#he's just going to suffer and then be discarded when these people he trusted are done with him

[simplepotatofarmer]

thanks to @justcallme-ange, i'm thinking about mermaid dream loving to inspect new things and making friends with some humans because there's rules in mermaid society, at least within his pod, so it never really occurs to him that others wouldn't give him the same courtesy.

so it's a surprise when this research vessel and the people on it capture him, steal him away from his home and pod and friends. imagine how shocking it would be for him when there's no story telling or trading of interesting trinkets but instead tests and pulling scales off and slicing into him to see how he works.

#loyal talks about stuff and things #dreblr #mermaid au #like to think that techno once had a run in that nearly killed him #and so always thought dream was a little crazy for the whole thing #maybe at some point dream became more isolated from his pod and friends #and so when it happens he really doesn't think anyone will come for him #he's just going to suffer and then be discarded when these people he trusted are done with him #anyway

[ystrike1]

I hate doing this but there's drama in the horror webtoon community and I have to vent.

Do NOT support Hanza_art

If you don't want to be spoiled/involve yourself in a toxic situation do not read further.

My Deepest Secret was infamous for its overly miserable plot twist ending. The main character turned out to be "crazy" and "delusional". Somehow that protagonist was capable of living a normal life and being a serial killer at the same time. This character never got real professional help, and they were left to suffer in their delusions.

The horror community is often wary of authors that portray mentally ill people as unsalvagable or monstrous. Personally, I was horrified.

The backlash was horrible because the plot twist made no sense in general. In addition the story was marketed as a romance and by the end nobody had paired off. I felt my time was wasted, and I was disgusted by the way the "true villain" was discarded for the crime of being mentally ill.

When Hanza returned with a more level-headed protagonist and a more violent psychopathic villain....some readers gave the author another chance.

I don't blame them. Paranoid characters like Rozy are very interesting! Especially as main characters!

Hawa, the secondary female lead, grows out of her "naive victim" stereotype as well. It's very satisfying to watch. It was tied together nicely by the handsome villain, Adam.

Adam is extremely evil and irredeemable. When the story begins he is a serial killer who targets "innocent, sweet" girls like Hawa.

Rozy is overprotective and she doesn't trust men. In fact she's a known man hater. The characters are all adults, so their character traits and desires aren't just quirks. They are all deeply flawed people.

It was a very promising start.

Plus, it wasn't marketed as a romance so I was sure it would be written better! The weakest part of My Deepest Secret was the romance (by the end I mean) so yay!

Or not...

I do not keep up with TGU on a regular basis. The plot slowed down considerably and I noticed a worrying trend. Frankly, I'm not shocked by this immature behavior in the slightest.

Every single male character in TGU is a sexist abuser who harbors violent thoughts about women.

Hanza is very good at writing scary, irredeemable, sexist pigs that belong in jail...but it was a worrying trend all the same.

Adam was a smart, handsome serial killer who liked to hide in plain sight. By about chapter fifty he was alot dumber, and I cannot stress this enough.

Every male character that associates with Rozy or Hana turns out to be a stalker or harasser. The kind that would get charged in real life.

That kind of hatred towards "all men" is worrying in a thriller comic, and it was very annoying.

I wanted Rozy to outsmart Adam.

I don't want to watch her and Hana be abused by multiple men (mostly former friends!).

I came for the girl boss mystery, and I got alot of sexism instead. What a slap in the face.

Past a certain point I was only checking in to see how bad the story had gotten....and...yup....the male police officer helping Rozy is also a weird guy.

............first of all that's boring.

Second of all it's insulting.

Hanza hates toxic romance, and it shows, and that's perfectly ok. It's not for everyone, but Hanza has built their entire career on top of sexy murder men...so their attitude is extremely hypocritical and annoying as heck to watch.

"I hate toxic romance but I'm also going to sell suit merch of Elios and Adam."

Like, what did you expect?

Hanza is an adult creator, and they do know who they're catering to.

At this point they are absolutely insulting the fans that pay their bills, and that's unacceptable.

Authors are public figures now. They have been since the Facebook Era. Random internet trolls should not influence how you speak to your fan base. I understand that working for Webtoon is brutally hard, but Hanza is a popular artist despite their fumbled first story.

It's like watching somebody blow their nose on a golden ticket.

TGU was their second chance. A very generous second chance, that got great reviews in the beginning.

I'm astonished that Hanza somehow managed to concoct another dud plot twist. Their rude attitude has to be the nail in their coffin. They should not get a third generously funded chance.

Don't interact with their posts.

Don't review bomb the webtoon.

Don't give them any more attention.

They've made more than enough money off of fans they clearly don't respect.

Every creator worth their salt knows trolls and super perverts are only 0.05% of any given Fandom.

If Hanza wants to spit on the 99.95% fine.

Just don't give them any more money or support. That's the only punishment fans have the right to inflict.

Why am I so upset?

Well, as you can see Hanza posted spoilers. They spoiler bombed Twitter because they don't want to finish TGU.

That's right. On top of insulting everybody who paid for this comic they also don't want to finish. Despite the fact that the story reached its climax recently. The girlboss alliance is finally forming against Adam but...too bad I don't wanna write it (suckers).

The sibling plot twist is just abysmal as well.

Shame on you Hanza.

You damn well know that this sibling plot twist is completely out of left field and unexpected. (and boring. I am convinced you are trolling your fans.)

The shipper trolls and the edgy Rozy/Adam fans had no idea it was coming before you randomly spoiled it.

For the record I don't ship anything in this lackluster comic, because I know better. Again, My Deepest Secret was marketed as a Romantic Thriller and then there was zero payoff. Sure, this one isn't a romance, but I don't think anyone signed up for every guy on the block being evil. Just the guy upstairs. Since the story isn't even about love I never imagined so much drama would come out. It feels very pointless and petty. Every time I hear about this artist it's a drama issue and I can't help but think they're part of the problem. Their recent behavior on social media hasn't left me with any other options.

Hanza, you are being manipulative and childish on purpose because you don't want to finish what you started.

You pandered to horror and toxic romance fans on purpose just to get money.

You spoiled a story millions of people have been reading regularly just to satisfy your childish need to bully your own fans.

You took their money.

You signed your contract.

Nobody made you do it.

If you really are super conservative and you think romance must be pure LEAVE US ALONE, and go write pure romance.

Nobody is stopping you, but you wanted to milk more money out of people you don't respect.

It's sickening, and I'm happy that TGU will never get a physical release.

You don't deserve a dime of that money.

Shame. On. You.

#yandere #male yandere #yandere male #webtoon #do not read any works by hanza #my deepest secret #the guy upstairs #anti-rec I guess

[dduane]

Salutations and good wishes to you. I am an Indie Author seeking to go Pro. Some good advice and guidance might help minimise the mountain of my anxiety about doing this. I know you got your start with fanfiction, but did you find a publisher/agent through that door? [lots sneer at these days. Still] How many rejections did you suffer before you found your place in the literary world? Thanks for your time and sorry for bothering you <3

Hi there! And don't sweat it: this is no bother.

I have to apologize in advance, because my own career arc isn't likely to serve as much of a good example. In terms of how I got into this business, I'm a serious outlier.

Quickest and easiest to discuss: my agent and I got together after my first book was already bought and published. (Which back in the day was seen as a good enough way to go forward, and then still entirely possible.) He was recommended to me by one of my editors, as—like me—he was just getting started in the business: a likely-looking newcomer then scouting new talent. We met up and chatted, and it seemed to both of us that we'd be a good fit for each other. After forty-odd years of working together, we still are.

About the fanfic: (Adding a cut here so as not to carpet people's dashes with wall-to-wall text...)

What writing all that fic did for me—from about age sixteen onwards—was give me a whole lot of practice in getting the initial garbage associated with a story written and out of the way. Best to admit it here: we all have plenty of crap writing in us. And yeah, even long-term professional writers do. Whether you're at the beginning of your career or right in the middle of it, this is what "zero drafts" are for. You tell yourself the story, first time out... and routinely at this stage a lot of what proves to be unusable stuff emerges, and can be discarded in rewrite. (Of course crap writing can also emerge without warning in the later stages of a project, but there are many reasons for that, all beyond the scope of this discussion.) And you learn even more from reworking the material after you've gotten rid of the dross.

During the period when I was executing what might have been, oh, half a million words of fanfic—Trek originally, and then LoTR—and while reading a whole lot of everything, as I'd been doing since I was first allowed to go raid the town library by myself at age eight—I learned a fair amount about writing without realizing it. Some of it was simply about writing inside a set of rules. (Which I hadn't been doing previously: between eight and sixteen I was writing original fiction, mostly fairy tales.) Naturally in fanfic you have to obey the laws of whatever universe you're working in... or even if you wind up flouting them consciously, you do have to be conscious of them. But this work also led me to something that I hadn't really spent a lot of time thinking about: the concept that fiction writing as a whole had rules. I realized I'd better find out what those were.

The best stuff I found out during this period was what I picked up by direct example from other writers, whom I'd immediately start imitating and then sort of leave by the wayside when I found others I liked better; at which point I'd start imitating them. (This being a great way to learn and hone new skills, and to start getting a sense of what a writer's "voice" is and can come to mean. I think every writer does this, to some extent: because it's really, really tough to learn how to write without reading. And the more extensively the better.)

I have to emphasize here, BTW, that the fanfic that came out of me as I started slogging up this learning curve was all almost uniformly terrible. All of it, mercifully, along with my earliest original fiction, is gone now: long since burnt, shredded, composted under many layers of time. Trust me, it's just as well. Gah was it awful! Nobody else ever saw the stuff, for which I thank great Thoth every time I think about it. ...What's interesting, too, in its way, was that I didn't even know that what I was doing was fan fiction. I had as yet no contact with any kind of organized fandom, and it would be a long time yet before "online" was invented. I was working in utter isolation, unaware that anybody else might have been doing the same thing. (And it's difficult to describe the sense of astonishment and joy that hit me the first time I went to an SF convention, saw fanzines for the first time, and found out that I was not alone. All unsuspecting, I'd stumbled onto one of my tribes.)

But somewhere along the line, as the years went by—as I finished high school and went to college, and then from there to nursing school, and graduated and started working as a psychiatric nurse, and kept on writing—at some point, as I started writing original fiction again, as well as fanfic, the quality of the output began to improve. The combination of constant practice and voracious reading of better writers outside my chosen genre was slowly having an effect. Trusted friends who saw this later material started saying, "This isn't bad, you should try to get it published!" But since none of these folks were writers, I didn't pay too much attention to their opinions.

I did pay attention, though, when my good friend and mentor David Gerrold said something similar on reading my first novel in 1976. And when that was bought by the first publisher who read it, I had to admit he might have had something there.

This too, though, is unfortunately also a way I'm an outlier: I haven't had a lot of rejection. (Even in my TV work, where rejection is pretty much the rule rather than the exception.) Speaking very generally, just about anyone I've pitched something to in the prose market has bought it—or if they didn't like the idea I came in with, they've immediately said "But would you like to do this instead?" And often enough, what they've offered or suggested has been something that sounded like fun. That's how I wound up doing the Star Trek: Rihannsu books, for example: they were "instead of" a Romulan dictionary. Paramount essentially ringfenced an entire AU-area of Trek and gave it to me to play in, which struck me at the time as amazing. And continues to do so.

Now all this may make me sound almost unfairly lucky. But things do tend, slowly or quickly, to balance out. Over time the universe has made up for its relative kindness at the rejection end of things by making sure I knew plenty about the non-rejection forms of writer-career pain: projects from which I was not rejected but which went terribly wrong (wheels come off a huge deal just before signing, promised actors or directors fail to materialize...), projects where I did the work but didn’t get paid, or where I was brought on board and then got fired/ghosted unreasonably or for no reason at all, or sometimes (mortifyingly) for quite good reason. And let's not forget how, as what could seem a very pointed shot across my bow when my career-vessel was just pulling out of port, half the print run of that very-much-buzzed-about debut novel wound up being pulped in the warehouse because another, far better-established writer's new book needed the pallet space that mine had been taking up. (insert rueful smile here) Believe me, entropy is running, and will catch up with you one way or another. So make yourself as ready for it as you can.

I don't mean to increase your anxiety. Yet that said: you're preparing to enter a business in which, for a freelancer, at least some level of anxiety is more or less part of the basic ground of being. You are going to have to develop ways of dealing with the everyday forms of that to keep it from routinely derailing your work.

I find it helps a little if you can come to consider this as a modern form of Going On An Adventure. Good things will happen; bad things will happen; and all of these will be in service of building your career. Think of yourself as being on a quest.

Your job now becomes the business of suiting up with the best equipment and advice you can find (ideally not from outliers like me). The web is full of useful pages on subjects such as how to query and how to find an agent.

Here are links to some.

Compare these resources one against another to see how their different kinds of advice seem to stack up, and which ones are the most congenial for you.

Then use this data to start drawing your personal roadmap across the terrain. Get as clear as you can in your own mind about what you're trying to get out of being in this business: what kind of writing you want to do and what results you want to produce. Then set out, redrawing your road map as necessary as you keep moving forward through the new terrain.

And I wish you good fortune on the journey! (Because luck, as you can see from the above, can definitely be part of this... but fortune favors the prepared.)

Meanwhile, get out there and have a blast. :)

#writing #writing advice #fanfic #rejection

[luveline]

𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐞 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐯𝐞 | 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

summary jealousy makes people do crazy things. when steve finds out you’re going on a date with eddie munson, he devises a plan involving one pair of binoculars, one robin, four adopted children and an important question. [7k]

warnings gn!reader, ditzy reader, protective steve, childhood friends to lovers, pining steve, mutual pining, fluff, love confessions, slight hurt/comfort, soft steve, steves pov, eddie fucking munson ♡ tw for toaster bathtub joke

𓆩❤︎𓆪

Steve knows you're outside not because you told him you'd be visiting him at work today, but because you're talking to yourself. You quieten as you pull open the door, a smile on your face that hasn't changed since he first met you in the third grade. Some kid had pushed you down and when he'd asked if you were okay you'd smiled just like that, like you hadn't been pushed at all. 

"What are you talking about?" he asks lightly. 

You stop in the middle of the store and blink. "What?" 

He skirts around the front desk and wraps you up in a hug. You're still at first like you usually are, though you slowly relax under his touch and hug back. 

"What were you saying? Before you came in?" he asks, rubbing your back with both arms. 

"Um… I don't really remember." 

Steve holds you at arm's length to assess your face. You're lying to him. He can tell from the way your top lip twitches towards your nose, almost pouting. 

You drop your arms from his waist and take a step back. Steve has years of knowledge on your whims and whiles and is reluctant to let you move away from him just yet, his hand clasped loosely around your wrist. 

You smile and your hands float at your sides like lily pads bobbing in the air. He decides not to pry, returning to his station behind the Family Video desk. You hop up onto the counter and watch him from over your shoulder. 

"Where's Robin?" you ask. 

"I'm starting to think you like her more than me." 

You smile at him softly and he doesn't know what it means. It's alarming. Robin appears from the backroom before he can work himself up over it, a crate of tapes in her arms. 

She groans as she puts them down on the counter. "I miss Scoops Ahoy." 

"Cute uniforms," you mumble.

"It's not the uniforms I miss," Robin says, letting her forehead fall to the counter. "My arms hurt. I'm not cut out for manual labour. If Steve were a better man he'd do all the heavy lifting for me." 

"Where's the equality in that?" Steve asks, looking to you to see if he's made you laugh. 

He has. Your lips quirk up into a startled smile as a rush of breath escapes you, a lilting miracle of sound. 

He realises then that he's doing something he's not allowed to do and decides to be a better man. "I'll do the rest, Robs." 

Robin looks up, surprised at his charity. "You will?" she asks, not trusting his genuineness. 

"Sure. Keep Y/N entertained while I'm gone." 

Once he's securely in the backroom he starts to freak out. He's been harbouring a mess of feelings for you ever since he hit puberty but has discarded them time and time again. Your friendship is longstanding and special to him, even when closeness with you has been hard to obtain. Not because you're purposefully distant, but because you're a total dreamer. 

Head in the clouds your entire life, Steve has wrangled through hoops to try and protect you from bullies, from bad friends, from your own distraction; you forget to eat, you're lucky you graduated because your attention span for anything that doesn't interest you is non-existent, and you hate parties so your circle is a closed loop consisting of just Steve. 

Now you've both graduated there's a lot of time to be spent together. 

Steve is suffering through it. His life feels like a constant game of look but don't touch. 

That might be unfair. He's definitely very touchy. 

You're giggling to yourself as he carries the second box of tapes in and heaves it down by the first. Robin's laughter is much more evil. 

"What's funny?" he asks suspiciously. 

"I'm giving Y/N tips." 

"Tips?" he asks, so used to Robin's absurdity that he starts to unpack his second box, elbows brushing Robin's as she hums. 

"Mm-hm." She taps her nails over a plastic case and leans towards him. "Boy tips." 

"And what would you know about boys?" he asks her. 

"I'm not stupid. Boys are like… frogs." 

"Frogs," Steve repeats dryly. 

"Slimey. Predictable. Easily disected." 

"Green," you say seriously. 

Steve chokes on a laugh and drops the tape in his hand back into the box of new arrivals to cover his mouth with a fist. 

"Babe, what?" he asks. 

You look at him and shake your head lightly. He knows he's not gonna get any answers from you, trying for nonchalance as he asks, "Boy tips? For who?" 

"They have a date." 

"You do?" Steve asks you. He almost snaps his neck. Robin coughs to cover a laugh.

A knife in his chest. Twisting. Steve's definitely been stabbed. He looks down to his sternum and doesn't find a wound.  

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asks, pretending that's why his lungs have exploded. He's gonna suffocate to death any second now. 

"I didn't think you'd have any boy tips," you say, clearly surprised at his surprise. 

Whatever. Steve takes a huge breath in through his nose and becomes your friend again, rather than a jealous idiot. 

"Y/N," he says, "I don't know if you've noticed, but I am a boy." 

"I've noticed." 

"So I know what boys like." 

"No, you know what you like," Robin says. "You don't know what Eddie Munson likes. You're different genres." 

"You're going on a date with Eddie Munson?" he asks you, almost shouting. Not his smoothest moment.

"Friday," you say, in the sometimes infuriating way that you do, like you have no indication that he's shocked. And he's shocked. 

"When did he ask you out?" Steve asks. 

Robin smirks behind her hand. Steve would love it if she had, like, a miniscule amount of compassion. An atom's worth, for his struggle.  

"I asked him," you say. 

Steve needs to flee. He can't because he would look insanely obvious so he cracks on his customer service smile and tries to stop asking questions. 

He fails. "You like Eddie Munson?"

"I don't know. That's why I'm going on a date." 

An insane wave of jealousy sloshes around inside him. Or maybe the slurpee he'd had a half hour ago. Whatever it is, he's nauseous. 

He's also confused (a common theme when it comes to you.) He'd had no clue you were dating, or looking to date, no clue this was a lane that was open. And you're so pretty, so magnetic, so disgustingly special and this Munson kid is gonna snap you right up if he has any sense at all. 

Steve isn't proud of anything that he does next. 

"I heard he's a drug dealer," he says. 

Your eyes are wide. Not in horror, as he'd hoped, but puzzlement. "Is he?" 

"For sure. The devil's lettuce, Mary Jane, marijuana, everything." 

"I thought they were all the same," you say, perplexed, your voice like an ebbing wave. 

They are all the same. He was hoping you didn't know that. "Right. What if he gets you hooked on something?" 

Robin frowns at him. "Since when are you so judgemental? We've been high together. Like, fifty times." 

He steps on her foot. Robin, unused to him fighting back so quickly, gasps in outrage and steps on his foot right back. What ensues is an undignified battle of shoes that has him throwing his arm out and hitting her in the stomach. 

"What's your problem?" she asks, eyebrows pinched. 

He holds his hands up in surrender. "Sorry! I think you broke my foot." 

He flinches when he remembers you're there and watching, only you're not there and you're definitely not watching, having made your way to the two boxes of new movies on the counter. You're sorting through them slowly and singing something to yourself under your breath so quietly he can barely decipher the words. The loudest part is your inhales, familiar, small intakes of air. 

"I told them boys like it when you slip them the tongue," Robin whispers smugly.

Steve steps on her foot again and gets promptly slapped in the arm, hard enough to ache. 

Later, when Robin's left and the store's finally closing and you're waiting at the door for Steve to drive you home, he tries to slander Eddie again. He almost feels bad. 

"You know he's still in high school, right? Isn't that a little young for you?" he asks. 

He flicks up the collar of his jacket and switches off the neon lights. You hold the door open, leaning against it with your back arched, like a doll that's fallen down. He pokes the naked skin you've accidentally exposed, a taunting sliver of hip, as he walks past you. 

"He's twenty." 

Again, Steve knew that. He was just hoping you didn't. 

"The whole still being in high-school thing doesn't bug you?" he asks as he locks the door. 

You shift from foot to foot beside him, cold now that the sun has disappeared for the night. You shove your hands deep into your pockets and kick the floor. 

"I don't know," you say. 

He feels bad for trying to dissuade you when you sound like that, insecure. 

Despite his selfish wants, he says, "No, I mean. It's totally fine. You're the same age." 

"Right," you agree quickly. 

"Right," he echoes. 

The two of you climb into the BMW and the silence feels unnatural. Conversation between the two of you has always been easy. Now it's stilted. 

He sighs, scrubbing a hand through his hair furiously and starting the car. 

"You know… I've heard he's really nice," he says. 

You perk up. "Yeah?" 

"He's in a band, too. A rock band. You like that stuff. You'd be good together," he says, unconvincing even to himself.

Each word could be demonstrated as a plier held to his teeth, slowly pulling. It's agony to stick up for his competitor. No, he corrects himself, not a competitor, because you don't like him. Steve's alone in his pining. 

"I don't know about all that," you whisper. 

"You don't have to be nervous, okay? I'm sure he's a nice guy and that you'll have fun." 

You don't seem very cheered up. 

He unclenches his jaw and sneaks a look at you. You're picking the hemming of your long sleeve with a thoughtful look in place. Steve thinks, Fuck, they must really like him. 

"Seriously, babe." 

You drop your head against your shoulder. "Can I sleep at your place?" 

He should say no. "Yeah, of course you can." 

"I think there's a racoon living in my attic." 

"I'll come take a look tomorrow." 

"Thank you." 

You tumble out of the car and up the gravel to Steve's house, unlocking the door with a practised ease before running up the stairs. Steve follows with little urgency behind you. 

"Babe?" he asks, closing the door behind him.

"I need the bathroom," you call. 

Steve nods and beelines for the kitchen, looking for something to make that you'll enjoy and that won't take a year off of your life expectancies. If Steve were by himself he'd skip dinner or order something greasy, but he thinks you should have a proper meal.  

He's got a can of soup warming over the burner when you come back down, having switched your outfit for something comfy, clothes you keep in the bottom of his wardrobe for such occasions. 

"Pee your pants?" he asks, grinning. 

You hit your hip into his on purpose and hoist yourself onto the counter to watch him stir. 

"Watch it! Can't you see I'm performing a culinary miracle?" 

"It smells nice." Your face floods with happiness.

"It's your favourite one." 

"They don't sell my favourite in Bradley's anymore." 

"It was at the back of the cabinet. Might get food poisoning," he says. 

He's lying through his teeth – he'd gone up to some fancy Indianapolis grocery store and bought a fuck load. He prays that your attention stays on him and not the cabinet behind your head where evidence of his affection hides in wait. 

"Yum," you say.

"There's ciabatta in the bread bin. Do you want, like, the works?" 

"Balsamic vinegar," you nod your head sagely. "Yes." 

He feels a tendril of fondness curl around his heart. 

-

Fed and watered you crawl into Steve's bed like you always do, smack dab in the middle, sheets pulled up to your nose. Your moaning nonsense to yourself about being greedy and evil demons that cause bloating. 

"I told you to slow down," he murmurs as he climbs in beside you, the two of you smelling like spearmint toothpaste. 

Your hands smell like soap as you bat at him uselessly. "Shut up, Steve." 

He moves onto his back and sighs. "You have such an attitude problem."

"I do not."

He throws his hand out fast and squeezes your sensitive waist. You gasp and pull away, giggling as his hand chases you. He digs his fingers into your ribs until you're panting for air, your legs kicking him away from you. 

"Stop, Steve. Steve, Steve, Stevie, please stop." Your words are garbled with laughter. 

"I can't hear you." 

"Stop!" you cry out. "Please." 

He pulls his hand away and feels smug at how little effort it took to get you that badly. "I didn't know you could shout that loudly, babe." 

"Only for you," you say, catching your breath. 

Steve feels his cheeks go red. Physically feels the blood blossom under his skin. He clears his throat and turns away from you, flicking off the light fast so you can't see his embarrassment clear as day. 

You calm your breathing and Steve calms his heart. After a few minutes there's a dead silence. Not even the sound of a passing car. 

"It's so quiet," you say. 

"It was." 

Your hand at his back. He suppresses chills as your knuckles move over the dip of his spine and then over, your palm smoothing down his arm until you find his hand. Another one of your quirks when you're tired and dizzy with content, you search for his fingers and twine them with your own as you talk. 

"Thanks for dinner. You're a better cook than you'd think, Steve. S'like being at Enzo's but with none of the tables and chairs. Or the music." 

He rubs his thumb gently over the back of your hand where it rests on his thighs and chuckles. "I'll give the chef your compliments." 

"Thank you." 

Another stretch of silence, broken up only by the sound of your breathing. Steve's more familiar with your breathing than his own. He thinks of nights where he'd feigned sleep and watched the rise and fall of your chest through barely parted lashes. 

With his back to you it's easy to pretend you're more than friends. He pulls your joined hands to his chest and worries your skin with the pad of his thumb, a thousand thoughts rattling around his brain. 

"Y/N," Steve says suddenly, unsure if you're still awake. 

"What?" you ask quietly.

"Don't listen to Robin, okay? Don't… don't try and tongue kiss Munson the first time." 

You inhale weirdly. "I won't." 

"Good." He moves your hand back to your chest and drops it gently. "Goodnight," he says.

You don't say anything back. 

-

Dustin sits under the Family Video desk with his radio contraption that Steve doesn't understand, him and Robin having entered a surprisingly easy conversation. Less surprising upon discovering the topic: Steve's ineptitude, Steve's idiocy, Steve's hopelessness. 

"I feel sorry for him," Dustin says conversationally. 

"Really sorry for him." 

"Because it's his third snub in as many years-" 

"And that's not counting each Scoops Ahoy disaster-" 

"Exactly. And, it's like, going on how many years of being friends?" Dustin asks. 

"Twelve," Steve says, resigned to his fate and feeling very pathetic where he manually ticks through returns on the computer. He doesn't even look up. 

"Twelve years to make a move and now he's too late," Dustin says. 

"Well, never say never," Robin says, her voice high. 

Steve frowns and looks through the screen for a moment before turning his gaze over his shoulder to where Robin lounges on the floor, legs crossed and a book between her thighs.

"What?" he asks. 

"What?" she repeats. 

They stare at each other. Steve's expression changes from depressed to incensed.

"Oh my god, you know something." 

"I don't know anything." 

They stare at each other more. Steve doesn't believe her even slightly. He knows Robin. They've been friends for an entire year by this point. Steve would even say that they're best friends. He knows when she's lying. 

"'Never say never?'" he quotes. 

Dustin has stopped messing with his technology to watch. His head moves one way and then the other like he's following a tennis ball, his brown curls bouncing around his ears. 

"It's a common saying-" Robin defends. 

"But why did you say it?"

Tense silence.

"You do know something," Dustin says. Excitement gives his face a boyish charm.

Robin closes the book between her thighs and smiles awkwardly. Steve feels his heart leap into his throat when she tilts her head to the side guiltily and sighs. 

"Shit," she mutters. 

-

Operation Stakeout is redundant, according to Mike. 

"An operation and a stakeout are basically the same thing," he mutters.

"That's not true," Dustin says, know-it-all tone in play. "A stakeout is always an operation but operations aren't always stakeouts." 

Lucas eats a handful of chips noisily. Max groans. 

"It feels redundant," Robin says. 

"It's about to feel jeopardised," Steve says scathingly, forcing her head back down where the six of them hide behind a trimmed hedge outside Enzo's. 

"When's it my turn with the binoculars?" Robin asks. 

"Never," Dustin says. There isn't a trace of sympathy in his voice. 

"Sexism?" she wonders to herself. 

Max snatches the binoculars from Dustin’s hand and brings them to her eyes, looking through the painted window of Hawkins best Italian restaurant for any sign of you and your date. 

They must look like a group of idiots. Half the gang are in dark clothing where Mike, Robin and Max had all refused to bother. Dustin had brought a camouflage net and strewn it over their heads, though most of them had shrugged it off, holding it to their shoulders like a terrible blanket. 

Steve waits impatiently for Max's report. 

"There they are," Max says. 

He can't himself as he springs up and searches for you. They'd all watched secretly as you'd arrived and met Munson outside. He scrubbed up well. It boiled Steve's blood. In a totally fun, carefree way because he's being very normal about this whole thing. You know, if you ignore Operation Stakeout. 

"Where?" 

He holds his hand out for the binoculars and Max drops them heavily into his palm. Steve almost blinds himself as he brings them to his eyes, squinting for a glance at you.

"Toward the left." 

"They're ordering," he says. 

"They're on a date," Mike says. 

Lucas makes a sad sound and eats more chips. Steve feels a sharp wave of pity for him though he quickly forgets it in favour of the look on your face. You're smiling wide but insincerely. 

"Y/N is not having a good time," he says happily. "Is it evil to feel relieved?" 

"Yes," a few voices say. 

Dustin shrugs. "Let's hope Eddie makes them cry. Or the other way around."  

"Dude." There's a silent conversation that Steve isn't privy to then that ends with Lucas and Dustin shoving each other. 

"Why are we expecting this to end badly?" Max asks. "Because I'm still not convinced." 

Steve watches you reach for your drink and tries not to recant his explanation with any bias. Tries. "Y/N doesn't like Munson." 

"We already knew that, to be fair," Robin says, still trying to defend you now that she'd possibly exposed your secret. Guilt is a new look on her. 

"Right, but not liking Eddie and liking Steve are two different things," Max says. 

"Well, why wouldn't you like Eddie?" Dustin says. 

"If you like him so much why don't you marry him?" Steve asks, deadpan. 

"Shut up." 

"I know who I'd choose," Max says. 

Steve waits for a follow up because he has no clue who Max would choose. When she doesn't answer he peels his gaze from your upturned mouth and finds that the rest of the group are giving Max the same curious look. 

"What?" she asks furiously. "One is clearly more attractive." 

"Which one, Maxine?" Steve asks. 

"Eddie," Mike and Dustin say. 

"Steve," Robin and Lucas say. 

Max is saved from having to answer by the ensuing argument. They can both drive. Steve is wealthy - "Generationally!" - where Eddie's less so. Steve graduated - "Barely!" - and Eddie's in his third senior year. 

"He's in a band," Robin says unhappily, like she's sad that Steve isn't measuring up. 

"Have you heard them play? Steve's definitely winning," Lucas says. 

"Steve doesn't know who Gollum is," Dustin points out. "He's, like, socially misplaced." 

"Does Y/N?" Max asks. 

The group ponders. Robin takes the binoculars from Steve's hands and aims them at you again. "Wait, did Eddie get the carbonara? That's a point for Steve." 

"It's an Italian staple!" Dustin defends.

"You'd think a cult leader would order something a little more adventurous." 

"Hellfire isn't a cult, Steve, don't be fucking offensive." 

"Okay, watch your mouth, Henderson," Steve says testily. 

His knees ache from hiding and his hands are frigid. It's dark enough for Lucas to switch on a torch as he offers Max his pringles. She wrinkles her nose in disgust and the poor guy looks dejected beyond words. 

A disgruntled old lady complains behind them at having to walk around them. Mike complains louder. "This is pointless." 

"It's not pointless," Steve says. 

"Yes, it is." 

"No, it isn't." He glares at Mike. 

"It totally is! You're wasting our night to perv on someone who couldn't be less interested in you." 

"I didn't ask you to come!" Steve shouts.

"I wanted to see you be wrong in person," he says. 

Steve sighs because maybe he is wrong. He doesn't know what he believes anymore. He's working on the tiniest evidence that you like him, a slip of the tongue. 

When you'd walked into Family Video a few days ago and asked Robin for 'boy tips', you'd said something suspicious. Steve doesn't think you know what you said. Robin thinks you're both idiots, though she thinks you're pathetic in the loveable way and Steve the pathetic way. 

"Why Eddie?" Robin had asked you while he was hidden away in the backroom. "I didn't know you liked the rock and roll type. I was thinking, like, Steve's calibre. Homegrown boy next door who's a little misguided." 

"Well, Steve's never gonna ask me out," you'd said. 

"Thank god for that," Robin had joked awkwardly. Steve doesn't hold it against her. 

When she'd relayed the conversation to him he'd been happy at first, because in most situations this would imply that you're waiting for it. That you want him to ask you out. 

But you're not like most people, and you might've meant Steve in place of someone like Steve. 

"I don't think he's wrong," Dustin says now. 

"You're the same IQ," Mike says. 

"You might be right, Wheeler," Steve huffs, holding his hands out for a turn. Robin passes them obligingly. "Y/N's so literal. They might've just been stating the obvious." 

"Or maybe they thought Robin was implying they liked Steve and got defensive," Max adds. 

"Or maybe it's exactly like it sounds and they have a crush on Steve," Lucas says. He wilts under Max's fierce scowl. "Or maybe they were being defensive." 

"Defensive isn't really their style," Steve says, not sure what side he's on, sick with hope.

"What is their style?" Mike asks. "Delusion?" 

"Shut the fuck up, man," Steve says. 

"You're such an asshole sometimes," Max says. 

They dissolve into bickering and Steve spies on you, watching through the binoculars with one eye pinched closed as you set down your cutlery. You're laughing. 

Steve pulls the binoculars from his face and feels maybe every stage of grief as he hands them off to Dustin. "Mike's right, we're wasting the night here. If Y/N liked me, we wouldn't be camped outside Enzo's right now under the world's most threadbare throw blanket." 

Mike clears his throat, and Steve knows he must have sounded pathetic when he, at odds with the cold indifference he usually sports, says, "I mean… People are complicated. El broke up with me last summer because my grandma died." 

"That is not why," Max says. She sounds like she wants to be mad but can't manage it. She sounds about as happy as she has all year, so Steve decides maybe the night isn't totally wasted. 

"Your grandma died?" Lucas asks.

"No." 

"He just grabbed Y/N's hand," Dustin announces, one eye pressed to the binoculars. 

His head is smushed against Lucas', who peers into the binoculars with his opposite eye and hums thoughtfully. "More of a caress than a grab." 

Steve snatches the binoculars. "Give me that," he demands. 

"You still haven't explained the spying," Max says. 

Steve finds you in the restaurant. Your hand is extended across the table. You're twisting the rings around Eddie's fingers, saying something he doesn't have the talent to lip read. 

"I thought that," he starts, morose, heart stomped on with every second you spend fawning over Munson's rock star hands, "if Y/N likes me, the date would be a total failure." 

"Right, like halfway through the date Y/N was gonna have this amazing epiphany and come crashing through the doors, like a rom-com," Robin continues. 

"That's stupid," Mike says. 

Steve agrees with him. It's stupid to expect you to throw away a good chance at happiness and keep a candle burning for him instead when he's never showed any interest in you before. But, in his defense, he didn't know he was allowed. 

"Whatever," he sighs. "I'm sick of thinking about it. Let's just go home." 

There's an awkward silence then where everyone feels sorry for him and nobody knows what to say. 

"Plenty of fi-" Lucas starts, voice lilted up in question until he's socked hard in the arm. He clears his throat. "Plenty of time left. On the clock. We can go get food?" 

"Steve needs ice cream," Robin says cheerily. He scrubs his face until his eyes hurt as she continues. "He needs to eat through the heartbreak. Ice cream, pizza, moon cakes, cheese balls." She turns to him fully. "I'm really sorry your love life is so sad, but look on the bright side! You now have an excuse to watch Splash on repeat." 

"Oh, goodie," he says. 

He gets a round of sympathetic shoulder pats and then everyone starts to pack Dustin's spy equipment and the snacks away. There's a pounding headache between Steve's eyes and his back pops in three places as he stands. He's getting too old for shit like this. I need to go home and sleep for twelve hours, he decides. And have a self flagellating bubble bath. With a toaster.

"Shit, they're coming out." 

They dive back behind the bush. Steve locks eyes with Robin. She holds her hand over her mouth as the door to Enzo's creaks open. 

"What size are you?" Eddie's asking. 

"I don't know. Do I have to wear the shirt?" 

A handsome laugh. "No, you don't have to. It's just for club morale. Plus, it's pretty sick." 

"It's not sick, it's cute." 

"No, no." He's being so nice it makes Steve feel terrible for wishing bad things upon him. "Not bad sick. Good sick, like awesome." 

"Right," you laugh. 

Robin starts to lift her head. Steve shakes his vehemently, begging her not to. She does anyways, her eyes shifting up over the green hedge line. He tugs her shoulder urgently. 

Robin starts to push against his face with her hands. It's increasingly difficult to fight her silently, especially when she smacks him straight in the soft part of his nose. 

He winces and covers his face with both hands. God, are you there? He thinks urgently. It's me, Steve. 

Robin gasps. 

Five sets of eyes whip to her and Steve yanks her hard to the ground, covering her mouth with his hand. She licks his palm and Steve throws himself back, sprawled on the ground with his elbows stinging, his heart hammering because there's no way you didn't hear all that. He waits to be caught. 

"I'll get it printed for you. Everyone has one. Like a uniform."

"Thanks for dinner," you say. 

"You're welcome. I'll see you on Friday, yeah?" 

"Yes. Thank you, Eddie."

Your voices stop. Steve lets himself collapse onto the sidewalk beneath, hair crushed under his neck. Your date must've gone pretty fucking well if you're going on another. 

Robin's face above him. Her hair hangs down, blocking slices of her face from view. 

"Don't sulk, Steve." 

He glares at her. "You heard that, right? They're going on another date. Leave me here to die." 

Robin's beaming. "Steve." 

"It's too late. I should've- I don't know why I thought this was a good idea. I'm a loser." 

"Could you stop feeling sorry for yourself for a second?" she asks. 

"What's the point?" 

"Steve," Robin laughs. "They didn't kiss." He swallows around the dryness in his mouth. "They didn't kiss," she repeats. "Eddie tried it, but…"

"Total head turn," Dustin says, the top of his head touching Robin's as he comes to stand over Steve, his shoes at Steve's shoulder.

"Doesn't mean anything. They're still going on another date," Steve says. 

"Dummy," Max says, joining the two hovering above him. 

Mike and Lucas join soon after. "You're definitely a loser-" Mike says. 

"Dude." 

"If you don't try," Mike finishes. 

Steve looks up into the circle of their faces. They look super weird from this angle. Too happy. It's never a good thing when they're all smiling the way that they are. Hope in this family turns into stupid decisions. 

"The head turn was on purpose?" he asks. 

He's crushed by their hesitation. 

"Well, it's Y/N," Robin sighs. She rolls her eyes at his expression. "Nah, I'm messing with you. It was definitely on purpose." 

He covers his face with his hands and stares at his friend's through parted fingers. "Shit." 

A ruckus of laughter and smiles as Robin offers a hand to pull him up off of the ground. "Alright, come on, dingus, we have work to do." 

"Work?" he asks. 

"T-minus six days and… twenty two hours until their second date," Dustin says, checking his watch. "Six days to make a move, Harrington. Can you do it?" 

-

It only takes him three. 

Saturday and Sunday are spent feeling sorry for himself and sick with worry that he can't make a move or that his move won't be reciprocated. 

But then he sees you on Monday and can't really stand it anymore. You'd turned your head. You hadn't let Eddie kiss you. 

Steve needs to know if you'll let him. 

You're all in blue today with your eyebrows pinched up, looking sad. He knows from experience that you aren't sad at all, only thinking, sitting on the hood of his car with your legs pulled up. You're demure. You're probably an angel. 

"How long have you been out here?" he asks, coming to a stop in front of you. 

"I'm too afraid to come see you," you say. It's more honest than Steve had been expecting. Certainly more straightforward than you tend to be. 

"You're seeing me now." 

You look up into his face. The sun behind you, your face in shadow and your hair kissed by golden light, you open your hands over your thighs. Steve thinks of Lovers Lake, the Victoria flowers bobbing on the surface. Green, soft cups over dark water. 

"I'm seeing you," you say. 

You twist your fingers together and the lily pad turns to a water lily, your fingertips a tight bud. 

You're nervous.

Steve crosses his arms over his chest and leans back slightly to take you in. 

He lifts his chin at you. "How did your date go?" he asks. 

"It was okay. Eddie's a nice guy. He's… interesting." 

"Yeah?" 

You hum. "Why are you asking me?" 

"We're friends. I want to know if you had fun." 

You shrug your shoulders and turn your haze to the hood of the BMW, scratching your nail over an imperfection he can't see. 

Steve's unnerved to see you so still. He waits for your legs to kick or for your hands to fidget, to wear holes into the hem of your shirt. 

"I don't think we're friends, Stevie," you say finally. 

He actually feels mad. It shocks him, but he does, and he won't shy away from it. "Why did you ask Munson on a date?" 

"He can drive. He's nice to girls. He's good looking." You stop scratching but don't look at him. Your ankle swings towards his car, stops before it hits the front bumper. 

Your answers hurt his feelings, little pinpricks of annoyance? Jealousy? He doesn't know what he feels. He was hoping you'd say something reassuring. 

He kicks himself quickly. You're not going to reassure him because you don't know he needs to be reassured. You don't know anything because he hasn't told you. 

You mumble something too low for him to hear. 

"What?" he asks gently. "I can't hear you." 

"I asked him because I thought if-" You stop. Steve watches your hesitation turn to distress and steps forward to take your wringing hands into his. 

"Don't do that," he says quietly. 

You stop rubbing your wrists. "I'm trying to tell you." 

"I know you are. Don't wind yourself up over it. Tell me slowly." He doesn't like this expression you're wearing. So unlike you. He wants to see your quiet face again, your features settled, your eyes bright. He bends at the waist to talk to you. "What did you think?" 

"I thought if anybody in the world could make you jealous, it would be Eddie." 

He works your clenched fingers open, rubbing his thumbs over the small creases in your skin. His heart thrums in his chest.

He smiles at you. "Now why do you wanna make me jealous?" he asks fondly, a hint of smugness creeping in. 

You raise your eyes to his and squeeze his hands. "Steve," you say pleadingly. "Don't be cruel." 

"About what?" he asks, his eyebrows pinched together in confusion.

"I know that I'm- I'm stupid, and distracted and-and I miss things, and-" 

"Hey. That's not true." 

You overflow.

"No, it is, it's true." You pull your hands out of his grip and cross them over your torso. Your eyes squint in efforts to stop the tears he can see gathering from spilling over, and your mouth twists up into a bitter smile. "Everyone says so. I- I don't know why I thought you would like me back." 

"You like me?" he asks weakly. 

You stop. "I thought you knew." 

Steve's eyes flit in disbelief from your eyes to your lips, wondering if you've truly just said what you said. 

Fine, whatever, he can be brave too. "If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks. 

The upset wanes from your face and is replaced by a lighter kind of lovely. You pout. "Why would you ask me that?" 

"Do you want me to kiss you?" he tries again. 

"I don't know what the right answer is." 

"I could…" Steve taps under your chin with his knuckle and lifts your face to his, eyes skipping between yours, the circle of your pupils dilated and shining. "I could never be cruel with you." 

You wrap your hand around the crook of his elbow. 

Understanding moves between you. He can pinpoint two realisations on your face as they happen. The first, that he isn't toying with you. That Steve had no idea how you felt, and that he hadn't known you were trying to make him jealous. The second, that you're about to be kissed. 

"You were right," he says, his thumb sliding over the apple of your cheek. 

"About what?" you ask, your eyes restless, clicking over each of his features in turn and getting caught on his lips.

He leans in, your mouths an inch apart. "Your date with Munson – I was jealous. But it's not about him. It's about you. You could've," he stops to laugh, bringing his second hand to the curve of your neck, "could've gone on a date with Keith and I would've been sick with it." 

"Really?" you ask. 

"Mm-hm," he hums lightly. 

Your eyes close. Steve hesitates still, can't believe that he hasn't moved in, but he needs to say it.

"If I tried to kiss you, would you let me?" he asks again, voice barely louder than a whisper. 

"Yeah, I'd let you."

His hands tremble with anticipation, a long time spent longing. He moves in, his ears pricked at the sound of your sweet inhale. A hitch, the same sound you make when you sleep beside him. The same sound you make when you're dreaming. 

He spreads his hand over your thigh and kisses you. 

Your lips are soft as a downy feather beneath his. You're shy, moving back as he moves forward, pliant under his guiding. He pets the juncture of your neck soothingly and pulls back fast, a short, chaste kiss. His lips burn. 

"Again?" you ask. 

He wades in carefully, worried to overwhelm you. You're like a wave cresting sand, falling back to push forward quickly. He's so elated to have his kiss returned that he sighs into you, palm spread wide over the dough of your thigh and squeezing carefully. He can feel your smile grow, your lips parting with it, the kiss inadvertently deepening. 

You pull back. "I'm sorry." 

His eyebrows furrow and he shakes his head. "For what?" he asks, rubbing your thigh. 

"Boys don't like it when you slip them the tongue on the first kiss." 

He blinks owlishly and has to step away from you to stop from laughing in your face, never at you, but laugh all the same. He smothers it with a cough and then doesn't bother, chuckling as he stands between your legs and throws his arms around you in a steel-armed hug. 

You giggle and bring your forearms to the back of his head. Your wrist craned, you sift your fingertips through his hair, nails running over his scalp fleetingly. 

"Right," he says. "Duh." 

"I remembered," you say, sounding infinitely pleased with yourself. 

He feels the heat of your body sink into his and wants to scream. The indescribable heat of your kiss plays over his chest, snaking tendrils. He feels weightless. 

"The second kiss though," he says. Strictly informative. "They don't mind it, the second time."

He moves his head away from yours to meet your eyes. They're lit with mirth. 

"Don't mind it, huh?" you ask knowingly. 

His cheeks ache with a grin as he pulls you back in. 

-

"You know, I saw you spying outside Enzo's," you say much later, your head tucked into Steve's chest.

He didn't know but he's not surprised. "Gonna cancel your date?" he asks.

"What date?"

"On Friday?" 

"That isn't a date. I joined Hellfire Club." 

Oh my god, he thinks. Eddie fucking Munson. "You're gonna have to kiss me again," he says morosely. He cheers up considerably quickly as you lift your chin, beaming.

𓆩❤︎𓆪

thank you for reading! | my masterlist

#steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington #steve harrington x you #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington drabble #stranger things fic #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 #stranger things #stranger things fanfiction

[clericofgale]

Spoilers for Patch 5 and the whole game.

I posted my thoughts about the new ending Gale got in patch 5 on Reddit first, but I might as well post it here with some revisions. I'll say it, I love the god Gale ending. But it is NOT his good ending to me. Before I would never have pursued it, but now it is tantalizing to say the least. I'm into it though Gale the mortal is still my preference.

"Gale Dekarios cuts a poor figure next to the wizarding prowess of 'Gale of Waterdeep. You like so many things about me I'd have sooner discarded…"

By ascending Gale, you are killing Gale Dekarios. The nerd that hits on you in front of everyone while you're covered in zombie blood, procced to infodump an entire tangent to complement you, and yet somehow stick the landing to hit you with the most romantic poetry you've ever heard. A sensitive man who wears his emotions on his sleeve and wants to make the world a more beautiful place. An artist of the weave and a poet. The owner of the most overbearing tressym in the world. The moment the spell was complete, Gale Dekarios died and Gale the divine was born.

Even then, why is god Gale now so enticing to me unlike ascended Astarion? Because he loves you. He wants you by his side as an equal. It's actually sweet and romantic, just like all of Gale's romance is. I'm nothing if not a sucker for a romance.

"Follow my Lead" "Show me more. Show me it all." "I want you to seize the crown and make us a new world"

BeMyGod is the name in the data file for the boat scene where Gale asks you if you'll be with him when he seizes the crown. I know file names can be arbitrary, but if you agree to his proposal, you really are asking Gale to be your god. It's so easy to say yes. You're in the stars, Gale says I want to show you so much more, but it's not worth it without you. All you need to do is say yes. You're angry at Mystra who demanded so much of Gale, caused him such suffering and won't lift a finger to help. So You say yes. You love him. He loves you.

When Gale ascends, even in 6 months he is a different entity. The devs indicate: "His posture/demeanor here should feel slightly more aloof/detached than the regular Gale - he's been immortal for six months, his ego is as powerful as his magic. The real Gale's insecurities still lurk beneath his godlike confidence, as does his love for the player, but this is clearly a Gale setting out on a darker path."

The Gale here is a twisted version of the one we loved. His flaws are worse, he good traits have mostly disappeared. Namely his kindness and tolerance to deprecating humor. He no longer tolerates any perceived slight or jab. He doesn't let go of his bitterness towards Mystra. His ego is large yet fragile. You saw a glimpse of it at the ritual circle scene if you succeed in upstaging him in magic. Now it's only gotten worse. Yes even his insecurity. If you rejected him after accepting the proposal, Gale says this.

Tav: No, I think it's the end. What happened to the man I once loved? Gale: He's the god he deserves to be. I achieved everything we hoped I would, and still I'm not good enough for you?

He's also lonelier than ever. His last 6 months were in isolation, with nobody he could trust while dealing with the crown and celestial politics. Immortals don't really have friends. They have allies and lovers. He stops talking to his mother who was so dear to him. He develops a spell to polymorph people into Tara, his oldest friend who rejects him after ascension. He then develops a spell that summons Shadowdark ale and forces people to dance and be happy, just like the vignette he told you about the Yawning Portal. The third spell is Power word: Ruin. he's finally back to speaking death into being with a single word, just like he used to.

Gale wanted to be a god to make a better world, but now he's a neutral god answering prayers from any alignment. He doesn't care if they are Thayan wizards aiming for lichdom or unscrupulous Amnian merchants. Ambition is a neutral idea. Ambition also drives healers to develop a cure. For adventurers to slay monsters.

What's the most noticeable remaining good trait in Gale? Gale still loves you. He's much nicer to you if romanced. He refuses to be with you if you don't go with him because he doesn't want to hurt you. He admires your good heart if you want to honor the pact with Raphael. He calls you my love just like before. He will fulfill the promise sealed that night in the astral sea. All you have to do is say yes. And the ascension cinematic is a callback to the romance scenes from before.

"Follow my lead. Close your eyes. I have so much more to show you."

And you know what. I'll go with you. Even if we will eventually lose both our humanity in our folly, and dreams become nightmares. Even if I'll come to regret that night when I said yes to the mortal you, I don't want you to be lonely. Where ever you go, I'll go. You'll always have me. And I'll always have you.

As God Gale would say… "A toast then, to our myriad ambitions. May we each get what we deserve."

#gale of waterdeep #gale dekarios #god gale #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 spoilers #Gale thoughts #Love makes fools of us all #Frankly I think the fact his love is genuine is genius #1k+ words

[moraxsthrone]

Kaeya fluff? Hell yeah

Imagine being the one person Kaeya leans on. For real, this man trusts no one and thought he would trust no one until you showed up. Now here he is, venting about his rough day at work while you run your fingers through his hair, reminding him just how much you love him. Maybe it's just me, but I think this man would MELT if you told him you want him romantically. Like, he's proud of how he can make you scream his name and all but having you say that you would be with him even without that? The man's dead, you killed him, but maybe he'll come back to you for a kiss ;)

Sorry, I don't think this is what you were asking for, but hope you like it anyhow?

anonnnnnn??? this is PERFECT!! it's even better than what i wanted?? skskskskssss. bless you, child, for leaving such a sweet delicacy in my ask box! 🥹💙

CW/NOTES — mention of sex but otherwise sfw. themes of low self-worth, abandonment issues, imposter syndrome (kaeya, not reader). fluff/comfort. gn! reader.

no, hun, it's not just you. you see, i've got quite a soft spot for lowkey insecure kaeya. it only makes sense??

i touched on this in my previous post, but i think kaeya secretly worries that you'll come to your senses one day and decide that being with him is more trouble than he's worth? he's scared shitless that he's inherently disposable (after what his bio father - and later, diluc - did to him) and probably suffers from a massive case of imposter syndrome when you tell him you're in love with him.

i think a big reason why he "peacocks" so much is bc he knows he's beautiful on the outside but thinks he's ugly on the inside and not worth sticking around for. beneath that cocky façade, there's a little boy who's terrified of being left all alone again. so he overcompensates by using his good looks and charming smile to win ppl over bc deep down he thinks that's all he's got going for him. of course you want to fuck him, he thinks. who doesn't?

but YOOOO when you touch his soul and kiss his scars, and you hold his heart in your hands like it's the most precious thing you've ever held? <i'm trying not to fucking cry here 😅> you hold it so close to your own heart and take care of it like it's yours (it is now, as far as he's concerned btw), kaeya fucking freaks the fuck out. he knows how to lose people. he's all too familiar with being discarded and abandoned.

but what he's NOT used to is being seen, accepted, and loved for exactly who he is, right to his very core. the first time you spend the night with him without having sex, he doesn't even sleep. he just lies there and watches you as tears blur his vision. he holds you and breathes in the scent of your hair as he kisses the top of your sleepy head, quietly thanking his stars for you and hoping his sniffling doesn't wake you up.

he'll know how it feels to be loved unconditionally and it's all bc of you. trust, this man will never step out of your relationship or do anything else to jeopardize what he has with you.

you're his home now, his center.

you're his present and his future.

you're his whole fucking life, his everything.

you're his person, the one who has his head in your lap, slowly brushing the tangles out of his hair with your fingers, leaning down to kiss his forehead and reminding him how much you love him. even and especially on his bad days when he needs that reminder the most.

#kel.answers 💌 #OMFFGGG ANON YOU MADE ME MAKE MYSELF CRY 😭😭😭 #but no frfr thank you for this 💙 #this is how i see and love kaeya #with my whole fucking heart (such as it is) #i need to write about this side of him more often #kaeya #kaeya alberich #kaeya x reader #kaeya alberich x reader #kaeya x you #kaeya alberich x you #kaeya fluff #kaeya comfort #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you

[theshoesofatiredman]

"do not lean on your own understanding; lean on God's understanding"

I actually am not capable of escaping my own consciousness. Any and all understandings that are not my own end up getting filtered through my own ability to understand.

"oh but God can just make you understand"

HMMM convenient that he can make me understand something now in order to justify this proverb, but when it comes to explaining suffering it's all "the Lord works in mysterious ways that we can never hope to understand."

I only have my own understanding to lean on.

"Your heart is deceitful. Your emotions fluctuate and you can't trust them."

This is like saying that if you're reading updates to a news article throughout the day, the article can't be trusted because it's changing. Just because things fluctuate, doesn't mean they aren't trustworthy. Emotions provide you information about your body and its needs. Just like the updated news article, some of it is going to be useful for making decisions and some of it won't be. Robust, emotionally intelligent education about managing our emotions and knowing what to do with them is necessary here. Our emotions aren't inherently false, nor should they be discarded wholecloth. Teaching people they can't trust their emotions is worse than not teaching people anything at all about how to deal with their emotions, because it comes with actively harmful practices.

Telling people they cannot trust their emotions, and that they can only truly trust a being outside themselves, hinders the development of healthy emotional regulation skills and increases susceptibility to abuse and manipulation.

#this is a proverbs 3 hate post #this teaching is probably one of the things that did the most long term damage #and I've had to spend so so so much time and energy unlearning it #exvangelical #ex christian #ex fundamentalist #ex fundie #ex religious #shoesofatiredman #proverbs #proverbs 3:5-6 #proverbs 3

[plisuu]

Happy Friday and welcome back! How about for Connor x Bull and "I'd rather deny my feelings than have to explain them" 👀

I've been sitting on this prompt for a while and finally have words for my thoughts! I didn't think anyone could be dumber than Connor and Cullen but I think these two really take the cake. wc: 950 @dadrunkwriting “So. You and Cullen huh?”

Connor looked up with a start from the laces of his boots as he tucked the tail ends of them into worn leather.

“Do we have to talk about this now?” he asked, trying and failing to appear as nonchalant as Bull did, who still laid lounged out across his bed, fully nude and head propped up on one elbow.

“No time like the present, boss. And if we’re gonna keep doing this, we’re gonna have to talk about it.”

Connor sighed in quiet resignation. He and Bull had been casual—as casual as Connor was capable of, at least, with his desperate and constant need for reassurance, trust, and consistency. Bull was accommodating, but Connor was acutely aware that this was an arrangement, something that they both pretended didn’t exist beyond the bedroom, with set boundaries and rules.

“Fine. What about me and Cullen?”

“Are you guys a thing?”

The question gave him pause. Were they? Nothing official, certainly. It was just a flicker of feelings, a connection through the things they had suffered, stupid stories shared over ale and deeply competitive chess games when they weren’t busy yelling at each other over the war table. They were no more of a ‘thing’ than this was, so he shrugged.

“No, not really."

Bull eyed him carefully, watching him shuffle around the room, gathering pieces of clothing that had been haphazardly discarded earlier that evening.

“That’s not what it looks like.”

“Oh? What does it look like, then?” Connor tried not to sound defensive, but the words came out harsher than he intended. He was always a little more on edge when it was time to leave, when he had to walk out of Bull’s room and pretend like nothing happened, that he was okay with it, that he didn’t want to simply curl up and sleep tucked into Bull’s side. That wasn’t the agreement they had though, so he tried to shove the feelings away, where he wouldn’t have to face them.

“I dunno. You seem close. Just wanted to know if you were serious about him,” Bull replied, pushing himself upright.

Another pause. Why did it matter? Connor shrugged on his coat halfheartedly, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles from being left in a crumpled heap on the floor. He was almost certain Bull was seeing other people, so why couldn’t he? So what if it was serious? And even if it was, he was in no position to ask Cullen for the kind of release he found beneath Bull’s hands.

“Would it be a problem if I was?”

“Depends.”

“On?”

“If you think we should keep doing this. If it’s still working for you.”

Connor felt his anxiety rising, panic creeping its way into his chest and making it difficult to breathe. He tried to swallow it down. What did he expect? Of course he was going to have to face this at some point—to ignore it would be selfish, cruel, keeping Bull trapped in their arrangement. He knew that Dorian was becoming more and more of a prominent part of Bull’s life, someone he could be with in public, someone that could offer a real relationship, something more than secrets behind closed doors. It only made sense that Bull was looking for a way out, a way to end things gently, so he could move on.

“If you don’t want to do this anymore, just say so.”

He couldn’t parse apart the look Bull gave him, and he felt his frustration begin to bubble over into tears that he tried to hide as he turned to the washbasin, splashing his face with the cold water. He shouldn’t be crying. This was supposed to be casual, for fun, for stress relief, there wasn’t supposed to be emotional entanglement. It wasn’t supposed to feel like drowning. It wasn’t suppose to feel like he was grasping for something to hang onto and gasping for air he couldn’t reach, like the falling feeling in the pit of your stomach when you expect the next step and it isn’t there.

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Bull grunted. The bedframe creaked under his shifting weight as he stood. “I just figured you’d want something more stable, and if Cullen is gonna be that person for you I don’t want to get in the way of that.”

“I don’t…” He didn’t want to break this off. It felt like the only thing keeping him anchored, the only thing that kept him sane through the torrent of emotions and sudden onslaught of responsibility and expectations, freeing him from the immense weight of it all, if only for a moment. It was selfish, he knew that, but he wanted to be selfish, just a little longer.

“I don’t want to stop,” he finally whispered.

“Then we won’t.”

The heat of Bull's chest pressed against Connor's back, and a gentle yet heavy hand rested on his shoulder, as if anything more might break him. He wished Bull would do more, wished he could do more, but knew he shouldn’t ask—he was already asking so much. He set his hand over Bull’s, resisting the urge to lace their fingers together, to press the warmth of it against his cheek, and nodded.

Bull only sighed in response. Connor wanted to imagine it was relief, that Bull wanted this as much as he did, and he closed his eyes against the guilt that was reflected back up at him in the basin—of himself, disheveled and half-dressed, and of Bull hovering over him quietly, patient in even this.

#dragon age #the iron bull #iron bull x trevelyan #iron bull x inquisitor #connor trevelyan #my writing #dadwc #why is connor so messy #and sad #quick someone teach him how to communicate before he explodes

[bestworstcase]

Your points about Salem and Cinder possibly being a fucked up mother/daughter relationship also puts her constant parallels with Ironwood and Winter in V8 into a very different light as well.

Ironwood and Salem, in their own dark and twisted way as a result of their culture/their circumstances loving the one person they consider to be their daughter, but differing ultimately in regards to what they chose to do about it.

Ironwood deciding that his own selfish desires and ideology mattered more than even the one woman he cared for more than most, while Salem basically dropping and twisting her ideals into a pretzel to help the one person she considers the closest thing to a replacement daughter for her dead daughters with Ozma.

Winter, thinking the world of Ironwood only to ultimately have to oppose him due to his betrayal of her and everyone else, vs Cinder thinking Salem is just Madame 2.0 due to Salem constantly stamping all over her trauma buttons by poor decisions and abusive actions born of her own trauma even as Salem, in her own fucked up way, is willing to do anything for Cinder if she truly asks for it.

It also frankly explains rather well why Cinder is so important in Salem's plan in a way that I haven't been able to pin down without that as a consideration. Cinder thinks it's because she's got some fancy storybook destiny that she needs to prove that she "deserves", and the audience being led on a red herring to think that it's only going to lead to her being discarded once Salem has no more use for her. When in reality it's because (again in her own fucked up way) Salem wants her surrogate daughter to get what she wants in her life (mixed with fighting a rebellion against the gods) because Salem knows exactly how Cinder feels about having her trust broken beyond repair and demonized by others.

And all of this occurring in the story arc where an overarching theme is of multiple parents (Dr. Polendina and Penny, Tai and Summer and Ruby Rose/Yang, etc.) being deeply flawed people who are willing to do anything and everything for the sake of their daughters.

Cinder.exe will just end up suffering a mental bluescreen when Salem ends up showing this in the most undeniable way possible, because it's so opposite to everything she understands about the world.

:)

give 8.4-5 (<- fault + amity) a watch with this reading in mind sometime. bc cinder’s relationship with salem and penny’s with pietro are directly compared, in a really interesting way:

PENNY: Why are you doing this? Why serve someone like Salem? CINDER: I don’t serve anyone—and neither would you, if you weren’t built that way! PENNY: …That is not… [She glances down, making eye contact with Pietro.] I choose to fight, for people who care about me.

<- amity is a really fraught place for penny to be confronted with this, both because it’s where cinder orchestrated her being ripped to shreds a year ago and because in order to get the comms satellite launched, penny had to let her dad remote into her system and literally use her body like a puppet and it is painfully obvious that she did not feel comfortable with that.

so… for cinder to come here and draw an implicit equivalence between salem and pietro and insinuate that penny is not free, that truly does get under penny’s skin. which i think is something that often gets overlooked, because it’s layered under the more obvious fact that cinder really doesn’t understand who or what penny is at all; but like, penny hesitates. it takes her a moment to figure out how to articulate that’s not true because there is a kernel of truth to cinder’s point. 

penny was built to be ironwood’s weapon. his perfect super-soldier. and now she that she’s defied him to do what she thinks is right, half the people she cares about have told her that she’s being evil and selfish and it’s her fault if everyone dies. and the other half told her she needs to go to amity and stay there and not help anybody, and she feels like a tool, she feels like she has a million things she’s supposed to do and none of them are what she wants to do. so she has all these mixed-up feelings about… what she was built for and what she chooses to be.

and like. in 8.4:

CINDER: I… I want to search for the winter maiden. I think that— SALEM: Did you hear that, my pet? She thinks; she wants. As if she’s done something to warrant me caring about either of those things.  CINDER: We’re just sitting and waiting. Without the maiden, the vault means nothing. Let me claim it for you.  SALEM: I will tell you when and where you are needed. CINDER: But your grace— [The Hound lunges around to snarl at her.] SALEM: I would like to think I have shown a great deal of patience over my many years walking Remnant, but I do hate repeating myself. You will remain here. Is that clear? CINDER: [lying] …Yes. Yes, of course. Without you. I am nothing.

vs 8.5:

PENNY: I can fix this. […] Our message is only a few minutes long. I can try to hold Amity in place for— PIETRO: Absolutely not! You’re in no condition to do something like this. Even just the temperature out there could… PENNY: It is our only option.  MARIA: She’s right, Pietro. We have to remember the big picture— PIETRO: I don’t care about the big picture! I care about my daughter! I lost you before; are you asking me to go through that again? No. No, I want the chance to watch you live your life.  PENNY: But, dad, I am trying to. PIETRO: …Right.

<- literally. literally the exact same argument. not just in terms of what the conflict is but the structure of the dialogue is identical. the interrupted statement of intention; the practical reasoning shot down; “but, your grace” vs “but, dad”—the difference is that where salem is masking, pietro wears his heart on his sleeve, and that allows him and penny to come to an understanding that she is going to do this and he’s going to sit in his fear and support her. whereas salem gets the false capitulation and false security. 

it’s pretty in-your-face (<- which i think supports the interpretation of salem’s motive being protectiveness twisting through her emotional walls) and it’s an interesting parallel to set up given that salem does, in the end, come to a similar resolution to step back and let cinder take risks. it telegraphs the possibility of constructive change, a choice to accept the fear instead of trying to force cinder into a position where the fear doesn’t exist. 

it’s also just darkly funny in a way. cinder kills penny twice and is directly the culprit for pietro’s intense terror of losing penny, and salem feels that same terror for cinder. mirrors. 

but yeah with ironwood and winter too, “i’ve chased a lot of shadows over the years, always expecting betrayal, but never once did i think it would ever come from you” vs “you chose to disobey my specific instructions, just to fail again. and… i’ve realized it’s all my fault.” and, “consider this my last order: step aside” vs “here i am holding you back, instead of lifting you up.” 

salem if nothing else takes cinder’s betrayal as a reason to reevaluate her own actions and consider what she did that gave cinder cause to disobey her, where ironwood is by this point completely disconnected from the reality that loyalty is a two-way street. 

and there’s something too in salem choosing not to stop at “it’s my fault” but fully articulate that she understands why cinder did what she did; it’s of a piece with the way she responds to cinder in 8.14, a conscious reversal of “she thinks, she wants, as if she’s done something to warrant me caring”—she does care, and she has always cared, and it shows in how she speaks to cinder when she’s not trying to prove she doesn’t care.

like. salem chose to put her trust in cinder—an enormous degree of trust, over and over again—without having any illusions about what sort of person cinder is. she knows cinder is singularly focused on what cinder wants. she’s unfazed by the disobedience because she knows she prevented cinder from getting what she wanted. whereas ironwood trusted winter because he molded her so well into the perfect lieutenant that he never imagined she could break from him, because he never understood there was more to her than the surface he sculpted. 

#salem is either going to save cinder’s life to the detriment of her own agenda #or let cinder go free before the beacon vault is found or opened #and it’s going to absolutely shatter cinder’s concept of herself and the world #long blue screen of death moment #THAT’S not how it works how did SALEM of all people miss the memo

[eorzeashan]

Minder, Minder

“Ensign, why don’t you go run a systems check– I need a minute with the agent.”

Raina turns to leave. “I’ll chisel the ice off the pilot’s seat for you,” She says, good-natured and obedient. Eight watches her form disappear up the ramp of the shuttle. She’s young, sweet, and terribly fresh: green in a way he hasn’t known since his Academy days. He’s not sure how she survived in the frigid wastes so long with such a chipper attitude.

Hunter seems to share his sentiments, judging by the slight disapproval in the fold of his arms and the impatience rooting his back foot to the ice floor. He’s at a crossroads for a decision, and Eight zeroes in on the words hanging off the thick of his lips. 

“Ardun Kothe’ll be happy,” He starts, his commander’s opinion relayed first, and Eight patiently waits for the relevant information that comes after the but. 

“But the girl…” There it was. “We agree that she needs to die, right?” Hm. Brutal as ever.

Not that he was complaining. They did agree on that. It was standard procedure; saw too much, heard too much, not useful enough to me, a liability– all judgements that usually ended with new blood buried somewhere deep underground. He knew it by experience and the intimate familiarity of being one such liability in a long age past. You’re a weakness, his mentor had said to him without an ounce of warmth in her voice, looking down on him wheezing for breath on the cutting board floor, unless you become a knife in my belt, I’ll leave you with all the rest.

She’d then extended a blue finger to the misshapen trash bags piled up along the wall, where the remains of her ex-lovers sat in neat little pieces, stinking of chemicals that stripped the hairs from one's nose.

He learned his lesson quickly.

People weren’t people to agents. They were loose ends. Trash to be discarded. Tools to be used. Mouths that talked too much, and eyes that watched too closely. It went the other way around, too.

Which was why Raina Temple could not suffer to live– yet against the voice of Nosta that lived eternally in the cracks of his soul, Eight found that he did not want to sink her body beneath the ice floes with rocks in her gutted stomach, a meal for the fish below.

“She’s not a threat,” He decided, not a retort, his words paced and even.

Hunter doesn’t look convinced. His fingers tighten on his forearm. There’s an unamused twitch in his second eyelid, and his shoulders are set square– relaxed from the outside, bordering on tense from within. Ready to act, while trying to play off that he is. More words stand to crawl from his throat, just above the bulbish shape that is a feature in his species. They called it an apple, like the fruit. Eight lingers over how much force he’d need to break the skin when biting it.

“She’s Imperial, she knows about the Starbreeze, she’s seen me, she’s seen you…” Hunter trails off, and Eight can see the metrics ticking in that wound brain. Eight wouldn’t call it nervousness, but Hunter…is cautious. Too cautious in all the ways he is not. Hunter skims just past paranoia and into the territory of bad faith; good for a classical agent, but too much fear begets no rewards– and jumping at shadows opens just as much room for mistakes as excessive trust.

“If she becomes a problem, I’ll take care of it,” Eight answers with a quirk of his brow, as if the danger she poses hardly warrants a second thought. To him, it doesn’t. She’d never last against him. No reason to send her back to Saganu in a body bag, and he suspects the Aristocra would be less than pleased if he did. 

Hunter’s eyes dance over his face, searching for the source of his confidence with pinpricks of wariness in the minute twitches of his face before he visibly relaxes, taut muscles released from their focus. Like a sigh, his readiness dissipates…but Eight is staring at the intent rolling up from his throat’s apple to his chin, resting on the bottom of his lower lip, weighed with purpose and a bit of that high that all with even a hint of power relish in before the utterance. Something animal in him rises to its hackles. It smells of the leash, the gentle tug before the pull. The freedom with which cruelty is spoken and the safety his prey finds in it. 

Eight has waited long enough.

“Just to be sure, though,

I’m putting a command in your brain. 

O n o-"

Eight lunges forward. The hut is small. The distance is laughable.

"M a"

He sees the shock bleed into Hunter’s eyes as he automatically falls backwards at his sudden advance. His back hits the wall, Eight’s hand fisting his collar.

"T o-"

He slams him against the slope of the hut. The impact rattles Hunter’s skull to an explosion of dancing stars, interrupting his verbage–it happened in the blink of an eye, and before he can so much as get another sound out, the Cipher’s moving again. A bit of spittle escapes Hunter’s mouth, mixed with blood. Too fast. Far too fast. What the hell?!

He’s not going to make it. No room to reach his blaster. Nowhere to get distance. The word, idiot! He tries again, fury welling up in his chest for being played a fool. 

Hunter blinks. Eight’s lips are on his, hotter than a molten star, softer than synth-silk.

His brain shuts off. He feels the other’s tongue slip through, wet, mixing with his saliva.

It takes him a second to register it probing the walls of his mouth, his senses overloaded with fever. He’s struggling to catch up, but he does, and a fierce hunger overtakes him as he claws at the Cipher agent’s back and pulls him closer into his space, their mouths battling for dominance, searching for just the right way to lock together as he eats him alive for more, more, more. His fingers trail down his nape as he bites his lower lip, tastes the wetness there and Eight moans into his mouth– the sound shooting straight down to his hidden pistol. Filthy like a whore.

Yeah. That’s more like it, Cipher. 

Just as he’s in the throes of kissing him senseless, the small part of his brain that has been screaming warnings at him breaks through the haze of his desire and he’s hit with remembering exactly what he’s here for.

The keyword! 

Hunter’s glazed eyes shoot open, the cold shock of recollection assaulting him like water dumped over his head. He shoves the agent away from him– did he really think he could seduce him out of a command? Cheap trick. He sneers.

…Only to find that the agent wasn’t budging.

Eight’s formerly closed eyes are wide open and staring straight at him. From here, he can see the wild glint in his eyes, light reflecting off the obsidian edge of his irises, dizzy with carnivorous desire and a gut-plunging intensity that makes Hunter think he’s been stabbed. Those dark eyes are the black rocks dotting the bay above a sea cliff, and he feels their pull keenly, the call of their void. 

It takes Hunter a moment to find out why.

A white-hot pain overtakes him. He tries to scream, but it doesn’t make a sound besides bouncing uselessly around in his throat. Iron, wet and heavy, gushes forth inside his mouth. The knee jerk reaction of pulling away from Eight sparks even more of that terrible pinch, the stretch of ruined flesh and his tongue alight with the kerosene of suffering– 

You bitch!

Eight’s cheeks are flushed now, and he can see the shy grin that extends from both sides of his face, painted with driblets of red.

He lets go after what feels like an eternity, taking one step back to admire his handiwork. Hunter falls to his knees, gagging and choking, blood leaking out of his ruined mouth. His tongue lolls, swelling with the inflicted bite mark of the other agent, flopping uselessly to the side as he tries to hurl swears at Eight but can only mush malformed invectives together that feel as mutated as his damaged digit.

His eyes spell of murder.

Eight wipes the runoff from his lips with the side of his hand, smearing it with red.

Amidst his rage, he hates himself for the arousal that emerges seeing him so bloodstained. The pool of want settles within the acid of his stomach.

He wants to kill him. He wants to kill the girl in front of him. He wants to have him choke on air for a week. He’s never wanted so badly to drag someone to a closet and lock them in there with him until they beg to do anything but know his touch. He still can’t say the word, and he wants to yell and scream for being in this position. 

Eight’s expression is orgasmic. 

“Mind your tongue,” Eight purrs with as much satisfaction as an overly-fed vine cat, “Minder Seventeen.”

—--------

Kothe confronts him about it later.

“Did you do that to Hunter?” It’s an innocent question, posed with that no-nonsense tone of a father trying to parse who took a cookie out of the jar. I’m not mad, just disappointed, says the stern set of his jaw. Eight doesn’t turn around to look at him from where he’s sitting crosslegged atop an empty weapons crate that Saber emptied. The spymaster waits for his answer.

He slurps a mouthful of instant MRE. Chews the noodles a little. “Dogs will bite if you pull the leash too many times.” He explains, in between a cascade of pasta falling from his mouth. Sluuuurp.

Ardun sighs. “I don’t understand why you boys are fighting, but I trusted Hunter with the codeword for a reason. If there’s a problem, I want you to tell me, Legate.” He says firmly, with a tired air to his stance. “We’re a team. We don’t hurt each other.”

“Already told’ya.”

Another sigh. “Because Hunter hasn’t talked to me either, I’ll let it go– but only this once." Ardun's tone is deadly serious. "I won’t tolerate dissension or hurting the other members of this cell. Time’s short and there’s too much at stake for in-fighting... I hoped you'd understand that. We’ll discuss this again another time.” Eight feels the air waft off the swish of Ardun’s cape as he exits the room, left alone with his lukewarm noodles.

Hm. He sips the broth thoughtfully. He didn’t use onomatophobia this time either. 

Out of the corner of his eyes, he spies something orange around the corner. He felt it before, staring at his lips. Eight smiles and wipes a stray bead of liquid from his mouth, smearing it across the back of his hand for his secret voyeur. 

The visitor quickly disappears. It’s fine, though.

He always comes back. 

#swtor #swtor fanfiction #swtor hunter x imperial agent #me seeing hunter stuff lately: wow! I wanna do that too! #me after writing this: ah. #tw dubcon #tw blood #oc: orradiz #admin writes #suggestive #hoth funtimes with dude who read too much theory of consumption #*family feud voice* YES! KILL! #little bit of nosta cameo in there too plus raina somewhere not knowing what is happening on this gay earth. #also ive had this idea since xmas but forgot about it until now #swtor hunter

[ravenbloodshot]

Juyeon- The Boyz....Insecurities vs Confidences

Insecurities

He's insecure about having romantic interest in a person and the love never being reciprocated (he may fear a lover falling out of love with him). I don't think he's the type of guy to do well in sex only relationships or even during those moments in relationships when the couple fights and may give each other silent treatment , he could really break down and feel really hurt by silent treatment (not giving him love/attention). I don't know if you guys have ever seen the video of an experiment done on a baby where the mom at first plays with the baby and gives it attention then suddenly acts cold/unresponsive (its like a test to see how parental neglect effects kids). My point is the babies reaction when the mom starts to 'neglect' the baby is quite a similar reaction Juyeon would have when feeling 'neglected' by a lover or friend. (The link please watch to get my point 👉

He can feel like he's not doing enough or bringing enough value to his group. I wonder if he wishes to be the shield or sacrificial lamb to protect the ones he love (he hates to sit by and watch others suffer which could lead him to do dumb things in the name of protecting others, martyr vibes).

He has very depressive and self depreciating thoughts about himself at times. He really could have a hard time seeing what others see in him (like fans), not knowing why they like him and if he ever made a mistake, he wonders if they all would still love him or discard him. (Juyeon is the type of person that when he's feeling good about himself, he feels like a KING. But when he's feeling bad, he's the 'scum' of the earth, in his eyes).

He's insecure about his lack of power sometimes. Especially when it comes to being an idol, some actions are out of his control a lot and could make him feel very small when he doesn't have a say/voice.

I don't think Juyeon should be alone when he has his depressive episodes. For some people, being alone is what they need to feel better. But for him, being alone will just validate his warped opinions of "he can only rely on himself, and himself isn't good enough either", he really needs the care and company of loved ones during these times.

He's insecure about how sensitive and emotional he can be

Confidences

He's confident when he's using his power (whether physical, financial, mental etc..) to protect others and fight for what he believes in. Juyeon definitely is a sort of freedom fighter in a sense, and he isn't afraid to become violent if he has to. He can tap into his masculinity and is comfortable in that energy

Juyeon is confident when he's behaving fatherly (may like kids or just taking care of others). He may like to be the one that gathers people up to have a big dinner and spend quality time together. Awww the vibes I'm getting is so sweet, like when Eric said Juyeon cuddled up with him and spent time with him since he knew Eric had no family in korea to visit during the holidays. Juyeon is definitely a pleaser and caretaker, very comfortable in that role.

Juyeon may be confident in doing his job. Like he knows about the in and outs of the idol industry and what it takes to look good, attract fangirls. He knows how to pose his body the right way at a photoshoot, he knows when to throw finger hearts at the fans and when to act coy, he knows how to make the girls wish they could be with him and the guys wish they could be him .......he just knows what it takes to be the hot celebrity type (if you were an idol that wanted to know the fine details of what it takes to make it in the industry, go to Juyeon, this boy knows every trick in the book).

Juyeon may be confident in his ability to argue/debate. May like doing it too.

He trusts his judgement, like he doesn't second guess his decisions and is quite adventurous/spontaneous. Even when he has no idea what a venture might take him, he still is confident and excited about doing something new and unknown

The Joke Is on You is a song that fits this readings energy

#kpop readings #kpop #kpop tarot #juyeon the boyz #tbz juyeon #juyeon #capricorn sun #the boyz tarot #spotify #Youtube

[melonminnie]

Hello can you do for me one shots

Tsundere Isis (from into the light once again) x witch fem reader headcanon

Isis doesn't not trust the reader at all because they don't have enough information on her and besides takes his sister attention away but actually reader is runaway slave from different contry to there world with powers

Can you make it angst and little fluff in the end like isis trying to apologize for his actions but it was a little bit to late

HE LOVES MY HEART SHAPED SUNGLASSES!! (He despises me with his entire soul) … (Isis x fem! Witch! Reader)

-TYSM FOR REQUESTING!! This was sort of really disappointing I’m sorry I’m not motivated I wrote this sick too so sorry :(

The boy looked at the papers again in disbelief. He couldn't believe it. Why couldn't they find anything about you?

It was irritating. You had become a mere parasite hanging around his younger sister. And no, the fact that you were a witch didn't matter!

You could have easily cast a spell that made his younger sister adore you. Hell, you were the first person she spoke to after him.

And don't get him started on how nicely you acted around him. Isis didn't like that about you one bit. The way you'd ever so slightly get upset when he rejected your gifts.

Or the way he'd hear you cry to his sister, telling her that maybe you did something wrong, maybe it was the way you acted?

But even then, he'd still stare at your profile on top of his desk, his eyes seething with red.

To be fair and honest, Isis hated you. He hated you so much, yet he couldn't do anything about you.

It was like he was the only person witnessing your true nature.

But just like any other day, he quickly discarded the paper and left the room, heading to his sister.

The blonde lifted his hand and was going to knock on the door when he heard that voice.

"It's okay, y/n, don't cry," he heard his little sister console y/n. "I'm glad you opened up about your past. You've suffered tremendously. You're no longer suffering," she reassured the girl again.

The boy grew curious. As much as people would admit, they'd hoped the prince had grown, maybe just maybe, feelings for you, justifying all of his actions towards you.

Soon, Isis found out that you, in fact, were not from their dimension. You had somehow teleported here and escaped your past as a slave.

So as soon as he heard that, he felt guilty. Yes, he'd never said it out loud, but it was eating him alive.

Isis stood there, as beautiful as he was. Y/n despised him. Yes, maybe she did like him or form somewhat of something called love towards him.

But this, this was pathetic in her eyes.

"I know I've been really rude to you for some time, so I hope you'd for-"

"I don't forgive you."

"I know it's not easy to forgive my actions, but-"

"Why should I? All you've done is hurt me! No matter how close I tried to get to you, you'd shut me out. Then you'd ridicule me for my emotions and the way I feel! You realizing you felt bad isn't going to make this better."

"You only feel bad because you found out my background." The witch stared at the man with hatred in her eyes, the same eyes he'd looked at her multiple times in the past.

#manhwa x reader #historical manhwa #Isis x reader #Isis de elmir #into the light once again #manhwa #fanfic #manwah #-Azuwritess

[vickyvicarious]

I like how Jonathan liked his letter of recommendation so much that he went and transcribed the praises in his journal to remember forever.

"THIS TALENTED BOY HERE JUST GREW INTO MANHOOD UNDER MY CARE. HE WILL NOT FAIL TO DO WHATEVER YOU PLEASE."

Jonathan: omg dad thinks I'm talented

HONESTLY. It's adorable of him. Like... I know I wrote that post about Dracula's takeaways, which are all horrible obviously. And I can see how people would take it as a weird way to phrase things/very open to sounding creepy from the get-go. But honestly, I think it was supposed to be pretty sweet.

“I must regret that an attack of gout, from which malady I am a constant sufferer, forbids absolutely any travelling on my part for some time to come; but I am happy to say I can send a sufficient substitute, one in whom I have every possible confidence. He is a young man, full of energy and talent in his own way, and of a very faithful disposition. He is discreet and silent, and has grown into manhood in my service. He shall be ready to attend on you when you will during his stay, and shall take your instructions in all matters.”

The initial expectation was for Mr. Hawkins to be the one coming, and Jonathan had to sub in. It's unclear exactly how long ago, but he did at least have time to do a little research about the area (as well as being involved in inspecting/choosing the property Dracula was buying; some of that may also have originally been Mr. Hawkins' job before it got delegated as he became too sick). Dracula has probably known for a little bit that someone named Jonathan Harker was coming instead of Mr. Hawkins, though probably not much more about him. @animate-mush had a funny post about how the specific wording Mr. Hawkins used may well have been meant to address specific concerns/desires of his client in regards to the type of employee he wanted. But even in doing so, I think everything he says is meant specifically as a compliment - possibly even in premature defense of Jonathan.

Some complaints that could be made (in general, not even by Dracula specifically): he's too young and inexperienced (we mostly all headcanon babyface Jonathan for a reason I think, and he's confirmed to be new to this specific role). He seems kind of retiring and quiet (there are spoilery quotes that support him giving off this impression, so it may have even been something someone objected to in the past at work for all we know). Can he be trusted to not talk about my business? What if I think of some new questions or need help with other paperwork while he's here, will he have the knowledge/willingness to handle that?

All of the things Mr. Hawkins says are kinda bringing up then discarding these objections. He's bragging hard, saying, I'm sick but my replacement is plenty good enough, I trust him completely. Sure, he looks young and quiet, but he is actually full of energy, trust me, he's gonna get the job done. He's loyal, he totally understands client confidentiality, he's gonna work super hard and will be sure to make up for any inconvenience of not having me there, and he can help you with whatever else you need. I practically raised him so I have trained him thoroughly and know all this from experience, he's gonna do great.

And Jonathan is absolutely super chuffed to hear it! Sure, the letter of introduction is a Thing with perhaps some established rules/expectations of format, and of course Mr. Hawkins isn't going to insult his own replacement, but perhaps he isn't usually this effusive. I kind of get the impression that Jonathan at least tries really hard to be grown-up and professional with his boss, despite also looking up to him as a father figure. And so not only being given this chance but getting to see a letter that proves how seriously Mr. Hawkins is taking him and how much faith he has in him... he's really really happy about it. Especially considering that he is brand new to all this, only recently having got confirmation that he passed his exam and is no longer a clerk.

This might be the first time in his career that he has been important enough to merit so official an introduction. It's possible that every other time has been more along the lines of "this is my clerk, Mr. Harker. You can entrust the documents to his care," or whatever. Much shorter, simpler, Jonathan more as an attachment to a more important employee than anyone notable in his own right. But that's not the case anymore! He's a solicitor now! And Mr. Hawkins thinks he is talented! (Dad is proud of him!)

#dracula daily #mr. hawkins #jonathan harker #anonymous #replies #i kind of imagine mr. hawkins thinking of jonathan as a son but not saying much along those lines out loud #he has mentored him and been kind to him and mina and everything #but never outright made it clear how much he loves them through words #and jonathan is never going to assume too far. so without that bigger proof he's more like 'mr. hawkins is very good to me. i think of him #like a second father' without getting into how exactly mr. hawkins views him in return #thus making the praise in the letter really nice to see bc hawkins just doesn't say those kinds of things too often in general #he more shows his trust in treating jonathan well/giving him advice or access to training/work that will help in his career

[renren-writes]

Honestly while I love KDJ while reading ORV, i do have to admit he’s kinda… asshole-ish here. BUT i do know it’s because we are invested in the pink thing, Dokja has always been a sort of asshole, but this time it irks me because I actually like Choi Eunbyeol and know she’s genuinely trusted him and did her best to keep him alive, only for him to be plotting her death.

It’s amusing and dreary if we were to make a comparison with Yoo Joonghyuk and his experience with a prophetess he had earnestly trusted, only for her to stab him in the back in the worst way possible because “she thought she knew better and the best path to the future and decided it was better off without Yoo Joonghyuk’s conscious help” and a whole lot of other complicated stuff i’m not gonna throw in. Because this? THIS IS KIM DOKJA AND CHOI EUNBYEOL!

Eunbyeol trusted Dokja because he was so helpful to her in the past regressions but this is just a nightmare in repeat, this is just the past repeating for Yoo Joonghyuk. Maybe she ought to understand that there were some regressions where Dokja was sincere and others where he plain out manipulated her. During these 21 regressions, which Dokja had wanted Choi Eunbyeol dead and which did not? Either way, she’s dead. And now in the 21st regression, it’s finally clear that this Dokja does NOT trust her and wishes she’s dead. Even tried pushing it.

This is realistically something Dokja would do — this is something he DID with Namwoon — and it makes my stomach churn.

I’m also honestly impressed that you were so honest with this dark and unsettling aspect of Dokja, who sometimes perhaps subconsciously treats the “characters” as pawns and will discard someone if they prove to be a liability and a “sorry excuse of a human being” (pfft as if everyone in the scenario were innocent…). Most authors just write Dokja as a pure good sacrificial suicidal bean, and he CAN be that, but at the same time there are times where he can be pretty callous, heartless, blind, selfish and downright scummy. These traits are often offset by his good, but it isn’t so fun when those are directed towards a character you like and whom you know is genuinely trying to save your life WHILE THE ONE YOU IDOLIZE IS OUT TO KILL YOU.

Honestly because Dokja is a “reader”, he sometimes gives me the feeling that he’s… not quite there. Might be because of Fourth Wall calming him, but take for example that he knows Yoo Joonghyuk so intimately because he has read his entire journey and no one is going to deny that, but here, here right now, the way he treats Yoo Joonghyuk as if “he shouldn’t be doing this, he should be killing Choi Eunbyeol” or “CEB is going to die anyway, killed by Yoo Joonghyuk” displays a degree of aloof, arrogance, dismissive ness and a kinda mastermind-like ego.

Kinda like how in Ragna Crimson, where Crimson sneers down at an unmoving Ragna who acts so familiar with him because he knows him from the future. “It pisses me off that you act so know it all with me.” or something like that.

THAT. Can get quite vexing.

And it’s at this point where we gotta reconsider… is Kim Dokja really any different from the prophetess who had betrayed Yoo Joonghyuk in his 2nd regression, at this point?

Only difference is that it was still an early stage and the other people were actively thwarting him. And perhaps he didn’t wish to make Choi Eunbyeol suffer like YJH had.

But. He wanted Choi Eunbyeol to die.

Kim Dokja acts so confident, so arrogant, in that the plot will endure as long as Yoo Joonghyuk is alive and he makes sure he doesn’t die. So much that he wants CEB dead so this pink thing will finally stop being a chaotic variable in the novel and he can continue being in control of variables as it’s reader, so that Yoo Joonghyuk can stop acting so NOT like him.

That’s a type of arrogance in itself. It makes me wish to see a world/timeline where the timeline is SCREWED because Choi Eunbyeol dies and Kim Dokja realizes his mistake started when he subconsciously started becoming like Anna Croft.

How does it end? IDK. Perhaps they meet an enemy which would’ve been resolved if CEB was alive (she’s become cheat like YJH) or something. But to my indulgent mind, a possible scenario is Yoo Joonghyuk in love and in denial until he sees Choi Eunbyeol die, and right then and there he decides that it’s a doomed timeline anyways, and decided to start over.

.

(Then it’s another round of angst, because Choi Eunbyeol doesn’t exist anymore after the third regression.)

this is a kickass analysis anon!!!! i will admit i'm kind of a fan of dokja's more scheming and conniving moments because i'm a big fan of bastard-type characters in general, and having him live up to his fandom nickname of rat 1 is just a fun time when writing (especially when eunbyeol had no clue up till now he was desperately wanting her dead). me and shio kinda talk about his dynamic with her a lot between chapters since it does have some parallels to yjh and anna croft in the second round, but it's also got a funny, fucky dynamic that genuinely did throw dokja for a loop in some of the previous regressions. spoilers under the cut if you're okay with them!

essentially the past kdj's that eunbyeol's met have either had trouble telling if she was a character or immediately clocked she was a character based on first impressions with her. with the round they were both thrown off the bridge, he didn't know she was a character and wasn't able to clock her as one because she was thrown after kdj and didn't hear the deciding factor that was their conversation, only had theories that she was a regressor from real life which was why she had something like Sage's Eye.

in this regression he's very positive she's a character, but a one-bit character who barely got a mention in the whole novel, which he now has a revised edition of that shows her in the 41st round! it's clued him in that something isn't right, especially since the eunbyeol of the 41st round is supposed to be a prophet, not a regressor, so this amount of stuff being so wrong with her existence at just the 3rd round is enough to warrant him putting her head on the chopping block. she has all these stolen skills and he's heard her theorise that if 4th wall hits her enough, it'll kill her dead, but now that he's got king of no killing, he has to find alternative ways -- not realising, or maybe even being fully aware and thinking they'll get over it, that the real characters he wants to invest in (aera and yjh) will have an eternal vendetta against him if he orchestrates that death in any way. he's working on the knowledge that yjh treats his companions as tools up until a certain point, believing he'll get over them dying if he can still work with the worldline in a cohesive way without them, but hasn't taken into account the amount of shit the man's gotten for doing that from his current companions wheeze

kdj is just in for the rudest of awakenings and i'm here for it!

#ren speaks #free dinner fic #absolute DELIGHT of an ask to wake up to btw thank you so much anon #love seeing y'all theorise and analyse hehehe

[goldammerchen]

notes and ideas starting after the wall (too much use of 'feel'):

gil moves in lud's house, first time they share a roof in decades.

economy issues make him have a little of fever but otherwise fine.

...until he needs to be bedridden, around the same time other issues appear.

(turns out a country being gone one day to another is a shock to anybody starting from him; a new system, unhappy about how the transition it's being done, and feeling belittled—he had enough bad experences for his glasses to not be [too] rose-tinted, but has ostaIgie too).

i hc lung scarring from illnesses and battles from before the great war, the chemical war made matters worse. tendency to suffer pneumothorax: shit collapses again and again.

POSSIBLE "GAME OVER", dies here. That could be a oneshot...

...i prefer him living though. his health gets better enough to leave the bed.

aimless, starts travelling around [both] berIin[s], a lot, then further east, breaking into empty places from people leaving to the west. mixed feelings—understands 100% but can't help but feel abandoned and discarded.

does something REALLY stupid while drunk, has an accident, completely alone...

second possible GAME OVER, another oneshot.

stays dead for like a week, under snow, when revives except issues from resurrection and hypothermia, his fever and cough are gone.

option 1: he tells bran about his accident, recives solace only after a fight.

option 2: he tells nobody what happened. in any case...

...lud gets feverish. gil feels empty.

also [spoilers i'm keeping to myself]. nothing is quite ever the same, for a second time in less than a decade.

being retired, he sees friends and fam way less. either a) stays in contact through the phone or slow internet; b) almost no contact with them :) [also nobody trusts him so he isn't allowed in meetings at home or world ones yet] [also no travel allowance]

mainly berIiners (and maybe bran and the others) interact with him, when he isn't just watching tv / on the computer: all or nothing man, he either leaves for days or stays home for days.

things get better! it greatly helps getting back a travel allowance, being allowed to go in the bundes.tag and bundes.rat [+] sometimes with lud or other siblings, and going to some world conferences...

...until he starts doubting if he should see the next century / millenium. he knows he shouldn't think that, but feels more part of the past than the present, perhaps belonging more to a museum than to, whatever he is supposed to do now.

existencial crisis is back and with revenge! doesn't want to bother his *younger* brother...

1999 + 2000 + 2001 birthday(s), anniversaries, christmas and new years are shitty. avoids lud and the usual ones during the holidays 2-3 years in a row, promises being fine.

(lud and maybe others finally learn about certain accident).

the crisis runs its course, and during the worst other siblings step forward (a ghost in particular is happy about this).

the 300 anniversary in january is still weird.

not mentioned: ot7 interactions

#i feel stupid. gn! #postwall #killed gil. again #fic wips #fic wip #ask 2 tag #long post #sr. tnddr

[callofdooty]

For the ship bingo, I'm gonna ask for the Ghost Husbands, Elias x Rorke

OKAY GHOST HUSBANDS LET'S GO

SPOILERS FOR CALL OF DUTY: GHOSTS!!!

Ahhh, my favourite divorcees.

This shit has so much fucking potential. We've got the memes, we've got the angst, we've got the potential genuine FEELINGS.

A well-rounded ship, and one that I can't help but adore despite its ridiculousness.

Like. Thinking about Elias who loses his wife, a woman he loves so dearly. He's a man with a lot on his shoulders. And then it only doubles when Rorke falls. Not only has his (probable) best friend just disappeared and probably even died, but he has reason to believe it's his fault. He probably feels like it was all on him. He was the one to drop Rorke, whether he wanted to or not. Doesn't matter if it was "for the better of the team" that man went through Hell with him. That man built a team - near enough to a family - with him.

And now he has to fill in the space left behind. He has to lead the Ghosts, he has to raise and protect his two sons alone. He has to prepare his sons for the worst. Elias shoulders a lot of heavy burdens upon Rorke "dying".

And oh? What's that?

Knock knock, it's the angst mallet! Time to break your fucking heart into smaller pieces because Rorke isn't actually dead, and it's sooooo much worse than if he'd just died!

Rorke went through another kind of hell. And it's one he went through alone. No doubt in my mind that Elias felt responsible, even though the Federation are the ones that actually fucked him up.

And Rorke. Rorke was left behind. Dropped. Discarded. By his own team. His family. The people he spent years training and surviving with. They'd left him to die.

And now he was going to make sure they suffered just as he did. Especially the man he thought he could trust the most.

I think the both of them individually knew that one of them would die by the other's hand. In Elias' last moments, he was filled with fear for his boys; filled with fear for their future- the world's future. But I also think a small part of him, right in the back of his mind, knew that it would come to this sooner or later. An inevitable fate that he should die by the man he'd failed. A man that he'd stuck beside for years, through so many hardships.

In a sense, it was only fair that one of them would be the other's end. Long awaited justice; or a conclusion that should have occured over 10 years ago.

Unfortunately, the pettiness of Rorke was only worsened. He didn't want fair. He wanted retribution. So Elias does not die with any relief, as he knows the feud does not die with him; does not leave the Earth as he does. And instead it plants its roots in his corpse with the sole desire to flourish and gruesomely bloom in the hearts of those he loves most.

Is it a selfish desire, to wish yourself as the one to vanquish bitterness - to shatter darkness - with your last breath?

Well. Rorke did say Elias only thought of himself. Perhaps, in a twisted way, he was right.

Anyway these two are goofy as shit I really hope to see more of these dumb bastards in the future!

#doot's bingo shenanigans #call of duty ghosts #gabriel rorke #elias walker #long post