#trying his best and fucking up catastrophically anyway

[lighttailoring]

same babygirl same

[heli0s-writes]

intricate rituals*

a/n: You know how kids pick on each other but it's actually because they like each other? It's like that. 4.7k words. I don't know why this one was so long. I wrote this as a companion piece to slow hands. warnings: fantasizing & masturbation, language, the usual helios sprinkle of angst because Steve. Please stop reading if you are not 18+

brooklyn after dark masterlist

Judgmental red numbers gleamed from the alarm clock on your beside table. 2:50, it leered like a schoolyard bully, and you could only groan in reply, shoving your pillow over your face and muttering into it a string of unintelligible curse words.

The day stretched too long after you were hit—socked—square in the left orbital. Your skull ached and thrummed, congregating pain at the welt along your brow bone, and beneath all of it, your brain was at once empty and full of insistence.

And although you’d have to be vertical again in about three hours, your nerves were still uneasy, still roiling beneath your skin because adrenaline could be a bitch and a half like that.

You were floating aimlessly in limbo, trying to force-sink into the distance of sleep. Thoughts skated behind the back of your eyes and around your ears, restless fingers twitching beneath blankets. Each time you slipped off, the rug was pulled out beneath your feet and your body jerked awake, leaving your heart racing. Self-sabotage.

You were too tired to attempt a jog, not trusting your sore muscles to maneuver the compound’s wooded perimeter. The best option was the easy route: quick, simple, and only a little offensive. After all, imagination after a certain hour of the night was a dangerous thing but flirting with danger in private was worth it once you could rest after.

Besides, asking Tony for any strange white pill to put you to sleep was perilous at best and fatal at worst, and asking to be gently placed in a sleeper hold by a friend was a one-way ticket to seeing the on-call psychiatrist.

And, anyway, they’d think you were a masochist.

And, well, maybe you were. But that’s not their business.

Maybe you’d like it to be though. Maybe you’d like to see the flutter of interest, the reciprocity, admittance that they were also a little masochistic because who in this line of work isn’t?

Volunteering to get pummeled day in and day out must be diagnosable in the DSM-5 manual. Yeah. At least a few of your teammates are masochistic. You’d bet good money on it.

Bucky, for one. And—oh—wouldn’t his cheekbones look so good bright red? You could cut your palms on those.

Here was the danger with imagination past a certain hour of the night:

Co-ed dormitory style living with a gorgeous cast of characters—all deranged in their own right—but still gorgeous. Lovable despite their many, many flaws. Egregious, maddening flaws.

Some were shared, inhabited by every member like they decided to build homes inside of their neuroses. Martyrdom, obstinacy, the occasional withholding of all worldly pleasures when they thought they deserved deprival—when someone would fuck up unnoticeably on a mission and then self-flagellate inside their mind for days afterwards.

Bucky’s refusal to trust his own instincts sometimes; Tony’s incurable lust for sticking his foot in his mouth like he’s starving for the taste of dirt; Natasha’s quiet, catastrophic need to be useful whether it made her a teammate or an object.

Steve— the basket-case. A whole shitshow marathon of issues all crammed up in his bright blonde head, and it’d get so full it would rush out of him by way of seething rage, reflex reactions, his boot pressed against yours as he’d stare down. His hands curled into boulders, jaw working in slow, powerful movements as clenched and unclenched his teeth.

You couldn’t help but think of it now and again. Imagine him turning all that misplaced anger to good use.

One hand ventured to your thigh, the other crossing over your chest, rubbing up your bicep to your shoulder. There was a knot you couldn’t massage out, that Bucky couldn’t either despite his best efforts. His flesh hand first and then his other hand when he thought a temperature change would help. It whirred by your ear, the plates shifting like bee song.

You could hear yourself hum lightly at the memory. It felt nice—smooth, cool, heavy. The weight of his curled fist as he kneaded, the strength in his fingers he was always holding back, even more so as he worked over the delicate skin near your neck. You didn’t shudder then, but you began to.

He’d probably laugh if you did. Roll his eyes even though he’d be pleased about it.

And excuse you for being like everyone else in the world who’d ever seen Bucky Barnes and his arm in action.

You might just say, shut up, just touch me, and he would. Touch up your neck, thumb propped at the base of your skull, the rest of his fingers around your throat where he’d drum out the beat of an old 40’s song.

And then Steve began emerging from darkness along with a couch, cheek propped on his fist, watching lazily. It was indigo all around him. Just a lamp somewhere in the corner making the side of his pale face warm orange.

Guess three’s not a crowd in your book—

Shut up, Bucky.

His hand was still on your neck, but you’d gotten in his lap, thighs spread until your legs were on the outside of his. He’d lost his shirt and landed on the couch next to Steve, who asked, petulantly, I’m here to watch?

You weren’t sure. You didn’t expect your own half-awake mind trying to reason itself out of a sex fantasy. Not when Bucky was shirtless beneath you, slightly tanned skin displaying a scatter of freckles like the time he ventured to the tropics and came back with a grin lasting almost two weeks.  

But Steve was expecting an answer and the critical eyebrow high on his forehead repeated the question: I’m here to watch?

Apropos of nothing except being 85% shut down, you replied with, you hit me today, and fell forward into Bucky’s arms. It was sullen and Bucky snickered, pressing his nose into the dip between your collarbones, a kiss somewhere nearby.

I didn’t mean to, Steve said cooly, still unamused.

Oh yes he did. Bucky touched you again, the webbing between thumb and forefinger beneath your breast for a second before he tweaked a nipple. Your toes curled slightly, chest jolting upward, and Bucky confirmed, masochist.

Steve perched his elbows on knees, leaning forward. One hand reached out, stroked the tapering edge of your eyebrow down to your cheekbone. His face was sweet, pleased, mischief cutting across his features. He pressed his finger down just a fraction, made your bruise sore with it, and the sweetness in his face glinted sharply.

Okay, he said, what else do you want?

He pressed down again and a handful of Steve’s flashed past as you exhaled. All those glimpses of him in various phases of his life, light-speed. There were suspenders and pressed white shirts too large for him. There was short hair and ballcaps and aviators. The way his shoulders hunched as he made himself invisible in a crowd. Captain suits in bright blue, then dark blue, and finally the deep night of the stealth number, material of tough neoprene and dull and sturdy across his chest. His hair was long flipped out at the ends. His beard grew and then shortened in length.

You couldn’t decide what else.

He was standing and then he was sitting. He leaned back on one elbow, sprawled like a Greek statue on a chaise lounge.

He was behind Bucky, arms coming to rest on either side of his neck, hands hanging limply forward, palm up, as if coaxing you closer, pressing Bucky tight in the middle until he huffed with discomfort.

Guess three is a crowd in your book.

Bucky disappeared and Steve came forward until he was flush against you.

In my dress uniform, really?

He sat with his thighs spread, contemplating your choice of Steve. His hair was slicked back, the high collar of his dress shirt starched and cupping his sharp, gorgeous jaw.

He was a garbled assemblage of an old photo in olive-green military wear. His blue eyes sparkled with attentiveness. He looked down his chest at the ribbons you were sure were incorrect, but they approximated something official. The jacket was starched and crisp, slacks well-pressed and fitted nicely.  

You liked the idea of him young, hopeful, and—smiling.

He placed his hands on your biceps before moving to your waist, stretching his fingers as far as he could to snare you. The fabric of your white button-up crinkled between your body and his. Three top buttons were undone, your breasts spilling out.

Steve’s hair was a mess, like it’d been yanked at fiercely. His mouth was wet and red and he was pawing at your back, rolling his hips upward until your groins met. His voice was rumbling and stuttery, brows together and cheeks rosy.

He stopped moving, only looking up at you with enormous eyes like a dog waiting for a command— which he’d never, ever looked like before. Panting as he caught his breath, he took a labored gasp, pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and asked.

Ma’am?

Oh. God help you.

There he was in all his glory, one foot into martyrdom and the other still in boyhood. Before everything crashed and burned and he was still clumsy with it. Just a bright, beaming thing pleading for  you to notice his light.

He began to fumble, hardly used to his body and so different than how you’ve seen him hurl himself through the air head-fucking-first because he was always ready to die on some hill or another.

He was shy, worrying his gorgeous mouth into a small line as he looked and looked. Over your face, down your neck, your chest, the mismatched set of underclothes you were still dressed in—and he stared at it entranced as if you were some kind of centerfold.

Like he ever would—but your brain was an electrified lump of meat, so dream-Steve could forgive it for irrationality.

But you were still sane enough to feel guilty about it because he was 24, and in a flash of genius engineering, he’d be weary beyond all his days.

Which hurt, which was stupid, which was really killing your whole endeavor.

You couldn’t do it with the thought of him careening into war at 20-something and couldn’t even worse with the thought of him, terrified and alone, the same giant, blue eyes searching the modern world for a sliver of recognition only 7 years later.

So your fingers halted between your legs, letting his nervous, boyish face shimmer away into the back of your mind.

Your eyes opened back up. The clock taunted 3:15, sizzling fuchsia.

You closed your eyes again.

The numbers shifted, rearranged until they were two curved lines and Steve’s mouth was there, hovering over yours, and he’d grown up some—you could see it in the pallid sheen of his skin, the creases in his face that were less from age and more from suffering. He waited, saying nothing.

There was supposed to be a lot you could do here. All manners of debauched acts to imagine— involving rope and whip and raking your nails down his back until your name burned in his throat, his considerable figure reduced to a tremble as he ached for you.

But you couldn’t, because suddenly the agony of not being able to sleep pivoted into a strange, new turn of events. From wanting to touch yourself to wanting nothing more than jumping into a lake to erase the turmoil his big, blue eyes roused in you, you struggled on a little longer, peeking around his haloed head of blonde, faint light behind him like a corona.

No? He drew one eyebrow up toward his hairline, his full pink lips quirking into a smirk. Not doing it for you? Why’s that?

You put a hand over his mouth, but dream logic was in no mood to be silenced, and Steve’s voice crept up in your ears anyway. No matter how much you wanted to shut him down, to push him away, he remained.

The truth, soldier. He tipped his head and looked at you past long, dark lashes. Give it to me straight.

-

“Couldn’t sleep?” His voice was gravelly.

You rubbed your eyes, wincing. 4 A.M. approached while you were still caught in a loop in bed—drifting, then jerking awake, nauseated with each new scenario.

Finally, it had been enough. You couldn’t force a thing that wouldn’t arrive, and so you trudged to the training room with your water bottle and forgot shoes along the way.

“Just need to get my mind off things,” you replied, and swatted weakly at a punching bag.

Steve was still wrapping his knuckles because he would always have more foresight than you do and watched you from the corner of his eye. You tapped at the leather, jabbing one-two, one-two, until it began to sway marginally wider, the link chain holding the bag rattling like windchimes.

You wished he wasn’t in the gym. You could feel him in the corner of your mind, a presence that sensed you as much as you sensed it, that weighed heavily, waiting.

“You’ll split them open.”

You jumped in surprise and then it only took a few steps before he was in front of you, hand outstretched with the wrap.

“I’m fine,” you protested, but his mouth was a thin straight line that didn’t need to emit any words. He’d just nag until you gave up. Then he’d throw you onto the wrestling mat and call it a lesson.

Maybe you were cranky.

“I can do it myself,” you attempted, but he ignored it steadfastly, focused on pulling your fingers apart.

“Sure, you could.”

You shifted your weight, “You think I’d fuck it up or something.”

“I think you’d do it clumsy. Think it’d be a rush job.”

He secured the loop onto your thumb before tugging it over the back of your wrist. You watched his fingers, wrapped up skillfully, as they turned and twisted around yours. For all his calluses, he was handling you delicately, and it was all too strange.

Sweat beaded along his brow, his pink cheeks from an earlier warm-up were settling the longer he stood still. He wasn’t making eye contact even as you ducked to find his gaze. It felt like part of an apology.

Nothing passed but his breath and yours, both awkwardly out of their regular tempo. You knew why you were being so weird, but couldn’t guess a damn what reason he would have.

Suddenly, he said, “If I pulled my punches in practice, it would skew your perception in the field.”

You deliberated this information, and the way he offered it up. Like he was bringing you a precious relic you’d be grateful to receive. What an honor. The stinging aftermath of his bones against your bones.

“So this,” you tilted your face forward, showing him where his forearm landed this morning and the pulp of your skin that ice, for fifteen minutes after, did nothing for, “This is a favor?”

He frowned, something complicated skittering across his face.

After a minute, which was quite a long time for Steve to meditate when you were obviously baiting him, he said, “It’s a warning. Enemies won’t go easy on you. I can’t either, even if I wanted to. It’s my job to make sure you’re prepared for whatever is coming next. It’s my job to bring you back home.”

“That’s nice—"

He cut you off, firm. “That’s the truth.”

The truth.

You felt it with your entire chest as Steve stood there, attention fixed upon your hand, his own circling your wrist and palm and then between the sensitive webbing of your fingers with diligence.

A lock of hair fell over his forehead, obscured one eye, and when he looked up behind it in wait of your reply with that open, honest expression, you gulped.

The truth, he asked in your dream— that he seemed to be wanting now wordlessly. That you’d been punching down every morning and night because it was so simple, and excruciating.

The truth was, you were stupid for him. And just stupid, in general, because you could never tell him. Because he was Steven Grant Rogers, for fuck’s sake. He was stunning and tortured and you wanted to die sometimes, just looking at him because you didn’t know how else to express it.

Because there wasn’t a world where you could step up to Steve, stare down the magnum opus of his monumental hero’s journey and feel like you could be a contender for a single, sad crumb of his attention. 

And yet you could never quite help yourself.

The truth:

Sometimes you’d do it to get his hands on you—to motivate him, to have him spare a single glance your way. Screw up the training exercise just so he’d spend an extra hour beating the drill into you.

Because outside of your private quarters and battered-tired imagination, when would he ever?

Because short of begging him to touch you, when would he ever?

The baiting. The backtalk. Challenging him at every turn. You were a spiraling addict, grabbing any high within your reach.

Hell, you were just as deranged as the rest of them. DSM-5, eat your heart out.

He dropped your hands, finished, and brought his thumb up to your temple where the welt throbbed under his pulse. “There,” he said. Almost silent, almost like you imagined it.

Then between one heartbeat and the next, his lips parted, bottom one pulled in almost imperceptibly— and— fuck, you didn’t understand a damn thing.

You made a noise like a fish out of water and he rubbed the back of his broad neck, craning his sight to the high ceiling. When he turned back down, he was soft at his edges, the tired years on his face placated.

“I know what you’re doing. You don’t think I know?”

You were nearly sure you were still in bed, and the fantasy was turning on its head, coming up absurdist and you were ready, nowpleasegod, to wake up.

“Pickin’ fights in alleyways since I could throw a punch. Why’d you think so?”

You sputtered, because you’re a ham-fisted, sleep-deprived, single-minded moron, “Because you’re a glutton for punishment?”

Steve snorted. “Like you are?”

You could feel the burn of agony twist its way up your neck, the way fact exposes itself when there’s no other cowardly avenue to run down. He watched, his sea-glass eyes stormy and insistent, and the lights of the compound gym were like stage spotlights now, white, and localized.

You found interest in your feet, because you were still missing shoes, and Steve followed the path and saw your toes curled up tight like hiding themselves.

“Jesus,” he huffed with dismay.

“I was tired. Am. Still tired.”

 “Go back to sleep.”

“I tried. Why do you think I’m here? Have you ever seen me here?” You swept your arm out toward the abundance of equipment that have not yet been acquainted with even your shadow.

“Now that you mention it,” he replied.

“Not once—my god, Rogers, it’s like you don’t know me at all.”

“Hey,” he said, because you were doing that horrible, compulsive, nervous-tic conflict thing again, and this time he put his hand on your shoulder and it was warm.

Your skin crooned his name.

“What. Are you doing.” Your throat was bone dry.

He stepped closer—not a dream, he was real, he was there, he was breathing your hair and touching your shoulder—and he dipped his head down, in wait.

“Oh,” your mouth decided sentences were beyond its means. “O-oh.”

“That a yes? Or no.” He moved to step away, his serious expression fluttering into embarrassment, and then guilt, and then you were doing an aerobatic move between a hop and a hurdle to reach for his face.

Teeth clicked, and you winced. He didn’t seem to mind, only stabilizing you with one hand on your neck and the other at your hip. His lips were full, hot, like there was a pulse in his mouth that was trying to overcome yours. He towered, not just in height, but—you couldn’t describe it. Your head was swirling, dizzy.

“You haven’t had any water today,” he murmured—and what kind of psycho would say that during a kiss.

“Do you mind?” you grabbed at his hair, “I’m trying to—” You kissed him some more, your brain a fluttering, ecstatic mess. You shivered when he licked your tongue, fisted his collar when he made a huff—a moan—and then he was gone, a faint hiss between his teeth and his eyes burning darkly.

You wanted to fall down to the gym floor, take him tumbling with you, hands impatient and wild as you felt for each other. Up t-shirts and down waistbands, tongues sloppy and missing each other, leaving lines of spit along chins and necks.

It felt silly—stupid, reckless, fantastic—but it was damn good. Like two kids figuring out their bodies for the first time. So natural and luxurious that you could literally fall forward into him, let him do everything. Strip you naked in the damn gym, fold you in half atop some mats, over a bench, leave marks down your spine and up your throat. Curl himself so deep you could feel him in your mind for days after—you wanted it all.

He was laughing a little bit, the creases of his eyes lit with joy as he weaved left and right, getting all the right angles to mouth at you with. He pawed and squeezed and sighed as he touched you, feeling every inch. He was excited, and it kind of killed you to know—made your belly swelter and clench with pride.

You rolled your hips lazily into his, and he backed up until he found a bench to sit down on, pulling you by the hand, the wrap yanking open and unspooling onto the floor.

“This okay?” He asked.

You made a low, pained sound.

“Hey,” he said, and you blinked at how concerned he was. He steadied your shoulders, his long fingers comforting and heavy. “You okay?”

You yawned, and when you looked at him again, he was confused. And he was standing.

You couldn’t keep up. You looked down dumbly at your empty hands. He was just there.

Oh, gods.

Steve was standing—at the punching bag, not sitting on a bench with you between his thighs. And the wrap that had unspooled from your left hand was limply hanging from your right, the necessary supplies in a bag next to your foot.

You went ice cold.

You wobbled and caught yourself, because you were standing in the middle of the gym idly, realizing that you’d spent the last 10 minutes losing yourself in a fever dream about Steve.

“You okay?”

“Fine,” you said too quickly, recoiling when he side-stepped from his position to head toward you. Your knees trembled, the place between your thighs warm and clenching madly on nothing.

“You don’t look okay.”

“You’re… worried about me?”

Steve narrowed his eyes and said “yes”, like you were stupid. But then he breathed soft, and looked so much like that fantasy you’d conjured up a few seconds ago, that you turned and made ready to bolt.

He caught your wrist.

“I need to—” he began firmly. “You need to listen--”

But you didn’t. You licked your lips because he was so close and you were insane with want for him, and he stopped dead in his tracks for a split second, eyes tracking your mouth and the short, puffs of air that your chest was pushing out without you meaning it to. Just quick huffs as you bit down on your lip to make yourself quiet and small and unseen.

Steve swallowed. He said something almost silent and it sounded like sorry before he leaned forward and caught your mouth with his.

He sighed into it. Breathed into it. He placed one hand on the small of your back and pressed your entire body to him, and you moaned like he tore it out of you.

And this time, it was real. The two of you scrambled for each other, heaving and loud.

He took you to the floor, only took another few impatient, hotheaded licks of his tongue and then he was inside of your shirt, his mouth sucking round, wet brands up between your breasts.

You bucked up to get closer, and he sank down, licking and sucking and all ten of his fingers dug into your hips and waist.

“Shit,” he said.

“Uggnnn,” you replied eloquently before your better judgement pivoted and decided to swipe at reason. “What’s—“

“You make me fucking crazy.” Steve rushed out.

“Fair,” you gasped when he began rolling his hips against yours. “Feeling’s mutual—oh, what are you doing--”

He only answered with more of it, and harder, up and down, his forehead pressed to yours—his entire body, really, pressed like he wanted to swallow you whole.

It went on for eternity, it felt like, the two of you messy and starved, every second of contact a half-fight, half-resignation. Between the rushing blood in your head and the high-pitched ringing of excitement, there was a relief, like your skin was singing finally, oh god, finally.

Steve, above you, was smiling—was happy—almost as if he felt the same.

-

“Next time just say something,” you said, when you could finally breathe again.

“Like what?” He wiped his forehead. You did that to him.

You sputtered, the taste of his tongue still in your mouth, “Like—just don’t hit me so hard. And don’t say you have to.”

He opted to say nothing instead, only rolling his eyes, and you found the perfect opportunity to continue pestering. “Do you ever pull your punches? Could you maybe try?”

He only grinned with that wet, red mouth, and his eyes flicked down to you like a challenge. “I hold myself back more often than you think.”

“Name one time you held back from anything.”

His lips pressed together, a smile squirting out of the corners as he looked at his bare feet, toes flexed against the mat. His lashes were fluttering as he pondered, looking so shy and mischievous all at once.

“Just now.”

“Now?”

Beneath your collarbone, the bruise Steve sucked into your skin stung with embarrassment. The sound you made when he did it should be burned out from all memory. You had to beg him to stop, you could have cried.

“I had it all wrong. I thought you might have liked getting bossed around in bed, but you’re a sadist, Rogers.”

“No, no. You can boss me around.” He paused, “Maybe. You can try, go ahead.”

“Now?”

“Yeah, try.” And if you were to look up the definition of shit-eating, annoying, and contrary-bastard-even-more-so-than-yourself, you’d find his smug as sin picture.

“I need to go to sleep— team captain, my ass. Don’t you care about my well-being, Rogers? What even is your refractory period?”

“Don’t have one.”

Your brain was a watery 7-11 slushie, and instead of saying anything comprehensible back, you only babbled.

Just then, the gym doors slid open and both of you were on your feet like someone had been shooting them.

Natasha looked you up and down. From the crumpled bedclothes to the unruly hair and then to your mouth, which was slightly open and catching your breath. She narrowed her eyes, glanced over to where Steve stood leaned on the wall, shuffling his feet in an attempt to sort out his sweatpants.

She made to remark something else but then Bucky sidled up wearing nothing but basketball shorts and grey socks.

“It’s ass o’clock,” he complained loudly. “Why are any of you awake. Never mind, Steve you’re a degenerate. You wake up at 4. I was having a great dream, then Nat drags me up, then you’re already here? You fucking animals.”

“Hm, a dream?” Nat drawled, “Anyone I know?”

She flicked his chin already knowing entirely too fucking much.

“Can’t remember the details,” Bucky turned to you offhandedly before recognition lit in his eyes. “Oh,” he chirped, leering. “I remember now.” He wolf whistled, muttered, “Hello nurse,” and rubbed his palms together like he was warming them up.

You backed up, covering as much of your body as possible with two hands, and bumped your ass into Steve, dick-first, who cleared his throat loudly.

Nat only cackled.

[littlespoonevan]

I watched the first three seasons of 911 back when that was all that had aired and just didn’t keep watching after the break between seasons for whatever reason. I also didn’t really get buddie, I just thought it was a beautiful friendship. I’m now on a rewatch and just got to the end of season 4 and boy am I all in, Buck’s reaction to Eddie getting shot and the aftermath really made me get it. Anyway, I was wondering if you have any fic recs for a buddie newbie? I’m probably gonna speed through the rest of the show in a few days and need something else to occupy me hahah

hey bud, welcome back to the world of 911!! 🥰 okay so i have some previous fic recs that i've posted here and i also have 489 bookmarks on ao3 which you can have a scroll through here (i only ever bookmark something for rereading or reccing purposes so can confirm i've read and loved them all)

but i'll do my best to make a somewhat cohesive list below of some of my personal faves. i have no doubt i'll probably leave some out accidentally but they'll definitely be in my bookmarks so 100% check those out too!! ❤️

The Nearness of You by allisonRW96 / @homerforsure

Eddie reassured himself that he could do this. Other teams coming in were probably going to be staying at the same hotel in the same double rooms and it was very possible that none of them were going to be having sex. Or even lying awake at night thinking about it. Or: Buck and Eddie go on a work trip.

Leave the Light On (I'll Be Coming Home) by HMSLusitania / @hmslusitania

“We’re here for our grandson,” Helena says. “Chris is still sleeping,” Buck says. “I meant, we’re here to take him back to Texas,” Helena clarifies. “Yeah,” Buck says. He’s too tired, way too tired to be tactful. “Over my dead body.” -- An accident on a call leaves Buck with custody of Chris after Eddie is... missing presumed. While they navigate their new family circumstances -- and fight to stay together, despite Eddie's parents' best efforts -- a John Doe wakes up in a coma ward with no memory of his own life beyond the knowledge he has a son named Christopher and, somehow, he needs to get home.

To Build a Home We Deconstruct Our Rituals by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels /@letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

After the shooting, Eddie realizes he needs to put some things in place. Like who will get his assets if he dies. Who will speak for him if he ends up in a coma. What might happen if his family contests Buck's guardianship. Luckily, he's got a simple easy-peasy solution that won't result in insanity, catastrophe, or heartbreak: Marry Buck.

standing on the brink of emptiness by woodchoc_magnum / @woodchoc-magnum

In which Eddie is struggling in the aftermath of being shot, learning how to take care of himself and realising he's in love with Buck; and Buck is dating Taylor, taking care of Eddie and Christopher and trying to figure out why he's so goddamn confused about everything.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catchingpapermoons 

“We’re working on it,” Maddie explains, shooting Chimney a look. He nods seriously. “In couples therapy.” “Huh,” Eddie says, and then he thinks about it. "Do you think Buck and I would benefit from couples therapy?" — or, Eddie gets Buck to come to couples therapy with him.

darling, the future's better than yesterday by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Eddie, ten years younger, in this awful 2010, blinks up at him. He's still sitting slumped on the curb, and for a second Buck thinks he might tell him to fuck off, but then his eyes fall shut and there’s something — aching and painfully vulnerable in the bend of his mouth, the faint tension in his brow. “My…um, girlfriend, I guess. She’s pregnant.” “Holy shit,” Buck says. - or, buck deals with some wonky dimensional/time travel and then breaks up with his girlfriend. eddie, obviously, is involved.

i'm here (i’m yours for the taking) by farfromthstars / @buckactuallys

“Everyone!” Around forty heads turn, and Buck shifts on his feet uncomfortably at the attention. “This is my old friend Buck and his husband, Eddie.” “Uh,” Buck makes, turning to Eddie with wide eyes. Eddie's looking just as stunned. “Connor, I think you got–” He cuts himself off when Eddie wraps an arm around his waist. ~ at the winter wedding of an old friend, buck and eddie pretend to be married to each other. the plan has no weaknesses, obviously, not even mistletoe or anyone’s secret feelings… they call it the season of giving i'm here, i'm yours for the taking

Your Fingerprints Smeared on My Heart (Lead Me Back to You) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

In 1880, Evan Buckley of the arriviste set is sent out west to oversee his family's railroad and recover from a broken heart - and meets Eddie Diaz, cowboy. When fate tears them apart, they make a promise: find each other again. In 2018, Buck walks into his fire station in Los Angeles - and meets Eddie Diaz, new recruit.

no kingdom to come by waywardrenegades

Family, FaceTime, guilt trips, phone calls, church, heart healthy meals, and learning how to let yourself be happy. Whatever that looks like. or; when his father experiences a health scare, Eddie flies to El Paso.

when i was shipwrecked (i thought of you) by catchingpapermoons 

Buck walks toward Jee-Yun’s room, still talking, and Christopher trails after him, asking excited questions in response, and Eddie’s smile grows. He wants this forever. Everything, every part of it; Buck, Christopher, and him—that’s all he needs. And— Oh. Oh no. He shuts his eyes for a moment, inhaling sharply. He’s looking at Buck, and feeling something strictly not platonic at all. or: Eddie needs to learn how to let himself feel, and one step at a time, he learns how to do just that. (And he falls in love with Buck along the way.)

i don't swim and you're not in love by hattalove / @hattalove

She turns to Eddie and says something else, but Buck is busy fighting the headrush he gets at the sound of Ana Flores calling Eddie and Christopher 'the boys'. Like they belong to her already. God, what’s wrong with him? What is this? or, eddie cooks, chris domesticates a slug, and buck tries to figure out why he hates his best friend's girlfriend. to everyone's immense shock and surprise, it goes badly.

everything's coming up milhouse by hammersmiths / @bucktommys

LAFD Updates (@L*A*F*D_Metro) LAFD Alert: Red-level traffic on Gardiner Road this morning. If you are trying to get into the city centre consider taking Westerley Lane. buck 🔥🔥 (@firebuck) so true bestie or, Eddie mans the LAFD Twitter account. Buck tries to be supportive.

said i couldn't stay, but it's different now by hattalove

“I think,” he says, watching Karen pull Hen out onto the dance floor, their eyes never leaving each other’s, “I think I’m just—sad.” Maybe. That feels like a close enough word to describe this gaping maw right in the center of his chest. It’s only really there sometimes, taking little bites out of him, easy enough to ignore, but today is worse. “About being single at a wedding,” Eddie says, not a question. Buck shrugs. “Sounds stupid when you put it that way.” or, the one with the four weddings (feat. a drunk karen wilson, shania twain, a single cheerio, and some confessions over cubed fruit).

cause i'm tired of sleeping alone by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Buck goes on dates now. Not often, and never with the same girl twice in a row, but he goes on dates. And the thing is — the thing is, Eddie can’t be mad about that, because he goes on dates too. - or, five (ish) times eddie and buck go on dates with other people, and one time they go on a date with each other

so far from being free by allisonRW96

"That’s Daniel. He was our brother. Buck doesn’t know what to do with the past tense. He never had a brother. He’s always had a brother. He gained one and lost one in the same breath and it feels impossible. But even if Buck was capable of doubting Maddie, the truth of her confession is evident in the way it throws every facet of his childhood into sudden perfect clarity. That yawning, arctic absence. The unnamable fear. The impenetrable target of his parents’ approval that he was never, ever going to be able to hit. That they didn’t want him to hit. He has a brother. A dead brother who has haunted Buck’s steps for his entire life."

don't let the tide come and wash us away by writerforlife

Buck develops a relationship with the ocean, avoids talking about the day Eddie was shot, realizes he might be in love, and drives. Order may vary. (a fic for the "Buck is going to break all the way down in season 6" truthers)

dance, for all that we've been through by catchingpapermoons 

The Los Angeles Ballet’s 2022-2023 season ends with a bang with their fresh take on a ballet staple, Swan Lake. Artistic Director Bobby Nash is in his eighth season with the Los Angeles Ballet, and it has flourished under his direction. However, his associate, Eddie Diaz, is the one whose reimagining of the choreography has caught our attention... (or, Eddie Diaz moves to L.A. to restart his dance career, and ends up choreographing a show, finding a family, and falling in love. Not necessarily in that order.)

I'll Scrawl it on Every Wall I See by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels

When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other. When Eddie joins the 118, he and Buck don't exactly hit it off on the right foot. Or continue to walk on the right foot. In fact they kind of can't stand each other. Good thing they each have a beloved anonymous pen pal to share their daily woes with, someone completely unlike their insufferable coworker. Or, in which Buck and Eddie love each other before they know each other, and know each other before they love each other.

never felt this way before (yes i swear) by withoutthetiger

It’s the summer of 2022, when Buck no longer wants to be called Evan, and it only occurs to his parents to mind. It’s after the pandemic – or so they say – and before whatever hell will befall the world next, when Buck can’t wait to join the LAFD in September, and he doesn’t know if he’ll ever meet someone as gently strong and fiercely protective as his big sister. It’s the summer he goes with his family to the One Eighteen Ranch & Lodge. *** A Dirty Dancing AU, set in Texas in 2022, featuring a whole lot of familiar faces in a not so familiar place.

Fragile lines (and wasted time) by Mellaithwen / @mellaithwen

“Hey Buck,” Christopher says a little shyly, before reaching out to grab Buck’s foot through the hospital blankets—shaking it in the same way he’s woken his father up on many a bleary-eyed morning. The familiarity of the gesture makes Eddie’s head spin. But of course, there’s no response from the comatose man on the bed. “I thought you said he was sleeping,” Chris mumbles, angrily swiping at his cheeks, and Eddie’s already broken heart shatters all over again for whatever hope his son had just lost when his expectations were so cruelly dashed. . While Buck sleeps, and dreams in the aftermath of the lightning strike, Eddie tries desperately to hold himself together.

Don't Take the Money by HMSLusitania

“You know, being stuck here isn’t actually the end of the world,” Chimney says, coming up to the table and picking up one of the smoke detectors. “It just feels like it, Buck. Trust me, I know.” “I’m pretty sure it might actually be the end of the world,” Buck says. “Considering this is the sixth time I’ve lived this day.” Chimney stares at him for a beat and then his eyebrows lift. “Wait, are you like – dude, are you in Groundhog Day?” OR The post-lawsuit time-loop AU literally no one asked for.

keep your eyes on the road by iriswests / @fcntasmas

Buck used to speed through yellow lights; now they’re his favorite part of the drive. -- or; a glimpse into buck and eddie’s developing relationship, told through ten moments stopped at a traffic light

Hot Ghost Problems by ebjameston

The ghost would prefer to go by Buck, if Eddie wouldn’t mind. +++ [Eddie is the newest firefighter at the 118. Buck is the ghost haunting the 118. Unfortunately for both of them, Eddie's also a witch and needs to put Buck's spirit to rest, because that's what witches do. Turns out, Buck's spirit? Super not interested in being put to rest. Very interested, however, in flirting with Firefighter Diaz, who is just trying to survive his candidate year. (Also turns out, Buck? Super not dead.)

as lucky as us by hammersmiths

One of the first things Ravi learned when joining the 118 was to, under no circumstances, think too hard about Buck and Eddie’s relationship. But brother, they could try make his job easier. “I mean, I get it,” Buck’s saying, overhead, and Ravi’s knee-deep in literal human crap and even he can smell that shit from a mile away. “You and Tommy have a lot in common.” or, Ravi continually suffers as a third-wheel.

[j0elmill3r]

Emotional Motion Sickness

Pairing - Joel Miller x Daughter!Reader, Ellie Williams x Miller!reader

Summary - Joel relives the worst night of his life when you are critically injured.

Warnings - Violence, blood, injuries, angst, sad Joel

Word Count - 2.5k words

Anonymous asked:

Hello! I wanted to tell you that I love your writing❣️ and by the way, I wanted to ask you for a petition for Joel miller x daughter! reader. Where his daughter is almost on her deathbed and has Deja vu with what happened with Sarah.

A/N - Okay what's going on? Why am I so motivated to write? Anyway, as always, thank you for the request, I hope you enjoy it! Feedback, likes, and reblogs are always appreciated!

Joel Miller Masterlist

You'd basically begged your dad to let you come with you, despite being 23 years old, Joel still very much babied you. You sometimes wondered if he still thought of you as the same person that you had been at the start of the apocalypse, an innocent child entirely dependent on her father - He made you think that he couldn't come to terms that you had grown up in this world, having had your entire childhood robbed from you. But if you were being totally honest, you didn't really know anything other than this world, and that's why you thought you bonded with Ellie so well, thinking of her as your younger sister - A bittersweet thought for Joel, since you were a younger sister, even though you had no older sister anymore and were now older than her, it was funny, you were now older than your older sister. He liked to think you and Sarah would share the same bond at that age that you and Ellie do now, even as adults.   

You looked over to the bed Ellie lay in as you heard her giggle to herself - That stupid joke book, you thought to yourself, but hey, it was the little things in this world. She looked over at you.

"Hey, do you wanna hear a joke?" She asked you. You turned over on your other side to look at Ellie and nodded, knowing that you didn't really have a choice in the matter. "Okay, Why did the scarecrow get a promotion?" She started.

"I don't know, why did the scarecrow get a promotion?" You amused her. Ellie giggled to herself before continuing on with her joke.

"Because he was outstanding in his field," You shook your head as Ellie continued giggling. There was something oddly comforting in her jokes, they reminded you of the ones your dad used to tell you when you were little when he was trying to get a smile out of you when you were grumpy. "Your dad doesn't find my jokes funny." Ellie whined. You laughed and shook your head, laying on your back.

"To be fair, your jokes are pretty bad," You broke the devastating news to her, hearing Ellie gasp, and you smiled in amusement.

"I, am gonna go to sleep now and pretend that you didn't say that," Ellie told you. "Goodnight, traitor." She said, trying to sound as offended as she possibly could.

"Goodnight, Ellie," You told her. You tried to go to sleep but felt a settling unease in your stomach that you couldn't explain. You knew you could never shake off your gut feeling, which was why you couldn't sleep. You couldn't seem to switch off, your brain running at a mile a minute, unable to shake off the unease settling in your stomach. The day had gone too well, considering your dad's reunion with your uncle Tommy had gone to plan, there hadn't been some catastrophic fuck up at all during the day, somehow unsettling you. Then came a thud from the front door. Quietly, you crept down the hallway towards the door, your body and breath shaking with each step you took. Another thud. This time, you didn't know if it was coming from the door or your heart thumping in your chest.

Thud.

Crash.

Before you had any time to think, a runner came launching through where the door once stood on its hinges, then sprinting towards you. You screamed out for your dad before being body slammed to the ground by the runner, trying your best to fend it off and protect yourself from being bitten.

"Dad!" You screamed out, fear evidently clear in your voice. Joel woke up at your screaming, immediately reaching for his gun as he ran out of bed and to the room that you and Ellie were sharing, where the aforementioned girl lay sound asleep. Running down the stairs, Joel found you fighting for your life. Without hesitation, Joel fired two shots into the back of the runner’s head. You quickly shoved the body off of you and scrambled to your feet, running to your dad and wrapping your arms around him. Joel let out a sigh of relief as he held you.

"It's okay, look at me, Y/N," Joel demanded softly. You met your father’s worried eyes with your tear-clouded ones. "Did it bite you?" He asked you, in a serious, yet comforting tone. You shook your head in response, rubbing your eyes of tears. It went quiet for a minute, only for it to be replaced by that terrifying clicking sound. More gunshots went off. Bang. Bang. It didn't matter how many times you experienced a hoard of infected, the fallout never ceased to terrify you. Joel knew that, feeling that your breathing had become quick and shallow. "Okay, go and get Ellie, we need to get out of here, okay?" Joel had both hands on your shoulders, looking you in the eyes. This was when he remembered that you deep down, were still a scared little girl.

"Okay," You said quietly, your voice trembling as you looked out of the front door, more gunshots ringing off in the distance. You went back upstairs to wake Ellie up, giving her a gentle shake at first. "Ellie come on, we need to go," You told her. She groaned in response, turning to her other side. "Ellie, I'm being serious. There are runners everywhere." Suddenly, the girl found the energy to get out of bed, quickly jumping into her shoes and slinging her red zipper on. You both ran down the stairs and out of the house, into the open air where herds of the infected runners overtook the commune. You looked around frantically for your dad or uncle Tommy, sighing in defeat when you found neither, deciding to quickly grab Ellie's hand and make a run for one of the trucks you could both take refuge in until it blew over. However, on yours and Ellie's beeline to the row of trucks, you heard one last gunshot ring out.

You stopped dead in your tracks. Everything had gone silent, but then it all came back, the blood rushing to your ears, Ellie yelling out for your dad, your dad calling out your name. You didn't know why, had something happened? Was there something behind you? And then you realized, the blissful unawareness of the gaping hole in your stomach dissipated, and was now replaced with excruciating pain.

"Joel!" Ellie cried out, her eyes filling with tears as she watched you collapse onto your back, hyperventilating as you clutched at your bloodied stomach. "Hurry!" She cried panickily, kneeling beside you. Joel came running over, skidding onto his knees beside you.

No, no, no! Sh-sh-sh-sh, okay, you're okay. Y-You're okay, move your hand, baby. Move your hand.

Memories of your sister’s death came flooding back to him, only it was you in the exact same position, 20 years later.

"Y/N, hey, come on, it's okay, look at me," Joel said loudly over your hyperventilating. "I need to pick you up baby, you're gonna be okay," He promised you, putting his arms under you, wincing as you cried out in pain.

I know, baby, I know, I know, I know, I know! I know it hurts. All right. Don't look down, look up, look up. Come on, baby. You're okay, you're okay…

You continued crying in pain as Joel ran back to the house, carrying you in his now blood-soaked shirt. You'd gone pale, shaking as you grasped at your dad's shirt. Tommy followed in suit as you were taken back to the house that the three of you had been allowed to stay in for the night before continuing your trail to finding the fireflies. Tommy swiped everything off of the table so Joel could lay you down on it. The commune's doctor came in with a first aid kit, rushing over to you.

"I need everyone out," She said, looking at your dad, Tommy, and Ellie. Joel wanted to scream at her. No. He wouldn't leave you alone. "Now, please, or she's going to die." The three had never left a room so quickly, but for Joel, everything was going in slow motion.

"I know, I know, I know, I know, baby. I know, I know! I know this hurts. You're gonna be okay. All right… Baby, baby, baby, listen to me—I gotta get you up, okay? I gotta get you up. All right? You c'mon. You c'mon."

You grabbed his arm the same way that she did - as if it were the only thing keeping you alive at that very moment. Joel sat down on the stairs, dropping his head into his hands, leaving Tommy and Ellie clueless about what to do. Tommy knew what Joel was thinking, he still remembered the night of the outbreak, remembered holding you, only 2 years old at the time - 4 days shy of your 3rd birthday - as your sister slowly died in your father’s arms.

She continually gasped, both for air and in pain as Joel tried to pick her up.

"I know, baby! No, no. I know, I know, I know, I know, I know, I know! Tommy, help me!"

Tommy watched on helplessly, holding an increasingly distressed you. Although you weren't quite old enough to comprehend what was going on, you knew it wasn't good - You could hear your sister crying and gasping, but Tommy held you chest to chest, you didn't need to see what was going on.

"Joel," Tommy said tearfully, looking over at his oldest brother and oldest niece, who now lay limp in her father’s arms. Joel looked back to his oldest daughter.

"C'mon, baby girl. C'mon, baby girl, I gotta get you up. C'mon! C'mon, we'll get up! C'mon, baby girl, wake up! C'mon… come—please," Joel gave up begging, collapsing to his knees in tears. Tommy put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, and it was then that Joel realized how distressed you were. "Give her here," Joel sniffled, rubbing his eyes and nose as he held his arms out for you. He held you close as you continued sobbing.

"Daddy," You cried, clinging to your father as though he was your lifeline. He put his hand on your back, trying not to let the tears in his eyes spill over as he rubbed your back.

"It's okay baby girl, daddy's here, I've got you," He assured you, sensing your fear. "It's all gonna be okay baby girl, I promise." Joel didn't know who he was assuring, him or yourself.

The tension was thick was the commune nurse came out of the dining room, coated in a layer of your blood. She made eye contact with Joel, remorse written on her face.

Oh, no.

You had ended up staying longer in Wyoming than the three of you had hoped for, but there was no way it could have been prevented, given that you had been put on ordered bedrest for at least 3 days, but Joel had made you do 4 - Just in case, he had said. Ellie had been more clingy with you than usual, which had reminded you that despite how hardened she liked to act, that she was still only a child who had been unfortunate enough to be born into this world.

You knew the night had been traumatic for your dad, resurfacing painful memories of Sarah's death, you didn't know if your dad would have recovered if he would have lost you in the same way he had lost her. Joel sighed as he watched you limp into the kitchen, holding your stomach as you did.

"Good morning," You said quietly, hobbling over to the chair so you could sit down. Joel shook his head at you and handed you a glass of water, and your last antibiotic. "Thanks." You popped the pill into your mouth and took a swig of water, then swallowing both.

"You're supposed to be in bed," He gently scolded you. "Another day resting won't kill you." He said. You sighed and shook your head, you knew why he was being like this, he just didn't want to lose you, he had already lost so much to this apocalypse.

"Dad, I'm fine, honestly," You assured him, looking up at him as he leaned against the kitchen counter. "Just still a bit sore." You said, rubbing your stomach as you moved. You had to be careful of how you moved, just in case you tore your stitches.

"Please go back to bed, baby," Joel pleaded with you. You knew he wouldn't relent in trying to get you back onto bed rest, you sighed in defeat and nodded. "Thank you, do you need me to carry you up the stairs?" He asked you. You blushed in embarrassment as you nodded - what 23-year-old still needed her dad to carry her to bed? Well, obviously you did since your large intestine had a slight tear in it. You whimpered slightly as he picked you up, and you saw the guilt immediately flood onto your dad’s face.

"'M fine," You mumbled, holding onto him as he carried you up to his bed. You didn't question it, but accepted it for you were in need of some comfort, and if sleeping in your dad’s bed gave you it, then so be it. You saw an amused smile on his face as you looked up at him, quirking a brow in confusion. “What?”                                                                                                                               "What's' Forrest Gump's password?" He asked you, a small smile on his face.

"Huh?" You asked, confused at who this Forrest Gump character was.

"1Forrest1," He finished. Then you realized - Ellie's jokebook, and how he used to tell you dad jokes when you were sad to try and cheer you up. You giggled at the joke as you looked at your dad. "You have no clue who that is, do you?" Joel asked you, laughing as you did.

"Not one at all, old man."

[canadianfangirl-95]

Karma 

Frankie Morales fanfiction x f! reader pov 

Summary: Triple Frontier guys attend a night club to see a band that isn’t typically their style. Frankie seeks solitude at the bar but becomes entranced by a mysterious stranger on the stool next to him. 

No mention of the events of Triple Frontier, character based only. 

Rating: 18+, minors DNI 

Warning: smut, p in v, oral m receiving, alcohol consumption, talks of anxiety, mental health and therapy (we love a king that goes to therapy) 

Word count: 8600+ 

Loud rock music sounded in the club as Frankie, Santiago, Benny, and Will squeezed between the crowd of people to find a tall table to lean against. The floor was sticky, and the music was so loud they had to all but yell at each other to talk. There were lights flashing everywhere to go along with the music the band on the stage was playing. There was a dance floor where a mosh pit of customers collected to head bang to the heavy metal music the band was currently playing. Frankie looked around feeling completely out of place from the small-town tavern he was used to.  

“This place is fucking nuts.” Will shouted at the group.  

They all nodded I agreement, trying not to talk if they didn’t have to in order to save their lungs the exhaustion. They would normally never come to a place like this, but Benny wanted to see the main band that was going to be on stage shortly because the drummer was a buddy of his at the gym. The rest of the group obliged as he had promised to buy a couple rounds and of course they didn’t have much better to do that night. Frankie was soon regretting his slow social life as he would definitely prefer to be anywhere he wasn’t getting shoved up against as people moved past him.  

Frankie leaned into the group, “What’s this band called anyway?” 

“Karma and the Catastrophes!” Benny shouted back at him.  

Santiago interjected, “Where are those beers you promised us? Definitely gonna need it with this crowd.” 

Benny reached into his pocket and pulled out a few bills, “Can one of you get them I’m gonna go see if my buddy is backstage before he goes on.” 

Frankie reached over and snagged the money out of his hands. “I’ll go, it looks a bit quieter over there.” 

They all nodded as Frankie broke from the group and made his way to the back of the building where the bar was nestled. He noticed a considerable difference in the noise once he got back there and there were less people as most of the crowd was still enjoying the current band.  

He leaned into the bar and got the attention of the bartender, signaling for four beers with his hand. He looked over to his right and noticed you sitting on the stool beside him with a glass of water. He was taken aback by your beauty. You were wearing a black tank top and ripped black jeans with leather boots. Your arms were adorned with various traditional Sailor Jerry tattoos.  

He didn’t have much luck talking to women, but he couldn’t ignore the way his heart skipped a beat the second he saw you. He leaned in and said hi shyly.  

You turned your head towards him, “Hey.” You smiled.  

He drummed his hands for a beat on the bar before the bartender brought the beers back and he handed him the bills.  

“This place gets pretty crazy huh?” he asked, trying his best to make conversation.  

“Yeah, I don’t mind it though. I like the energy.” You responded, eyeing him up and down. He had a rough looking baseball hat and stretched grey T-shirt with jeans on. You could see a chain hanging underneath the v line of the shirt and assumed it was dog tags considering there is an army base on the other side of town. Military guys didn’t typically like your exciting lifestyle, but this one seemed harmless enough to at least flirt with.  

“You come here often?” You asked, turning to him in your seat.  

He grinned at you sheepishly, “Isn’t that my line?”  

You smiled up at him, “Well I guess I’m better at this than you are.”  

He nodded, “Yeah, I’d say you probably are. I’m a bit out of practice.”  

“Don’t worry you’re doing fine. What’s your name?” You winked with a devilish grin. 

“Frankie, and yours?” he asked, reaching out his hand.  

You gave him your name with a shake of his hand. 

He repeated it and immediately felt the noise of the crowd lesson. Suddenly it was just he and you and the beers that were slowly warming on the bar top. 

“So, what do I say now since you’re so much better at this than I am?” He leaned in and you could feel his breathing against your cheek. The closer he got you could almost see your reflection in his deep brown eyes. 

“Hmm, you should probably start with some cheesy pick-up line.” You replied, keeping your tone light, and popping your eye brows up and down. 

Frankie thought for a second, “Oh so I should say something like; you should feel my shirt.”  

You looked at him puzzled for a second, but obliged and reached your hand up to run the material on his arm between your fingers, feeling the warmth of his skin as you did so. The fabric was so tight on his flexing arms you had to do your best to not skip a breath. 

“Know what’s that’s made of?” he asked, slightly giggling to himself.  

You shook your head and pulled your hand back to rest on your lap.  

“Boyfriend material.” He said with a wink.   

Your face went red, and a laugh came tumbling out as you swatted him playfully. He joined in on your laughter and covered his face with his hand.  

“Wow, if that’s you out of practice you must be just swimming in women on a good day.” You jousted back at him.  

Frankie shifted and leaned with his back on the bar. “If my friends ever found out I said that they would never let me live it down.” He smiled at you, one of those big dork smiles that always made you melt.  

“Oh, I will absolutely tell your friends when I meet them.” You grinned at him. 

He nodded back at the bar, “Can I get you a drink?” He asked.  

You were suddenly very aware of what the night was to bring, you weren’t exactly in the bar for a social visit. “No, I’m sorry I’m uh- working tonight so I need to stay sober.”  

“Oh, are you working here? Like your shift hasn’t started yet?” he asked intently.  

You nodded, “Uh yeah something like that. Hey, Frankie I should really get going but can I find you before the end of the night?” You asked as you climbed off the bar stool and nodded at the bartender as he took your glass away.  

He stood up straight, “Yeah that’d be great, I’ll see you later.” He smiled as you retreated through the crowd. He watched as you left, replaying your conversation back in his head as he finally turned his attention to the beers he was supposed to be bringing to his friends.  

Frankie grabbed the four bottles in his hands and held them high enough as he walked through the crowd that he wouldn’t get them spilled by some drunk idiot getting too rowdy. The first band had seemingly ended during your conversation, so the room was now filled with the sound of voices from the customers. He set the beers down on the table when he finally rejoined his friends. Benny had also returned before he did.  

Will reached for his drink, “Geeze took you long enough Fish. Get lost back there?” He asked.  

Frankie took a sip from his beer and leaned with his forearms crossed on the table. “Actually, I was busy talking to a very pretty girl I met at the bar thank you very much. Now drink your piss warm beer.”  

Santiagos interest was suddenly peaked, “A girl? Really? Frankie Morales actually spoke to a living, breathing woman?” His eyes widened with his sarcastic tone. 

Frankie rolled his eyes, “Yeah I did, Pope.” 

Santiago pressed on, “Well, come on now. Tell us all about this totally real girl.” He put quotations around real girl to prove his point that he didn’t entirely believe his friend who has always been the worst at picking up woman. Normally needing to send Will or Santiago in first to act as a wing man. He never used Benny anymore. Benny gave off too much of a golden retriever vibe and women instantly wanted to keep him.  

“If you must know she is beautiful and funny and,” His voice trailed off as his attention was caught by the stage. You were walking out onto it with the rest of the band and situating yourself in front of the microphone in the middle of the stage. “Right there.” he said inquisitively.  

“Hey Houston, are you ready to rock tonight?” You shouted into the microphone and were met with a roar from the crowd.  

“What do you mean right there?” Santiago leaned in; Frankie still unable to take his eyes off you.  

He stuttered, “She’s, right there that’s her on the stage.”  

Benny yelled back at him, raising his voice now that the instruments had started up again. “Who, Karma?” 

“What?” Frankie asked, confused by the name. 

“Karma, the lead singer.” He replied.  

Frankie turned his face back to the group, “Well, that’s not the name she told me.” He scratched his chin as he knew he heard your name right.  

Will spoke up, “That’s probably just a stage name for band.”  

Frankie nodded, realizing he must be right.  

“So, you’re telling me you just picked up the lead singer from the band tonight?” Santiago asked, even more skeptical.  

Frankie hummed to himself, realizing he didn’t actually pick you up. He was so dumbfounded by the conversation that he hadn’t even asked for your number. “We had a great talk and she said she would come find me before the end of the night.” He looked down, slightly dampened by the fact that you may have just been being nice and you might not actually find him.  

The show wore on and he was amazed by your talent and charisma. You enveloped the stage with your big personality and had an amazing voice to boot. The guys all watched on and nodded their heads along with the rock music. Frankie was falling even more for you, watching your body as you danced along to the music in your tight black outfit. He grew a bit of jealously at the men gawking at you on the dance floor but held his head a bit higher knowing he was the one you were flirting with earlier.  

You finally ended the show with a big thank you to the crowd. The guys all clapped their hands and whooped along with the rest of the club. He watched as you collected your things on stage and disappeared behind the curtain. Frankie turned his attention back to the group.  

Santiago said, “Wow, they were really good. Not totally regretting the hearing aides I’m gonna have to get after tonight.”  

Ben patted Frankie on the back, “So you gonna try to find Karma before she leaves?” 

Frankie looked flustered, “I don’t know man did you see her up there? She’s this beautiful, fun, rock star and I’m well. Not that.” He sipped his beer and looked down, unsure of himself.  

The guys all looked to each other with empathy, their friend never had the confidence they had. Santiago conceded in an effort to make Frankie feel better. “Oh, come on man, she’d be lucky to have you. I’m sure she’ll find you before the end of the night.” 

You finished packing up for the night and said goodbye to the band and crew. Except for the guitarist who drove the equipment van and was your ride home. You promised him you wouldn’t be too long, you just had one thing you needed to do before heading out. You were adamant about finding Frankie before the place closed down for the night. You had to move quickly though, as your cool down took longer than you thought it would.  

The crowd was still bustling as you made your way out of the backstage area. Fans cheered for you as you walked by and you smiled at them, trying to scan the crowd for the baseball hat you had seen earlier. Luckily that wasn’t really the look for this kind of crowd so you were hoping he would stick out fairly easily. Just as you were about to give up, you found yourself on the far-left side of the venue and caught sight of a silver chain poking out of the top of a grey T-shirt. You were elated that you had finally found him and pushed yourself through the crowd to tap him on his shoulder. He turned and his eyes went wide at the sight of you standing in front of him.  

“Hey!” He gasped.  

You bit your lip, slightly nervous. “Did you enjoy the show?”  

“Yeah, I did you were awesome!” He said, “I’m so sorry I had no idea who you were when I was talking to you earlier.” 

You smiled back at him “That’s okay, it was a nice talk. I’m glad you didn’t know. Guys tend to act a little differently when they know I’m headlining. They get a bit of a complex about if they can get me home that night.” You answered honestly. 

Frankie nodded; he definitely did not want to be thought of as one of those guys, so he knew he had to play it right. “Well, I really liked talking to you too.”  

Your heart fluttered, he seemed so nice. You didn’t normally have a connection with the guys you met at your shows, but there was something about him that made you want to see him again. “Um, Frankie, I’m glad I caught you and I know I’ve already done this once tonight, but my ride is waiting for me, so I have to get going. Could I give you my number?” 

His mouth gapped, “Yeah, yes that’d be great thanks.” He dug into his pocket to pull his phone out and give it to you.  

You took it from him, after entering your name and number you handed it back to him and motioned you were leaving.  

He nodded goodbye and then thought for a second, “Hey, wait! What do I call you?”  

You winked back at him at him and pointed to his phone before slipping through the crowd. 

Frankie looked down at the contact you had just created on his phone.  

Karma ;)

He looked back up and you were gone, he felt like all the air in his lungs had disappeared in an instant.  

The next morning, you were moving about your kitchen with a spring in your step. You were so used to the punk, tattoo covered guys that frequented your shop and shows, so Frankie seemed like such a breath of fresh air. He was so innocent and spirited. You couldn’t help but check your phone on the kitchen island as you made your brunch. Hoping a text would pop up and you would get to see him again. He didn’t seem the type to take a girl’s number and ghost her, and he definitely didn’t seem like the kind to wait the typical three days before texting a girl to not come off as eager. No, Frankie was different, and you could tell right away. The way his smile was so big when he laughed and he snorted a bit. The way he leaned in to talk to you with so much respect and ensuring not to touch you even once before you’ve shown real interest. The steam coming off the stove top finally snapped you out of your trance. You carefully finished your omelet and settled onto the couch with your coffee to continue your annual binge of Buffy the Vampire Slayer.  

Meanwhile, across town, Frankie was doing his own daydreaming about the night before. He sat on the couch with his phone flipping up and down in his hands as he rested his head on the back of the sofa. He let out an agonizing moan as he continued to think about what to do next. He hadn’t felt this lovesick in forever, and you seemed so confident, so he didn’t want to mess it up and scare you off.  

Santiago rounded the couch and sat down on the opposite end. “You gotta calm down man it’s just a text.” He sipped from his coffee and turned on the tv to find a sports channel to play in the background.  

Frankie squeezed his eyes shut, “It’s not just a text, you’ve said it yourself man.” He propped himself up straighter on the couch, “I’m shit at talking to women. I know I’ve only talked to her for like, five minutes but I like her. I don’t wanna screw it up before it even starts.” 

His friend shook his head, “Look man, she could had gone home with probably a dozen guys last night but instead she found you. Asked to give you her number and then went home. She obviously likes you too. Just be yourself and it’ll be fine.” 

Frankies head spun, he knew Santiago must be right, but it was so hard to trust the process. Be myself, he thought to himself. What would Frankie do if he really liked a girl and wanted to see her again. He’d probably call her if he was being honest with himself. However, that seemed so old fashion, and you were a rock star with tattoos and a confidence that would shake the ground. Would you like old fashioned? Or would it be annoying? He figured there was no time like the present to find out.  

He stood up and patted his friend on the shoulder as he made his way to his room for some privacy, closing the door behind him as paced in his room for a minute before finally dialing the phone. He stood with his hand on his hip and bit his lip waiting for the call to connect. 

You had finished your meal and were scrolling on your phone as the show played in the background when it suddenly started ringing. It startled you so much the phone nearly flung out of your hands as you tried to calm yourself. An unknown number, but definitely local based on the area code. You don’t normally answer calls right away, preferring to send it to voicemail and then call the person back if needed, but something about the timing of this call peaked your interest so you decided to answer it on speaker.  

“Hello?” you said, holding the phone just below your mouth with a curious look on your face. 

“Hey, uh- it’s Frankie.”  

Your mouth gapped, you couldn’t believe he was calling you so soon. It made your head spin at his forwardness, but your heart flutter at how old-fashioned he seemed to be. 

“Hey Frankie, what’s up?” You asked. “What’s up” you thought to yourself. What are you seventeen? You rubbed your palm on your forehead. 

“Oh, nothing just at home. I hope I’m not calling too early I’m sure you had a late-night.” 

“No, no it’s fine I’ve been up for an hour now.” 

“Good, good. So, I hope I’m not being to forward but I was uh- wondering if you would be interested in going out sometime?” 

You bit your nail in your nervousness, “Yeah I would love that.” 

“Great, what are you doing tonight?” 

“Nothing, tonight would be perfect actually. This is one of the only Saturdays this month I don’t have a show.” 

“Oh perfect, uh- do you want to go for drinks or dinner or,” 

“Uh- drinks and some appetizers would be good if you want?” You held your breath.  

“Yeah, that sounds great, how about I pick you up at 8?” 

“Okay, I’ll text you my address.” You replied.  

“Sounds good, I’ll see you tonight.” 

You grinned to yourself, “Okay, bye Frankie.” 

“Looking forward to it, bye K-, uh, what do you actually want me to call you?” 

“Oh, yeah you can call me Karma. Kind of a nickname, I think there’s only like, four people that call me by my other name.” You scratched your head, hoping he wouldn’t think your sultry nickname was a red flag.  

“Oh okay, cool. Well than, bye Karma.” 

“Bye.” You said as you clicked the phone off.  

You rocked your head back against the top of the couch and then looked down at the time. You had nothing else planned for the rest of the day other than tidy up the shop and apparently figure out what to wear tonight. He obviously liked your edgy style as he had seen what you were wearing the night before, but a part of you wanted to mix it up a bit and give this old-fashioned guy a treat.  

You got up and immediately ran to your closet, throwing dresses and rompers and shirts all over your room. Trying to find the perfect ensemble to hypnotize your new gentleman friend when your eyes locked onto something in the far back corner of your closet.  

Frankie returned to the living room, grinning at his phone as he sat back down on the couch and looked up at the tv, not saying anything to his friend who was looking at him with squinted eyes.  

“What’s that face all about?” Santiago asked.  

Frankie leaned forward to slide his phone into his back pocket. “Just got off the phone with Karma, we’re going out tonight.” He looked over at his friend with a sly smile on his face.  

Santiago tapped his hand on Frankie’s chest, “Well hot damn, look at you go. Wait did you call her?” he asked, puzzled. 

“Yeah, you told me to be myself and that’s what I wanted to do.” He shrugged.  

“Huh, well more power to you. I like this confident Frankie. Where are you gonna take her?” 

Frankie thought for a second, he would very much like something quiet considering his ears are still ringing from last night, “I think that one pub downtown by the Walgreens is nice and quiet?” He chewed the inside of his cheek as he considered a few other options. Ultimately deciding to just go with that place as it isn’t nearly as busy as some of the other options around town. 

He waited patiently for your address, which you texted to him around dinner time. His face lit up when your name came across the screen with the wink emoji.  

It was 7:55pm when Frankie rolled up outside your house. He looked up at the sign on the front, “Karmas Chaos”. He figured you must run a business out of your house and wondered what it was. He got out and rounded the front of his truck when you opened the front door, and he was suddenly star struck.  

You stood before him with your hair curled in a summer like wave, your white converse on and a beautiful yellow sun dress that showed off your many tattoos. The dress had small straps and a low neckline, it dipped at your waist to accentuate your curves and then flared out to rest at mid-thigh. It had a knot on the back with a cut out just below. It was far more feminine than you were used to, you think you bought it years ago for a cousin’s wedding, but something drew you to it and you thought it would make a good first impression on Frankie.  

He stood there mouth gapped as you walked down the steps, “Hi.” You smiled at him and gave him a little wave. You hiked your shoulder bag higher as it had begun to slip, and you needed something to do with your nervous hands.  

Frankie stalled for a second and finally replied, “Hey, you look great.” He said with a big smile. Suddenly feeling a bit self-conscience about the fact that he is wearing an outfit almost identical to the one he wore last night, except now his T-shirt was black with a band logo on it from a concert he can’t even remember. The material long stretched and over washed to point where the logo had begun fading and breaking apart.  

“You do too.” You responded before leaning in for a quick hug.  

He shuffled his feet, “I was thinking we could go to Burt’s, downtown if that’s okay?” 

You beamed up at him, “Yeah that would be great.” You broke your gaze to round his truck, but before you could reach for the handle Frankie appeared beside you and opened the door. You looked startled, but really you were just amazed by his chivalry. You’ve never had anyone open your door before, so you just nodded your thanks and stepped onto the step bar to jump up into the truck. He swiftly closed it behind you and made his way to jump into the driver’s side.  

As he turned the ignition, the radio fired up again and a familiar tune from Motley Crue came through the speakers. “Oh, I love this song.” You remarked.  

He smiled, “Me too, they’re probably my favourite band.”  

You hummed along to the music. He glanced over at you, “Well come on now, don’t keep that beautiful voice to yourself.” He smiled, the curls peaking out from under his seemingly signature hat dancing in the wind.  

You felt yourself blush but obliged, singing along to the music with the windows down, blowing your hair about as the music filled the cab. When the chorus came around Frankie gave his best imitation of the lead singer and you laughed. He chuckled, “Maybe I’ll leave the singing to you.” 

“No, no you’re great. I could listen to you all night.” You winked at him and he grinned, finally taking his attention back to the road. The rest of the commentary for the drive continued to be about music and favourite bands to see in concert, yours being his new favourite of course.  

You thanked the waitress for your seats and settled into a booth along the wall of the restaurant. It was a little more modern than you thought it would be given what you’ve seen from Frankies taste but definitely not a chain restaurant. There were vintage movie posters adorned on the walls giving it a warm look, but it was met with modern furniture and paint to keep it lively. There was a poster hanging in your booth of a movie you guessed must be from the 50s at least and you stared briefly at the faded colour, reminding you of the faded T-shirt currently sitting across from you.  

Frankie looked at you nervously, “So, I saw the sign on your door. Do you run a business out of your house?” 

You nodded confidently, “Yeah I’m a tattoo artist.” He nodded along, listening intently. “I have a shop in my house that is just me. It’s nice because then I get to choose my hours and can line things up really well with my band practice and shows.” 

“Wow, that’s great. You must be pretty busy balancing both those.” He stated.  

“I try to take Sundays and Mondays off and then I never work before 11am so I definitely still get some free time. I was supposed to have an appointment today, but they rescheduled so I got a totally free Saturday for once.” You smiled; very glad you had the extra time to get ready for this date. “What do you do?” you asked as the waitress reappeared with some waters.  

“What can I get you for drinks?” she asked.  

You replied, “I’ll have a whiskey sour, please.” 

She nodded and looked at Frankie. “Just a Corona, thanks.” 

With that she left the table, leaving you and Frankie alone.  

You looked back at Frankie, unsure if you needed to repeat yourself but before you could speak, he replied, “I’m an instructor at the base, I was a pilot in active duty.”  

Hm, your suspicions on the dog tags were correct. “How long have you served for?” You asked, leaning with your forearms against the dark wood table.  

“Since I graduated from high school, I enlisted right away.”  

You popped your eyebrows up, that’s a long time to be in the service. Most guys you have met from the base were a five-year contract and then out.  

“Wow Frankie, that’s really really amazing. I’m not surprised by the way you carry yourself though that you’ve been in that long.” You said, slightly bashful.  

He looked confused, but still flattered, “Why do you say that?” 

“You just, uh- you know you seem really old-fashioned and proper.” You replied sheepishly, tucking your hair behind your ear, and averting your gaze back to the poster.  

Frankie looked down for a second, “Oh, do you not really like that?”  

“No, no, it’s great.” He perked up at your response. “I actually love it; I’ve never been out with a guy that’s treated me the way you do.” You smiled at him and reached your hand out for him to take. He let out a relived huff and reached his hand up to take yours and give it a slight squeeze.  

“Well, I don’t know hermosa. You just deserve to be treated the best and I’m sorry no guy has ever done that for you.”  

You both beamed at each other, eyes sparkling with desire when the waitress seemingly appeared out of nowhere with your drinks. You quickly broke your hands apart and nodded politely. You wrang your hands together, still feeling the warmth of his much larger hand on yours.  

“Do you know what you’d like for food?” The waitress kindly asked.  

Both of your eyes widened, neither of you had even thought about the food as you were too busy making googly eyes at each other. You looked at each other and gave out a chuckle. “Um, I think we’re gonna need a few more minutes actually.” Frankie nodded along as the waitress left.  

The evening wore on and you shared food and stories. He told you all about his time in the service so far and the friends he’s made along the way. You told him about your business and band and how you’re a really creative person and need all these outlets. You also spoke about your anxiety and how when you’re focused on a tattoo or a song, you get to ease your mind and allow yourself to relax. He commended you and spoke about his time in therapy for some anxiety he had after he was done active duty. None of your exes ever went to therapy or spoke about mental health, so your heart warmed listening to him speak so intentionally.  

Frankie’s truck pulled up and parked out front of your house and you gave a huff of disappointment that the night was coming to an end. You looked at your phone and noticed the time wasn’t too late. You bit your lip and thought to yourself, would it be too much to ask him inside? Would he want to hookup, or would he think that’s all you’re interested in? He looked to you with a sheepish smile on his face, he was clearly disappointed the night was slowly coming to a close as well. You thought it couldn’t do more harm than good if you at least asked him inside for a little bit.  

“Hey Frankie, um- do you? Do you want to come in for a drink?” You asked, trying not to make eye contact so you could hide your reaction should you be met with rejection. 

His face lit up at the suggestion, “Yeah for sure thanks.”  

Your face darted up to meet his and you smiled, getting out of the truck and wandering up the steps to your house. He followed closely behind, placing his hand on the small of your back as you went up the steps, seemingly ready to catch you should you trip.  

You eased the door open and stepped aside to let him in. He passed you with a nod and stood in your living room looking around as you flicked on some lights, kicked off your sneakers and settled your bag on a counter. The room flowed from the living room to a dining table and a kitchen with an island. There were band posters and your own artwork on the walls. The furniture had a 50’s vibe with lots of red and black and white checkers. Your kitchen cabinets were an emerald green with gold accents. He loved how much personality you put into the space and stood staring at one of your drawings of a mermaid covered in tattoos on the wall beside a door.  

You approached him with your arms crossed and looked to the drawing as well. 

“You’re incredible, this is such a cool piece.” He said, smiling at you.  

You nodded back, “Thank you, if you like that you should see the one’s I have in my studio.” You tilted your head to the door beside you and opened it. He followed you in and was greeted by the smell of cleaning products and alcohol wipes. Your studio was small with one tattoo chair in the middle of the room and a workstation along the back wall. The walls were covered in photographs and drawings you’ve done.  

You plopped down on your wheely stool as he lingered around the room, looking at seemingly every piece you’ve posted. “So, mister military.” He looked down at you, resting his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t ask, do you have any tattoos?” 

He looked slightly embarrassed, “No, no I never did. I’ve thought about a few but never pulled the trigger.”  

You nodded, “Well,” You spun in your chair and grabbed your tattoo gun behind you. Spinning back around his eyes went wide, “you want one now?” you giggled to yourself.  

“Uh- hm.” He laughed, looking nervous. “Fuck it yeah let’s do it.” He clapped his hands on his thighs and shook out some nerves with his fingers.  

You beamed at him, extremely excited for the turn the night took. You rolled over to your drawing board, “Okay so what are we thinking? A little cartoon helicopter, a bottle of tequila, a tramp stamp?” He laughed at your line of questioning.  

“Actually uh- there’s this one helicopter I loved flying. The code was UH-1N. I think I’d like that, just something simple.” He kneaded his hands together.  

You started writing, doing a couple different styles of handwriting. You leaned back and showed them to him, and he picked one of the more structured looked fonts. “Alright, get in that chair and I’ll get you prepped.” 

He sheepishly moved over to the chair and rested himself in. “So where do you want it?” you asked as you collected your supplies and prepared the station.  

“Just here below my elbow on the forearm.” He pointed to his right arm.  

 Frankie sat still, watching you work. He could see the wheels turning in your head as you laid down the plastic wrap on the arm rest he would be using, getting the ink ready, sanitizing everything and getting the stencil cut.  

You finally pulled some gloves on and placed the stencil on his arm. “How’s that look?” 

He shifted in the seat to look at his arm, “Yeah that’s great, thanks.” He smiled at you.  

You started buzzing the tattoo gun, “Alright I think we’re good then.” You could feel the heat of his arm through the gloves and your glance waivered slightly to his bicep in his sleeve. Pulled tight from his straining muscle trying to stay still.  

“How much does it hurt?” he asked? 

Your attention went back to him, “Hm? Oh, um, not bad at all. What’s the worst pain you’ve ever had?”  

He took a beat, “Well, I’ve been shot so.” His voice trailed and your eyes went wide. He said he was in active duty for a long time, I guess it makes sense that he was in live fire. However, the thought of him going through something so traumatic made your stomach flip.  

You stuttered, “Yeah, um, that would definitely hurt more than this will, so I think you’ll be fine.” You did your best to put on a confident smile, but really you were now nervous.  

He nodded as you began. His arm didn’t even flinch beneath your hands. You held your head as close to it as you could so you wouldn’t get too distracted by the burning eyes you could feel coming from him.  

Frankie looked at you so intently and he felt a familiar twitch in his pants as he glanced down and caught a glimpse of your cleavage as you were bent over. He tried his best to look around the room, until his mouth gapped at the sight of a photo on the wall which featured a woman topless, holding her breasts showing off a colourful butterfly splayed out on the top of her ribs. The face was cut off, but he instantly recognized the tattoo on the left hand, as it happens to be the one holding onto his arm right now. He quickly averted his gaze, feeling the stretch of his jeans even more now. He couldn’t even feel the needle of the tattoo gun anymore, too busy trying to pry the unholy thoughts from his mind. Everything about you made him burn with desire. He didn’t know where the night would lead, but he was aching to feel your touch more.  

You wiped the last bit of ink off him and smiled at him. “Okay, here you go. Take a look.”  

Bringing his back up from the seat he pulled his arm forward and looked at your work, “That’s great thank you.”  

Nodding, you started cleaning the site and then placed the second skin on it tightly. Pulling off your gloves you grabbed one of your standard info flyers and a small tube of cream. “So, leave that on for a day, take it off in the shower with some soap. It will hurt like a bitch, sorry about that.” He smiled along with you. “No hot tubs or pools and keep this moisturizer on it for a few weeks as it heals. Oh, and no itching. It’s gonna suck but just don’t do it.” You stood from your stool and reached out your hand to help him stand from the awkward seat.  

He grabbed your hand and stood, looking down at you as your faces were so close. “What do I owe you?”  

You flushed, the tone in his voice was suddenly so deep and arousing. You did your best to not show how flustered you were with the sudden change in his demeanor and took a step back. “Oh gosh nothing, I do little tattoos for free like that all the time.” You waved your hands casually. “Plus, I kind of peer pressured you into it so.” You had backed up enough that your ass was now resting against the drawing table with your arms crossed. You hadn’t meant to back up that much, but as you kept stepping, he had followed you. His body still so close, you could see his eyes flick around your face, seemingly taking in every little bit of you.  

He breathed out of his nose deeply, “You wanna go sit down? You look a little lightheaded.” He said as he tucked your hair behind your ear.  

You nodded, looking up to him with sparkling eyes. Full of lust and need. He turned his body so you could pry yourself from the desk that had been digging into you and followed as you headed towards the living room. You positioned yourself on the couch, tucking your legs underneath you as he sat beside and rested his arm on the top of the couch behind you.  

Nervously looking around, trying your best to ignore the ache between your legs as he looked at you with darkened eyes. “Do you need a drink or-?” 

 “You know, I never did ask you why your nickname is Karma?” His Adams apple bobbed as he swallowed deeply.  

Chest turning red, pupils dilating. You were so entranced by this man, you answered softly. “I’m just a uh- big believer in karma and I’ve always really seen it around me. You know, people are good to me, and good things happen and then people who have really wronged me, they uh- don’t always have things work out for them. So yeah, just became something I grew a lot of interest in and then others started noticing it with the people I had in life and so the nickname sparked. Almost like I entice karma into people’s lives, who surround me.” 

He peered down at you, usually this explanation makes people nervous. Frankie only seemed challenged, like he wanted to prove something to you. You’re not sure what happened during that tattoo, but something flipped in this seemingly wholesome man which resulted in him growing a hunger towards you.  

“So, you’re saying if I do good things to you, good things will happen to me?” he asked, voice barely above a whisper. You could hear only his breath and your heartbeat.  

“Yeah, I guess.” You lightly giggled, not breaking eye contact with him.  

His eyes grew even darker, and he leaned in. Your breath was caught in your throat as you felt the intense ache between your legs watching him lean into you. His eyes flicking to your lips, you turned your head slightly and leaned in as well, meeting him in the middle with a soft kiss. He brought his hand to your knee and started drawing circles with it on your soft skin. Your hand rose up to cup his face and the intensity suddenly grew. You didn’t expect this first date to go this way, but now you’ve found yourself straddled on his lap on your couch making out like you may die tomorrow. Pulling each other’s hair, nipping at jaws and necks, the incessant moaning growing between you. You felt like you were drunk, but this intoxication wasn’t from any kind of substance, no this was all Frankie. The way he ran his hands all over your body and pulled you down to grind your hot and wet core through your panties on his hard bulge made your head spin.  

He grabbed the bottom of your dress and looked to you with pleading eyes, “Is this okay?” 

You took a deep breath, “It’s more than okay Frankie, I need you.”  

His face turned to a smirk, and he pulled your dress up and over your head, throwing it aside. You had thankfully chosen to forgo your usual everyday bra that gets washed once a month and went without one altogether. He sat back and basked in your exposed breasts. You shivered as he traced a finger on your butterfly tattoo beneath them. His mouth curled into a devilish grin leaning down and sucking on one of your nipples as he palmed and squeezed the other with his hand. You moaned and began grinding on him harder. He pulled himself off and you reached down to pull his shirt off him. The chain and dog tag laden on his chest made your knees quiver. He was so broad and full, a real man you thought to yourself.  

You rejoined your lips, sucking on each other’s tongues as his hand moved down and swiped around on the front of your panties before dipping a finger in and starting to draw little circles on your clit. You bucked up at the sensation and started to lose your technique with your kissing. Your head fell to his shoulder as his pace picked up and he sat there watching you break resolve and come undone to his touch. You felt the build up and then suddenly the knot in your gut broke and you flowed into your orgasm. Frankie somehow knew exactly when it happened because just as you started, he slipped his fingers further down and slid two of them perfectly in your pussy. You groaned at the relief of being able to squeeze onto something. He pumped you slowly as you came down from your high and peppered kisses along your neck while you slumped over him, regaining your breath and strength.  

He pulled his fingers out of you, and you leaned back, holding onto his broad shoulders for balance. He looked at you intently, and you burned for more. You reached between the two of you and startled pulling apart his belt as he held your waist to keep you balanced. He lifted his hips so you could get up and slide his pants and underwear down to the ground. You saw his length spring free and felt your mouth water, it was so perfect in every way with beads of precum seeping from the tip. You quickly fell to your knees and in one fell swoop took his member completely in your mouth. His head fell back at the sensation as you sucked and bobbed your head up and down. You used your hand to stroke the part of it that couldn’t fit into your mouth even if you tried. You worked him up and down, doing your best to take as much as you could down your throat, he reached down put his hand along your neck, feeling it throb with his cock inside.  

“Oh, baby, you keep doing that I’m not gonna last much longer.” He finally sputtered out, trying to keep himself composed.  

You glanced up and finally popped his soaked cock from between your lips. You hurriedly pulled your panties down your legs and took your previous position on top of him.  

“Do you need a condom? I’m on the pill and I’m clean but if you,” you said, scanning his face.  

He ran his hands down your back, “I’m clean too so as long as you’re comfortable.”  

You nodded quickly, kissing him to assure him of your consent and then raised yourself up. His hand slid between the two of you to guide his cock into your wet entrance. You felt it line up and started to slowly ease down onto it. The stretch both burned and excited you.  

His mouth fell open and his head fell back against the couch, “Fuck – baby you feel so good.” 

You smirked at him and groaned when you finally had sunk entirely onto him. He quickly encapsuled your lips in his and squeezed your ass with his hands. You took that as a hint to start moving, so you slowly rocked up and down, rubbing your clit on his hair above his cock. He steadied you as you quickly lost your resolve again, head spinning and becoming more and more heavy as the feeling in your gut grew again. You suddenly felt it happen again as your orgasm crashes into you, squeezing him so tight he moaned and rested his head against yours as he tried to pump your seized body through the feeling. You slowed and looked deep in his eyes, he was truly so handsome, and sweet and fuck was he good at this. You felt something in your chest, a warm feeling that you hadn’t felt in years. You liked this man so much, holy fuck did you like this man. You wanted to spend all your time with him, you wanted to learn everything about him, and learn each and every part of his body.  

You were snapped out of your lucid trance when you felt him buck into you, chasing his own high. You braced yourself by holding onto his neck as he rocked further into you. He bit his lip and held your hips so tight it might bruise. He came to a slow stop when his orgasm hit and he pushed into you one last time, coating your walls.  

The last thing you were expecting was for his cock to swell so much in it’s release that the sudden change in stretch would barrel you into a third orgasm. You squeezed him tight, and he moaned as your bodies slowly fell into one another and stilled. He breathed deeply into your neck as you ran your hand on his chest.  

Through stuttered breaths he said, “You know, I’m really starting to like this whole karma concept.”  

Snickering you pulled your head up and matched his gaze. He too looked like his brain was spinning, trying to analyze everything that just happened and everything that he felt for you.  

Pulling yourself off him, you quickly found your underwear and retreated to your room, excusing yourself. 

By the time you had cleaned up and thrown on a loose band shirt and sleep shorts, he was dressed again and had taken it upon himself to fill a glass of water for each of you. You liked the way he looked in your kitchen, so domestic and loving. You graciously accepted the water and walked back to the couch with shaky knees, he followed you sitting on the couch and putting his arm around you as you both sipped from your drinks.  

Frankie put his glass on the painted black wood coffee table, “So, rock star, what do you typically do on your nights off to relax?”  

You hummed, “Well, I don’t know if it’s your thing but I’m rewatching one of my favourite shows right now if you’d like to stick around for a while?” 

He smiled back at you, “Oh yeah, what is it?” 

“Buffy the vampire slayer.” You looked to him, worried he may be turned off by your choice in television, you pegged him more for a sports or war show guy.  

Thankfully, he was nothing like you thought he was going to be. “Buffy really? Fuck I love that show, watched it when it came out.” 

“Really?” You gapped, “Well then, we’re definitely watching it. I watch it every year at least once.” You reached for the remote on the coffee table and started queuing it up.  

“What’s your favourite episode?” He asked.  

You looked up, trying to figure out your answer, “Oh man, that’s hard. I really like the majority of the episodes in the first season to be honest. That season is by far my favourite. How bout you, any episode in particular?” 

“Oh yeah that’s easy, season four, episode one. Best episode in the series for me, it’s a classic. Great guest actors.” he says confidently.  

You looked to him, taken aback by the fact that he even knew episode numbers, “Really?” you ask, “Well I guess I know which one we’re gonna watch right now.” You scrolled through the series and selected the episode he requested.  

Both of you fell into each other and snuggled on the couch, watching the show and talking about anything that came to mind. It felt so easy you thought, and maybe that’s okay. Love is supposed to be easy after all. It will take time to accept that, but if Frankie continues to be the man you think he is, you’ll be falling endlessly for him.  

It will be easier than singing on stage, it will make you forget about your troubles more than the sting of a tattoo needle, and soon enough, he’ll make you forget all about karma because he’ll bring nothing but good into your life.  

[sxddekarios]

a very wholesome magic lesson

i am back with a bg3 rebranding!! this is the first fic i've ever wrote, and it's my take on Gale's act 1 romance scene at the tiefling party. Him and Tav are both oblivious to the others' feelings. read on ao3 or here!

2.2k words (of fluff)

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

“I think it’s best in my condition if I don’t get too excited,” Gale reminds himself.

“Well, who said anything about excitement? Surely you’re not *that* keen on a little magic trick. I’ve seen you do plenty of other magic.” Tav responds with her signature furrowed brows.

“It’s not … the magic, per-say. More what comes with it. Though perhaps I’ve had too much wine for this conversation.” Gale attempts to stop him self, as he usually does when he’s bitten off a bit too much to chew in the flirting department.

“For what conversation? I just want to learn some more magic. There’s no way I can go enjoy our celebration, and sleep, after this cliffhanger…” Tav trails off, trying to bait him into explaining without having to fish too directly (or embarrassingly) for it.

Gale raises an eyebrow at Tav, knowing that he’s never been able to turn down an ask of hers before. He got into this mess with the orb by being a pleaser, after all. “Have a glass of wine and I’ll see if I can handle making this much of an ass of myself” Gale sighs.

Tav grabs his glass of wine and takes a tentative sip. She makes a face, disgusted by the tartness. Luckily, she manages to swallow the offending liquid. “This is all you’re getting from me, I’m afraid. Unless you can magic this into something bearable, or you’re hiding some other vices somewhere in that tent of yours, you’re gonna have to deal with talking to a sober person right now.”

Gale looks at her in mock astonishment — “Have you no taste? Have you never drank wine before? This is a *delectable* indulgence that clearly you have not been educated on. Or, perhaps, you lack the sophistication that i’ve grown terribly used to in Waterdeep.”

Tav grimaces while preparing herself for her next attempt to shut Gale up …. at least telling him how he *should* shut up, that is. Letting out a deep breath, she grabs hold of Gale’s glass and chugs it. As much as she can anyways, which still takes an eternity too long to ensure she doesn’t choke. “It’s still horrendous. But we’re even now. Spill, before I do.”

Gale glances at the empty glass in disappointment, but holds onto it. He steels himself for his next words while keeping his eyes downward. “If you must know, I speak of … physical excitement. I can handle magic, but my heart may not be able to handle … more carnal conditions of the flesh. With the orb, I risk exploding with any activity, or *feeling*, that gets my heart beating too fast, my blood pressure too high,” Gale explains.

Tav raises an eyebrow in response. “Like, you’re gonna explode as in ….” she trails off again, hoping he’ll take the hint. She knows he must be referring to the catastrophic Netherese blast they had spoken of before, but she couldn’t help herself from teasing him about the double entendre.

The blush taking over Gale’s face and neck came on far too suddenly for him to blame it on the wine. “No! Gods no, not like that! The magic in the orb will destroy me and everything around me,” Gale exclaims. Much to his avail, Tav still doesn’t stop her line of questioning.

Crossing her arms, Tav decides to enjoy the flustered nature of a blushing, tipsy Gale. “Okay, but you’re still saying you’d explode …. literally …. because you’d explode …. sexually. You said you wanted to show me a *magic* trick, not fuck my brains out.”

She pauses for a second when he lets out an indignant gasp at her directness. “Unless I’m mistaken on what a magic trick is, in which case I think you should’ve lead with that,” Tav finished with a smirk, finally meeting his eyes. She can feel the exasperation exuding from the wizard, and she loves every second of it.

Gale has no choice but to shake his head in lack of a coherent response to Tav’s brazen words. “I suppose you’ve got me there. I can show you some magic, no nefarious subterfuge. And no explosions of any kind, mortal *or* magical,” he emphasized.

Tav worries at her lip for show. “You really won’t blow up, right? Or you’ll at least warn me if you feel too much … *excitement*, stirring? We can’t leave scratch an orphan.” She thinks of mentioning the chaos that Astarion would unleash without them to reel him in, but she didn’t want to darken the mood too much.

Gale smiles at her words and lets out a little laugh as he promises that they’ll be safe. He holds out his hand, palm up, for her to take. Tav takes a hard look at his fingers for a moment, trying to commit their beauty to memory, before gently laying her hand atop his and intertwining their fingers to be led farther out of the camp. Once they reach a more quiet spot a few minutes later, Gale stops, forfeiting her warm hand to turn to her.

“This will do. Now, I want to show you the true embrace of the Weave. It’s a full-body experience to wield the Weave and feel its support of your magic,” Gale says with a smile on his face and wonder in his eyes. Tav categorizes this as his professor face, imagining him introducing lessons to his students with this pure enthusiasm.

Nevertheless, she’s more comfortable bickering with Gale than sharing that heart-warming thought with him. “You know i’m a sorcerer, right? I’ve been using the Weave my whole life. Unlike *some* people,” she pointedly includes to rile up the wizard.

“Of course. You’ve received the gift through your ancestor’s carnal relations with some dragon, while ‘some’ of us have *worked* for it,” Gale smiled, letting her know that he was joining her sarcasm in jest. “Nonetheless, there’s a very different feeling to using the Weave that comes with the years of study a wizard has. *That* is what I wanted to show you. I know you can call on the Weave as second nature, and you do a wonderful job with it, but I want you to experience the pleasure of embracing the environment, carefully going over the incantation and hand gestures, and using this to manipulate the Weave to bring your spell into reality.”

Tav felt her heart rate sky rocket with Gale’s praise for her sorcery. She wondered if the feeling he spoke of was really common to all wizards, or if he had a deeper connection as Mystra’s former lover … or victim, if you ask her. Still, she tried to focus on the positive.

“Ah, so you took me here to teach me slow careful pleasure,” Tav teased. “Get on with it then,” she encouraged with a wave of her hand.

Gale laughed in response, a deep sound that flooded Tav’s head with a light feeling, and took over her lips with a full grin.

“As you wish,” Gale bowed his head towards Tav, and proceeded with his magic lesson.

—

After an hour of teaching Tav how to connect with the Weave in this almost spiritual manner, Gale smiled at her once again. “I know you’re genuinely a natural at magic, but you did a wonderful job with this. It’s hard for someone to harness this connection without the education of a wizard.”

Tav smiles back at Gale and considers herself. “Or, maybe you’re just a good teacher.” As sure of herself as she was in magic, she was more sure of Gale’s ability to educate others. From his admirable desire to help others to his enthusiasm for knowledge … to the voice, face, and *hands* that made it impossible to zone out on him. He didn’t need to know that last part, though.

Gale chuckles at her praise, a light blush spreading across his face. “That too. How are you feeling now?” He asks, hoping his little magic lesson has been half as joyful for her as it has been for him. He felt relaxed, renewed, grounded, and more connected to her than he had ever felt. Although, that last part may be because he’s still standing so close to her, holding her hand as he needed to guide her through the more intricate parts of spell casting.

Tav allows herself to stare into Gale’s glimmering brown eyes, feeling a psychic connection between them where her thoughts could become his without the need to be verbalized.

After a lifetime of men being upset at her, accusing her of expecting them to read her mind, here is a man who can simply do so. Of *course* it’s Gale. Tav feels her eyes well up as she revels in the intense hope, adoration, and yearning she feels for him. Gazing into Gale’s eyes, their hands still intertwined, she imagines what it would be like to press onto her tiptoes and softly kiss him.

Gale’s eyes widen with shock as the thought dances into his mind. “I - I didn’t think -” he stutters, “I wasn’t … expecting that. Not that it’s unwelcome — it was a most pleasant thought,” Gale adds in hopes that Tav doesn’t take his surprise as disinterest, or even disgust. “It just took me by surprise,” he reiterates.

Tav takes a moment to compose herself before exhaling a shaky “okay.” Then, she whips her head around as she smells bergamot wafting in from the distance. Gale follows her gaze until they both see Astarion stumbling into the clearing … closely connected to Shadowheart.

“Well, looks like we’ve got company,” Gale tries (and fails) to keep the annoyance out of his voice. “We might want to get back to camp before we have to witness whatever is going to happen here.”

Tav slowly turns back to gale, smiling as she notices his stony stare at the oblivious couple. “As long as we’re not able to hear them from camp…”

“Oh gods, I don’t even want to think of that,” Gale grimaced. “Why don’t we head back, and if we hear anything, you could come sleep in my tent?” He quickly adds,” I have a silencing ward. I’d cast one on them before we leave, but I’m afraid my concentration won’t last once I fall asleep, and I know how fitful your rest is.”

Astonishment, anger, and amusement fight for dominance over Tav. She conveys a mix of them with her slack-jawed expression. “You had a *silencing ward* on your tent this whole time? And you didn’t *tell me*?” She kept her outrage playful, although she was disappointed that he hadn’t shared this with her earlier.

“I’m sorry,” gale said in earnest as he took her hand and started leading her back towards camp. They left a wide berth for Astarion and Shadowheart to continue ripping each other’s clothes off.

“I started working on a ranged ward for your tent after I earned of your insomnia, but I never quite got it to stick. I didn’t want you to think I was coming onto you by offering a place in my tent to get some good rest. I don’t expect anything, and I could even sleep outside of it if you’re more comfortable with that.” He felt a bit less forward with the offer now that he knew she thought of kissing him — at least in that moment. Still, he never wanted her to feel pressure.

She gazed up at Gale as they reached their camp. “Really?” she asked, unsure if someone could genuinely be so kind. Last time she had an offer like that …. well, they lied about expecting nothing.

Gale squeezed Tav’s hand in reassurance as he took in the concern in her voice. “Of course. I’m sure our adventure would benefit from a well-rested leader… do you want my tent alone, or …” he trailed off, his bashfulness returning.

“No!” tav exclaimed. “I’m not taking your tent from you! We can share it, if you’re okay with that?” She hurries along in an attempt to be thoughtful and nonchalant at the same time, “whatever you want. Sleeping on opposite sides, together … I’m fine with either. Well, by together I mean … you know what I mean,” she shook her head as she tried to explain herself.

Then she remembered their little joke and smirked, “no undue *excitement* is what I mean.”

Gale returned her smirk with a laugh, “Right, always looking out for me. It’s lady’s choice though, and i’m happy with either as well. But I will say, I know you run warm. I also know that I can use a frost enchantment to keep you cool so long as we’re touching.” This was his masterful attempt at sweetening the deal without pressuring her by saying how much he longed to hold her in his arms … and damn him if it wasn’t going to work.

“Gods, you’ve really been holding out on me, haven’t you?” Tav admonished. “I’ll just, get some of my stuff, and then I’ll join you. I’ll bring my blanket so I hopefully won’t steal yours, but I make no promises.”

He smiled as he met her serious gaze at the threat of stealing his blanket. “Two is always better. I’ll see you when you’re ready,” Gale said softly, watching her head back to her tent. He silently thanked her for wanting another blanket, giving him a moment alone to bask in the excitement of a night with her. And calm down this excitement before she returns so he doesn’t scare her off.

[sykestarot]

who are your guides?

1-2-3 (left to right)

I DO NOT OWN THESE IMAGES

hi guys welcome to this weeks reading! I started this reading last week and the energy just didn't feel right but here it is! I'm working on a website so I can schedule personal readings as well! If anyone has any tips for that I'd love to hear it feel free to dm me :). Anyways I hope you enjoy these messages they were all so very sweet!

Pile 1

“there will be mountains you won't move still, i’ll always be there for you” (The Hermit; queen of wands; 5 of wands reversed; 2 of wands; 6 of cups; knight of pentacles) Hi pile one! For you guys I feel like one of your guides is a familial figure, like a grandparent or maybe someone apart of your chosen family. I feel like you might’ve lost this person pretty recently. For some there is female energy and for others there male energy. I’d say for the female energies this would’ve been a firecracker of a person. They were probably always full of life and adventure and they want to guide you to be in that power as well. For the male energy I feel as though they were steady as a beating drum. A very reliable person in life and probably gave the best advice. This guide is here to help you with staying grounded. For some of you you could have both of them simultaneously, however i feel for most of you you have one or the other. But i must point out that this could’ve been a power couple if they were together in life lol. But I see that those with the feminine energy might be on the shyer side of things, and your guide would love to show you how it feels to fully step into your dark feminine energy. For those with the masculine energy this guide wants to continue to give you advice and wishes you would speak to them more. I also feel like some of you might come from a religious background and maybe feel like believing in guides could insight some shame for you. Your guides want you to know that shaming yourself for a belief will only hinder the progress that you’ve made and don’t be too hard on yourself. I see that these guides have so much unconditional love for you and when you feel most alone I promise you are not. Animal Spirits: Snake + Hawk Signs: canned pumpkin; all spice?; Pocahontas; racoons; pacific northwest; rivers; wood cabins; pine scent; Massachusetts; boats; church; white buildings; cold water; winter; snow; willow trees; vivid dreams; 555

Pile 2

“is there something supernatural fucking with you?” (2 of pentacles; knight of cups; Temperance; 4 of pentacles; 6 of cups; 2 of wands) Hi Pile 2 welcome and thanks for reading! I will say that your guide is a very funny one. I feel like this pile has one pretty good overarching energy. I don’t feel like this is someone you��ve known in this life but maybe a few lifetimes ago. I also feel like you are a very self aware reader or are at least in contact with your guides in some way whether you are conscious of it or not. This guide had lots of fun picking a song, and in turn I feel like was messing around with me. I get the energy of a guide who volunteered to be yours because they loved you so much in the last life. I also feel like you guys go around very uptight and stressed about most things in life, and I feel like their energy is supposed to help you loosen up. Like maybe your lesson in life is to find the joy in being alive instead of being super goal oriented or materially focused. I feel like this is the type of guide where you’d be painting something and then all of the sudden magically all the paint spills, or when you go to get some out you get way too much. Like this guide is trying to really show you that mistakes are just happy accidents. I feel like you guys suffer from catastrophic thinking. It’s like a domino effect for you and sometimes this guide will put things in your way so that you fail and have some realization that it wasn’t the end of the world and that there are other ways to get to the same outcome. I also see that this guide loves see you smile and will give you small rewards in the day. For ecample you might walk home from work and a cute neighborhood cat might say hi to you everyday. Or you get your order payed for by the person in front of you. This guide really does care for you and wants you to know that they’re always there for you and you can relax a bit, not everything is the end of the world. “Please do your breathing exercises!” Animal Spirits: Beaver + Eagle Signs: pranks; giggles; unnatural coincidences; kitties; empty streets; crisp air; chain link fences; playgrounds; small town; ambition; hikes; 11:11; painting; Bob Ross; bird chirps

Pile 3

“if I had the chance to relive those days I’d take it” (4 of swords; The Hanged Man; 2 of pentacles; Temperance; 9 of wands; 2 of swords) Hi pile 3! So for you guys it’s a little different than the other piles, I feel like this might not be a guide but a pet that’s passed on. Whether it was recently or a long time ago I feel like this was a kitty that had some health issues. I feel like you had to make a hard decision on whether or not to put them down and maybe you still carry that guilt with you. This little guy definitely doesn’t want you to hold onto that and they believe that they lived the best life with you truly. You took care of them and loved them so much. I keep hearing you loved me so much you let me go. They don’t harbor any resentment or harsh feelings for you on the other side. I even hear that they’d love to come back and be another pet of yours. Maybe you’re not ready for that just yet and that’s why they haven’t but they want you to know that they forgive you for the choice you made and they understand it. They want you to forgive yourself as well. I keep hearing them say I was really sick. They are so grateful of the life they lived with you truly. I see that maybe you were afraid to talk to them after they crossed the rainbow bridge because you felt like they wouldn’t want to hear from you. Trust me they very much do! They miss you so much and I feel like they always hang around in your energy and they love being close to you. Like I feel like they love to sit on your chest or your back. They never left you, not for a moment. They just want you to feel at peace and be happy. They still keep a very close and watchful eye on you, always wanting to protect you. I don’t know if maybe you’ve been having dreams of them or feeling them where they used to cuddle you. They want you to know that you were the thing that mattered most to them and still are and they hate seeing you continue to carry the weight of that decision after all this time. They think you are the most perfect human. “Please don’t beat yourself up!” Animal Spirits: Dove + Cat Signs: little league; tv static; gamecube; leapfrog; big windows, rays of sunlight; leaves blowing in the wind; green; chemtrails; airplanes; 90’s; reincarnation; green eyes

[bumofthewild]

my really really long rant about endwalker

i'm not kidding this is really long. spoilers ahead of course, like immediately upon entry. sorry i sound so angry the whole time

unfortunately for me and for anyone reading this, endwalker is one of those cases where i like/d so much of what happens that the many weak moments make me more critical of the whole than i would be if it was just wholly bad like stormblood, bc it's a waste of potential. a lot of the time the moments i liked would even be happening simultaneously with the things i find so problematic: cheap storytelling decisions, cheap moments that only serve as fanservice or for shock value that only detract from a characters’ pre-existing complexity, poorly done rehashing of elements from shadowbringers, a lot of hollow pseudo-intellectual arguments, rushed and underdeveloped writing in one instance and then meandering wastes of time immediately after….these issues are so consistent that rather than try to break up endwalker's story based on these things, i will just try to run thru the whole thing chronologically and hope i don't get too repetitive. that's why this isn't an essay with some pretense of structure. i'll do my best.

what's crazy to me is i thought endwalker was going to be my second favourite expansion. this was despite not caring about its original main conflict--i thought fandaniel just wasn't a compelling or even interesting villain. he comes out of nowhere. and he's also asahi so that association is hard to break away from bc i find asahi silly. and he suffers from the same writing issues zenos does, where nearly every cutscene with them did little to develop their characters further from the baseline, only reiterated what i already know bc they literally never say anything else: zenos wants to fight wol, he's bored with everything life could possibly offer, fandaniel will ensure zenos can fight wol through his towers bc he no longer plays to the tune of his unsundered masters... even though what fandaniel was promising to cause were the final days i just didn't really care. in the wake of shadowbringers the final days are like a pretty big deal, but something about reviving a catastrophe i had just finished wrapping up--i thought, naively--made bringing them back seem really thoughtless. i don't really need to see anymore final days...like how much more do i need to understand how bad it was? i mean i think shb did a pretty good job????? of making the final days seem pretty fucking bad. why not come up with something new because this is endwalker and not shadowbringers haha? the only fresh thing about this new uncooler final days was the motivation behind them. fandaniel wanting to bring about the final days bc he wants to die and thinks everything should die with him vs emet-selch's unwillingness to die no matter what bc the final days took everything from him and he needs to bring it all back. still, recontextualising the final days from a past event into a present issue ruins them to me. whatever, i thought, there's no way we're letting the final days happen so what does this matter anyways. there's no way.

so yeah post-shb into ew was starting to lose me plot-wise. not the end of the world (LOL?) though bc the atmosphere in the beginning was so subtle and fresh and rich like dew in the morning that i was willing to look past it. going to old sharlayan i liked a lot. i liked going there not as a more typical homecoming for your friends but to instead uncover the sharlayan forum's cryptic behaviour. this kind of intrigue was what i really wanted after the grandness of shadowbringers and i really do think endwalker gave me that for a while. i liked the opening scene on the ship a lot bc it felt exciting and uncertain and new, especially talking to hydaelyn. i liked how she had become such an unstable variable after originally being the most anchoring presence in the entire game: learning she's a primal, whether she's actually “good” after listening to emet-selch’s explanation of her origins and actions in shb, and the fact that her appeals to her champions have been fewer and fewer… i thought her meeting with you at the very beginning of endwalker was cool and foreboding. i also really liked the emet-selch narration btw, i thought that was a fun choice. who better to guide you into the final stages of your adventure than the person who left you with that final, most important task. i wish this had been the only callback to his character at all. 

so a big part of why i like/d endwalker so much is all that atmosphere. and something i can't really put into words. it just felt cool and cohesive at the start. old sharlayan is one of my favourite locations now; i like that despite its rigidity and (to me farcical but w/e tangent) pursuit of rationality/knowledge, there's the quaint island charm and fresh winter sea and overgrown greenery and forest paths. i liked that the game enhanced the usual hubworld tour chore by having g’raha and krile follow you around to give you more personal anecdotes of the place, really gave it a more lived-in feeling, which really added to both them and the location. i also really liked all this charm and familiarity in tandem with the secret hostility of the place bc of the forum, having to sneak around and so on, sharlayan citizens not really recognising you somehow? but being very aware of a warrior of light threat to their way of life, even if i find that non-intervention way of life silly.

i also really liked labryinthos. it's a really creative place. i liked its uncanny false sky and controlled environment, and yet all the people scrambling about inside. and the music felt kind of magical like i had encountered another fairy area or something idk it all felt very whimsical. thavnair i really liked as well but i feel like my immediate impression of the place was kind of poisoned by the stereotypes, like the huge focus on trade and the first impression being undercutting foreign tourists but then i started to really enjoy the part where you run around with matsya and help him sell fish. i liked the mundanity and slow pace of that exercise bc it felt like a much more involved way of learning about thavnair and its current issues through conversations rather than the fetch quest slog, and this is one of the things i like a lot about the beginning of endwalker. the gameplay really improved i think bc they found more creative ways of having you interact with your surroundings, rather than having the usual running between npcs to fetch things for them or other chores. like rather than doing a string of quests and then being rewarded with development of the story, the gameplay simultaneously develops the story. like turning into frogs i thought was fun, testing nidhana’s aether lamp was fun, etc. it felt like they had better ideas about how to progress the in-between parts.

thavnair quickly started to upset me though bc it started to feel like the only relevance the location had was what they could give you for your military cause, that is, the scales. like alchemy is this place’s big highlight and its just the scales the scales the scales and the tower aughhhhhh!!!!!!! the tower!!!!!!!!!! i wish they had focused on something but i guess this is just to be expected with ffxiv...any interaction with a foreign ("foreign" as far as square enix eorzea is concerned) culture really boils down to how they might bolster your military efforts, the azim steppe for eg. so it felt like my concern for an individual (matsya) and the experience firsthand trying to help him with his day to day; the idea that every single person on earth is important and shouldn't be made to suffer, and helping that single person... was like overshadowed by something more focused on a “greater good", that is, the construction of the scales to defeat the towers to save the world ad infinitum. but if you played endwalker then you would know how this idea of only concerning oneself with a "greater good" and this diluting of the importance of an individual's life for the sake of this idealistic whole causes some problems for a certain someone..................so why didn't the game focus more on these themes? probably because at the end of the day it's a video game by square enix and you need a big boss to fight or something or bc this expansion is insanely unfocused i don't know. i feel like this concept about the importance of the small things that can add up to one life and how that one life is beautiful and important crops up with the significance of weeds despite its importance overall. i don't know if i think this is one of the main underlying themes of endwalker just poorly executed so as to not even be there or if i just wish it was one of its main themes. anyways i'm getting distracted, what i mean to say is thavnair gets dehumanised throughout the entire expansion in the most horrific ways possible so i guess this was just the start

moving on... i liked the part in garlemald a lot, which i didn't expect bc i don't expect this game to handle anything regarding imperialism well. i liked that the garlemald you finally experience, after it being one of your main enemies and this very proud nation, was just this dead quiet and ruined place. the quest where you follow that girl is another eg of how the gameplay was a bit more immersive, i think it helped me feel the loneliness and the danger of the place, that i could be a danger to this girl. that i really had to try if i wanted to help her. what i didn't like was alphinaud's and alisaie’s babying attitude towards the garleans? like ok yeah of course we’re gonna have patience and grace for GARLEMALD meanwhile lyse was losing her head at the ala mhigans whenever they disagreed with her. like sure arguing won't get anywhere but it felt like the twins were reckoning with children sometimes, it was so strange. but i did like that the game didn't shy away from making the garleans just unpleasant to be around at best, and an actual danger to you at worst. it's just better to me to make them harder to reconcile with so that there's no frustrating cheap shots at redemption but rather a good, sobering look at a society that's been totally and willingly misled. and i liked that alisaie's and alphinaud's attempts to help those garlean kids ended so badly, even though i'm not usually a fan of such cruel outcomes. it felt like we were seeing a garlemald not necessarily being punished for its actions more than we were seeing a place built on shitty ideals crumble bc of those ideals. i thought jullus was a good char and helped to carry that idea of disillusionment forward. i didn't care so much about sympathising with what he'd lost, but i did find it interesting how they contrast him with the legatus he's working under, who even while the place is in ruins is still more concerned with war than providing for the people relying on him. i don't think the part in garlemald is perfect by any means, like it doesn't do anything too brave, but ig it was a lot more subtle and complex in its storytelling than i expected. and it wasn't meaninglessly cruel. like i'm glad those shock collars put on the twins were only used to gauge jullus' emotional growth or something like him not wanting to activate them rather than them actually being fucking used which would have just made me close the game and not look back.

from here on is where i struggle to lock in for the rest of the story. starting with when zenos kidnaps you in the midst of the fighting at camp broken glass--i don't think i have ever been more immediately mentally locked out of a story. endwalker is darker than usual, trapping people in fleshy towers, two young girls lying dead on the ice, tentacles erupting out of tempered garlean soldiers... and so on. and while i don't personally like things that are overly dark or cruel, it's not that i think they're bad, just that with moments like that it's a lot better imo that a point is being made or they add something to the story, and that it doesn't feel soullessly random or disrespectful. unfortunately this stops being the case for the rest of the expansion..... like something about the weird eldritch feeling of fandaniel pulling you out of your body and putting you in a random soldier's was throwing me off immensely. it felt like i was playing a different game, like so disconcerting i found it distracting, because why would he not just do this to screw you over more often? i didn't understand them having access to such an unrestrained power. at the same time it was also just too wacky to really take seriously despite the apparent gravity of what was happening. zenos inside of my bunny girl's body??? i don't even understand why they did it? to piss you off?? the duty where you play as the imperial soldier was interesting i guess but i couldn’t understand what the meaning behind being made to struggle through that experience was... like didn't we just spend all that time sympathising with the garleans and wrap that section up already? why do i now need to sympathise with/experience firsthand what its like to be a garlean footsoldier? and it annoyed me because these parts felt emotionally rich, like stumbling across those garleans fighting that machine and trying to do your best to help them; dragging yourself across the ground to get to your friends before something bad happens to them, and running towards them before zenos hurts them while in your body--i thought all of that could've been really poignant if not for the actual situation being so silly?? they could have just kept some of those ideas, wol dragging themselves across the ground for eg--the extent to which they're willing to stop harm from reaching their friends (which reminds me of what vrtra says to you about the importance of protecting your friends the first time you meet him. but that was such a one-off moment that goes nowhere... i just wish ew would pick something, anything, to be a poignant message about love on planet earth if they want nihilism to be the main villain, and just stick to it)--and do something that felt a lot more relevant to the established story thus far? just felt totally pointless

what makes this worse is this ridiculous part is iirc right after fandaniel reveals that the entity tempering all of the garleans is varis reanimated as an ancient oh-so-important primal...?? like here's (what i thought was going to be) an actually important point in the story being sidelined for a moment that just goes absolutely nowhere. they certainly made it seem important for a moment, and i think this would've rounded off what was being said about garlemald well; the garleans are so taken in by the farce of their homeland that they think varis is calling them to reclaim their country over the radio, but all along what's actually causing their nation to fall apart is this monstrous version of their late emperor. the irony would've been interesting but they just do nothing with it... (i think desecrating a dead person's corpse by turning it into a monster is really weird btw, even weirder that they do it for no reason. whatever ew is weird.) i thought, considering that this plotline was being established from before endwalker started, that anima was going to take some time. not so. ffxiv would rather have you and zenos enact tropes from a disney channel movie. you merk that guy at the end of the tower of babil and from then on every important plot point the expansion could possibly have moves at fucking mach 567472838758745745

because why all of a sudden are you getting beamed up to the moon? and fighting ZODIARK? i was so confused when asahi i mean fandaniel was punching shit into that fuckgin allagan computer like fandaniel what the fuck are you talking about... i couldn't process anything that happened here. like i'll willingly put aside boring practicalities like why anyone can breathe on the moon, but not so much how fast this all happened and how out of nowhere--is this the reason fandaniel is also amon btw? so that he can use their allagan computers to do this? bc i honestly can’t find any other reason why him being amon is relevant when they revealed that in the tower of zot...like i dont get why that's important

and it doesn't get better after this is the sad thing to me. it doesn't pick itself back up. it is just extremely unfocused right until the endwalker. i was willing to move past getting rid of zodiark so quickly because it's not that i hold standard storytelling rules so dearly in my heart that i need the biggest final boss of the entire series to get a bit more gravitas. it actually ended up being a pretty interesting decision--dispatching the largest villain at the heart of the game being the catalyst for the biggest catastrophe you've ever heard of. like i like that wol gets played. but the entire mare lamentorum section that follows is disrespectful. this expansion suffers from some extreme tonal dissonance, bc how does wol learn that the final days are now upon them and then proceed to spend their time leisurely touring the moon rabbit facility to tell them that the clothes they’ve made for humans to wear isn’t fashionable? why on god's green earth does that matter at this current juncture? this part is one of the worst story-writing sinkholes in the expansion to me, bc why are the discrepancies between what the loporrits know of humanity vs what humanity is actually like something the story chooses to grapple with? we're building an ark to save humanity, and instead of approaching this in a contemplative or emotional way, the point of conflict they choose is logistics? in the expansion about nihilism? at best this conflict was overly realistic..... mostly it's just boring, and at worst the FINAL DAYS are now upon us, so why am i taste-testing carrots? how could the sharlayans, the most focused group of people on the entire planet, have been collaborating with the loporrits for decades and not even have one of the most basic aspects of staying alive squared away? i’m supposed to not only believe that nobody knew after all that time the lopporits think people only eat carrots, but also waste time on fixing this? whyyyyy would they even devote any time to this at all when there are so many more complicated and interesting ideas that they let flounder bc they rush through them at breakneck pace constantly? we just fucking killed zodiark! is this why they stick urianger up there to do all the fixing actually? to save time offscreen? maybe that's why they chose this asinine chunk of the story to start processing his character? though why they would choose to add more to a plate they can barely balance i don't know. i don’t even feel like getting into what they did with urianger bc it will just piss me off. i think only my love for rabbits and how i will never ever not find urianger precious were stopping me from putting a hex on square enix

the following section of the story is easily the worst part to me in the entire game. like i would rather replay stormblood multiple times in a row than ever sit through the final days coming to thavnair ever again. i've already said bringing back the final days would just be bad; a disservice to the time spent on it in shadowbringers. what more is there to say on that front? nothing. and the way ew utilises the final days tells me that the answer is nothing. it just wanted to unleash the violence of that event on the non-white area and spends an insane amount of time doing it. i can think of no other time in this game where there is so much wanton death and destruction for no useful storytelling reason other than to relish in the cheap shock of witnessing violence, violence they are unwilling to inflict on its white areas, because even in garlemald you only see the aftermath of what happens rather than being in the midst of it. it was actually making me feel fatigued. it was just so much of the same thing over and over with no real meaning to any of it. and that's not to say that meaning justifies suffering, but this is a game.....with a story... first and foremost? there needs to be some kind of reason to move the story forward? but nothing new or inspired is being said, just "the final days are really bad"

i’m actually not even sure where to begin so i’ll start with a glaring issue: i hate that people turn into abominations. people “randomly” turning into monsters just feels too unwieldy--how could there be any sense whatsoever that that situation is controllable? even learning that it's caused by feelings of despair is shit because emotions are so vague, how could there be any worthwhile attempt to control your emotions, let alone while watching your loved ones turn into/be eaten by monsters? this entire part felt so wildly out of hand/unpredictable to me that every single moment onward that wasn't more or less focused on maintaining this extremealy volatile situation felt like an unforgivable lack of priorities. it was extremely distracting to have it hovering over everything; everything else felt absolutely inconsequential in comparison. bc what the fuck do you mean people are randomly turning into monsters?? also the stakes were already really high just knowing the final days were coming, so raising them that much higher felt unnecessary to the point of it being hard to believe. and then bc you know there's no way any character important to wol is going to turn into a monster, subjecting commonfolk npcs to this just feels absurdly cruel, and also just made it obvious how much of a cheap scare it all was, bc it can't have any real narrative importance as a result of only happening to random npcs. it was all so blatantly fake-deep. there was no meaning behind them originally being people except for the useless horror of it--the scions still referred to them as monsters to be put down rather than as the people they used to be, just like any other monster in this game. dynamis was more of a retroactive explanation for why people turned into monsters, rather than people turning into monsters bolstering any understanding of dynamis. in shb the sin eaters had some method to them that made them more believable. you fight them throughout the story rather than them just being dropped on you midway through, they helped provide a picture of what kind of world the first was, they were emotional diving boards for characters like alisaie to develop personal goals and so on and so forth... the horror of the sin eaters had a narrative purpose. in endwalker it feels like they didn’t know what to do but wanted to replicate parts of shadowbringers, but didn't know why those parts worked so well bc they're too obsessed with trying to shock their audience. this part just sucked beyond description.

and it just continues to get worse. how can you be the one writing the parametres of a situation and you create something that's literally unmanageable, so that when its only manageable bc you need it to be, it's just so obviously shit writing? my sister described endwalker's writing as really contrived, like when they need something to happen (and that thing is often a really bad idea) they just shove it in there at the cost of keeping their characters in character, or having their story threads--both the interesting ones and the stupid ones--fall totally flat. she says they shortcut the writing. and it's true. for eg, the characters literally don't feel like themselves at times, or get utilised in really moronic ways. like when wol just watches the satrap die, another cheap scare btw he literally gets grabbed an eaten in a way my sis (i was ranting to her a lot about this game ok) described as straight from attack on titan. just gets grabbed and eaten. and this happens to him for such asinine reasons: 1. so that this random asf plot point of vrtra revealing himself as the true satrap can bear fruit. for some fucking reason. i struggle to understand why this is important at all but i guess it's yet another little sideplot that ew just can't seem to resist adding to its already towering plate at the plot buffet, like whatever is going on with urianger and moenbryda's parents/the loporrits, or zenos who now spends most of his time offscreen, or the twins and their father, etc, bc ew likes to waste time 2. so that g'raha (???????????????????????) out of fucking nowhere can have a big boy moment and direct the scions and the people of thavnair in their time of need. what on earth was that scene supposed to be? fanservice? a reminder that g'raha was a leader back in the first? which blows my mind bc mere moments before he had a scene i really enjoyed despite the circumstances, where after a man witnesses his son get turned into a beast and then stepped on by another beast because endwalker is literally jacking itself off to suffering and expects me to be doing the same... g’raha goes up to this man and stops him from panicking and turning into a monster himself. while i don't think any of this should be happening, i thought it was a nice take on his character to have a more sensitive moment in such a harrowing situation. i don't know, have a character demonstrate some emotional skills instead of the usual fighting ones. ofc all of this i thought mere moments before disaster. why was any of this necessary? literally why not just have the satrap, i don't know, take charge of his country when he's needed most, even if he's only been a figurehead the whole time? why let him go out so horribly when he obvious loves his people with his whole heart just so that vrtra can step in without any sort of conflict? i don't understand the focus on vrtra at all

and it actually just keeps getting worse.. the following part where you have to find matsya's friends at palaka's stand was awful. the friends have a newborn baby, so it's obvious that only that baby is surviving bc ew is convinced you don't know how harsh the world is yet. that must be why this part is so long? i'm repeating myself but so many other things that shouldn't be rushed get rushed, only for ew to devote a lot of time to sections like this where nothing changes or develops except for compounding how bad it all feels. i think it was at this point actually, that i realised endwalker actually had some underlying point it was trying to make. it would've been impossible not to realise bc of how heavy-handed it is. i'm not even going to try and paraphrase bc it was so random the way it was introduced i thought i had missed some lines of dialogue or something when it happened:

the suddenness of this felt like when a writer forsakes trying to show what a story is about and instead opts to speak to their audience directly through poorly disguised self-inserts. like i know things are bad right now guys, but the preaching tone of this is jarring. like maybe if you spent some time trying to develop your themes you wouldn't have to be doing this endwalker. i know you need your final villain to literally parrot these ideas for the rest of the game, but if this was supposed to be such a core point of the story why wait all the way until now to just beat me over the head with it? was watching a child be crushed underfoot supposed to make elderly man of palaka using the phrase "at journey's end" seem profound?

anyways then you go and try to save matsya’s friend (the mother bc the father has now died, of course). this leads us to another forced decision that doesn’t make any sense: alisaie and alphinaud fail to kill a single abomination--just the one solitary abomination that was stalking the poor woman--so that we can see it fling her into the water and her corpse dangling on the surface. in what fucking world do alisaie and alphinaud, who have single-handedly dispatched numerous abominations prior to reaching this point, fail to kill just one of them between the two of them in a way reminiscent of a cartoon, one being knocked into the other and them both falling over? how is that fucking possible? and then to somehow make things worse, because that's still possible, despite the fact that wol spends this entire segment in palaka’s stand being told by alisaie and alphinaud not to leave matsya alone because he can’t fend for himself, the twins suggest sending him back on his own to deliver the baby to palaka's stand? why??????????????????????????????

this is what i mean when i say the characters get used in the most bullshit ways for the most bullshit reasons. it's like the game needs as much suffering as possible to happen so that it can make a worthwhile point on this later on (spoiler: it doesn't) so it pulls shit like this. why would the twins, who we just watched try to spoonfeed the garleans cereleum straight from the tank, leave matsya on his own if not solely bc the story needs the doomerism of the Resolute Citizen to ring true? and this is also what i mean when i say the scions try to manage a disaster that is just not manageable, bc they for some reason believe that bc they've taken care of the abominations they saw in the area, that means the area is safe enough for matsya to go back on his own? like are we just suddenly pretending the nature of these creatures doesn't imply that anyone can turn into one at any moment? everyone is ALWAYS in danger? we're just going to mill around while matsya weathers the most potent fear of his life running back to the village on his own, with the baby of his friends who just died moments before, while we all know that extremely negative emotions cause people to turn into the monsters? why are we doing this after we just went to so much trouble keeping people safe (or failing to, really)? forget turning into monsters for a sec, why are we even letting him experience such painful emotions at all? anyways the fucking baby starts turning into a monster because this is endwalker.. but i will say that matsya running and chanting that little piece up there about how life is suffering to try and convince me it's true calm himself down was one of the cutscenes i liked the most from this entire part, maybe endwalker in general. it was another one of those emotionally poignant and well-executed moments that just suffers from how much i wish it was happening under totally different circumstances. i don't even remember why one of us doesn’t go with him, like i don't remember what we were busy doing bc it was that unimportant--no wait, i remember! we were waiting for matsya to reach the total end of his rope so that when all things seem lost, when those monsters obviously show up on his path back to the village out of nowhere like they've been doing the past painstaking quest after quest of this entire part, estinien and vrtra can get this really cool moment of jumping into save him! it all makes so much sense now. i've never seen estinien do anything really cool before like diving down from the sky with his lance, so i understand how this was a really important moment that the game needed to make happen. also how vrtra really needs to prove to the people he can be a good satrap bc ahewann just died and all. yeah, i totally get it. perfect. just great. 

what is the message behind despair turning you into a monster? we're about to get into it with meteion and try to convince her she's wrong--come out championing the idea that suffering is just one of the many aspects of life we need to accept, and yet we're going to preface that with a part where to feel despair is bad? you get punished if you do it? honestly?

whatever. elpis...we go here because we need to learn about the elpis flower. i'm thinking we're definitely just going to ask the watcher, right? like the guy on the moon who told us the name of the flower in the first place? and time is of the fucking essence here, so surely we just go back to the watcher and ask him what we need to know and come back? wrong. we're going back to the first. to talk to elidibus. i thought we killed elidibus? does nobody truly die in this game except for my favourite character? so wol gets sent back to the first, and there's this upbeat tonally dissonant little section where you catch up with some old friends like beq lugg and those kids you helped back in shb bc now is just the perfect time for pleasantries and remembering how good shadowbringers was. ew trying to relive shadowbringers was already something i was feeling out in thavnair fighting leagues of "terminus" creatures and not "forgiven" ones, and watching the carefully constructed horror and gravity of the final days get reduced to an average apocalyptic shitshow. so i can't say i appreciated this part. also people are indiscriminately turning into monsters. i can't help but have that hang over everything constantly until the end of the expansion.

anyways we go to the crystal tower and drag out elidibus even though i personally prefer when characters have their final moments and are properly laid to rest. like i hate to not only beat a dead horse but also reanimate said horse and then drag its corpse around. well fuck what i want. so elidibus willingly does this favour for us i guess and sends us to the past somehow with some useless warnings about how we won't be able to interact with our surroundings or change the past. i say useless because the former is just untrue, i'm not sure why he bothered to say it. the moment we step foot on elpis you get a nice gift of aether from emet-selch that renders you tangible and now you can proceed to live love laugh with him and hythlodaeus on elpis even though people are indiscriminately dying back home. and the latter warning, well. i don't know, that just seemed obvious. i'm kind of just a hater.

time to be positive again for a short moment, if you can believe it? emet-selch is one of my favourite characters. i enjoyed this new light cast on him...for a short while. i like his relationship with hythlodaeus and i really like hythlodaeus; i’m really fond of the faceless simulacrum version of him you meet in shb and i'm really fond of him now. learning about the unsundered world in person rather than through hearsay was interesting, and although i can't lie and say i don't think this all kind of felt like a huge tangent despite the important aspects of the plot that come out of it, i still like it. i guess it feels this way because a lot of big plot points have already been established, like the ark on the moon and the sharlayans' involvement and the final days, so this was all kind of too big to me to be coming this late into the story. it doesn't feel all that relevant to prior parts of the expansion either except for hermes, who has been poorly developed throughout, so okay, i get it. it's time to give one of the main villains some depth (i want you to guess if this is successful or not). hermes has a lot of qualities i really like. has a child, secretly nurturing a potent sadness, thinks differently from the world around him because at his core he’s too deeply empathetic…. even though i was still largely aware of the insanity happening back at home which i'm going to keep repeating, i still enjoyed elpis At The Start. the exposition of this part was easily better than its resolution. it was taking the time to develop hermes’ character so that you could see if the game was written well anyhow how he became the fandaniel of the present. i really liked his relationship with meteion too. it's getting hard to talk about what i like without simultaneously talking about what i don't like so i'm going back to criticising now, positivity over, sorry....

personally, i’d have been totally fine without any more development to emet-selch’s character. i think it was nice to see a fresh perspective on him and all, really rounds out who he is from what you know and what he talks about in shadowbringers. and i actually like a lot of the things he said throughout, not all of it, but a good amount of it was fun and sorely needed whenever hermes was being annoying, which was often. but there was a lot of times wehere i thought, i don't really need to be hanging out with emet-selch right now? i don't need my wol and emet-selch to be friends? considering who he is....? .............and what's going on back home? how many more moments showing how endearingly prickly he is do i need to see? like sure, i can enjoy this emet-selch fest in isolation of what's going on because me love emet-selch like it's not like i think these moments are bad or anything but i don't know, don't we have other things to be doing? i'm not diametrically opposed to fanservice, i like when things are kept fresh and lighthearted. but. well you know by now. about the people turning into monsters. i guess i just both enjoyed this part and wished it happened under different circumstances or in a different way or something, or maybe not at all, bc as things progress his character just gets more and more diluted.

i actually really liked meteion. i will say i’m really tired of non-human, overly childish girl children creature characters who become villains, because i think there's this concept where…idk how to say it? i wish i could find something that talks about this more... it's like the dehumanisation involved when non-binary characters or non-white characters are often not human (not that these things are done in the same way). but i feel like women or females ig are often the ones chosen to be non-human in this particular way...? like, when emotional labour is involved. or when it needs to be some taboo evil entity. it's like a guy and his part-animal female second lead or part-alien love interest or female-voiced ai system or android or abandoned girl he finds/rescues. it's kind of like the born sexy yesterday trope but without the blatant sexuality (i don't want to go on a tangent). quite often this weird quirky alien and playful girl child is a harbinger of destruction. take drakengard, for example, or fire emblem engage, or cc from code geass iirc, or veronica from fire emblem heroes.. there's apparently something about childishness and girlishness and innocence and corrupting that innocence or being fooled by that innocence that seems to incite fear of the unknown enough in people for villainous children to be a trope in general regardless of gender, but it was just something i was thinking about in regards to meteion's character, especially when she becomes evil. and this blurry line between her as a "being" with a consciousness and free well as GIVEN to her by hermes, and her as a "tool" to be used by him as well, doesn't really get addressed in any meaningful way at all. like sure, she doesn't need to eat but she can still enjoy candy apples and flowers, and can empathise bc often of her own volition she wants to cheer hermes up, but actually her ability to empathise is programmed; so let's send send her, this highly empathetic being (with consciousness and free will and tastes and personality) into the cold expanse of space for as long as it takes for hermes to find his answer, that's totally fine. why did he make it a girl? why couldn't they address the fact that the loneliest bastard in this entire game made himself a child? like i'm not saying there needs to be clear-cut definitions on what meteion is or why she or hermes take certain actions, but it feels like a lot of things regarding their characters are really complex and implied to be really deep, and then just don't go anywhere or are completely ignored or unexplained? and because these things are so present yet passed over, it leaves me genuinely confused about most of what happens on elpis and how these two specifically reach any of the conclusions they do once things start going south

like i thought what she and hermes were going to add to the story was going to be a lot more interesting and complex than what it turned out to be.....a banal mantra on the "mercy" of nihilism. i can barely reconcile what bothers hermes in the first place with what meteion concludes from her sisters' expeditions, like they almost feel irrelevant to each other. he's upset over man's lording over who deserves to live and the callousness of making and unmaking life. he feels sadder about the coming death of his friend than the average ancient, and doesn't want to accept meaningless platitudes about dying for the good of the star. ok, i agree with that. so he wants to know what meaning there is to life, if it can be so easily judged and discarded...? okay. so his answer is to....secretly create creatures without any of the rigourous testing they usually go through to prevent them from being dangerous, and then send them on a potentially dangerous and traumatising mission to answer his vague philosophical questions? like.......? so when she reports back traumatised and tells him every single society out there is suffering (which i just find so unbelievable btw), then the answer to his question must be that suffering is the meaning of life--which she figures bc she's an entelechy so i imagine she's highly susceptible to her emotional surroundings, and because his pseudo-intellectual question is so poorly framed (something only emet-selch points out in a throwaway line btw). and this alone spurs him on to allowing meteion to unmake their entire society in the most violent way conceivable? you literally tell him that the final days are coming as a result of his actions, but he's fine with it because he'd rather that than enact some policy changes at his workplace, or talking to someone? everyone seemed to listen and respect his decision when he suggested helping that creature learn to fly instead of just killing it, i'm sure he could've talked it out? isn't he in charge of the place? this entire section was so hard for me to follow bc i kept thinking something more complex was making everyone behave the way they were, when it was actually just totally senseless.

as an aside, i hate how they chose to make the way meteion reports information so cooly technological btw, it felt not only anachronistic but corny. i’m sure there's a better way to have her impartially report things without making her sound like she's reporting weather conditions on some distant planet in star trek. anyways, when you frantically search for meteion after she receives her transmission was another part that took up a lot of time for no reason. it just made everything feel so dire when i could barely understand why any of what was going on was such a big deal. and i’ll never be one to say that any bureau of anything should “detain” anyone, but why hermes was so frantic to prevent meteion from being brought to the convocation i just don't know. like he goes on the run with her so that he can hear the end of her report? is that really it? i just find it hypocritical that he doesn't want her to be sent to the convocation where they'll limit her free will or fucking whatever but he's totally fine with ordering the meteia into space? why am i being made to guess what the convocation is going to do to meteion when hermes is making it seem like such a big deal?? what fucking sense does that make? what on earth was he afraid of? their judgment? the convocation members deciding whether meteion is good for the star or not? could they not have just reasoned this out? aren’t they a "highly advanced" and "reasonable" society? like okay he sees through the veil of his utopian home but i just did not get a sense of how much it was bothering him at all, like i cannot stress enough how him going turbo feels like an insane jump from what his problems seemingly were. why did nobody stop to think this through or communicate to each other? is it because of the bullshit time paradox this game has trapped us in so that nothing we do will amount to anything anyways so we might as well make the most confused villain of all time be responsible for the biggest event in this game's history?

but it annoys me because meteion and hermes felt like such a waste of potential, maybe the biggest waste to me in the entire expansion. i was really intrigued by their wholesome relationship at the start, knowing that hermes was a main villain. and that he can't find connection or meaning in an otherwise "perfect" society, so he has to create it for himself and try to find it elsewhere, as far as the reaches of outer space... he wants to make what's hurting him stop hurting him. i like that he approaches such human desires with meteion despite her non-humanness, and that she can return those feelings to him. he wants to signify meteion’s return with a flower because they both like flowers… like those things we can’t put into words but share with others, moments, emotions, connections……..but nope. nihilism beam. it feels like the worst sort of retroactive writing ever. they didn't even think too hard about dynamis--this hugely important thing, except nobody has ever heard of it, aside from nidhana back at home? while members of the highest office in the most advanced society earth has ever had are left squinting.

and the entire section after you fight hermes just pissed me off. we kicked his ass so that we could stop him from inciting meteion any further, and yet we just let him hear her out anyways? he's yelling at you during the entire dungeon that he just wants the time to hear her out, we're chasing after him so that we can stop him from doing that, and then we just let him hear her out anyways? and then even when we do that she doesn’t even say anything different? she just goes right back to reporting on different worlds and how self-destructive they are and That's All She Really Proceeds To Say For The Rest Of The Expansion But Fucking Who Cares Anymore. so we let her repeat herself. this sends her into a spiral, because she's an entelechy who just got hit by a high frequency nihilism beam, but subjecting her to all that despair is only ever addressed by one of the scions in a throwaway line near the very end of the story in ultima thule... and then hermes...captures venat, emet-selch and hythlodaeus??? he captures two of the strongest characters in the game? did we not just kick hermes’ ass??? what is going on?

emet-selch: that's bullshit, and you know it's bullshit

hermes: *says more bullshit*

i really think hermes might be one of the worst villains in the game. it's a shame bc i think he's such an interesting character. i'm not sure why he started behaving like such an incel when he was right to be troubled by the things he was? why did they even bother have wol relate to him over experiencing sadness from loss if that just went totally nowhere? why does he behave so hypocritically? being saddened by loss leads to him setting the stage for the final days? him hating man's jurisdiction over other lives leads to him wiping emet-selch's and hythlodaeus' memories, and subjecting the entire planet to the worst test ever? he's not even morally grey or anything! just annoying! i saw someone say that it's even worse that he wants the ancients to prove that their life is meaningful to them, bc it's true, they do??? like isn't that what venat interrupts them from doing in the answers cutscene, calling back for that lost life? isn't that what you learn in shadowbringers? didn't an entire half of their population sacrifice themselves so that the other half could live? what the fuck else did they need to prove?

this part was pissing me off even more because i never even wanted hythlodaeus or emet-selch to learn about where wol came from or about the final days coming in the first place. i thought that was an awful writing decision. telling them just felt weirdly cruel to me considering elidibus explicitly told you there was nothing you could do to change it. maybe this is just my opinion, but why would anybody want to know that their planet is going to go up in flames and there is nothing they can do to stop it? telling venat i was like sure, she becomes hydaeyln so this makes a little more sense to me, but the other two…….? this is around when i was getting tired of the emet-selch cameo, because i don't really care to know what he thinks of his future self? i couldn't really understand what the point of any of that was? so it annoyed me even further that it amounts to nothing anyways when they get their minds conveniently erased. it felt like a fucking joke. why did we revive these characters, develop them, and then just treat them like tools...? like now that we're done using their powers and creation magicks--i thought, naively--we just toss them aside? like ohhhhh noooooo now they won't remember all the fun we had on elpis this is so sad......but at least before he got his memories wiped emet-selch, even though he definitely totally doesn't believe a fucking word i say, renews his shb vows to wol and leaves the future in my hands again? yeah, i totally wanted to hear him say that a second time. forget how deeply affecting and important a moment that was at the end of shadowbringers. i really needed to see him do that one more time in this shittier, more contrived context. that's really what i needed from endwalker. also i've been on reddit reading what people have to say about endwalker out of curiosity (ppl make a lot of good points that i haven't) and someone pointed out that moments before all this happens venat literally pulls memories from the aether around you so that we can watch hermes send the meteia to space. what on earth is stopping anyone from doing that for hermes, hythlodaeus, and emet-selch? but whatever, i already know the writing doesn't care how silly it is anymore. two of the strongest ancients get bound by a weakened hermes, only break out after the story conveniently needed meteion to start flying into space, and then venats lets her escape somehow even though doing so essentially dooms their entire planet. ok

so we’re back home and we have to go immediately help the thavnarians who are being punished for not being white again. the sharlayans were going to bring them to the teleporter to the moon in garlemald to start getting them on the moon, but oops, the final days have come to garlemald, so now we can't use the teleporter, so if you're thavnarian your life sucks. who saw that coming? absolute waste of time. so then we have to get rid of more beasts because we need to waste even more time doing something we already spent an agonising amount of time doing in thavnair. and then immediately after this we need to......wrap up yet another asinine plot thread endwalker is so obssesed with adding to it's already convoluted story: fourchenault excommunicating his children...? it seemed really important when he did this in post-shb, but materially nothing for alphinaud or alisaie really changed, everyone still gets into sharlayan no problem. ultimately i just didn’t really know why they chose to pursue this mini-plot at all because how many more pushes does alphinaud (i'm saying alphinaud bc he does not share that spotlight with alisaie lmfao) need to become resolute in his goals? he already does this throughout the series? they ruined arenvald's legs in post-shb so that alphinaud could become more resolute in his goals, why keep dedicating time to this? just keep juggling endwalker, just keep juggling. anyways we’re in garlemald, we calm the final days for now, zenos shows up out of nowhere to remind us he’s still in the game. and to be fair to him that was one of the most interesting cutscenes he’s had the whole time, and, get this--they have him randomly answer hermes' question? about the meaning of life? while talking to jullus? like jullus gets mad at him for not giving a fuck about causing what happened to garlemald, and zenos responds by saying: "ask any creature of this star and those above for answers, and they will tell you what suits their fancy. and they would be right to do so. what meaning there is to be found in the petty vicissitudes of your existence must be gleaned by you and you alone." like......? he just provides the answer right there in a conversation with jullus? did this expansion have any interest at all in putting any of its different parts in conversation with each other, or are we supposed to just try and build a good story like a puzzle, where the pieces, albeit interesting, don't actually fit together? weren't zenos and fandaniel working together at the beginning of the expansion? he should have just posed this question to zenos because the answer was apparently right fucking there, with the flattest character in the entire game, this whole time? whatever, i still liked this scene. alisaie putting a curse on zenos was very cool of her. so we're back in garlemald and....….tonal dissonance! puddingway shows up. cute scene where g’raha’s ears perk up also bc he's the one who hears the loporrits coming. just in case you forgot about g’raha, which is an oxymoron. and then maybe the second worst segment of endwalker...........we go back to labryinthos. 

now i love labryinthos. i thought it was interesting we only collected one aetheryte the first time we were there, and i was hoping the place would be as intriguing to me as it first was when we got back. admittedly learning that the sharlayans' secrecy only amounted to contributing to the moon project was kind of a let down, but i thought maybe there was still more to it. i mean, an ark to the moon? the abandonment of one's home planet? it's not like the ideas aren't there. let's go back to elpis for a second. one of the moments that really stood out to me during that part was a throwaway line that emet-selch says to wol after hermes starts freaking it:

he's right. i don't think hermes found society so truly beyond help that he couldn't turn to any one of his peers for help before devising such a reckless plan. but i'm not trying to rehash my issues with hermes, more that i think an interesting parallel could have been made, possibly, with the ark flying to the moon as currenlty the most viable solution to the final days problem? challenging this notion of just throwing it all away as a last resort? especially because it's so obvious to me that by the end of this expansion nobody is actually going into space to start a new life out there; trying to sort out living accomodations and acquaint the lopporits properly with earth is just a waste of time. so why not pose the underlying question of the entire expansion, about what makes life meaningful, to the last bastion of hope in the entire universe--the sole planet amongst millions of dead stars that still believes in itself? would it not just be free real estate to try and connect this story's multiple parts together by ...connecting this story's multiple parts together? the scions say repeatedly how much they'd prefer to protect their planet rather than leave it, and everyone on earth vouches for you because they don't want to leave, either. could they not have made a connection in some way between that ark and the meteia's voyage to outer space? could the writing not have turned around and asked the actual inhabtants of the planet of that we've helped and saved and laughed with and broken bread with or whatever the fuck what they think about the meaning of life, now that they have to leave that life behind? i guess fucking not??? i guess endwalker would rather only highlight civilians when they're being turned into abominations to drive home the same points about life = suffering constantly, and not the points about how despite the suffering life needs to be lived? because they don't actually seem to care about challenging meteion's nihilism when that can just be lazily solved by beating her up at the end. hermes could have been learning to love the world he was on, the smaller things that make it beautiful. because that's what he does, he creates this creature that is built to understand him, and it does and it shares these small joys with him. but nope, time to waste time doing fetch quests in labryinthos. find every single researcher who is obviously losing their mind with stress in labryinthos and give them their government-assigned lopporit while this hectic music with only one minute's worth of loop value plays in the background. go and deliver these papers with alisaie and alphinaud bc if you do a former friend of their father’s will tell them that their father actually loves them duh that’s why he disrespects them publicly every chance he gets. go follow one of the lopporits around while they sample fruits so that they can learn to make food other than carrots. go and watch urianger reconcile with moenbryda's parents even though she died all the way back in a realm reborn. fuck you. also everyone is still just a bad day away from turning into an abomination. just in case you forgot.

that shit where asahi shows up to take fandaniel away for the final time might be top three most bizarre scenes in all of final fantasy fourteen btw. i almost didn't want to mention it, but i need it on record how silly i thought that was. we are in the final stages of this expansion and it still can't stop wasting time. did we see ardbert's thoughts on elidibus using his body? no. but asahi was who they chose to get upset about this? ok.

i liked the trial against mother. you might have noticed i've had very little to say on venat this whole time. that might just have to be its own post or something if nobody is sick of me by now. but anything to do with working together with your friends to overcome a trial is good.

that's what i liked about ultima thule. at the same time, this is where the game finally just loses me forever. i think, somehow, even despite all the things i didn't like, the way the story is told i still enjoyed, even if what it was saying was often. bad. there's still a lot of moments i really liked despite it all. but after ultima thule i was just done. we get on the ark. great. i like that things don't go as planned because meteion intercepts our ship. but now meteion is finally here, which means it's finally time for me to reckon with the pseudo-intellectual nihilism she's been touting every chance she gets. it's hard for me to suspend my disbelief that every single society out in space wanted oblivion, but if that's what endwalker wants me to believe for the sake of its story making sense (oxymoron) then fine. ok. but that's all that's ever said. "life is suffering" "life is suffering" "the final days are really bad"

just the same pseudo-intellectual browbeating about how living just leads to constant strife and the most beautiful thing to do is to just end it all for everyone ever again. like sure, empath hears death cry repeatedly--i can see how meteion could change so permanently. i think that's fine. i doubt that's why she's so repetitive. i genuinely just 't think there's nothing anyone really had to say on this. and the thing is, we've heard this argument before? the idea that humanity is imperfect so they don't deserve to live? it will all amount to nothing, so why let it continue to exist? these are major points of conflict from shadowbringers because it's what emet-selch was always saying. the difference is that emet-selch is just an easily more interesting and fleshed out character whose arguments are largely more complicated, even if they're just as morally wrong. like it's extremely easy for me to answer whatever meteion is saying with a resounding no. and while i feel that emet-selch can also be easily disagreed with on what he believes, bc i do disagree--he at least introduces ideas that complicate the story and his own character. he challenges the scions on their hatred of primals--their god is a primal. he offers visions of a world where nobody has to struggle ever again, where strife doesn't exist, and so on and so forth. while that doesn’t justify his actions, nor do i think they should, i think he at least gives the characters something to think about. he throws their own actions back at them. why would the scions not want a world without suffering? when emet-selch asks alphinaud if he believes half of the sundered world would give up half of their number to save the other half, alphinaud is unable to answer because he knows that the answer is no. i don't think humanity should be tested, let alone with such an insane standard, but i at least think that the questions being asked in shadowbringers were interesting. there's a point to them. with meteion, all she basically says to the scions is that she’s going to fucking kill everyone they know and love in the worst way possible. nothing to chew on that wouldn't better be solved by just getting rid of the threat. i don't know why they even bother arguing with her ever. she doesn't even feel like a character to me in that last section of the game. and they keep trying to have her seem all scary by having her get really close to the screen or move around without warning which is all very silly to me. i at least did like how much of a threat she was, and the way thancred vanished, and then everyone finds themselves in that dark area in front of the ship wondering where he is while the ultima thule music plays for the first time, distantly and quietly. i actually really liked that part. i thought it was really moving. i wish it had stayed that way.

the first area of ultima thule was the best part imo. i liked the immense darkness and quiet and lack of wind and the foul air and  yet, green grass. i liked the strange horror of being the only person at first who could really see the dragons, and then learning that estinien can see them too. i liked how that was the segue for his sacrifice. having those "final" moments with a specific scion each time until that climactic moment that pushes the group forward i really liked. i liked that thancred was no longer with them but still with them, a presence over them keeping them safe from harm. i found that very touching. but i was actually really confused while going through ultima thule becuase of how they visually shows what happens, like while the swirling vortex each scion would stand in was cool, and then standing to face off against that dark bird, i think what those things actually represented i just did not really understand what was actually being done or going on. i think that might be because dynamis suffers a bit from being just too nebulous or underdeveloped. i don't mind how abstract of a concept it is, i mean aether is used to do all sorts of never-explained things all the time.. it's more like... if ultima thule is going to be a place ruled by emotions, with laws different from what the scions are used to, it's hard for me to see how they were able to really draw any conclusions about where they were or what to do. it actually kind of reminded me of the logic of jojo's bizarre adventure where an attack only overrules another attack not becuase of some fundamental power scale the reader understands, but bc of what araki feels like contriving to get the story moving the way he wants. and that's fine because it's jojo. but this is ffxiv, so in my mind ultima thule should have either remained abstract and they don't try to explain the rules of the place so much, or they should’ve just made what was going on less abstract if they were going to try to logic the place out

what i mean is: the scene where estinien argues with that dragon so that he can overcome its despair is really cool. i liked that he turned into a cool wind. i liked that your friends sacrificed themselves for the sake of their home, that the power of their hopes for wol to overcome this final challenge was the only way they could move forward in such a stagnant place, as well as the only way they could be protected by meteion's violence. but after estinien does it--and he admits that he doesn't know how, just that it was the right thing to do--it feels like the writing immediately tries to specify what's going on so that there's some easy way forward the scions just have to follow the rulebook for, so that they can get to meteion. when urianger takes wol and g'raha aside i was actually just so lost. i don't know what it was i wasn't getting. i still don't. like to kind of say that there’s always one "individual" in these fake worlds who is despairing more than the others that can be located if they just identify a certain set of behaviours... this kind of just waters down what the scions are doing and the magic of being at the universe's end or w/e to me. we use language because of our inability otherwise to really express the depth of emotions and sensations that exist in this world, not the other way around--trying to box in something so complex through things like processes and so on...so to try and narrow down this part kind of rung a bit hollow to me. it was somehow both overexplained and underexplained at the same time. this might seem kind of nitpicky but i guess it was just hard for me to enjoy ultima thule when i was genuinely confused almost the whole way throughout. and bc the ea and the omicrons were so goddamn annoying. trying to do this slapdash learning about their societies at the very end of the game was just like...? okay? why bother, all they really care about is dying anyways. and then that final dungeon, ew's final attempt at replicating the wins of shadowbringers (the amaurot dungeon) with meteion's voice over. like who cares now meteion, you are somehow still just repeating yourself. endwalker is almost at it's end girl, i get it. everyone wants to die.

where i actually started to get annoyed though was where y'shtola says in no uncertain terms not to use the retcon crystal hydaelyn gave you to call their spirits back. y'shtola, you shouldn't have bothered, because you know wol is going to do absolutely that. why even have her say it? there is no sense of risk whatsoever because that crystal is involved. i still liked the sacrificing, but maybe they should have framed it in a way where it wasn't obvious that the scions were going to be totally fine. ew literally didn't seem ballsy enough to kill all of the scions, and i don't think it should've either. but then it just makes this all very wishy-washy. and even worse was when wol used it to summon HYTHLODAEUS AND EMET-SELCH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! WHY!!!!!!!! WHYYYYYYYYYYYY?????????????? i was so annoyed. i'm still annoyed. back when their memories got wiped hythlodaeus was like oh yeah by the way emet did you know that in the aetherial sea you can get your memories back haha? and i was like okay cool so when they die they can get their memories back, whatever, still don't think me and emet-selch should've been live love laughing on elpis. i didn’t actually think this game would be so juvenile as to let you get to meet them once more with their memories fully intact. i don't know why ew has to dot every i and cross every t and sign off every single bit of intrigue with the biggest fucking full stop The End ever where emet-selch is concerned, holy fuck man. i hated this decision so much. your friends SACRIFICE THEMSELVES so that WOL can face meteion. they believe that at the very end of everything, hydaelyn believes that at the very end of everything, WOL is the one who can defeat meteion. they all put so much faith in you. and the first thing you do is summon emet-selch and hythlodaeus because what? because you just can't fucking help yourself? just shit all over the importance of carrying your friends’ beliefs in you. christ i hated that. i loved seeing the elpis flowers grow all over that fake sun. why couldn't that have been wol who grew them, wol's turn to use dynamis to overcome meteion's despair, flowers that represent the hopes every single person on earth has placed in them to see their star to safety? why? emet-selch there for what? to set in stone his position as the Tsundere once and for all? is that it? to have him renew his vows to wol for the millionth time just in case you forgot that he wants you to take up the mantle of their future? i wish they would go back to never making emet-selch palatable and less hostile to the warrior of light, it feels like such a disservice to the character he was in shadowbringers and to just their characters in general like i do not want to be canon friends with emet-selch! it's not necessary! it's fucking emet-selch! what's even worse is that for some reason while the flowers are growing, emet-selch is just point blank explaining what's going on. he literally says something like, "these flowers are the hopes of everyone meteion you're washed. by the way, if you didn't catch that, wol. you can summon your friends back now." immersion gone. any sense of playing a game that actually gives a fuck gone. so we call our friends back, only to send them away again with the teleporter because meteion is just too strong for us. to be fair i liked that decision, but why fake me out a second time having me think yes, finally wol is going to face meteion ON HER OWN. and then have ZENOS show up? i actually just stopped playing and went to bed. genuinelly just fuck me. who fucking cares anymore.

and then after you finally get meteion to stop being emo and she offers to reconcile with you by sending you safely back to your friends it's like, actually i can't even accept this meteoin. because i have to go fight zenos now. and then it's crazy to me that after you kick zenos' ass for like the millionth time, we're literally on the edge of the world so i'm finally expecting him to say something worth listening to, he opens his mouth and says "you know, wol, this whole time... i've been so bored... and the only thing that gives me joy is fighting you...” like. stuck record. the writers dragged him all the way out here to be a stuck fucking record

i like endwalker btw. kind of. like i know nobody who reads this is going to believe me but i really do. if it had just, well. i don't even know. there's too much wrong with it. it wastes too much time and just doesn't seem to be able to let go. how is it possible that an expansion can make me tired of callbacks to haurchefant being important to wol? i've never felt that before. like how many more flashbacks to his grave does one need to have to know that when wol is fighting for their world they're fighting for their friends too. but this game just cannot let things go. it NEEDS to make that joke about alphinaud gathering firewood four more times. it makes anything i appreciated the second or maybe even the third time just upset me. they can't let anything go, they have to wave it in front of me like it's a dog treat and i'm a dog. a fucking dog with blonde hair and blue eyes

[greenerteacups]

Hi GT! I love Lionheart most ardently - it is truly one of my favorite stories (in general, not just fanfiction).

One thing that really impresses me is your ability to make the personality, depth, and voice of every character shine, far beyond just the core four of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco. Two questions for you - one, which supporting character has been the most fun for you to write? And two, are there any characters that you especially wish had gotten more character depth or "screen time" in canon? Thanks!

Thank you so much! Much love from one Austenian to another. <3

Taking the core four off the board, Theo and/or Pansy have been the most fun to write, because they're so deliciously nasty. After a lot of scenes in Gryffindor, which is a warm, cozy, everyone-knows-your-name kind of place, Slytherin is a splash of cold water. Teddy and Pans in particular are tangled up in the kinds of toxic oddball dynamics you get when you take a bunch of emotionally repressed children, give them more money than God, and tell them they can't trust anyone but each other. Also, they deliberately talk like they're in a novel, because they're pretentious, and that's fun.

Characters that I wish had more time in canon: my kingdom for a scrap of information about Narcissa. Some lore, some dialogue, some narrative anything from Narcissa. Because if you just lay it out in bullet points, her life is the most fucked-up insane series of catastrophic fall-of-the-Roman-Empire type disasters — like, her (canonical) timeline currently goes, in chronological order:

Sister elopes and gets disinherited

Cousin runs away and gets disinherited

Other sister joins a cult

Other cousin also joins a cult

Husband joins a cult (timeline unclear, possibly predates your sister and/or cousin)

Other cousin goes missing, presumed dead(??)

Disinherited cousin is arrested for betraying his best friend to your cult leader and killing ten muggles (even though the muggle-killing was what he got all pissy about in the first place?)

Disinherited cousin's dead best friend's kid kills your cult leader on accident.

Your husband is arrested and tried for trying to overthrow his government (which he did) but they acquit him because you guys are rich. Your sister (also rich(?)) goes to prison though

Your husband unleashes a string of murders at the school your only son attends by smuggling a Dark artifact bequeathed to him by your dead cult leader to an eleven-year-old girl

Harry Potter frees your house-elf by tricking your beautiful idiot husband into punting a twelve-year-old's sock at it

Disinherited cousin breaks out of jail, tries to kill(?) Harry Potter

Your cult leader comes back from the dead

Your cult sister breaks out of jail to join her resurrected cult leader and moves into your house

Your son joins the cult and tries to kill his school principal. You make a suicide pact with his chemistry professor to help him out. Your son appears to succeed; everyone is still in your house for some reason.

Cult leader kills Harry Potter, Notoriously Unkillable Guy, and doesn't check the body himself. Maybe has bad knees or something? Unclear. Anyway, kid's not dead, so you lie to your immortal cult leader because you're sick of having all these people in your fucking house.

But hey, I'm glad the books made time for us to meet Ted Tonks.

[sadisthetic]

hi. this is my dnd character for toonkind dnd that i first made 7 years ago that ive recycled twice now because i wanted to finally play an ongoing campaign with him. for his third life, not only did i give him a design update, hes also has undergone a MAJOR overhaul in terms of personality and backstory tho i kept some bare basics the same (human ranger with urchin background who LOVES swords and knifes A LOT. and that he has an ambiguous age) the overhaul includes the isekai. and that hes a cunt now. but hes funnier now too lol.

im adding some more details and trivia about him under the readmore

so like if it isnt obvious the double isekai is meant to mirror the fact that i fucking played with him in 3 separate campaigns now. its part of him metatextually now lol. he was such a different guy tho. an EXTREMELY LOYAL guy. now hes significantly more selfish. and rude as hell. but hes not that to be mean or malicious. hes actually a pretty nice guy hes just extremely inconsiderate bc he prioritizes his own wellbeing most of the time. its how he had to grow up

copy pasting this tweet i wrote about him "blade at 15 was a guy that shouldve been playing halo while drinking monster but instead hes a guy stealing apples and eating mushrooms off tree bark. miraculously few instances of poisoning all things considered"

he wouldve been a fucking gamer otaku fr. he got isekaied in the mid 2000s and as a kid he fucking LOVED watching dragonball on saturday mornings. if he got to be a teen on earth, he would eventually found the anime and gaming subcommunities online BUT ALAS. he grew up trying to catch fish with his bare hands. or at least he did until he gave up quick and ate weeds.

also. despite the hardships. hes like. fine? somethings wrong with him. but its not trauma. he didnt mourn his parents much although its not like he couldve done anything with their freshly isekaied corpses when immediately hes being chased by fucking beasts. its okay they were like b-tier parents. (hes definitely not a normal person.)

he wandered the woods trying his best to survive alone and in spite of everything trying to kill him (including the shit he ate...) he ended up in a nearby(?) town and things got a bit easier after that. because he could fucking steal to eat real food now. he stayed in the woods on the outskirts of town bc no one showed grace to a thief and just dropped in every so often to swipe shit. steadily he learned forage (through sheer trial and error)

he was highkey a menace. but eventually in his late teens, a traveling party gave him an idea to like fucking. get a job. as something. he managed to make it work as a ranger/guide for hire

he fucking loves booze. he absolutely underage drank. when he could steal it. and later pay for it. and also even though he could pay for things as an adult, he still steals shit if he thinks he can get away w it (he has an absurdly (or at least pretty) high sleight of hand stat)

before he got isekai'd a second time, went through a CATASTROPHIC DIVORCE with an elf woman who he met in an expedition party who became enamored with him after he saved her life. the uh. fallout happened bc blade didnt realize (and still hasnt realized) that hes kinda aro (fundamentally did not understand her romantic intentions and thought she was just a friend wanted to hang out w him a lot. those were dates.) and his ex didnt realize how onesided it was bc she was so love with him. geez.

also. he was from arizona. hes half white half mexican. but with all the time spent not speaking spanish in a different fucking world, it made any spanish speaking skills he had atrophy to hell. it happens and it was bound to happen bc he was so young and had like no reason or opportunity to practice.

also he chose his name. he hated his lame ass name so much he was like "wait. i dont have to use it anymore." but he was 13 fucking years old. anyways he thought blade sounded cool for a name. knifedad happened later when he got his first knife. he still had a bad naming sense. he was 14.

also although his ethics are kinda wack, whats important to note is that he ultimately doesnt want anyone to like. die. its like his policy. save people that he can while trying his best to not die himself

he also has a soft spot for kids. whether hed bc a good dad is debatable but like. i think hed be a nice one

most important note: his longsword is named Darla, his dagger is named Samantha, the knife in his pack is named Nicky, and his newly acquired strange glowy sword is named lucia, and he wants a cool greatsword very very very fucking bad

i drew him in his under clothing also so that i could have a better sense for his body type when i designed his new outfit im adding it here too. he has a shitton of scars bc hes the type that pisses ppl off that they wanna shank him and also he routinely eats shit a lot. a lot of the scars in this sketch are pretty random except for one specific injury for a certain backstory event i have in mind

[sp0o0kylights]

Steve/Eddie Soulmark AU Worth and Worthy

Warnings: Mentions of a burn scar, a prior attack via bully’s, Nancy cheating, Steve handling it ah, poorly, his TERRIBLE parents, etc.  Steve was a romantic.

It had been a well known fact about him even in his king days, one of the many facets of his charms that made the ladies do their best to catch his attention. He was a roses and chocolates kind of guy, even for a woman that he just had one night stands with. 

Sure, he might sleep with another girl the next night, but between the care he showed in bed and the charm he showed after, Steve didn’t catch the flak many other teenage boys did for his sexcapades. And if any was mentioned well, all it took was dropping some line about how he was trying to find his soulmate and things were right as rain. 

Then he met Nancy.

Steve knew of course that she wasn’t his soulmate.

He hadn’t cared. 

In a refreshing bout of sanity, neither had Nancy.  

She went off on all these cute little tirades about how soulmates was an outdated concept, that the marks they all bore could mean any number of things, that the word soulmate itself might not mean it was a romantic relationship, and if it was, how you shouldn’t waste your life looking for someone who could be anywhere in the world. 

Hawkins Indiana was so small, the chance of the person who represented your mark being there was slim, and wasn’t a romantic relationship something you should work at anyway? Be present for every single day?

Steve bought the whole thing, hook, line and sinker. Believed it with all his heart and soul. 

Distanced himself from his asshole friends, charged back to face down a demon with a baseball bat, laid bare his soul for the fiery woman who had stolen his heart.

Loved her long after she broke it, on the floor of some stupid party, drunk words searing him like a burn. 

When he found out she’d cheated on him with Jonathan Byers, on grounds that he was her soulmate…

It was the kind of crushing blow that had remade him as a person. 

Throughout it, the lonely days that followed, Steve woke up and stared in the mirror every morning at the mark that sat on his hip.

Fuck Nancy. 

Fuck Jonathan, fuck Tommy, fuck Billy-fuck everyone. 

His parents might not love him, his friends might have been fake and his own love bullshit but at least he had one person out there who was meant for him. 

A person who would accept him, for who he was (and wasn’t a sassy middle schooler using him for rides, even if Steve was secretly thankful for Dustin’s sudden presence in his life.) 

Throwing his crown away was easy. Being a better person, a person who wasn’t an asshole, was hard. 

It would be worth it in the end though, because he would be worthy of his soulmate's love.

                                                         xXx

Too bad life seems to be just as tired of Steve as he is of it, because he finds his soulmate in Hawkins trailer park of all places, hanging out with Eddie Munson, a person Steve found he enjoyed far more than he’d ever thought. 

It had barely been two weeks since Vecna had been defeated, the Upside Down destroyed, with the group of survivors still clinging tight to each other.

He was over at Eddie’s to help him sort all his shit into boxes in preparation for his move. The older man had just been given his shiny new government alibi, cleared of all charges, but it was obvious he wasn’t comfortable walking around by himself yet.

For reasons Steve had long had his own freakout over, he wasn’t comfortable with the idea either. 

It had been going fine. Eddie and Steve were trading off cassettes and mocking the others choices as they packed, things easy between them in a way only surviving a supernatural catastrophe could create in such a short amount of time.

He knew. Had known, since Eddie pulled out his guitar, that the metalhead was his. 

It made sense in a way. Steve had been so easy around him once they had gotten over their mutual jealousy regarding the kids. He hadn’t thought they had much in common at first, but the more he hung out with him, the more Steve realized it wasn’t the little things they shared but the big ones.

The love for the kids. Their humor and personalities. The way they fit together, bounced off each other, looked at life in general. 

Steve was happy to learn about all the things Eddie liked, had tolerated D&D and nerd shit for years long enough to have picked out various pieces he himself enjoyed. 

Now it was simply a matter of when to tell him. 

Then Eddie decided to change shirts. 

He was moving slowly,  jeans slung low on his hips. It gave Steve a nice long look at his hip (and briefly the treasure trail of dark hair that he was determined not to stare at.). 

For a second Steve almost mistakes the long healed wound there for one of Eddie’s demobat bites; but those were covered in bandages still and this was too far down for where they had struck.

This wasn’t even one of the guy’s scratcher tattoos, that ink faded while this one casually pulsed with yellow against the crumpled skin surrounding it. 

It takes a minute for it all to sink in. The color, the mark, the way the damaged skin was long healed in a close pattern over it.  

Anger floods his face with heat.

 Steve's body goes hot with it, his vision swimming and sound dropping out as his entire being pinpricks down to the soul mark on Eddie's hip.

He recognizes the cause of the destroyed skin around it. Burn scar, the kind that made your skin change color and crumble in on itself once healed.

Munson had tried to burn his soul mark off. 

It would be a crazy thing to see on anyone, the most unhinged act of rejection Steve can personally think of.

It wouldn't be a big deal, not to him, not when he still didn't know Eddie that well, except the stupid image staring back at him in the midst of all the shiny, scarred skin is a fucking baseball bat with nails.

As in, Steve's weapon of choice. His baby, the bat he carried with him in the trunk of his car and carted into his house everyday, hidden in a carrying case for golf clubs. 

"What the fuck?" Steve spits. He's intimate with the taste of betrayal already. His parents have a house in Burbank they stay in half the year. The word 'bullshit' still makes him wince. He has PTSD from being tortured by the Russians and likely a budding anxiety disorder from all the Upside Down nonsense and yet this-

This hurts more than anything life has put him through.

"What?" Eddie asks, confused, before following Steve's eyes down to his own hips. "Oh."

He brushes a hand almost subconsciously against the nail-bat, and they both watch it pulse a light yellow.

The tell tale sign of a soul mark, the way it could light up like a neon sign. 

"You tried to burn off your soul mark?" 

Steve's voice must come out far more angry than he had meant it to be, because Eddie's head whips up to him. 

"You a romantic, Harrington? Think you'll run into your soulmate one day?" Eddie teases, but his own voice is taking on a defense edge.  

"I already have." Steve says flatly. Part of him wants to withhold, not say, not admit that hes the one Eddie's tried to burn out of his life, but another part of him wants his soulmate (fuck) to explain why. 

Why try to cut him out. 

"If Nancy-"

"It's not her." Steve cut him off. "Stop dodging the question."

Eddie crosses his arms, gives him a look with those dark bambi eyes that Steve’s seen a million times. It’s a stubborn, “come hell or high water” expression, complete with a grin smug enough to make you want to hit him. 

He used it primarily against jocks being assholes, which just pissed Steve off further. 

“I don’t think I’m dodging enough, seeing as it’s none of your business.” 

"Munson." Steve says sinking everything he has into the word. "Why did you try to burn off your mark?" 

Eddie stares at him, eyes searching. He’s definitely on the defensive now, likely confused as to why Steve’s flipped from joking to furious. 

Steve can’t find it in himself to care. 

Eddie cocks crossed his arms over his chest. "Why the hell do you care so much? What's it to you?"

And right, right Eddie doesn't know. That it's him. Can't. 

So Steve decides to explain it to him. 

Untucks his polo with a few hard pulls. Yanks the fabric up. Reveals the Warlock that hangs low on his left hip, some nerdy dice making up the tip of it. 

"Wow, you got some popstar, hey Harrington?" Eddie says, practically before he even sees Steve’s mark. 

Definitely hasn’t had the time to really look at it.

Steve wants to strangle him. "You're an idiot, Munson." 

Then; “Look closer.”

Eddie does. 

A savage feeling of glee runs through him the second he sees Eddie registers the dice, the same black and red one Steve knew he used. Makes the connection that it isn’t just a guitar, not even his physical Warlock, but instead the stupid thing he draws on everything he seems to own.

Notebooks, textbooks, post it notes, his fucking pants. 

All things Steve has gotten an up close and personal look at considering how much time he’s spent in Eddies trailer the last few weeks. 

Saucer wide eyes jerk back up to Steve’s face. 

“Shit.” Eddie says almost breathlessly, shooting to stand straight, hands frantically pulling at his hair. “Steve-”

“Give me an answer, Munson. You owe me that.” Steve interrupts him, because he is done. 

With life, the universe, everything. 

“Why did you try and burn my bat?” 

“I-I didn’t-” Of all fucking things tears are springing up in Eddie’s eyes.

Steve kind of wants to cry himself, but can’t seem to find any emotion other than fury and a growing sense of numbness. 

Eddie takes a step forward, and flinches hard when Steve jerks back. 

“Steve-” He’s begging, Eddie Munson is actually begging, and he kind of wants to laugh at how much life clearly fucking hates him. 

“It wasn’t me. I didn’t burn it, Steve please-!” 

Tears are now openly tracking down Eddie’s face, his arms going from crossed to hugging himself. “Fuck! I had a whole story planned for this, I never thought-”He looks up at the ceiling, like he can’t bear to look at his own soulmate. 

Steve is rapidly flipping through emotions, the numbness coming in to save him, making words impossible to get out. 

Eddie is still speaking. “Jordan P, middle school. He eventually got expelled but before he did he and his asshole buddies caught me after school. Held me down.” 

He bites his lip so hard it bleeds and that cuts through to Steve. 

“I fought, I fought them so hard Steve. I tried, but there were too many,” He chokes on a breath and Steve finds himself moving forward without thinking. 

“They told me I didn’t deserve you.” He whispers, finally bringing his head back down, just in time to realize Steve was wrapping him up in a hug. 

Eddie freezes in his hold, but Steve just hugs him tightly, resting his cheek against Eddie’s curls.

“I'm sorry.” He says quietly. “I just reacted, Eddie. I’m sorry.”

The older boy fell into him, arms wrapping back around Steve as he tucks his face. 

“I’ve got you.” Steve whispers to him, rocking them gently. “I’ve got you.” 

And he did--for the rest of their lives. 

[gabessquishytum]

Okay okay so i know i JUST sent that pervy hob creeping on waiter dream ask but i came up w more bc im not well.

Dream doesnt want anyone but his supervisor Lucienne to know hes Morpheus Endless bc hes 19 and everything is a catastrophic level of embarrassment at the age of 19 also hes afraid he might get picked on or hazed or something. Hes shy and most of the summer employees are his age but everyone is either nice or neutral but not mean. He gets invited to a few staff bonfires and kinda sits at the edge and keeps to himself bc hes never done this or been allowed to have friends before but its pleasant and sometimes someone will come over and make small talk to help him feel included. The Corinthian is a poolboy, he makes jokes about it constantly saying how hes trying to have as much gay sex as possible and being poolboy seemed the best bet. Hes charming and isnt weird about dream being sorta gender neutral/fluid and dream Likes him. The Corinthian saw hob slap dreams ass that first time and matthew told dream he had to physically hold the Corinthian back so he didn't go beat a guest up. Dream sits with the Corinthian on the dock and thanks him for his gallantry and the Corinthian is shy being alone w him all like "well,, i didnt do it for anything other than selfish reasons im hoping to get some nepo points when you go back home" and dream is all shook and worried now but the Corinthian laughs like "yeah you should've chose a different nickname if you didnt want to be associated with the god of SLEEP" but he doesn't tell anyone and even catches on to dreams vague rambling explanations of being Into hob which he only teases him a LITLLE for which is very generous in his opinion. Things get hot and heavy in both directions and its a proper YA summer romance love triangle. The Corinthian is kinda worried when dream texts him to come to hobs suite but hes kinda looking to get into it w this asshole anyway but when he shows up its hob who answers and dream is a blushy blissed out mess in the sheets and hob explains how dream was going to go to the Corinthian first and now hob wants to see what the Corinthian would have done to his darling now that his virginity is already taken now:) they have a really hot really psychosexual threesome and dream gets to take both of them in one night and go to bed pressed up between them❤️

-🔪

AHH yeah here's a link to the last resort au we talked about.

I always love the idea of Hob and Cori competing over Dream, and this is a really nice way for it happen. The love triangle is so tense and sexy.

Hob is still giving all his attention to Dream - flirting, touching, teasing him all day long. But there are moments when Dream actually has to do his job for half a moment instead of just being a toy for Hob to enjoy. When Dream is off folding towels or helping in the dining room, Hob takes the opportunity to pounce on Cori.

And Cori doesn't just accept it like Dream does. He calls Hob a dirty old man, threatens to report him, even holds the knife he was using to slice fruit to Hob’s throat at one point. Mostly its because he doesn't want to steal Dream’s man when he knows there's feelings there. But also, he's really enjoying the thrill of the chase.

So when he's invited to Hob’s suite, it's fair to say that the sexual tension is heavy. Cori pretends to be all focused on Dream (and he is!! Absolutely thrilled to get between Dream’s legs finally) but he's glancing at Hob the whole time, daring him to do something. Hob is only too happy to oblige.

Cori finally gets to fuck Dream (having Hob’s sloppy seconds is more of turn on than he'll ever admit). All while Hob tongue-fucks Cori's hole. Cori has never been rimmed like that before and he has to admit that Hob is talented. He barely lasts any time before coming inside Dream, but he can't even begin to care. This is the gay sex he was hoping for.

Cori is definitely getting those nepo points for making Dream cum. And don't tell anyone, but he totally sucked Hob’s dick. He had to do something to make sure that he's invited back for more!!

[rvspecter]

okay hear me out. what do we think donna's relationship with her mother is like??? and the older sister??? because tbh im willing to bet it's not the best.

first of all, we know her parents separated at some point and that her sister is "much older" than her - im willing to bet 10 years, maybe? old enough to probably be out of the house when the separation happened, but i am wondering how old donna was at that time, and i wonder if she spent more time with her dad during that period.

we're just exposed to her dad so much more in the show, like two or three times compared to the one time in season EIGHT (very late in the series, mind you) where she goes to her mom to reminisce about a trip that was never taken, and the advice she gets leads to her severely fucking with harvey's job. while tbh i might have also told thomas if i were in her position, just bc he was really a good guy and didn't deserve to be fucked over like he would have been, i just find it funny that the one time donna's mom has impact as a character it leads to like a near catastrophe.

do we think younger donna could have blamed her mom for the separation as a child, and that it caused a shift in their dynamic that has been a fracture following donna into adulthood? could her mom be closer with the sister, or have moved to be wherever the sister lives in case the sister has kids or needs greater support?

just like even when donna and harvey get together there's no excitement to tell her mom or an indication that her mom is told, it's just a big thing to talk to her dad about (and FUCK donna's dad by the way, I'm on harvey's team with this one, jim was pissing me off every chance he got!!!!).

anyways I really am just trying to come up with more ways that darvey could parallel each other (harvey's blame to his mom for breaking up their family while sad wasn't all that great but he had a better relationship with him and admired him anyways), and I do want to know your thoughts on donna's sister if you have any!!!

SO I JUST REWATCHED THE DARVEY PARTS OF THIS EPISODE

i feel like she thought her mom was dumb for trusting her dad and giving him her savings. she asks her mom if she regrets doing it because of the way it turned out. and her mom is like how wud i kno how it’d turn out. and donna’s like CAUSE HE LET U DOWN BEFORE re: her dad but also harvey

and then there’s the flashback of her mom promising her all sorts of things that never happened because her mom trusted her dad so she tells thomas because she didn’t want to be made a fool of like her mom

what I don’t get is if this is the case why did she want to help her dad before with money ??

also during the flashbacks of this episode were her parents together or separate because that’s also confusing. her parents are together when they stay at harvey’s place but her mom has a boyfriend whose name doesn’t matter at the dinner party we don’t see. her family situation is definitely all over the place zero stability

i never got the sense that she was distant from her parents. the difference between her and harvey is that he seems to hold onto his anger whereas she doesn’t. i think she’s aware of their faults and conscious of not wanting to be like them but i think they have a decent relationship. enough so that she’s attending dinner parties with her mom and having breakfast semi regularly with her dad

also the episode where donna gets mad at harvey for not trying to build a relationship with her dad - i felt at the time it was donna’s reaction to their relationship like that he was going to bail and she was finding a reason to bail before him!! like what did u think

omg donna’s sister i didn’t even know she had one ahaha

[kivaember]

there's a startling lack of allmind/iguazu fics out there... anyway this is the start of an allmind/iguazu oneshot im writing, so... enjoy!

It started with an innocuous mission request.

"Rb19 Iguazu: as per your standing search query, one job meets your parametres. Location, Grid 086. Client, Junker Coyotes. Target, RaD. Payment: 100'000 COAM. Do you wish to accept this job as an independent contractor?"

It didn't stand out as anything unusual. Iguazu abused the 'independent contractor services' that ALLMIND offered to all mercenaries on Rubicon - be they corporate or independent - trying his best to build up some personal scratch that wasn't directly tied to the Redgun's operational budget.

Every single sortie he did under the Balam banner he basically did for free. After deducting ammunition, repairs, fuel and a bunch of other bullshit auxiliary costs, Iguazu was left with barely two coins to rub together. The Reguns existed in perpetual poverty, indentured servants despite most of them being in denial over it, and Iguazu refused to let himself be content with that.

So he accepted ALLMIND's offered missions on the sly, pocketing a considerable chunk of the pay after she deducted a 5% 'facilitation cost'. ALLMIND even paid for the ammunition and repairs! It was suspiciously generous, but no matter how much Iguazu wracked his brains, he didn't know what ALLMIND was getting out of this. She was an AI, she didn't really have ambitions. It was likely she was just programmed by a complete dumbass.

Well, her deficiencies were his gain. After a few more months, Iguazu might actually have enough money to negotiate for an early release from his Redgun contract, and finally leave this whole life behind him. So, when that innocuous mission request rolled round, no different to any other job he'd taken before through ALLMIND, he'd accepted it without question and departed.

It ended up being the biggest mistake of his life.

-

"DAMN IT!"

Iguazu slammed his fists against the arms of his cockpit seat, his vision half-dazzled by the blinking red emergency lights. There was a faint stench of burning, but he didn't move to evacuate his wreck of an AC, stewing quietly as EN ANAMOLY flashed across his mostly inert console.

Fucker had somehow hit his generator after they got jumped by those random mechs... and just left him here?! Through HEAD BRINGER's thick chassis he could hear the sounds of combat, muffled staccato fire and the telltale 'pff-THWMP' of a piledriver engaging and driving its spike into solid, military grade steel. It galled him to know that Raven didn't need back up at all, that Iguazu had been viewed as an annoyance to be swept aside quickly to focus on the real threat.

How dare he... how dare he...?!

"Rb19 Iguazu."

He froze at the familiar voice, ALLMIND's detachedly polite voice crackly through his fucked console. The emergency power only really focused on powering the important things: life support and comms.

"I see that HEAD BRINGER has suffered from a catastrophic failure. Do you require extraction and repairs?"

Iguazu didn't immediately answer. His chest felt tight and his stomach churned, as he abruptly realised the predicament he was in. Iguazu never told the other Redguns about him taking sly jobs through ALLMIND, because he'd always finished them with only a few dents and scratches on HEAD BRINGER's paintjob, and ALLMIND usually buffed those out. He'd never full on wrecked before. Michigan might get pissed...

...which was whatever! Guy was always riding Iguazu's ass! This would just be one another thing he'd nag him about, and Nile will complain about the fact that this was done off company time so Iguazu would-

Oh.

Oh shit.

He'd have to... pay for repairs out of pocket.

His savings... all that COAM he'd managed to scrape together and save by taking these jobs, that'll be consumed and thensome to fix up HEAD BRINGER. Generators weren't cheap! Not at all! He would've preferred Raven shooting off a leg at this rate! Oh fucking shit cunt asshole fuck-

"Rb19 Iguazu."

"Will you fuck off!?" he half-shrieked. "I'm busy- fucking- argh, I'm so screwed! Why did you give me this job?! Why didn't you tell me the fucking freelancer was here?! I got caught totally off guard because of you!"

"I was unaware that Rb23 Raven was contracted by RaD at this time. His handler had submitted a stay in mission requests for the next two days."

What? Wait, Iguazu didn't give a shit about that.

"Well he's here! Kicking ass and being a fucking cunt as usual!" Iguazu seethed, and flung himself back in his cockpit chair, grunting when it jarred his Cerebral Control Spite. Irritably, he reached up, easing out the cerebral spike with an experienced and gentle care, closing his eyes against the brief moment of vertigo the disconnect brought him.

ALLMIND obliviously kept talking.

"I've initiated emergency extraction protocols. Please hold your position for the next ten minutes. You will be brought to an ALLMIND sponsored foundry for repair and recuperation. Do you wish to send a message to Rb09 Michigan-"

"NO!" Iguazu snapped. "No, don't tell that old man anything. He can't know I was out here!"

"I understand. Then I assume you wish for your bill of repairs to be discretionary?"

Bill of...? "You're gonna bill me?!"

"Yes. If you recall, part of the policy for the Independent Contractors System is that upon mission success, all repair and ammunition costs are absorbed by ALLMIND. Upon failure, the pilot takes full responsibility-"

Iguazu did not recall reading that at all, but... well, he just skimmed all the legal jargon and fine print when ALLMIND had first introduced this system to him, so it was likey he'd missed it. Crap. Well, there was the fish hook he had been marvelling the absence of.

"...how much will it cost," he asked stonily.

"If you don't wish to pay using COAM, an alternative means of payment can be arranged," ALLMIND said, and though she was an AI and thus lacking in emotion or human ambition, there was something... unnervingly sly in her tone. Smug, almost.

That fish hook now had a hundred cruel barbs on it. Iguazu swallowed, viscerally remembering the last time he heard those words - if you can't pay with money, then there's an alternative means of payment... - and how it ended up with him here: augmented against his will and fighting on a backwater planet for a company he despised from the very bottom of his soul.

"Depends on what those 'alternative means' are," Iguazu said warily.

"In pursuit of offering better services to the mercenaries I serve, and gaining better understanding of their wants and needs, it would be beneficial to have several mercenary subjects on hand to gather vital data from."

What? "You want me to be some guinea pig?"

"There will be nothing invasive. Not to the extent of your augmentation surgery. All data shall be harvested via simulations or logs you willingly submit from live combat. You will not be harmed or physically discomforted in any way."

This sounded way too lenient.

"That's it...?" Iguazu probed. "You just want... some fucking data from me? You can get that whenever you want as is! You definitely want something else."

"Of course. The data I automatically obtain is superficial at most. What I require is your biometrics."

"What, like my... fingerprints?"

"The biological performance of your body in combat, both real and simulated, its responses to actions taken by your AC whilst you are under high-levels of stress and synchronisation, its default state post-combat. Gathering this data will allow me to develop AC hardware that encourages perfect synergy between pilot and machine, the likes which Arquebus and Balam have not yet achieved."

Okay... okay, this was... Iguazu could not put his finger on it, but having grown up in the slums of Earth, where he'd met almost every single degenerate under the sun, an instinctive part of him was screaming this is a fetish thing the AI is making you participate in a fetish thing THIS IS TOTALLY A FETISH THING.

"..."

But even if it was a fetish thing, it was still a good deal. Iguazu's used to being horrifically violated, and this was the most gentle way of having it done. He could record this data and send it, and exist in blissful denial over whatever ALLMIND would do with it. She's an AI, she didn't have a physical body to masturbate with. She'd do... whatever it was AI did to get off. Have a power surge? Bluescreen? Whatever. Not his problem. Not thinking about it. Biometric data for possibly fetishtic purposes in exchange for HEAD BRINGER getting repaired and Michigan not knowing about his illegal moonlighting? Brilliant deal if you had no pride, and boy, Iguazu was used to tossing his aside when it was convenient.

"Fine. It's a deal," Iguazu gritted out. "I'll send you all the data you want after you repair HEAD BRINGER."

"Understood. Thank you for your cooperation, Rb19 Iguazu. This will serve to benefit ALLMIND, and in turn, benefit all mercenaries."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever..."

-

Actually, accepting that mission hadn't been the biggest mistake of his life.

Agreeing to ALLMIND's deal had been.

[squgs]

On Driftmark, Was Viserys Looking for an Excuse to Kill Alicent?

During the eye incident when Viserys complies with Rhaenyra's demand to find out where Aemond heard the 'rumor' of her children's bastardy, I've always wondered what Viserys's plan was if Aemond and Aegon had complied with the questioning.

An easy answer is that they just didn't have a plan. I can certainly see Rhaenyra just lashing out as soon as the word bastard has been said in a room full of nobles. Viserys then might just be doing what he's told by his daughter with little thought for the consequences.

However I don't think either of them are that stupid. It seems likely that Rhaenyra assumes that Aemond heard the 'rumors' from Alicent and Alicent is the only person who has dared even imply the truth to Viserys, so he has to be thinking that Aemond heard it from Alicent.

Side note: I don't think that Alicent actually told Aemond. She knows the danger of talking about it and she doesn't mention it to Aegon during the 'you are the challenge' scene, when that information is very relevant to why Rhaenyra would likely have to kill Aegon.

Anyway, what the heck was Viserys going to do if Aemond had named Alicent? He later institutes a policy of cutting the tongues of anyone who questions the birth of Rhaenyra's sons, so would he have had her tongue removed? Rhaenyra claims that speaking the truth is the 'highest of treasons' and would as such assumedly carry the punishment of death, so would Viserys have ordered her execution?

If we assume that he isn't an idiot (a dubious assumption) and he therefore knows that there will likely be a war over his succession, then kickstarting the war immediately benefits Rhaenyra. The greens don't have a single adult dragon rider at that point while the blacks have 4. So if he is given the political excuse to do so, executing Alicent would benefit his family and likely vastly abbreviate the dance of the dragons.

That being said it would also be a catastrophically stupid thing to do. Murdering the queen for stating an obvious truth would completely destroy any trust in Targaryen rule. House Hightower would certainly take offense, and look to enact revenge even if they weren't willing to field an army against dragons. No family would ever be willing to marry their daughters into the Targaryen family again and there would be no way to pretend that their rule isn't tyrannical and entirely dependent on the threat of dragon fire to keep insulted lords in line.

Before all that though there's what happens immediately in that room, because it would probably turn into a fucking blood bath. There is no way Criston would allow Alicent to be unjustly executed or mutilated while he's still alive, and I think neither would Otto, though there's an argument to be made that Otto would flee or try to protect his dragon riders instead. So one of the best swordsmen in the world is then likely trying to kill the king or fighting with other members of the king's guard. At that point Vaemond and any like minded Velaryons would be looking at perhaps their only chance to prevent a strong bastard taking control of Driftmark. They might therefore try to assassinate Viserys, Rhaenyra, Luke or all three. Of course Daemon is also in that room and would do something chaotic, maybe taking the opportunity to try to kill Otto?

Anyone feel like writing that fic?

Even with all the risks though, if Alicent is named, Viserys has to punish her in some way, because the whole point of his and Rhaenyra's actions is to make everyone too afraid to speak the truth, and letting someone get away with speaking the truth destroys that. He could maybe make her name someone beneath her as the source of the rumors and then kill them, but barring that dubious out, Viserys would have to choose between giving up on protecting Rhaenyra and kicking off a war by harming his wife. At every previous opportunity he's chosen Rhaenyra, so I don't see how he'd make any other choice.

Obviously Viserys didn't hesitate to kill his first wife, but in the aftermath of Alicent attacking Rhaenyra, when he definitely does have an excuse to kill Alicent, he doesn't kill her or have her punished in any way. That could just be him having time to think things over and realize that's a bad idea, or it could be a sign that he was never going to do anything except yell at his children, or maybe Aemond and Aegon's words reduced his bloodlust.

In the end there aren't any real answers, we can just guess at what combination of evil, stupidity and laziness makes Viserys do the things he does.

[fyodior]

the best gift

pairing: odasaku x gn!reader

cw: none! just cheesy fluff

notes: this is my contribution to the very lovely white christmas collab luna @hiraizens is hosting!! here is a very corny fic about wrapping gifts with oda :")

wc: 1.1k

Oda stared at the disaster of wrapping paper, tape, bows, and ribbon laid out in front of him on the kitchen table, mocking him. He didn’t know how it got that bad – truly. You had been working so hard finding and buying gifts for both of your friends and family, and he just wanted to be helpful, so he thought he would wrap the presents for you while you relaxed in the bedroom. But now you certainly were going to have to repurchase some supplies.

The absolute last thing Oda ever wanted to have to do was ask you for help – that would defeat the entire purpose of this endeavor anyway. But with every effort only making the mess worse, he eventually had to admit it was a lost cause.

Oda held his breath as he walked up the stairs towards the bedroom, preparing an incredibly long, drawn-out apology in his head. He knew you wouldn’t be mad at him – you never were. He just felt horrible in that, in trying to make your life easier, he made it much harder.

Peaking his head through the half-open door, he watched for just a moment as you flipped through the tattered pages of your favorite book. The one you read over and over, to where the paperback cover was almost falling off. He knocked lightly on the wood to get your attention, chuckling at the way you startled.

“Hi, hon!” you said with a sweet smile on your face, tossing your book to the side. You obviously noticed the grimace on Oda’s face he was not hiding well and furrowed your eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”

He shuffled slowly into the room, rubbing the back of his neck nervously.

“Well, I- I, um-”

“Odasaku?” The worry in your eyes grew.

“I kind of, um. Majorly fucked up wrapping the Christmas gifts,” he mumbled. This didn’t ease much of your confusion.

“Wrapping the Christmas gifts?”

“You’ve done almost all the shopping and I wanted to try and help out by doing some of the wrapping but… it’s harder than I thought it would be.”

You laughed as you shook your head, pushing the blankets off you to stand up.

“Show me the damage,” you teased.

Oda led you downstairs towards the kitchen, averting his eyes in embarrassment as you finally fell witness to the catastrophe that had occurred. He grimaced as you took it in for a moment, afraid you’d be pissed you had extra work to do now, but instead you just laughed.

“Oh, honey,” you sighed. “Why all this?” You giggled as you picked up the scrap piece of paper where he had been practicing cursive for the gift tags but had failed miserably.

“Just wanted to help.” His eyes stayed focused on the white tile underneath him.

He wasn’t expecting it when you turned towards him and threw your arms around his neck before pressing a wet kiss to his lips. Though he was confused by this reaction, his hands came to settle on your hips and kissed you back happily.

“Thank you,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Why the hell are you thanking me for that?” He gestured towards the scene of the crime.

“Because it’s really, really sweet that you tried to help. Thank you,” you giggled.

Standing back up on your toes, you kissed him once again before peppering soft kisses all over his cheeks, making him laugh.

“You’re not mad?” Some of the stress had finally started to drain from his body.

“Not at all, darling. As long as you’ll promise to help me fix it,” you teased.

He pulled you in even closer to kiss you deeply, an of course getting lost somewhere between both your lips.

You grabbed Oda’s hand and forced him to sit down at the table, preparing him for a crash course in gift wrapping. He listened intently, nodding as you explained exactly how to measure out the correct length and width of wrapping paper, how to get the crispest corners, and how to tie ribbons.

Oda was a very diligent assistant, handing you the scissors when you asked, keeping multiple different pieces of already cut tape on him, and listening to you ramble about the who and why behind each gift. It made his heart swell to hear about how deliberate you were with each present, matching each one perfectly to their recipient. You’d die before handing someone a predictable gift card for Christmas.

He oohed as you pulled out your calligraphy skills to label each tag, and you rolled your eyes as he made jokes about tying you up with ribbon in the bedroom. He could only keep his hands off you for so long though.

“I definitely considered giving him bandag-” your words were cut off as Oda stuck a bow right onto your forehead, laughing to himself.

“A gift to the world,” he cooed. You rolled your eyes so hard it was painful, only making him laugh harder. “C’mere,” he said before grabbing the leg of your chair and pulling you towards him.

He cradled your face in his hands and looked at you, pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. Every time Oda gave you that look, the one where his eyes gleamed and he couldn’t contain the grin that spread across his face that screamed I love you so fucking much, you got butterflies in your stomach. It always felt like the first time you met him all over again, when you blushed and stuttered as you tried to speak because his presence was just so overwhelming.

Oda finally leaned in to kiss you, the stubble on his jaw tickling your face. You laughed into the kiss and hugged his shoulders again as he pulled you closer by your waist.

“Thank you for all your help, my little elf,” you said, making him chuckle.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, right next to the silvery-pink bow still stuck to your forehead.

“Thank you for being the best gift I’ve ever gotten.”