#right before dndads drops

[koszmarnybudyn]

Hello, hope you're having a nice day! :] For the requests, maybe Hermie and Taylor bonding?

They are uncle and nephew but also besties and i love them. Taylor is having an adhd moment cause he deserves a little info dumping and hermie loves to listen.

[starw1sh]

STARTING MY DNDADS LISTEN >:)

[happi-tree]

dust to dust (tell me i am good enough)

“Does it ever get easier?” She asks, voice hoarse and low (you are used to this from her) and hesitant and very quiet (you are not used to this).

“What?” You ask, a knee-jerk reaction, overcome with shock that she would ask anything of you after everything you’ve done.

“Th- ugh, never mind, it doesn’t matter,” Her gaze drops to the pouch in her hands, fingers fiddling with its thick, plasticky edges, pinching at the places where it’s sealed and watching the last stubborn dregs of blood shy away from the pressure she applies. 

“I wish I could tell you it does, Scary."

Or: When newly-Turned Scary starves herself from blood to the point of illness, it's up to Terry to help her recover and help her gain her footing in the new, monstrous world in which she now finds herself.

ao3

Happy Dndads Halloween Week, lovebirds! Here's my fic for day 1: vampires. It's part of a supernatural au that @kaseyskat and @llumimoon masterminded alongside me, and I'm really excited to post more about it in the coming days. Hope you enjoy!

The silence between the two of you stretches like a rubber band, chafes like an ill-fitting starched shirt. Discomfort is familiar company, though, so you allow it to settle on your shoulders and pretend the way that her glassy, red-pupiled eyes stare through you doesn’t make you want to shatter the silence.

You’ve barged into her life enough, you think, you mourn. You’re always mourning something, been mourning since you were thirteen and it never stopped. 

But this isn’t about you. This is about her, the young girl that’s pushed herself up awkwardly to sit, still clutching one of the many drained pouches you brought for her. So you wait as stolen color begins to warm her pale skin, as her eyes seem to gain some lucidity.

She swallows, clears her throat, and you reach for another blood pouch, but before you can grasp it, she speaks. 

“Does it ever get easier?” She asks, voice hoarse and low (you are used to this from her) and hesitant and very quiet (you are not used to this).

“What?” You ask, a knee-jerk reaction, overcome with shock that she would ask anything of you after everything you’ve done.

“Th- ugh, never mind, it doesn’t matter,” Her gaze drops to the pouch in her hands, fingers fiddling with its thick, plasticky edges, pinching at the places where it’s sealed and watching the last stubborn dregs of blood shy away from the pressure she applies. 

She looks so small like this, you think for the millionth time since she invited you through the doorway in a blood-starved haze, propped up against the headboard of her bed and tangled in pastel bed sheets. Her dyed hair falls slowly from where she has hastily tied it back, ratty tee shirt and bright pink athletic shorts swamping her malnourished frame. 

“I wish I could tell you it does, Scary,” You say to her, blundering on and overstepping anyway, a habit passed down but not inherited. You can feel the weight of her new-moon eyes on you, hear the way her slightly-tremoring hands pause. 

“Oh,” She says, and that one syllable, soft and fear-edged, holds denial-anger-bargaining- depression-acceptance fifty times over, its very own Atlas upholding a life made much heavier than before. You know this because you have uttered it yourself, the same tone coloring your newly-unliving throat, a few years younger than her, and here its ghost is resurrected before you. Oh. 

“After a while, you adjust to it,” You reassure, “become desensitized to it, in a way. The newness wears off and eventually, it’s your new normal, but it never gets easier.”

You sigh, turning to look at her. “You can’t stop sensing the life in people, and you can’t stop wanting to take it for your own. It’s your nature now, and you can’t -” the words get stuck in your throat as you see her hands start to tremble again. 

You’re unsure if it’s the right move, but you rest an artificially-warm hand atop her corpse-cold one. She doesn’t move to hold it, but she doesn’t push you away either. Her fringe obscures her eyes, and her mouth is drawn into a taut line, as if she’s trying to stop it from wavering. 

“Scary, look at me, please, this is important,” You say, you beg, squeezing her hand once. She lifts her head, one eye still covered by magenta-ebony, but the other pierces into you. Good. 

“You can’t keep fighting yourself like this. Your mom was worried sick, and even though I’m used to this, I was terrified when she called me. I’m sorry you weren’t given the time to be a regular kid with a normal rebellious phase-”

“- It’s not a phase, Terry,” She scoffs halfheartedly, and it brings a smile to your face.

“Not if you don’t want it to be,” You agree. “But I need you to promise me something. I need you to take care of yourself, okay? It’s hard, and it’s gross, and it feels bad sometimes, I know, but I need you to keep going. For your mom, for your friends.” For me, you think selfishly.

“I - I don’t want to keep killing things,” She admits, voice lowered to keep it from wobbling, and it feels like something you aren’t supposed to hear. Scary is a fortress of a girl, and it worries you that going this long without has atrophied her walls where they should be unforgiving. 

You need to treat this moment with care, and a voice that sounds like your mother’s bounces around in your brain as you attempt to tow the line between empathy and care and pity.

“You won’t,” You say, just barely cutting off an oh, honey from the beginning. “Not right now. Maybe you will eventually -” Scary turns a shade paler and you squeeze her hand again. “But I would never ask that of you. There are other ways. I can handle it for now, if you’d like. Or your new friend would probably be more than willing to help.”

Scary shifts on the mattress. “Normal? Uh, yeah, he has already, actually, but I’ve never told him anything and I don’t know how he knows but he’s never asked me about it and it kinda weirds me out-”

“He’s an Oak kid. They have a habit for sniffing things out,” You say, lips curling at your own joke. “He’s a Good Person, they’re nice folks.”

“You seem… really weirdly certain about that.” Scary notes, question implicit.

“I know his father and uncle,” You say, smile nostalgia-tinged. “Childhood friends, actually, we go way back. Small world, huh?”

“Huh,” She says.

“Yeah,” You agree. 

You remember the times you had neglected yourself when you were younger, starving until your vision fuzzed and your stomach panged and you could barely stand. You remember the way that the twins had fussed over you like mother hens. Sparrow would push blood at you while urging you not to drink too much lest you make yourself sick, hold you with his warmth surrounding you and his nose buried into the side of your neck as if reminding himself by scent that you were still there. Lark would stand guard at the threshold, pacing restlessly until you gained your strength back, gold-tinted eyes darting between you and the world beyond, hands balled into clawed fists, protective and vigilant. 

You don’t have the nose that they do, but based solely on the snippets of anecdotes Scary’s mentioned, you wouldn’t be surprised if the two of them were packmates by now. The thought fills you with warm satisfaction. 

You weren’t lying when you said that Normal is a Good Person - in both senses of the phrase. She needs more people in her corner, you think, and Normally Oak-Swallows-Garcia is a decent place to start. 

She moves her hand out from underneath yours, only to brace herself on the mattress to sit up more fully. Her deathly pallor is a little less ashy, her expression a little less open, more lucid. Bloodshot eyes dart to the maroon-filled pouches beside you, and you wordlessly hand her another before she asks.

Scary raises a single slitted brow as she takes it from your grasp, and her hands are still far too cold for your liking, but at least their shaking has subsided.

She carefully pokes a straw through the packaging and sips, eyes going wide and dark before pulling away with a small cough.

Blood hunger is a delicate balance, you have long since learned. The longer you starve yourself, the harder it is to show restraint once you start to feed again.

She takes another small, delicate sip, and clears her throat.

“So,” she starts, “Mom doesn’t… know yet, right? About you.”

The implicit why haven’t you told her, what are you doing, why would you do this to her go unspoken but not unheard, accentuated by her pointed glare. 

(The overgrown child in your mind replies to the latter with two can play at that game, and you quash him down with prejudice.)

You exhale. “No,” You reply.

Veronica is a lovely woman. Too lovely for you, many would argue, including yourself. Beautiful and kind and hardworking and supportive, she is a spot of light for you, who cannot walk in the sun. 

She’s also remarkably headstrong and stubborn, you know. You see it in her daughter, immortalized in her blood: the strength of her gaze, the arch of her brow, the set of her shoulders, the calculated carelessness of her words.

However, Veronica Marlowe is also human - and one unaware of the second world that lies atop (or perhaps beneath) her own, like a second shadow or perhaps a mirage. The world you now inhabit, though you hadn’t always. 

The world her daughter now inhabits, unbeknownst to her.

Though San Dimas is… safe, for your kind (and you are forever grateful to the Wilsons for that), part of you still remains a little boy, rabbit-hearted and afraid of how others might react to you. Honesty and vulnerability had never been your strong suits, but that is no excuse for your cowardice.

“I kept… trying to bring it up,” you start, glancing just to the right of her face, unable to bear the full weight of her gaze. “It’s difficult, trying to tell someone that you’re undead, that you won’t age the way they do.”

Scary looks a bit pale.

“I was going to tell her, of course! That’s always been the plan, once I… knew that it would last. That I would be a more permanent fixture in your lives. I had planned on telling both of you, but then -”

“Then,” she finishes, her frown deepening, taking a small sip from her blood bag.

“Yeah,” You reply, feeling rather helpless. “Then.”

“Hey,” Scary says, and you look up at her. 

“You’re not, like… two hundred years old or something, right?”

The question shocks a burst of laughter out of you.

“God. Fuck no, absolutely not. No, I’m not that much older than I look. Oh, ew, I’m sorry if you thought-” She’s smiling, just a little, and a lopsided bit of fang pokes out from between closed lips.

“Okay, thank fuck. Not that I don’t still hate you for, like, getting with my mom, or whatever, ugh,” she grumbles, which is fair, you think. “Just, like, how -”

“Thirty-nine,” you answer for her. “I’m thirty-nine years old.”

“You’re younger than her?” She asks, bewildered. “I mean, I had kinda figured, since you… y’know,” she says, gesturing a hand at her own face. “Initially. But that was before I knew any of this.”

You simply nod in response.

Scary looks like she wants to ask something more, then disguises it with another sip at the pouch. She looks down, considering, and you wait.

“How,” she says, voice coming out strangled. A pause. “How young were you? Wh… when it happened?”

Something in you softens. Or breaks. It’s hard to tell, these days.

“Thirteen,” You tell her.

Her gaze snaps up to meet yours.

“Really?”

“Really.” 

A thousand things push with each pulse of your stolen heartbeat, beating against your ribcage and rising up your throat.

I know what it’s like, to be young and angry and seeking a darkness to match the one inside your head. I get it. I can help you. You will get past this, but it’s hard. It’s so terribly, horribly hard, growing up when you know that you’ll never grow old, and it sucks shit, and I’m sorry. You’re not alone. You have me, if you invite me, but I would never ask that of you.

Her eyes bore into your own, and you wonder if she can somehow read your thoughts.

Maybe she doesn’t need to.

“When you tell her -” she sighs, growls to herself, looks up again.

“When you tell her, do you think we could tell her together?”

You smile, and it’s a fanged, monstrous thing.

“Yeah,” You respond, and though you haven’t fed yet today, you feel oddly warm. “I’d like that.”

Your smile is returned, fanged and monstrous and headstrong and bright.

“I thought you might.” 

[cookies-over-yonder]

the red on my face is matching you

dedicated to @officialgleamstar

[title from The Red Means I Love You by Madds Buckley]

"If I can't make you a vampire, can I at least give you a makeover?" Taylor asks, with a mischievous glint in her eye. And, of course, Link obliges. ✧*.♡.*✧ DnDads Halloween Week Day 1: Vampires

ao3

✧*.♡.*✧

"I wish you could be like me," Taylor whines, wrapping her arms around Link and sighing oh so dramatically.

"What do you mean, honey?" Link asks, carding her fingers through Taylor's hair. She's cold, as per usual.

"You know," she tilts her head toward Link, opens her mouth, and points a claw-like finger at her right fang.

"Like a vampire?"

"Yeah! Then we could be together forever, y'know?" she pouts, and Link's gaze drops from her sparkly eyelids to her blood-red lips, being tugged at a little by her sharp fangs. The lipstick has a little shimmer to it. Link knew she'd like that when she bought it for her. If she were drawing blood right now, it would be nearly invisible.

"Well, you have me right now, and you'll have me for a while."

"True…" she says, running her gaze up and down Link in that way she always does. A hand snakes its way down Link's arm, and they're locking fingers, and Taylor's eyes are fixed on the grip they have on each other.

A smile creeps onto her face, and she looks back up with a mischievous glint in her eye.

"What is it?"

"If I can't make you a vampire, can I at least give you a makeover?"

"A makeover?"

"Like, like, like, I wanna do your nails!" she giggles, and it's the cutest sound.

"O—oh!" Link feels herself grow warmer. She's always flustered at the thought of getting her nails done or wearing makeup and jewelry and dresses, but she's never known where to start.

"Can I? Please?" Taylor asks, pulling her hand out of Link's hold and making grabby hands at her, all complete with the sound of her long, glittery black and red rhinestoned nails clacking together.

Link feels her own mouth curling into a smile. Taylor's excitement has always been most infectious. "Ye—yeah, sure!"

"Yay, oh my god," she grabs Link's arm and pulls her off the couch, starting toward her bedroom hurriedly, dragging Link along. "Let's go!"

Soon enough, Link is sitting on Taylor's bed, surrounded by body pillows, some of which have red lipstick stains she pointedly ignores.

"Okay, here we go!" she says, plopping down a gigantic box on the bed. She takes the lid off and gestures for Link to come look. "Heh, check these out."

It's filled to the brim with nail polish of every colour imaginable, and there's a little clear case of what Link assumes are gems and stickers.

"What colour do you wanna try?"

Link doesn't know. She's never really… worn nail polish before. In fact, before Taylor, there were a lot of things she'd never done, and a lot of things she hadn't realized about herself and about the world.

"I have no idea…"

"Hmm, I guess I could surprise you…" she smirks, and the crinkle of joy in her eyes tells Link the answer.

"Do that. Yes."

Link watches Taylor pull out a few bottles: a few clear, one red, one black, and one white. She pulls out the box of gems as well, and digs to the bottom of the box to find a few tiny metal tools for which Link knows not the use.

Then she clicks the lid back onto the box, and grabs Link's hands, placing them flat on top of it. The sudden feeling of her cold hands startled Link for a moment, but she's grown used to the temperature, and truly finds it rather comforting and grounding in contrast to her warm body temperature.

"Hold still," she says, in a low, almost whispery voice that sends a shiver down Link's spine, and then she holds her hand so gently, with her claw-like nails just barely grazing the back of her hand and the inside of her palm, and Link can feel electric tingles all the way up her arm.

The nail polish is cold. It's not as cold as Taylor's hand, but it is cold. It's a nice feeling. She's careful and precise with each brush stroke, and her eyes glow a fiery red that would make Link weak at the knees had she not already sat down.

Link finds her eyes fluttering shut. It's cool. It's safe. Taylor is here.

Link remembers the feeling of Taylor's fangs grazing against her neck, but never piercing the skin. She knew how Taylor wanted to. Wanted to bite, wanted to transform her, wanted to spend eternity in vampire bliss with her, wanted, wanted, wanted her blood.

And, well, Link wanted to give that, she did, but she just couldn't. She can't.

And Taylor, she respects it.

A little tune breaks the silence. It's definitely an anime opening, Link knows that much. Taylor's humming to herself, or maybe to Link, as she paints.

This is bliss.

If someone had told young Lincoln Li-Wilson that not only would she be a girl, but she'd have a cute vampire girlfriend painting her nails and serenading her on a bed surrounded by lipstick stained body pillows, well…

Actually, she might have believed it.

It's not too far-fetched, all things considered.

"What are you giggling about?" Taylor asks, and Link's eyes snap open.

She hadn't realized she'd been laughing.

"I was just thinking about you."

"What about me?" Taylor asks, bringing her gaze up from the nails to lock eyes with Link, and that same fiery gaze burns bright, and Link feels her heart catch fire.

"You're pretty…"

"Heh, you're pretty too," she says before turning her attention back to the task at hand.

Link feels the same flutters she always feels in the presence of that word. Pretty . She wants to be pretty. Girls are pretty. Taylor is pretty.

Link is pretty.

"I'm gonna put some gems on."

"Alright."

Link's gaze flickers to her nails for a moment before she closes her eyes once more, not wanting to spoil the surprise.

She can feel Taylor adjusting the placement of the gems, and she's so careful with it. She's always been like that. As eager and hyper and impulsive as she can be, she's gentle and cautious whenever necessary.

"You have nice nails," she says.

"I do?" Link replies, eyes still closed.

"Yeah."

"I always felt like they were too short, but I can't stop biting them."

"Heh, I know what that's like, but no, I mean the shape, and like, they're strong. That's good."

"Nice."

"Yeah, and the length is cute too. If you ever want longer nails, though, I have some fake ones I could give you."

"I may take you up on that."

She giggles, and it sends another shiver down Link's spine. "Yay!"

"Yay."

"I'm almost done."

"You work fast."

"You lose track of time."

"Maybe so."

Link feels Taylor press her lips against the backs of her hands, each with a vocalized "mwah" in accompaniment.

"Open your eyes."

And she does.

The thumbnails are black, with red blobs dripping from the tips to the centres, like blood. Spooky.

Her left index finger is red, and her right index finger is black, and there's a row of gemstones increasing in size from the tips down to the bases of the nails.

The middle fingers are split across the centre with red and black on either side. There are two teardrop shaped gemstones on each nail, placed in such a way that they form a small heart.

The ring fingers are a gradient from red to black, with red at the base and black at the tip. But on top of that, there's white circles with small black gemstones placed atop them, almost resembling…

" Soccer balls! "

"Yeah! Cute, right? Honestly, I've been wanting to do your nails for so long, because I always had this specific vision of doing exactly that, and I just knew you would love it—"

"I love you so much ."

"I love you too, my angel," Taylor says, in the same sly yet flirty voice she takes on every now and then.

"Why do you call me that?"

"'Cause you are one. Simple truth."

"I guess I can't argue with the truth."

"You're right."

Link looks back at her nails for a second. The pinkie nails are half black and half white, much like the ring fingers, except that with these ones, the base is black, and the tip is white. as opposed to being split vertically.

"These are so cute. Thank you so much."

"Heh, anything for you," she says, picking up the box and dropping it next to her bed. The bottles she used on Link are still on the blankets, but they're all sealed, so no spillage should occur. "What do you wanna do next?" she asks, and Link's eyes trace the outline of her face. Her sparkly eyelids, her artificially rosy, glittery pink cheeks, her blood-red shimmering lips…

"You know, I—I know I got that lipstick for you, but I kinda wanna try it on."

"Oh, we can do that. I have a special way of applying it, you know," she says, crawling closer to Link, and closing the gap between them where the box once was.

"Oh yeah?" Link asks, her hands itching to wrap around Taylor's waist as she feels Taylor's hands slide up her arms and up her neck to hold her cheeks.

"Don't wreck your nails," she whispers, and Link can feel Taylor's breath against her own.

"I won't, I promise," she whispers back, holding her hands out in front of her with wet, cold nails.

And Taylor leans in, and Link's lips are shimmery and red in no time at all.

✧*.♡.*✧

[hermanunworthy]

!DNDADS S2 EP41 SPOILERS!

hoooo boy im not gonna be able to listen to this episode normally after seeing the cast irl. im freaking out

- was the "part 1" in last eps title just a joke then? i thought it was gonna be a two parter

- ARE THEY SERIOUSLY GOING TO HEAVEN??? i thought shmegan said heaven isnt real. oh wait i just remembered brad said he went to heaven. hm. this will be interesting

- IF RON REALLY IS IN HEAVEN THAT MEANS HE GETS TO BE W ROGUE. HE. WAAAAA 😭

- okay time to actually start the episode

- the fact that they actually fell for anthonys trap is so adorable tbh THEY WERE SO EXCITED

- i love how they laughed over lincolns new intro AGAIN

- so funny how beth brings up that scary fact right after i wounded myself by cutting bread 😭 ur right beth. it is all about pain.

- i just realized scam pulled a mascot related scam. like father like sondaughter

- SCAMS SOLDIERS ARE THE CAST OF FAMILY GUY.

- LEVEL UP!! wonder what theyre gonna change

- SHES GONNA BE A BAD GIRL!!! :3

- "u gotta find ur own way, u gotta do it ur style, dood!" normals talking to dood the way he talks to hermie im gonna throw up

- HOLY SHIT WILL AND FREDDIE BRAIN CONNECTION AGAIN

- what a christian episode this is we got heaven AND santa claus

- WAIT DIDNT THEY ESTABLISH BEFORE THAT ST NICK IS NICKY

- WHY IS FUCKING SANTAS VOICE JUST HERMIE

- okay nvm its becoming more its own thing

- why does santa seem like another likely

- THE PETER THING HAS ME SCREAMING WTF IS THID PODCASTTT

- 20 minutes in no hermie yet (im insane)

- LINCOLNS NEW PERSONA IS KILLIBG ME DUDE

- HERMIE!!!!!!

- i have lost track of freddies garbage can plan shidjk

- guys swiftlis ship name is foot buddies now /j

- DID WILL JUST SAY "BREAD" INSTEAD OF BLOOD

- NOT ANOTHER LINCOLN VOICE CHANGE

- ANTHONY. AMERICAN DAD WORKS FOR THE GOVERNMENT.

- OUCH TERRY JR REMINDER

- STILL MAD THAT FREDDIE WASNT WEARING HEELS AT THE LIVE SHOW

- OH MY GOR NORMALS GOING OVER TO HERMIE OH MY GOD

- RON FUCKING STAMPLER!!!!!!

- ROGUE???? OH MY GODDDD

- ROGUE SOLOS EVERYONE

- THIS IS BETHS FUCKING SHOW NOW

- THEYRE ALL GONNA RIDE ON ROGUE AWWW

- WERE FINALLY GETTING SCARY AND RON INTERACTION

- HE FAKED HIS DEATH SO GOOD THAT HE DIED

- ERIN IS DEAD???

- TERRY JR TALKED TO RON ABOUT SCARY WHAT IF I CRIED

- SCARYS GONNA TELL HIM ABOUT TERRY JR. OH GOD. OH GOD I CANT DO THIS

- HE KNOWS. HE ALREADY KNOWS. IM GONNA CRY

- "im sorry that u dont realize that it is ur loss" OKAY YEP IM CRYING

- NOOOOO DOOD

- WHAT IS W BETH AND ALL THESE 11S

- HOLY SHIT NOT THEM DROPPING ALL THEIR SAD COPING MECHANISMS

- THE KIDDADS ARE ONLY JUST NOW REALIZING THAT THEY NEED TO BE BETTER PARENTS.

- LINCOLN STRAIGHT UP CALLING FOR GOD

- IF DOOD DRINKS THE POTION AND HAS MEMORIES OF SPARROW IM GOING TO FUCKING DIE

- THEYRE GONNA FIND THE REST OF THE GRANDDADS???

- SO WE FINALLY KNOW THEYRE STILL ALIVE. AT LONG LAST

[foundthe8wing]

Okay, doing this over here because my main tumblr is usually a place for me to vibe and I don’t want all the bullshit tied to that account, but basically: I’m really angry and disappointed with the dndads cast for how they’ve put a lot of the minors in their fanbase in danger. Everything below is a repost from twitter (with permission from the OP, crypticjoy), and I’ll link the thread in a reblog. 

Under a cut because it’s long and potentially triggering (content warnings for grooming, sexualizing minors, and sexual assault)

[OP tagged the relevant cast accounts; I added slashes here bc I’m not sure if those same urls exist on tumblr and I don’t want to be randomly tagging people over here]

5:49 PM Sep 5, 2020

“I don’t usually do this, but: the way that the cast of @/dungeonsanddads engages with their audience is actively dangerous to minors, and they need to get it together. (cw for discussion of grooming, sexualizing minors, sexual assault)

First off, there are some iffy jokes and situations in the podcast itself. I’m not going to get into all of it right here, but have a google doc: [doc will also be linked in reblog]

Yes, the kids in #dndads are fictional, but that doesn’t mean this stuff doesn’t affect real kids listening. a. it normalizes talking/joking about kids in that way and b. There’s a lot of inconsistancy and confusion on the lines they draw--

Paeden saying “baby” is weird but Ron sitting in Terry Jr’s lap isn’t? I’m confused. You know who the fuck relies on that type of confusion and unclarity? Fucking predators

And I’m not saying every in-character decision has to be perfectly moral or acceptable, but the way the cast, out of character, discuss what’s weird and what’s not sends a lot of mixed messages. And that’s legitimately dangerous.

So then you take all of this, and you add a patron discord server that lets nsfw discussions run virtually unchecked--you create a fandom space that allows adults to discuss kinks, and porn searches, and just, all this other stuff, with teenagers...

... and it becomes a breeding ground for grooming and abuse.

The creators aren’t responsible for babysitting their fanbase or for how people engage with their content outside of their spaces (though, again, I’d urge them to be very careful about what kind of messages they’re sending)

But  they ARE responsible for taking basic steps to keep the spaces that THEY create and engage with safe.

“But the rules for the server say 18+!” The rules say you have to be 18 *or have parental permission.* They also say to keep things PG-13. That’s vastly different than establishing something as an adult-only/nsfw space.

“Minors shouldn’t be joining/listening anyway!” The cast can’t control who listens and neither can I, but there’s a difference between knowing teens are listening to you discuss sex with your adult friends vs facilitating conversations between teens and adults on those topics.

“If people are uncomfortable they can just leave.” First off, this situation isn’t just uncomfortable, it’s unSAFE. Second: fuck that. It’s not on minors to set and maintain boundaries about this stuff; a lot of them literally do not know how

Not because they’re stupid, but because they’re young and inexperienced. It’s the responsibility of adults to set and enforce healthy boundaries around sexual discussions, and this particular group of adults has done a fucking terrible job

(Maybe don’t encourage listeners to DM you about kinks! Maybe especially don’t do that when you’ve communicated, intentionally or not, that making and escalating sexual jokes is a really good way to get a reaction from you guys)

I get that they didn’t expect to have so many young listeners, but to be aware of that fact and make no adjustments whatsoever is irresponsible and it WILL lead to someone getting hurt. Does their “young, thirsty, female” audience only exist to them when they can laugh about it?

And let’s be absolutely 1000% clear: this isn’t an issue they’re unaware of. The stuff I’m talking about is an ongoing problem with how their server is run, but it came to a head with one specific situation very recently:

They released a bonus, patron-exclusive episode about the dads taking the bdsm test. Given the general state of the server, I was worried about where those discussions might lead, so before it dropped, I reached out to @/anthony_burch to express my concern

He told me he raised the issue with @/fwong and Ashley, meaning at least three members of the dndads team were aware of the situation, and decided it didn’t warrant any type of preemptive action on their part

(alternatively, it means Anthony lied, which would be a whole separate issue)

[Image ID: a discord DM conversation from Sep 1, 2020, between a crossed out username and reverendanthony. It reads: 

OP: heyyyyy have you guys considered that releasing an episode focused on the bdsm test is almost inevitably going to lead to a bunch of 15 year olds sharing their results in your server because you might want to get ahead of that before someone gets hurt

reverendanthony: oh holy shit, really good idea

OP: thanks, I know it's easy to veer into that territory just because of the nature of your show but I wanted to bring it to your attention because I figured you don't want to create a situation that's like, actively dangerous (and for the record I'm willing to discuss what I think would make it safer but I'm also not going to assume you want/need my input, obviously you can handle it however you see fit)

reverendanthony: No, thank you for bring it up, I really appreciate it -- I just raised the issue with Freddie and Ashley

OP: Good to know, thank you /End ID]

I’m not overreacting. I have seen this shit happen, to my friends and to myself, and watching the dndads cast take absolutely no meaningful action to prevent situations like that from occurring directly under their noses makes me fucking livid

I can guarantee that the #dungeonsanddaddies fanbase includes both predators and survivors of abuse, grooming, etc (including those currently living through it), and I need them to think very, very hard about which group they’re prioritizing.

And I need that choice to be evident through more than just their words, because it doesn’t fucking matter how much you “really appreciate” that I brought up my concerns if you do fuck-all to address them.

It doesn’t matter how many times you say the word “consent” if apparently everyone was okay that “Darryl gets sexually assaulted” was almost a plot point played for laughs.

(His dare from Scam  would have been rape, straight up. Just because no one said the word doesn’t mean it wasn’t coercive and gross).

I’d like to think the @/dungeonsanddads cast isn’t intentionally encouraging abuse, but they’re sure as hell enabling it, and they needed to get their shit together ages ago, because they’re not the ones their negligence hurts.”

Quote retweet by OP 6:51 PM Sep 7, 2020

“So, they updated the rules for the patron server, but I want to be really clear that from my perspective, it’s way too little, way too late. 

The new rules don’t adequately address the core issues and they certainly don’t absolve the cast of the harm they’ve already caused. 

[Tweet includes 2 screenshots: one of a bot asking people to click thumbs up to confirm they’re 18+ (or have a parent’s permission) and agree to the rules, and one that includes two of the rules. It reads: 

“This is an 18+ space. Them’s the rules: per Patreon’s policy, you must be 18+ or have parental permission.

Use language as if you’re at your parents dinner table. Don’t get people in trouble because of your SPICY POSTS. Keep conversation polite. NSFW content is not allowed!”]

(and before anyone says I should bring up my concerns privately, a quick refresher on how well that went last time I did it:) 

[links back to the “(alternatively, it means Anthony lied . . .)” tweet from the original thread]

So hey, @/fwong, some thoughts:

1.The rules are vague and unclear: what /exactly/ do you mean when you say “NSFW content is not allowed!” when the content of your show itself is so often nsfw? And how are you planning to enforce this?

Does it mean you’ll shut down the MBIC conversation that is literally just kink discussion? I need you to be clear on where the line is, because, again, predators rely on that confusion. Don’t give them a gray area to play in. 

For an example of a more clear policy, it’s pretty easy to say, “yep, ‘Henry gets pegged’ sure is a sentence we said on our show and you don’t have to pretend it’s not, but if you’d like to discuss it in any more detail at all, you need to move”

2. Remember how I said I needed to be clear on whether you’re prioritizing survivors or predators? While I doubt it was intentional, the language you’re using here is prioritizing predators.

It’s not “don’t get people in trouble,” it’s “don’t make people uncomfortable.” It’s “we all have a responsibility to make sure this space is safe for everyone, especially the younger members of the community.”

You’re setting people up to be afraid of expressing concerns for fear of “getting people in trouble” or “inciting unnecessary drama.” Even if it’s not what YOU meant, it’s very easy for those words to be manipulated, so +

You absolutely have to be explicitly clear that if someone expresses their discomfort, you’ve got their back. Being safe is more important than being polite. 

3. I need every cast member to take responsibility for their own actions. I’ve gotten no indication from any of you that you understand the ways in which the in-show things I brought up were harmful.

Acknowledging that harm is important not just because of the immediate effects of that content, but also because it implicitly sets an example for how similar complaints should be dealt with going forward.

When someone says “hey, I was uncomfortable that you seem fine with the Glennary ship, because she reads as very young to me,” I don’t need a dissertation on how the perception of characters can evolve due to your improvisational nature

I need to hear “oh, I interpreted her differently, but you’re right, we should have been more clear, and I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable.” Because your responses to your own mistakes set the tone for any other situations like that going forward.

How comfortable is someone going to be with coming to you, or Ash, or any of the mods about someone making them uncomfortable if they’ve seen that when people call YOU out, they’re argued with and shut down?

Don’t tell people you’ve “made it clear that you won’t go there” when they tell you that you ARE there. Listen to them and do better. 

Set the expectation that people will be respected when they raise their concerns. “If you want to come at me you have to bring the heat” is not an appropriate response on a subject that made people genuinely uncomfortable. 

In essence: set people up to be supported and protected, not dismissed. 

[It’s like a matriosche of tweets over here. This one links to another thread, also by crypticjoy. That thread reads:

A non-comprehensive guide to keeping discord servers safe for minors:

1. Make designated channels for nsfw/18+ discussion. Generally speaking, this is a lot more effective than banning those discussions altogether, because it’s a lot easier to say “hey, can you move this conversation?” than “hey, I need you to stop”

In fandom spaces, it’s usually a good idea to have separate channels for talking about nsfw fiction vs discussing your personal sex lives.

2. Give everyone minor/adult roles; make sure your 18+ channels are locked to people who don’t have an adult role. It’s important that there’s more of a barrier there than just checking a box.

3. NSFW channels shouldn’t necessarily be a free-for-all; be aware of people’s boundaries and respect them (for example, r*pe jokes aren’t funny or okay, even if you’re not making them around kids)

4. Explicitly state in your rules that people should feel free to come to mods if anyone is making them uncomfortable. Actually listen to people and resolve the situation if they do approach you.

5. Make it clear that creepy behavior via DMs or other means is also not tolerated--you can’t control what people do outside your server, but you can make the choice to not allow people like that in your space

6. Make sure mods are on top of things BEFORE people have to say anything; sometimes being a mod means being willing to be the “asshole” who shuts things down before they get out of hand, even if they’re not asked.

Be generally aware of signals that people are uncomfortable or that things are escalating too far, and address those situations sooner rather than later.

*It should be noted that safety involves a lot of components beyond just containing nsfw discussions; this thread just happens to be focused on that one specific element.

oh also! It's a good idea to provide resources on grooming so people know what to look out for [links to some resources; again, this’ll be in the reblog]]

So, @/dungeonsanddads, if you’re interested in anything beyond just having a flimsy excuse you can point to to cover your own ass, I’m gonna need you to try again.

Sorry I can’t be nicer about it, but I’ve given so many benefits of the doubt I could be running a successful charity, and this isn’t an issue I’m willing to drop. 

10:02 PM

Thought I was done but actually I've got a few more questions: to what extent were @/HeyBethMay, @/WillBCampos, and @/mattLarnold included in conversations about this issue/the new rules? Is this something your whole team is involved in?

Have you discussed what you're doing on a team and individual basis to keep your fan interactions safe, and are you on the same page about how much it matters? Are you holding each other accountable? Is everyone okay with where this ended up?”

[ma-lark-ey]

DnDads fandom, here’s some food for thought for you. 

You keep telling Anthony you want representation, that you want more diversity, you want characters confirmed as fandom wide headcanons, whatever. You tell him you want more. 

But, these same blogs that say these things reblog posts on the “men writing women” memes and rant on cis people writing trans characters and white people writing POC and whatever else, so let me off you this. 

If you were a content creator, and your fans were asking you for representation, while on the same note saying how people who aren’t [people group] can never get [people group] right, what would possess you to take that step to provide that? I want you to genuinely think about that, because as a content creator who prides themself on putting in the kinds of characters I’ve heard people cry for in my stories, seeing those kinds of things is very discouraging. Because, I, as a white person know my portrayal of a POC is never going to be as good as POC want it to be, but all I can do is try  my very best and listen to them on their critiques and turn around what I did wrong. 

I’m not saying Anthony is justified in the lack of diversity in NPCs, but you guys need to understand that when you tell him to provide diversity then also complain that [majority group] never portray [minority group] right is not helping your case. All you’re gonna do is discourage him from providing that. 

If you need evidence, here’s an actual Talking Dads quote form Anthony on Trans Nick and other fandom wide headcanons  ( I did not transcribe this scene, i thank my Discord friend for sending me this. I don’t know your Tumblr but if you see this just drop a say so in the notes) 

“Anthony: Oh wow. There are a lot of ones I like that are almost exclusively about gender and orientations and stuff like that. Of like, oh yeah maybe Nick is trans or or or any of those kinds of things. Cause those, it’s always like, not not that I would ever take those because uh, uh, and, make them part of the main canon just because I feel like that might- I don’t trust myself to not make that appropriative and weird. But I love that people from marginalized communities are taking those characters and being like “he’s ours now!”

Beth: Yeah. 

Anthony: ‘Nick, he’s- he’s black and he’s a trans man and Glenn loves him and it’s not a big deal.’ And like, all that kind of stuff.”

I’m sympathetic to sentiments like this, because this was my writing until this very year. My thought process was “I won’t write POC because I, as a white person, might fuck it up” and that thought process is only made so much stronger when if you do fuck up, no matter how minor or how severe, you’re met with nothing but inbox spam and threats and hostility. If you want response; use your words politely. When you attack them, nothing will change. Attacking does nothing but make them fear their own fans, and that’s genuinely not what we want. I know that’s not what we want. This callout/cancel culture people have created in this little fandom is so toxic, to both us and the dads. 

If you’re gonna ask something of the dads, do it nicely. Don’t come for their throats. If you, YOU personally, have sent them the same message multiple times and have no response after a couple weeks; then you get rights to get more aggressive. Not when you’re posting one call out on their Twitter.com and do nothing but yell and accuse. That’s not accomplishing anything. 

If I, a fifteen year old, find myself using more tact in these posts than grown ass adults, there’s definitely a problem here. And it’s not the dads. 

You wanna know that dads aren’t giving representation? Because they’re scared of fucking it up, they’re scared you ADULTS are going to come for their throats at the smallest mistake and continue to turn their fanbase into a warzone. Don’t make it a warzone. 

You know how you fix that? Approach them. Message them on some platform. Just say; Hey, I know your fans want [character] to be [minority group] and if you wanted help in learning how to confirm that, I am [minority group] and I’d be willing to help you.

It’s that easy! Wow! 

Because, honestly, even a sensitivity director can’t be perfectly knowledgeable on every single minority group. 

If you want your kind of minority group represented in DnDads, god dammit reach out to the cast and offer your input. Not you may not be an authority on your minority group, or some kind of genius on it, but one of those people reaching out and offering advice based on their own experiences is often much better than nothing. 

Like, the other day on twitter someone said, “Hey, Jenna and Anthony! I noticed you called Ratticus Finch ‘agendered’ and that’s not a perfect term for all nonbinary people, so I would suggest putting in some more research on terms before the next episode.” And THAT’S how you approach topics at first, not screaming and yelling. That’s how you put in advice. That’s how you provide criticism. 

I said when I first started talking about discourse that the adults are the problem, and i still stand by that. Because I am yet to see anyone under the age of 25 acting like this. Anyone younger I’ve seen on this has been tactful, and polite. Which really shows the difference in generations. It’s sad. 

I hold hope in the hosts, because they’ve made steps to change in the past. And they’re only gonna take the issues one hurdle at a time, you can’t expect everything to be managed all at once, they have to pace themselves or else they’re going to get burned out and that’s worse. 

And if this podcast at the moment is not up to your standards? That’s fine. Walk. Away Come check back in in a few months if you still hold interest and see if it’s what you want to associate yourself with. Just stop attacking the hosts, criticize and construct them instead. 

You get nothing out of tearing others down, only more destruction. 

[mxalexwhat]

I posted 1,334 times in 2021

150 posts created (11%)

1184 posts reblogged (89%)

For every post I created, I reblogged 7.9 posts.

I added 166 tags in 2021

#about me - 47 posts

#dndaddies - 24 posts

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Longest Tag: 139 characters

#but i know for sure i was listening to these in 2004 because bring me to life (wake me up inside) by evanescence had just come out recently

My Top Posts in 2021

#5

you know, in 2021, I didn’t expect somebody to tell me that my father failed me and now that I’m grown, he has no power over me, and that I’ve always been worthy and its time for me to rise up, love myself, and be my own soul. 

nor did I expect that person to be Ganondorf in a Legend of Zelda fancomic by @figmentforms. but somehow, it feels right. thanks, Ganon.

128 notes • Posted 2021-03-11 22:29:31 GMT

#4

I love that how when Jodie Foster cast

honestly now when anybody casts

Zone of Truth

it is officially known as

the Clint McElroy Special

130 notes • Posted 2021-02-12 18:31:11 GMT

#3

I have relistened to Freddie saying "goblin deez nuts" at least 1,865 times now. The audacity, the tenacity, the absolute gall, the sheer stupidity, the inelegant temerity, the fucking balls on Glenn Close

245 notes • Posted 2021-06-27 19:24:28 GMT

#2

Y'ALL

RAYA AND THE LAST DRAGON

LESBIAN

ENEMIES TO LOVERS

315 notes • Posted 2021-03-05 04:04:33 GMT

#1

Basic things to understand about filming with prop guns:

Prop guns are either fake rubber props that do not discharge anything, or real guns that are loaded with blanks.

Blanks, which consist of gun powder and paper, can still cause injury or death. No blanks should ever be used in close range and no real ammunition should ever even be anywhere on set.

When a prop gun is on set, it is only to be handled by the armorer when it is not in the hands of the actor for the scene

Before a prop gun is handed to the actor, it must be checked by the armorer that there is no ammunition. If there is no ammunition, the armorer says, "cold gun," and the cast and crew confirm they heard this by repeating, "cold gun."

Actors using prop guns are required to rehearse with the armorer and stunt coordinator and/or fight choreographer several times just before filming any scene it is used in.

Basic things to understand about the Rust film set shooting:

Rust is a western film about an accidental killing and it's aftermath starring Alec Baldwin and Jensen Ackles, filmed in Santa Fe on the Bonanza Creek Ranch, a place known for western films.

There were at least 2 other confirmed misfire incidents during filming prior to this incident, one of which involved Baldwin's stunt double, who fired a gun that he had been told was cold.

A production unit manager received a text before the incident: "We've had 3 accidental discharges. This is super unsafe."

Several crew members had walked off the set just hours prior, citing unsafe working conditions including COVID and gun safety violations. Several who did not walk off were ordered off by producers. Many of these crew were replaced with nonunion workers.

Assistant Director David Halls picked up a prop gun from a cart prepared by Armorer Hannah Guttierez Reed and said, "cold gun," before handing it to Baldwin. The cast and crew repeated "cold gun" as per the rule.

Cinematographer Halyna Hutchins was crouched behind a camera operator on a dolly, setting up the camera angle for the scene. Director Joel Souza was crouched behind her.

Baldwin, Hutchins, and Souza rehearsed the scene once without incident.

They rehearsed the scene a second time when a live round fired, narrowly missing the camera operator, striking and passing through Hutchins' chest before finally hitting Souza in the shoulder.

Baldwin dropped the gun and cried out, "Why did you give me a hot gun?" presumably at Halls or Reed.

Reed took the weapon and removed the spent bullet casing before giving it to police.

Souza was taken by ambulance to the hospital where he was released later that day.

Hutchins was airlifted to the hospital where she was pronounced dead on arrival.

Baldwin has been cooperating with police in the investigation.

The American Society of Cinematographers president Stephen Lighthill stated, "This was not an accident. This was a preventable incident... Somebody didn't do their job."

EDIT: an ask I answered about live rounds in prop guns

18449 notes • Posted 2021-10-23 04:11:26 GMT

Get your Tumblr 2021 Year in Review →

[happi-tree]

kiss me on the sidewalk (take away the pain)

Taylor’s dealt with enough of this tragic angst bullshit for a lifetime.

So when he hears a large thump behind him and whirls around to see Lincoln Li-Wilson collapsed on the cracked sidewalk and bleeding profusely with no healers in sight, Taylor doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, because this is not how things are supposed to go.

Or: Lincoln takes a hit for Taylor, and Taylor is left alone to hold his friend together until help arrives.

ao3

Hi, guys, new dndads fic! Wanted to get this one out before the episode drops and just barely made it in time. Enjoy some swiftli hurt/comfort!

Being the main character is not all it’s cracked up to be, sometimes.

Sometimes, you grow up never knowing your dad, but it’s all super cool because he abandoned you erased your memories of him for the plot left to protect you. Just another reason why it makes sense that Taylor Swift is the chosen one.

Well, not the Chosen One, but Taylor and his friends chose this for themselves (since nobody else was getting shit done), and he kind of thinks that’s cooler. 

Anyway. Taylor is the main character of this story (because fuck Normal, real life is anime if he has anything to say about it), and he has plenty of tragedy that enables him to back this theory up. 

Taylor’s nearly died a handful of times - to the point where he’s literally had his head severed from his body. He’s watched his father get cut in half, and most recently, his mom lost nearly her whole arm since he let his arch-nemesis (Willy, that fucker) get too close.

The point is, Taylor’s seen enough jacked-up shit at this point, and he can just feel the way that they’re nearly through with their quest. All that’s left, really, is to put the Big Bad in his place (six feet under, of course) and then they can timeskip to where he and his friends are all older and happy and maybe some of them are dating or married or have kids and they all meet up for dinner and drinks once a month. 

Taylor’s dealt with enough of this tragic angst bullshit for a lifetime. 

So when he hears a large thump behind him and whirls around to see Lincoln Li-Wilson collapsed on the cracked sidewalk and bleeding profusely with no healers in sight, Taylor doesn’t quite believe what he’s seeing, because this is not how things are supposed to go. 

Golden strands of magic arc like lightning from Link’s outstretched hand toward one of the two dozen or so Doodlerized assailants that Willy decided to sic on them, and Taylor keeps its phoenix-bright comet-tail in his peripheral vision. 

Just looking at Link’s light directly is enough to blind Taylor, he’s found, sprinting forward with a silent casting of Zephyr Strike as the spell goes wide. 

Heh. Looks like Taylor’s newfound foe is too disoriented to prepare themself. 

With two quick flashes of his blade, another body drops to the ground.

Taylor quickly divests the corpse of its gun and wills his hands to stop shaking as he flicks the safety on and pockets the weapon, turning on his heel and running back for his friend.

“H-hey, you got ‘im,” Link says weakly as Taylor kneels down in front of him. “Good job.”

“Thanks. Fuck,” Taylor says, with feeling, as he wracks his brain for any information from the countless survivalist’s first aid books he’s read over the years and coming up short because there is so much blood. Because there is a veritable puddle of red blooming around Link, and his jersey is absolutely soaked in crimson, and this really, really doesn’t look good. 

Link needs Normal. Sparrow. Some sort of healer. Right fucking now. 

This is bad, this is so, so bad.

“Norm!” Taylor yells, really wishing that he had the Message spell or a goddamn cell phone right now. “We could really use some heals over here, man!”

No response, which is typical, seeing as how Normal and Scary appear to be entangled with fending off their own Doodlerized opponents, and the various father figures and Dood are similarly occupied. They’re also all on the far reaches of the mall parking lot, which is, you know, par for the course at this point.

Of course having a nice, regular time introducing Dood to the concept of the teenage mall hangout would go disastrously wrong. Because clearly it was getting too slice-of-life-y in here. 

Of-fucking-course. 

Link inhales sharply, and Taylor’s attention snaps back to him. Link’s trying to apply pressure to the wound, hands clasped over a spot on his side and desperately attempting to keep the blood inside his body where it belongs. Taylor feels a little nauseous when he realizes his friend’s long fingers are covered in the stuff, partially-coagulated bits of his own gore caking his fingernails, smeared across his knuckles, still leaking through his hands and adding to the dark pool beneath him. The air smells suffocatingly like warm metal. 

Taylor slings his go bag off his shoulder, tears through its contents until he finds a wad of medical gauze (not nearly heavy-duty enough to be effective against this, Taylor really should’ve stocked up on better supplies ages ago when they started this saving-the-world shit, but at least it’s better than nothing), and leans over his friend. “Hey,” he says, voice sharp and clipped in a way Taylor himself hardly recognizes, “let me.”

He pries one of Link’s hands away just enough to fit the whole roll of white fabric, places his hand on top of it, unfolds it a little bit to cover as much of the bullet wound as he can. He presses down hard (perhaps a bit too hard, if the way Link grunts is any indication).

“Sorry,” Taylor mutters, because he is, because it’s all he feels like he’s been saying lately. 

Sorry Willy fucked with your head, Scary. Sorry I didn’t protect you enough, Mom. 

Sorry you’re bleeding out and it’s all my fault because I haven’t been fast enough, smart enough, vigilant enough, anything enough.

“You can move your hands out of the way now, I’ve got it,” Taylor says, attempting to dull the spike-sharpened edge of his voice into something soft and steady with minimal success. 

One of Link’s sticky hands rests limply atop Taylor’s as the other falls to the side, and Taylor kind of wants to throw up.

The hand atop Taylor’s strokes gently across the back of his hand. It leaves a messy streak of red on his paler skin.

“Hey,” Link murmurs, “It’s gonna be okay, right? You’re gonna be okay.”

Taylor’s gaze lifts to Link’s face incredulously because in what world is this okay, and his friend’s eyes - he can’t tell if they’re misting with unshed tears or if they’re fogging over, but something is clouding those honey-syrup irises and neither of the options are good at all.

Taylor presses down a little harder, just to hear Link’s breath hitch again, just to watch the way his vision seems to clear for the briefest of moments.

“Link, stay with me, man,” he commands - though this voice feels too rough and wild and wobbly to carry any sort of authority. “Just stay with me, just hang on, just stay awake, please, I can’t -”

“I will,” Link replies, wheezing a little. “I’ll - ‘ll try my best. C-can I lay down, though?”

“Yeah, dude, of course,” Taylor murmurs, trying to gesture with his head rather than his hands before giving up and saying “Put your head on my lap, okay?”

Link complies, though not without a few awkward adjustments and grunts of pain, and Taylor tries to mentally steel himself for waiting until help arrives.

God. This was supposed to just be a chill day where they could all act their age for once, let their eyes adjust to the yellow-sun-daylight, not have to worry as much about the impending threat looming over their heads.

And now, his best friend is lying atop him, bleeding out, probably minutes away from dying, and Taylor can’t do anything about it. 

It’s not fair, he thinks. This isn’t even the final battle, not even a mini-boss! This is just some monster-of-the-week type of shit and now Link is dying and Taylor feels like something’s deeply broken in him, too, spilling out and slipping through every crack and crevice, gross and ugly and terrifying and they’re not even eighteen yet, not even adults, and Link is so kind and brave and loyal and strong and steady and protective and stupidly, stupidly self-sacrificial, and -

Link’s breathing is far too shallow for Taylor’s liking, or maybe that’s just the sound of his own lungs rapidly filling and deflating in his ears as he tries to think of anything to say to keep his friend awake. 

Taylor’s unmoored, unsteady, adrift without Link by his side, and god, why did he let himself get this attached if all people are ever going to do is leave him, and he doesn’t want Link to die, not when he’s made Taylor’s life better in every conceivable way, and -

Taylor jolts at the feeling of something grimy and sticky and slightly clammy against his cheek. 

He looks down, and Link’s clearly trying to maintain focus through the pain as he wipes some moisture off his face with his thumb.

“Hey,” Link says, soft concern made jagged by the blood attempting to seep through the gauze, between the gaps in Taylor’s fingers.

“Hey,” Taylor repeats back, helplessly, blinking away hot tears as fast as he can because blinking means not looking at Link and, god, he hadn’t even realized he was crying until now. It comes out with a wheeze, like the syllable was punched out of him, and then with a gasp, and then another, and then another, and Taylor can feel his chest constricting and fuck, how is he supposed to be any use to his friend when he can’t even breathe right?

“No, no, no, Tay, don’t - ah - cry for me,” Link says, unsteadily and ragged and so unlike the Link Taylor knows, except it’s exactly like the Link he knows, because providing reassurance is, for some goddamn reason, a priority for him even when he’s bleeding out onto the concrete and asphalt.

Taylor shudders at Link’s touch and his chest heaves as he tries to force air into his lungs, leaning into the hand that still lingers at his cheek and hoping that the wordless (undeserved) gratitude comes across.

Link is cupping the side of his face insistently, fingers brushing gently beneath his eye, up his cheekbone, tucking stringy hair behind the shell of his ear, almost as if he’s trying to memorize as much as he can by feel, immortalize his bone structure and acne scars in his mind before its gears stop turning completely. The thought rips a hole through Taylor’s chest, causes his eyes to well up with moisture and for frustrated, shame-hot rivers to wind down his cheeks.

“You’re… really adorable when you’re all -ah - pouty and frustrated, y’know,” Link says, a hazy, dreamlike quality entering his tone, and oh, no, Taylor does not like what that implies. “Not l-like this, though, I don’t like seeing you cry like this.”

“Well, don’t get yourself hurt like this, asshole!” Taylor snaps back, because really, the nerve of this guy to be dying on him and then complaining about seeing him sad.

“I had to,” Link says, gravely, simply. “I saw that guy take aim at you, and it - ah - was, it was you or me. Easy choice,” He finishes, and he has the absolute audacity to smile the slightest bit, lips turning up at the corners weakly.

“You’re a healer!” Taylor yells, face blotchy with tears and frustration. “You could’ve just healed me! I would’ve been fine!”

Taylor, not for the first time in this adventure, wishes desperately that whatever powers are at play would have granted him some magic that was actually useful, healing and wonderful and holy like Normal’s or Link’s or, hell, even powerful and dark like Scary’s, instead of just cheap party tricks that help him run away and hide.

It’s not fair that Taylor can’t give Link what the other boy has given him many times over. It’s not fair that the world feels like it’s standing still, timed to Link’s uneven breaths, and it’s something that he can’t outrun, can’t make disappear.

“Oh,” Link breathes, “Ha - ah - got me there.” 

Taylor presses his hands firmly against Link’s wound, because he has to be good for this one mundane thing, at the very least, has to be of some use, somehow, sets his jaw and grits his teeth against the shame burning white-hot with infernal hellfire behind his eyes.

“I,” Link croaks, “I didn’t really think about it, then, ah, I just. Moved.” There’s a sound that sounds like a frankly awful mix between a chuckle and a wince, and then he says “Guess you do crazy things when you’re in l-”

He trails off halfway through his sentence, eyes becoming blearily unfocused as he looks to the side.

“Link,” Taylor prompts, because whatever feverish statement Link had been about to make feels important, for some reason.

“Link,” Taylor says again, louder, and is met with no response.

“Hey, Link, Link, Lincoln, come on, this isn’t funny, listen to me, damnit!” Taylor can barely hear the sound of his own voice over the sound of blood rushing in his ears, because Link can’t be dead, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

He almost wants to shake him, but he can’t because that would mean taking pressure off the wound and that’s something that Taylor cannot risk when Link’s chest is (thankfully, blessedly) still rising and falling. But maybe not for much longer. 

“I can’t lose you,” Taylor sobs, already past hysterical and bordering on flat-out manic. “Lincoln, please.”

“I - uh,” Link says, kind of unintelligibly, but it’s Link and he’s lucid enough to try to speak and Taylor’s crying even harder out of relief.

“S-orry,” Link manages, turning to look at him, “ah - kinda got lost in thought there. Y’were saying?”

“Fuck you, man,” Taylor hisses, emphatically. “I thought you died!”

“Sorry, just - can I kiss you?” Link asks suddenly, eyes wide.

“What the f- now?” Taylor blurts in response, because truly, where the fuck was this coming from?

Link makes a little laughing sound that turns into a wheeze that’s punctuated by more warm blood spurting against the gauze Taylor is pressing to his friend’s side. 

“We’re married,” Link says as Taylor splutters, rapidly trying to get his mind to wrap around any of this. “It’s not that c-crazy, ah, of an ask.”

“It kind of is when you’re bleeding to death!” Taylor exclaims, his voice heightening to a near-hysterical pitch. 

“You don't - ah - have you if you don’t want to,” Link says in a tone that is probably supposed to be reassuring but absolutely nothing about this situation is remotely close. “I just thought it - it might help. Distract. From the - uh, pain? And I… I kinda miss it.”

Oh. It’d never occurred to Taylor that Link being previously married meant he’s technically kissed someone before. Kissed them often enough, enjoyed it often enough to long for it. 

His stomach twists oddly at the concept. 

Taylor’s never really… thought about what it would be like to kiss someone. Beyond the abstract, of course. He doesn’t even know if he’d like it. 

But, as far as first kisses go, sharing it with his best friend sounds… almost nice, if it weren’t for this entire ordeal. 

And if Link wants this - if it’ll help keep him here, keep him present, give him something to feel beyond the agony he’s surely suffering and keep his mind off the pain - well. Taylor would be a pretty shitty right hand man to deny him that.

“Okay,” Taylor says shakily. 

“Really?” He can’t tear his eyes away from Link’s face - partly because of the strange dichotomy of awe and agony that paint his features, and partly because he’s afraid of looking down and seeing nothing but red. 

“Yeah, if you think it’ll help,” Taylor hears himself respond. “If it’s what you need.”

“It is,” Link says simply. 

If Taylor doesn’t look down at the blood staining them both, he can almost imagine the adrenaline pulsing through his veins is for an entirely different reason. He can imagine Link is in his lap because he wants to be there, and that the hand still resting on his cheek is a sign of affection and not just his best friend desperately clinging to his warmth for comfort, and that the way his eyes are glossed over are from desire and not from excruciating pain. 

“Okay, I’ve, uh, never done this-“ Taylor starts to say, because of course stupid teenage nerves get the better of him when his closest friend is dying in his arms. 

“I’m sure you’ll - ah - you’ll be great,” Link says, features softening briefly before screwing up in pain. 

Okay. Taylor can do this. Link needs him. 

“Just, uh, tap out if you lose too much air, ‘kay? Don’t wanna fuck up your breathing.”

“Mm,” Link hums, straining a bit to lean up toward him. 

Taylor leans in the rest of the way. 

Kissing Link is… well, it isn’t great. The angle is awkward so that Taylor can keep attempting to staunch the bleeding, and his lips are chapped and probably bitten raw from anxious habit, and Taylor can’t really do anything about either of those things. The kiss tastes salty with their sweat and Taylor’s tears and gritty with the grime from the ongoing combat, and Taylor can’t bring himself to close his eyes for fear of Link slipping away.

But he can feel the way Link’s smiling slightly against his mouth, so Taylor guesses he’s doing something right.

The hand that had previously rested on Taylor’s cheek comes around to cradle the nape of his neck, fingers gently tangling in battle-mussed black hair. The action has Taylor making a frankly embarrassing noise high in the back of his throat, and Link’s smile grows as he pulls him in impossibly closer. Taylor is pliant and trusting in his friend’s trembling grasp, letting Link guide them both because the boy beneath him clearly has more experience and Taylor frankly has no idea what he’s doing.

Taylor longs to reciprocate in every way he can, to rest a supporting hand between Link’s shoulder blades, to weave another in Link’s soft-looking curls, to make this kiss better for Link, because Link is good in a way that Taylor can never hope to be and he deserves all the love and affection and passion in the world. 

As it is, though, Taylor has to be content with pressing his palms against blood-soaked gauze and hoping he can make this up to him if they get out of this mess.

He funnels every emotion he can into all of the points where their bodies connect, a swirling concoction of terror and adoration and desperation and loyalty and affection. And there’s more than a little confusion that seeps through, because Taylor hadn’t thought about kissing Link before, but at the present moment, with Link’s full lips moving tenderly against his, it’s suddenly all Taylor can think about. And maybe he’d like to do this again, under better circumstances, to pull Link in close and give back the attention and care and devotion he’s always given him. If Link wanted to, of course. And suddenly, Taylor finds himself hoping that Link would want to, because Link is lovely and protective and kind and awkward and endearing and so, so beautiful, and -

Oh. 

Taylor’s always felt strongly for his best friend, but now, on the cracked curb of a mall parking lot with the sounds of battle fading to a dull roar around them - now, with Link’s blood on his hands and Link’s fingers in his hair and Link’s mouth against his own - Taylor thinks that maybe those feelings run far deeper than he previously thought. 

There’s nothing Taylor can do about the thoughts raging like wildfires in his brain. He can’t run or hide from them if he tried - he can only hold this boy’s life in his hands and stay with him, hoping that he has the strength to do the same. Taylor tries his damndest to speak without words, every insistent press of lips a chorus of stay, I’m not leaving, don’t go where I can’t follow, I need you here, I want you here, stay awake, stay with me, don’t leave, I’m here, stay, stay, stay.

And maybe it’s selfish of Taylor, but it’s true. If he has one more thing ripped out from underneath him, he thinks it might break him. 

Link pulls away, and Taylor lets him. His best friend’s breaths flutter against his skin in uneven pants, and Taylor’s heart beats frantically as he searches his face for any discomfort.

Taylor watches as Link’s eyes open, a soft smile pulling at his lips, and Taylor breathes out a sigh of relief. Link’s hands have migrated to latch around the back of Taylor’s neck and he leans into him, seeking out the comfort of Taylor’s warmth. 

(Taylor’s muscles strain in protest and the near-constant ache in his body intensifies, but he doesn’t mind. Not when it might be the last chance he ever has for Link to lean against him like this.)

“Thanks,” Link says, and his voice is raspy and so, so small, and god, Taylor just wants to hold him close forever, to shield and guard him like Link has always done for him, to ensure nothing like this ever happens again.

Link’s eyes haven’t left his since the moment they broke apart, and while the fogginess in them is a bit worrisome, his dopey little smile is enough to soothe the worst of Taylor’s anxieties.

“I’ve - mm - I’ve wanted to do that. For a while. A long time,” Link murmurs haltingly, still looking at Taylor as if transfixed, as if Taylor’s the only thing that matters, and Taylor feels unanchored from reality.

Who gave his friend the right to look at him like he’s his personal salvation? Who gave him the absolute nerve to only bring this up as he’s actively dying? Was Link just going to hold this inside himself forever, and would Taylor never have known otherwise?

A spark of indignation alights in the hellfire of Taylor’s chest, and he looks down at his friend, watches as Link’s lazy smile fades.

Good.

“What the fuck?” Taylor exclaims, seething more than a little. 

Link hisses a little, flinching, and Taylor quickly attempts to cool the demonic heat seeping through his skin.

“Why didn’t you ask before?” He says, trying to take a bit of the edge off his voice. 

Link looks like he wants to say something, but he moves a little too much and the gauze at Link’s side blooms with even more red, so all that comes out is a small, pained noise.

“You know what?” Taylor says firmly. “It doesn’t matter, because you are so, so stupid.”

Link wheezes in protest, and Taylor shakes his head, furrowing his brows - let me finish.

“When -” Taylor starts, “not if, when - we get out of this, I’m going to kiss the shit out of you for as long as you want. I’m gonna make you forget your own goddamn name if that’s what you want. Got that?”

Link’s eyes are a little less clouded now, and he smiles so wide that his dimples show.

(Taylor decides that he’s going to kiss those later.)

“Mmmm. I’d like that,” Link says, voice soft and fond, and Taylor isn’t sure whether he wants to laugh or cry. 

Taylor’s body can’t seem to make up its mind either. Some strangled sort of sound rips itself out of his throat, scratching long claws into his windpipe on the way up, and he blinks away hot tears as fast as he can because even a moment with his vision obscured could be the moment Link falls unconscious and Taylor can’t have that happen. His breaths are loud and fast and there’s static and ringing in his ears and Link looks pained but ultimately concerned for him which is stupid, so, so stupid because Taylor is fine, he’s not the one with a bullet wound gushing blood, he’s fine, he’s fine, he’s fine.

“Hey,” A voice calls from above him, firm yet calm, between gasping breaths like its owner just ran from somewhere, and Taylor nearly leaps out of his skin, cursing himself for not being on guard enough to notice someone was coming, and -

Taylor looks up from Link for just enough to catch a glimpse of hazel eyes framed by heavy dark circles and smudged glasses, then snaps his gaze back down, shaking with some bizarre concoction of relief and adrenaline as he processes things.

They aren’t being attacked, it’s just Normal’s dad (Uncle? No, dad, he’s wearing glasses), Normal’s dad is a Druid, he can heal, someone heard Taylor when he called for help, Link’s going to be okay.

“Mister Oak-Swa- Swoa-” Taylor starts, but he can’t seem to get the words out with how much he’s shaking, mind and heart and mouth stuttering as he tries to get a fucking grip. “He’s hurt,” he finishes pathetically. 

“I can see that,” Normal’s dad says, enunciating each word clearly, barely loud enough to be audible over the din of staticky noise that Taylor’s mind has become. 

Taylor’s hands press a bit harder against Link’s side, and his friend makes a broken sound that might be a wheeze. 

Taylor looks down at his hands, and god, they’re absolutely coated in gore, a red-brown smudge atop his knuckles from where Link had swiped his thumb across them, and the gauze is a horrible shade of maroon, and it’s damp and sticky with blood and it needs to be changed out but it’s all Taylor has, and the world starts to blur at the edges of his vision and it feels like he’s been running for ages with how his chest is heaving even though his legs ache from sitting in this position for so long, and it hurts to look at Link like this, and something twists in Taylor’s gut and everything feels too constricting and there’s so much blood and he can’t breathe and he’s useless and he’s terrified -

“Hey, Taylor,” Normal’s dad says slowly, gently. “Kid, can you look at me?”

Taylor hears the words and he knows what they mean but he just can’t bring himself to tear his eyes away because his best friend’s life is draining out between the cracks in his trembling fingers and Taylor has to keep watching, he has to, because he can barely feel his hands anymore and maybe if he doesn’t look they’ll fall to his sides and Link will die and it will be all Taylor’s fault, and-

“Taylor,” Normal’s dad says, louder, authoritative, and there’s a hand (dry, not sticky with blood) grasping his shoulder and the weight of it wrenches his gaze upward.

“Agh - sorry,” Taylor says, “Sorry, sorry, sorry-”

“No apologies,” Normal’s dad says, searching Taylor’s face for something, his expression softening, and something about the downturn of his mouth and the gleam of his eyes seems deeply sad and tired in a way Taylor can’t possibly hope to examine, not when the blood coating his hands and the tang of warm metal in the air makes him want to be sick.

“Listen,” Normal’s dad says, jaw setting and eyes going flinty again. “Nod when you’re listening.”

Taylor inclines his head shakily, everything too garbled within him to form any sensical words.

“You did a good thing, okay? You did so well. You used all the resources you had at your disposal. You kept Lincoln stable until I could make it here. It’s going to be okay now, and that’s because of you.”

“Y’did good, Tay,” Link mumbles beneath him. Taylor glances down and Link’s smiling weakly up at him, rubbing gently at the base of Taylor’s neck. “‘Ll’be alright.”

“Yes, you will,” Normal’s dad says affirmatively, and Taylor clings to it like a buoy in a vast, tumultuous ocean. 

“Link,” the man says, “Normal’s healed you before, right?”

“Mhm,” Link says, eyes glassy and wide.

“Good. It’s gonna feel a little weird, probably, but you’ll be back on your feet as soon as it’s over. I’m going to touch your shoulder to heal you. Is that okay?”

Link nods, then winces a little.

“Taylor,” Normal’s dad says, “I want the wound to heal properly, so I need you to move your hands.”

“But-” Taylor starts to protest, and his stomach twists violently at the thought.

“I know,” he says, and he has that mournful look in his eyes again. “It’s scary, but I need you to trust me. Okay?”

“S’okay, Tay,” Link mutters. “You can hold my hands, if you want.”

Taylor would rather not tear his hands away from the bloody gauze and open the wound even further, but at the very least he needs to hold onto something. 

“Okay,” Taylor hears himself say. Then, “Now?”

“Now,” Normal’s dad agrees, and there’s a horrible ripping sound as Taylor brings his hands away from Link’s side, the gauze glued to them with congealed blood. 

Link winces, lifting his hands, palm-up, for Taylor to grab. Taylor takes them and squeezes tight, tries to force himself not to think too hard about Link’s shaking breaths or about how cold Link’s hands are even through the dirty gauze. Link screws his eyes shut as their friend’s father rests a grounding hand on his shoulder and inhales deeply, closing his own eyes in concentration.

When his eyes open, they glow a sickly green, iris and pupil and sclera overtaken by the color of luna moth wings. Mesmerizing luminescent magic siphons from beneath freckled skin, cloudy and moonlit as it writhes from the veins on the insides of his wrists, twisting and like the branches of a newly-grown vine, before meeting Link’s skin, seeping into it with a weak sage-silver glow. The open bullet wound at Link’s side becomes overgrown with green magic. Its faint shine spreads like moss over its surface, suturing it closed before fading away, leaving nothing but a slightly paler slash of Link’s skin in its wake.

“How do you feel?” Normal’s dad asks after blinking away the last motes of glowing green.

“Better,” Link says, letting go of one of Taylor’s hands to ghost curious fingers along his new scar. His eyes are bright and lively and not misted over in pain at all. “Feels a little weird to be on the other side of a Cure Wounds, I’ll be honest.”

Normal’s dad grimaces a little in understanding.

“Definitely beats actively dying, though! Thank you, Mister Oak-Swallows-Garcia.”

“Just Sparrow is fine, Boss.”

Taylor barely registers any of this, however, because his eyes are drawn to Link’s scar. It’s barely a pockmark, only a few shades lighter than his deep brown skin, and Link flinches a little against him when Taylor’s free hand brushes against it. It’s such a small mark, but it’s the difference between Link sitting against him, slouched over and tired but wonderfully, beautifully alive, and Link laying in his arms, limp and cold and dead.

Link carefully peels away the gauze still stuck to Taylor’s palm and slots their hands together. Slowly, he interlocks their fingers, runs his thumb along the side of his hand, and Taylor nearly cries at the gesture. 

(Link’s hands are still cold, but that’s normal, Taylor has to remind himself. Link’s always had cold hands, and their hands are clammy and sticky still but it’s okay because Link is squeezing his hand, a silent reminder of I’m here, it’s okay, you can relax, and god, Taylor would be lost without him.)

There’s a shriek of loud static that Taylor is pretty sure isn’t just in his head, and Sparrow sighs.

“Sounds like Dood just spontaneously combusted someone again,” Link observes.

“Yeah,” he agrees, getting up from his crouch and adjusting his glasses. “I’m going to get back out there, see if we can finish this off without any other injuries happening.”

“We’ll come with you,” Link says. Taylor nods, attempting to reassemble his brain into something that can withstand the chaos of the parking lot-turned-battlefield, wanting to get his limbs under him correctly and wincing at the ache, and where the fuck did he leave his cane-

“No, you won’t. You two are out of combat for the rest of the fight. Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re an ice cream shop employee,” Taylor mutters. His voice sounds… off, shaky. Is Taylor shaking?

“Field medic’s, then,” he corrects amiably. “You need to focus on recovering.”

“But I’m-”

Sparrow cuts Link off with a pointed look, allowing his eyes to slide over to Taylor before looking at Link again, and there’s something significant about it but Taylor’s brain feels too scrambled to parse any meaning from it.

“Oh,” Link says softly.

“Take care of each other,” Sparrow says, and something about it feels final. “I’ve gotta go make sure your other friends are holding up okay.” 

Taylor watches as Sparrow leaves only in the most distant sense, focusing on clenching his hands against Link’s and feeling the sensation of his friend squeezing back.

“Taylor,” Link starts, and his gaze darts up from their clasped hands (still bloodstained, bits starting to flake off in pieces like peeled paint or grotesque confetti, warm against cold, alive alive, alive) to look at him. He looks so concerned - over him, again, Taylor realizes. “I’m alive. It’s okay. You saved me.”

He punctuates this with a light squeeze to both of Taylor’s hands, and combined with the warmth of his gaze (his eyes had been so horribly cloudy before, and Taylor had almost lost him) and his steady voice (he had been slurring his words, choking on them, near-delirious, and Taylor had almost lost him) and the slight, hopeful upturn of his lips (near-identical to the small, weak smile he wore as Taylor kissed him, and he almost lost him) something in Taylor shatters.

“C’mere,” Link says, sitting up a bit straighter and opening his arms, and Taylor all but launches himself into them, hands scrabbling to find purchase on Link’s shoulders, fisting in the grimy fabric of his athletic shirt as he presses his face into his friend’s chest.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you, it’s okay, you can let it out,” Link soothes, rubbing circles into the back of Taylor’s shirt with his thumbs, and it only makes Taylor cry harder.

You nearly died, Taylor thinks frantically, breaths coming as rapid as the frenzy of his thoughts. You nearly died and I couldn’t do anything about it and I was so useless and pathetic and terrified of losing you and -

“Oh, Taylor,” Link says in between Taylor’s sobs. “Tay, honey, you gotta breathe, okay? Breathe with me, just listen and try to copy me, alright?”

Taylor tries to nod, but with the strength of the tremors that are running through him, it probably doesn’t come across. 

Link’s hand comes up to cup the back of Taylor’s head, guiding him to rest with an ear to his chest. Link’s lungs steadily expand and deflate, a consistent rising-falling pattern, and just below Taylor’s ear, his heartbeat pulses, strong and confident.

Taylor thinks about the way Link had barely been able to breathe properly through the pain and his vision blurs with tears again, the periphery growing dark, and Taylor’s breaths feel like they’re being punched out of him, leaving him floundering and weak and aching and miserable.

“Link,” Taylor gasps, wave after wave of sobs wracking his body.

His best friend holds him through it all, offering reassurances in between measured, exaggerated breaths.

“I’m okay,” he says. Breathe in. “We’re okay.” Breathe out. “You’re not gonna lose me.” In. “I’m not going anywhere.” Out. “You were so brave, I’m here, we’re gonna be okay.” In, out, in, out.

Fingers card gently through his hair as Link presses a gentle kiss to the top of Taylor’s head, and Taylor lets himself fall apart.

-

Taylor can’t tell how long he sits there in the circle of Link’s arms, listening to his heartbeat and feeling the way he breathes. He’s lost time before, but it scares him to think how much he might have missed, especially since they’re still technically on the fringes of an active battleground.

Eventually, though, his breaths even out and the last of his tears dry up, leaving his face a puffy, snotty, splotchy mess.

They sit quietly for a few moments, Link still combing gentle fingers through greasy hair with one hand and tracing meaningless shapes into the center of his back with the other, humming soothingly every now and then. 

Taylor pulls away first, wiping below his eyes with the back of his hand. 

“Got it all out?” Link asks, and Taylor finds no trace of pity in his voice or expression, only gentleness and concern, and it makes him want to cry again but from the dryness of his eyes Taylor knows there aren’t any tears left.

“Yeah,” Taylor sniffles pathetically, opting to hide his face in Link’s shoulder.

Before he can, though, Link carefully takes Taylor’s face in his hands, thumbing away mostly-dry tears. He leans in, brows drawn together as if he’s concentrating on something, and presses a soft kiss to the top of his nose bridge, just between his eyes. Gold and saffron bloom behind Taylor’s closed eyelids, and the stuffiness and congestion fades away a little.

“Better?” Link asks.

“If you almost die like that again, I’m revoking your kiss privileges,” He huffs in lieu of a response. 

“Kiss privileges?” Link echoes, raising an eyebrow.

“Typical,” Taylor gripes with no real heat. “You really had the audacity to make me realize I want you as you’re fucking dying, and you aren’t even taking my threat seriously.”

Link’s eyes go comically wide. “You want me?”

Oh. “I said that out loud, didn’t I,” Taylor says.

“Yeah, you, uh, did,” Link replies. “I thought I had made that up. Like a fever dream, or something. Um, wow. Are… do you really..?” 

Link looks so incredibly flustered, and it’s unbearably cute.

Fuck it, Taylor thinks, and he leans further into Link, bringing a hand to rest on his shoulder as he presses a chaste kiss to his friend’s lips. 

Taylor backs away, sitting in Link’s lap as he looks up at him through his lashes. “Does that answer your question?”

“Uh, not really?” Link responds, earnest and awkward and sweet. And then a shy smile pulls at his lips. “Maybe,” he says quietly, “if you try that again, I might get it.”

Holy fuck, Taylor thinks, eyes drawn from the quirk of Link’s brows to the smirking curve of his mouth.

“Okay,” Taylor says, splaying a hand between Link’s shoulder blades the way he had wanted to earlier, running another hand through Link’s hair and dragging him down to seal their lips together again. 

It feels much better to kiss his friend this way, finally able to hold him and treat him with the affection he deserves and be held in return. It’s unhurried, burnt-out adrenaline leaving him pliant and tired, and the sheer relief of it all has Taylor breaking the kiss to laugh hysterically, breathlessly against his lips. Of course it would take something this stupidly, horribly dramatic to get Taylor to realize what he almost lost.

Link softly laughs in response, and he rests their foreheads together as they attempt to control their giggling.

Taylor opens his eyes to see Link grinning with all his teeth, sunny and bright, his cheeks dimpling from the force of it, and Taylor ducks into his space quickly to place a tiny, fluttering kiss in each divot . Something warm and possessive makes its home in his chest, curling between his ribs, brighter than the solstice-hot flames of hell.

Mine, Taylor thinks, the word doing little to encapsulate everything he feels about the boy in front of him. I’m never letting anything take you away from me ever again.

He pulls away, and Link is looking at him like he’s personally placed the sun in the sky (well, they both helped with that, technically), like he’s someone worthy of being adored, and Taylor feels like he could collapse under the weight of his gaze.

He settles for falling wordlessly into Link’s arms again, and the breath is briefly knocked out of Link’s chest, but his arms come to circle around him, safe and protective and secure and wonderful. Taylor listens to the thrum of his best friend’s pulse with an ear to the side of his neck as Link rests his cheek atop his head, murmuring reassurances and praise in equal measure.

Taylor just barely hears footsteps approaching their spot on the curb of the sidewalk - he probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all, wrung-out as he is, if not for the way Link tenses around him, holding him a little closer as his head lifts from atop his own.

“H-hey, um,” Scary calls - and Taylor knows it’s Scary, recognizes the timbre of her voice, but the pitch of sounds more uncertain than Taylor’s ever known - almost like she’s afraid to speak.

“It’s just us, Normal and Scary,” Norm’s reedy voice adds with that same unsure edge. “The fight’s over, you’re okay, man.”

Link relaxes a bit around Taylor in relief, and Taylor glances up to see him blinking sheepishly at their friends.

“No casualties?” Link asks. Taylor just hums, sinking further into his arms, too exhausted from the whirlwind of adrenaline and emotions to do anything other than listen.

“Not on our side,” Scary confirms. “Dood exploded some guys, though.”

“I exploded some guys!” Dood chirps happily.

“Are you guys sure you’re okay?” Normal prods, voice tinged with worry. “My dad told us what happened. I’m glad he could make it in time, but I think I have a little more juice left if something needs healing.”

“I’m good. Uh, physically, at least,” Link says. “Tay?” he prompts, giving Taylor a nudge.

“M’fine,” he responds without lifting his head from Link’s shoulder, voice muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “Achy. Sleepy. M’fine.”

“Okay,” Norm says, and Taylor can hear the uncertain frown in his voice.

“We should get out of here before what’s left of the police finds us,” Scary says. “Ugh, this fucking sucks. This mall had a Hot Topic.” The I’m never coming here again goes unsaid, but Taylor, as tired as he is, finds himself nodding with the sentiment.

“I agree,” Link says, shifting a little around Taylor, and Taylor clings to him tighter, refusing to let go. “Hey, hey, I’m staying with you,” Link mutters to him. 

The others blessedly don’t react when Link kisses the top of his head - or if they do, they don’t say anything.

“Did anyone find Taylor’s cane anywhere, or?” Link asks, then sighs at the silent answer.

“Okay, we’ll find that later,” he says, then, to Taylor, “I’m gonna pick you up now, okay?”

Taylor nods, arranging his arms sluggishly to lock around Link’s neck and his his legs shakily straddle Link’s stomach.

“Okay, up we go,” Link mutters, and gets to his feet a little unsteady, helped up by someone (Norm, Taylor guesses) while his other arm supports Taylor’s legs.

“Thanks,” Taylor mumbles.

“Thank you,” Link responds, though to Normal or to Taylor, he isn’t sure. Probably to both of them. “That really took a lot out of you, huh?” he asks quietly.

Taylor hums an affirmative.

“Well, it’s okay now. You got me, and I’m not going anywhere, ‘kay?”

Another hum. “Mmkay.”

“It’s okay if you wanna fall asleep on me,” Link says, ever the angel, back from the dead and whole and strong and lovely, and Taylor nods against his shoulder, puffy eyelids already closed, sniffling once. “You can rest now, I’ll watch over you.”

Taylor doesn’t want to sleep, not really, not when he just got Link back and could just as easily lose him again, but the soothing vibrations of his voice from where Taylor’s head rests against his neck and the secure arms around him and the steady cadence of his strides ease enough of his anxieties that he feels himself starting to slip into unconsciousness regardless.

After he wakes and they’re all safe, Taylor will ask Sparrow or maybe Normal about learning Cure Wounds (it’s a spell that Rangers can cast, after all), and Taylor and Link will have a long talk about what all of this means for them, and Taylor will finally make good on his promise of kissing Link until he can’t remember anything else.

For now, though, Taylor smiles weakly as Link ducks to press another kiss into his hair and drops into slumber in his friend’s protective hold.