#Like not that I think this would end up with me getting fired

[peppermintquartz]

Buck volunteers for the Thanksgiving shift. When Maddie asks, he apologizes, saying, "I don't really feel festive right now. But keep some leftovers for me?"

On the day, firehouses around the country all have similar calls to deal with: kitchen grease fires from frying turkeys, sprains in backyard games of football, people injuring one another because "did you hear what she said about our Emma/Francis/Kailey?". Buck is kept too busy to think, and it's nice having the time to catch up with Ravi, who's thinking of going to school to study law.

Their brothers and sisters in uniform also drop off dishes at the station, so between calls, they get pretty good food. Captain Graham gives them an hour offline after four consecutive calls. Buck collapses into a chair and serves himself pasta salad and a delicious honey baked ham, while his dinner rolls warm up in the oven.

He's scrolling through his phone, diligently avoiding the messaging apps, when a message preview pops up.

Tommy.

Buck almost drops his fork. He scrambles away from the dinner table, even though no one on C shift will try to take his phone from him, and finds a spot in the stairwell to read it.

Tommy: hope you have a good & safe Thanksgiving

As he's reading, another bubble appears and Buck's heart skips several beats, but this time it doesn't disappear. A second message arrives, followed by a third.

Tommy: don't know why I texted that

Tommy: guess I just wanted to say something to you

Tommy: you don't have to reply

Tommy: anyway. Happy holidays

Buck feels a slight loosening of the vice around his heart that has been there since that night. With a smile on his face, he types, deletes, types again.

Buck: happy Thanksgiving to you too

Buck: how many kitchen grease fires you got this year? We had 3

Tommy: you're working today?

Tommy: 4, but one of it was in the backyard

They're having a conversation. They're having an actual casual conversation, as easy as they used to on calmer shifts. Buck wants to cry. But he has to answer Tommy's question or have this conversation end too soon. Thinking about his options, he decides that he has nothing to lose anyway.

Buck: I didn't wanna sit around and smile and pretend I'm thankful for everything

Buck: it's better to keep busy

Tommy: I know that feeling

Tommy: I'm sorry

Buck: I'm sorry too

Buck: I wish we could've celebrated together

Buck: I would've said that I'm thankful for you

Tommy: I would have said that too

Tommy: I'm still thankful for you jsyk. I'll always be grateful to have got to know you

Does Tommy think he can't stay in Buck's life just because they broke up?

Buck: I don't think you know me well enough

Tommy: sorry

Buck wishes he'd run after Tommy that night, or done something since to show that he wants Tommy. Well, here's your chance, his brain reminds him. Do something.

He takes a deep breath. Then he types.

Buck: I want to meet. If I come over after Thanksgiving shift, will you please be home?

Tommy: is that a good idea

Buck: idk. But I can't stop thinking about you, and I miss you, and I wanna know what I did wrong. I wanna meet.

Tommy: I miss you too. You didn't do anything wrong, I just didn't want to... Idk. I didn't want to get my hopes up too much.

Buck: we need to talk in person. Texting is not good enough.

It isn't. He needs to see Tommy again. Tommy with his storm blue eyes and tender smile and broad shoulders and soft clothes. Tommy whose crinkly smile drives Buck a little (a lot) insane. Tommy whose lips he now knows the shape of by touch alone, whose body he has mapped out in detail, who knows how it feels to be inside Buck in the most intimate of ways.

He waits for a response. Hopes there will be one. It comes several minutes after, like Tommy had to really think about it.

Tommy: maybe not immediately after Thanksgiving shift

Tommy: are you off on Monday

The relief that crashes into Buck feels almost as overwhelming as the tsunami he was caught in years ago.

Buck: yes

Buck: your place this time

Buck: I'll bring cake

Tommy: you don't have to bribe me to open the door

Buck: no I just baked too much stuff is all. I'll explain when we meet

Buck: I'm really thankful you texted

Tommy: I'm thankful you replied

Tommy: have a good rest of the shift, Evan

It's Evan again. Buck can't hide his smile at all. Tucking his phone into his pocket, he goes back to dinner. Monday can't be here fast enough.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[baigepueckers]

Nika Mühl X Reader

Beyond the Game

The arena surrounds you like a heavy blanket. It’s a sound you’re used to a mix of cheers, whistles, and the squeak of sneakers on the court. But tonight it feels different. Heavier. More personal…maybe it’s because you’re facing the Seattle Storm and more specifically, her.

Nika.

You spot her as soon as you walk onto the court for warm ups. She’s sitting on the Storm bench, her brown hair pulled into a sharp ponytail her posture upright and alert. Her warmup jacket is loose over her shoulders, but you can still make out the slight bounce of her knee a telltale sign she’s nervous. It’s one of the little things you’ve picked up about her over the years, first as teammates and later as something more.

Your heart clenches and you force yourself to look away. You can’t afford distractions tonight.

The two of you met back at UConn, thrown together in the intensity of one of the best women’s basketball programs in the country. It didn’t take long for you to click. Nika’s fiery energy balanced out your quieter focus and her teasing always managed to get you out of your head when the pressure felt like too much. Over time, the late night study sessions and post practice hangouts turned into something deeper. You fell in love…deep and unshakable.

But love didn’t keep you on the same team. The draft came and went, and now you’re a Las Vegas Ace while Nika is across the country in Seattle. Different jerseys. Different cities. Different teams.

You hadn’t anticipated how hard it would be to face her on the court.

The first quarter flies by in a blur. Seattle’s defense is relentless and your team is fighting for every point. You catch glimpses of Nika on the bench, her eyes fixed on the game but every so often, they dart toward you. She doesn’t smile when you glance her way. She doesn’t need to. The way her gaze softens, just for a moment tells you everything.

The second quarter is more physical. You’re battling for position, driving into the lane when you can trying to keep your team ahead. You catch a rebound off a missed shot and bolt toward the other end of the court, the sound of your shoes pounding against the hardwood echoing in your ears. Somewhere in the chaos, you hear her voice…sharp and commanding as she shouts instructions to her team.

It sends a shiver down your spine. You’ve heard that voice a hundred times in practices, but this is different. Now, she’s an opponent.

By the third quarter, exhaustion is creeping in. The game is tight and the tension on the court is heavy. Every possession feels like a battle.. your body aches, but you push through. You always do. You’ve learned that from her…Nika, with her relentless fire.

The fourth quarter is where everything unravels.

You’re running hard, cutting toward the basket…when it happens. A Seattle forward steps into your path setting a blindside screen. You don’t see it coming. Her body collides with yours and the impact sends you flying backward. There’s no time to think, no time to react. The back of your head hits the court with a sickening thud.

Pain explodes behind your eyes, sharp and overwhelming. The world spins and the crowd’s roar becomes distant. You blink rapidly trying to clear the haze but all you can see are the harsh overhead lights and blurry shapes moving around you.

Through the haze, you hear your name.

“Y/N!”

It’s her. You know it’s her.

You manage to tilt your head just enough to see the Seattle bench. Nika is on her feet…her hands gripping the edge of her seat like she’s about to bolt onto the court. Her eyes are wide with panic, her mouth slightly open as if she’s holding back a scream.

She wants to run to you. You can see it in the way her body leans forward…as if the only thing stopping her is the weight of the game and the unspoken rules that keep her on her side of the court.

The trainers are beside you now asking questions you can barely process. “What’s your name? Can you hear me? How many fingers am I holding up?” Their voices are gentle but insistent. You try to answer but your attention keeps slipping back to her. To Nika, who hasn’t moved from her spot even though her entire body looks like it’s trembling with the effort to stay put.

You try to lift your hand a weak signal, something to let her know you’re okay…but it barely moves. She sees it anyway and her hands fly to her mouth, you can see the tears welling in her eyes.

You don’t know how much time passes before they help you to your feet. The crowd cheers as you’re led off the court…though the noise feels distant and strange. Your legs feel shaky and your head is pounding but you glance over your shoulder one more time.

Nika is still standing…still watching. Her hands are clasped in front of her chest now, like she’s holding herself together.

Back in the tunnel you’re taken to the trainer’s room for evaluation. Your head is spinning and the bright lights are making your eyes sting but all you can think about is her.

Your phone buzzes on the bench beside you. You reach for it, fumbling slightly as you try and unlock the screen…It’s a text from her.

Nika💗: Are you okay? Baby Please. Please tell me you’re okay. I can’t sit here anymore.

Your chest tightens and your eyes blur not from pain, but from the ache of knowing how much this is killing her. You type back with shaky hands.

You: I’ll be okay. Don’t worry. Play your game.

The response feels hollow but you know it’s what she needs to hear. You imagine her reading it…clutching her phone like it’s a lifeline.

The game finishes without you on the court. The trainers cleared you from anything serious…a mild concussion, bruises that will ache for days, but nothing crazy. The anxiety in your chest hasn’t eased…you know your girl. You know she’ll be looking for you the second she can.

You’re just outside the locker rooms, every passing second dragging. Your phone vibrates in your hand, and you glance down at the screen.

Nika💗: Where are you? Are you still with the trainers? I’m coming to find you.

You barely have time to respond before you hear hurried footsteps echoing down the hallway.

Nika rounds the corner, her hair damp from a rushed shower and her Storm warmup jacket thrown hastily on. Her eyes are scanning the hallway frantic, until they land on you. She stops for a split second, and then she’s running.

Before you can say a word, her arms are around you pulling you into a hug so tight it almost knocks the air out of your lungs. She buries her face into the curve of your neck, her breath warm and uneven against your skin.

“You scared the hell out of me, ljubav.” she whispers her voice full of emotion. “I thought…I didn’t know if you were okay. I couldn’t come to you. God, I hated it.”

Her words spill out in a rush like she’s been holding them in since the moment you hit the court. You wrap your arms around her pulling her even closer. The tension in her body is noticeable and her hands are clutching at your jersey.

“Baby,” you murmur, your own voice thick with emotion. “I’m okay. I promise, I’m okay.”

She pulls back just enough to cup your face in her hands, her thumbs brushing lightly over your cheeks. “You don’t look okay,” she says, her voice soft. “You’re pale, and your head God, your head…”

“Gee thanks babe” you tease her while covering her hands with your own. “The trainers cleared me. Nothing serious…just some bruises and a small concussion.”

Her jaw tightens and for a moment, she doesn’t say anything. Her hands drop to your shoulders, holding you at arm’s length as her gaze hardens. “Don’t you ever do that to me again Y/N, you hear me?”

You blink at her surprised by the sudden intensity in her tone. “Do what?”

“Scare me like that” she says, her voice sharp but cracking under the weight of her emotions. “I couldn’t move, baby. I couldn’t come to you when you were lying there and it was killing me.”

Her words hit you, the raw vulnerability in her voice. You reach for her hands, squeezing them tightly. “Nika, you didn’t do anything wrong. You were there in the way I needed you to be. I saw you. I felt you.”

She frowns and she shakes her head, a tear slipping down her cheek. “You’re not allowed to get hurt like that again” she mutters, her voice quieter now but no less serious. “I don’t care if we’re on opposite teams. I’ll get ejected if I have to. I’ll run across the court next time.”

You chuckle softly, the sound broken but genuine. “I’d expect nothing less from you.”

Her lips press into a thin line but you can see the faintest hint of a smile tugging at the corners. “You think I’m kidding babe?”

“I know you’re not.”

The two of you fall silent for a moment, the noise of the arena and the post-game chaos fading into the background. She leans down to kiss you, it’s passionate and intense. It makes you melt against her.

“I love you,” she says suddenly, her voice barely above a whisper. “You know that, right?”

Your chest tightens, and you nod, leaning into her touch. “I love you too. Always.”

She swallows hard and pulls you back into her arms, holding you like she’s afraid to let go.

[quintessenceofdust88]

perfect (it's not all it's cracked up to be)

Hello everyone! I promised you guys that the sequel for this prompt would be up by the weekend, right? Turns out I only sorta lied cause it's still Monday hehe. I hope you enjoy it!

You can read it on AO3 if you'd prefer! ❤️

When Tommy wakes up, it’s like his body is on fire and freezing at the same time; half of his body feels numb, and the other half is hurting like never before. Huh, maybe his father had a point and all queer freaks end up in hell. Then again, considering one of his last deeds on Earth was walking out on sunshine itself, maybe it’s not about his queerness after all; it’s about Tommy himself. 

He hears a heart monitor at his side, and that gives him pause; he doesn’t think the afterlife bothers with medical devices, so… So maybe he’s alive? If only opening his eyes didn’t feel like it would hurt so much, Tommy could try and find out (not that he knows what hell looks like; it could be like a hospital room, for all he knows). He tries it anyway, letting out a grunt as it, indeed, hurts like a bitch. 

“Oh my God, you’re awake!” A voice says to his right side, and yeah, now Tommy’s pretty sure he’s not in hell. Evan Buckley doesn’t belong in hell, not even as part of Tommy’s eternal torture. 

As his vision clears, Tommy sees Evan is on a chair by his side, and he looks… Rough. There’s stubble covering his cheeks and dark circles under his eyes. He’s looking at Tommy with despair clearly written in his permanently wet eyes, as if he’s afraid Tommy will disappear if he looks away. And to Tommy, it’s still instinct to comfort Evan, to try and find something to say that’ll make him feel better.

“You found your present” He says dumbly, his eyes not leaving the burgundy hoodie that’s so beautifully wrapped around Evan’s frame, making him look as cozy and adorable as Tommy expected. And, well. It might not have been the smartest thing to say, but he supposes there’s a lot of morphine going through his body right now. 

“Well, yeah, after you told my sister where it was as your helicopter crashed? After you wished me Merry Christmas and Happy New Year as your parting words?! It wasn’t so difficult” He answers with a somewhat hysterical chuckle. “What the hell, Tommy?! You’re too much of a coward to actually let yourself be loved and see a future with me, but not to send a farewell message to me through dispatch?! You’re unbelievable!”

“Buck…” He starts, but it’s clear he won’t get to say anything this time. For one, his brain is still working a little too slow to translate thoughts into words. Evan seems to notice it, and lets out a defeated sigh. 

“We… We’ll talk later, ok? Let’s get a doctor to check on you first. Sorry, that should have been the first thing I did” He says grumpily, and presses the button by Tommy’s bed. 

From them on, it’s a flutter of doctors and nurses, and Tommy learns the extent of the damage: a broken femur, at least five crushed ribs and a small concussion, not to mention the thousand bruises that turned his whole left side black and blue; he hasn’t looked at a mirror yet, but it can’t be pretty. 

“Yeah, well, you should’ve seen the other guy, doc” He attempts to joke, and Evan’s scoff and the doctor’s exasperated look make it clear it wasn’t his best attempt. “So, let’s talk business, doc. Will I fly again?” Tommy asks, because that’s the question that matters the most. 

He realizes with a treacherous skip to his heart that Evan looks as interested in the answer as Tommy himself. During the whole time the doctor is talking to him about treatments and physical therapy and his perspective to get back to work, he stays by his side, nodding attentively at everything the doctor says (as if he’ll be involved in your treatment, a hopeful part of his brain that should have quieted down weeks ago supplies, and Tommy does his best not to listen to it, because it’ll hurt so bad when it’s not the case). 

When the doctor makes it clear that Tommy will not go back to the air for at least six months, Evan squeezes his hand and gives him a look of solidarity that goes a long way to make it not feel like the end of the world. And when the nurse comes to up Tommy’s dosage of morphine and redress his wounds, he doesn’t let go of his hand. Tommy wants to say something, anything, but he’s received a lot of information and the morphine running through his veins makes it difficult to put his thoughts into words. But he doesn’t want to fall asleep; he doesn’t want to let Evan go. 

“Sleep, Tommy” Evan tells him in a firm tone. “I’ll be here when you wake up. Then we’ll talk”

It sounds too good to be true; Tommy refuses to believe it. Evan would have every right to leave him to fend for himself; he wouldn’t blame him in the slightest. He closes his eyes, fully expecting to find an empty room when he wakes up.

But contrary to all expectations, when Tommy opens his eyes again, feeling slightly more like a person and less like a shapeless bruise, is to find Evan in the same chair, only with the black hoodie this time, and a cup of coffee in his hand. 

He’s impossibly handsome in black, Tommy thinks dazedly, taking advantage of the fact Evan’s looking down at his phone to take a good look at him. There are dark circles under his eyes, and Tommy wonders if he’s been home at all. 

His heart does another one of those treacherous leaps, and Tommy is having a hard time keeping the hope from bubbling in his chest. Because if this man saw Tommy at his worst, physically and (especially) emotionally, and was willing to stay this long by his side, who’s to say he won’t stay longer? He was willing to; Tommy was the one who fled, thinking it was about the excitement of a new relationship, but staying by his side after a helicopter crash is something entirely different. Who’s to say he won’t just… stay?

Tommy has to be brave; hell, he’s been brave before, on that glorious night where he took a leap of faith and placed a kiss to the man who had maimed his best friend for Tommy’s attention. Evan had been brave, if a little misguided, when he invited Tommy to move in with him. He owes him some bravery right now. If nothing else, he owes him some honesty after everything.

“You were right” He blurts out, and Evan looks up from his phone, staring at him with widened blue eyes. 

“H-hey, you’re up! Do… Do you need anything? I can call the nurse…” He trails off when Tommy’s hand, the one which is less covered in scrapes and bruises, reaches out to lightly touch his.

“I just need you to listen to me. You… you were right, Evan. I was a coward. I am a coward. I… I don’t know how to be loved. I never was” He admits it, and hates himself for choking up as he says it. This isn’t a pity party; he’s just stating a fact: the sky is blue, alcohol is flammable, Thomas Kinard was never loved. He hates how it makes Evan’s whole demeanor soften, because Tommy doesn’t deserve it. 

“Then let me love you” Evan whispers, taking Tommy’s hand in both of his. “Let me teach you how it feels. It’s… It’s not like I’m an expert at it, ok? I… I haven’t always been loved either. But… but I love you. You broke my fucking heart, Tommy, and I still love you. Do… do you love me?”

“With all of my heart” Tommy whispers back, and he can’t keep a tear from running down his face. Hell, he almost died, he’s allowed to be emotional. “T-that’s why I had to leave, Evan. If… If you didn’t love me back… If you found out I wasn’t perfect…”

“I know you’re not perfect, Tommy. But guess what? I love you anyway, you idiot” He says, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead, another to the tip of his nose, and a very tender one to his lips. “You… You always wanted me to see you as perfect. You barely let me in all the time we were together. But I saw it anyway, Tommy, and I still wanted you. I still want you”

“I… I was so afraid of being hurt that I didn’t think I’d be hurting you” Tommy admits with a sigh. “A-actually I didn’t think you’d be hurt. I… I thought you’d be okay. I’m sorry, Evan”

“Well, I wasn’t okay. Just ask all of my friends and the thousand loaves of bread in their pantries” He says with a chuckle, and then looks Tommy deeply in the eyes. “Next time, talk to me instead of doing a dramatic exit. And don’t wait till you almost die to let me know where my Christmas presents are”

Tommy chuckles, and squeezes Evan’s hand. He wishes he could sit up and kiss him within an inch of his life, but it  sounds a little out of his physical abilities right now. He’ll content himself, with a peck on the lips before Evan sits back down, still holding Tommy’s hand in his. 

“I promise Christmas will be perfect” He says, and Evan shakes his head.

“I don’t need perfect, Tommy. I just need you”

–

And Christmas is not perfect. Tommy’s still mostly on bed rest and his leg’s still in a cast. Buck’s staying at his place for now to help him around, but they decided to leave any serious conversations about moving in to after New Year’s. They haven’t really decorated (Tommy was too depressed to bother, and Buck didn’t really have the time between his shifts and taking care of Tommy) and their plans for the day mostly consist in staying in bed and alternating between cheesy rom-coms and documentaries. 

It’s not perfect. They are not perfect. But they’re together, and Tommy finds himself thanking any deity out there for his accident. That it brought Evan back to him, and more importantly, him back to Evan. 

Buck’s wearing his new burgundy hoodie, and he gives Tommy the airplane model that he stubbornly kept in the hood of the Jeep all this time. They assemble it together, and it’s not the best, because Tommy’s hands are still a little sore and Buck’s not very good at the whole arts and crafts thing, but Tommy puts in his nightstand with adoration anyway. 

And if there’s no tree, no Christmas dinner, no cheesy sweaters, well. They can always make up for it next Christmas.

--

Tag list: (let me know if you’d like to be removed or if I missed anyone! Also if you'd rather only be tagged on Little Blobs' verse, also let me know! ♥)

@bidisasterevankinard @unhingedangstaddict @silversky9 @music-is-the-voice-of-the-soul @asmugfirefighter  @rubydaiquiri @racerchix21 @actuallyitsellie  

[djarinova]

In shades of grey in candlelight / I wanted to leave him, I needed a reason

Spencer Reid x gn!reader content - reader is in an unfulfilling long term relationship, thoughts of cheating, best friend!Reid, friends to lovers, slight angst from reader longing to be loved properly again, cheating is slightly romanticised, confessions, teeny amount of angst words - 3k (how did this even happen omg) reputation event masterlist

♡—How long should you hold on to something after it's proven time and time again to be the source of your pain? And why does missing your best friend hurt so much more than missing your boyfriend?

It had been almost 4 weeks since you'd last spoken to Spencer—a mix of his work, the weekend he spent visiting his mother and the looming sense of… something… that had been hanging over your head like a dark cloud had kept the two of you apart for longer than usual.

Spencer would have been able to identify the issue that had been plaguing you, he's always been good at that—even before he'd joined the BAU.

He had been able to figure out that you'd failed a maths test when you were 12 years old. He had been able to tell when your parents had had a fight when you were 15 years old. He had been able to correctly work out that you'd ordered yourself the wrong flavour of milkshake—over the phone, without seeing your face—when you were 18 years old. And as you got older, your problems getting more and more adult, he had been able to figure out through missed calls and unanswered texts that you'd had your heart broken again. And again. And again.

That's what he would have said was the cause of your behaviour over the past few weeks—you've changed your hair, thrown out a bunch of old clothes, rearranged and then rearranged again almost all the rooms in your flat and you've been out drinking with your friends twice already this week (not that this is a particularly bad thing, or even entirely unlike you, but you mentioned to Spencer once that going to a bar or pub for a drink was only really fun when you were with him, and it had lit a spark deep within him that he refused to acknowledge). But this time you know he'd have gotten it wrong. You haven't broken up with anyone, you're still very much coupled up and there's no sign of your boyfriend wanting to dump you at all.

That's the problem.

You roll your eyes, there's no point in feeling sorry for myself. I'm the only one that can fix it.

You scoff. The faint smell of your neighbours baking wafts over you, and you can hear him and his boyfriend giggling through your shared wall. A lump in your throat begins to form, and the familiar sting behind your eyes returns as you busy your hands with tidying away the washing up (that you had accidentally washed three times now.) The tears that fall feel like they're burning your skin as they run down your cheeks, as though the droplets are going to leave small scalding streaks from your eyes to your chin.

A new wave of bitterness envelopes you and a strangled yell escapes your lips before you have the chance to think. You hear your neighbour's pause, likely raising their eyebrows at each other as if to say what the hell is wrong with next door before quickly returning to being the lovey-dovey super cutesy couple that they are. And they are. Super cutesy. You've seen them around the building before, even one time accidentally ending up in the same café after a building wide fire alarm went off. They invited you to sit with them—your boyfriend was with his mates—as they didn't want you left on your own so late at night. It was nice, awkward, sure, but nice. Conversation was easy, they seemed to bounce off of eachother in ways that you and your boyfriend never have—at least not for many years now. Their laughter was contagious and yet as you said your goodbyes and slunk back to your lonely apartment you couldn't help the twinges of envy that plagued the back of your mind.

He doesn't look at me like that. He is never that enthusiastic about dating me. He would never gush about our first date like that. (And deep down you know he could say the same things about you.)

So, yeah. That wasn't very fun to sit with.

You somehow feel happy knowing that Spencer would incorrectly guess the reason for your ongoing sadness. For some reason the thought of being unknowable to him has you frenzied… A strangled noise escapes your throat—a laugh! Christ. It was a laugh, despite how bitter and angry it sounded.

Maybe frenzied isn't the right word… But god! You don't know! At least he would actually care. At least he would want to try and get to the bottom of your feelings, to try and understand why you've been jumpy and on edge and almost hyperactive in the way you've been non stop moving recently.

Tap tap tap.

The noise makes you jump out of your skin, heart thumping in your chest as your eyes dart to the clock. It blinks back at you.

20:37

You chastise yourself, it's probably next door coming to ask if you could keep your yells of frustration down while they're having a relaxing evening. Embarrassment floods over your face and you can feel the tears threaten to fall again at the thought of being confronted about your outburst. You can imagine the look of pity on their faces—although a hidden part of you hopes that they're coming to invite you over, to welcome you into their warm home, to smell their freshly baked bread and taste the chocolate chip cookies.

Your feet pad heavily against the wooden floor as you walk out of the kitchen towards the front door—tap tap tap. A further set of knocks has you almost tripping over your feet as you rush the final few paces. You swing the door open without a thought, not wanting the neighbours to have to knock again.

You spare no thought to the tear stains that have marked your face…

“I'm so sorry I didn't mean to be—Spencer? Wha–what are you doing here?” You splutter.

“I tried calling, but you didn't answer. Have you been crying?”

“I—well, yes I have but it's fine—I didn't expect to see you, you've been so busy lately.” You take a deep breath, for a brief second—and it was brief—you had been relieved to find that it was only Spencer behind the door, but it didn't take long for the embarrassment to claw its way back up your spine and sink its teeth into your flesh once more.

His eyes bore into you as if he's trying to look inside you. He scans your face, your movements, he watches your hands fidget nervously with the hem of your shirt—before you notice him noticing you and you flatten your palms against your sides in an awkward, unnatural manner.

“May I come in?” He asks, his voice is gentle and it's almost enough to make you fall to the floor in despair.

A hum is all you can manage in response. You quickly side step out of his way, locking the door behind him as he removes his jacket and scarf and hangs then neatly on the third hook from the left—the one that's always left bare, just for him.

You clear your throat. “What are you doing here, Spence?”

He pauses mid stride—he’s already halfway to the kitchen and if you had known he was coming over then there would a cup of coffee on the side waiting for him, in his favourite burgundy mug, the one with a chip on the lip—and tilts his head at you as if to say isn't it obvious.

“I'm here to see you.” He states, incredibly matter of factly, as if the mere question coming from your lips is completely ridiculous. Why else would he be here?

“I—” You start, but Spencer disappears around the corner before you are able to get any more words out. You huff, feeling slightly unnerved by his sudden arrival and subsequent behaviour since setting foot on your doorstep. There is nothing else in the world that can make you as happy as he can. Something which both terrifies you, and excites you a great deal.

You step foot into the kitchen and you are unsurprised to find Spencer already in the process of making himself a coffee. He pauses once more when he catches sight of you and he holds a second mug out towards you in question. You shake your head. You don't think you'd be able to stomach anything until you can get him to speak to you properly.

A thought suddenly occurs to you, and it may be the first time you ever fully allow yourself to truly think it. Because although it's not unusual for Spencer to visit you in the evening, sometimes even coming over as late as 1 or 2 in the morning—he gets back from cases at the most unpredictable times—do people think you're seeing each other? The two of you have been friends for years, it's not weird for a friend to come over at all hours of the day… right?

“Spence, are you alright?” You pause, eyeing his very full cup of caffeine. “Haven't you just got back from a case? I can make up the sofa bed if you want to get some sleep.”

Heat rushes to your cheeks. Why do I feel so weird about asking him to stay over? We're friends. It's what friends do.

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He ignores your questions, but you can't bring yourself to be annoyed at him. Not when his knuckles are white from how hard he grips the cup and his eyes flit from your hands to your eyes to your mouth and back to your hands.

Wait—your mouth?!

“I have something I need to talk to you about.” He repeats. He closes the gap between the two of you with only a couple of steps. His steaming coffee is still clutched in his hands, but his fingertips seem restless, as if he knows where he wants them to be, but he just can't—or won't—move them there.

“Okay.” You whisper.

Your mouth feels dry—maybe turning down Spencer’s offer for a coffee was a mistake… He's barely an arms length away from you now, if you were to reach your hand out towards him it would brush up against the navy cardigan he has on. It looks so soft and you can't help but wonder how it would feel around your shoulders. Would it be baggy? Would it fit perfectly? And would Spencer want to come back from a case to find you curled up on the sofa while wearing it?

Your neighbour’s laughter ripples through the air like thunder. It's gone before you have time to register the noise fully, but it's enough to snap you out of your trance and you tear your eyes away from Spencer's torso. It was as though he was waiting for you to make eye contact with him again, because he immediately puts his cup down on the side—more clumsily than usual, you'd be surprised if there wasn't an extra chip on the lip now—and takes the smallest of steps towards you. You are almost toe to toe now.

“I–uh–meant to ask you earlier… about your boyfriend.” He hesitates. “Presumably he's not around…”

There's two ways you could take his question.

Part of you wants to lie, to say that no, he's not around, you dumped him months ago—when your friends first told you that you should—and that you weren't expecting any company tonight. It would be just you and Spencer, no interruptions. Besides, Spencer knows that your boyfriend doesn't live with you, it's been the topic of many a heated discussion, but… could you just pretend you misunderstood? Could you say that no, he's not around, he's probably out with his friends somewhere. Could you admit that he hasn't texted you back in almost 4 days? Could you say he's not around, in fact, he hasn't been around you for 12 days?

But Spencer doesn't give you any time to think through what to say. You gasp when his hand touches your arm and he laces his fingers through yours without so much as a word, as if it was the most natural thing for him to do. As if he had done it a thousand times. The certainty with which he touched you has your heart pounding. What is he thinking? All you can do is blink up at him. His eyes are swimming with questions, but the only one he voices is, “Is this okay?”

Your head moves before you can think and he breathes a deep sigh of relief. You haven't felt as calm as this in months, and yet somehow it feels like you're suffocating. His touch is warm and the dusting of pink on his cheeks has you feeling a rush of anxiety—but the good kind, the kind of anxiety you get when your crush looks at you, the kind that comes hand in hand with a first kiss… And yet you know you need to pull away. Before something more happens.

You force yourself to pull your hand out of Spencer's and the emptiness returns immediately. You stumble away, bumping into the counter as you do so, and you utter a small yelp when your hip hits the corner. Tears sting your eyes and before you know it Spencer has his arms around you. Somehow knowing what you need before you are even able to think it. You choke out a broken apology—for what, you don't even know—and all Spencer can think to do is squeeze you against his chest, whispering soft comforts into your ear.

You stay like that for a while—long enough that the pain at your hip is now only a dull ache. Your throat is dry from all the heavy breathing and you feel a slight throbbing pain in your head, but you do, somehow, feel a little better.

That is until your emotionally fried brain catches up with itself. And then you cringe, hard. Embarrassment floods your veins and you feel your cheeks heat up by an alarming degree—like someone, somehow, is holding the sun directly against your skin. You are acutely aware of how closely Spencer is watching you, but you can't bring yourself to meet his eyes, unsure of whether there's a look of hurt, confusion or pity on his face—unsure of whether it matters—and all you can do is stare through your blurry eyes at what you think is your feet, but what could just as easily be a pair of furry, blue alien slippers.

You scold yourself. You fell apart all because he... held your hand? God. What a mess he must think you are. And—oh! How he probably thinks you are the worst person in the world for even entertaining the possibility of his feelings for you when you aren't even single. If he even thinks that what you did was entertaining the possibility. Or maybe you completely misread the situation and he was only trying to comfort you as a friend... But what if he thinks you have no interest in him? What if he thinks he's ruined your friendship and your relationship? What if you're reading into things far too much and he doesn't like you like that and he thinks you're a bad person for even thinking about kissing him–not that he would know that, he can't read your mind–and you've certainly never thought about kissing him before and especially not right now–he doesn't know how much you long for him to sweep your off your feet—

"I like you Spencer."

You blink. Slowly you bring your head up and meet his gaze. He takes a shallow breath, as if he had been holding it for quite some time.

Christ.

You only meant to think the words, and yet somehow they slipped past your tongue out into the space between the two of you. An accidental confession of something you hadn't even consciously thought until 0.2 seconds ago.

Well I can't take it back now.

He holds your gaze. His vision blurs ever so slightly and he blinks back his unshed tears before they get the chance to overwhelm him. He clears his throat before speaking, but even then his voice is low, quiet, as if trying not to spook an animal.

"You... do?"

You nod, and he takes another obvious sigh of relief, deeper this time.

"I do. I like you a lot actually."

It's as though hearing you voice your feelings for him has broken down the very last wall between the two of you. Your mind flits briefly to thoughts about your boyfriend, before shutting them down so violently that you almost feel sick. You taste metal in your mouth and you realise with a start that you'd bitten down so hard on your lip that you'd drawn blood. You reach for the closest available source to wash the bitter taste away—Spencer's coffee. And he watches as you take a sip, your eyes are closed but somehow he can sense that they are closer to shedding tears than his are. He reaches an arm towards you and gently begins to rub soothing circles on your waist. The touch sends an electric pulse throughout your entire body and you almost drop the mug in shock. It's like all at once you realise just how stupid you were for allowing yourself to be so miserable for all this time. Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who barely touches you when one touch from Spencer has your insides burning? Why have you been putting up with a boyfriend who doesn't care about your feelings unless they are positively affecting him, when the first thing Spencer asked you tonight was if you had been crying?

For right now all you care about is the way Spencer's eyes glisten when they look at you, how warm his hands are when they touch your face and how the quiet laughter from your neighbours no longer makes you feel as lonely as it did before.

You felt like such a fool. But it seemed like realising this fact was enough to set you free. It seemed like the acknowledgement was enough. You didn't give any thought now to the things you would have to do this coming week—the breaking up, the collection of your things from his place (although at this point there is only a toothbrush and a single pair of joggers that haven't moved from their place on the back of his sofa since you washed them and left them there). Hell, even the possibility of having Spencer there with you hadn't crossed your mind.

[peppermintquartz]

Captain Buckley-Kinard is too good-looking, Kieren thinks to himself as he changes out of his turnouts, especially when he is smiling like that over family dinner that he himself cooked. It's "Bobby's Chili", though Kieren has yet to figure out who the hell Bobby is.

Kieren is happy to be posted to Station 28, don't get him wrong. It just sucks that he is crushing hard on his captain, knowing he has zero chance.

Because right there, next to his stupidly attractive Captain, is his captain's husband. Thomas ("Call me Tom") Kinard was a legend at the 217, according to some of Kieren's fellow firefighters from the same cohort; apparently, the man was mad enough to fly a chopper right into a hurricane, and on a separate occasion, flew into a raging forest fire in the San Fernando Valley while winds were raging up to 70 mph. On both occasions, scuttlebutt says, Captain Buckley-Kinard was involved too.

Anyway, Cap's husband has since retired. He is a silver fox. Those cheekbones should be illegal, and the deep grooves of his face that appear when he smiles only add to his charm. He's got a nice silvery stubbly beard too, and when he laughs, Cap lights up too. Kieren can see the young men they used to be when they gaze at each other.

It's aggravating.

It would have been easier if Kinard was a standoffish, arrogant jerk. But he's nice. He brings Cap special treats with extra snacks for the whole team; he helps to fix their cars ("keeps me out of trouble"); he's even flown Sandra and her wife in a chopper for a romantic getaway to Napa Valley. If the team works holidays, Tom Kinard will show up with a veritable feast, along with their twins (Joanna and Jacob).

It's really aggravating.

"You look irritated," Lenny says under his breath when Kieren finally joins them. Kieren elbows his partner when Lenny grins at him knowingly and leans over. "You're glaring at the trophy husband. Again."

"Shut up," Kieren manages to say without moving his lips.

"Okay I gotta go or I'll be late," Tom says, standing up. "The kids are having a sleepover at Parker's."

Cap kisses his husband, sweet and fond. "Say hi to Chim and Hen for me."

Tom crinkles a smile. "Will do. Love you. Be safe."

"Be safe."

Cap is watching his husband walk away like he can't get enough. Kieren can't blame him; even in his fifties, Tom Kinard has a very nice ass.

"You're so lucky, Cap," Lenny says, picking a soy sauce wing from the serving plate. "Maybe you oughta share some tips for us poor lonesome guys. How did you find your happily ever after?"

Cap grins, his blue eyes bright and he almost looks like he's blushing. "We had our ups and downs. Broke up once. Argued a lot. But we found our way eventually. And, uh, I'm gonna pass on some advice I was given about happy endings: You don't find it, son, you make it."

Lenny reaches out a fist and Cap bumps it. "Thanks, Cap."

"Anytime." Cap goes off to the oven when it dings.

Kieren is chewing thoughtfully on a morsel when Lenny turns to him. "Hey, I got a couple of free day passes for the aquarium that needs using up by next weekend. You wanna come with me on Thursday?"

Surprised, Kieren swallows and shrugs. "Sure, why not?"

"Great! I'll pick you up at nine, we'll grab breakfast, and then, fishies." Lenny looks like he's going to say something else, but averts his gaze and returns to his food.

Kieren catches Henderson's amused grin and wonders what he has done that's funny. Ah well.

Househusband Buck this, househusband Buck that, what about househusband TOMMY?

Give me Captain Buckley-Kinard and his trophy husband who puts silly little sticky notes in his lunch!! Please!!

[neptunescore]

Still seeing so much shit everywhere abt both charles and carlos, like it's reaching a peak.

I just don't understand why both fanbases are destroying the other, when the only one to blame is the TEAM. ITS FERRARI. THEY ARE THE PROBLEM!!!

I'm not even gonna talk abt the pitting calls, bc that was just one major fuck up after another. However, I will talk abt the absolute shite communication that ferrari had with both drivers that led to whatever war between fans is happening right now.

On one hand, we have ferrari telling Charles that carlos wouldn't overtake him, and on the other, we have ferrari telling carlos not to pressure Charles. Most of you might think it's the exact same thing, but it really isn't guys. In no way did Carlos pressure Charles. Carlos' tyres were 2 laps old. They were heated up. Charles was PARALLEL to Carlos upon pit exit (NOT ahead). Charles had new, cold, dead tyres, all carlos literally had to do was drive arnd him, there was no pressuring.

A lot of ppl are also talking about how the results for ferrari would've been much better if Carlos had let Charles past... yeah no. They wouldn't have. Mercedes was absolutely on fire this week. There was genuinely no way Ferrari could've gotten any better result than a P3 and P4, and telling one driver to give up a podium position just to try and cement your other drivers standing as SECOND place in the drivers standings?? Um... yh that's just in bad taste.

Also, ppl are arguing over the stat they showed that if the team would've just listened to Carlos' requests about pitting earlier, he would've ended ahead of Lewis. Personally, I don't think that would've happened, BUT I do believe there would've been a much larger chance of Carlos and Charles being closer to the Merc if Ferrari had just LISTENED to their drivers.

And abt this radio msg:

I honestly don't think Charles was even talking abt Carlos here, this is just him talking abt the team. I feel Charles has ALWAYS blindly trusted the team, done whatever they told him to do. Then we have Carlos, he argues back. Tells the team what he thinks would be better. Ignores orders sometimes to do what he thinks would be better, and it ALWAYS is better. This is Charles being over it, and I'm glad. I'm glad he's over it. Ferrari need to get their heads out of their asses and listen to their drivers because it is reaching a point.

Sidenote:

This radio msg mad me laugh so hard (literally as a carlos fan), idk why y'all are talking abt how it's XENOPHOBIC??? LMFAOOO that's a MAD reach. Carlos is literally a slightly tanned European man BWAHAHAHAH, as a POC I feel slightly mad abt all of u losing ur ahit over this yet when it comes to injustices done to ACTUAL POC drivers, everyone stays silent?? Yh shut up.

I feel u guys forget that this is a competitive sport where drivers are filled to the brim with adrenaline, ofc Charles is gonna make some comments when things don't go the way he thinks they will.

Anywayyy, that's my rant done. Just had to get all this shit out. Even if none of this is true or what acc happend I still stand with my drivers rights and wrongs, so Carlos my pookie dw I love you ur so real.

[madonnamadeofasphalt]

EA & Bioware honestly did an incredible job at killing any enthusiasm I had for a new Dragon Age. Fucking hell, man, I've played the first two games so much I could probably go through them with closed eyes and still pick all the right dialogue options to get My Exact Personally Canonized Plot. And the only reason I didn't do the same thing with DA:I is because it was made after EA completely gave up on optimizing their shit so the fucking thing takes up like a billion terabytes of disc space and takes 10 hours to download and install. I honestly think it's the best-written cRPG franchise to ever have a budget that doesn't involve a list of Kickstarter backers or getting an eccentric Estonian billionaire fixated on the project. And the gameplay is also there, I don't really care about that part.

Then they proceeded to fire all the talent that made me love those first three games, and scratch and restart the production twice, and be suspiciously cagey with any details or gameplay footage for a fucking decade, so my hype consistently went down and down. And yet I still managed to hold out some hope that somehow, by some miracle, it wouldn't fucking suck.

I kept that hope until the trailer dropped. You know the one. The one where we see a bearded Varric. This, I think, was the exact moment when I lost any desire to play fucking Veilguard.

Like, first of all, Varric being there at all is already an issue. Leave the man alone. His presence was already kinda forced in DA:I. And after DA:I and Tresspasser, his story couldn't be more finished if he got killed, eaten, shitted out, condemned to hell, redeemed by divine sacrifice, bathed for eternity in the everlasting light. There is no point to Varric anymore. Whatever arc they've given him in Veilguard, and I don't even give a shit enough to read the spoilers before writing this post, it has no business existing. Fuck you. The only reason he's there is because he's a recognizable IP, and when you're a certain kind of soulless corporate moron, you think there's nothing more important than putting a recognizable IP in whatever new bullshit you're trying to peddle. Maybe if you didn't fire every decent writer in your trash fucking company, you'd have someone to tell you about the importance of Ending The Fucking Story When The Story Fucking Ends.

But that's not even the core of the problem. Beard? they gave Varric a Beard? Varric I fucking hate everything that's even tangentially connected to dwarven culture with a passion which is why I've made a point to shave my beard all my life to spite anyone who gives a fuck about it Tethras? beard? you gave him a beard? He changed so much offscreen in the goddamn timeskip between these two games that he got a motherfucking berd? fucshhfdbeard? feadsgfsvarricafgfdh BEARD? yyousftoiuslyhhabevarricasgsfucningbeardandthivkimgosabedineditit?beard????

PS. (edit after finding out spoilers) I've gone to TV Tropes to read up on Varric's role in DATV after writing this (just in case I'm wrong and dumb, and there's actually a deeply compelling narrative reason for his presence), and, well, this shit is cheaper than I thought. And more importantly, just as I thought, there appears to be no justification for the beard beyond "adding a beard is a cliche way to show that a bunch of time has passed, and we didn't care enough to think this shit through". I'm fucking tired, man.

PPS. (edit after reading the rest of big spoilers) This is so much worse than I could even begin to suspect. This is worse than the final season of Game of Thrones. This is the final season of Game of Thrones if they straight-up fired GRRM, burned his notes and hired a showrunner who's only read a one-page summary of the first six seasons. This is fucking depressing, man. I'm genuinely fucking sad. So many subplots that were started over the course of these three games, that were clearly going somewhere, scrapped in favour of a simplistic good vs. evil story that would get rejected by fucking CD-Projekt in 2007 for being too basic. All because the artists who poured their hearts and souls into this bullshit franchise got thrown out like trash by its "owners". Morrigan's kid, the Well of Sorrows, all the implied complexities of Tevinter politics, the Crows, the Old Gods, Andraste. All went to shit. Death to capitalism.

[thegreatestchange]

as soon as i finished s2 of arcane i knew i wanted to hear your takes on it. any opinions as to how they handled caitlyn’s arc, vi’s story, and the development of s2? i would love to hear anything you have to say about this season!!

also - the end of this season has me scouring Ao3 for some fics to fill the void. have you had any recent one shot or fic ideas now that the show has ended? i’ve been dying for a hurt/comfort and really soft sex type of story for cait and vi. maybe something where cait is taking care of vi after the events of 206? lord knows they could both use the comfort and vi deserves to be loved and taken care of. i know you would write that beautifully.

or if you have any recs for fics along those lines? 👀

as always, thanks for your incredible work both inside and outside of fandoms! love hearing from you! <3

Omg hiii! I appreciate that you care what I think haha!

Let me preface this by saying that the criticisms I have for the writing of s2 does not take away the love I have for this show and what it's done for animation as a medium.

Now, with that said...

S2 was a mess.

I said this on twitter, but I think the writers had a lot of ambition — too much ambition — for the amount of episodes they had to wrap this story up cohesively. This AMAZING show suffered because of corporate greed and not having enough time to flesh out character arcs and plots from s1. I think it started off promising. I was really excited to see how they would handle the Zaun/Piltover conflict, Vi's journey toward healing and forgiving herself for her past mistakes, Jinx's descent and then return as a hero, as well as Caitlyn's descent and redemption arc.

Instead we got... that.

There's one word that keeps twirling around in my head: commitment.

The writers lacked commitment (and a diverse writing room) to properly handle the Piltover/Zaun conflict. S1 had such a good starting point, whereas in S2 it's like they diverged from the path and forgot the finish line existed. Sitting Sevika at a table with her oppressors who will most likely tune her out and outvote her on everything is NOT a solution. Why not a complete overhaul of the council? Make it an even split? Instead it's the same people who never gave a fuck in the first place, and Sevika, who helped get half of the population of Zaun hooked on shimmer in the first place. Like what???

They failed to commit to Caitlyn's villain/dictator era. When episode 3 happened, I was skeptical about how they would handle it. And after watching the entire season, I had every right to feel that way. They make her so unapologetic and blasé about gassing Zaunites and letting Ambessa unlawfully arrest people. That's not my Cait from season 1. Does grief change people? Absolutely! But once it settles, you should be able to look back on what you've done and feel remorseful. Cait's lack of remorse was jarring. Her inability to apologize or outwardly own up to everything she did was OOC. You know what could've been the perfect moment for that? When Jayce gathered Piltover and Zaun in that room and she was standing right across from them. Why not have Sevika or Scar call her ass out and hold her feet to the fire? Lay out the facts of what her grief looked like to the innocent people of Zaun who had nothing to do with it? That would've been the perfect time for her to say something.

They failed to commit to Jinx and her story as a whole. At its core, this show was centered around two sisters growing up impoverished and oppressed, constantly separated, but always finding their way back to each other. Jinx is such a heartbreaking character used for trauma porn. Episode 6 fucked me up so badly but I THOUGHT it would lead to something big for her character. Like her stepping into this unwilling hero role and working with Ekko to lead Zaun into a better future like the one Ekko saw in episode 7. BUT LOL NOPE. Instead she's suicidal and self harming while her sister is fucking the oppressor in a prison cell. DA FUCK?

And lastly they failed Vi's character in every possible way. From putting on the badge in the first place to not exploring the depth of her character. She's basically a passenger in s2. Has no agency. Used as a punching bag (literally). And treated as an afterthought. I'm so pissed. There should've been a lot of conflict in act 1 between her and Cait. You mean to tell me Vi, who HATES enforcers. would willingly let her situationship gas her people? Fuck no. Absolutely not. It does not make sense, narratively speaking. Her ending did not make me hopeful. Even if Jinx is alive and moving on from Vi to "break the cycle" that does nothing for Vi's character. She is without family once again, and I fear it would lead to an unhealthy codependent relationship with Cait. Like she'll never be able to voice opposing thoughts or feelings without fear of Cait leaving her AGAIN.

As for the Caitvi relationship. This is tough. On one hand, I was happy to see a lesbian s*x scene in animation for an awarded television show. But on a heavier hand, it rings hollow after everything I've said. Much like the Piltover/Zaun story, Caitvi had a good starting point in season 1. I did have my issues with it because, as a Black woman, seeing someone oppressed get with a cop does nothing for me. But I wanted to give them the benefit of the doubt because I believed the writers knew what they were doing. But I was wrong again. CaitVi is unfortunately one of the weakest points of S2. The writers did not COMMIT to their conflict. It's barely glossed over and then Caitlyn gets rewarded with s*x. And this is why I could never commit to them as a couple. At least not in canon. I liked them in s1 and the idea of what they could've been to each other in s2. And it looks like I'm going to have to find that elsewhere, unfortunately.

Overall, it all comes back to what I said in the beginning: lack of time, a diverse writing room, and corporate greed. I'm disappointed, but unfortunately not surprised. I hope the writers can learn from their mistakes moving forward.

As for fanfiction, I have actually not read any yet! So I don't have any recommendations for you. I need some for myself! I'll get back to you if I find any good ones.

Sorry for the lengthy post! I really just needed to get this all out and I feel so much better.

[sokkastyles]

Actually, yeah, there is such thing as trespassing, and you sure do seem to complain a lot about me "misconstruing" your arguments when you came here to argue with me and then claimed about four times in this reblog that I said Mai was an abuser when I said nothing of the sort. I thought you wanted to agree to disagree. I think "nasty" is a word that fits you better, since that's how you started acting because I didn't agree with your opinions on a fictional character.

"Aside from her just existing as a fire nation character on the wrong side of the border"

Lol, THIS is the kind of stuff Azula stans say, actually. Mai helped Azula capture Zuko and infiltrate Ba Sing Se, and fought the gaang numerous times. The first time we meet her, she shows disdain for the city her father helped colonize. We are told that Mai and Azula bond over their "dark sense of humor," which is also what we see a lot of from Mai. She makes a joke about the Dai Li "peeing their pants." She makes a joke about ordering around servants. She's a villain. She's not the worst villain, but she is a villain. We are supposed to think she's a villain. It's not speculative. Otherwise, why did she need to learn to be better in the first place? I know the show is making an attempt at showing her growth, I just don't think they do a very good job of it, and I find your arguments of "but actually she did nothing wrong" alternating with "but actually she got better" to be inherently contradictory and not helping you here. The difference between the Azula stan arguments you are citing is that while we are supposed to feel sorry for Azula to a degree, we are also still supposed to recognize she is a villain. I think you know this, but you're using a strawman argument. Just like I think you know that we're supposed to not think Mai is not being particularly kind when she dismisses Zuko's worries about going home. Something she does in part because of her own trauma, but also because she helped put him there and that is not something she is willing to admit. Saying that she "doesn't have to be his therapist" is not only callous, but an inherently bad reading of the show. And no, the scene is not portrayed as it being "just a joke." Zuko looks upset when she says that. He accepts being kissed, but the tone of the scene is still meant to make us understand that Zuko is right and Mai is wrong.

I don't have time to go through every scene with you and explain where you're being willfully obtuse about this because you don't like that I don't think these two characters would be besties. But I do think it's interesting that you jumped real quick to the "but Zuko." I think you also know that the difference with Zuko is that he was actually shown unlearning most of the things that Mai kinda sorta unlearns on a personal level, actually understood why his country was wrong and worked to correct those wrongs. Mai ends the show with "actually, I kind of like you" but also feels entitled enough to tell the person she's with to never break up with her. That's not good enough for me. I get what the show was trying to do here, but I don't have to like it, sorry. That's not the same as me saying Mai is an abuser. Get out of here with that nonsense, or stop acting like you're better than Azula stans who blatantly make shit up.

I know what Zuko says about protecting Mai. That doesn't erase the context of him not trusting her. Why would he? Their relationship is not built on trust. That's not entirely Mai's fault, but there is a fault when we try to ignore the context which does include Mai being an agent of fascism, does include him being in a context where he is not safe on a personal level and is being abused. Ignoring that context is not great. And if you have to ignore it to make maiko work, well, then, that's why it doesn't.

Anyway, I don't actually think Katara should punch Mai (mostly), but like. Come on. The comics are bad but they didn't pull Mai supporting imperialism out of thin air, and "he wasn't a real threat" is a ridiculous thing to say in her defense. Zuko's characterization in the comics feels regressive because we actually do see him working to end the war. We don't see Mai care about anything except Zuko. And that's me being generous about it. It's not unreasonable to critique her character based on that alone.

You're also still making a false equivalence based on Sokka and Suki's relationship. What would be a real comparison is if Sokka and Suki broke up because Suki tried to kill him and then when they met again Sokka wasn't sure whether she was still his enemy. The difference is that Suki is never written as a villain and Mai is. Like, it's okay to admit this. And again, if you can't, then that's why her character arc and her relationship with Zuko don't work.

"I think Katara would get along with Azula/Mai because female solidarity!"

Cool. I think Katara would punch fascists in the throat.

[mikaila-orchard]

Season two arcane ended now what is your thoughts on Jinx and Vi sister relationship and Ekko character if I miss memory on your arcane video you didn’t talking about him that much that if you want to talk him. P.S sorry is it hard to read my question

I just... I was delulu in thinking things between Jinx and Vi would work out. Act 2 played me like a cheap kazoo.

That weird AU episode suggesting that Vi and Jinx can't find happiness together was so fucking forced. The idea that Vi and Jinx can't be happy while in each other's lives was something Jinx herself should have thought in a depressive episode that Vi should have shut down immediately. That Jinx had to fake her death so that Vi could move on and find happiness with KluKluxKirraman was absolutely fucking stupid.

I admit I've neglected giving Ekko his fair dues (cuz I was always too distracted by Mel and Sevika) but he was a GOAT from day one. He's one of the few characters who always had his head on straight and thought about Zaun first and foremost (like Sevika). That they had to put Ekko into another timeline so he wouldn't find out that Caitlyn gassed Zaun and then became Runeterra Mussolini AFTER feeding him that garbage line about peace is equal parts hilarious and infuriating. That they had to put Ekko and Mel in a box until the third act when the Class Warfare stuff was sidelined so we couldn't see him be rightfully furious at Cait and Vi is painfully centrist. If he found about that shit with the Gray in act one, he and a score of Firelights would have tracked Cait down to that arena Jinx set up and beat her to death themselves and they would have been right to do it.

And what does he (and Mel) get after pulling everyone's asses out of the fire. Nothing. They're left with nothing. Mel loses the last of her family. Ekko loses Jinx to her own self loathing and he loses Vi to Cait.

Fuck this timeline meta excuse. The only thing keeping Vi, Jinx and Ekko from happiness together was fucking Caitlyn.

[lavenderleahy]

Tagged by @bidisasterevankinard and @powersuitup

I'm SO close to finishing this post-breakup TikTok fix-it fic. Once I get the thanksgiving turkey in the oven I should have time to write it :D

“Bake sourdough with me while I tell you what it’s like to try something new. I’m gonna be real with you – it’s terrifying as shit. This is my first time baking sourdough, and I’m terrified I’ll get it wrong. Even though it doesn’t really matter, does it? Like, if I mess this up, I can just do it again. What’s even more terrifying is trying something for the first time that you can’t mess up. That’s why you have to train at the academy before becoming a fire fighter - better to mess up when the lives at risk aren’t real than when they are. In life, there are no practice rounds. Sometimes you screw up and the people in your life forgive you and let you back in. But sometimes they leave. In my past relationships, things always seemed to go wrong when I tried something new. Maybe that’s why small things like baking sourdough terrify me so much. It wouldn’t be a life-altering, relationship-ending mistake, but it could be. But that’s life, right? So every day, I’ll try something new. And I’ll keep trying new things until they’re a little less terrifying. Until then, I’ll keep baking for you all. As for this sourdough, I doubt it would be Paul Hollywood approved, but I think it turned out alright! What about you?” @shrimp_bizkits1 commented: ex-boyfriend’s hater club 👇 – Show 255 replies –

tagging 🧡

@cinderellarhea @30somethingautisticteacher @herrmannhalsteadproduction @half-oz-eddie @miriellesandthegiantpeach

@thatmexisaurusrex @loucifersbitch @carrythatwayt @cannibalhellhound @theotherbuckley

@plotdevicetommy @didsomeonesaybuffet @girlwonder-writes @tabbytabbytabby @mattdoestevan

@livelaughbuck @reginamillls @kinardbuckleys @sleepywinchesters @bambi-buckley

@sunnywithachanceofbi @bangpop91 @rdng1230 @weewookinard @cliophilyra

@racerchix21 @typicalopposite @foxtrot91 @swiftiefirefighters @kirkaut

@911varietyposts @queermccoy @bulisen @setmeatopthepyre @taleofdaringdo

[a-substantial-trash-pile]

mouthwashing responsibility au rambles below cut 🫡

(spoiler warning for the actual game obviously)

- even though jimmy got deservedly knocked out by anya and thrown into the cryopod early on, the crash still does happen. it's a freak accident this time, like maybe a piece of space debris just happened to hurtle right into them without time to dodge. it's like the tulpar is destined to crash. but this time it's a story about a group of people finding hope and strength in each other and finding what they themselves can be capable of in a time of crisis. btw i just mean curly, anya, swansea, and daisuke. i am NOT repenting jimmy. he ain't "fixing" shit.

- i'm sorry for frying curly again even though this is supposed to be an au with a happier ending 😭 the way his loss of autonomy reflects anya's own loss of it, making him feel firsthand the suffering she went through in a way, felt too important to just remove. curly's injuries aren't as terrible as in the original timeline since swansea rescued him earlier. and by "not as terrible" i mean he only loses a leg and not all of his limbs. he will get some function in his hands eventually and anya teaches him sign language to help him communicate (she teaches the others too).

- speaking of anya, she really shows her stuff as a nurse (even in the original timeline she does, managing to keep curly alive like that). she treats curly and swansea and is much more of a pillar of strength for the crew than she herself realizes. pre-crash and post-jimmy-getting-fired, she was able to relax and open up more with everyone, building a stronger bond. when the crash happens, anya is of course terrified and hella stressed, but now she knows she has people who have her back, and it helps. she can be more confident in herself without a certain someone being there to belittle and hurt her. this time when she has to deal with something difficult, something traumatizing, she has people to support her. in this au, she is not pregnant because if she was, i don't see how keeping the baby would be a good thing for her. and i don't want her to have to deal with that situation without the proper medical supplies on top of everything else. she's been through enough.

- btw there is no shipping in this au. i personally really don't see how it could happen between anyone on the crew. if there was some sort of spark between anya and curly, it's definitely gone now and won't happen again. the most they'll be are friends (although the friendship/trust will have to be built from the ground up again after everything that's happened with jimmy). the only ship here is the tulpar.

- i know daisuke is seen as a "dumb kid" but i really don't think that's the case. we are seeing him thru jimmy's perspective mostly after all and jimmy is the definition of an unreliable narrator. i headcanon daisuke as having adhd like me who tends to lose focus on tasks easily because your brain is just going 102929 miles a minute and wandering to all sorts of places like me. he feels like someone who doesn't exactly know where they want to go in life like me. also he's definitely a hawaii kid born and raised and talks pidgin sometimes like me except i lost the pidgin :(. i'm totally not projecting my asian ass on the asian boy or anything. BUT ANYWAY i wanted to give daisuke more stuff to do and a chance to prove to himself that he can do these things, he can step up. so that's partially why i made swansea burn his hands rescuing curly. daisuke can now be filled with Determination and be swansea's hands in repairing things as he heals. it's going to be hard and it's going to be frustrating for both parties and sometimes they'll get upset at each other. but it will inevitably be a great bonding experience for the two. i cannot resist the call for more father-son moments.

- swansea my beloved. i am so sorry for burning your beautiful hands please forgive 😔🙏 i have to make my faves suffer a little. swansea's hands will heal up eventually and he'll be able to use them again, but there will be scars. i think him having to guide daisuke with doing repairs n stuff on the ship as his hands recover gives him a mission. something to distract him from completely falling into despair and alcoholism. that man is hanging on by a thread but by god he's going to help get these kids through this. they've all grown closer since jimmy was sacked and swansea feels a sort of responsibility towards protecting anya, daisuke and curly as the oldest one there. it's the dad instincts y'know? on the real hard days, sometimes swansea thinks about cracking open a bottle of mouthwash, but he holds back because he feels he needs to stay strong for the crew. however he does have to learn that he can't shoulder everything and that he can rely on others. him having no choice but to have daisuke take over his tasks is a good way for him to learn that, i think. swansea is definitely a pillar of strength in this and the rest of the crew have a lot of affection for him (and vice versa even if swansea won't admit it). can you tell i really like swansea. he is such a foil to jimmy—a guy who has fucked up a lot in his life but actually acknowledges his mistakes and is trying his hardest to be a better person. aghh swansea i love you 💛💛

- after the crash happens, the cryopod room becomes inaccessible, so nobody is able to check on the state of jimmy in there. so they don't see that the crypod he's in eventually fails from damage and he escapes. this happens a couple weeks into the crash. jimmy is still pissed about everything and still can't see how he's done anything wrong (this is because he is a delusional asshole). in fact, he feels like he's the one who's been wronged and betrayed by everyone on the crew and he wants revenge. there will be a final confrontation between jimmy and the crew. spoilers: jimmy loses. i'm just undecided on who finishes it. it would be fitting if anya shot him, but i'm not sure that's something she'd necessarily want to do. she chose to be in the medical field after all. don't get me wrong, i think she would pull the trigger if it meant protecting the others. but i'd hate to have her kill, because even if jimmy deserves it, anya is a healer and would still probably feel guilty about it. i don't want to put even more shit on her plate. so i think swansea is the one to put jimmy down in the end. with the axe of course. i think he'd feel less guilty about doing it because it's something he's wanted to do since anya first told him about jimmy. oooh what if jimmy gets his hands on the gun, but daisuke tackles him, making him drop it, and anya gets it and shoots jimmy in the shoulder or leg or something to get him off of daisuke, and then swansea comes in with the axe to finish him off. that could be fun. that way anya won't have to actually kill but she'll still get to shoot jimmy. bless.

- the crew gets rescued eventually, but it's going to be a few months because pony express is a nightmare company. i'm honestly still not sure if pony express is even the one who will rescue them or even bother to look. i'm tempted to just have another ship happen across them by some miracle and help. real tempted to make that ship The Unreliable and turn this into a Mouthwashing x The Outer Worlds crossover quite honestly since both settings share similarities (megacorporations, cryosleep, etc). but idk. it's not like i can just write a fanfic or anything since writing is harder for me and who knows how long it will be before i even draw the idea. it's just yet another self-indulgent daydream for now.

[banditthewriter]

The Box - A Gale drabble

A throwback to my old bandit days, I've written 2 drabbles in one day. This is extraordinary, but I've had a lot of inspiration. Tried my hand at Gale this go around. Thanks for reading!

Enjoy!

***

A clatter came from the direction of Gale’s office, but it wasn’t uncommon. The two of you each had a habit of making a bunch of rackets when the two of you were in your offices. He would be perfecting different spells and incantations, you were trying to brew new potions that sometimes went boom. Most of your adventuring days were behind you but you did admit to writing down the recipes of the ones that went boom—never knew when you or one of your long time friends might need it.

Another clatter, this time louder, came out and made you jump just as you were adding the last ingredient. Hesitantly you put it down and dampened the fire under the flask set before you turned to the door of your alchemy room. 

Since your arrival in Waterdeep, the two of you had spent innumerous hours together getting to know each other while the world was not on the precipice of apocalypse. The separate offices had been your idea. It was good and healthy to have a place that was just your own. While there were no set in stone rules about going into each other’s spaces, both of you tried to respect the other’s privacy when you were in your offices.

However a flash of memories came to you of various people coming after you and the others. Loyalists to the Absolute who hadn’t been tadpoled before the final battle who were upset that they had lost the promise of power they’d once had.

Caution to the wind, you left your office and crossed the hallway to Gale’s office door. It was usually shut when he was working, but it was half opened which worried you more. A loud thud resounded and you quickly threw the door open.

Gale was squatting beside a gilded chest, both hands thrust inside. It was like no chest you’d ever seen; the opening seemed to glow with Gale’s magic and then disappear into a dark void. Just as you started to wonder if it was hurting him somehow, Gale pulled his hands out and tossed aside a golden cauldron.

“Don’t even know why I kept that,” he muttered as he thrust his hands back into the chest.

There were other items strewn beside him. A large picture frame with what seemed to be a painting of his parents, a small chest that had popped open and spilled out scrolls, a sterling silver plate with his family’s crest etched in the middle.

“What is the opposite of spring cleaning?”

Gale jumped at your voice, obviously having missed your entrance in the midst of him pulling out the cauldron. 

“Autumnal cluttering, perhaps?” He grinned over at you and then frowned back at the chest. “The charm I had placed on this chest to work like a bag of holding has apparently gone awry. I can no longer just summon the item I want but need to fish for it in what feels like a never ending clutter.”

“Which has led you to throwing half the contents onto the floor.”

You stepped over a few glittering odds and ends. As you reached his side, he pulled out a clock that had diamonds encrusted on the face. He didn’t toss it to the side but gently placed it down before thrust his hands back into the chest.

“Is there something I can do to help you? Four hands are better than two,” you offered as you raised your hands and wiggled your fingers.

“No, no,” he said quickly with a shake of his head, “no, the magic is tied to me and though it has gone afoul, I do not want to think what might happen if you put your hands in—AHA!”

With a yank, Gale was sent backwards onto his rear. Clutched in his hands was a small leather box. He laughed as he looked down at it, his fingers delicately rubbing against the leather.

“Found what you were looking for?”

Gale’s eyes snapped up to you and you saw a whirlwind of emotion cross his features. Then he simply laughed.

“I did. In more ways than one. This wasn’t how I planned on going about this, but when has a hurdle ever stopped us?” He lifted the box in one hand out towards you. “This box belonged to my grandmother on my father’s side. It was given to me should I ever…find someone that I wanted to spend my life with. During my seclusion here, I put it in the chest because I truly never thought I’d find that person. Truly wasn’t sure what sort of life I would have even if I did. But with you, I found so much more than just someone to spend my life with. I found someone to enjoy my life with. To love living life as much as I love you.”

Tears were in your eyes as Gale moved to kneel before you. He held the box up and gently undid the golden clasp to open it.

Inside on a purple velvet pillow was a beautiful ring. A silver band with a diamond that seemed to glitter with every color in the universe. 

“Will you–”

You dropped to your knees and grabbed his face, tugging him towards your lips. Somehow the two of you maneuvered so that he could slip the ring onto your finger—and then onto the left hand when you realized in your excitement you’d had the hands mixed up—without releasing the kiss.

When you both finally pulled back, Gale’s smile could have brightened up the entire sky. Instead it just brightened your heart.

[pessimisticpigeonsworld]

She is a white savior that Daenerys believes to be the Mysha of the slaves, in addition to her arrogance of thinking that she is the only savior, she has that hero complex like her brother Rhaegar had that caused a war for his prophecy, I saw the publication and it makes sense Aegon according to what he dreamed of in the long night, but for me the author invented it to make it seem like the foreigners subjugated Westeros, for me it is not fair that Daenerys and her fans believe that she deserves the credit of many people who also fight against the others.

I'm sorry, have you ever read the books? Or even seen the show for that matter? Literally none of this is true in either one.

Dany didn't create the title of Mhysa, the Yunkai'i slaves she freed did. Then the name was picked up by the slaves in Meereen and others all over Essos. It's a title; it's awarded by others, that's how they work.

Dany takes this title as a responsibility. She feels a level of responsibility and care for the slaves and freedmen that no other pov ruler does. She understands the weight of ruling as no one else does; it's a ruler's responsibility to care for the people and do justice on their behalf. She is motivated by her genuine care in all the released books and in the seasons when she's in Essos.

Where are you getting that she has a hero complex? I'm assuming since you're talking about the Others, you're talking about the events of the show's ending. Well, even with how D&D royally fucked up, Dany didn't believe herself to be the only person fighting the Others, nor does she begrudge other people their credit.

She's rightfully upset when all the Northmen choose to ignore the fact that she literally saved them. Dany brought her dragons, saved Jon's life multiple times, and brought a massive army. She did literally save their fucking lives. No, she wasn't the only one to fight, nor was she the only reason they won, and she doesn't think that.

As for the slaves, she doesn't liberate them out of a hero's complex, she does it because slavery is a horrifying institution and she had power. People who have power should feel an obligation to do good with it; Dany does. She chose to put aside her conquest for the Iron Throne for the slaves.

Rhaegar didn't start the war, nor did he do it for the prophecy. Again, I don't know where you or any of Rhaegar's antis got that. Rhaegar ran away with Lyanna because of a mutual love. GRRM literally calls Rhaegar "a love struck prince"; meaning he isn't really thinking clearly.

As for the prophecy, yes, Rhaegar knew about it; but we have textual evidence that he believes Aegon is the Prnce that was Promised. He literally tells Elia when Aegon is born that, "His will be the Song of Ice and Fire." Yeah, he said there needed to be a third child, but why logically wouldn't he choose to have a third child with Elia? Well because he's not thinking logically, he's "lovestruck", and because he didn't run away with Lyanna for a child.

No, GRRM didn't make the Targaryen conquest to reflect foreign invasion or colonization. They're literally a Westerosi house, they came to Westeros centuries before the conquest happened. It's literally a different concept all together, why is that so hard to understand?

Literally none of Dany's fans believe that she "deserves all the credit" for fighting the Others. We just want her to get the credit she deserves, which is that she saved the Northmen's lives and without her they would have failed. These are all just facts in the show. As for the books, we know she'll play a large role in fighting the Others because GRRM makes it pretty fucking clear.

[storiesfromafan]

He's Not So Bad (18+) - Mattheo x Reader

A/N: I bring you the awaited follow up to He's So Annoying 😊

I hope this ain't too bad. I finished writing it this morning before work. And just finished revising, so forgive me if there is any spelling/grammer mistakes.

Also, today wasn't such a good day at work, would appreciate some love 😅

Warnings: spelling/grammer mistakes, public sex, p in v

Prompt/s: “Can you feel how much I want you?” and “You’re mine"

Tag list: @moorningvoice @legobookstore @revesephemeres

After Potion’s class, you found Mattheo flirting and annoying you more with every shared class for the last few days. And every time you do your best to ignore him or put him in his place, he continued to drag up that night. You began to think he enjoyed remembering it, and like if he mentioned it, you’d jump back into bed with him. And you wanted too. But your better judgement told you no, he just wanted you physically.

Unfortunately this day was the day he’d followed you out of your last class – Divination – and was adamant on giving lost puppy energy. And that was even with people around.

“Honestly, why do you keep chasing me, when there are so many willing females that would gladly be your bed buddy?” You sighed turning down a hallway that looked to be deserted.

Mattheo shrugged. “I like the chase with you. It’s a challenge, love”.

“Don’t called me love!” You shot back, sending him a glare. Which made him smile.

Mattheo thought it was funny how you hadn’t clued on. How he was infatuated with you. His constant presence, annoyance and the nickname – love – were tell-tale signs of his affection for you. Hell, he’d even gotten detention the other day for hexing a Hufflepuff guy who Mattheo overheard planning to ask you out. You were his. And that meant you were off limits.

Mattheo chuckled. “Deny all you like, love, but I know you enjoy it".

Rolling your eyes while you picked up the pace, wanting to put distance between you too, as well as get back to the Ravenclaw house. The only place you could be free of the menace on your heels. If only you know what was about to come.

You felt a hand wrap around your wrist, then being pulled down a dead end of the hallway. Your body being pressed against the wall, hidden behind a statue and pillar. Another hand was pressed against you mouth before you could even make a noise. Before you was Mattheo, the person who had dragged you down here and pressed you against the wall.

Your shock expression turned to that of a glare. Which told him that you weren’t going to scream, probably tell him off, but he could handle that. So with a small, sweet smile on his lips, Mattheo removed his hand. Instantly you let him have it.

“What the hell! What are you thinking!?” You voiced, tone sharp and annoyed.

Mattheo remained quiet, admiring the fire in you. He moved the hand that had been over your mouth, to push back your hair so it was over your shoulder. Before running it along your jaw and down your neck. You shuddered. You told yourself you had to be mad, and not show how his simple actions affected you. Because they did. His touch was electric, the pads of his fingers running slowly over your skin, sending your heart a flutter.

Mattheo of course noticed the shudder, and the slight change in you. He’d been studying for so long, he knew the signs. The hand holding your wrist moved to rest against the wall next to your head, almost completely caging you in. His warm chocolate brown orbs had darkened with the thought of what was to come. So long as you let him, of course. Mattheo wouldn’t do anything you didn’t beg for. And he’d have you beginning.

Leaning in, Mattheo ran his nose along your jaw, taking in the faint smell of your perfume. Which he noted he needed to find out what it was, so he could buy you more, for it was his new favourite scent when mixed with your own smell. You stiffened at his action. You didn’t expect Mattheo to be this forward. Sure, he liked to flirt and bring up that night, maybe even tell you what else he’d like to do to you. But actually do it? This surprised you.

“You smell so good" Mattheo softly groaned before nipping your jaw, making you jump. “Jumpy, love?” He chuckled.

You shot him a dirty look, which he enjoyed oh so much. “N-no" you retorted.

Once more Mattheo chuckled, before kissing your jaw and then nipping once more. Again you jumped, but not as much as the first time. “Hmmm, you are jumpy" he commented teasingly.

You placed your hands against Mattheo's chest and push, hoping he’d get the hint and back up. But no. He only moved closer, your strength nothing for him. Before your hands could be trapped, you moved them to his shoulder. Bad move. It not only allowed Mattheo to press his body completely against yours, against the wall. But also gave him the idea you wanted him. Which you did, but tried to fight the spark between you both.

His lips moved to your neck. Kissing and nipping. You fought the rising moan that so badly wanted to be freed from your lips. No, you couldn’t let Mattheo win. Yet the moment his free hand skimmed up your side, coming to rest under your breast, you wanted to whine, wanting him to touch you there. And you know he wanted to, the way his hand slightly shaked against you, his restraint impressive. But he wouldn’t just do it, not without permission, your submission and begging.

The hands on his shoulders grasped at his white button up shirt, your nails would have dug into his flesh if not for that item of clothing. The memory of how your nails felt on and digging into his flesh flooding both of your memories. Recalling how Mattheo moan and groaned from the scrapping down his back, and the reminder he had for a few days. He wanted your mark on him always. But that would be another time.

Yet you were holding back, and he couldn’t have that. He needed you to give in to him. Mattheo pressed his lower half closer to you, his arousal pressing into your hip.

“Can you feel how much I want you?” He groaned lips having moved to your ear, his hot breath tickling. “So badly I need you, love”.

Your breath caught in your throat from the feel of him and his admission. Which hit straight in the pit of your stomach, adding to your arousal. You pressed your legs together trying to will it away, but the embers were lit. From here it would just grow to an all-consuming fire. Against your better judgement, and senses, you moved a hand to the back of Mattheo's head. You grasped his brown curls, before pulling his head back so you could look at his gorgeous face. Expecting a knowing smirk upon his lips, you would have been surprised by the dark look on his face, if you weren’t lost by desire. Which mirrored in his eyes.

You pulled him in so that your lips collided in a hard, messy kiss. Giving all in. Which Mattheo accepted. The hand resting under your breast moved to cup your mound, that you sighed at. Taking his opportunity, Mattheo slipped his tongue into your mouth, claiming it and your tongue for himself. Feverishly his tongue moved with your own, a frantic dance.

While you lost yourselves in the kiss, Mattheo moved both hands down your sides. Moving over your hips and down your thighs. He moved down and you continued to move with him in the kiss. Mattheo then moved his hands back up your thighs, under your skirt, to the back of your thighs. Before you knew it, he had lifted you, bringing your legs up around his waist. His hands groping your behind, while he pushes you further against the wall. His arousal pressed against your aching core, both clothing separating those intimate places. With a hard, slow grind against your body from Mattheo, you pulled back from the kiss and moaned. Instantly he moved to sloppily kiss your neck.

“W-we shouldn’t b-be doing this h-here" you managed to choke out, as he kept grinding against you.

Mattheo groaned against your neck. “But I need you now, love. I can’t wait" he retorted. “No one will know, as long as you’re quiet".

The way his voice lowered and had this desperate tone to it, it just added to the fire. With those words and tone your last shred of sense left you. Too far gone now to back out. You bucked your core against his arousal, solidifying you heard and understood him. And that pleased Mattheo so much.

One of his hands moved to your clothed sex, fingers finding your bundle of nerves and pressing it over your panties. You groaned softly, before you mewed when he moved those fingers in circles over the nub. You rested your head against the wall, eyes closed while your hand gripped Mattheo’s hair. He moved his head back, drinking in the sight of your face and his hand pleasuring you.

When he abruptly stopped his ministrations, you shot him a dirty look. He chuckled. “Patience, love. It’s just beginning".

He placed a long, chaste kiss to your lips. While his hand moved to his slacks, he pulled down his zipped and managed to free himself. It was a moment of relief for Mattheo, for his hard member had been in torture being confined. Using his hand he pumped himself a few times before feeling the over whelming need to be inside you. So, letting himself go, Mattheo moved his hand to your panties. Pushing the clothing a side, he jostled you up the wall a little move, hand firm on your behind.

Moving himself to your entrance, Mattheo ran the tip along your folds, gathering your slick. When the tip nudged your bundle of nerves, you groaned, feeling a jolt in the pit of your stomach. He did that a few more times, enjoying the noises and how your face looked from his actions.

“Fuck, I can’t wait to be in you" he sighed, lining himself up at your entrance.

You didn’t say anything, or get the chance too. For Mattheo began to push into you. Slowly the tip entered you, followed by inch after inch. He growled at how tight you were around him. But eventually he pushed all the way in, bottoming out, fully inside you. He waited a few minutes, letting you adjust to him and relax.

After a few minutes Mattheo started to pull out till the tip was just inside you, and with a snap of his hips, he pushed back inside. Over and over he did this at a slow pace. Your hands gripped his hair and shoulder, back arching, clothed breasts pushing up against him. You felt so good, like heaven, just like he remembered but better.

There you were, in a dead end of a deserted hall, with Mattheo fucking you up against a wall that was just concealed from sight. You should have protested the public setting, but when he felt so good, and made you feel so good, you couldn’t do anything but take it.

With a harsh snap of his hips, you bit back a loud moan, for he’d reached that spot with in you. And with every second or third thrust, Mattheo was hitting it repeatedly. You buried your face in his shoulder, holding onto him tighter, a small whimper leaving your lips. Knowing how good he was making you feel, Mattheo picked up his pace, chasing your releases.

You felt that coil in your pit tightening with each thrust, your sex tightening around him every time after hitting that spot deep within you. You both were a panting and sweating mess, lost in this moment and the other.

“You're mine" Mattheo groaned, thrust harsher into you. “Tell me you’re mine!”

You moaned against his shoulder, from his thrust and words. Being so sex drunk, your better judgement was out the window. “I-I'm yours" you moaned.

“I can’t hear you" he groaned, gripping your ass with both hands as he thrust deeply and moaning.

You let out a small cry when he did that. “I-I'm yours!”

Hearing you better, Mattheo grinned. Pleased with your answer. Without saying anything else, he focused on getting you both over the edge. He focused on his thrusts, long and hard, and trying to hit that spot over and over. That coil in your pit tightened with every thrust. You found yourself tell him you were close. So he worked harder. Soon his thrusts got sloppy, but he kept at it.

When you finally came, you told him just before that coil in your snapped. You tightened around him, moaning Mattheo's name and riding out your release. With a few more sloppy thrusts, Mattheo finally hit his own release, a groan leaving his throat. He thrusted a few more times as he coats your insides with his release. Mattheo buried himself inside you, body leaning against you as you both tried to catch your breathes.

It was silence, except for your soft panting. Mattheo rest his forehead against your shoulder, while the hand in his locks ran through them. He was savouring this moment. While you wondered what this meant. You were confused by his want for you to say you were his. Was it something to help him get off? Yet you were unsure of voicing that question.

After a while Mattheo pulled back, and he removed himself from you, covering you back up with your panties. He helped lower you to your feet, which were a bit shaky. But once he was sure you were standing, he put himself back in his pants and zipped them back up. It was silent between you both, for you, you were unsure while Mattheo was satisfied and content.

Feeling self-conscious, you picked up your bag and were about to leave. “Um, a-alright" you stuttered. Unsure of what to say after a quickie in the hall.

You had just moved past Mattheo, when he grabbed your wrist. “Where are you running off to love?”

You sighed. “I told you, I’m not your love”.

Not hearing a retort or him releasing your wrist, you turned to see a knowing smirk on Mattheo's face. He moved closer to you, hand moving to lock with yours, as he pulled you closer.

“Oh, but you are love” he said in that overly sweet tone. “You said it yourself, you’re mine”.

Your face flushed. While all words left you. That was the moment you realised you had unknowingly given yourself to Mattheo Riddle. You were his. And he was completely yours. Slowly a smile crossed your lips. You decided to accept your fate. He’s not so bad.