#bear makes shit up

[bearlytolerant]

Evil God Theory part 1

Hello! I have seen theories going around about who the two baddies in the gameplay video at the end are and I just wanted to take some time and share my thoughts.

I believe our lovely little tentacle armed baddie is the goddess Andruil! Below I’ll lay out some entries and photos as to why I believe it is her.

Under cut because this is a long post!

From the wiki:

Andruil was indeed the hunter. She made great and terrible weapons: a golden bow crafted from the gathering storm and the screams of the south wind and a golden spear of unbearable heat crafted from the radiance of stars.

Have a look at this spear from the concept art. I circled it in red:

From Unreadable Elven Writing codex entry:

She shook the radiance of the stars, divided them into grains of light, then stored them in a shaft of gold. Andruil, blood and force, save us from the time this weapon is thrown. Your people pray to You. Spare us the moment we become Your sacrifice.

And from the description of the bow Andruil’s Gift:

She took the gathering storm, trapped its fury in golden limbs, and strung it with the screams of the south wind. Andruil, blood and force, your people pray to you. Grant that your eye may not fall upon us. Spare us the moment we become Your prey.

A picture of said bow but I flipped for the point of this post’s sake:

Excerpt from Elven God Andruil codex entry:

One day Andruil grew tired of hunting mortal men and beasts. She began stalking the Forgotten Ones, wicked things that thrive in the abyss. Yet even a god should not linger there, and each time she entered the void, Andruil suffered longer and longer of periods of madness after returning.

Andruil put on armor made of the void, and all forgot her true face.

This character in the photo definitely seems to be masked and would be a good reason for many to forget her face if it became a permanent fixture.

More from the same codex entry:

She made weapons of darkness, and plague ate her lands.

If that’s Andruil’s dragon/dragon form those lands certainly look plagued and blighted. At first I thought this might be the same ritual spot as the one in gameplay because the tall statues match up but this area seems different with what surrounds it (more buildings here and the ritual area itself seems flatter). Make what you will of that.

Anyway, back to Andruil being our baddie on the left. I think the headpiece resembles a bow, especially the Andruil’s gift bow. But also with her having gone to the void and if we associate void with blight, her being tentacle-like/more skeleton, is very reminiscent of these characters too:

Here’s some poor quality pictures I attempted to grab of other parts of her other than her face to showcase similar features:

But yeah, she looks kinda like a blighted mage/god thing so if it is Andruil, it would explain why she looks like some of our other chatty friends from the deep roads.

One last photo is her mosaic pulled from the Andruil Goddess of the Hunt codex entry on the wiki:

While her bow in this pic matches up better with a different statue, the lines behind her could represent her void-like tentacle appearance. This is my weakest piece of evidence for Andruil but I still think it should be here.

Anyway, this is all I have for now! I’ll be making a post on the other figure too, but separately because I maxed my limit on photos with Andruil. If you made it this far, thank you!

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Not beating the allegations.

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[dcxdpdabbles]

DCxDP Fic Idea: The Contact, the Butler and the Sly Time Lord

Martha accidentally engaged Bruce to a higher being when he was two.

It sounds terrible, but she hadn't thought that the man wearing the Time ghost costume at her husband's Halloween Gala wasn't wearing a costume and was actually the physical embodiment of Time.

She just thought he took Halloween very seriously.

Mr. Clockwork was charming and didn't care that she had married from the lower level of first class. Her parents were rich, of course, but they weren't old money, and they certainly didn't have a lot of power to speak of.

Because of that, the elites of Gotham thought she wasn't good enough to be in a family such as the Waynes. It was so lovely not to be dragged into conversations that were thinly concealed insults.

Everyone else at the Gala thought Martha had no right to be there with them. Why was she just a few zeros off from being middle class, and wasn't it just so sad that Thomas would stain his family with her?

Secertly, Martha prayed Bruce would do something wild, like marry a girl from Crime Alley or even adopt kids in lower classes to make them all choke on their pearls.

Her son would be one of the most powerful men in a few years, and she couldn't wait to see what kind of hell he would unleash upon them. She would never push, of course, but it would be a nice fantasy to have every time she had to face passive-aggressive comments from ladies told by their fathers they would be a far better Mrs. Wyane.

" Why, hello there. Aren't you the cutest little thing?" Mr. Clockwork coos, smiling down at Bruce. He clung to his mother's skirt, his matching cowboy costume a miniature version of what she was wearing.

The boy had wandered over in the middle of their conversation once he was bored of coloring at his table. Martha couldn't blame her poor baby. There really wasn't much to do for those his age here.

Thomas had stated that children were usually not brought along due to being loud and distracting.

Martha wouldn't hear any of it, insisting her son would be going with them at the party or there would be no party. The majority of the elites believed children should be seen, not heard, and that boiled her blood something fierce.

Thomas had thankfully known when to pick his battles, so he allowed his wife to drag him to a costume store for a family costume to wear. He currently chatting with a group of investors in all his cowboy glory somewhere on the other side of the gala.

"Say thank you, Bruce," She tells her boy, but he only hides his face more, causing the two adults to chuckle. "Do you have kids, Mr.Clockwork?"

"Yes. Two daughters and a son" The man chuckles "All three are a handleful but I love them dearly."

"Oh, how wonderful. Bruce is my only son, but I want to give him siblings," she tells him warmly. She can picture Bruce chasing after his younger siblings dressed up as the Grey Ghost he loves.

She knows Thomas was worried about their chances of having a second child. He was informed not too long ago that he may suffer from secondary infertility. She didn't mind. If they couldn't have a child of their own by blood they could easily adopt.

Martha worked long and hard to provide good orphanages to the city. Maybe one day, a child from there could be her own. She'll have to speak to her orphanage managers- those in charge of the kids- to see if they could help her find one.

They have successfully been getting kids into good homes (At least she thought the number of children constantly changed, and the kids were never seen again, meaning the families that adopted them loved them enough to never return!)

Mr. Clockwork hums "how about giving him a spouse instead? My girls or boy could be a good partner"

Laughing, she assumes he meant her work on bettering the lives of the gay community- in honor of her brother who passed during the AIDs epidemic. "I'm sure Bruce would be happy to hear Mommy found him a husband."

"Is that a yes?" Clockwork eyes' flashed with an emotion that was gone too quick for her to identify.

"Yes, of course. If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all."

Mr. Clockworks red eyes - contacts? A medical condition?- gleam, and his voice takes on a strange rhythm. "Then so shall it be, my son Danny Fenton shall be married to Bruce Wayne per their Blood Mother and Core Father deal."

Huh. Maybe Mr. Clockwork is a nutcase. Suddenly, she thinks back to her father, who would often tell her that she lived in a delusion because he did not want her to see the horror that Gotham truly is.

Even when you think you're doing good, Gotham has a way of making your work into nightmares.

Was Mr. Clockwork one of those people he warned her about?

Thankfully, he leaves not long after that. He claims he must return to work before his co-workers notice him gone. She doesn't see him for the rest of the night and half wonders if she had been speaking to one of the wait staff they hired as extra help.

Not that she minded, but it made her think his name might not even be Clockwork.

She tells Thomas the story hours after Bruce is put to bed with a candy bucket and the last guests have all slipped home. Thomas is exhausted, having been playing host longer than her because Martha had left around eight to take Bruce trick and treating. Then she got home and put him down for his bedtime.

She got back to the party around eleven but it was a much-needed break from all the hostility that Thomas had been forced to face alone.

"WHAT!?" Thomas booms when she finishes the story. They had just crawled into bed, and Thomas had been rolling to his side for sleep before her words flung him back. "Clockwork!? You're sure you spoke to Clockwork!?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

"What did he look like?"

"Um well he was in costume, but red eyes, blue skin, and he was wearing purple robes." She watches as the blood drains from her husband's face. "What is it darling? Who was he?"

"Oh, this isn't good....Alfred! Alfred!" Thomas frantically calls as if the devil had appeared in their bedroom.

Their servant and sometimes lover comes racing into the room, carrying a loaded shotgun. Ever since Thomas had met him overseas when he hired the British man as a personal bodyguard, he fell hard and fast for Alfred but he still deeply loved Martha.

He had sent Martha a letter detailing his feelings for his guard, and only after she had given him permission did he pursue the butler. Alfred had insisted on meeting Thomas' wife to prove that she was okay with him having a lover, so he had followed Wayne back home.

Then he simply never left.

Maybe because he was the best butler Wayne ever had, with his regal training and service in her royal highness' army, but she thinks that her own developed feelings for Alfred convince him to remain.

Alfred insisted that he was only a servant and thus could not be added to their marriage besides a bed partner occasionally. Still, Martha hoped one day they could convince him otherwise.

Bruce already saw him as a second father.

He looks at the pair, dressed in their nightwear in a rather enticing position (Thomas had grabbed Martha by her shoulder, to look into her eyes but that left them rather entangled on the bed) with no visible threat, and raises one brow.

Before he can say anything Thomas is all but rolling out of bed in a frantic leap. He tangles up in the blankets, falling gracelessly over the edge in failing limbs "Martha made a deal with Clockwork!"

At once, Alfred's handsome face drains of blood. "Oh dear, Martha darling, you made a grave mistake."

She can only blink at the men in confusion. "Who is Clockwork?"

"He has many names, but I knew him as Merlin," Alfred informed her evenly. He took her hand in his, the tremble in his fingers revealing his unease. " He had shown interest in Master Thomas before and was the one I protected him from. I barely fought him off and only due to outsmarting him. I would not be able to do it again a second time."

What?

"He is also known as a Fae or incubus in some circles. The kind that steals you away for fun." Thomas babbled from where he was pacing next to the bed, eyes franticly glancing about as if the bogggie man was about to leap out at him from the shadows.

For a moment, Martha wondered why her husband, a man of science and medicine who had never been superstitious, believed this Clockwork was some...some creature of myths.

"Martha, love, what did he ask of you?" Alfred questioned, bringing her hand to his lips as though kissing them would confirm she was safe before him.

"He asked for Bruce to marry his son."

"Oh, gods!" Thomas fretted, speeding up, his long strides becoming far more frantic. "Please say you didn't say yes."

"I-thought it was a joke, I didn't see anything wrong with it, I- said yes."

Alfred closed his eyes, looking like a man who had just been informed his death sentence had been signed by the Queen. "Then all we can do now is pray."

Years later, as Alfred is dusting the portrait of his deceased loves. He allowed his hand to trace the cover of Martha's painted smile and Thomas' strong jaw, mind filled with stolen kisses and sweet nothings that were ripped away that fateful night.

He is still struck by their loss. Every now and then, the knowledge of their death creeps in during his most mundane activities. It's like a kick to the chest every time.

Oh, how he misses them.

Ding Dong

The front doorbell jolts him out of his memories so violently it takes the aged Butler a moment or two to get a hold of his senses. He puts down the duster, climbs down the latter, and quickly makes his way to the door.

Stopping to fix his suit coat, he throws it open with a prepared smile. He expects extra help from the catering company Master Bruce hired for Wayne's annual Halloween Gala.

He was not expecting the two men, one looking nervous around Master Bruce's age and the other sly. His age is hard to gauge, but it may be due to time not affecting him as it did mortals.

Alfred's blood freezes at the sight of those cunning red eyes and smirk. "Merlin."

"Alfred Pennyworth." The demon chuckles. "I prefer Clockwork, as you know, but it's good to see you remember me. Most humans are prone to forgetting in their limited age."

"What are you doing here?"

"Why I came to fulfill the deal between Martha Wayne nee Kane and I"

"Martha is dead. Your contact is void."

Clockwork chuckles again, the sound as deadly as poison. "The contact lives as long as all those involved in it live. You know this."

Alfred presses the panic button on his wristwatch, knowing it sends a message to everyone in the manor to evacuate immediately. He will not live through this battle, but hopefully, it will give Master Bruce time to escape. "You will not lay a hand on Master Bruce."

"Come now, Alfred. We are to be in-laws. Our sons are joining in holy matrimony. Why the hostility-"

"Excuse me what?" The other man-demon? Ghost? Higher-being? cuts in, looking at Clockwork with brows knitted into a frown. "What did you mean holy matrimony?"

"Danny, you're getting married," Clockwork says with a cheerful wave.

"The hell I am!" The man barks, flushing red with anger. Alfred can hardly believe he just yelled at the monster. "I am not marrying some random guy!"

"It is the way things must go for the good of mankind-"

"Oh, go suck on a lemon! We both know that whole "this is fate" is bull!"

"You are embarrassing me in front of our new in-laws, younn man" Clockwork actually waves a finger at the fully grown human. "This is my one chance to marry you off to a good man. We both know that you can't attract a mate on your own."

"What!? Yes, I can! I've had girlfriends and boyfriends before!"

"And yet, no spouse! No wedding! Not even a ring!"

"Moby Dick, I knew this bonding fishing trip was a lie! You can't make me get married because of some contact you made when I was three!"

"It's not permanent! Martha Wayne said If that is what they both want, I wouldn't mind their marriage at all. This means you both must want to be together after one year of marriage. See if you like it, and if you don't, I can always find you a new husband."

"This isn't returning a jacket to a store! I can't just see if I like being married Clockwork!" The man hissed running a hand through his hair. "We're going home. I'm so sorry for bothering you today Mr. Alfred."

Alfred blinks at the young man's sheepish smile, wondering if ti's a trick. "No bother at all."

"Danny, if you leave without marriage, Bruce Wayne will die in an hour due to breaking our contract," Clockwork says, crossing his arms. "Honestly, your sisters were far more mature regarding their marriages."

Danny punches him in the face with a glowing hand. The higher being falls like a sack of bricks.

"Right, I'm going to drop this one off at a nursing home, and then I'll return to marry Bruce. Only so the contact doesn't kill him, and I swear I'll only visit every once in a while until our year is up." Throwing- Merlin, holy shit- over his shoulder as if though he weighed nothing, Danny waves at Alfred and scurries away, vanishing into a green portal.

Alfred is left standing at the doorway, utterly flabbergasted. Distantly, he wonders if the hollowing wind is actually Martha laughing herself silly in the afterlife.

Carefully, he reaches up for his com, switching it on to the sound of his family's frantic bickering. They were all worried about him since he sent the alarm and were fighting about following policy or saving him.

"Master Bruce," He says faintly silencing the coms "Please come to have your suit fitted as soon as you can."

"What for?" His son asks, likely looking for a coded message, but Alfred doesn't have the mental capacity to make one.

"Your wedding, sir. It's tonight, courtesy of your mother."

The coms explode into chaos.

[shorthaltsjester]

the mighty nein - critical role

this is a place where i don't feel alone. this is a place where i feel at home.

[milamilamilax]

i just know that if any of my colleagues looked at each other at work the way sydney and carmy look at each other, they would be the water cooler gossip and victims of all workplace banter for MONTHS i mean -

are you for real??

at WORK???

HR VIOLATION.

[ruporas]

special operatives (silly interaction beneath read more)

[ID: Digital Art in color of Trigun Maximum, characters included are Wolfwood, Elendira, and Legato in a casual meeting situation. The piece consists of orangey yellow lighting and purple shadows. Wolfwood sits on the left side, facing Elendira who’s on the right. He’s seated on a plain wooden chair with one knee up and he’s holding the strap to his Punisher in his left hand while his right sits against his thigh, He has an irritated expression as he speaks to Elendira. Elendira is sitting in a fancier seat, her right arm rests against Wolfwood’s propped up knee, her left hand holds her suitcase. She’s sitting cross legged with an amused expression. Legato can be seen in the back at the center of the image in his mobile body case, one of his eyes shown to be glaring at Wolfwood. End ID]

[ID: Sketch, uncolored comic. Elendira says to Wolfwood, “I’m not telling you to dedicate yourself to him, but just accept the situation at hand. We could get along better if we were on the same page.” Wolfwood responds, “Don’t peg me me for an optimist. I’m not dumb. But, I’m also not going to just live in resignation. Plus, I don’t have any interest in getting along with ya.” Elendira coos, “Aw, you sure? I have a wonderful shoulder to cry on when the weak people you’re trying to protect eventually dies in the coming months. Though, I guess it’s fine. Someone like you might just die before then anyway...” She snickers in her hand while Wolfwood is speechless and just glares. Legato is faintly drawn in the back, glaring at Wolfwood, muttering “worthless” repetitively. End ID]

[starry-bi-sky]

mmmmmm read a disciple shen yuan/shizun luo binghe fanfic about two days ago where the first chapter was the Immortal Conference arc, and SQQ was the one who had to be pushed into the abyss (he was still the villain) except Luo Binghe was refusing and was like, lowkey losing his mind about SQQ being so close to the edge. SQQ ended up having to be the one to fall in himself because of the system's punishment system. The rest of the fic is leading up to that moment. But like, MMM i've been obsessively thinking about that first chapter for DAYS ever since.

now i've been in svsss for a grand total of *checks watch* a week. but god obsessed with that. I want to write/read a fic where disciple SQQ goes a little nuts down there. Like keep all of the things that make SQQ, SQQ, but just. Throw in a little bit more trauma in there. A little bit of a mental break. Let him go a little nuts as a treat. Just a tad unhinged. I wanna see him go, just a little, "god fuck it, i've tried so hard to change this shitty story's outcome and it feels like everything i've done has been for nothing. I'm going to die in this world no matter what I do, I've been doomed from the start, so might as well die the way I want to." and he just, breaks a little! Under all the stress.

He still retains the traits that makes shen yuan, shen yuan, like his overwhelming kindness. But he's just! yk. A little less patient. Paranoid. Jumpy. Colder. A little more aloof and closed off. A little more Shen Jiu. He's no asshole child abuser, but he was a Number One Hater in his past life and he's leaning into that old habit a little more now.

(On a totally coincidental not-at-all related note, there's not enough SJ-and-SY-are-the-same-people fics out there that i've found. This is totally unrelated...)

The Endless Abyss turns the mind into an over-sharpened blade, and SQQ is both fascinated and perhaps a little excited to explore a place that doesn't have a lot of info on it in the mortal realm, but still terrified out of his mind. And he's no Luo Binghe, he doesn't have the sheer brute strength and power to just bulldoze his way through, so he has to be a lot more sneaky and cunning if he wants to survive.

The fic itself role-swapped LBH and SQQ so that SQQ was the half-demon (which lowkey fucks) and LBH the human, but I'm equally-if-not-more obsessed with the idea that LBH remains the half-heavenly demon and SQQ the human. If only because I keep thinking about SQQ befriending some demons (particularly and specifically a group of succubi) and they grow very attached to this Human Cultivator so through magic plot stuff they create some kind of seal/illusion/talisman that makes SQQ appear as a demon because a human cultivator in the endless abyss may as well be the equivalent of putting a giant neon target on your back.

And iirc Shen Jiu was taught demonic cultivation by that one guy(?? i've only been here a week so im not caught up in ALL of the lore yet) so that could totally happen here.

(On the other end of the realms, poor Shizun Luo Binghe is just. losing his fucking mind over losing his most precious and beloved disciple. About .5 seconds from burning down the peaks himself. somebody sedate him.)

The Endless Abyss sucks and SQQ is having a really terrible time and can feel himself going lowkey mad, but also holy shit look at all this WORLD-BUILDING. look at all this flora and fauna, and oh if he had the equipment for it he'd be writing all of this down. ALL OF IT. He was kinda-sorta-already planning on never leaving the Abyss as some sort of fucked up self-exile and self-preservation thing, but now he might? actually just?? never leave if he can help it, like he lowkey likes it down here.

anyways the next time anyone ever sees SQQ again he's got hair so long its almost touching the ground and he's either in rags and half-feral or he's been completely dolled up by his adoptive succubi sisters and still about three seconds from biting anyone who tries to touch him. (he's also lowkey trying to book it back down to the abyss even if he has desperately missed all of his friends and shizun)

[kingzombear]

zombear can we have more infected (or non) ponies from you

Embarrassed to say even tho I promised I'd do a follow-up to my og MLP Infection AU I was like

"What If My Old Cringe Pony Ocs Were A Zombie Survival Team"

Sooo oops this is all I've got rn lol

Prism Leech is an escaped doctor from the Rainbow Factory - the origin point of the outbreak in this AU. (Rainbow Dash isn't affiliated with the Factory in this one, don't worry)

The Spectra Mutagen was originally synthesized in an attempt by the Factory's medical team to maximize harvested Spectra (the raw pigment in ponies) due to a steady decline in Flight School failures over the years.

This mutagen instead, upon infection, overloads the body with Spectra. This induces fever, hallucinations, madness, then finally death and reanimation.

Infected of most stages are easily spotted by the bright over-saturation of their coats, manes, and eyes; along with rainbow blood and bile.

Prism's the team leader and healer, although her bedside manner sucks, as she's thoroughly desensitized to tragedy and gore - a result of her Factory upbringing.

She escaped during a riot by infected prisoner test subjects and plucked her own feathers to ensure she could never return to the sky.

[g3othermal3scapism]

sometimes autism got me lying cus im so desperate to connect my hyper fixations somehow. “sydcarmy is kinda poolverine coded" no its not. u just made that up.

[nientedal]

imagine you were mauled by a bear.

you were mauled and it was awful. it left scars on you that may never fully and completely heal. maybe it nearly killed you. bears are now a trigger for you. full on panic at the sight of a bear.

now imagine some people in your town enjoy dressing up as bears. they put on homemade costumes for fun and occasionally meet up. most people are just there to play dress-up with other folks who enjoy wearing bear costumes, but maybe a few of them also play pretend with each other. nobody gets hurt-- they aren't real bears, and they wouldn't want to be! it's just fun to play pretend.

but you were mauled by a bear, and one day you're out walking, and you see some of these people on the other side of the road, and you freak out. most of the costumes aren't even very realistic, but you start screaming at them anyway, throwing rocks, grabbing other people and pointing, trying to get them to throw rocks too, because what the fuck? what the hell? what kind of sick freak pretends to be a bear? don't they know bears are dangerous? and what if there's a real bear in one of those costumes! or what if they're dressing up as bears because they want to maul people! throw rocks! harass! throwing rocks at people in bear costumes is good and righteous! you were mauled by an actual real bear and this is all definitely a reaction to an actual real threat and not at all a trauma response!

meanwhile, the people who enjoy dressing up as bears are trying to explain it's just for fun. they just enjoy playing dress-up. even those who do enjoy pretending, are only pretending. it's just acting. and look-- Ted over there was mauled, too! he likes dressing up as a bear because it gives him a situation he controls. but nobody is trying to actually be bears. that would be fucking deranged.

but it doesn't matter. you were mauled by a bear, and people in bear costumes feel the same to you as bears. it doesn't matter why they dress up, they OBVIOUSLY deserve to be attacked like bears. and anyone who disagrees with you must also be a bear, because omg don't they understand bears are dangerous and people in bear costumes are basically the same as bears!!!

if you react to works of fiction the same way you react to harm done to a real live human being, you are failing to recognize that human beings are separate from works of fiction. whether you're experiencing a trauma response and can't make the distinction, or you were told this was the best way to support people who are traumatized, i don't know, but the result is the same. you need to understand that people are not the stories they enjoy. stop throwing rocks at people in costumes.

[buzzcutlip]

What You Can't Bury Give Away - NY!Carmen Carmen x Fem!Reader Explicit! 2257 words

A/N This was supposed to be a drabble - haha! I don't know what is it now. Have some sad NY!Carmy after he finds out Michael's died and how he deals with leaving NY (not in a great way but excuse his broken little soul). I know I said I wanted to write Copenhagen!Carmy, so that one's coming too eventually.

When you open the door for Carmen and see him after, like, three weeks, you almost flinch. He’s always looked tired and worn out—while also attractive and weirdly hot—but today he looks particularly bad. Dreadful. His eyes are red, the bags underneath them grayish. It’s obvious that he hasn’t washed his hair in days. He looks as tragic as you feel.

“Hi,” you say tentatively, unsure if he wants to address the reason why he’s here.

Carmy only nods, eyes trained on you, even as he takes his denim trucker jacket off. You hang it on the only free, wonky peg on the wall, feeling him follow your movements all the while. Undoubtedly, it makes you antsy and uncomfortable. You’re not used to guys’ attention. You’re not used to attention from guys you like at all.

When you turn around and find him staring, you sigh. The jumper he’s wearing hangs loosely on his body, the sleeves too long. The navy blue color highlights the paleness of his face, the hollow cheeks.

“When was the last time you ate?”

Carmy opens his mouth to say something smart, probably, but you’re faster: “Ate a proper meal,” you clarify, propping your hands on your hips. You’re trying to act stern, babying him a little without making him seem like a baby. It’s the last time you’re seeing him, probably.

“I dunno,” he admits quietly, impatiently. He thumbs his bottom lip, scratches his head. He’s all sorts of jittery energy turned into a human being. You don’t know him like this.

“I can cook some pasta,” you offer. The idea is absolutely disproportionate to the situation, you think hysterically, as you turn to walk to the kitchen cabinets. “I’m actually a pretty good cook, you know,” you say just to fill in the space, afraid of the silence that might provoke unwise happenings.

As you reach the pack of fusilli, you feel him stand directly behind you. You exhale sharply. Something unwise is already happening. Settling the pasta on the counter, you turn around.

“I—” but before you manage to get out a single word, Carmy’s mouth is on yours, and he’s kissing you. Of course, it doesn’t take much for you to reciprocate. You kiss him back, hands squeezing his biceps, enjoying the thickness and how strong his arms feel.

“Don’t you think this is a bad idea?” you say as Carmen crowds you against the kitchen counter.

“I don’t—think. I don’t want to think,” he stutters out, grabbing at your waist and squeezing.

“But we’re adults, Berzatto,” you stand your ground even though your hands find their way into Carmy’s hair without much thought, “and thinking about our actions is the annoying part of adulthood,” you explain, and when Carmen kisses your jaw, you feel your determination slipping.

You met Carmen a couple of months ago and saw each other like four times. Apparently, he works in a restaurant, and you know that people in hospitality have crazy work schedules and practically no free time. Or social life. Carmen is proof of all that—he doesn’t talk much, doesn’t ask many questions. There are silly tattoos on his hands and scars—some looking fresh and painful. You never confront him about them, never look too long.

He didn’t have to tell you that he’s leaving, you know. If he didn’t, he would just be another boy who disappeared from your life quietly. And you wouldn’t blame him. You’re not a particularly interesting person. Rather dull, some member of your immediate family would say.

“Have you been drinking?” you check as you dodge another kiss. Carmen doesn’t ask questions, but suddenly you do—way too many, you can see the annoyance on his face, as you shrug him off of you, reluctant.

Carmen looks at you, all serious. “I don’t drink.”

“I know. I’m just asking,” you shrug. “Trying to find out what’s gotten into you.”

Because the second time you were with him, on some well-hidden, tourist-less rooftop bar, you drinking bottled beer and him Coke, laying next to each other on loungers—you touched him casually a couple of times while talking shit about your office work and annoying colleagues and canteen coffee that tastes like burnt water. Those fleeting touches that can be easily excused. You were testing the waters. And Carmy didn’t budge. He even laughed when you told him “your hands are pretty large,” let you press your palms together to see the size difference that lit up a flame in your lower belly. Fuck, the lamest trick, and he ate it all up, clueless. He even walked you home after that. For twenty minutes, your stomach was in twists with anticipation. You even considered fucking without a condom because you knew you had none at home, and Carmy didn’t look like the type who would carry one in his wallet. However, when you arrived at your apartment building, Carmen said “goodnight,” waved at you awkwardly, and left, cigarette in hand. That’s how you know the attraction was one-sided.

It makes the current event even more weird.

“You know, I was trying to let you know I liked you,” you say nonchalantly, biting your lip. “I even did that thing with hands.”

“What thing with hands?”

“Where we measure our hands,” duh.

“Oh. I didn’t know it was a thing.”

You stare at him for a moment.

“It was basically an invitation to fuck me, Carmen.”

He stares, then squeezes your waist. “Oh yeah?”

‘Oh,’ you think. This sounds very much like another invitation, doesn’t it? And Carmy takes it, and this time, you let him.

“Oh my god, Carmy,” you gasp when he gets down on his knees for you, and you don’t have any idea that they only call him Carmy at home, that no one in New York ever calls him that. He freezes for a moment, but you don’t catch that, too lost in the idea of having him for yourself, finally.

He pulls down your baby blue sleeping shorts along with your panties, revealing tan lines—the stark contrast of the untouched, milky skin of your crotch and the darker shade of your legs. You worked hard for that stupid tan, taking a week off in March to go to Hawaii, splashing a disgusting amount of money on the vacation, desperate to get away from New York, from your office, to get some warmth. He should congratulate you on your efforts, really, being the first man to see you like this. You hate baking in the direct sun.

But Carm doesn’t say anything, just lowers down, getting hold of your hips, licking along the crease between your thigh and crotch. You’re not smooth down there. You haven’t shaved in a while, and the growing hairs must prickle his tongue. He doesn’t protest though, only grunts and licks more, then kisses your pussy, sucking the lips into his mouth, making loud, obscene noises. He’s desperate but very strategic.

His hands feel huge, cupping your pelvis, fingers digging into the flesh. You grip the countertop behind you to keep your balance as Carmen sticks two fingers into you unceremoniously. You yelp, shucking off your shorts and underwear jerkily all the way down. He helps you one-handed, looks up to check on you. You bite your lower lip to keep yourself from making more embarrassing noises, while Carmen throws the clothes somewhere behind himself and goes back to eating you out while fingerfucking you.

He is frantic but good, concentrating only on you. He stares up right into your eyes, not even blinking, as he sucks your clit. It should not be allowed, you think briefly, for sad, strange boys to make you feel this good, practically against your own volition. It’s always cold in your apartment, more so in the winter, but you’re on fire now.

Carmen’s still dressed in his clothes, and you’re wearing your t-shirt and an old, faded hoodie, white thick socks on your feet. Neither of you cares too much about it as you focus on each other. You dare to touch one of your hands to Carm’s wild curls, and he hums against you, getting ahold of your ankle without stopping what he’s doing with his clever mouth, propping it against his shoulder. He helps you adjust your stance, and you moan loudly as he reaches deeper into you with the changed position.

“Please,” you whisper, head tipped back in pleasure, holding onto the counter one-handed for dear life.

That’s when Carmen chooses to stop, and you look down at him sharply, half-mad with want, watching his wet mouth kiss your ankle just above where your sock ends, then higher up along the inside of your leg, the side of your knee. His eyes are closed and he seems lost in his head, holding your ankle steady on his shoulder and continuing up, up, up. It makes your chest ache for a fleeting moment. Then, out of nowhere, Carmen bares his teeth and sets them into the meat of your inner thigh. You yelp at the sharp pain, jumping up so your head connects with the cabinet behind you with a loud noise.

“Fuck!” you swear, thinking of literally kicking Carmen as your leg is conveniently positioned near his head.

“Careful,” he says instead of ‘sorry’, and bites you again. You inhale to shout something nastier, but then he presses his thumb to your clit and the pain, added to the pleasure, creates a mixture so delicious that your vision blacks out for a moment. Once it clears, you spot Carmy between your legs, his eyes glazed and fixed on what his thumb is doing to you, all frowny in concentration.

“You alright?” he asks as he feels your gaze on him. As you nod and add a breathless ‘yeah’, he bites you again, this time on your other thigh. You jerk every single time he does that, but not from the pain. No, you seek more friction with your pelvis, hoping to make him press his thumb down harder against you. Of course, Carmen, as smart as he is, catches on soon. The next time you lift your hips up, he simply pushes his fingers back into your dripping cunt again, and from then it’s a quick undoing for you. 

You ride Carmy’s fingers, chasing the pressure both inside and on your clit, enjoying the pleasure-pain his mouth is eliciting. Just before you come, you dare to look down, and the sight of bright bruises blooming red like peonies on your skin is what tips you over the edge.  

You barely manage to kiss him back as he stands up between your legs, disoriented and shaky from just orgasming. You’re clumsy with it—teeth clicking and lips landing off-center. Before you can properly catch your breath, Carmen’s turning you around so you face the tiled wall, pushing you against the counter, and this time you mind the cabinets above your head.  

“You did so good f’me,” Carmy says against your ear, sending violent shivers down your spine. His large hand cradles your jaw, and Carmy kisses behind your ear and down the side of your neck, holding your head tilted to have better access to your burning skin. He’s frantic, breathing raggedly, pulling the neck of your jumper to lick at the vertebrae protruding at your sensitive nape. 

Trying to take your arms out of the sleeves to get rid of the jumper is harder than you thought as you get distracted by Carm absolutely ignoring your efforts when he slips one of his rough palms under the clothes, up your tummy to your chest. 

“Can I—can I touch your tits?” he asks hoarsely while still holding your head in position. You consent and stop trying to help him out, dropping your head back to rest on his shoulder. 

Carmen fucks you like that, from behind, all desperate and urgent. The noises he makes are almost like quiet sobs, which alarm you slightly, but then you forget everything when you start feeling you might come again. You don’t, but as soon as Carmen feels he might, he slips out and you spin around to face him. 

Without any room for making this cute, you spit in your palm and grip his cock, all dark red and throbbing, while Carmen fists your jumper, holding you close and watching open-mouthed as you jerk him off. When he comes you’re almost sure he’s gonna bite through his bottom lip from how hard he’s biting on it. He lets you stroke him for long moments after that, even though he’s shaking all over, overstimulated. You love watching his tummy muscles jump every time you squeeze at the head, dragging more delicious, wrecked sounds out of him. 

Afterward, Carmen’s awfully flushed in the face, eyes glistening. He asks where the bathroom is and stays there for ten long minutes. Or so. You’re not timing it. You cook the stupid pasta, even though you’re lazy, and feed him. The atmosphere’s charged with something unspoken, and as much as you want to ask what his plans are after he leaves New York, you don’t. 

After the meal, Carm doesn’t linger. He puts his jacket on, pecks your cheek, and leaves without looking back.

Oh, so that was a pity fuck, you realize with much disdain when you’re lying in your bed. Only—you’re not sure who pitied whom there.

He will never know how much you cried that night.

[bearlytolerant]

Evil God Theory part 2

Hello again. I posted about my theory on the tentacled character coming out of the veil in the gameplay trailer in a part one post. Now I’m going to talk about the second figure with the elf ears.

I think our other friend could be Falon’Din. I will be honest, my confidence in the evil god on the right being Falon’Din isn’t as great as my first post but he’s still my first pick and here’s why:

This was a phrase said by an unfamiliar voice in the very short trailer (:33) we got on Dragon Age Day:

“All the world will soon share the peace and comfort of my reign.”

Falon’Din was the god who guided people into Uthenera (a peaceful sleep) but solas says this about him:

I do not believe they sing songs about Falon’Din’s vanity. It is said Falon’Din’s appetite for adulation was so great, he began wars to amass more worshippers. The blood of those who wouldn’t bow low filled lakes as wide as oceans. Mythal rallied the gods, once the shadow of Falon’Din’s hunger stretched across her own people. It was almost too late.

Imagine a god who ushers people into eternal sleep being a bloodthirsty conquerer. He would probably think his reign was comforting and peaceful if everyone is dead.

Also it’s understandable if you don’t necessarily believe Solas. This codex is pretty interesting too though:

The People swore their lives to Falon'Din
Who mastered the dark that lies.
Whose shadows hunger
Whose faithful sing
Whose wings of death surround him
Thick as night.

Lethanavir, master-scryer, be our guide, 
Through shapeless worlds and airless skies.

—Song to Falon'Din, found in the Temple of Mythal, author unknown

Reusing this lovely picture from before but highlighting the background in red because it looks like the world could be experiencing an eclipse. A very nice and literal representation of someone associated with darkness and shadows and night being able to cloak the whole world in darkness.

Now onto some other Falon’Din things. The shape on this figure’s head most closely resembles shapes associated with Falon’Din as pictured with the owl constellation Tenebrium. I’ll just put what the wiki says here:

Falon’Din’s sacred animal is an owl. It is either his companion or his manifestation and simultaneously a messenger of Andruil. The constellation Tenebrium, called “shadow” in the common parlance and depicting an owl, may have been associated with him before it became associated with the old god of night, Lusacan. Falon’Din himself is sometimes depicted as a cloaked and hooded pointing figure.

A comparison of the figures headpiece and horn-like appendages(?) behind the shoulders and the constellation association:

Now onto some outfit comparisons.

From Vir Dirthara: Duel of a Hundred Years

The pages of this book—memory?—show a narrow plateau on top of a mountain, Two armored figures—one in gold, one in black—are fighting in the snow. Steel flickers so fast the air hums. Blood dots the ground. They do not stop for breath. The one in black makes no sound as a blade parts his throat.

"Mythal, in her wisdom, interceded in an argument between Elgar'nan and Falon'Din. With clever words, she convinced them to settle their grievance through a battle of their champions. Elgar'nan and Falon'Din agreed, and set their champions against each other rather than declare war among the gods. May those knights long be remembered, and Mythal's wisdom be praised."

The codex does not say which champion was which when fighting but we could assume Elgar’nan’s was dressed in gold (big E and all his sun/light symbolism), while FD’s champion is probably the one dressed in black. While the main cloak/robe seems to be black (refer to the pic after the statue), there’s also a lot of gold so again, not real strong evidence but it could be something. Also the sleeves match up decently with the Falon’Din statue sleeves.

I did notice too that this outfit seems to match up in some ways with Falon’Din’s outfit in the mosaic. Where the clothes in the mosaic are belted together, it seems this character has the same style but I can’t be certain because the lighting doesn’t help.

I also included an old dao picture of a statue because the shoulder piece in that statue plus the way the figure stands near the end of the gameplay trailer reminded me a lot of that particular statue. So I put them side by side so you can have a look for yourself.

All that to say, my theory on the second one isn’t as strong and I don’t feel like I have enough evidence yet to be super confident but this is my best guess.

Also if we think about the two that Mythal has had to humble it was Andruil and Falon’Din. Mythal had to take Andruil’s voidy toys away. Falon’Din got too blood thirsty and was forced to go into timeout when Mythal went to Dad Elgar’nan about him and he lost the duel. Plus there’s some connection with his symbol being an owl and the owl being a messenger for Andruil. So it would be fun to see this little duo be our boss fight baddies.

Again, if you read this far, thank you!

[thejasontoddarchives]

52/WW III Part One: A Call to Arms #1 (2007)

You know you’ve hit rock bottom when you’re standing naked in front of a monument meant to honor a dead version of yourself while you’re alive, holding the Nightwing suit in one hand and the pill helmet in the other

[antigonenikk]

new rare pair theon x aegon just dropped. no they would not make each other better they would make each other actively worse but i stand firm in my belief that theon should be included in every single piece of asoiaf media until the day i die and that he should be allowed to ride a dragon just once

[jtl-fics]

Fluent Freshman - 41

PREV

Two and a half hours into the Banquet and FF had not moved from the chair he had sat in at the start of the banquet. He hadn’t gotten up for water. Hadn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom. Hadn’t gotten up to dance despite Nicky’s pleading. He hadn’t even gotten up when a Raven had come over and asked him to.

He was not leaving his seat.

The stadium could be on fire and he’d still try to be the last one out.

Until there was a time where he could slide out of this chair without a single eye on him and put on his winter jacket without it seeming strange he was going to remain seated.

The answer on why was under his precisely placed napkin.

It had all begun about an hour and fifteen minutes ago, not that FF was counting. Dinner had been wrapping up and people had started to get up and jostle about. Flirtations were flying across the table and generally over FF’s head. The team had been smiling, there’d been laughter, and it had seemed unlikely for anything to go wrong.

He relaxed and that’s where he made a mistake.

FF could not eat the meal served. He’d had his liquid dinner on the way over on the bus so it didn’t bother him much to have a decent looking meal in front of him and not being able to eat it. He wasn’t going to eat so he hadn’t even unwrapped his cutlery, wanting to save the clean up crew from at least his set of utensils. He hadn’t placed the napkin over his lap to protect himself, what danger could there possibly be when he was not going to be eating?

The danger came when a Trojan smacked the table hard as he laughed at something that he had taken as a joke but, knowing Kevin, was probably a serious suggestion.

Hit the table hard enough to jostle FF’s plate.

Hit the table hard enough to jostle FF’s plate and more specifically a meatball that was with the pasta served with the beef tenderloin.

Hit the table hard enough to jostle FF’s plate and more specifically a meatball that was with the pasta served with the beef tenderloin so that it fell off of his plate and onto his lap.

Fell right onto his unprotected lap.

FF had looked down at his gray pants now irreversibly blemished by the errant meatball. His mind flashing back to when Nicky had decided on these pants. Remembers how Nicky hadn’t wanted him to vanish in the lower lighting of the banquet.

FF had grabbed his cutlery and put the napkin over his lap, far too late to save his pants, but fast enough that no one would see that he had spaghetti pants.

After that the trajectory of his evening had changed dramatically.

He was going to sit here all night until they were getting into the bus and then he’d have his winter jacket on and it was a long jacket that would cover his mark of shame. You might think that FF could just slip under the radar and go try and clean off the stain or at least hide somewhere less conspicuous.

He would, he really would, except he can feel the eyes of Captain Jeremy on him regardless of how low his presence is. FF entered into Ultra Stealth but Captain Jeremy merely turned to him and asked a friendly question that had Nicky startle remembering that FF was next to him still. 

Captain Jeremy has x-ray vision and can see the wall behind the wallpaper. Captain Jeremy can see colors that mantis shrimp can only dream of. Captain Jeremy is standing in some secret government office pointing on the radar as CIA and Military officials look on going “What are you talking about he’s right here?” with a smile.

Captain Jeremy was the kid that ate all the cheap fruit on a dessert table before he looked at the cake when he was a kid.

It’s the first time in his entire life that he’d been completely unable to slip below someone’s attention and if it were any other time he might feel good about that. Might enjoy the idea of being seen and having the attention of someone like Captain Jeremy on him.

Except FF has Spaghetti Pants.

FF cannot escape the man’s determination to ‘make it up’ to him after Aaron had let slip that FF had a restraining order against one of his brothers.

FF insisted that it was okay.

Captain Jeremy insisted on making sure he had a good time.

FF insisted that a good time for him would be to sit at this table all night by himself. He kept to himself that what would really make it would be for him to sit without anyone around to notice he had spaghetti pants.

Captain Jeremy seemed to think that it was due to the still healing stomach injury and insisted on at least keeping him company then, unaware of the unvoiced second part.

So Captain Jeremy of the USC Trojans had declared himself FF’s banquet buddy. A man that was friends or at least friendly with almost every single player here at the banquet.

He looks around the banquet and sees the various tense standoffs at the other tables. These were men and women who would find even the smallest thing and never let you forget it.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if they realize he had spaghetti pants.

How does one recover on the court when the person you’re up against can remember the cold December evening that you dumped a meatball on your pants? He can already hear the jeering nicknames.

He wants to sink into his seat but he’s afraid to shift at all, worried he’ll dislodge the napkin in some way and the newest person coming up to say ‘Hi’ to Jeremy Knox will notice the marinara stain on his pants.

While Jeremy was distracted he did try to wet Nicky’s disposed of napkin to perhaps clean himself off a bit except before he could a Raven came up to him, “Come with me.” a large Raven Backliner says, jerking his head towards the bathrooms.

“No thank you.” FF answers in return, “I don’t need to do that.” he says assuming that the Backliner had seen him shift in his seat and assume he needed to use the restroom.

The Raven Backliner stood for a few moments as if waiting for him to change his mind but then Captain Jeremy’s attention snapped back, “Can we help you with something?” Captain Jeremy asks and his friendly demeanor had vanished.

“I-” The Raven Backliner started to say before seemingly deciding that it wasn’t worth it and walked away.

Captain Jeremy and him continued to talk. They had somehow fallen onto the SAW movie franchise and FF could admit that he was surprised that the Trojan Captain had watched the series.

“You need to come with me.” A Raven Striker says coming up and interrupting the two of them as they talked about the ethics of SAW. FF believed that it was all well and good to learn to appreciate life but there had to be simpler ways to go about teaching that. Jeremy didn’t disagree, he just also thought that sometimes there were some people who Jigsaw never intended to redeem and those people may have deserved their fates.

FF tilts his head, “Do I?” he asks since it didn’t seem like the ERC had made any sort of announcement and she seems utterly and completely perplexed by his response.

The girl looks at him, looks over her shoulder, looks back at him, “Yes?” she responds sounding so unsure that even FF wouldn’t believe her.

“I don’t think he does.” Captain Jeremy interrupts gaze utterly cooled from the warm one he had been giving FF throughout their philosophical debate.

The Raven Striker looks cowed and FF almost feels bad for her but not bad enough to console her when he has spaghetti pants.

She leaves.

FF and Captain Jeremy’s conversation shifts to winter break plans. Captain Jeremy is going home to his family and he’s taking Jean Moreau with him. “I think my mom likes him more than she likes me sometimes.” Jeremy laughs heartily. “He deserves nice holidays though so I’m always happy to bring him up.” he says voice and features going soft as he looks to where Jean Moreau was standing with a raised eyebrow next to Andrew as Kevin and Neil were having some animated conversation.

FF talks about his own plans with the Foxes and how he’ll be spending the break with them. He thinks Captain Jeremy looks a little sad about that but whatever sadness there is Captain Jeremy moves past it quickly and starts to ask if he had plans to go anywhere specific in New York. He heartily recommends the LEGO store when FF says he’s never been.

“Someone important wishes to speak with you.” An Offensive Dealer from the Ravens says and he looks like he’s about to shake apart as he stands in front of them.

“Who?” He asks, tilting his head and sipping his water.

The Dealer looks at him.

“Is it that hard of a question to answer?” Captain Jeremy asks voice stern once again.

“He’s…Master is-” The Dealer goes paler and Smith can’t help but pull out his handkerchief from his front suit pocket as he sees the Dealer break out into a cold sweat.

“You don’t look well, maybe you should sit down?” he asks with his handkerchief extended in offer. The man looks at him and then the handkerchief and then takes it. “Thank you.” he says 

“Wow a handkerchief? My pocket square is just a fake one sewed in.” Captain Jeremy laughs jovial once again as the Raven took a seat shakily.

“It’s something my dad used to always say.” Smith thinks about the additional handkerchiefs in his pockets. “A gentleman always has a handkerchief on hand to help.” He pulls out a second one, “A real gentleman has two.” he adds and folds the new handkerchief into shape for the pocket square again.

Captain Jeremy laughs, “Sounds like a great guy! He must be happy you took his advice to heart.” he says and it doesn’t hurt that bad when Captain Jeremy is saying it since he’s saying something so nice.

“I hope so.” he agrees and doesn’t feel like ruining the mood.

Captain Jeremy turns his attention back onto the Raven who has taken a seat and his eyes soften on the Raven, “Wow you really are pale. Not a lot of sunlight in the Nest?” he asks.

The Dealer swallows, now visibly the most nervous person at the table which is saying something considering that FF is at the table.”I-I’m just pale naturally.” he denies.

“Sit and talk with us until you feel better.” Captain Jeremy insists, “What’s your name by the way?” he asks.

“Michael.” He answers awkwardly.

“Great, my name is Jeremy,” Captain Jeremy points at himself, “and this is Smith. So, have you ever been to New York City before?” he asks

Captain Jeremy, FF, and Michael chat at length about Michael’s New York pizza recommendations. Captain Jeremy asks about some of the places he has been in New York and the longer Michael is there chatting the more color comes to his face and the more vehement he becomes that Captain Jeremy managed to pick all the worst places by accident.

“You’re kidding me! It was 10 bucks a slice, it has to be good!” Captain Jeremy exclaims looking as if Michael was telling him Santa and the Easter Bunny weren’t real.

“If you’re paying more than $2.50 it’s a rip.” Michael insists passionately. “If it’s more expensive than the subway ticket then it’s a racket!” he slams his fist down at the table.

“You mean to tell me that I was lied to by that person I followed on Twitter?” Captain Jeremy asks, appalled.

“Swindled.” Michael insists.

“Christ, I’ve given that recommendation to so many people.” Captain Jeremy and while gesturing he puts his elbow in his own remaining spaghetti, “Oh shit.” he says. Smith looks at the black suit jacket and thinks about a future one step to the left where he had on black pants and a black suit jacket.

“I’m sure it’s good.” FF tries to comfort offering Jeremy his third handkerchief, this one from his left pocket since the one in his breast pocket was a specific color for the ‘look’ that Nicky had wanted. “It’s just not representative of a New York slice,” he adds.

“Thanks Smith.” Captain Jeremy takes the handkerchief wetting it with the glass of water nearby and wiping away the excess of marinara and spaghetti. “I’m going to go wash this off and try to dry it for you.” he says holding the handkerchief up.

“You don’t have to do that.” FF says but Jeremy is waving him off as he stands.

“Sit tight, I’ll be right back.” he says and heads off.

FF turns to Michael, “So I shouldn’t trust anything more than $2.50?” he asks.

Michael shakes his head and turns to look at FF, “Absolutely not.” he says with a smile before FF can see his eyes flick away and he stiffens. “Hey, it’s…” he looks down and the handkerchief, “it’s been nice chatting with you but… is there anyway we can take this conversation somewhere else?” he asks.

FF blinks, “No, I’m not getting up until the party is over.” Smith declines because by this point the stain has set. There is no stealthily cleaning it now that Captain Jeremy has left.

“So, you’ll get up once the banquet is over?” Michael asks leaning across the table and as he does that Smith can see a fairly ugly bruise on the Dealer’s forehead.

“I’ll have to won’t I?” he asks because despite the not-zero possibility that he’ll get left behind by the team again. His gaze shifts to Nicky who is leaning heavily against Matt as the two sway back and forth dancing and laughing. Probably about 50/50 at this point, depending on how quickly FF can make his way out of the stadium.

Michael looks at him and there’s something in his eyes that feels saddened, “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” he says before rising to his feet. “Thank you for this.” he says and hands the handkerchief back. FF can’t help but notice how there was a schmear of make-up on it.

The Dealer walks off and FF waves him off with the handkerchief before sliding it back into his right pocket, where he kept dirty handkerchiefs. He lets his eyes wander across the banquet. He sees Aaron and Katelyn slow dancing to a song that is not a slow dance. He sees Kevin and Jean now in the middle of a passionate conversation. Jack is pouting by the punch bowl with a few other Sophomores patting him on the back. Sheena is seemingly trying to flirt with the older bartender. Nicky and Matt have somehow only gotten sloppier in the 2 minutes between when he last looked at them and now. Captain Neil and Andrew are at the dessert table and he sees Andrew offering Captain Neil a chocolate covered strawberry. He sees a gaggle of his fellow freshmen huddled together all sipping their drinks nervously he moves to wave them over back to the table. Threat of the reveal of his spaghetti pants aside he’s not used to be alone anym-

“What the fuck did you just say?!” He hears behind him.

“I said what I said. She wasn’t even that hot! Get over it!” Another mocking voice.

“That’s it!” the sound of glass shattering and all hell breaks loose.

MASTERPOST FOR ALL PARTS OF FLUENT FRESHMAN AU

NEXT

[larsnicklas]

(smiley) petey palate cleanser! better days ahead ♡