#being in a writing field at this point in time is …. ANNOYING to say the least

[francisforever2014]

can the basement they run AI out of collapse already

[simp-ly-writes]

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · · A Black Ops 6 FanFic

Pairing: Russell Adler x Fem!Handler!Reader

─ · · SUMMARY: You were a handler of operators out in the field and Russell Adlers was your best and yet the biggest pain in your side with his constant flirting and desire to get under your skin. Yet as soon as someone else tries to annoy you or heaven forbid- flirt with you, it gets shutdown right away.

─ · · TAGS: men being dicks, female pronouns, no use of (y/n), protective!Russell, jealous!Russell, mutual pining, enemies (strong annoyance) to lovers, confessions, pet names, suggestive themes, hurt/comfort.

─ · · MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 2,477

─ · · A/N: I was going crazy looking at all the fan art. Don't think I will be coming fully back to COD like I was before, but I had to write something for this character. Hope you all enjoy!

─────── · ·

"Officer Adler!" you yell, bursting through the heavy oak doors and into the office space. Fellow agents, officers, and handlers all look towards you and then back at Adler frozen in time and space.

Adler takes a drag of his cigarette before waving his hand in a silent command for everyone to leave you both. Hands quickly pick up their belongings and feet scatter out before the doors enclose you both.

The man in question makes no further movement simply leaning against the corner of a desk, a smirk setting upon his features as his glasses slip down his face to watch as you near, hands gripping a manila folder.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" he says in an even tone, observing the curves of your face that have fallen into a serious frown. "We have already gone over this before, agent. You cannot call me such, such-"

"Such what, honey?" He teases further, cigarette sitting between his lips as he leans closer and into your space. You take a half step back, pinching your brows together before letting out a breath. "The pet names, Adler. They have to stop, we are both professionals."

Adler hums out in contemplation, taking one last drag from his cigarette before putting it out in the nearest ashtray. He nods his head in direction to the folder in your hand. "No. Before this," you wave the folder around to further prove your point, "we are sorting this thing out. I need to hear you say you won't do it any longer. It causes way to many issues."

"Issues about what? If someone is bothering you, you'll let me know right?" Adlers face drops, hands forming into fists, his stare already demanding names.

"Yes of course! But it makes me appear less assertive in my role, Adler. I have other operators I have to account for since you left and I can't have the newer ones thinking they can disrespect me in any way!" you try and explain, a hand gripping your hair as you stress.

Adler stands, gently taking your elbow before his fingers trail up your arm and towards your hand and head where he eases your grip from your roots. Before he can go to fix your hair you shake his touch off with a huff. "This is what I mean, officer," you say, throwing the document on the now bare desk.

"Well then maybe you should drop your other agents, (last/name)," Russell counters, arms now crossed against his wide chest. A few buttons to his navy shirt undone as you do you best to not look at the skin showing underneath.

"See you would have been my only operator as you have demanded in the past but as soon as you left, you failed to see that I still need to put food on the table so what little choice did I have but to be given new recruits?" you retort, falling into the nearby swivel chair as you stare at the door.

Adler crouches down, blocking your view. His hand twitching to pick up your chin to see your eyes once more. "Hey, look sweeth-(last/name). I can't apologize for my reasons for leaving but I will apologize for leaving you with no other options."

You nod your head before meeting his eyes once more, "So no more petnames?"

"No promises," is all Adler can say before leaning over you to reach for the documents you threw earlier. You lean back into your chair, hands gripping the arms, "You know you could have just asked me to get those for you?"

"Yeah but I got them anyways." You roll your eyes, "Hey- none of that now," Adler shushes you before looking back down at the files. You watch as his large hands grip the corners of the page, careful not to bend them before flipping it to the other side, a series of photos close to falling out as he tips the folder towards you to stop them. "I'm not a child in need of reprimanding, save that for the field workers."

"Never said you were but seeing you leaning back in that chair while doing that plants some images in a man's head," Adler's familiar smirk haunts you once again in the daylight. "Fucking hell," you swear underneath your breath.

"So, why am I being shown these? I already completed this objective..." Adler closes the folder, placing it gently back on the desk.

"Yeah, thats the issue. You see, Adler, we needed more information on those guys. Not for you to shoot them and the information with them!" you yell, swearing that your voice rippled the coffee in a nearby cold cup.

"Well, I'm going to let you in on a little secret off the books."

"And what secret would that be out of your many?" You lean forwards, playing with a ring on your finger. Adler stares at the movement before turning his back to you.

"I already knew all that information years ago, just had to make sure nobody else got to it."

─────── · ·

You thought that after that whole fiasco with your officer Adler, thing would have cleared up since then but it seemed that life had thought differently.

You were in a board meeting with your fellow operators, their handlers, and council members. One of your officers, Roger was sitting beside you, a notebook shared between the two of you as you both passed notes back and forth on the meeting that was dragging on into your lunch break.

"Well if they are planning biological warfare we have to meet metal with metal! If we are acting as moderates or even submissive what the hell room does that leave the enemy to operate in! They need to be neutralized long before those chemicals get out of the port, fuck the rest of them!" A board member yells from the top of the table as you lean back gaining a headache from it all.

Roger places a hand on your shoulder, his head tilting down to your ear, "You holding up alright?" he asks politely, turning his head for you to whisper your answer. "Yeah, just need this meeting to be over or at least to be paused. We are getting nowhere with all this shouting and violence."

The officer nods to your answer. "Yes, we have been circling over the same-"

"Oi! Do you to have something to share? Or are you both gonna keep whispering sweet little nothing into each others ears? Should I tell Adlers' that your cheatin' on em'?" Another handler chimes in, sending a toothy-white smile in your direction.

The other men around the table laugh as you lean on the table, threatening to stand. Roger makes no sudden movement in his chair, face set in a glare directed to the senior member at the unprofessional comment. Sighing you pick up your notes and crack your neck before reading your own radiant smile, eyes holding daggers picturing to stab through his eye-sockets.

"That will not be necessary, Paul," you spit out his name, "Nor is any of this discussion. We have all made no process since eleven! If we display strength with the military we risk our agents already operating within the operation and civilians. If we sit back and let it happen, we also risk a potential nuclear war. Our best option, which none of you men have brought forward and is embarrassing for our field is that we don't ship ourselves alongside the weapon, that way we can determine who has it, where it is meant to go, and where we want it to go."

You are nearly out of breath by the end of your speech as you stand and begin to walk towards the doors, Roger's hot on your tail as nods his head before all the members on behalf of you both, leaving the room in silence.

As soon as the door closes behind you both, you lean against it. "At times, I wish I had a dick like the rest of them but then I remember it's what makes them this way," you explain before picking yourself back up and continuing down the hall.

Rogers laughs, his eyes crinkling as he bumps your shoulder. You look up, casting him a smile as well. "You have a way of saying things, sweetheart. Would leave to see more of that mouth outside of work," Rogers says causing you to stand still in the hall as people walk around you both.

Turning to face your agent, your smile has turned into a glare once more. "Get back to work, Rogers. I expect a full report from last week still that I have yet to receive. Your co-worker has already sent theirs in with misinformation, I hope to not see the same things on yours. And please remember this, I. am. not. your sweetheart."

Turning back on your heels you continue further down the hall, Rogers left with your words before a whistle has you nearly breaking a heel by how much you want to throw it in his face. Russell. fucking. Adler. Standing there with that smirk yet again as he leans up against the break rooms entrance.

He holds out a hand, shaking it in a silent ask to carry your belongings. You shove them into his hand while using your other to press against his chest and to move him out of your way.

He does not budge, simply looking down at your lingering touch with a softening smile. "I am not in the mood, Adler. Please let me through," you use an overly sweet tone, you can feel him tense from underneath you.

"Hey, though I do love that tone when seeing you in a good mood. I do love viewing your rage. Lay it on, whats on your mind?" Adler asks, hand now resting atop your own.

"Move first and we'll sit and talk," you counter to his nod. Adler drops your touch, arm moving to welcome you into the empty space as everyone had already cleared back for work.

Coffee in hand, sandwich in the other, you took to your seat. "I'm so sick of men constantly stepping all over me when I worked just as hard- no. Fucking harder for this position and I still get treated like a little girl in their fathers suit and it does not help when after three hours of men shoving their dicks on the table a younger one then gets the audacity to be asking to see my mouth while calling me Sweetheart," you complain, downing the rest of your coffee before slamming the cup against the saucer.

Adler appears even more tense then you, his hands grips into fists allowing the veins across his forearms to appear most prominent. "Give me a name."

"Pardon?" you ask, embarrassed that you had became so easily distracted.

"Give. me. a. name, please," Alder asks once more, his eye staring deeply into your own. "Hey, whats wrong, sharing is a mutual affair," you reach across the table to grasp one of his hands, surprised when he pulls away. He's never done that before...

"Nobody gets to say that shit to you, not when I'm here. I'm sorry that you had to hear that, sweetheart." And for some reason you don't feel disgust except an overwhelming feeling of comfort as the word dances through your ears. You try and fake annoyance but Adler only takes that as further fuel against whatever man had wronged you so.

"Theres no need to apologize, Adler. I already told Rogers off-" you should not have said that, already regretting your words and Adlers chair screeches against the tiled floors, the door being slammed behind him as he storms off to find Rogers.

─────── · ·

The next time you are working with Rogers, he does not even look at you unless you command him to. He does well to hide his face to the best of his ability but it is hard not to notice the black eye or scarring underneath his chin. Tisking to yourself, you tell the agent his next meeting point in the south Mediterranean sea before setting off on your next mission, to find Adler.

It did not take long as he was already waiting in your office. First aid it open and displayed across the documents on your desk. He did not hiss or move as he poured the anti-bacterial fluid over his wounds, his teeth gripping a bandage in wait as he had yet to acknowledge your presence.

"Alder," you scolded like a tired mother before taking the wraps from his teeth and standing between his legs, gently wrapping his hand before pressing a kiss to your work that had both of you chuckling.

"You didn't have to do that, you know. Could have gotten you suspended-"

"You really think they would suspend me, honey?" you blush, shaking your head and taking a step away yet Adler catches your elbow, standing, chests touching as he leans down to get a better look of your face.

"All I'm saying is that you have to take better care of yourself, officer," you retort, eyes quickly casting to his lips before holding his gaze.

Alder smiles, hand now cupping your cheek as you allow yourself to lean into his touch. "Are you sayin' you care about me, (last/name)?" he teases, eyes already knowing the answer by the way in which they crinkle, mirroring your own.

"I care for all of my operatives, Russell Adler."

"But am I really just an operator to you, sweetheart?" his words now nearly a whisper upon your lips that part in wait.

"Well there's only one way to find out-" and his lips were on yours. His hand now holding the back of your head, nudging it upwards as you curved into his touch, hands gripping his shirt and around to his waist. Russell's other hand moved to grip your waist, thumb rubbing circles into your side as you felt his smile upon your lips.

Pulling away, lips puffy and eyes starry as you panted for air, Adler barely gave you anytime to breathe before he was kissing you again. Any papers on your desk were thrown to the floor before Russell was picking you up by the back of your thighs and placing you on the desk, legs spreading to keep you both close.

Standing back to full height, Adler looked at you sprawled out before him, hands morning their way up from the ankles that kept him locked into to place, up to your calves and towards your thighs and lower torso. Your breath gasped as his hands teased at the skin between your waist and shirt, skin tingling, his touch lingering with shared desire.

"Kiss me again," you pleaded.

"Always, Sweetheart."

─────── · ·

─ · · A/N: If this is recieved well may make another one... 🤷

[tenebraevesper]

Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 1)

I was so excited to hear this Takeover since it is only Sonic and Shadow talking to each other and answering question. It is one of those times where you get to see their dynamic without anyone else's input.

Since I feel like I could write an essay about these two, I decided to instead put all my thoughts into bullet points, this being Part 1 of my list:

First of, congratulations to Shadow for hosting the Takeover! Shadow sounds so proud of having managed to take over the channel and having gotten a whole year for himself. At least until Sonic reminds him that he is also there.

Why does Sonic's mind immediately jump to ''marriage'' when he hears the word proposal? Is he still bummed over the fact that he didn't think of proposing to Shadow?

I never thought I'd live the day to hear Shadow saying ''Sonic x Shadow''. I know it's referring to the game, but shippers are going to have a field day with this.

Shadow finally got his #AskShadow. Sonic is not happy to lose to him.

The best way for Sonic to annoy Shadow is to just be around him, with Sonic adding how he'd slowly take his time when they're racing and drag it out, much to Shadow's chagrin. God, I love how Sonic trolls Shadow.

Sonic doesn't know about Doom Wing... and he forgot about Black Doom! X3

I love how Sonic's idea in a body swap scenario with Shadow is to brag about himself, while Shadow's idea is to tell everyone how Sonic is stupid... and more importantly, telling that to Amy. Sonic sounds really flustered, and while I get the Sonamy joke... I'm pretty sure they threw that in because they knew the Sonadow fans will go wild over this.

There you have it folks! Shadow doesn't hate Tails, but he will beat him up if he stands in his way. I also love how Sonic immediately jumps to Tails' defense - big brother gotta protect his little brother.

Sonic loves the journey, while Shadow points out how you need to learn from the experience to not make the same mistakes. I love their philosophy, since they mesh so well together... and it also feels as if Sonic wants to go on a journey with Shadow.

I love the scenario of Sonic and Shadow babysitting Cream and them arguing over their methods (Sonic, the twelve scoop ice-cream cone scenario is really specific).

Did Sonic just invite Shadow on an ice-cream date? As Cream's babysitters, but nonetheless, it is a date. And he also knows what Shadow's favorite ice-cream flavour is.

Okay, start the counter for how many times Sonic attempts to convince Shadow to go out with him.

I love how Sonic knows how to challenge Shadow and Shadow falls for it despite his reservations, even if it's something silly like a thumb war. Sonic knows exactly how to get under his skin and Shadow just goes along with it, much to his chagrin. X3

Sonic, Shadow and Silver have a Big Brother, Little Brother relationship! Love how they're ready to help him at any point of time and how Shadow respects Silver.

So, Sonic forgot about Elise? To note Sonic 06 technically did happen, but the universe did get reset.

I adore that Shadow acts like he doesn't care whether he's Sonic's biggest rival, but the moment Sonic starts trolling him by placing him between Zavok and... Dodon Pa? (What?) - Shadow gets irritated. It's obvious that Shadow wants the recognition of being Sonic's main rival, and knows Sonic is messing with him.

Did Shadow just laugh at the Joe Mama joke?

Shadow correcting Sonic's Macarena bit is hilarious, especially since neither of them know the lyrics. Also, obligatory Macarena singing is obligatory.

I love how Shadow shares Omega's ''enthusiasm for blowing things up''. We saw him enjoying himself blowing up G.U.N. property alongside Omega and Rouge in Sonic X Shadow Generations: Dark Beginnings, so I'm not surprised. Sonic then immediately figures he also needs to hang out more with Omega,... perhaps in hopes to get closer to Shadow?

Shadow pointing out how Tails is the reason why Sonic's always in trouble is not wrong. These two can be a disaster when together as siblings tend to do.

''Shadow, have you ever given Sonic a present on his birthday?'' ''No, my presence is more than enough.'' There are several things to discuss here:

Shadow is willing to buy Amy a present in The Murder of Sonic the Hedgehog, but couldn't bother get anything for Sonic, which is hilarious. Especially since we know that it was Rouge who convinced him to go to Sonic's birthday by promising him a rocket.

Shadow arrived at Sonic's birthday just after he was traumatized by watching Gerald and Maria return to their own timeline, knowing this was the last time he saw them again. I doubt getting a present for Sonic was on his mind at that time.

Shadow claims his presence is enough of a birthday present. I interpret this as him claiming that he is Sonic's birthday present and you can't stop me.

Sonic teasing Shadow about the Hot Honey concert is so hilarious... until Shadow reveals they're going on another concert, and Sonic's mood drops. Honestly, Sonic, if you want to go to a concert with Shadow, ask him out!

Sonic being so intrigued and even saying that he's jealous over Shadow smiling in Big's presence, and then suggests a fishing trip with all three of them. Not only does he want to see Shadow smile again, but he is still persistent about getting his date.

Shadow chooses to save Sonic from danger because he knows Sonic will get himself into trouble, so he needs keep an eye on him. This is completely out of Sonic Prime and I'm loving it! It really shows that Shadow cares about Sonic.

Sonic isn't too enthusiastic about going with Amy on shopping trips. Shadow, on the other hand, just buys what he needs, which is understandable... Sonic then immediately uses this as an opportunity to invite him on a shopping date, even saying how he'll make it fun. Shadow immediately accepts the moment Sonic turns it into a race.

They mention the matching outfits (possible reference to Sonic Speed Simulator)! Sonic believes they have similar tastes, Shadow calls it a coincidence and insists it means nothing, which Sonic doesn't buy at all.

''But if we do ever go to a party, you know I'm picking the outfits.'' Sonic is still desperately trying to get that date and Shadow is not budging. These two sound like a married couple.

I love how Shadow respects Sonic enough to refuse beating him in a swimming competition, even if he reasons that it's because Sonic would drown, so he wouldn't be able to see the look of the defeat on his face.

Sonic immediately mentions a ''plummeting to Earth contest'', which is just... woah! I didn't expect him to go that far. Shadow gets an UNO Reverse on him by teasing him about needing floaties. Go Shadow!

Sonic keeps his chest fur short to stay aerodynamic and run laps around Shadow. You guys do know that hedgehogs circle around each other in order to court?

Frontiers!Sonic voice is back! Shadow sounds baffled. X3

So, Classic Sonic is just chilling in the room. Shadow likes him because he's silent, though. I suppose Modern Sonic is taking notes... or not.

#Sonic X Shadow Takeover Analyzer (Part 2)

#Sonic Cyber Revolution (Masterlist)

[rini-rushed]

less doesn’t always mean lukewarm.

☆ sae x reader ^^ (gender not mentioned)

★ fluff or smth, no bllk au

synpnosis -> reader is described to have a lot of distraction problems, quick thoughts and random prompts stacked in their head, idk how to explain it i just had this feeling today so i wrote this with emotions tethered to it

notes: based off an experience i had today, except i was spiraling alone + the ending derailed and became SHIT tbh😕

tapping your pen against the pages of your barely touched notebook, you blink as your mind wandered to random places.

what time is it? did you ever submit that report? what does TGIF mean? is modern art actually ugly? did you ever clean out your locker? does it actually make sense to have the metric system? is moving to north pole for the penguins THAT bad of a life plan?

your train of thought was on a roll to say the least, stopping at short term stations, new random and shortsighted ideas and "plans" for side quests pinging in your head.

the notion was quick and swift in your head, twitching your facial muscles ever so slightly as you hopped on one cloud to the next. it was all quite minimally amusing to you, but it certainly wasn't for your study partner.

"stop that."

click!

"stop what?"

you straightened your posture, stopping your pen fidgeting, rolling your eyes to the face in front of you.

"making dumb faces, you haven't even written anything down." sae sighs slightly, you keenly notice the little wrinkle that imprinted itself onto his brow.

then your attention pays itself to the words he just said, you look down at your paper and sure enough, the only markings on your page were little dots that were the outcome of your no-thought-shuffle of your fingers.

you couldn't help but frown a bit, pursing your lips in slight disappointment at the lack of writing done.

at your silence, you could just feel the damn sigh that was stolen from sae's figure, that only dampened your mood a bit, tilting your head lower.

you repositioned the pen in your hand, now in the position of writing, your eyes dragged themself against the table, clawing and resisting as your vision was overwhelmed with words and symbols.

the textbook's big paragraphs made you think and process, like a loading screen over your head, engulfing yourself in mumbo-jumbo, losing yourself in the walls of text.

maybe after rereading the same sentence for the nth time and writing down a singular “the” you already feel drained.

noticing your overwhelmingly heightened distress, sae calmly closes his book and shuts off his laptop silently.

you see his neutral look on his face as he’s gathering his things, you can feel your stomach drop, was he already that annoyed?

you bit the inside of your cheek.

you couldn’t blame him.

so you keep your head and your field of view low as the events played out before you. they come and go, your study partners, your peers.

you gripped your pen a tiny bit harder at the thoughts, now bubbling up from the dark crevices of your heart. doubt and shame inking your insides as it immobilizes your lungs, you could feel your heart-

“what are you doing? come on”

? you look up at him.

“come on stupid, we’re going on a break, we can’t get shit done if you’re like this.”

his words are blunt, but they don’t hurt you, they’re just pointing out the obvious.

he’s being stupid about being nice.

but you don’t hesitate to pack your things too, although you feel his eyes on you as you do so, you don’t feel the weight of pressure.

the weight of needing to check yourself, how you’re perceived, how you’re supposed to be acting. he’s just, observing you.

and so you pack up and follow him out, he takes you to an area that’s slightly more populated, no longer in the library, you’re in the courtyard. he gets you a snack from the vending machine, and opens a bag as you open your mouth.

letting the long stream of thoughts out, sae answer minimally, it was all you really needed, some simple answers for some simple questions.

“what time is it?”

“1:45pm.”

“did I ever submit that report? ”

“you can check now.”

“what does TGIF mean? ”

“thank god it’s friday”

“is modern art actually ugly? ”

“up to you, artists won’t care”

“did I ever clean out my locker? ”

“we don’t use them anymore.”

“does it actually make sense to have the metric system? ”

“americans are stupid.”

“is moving to north pole for the penguins THAT bad of a life plan?”

”yes.”

neither of you really kept track of time, not that either of you bothered to. sae only looked at you with that blank face of his, and your mouth kept moving.

sae knew that this was taking more time than if he had just stayed at the library with you.

but he knew better.

he knew that bitching to you to fix your attitude can’t help with the situation, so why worsen it.

he rather see you being comfortable and “wasting time” rather than being shackled to a task when you’re obviously not mentally into it.

long story short: if it means you’ll be less lukewarm, he’ll take it.

★ 終わり☆

holy shit why was that ending so bad 😢

tags: @tofumiarchives @rinitoshiplzdateme @fishii28

@shrii-kk

@reapkusho @ac3ss @tired-xyra-urstruly

renaissance is such a pretty word btw

[faistoconnors]

Ladybug Smile

p. zweig x reader

warnings: happy ending I promise, medical trauma, trauma in general, cancer, sickness, loss of a loved one, loss of a sibling, grief, fucked up family dynamics, disordered eating due to poverty, panic attacks, homelessness, pregnancy mention, first time parenting, patrick zweig needs a hug and a sandwich, angst, hurt/comfort, patrick zweig gets a hug, lmk if I forgot anything

wc: 5k, why did I let it get so long, what was the point

an: I forgot I could write... I don't think this is coherent or good but it's probably legible. thank you to @artdcnaldson for listening to me talk abt this (and to my irl friends for the same)

When Patrick was seven years old, his parents sat him down to talk. They said, in very soft and wavering voices, that Marion was sick.

He didn't quite understand, at the time, what this meant. They did use the word cancer, but he was seven. It didn't mean much to him. They wouldn't say how bad she was.

He visited her in the hospital as much as he was allowed, though. Brought her the smoothest pebbles from the lake on the estate grounds. Told her about Mila from school and how he was going to marry her. Brushed her hair even when it was starting to fall out. Cried when he showed up one day and she was bald.

She kept her same brightness all through the disease. Hugged him with her skinny arms and smiled just as much as always. Giggled at his stupid jokes, yelled at him when he was being annoying, called him out when he tried to lie or omit details of a story. Too smart for her own good. She was his sister, through and through, and that never changed. His parents let him pick out a pretty wrap for her head, and he decided on ladybug print. “It's happy!” he said as they questioned his judgement. Marion loved it, anyway. That was all that mattered. He felt almost vindicated that they didn't know ladybugs were her favorite; she was special to him, after all. What did they know?

When Patrick was eight, his parents didn't come to pick him up from school one day. This wasn't unusual, per se. They were busy people. He sat on the curb, expecting the driver to pull up instead. No one did.

When the principal walked out, face white as a sheet, he knew. Maybe not what, but he knew. Of course he did. Especially when she sat right down beside him on the curb with no regard for her pristine skirt and shiny shoes.

She rubbed his back and tugged him into her side while he sobbed. He was almost glad she was the one who told him, not his parents. His parents were too… themselves. They were uncomfortable. Firm. She, at least, was something to hold onto.

When Marion died, he stopped trying. Who was there to impress with good grades? His parents didn't care. The school could send home a million report cards and letters, but everything would be fielded to the nanny anyways.

When he was twelve, he went to MRTA. It wasn't exactly his first choice, but it was better than being at home. And his parents didn't want to look at him, anyways. They never liked seeing Marion’s face anywhere but on her body. This would be easier on everyone.

Art was a good friend, but Patrick kept him at arm’s length. He had to. There would be no one who he loved like Marion. Not even a little bit. He adored Art. Adored playing with him, against him. Growing up with him. But Art was a person, and therefore, Art would leave. Patrick Zweig did not have permanence. He didn't earn it.

A sickening feeling started to fester in his gut when he met you. You went to Stanford with Art and Tashi, and he first ran into you at one of Tashi's tennis matches. Art was there too, for his girlfriend, so he dumped Patrick off onto you, her friend, for a moment’s peace.

You were sweet. Gentle. Kind. But you were by no means innocent or pure, and he could tell from the first moment that you wanted him.

The stumble back into your dorm (‘my roommate is home for the week’) and the ensuing sex was thrilling. So was the ‘relationship’ that followed. He never really called it that, hadn't done since his girlfriend Laura in sixth grade. No use. That wasn't what he was for.

But Patrick Zweig had never earned permanence. Like poison leeching in slowly, resentment began to fester. He hated how you’d wait up for him at night. The way you looked so crushed when he’d pull out and get ready to leave, as if you expected him to stay for some reason. As if you expected anything to change.

The argument wasn't that bad at first. Quiet words spat like venom into the other’s face, a stony glare.

“You’re being weird,” you'd snapped, voice trembling despite yourself. He scoffed.

“I don't have to be any kind of way for you, y'know. You expect so much for a fucking hookup.”

God, he hated the way you went silent after that. He tried cracking a joke. Brushing a hand over your arm, pressing the flat of his palm to the small of your back. You didn't budge an inch.

It took ten minutes for him to give up. To walk out of your life. He didn't stay in Art and Tashi’s long after that either.

Everything was ephemeral. This was fine.

The restaurant is a little too air-conditioned for the tepid weather, the air a little too thickly silent in the way that makes each touch of utensil to dish sound painful. He can't pay much attention to what the woman across from him is saying. The food hasn't arrived yet, and his stomach is a gnawing pit that consumes his mind alongside the rest of him. She's making what seems to be a joke, and he laughs weakly while she cracks up over her own words.

The sharp gasp from a few tables away catches his attention, though. He looks up for a moment and catches a flash of a familiar sweater and a familiar gaze. His heart drops.

You're pretty. Like the day he left you. The years have worn on your face, though it's only been seven. He winces at the realization that he's been counting.

His date makes a sputtering, confused kind of sound as he stands, chair scraping deafeningly across the floor, and bolts. He can almost hear her shout after him, and he's pretty sure she just got his name wrong. Still.

The air outside is pleasant, but just a little too humid to be comfortable. Or maybe that's just the tightness in his chest. He gets maybe half a block before he stops. The footsteps behind him slow.

When you appear in front of him, he knows it's definitely the tightness in his chest. He doesn't speak.

“You look like a skeleton,” is the first thing you breathe out, and he scowls.

“I don't need your pity. What do you want?”

He hates the way your face falls.

“I don't pity you one bit. I just wanted to tell you-”

You cut off, and he can hear the way your breath hitches. It makes him uncomfortable.

“I wanted to tell you that I was pregnant when you left. And that- and that I kept it. So there.”

You're trying damn hard to keep it together, he can tell. Holding up a front like this is casual and you're doing so well about telling him. If he was able to breathe, maybe he’d laugh at the poor act.

He sits down heavily onto the curb, body crumbling in on itself. His head hits his knees. It takes a few seconds to calm down.

“You’re insane,” he bites out, no venom in the words. He might be crying.

He pauses.

“Is it- I mean- where's the… the kid?” It hurts to say that word.

He hears you sit down beside him, and the déjà vu is enough to make him want to puke.

“She's at my apartment right now. The babysitter’s getting her ready for bed.”

He lets out a bitter huff, fingers twitching like they want to do something. Rip his hair out, maybe. Punch a wall. Hold onto you.

“Do you have pictures?”

He doesn't know what possesses him to say that. Something so innately self-destructive and scary. He says it anyways.

The light of your phone creeps in on his vision, and he lifts his head, staring into the screen.

The little girl is small and chubby, wearing a ladybug raincoat and sitting directly in a puddle. She's wearing his smile, too. She's got one hand up, waving at the camera, gaze focused on something behind it. You, he assumes.

“Fuck.” That's all he can say for a few moments. “What's her name?”

He hates the way you pause.

“Marion. Marion Eleanor.”

He vomits into the gutter, sobbing. Feels your hand on his back, snaking around his side. Melts into your touch.

The two of you stay like that for a while. Longer than any two people should sit on a curb in the middle of the city. He’s grateful for the touch.

“Can I see her?”

His voice is uncharacteristically small. He can't put up a front. Not right now.

The pause sucks all the air out of the atmosphere.

“Are you going to stay? Because I'm not letting her fall in love with you if you're gonna run again.”

He's never wanted to promise something more than he wants to promise you of his permanence. But that feels too close to a lie. Too close to a way he could hurt you. Hurt the kid. Marion.

“I want to say yes,” he admits. “But I don't… know how to do ‘staying’. I don't do that. You know it.”

He almost starts sobbing again.

“I want to know her. I just don't want to hurt you both.”

I don't want to get hurt, is what he doesn't say. You seem to understand despite his silence.

“You can see her.” He senses the caveat before it's spoken. “But I'm not going to tell her who you are. You can be my friend, nothing more. You won't bring her presents or treats. You won't let her get attached until you prove it's safe to.”

The gnawing in his stomach gets worse. But he nods. There's a terrible pull in him that tells him he needs to see her, to know her. She feels like someone whole and right, and her smile looks like someone he used to know.

“I'll give you my phone number and text you my address. You'll show up at eight tomorrow morning.”

There's nothing he can do but agree, and the mixture of guilt and hope is so overwhelming that his head is full of floss.

His car pulls up outside your apartment building at seven forty-five, creaking a little as the engine cools down. He opens the door at seven fifty, steps out on legs that are a bit too shaky. His outfit is probably the nicest one he owns; an Adidas hoodie from eight years ago and a pair of khaki pants he almost forgot to take the tag off of before getting here. Neither fit quite right, but it’ll have to do. He hopes, maybe foolishly, that the little girl won't look at his beat-up sneakers with the soles glued back on one too many times. It doesn't seem like something a six year old would care about, but the nerves are there all the same.

He makes his way up to the apartment number he’d been given, punching in the code for the lobby door. His fingers quiver so badly that he got it wrong three times.

It's seven fifty-seven when he knocks on the door, quickly stuffing his hands back into his pockets and trying not to pass out.

The door swings open, revealing you. You’re wearing an old t-shirt and plaid pajama pants, a mug in one hand and a half-eaten protein bar in the other.

He smiles, but his breathing is too shallow, so he kind of gasps when he does.

“Patrick,” you say, tugging him into a loose, one-armed hug. The movement gives him the opportunity to see the small girl hiding behind your legs, looking up at him with big eyes. “It's good to see you.”

You turn to the child, who’s clinging to the hem of your t-shirt, and his heart flips.

“Mari, baby, this is Patrick. He’s mommy’s friend. Do you wanna say hi?”

She pauses a bit, sizing him up, and nods.

“I'm Marion,” she declares, not making a move to approach him.

He makes the abrupt decision to crouch down to her level, hoping it makes her a little more comfortable.

“Hey, Marion. You've got a very pretty name.”

He's grateful his voice doesn't crack and he manages to finish the sentence.

This puts a smile on her face, a wide grin that almost knocks him off his feet. She's missing a front tooth, but that smile is all him. (All Marion. He won't acknowledge that part.)

“Mommy says I'm named after someone very special,” she informs him, nodding sagely like she’s got all the knowledge in the world. He gives a wet laugh.

“Yes you are,” he agrees. This time his voice does break. She gives him another once over before walking away to what he assumes is the living room.

His gaze lands on you heavy, staring with the weight of a thousand questions and a thousand words. A few seconds go by in silence, and then he breaks it.

“She looks just like you,” he mumbles. “She's got- she's got my smile, though.”

He can call it his smile now, but once upon a time another person wore it first. It's his to the people who never knew her. There are more and more of those as the years go by. He wonders briefly if anyone will even talk about her when his parents die.

You nod, a look on your face he can't read. Could he ever? Did he ever know you that well?

You lead him through the apartment. His gaze catches on smeared orange and pink across one wall, like someone had attempted to wipe it off but hadn't quite gotten it. There are a few photos in frames set on a shelf. One of you and a newborn baby on your chest, laid on a stretcher in front of an ambulance, looking beautiful and scared. One of you and a few girls he thinks might've gone to Stanford with you. One of a very old man holding a clearly-squirming Marion in aged hands, beaming so widely his smile could blind.

You take him to the small living room, and he looks around. Colorful toys are scattered on the beaten-down carpet; a bunch of small animal figures, a playhouse, a tennis player Barbie with tangled hair. Marion sits cross-legged, methodically coloring a picture of some birds.

“Are you hungry?”

Your voice cuts into his observation, and he looked up and you, blinking before he processes.

“We made pancakes and sausage for breakfast.”

We. We made pancakes and sausage for breakfast. ‘We’ being you and his bright, bubbly daughter who barely looks up as he responds.

“Sure, yeah. Thanks.”

You hurry off into a small, partly separate kitchen, and he peers at Marion.

“Whatcha drawing?”

She glances at him before presenting the half-finished coloring sheet, hiding her face behind it as she sticks it forward.

“Parakeets,” she tells him, and launches into a detailed explanation of the coloration and why she’d chosen what pencils she did. He listens with rapt attention, barely looking up when you walk back into the room with a reheated plate and a mug of coffee. You set it down on the coffee table, and he smiles his thanks before digging in. It’s halfway gone by the time he remembers he maybe shouldn't eat like he’s starved for it (he is).

There are a couple eggshells ground up in the pancakes, but when Marion asks him all quiet and inquisitive how he likes them, all he can do is tell her they're perfect. She grins.

“I made the batter,” she explains, and he nods.

“That's good. You could be a chef. Or… baker. Is this baking or cooking?”

Her brow furrows as she tries to think of the answer, and you turn to him.

The rest of the morning passes by quickly. Too quickly. In no time at all, he’s hugging you quickly and waving goodbye to Marion, who’s quite busy setting up a scene with her toy animals. She spares him a ‘bye, Patrick’ over her shoulder, and his heart nearly rips apart.

You step out into the hallway with him, closing the door after yourself, and he waits expectantly. Maybe for you to tell him never to return. Maybe for you to tell him he was terrible in there. Maybe for something else entirely.

“That was a good first go,” you say softly, and he almost collapses in relief. “Thank you for listening to me about how to approach this. It's better for all of us.”

He wants to say it's not better for him, but he keeps his mouth shut instead. Grins. Grits his teeth. Waves goodbye to you, too, and returns to the car he’d been living in. Relief blooms when he thinks of how you had said not to buy her presents. He doesn't have the money for good ones anyway.

Over the next few weeks, he creeps further into your life, and Marion’s too. Nearly every day, he’s there. He wishes her a happy first day of summer vacation. You let him come with to the park once or twice, allow him to visit you both at the coffee shop. He smiles at her frosting-covered face and the crumbs of cinnamon roll on her plate.

It happens when he’s at the park with you both. Marion comes running up from where she’s been digging in the grass, looking at you breathlessly.

“Mommy, you remember I have an appointment tomorrow, right?”

You nod, rubbing her arm. A puff of air leaves her in relief, almost a sigh, and he wants to laugh at how beyond her years she can appear sometimes.

“Okay good. Don't forget,” she warns, and goes back to her plastic shovel and worm collection. His body shifts to face you, and you give a quiet laugh.

“What kind of appointment?” he asks softly, and you give a sigh far too close to her own.

“Cardiology. It's just a checkup, though, so hopefully it won't eat up the whole day. I hate that parking lot.”

His brain’s gone fuzzy like a dandelion again, and it takes a second for him to brush away the haze enough to reply.

“Cardiology? Why? Is she okay?”

He sounds like a nut, the almost frantic tone of his voice making your brow pinch.

“Yeah, she's fine. She had some complications after she was born, so she was pretty sick for the first few years. Now we just have follow-ups once every few months.”

He can't breathe. The fresh air of the park turns stale and acrid, clogging his lungs and pressing heavy on his chest. He looks at you for a couple more moments, then over at Marion. Her bright features are melting before his eyes into something more drawn and sallow, and for a second he thinks he can see some missing spots in her hair. Maybe that's just his vision.

Your hand is on his arm, grip firm, before shifting to his other shoulder, wrapping around his back.

“Patrick. Hey. Patrick. C'mon.”

You suck in an exaggerated breath, and he copies, his own more stilted and shallow. It takes a couple seconds longer to calm down, but he manages.

“She’s okay, Pat. What just happened?”

He doesn't speak for a while. Doesn't say that he remembers doctors’ appointments called ‘checkups’ when he was a kid. Doesn't say that he remembers his parents talking about how sick and frail Marion was when she was a baby.

He excuses himself back to his car, giving Marion a thumbs up and a wave as he tries to escape as fast as possible.

He doesn't show up at your apartment the next day. You don't call.

When he arrives, it's the middle of the night. He’d last seen you two days ago. He’d last seen Marion on your private Instagram account, mid-bite of a churro.

The temperature dropped around eight PM, and the weather channel warned of a nasty storm. He's gotten by in his car for long enough, but one of the windows is plastic-wrapped, the glass shattered a few weeks ago when some teenager pitched a rock while he slept.

He tries. He really does. But he’s shivering and soaked, and the threat of a tornado from the forecast a few minutes ago was too much. So he shows up at twelve fifty AM, duffel bag half-slung over his shoulder, face twisted in a grimace.

It's Marion who answers the door. She looks up at him, sleepy and confused, and waves him in.

“Marion Eleanor! Do not open the door for just anyone-!”

You appear a second later, face dropping as you see him there. You're standing still, looking at him for a moment. He almost thinks you'll tell him to get out.

Instead, you send Marion to grab a towel, and she shuffles out.

“What the fuck, Patrick?”

You don't sound mad. Not really. Just stunned.

“I've been, uh- well, I don't have a good place to stay right now. I'm… between apartments. But the window- the car window- is broken, and…”

He trails off at the look on your face. Like you're staring at a ghost, or something.

“You're living in your car?”

He wants to say no. Laugh, maybe. Joke about it. He reaches to touch your arm, then aborts the movement and sets his hands on his thighs.

“... Yeah. Pretty much.”

It's not a spoken thing, when he moves in with you. You don't say ‘move in’, or ‘stay here'. But you do insist on carrying a couple of his bags into your guest bedroom when he brings them in, and you do insist on helping him fold them into the dresser.

He thinks you might've explained it to Marion when he wasn't there, because she doesn't ask questions. But then again, she’s always seemed like she knows more than she's told. It makes him feel a little insecure when she looks at him.

The first night in your apartment, he can't sleep. The bed is unfamiliar, the room too quiet, the ticking of the clock in the corner making him feel claustrophobic.

When the door creaks all the way open, he looks up, almost expecting to see you in the dim hallway light. It's Marion who shows up instead.

“Was getting a snack, and I saw you through the door,” she explains as she climbs up onto the bed, sitting cross-legged beside him.

He laughs softly, weakly.

“Thanks for visiting, Mari,” he says, and she nods. “You shouldn't be up this late.”

“That's what mommy says. She told me to get a sweet treat when I can't sleep ‘cause it’ll relax my brain or something. Dunno if it really works.”

She pulls a chocolate-chip cookie out of the pocket of her pajama pants, breaking it in half (not at all even), and hands him a piece.

He takes it gratefully and looks at her for a moment. She glances up at him.

“You're very nice,” she says. “I think it's fun you’re here.”

He falls asleep that night in peace, and dreams of his sister.

When Marion gets bronchitis, he doesn't know how to act. You aren't home, off on a weekend trip for work, and his little girl is coughing her lungs out, chest rattling with each breath.

He calls you and it goes to voicemail. Calls again with the same results. He remembers the conference you'd told him about slated for one PM. It's one-fifteen. He curses softly enough that Marion won't hear him.

“Mari? Do you want me to take you to urgent care?”

She looks at him with all the misery in the world and coughs in his face, giving a shaky nod.

“Okay, uh- okay. Okay. Right.”

He scrambles for a minute or two, grabbing his phone and his charger and his wallet. They're stuffed into his pockets, and then he returns to the couch where she lays under a blanket quivering.

“Kay, let's go,” he says a bit too loudly, and winces. She sits halfway up before another coughing fit wracks her, and he wants to die at the grating sound.

It's a split-second decision, but he’d really like to get her help, and she doesn't seem particularly capable of cooperating. He urges her to stand once more, and then gives in.

She’s light in his arms, and he almost gets scared until he remembers she’s six and that's how it's supposed to be. He carries her with ease, pulling her soft blanket off the couch and putting it over her again. It's late summer, still warm enough, but it seems like a comfort for her. He gets her downstairs relatively fast, passing a couple neighbors he doesn't remember the names of.

She’s practically hacking up a lung on his shoulder, and he rubs her back, patting softly like it'll help her. The tears pricking his eyes aren't familiar to him.

He fits her into the booster seat like you'd shown him, practiced movements getting her all buckled, and presses the back of his hand to her forehead once more. She's still too warm even as she shivers.

He stays remarkably calm in the children’s urgent care, getting her through intake quickly enough, carrying her into the hospital room and just nodding when a nurse asks ‘Are you dad?’.

He gives her info- date of birth, address, mom’s name, dad’s name. No medication in the past twenty-four hours, no trips outside the country in the past month.

As soon as they've got her asleep and comfortable, he breaks just a bit. Cries silently into his hands, shoulders shaking.

His phone goes off and he answers, collecting himself immediately. Your voice is low and concerned, and he can hear unintelligible chatter in the background.

“What's going on?”

“She has bronchitis,” he explains, glancing over to the little girl on the hospital bed. “We're at urgent care, they're getting her all sorted out. She should be okay.”

You ask a few questions, he fields them. You pause.

“Are you okay?”

He's taken aback. A few moments go by silently, amplifying the beep of her pulse and oxygen monitor, and he inhales sharply before answering.

“It's just scary,” he admits. “Being here. Her being sick.”

When you return home early from the work trip, he’s sitting up with Marion while she sleeps on the couch. His legs almost give out as he pushes up to meet you, taking a stack of discharge paperwork, prescriptions, and instructions with him. He holds them out to you and starts explaining everything as fast as his voice will let him. But each word gets quieter than the last, the space between them larger, and he barely manages an inhale before he starts crying again. His eyes are fixed on the papers as they start to blur, his shoulders shaking, breath hitching.

It doesn't register as you take the papers from him and replace them with your hands, or as you try to say his name. It only registers when you wrap your arms around his middle and tug him into yourself.

He grabs onto you tight, hands fisting at the back of your shirt, large body hunched over and wracked with sobs. You hang onto him like that for a long time, until he's stopped crying and his chest is expanding and contracting slowly.

He follows silently as you bring him into your bedroom and settle down onto your bed, and he melts as you shift his head to lay on your chest. Your nails scratch softly at his scalp, and he inhales your scent with the realization that you still wear the same perfume.

“D’you wanna talk?”

Your voice is gentle. Like you care about him. It makes him feel a bit sick, but he doesn't think he hates it. He closes his eyes.

“Marion- my sister Marion- died when I was eight.”

He's recounted this to you before, he knows. A drunken night at Stanford years ago where he cried endlessly until he told you it had been her birthday. He'd hiccuped how he wanted a daughter named after her. Disappeared before the sunrise after you held him to sleep.

“She had cancer. It happened really fast, and I didn't… really know what was going on. Too fucking young to know better. I guess it just freaked me out to be in that hospital with all the little kids and the- the painted walls and bright lights. I didn't realize I remembered it all that much.”

He goes quiet for a long moment, a few stray tears dripping onto your shirt.

“I get really scared when Mari seems sick. It makes me feel like- like I'm going to come home one day and she’ll be gone too. I dunno, maybe it's irrational. She looks like her when she smiles.”

Sleep overtakes him an hour or so later, tucked into your bed while you look after Marion. He's grateful when he can't hear her coughing, relaxing just enough to rest.

When morning light filters through the blinds, his eyelids flutter, and he blinks awake. He can hear two sets of footsteps in the hallway, and then you're there, leading a still-sick but much happier Marion into the room. You hoist her up onto the bed, where she promptly fits herself into the crook of his shoulder and rests at his side.

“Marion,” you begin softly, sitting down beside her, a hand on her leg. She's all smiles, and he instinctively checks to see if she's lost the wiggly tooth she was complaining about. “Do you remember when I'd tell you about your daddy?”

She nods, huffing.

“He plays tennis. He has dark hair and a nice smile, and he loves me so much,” she recites, stretching her arms apart on the word ‘so’ to quantify it.

“Patrick, d'you wanna?”

He nods, inhaling.

Marion fixes her inquisitive gaze onto him once more, and he looks down at her, heart stuttering in his chest with nerves. She's got the stars in her eyes, and he almost chickens out when he thinks about being the cause of them dimming.

But he doesn't.

“Marion. Ladybug.” He scoops her up into his arms, settling her down on his lap so she can look at him eye to eye. “It’s me, bug. I'm your dad.”

At her long pause, he starts to panic.

“Is that okay? It's- it's a lot, I know. You don't have to love me or call me dad or any of it, I can just be mommy’s friend Patrick still,” he rambles, lips tilting into a frown.

“Do you love me so much?” she asks, like the security question to her heart. Her voice is still a little raspy and weak from being sick. He almost sobs.

“Yeah, I do. If- if your arms could go like this-” he spreads his own wide- “and wrap around the whole world, it still wouldn't be big enough for all my love for you.”

She pauses again, then exhales, satisfied.

“You are my daddy,” she agrees. “That's good. It's nice having you here.”

He can't quite help it. He pulls her in closer, snuggling her small body up into his arms, kissing the top of her head and grinning down at her. He feels complete when his sister’s smile grins right back up at him. You settle down beside the two, and he hauls you in as well, keeping his family tucked in safely with him.

Maybe Patrick Zweig hasn’t earned permanence. And maybe he won't get it.

But for the first time, he feels like this is enough. Like however much time he has with you and the life you’ve created together is enough. And he’ll be damned if he runs from that again.

[dinosaurswant2rule]

The trouble with Galadriel and Sauron (what the show won't admit)

Before I get hate, I fully love these two as a couple, I ship them so hard as Sauron and Galadriel and Halbrand/Galadriel (although I would have loved it if Halbrand was just a "dude" with a tragic past not the source of evil incarnate)

Anyway my rant/analysis

I've read a lot of META analysis about TROP/Galadriel / her mistakes/not spotting Sauron for what he is etc / the mistakes blah blah blah

And while it's also fascinating, my big issue with the show and to a certain extent the analysis around her is that and I'm going to say this SUPER LOUD

SAURON IS RIGHT (in a way that doesn't for Celebrimbor or any of the other character he interacts with)

Yes Sauron absolutely manipulates Galadriel and she refuses to acknowledge a whole series of things.

But, for Galadriel, everything he says to her on the raft is absolutely true in a way that's not really true for anyone else.

Galadriel IS cast out by the elves for wanting more soldiers, for hunting an enemy that they think is gone even though she is TADA right as well. Sauron is not dead (Gil Galad grhhh) They don't listen to the commander whose hunted him for decades and led them across the battle field, they just say go away crazy cat lady - we'll just ship you off to Valinor.

And it just annoys me so much, that it's never really acknowledged EVER in the second series that she actually has a point

Sauron WAS NOT DEAD

That they put her directly in the path of someone when she is angry/damaged/still mourning a brother she lost a long time ago

And when they find out she is right, they have GALL to blame her for it utterly

Elrond AND Gil Galad both lay the blame entirely on her shoulders, no one ever really openly says, sorry Gal we put you in a super awkward position where you could have been open to Sauron's manipulation, that's on us and sorry for not believing you first time around.

Elrond - twat that he is (although I love him) sorta says sorry in between make out kisses at the last possible second, but it would have been nice for him to actually acknowledge it that Auntie Galadriel actually had a point.

He also has the nerve to say that she had the darkness calling to her/ that basically she was just an idiot falling for Sauron's tricks / is possibly corrupted herself

And Gil Galad never admits it either - still vaguely regarding her a sparkly flea he can't quite swat

And that she's somehow created another problem he's got to fix

While I totally admit that it's partly her fault, I just don't think the show is written as desperately fair to Galadriel and the second series suffers a lot from it.

After building her as the angry/damaged/virtually invincible soldier in the first series, the second series determinedly knocks her down a peg or two and the men folk take over (this is not helped by the fact that she no female relationships in the series) even though t hey are partly to blame for this mess.

I guess it frustrates me that the writing /the way the cast describe it - they tend to just go with the Galadriel made a horrible mistake and look at the consequences / she really did want what Sauron offered line

Anyway, back to Sauron, HE IS RIGHT, she is dumped by the elves and he is the only one who vaguely sees her as AN EQUAL, he actually finds her determination and obsession APPEALING rather than a turn off.

And it's seen as this monstrous thing, he's saying, but it's not really because he's being absolutely true

I SEE YOU AS AN EQUAL, AS MY MATCH (romantic or otherwise)

LET'S WORK TOGETHER

BECAUSE YOU'RE AMAZING

It's hardly a shock that Galadriel found this appealing because literally no man in her immediate world has ever really acknowledged in this way before and by the end of the series, he stills wants her!

(and in my opinion even after the roundhouse kick to the face)

(this might be one of the reasons her connection is so deep with him)

Celembrimbor on other hand, Sauron plays on his vanity/his desperation/his loneliness? as well as his basic good nature, but he doesn't really ever hit the nail on the head in terms of his situation (cause frankly Brimby is living a decent life)

Sorry this always bugs me when I watch it/read it

Just had to ran this out, much love to the TROP fandom and HALADRIEL and SAURONDIEL too, you're all amazing

Elsa out x

[mscherub]

Self Care is Important, Spudling (Vil Schoenheit x Reader)

Gender neutral reader, referred to as Y/N, Prefect, Potato, or Spudling (a lot with Vil, lol)

Warnings!:

Stressed Reader

Passing out

Lack of self care; Reader

Small mental breakdown; Reader

Word Count:

Approximately 2.58k

Of course- of course Crowley had to assign you maintenance work on campus...again. I mean was this guy serious? Fixing up some architecture, whether that be painting or patching up small holes, then you had to fix up the flower beds, make them look presentable and pretty! Better points for the college, Crowley says. Sadly, however, you’re not done yet, because you have to go help out with a few clubs and observe them since you haven’t, and well, kind of can’t join one yourself, this again was to earn your keep as a student, Crowley says. Then of course, there’s the never ending supply of homework from Professor Trein and Crewel, which you have still yet to do since you’ve been so choked up with everything else Crowley dumps onto you on a daily basis. All for you to earn your keep in Ramshackle, all for you to earn your keep of you and Grim being considered students. And all for you to earn your keep of just barely even living!

It’s tiring, a cumbersome array of tasks on your list that only seems to get longer and longer each day. You get to bed late, and then you have to get up at 6, get yourself ready, get Grim ready, make breakfast, take the hike up to school, and the cycle repeats. You’re tired. You’re oh so tired…

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You sit in class, your head bobbing slightly as you try and force your eyes open. You shake your head and rub your eyes, an action that has become the norm for you the past few days. You fight back multiple yawns as Trein finds it to be a disrespectful act in his classroom for some odd reason, though it’s his fault his lessons are so boring. You sigh and you look down at your paper, the words jumbled up to your mind and incomprehensible. Grim scribbles away at his assignment and he does a double take as he looks at you, tapping your forehead with his paw and gets you to look at him.

“Ya look like you’re dying.” He whispers as he crosses his paws, his face graced with an apprehensive look. He lets out a small puff of air and he narrows his eyes at you.

“Feels like it.” You take the time to rub your temples this time and stretch something out, anything to keep you awake at this point.

Luckily for you, the bell tolls and everyone shoots up from their seats, taking their books and papers and getting the hell out of the classroom to escape from the quiet lul of that annoying monotone voice of Trein. You stand up yourself, groggy and a little disheveled as you finally yawn and walk out with Grim.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Coach Vargas has you all doing a whole bunch of workouts. First it was sit ups, then push ups, step ups on the bleachers, lunges, and now you have to run figure eights out on the field. Grim cheats and floats as usual (wtf man…) and you run alongside the other students, already out of breath.

Of course your mind wanders off to the assignments, reviewing over the items at hand. Trein’s history essay is due tomorrow in class and you haven’t started it yet, so there’s that. You also have to do a write up on the one lab in alchemy for Crewel— woah…

Your vision goes a bit blurry, you stumble a bit as you slow down, your body suddenly giving up on itself and practically going slack. Then you fall face first into the ground, passing out, and going limp, resembling closely to a sack of potatoes.

Students suddenly stop and look at you as you lay upon the ground. Coach Vargas yells for them to get back to work until he also takes sight of you. Well shit.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Your head pounds and throbs as you finally come back to your senses, you flutter your eyes open slowly but the bright cool white color of the fluorescent lights prohibits you from opening your eyes anymore than just a squint. You try to sit up but your body feels it’s being weighed down by tons and tons of lead.

Grim pops up and he seems to be saying something but the words just sound like a cacophony of vowels as you slowly come back to the state of consciousness.

“Henchhuman! Henchhuman! What happened? You like…died! Don’t do that again!” He pouts at you, clearly worried as he gently paws at your arm. A nurse walks in and assesses you, giving you some sort of potion that tastes like strong rosemary and a hint of garlic, then sends you on your way.

“You were out for like an hour and a half, and everyone in class saw ya just fall right over! Ace created a big scene! And, not just that, Vargas princess carried you out! Bridal style or whatever they call it. It’s gonna be the talk of the school soon, no doubt.” Grim huffs and puffs, shaking his head and heavily gesticulating to further prove his point of concern.

“I’m just tired, Grim. Severely tired, stressed, all of the above.” You sigh, shaking your head. You rub your temples and continue to walk forwards.

“Clearly. I gotta tell Crowley off or something! He’s slowly burning you out...only I can do that since you're my henchman…” He murmurs “You need to take a break. A nice break.” He looks at you and smirks.

“Grim, what are you implying?” You narrow your eyes at him and cross your arms, halting.

“You’ll see, Hemchuman!” He chortles.

“Grimmy, I-“

He zooms past you and makes his way to the mirror chamber within the school. Your head still hurts but you can let him go off and cause trouble on his own, which he will do!

By the time you get to the mirror chamber, praying that Grim didn’t head to a dorm where even breathing wrong could be destructive, you can see the mirror to Pomefiore still rippling. You pause and your eye twitches, fucking hell, he did not.

You head through. What happened to him saying you needed a break?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

When you get through the mirror, Grim is still nowhere in sight, which only means he’s inside of the building. Great! One thing after another it seems.

You head into the castle-like place and walk through the ornate and sparkly hallways, passing by students who pause and go quiet at your appearance, which is tired, hungry, and pissed the fuck off due to the shenanigans Grim is pulling currently at the moment.

As you finally push into the lounge, Grim is yapping to Vil, Grims eyes contorted into a look of worry and his face holding a small amount of smugness to it. Vil does a double take when looking at you, and as soon as you lock eyes with him, he looks you up and down, his eyes going a little wide as if he had just seen his makeup pallet get destroyed. A prominent frown envelopes his features, replacing his once stoic and demure demeanor.

“Spudling…” is all he sighs out. The disappointment in his voice is enough alone to make you hold back any complaints you had to tell to Grim.

You’re irked, and your shoulders tense as you look away bashfully. You look at Grim who floats next to Vil, his chin held high as he smiles like he’s won all the tuna he could ever ask for.

“Eyes on me.” His stern voice reaches your ears and you look back at him, your lips pursed and your hands now behind your back, standing at attention.

“Look at you…” he sighs again as he walks over to you, his eyes narrowed and unwavering as he inspects you carefully, most likely pinpointing everything wrong with you.

“Rook relayed the information to me as to what happened during PE. I would have found you myself if not for Grim leading you here. At least he’s useful for that.” He clicks his tongue, a regular action for him to make while disapproving of something.

“Truly, what makes you think what you’ve been doing is any good?” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one leg as he waits for a response.

“I. Well. You just- I don’t think you’d really understand, Vil, if I can be honest.” You shake your head. “I have to do it. To stay here, you know? So, it’s whatever. I’m fine, I promise. Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night and that’s it-“

“Don’t play coy. Anyone can see that you’ve been disregarding your own body’s needs for more than just a night, and sleep is not the only thing you seem to be lacking.”

His words cause you to bristle up, your muscles close to cramping at how tense you’ve become. He looks at you still with a frown and the unamused tone in his voice is…unnerving.

“Ok, well, it’s things I need to get done-“

“I won’t sit here and listen to your feigning utterance.” Vil sighs, yet again, uncrossing his arms and moving to place a hand on your shoulder. In contrast to his demeanor, his touch is soft yet grounding. You visibly relax and you sigh out a soft breath.

“I’ll have Rook see Grim to Heartslabyul, you’re not leaving until I deem you fit to go on your way.” He hums as his hand slides to your upper back, silently and slowly ushering you to follow behind him. His heels click on the ground as you're already halfway down the hall, just now realizing what his words imply for you.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It’s true Vil took a liking to you, but he’d never admit that, his ego could be damaged, and he prefers to show that he cares through actions, anyhow, being a strong believer in that they speak louder than words.

As soon as you both reach Vil’s dorm room, he has you sit down at his vanity, gently spinning the seat so you’re face-to-face with yourself in the mirror.

“Your eyebags are so dark, and your eyes are sunken in, as well. Your hair also happens to be dry in appearance and texture. Are you eating? I’d hope so, because there is no way to take care of your body by skipping meals.” He rants on as his hands gently work to slip off your blazer, slipping it off of you and draping it over the chair.

“I forgot to eat.” You lie. A white lie. You weren’t that far off from the truth, skipping meals was necessary in your case, money was low and Grim needed to eat more than you, a sacrifice you were willing to make.

Vil pauses, his hands resting on the back of the chair as he looks at you through the mirror. If he kept frowning at you like that he’d get wrinkles, then blame you.

“Pitiful excuse, potato.” He clicks his tongue. “I hope you realize that you don’t have to lie to me.” He shakes his head.

“Wait, Vil, how the hell did you even…I’m not gonna ask.” You cross your arms.

“You’re easy to read, Prefect. You’re not as imperceptible as you may make yourself out to be” He huffs out.

“Lay it on me. It’s good to vent, Potato. It’s quite beneficial, especially to those who have a lot on their mind. It provides an escape.” His voice dips a little lower, becoming softer. You look at him through the mirror again and you see his facial features severely lacking that contemptuous look he always has, and instead it’s replaced with a soft, almost empathetic look.

“I…” is what you can manage to croak out for a second before you clear your throat and look down at your hands in your lap, leaning back in the chair.

“I guess, well. Crowley, you know him. I just have been busy with the work he’s given me, and also the assignments I have to do. Money is tight as always…I have to be careful with what I or Grim buys, so…” you slowly stammer out, the frustration and tiredness in your voice evident.

“I’m just stressed out. Tired, which I guess that’s clear to anyone, though.” Your voice quivers slightly, and before you even know it tears fall down your face, a sentiment to your situation.

You don’t hear any reprimanding from Vil, no sighs or clicks of tongues as you keep your head down, no, none of that. Vil gently moves off to the side of the chair and turns you to face him, gently dabbing at the tears that cascade down your cheeks with a tissue.

“I’m sorry…” you manage to mutter out weakly.

“Nonsense. It’s normal, sweet potato.” He gently murmurs back, his voice mellifluous and calming, anchoring you back to the moment. You take the tissue from his hand and you turn your head away.

“If it makes you feel better, I too, cry. There’s a science behind it in which it releases chemicals to promote a sense of well being.” He hums. “As well as eases pain.”

“I would have never guessed.” You sigh out, albeit sarcastically, now dabbing at your nose.

“Sarcasm? I see you're slowly reviving.” A small smirk forms on his face as he shakes his head.

“I think we have a self care night set in place for us, what do you say?” He inquires.

You hesitate for a moment but you meet his questions with a small nod, earning a genuine and gentle smile from Vil.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

You are pampered, of course. It’s only natural. Vil goes to any extent for the people he holds dear, and you were in need of a night of relaxation. You are fed well with a nutrient dense meal to hopefully make up for your lack of care for your eating habits, and now there’s more in store…

After a few strenuous minutes of following his lengthy skincare routine, you both sit clad in silk robes that are probably worth more money than you could ever make in your life, but the moment is still peaceful. And even more to your surprise, you sit with Vil in his raw form. No makeup, no demeanor that yells “I’m the Vil Schoenheit,” no, just Vil.

He hums quietly as he deliberately shapes your nails, not sparing you a glance as he’s too focused at the task at hand. The calmness of the atmosphere is doing no help in keeping you awake and alert and you soon find your eyes start to grow heavy.

Vil quietly excuses himself to head over to grab a bottle of clear coat for your nails, but before you know it, you fall back onto the comfy bed sheets of his bed, perfume and other scents sending you into a deep sleep before you could even stop yourself from doing so.

“Y/N, would you like color or just the clear coat-“ He looks at you, shutting up immediately as his arms fall to his side. His footsteps are light as he shuffles over to the side of his bed, looking down at you. He sighs and shakes his head.

he moves the comforter over your body, bringing it up to your shoulders. He leans down slowly and places a tentative and soft kiss to your temple before leaning back up.

“This is why self care is important, spudling. I’ll let this slide…just once.”

I don’t know what I was on when I wrote this, but yep, that’s it. Thanks for reading lovelies!

Master list

Please don’t steal or copy any of my work! You may, however, reblog if you’d want to!

Pictures belong to Disney Twisted Wonderland but are edited by me :)

[sludgewolf]

I saw that you were searching for Hazard asks so I thought I’d pitch in! 😁😊 (I luv that Scottish big boi)

How about some headcanons or a scenario about Hazard with a shy, petite (5'0-5'2) s/o who blushes easily?? (subtle touches, getting picked up/manhandled, quick kisses, etc.)

Thanks for the pitch, this was way too cute to write for that big softie! ;-; Also sry Scotts, I may've butchered your language. English isn't my first language and Hazard is my only reference for scottish slang, any feedback is more than welcome

Disclaimer: do not copy, repost, take or feed to AI or NFTs anything I post

Masterlist

Ye Daft Wee Bastard - Hazard x Shy!Reader

You're just about the cutest person Haz has ever laid eyes upon, you're so tiny and shy compared to him, Findlay can't help but want to protect this little blushing fairy that came into his life

He def has a field day with you, teasing you relentlessly just to see you blush bright red and try to hide away on his side

constantly jokes that he'll implant a tracker in you so you won't get lost among the dust bunnies

loves dropping his jacket over your shoulders to see you disappear in it, he says he'll be taking you to his next mission in his pocket

thankfully he doesn't take it too far to the point it makes you actually uncomfortable, his bands did raise him right after all

Haz is head over heels for you and doesn't ever bother hiding it, will do anything you ask of him in a heartbeat

well, anything but to stop annoying you, that's his god given right as your partner

besides that he has the patience of a saint when it comes to you, knowing you're shy it took so long of you both dancing around each other before finally coming clean with each other

even if it has been clear since forever, he wanted to wait till you were comfortable with finally outright admitting it all

The main thing he can think during missions is if you're safe, it doesn't matter what's the goal, he has to be by your side the whole time to make sure you're safe

straight up jumping in the line of fire for you kind of overprotective, completely forgetting the crystal walls he can now create

So, so many nicknames like Fun Size, Sugar Plum Fairy, Cherry, Wee Yin, Numpty and

Due to you being, well, you Findley suffers badly from cuteness aggression, needing to softly bite your cheeks and tiny fingers before covering your face with kisses as he hold you close to show you how much he truly loves you

will sometimes point off to somewhere to your side so when you look he'll kiss your cheek, to then laugh at how hard it made you blush

Takes you on rooftop hopping dates, where he'll hoist you up on his shoulder and jump from building to building while badly singing "A whole new world" for you as you laugh

You're hanging together in a concert of one of your favorite bands he surprised you with tickets it doesn't take long in the night for crowd starts to get a bit too rowdy, Haz in fear of you getting hurt uses his body to shield you from the others as you manage to pull him off to a quieter area " Ye oke lass? Was afraid aff ye gettin wallap in there " he breathes a sigh of relief as he checks up with you you can only nod 'yes' before realizing you still have his hand in yours, as if feeling your sudden alarm over it Hazard tries to retreat his hand gathering all your courage you pull it back, laying your hand flat against his massive one your cheeks burn as you meet his questioning gaze "your hands are so warm ..." you gulp, interlocking your fingers together "I- uh I'd like for us to stay like this" now it was his turn to blush cherry red, he turns away from you trying to hide it as a smile creeps on his face " Aye, ah would like that tae" he breathy laughs meeting your eyes again " Ye Daft Wee Bastard"

If you liked this pls reblog and comment so I know to write more like it reblogs >>> likes

[shoulderscars]

Why I love Midnight Sun

ok I know this might be a hot take, but I actually love Midnight Sun. It's my favorite Twilight Saga book. And here's why [Spoiler Alert Affective from here!]

The Making of the Cullen Family (and their respective backstory's): I love that we get to know all the little details, like how Alive waited for the perfect moment to join the group and how she literally hugs Edward the moment they meet for the first time, and how they have a mutual understanding before saying a word in conversation.

Carlisle. (Simple, refined, respectable, perfect): It's not like we didnt know the before Midnight Sun, but I think Edwards insight on his brain is just...amazing. We can really see all of Carlisle's selflessness and how he is a simple man who wants the best for his children. Also, we get an insight on Carlisle and Esme's love with is so refined but perfect.

Emmett. (The best Cullen after Carlisle?): The whole book is actually giving Emmett's character depth. In the beginning of the book, Emmett's internal thoughts seem to be the same as he is perceived in the rest of the books from Bella's perspective, but as the book progresses, we see Emmett being amazing, and how much of a loving and simply perfect person (loose definition) he is.

Edward & Rose (good God they could be toddlers but really cute nevertheless): The scene where Edward remembers the day that he and Rose became brother and sister is actually a gorgeous scene. Lives in my head rent free. Also I love how the come to a consensus that Rose won't play nice but she will tolerate, and then they both keep snapping silently at each other. BUT when Alice mentions Charlie and the red head on the phone (while getting Bella to the hospital), Rose is honest to God ready to kill for him. BRO.

Jasper's Powers (wait he's actually OP?): Jasper's general character depth isn't explored much in the book, but his powers that he displays in the field is actually on a whole different level. No explanation needed

Alice's Powers (it's a work of ART.): In the scene where they are transporting Bella from the dance studio to the hospital, we take a dive into how Alice uses her abilities and how she perfects the future. The whole scene is flawless and actually clears up a lot about her "physic" ability based on decision making. The whole section just flowed so well, and I love it so much.

BONUS POINTS: Emmett getting repeatedly annoyed at the silent conversations that Alice and Edward have. IM SORRY I LOVE IT SO MUCH, and I love how EVEN AFTER 70ISH YEARS OF LIVING WITH BOTH OF THEM, IT STILL ANNOYS HIM HAHA

Didn't think I was gonna write an essay tonight but here I am 😭😭

I do genuinely love the Twilight Universe (the book version y'all with only visual inspiration for imagination hehe) and this book....ah I love how it helps build the vampire side of the lore. It makes me so happy lol

[angelfoxx]

┊ ➶ ｡˚ ° “…US?”

…in which their feelings for you become apparent.

FEATURING: simon “ghost” riley, john “soap” mactavish, & keegan p russ I AM SALIVATING

WARNINGS: suggestive, but nothing nsfw. yet 😇 also so sorry i write k**gan’s name and i just get fucked up. i just can’t behave myself. so i lose my mind a little in his section eek

NOTES: excuse my rather small starting lineup; i’m still new to the game and all of its lore and i’d rather get to know the characters first rather than make horrible headcanons based off of their fanon interpretations. you know, like making a six foot ten war criminal dresses in a fucking executioner’s hood a little uwu baby

— SIMON “GHOST” RILEY.

✧ Everything I see on TikTok regarding this guy makes him seem like a fucking demon in the sheets. I really don’t get that vibe. Especially not at the start of a relationship.

✧ The first time you meet, he thinks you’re attractive. And then he pushes that thought aside, because he’s a soldier. He’s actively at work doing a high-risk, high-stress job. You’re attractive, yes, but he’s not going to pursue you. This is not the right time for that.

✧ Things develop after…like, a long ass time. And it’s not sexual in the start. It’s, like…you’re cleaning your gun down after a mission, and you get a clean rag thrown into your lap. You look up into those hollow soulless fucking eyes and Ghost just shrugs, not meeting your gaze but instead just vaguely gesturing at your gun. “Your rag’s dirty. You’re rubbin’ dirt int’a the thing.”

✧ It’s small things like that. Things that are helpful but always laced with a comment that could be considered sort of rude or abrasive. He doesn’t notice; he only realizes that he’s coming off as rude and probably pushing you away after he makes a comment on your form being lazy and Price, sort of quietly laughing, asks why he’s so insistent on snarking on you. He replies that mistakes like yours could get you hurt. Which, they could. But so could everyone else’s, and he doesn’t make comments about them. So…?

✧ Phase two of him trying to…hit on you? Exist with you? Who fucking knows. Anyways, he just stops talking. He’ll still throw you clean rags, but he won’t make a comment about how using a dirty rag is ruining your gun. He’ll still make a point out of sweeping fallen food and shit off of your spot at the table after you eat, but he doesn’t grumble and scoff at you not to waste anymore. He resorts to silent acts of service to the point where it gets annoying. He’s always quiet, but now he’s unnervingly quiet and honestly, is it still him if he doesn’t catch you for random things every now and then?

✧ The silent stage can go on forever, so a catalyst really saves you. The catalyst comes when a new recruit gets a little too aggressive; a small argument about your ability on the field turns into a minor brawl. Aforementioned brawl immediately ends when the recruit dares to put their hands on you and shove you and Ghost, like some six-foot-one demon cast from the pits of hell, appears behind you and gets very up close and personal with them. Asking what the hell they think they’re doing, asking if they think that’s a good way to have a team on the field, et cetera, et cetera. Basically, he makes the recruit feel like absolute shit. Oh, and he doesn’t look at you the entire time.

✧ So, obviously, now you have a weird situation at hand. You’re getting ready to go to sleep and everyone’s sort of looking at you funny, because there’s no reason for a fucking lieutenant to jump in and break up an argument like that—pulling people apart, sure, but not so suddenly and not so aggressively. The recruit hasn’t spoken to you. Ghost hasn’t spoken to you. So, anyways, you pay him a visit.

✧ You go down to say thanks, and for some fucking reason, the guy can’t take a compliment. Or gratitude. He says you were slower than the other recruit, that it’ll get you killed on the field, et cetera. He can’t just shut up and take the thanks.

“I’m telling you, I…I came down here to thank you, of all things. Can you cut the criticism one time and accept it?”

Ghost stiffens. It’s not a thousand-yard stare anymore. It’s just a wide, pissed-off glare. For a long minute, he’s silent. And then…

“Welcome.” His voice is grumpish. “Happy?”

“Sure.” You manage a little smile. It’s sort of funny; he can’t just take your thank you and drop it. “It’s improvement.”

Ghost nods once, albeit stiffly. “Okay.”

“…so, you gonna tell me why you did it?” You ask it as a joke. You aren’t dumb. You know he wants you gone. You’re expecting a harsh “get out” or something of the like. You aren’t expecting an answer.

“Disrespect makes ignorance. Ignorance makes casualties.” Oh. An actual real, reasonable answer. Surprising. Ghost himself seems a little surprised; he blinks owlishly again, and he doesn’t say anything else. He’s just a big guy standing in a little room with a skull mask on.

“Oh.” You swallow. “That’s…rational.”

“Were you expecting irrational?”

“No. I wasn’t expecting anything.” You scoff. “You’re not exactly chatty.”

“I don’t waste words.” Ghost’s eyes narrow. “I’m not dumb.”

“I didn’t call you dumb.” You shrug. “I’m just surprised you gave me an answer that wasn’t bitching at me.”

“I don’t bitch.”

“You do.”

“I’m not a sixteen-year-old schoolgirl, recruit. I don’t bitch.”

“Even Price thinks you bitch. At me, at least. All the time.”

✧ Price thinks he bitches at you? And he’d told you? Oh, no, no. Externally, Ghost is stiff and stoic. Internally, Ghost is shitting bricks. Price had told you that? Straight-up told you that? Oh, no. You and Price talk and he comes up in conversation? Oh, no, no, no.

✧ He addresses this with Price, obviously. Storms in all puffed-out and pissy and asks what the hell he’s doing gossiping about his soldiers and Price just sort of laughs him off, asking what he’s talking about and then why he’s so upset that he’s bringing up one of his best men to one of the recruits.

✧ Oh.

✧ Ghost swears up and down it’s not like that. He swears and he bangs the side of his hand on the table and he curses on his own heart that it’s not like that but the whole time Price is laughing because in all of the years that he’s known Simon, not once has Simon broken through Ghost. But now, he has. The stumbling over words, the defensive aggression, the way he’s pacing so furiously—oh, Simon Riley is melting down inside that big mask and it’s equal parts heartbreaking and hilarious.

✧ Cue Price becoming a wingman. Ghost swears he’ll kill him every time he puts you two together to spar or puts you two on cleanup duty or god fucking forbid you’re in the doghouse doing some foul task and Ghost has to watch you. God fucking damn the captain, because he knows Ghost will grumble and complain but with you, he’ll eventually stop that in favor of helping you. And it’s sort of heartwarming for him to do his nightly rounds and it’s all quiet but there’s voices coming out of the kitchen and he can hear Ghost in that gruff, grumbly tone telling you how to mop and you snidely telling him that if you can’t do it right, then maybe he should do it instead. And he objects, of course, and then within ten minutes Price watches Ghost’s shadow come up to yours and he hears the mop change hands.

✧ It takes you a long time to realize that you’re really being assigned to Ghost’s side for every fucking thing you do. It takes you an even longer time to realize that Price tends to pass by you two on occasion, and every time he does, he’s smiling. And it takes you a ridiculously long time to realize that Ghost isn’t always radiating heat; whenever he takes the mop from you or takes the gun you’re cleaning from you, whenever he finishes off a task that you’ve started, it’s not that he’s always that hot. It’s that, under that mask, he’s flushed.

✧ It takes you a very, very long time to realize that the legendary Ghost has taken an actual liking to you.

— JOHN “SOAP” MACTAVISH.

✧ Thank fucking god this guy is next. Slow burn ass Ghost makes me want to rip my eyes out. Just have passionate angry sex and talk about your feelings after. Christ.

✧ It’s not exactly a secret that the minute you arrived on base, you gained an admirer.

✧ Soap isn’t someone who rarely gets hooked on someone else. The guy’s a walking heart eyes emoji. The difference with you was that it wasn’t the kind of attraction that had him sweet-talking you over drinks that night.

✧ This was different. Rather than chase, Soap wanted to impress — and, well, he tried. He tried his fucking hardest. He tried so hard the other higher-ups noticed. How embarrassing.

✧ Every time you’re in the room, he somehow gets even chattier. His voice drops. If he’s working out, he starts loading weights onto the bar he’s using to an almost comical degree. He loses his fucking mind. It’s like he short circuits. Which is ridiculous, because he’s a fucking soldier. What the fuck is he doing trying to lift five hundred pounds on a Tuesday morning? Why is he freaking the fuck out?

✧ The thing is, right, is you’re not exactly hovering over the guy. You have your own agenda to adhere to and also, it would be really weird if you just started laying praises on him, so you go about your day as regular and poor Soap is left heartbroken and also achy-armed because you literally could not care less that he’s lifting double, triple his body weight.

✧ Literally every higher-up notices. They make jokes about it and he borders on threatening friendly fire. It’s just a little crush. That’s all it is. Yeah. And so when you’re all doing team sparring and you keep winning, he’s just watching you like a lovesick puppy because it’s just a little crush. That’s all.

✧ Price can’t have his soldiers slacking off. Of course not. He can’t have them getting lazy — so he orders Soap to go up against you. Because, you know, he seems out of it and you’re the best of the recruits, so you’ll go against someone better. Yeah. That’s why he calls him out.

✧ God bless the poor guy. He panics for like three seconds and then makes a very thickly-accented taunt about how it’s unfair to you to go up against him. You, of course, in the spirit of good fun, reply to his taunt and tell him to prove it.

✧ He goes into the circle with you. He goes into the circle with you and he fucking falls apart.

You’ve quickly learned that talking is Soap’s weakness. If his mouth is moving, his feet fall behind.

“Get enough sleep last night, MacTavish?” You dodge a flying fist. “You look a little sleepy.”

“Got plenty.” A wry grin crosses his face. “Don’t worry about my beauty sleep.”

“I have reason to. You need it.” You wrinkle your nose. “Bad.”

Soap’s jaw drops slightly, and — there! — he hesitates. Probably out of surprise, but it’s enough. Deftly, you lunge in at his knees, swipe them out, and…hm. Simple. Almost too easy, actually, to pin him.

Soap’s heart is pounding under your hand. His chest is flat against the ground, but you can feel it through his back, which is wild in and of itself. He grunts when his cheek hits the ground; he mumbles something akin to “bloody hell”, but you can’t quite make out the words.

Grinning, you sit back and kick your heel up against his neck, keeping his head pinned down. The cheering you receive mostly comes from recruits who are impressed with your skill.

The minority is higher-ups, exchanging amused glances. They seem awfully humored with the sight of one of their own being pinned so easily by a new recruit. Hmm…

✧ From that point on, Soap somehow manages to watch more of your sparring sessions. He usually just watches, rather than critique; if you ask, he’ll just say you certainly seem to be doing fine. If you ask for help, though, he’ll help you. Christ, he’ll help you. He’ll genuinely spend time assisting you on whatever is troubling you.

✧ Eventually, after a long training day, you decide to ask Soap to join you in the ring. You genuinely just want to see how you stack up to a “better” opponent; you’ve apparently pushed beating him to the side. Or you just want to do it again. He doesn’t think of that, though.

✧ He’ll come in (after teasing you just a bit) and he will spar with you, just giving you advice and pointers mid-action. He’s whipped, but he’s also still a trained soldier. He knows what he’s doing, and once he gets through the brain fog you seem to weigh down onto him, he is genuinely helpful.

✧ Still, after you’re both hot and panting and finished and resting on the sidelines, you have to ask him why he helps you so much. You have to ask if it’s because he thinks you’re lacking, or bad, or if it’s some sort of personal vendetta for that one time in front of the recruits and the higher-ups.

✧ Soap just laughs and, rather awkwardly, rubs at his neck. He avoids eye contact, and he bites his lip, and he tilts his head around before he dares answer you, tone sheepish. “Consider it a, ah, personal interest.”

— KEEGAN P RUSS.

✧ SHITS MYSELF VIOLENTLY. SO SORRY

✧ i love this fucking man so very much and i don’t know jack shit abt him because i need to play ghosts and get the first hand experience like I don’t want to spoil his character but I URRRGHHGGGGG

✧ imma try to do him justice but sorry if im missing on important lore

✧ He’s not as uptight as Ghost, but he’s not as whipped as Soap. He’s somewhere in the middle; he’s aware that you’re attractive but he does push it aside. He’s working. You’re working. He doesn’t have time for that, and it’s also a safety concern. He remembers what they did to Ajax, and god fucking forbid they try to pull that shit with anyone else to use as bait.

✧ When he’s at base, he’s busy. He’s devoted to his work and he doesn’t cut corners to chit-chat. The most social he’ll really get is at dinner; he’s the kind of person who will eat with the group, but rather than talk, he’ll really just listen. he’s me fr fr

✧ Getting to know Keegan is sort of awkward because he’s just not super outgoing. He’s attractive (if your radio is on and you don’t buckle at the knees the first time you hear his sexy deep pantywetting voice over the thing, are you even real?) and he’s got the whole mysterious quiet guy thing down, and yet when you approach him to try and strike up a conversation with a simple question (“So how was your day?”) he’s prone to just looking at you and raising a brow and answering sort of flatly. (“Same as every other one. What, did something happen?”)

✧ Most of your bonding actually occurs when it’s just the two of you. You’ve bumped into him late at night before — sometimes he’s at the range shooting targets and fiddling with a variety of weapons, or sometimes he’s in the kitchen scouring the shelves, or sometimes he’s in the gym working out when nobody is there to bother him and ogle his fine ass fucking body holy shit his thighs. He’s a little easier to talk to at night, actually. Maybe it’s the lack of a crowd, but the first time you stumble into him making himself a pot of fucking tea at damn near midnight, he actually seems friendly.

“What are you making?” For a moment, you panic, thinking that you might’ve just scared the shit out of poor Keegan by speaking so suddenly and from behind where he’s standing beside the sink, a little humming kettle in front of him. His shoulders god his fuckinf shoulders i want to lick them don’t so much as twitch, though — and then you remember the guy’s entire job is stealth and observation. Hell, he probably heard you across camp.

“Tea.” Yeah, he couldn’t sound less concerned. His voice is as low and gravelly as usual; he sounds a little more relaxed, actually, not so brash and shout-y. “Chamomile.”

“Sergeant Russ drinks chamomile tea?” You laugh a little, sort of tentatively. You two aren’t strangers, but you’ve only had a few conversations…if you can call brief exchanges conversations, of course.

“…yeah?” Keegan actually sounds confused; it’s dark in the kitchen, but you can make out the outline of his head turning over his shoulder. “What, you got a problem with that?”

“No. No, sir. No problem.” You shrug. “I just didn’t peg you to be the chamomile tea type.”

“Didn’t you?” The short scoffish bark Keegan lets out is a brief laugh. “What did you peg me for?”

“Dunno. Black, I guess.”

“Are you calling me boring?”

“No.”

Keegan hums in response to that. He busies himself with pouring his tea and thank fucking god your eyes have adjusted to the dim light in here because god, his fucking hip to waist ratio under that gear is something wicked and you let your conversation slip. You’re in here for a snack, but you don’t want to bother—

“You come in here for somethin’ other than staring?” Oh. Good. This is the Keegan you’d expected after hearing him sass half of his team on comms. You can hear the edge of a grin in his voice; there’s a shuffle as he turns around and then a wooden groan as he leans against the counter. A short second later, you hear the almost exaggerated slurp of tea.

“Crackers. I’m hungry.”

A wooden scrubbing sound. He’s moved over, presumably to let you open the cabinet housing boxes of sort of dry, not particularly good crackers. He doesn’t say a word; he just keeps drinking his tea and pretends to ignore you as you make your way over, crouching down to fumble for a bag of crackers. Pretend, because you can feel that he’s watching you. His presence on the field is invisible; his gaze in the kitchen is not. Still, he doesn’t bother you; he lets you get your crackers and retire to the edge of the counter across from him to snack, and he doesn’t say a word.

“Are you always so quiet?” You gesture vaguely at the slight shape of him. “Is it just part of the job?”

Keegan laughs, more to himself than in response to you. “Sure.”

✧ He is, generally, pretty quiet. His usual demeanor is laid-back and observant; if he’s not under stress, though, and you start talking to him, he’ll respond almost always with something mildly sarcastic. You come to learn that he isn’t actually boring. He’s got a quick sense of occasionally-dark humor. Sometimes he laughs at his own jokes—usually after he’s started to walk away from you. He’s fiercely protective of the Ghosts and any recruits training near or with them. He also doesn’t seem to mind you.

✧ You’d hesitate to say you two were friends — it always seemed like there was something in between you, though you couldn’t name what — but you were friendly, and it was nice.

✧ During group dinners, he’d stand against the wall behind you. Or across from you, though usually doing that meant that he’d make a game out of trying to get you to squirm under his constant staring. He’d run into you late-night in the kitchen and make casual, not uncomfortable, small talk. Hell, at one point he offered you a drink post-training and made a sort of point to always offer you one whenever you had returned to base and were lingering around in the later hours.

✧ After a particularly long day, you find him in the kitchen, just drinking straight from the bottle. He offers you the thing — he seems more than a little tipsy, but when you decline (he’s been drinking directly from it, and…the fuck does army hygiene look like?) he sort of half-laughs and says, sarcastically, “What d’you look so horrified for? Too good to share a bottle, princess?” and then he immediately excused himself afterward.

✧ You know that saying, “drunk words are sober thoughts”? Yeah. Yeah.

✧ i need the fatty part of keegans thigh in my mouth right now i need to bite it i need to bite it and go rrrrrahrhrahrah like a fucking rabid dog

[hpdabbles]

HP Fanfic Idea: The Woods are Just Trees

Regulus always knew his brother inherited their mother's mean streak. They spat insults the same way; their eyes gleamed with the same amount of vicious glee, their mouths twisted with the same amount of satisfaction whenever they made the other person cry.

To Mother and Sirius, they won whenever they saw the tears of their opponents. It could be something serious, like Regulus accidentally spilling a secret they didn't tell him was a secret, or something as simple as him bothering them with his presence.

Sometimes, Mother would snap at him because she was upset, and he was close enough nearby. Sometimes, Sirius would all but growl at him because he wanted to relieve some stress. Then the two would act like it never happened, as if he wasn't standing by the wall, wary of their mood swings.

As if he wouldn't lie awake at night going over the day, wondering what he had done or said to set them off. Why do they act like they loved him more than anything in the world one day, and then suddenly they remembered how much he annoyed them whenever he opened his mouth? It only seemed like they disliked him because neither reacted this way with their friends or the rest of the family.

He would have to remind himself that they were good people and he just needed to work on himself more.

Regulus always forgave them. He just learned to watch his words. Recognize the signs to vanish from sight whenever one of them was having a bad day. Limit the hours spent around them to avoid accidentally ruining their day.

Before long, Regulus stopped leaving his room. He locked himself in his four walls, losing hours to searching through book pages and trying to find ways to fill the time. He would pick up hobbies like picking strawberries in a field: reading, writing, scrapbooking, knitting, crocheting, jewelry making, bookbinding, painting, drawing, and anything else his family could afford for him to try.

It was better this way.

Regulus knew they loved him, but they had a problem with their anger. It was the kind of anger that consumed and made them want to lash out. It was explosive, but much like fireworks, it was bigger and brilliant than simply gone.

Usually, by the end of the day, they would be back to smiles and thoughtful actions because they weren't in the wrong - Sirius and Mother were never in the wrong - but it would be silly to linger on an argument. In their worst arguments, they would pretend Regulus didn't exist for a couple of days.

They wouldn't talk to him or even look at him until whatever anger was boiling under their skin vanished. Gone like the winds of winter, seemingly gone but back again in a few short months. A constant cold.

Regulus wants to say he was better than that. But he knows that's a lie. He inherited his father's anger. The kind that shut him down, where he would go months without speaking to someone over a simple argument.

He was prideful, to the point that he would be willing to burn himself alive if it meant not allowing the other person to feel they could move on. His mother and brother couldn't hold on to a grudge for so long.

His father didn't visit his grandfather on his deathbed because the old man had called Orion a loser five months before. He hadn't gone to the funeral either, scoffing when Regulus' aunt begged him to.

Instead, Regulus had watched his father reference fights long since buried - apparently ones since before Orion even attended Hogwarts - and had to live with himself for putting his foot down. Had to bite his lip so hard it bled as his aunt sobbed like Orion was the one dying, but it was their own father that was being lowered into the ground.

Regulus hated how he could see it gutted his father to not go. But he would rather live with the poison than admit defeat. It was like looking at a twisted mirror.

Regulus had his father's anger, his grudges, his stupid, ridiculous pride that sank into his veins and poisoned him until he could no longer feel anything.

Maybe that's why he went along with Sirius' and Mother's act like nothing was wrong after a fight. Why didn't he mention the burning storm hiding behind his eyes as they slipped back into place within his life? They thought themselves forgiven.

He knew they weren't worth the effort.

But he let it happen. Again and again until one day, Regulus realized they thought he was like them. That only Orion Black couldn't let things go.

That day, he proved them wrong was the day Sirius went too far. When his brother got angry, it was as if all rational thoughts vanished from his mind, as if nothing else mattered, which meant he could win.

Their relationship was on the rocks ever since Sirius was sorted into Gryffindor, but Regulus was too soft to really do anything about it, at least according to Sirius.

It was apparent his brother grew more and more jealous every day of the approval Regulus had from their parents. How his determination to uphold tradition made Sirius' skin crawl. How he turned his nose up at the sight of Muggle-borns just like he had been taught, while Sirius tried his best to befriend the magic stealers.

But what really tore them apart was the way Sirius interacted with James Potter. Despite the years they have survived their tempers and their disagreements, Regulus realized Sirius didn't actually like him.

He loved him, but that was likely due to all the years they had spent together. Froced to love him with enough exposure. Sirius adored James and loved him like he had never realized what family love was supposed to feel like. He would never behave that way with Regulus.

The second he realized it, Regulus' world changed. Maybe he would have stayed. Perhaps he would have gone to become the son his parents so desperately wanted. Maybe he would have been the youngest Death Eater, serving a man he deeply admired. Perhaps he would have been everything Sirius claims James Potter isn't.

Maybe the pain of ever being even liked by his brother would lead to him sobbing uncontrollably in his room. But that's not what Regulus feels.

Instead, he feels a freezing, devastating coldness. He's angry.

Angry like his father, in an unreasonable way that's more self-destructive than sensible.

He rushes to his room, packing all his belongings he could realistically carry in a crazed haze of ice-cold anger (Best not to cast any magic. Less traceable that way). Regulus leaves his wand on his stripped bed, knowing that the Trace would be tracked back to him if he took it, and it's like he's cutting his own heart open, leaving it behind, letting his wound bleed as he closes the door to his dorm, and his wand hoster sits empty.

He slips from the Common room, walking by students in the hallways without a single word. He doesn't stop, even when some of his friends call his name, even when the caregiver demands to know why he has so much on his person.

Regulus doesn't break his stride once, even when he makes it outside and passes Sirius and his group, cursing Snape to dangle by his ankles near the lakeside. It's actually a lucky break.

With everyone focusing on Snape's undergarments and that Evans girl stepping in, no one notices Regulus reach the edge of the wards. No one sees him throw his bag over the wall, or the way he carefully climbs the walls using the muscle memory of climbing to his rooftop as a child to get away from the family tension.

No one sees him walking straight into the Forbidden Forest. The woods stretch on for miles and miles. He keeps walking until the sun has set, and the forest comes to life with growls and soft hoots of owls. He doesn't stop when his feet start to ache from all the walking.

Regulus ignores the centaurs that watch him from the edge of the trees, poised over the string of their bows. He lets his eyes flicker to the fleeing herd of unicorns, but he keeps going. His eyes burn, his steps start to wobble, and it takes significantly more effort than it should to move his legs, but still, Regulus pushes on.

He swears he stepped over a sleeping mountain troll and saw more than three Acromantula following him, but even then, Regulus does not stop.

He's too angry. Too upset.

Too sure that come morning, Sirius will realize that Regulus is long gone and he won't have someone to disrespect anymore. Now his stupid anger will be taken out on his group of friends since his favorite punching bag is gone.

Sirius will then see how fast they turn away from him. How unlike Regulus, no one will be willing to put up with his mood swings.

Eventually, the sun rises, a few of its rays slipping through the branches, but not enough to make a noticeable difference. Regulus has walked so far into the forest that its dimmest light setting is when the sun is directly overhead. He stops walking at the base of a giant tree that has been carved out.

It likely used to be the home of a traveling giant because it towers over his head as tall as the Gryffindor Tower, and it has stairs carved inside, leading to the top of the tree where ledges are place as if they were hanging rooms.

Regulus ends up tumbling to the ground inside the tree because his body can no longer push further.

He is sweaty, dirty, hungry, his feet are likely bleeding, and he is exhausted. But a flash of Sirius's smug grin goes through his mind, and he finds the will to get up and set up camp.

He doubts he will be here long.

Sirius would come racing in here with a group of searchers, attempting to bring him home, and when he tried to act like nothing happened, Regulus wouldn't let him. He would force him to look bad in front of everyone, and Sirius would be so desperate to look good in front of everyone.

Regulus will likely get detention for this stunt. A lecture to end all lectures from his mother and a grounding that may affect his chances of joining the Death Eaters from his father.

But it would be worth it.

He just had to wait for Sirius to come and get him. Regulus wouldn't go back unless it was at his brother's groveling. His anger, his damn stupid pride, would never allow it.

He just has to wait.

Regulus knew Sirius would come for him even if he didn't like him. He had to. He wouldn't let his fourteen-year-old brother be at the mercy of the Forbidden Forest.

Yes, Regulus nods to himself. He wouldn't. Nobody would. I just have to be patient, and I won't be the one running back to them this time. That Regulus Black is no more.

What fourteen-year-old Regulus didn't know was that he would be learning about family tracking magic in later years for his Charms classes. In another life, he would know sometime in the fifth or sixth year that his family tapestry would only track the beliefs of family members.

It was created in a time when spells weren't researched as deeply, relying on the fact that people didn't usually think of themselves as dead, so the images reflected this.

But the second thought, that Regulus Black is no more, the tapestry acted accordingly. The old Regulus was dead to him, and now where his face once stood in the tapestry was a gleaming skull with the numbers 1975 resting under it.

His mother lets out a scream when she sees it. His father breaks open a bottle and doesn't stop drinking until it leads him to an early grave four years later.

And Sirius? He merely stops talking about the brother he once had. Sometimes, when he is drinking, he'll mention how soft Regulus was, too much of a coward to be anything but what his parents wanted. But those are sporadic moments.

Regulus stays in the forest, setting up shelter in the hollow of a tree, finds a source of drinking water, learns to hunt for food, and waits for someone to come see him.

Sixteen years later, while he's slowly tracking some Acromantulas that he plans on feasting on with his trusted bow- he had struck a deal with the centaurs, brewing them the few potions he knew in exchange for some hunting lessons- he encounters two children being led by a shaking black dog.

It takes him a moment to recognize the uniforms they are wearing- a Slytherin and a Gryffindor- and even longer for him to find words. It's been so long since he last saw another human that he has almost forgotten what it was like to look down instead of up at the centaurs.

"Hello," He croaks as the two children stare wide-eyed at him. They looked scared stiff, the blond one on the verge of tears, and the one with green eyes looking just as green in the face.

It's not like he hasn't talked since he's been in here waiting, but he is a bit out of practice, so he'll forgive them for that reaction. He lowers his bow, stepping closer. "What are you two doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

[gaijinhunter]

I am writing this as a Tumblr post because I don't want to make a video, as I feel this person is just trying to engagement bait me so he can grow his channel. Looking at his videos, he has seen an increase in views for videos that have been clickbait or trying to "call out" something. I guess you gotta do what you gotta do to grow your channel, but I am not about that.

Iixxion recently made a video and for the third time already, is rambling on about how he has been annoyed that he ran into people that referred to the portable series of MH games as being developed by a different "B team" than the ones that make the non-portable game's "A team". Of course, that notion is incorrect, anyone with a brain knows that both lines of MH games are created by Division 2 in Capcom Osaka and that there is plenty of overlap between titles in terms of staff. He argues that this misconception is the cause of tribalism and animosity in the MH community and is the single most dangerous issue in terms of growing the user base. My perspective is that there is indeed a divide on people who like the portable series and those who don't (which is fine!), and released platforms also contributed to that division, but no one is writing off any mainline game (MH, MHF, MHG, MHF2, MH2, MHFU, MH3, MH3U, MHP3, MH4, MH4U, MHGen, MHGU, World, Iceborne, Rise, Sunbreak) because it was made by some separate unrelated team.

The issue is that he blames me for this apparent misconception and points to my video from 2020 (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nhpDnFU6lAo) where I cover the rich history of KH games and how each of the games and the portable series' games, have influenced the franchise as a whole and what features each entry introduced. He says that my video is one of the main sources of this division and that it is somehow my vague wording around the different teams on each MH title has caused horrible damage and that I am irresponsible and lazy for this. (BRUH)

Not only was my video just 4 years ago and focused on the development history and features of each title, if there was tribalism between console and portable games, that existed long before 2020. But he uses a Staw Man argument to "call me out" which is to argue against the notion of an A team and B team that are completely separate from each other, which isn't something I ever said in the first place. When i corrected him, he counters with "so you agree with me then" and that is when I realized it would be useless to discuss with him and took a look across his past videos and found a pattern of engagement farming, so I decided to just delete my comments on his videos and walk away from it.

If you want to make an argument against vague wording, it could be him saying the only consistent difference between the members that work on a "console" game versus the "portable series" games is the Director. That OFC is not true.

Some fun data looking at staff rolls.

Very natural overlap in the areas that you'd imagine with game design and programming being the main specialized fields.

Now if you want to argue semantics, then there isn't even a "monster hunter team"--it simply doesn't exist. Only Capcom developers exist and if you had to split them into distinct teams, that is Division 1 and 2.

He would likely say "see, he is supporting my argument, told you!" or "why weren't you this clear in your history video" but that is because he is making a false connection between some crap he read online, and my video and he sees me as the main cause of this "tribalism". A very disappointing conclusion he came to. My video wasn't about team compositions, it was about the franchise title history, and I pulled and used data all from official sources and interviews with the directors themselves.

I guess when you work hard across multiple years to make fun and hopefully informative videos on a franchise, the more you get targeted with bad faith arguments or engagement farming. Doesn't make it less tiring...

Stop worrying about reddit user tribalism over console/portable games, the games do have a different game design philosophy and on different consoles, so some division is to be expected, and we have so much cool news to focus on than to waste time creating drama for clicks. Be better.

-Gaijinhunter

[menticidemushroom]

Project Eden's Garden Theories + Minor Analysis 🍎

Not a specific death order theory, just an excuse to yap because I'm hyperfixating

This is very long and it probably doesn't make sense.

🐍 Damon Maitsu- Ultimate Debater

Obviously everybody has the mastermind theory. It's the garden of eden and Satan was the snake. I do agree with the Satan analogy, but more so as an "outer" symbolism as opposed to an "inner" symbolism. Let me explain that better. I think that Damon will come of as antagonistic to the group because he says the right things in the wrong way. Like how he was trying to help everyone by telling them not to trust each other, but he was a dick about. Damon will play the Devil in the perception of the cast, but I don't believe that he will be actually behind the Killing Game.

🐦‍⬛ Eva Tsunaka - Ultimate Liar

I understand the first culprit theory. Eva is a similar name to Eve, Eve is the first human to sin, Eva is the first cast member to kill. That makes sense, but I see her taking on a more Kirigiri kind of role. Smart girl sort of side protag actively tries to hunt down the mastermind. However, since she's the Ultimate Liar and the cast already seems distrustful of her, I could see Eva discovering the secret to the killing game or the true mastermind but no body believes her which either leads to Eva killing the mastermind, or the mastermind killing/framing her. (Like Junko trying to frame Kirigiri in chapter five.)

🦈 Desmond Hall - Ultimate Marksman

I don't have much for Desmond. I feel like he'll either be a victim or a survivor. I can't see him as a culprit. At least not intentionally. I could see him trying to protect someone and killing their attacker in the process on accident, but I lean more towards a victim for him.

🦢 Eloise Taulner - Ultimate Fencer

I see Eloise as a survivor, but I lean towards a culprit. It's not a strong theory, but I see them trying to flip the shrinking violet trope on its head. In the chapter one preview from the San Antonio game expo we see Wolfgang trying to "help" Eloise by offering to walk with her before they go exploring and she seems to get annoyed with him. I could see this being a way to show that Eloise isn't a fragile as she let's on.

🦩 Toshiko Kayura - Ultimate Matchmaker

I want to believe that since she's literally a baby that she won't die, but part of me believes that since she's so young she will die. My current theory is that she's either the chapter one or two victim. I could definitely see the team choosing to kill her off early as a sort of "shock value" for the cast. Because I'm sure seeing a child get murdered would be more psychologically damaging then seeing an adult die. I'll be honest my Toshiko theory is kind of weak.

🐻 Wenona - Ultimate Entrepreneur

I see Wenona as a kind of Celeste character. The whole "if you do not adapt, you will die" mindset. I could see her staying distant from the group the majority if the time. I think that she will be a culprit, chapter three specifically. In the chapter on trailer we see during her free time event that the bear symbolism they gave her represents strategy. I feel like she'll have a really complex murder plot since she's obviously smart. She's also a Native American woman in the field of business. That's obviously not something easy. I highly doubt that she would give it up so easily. Plus, she's a billionaire. As much as I love Wenona, she's evil.

🦉 Ulysses Wilhelm - Ultimate Historian

Let me start by saying tat he is my favorite. Unfortunately, that means he's going to die. He writes everything in his notebook, if that doesn't sound like a major point of discussion in a trial, I don't know what does. I could also see him surviving, but I lean more towards a victim for him. The only reason I seem him surviving is that there could be this big moment in the final trial where they have to connect several seemingly unrelated notes in his notebook to find the big mystery or whatever. Anyway, I love him and if he dies I will lose it.

🐊 Mark "Mayhem" Berskii - Ultimate Music Producer

I can see Mark as a victim or a culprit and both of them revolve around Jett. As we see in the prologue, Mark is a very shy and reserved person. Obviously this paints a target on his back and any character who has a close friendship is another death flag. I could see him being killed and Jett falling into despair, or killing somebody with Jett.

💄Diana Venicia - Ultimate Cosmetologist

Diana is a character who I feel very strongly about as a survivor. It's not a strong theory, but it's just what feels right. Most people take the chameleon symbolism to be negative, but I don't see it as good or bad. I think it just emphasize that Diana is your average sixteen year old girl blending in with the crowd. She'd not a threat, she isn't aggressive, she just a teenaged girl. She is kind, she is helpful, she loves makeup. She just wants to love her life. She's so plain that she'll blend in and she will live.

🐑 Wolfgang Akire - Ultimate Lawyer

Oh boy, here we go. This is the big one. I believe that Wolfgang will either be a victim or a survivor. He will be the antagonist, but he is not a villain. Like I said for Damn who says the right thing in the wrong ways, Wolfgang will say the wrong thing is the right ways. I truly believe that Wolfgang has good intentions, but he is so optimistic and passionate that he lets his savior complex to bring everybody into a more vulnerable state. Like Damon's snake symbolism alluding to him bring the "devil" to the group, Wolfgang's sheep symbolism shows him as the "angel" to the group. The lamb of God, the Messiah, the guardian angel. He wants to save everybody, but he can't because he doesn't accept the horrible truth of the group's situation. He wants to believe that he can bring them to salvation, but a man can never be a God. My other theory is that he will be a final chapter sacrifice. A death is necessary for the group to escape and he will accept his new role of Martyrdom. Letting him finally become the savior he wanted to for the entire game.

🦋 Kai Monteago - Ultimate Influencer

Butterflies represent change, the butterfly effect. Kai will be the first culprit and this will lead to more fear without the group causing more people to want to kill. The flap of his wings will cause the tornado of death that will plague the group for the rest of the game. Short theory, but I feel strongly about it.

🐺 Jett Dawson - Ultimate Drag Racer

As I stated with Mark's theory, I see Jett as a culprit. Either Mark will be a victim and Jett will fall into despair driving him to murder in a later chapter, or he will kill somebody to escape with Mark. The only way this would work is a motive we're the backend can bring one person with them to the outside or they find a way for Jett and Mark to both equally be held accountable as the culprit. Though I'm not sure how something lijrme that could happen since the only instance is in SDRA2 chapter three and the plan behind that was bizarre (in a good way) and I doubt they could replicate anything similar.

🦁 Ingrid Grimwall - Ultimate Blacksmith

Ingrid is the only character I can't really think of anything for. I just have a strong feeling that she won't survive. Sorry.

🐲 Jean Delamer - Ultimate Ship Captain

I can see Jean as a chapter five victim. Since we see in the chapter one demo that he takes the hope speech guy role, I can see him dying fairly late in the game either as an "easy target" or since he's getting in the way of more murders happening.

🕷 Cassidy Amber - Ultimate Pro Gamer

I see Cassidy as a survivor, but I don't have any evidence. I just can't think of a theory for her as a victim, or as a culprit. She could also be the true mastermind, which is a fairly popular theory. That makes some sense considering her spider symbolism and the whole "tangled in a web" metaphor.

Thanks for reading!

Feel free to tell me any other theories you have!

[dragonbarbie]

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐏 𝐏𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐑 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄𝐒 - modern!aemond targaryn x reader

rating: 18+, minors dni

summary: academic rivals, where revision has the same rules as strip poker

word count: 3.8k

tags: mature content, smut, modern!au, reader being petty and competitive, aemond also being petty and competitive, guest appearance by aegon

note: this is like… my first attempt at writing smut so ….*clown emoji* anyway hope you like it

y/n was used to being number 1. all throughout high school, be it history or physics – she had the highest grade in every class and was managing to do so without much effort, really. she hadn’t expected that to change when she landed her dream university, dragonstone. but when she arrived she had the rude shock of getting acquainted with aemond targaryen. first day of their valyrian history class, she had expected to impress her professor with the extensive knowledge on the subject that had been one of her favourites in high school, but when she found herself being beaten to the punch by the blonde bastard, she took an instant dislike to him.

pettily enough, as everyone was leaving the class, she made a show of saying “suck-up” in a not so quiet whisper as she passed him by. “excuse me?” his condescending, posh tone made her eyes roll. “all i did was answer his questions. i wasn’t the one gushing about the books he had written.” he sharply pointed out. “whatever.” she tried to brush off the retort. “if you’re so jealous, maybe actually read before class next time, instead of whining.” he coolly stated as he stalked off, leaving her behind as she gritted her teeth and glared at his striding figure.

from that point onwards, every class that she shared with him, she made a deliberate effort to work extra hard for. she went beyond just the recommended readings, she would write extra few hundred words for every essay, and for every test she would spend hours in preparation. still, frustratingly, all of this effort only made her good competition for him and not the outright winner. it seemed that aemond targaryen was in fact used to going beyond just the bare minimum, she didn’t ever see him take a break. if he wasn’t at the library, she found him sweating it out on the track field. his perfection was downright annoying.

what her friend baela found annoying, was the detail with which y/n would observe (obsess over) his daily behaviour and then rant about it to her. by the time finals week was on the horizon, she was just about done with y/n’s obsession.

y/n had been in the middle of ranting about how she had caught aemond revising for finals on the treadmill, when baela slammed the book that was open in front of her with frustration. “why don’t you just join him then?” she sarcastically asked, earning a “yeah right” from y/n who returned back to her notes as she realised that all this talk of her rival had clearly seemed to drive her friend to the point of irritation. “actually… why not?” though she had asked the question rhetorically, baela soon realised that perhaps that wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. y/n, did not share that understanding. she blinked back at her “i’m sorry am i supposed to say something or just wait in silence while you regain your senses. what are you talking about?”

“you said it yourself, you study better with a partner. and i don’t have any of the same classes as you.” the thought of baela having fun studying marine biology while y/n had to suffer aemond targaryen’s presence all alone at the history department was a point that brought her great sadness each day. “he does. and you have to admit it, he’s pretty good.”

as soon as y/n opened her mouth with a retort right on her tongue, baela silenced her with one pointed sentence “i have one reply to all your objections — keep your friends close, and your enemies closer.”

oh, y/n thought, she’d never thought of it that way. “besides,” baela reopened the book she had shut, “this way you can keep an even closer eye on his schedule.” she teased.

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

aemond somehow didn’t need to lift his eye to know who it was that had approached the corner library desk that had become his unofficial residence for finals weeks. “can i help you, l/n?” he asked, as she stopped before him. “no, but i can certainly help you, targaryen.” she announced, pulling out the chair across from him and putting her laptop bag down on the desk. he wordlessly raised his brow as she made herself comfortable. “look—” she knew that selling the idea to him was going to be just as hard as it was for it to be sold to her, but she was as stubborn as she was competitive, “—if we work together, our work will be halved. i can beat your ass at history of tyrosh and the origins of dorne any day of the week, and you are marginally better than me at valyrian history and aegon’s conquest. i am proposing that we sit and quiz each other on the exam portions and that way we’re both covered for our weaker subjects.”

she did not like the smug smirk that overcame his face at the suggestion. “so, you’ve come here to grovel for my help?” she could punch his perfect white teeth in. “look you little shit, while everyone on campus will be sweating and crying and chugging copious amounts of energy drinks to survive this week – we could be sailing through it, if we do this. our rivalry’s entertaining and all, but the stress of finals week will make even your fabulous hair fall out.”

“hmm.” he considered her words for a second. she rolled her eyes as he seemed to revel in making her wait for his response, “c’mon, targaryen, do it for the hair.” she was sure she saw his lips twitch upwards at her teasing.

“fine.” he finally gave in, causing y/n to sigh in relief, “but if you can’t keep up, i’m dropping you.” “likewise.” y/n promised.

she had to admit, studying with aemond was actually not that bad. their reading speed was similar, he kept her on her toes with his constant quizzing, and initially he had seemed to be singularly focused on the task at hand. as the days went on though, y/n found that they had actually started to talk of things beyond dead king and queens. “so, you’re like, related to the conqueror?” she asked as a manner of taking a break from their revision of her least favourite class, the conquest of westeros. “yeah, directly. he’s a great-great, times ten, grandfather.” he answered, turning the signet ring on his hand subconsciously. “that’s cheating, then. i’d be great at that class too if daddy had told me tales of grandpa aegon every night before bed.” she shrugged as she reached to grab the pot of black coffee, to refill her cup.

“well, ‘daddy’ didn’t even bother saying goodnight most nights, so let’s not attribute any of my success to him.” she looked up at him suddenly at the off-handed admission about his home life, but before she could really react, he added. “you just want there to be more to why i’m better than you, rather than accepting – i just am.” there was that smug smirk again, the one that she used to loath. but nowadays, that same smile was more playful than hostile, she had noted. “or, i’m trying to figure out if being an asshole is just who you are, or if it runs in your family. aegon burned half of westeros down to colonise it, so I’m leaning towards the latter.” “colonise?” he was clearly irritated at her choice of words. “one race of people, the valyrians, through violence made another race, the first men, submit to them. that’s the textbook definition of colonisation, is it not?” she raised her brow, inviting him to debate her. she knew it was the subject he felt most passionate about, and thus, it was the class where she would most often find herself playing devil’s advocate, for no reason other than to oppose whatever view aemond had taken. in their revision sessions, too, she liked to watch the passion light a fire in his eye whenever she would declare his opinion was wrong. he looked hot when he was academically pissed off.

“westeros was just different war lord states fighting for dominance until aegon united the seven kingdoms.” he firmly argued. “so what, that gave him open invite to just come and take over?” she challenged, crossing her arms with a self-satisfied grin at having gotten him so riled up already. he opened his mouth to throw his retort at her, when suddenly the door to aemond’s apartment, where they had been studying, swung open to disturb the proceedings.

she saw a man with platinum blonde hair that matched aemond’s stumbling as he entered the apartment with his arm around a beautiful girl, with black hair hanging down to her waist.

aemond, she noted, was visibly annoyed at this.

“oh, did we spoil your little study session?” the other man rhetorically asked, without any real remorse in his tone, his words slurring to indicate that he had been drinking. he sat himself down on the sofa next to y/n, uninvited, a move that inexplicably made aemond’s jaw tighten. “you must be my little brother’s study buddy, y/n. i know all about you, and i’m sure he’s told you nothing about me. i’m aegon, the nerd’s big bro.” y/n was immediately amused at the thought of this man, who was decked in a supreme tracksuit and who’s hair seemed to have been left uncombed, was the perfect, prim and proper aemond’s elder brother. “nice to meet you, aegon. are you studying at the university too?” “business major, yeah, graduating next year.” he replied stretching his hand to place it behind y/n. aemond snorted at his brother, “with the way your finals prep is going, i would not bother wasting money on a graduation gown.” he eyed the woman with whom aegon had entered, judgement clear in his eye.

“hey! i decided to follow your lead and i’ve asked cassandra here to be my study buddy. i’ve actually gone one step further than you and invented the best revision method.” he declared. aemond seemed to have no curiosity at his brother’s statement, but y/n asked “do tell.” aegon turned to her with a pleased smile, “it’s revision, but with strip poker rules.” he simply answered.

she raised a brow at his response, “as in…?” “as in you quiz each other, and every time one of you gets an answer wrong – you take an item of clothing off. it’s a win-win, if you get the answer right, good job, you know your shit. if you don’t…. well, its so much more fun if you don’t.” y/n had to purse her lips to suppress the laughter at the back of her throat.

at the sound of aemond packing up his books, she looked away from aegon to the younger brother. “let’s go to your dorm, y/n. he definitely doesn’t know his shit, and his ‘revision’ tends to be loud.”

☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆…━━━━━·:*☆

as per y/n’s prediction, final’s week had indeed sailed by for aemond and her because of their revision sessions. they only had one exam left now, and it was the one they had both been dreading the most – historical methods. it was a subject that was so boring and plainly simple, that they knew it was easy enough to study for, but they could not bring themselves to revise something so mind-numbingly dull.

y/n, in her frustration, threw her notes on the table at aemond’s apartment. aemond, seated on the other end of the sofa from where y/n was lying on her back, shared her frustration, but he tended to be more stoic and was determined to finish the work on hand. “it’s just a few more topics, and then you never have to think about the subject ever again.” he tried to placate her. “it’s too boring, i can’t do it!” she complained bringing her hands up to her face in frustration. aemond couldn’t help but notice how the action made the t-shirt she was wearing ride up and expose soft skin just above her jean shorts, his eye remaining fixed on the spot for a second too long.

then, the mixture of a caffeine high and a boredom that was seeming like an unending chasm, gave birth to what y/n thought was a brilliant idea. she moved her fingers slightly, so only her eyes would poke out from behind them. “let’s try your brother’s idea.” she suddenly said, “i don’t think anyone has ever said that sentence before.” he remarked.

“i’m serious.” she sat up, as if to indicate her earnestness. “the ‘revision, but with strip poker rules’ idea, let’s try it.”

aemond’s expression was unreadable as she watched him, but she was certain she saw his adam’s apple move at the suggestion. “it’s a dumb idea.” he said, but his throat had gone dry at the thought.  y/n rolled her eyes, “that’s the point! it’ll break the monotony.” she crawled to his side of the sofa. “come on, aemond. don’t be a coward.” the suggestion of him even possibly being cowardly had clearly set off something in him. “fine.” he shut the book in his hand and placed it on the table.

they quizzed each other, and it was going much the same as their usual quizzing went, which disappointed y/n since it did not in fact break the monotony as she had wanted. that was until, in her over-confidence, she got a question wrong. “well…” aemond seemed to be very satisfied indeed at her wrong answer, “are you going to do the honours or are you ready to admit that you’re the only coward here?” he scanned the white t-shirt she was wearing, almost with hunger and an expectancy, y/n thought.

she pulled the shirt off over her head, and threw it right at his smug face, “i’m no coward.” he caught it with ease, and for a split second she was sure he smelling it as he held it to his face, before dropping it in his lap. when he looked at her now, he didn’t even attempt to hide how he was taking in her figure, as she sat exposed only in her black bra. knowing that she was being watched, she sat straighter, even as she muttered “pervert” but made no attempt to hide her form.

 “please, don’t even try to pretend like you don’t love it.” now, that did take her aback. sure, she had caught him looking at her chest or her ass many-a time over their study sessions, and had done nothing to stop it, but she hadn’t realised that he had in fact, caught her catching him when he looked. he knew she had allowed it all this while, unspoken.

the monotony was certainly broken now.

when it was next aemond’s turn to ask a question, he threw her an easy one, a question she had answered in class. but y/n shrugged and said, “i don’t know”, as an answer. aemond snorted at her, “yeah, you do.”

she simply laid on her back as she undid her shorts and slid them down her legs, eyes never leaving aemond’s as she did. he wet his lower lip with his tongue, and then bit down as he watched. his eye trailed her bare legs, up to her panties, with very little being left to his imagination now that she sat only in her underwear on his sofa.

“my turn” she had the perfect trick question in mind, and when he called her out, saying “there is no right answer to that”, she shrugged once again. “are you going to do the honours or are you ready to admit that you’re the only coward here?” she threw his words back in his face with a grin.

he didn’t seem to need a lot of convincing. he pulled off his shirt in one swift move, and y/n felt her stomach clench at the sight of defined muscles on pale skin. she took a minute to memorise his details before she asked him the next question, but she hadn’t even reached the end of it before aemond was unbuttoning his pants, answering the question by simply saying “don’t know, don’t care.” it seemed as if he was in a hurry, as if he had waited long enough for this moment.

y/n seemed to be in a hurry too, when she deliberately gave a rushed, wrong answer to his next question. she moved her knees to straddle him where he sat, able to feel everything through her own cotton panties over his satin boxers. “need some help with the bra hooks.” she said as an excuse for her action. he readily obliged, with his hands reaching behind her and unhooking her bra with ease, letting the material fall down to the floor. his hands trailed up from her waist to her chest, pale hands first covering and then roughly squeezing her breasts. she started to rock back and forth where she sat, her now wet panties grinding against his obvious bulge.

“it’s your turn to ask.” she breathlessly reminded him after a minute, “fuck revision.” he was trailing kisses around her collar bone, sucking hard enough to leave bruises, she was certain. ““fuck revision”? who are you and what have you done to aemond targaryen?” she chuckled. he only gave her a growl in return, as his arms snaked around her waist to hold her up and then place her back down, with her back hitting the soft sofa.

he hovered over her for a second, supporting himself on his knees as his fingertips traced her side. “you look so hot when you’re concentrating….” he murmured, seemingly out of nowhere, as his fingers found the waistband of her panties and hooked under them. “…and when you’re debating me….” he pulled the cloth over her legs, and his hand reached down to the wetness between her legs “… and especially, when someone tells you you’re right.” a shiver went down her spine she felt two of his cold fingers in her folds. “already so wet for me.” he chuckled.

“oh, would you stop being a tease and just…” at her complaint he withdrew his fingers suddenly, causing her to whine. “just what?” he asked, making her feel more frustrated with him than she had ever felt before. “did you really think i was going to let go of the perfect opportunity to make you beg for me? make you beg me, to fuck you?” oh, there was that stupid fucking smug smirk once again. Now, it was no secret that y/n had too much pride, especially when it came to facing off with aemond targaryen. but as she lay there, exposed and achingly wet, she decided she had to bury her pride to get what she wanted.

“aemond…” she swallowed, “fuck me.” that did not seem to give him what he wanted. he cocked his head to one side, “hmm. you’re missing something.” she huffed, thinking why he had to make this so difficult, and how satisfied he must be at getting her in this position. “aemond…fuck me….please.”

at that, he grinned. he bent down to be inches away from her face, “as you wish.”

she felt two of his fingers enter her suddenly, making her gasp. his fingers curled inside of her roughly, at the same time he started to kiss the side of her neck with more gentleness than she had expected of him. the dichotomy gave her a high. his fingers continued their assault, as her hands tangled themselves in his hair. “so tight…” he whispered against her ear, “how long have you been thinking about this, you little slut?” y/n could only hum back, not capable of formulating a well thought-out response.

Her legs clenched as he continued to dig his fingers inside of her with perfect rhythm. His thumb reached up to massage her clit, as her hand reach down to grab the arm that was inside of her, nails leaving scratch marks. A warmth spread around inside her stomach at the feeling.

when he suddenly pulled his fingers out, she groaned in frustration, “has anyone ever told you, you have no patience?” he tutted. y/n rolled her eyes as she sat forward and her hands moved to finally remove his boxers, “yes.”

with his boxers now discarded, he positioned her to lay back down on the sofa, her legs around his waist. his tip grazed her core, but he didn’t enter her which only added to her annoyance. “aemond, i swear to the old gods and the new, if you tease me for a second longer—” she was cut off by him slamming inside of her suddenly. “ah!” she moaned as he filled her, “that ought to shut you up.” he grunted, supporting himself by keeping a hand on the arm of the sofa that was beneath her head. “oh, gods… aemond…” she could feel him touching her spot, legs growing weaker with each thrust.

he was going at it with a ruthless pace, leaving her feeling helpless and satisfied at the same time. his mouth dipped and he began sucking on her nipple, his teeth grazing where she was sensitive, making her yelp in pleasure. she grabbed his shoulder, grip strong enough leave even more marks. as she felt his tongue circle the skin around her nipple, she made a mental note to tell his brother that she had come to agree that his method of revising was indeed ingenious.

“aemond…i’m…” she had begun to say, “yeah baby, almost there” he replied lifting his head to her face. he tucked a stray stand of her hair behind her ear, a gesture that felt more intimate than the sex. he placed his hand on her cheek before his lips finally met hers. she could taste the black coffee they had been drinking on his tongue, mixed with something minty like toothpaste. for all the roughness with which he fucked her, y/n realised that the kiss felt sweet, tender almost.

“fuck…” he said against her lips, and she could tell he was close too. “aemond…ah!” she reached her peak, just as he pulled out and finished on her stomach.

panting, breathless and sore, for once y/n did not have a retort in the presence of aemond targaryen. he seemed rather speechless too, as he remained above her, unspeaking but his eye refusing to leave her face. he seemed to be in deep thought, and just when he opened his mouth to speak, a different voice could be heard from down the hall.

“and you called my ‘revising’ loud.” aegon snorted, leaning against his bedroom door.

[broodwoof]

Thoughts on the Solavellan emphasis in Veilguard; somewhat fandom critical

usual caveat that this is not @ anyone - i care about people who have expressed frustration with this, and i am not using this space to criticize any individual 💖 however, this is in response to generalized hatred towards solavellan shippers/the ship itself in fandom spaces

The short version is: I think the narrative emphasis on a solavellan worldstate makes perfect sense.

In DAI, all romances get closure. Feel free to correct me if I'm wrong on this point, as I haven't gone through and fully done all of them, but all those I have done certainly have closure at the end. I'm including Trespasser as part of the DAI narrative arc, for clarity, but a lot of the relationships had a sense of closure even without the DLC.

Solavellan is the obvious, major exception.

Now, is Veilguard for Solavellan shippers? No! It is its own game, a narrative continuity of a series that has been going on for a long time. But Solas is a key character in both DAI - though we don't realize just how key for most of the game - and DAVG.

Solas being a key character means, by extension, Solavellan is a key romance. Note that I am not saying it is the "canon" romance. But Solavellan has ties to the overall narrative of both DAI and DAVG in a way no other DAI canon ship does. It's not necessary to the narrative of DAVG or the conclusion of the game, but it does play a significant role. As such, of course they paid more attention to it.

And what I said earlier, about closure? The only way for the Solavellan ship to gain closure is through concluding Solas' narrative arc - so it could not be achieved in DAI, only DAVG. For the original Solavellan shippers when the game was new, they've been waiting ten years - I think they're allowed a little excitement and satisfaction.

Now, would it have been nice for them to pay as much attention to the other romances the Inquisitor could have? Of course! I also imagine they wanted to. But game dev in general is a nightmare industry and this particular game went through so many hurdles. So I really can't blame them for focusing on developing the Inquisitor romance that had the most potential bearing on the plot of this game, and kind of losing the others.

None of this is to say that complaints about that are wrong or should not be made; rather, this post is directed at people who are angry at/blaming (somehow???) Solavellan shippers for the state of the game.

Similarly, it makes sense to me how Solavellan dominates the Solas shipping field. I'm a multishipper at heart and I love writing rarepairs with him, but honestly, every ship with him that isn't with a female Lavellan is a rarepair. And this is natural! It's about that lack of closure. People had a canon romance with their canon Inquisitor and they didn't get any closure on that relationship for ten years, of course they're going to be prevalent in fandom.

I just don't understand the deep frustration/outright hate at times for Solavellan as a ship or for Solavellan shippers. It's weird. Their - our - presence, even dominance, in fandom spaces has an obvious reason. You're allowed to not like it! To be disappointed or annoyed or whatever. I have no problem with that. But there are always people taking it too far.

Blaming a specific group of shippers in fandom spaces for the outcome of a videogame made by a big industry sure is a choice.

[irkimatsu]

AHHHHHH I love Husk and your content is by far my FAVORITE 😍 the sweet, the smut, the little bit of both...I love it all.

So I have a cute idea for this one. Neko!reader x husk. The reader isn't fully cat, but has the ears and tail, a cat-like face and of course the mannerisms. Husk is crushing hard and thinks that she (or they, whichever pronouns :) ) is cute and nonchalantly points out that it's adorable when her ears twitch. And then she's like, "And you wonder why we're always messing with you, eyy Kitten?" which makes him all flustered and he can't even say anything.

I can just picture them doing the equivalent of holding hands only their tails wrapped around each other 😚😚

Thank you so much for enjoying my writing!

I envisioned Reader as an anthro like Husk; I'm hoping that's what you meant with your description! Reader gets drunk and rants to Husk about cat instincts, Husk offers some advice, light flirting and flustered Husk ensues. I hope this is close enough to what you wanted! 1.2k words, SFW, female reader!

---

You’ve had way too much to drink.

It’s not like you’re inexperienced at drinking; you knew the hard stuff you were knocking back would be enough to get you wasted. That was the point.  Maybe if you got drunk enough, you could shut off the stupid cat instincts that hadn’t left you alone since the moment you died. The exercises you’ve been doing at this hotel for the past few months may have taught you things like not stealing and believing in the power of friendship, but there hadn’t yet been any lessons on how to stop swiping at your own tail every time it entered the corner of your field of vision.

You’re not sure if the alcohol has turned off the instincts, but it sure has turned on your mouth. Without thinking about what you’re saying, you’ve been ranting to the bartender for the past thirty minutes, barely pausing to take a breath. Surely he doesn’t mind, right? Not only are bartenders supposed to listen when their customers want to bitch, but he’s in the exact same position as you are as far as species goes!

“...and the fuckin’ hairballs!” is the latest thought in your stream of word vomit. “I thought mucus was bad! Hairballs! They get stuck in my throat, and they itch like hell until I can cough ‘em up!”

“They sell stuff down here to take care of that,” the bartender says, pouring you another drink without you asking. “It tastes like shit, but it works. I don’t get ‘em anymore unless I forget to drink it.”

“And what about shedding?!” you continue on as if he didn’t say anything. “It’s impossible to keep my room clean! It’s like the more I clean up, the more fur there is!”

“Niffty’s been helpin’ me with that since I met her. She gets pissed about the fur I leave everywhere otherwise. She ain’t gentle with that brush, though.”

You take another gulp of your drink and slam it down onto the bar. “Fuck, think I just swallowed some fur…”

“You haven’t even been dead for a year yet, right?” Husk asks. “ That’s barely anything. Don’t worry, you’ll have plenty of time to get used to being a cat. Some of the bullshit never goes away, but it becomes part of you.”

“Do you like being a cat?” you ask.

He laughs at your question. “Hell no! But what choice do I have? There’s no going back to bein’ human for any of us. May as well learn how to deal with it.” He takes a gulp of his own drink, not even bothering to pour it into a glass. “If ya want, I can take you to a good supply place sometime. They’ve got good products if you can put up with the fact that it looks like a fuckin’ pet store.”

“Hmm…” you neither accept nor deny his offer. You only take another drink, swallowing more damn fur in the process. That’s definitely gonna lead to some late-night hairballs. “It’s so annoying…” you whine as you plop your chin on the bar. “Why couldn’t I have been something cool? You know I saw a giant lizard the other day? Lucky bastard…”

“Bet they have a hell of a time findin’ clothes,” he says. “Or even gettin’ into places to begin with.”

“And even you got wings…” you continue on.

“Yeah. Wings. I get to clean up after fur and feathers, and if I don’t find the perfect position while sleeping the fuckin’ things go numb.” He takes your glass away, but you’re too lost in your own self-pity to protest. “We’ve all gotta get used to our new bodies when we get down here, and I doubt it’d be any different if we somehow got into heaven. Just gotta make the best of it.” He turns around to put away some bottles. “Besides, it’s not all bad. At least you’re cute.”

“...what was that?” you say, not expecting that word out of Husk’s mouth.

“I said you’re cute. Everyone thinks cats are cute, don’t they? Even I liked ‘em when I was alive. I don’t want to be one, but you can’t resist their mannerisms, can ya? The big eyes, the soft fur…”

He turns around just in time to see your right ear flicking in annoyance from the condescension. “The twitchy ears…”

You smirk, knowing the weight of what you’re about to say next but too drunk to stop yourself. “So now you get why Angel and I are always commenting on your mannerisms, eh, kitty?”

“Whoa! Hey!” His fur bristles, and you know you shouldn’t find his own agitation cute, but you can’t help yourself. It helps you understand the way he was just talking to you, at least. “That’s different! You’re a young lady! You died at, what, 25? You’re supposed to be cute! I’m an old man who drank myself to death. Nothin’ cute about that.”

“You’ve still got the big eyes and the soft fur…” you continue on.

He groans in response. “If you were a stranger saying that shit to me, I’d kill you.”

“So what makes me so special?” Your tail waves playfully behind you, and he’s obviously following it with his eyes and blushing.

“I…” he starts, but never manages to come up with the rest of the sentence. “Jesus Christ,” is all he has to offer before grabbing a couple of glasses from the shelf. He fills them both with water, then carries them around to the other side of the bar.

“Here,” he says as he sets one of the glasses in front of you. “Drink this. You’re gonna feel like shit in the morning. May as well not be dehydrated on top of everything else.”

You stare at the cup as he takes a seat on the stool next to you. “How do you resist the urge to knock cups over?” you ask.

“Lots of self-control,” he says with a smirk before guzzling his glass in one go.

You place your paw on the side of the glass, originally intending to pick it up, but an overwhelming spark takes over your brain, and you start easing the cup toward the edge of the bar. Husk grabs it and places it back where it started before it can crash to the floor.

“You’ll get used to it,” he assures you. He’s finished his water, but for a reason you can’t determine, he’s still sitting next to you.

“How long have you been down here?” you ask. “A couple years?”

“Mmm… fifty?” he guesses. “Almost as long as I was alive, at this point.”

“Fifty years?!” you exclaim. “And you still have to deal with cat instincts?!”

He shrugs. “Like I said, it never goes away. Just gotta get used to it, take the good with the bad.”

“The good…” you repeat. “Like being cute?”

“Oh, shut up,” he says. “...but in your case… yeah. Like being cute.”

You finally manage to pick up your water without giving into the desire for destruction. As you take a sip, something feathery starts to tickle against your tail. You look over at Husk from the corner of your eye. He’s trying to be nonchalant, not even looking at you, but there’s only one thing that could be brushing against you right now.

Without looking, you shift your tail, allowing it to curl around Husk’s. Husk curls his around yours in turn, your tail tips forming a spiral that just barely reaches the floor.

It’s the closest he’ll get to flirting for now. You’ll take what you can get.