#while kal suffers

[somnoir]

Children of Diana - Part 2

Part 1 | Masterpost

Diana had not intended to reveal the existence of her children so soon. But thankfully, Daniel and Dante seemed to agree that it would not be too troublesome for her colleagues to know of them.

She is grateful, at least, that no one suspects Diana Prince to be a mother of three. Instead, the world knows only that Wonder Woman has taken on two young male apprentices. The distinction, while subtle, grants her a measure of control over the narrative. It is, admittedly, a confusing time for some—especially her fellow heroes.

As expected, Batman is the first to approach her.

“You have partners?” he asks, his tone softer than usual, lacking the usual gruffness.

Diana smiles, tilting her head. “Yes. Though from what I understand, they are younger than your Robin.” She pauses, recalling the bright, determined child who first wore the mantle. “The older one is close in age to when Robin first came to be.”

Batman nods, understanding. “Do you require any assistance or advice on the matter? I am willing to offer guidance on mentoring young vigilantes. Though I must admit, I will be lacking in the powers department.”

Diana appreciates the offer. Even she struggles to fully anticipate the depths of Dante and Daniel’s abilities—so fluid, so unbound by the laws she has known. But she appreciates the helping hand nonetheless.

“Thank you, Batman.” She grins. His identity remains elusive, but she respects his privacy. More than ever, now that she has children of her own, she understands why he chooses to remain an enigma when so many of their colleagues have unmasked.

“It’s no problem.” He shakes his head, his cape shifting slightly with the motion. “You may bring them to the Watchtower at some point. Preferably once they’ve received enough training.”

Diana arches a brow, smirking. “The same way you brought Robin?”

Because, of course, Robin had not been formally introduced. The boy had snuck in, startling many before being caught by Kal—moments before he nearly ambushed his own mentor.

Batman grunts, displeased yet faintly amused by the memory. “Hopefully not.”

“I will try,” Diana laughs.

She eventually finds herself back home, where Dante and Daniel are suffering as per usual, trying to wrangle their adventurous infant of a sister to not float out the window. Like usual.

Diana steps into the room just in time to hear the chaos unfolding.

“Hi, Di!” Danny greets, far too cheerfully for someone currently wrangling a two-year-old with the strength and determination of a seasoned warrior. His eyes flicker green before he turns back to the little troublemaker currently biting the windowsill. “Can we borrow your lasso?! Or buy a leash?!”

Diana raises a brow.

“Ellie, stop biting the damn furniture! You’re too young to be traveling the world, damn it!” Dante shouts, trying to pry his sister away from the open window.

Ellie, utterly unbothered, swats at him with surprising force. “No! Wanna go to Greece! Lemme go!”

“You’re not going into the ocean, dammit!” Dante snaps back, only to yelp when Ellie plants a solid kick to his face.

Diana watches, unimpressed but unsurprised, as Dante stumbles. That moment of lost balance is all Ellie needs—wiggling free, she makes a determined beeline right out the window.

Diana sighs. Enough of that.

She catches Ellie by the waist with ease, pulling her back into the penthouse before she can so much as dangle a foot into open air. “Not yet, little one,” Diana says, tone firm but gentle. “As your brother said, you are far too young. Perhaps when you are eight, like Daniel, I shall permit it.”

Ellie whines loudly, puffing out her cheeks and attempting to push against Diana’s hold. It’s adorable, really—her tiny hands barely make an impact against Diana’s chest. Realizing resistance is futile, Ellie huffs and goes limp in her mother’s arms, a dramatic display of defiance.

Diana is unfazed. With one arm, she holds Ellie effortlessly, and with the other, she reaches out to help Dante up.

“Did I take too long?” she asks, amused.

“If you did, she’d already be by the coast,” Dante grumbles, rubbing his face and glaring at Ellie, who resolutely avoids his gaze.

Diana chuckles. It is never dull in this household.

Wraith and Phantom make their entrance as they always do—silently, effortlessly, and unmistakably theirs. They do not linger in the shadow of the League as sidekicks often do, nor do they stand beside any other hero. They are with her and her alone.

The League, naturally, takes notice.

Their presence is striking, their power undeniable. Even their attire contrasts sharply with Diana’s own. Where she stands adorned in gold, red, and blue, they are shrouded in black and white, their cloaks shifting like the cosmos itself. Danny—Phantom—wears the void, an expanse of endless cold that seems to devour the light around it. Dante—Wraith—holds within his cloak the heat of a dying star, the fury of a sun on the brink of collapse.

And then, of course, there are their abilities.

Dante calls forth fire from the earth with a mere flick of his wrist, the ground obeying his command as flames rage in his wake. Danny summons ice from the sky, turning the battlefield into his frozen domain. Opposites in nearly every way, yet when they fight, it is seamless, an unrelenting force that none can withstand.

Barry whistles, watching as Wraith effortlessly hurls the latest villain skyward, only for Phantom to snatch them mid-air and slam them back into the ground with a force that rattles the street. "Okay, lady, you've got two concerningly powerful kids there," he laughs, though the nervous edge in his voice betrays his unease.

Batman, ever observant, merely nods. "Exceptional technique," he notes. "Did you train them yourself?"

Diana crosses her arms, watching as Phantom and Wraith move with fluid precision, their synergy as natural as breathing. "Somewhat," she admits. "They had exceptional mentors before arriving in this world, but I had to reteach them certain things after their transition."

Superman drifts closer, eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the two finish subduing their opponent. Yet their work is not done—Phantom immediately turns to the civilians, kneeling to comfort frightened children, his expression softening. Wraith, meanwhile, sets to repairing the damage they’ve left behind, a flick of his hand mending fractured pavement.

"Amazing," Clark murmurs. "So they’re from another world?"

"Another dimension," Diana corrects, carefully choosing her words. "They were sent here for their well-being. It would be best if you do not pry into their origins. It has been... difficult for them. Leaving home was not their choice."

A quiet understanding passes between them.

After a beat, Batman hums. "Would it be beneficial to introduce them to the others? The Titans, perhaps? They are younger than most of our younger heroes, but it may help them to have peers outside of us."

Diana watches as Wraith floats down beside Phantom, producing a small, unharmed kitten from seemingly nowhere and handing it to a tearful child. The girl’s sniffles quiet as she clutches the creature, Phantom ruffling her hair with an encouraging smile.

A rare warmth spreads in Diana’s chest.

She considers Batman’s words, then smiles. "That would be nice," she agrees. "It would make my day knowing my apprentices are given the chance to make friends."

Althought the prospect would solely depend on the boys' decision. Ellie would join in the vigilantism soon enough but for now...

"Παιδιά! Ελάτε εδώ!" (Kids! Come here!) Diana beckoned them towards her and the two half-ghosts were quick to move. Wraith floated towards her while Phantom slipped into a portal appeared at her side.

"Batman suggested I introduce you to the younger heroes. The Titans—they are led by Batman's protoge, Robin."

"The colorful one?" Phantom's face was hidden but Diana could tell his face was already scrunched up.

"Yes," she sighed, "The colorful one."

"I wanna meet them!" Phantom eagerly said, "Isn't your sister there? Can we meet her too? Ooh! And a speedster!"

Again, Dante looked utterly aghast when the speedster was mentioned.

Alas, this will do.

Masterpost

[bumblingbabooshka]

Thinking about marriage/women's rights on Vulcan Some may think that T'Pring not being allowed to divorce Spock was because he was going through the pon farr but if she were allowed to divorce him at all she probably would have done that a long time ago, confirmed by T'Pol when she's speaking with Koss, who isn't suffering from the pon farr. She says that he can choose another mate (without invoking a fight it seems: note the difference between a 'mate' and a 'challenger') and after he makes it clear that nothing she says will change his mind about marrying her, she finally threatens to declare a kal-if-fee. It's clear that Vulcan women cannot divorce/refuse to marry a man they've been betrothed to under any circumstances if A) He himself doesn't consent to ending their marriage or B) She doesn't have someone else waiting in the wings to be given to in his stead. Though, if the challenger she selects fails to win the fight, she'll have to marry her betrothed anyway unless (again) he decides he doesn't want her after the challenge. That seems like an incredibly unfair system, heavily biased towards men. SNW is an alternate universe in many obvious respects but most egregiously in that T'Pring has a lot of non-canonical agency over her relationship with Spock. It's interesting to me that Vulcan society has women in many positions of power and treats women as equal to men from what I've seen despite these laws. We don't really see Vulcans exhibiting a misogynistic attitude towards women in general but in TOS (perhaps because of its general writing style but it's still interesting to note) both Sarek and Spock take on patriarchal attitudes specifically regarding wives. Amanda says that 'of course' Sarek commands her because "he is a Vulcan and I am his wife." It's worthwhile in my eyes to note that she specifies 'wife' instead of attributing this attitude to women as a whole. Again, with TOS' writing style it wouldn't be out of place for her to say "he is a man and I am a woman." Spock, while in a pon farr induced irritation, states that it's "undignified for a woman to play servant to a man that isn't hers" - again implying that there's something specific about being a Wife in Vulcan society which is different from being a woman in general and demands subservience to a husband. This could perhaps stem from the extreme sense of ownership that Vulcan law has permitted men to have over women. A woman legally cannot point blank refuse marriage. There is no option which guarantees she won't have to marry her betrothed other than death. When T'Pau speaks of T'Pring she refers to her as being 'property' and Stonn, before being interrupted, states he's made 'the ancient claim' - we don't know what this is because he gets cut off but it's obvious they're both using the language of Vulcan law. Men are permitted true freedom to choose. If a woman wants to choose someone else to be with there is no option available to her other than the kal-if-fee which might result in the death of the one she wants to be with. And, if her lover fails, her husband can still just decide he wants to marry her and she'll be forced to. T'Pring gives two scenarios: One where Spock 'frees' her and one where he doesn't - it's still ultimately his decision which is clear when he ends the conversation with "Stonn, she is yours." This again isn't just because of the pon farr as T'Pol also goes through this. Koss can choose another mate and when the option is talked about there's no implication that this would result in any sort of fight (both by the casualness of its mention and by the fact that there's no formal word for it unlike the kal-if-fee.) Also, the fact that Koss does eventually grant T'Pol a divorce and it's all fine means that T'Pol isn't lawfully required to have another man waiting if her HUSBAND doesn't want her. It's ONLY required if SHE doesn't want her husband. Tradition must take precedence over individual desire UNLESS!!! You're a man. Then it's fine. Like, your parents might not be happy but legally you're golden.

[batsandbirdbrains]

The one where Dick is secretly Kryptonian and Zod is the only one who recognizes him

I want a fic set in the yj cartoon universe but I want to absolutely fuck with the timeline, as one does. I want Zod to show up way earlier, like just after the end of season 2. I want my usual set up where Dick is actually only like 15-17ish bc I think the younger he is the angst-ier it gets and I love that for him. Love making him suffer. I want Artemis to have refused to come back as Tigress to help Kaldur, so Dick ends up spending the entirety of season 2 with a million responsibilities: he has to sub in as Batman at least a couple times a week in Gotham and whenever the JL needs him so the world doesn’t get suspicious, he has to run the Team as Nightwing, he has to patrol as Nightwing, he has to train Tim to be Robin bc he’s only been Robin for a couple months before Bruce fucked off to Rimbor, he acted as Kaldur’s handler while he’s undercover, and then he convinces Deathstroke to let him be Renegade so he can provide Kaldur with some sort of backup. Oh and also he’s still in high school. Taking extra credits so he can graduate sooner.

And while all of this is happening, he’s also actively hiding the fact that he’s Kryptonian. That he’s actually Superman’s older brother. That he was stuck in the Phantom Zone for years because he was scared to leave his parents and go in the pod, so the explosion set his pod off course. That he was terrified when he landed on Earth and found out that Kal and Kara grew up without him. That he was the only one with the prototype bracelet his father had made to prevent the radiation from the yellow sun giving Dick powers.

So after the invasion, after everything calms down, the heroes around him start questioning his need to keep the undercover op a secret. They question is ability as a leader, as a hero. And Dick, who’s exhausted and overwhelmed and just so so tired, basically gives them all the middle finger and fucks off the Blüdhaven. Screw them all. He doesn’t need them. He doesn’t need anyone. He’s lost two families already, he can lose his makeshift third. Kara’s never even been in the same room as him since Dick has been on Earth. It’s fine. Everything’s fine. He’s totally fine.

Then General Zod shows up four months later, and the JL reluctantly calls in nightwing because they need all the help they can get. And Dick helps. Because he’s good like that. Because even though he barely remembers Zod, he does remember that he was an ass and he didn’t like him, no matter how respectful his parents always told him he should be to his elders, especially one with the rank of General. But that was before Zod got thrown in the Phantom Zone, so Dick likes to think it wouldn’t count now.

Dick is on the Watchtower, lingering in the back, waiting for the debrief to start so he can just go home already. He’s missed a shift at the bar he works at for this. He’s probably going to get fired.

While Dick is brooding to himself, Superman and Supergirl arrive, each holding an arm of the shackled Zod, who’s looking around the room like they’re all dirt beneath his boots. But when Dick looks up, he and Zod look at each other. Even with the mask, Dick can tell he’s been recognized. And it makes his stomach drop.

Because Zod starts laughing, and it makes everyone pause. Everyone is watching him, and it only makes Zod’s smirk widen.

“I haven’t seen you in quite some time,” Zod says, his voice smooth. “Given your youth, it must’ve been you we heard crying in the Phantom Zone all those years. Remind me of your name again, boy?”

Dick stays frozen, even as everyone turns to him after realizing he’s the one Zod is staring down. The further Dick tries to hunch in on himself, the more Zod laughs.

“What was it? Ree-El? Rae-El? Rid-El?”

“Rah-El,” Dick eventually hisses, glaring at Zod. Zod just continues smirking at him, and Dick help but bite at him in Kryptonian, “Traitor.”

Kara is gasping, her hold on Zod going slack, but Kal-El just looks confused. As does everyone else around them.

“Ah, yes,” Zod says, his voice smooth. “Rah-El, firstborn of Jor-El and Lara. I’d thought you’d perished on Krypton when I hadn’t seen you fighting with your family. But look at you, hiding in the shadows. Tell me, it was you we heard in the Phantom Zone, wasn’t it? Your screams were so delightful.”

And just knowing that Zod and the others heard him while he was terrified, alone, locked in the pod with no way out, it makes his blood boil. Because they could have helped him. They should have helped him. He was a child, he was one of their own, and they left him to rot.

“Nightwing,” Kal’s voice is shaking, “what is he talking about?”

“Nightwing?” Zod laughs. “Oh, you really have been hiding in plain sight, haven’t you? Very clever.”

Dick can feel his hands shaking and his breathing get shallower, so he pushes himself off the wall and stomps up to Zod, hissing at him, “I hope they send you to rot in the Phantom Zone for the rest of eternity, you pathetic excuse for a general.”

He leaves before anyone can say anything. He doesn’t know how to answer any of their questions anyway. He doesn’t want to.

[fancyfeathers]

Yandere!Batboys as Villains with Robin!Darlings AU Masterlist

I absolutely love the idea of Jon Kent falling in love with Damian’s darling when she becomes Batwoman and he becomes Superman, like imagine they haven’t see each other since they were kids when she was first Robin, then when Bruce dies they grow distant and they both grow up and then one day he sees her again, full suit and mask, scouting out as Batwoman and he knows it is her under the mask…

The new Dark Knight, the protector of Gotham.

He just gets so excited about seeing her that he immediately flies over and picks her up in a hug. He ends up giving away her hiding spot but it is able to help her take down the drug smugglers she was intercepting.

Over the next few weeks, everyone knows about them, photos of the new Superman and Batwoman are in the papers with him carrying her like a princess when her grappling hook broke, or him flying beside her as she swings from roof to roof, or the two of them sitting on a rooftop together watching the sun rise.

Or just imagining them reestablishing the Justice League with a new generation of heroes, taking over the mantles of the former heroes that were their mentors. Clark watching the two of them, Jon being the only person who gets the new Bat to break the stoic personal and hold his hand. She may not be as intimidating as Bruce in Clark’s eyes but he can certainly see why he picked her to be his successor.

Or speaking of Clark, when he is retired and left the mantle to Jon, just imagine Jon bringing her home to visit so she can get out of the city air, aka he is forcing her to take a break. Lois and Clark will be watching them from the porch while she sits under a tree with Jon resting his head on her lap, and Lois just goes…

“Are they…”

“Dating? I think so, she fell asleep in Jon’s bed with him last night.”

Meanwhile under the tree, Jon just looks at his parents and then up at her and smiles…

“They are talking about us.”

“I know.”

“How?”

“I’m the world’s newest greatest detective.”

“Geez… I am so in love with you.”

“I know.”

They ending up getting exposed after a new Justice League meeting and they thought everyone was gone, and she had just been having a really stressful week and Jon just takes off her mask and sets it aside and walks around and hugs her from behind, rocking her back and forth, and one of the new league members walks in, needing to talk to Batwoman but sees her being held by Superman, totally calm, her guard completely down, probably starting to fall asleep and it’s probably just best to leave them along for now, besides they whole league will know by the end of the day.

Then of course Damian will eventually find out about his darling’s fling with son of Kal-El, and by the time he is through with them, both of them are going to be suffering without the other.

I really like this idea, black cat girlfriend and golden retriever boyfriend, I would love your guys’ feedback and if I should add it to the AU.

[angrykittybarbarian]

A list of things that bother me about Dragon Age: The Veilguard Part 2

I already touched on a few things that caught my attention and personally irked me about the game. After getting through some more of it naturally a few more points have come up. Though I think they are not really new aspects but more concrete examples of what I had touched on last time.

Without further ado, let's get into it.

!Spoilers below the cut!

The dialogue is repetetive and at times contradictory

Like I already discussed last time the dialogue is bad, to express it in the simplest of terms. As I progressed through the game I stumbled upon a glaring example for what I mean.

In the questline where you infiltrate a Venatori meeting there is a part where Neve in disguise and in company of Rook and another companion gets a Venatori to admit that Elgar'nan was present but not Ghilan'nain. For some inexplicable reason Neve turns around and repeats this twice as if Rook wasn't present.

I stated in my last post that the game feels the need to state the obvious. This is what I mean. It makes the dialogue feel like a rough draft that was incorporated into the game without further polish.

As of its contradictory nature two examples come to mind.

In Harding's companion quest you meet this dwarf of Kal Sharok. His dialogue is stoic, no bullshit straight to the point and passionless. Which was fine. But after several minutes of him being that way they get to stone statue Valta who speaks in these misteryous riddles and suddenly he switches to this unserious tone of "Oh that weird statue, we never know what she's saying, ain't she funny." (I'm paraphrasing here). I was confused for half a minute because of his sudden change in attitude and left wondering what his characterization is supposed to be now: serious or quirky?

Same thing with Taash's whole story. This is especially upsetting because I feel like they could have done such great work with it.

Instead it suffers so much from several inconsistencies that I felt sorry for the VA because they actually did a great acting job.

Taash has a coming out scene with their mother where they reveal they're non-binary. Ignoring the usage of modern terms in a medieval-ish setting, the conflict about their gender makes no sense.

The writing wants you to believe Shathann is not okay with her child being non-binary but she never actually expresses such a thing. Actually Shathann sort of had an inkling that Taash was no ordinary woman ("Behaves more like a man...") and she never passed any negative judgement on it. When Taash told her this she even tried to understand by categorizing their identity into qunari vocabulary she knew (remember the term aqun-athlok?).

I get how hard it is to have an overly critical mother and the feeling of not being good enough but that was not what Shathann was about in that scene and it did Taash so dirty because they looked more like an entitled teenager than someone suffering from trauma and perfectionism.

But moving on.

Some old characters are mischaracterized

It's Scout Harding. I mean Harding.

I was really excited to have her as a companion in the new installment but they sort of butchered her character that I found myself annoyed everytime she opened her mouth.

And this is because they make her sound so immature. Really think about it. DATV somehow makes Scout Harding sound younger and more childish than she was in DAI despite the fact that she is supposed to be a whole decade older in DATV than in DAI.

I don't know what direction her VA recieved while recording but everything was pronounced so slowly and extra clear that it seemed at times that Harding was either talking to a confused elderly person or a child.

She herself uses expressions not fit for her age. The most jarring moment was when she called the Blight in D'meta's Crossing 'weird' and sounded like a teenager who has stumbled upon furry art for the first time on deviantArt. This pattern pretty much continues throughout the game. And it hurts so much.

Also Morrigan. She at least still uses her even for DA setting standards antiquated vocabulary but she is too happy and cheery and friendly.

Morrigan is not a nice person to those she does not know and like personally. But to Rook she was so nice despite having met them for the first time.

The Morrigan we have come to know love/hate should have been more snarky or at least more neutral in her demeanor.

The Venatori

I don't know why they are still a thing honestly. I was under the impression they have lost all footing after the death of Corypheus. Why would they follow the Gods of the people their country systemically abuses anyway?

Bonus: Why would the Antaam for that matter, as the qunari are so notoriously arcanophobic that they leash their mages, sew their mouths shut and literally call them "dangerous thing"?

Solas' spy network and agents

What happened to them? Where are they? Shouldn't he have a small army? Why weren't they used as the gods' agents instead of the Venatori? Surely, Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain would have an easier time simply controlling Fen'Harels elven army after imprisoning him in the fade.

The Chantry

It is just not present. Sure there are some Chantry buildings but there is no discussion of faith. In all previous DA games the Chantry has had a constant influence that could be felt everywhere. Faith was discussed and explored from various angles and perspectives, ranging from ultra conservative to progressive. But in Veilguard it's not there.

Why are we not exploring the Tevinter Chantry more? Why doesn't Emmrich discuss the nevarran Chantry, who follows the Sunburst Throne in Orlais, in regards to the Mournwatch, their necromancy practices and magic? Why was he not affected by the mage uprising that started in Kirkwall? How does he deal with faith and the Chantry? It is simply never mentioned.

By all accounts, this game avoids delving into the world like the plague.

Part 3

[iwasnotaslasher]

A concept: the usual trope "kryptonians colonized Earth and enslaved the population", except when rebel leader Bruce Wayne falls prisoner of general Kal-El he finds out the alien is actually on their side. And he falls for him.

Premises are: Zod's coup is successfull, kryptonians leave their dying planet to terraform and colonize Earth, dividing the territories among the most prominent families and enslaving the Earthlings.

As much as Jor-El and Lara hate this turn of events, playing along is the only way to survive and make a difference. So to their family is granted the whole North America and they settle there as rulers, turning Metropolis into their capital city, but sending their son Kal to be raised into a humble Kansas farm by a Earthling couple.

Meanwhile, to keep up their facade with other élite families, Jor and Lara proceed to rule with iron fist among their territories, suppressing any attempt at insurrection and deporting all the prisoners to misterious concentration camps located into the deep midwest country, striking fear and hate into population. Spoiler: they are not actual concentration camps, but nobody must know, especially the other families.

After thirty years of dictatorship, Gotham City is currently hiding the last secret resistence bastion, held together by Batman and a handful of other rebels. Their main activity is aimed at weaken the colonizer, both carrying on targeted attacks and hoarding kryptonite. They have become so effiecent that they are now deemed as the most wanted among the kryptonian regime enemies, with the order to bring them alive to the rulers.

It's during one of their attacks that Batman crew falls. Bruce fights back with all his might but its all worthless: in the end he's defeated.

"This one is mine." a harsh voice says in kryptonian.

Bruce gazes up at the alien holding him down with a booth pressed on his chest: the familiy crest draped over his uniform is unmistakable as well as his red-glowing eyes. He's Kal-El, Last Son of Krypton: heir of their rulers and ruthless general of their army. His reputation as cruel monster has spread all over the world. Bruce is now sure to be doomed: if Kal's fame is true, he will not even get to see the infamous concentration camps, and not because he will recieve a mercifully quick death. Oh no, he will suffer. Bruce is going to be throughly humiliated until his very being will be annihilated, then maybe, when Kal will gets bored of playing with him, he will finally being killed. Bruce just hopes that nothing about his horrible fate will ever reach his kids.

And for the first part it goes just as he dreads. Taken to Metropolis with the other rebel survivors and paraded in chains along the city streets, under the scornful eyes of the gathered kryptonians. Then dragged at their tyrants' feet, forced to kneel in front of their thrones as they congratule their son for another of his victories.

Bruce can’t bear all of this. And since he doesn't have anything more to lose, he dares to look them in the face and openly threaten them. Kal punishes him yanking back the chain connected at his collar and pressing a knee between his shoulder, making him simultaneously bending over and shutting up for the lack of air.

"This one will be quite a challenge to break." Jor comments with a chuckle.

"Go, my son." Lara says smiling fondling at him, "Have fun with him."

Now can you imagine Bruce's shock when, finally alone with him into Kal's quarters and already fearing the worst, the alien takes off his "terrifying kryptonian general" mask and begs Bruce to forgive him for how he treated him so far?

All the while speaking with a perfect USA english with a strong midwestern drawl??

And then proceding to ramble about what his family is doing since they settled there and how with Bruce's help they might have a chance to actually overthrow Zod's government???

Of course to keep their secret they must fake Bruce being held as his personal new toy and play out the dynamic whenever their are surrounded by other kryptonians they not entrust.

Of course Kal is so effiecent at masking while they are in public, as well as mortifyed and gentle when they are alone, and Bruce just can’t believe how quickly he can go from cold-alien-master to cute-country-boy in mere seconds.

Of course for Bruce is damn hard to deal with all of this: having to turn his hatred into trust, coping with how he actually feels while they play their master/slave parts, recognizing how Kal is growing a crush over him and so how much Bruce can influence him.

Of course at some point Bruce is reached by a rebel cell, who gives him a kryptonite dagger.

Of course Kal wakes up right when Bruce is hovering on him, dagger pointed at his throath.

"Do it. Your people will never have another chance like this."

Of course the dagger slips from Bruce's grasp and instead of killing him he ends up kissing him.

[the-kingshound]

Personal update

As you might have noticed, I usually try not to leave too much personal information about me on Tumblr. Both because I am a bit paranoid, and because I want to be known as an author, as Kal, the side of me that can use gender neutral pronouns, that can be creative, and vulnerable, and free.

So this post might come as a surprise, but I have this weight on my chest and honestly, I have almost no one to talk to in real life. Consider this a vent, or a confession on my part.

I have not been shy in admitting I suffer from some mental health issues, mainly anxiety and depression. I have also admitted that my games and the community around them have been the only thing to bring me joy the last few years - when the anxiety has quickly become debilitating and then completely crippling.

Most of my issues were due to my academics. You may not know this, but I was enrolled in Medicine (I think it translates to pre med school). It was my lifelong dream to become a doctor, however ever since I started uni, my life has been quickly falling apart. So, more than four years later, I have taken a decision that was incredibly suffered but which has lifted an enormous weight off my chest.

I am dropping out of med school.

And while I am aware I am far from the first person to do that, this decision feels so final. The burial of a dream that had become my whole identity. But even though I cried, and I mourned the loss of the doctor I could have become, I feel like I can finally breathe. And that is what matters.

This means that I will be taking a year off of school. So I will be able to dedicate time to therapy and maybe to working on TKH, if my mental health manages to get a bit better. I would like to do more commissions, maybe even set up montly content for Ko-fi supporters, but we'll see.

Thanks for reading and thanks for the joy you all have brought me over these past incredibly bleak years.

[all-pacas]

a post about ages that quickly got out of hand

so in house's head 13 says she wasn't born in when a movie came out in 1980, meaning she isn't older than 28 years old. in reality, olivia wilde was 24 at the time, but that's way too young for thirteen: we don't have a Chase Problem, where 13 has had a million subspecialties and needs to be older to account for them, but most people don't actually finish med school until they're 28.

if we assume 13 is doing the normal fellowship thing — that this is her first post after finishing her residency — then she could be 28. that would put her as the same age as kutner (who actually has the opposite problem: kal penn is actually a few years older, but kutner is explicitly 28 when he dies), which kind of fits nicely.

foreman, cameron, park, adams, and taub's ages are never stated. in foreman and taub's cases, we can probably assume they're the same ages as their actors; probably the same for park. adams and cameron, i think, both get the chase/thirteen treatment of being quietly aged up a few years:

omar epps was born in 1973, making foreman 31 in s1, which seems about right for finishing his neurologist training.

chase says he's 30 in s2, making him 29 in s1 (born 1975). (house says he's 26 in s1, which was jesse spencer's age, but the show seems to have realized its mistake, thus the pointed "i am 30" line.)

cameron has a line where she tells a patient the others on the team are older than her. however, jennifer morrison was born in 1979, making her 25 in s1, which is again too young. let's say cameron is 28 in s1, born in 1976. EDIT: Anon pointed out given her training, she really can't be younger than 30 in S1.

for 13 and kutner to be 28 in s4, they both would have been born in 1980/1981.

peter jacobson, and probably taub, was born in 1965, making him 42 in s4.

masters is said to be 29, despite her prodigy status (mostly because she got a few degrees before starting med school).

charlyne li was 26 when they were cast as park. in this case, park doesn't need to be aged up: she's explicitly said to still be a resident when house gets her, so her age works.

adams, however, suffers from extreme Chase Problems: she was 27 when cast, but adams has not only finished medical school and all her training, but also has been working in the prison system for a while. she has to at least be thirty, realistically. i'd honestly put her as a couple years older.

for contrast, wilson starts s1 at 38 years old, cuddy at a wildly implausible but stated 36, and house at 45.

so, just for fun and because this post is rotting my brain, if you lined everyone up in 2004, sometime during the pilot:

HOUSE: 45 WILSON: 38 TAUB: 38 CUDDY: 36 FOREMAN: 31 CHASE: 29 CAMERON: 28 30 KUTNER: 24 THIRTEEN: 24 ADAMS: 22 MASTERS: 22 PARK: 18

[kaveat]

Part 2: Parentification, Abuse and Exploitation

Wanna start this section off by saying that despite my efforts I am absolutely going to be biased within this analysis. Not this section particularly but probably somewhere in the future.

I don’t hate Kalim or anything, but I do like Jamil a lot, if you couldn’t tell by me writing this whole thing and while I want to do my best to acknowledge his actions in book 4, which despite being understandable were still wrong, I need people reading this to know that I’m not perfect.

I will be criticising Kalim’s actions as well as Jamil’s, and I will also be providing my own theories and opinions on them, and I’ll try to be unbiased but I might still get things wrong.

I said it in the first part but I’ll say it again here that if you disagree with anything I say or if you think I was too harsh with Kalim and too lenient with Jamil then feel free to argue again so long as you’re respectful.

I’m also not a psychologist or anything, but I’m going to be discussing the potential affects of abuse so be warned that what I say might not be entirety accurate as it will be mostly based on what I find online.

I meant to add this in the last part but I forgot, so I thought I’d put it here. Sorry if it ends up sounding repetitive.

Anyway onwards.

Trigger warnings for discussions of abuse, but I think the title made that obvious.

The definition for parentification I found online described it as: When a child is forced to take on the role of a supportive adult within their family.

I think this is an aspect of Jamil’s childhood that is severely overlooked, granted I haven’t been in this fandom for very long, but I hardly see anyone acknowledge it, or how damaging it is.

Of course Kalim and him aren’t family so maybe Adultification would fit the situation better? But I thought the gist was still the same.

From a very young age Jamil was forced into a caretaker role for Kalim. He performed a lot of the practical responsibilities such as cooking and cleaning. And he mentions getting scolded for being too young to use the stove at some point so we know he was performing these tasks at an age where they weren’t appropriate.

He is also expected by his parents to mature a lot faster than he should be. We see this in his backstory, when they tell him to downplay his own skill for Kalim’s sake. Which as a result leads to Jamil repressing his own emotional needs which then ends up heavily affecting his mental state throughout the game.

Parentification has many lasting effects, things like: anxiety, low self esteem, increased likelihood of risky behaviors. It can also lead to struggles with setting boundaries as well as emotional regulation.

All traits that can be applied to Jamil in my opinion.

It is mentioned by several other characters that Jamil is constantly stressed and anxious and we see during the firelit sky event when with Najma that he is extremely sensitive to criticism.

Apparently as a child she called his singing bad and Jamil spent years trying to prove her wrong despite the fact that she had already forgotten about the conversation.

I think increased likelihood of risky behaviour speaks for itself when you consider how bad the consequences could’ve been after book 4 for him and his family if Azul had actually been live streaming.

Parentification itself is a form of emotional abuse. However it is not the only way Jamil is exploited.

Being a servant to Kalim and his family leaves him in a vulnerable position and this is very much taken advantage of by the Asim’s who frequently abuse him, which again I barely ever see talked about.

Maybe because it’s not so overt as most people assume it to be? Abuse of servants in media is often depicted as violent and humiliating, and Jamil’s situation is definitely more mentally damaging over all, but either way it’s still abuse.

He is being intimidated and coerced into working since he mentions how his entire family would suffer where he to disobey Kalim.

Not to mention the Viper family living on the Asim’s property, (which heavily implies Jamil’s family don’t actually own the house) is a massive red flag as their home seems to be something that could be held over their head.

Even if it hasn’t been explicitly threatened in the English translation, I think the original dialogue mentions that Jamil disobeying could put his whole family on the streets which means there is a massive power dynamic between him and Kalim, which causes several issues when it comes to consent and boundaries.

And it’s these issues that lead to Jamil being exploited labour wise throughout the game.

Where I live Jamil’s position violates several child labour laws. Of course this is a fictional world so for all I know everything he’s doing could be perfectly legal, but his workload is still very overwhelming.

He has been forced to keep up with a full time employment alongside a full time education since he was at minimum elementary school age, and potentially even younger.

This leads to his employment often disrupting his education since Jamil is expected to act as Kalim’s full time caretaker.

We see examples of this during one of Treys vignettes where it is mentioned that Jamil had to leave his own lessons because Kalim wanted to take his flying carpet to class and ended up loosing control over it, and again during one of Ace’s vignettes while attempting to complete an assignment he is called over by Kalim and made to leave his own work behind.

There’s also the fact that Kalim regularly hosts parties and gatherings for people that he expects Jamil to plan, decorate, cook for and clean up which leaves Jamil very little free time especially if you factor in having to keep up with schoolwork/studying on top of all this.

As someone who used to act as a caretaker for their younger siblings for extended periods of time I’m telling you this shit takes a toll on your mental health. It’s exhausting.

I mean it’s no wonder that he’s stressed all the time.

Even if on their own these things could be considered small, they are all still examples of work affecting his school life, and the stress/ overwhelm of it all tends to build up over time.

Then there’s the most obvious form of abuse in Jamil being expected to poison test Kalim’s meals.

We know he’s been doing this since before he came to NRC and if you read through the vignettes I think it’s implied that this likely started when he was around 13/14.

I mean I don’t really think I have to elaborate on why having a 13 year old taste test for poison is insane.

This is also why I get so confused when I see people attempt to defend the Asim family, because this alone even without all the other stuff makes them horrible people.

Like Kalim’s dad hopefully isn’t stupid considering he runs a massive trading company. Definitely not dumb enough to think Jamil is in any way willing to do this, unlike Kalim he’s a grown adult who understands that he can leverage the power he has over Jamil’s family to make him do it anyway.

It’s also another thing that makes me question just how much power the Asim’s have over Jamil’s family, because surely if they were paid a liveable wage, and were free, voluntary servants they’d have left by now?

Jamil’s parents don’t seem to like their position too much? Jamil obviously doesn’t want to be there and I personally would rather take the risk of being on the streets than the risk of my child dying.

The fact that despite this the Vipers are still working there makes me think that whatever consequence Jamil and his parents are so scared of is a lot worse than just being kicked out of their home.

Of course there’s always the possibility that his parents are just assholes. I mean they are also abusing Jamil

Though we hear very little about them outside of his backstory the two scenes we do see them in speak volumes to what Jamil’s childhood with them was like.

I’ve already mentioned the parentification, but a lot of that was instigated by his parents who put the heavy burden of their delicate situation on Jamil despite him still being a child, but there’s also the fact that they do just openly hit him and call him stupid.

Both those things happen right in front of Kalim who doesn’t say anything about it and while we already know that Kalim has been very normalised to the abuse Jamil faces I think this along with Jamil’s overall treatment and how his parents act during his backstory could also hint at abuse towards servants in general within the Asim household being pretty normalised to him.

I really don’t know enough about the Vipers or their situation to say for certain why they make the choices they do. Jamil’s parents seem terrified when they scold him and I do think they genuinely love him but although they’re in a situation where they aren’t able to protect him, I feel like there’s so much more they could’ve done instead of basically telling him to just suck it up.

I also think that part of the reason that all of this rarely gets mentioned and is also frequently excused and defended is because the twst fandom in general seems to also adultify Jamil.

I mean it’s not malicious or overt but I think even small things like jokes about him being the mom friend sort of play into this idea that Jamil is more mature than he actually is which is a position that has been thrust on him his entire life.

I mean he’s 17 and he literally does not know a life outside of work. That’s incredibly depressing and also just way too much for a child.

If anything I’d argue the abuse he’s faced in childhood has stunted his development. Especially because some of his actions make him seem a lot less mature than most of the cast all things considered.

Idk this is something I feel passionate about cause it’s something I heavily relate to and I don’t want to go too in depth into this but I wonder if his race also plays a factor in this, because it is him and Leona who I often see people hating on the most. Though then again that could just be because they are my faves.

And the fact that Kalim is very infantilised within the fandom could also be a factor.

But yeah, I think that mostly brings this section to a close? I think I want to go more in depth on how the abuse and conditioning still and honestly always will affect his relationship with Kalim, but this also ended up being really long so I think I’ll leave it here.

I apologise for any spelling mistakes!

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

[diabolicalworldwriter]

Jesus, I just got to the point in Words of Radiance where Kal is in prison and Dalinar basically says "You're not going to end racism by being radical and acting upset about it. You can't just expect us to treat you like an equal because you're not one. Play nice and maybe the racists will grow to respect you"

I.

Buddy what the fuck

In general I think I've found that I'm... Not as fond of Dalinar as I used to be. Don't get me wrong, he does some great things and he's constantly trying to improve and I appreciate that. Flawed characters make stories interesting and I think Brandon does a fantastic job of writing him. However, he is overly strict and judgemental (Still not forgiving him for hating on Adolin for trying to express himself a bit more through style in ROW; let my boy dress up a bit if he wants), he struggles to accept other ways of doing things (we could look to Adolin again, being "too friendly" with those he commands and Dalinar going "noooo they might respect you less if they think you see them as an equal individual"), and while he talks about how he wants to change how everything works, if someone tries to defy convention in a way he doesn't approve of he shuts them down. (Kaladin pointing out very fair issues with how dark eyes are punished severely and light eyes get away with everything only to be talked down at until he shut up and fell in line, for example.) He wants change and has power to bring it about but won't do anything too radical for it, I guess, and that frustrates me. He tends to support systems as long as they work for his own goals, even if they're still exploitative and deeply unjust, while also complaining that everyone else is being exploitative and unjust. I dislike that he acts like he's doing Kaladin such a favor by treating him as almost an equal. "I'm sticking my neck out by treating you like a human, act civil and don't try to speak too loudly about the injustices yet, you might make the others uncomfortable." Dalinar isn't like other light eyes, he's so quirky and different and sometimes acts a bit less classist and racist!!! Aren't we lucky!! Idk maybe I'm stating my point a bit too strongly but damn. He's giving "yeah I'm a stubborn old man but really I'm quite progressive, I don't even go out of my way to hate crime people"

Words of Radiance, while I enjoy it, is rather difficult to get through because it's just so many main characters who I generally appreciate being awful to/supporting or ignoring awful behavior towards Kaladin and if he reacts they're like ":0000 how dare he attack first" (I appreciate Zahel chewing out Adolin for antagonizing and then fighting Kal in shardplate because goddamn Adolin I love you but that sucked.)

I'm finding Elhokar a lot more unlikeable on this reread as well. He's meant to be unlikeable of course, so good job on that, but Jesus he can be the worst. Honestly standing beside my past thoughts that what Moash did wrong was not in turning on the system that oppresses him and all the dark eyes, but just that he knowingly hurt Kaladin and other people who cared about him repeatedly and severely to do so.

I'm on board with killing horrible leaders (especially if it seems the only way to remove them and stop them from causing harm: people shouldn't have to suffer and die as part of a leader's learning curve and character growth, and going "they're working on it" when people are actively suffering is garbage. I'm still sad at Elhokar's death but I'm not sad that he's no longer king) but I draw the line at abusing and killing one's friends and I am just hoping he comes to terms with what he has done wrong and improves in book five.

Anyways that was long and scattered I'm sorry lmao you should have heard my rant to my poor cousin, I was rambling for like half an hour.

[newvegascowboy]

I think because Red's return to the Mojave has a common theme of inversion from the person they were before, they should have a white horse. Also because the Pale Rider is used as a metaphor for death in western fiction and Red is both metaphorically and physically returning from the dead

[crispy-ghee]

I'm unemployed thanks to lay offs and probably will be for a while so I guess this means that I should fill time making zines and vns and other dumb stuff

small zines i'm considering:

An introduction to the Los Primos siblings (Kal, JT, War, Lea, etc)

Sexy Kal illustrations

War with his plants

Larry and Magic through the years (from enemies to lovers friends)

Larry and Magic - 1985 - The Converse Shoot

Rodney and Sweet (and Kal -- queer basketball players)

Duhas, the himbo dragonborn bard

Just some sketch collections or somethin' idk

VNs i've been thinking about:

The Suffering Bastards (dumb aliens doing a dumb heist)

Mission: Get Kal a Burrito (you have to get Kal a burrito)

[frownyalfred]

With respect to Bruce the Bulwark

Is it still canon that before Batman came to Gotham, he had been in a gladiator match fighting for 28 hours straight? If so, I'd like to put forward a little something. It might be sad, might not.

--

Bruce is well on track for a repeat performance for his feat some 20 years later, but then he suffers what should be a crippling injury (like that snapped leg) at hour 25. But still, he does not fall.

His performance has obviously been impacted, and more and more wounds are appearing across his body. But still, he does not fall.

At hour 27, he takes a blow to the head that would make any other fighter collapse. But still, he does not fall.

At hour 29, the Batman's black and grey armor has turned red with his and his opponents' blood. He favors one leg, with one arm hanging uselessly at his side. But still, he does not fall.

After 39 long hours of fighting, every fiber of his being is screaming at him. His head is pounding, and his vision is fading in and out. Every ragged breath he drags into his lungs scrapes on the broken shards of his ribs. Bruce (for the Bat was left behind in the broken pieces of armor strewn about the field) digs deeper for any well of energy that might remain. But there's nothing left in the tank. While his mind begs for his body to continue the fight, he struggles to even curl his shattered fingers into a fist. His vison fades one last time, and he utters "Clark, please."

For 39 hours and 19 minutes, Bruce Wayne stood against waves upon waves of enemies in defense of his children. Only 8 minutes later, Kal-El burst into the gladitorial arena. There, he saw the body of Bruce Wayne, surrounded by the carnage of a great battle.

Even in death, Bruce did not fall.

anon who gave you permission to make me cry today?? (this was so good I need someone to actually write this)

[aller-geez]

Snow Daze (part 3)

Written & illustrated by: allergeez

(If you missed them, part one is here, and part two is here)

Part three~ as promised, this part is mostly Kriia and Rexar, with Vee and Kalypso thrown in. 6.4k words, not as angsty as the last chapter, with rexar helping Kriia with a stuck sneeze, and cute, wholesome affection between the two while Vee and Kal remain dysfunctional 😂 hoping to get another 2 parts out of this series~

The soft glow of the cabin’s bedside lamps bathed the room in a golden warmth, casting long, flickering shadows against the wooden walls. The distant hum of the resort—the occasional burst of laughter, the quiet clatter of dishes from the dining hall, and the faint strains of music from somewhere down the hall—felt distant, like a world apart from the cocoon of comfort they had found within these walls.

Kriia, already wrapped in the plush robe provided by the lodge, sat perched on the edge of the bed, her crimson hair spilling over her shoulder as she absently twisted a strand between her fingers. A smirk played on her lips as she tilted her head to look at Rexar, her deep purple eyes gleaming with amusement.

"You know," she mused, stretching her legs out languidly, "I was kind of expecting this trip to be a disaster for all of us, but honestly? I’m having a great time."

Rexar, standing at the dresser, tugged the belt of his robe snug around his waist before turning toward her, his own smirk laced with quiet affection. “Yeah, it’s almost too good,” he admitted, his gaze lingering on her as he leaned back against the wooden surface. “Like, I feel like we should be suffering way more than we are.”

Kriia arched a perfectly shaped brow, an amused glint in her eyes. “Why? Because those two are?”

Rexar snorted, running a hand through his unruly white curls. “I mean… Kal’s definitely gonna kill Vee before the trip’s over. Like, it’s inevitable.” His usual lazy rasp had an extra roughness to it, and when he cleared his throat, it barely helped.

Kriia caught the slight hitch in his voice instantly, her gaze sharpening as she studied him. “You good?”

“Yeah,” Rexar answered with a casual wave of his hand, downplaying it like always. “Just dry air or whatever. Not dying.” A slow, lopsided grin spread across his face. “Unlike Vee, who is definitely dying.”

Kriia rolled her eyes, but the fond amusement in her expression softened any exasperation. “Kalypso is probably plotting his murder as we speak.” She shifted back onto her hands, the movement causing the plush robe to slip slightly from one shoulder, revealing the smooth curve beneath. “Not that he doesn’t deserve it. He did lock her out of their room for an hour.”

Rexar’s gaze flicked to the exposed skin at her shoulder, lingering just a moment too long before he chuckled, pushing himself off the dresser and making his way toward her. “Yeah, well… if he doesn’t make it through the night, I call dibs on his guitar.”

Kriia laughed, reaching up as he stopped in front of her, her fingers lazily hooking into the edge of his robe. “You’re terrible,” she murmured, but the amusement in her voice was edged with something softer, something fonder.

Rexar tilted his head, his breath warm as he leaned in just a fraction, his voice dropping lower. “And you love it.”

Kriia’s smirk widened. “Unfortunately.”

Rexar grinned and brushed a kiss against her temple before stepping back, offering his hand.

The steady stream of warm, maple-scented smoke that usually curled lazily from his nose had thinned considerably, flickering in and out like a dying ember. Kriia’s eyes flicked to it, watching as it cut off entirely for a second before returning, the flow weaker than usual.

She frowned slightly. “Babe, your smoke—”

“I said I’m fine,” Rexar interrupted smoothly with a grin, his hand still outstretched in her direction, “C’mon, princess. We’ve got a massage to get to.”

Kriia rolled her eyes at the nickname but took his hand anyway, letting him pull her effortlessly to her feet. Whatever chaos was brewing elsewhere in the lodge, for now, it didn’t matter. Here, in their own little world, everything was warm, easy, and—against all odds—kind of perfect.

As they made their way toward the door, Kriia suddenly halted, her hand pausing on the handle. “Shit,” she muttered, turning back toward the mirror. “I forgot I need to take my makeup off first. The facial’s gonna be pointless if I don’t.”

Rexar smirked, leaning casually against the dresser as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Take all the time you need, babygirl,” he drawled, his grey-and-red eyes gleaming with amusement.

Kriia shot him a fond look before scurrying toward the bathroom, only for a startled yelp and a laugh to escape her as his palm landed sharply against her ass in a playful smack. His deep, rumbling purr followed her into the room, dripping with amusement and something more heated.

Shaking her head, still smirking, Kriia entered the massive bathroom and turned to the sink, grabbing a makeup remover pad from her bag. The warm glow of the bathroom lights cast a soft hue over her reflection, highlighting the striking contrast between her crimson hair and pale, smooth skin. Though her facial markings—two bold, red Xs at the corners of her eyes, the white streaks beneath them, and the stripe down her forehead—were permanent, the rest of her makeup was another story.

She hummed softly to herself as she leaned over the sink, swiping the cool pad over her skin. The heavy eyeliner, the deep red and black eyeshadow, the layers of foundation—each stroke erased the remnants of the look she had perfected earlier in the evening. She sighed contentedly, letting the warmth of the room soothe her slightly flushed skin.

Out in the bedroom, Rexar had flopped back onto the bed, one leg bent at the knee, scrolling through his phone with the easy confidence of a man who had all the time in the world. Occasionally, he flicked his gaze toward the bathroom door, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips as he replayed the way she had yelped at his smack.

It was a rare thing, these moments of quiet intimacy—not the chaos of their usual nights out, not the frantic energy of a show, but something softer. Intimate, even.

Just as she started working the makeup off of the tip of her nose, an all-too-familiar tingle sparked deep inside her sinuses. It flared up suddenly, fierce and demanding, causing her breath to catch mid-motion. Kriia’s sharp, elven ears twitched instinctively as her lashes fluttered against her cheeks.

"Hihh... hh’tchh! Nnch! Nkch!"

The sneezes burst out of her in rapid succession, barely giving her time to react, and she couldn’t help but aim them down at her bare chest. The force made her double forward slightly, her hands gripping the edge of the sink as she struggled to regain control.

"Ktch! Nkcht! Hh‘gschh!! Nngch! H’tshhkt!!"

The last one sent a small shiver down her spine, the moisture left behind against the soft skin of her breasts glistening faintly in the bright white glow of the bathroom lights. Kriia sniffled softly, blinking away the watery haze from her eyes as she scrubbed her nose with the back of her hand, her expression somewhere between amusement and mild embarrassment.

A low, rumbling purr echoed in from the bedroom.

“Bless you, princess~”

Kriia turned her head slightly to see Rexar pop his head around the bathroom doorway, his red-and-grey eyes gleaming with playful arousal. His white curls were slightly disheveled, his crimson bangs falling into his face as he leaned casually against the frame.

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Thanks,” she muttered, sniffling softly. Her nose still twitched, the residual tickle lingering like a teasing whisper, but she gave it a firm swipe with her wrist, determined to shake it off. “I think I’m ready to go now.”

Rexar smirked, straightening up as he stepped back into the room, adjusting the cuffs of his sleeves. “Good, ‘cause you know if we wait any longer, Vee’s gonna find some way to make everything worse for himself,” he teased, stretching his arms over his head with an easy chuckle.

Kriia shook her head fondly as she grabbed her coat, taking one last glance in the mirror before following him out. Whatever chaos awaited them downstairs, she was at least going into it feeling refreshed… and if the look in Rexar’s eyes was anything to go by, she wasn’t the only one feeling a bit more awake after that.

Kriia looped her arm through Rexar’s as they stepped out of their room and into the softly lit halls of the ski lodge. The air smelled of cedar and faint traces of lavender, no doubt from the spa at the end of the corridor. Their plush robes swayed with each step, the sound of their slippers barely making a whisper against the polished wooden floors.

Rexar’s free hand was tucked into the pocket of his robe, his usual confident stride just a touch slower than normal. Kriia glanced up at him as they walked, catching the way he subtly rubbed at his nose with his wrist before sniffling softly.

She arched a brow. “You sure you’re good for this?”

Rexar chuckled, his voice warm but a little rough around the edges. “Oh, I’m perfectly fine, princess.” He punctuated the statement with a teasing smirk, but Kriia didn’t miss the slight rasp in his words.

By the time they reached the spa, the warm, dim lighting and faint, calming music made her sigh in appreciation. The space was cozy, with soft plush chairs, a fireplace crackling in the corner, and an assortment of herbal teas available near the check-in counter.

Rexar glanced around, then frowned slightly. “Huh. No Vee and Kal?”

Kriia pursed her lips, scanning the room for any sign of their chaotic counterparts. “Maybe they’re already in with the masseuse?” she suggested.

Rexar let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Nah, we’d definitely hear Vee sneezing his lungs out and Kal complaining about it.” He coughed lightly into his shoulder, his broad shoulders shifting slightly at the motion before he rolled them out. “They’re fine, though. Probably still arguing over something stupid.”

Kriia chuckled, nodding. “Yeah, that tracks. I’ll shoot Vee a text when we’re done, just in case.”

Before they could speculate further, a friendly-looking woman in a sleek black uniform approached with a warm smile. “Rexar and Kriia?”

“That’s us,” Kriia confirmed.

“Your room is all set up,” the masseuse said, gesturing for them to follow her down a short hallway lined with softly glowing sconces.

Rexar exhaled deeply, rolling his neck. “Oh, hell yes,” he murmured as they stepped inside.

The massage room was dim and tranquil, the scent of eucalyptus and chamomile lingering in the air. Two heated massage tables sat side by side, and the gentle trickle of a small indoor fountain in the corner added to the serene atmosphere.

As Kriia slipped out of her robe and settled onto the table, she turned her head to see Rexar rubbing absently at his nose again before sniffing quietly.

She smirked. “If you start sneezing while they’re working on you, I am going to laugh.”

Rexar scoffed, flopping onto his table with a dramatic sigh. “Please, my self-control is immaculate.”

The masseuse knocked softly before stepping in, and as the session began, Kriia let her body relax into the warmth of the table. Beside her, Rexar was already melting under the masseuse’s expert touch, a soft rumble of satisfaction vibrating in his chest.

If Vee and Kal were off getting into some ridiculous situation, they could deal with it themselves. For now, this moment was all theirs.

However, it wasn’t long before Rexar found himself locked in a battle against his own body. As the masseuse worked on his shoulders with strong, deliberate motions, his sinuses waged a mutiny. The dull itch that had been nagging him all evening was rapidly escalating into a full-blown tickle, spreading through his nose like wildfire.

He tried to focus on the soothing pressure of the massage, but his nostrils flared involuntarily, his breath faltering as the sensation deepened. He sniffled sharply, trying to clear it, but the action only seemed to stoke the irritation. His sharp, grey-and-red eyes fluttered shut for a moment, his brows knitting together as he exhaled through his mouth, willing the tickle away.

Kriia, lying on the table beside him, had intended to relax, to let herself sink into the warmth of the room and the skilled hands of her masseuse—but her gaze kept flickering toward Rexar. No matter how hard she tried to ignore it, she could feel his struggle, could see the way his breath caught in his throat, the way his nostrils twitched slightly before he clenched his jaw in resistance. She knew that look. He was fighting a losing battle.

He sucked in another unsteady breath, pressing his forehead harder into the cushioned face cradle of the massage table. His grip on the sides of the table tightened, the muscles in his back flexing beneath the masseuse’s hands as his whole body braced against the inevitable.

“Don’t sneeze, don’t sneeze,” Rexar muttered under his breath, the words rough and almost pleading.

Kriia smirked, turning her head toward him slightly. “You sure you’re fine?” she asked, her tone low and teasing.

Rexar cracked an eye open just enough to shoot her a glare, though it held little heat. His lips twitched into a smirk that barely masked his discomfort. “I swear, if Vaelyn got me sick, I’m making him carry my snowboard tomorrow,” he rasped, voice rougher than usual.

Kriia chuckled softly, shaking her head, but the amusement was short-lived. The hitch in Rexar’s breathing became more pronounced, his broad shoulders tensing as his body gave in to the inevitable. His nostrils flared sharply, his chest expanding with a deep, shuddering gasp as the burning sensation finally overtook him. He barely had time to brace himself before the sneezes exploded from him.

“Hhh’NKXGsstchh! Hnn’GXssthh! Hhhh’KXGssthh!”

The final sneeze ripped through him with an uncontrollable force, his head jerking downward violently into the cradle of the massage table. A sudden whoosh of flames shot out beneath him, illuminating the dimly lit floor in a brief but dramatic burst. The warm glow flickered wildly for a heartbeat before disappearing, leaving behind only the faintest scent of charred carpet.

The masseuse yelped, stumbling back a step, her eyes wide with alarm. “Oh my god—!”

Rexar groaned, pressing his forehead harder into the cushion as his shoulders shook with a sheepish chuckle. “Shit… Bless me, my bad,” he muttered, sniffling thickly. He cleared his throat, trying to regain some dignity. “Didn’t mean to barbecue the floor there.”

Kriia, watching the whole thing unfold, burst into laughter. “Oh my god, Rex!” she wheezed, barely managing to breathe between her giggles. “You literally just flamethrowered under the table! Did you just light up the damn carpet?”

Rexar tilted his head slightly toward her, his red-streaked curls falling into his face as he let out a low, rumbling purr of amusement. “I mean, it was feeling a little chilly in here,” he joked, but the warmth in his cheeks betrayed his embarrassment.

The masseuse hesitated before letting out a nervous chuckle, clearly debating whether or not she should be concerned. “Uh… just—just try to warn me next time?” she asked, still eyeing the floor warily.

Rexar sniffled again, running a lazy hand under his nose before giving her a lopsided, drowsy grin. “Yeah, yeah… next time I feel a sneeze coming, I’ll give you a fire drill warning.”

Kriia, still giggling, wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. “Bless you, babe. That was so dramatic.”

Rexar sighed heavily, stretching his arms out in front of him as he settled back into the massage. “Dramatic?” he echoed, his voice thick with congestion. “Nah, that was art.”

Kriia shook her head, still grinning, as the masseuse cautiously resumed her work, keeping a very careful eye on him.

The room settled back into a warm, relaxed quiet—well, as relaxed as it *could* be after Rexar had nearly torched the floor with a sneeze. Kriia was still snickering softly to herself, her shoulders twitching slightly with every barely-contained chuckle. Rexar, on the other hand, seemed content to play it off, stretching out on the massage table like nothing had happened.

But just as the masseuses got back to work, a familiar, restless tickle began to build in the back of Kriia’s nose. She sniffled sharply, trying to chase it away, but the sensation only deepened, curling insistently through her sinuses. Ugh, not now.

Her breath hitched, her hands instinctively tightening against the soft fabric beneath her. She barely had time to press her wrist against her face before the sneezes overtook her.

“Hh’gtsch! K’tchh! Nkchh! Hh—tchh! Hh‘NGXschh!”

Each one snapped her forward slightly, barely muffled against her arm. She sighed in exasperation, rubbing her nose roughly against her wrist before sniffling again.

From the next table over, Rexar had gone still.

“…Bless you, Princess,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

Kriia blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in his tone. Rexar wasn’t unaffectionate—far from it—but there was something different about the way he’d said it. Not teasing, not amused—just…genuine.

She turned her head slightly, trying to meet his gaze, but he was still face-down in the cradle, his brows knitted together just enough to suggest concern.

“You good?” Rexar asked, clearing his throat. He sounded almost… hesitant.

Kriia raised an eyebrow, propping herself up slightly on her forearms. “Am I good?” she repeated, amused. “You’re the one who just roasted the damn carpet.”

Rexar didn’t smirk, didn’t roll his eyes or toss back an easy quip like he normally would. Instead, he sniffled and frowned, his expression unreadable. “Yeah, but you don’t sneeze like that,” he muttered. “Not twice in one night.”

That made her pause.

She did have a sensitive nose—prone to ticklish fits when applying makeup or being around certain strong scents—but beyond that? She wasn’t the one who got sick easily. That was Vaelyn. That was Rexar.

Kriia waved a dismissive hand, shaking her head. “It’s nothing,” she assured him, though her voice was a bit rougher than before. “Probably just the essential oils in here or something.”

Rexar didn’t look convinced. His nostrils flared slightly, as if testing the air. “…Doesn’t smell strong to me,” he mumbled, sniffling thickly.

Kriia laughed lightly, rolling her eyes. “Oh, now your nose is working?” she teased. “After nearly setting off a goddamn fire alarm?”

Normally, Rexar would’ve played along, flashing her a cocky grin or making some dumb, flirtatious comment about how hot he was. But instead, he just exhaled slowly, his fingers flexing against the table like he was mulling something over.

“…Just let me know if you start feeling off, yeah?” he muttered, his voice low.

That gave her pause again. She tilted her head, studying him carefully. The thin trails of smoke that usually drifted lazily from his nostrils were weaker than usual, occasionally flickering out altogether. His voice had taken on that unmistakable rasp—not the usual lazy, bedroom rasp, but the kind that meant something was creeping up on him.

She smirked, reaching out to poke his arm. “You sure you’re not the one feeling off, babe?”

Rexar finally cracked a small smirk, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m fine,” he rasped, but even he didn’t sound convinced.

Kriia chuckled, shaking her head as she settled back down against the table. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

The masseuses continued their work, kneading the tension from their muscles, but a new thought had lodged itself in Kriia’s mind—one she couldn’t quite shake.

Twice in one night.

And the last person she’d been around for a while before this?

Vaelyn.

She exhaled slowly, the realization settling into her bones.

Well.

If she was getting sick, that meant all of them were doomed…

Vaelyn was jolted awake with a sudden, crushing need for air. His lungs seized violently, forcing out a harsh, hacking cough that rattled through his chest like a jackhammer. He barely had the presence of mind to twist out from under Kalypso, his muscles sluggish with fever as he scrambled to sit up. His entire body ached, his limbs leaden as another coughing fit wracked through him, forcing him to double over with the sheer force of it.

His body trembled with each desperate, tearing cough, the sound thick and damp, like his lungs were full of sludge. His fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles white as he struggled to suck in even a shallow breath between fits. His ribs burned, every ragged inhale scraping painfully against his throat, and his sinuses throbbed with a relentless, swollen pressure that made his head feel stuffed with wet cotton.

Kalypso stirred beside him, grumbling something unintelligible as his coughing continued. The sound was loud, miserable, and it had completely shredded his voice, leaving nothing but hoarse, breathy gasps in its wake. By the time he could finally breathe again, he was left slumped forward, elbows braced on his knees as he wiped at his damp, flushed face with the sleeve of his hoodie. A thick sniffle followed, congested and utterly ineffective against the relentless pressure filling his sinuses.

“God…” he rasped as he dragged a hand down his face. His voice was even rougher than last night, just a scrape of sound barely making it past his ravaged throat. “I already feel like fugkigg shit…”

Kalypso let out a slow, lazy stretch, groaning as she sat up. She rubbed the sleep from her eye, blinking blearily at him. “Yeah, no shit,” she muttered resentfully. Neither of them had gotten much rest—Vaelyn’s snoring had been a congested nightmare, a horrendous mix of wheezing and mouth-breathing that kept cutting off with desperate midnight sneezing fits. But as Kalypso shifted, pushing her tangled hair from her face, she swallowed, a sharp, raw burn slithering down her throat, making her wince.

Her eye narrowed.

Oh, hell no.

She turned toward Vaelyn, shooting him a glare as she rolled her eye. “I’m not sick, it’s allergies, I swear!” she mocked, perfectly mimicking his miserable rasp from yesterday.

Vaelyn cracked an eye open to glare weakly at her. His nose twitched faintly, a clear warning of another impending fit, but he still mustered enough energy to be indignant. “Oh, fugk off,” he croaked, his breath hitching sharply.

Kalypso frowned, watching as his features went slack, nostrils quivering, mouth parting slightly as his breath hitched again and again. His glassy eyes fluttered, lashes damp from fever and exhaustion, before—

“Hh’ISCHHh! EISHhh! H’ISHHhh! —ish! shh! —sh! ……………… hh—huhhh—”

The sneezes tore through him without mercy, snapping him forward at the waist with a harsh, uncontrollable force. He barely managed to get his arm up in time, muffling them against the damp fabric of his hoodie, but they left him completely winded, his shoulders rising and falling with each heavy, sniffly breath. His head throbbed, his raw nose twitching with the promise of another, and—

“hh’EEIISSHHhh’uhh!”

A long, miserable groan followed as he slumped back against the headboard, eyes glassy and unfocused from the sheer exhaustion of it. His breath still hitched faintly, a sharp sniffle doing nothing to clear the congestion as he fumbled blindly for the tissues on the nightstand. He grabbed one, pressed it to his nose, and blew—only for the sound to come out wet and gurgling, making him wince.

Kalypso grimaced. “Can’t believe on the first official day of our vacation, I’m already sick because of you.”

Vaelyn, who had previously been so stubborn about denying his own misery, simply let his head fall to the side, giving her a dead-eyed, thoroughly defeated look.

“…Okay,” he admitted hoarsely, voice barely above a breathy rasp. “…Baybe I’b a little sick…” he finished weakly.

Kalypso snorted, shaking her head as she leaned back against the headboard beside him. “Yeah. No shit.”

The peaceful—well, as peaceful as it could be with Vaelyn wheezing like a dying animal—morning was suddenly shattered by the blaring chime of his phone. The ringer, obnoxiously loud and vibrating aggressively against the wooden nightstand, sent a fresh wave of agony searing through both of their already pounding heads.

Vaelyn groaned, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would somehow lessen the pain ricocheting through his skull. Kalypso, however, had no patience for this level of auditory assault.

“Turn that shit down,” she snapped, wincing as she clutched at her temple. “Why the fuck is your volume so goddamn high?!”

Vaelyn, scrambling to grab the phone, nearly knocked it clean off the nightstand in his haste. He fumbled with it, groggy fingers slipping before he finally managed to press accept.

“Hh’ghh—hehh…Hh’ISCHHh!!” The sneeze hit him mid-motion, forcing him to angle away, barely stifling it into the crook of his arm before breathlessly pressing the phone to his ear. “Hh—hhhello?” he rasped, his consonants rounded out by congestion, his voice already wrecked for the day.

On the other end, Kriia sounded awful.

“Vaelyn, you fucking suck,” she croaked, her voice so hoarse it barely counted as words. She punctuated the statement with a string of unproductive, scratchy coughs that were audibly directed away from the receiver.

Vaelyn winced in sympathy—mostly because he felt exactly the same.

Before he could respond, there was a sudden, familiar sound in the background—one that made his fever-muddled brain perk up just a little.

“Heh’EXCHXSHHH'IEU!!”

“Hh’KNGXSHHH!!”

“Hhh’ESSH’UEHHH!!”

Rexar’s sneezes were loud, violent, and unmistakable. And judging by the immediate, panicked shouting that followed, fiery.

“Fuck—!”

“Shit—babe, the comforter!!”

“Oh my god, again?!”

Vaelyn snorted, the sound thick and utterly pathetic, as he listened to the unmistakable chaos of two sick people scrambling to put out a small, accidental bedroom fire. His amusement was short-lived, though, as it instantly morphed into a harsh, grating cough that clawed its way out of his chest, rattling wetly with each strained breath.

Kalypso shot him a sharp side-eye, one eyebrow quirked as if to say, Really? You’re laughing?

Vaelyn gave her a weak shrug, still half-coughing as he turned back to the phone.

“…You guys… good over there?” he asked hoarsely, congestion thick in his voice.

There was a brief pause before Kriia groaned dramatically, the sound muffled like she’d dropped her face straight into a pillow.

“No, dumbass,” she rasped, voice strained with exhaustion. “We’re dying, and Rex just lit our fucking bed on fire.”

Another sneeze erupted from the background—followed by a frantic fwoosh of someone (probably Kriia) desperately trying to beat out any remaining embers.

Vaelyn couldn’t help it. His lips twitched into a small, fever-dazed smirk.

“…S-should I call housekeeping?” he croaked, voice cracking slightly.

Kalypso groaned, flopping dramatically back against the pillows. “Oh my god, you’re all fucking useless.”

“Don’t you fucking dare call housekeeping,” Kriia rasped, her voice barely more than a croak. “We’re just—hhihh… hhh—gonna c-come—hhHh… over—”

Vaelyn winced, instinctively pulling the phone a few inches away from his ear as the end of her sentence wavered into a few soft, hitching gasps. He knew exactly what was coming.

“Hh’tchh!—nnch!—Nkch!—Ktch!—Nkcht!—hh‘gsch!!”

The sneezes were quiet, restrained, but relentless, leaving Kriia whimpering softly on the other end. He could practically hear the exhausted exhale as she released the breath she’d been holding.

“Bless you, babygirl,” Rexar’s voice came through, low and rough, heavy with congestion. There was a thick, waterlogged sniffle before he added, “Y’want me to grab your coat, or just steal one of Vee’s hoodies when we get there?”

Vaelyn swiped at his own nose with the sleeve of his hoodie, blinking sluggishly as he glanced over at Kalypso, who was watching him with an unimpressed stare. She was definitely rethinking all of her life choices that had led to this moment.

He brought the phone back to his ear, voice still raspy as he sighed, “Just grab her a hoodie, man. I don’t care.”

Kalypso rolled her eye, rubbing at her temple as she muttered, “Great. Just what we need. More germ factories.”

Vaelyn barely had the energy to roll his eyes at Kalypso’s grumbling, his head still swimming from the fever pressing in behind his sinuses. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to clear the fog in his brain before sighing into the phone.

“Yeah, yeah, just get your asses over here,” he muttered, voice thick with congestion.

“HhH’IEEXSHH’uhh!!—EHH’KXSHhh’ue!!—huhhh’NGXT’CHOO!!”

Vaelyn yanked the phone away from his ear again as a trio of violent, fire-filled sneezes exploded on the other end, followed by a sharp yelp from Kriia.

“Rex, goddammit!”

“Shit—! Babe, get the—”

There was a frantic shuffle, the unmistakable whoosh of fabric catching fire, and a chorus of panicked voices scrambling to put it out. Vaelyn could practically see Kriia batting at the flames with the nearest pillow while Rexar tried to smother them with his robe.

Vaelyn chuckled, though it quickly dissolved into a harsh, scraping cough that rattled in his chest. He barely managed to croak out, “Y’all good over there?”

There was a pause before Kriia’s voice came back, hoarse but absolutely done with everything.

“No.”

Kalypso snorted, rubbing at her sore throat. “You idiots are gonna burn the whole fucking lodge down before you even make it here.”

Another wet sniffle crackled through the speaker before Rexar grumbled, “We’ll be there in five.”

The call ended with a click, and Vaelyn let his arm drop back onto the bed, blinking sluggishly at the ceiling as his sinuses throbbed mercilessly against his skull.

Kalypso groaned dramatically, flopping back onto the mattress. “Great. Just what I wanted. A fucking sick people convention in our room.”

Vaelyn smirked lazily, voice rough as he muttered, “spoiler alert: you’re sick, too, Kal.”

Kalypso side-eyed him hard enough to shatter glass, but before she could come up with a sharp retort, there was a knock at the door—followed immediately by a sharp thud and a muffled, “Ow, fuck—”

Vaelyn sighed, dragging himself out of bed and staggering toward the door. “Jesus, you two—”

He wrenched it open just in time for Kriia to stumble forward into the doorway, wrapped up in what was unmistakably one of his hoodies, sleeves swallowing her hands. Her normally sharp purple eyes were hazy with fever, and her nose was pink and twitching with irritation. Rexar stood just behind her, looking no better—his white curls were a mess, his grey-and-red eyes rimmed with exhaustion, and a thin stream of smoke barely trickled from his nostrils.

Vaelyn blinked at them. “Y’all look like shit.”

Kriia sniffled miserably, squinting up at him as she croaked, “So do you.”

Vaelyn huffed a laugh, stepping aside to let them in. “Well, come on, then. Welcome to hell.”

Kriia and Rexar trudged into the room, their exhaustion palpable in the way they moved—slow, heavy, weighed down by fever and congestion. Kriia sniffled against her sleeve, blinking sluggishly as she nudged the door shut behind her with her hip.

The suite was dimly lit, the glow from the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. The air inside was thick with warmth, a stark contrast to the bitter chill of the hallway. It should have been comforting, but instead, it just made everything feel heavier, like they were sinking into the feverish haze that had wrapped itself around all of them.

Vaelyn barely had time to shuffle back toward the couch before Rexar dropped onto it with an exaggerated groan, pulling Kriia down with him. She landed in his lap without protest, burrowing into the crook of his neck like she was trying to disappear inside of him. He welcomed it, curling an arm around her waist as he let his head tip back against the cushions.

Kalypso, who had been sprawled across the bed flipping through channels on the massive flat-screen, barely spared them a glance. “So,” she mused, her voice rough around the edges as she settled on some crime documentary. “Guessing the massage didn’t help?”

Rexar let out a laugh that quickly turned into a hoarse cough, his body jerking with the effort. “Oh, no. It was great—very relaxing. Highly recommend getting sick as shit and then letting some stranger knead your fever-ridden muscles into oblivion.”

Kriia groaned against his chest. “Please shut up.”

Vaelyn snorted, flopping back onto the other end of the couch and rubbing at his nose with the heel of his palm. “Yeah, we’ll see who’s talking when Kalypso makes us all do shots of mystery mini-fridge liquor to ‘burn it out.’”

Kalypso smirked, but stayed quiet, which did nothing to reassure anyone.

Rexar sniffled roughly, rubbing at his own damp nose with the back of his wrist as he slumped further into the couch. His head felt heavy, his body sluggish with fever, and the ever-present tickle in his sinuses was driving him insane. The only thing keeping him halfway grounded was Kriia, curled up in his lap, her hood pulled up over her crimson hair. She had her sleeve pressed to her nose, brows furrowed in pure, exhausted misery as she let out a pitiful whine.

“Veeee… why…..” she whined, her voice thick with congestion, barely more than a breathy whisper. She trailed off, her expression going slack as her nostrils flared slightly, her breath catching on a sharp hitch—

But nothing.

Her lips parted, waiting for the inevitable release, but after a tense second, her breath wavered and then steadied, leaving her blinking in dazed frustration.

Rexar hummed sympathetically, rubbing slow circles against her back. He could feel her frustration in the way her muscles tensed against him, her damp sniffles growing more irritated.

It happened again. And again.

Kriia’s breath hitched erratically, teasing her mercilessly, leaving her gasping and shuddering against him—but no relief ever came.

Her shoulders sagged, a desperate little noise catching in her throat as she turned bleary, pleading eyes toward him. Her flushed nose twitched against the sleeve of her hoodie, her nostrils fluttering in helpless irritation.

“It’s stuck…” she whimpered breathlessly, her voice barely above a whisper between the shaky, uneven gasps that continued to build but refused to tip her over the edge.

Rexar’s gaze softened, his own breath hitching slightly as he gave her an understanding nod. “Poor baby…” he purred, voice low and warm despite the congestion roughening his usual rasp. He shifted slightly, bringing a hand up to cup her face, his fingers featherlight against her fever-warmed skin.

Gently, he traced a single clawed finger down the delicate slope of her nose, dragging from the bridge to the quivering tip with slow, deliberate strokes.

Kriia’s reaction was immediate.

Her breath hitched violently, her chest rising and falling in erratic, desperate bursts as her nose twitched beneath his touch. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lips parting helplessly as she gasped through the overwhelming sensation—

And then it hit.

“K’tchh! Nnch! Nkch!—ahh…! Ktch! Nkcht! Hh‘gsch!!”

She barely managed to stifle them into her sleeve, her body curling into Rexar’s chest with each sharp, breathless release. The sneezes kept coming, drawn out and shivery, her body trembling with the sheer force of them.

Rexar rumbled softly, his fingers still tracing along the bridge of her nose, drawing her through the fit. “That’s it, babygirl… let it out…” he murmured, his voice thick with affection, pressing a lazy kiss to the side of her head between her desperate, stifled sneezes.

When she finally sagged against him, utterly spent, he rubbed soothing circles against her back, his lips quirking into a lazy smirk.

“Better?” he teased, though his voice was tender, his fingertips brushing a few stray strands of hair from her face.

Kriia sniffled weakly, exhaling a breathless, shuddery sigh against his shoulder. “Fuck you…” she mumbled hoarsely, but there was no heat behind it.

Rexar chuckled, low and warm. “Love you too, princess.”

Vaelyn groaned dramatically, flopping against the arm of the couch and throwing an arm over his eyes. “Unbelievable,” he muttered, his voice thick with congestion. “I risked my life infecting you two, and this is the thanks I get? Cuddles and back rubs for Rex and Kriia, and I get nothing?”

Kalypso, still lounging on the bed with the remote in her hand, didn’t even look up from the screen. “You do get something,” she said dryly. “The privilege of knowing you’re the reason we’re all suffering.”

Vaelyn lifted his arm just enough to squint at her. “That’s not comforting.”

Rexar chuckled weakly, still rubbing slow circles against Kriia’s back while she sniffled against his chest. “Sounds like someone’s jealous,” he taunted, though his voice was hoarse and his usual smugness was undercut by how miserable he sounded.

Vaelyn scoffed, sitting up with effort and leveling Kalypso with a pointed look. “I mean, yeah, maybe a little. You never rub my back when I’m dying. Or help me with a stuck sneeze.” He sniffled sharply, dragging a knuckle under his nose. “You just roll your eye and tell me to stop being gross.”

Kalypso turned her head, her emerald eye gleaming with amusement. “Yeah, because you are gross.” She smirked, propping herself up on an elbow. “Besides, you whine enough without me babying you. If I start rubbing your back, next thing I know, you’ll be asking me to spoon-feed you soup.”

Vaelyn’s lips parted, ready with a snarky retort, but before he could say anything, his breath caught. His brows twitched, nostrils flaring as his expression slackened completely. “Hh—hhehh—” His chest rose sharply, but the release didn’t come, leaving him frozen, blinking dazedly at nothing.

Kalypso arched a brow. “Oh, now you’re gonna prove my point?”

Vaelyn groaned in frustration, rubbing furiously at his nose. “I hate everything,” he muttered miserably, his breath still wavering, his entire body at war with itself.

Rexar, despite his own misery, snickered from his place on the couch. “Don’t look at me, Vee. Kriia’s got exclusive rights to my sneezing assistance.”

Kriia, still curled against him, muffled something unintelligible against his hoodie, followed by a sleepy sniffle.

Vaelyn rolled his eyes, flopping back onto the couch with a defeated sigh. “This is favoritism. Disgusting.”

Kalypso just smirked, stretching out lazily. “Yeah, yeah. Suck it up, Princess.”

Vaelyn let out a weak, congested groan and dramatically threw a pillow over his face. He was never going to hear the end of this.

To be continued…

[snarky-wallflower]

hi. listening to embers of antikytheria again. and oh my god, the implications are horrible, and I need to ramble about them.

How many times has Kal done this to Ahlaam? How many times has he appeared as a facade of her husband, as the man she loved? Not again. She says that, before she falls into a trance. This can’t have been the first time—and how horrible must that be, to go through that multiple times? Seeing your husband alive, even when you know he’s gone (maybe even because of the man wearing his face, I am still theorizing that Kal killed Taavi), and realizing yet again that it’s a trick, a taunt. She can’t ever have her husband back by her side, he won’t ever take her hand again—

He didn’t expect it to work! He says outright that her magic must be so depleted to fall for such a simple trick. And while that could have just been him taunting her—the point is cruelty. It has always been cruelty for Kal. I don’t think he would have stopped pretending even if Ahlaam saw through it. Even if she screamed at him to stop. As long as it hurt her, he’d keep on doing it, with a smile on his face.

He has to have done this for other characters. I refuse to believe this has only been limited to Ahlaam for Taavi. What if he appeared as Margaret to Dakkar? Or as Margaret to Sia? Taunting them with people they cannot reach, people that are gone in some way because of the Fog he brought about. Kal has always struck me as a character who uses every weapon in his arsenal, no matter how low it is. This would be no exception.

….no one can convince me that he’s not going to appear as Samuel to Rose. Embers is foreshadowing for when that inevitably happens. I’ll need to break through the barriers of fiction to kill a foggy man when it does.

In conclusion, I am haunted by Embers of Antikytheria, and I hope Kal suffers sometime in the near future.

[nose235678]

Finished my first play through with my Crow!Rook!

I’m devastated! My Lavellan’s happy ending broke my heart and the Lucanis romance is wonderful!

But am I gonna take a break? No, not for a second!

Warden Var’fen “Rook” Thorne reporting for duty!

Her parents left her clan during the Fifth Blight, after they fought with the other Dalish in Denerim and King Alistair refused to honor his promise of land to the Elves. Offering their skills to the Grey Wardens as trackers in the Anderfels where she’d discover her magic and live as an apostate. Training to be a healer with Warden Mages until they invited her to join them on a trip to the newly emerged Kal-Sharok and stumbled into a nest of Darkspawn.

Barely managing to clear them out, but not before Var’fen was blighted and subsequently took the Joining at the age of 23. Suffering a rare side effect of the ritual that turned the sclera of her eyes black. Meeting Varric shortly thereafter and at 24, using a fake last name since joining the Wardens, they would make their move against the Dread Wolf.

Doing whatever it took to stop his ritual…

Her likes include:

*Cioccolata calda ☕️ (never had chocolate until Varric bought her a cup and was addicted ever since)

*Dogs 🐶 (left mabari, Josa behind with her family when she left to hunt Solas)

*Rocks 🪨 💎 (picks up a pebble or crystal wherever she goes. Most are just cool looking lumps of granite)

*Giving gifts to friends 🎁 (gifts may or may not be pebbles that “remind her of them” and no, she will never explain what she means)

*Harts 🦌(her parents raise them for mounts to herd halla. Brought them along from Ferelden to the Anderfels when they moved)

*Smoking Elfroot 🍃(helps with period pain; bad before, but the Joining made it worse)

Her dislikes include:

*The Chantry ⛪️(only got her vallaslin to keep Templars from dragging her off to a Circle)

*Dracolisks 🦎(saw one lick its own eye like a gecko once and never recovered. Scarred for life)

*Cooked vegetables 🥦 (if it’s slimy? She will die before eating it, but likes salads, carrots and has been yelled at more than once for shuffling around the pantry/kitchen, eating a whole bell pepper/cucumber/tomato, like a rabbit)

*Taxes 💵(self-explanatory)

Who she’ll romance:

This dapper gentleman, whom she met once before while recruiting conscripts in Nevarra City. Bumping into him on her way out of the city dungeon while he was leaving the morgue after corpse-whispering to help solve a murder. Never exchanged a word, but she remembered his polite apology (the first she’d ever received from a Shem) for nearly knocking her over and he remembered her eyes.