#( the accuracy is absolutely SENDING me )

[the-heros-sidekick]

𝐖𝐇𝐀𝐓'𝐒 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐏𝐀𝐖𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀?

tagged by: @fri-luftsliv tagging: @thepuppyeyed @tinyactress @milayaprintsessa @keenlyhaunted @nachtwesen @spitzpfeil @betweenbroken

[oneluckydragon]

@s1nn0hh Being greeted with this today was like getting drenched with ice cold water and then doing twenty backflips. ISTG!! I ADORE YOU SINNOH!!!

"What do you remember of being human, Echo?" The question is out of the blue and unexpected. But Sora offers a patient smile and tilts her head in curiosity, just enough that one of her ears flops over. It's endearing, if anything.

But Echo wishes she hadn't asked.

"Not much. Distinct memories are cloudy." A tired tone says softly, a pained recollection in her eyes and an acrid haze in her soul that endures, endures, and endures, "But I remember the discomfort more than anything. My body always did feel wrong back then. Misshapen. Condensed. Like it was too small for everything buried underneath, and that ache went so deeply some days that it would make my skin crawl. I hated that part the most."

At that, Sora's expression falls. She looks inexplicably sad, as if she'd hoped for a different response, a gentler one despite knowing the harsh truth about the dark future and the struggles Echo must have suffered. "But you had Grovyle, right? I'm sure he took care of you."

"He did, Sora, of course he did." A sigh, a flick of an ear and claws clenched tightly into the churned earth pressed under her paws. "I doubt I deserved his attention, though. I was too busy being angry at the world to give any care back."

In my lore, Echo does not look fully human during their time in the dark future. Since they were Darkrai before becoming human, and as a result of Palkia's reckless shattering of the Dimensional Portal which distorted both time and space, Echo's transformation was broken and accidental. They ended up looking pretty messed up and definitely (not) human. A lot of their characteristics as Darkrai carried over but rather morphed into something else.

And Grovyle, growing up in a world where humans have been extinct for longer than any living pokémon has been alive, has no concept of what a "true" human looks like. The only thing he knows is descriptions of humans from glyphs and texts in old ruins. Thus, he mistakes Echo for an actual human. And Echo, not knowing what a human looks like themselves due to amnesia, accepts this identification with nothing better to use.

[amourcheol]

blurring the lines (teaser)

❝Why learn the complexities of desire all by yourself, when your dearest friend can merely teach you?❞

bridgerton! au | friends with benefits! au | smut, fluff | approx. 30k words (1.6k words for teaser)

s u m m a r y : you think you know everything about your best friend, dashing bachelor joshua hong. when you stumble upon his suggestive literature from his recent travels, however, reading even an extract is enough to make you question everything. unsure of your newfound feelings, you turn to your confidante, unaware of just how much knowledge—and experience—he has to offer.

c o n t e n t : best friend! joshua, best friend! soonyoung too, references of real erotic literature from the 1700s because this is not an amourcheol fic without historical accuracy, references of other members, lady whistledown will be present, soonyoung is the real mvp in this fic, shua acts like a man </3 mature warnings -> tons of sexual tension, making out, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex (regency protection is goofy mb), mc experiences crazy overstimulation, corruption kink (!!!), more tba

a u t h o r ' s n o t e : bonjour hola bridgerton s4 sneak peak dropped which means i ofc had to drop a sneak peak of my own !! even tho i am over a week late !! send an ask if you wish to be tagged! hope you enjoy the teaser ;)

playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

"WHERE DID YOU FIND THIS?"

Involuntarily your eyes flickered to the table, and he followed, turning his head to the study, which he noticed immediately was tidied—tampered with. "You went through my things?”

“I did not mean to!” you exclaimed, gaping at his sudden charge towards the desk, you hot at his heels. “I just thought it looked like a mess, so I tried cleaning it—”

“You are not a servant,” he cut off, darting over the new order of his account books, as well as the fiction which you had assembled. “You are not required to look after me like that.”

“I know, but—”

“And sneaking out with my possessions? Without my permission?” He smacked the book on the table, making you flinch. “I thought you better than that.”

You were better than that—well, at least until tonight. You ransacked your mind for an excuse, any form of escape, except your words were absolutely pathetic. “You have never minded me reading your novels before,” you attempted. “In fact, you encouraged me to scour your shelves.”

He looked at the book again—a moment too long—and went back to set a slight glare upon you. “Well, my journal is not a trivial novel. It was private…not meant for you.”

You knew that. What did not settle well, though, was that your dearest friend, who had shared his every worry, his every confession to you, had been doing things you had no inkling of, things that incited such…extraordinary feelings from you. 

You had to know what more lay in those pages—and why you had felt the way you felt in those pages which your eyes did scour. “I read it.”

His glare faltered. “How much?”

That question was answered with another. “What was it, Joshua?” You stepped forward, a timid gesture, so you could catch a look at the hardback again. “I…I read some pages, and…what was she doing?”

His hand on his journal pushed it back. “I do not know.”

“Liar,” you got out, and he pursed his lips. You knew him irritatingly well. “You are keeping things from me.” 

“It is not keeping things from you,” he countered, frustration rising in his voice. “It is…protecting you from those…things.” 

“Tell me what those things are, Joshua,” you demanded, quietly but not softly. “It has rattled you enough. That has never happened to you.”

But he was silent. Eerily quiet, merely the rustle of his clothes, the soft thunk of his novella settled back with the French novels which raised your suspicions. A boundary made—a rejection established. 

Perhaps you would have respected it in another lifetime—in a world where you had not indulged your curiosity, set your eyes upon entities which were not for you to explore. Perhaps you would have respected it even if Joshua had offered to enlighten you—maybe blushed and ran away, and vowed never to look through his possessions again. 

The writings had rattled you, though, more than he realised. Social etiquette—good common sense would have expected you to respect his opinion, opinions of society, and drop the subject. 

Joshua Hong, however, was your greatest friend. No societal expectation could change that. 

So you opted to push the limits. Refuse the silence to be the end of this matter.

“I read enough, you know. To feel…” A pause. “I cannot even describe to you how I felt, because I have never felt that way before.” You tried to find the right words, a single confession out of order and he would stop listening—or so you thought. “There was an extract you wrote, Joshua, which had certain…descriptions…” Burning. Pleasure. Naked. Fire. Ecstasy. “There was a girl who was doing something. I am unsure what she was doing specifically, but…what she felt watching them…”

A soft exhale released from you, and almost instinctively Joshua released his own breath. “I think I…um, I think I felt a remnant of it.” 

He blurted out, barely a whisper, “You what?”

You looked at him—barely managed a nod. “I do not…don’t even know what she was doing with her fingers—” Joshua’s sudden coughing interrupted you, holding a fist to his lips to stop himself—“But whatever it was…I want to know what it was.” 

You watched the man stay deathly still, yet the emotions racing behind his face were certain. Not only were you rattled, but had passed this strange sensation to him. Had he never felt it before? You wondered, surprised by the similarity of his reaction to yours. 

He then responded to you, and you realised your mistake. “You cannot.”

Another boundary. Another opportunity to cross it. “Why?” This time, you stepped closer to him. “Why can I not know?” He was silent once more, and this time, you would not accept it. “Why are you hiding from me?”

“Because you are a lady!” he finally cut out, an agitated sigh coming straight after. “You are not to know such…such material.”

A lady…that you were aware of, but that still did not answer the question. Joshua watched, Joshua did whatever he had done to a lady. The answer was not good enough.

Judging by the increasing agitation in your friend’s countenance, he knew it too. It was at that point, though, when you truly noticed his harsh sighs, the tight fists—one at his mouth now trudging to the table, and the other secured at his hip—figure rigid. How affected he was by your questioning.

As if he mirrored the same sensations as you experienced.

“Is it…” You pursed your lips. “Is it because you were feeling them too?” 

A blink back—the only recognition of shock. You held onto this, continuing, “Tell me the truth, Joshua. You said yourself, no? That a lady cannot know, but you did not say a gentleman cannot either. You were feeling it too, were you not?”

His eyes were widening with your every word, and he stepped back, almost as if to run away. You did not need an answer from him now—it was abundantly clear that he had undergone such passions, as if it was not certain as you read it. There was only one question left in your arsenal now.

Joshua could have collapsed to the study floor. He heard the questions, and suddenly all he could do was gape at you. The determined curiosity in your eyes, the resolute stature of your body, closer than he last remembered. Oh, he would die before answering such a thing to you. He could not. He could not. 

“_____, it is late,” he began after a long time. The slight hope on your face leaving instinctively dampened his spirits. “It is already rash that you came here without a chaperone and I refuse to let you become the centre of ill conversation.”

And there it was. The supposed end. 

You did not realise how disappointed you were until you found your voice again, much graver than you expected. “So that is how it will be.”

Fine. If your best friend would not entrust you with such information, you would find the next person who would not be so apprehensive. A fortunate situation that you already had a man in mind.

As you turned on your heel, you heard him ask, “Where are you going?”

You did not stop your walk away, looking over your shoulder as you retorted, “To Soonyoung. At least he will be honest with me, if you choose not to be.”

He must have said something, but you did not deign to hear, only looking to the door, which was slightly ajar. You held your hand out, ready to open it further. 

Another force—another hand, larger than yours, slammed the door shut, jumping you out of your skin. Quickly you swivelled to see Joshua, breathing slightly uneven as his hand stayed right beside your head, resting against the wood. “Good God,” you got out, “What was that for?”

“You cannot go to Soonyoung,” he said instead, gaze frantic. 

You furrowed your brows. “Why?” 

He frowned. He could tell from your irritation that you assumed it was jealousy, a worse morphing of cowardice. It was not jealousy—nothing like that. Soonyoung was like a brother to him, and he knew that if there was anyone else you could have gone to without eliciting scandal, then it was that eccentric. He would explain everything to his friend, and be done with it without furthering his own curiosity. 

With that in mind, he would also tell you everything. Joshua was aware that there were skeletons in the closet of such matters, and your door was already slightly ajar. Should you go to Soonyoung to seek counsel, he would break down the doors, and suffocate you with the bones of such sensitive information.

What you asked was no normal feat. What you asked was sensitive. Precious. Soonyoung was trustworthy, but he was not careful. 

Joshua, on the other hand, was careful. Very careful, if he thought so himself. 

“He would not…explain it properly,” he offered instead. 

“At least he will explain it,” you countered, twisting your mouth. “I’d rather something than nothing at all.” 

His brows knitted together, desperation rising. “You have to understand me, _____.”

“Not after this.” You tried to avert his gaze, but his eyes—for the very first time—were incredibly hard to ignore. “Let me out the door.”

His reply, although perturbed, was clear. “I cannot.”

“Then tell me, Joshua,” you demanded. “Tell me what she was doing.” 

He should have stayed silent forever. What he should have done—as a gentleman, as you yourself had deemed him—was keep his mouth shut. 

A semblance of his sanity slipped once he uttered the fated words.

“She was touching herself.”

s e r i e s t a g l i s t : @hyuckworld @smiileflower @ourkivee @alyssa19123456 @xylatox @lexyraeworld @fancypeacepersona @tjjth @zezedoesshit @ochidize @sankriin @okiedokrie-main @reiofsuns2001 @gyuguys @livixxn @livelaughloveseventeen @peepeepoopooharrie @shinaely @uhdrienne @maple249

[satansdarlin]

Marigold Margins: Chapter one

Wayne Enterprises CEO!Tim Drake x Fem!reader

Notes: a thank you to my lovely gf for beta reading this for me, this has been set up to at least to have ten chapters but I might combine some into one. Tim and the reader are both in their early twenties between 21-25ish. (Also indi and scarlet might be the yns of their own up coming stories :^ if yall would be interested). Drop a comment or a reblog! I'd love to hear your thoughts.

Warnings: mentions of cheating, slightly toxic work environment, dick being shameless and trying to set you and Tim up, timmy being cute

Word count: 8.4K

Rating: T

Shit, your feet hurt like a bitch. Your heels clicked against the marble floor, each step sending sharp reminders of the blisters forming on your skin. The golden stilettos had seemed like the perfect accent to your outfit this morning - now they felt like an exercise in masochism. Fashion over comfort: the eternal struggle.

"Morning, Gary," you called out to the janitor, who was already familiar with your early arrivals.

He paused his work, offering a knowing smile. "Good morning, miss. Mr. Drake hasn't made it in yet."

"Thanks for the heads up." You appreciated Gary's small kindnesses - they were rare enough in this department, where your rapid promotion to executive secretary had earned you more enemies than friends.

The executive elevator hummed to life as you pressed the button for the top floor. While waiting, you shifted your weight, trying to ease the pressure on your aching feet. Tension. The word perfectly described your entire situation at Wayne Enterprises. Was the forty-dollar hourly rate worth it? Absolutely. What secretary made that kind of money, complete with generous paid leave? But loving the job? That was... complicated.

The work itself came naturally to you. The real challenge was Timothy Jackson Drake himself. Everyone knew about him - Gotham's wonder boy, the youngest CEO in the country, part of the infamous Wayne family. But after a year as his secretary, you'd learned there was more to him than the nepotism narrative suggested. He'd earned his position through genuine brilliance and dedication. That same drive, however, meant he had... expectations. While never openly cruel, he could be relentlessly demanding.

The elevator announced your arrival with a soft chime. Your morning routine unfolded with practiced efficiency: lights on, computers booting up, files arranged on your desk. The coffee maker gurgled to life, filling the office with its rich aroma. You prepared Mr. Drake's desk with military precision - work files stacked just so, his favorite mug ready, a banana and granola bar positioned nearby (which he'd likely ignore until you forced lunch upon him).

Settling at your desk, you dove into the morning's emails and calls. The sound of dragging footsteps announced Tim's arrival, and you glanced up to find him looking like he'd just crawled out of bed - or perhaps never made it there at all. He mumbled something vaguely resembling gratitude before shuffling into his office, his silhouette visible through the frosted glass partition that separated your workspace from his. You watched as he slumped into his chair, took a long drink of coffee, and gradually transformed from zombie to CEO. It was a fascinating metamorphosis you'd witnessed countless times. The way his shoulders would straighten, how his eyes would sharpen from bleary to laser-focused. Even his typing changed - from hunt-and-peck to a rapid-fire staccato that filled the office.

"Meeting minutes from yesterday?" His voice carried through the intercom, significantly more human than his earlier greeting.

"Already uploaded to the shared drive and hard copies are in the blue folder on your desk," you replied, allowing yourself a small smile. After a year, you'd learned to anticipate his needs with almost supernatural accuracy.

"The Robertson contract?"

"Legal returned it this morning. I've highlighted the changes they suggested in yellow. Green tabs mark where you need to sign."

There was a pause, then: "What would I do without you?"

"Drown in paperwork and caffeine withdrawal," you answered before you could stop yourself. These little moments of casual banter were dangerous - they made it too easy to forget he was Timothy Drake-Wayne, your boss, and not just Tim, the overworked genius who occasionally made you laugh.

The intercom crackled with what might have been a chuckle. "Fair enough."

The morning proceeded with its usual rhythm until your phone buzzed with a text from Bruce Wayne's secretary. Your stomach dropped as you read the message: the Wayne patriarch was making one of his surprise visits. These always put Tim on edge, though he'd never admit it.

You pressed the intercom. "Mr. Wayne will be here in fifteen minutes."

The typing sounds from Tim's office stopped abruptly. Through the frosted glass, you could see him run a hand through his hair - a nervous tell you'd picked up on months ago.

"Right," he said, voice tight. "Can you-"

"I'll get fresh coffee, clear your schedule for the next hour, and make sure the quarterly reports are ready," you interrupted, already standing. "And yes, I'll grab you a proper breakfast from the café downstairs. You'll need more than a forgotten granola bar for this."

Another pause. "Have I mentioned you're terrifying sometimes?"

"Only when necessary, sir." You slipped on your torturous heels again, ignoring the protest from your feet. Bruce Wayne's visits always meant a performance - from everyone.

As you rushed to prepare for the impromptu meeting, you couldn't help but wonder what drama today would bring. Bruce Wayne's "casual visits" were never actually casual, and being caught in the crossfire between two of Gotham's most powerful men was not how you'd planned to spend your morning.

But then again, when did anything at Wayne Enterprises go according to plan?

You stood up when the elevator binged, quickly tapping the intercom to alert Tim with a short chirp. Your hands clasped professionally in front of you as your eyes landed on Mr. Wayne, himself. The man commanded attention without even trying, filling the space with his presence in a way that made your spacious reception area feel suddenly cramped.

"Good morning, Mr. Wayne. Mr. Drake is in his office." Your greeting was the perfect blend of professional courtesy and careful distance. Your gaze slid over to Samantha, Mr. Wayne's assistant, and you felt your smile tighten imperceptibly. She returned it with one of her trademark saccharine smiles, so sweet it could rot teeth. The fakeness radiated off her like cheap perfume.

Last thing you needed was another gentle lecture from Tim about "trying" to be nice to her. You still remembered his exact words from last time: "I know she's... difficult, but we need to maintain good relations with Bruce's office." Easy for him to say – he didn't have to deal with her passive-aggressive emails and tendency to "accidentally" schedule conflicts with Bruce's calendar.

Bruce Wayne nodded in acknowledgment, his steel-blue eyes taking in every detail of the office with that unnerving intensity he was famous for. "Thank you. The quarterly reports?"

You smoothly retrieved the leather portfolio from your desk. "All prepared, sir. I've included the updated projections you requested, along with the comparative analysis from last quarter." You handed it to him with practiced grace, careful to maintain eye contact for exactly the right amount of time – long enough to show confidence, short enough to show deference.

"Excellent." He accepted the portfolio, and you caught the slight raise of his eyebrows – approval? surprise? With Bruce Wayne, it was impossible to tell.

Samantha's voice cut through the moment like a dulled knife. "I hope those numbers match what we have downstairs. It would be... awkward if there were any discrepancies." Her tone suggested she'd enjoy nothing more.

You felt your smile freeze in place. "Everything has been triple-checked against the master database, of course." And quadruple-checked, because you'd learned early on that giving Samantha any ammunition was like handing matches to a pyromaniac.

The sound of Tim's office door opening saved you from further interaction. He emerged looking every inch the CEO – tie straight, jacket buttoned, not a hair out of place. The transformation from his earlier zombie state was complete.

"Bruce," he greeted, managing to make the single syllable sound both warm and professional. "I wasn't expecting you today."

"Best meetings are the unexpected ones," Bruce replied with that particular smile that always made you wonder if he actually believed that or just enjoyed keeping everyone on their toes.

You caught Tim's slight shoulder tension as he gestured toward his office. "Shall we?"

As they moved past your desk, Tim gave you the briefest of glances – a look you'd learned to interpret over months of working together. This one clearly said: "Hold all calls unless the building's on fire, and maybe even then."

Samantha lingered, adjusting her designer handbag with deliberate slowness. "I'll need copies of all correspondence between our offices from the last month," she announced, as if she hadn't already received them twice.

"I'll have those ready by the time the meeting concludes," you replied smoothly, silently adding 'you insufferable paper-pusher' in your head.

As she finally followed the men into Tim's office, you sank back into your chair, already pulling up the correspondence files. At least you'd had the foresight to grab that extra shot of espresso in your morning coffee. Something told you this was going to be a long day.

Eventually, as you'd expected, Samantha was ushered out of the room to give the two men privacy. The glass frosted further, obscuring Bruce and Tim from view – a clear signal that whatever discussion followed would be more about family than business. You mentally added "pick up comfort donuts" to your afternoon agenda, already knowing Tim's favorites: chocolate-glazed for regular bad days, Boston cream for family drama.

The rhythmic clicking of your keyboard filled the silence, punctuated only by Samantha's restless shuffling. She cleared her throat with obvious intent, and you looked up, raising an eyebrow in what you hoped was a passably polite expression.

"You know we've never actually talked," she began, voice dripping with artificial sweetness. "Which is so weird considering aren't we the same age?"

You bit back the urge to point out that she was actually five years your senior and somehow acted a decade younger. The irony wasn't lost on you.

"How did you exactly get this job?" she pressed on, tilting her head in practiced curiosity. "I always heard Mr. Drake was... picky."

Your eye twitched at the obvious implication, but you maintained your composure. Years of advanced placement courses had taught you patience, if nothing else. "Mr. Drake hand picked me for this job," you responded, keeping your tone professional and detached.

She gasped with theatrical surprise, as if this wasn't common knowledge in the Wayne Enterprises gossip circuit. "Really? Do you mind if I ask why?"

'Yes,' you thought, but instead rolled your head side to side, releasing some tension with a satisfying pop. "No, I don't mind. Mr. Drake chose me because he met me through the Martha Wayne scholarship. I was looking for a job during that time and my professors recommended me for the position."

You deliberately omitted how Tim had tracked your academic career with interest long before that – how you'd graduated high school two years early, earned a full ride to Gotham University, and excelled in advanced courses he'd specifically recommended. Let her draw her own conclusions; you had nothing to prove to Samantha or anyone else.

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken questions. You could practically see her trying to piece together a narrative that fit her preconceptions, one that wouldn't force her to acknowledge that maybe, just maybe, you'd earned your position through merit rather than whatever implications she was so eager to make.

Before she could formulate another sugar-coated barb, your phone buzzed with an incoming email. The subject line made you suppress a smile: it was from Tim, sent from his phone.

"If you'll excuse me," you said, turning back to your computer with practiced dismissal, "I have some urgent matters to attend to."

You could feel her hovering, reluctant to give up her fishing expedition. But years of dealing with Gotham's elite had taught you the art of creating an impenetrable wall of professional busy-ness. After a few more moments, she finally retreated to one of the waiting area chairs, her designer heels clicking in defeat.

Opening Tim's email, you found a single line: "Order lunch in. This might take a while."

You glanced at the frosted glass of his office, wondering what family drama was unfolding behind it. In your year working here, you'd learned to read the signs: the level of frosting on the glass, the tension in Tim's shoulders, the particular way Bruce Wayne's visits seemed timed to maximize inconvenience. Something was definitely up, and judging by the atmosphere, it was bigger than the usual Wayne family dynamics.

"The Martha Wayne scholarship?" Samantha's voice dripped with faux interest, her voice cutting through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. "That must have been... nice. Getting a free ride like that."

Your fingers paused briefly over your keyboard before resuming their steady rhythm. Two could play at this game. "It was an honor," you replied evenly. "The foundation only selects the top 1% of applicants. I'm sure you're familiar with the process, working so closely with Mr. Wayne."

Her smile flickered for just a moment. "Oh, I handle more of the... executive side of things."

"Of course." You kept your eyes on your screen, responding to an urgent email from R&D while she processed your subtle jab.

"Still," she persisted, examining her manicured nails, "it must be challenging, working for someone so... young. Especially given your... background."

You felt your jaw clench but maintained your professional demeanor. "Mr. Drake's age has nothing to do with his capabilities. He's one of the most brilliant minds in Gotham's business sector." Your tone carried just enough edge to make it clear you wouldn't tolerate any disparagement of Tim.

"Oh, I didn't mean anything by it," Samantha backpedaled, though her smirk suggested otherwise. "It's just that some of us had to work our way up the traditional path. But I suppose there are... other ways to advance."

You actually had to bite your tongue to keep from pointing out that her "traditional path" had involved an uncle on the board of directors. Instead, you smiled pleasantly and reached for your coffee. "Everyone's path is different. For instance, I started in the scholarship program at fifteen, finished my degree at twenty, and earned this position through academic excellence and practical capability. But you're right – there are many ways to advance."

The subtle emphasis on your achievements made her shift uncomfortably in her chair. Before she could respond, your intercom buzzed.

"Miss (L/N), could you send in the Miller files?" Tim's voice was perfectly professional, but you caught the underlying tension.

"Right away, Mr. Drake." You stood, gathering the requested documents, grateful for the interruption. As you moved toward his office, you called back to Samantha, "Please excuse me. Duty calls."

You could feel her glare burning into your back as you approached Tim's door, but you kept your posture straight and your stride confident. You'd worked too hard to let someone like Samantha make you doubt your place here, even for a second.

Besides, you had more important things to worry about – like what kind of family drama was causing that muscle in Tim's jaw to twitch visible even through the frosted glass, and whether you should upgrade those comfort donuts to a full stress-eating care package. You handed him the files before going back to your desk.

Your phone buzzed against the desk, the screen lighting up with a notification that made your stomach turn.

Text notification: 1

Asshole: hey bbg can we talk? I know you're probably still mad at me…

You swiped away Josh's message with perhaps more force than necessary. Josh. Your sweet, charming, lying ex-boyfriend who apparently thought "probably still mad" was an adequate response to finding him in bed with your supposed best friend. You'd been playing an exhausting game of dodge-the-ex across Gotham for weeks now, removing yourself from your usual haunts just to avoid his attempts at "explaining." The mere thought of him made your skin crawl.

"Whose that? Your little boyfriend?" Samantha's sugary voice cut through your thoughts like nails on a chalkboard. How someone could have such a grating voice was beyond you.

"Ex. Ex-boyfriend," you corrected automatically, then mentally kicked yourself for engaging. You shook your head, redirecting to safer, professional territory. "I'd rather not talk about it. Do you think you could send over the info for the upcoming Christmas gala when you get back to your office?"

Samantha's face fell into an exaggerated pout at your deflection, clearly disappointed at being denied fresh gossip fodder. You could practically see her filing away this nugget of personal information for future use. Nothing stayed private for long in Wayne Enterprises, but you'd be damned if you gave her the satisfaction of spreading this particular story.

Your phone buzzed again, and you flipped it face-down with a bit more force than necessary. The movement caught Samantha's attention, her eyes lighting up with predatory interest.

"Bad breakup?" she pressed, leaning forward slightly. "Those are always so... difficult. Especially when you have to maintain a professional image at work."

The implied threat in her words – that she could make this gossip very public, very quickly – wasn't lost on you. But you'd handled worse than Samantha's attempts at social manipulation.

"The Christmas gala details?" you repeated, your tone making it clear the previous topic was closed for discussion. "Mr. Drake needs to review the schedule, and I'd like to avoid any potential conflicts with Mr. Wayne's calendar."

Her lips pursed at your professional pivot, but before she could attempt another probe into your personal life, the sound of approaching footsteps from Tim's office made you both straighten instinctively. The frosting on the glass cleared as Bruce emerged first, his expression unreadable as always. Tim followed, and your trained eye caught the tension in his shoulders, the slight clench of his jaw that spelled out family drama in neon letters.

"I'll expect those reports by Friday," Bruce stated, though something in his tone suggested this wasn't really about reports at all.

"Of course," Tim replied, professional mask firmly in place. Only someone who knew him well would catch the slight strain in his voice.

Samantha jumped to attention, gathering her things with practiced efficiency. "I'll send over the gala information this afternoon," she chirped, finally, blessedly ready to leave.

You watched as Bruce and Samantha departed, waiting until the elevator doors closed before turning to Tim. He was still standing there, staring at the closed elevator doors as if they held the secrets of the universe.

"I ordered Thai from that place you like," you said softly. "And I can have someone grab those donuts from downtown if-"

"You're a lifesaver," he interrupted, running a hand through his carefully styled hair, completely destroying its professional arrangement. "But can we... can we not eat in the office?"

You blinked in surprise. In all your time working here, Tim had never suggested leaving the office for lunch. "Of course. Where would you prefer?"

"The roof?" He looked almost sheepish suggesting it. "I just... I need air that doesn't smell like Wayne Enterprises for a few minutes."

Your phone buzzed again – probably Josh – but you ignored it. "I'll grab the food when it arrives. You should go up now, get some fresh air."

He nodded, already loosening his tie as he headed for the stairwell. Twenty minutes later, you found him sitting on the maintenance ledge, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up, looking more like a college student than a CEO.

"One Pad Thai with extra peanuts," you announced, settling down beside him with the takeout bags. "And yes, I grabbed extra spring rolls."

"You know me too well," he managed a small smile, accepting the container you handed him. "I'm sorry about..." he gestured vaguely with his chopsticks, "all that."

"Family's complicated," you offered, carefully keeping your tone neutral as you opened your own lunch.

"Bruce wants me to relocate to the Metropolis office," he said suddenly, staring out at the Gotham skyline. "Says it would be 'good for my professional development.'"

You nearly choked on your spring roll. "Metropolis?"

"Yeah." He stabbed at his noodles with more force than necessary. "Because apparently running the Gotham office isn't enough of a challenge."

"That's ridiculous," you said before you could stop yourself. "You've increased productivity by 40% since taking over, our client retention is at an all-time high, and the employee satisfaction surveys-"

"Have you been memorizing my achievements?" He turned to look at you, a hint of amusement breaking through his stress.

You felt heat rise to your cheeks. "It's my job to know these things."

"Right. Your job." Something flickered across his face too quickly to read. "Speaking of jobs... you'd have to come too, you know. To Metropolis. If I agreed."

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest. "Are you... considering it?"

"No," he said quickly, then paused. "Maybe. I don't know." He set down his food and turned to face you fully. "Would you? Come to Metropolis, I mean? If I asked?"

The question hung in the air between you, heavy with implications neither of you were ready to address. Your phone buzzed again in your pocket, but for once, you didn't even notice.

You hummed softly, letting your gaze drift over Gotham's sprawling landscape. From this height, you could actually see past the city's ever-present smog, though any true Gothamite knew the city's real beauty emerged after dark. The endless sea of lights, the way the neon cut through the darkness – it was home, or at least it had been.

Your phone buzzed again, another message from Josh joining the pile. You glanced down at the string of notifications, each one a reminder of how quickly your social circle had imploded. Some friends they'd turned out to be – taking his side, sending nasty messages about how a "prude" like you had it coming. The betrayal still stung, but maybe not as sharply as it should. Maybe that said something about how ready you were to leave it all behind.

Your parents had always encouraged you to spread your wings beyond Gotham's borders anyway. "The world's bigger than Crime Alley," your mom used to say. You slipped the phone back into your pocket, silencing the ghosts of relationships past.

"Yeah, I'd come with you," you said finally, turning back to Tim with a slight smile. "It's my job to be at your side during all the professional hours anyway."

Something shifted in his expression at your words. "'Professional hours,'" he repeated, as if testing the phrase. "Right. Because that's what this is about. Professional... obligations."

The way he said it made your heart skip a beat. There was a weight to his words that seemed to encompass more than just office dynamics and working relationships. The autumn breeze picked up, carrying with it the distant sounds of the city below, and you found yourself hyperaware of how close you were sitting, how his rolled-up sleeves revealed surprisingly toned forearms, how his hair was still slightly mussed from running his hands through it.

"Tim," you started, then caught yourself. "Mr. Drake-"

"Don't," he interrupted softly. "Don't do that. Not up here." He gestured to the expanse around you. "We're literally above all that right now."

Your phone buzzed again, and this time Tim noticed your slight wince. "Everything okay?"

"Just..." you waved a hand dismissively, "ex-boyfriend drama. Nothing important."

His expression darkened slightly. "Josh?" At your surprised look, he added quickly, "I... might have overheard some break room gossip. About what happened."

"Great," you muttered, heat rising to your cheeks. "Good to know my humiliation made it all the way to the executive floor."

"Hey," his voice was gentle but firm, "you're not the one who should be humiliated. He's the idiot who-" he cut himself off, jaw clenching. "Sorry. Not my place."

"No, it's..." you found yourself smiling despite everything, "it's kind of nice. Hearing someone take my side for once."

The look he gave you then made your breath catch. "I'm always on your side," he said quietly, and somehow you knew he meant more than just the Josh situation.

You forced yourself to take a steady breath, trying to calm your racing heart. No. Absolutely not. You were not going to develop feelings for your boss. It didn't matter that Tim was barely a year older than you, or that his disheveled appearance right now made him look unfairly attractive, or that the way he was looking at you made your stomach do flips. This was a completely professional relationship and it would stay that way. You cleared your throat and offered him a carefully measured smile.

"Well, if we do end up moving to the Metropolis office, I'd have to start looking at apartments over there," you murmured, already running calculations in your head. Even with your generous salary, Metropolis real estate prices were notorious. Maybe you could find something affordable downtown, though the commute would be rough. Your inner penny-pincher was already cringing at the potential security deposits and elevated cost of living.

"About that," Tim straightened slightly, his expression shifting to something you couldn't quite read. "Wayne Enterprises has corporate housing in Metropolis. High-rise apartments, actually. Usually reserved for executives and their... key personnel."

The way he said 'key personnel' made your pulse jump again. Traitor heart.

"Key personnel?" you echoed, trying to keep your tone light.

"Well," he shifted slightly closer, and you caught a whiff of his expensive cologne mixed with coffee, "can't have my irreplaceable assistant living in some sketchy downtown apartment, can I?"

"I'm hardly irreplaceable," you protested weakly, even as your brain helpfully reminded you that no other assistant had lasted more than three months before you.

Tim's expression turned serious. "You are, though. You're the only one who's ever..." he paused, seeming to choose his words carefully, "understood. The job. The pressure. Me."

The last word hung in the air between you, loaded with unspoken implications. You became acutely aware of how close you were sitting, how easy it would be to just lean a little closer, how his eyes seemed to darken as they met yours.

Your phone buzzed again, shattering the moment. Tim's gaze flickered to your pocket, then back to your face, something almost like frustration crossing his features.

You sighed, glancing down at your persistently buzzing pocket. "I should probably..." you mumbled, finally pulling out your phone. You knew Josh well enough to know he wouldn't stop until you dealt with him directly. Your face twisted in disgust as you scrolled through the barrage of messages – a nauseating mix of sweet manipulation ("baby, please, we can work this out"), degrading insults, and crude comments about your intimate life together. The last ones made your skin crawl, especially his boasts about being the 'only one who could make you feel that good.' Gross.

You could feel Tim's eyes on you as you stared at the screen, trying to formulate a response that wouldn't just feed into Josh's need for attention. The weight of Tim's gaze was different from the usual scrutiny you felt in the office – more protective than professional.

"Maybe you should just block him?" Tim suggested, his voice carrying an edge you rarely heard. The CEO tone, as you privately called it – the one that made board members squirm.

You shook your head, words tumbling out before you could stop them. "No way. I need him to see I can live without him." The admission hung in the air, more vulnerable than you'd intended. Your fingers hovered over your phone's keypad as you entered your passcode, very aware of how childish that might sound to someone like Tim.

But when you glanced up, there was no judgment in his expression – just something fierce and protective that made your breath catch. He shifted closer, close enough that you could feel the warmth radiating from his body in the cool rooftop air.

"He already sees it," Tim said quietly, his eyes fixed on your face. "Every day you walk into this building, every meeting you handle perfectly, every time you prove you're exactly where you belong – that's you living without him. And doing it better than he could ever imagine."

The intensity in his voice made you look up, and suddenly you were trapped in his gaze, your phone temporarily forgotten in your hands. This wasn't your boss speaking anymore – this was something else entirely, something that made your heart race and your professional boundaries start to blur.

Your breath caught as you suddenly became hyperaware of every point of contact between you – his fingers wrapped gently but firmly around your bicep, his head tilted toward yours, close enough that you could see the flecks of blue in his eyes. "Mr. Drake, I-"

He rolled his eyes, but there was a playful warmth in the gesture that made your stomach flip. "Tim. Just Tim for right now."

Your lips parted to respond, but the creak of the rooftop door shattered the moment. Dick Grayson, the eldest Wayne sibling, emerged into the afternoon light, and Tim immediately pulled back, professional distance snapping into place like a shield. The sudden absence of his warmth left you feeling oddly bereft.

"Hey Timbo, sorry to interrupt your lunch but I need a favor." Dick's trademark charming smile did nothing to soften Tim's exasperated expression.

"Sure, just let me finish my food-" Tim paused, catching something in Dick's expression. "This is kind of favor you need now?" When Dick nodded apologetically, Tim grumbled but began closing his takeout container.

Before standing, he turned back to you, placing his hand over your phone. His eyes locked with yours with an intensity that made your knees weak despite sitting down. "Block him." It wasn't a request – it was pure CEO Tim Drake, the voice that brokered no argument. "We won't have room for people like him if we move to Metropolis, am I understood?"

The 'we' in that sentence felt weighted with possibility, but you pushed that thought aside. "Yes, Mr. Drake."

You watched as he gathered his things, noting how his professional mask slipped perfectly back into place, though something in his eyes remained softer when he looked at you. As he followed Dick toward the door, you could have sworn you saw him shoot his brother an irritated look.

Your phone buzzed again in your hands, but this time, instead of anxiety, you felt a surge of determination. Tim was right – you didn't need Josh's validation. With steady fingers, you pulled up his contact information and hit 'block.'

The city stretched out below you, Metropolis somewhere beyond the horizon, and for the first time in weeks, you felt like you could breathe properly.

.

.

.

Red and blue lights pulsed across your face as the bass thundered through your chest, making your ribs vibrate with each beat. The news of the Metropolis transfer was official now – you and Tim would be heading the new office. You couldn't quite suppress the smug satisfaction you'd felt watching Samantha's face fall when the announcement was made, her practiced smile cracking just slightly at the edges.

Now, though, you were somewhat regretting sharing the news with your family. Your elder sisters had immediately sprung into celebration mode: Indi, the successful Gotham model, had easily swept you all past the velvet ropes of one of the city's hottest clubs, while Scarlet had managed a few congratulatory drinks before motherhood called her home to your nephew.

That left you nursing a dirty triple Shirley temple (which had been a mouthful to order over the deafening music) and hugging the wall like it was your job. From your vantage point, you could see Indi on the dance floor, practically melded to some guy she'd been flirting with all night. The sequins on her dress caught the strobing lights, making her look like some sort of disco ball goddess – exactly the kind of attention-grabbing presence she was known for.

You took another sip of your drink, the cherry sweetness a sharp contrast to the adult addition of vodka. The music shifted, something with a heavier beat that made the crowd surge with renewed energy. You checked your phone out of habit – no more texts from Josh, thank god, but there was a work email notification that made your heart skip:

From: Timothy Drake-Wayne

Subject: Tomorrow's Schedule Change

Time Sent: 10:47 PM

Your finger hovered over the notification, debating whether to open it. Tim had been... different since that day on the roof. Not obviously so – you both maintained perfect professionalism in the office – but there were moments: lingering glances, fingers brushing when passing documents, the way he'd started saying your name just a touch softer than necessary.

As you hesitated to open it someone bumped into you, luckily you saved your drink from spilling all over the black halter dress you were wearing showing off your back.

“I'm so sorry, I didn't-” the masculine voice was cut off as you looked up and you both stilled. Seeing Tim out of a suit was jarring, seeing tim out of a suit and in a club? That was wild.

“Mr. Drake!”

“We are out of work. Just tim” he sighed at you but it was almost in a pleased exasperation.

“I'm sorry, Mr. Drake but you'll have to try harder than that,” The teasing words slipped out before you could stop them. Tim blinked and then a wry smirk pulled on his face.

Tim's eyes darkened at your challenge, that CEO intensity suddenly focused entirely on you. "Try harder?" He stepped closer, just shy of improper, voice dropping low enough that you had to lean in to hear him over the music. "What exactly would that take?"

The bass pulsed through your bodies, and you were acutely aware of how different this felt from your usual office dynamics. Here, in the strobing lights and thundering music, with your back exposed by the halter dress and his suit traded for dark jeans and a fitted black henley, the careful professional distance you maintained seemed to blur and shift.

"Tim!" A familiar voice cut through the moment. Dick Grayson emerged from the crowd, another brother – Jason – trailing behind him. "Thought I saw you come this way." His eyes landed on you, and his grin widened. "Well, well. Fancy meeting you here."

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, suddenly very conscious of how close you and Tim were standing. "Mr. Grayson," you managed, trying to sound professional despite the club setting.

"Oh god, not you too," Dick groaned. "It's just Dick, please. We're not at work."

"Leave her alone," Jason cut in, giving you a knowing look. "Some of us appreciate proper manners." He turned to Tim with a smirk. "Though I gotta say, baby bird, running into your secretary at a club? That's some rom-com level timing."

"Assistant," you and Tim corrected simultaneously, then shared a quick glance that made Dick's grin grow impossibly wider.

"Right, assistant," Jason drawled, making the word sound far more suggestive than it had any right to be. "The one Bruce mentioned is moving to Metropolis with you?"

The music shifted again, something slower but still thrumming with energy. Tim's jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Bruce, and you found yourself unconsciously shifting closer, a movement that didn't go unnoticed by his brothers.

"Speaking of Metropolis," Dick's eyes gleamed with mischief, "I hear the nightlife there is pretty tame compared to Gotham. You two might have to make your own entertainment."

"Dick," Tim's voice carried a warning edge that made you think of board meetings and difficult clients.

"What? I'm just saying, all those late nights in the office..." Dick trailed off suggestively.

You took a long sip of your drink, using the moment to steady yourself. "I should probably find my sister," you said, looking for an escape from this increasingly dangerous conversation. "She tends to get... ambitious when left unsupervised too long."

"The model?" Jason asked, eyebrows rising. "Tall, sequined dress, currently wrapped around that guy by the DJ booth?"

You turned to look where he was pointing, and sure enough, there was Indi, having apparently upgraded from her previous dance partner. "That's her."

"Runs in the family, huh?" Dick muttered, too quiet for anyone but Jason to hear, though the sharp look Tim shot him suggested he'd caught it too.

"I'll walk you over," Tim said suddenly, placing a hand on the small of your back. The touch sent electricity down your spine, his fingers warm against your exposed skin.

As you moved through the crowd, Tim's hand stayed steady on your back, guiding you through the press of bodies. The contact felt simultaneously too much and not enough, and you found yourself hyperaware of every brush of his fingers, every slight pressure as he steered you around dancing couples.

"I didn't know you came to places like this," you said, having to lean close to his ear to be heard over the music. His cologne filled your senses, different from his usual office scent – something darker, spicier.

He leaned down, his breath tickling your ear as he replied, "I don't, usually. Dick dragged me out to 'celebrate' the Metropolis news." His tone on 'celebrate' suggested this wasn't entirely voluntary. "Though it's looking up now."

The implications in that last statement made your heart race, and you were grateful for the dim lighting hiding your blush. You were nearing the DJ booth now, Indi's sequined dress acting like a beacon in the strobing lights.

Tim's hand slipped from your back as you reached the edge of the dance floor, and the loss of contact felt almost physical. You turned to face him, finding his eyes already on you, intense despite the chaotic lighting.

"About that email," he said, stepping closer to be heard over the music. "I was wondering if you'd like to-"

"Baby sis!" Indi's voice cut through whatever Tim was about to say. She detached herself from her dance partner, practically bouncing over to you. "There you are! And with company?" Her eyes raked over Tim appreciatively. "Very nice company."

"Mr. Drake-Wayne," you introduced formally, trying to maintain some semblance of professionalism even as Indi's eyebrows shot up in recognition.

"Your boss?" she stage-whispered, not nearly as quietly as she probably thought. "The one you're moving to Metropolis with?" Her grin turned predatory. "Oh, this is interesting."

You felt your face flame. "Indi-"

"Dance with us!" she declared, already reaching for both you and Tim. "Consider it a pre-Metropolis celebration!"

The music swelled, and you found yourself being pulled onto the dance floor, Tim's amused expression the last thing you saw before the crowd swallowed you up. His hand found yours in the chaos, steady and warm, and suddenly the bass didn't seem quite so overwhelming.

As Indi disappeared back into the crowd, presumably to find her previous dance partner, you felt Tim pull you closer, his other hand finding its way back to your exposed back.

"So," he said, mouth close to your ear, "about that email..."

Your heart thundered in time with the music as you waited for him to continue, but a commotion near the bar caught your attention. Your eyes widened as you recognized a familiar figure being escorted out by security.

"Is that...?" Tim followed your gaze.

"Josh," you confirmed, watching as your ex-boyfriend was firmly guided toward the exit, his protests lost in the music. "I didn't even know he came here."

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your back. "Want me to have security make sure he stays out?"

The protective edge in his voice made something warm bloom in your chest. "No," you said, surprising yourself with how much you meant it. "He's not worth the effort anymore."

Tim's eyes softened as he looked at you, and suddenly the club, the music, even Josh's dramatic exit – it all faded into background noise. "Good," he said quietly, though you heard him perfectly despite the chaos around you. "Because I was thinking..."

The music shifted again, something slower, more intimate, and Tim pulled you imperceptibly closer.

"Yes?" you prompted, your heart racing as his hand traced small circles on your back.

"Maybe we should discuss those Metropolis arrangements... over dinner?"

The implications in his tone made it clear this wasn't about corporate housing or office logistics. You looked up at him, finding nothing but sincerity in his eyes, and felt a smile tug at your lips.

"That would be highly unprofessional, Mr. Drake," you said, but there was no real protest in your voice.

His answering smile was worth every HR regulation you were about to break. "I thought you told me to try harder, hm?"

And there, in the middle of a Gotham nightclub, with your ex being thrown out and your sister probably watching with glee, you finally let yourself lean into the warmth of Timothy Drake-Wayne's embrace.

"Dinner sounds perfect," you whispered, "Tim."

His smile could have lit up all of Gotham.

That's how you and Tim had gotten swept over into a booth and were actually just talking for once. Well. You both might have been a bit tipsy.

“Honestly Josh wasn't even my worst ex. There was this one girl, Maxine. Max and I dated for like all of college but she'd never bring me home or anything cause she was still closeted and stuff which I mean I get it. I didn't come out til I was like sixteenish luckily my family had enough things to worry about with my sister scarlet becoming a mom that one of us being bi-sexual was kinda glossed over. But anyway Max ended up breaking up with me and getting engaged to just some guy within like a month.” Your hands moved as you spoke, nearly sloshing your drink but Tim steadied it for you and gave a sympathetic nod.

“I get that,” he murmured. Your eyes trailed over the crowd again silently checking up on your sister. You nearly spat your drink out causing Tim to also look over. “I think your brother is trying to serenade my sister.”

You watched in horror and slight pride as indi and dick were clearly flirting with each other on the other side of the club.

“Probably planning how to embarrass us next too,” Tim hummed his hand resting on your thigh.

You let out a soft laugh, not moving away from his touch. "Oh god, can you imagine the family dinners? Indi would absolutely weaponize her model status to terrorize Bruce Wayne."

Tim's thumb traced absent patterns on your thigh, sending little sparks of electricity through your body. "Honestly? I'd pay to see that. Bruce needs someone to ruffle his feathers occasionally." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, you've been doing a pretty good job of that yourself."

"Me?" You blinked in surprise, taking another sip of your drink.

"Mmhmm." Tim shifted closer, his shoulder pressing against yours in the intimate space of the booth. "The way you handle Samantha? Your complete overhaul of the filing system? That presentation you gave last week?" His voice dropped lower. "Bruce hasn't been this impressed by anyone since Barbara Gordon herself."

The comparison to the legendary Barbara Gordon – now CFO of Wayne Tech – made you flush with pride and embarrassment. "I just do my job."

"No," Tim's voice was serious now, though his hand remained warm on your thigh. "You do so much more than that. You..." he paused, seeming to gather his thoughts. "You make everything better. Easier. Not just the work stuff, but..." he gestured vaguely with his free hand, "everything."

The vulnerability in his voice made your heart clench. You'd never seen him quite like this – guard down, words flowing freely, eyes soft in the dim club lighting. It was a far cry from the composed CEO who commanded boardrooms and managed million-dollar deals.

"Speaking of making things better," you said, trying to lighten the suddenly heavy moment, "remember that time you caught me stress-eating donuts in the supply closet after the Johnson meeting?"

Tim's laugh rumbled through his chest. "And instead of being professional about it, I just sat down and asked for one?" His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Best decision I ever made. Though I still maintain Boston cream is superior to your chocolate glazed preference."

"Excuse you, chocolate glazed is a classic for a reason." You nudged his shoulder playfully, then froze as you caught sight of Dick and Indi again. "Oh my god, they're exchanging numbers."

Tim followed your gaze and groaned. "Dick's never going to let this go. He's probably already planning double dates."

The casual way he said 'double dates' made your stomach flip. "Is that what this is?" you asked before you could stop yourself. "A date?"

Tim's hand tightened slightly on your thigh as he turned to face you fully. The booth suddenly felt much smaller, more intimate. "Do you want it to be?"

Your breath caught as you met his gaze. There was no trace of the CEO now – this was just Tim, looking at you like you were something precious and dangerous all at once.

"I..." you started, then jumped as someone slid into the booth opposite you.

"Baby bird!" Jason's voice cut through the moment like a knife. "And the assistant who's definitely just an assistant." He waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

Tim's hand didn't move from your thigh, though you saw his jaw clench slightly. "What do you want, Jason?"

"Can't a guy check on his baby brother?" Jason's grin was positively feral. "Especially when said brother is getting cozy with his very attractive employee in a very public place?"

You felt heat rise to your cheeks, but before you could formulate a response, Indi appeared at the table, Dick in tow.

"Sister swap!" she announced cheerfully. "Dick's taking me to this amazing late-night food truck, and you" she pointed at you with a perfectly manicured finger, "are coming with us because I refuse to eat street food alone with a strange man, even if he is unreasonably attractive."

"Hey!" Dick protested, though he was grinning.

You felt Tim's hand squeeze your thigh once before reluctantly withdrawing. "Rain check on that answer?" he murmured, low enough that only you could hear.

Your heart did a complicated flip in your chest as you nodded. As you slid out of the booth, letting Indi pull you toward the exit, you couldn't help but look back. Tim was watching you go, something intense and promising in his expression that made your skin tingle.

"So," Indi linked her arm through yours as you emerged into the cool Gotham night, Dick and Jason trailing behind you. "Want to tell me why you never mentioned how hot your boss is? Or why his hand was very obviously on your thigh for the past hour?"

"Or why you're both looking at each other like you're starring in your own personal rom-com?" Dick added helpfully.

You groaned, but couldn't quite suppress your smile. "Can we just focus on finding this amazing food truck you mentioned?"

"Oh honey," Indi's grin was wicked, "you really think we're letting this go? You're about to move to Metropolis with that man. This is prime sisterly interrogation material."

As your sister dragged you through the neon-lit streets of Gotham, Dick and Jason providing running commentary on the best late-night eateries, you found your thoughts drifting back to the booth, to Tim's touch, to that unanswered question hanging between you.

Your phone buzzed in your purse:

From: Tim

Message: Dinner tomorrow? Somewhere without nosy siblings?

You bit your lip to hide your smile as you typed back a response:

To: Tim

Message: Only if you promise to let me order chocolate glazed dessert.

His reply was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: Deal. Though I still say Boston cream is superior.

"Oh my god, you're texting him already, aren't you?" Indi peered over your shoulder. "This is adorable. Dick, look how adorable they are!"

"I hate all of you," you declared, but your grin betrayed you.

"No you don't," Dick said cheerfully. "Just wait until family game night. Bruce is going to have an aneurysm."

As your sister and the Wayne brothers debated the merits of various food trucks, your phone buzzed one last time:

From: Tim

Message: For the record? I definitely want it to be a date.

The Gotham night suddenly felt a lot warmer.

"You know, we do have another sister-"

"Indi! Stop it!"

You lunged for your eldest sister, but she was already showing Dick and Jason photos of Scarlet on her phone. Running a hand down your face, you fought the urge to text your other sister a warning about Indi's matchmaking schemes.

"Scarlet might actually kill you, you know," you deadpanned. Indi just shrugged, elegant and unrepentant in her sequined glory.

"That girl needs more to life than her shop and Harkin," she stated with a dramatic eye roll, scrolling to another photo.

"Harkin brings up my point. She's a mom, Indi. She can't just—"

"Lalalala can't hear you!" Indi sang out, covering her ears like a child rather than the successful model she was.

"I swear you are not the oldest out of all of us," you muttered, watching as Dick and Jason peered at the phone with increasing interest. "She runs a successful business, has an adorable kid, and is actually happy. Why are you like this?"

Dick looked up from the phone, his expression thoughtful. "The flower shop on Kane Street? With the blue awning?"

"You know it?" you asked, surprised.

"Bruce gets arrangements from there sometimes," Jason supplied, then smirked. "Though I'm betting he'll be ordering a lot more now that his son's dating the owner's sister."

"We're not—" you started automatically, then stopped, thinking of Tim's text burning a hole in your phone. Were you? The memory of his hand on your thigh, his quiet question in the booth, made your cheeks warm.

"Oooh, she's blushing!" Indi crowed triumphantly. "And here I thought Scarlet would be the one to snag a Wayne. She always was the pretty one—"

"Shut up," you groaned, snatching her phone. "Scarlet will murder us both if she finds out you're showing her photos to random men in clubs."

"Random men?" Dick pressed a hand to his chest in mock offense. "I'll have you know we are now practically family. In fact..." He plucked Indi's phone from your grasp with surprising agility and continued scrolling. "As your future brother-in-law, I think I have a right to know all about my new sisters."

"Oh my god," you muttered, watching helplessly as Indi and Dick huddled over the phone, Jason offering commentary that was absolutely not helping.

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Everything okay? Jason just sent me a very cryptic text about flower shops.

You looked up to find Jason watching you with a knowing smirk. "Did you seriously just text him?"

"Someone's gotta keep baby bird in the loop," he shrugged. "Besides, your sister's shop really does do nice arrangements. Bruce wasn't lying about that."

"The pink roses last month were from there," Dick added absently, still scrolling with Indi. "The ones for that charity gala?"

You remembered those roses. Scarlet had spent hours getting the gradient just right, each bloom a slightly different shade of pink fading to white. She'd been so proud of that order, even if she hadn't known it was for Wayne Enterprises.

"Speaking of flowers," Indi's eyes gleamed dangerously, "didn't Scarlet just hire that new delivery guy? The one with the motorcycle?"

"Indi, I swear to god—"

Your phone buzzed again:

From: Tim

Message: Should I be worried that Dick just asked Alfred for the flower shop's number?

You typed back quickly:

To: Tim

Message: Your brothers are conspiring with my sister. Send help.

His response was immediate:

From: Tim

Message: On my way. Though I should warn you, once Dick gets an idea in his head...

You looked up to find Indi and Dick exchanging contact information, presumably to better coordinate their matchmaking schemes, while Jason watched the whole thing with undisguised amusement.

To: Tim

Message: Too late. I think we're going to be seeing a lot of family dinners in our future.

From: Tim

Message: Good thing I like your family then. Even if Indi is currently plotting with Dick to revolutionize Wayne Enterprises' floral arrangements.

Despite everything, you couldn't help but smile. Your ridiculous family and his ridiculous brothers, all tangled up in each other's lives now. It should have been terrifying, but somehow...

"See?" Indi nudged you, having apparently finished her plotting with Dick. "This is what happens when you finally let yourself have some fun. Now come on, that food truck isn't going to wait forever."

As you let yourself be pulled along the Gotham streets, your phone warm with Tim's messages in your hand, you thought maybe – just maybe – your sister had a point.

Even if you'd never, ever admit it to her face.

.

.

.

Taglist:

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[parkerluvsu]

art x volleyball player reader guys!!! need him to watch them in awe as they go to serve or receive the ball, or just him looking at their ass in those shorts 🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️ (me because I play volleyball)

noooo omg i used to play volleyball and it was so fun so this is amazing..

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

i think that patrick definitely convinced art to come watch a match, i feel like art isn't a big sports fan even though he plays tennis (hypocritical i know), he just gets bored so easy!! so art wasnt expecting much from the volleyball game, but when you and your team entered the gym to loud cheers and claps, arts eyes instantly drift to you, watching as you wave to friends in the crowd with a wide smile on your face <3

patrick tries to talk to art during the game but art just nods and says "yeah", he just can't take his eyes off of you!! he's absolutely mesmerized by the way you can serve the ball, jumping and hitting it over the net with such accuracy that it makes art practically swoon! and.. he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy the way your ass looked in those tight athletic shorts you wear.. <3

after the game was over (you won by spiking the ball over the net easily) art almost slipped and fell down the bleachers to get to talk to you, he has a silly grin on his face and he's flushed, almost reminding you of a young fan meeting their favorite singer! he stuttered cutely over his words but eventually he was able to ask for your number, immediately sending you a sweet text about how well you played, and admiring how hard the sport seemed, since he's really only ever played tennis. from then on, you can count on seeing arts smiling face in the stands at every game (even the away games), he's definitely a member of your fanclub <3

[dekariosclan]

I can't help but send another ask - or, well, this falls more under headcanon territory - your insights into Gale are always so poignant and immensely entertaining!

Can't remember exactly where in Act 1, but at some point Gale mentions that during his isolation he warded his townhouse tower against visitors for their own safety. Now, it's easy to take that at face value and assume he meant standard boring ol' protection spells, but we've all seen his resurrection protocol.

Which led me to ponder the following: what do you imagine the ratio of "practical wards meant to harmlessly deter visitors" to "elaborate booby traps that put Home Alone to shame" is? Does he remember where they all are, or after returning to Waterdeep are there a lot of "ah, must have missed that one" moments while rescuing poor Tav from yet another trap they set off by accident? Is Tara part of the security system?

I just feel your thoughts on the matter would be positively delightful to read

Can I just say, I would legitimately pay a ridiculous amount of money to see a Gale / Home Alone crossover movie.

Ridiculous. Amount.

But since we will never be blessed with that, let’s chat about it here!

You are absolutely correct that Gale talks about warding his tower during his confinement! He mentions it during his conversation with Tav at the tiefling party, if you question him about being lonely during his confinement:

Now, for your ask:

The ratio of ‘practical wards’ to going full “Home Alone: Lost in Waterdeep”? I think it’d be 50% straight up barriers and 50% goofy booby traps…and honestly, I don’t think that the goofy booby traps are just a Gale thing. I think it’s a wizardly pride thing. Remember that wizard tower in the Underdark?! That guy had turrets with laser beams, an enchanted ass elevator, and a robot that needed a hug but would also kill you. Lorroakan had Ramazith’s tower set up with false portals, guards, puzzles that can disintegrate you and again, every wizard’s favorite, those damned laser beams.

I think Gale’s barriers and wards would be straightforward spells. His traps, though, I feel would be 190% more creative. And 190% more GALE, as every single trap would involve our favorite mirror image Gale popping up to say hello!

I think the barriers/wards would do fine for deterring most visitors—Gale did say he’d set up enough ‘to keep a small army at bay’—but in the event of a more persistent guest, Mirror Gale would politely provide ample (and increasingly passive-aggressive) warnings to try and persuade any visitors away:

“Hello there! You seem rather determined to make your presence known! Rest assured your visit has been noted; however, i must ask that you turn back from here. Have a lovely evening!”

“Greetings! You know, I would have thought it was quite obvious by the myriad barriers you’ve had to traverse that company is unwelcome, yet here you are! A more intelligent visitor would have likely given up by now, but it seems common sense won’t stop you, will it? No no, heaven forbid.”

“You don’t quite seem to be getting the hint. Tell me, are you often this belligerent and clueless? I shall make note not to invite you to any parties once my Tower is open to visitors once more.”

“Hello again! Ha-ha, ahh….are you quite sure you wish to proceed? I must warn you that I have been, ah, instructed to incinerate you if you go any further! Ah-ha, no hard feelings of course!”

Do I think Tara would be part of the security system? That’s a tough one, because while Tara CAN AND WILL cast a fireball with excellent accuracy when needed (as shown by the rooftop meeting if it goes sour), I think she would’ve been unable to commit to security duties due to having to go find magical Gale Dinner©️ trinkets for his consumption.

Finally, I would assume that Gale would take extra special care to ensure that all traps/wards have been deactivated when he brings his beloved Tav home—however, I could see there mayyybee being one or two missed. In which case, a quiet afternoon of Tav exploring their new home might suddenly be disrupted by a glowing Gale appearing and proclaiming, “Hello! Ah! Well—this is rather awkward, isn’t it? Despite ALL prior warnings, you have now breached my inner sanctum and sadly, must be punished for it. I shall now commence following you and reading a selection of Elminster’s teachings on the history of conjuration spells, which is sure to bore you so completely that you will long for death—”

[rollinouttahere-writes]

Best texters are usopp and nami. They just text like normal people I think. I think law leaves you on read all the time, but not on purpose. White beard being defeated by his inability to text is killing me and you're so right. Omg Hancock only responds to you with selfies of varying levels of disdain depending on what you said. Shanks drunk texts are definitely brutal, I know that man is incoherent and spamming you at 2 am. What else what else... I genuinely think crocodile emails or calls only. I just can't see him texting.

Usopp and Nami are probably the most normal about it of all the characters, though Nami gets huffy pretty quick if you don't respond fast enough. Usopp can lean into spam territory with all the pictures he sends you throughout the day of funny/interesting things that catch his eye or of projects he's working on.

Law absolutely leaves you on read a lot. He doesn't mean to, he's just the kind of person that sees a text and thinks to himself that he'll respond later after he finishes what he's doing only to completely forget about it.

Whitebeard's eyesight isn't what it used to be, so he can barely even make out what's on the screen. He's sitting there holding the phone away from himself and squinting at it all while refusing to put on the reading glasses Marco got him because he still thinks that he doesn't need them. Also his fingers are too big to text with any degree of accuracy, so he gives up on texting almost immediately. If anyone needs to communicate with him, they're going to have to call.

Boa only responding with selfies is so her. You should feel blessed to be able to see her beautiful face, don't get greedy and demand her words too.

Drunk Shanks sends a combination of texts and voice voice memos. The texts are full of spelling errors and gibberish, and the voice memos are impossible to understand because of all of the noise in the background. You need to respond regardless though because he will come find you if you ignore him, and you do NOT want to deal with his drunk ass at three in the morning.

Crocodile refuses to text because he finds texting with one hand to be tedious and annoying. He'll read your texts if you're lucky, but he tends to not pay much mind to them. If it wasn't important enough to be a call, then it wasn't worth his time.

[p0orbaby]

reader x katie mccabe

reader is really sweet like esme morgan sweet and get her first red card and katie and the team just tease her

Seeing Red

warnings: nil

a/n: this was fun

word count: 589

-

The collective gasp of the crowd echoed in your ears. A chorus of disappointment and disbelief as you stood on the field, heart racing, staring on as the referee brandished a red card in your direction. It was your first red, ever, and your face inflamed with shame as you made your way off the pitch.

Leah was the first you heard as you neared the dugout. “Well, well, seems like someone’s getting feisty out there” she chuckled, rising from her seat and tucking you under her arm as the two of you walked back down the tunnel.

“I barely even touched her,” you argued, your frustration mounting, not only with your lapse in discipline but also with the referee’s decision to issue a second yellow card.

The blonde let out a wry exhale at your rebuke. “Well,” she admitted, “you kind of did.” You shot her an intense glare, unable to admit just yet the accuracy of her statement. She cleared her throat, avoiding your gaze while sporting a sly smirk. “Sorry, no, you’re absolutely right. She practically tripped herself, no doubt about it.”

Inside the changing room, you sank down in front of your cubby and buried your head in your hands. “I’m such a horrible person,” you mumbled, your voice heavy with self-blame.

“Yeah, super terrible”

“Leah! Not helping!”

She settled down beside you, and you propped your head on her shoulder with a petulant sigh. “Come on, you’re not a terrible person. It’s just what happens when you’ve shared a bed with McCabe for as long as you have.”

You let out a defeated groan and playfully shove her away while she laughed. Whether it was your embarrassment or the commentary on your sleeping arrangements that amused her, you’d never be quite sure.

-

“There she is! My little trouble maker”. Katie’s voice echoed through the entire changing room. The entirety of the team’s attention shifting towards you as you sank back into your seat, face heating under the spotlight.

Your girlfriend’s remark triggered a chorus of laughter. One by one, each player playfully teased and nudged you as they made their way to their own cubbies.

Katie secured her spot beside you, good-naturedly displacing Leah from her seat, and with a grin, she wrapped her arm around your waist, leaning in closely. “I knew you had it in you,” she whispered, her warm breath sending a shiver down your spine before you pulled back slightly, giving her a pointed look.

“What? You looked kinda cute all fired up like that darlin’, I’ll be honest”

“Don’t’,” you plead, pulling up the bottom of your jersey to hide your face. “I can’t live with the shame”

And Viv, the ever loyal had Viv now decided to contribute, “it’s probably all the McCabe rubbing off on you”

“That’s what I said!” Leah squealed from somewhere in the room. You didn’t know where exactly. There were too many bodies crowding in, a glint in their eyes and friendly fire on their lips.

“Next time I go down” Jen started, “I’m gonna get marshmallow fluff over here to put the ref in their place. The words coming out of your mouth, oof”

“Tell me about it. I only hear her swear is when I’ve got my head-“

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence, Macca” you warn. “Otherwise you and your head will be sleeping downstairs tonight”

That earnt you another wave of cheers.

“The floodgates have opened girls!” Beth chimed in. “Looks like we’re going to need a bigger boat!”

[aegagrusscholarship]

IM FUCKING DONE THIS TOOK ME OVER 24 HOURS GET ME OUT

this is RTX On she is an asshole. she sends false distress signals to lure in machines who are either capitalizing on an opportunity or machines who just want to help. also they've modified their gun into a machinegun so they just have Spell Of Delete Everything In That General Direction now. who needs accuracy when you have firepower. the stickers are because she's trying to appear more unassuming. also the mess of wires on her belly (both of them) can be disconnected without issue; she does this a lot to up the ruse.

they're honestly just terrified of dying and willing to do anything to avoid that. too bad they're an absolute bitch about it!

[aishangotome]

Azel Radwan: Chapter 8

Chapter 7

Thank you @shatcey for providing the video for this chapter!

♡———♡

If I return to the castle, days of excessive hospitality and aphrodisiacs await me.

I'd rather escape to the absolute safe zone in Tanzanite.

The only thing required in the "recruitment test" I took with a feeling of desperation was––

*earlier*

Azel: What can you do for me?

I put my hand on my chest and think about the God's question.

(To persuade Prince Azel, who doesn't want people living in the temple, I have no choice but to sell him on "what only I can do")

(Speaking of typical things...)

Emma: As you know, I can cook.

Emma: In addition to three meals a day, I'll add a special dessert to each meal!

Azel: Okay, you're hired –– no, wait.

Azel: You can cook even if you don't live here, right? That alone isn't a deciding factor.

(...So close)

Emma: Then, how about being able to use me as much as you like, whenever you like?

Azel: There are people other than you who I can use. Rejected.

Emma: Well then, how about the fact that I can work on book-related tasks?

Emma: The Living God is quite the book lover, since he is connected to the owner, right?

Emma: I'm also a bookstore clerk... no, I'm a merchant now. I will meet the Living God's expectations with my specialized knowledge of books.

Azel: That's fine. Akatsuki is enough for me.

(This is quite difficult)

I close my mouth and think about what else there is.

Azel: Then, please tell me in the next 5 seconds. My time is precious.

Emma: 5 seconds!?

Azel: 5, 4, 3––

(There must be something else. The wisdom I gained when I was Belle, the techniques the owner taught me...)

(No, that's wrong. Even if I show them to him, it's meaningless if it doesn't align with Prince Azel's wishes.)

(But I only know that Prince Azel is a God who is greedy for money and eats delicious food.)

(In other words––I'm stuck)

Azel: 2, 1––See, nothing comes to mind, right? You don't know anything about me.

Azel: You have no idea what my troubles are and what skills you should sell to persuade me.

Emma: What you want me to know is...

Azel: It'll cost you.

Emma: ...

Azel: Thank you for your purchase.

Emma: I haven't said anything yet!?

Azel: So you don't need the information?

Emma: ...I want it.

(Beggars can't be choosers)

As I hang my head, Prince Azel turns his back on me with a smug look.

Azel: This way.

-

Emma: Why are we outside...?

Azel: We are going to have a visitor.

There was no sign of anyone around, only swirling dust.

Emma: Do you have an appointment?

Azel: No, but have you forgotten who I am?

(...A divinator with 100% accuracy)

(Don't tell me, you can even grasp the arrival of visitors?)

Azel: I want you to receive this visitor.

Azel: If you can send them away without any trouble––no, if you can entertain them, you'll pass the test.

Azel: Prepare yourself.

Prince Azel gazed towards the other side of the dust clouds, then turned on his heel.

Emma: Aren't you going to greet them with me?

Azel: I'm just going to get some tools.

(Tools...?)

Before I could stop him, he disappeared at a brisk pace.

(I don't really understand, but since it's a chance that was given to me, I don't want to waste it.)

Soon after, just as the God predicted, a human figure appeared in the dust clouds.

I noticed something strange about the shadow that swayed unsteadily to the right and left.

(Something's wrong.)

As I ran towards them, stepping on the remains of the crumbling ruins, another scent reached my nose, mixed with the desert's characteristic hot air.

(This...this is...)

The scent, which I remembered from when I was Belle, turned my premonition into certainty.

Emma: Are you alright!?

As soon as I rushed over, the person collapsed towards the dry earth.

I instinctively supported them and laid them down on the ground.

(A terrible injury...)

Blood dripping from their arm was soaking into their clothes, dyeing them crimson.

The wound was too deep to have been caused by a fall; my heart pounded with the thought that they might have been slashed by something.

(Judging from their attire, they seem to be a diviner, like the ones often seen in the city.)

*flashback*

Emma: That's a terrible injury. Was it a fight?

Basil: Perhaps the diviner made a mistake in their divine message.

Basil: Lately, many diviners seem to be missing their divine messages...

Basil: Sometimes customers who are angry about the blasphemy against the Gods lash out like that.

*another flashback*

Apostle: Recently, many false diviners have appeared in the city, and people are worried.

Apostle: The fact that the Living God favors women could be a ray of hope to dispel the anxieties of the desert.

*back to present time*

(...No, I should stop making assumptions based on uncertain information.)

(The bleeding hasn't stopped... First, I need to stop the bleeding quickly.)

I untied the cloth from one of my accessories and tightly bound the man's arm.

Emma: Does...does it hurt...?

(...)

When I peered at his face to check on him, his eyes were terrifyingly vacant.

There was no light, only a darkness like gazing into the abyss, sending chills down my spine.

Wounded Diviner: ...Have the...Gods....abandoned us...?

(Is he...saying something?)

Wounded Diviner: ...The...day of reckoning...is...near...

(...)

Azel: Here you go.

Emma: Wah...!

Suddenly, a toolbox fully equipped with medical supplies and water was placed beside me.

When I turned around, Prince Azel, bathed in backlight, was looking down at the wounded diviner with cold eyes.

(His vacant eyes are scary, but so are these cold eyes...)

Our eyes met, and the God smiled.

As if to say that his cruel expression was all a deception.

Emma: ...Thank you. I'll borrow these.

(I have a lot of questions, but I need to focus on the task at hand.)

I cleaned the dirty wound with water, applied medicine, and wrapped it with a bandage for protection.

During that time, Prince Azel simply watched the treatment without doing anything.

Azel: You're quite skilled.

Emma: When I was Belle, I was taught how to perform first aid.

Emma: Rhodolite is a country of knights—I sometimes had the opportunity to observe dangerous official duties.

Azel: That must have been quite a hardship.

Emma: Of course it was hard, but I gained more than I suffered.

Emma: If it weren't for my efforts back then, the helpless me wouldn't be here.

Emma: Even now, being ordered around by the Living God, this experience may be useful somewhere someday.

Azel: ...Could you please stop with those clear eyes? I feel like I'm being crushed.

(...There, that should do it.)

Perhaps due to blood loss, the male diviner had lost consciousness at some point.

Emma: I've managed to provide first aid, but what should we do now?

Azel: Of course, we'll leave him with a doctor.

Azel: Kamal, take him to Sinan.

(..........!)

Kamal, who appeared out of nowhere like an illusion, effortlessly lifted the man.

I was speechless at her strength, unbecoming of a woman.

(...Not only is she beautiful, but she's also strong...)

When our eyes met, Kamal winked and left.

Despite her strength, she hadn't lost her feminine grace.

I couldn't help but feel admiration and let out a sigh of wonder.

Azel: ...You shouldn't be impressed by her. You'll regret it someday.

Emma: Why is that?

Azel: If you haven't noticed, then it's fine. It's a trivial matter.

Azel: More importantly, thank you for your hospitality. I have to say, your work exceeded my expectations.

Although his words were complimentary, what slipped from Prince Azel's lips was a click of his tongue.

On top of that, he was looking away, as if he didn't want to meet my eyes.

Emma: ...Did I just hear something?

Azel: It's your imagination. It's gratifying to have someone who can calmly deal with such guests. They're valuable.

Azel: The temple is the residence of the Gods, so unless something extraordinary happens, we don't receive visitors.

Azel: But recently, they've been increasing. Those troublesome—no, those pitiful visitors.

Emma: —...False diviners.

At my dropped murmur, I felt the nature of Prince Azel's smile change.

From one full of compassion to a cruel, mocking one.

(My guess was right.)

Azel: I suppose they're desperate.

Emma: ...Before he lost consciousness, the man said...

Emma: "Have the gods abandoned us?"

Emma: "The day of reckoning is near..."

(Diviners are spokespeople for the Gods...so I can kind of understand what he meant by "abandoned.")

(But I don't understand what he meant by "the day of reckoning.")

Azel: I wonder what he intends to do if he knows.

Emma: ...Does the recent failure of divinations have anything to do with the Living God?

Azel: Of course it does.

Azel: Maybe it's because I've grown tired of people?

(...Really?)

Still not looking at me, Prince Azel was about to briskly return to the temple, holding the toolbox. I started running to catch up with his fast pace.

Azel: The people of this country decide all their actions through divination.

Azel: The voice of the Gods is a definite future, something unquestionable.

Azel: Therefore, those who "falsely" speak for the Gods are condemned without exception.

Azel: They are not judged legally, but "taught a lesson" physically, like that.

Azel: Don't you think it's ridiculous? Speaking for the Gods or whatever, when "I haven't said anything"...

Emma: ............

Azel: Someone said that humans are thinking reeds.

Azel: But those who have given up thinking for themselves are just reeds.

Azel: This country, where the grass and trees have withered, is certainly a fitting place for them.

(...That's why Prince Azel has grown tired of them.)

(It's all like a fairy tale... no, like a myth.)

But in reality, divine messages are failing, and false diviners are being persecuted.

Azel: You, a daughter of a foreign land, do not become stained by this country.

Azel: Don't be swayed by the words of others; think for yourself and decide your own actions.

Azel: This country can very easily capture and corrupt people with illusions.

Emma: ...I'll keep that in mind.

(I wonder what kind of expression Prince Azel has on his face right now.)

(Is he angry, sad, or disgusted...?)

Curious, I desperately tried to keep up with him and look up at his face.

I was so surprised by the glimpse of his expression that I finally saw, I couldn't help but widen my eyes.

Emma: ...Living God?

(...Why didn't I notice?)

It was usual for Prince Azel to have a deep furrow between his brows, but his profile, illuminated by the crimson sunset, was unusually pale.

Emma: Are you alright?

Azel: I won't ask what you saw, but it's your imagination.

Emma: But...

Azel: You're persistent.

Emma: Of course I am!

I ran with all my might to overtake him, spreading my arms in front of Prince Azel to block his way.

Emma: You look like you're about to collapse!

(It's clear when I see him from the front.)

(...His complexion, his lips, everything is pale.)

Azel: ...There's no need to make such a tearful face.

Emma: I'm not about to cry, I'm worried.

Azel: It's unnecessary, not worth a penny.

Emma: What's the cause?

(There must be a reason why someone who was perfectly fine just a moment ago suddenly feels ill.)

Prince Azel tried to push me aside lightly, as if I was bothering him, and his fingers trembled as they were about to touch my shoulder.

(........?)

I looked at my shoulder, and there was a dark red stain on my clothes that hadn't been there before.

(From when I supported the diviner...)

Azel: ...If I had to say, it might be because I'm hungry.

Prince Azel went into the temple as if running away from me.

(I see, could it be—)

-

I quickly changed into my harem attire in the kitchen and headed towards Prince Azel, who was leaning against the huge window in the entrance, sitting with one knee raised.

The sunset had been swallowed by the night, and a crescent moon was beginning to rise in the sky.

Emma: I've brought you some sliced apples.

Azel: ......

Even though he must have heard me, his tightly closed eyes didn't open. Even when I sat next to him and offered the bowl of apples, he just turned his face away.

Emma: You said you were hungry earlier...

Azel: I'm not in the mood right now.

Growl... A stomach's cry came from somewhere. Even though there was no one here but me and Prince Azel, the God stubbornly refused to acknowledge it.

(...Ah)

Prince Azel's tightly clenched hands were trembling slightly. Even now, though it was hard to see in the darkness, his complexion wasn't good.

Emma: ...Then, if I may be so bold...

Knowing the reason why he wouldn't take it, I stabbed a piece of apple with the fork myself. When I brought the apple to his mouth, those mystical eyes finally met mine.

Azel: ...What?

Emma: In the world, this is called "aah."

Emma: When someone offers you food like this, you open your mouth.

Azel: ............

With an obvious frown, Prince Azel bit into the apple. I almost let out a strange sound, surprised that he actually ate it from my hand.

(...He has an unexpectedly obedient side.)

Azel: Are you satisfied now?

Emma: No, not yet.

When I offered him another piece of apple on the fork, Prince Azel continued to eat in a resigned manner.

Azel: ...You've noticed, haven't you?

Emma: But your face says "don't pry."

Azel: If you know that, can you please leave me alone?

Emma: You didn't want me to know so much, yet you gave me this opportunity?

Azel: ...........

(Prince Azel knew that the "injured visitor would come.")

(And yet... he didn't run away in front of me.)

I think he must have intended to take care of the diviner himself if I couldn't. I felt a shred of conscience in the fact that he didn't chase me away or leave it all to me.

Emma: Thank you. As long as I'm here, I promise I won't let you see any blood.

Prince Azel remained silent with a stern expression. Seeing as he didn't deny or confirm it, my guess seemed to be correct.

(He really can't stand blood.)

(...But this reaction, it's not just that he dislikes it. His body seems to be afraid of something.)

(He's pretending to be fine, but what in the world happened to make him hate blood so much?)

Azel: Haa... Are you serious? Are you seriously planning to live here?

Emma: ...If you hate it that much—

Azel: Don't back down now. My sacrifice will be for nothing.

Azel: ...If you're useless, I'll kick you out immediately. Got it?

The words, groaned out, were surely another side of Prince Azel that I didn't know yet.

Emma: Yes! I look forward to working with you—

Emma: ...Achoo!

Azel: ............

Emma: It's not that! It's not like I'm going to catch a cold on the first day and cause you trouble...!

Emma: It's just that the desert nights are cold, so I thought this outfit wasn't really suitable...

Azel: ………… Haaa...

With another exasperated sigh, Prince Azel grabbed my arm—

And the next thing I knew, I was enveloped in the God's warmth.

Emma: Eh...

(...Ehhh!? )

.

.

.

Chapter 9

If you’d like to support my translations, feel free to leave me a tip here or buy me a coffee through the "Leave a Tip" button on my navigation bar!

[aspenlovesmedia]

Protocol thoughts I have before s2 starts because I have a lot of them and I want to see what gets answered/what I’m right and wrong about. These are all based on my notes from my relisten and on the alchemy research I did today. This post is long lol, sorry in advance.

Has a Bouchard worked for the OIAR before/did Gwen get her job because of it? This is entirely based on a line from ep1 where Gwen says “Oh, nepotism is it?” And Alice says “I learned from the best”. This could just be in reference to the Bouchard’s being rich and stuff, but this line has stuck with me.

What happened to the Response Department? I think it’s suspicious as hell that Response was closed down and not the OIAR. This also links into how do missfiles happen and who is rating the accuracy of the staff?

What’s the deal with Starkwall? I hope Gertrude is involved with them somehow. I just think it would be funny if she was involved in burning down the Institute.

A huge theme is balance. It shows up in a lot of episodes, which makes sense because alchemy. Not to go on a massive alchemy tangent since I did some research on it today, however the philosopher’s stone wasn’t just about immortality, it was about purifying the human body and soul. This is also referred to as the “Great work”, which is directly mentioned by who I’m going to assume in Jonah Magnus in ep 27. There are also a lot of body doubles and stuff like that, which I’m guessing is that concept of making a perfect human gone wrong. I mean, there is literally an episode where that woman is trying to make the idealised version of herself.

How did Celia find out about the OIAR?

Jon and Martin are clearly reaching out as much as they can. Jon gets name dropped as sending the email to Sam. The true question is why they’re encouraging the investigation into the Magnus Institute considering everything that happened lol. Also, who sent Gwen the documents? I’m thinking it’s Augustus? I have no evidence though, it’s just a hunch.

Will we see Klaus (the IT guy Lena failed to kill)?

What’s the deal with Gerry and Gertrude? Gertrude is suspicious as hell and clearly knows more than she’s telling. Also, she calls Gerry her grandson, which brings up the question what happened to Mary and Eric?

The Merchant guy from ep 4 might be relevant? The reason I say this is because in ep 4, he has some dice, and ep 9 is all about supernatural dice and considering how the violin acted I’m assuming they’re the same dice that he had.

Will the key come up again? I know Sam dropped it, but I do wonder if it will come up again.

I just need y’all to know every Bonzo episode I have variations of “oh fuck” written down because I hate Mr Bonzo so much.

The OIAR are there to help with “balancing” stuff out and I don’t know exactly what that means it’s definitely relevant.

The quote “the world is filled with opposing forces, some benevolent, some not” was really interesting to me.

Lady Mowbray seemed to know Celia wasn’t from their world which was fascinating to me.

I can’t 100% confirm this but is Alice the only one to get jmj errors? If so, idk what that means but it’s weird.

How much does Lena know? Also, why is she so determined for things not to change where possible?

So, I made a post previously on this, but I’m pretty sure the Archivist is an amalgamation of all the TMA fear entities. Celia saying “It’s not acting how I would have expected” is a line that I think supports it.

The biggest question to me is how Jon, Martin and “Augustus” ended up in Freddy.

I am absolutely convinced either Luke or Teddy will die. I don’t know which, but one of them is going to at somepoint. Idk, but I’m sure of it.

Anyway, that’s like 90% of my thoughts on everything from s1. There are a few others but they’re very vague and I can’t phrase in a way that make sense lol.

[savedbythedrafts]

I have many thoughts about Bridgerton.

Was it the perfect season? Absolutely no.

But it quite honestly is my favorite season so far because it made me realise how the enemies-to-lovers trope has rotten my brain when this is what I want to see. Gentle love, best friends becoming partners.

Things that I absolutely loved this season:

-Pen's arc: In the book she gives up whistledown to become a romance author which is nice, but now we have a legitimate journalist in the house who has proved her accuracy at such a young age. People who are worried about how she's gonna get her info now that people are guarded? Um her main sources were always the maids and footmen and she is observant enough to run a column. Plus now that everyone knows who she is, people might anonymously send her reports (as happens in journalism) which gives her SO MUCH POWER. I am a journalist and I can't stress enough how incredible that is. I know book fans expected the last speech by Colin but imo her taking full control of her decisions and willingness to face the consequences makes it so much better.

-Eloise and Pen patch up: Both of them going to each other for comfort and support when the shit hit the fan made my heart warm. When Eloise comes back, I hope she knows herself a bit better and actually brings her grand ideas to reality.

-Benedict going about his viscount duties in absence of Anthony without the rage of responsibility whilst discovering his sexuality 10/10. Man was also fully involved in all of his siblings feuds, mainly whatever the fuck Gregory and Hyacinth were upto. CUTE. Actually shoutout to all the Bridgertons, they were so perfectly chaotic.

-THe FEATHERINGTONS OMG: I am the youngest daughter of my family as well as the black sheep- so unpredictable, unconventional that no one in my family gets me. That's why I relate to Pen so much and I'll defend her to death. To see the sisters and Portia realise Pen's worth made me sob. Phillipa saying I hope my daughter becomes a writer? Cherry on cake. But Portia opening up to Pen and being vulnerable and proud at the same time was so bloody well done.

-Polin: Fans being livid about the lack of spice in part 2 (minus the incredible sex scene in ep 5) is understandable but I blame the marketing for it, not the showrunners. Over the course of part 1, we saw Colin's relationship with intimacy change drastically. His want for connection becomes a necessity and if they just jumped into angry sex without actually resolving anything, it would have ruined his character development. I think it's the incredible chemistry between Nic and Luke in general and the heavy emphasis on the horniness during the press tour left the fans understandably wanting for more. But in general, their romance felt quite authentic. The Pride and Prejudice 'dancing in the room alone' callback, goofing around in the church, Colin coming to terms with what Whistledown meant to the ton and himself, Penelope's newfound confidence thanks to Colin's frequent words of affirmation, it was all good.

Things I would change to make this season better (this is turning into a full article now but read ahead if you have been here so far):

-The bloody editing: Pardon my french but why the fuck Benedict's prolonged threesome scenes not edited out? He has a whole season coming up so I don't understand so much focus on that weirdly edited scene amidst the drama. Just one shot of establishing his pansexuality (or bi but I am hoping it's pan) would have been enough? I love Ben, he is my favorite brother but this gave me the ick. To think these 3-4 minutes could have been used to extend the last Polin intimate scene. We could have had a good 5 minutes of Pen topping Colin after the BIG REVEAL but noooo. Even the subplots should have been kept short and sweet. Unlike some fans, I am not completely against the inclusion of the Mondrich family, Cressida's back story, the build up to Benedict's and Fran's actual stories, and more. But I believe too much footage was given to these even though the show clearly focuses on one couple per season. Get your shit together Shonda, this is not 20 episode Grey's anatomy, we can't focus on EVERYONE.

-Colin's anger after the wedding: Now I understand why he didn't want to have the wedding night given the stressful circumstances but him being angry till Francesca's wedding made no sense. How I would have written the resolution would have been something like this- In the hours before Rae leaves the house at night, Colin would have been reading the letters, figuring out how Pen is so whistledown at core (like he actually does the very next day but in absence of Pen). And instead of coming into the room to get a blanket, he could have brought in his own manuscript, asking her to read it as promised and taking up her offer to let her edit. This scene was literally in the book and was so easy to adapt. I would give my left kidney to see Colin sitting near Penelope, watching her powerful writing in action. Again, no spice required, just this. This would have made Pen's 'just love me' speech to Colin so good, but alas!

-Cressida: This is the arc I am most pissed off about. Eloise's reconciliation with Pen was great but completely abandoning Cressida to misery was so outta pocket. I realise Eloise is still not a fully realised character and is barely 20 (she's just a girl) but she was always kind. If I was writing Cressida's arc, I would have had Eloise come to her rescue at the end by borrowing some money from Pen and helping Cressida escape to Vienna or better Scotland. I highly doubt Pen would have minded if she knew how similar both of their circumstances were. I detested Cressida in the books because I'll be honest the books were pretty two dimensional with no real character development and just grand gestures (I'll understand if you come for me but this is how I feel, sorry). But the show made me care for her and I wished she could have found some happiness in life.

Overall, I'll rewatch it because the tiny details were so good this season I believe I can relish those till the next season. And I'll miss Polin immensely. But Shonda please, you can do better.

[brookstolemybrand]

An overly elaborate comparison of Harley translations: The Second World

[1st World] [3rd World]

PLEASE READ THE FIRST WORLD POST FIRST.

(This is not a criticism of these translations: I'm not considering their literary merit, only accuracy for the sake of analysis and theorising, not for reader enjoyment or immersion, which are equally important)

(Also feel free to correct me because my Japanese isn't perfect by any means)

The Second World

虚無に息吹あり

[OFFICIAL] Within the void there was breath.

[LUNA] From the void a breath of the life emerged. (?)

[YUDE] Breath was given to the void, (?)

[OHARA] Within the nothingness, there is breath.

[TCB] A breath stirred in the abyss. (?)

[OPS] There was breath upon the emptiness.

[TS] In emptiness, there is breath.

This follows the same pattern as the first line of the First World. "There is/was [X] in/on [Y]". Also sorry in advance if I get nitpicky with this one.

Luna's translation is not wrong, but once again I feel like he's making assumptions. 息吹 can definitely be interpreted as "breath of life", that might in fact be the main connotation? And this would be my interpretation too. But it doesn't say "of life", it just says "breath". The verb is also just "there is/was".

Yude also uses a rather loose interpretation. There is no "was given". Same goes for TCB's "stirred". Technically these are still fine because I guess there is an implication that the breath sort of appears in the emptiness, but it doesn't actually say that. It could have been there all along.

The other translations are all valid, IMO.

虚無 means "void" or "nothingness" or "emptiness". Apparently it can also mean the lack of meaning or value. Or the literal void of space. It's not the word used for the Void Century, though, which is why I think "nothingness" or "emptiness" would probably have been better here in order to avoid the confusion.

息吹 means "breath" but also "lifeforce" or "vitality", even in reference to inanimate things, and it probably means a bunch of other stuff too, idek. The connotations of this word seem to go deep. Apparently it could also mean a sign of something fresh and new. I'm finding way too many definitions for this.

Conclusion: There was (a) breath [upon/within] the [nothingness/emptiness].

森の神は魔を遣わせた

[OFFICIAL] The forest god tamed demons [!]

[LUNA] The god of the forest sent forth demons.

[YUDE] and the Forest God sent forth the demon.

[OHARA] The Forest God sent forth devils.

[TCB] The god of the forest summoned its devils, (?)

[OPS] The god of the forest sent forth demons.

[TS] The deity of Forest dispatched demons.

The forest god or god of the forest is formatted the same way as all the other gods in this text. Literally "God of Forest" but to keep it consistent with the sun god I would go with "forest god". I think in this case especially "god of the forest" makes it sound like it's a specific forest? Which it might be! But we don't actually know.

(Also again, it could technically be multiple forest gods, even though I don't think it is.)

魔 is an interesting word: "demon; devil; evil spirit; evil influence" or something along those lines. All of the translations decided to go with demons or devils which makes a lot of sense. Only Yude decided to go with the singular form "the demon", but even he later talks about demons in plural. It could be just one demon, technically, but I think the vibe is that it's plural. It could also be the more general "evil influence" of course.

The verb is 遣わす which means "to dispatch", "to send", "to send out", something like that. Also "to bestow" in certain situations. I have absolutely no clue where Stephen Paul got the "tamed" from, I was hoping he would explain it on the podcast but he just didn't. So... I'm baffled. Is there something I'm missing? Please someone explain if you have any idea.

Also TCB went with "summoned" which I guess is closer? But still confusing.

Conclusion: The forest god(s) sent forth (the) [devil(s)/demon(s)/evil spirit(s)/evil influence]

太陽は戦火を 広げるばかりだ

[OFFICIAL] and the sun spread the fires of war.

[LUNA] The sun does nothing but spread the flame of war.

[YUDE] The Sun spreads war everywhere. (?)

[OHARA] The sun only aggravated the fires of war.

[TCB] While the sun lit the embers of war. (?)

[OPS] The sun merely spread the embers of war.

[TS] The Sun did nothing but spread seeds of war. (?)

戦火 literally translates as "warfire" or "fire(s) of war". This time it really is the "fire" kanji. I have no idea why the text summary chose to go with "seeds". Not that it's necessarily wrong, but it does give a very different vibe.

Also while TCB isn't that far off either, I still wanted to note that it's specifically "spread" not "lit". 広げる means "to spread" or "to expand" or "to widen", that sort of thing. So it at least implies that the war was already there.

ばかり means "nothing but" or "only". So the sun only aggravated the situation, whatever it was.

Conclusion: The Sun only spread the fires of war.

半月の人は夢を見た 月の人は夢を見た

[OFFICIAL] Those of the half-moon dreamed. / Those of the moon dreamed.

[LUNA] The people of the half-moon dreamed. / The people of the moon dreamed.

[YUDE] The people of the Half-Moon dreamed. / The people of the Moon dreamed.

[OHARA] The people of the half-Moon saw a dream. / The people of the Moon saw a dream.

[TCB] Those of the half and full moons dreamed. [!]

[OPS] The people of the half-moon dreamed. / The people of the moon dreamed.

[TS] The people of the half Moon saw a dream. / The people of the Moon saw a dream.

Everybody was doing so well with this one and then TCB had to be the weird one lmao

There is no mention of a "full moon" only "half-moon" and "moon". I wouldn't be pedantic about this except that personally I think the word choice is very deliberate. Full moon is the obvious choice to pair with the half-moon, which to me says that there's a good reason why it wasn't used.

半月 is literally "half-moon". This is different from the other half-moon mentioned in the Third World section, but I'll get to it later.

夢を見た means "had a dream" or "dreamed" and yes, the word 夢 has the same metaphorical meaning as in English (a hope or a wish)

The word for people here is 人 again, and as I explained in the First World section, it can be very ambiguous. It could technically mean just one person for each line! "The half-moon person had a dream / the moon person had a dream." But I do also think that the plural interpretation is more likely.

Conclusion: The people(/person) of the half-moon dreamed. / The people(/person) of the moon dreamed.

人は太陽を殺し神となり 海の神は荒ぶった

[OFFICIAL] Man killed the sun and became god, and the sea god stormed. (?)

[LUNA] Man killed the sun and became a god, / and the god of the sea raged

[YUDE] Humans killed the Sun and became gods. / The Sea God raged.

[OHARA] People killed the sun and became Gods. / The Sea God rampaged.

[TCB] Yet the ones who slew the sun deified themselves, evoking the wrath of the sea god. (?)

[OPS] Humanity killed the sun and then ascended to divinity. / The god of the sea became enraged.

[TS] Men became gods after slaying the Sun. / The deity of the Sea rampaged.

Same thing with 人, it could be one person or multiple people, or even humanity as a whole. And the archaic use of "man" is also a valid option. Similarly 神 can be plural or singular, and it can also be definitive or indefinitive: "a god" or "the god", "gods" or "the gods". There's no distinction.

The original Japanese wording is very simple and straightforward. Some of the translations gave it a bit of flavour which is all fine, but I have notes on the official and TCB:

For 荒ぶった I think "raged" or "rampaged" are the most accurate translations here.

"Stormed" is a fun choice as a metaphorical translation, and it fits the sea god very well, there's nothing actually wrong with it, but I did wanna make a note here because I heard people using this wording as the justification why the sea god is also the rain god mentioned by the Shandians in the Skypiea arc. I just wanna point out that the original wording doesn't talk about a storm. It's entirely possible that there was a storm! And it's very possible that the sea god IS the rain god. But we don't know.

TCB is just making assumptions, which admittedly are very plausible based on the context, but they're still assumptions.

Conclusion: People(/a person/humankind) killed the sun and became god(s).* / The sea god rampaged.

(* probably just "people killed the sun and became gods" though

彼らはもう会えないのだ

^ same as in the previous post so I won't repeat it here.

To be continued!

[lovers-tucked-into-a-quiet-cafe]

Chapter 3 [IKYLHT]

~5.3K Words | Series Masterlist | Prev | Next Chapter

-

The car coming to a sudden stop, your head snaps up from where you’d been watching Soap’s fingers drum along your knee. 

“Why’s he getting out?” You murmur, eyes tracking Graves movement. 

Alejandro steps out of the car, and you’re quick to unbuckle your seatbelt, Soap and Ghost promptly doing the same. 

“What’s this?”

“This is the immediate future. Step away from the gate.”

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“You’re crazy, this is my base.”

“It’s not a base. This is a sizable covert facility and I admire it. So I’m taking it. You boys have been relieved. Thank you for your service. Gun, up here.”

Snapping your head up, your brows furrow and you slide your hand over your holster slowly.

“Excuse me? I’m under no obligation to take orders from you, Graves.”

“You are a Gunnery Sergeant under the United States Marine Corps, I am the only one here you take orders from as of now.”

Planting your feet further into the ground, you brush your arm against Johnny’s and internally plead the look you’re sending Alejandro expresses your growing confusion. In your peripherals, you see Ghost’s hand rest on his holstered gun, watching you intently.

Alejandro takes a step forward with a shake of his head.

“I’ll say again, we don’t take orders from you.”

You watch as Graves moves closer, finger slowly inching closer to the trigger of his rifle.

“Didn’t Valeria say that? Now that makes me wonder what else I don't know about your affiliation with a drug-lord?”

“What the fuck did you just say to me, pendejo?”

“You’re out of line, Graves.”

He points a finger at Alejandro and Soap, “Don’t do that. Don’t… do that. No one needs to get hurt here.”

Ghost speaks from his spot near the side of the car.

“Are you threatening us?”

“Soldier, I don't make threats. I make guarantees. So let’s not do this. Gun. Here. Now. That’s an order.”

“Absolutely not.” You spit out.

“Soldier- considering past events, I do think it’s best you listen to the men in charge this time. Wouldn’t want a repeat scenario, would you?” He drawls.

It takes a minute before the dots connect in your head.

That motherfucker. That’s why he was taunting me. This was their plan for the entire damn mission.

“Are you fucking blackmailing me?” You hiss.

Turning and walking past you, Soap calls out, “I’m calling Shepherd.”

“General Shepherd sends his regards. He told me y'all wouldn't take this well.”

“He knows about this?”

“He's put me in command of this operation from here on out. So y'all need to stand down. It's time to let the pros finish this. And why the hell are we talking like this is some kind of negotiation? It's not. I've got my orders and now you have yours. So help me, Rabbit, if you don’t fall in this goddamn minute-”

“And who the fuck do you think you are, cabron? My men are inside!”

“I'm afraid not. Your men have been…detained.”

Watching his fist clench, you’re only able to graze your fingers over the back of Alejandro’s tac vest before he’s lunging at Graves.

You hit the ground as Alejandro’s hands are ziptied, two bullets whizzing past you and hitting the soldier Soap used as cover. You lunge at Graves, but fall back as a bullet lodges itself deep into your thigh. 

Soap manages to shoot the offending soldier, but is knocked back by Graves’ bullet to the shoulder. He rounds the front of the car and you take the opportunity to roll the dead soldier off of Soap as Ghost yells.

“Soap, get out of there!”

He pulls you up and moves to jump over the barricade, two soldiers following and shooting out. One clips you, hitting your tac vest and sending you back. Johnny turns, but you push him over the barricade.

“Go Johnny!”

He pulls your arm and calls out for you, only releasing when a new rain of gunfire breaches the barricade. The soldiers pass you, and you subconsciously thank Johnny for his accuracy as he hits one of the soldiers, allowing you to effectively plunge your knife into the other one.

You look back to see Ghost silently watching you. You gesture towards the barricade and raise your gun with the intent of covering him. You hear his low voice quietly call out.

“Go.”

You don’t move, watching something unrecognizable flash across his eyes. He nods once, and you nod back with a grimace before jumping over the barricade and sliding down the hill.

It isn’t until you’re exiting the thick brush of the forest, thigh burning and blood dripping down your leg, that you realize the bullet to your chest was lodged six centimeters into your comm box.

-

Letting out a low whistle, you knock your knuckles against the wall of the coffee shop and duck behind the counter when Johnny turns his gun on you.

“Jesus, Johnny, it’s me.”

Rushing over and pulling you into his chest, he speaks harshly.

“Why the fuck didn’t you answer comms, Bunny?”

Pulling back and moving a hand to the button, you hold it down and listen to the lack of voices or static.

“It’s busted.” You whisper, “I’m sorry I scared you.”

He pulls you back into him and kisses the crown of your head, murmuring lowly.

“It’s alright, Bun. It’s okay. How’d you find me?”

“Hitched a ride in the back of one of their cruisers. Crashed it when they’d realized I was there. Followed the path of knives here. Ghost’s, I’d imagine.” You chuckled. 

Letting out a smile, he gestures out the window towards the center of the town. 

“Meetin’ him at the church. Shouldn’t be much longer. We need a minute?” He gestures towards your wrapped thigh.

“No, I’m good. Restocked my medkit on the way here.”

“Atta girl, Bun.”

Reaching for the transmitter, he scopes out the narrow street and creeps out the back door. 

“Ghost, Rabbit’s found her way over. Comms are down, she’s stickin’ with me.”

You don’t get to hear his response, and instead choose to focus your attention on covering Soap’s back as he speaks to Ghost.

It isn’t until Johnny’s tone changes that your attention is grabbed.

“He’s sorry, you know.”

You give a noncommittal hum, brows furrowing in muted confusion.

“Who?”

“Ghost. Didn’t mean to bring it up. Gave him an earful for you, Bunny.”

Your frown only deepens, turning to your partner with a raised brow.

“What exactly did you tell him, Johnny?”

He shrugs, avoids your eyes and quickens his pace to remain a step ahead of you.

“John.”

“‘S not important, Bun.”

Sighing out, you push down the irritation that threatens to show itself. 

Airing out your past wasn’t worth the mere cease of Ghost’s accusations. Johnny would say whatever it took to ensure you weren’t being given a hard time, but he’d never expose your skeletons without good reason, and you trust him wholeheartedly.

So what went down while I was gone?

You can’t think about it much longer, and so you task yourself with finding the exfil vehicle as Soap covers Ghost’s hurried departure from the church.

Your loud whistle alerts them of your find, and you pull the man out of the driver's of the pickup seat as you yell out. 

“Ghost, you drive! We’ll cover you!”

Soap hopping in after Ghost, you only have a second to duck behind the car before bullets are piercing the air you’d just stood in. Reversing over the two men, you hear Ghost’s yells for you to get in as you maneuver into the truck bed, pounding your hand against the rear window loudly.

“I’m in! Drive!”

It’s a bumpy ride, and you almost listen to Soap’s demands for you to switch spots, but your paranoia wins you over and you resign to guarding the rear. Once the town’s far into the distance- not even a blip on the horizon- and the empty road loses its daylight, you allow yourself to answer Ghost through the now-broken rear window.

“Didn’t happen to pick up any of those knives I left, did you, Rabbit?”

You’re still irritated with him- more than irritated, actually- but you take his words as the olive branch you know they’re intended to be.

“No.”

Despite your efforts, your tone has him snapping his mouth shut, glancing towards Johnny who gives him a reassuring nod.

Sighing out, you let your head thunk against the window frame and you look up at the clear sky and all of its bright stars.

Dropping your tone into something soft, you let your voice ring out once more.

“Guess that makes us even then?”

Ghost takes a minute to respond, but when he does you hear the relief in his voice.

“Even then, Rabbit.”

You nod and allow yourself to wear the small smile threatening to spread across your face.

Might as well try.

“So… I was gone for a while. What’d I miss?”

Taking you by complete surprise, Ghost lets out a deep chuckle and you turn to watch Soap’s ears redden.

Well that’s interesting.

“Johnny was chattin’ my ear off about you, as always.”

“Oh? Care to indulge?”

“Negative, soldier.”

“Am I ever gonna know?”

“Mm, probably not.”

You throw your hands up with a light laugh, brushing aside shards of glass to squeeze through the window and into the makeshift seat between the two men.

“All good things, darling.” Ghost mumbles, and you glance over at Johnny.

His eyes are soft, and the small nod he gives is the most reassuring thing you’d gotten all week.

Sinking into the seat, you turn the radio onto the first station that gets a signal, crossing your arms and ignoring your brain’s incessant pestering with a sigh.

-

Soap wasn’t afraid of your past. He was there for most of it, and the parts he was absent from, he knew in great detail. You’d shared it with him, though at first he honestly hadn’t realized the significance in that statement. He isn’t a dumb man by any means. He knew these were details that’d been redacted from countless files, explanations to cases chalked up as ‘classified’. But in his own uncharacteristic insecurity, he’d assumed he wasn’t the only one you’d shared those details with. Yeah, it was a small group, he thought, but a group nonetheless. 

He hadn’t realized he was the sole member of that group until he’d come to visit you in the states after the Demon Dogs were shipped off to Urzikstan without you- when you took him to that cobweb-ridden apartment you still rented even after your parents death years ago. 

He hadn’t said a word, hadn’t touched you once, and yet you pulled yourself together enough to skim your fingers over the dusty decor you hadn’t had the heart to alter. 

He liked that about you. How you were able to balance on those wobbly legs all on your own, something he knows you could’ve done regardless if he was there or not, even if you hadn’t once attempted to enter that apartment without him.

You didn’t need him. You wanted him. 

Johnny wasn’t one that had a hard time with words, and he frequently thanked his parents and sisters for their role in that. He may not have known how to comfort you at that moment, but he did know how to talk.

He’d asked about the little things, like who was who in the picture frames and what kind of juice would leave such a dark stain in the worn carpet.

It was blood, and while he hadn’t had the nerve to ask, you’d graced him with the story anyways. He was grateful. You hadn’t always been a woman of many words, but he found himself content to sit back and wait for you to string the sentences together.

Hours later he’d ask more questions, ones more vulnerable than the last because he needed you to understand.

He wanted you, too.

He held you as the tears resurfaced, rubbing his hand along your back not as a way to dry your tears, but as a way to let you know he wanted to be your source of comfort. 

He took the keys from your shaking hands, locking the door and leading you into the rental car. He buckled your seatbelt when your hands were slow from the adrenaline crash, not because you couldn’t but as a way to show you just how much he cared about your safety, no matter how inconsequential the action seemed.

He unlocked the front door of your house, the one you’d paid off with the same cash you despised yourself for earning, and leaned down to help slip your shoes off. He notes the frames on the wall, glass encasing military medals, commemorative awards, and a single name tape. 

Highwater.

You hadn’t gone by that callsign since Victoria.

He angled his shoulders to block your view of the badge.

The frame is cracked towards the edge. He wonders if it’s purposeful. The rest of the house, save for the frame, was almost uncomfortably orderly. The personification of a military mindset. Sheets tucked in the corners, trinkets equal distance apart from each other on the mantle, not a single thing inoperable or in need of repair. 

It looked nothing like that apartment you’d been raised in. 

He knows that’s purposeful.

He carried you up the stairs, setting you gently on top of the sheets he knew you’d hate remaking the next morning with a promise he’d do them for you. 

He pulled the shirt over your torso, unclasping the military-issued bra you’d joked about outlawing a hundred times before, fingers careful not to brush against the raised lines covering the expanse of your back. 

He’d waited for your nod- a small, sheepish one- before skimming his hands over the scarred flesh. You can’t help but shake, a small sort of tremor he remembers you mentioning needing to get under control. You’d described the phantom pains, the familiar burn of leather reopening deep gashes, a pain you’d come to associate with that apartment. 

He takes in the tattoos- collarbone to wrist, sternum to stomach, more covering your legs under the cover of your pants- they’re so new to him it almost feels weird to see. He swears it was just days ago you were rolling up your sleeves to knead dough over holiday in his childhood home, skin clear of ink. 

In the same moment, as he skims his hands along the top of your arms, he realizes your skin hadn’t been so raised when he’d first met you, either. Victoria.

He gauges your reaction. The scars, both physically and mentally, were much fresher. You don’t flinch when he runs his hands over them. Not like you do the ones on your back. 

“I’ll be fine. Been through worse.” you’d said over the phone when the nurse unbandaged your arms all those months ago.

At the time, he’d chastised you for neglecting your health. Now, seeing the way the scars on your back raise far higher than the ones you’d received being tortured, he can’t help but picture adolescent you attempting to care for your own wounds in that apartment and realize you were right.

He kissed you then, a soft, slow sort of chaste kiss that didn’t have much energy behind it yet conveyed every single emotion he needed it to. He needed you to understand that he chose that gentle press of his lips against yours. 

This wasn’t an act spurred on by the heat of the moment. This wasn’t some decision he’d made lightly. No, while he may not have put much thought into it- the action instinctual- it was anything but half-baked.

He’d shimmied his clothes off then, helped you slide your cargo pants down and find warmth deep beneath the duvet. It wasn’t needed, as your combined body heat was enough to power a small sauna, but he knew the sheets provided a small sense of security in an already vulnerable environment.

He’d snaked an arm under your head, holding your body tight to his with the other and pressing another chaste kiss to your lips.

While he was glad the thin sheets provided you some modicum of safety, he wanted nothing more than to be the one to suffocate you in that safe feeling. He let his back face the door, despite it ringing every alarm bell in his military-trained brain, because it meant you wouldn’t be hearing those alarm bells yourself.

When you’d pressed your own kiss to his lips, heart racing with an unsubstantiated fear of disappointing him, he felt his eyes soften more than they ever had before, kissing you one last time before pulling you closer and closing his eyes.

While you hadn’t voiced it, he knew you were reeling from the pleasant shock of the situation. John MacTavish was not a man known for being gentle. He wasn’t harsh or cruel by any means, but he knew you’d heard the gossip. The women he’d brought back to base always left satisfied, but the chaste kisses and whispers of praise Johnny happily provided you with were not ever something those women got to see.

He needed you to understand that he wanted you. 

He’d felt your soft smile against his skin, listened for your heart rate to slow and your breathing to even. He didn’t stop the gentle caress of your back until you were long asleep, finally allowing the burning muscles in his arm to rest and falling asleep himself.

When he felt you stir awake that following morning, he’d made it his personal mission to make sure you felt every last bit of pleasure he felt every time he was around you. It was a thank you of sorts, for allowing him to comfort you in that vulnerable headspace, for trusting him with your entire being. 

He fondly recalls chuckling at you, when you’d murmured something about wanting him to feel good too. His smile was uncontrollably wide in that way that makes your cheeks hurt, and he was quick to remind you that he did feel good. He feels good when he knows you do too, and a couple of cold showers are more than worth it when it ensures you understand that his want for you runs far deeper than physical gratification. 

He’d finally given into your murmured pleas after four consecutive days of relentlessly spoiling you in every way he knew how, and after that, he’d been sure to spend the remainder of the week teaching you what true, unconditional love looked like as you paraded him around the local spots you’d frequented as a child. 

Despite the hours spent discussing your relationship- the need to keep it a secret while on base, the safety concerns of his family knowing, all the little agreements that made his heart want to shatter- the flight back to base wasn’t a dreaded one.

Because he knew- without a doubt- that you understood.

He wanted you.

-

“We’re here, darling.” Ghost speaks softly, patting your leg from where he stands outside the car.

You don’t remember arriving at the safehouse, nor do you remember Ghost or Soap exiting the rickety truck, and you blame the sleep deprivation with a grimace.

He takes your hand and gently leads you down the tall step, closing the door and positioning you between himself and Johnny, who’s eyes scan the building. You grab your discarded gun from the truck bed and motion for them to walk forward, turning and scanning the desert at your backs.

“Where are we?”

“Alejandro’s safehouse. Gave us the location just in case.”

“Why didn't he tell me?”

“It was need-to-know.”

“He told Rabbit?”

“She needed to know.”

“What if I needed to know?”

“Shh, Johnny.”

You continue your slow walk backwards, gun aimed out towards the dry brush.

“Pressure plate.”

“Alejandro rigged it.”

“Smart bastard.”

“There.”

Walking towards the open window carve-out, you scan the inside of the empty building.

“Too dark to see anything. You first, I’ll keep watch here.”

You appreciate Ghost's quick reflexes, even if it was only Rodolfo, as he covered Johnny in a way you couldn’t at the moment, the adrenaline crash and blood loss finally caching back up to you as you struggle to enter the safehouse.  

“Soap! Ghost! You’re alive!”

“Affirmative.”

Even more than his reflexes, you find yourself appreciating his big hands as they envelop your waist, pulling you through the small window with ease.

“You okay, Coneja?”

“I’m okay, Rudy. Glad to see you are, too.”

“Where were you guys?”

“On the run.”

“We were on the run. Ghost waited for us.” Soap answered, throwing a hand around your waist and shifting your weight into his arms.

“Of course, no?”

“No.” You answer with a grimace, your leg shooting pain up your spine, before Ghost quickly amends your answer.

“Yes. We’re a team. All of us. This happened on my watch and I'll need help to fix it. No one fights alone.”

“Why did Graves turn?” 

“We don't know.”

“Las Almas can corrupt anyone.”

“Not us.”

“Might have something to do Shepherd, Graves mentioned direct orders.” You speak quietly. 

You don’t bother mentioning Graves’ taunts and the fact that- besides Johnny- there was only one other person present that would ever think of calling you Victoria.

No, Laswell wouldn’t do that. She won’t even call me Highwater anymore- and that was an official callsign. If she was kind enough to follow that request, there was no way she’d… she couldn’t. No. She wouldn’t do that to me.

“For now, General Shepherd, Laswell, and anyone else outside this room is considered a hostile.”

“We need Alejandro back.”

“Graves is holding him here.” Rudy walks over and points to a small section of the map. 

“When do we leave?”

“Tomorrow, 0400. I’ve intercepted a message about a scheduled drop. We’ll need the distraction. For now, we wait. There are cots in the armory.”

“Where are you going?” You ask as he shoved items into his small pack. 

“There are a few things I need to do. People to check up on. We’ll reconvene in the morning.”

“Stay safe, hermano.”

“Rest up, amigos.” He claps his shoulder, turning back to you and Ghost, nodding once. 

“See you tomorrow, Rudy.”

You wait until you hear the rumble of the car’s engine slowly fade to silence before you whisper.

“I overheard Alejandro fretting about his mother. No doubt Rudy’s gone to check up on her.”

“He’s a good man.”

“That he is.” You affirm, limping over to the table and grabbing the small medkit Rudy had set aside for you.

Wincing as you unwrap the bandage, you pant as you try to gently detach your cargos from where the blood had bonded them to your skin.

Seeing his large figure in your peripherals, you look up as Ghost kneels in front of you, gently taking your thigh in his hand as he inspects the wound. You register the sound of Soap clearing off the table, the pair leaning you onto the edge of it.

Without a word, Ghost’s taking off his gloves, his hands reaching around your waist and lifting you onto the table before resuming their gentle prodding at your thigh.

“Gonna have to take your pants off, darling.” He speaks softly, already unlacing your boots.

You feel your cheeks warm as you look to Soap, who gives a feather light kiss to the crown of your head before taking the scissors and cutting around the torn fabric.

“It’s gonna hurt, Bunny. It’s real stuck on there.” He frowns, opening a bottled water and lightly pouring it over the wound.

It doesn’t budge, and you curse yourself, Graves, and the entire shadow team for not allowing you to properly take care of the wound hours ago.

Unbuckling and shimmying your pants down your hips, you nod and remind yourself to take deep breaths. You groan as Ghost slowly pulls the fabric down and over the wound. You feel the skin tear and sigh in relief when it’s over, Soap quick to press a wet cloth over the bleeding skin as Ghost pulls your pants over your ankles. 

You don’t mind the remaining coolness your rain-damp clothes provides as your leg supplies your body with enough heat to have you breaking a sweat. They’re quick to disinfect and dislodge the remnants of the bullet from your thigh, carefully bandaging it with a practiced preciseness. 

You feel the air shift and open your eyes to the wall that is Ghost’s chest. He fiddles with the bottom of your shirt, tugging slightly.

“Off, Rabbit.”

Your eyes widen and you snap your head to Johnny who nods with a soft smile. He lets Ghost speak for him, but takes his hand in yours and rubs his thumb over your knuckles soothingly.

“Your clothes are still damp. Don’t want you catching a cold, do we?” He speaks lowly. 

“I don’t- I’m not sure- I don’t think I can-”

Soap cuts off your quiet stammering with a kiss to the back of your hand.

“It’s okay, Bun. I’m right here.”

Watching his soft expression, your eyes water and you turn back to Ghost with a nod.

He’s slow in pulling your shirt off, and you hold back a gasp as the cool air hits each scar littering your back.

“Ghost?” You question with a whisper, eyes taking every last detail in as he pushes the balaclava to expose his strong jaw and full, pink lips.

“‘M here, darlin’.” He hums softly, leaning to press a kiss to your lips.

You lean into it, pressing one palm into his chest and using the other to steady yourself on the small desk.

He pulls away, moving to trail kisses along your jaw. Brain fuzzy, you don’t notice Johnny’s finished tending to your now rebandaged bicep. The sting of the antiseptic is somehow completely painless when paired with Ghost’s affection. Brain still half operating, you miss the way his shoulders shift as he leans forward to press a kiss to the scarred flesh towards the back of your neck. You stiffen, closed eyes screwing tighter as you force your hands not to shake.

You feel Johnny’s hands from behind you, one skimming along your chest as the other brushes your hair from your shoulder. He starts his own trail of kisses along the other side of your neck, speaking softly.

“‘S alright, Bun. We’ve got you.”

“Johnny?”

He hums noncommittally, still pressing light kisses against your neck and shoulder as he reaches forward to gently tug at Ghost’s belt. It pulls the three of you impossibly closer, and you take it upon yourself to remove the garment with a needy sigh.

You feel him move to kneel, but quickly catch his shirt in your hand and pull him back to your lips. You sigh between kisses, murmuring.

“Want you to fuck me, Ghost.”

You almost laugh at the way his lips part, eyes darting behind you to look at Soap. 

“Don’t look so worried, Fantasma. You think I haven’t seen the way Johnny’s eyes follow you? Take what you want, Ghost. We’re yours.” You quietly confess, tugging his shirt off with a low whine.

Soap laughs with a blush, shaking his head and shrugging.

“‘S why I love her.”

You giggle and lean back into Soap’s arms, turning your head to kiss him deeply before pushing Ghost's hips back and sliding off the table and onto your knees.

“Darling-”

“-Shh,” You cut him off, sliding his jeans down his thighs and palming him over his boxers. “Go ahead, give me a show.”

His cheeks redden, half hidden under the mask, and Soap is quick to pull him into a kiss.

You giggle quietly, tugging down his boxers and running your tongue along the length of his cock.

You hear him moan into Johnny’s mouth, your partner pulling back to bite marks along Ghost’s jaw, before settling on his knees next to you. He licks the base of Ghost’s cock as you kiss at his tip, hand settling over the areas you and Soap missed.

Ghost’s moans fill the air, one hand threading through your hair and the other settling over Johnny’s open jaw.

“Fuckin’ beautiful sight. Could stay like this forever.” He slurs, abs tightening and breath shuttering.

You laugh and settle your free hand on his thigh, caressing the area.

“So responsive, Ghost.” You tease with a smile.

You move forward, taking him into your mouth as Johnny shifts his attention to his heavy balls.

“S-Simon.”

You look up at him with wide eyes, noting in the back of your brain how Soap does the same.

“My name, darling. It’s Simon.” He sighs out, throwing his head back and tightening his grip on your hair.

You pull back, unable to control your wide smile and kiss his hip softly.

“So pretty, Simon.” You murmur against his skin.

You trail kisses up his chest, stopping to suck dark bruises onto his collarbones and the underside of his jaw. The area is red and purple from you and Johnny’s assault, but you can’t stop yourself. 

You feel Ghost’s abs tighten once more as Johnny raises his head.

“Let go for me, Simon.” He mumbles, hollowing his cheeks and pulling Ghost’s hips forward.

He came with a loud moan, dropping his head to your shoulder and panting with a chuckle.

You continue your soft kisses against his skin as Soap helps him redress, and you lean back against the desk with a smile. Johnny throws an arm around your shoulder and kisses the top of your head, laughing to himself.

“Wasn’t originally how Ghost pictured getting back in your good graces. Night was supposed to be about you, Bun.”

“Mm. You two can make it up to me once this is all over. What do you think, Si?”

He steadies his hand on the desk, softly kissing your cheek before pulling the balaclava back to its original place.

“I’ll save the date, darlin’. Come on, let’s get you into something dry.”

Slowly walking you to the armory, he sits you on a cot before turning to dig through a box of mens cargo pants. He hands a pair to Soap who gently tugs them up your legs, securing your belt over the too-large pair of trousers. Grabbing a dark shirt, he lifts your arms to slide it over your head, gently rubbing your back.

Johnny sets your boots in front of you, letting you slip them on and lace them in the weird pattern you swear is ten times more efficient. You’ve never minded sleeping in your boots, not on missions like these where preparedness is the difference between life and death, but you find yourself frowning at the realization that you were indeed still sleeping on a rickety cot in a desert safehouse.

Settling onto the cot, Johnny pulls you to lay on his chest, spreading his legs to accommodate for your wrapped thigh. The lights go out, and you hear Ghost’s quiet steps approach his cot.

Leaning over, you pull the cot closer to yours before settling back onto Johnny’s chest. His steps follow, and you hear him sink onto the cot with a sigh. You watch his eyes scan the dark room, and you frown knowing the man won’t be sleeping anytime soon.

“I don’t know what Johnny told you when I was off comms… but I’m glad he did.” You whisper, nuzzling your face into Johnny’s shirt.

“I am too, darling.”

“Goodnight, Simon.” 

“Goodnight, Rabbit.”

Listening to Johnny’s soft snores, you allow your tiredness to overcome you- eyes barely open as you shift your leg over, tapping your boot against Ghost’s, twice.

-

<3

[historical-fashion-polls]

hey im the anon from yesterday in no way was it meant to be a dig just something neat about how people are predisposed to the style theyve grown up with and seemed glamorized

hi there again dear anon! 💖

thank you so much for sending in another ask – I do truly appreciate it! 💕💕

your observation about people often tending to prefer styles that are similar to what they're more familiar with is absolutely a valid one! ☺️☺️ what upset me was the tone and framing of the observation as though the blog was somehow causal to the effect of lack of attention to historical styles in media or that it perpetuated a wider cultural disinterest in historical accuracy

as I mentioned in my earlier response, if we see poll results that tend to trend toward garments more similar to modern styles, I do think it's more a reflection of ideas about historical fashion that already exist in the cultural space rather than an effect generated by the content of the blog

it might be a bit naive or overly hopeful, but I would like to think that, on the contrary, the blog might widen people's knowledge of historical garments and perhaps even help them gain appreciation for eras of style that they hadn't given much thought to before (I know it has for me! ☺️)

but I know that meanings and intentions can come through really differently than intended when we're all behind screens, so I do truly appreciate you coming back to clarify your meaning! 🥰🥰 and again, I think that what you point out is absolutely a trend that can be analyzed and a conversation that is worth having, so if you have further thoughts, please do feel free to share! and, once more, thank you very much for sending in another message! 🥰🥰

for context: this is in response to this ask/response

[birds--daily]

welcome to birds daily!!

this is my blog where i draw a bird every single day! the idea was completely ripped off from one of my best friends of all time, @fish-daily !! please go check him out :0)

my name is sunny and i'm a wildlife biology major and art minor from michigan. i'm 22 years old and i use they/them pronouns!

i'm here because i love birds so much, and i'm assuming if you're following then you do too!!

IMPORTANT INFO BELOW!!

what to know before you request

please check if i've drawn a bird before you request it! if you don't want to scroll through everything, all my birds are tagged by order. don't know the order of your bird? look it up! the IOC world bird list has a great resource for this.

i tag them by name, but some birds have multiple common names.

i also have a spreadsheet of every bird i've done so far! but i can definitely see myself forgetting to update this, so it's best to double check.

any avian dinosaur archaeopteryx-and-beyond can be requested! many ornithologists consider avialae to be the cutoff for "modern" birds.

i can't guarantee full-accuracy of prehistoric birds as i'm not very well-versed in paleontology.

please keep asks to only one bird! feel free to send multiple asks though. if you include multiple birds in an ask i'll just pick one. when i answer the ask to post it, the other birds will be gone forever...

i will prioritize requests in the order i received them in, but a couple times a week i might draw a personal pick instead.

not accepting duplicate birds doesn't mean you can't request a different version of the same bird, which leads me to…

sexual dimorphism and seasonal plumage!

yes! you can request different plumages and sexes of a bird i've already done! want to see a female ruddy duck? of course! want the breeding plumage of the willow ptarmigan? absolutely!

i have sex, maturity, and plumage recorded on my spreadsheet, but i'm bound to make some mistakes on there. once again, double-checking my blog is your best bet to getting accurate bird info!

if you don't specify anything, i'm going to assume the basic mature male with breeding plumage that you come to expect from a bird.

breeding and non-breeding plumage can also be called summer and winter plumage. some birds also have special names for their plumage forms. just to keep things consistent i'll be referring to it as breeding and non-breeding!

final notes

my main blog is @eggpathy if you're interested in any of my other art! i forget to post there a lot. most of my art is on my twitter under the same name (trying to move here though)

i'm a full-time college student with a job, so some days i won't be able to get a bird out. sometimes i might even have to take a few days to a week off just to keep my sanity. this doesn't mean i'm not having fun and enjoying drawing birds! it just means i'm busy and maybe need time for other things

i'm also still human. this means i WILL MAKE MISTAKES! i have not finished my degree yet and i'm still learning! one of the big reasons i made this account was to help myself learn my birds! i take extra time out of my day to find facts to post with my birds, and sometimes those are wrong. if you see me post misinfo, please kindly correct me with a comment, dm, or tag!

any post that isn't a daily bird will be tagged #not birds. any post that is a daily bird will be tagged #birds.

please feel free to add extra fun facts, info, and generally any other silly comment in the tags. i love reading them and they make my day!

asks don't have to be request-related! feel free to ask me anything :0)

thanks for reading! peent!