@the-witchhunter - this is incredibly disturbing, i love it. fair warning, i took it more in the direction of that oglaf comic (nsfw) where Vlad fully doesn't realise that this is a love shrine, this is a completely normal thing that you do for your arch enemy!
———
“Daniel! I can explain!”
“Oh… my… God...”
“Daniel, really, it’s not what it looks like!”
“Really?” Danny breathes, shocked and honestly kind of fighting down the urge to vomit. The thermos slips from his fingers and clatters to the ground, the sound echoing far too loudly in the enclosed space. “Because it looks like you have a shrine dedicated to my dad in your closet.”
“No, that’s not—it’s more complicated than that, Daniel. You wouldn’t understand.”
“I don’t think I want to understand.”
“Your father is a ridiculous man, Daniel. I hate his stupid face so much. Look at him!”
Vlad turns back to the actual shrine, with actual candles and actual flowers and actual photos of his dad with… Holy crap, did Vlad cut out Mom in each of the photos? What the fuck?
Wait… Look, Danny tries not to look too closely at the weird things Vlad has hidden around his mansion dedicated to his mom, but he’s fairly sure that the pictures of her he’s cut out (in heart shapes—yeah, Danny’s definitely going to barf) are the ones Vlad’s put in his other weirdo closet shrine that Danny also wishes he’d never seen.
“Why don’t you just have one shrine? Why have—no, you know what, I don’t want to know. I think I’m just gonna leave.”
Yeah, that sounds like the best option. Danny takes a cautious step back, very ready to get back home, bleach his eyeballs and maybe never look at his mom and dad ever again. Or, at least, not until he has successfully blocked this from his mind forever.
He only gets one foot out the door when Vlad lashes out and grabs him. The day just keeps getting better and better, really, doesn’t it? Even as he twists and turns, he can’t get out of Vlad’s ironclad grip and he’s pulled even farther into the closet.
Panic rises in his throat as Vlad shuts the door—what the fuck is happening? He doesn’t want to be dragged into Vlad’s creepy shrine to his dad, what the fuck? What the fuck!
“I loathe your father, Daniel, I hate him with the very core of my being. Look at him!”
There’s no goddamn way in hell Danny is looking at any of the pictures, no thank you. He squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he were somewhere, anywhere else, when Vlad jerks his arm forward so he comes nose-to-nose with the largest framed portrait of his dad in the very centre of the table, smiling with his doctorate and a very unfortunate 80s mullet. Dear God, no.
“I hate his smug face! I hate his stupid fashion sense, you have no idea how much I detest that orange jumpsuit of his, how much I want to claw it off him and tear it to shreds! If I have to listen to him say another boneheaded, idiotic, ridiculous thing, I will—I’ll rip his throat out with my teeth! You don't know how long I spend here looking at him, imaging all the ways I'll have him grovelling at my feet. One day, Daniel, I'll have him one day...”
———
The sun was going down when Danny finally managed to escape and find solace in Sam and Tucker. He's not going home. Not yet.
“Danny, are you okay? We were so worried, we couldn’t get hold of you for hours! Where were you?”
“Sam, Tuck… Vlad, he…”
“Holy shit, Danny, you’re shaking, are you alright? What happened, what did he do?”
“I think… I think he wants to fuck my dad.”
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That scene between Tuvok and B'Elanna from 'Resistance' wrecks me actually... It's such a great moment for both characters (and actors, Tim Russ is SO underrated ugh) which highlights the differences between the two of them so well- yet, ultimately shows that under certain circumstances (in this case, torture) the distinctions between people... don't really matter. In an episode full of political violence, this moment is so significant, and I don't even really think I have the smarts to articulate why but I'll try lol.
TORRES: We told you already. We don't know anything about the Resistance.
AUGRIS: I've heard that many times, from many people. Take him.
(The forcefield is lowered, and Torres grabs the guard that steps through.)
TUVOK: Lieutenant, stop! That will not help either of us.
AUGRIS: He's right.
Everything about the way this scene (and the final shot where she's shoved back into her seat) is framed makes B'Elanna appear small, helpless- and embarrassed at her own helplessness- in that cell. We see her fidgeting, unable to sit down, constantly trying to break out or improvise her way out of the situation (she gets electrocuted earlier while trying to tamper with the circuitry)- it makes me wonder whether Tuvok was chosen to be tortured not because they believed he was more likely to have information, but because B'Elanna was more likely to be demoralised watching helplessly as he's dragged off. Augris's line implies that he's "broken" a great many people in the past; a tactic to instil fear and a helpless sense of inevitability in them both (torture doesn't work as a reliable way of extracting information; this is stated in dialogue in other Trek episodes such as 'Chain of Command' so the assertion here is at least not that- but what it does do is demoralise the public involved in resistances like this one.)
Later, B'Elanna is still trying to escape (do the guards know she's doing this? Are they just not intervening?) and she hears him screaming. Tuvok is someone who considers letting others witness him lose control over his exterior a huge (indecent, violating, humiliating) vulnerability, and the fact that he's the one being tortured is Not Insignificant in this context but like- it could've been the other way round. And B'Elanna knows that. It could've been her, and perhaps a small, scared part of her is relieved that it wasn't her, which is an awful way to feel (and if there's one thing B'Elanna hates, it's feeling like a coward). Also- the sheer violation of this, for B'Elanna to have witnessed him in this state, against her will- to later see him bloodied and weakened and flung in a cell, to have heard him screaming in pain- without his consent, knowing she can never un-witness it, knowing it wasn't her fault but still being put in such a situation where she has now played that role... Does this experience forcibly rewrite their respective conceptualisations of each other? Was Tuvok even thinking of her- somewhere outside, listening, worrying, blaming herself, fearing for herself, feeling ashamed, feeling so aware of him and her and the shared humiliation of this- when he was in there? Did seeing her upon coming back out change things? Could it ever change things? Did her presence, even as an outsider, whose memories of this event will always be (visually, at least) the constructs of her imagination- somehow make what happened in there real? Does her role as witness- and her memory thereby carrying some sort of legitimisation of what happened to him now, however warped and coloured by her own perspective and fears and embarrassment- make things better for Tuvok? Does it make things worse? Would he rather have endured this in secret? Would it have been better if she were a total stranger? Would it have been worse? And does any of this even matter when, for a moment, your life (your personhood, your goals, your presence) was completely reduced to what you "must endure"?
AUGRIS: We don't have to ask your friend any more questions, if you give us the answers.
TORRES: I told you I don't.
(Torres stops herself from hitting Augris, who leaves.)
TORRES: I'm sorry. I guess I always assumed that Vulcans didn't feel pain like the rest of us. That you were able to block it out somehow. Until I heard. Was that you I heard?
And the way B'Elanna's voice breaks when she asks this, as if she was still somehow hoping the answer would be no... There are complexities to this which again I don't feel like I'm smart enough to articulate, but like- yes, B'Elanna would like to hear that it wasn't him because that would mean her friend wasn't tortured "that badly", he wasn't put through "enough pain" to scream that way, and it's easier and more comfortable to think of violence (and violation) as something you can rank on a scale, and the lower on it Tuvok's experience ranks, the better! the more easy it will be for them to "move past" this! - but also, there's this element of "I want the answer to be no because that would mean I would not have been a participant in your humiliation, just some stranger's whose voice I don't have a face to put to, which is much better than having to know what you (my friend, my colleague, my respected senior officer, someone I will have to see every day on the bridge, someone I know prefers to keep vulnerabilities hidden even deeper than anyone else I know) sound like when you scream. But also... it doesn't really matter, does it...? Whatever he says, there always was still a moment- however brief- where B'Elanna heard a man screaming in agony, and thought it could've been Tuvok. And in that moment, that possibility was created. Now, it will always exist. That moment will always have happened. It will always have done something to her. It will always exist between them; an ugly, uncomfortable bond.
And this is getting into even more things I'm not smart enough to articulate, but like- it's pretty significant to me that B'Elanna is one of the few characters who never actually tries to poke Tuvok into Doing An Emotion, even normally. She doesn't consider trying to get him to crack an entertaining pastime, unlike others (and I'm sure her experiences of feeling like an outsider- always- feeling Very Visible As Klingon, play a role in this- "all they ever saw was my forehead" does not lend itself so kindly to "let's see if we can get Mr. Vulcan to smile", "why, Tuvok, it seems you've been corrupted by Human (read: default) rituals after all!"- it's a light-hearted joke for many, sure, but what if Tuvok genuinely considers the idea of smiling in the presence of others reflective of a humiliating loss of control and deeply debasing?) I think it's pretty clear from canon that he's just being himself; he's not trying to be a killjoy or trying to be mean, he's just Vulcan. And this is one of the few moments in Trek I can think of when a Vulcan's perceived "control" over their emotions is not connected with their reluctance to laugh or cry or say something sentimental, but... this. B'Elanna is shocked, she's horrified, she demands an explanation as to how he can possibly go through something like this and not feel the desire to "fight back" in a way she understands- and the way she cannot grant him the pretence of not having witnessed, here, the way she can't just shove this in a box, pretend she never heard, because she's just so fundamentally honest- and Tuvok (who is also so fundamentally honest), in a painful moment of openness, tells her exactly what his reasoning is. He lets her see. He lets her hear; on his own terms. He wants for her to understand (for her to witness?) his (very Vulcan) distinction between resistance and endurance; his understanding of endurance as its own form of resistance. Idk it's such a quietly powerful and like- devastating- moment for me... So many people try, over and over, thoughout the show, to get Tuvok to break his Vulcansona- try to make him smile, make him say tender things, make him get irritated- just to see if they can do it. Just to see if he'll ever crack. I bet B'Elanna wishes she never had.
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gestures of affection - 21 for any pairing, 6 for Fenris and Hawke 💖
So---I know you said "pairing" but once I got this idea into my head I couldn't let it go. If you'd still like the prompt in a romantic context, I don't mind doing it twice c:
(Also, the Fenhawke one is coming as soon as I give it a solid edit. I will tag you!)
21. Holding out a box of tissues/offering a handkerchief when they are sick/crying (Arianwen & Alistair) (from this list)
Something to Cry About
By the time they finally left Redcliffe, all four of them were dragging. Arianwen didn’t try to speed up; she didn’t mind lagging behind the rest while they made their way back to camp and the rest of their party. It was unlikely that anyone would need her to show the way—and walking back here gave her a chance to observe the rest of them more closely without them paying any attention.
The assassin had clearly decided his most important task going forward was to needle Wynne. Arianwen couldn’t entirely blame him; the woman had her kind moments, but she was altogether too sanctimonious for Tabris’s liking, and anyone who opened a conversation by asking how one felt about being a murderer was clearly looking for a fight.
So: the two of them bickered in the front and then, ten steps behind them, Alistair trudged up the hill. He was the one Arianwen was actually worried about—he’d spoken little since they’d left Redcliffe, and she was certain the long walk back to the Circle would be hard for him, too.
What would I feel like, she’d wondered after they’d spoken to Bann Teagan, if it had been the man who’d raised me dying of poison in bed upstairs somewhere?
Well. She wasn’t sure how she would have felt before, but now she wouldn’t be all that calm. Alistair might look like he was handling it, but she doubted that greatly. The problem was—if she asked him about it, he’d almost certainly tell her, and she didn’t think she could handle a discussion.
Tabris mulled this over as they crossed out of Redcliffe proper and into the surrounding hills. As she’d anticipated, Alistair disappeared shortly after they reached camp. Wen hesitated on the periphery, her hand wrapped around the silver necklace she’d found in the castle.
It still didn’t seem…wise to befriend the man. But she was fooling herself if she thought she still disliked him, and Wen was no fool.
What was one step further? Might as well admit they were actually friends, and friends made sure their friends were alright.
“This is stupid,” she muttered to herself, and stomped back out of the camp again after him.
When she found him at last, he was crouched with his back against a tree and his shoulders were shaking. Wen grimaced and fidgeted with her sleeve until she could pull her handkerchief out.
“Hey,” she said, and Alistair yelped, reaching for his sword.
He was, in fact, crying—his eyes were red-rimmed and puffy—but when he saw the handkerchief he scraped a hand over his cheek instead.
“How’d that get there?” he said, his voice thick with tears, “Must be the rai—”
“Ugh,” Wen said, wrinkling her nose, and shook the handkerchief at him, “Just take it.”
He took it, turning his face away to mop at his cheeks and then blowing his nose loudly into the worn cloth. Arianwen ignored him and settled herself against the opposite tree.
She did not want to talk about it.
…
Ugh.
“You did what you could,” she told him, shifting uncomfortably against the tree before directing her attention at the branch above his head, “We’ll fix it.”
“I…” he began, then hunched over again.
Arianwen wondered what had to happen to a person, that they would make themselves smaller like that every chance they got. He did it with words, too, even when he wasn’t curling his shoulders the way he was doing right now.
Well—that was an odd thought. Hadn’t she walked around just like that before the wedding? Hoping that making herself smaller would also make her invisible somehow? Hoping the world would be a little safer if she just…disappeared?
“Here,” Wen said, shifting uneasily again and tossing the necklace at him before he looked up. Alistair caught it anyway, fumbling it between his hands before he managed to catch it properly.
“But this is—”
His mother’s amulet. Yes, she’d thought so when she found it on the desk. Arianwen squirmed throughout the ensuing conversation, looking anywhere but at Alistair.
“Yes, yes,” she said at last, “You’re a friend. Of course I remembered.”
She hated getting thanked; hated it so much she hadn’t even realized what she’d said until Alistair was already gaping at her.
“Shut up,” Wen said before he could speak, leaping to her feet and reflexively reaching for her throwing knife, “I didn’t say anything.”
“Friends!” Alistair said, and nothing more, as if the very thought of it had stunned him. Arianwen turned on her heel and walked away, her shoulders close to her ears.
“Wait!” Alistair called after her, “You forgot your handker—”
“Keep it!” Wen shouted back, speeding up, and soon enough she saw the light of the campfire in the distance.
Friends. Friends! What in Thedas was she thinking?
Wen drew a throwing knife from its bandolier and spun it between her fingers several times, trying to calm herself.
She’d had other friends, hadn’t she? Soris and Shianni were her friends. It was fine; it didn’t mean anything. It certainly didn’t mean she was getting attached—he was far too irritating to be attached to.
Like the little brother you never had, an insidious little voice whispered in the back of her mind. Wen sped up to get away from that, too, until she was stepping into the circle of light at the center of the camp and away from the disquieting shadows of the wood.
“Welcome back, my dear Warden,” the assassin said as she passed him, and when she glanced at him he was eyeing her clothing in a speculative way.
“Stop that,” she told him, and ducked into her tent before anyone else could comment on her absence.
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