#There's so few Theo interviews!!!!!!

[fallen-goldfishcracker]

If Wyll Ravengard has a million fans I am one of them. If Wyll has fifty fans I am one of them. If Wyll has one fan, I am dead and it's Theo Solomon left holding down the fort.

[sunkissedscribbles]

☆ 𝐿𝑂𝑉𝐸𝑅𝑆 𝑅𝑂𝐶𝐾 – 𝐴𝑅𝐴𝐵𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐴 𝐼𝐼.

PAIRING: singer!guitarist!mattheo x arabella!journalist!reader TW: swearing maybe, mentions of alcohol, sex and drugs WORD COUNT: 1.2k A/N: I'm in love with singer!guitarist!mattheo who is still a hopeless romantic SONGS: Lovers Rock by TV Girl // PLAYLIST

☆ MASTERLIST PART1 PART2

✰ Are you sick of me? Would you like to be? I'm trying to tell you something Something that I already said

Mattheo’s been restless ever since you left him there like that, standing alone on the stage as you claimed to work for the Rolling Stone magazine, feeling as if he was in a dream, or on acid – euphoric; the unmistakable feeling wouldn’t have left him alone for even a second for two entire days. However, this euphoria had turned into nervousness over time, but the boys wouldn’t have for god’s sake left him alone. No, they kept teasing him endlessly with you.

“Dude, you need to call her up finally,” Theo started the conversation the other evening, standing by the window, smoking.

Mattheo just hummed at the declaration, reaching into the fridge for the leftover pizza.

“Yeah, man, we need the interview and you need the girl. I mean, it’s a win-win situation,” Dax continued.

Mattheo stayed quiet yet again. He knew this was the opportunity, but also, this was the girl. The girl who made him feel like a giddy teenager again who’d got a crush on the cool, edgy girl. He felt like he was in Freaky Friday, just the other way around. He knew he’d work his courage up eventually because it had been bugging him for weeks. You – you had been bugging him for weeks before he’d even get to meet you. Ever since you had crept into his dreams and he wrote ‘Arabella’, and an only-ever-expanding list of songs.

And he had your number, it was as if the Universe had been shouting at him abruptly to just make that bloody move for a relationship he clearly had been craving.

After a few more minutes of Mattheo’s awful silence, Enzo jumps up from the sofa. “Where’s the paper? I’ll call her if you won’t.”

Mattheo froze. You gave him your number, not Enzo. You wanted him to call, right? Not Enzo. And what if when you heard Enzo’s posh accent you just, boom, fell for him? What if you were into bassists? No, he had to man up and talk to you. And as his insecurities got the best of him, he stepped away from the counter and took his phone out of his pocket, flipping it to take the piece of paper with your pretty handwriting on it out of the phone case. “I’ll call her,” he emphasized the pronoun, maybe a bit too possessively.

☆☆☆☆

“So, how did the name Pureblood Trauma come?”

“We were high,” Theo started but Mattheo took the opportunity from his friend to explain the meaning behind it, shifting in his seat across you, his eyes raking over your features every now and then.

“We had this joke about our parents being obsessed with blue blood and how they weren’t any better than the Aryan or Nazis.”

They all thought back to how Enzo’s suggestion of the band name, who was clearly joking, but still utterly high, had earned giggles turning into hearty laughter from the three other young men.

After a few questions about the band itself, you switched to asking some about their songs which clearly had potential, even if we only looked at the lyrics.

“Your song, Arabella, or a recording of it, has become quite popular on the internet. The muse, Arabella seems quite the mysterious type, and almost over-this-world, and you’ve got some creative metaphors for her personality. How did you come up with her character?” you inquired.

Enzo and Dax managed to keep their cool with only a twitch of their lips and a shared glance, but Theo’s quiet snort came out muffled, muttering a ‘Wouldn’t you like to know?’ as he looked over at Mattheo whose cheeks had gone a few shades pinker at the question. Because, god, how could he tell you it was about you?

“Um, it’s about a girl I once saw in my dream, and she kept reappearing in my sleep after. The idea of her just had me in a chokehold for weeks. She seemed so real but could never really… grasp her character until somehow I came up with the line ‘And a helter-skelter round her little finger and I ride it endlessly’ after Theo pointed out how this girl seemed to have me wrapped around her little finger,” he explained, carefully leaving out the details about how your hair bounced in his dreams, how your lips wrapped around the cigarette you two shared, and it was you, generally, who had him in that desperate chokehold.

You can’t help but be intrigued by the idea of this girl only being a mere memory of a few dreams, because, hell, she felt like she was so much more than that; real, and you couldn’t help but identify with her vibe, the resonance her personality flooded, what felt intergalactic, almost.

You were also impressed by the way Mattheo expressed his attraction to this mysticism with all the metaphors he used. The one about the helter-skelter ‘round Arabella’s little finger meaning he was under her spell, got him wrapped around her little finger, and also meaning how confusing his love for this girl is. Or how he describes her as prettier than the sunset. You were convinced that was impossible.

☆☆☆☆

You knew doing this, asking him to go out for a few drinks wasn’t very professional of you.

But you couldn’t help it at the same time.

You wanted to know more, and more, and more about Arabella, but also, about the mastermind behind the lyrics. You were certain you could listen to Mattheo talk pretty much all day and night, as well as listen to him sing for the same amount of time.

Or just stare at him.

And you had. Oh, how much you had listened to him and stared at him at the pub, on the way to your apartment, and during the night; while he was rocking his hips against yours and during the aftermath, as in smoking by your open living room window, the candles, the subtle red light of your vintage record player and the end table light by your black leather couch creating an ambient light for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company.

He was growing more and more infatuated with you, and he knew he was walking a dangerous sole, a slippery slope that could lead to heartbreak if his obvious feelings for you had been unrequited.

But they weren’t, and you made that obvious by repeating this night over and over, and by always making coffee for the both of you the next morning, always finding an excuse for him to stay a bit longer, and never missing an opportunity to talk to him.

Sitting by the narrow counter island over your coffee, you glanced over at him while playing with the ring on your thumb that you took off of Mattheo’s index finger the previous night, the one with the emerald-eyed snake. “That night, at the concert. You called me Arabella. Why?” you asked, having no clue how to word it at first.

He took a bit of time before answering.

“Because you are. You are the girl from and of my dreams,” he took your hand in his and pressed his lips to your knuckles.

tag list: @inksoakedparchment @mattiesgf @mqstermindswift @girllblogging777 @myysunshine @yelanare @mamartinez

[livefastdriveyoung]

Mclaren has always, and I mean always treated their drivers like they are the least important part of a race/team. They fired Kevin Magnussen on his birthday in an email. They brought Daniel Ricciardo in and broke him because they couldn't figure out how to have a driver like him on the team and balance him with Lando.

They fired David Malukas because he couldn't drive with an injury.

And now this:

Not only did they very clearly blindside Theo Pourchaire, they had him give up his super formula seat in order to be able to driver for them. So now not only is Theo out of an Indycar seat, he has no seat anywhere. The 2023 F2 champion has no seat in any sport at all. It's insane that this is becoming an acceptable behavior.

I hope Theo is able to drive somewhere next season. There are rumors that as soon as his release was announced three teams immediately wanted his info. I have faith he will be in the seat.

DO NOT HATE ON NOLAN SIEGEL. This is not an invitation to do so. He seems like a nice guy. The pay-driver thing is going to be a reality of it all about him, but my big concern is that he has not even tested the Mclaren yet. I hate when a team makes a move based on info from other teams, even when their owner/manager is shared.

I would also like to point out that this decision is in the hands of Zak Brown. He runs Mclaren, both in Indy and F1. If he can do it in Indy, like he already has to David Malukas and now Theo, he could do it to his academy drivers and F1 drivers, like he did to Daniel Ricciardo. I would like to point out, actually, that he's still doing it right now with Oscar. Oscar has had considerable pace these last few races, even better than Lando on occasion, but they have consistently sacrificed him anyway. Oscar has the benefit of being fantastic and also having Mark Webber as his manager. I wouldn't be surprised if Red Bull or Aston Martin offer him a contract in the future. But for drivers who aren't as lucky as Oscar Piastri? It's a problem. Zak Brown has spent countless interview hours ripping into Red Bull's toxic driver environment. Newsflash, at least Red Bull doesn't pretend. At least every driver coming in knows they have a benchmark that is Max. The benchmark for Mclaren is money.

[hiwelcometothemonstersancturary]

Listing a few funny things that happened when Angel had to deal with the media, post rescuing everyone from Playtime Co:

Angel, still shaking from spending one week inside the factory and with dried blood still glued to their hair, smelling like hell, politely answering some questions while in the hospital while waiting for Dogday's emergency surgery to finish.

The media being obsessed with calling Angel, whose actual name is Raphael Taylor de Oliveira, "Angel" the moment they hear one of the toys referring to them as that.

Combine the religious imagery with Angel's poor little meow meow wet kitten born in a cardboard box with every disease face and we have a very, very easy way for making the narrative out to be "a kind ex-worker at Playtime Co. discovers that children were used as experiments inside the factory and risks their own life in order to save them".

Angel is instant-loved by Brazil the moment the first news start to arrive, which is something they're very proud of.

Angel having to hold Catnap and Mommy Long Legs by their hands while giving out an interview in their home, so neither one of them would be too mean to the poor reporters. Angel still has to tell them to be nicer though.

The cops and investigators having to explain why they didn't figure out there was something wrong with the factory when all Angel had to do was walk inside and say hello to the Huggy Wuggy statue.

A reporter explaining the horrific events while in the background Huggy stares at her like "smoll person :0}" and boops her. Cue to Angel saying sorry and anxiously guiding him away.

"What did you have to eat while trapped down there?", someone asks, and the toys all go "oh hahahaha. uhm. rats. and the bodies of our friends WHEN THEY INEVITABLY DIED FROM A DISEASE. we didnt hunt each other dw dw hahahahahaha".

Angel a few months later, after buying the farm, giving a "house tour" so people will know the kids are doing okay and stop pestering them about house-related questions. Angel is very excitedly telling the reporter about how much more space they have now while Catnap is eyeing a bird in the background. "Theo don't you think about that, you have food right there".

One of the mini critters listing all the toys that were gifted for them and saying "it's very nice, very chewable", I like how it tastes" and Angel looks at them like "so it's YOU who has been chewing the toys??????", with the reply being "and the doors as well!"

Catnap going from referring to Angel as "our savior" to simply "our mother" during any interviews or news reports where he somehow talks.

Everyone wanting to interview Dogday because he does, indeed, have a radiant and happy energy and audiences love him.

Angel saying "and the hut is the house of 1006, the first one to ever happen, but he would prefer if we just left him alone".

Poppy being someone who's always SUPER pleasant to work with, and excitedly telling the reporters everything they have been doing around the farm.

Angel sighing after finding out Prototype is Elliot Ludwig, KNOWING they'll have to tell the authorities so they can have license money and control over the Playtime Co. brand.

Angel turning to the family's lawyer like "you won't believe what I just found out", the lawyer saying "oh, this won't be the most absurd thing you told me yet", then after hearing Angel tell her about it going "oh, you are always full of surprises, uh. Uhm. Now that makes things complicated", and Angel laughing to the point of tears after that.

ALL the news reports during the trial against Playtime Co.'s higher ups and the negligent authorities. Kickin keeps a collection of the "best moments", which include Angel beating the ever living shit out of a higher up after he refers to the toys as "things" and "collateral damage" instead of "victims of human experimentation".

The news about the fact that apparently Elliot Ludwig became the first PlayCo. experiment ever, and Angel + Poppy having to deal with THAT.

Prototype's single public apparition, around 4/5 years post-rescue, because he had to go to court as well so Angel would have a chance of getting the rights to PlayCo. and all of its properties back to them.

The news when Dogday and Catnap get married, a whole decade post-rescue.

Angel just dropping the most cryptid information ever in social media or during one of the rare interviews they're willing to give after the initial years post-rescue. They tweet things like "I saw some people asking if any of the toys ever attacked me during the week I stayed at PlayCo, and I want everyone to know that all of them at some point did. But don't worry, I bit them back, we're all good now" and one time say "my husband and I like to grow tomatoes like this, but one of our daughters has been trying another way" and that's how everyone finds out Angel and Prototype are a Thing.

Craftycorn happily blogging her life as an artist and featuring all of the other toys during her videos, while Poppy does makeup and sewing tutorials, and the two of them doing collabs and livestreams often. During one of the streams Angel screams "THEODORE GRAMBELL LUDWIG OLIVEIRA DID YOU JUST HUNT A COYOTE AGAIN", and that's how Crafty and Poppy's fans discover everyone decided to add Ludwig Oliveira to their names.

I would say more but honestly this post has been getting pretty long so rip

[saintsenara]

I hope that you're having a lovely weekend. What do you think about Theo/Harry? We know that Theo could see thestrals that he means that he saw someone die and he is raised by his Dad (no idea what happened to his Mum). Also he is one of the few named Slytherin that appears to not be openly antagonist to HP. Also his Dad gets captured during the Order of Phoenix if I remember correctly so it makes you wonder who looked after him during this time. Also if you take Harry Potter and Cursed as canon then he is at least bright enough to make two time turners that went way beyond previous Ministry's products which is a difficult and impressive piece of magic and in JK interview she wanted to include a scene with him and show he is equal to Malfoy. Raised by an elderly widower and Death Eater and is described as a clever loner who does not feel the need to join gangs including Draco. I feel like there is something to work on.

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

the mention of theodore nott lets me dig up one of the single funniest things harry ever does, from order of the phoenix:

If anything more was needed to complete Harry’s happiness, it was Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle’s reactions. He saw them with their heads together later that afternoon in the library, together with a weedy-looking boy Hermione whispered was called Theodore Nott. They looked around at Harry as he browsed the shelves for the book he needed on Partial Vanishment, and Goyle cracked his knuckles threateningly and Malfoy whispered something undoubtedly malevolent to Crabbe. Harry knew perfectly well why they were acting like this: He had named all of their fathers as Death Eaters.

by this point in the timeline of the series, harry has spent almost five years in at least three potions classes a week, and almost three years spending at least one care of magical creatures classes with him. he might also be expected to have remembered that nott can see thestrals... and yet no recognition whatsoever. hermione has to provide the deets. he literally cannot pick the man out of a line-up.

[although, to be fair, harry does remember his name in half-blood prince... because he sits next to draco malfoy - at whom he's staring - in potions. really beating the allegations there, king...]

i am, therefore, invested in the idea of nott strutting around the slytherin common room talking about how serious his relationship is, while harry doesn't realise he has a boyfriend and/or thinks that the "harry potter's slytherin boyfriend" everyone's talking about is malfoy.

[massivedrickhead]

Bechloe Week Day 3: Reality TV

Words: 1761

Read on AO3

-

“What the hell is ‘Celebrity Bake Off’?” Beca asked, her eyes briefly flicking up from the dough she was kneading. 

“The clue is kind of in the name, Beca,” Theo replied, taking a seat up at the kitchen island and accepting the coffee Chloe handed to him with a nod. “It’s the celebrity version of ‘The Great British Baking Show’.”

“‘Great British Bake Off’,” Chloe corrected. “That’s what they call it over there.”

“Yeah, c’mon Theo, aren’t you meant to be British?” Beca asked. She dropped the dough into a glass bowl and covered it with a dish towel, before washing her hands and drying them on the front of her apron.

“I was just testing you,” Theo said. “So in a few minutes when you try and tell me you’ve never watched the show, I can call you a liar.”

“Why would I say I’d never seen the show? We watch it every year,” Beca asked. 

“Because they want you to appear on the next season of Celebrity Bake Off.”

“Me?” Beca asked, eyebrows shooting into her hairline. 

“No, Chloe,” Theo said, rolling his eyes. “Of course you. You’re the only celebrity in the room.”

Beca pulled a face. “I’m hardly a celebrity.”

Theo sighed and turned his head to where Beca’s platinum record hung on the wall before turning back to look at her. “Are you interested or not?”

“Of course not,” Beca said. “Why would I want to go on reality TV?”

“It’s hardly reality TV,” Theo replied. “It’s not like I’m asking you to go on that show where they make you eat bugs and shit, this is Bake Off we’re talking about. It’s cosy and inoffensive and everyone loves it. It’s not like it’ll be a big time commitment, you’d only be in one episode.”

“Yeah, not a big time commitment other than that I’d have to travel to England.”

“Well it just so happens that the filming coincides with your UK tour dates, so you’ll be there anyway,” Theo said, grinning smugly. 

“I’m not going on TV, Theo,” Beca said. “I’ll make an idiot of myself, I can barely handle doing interviews let alone something like this.”

“You’ll do great,” Theo said, waving a hand at her as if he was swatting away her arguments. “And you won’t make an idiot of yourself because you happen to be a pretty good baker.”

“I bake as a way to unwind,” Beca counters. “I find it relaxing and what goes on in that tent is anything but relaxing.”

“Yeah, to normal contestants,” Theo said. “It means something to them, they’re baking for their lives. There are no stakes for you. You turn up, bake three things and then leave. If it goes bad, who cares?”

“Why are you pushing for this? Why do they even want me in the first place?”

“Because you suck at self-promotion and this is a great opportunity for people to see your face,” Theo said. “They want you because you’re a big deal. They want people to tune in and donate and all that shit. Plus you had that whole Twitter exchange with Paul Hollywood, the seed has already been planted.”

Beca sighed. She knew she’d come to regret that drunken tweet sent to Paul Hollywood where she’d asked if she could hang out in the tent for a day “just to help take care of any leftover cakes”.

“What did you mean by donate?” Chloe asked, trying not to smirk at the look on Beca’s face as she contemplated actually having to do this.

“Oh,” Theo said, his voice brightening. “That’s the best part! It’s all for charity!”

“What charity?” Chloe asked.

“Um, let me check,” Theo said, pulling up his phone as if he didn’t already know off the top of his head. As if he didn’t know this would be the final thing to convince Beca to do this. “Stand up to Cancer,” he said.

Beca looked at him and then turned to look at Chloe. Chloe shrugged and smiled.

“God dammit, Theo.”

-

“On your marks, get set, bake!” 

Beca looked down at her carefully typed-out recipe and told herself to breathe. 

They wanted 8 of her signature brownies. Easy. She could whip up a batch of brownies in her sleep.

So why did she feel so nervous?

She shook herself out of it and focused on mixing the batter, hoping that her hands would have stopped shaking by the time Paul and Prue made their way to her. 

The morning passed in a blur. Her brownies got rave reviews though were not quite handshake-worthy. 

Beca had recognised two out of the other three contestants - a teenage member of a boy band that she met at the Grammys last year, and a talk show host who interviewed her during her first UK tour a few years before that. The final contestant was a Scottish comedian whom Beca wasn’t familiar with, but whom the others in the group seemed to know well.

After a break to film some interviews outside the tent, they were ushered back for the technical challenge and were told they’d have to make 12 identical pieces of shortbread. 

The Scottish comedian cheered and clapped his hands. 

“Do we have to even bake now?” The talk show host asked. “Can’t he just have first place and save us the time?”

Beca looked down at the provided recipe and tried not to smile

“Beca, how are we feeling about shortbread?” Host Noel Fielding asked as he approached with co-host Alison Hammond. 

“I’m feeling okay,” she said. “Shortbread is like my wife’s favourite thing, I make it pretty often for her.”

“Ah, so we’re quietly confident?”

“Sure, let’s go with that. James over there is loudly confident, I can be quietly confident.”

“So, Beca, tell us why Stand up to Cancer is so important to you?”

Beca knew they were going to ask that question. Before filming started they were told that they’d all be asked it at some point during the day and that the producers would hand-pick a couple to air on the show, but it still seemed to catch her off-guard. 

She felt a lump in her throat and found it hard to raise her eyes from her shortbread dough. 

“Well my, um, my wife Chloe was diagnosed with breast cancer about five years ago,” Beca said. “Thankfully she managed to beat it, but if it wasn’t for charities like Stand up to Cancer, then she might not be here and that’s… well, it’s unthinkable really.”

They thanked her for sharing and wished her good luck with the bake, and Beca had to shake herself out of the memories before she got lost in them. 

She turned her attention back to the shortbread and hoped that she’d have enough left over at the end of the day to take back to the hotel room where Chloe was waiting for her. 

“And that means first place are these,” Prue said, gesturing to Beca’s stack of perfect shortbread.

The other contestants clapped and someone patted Beca on the back.

“This is cultural appropriation!” The comedian called out, head in his hands after his shortbread landed him in last place.

“First place,” Beca said to the camera during her last interview of the day. “Not bad.” There’s a hint of surprise in her voice and a small smile on her face. 

When she makes it back to the hotel that evening, Chloe is lying on the bed reading. 

“How did it go?” She asked, smiling and putting her book down. 

“Yeah, pretty good,” Beca replied. “I brought you something back.” She hands Chloe a box filled with her leftover shortbread. 

“Are these yours or did you swipe them from another contestant?” Chloe asked before taking a bite. She let out a small moan as her eyes closed in pleasure. “Forget I asked, I know these are yours.”

Beca laughed and joined her wife on the bed. When they kissed, Beca could taste the sugar on her lips. 

-

The next day passed quicker than the first with only one final bake left to do, and Beca got back at the hotel by dinner with a box of profiteroles, macarons, and a slice of thick rich chocolate cake.

“Well?” Chloe asked, biting into a macaron. “How did you do?”

Beca shrugged. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

“Come on, you’re really not going to tell me?”

Beca mimed zipping her lips. “The show airs in three months, I think you can wait until then.”

-

“And the winner of the Star Baker apron is… Beca!” 

On the couch beside her, Chloe squealed and wrapped Beca in a hug. “I knew it!”

On the TV Beca is being interviewed in her Star Baker apron, but neither Beca nor Chloe could hear over the sound of their other friends cheering in the background. 

Chloe insisted on having a watch-along party for Beca’s episode, Beca had insisted that she’d rather die than have to watch herself on TV, but as usual, Chloe won.

“I was honestly pretty pleased when I won it, but after watching the episode back it looks like I was the only one who even knew how to turn an oven on,” Beca said, rolling her eyes but grinning as Chloe pressed another kiss against her cheek. 

“I knew you’d win,” Chloe said. 

“Told you you wouldn’t embarrass yourself,” Theo said. 

Beca waved him off. “You were bound to be right about something eventually.”

“What made you decide to do it?” A co-worker asked, grabbing one of the cookies Beca had made for the occasion.

“I mean, you heard me on the show,” Beca said, referring to the segment when Beca had talked about Chloe’s diagnosis. She hadn’t expected they’d use her soundbite, or even that they’d throw up some photos Beca had taken at around that time. The room had gone completely silent, and her hand had found Chloe’s quickly. “My wife’s here because of a cancer treatment that might not exist without charities that fund research. Once I heard it was raising money for that, it was a no-brainer.” A few people nodded and murmured their understanding, but the room was still quiet. “Plus I knew Chloe wanted me to, charity or not, and Chloe always gets her way.”

“It’s true,” Chloe agreed. “Though you didn’t tell me that you’d won, even though I was pestering you for weeks.”

“And ruin the surprise?”

“Babe, I found that apron in your suitcase the second we got home. I’ve known for months.”

[thedreamlessnights]

Almond, Apple, & Maple - pt. 1

Geralt of Rivia x modern fem!reader (upcoming NSFW)

Synopsis: When a strange young woman crashes into your kitchen and sends you tumbling through time and space, you find yourself transported to a new world - one of monsters, magic, and witchers.

Warnings: Descriptions of vomiting and nausea, as well as blood & severe injuries.

Word Count: 3.5k

A/N: Surprise! New Geralt series - someone please tell my brain to stop having long-winded ideas and relax? Anyway, as usual, this is the game version of Geralt and written accordingly. I'm very excited to get this story told, and I hope you all enjoy this first chapter! Comments and reblogs are extra appreciated <3

Theo is waiting when you arrive. You can see him from the porch, pacing back and forth in front of the window, the way he always does when it’s dark and you aren’t home. The sun’s just set, but with black clouds brimming the sky, you’d think it had gone to rest hours ago. 

When he finally sees you, Theo lets out a meow that’s deafened by the glass and rubs his cheek against the windowpane, no doubt purring up a storm. It’s only been a few hours since you left, but you’ve missed him. 

Despite your mile-long trudge through the snow and the way you’re sweating under your coat, your fingers are frozen. They fumble clumsily with your keys until the lock finally turns. Theo is immediately at your feet, nuzzling against your legs. He’s the only cat you know that doesn’t try to bolt when the door is open.

“Hey, bud,” you greet him, slightly out of breath. You slam the door shut and squat down, ignoring the protest in your thighs. The icicles of your fingers messily attempt to scratch behind his ears, but if Theo notices that you’re inept, he doesn’t seem to mind.

You’ve never been more grateful for the cans of cat food nestled safely in your inner coat pocket, clinking dully against your remaining seventeen cents. There’s maybe a dollar or two more of loose change that can be scrounged up under couch cushions and in pockets and loose drawers. If you’re lucky, you might find a few crumpled bills. For this week, at least, Theo will be fed. You can’t say the same for yourself.

The house is warm and quick to thaw you out, which means your fingers start working again within a few minutes. Once they’re functional, a can of soup serves as your dinner. Thankfully, the microwave is still working. You dump the soup into a bowl and let it heat, then get Theo’s dinner ready for him. 

When he’s started eating - that’s when the day’s events finally hit you. 

Exhaustion is at the front of it all, thick and heavy, like a two-ton chain on your shoulders. Behind it is defeat. Defeat is exhaustion too, but different. It pulls at you from within. It isn’t your aching body or cracked, dry hands, isn't a chain or a profound sense of guilt; it’s a tiny fire within you, threatening at any moment to go out. And the inclination to let it happen.

You stare numbly at the counter, knowing the fridge is empty, knowing you have only five cans of food left until you go hungry again. Knowing that none of the job interviews have called you back, and that it’s been too long to keep up hope. 

Your hands start shaking and you want to cry, but no tears come. You’ve no doubt exhausted your supply - your eyes still feel puffy and sore from the cry you had earlier. Instead, a lump locks in your throat, and something pulls in your chest, and all at once, you’re not sure you have it in you to go on.

It’s Theo that you’re worried about, more than anything else. It’d be horrible, so horrible for you to dump him off at a shelter, but it’d be even worse to see him go hungry. You’d been hoping - are still hoping - that it wouldn’t come to that, but… you can only hope so much.

The shrill sound of the microwave rouses you from your lethargy and chain of thought. Food. The smell of the soup is heavenly, and it seeps life into you as you chug it down, spreading warmth throughout your chest. But before long, it’s finished. You’re left staring at the empty bowl, still hungry. Wanting to cry again.

Theo must sense that you’re upset, because he nuzzles against you and purrs louder than ever. No tears come, but they would if you had any left. Without him, there’s nothing but a hollow life of work - if you can even find it - and isolation. How can you possibly think about survival when there’s nothing to survive for? 

“What am I going to do?” you ask aloud, swallowing hard. You rub your temples and your words ring out in the silence, as if some response might come. Nothing. Of course, nothing.

It feels wrong to be sitting still like this. More than ever, you should be doing something. Yes, you need to move. The water in the sink is ice-cold and won’t heat, but you scrub the dishes anyway and dry them. Clean the counters. Sweep the floor. Organize the cabinets. 

These miniscule tasks keep you sane. They keep you from thinking.

Padding up to you, Theo stretches up and paws at your legs, clearly wanting to be held. You take him in your arms and hold him close, burying your face into his fur and kissing the soft little spot between his ears. He purrs louder and wriggles from your grip, making his way into your coat pocket and tucking himself into a comfortable position. He’s always been small, and likes being in there, for some reason. You hadn’t even realized you were still wearing the stupid coat.

There must be some way to keep him, right? Someone willing to watch him, just for a little while? But who? And how could you ever repay them?

A flash of sudden, searing light interrupts your thoughts. 

It comes out of nowhere and instantly spreads through your kitchen, brighter than you can stand, a ghostly hue of green. Just as you’ve shut your eyes to block it out, something rams into your shoulder and knocks the wind out of you. 

Your arm instinctively wraps in front of Theo as you stumble back. Your ribs burn with a hot, throbbing pain, and you search for breath that doesn’t come - gasping airlessly, sweat trickling down your neck until you finally taste oxygen. Oh, and your shoulder is jammed and aching too, but it’s clearly the least of your worries, because the room has started spinning. 

This is no gentle turn, no light sway of the ocean. It’s vertigo. The world is coming apart. You can see nothing but a black void as reality breaks at the seams and drags you with it. Nausea and disorientation wash over you until it’s all you can do to hold on to your dinner; hot, stinging bile in your throat, aching ribs. It hurts to breathe. Your knees buckle and legs crumple until you hit what should be hard ground, but it’s nothing. You’re falling. Theo starts wailing and digs his claws into your chest.

You’re on the sea, crashing in the thunderous waves, taking in mouthfuls of the salty water and coughing it back out - sinuses burning. You’re in an earthquake, gravel rattling beneath your hands like the ground might collapse under you, swallow you whole. 

You’re in soft grass, crawling on all fours, not knowing what’s real and what’s not. Your head throbs in rhythm with your heart and your body feels like it’s closing in on itself, compressing, bones bending. And all at once, it stops. 

You immediately lose your dinner. 

Thick, burning acid climbs up your throat again and again until you’re left retching, stomach churning. Theo meows fitfully in your coat, but you can’t move to let him out. With how hard you’re shaking, it’s hard to do anything but collapse onto your side. Then he finally worms his way out of your pocket and sits on your chest, wailing some more.

The bright light hasn’t faded, and you blink a few times and squint until you finally realize it’s the sun. Warm, golden light is shining down on you. Which would be lovely, if it wasn’t seven o’clock at night and the middle of winter. You’re dry, too, so your memories of the ocean clearly weren’t real.

I must have hit my head, you think. Exhaustion must have gotten the best of you, and you’d collapsed, hit your head, and hallucinated all of this. But when you finally gain the strength to sit up, setting Theo at your side, your thoughts stall in place.

There’s a young, ashen-haired woman lying unconscious next to you, and a wound on her abdomen is oozing blood. At first, she doesn’t seem real. But she’s warm when you lay a hand on her arm, and the ground has stopped spinning, so you figure she is. And she’s hurt.

Your hands move of their own accord, twitching, knowing that you should do something to help but not knowing what. In medical terms, you’re mostly clueless. Thankfully, when you carefully lift her shirt up from the abdomen, the wound doesn’t seem very deep. There’s bruising there too, deep violet blooming around her navel, but it’s her head that’s really scaring you.

On her temple is a swollen lump, not bleeding much - but it’s the internal damage that you worry about. Sure, you’d been trained in CPR when you were younger, but you have no idea how to treat an injury like this. The first thing you do is make sure she’s breathing. Then you find her pulse, strong and even under your fingers. Those things encourage you. 

You know that you should stop the bleeding, too. Clean the wound. Unfortunately, the only possessions you have at the moment are your coat and the seventeen cents left in the inner pocket. And Theo. Not exactly suited for fixing this sort of thing. 

Her clothes are… strange. They almost look like a costume, if the leather didn’t look so real, so meticulously fitted. And she has two swords at her back, though she’s clearly not in any position to use them. Not important, you chide yourself. The number of questions you have about what just happened is only growing and growing. But you can deal with those once she’s been treated. 

Your gaze catches a pouch on the girl’s belt, and you pull it open and lay out her things, muttering an apology under your breath for invading her privacy. Inside are a handful of strange-looking coins, a vial or two of substances you don’t recognize, and a roll of cotton bandages. When you open the vials and give them a whiff, both are their own disgusting, putrid odor, and neither are identifiable. Shuddering at the smell, you replace their corks and return them to the pouch. Which leaves only the bandages.

As cautiously as you can, you wrap them around her abdomen in an effort to stop the bleeding. It seems to staunch the blood flow. Somewhat. You don’t dare to move her or touch her head - nothing to be done about that here without the risk of making it worse. So you stand up with still-shaking legs and take stock of your surroundings. 

Green fields. As far as the eye can see, there are green fields with blooming wildflowers and bees buzzing from one spot to the next. Birds chirp in the distance, a bubbling stream lies about twenty feet away, and the sun is warmer than ever. If you didn’t know better, you’d think it was spring. You have to take off your coat and tie it around your waist to ward off the growing heat.

There’s some form of wooden shack on the horizon, but you don’t feel right leaving the woman alone. Still, isn’t it better to get her some help? Should you be trying to wake her up? After a moment’s hesitation, you give her shoulder a slight shake, and she stirs. Another shake rouses her completely. 

She flinches and sits up with a start - halting the action with a pained yelp as she cradles an arm around her stomach, grimacing. Finally, her green eyes, so bright they almost appear to be glowing, land on you. “Wh-where am I?” she asks faintly, sounding as if she’s not quite conscious. “Who are you?”

Good questions, you think. But you have so few answers.

“I have no idea where we are,” you start. “This place just… appeared. I was in my kitchen, and - then I was here.” It’s a pathetic explanation, but it’s what you have. After a pause, you give her your name, too. You want to say more, but your mouth closes on its own. You don’t know what just happened, and you’re in no position to explain it.

“I see,” she says, voice tinged with effort as she straightens up. Her gaze lands on Theo, calmly laying beside you, and her lips quirk into a small smile - contrasting ghastly with her greying skin. “And who is this little one?” she asks.

“This is Theo,” you answer softly. 

“Ciri,” she reveals. “I’m… Ciri. I’d say it’s nice to meet you both, but...” She trails off, shaking her head. The movement sends blood trickling from her temple down her cheek. “It seems I’m a little worse for wear at the moment,” she lightly remarks, though her tone can’t hide the exhaustion, the dark circles under her eyes. “Help me up?” 

It’s easier said than done. 

You manage to get her standing and haul her arm over your shoulder as support, but she’s stumbling rather than walking. The sun is scorching hot and merciless, and you find yourself immediately missing the snow. You can’t stop here. 

The grey shade of Ciri’s skin gets worse and worse the further on you go. Her steps get progressively clumsier too, like her legs have started to spasm. Finally, her knees simply give out and she collapses, panting as she plants her gloved hands on the grass. The shack isn’t far now, but she’s bled through her bandages. It seems the wound was worse than you thought. At least Theo is obediently following behind the two of you, and seems to be enjoying this strange adventure.

“Only a little further,” you tell Ciri, even though you’re shaking with overextension and every inch of you hurts. Even though you know in your gut what the odds against her are.

She nods, gritting her teeth in determination, so you prop your shoulder under her arm and help her up. It’s worse this time. She’s a dead weight. You’re practically dragging her. But something anxious - manic, even - buzzes under your skin, fills your breath, surges strength to leadened muscles. Your thoughts trip over one another again and again until you find the word. Adrenaline. It’s the only reason you’re still walking.

The two of you have just made it through the door of the shack when she collapses again, tilting her head back against the wall as she gulps in air, pressing her hand against her abdomen.

You’re suddenly overtaken by the fear that she’ll die and leave you here alone. That you’ll be left with a corpse, a hollow, rotting shell of a girl you barely know. You want to ask her if she has any last wishes, if there’s anything you can do. But, seeing as she clearly hasn’t given up on life yet, it seems cruel to start bringing up death.

Instead, your hands, forever busy, start rummaging through the shack’s cabinets and drawers. You find a few small treasures: a bottle of spirit, some dried fruit and meat, and a length of clean (or, at least, it looks clean) cloth. You don’t waste a moment before returning to Ciri, undoing her blood-soaked bandages to press the cloth against the wound.

She softly cries out as you apply pressure, but makes no move to stop you. Her body lies limp as you work. Then you secure the cloth with the old bandages, tying them as tight as you dare. Her stomach is still bruised, after all, and she’s clearly in pain. At least her face looks less grey now. A little.

“Well, well. What’ve you got there?” she asks, her gaze turning toward the floor, where your newly-found treasures lie.

“Some kind of spirit, I think,” you tell her, picking up the bottle and examining it.

“Give it here?” 

You hand it over without hesitance. She bites off the cork, spits it on the floor, and takes a whiff of the liquid inside. Finding it acceptable, she downs a large swig and tilts her head back again, sighing in relief. Yes, she’s definitely less grey now.

She can’t be very old. What happened to her? Who did this to her? You’re suddenly filled with blind anger. A helplessness that you can’t do more, can’t even comfort her. Theo must be sharing your line of thought, because he crawls onto her lap and starts purring, tucking himself into a circle.

“Thank you very much, Theo,” she says weakly, petting his back. She takes another swig from the bottle, then closes her eyes. You linger near the window, fighting the urge to pace around the room. You’re just about to ask her what happened to her when the rapid sound of hoofbeats approaches.

“Ciri!” a voice calls. Deep - coarse. Warm. The hair on your neck stands up at the sound of it. From fear or anticipation, you don’t know.

“In here,” she responds. She doesn’t bother yelling, just speaks the words as if they’re meant for you. You doubt whoever it is out there can hear her, but he comes inside anyway, bursting through the door like he’s afraid it won’t open.

You immediately gape at the sight of him, thoughts conflicting. This stranger, he’s tall, and broad, and beautiful. And a little scary. You should be afraid of him. He clearly thinks you hurt Ciri, from his expression. You should move, or explain, but you can’t. You just stare at him.

He stalls at the doorway, taking in the sight of her with wide eyes, looking almost pained. You can’t tell what color they are - his eyes - but as they rake over the extent of her wounds, something hardens in his gaze. Then it turns to you. He takes a slow step forward, muscles pulled tense like he’s waiting for a fight, watching you the way one watches a venomous snake. Do you imagine the way his hand instinctively twitches toward his blade?

“Geralt,” Ciri says, sounding immensely relieved. “It’s alright. She helped me.”

At her words, he instantly relaxes, gaze turning away from you as he steps over to Ciri and squats down at her side. Your head’s begun spinning again.

“Geralt, is that Ciri?” a distorted, cool-toned voice asks. “Is she there?” The words seem to have come from the air - you can’t see a source for this new speaker. Then Geralt pulls out a small metal box from his belt and holds it up toward his mouth. Like a phone.

“She’s here.”

The response comes through the box again. “Don’t move.” And, apparently, the voice doesn’t wait for an answer. Ten seconds later, a swirling circle of light appears in the midst of the room and a dark-haired woman walks out of it. 

“Ciri,” she murmurs, going pale. The word is half relief, half fear, and her voice is much clearer now that it isn’t coming from the strange box. She kneels at Ciri’s side, tucking bloodied hair out of her face. “Come with me,” she says. “We must get you out of here, get you somewhere safe.”

“Not going to argue with that,” Ciri says, attempting a laugh. The sound cuts off in pain. The dark-haired woman purses her lips, then helps her to her feet, half-carrying Ciri the way you did. The two of them walk toward the swirling circle of light together, and you watch them helplessly - not knowing if you should say something.

At the last moment, just before they’ve entered, Ciri angles herself toward you. “Wait - I forgot to thank you for your help,” she says. “You may have just saved my life. I can’t repay you at the moment, but… thank you.”

Frozen, you simply nod in response, watching as the two of them step into the light together. Ciri’s words swirl through your mind restlessly. There’s a flash, then both of them are simply gone. Vanished into the air. And, a moment later, the circle fades. 

Leaving you and Geralt alone.

You stare at him across the room, and he stares back at you, looking even more confused than you feel. You’ve seen a fair amount of insanity in your life, but never anything like this. You can’t even begin to process what you’ve just seen. And, funnily enough, you’ve never felt more alone in your life, even with his company. 

Now that Ciri isn’t here, you can take in the sight of him fully. Dark leather armor, snow-white hair, and two swords strung on his back. Like Ciri.

If you didn’t know better, you’d think they were wearing costumes. But Ciri’s blood is much too real on your hands, and so is this… weird, fucked reality that you’re in, sunny when it should be winter, daytime when it should be night, you have no idea where you are, and - fuck. What the hell is happening?

Your feet move to take a step toward the table - to sit down, think all of this over. But something strange happens when you move. Your body starts shuddering and the ground below you suddenly feels unstable. Your head throbs and your legs feel strangely light. Instead of taking a step toward the table, your knees tumble out from under you.

Or they would have. If Geralt hadn’t caught you.

tags:

@henryownsme @madamemelancholysstuff @fullmoonshadowwrites @darkscrossfire @beforethepen @julijal @ailynyan @ivuravix

(So sorry if you didn't want to be tagged! If you’d only like to be tagged for my other series, Accismus, please let me know and I'll happily fix that for future works ❤️)

[buffyfan145]

Just saw this new interview with Leon Wadham who plays Kemen on "Rings of Power" and it's got me wondering again who exactly are going to be the 9 Nazgûl and he just shot up on possible candidates going by what we've seen on the show and know about them from the books. We've already had some major hints that one of the main season 3 plotlines will be revealing who the 9 men ringbearers are and while I do think we might get some new cast members for a few I think we already do know some. Spoiler speculation for s3 and beyond behind a cut and what storylines I think are coming.

Leon talked in this article about what happened in ep 2.5 and how bad it already is in Númenor and how much worse it'll be when Sauron and the rings get there. For those that aren't that familiar with the books some of the 9 likely are from Númenor but not all. This is why Sauron is likely still going to be in Middle Earth for most of s3 to give out the rings to those that live there before he lets himself get captured to go back to Númenor. This makes me think it's got something to do with Isildur and when he goes back as he's key to help his father and brother (who should be cast soon) lead the Faithful out and save them by bringing them to Middle Earth likely in season 4.

So before that happens I do think Sauron will be back in his Halbrand form pretending to be a man to persuade some of 9 and other men to his side. Then we add in what could happen with Galadriel in the finale too as he still hasn't made the One Ring yet at the end of s2 (this has already been confirmed) and there's so many theories that she might be with him for a time either to convince him to not attack the elves in Imladris/Rivendell or she gave into his darkness for a chance. Either way I do think she's involved somehow with this storyline too as in the books this is one of those gap times with her as after Eregion falls she doesn't show up again till she finds Lothlorien and already has her baby daughter, so the show had room to give her a new storyline as long as in the end she goes back to the light and finds out her husband is still alive or came back from the dead.

Back to the 9 I do think Kemen and Theo likely are 2 of them. One of them could even be the Witch King of Angmar and I'm leaning towards Kemen as the Witch King is speculated by most book fans to be from Númenor and having royal blood. Kemen being Ar-Pharazon's son helps with that and the hints we got. Plus, knowing the Witch King is the leader of the other 8 too and takes over Angmar early in the 3rd Age while Sauron is in Dol Guldor. I know there's a theory Theo could be this character too as we don't know who his father is/was, so it'll depend on how Sauron interacts with these two characters in s3/s4 as he already met both of them. But will point out with what Kemen did in the last episode knowing if he's the Witch King how he meets his end to a woman feels a bit like justice. LOL 😏

Then I also wonder about Eärien. She was created for the show so they can do whatever they want with her and it makes me wonder if she ends up being one of the 9 too, especially since she's in a relationship with Kemen. It'd be a twist as the only female ringbearer we know of is Galadriel, so if this happens she would be the 2nd. Plus, if Kemen turns out to be the Witch King she would be his queen. Which then brings up in a way what Sauron wanted with Galadriel and that 2 of the men ringbearers would be a couple. I would really like this twist and knowing how Tolkien did write a lot of things happening twice in different ways, and it would be tragic for Elendil's family though as she'll become a Ringwraith, while her father and brothers not only save some of the Faithful but start the line that leads to Aragorn.

So I do think they are 3 of the 9, and that leaves 6 more to be revealed which could be some of the minor roles but I think others will be new actors added. 😀

[fukutomichi]

It's RAMBLE TIIIME!!! Okay, I think I can talk about it now, probably most have seen the episodes. It's a bit longish! Here we go!

That first episode is so far my favorite, because above all else, I'm a GIGANTIC fan of visual storytelling and show-don'tell, and that first episode had me FEASTING. You can probably tell by my gifsets that I love when actors emote and act without dialog using only emotions and facial expressions to get the message out. Episode 1 gave us so much of it. And dare I say bordering a bit on horror/gore a bit, those first few minutes with Sauron in his "desk job era" had me surprised by how brutal it got quickly.

If people are wondering if they're gonna do the Celebrimbor thing, and if THAT is gonna be too brutal to show, this might confirm that they may not shy away from it at all.

I love the fact that they took the criticism that was mentioned for the first two-three episodes in Season 1, when I was actually kinda worried that the pace was going a bit TOO slow and it took three weeks, when the story moves to Númenor , for the series to fully kick in gear. This time they were like, lets get the set-up out of the way, all at once, and then release week after week. Lets see if this decision pays of in the next weeks ahead.

So lets get this out of the way. I had a hunch with Nazanin Boniadi missing from promos and interviews that they are gonna off her character right away. Turns out that there was even an announcement before that I've completely missed and I was gutted when I found out, but in the end of the day, a job is still a job, and if it affects you in anyway, it's probably best to leave it. I have had a first hand experience in this and no matter how high the pay was, my health was much more important than anything and had to quit. I'm gonna miss her and wish her the best!

Arondir and Theo's relationship gets back to square one, so I'm interested to see in what way or IF it gets mended cause man, I dunno how they can pull it off this time. BUT I do LOVE that they've paired Theo alongside Isildur which is a character he can empathize with so I wanna see where that leads. My friends immidiatelly groaned when they heard "Gawddd the ARROW really?? =___="...and then remembered about a tiny movie called The Hobbit and what happened to Kili. We had to go to Hobbit logic to explain it away and move on lol.

The new character Estrid, was IMMEDIATELY suss as HELL to me. Even after she burned her sigil on her back so she can hide it. I've been listening to her soundtrack theme, and almost like as if its made from two layers, feels almost TOO magical for her even. But this is just my hunch. Isildur is still too wide-eyed and naive so maybe she will serve some purpose in him getting a bit jaded later on.

ORC BABIES!! HELLO!! I love that we're getting deeper into the orcish origins and probably everyone's favorite topic, are they redeemable?? Can they be??? I also love that we got to have two Adars. Season 1 we had Joseph Mawle with an almost vulnerable portrayal and what seemed like a suicide mission for him. Now for Season 2 we get Sam Hazledine, with his goal complete AND him still alive, a more driven and focused character...but is he gonna survive THIS season?? 😭

We know Adar also mentions how he meets Sauron for the first time...but that doesn't stop me from AGAIN, thinking that he IS MAGLOR. Come one maaaan, the hand!!! "In the eldest of the Elder days" you don't just drop a line like that causally. DROP THAT REVEAL!!!

WE NEED MORE OF THE HARFOOTS!!! WE NEED MORE WIZARDS!!! These 3 eps were not enough for me lol. I'm just beyond excited for Tom Bombadil!! Please have Goldberry, please have Goldberry!!

Disa and Durin are still relationship goals. UGHHH!! They will have me stressed!

I ain't gonna lie. When that giant eagle landed before Pharazôn, there were a few seconds where I was buttclenching thinking he was gonna pull his sword and swing it on the bird...but then Manwë would probably descend and obliterate Númenor in seconds and the series would be over lol. Númenor will have me stresseeeed. The Petty Lord and his Queen WILL RUIN MEEEH!! 😭 😭 😭

Ben Daniels as Cirdan is an A+++ casting choice. Kinda bummed that he hasn't talked properly with Gil-Galad tho. Make different characters interact more with each other damn iiiiit!!! Let us see them establish connections!!

That being said, my favorite part so far, and are probably gonna be the central focus of this season, are the elves. Their strive for perfection, thinking themselves SO infallible, beyond prideful, are gonna be the very things that bite them in the ass...again lol.

And it's important for us to see that, cause THAT is the extent of Sauron's evil, we need to witness just how much he can mess you up and how much he enjoys playing the game, in the same time thinking himself savior and deserving of love. How much PURE good you have to be to resist him. Elrond so far has proven able to resist, given his past.

Galadriel is on the brink. If listening to "The Last Temptation" tells me something...Galadriel so far hasn't learned her lesson and thinking herself able to resist.

I believe there's a gut-punch coming up in the finale and I'm not gonna be ready for it. And yet, as much as I don't like it, WE NEED TO SEE IT! We need to see how evil can be tempting and irresistible, that even an infallible being can fail.

After all, it's all downhill from here.

[sweetmage]

This will probably be my last post on the situation because frankly I only have so many spoons and some of y'all exhaust me and I'm tired of racism in my inbox. I also like to keep this a fun, casual space but I think it would be irresponsible not to follow up with the newest development.

Anyway, as clipped and posted here by someone on twitter, Theo responded on stream to the situation that happened during the MCM interview in which the interviewer cut him off before he could tell his story in order to do fan questions. Check the previous link for more info.

In his response he states that he wasn't bothered by it and that he's pretty chill in interviews and prefers speaking on stream. Which is fine and honestly it's great that he's alright, we should all be very happy about that!

What isn't alright is the response to this. There are now many people on twitter saying that everyone was blowing things out of proportion, piling on, making a big deal out of nothing, etc. which is incredibly frustrating and disheartening to see for a few reasons:

a.) Even if he personally is fine with it, the fact that it happened at all is indicative of a larger issue, regardless of whether or not that issue is racism or bias. Even if there was somehow no bias involved, the fact that they managed the event so poorly that they had to cut off one of their speakers to do fan questions is still a mess worth criticizing. The next person it happens to might not be so fine with it!

b.) This very quickly became so much bigger than the defense of just one guy. This opened up a lot of much needed conversations on the nature of racism and bias in this fandom even when it comes to fanart, the in game writing, the amount of content the black character had compared to others, and the exclusion/dismissal of black characters and creators.

People are so quick to pat themselves on the back for having kept their mouths shut and are now acting like racism has been ended because one guy was fine with a certain situation. They are so quick to turn around and act like everyone else was freaking out over nothing and needs to be silent now. It's very frustrating. Racism in this fandom (and in many fandoms!) existed well before this event and it's not suddenly gone now that things have been cleared up for this one particular instance.

You can read more about my issues with the racism in this fandom here and check the notes for other people sharing their experiences because plenty of them have no relationship to this MCM situation.

I also made another post detailing some things you can do in relation to examining bias in relation to black characters, sending feedback to Larian in regards to asking for more Wyll content, participating in Wyll Week, etc. which you can check out here.

Out of respect for his wishes, we should no longer center this discussion around Theo (which I've tried not to do anyway because, again, this is a much wider issue), but that doesn't mean the discussion around fandom racism should end. It sucks that the fandom at large didn't even care about it until they thought an actor was affected and it would suck even more if they stopped caring again after the realization that he possibly wasn't. So let's try not to do that, yeah?

[fanfic-the-wish-your-heart-makes]

Chapter 3 of Revenge Can Hurt More Than the Person It's Aimed at (An Angsty Nygmobblepot x Reader Hurt/Comfort Fix-it Fic)

Chapter 3: The Interview

<-previous chapter

Very important new warnings: the (wrong) suspicion that Oswald wants to die & that he self-harmed/was close to killing himself), blood (only what was in this episode: a trophy covered in it & some on skin), canon betrayal (including gaslighting & intimidation) & poor mental state (self-doubt)

Word count: 2764

Wow, I'm really committing to this cover-for-each-chapter thing so far.

________________________________________

Oswald looked as if he had seen a ghost. His face was even paler than before, his eyes wide, and his back appeared crooked, not to mention how much more he was leaning on his cane. What the hell happened?

He nearly skidded over the floor, and raised his hands. "Sorry I'm late. Mayor stuff." He chuckled artifically, and limped to his seat, throwing you a nervous look with all pretense gone. When an assistant tried to attach a cable to him, Oswald snatched it away and adjusted it himself.

Trying to make him feel a little at ease, you began, "I got you a fresh gl-" but Margaret Hearst interrupted you, "I hope you're ready, Mr. Mayor." Oswald smiled and huffed a little.

"The world is watching."

Why did she have to stress the word that way? He scowled and you did the same.

Her lips were pursed smugly. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"And we're live in three..." What? That's way too soon!

"Good luck, Oswald!"

He put his hands into a less cramped position.

"Two..."

"You've got this!"

The cameras started rolling and Ms. Hearst put on a wide smile.

"Mayor Cobblepot, as Gotham is enjoying an historic spike in job growth and prosperity, it is also going through one of the safest periods of its history."

Oswald smiled but Looked at the floor momentarily. At least one thing to make you proud.

"And I'm sure everyone is wondering: how did you did you do it?" The interviewer raised the corners of her lips but her head was inclined to show that she distrusted him.

"Uh", Oswald closed his mouth and picked up the water of glass, letting a bit spill onto the table.

Oh no. That was an easy question, he shouldn't start using drinking water to buy himself time yet. Maybe I should get a new glass just in case.

You peered at the table to check how much was still in it when Oswald paused his movement and then quickly covered his right wrist.

What was going on?

He stared at Margaret Hearst with an open mouth and she looked back more puzzled.

You went to a monitor to possibly get a better look but his hand wasn't in the frame. Good. Whatever it was didn't need to concern the public.

Oswald closed his eyes, thinking about your encouragement from before and smiled for a moment, then managed to start, "Well..."

While he was fidgeting a little with his hands - though not as much as Ed sometimes did: he was still clutching his right wrist - he actually did quite well, responding eloquently and mentioning a few of his successes along the way.

"So from humble errand boy to kitchen worker to the so-called "King of Gotham", Oswald pressed his lips together, sensing something else than a compliment coming, "it is said that many died so you could rise."

The King of Gotham mustered up a smile, "Oh. An exaggeration. People love to invent scandal." He was putting in quite a lot of energy for how he was feeling today.

The notorious journalist wasn't impressed, "But it was murder that sent you to Arkham. A prison for the criminally insane."

"I," he dragged the word out for a second to find the right words, "rescued this city from the madman Theo Galavan. Some call it murder," he looked down to the side, "others a public favor." He smiled charmingly. At least he won you over with it.

Ms. Hearst continued confidently, "And after your...controversial release from prison," Oswald was tempted to look to you for support, "you met your father, Elijah van Dahl."

Oswald's gaze drifted across the room and landed on-no!

"A man whose identity your mother kept from you."

Oswald opened his mouth. His father! Walking through the room unseen by the security guards. He let out a breath of air and followed the ghost with his eyes, whispering, "Oh my god."

You looked at him alarmed, about to follow his gaze when someone from the camera team made a sudden movement that distracted you.

"Guess it must have been very upsetting."

"What?" Oswald turned his head to Ms. Hearst, "Yes." He looked away again.

The mayor was very distracted but it wasn't as if anyone from the team had noticed anything.

"He also died under suspicuous circumstances, his wife and step children disappearing soon after."

Elijah was holding the trophy Oswald had used to kill his chief of staff, still bloody, raised for Oswald to remember what he had done, not just today but to avenge his father's death.

What did he want him to know? That he was a failure? No, he had been so kind when he'd heard about his past. Advice perhaps? Advice on how to prevent losing you as well?

"I...I-I have to go." Oswald was looking back and forth between Ms. Hearst and something behing you but you were frozen in place, only looking at him.

No one seemed to see what he was looking at anyways. Is he hallucinating?Ed might be able to help with that. Maybe Os had that little sleep. The poor man looked ready to leave.

But Margaret Hearst wasn't done with him yet, "Why? Is it because there's substance to the rumor that you had them killed to inherit your father's wealth?"

Oswald stopped clutching his chair and stood up, "F-father, father, wait!" His voice was frail. With his movement he dragged the chair along audibly, knocking off the glass in the process.

"Oh!" Ms. Hearst exclaimed, "Are you feeling well, Mr. Mayor?"

Oswald began removing the microphone on his suit. "Uh, I'm fine. I-I'm great." He bowed down to her a little, still trying to leave, "Why would I not be fine?" He was still fumbling with the microphone.

"Well, the people of Gotham and America want to know the truth."

Oswald couldn't take it anymore: he ripped off the cord and snarled, "To hell with the people!"

This was it. Margaret Hearst had gotten her story. She looked into the camera and raised her eyebrows. Oswald wasn't needed anymore.

"Father, wait!"

He needed to follow him. He had to. You gave him wonderful support but only his father could give him counsel concerning love: what to do with his feelings for you, how to live with Ed's rejection, whether to deal with the heartbreak in silence or tell you as well as confess to you...and risk losing you too.

"Oswald!"

He turned around.

"Wait!"

"What's wrong?"

He held up a shaky hand. His left one, you noticed. "I can't tell you. Not yet."

"What do you mean "not yet"?"

He looked down, then behind you again, as if there was someone.

"Later. N-not now, at least." He tried to move past you but you stopped his wobbly walk with a hand to his chest.

"Where are you going?"

He gently cupped your hand and moved it down, giving it a small squeeze, then wincing slightly and putting the hand on the other one...his right one.

You needed to ask. Something strange was going on.

Oswald stopped near a mirror and realized horrified that there was a little blood on his face. He wiped it away frantically. "T-to the...bathroom."

You eyed him suspiciously, worried about his well-being.

He pocketed the tissue, his lips twitching from nervosity, his tense legs urging him to follow his father already.

If you discovered his hallucinating, what would you think? You'd think of him as a madman. You knew that his sanity certificate was fake. Who even was he to have one?! Moreover: who was he if he was really sane? In the eye of the public he was a disgraced mayor. A hypocrite. A criminal. A liar. Not even an honest criminal as he sometimes liked to call himself.

After the embarrassment seconds ago he couldn't see clearly, didn't realize how blind he was, that you still liked Ed, who had a fake sanity certificate as well, that you were right there, taking in his state concerned for someone you loved dearly.

He only saw the negative. He was a disappointment. To the citizens of Gotham, to Ed, to you, to his mother, his father...

He had publically made a fool of himself despite your presence, you, his savior, his everything recently.

Not his everything...father!

His face grew less grim. "Now if you'd excuse me."

Again he made a move and would have let him if there wasn't a very important thing you had to ask first, "Just a second!"

Oswald halted.

You reached out to him, attempting to speak calmly, "Your hand. What do you have there?"

You gave it a light touch, meaning to bring it into yours to inspect it.

He flinched, then stood frozen.

"N-nothing!"

"Let me have a look."

"No!" He held a hand in front of his mouth. That reaction was too strong. "I-I mean, it's nothing!"

Very unconvincing.

"Oswald, you can trust me with anything. Please tell me what's wrong."

He evaded your concerned look and you took your chance, looking down at the hand he hadn't raised. The white fabric bore a a red stain. You took in a sharp breath.

Oswald called your name. "What is it?" He looked at you again, a flicker of caution in his panic-stricken eyes.

"The...the blood, Oswald." You gestured to his hand that he was now covering again. "Why is there blood?"

He stared at your pleading eyes.

"Tell me what's bothering you and I can...I can help arrange some downtime for you. I'll look for an open space i-in your schedule and talk to your new Chief of Staff. He seems nice, I'm sure-hey, did I say something wrong?"

"N-no." He couldn't tell you that he'd killed said Chief of Staff. You just said that you liked him, and to be honest, Oswald would've never expected betrayal from him either. What if he was actually innocent?

You went on, "It's his birthday today, did you know that? I'm sure he's in a good mood. Plus, a lot of people like him, so..."

No, no, no, no! Oswald cursed his murder.

You noticed, "But please do continue telling me what's up with your arm or wrist."

Don't say anything about killing him to y/n. "I...I, uh, hurt myself", he tried to explain.

"What?" Stay calm, don't make him feel bad, you told yourself.

"Yes. I-it can happen." Oswald meant to make it reassuring, but to you, who knew how bad he was currently doing, it sounded like a possible confession to self-harm.

"Let me see."

Oswald's eyes widened and he turned to walk away, "I'd rather not."

"Oswald, let me have a look. I-I can help you."

"No!"

You shrank back.

What have I done? "You don't need to look at it, is what I meant. You already help me so much, dear-dear y/n." Ahh, I messed up! Why did that have to happen today?!

You didn't seem to care about his slip-up, "Whether it looks bad or not, I better inspect it so I can make sure that you have the right bandages ready."

He couldn't let you! You'd see that he had no injury at all! "It's nothing."

"Oh," you didn't believe him, "Good."

He was already walking away, "I'll pick up something from the office." Now he had an excuse for going there.

"Wait!"

He only walked slower, which made his explanation all the more suspicious.

"If it's nothing, then please let me see it anyway so I don't have to worry anymore."

This was a smart strategy. While Oswald may have been doleful and weak these last weeks, he had never stopped caring about your well-being.

Instead of assuring you however, he now continued walking, "Please, y/n, I need to be alone!"

"And I'm worried tha..." You couldn't tell him of your suspicions. What if he hadn't done anything in that direction and felt misjudged by you? Or worse: what if you'd somehow inspire him to do something similar?

Oswald saw your distressed concern and stopped, stabilizing himself on a wall, "Worried about what, y/n?" If something was bothering his dear friend so much, his father could could wait for a few seconds.

"Worried that you hurt yourself on purpose."

"Oh." What should he say now?

Usually, if you found out that he'd killed an innocent person, you'd be mad or "merely" disappointed. Either would sadden him immensly at present.

"I didn't. But thank you for your concern."

You peered at his right hand. He still wasn't showing you show you the wound.

The dumpish mayor followed your eyes and let his shoulders sink more. "Please believe me." He made a choked noise in the back of his throat. "It's all so-" he started to cry, "so much a-and-" He waved his left hand around in search for words, his eyes filling with more tears, "I-I...Ijustcan'ttalkrightnow." He looked away and put his left hand to cover his face.

"That's okay. I'm sorry that I stressed you out even more." You stepped closer carefully, not knowing what else to say. Returning your hug, Oswald weakly put one arm to your side.

You stroked over his shaking back. "It's gonna be okay. It's gonna be alright." You teared up.

Oswald nodded despite his extreme doubts. He'd need a miracle to- father!

He jerkily tore away from you. "I have to go."

"What?" You were suprised at this sudden change.

"One more minute here and I'll-I'll have a panic attack. Please don't...don't follow me. I'm just barely managing to...to talk." Will you wait for me?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. But what-"

"Go ahead and wait outside."

"Wh-" What was going on? 'I have to go' sounded...terrible to you! And why wait outside?

"Good." Oswald turned around-

"Wait!" You had to do something, say something, just in case. "Oswald, please wait."

God, hearing that tone in your voice hurt him! He turned his head back towards you.

"You...we...we need to talk about something very important."

"Yes, what is it?"

No no no no, he was supposed to say "Yes of course, we'll talk about that later"!

"I'll tell you later!" You sounded hopelessly dispaired by now. "Can you promise me that we'll do that?" You blinked some tear fluid out of your eyes, "Today?"

Oswald stood still still woth his jittery legs and hands. It must be important. You were hurting and he hadn't helped you yet. He wanted to sob again. "Yes." He took a deep breath. "Of course, y/n. Everything for you."

If not everything for Edward and you, than at least everything for just you.

"I promise."

You breathed out in relief. "Th-thank you."

He was still miserable though. He probably really needed space, whether he had lied to you or not. "I'll wait outside. And Oswald?"

He gazed at you full of hope.

"Don't think that interview ruined everything. You still control the crime world. And they know who you are. But even if you lost everything...you'd still have me."

Hopefully that would take some of the fear from his shoulders.

Oswald's breath hitched.

Those were big words. Words like "I love you", which you had already said today. Words like "I would do anything for you." Words like "more than friends"...and he'd eventually found out what all of those had really meant.

He immediately felt bad for playing his sadness and distress up.

He didn't want to and wouldn't try to find out the exact meaning of what you'd said. Not unless he wanted his heart to be broken a second time.

This time all of his emotional expressions were completely authentic. A new wave of tears threatened to overcome him and so he could only choke out, "Thank you."

Then he walked away.

You stood there, suddenly doubting your little try at ensuring he'd come back. Maybe you could go after him and make sure...no. He'd asked you not to. If you did, it might be his final tipping point to having a panic attack...or worse.

You slowly forced yourself to move, almost reflexively pulling out your telephone and dialling a familiar number.

Beep beep beep beep beep beep... It rang until you were almost outside.

"Ed", you said as soon as he picked up, "you have to tell me what happened between you and Oswald."

Author's note: The updates might take longer from now on, as I haven't begun writing the next ones yet or seen the episodes after season three episode 14 😂. This fic will probably go up to season 3 episode 16, so it's totally okay.

Things are so sad currently though 😭 So please let me know anything you like/think about this. It can be short, medium, long, whatever you want :)

Next chapter (4)->

[my-head-is-an-animal]

The Climb

Summary: You're a scientist, an engineer to be exact. Called to a meeting you had no real right to be at, Optimus Prime takes an exclusive interest in you, but you can't help but ask yourself at every turn, Why?

Rating: 18+ 🌹🩸🍆

Story Masterlist

Chapter 3

The next few days were spent resting and recovering from a hard day. I was a little dehydrated, but it wasn’t anything that couldn’t be dealt with by the doctors on base. Theo and I spent the time trying to compile a list of suitable candidates that had volunteered for the mission. It was important that we not consider anyone who did not think the climb was possible.

     We spent nearly a week interviewing candidates, testing their endurance and getting to know each and every one of them, but the nagging feeling that none of them truly believed they could do it was starting to make me think that the plan really would fail. Theo was starting to think the same thing, and it looked as if we were running out of hope on all fronts.

     I took a walk out to the training grounds one evening as the sun began to set. I looked up at the climbing wall and thought on how difficult I found it to scale. The person we were looking for would have to be able to climb more than two hundred times that in record pace. Maybe what I was asking really was impossible.

     ‘Ready for another climb, Dr Jane Harding?’ The voice of Optimus Prime boomed from behind where I was standing. How I didn’t notice his menacing shadow, was beyond me.

     ‘Optimus Prime.’ I chuckled, awkwardly, having not seen him since the day I first climbed the wall with Lennox. ‘You can call me Dr Harding, you know, or just Jane is fine… I was just… well, I was just thinking about what I’m asking someone to do.’ I confessed.

     ‘Do you no longer believe it possible?’ He almost seemed disappointed in the question.

     ‘No, I do.’ I nodded. ‘I just… I don’t think anyone else really does.’ I sighed, watching Optimus kneel down to listen to me. ‘Theo and I have interviewed and tested soldiers and athletes, even scientists who were fit enough to complete the tests, their scores were good, and they each showed the potential to make the climb.’

     ‘Yet, you would not ask them to take on this mission?’

     I shook my head. ‘No, I wouldn’t.’

     ‘And why is that?’ He leaned closer. I could see that same complexity that held my attention the very first time I’d seen him. Those blue eyes that, to most, displayed only a mechanical miracle, but to me, contained such brilliant life.

     ‘Because they all say they believe it’s possible, but none of them have the faith that they can do it.’

     ‘Mmm.’ Optimus mused, turning to see the sunlight for a moment before turning back. ‘And what about you?’

     I frowned. ‘What about me?’

     ‘Do you have faith that you could make the climb?’

     I thought for a moment, my first answer was that I wasn’t a soldier, but that wasn’t the question. If I trained for six months to make that climb, if I pushed myself the same way I pushed myself through that training session, to make it to the top of the wall, then there was nothing stopping me from doing anything I wanted.

     ‘Your silence suggests more than you may think.’ Optimus gave the hint of a smile. ‘I cannot ask you to complete this mission, but I know that should you choose to take it on, your world’s chances of survival, would skyrocket.’

     I felt that same pang of nervousness and fear fill my chest. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’

     ‘I witnessed your training session with Lennox and his men,’ Optimus argued gently. ‘You could have given up any time, you were given every opportunity to quit, yet, you continued, knowing you might fail, knowing your body would feel the consequences of such a challenge and you went on until the end. You did so in the hopes that if you could see the same internal determination in your volunteers, then they would be a suitable candidate for this mission, but you have drawn the conclusion that none are mentally capable.’

     I felt my jaw clench with doubt. ‘I don’t know if I’m physically capable of this.’

     ‘You told me that this mission would be mind over matter,’ he said, firmly. ‘If you truly believe in your heart that this is possible for one human being to complete, then it is up to you to prove it, Dr Harding.’

     I thought about what he was saying and realised he was right, I couldn’t ask anyone to do this, not unless I was willing to do it myself. Six months suddenly seemed like no time at all, but I had no choice.

     ‘Fate waits for no one.’ Optimus continued. ‘But it rarely calls upon those who are not ready. If you believe you can do this, then you have my faith also, and I would not go into battle with any other. Do you accept the challenge?’

     I swallowed nervously. I had always heard he was a great leader, someone you’d die for on a moment’s notice and now I knew why.

     ‘I accept.’ I said, simply.

     ‘You are a brave soul, one I would gladly give my life for. I will keep the enemy distracted for as long as you need to complete your mission in the knowledge that you will succeed regardless of cost.’ I felt my whole being ignite. ‘It will be an honour to serve with you, Dr Harding.’

     ‘And you, Optimus Prime.’ I nodded, knowing that this would be one of the hardest things I would ever do with my life, but someone had to do it.

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[coimbrabertone]

I Guess We Gotta Talk About Andretti...

So, I've been rather negative when it comes to modern F1 on this blog, and unfortunately, we gotta go there again this week.

So, this week, at Indycar's Long Beach Grand Prix - which turned into a pretty good race at the end - Mario Andretti was interviewed when it comes to his son, Michael's, bid to bring Andretti to Formula One as an eleventh team.

Mario, the 1978 Formula One World Champion, said that he's offended and finds it ridiculous that F1 has rejected the application, that Andretti has worked hard to create a deal with GM, has promised to support drivers in F2 and F3, and that value is added to Formula One by having an eleventh team. Basically, Andretti has met every hurdle that FOM has put ahead of them, and what have the FOM and the teams done in turn?

The teams are trying to get a ten-team limit put into the new Concorde Agreement.

Do I think that Andretti would instantly fix all my problems with modern F1? No.

Do I think F1 would be more interesting with another team? Yes.

Why? Because first of all, so many drivers have been stuck on the outside because there's too few seats in F1. Felipe Drugovich is doing fuck all this season because he couldn't get an F1 drive as a runaway F2 champion. Theo Pourchaire, the next F2 champion, is about to do his second Indycar race this weekend with Arrow McLaren. Mick Schumacher, Callum Ilott, and Robert Shwartzman are all in sports cars after super promising F3 and F2 careers. Marcus Armstrong is in Indycar, Louis Deletraz in IMSA, etc, etc.

Even Oscar Piastri, who has one of the most successful junior careers of recent memory, had to take a year off and ended up debuting with McLaren instead of Alpine.

All of these guys who could have F1 seats are instead doing amazing things in other series. Meanwhile, Lance Stroll has an Aston seat because his dad owns the team, Yuki Tsunoda has an Alpha Tauri seat because Honda wants a Japanese driver, and Daniel Ricciardo is his teammate for reasons that even Red Bull seems puzzled about at this point.

Adding two seats in F1 could improve that situation.

At least one of those seats would likely go to an American, and maybe Logan Sargeant has soured some people's tastes towards that, but hey, if you're going to have three races in the US, you're gonna need American talent to help support that interest.

Haas sure as hell isn't doing a good job of being an American team. Hell, Haas isn't doing a good job of much of anything. They have no ambition, they have two safe, boring, older drivers who will score a few points every once in awhile and let the team collect its prize money check at the end of the season. There's nothing exciting about that, Haas isn't going to have some young charger to breathe life into the back of the grid, Haas isn't going to master the 2026 regulations and give some amazing Brawn storyline, they don't even make their own cars - they have Dallara do it.

Andretti is going to have more ambition than that, I can guarantee that if nothing else. Andretti has three full time cars in Indycar, a bunch of cars in Indy Lights, two cars in IMSA in association with Wayne Taylor Racing, and is potentially laying the groundwork for a move into NASCAR as well.

Marco Andretti is in Trucks while Gainbridge, a major investor in Andretti, has been popping up on the Spire cars, along with rumors that Gainbridge and Andretti wanting to buy into the team.

All of this along with a share in an Australian Supercars team, a Formula E team, and Extreme E. They're a global team that isn't afraid to spend money. They're trying to win championships in series across the world.

F1 doesn't think all of that is good enough.

Why? Because that would mean the teams have to split money eleven ways instead of ten. That's it. That's the entire reason.

Paddock space? Space for twenty-six cars is written into the rules.

Value added? Look at all that stuff above, Andretti isn't coming to F1 to fuck around, and even if it was, half the grid is doing the same thing.

It's all about the money.

As much as I fully believe Andretti is overqualified for F1, I almost want them to say fuck it and abandon F1, put the money into the rest of your series. Marcus Ericsson, Kyle Kirkwood, and Colton Herta are competitive each and every week in an Indycar series where being a few tenths off could put you at the back of the field. The #10 and #40 WTR Andretti cars in IMSA are major championship threats. Plus, if Andretti can get that Spire deal and get into NASCAR, that's a sport that's experiencing its own resurgence in popularity.

I know NASCAR is very much focused in the US but having 4.3 million viewers for Talladega this last weekend is four times the ratings that F1 pulls, and everyone's talking about how big F1 is becoming in the US. F1 is getting all these American sponsors and American races, but whenever it comes to letting more Americans into the sport, there's always this hostility.

Motorsports is more than just F1, and the more F1 turns up its nose at the rest of motorsports, the more it alienates fans like me.

Which is a damn shame, because F1 was my first love in motorsports.

[group-dynamic]

Rings of Power Spoilers for Season 2 Episode 8. (Also, predictions based on book knowledge. Beware!)

So very much to talk about in this finale which I loved, but three takeaways for now:

What a testament to Charlie Vickers' performance all season that Sauron's tears after Celebrimbor's death feel so utterly layered and genuine and entirely grotesque. The immediate image that was conjured for me was a cat that's just killed the mouse they were playing with. That look you see in a cat when they touch the dead mouse with their paw a few times despondently because they're now genuinely upset and sore and sorry for themself because the mouse won't "play" with them anymore. The self deception of those tears, unwitnessed, and thus genuine, but also entirely unearned due to him being the sole arbiter of that death. Horrifying! (And Charlie revealed in his recent interview with Nerd of the Rings that he's fully aware that early draft Sauron was essentially a cat so we keep winning on this metaphor, haha)

2. The absolutely beautiful little moment we got with Theo and Isildur made me even more certain that Theo will grow up to be the king who betrays his oath and doesn't show up to fight against Sauron in the last alliance, leading to him being cursed by Isildur. And it's absolutely going to shatter my heart. Theo, the son of a healer and thus, as Aragorn will one day express, perfectly aligned with the role of a king. Theo whose father is unknown in a country looking for the king they were promised. Theo who is theoretically (no pun intended lol) not blessed with long life like the Numenoreans--which means Isildur would see him grow up and pass him in visual age and grow into his role. The deeply personal nature of a curse between old friends. I will not survive it if that is Theo's destiny. These are my sons.

3. I truly loved how well everything wove beautifully into the thematic threads of this story. I was deeply moved all episode. Except. . . okay, was anyone else really baffled by the imagery in the last moments? It was so clear that Galadriel's arc and the story as a whole was coming to a close on this idea of choosing to act as a shield (protect, defend, don't use your children as warriors to seek revenge, choose togetherness and healing, not singular acts, don't make war heedlessly, gather strength together). I mean, Galadriel has been fighting over giving up her sword (dagger) and all it represents for ages, and in that last moment in future Rivendell of all places, a place of healing and rest, with a battered collection of wounded veterans and refugees and non-combatants and children, Gil Galad raises his sword??? and the gathered elves also raise any weapons they have??? And they're making battle cries??? I . . . was . . . confused, lol. Was I interpreting this incorrectly? I mean, of course the free peoples of Middle Earth should fight back against a powerful enemy, no matter how small they are or how impossible the odds seem (i.e. Durin v. Balrog), but. . . . I felt like that was a little out of sync with every other piece of imagery and message that the elves were working through this season. . . This was their moment to realize the rings were not a weapon in their hands but a shield and instead it bordered on disturbing for me. . . that's how jarring that last shot felt. . It didn't ruin the episode for me or anything, but I was . . . ????

(I think Galadriel being a visual light for the elves works. I think Gil Galad and the gang drawing swords together to make a promise to defend the vulnerable would have worked, but this felt like a real mix of metaphors here. Maybe there was some debate on set about which way to go and they compromised on a mix of imagery. )

[sotogalmo]

hey hey hey! sorry for randomly popping in here and asking this but what are ur ocs thoughts on cindy and ankoku?

i hope ur having/have had a great day!

OUGRHHEGRGGRRR. So sorry for doing this late, and. Uhm. I know you said, about their thoughts on Cindy and Ankoku, but since Theo's birthday is coming around, I'm adding him in here (along with Brandon) — I'll only be doing Sebastian and Yume's thoughts, since they are in the same season as the critters in your ask

Sebastian -> Cindy: ... My thoughts on her? Well.. first. Shes- kinder and much more better than anyone I have ever met in this garden (he says, honestly seemingly so relieved as if he ran the fastest he ever can but times 3, along with the fact that he's seemingly blushing while looking everywhere but the interviewer. Moreso a blush of embarrassment). It's ..nice. (he looks away, the blush slightly cooling away) Thought I just know. It won't.... It won't last. Nothing ever lasts. But-!! (hes trying to stay positive..) At . At least she's nice. She listens to me, and that's ... Nice ('thump thump' but it's not his heart (it is), as it's mainly coming from the fact that the tip of "the rat belt" is wagging, the cooled down blush coming back brighter though he tries to contain it)

^ overall: seems to have idolized Cindy. But tries to stay out of that mindset, and treat her right. (Intimacy: 33%)

Sebastian -> Ankoku: .. ah? Wh.. who is that? I'm sorry I don't understand. I haven't meant this person ... Sorry.

^ overall: unknown. He's nervous though (intimacy: .2%?)

Sebastian -> Theo: I think... I have met him? Only a few warnings from the earlier days, that if I continue trying they'll send him to keep watch over me (I'm glad that didn't happen actually, and I only had to have that strange wire that connects to something up above). I .. but from what I remember he sounds. Too much ....

^ overall: lightly knows of him (intimacy: 27%)

Sebastian -> Brandon: ah. Cindy's friend? Aha.... Well. He has spirit. That much is ..also nice. (it seems his "rat belt" didn't stop wagging). He has a thing for living until the end and to the fullest, which is ..sorry I say nice a lot ... but .... Something is up with him .... Not that it's.. uncommon to me ... I ... (He looks away, and doesn't finish. "Rat belt" wagging being put to a stop)

^ overall: "it feels like we're the same. i don't.. want to think about it anymore...." (intimacy: 31%)

Yume -> Cindy: That girl ... She surprises me, that's for sure. I know at least she must be hiding something. No one is ever that cheerful. Ah, but .. it's nice. That she- a human, would want to spend some of her time with me— "human". Even if it's for a couple of seconds. Breath of fresh air, was the saying? She's too minty for my taste though. Like a peppermint...? (Are those what those round red/white and spicy things called? I don't remember)

^ overall: "peppermint" (intimacy: 25%)

Yume -> Ankoku: oh? The Watcher? I know of him. Only by passing. I haven't met-met him. He doesss~ sound interesting though. A watcher? I wonder what he knows of me ..... (He mumbles as he starts to stare at the camera above him)

^ overall: finds him interesting. The boss needing a watcher sure is interesting (intimacy: 11%)

Yume -> Theo: Frankly, I haven't met him. I don't think I will ever get the chance to meet him. But from your description of him? I don't think he would be... Ah. I don't know. But he sounds too much

^ overall: something is left unsaid here. He knows something else (intimacy: 30?%)

Yume -> Brandon: Ah. Too much a handful, but fun to mess with. Though hes very similar to Sebastian...? Which. Doesn't make it fun anymore. (Intimacy: 28%)

(Zombie/doll) Yume -> Brandon: Someone I can now only relate to. Only now, can I understand. Oh, we are the same. Sometimes I feel like we can go to the forest. But... You know. They won't let us. Even if that's the only spot for us..... Not in that sense. Oh, I still have my heart taken by Ald~. Brandon is just .. a... Hm. He shares nothing with him. But he does remind me of another friend of mine in the past.... Ah. We aren't understood. That's why you don't understand me, right now. I can't put our bond to words. Nor mine with Ald's. Mine with Faisal's. Mine with 'Ran's. And mine with Murrelet's. No words fits us, for we don't need them. I don't need them. Ald surely doesn't need them. Brandon doesn't need them. Faisal doesn't need them. 'Ran doesn't need them. Murrelet doesn't need them.

^ overall: who knows. Like he said. He doesn't need words, so I guess we don't need to write anything down (intimacy: 43%)

Fai: @rockwgooglyeyes / Cia: @starry-skiez / Murr: @pwippy . I've been honestly having heavy 4 Musketeers brainrot (moreso yume brainrot). He's so fun to write.

@aakaneeee since I'm now thinking of doing the same thing but with Sebastian's thoughts on Yvonne, along with the intimacy level thing.

[lenaswritingandstuff]

Jealous - Antoine Griezmann x reader (Part I)

Requested: Yes ("antoine griezmann angst plz! u guys have an argument about something, and ignore each other but then make up" - Anon)

Pairing: Antoine Griezmann x Female!Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend Antoine sees you with Mbappé and a big misunderstanding follows.

Word Count:  1.2k

Warnings: Angst, mention of cheating, false accusation

A/N: Sorry for the delay, college is hell! This is actually wayyy longer than I intended, so I'll do it in two parts :) I hope this is what you had in mind. Also please note that this is my first time writing angst so I hope it's not too cringe lol. GIF isn't mine. (I found the perfect one but it's too big for Tumblr 😫) ENGLISH ISN'T MY FIRST LANGUAGE!

PART ONE

You had been Didier Deschamps’ assistant for a few years now, and you really liked your job, as helping the Coach with basically everything wasn’t that hard. You had a good relationship with him, and you were close to all the players. You had a sister-brother relationship with most of them – except for one. You had just started working for the team when Antoine first arrived, and you two instantly became friends, getting closer and closer every time you saw each other during international breaks. You two eventually fell for each other and started dating. Antoine made you the happiest you had ever been, and you enjoyed the idea of spending the rest of your life with him. Living in different countries – as you lived in France and he lived in Madrid – really was a challenge at times, but you both worked hard to make it work. It had almost been a year since you’ve started dating now, and the Bleus had arrived today in their home of Clairefontaine. You greeted each of them as they entered the castle, and tried your best not to treat Antoine differently – as while Deschamps was happy for you guys, he still asked for you and Antoine to remain professional. It was hard of course but you still managed to do it despite Antoine who constantly was winking at you and never missed an opportunity to give you a kiss or to kiss your neck when you where alone or in public while no one was watching.

The first day went smoothly, with a training session and the guys catching up with each other. While Antoine and the rest of the players were all doing a photoshoot for new official pics and the Coach was busy on the phone, you sat in the living room and checked the week’s schedule to make sure everything was okay when Kylian entered, still wearing his football kit from the photoshoot.

“Hey,” you smiled. “Already done?”

“Yeah, they only need a few pics for each of us,” the striker said, sitting next to you in front of the TV. “You should have seen the way Theo was trying to distract me with his stupid jokes.”

You and Kylian were basically the same age, but he still acted like a big brother towards you, the same way Hugo and Olivier did. His girlfriend was actually one of your closest friends, and you were very happy for them.

“Typical,” you answered with a soft laugh, shaking your head. The Bleus could be childish sometimes, and they often needed you to be their babysitter but you still loved them dearly. “By the way, you have an interview for a TV channel tomorrow and the day before the match, you and Didier have a press conference.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

After a second Kylian stood up all of a sudden, and went to grab a PlayStation’s controller.

“Hey, Y/N, wanna play?”

Since you had nothing to do, you accepted. You and Kylian played at FIFA, and you were actually doing great, having played countless times with the other members of the team over the years. You won a few games and Kylian won a few as well, and this time you both scored twice. You scored a victory goal at the last minute, and let out a victory scream before laughing but Kylian wasn’t having it.

“Come on, you cheated. Nah, nah, stop it, this ain’t happening. You cheated.”

“Oh, stop it,” you said after you controlled your laugh. “I just scored, that’s all. Maybe if you weren’t terrible-”

“You little-”

He grabbed a pillow from behind him and proceeded to hit on your face and your belly with it, accusing you of being a cheater, but you also grabbed the pillow next to you to hit him back. You both were out of breath from too much laughing when Antoine appeared at the door.

“Yo, man”, Kylian said, the pillow still in his hand. “Are they finished yet?”

But Antoine remained silent, and the cold look he had in his blue eyes was more than unusual. All joy left your body and your boyfriend turned around and left without a word.

“Oh come on, Grizi, don’t be silly-”

You didn’t hear the rest of what Kylian said because you immediately followed Antoine in another room.

“Antoine,” you called him, trying to walk as fast as him. “Antoine, please. What is it? What’s wrong?”

After a while, Antoine finally turned around to face you and finally spoke.

“‘What’s wrong’?” he said harshly, no longer hiding his anger. “Really, Y/N? I find you like this with another man and you ask me what’s wrong?”

Before you could answer, he turned back and started walking again in a corridor.

“Yes!”, you exclaimed, feeling exasperated.

You really were confused by Antoine’s behavior, as he wasn’t really the jealous type, and you made it clear to him when you started dating that his teammates were the brothers you never had and that nothing – mostly due to most of them dating someone or being married – would ever happen between you and any of them, or anybody else.

“You’re acting like this because I played with Kylian?!” you said, raising your voice. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”

You prayed that it was all a joke, that he would turn around, laugh and take you in his arms saying “I got you again, babe!”. But Antoine didn’t turn.

“Antoine can you just stop acting like a fucking child for once?” you screamed.

You were now upstairs, in the corridor where the players’ bedrooms were. Benjamin and Presnel – who apparently finished right after Kylian and went directly to their rooms – put their heads outside Presnel’s door, probably wondering why you were screaming, but when they understood what was going on they quickly put their heads back and closed the door. Antoine let out a big sigh and turned around at last.

“I don’t get why you’re reacting like this,” you said with your usual voice, feeling sadness coming to replace the anger. “Me and Kylian, and the entire team actually, are just friends and you know it!”

“No, ‘friends’ don’t act like that,” Antoine retorted.

“We were playing around!” you raised your voice again, feeling frustrated and misunderstood. “You know Kylian and Emilie are dating and that he loves her! She told me they even talked about getting engaged!”

“Yeah, well, in that case he’s not better than you,” Antoine spat.

“Are you- Are you accusing me of cheating?” you asked, your heart sinking in your chest.

You couldn’t believe your ears. Antoine and you always trusted each other. At least you thought so. You saw Antoine being a bit taken aback by your question, and he thought for a second, the coldness and anger in his eyes not leaving.

“Well, who knows what was going on before I came? How can I know? Maybe you were kissing. Maybe you cheated with some other guys.”

As you felt tears coming, you suddenly heard someone coming behind you, and Paul put himself right next to you.

“Grizou, please,” he said with a calming yet firm voice. “You can’t say that, man. I can’t let you say that. I don’t know what you think Y/N did but you know she loves you and would never cheat. She’s our sister, nothing else. Chill the hell out.”

“Mind your fucking business,” Antoine spat. “When I want idiotic dances I’ll ask you.”

He gave you a look full of anger and even disgust before going to his room and slamming the door behind him. You couldn’t stand it anymore and started crying. Paul immediately tried to soothe you, quickly joined by Benjamin and Hugo, and you felt like your whole world was shattering in pieces.

PART II

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