#because of fucking sanctions. I curse this world

[sidyashchiy-na-plakhe]

Tui has an official drawing contest, but it's only for underage American students. And I don't fit any of the criteria...

[dystopicjumpsuit]

I kriffing love in-universe curses.

I've been thinking about it since I saw this poll (you should go vote & reblog!), but I didn't want to wax philosophical on somebody else's post and derail the conversation.

From "I'll see you in hell" to "Dank farrik," Star Wars has a long and rich history of swearing, sometimes using real-world curses and sometimes the made-up ones. If you're familiar with my fics, you'll know that I make liberal use of both, and there are a few reasons why.

First of all, I do think that real-world curses pack more of a punch, so I tend to reserve them for lines that I want to have more of an impact. But also, I think a good balance helps keep my fics from veering into farcical territory, unless the farce is the point.

That said? Star Wars swears are just kriffing fun. They can bring levity to a scene that might be in danger of collapsing under its own karking weight. And, fierfek, they give me more options! After all, how many times can I use the word fuck in a single paragraph? A lot, the answer is a lot.

That being said, not everyone is as voracious a cursing enthusiast as I am, and in-universe swears allow writers who are uncomfortable using real-world curses to have the same emotional impact without needing to use language that makes them personally uncomfortable.

But most importantly, in-universe swearing is a fantastic world-building tool that's easy to integrate and lets readers know right away:

Hey. We're in a galaxy far, far away.

Like using "conservator" instead of "refrigerator," or "cyar'ika" instead of "darling," or "protatoes" instead of "potatoes" (in defiance of both my spell-checker and the wisdom of Samwise Gamgee), in-universe curses like kriff, kark, karabast, fierfek, dank farrik, stars! Holy Force! and the Boba-sanctioned scughole can serve as an easy and entertaining shorthand that helps a fic be more immersive and true to the universe.

So I don't know about you, but I'm going to pour a glass of spotchka and raise a toast to the beloved and time-honored convention of kriffing up my fics.

Dank farrik! Let's have a taglist, because why not?

@secondaryrealm @sev-on-kamino @523rdrebel @wings-and-beskar @merkitty49

@anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @arcsimper5 @starrylothcat @clio3kantarella

@cloneloverrrrr @goblininawig @ladytano420 @arctrooper69 @sunshinesdaydream

@littlemissmanga @stunkbiggu @starqueensthings @marierg @idontgetanysleep

@moonlightwarriorqueen @dudewhynotthis @sleepycreativewriter @tcwmatchmakingau @littlemissbshine

@multi-fan-dom-madness @heavenseed76 @wizardofrozz @bobaprint @sweetcream-coldfoam

@skellymom @pickleprickle @trixie2023 @mythical-illustrator @dickarchivist

@cw80831 @kimiheartblade @flyiingsly @lightwise @swcowgal

@reader6898 @cdblake1565 @epicy0n @starstofillmydream @msmeredithrose

@totallyunidentified @eclec-tech @euphoriacafe @hipwell @yve-barr

@dangraccoon @transactivecybermemory @etod @ivyyyyy @somewhere-on-kamino

@burningnerdchild @saneabandoned @heidnspeak @maniacalbooper

[makeyoumine69]

Hello dear people in my beloved American Psycho fandom! I couldn't force myself to write this post because I didn't know how to do it, but I think now is the right time. I promised myself not to bring personal stuff into my writing, but since one thing affects another, I think I should finally speak up.

This year started pretty bad for me, I was suffering from a huge apathy and my mental health was probably in the worst state in the last few years. I had to cut ties with a lot of people and distance myself, and I'm really sorry for doing that, but I had no choice because I was literally dying from the inside. When I came back to Tumblr in 2022, I was absolutely alone and I had no friends, no followers and in some ways I felt calm and peaceful. I always thought and probably still think that I should be alone and isolated from everyone, like a soulless writing machine just producing fanfictions for people to consume. Maybe this is not a bad thing, because interacting with people always carries the risk of getting bruised?

Anyway, the thing that broke me completely was the news I received in the last days of January that I would be fired in February because my company decided to close the project I was working on due to the high inflation and bad economic situation in Russia. So now I have to find a job within February because I have a lot of financial responsobilities like paying for the medical treatment my family is getting. My grandmother was diagnosed with kidney cancer and her surgery was paid for by me and my fiancé, but the medicine costs a lot, so… after I told my mom about my news, she blamed me for everything. I was not really surprised though, considering that I have been having fights with my whole family for the past few months over different topics, but mostly they hate me for my political opinions. Whenever I say that I am tired of the war, sanctions and all the other stuff that 2022 has brought, they call me a fucking traitor. My family is ready to cancel me just because I told them I was tired of living in isolation, that I had even forgotten what my life was like before the war. My fiancé is literally the only person in my family who supports me, and even though I'm going to lose my job, he told me he would do anything for me, for us, but I don't want to be a burden. I'm really scared about the future, I think I really am now.

So, I'm sorry for not finishing the Christmas fics I promised to post, I'll try to finish them soon. Also, I'm sorry for not being active with fulfilling the requests and replying to your asks. I'm really sorry. And I know some of you might think that why I keep writing new series and working on different stuff while I have WIPs I need to finish—I'm just trying to follow my muse and I can say that it's really unstable these days, but I'm really trying to do my best and deliver something good for all of you!

I also want to thank all of you who have supported me with your donations! It means the world to me! Unfortunately, my account on the platform I was using for donations has been suspended because of… DOLLARS! They think I'm a scammer or something because the dollar is such a cursed currency in Russia right now, so I don't know if they'll unban my account, I hope they will.

Okay, that was longer than I thought it would be. To end this crazy rant, I just want to thank you guys for sticking with me no matter how fucked up I might be! I believe that one day I will find my way back to myself so that I can come back strong and refreshed!

[theundeadgospel]

the thing I love most about Beth is the fact each of her AUs are connected to the main storyline (COS) by just one mere immortal movement

that no matter what timeline she exists in, no matter the species or body, she is meant to stand for and represent the unity between mortality and undead. it’s why she ALWAYS has the same exact martyring feat — the same championship of a dead god, the same steadfast determination to sanction undead and demented, the immortality to keep coming back over and over again until she successfully unites the living and the dead. it’s quite literally her legacy and what she exists for — to be a gospel.

she either dies trying in a timeline or she succeeds. so far, she’s only permanently died once in a timeline attempting to get the townsfolk to see her ways — to which majority of the town agreed, but the corrupted baron wrongly executed her before she could get far.

it goes as follows with the pattern of over two years now

—

• Realms of Adventure / First debut in LARP : Necromancy and undead activity HIGHLY illegal. She converted to vampirism and attempted to get the townsfolk to see that not all undead and demented should be kill on sight, and let her being one prove it. The townsfolk gave her a chance — only for the corrupt baron to execute her in private, scared of his people backlashing him and denying his authority. Her martyring caused an ancient infernal being to sacrifice himself for the town’s safety because of the kindness she showed him. If he hadn’t sacrificed himself, more than half of the town would have perished to an explosion.

• Curse of Strahd (Homebrew) / Original timeline : The champion of Lord Myrkul, the God who houses necromancy and undead. Barovia is filled with loads of undead — and the townsfolk fear them with given reason. Some of them can’t be redeemed or are non-sentient. Paladins here are especially divine based and the Kelemvorites consider Beth kill on sight because she stood against a literal fucking God due to him spiting her kind.

She’s insanely steadfast with her endeavor in this timeline alone — she isn’t afraid of death, nor torture, nor the Gods. All she sees is unity and all she cares about is coming back as many times as possible to make sure her people are fucking safe. So far, she’s gotten a lot of people to accept her existence, and she managed to convince her faithful comrades to accept her POV too. One of which is the champion of Kelemvor himself. The other two are the chosens of Ilmater and Lathander. She’s spoken out many times to divine faiths in order to establish an alliance as a natural born leader. She also is the main factor to go to when it comes to Myrkulites and undead business.

• Warhammer / Continuation of ROA after being executed : Despite being malicious as all hell and batshit psychotic in this timeline, she still houses the demented and undead. More specifically, skaven. Another race widely hated lmao. She only associates with the dead and demented and does not mingle with the living at all. Unlike COS, where she accepts mortality too and wants to unite them, this timeline DESPISES mortality and considers them kill on sight. Desires a world with just undead since the living can’t act right and is killing off their own kind anyway.

• Sacred Grounds / Current LARP : A vampire descendent. Basically a daywalker. She’s a knight in training but heavily embraces her Scandinavian roots here and acts more like a viking than a death knight atm. The undead here are mainly sideshows — undead clowns. She’s a heavy advocate for them and Grobs, whom are just weird ass goblin people known to start shit and cause violence. This LARP has a dead three as well similar to Forgotten Realms — and of course, Beth is getting close to the God of the dead to be his gospel.

• Dragon Age : The newest verse and she’s a Mourn Watcher of course. Myrkul is still her faith and she’s still his champion, just on the down low because the Gods there are different in Nevarra. She mainly resides in the Grand Necropolis to watch over the undead there and is, as expected, fiercely protective of them and her allies.

—

what cracks me up is the fact that she almost always ends up romancing someone entirely opposite of her. like a fucking aasimar or angelic being when she’s heavily against the divine — but as long as they’re nice to her people, she can make exceptions. being with a divine being when you’re the standing face of necromancy is the biggest example of unity you’ll get.

[alexkaneinq]

Cultist's Gamble: Round 8

Kasper doesn't think that he can say that any time he's spent back in the city has been particularly relaxing, but he absolutely isn't about to say that now. The louder voices calling for a hunt have softened as the Were moved on from the city's edge as a hunting ground, but they haven't died out completely. Kasper wonders if his cult is at all responsible for this. 

Their magic works in the shadows, pilfering the graves of gods that the current pantheon killed to take their places. That cycle of violence in the heavens has gone on for millennia, but this pantheon has only been in power for eight mortal centuries. Through those centuries, they influenced their world away from magic not sanctioned by themselves. They want people to have to beg them to do the feats that the educated, the devoted, and the naturally talented can perform. His cult sinks their hands into the decay and uses what they find crawling along the putrefied flesh and make their own spells. They do so out of the gods' sight, but there are other ways for them to notice the disturbance. It's entirely possible that the faithful are starting to feel this itch to hunt down any possible heretics because the gods themselves are starting to feel that there is something wrong as well. 

Still, when he had been worried about being observed or approached by someone when he only wanted to stay under the radar, he had been expecting it to be Grady who interrupted him. 

"Excuse me?" The man's voice is soft and deep, rumbling in from the doorway as Kasper finishes clearing tables. 

"I'm sorry, sir," he says before he's fully turned to look at him. "Last call was-- oh!" He isn't startled by the wound stitched shut across his face. He's not that shallow, he's more surprised that the man who was attacked by the werewolf is already well enough to be up and walking around. "Oh, well, I'd say 'welcome back' but I doubt you remember anything from your first visit." 

"You were here?" His tone stays soft as he steps just inside of the threshold so the door can shut behind him. 

"I was. It was lucky that Dr. Fernward was here. He and Miss Bursk did everything they could to save your life." 

"...Lucky." The man says without much inflection. Kasper wasn't paying much attention to his appearance when he was bleeding out on a table, but he looks now. Pale skin, he remembers, though now it's not streaked with blood, clean shaven now, though he wonders how he managed it around the pink line that is carved across his features. That looks far more healed than he would have expected after only a week and a few days, and it's with a sinking in Kasper's gut that makes him realize that must mean that the curse took. It's trying to get his body healthy enough for the next full moon that is only--he usually is more focused on the new moon for his own magic and it takes him a moment to recall-- three days away? Four? He hopes that the damage to his chest is so severe that he doesn't shift. He doesn't want to have a Were running around in the city causing him problems. His brown hair is short and shaggy, fringe across his forehead and curling around his ears, deep brown eyes peeking out from behind long, thick lashes. His features land somewhere between rugged and handsome, the scar only emphasizing that more, leaving him looking like a painting of an avenging angel. 

"I'm sorry," He refocuses, turning his attention back to his work. "But we are closed for the night. If you want to come back tomorrow--" 

"I'm looking for a server," He says, his tone still neutral. "A man named Kasper Kosk?" 

Of fucking course he is. "What business?" He asks, without looking up, like he's inquiring for someone else. 

"I've been discharged, but my... initial destination is still weeks of travel away from here. Inns are too expensive. But Dr. Fernward told me that the server here lived in an apartment on the edge of town that was cheaper. I was hoping I could trouble him to make an introduction between myself and his landlord." 

"You'd be better off at an inn. There's no hot water and every time a cold wind blows, you'll know it." If Eric sent him his way, it must have been for a reason. He'll have to inquire after it the next time he sees the other man. 

Or maybe doing so would just be his way of confirming to himself that the only reason the vampire would want him on the edge of town, near him, is because he knows the curse took too. Maybe he's hoping that the freshly turned Were attacks him-- but given their association thus far, Kasper thinks it's far more likely that Eric sent this man to him because... he knows that Kasper will kill him before he lets him turn and go on a rampage in the city. Eric doesn't know exactly the kind of magic he practices when so many different forms are illegal, but clearly he thinks whatever he's doing is dangerous enough to trust him to protect them both in a way he wouldn't have been able to if he'd kept the Were at the laboratory. 

"I would rather the apartment, Mr. Kosk."

"Alright. " He agrees without making any more fuss. "I've got to finish wiping down the tables, but once I'm done, we can leave, if you don't mind waiting half an hour or so."

The other man goes and sits at a booth near the door, looking out the window silently as he does so. Kasper finishes what he's been doing, Lonnie having already taken care of the bar and gone back into the kitchen to close things down for the night. 

The werewolf hasn't moved from that spot by the time he's done, but when Kasper comes up to the edge of the table, he stands up silently and follows him out. 

It's very late, and he's not entirely certain if his landlady will be up, but the little apartment only has four units. His and the empty one upstairs, and hers and another neighbor downstairs that he thankfully hasn't ever seen hide or hair of, even if he does have to suffer smelling their cooking which relies far too heavily on boiled sprouts and fish. If her light is on, then the Were can knock. 

The walk to his home is eerily silent, but Kasper has so little to go off of when it comes to this man that he doesn't even know where to start with conversation, nor is he aware if said conversation would be well-received when the man hasn't said a single word. All he is traveling with is a rucksack, and that has been stitched together very neatly since he saw it last. He doesn't know what to even say to him when he's already trying to figure out how to kill him without getting discovered. But for now he settles on, 

"I didn't catch your name." 

"...Vellum Pew. Nice to meet you." 

"Nice to meet you without your guts falling out." He replies. 

Vellum Pew travels light and prefers cheap abodes. Hopefully that means he doesn't invest much in other connections either. Maybe he'll get lucky and no one will come looking for him when he's gone. 

Result: Success!

Bad Ending Counter: -6

Start Here | First Round | Previous Round | Next Round | Last Round

[s-4pphics]

My biology prof is palestinian and she got the news mid class, when she found out she seriously started crying and these bitch ass assholes were laughing and making bomb jokes like it was fucking okay. she deadass had to leave early and they’re here acting like it’s okay to say that shit. Genuinely breaks my heart how people can be so cruel and the fact that they did that in front of her face makes me so mad because at least have a bit of sympathy. They got sent to the dean but left his office smiling like they’re fucking proud of what they’ve done. hope they burn

the fact that the west was able to successfully demonize muslim/arabs makes me wanna burn everything to the fucking ground. all their sanctioning and displacement and propaganda over the last century actually worked. a vast majority of these fuckers do not value life in the middle east. all those precious babies that have to grow up in a world so violent and filled with hate for them makes me sooo fucking vengeful i want everything to be destroyed like im so serious…. i’m sick every fucking day

if you’ve gotten used to seeing babies and mothers and fathers be ripped apart you’re going to burn for the rest of eternity and i hope u know that. ur soul is cursed. i want the fall of the u.s. to be irreversible and painful. and i want everyone to suffer🤷🏽🤷🏽

[mayhemproduces]

Syn clutched at his lower back and dropped to a knee as Abigail checked on him after they had their hands raised. The amazing dual feat of strength from Syn & Abigail got this entire crowd on their feet, despite the fact that there was two of them doing it, lifting a man the size of Dutch is an impressive feat in and of itself, but it looks like Syn may have pulled something in his back doing it. Either way, Syn waved off Abigail's help, saying he just needed a minute, and pointed to Steve Guy, asking Abigail to grab him the mic. It was unusual, of the two of them, Abigail was usually the one who did the majority of the speaking on the mic, but tonight it seemed like Syn was the one with something to say. Syn managed to get back to his feet as he gave Abigail a small bow and a kiss on the cheek as she handed him the microphone, Syn looking around as the crowd actually cheered him receiving the mic. Syn brushed his hair back with his free hand as he spoke. "Y'know... you guys aren't supposed to like me." That just seemed to get an even bigger pop from the crowd, and Syn chuckled a bit as he pointed at Abby. "You're gonna get me in trouble with that one." The crowd laughed, and even Abby had a grin on her face as she licked her lips and winked, suggesting just what kind of trouble that would be. Syn dropped the jovial demeanor for a second to clutch at his back again, and curse. "Fuck, Dutch is heavy..."

Syn shook it off though, and turned his attention back to the task at hand. "Last week... Some things happened in this ring. Things all of you aren't meant to see, a side of this business... You aren't all meant to see. But you've been seeing a lot of it recently, thanks to C-... That, fucking asshole, who once again got himself suspended from this place. Suspended, fired, I honestly don't fucking know at this point... But that's not how I do business, that's not how I solve my problems, as a man, as a fighter. No... I'm not letting this go, and I'm not burying this in the sand, like every other wrestling company has done in the past. This gets solved, and this gets solved right now."

Syn looks to the back curtain, and speaks right to the boss. "Paul... Reinstate him. Rehire him, do whatever you got to do, because this ain't over. I want him at Hell on Earth. And if you won't sanction it, that's fine. I'll sign a fuckin' waiver, in this ring, next week, and I'll completely absolve this company of any responsibility, you just gotta give me the ring and the platform. Hell on Earth, Seattle, in front of the world. I don't want you to book Syn vs CM Punk... Wash your hands of it. Make sure that asshole can't sue you for what I'm gonna do to him, because come Hell on Earth, it ain't gonna be Syn vs CM Punk, Jake Bryant is showing up, and he's fuckin' showing up to fight Phil Brookes!"

The crowd practically explodes as Syn throws the mic back to Steve Guy, having made his point. Syn wants Punk, Jake wants Phil, however you wanna say it, doesn't matter! Next week, Syn & CM Punk, face to face in an MPW ring once again!

[epicstuckyficrecs]

Weekly Recap | February 8-21 2021

You get two weeks worth of fics this time because I got too busy last weekend and didn't have time to do my weekly recap :)

Complete

Evanstan Week 2021 by luninosity/ @luninosity​ (Evanstan | 10K | Mature): All my Evanstan Week little fics!

1. dodger 2. kisses  3. on set  4. first times (a first kiss, at least)  5. in space (alternate universe)  6. fluff  7. holiday 

💙  Remote Access by Kalee60/ @kalee60​ (Modern AU, Roommates | 57K | Explicit): Bucky Barnes was in trouble. More trouble than he ever thought he could get into as a grown adult. And it was caused by two singular factors that should never have become entwined.One, his god-like housemate Steve Rogers, who was unfairly handsome and the perfect specimen of man in not only looks but personality - and completely out of Bucky’s league.Two, Bucky’s obsession with a new toy he’d purchased to fill his lonely nights (and other areas).But when Steve buys a new TV, suddenly these two seemingly separate parts of Bucky’s life crash together in a spectacular and obsessive way.Bucky soon finds himself not as in control as he thought - and that’s when things start to get interesting…

💙  Black and Blue by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​, the1918/ @the1918​ (Modern AU, Spies & Secret agents | 7K | Explicit): CIA Agent Bucky Barnes and Captain Steve Rogers, Army 207th, Military Intelligence, are two American spies working for two different intelligence agencies. They've developed somewhat of complicated relationship while chasing down the same leads.

Until One Day, We Won't Be by the1918/ @the1918​ (Evanstan RPF | 8K | Explicit): Six times Chris and Sebastian were alone. [+ one time they were not.]

💙  How to Bang Your Weapon (in This World and the Next) by Brokenwords, elkane/ @elkane​, Hark_bananas/ @harkbananas​, kocuria-visuals (kocuria)/ @kocuria​, Nospheratt/ @nospheratt​, profoundalpacakitten/ @profoundalpacakitten​, ScrambledScript, sublimepigeon/ @sublimepigeon, ursa (Canon Divergent, WS!Steve, WS\Bucky, Multiverse | 50K | Explicit): Hydra knows how to get the Asset to do their bidding. When they want a new Captain, a new Steven Grant Rogers from another universe to help grow Hydra’s collection of supersoldiers, of course they send the Asset. But little do they know that in any universe, a Bucky will always find a Steve, and a Steve will always protect a Bucky.

💙  What lies they told us by darter_blue/ @darter-blue​ (Mobster AU | 42K | Explicit): Steve Rogers might still see his ma every Sunday, but he isn’t the dutiful son. He gave up that life a long time ago. Bucky Barnes may be following in his fathers footsteps, but he wants to set a path to something more than where they’ll take him. Steve and Bucky’s lives have always intersected. There is something between them that exists, real and palpable. But they are opposite sides of a coin. Opposing families in a war for money and power. Blood and pain. And fate may bring them together, again and again, pulling them closer. But it always finds a way to rip them apart. What they need is a way to fight fate. To fight their families. To reach each other. To keep each other. 

the prosecution rests by dirtybinary/ @dirtybinary (Post-WS | 3K | Teen): The Asset has to admit, ending a mission with Captain America crying into his lap is pretty unexpected. Even for him, and he is trained to anticipate all contingencies.

💙  The Seed and the Root by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 32K | Explicit): His hands and mouth are gentle on the outside, but on the inside, Steve is burning up. He’s got everything he’s ever wanted on the bed and land beneath him, and now it’s so much at once that he’s afraid he’ll combust into white, nuclear light. (Part 3 of 💙  Song of the Rolling Earth)

Burning For You by musette22/ @musette22​ (Evanstan RPF, Non-Famous Sebastian | 3K | Teen): Sebastian gets a little carried away when raving about the Mountain Lodge candle to a friend. It leads to an unexpected, fragrant encounter.

At The Bottom Of Everything by Anonymous (Evanstan RPF | 12K | Teen): Six years. That’s what they’re celebrating. Six years, of them. Of this. That's what Chris is happy about. Until the phone rings. Until he turns on the news.

💙  Slip Of The Tongue by this_wayward_life (Shrunkyslunks, Soulmate AU | 6K | Explicit): Mr Perfect Ass is even prettier from the front. His braid is loose enough that strands of hair have fallen to frame his face, and an oversized scarf is pulled up to just below his pouty, red mouth. He's big, with wide shoulders and thick arms and thighs that are straining at his jeans, and he's staring at Steve with a blush on his face and the prettiest eyes Steve has ever seen."Oh, god," Steve blurts out. "Please sit on my face."

(series) Kinktober 2020 by this_wayward_life (31 works | 80K | Explicit)

The Best Handjob Of Bucky Barnes's Damn Life (Handjob)

Soft (Eating Out)

The Benefits of A Sugar Baby  (Thigh Riding)

Black and Blue (Choking/Spanking)

Black Mesh, Red Leather (Daddy Kink)

Thank God For Company-Sanctioned Teambuilding Workshops (Blindfolded)

The Only Thing School Football Is Good For  (Blowjob)

Your Body, On Crumpled Sheets (Voyeurism)

Feeling Just Peachy (Accidental Stimulation)

Blood-slick (Knife Kink)

Bury Me (Restraints)

Summer Nights (Fingering)

Beautiful Shackles (Public Sex)

You Are My First, And You'll Be My Last (Sixty-Nine)

Cover My Body (Size Difference)

All Plugged Up (Toys)

the tenderest touch leaves the darkest of marks (Begging)

Sugar Cookies (In the kitchen)

Seeing Double (Threesome)

I'll crawl home to him (Edging)

Your Voice In My Ear (Phone sex)

Hold Me Close, Keep the Monsters at Bay (In the shower/tub)

Keep Me Warm (First Time)

He never asked me once about the wrong I did (BDSM/rough sex)

Unexpected (Caught masturbating)

Overcome (Overstimulation)

In the Crowd (Orgy)

Praise Your Baby (Praise kink)

Grab on my waist and put that body on me  (Dirty talk)

Rediscovery (Mutual Masturbation)

Think I Found Myself a Cheerleader (Dressed up)

WIP

💙  Underneath the Shattered Sky by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Planet Hulk AU, Post-Endgame | 14/? | 55K | Mature): “I shouldn’t have tried to kiss you.” Steve sounded choked. “I’m sorry. It was out of line.” “It’s really okay.” “No, it’s not. You’re not him. You’re your own person, with your own history, your own thoughts and feelings. Your own life here. I can’t expect you to be him. It’s not fair. To either of you.” “Maybe not,” Bucky huffed back. “But in this universe, my Steve’s an asshole who left me. And in your universe, your Bucky was taken from you, so I don’t really know what’s fair anymore.”

💙  and the river flows beneath your skin by Deisderium/ @deisderium​ (Boarding School AU, Soulmates | 3/? | 20K | Mature): In which Steve and Bucky are forced to room together their senior year at boarding school, and accidentally soul bond to each other even though they kind of hate each other. All they have to do to get out of it is not kiss each other for a year so the accidental bond will fade. How hard could it be?

💙  The Root and the Stalk by the1918/ @the1918​ (Shrunkyclunks, Post-EG | 3/6 | 18K | Explicit): “My mom, she’s not perfect, but she always had this one saying. You can’t look right into the sunset, because the light will burn your eyes. So you have to face east, right?” Bucky tucks his forehead against Steve’s chest, staring down the gap between them, eyes on their feet. “And when you do, you can look at the ground, and you can see your own shadow.” Bucky raises his head after a contemplative silence and gazes up at Steve. Those stormy gray eyes are filled with luminance, iridescence, splintered rays of shining light. “Or—Mom would say—you can look in front of you.” His lashes kiss his cheeks in butterfly pulses every time he blinks. “And ‘God’s light at your back will show you everything.’” (Part 4 of 💙  Song of the Rolling Earth)

💙  Revenance by by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel​, SinpaiCasanova (Bladerunnerblue) (The Old Guard AU/The Song of Achilles AU | 20/? | 62K | Mature | Warning: Violence, MCD): And perhaps it is the greater grief, after all, to be left on earth when another is gone. Or, the one where Steve and Bucky are immortal and used to be known as Achilles and Patroclus.

💙  my soul and my youth (it’s all for you to use) by voxofthevoid/ @voxofthevoid​ (Post-Endgame (non-compliant) | 1/2 | 7K | Explicit): He waits until Bucky’s got a happy mouthful of eggs and toast. “I want to fuck you when you’re asleep.” Steve smiles his sweetest smile, and Bucky’s eyes narrow further, until they’re luminous blue slits. He swallows. Steve helplessly tracks the bob of his throat and drags his eyes back up to Bucky’s. “Steven Grant,” Bucky says, tone somewhere between amusement and admonishment. “Way to spring that on a guy.”

Re-read

I [Heart] You by writeonclara (Canon, magic curse | 1K | General): “Steve’s been hit with a curse,” Natasha said. She said it calmly, so Bucky didn’t immediately go flying out of the apartment to tear apart the Tower in search of Steve. Then again, Natasha would probably be calm if New York City spontaneously burst into flames. He lowered the coffee pot and squinted at her. “Of course he has,” he said. He felt, abruptly, exhausted. “What is it?” “The witch kept ranting about sexual repression and archaic moral principles,” she continued blithely.

[ineffectualdemon]

There is something inspiring about Naoya going on his head about how Maki is an imposter and isn't really strong like Toji only for Maki to land one punch that destroys him and is just like "go on say that again"

But saying that Akutami is continuing his narrative about how adults fuck up kids and ruin things by being bigoted abusive fucks

Clearly Naoya from a young child heard not only intense praise for himself but hateful comments aimed at those without cursed energy or cursed techniques

"Everyone says I'll be the next head" "I'm told even though he's a man he doesn't have an once of cursed energy"

Naoya is a monster but he was raised to be a monster. He was taught his bigotry and that's what's highlighted here

And even with that he recognised the power Toji held. As a child he couldn't deny that strength.

But when Maki holds that same power, someone he had abused with the sanction and approval of his family, he has to deny it. Because he can't accept that what he was taught was wrong or accept Maki as an equal or more

The Zen'in clan's bigotry that they passed down the generations made insanely powerful people who exist outside the constraints of the jujutsu sorcerer world, people completely devoid of cursed energy, who also have nothing but hatred for their clan

They created their own downfall. Toji gave them a stay of execution. Maki couldn’t

I just find it so incredibly satisfying to watch her destroy them

[phoenixfire-thewizardgoddess]

Concept: RED Spy is down, his watch damaged and the knife blasted from his hand by a clever strike from a BLU. His ribs ache from the force of being hurled bodily into the unforgiving soil of Teufort’s rocky ground, and he grits his teeth into a snarl. 

He can fight without his knife, he lived this long as a Spy prior to this whole mess of a contract... but it would not be easy. His ankle feels damaged, twisting as he rolled and Spy curses at the misfortune; still, his arms were hale enough to enact a chokehold when the opportunity arose. 

The sun disappears as looming shadows block the light, and hearty chuckles linger in the air, the malice behind the sound sending a shudder through the espionage agent. He understood, this was... well, it was personal to a degree, if he had a downed BLU then of course he would think nothing of enacting some quick revenge for a past death/insult.

But it was also their job. He hoped to take at least one down with him, if possible... but it would not be the end of the world to die here and now, later he could hunt them down and delight in the gurgled screams as his butterfly knife pierced their spinal columns. 

Blood dribbled slowly from the shallow indentations in his bottom lip wheren a few teeth had pierced accidentally during the heavy impact. Spy’s tongue darted out automatically to catch it, equally thrilled and revolted by the taste of the coppery substance... 

He grunts as a heavy Texan boot digs into his side, and two voices laugh uproariously as if the world’s wittiest joke had just been exchanged. They would pay for tha-...

His vision flashes sharply a second later, pain radiating through his face like an explosion as a steel-capped boot makes contact; without even consciously registering it, Spy knows his nose is broken. That was a sensation he had become all too familiar with in the past. 

He cries out as something heavy crunches down on his legs, efectively trapping him. 

“Aw, don’t be such a wuss Spah, I manage to carry that around when it’s full all’a the time!” the BLU engineer coos, his expression worryingly unhinged, though not unfamiliar... the RED Engineer had made the same face a truly disconcerting number of times in the past. 

Indeed, the toolbox weighed more than one would suspect, and if his ankle had not been shattered before, it certainly was now. There was only one solution, if he could but find it... where was his-...? 

“Oh laddie, don’t go looking for your pretty little pistol... our spook went and knicked that when ye blacked out for a second, like the delicate little crossaint ye are.” BLU Demo taunted, crouching down over the RED. 

Spy did not recall blacking out, but that’s not generally a good sign...

“You are, as ever, outclassed here, mon frier.” came a smug voice so like his own that it irritated to no end, as the BLU Spy faded into visibility.

If this had been the first death of the day, or even the twelfth, then perhaps he would not have stopped trying to find a solution. Beady blue eyes darting subtly around until some ingenious escape plan came to light and he could be freed from this mess...

But it wasn’t, and he was so, so very tired. Between the Pyro, Sniper and a number of rather lucky swipes from the BLU Medic, Spy had been dying all day long. He would love for this to end quickly... but given the location, and the unlikelihood of help arriving in time to curb the enthusiasm of the currently losing team surrounding him... Spy felt that things were not in his favour this day.

Hovering gently across the room, the intel gleamed innocuously, cruelly. A beacon that lured them all to their deaths day in, day out on these damn capture the flag campaigns; a beloved sight for both the teams’ benefactors. 

And so they died, day after day, for nothing more than a glowing briefcase with an ever-changing array of useless paper inside. Why, last week there had been a recipe for some fried chicken with eleven herbs and spices... useless, though Engineer had been eager to try it, as had another fried chicken afficiando on the team. 

The week before? A number of magazines, a short story about some science fiction show he was certain may have been written by one of the Pyros, and a crudely drawn map to different households that Spy could not make heads or tails of...

A slap snapped him back to reality, sending fresh waves of sizzling pain through his face as the damage to his nose once again took his full focus. 

“Looks as if he’s back with us again.” BLU Spy said, radiating smugness from every pore as he flicked out his knife with unnecessary flourishes. “Good evening Monsieur, seeing as you will be staying with us for some time, I would hope you will be an obbliging guest... and not miss out on the festivities. Such as,” he said, pointing the blade directly at a blue pupil, “when I remove your eye from its socket, hmmm?”

“Hey, I called dibs on ‘im first boyo.” BLU Demo exclaims, swatting at the blade-wielding hand, and trying not to look too pleased as it scored a deep groove across Spy’s face. Spy hisses at him through clenched teeth, loathing the man. “He needs those eyes to see what ol’ eyelander and I are gonna do tae him, aye?” 

“Just don’t go hogging him, I’ve had to rebuild a dozen sentries today because of him. Not to mention my back’s achin’ somethin’ fierce from all the damn backstabbing the little red weasel’s gotten away with.” BLU Engie interjected, groaning as he stretched, fingers and spine making awful audible pops. The man flexed his gloved hand and the mechanical whirring sent chill straight down the Spy’s spine. “Now see, I’m thinkin’ that fair’s fair only if’n I get to pull yours right on out of that body of yours. Whatcha think about that, you filthy RED?”

It would technically fall under ‘fair’, but not anything Spy particularly wanted to experience. Before he could open his mouth in his own defence, with a smooth ‘Gentlemen, please...’ the mechanical fist slammed in from the side. Bile rose automatically in his throat at the sensation of a tooth dislodging and blood filling his mouth. The BLUs seemed wildly unhinged today, beyond their normal bloodlust... but they had lost all week long, so they may be getting sanctions and penalties from the Administrator.

His head whirled. When was the last time he’d had more than a few hours sleep this week? The last time he drank some actual water or ate something substantial? Maybe he wouldn’t be in this mess if he’d not insisted on skipping the team lunch during ceasefire, in order to do some covert surveillance in the enemy intel. 

Consciousness flickered. 

There were delighted but angry voices jabbering back and forth about ‘waiting their turn’, and ‘going a little easy to start because the french fry had to last’...

And then, there was screaming.

It was almost like a bad horror movie, with the sounds of screaming, crunching and swearing flickering in and out. Little snippets of a full scene that he could not comprehend as his battered head swam...

In the sudden silence, loud and grotesque for the heaviness of it, all that could be heard was a sharp, angry series of breaths.

Spy blinked frantically, trying to ascertain what had happened, trying to cling to the here and now when all his body & mind wished for was to give in to the swirling darkness. 

A figure coalesced before him, eyes seeming to glow with a feral light, body and bat completely splattered with blood and gore, expression half in shadow. 

“S-Sco-...?” Spy tried to get the word out around damaged molars and a outhful of blood. Everything throbbed, but the silence was a symphony of hope to his ears.

“Don’t worry, they won’t fuckin’ touch you again, Spy. I got ‘em.” growled an unusually serious Scout, his fist shaking around the bat’s handle. He seemed frozen, a figure in a portrait surrounded by the broken corpses of the BLUs, uncertain what to do next.

A wheezey exhalation from Spy seemed to snap the runner out of it, and he knelt to shove against the toolbox pinioning the espionage agent to the ground. It clunked to the ground with a heavy metallic finality, and Spy sighed at the sudden freedom. 

“Ya look like shit, Spook, so we gotta get ya out of here before those guys fall outta respawn lookin’ for revenge.”Scout says, mouth running while his eyes dart over the mess that the normally immaculate espionage agent made. He slips an arm under Spy and they slowly work the man into a sititng position.

Ankle’s definitely shattered, Spy notes with a true lack of enthusiasm.

“Scout... just prop me against the wall there and take the intel. Once it is secured, they cannot touch me anyway, as the humiliation round will keep me safe.” 

“And just who the fuck do you think you are ordering me about like that?” Scout objects, eyes never once leaving Spy’s face. 

“Someone who wants to win as much as I do?” Spy hazards.

Scout leans back on his haunces, crouched by Spy. He tilts his head, “Ya a real bastard, ya know that? I don’t care about the intel, we gotta get you outta here. But if it means that much to ya...”

In a frankly ridiculously fluid movement, Scout is up, across the room and back again before Spy could blink. The intel snapped to his back like a magnet.

Spy is hauled to his feet with minimal protestations, an arm over Scout’s shoulders and the runner’s other one about his waist. The majority of his bodyweight was resting on the runner, and Spy felt rather despondent about their chances of surviving like this.

He said so.

“The others are coming, don’t worry about it.” Scout grinned. 

Heavy machinegun fire could be heard above near the BLU spawn, along with delighted maniacal laughter. The REDs were here, and judging by the beeping of a sentry, they were spawncamping like no tomorrow.

“See? We got this. So don’t worry about it.” Scout shrugs as they begin the slow ascent up the corridor and hiopefully towards a dispenser. Spy lurching along and trying to think of other things as each jostling movement created little discomforts. 

In a momentary pause, he looks to the runner. “Merci, mon... fils.” 

The words felt too big for such a narrow corridor to hold all at once.

Scout laughed, half in delight and half from awkward nervousness. “Yeah, yeah, you better thank me. I saved ya butt in there!”

They continued hobbling towards the rest of RED for a long moment, before Scout said, looking anywhere but at Spy. “Don’t worry about it... Dad... I got ya.”

Spy could not help but smile through a mouth of bloody, broken teeth. Suddenly, the world felt a little brighter... 

The End

[yarpharp]

a (probably) hysterical and nonsensical ramble

I keep thinking about that ol’ supposed curse: “May You Live in Interesting Times.”

I’m not young, not really, but I am still younger than all my coworkers and my boss and the goddamn politicians that run this dumpster fire of a country. I hear the news about COVID, about the fact that no matter what there will be a huge demographic of people who are doomed to an early grave or chronic health issues and everyone is ignoring it. Decent human decency like the mask is “annoying” or “un-American” but apparently being a raging bigot and Trump supporter and attempting to charge the capital makes you the biggest damn American Patriot in the historical lexicon of American Patriots. 

And then someone at my workplace goes, “ah, you know. We live in Interesting Times. It’ll work out.” 

Ukraine gets invaded, people are dying there for no good reason, Putin and his little cabinet of autocrats are declaring essentially a fucking land-grab, the “West” is sanctioning the fuck out of Russia in hopes of starving out Putin but also forcing millions of perfectly decent Russian civilians to live without money, food stuffs, an insanely wide range of internet resources, Europe and America are being idiots about global warming because they were rather content to just.... march our planet to its eventual end because Materialism and Money are worth more than generational prosperity and sustainability is apparently a hippie pipe dream until RIGHT NOW that Russia is persona non-grata and they supply the world with the most oil and natural gas. People are also still dying in Yemen (also for non good goddamn reason), there’s still plenty of turbulence in Syria. Putin dares to put a nuclear threat out there into the world, and what? What can you say to any of that?

My coworker shrugs her shoulder and says, “We live in Interesting Times. Your generation will figure it out.”

It’s hard to supposedly figure it out, Debbie, if we keep collectively fucking pushing ourselves further down the metaphorical sewer drain. We live in a world of late stage capitalism, consumerism, and climate change. Do you know what “May You Live in Interesting Times” means? Why it’s a curse?

Because you can think that my generation will be the one to solve your problems, Debbie, and maybe everything will eventually work itself out, but the real question is: Do you realize that you’re going to have to live it with me until those supposed “interesting times” have finally ended?

[hellsbellschime]

I really feel for the Ukranians, especially as there doesn't seem to be resolution in sight that allows them to keep their sovereignty. Trade embargoes and sanctions probably aren't going to stop this war. Putin has been planning this for some time, which is why he cut that mutual support deal with China. We can thank the Trump years for that. Contrary to popular opinion, the USA didn't keep friendly relations with China just to be nice. China is a shitshow, we all know this, but keeping them on side was propping up a wedge between China and Russia.

If the west cuts him off, China will keep the country afloat, and that means relations with China are about about to be thrown into the dumpster fire too.

The next couple of years are going to get nasty, even if Russia eventually pulls back. If he doesn't pull back then that means he'll probably pick off Belarus next then start eyeing the NATO countries. It might take him ten years to get to that point but it'll come. Here's hoping he'll pop his clogs before that (and that Trump doesn't get re-elected, because that might embolden the fucker to move his timetable up.)

Yeahhhh, China is really the fucking linchpin in all of this shit and it absolutely sucks. Frankly, I very highly doubt that Putin would do something like this if he didn't know he'd have at least some kind of support from China, because there's absolutely no chance that he could start moving west on his own. Unfortunately shit got really real, really fast, and please lord do not put the curse of Donald Trump being reelected out into the world. FFS hopefully Trump and Putin both just kick the fucking bucket and save the entire world a hot mess of stress and clusterfuckery.

[tsumtsum-into-omiomi]

CHAPTER TWO: HISTORY 101

warning(s): cursing

word count: 1.4k

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AO3

"What if... I told you all that practitioners like us used to be able to roam the earth as we wished?" Atsumu starts, a smug look on his face as if he is about to reveal a huge secret. Osamu, who is sitting behind the class computer to control their slide show, rolls his eyes. He hates it when Atsumu presents because he tends to act overly dramatic.

 "They're able to be found anywhere in Japan, and even though they're a minority, practitioners and non-practitioners lived in harmony together. They're accepted and even trusted to govern states alongside non-practitioners; taking on important roles as ministers and such. Sounds pretty sweet, right?"

 Atsumu then pauses for a second to cue Osamu to move on to the next slide. The screen flickers, now projecting six pictures of professional looking men and women in suits with their names underneath, "these people are examples of distinguished figures who made sure our law and order were in place so that the peace between practitioners and non-practitioners was kept in check when they lived together. They drafted the constitution that we are still using to this day."

 "This woman," Atsumu points to one of the pictures on his slide, "Ota Shiori, was the person who campaigned for the famous safety law to be sanctioned. It was designed to protect non-practitioners from unlawful usage of magic on them. She truly believed that, in no circumstances should they feel threatened by the power that they were not blessed with. And the practitioners were cautious about this matter. They made sure not to hurt anyone with their magic."

 "However, circa 1850s, non-practitioners began a purging movement, fueled by a rising political party, called Chōwa, who wanted to be in power," Atsumu gestures to Osamu. He taps on the keyboard and the slide changes. There are pictures of protests and violent acts on the screen, assumed to be inflicted on practitioners. Low murmurs and soft gasps can be heard filling the lecture hall. There is tension in the air.

 "To them," Atsumu continues, riding on the mood of the class and using a serious tone, "for as long as practitioners were living among non-practitioners, they would not be able to hold absolute administration because they thought we could topple them down with our magic anytime. That scared them a lot."

 Osamu then stands up to continue where Atsumu left off, "the purge had forced magic practitioners to move and live in isolation, away from others, just to ensure their safety," but unlike Atsumu, his voice is indifferent. He has a mind map displayed and it shows a list of town names. "They began to find new lands to start fresh and due to their small numbers, the community was scattered all over the country. They built small towns where they could live amongst their own people and keep to themselves to stay out of trouble.”

 Osamu points to the screen, “these are the magic towns established over the years that we know of, including ours; Taishi. It is the only town in Hyōgo which houses magic practitioners since the year 1957, a settlement where we can exercise spells freely and a place called home for us to live in peace. Fun fact; Tokyo is the only prefecture that has more than one magic town," Osamu appears dead panned, making it very hard for the audience to be convinced that it is, indeed, a fun fact.

 He taps on the keyboard again. This time, the Hyōgo prefecture's map is presented beside a picture of three men in suits standing side by side.

 "However, it is also important to note that there are people out there who do not share Chōwa's sentiment towards the magic community and are accepting of us," he informs, "our small town has its secret hold hidden by the cities of Tatsuno and Himeji. They envelop and give us the protection that we need from being exposed to the rest of the world. It's an agreement they made decades ago with us, even before the name Taishi came to exist, to repay the practitioners for helping them during the age of wars. These three men, Mori Daigo, Abe Genta and Ikeda Hide, were the leaders back then who came up with the peace treaty that is still in effect up until today."

 "Here are some interesting facts on Taishi," Osamu skips to the following slide, "we have a population of around thirty thousand. Our school, Inarizaki, was founded by Abe Genta. The famous Kudo Street was named after Kudo Kazuki, the first practitioner who built our town. Kudo Street gains its popularity as a place to get magical supplies in the 70s..."

 "Gosh, interesting facts?" you whisper to your friend beside you. The two of you are sitting at the far back of the hall, "his face doesn't reflect it at all. Appear a bit more enthusiastic, man."

 Suna yawns, "as if he gives a shit."

 "I'm hungry," you huff.

 "If we hadn't joined this class for fun, we would already be eating right now," Suna side-eyes you.

 "Hey, you also thought it's a fun idea to see the twins present!" you jeer back. "And in case you forgot, we can leave anytime. We're literally sitting beside the door."

 "Nah, let's ask the presenters some mind-boggling questions while we're already here," Suna waves his hand lazily.

 "See, isn't this a better way to spend our free period?" you smirk.

 Suna grins back at you, "go do your work, Satan."

 "Any questions?" Atsumu implores to the class. The two of you sit straight and draw your attention back to the front after realising that the presentation is over.

 You see no hands raised. Nice, an impassive class; the perfect audience. You put your hand up, catching Atsumu's eyes. He points at you with a smile, "yes, at the back there?"

 However, his smile vanishes instantly when you stand up, finally taking notice of you and Suna, who are intruding the class. He glares at you as a warning.

 "I have some questions," you announce, ignoring the invisible daggers he's throwing at you, "aren't you two fifth year students? Why did you choose basic history to present on? Weren't there any other challenging topics that you could've tackled on?"

 Atsumu seems like he's about to break the pen he's holding into half while Osamu scratches his temple with his middle finger, a quiet "fuck you" for you. You and Suna stifle some giggles at their reactions as you plop back into your seat.

 The History teacher clears his throat, "answer the question, Miya. I was wondering the same thing too. I know I said you're free to choose what to present on, but isn't yours very... elementary? Even though this is an entry level History class, I expected more since you're seniors."

 "Aw man," Suna chortles, "if they fail this class again... you're a part of the reason."

 "Nah, Morita-sensei will let them pass this time," you respond, "I don't think he wants to see them again next year for the third time."

 "Lol, imagine having to take an entry level History course  three times in the span of six years at this school."

 "Hm, maybe it's something only the twins can achieve."

 "Look at him spewing bullshit," Suna snickers at Atsumu, who is trying to justify his and Osamu's presentation topic to his best ability.

 "His expertise anyway," you scoff, not even paying attention to what Atsumu is saying.

 Suna nods in agreement, “I feel bad but I’m really enjoying this.”

 “They’re gonna be so pissed off,” you cackle.

 "Any more questions?" Atsumu addresses the whole class.

 "Oh shit, my turn," Suna raises a hand up.

 "Don't let Morita-sensei see you or we'll get kicked out," you remind him in a low voice. Suna only stands up half of his height, hiding from Morita's view behind the rows of students sitting in front of him.

 Once Atsumu catches his raised hand and makes eye contact with Suna, he mouthes a "fuck you" at him. Unfortunately, he doesn't really have a choice other than answering, "yes?"

 "Do you know if the samurai practised magic?"

 A snort escapes from you upon hearing Suna’s question. You then see a text come in from Osamu, who must’ve sent it from behind the computer while everyone was paying attention to Suna just now. It says "I'm gonna feed you two shit tomorrow". You almost lose it seeing how pressed Osamu is right now— it’s a rare sight. You reply with “sounds good 😋” to him and he sends a middle finger emoji back.

 Ah, what better way to enjoy the trivial life as a student other than being a pain in your brothers’ asses?

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AO3

Thank you for reading till the end!! World building is my passion LMAO jk it's super hard I love creating it but writing it?? Phew... Anyway, this is just to give context of the AU they're in!! Hope it gave you a good idea!

[sergeant-donny-donowitz]

Meant to Be (DonnyxReader)

@owba-chan​ @war-obsessed​ @inglourious-imagines​ @tealaquinn​

Let me know if  you wanna be added to the taglist! :) Requested by @cybernobody44

The boys muttered and cursed under their breaths as they marched through some mud on the outskirts of the forest. Their vulgar and amusing strings of words becoming frosty breaths in the winter evening.

There was an agent that the OSS had let the British intelligence "borrow". And now the basterds needed that agent for a mission, or two.

Hrischberg muttered, "I don't see why we gotta have this spy tag along. We've been doin' fine on our own!"

Omar nodded, "I hope he's not snobby about being an agent and being smart and all that."

Hugo huffed, "Unlikely." He mostly didn't feel like dealing with one more person than he already had to.

The basterds crossed into the empty back alleys of a questionable side of a small French town.

Smitty narrowed his eyes, making out the dark figures of shadier characters scattered about and slinking around in the shadows. "Aldo? How are we supposed to know who our contact is?"

Aldo was glad to hear something that wasn't a complaint...for the first time in a week. The only thing keeping him sane by then was his supply of tobacco, which was running dangerously low.

He sighed as he turned around, "Two allied airmen will be escortin' our spy."

Wicki raised an eyebrow. "Allied airmen? Under what flag?"

Smitty nodded, "Yeah? Canadian? British? Australian? Soviets? Brazilian? It could be any-"

Aldo sighed as he sat down, and inhaled the last of his snuff, hoping the newcomer would be a peacekeeper among them. "They don't fuckin’ tell me shit, son."

The basterds stood around, hoping their silence would draw less unwanted attention.

About an hour passed...

Omar narrowed his eyes, having an ear for accents, as he found three figures appraoching them. "Fuck...it's the tommy's."

The basterds groaned in annoyance, as they heard one of the airmen muttering under his breath, "Bloody hell...it's the yanks!"

As they came into the clearing, light from a shattered street lamp revealed the spy.

And it stopped Donny's heart.

He whispered, astounded, "Holy shit...it's her..."

Smitty turned to Donny in confusion, "Her?"

Omar followed in confusion, "Who's 'her'?"

Wicki, Aldo, Hugo, and Hirschberg turned to Donny. Analyzing the loosness in his stance, the loss of words in his parted lips, and the sheer panic in his eyes.

Her...

From the stories Donny had told them about you, the way he once lovingly and painfully drew your face with his words, they knew what you looked like...

Hugo looked to the two younger basterds... and murmured, "Her..."

The last time Donny saw you was back in 1941...

Pearl Harbor had just been bombed.

Stories about nazi Germany, and millions of broken, tear-stained, blood stained, stories made their way across the Atlantic.

The US had just declared war.

Donny had enlisted without hesitation. He had a baseball bat, signed with names of people he needed to avenge...

And there you stood, by his side, just as you had for years...

He didn't want you there anymore.

He looked down at you, his thumb pressed against your cheek. You were no longer what he wanted most in the world... At least, that's what he made you think.

He loved you more than anything, more than his own life, but he thought it was selfish to keep you tied down.

Especially if he didn't know if he'd ever come home...

The most painful part of it was seeing the love still in your eyes behind the broken depth of the world he'd built with you... He'd built up the courage to say goodbye to you, forever because he thought it would be easier if he saw that world in your eyes collapse and go up in flames. But he was wrong. Dead wrong. Your eyes were the same eyes that had loved him for years, and probably would for a million more.

You saw the reflection of that very love and life in his eyes.

He still loved you... You knew that, and that's what made it worse...

All you could manage to do was whisper a broken, "Why?"

Donny lied.

He lied blatantly to you, and to himself.

"It never would have worked out between us, doll, I'm sorry..."

You shook your head softly as tears streamed down your face, pleading quietly. Begging him to rethink everything with two simple words. Words he'd only listen from you, words only you could string together to break his heart, "Donny, baby..."

He looked down at you, the pain of his torn heart taking over his eyes...

He would never tell you why.

And you knew that....

On December 6th, 1941,  Donny was sneaking away from you, and hiding around the shops in downtown Boston, looking for the perfect ring. He wanted you by his side for the rest of his life. He wanted more than anything in the world to make you his wife...

Everything changed on December 7th.

On December 8th, the US entered the war. And Donny enlisted. He finally had a chance to make things right, for his family, his people, and every single name on the bat he'd gotten signed that morning. At that moment, that was what he wanted most: justice...

Justice...

He loved you, more than he loved anything else in the world, but it wasn't right to give you the ring then.

Not when there was a chance you would have to bury him in a coffin wrapped in a flag...

But you didn't know all that.

And you knew he'd never tell you any of it.

You just nodded, tears still streaming down your face as you stepped away from him. You turned your back on Donny Donowitz that night. Something that nobody ever did. You didn't answer the phone when he finally wanted you to know why. You didn't open the door when he wanted to say goodbye...

That was goodbye enough for you. Years passed, and somehow, there you were.

It was January, 1944...

Hugo nudged Donny rather crudely, and he snapped out of it.

Your hair was tied up with a bandana. You wore a jumpsuit, and boots. You packed a gun, a knife, and cigarettes. You stood at attention, saluting Aldo, your current lieutenant.

You were introduced to the other basterds...

You looked at Donny, and nodded once, without a trace of the past in your eyes as you acknowledged your sergeant, "Sergeant Donowitz."

Donny clenched his jaw... He never thought he'd hear your voice again. He'd never heard your voice so neutral...

So loveless...

He'd never heard you call him by his last name.

He didn't know what to call you... He couldn't call you doll anymore.

You weren't his.

You were a spy under the MI6, agent under the OSS, a soldier under the allies, and as of that moment, a basterd.

You were a hero and a fighter in your own right.

You weren't his.

He nodded once after faltering for a milisecond, "Private..." He trailed off, unable to even call you by your last name after calling you so many beautiful names for years. Things you'd never expect a boy like Donny Donowitz to have known...

You managed to keep the bare minimum of contact with him for the next few days. Seeing those eyes, hearing that same old voice... It was almost too much for you...

And seeing you, seeing what he lost, what he once wanted more than anything...

It was too painful for him,..

The night before your mission, the basterds were sitting around a campfire, drinking and laughing...

At some point, you and Donny made eye contact.

And for a moment...there was something. The flicker of an ember. A distant memory, echoing from the beat of his heart...

You blinked and turned away... It was the last thing you needed.

Feelings.

You bade the basterds goodnight, and slipped away,

You were just inside your tent when you heard a slight shuffle behind you. You would've thought nothing of it if you weren't a spy.  But you knew better. You knew it was him.

"Y/n...I can explain..."

His voice was soft. It was almost a whisper. It was urgent, and stern, like a sergeant's. But it was candid enough to hear the droning guilt and pain in his heart.

"And what makes you think I want an explanation?" You turned, you faced him, and looked him in the eyes, scorn sculpting the expression in your face.

He looked at you, seeing through a spy's act. He looked at you, not the double or triple identities you held around the world to shield yourself from what could have been. His head tilted slightly, as he murmured, "It's harder to love someone that's dead than to hate someone who's alive..."

You unclenched your jaw. You lowered your arms. Your fists opened. Your eyes lowered.

You understood then...

That was why he broke up with you.

To Donny, the hardest part of all of that was leaving you. He loved you, and had loved you all along.

You took a breath, and admitted something you couldn't have admitted to yourself a day sooner, or perhaps a moment later.  "I don't...I don't hate you."

The  light of a bright white cloud, every color of the sunrise, every simple joy in life was shining through Donny's eyes at that moment, as he looked at you with all the hope a soldier could have. "You still love me..."

In that moment, it broke you to see he never stopped loving you.

What was worse was that you didn't know what you felt for him. A love lost to tears, years before...

"Honestly, Donny...I don't know..."

He knew you. You weren't a liar. He could tell that was the best you could do, and he admired you for it...

You shook your head before anything more was unburied, "We... we have a long mission tomorrow," and stepped forward, ushering him out. The ember was gone. The memories were meaningless. "Goodnight, sergeant."

But he noted the false frigidity in your cold words when he saw the longing and rememberance in your eyes. *****

The mission went as planned, and the OSS sanctioned another one. Then another. And another. You were to stay with the basterds until further notice. Nearly a year passed...

The basterds ambushed a patrol, and held five nazis captive, hoping one of them would tell them more than what they needed to know.

As you all knew, the basterds weren't in the prisoner taking business...

As you waited around for Aldo's threats to take effect, Wicki's translations, and Donny's 'show,' you and Smitty got along well...

A little too well, for Donny's liking.

He eyed you from behind the line of nazis.

He glared at Smitty...his bat fell to the ground, as he trudged through the melting snow.

You knew that look...

He was jealous.

And when Donny Donowitz was jealous, no one was safe. Smitty froze up, only able to move his eyes...and he mistakenly looked up at Donny. Smithson Utivich had never been more afraid in his life than he was at that moment.

Donny ripped Smitty away from the boulder he was sitting on with you. Donny's fists were clenched around Smitty's sweater. "YOU'RE GONNA TALK TO Y/N LIKE THAT?! IN FRONT OF ME?! YOU'RE GONNA TALK TO MY GIRL LIKE THAT?! HUH?!"

The basterds piled onto Donny, trying to pry him away from Utivich, but they couldn't move him.

Not even Aldo's orders worked...

Only one thing in the world could make him listen.

"Donovan." Your voice was stern, demanding like only yours could be. But it was familiar, and almost loving. One that he had known many years before...

Once, when he was younger.

He immediately let go of Smitty... He slowly looked beyond the basterds, and met your eyes.

Everyone was silent...

Then Aldo cleared his throat, and suggested the basterds get right back to business.

You eyed Donny, as he muttered a questionable apology to Smitty, and patted him on the chest twice, attempting to roughly and quickly patch up their friendship.

He went back, and took up the bat.

You watched as Donny disposed of each nazi that Aldo deemed useless. Smitty....well...he kept his distance from you for about a month or two after that.

You watched Donny raise his bat, just as you had amillion times before. Some things never change...

You watched as a spray of nazi blood shot onto nearby trees, and brain matter leaked onto the snow below.

You cleared your throat, and shifted a little as you watched Donny. It was impressive.

Donny was an impressive man, to say the least... After everything, even you couldn't deny that...

You looked away, fearing the things in your heart that might return if you looked too long at him. And just like that, the basterds had the information they needed. Aldo marked a lone survivor with a swastika on his forehead. The basterds took the rest of the night off... You were rummaging through supplies, taking inventory for no reason. You just wanted to avoid any other sudden bouts of jealousy and misunderstandings. But of course, the buckets of water you kept in your camp were just beside the supplies. And of course, Donny felt like washing off some blood after that. You knew him all too well. His grunts and muttering made you lose track over and over until you set down your paper, and looked at him, "Why're you mad now?!" He had been splashing water on his face. He was startled hearing you speak to him first... He wiped the water away with his forearm, and turned to you, unexpectedly reproaching you, "You called me Donovan in front of them!" You kept your temper as you cooly remarked, "And you called me yours." "No I..." He narrowed his eyes as he made a futile denial, "I didn't..." Knowing damn well he did. He sighed as you looked back at the paper where you kept track of the inventory. You thought about Donny's Freudian slip... How he called you his after all that time... You looked at him, and thought of when you called him yours... You saw him joining Aldo and Omar by the fire. You looked down at your paper as you sighed and thought, "Some things never change, Donny baby..." ******* A few months passed... The basterds were ambushed by a group of nazis in the forest. You were all split up and cut off from any viable and possible escape routes, from your ammunitions, and from each other. You and Donny were cornered by two separate groups of nazis, and pushed together. So... It was you and Donny against the world, just as it used to be.

In the midst of the blood and the bullets, you and Donny fumbled into each other. He practically enveloped you in his arms, and pulled you down to the ground behind a dense line of trees, saving you from gunfire. His arms were wrapped around you protectively, and he fell on top of you. His cheeks were flaming red in embarassment. He looked down at you for a moment by accident, and his heart fluttered seeing the same eyes looking up at him from years before. It was as if nothing ever changed... You giggled a little, seeing his embarassment and remarked, "Donovan, darling, I'm sorry but it never would have worked out between us." He smirked a little, knowing damn well he never should have worded it like that years ago,  as he pulled you back to your feet, and you got back to the firefight... Seeing as the results may be bleak, Donny turned to you, and started shooting at the enemies lining behind you through the trees. He gritted his teeth as he looked away from the nazis, and to you for a moment, "Y/n. I can't do this anymore. I want you back and you want me back. No more games."

You looked at him with a smirk and a squint as you aimed your shotgun to a nazi approaching behind him. You took a shot, looked up at him with a smirk and remarked, "Apology accepted."

He saw the laugh caught in your smile, and he saw your forgiving and loving eyes and the cheeky grin.

He smiled softly, and looked at you, silently but visibly wondering if you meant it. Suddenly, his eyes went wide with realization at something you didn't quite catch on to yet. Donny took you in his arms, he held you, and he spun you over, taking your place, as he shot a round at the remaining nazis.

You didn't understand yet. He looked down at you, perhaps for the last time, and kissed you. You kissed him back... You assumed the love and passion that went into it was to make up for the years that were lost. It wasn't until you felt the warm blood pooling through the back of his shirt, soaking your hand over his back.

"Donny?!" You pulled your head away from his chest and looked up at him. His eyes were glazed over with dullness and pain, but you could still see your reflection in them. The love of his life.

He exhaled shakily as his knees buckled. You held onto him tightly, lowering him down gently, as the basterds started emerging from corners and bends of the forest. *** Donny was bandaged up, laying against the backboard of dusty, ancient mattress, in a hidden attic from one of your contact's homes. A medic working under the French resistance was called for Donny under the mask of the night. Donny, feverish from the bloodloss, pain, and fear of losing you, started to get up, "I need to see her!" The medic had just finished sewing up Donny's wound. Donny blacked out before he was sure all the nazis was dead. He wanted to make sure you were alright. Aldo’s word was not good enough for him. "Stay down, Donny!" Aldo stopped pacing back and forth as Hugo and Omar held Donny down. He hadn't stopped screaming in pain as the medic pulled the bullet out of his back, without any medication. Wicki was ordered to stay downstairs with you and the contact, and make sure you didn't go upstairs. Smitty and Hirschberg were stationed at the doors to make sure no one followed. You had sat with the contact, an elderly French woman who's seven grandchildren were fighting in the war, or with the resistance. She tried her best to comfort and distract you, but nothing could tear your mind away from Donny's muffled screams. You understood everything then. That was why he didn't want to stay in your life... This was exactly why... You heard heavy, slow boots stepping on the creaking, ancient ladder from the attic. You were tense... It felt like the whole night passed waiting for the news to reach the bottom of the steps. Hugo cleared his throat, and you stood up. Hirschberg peered in from the door. Omar stood at the top of the steps. You rushed to Hugo, looking for a sign, but you couldn't read him. He looked at you, forced to go downstairs by Aldo to tell you that, "Donny is alright." You took a breath, and sighed, smiling, clasping your hands over your lips. Hugo acknowledged what Donny had done for you...frankly Hugo'd never admit it, but he thought you were sweet together. Unbearable as he found other people, somehow seeing you and Donny together amused him. "He always gets dramatic when he's hurt." You nodded with a reminiscent smile, "Oh, I know." He walked back upstairs with you. You and Donny looked at each other... He was sweating from the hack job surgery, and running a low fever, but he would alright. And he smiled, when he saw you. He stopped fighting against Omar and laid back the moment he heard your footsteps coming up the stairs. Aldo sniffed some tobacco, walked past you, and gestured to Donny, "Humor him, would ya, Y/n?" You smiled and nodded, though it hurt you to see him like that. That bullet was meant for you... "Y/n, come here..." Donny reached out for you, his fist was balled around something. Aldo cleared his throat, catching the rest of the basterds' attention. Everyone grumbled as they filed downstairs with him, leaving you alone with him. "Donny?" You sat by him, laying your hand against his face, noting the fever. "You're gonna be ok." He nodded, but that didin't mean he didn't have a lot to say.  He took your hand, and put something in your palm, and closed your fingers around it, "This is yours." You opened your hand and found a beautiful silver ring, with what seemed like a million stars from the night sky, studded over it. You didn't understand. You thought he lost his mind. Maybe he'd found it somewhere, and was just delirious at the moment... You'd never even seen such a beautiful ring in your life. You shook your head, trying to give it back to him. He refused. "It's always been yours. My heart's always been yours, doll..." "Don, you lost a lot of blood, you're not..." You took a breath, "You don't know what you're saying." He smiled at you, "This is the only time I've been sure about what I was saying. I know you might have moved on...and I just want you to be happy But I need you to know, this was meant for you, and I'm sorry I left the day I should have given it to you." You looked at him, and realized what he meant. "Donny, baby..." "I was going to ask you to be my wife three years ago...then..." You nodded and spoke softly, "Then we went to war." "I didn't want you to be a widow. I  just wanted to save you from this." He sighed, in defeat, "From myself..." You smiled a little, as you held the side of his face, "Some things were just meant to happen, Donny." He looked up at you, his eyes reflecting his confusion. "I'm still here," You smiled softly. He nodded, smiling, "You're still here..." as he watched you slip the ring onto your left ring finger. Some things really were just meant to be. In the end, not even a war could keep you apart. You kissed him... You'd always be there, and with that kiss, Donny knew it to be true.

[ramblings-of-a-mad-cat]

Hogwarts Mystery Survey!

I was tagged by...well, a few people actually! Sorry, I know it took me a while to get to this, as it always does with tagged posts. Nevertheless! This was created by the epic @carewyncromwell So go check out her blog!

I shall now signal @missnight0wl​ @electricslytherindog​ @nostalgiaslithersin​ @ladyluckqueen​ and @treebels​ Unless you’ve already done this, of course. But otherwise square up! Y’all have been tagged :)

Let’s do this! 

Favourite Gryffindor: 

Oh, I’m not going to make many friends with this choice...

But my favorite Gryffindor is Patricia Rakepick. Look, even if she turns out to be completely evil with no plot twists about her loyalties...at least they gave us a genuinely evil Gryffindor, right? I’m sorry, I just...really want to believe we don’t know the whole story. Because Year 5 gave us so many great moments with Rakepick, as well as her bond with MC. The Potterverse has never had a character quite like Rakepick before, but she’s just as interesting as Snape or Dumbledore. She’s infinitely complex and it’s such a waste if she amounts to nothing more than the Cabal’s lackey. Honorable mentions: Jae Kim. He is such a mood. 

Least Favourite Gryffindor: 

Did you think we were done talking about Rakepick? Oh no, because right now she is my least favorite Gryffindor too, for reasons that are much more obvious and don’t really need to be explained. She’s done terrible things, and she needs to pay for her crimes...and on a personal level, she broke my heart. I don’t want this to be how her story ends. I don’t want to hate her, but with what she’s done, what else am I supposed to think? 

Favourite Hufflepuff: 

You can tell that the Haywood sisters were the main project for Hufflepuff, and while I find both of them to be quite interesting, I just have a real soft spot for Beatrice. I love the way she went from being a tiny Penny to being anything but. I love how she went from being little more than a plot device in Year 5 to forcibly carving her own identity in Year 6. I like the parallels between her and MC and Jacob. Both sisters are interesting, so you can consider Penny an honorable mention, I just like Bea more. 

Least Favourite Hufflepuff: 

Sorry to any of his fans, but...it’s got to be Diego. I will fully admit that we do not know enough about him right now to judge fairly, but that is, in some ways, the problem. When I first saw him in Year 5, he gave me the impression of being a total sleaze who would be weird toward the other students (particularly the females) because he was into them. And while the scenes he eventually gets haven’t really given credence to that...they haven’t disproved it either.

Favourite Ravenclaw: 

Let me tell  you a fairy tale, everyone: Once upon a time there was a fascinating and compelling character, a queen of pranks, who had a curious history with the girl who was the game’s antagonist at the time. She had a great bond with MC and a cool backstory...but the developers soon forgot she existed, and removed her from the dating quests even though she had already been there for the first two. This is the story of the underrated flower. The tale of the toad-keeper. This is the story of Tulip Karasu.

Least Favourite Ravenclaw:

Probably Andre. For similar reasons to why I don’t like Diego that much, I just don’t think his character was handled very well. Don’t get me wrong, he had a promising start....but then they didn’t do anything with him. Furthermore, his personality just isn’t my favorite. He strikes me as being a little self-absorbed and not especially nice to other people, at least from the vibes that I get.

Favourite Slytherin: 

Let me tell you a fairy tale, everyone. About the toad-keeper’s true love, the song of the shadows...Merula Snyde. Okay, okay, no more fairy tales. But in all seriousness, she’s a a real contender for being my favorite character in the game. Right up there with Rakepick. I just find Merula to have so many layers to her character, she has so much history influencing her actions. And yeah, she’s frustrating as all hell, but that’s part of it. And while she may be an acquired taste, I know I’m not alone in thinking that she can be positively adorable.  She’s a character that I hope reaches her full potential, a character I just wish I could rescue and get her the therapy she needs.

Least Favourite Slytherin: 

This one is genuinely tough for me. None of the Slytherin characters in this game are badly written, and none of them are that unlikable. Do I pick Ismelda, for her stunt with the Love Potion? Well, even in spite of that, I find myself hoping she can learn from her mistakes. Do I pick Barnaby, because as sweet as he is, he’s normally kind of one-note? Well, even in spite of that, I always love it when he’s onscreen. Could go for Felix, but he’s actually my favorite Prefect, and choosing a Prefect for a least favorite would feel way too easy anyhow. No, let’s go with Liz. Don’t get me wrong, I adore Liz. But she’s extremely under-utilized and we just don’t know that much about her. 

Favourite Quidditch Character: 

This one, on the other hand, doesn’t require any pondering at all. It’s Orion. I can’t even begin to describe how much I love this lonely sage. He deserves the world. He deserves a hug from his Quidditch family. Every time he’s onscreen, passing on his wisdom, I just get a big goofy smile on my face. He’s basically all the best parts of Dumbledore, and he’s a better big brother to MC than Jacob could ever be. Also, his hair is fantastic and I can’t wait until I get him to LV 10 because I want it. 

Least Favourite Quidditch Character:

This one is purely a matter of choosing someone by process of elimination. It’s not Orion, of course, and if you’ve been on my blog for a while then you know I do not hate Skye Parkin at all, so it isn’t her. I also quite like Murphy, so...the only character left, who we still don’t know that much about, is Erika Rath. In this case, “least favorite” is a default term. I like Erika and I will gladly defend her...just, not as much as the team trio.

Favourite Teacher: 

My immediate answer is Flitwick. Even though McGonagall is one of my favorite characters overall, from the original books...when it comes to HPHM, she hasn’t been as involved. Flitwick on the other hand, has gotten fantastic development as a character and some genuinely great moments of bonding with MC. He was one of the nicest surprises about this game. There are so many little things - like him realizing, without MC needing to say anything, that they are going to keep pursuing Beatrice’s rescue no matter what he says. Another moment I love comes in Year Three, when he’s the only Head of House to show any sympathy to MC about banning them from Hogsmeade. Unlike the other Heads, you really get the sense that Flitwick doesn’t want to do so, that he’s being overruled by Dumbledore. An honorable mention could go to Rakepick, but....eh. 

Least Favourite Teacher: 

I’m gonna get a bit out of the ordinary for this one. Sure, I could say Snape, but in this game he’s miles beyond his usual quality. He’s much more tolerable and even pretty funny sometimes. Sprout is kinda boring to me, I suppose, but she’s not that bad. I don’t know if Dumbledore technically counts, and Filch certainly wouldn’t. Rakepick, despite everything she did, was technically a good teacher. No, for my least favorite teacher, I’m gonna go with Madam Hooch. I’ve never liked her. Not just in this game, either. One moment she says “I don’t believe you, but I don’t have any proof you’re lying.” and then five seconds later, “Don’t ever let me catch you in a lie again.” I’m sorry, what do you mean again? Not believing someone is not the same thing as “catching” them in a lie, you arrogant bludger. 

Favourite Non-Teacher Adult: 

Both in the books and in the game, it is Hagrid and it will always be Hagrid. He is the biggest cinnamon roll and I would gladly eat his rock cakes no matter what they do to my teeth. Friends are more important than teeth! Just let MC take a break from all this Cursed Vault nonsense and go off to the Reserve with Hagrid to pet some nifflers.

Least Favourite Non-Teacher Adult: 

Folks, here’s a fairy tale about-no, we’re not doing that again. It’s Dumbledore. The punch line is Dumbledore. Setting aside all of the terrible things that he does in the books...HPHM sees him constantly rewarding MC’s dangerous behavior and once again stuffing the ballot for the House Cup...only to abruptly change his tune at the end of Year Four and give MC a year’s worth of detentions for doing what he previously encouraged, and only MC gets these detentions, not their friends. The very next year, he sanctions Rakepick’s apprentice team and they continue where MC left off. Not to mention that post Portrait-Vault, Dumbledore appoints himself as MC’s makeshift therapist and keeps talking like he understands MC’s feelings, like he knows what’s best for them. The game fucking forces you to tell him about your feelings, and god damn it where is the option to say “None of your business.” Like UGH. 

Rate Rowan on a scale of 1-10, 1 being “Why are we even friends?” and 10 being “BFFs for Life!”: 

100,000,000. What’s that you say? I went well over the cap? Nonsense. I simply gave Rowan a score as high as they deserve. I know we are all appreciating them a lot more now, for obvious reasons...but I can recall back in the day when most people didn’t spare them a second glance. (Though to be fair, MC didn’t either, some of the time.) Not me though. I was always loyal, thank you very much. I always knew this adorkable cinnamon roll who would have taken a bullet for MC (and...pretty much did.) deserved more love. They deserved the world.

Rate Jacob on a scale of 1-10, 1 being “You’re dead to me” and 10 being “Love you forever, big bro!!”:

A solid 5. I believe that’s the only score I can fairly give, because there’s still so much of Jacob that is uncertain and hasn’t been explored. But the character we released from the Portrait, assuming it is the real Jacob...has been kind of an asshole since he got back. On the other hand, he was sealed in a Portrait for five years. Five times longer than even Beatrice was. That has to mess a person up, right? So perhaps I should be more forgiving. I honestly don’t know. 

Rate MC and your similarities on a scale of 1-10, 1 being “MC is nothing like me” to 10 being “MC is ttly a self-insert lol”: 

Is this just like, MC in general? Or our own personal MCs? Because with Gail...I’d have to say, maybe a 4. She does inherit some of my qualities but she’s primarily inspired from one of my friends. Luca, though? Luca is easily a 9. After all, when I first created them, I used a file that was once my “personal” file. So it was that they inherited a lot of them-self from me.

Favourite Side Quest: 

You’re all going to think that I’m weird, but my favorite quest, at least right now, is the Comet TLSQ. I like it for a lot of the reasons that people hate it. I think that it’s an interesting and amusing story. How can I not love a quest that ends with a whole field of cruppies? Beyond that, if was during this quest that I really grew to love the Quidditch characters as a team. And, yes, this quest only made me enjoy Skye as a character all the more. What can I say, I just had a big smile on my face during the whole ordeal, especially when the three Quidditch characters were together. Honorable mentions: The Frog Choir TLSQ. I’m a major Tulula shipper, enough said.

Least Favourite Side Quest:

The one that immediately comes to my mind is the Knighthood TLSQ. I’m sorry but the whole thing just felt incredibly pointless. Why does MC even want to be a knight? Couldn’t they be doing something better with their time, like pursuing the next vault, doing some homework, practicing Quidditch, playing Gobstones with friends or....basically anything else? Sir Cadogan is funny in small doses but he gets old really quickly. He has that in common with Lockhart. Oh, and Penny is shoe-horned in. Again. Big surprise. 

Your Ideal Ending for Patricia Rakepick: 

-Sigh- Okay, you all know what’s coming. I don’t really want Rakepick to die. I don’t want her to go to Azkaban. I’m convinced that she probably will die no matter what, but that isn’t what I want. First and foremost, I want her to be a double agent. Working for Dumbledore or otherwise. I want Rowan’s death to have been staged - not just because it would absolve her of the crime, but also because it would mean Rowan comes back...and that the forest scene would actually make sense. There’s no explaining away her torturing Merula, other than her stalling for time, which isn’t an excuse but it would be enough to return her to being the “ruthless good” that she was before. I want her to sacrifice her own life for MC and Merula, but she need not necessarily die in the process. She could be saved. On the other hand, a death might be more poignant. But if not that, she could go on the run. I mean, she did cast an Unforgivable on a child. I’m not sure even Dumbledore’s protection could get her out of paying for that. Either way, I want her to blindside R the same way she blind-sided us in the Portrait Vault. 

I made it to the end! And somehow, I managed to praise Beatrice, Merula, and Skye...along with bashing Dumbledore...and insisting that Rakepick is secretly good, all in one post! This is like...the ultimate trailer for my blog. 

[c-is-for-circinate]

I wasn’t expecting it, but I think one of the most fascinating things to watch in Campaign 1 of CritRole (and increasingly interesting in Campaign 2!) are the different interactions characters have around gods and religion, and I’m so excited for more.

Pike loves her quiet, distant god of healing and second chances in such an easy, sure-footed way, with bright faith and service.  It’s so simple for her, in the middle of all the chaos and muddle and ethical doubt in the hearts of everyone else she loves, and it’s exactly the bright contrast the whole group needs, without being cheap.  Faith and sureness in a god doesn’t actually make Pike less confused about everything all the time either.  Piety doesn’t make her less fierce.  Pike’s fascinating, because she’s sweet and she’s good, deep to her bones, she heals and cares and builds temples and gives council, and she’s also a dragon-slaying monstah who’ll charge out of her room in a midnight assassination attempt naked in her gauntlets, shield in one hand and mace in the other, bleeding from everywhere and ready to fight.  And those things don’t conflict for her, because sometimes goodness is fierce, and the pieces that wouldn’t fit together for someone else do for her, and damnit I miss Pike again already.

Percy will make a deal with any god or demon who’ll offer him a good enough bargain.  That’s who he is, Percy the Negotiator (do we have official alignments on Vox Machina?  Is Percy actually Lawful Neutral or does he just really, really feel like it?).   It’s selfish and arrogant and full of a very deep respect for the gods all at the same time.   Percy in the Raven Queen’s temple is as humble and honest and bare as he ever gets, stripped down and vulnerable, and even then he’s controlled and deliberate in offering his own vulnerability, like it’s a gift, like it’s something she might want, like a price he’s willingly choosing to pay in hopes of getting the thing he desperately needs in return.  He respects gods, and gives them his humility, but he doesn’t have faith, not really, not the soul-deep belief that some other power would do anything for him that he didn’t pay for himself.  And meanwhile he reveres people--not person, but people, the work of human lifetimes, the metaphysical enormity of cities, of countries, of history, of concepts and beliefs and things built that become more than the sum of their parts, for good or for ill.  The sacred glory of Westrun and Whitestone.  The near-divine horror of evil for the firearms he made with his own two hands and then released into the world to become a force, and a terror, and perhaps very soon a power beyond any mortal’s control ever again.  Any real reverence Percy has for gods as more than ultra-powerful allies, to be courted and implored and bargained with, comes down to the power he sees in belief and religion and the things people do in their name.

Keyleth never wanted or expected to have anything to do with gods until they decided they wanted something to do with her and hers, and it’s freaking her out so bad.  Gods are people, to Keyleth, an there’s nothing sacred about divinity.  They have powers and they do things, and that’s all--and in this world of Exandria where gods walk and want and war between each other, and distribute curses and favor at their own whims, who’s to say she’s wrong?  A god is just a person with a whole lot of power, and she doesn’t understand reverence, and it scares her.  The idea of a being with that much power over her and her loved ones scares her, when there’s so much she doesn’t have power over already.  The idea that her family-friends-team doesn’t stand with her in that fear, that they’ll kneel and pray instead of standing themselves, that scares her so, so much.  Keyleth believes in what she sees and touches and experiences, sun and seasons and living people, and gods have no place in her world, but they keep inviting themselves in anyway and she doesn’t know how to block them back out.

Vax breaks my fucking heart.  We spend a lot of time in fandom talking about sex and love and BDSM-done-like-religion, but the only metaphor I’ve got is that Vax just straight-up does religion like BDSM--not the penance and self-flagellation and humiliation and punishment, but.  The submission.  The boy is so desperate for solid ground to stand on.  Long before the Raven Queen, he’s looking up at Sarenrae and praying and hoping for a gentle hand.  For someone to tell him what he’s meant to be doing with himself, with his time, with his life.  Someone to promise that he’s done right, someone he can trust to know all the things about the wild, terrible, chaotic world that he doesn’t.  He wants a god so badly, to help him be good, to make him good, to give him a purpose and a guide and a promise for tomorrow that he actually trusts, and he wanted it to be Sarenrae but it’s the Raven Queen now, and he’s given himself to her body and soul with all the hope and terror in his heart.  He didn’t want this master, but he wanted a master.  He’s living right on the push-pull edge of trapped vs secure.  Fear and faith and peace are combining into the resigned horror-hope of something that’s been rattling loose for so long now clicking unbreakably into place, and it’s delicious to watch.

I know Vex falls into company with Pelor eventually, and I am so very on edge to see it, to see what it means to her.  Vex doesn’t blink at gods, except to nod to Sarenrae in passing on Pike’s behalf, to reread the Raven Queen book a dozen times inside of a month on her brother’s, a bit of a nod to Pelor for the sake of Whitestone.  Vex spectates everybody else’s drama and meltdowns, for all she plays selfish and vain and pushy and gossip-hungry, and tries to help, and tries not to control, and tries, and tries.  Vex watches her brother and her friends and her someday-husband slip and trip and bruise themselves stumbling through life, and walks the line between keeping an eye on everything she can and keeping out of the way.  Vex hasn’t even looked at the gods for herself, not really, not yet.  I cannot fucking wait.

There’s Grog and Scanlan, who don’t seem to have any particular relationship to gods so far, and that’s real too, the down-to-earth contrast for everybody else’s drama, and even they’re not bereft of their own little interactions with the divine.  There’s the horror of Kashaw and Vesh, there’s Zarah and Lilith and their not-a-god moon patron, there’s Kerr the paladin of no-apparent-god-in-particular.  There’s Thorbir and Lyra and Gern who don’t appear to have gods at all.  There’s a million NPC’s and there’s Kima’s faith in Bahamut and Allura’s faith in her, and there’s the whole city of Vasselheim, and Whitestone’s once-desecrated temple to Pelor, and its temple to Arathis where people prayed for hope and began a rebellion, and its temple to Vecna deep below ground.  There’s the shrine to the Raven Queen in the Whitestone graveyard and the shrine to the soul of Westrun in an underground bunker, and people will find them and see them and react to them in their own ways for as long as they stand.  There are so many different angles!

(There’s Jester and her very best friend and the favors she does him in exchange for affection.  There’s Caduceus and his Mother and his fears and doubts in himself that never extend to doubting her.  There’s Fjord with a dead god’s half-divine offcast in the back of his head, scared enough that he’d make a new deal if he could find a god to back him.  There’s Yasha, who follows devotion and worship as a matter of gratitude and honor and not-like-she-has-anything-else-left-either.  There’s Caleb and Nott and Imperial state-sponsored religion that they grew up with and don’t even notice, not really; there’s Molly covering himself in the symbols of all those state-sanctioned gods entirely for display and then praying to Moonweaver in some chaotic mix of secret and sincerity and show; there’s Beau praying to Ioun without being told to for the very first time in her life, just in case.  There’s the Krynn and the Luxan and so much more to come.)

Fantasy-fiction doesn’t always get a lot of deep exploration of religion and faith and what it means to have actual gods, whose presence can be known and measured and felt, marked down as an objective fact of history.  I love that we’re legitimately getting that in these campaigns, and I love that we’re getting it in a D&D format, where it’s so different for each different character, and so valid for each and every one.  I can’t fucking wait to see the rest of Campaign 1.  I can’t wait to see where Campaign 2 goes next.