#apologies it took me so long to answer this

[childrenofcain-if]

How would W react to an MC who is obsessed with them? Like they need help with a small thing? MC drop everything and run to the rescue. W doesn’t take care of themselves? Why bother when MC takes care of them.

W’s presence wasn’t always loud, but it was startling, an emotional thunderhead that you could feel rumbling in your ribs before it even fully cracked.

when the call came, their voice tried to sound casual but failed miserably. “i, uh, could use a hand with something.”

it didn’t matter what it was—something about a deadline they’d forgotten or a lamp they’d broken while pacing in frustration. you didn’t even ask. you dropped your coffee cup on the kitchenette counter, grabbed your jacket, and bolted out the door without thinking twice.

the quick walk to their suite was a blur and when you arrived, W was sitting cross-legged on the couch, their thin frame curled in on itself. they were wearing a mismatched pair of socks, one of them being yours—the blue one with the tiny stars that you’d lost weeks ago—and it was enough to make your heart ache.

“what’s wrong?” you asked, dropping your jacket at the door and crossing the room in three long strides.

W didn’t answer right away. their fingers were busy tracing invisible patterns on the edge of their sweater, which was so oversized it might as well have been a blanket. their silence stretched like a taut wire, and then, finally, they said, “i forgot to eat again.”

your chest tightened. not with anger, not even with frustration, but with the unbearable weight of love for someone who couldn’t always love themself. you didn’t say anything. you just walked into their kitchenette and started rummaging through cabinets and the refridgerator.

there wasn’t much to work with—a box of crackers, a bruised apple, a carton of almond milk. it didn’t matter. you threw together something small and easy and brought it back to W, sitting beside them on the couch.

they looked at the plate like it was a challenge, their fingers twitching toward it but never quite making contact.

“i’m sorry,” they murmured, their voice barely above a whisper.

“don’t,” you said, shaking your head. “you don’t have to apologize.”

“i do,” they insisted, their voice cracking. “you shouldn’t have to—”

“W,” you interrupted, your tone firmer than before. “i’m here because i want to be. because i love you. that’s it. that’s all there is to it.”

they looked at you then, their sapphire blue eyes watery and wide, and for a moment, you thought they might cry. instead, they reached for the plate and took a small bite of the apple. it wasn’t much, but it was definitely a start.

that night, after they’d eaten what they could and you’d cleaned up the remnants, you found yourself sitting together on the couch. W was curled against your side, their head resting on your shoulder, their fingers absently tracing shapes on your arm.

“you’re warm,” they murmured, their voice soft and sleepy. “and you smell nice. like fresh laundry.”

you smiled, pressing a kiss to their temple. “and you’re wearing my missing sock.”

“it’s a good sock,” they said with a tired chuckle, tugging at the hem of it. “better than the pairs i own.”

“you could’ve just asked for it,” you said.

they tilted their head to look up at you, their expression caught somewhere between a smirk and a fond smile. “and where’s the fun in that?”

***

later, as the night deepened, W began to fidget. their fingers, which had been drawing lazy circles on your arm, began to scratch at their own thigh, leaving faint red marks in their wake.

“stop,” you said gently, catching their hand in yours.

they flinched but didn’t pull away. “sorry.”

“don’t apologize,” you said, your voice kind. “just… tell me what’s wrong.”

they hesitated, their gaze fixed on the floor.

“i don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” they admitted. “like i’m… too much. or not enough. or both at the same time.”

your heart broke for the hundredth time that day. you pulled them closer, wrapping your arms around them like you could shield them from the weight of their own thoughts.

“you’re not too much,” you said. “and you’re not not enough. you’re exactly who you’re supposed to be.”

they didn’t respond, but their body relaxed slightly against yours. after a moment, they said, “i love you so much, i can’t bear the pain.”

the words were so quiet you almost missed them, but when they sank in, they hit you like a freight train. you tightened your hold on them, pressing a kiss to the crown of their head.

“i love you so much, i’ll bear it for you,” you whispered.

W looked up at you then, their eyes soft and full of something you couldn’t quite name.

“you mean that?” they asked tentatively.

“every word,” you replied, leaving no room for doubt. W said nothing but their smile was brighter than the lights in the room.

after a while, W whispered in latin, “te amabo aeternum.”

you recognized the words instantly, even though W’s accent was softer, less confident. i will love you forever.

“amabo te in aeternum,” you corrected gently, your voice warm and teasing. the structure mattered less than the sentiment, but you couldn’t help it. W’s latin was too endearing to leave unpolished.

“of course you’d fix that,” they muttered with a faint smile, their tone holding no actual irritation. “you always seem to know everything, don’t you?”

“not everything,” you said, smiling softly as you ran your thumb along the back of their hand. “just the important parts. like how much you mean to me.”

W looked up at you then, their blue eyes catching the light and you leaned in closer, your nose brushing against theirs.

“et ego te amo.” and i love you, you said, soft but firm, as if the words themselves could shield them from everything clawing at their mind.

they sighed, a sound that carried equal parts relief and exhaustion, and melted against you. “thank you for everything, mein stern.”

***

as the night wore on, W continued murmuring fragments of latin into the quiet—“es somnium meum,” they said at one point, and it took you a moment to piece it together. you are my dream.

you tightened your hold on them. “tibi in somniis et re in aeternum pertinebo,” you whispered back. i will belong to you in your dreams and reality forever.

that earned a smile from W, small but real, and when they finally closed their eyes, you stayed awake, holding them close. you whispered one final phrase into the night, one you weren’t even sure they’d catch:

“in saecula saeculorum.” forever and ever.

they didn’t respond, but their breathing slowed, steady and even, their body curled against yours with all the trust and affection that they could ever afford to give back.

[frannyzooey]

Veneration

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

Rating: E

a/n: another piece from Ao3 — enjoy! ❤️

—

“Where is she?”

Marcus stalks into his chambers, his white cape billowing behind him, a guard following in his wake.

“I asked for her, sir. I’m not sure where she is. She –”

“Just find her,” he growls, frustration etched on his face.

The guard makes a hasty apology, slipping from the room. “Yes, sir. Right away.”

Candles fill the space, pools of shadows gathered around the edges. The fabric on the bed is rich and decadent, every piece of decoration in the room dripping with luxury.

It’s jarring, after so many months living in a battle tent.

A table filled with food in abundance, he bypasses everything on it for the jar of heady wine. Pouring himself a cup, he drinks deeply.

He thumbs at the slice on his neck, smearing blood on the tips of his fingers. His hands are used to being drenched in blood, crusted with it, the firm hold of a sword nearly molded to the creases of his palm.

It took everything he had not to raise it to the fucking pup who cut him. The one who is so careless and callous, he threatens to burn down everything Marcus has worked for.

All of his protection, wasted. His entire career, played with for sport.

Where is she?

He rips the pin off his tunic, tossing it to the side — he should be more careful with it, but he’s in no mood to be careful with anything. The laurel comes next; the stupid fucking pageantry. He’s a general, a man made of sweat and blood and his fingers tear at the clasps of his armor, but he quickly gives up, pouring another cup of wine. Beautiful and untarnished, the armor is all for show, just like the adornments they covered him with.

It felt good to ride through the city and wave to the people he has been campaigning for months, but he could do without the show of it all. He recognizes the need for celebration, and he’ll gladly give it to them, but he wishes he could do it in his actual armor. The one he defends their city in. The one nicked with a thousand dents from a thousand swords. The leather that fits to his body like a second skin, and he wished for it during the ceremony more than ever, wanting to present himself to the city like the soldier he is.

He sighs, the weight of the day resting heavy on his shoulders. He’d hoped he’d feel more relieved after his conversation with Lucilla, that maybe he’d finally have someone useful he could persuade to act – and yet, the conversation was fruitless.

Frustration throbs behind his eyes, and he closes them, rubbing at his brow.

“You’d think someone who just had a parade held in their honor would look a little less plagued.”

At your voice, his head snaps up. He watches you slip into the room, servant girls on your heels.

He shakes his head, a stern look on his face. “Alone.”

His command is clear, and you obey, dismissing the girls with a slight wave. All for show in the first place, they turn and leave the two of you.

“Where have you been?” he asks. “I’ve been waiting to see you since we entered the gates.”

You walk closer, bending to pick his cape off the floor. “You know I’m not allowed up there with them.” You finger the rich fabric, fighting the urge to bring it to your nose just to inhale his scent.

A scent you’ve missed for almost a year now. A scent that was pressed into your bedding before he left, a scent you used to have memorized from the soft divot just underneath his ear. Oil and sweat and a heady fragrance that clung to his curls and clothes - one you’d been longing for since he left you behind for the promise of North Africa.

“I know,” he answers. “I thought you’d come to see me sooner. Or that I would have seen your face along the route.”

“Would you even have remembered what it looked like?”

It’s childish, the question. You know it, but a barrier comes up automatically, placing protection around your heart. You were so sure of your bond until you saw him climb those steps, taking his place alongside the Emperor. A tiny prick of doubt at the display of his status bled within you, and though you want nothing more than to run to him for reassurance, you can’t bring yourself to do it.

“How can you even ask that?” he asks lowly, hurt and frustration buried between his dark brows.

He steps closer, and yet you withhold, standing your ground.

You did see him on the route, hidden in the back of the crowd, watching from underneath the hood of your robe. The second you heard he was approaching the city, anticipation stole the air from your lungs, so strong that you had to stop your chores. A thousand different scenarios of reuniting with him swirled through your mind, all of them abruptly stopped by the remembrance that you couldn’t greet him. Not in public, not where anyone could see. You watched him instead from the depths of the crowd, feeling pride as he rode past.

There, he looked like a shining god. Here, in front of you, he looks older.

Aged in a way that makes him even more handsome, there is new gray along his temples. More, along the curve of his jaw. The candlelight catches strands that mix in with his dark curls, and you take in the wrinkles the line the edges of his eyes, the ones that crease his forehead. The one between his brows was there before he left, only it’s deeper now - something you know has to do with the way you haven’t touched him yet.

“This finery suits you,” you muse, fingering the edge of his armor.

He scoffs, catching your hand in his. Bringing it to his mouth, you watch with rapt attention as his lips mold to your knuckles, one delicate kiss after another.

“I hate it,” he mumbles against your skin.

You smile. “Then let’s remove it.”

–

He’s patient as you help, but barely.

You can feel the tension radiating off his body as you unclasp his armor and lift it off, the heavy leather set to the side. His eyes stay trained on you as you guide his thick tunic upwards, discarding it onto the floor. He stands in his underclothes for a moment before you sink to your knees and undo the tie at his waist, letting them fall as well. Bare now for your eyes, you inspect him from your position, your hands running over his skin.

It’s familiar, yet not: new wounds that have healed, new scars for your touch. He stirs under your exploration, twitching along his thigh, but you don’t give into the touch you know he wants - not yet. You used to spend hours exploring his body: working oil into his tired muscles, memorizing the firm planes of them born in the training yard. He’s just as thick and strong as you remember, maybe even more so now.

Standing, you turn to retrieve a strigil from his bedside table, undoing the clasp of your tunic with one hand with your back facing him. It falls from your shoulders, slipping onto the floor in a puddle of cloth and when you turn to face him, the hunger in his gaze at your nakedness floods you with arousal.

“They bathed me before the parade,” he says dismissively, glancing at the tool in your grip.

You had a ritual before he left: he would summon you to his chambers, and be waiting for you. You’d help him undress, and sometimes you’d bathe him, but sometimes he liked it better this way - your small hands smearing rich oil along his tanned skin, your fingers working it in. The deliberate strokes of the strigil swept along the lines of his muscles, the tool gathering all the grime and the dust and the sweat from the yard. Never enough that it disappeared though. You smelt it on you when you slipped from his chambers later that night, always pressed into your limbs, his seed trickling from between your thighs.

Assuming he wants the same veneration tonight, you’re surprised when his hand flicks out faster than you’re prepared for, his grip relentless on your wrist. It tightens, and he pulls you towards him, your back to his front. The heat of his body is flush with yours, the weight of his cock thick along the curve of your ass.

“How long I’ve waited to have you,” he breathes into your ear, his tone a growl that sends a shiver down your spine. The scruff along his jaw scrapes against your skin, and you melt into him. “Why are you doing this?”

You drop the stirgil on the tiled floor, the sound barely heard over the pounding of your heart. Letting yourself lean against the thick, broad plane of his chest, his hand lets go of your wrist to skate up your side, roughly palming the weight of your breast. He groans when he touches it, a relieved one that blends with your softer moan, and his other hand curls around your front, cupping you firmly between your thighs. His fingers reach for the curve of your entrance, his teeth scraping along your shoulder when he finds you wet. His touch lingers there, his fingers spreading you to find more evidence of your need.

There is a tension that still vibrates from his form behind you, hidden underneath his skin. He’s holding himself back just for you, and though you want nothing more than to put aside your hesitation and your pride, it’s actually easier to do it this way. To encourage him to take, so different than the sweet murmurs you’ve wished for in the night, less vulnerable than the tender touch of his hands.

You want it to hurt, just like you’ve hurt, and you know he also needs this right now.

Your hand rests upon his, sliding it up.

Up, up, up until it circles your throat.

He flexes his grip, his fingers pressing into your pulse that thrums underneath his touch. You give him silent permission — permission to be the one he wants to be with you sometimes.

Permission for him to be rough, like he is in battle.

Permission to take you as he needs to take you.

Tilting your head to the side, you whisper against his scruffed cheek. “I’m yours, General.” The title gives away the game, your slip into character. “Tell me what you want.”

Your words set him alight, his body moving just how it does on the field: in control, precise, power emanating from his stance when he tugs you away from him and pushes you to your knees. He blocks out the light above you, his fingers curling around your chin to pull you closer. Your hands splay on his sturdy thighs to catch your balance, and he steps forward, crowding you.

“Open your mouth.”

An order, like he was born to give.

Dutifully you do, and he wastes no time feeding himself between your warm, wet lips. The thick tip of his cock brushes against your bottom lip, the weight of him smearing across your tongue the deeper he gets. He tastes so good and so familiar, so musky and masculine, and your tongue runs along the underside of his shaft, curving to the skin as he hardens even more. You slide it along every ridge, every vein of his thick cock, and when he pulls back just before pushing himself deeper with a groan, you swirl your tongue around the rounded tip.

Going back for more, you do it again.

Your hands slide up his thighs to his hips, your fingers digging into the skin, and you pull him deeper, encouraging it. He groans loud and shameless, your cunt throbbing when you look up to the light flickering over his skin. It looks so rich and real , your hands slipping backwards to palm the curve of his ass with a greedy grab.

The release of want pours from you both, his body still tight with tension but a different type of tension: not frustration, but need.

He gives in, thrusting into your mouth harder, flickering candlelight catching the drool that gathers around the edges of your mouth and slides down your chin. Your cheeks hollow, his thumb fitting into the indented curve. Your eyes shut tight, his cock pushing against the tight ring of your throat. He holds there for a moment, and then pulls out, his is cock glistening and he strokes it while you catch your breath, but you’re already grabbing for him before you’re ready.

“I want more,” you beg, your voice hoarse. “Take what you need.”

He strokes himself faster, harder, his stomach tensing.

“I know you’re holding back, but don’t. Take anything you want from me. I can take it.”

Those are the words that do it. He growls, his hand palming the back of your head to force you back onto his cock. He pushes it past your lips as far as it will go and then some, not stopping this time when he reaches your throat. He feels the tight, constricting curve of it, and pushes a little further still, thickening at the strangled whine you let out into the dark curls at the base. Swiping the hair from your face, he cups your cheeks in his hands and angles your face to turn up towards his own.

Then, he fucks.

His pace is relentless, brutal, his cock slipping into the tight fist of your throat with every thrust forward. Stars dance along your vision, your chin soaked with spit. Desperation radiates from him, his grip tightening on your face, your fingers digging crescents into his hips and he groans, wanting more pain.

A familiar ache, one that he’s used to. Something to distract him from the deeper pain of your hesitation when you first walked in the room. Deeper still, the ache he felt for you while he was gone.

“You have no idea how much I missed you. How much I missed this.” Every word of his confession is mixed with his heavy breaths, with soft grunts from the back of his throat.

You hum, a tiny frown pulling between your brows. You missed him just as much, missed this just as much — the way he emanates authority, the way he bends and molds and positions you just like his soldiers, to do as he bids.

He pushes you further, shedding the frustration and pent up tension of the day with every harsh stroke. He feeds it to you, makes you swallow it as it pours from him into your waiting mouth and an ache blooms in your throat, your jaw tense with the effort of trying to stay open wide enough for him to fit. Slipping your slim hand between his strong thighs, you cup his heavy balls with a tender squeeze — a touch that makes his head tip back as they draw up.

Harder, faster and then he doesn’t give you any warning before he fists your hair and pulls you off his cock, stroking it with a slick, rapid beat to come on your chest. Your collarbones, the swell of your breasts.

More, when you start to smear it into your skin like oil, pressing it into your skin.

When he’s finished, he sags with release — though you know he’s not done. His hands reach for you, pulling you up off the floor and then finally — finally — he kisses you.

Fevered and desperate, his mouth open to taste yours, his tongue sliding against your own. Your fingers thread through his curls to keep him close, and his own dig forcefully into your skin, as if you’ll disappear if he doesn’t hold you tight. They splay to slide up your back and down again, stretch to cup the curve of your bottom and he lifts you to carry you over to his bed. He means to drop you there so he can sink to his knees, but when you cling to him, he falls with you, his weight settling over your body.

This — this is what you dreamed of every night he was away. This is what you held onto, this is what you missed. This version of Marcus that no one else gets. Not the stoic General, but rather the tender touch of his calloused hands. The slide of his body against yours, the murmurs of his adoration poured along the column of your neck.

Your legs wind around his waist, your hips canting up and he groans into your mouth at the sticky smear you leave on his stomach. More than ready for him, desperate for it.

“My love, I need a minute.”

My love. The endearment fills your heart until tears leak from the corners of your eyes, and you pull him closer, wanting to be buried underneath his bulk. Winding your arms around his neck, you keep his mouth pressed against yours, only to frown when he pulls away.

“I need a minute,” he repeats, his head bending to brush his mouth along your throat. “But let me indulge myself in the meantime.”

You watch the muscles in his thick shoulders shift as he holds himself above you and bends his head, taking your breast into his mouth. It’s a greedy suck, his hand pushing the soft weight of it up so he can fit more. His teeth scrape against the peak, and then he’s moving onto the other one, giving it the same attention while you moan underneath him.

Down further still, he presses kisses along your belly, against each hip. Your thighs open wider, making room for him. A part of you expects him to tease you like you did him, but he doesn’t — he settles in, hooking his arms under your thighs and spreads you wide right before he bends to devour.

Your hands rest upon the top of his head; your own version of a laurel resting on his curls. No adornments, no finery, no pristine armor and gold.

Your eyes close, savoring the slow, wide licks of his tongue. The devotion he gives your cunt with every slick, firm slide.

Not the General that the city fears and adores in equal measure - just Marcus, bending the knee for you.

[cellophaine]

Chapter X: APPROACH

Masterlist

Pairing: Patrick Zweig x F!Reader, Art Donaldson x Tashi Duncan

Warnings: Angst.

Author's Note: I'm not going to apologize for what I've done, but I will apologize for uploading this chapter 10 minutes late.

GIF Source: @/spookyrps

2019. New Rochelle.

There was no music in the elevator, you noticed. You were alone with your thoughts that echoed back and forth in the chamber of your mind. Sleep didn't come easy the night before, even with the help of the prescribed sleeping pills you hardly ever reached for. After all these years, being face-to-face with Art still managed to draw a reaction from you. One that didn't make much sense. You were a different person now, as he was. Things had happened, and you had changed. Knowing that you were in the same building as Art Donaldson, separated by mere floors, shouldn't make you toss and turn in your bed. You were such a fool; you scolded yourself. He probably slept fine next to his gorgeous wife, with their adorable child in the room next to theirs.

Your likeness on the glossy surface of the elevator door appeared well-kempt, but it wasn't a truthful reflection of how you felt on the inside. The little makeup you used did its job, concealing the dark circles and adding colours to your face. Right there along the seam of yourself was the fatigue, worming its way into the slight slouch in your posture, weighing down your body's effort in keeping it upright. Remembering how your mom used to strike at your upper back so you would sit up straight, you straightened up out of an innate reflex.

The elevator door opened to reveal the first floor. You headed for the hallway Jennifer had led you down, barely passing the peripheral of Art as he stood there in the lobby, talking to a man you didn't recognize. You kept your face away from his direction and quickened your pace, hoping he hadn't spotted you yet. You sighed as the almost empty hallway welcomed you in, save for a couple of people ahead of you chattering about the seat placements. But the relief didn't last long. A familiar voice that you'd tried to forget for years called your name. The marble floor echoed the voice's owner's intention of catching up to you, hurried and rushed as if you were to disappear at any moment. You turned around, stopping him in his tracks – only a few steps from where you were standing.

Art was wearing casual attire, a fitted white t-shirt and black pants, yet he still managed to make them look phenomenal. He looked like he was about to head to practice. You remembered it, all those mornings after spending the night together, watching him getting ready for the day.

For a long moment, neither of you talked, only drinking each other in with your sights. Art broke the tension first, seeming to reprimand himself for staring at you.

"You look great."

"You, too."

You reciprocated, albeit a little cold. There was no reason for you to lie and no excuse for the conversation to be longer than it already was.

"It's good to see you."

You sighed and decided to cut to the chase.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm here for a challenger."

"No, I meant here, right now."

You pointed to the distance between you. His answer lingered on the tip of his tongue, undecided, but eventually rolled off and made itself audible to your ears.

"I … I want to talk to you."

"We have nothing to talk about."

You shook your head. Art took one step closer to you.

"I know that I'm not entitled to your time, but I've missed you."

The latter part ignited the anger in you. How could he say that so easily? You scoffed at his audacity; your own response came with a bite that aimed to hurt.

"I don't think your wife will appreciate what you've just said."

To your surprise, at the mention of the sore subject for the two of you, his resolve remained unchanged.

"Tashi has nothing to do with this."

"She has everything to do with us."

"Not when she resents me."

For the first time in your tense exchange, you relented. You searched for Art's eyes, looking for a hint of betrayal, of deception, but instead, you found defeat. Your resolve softened, and you felt the familiar pull of a memory from when you first met at the Stanford cafeteria thirteen years ago. Two lonely people meeting one another, and now, finding themselves in each other's paths again.

But it should end here.

"Your marriage problem isn't my responsibility to solve."

"I know, and I'm not asking you to. I just … want to talk about us."

You shrugged, keeping your tone nonchalant.

"There's no more us."

At that moment, a mix of voices from a group of people came out from the conference room area, chatting among themselves. The two of you involuntarily took a small step away from each other as if the guilt by distance association was enough to make anyone suspicious. Art's desperation was clear as day.

"Can we talk somewhere else?"

You couldn't say no, so you settled for the next best thing.

"I have to go."

"Can you at least think about it?"

Art closed the distance, reaching for your hand. You were pliant to his gentle touches, overwhelmed with conflicting emotions that lapped at your conscience. A piece of paper was placed in your palm.

"Text me. I'll figure out something for us."

You said nothing to his promise and walked away; your skin felt hot from his touch. You headed straight for the conference room, and your hand slipped the note Art gave you into the pocket of your blazer.

Art's number had not been a resident in your contact for a very long time. You stared at the ten digits later that night in your room, and your fingers itched to do something about it. Burn it or throw it away; it didn't matter. You knew you should do either of those things, but in the end, you couldn't.

At about 12:40 AM, Art sent you the address to a local restaurant that was about a ten-minute drive from the hotel.

Tomorrow night. 7:30.

As the day drew closer to night, the knot in your stomach tightened even more in anticipation. You sat in the car in the restaurant's parking lot for a while despite being there early. When it was 7:38, knowing you couldn't delay it any longer, you straightened your simple outfit and walked into the restaurant. You were greeted by a bored hostess on a slow night; the place was almost empty, save for two other occupied spots. Art's table was in a more secluded area, where privacy was afforded by the enclosed booth with fake vines cascading down to the back of the leather seats in intricate weaves and big leaves. Art stood up when he saw you. The familiarity of the scene stirred a long-forgotten memory that happened seven years ago.

2012. Columbus, Ohio.

Your first book tour. After the reading and signing event, you were free to do whatever you wished, and that meant roaming the aisle of a grocery store, browsing for juice, painkillers and some chocolate. Your eyes pored over the nutritional value, or lack thereof, of a pack of chips when you felt a pair of eyes on you. That, on top of the fact that they wandered into your peripheral and hadn't made the slightest move. You did a double-take when you saw Patrick Zweig standing within arm's reach with a self-assuring smirk on his face.

"Hey. It's you."

"It's… you."

You echoed his recognition, but on the contrary to his amusement, yours was the faintest touch of dread.

"It's been a while."

"It has been. How are you?"

You turned to face him fully. He scratched the back of his head with his free hand.

"I'm … great! You?"

"I'm good. What are you doing here?"

Patrick looked around the aisle as if the answer was obvious.

"In this grocery store? I'm getting groceries."

You looked at the basket in his other hand. It was filled with chips, soda and some bananas.

"Right. No, I mean, in the city."

"I'm here for a challenger. Well, was."

"What happened?"

"I got eliminated."

He dipped his head and averted his eyes from yours, seeming embarrassed by the admission of the fact.

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"That's alright. At least I'm $300 richer now."

Patrick gestured to you.

"What about you? What are you doing here?"

"I'm on a book tour."

"Ahh. Sounds like you're doing very well for yourself."

"Thank you."

You felt sheepish at his compliment. The two of you fell into a lull of silence, your eyes intertwined in a languid game of cat and mouse. Patrick looked like he wanted to tell you something, but you had nothing to say to him. So you broke the silence first.

"Well, uh, it's very nice to see you again. I should go."

He stepped forward, trying to capture your attention in the way his body language created an invisible enclosure that temporarily held you in.

"Wait. Can we go somewhere else to talk? I think we have a lot to talk about."

"Do we?"

You levelled him with an incredulous look. But he met you with earnestness.

"Yes, we do."

"I don't think so."

"They got married last month."

It took you a brief moment to understand. Still, his decision to break the news to you in an abrupt manner took you by surprise. Your heart seemed to drop into a bottomless pit, and you could feel the frantic beat of it thrumming along every inch of your skin. You quickly fixed your frown into a forced smile.

"Well, that's great to hear. I'm happy for them."

Patrick gave you a look that said your effort was all in vain.

"You don't mean that."

"We all have to move on at some point. Unlike you."

The venomous bite of your words didn't go unnoticed by the dark-haired man before you.

"If you knew what I know, then you would be just like me."

You scoffed, crossing your arms.

"Please, we're not the same. Stop being cryptic and just say what you want to say."

He tilted his head at you, an idea dancing in his blue eyes.

"How about this? I'll tell you over dinner. We can use some catching up."

Your lack of a response made him feel like he needed to apply a little pressure.

"You'll want to know what happened. Trust me."

You rolled your eyes. You couldn't believe you were seriously considering his offer. You exhaled deeply and decided then that spending some time with your ex's wife's ex-boyfriend was better than a night alone in the hotel room.

"Where and what time?"

His smirk deepened, and you wanted to wipe that off of his face.

"There's an Applebee's nearby. How about we meet up there … around 7?"

"Fine."

That was how you ended up here, sitting across from Patrick Zweig, sipping on a Rum and Coke while waiting for your food. Whatever he wanted to say to you might pair better with the taste of alcohol. You hadn't even bothered to change out of the sundress you wore just hours before when you ran into him.

"How's it going for you career-wise?"

Patrick took a sip of his drink to delay answering your question.

"Oh, you know, it's … good. I'm making a name for myself."

You recalled his grocery haul, the pair of shorts that resembled pyjama pants, and the state of his car when you arrived around the same time as he did. The interior was messy, with rolled-up socks and clothes draping all over the back seat, trash and parking tickets in the front. Doubt swelled in your head.

"Are you? I have a feeling that you wouldn't be sleeping in your car if that was the case."

A playful smile appeared on his lips.

"Ouch. The hostel I was staying in had bed bugs, so my car was the next best option. I'll go to a motel after this, though."

You hummed, thinking back about what Art had told you about Patrick.

"Isn't your family rich?"

"They are. Not me."

His long middle finger traced the rim of his drink in a pensive mood.

"Why don't you ask them for help?"

"I don't want to. Let's just say we always fail to come to an agreement when it comes to the choices that I've made."

Your acknowledgement came in the form of slow nods of your head. You understood him for not wanting to depend on your family for anything. It would only give them one more reason to call you a disappointment for daring to seek their help.

The waiter brought out your food, and your conversation was pulled into a lull of quietude as you ate your food. You dabbed the corner of your mouth for a drop of the creamy pasta sauce, while Patrick munched on three pieces of fries. You picked up what was left off moments ago.

"You're still privileged in a way, you know? You could give up and crawl back to your family's mansion. I'm sure they'll welcome you back with open arms."

"I could. But there's no fun in that. Besides, I prefer being a disappointment anyway."

You shared a small chuckle. Under the low light of the restaurant, you allowed yourself to take him in fully. Curly dark hair, contrasted with the soft edges of his face. The light stubble along his jaw added a rugged charm to his laid-back attitude. You couldn't help but compare him to Art. Patrick's confidence was loud, veering on cocky. Art's was quiet, but full of surprises when the moment called for it.

The heady allure of Patrick and his association with Art had started to draw up dangerous ideas in your mind. You inhaled sharply, your fingers rubbed your temple in small circles in an attempt to bring yourself back to the conversation. The one you needed to have the moment you settled in the booth of Applebee's.

"So … they got married."

"Yeah. Pretty recently. Didn't even get an invite."

A sardonic huff of air escaped your lips.

"Join the club. I found out about their engagement last year, but I didn't think …"

You trailed off, not wanting to finish the thought. But the silence did it for you. Patrick nodded.

"Art moves fast. He knows what he wants and he goes for it. And no one can tell him otherwise."

"I know it all too well."

"Little fucker."

You took a sip of your second Rum and Coke. A deep sigh escaped your lungs.

"I get it, though. She's beautiful, she's passionate about tennis. She can help him in ways that I can't."

At that, Patrick stayed quiet. His eyes took you in, all of your honesty and insecurity displayed in a glass case in front of him. You felt the briefest brush of vulnerability on your spine and shivered, but you ignored it. Despite the lack of dialogue and contact during the short period Patrick visited Stanford, your shared history ran deeper than the surface-level interaction that you had.

Patrick set down his burger and wiped his mouth with the napkin. His fingers created a rhythm on the wooden table, but then, the dull melody was cut short.

"Art is devoted to Tashi, but she's not."

"What do you mean?"

You prompted him to continue.

"Tennis is not everything to Art. But to Tashi, it is."

"I figured as much. It's not new news."

An inkling that Patrick was deliberately withholding information from you came to your mind. You sat up straighter, setting your fork down.

"Spill, Patrick."

He relented after a moment.

"I was in Atlanta last year. A couple of months after they got engaged."

You looked at him, unsure where he was going.

"Both of them were there for the Atlanta Open. I … saw Tashi in the hotel they were staying that night, and we … slept together."

You searched for a hint of deception in his face, only to come up with none. His face remained unreadable, betraying nothing, leaving only sincerity despite the irony of the situation. Your mouth opened, and closed, as you were at a loss for words. Patrick shrugged as if what he had just confessed was no more than a harmless, made-up tale.

"She wants an obedient little dog to carry out her fantasy of being a great tennis player. And Art is more than eager to do that for her."

He continued, seeming oblivious to your lack of response.

"She didn't seem happy, being engaged to Art. And if I can be honest, I think Tashi only likes Art because he's loyal to her to a fault, and he'll do anything to please her. I don't think she even loves him."

That somehow took you out of your bewildered state.

"Are you even listening to yourself? He was your best friend."

"My best friend? Who sabotaged my relationship, stole my girlfriend and basically abandoned me for her?"

Your rebuttal shot forward like a bullet out of its chamber.

"So you slept with her? To revenge? Even though she was engaged to Art? You're no better than him, Patrick. Two wrongs don't make one right."

You shook your head and couldn't help the thought that rolled off of your lips.

"You tennis players are such fucking assholes."

Patrick only nodded in agreement and didn't say anything. You sighed, asking the question you'd wanted to know.

"Does Art know?"

"I don't think so."

You shook your head, feeling a wave of fatigue taking over.

"I've had enough of you people. Just leave me alone."

He held his hands up in defence.

"All I'm saying is, you still have a chance if you want it."

You gave a rueful smile.

"Am I an idiot for wanting to believe you?"

He took his time, roaming over you with a pensive gaze. You felt exposed under it, after the confession you had never dared to verbalize out loud. Perhaps it was both of your positions in this game of tennis, the back and forth that inexplicably wove the four of you together in these intricate patterns, so tightly entangled with one another, that made you feel like Patrick would recognize. There was only understanding, and no judgement. The irony was that. Tennis was a simple game when you stripped it down to its barest principles, but the interconnection between everyone was anything but simple.

"No, you're not. You must really love him."

You looked down at your empty glass, unable to meet his eyes.

"I hate that I still feel this way about him."

Even though both of you were hurt by Art, you couldn't help the question that came afterward.

"Do you miss him?"

Patrick was his best friend, and Art was his. They had a life-long history between them that you weren't privy to. Your pain and his were different in kind, but you could understand all the same.

"I do."

The rest of the meal was cast in a sombre hue, with both of you mulling over a mutual understanding and the similarities you shared. Neither of you was the winner, but that didn't matter now.

/

"You didn't have to pay for my meal as well."

He said as you walked together to his car. You came here by taxi, and Patrick had offered to give you a ride back to your hotel. You waved a dismissive hand.

"Don't mention it. Giving me a ride back is enough."

His car was only within a few strides away when Patrick stepped in front of you.

"I can do more than that, you know? To pay you back."

"How?"

"I, we, can make Art jealous."

You halted and repeated your previous question. He arched an eyebrow, his expression said nothing but trouble, and when understanding dawned on you, you levelled him with a glare.

"No. Sleeping with you is the last thing I need right now."

"Who said anything about sleeping?"

You scoffed at the obvious bait, sidestepping him to reach the passenger side of his car.

"We can make out, take a photo, and I'll send it to Art. Make him realize what he's missing."

"If you want to kiss me, just say that. No need to make up excuses."

You rolled your eyes at him and realized just how much closer Patrick was to you than moments ago. He dipped his head to look at you, his gaze traced the shape of your lips and drifted to your eyes. When he spoke, his voice softened, low and careful, and your curiosity responded, pushing back the guard your inhibition had put up.

"I really do."

He leaned in, and you rose on your tiptoes to meet his lips. The touch was gentle and slow at first as you tested the pieces you needed to fit together. Then Patrick took over, and you followed his lead. His presence was all-encompassing, sweeping over your senses. Your lips lapsed and locked together in a feverish rhythm, a playful and exhilarating chase of lust. His tongue prodded at your entrance, and you opened yourself up to him. Your tongues intertwined, determined to draw whatever you needed from the other.

You didn't know when Patrick had pushed you up against his car, but you were grateful as your strength had become dependent on him. The cold metal of his car and the solid yet soft feel of his body created delicious friction on your skin. You grasped at each other's body, groping and pulling, your lips barely parted for a much-needed gulp of air. He grunted when you bit his lower lip, and that earned you a harsh, handful squeeze of your ass under your sundress. Your body called to his, and yet, a small part of your mind beckoned you to resurface, to come to the admission of the truth that you had been running away from.

Your ardour exchange slowed as you parted to breathe. Still, you met each other in the middle for brief touches, and you eventually pulled away. Patrick's thumb rubbed at the curve of your bottom lip as if he were admiring his work of art, which was swollen and glistening with his mark. His whisper was warm on your lips.

"Did you think about him?"

You nodded and swallowed.

"Did you think about her?"

It took him a moment, but he nodded. A woeful smile graced your swollen lips.

"I don't think this is a good idea."

"Revenge is always a good idea."

You touched his jaw, forcing him to meet your eyes.

"You don't win by sleeping with me. I don't want to be a perpetual pawn in the game that all three of you play. Besides, I don't think Art cares anymore."

Patrick shook his head.

"About what happened all those years ago? Maybe not. But I think he still cares about you."

"It doesn't make a difference though, does it?"

"I guess not."

You playfully and gently pushed him back, making Patrick set you down on your own shaky legs. Your front brushed against his arousal, and you bit your bottom lip in amusement.

"Come on, you still have to drive me back."

Before getting out of his car in front of your hotel, you reached for his hand.

"It was nice to see you again, Patrick. I really mean it."

His hand came up to meet yours, giving it a soft squeeze.

"You, too. I'm glad that we got to catch up."

You left his car without saying another word. Your heart was heavy, but at ease. Moving on and forward was your only option, but it felt much easier now. Still, you wished you would never have to see any of them ever again.

Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated! I'd love to read your thoughts on the story!

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[zigrethsnotebook]

Writing a thesis

Ford x Reader

words: 1,968

tags: nsfw, they have sex in this, cockwarming

a/n: i usually try to write the reader as gn as possible but in here they're going to have a vagina, sorry:/

You and Ford both sat in his lab, him busy on whatever he was researching now and you busy doing some reading for your thesis. You were somehow massively behind schedule, even though Stanford Pines was your study buddy. Then again, of course you were when he regularly said things like he did today.

"Ugh, I can't focus! I need to be inside you." He turned his chair to face you. "Please?" Without looking up from your literature you answered him. "Love, that hasn't worked once and I really need to get something done today."

He rolled his chair over to you, virtually begging you to look at him. "We don't need to have sex. I just want to be inside you." This managed to pull your eyes out of your book and onto him. "What, like cockwarming? How would that help?"

Ford's eyes were hopeful and pleading. "We'd both get what we want? I'd get to be inside you and you'd get to keep working." You pondered this for a moment. If this would get him to be quiet it could be worth a shot.

Plus, there surely wouldn't be any negative repercussions of conditioning yourself to only be able to work on your thesis while you had Ford's dick filling you up. Surely.

You squinted at him. "Under one condition: You don't move inside me until I am done with this book. That's the very least I need to get done today and if you mess this up then I'm afraid I won't be able to be around you while I write this thing anymore."

Ford's eyes were big as he nodded eagerly. "I won't, I promise." You sighed. "Alright. Okay, so first things first. I want you to grab a blanket. It is too cold down here. I won't be able to sit here without pants and without a blanket."

He quickly stood up and went to grab a blanket out of one of the many cabinets in his lab. While he was doing that, you moved all your stuff to his desk as you would be sharing it for the next while.

Ford spread the blanket out on his chair. "Okay, pants off." You commanded and he quickly did as he was told. His dick was already rock hard and you could feel yourself clench around nothing in anticipation.

"Sit down." You told him as you got rid of your own pants. "And get comfortable. You'll be sitting there for a while." Ford gulped audibly. He was so needy already, even without words.

"Are you ready?" You asked him as you moved to straddle Ford, your back to him. His hands found your hip, guiding you towards his crotch. "Yes, I am."

You lined yourself up with his cock and slowly let yourself sink onto it, feeling him stretch you out in the way you loved so much. You moaned when you reached the end, feeling him fully inside you. Ford groaned behind you as well, already enjoying this a little bit too much for your liking.

After a moment of adjusting yourself to his size and relaxing around it you grabbed the sides of the blanket and wrapped them around your legs and exposed middle. In another swift movement you pulled your chair closer to the desk and opened your book back up.

Ford still breathed heavily behind you while also twitching pathetically inside you. You hadn't even done anything interesting yet. With his hands still on your hip holding you tight he tried to buck up once, making you gasp.

With a sharp tone in your voice you reminded him. "What did I say about not moving inside me?" You heard Ford whimper behind you, muttering a half-hearted apology. "Don't do that again," you grumbled as you turned back to your work.

The book had already been boring as hell when you started reading it, but now with Ford's cock pulsing inside you it took you twice as long to read it. After a few pages you could feel yourself starting to clench around him, your body betraying you in a desperate attempt to achieve some form of relief.

Ford just winced silently with every move of your muscles or anytime you shifted ever so slightly. But he held his promise. No more movement from him. He also kept mostly quiet. Ideal working conditions if it weren't for the fact that you were slowly starting to lose your mind.

His dick just felt so good inside you, already touching all the right spots, it just wasn't enough. You wanted to ride him until it was all you could think about. There was also a slightly wet spot starting to pool in your seat on your boyfriend, a mix of both of your fluids. Best not to think about it.

You turned the page of your book again, taking notes. Although, by now your notes were riddled with more references to your current position that you'd like. Scribbled beneath the lines of important texts were words like 'deeper', 'oh god' and 'can't think - dick too good' in an almost frantic handwriting.

By the third time you read the paragraph you were currently stuck at you clenched around him again, accidentally and quite strongly. Ford moaned behind you, digging all his twelve fingers into your hip. You hissed and pressed your eyes shut as he pushed you deeper onto himself.

After a moment he loosened his grip a little again. Breathless, he asked: "How many pages left?" You looked at your book, dreading the answer yourself. "About thirty." Ford just groaned in response. You turned your focus back on your book, determined to finish this as quickly as possible.

About twenty-five pages and a few more self-inflicted distractions later, you were so close to achieving your goal for the day. You were also so close to losing all control. The blanket was disgustingly wet where it touched your middle and Ford's cock was still twitching inside you.

Ford himself had started to softly caress your thighs as if his own weren't trembling beneath you, essentially turning his dick into a vibrator.

You turned the page again. "Just three more..." You barely got the words out, totally lost in the sensations. Ford whimpered in response, not trusting his voice at all.

When Ford heard you turn the page again, indicating that you were on the last one he decided to do something that would definitely make you mad at him. He moved one of his hands from your thigh to your middle, quickly finding your clit and putting pressure on it with his index finger.

Your already incredibly sensitive organ fired all kinds of reactions up to your brain, making you roll your eyes back and falling backwards into Ford's chest with a loud moan.

The movement on his cock made him wince but he still started to rub slow circles on your clit. Your entire body started shaking, the pleasure already too much for you. "F-ford... I'm not- nghh... not done yet." You were barely able to get the words out between heavy breaths and moans.

And even though it took all his strength to keep the statement true, he responded cockily: "And I'm not moving inside you." You wanted to be mad and glare at him, but you were so lost in his finger on and his dick inside you that your vision started to blur.

Your body now seemingly acting on its own started to grind against Ford's finger, making you also grind deeper onto his cock, chasing your own release. Ford's breath was hot and heavy in your neck as you could only lean against him for support.

He increased the pace on his finger a little, bringing you to the brink of your orgasm and then pulled his finger away, leaving you breathless and grinding against nothing. Well, his cock and nothing. "Wha... Ford, you ca... you can't stop."

"I have to. You haven't finished your book." He wanted to still sound cocky but his own voice was breathless and a needy beg to do it quickly.

It took you a moment to gather yourself, coming down from the brink of your orgasm with his dick still twitching inside you was no easy task. You clenched around him a couple of times, more or less deliberately. Ford whined your name behind you. "Please... read quickly."

You slowly sat back upright, making both of you moan at the movement. Your eyes found your book and tried desperately to focus on it but the words were still slightly blurry. A few deep breaths later you could read again.

A few minutes later you were done and closed the book shut. The noise made Ford open his eyes again, waiting for your signal. "I'm done." With that his hand shot to your middle again.

He let one finger poke underneath you to the spot your bodies were connected, feeling around your entrance. "God, you take me so well..." You whimpered and Ford traced the finger back up to your clit, resuming his previous endeavor.

You let your eyes roll back again and held onto the desk for support. "Ford... please." Ford hummed in your ear. "Yes... come for me. I want to feel you on my cock." You moaned loudly, letting him coax you to the edge again.

"Yes, Ford! I-I'm gonna..." You moved your hips against his hand again, the steady rhythm of his finger getting you to the brink of your orgasm again. "Yes! Yes!" Ford could feel you clenching around him strongly, your orgasm setting in, which Ford used to buck up hard, causing him to spill into you immediately.

You saw stars as your body shook and clenched and twitched all without your permission, the pleasure of your orgasm crashing into you like a giant wave. Meanwhile, it kept Ford hard and groaning as he came down from his own high.

You hadn't even come down from it yourself as you felt Ford buck up into you again, his finger still drawing excruciating circles on your clit. "Come on, you can go again. I know you can." Ford's deep voice said from behind you.

You tried to lift yourself off him ever so slightly, but your legs immediately gave out, causing you to crash back down onto him and both of you to moan loudly. Luckily, Ford picked up the pieces and continued bucking up and drawing circles like his life depended on it.

The needy moans and wet sounds your bodies made rang out through the entire lab and Ford mentally thanked himself for having soundproofed this area of the house.

Ford's rhythm became erratic as he panted into your ear. "Won't last... much... longer." And one thrust later he spilled into you again. "Ford... please don't- ngh. Don't stop."

Even though he was fully spent he couldn't deny you now. He managed a few more pathetic thrusts as he put more pressure on your clit, sending you over the edge again. Ford held your shaking form as you rode it out on him, both of you red-faced and panting.

As you came down you could feel his dick going limp inside you and you pushed yourself off of him on shaky legs. You managed just enough to pull him out and sit back down on his legs, the blanket around you both preventing you from going any further.

You felt his sperm drip out of you and onto his legs but neither of you cared, too busy trying to catch your breaths.

You let your body fall onto the desk. "Ford?" His hand reached up to your back and he hummed in acknowledgement. "I love you." He chuckled lightly, his voice still breathy. "I love you, too."

[middleearthpixie]

I'll See You in My Dreams ~ Prologue

A/N: This is the sequel to my 2022 story, Where I Belong. I had no plans to write a follow up to that, since it seemed Noelle and Thorin’s story was told as far as it could go. But then, a few weeks ago, I found myself wondering what would happen if Thorin somehow came back to Noelle’s place and time? What if their story wasn’t quite finished? Anyway, here is, I hope, what will be the answer to those questions. And if you’re unfamiliar with Noelle and Thorin, here is where their story began… 

Summary: Noelle James knows soul mates exist, the trouble is, she just can’t seem to find hers. Especially since hers seemed to have existed only in the world of cinema and The Hobbit movies. No one believes she actually spent time in Tolkien’s Middle Earth and even fewer believe Thorin Oakenshield existed in her world, either. 

So when she finds herself unexpectedly alone on yet another Christmas, she has no way of knowing exactly what the universe has in store for her this time.The trouble is, this man claiming to be Thorin can’t possibly be him, for he died at the hands of Azog the Defiler at Ravenhill. She saw him die with her own eyes.

So, it can’t be him.

Or can it?

Pairing: Thorin x ofc Noelle James

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 1.3k

I’ll see you in my dreams 

When all our summers have come to an end

I’ll see you in my dreams,

We’ll meet and live and laugh again

I’ll see you in my dreams, up around the riverbed

For death is not the end…

Prologue

Erebor

Thorin hadn’t realized he was humming until Thalia shot him a quizzical look, to which he replied, “What?”

“You’re doing it again.”

He bit back a sigh, setting down his fork. “I apologize. I’ve had a long day and have much on my mind. And for some reason, I cannot seem to pry the tune from my head.”

“But that song is like none I’ve ever heard.” Her forehead wrinkled, her thick, dark brows furrowing as she did so. In the flickering golden candlelight, that expression made her face, normally so round and full of laughter, look almost craggy and wizened. It wasn't the first time he’d thought so, but for some reason, it had troubled him far more often of late.

He shared supper with her every evening in her flat and until recently, it had been a highlight of his day. They got on well and she made him smile, and little by little, it seemed only natural that he should begin thinking about taking a wife. Taking her as his wife.

He hadn’t broached the subject yet, though, as the timing just never seemed quite right. Then the blasted song began echoing inside his skull. There were no lyrics at first, only the melody. But, lately, as he hummed, hints of words had begun forming in his brain.

But where had he heard any of it, for it sounded like no music he knew.

“Are you certain? I thought we heard it at Yule?”

She shook her head, the wooden beads in her beard clacking. “I know I’ve never heard it. Might you at least sing me some of it?”

He shook his head. “I recall no words, but only the music.” He reached for his napkin, dabbed at his lips, and then pushed back his chair to rise. “My apologies, Thalia. I think it would be best if I took my leave now.”

Her lips curved downward in a hint of a pout and the motion smoothed the furrows in her forehead as if an invisible filament connected them. “Have you found fault with my cooking?”

“No, of course not. It just as I said, I’ve much on my mind and I fear I’m not good company as a result.”

She rose, skirting the table to catch him by the wrist. “Perhaps a walk might clear your thoughts.”

“Thank you, but no. I think only sleep will help this time.” He patted her hand, then pulled free to strides toward the door. “I will see you come tomorrow, then.”

“Yes, of course.”

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

He stepped out of her flat, pulling the door softly closed behind him. Flames danced behind globes of frosted glass in sconces mounted high along the labradorite stone walls that were slowly being polished back to their former glory.

Erebor. For so long, Thorin could only dream of reclaiming his home, of rightfully claiming his throne within those stone walls. Now that he had, it wasn't quite the dream come true he’d once imagined. No, he’d spent nearly six months recuperating from the wounds he’d received at Ravenhill, at hands of the pale orc Azog the Defiler, and when he’d done that?

The real work had begun.

It was a two-steps-forward-one-step-back process, but over the last six months, he could at least now see the signs of renovation, especially in the main levels of the kingdom. The lower levels, aside from the forges, still needed much in the way of work, but as he made his way up to the Great Hall, cracked, damaged, and sooty stone gave way to solid walls polished to an almost-mirror like finish. 

But he didn't stop at the Great Hall. Nor did he make his way up to the ramparts, where he’d preferred to go when he needed to think and clear his head. 

No this time, he went outside, nodding at the guard in the gatehouse as he left the warmth of the fortress to step into the darkness of the winter night. Snow drifted, blew this way and that, swirling wildly about him as he followed the narrow slate pathway away from Erebor. The pathway became a flight of cut-stone stairs, worn and crumbling in places, that led up behind his kingdom, toward a different fortress. One he did not often venture to without good reason. 

Ravenhill was not high on the list of his favorite places. In fact, he avoided it as much as possible. But for some reason, he felt drawn there this evening. The tune that had been playing in his head for the last few days grew louder now. And not only that, but the words that had been but fragments were fragments no more. Instead, they became words he knew, yet didn't know at all. 

Well, it ain’t no secret, I’ve been 'round a time or two. Well, I don’t know, baby, maybe you been around, too. Well, there’s another dance, honey. All you gotta do is say yes, and if you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.

The voice singing them in his head did not belong to him. It was raspier than his and not nearly as deep. And while he didn't know whose voice it was, he knew he would know the name, should he ever hear it.

Or perhaps he was just going mad again. 

Snow blew harder now, but he didn't really feel the cold. Didn't notice the flakes sweeping his nose, getting caught in his beard, in his hair. All he knew was the voice in his head grew louder as he neared the river. 

A vision swept before his eyes. A woman. With a long tangle of red hair. In his arms.

Well, it ain’t no secret, I’ve been 'round a time or two. Well, I don’t know, baby, maybe you been around, too. Well, there’s another dance, honey. All you gotta do is say yes, and if you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.

He closed his eyes against the rising voice inside his head. 

The voice grew louder still. 

A dull thud jarred through him as he dropped to his knees alongside the rushing river. 

The music swelled.

“Leave me in peace… Mahal…” he gritted, his hands pressing against his ears as if that would somehow block the sounds. 

It blocked nothing. It didn't even quiet them. Instead, the voice grew louder. 

Well, it ain’t no secret, I’ve been 'round a time or two. Well, I don’t know, baby, maybe you been around, too. Well, there’s another dance, honey. All you gotta do is say yes, and if you’re rough and ready for love, honey, I’m tougher than the rest.

Nausea swelled. Bile rose into the back of his throat. He gagged. He coughed.

The blackness came out of nowhere, roaring in his ears like that of Smaug the terrible just before he broke through Erebor’s front façade to torch Esgaroth to cinders. It filled his ears. It pressed into him from all sides. 

And with a final gulp, it swallowed him whole. 

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[atthedugouts]

Zoo Day

Mickey scrunches up his face at the smells of the zoo. He doesn’t understand why people enjoy coming here. It all smells like shit and wet dog. But once Svetlana heard that the Lincoln Park Zoo was free she declared that Sunday would be a family day with mandatory attendance. Mickey knows at this point that he has to pick his battles wisely with his wife, he’s hoping that if he plays along with this dumb family day then he can leverage it as a way to get out of fixing the front porch that Svetlana has been nagging him about. Ian didn’t need any convincing, right as Svetlana brought up the zoo Ian jumped up to start making the sandwiches they would bring for lunch. Mickey had to stop his boyfriend reminding him that Sunday was three days away.

Sunday had arrived and now Mickey was staring at a monkey taking the longest piss he’s ever seen. The monkey kind of looked like Iggy, he took a video to send to the sibling group chat.

Mickey followed his family as they went from exhibit to exhibit. Ian read aloud all the animal facts to Yevgeny and Svetlana. Yev asked a bunch of stupid questions and Mickey did not understand how Ian had the patiences to answer all of them.

“Can it fly?”

“No buddy, ostriches can’t fly.”

“Why not?”

“Because they use their long legs to run really fast.”

“Why do they have wings?” 

“Uh, to cool themselves when they get hot.”

“Oh,” Yevgeny said, nodding his head.

“You know you could just say you don’t know,” Mickey tells Ian. “The kid ain’t going to be upset if you don’t know every animal fact.”

Ian shrugs his shoulders. “I like seeing him smile.”

When the four of them were eating their PB&Js at a picnic table Mickey witnessed another father with a bag with the zoo logo. The father proudly reaches into the bag and pulls out a stuffed lion. Mickey felt a little pain in his stomach. He didn’t have money to surprise Yevgeny with a souvenir.

“I wanted a tiger!” the little boy shouts.

“Uh, ungrateful child,” Svetlana scolds. Apparently Mickey wasn’t the only one watching this family.

“Sorry buddy,” the dad apologizes. “All they had were lions.”

“That’s very nice of your dad, right?” the mother tries to calm the child with his very loud public tantrum.

“I wanted tiger!”

“I know buddy, but the zoo store didn’t have any,” the dad looked like he was about to cry. Fucking North siders spoil their children so much that the parents lose all control of the hierarchy in the family structure. The brat doesn’t deserve the dumb stuffed animal.

“Come on,” the mother pleads. “Take the lion and I’ll buy you cotton candy.”

“Fine,” the spoiled child relents. He takes the lion from his dad and they head off to buy cotton candy. Once the parents weren’t looking, the kid dropped the stuffed animal in a bush.

“Don’t grow up to have attitude like that,” Svetlana tells Yevgeny. 

“OK mama,” Yev says.

They finished up their lunch and started to head to the bears. As they pass the bush with the discarded lion Mickey overhears two zoo employees.

“Hey, there’s a lost lion in here,” one says, reaching for the stuffed animal.

“Go take it to lost and found at customer service, I’ll let our lead know where you are,” the other says.

Mickey gets an idea that he can’t shake. He turns to Ian. “I’m gonna head to the parking lot for a smoke.”

“OK,” Ian says. “Text me when you’re done and I’ll let you know where we are.”

“Sure thing mom,” Mickey says, rolling his eyes.

He met up with them at the penguins. Mickey did go to the parking lot for a smoke but on his way back in he stopped by the lost and found to inquire about a lost stuffed lion.

“Hey little man guess what?” Mickey says when he meets up with his family again.

“A lion!” Yevgeny beams at the surprise. He jumps up and takes the lion Mickey has holding out for him. Yev then hugs Mickey in the tightest hug that his little five year old body could muster up. “Thank you dad!”

“Sure thing,” Mickey says, unable to hide his smile.

“You bought toy?” Svetlana says. Mickey can tell that she’s trying not to sound angry in front of Yev in public. Trying to not to be like the other family that she just talked bad about.

“Naw, it was free,” Mickey clarifies.

“Did you steal from that North side kid?” Ian accuses.

“You think I stole from a kid?” Mickey says, raising his eyebrows.

Ian responded by giving his signature chin look.

“Fuck you,” Mickey says. “The toy was lost and I went and found it. No rule saying I had to give it back to that brat. ‘Sides, Yevgeny deserves it more. That Richy fucking Rich propably has a whole room of stuffed animals.”

Ian’s face turns soft as he smiles at Mickey warmly.

“You’re a good dad,” Ian says.

“Shut up.”

“No , it’s true. When I was Yevy’s age Frank took us to the zoo and tried to put me in the gorilla enclosure. I think he was trying to scam the zoo into a lawsuit but instead got us all banned.”

“What are you going to name him?” Svetlana asks.

“Lincoln!” Yevgeny shares.

“Clever,” Mickey says half heartedly. “Come on little man, let’s see the giraffes.”

“Why do giraffes have long necks?” Yevgeny asks.

“Don’t know, but I’m sure Ian will think of the answer once we get there.”

[moonxsuncelestials]

"Don' go doin' that to yerself, Davi. You and I both know that Rex was never going to survive. We did all we could, Rex knew that. He's probably been reincarnated to live a more peaceful life." Beelzebub replied with a sigh.

Gods, today is really reopening a lot of old wounds. "Turns out, Akhir and Hope were also starting to affect Yun's mind by accident. Hope hadn't realized that some of his more traumatic memories slipped through and merged with Yun's-that was one helluva fun talk..."

Hearing her name, Beelzebub had to rein in his own temper. "We don' talk about her in this house." He replied. But knowing that Davion earned an explanation, the Deadly Sin told him what happened between Yue and Yun. "The long and short of it is they had a pretty nasty fight, where Yun finally told her everything and what he's been holding back. And when I say nasty, it nearly became a brawl, and you know how much damage our dragon can do."

And with Yun not holding back, Yue would have been seriously crippled or worse.

"I know Shiro was your friend, Davion. Yun, an' I won't stop you from trying to have a relationship with her. Just be careful."

Back with Citalee, the Ars Goetia-like demon looked back at Alphonse and told him that he would need to trust in Beelzebub to get to that at some point.

Davion had just been resurrected and, by now, possibly learned of Akhir. And at Edward's concern, Citalee reminded him that the council members were chosen by Sai Gong himself because they all got along with Yun in the first place.

"I'm still shocked by also thrilled at this, Sir Edward. This will benefit us all, especially King Beelzebub in their bedroom."

"Gross, Cita! I didn't need that image!" Iago whined and startled the Ars Goetia demon. The tiger demon apologized before pointing out that he just overheard that Davion was back. "Anyone inform the kids?"

"We will handle that after the meeting, Iago." Citalee replied before sighing softly.

Upon entering the room, Iago made it to his seat but not without grabbing Alphonse so that he could cuddle next to him as Citalee took to his place. From there, Edward got his answer about Davion's return: It was a good reaction. Many, if not everyone, were excited about the news, and Carmen, the Councilwoman of War, even asked if they should prep for another wedding.

As with Milo and Eric, Wěi qí slowly opened his door to reveal himself. He looked ragged and tired, the same as usual, but he was a lot paler than normal for him. "Milo. Eric. I thought you two would be with Ivory and Li down at the cottage."

"Do not fail me this time." A voice from the depths growled at the monsters.

It wasn't until four hours later, a group was sent out under orders of Yue. A Golden Guard of the Sun, The Black Dragon, The Desert Viper and A Fiery Archer.

"I know that the Lady has summoned the best of the best for this mission but...to think that I am going to face a legendary wielder of the Zanbatō of all things," Hak sighed as he was rubbing his head, sitting himself on a rock while his three other companions were looking out on the rooftops of the Cirque Village.

"Don't complain, Hak. You were the one that was itching to get out from guard duty and Madame Yue has graced your request. What? Disappointed you're not gonna fight anyone today?" Phoebus chuckled as he looked back into his telescope to spot the group they were looking for, as another sigh sounded beside him.

"It still concerns me she assigned the best two swordsmen and two of it's long ranged fighters...it's almost as if she's expecting trouble," Jasmine sounded with a frown, while a scoff sounded on her other side, and Jasmine raised a brow, "You don't believe me?"

"Aye believe ye. But yer gunna 'ave ta expect that there's gunna be trouble. Part o' de job description, lass~" The Scotswoman winked as she then leaned back and almost toppled herself onto Hak with a shit-eating grin, "Almost like ah occupational 'azard~"

It was then Phoebus let out a short but strong whistle, raising two fingers up and the three paused in their chat. Phoebus groaned as he then rolled his eyes upwards and looked away from his telescope.

"Fragmented Shard Monsters twelve o'clock. Merida, Hak...go ahead and scout. Jasmine, with me,"

"There he goes, bossing us around again," Jasmine hummed as both the red haired shooter and lightning beast rushed on ahead, and Jasmine was pulling out her clawed weapons and glanced at Phoebus, "You think these are the same forces that might be after Lady Yue?"

"If it's the very same, that means we gotta keep Princess Hime and her entourage safe as planned. Let's move out.

"Akhir, huh...?"

Davion was glad he was sitting on the bed as Yun slept, his eyes looking down at his lover then back at Beelzebub and closed his eyes. Maybe it was because he was still reeling on just waking up today, but to think he was going to be given all this...

"It makes me wish that maybe...if we were a lot more vigilant in taking care of Rex..."

No. It would be unfair to think about what ifs about Rex. From what he remembered as he watched Yun tirelessly trying to take care of that boy, pretending there was a cure and fix him...

When it was inevitable that Rex could never be fixed again. It was like keeping someone in a vegetative state and not pulling the plug in hopes they are alive somewhere inside their physical body.

The torture that Davion would never wish upon anyone.

"So...if that's the case, what happens now? What of Yue?" Davion asked slowly, realizing that perhaps it was touchy to ask, but he had to know. Shiro was his friend, his ally...so of course in extension, Davion saw Yue as someone that was a comrade as well. He was reminded so much of Princess Mirana, it was uncanny.

While that was going on, once Citalee shooed Milo and Eric to go find Wěi qí, both Elric brothers followed the taller being to meet the council, and Alphonse had to speak up about the elephant in the room.

"Is no one going to mention to Sir Davion about the prophecy?"

Edward sighed out loud, rolling his eyes upwards, "I'm sure Lord Beelzebub has that covered when explaining about Yun. What I'm more worried about is what the councils gonna think about Davion's return."

"Isn't it a good thing? Maybe then, we won't have to fight and repeat the cycle of the Calamity," Alphonse looked to Citalee to back him up on this, then looked to his brother, "We won't have to fight Zen--"

"Al, war is going to happen. No matter how much we try to prevent it, there's no way that Zen could come back once he makes those decisions. We've tried. Many times. You know that..."

"...I know," Alphonse sighed as he was looking down at his gloved hands and then gripped them tightly, "I just...he was one of us, once. He thinks he's doing the right thing, so..."

"A tyrant is a tyrant. Even if he thinks that what he's doing is right," Edward murmured quietly before he soon reached the doors where the council should be, "Welp...better to face the music..."

As the Brothers went with Citalee into the meeting room, Milo and Eric were already making their way to find Wěi qí's room and Milo stopped for a moment.

"What's up?" Eric asked the glass eyed man before Milo was placing a finger up and his necklace started to glow, "What...?"

"My crystal is telling me that a power surge happened. I think something big is going to be happening soon," Milo hummed, looking at the crystal before looking back at the sailor prince, "Anyways, shall we?"

"You're so strange sometimes, Milo, it's kinda eery," Eric was scratching his head, as Milo gave a small smile.

He has no idea...

[osachiyo]

hear me out...dazai with a catgirl s/o ... i feel like he'd be so praising and rewarding but also extremely possessive and easily gets jealous, >.<

so ! many ! headpats ! and head scratches too ofc :D he'd love how feisty you are one moment, then cuddling up to him the next <3 he'd give u so manyyyyy belly rubs, scratching under your chin, playing with your tail ! would find it so so adorable when ur tail wraps around his leg, or if you blinked slowly at him− would actually die out of cuteness if you winked, god.

[vaxxman]

Do you like red oktoberfest (like romantically)?

Aha! Interesting and very valid thing to ask! Thanks for your question!

I shall not answer straightforwardly!

Doodle (1) and rambles you didn't ask for below the cut. The answer is in the last paragraph.

Clown language.

I admit I personally prefer showing characters interact with each other and allowing their interaction to be interpreted as either romantic, platonic, or even nothing at all.

I think this approach makes relationships less framed by "signpost cues" of friendship/attraction/love (not that I do not enjoy seeing these either). I think it leaves more room for interesting human interactions, independent of what expectations the reader has for the two characters. Some people seem to search for actions like kissing, hugging, confessions, in order to confirm whether something was supposed to be romantic or not. But then, the absence of such cues make them arrive at conclusions that ignore other forms of relationship-building interactions all together :(

(Fig.1: The unparalleled amount of different flavours of intimate feelings that are evoked from "getting shot and dying on your shoulder" - disease)

So for me, it's Schroedinger's character relationships, with a generous amount of "the true value of this relationship is the collection of interactions we have made along the way" and it doesn't need a name. So with that out of the way:

I am not averted to the idea of Medic and Heavy finally getting their hot steamy Tf2 Sex Update thanks for readin-

[hadesknockedupintheunderworld]

You always have good things to say in your essays, so I am curious what your overall thoughts are on the Sonic Movie 3 trailer?

Ah, well, thank you! I'm glad that you like what I have to say🥺❤️

So, I originally watched the trailer quickly before I had to go to work. I think at that time my general thoughts overall were basically:

Team Sonic!!🥺💖

Every new installment they surprise me with just how sad and wet Agent Stone's eyes can get in the presence of Robotnik

Pop pop?! Gerald?? He's alive??

Ough parallels between movie sonic and movie shadow

...What if Movie Shadow made a connection with Tails and Knuckles over their individual struggles in finding home despite their pasts?

Movie!Knuckles wants Movie!Shadow so bad it makes him look stupid. I love how excited he is to fight him. Like they just took Sonic's initial onesided fixation on fighting Shadow from SA2 and gave it to Knuckles and I'm not complaining

They should make Shadow and Tails implied friends like the Tailstubes did. For me 👉👈

Wooo fat movie Robotnik!

Ajsjsjjsq I love how he just ripped Stone's shirt off and kept it for himself

The juxtaposition between Sonic and Knuckles here is hilarious to me. Knuckles insulting Sonic when he sees Shadow, right in front of Sonic. Sonic trying to tell Knuckles they should be reasoning with Shadow and Knuckles is like "Nope can't hear you I need to fight him!"

I wonder just how much they're gonna tie in the Knuckles tv show. I kinda hope Wade and the flames of disaster make an appearance at least

ㅤ

I did, however, rewatch the trailer for this ask, so if you'd like to see some more in depth thoughts on the trailer, I've put them under the cut

ㅤ

"Sonic, you've finally found your family."

This line is interesting to me simply because Tom says it, but it only shows Knuckles and Tails onscreen.

Now, personally, I think this series is perfectly capable of presenting a version of "family" that doesn't 100% mean the nuclear family dynamics. In other words, especially since images of Maddie and Tom weren't put onscreen during Tom's line, I like to think that harkens back to the wish Tom and Maddie expressed for Sonic back in movie 2 to find his squad (his team of best friends and wingment to grow up with). In essence, I personally do not believe this line means "oh Knuckles and Tails are your siblings now", especially since it would contradict that sentiment in movie 2 and (while I don't think Knuckles finds them family in a nuclear family way either) would be weird paired up with Knuckles calling the Whipple family "home" in the Knuckles series.

So yes. Family because they're friends, wingmen, comrades who have each other's backs and work together, not because they're siblings unified under one particular household.

Woo! I see the flames of disaster!! Nice to see tidbits of things carrying over from the Knuckles series

I am very interested in the shot of Tom uncovering the picture Sonic drew of himself and Long Claw.

I suspected back after movie 2 that we wouldn't be done talking about Long Claw. Of course this is true by default if they want to touch on the Echidna/Owl war stuff any more, which they have in every installment thus far, but I mostly mean in terms of how Sonic's past.

Personally, especially with Knuckles turning out to be the Iblis trigger after the Knuckles series, and those lines from Long Claw about Sonic potentially being hunted for his power (even though we yet have no evidence the Echidnas were hunting Sonic for any purpose), I still think there's a possibility of the movie universe touching more on Sonic and Long Claw for bigger reveals into the past (quite possibly into Sonic's origins??)

But at baseline of course we will be getting parallels from Sonic's past to Shadow's. So I'd say that how much we touch on Long Claw and Sonic's past in this movie and the importance of it will remain to be seen.

"I know it's not easy, but you didn't change who you are in here." "Yeah. In my lungs." "Or your heart."

(The following is partially a joke) Tonhon Chonlatee reference making it's way into Sonic movie 3??

Okay, so it seems to be that someone is still going to free Shadow on Prison Island? The visuals kind of suggest he just broke out, but that line from Commander Walters can also still suggest that someone breached the security (Ala SA2 Eggman) to facilitate the freeing of Shadow. In this case, I'm highly curious as to who will be doing it, and whether they will be present when Shadow exits the pod. Personally, after Movie 2 I hoped it would be Agent Stone, but we'll get our answer when the movie comes out.

WOW that shot of Shadow punching through the glass of his stasis pod is freaking EPIC. Definitely a fav scene of him in this trailer for me

TEAM SONIC MENTIONED! (Team Sonic is my favorite team, so movies 2 and 3 are wins from me in seeing team dynamics with them)

THEM CRUMBS🥺💖

I am a shameless sontails shipper and lover of Tails so this shot is everything to me

Okay, so earlier in the trailer we saw Team Sonic separately in places all over the world. Here I think at least one of these is to show them looking for someone like Shadow with intent to stop him (or to stop another threat at baseline). Also in the trailer we see a short clip of Sonic searching in a room with a flashlight.

My first thought on this is that during the course of the movie, Team Sonic's secondary objective (either self imposed or given by GUN) is to find out more about Shadow and his past. So this scene could be related to that.

My second thought is that this scene could also be Sonic taking a look for clues on the arc, though I'm not sold on this interpretation.

Third, at baseline, this is clearly a scene of searching for someone or something. No matter who it is though, I suspect the reason or room is related to either Ivo or Gerald in some form. Plus the fact that Sonic is searching most likely means he entered the scene with intent to search rather than spontaneously deciding this.

Finally, though I don't have many thoughts here. A figure can be seen in the background in the right of this clip. Since they are not also searching with a flash light, this could be a scene where we see Sonic caught in the act of what he's doing.

Commander Walters talks about how similar Sonic and Shadow's stories are during the clip of Sonic searching, Shadow in the pod while Maria stands outside of it, both pressing their palms to the glass.

While not necessarily a confirmation, this is why I believe that scene of Sonic searching is related to Shadow's past or possibly Gerald.

Also, unrelated, I really love that clip of Shadow smiling in the pod at Maria while they press their palms together over the glass. I'm completely normal about it (sarcasm)

"But where you found family and friends"

This line from Commander Walters is overlayed over shots of Tails (during "family") and Knuckles (during "friends"), a line which (like the earlier family line) I'm sure the loudest Sonic fans are making 1k note posts about.

Anyhow, I have two interpretations of the intent of this clip in the trailer, especially since it's another scene where they neglected to show Tom and Maddie in the mini montage

1. Where the scenes are cut is meant to associate Knuckles more strongly with "friends" and Tails more strongly with "family". In this case, "family" will be used in a found family/found home manner that does not denote in nuclear family with/siblings to. In any case, while Knuckles and Tails are both his friends and undoubtedly part of his squad, it remains that Knuckles and Tails do not have the same relationship to Sonic. Despite all being friends, we see at the beginning of the Knuckles series that Tails is comfortable living with Sonic and his textual adoptive parents, and that he doesn't have the same problems as Knuckles fitting in as Sonic's roommate. Likewise, based upon Movie 2's attachment to Sonic in particular and love of being considered Sonic's friend (with those moments in movie 2), combined with what we see at the beginning of the Knuckles series, it's clear to me that Tails' home is with Sonic and Sonic in specific. Tails is Sonic's friend who considers him his home, but while Knuckles is also his friend, he goes on a journey in the Knuckles series which was meant for him to find his own home (which he finds in the Whipple family). In other words, I'm saying that one interpretation of this clip is to denote the difference in strength of bond to and relationship Sonic has to members of his squad. Tails is his family, his best friend, and Sonic is part of Tails' home. Knuckles is his friend, squad member, ally, but he does not find home in Sonic.

2. The downfall of interpretation 1 is that it contradicts what I said about Sonic considering them both his family, his best friends, his squad earlier with the other family line. So interpretation 2 asserts that the whole friends and family line is meant to be applied to team Sonic. Again, especially with the absence of Tom and Maddie, I believe this is not in a nuclear family way, but as in "they are my friends, my squad, my family". As in, Sonic feels connected to these two and feels that they are family to him in the sense that they are important to him and a big part of his life. The family one chooses to stay connected to.

For the record, I'm also biased towards this interpretation of the family lines (not just because I don't personally like the alternative), but because every main character thus far has avoided ever labeling his relationship to Tails or Knuckles as inherently sibling like. Sonic movie 2 even had Maddie and Tom at the very end saying Sonic had found his squad and best friends for growing up, and the beginning of the Knuckles series has Sonic call the two his roommates, while Maddie treats the two more like other kids that live in the house than necessarily *her* kids. Then there's also the Knuckles series ending, where Knuckles calls the Whipple family his home, but the series purposely chooses not to make it clear what his role would be in a nuclear family dynamic, only that he's a part of it. All of that juxtaposed with the fact that Tom and Maddie were explicitly confirmed as Sonic's parents in movie 2 (and combined with the fact that it's not taboo in Eng Sonic media to consider Sonic and Tails as bros or media in general to confirm characters of the same sex as basically adoptive siblings to each other) tells me that those involved in these movies purposely choose to consider these characters family to each other in a way that doesn't conform to nuclear family dynamics and friends to each other as well. In other words, they have had every available opportunity (especially if Sega wanted it or approved it) to confirm this sort of relationship outright (and might I mention that Sonic being given explicit adoptive parents is more big in terms of the past mandates than someone like Tails being a bro (which has been let into eng media on occasion in the past)), and have not done so. They have not given any indication they will do so. And I feel that at this point after showing us good examples of canonically platonic relationships that are important without necessarily being sibling/nuclear family dynamics, it would be a waste to just go "yeah they're siblings" and call it a day, ripping the complexity out of it.

But that's just me.

Right after the clip I just mentioned, we see Team Sonic race each other, with Tom and Maddie starting the race.

Now I've already seen postings about how this shot is confirmation about how Tails and Knuckles are so siblings to Sonic.

Since I have my own post here, I just want to say that at very baseline I think that reasoning is incorrect. This is because the Knuckles series, again, explicitly confirmed Knuckles' home to be with the Whipple family, in contrast to how the beginning hammers in how he doesn't fit in with the Wachowski family or feel quite at home with them. They literally cannot be canonically siblings to each other if they haven't referred to each other this way and if one of the characters involved in the scene doesn't even consider this family in question his home. At best to me the association of this clip and the words about friends and family beforehand implies that Sonic considers these 4 all parts of his family in different ways (again, not necessarily with all 4 fitting into nuclear family dynamics). I don't endeavor to say Sonic sees Knuckles and Tails as siblings to him (in a situation where the feelings aren't exactly the same both ways) because, again, Sonic outright avoids considering them this way, and considers them his friends and roommates explicitly in the first episode of the Knuckles series.

Anyways anyways. I digress. The point of this clip.

At this time I'm thinking either this is a friendly race they've asked Tom and Maddie to intervene for (possible), or this is the start of the journey earlier when we see the trio at different places all over the world. In other words, it's possible they started their separate journeys around the world with a race, intending to beat each other to doing something with a friendly contest.

"Shadow found only pain, and loss"

I know how people have been talking about this set of clips, but at this time I do not believe the fire (aftermath of possible explosion) we see is the original event on the Arc resulting in Maria's death. Yeah, sure, the movie universe isn't 1 to 1 with canon, but I really do not feel like that scene is depicting the arc. This instead reads as a scene to me where Gerald and Shadow are going through a painful moment of loss in the present and being cornered by GUN for capture. It seems more like a scene that occurs partway through the movie as an event that happens rather than a flashback.

Take that with a grain of salt though. That's just my interpretation, and there's not a lot of proof to find to back up any particular one.

We've also heard rumors of time travel being involved, so it's also possible there's a plot bit involving saving Maria and reversing the hurt that way and it tragically failing? Don't know.

Also love the shot of Shadow looking at the cracked glass👌

S sorry just them again looking at each other and Sonic turning to Tails for guidance 🥺🥺💖

This entire mini clip means quite possibly a bit too much to me for a mere trailer but I love their dynamic

I have talked about it before but damn. Knuckles "He is much more impressive than the hedgehog I fought previously"

We literally see a shot of Shadow revealing himself, and then Knuckles starts talking about how impressive he is.

I know there were a lot of jokes made in the last couple years that Sonic would see Shadow and instantly be enamored, but oh how the turntables! In the end, in this trailer at least, it's actually Knuckles who becomes instantly enamored. One look and he's calling him impressive. One look, and he's already ignoring any direction on Sonic's part to perhaps de-escalate the situation by talking to Shadow, because Knuckles wants to fight Shadow so badly it makes him look stupid.

The way the interaction is done reads to me that Knuckles wants to get a go at tussling with Shadow either more than the stakes of the plan at hand, or would want to despite reality. In other words, even if Shadow "switches sides" so to speak successfully here, Knuckles would still want to fight him for personal reasons.

Of course right after this we get the subject of a billion jokes about how Shadow hates Tails so much in specific that he goes out of his way to beat him up.

Where is that meme image of the guy looking out the window holding his cigarette, just tired? (Rhetorical question)

I did not think it would be need to said but here.

If you watch the scene, Shadow kicking Tails is not presented as more important or targeted than anything else. First of all, it is within a sequence where we see him take down the members of Team Sonic one by one in a single blow. Second of all, Tails' is actually the least focused on in the trailer. Knuckles punching Shadow only for Shadow to (presumably) break his wrist is shown as a big thing (especially as a call back to the first big clash between Sonic and Knuckles that was advertised a lot for movie 2). Shadow going for Tails is something he literally cuts behind Sonic to do, which quickly segues into him grabbing Sonic and using his air shoes to boost them high into the air so he can slam Sonic down into the ground. Tails being kicked here is presented like something he had to do to get to Sonic, not him going out of his way to beat up Tails. Seriously. How can that even be true when Knuckles and Sonic get flashier and longer beat downs?

Anyways, all that aside, this scene is very neat. It's very clearly to set up the disparity in power between Team Sonic and Shadow the same way it did between Sonic and Knuckles in movie 2, with the framing this time presenting Shadow as a powerhouse unlike anything anyone has ever faced. In other words, combatting Shadow will be more of an ordeal than combatting Knuckles was.

The scene where Tails says "this is a bad idea" and Sonic goes "when has that ever stopped me".

It would be completely fine and dandy if this does turn out to be about the crew looking for Robotnik and deciding to join with him. Personally, I think this is one of those cases where a line from a movie is cut in the trailer to show that it's about something when it really has to do with something else.

Besides the fact that we just don't know when or how everyone will learn Robotnik is alive (since it's pretty well considered by the main characters that he died at the end of movie 2), I think with Tails outright opposing this and Sonic looking angry, this scene is referring to something potentially more risky and dangerous than joining forces with Ivo Robotnik. Depending on how epic the scene is, this could predate a major moment

But I'm excited to see the context regardless of what it turns out to be!

Sorry I know I said it earlier but WHOO fat Robotnik. Hollywood fatphobia aside, I'm honestly glad that Jim Carrey has been winning his battle of moving his character closer visually to Robotnik's canon design.

It's pretty clear by the "we" have visitors that Stone has been with Robotnik taking care of him at some point since the ending of Movie 2. I remember a lot of us assumed the battle in movie 2 did kill Robotnik but that Movie 3 would involve Stone bringing him back somehow. Either way, though I know this was technically dependent on whether Jim Carrey would return to this movie, I do feel vindicated for saying "Robotnik isn't gone for good since we didn't see a body and GUN didn't find one at the end of movie 2".

Agent Stone and his sad wet eyes

So to go into a lot of detail would require a proper essay post, so I'm going to try to make this section as short as possible.

Now, as far as I've gathered since movie 2, Stone's sad wet eyes appear in 1 of 3 instances.

1. When he misses Robonik so so dearly (as seen in the beginning of Movie 2)

2. When he is jealous and fears being replaced by someone else Robotnik chooses to hang out with and go on his missions for the evil plan with (as seen during the scenes where Robotnik has Knuckles with him in the Mean Bean in movie 2)

3. When Robotnik continues to change from the exact kind of slick, collected, confident, and fashionable guy we see in movie 1 in ways which Agent Stone would percieve as him "getting worse" (As seen in movie 2 where Stone sees Robotnik again for the first time, remarking that he looks different, and in the annoyance he gets in movie 2 when Robotnik leaves him out of his plans and continues to include Knuckles rather than consult or use him (Stone))

Now, clearly it is not option 1, given that he is fully aware of Robotnik's location and has clearly been watching over him.

I also do not believe it is number 2, for two reasons.

1. The context clues imply Robotnik has likely only been around Stone all this time. There's no one already living in this space for Stone to be jealous of.

2. We see Stone and his bike blocking the path between Team Sonic and Robotnik, and it's Stone who brings Team Sonic inside to appeal to him. Since it's implied Stone chose to let them in and doesn't seem annoyed when he announces their presence, he does not have the sad wet eyes because he's jealous of their connection to Robotnik in any way.

So this leaves us with option 3: Robotnik is changing further in ways that are messing with Stone, and Stone sees it as Robotnik beginning to "fall from greatness" so to speak.

And I think this interpretation is actually pretty clear. We don't see evidence of a struggle on Stone, so it's unlikely he seriously fought Team Sonic. Rather, it seems to me that they told him they wanted to appeal to Robotnik to get him to help with protecting the world, and they convinced Stone to let them see Robotnik because Stone hopes their involvement (or such a mission) will get Robotnik out of whatever his current rut is (with the state of his hair and stache and the mess in the place he's staying in, it's pretty clear he's in a depressive rut). Stone is sad to see Robotnik this way and hopes Team Sonic can fix it.

We are not actually done with Stone's sad wet eyes though, as he still has them during the scene Robotnik retreats to the bathroom for an outfit change (yes, the scene where he rips off Stone's shirt). It's also worth noting here that Stone still sounds sad during this scene.

So, this is where I take the time to talk MORE about Agent Stone in relation to Ivo Robotnik (but again without going too in detail and doing too much outright essaying). This bit is connected to the previous part, but I wanted to give it its own section since this has to do with my prediction for the future.

My theory? Stone may be set up for an eventual Dr. Starline parallel.

Let me explain a bit.

So, if you don't know who Doctor Starline is, he origates in the IDW Sonic comic adaptation. He is a very intelligent (and fashionable) scientist who holds great admiration for Robotnik, and is obsessed with him. From the beginning he'd put Robotnik on a pedestal and had wanted not only to be like him, but to be vital to him. Starline wanted to be a great help Robotnik to take over the world, and essentially superimposed himself into the position of Robotnik's number 2 (a position comparable to Stone's in the Sonic Movies, Snively in SATAM and the Archie comics, and Grimer's in the Fleetway comics). Over the course of Starline's time together with Robotnik as his self imposed number two, the two start out fairly strong only to clash more and more often as Robotnik expects a lackey who only does what he says, and Starline expects a partner who will listen to his advice. Tensions grow, Starline becomes more disillusioned in the genius and superiority of his hero, and finally, Starline takes it upon himself to be insubordinate. Believing that Eggman's plans are short sighted and destined to fail, he takes it upon himself to "fix things" by going behind Robotnik's back and bringing in the Zeti as (assumed) pawns. It is after this act where Starline decides he needs to save his hero from himself that Eggman tosses him to the side and fires him.

Now, it's worth mentioning that Eggman so easily tosses him aside because there is one thing Starline does not have in common with the other examples of Eggman's number two in other media. This is that they have the advantage of time spent with Eggman, allowing him to become attached to them enough that even smaller acts of insubordination aren't enough for him to fire them completely.

But in any case, Robotnik didn't completely reject Starline after this. He was of the mind that he'd be willing to take Starline back if Starline begged at his feet and apologized. However, since Starline had too much pride, he did not do this. Rather, he begins to believe that Robotnik still is a grand genius, just that he's short sighted and can never take over the world with how he handles the threat of Sonic. So, Starline takes it upon himself to take over the world for Eggman (since he believes he himself is smart enough to do so without falling into Eggman's folly), and then dreams of doing such a good job that it's Eggman who begs to he at his side, since Starline is hung up on Eggman's rejection and wants him to choose him.

So, what does this have to do with Stone?

Well, I have no doubt that Stone was a smart man from the start given his position related to the US gov and that he's been able to perfectly Robotnik's assistant. But you can also take Eggman's word for it as well, courtesy of the prequill comic (which takes place between movies 1 and 2)

It is also by this very comic that we know that Stone was the only man Robotnik trusted to enact his plans in his absense, and perhaps the only man he had ever shared the secrets of his manifesto.

And it's how we know that Stone undoubtedly undergoes major changes by movie 2 compared to movie 1. Not only does he have it in his mind that he is Robotnik's number 2, a man personally responsible for doing what Robotnik cannot with the mission of personally rebuilding Robotnik's glory, but this entire experience contains the purpose of molding Stone to be more like Robotnik himself.

Stone by movie 2 is more cunning and calculating in the way Robotnik is. He was given a personal mission to rebuild his master's former glory, and he throws his entire self into it. It is not a stretch to assume that Stone is saddened upon meeting Robotnik again in movie 2 because it did not match his expectations.

All in all, especially since he'd given Robotnik the tools for a makeover, I think from Stone's end he was expecting for Robotnik to return to him a man who has gone through an ordeal but maintains his style and greatness (essentially, looking like he did before), as a man of who would congratulate Stone on his work in his absense (praise him even), and take him at his side as they work together to enact Robotnik's world takeover plan.

But Stone's expectations are dashed as Robotnik arrives in a new fit, with a new stache, seemingly more mentally unstable than before (keep in mind, Robotnik's thing in movie 1 was that he was more intelligent and thought differently than everyone else, not that he was unstable. He was the kind of "genius who is written off as unstable but sees what no one else does", but since his involvement with Sonic HAS been seemingly less cool and collected and more unstable), and with a space echidna at his side. In the span of one meeting, Stone had the means to feel replaced and to feel as if Robotnik was falling short of his glory/falling from greatness as he's changed.

And then over the course of movie 2, though there are people who do Movie Ivo character study who'd agree that Robotnik does genuinely care about Stone, just is bad at showing it or doesn’t show it conventionally, it's pretty clear that Stone himself doesn't really see it. He doesn't feel valued. He doesn't even get to be used by Robotnik as he was in movie 1, actively on the road trip with him. Nope. Robotnik leaves him at the Mean Bean most of the movie.

And this is why Stone doesn't seem happy most of the movie. This is why it excites him so that Robotnik accepts him at the end of the movie and makes room for him as a vital helper.

What I assert, in essence, is that after the prequill comic, Stone can no longer just be okay in his role as he was before with little praise/acknowledgement, nor can he even he even take solace in the fact that Robotnik will always keep him around because he needs him.

So here's where the Starline parallel comes in. Now that Stone sees himself as a much more important figure in Robotnik's life, with a mission given to him by a version of Ivo who Stone could possibly see as "at his most sane" to make sure he succeeds and attains his former glory, I think he sees his number two role as less of a guaranteed thing and something he must fight to keep (this means stuff like putting himself out there at the end of movie 2 and begging to go with Robotnik, or taking it upon himself to find Robotnik after the battle and support him). And so, I suspect (especially with those shots we got in the trailer, Stone being sad at presenting Robotnik's current state, his potentially angrier faces as he's finally allowed to groom Robotnik and shave his hair, his continued sadness even as Robotnik has moved out of his rut) that we're going to see Robotnik to continue to take Stone's presence as his "sycophant" for granted, while Stone continues to become disillusioned with his idol and master.

But in the end, this is just my theory. I do not yet know how much of this will actually come to pass, but I hope it's food for thought for you all.

I predict Stone will continue to become so disillusioned with Robotnik due to seeing him as a man falling from greatness and due to lack of acknowledgement and appreciation, that Stone will eventually turn on Robotnik. But not to stop him or to become better than him. No. I predict, Starline style, Stone will take it upon himself to restore Eggman to his former glory, to eventually go behind Eggman's back and enact his own plans, to attempt to take over the world for Robotnik, and to accomplish it all in such an amazing display that Robotnik has to express that he wants him around and to acknowledge him as a partner and to praise him.

At least, that could be the plan/setup. It would remain to be seen how these two characters resolve this event (essentially, in which ways this diverges from the parallel and the two inevitably come back together again). After all, no matter what ends up happening between Stone and Robotnik, I think something will need to give and change eventually, and the two will need to make their feelings/wishes...more clear to each other

By the way, I too love the Stobotnik scenes in this trailer. We are eating good��👌👌 However, it really is hard not to see that scene where Ivo rips Stone's shirt off as another moment where Stone doesn't feel appreciated. Ivo over here ripping off a man's shirt (gay. Sorry. The people are right when they asked if it was gay for him to just rip it off and then choose to wear it during the movie), and it's entirely possible the man in question thinks that this is proof that Robotnik doesn't think much of him in this state (even if Stone is clearly not going to keep him from doing what he wants here)

"When we're done, there won't be anything left"

Cool, so Shadow is actively planning on destroying the world here. Potentially to satisfy revenge.

Interesting. So the scene with the Chao mascots also looks like an ambush is happening, with Team Sonic specifically being targeted with missiles

"What did you do?" "What I had to."

Movie Sonic has his classic extremely angry face here too, so Shadow must have done something major. It's either world ending, or it put the lives of his family and friends in HUGE jeopardy (or both).

AND FINALLY. Gerald reveal

I cannot express the surprise I felt here. This scene shows us that Gerald is here in the present, not just a man who died 50 years ago by execution. So, possible time travel shenanigans or not, the fact that he's involved in the present conflict (perhaps with Shadow personally) is highly interesting and I'm excited to see where this goes.

Also, based on the layout of the room here, it's potentially possible that either this is the same room Sonic is searching earlier in the trailer, or that Gerald had multiple lab like living spaces he was jumping between over the years to stay under the radar, and that Team Sonic and Team Robotnik ended up finding Gerald while looking into clues on Shadow

ㅤ

And...done. Whew. Wow. I had a lot of thoughts so uh. I hope my ask satisfied your curiosity, flashonetwo. I also hope for anyone that read this far that you enjoyed it at least a little bit, and that your mind is running with thoughts of your own.

I'm beyond excited for this movie, and I genuinely can't wait to see what happens next. So here's to seeing how much we get right in the future, and here's to enjoying what we get!😊❤️

[accirax]

a surprising sequel?!

[the-broken-pen]

could you write a snippet where hero and villain both show up at the same time to rescue civilian from supervillain please?

The hero’s pulse pounded in their ears, panicked and so loud–there was so much blood, oh god, they couldn’t tell where it was coming from–that they didn’t hear the villain behind them until they were slamming their elbow back into their ribcage. The villain caught it with one hand, running their gaze over the hero and their blood slicked hands as if assessing for injuries. When they did the same to the civilian, the villain went so still the hero wasn’t sure they were breathing.

The hero felt a little dizzy, actually, and they were trying incredibly hard not to cry, because that was their friend on the floor and they were never supposed to be involved in this–

“Hero,” the villain’s voice was stern, but not unkind. “Breathe.”

They choked on their next inhale, and the villain pressed against their chest with one hand until they breathed out again. There was something about the villain’s face, smooth and unyielding like stone, that pulled the hero into focus enough for them to suck in another breath.

“They need help,” they managed to gasp. The villain gave them a singular nod in confirmation.

“Yes. They do.”

“We need to–”

“You,” the villain interrupted, “need to calm down.”

“They’re dying.”

“And that’s not going to change if you’re too panicked to see straight. So take. A deep. Breath.”

Miraculously, the hero did. It was easier on the next breath, and the next, until their vision was clear and they could see the horror in front of them with all too much clarity.

The civilian was still breathing.

The villain released the hero’s elbow as soon as they realized the hero wasn’t about to panic again, grazing their fingers over the civilian’s tattered clothing in search of the worst wounds. They prodded something and the civilian winced, face bruised and entirely, blessedly, unconscious. “Pressure,” the villain gestured, and the hero. complied.

The hero knew better than to let up when the civilian, abruptly half-lucid from pain, tried to bat their hand away, but bile still rose in their throat.

“How are you so calm,” they said, and even they could tell their voice was slightly too close to hysterical. The villain glanced over at them, eyes dark, before ripping a makeshift tourniquet to tie around the civilian’s leg.

“I panicked once,” some memory, deep and dark and full of pain, flashed through the villain’s eyes. “I promised I wouldn’t do it again.”

The hero took the wad of cloth the villain handed to them, pressing it back down over the civilian’s stomach. It turned red under the hero’s fingers far faster than they would ever have wanted it to. Not that they would ever want it to, but if someone was bleeding they would at least want it to be slow–

“Oh,” they managed, voice strangled, and the villain took a moment to assess them once more. 

“Breathe,” the villain reminded. “They’re not dying. They’re beat up, but they’re stable. Emergency services are already on their way.”

The hero watched more blood well up around their hands. Pressed harder.

They would be digging red flakes out from under their nails for weeks.

“You’re normally calmer,” the villain remarked casually. If the hero’s brain wasn’t so stuck on the image of their friend bleeding below them, they would have recognized this for the distraction that it was.

“They didn’t choose this,” they whispered, throat raw. The civilian didn’t have powers, and they hadn’t chosen to use them for good or evil. They just lived, so kind and so normal.

“Neither does any other bystander,” the villain said.

“They’re my friend,” the hero willed the villain to understand, somehow, the enormity of this. The pain of knowing that it should have been them on the floor, that supervillain had done this because the civilian had been there and the hero had not.

A mistake of epic proportions. The biggest failure of their life. Not being there.

“So?”

“So it's my fault,” the hero’s voice broke, and they ducked their head down to hide the tears as they welled in their eyes. Distantly, they could pick up the barest trace of sirens, almost out of reach of their enhanced senses.

“Hero,” the villain said, voice gentle. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s mine.”

The hero shook their head–

“No, listen to me,” the villain’s voice gained an edge to it. “It’s not your fault. I pissed supervillain off this week. They know the civilian is my friend. This was deliberate to hurt me, and I need you to get it through your thick skull that there was nothing you could have done to stop this.”

The hero wasn’t sure who the villain was truly saying this to–the hero, themself, or the version of the villain that had panicked so long ago, and suffered for it.

“I could have–”

“You couldn’t.” The villain’s stare was all encompassing. The hero wanted to believe them. “Stop blaming yourself for the pain other people are causing.”

“That’s kind of my whole thing,” the hero tried for something light, airy. The both of them watched it fall flat off their tongue.

“No, it’s not. Your thing is saving people, not beating yourself up over everything you think you could have done better.”

The hero didn’t have a response to that. Just stayed staring at the villain as the ambulance skidded to a stop, the red lights flashing off the villain’s hair and eyes.

Someone reached for the hero’s hands, still pressed tightly to the wound, and they flinched away, gritting their teeth. 

The paramedic raised their gloved hands as if comforting an animal. “I’m here to help,” they said slowly. 

It felt terrible unclenching their hands, letting the paramedic take their place, sliding the civilian onto a stretcher an unending minute later.

The hero swallowed hard, knees numb against the pavement, and let the villain hook their arms under the hero’s armpits to haul the upright.

“Alright, there we go,” the villain murmured easily. The hero tracked the paramedics as they closed the doors of the ambulance. 

“I should–”

“No,” the villain interrupted. They seemed to be doing that more often than usual, the hero thought slowly. “You need to get cleaned up, and eat something.”

“I need to go to the hospital, I can’t just leave them alone,” the hero argued. They tried to jerk themself from the villain’s steadying hold, and failed.

“Trust me, they’ve got a whole team keeping them alive. They’re in good company.”

“I’m failing them.” It was an entirely irrational thought, but it stung in the hero’s chest, burning its way into their ribs as an ‘almost’ truth.

“You’re taking care of yourself so that you are able to take care of them. You can’t pour from an empty cup, and you're at empty. So, we’re going to get you some clothes that aren’t covered in blood, a sandwich, and go from there.”

The hero realized between one blink and the next that they were exhausted–bones aching and made of stone, dragging them down further with every second. By the time they reached the villain’s car, the only thing that was holding them up was the villain; the weight of panic and a too long day spent trying to save the entire city pressing down on them.

They were dumped into the passenger seat without fanfare, and if they weren’t so tired, they would have protested about the blood, or question how the villain had gotten their car here.

The villain slammed the door, settling themself into the driver’s seat a moment later. They dug through the center console, too dark for the hero to make out what they were grabbing, before they scrubbed the hero’s hands with a baby wipe. 

They had the engine started before the hero had a chance to look down at their own–now clean–hands.

“It’s not your fault,” the villain said again. Their tone left no room for argument.

“You keep saying that,” they watched as the city lights flickered through the car windows. “Why?”

The villain’s jaw clenched in the periphery of their vision. When they answered, it was so soft and quiet the hero almost didn’t catch it.

“Because nobody said it to me.”

The hero let their head slump against the window, half-asleep as they watched the roads vanish behind them.

“Hey,” they said quietly. They didn’t have to look up to know the villain’s attention was solely on them.

Sleep pulled on them until their voice was little more than an exhaled breath. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

The villain sucked in a shuddering breath.

“It isn’t your fault.”

Before sleep managed to swallow them whole, the hero swore they caught a single tear streaking down the villain’s cheek.

[holocene-sims]

next // previous

august 16, 2021 11:00 p.m. grandma ong's house

there’s a strangeness to a quiet enclave in a bustling metropolis, unexpected in the same manner as grant and henry’s long, unbroken brotherhood. nothing about the baseline rustle of neighbors carrying in paper grocery sacks and kids kicking a soccer ball resembles the eternal merry-go-round of life–max-capacity subway cars, clueless and loud tourists, and locals who drift through their day–just down the road. and yet above this neighborhood–and the entire sprawling city–hangs a common thread, a bluish hazy night sky.

“that was wild,” henry says, suppressed laughter bursting forth from deep in his chest, “all day everyone’s defaulted to speaking english because, well, look at you, and you even had me fooled. i actually forgot you kind of speak basic korean."

“the inner machinations of my mind are an enigma.”

henry rolls his eyes dramatically but in the same split second, throws an arm around grant’s shoulders.

“i was afraid that soup was going to fly out of your mouth.” grant returns the gesture, though it requires him to lean down so as to not smother henry’s face instead. “too close for comfort.”

“well, in my defense, i was not expecting you to reply to my grandma asking me, “daehyun, i haven’t seen your friend since your wedding. how did you meet again?”

grant shrugs. “we met on a playground twenty-four years ago.”

“on my very first weekend as a resident of the semi-good ol’ US of A. in the opposite situation. i remember being so pissed that my parents made me go out to ‘make friends’ that weekend. not moving, mind you, but making friends. i guess they were psychics, though, because apparently, it didn’t bother you that i didn’t speak your language for at least a couple weeks.”

“people say i could talk to a wall.”

henry laughs again. “you could. you’re very chatty.”

“did it bother you that i wrote you some really, really, really shitty letters in korean in the early days based on online translations i found?”

“no, that was sweet.” no question about it–the joy in henry’s eyes is determined. “they were definitely horrendous, but it’s the thought that counted. you could do better now. oh, and i think i still have all those letters. i should. i did box them up when i moved out of my parents’ house.”

they were, all things considered, never very much alike, beyond the fact they both liked cats but weren’t allowed to have any. henry’s mom was allergic, but grant’s parents despised pets. otherwise, they were polar opposites. grant always liked math and science, wanted to work with airplanes, and preferred to spend his free time with others playing tabletop RPGs and computer games; henry always liked art and history, wanted to be a photographer, and preferred to be left alone to his vintage film camera and pottery. grant’s parents raged when he selected aviation over medicine; henry’s parents and grandparents, all artists, were delighted by his dreams of photography. moreover, grant selectively speaks his mind, while henry rarely minces words.

and still–

the shrill honk of a car off in the distance disturbs grant’s thoughts.

“you really could talk to a wall, but hey, why did you approach me on the swing set that day? you were already busy hanging out with your sisters. and your cousins. why me?”

and still, the two have fused into one. the world turned upside down; grant paints these days, henry has long been a willing dungeons and dragons player, and separation from one another is like losing half your body. if henry walked away now–ended this messy half-hug early–grant would turn to ash.

“well,” grant begins, drawing out the suspense with an exaggerated sigh, “first of all...”

[oleander-nin]

I feel like they would react the same way if the Mc was a powerful villain

Mc like actively trying to kill them and end the world, and they just pick them up like a cat and say "no" before dragging them away from the "world ending plans"

Tbh, after a while, it just becomes a running gag between them. Like Mc want to hand out with them but doesn't want it to be obvious lol

Pretty much😅

I feel especially with someone more 'powerful'(however you choose to interpret that), they'd be less watchful as you'd be more able to hold your own, but if you go against them or try to 'take over the world' and such, they'd have so much fun stopping you. They'd feel it was just a huge game, which it more or less ends up being.

[valiant-portabella-pirkko]

cracks my fingers

for the asura ask game: 1, 3, 24 for non-evil Ruju

and 1, 8, 27 for Sylffa!

Just an asura ask game

Thanks so much for the ask!! Time to crack my OWN fingers because that's a whole lotta questions-- I offer you Rat Lore, Deluxe Edition(tm) below the cut for everyone's convenience.

1. Do they fit well into asuran society or are they more at home with other races? How do they feel about fellow asura? Is it because of their personality or something else? Is there any deal maker or breaker?

It's probably no surprise that Ruju's opinion of asuran society isn't particularly great. Between growing up among Inquest and struggling with a learning disability that made school much harder for him than his peers, the guy just never felt like he fit in anywhere. The highly individualistic dog-eat-dog culture really did NOT do him any favors. Even in his Dynamics timeline he still felt like an outlier, preferring hands-on work and often requiring detailed written instructions that he could refer to when his memory blanked.

It really wasn't until Ruju left it all behind to join the Vigil that he ever felt like he really belonged somewhere. He still keeps in contact with his old krewe as friends, but they all know he's never rejoining.

Likewise, his initial feelings about other asura are generally cautious at best. And at worst? He's been known to get pretty hostile even right at the start if someone puts him even a LITTLE on edge. Ruju's much more likely to give a fair chance to others who are like him, leaving it all behind to find somewhere they feel more at home. While he can learn to live with asura that are proud of their own personal accomplishments, those that cross the line into mocking other races and customs raise his hackles IMMEDIATELY. The guy has no patience whatsoever for the ideologies that allow the Inquest and others like them to flourish right there in Rata Sum. He also tends to assume the worst of anyone with past Inquest ties, even if they've long-since left the organization behind.

But really, any asura stubborn-- and perceptive-- enough to get past Ruju's prickly exterior will eventually find an extraordinarily loyal friend. He's tough to win over, but even tougher to shake.

So I know what you're (maybe) thinking; 'are there any races Ruju gets along with better, then?' Well, that's complicated. He didn't have a whole lot of contact with other races until he left Rata Sum, so most of his knowledge base was from asuran stereotypes of their cultures-- which, well, led to more than a few awkward and insensitive encounters. It took him a while to feel them out on their own terms and figure out what was true and what wasn't.

Unfortunately, this guy's mouth moves a fair bit faster than his brain most of the time. That probably says it all right there.

The only race he never warms up to is, ironically, the charr. He finds their heavily militaristic society and loyalty to the chain of command too stifling for the most part, despite initially relating to their ferocious fighting spirit. It's really only the outliers like Rox and the Olmakhan that he winds up liking by the end. By contrast, he comes to really appreciate both norn and sylvari-- and he'd probably like skritt a lot too if he was a bit more open-minded about them. But alas, Ruju is pretty sure that having more than one chaotic rat in a room together would lead to horrible no-good things, and he MORE than fills that quota.

3. What's their family like?

That one was answered over here!

24. Do they have any particular opinion on the Peacemakers and the Arcane Council (and Eye)? Do they have any direct experience with them?

HOO boy this is another meaty one. Ruju didn't really have experience with any of them until he moved out to Rata Sum, but none of his interactions were particularly positive. When he was young and naive he wanted to believe they were better than the Inquest... And then he realized that the moment there was any real danger-- or ESPECIALLY a direct conflict with the Inquest-- the Peacemakers were always conspicuously absent. As soon as he noticed that, all semblance of respect was out the window.

Ironically this menace actually WANTED them to do their jobs, at least in the situations where it actually mattered. (Like, say, when Teyo is wreaking havoc with hacked security golems.)

As a result, the Peacemakers got the brunt of his rebellion; Ruju found out pretty quickly that they didn't dare to rough him up because of his parents' notoriety, and he absolutely took advantage of that to be a pain. On top of that, magitech cuffs would almost always fall off from his air element shorting out their circuitry, creating a whole fiasco as they assumed he was slipping them on purpose. Sometimes this led into wild 'races' across the city when he'd get sick of squabbling with them, just casting superspeed and swiftness on himself and bolting... Straight to the cells. All that fuss JUST to turn himself in without being cuffed. Once they realized Ruju was messing with them and not actually trying to escape, they just stopped chasing and let him at it-- and put that note specifically on his file to try and warn any new recruits not to engage.

Not that every rookie necessarily READ that file, though...

Regardless, Ruju still spent enough time in a Peacemaker cell during his younger years that they practically had one reserved for him. But despite the many arrests, he never really considered them more than a nuisance-- and a method of getting back at his parents by being a total embarrassment in public and getting them to pay his bail.

The Arcane Eye on the other hand... Over time, Ruju's opinion shifted from vague annoyance, to disrespect, to outright disgust. In his Dynamics timeline, well. Let's put it like this. He had the option to either reveal the truth of Gorr's research on the Elder Dragons to everyone via transmission, or go violently beat an entire squad of Arcane Eye officers to death in their own hideaway. Guess which option won out. (How has this guy NOT gotten banished.)

Likewise, he can't stand the Council either, but just generally tries to avoid them and stay out of their jurisdiction. And after what he did to their finest spies, that avoidance is DEFINITELY mutual. He's threatened multiple seated members at this point and they don't particularly care to test whether he'll make good on that.

Ironically, Phlunt is one of the few he can actually tolerate. Meanwhile, lock him in a room with Flax or Haia for more than a few minutes and the Council might have a very freshly vacant seat to fill.

Now for Sylffa's questions!

1. Do they fit well into asuran society or are they more at home with other races?

8. Do/did they have a krewe?

You can find both of these ones too over here!

27. Have they been impacted by that whole Pact thing? What do they think of the First Pact Commander, Aurene and the whole Elder Dragon mess?

Sylffa was a member of the Priory when the Pact first started taking form, but limiting her knowledge and exploration to a single faction always bothered her to an extent. So, saying that she was curious about the prospect of expanding her horizons would be a MASSIVE understatement. As soon as those doors opened, she was practically on the first flight over. If something THAT big was in the works she absolutely wanted to be a part of it! Getting to work on the Pact airships was one of her proudest moments, immediately followed by getting to see the fleet she helped design soar into action.

While Sylffa might not have seen a lot of the action herself, she also made a point of assisting many of the outer camps with repairs-- along with working on defensive measures to keep dragon minions at bay. She was NOTORIOUS for seeing just how many laser cannons she could cram onto the walls before they'd have structural issues. Some would argue that she wasn't taking the situation NEARLY seriously enough, but the rest would respond that even if she was maybe a bit too excited about getting to see her heavy artillery designs at work, you couldn't really discount the results. In reality, burying herself in her work was just the easiest way to compartmentalize; focusing on getting results and then putting them into action made all the stress worthwhile.

The fall of Zhaitan wasn't the end for her, either. She stuck with the Pact all the way through to the end, occasionally sending inventions to Ruju to test out in the field. A few-- like a prototype position rewinder-- have stayed in his inventory to this day.

As for the Pact Commander and Aurene: that definitely depends on who it is! In any world where Ruju reaches that station, she definitely has a positive outlook on the two! They might not be as close as they were during college, but still very much qualify as friends. He shared quite a bit with her about his 'honorary progeny' during Aurene's younger years so she knows the dragon isn't quite as scary as she might seem. They've only ever met briefly though, with Aurene having assisted her group during a Branded outbreak on Dragonfall. Sylffa made a point of saluting her before she flew away.

In any other version of events, though, Sylffa would've been unlikely to know much of the Commander and Aurene-- aside from their role, that is. She would've considered an honor to meet them, though! And even MORE of an honor if they used any of her gadgets in the field.

If you were to ask her if she had any regrets now that the cycle is over, she'd claim she wishes she could've given Primordus a good whack herself for her ancestors' sake-- but really she's just glad it's over. In the wake of the dragons, Sylffa hopes she can put her focus into inventions that help people via means OTHER than blasting dragon minions to bits. She's made enough laser cannons, it's about time to try something new for a change! How she'll apply her expertise in the future remains to be seen, though.

[tmnt-reticent]

I love that Raph and Mikey are twins in this it’s a first

Aw, thank you so much, Im so glad that you like them!!! I love the twins so much hehe they're one of my favourite duos to write! It's definitely not a first, though. Whilst rare, there are other iterations that exist where Mikey and Raph are twins! However, cause it's such a rarity, I can't think of any examples off the top of my head :( (if anyone can please do inform me!!! I know I've seen a couple over on Instagram, but it's far more difficult to search for stuff on there than it is on tumblr chbixghjgcij)

Reticent is almost a year old (not super old but older than the majority of iterations im personally aware of) so it could have been one of the first, as most iterations that feature twins utilise Leo and Raph or Leo and Donnie (nothing wrong with that ofc!!),but honestly there's so many tmnt iterations out there that there could have been dozens before it that included that concept and they've just flown under the radar for the majority of people. I hope that isn't the case though. If it was I would hunt them all down and repost the shit out of them so they'd hopefully get noticed‼️‼️‼️🗣🗣💯💯💥💥‼️‼️

Thank you for the ask! If I do find any iterations that also feature Mikey and Raph as twins I'll reblog this with their @s or links‼️‼️‼️💖💖💖🫂🫂🫶🫶🌸🌸🌸🌸‼️‼️‼️