#but this kid is a workhorse

[ratatatastic]

PLEASE THEY KEEP WAXING POETIC ABOUT PAUL????? THE WAY MATT WENT "i cant wait for paul to win best supporting cast for the amazon show cuz hes just gonna pop in at just the right moments just like in the cup parade he tells you the name of his cats paying off a bit from a month ago with absolutely essentially awesome comedic timing" LIKE YEAH REMEMBER WHEN COLBY ASKED HIM ABOUT HIS CATS NAMES IN THE MIDDLE OF THE PRESSER AND PAUL TURNS TO HIM AND GOES THEYRE NOT AVAILABLE FOR INTERVIEW AND THEN HIS DAUGHTER MAKES THAT SHIRT FOR THE PARADE AND HE REVEALS THEIR NAME YEAH THAT WAS THE BEST PAYPFF ACTUALLY

[savage-rhi]

Every time I hear politicians and rich folk complain about fertility and the population, all I hear is that the wolves are complaining that the sheep aren't breeding.

[justwinginglife]

Could you please write some fluff of Soshiro with his pregnant wife? 🥺💖

Honestly- who wouldn't wanna be pregnant with Soshiro's baby? i'm lining up for this man immediately.

Evidence Of His Love

It wasn’t possible for Soshiro to love you anymore than he already did, it wasn’t possible for anyone to ever love someone as much as he loved you, but dammit- he tried his best to love you more and more every day anyway. 

It wasn’t hard to love you. Not for him. He loved you like it was just blood flowing in his veins, like it was just oxygen filling up his lungs, like it was a given, like it was meant to be. 

He loved the way you murmured his name in your sleep. He loved the way you’d show off every outfit to him with a little twirl. He loved the way you savored the scent of a new book right before you’d read it. He loved everything about you. Even something as small as the inhale of a breath, the blink of your lids, the dip of a dimple in your cheeks, made his heart swell with overwhelming affection for you. 

And when you became pregnant, when the evidence of his love and adoration for you made itself known in the confines of your stomach, he thought he might die of happiness. 

If you thought he was doting before, now he worshiped you. If you thought he was committed before, now he was obsessed with you. Humans were flawed beings by nature but Soshiro was your one taste of perfection.

The only concern you had ever confessed to him was his unrelenting devotion to his job, and when he heard your fears, he made it very clear that you were always going to be his first priority. When you got pregnant, he took safer missions, took extra precautions, all to ensure he could come home safe to you. One time he got a papercut, and he bandaged that wound so thoroughly he looked like a mummy afterwards; he didn’t want to die from infection and leave you a widow. You teased him about it but secretly found it very sweet. 

Over the years, Soshiro had amassed an enormous amount of vacation time and became infamous as the Defense Force’s workhorse, sacrificing even his sleep for the good of Japan. The entire Third Division knew just how much he overworked himself and at one point, it even spurred on a competition to see who could get the Vice Captain to relax for once. They’d cheer when he’d join the crew for drinks, but then he’d make up for the time wasted by staying late at work the next night and they’d have to start all over again with their persuasions. When you finally joined his division and became his girlfriend (then later, his wife), the team was nothing but supportive, applauding you for finally giving him a reason to take time off. 

And when you got pregnant, he burned through all of his PTO just doting on you. Sometimes he’d take a day off just to do the laundry, cook you meals, and massage all your aches and pains away. Sometimes he’d take a couple days off, maybe a couple weeks off, so he could take you on a vacation. He wanted to spoil you rotten for carrying his child. He knew it was difficult being pregnant, especially for you. 

You were so used to charging into battle, guns blazing, fire burning in your eyes, and now your swollen ankles could barely transport you to the living room peacefully. And you were usually such a level-headed leader, such an intelligent battle strategist; now you’d been reduced to random hormonal outbursts. 

One night, you had even cried to him about your insecurities of being a terrible mother. Fear had taken hold of you, fear that you wouldn’t be enough, that you wouldn’t know how to love your kid, you wouldn’t know how to protect them, you wouldn’t know how to raise them. Your anxiety stained his shirt as it seeped out of you. He held you close, running his hand up and down your back soothingly as he listened to your fears. Once you’d finished your blubbering, he wasted no time in reassuring you. He told you that you’d be wonderful, that you’ve always been wonderful, that you were worthy, that you were strong, that you were loved, that you weren’t alone, that he’d be by your side until the end of time, that every time you felt like nothing, like less than nothing, he’d be there to hold your hand, to tell you that you were enough, to tell you that you were more than enough. And that’s when you knew that you’d be fine. And your son would be fine. He was going to have the most amazing father because you had the most amazing husband. 

You thought to yourself, if Soshiro wasn’t so affectionate, if he wasn’t so understanding, if he wasn’t so supportive, you honestly might have hated being pregnant. But every time he’d hold your enlarged belly up for you, allowing you some respite from gravity, or rush to the ends of the earth and back to fulfill your every request no matter how silly and ridiculous, or when he’d bring you your favorite drink, your favorite book, your favorite snack, all while you sat comfortably in the warmth of your bed, you knew you’d do this all over again in a heartbeat if he was by your side. You’d have as many babies as he wanted. You’d do anything he wanted. You’d do everything he wanted. You’d move mountains and you’d move them pregnant, all for him. 

And when he’d smile sympathetically at you, murmuring that if he could’ve been pregnant instead, he would’ve gladly carried the burden for you, you fell more and more in love with him. Even though you teased him that he most definitely could not handle being pregnant- he was the biggest baby when he had so much as a cold, craving your presence every second, claiming you were his cure, claiming he couldn’t heal properly without your attention. He still protested at your argument, saying that if it was for you, he could handle anything, even pregnancy. 

When 9 months passed by in a flash, every second of every month filled with his undying affection for you, you were so intoxicated on his love that you begged him to fill you up again. He had smirked in response, so you knew he wasn’t totally opposed to the idea. But being the kind and considerate person that he was, he wanted to devote his time and his love to giving your child the best possible first years of their life before he decided to raise another beside them. He didn’t want them to feel neglected and he certainly didn’t want you to feel neglected by the division of his attention, so for now, one kid was enough for him. 

Of course, that didn’t stop you from trying to persuade him otherwise with suggestive body language and seductive lingerie. He was perfect, but he was only a man after all. 

When he finally caved in and gave you baby number two, you simply shrugged, lips dripping with false innocence as you murmured that it was entirely his fault for loving you so completely and inexorably that you couldn’t help but romanticize the idea of being pregnant with his child. 

And when he succumbed to his fate, saying that he’d never stop loving you like that, that he’d never stop pouring his heart and soul into you, you started planning baby number three. 

[seat-safety-switch]

When I was a kid, going to the zoo was a joyous occasion. You'd get to see a giraffe, maybe your dad would stay home from work, and at the end there'd be a root-beer-flavoured candy stick from the gift shop. Nowadays, I'm an adult, and adults most definitely do not go to the zoo on their own. So I did.

As soon as I arrived, and paid the eyewatering sum required for the parking and admission, I immediately had a rush of childhood euphoria upon seeing my favourite animal again. That animal is a John Deere Gator 6x6 all-terrain-vehicle and utility tractor. The groundskeepers were still using this reliable workhorse, and, thinking they were dealing with nothing more than rebellious toddlers, had left it parked in front of the penguin exhibit with a length of chain link fencing and copper wiring in the back.

Oh yes, copper wiring. They should be more careful about that. A real creepazoid thief would steal that stuff, get a couple bucks. I, however, pride myself on respecting the private property of others a little bit more than that. As I plunked the Gator into low range and began climbing the stairs to the wildebeest area, I gave myself a pat on the back for being such a good citizen and having so much restraint and impulse control.

I'd like to say that the resulting chase through the facility involved a bunch of daring high-speed turns, but the scrub radius on one of these six-wheel-drive abominations is just terrible. Every time I even went near the steering wheel, I was rewarded with copious understeer. Despite what the evening news says, it is to my credit as a race driver that I managed to only gently skim the butterfly exhibit, rather than crash through it. Security did catch up to me when I stopped to get a corn dog, but that's only because the lines were so long.

As I lay there on the ground, my arms handcuffed behind me, the cop's knee in my back, I had no regrets. Well, maybe one. You see, I had picked the wrong snack counter, not realizing just how far a giraffe's neck could bend. Being forced to watch that long-necked asshole swallow my corn dog – which I paid for – whole is the real injustice here.

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3727

this is loosely based off of sympathy is a knife by charlie xcx, it’s a lot of world building please bear with me i have a vision (-﹏-。) also expect cursing. this is quite a long one (im working on multiple parts), i'll try to post as much as can.

part ii part iii part iv

All children are encouraged to do their best, dream big, and reach for the stars. But let's be honest: how many kids actually achieve that goal? How many adults can say they have been fighting for their place for far longer than they can remember?

Not a lot.

That kind of passion was rare. But perhaps it was more than passion; maybe it was the sick sense of wanting something bigger than yourself. Maybe she was just a workhorse that never learned when to stop. 

Growing up karting was where Yn found a love for motorsports, it was her dad that introduced her to it. A part of her felt for the older man; this had been his dream as much as it was hers. Back then, it had always been just a hobby, even though she had already achieved multiple wins. She never thought it would come this far.

At 16, she was picked up by the Red Bull junior team to race in various junior categories, eventually making it into Formula 3 and then Formula 2. Even then scoring points and race wins came easy. Years of hard work and dedication had done her well, with many saying that a Formula 1 career was surely in the cards for her.

And if she was being honest, Yn was hungry for that Formula 1 seat.

Yn’s laptop lit up with an email, enclosed was her contract with VCARB. She was going into Formula 1.  Was it arrogant to say she had been expecting this? Could you blame her for asserting it wasn’t a matter of if, but when? 

But signing the contract should have felt like a victory, a promise fulfilled, a chance for everything she’d worked toward to pay off. But as the seconds flew by, Yn could already feel the weight settling over her, heavy as a storm cloud. The stakes had never been this high, and the whispers were already there, quietly accusing, scrutinizing. Her entrance into F1 wasn’t just a testament to her skill and ambition; it was a flashpoint, a reason for some to undermine her achievements and question her right to be here.

F1 wasn’t just a men’s world—it was a battleground where “passion” for her felt dangerously close to “obsession,” and her relentless pursuit of victory was both her strength and her vulnerability. Yn knew that she couldn’t just be good; she had to be perfect, ruthless in her pursuit for wins and podiums, and undeterred by every sly remark and skeptic. Sympathy, after all, was nothing but a knife in disguise, and she’d long since learned not to expect it from anyone, even her team.

Her first day at VCARB was a whirlwind of meetings, briefings, and countless faces both excited and skeptical. The engineers studied her, sizing up the girl who was stepping into a seat she’d earned, but one they seemed to question if she could keep. Her jaw tightened with determination—she would prove every one of them wrong, and not out of spite but out of an unyielding hunger to carve her name in F1 history.

Yuki arrived in the afternoon, a familiar face in a sea of unknowns. With an easy grin, he crossed the garage, his demeanor effortlessly lighthearted as he joked with the engineers before catching her eye. “Didn’t think I’d be seeing you here so soon,” he teased, a glimmer of pride in his eyes that he knew she’d earned.

She let a small smile slip, and for a moment, the walls she’d erected came down. “Surprised? I thought you’d know better,” she quipped back, crossing her arms.

“Not surprised,” he replied. “Just excited. Maybe I’ll finally have someone here to keep me on my toes.”

But behind their friendly exchange was an edge, a reminder that this was a competition and that teammates or not, they were both vying for survival in the world’s most ruthless racing series. They had both clawed their way here, and no amount of camaraderie could change the fact that every second on the track was a chance to prove they deserved to stay.

Underneath Yuki’s easygoing nature, she knew there was a fierce competitor. She’d seen him race, seen the raw talent that made him as unpredictable as he was quick. Yn knew they’d push each other to the limits, that their friendship would inevitably become a duel of ambition. And she wanted that—it made her hungrier, sharper.

But there was something different about her fight. Being the first female F1 driver in years meant her wins were never just hers; every success and failure became ammunition for those who doubted women in motorsport. There was no room for mistakes, and any slip-up would be amplified, dissected in the press, on social media, even in private conversations she was never meant to hear.

One night, as she stared out at the empty track after hours, she felt Yuki’s presence beside her. “They’re going to be watching everything I do,” she said, voice low, a rare admission of vulnerability.

“They watch all of us,” he replied softly, his voice uncharacteristically serious. “But I know how hard you’ve worked to get here. And… well, if they think they can beat you down, you’re gonna prove them wrong. Just… stay hungry, yeah?” He nudged her shoulder gently.

“Hungry?” she scoffed, steeling herself. “I’m starving.” 

Yuki chuckled, but it was laced with respect. “Good. Because that’s what it takes.”

The season had started on fire for Yn. Her first four races saw her consistently in the points, an impressive feat for any rookie, let alone one under as much pressure and scrutiny as she was. Headlines praised her talent, with journalists and fans alike marveling at her ability to keep up with more seasoned drivers. Her team, too, seemed to start letting their guard down, seeing her not as a gamble, but as an asset. But as is often the case in Formula 1, the success didn't last forever.

Her fifth race began with promise, but Yn knew almost from the start that something was off. The car felt different, twitchy around the corners, each lap feeling more and more like she was on a knife’s edge. Halfway through, she could feel her grip on the track slipping, but she pushed harder, unwilling to lose ground.

With just a few laps remaining, the inevitable happened.

The crash was swift and brutal. The car spun out in the third sector, her back tires skidding as she lost control. She hit the barriers hard, the sound of carbon fiber breaking echoing through her helmet. Her vision blurred as the world spun, then finally stopped, leaving her breathless in the cockpit, staring at the wreckage around her.

Her engineer’s voice came through her headset immediately. “Yn, are you okay?”

“Yeah,” she said breathlessly, trying to steady herself, adrenaline still pumping as she felt the sting of defeat sink in. “I… I’m sorry. I lost it. The car just—slipped.”

There was a pause on the other end, a moment that felt like judgment even through the crackling radio. “We’re glad you’re okay. We’ll get you back to the garage. We’ll review the data,” her engineer replied, his voice careful.

Yuki’s voice came through on her personal channel moments later, after seeing her crash on his onboard. “Yn? You alright?” His tone was laced with concern, stripped of the usual playfulness.

She swallowed, fighting the frustration building in her chest. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… pissed off.”

“You’ll be back next race,” he assured her, but she could only respond with silence. The shame of letting her team, her fans, and herself down weighed heavily on her.

In the post-race interview, Yn struggled to find the right words. The cameras focused on her, the flash of lights overwhelming as journalists fired questions, each one cutting a little deeper.

“Yn, it was a tough day. Do you think the pressure got to you out there?”

She clenched her fists, forcing a composed smile. “I don’t think it’s about pressure. Today just… wasn’t my day. The car was giving me some issues, and I did my best to control it. Sometimes, that’s just racing.”

“But after four races in the points, are you worried this is a sign of things to come?”

The question sliced through her like a knife, and she could feel the weight of the implication: that she was fragile, a fluke who’d just been lucky.

“No, I’m not worried,” she replied, her voice steady but tense. “One race doesn’t define my season. I’m here to compete, and I’ll be back even stronger next race.”

When the interviews ended, she caught Yuki’s eye across the paddock. He gave her a nod, a silent show of support that reminded her she wasn’t alone, even if it felt like she was carrying the world’s judgment on her shoulders.

The news coverage the next day was ruthless. Headlines screamed with exaggerated disappointment: “Yn Cracks Under Pressure?” and “First Female F1 Driver in Years Falters After Promising Start.” A few outlets were kinder, chalking up the crash to typical rookie mistakes and downplaying any concerns over her ability to handle the car. But most took the crash as an invitation to dissect her every move, doubting whether she could handle the demands of the sport.

Social media was ablaze, fans and critics alike chiming in, and Yn could barely stand to look. She knew this was part of the game, that everyone in F1 was under scrutiny, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that for her, the stakes were higher. Every failure she faced felt amplified, a reason for the world to question her right to be here.

Yuki called her that night, his voice calm and soothing against the chaos swirling around her.

“I’m just so pissed,” she admitted finally, her frustration cracking through her voice. “I wanted to prove that I belong here, and now… it feels like all anyone sees is this one mistake.”

“You know that’s not true,” he replied, a hint of warmth in his tone. “Everyone makes mistakes, even the greats. They’ve all crashed at some point. Don’t let them take that fire from you. Because once the season’s over, they’ll see what you’re made of.”

She took a shaky breath, comforted by his words. It was strange—she’d started this journey expecting every teammate to be a rival, another barrier to overcome. But in Yuki, she’d found someone who understood the relentless, hungry drive that fueled her, and who respected it.

The next morning, her team’s engineers ran a debrief, analyzing the telemetry and tire data from the crash. They assured her that she’d made the right call in pushing the car, that the twitchiness wasn’t imagined. Yn felt a flicker of relief; maybe she hadn’t just cracked under pressure, maybe it had been an unfortunate mix of circumstances. But no matter the reason, she knew she had to rise from this stronger than before.

It had been a long race, Jeddah was grueling and relentless, yet Yn had been on the verge of a breakthrough. She was fighting tooth and nail for P8, going wheel-to-wheel with Fernando Alonso in the final laps. She’d been holding her own, each move calculated, each corner taken with the precision she’d been honing for years. This was her shot, her chance to show everyone she wasn’t a fluke or a face in the crowd. She was ready to prove herself.

Then it happened.

They clashed in the final sector, both fighting for space. Fernando took the inside line, edging her out, and she, desperate to hold her position, stayed close, too close. Their wheels touched, and in a flash, her car lost stability, skidding and spinning before colliding with the barrier. The jolt left her breathless, her hands gripping the wheel as the rage took over.

Her engineer’s voice cracked through the radio. “Yn, are you okay? What happened?”

She clenched her jaw, trying to control the fury building up inside her. “That fucking guy, Alonso! He squeezed me—left me no room!” Her voice was shaking, frustration and adrenaline spilling over. “I had that position!”

There was a silence on the radio as they processed her words. “Copy, Yn. We saw the incident. Just stay calm.”

Stay calm? She’d given everything, and now, twice in a row, her race had ended in ruin.

After the race, Yn felt the press of cameras and microphones on her as she trudged toward the media pen. She could barely contain the frustration bubbling inside her, a storm barely held back as reporters closed in, questions already on their tongues.

“Yn, this is the second crash in a row. Are you feeling the pressure of Formula 1?”

“What’s your take on the incident with Alonso? Do you blame him?”

Yn took a steadying breath, but the calm she'd usually conjure wasn't there. “Look,” she said, voice tight, trying to keep her tone steady, “I know what happened out there, and Alonso gave me no space. I was holding my line, fighting for position like we all do. I’ll review the footage with the team, but if people think I can’t handle the pressure—they’re wrong.”

The next question felt even more loaded. “Is it challenging to maintain focus, given the scrutiny you’re under as the first female driver in years?”

She forced a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’m not here to be a spectacle; I’m here to race. Everyone’s under pressure in this sport. It’s what makes us competitors. The scrutiny just makes me hungrier.”

Her words were pointed, but she could already feel the twisting of her words forming in the reporters’ minds, their pens scratching away, headlines already buzzing to life in their notebooks.

The news the next morning was merciless. Some articles analyzed her crash with Alonso, calling it a “rookie miscalculation,” while others openly questioned whether Yn’s composure was “cracking” under the scrutiny. The worst were the opinion pieces, suggesting she might be better suited to junior categories if she couldn’t handle the rigors of F1.

Yuki found her in the paddock later that evening, her expression set as she packed up her things, clearly wanting to avoid any more eyes on her. He walked over, hands in his pockets, a gentle smile on his face.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his tone light. “Rough race out there. I saw the footage—Alonso really gave you no room.”

She shot him a look, her expression unreadable. “Thanks, Yuki, but I don’t need anyone to say it wasn’t my fault. I should’ve handled it better.”

“It wasn’t about fault,” he countered softly, unfazed by her edge. “It was a close fight. You held your ground. Besides, you’re doing something none of these people could even dream of.”

She let out a sharp, humorless laugh, shoving her race gloves into her bag. “Spare me the pep talk. I don’t need anyone’s sympathy. Especially not yours.”

He took a step closer, not backing down. “This isn’t sympathy, Yn. You’re one of the best rookies on the grid. Every one of us has crashed. I know what you’re going through, and I know how much you want this. But maybe don’t let their voices drown out what you already know—you deserve to be here.”

She wanted to tell him to stop, to remind him that it was different for her, that every mistake was fuel for those doubting her existence in this sport. But instead, she looked away, unable to bring herself to speak. She didn’t want to be seen as weak, as someone who needed reassurance.

Yuki sighed, catching the conflicted look in her eyes. “Alright,” he said quietly, his gaze softening. “Just… don’t forget that you’ve got people here who believe in you. No matter what the headlines say.”

She gave him a brief, reluctant nod, her voice a whisper. “Thanks, Yuki. But belief isn’t going to get me P8.” She turned and headed for the exit, leaving him behind as the words hung in the air, heavy with the reminder of just how high the stakes were.

Yuki knew things had changed since those days in the Red Bull junior program. Back then, it was just him and Yn, two kids pushing limits, sharing laughs and late nights studying data, feeling like the world wasn’t so big, like maybe they’d take it on together someday. She’d always been determined, sometimes stubbornly so, but she’d had that spark, that glint in her eye when she talked about F1 like it was the only thing that mattered. But now, standing at the pinnacle they’d dreamed of, Yuki could feel the distance growing between them, a wall she was building with every race, every misstep, every setback. 

He tried to remind her of those lighter times, even when the racing got intense. On weekends, he’d linger in the garage with her, cracking jokes, trying to coax a laugh out of her, like they used to do after tough sessions back in Formula 2. But it felt different now. She had this look, as if there was a weight pressing on her that no amount of lightheartedness could lift. 

The night after her crash with Alonso, Yuki tried again, catching up to her outside the paddock as she was leaving. “Hey!” he called, jogging to catch up. “Thought maybe we could grab a bite together. There’s this place nearby that serves ridiculous ramen—reminds me of the spot we’d hit after races.”

She hesitated, her gaze distant, before letting out a sigh. “Yuki, I’m tired. I just want to go back to the hotel and review the data. It was a messy race, and I don’t think I have much appetite.”

Yuki’s shoulders dropped, but he shrugged, forcing a smile. “We could just hang out, then. No data. Just us. I mean… it’s been a while since we’ve really relaxed, you know?”

She gave him a weary smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I appreciate it, really. But I need to focus. I can’t afford to mess up again, not with everything they’re saying.”

He could hear the bitterness in her voice, the resentment barely hidden beneath. It killed him to see her like this—so hardened, so guarded. She was always the toughest of the rookies, fearless, but now it seemed like her own passion had turned against her, trapping her in a never-ending battle against herself. 

He tried again the next day, lingering by her side during their briefing, sending her a grin every chance he got, trying to bring back that easy dynamic they used to have. But it was like she was somewhere else, somewhere far away where his words couldn’t reach her. She’d nod along, respond, but always with that distracted air, her eyes flicking back to the screen, the telemetry, the data, anything but him.

By the time they were heading out after debrief, Yuki couldn’t hold back anymore. “Yn,” he said, his voice softer, catching her arm as she went to turn away. “I know you’re frustrated, I know it feels like everything’s on the line, but… this isn’t like you. You’re carrying everything on your shoulders alone. Let me be there, like we used to.”

For a moment, her expression softened, a glimpse of the Yn he remembered, the one who used to nudge him in the ribs and joke about who could get pole on the practice track. But it faded just as quickly, replaced by that same stony determination.

“I appreciate it, Yuki. But you don’t understand. It’s different for me.” She pulled her arm back gently, looking away. “Every mistake I make gives people more reasons to think I shouldn’t be here. Every crash, every missed point. Sympathy’s a knife in this sport, and I can’t afford to need anyone’s help. I just… I have to handle it.”

He let her words sink in, feeling the sting behind them, realizing that every race, every session was turning her into someone he barely recognized. But he understood, maybe better than she thought. Yuki knew that in F1, there were those who supported you, but there were also those who’d gladly let you fall, especially if you didn’t fit their mold.

“Maybe it’s different for you,” he said quietly, keeping his voice steady. “But you don’t have to do it alone. We’re teammates. We’re supposed to be here for each other. I’m… I’m supposed to be here for you.”

She looked up at him, and for a second, he thought he’d broken through. But she just shook her head, a faint, sad smile on her lips. “Thanks, Yuki. Really. But I need to be strong enough on my own. If I rely on anyone too much, they’ll use it against me. I have to prove myself, no matter what.”

Yuki watched as she turned away again, shoulders squared, that unyielding resolve back in her posture. He knew there was no convincing her, no getting her to see that it was okay to lean on someone every now and then, that it didn’t make her weak. But as she walked away, he felt the weight of her words settle on him, a sadness mingling with frustration. This wasn’t the Yn he knew—this was someone who felt like she had the world against her, like every race was a fight to justify her existence in F1.

Later that night, Yuki found himself with Pierre, staring at his untouched bowl of ramen, his mind churning. He’d always known Yn was strong, maybe even stronger than him in ways he didn’t fully understand. But it was painful to watch her shoulder that strength like a burden, pushing everyone else away, including him. 

He thought about what he could say next time, some way to convince her that she didn’t have to do this alone, that he wasn’t there out of sympathy, but out of respect and genuine friendship. But deep down, he knew that as long as she felt the world’s expectations pressing down on her, she’d keep her guard up. For now, all he could do was be there, waiting, hoping that one day she’d let him in, let him remind her that even in the ruthless world of F1, there was room for someone who’d stand by her side, win or lose.

[cryptidcr3ature]

Playing red dead: Heehee Charles loves bison and cares about animals. So silly-

My brain: Charles is more likely that mad because his mom taught him the importance of bison to his tribe, and he really treasures the memory of his mother because she was senselessly taken, killed and god knows what else. She was the glue that held his family together, and he never claimed his father was mean or cruel, just sad and drunk after his mom was taken. Just like his mother, those men killed and left something so important to his history to rot and not only that, blamed it on his people too. Charles had no way of stopping the army when he was a kid, but he could save the bison.

Charles didn’t see it as just bison, but his mother’s legacy being shot and left for dead. The “stoic and silent” Charles Smith pushes Taima, a workhorse faster than any other horse breed (I’ve done this mission usually with the Arabians or the black standardbred) to confront the poachers. This is the only time we see Charles making rash, emotional decisions. He raised his voice, shot a man out of passion, and was genuinely upset if you don’t kill the other poacher. It doesn’t hurt your relationship with Charles because the usual and sensible part understands that by not killing that man, his family gets to keep its father.

[wiingdings]

Can you show me an Mlp au?

i'm just gonna take this as an excuse talk about my mlp au destinyswap

during the mane six simultaneous cutie mark event and twilight sparkle's magic meltdown, she sees into the future and involuntarily casts starswirl's spell (the one from magical mystery cure that switches everyone's destinies)

this spell ripples across equestria and changes the mane 6's destinies the same moment they receive them so it goes unnoticed. the mane 6 all settle into their new lives except for twilight, who always has a sense that she's forgotten something important. she can just barely recall starswirl's spell like a fading dream and tries to look for any clues she can about it, resulting in her being even more reclusive than normal and celestia sending her to ponyville before the events of the pilot.

when she meets the other mane 6, the "bad feeling" gets really, really bad, and she becomes unsettled and paranoid, especially around the mane 6, and mostly stays shut in her library. her encounters with the mane 6 do give her a feeling about what to research, though... she combs her collection for anything having to do with cutie marks and pony destinies.

everyone else seems to have settled into their new roles pretty well, though?

fluttershy is still very shy, but she's very good with kids, and lives with the cakes as pound and pumpkin's nurse/babysitter but takes other jobs as well. all the foals in ponyville adore her, and she is more comfortable being herself around young ponies than adults, who are scary.

applejack lives in manehattan with her aunt and uncle orange as a popular fashion who gives out free blankets and coats for charities, but frequently visits ponyville to check on her family. she can use her hooves to sense gemstones in the ground, and integrates them into her designs.

rarity's magic developed very late, and when it did, it took a while for ponies to realize that instead of unicorn magic, she had pegasus magic. she had to train herself to use her horn to control her magic, but once she did, she joined the ponyville weather team. she is fanciful and loves making patterns in the sky - ponyville always praises rarity for a particularly striking sunset or when cloudgazing is especially entertaining.

the pie family had worked with the apple family for a while, so when pinkie pie discovered her talent for baking, she moved to ponyville and was hired on by the apples to fill applejack's role, and uses the apples produced by the farm to make lovely homemade treats! the apple family stand always has freshly-baked confections now, and a friendly but slightly intimidating pink workhorse running about with big mac and apple bloom.

rainbow dash lives on the edge of town in a cottage. she is a pegasus, but nopony has ever seen her fly since crash-landing in the forest during a race. she is still capable of flight, although weakened, but prefers to keep her hooves on the ground - that's where the animals that stayed with her and helped her after her crash are, anyway. she is timid and particularly afraid of confrontation, but ponyville regards her as their best veterinarian and animal expert.

and twilight sparkle... she's the princess's student from canterlot. the new unicorn that never leaves her library. her assistant, spike the dragon, stays near the door and gives you your books from the window. if you see twilight out and about on a quick errand or grocery run, don't approach her... she's timid and aggressive, like a wild animal, and will glare at you while she trots in the opposite direction.

sometimes the princess herself comes to visit the library. she's the only one allowed inside.

(some misc destinyswap art)

[unladyboss]

GOING TO BE HONEST: CARMY AND SYDNEY: Carmy is the OPPS

CARMY was really enjoying his time with Claire, then coming to the restaurant and yelling at Sydney stressing her out and just using her as a workhorse.

Now they're trying to force her to sign partnership papers so they can just leave everything on her shoulders once again, when Carmy decides he wants to be with Claire again. She's miss reliable to them

Even if he had no romantic feelings for Syd he is still using her in my eyes. I felt really hurt for her sake

Everyone always says he's mixed up and he's ill and has trauma and this and that to explain his behavior away.

Well he's never mixed up or anything or trauma filled when he's hanging with Claire or kissing on her and more

I don't care if Sydney calms him down. That to me still looks like he's taking her for granted like she is there to build him up and drain her life force.

Meanwhile he's energizing Claire and showing her all the love.

Never yelled at her.

Kid gloves around her

Sitting listening to her awful boringly told stories. It's so exhausting listening to her, on my end but he listens Intently to her. Laughs at the right times

Sympathetic at other times

I hate how he treats Syd.

How she can't laugh. She can't relax.

She can't rely on him.

It made me cry to see Syd cry.

I really dislike him so much right this moment.

I know it'll change and sydcarmy is endgame but in this moment, I'm over him. ( Believe me I know it's the slow burn)

In real life I'd have kicked him to the curb a long time ago.

So long ago. I put all the pictures of him and Claire that can fit here so I can remember that he knows exactly what he's doing

If she distracts him it's because he WANTS to be distracted. Lemme go watch my girl Syd slay with every single talent and beauty she has...

[kimbapisnotsushi]

can you imagine being a hardworking thirty-something bouncing ball corp employee in like idk sales or some shit who spent YEARS before that trying to climb the corporate ladder and succumbing to the 9-5 workhorse race that makes you dead inside but now your boss is a college kid who shows up to important company meetings in sweats and brings his homework to the office so he can get it done on time and haphazardly stuffs paperwork and legal documents into the same binders as his lecture notes and doesn’t give a shit if you don’t properly file for time off bc he can barely be assed to email his professors the same and will still PAY you for it????? can you imagine???? i can’t but it’d be REALLY fucking funnny

[clouds-soup]

Saw my community theaters production of Newsies last night and as an avid newsies enthusiast here were my favorite details:

- Both racetrack AND spot Collins were played by girls!!!!!!!!

- specific inclusion of Kid Blink. (This detail is always important to me because Kid Blink was the actual strike leader in history)

- large array of ages, as young as 7. Not just Les sticking out as the only kid.

-pre-show performance of the workhorse kids sweeping and doing various chores, newsies trying to sell papers.

- jacks penthouse in the sky! Also his costume was very reminiscent of 92sies Jack, he had a cowboy hat that sat around his neck instead of a newsboys cap, and a bandana.

- I was super impressed at the ability some of those young kids had to do flips and stuff holy shit

Overall it was super good!! Go support your local theater!!!

[rdr2stories]

"Betrayal" a rdr2 fanfiction.

Arthur hadn't been able to free himself, the wounds he had suffered under Colm's care had simply been too much, his faith was left in Dutch. It was with his whole heart that he had hoped that Dutch would come, after all his life had depended on it, yet Dutch never came.

Loosely based on (I remembeed the drawing not the caption):

The basement had always been a dark and sorrowful place no matter which house, which hideout or which hole they were kept up in, it would always be his least favorite of them all. The air would feel suffocating even if the sun was shining right after a cool rainfall, the walls would feel as though they were cramping in on him even if they were wider than the actual room he was sleeping in, his senses would be overwhelmed, noises, smells and feelings that weren’t actually there would crowd his mind and trap him in a night he would rather forget.

His shoulder was healed, the only remains of the wound that had once hollowed out his flesh being the tough scar tissue that had not managed to patch up the break of his heart. When he breathed it was slow and airy, the kick his former enemies had made to his chest and sides had done something to his ribs and lungs which could not be undone. He was no longer silent, he could be heard miles away by his struggling breathing, but he didn’t need to be silent any longer, his days as a desperate workhorse were over.

He had no doubt that the man in the basement who was suffering the similar wounds he had years ago could hear him, yet he would not know who it was standing there, his mind racing, considering if he was ready to get face to face with a man whom he had love and cared for for years but had not shown the same kindness to him in the end.

One step at a time he made his way down into the suffocating basement, the walls closing in around him and cutting the outside world off like the hatch over the steps had been slammed shut. It was just him, the man and the singular flame of the candle that gave just enough lighting for him to see the face he would remember to his death, that, even when aged, had not changed a bit.

The man was hanging upside down, just like he had, his face was red, his arms hanging loosely down towards the ground as the iron chains wrapped around his ankles and held him above the ground. A wound had been afflicted to his chest, a shallow knife wound cutting over the collarbones and ripping up the fine shirt and vest that he always wore. It was nothing, a mere scrape compared to other wounds suffered in the past, no matter how big the red puddle on the ground was.

His snail-like mustache looked exactly the same, except for the fact that it was no longer black but rather gray with age. The same could be said for the hair that once had curled around his nape but now was cut short as if he was scared it would run off or like he had simply grown tired of maintaining it.

He had not seen that face in years and though he had dreamt of seeing it many many times before, he could not have imagined the emotions that welled up in him. The anger that rose from parts of his core he had not felt since the death of his family, the sadness that made him feel like breaking down weeping on the cold gravel floor and the conflict that he had thought he had overcome. He hated that part of himself felt like hugging the man, embracing him and crying into his chest like a little kid, appologicing as if it wasn’t him who had been left for dead.

The upside down man looked drowsy, his eyelids halfway down his brown eyes that would make you trust him in a mere second even though he had more bodies on his back than he counld count. His lips were slightly apart as if he was simply asleep, but he wasn’t because he reacted when the boy he had left stepped into the light stream coming down from the top of the stairs. He could not yet see who it was, the boy’s features hidden, he recongized the satchel that he carried on his hip.

The man’s eyes seeked upwards to the cold face he had once known as his protegee, as his son. “Arthur?”

“Hi Dutch,” Arthur spoke as he grabbed the chair by the table that the candle stood on and pulled it over to him so that he could sit and face his old mention, his old father.

“You- You are alive!” Dutch’s deep and raspy voice sounded, confusion yet hope and glee to be found in it. “Oh how glad I am to see you! I thought you were dead! Help an old fella down from here and let’s get away! Oh how happy the others will be to know you are alive! We made a little memorial for you back in West Elizabeth since we didn’t have your body, we buried Sean next to it-”

“Sean?” Arthur asked with anger rising in his chest. His brother, his little brother was dead? “Did you leave him as well? Did you leave him for dead too?”

Dutch’s eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together in confusion. “Whatever do you mean son?”

“You didn’t come for me Dutch!” Arthur exclaimed, standing up so suddenly that the chair behind him slammed to the ground as it tipped over. “I was waiting for you! I was waiting for you to come get me but you didn’t! You left me for dead!”

“Arthur- My son,” Dutch’s eyes were frantic and confused as he looked over the green clothing of the boy he had raised. “We thought you had gone out hunting- We didn’t think nothing of it until a few days later and by then we couldn’t find you- You were gone-” 

“Hunting?” Arthur asked in irritation as he felt anger well up in him, a hand running over his eyes. “Hunting Dutch?! I told you! I told you I would meet you by the forked road!” He looked directly at Dutch, an accusing finger pointed at him. “I told you no matter what, I would meet you at the forked road! I keep my promises Dutch! I always do! I made that agreement with you so that if something happened to either me or you, you would have known something was wrong! I wasn’t out hunting Dutch! I had been kidnapped!” He took a step closer to Dutch, who’s eyes widened, for the first time being on the receiving end of the anger that was in the monster he had created, of the anger of the man who’s warrant poster said ‘do not approach’. “I had been shot! I was beaten! I was tortured! Hanging upside down as you are, left with hopes that you would come but you didn’t!”

“Arthur-” Dutch tried to cut in.

“Don’t you ‘Arthur’ me,” Arthur groaned, running a hand over his face again. “You left me Dutch, left me. I sat here, clinging onto hope that you would come back for me, like you said you always would, but you didn’t, and do you know who took pity on me? Colm of all people.” Arthur snorted as he slightly shook his head. “That O’Driscoll boy wasn’t so wrong about Colm, he has a way of making you feel special. He took me in when you left me.”

“I didn’t leave you.” Dutch spoke in a soft tone. “We searched for you Arthur, all of us did.”

“Not well enough,” Arthur bit lightly at the inside of his cheek. “Colm was expecting you to come get me, he gave you a clear trail to follow, but you didn’t.” He let out a snort. “In a way I am glad, I ain’t been a workhorse since I have gotten here. Colm appreciates me, gave me my own room and everything, doesn’t send me out to do his dirty work like you did. And your ideals? You cared so much about ideals, about sticking together, yet you didn’t come for me. Your ideals are nothing but lies that you hide behind.”

“Lies?!” Dutch exclaimed, this time with anger sweepin through his voice.

“Lies, Dutch, lies. Ideals are nothing but empty words without action to back them up!”

“Arthur,” A voice came from the top of the staircase and Arthur turned to look at the man descending, the man whom he had once seen as foe but now as friend, the man who had taken him in when he had been beat, tortured and abandoned, even if he had been the one doing half of it.

“Colm,” Dutch’s low voice sounded as he watched his enemy, the killer of his lover, stride down into the basement, the sunlight coming down the stairs highlighting the fur running around the collar of his jacket as he came closer and stood next to Arthur.

“Dutch, how nice to see you are awake,” Colm gave a big grin, knowing that the pain of seeing Arthur against him instead of with him hurting far more than any bullet wound or stab could ever do. “Look who I found.” He placed his hands on Arthur’s shoulders. “The dog you threw away. You know, it is quite a pity because oh how he works, his bite is stronger than any I have seen before. You trained him well, I am not going to lie, I was surprised when you abandoned him, but then again, one man’s trash is another man’s treasure.”

Arthur let out a low grunt but otherwise remained quiet, it wasn’t the first time Colm had explained the situation like that, but he hated it either way, he hated thinking that he meant nothing more than an empty tin can discarded after being used to Dutch, it hurt him even after all those years.

“Trash?!” Dutch’s voice sounded, genuinely sounding hurt at the way his relation to Arthur was described. “Arthur is my son. He is not trash!”

“Yet you discarded him as such, forgotten in a basement.” Colm patted Arthur’s shoulder. “Ay ay, so be, we got bigger issues, the gang is on their way Arthur, they are coming for Dutch.”

Arthur’s eyes narrowed, he knew it would happen, he had known it because it was the plan, but it still hurt, hurt far more than he was willing to admit. Deep inside he had hoped that Dutch would have been abandoned too, just like he had been abandoned, that it wasn’t him that was the reason he was left behind but that it was simply the gang. Of course it wasn’t like that. Dutch would always be saved, and he would always be left behind, expected to care for himself.

“Coming,” Arthur spoke in a lower voice than he had anticipated when he turned to follow Colm who had begun to walk up the stairs and out of the basement. As such, he turned his back on his father, feeling his heart plummet in his chest. He didn’t know what he had expected. Some kind of closure? That maybe Dutch hadn’t been as he had remembered him? That he was actually much more of an asshole?  Whatever he had wished for, he hadn’t gained it, he merely felt more conflicted than before.

“Arthur-” Dutch exclaimed, heavily in breath and wide in eyes as Arthur reluctantly halted and hesitantly turned to look at him one last time. “You are my son, we can still fix this.”

Arthur wanted to believe it, oh he wanted to believe it more than anything, but he knew he couldn’t. He knew that what had done could not be fixed, the damage could not be repaired no matter how many sweet words were spoken, no matter how many promises had been made.

The sun was warm and welcoming when Arthur exited the basement and he was let out into the open world again. Normally he would let out a deep breath of relief and take a moment to get back into his own body, but he didn’t do it at that time, he didn’t feel welcomed nor as happy as he normally would being warmed by the sun.

He swallowed a lump in his throat and made his way over to his horse which stood hitched in the outskirts of camp. It’s fur was soft as it always had been, but if it had suffered with the years and patches of the previously brown color had gone gray with age. Other than the few belongings he had had on him when he had been kidnapped, most of which had been replaced over time, the horse was the one thing that remained from his years with the Van Der Linde gang. It was a constant, the one thing he trusted to never betray him.

It didn’t pain him to say that he did not trust Colm with his life, he knew that Colm did not care for him much other than the fact it gave him a leverage over Dutch, bragging rights. He knew that Colm cared for himself first and foremost. He knew that, he accepted it, he was okay with it, he had even opened up about it to one of the girls whom had been around camp at some point. She had asked him why he hadn’t cared when he had cared so deeply about Dutch’s betrayal and he had told her the truth.

Dutch had always pretended to be there for him, had spoken grand words about fellowship and friendship and such, he had spilled lies and he had made Arthur believe them, Colm on the other hand, Colm was honest. He never outright said that he cared for himself most, but never said that he cared for Arthur most like Dutch had.

He liked the certainty of the fact he was on his own more than the white lie that he had someone to rely on. It was that lie that had disappointed him the most, that had given him the heart that had yet to heal.

The repeater in his hand was new, one that they had stolen off a man who had gotten on the wrong side of Colm, it was a new model, shiny and bright, not a single flaw to be found. Arthur had determined to keep it that way.

Colm didn’t do much fighting himself, when Arthur had run with Dutch he had thought it had just been pride, but the truth was a bad hand that he could barely bend his fingers on. Arthur didn’t mind it much, he didn’t need to do a lot of fighting either, but in big cases like this, he did, and in this one he wanted to, he wanted to face his former brothers.

Hiding behind a barrel, Arthur waited, his breathing revealing his location but he didn’t mind much. As soon as the fighting began it wouldn’t be audible over the gunshots either way.

The gang he had run with was loud as always, the hooves of their horses hammering against the ground in one big storm, tearing up grass, dirt and stone with them. They weren’t planning on quieting down, they were planning on raiding in the place, like they had a habit of doing.

He heard when the fighting started, but he didn’t move, it wasn’t his job to. His job was to stay, to protect. Maybe Colm had placed Arthur so far back because he didn’t trust Arthur to kill his brothers, and maybe Arthur was happy because he didn’t know if he could either.

Ever so slowly the shots came closer and closer and Arthur’s heart twisted in his chest, he didn’t know what to hope, what to expect. Did he hope his brothers’ blood would coat another's hand because he loved them too much to kill them himself or did he hope their blood would coat his because he could not bare another taking their lives? He did not know, but in the end he would have to make a choice, he knew that when he saw Marston come near, when he saw his brother’s eyes scan the area and run closer to the basement stairs in the back of the building, away fromthe fight happening in the front.

Arthur’s brother was scarred, much more than he had been before. The marks that the wolves had left over his face were practically gone under what seemed to be burn scars which coated his face. His hair looked far more crusty, far more stiff than it had before, though it had found the strength to grow longer. His brother hadn’t even noticed him as he rose from his spot behind the barrel and drew the repeated, a click sounding as it was pointed at Marston who halted suddenly.

“Go on, shoot.” Marston spoke in an annoyed voice, though Arthur could near the slight tremble. Even the boy who now carried all the scars of being worked to the bone in a field of death still worried about the afterlife. He stood with his hands clenched around his revolver as he held it slightly away from himself, the finger off the trigger, maybe hoping it would show peace.

“If you so wish,” Arthur merely replied, perfectly hiding the conflict that made him rest his finger on the metal above the trigger instead of on the trigger itself.

Marston suddenly stiffened up, immediate recognition of the voice he had not heard for years as he turned around without a second thought, his eyes wide and face conflicted, much similar to Dutch’s. “Arthur! We thought you were dead!”

Arthur raised the gun against Marston’s head as he dared step closer. “Yeah you all did.” He saw when Marston realised that Arthur wore the green bandana of the O’Driscolls around his neck, slightly covering a scar running over his throat which he had suffered after the betrayal. 

Marston took a step back, his eyes wide. “You-”

“You left me.” Arthur simply replied, though he knew somewhere that John had been restricted to Dutch’s decision not to find him.

“Dutch told me you died!” Marston defended, his free hand coming to cludge the fabric of his shirt resting over his heart.

“I always knew you were dumb, but not this dumb.” Arthur snorted, trying to hide the fact that he was terrified, the fact that he knew either he would have to shoot his brother or his brother would shoot him. There was not a chance where they both walked away unharmed, it was simply not possible, the betrayal was too big.

[twinsfawn]

things that have altered my brain chemistry working as a psych nurse and ER nurse

taking care of a man on the psych floor who had shot himself in the neck and doing his wound care every night, chatting about his work/kids/etc. i still think about him and hope he’s doing well

the sound of a family member’s screams and cries of grief after being told that they were unable to revive their ten year old girl

sitting outside the bathroom and assisting while my coworker sat with her patient who was actively miscarrying over the toilet. that’s the only time i’ve seen a miscarriage that far along (14 weeks) and i could actually tell it was a fetus and not just blood clots. was extremely surreal and sad. the grief of mothers who were really excited for a baby will always stick with me

taking care of (often elderly) people who are transfers from nursing homes/other care facilities and witnessing the disgusting neglect that they experience

the time my patient on a heparin drip decided to try to go over the side rail on the stretcher and fell, my heart was in my throat (he ended up being okay, no brain bleed or anything)

having to force a patient to stay in the ER because she said she had an active plan to kill herself. she had been through physical and sexual abuse at the hands of her partner and he had also sex trafficked her. she was extremely angry and upset that we couldn’t let her leave and was verbally taking it out on staff (which is par for the course and i don’t hold it against her at all). i cried in the bathroom at the end of that shift.

being treated as dispensable workhorses by managers/charge nurses/administrators. having to grit my teeth through situations that feel unsafe for both staff and patients because we’re ridiculously understaffed or whatever other bullshit. feeling completely drained at the end of a shift, both mentally and physically. feeling like my body is deteriorating in my 20s from being overworked.

those rare moments when i feel like i’ve actually done something impactful. when patients/family members take the time to show their appreciation. when i can offer relief from immense physical and mental discomfort. when i fight and advocate for my patients no matter what kind of pushback i get. i’m a persistent cunt and i’m proud of it. when i’m not drowning with my assignment and actually have time to go above and beyond for someone. when my coworkers express admiration for how i handled something (not flexing, this is a rare occurrence but always gives me a little boost of confidence and pride in my nursing/problem solving skills)

[witchysquirrel]

Epiphany

Chapter Twelve

“Ravenna!” Rhys boomed, wrapping her into a hug and kissing her on the cheek as if he’d not seen her merely 20 minutes ago. 

“Rhysand,” she laughed, then stepped aside. “This is Fetrin, my childhood friend from the Dawn Court.”

Rhys extended his hand to the male with a broad smile on his face, though Ravenna could see the silvery glow in his eyes that dared Fetrin to say the wrong thing, and the air was thick with the darkness that his power exuded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Rhys said. “Anyone who’s a friend of this one is a friend of ours.”

“Pleased to meet you. It seems she’s been well taken care of here,” Fetrin replied, bowing his head to Rhys. 

“She takes care of herself very well,” Rhysand corrected. “And takes care of the rest of us too, now that I think of it.” With that, he winked at the pair and headed off in the opposite direction. “Enjoy the party! Send Thesan my regards!”

Fetrin watched him leave, and then leaned down to Ravenna’s ear. “He is extremely scary,” he said over the din of the party. Ravenna laughed, genuinely, in response.

“He is scary, but he means well,” she added, finishing her glass with a giggle.

“I believe you. Another drink?” he proposed, his right hand falling to rest on the small of her back. 

“Please,” Ravenna answered, allowing him to guide her back towards the bar. She was feeling the freedom that the alcohol allowed her, and couldn’t remember why she had been nervous in the first place. The orchestra played beautifully, the crescendo of the music reverberating in her chest. She ordered a cocktail, and the pair floated back to the edge of the room. 

“Tell me more about you,” Ravenna said, sipping her drink and raising an eyebrow at him. “You’re not the kid I knew anymore.” 

“I’ve done a lot, since… since then. Studied philosophy for a while, did some more military service. Traveled some,” he answered, one hand in the pocket of his pants. 

“Married?” Ravenna asked as casually as possible.

He chuckled. “Never. My parents tried a few more arrangements but… I think work just takes up too much of my time.”

“I know that all too well,” she replied. “Sometimes I prefer it that way.”

“I don’t believe for a minute that you’re still on the market, Ravenna,” Fetrin said, shaking his head slightly. 

“Believe it,” she replied with a laugh. “I’ve been told my lifestyle isn’t quite what most males are looking for.” She scanned the ballroom, the hall glowing in contrast to the sky that was now dark with twilight, stars sparkling in the distance. Subconsciously, Ravenna knew she was looking for the points of Illyrian wings above the crowd, but when her eyes finally landed on Cassian talking with a group of soldiers she knew, her chest fluttered. She quickly returned her attention to Fetrin.

“My mother said something similar to me last week. That no one wants to marry a workhorse,” Fetrin replied, making a face. “But I don’t have nearly the same amount of charm as you.”

Ravenna leaned into his shoulder, nudging him slightly. “As charming as I may be, I prefer to just do my job, most of the time.” She glanced in Cassian’s direction again, surprised to meet his gaze. He gave her a small smile, before she averted her eyes again. 

“What does healing entail outside of wartime?” Fetrin asked. 

“Mostly helping people recover from their injuries, doing home visits for wound care in the city and things of that nature,” she answered. “The immediate post-war period is always the busiest. What about you?”

“In short, I attend a great deal of meetings and respond to an even greater deal of correspondence between the High Lords and their other allies on the Continent. A glorified messenger,” he conveyed, rubbing his chin. 

“You most certainly work more in collaboration with the High Lord than I do,” Ravenna said, “and I’m sure Thesan is a much better companion than Rhysand.” The pair laughed together, and Fetrin nodded emphatically. 

“Thesan isn’t old enough to scare me yet.”

They talked about their lives, where they’d been, how their parents were, how the places they frequented when they were young had changed. There seemed to be an endless supply of things to be updated on, and they found themselves chatting like old friends – Ravenna tried not to think about the subtext that they were chatting like he hadn’t killed the love of her life and then tried to marry her afterwards. 

Ravenna finished her drink. “Do you want to dance with me?”

Fetrin nodded, and her head felt fuzzy as he offered her his hand. She took it, allowing him to lead her through the crowd to the dance floor in the center of the room. They discarded their empty glasses on a nearby table, and Fetrin swept her into position, one hand on her waist. She took his hand, resting the other on the crest of his shoulder. She had to choke back the feelings that brimmed at the familiar scent of him now that he was so close. He carried her across the floor, the other patrons blurring in her peripheral vision. 

The first song that played was heavy with fiddle, quick and flighty, with lots of spinning. Ravenna reveled in the music, enhanced by the buzz in her head, and giggled the whole time. Fetrin kept her upright and headed in the right direction, and that was all she needed. The next song that played was much slower, more dramatic and sensual than the one before. She looked up at Fetrin, and he pulled her slightly closer by her waist, both hands resting just above her hips. She swayed with him, looked up at him from below dark lashes, until the music picked up slightly and he spun her once more. When Fetrin released her to twirl, she met Cassian’s gaze from across the room. His eyes were dark, siphons flickering vaguely as he watched her. The music carried her back around and into Fetrin’s arms, the scent of him overwhelming her again. 

He needs to watch his hands. 

Ravenna’s cheeks grew hot at the sound of Cassian in her head, barely more than a growl. She continued to dance, floating across the floor as her dark hair flowed over her shoulder behind her. The gown she’d chosen was perfect for dancing, the cape that flowed from the skirts sparkling as she moved.

I’m serious, Ravenna.

It’s just dancing. I’ll be done with him soon.

They danced for a few more songs, until the music slowed to a pace where they were able to catch their breath. 

“When do you go back to Dawn?” Ravenna asked.

“Tomorrow morning,” Fetrin replied. “I’ve got a meeting to get back for.”

“So many meetings,” Ravenna breathed. “You sound exactly like all of my friends. Everything is always so political.”

Fetrin laughed. “There are always decisions to be made, pawns to be moved, I guess.”

“I only wonder where the humans fit into all of it,” Ravenna said with a sigh. 

“I do too,” Fetrin said, eyes softening. Ravenna let the silence sit for a moment after that, determining where to go from there. 

“I went on a mission once,” she started, “we’d invaded this mansion on the Continent, it was some sort of rescue mission. There were a number of injured and dead and it was my job to recover the casualties and heal as much as possible in the field.” He watched her intently as they danced, slowly swaying together. 

“Only two of those I healed from there had injuries from the invasion itself,” she continued. “The rest were human slaves that were being kept within the house, so badly beaten that I could only provide minimal relief.” She held her breath as she waited for Fetrin’s response. 

“That is despicable,” he said quietly, shaking his head. “It’s despicable that it’s not completely outlawed throughout Prythian and beyond.”

“Isn’t it? I’ve always hoped something would change, but after that it became hard to ignore,” she returned.

“I’m hopeful something will change one day,” he said. “With the right people in charge.” Ravenna smiled up at him genuinely, detecting no mistruth. They danced one last song together, before he led her from the floor and went to fetch water. They stood together in silence as they caught their breath and sipped the water from crystal chalices he’d found at the bar. 

“I wanted to tell you how sorry I am,” Fetrin said, “for everything that happened, back then.” They stood facing each other, and Ravenna tried to keep her face neutral as she responded.

“I know. It’s okay.”

“No. I took him from you because I thought I deserved you more. I was young and stupid and I’m so fucking sorry.”

Ravenna had not expected this from him, after so many years, and she wasn’t sure exactly what she should say next. She’d gotten the information she needed, she could really say anything she wanted at this point. 

“It’s okay, Fetrin. I forgave the kid who did that a long time ago,” she told him, and she meant it now. She didn’t think they should’ve married regardless, they clearly weren’t all that compatible – but his mistake was a childish one, and they had been so young, so impulsive and immature. 

He gave her a grateful smile, almost a pitiful one, and she tried to mirror the expression on his face as he stepped slightly closer to her. “I’m glad you invited me,” Fetrin told her, reaching out and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “You look as beautiful as ever, by the way.”

She felt herself starting to get an anxious feeling again, unsure of how she would say no if he made a move on her. Ravenna forced the corners of her mouth to turn upwards into a smile as he gazed into her eyes, but she broke eye contact a moment later to take another sip of water. Her liquid courage had worn off, and now she was just drunk and nervous. 

She took a deep breath, wetting her lips. She turned at the sound of someone coughing awfully close to her.

“Did you save me a dance?” Ravenna turned to find Cassian, hands poised behind his back, an expression she couldn’t identify on his face. 

“Oh of course!” she mused, grateful for the interruption. She turned back to Fetrin. “Fetrin, this is Cassian, General of the Night Court. Cassian, meet Fetrin.”

The two males shook hands, a tentative smile on Cassian’s face. “Do you mind if I steal my dear friend for a dance? She saved my life recently, so I feel like it’s necessary,” Cassian told him. 

“Be my guest,” Fetrin answered, tipping his head. 

Cassian outstretched his hand to Ravenna. 

Come dance with me. 

She slipped her hand into his and followed him back out to the dancefloor. 

You’re moving pretty confidently for someone who’s not the best dancer. Ravenna’s laugh echoed through his head and he couldn’t help but join. Finally he took her waist in his hands, pulling her into him. Her hands found his shoulders and they moved across the floor together, awkwardly at first, until Cassian let a giggling Ravenna take the lead. 

“How’d it go?” he asked, once they were far enough away. 

“Good, actually,” she said. “It was nice to talk with him.”

“He was getting a little handsy there for a second,” Cassian replied, a hint of warning in his tone.

“You are so overdramatic,” Ravenna teased, rolling her eyes. “Jealous maybe?”

Cassian raised an eyebrow. “No,” he insisted. “I’d never be jealous of an emissary,” She beamed up at him at those words, letting him twirl her again. 

“Your wings are looking really good, by the way,” Ravenna added.

“Thank you. I can even use a sword again,” he said with a wink. 

They traversed the floor a few more times, laughing drunkenly as they moved to the music. When the song finished, he pushed her back in Fetrin’s direction and stalked off, looking back once to watch her walk away with a smile on her face.

Ravenna stumbled back to Fetrin, the remnants of the smile Cassian had left her with still painting her features. He looked amused, waiting for her to return.

“You didn’t tell me you had a mate,” he said as she approached, brow furrowed ever so slightly. 

She looked at him, with her head cocked sideways, her smile turning to confusion. “What do you mean?”

“The General,” Fetrin said plainly. “He’s your mate, no?”

Ravenna’s mouth went dry, her stomach dropping. “No, he’s not my mate,” she said, voice dull. Her mind was racing faster than she could keep up with, thoughts ricocheting off of other thoughts causing her head to throb. Fetrin didn’t know them. He was just mistaken. That had to be the explanation.

“Ravenna…” he said, hesitantly, the look on his face a mixture of fear and realization. “You didn’t know, did you?”

She shook her head. “I mean no, we’re not mates so there’s nothing for me to not know.”

His face read pure pity. “You have no reason to, but trust me on this. That is your mate. Whether either of you has realized it yet or not.”

“He has a girlfriend,” Ravenna replied, raising her eyebrows at the male.

Fetrin shrugged. “Do you think the mating bond cares?”

“I don’t know!” She felt like she had been punched in the gut, like all the air had left her. She wondered then, if Cassian knew. Or if Rhys or Azriel had sensed it already, had all known it before she had.

“Let me walk you home,” Fetrin said quietly, offering her his arm. She latched onto it and followed him out of the ballroom wordlessly. “I know it’s a lot to digest.”

“I’m not even 100% sure I believe you,” she said. “I mean it’s just your opinion.”

“I’ve seen lots of mating bonds take shape over the years. I saw the way you looked at each other, the way you fit together. It’s inevitable.”

“What am I supposed to do about it? Break up his relationship for my own benefit?”

He pursed his lips, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked. “It’s a sticky situation, for sure. Time will tell.”

They walked the rest of the way into town in silence, Ravenna trying to focus on walking in a straight line. She had already not been able to handle her feelings for Cassian, but she had thought they were just feelings. A mating bond was different, and she couldn’t help but wonder if that was why his voice in her head felt so right. She couldn’t process it, and she briefly wondered where Mor was, as she hadn’t seen her since the beginning of the night. She doubted Mor would know what to say, but she felt like she needed to tell someone, to see if they agreed with Fetrin. Maybe she looked stupid, and it was obvious to everyone else. 

They made it to the street below the House of Wind and Ravenna turned back to Fetrin. “This is where I leave,” she said. “I’m really glad you came.”

“Me too,” he told her, moving his hair from his eyes. “I’m sorry if I told you something you weren’t ready to hear yet.”

“It’s okay, maybe I needed to hear it,” Ravenna replied. “Thank you Fetrin.”

Before he could reply, she winnowed above the wards that guarded the House, and made a rough landing in the courtyard.

-

Epiphany Masterlist

[masterqwertster]

Because it's been rolling around in my head for a while thanks to the Indigo Disk DLC release...

Bells Hells Pokémon Teams!

These are all vibe based, limited to the six Pokémon teams, and everyone gets at least one Legendary and Shiny. Some will be evolutionary lines because I could see them coming into the campaign unevolved.

Chetney

Stoutland- received as a Lillipup when Chet was a kid, this majestic old dog is his oldest companion. I think Stoutland speaks nicely to Chetney having a pretty normal life before he became a werewolf. Aslo, Chet can ride his Stoutland around, which is fun

Phantump- met as Chet trained in the Bramblewood, this spirit of a child in a tree stump/wood fell in love with Chetney's toy carving. Chet loves the joy this Pokémon feels with every project

Snover/Abamasnow- this tree Pokémon was caught during the Icelost years that Chet was present for in Tal'Dorei

Banette- Chetney is worried about his toycraft becoming obsolete, and this Pokémon is an abandoned toy. Also Chet talked about letting his grudges stew before werewolfdom

Lycanroc (Midnight Form, Shiny)- it's a Pokémon with something like the classical wolfman-werewolf shape, so werewolf vibes, baby! Caught after Chet got lycanthropy, shiny because it matches Chet's original color scheme

Zacian- look, it's a wolf that's set to shank a bitch. Tell me that doesn't vibe with Chetney

Orym

Sirfetch'd- Flying-type with a sword and shield, obviously meant for Mr Sword and Shield of the Air Ashari

Honedge/Doublade/Aegislash- Orym's memento of his husband that always travels with him is Will's sword, so the ghost sword(and later sword/shield combo) makes sense for Oym

Comfey- friendly cute flowers for Mr Druidcraft gifts

Pidgey/Pidgeotto/Pidgeot- the normal-est bird for the normal-est guy. Yet capable and more striking the further down the line they get

Appletun (Shiny)- got it in Byroden as a reminder to enjoy life and pie. Also, little guy solidarity. Shiny because green apple for Orym who wears green

Shaymin- more friendly flowers for Orym, and the Sky Form is a little fighter like him

Fearne

Darumaka- Fearne needs a fire monkey to mirror Little Mister and this is the round fire monkey shaped like the Little Mister plush

Braixen/Delphox- fire Pokémon with a bit of a witch aesthetic for the fire girl of the Witchy Bitches

Impidimp- a Fairy-type with a mischievous streak for our mischievous fey

Skiddo/Gogoat- for the goat-ness of being a faun and a little druidic Grass-type

Gloom/Vileplume (Shiny)- for Fearne's love of poisonous flowers. And shiny because it's green and orange, which are Fearne's colors

Moltres- a burning phoenix Pokémon that Fearne worries will take on the Galarian Form that her Bad Future Self had

Imogen

Mudsdale- workhorse for the farmgirl who loves horses

Ponyta (Galarian)- cute unicorn pony with Psychic typing (not Galarian Rapidash because I think it's ugly)

Blitzle/Zebstrika (Shiny)- the Electric-type "horse" (zebras are close, okay?) Pokémon for our storming electrical Horse Girl. And shiny because Zebstrika is purple when shiny

Hattrem/Hatterene- Imogen's witch Pokémon. It's Psychic-type and sensitive to emotions, making it sort of like her mindreading

Elgyem/Beheeyem- Psychic-type and kind of alien-ish and said to mess with people's heads, this Pokémon showed up to Imogen after her Exaltant powers awakened

Spectrier- Legendary horse that comes in Imogen's two colors: purple and red

Laudna

Rattata (Alolan)- to mirror Pâté. Potentially shiny as the deep red and black are Laudna's colors

Mimikyu (Shiny)- a broken doll-like Pokémon for a person who feels like a broken doll. And shiny makes it a pale black and white like Laudna

Mismagius- Laudna's witch Pokémon, and ghostly of course (Also collar gems like Delilah?)

Leavanny- a bit of a crafter Pokémon and protective of kids

Meowth (Galarian)- the Alolan Meowth and Kantonian Persian are the kind of Pokémon I could see noble ladies having, so Laudna decided to catch her own Meowth... and ended up with a scrungly Galarian one. But she loves them anyways

Marshadow- it's shadow theme matches Laudna's Shadow Sorcerery. And Laudna does spend time trying to copy the Ladies of Whitestone...

FCG

Togepi/Togetic/Togekiss- Pokémon that are about bestowing happiness, because that's all FCG wants for their friends. Possibly not enthused by Togekiss being so bird-like, while Togetic is definitely on the edge of comfortable

Happiny/Chansey/Blissey- classic Pokémon Center helper and healers line for the cleric

Porygon/Porygon 2/Porygon-Z- artificial Pokémon for the artificially made person. The bird-ish shape might weird FCG out a bit

Fidough/Dachsbund- obtained after they got their oven installed, this Pokémon helps FCG with his baking endeavors

Iron Thorns- secret Aeorian rage-mode Pokémon since Future Paradox Pokémon look like robots and Tyranitar, which Iron Thorns is based off of, is known for raging around (also reflects Ashton having a Tyranitar a bit)

Magearna- a man-made clockwork Legendary for the Aeormaton

Ashton

Golett/Golurk (Shiny)- a rock person Pokémon for an actual rock person. And they're also powered by mysterious energies. Probably Ashton's original Pokémon. Shiny for green glow lines

Tyranitar- acquired as a Larvitar in Bassuras and a point of pride to have fully evolved given the reputation of such a Pokémon in that city

Tinkaton- also caught in Bassuras as a Tinkatink. It's a Pokémon with a big hammer and the evolutionary line would probably be semi-common in the scrap heaps of Bassuras (Also the Corviknight hunting as a get rid of birds that FCG fears/hates)

Growlithe/Arcanine(Hisuian)- for Ashton's strong loyalties. Possibly acquired after attempting to absorb the Spark of Rau'shan for the Fire/Rock typing, or just had since a kid from Hishari

Cosmog- suddenly appeared after Ashton got galaxy-brained because it's a little galaxy guy from another (higher?) dimension. It's Ashton's innocent baby who doesn't know how to stay in the damn pokéball and not reveal his soft side

Regigigas- this is the big titan Pokémon, hauling continents and shit. Not to mention that the Slow Start ability reflects how Ashton had a titan shard for twenty years before they really got it to do anything spectacular

[weaselle]

actually after adding this story to another post i got so mad i'm making it a separate post

when i was a kid in a musical production of Peter Pan I got a largish role which was awesome, but i was already self conscious about my voice and during rehearsals for one of the songs the director came up onto the stage squinting like he had a mouth full of lemon juice and stalked up and down in front of us until finally he zeroed in on me and had us all stop singing and then had just me alone sing a couple lines and nodded and said "yeah, you don't sing anymore, just mouth the words silently" and then told the kids on either side of me to sing a little louder to cover it...

and no amount of knowing logically that he was wrong for doing that has helped me overcome my fear of singing in front of people after that

and there have been some other times people (looking at you, mother) have said things to similar effect

the real hell of it is, i'm like... i have a lot of songs in me. i'm constantly writing original songs that i'm too afraid to sing for anyone

here are a few. they each have a specific melody.. I wish you could hear them

i don't feel like complainin' 'bout my life today and i ain't got a lot to brag about so i'm just usin' this music to keep movin' and i don't mind if i'm a part of your show so look at life all over and it can be rough if gettin' is your goal you won't get enough but i got me and i'm free an' warm spinnin' and grinnin' in the eye of the storm

i don't need to be winnin' while i'm gamin' and i don't feel like a losin' man no winnin' or losin' i guess that leaves playin' and i don't mind if i'm a part of your band

they say this race of rats is crazy it's dog eat dog they need a sheep to be a workhorse and go whole hog well i'm no genius most of the time but at least i can be nobody's fool but mine

at least i can be! nobody's fool but mine

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

I don’t care … I don’t care if this minute is our last you can bet I’ll be living it before I let it past

(repeat)

Plan in command like a band with a marching tune, dooming our duo when you go embarking soon, damn I’m just glad that we had this hot interlude, hoping we’ll pause and not stop ‘cause I’m into you! checking the phone when alone for the text – that gives me this feeling I’m reeling I’m blessed – the sex is appealing for real but the rest of the sum of your parts makes my heart beat its chest

I don’t care … I don’t care if this minute is our last you can bet I’ll be loving it before I let it past

(repeat)

a decade ago we met lost and were friends christened our roads and then crossed them again we played and we dated like it ain’t a thing but lately our hook-up is more than a fling the two of us truly unduly effected - direction of goals that we hold gonna wreck it but check it I’m with it I’m livin’ it reckless to be where you’re breathin’ is leavin’ me breathless

I don’t care … I don’t care if this minute is our last you can bet I’ll be loving you before I let it past

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

I went to bed lonely, found waking I’d only held dreams of you… In Dreamland I dwelt, but those feelings I felt still seem so true… I dreamt you still wanted me, that’s what’s still haunting me deep in my heart… though awake I believe in the many good reasons we’re keeping apart…

I cry diamonds! I weep songs of may never be I cry gemstones! each one a good memory each action taken, all of the fine bad and more I’d never trade them, these tears are my dragon’s hoard

I’m happy to see you, I knew that would be true our love never could end… I would swear an oath, this is best for us both and you’re still my good friend… but some nights my soul just doesn’t feel whole when I’m not by your side… so I add to and hold, all the jewels and the gold that I’ve already cried…

I cry diamonds! I weep songs of may never be I cry gemstones! each one a good memory each action taken, all of the fine bad and more I’d never trade them, these tears are my dragon’s hoard

So I’ll seek out adventure, eventually enter a time. when. I… leave this treasure heap, spread my wings and leap into the sky… I’ve dreams I believe in but please know that even when I. reach. them… I’ll visit these memories, loving and tenderly holding each gem..

I cry diamonds! I weep songs of may never be I cry gemstones! each one a good memory each action taken, all of the fine bad and more I’d never trade them…

these tears are my dragon’s hoard

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

i wanna go off… i’ll go on the run- i wanna go big… go off like a gun they tell me come on just do as i’m told stop dreaming of hot find joy in this cold but i want the heat (oh yes) i want to feel warm! don’t want to repeat (this mess) don’t want to conform

still i pay my taxes i jump through the hoops it never relaxes: life lived in a loop

I want to go off… go off like a gun! a bright shooting star- as hot as the sun

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

my best my best is what i give i never rest i never live but i don’t die i try to grip this liquid life inside my fist is this a test what must i learn if this is hell oh well i’ll burn and use my body as a meal is this what godly beings feel?

so come the worst i’ll curse and taaaake it if i don’t try this life is waaaaasted I’ll struggle puzzled cold and naaaaaaked and hold to hope that i will maaaake it and if i don’t then may my bones out in the garden over-grown be turned into some little home for those as lost and as alone

the stars all wheel over head it’s always heal or be dead i must i know let go of dread and trust my questing steps instead

the day will play and i will daaaance it i’ll set my bet down and i’ll chaaaaance it with danger hurtful flirt romaaaaaaantic make my own wish, insist i graaaaant it

my best my best is what i give i never rest but do i live still i don’t die i try to grip this liquid life inside my fist…

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

i said i'm a tramp hobo and bum an' one mean son an' that's okay i said i'm a tramp i know but lovin' keeps on comin' my-y way

some times i'm just a drifter who's down on his luck but a smile from the Lady tips my own lips up!

down and out i ain't got nothin' but my laugh and my tough an' my-y name down and out my main skill bluffin' it's enough in thi-is game

my rhymes are just a whistle i'm hummin' along but with some help from the Lady i can sing this song!

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

maybe i'll find a singer or some musicians to partner up with

[miracles-and-butterflies]

Reincarnation AU: Luisa’s Key Songs

Luisa Amalia Rojas Madrigal, The Strong One, The Family Jock & Athlete, The Workhorse, The Victim, Muscles Almost Erased, Proud Dog Mom, Construction Lover, Coffee Addict, Secret Theatre Kid, As Tough As The Crust Of The Earth Is™

Surface Pressure by Jessica Darrow, from Encanto

9 to 5 by Dolly Parton

California Girls by Katy Perry

Dancing Queen by ABBA

Die Young by Kesha

Get Down by Brittany Mack, from SIX the Musical

Girls Just Wanna Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper

Hard Times by Paramore

I’m Still Standing covered by Annapantsu

The Best of Both Worlds by Miley Cyrus, from Hannah Montana

Wannabe by the Spice Girls