There are things he knows about Lyall Surana that now no one else will ever know. They are not his memories, but he hoards them all the same, like the desperate clutch of his fingers can somehow keep the impression of a man whole and unaltered, as if through sheer bloody mindedness Zevran will preserve the Warden exactly as he was for the rest of his days, and not the mythical figure he is beginning to become. When Lyall was eleven he was egged on by a fellow apprentice and tried to levitate himself to the high windows of the Tower, but lost concentration halfway up and broke his nose on the way down. Lyall Surana's specialties may have been all bright lightning and scorching flame but his favorite magic was a warming spell for cold feet at the bottom of a bedroll. For as long as he'd known him, Lyall has had nightmares about being trapped in the ravaged remains of his former home. Lyall Surana didn't mind being woken up in the morning so long as the waking was gentle. Lyall Surana loved tomatoes and tolerated fish and hated pickles. Lyall Surana bit his nails. Lyall Surana loved him and that was the last thing Lyall ever said to him. Zevran runs over these things in his mind like a tongue runs endlessly over a broken tooth, to remind the mouth of its jagged edges. He must, because Lyall Surana will never say or do or tell anyone of any of those things ever again, because Lyall Surana is dead, and Zevran's heart along with him.
These are all taken from the toolset (mostly under âcussâ in the soundsets, but also from various bits of dialogue), organized for your convenience.
These are Dragon Age: Origins ONLY. There are no files that are human-readable for DA:A, DA2, or any DLC or expansions.
Not English the Kingâs Tongue
Brasca! (Zevran)
Vashedan! (Sten)
Pretty normal
Alas!
Blast it all, anyhow!
Blasted bastards!
Blech. (Sandal)
Blood and ashes.
Blood and honor!
Bloody blast it!
Bollocks.
Cripes.
Crud!
Curse me for a fool!
Cursed for a fool!
Curses!
Confound it! (Flemeth, of all people)
Damnation!
Drat!
Fiddlesticks!
Blast and blazes!
Blast and damnation! (Morrigan)
Blasted curses of a thousand misfortunes!
Blood and damnation! (Leliana)
Burn it all!
Fire and death!
Dirt and spit!
Flaming bastard.
Garbage!
Lazy, slack-jawed louts.
Miserable wretch.
Of all the blastedâ!
Of all the cursedâ!
Of all the infernalâ! (Riordan)
Of all theâ! (Leliana)
Oh dear.
Oh, bother!
Oh, for pityâs sake!
Oh, poppycock.
Oh⊠blast it! (Alistair)
Phooey!
Shoddy piece of crap!
Sod it all!
Son of a bitch!
Son of an inbred!
Tarnation!
Thatâs a stinker! (fade!Cailan)
Thatâs swill!
Those bloody whoresons.
Thrice-cursed whorespawn.
Two-faced bastards.
Elves
Bleeding thorns!
By the lost Dales!
Fenharelâs teeth!
Mythal'enaste!
Slap me around and call me a wild sylvan! (Shianni)
Well punch me in the teeth and call me a wild sylvanâŠ
Invocations of Andraste
By the Lady!
Andrasteâs ashes!
Andrasteâs breath!
For the love of Andraste!
For the love of Lady Andraste!
Ladyâs breath!
Merciful Andraste!
Oh, Andraste, help meâŠ
Oh, for Andrasteâs sake.
Oh, for the love of Blessed Andraste!
Oh, for the love of the Makerâs Bride.
Well, throw me in a fire and call me Andraste!
Andrasteâs clothing
Andrasteâs holy knickers!
By Andrasteâs burning under-drawers!
By Andrasteâs dirty socks!
By Andrasteâs holy knickers!
By Andrasteâs sword!
Andrasteâs ass
Andrasteâs ass!
Andrasteâs fat ass!
Andrasteâs lily-white ass!
Maferathâs hairy arse!
(bonus Andrasteâs husbandâs ass due to not having another category in which to put it)
The Maker
Great Maker!
Holy Maker!
Maker damn you for a fool!
Maker-forsaken piece ofâ
Makerâs beard!
Makerâs Blood.
Makerâs breath! (by far the most common Thedas-specific curse)
Several people requested magic-related generators, so hereâs a fairly large mage generator! I tried to include a mix of character design and development categories, though of course youâll need to do a bit more developing for a fully-rounded character.
Iâd love to see your creations, if you wanna tag âcharacterdesigninspirationâ in any drawings you post from this!
To Play:Click and drag each gif or take a screenshot of the whole thing.
This writing advice was so helpful that it deserved its own picture heading.
A huge part of writing is cause and effect, but when worrying about conflict, resolution, characters, the plot as a whole, and more, we tend to forget about this and our stories end up being described as âthis happens and then this happens and then this happensâŠâ
So a piece of writing advice from Matt Stone and Trey Parker addressing this completely changed the way I plot and I ended up flying through my outlines with full plots in a very short amount of time. Hereâs the advice:
When you are outlining/summarizing your story, you should be able to put âbecause of thisâ or âthereforeâ between each scene/event.
This keeps the story going. It connects everything together to make it one narrative instead of a series of slightly connected short stories. Once you start describing your story as âthis happens and then this happensâ, then youâve got a problem. Everything should transition easily in a connected narrative.
This might seem like an obvious thing, but I know a lot of writers, including myself, who tend to forget about it.
5 ways to increase/decrease suspense in your writing
Suspense is one of the trickier parts of writing to manage effectively because, as the author, you canât experience your story the way a reader does. If you donât have enough suspense, it can be difficult to keep your readers interested. If you have too much, frustrated and stressed-out readers might throw your book against the wall. Too much suspense can even backfire - if you try to keep your readers constantly on edge, they can stop taking things seriously and the end result is as though you never included any suspense at all.
So how can you tell if youâve reached the right balance? Unfortunately, I canât answer that for you. Some things really do require feedback from honest and insightful readers. Once you have that feedback, however, there are easy tricks to adjusting the level of suspense without a drastic re-write. Here are my five favorite methods.
Promises and Payoffs
INCREASE SUSPENSE by promising something huge and then giving your reader something unexpected. To borrow an example from Buffy the Vampire Slayer, imagine a teenage boy and girl sneaking into an empty building. Everything from the costumes to the lighting is designed to make you uneasy about the girlâs safety but, in the end, sheâs the vampire. Give the audience something sensational and they wonât be disappointed that you didnât deliver on what you originally promised.
DECREASE SUSPENSE by promising less than you plan to deliver. For example, if you plan to kill off a character as they walk through a dark alley, let them worry about being mugged rather than murdered. Not only is it less suspenseful, the payoff is more shocking.
Characters are Crucial
INCREASE SUSPENSE by shifting the focus to a character whoâs more involved in the action or one who has more at stake. Even if you have a single POV character, another can come in and demand that characterâs attention, along with the readersâ.
DECREASE SUSPENSE by focusing on a character whoâs more concerned with a secondary goal. Subplots are a fantastic way to give your readers some room to breathe.
Calm vs. Chaos
INCREASE SUSPENSEÂ by cutting back on the action. Suspense flourishes in the quiet moments when your characters have time to think and to anticipate what may be in store for them.
DECREASE SUSPENSE by giving your characters a big, exciting mess to deal with. Even when that mess causes more problems and puts more pressure on your characters in the long run, youâve still created an oasis where both they and the readers are too distracted to worry about how the big picture will pan out.
Devilâs in the Details
INCREASE SUSPENSE by concentrating on the details of the setting. Horror movies are great at this - every creak of a door, every shadow across a wall keeps the audience immersed in the experience and tense with anticipation.
DECREASE SUSPENSE by breaking the âshow, donât tellâ rule and allow exposition to help you move things along. You donât need to take readers through every aspect of your story in excruciating detail. Itâs okay to gloss over some things and it helps readers relax because they know youâre not going to be springing any surprises on them just yet.
Ticking Time-Bomb
INCREASE SUSPENSE by imposing a deadline that your characters struggle to meet. Itâs one of the oldest and most obvious tricks in the book, but very effective.
DECREASE SUSPENSE by allowing your characters to believe that the deadline has been met or pushed back. If they (and the readers) believe that theyâve accomplished their goal or bought themselves more time, it relieves pressure and allows everyone to relax until the truthâs revealed.
Theyâre more than a couple days away from the Circle, far enough to be out from under the long shadow of the templars, but Duncan keeps seeing his new recruit twitching out of the corner of his eye. Heâs sure the young elf thinks heâs being surreptitious, because his gaze never darts around when Duncan is looking at him directly, but as soon as his attention is suitably diverted, the furtive movement of the poor fellowâs head is enough to give Duncan an ache in his own neck, just by watching. Heâs pretty sure his recruit didnât sleep the first day, either, and instead spent the night crouched at the mouth of his tent, staring out into the dark. Perhaps his Harrowing was more tortuous than he let on, for all Duncan heard it was the quickest ordeal in many long years.
âThey wonât come after you,â he says at last, trying to be kind. âYouâre to be a part of the Grey Wardens now, and they shanât dishonor that.â They are walking alongside a field, sun shining hazily overhead, passing farmsteads on their way to Ostagar. Duncan has been setting a hard pace as they push onwards, but Lyall hasnât complained yet.
âWhat?â asks Lyall, as he whips his head back from where heâd been craning it towards a copse of trees, almost tripping over his own feet. âSer,â he adds belatedly, âsorry, I didnât quite catch that.â
âThe Templars,â says Duncan patiently. âItâs regrettable what happened to your friend, but theyâll honor the agreement we have with the Circle, and the Rite of Conscription.â
âWhat?â asks Lyall again, brow beginning to crease. âSorry, ser, I donât think I understand - â
âYou keep looking around like youâre expecting something to jump at you,â Duncan explains. Most of his recruits and fellow Wardens are older than this mage, fresh as he is out of his Harrowing. Itâs been some time since heâs shared company with someone so young.
âOh!â says Lyall, looking sheepish. âThatâs - Well - ,â he rubs at the back of his neck and gives Duncan a small, unsure grin. âI havenât been out of the Tower since I arrived there, and I arrived when I was very small, you see,â he says, hesitantly. He hikes his pack higher on his back. âSo everything is just... very  new. Ser.â
âVery new,â repeats Duncan.
âYes,â says Lyall, growing in confidence when Duncan does not interrupt him. âThe windows in the Circle tower are really only for light, and they canât be opened, so you canât really look out them,â he says, sketching the shapes of them in the air with his hands, âI just never knew everything was so different, outside! Wind, and stars, and real live birds not in cages! Iâve never walked so much in my life but itâs wonderful. I thought I caught sight of a herd of deer just a furlong back, and itâs - thereâs so much space - thereâs so much to see!â He stops to take a breath, eyes bright, spots of color high in his cheeks. âI just have so many questions, about everything,â he finishes, hands gesturing wildly at the trees, the sky, the tilled fields.
âWell,â says Duncan thoughtfully. He supposes thereâs no harm in indulging a young personâs curiosity. Itâs certainly better than he was expecting. âIf you have questions, I suppose you can direct them towards me, before we reach Ostagar.â
Lyallâs face lights up like one of his lightning spells. âOh! Thank you, ser!! In that case - um, I was wondering about your sword - â
At least, Duncan thinks to himself, the road to Ostagar will not be dull.
Later, after the worst of the cuts and bruises from Taliesen are seen to and the Redcliffe household (plus their own merry band) are settled in for the night, Zevran slips down the hall towards the Warden's room. He isn't surprised to see faint light flickering under the door, though it's quite late. He sidles up to the ornately carved wood, listening, then eases it soundlessly open.
Two candles limn their fearless leader in light where he is hunched over a number of dusty tomes and sheafs of papers, scattered across the large table near the fireplace. His brow is furrowed in concentration as he skims the pages, shoulders drawn up around his pointed ears, lips silently forming the words. Zevran watches him for a time, then pushes the door the rest of the way open and raps gently on the wood.
Lyall straightens and twists in his chair to face the door. When he sees who it is, his whole face softens in a way Zevran doesn't think he will ever tire of. âZevran!â Lyall says, voice lowered, smiling. "Come in, come in." He gets to his feet as  Zevran slips into the room and shuts the door behind him. "Did you need something?"
"I - " Zevran begins, and falters. Â He gestures with a hand to Lyall's person and brings it back falteringly, rubbing at an elbow. He's not entirely sure why he came in, in the first place. Lyall waits expectantly. "I - wished to see how you were, after today," Zevran says, trying to stall, and winces. "And you seem quite well!" he continues, gamely, letting his arms drop to his sides. "So I, ah - er - "
Lyall's eyes crinkle at the corners. "Wynne and I know our way around healing spells," he says, like it was nothing to regularly seal up wounds that would cripple most warriors for life. "I thought I was getting better at blocking with a sword, but, well." He shrugs eloquently, face falling a little.
"You've improved vastly since we first met," says Zevran, and Lyall's smile returns full-force.
"Flatterer," he says, teasing, but is cut off by an enormous yawn that he tries to hide behind a hand, looking embarrassed. "Sorry about that."
"Oh no, my apologies," says Zevran smoothly, "I shouldn't have disturbed you. I'll just - ," and he begins to edge towards the door.
"Oh! It's no trouble, I was thinking of going to bed anyway," Lyall says, catching Zevran's hand before he can reach the door. When he turns to look at him, Lyall flushes a little. "Would - would you like to stay?"
"I'm not interrupting?" Zevran asks, looking over at the spread of papers on the low table.
Lyall pulls a face. "Fereldan politics is not my favorite," he says, "and at the rate the Landsmeet is going, it will keep." He takes Zevran's hand in both of his. "Will you stay? We don't have to - we could just sleep."
"Just sleep?" Zevran says, wiggling his eyebrows, and is rewarded with another low laugh.
"I am tired," he says, smiling, "but the bed is awfully big for just one person." Zevran can't help but smile back. "Will you get the candles while I wash up?" Lyall asks, and pulls Zevran further into the room before letting go of his hand.
Zevran's heart is beating oddly in his chest as he goes around the room, (acutely aware of Lyall pulling off his fine, borrowed clothes and pulling on his worn shirt) blowing out the candles, dimming the room until the only light comes from the dying embers of the fireplace.
Turning to the bed, he watches as Lyall pulls back the covers and clambers in. He doesn't think they've ever slept in a bed together, and certainly not just to sleep. When he finally climbs in beside the Warden, he lies stiffly beside him, not quite touching. He's still not sure what he came to his room to talk about - Taliesen? The Crows? To thank him, perhaps? His mind is in turmoil. He can't fathom how in these short months he's left behind almost everything he's ever known, and for what? A handsome face, a silver tongue? Earnestness, gentle hands, a cause only his by proxy? It's been less than a year since he's left Antiva, but it feels like years - years spent in this mixed company, at the side of someone he was sent to kill but found he could not.
His thoughts chase themselves in circles until Lyall suddenly draws in a deep breath and rolls over in the bed to face him. For a long while they regard each other, two ghostly shapes in the dying light from the fireplace.
"Thank you for staying," whispers Lyall finally, eyes glinting like gems in the dark. His arms encircle Zevranâs waist as he tucks his head to his chest. "Iâm glad you did."
Zevran swallows past the sudden lump in his throat as he wraps his arms around Lyall's shoulders. "I am glad as well," is all he says, and thinks of all the things he is glad for since he has met the Warden, from their first meeting to this back alley fight. He lifts an arm to draw the fine bedcovers up over them both, and they lie there quietly for a time, reveling in the feeling of clean sheets and soft beds and each other's company.
"The maids might gossip in the morning, if youâre found here," says Lyall at last, muzzy with fast-approaching sleep, but he makes no move to release Zevran from his hold. If anything, he wraps himself tighter around him, tangling their legs together.
"Thatâs alright," says Zevran, feeling rather loathe to rise. It is in his heart to never leave this bed. "I can sneak out and be back in my room by early morning, and no one will be the wiser."
Lyallâs quiet laugh warms the front of Zevranâs tunic, pressed against him as he is. "I imagine you might have some experience with that," he says, without judgment. "But," he adds, almost shyly, "I don't mind if they gossip. "
Zevran's breath catches in his throat. "Of course, my dear," he says. "It would be my pleasure."
Light vs Dark: Also known as âgood vs evilâ, this symbolism is often applied to species, or âracesâ. Making the light species good and the dark species evil has negative racial connotations relating to our world and it should not be used. This is often seen among elven species in which the light-skinned elves are pure and knock-offs of Tolkienâs elves in every way and in which the dark-skinned elves are evil, brutish, âuncivilizedâ, and unintelligent. This is also used with general appearances, such as beautiful people being good and ugly people being evil.
Elves: Elves do not have to be white, beautiful, immortal, tall, mystical, and pure. As far as I can recall, Tolkien never mentioned pointy ears among his elves, but that is a hallmark of elven features. Whether you want pointy ears or not is up to you, but try to find a reason for them.Â
Horses: There are so many fictional societies based off Rohan and its love for horses. I would say the Dothraki get a pass due to them being loosely based on a real ethnic group. Choose a different animal.
Elves vs Dwarves: Elves and dwarves having a feud is fairly common in fantasy for some reason. They tend to be opposite of each other too (elves being gracile, pure, and fair with dwarves being robust, loud, and hardy).
Dwarves: They donât have to live in mountains, they donât have to be greedy, they donât have to be excellent smiths, and they donât have to be a warrior culture.
The Great Wise Wizard: If youâre going to make a great wizard, please donât make them an old white guy with a long white beard. A Great Wizard probably will be on the older side due to the need for experience to be great, but they can look and act like anything.
All These Races Into One: You donât actually need all these fantasy races in your fantasy to make it a fantasy.
Cliches Inspired By Misinterpretations of Tolkien:
Evil for the Sake of Evil: Sauron was not always evil. Give your evil villains a good back story. Stop calling them âThe Dark Lordâ or âThe Dark Oneâ. Stop making The Dark Lordâs minions weaklings that your protagonists consistently outsmart and outrun.
Medieval Everything: Not all of Middle Earth was a medieval monarchy.
Naive Farm Boy: Many modern fantasy writers will model their hero after Aragorn. Heâs halfway between a hero and an anti-hero and heâs awesome. We all love him. But he was not the hero. Frodo was the hero of The Lord of the Rings and Bilbo was the hero of The Hobbit. Both are unlikely heroes who could not have completed their quests without significant help. Because of this, Frodo/Bilbo and Aragorn have been combined to create one of the biggest fantasy cliches among modern writers: The Naive Farm Boy Turned Chosen One/King.
clevergirlhelps:âSandersonâs First Law writeworld: âby Brandon Sanderson Introduction I like magic systems. Thatâs probably evident to those of you who have read my work. A solid, interesting and...
sineala, tumblr ate your actual ask. But if I recall correctly you said something like âShare your UST-writing secrets! And your Noir secrets! Your UST-Noir secrets?
UST and Noir secrets. Well, letâs see.
The thing about UST, at least for me, is that itâs ultimately about boundaries and context. Where are the boundaries? How far can they be pushed before they are actually crossed? Does one character feel like theyâre toeing the line and the otherâs oblivious, or do they both know whatâs going on, or are they somewhere in-between? Are they physical, mental or emotional boundaries? Most of the time, I want to keep at least two of those options in mind, even if I donât say anything about one of them. Context helps determine which boundaries are most important and why. Additionally, I try to remember that UST is just as much about what doesnât happen as what does happen, and I find it most useful to be in both characterâs heads at once.
That probably doesnât make much sense, so example time:
Letâs start with a simple action: Steve claps Tony on the shoulder.
The principle boundary here is physical, and the second is emotional; Steve crosses Tonyâs personal space boundary and physically touches him. Now, this is an action that doesnât necessarily have any sort of sexuality/sensuality tied to it. Enter element number 1: Basic Context (aka, time and place).
Found this article. Found it incredibly helpful. Be sure to go read the full story, but these are the ten questions the author (Lydia Netzer) covers in it:
1. At what point did you feel like âAh, now the story has really begun!âÂ
2. What were the points where you found yourself skimming?Â
3. Which setting in the book was clearest to you as you were reading it? Which do you remember the best?Â
4. Which character would you most like to meet and get to know?Â
5. What was the most suspenseful moment in the book?Â
6. If you had to pick one character to get rid of, who would you axe?Â
7. Was there a situation in the novel that reminded you of something in your own life?Â
8. Where did you stop reading, the first time you cracked open the manuscript? (Can show you where your first dull part is, and help you fix your pacing.)Â
9. What was the last book you read, before this? And what did you think of it? (This can put their comments in context in surprising ways, when you find out what their general interests are. It might surprise you.)Â
10. Finish this sentence: âI kept reading becauseâŠâ
Some of this could be easily adapted into roleplay critiques, though itâs primary use is, of course, novel writing.
ROLE REVERSAL: Rose Tyler as Time Lord, Doctor as Companion
"You know," she says, stalking forward, every step deliberate, "a lot of cultures on Earth have a thing about wolves. In myths, cautionary tales that mothers tell their children, warnings not to stray. Even on planets other than Earth, they have stories of a beast, of the wolf. Who's afraid of the big bad wolf?" she singsongs.
She stops right before the approaching army, and grins suddenly, wide and fierce over her shoulder at John. "Now why," she asks, conversationally, "do you think that is?"
...
"As a novice, we were taken for initiation. You stand in front of the Untempered Schism. It's a gap in the fabric of reality through which can be seen the whole of the vortex. We stand there, eight years old, staring at the raw power of time and space, just a child. Some would be inspired. Some would run away. And some would go mad."
John Smith stares at her, and she stares into the fire. "What about you?"
Bad Wolf looks up, eyes bright. "Me? Well, I haven't stopped looking."
Tonyâs shoulder aches from where he fell and he canât feel the fingers of his left hand, crushed as it was by the safehouse door, but he fells a lone infected with another round, struggling to fire with his non-dominant hand, feeling sick. Steve is somewhere in the in past the doorway behind him, mixing molotovs according to Tonyâs careful instructions. He would be doing it himself, but - hey, hand, so here he is, playing rear guard. He wishes desperately he could be supervising, because some of the chemicals theyâve got in this high school science wing are pretty volatile (not that he doesnât trust Steve, and he made him recite all of the ingredients beforehand, but heâs a hands-on kind of guy).
"You doing alright, Steve-o?" he calls back instead, over his good shoulder. He doesnât see any of the infected around, which is good. He feels sick to his stomach  every time he squeezes the trigger. Itâs worst when they get close enough for him to see their faces. Bruce is doing his best with what they can get back to him; biology was never Tonyâs forte, otherwise heâd be up to his neck in research.
Itâs as heâs lost in his thoughts when the explosion goes off behind him, which is just typical. Itâs big enough that he can feel the backdraft through the open door.
"Steve," says Tony, and pivots, breaking into a run through the tiled hallways, "Steve, Steve," he shouts, when he gets into the lab, he sees Steve lying on his back, surrounded by broken windows and corpses. Tony feels too hot and too cold all at once; his blood rushes in his ears as he staggers into the lab, and he finds it hard to breathe, as if the explosion had taken up all the air. The entire place smells like burnt flesh and hair, and heâs about to throw up or maybe cry or both when he sees Steveâs shoulders shaking and hears the weird, hiccup-y sound that means yes, Steve is alive. Tony almost throws up or starts crying from sheer relief. Instead, he wobbles forward on unsteady legs.
Steve is bleeding from his ears and laughing the high-pitched, incredulous laugh of someone who has recently had a very near brush with death. Tonyâs relief is so enormous, Steve can probably see it coming off him in waves.
"Did you mix the chemicals wrong?" he asks, pretending his voice doesnât wobble. "I knew I shouldâve held your hand through this, it was too much science for you."
"They were coming in through the window," says Steve, "and my gun was on the other side of the room. I havenât been bitten," he adds, and Tonyâs knees buckle.
"Motherfucker," he says, with feeling. Steve makes a face at him. He crouches over Steveâs chest, resting his grimy forehead on Steveâs equally grimy sweater. Steve continues to laugh, bouncing Tonyâs head.
"Donât you dare leave me alone out here," he says, when Steveâs gigglefit has subsided.
Steve says nothing, still shaky with contained laughter, but his hand comes up to grasp Tonyâs shoulder. Itâs not much, but itâs enough, and Tony will take whatever he can get in these times.
Well, maybe not entirely by coincidence. What could he say? Dex was a sucker for a very specific man in uniform.
On the third or fourth heist (which went a little sour), in between dodging flying canapes and whisking the jewelry off guests' necks and hands, Dex came face-to-chest with a certain Marine. Rocher, naturally, shouted and sputtered and they engaged in a very satisfying round of fisticuffs, ending when Dex managed to get away because of an opportune explosion Zeek caused in the bread pudding. But, having come very close to Rocher's person, and because Dex was a very observant man both by nature and profession, he noticed that Commodore Lee Rocher had tied his necktie immaculately: full windsor knot, exactly symmetrical and unbudging even in the fight. He thinks about the kind of person Commodore Rocher is. Dex gets an idea.
Little by little, and party encounter after party encounter, Dex ties his ties more and more sloppily, until one day, they are working together instead of against each other to take down corruption within the Marine ranks, and Lee catches sight of the monstrosity around his neck.
He frowns severely. "Have you always tied your ties that badly?" he asks, his hands twitching at his sides. Dex only shrugs in answer, grinning a little. He knows Lee can't leave very well alone. He's rewarded when, after Lee narrows his eyes and glares at the tie as if he could make it fix itself, he sighs explosively.
"Jesus christ," says Lee finally, "your knot is a travesty. Come here," and he reels Dex in by one too-long end of his tie. "You're hopeless," he tells him, undoing Dex's hard work, and Dex just shrugs and grins wider.
"Stop fidgeting," says Lee, and "Come closer," says Lee, and tugs hard on the two ends of the tie, a look of concentration on his face.
"Aw, Lee," Dex says, "You work so hard. I should thank you."
"What - " says Lee, and then Dex plants an enormous kiss on his mouth.
For the rest of the mission, Dex's tie is perfectly tied, and Lee is just a little bit flushed.
