuff has been covered a dozen times by now, and better than I could do it, so I’m gonna introduce something a little small scale.

Namely, I think I got an idea of what is up with Kris’ half of the bedroom.

At a glance, this paints an incredibly dismal picture of Kris as a person, especially in contrast with Azzy’s half of the bedroom. It’s just a void of anything you’d expect a teenager to have- no decorations, no awards, nothing to indicate they have any kind of hobbies or interests, not even an alarm clock. Kris’ life is just an unholy, unnatural blank.

Likewise, it says nothing good about Kris’ dynamic with their family, at a glance. What kind of brother lords their accomplishments over their sibling in such a gratuitous manner? What kind of parents PERMIT something like this to occur? You’d be under the impression that Kris is blatantly neglected and overlooked, and it would seem born out by the fact virtually everyone in Hometown is more interested in talking TO Kris about Azzy rather than conversing with Kris for their own sake. The game system in the Dreemurr household has one good controller and one outdated, junky controller. Berdly even refers to Kris as a ‘fellow bluebird’, the context making it clear he regards Kris as being unremarkable and ignored as Berdly himself was prior to the Spelling Bee.

Yeah, this room seems symbolic about Kris, doesn’t it?

Only... I’m not actually sure this room being this way is why we think it is. As we learn more about Kris it becomes clear that Kris isn’t some blank slate we pilot, but someone who does in fact have interests and hobbies and all that jazz, as any teenager should. Nor is Kris actually being neglected by their family- the ‘bad’ controller is used by Asriel rather than Kris. Kris is in fact greatly loved by their family, from what we see. So why is none of that reflected in their half of the room?

I think Kris’ half isn’t like this because Kris is completely unaccomplished and lacking in things they like. I think, at one point in the past, Kris’ corner was every bit as decorated as Azzy’s... and then, for whatever reason, Kris willingly decided to just get rid of it all, and chooses to live this way for reasons that we can guess at, but will probably become clear the further along we go.

Why do I think this? Because whatever their failings as people, I have an incredibly hard time believing that Toriel OR Asgore are so negligent and oblivious that they’d allow a set up like this to persist unless it was by Kris’ own choice. I could be wrong, mind you, and I do believe that Kris’ parents are at some level unwilling to confront that Kris has problems... but I don’t think that even with that caveat that either of them is so utterly incompetent as to just allow one child to seemingly flaunt their accomplishments in front of the other like this.

And then there’s Azzy himself. We don’t know anything about how Asriel is in the present. So far the picture we have painted for us though indicates that he is in fact a good guy who cares deeply for his sibling (as well as being a colossal dork at odds with the kind of Golden Boy that the rest of the town has constructed him to be). So on that front, it seems incredibly unlikely that Asriel would make his half of the room the way it is given how it’d look for Kris. And even if the truth is that Asriel is in fact a horrible asshole (which strikes me as unlikely-but-possible), then it comes back to Asgore and Toriel not allowing this even if Asriel was covering up his actual bad intentions.

Therefore? My conclusion is that Kris, for whatever reason, has gotten rid of all the things that defined THEIR half of the room, and is choosing to live this weird, miserable existence that we see them living. Why they’re doing this, as with everything else, is open to heavy interpretation. My own suspicions range from them doing it out of sheer self-loathing, to them deliberately doing it to hide the details of their life from Us, the Player... there’s a lot going on here that indicates things with Kris go far beyond what We see, and they are privy to thinks that We aren’t. But either way, their corner being the way it is? Is due entirely to their own choice, and Toriel is simply permitting it even though its not a healthy thing for Kris to be doing at all.

In the end we’ll only know once the rest of this game is finally released (and God I hope that’s soon you seriously have no idea), but for now? I choose to believe that Kris’ life isn’t as barren as this room would indicate... they simply, for whatever reason, are unwilling to share that life with others at this point, either due to the events of the past or due to not wanting Us to see.

... I also like to think that, if this is true, Toriel is storing all of Kris’ things in the attic in the hopes that one day they’ll want it back. That however is less textual based and more Realm Of Pure Headcanon, heh.

[electricbluebutterflies]

Kabby + Seeking shelter.

PG-ish and also on ao3.

Oh, as if this day wasn’t going badly enough.

Abby cannot remember a time in her life when anyone might have described her as calm – maybe when she was a small child, before she could speak in complete sentences, but even that feels unlikely – but her current state of angry anxiety feels understandable enough. Her idiot of a counterpart had decided it was a good idea for her to see some of the nearby natural features, and she’d been just bored enough and just convinced their respective recent physical damage would limit the range of this outing, and now-

It's snowing, and they are at least two miles from home. This is what she gets for trusting him.

Abby is well aware that she should be used to this, but… the problem is she’s used to Marcus’s spectacular ideas being a little more obviously terrible in general and a lot more obviously dangerous towards her specifically. There have been benefits to the timing of his midlife crisis, fine, but-

“If we make it back in one piece…”

“What do you mean if?!”

Oh, where to start. They are in the middle of nowhere, for one, and not dressed for this weather or at least she isn’t, and she is freezing, and-

“We’re too far to-“

“We won’t make it back in the middle of this. Visibility isn’t-“

Great, so now he realizes they’re screwed, that’s a little quicker than she expected but still-

“I repeat, if we-“

“There’s a cave that way. I think. Not ideal, but-“

Right now she will take not ideal, and right now she’d like to get her hands around his neck but she knows she needs to save her energy for… whatever other fuckery awaits, because this day doesn’t feel over with, and-

He takes her hand, keeps her close, and she would be mad about that too if she wasn’t already mad about a dozen other things at higher volumes and-

To her great surprise, there is a cave nearby enough, and it’s at least dry and not currently occupied by any large animals that might want to eat them, and for all Marcus’s currently-on-display faults at least the man has a sense of direction, and-

“Now what?”

“Now we wait.”

“Until-“

“At least until the sky clears. Probably overnight, if you’re-“

Great. Overnight in an unfamiliar small space with someone she has weird tension with. That’ll end well. She’ll end up on top of him one way or another, she’s sure of it, and-

“You have a plan until then?”

“We should stay close. I’d suggest body heat, but-“

It’s not a bad idea, Abby thinks as she shifts her position closer. She knows they fit well, and while this may be the least catastrophic situation in which she’s been reminded of that…

He’s solid, and maneuvers her a little so her hair doesn’t get stuck on any of the details of his jacket, and there’s an almost-gentleness to it that she does not have mental space to process, and-

“Try to rest,” he murmurs. “I’ll take first watch.”

“You think we need that?”

“If anything…”

She tilts her head to look up at him, big eyes and stubbornness. “You sleep too light. Anything steps on a dead leaf out there, you’ll hear it.”

He gives her a look like she is not wrong and rearranges their positions accordingly. She ends up mostly on top of him as she’d expected, and his shoulder does make a good pillow, and-

“Are you comfortable?”

“I’m too overwhelmed for that to register. For the circumstances… yes?”

It takes her a while to close her eyes, to trust that there is nothing else to do but try to hibernate. His heartbeat is steady enough, arms wrapped protectively around her, and-

(When she wakes up, the snowstorm has passed and everything is alright. Except explaining what happened in the morning, when they make it home. That is… not one of the highlights of her life.)

(Still, somehow, worth it.)

[eunchancorner]

Just the bois seeing Eduardo being angsty, no big deal (not the angst I promised yesterday lol)

Warning: mentions of character death, depression, and a lottttttttt of angst

Word count: 1756

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

“Edd, what are we doing in the cemetery?” Tom questioned his friend, gripping his coat tightly as the wind started picking up.

“Looking for ghosts, of course!” the taller replied enthusiastically, holding some device he’d ordered off of some sketchy website, with blinking lights and fancy dials that Tom doubted worked for actually detecting ghosts and more for wasting all of their batteries with how fast it went through them.

“I don’t mean to be the party pooper here, but, why, exactly are we doing this?” Matt chimed in.

“That’s what I want to know…” Tom mumbled.

“So we can learn! That’s- that’s a reason people go ghost hunting, yeah..”

Tom sighed as he pulled a flask out of his pocket, chugging some of whatever alcohol he’d brought with him. “Learning? About what?”

“About the past! What is was like to live back then!” Edd seemed to be falling into a daydream about learning about 1860 or something, so Tom decided to snap him out of it.

“And if we find someone around our age who died recently? That’s about half of these graves, you know, since there have been dozens of casualties around here.”

“Then we’ll ask them how they died and move on!”

“And what’s your plan for when this inevitably kills us?”

“Uhh, come back and try again. Sometimes I worry about you Tom, you seem to keep forgetting we can just do that.”

“I’m just making sure, here.”

“Hey guys, what’s that?” Matt suddenly chimed into their conversation, pointing at a bright blue cluster in the distance.

“Ohhh, I bet it’s something ghostly! Come on, let’s go see!” Edd chirped as he darted over, followed closely by his two friends. As they approached, they saw that it was just another grave, but surrounded by beautiful light blue flowers. They all circled it, looking for anything else that might indicate paranormal activity, but they came up empty handed. Edd even tried using his device. Nothing (as expected).

“Nothing, dammit…” Edd muttered as he shut the device off, before reading the name on the grave. “Uhh, did either of you know a Laurel?”

“Not really,” Matt said without hesitation.

“Doesn’t ring a bell,” Tom said after a bit of thought.

“What the hell are you three doing here?” a voice sounded behind them, all of them looking back to see who had spoken.

“Eduardooooooo…” Edd drawled on instinct, seeing his rival’s face. Although, there was something different today. The air of superiority he usually had about him, it was gone. He looked more annoyed with them than like he meant to bully them.

“We’re here on a very important mission to find ghosts, so, shoo! Off with you!” Matt insisted, waving his hands in a ushering gesture at him.

“I’m not leaving. I’m here to see my girlfriend, which I’d argue is more important,” Eduardo refuted.

“What kind of date takes place in the middle of a cemetery, is she hardcore goth or something?” Tom asked, an eyebrow raised.

“She’s not alive, dumbass,” the angry brunette responded.

“Whatever. We’re busy investigating this grave and why all these flowers are here. I think it might be paranormal activity!” Edd insisted, but his rival refused to budge.

“That’s my girlfriend’s grave. I planted those flowers. Now fucking move,” he ordered, and, this time, the three backed off, watching as the man knelt down to the grave and gently pulled out a blue flower, just like the ones surrounding the grave, and a similarly shaped green one, placing them on the grave.

“Hey, Laurel…” he began to mumble, as though he could speak to her. “These guys giving you trouble again?... I’d tell them off if I could, but I know you wouldn’t like that… I miss you… so does Mark… and, well… you probably know about what happened to Jon… I think it’s why I fell back into it… you know how it is… Mark’s getting me to eat and leave the house again, so that’s a start… and…” his breath began to shudder. He looked back at his three witnesses, tears freshly ready to fall. “You should go… I don’t want anyone… especially you… seeing me like this.”

Edd couldn’t help but remember the time Eduardo had saved him from the huge monster, when they had powers, and felt the need to stay and help him, even if only to repay that debt.

Matt also felt like they should stay. Eduardo was clearly in pain, clearly hurting. He wanted to help, even if he did kind of hate him. He hated Mark more, anyways.

Tom acted like he literally could not care less. “Fine by me,” he said as he started to walk off, Edd and Matt slowly following, looking back at the man who was about to collapse into a full-on mental breakdown. But, before they left earshot, Tom pulled them behind a tree and motioned for them to stay quiet, before peeking out. Confused, the two peeked as well.

Tom had been secretly thinking, Maybe I could catch him doing something fucked up, maybe even ruin his political career if he ever decides to have one. So, yes, his intentions were entirely malicious.

As soon as he thought they were gone, Eduardo collapsed completely onto his knees, sobs wracking his frame, tears flowing freely and falling onto the grave below. He let out a few mumbles that were inaudible to the three before, finally, his voice started to pick up volume.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… I should have protected you… it was all their fault… all his fault… it’s his fault you and Jon are gone… his fault that I only have Mark left… it’s all his fault…” he reached out and gently brushed the dust away from her name with his thumb. “I’ll see you both again… one day…”

Edd, Matt, and, yes, even Tom, thought they were going to cry. Suddenly, her name clicked in their minds. When they had made their flop of a movie, Space Cats, the actress they had hired, who was so excited and enthusiastic to work with them, who was killed by shoe before they got to watch the film for the first time, was named Laurel. They remembered Mark showing up to their door asking for a copy of the movie (to which they shoved the original in his hands and sent him on his way). They realized it was probably because Eduardo couldn’t bring himself to do it. He blamed them for her death. He blamed Edd.

Shock overtook them, however, as the real weight of Eduardo’s words sank in.

It’s his fault you and Jon are gone… his fault that I only have Mark left…

He not only blamed Edd for Laurel’s death, and apparently Jon’s, but for his lack of friends. And the sad part was, it made complete sense. Edd was responsible for getting Eduardo bullied, possibly all throughout school. Edd and his friends had made a movie that resulted in Laurel’s death. Edd had let a murderous psycho into the house who killed Jon.

It really was all Edd’s fault.

“Oh my god, I’m a terrible person…” Edd mumbled finally, watching his poor rival slowly calm down from his sobbing as a purple car pulled into the nearby parking lot, a blonde getting out of the driver’s side. As he approached, they all saw it was Mark, who started fussing over Eduardo the moment he was close enough.

“Eduardo, there you are! Your car’s still at home, did you walk here? You must be freezing! And you’ve been crying, no, my friend… I brought your jacket and some heat packs. I have some hot cocoa in the center console for you and the heat and seat warmers are on, please, get your coat on and go get in the car. I have to say some things to her, too, and I’m sure she doesn’t want you joining her early because you decided to go out on a cold autumn night without anything to stay warm!” he bustled around him with small packets and a large black coat like most of them had, wiping the tears away from Eduardo’s face (with much resistance on the smaller man’s behalf) with a little pack of tissues. 

As Eduardo walked away, Mark turned back to the grave. He didn’t say anything, providing ample opportunity for the boys to walk up to him, to try to talk with him.

“Hey, Mark,” Edd started, noticing how Mark’s soft stare hardened into a glare as he saw them, as was expected.

“You. What are you doing here?” he demanded immediately, turning to face them with his arms crossed.

“We were looking for ghosts and… saw Eduardo crying over Laurel. He said something about you being the only one he had left, and well…” Edd glanced back at his friends before continuing, “We’re just hoping you’re taking good care of him. After all, who’s Power Edd without his Numero Uno, his rival, y’know…? Point is, we just hope you’re taking good care of him. I know we’re just as guilty of being jerks, and that it’s… kind of our fault-” “Edd…”

“Ok, ok… My fault that what happened… happened.”

Mark’s gaze softened at the three before him. So they finally started caring, huh?

“I am, I promise, and I’m sure Eduardo would be glad to hear his rival cares so much about him,” Mark told them.

“Oh, no, we can’t let him know we saw that… please?” Edd asked so politely, and dammit, how could Mark say no?

“Ah, alright. This’ll be our little secret, then. But, if you really do care that much, feel free to invite me over for tea. But I’d advise not coming to my house for it, considering who exactly would be there.”

“We understand. Thank you,” Edd smiled a bit, Mark nodding as returned to his car. Edd turned to the other two.

“He’s actually really nice. For a cocky jerk,” Matt finally said, turning to Tom to see how he’d respond.

“Let’s go home. I feel like discovering our neighbor has depression and the other has turned into his dad is enough for one night,” was the shortest’s words, and, for once, the taller two agreed, all three of them walking back to the car.

“You know, we never did find any ghosts,” Edd mumbled quietly, turning on his little device, a few moments before it promptly died in his hands.

They were not replacing the batteries on it again.

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How did this little one-off thing get so long holy hell-

[hardygalwrites]

“Doctor… Are you certain this is what you want? I can’t deny there is a childish amount of excitement - which I believe I am still entitled to for one more segment - to be felt at the prospect of becoming a starship captain. But… Well, to be frank, I’m far younger than most would expect a captain to be. And I can’t promise I will make nearly as many profitable judgements as our dearly departed Captain Oshali. Not to mention… are you sure you want a Zenithian noble brat in any sort of position of power? I am deeply, deeply flattered of course, Doctor. I just… I want to be certain that you are offering this to me because you do believe this to be best, and not because, well, we are currently a crew of two with no other options.”

“I would much rather have someone who acknowledges his shortcomings to be in charge, rather than someone who’s sure they’re always smarter than everybody else. You’re also consistent, like Oshali, just consistent in different ways. I could count on her to put profits first, and I can count on you to put people’s lives first. I don’t have to guess with you as captain. You might be a Zenithian noble brat… but, you’re my friend. I haven’t had a real friend in a long time. Yeah, I’m sure. Even if there’s a dozen of us on a ship, I want you as my captain.”

My son is growing up. Not only is his birthday coming up in game - he’s finally gonna actually be eighteen years old, as he’s been claiming for the past couple years of his life - but he has gone from vent goblin for hire and person with barely enough technical expertise to be of any sort of practical use on a ship, to the bloody captain of a ship. So, to commemorate that, I decided to update his look a bit.

Meet Captain Tomorrow von Tahsin. He doesn’t cover his eyes nearly as much as he used to (though there is a lore reason for why he does that at all), and he’s tied the top of his jumpsuit around his waist now, Portal 2 style, showing off them noodle ass arms more clearly.

Also, he’s now wearing a leather bangle around his wrist and, more importantly, a bullet around his neck. That last little accessory is in memory of a former crew member who outright declared that Tomorrow might as well be his little brother. For many, many backstory reasons, that meant and means the absolute universe to Tomorrow. Said crew member ended up leaving for a better paying career, but Tomorrow kept one of the guy’s bullets to remember him by.

Turning eighteen years old is actually going to come with a world of problems for Tomorrow, but hopefully he can survive them. He’s survived the almost utter annihilation of the House Tahsin, he’s survived traipsing about the Third Horizon as a child parading as an adult, and he’s survived all the havoc that his latest crew has been getting into. Surely he can survive adulthood and the responsibilities of being a captain as well :3

This incredibly handsome piece of art was commissioned from @crystalnovaart! She delivered exactly what I was looking for in terms of Tomorrow’s new look, as well the posing and the ✨ v i b e s ✨ Check her out on Instagram under crystalnova_art - she posts a lot of her absolutely stunning artwork there (and look you can see my son there as well) - and absolutely support her if you can, you will not be disappointed :D