#at least the ghost of a relationship is something

[bardicindignation]

okay okay okay so bear with me here, and keep in mind that a. I haven't watched the bad batch or anything Star Wars has put out since the Mandalorian season 2 and b. It's been a minute since I've listened to WTNV and I've only listened up to ep 146.

So! here we go!

I stand by my casting for Padme, Anakin, and Qui-Gon, but I actually think that Obi-Wan isn't the Steve Carlsberg of this AU-he's the Man in the Tan Jacket. I've read at least one WTNV fic where the Man in the Tan jacket is Cecil's brother that he has no memory of and I know this god jossed by later canon but I really liked the theory! But in this, he's not Padme's "brother" he's Anakin's, and Anakin is the one who has some kind of (Palpatine fuckery induced) memory issues. (more on this later)

I spent some time debating with myself over who would be the Tamika Flynn equivalent, was kinda waffling between Sabine and Ahsoka but then! It occured to me that, hey, Ahsoka's kind of close to Padme in canon, and she did the whole like wandering journey thing...So Ahsoka gets to be Dana Cardinal! (without the becoming the mayor part. I don't think that would suit Ahsoka tbh.) So, Sabine is our preteen explosive revolutionary, joined by Ezra. For no reason other than vibes, Dooku is definitely The Woman From Italy Serenno. (...Or maybe that's Mother Talzin and she's the Woman From Dathomir idk). Hmmm...alternatively, Dooku is Marcus Vanston and the Erika's are Force Ghosts. Yeah, Mother Talzin can be the Woman from Dathomir

The Faceless Old Woman Who Secretly Lives In Your Home was kinda tricky, and frankly I feel like the Star Wars character who most matches in terms of Gremlin Vibes is Yoda, so we've got the Little Green Troll Who Secretly Lives In Your Home. (Look. It would be so funny to put Yoda in a mayoral race.)

Cut Lawquane, you know, the farmer.

As for Steve Carslberg, the honor goes to Sola Naberrie, towards whom Padme has an animosity two parts concealment of Sola's relationship to Padme Amidala (an open secret) and one part sibling aggravation.

I was super close to having Maul be Lauren (evil, talks too much) but then I thought it would be more fun if he, Savage, and Feral all make up a literally three-headed dragon.

As far as Clones go, I think that they were secretly created by SepCorp (Seperatist/Strex Corp). The Coruscant Guard is the Sherrif's secret police, Rex and the 501st are planted with the scientists, etc. SepCorp thought that it would be much harder to have this infiltration, but the town immediately accepted clones existing as Normal (I mean, look, they all know that Amidala is like at least 4 people)(with some exceptions).

The whole chips thing doesn't come into play until the SepCorp takeover, and are pretty quickly jail broken by Sabine & co with help from Anakin, and (virtually, Ahsoka.) Echo is Fey/The WZZZ numbers station (or the ARC station) and also helps free the rest of the clones from the mind control.

Now, as for Obi-Wan/Man in the Tan Jacket, Anakin, and what the fuck is Palpatine doing, anyway?

Anakin caught the attention of Palpatine (aka the secret CEO of SepCorp) shortly after he began attending college. Palpatine proceeded to spend Anakin's undergrad grooming him to be his right hand in Strex Corp. (Maybe he was posing as a professor or smth). This plan got messed up when, upon starting his graduate program, Anakin ended up roommates with Obi-Wan Kenobi (who had recently left Nighvale after his worst fight with Qui-Gon yet.) Obi-Wan (unfortunately for Palpatine) forms a fast and strong (if sometimes contentious) bond with Anakin, which results in Anakin changing his focus for his graduate degree to something less what Palpatine wants and more what Anakin is interested in.

Palpatine is Not Amused. When it becomes clear that Anakin is no longer interested in filling the job that Palpatine has so generously created or him in Strexcorp he decides that something Must Be Done. He enacts some kind of curse or smth on Obi-Wan, removing all memories anyone has of him, and making it very nearly impossible to form new ones, beyond that he's a Man in the Tan Jacket.

Infuriatingly, this does not immediately result in Anakin running into the loving arms of SepCorp, but Palpatine is able to pull some strings and get him into the research team destined for...oooh! Starvale, of course the town is Starvale!

But back to Padme! I feel like this is a great vehicle for Padme to be every bit as insane abt Anakin as he is about her bc...let's be real. She absolutely is; just because she seems to be more chill by comparison doesn't make this actually true. Padme is not the Normal One. There is no Normal One.

Also, given the handmaidens, this has interesting implications for the double incident, huh? Like, do Padme and the handmaidens take the doubles arriving in stride, or do they feel at a deep, instinctive level that these are Not The Same Thing? Does the eldritch station management actually know the difference between Padme!Amidala or, say, Sabe!Amidala?

Now, I think that Palpatine is also Leonard Burton, and was Padme's radio mentor. With all the concerning implications involved etc. He somehow still doesn't really get how Starvale works. (Maybe a faliure to keep Padme under his thumb prompted him to search outside Starvale and ultimately find Anakin). Dex runs the Moonlite All-Nite Diner.

Not sure who the Apache Tracker would be...unless he's Quinlan Vos deep undercover (Obi-Wan, possibly the only person who knows that it's him, will never let him live this down) and fakes his death. idk tho, this one's tricky.

Mace Windu is the mayor. This man deals with So Much Shit in canon, he deserves the chance to be a little unhinged, and to have mayoral powers, as a treat. Plus, he's canonically a theater performer. He could do the drama, he Has The Range.

And uhhh, yeah! that's what I've got!

(there's another version of this set in the GFFA where a Supposed To Be Dead Padme is doing like, a rebel broadcast, Obi-Wan is Old Woman Josie, and Anakin/Vader is both Carlos and Steve Carlsberg. "And Vader came around to kill a bunch of people with his stupid, perfect, shiny helmet, and his sexystupid murderwalk. He's the worst person to ever exist and I defintiely, definitely, hate him. It's just and only hatred.")(And yes, this is partially inspired by hometown blues)

Natalie Portman wearing a Panasonic FM Stereo Headset RF-60 from the 1970s 

[cherie-doll]

I have this brainrot for a while now

Which cod man would be the most husband material, who waits for the shortest amount of time before getting married? And who would be the one who would be fine with not getting married at all? And where are the rest of them?

How many kids would they want if they want?

I don’t need sleep, i need answers!😭

sorry for the delay my wifi is so slow, we just got a new batch of snow down here and tbh it might be affecting my internet

✧ Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, Roach, Alejandro, Rudy, Phillip Graves, Makarov, Keegan, König, Horangi, Nikto

ᰍᩚ Price... he's PERFECT husband material. Cut from the finest cloth I'm SO normal about him. You've just observed his behavior closely and he doesn't do annoying things like leaving his clothes lying around on the floor or leaving unwashed dishes in the sink. He def want to get married, but doesn't wait too long nor asks you right away, he'd time it just right. As for kids? Maybe he could convince you to have one or two...

ᰍᩚ Ghost... he doesn't realize he can lowkey be a good husband. He thinks he's not willing to adapt to anyone, given how much stuff he's been through. A relationship isn't the worst thing he's had to go through, he's gone through worse, so why is he thinking about it so much? He doesn't want to enter a relationship with only half a heart, not mindlessly. But he knows his feelings towards you don't come from nothing. His feelings would have to be resolved before you even started dating, so that afterwards everything progresses pretty smoothly. And after marriage, kids? Maybe idk.

ᰍᩚ Soap... he probably had your entire life planned out before he confessed. He knew he loved you, was convinced he wanted to marry you and needed to have kids. So, he waited the least amount of time to marry you. There's lots of things he could improve on as a partner but the good thing is he's willing to make any and all of those changes for you. His respect will never run dry, he won't let desperation take ahold of him, always letting you know one way or another he still cares. It was up to you to decide how many kids you'd be okay with but if it were up to him... yk what better not go there.

ᰍᩚ Gaz... Perfect boyfriend AND husband material. He loves showing affection with the little things, a cup of coffee or tea and cuddling when you feel down or taking care of chores when you need a break. Simple things that he does on the daily that in the long run fortify your relationship. The amount of time he waits before asking you to marry him depends and it's all on how you want your relationship to progress. He's surefooted in his decisions so after the initial stages of the relationship when he's gotten to know you very well, your faults and what he loves about you, he just lets you know that if you want to take that step, he's more than ready to do so. He def wants kids, at least three.

ᰍᩚ Roach... oh my sweet boy ToT. He's such boyfriend material and in time will no doubt grow into a loving husband. He very deeply cares about your connection and how deep it runs between you both. The topic of marriage comes up at a very proper time in your relationship, it's when all he can think of is holding your hand every day, how comforting your presence is to him and how this couldn't ever revert into something casual. Marriage is a definite yes for him. Kids are something he wouldn't think of right away. Maybe a few years down the lane, and maybe one.

ᰍᩚ Alejandro... you made him wish impossible things. How you've made him feel, the sensations not only running smoothly over his skin but finding a way to penetrate deeply, to make him desire nothing else but a life with you. Marriage was the ideal way to continue living in that daydream. How he wishes the days were endless, so he can rejoice for eternity with you. If this was what made him wish to be better, then he was surely husband material. In time, he'd want to start a family with you, to create life, to have little ones to take care of. Three or four kids would occupy his days.

ᰍᩚ Rudy... is THE blueprint for all husbands out there to follow. He's very patient, his voice soothes you, could lull you to sleep. Always listens to you even if you rant, if you point out a flaw of his he works to be better. Never pushed you into doing anything, even when he could already hear the wedding bells ringing, he wanted you to make this decision on your own. In the back of his mind, he most likely already had baby names planned and asked if you wanted kids. He def did and wanted three. He thought it was the perfect number.

ᰍᩚ Phillip Graves... husband material at its FINEST. He's not only charming and a gentleman as a boyfriend but also as a husband. He just couldn't wait to put a ring on your finger so he did want marriage very soon. There is no way he'd NOT want children, he's just as much father material as he is husband material. I've said it before but he was made to father children and I will die on that hill. He loves going everywhere with his son, showing him how to run a company and then he gentles when his daughter is born, doing everything she wants.

ᰍᩚ Makarov... husband material at the core. Deep on the inside he can be genuine and want to care for someone. He likes having someone to depend on him, under his care, leaning on him for that strange affection that isn't found anywhere else. It would be hard to refuse him with the amount of gifts he sends to sweeten you up and coax you to accept his proposal that came too soon for your liking. But look at it this way, he'll always provide everything you'll ever need and want and in exchange you only have to agree to marry him, live with him and... kids. Yes, he wants kids. A numerous family preferably.

ᰍᩚ Keegan... is quite levelheaded when it comes to relationships so he's fine with staying your boyfriend and living with you or becoming your husband when you marry. He could improve on becoming peak husband material but you're lucky if he picks up his clothes from the floor and places it in the laundry basket instead. He thinks having no kids is better until you get a scare thinking you might be with child and he gets excited until you call false alarm. He felt disappointment and then realized he did want kids after all. Would be fine with just one but wouldn't completely be against having another one later on.

ᰍᩚ König... it's not him you have to worry about when it comes to marriage. He's got to watch out for himself because YOU'RE going to wife him up, otherwise he'd never get around to asking you to marry him. Not that he wouldn't want to but he's thinking when would be the perfect moment to ask and he's always thinking, "I'm going to ask them next date", and another date comes and goes by and then another and another... He'd learn to be so loving with kids you just gotta convince him he CAN be a good father. I don't know how many he could handle though.

ᰍᩚ Horangi... he's fun but he's prob best as a boyfriend. Not that he could never be a husband because he can, but he'd be completely fine with not marrying. If you're expecting him to bring up the question and get down on his knee for you... then you're probably setting yourself up for disappointment. It'd take him a while and you'd have to hint at wanting marriage, because otherwise he wouldn't mind just moving in together. I know I used to say he'd want marriage quickly but idk man my perception of him changed. He might get baby fever (rare) and he might ask for ONE kid them, but don't think he's the type for them much.

ᰍᩚ Nikto... if he does open up to wanting a relationship you've got to work with him on the long run. He might be closed off to certain things simply because he might not see a point in progressing in that field, but once he sees that you respect him and don't force anything, he'd def want to marry you. I'm not exactly sure how long he'd wait before proposing to you, honestly it all depends but once he grows attached to a person he wouldn't want to be apart from them so I'm guessing he'd tie the knot pretty soon. The topic of kids is something he's very hesitant of, he rarely gets baby fever, like ever. It'd have to be a lot of convincing on your part. But he might be okay with one or two at most.

[sweetheartbitesb4ck]

part one || part two || part three || this is part four

The weeks following your first 'date' with Simon were full of going on little walks together, but most of all? The pings, to say the least. He would text you so often it came as a shock to you he even had a job. You found it amusing, sure, maybe even annoying, but you hadn't anticipated the sheer silence when he was 'away with work', as he put it.

You had guessed that meant deployed or something of the sorts... and it worried you, yeah, but your feelings for him were still new and you didn't want to get hurt if anything was to happen.

You'd been excited when he'd promised to write to you a few days before he left, but as the days flew by with nothing more than some bills, bank statements and late birthday cards dropping through the letter box it occurred to you that Simon Riley had been too blown away when he first saw you in your house to remember the road name, and far to drunk when he first spoke to you to remember the number on your front door.

So Simon sat there when he wasn't fighting or in briefings and had downtime (which was rare) writing letters he knew he couldn't send away, partly because it was a risk to send stuff away and partly because he would just blank on your god damn address every single time.

He didn't even have his phone because of something to do with trackers and intel and it was all a bit of a fuzz of unconfirmed information that Simon had explained to on a walk a few days before his departure.

This is what worried you. You obviously knew the dangers, and you two weren't even 'official' yet, but you would have liked to be updated. You couldn't help but feel a bit sick when your mind travelled to the horrors his job could boast.

Prior to his deployment, you and Simon had got to know each other a little better, which only made your nerves worse now you had more of a bond, plus you had gotten to see the less flustered version of him. You'd mostly talked over the phone but had also gone on a few walks together. It felt weird; missing someone you'd so quickly fallen for. You could only hope as the days blurred into weeks then into months.

Then, two months later, Simon was back. He'd been resting and getting medical support for a day or two before he journeyed home, and his first thought? It was to retrace his steps down that one road to that house with the open window that had changed everything. He could have slept, unpacked, done anything, but all he wanted to do was to see you.

You groan as you hear a knock against the door... you'd just about drifted off after hours and hours of tossing and turning, your head reluctant to rest. Trudging downstairs, you pull on a hoodie over your pyjamas. "Who the fuck..?" You murmur, clicking on the hallway light and unbolting the door, ready to dive back into bed.

"What?" You grumble as you swing the door just a crack open, your eyes widening and breath hitching at seeing that tall frame and skull mask. You slam it shut, fumbling to unlatch the door and burst it open, flying into the bulky man's arms and screaming.

Simon grins under the balaclava, stumbling backwards slightly as you bounce onto him. "You alright?" He asks, his voice so nonchalant even as you wrap your arms around him. Probably still trying to seem cool for you.

You pull back, face still covered in shock. "Fucking alright? That's all you have to say?" You cry, voice a few pitches higher than usual. "Fuck, Simon... you said you would write!" You mumble, leaning back in to hug him. Part of you wanted to say there forever, holding him there and squeezing him as hard as you could, but you knew you should probably invite him in. So that's what you do.

His mind flicks back to Soap's so called relationship advice, the words "honesty is key" in that loud Scottish accent rattling through his mind. "Okay fine," He grunts, avoiding eye contact. "I hate tea. Can't bloody stand the stuff."

"Well," Ghost replies, shoving his hands into the big pockets of his tactical jacket as he steps inside, shutting the front door behind him and following you to the kitchen "I didn't know your address," He admits, smirking as you raise an eyebrow at him and snicker. "Oh yeah," You chuckle slightly, trying to refrain from smothering the poor bloke as he takes a seat at your table. "Tea?" You tilt your head and glance at the kettle.

"I hate t-" Simon bites the inside of his cheek and curses under his breath. Fuck... He thinks, realising him lying about loving the drink would probably wean him into having it regularly. "Tea's great," He nods, noting how you raise your eyebrows, expression sceptical.

Simon nods, rubbing his eyes sarcastically. "It's probably too late to walk home, aye," He says, eyebrows raised.

You huff with amusement, flicking the kettle off and rifling through your cabinet. "I'm out of coffee,"

You and Simon chatted for hours, sitting at the table. At first, he was jittery, but he soon relaxed, trying to stop staring at you, although this was hard as he finds you so breathtakingly perfect.

A few hours later, you tilt your head and smile at Ghost as he yawns. "You must be tired," You say softly, leaning on the counter.

"Yeah," You respond, scratching your neck with a mock confusion. "Lucky I have a double bed, eh?"

And with that, the two of you curled up on the mattress, Ghost pulling you towards him, arms firm around you as he let the gentle rise and fall of your chest guide him to sleep.

"You're sure?" Asks Ghost, his nervous expression from the coffee shop returning to his face. He was still terrified of scaring you away, but wanted nothing more than to collapse onto your bed and just hold you. You nod, smiling gently. "Come on." Taking your hand, Simon follows you upstairs to your cosy room, allowing himself to relax, stop being awkward. The decoration alone made him feel at home, probably because it shone with your personality.

Love. Simon was sure that's what that feeling was... the one that had seized his whole being since he first set eyes upon you.

Never in a million years would he have predicted this if he was asked about his future a few months ago, but here you were, two awkward and unsure people falling in love from nowhere.

thank you sm for reading! I hope you enjoyed part four..! if anyone wants a part five, I'll most likely do it, ( I just need to figure out what I'd write... probably something about the letters) but yea if u want that just let me know.... also, feel free to make any asks for fics u would like to see :)

sorry if my posting is irregular for a while! I'm back at uni and work after the Christmas break so very busy

[eyelambspider]

𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐚… 𝐊𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐬𝐚𝐤𝐞 || 𝐂𝐎𝐃 𝐇𝐜𝐬

┊𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 : John Price, König, Ghost, Weaver x gn!reader ┊𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : these military men have a cute 'secret' photo of you quite literally hidden on them, its just a uh-memento to look at when off duty ┊𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : (un)established relationship (you can pick), fluff ┊𝐚/𝐧 : next: old love languages smhhh (maybe)

▹ John Price

Price has always kept a photo of you with him. Always... Well, since you'd met him.

Its a picture you had insisted he get rid of when he took it himself and showed you.

It showed you truly laughing. A bright, 'embarrassing' smile on your face that completely lit up your eyes and showed your teeth before you could cover your face shyly.

Maybe you didn't like it, but Price had stowed it away for 'safe-keeping' ever since. Once promising to get rid of it but of course... he couldn't really do it, could he?

Price keeps it under the brim of his hat, where he wouldn't let anyone take it.

He keeps the image in great shape, making sure there's a protective film over it, trying not to bend or fold it in anyway. Hell, he'd sew it in there whenever he got the chance... but he likes holding it when no one's looking too.

Every time he looks down at it-the picture of you laughing and pure-it makes him smile too, the rough pads of his thumbs brushing over your face.

▹ König

König technically has two photos of you.

One is on his phone in his photo gallery, and the other is a small polaroid you had taken of yourself.

He is free to look at the one on his phone whenever, and its something quickly available... yet he doesn't really open it if there are people around try to glance over his shoulder at what he's looking at.

So, he deeply treasures the tiny polaroid and tries to keep it as safe as possible.

König is the least discreet, to no fault of his own. He's usually caught the moment he tries to look at either one. Either fumbling with his phone or slapping the photo close to his chest so that no one would see.

He just really likes looking at them.

Acts like it never happens and vehemently denies everything, even if to Horangi its pretty obvious.

Sometimes König draws over the pictures, idly doodling either next to the polaroid on a piece of paper while he's doing work or running his finger over his phone screen.

▹ Simon "Ghost" Riley

Ghost keeps a picture of you too.

Its a small thing, someone had taken when the two of you weren't paying attention. A celebratory photo after a mission.

The moment it was taken, mostly without his knowledge, he had snatched the photo away in hopes to burn it later. Leave no trace of himself to wonder.

But fuck, he couldn't.

It was actually... nice, once he got a good look at it. The image of you both together, standing so closely. The way he looked at you in the photo-brown eyes soft and fully raptured by your face behind his mask-was enough to make him scoff.

Of course the camera caught the exact moment of he showed a bit of fondness.

Still, he keeps it to this day. Buried under all his other meager gear. Folded back so that his image is tucked away and yours stands out.

He doesn't like looking at his face, just yours.

He'd never take it out to the field, where someone could possibly discover a possible... to know your face and use it against him, but sometimes in the loneliest of nights, he takes it out just to look at it.

▹ Grigori Weaver

Weaver would never admit it, but yes, he has a picture of you.

He doesn't want you to know, or find out about it.

If you did, he just denies it and claims "he doesn't know where that thing came from"

but truthfully, its his most precious keepsake.

Its what kept him going through all those years he'd served in prison.

A simple image of your face.

The photo is no bigger than his palm, and its just of you. A small portrait.

The picture is old and worn down lovingly. The corners soft and rounded, and folded in half so many times he had taped the back of it to keep it from splitting entirely in half.

Clearly, it means a lot, with how much care he's tried to put into mending the delicate thing.

He hides the picture in his breast pocket, close to his heart, and in a place only he knows.

It brings a sense of comfort sometimes, knowing your image is so close when he's out there trying to 'fix' things.

[nalyra-dreaming]

I've been seeing people say that Loustat is like Ellen and Orlok from Nosferatu, but I always saw Lestat and Magnus as Ellen and Orlok or Dracula and Mina Harker. I'm not sure if the people saying this just don't know what's coming or maybe I'm missing something. I'd love to know your thoughts!

Mhhh. I have not seen this Nosferatu yet. I know the old one and a million Dracula movies :)

I do know about the discourse wrt this version.

Loustat is not like Ellen and Orlok. Louis is neither groomed nor invites Lestat over years on end, no matter where you lean to in the discourse.

Louis and Lestat… date.

And fall in love.

But I would not compare Lestat and Magnus to them either.

Magnus and Lestat do not have a relationship, whether it be grooming or an inviting one.

Magnus tracks, hunts, kidnaps and rapes Lestat. And that‘s it. Even later, Lestat more or less flees from Magnus‘s ghost bc he still has PTSD.

I don’t think that’s comparable - to either.

S3 will be dark and hard to stomach, at least in the flashback parts.

And I bet it will… surprise quite a few people who think they know what IWTV is about - on several levels.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Eyeless Jack and Jeff x proxy!shy!ghost!reader

motivation is doing the yoinky sploinky right now-- dipping between being incredibly low and incredibly high... but like not in the normal way... like rapid shifts up and down. hate it, so much notes: reader is gn, short post, this is a request, jeffs kind of an ass, slender mansion au for hehe, youre slendermans proxy since thats kinda the default for proxy stuff i think cws: mentions of canon typical violence and death

EYELESS JACK

honestly? hes pretty respectful when it comes to your whole... ghost thing... hes not going to poke and prod to find out how you died. thats your personal business, and you give him the courtesy of not asking about his past

he also understands your shyness... hes reclusive himself- an introvert, but not shy. he does speak up for you in group settings when people try to pressure you to speak up or do something- or when they start talking over you. he is not going to be taking any bullshit at all, hes going to cut that out the second it starts...

youre allowed to come into his room whenever, the door is always locked but you dont need a key. you can simply phaze through the wall to join him in whatever it is hes doing... the only time he doesnt want you around is when hes eating

you do the killing, he does the eating... he doesnt usually accept "food" from other people- he wants to be able to do the hunting himself to figure out who to pick off- but... sometimes the people who wander into the woods suuuuuuuuuuuck so hes down with disposing of them

JEFF THE KILLER

hes nosy so for the longest time hes going to be trying to figure out how exactly you died... and jeff isnt exactly tactful when it comes to asking about something that could be sensitive. wants to know all the details... at least... until you mutter a two word response alluding to it- if it was something truly traumatic. its only really then that he drops it... mostly this is pre relationship stuff... funnily enough he will fiercely defend you and shut anyone down who tries to pry you for answers after that

youre shy and quiet... reserved... and he is... not... hes loud and arrogant, completely full of himself and out there. youre opposites, and sometimes he drags you along for whatever he has planned that day just to get you out of the mansion. wanna go out killing randoms with him? go rob some store for snacks? wanna just fuck around and be idiots? come oooooooooooon! its his own way of trying to get you out of your shell

just about BARKS when people start talking over you. seriously, that man can yell real loud when he really wants to... it... leads to having more eyes on you than before... and you... dont really like that...

will loudly complain about you being a proxy- youre always so busy out doing... what exactly do you do? he... kind of forgot when you explained it to him... will shit talk slenderman to you... hey why do you look like youve seen a ghost (see what he did there?)... no seriously why did you go quiet- (he does... not get away with the shit talking)

[rockscanfly]

i'm here from ao3 and your writing zoomies!! could you do charles discovering (early on in their pining/not yet couple days) that arthur frequently draws him in his journal? 💕

Charles knew, objectively, that Sean MacGuire wasn’t the cause of all of his problems.

Subjectively…

He was one more bout of annoyance from tying the little shit up in a tree and using him as panther bait.

Sean’s latest assault on Charles’ peace—and there’d been many, since rescuing the red-headed menace—began when the gang’s loudest braggart approached Charles at the guard outpost outside the gang’s camp at Clemens Point.

“Charlie! Top of the mornin’ to ya!” Sean sing-songed, holding something aloft, waving it about like a prized catch.

Charles squinted through the glare of the sun, then scowled, raising the guard rifle slightly. “That ain’t yours,” he said, indicating the worn, leather-bound journal dangling from Sean’s fingers.

Sean shrugged, scrambling briefly for a high seat atop a nearby boulder. “Big man came into camp at the tail end of my shift,” he said, pulling a corncob pipe from his pocket. “Needed to work on my reading to get Summers off me back, didn’t I? And King Arthur’s wee book here’s the only one in camp with pictures.”

Charles guessed the boy thought the pipe made him look sophisticated. In reality, it deepened the already strong impression that Sean was an overgrown kid playing at a man’s game, trying desperately to fill the bloodied boots his father had left empty.

Everyone in the gang knew everything there was to know about Darragh MacGuire and his fight for a free Ireland. It was hard not to, considering Sean never shut up about his old man.

It seemed to Charles, who had a much more complicated relationship with his own dead, twice-damned father, that Sean was forever trying to take on the guise of his father’s ghost. A way of honoring him, maybe.

His father’s memory was certainly the only thing Sean knew how to honor. As made clear by the mocking, lackadaisical way he held Arthur’s journal aloft.

Charles took a deep breath, forcing the anger building in his chest down. Sean had perched out of reach, and Charles didn’t want to risk damage to the journal before he wrangled it from the little thief’s hands.

“Give that here. Please.” Charles tried, gritting his teeth.

Sean laughed. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t ya? Admit it, Charlie. You’re as curious as anyone about what the old man scribbles down in here.”

Charles sighed, pulling the rifle’s sling from his shoulder and leaning it against the boulder.

“You’ve got ten seconds,” he said, not dignifying Sean’s jab with a response.

Of course he was curious. But Arthur was his friend, and Charles knew to respect the man’s privacy.

Charles drew his knife from its holster on his thigh.

Sean smiled, a little nervous. “C’mon, Charles,” he said, scrambling a little higher on the boulder face. “Take it easy now, big man!”

Charles took a few steps forward, placing one foot on a foothold in the rock. Sean was scrappy but Charles was stronger. And he knew he had much, much more experience grappling than the skinny outlaw.

“Five seconds,” Charles warned, brows furrowing in a scowl that had sent grown men soiling themselves across ten state lines. “We can do this the easy way, Sean. Hand it over.”

“Don’t you wanna know what he wrote about you?” Sean squeaked, voice high with panic.

Charles paused. “Excuse me?”

“Well, I don’t know what he wrote,” Sean backtracked, a little confidence slinking back into his tone. Charles had flinched, and that was enough for him to get back on the front foot. “But there sure are a lot of sketches of you in here, big fella. Some might say more than strictly friendly, in fact.”

Charles rolled his eyes. “You’re lying,” he said. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. Arthur had no reason to sketch Charles. Least, no more reason that he had to sketch anyone else in the gang. Sean was attempting to instigate mischief, per usual. “Time’s up.”

Charles stepped up, climbing the boulder one-handed. He paused when Arthur’s journal was suddenly in his face, thrust forward by the panicking Irishman.

“I ain’t no liar!” Sean exclaimed. “Look here!”

Charles blinked.

Taking up two pages, rendered beautifully in soft pencil lead, was a full body sketch of a man riding a horse, hair flying behind him in the wind.

It was cleverly rendered. Clean, dynamic lines gave the sketch a sense of forward momentum. The rider’s expression was joyful, grin wild and free as his eyes fixed on some distant point in the horizon.

It was also, undoubtedly, a picture of Charles riding Taima. Sketched with what could only be described as a loving hand, every detail captured, down to the precise curves of the scar on Charles’ cheek.

continued here on ao3

[applestorms]

the restoration of greatness to rome

Beyond Birthday is an exceptionally average man with an exceptionally weird name. 

Except, no. That isn’t quite the case either. It’s a bit of a misnomer to claim that Beyond was in any way average, at least when looking to any degree below the surface. 

That surface-level mask was, however, nearly flawless. Bland and uninteresting, sweetly endearing in a way that added up to nothing, the type of boy you’d take home to your parents and they wouldn’t be able to remember the face of afterwards. It had almost turned Naomi away at the start, flicking through dating app photographs so generic they could’ve been repurposed stock images. It was everything she wasn’t looking for after Raye, after the complete and utter destruction of her fairytale daydreams about living a normal and peaceful married life. As a little girl playing with dolls she had never considered the possibility that she might be the one leaving her fiance hanging at the altar. But what is life if not a continuous train of terrible surprises? Where you find out that, more than anyone else, you are not the person you thought you were? 

Beyond Birthday had plain black hair which he kept plainly and neatly cut, a plain face with a small nose and boring jawline, and a sweater vest so milquetoast and typical she only remembered he was wearing it while in the process of looking at it. He had a job so asinine and lifeless she’d forgotten it nearly the second the words came out of his mouth, and lived in an apartment complex so lacking in notability that she had lingered around the doorway for five minutes trying to find the right building before realizing she was already outside of it, thereby rendering herself a full three minutes late to their date, as Beyond himself was quick to point out. 

Frankly, the fact that she had ended up on the date at all was a stroke of luck, the stars and planets perfectly aligning to allow her cat to dig his claws into her leg at the exact instant that she happened to be scrolling past his profile. Certainly, ghosting probably would’ve been easier. An accidental superlike is an annoyance, perhaps a particularly awkward one, but not the end of the world. But, still… 

There was something else under the surface. 

“Are you going to finish that?” 

She shoves the plate of jam tarts across the table without a second thought, blinking out of her stupor. 

Beyond Birthday was a stranger. They had exactly one conversation through text and two conversations through calls, all of which culminated in this exact meeting on this exact date. She knows that his name is the real one written on his birth certificate, that he was born somewhere in England but lived in “alternative circumstances,” that caused him to never develop the accent outside of rare instances of words like, “chthonic” or “eschatological,” and that he claims to have a bit of a sweet tooth but subtly gags every time he tastes anything even slightly sugary. This final point is confirmed shortly after she pushes said plate of tarts across the table, sharp eyes catching the way his jaw clenches and throat rushes to swallow as soon as the food enters his mouth. 

She can’t understand why he would bother to lie about such a thing. But then again, she never was all that good of an FBI agent. 

She finds Beyond much more pleasant to deal with in bed, with his face down in the pillows and his back arched into the mattress, ass up in the air. His moans are very high and endearing, honest in a way that he isn’t otherwise, and very, very different from Raye, a highly appreciated change of pace. She kisses the back of his ear and quietly praises him when he squirms, and then holds him in her arms and brushes the hair back from his face when they’re done and he falls asleep long before she would ever be able to. 

She doesn’t quite know why she accepts a second date. Usually, fucking on the first was a good sign that the relationship simply had no room to last. She shows up at his apartment at the usual time regardless, this time half an hour early to make up for her previous mistakes. He scolds her for intruding on his private time. Their date begins with a trip to a jewelry store where she sits, silently fuming, in the white leather chair they keep at the back of the store for tired old husbands and over-enthusiastic holiday shoppers, waiting impatiently as he picks out the single most expensive silver watch in the store and then gets on his knees to clasp if around her wrist himself. 

She doesn’t know much more about him by the second date, and doesn’t gain much knowledge either. But, luckily, what information she does have becomes very relevant when it comes to enacting her own revenge by teasing and edging the pleasure out of every square inch of his body, holding him down until he whines so loud she has to stuff her own t-shirt in his mouth to keep from waking the neighbors. 

The next morning she offers him breakfast as an apology. He accepts, tersely, and then fucks her in the bathroom in front of the mirror, hiding his face in her hair while he pins her up against the counter. 

At some point, she simply stops leaving. 

It’s everything she ever wanted with Raye, but three steps to the left. Twisted, unusual, perverse. This isn’t the way that things are supposed to happen, and this isn’t the type of man she’s supposed to fall for. He’s perfect and average and she likes him for all the wrong reasons, for the lies and the temper and the borderline psychopathic ease with which he describes the process of how he would theoretically enact a series of murders, betraying his own underlying anxieties and weakness in the process but staring at her like he’s trying to see if she notices. Below the surface is something convoluted and tangled and jagged, and she delighted all too much in the fact that she had found what she had sought, a mutual, greater evil to drown out the call of her own insecurities. 

Naomi Misora never liked herself all that much. 

But perhaps, in this, she can find something she wants more than to keep hating herself.

[476b]

i need to stop going after emotionally unavailable men. and emotionally unavailable men need to stop being hot.

[captainpangolin]

AND WHAT IF KITTY STARTS REFERRING TO CAPTAIN AS HER FATHER? DAD? PAPA? DADDY (IN AN UPPER-CLASS, NON-SEXUAL WAY)? "THIS IS MY FATHER, JAMES"!? WHAT THEN? HUH??????

WHAT THEN, I IMPLORE YOU--

[delusionalbitchinthehouse]

Special angst. Featuring touch-starved Special, homemade quintessence fuckery and lore, basically Special can't touch anyone or they die, Omega and Delta try to help.

CW : Angst, like pretty heavy angst I think, Hurt/comfort, talk of death

Ghouls are social creatures. Not all to the same extend, not all in the same way, but the fact remains : ghouls thrive in eachother's company, in the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is waiting for them, ready to welcome them.

And, ghouls are physically affectionate, as a result of this need to be close and feel surrounded by loved ones. Of course, it's a generic rule, and it doesn't applie the same way to each individuals, but, most of the time, ghouls live off of casual touch, hand holding, hugs, cuddles, clasps on the shoulders, arms slung around waists, tails intertwining.

It's Satan's best joke, really, that Special can't even have that.

That he's so fucked up that not only no one bears to be in his presence, but he could also kill the poor ghoul who'd pity him enough to try and give him a hug.

Because Special's elements are all pulling him in different direction, trying to evade the too tight confine of his body, weak fire sorrowfuly begging to be smothered out, destructive quintessence furiously grasping at every bits of vital energy it can find, literaly sucking the life out of anyone stupid enough to have any kind of skin-to-skin contact with Special.

At least it's vaguely less awfull now that he managed to contain the devastating effect of his quintessence to his body - the screams of agony of the people who tried to approach him after his summoning, Omega's pained grunts as he backed away, the soft blanket he had held out for Special falling at his feet, the sheer terror on the ancient ghoul's face as he watched the humans unfortunate enough to be in Special's quintessence's range dropping like fly, oh, Special remembers it all so well.

Six Siblings died that way, simply because they were standing too close to him. Omega was, too, and is only alive because of his highly resistant nature, allowing him to stumble back in time.

It took weeks of sitting across from Omega, safe distance between them, training relentlessly to try and tame his quintessence, before Special could evolve around people without draining them. But it worked.

Provided he stays dressed head to toe, not a silver of skin showing, of course.

Special could, theoretically, be on the recieving end of ghoul's typical affection, the soft nudges, pats and caresses rythming their lives, long as no one makes contact with his skin, long as all those displays take place through a layer of clothing.

But then again, Special can't blame them for being wary, and prefering to stay away altogether. They're right, after all. You never know what might happen, if Special won't suddenly lose control and kill everyone in a three meters radius just by existing.

Special hasn't see anyone in days. Omega said he'd come by, but he hasn't yet. Special vaguely remembers something about Delta the...water ghoul, right ? Well, one of them anyway. There's a lot of those around, Special keeps forgetting who's who, doesn't see them enough to properly remember. He sticks to the dark corners, only goes out in the dead of the night, only watches the other ghouls from afar, except maybe for Omega.

But Omega's not here, hasn't been here for too long, busy taking care of Delta, whatever that means. Special wonders if he'll come back. Special wonders why he needs Omega to come to his room, why he can't bring himself to get up and go find the quint by himself. It's not like it's forbidden or anything. He just can't do it, the thought of opening his bedroom door in the middle of the day strictly unfathomable.

No, Special, at least during the day, needs someone to open it, someone to drag him outside if he really is needed, like for interviews, because apparently he's the only fucker who agreed to do them when neither Papa nor Omega are free.

A third choice, that would probably be even further down the list of candidates if it wasn't for his uncanny ability to entertain humans, with jokes and crudes, snarky remarks masking the cracks of his shattered soul.

So Special waits, sitting motionless in the middle of his bed. He hasn't seen anyone in days. He hasn't been touched since forever. No, that's not true. Omega cupped the back of his head the last time he was here, protected by the mask and balaclava Special always has to wears, and pressed a kiss to the metal covering his forehead.

It had nearly unraveld him.

Special doesn't know why Omega still bothers with him, what sick sense of responsability pushes the quint to visit Special as often as he can bear, why he insist on being so patient, so gentle, smiling with sadness in his eyes.

Special doesn't want pity. But he could never tell Omega not to come back.

His hair is getting too long. It's itchy in the back of his neck, keeps getting stuck in folds of fabric. Special shifts uncomfortably, thinking about stealing a pair of scissors and chopping it off himself. It's always a delicate task, cutting his hair : he's not good at it himself, but whenever Omega's doing it, he has to be extra cautious, avoiding any contact with Special's scalp, not even able to properly run his fingers through it. Special's hair is never perfect, always a bit messy, as a result, but now it's even worse.

He really needs Omega to come back.

It hits Special like a freight train.

He needs Omega to come back. He needs to hear his voice, to see the lines and creases on his face, the tired slope of his broad shoulders, the softness of his eyes. Special needs his tentative, fleeting touches, needs to talk to him, needs to be carefully held, even if it's all tainted with Omega's guilt, obligation and pity.

He needs to know Omega hasn't moved on, hasn't chalked him up as a lost cause, that Special hasn't lost the only comfort life ever granted him.

A knock startles him out of his thoughts, his whole being shaking with relief at the familiar pattern.

"Spesh ? Can I come in ?"

Special nearly sobs. His voice scratches in his throat.

"Yes."

Omega slips in the room. He's maskless, and Special drinks him in like a ghoul starved. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept in days, but. He's smiling. Omega is smiling, wide an bright, eyes gleaming. It makes Special's own lips pull in an unfamiliar direction, up up up, until concealed under the mask, his mouth weakly mimics Omega's.

"I have good news for you, Spesh. Really good news. Would you let me bring someone else in here ?"

Special visibly flinches, though still half frozen, cossed-legged on the bed. Omega's face softens in that way Special yearns for.

"It's okay, it'll be fine. I promise. Do you trust me ?"

Special doesn't need to think about the answer, nodding with more conviction than he ever displayed before. It gets a soft chuff out of Omega.

"Attaboy."

The quint moves with a grace Special envies, reaching for the door and opening it like it's the easiest thing in the world. Maybe, to him, it is.

The ghoul that steps in looks just as tired as Omega, if not more, but is also sporting a smile, hair an absolute mess, looking like it got chopped with absolutely no regard for the aesthetical result, as uneven as it is unruly.

"Spesh, this is Delta, remember ? Delta, this is Special."

Special blinks, unmoving as a statue, as he often is. Sometimes, he thinks that if he keeps perfectly still, the universe will forget that he is supposed to be, and simply let him stop existing.

Delta. Yes Special remembers. He doesn't smell like most water ghouls, though, it's quite disarming.

"Hello, Special," Delta breathes, barely above a whisper, "it's nice to officially meet you."

Unsure of what to do with that soft tone, with how genuine Delta apparently is, Special looks toward Omega, silently begging for guidance. The quint goes to sit next to him, one hand brushing his back ever so slightly. Special has to bite his tongue to contain a relieved whimper.

"He's here because we discovered something, and I have a theory," Omega explains.

Delta is standing straight, hands folded behind his back, withstanding Special's wary scrunity with an easy smile. Something about him is...off, Special notes. It's not necessarily bad, but it intrigues him.

Delta looks like a water ghoul. Blueish tint to his grey skin, gills, needle sharp fangs, webbed fingers, a few fish-like scales visible on his forearms. And yet...

Special doesn't realize he's leaning forward until Delta tilts his head in amusement. He leans back immediately, clasping his gloved hands tighter on his lap.

"I think," Omega goes on, "that he might be able to touch you without consequences."

It's instinctive, the way Special stiffens, shaking his head desperately at Omega, clearing his throat to find his voice again.

"No, no, no, Megs, it'll end up badly-"

"Listen- listen to me, Spesh, listen," Omega interrupts his panicked babbling, craddling his masked face between two big hands, "i'm not pulling this out of my ass, okay ? Delta here, well, we needed a new quintessence ghoul, at least for a little while, until we could summon a new one, and...Delta volunteer for an...elemental transition of some kind."

Special blinks, shaking in Omega's grip. Well, that explains the funny feeling, the strange scent.

"But...Delta's still water," Special rasps. Omega hums, nodding.

"Yes, but not exclusively. He's not...quintessence either. It's more like...he became a vessel quintessence can pass through. He can channel it from the outside, dig it from the source rather than something within him like us quintessence ghoul do, quite literaly pull it from thin air, let it flow through him, and release it."

Special frowns, trying to wrap his mind around all this.

"But...raw quintessence, the one that is everywhere, is impossible to access to unless you are a quint, because your quintessence connects you to it, opens you a door. Right ?"

It's more words than he's spoken in weeks outside of interviews, but excitement suddenly buzzes in his body, brain finally feeded something to think about, to analyse, to study. Special is a cerebral creature, no matter what people might thing, and such an incredible discovery makes him feel almost alive.

Omega laughs, a breathless, amazed little thing.

"I know. But, apparently, we managed to crack that door open for Delta. He doesn't have much control over the quintessence he releases, but it's enough for the Clergy, for now."

Special glances toward Delta from the corner of his eyes.

"That's...you wrote it down, right ? Records of this could be incredibly useful-"

The smile he gets makes Special's heart miss a beat. Omega looks so fond, so full of love, it's almost painful.

"I did. I'll hand you my notes. But, back to you. What your quintessence does, is devouring energy out of living things-"

Special hangs his head down, shame creeping up his spine, wrapping around his throat.

"Hey, none of that, Spesh," Omega soothes, pulling his head up by the metal point of the mask's chin, "let me finish. What if someone was full of an energy they can fully dispose of ? If someone could let your quintessence take without it harming them, that means they could touch you. Delta could touch you."

Special blinks.

"But...you can't touch me."

"Because your quintessence takes the one at my core - drains me dry of a source of power so entangled in my being that losing it would mean losing me. But Delta's quintessence doesn't come from him."

Slowly, Delta comes closer, kneeling by the bed, offering his bare hand to Special, smiling, and Special- can't understand why. Why anyone would willingly take such risks - first the attempted elemental transition, now this.

Omega brushes Special's shoulder.

"Please, try it. I know...how hard isolation is for you. Please, sparkle, try. If anything goes wrong i'll pull Delta away before any real damages can be done, I promise."

The coppery taste of blood hits Special's tongue, and it's the only reason he's aware he's biting his lip. Then Delta talks.

"I volunteered, Special. I know this is going to work. I trust Omega's theory, and. I think I can trust you, too."

This time Special does sob.

"If I hurt you..."

"You won't. Give me your hand, Special, it'll be okay."

And Special is terrified. Terrified that it won't work, that he'll hurt Delta, who seems the nicest ghoul you could ever wish for. Terrified that it'll work, that the one time he manages to touch someone without killing them will kill him, that all it would take would be a brush of skin against his own to destroy him.

Despite all that, Special slowly, oh so slowly takes one glove off, revealing too-pale skin and twitchy fingers. Delta' smile widens, then the air shifts a bit, starts blurring around him. One of his eyes turns purple, his skin shimering slightly.

"It's a bit like holding my breath," the water (?) ghoul explains, "i can't keep it for too long, maybe a couple of minutes, after, i have to release it. Open the valves, kind of. But, if I just keep them open, just let quintessence flow in and out freely, like this-"

Another shift in the air. The shimer on Delta's skin dims, his features relaxing.

"Then I can keep it that way as long as i like, effortlessly for the most part. That's how we can touch. I'm ready when you are."

He's going to do this. Special is going to do this. His hand is shaky when he wraps it loosely around Delta's - ready to pull away at any moment - but the second their skin makes contact, he gasps and can't help tightening it.

Delta doesn't flinch. His skin glints a bit more, but that's it. Special's quintessence is hungrily drinking in the one flowing though Delta, but he doesn't need it. He can let Special take it.

Salt. Salt on his tongue, now. Special is crying. Holding onto Delta's hand for dear life, shoulders shaking, Special is crying, the water ghoul shushing him softly, thumb drawing circles on the back of his hand.

Omega helps unclasping the mask, watching with tears of his own as Special takes it off, throws it somewhere, who cares, where the balaclava and second glove quickly follow.

Delta opens his arm, still not letting go. Special sobs so hard he's sure it's going to turn him inside out, slidding off the bed and into Delta's firm, tender embrace, burrying his face in the water ghoul's neck, finally able to touch, to feel, truly feel.

He can't see it, but Omega's crying in earnest now, Delta fighting tears as well.

Special isn't okay. Special might never be okay, Delta might be the only person he'll ever get to touch, it might stop working at some point, there might be a catch, but oh, Special doesn't care.

He'd trade his infernal eterinity for this moment in time, folded in arms that hold him like something precious.

[gogodollie]

i think too many people brush off the possibility that imperator not raising copia/the twin and lying to nihil about copia’s parentage wasn’t Her choice. the narrator of rhrn talks about the situation and ends with “this may sound tragic and maybe it is” and like. i mean logically speaking sister is petty but petty enough to hide an entire pregnancy and not care for a child (that she very clearly loves and has said so) over a breakup is like….. crazy but not sister’s brand of crazy i think.

[wildevenusian]

i just don’t understand. why say ur ready to talk if you aren’t?

can u believe this post is what got me to reach tag limit

[liesonthefloordramatically]

finished Teixcalaan and truly every relationship has at least two people and at least one ghost

[certified-memelord]

Would your OC ever go out of their way to humiliate someone?

Personally i don't think anyone from fireteam fun gang would do that. Like, sure Ghost might be the embodiment of "confuse, don't abuse" and "if i cannot find shenanigans i will make it", but realistically they're all fairly decent people. Just cause they're ultimately unkillable (destiny 2 guardians) and very, very much capable at what they do, it doesn't really get to their heads. I think ultimately all of them at some point have come to the conclusion that if they have the ability and wherewithal to actually help people weaker than them, they should. Given the Red War basically stripped them of their powers as well, they know what it's like to be helpless (relatively speaking, anyway - go from nigh-unstoppable danger machine to "basically just a human/robot with maybe above average strength and the ability to die forever if you are shot once" for several weeks? months? and you'll see what i mean), so yeah. I think they're all different amounts of down-to-earth, Ghost being the most such (as a result she's a pretty welcome sight for people of the Last City). So go out of their way to humiliate someone? No. However. If you are actively being a dick, asshole, or general , just to feel better about yourself or make others feel worse on purpose, none of them will hesitate to bring you down a rung the whole ladder-- Ghost can and will verbally shred you (i'm not talking insults, i'm talking death of a thousand cuts but verbally, and done cheerfully and with a smile), warden-3 is probably a bit more blunt but capable of holding his own in a verbal fistfight, Nova is probably more of the diplomat (think "telling someone to go to hell in such a way that they ask for directions"), but if diplomacy fails and things escalate, well, he's the Young Wolf, so he can handle himself in the Crucible or otherwise. I think Galena-12 would probably try to get the person to make the first mistake like throw a punch or get really angry (the minute you lose control is when you lose period) then use that against them basically. Not sure how Tritian or Marta would handle things: he's one of my least developed fireteam members, and Marta is probably the softest and warmest person on the team, so it's still a bit difficult for me to say. I think she's like the mom friend? but easily the most unifying thing in the fireteam, and probably all the more terrifying as a result, because if you can get five of the most terrifying beings in existence into line or immediately out of a heated argument (not that there are many but still), who are you going to more afraid of?

[cacturne]

DROW ilysm