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kqutie · 1 day ago

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GROUP EFFORT x SLEEPY MAMA

relations. : platonic avengers/single mother reader ; romantic pairing still undecided

sum. : you're exhausted and happily fall asleep with vinny but your son has other plans now that his favourite heroes were close by

tags. : single mother reader ; baby is inspired by Jack-Jack from ‘the incredibles’ ; fluff ; slight crack fic ; comfort fic ; baby!oc ; widowed reader ; baby has multiple powers ; domestic fluff ; avengers babysitting a super baby

length : 3.4k

← part one | series masterlist

You explained your situation with Vinny as thoroughly as you could in your sleep-deprived state while he slept in your arms. Your STEM background habitually prompted you to provide your hypothesis on the matter, which Bruce and Tony perked up and shared a look at. Both appeared to immediately take a mental note of researching the incident with your husband later. The team vaguely remembered the event when it first happened and dominated the headlines. It was dubbed as a freak accident that happened too quickly to be stopped; they were gutted that even they couldn’t do something about it. Naturally, they had questions but were hesitant to inquire when you were noticeably slipping in and out of consciousness.

Natasha furrows her brows in sympathy as she observes you and gradually moves her gaze down to Vinny. Despite your exhausted state, you force yourself to maintain your posture and continue safely cradling your son, prioritising his comfort over your own. She can only imagine the amount of stress you had undergone the last few days of having to take care of a son with rapidly expanding powers. ‘Just a normal person’ was what you called yourself, someone who was ‘incapable of properly caring’ for your son and his powers no matter how much you were willing to stick it out. In the end, you had to call it quits. She admired your resilience and maternal drive, all of them did and they were more than willing to help you. It was definitely a bizarre case but, rather than figure things out now, it was more important to ensure your and Vinny’s wellbeing.

“How about we call it a night for now?” Steve suggests as you hand over the list you had written up, detailing the extent of Vinny’s acquired powers. It was an extensive list composed of several scraps of paper and sticky notes. The team's eyes collectively bulge at the sizable amount of notations.

“Does he have super speed like me?” Pietro blurts out in excitement, eager to potentially have someone who can finally keep up with his speed.

“I don’t know… maybe it’ll manifest one day. The list only seems to keep growing,” you try to smile but you’re so tired it comes out as more of a grimance.

“Stay the night,” Tony says with fixed conviction, “it’s gotten late and you came to us for help with the baby, right?” Pepper smiles beside him and nods in agreement. The couple stand side by side, already settled on the decision and it appears as though nobody else was going to contest it.

“We have plenty of rooms available. I’ll be happy to take you and Vinny to one,” Pepper offers as Tony nods with his usual charming grin. Neither gives you the chance to object nor does the rest of the team—all are determined to lend you a helping hand. Looking at their kind expressions made you tear up. It was such a relief. You haven’t felt this supported since your late husband was alive.

“Y-yes please,”

“It’s settled then, over to you Ms Potts,” Tony gives the curve of Pepper’s butt a small pat as he moves away, “I’ll get the staff to bring up a cot as soon as possible,” The team follow the couple’s lead and wish you a goodnight as Pepper begins leading you to the available bedrooms with Vinny still asleep in your arms.

𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧

The team remain in the living room discussing the current events. Pepper had informed them of which room you were sleeping in for the night when she came back, it was one of the bigger rooms considering they were organising a cot to be put in for Vinny, it also had an ensuite and small kitchenette for your convenience.

The cot was taking a while to acquire and build due to the suddenness of the request but you assured her that having no cot wasn’t an ‘end of the world’ thing, you were more than happy to sleep with Vinny in the same bed. In fact, you had recently gotten into the habit so that you were easily alerted whenever Vinny spontaneously did something with his powers. However, Pepper doubts you would wake so easily in your sleep-deprived state; you fell asleep the instant your head hit the pillow. Thankfully, Vinny remains fast asleep beside you.

“You think it was the gamma rays, Bruce?” Tony asks nonchalantly as he settles himself atop the sofa arm, snacking on chocolate-covered almonds.

“It’s highly likely,” Bruce has been absorbed in research ever since you had left the room, typing away on his laptop. “Reports of the incident don’t flag up anything suspicious happening,” Tony raises a brow and there’s a knowing silence that fills the room momentarily, “...but we may just need to do some more digging,” Bruce was willing to continue his research but Tony insisted on the work day being over and the need for a good work-life balance. All Pepper’s influence.

“We can continue the research tomorrow, Banner. Meeting a teleporting, multi-superpowered baby warrants some rest for the night, at least,” With a shake of his head, Bruce relents to Tony’s insistence and finally closes his laptop. Pepper looks at her fianceé proudly, Tony has come so far and has truly grown into the hero many admire him to be. His under-eyes are looking much healthier too. After his initial hesitation, Bruce and Tony join everyone else in the central living room again.

“Will the baby and his mother be staying here for a long time?” Thor asks thoughtfully, leaning back into the sofa as Loki contemplates the question beside him. It makes sense for the mother and son duo to stay considering how unpredictable the child’s powers are.

“It would be for the best,” Steve announces, receiving a nod of agreement from the majority. “The baby needs to be analysed so we can better help the mother and separating the two is entirely out of the question.”

“We’re not subjecting the child to any experiments though, right?” Bucky asks, a hardness coming over his expression and darkening his features. Everyone holds their breath and looks to Tony for answers. It was a collective look that pleaded opposition to the idea. In their line of work, experimentation on children was, unfortunately, a common occurrence and was something they actively pursued in putting an end to.

“Surely not,” Natasha says lowly through gritted teeth. Everyone understood how important the topic was to her.

“‘Course, not.” Tony states matter-of-factly and shrugs, “There are ways of collecting data without having to partake in those old-school, traumatising experiments,”

The Maximoff twins look at one another before Pietro suggests the obvious, “So… babysitting?” Tony shoots him with a pair of finger guns and cheerfully announces his victory.

“I’m afraid no prize for you though—”

A giggle cuts through the room and everyone turns to the source immediately. Not again.

Sat on the coffee table was Vinny, no longer asleep and having teleported into the living room once more. For a moment, nobody knows what to say or do until Vinny reaches his arms up, claps and giggles happily while staring up at Bucky, his little arms still raised. The supersoldier’s expression softens considerably at the child, his heart warmed by the infant’s glittering eyes and gummy smile. Giving a small wave and wiggling his fingers, Bucky is rewarded by another giggle before Vinny makes grabbing motions at him with his small, pudgy, baby hands. The gesture, however, makes him pause entirely.

“That means he wants you to pick him up, Cyborg,” Sam laughs at his friend’s frozen state, it was hilarious to see someone who was usually so stoic and threatening become a headless chicken in front of a baby.

Slow and steady, Bucky reaches out and takes Vinny in his arms. The infant squeals in delight and kicks his legs when the soldier lifts him into the air before settling him on his lap to face the rest of the team. Vinny leans back against Bucky with a smug-looking grin as the brooding assassin sits rigidly behind him and whose large hands keep him in place by grasping his small torso on either side. It almost scares him how his fingertips touch when holding Vinny – the child is so tiny, so pudgy, soft, and fragile. Bucky’s face goes stock-still as does his limbs — he becomes indistinguishable from a stone statue.

Pietro, Clint and Tony burst out laughing at the sight, pointing fingers at Bucky and making little Vinny grin in delight, their tangible joy is infectious to him. Even Sam is snickering from Bucky’s peripheral, no longer worried about getting hit upside the head since the supersoldier was otherwise preoccupied. Finding their laughter contagious too, Vinny joins in, oblivious to the glaring super soldier whose lap he was happily seated on.

“He looks like a little prince in an oil painting sitting on a throne!” Pietro comments in between gasps of laughter. Tony snaps a picture and everyone slowly sees the vision Pietro had been calling out. It was comical. Clint was desperately gasping for breath as Loki snickered under his breath and Thor agreed to the ‘little prince’ observation.

“That child makes for an excellent prince!”

“But a throne? More like a stone statue,” Sam snorts as Steve struggles to keep a straight face.

“Not. Funny.” Bucky growls lowly, paying no mind to the way the child in his lap plays with his fingers, unsuccessfully trying to pry his grip off his torso whilst babbling incoherent words.

“You having fun, little guy?” Steve asks, leaning down to meet eyes with Vinny who responds happily, although in his nonsensical baby language. “I see, I’m glad,” Vinny prattles on again and holds a conversation with the soft-eyed, gently smiling captain for a good two minutes as the rest of the team looks fondly at the scene.

Moments like this were what life was about.

Evenings with the entire team were an eagerly anticipated activity, however, to have such a precious child join in on the event was a welcome occurrence. It felt like a family coming together to indulge in each other’s warm company. It was calm and mundane but it was what everyone craves atop the tumultuous life they lead.

“What did the child say?” Thor’s booming voice cuts through the conversation and Steve turns to find him with a wide smile, eagerly anticipating an answer.

With a roll of his eyes and a tsk, Loki answers before Steve can utter a word of explanation, “The captain doesn’t actually understand the child, he’s just entertaining it,”

“It’s ‘he’, not ‘it’, Loki,” Wanda corrects but is ignored by the god.

“But they were conversing rather fluently just then,” Thor insists. Sometimes the group wonders if the Thunder God liked to play dumb just to annoy his younger sibling.

“It doesn’t matter, the captain was speaking properly whilst the child wasn’t speaking any coherent language,” The two continue to bicker the way siblings do, as usual, while everyone else turns back to Vinny. The child, however, keeps his gaze locked on the two gods, his round, doe eyes transfixed on them with a blank expression before he suddenly smiles and squeals.

“Ahh-yah!” the room suddenly shakes, as if a minor earthquake had occurred and the gods finally stop bickering. Everyone’s attention was on Vinny again. Wide-eyed, Bruce scours through the list of powers you handed over earlier and tries to find some sort of explanation.

“What the hell was that?” Tony breathes in disbelief and turns to his lab partner, “Banner?”

“I think it’s the ‘loud sound (crying, cheering, laughing) = earthquake’,”

“Echokinesis…” the two scientists conclude at the same time.

Tony slowly swipes his hands down his face, “This kid is gonna be a handful,” everyone stares, wide-eyed at the giggling child still sitting on Bucky’s lap. Vinny gurgles happily at the attention before assuming the stares are to commence one of his favourite games. Bringing his small, chubby hands up to his face, Vinny covers his eyes, cooing softly before revealing his eyes with a ‘dah!’. His proud grin is more gums than teeth but he’s just happy to play one of his favourite games ever.

The adorable display makes the team smile, easily forgetting the earlier incident of uncontrolled power displayed by the innocent babe. Vinny continues playing peek-a-boo with everyone, who gradually joins in, Wanda being the most enthusiastic as she softly sings ‘peek-a-boo’ to the baby opposite her. Vinny had joined the light singing as well but with muddled coos instead. All is well and nerves have just begun to settle as Vinny covers his eyes for about the umpteenth time, elongating the innocent game. However, the team doesn’t mind as long as the baby is entertained and not crying.

“Peek…a…boo!” Wanda sings once more but, this time, when Vinny reveals his eyes from under his small baby hands, two tunnels of bright green light shoot forward and everyone on the other side of the room ducks for cover. The parallel laser beams reached as far as the opposite wall and almost tore straight through it. As Vinny’s merry giggles fill the air, everyone slowly regains their composure and stares in disbelief at the destroyed couch.

“The kid has fucking laser eyes too?!” Clint exclaims in disbelief, slack-jawed at the destructive evidence of Vinny’s power.

“Language,” Steve promptly reprimands despite his own astonishment at the child’s display while Bucky had promptly covered Vinny’s tiny ears with his hands. Loki laughs joyfully, looking at your babbling baby boy with glittering amusement.

“What an incredibly gifted child,” Loki praises with a smirk, his hair tousled by the scuffle but he pays it no mind.

It was then that Vinny reached his little arms up to Natasha, babbling happily before changing his mind and turning to Tony, only to change his mind again and make grabby hands at Thor. Everyone watches as the infant conflicts with himself, not knowing who he wants to be held by more before he falls forward and tumbles out of Bucky’s arms, or rather a duplicate of him does. In fact, a swarm of baby Vinnys fall off Bucky’s lap and begin shakily waddling over to a different avenger each.

“Oh my…” Natasha gasps, cuddling a happily cooing Vinny to her chest — a duplicate one, at least. Looking around, every Avenger was made to cradle a duplicate baby as they tried to contain their shock and amazement. “This is crazy…”

“Wh-what do we do?” Pietro asks no one in particular as Wanda tries not to fawn over the baby Vinny in her arms.

“Just make sure he doesn’t start crying or they’ll all start crying and the tower will end up collapsing on everyone because of their echo-kiss-thing,” Sam advises, panic swimming in his eyes as he remembers the shrieks of his baby nephews and how they had the power to make all nearby adults cry with them too.

“N-now we don’t necessarily know if the baby can use more than one power at once or if his duplicates can perform powers atop the duplication. But I think it’s safe to say that that’s not the case–” Bruce cuts himself off as the baby in his arms coos, mesmerised by his moving jaw and reaches up a tiny hand to touch the scientist’s face. The duplicate Vinny in his arms begins babbling as if Bruce had been talking to him the entire time and they were pleasantly conversing. Charmed by the display, Bruce smiled softly and cooed at the infant in his arms — there was just something about babies that brought joy and peace to a person, he wanted to savour that feeling as much as possible.

“Are you sure about that?” Clint asks and raises his Vinny, who had started dribbling and blowing bubbles with his spit. The bubbles should have easily disappeared but they began to float around and soon enough all the duplicate Vinny babies were blowing bubbles with their saliva.

“I don’t know if that’s disgusting or adorable…” Tony comments, staring in mild awe and disgust at the display whilst bouncing the giggling baby in his arms. Pepper walks up beside him with an equally disturbed but awestruck expression.

“How can they float like that?”

“You want to pop it, little human?” Thor chuckles as the Vinny in his arms reaches for the floating bubbles. Wanting to keep the child entertained, Thor obliges and pops a bubble for him only to yelp at the sudden electric shock he was subjected to. To a god of thunder, that felt like an insect bite, however, that would not be the case for his teammates. “Be careful my friends! This child was able to encase electricity within these innocent bubbles!”

“Oh god! What are you?!” Sam asks in disbelief at the baby in his lap. Vinny simply giggles behind his small hands – he looks like the perfect picture of innocence but the team of heroes know better.

Tony hands Pietro a wooden coaster from the coffee table to quickly pop all the bubbles with so that they don’t injure someone. The speedster nods but hands him his duplicate Vinny before zipping off to do the task. It didn’t take longer than five seconds to complete for Pietro and everyone could finally breathe a sigh of relief.

“This is gonna be…interesting…” Tony observes with some hesitance as Bruce snorts a laugh and gives him a raised-brow look.

“I could’ve told you that, Tony,” Sam chuckles.

“But we can still help Vinny and his mother, correct?” Steve asks, feeling his heart clench as the baby in his arms cuddles into him with a suppressed yawn. The supersoldier watched, mesmerised, as the child slowly blinks and gradually fell asleep while sucking on his little thumb.

“Of course!” Wanda declares and looks at Tony, “Even if it’s going to be difficult, we can’t just turn them away,”

“I never said we were going to turn them away,” Tony smiles and relaxes his shoulders when the duplicates disappear in a small puff of smoke, revealing that Steve had the real Vinny. “They’re free to stay as long as they need,” the team smiled in relief at the assurance. They weren’t going to admit it aloud but they had already grown an attachment to the son and mother pair. It would be a good change of pace to have the two around the tower.

“Splendid! I like the child very much already! And the mother is lovely, herself,” Thor speaks for everyone in the room, lowering his voice for the sake of Vinny who Steve had cradled to his chest and was gently rocking, “She seems very kind and loving, much like our mother, right, Loki?” the blonde god happily slings his arm over his younger brother’s shoulders and brings him close.

“I suppose so,” Loki agrees with a scowl and stubbornly shrugs off his brother’s arm, who laughs goodnaturedly at the gesture.

“What about Nick?” Natasha asks, making everyone tense up but it was a subject that couldn’t be avoided.

“I don’t think Nick is heartless enough to separate a mother and child or subject the little one to anything traumatic,” Steve was confident in that, “but if he shows otherwise, we’re putting a stop to it immediately,” Everyone nods and Pepper volunteers to call the S.H.I.E.L.D director about the situation.

“It’s late,” Tony excuses and chuffs at the look Pepper sends him, “and, even though he’ll be ready at any time of the day. It’s best to start this tomorrow. The baby’s asleep anyway,”

Everyone notes the peace that had befallen the room. Everything was quiet except for the slumbering child’s soft breaths and their hushed voices discussing the topic. Looking at the clock, time had already passed so quickly.

“This little one was such a handful,” Wanda comments, “no wonder his poor mother looked so…” she chooses her words carefully, “troubled,”

“I would have given up and collapsed already,” Clint confessed with a good-humoured snicker, “she must be a super mom to have taken care of a super baby all by herself for longer than a day,” hums and nods of agreement were shared throughout the room. The feat you accomplished was beyond their comprehension. Even though they were experienced in handling unusual, potentially dangerous events like this, they had struggled quite a bit from only one evening with Vinny. But you were one person without any special abilities or experience, and yet, you had lasted longer than they did.

“A mother’s love is otherworldly,” Thor concludes and, again, everyone hums and nods in agreement.

navi. | series masterlist

a/n : sorry this took so long my loves! this was very vinny and avengers centric also but mother dear deserves the rest, i hope everyone is enjoying the series so far. i will soon be opening up requests for this series to see what you lovelies want to see happen and the chapters will be based on those requests -- eventually anyone can read this series in any order they want!

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notpixl · 1 day ago

Text

Beauty amidst Terror

Chapter 1: The Meeting

Summary:

You get called by The Knave for an important matter.

You recall the various memories during your stay in the House of the Hearth.

Did you mess up?

Did something happen?

Did someone cause trouble?

Or could it be the possibility that…

You’re getting fired?

Only one way to find out…

—————————

Notes:

Multi-part fic since I don’t want you all to be scrolling down

And uh…

Enjoy? I guess…?

—————————

Tags: GN!Reader, I know this looks like it came from ao3, I’ll crosspost this on ao3 and wattpad once all the chapters are done trust, Arlecchino/Reader, Reader is not Traveller, Reader is a Doctor, established relationship, Navia is ur bestie, Lyney, Lynette, and Freminet are wingbuddies, NAVIA AS WINGWOMAN, the children have names, I want her to smooch and kiss me and hug and and an, no beta we die like Tingyun, gap moe probably??? I might be lying once this is finished

—————————

“For the fifth time, Romeo…”

You gently pour Betadine on the kid’s knee, earning a yelp from the latter.

“Why do you insist on running around the house?”

“What else am I supposed to for the afternoon, sleep?”

The boy crosses his arms, clearly annoyed.

A sigh escapes your lips before patting their head.

“You come here one more time you’ll be having The Knave treat your injuries, okay?”

“…”

That’s one way to shut them up.

After covering his knee with dressing you stand up from your kneeling position, dusting your coat off before leading them to their room.

“Just… play with your toys. Read a book or something.”

You close the door, leaving you with the somewhat empty hallways of the Hearth.

Granted there were the maids and employees but you didn’t want to initiate- let alone start a conversation…

But aside from Socializing there’s other things to worry about!

Such as locking up the Clinic now that your shift is ove-

“Doctor?”

You stood still for a second, unresponsive.

“…doctor?”

“If I wasn’t used to your antics I’d be dead on the floor, Lynette…”

“Mm… is that why it took you a bit to respond?”

You turn to look at her, immediately noticing the bandaid on her cheek.

“…yes.”

She points at the bandaid, her expression still the same.

“Don’t worry. I did the steps necessary. Just like you said.”

You cross your arms, an eyebrow raised.

“Disinfectant as well?”

“Mm.”

A smile escapes your lips as you ruffle her hair, earning a silent pur.

“Father told me to escort you to her Office.”

“I-Is that so…?”

You nervously retract your arm in response to that information.

You? Being called by The Knave?

S-surely you didn’t do anything bad, right?

“Mm. Follow me.”

Lynette guides you to her Father’s Office, unconsciously walking beside her since you’re already being plagued with multiple questions and thoughts.

Was it the way you treated those kids Were the playful threats too much? Could it be the medicine you used? Maybe it’s you sometimes showing up late- No that shouldn’t be it…

Maybe… a raise-

No… doubt that’d happen…

…fired, maybe?

*Knock! Knock! Knock!*

“Come in.”

Lynette steps aside, being met with The Knave facing her back towards you.

The door shuts tight.

It’s just you and her.

There’s a sofa in front of her desk which beckons you to come closer.

But you have manners.

“Sit.”

You walked rather… slow? As if you’re prepared for any news you’ll be receiving this afternoon…

At least the sofa feels comfy.

Wait why’re you even thinking about that-

“…How’s your stay?”

“Uh… n-nice, I guess…”

Great. You’re stuttering. What a way to start, you.

“How were the kids?”

You gulp.

“Some are… manageable. Some need sweets… and some need a… little visit from The Knave…”

There’s a… slight pause.

“How are you feeling?”

“…Kind of tired? But I’ll be fine.”

“Even after hundreds upon hundreds of children dashing towards your Clinic?”

“Like I said… some are manageable… some need a little treat… and some definitely need a visit from-

“Me.”

“Yes…”

“Why?”

Oh now that is… tricky.

You look at your hands resting on your lap, unsure of what to say.

Oh screw it, you’re in too deep anyway.

“Because you look frightening.”

…

“Mm.”

A long silence ensues.

“Look at me.”

Your eyes slowly look up…

To meet those menacing- no, hypnotizing eyes of hers.

Trying to look at The Knave of all people is already a difficult task.

As if you shouldn’t even think of doing that.

But remaining eye contact with her?

You’ll be dead on the spot.

*Snap!*

“Are you still awake?”

“I- w-what…?”

You repeatedly blink, gaining your senses back.

“Good.”

Should you be scared?

Aroused?

Maybe even both??

“I’ll repeat it again.”

The Knave points at herself.

“Do I look frightening…?”

You stammer.

“N-no… to me at least.”

“…?”

That look of hers tells you to go on.

Not like you had any choice anyway.

“While others might look at you with fear or dread in mind… I fortunately got to see the… Beauty amidst this…”

“Go on.”

“…amidst this terrifying face of yours.”

The last part took… practically everything just to say it.

“…Leave.”

You picked yourself up and bolted away from The Knave’s sights, making sure to close the door quietly.

The fervent beats of your heart occupied your ears as you lean on the wall, shivering.

…

Wait…

Come to think of it…

Wasn’t that a compliment…?

You just flat out said that The Knave’s face is pretty!

You know what? Forget it. You should at least focus on getting out of here and not worry about interpretation…

—————

———

—————

Chat trust me on this I have it… somewhat planned out

I just want you all to have a peak instead of waiting a month huhu

It’ll end with the most sloppiest toppiest make out sessi

💥

🪦

#arlecchino x reader #genshin x reader #i'm bored #so i made this

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midnight-mourning · 19 hours ago

Note

I won’t lie, saw your post about how things are scary rn in the U.S. and… idrk what’s going on. Been avoiding it like the plague bc i’m afraid of the information i’m currently ignorant to. As someone who dwells on “what ifs” it scares me to know what is going on but at the same time i wanna know what’s happening since i live in the U.S too. Just wanted to share this. I feel bad bc of the fact that i been ignoring it, so i do wanna know what’s going on. I just want someone to tell it to me in a way that doesn’t feel like i’m being attacked for avoiding it bc i’m too afraid to learn the information by myself. But there may be some people like me out there.

Hi there, that's absolutely valid, it's been a bit of a mess and some miscommunications have occurred already (as typical always every 4 years here) and wanting to avoid all of it isn't unreasonable. Acknowledging but avoiding a subject is completely different than denial, and that's totally okay, I don't judge. I'll do my best to explain in a way that makes sense and that's hopefully helpful

Before anything else, let me preface this by saying that I am NOT a political scientist, I am NOT an expert in anyway regarding politics in the slightest, anything that I share below is based on my personal experience and research so please keep that in mind, I highly encourage you to check out the sources below for any further information. Having said that, here's what we know:

According to The Associated Press, and other news outlets, the current president elect is Donald Trump with 292 of the electoral college votes, races have not been called in AZ, NV, ME and AK.

Harris is set to give a concession speech at 4 pm EST today.

Republicans have control of the senate with 52 seats, with democrats having lost 3 seats and currently have 43. 5 remaining races have yet to be called. Currently, they are projected to be filled by Democrats by Associated Press and 270 to Win.

The house is currently still a toss up, 270 to Win projects 209 (D) to 213 (R) for 20 of the remaining 33 uncalled races. Again, 13 races are still a toss-up at this point in time.

Sources for more information:

If you would like more information regarding live coverage, as well as general, unbiased reporting, Associated Press is (in my opinion) the most accurate and unbiased source of information.

If you would like to see current projections for the remaining races, Associated Press and 270 to win appear (emphasis on appear) to have the most accurate reporting.

If you want to see live coverage and discussion, or to see how things unfolded last night, CNN did have a broadcast going last night that was free to watch. It appears they've now taken it down. If I happen to find said broadcast I'll update the post with it as they do a good job of explaining things state by state, precint by precint. However, much like any other media outlet, they can be prone to bias (left-leaning) and potentially to fear mongering. Should you seek out CNN or any other news outlet besides those above please keep in mind that reporting may be influenced in certain ways because of this.

Having said all that, here's what I personally think this means and what can still happen, with facts mixed in for reference. Much of this is my opinion and should not be taken as fact unless it's cited. Again, not an expert, just someone with a very very basic understanding of politics and government.

With the win of the presidency and the senate, republicans are at the advantage. With senate control they will be able to assist with choosing the next presidental cabinet, and should there be a vacancy on the supreme court, assist with that.

However, if democrats can take control of the house, the win will be massive, and leave them able to have some say in the next 4 years, but nothing is for certain at this point in time

Democrats potentially have at least a little breathing room in the senate, they're not majority, but only 4 seats difference is better than nothing

We've gotten through a Trump presidency before, the situation then, as well as the feeling everyone has now is exactly the same. We made it through then, and we can make it through again

The senate is only guaranteed to be controlled by Republicans until the 2026 midterms, two years is a long time, but it's only two years

Having lived through the last Trump term in my teens and remember it well, yes he managed to do some pretty awful things, but he also undelivered in several ways, we can only hope the same thing happens this time around, this would be especially true should democrats take the House

He won't be back, if he makes it through the term he'll be too old and his health won't be great. Republicans didn't want him this time, they won't want him the next.

JD Vance and so many others will still be kicking long after he's gone though, and that needs to be in the back of people's heads when we get closer to 2028

Trump made a lot of empty promises he didn't keep before, and personally I don't think he beleves half the things he says, he just says it because he knows others do believe it. Giving up hope now for a better tomorrow won't make a better tomorrow, hoping despite it all will. Giving up also gives people like him exactly what they want, and I'm not about to do that, neither should you.

For now, be vigilant, stay safe, but try to relax. Doom-scrolling, wondering what might happen, and so on, is pointless because at this point, we don't know. Anything could happen, this election is a clear example of that.

Hope this was able to help, anon. We're all in this together, and as long as that remains true, we're going to be okay. Highly recommend after reading this to do what's best for you, be that choosing to find out more through the sources above or continue to avoid it. Personally, I'm getting together with some friends this evening to study, chat, and chill and decompress from it all, hopefully you can do something similar if you need to 💜

#did my best to keep my opinions void of misleading information #again I have no expertise #in the slightest #if you see post and are interested in engaging in discourse #please don't #this is just basic information and my opinion #it is not intended to influence people's views nor to cause arguments

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mellohiizz · 2 days ago

Note

im more complex about the episode then everyone else seems to be apparently. imo they all sucked this episode.

for one, i am actually a dean sympathizer. lets be real parrot and wifies both treated him badly. i wouldnt have told parrot either when he was there constantly repeating the exact same things ash said to blackmail dean; and wifies isnt much better for affirming the shit ash told dean either, infact i would argue wifies was even worse then about it. if i was there hearing "ash was right. youre a burden, but thats ok." and "ash was right. your a burden, we should be leaving you for dead." i wouldnt want to risk jeopardizing my one source of safety either.

before the reveal that dean was actually involved in the leaking of their location wifies just came of as a semi-controlling dick. there were a million better ways all of them could have done things this episode. i dont really like the wifies glazing as if he was perfect this episode and didnt treat a fellow victim who lodgically didnt have a choice like shit. wifies is smart enough to figure out dean didnt want to sell them out. imo he had no actual reason to reason to treat dean with as little empathy as he did, especially when wifies knows exactly what its like to have his existance used to get to parrot in the exact chain of events parrot referenced after the compass was burnt.

both sides of odessy were being hypocritical and hurtful as hell and thats been a theme of uu the whole time. theyre all flawed, they are make mistakes and are selfish and hurt others doing what they think is righteous or best or safest. uu is the dichotomy of perspective, about how everyone does what they think is best and how more often then not that best hurts atleast someone. and guess what? thats life. thats actually pretty normal, especially if youve been through your own shit or are traumatized like the characters of uu are.

they all suck and hurt people, thats the moral of the story. the moral that feels very lost on most of the fandom...

-🔍🏰(f:▶️🥊)

honestly, good take. kind of made me rethink some things that happened in the episode as well.

to be fair, yes, obviously dean was treated badly the whole episode. even i noted that wifies was a bit too harsh with how he approached things the whole video. he knew that dean was leaking information, didn't tell parrot, and still tried to put basically the whole blame of it on dean. "you could argue i hid it from you" yes, wifies, you did keep it from parrot, knowing that parrot would've tried to look for a different solution.

parrot was obviously not any better. he brushed off wifies despite the other very clearly showing signs of concern and he did also openly called dean a burden. which is, yes, he was slowing them down, but i feel like there was a nicer was to go about it.

and yes, i do sympathize with dean, but he did hide a piece of pretty crucial information from them, keeping a leverage in the compass, and then ran away after being confronted. it's fair, i'm not saying he was entirely wrong for that too, but i feel like it wouldn't be fair to say anyone was fully in right/wrong.

and yeah, you're are right, the morality of characters is a pretty obvious focus on the whole uu, and obviously all of them are very flawed. taking wifies's words, we just need to try and look at things from all of their perspectives. they're all understandable, and in some ways even reasonable, but there were much better ways to go about the whole situation, but the problem was exactly that. perspective. they were all focused on their individual goals and didn't try to see everything from the perspective of others. and that's what separated all of them.

#☆ inbox .#so yeah actually did give me a different perspective on things ironically #its actually pretty fun to think about #i do agree with certain things but clearly its all up to interpretation i guess #they're all very flawed and no one is inheritely wrong or right #miscommunication is at it again #i just hope they can find a way to solve everything #god i love reading different peoples views on the whole thing #they all suck but thats okay <3 i still love them #parrotx2 #wifies #deanthebean9 #unstable universe

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silkendress · 2 days ago

Text

Bitten Bullet

Previous Chapter First Chapter Next Chapter

-ˋˏ➛ Chapter 2: Just You

-ˋˏ➛ Call of Duty

-ˋˏ➛ Suggestive

-ˋˏ➛ Simon "Ghost" Riley/Reader

-ˋˏ➛ Strangers to Lovers, Civilian Reader, Slow Build

-ˋˏ➛ 8k Words

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He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

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Read on AO3

You stare blankly at your phone.

You lay flat on your back on the bed, almost completely swallowed up by blankets, your phone screen the brightest light source in your dark room.

It’s the night after Simon gave you his number. It’s the night where you are wracking your head for what to text him for the first time.

In your mind, you have to text him tonight. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t want his company. Yesterday you tried to think of something to say too, but nothing clicked.

You stare at your phones virtual keyboard, your thumb hovering over letters but never pressing them. You’re on the screen to send Simon something.

You wonder if he’s asleep, or if he’s awake like you; if he’s a night owl or has difficulty sleeping.

The thought of him sleeping puts the thought of him without his mask in your head. You wonder what he looks like under there. You wonder if he’s waiting on you to text or call like how you’re waiting for your nerves to settle to do one of those things.

You’ve been laying here for what feels like hours.

Maybe just a simple text telling him it was you—so that he could save your number in return—was enough.

That’s what you end up going with. You make sure to include your name and some mildly identifiable information—‘the one that works at a bookstore, you walked me home again yesterday’—and hit send before you become too embarrassed.

You click the power button on your phone to make the screen go dark and you bury yourself under your blankets, your heart pounding as though you just ran a marathon.

When you wake in the morning you pace your morning routine as not to rush. You were putting off checking your messages due to nerves. It wasn’t as if the slower you went would change anything, but it made you feel better to put it off for now.

You make up your bed. You brush your teeth. You shower. You don’t check your phone.

It isn’t until you’ve dried off and redressed that you finally built up the nerve to see if Simon replied to you. He did. There’s a tornado of butterflies in your stomach.

‘Got it.’ Was all he replied. You felt oddly relieved, you weren’t sure what you were so nervous about—Simon didn’t seem the type to be a texter, anyway. That was fine, you were certain many people weren’t. You were just pleased he responded at all.

Your phone hangs loosely in your palm as you walk to the kitchen to have something for breakfast. Thoughts pass your mind, all about Simon.

Another day passes. You fall back into a mundane routine. You haven’t texted Simon since, you’re not sure how to initiate conversation with him, despite your borderline desperate longing to do so.

Chloe told you earlier today that she would be with her sister for another two weeks, that her sister and the baby are healthy but she just wants to be with them. Chloe sounds happy, you’re happy for her.

It’s yet another late night that you can’t sleep. You’re in a cocoon of blankets trying not to stare at your phone—you remember reading somewhere about ‘blue light’ and sleep disruption. It takes a few minutes of you laying as still as a statue until you drift off.

A booming, revving noise makes you jump awake, gasping for air.

The motorcycle again. Your phone is in your hand before you know it.

‘I heard a motorcycle just now. Was that you by any chance?’

You hit send before your doubts can creep up and paralyze you. You hastily click it off and set it on the nightstand to lay back in the bed.

You’re not sure exactly how much time passes between that text being sent and now, just that it feels like forever. Now that you thought of it, you suppose someone would have to pull over first to do anything on their phone on a motorcycle.

You were expecting the notification ping of a new text message, so you jolt upright when your phone begins to ring.

You stare at the now lit up screen of your phone with wide eyes and lips parted in mild shock. On the third ring you snap yourself out of it and make yourself answer.

“Hello?” Your voice wavers and you clear your throat. You mentally wince.

“Hey,” the low sound of him on the other end gives you excited jitters. “Did I wake you?” He sounds careful, a barely-there softness to his voice that makes your hands get increasingly fidgety.

“No, no. I’m just a light sleeper, is all.” You mutter, huffing out a soft laugh in a nervous reflex.

He hums, and then there’s silence.

Not quite silence but close enough because Simon isn’t saying anything. You think you can hear the soft rumble of an engine in the background on the other end. You wonder if he pulled in a gas station to refuel, or if he returned home for the night but decided to call you before heading in.

You think Simon is alright with it—the lulls in conversation. You could relate to an extent, you were quiet too, but he definitely was more self-assured than you. He never felt the impulse to unnecessarily fill the silence with chatter.

You’re so deep in thought that when he speaks again it almost makes you flinch in surprise.

“Are you free tomorrow?”

Your mouth feels dry, you have to swallow before you can speak. “Uh, no, I have work—“

“Day after?” Flat and to the point, he isn’t deterred one bit.

“Yes. I-I’d be free then.” Your heartbeat feels like a drum.

You hesitate before asking; “Why?”

There’s a pause, you can’t tell what Simon is thinking, only that his reply is spoken bluntly.

“Got a second helmet yesterday.”

The day is bright and beautiful, the sky is blue and the warm sun is a welcome contrast to the chilly autumn breeze. Your eyes are trained on the road and your ears are especially attuned to anything that sounds like a motorcycle.

After the call Simon texted you a time and a place. You spent the entirety of yesterday thinking about today, and now you were fiddling with your hands in an attempt to dissipate the nervous energy in your limbs.

Here you were about to get on the back of a bike owned by a man you had a chance encounter with at a bar—a man you had grown increasingly intrigued by and even tentatively fond of, but that was beside the point. You think you’re being more daring than you ever had in your entire life precisely because you were becoming keenly aware of the fact your comfort zone was suffocating you.

It doesn’t change the mild absurdity of the situation.

‘I don’t even drink.’

You find yourself checking your phone periodically for the time, Simon would be coming in a few minutes.

You couldn’t believe you were doing this. But then again, you couldn’t believe you met Simon at all, let alone kept in touch with him.

He wasn’t a stranger anymore, he was an acquaintance now, surely. You still had so many musings about him, curiosities that had yet to be sated; but you held back. You didn’t want to overstep a potential boundary.

But that didn’t change the fact you curious about him.

You wanted to get a close look at his tattoos. You wanted to know the story behind each one—assuming there was one to be told—and when he got them.

You wanted to know what his laugh sounded like.

You wanted to know what he looked like.

You wanted to know if he wondered about you like you did him.

You wanted to be able to say you knew him, not just an awareness of his existence but a deeper knowledge of him as a person.

You waffle back and forth with your thoughts. ‘He’s the one that offered to take me on his bike,’ you remind yourself in intervals. It works for calming your nerves, but only for a short while.

Your mind combs over things about Simon you do know.

He’s in the military.

He likes motorcycles.

He smokes.

He always wears a mask.

He, for some reason, is keeping in contact with you.

And he is also about to pull up to you.

Your mind belatedly catches up with your senses. You hear the revving first then you see Simon—and the bike—in the distance.

It’s like all of your self-soothing methods were for naught. Your stomach flutters with frenzied nerves and you shift your weight on your feet repeatedly in an effort to shake off some of the jitters.

A part of you wasn’t expecting him to actually show up.

You don’t know much about motorcycles, you couldn’t tell what kind it was by looking at it. It was black and shiny, the metal bits of it reflected the sunlight.

Simon looks in his element on it. More than competent. Your legs feel wobbly.

He rolls up and his boots settle on the ground, then his heel pushes out the kickstand. You can tell it’s a motion he has done many times before, there’s no hesitation or carefulness to it.

Simon flips up his visor. His eyes take you in, lingering for a moment on your fidgeting, gloved hands—the gloves he gave to you—then back up to you.

He dismounts his bike, a lazy cadence to his movements. Your face feels warmer all of the sudden.

His helmet comes off much the same way, he’s wearing a mask like you expected, and denim jeans and a thick hoodie. He rests the helmet on the seat of the bike for now. In the sunlight his cropped blond hair reminds you of straw.

“Nervous, are you?” He nods down towards your hands. You tuck them in your pockets.

“A little, yes.”

He grunts. “Don’t be,” he meanders to the back of the bike and opens up the trunk box attached to it. “I won’t be goin’ above the speed limit. Not while you’re with me.” His tone is almost protective. You’re not familiar with that tone general, it makes your insides feel fuzzy.

He pulls out another helmet. Your heart rate doesn’t go any slower.

Simon comes over to you with the helmet tucked underneath his muscular arm. Your hands are about to extend outwards to take it from him, but he takes another step forward.

He takes the helmet from under his arm holds it out. “Gonna put this on ya now.”

He says it slowly, almost tentative. His eyes are so intensely trained on you that you almost feel self conscious. Your mind swims, a vast sea of uncontrollable thoughts.

Your brain catches up in slow motion. Simon interprets your silence as a green light to continue.

It’s no-nonsense and straight to the point, but for you it feels like an eternity. You are paralyzed in place and looking straight ahead to avoid his gaze—straight ahead just so happens to be his broad chest, which fills up most of your vision.

He’s careful yet swift with placing the helmet on your head, his gloved thumbs brush over your cheek incidentally as he settles it on you. His palms almost encompass your entire face.

‘His hands are big.’ You realize helplessly.

It wasn’t like you’ve never seen his hands before, it just was that there was something about having said hands in such close proximity that made you starkly aware of their true scale.

You don’t have to wonder if there’s callouses or nicks on his hands, you’re so confident in your assumption that it would be more of a shock if there wasn’t.

It wouldn’t stretch your imagination too far to twist the brief, unintended contact into the image of him cupping your face instead. Your stomach swoops and you mentally berate yourself, mortified.

He demonstrates how to flip the visor up and down and how to take it off yourself. You find it remarkably difficult to absorb his instructions even despite your apt attention.

Then Simon’s eyes narrow questioningly down at you. Your heart lurches for a moment, he must have said something that should have prompted you to answer, but you were much too preoccupied with dousing the fire growing in your face and breathing slow to steady the rabbit-kicks between your lungs.

“Listen, if you’re not up for this—“

“I-I want to.”

You surprise yourself with your sudden insistence. The words tumble from your mouth inelegantly and rapidly. You truly wanted to crawl under a rock in that moment, you felt as though your desperation for human connection couldn’t have been more obvious. Rationally you knew that your blurted out reply could be understood as mere excitement, but you weren’t being very rational right now.

Fortunately, you don’t spiral further into self-deprecation as you are not given much of a chance to, not when Simon utters a single word that has your mind scrambling for a reason you’re not certain of.

Simon’s head slants ever so slightly, a look in his eye that you’d almost call amused. “Good.”

Something in the timbre of his voice reminds you of the fact that very soon you will be in the closest proximity you’ve ever been with him—or with any man for that matter. Hugging your male family members didn’t count.

He takes one step backwards away from you before turning on his heel and approaching the bike to put his own helmet back on.

“Alright,” he starts with an authoritative edge to his tone that makes you pay attention. “When we go around corners don’t lean. If we get on the road and you’re too nervous just tap me and we’ll pull over, won’t be able to hear you that well unless we’re stopped.”

His speech isn’t harsh but it demands attention. Your eyes are wide, you’re nodding along. You wonder if he’s done this before—give people direction. It sounds like it. You are reminded of his job, military, he told you.

“Understand?” He crosses his arms over his chest, tilts his head at you.

You nod. “I understand.”

He tips his head slightly forward in a single gesture of acknowledgment, seemingly pleased with your answer. He goes towards the bike, one hand on the handlebar and the other near the back.

Then, with an effortless amount of strength, he tugs the bike forward along with the momentum of taking a large step. The kickstand rolls up and away.

Your mouth goes dry when some ancient, primitive part of your brain shudders in delight. You shift your eyes away and downwards at your feet, burning and mortified.

Simon settles himself on the bike, his long leg easily swinging over the side. He then motions you to come over with a single croon of his two fingers. Your heart is a drum.

With every step to him your nerves rise in anticipation, excited and electrified. You’ve never been on the back of a bike before.

When you come around to the side of the bike you pause. You find yourself once again thinking of how his presence will be adjacent to yours once you sit down behind him.

“Just swing your leg over it.” He supplies, acknowledging your hesitancy but being unaware of the deeper source.

You make yourself do it, lest you tick him off to the whirlwind going on inside your head.

You had to throw your leg wider than you were expecting, your shaky legs didn’t help you much. You were fearful that you would lose balance, but somehow scrambled on the back of it in one piece.

Your knee brushes against his hip incidentally, it’s barely a second of contact but you jerk your leg away like you had been burned regardless.

With how hot your face was feeling, you might as well have been.

It was an almost uncomfortable contrast; the heat of your body yet the chill on your skin due to the breeze. Your palms felt clammy in your gloves.

You pressed yourself as far back as you could on the seat, which wasn’t much considering the minuscule amount of space you were working with. The way you were seated was a bit awkward, it would be all too easy to scoot yourself forward to get more comfortable, but then you’d be pressed against his back.

“Settled?” Asks Simon. You nod, but then sputter when you realize he can’t see you.

“Yes.” You clear your throat.

There’s a pause that stretches on long enough that you were worried you said something wrong somehow, you begin to analyze your conversation up until this point to try and figure out what, but before you can begin combing through your memories in earnest Simon speaks up.

“You can hold on if you need to.”

For a moment you don’t know what to say.

“Okay.”

And Simon just waits, almost expectant. He gave you the go ahead to hold onto him,and now he’s seemingly waiting for you to do exactly that. You weren’t even on the road yet.

He said you could. You would be lying if you said you didn’t want to.

You move in increments. Your hands reach out slowly in front of you, slow enough that you don’t think Simon is aware you even are. Then you lurch forward, and there’s no discretion about it.

You move up in the seat, your arms hover over his sides, and—

Two hundred-something pounds of muscle suddenly becomes less abstract.

He’s solid. You can’t even wrap your arms around him entirely. You feel dizzy.

Your hands are laid flat and stiff over his abdomen, you can feel the steady rise and fall of him as he breathes. You imagine his heartbeat, strong and anchored. Not at all like yours, which was pounding with an almost frenzied electricity.

He shifts a little in his seat, he’s only getting comfortable but you are panicked that he’s attempting to nudge you off, so you lift your hands off him.

His hand, which completely wraps around your wrist, comes down to reposition your hands where they were previously.

It’s so fast yet so absentminded that you are convinced it’s more of a reflex than a conscious move.

He says nothing. You say nothing. Your palms rest against him.

The engine roars especially loud suddenly, you jump against him in surprise.

Your stomach swirls with nerves.

“Hold on.” His voice is raised just enough so that he can be heard over the noise. You find your fingers curling to clutch onto him when the bike begins to slowly move forward, turning to pull out into the road.

You cling ever tighter.

Any and all semblance of personal space is disregarded when he begins to ride in earnest.

He doesn’t go over the speed limit just like he promised, but it doesn’t change the fact that you were still trembling behind him. You hug onto him tight when he goes on the highway. If it bothers him he makes no show of it—verbal or otherwise.

You feel even smaller pressed up against him like this, his broad back filling your vision to the point that if you wanted to comfortably see what was in front of you, you’d have to try and sit up and look over his shoulder.

The sound of the wind whipping past you is almost static to your ears. You’re caught between two separate strains of nerves, one from anxiety over being on a bike for the first time, the other from the rapid pace of your heart thanks to the sturdy man you were clinging onto for support.

It makes your hands jittery and your stomach swoop. When you go around a turn for the first time your hands squeeze him like your life depended on it. You doubted it bothered him, considering how he eclipsed you in every way.

He comes to a stop at a red light.

“How are you holdin’ up?” His calls over the hum of the engine, his helmet muffling the sound somewhat.

“Good!” You call back to him, moving one of your hands to give him a small, yet shaky, thumbs up.

His chest rises and falls sharp and quick, a short chuckle. You can’t hear it. It makes your heart feel warm nonetheless.

As the ride goes on your nerves melt away bit by bit. You find comfort in Simon’s solidity.

It was when you relaxed somewhat that it dawns on you that you had no clue as to where he was taking you—if anywhere at all. He didn’t really specify anything other than a time and place to collect you.

Time ticks by, the feeling of Simon’s presence so close to your own becomes increasingly familiar. It still doesn’t rid you of the occasional fluttering of butterflies in your stomach, much to your chagrin. It wasn’t an awful thing to feel small in such a way with Simon—far from it; the issue was how embarrassed it made you.

You went out of your way to ensure your thoughts never crossed that line you drew for yourself, but as you were holding onto his broad midsection it became an increasingly daunting task.

So lost in thought you are that you do not notice that he has turned into somewhere until the bike goes slower than you were expect. You sit up just a little in your seat in an attempt to look over his shoulder the best you could.

It’s a quaint little restaurant. A sign with chalkboard written on it sat out in front of the entrance, informing potential patrons that they were still serving breakfast.

He parks the motorcycle. Then he waits, and waits. It isn’t until he shoots you a glance over his shoulder that you realize he’s waiting for you to get off the bike first.

You dismount as carefully as possible, but you can’t shake the feeling you look awkward regardless, like a newborn filly. Once both of your feet are firmly planted on the ground Simon follows.

You are reminded to take off your helmet when Simon does. Once it’s off your head you hand it to him, wordlessly waiting for him to confirm your assumption that he just took you to breakfast.

He takes your helmet with two of his thick fingers hooked into it, then he’s placing both helmets back in the trunk box. Your eyes dart from him to your feet in random intervals. You were still wrapping your head around the idea of breakfast with Simon.

You’re not certain of what to say, if anything. Thanking him right at this moment felt too presumptuous, so you hold off on that. When he clicks the box shut he regards you for a moment, observant.

When your eyes meet you give him a small smile, it’s more of a reflex if anything. Whatever was there disappears, his posture eases.

“C’mon.” He beckons with a nod of his head towards the building. Looks like you were having breakfast after all.

You are quick to follow. You notice his steps are slower to make up for your shorter strides.

Subconsciously, you are walking closer together than before. You notice it only when the fabric of your jacket brushes against him. You flinch and yank your arm away. You’re about to sputter out an apology.

But Simon remains impassive, almost as if nothing unusual occurred, like you didn’t accidentally cross over into his personal space.

The thought of your hand in his is an unbidden one.

Simon opens the door for you. You tell him ‘thank you’ in a hushed tone as you skitter inside.

The inside is just as quaint as the outside. There aren’t many people within, it’s small but not claustrophobic. The primary decor is wood and earth tones, the scent of coffee drifts across the air invitingly.

“Any preference?” You blink up at him, momentarily at a loss for what he was asking.

‘Seating preferences,’ you realize belatedly. “No.”

You and Simon end up seated at a table in the far back. Simon takes the seat facing the entrance.

He’s leaned back lazily in the chair across from you, It was sturdy enough to hold his weight. His legs are spread in nonchalantly and his arms rests across his thighs. His eyes are half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed you’ve ever seen him.

This is also the first time you are acutely aware of Simon’s legs. They’re thick and long, his denim jeans cling to his limbs as his legs stretch the material out. The jeans weren’t tight or form fitting, just that he was so well-muscled he ended up filling most of the space in them out.

His voice startles you out of your observations. “Get whatever you want.”

You feel embarrassed, even though Simon can’t read your mind it doesn’t stop the heat crawling up your neck. You sheepishly lean forward in your seat to skim over the menu, your hands still neatly folded in your lap. Then you glance up at Simon.

“Thank you.”

He simply nods.

“I like this place.” You suddenly say.

Simon cocks his head. “Do you, now?” You ignore how the rough timbre in his voice gives you pleasant butterflies.

“I do. It’s very…” Your brows knit together as you search for the word. “…Rustic. I like it.”

“Had a feeling you would.”

You force yourself to read the menu to help you get your mind off of your increasing body temperature.

“What will you be getting?” You ask after a minute or so of comfortable silence.

Simon doesn’t bristle, but you can’t ignore the almost exasperated tone in his voice, like he’s had this conversation before and is already bracing himself to have it again.

“Nothing.”

You peek up at him. He holds your stare. He eases a little when you don’t push the subject any further.

His following words are more neutral in tone, a clear change of subject. “Get what you want.” Simon points to the menu with his eyes.

You do exactly that.

Eggs, potatoes and bacon sounded delightful, so that was what you ended up getting.

You just ordered, so there still would be some time until your food came.

This was uncharted territory for you. You’ve never been on a bike or had a man take you somewhere to eat, two new things in a single day; that was a very welcome rarity for you.

“Do you come here a lot?” Now that you were in such a setting with Simon you found yourself more conversational than usual. There was a desire to know more about him, no matter how mundane. He was a bit of an enigma to you; the fact he saw fit to spend time with you made him even more so in your opinion.

Simon lightly shrugs his shoulder. “Not that much.” He answers. “Just enough to know the food’s decent.”

“Well, thank you for taking me.” You mumble sheepishly, not quite certain on how to word it.

“Should be thanking you for coming with me.”

There isn’t trepidation in his tone but there is a sort of carefulness there that you can’t place. You’re not expecting it, so you can’t help the way your eyes widen. You nod quickly, not wanting your surprise to be mistaken for something negative.

“I got to try two new things today thanks to you.” It slips out easily, without much thought.

His eyes crinkle somewhat. “Liked the bike, then?” There’s the faintest twinge of pride in his tone.

You like it, you like the thought that he takes some measure of satisfaction in it; it humanizes him and gives more clarity to the jagged edges of his exterior—it doesn’t sand them away, just makes them more legible.

Your lips twitch in a brief smile. “I was scared at first, but yes, I did.”

“You’ll get used to it.” You don’t have the time to register the potential implication there before he speaks again.

“What’s the other one?” Your confusion must show in your face, he elaborates. “You said there were two new things.”

‘Oh.’

The soft clatter of a plate being set down before you makes you jump. You are quick to hastily apologize and stammer out a thank you to the waitress, she only smiles at you and gives an apology of her own for startling you before leaving.

You didn’t even realize you slipped and admitted that, now your mind was working overdrive to figure out how best to word it. There’s an awkward beat of silence until you pick up your fork. You take a bite of potatoes first. It’s more than just decent, it’s delicious.

“What’s the verdict?” Simon asks wryly.

You chew and swallow before speaking. “Very good.” You reply cheerfully. Simon seems pleased.

He then looks at you expectantly.

There wasn’t really much point in dancing around it, you already brought it up by accident, the issue was how to say it without earning potential judgement.

“The other new thing was this.”

There’s a pause before he speaks again. “Never been taken to dinner, either?”

You shake your head. You poke at the food on your plate, growing increasingly self-conscious. Simon catches it.

“Not your fault some bastards don’t know how to act.” Despite his flat delivery it’s reassuring. You find yourself feeling less insecure. You don’t get the impression that Simon is a man to sugarcoat or utter empty platitudes, so you are appreciative.

“Maybe. I wouldn’t know, though.”

Simon cocks his head at you, intrigued. “Wouldn’t know?” He asks, parroting it back at you.

“Wouldn’t know.” You confirm, taking another bite of your eggs. You don’t realize that you just implicitly admitted you’ve never had a boyfriend until you’re taking a sip of your water.

For an imperceptible second you freeze before forcing yourself back into motion. In this situation it would be better to just move on and ignore it, but that still didn’t stop your face from feeling like a bonfire.

You think Simon recognizes the implication immediately, but he doesn’t look surprised at all. You’re not certain of how you feel about that.

What you are certain of is the relief you feel when he doesn’t press on about it, but you still feel a tad mortified. If he’s put off by your lack of romantic experience he doesn’t show it.

Maybe it’s the desperation to change the subject that makes you ask Simon;

“So, what do you usually get when you come here?”

That simple question kicked off a sort of back-and-forth conversation between the two of you, which the questions becoming increasingly mundane as it went on.

The questions are asked by you, and Simon answers, then waits for you to give him an answer in return before you toss another question at him.

What kind of music do you listen to?

Favorite color?

What about your favorite season?

Cats or dogs?

Things of that nature are thrown back and forth between you two. You’re pleasantly surprised that Simon is entertaining you.

You decide to push your luck and dip your toes into more slightly personal questions—nothing inappropriate, of course. Simon doesn’t hesitate.

Early bird or night owl?

When’s your birthday?

Have you ever rode with any of your friends?

Simon sits up a little. “What, on the back of it?” His tone is so incredulous that you fail to suppress a giggle.

“No, no, just in general.” You amend. Simon leans back in his seat once more.

“No. Just you.” Just you. No one else. You wonder if he was simply solitary or if there was something else—maybe both. You brush off the warmth blooming in your chest.

You think about what kind of friends Simon would have.

“Doubt they’d be interested.” He continues. “Don’t think any of ‘em even ride.”

“Ah. I’m assuming you don’t have breakfasts with them either?” It’s more of a joke than a question.

Simon answers regardless. “Sometimes I do,” you can’t discern the look that’s in his eye. “But nothin’ like this.”

You cock your head at him, curious. “Never took them here?”

“No.” He confirms bluntly.

“Just me?” You ask. His dark eyes stare at you intently. Your heart pulses.

The entrance to the restaurant opens and Simon’s eyes dart to the door, severing the intense connection briefly. Then his sights shift back.

“Just you.” He replies without skipping a beat.

You look down at your plate just to give yourself a reprieve from the lingering intensity of his stare. You’re almost done with your food by now.

His voice dips a bit lower in a light tease. “I was going to ask you if you ever had any other men walk you home, but I already know the answer to that one.”

Your face awash with warmth. “What’s the answer?” You manage to speak.

You notice the corners of Simon’s eyes wrinkling, the pitch black in his eyes almost look warm for a flicker. Your heart aches with every pulse. He says it in the same tone he had when asking you if you liked his bike.

“Just me.”

Simon ends up paying for your breakfast. You insist he doesn’t have to, but he insists that it’s not a problem. You acquiesce.

He opens the door for you as you’re exiting just like he did when you were entering.

“I’ve got a place in mind to take you to, if you’re up for it.” He has already retrieved the helmets from the back of the bike.

You nod immediately.

Simon was right, you were getting more accustomed to being on a bike already. You still clung onto him for support, however. You were able to appreciate things that you couldn’t before due to your fear; the cool wind blowing past, the auburn trees lining the road.

You cherish what little time you have left being so close to him.

Time that slips by too fast even when you’re holding it tight, because before you know it he’s pulling in somewhere and slowing to a complete stop.

You glance around. It’s a park, if not secluded. You don’t see any other vehicles parked. The trees in the vicinity are so red they might as well be torches.

“It’s beautiful out here.” You say aloud, dismounting the bike.

Simon takes your helmet and puts it along with his in the trunk. “Thought you’d like it.” Unless your ears were deceiving you, you detect a hint of cheekiness there. You’re not used to it coming from Simon, he sounds as dry and flat as usual, but it’s there’s an element that’s foreign to your ears. You cherish it.

You smile sheepishly and turn around to get a better view of the trees in the vicinity. “Do you like coming here a lot?” You ask over your shoulder.

“Sometimes.” He sounds indifferent.

“Oh, hopefully I’m not being invasive or something—“ You begin to stammer, the words tumbling out almost reflexively.

Something in his expression softens. “You’re fine.” Simon replies. You relax a little, but not by much due to how you’re chastising yourself.

You force yourself to brush off the negative self-talk when Simon comes over to stand next to you. Once he’s there he’s grabbing something out of his pocket. A box of cigarettes, you realize.

You’re busying yourself with admiring the trees, you hear the sound of fabric shifting. A comfortable silence envelopes you both. It isn’t until you notice Simon’s hand moving up to his face that your eyes shoot over to him.

He hooks his thumb up and under his mask, underneath his chin. You blink and suddenly you’re staring at pale skin where midnight fabric used to be.

There’s light-colored stubble on his jaw, you catch a scar running there and up, it disrupts the natural growth pattern of his facial hair.

There’s a scar on one side of his upper lip—the same side the other scar on his jaw is—it is vertical and goes from the seam of his lips to seemingly all the way up, maybe even to his nostril. You can’t tell, his mask is still dipped low enough to obscure his cupids bow and the rest of his face. It intrigues you because you’ve never seen a scar like that before.

His lips themselves look like how you expect, slightly chapped and maybe a bit redder than usual from the cold.

You make yourself dart your eyes away. It would be rude to stare.

But then holds the cigarette between his lips, and you find yourself paying as much attention as possible through your peripheral. He feels in his pockets for a lighter for a fraction of a second before he’s bringing it up and setting the cigarette alight.

It isn’t long before the scent of nicotine follows.

And the two of you simply exist in one another’s presence like that for a little while. Nothing is said because nothing needs to be at the moment. You think about how nice it is to have someone be effortlessly content with you. There wasn’t any song or dance you had to do while tone deaf and out of rhythm just to keep away the dreaded labels of ‘odd’ and ‘strange.’

It was just you and Simon.

He says your name. You turn to look up at him.

“Yes?” There’s a pause there, you watch his lips thin out into a line, the motion is almost imperceptible. It’s a welcome strangeness to see a portion of his face now. A small part of you that you bury deep hopes that the sight won’t be unfamiliar one day.

He brings the cigarette back to his lips, his eyes are far away.

“In a month or two I’m gonna be gone for a while.” Smoke pours out his mouth in wispy coils. You turn your head to look at him. He’s still looking at the autumn trees.

“Oh.” You try to hide the disappointment in your voice.

“How come?” You ask, then realization dawns. “For work?” The question is asked carefully.

“Yeah.” He confirms after a stilted pause. He takes another drag.

“I’ll be back.” He says after a beat of silence. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at the moment.

You don’t want him to leave, but that was just the reality of things. Sensibly, you knew that a month or two was still a lot of time, but just like the time you clutched as tight as you did Simon on the bike, it would slip away before you knew it.

“Okay. I’ll be waiting for you.” The words sort of pour out, like water from a stream. There’s no question about it, you’ll wait for him; there’s no harm in it. It wasn’t like you’d be putting anything or anyone on hold.

Simon finally looks down at you. His eyes are cavernous, searching.

You don’t know if he finds what he’s looking for or not, only that he looks away from you and back to the trees. He doesn’t say anything else.

The subject leaves a lingering melancholy in the air that leaves a bitter taste in your mouth. You make an attempt at further conversation to shift the tone.

“You’ll be here for Halloween.” You state, not quite sure where you’re going with it.

Simon only grunts in reply.

“Do you think you’ll be here for Christmas?”

Simon stills for a moment. “Not sure.”

“I’ll get you something.”

“Like what?” He sounds mildly amused.

You think.

“Something with a skull or skeleton on it.” You eventually decide.

“Have jokes, do you?” He says dryly, though not offended.

“Not a joke. But I have an actual joke to tell.”

“Go on.”

“What do you call a pile of kittens?”

“You tell me.”

“A meow-tain.”

He actually snorts through his nose, you even see the scarred corner of his mouth quirk up in a ghost of a smirk, he’s more endeared by you than the joke itself. “Not the worst I’ve heard.”

You beam up at him, and the silence is comfortable yet again.

It’s a minute until next he speaks. “I know what I’ll get you.”

“And what would that be?”

“You’ll see at Christmas.”

Something about the rustling of trees and the soil being stamped underfoot is soothing.

After Simon put out his cigarette and lowered his mask back over his mouth he asked you if you wanted to walk around the park for a bit, which was how you and him ended up walking on one of the short trails.

Simon walks closer to you than usual. You don’t think you’re imagining it, not when you incidentally brush against one another at sporadic intervals.

Neither of you make a move to put some distance between one another.

It’s the distance—or lack thereof—that makes your mind wander.

You think about that day at the convenience store, the night at the bar, and the othernight at the bar when he walked you home for the first time.

You think of Simon, the scar on his jaw and the muteness in his obsidian eyes. The oddly stable monotony of his voice. Big hands that put your helmet on for you for the first time.

You didn’t expect him to show up.

Not when he standing on the other side of the street, not when he came into the bookstore to give your freezing hands gloves, not when he pulled up on his bike.

When does it stop being chivalry?

It was a dangerous thing for someone as sentimental as you to ask.

You didn’t want to smother. To desperately clutch so tight that it suffocated. Having false hopes flood your heart almost always ended with you drowning, so as always, you just took what you were given.

You’d mentally reprimand yourself for every skipped heartbeat and flutter in your stomach, and you would convince yourself that it would be fine if Simon suddenly stopped talking to you one day. Drifted away, further and further until he was a stranger once more.

Your heart was soft and bleeding, too easily bruised for your own good, that’s why you always got so hurt. It was why in spite of having a lovely day you now found yourself hurting.

So you bury down your desires of companionship and the word-you-refuse-to-say with a shovel that’s so well-used it might as well be another limb—

A single, thick arm shoots out and grabs you by the middle.

You are caught before you fall forward on the cold earth. So lost in thought you were, that you tripped over a pebble.

“Watch yourself, sweetheart.” Sweetheart. Your mind is in utter disarray.

‘It was just an off-handed term of endearment, let it go.’

It slipped out from his lips without thought, it didn’t have to mean anything, you’ve heard people use that word before, it didn’t have to mean anything.

It’s difficult to let it go when his strong limb remains wrapped around your waist. He waits until you steady yourself before slipping his arm away.

It’s just as difficult to forget about the effortless strength he exerted to pull you upright before you fell over, especially when that ancient sense hums in delight at such a display.

Your heart pounds hysterically despite your best efforts.

“Thank you.” You mutter quickly. He gives a single, curt nod.

You wait until your pace returns to a normal rhythm before speaking again, you want to put as many syllables between you and that term of endearment as possible.

“Did you ever read that book?” You can imagine the green cover and gold lettering clear as day.

“Yeah, I did.”

“What was it about?” Try as you might, you could remember the letters but not the specific ones which formed the title on the book.

“Mythology.” You blink up at him in mild surprise.

You didn’t take Simon as one who would be interested in that subject. “Oh! Do you usually read those?”

“No.” He answers flatly, “Wasn’t my first choice. Just wanted somethin’ different.”

“I understand.” You do, you truly do.

A beat of empathetic silence washes over the two of you.

“Do you read a lot?” You carefully store the bits of information about him in your mind, in hopes that one day you’ll be able to paint a fuller picture.

“Not often.”

You shoot a curious glance at him. “Oh, so what do you do in your spare time?”

Simon says nothing for a moment. He’s searching for an answer, you realize.

Eventually he responds. “Wait.”

You blink at him, momentarily puzzled by his response. ‘Wait for what?’ Your gaze says. He doesn’t elaborate and you don’t pry.

You see two birds foraging. Further down the trail is a little babbling brook. You exclaim your enthusiasm for both, and for every other thing which grabs your attention on the path. Simon only gives you an endeared scoff in reply.

You can’t help but feel dispirited when the trail eventually loops back around and you see the parking lot in the distance. You can’t help but feel a bit childish; not wanting the day to end just yet.

When you reach the bike you stand awkwardly next to it for a moment, waiting for Simon to retrieve the helmets for the final time today.

Simon comes over, the length of his shadow swallowing yours. While looking down at you his brows crease briefly. You are frozen in place when his free hand comes up to your head, slowly and gingerly, giving you time to flinch away. You don’t.

It’s too easy to imagine him cupping your face. That’s twice now that you’ve imagined that. The lump that forms in your throat following that thought is nigh impossible to swallow.

He pulls his hand back and he flicks his fingers so fast that it barely registers that he plucked an autumn leaf from your hair. You’re too caught up with what just happened to feel even remotely embarrassed over that.

An unknowable feeling dawdles around between you. You’re staring forward, avoiding looking up to meet Simon’s eyes, directionless.

You manage to choke something out to break the silence. “Thanks—“

“Don’t mention it,” Simon’s reply is swift, yet no less understanding for it. “Let’s get you home, yeah?”

You decide to just give Simon the directions to your home to drop you off. You trusted him at this point.

The ride there felt too short despite being a good distance away.

Simon only speaks to confirm he was at the right house, and then he’s pulling over to let you off.

You linger on the bike a second longer than needed. Simon doesn’t say anything or look over his shoulder to wordlessly tell you to get off. He sits there with you.

Your arms are still wrapped around him.

You shake off the urge to give him a final squeeze goodbye. Eventually you do get off the bike, and you take off your helmet. You’re about to give it back to him until he stops you.

“Keep it.” You blink at him, and tuck it under your arm instead.

You stand there aimlessly while you try to think of what to say.

“Thank you. For all of this.” There’s a quiet that settles between the two of you. It isn’t an unwelcome one.

Simon hums in reply after a time.

“I…” Your words slip past your lips and out of your head. Simon stares at you intently, waiting on every syllable.

“I appreciate it.” The words fall flat on your tongue, they barely scratch the surface of how you feel, but you hope he understands how much this day spent meant to you.

“I really enjoyed today.” You mumble, staring down at your shoes.

“Likewise.” He replies. Your lips twitch in a smile that never fully forms.

“Text me when you get home.” You blurt out. Simon simply nods.

And just like how you lingered for a second too long with him on the bike, Simon lingers a second too long with you.

“Talk to you soon.” He says after a moment. You wonder if he was going to say something else. You make yourself nod in agreement.

“Bye, Simon.”

You watch him leave, your eyes stay on him until he’s out of view.

You’re already laying in bed about to drift off to sleep for the night when you hear a high-pitched sound from your phone on the nightstand.

You swipe at the screen, your half-asleep eyes burning uncomfortably with the light that floods your vision when you open your phone. When you read Simon’s name you’re rubbing your eyes to help them focus on what he texted you.

‘Sleep well.’

┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Looks like this will be more than 2 chapters after all!

I also wanted to thank everyone who liked and reblogged the first chapter, the positive response really motivated me to finish this. It really means a lot!! 🫶💘

I actually read an article and watched a video on how to use kickstands on bikes, there’s always a possibility I described something wrong, but I hope that can be overlooked!

The plan is to ramp up the romantic intensity a lot in the next chapter. (This story will still shift to an explicit rating once we get there.)

Thank you so much for any and all likes and reblogs! Please feel free to tell me what you thought! Thank you for reading and I hope you enjoyed!

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost cod x reader #ghost x reader #x reader #reader insert #⤜stories #⤜suggestive #⤜Call of Duty #⤜Simon Ghost Riley/Reader

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prettygores · 3 days ago

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"You don't understand." Then again, most people don't. Jake was many things to Brooke.... a boyfriend, a best friend, her childhood tormentor turned prepubescent creep. Sometimes, they had a love-hate relationship. Brooke would kill for Jake and she knew he'd do the same for her. It didn't matter how many times they hurt each other, their bond was unbreakable. They were practically family. Which sounds insane and kinda gross, when you say it out loud considering you don't kiss your family. But, it's not like that. It's kind of hard to explain. Especially to an outsider. Not that, that's how Brooke viewed Tyler. It was just that... he was new to Riverwood. He didn't witness the history she cultivated with Jake since they were in diapers. "I agree that, it's his fault. He did this. But, if I rub it in his face... how does that make me any better than him?" Brooke knew how humiliating and gutwrenching it felt to watch Nina mount Jake's hips and ride him like he was her favorite donkey. The only thing that kept Brooke from crying alone in her bedroom that night and wallowing in self pity was, Tyler. And, she had no idea of the hand he played in their relationship's demise. If she did, she probably wouldn't have asked him to tutor her. And she definitely wouldn't consider humoring him any more than she already has. Nor would she be curious and interested in this mystery date he had planned for them.

Granted, she couldn't even be sure it was for her. Maybe, he intended to take Nina out or someone else and Brooke just so happened to be available instead. "I don't see that happening," Brooke informs him. Before, she realizes it sounds kinda harsh. Which was not her intent. "Oh no---" she attempts to backtrack, once she notices the slight shift in his expression. His smile is gone, which is disappointing because she liked seeing it. "I just mean that like.... you shouldn't put your faith in me to pass this quiz. I suck at math. I'm going to forget everything by tomorrow and I want to hang out with you. I don't know if we should call it a date though." It's too much pressure and makes her nervous and besides.... "I know you say it's not official with her but, Nina thinks of you as her boyfriend. I can't go out with her boyfriend. It's bad enough I...." like you and want to kiss you. "I mean we...." did what we did in France and no one knows. Although, she doesn't regret it and she'd do it again if they could turn back the clock and relive that magical moment. "I'll try to pass, obviously. Just because I don't want to repeat Algebra and I would like to hangout with you again to find out what you have planned.... but maybe, we should do it as friends. Try to keep our hands to ourselves." Despite that, being the exact opposite of what she truly wants. Tyler could've been bold. He could've leaned over and kissed her when he had the chance and Brooke likely wouldn't have stopped him. But, she was trying to be the bigger person.

Tyler catches the way her eyes drift down to his mouth and instinctively he licks his lips. If this were a movie, it would be the part when the troublemaker boy leans in and kisses the beautiful girl. Sparks would fly and they would fall into each other, getting drunk off the taste of love. But this wasn't a movie and Tyler lets the moment pass before Brooke lifts her phone to reply to Jake. He was proud of her for keeping true to their game. She didn't have to play by his rules but she was. Nina would never. She would tell him 'game over' the minute she was losing. Brooke was different. She treated him like an equal even though he doesn't deserve it. There were things he was still keeping from her and they were beginning to eat him alive. Tyler hasn't felt guilt in years. People didn't care about hurting him so he didn't care about hurting them. Brooke was the only person aside from Riley to give him a fair chance in Riverwood. Everyone else just saw him as a criminal despite Jonathan and Rachel's attempts to give him a new lease on life. But no matter how many extracurricular activities they signed him up for, he'll always stick out like a sore thumb. He'll always be the misfit — the outlier.

"So why not block him? You know you don't owe him anything." She wasn't the one who fucked up at Noel's party. Sure, while Jake was upstairs with Nina, Brooke was downstairs with Tyler. The only difference is, she pulled away from him to get back to her boyfriend. Jake could have stopped Nina but he chose not to. And it was obvious why. Tyler has seen the way guys like Jake and Will look at Nina. She has a reputation for being 'anything goes' in bed and they all want a piece of that. It used to make Tyler mad but not anymore. Now he only feels that way about Brooke. He wants her all for himself but she's not his. Girls like her don't date guys like him. The most he can hope for is to be a part of her rebellious phase but it won't be good enough. He can't look into her pretty eyes and be a one-night stand. Which is why he hasn't tried anything yet. Despite knowing they were home alone and in bed together. If they have sex again, he wants to be hers. "He thought he could get away with it. The Nina thing. He knows how much you care about him. I mean it's obvious. He hurt you and you're still protecting his feelings. You don't have to. If he thinks you have a shirtless guy in your room and he's losing his mind over it, then that's his fault." Grabbing the book from her bed, Tyler places it on her lap and looks down at her lips. "If you pass this quiz I would like to take you out on a date. If that's something you would be...interested in? I already set something up and I think you would like it."

#❝ muse ╱ brooke mckenzie.#❝ ship ╱ brooke + tyler.

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brynnmclean · 11 months ago

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I can't believe I still have to see posts about how much better ROP would be if Celebrían was the lead vs. Galadriel. As someone who has Tolkien Brainrot, I understand the appeal, I really, really do. As someone who has had to interact with so many people who either do not care about Tolkien Lore but are interested in fantasy television shows or are Jackson film fans first/foremost/only, y'all. Galadriel is a known character and a decent intro to lesser known characters.

Hate to break it to y'all but Celebrían is OBSCURE. I'm pretty confident in saying that if you get outside of Tolkien Fandom online circles, you could tell people that Elrond was married to Galadriel's daughter and the response you would get would be, "oh, I didn't realize that" because it's touched so lightly in the films. Celebrían isn't even MENTIONED by name. Now that I think about it, I'm not even sure if anyone mentions that Galadriel and Arwen are related at all!

My point is the show is meant to appeal to more people than us over here with Tolkien Brainrot!!!!!! I love Celebrían, but Galadriel was an easier sell to the potential of a wider audience as a lead. For a show that needs to go through so much lore very quickly, having Galadriel as the lead because she's 1) female [the overwhelming amount of male characters vs. female characters in the Legendarium is another post], 2) relatively familiar, and 3) has a set characterization to lead toward for an arc vs. her barely-even-mentioned-in-LotR daughter is a no-brainer.

#rings of power discourse for ts #i don't actually want to get into a fight about any of this. i just feel like i've been having this same conversation with people offline #for a year. like.#i don't want to make this all about running games but as someone who does run tolkien ttrpgs i have to explain A LOT of lore! regularly!#people can be fans of the films and simply not know information that could be called basic in fandom circles #do i agree with everything ROP did? no #but hot take: most of the changes they made were understandable to me if i thought through them for five minutes #point is: galadriel (known) celebrian (unknown). who the fuck were the writers going to pick as a lead? KNOWN. feels obvious to me!#tl;dr ROP is meant for a wider audience than Tolkien Brainrot Fandom sorry to say #and that goes for everyone who is saying the show should have kept the original timeline too #i saw one take early on that was like 'we should have had the focus be on the elves with a (basically disposable) cast of mortals #quickly dying off to show how much time is passing #sorry that is an unrealistic take! i can't imagine that any show is going to want to pay that many actors #i was surprised by the time jumps in HOTD!!!!#these tags could be their own post. this is out of hand.#to be deleted

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mordcore · 1 year ago

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thinks about how everything points at me having moral ocd and about how my abusive flatmate triggered that same thing on purpose yesterday, calling me an abusive fash prick and saying i'm not really a leftist i'm all talk

and my partner not understanding how bad it is bc i suggested calling the cops to have abusive flatmate evicted and my partners reaction was one of disgust at "pigs" and. well i'm certainly having a time here. and not a good one.

#venty #moral ocd #tw abuse #apparently acab is more important than wether or not i'm getting bludgeoned by guilt on purpose by someone i have to fuckingmlive with #like in a moral disgust way i mean bc they dont have that same reaction at flatmates actions #how do i process this without shrinking myself #like for the record we are not gonna call the cops because as i found out yesterday we are not in the legal right #but man #how do i navigate the guilt when i don't even aglee that i did something wrong but i also dont agree that i didn't #partner wants me to take back the whole “you gotta move out” thing #maybe i just stop trusting them or something #i do not understand what is happening. like in general.#gonna try dr ks meditation again about how i can't control any of this nor other peoples behavior #wow ok this is too much personal information will i even be able to past this #hgggghhh

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theonlyadawong · 2 years ago

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i am on my hands and knees praying, hoping, begging capcom not to retcon the night leon and ada spent together between re4 and damnation. the idea that either of them would have sought the other out outside of their line of work is so good, and it adds so much to both of them

#speakerphone!#ik the movie plays at it being romantic/sexual but idk #the way this plays out is that it's finally the night where ada just. talks to him.#she withholds information she doesnt want him to knkw ofc. but this is the night they really talk to each other #without worrying that the other will get called for work.#(but conveniently enough. ada is called from work when they start getting somewhere)#its not... i dont think its a sweet convo...#but its ada opening up as much as shes wants to (which isnt much)#i think its like 'did you know i had feelings for you' 'of course i did'#'was i really that easy to manipulate?' 'you were easier than anyone has any right to be'#that kind of thing #theres... theres no romance in it. from either side.#i think... to someone who doesnt knkw them... this conversation would sound like ada is brutally beating down leon.#when in reality... its almost the opposite.#shes giving him answers. and they might not be full explanations but its more than hes ever gotten from her.#and she asks questions too. things that prod at more sensitive memories. 'how was operation javier.' 'what did the government do to you'#'why didnt you tell them about me'#things that hurt him but also allow her to see more of him so she can use it for later and maybe its her checking up on him #anyways yes. if they retcon it then itll just be one of those things i hold on to #[l. s. kennedy; appendage of the enemy]#okay reordered the tags bc tumblr hates when u use quotation marks.#[a. wong; the apex predator]

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nexus-nebulae · 2 years ago

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also i just need to be fucking angry about the American healthcare system because holy shit i should not be forced to fucking GOOGLE how to take care of myself after a SURGICAL PROCEDURE

#doctor moment #idk what this specific kind of bad medical practice would be called so #ask to tag #vent #i guess #but HOLY SHIT I'M SO FUCKING MAD ABOUT THAT #THEY DID NOT TELL ME A SINGLE THING AT THE END OF THE PROCEDURE THEY LITERALLY JUST SHOOED ME OUT #I DID NOT GET FUCKING INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW LONG TO LEAVE THESE BANDAGES ON #I GOT ABSOLUTELY NEGLIGENT AND HORRIBLY WRITTEN INSTRUCTIONS ON HOW TO CARE FOR IT #ONES THAT MY MOM HAD TO GO THROUGH AND SIMPLIFY FOR ME BECAUSE I WAS TOO OUT OF IT FROM TOO MUCH ANESTHETIC #BECAUSE EVEN THOUGH THEY KNOW I WEIGH 95 POUNDS AND REQUIRE A CHILDREN'S DOSE THEY GAVE ME THE FULL DOSE #AND REGARDING THOSE INSTRUCTIONS EVEN MY MOM HAD TROUBLE WITH FIGURING THEM OUT #AND SHE'S MENTALLY ABLED AND WASN'T DRUGGED UP ON WHAT WAS MEANT TO BE LOCAL ANESTHETIC #not to mention I WAS NEVER FUCKING TOLD THERE WOULD BE A RECOVERY PERIOD FOR THIS #IT WAS TREATED SO CASUALLY BY EVERY DOCTOR AND TREATED AS IF I COULD JUST WALK IN AND OUT #AT NO POINT WAS I TOLD I WOULD BE RECOVERING FOR TWO WEEKS.#AT NO POINT WAS I TOLD I WOULD NOT BE ABLE TO WALK.#NO DOCTORS TOLD ME ANYTHING EVEN WHEN THE ONES DOING THE PROCEDURE ASKED ME SEVERAL TIMES IF I HAD IT DONE BEFORE #AND I TOLD THEM NO SEVERAL TIMES AND THAT I DID NOT KNOW WHAT WAS GOING ON OR WHAT I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DOING #I WAS GIVEN ZERO INSTRUCTION AND ZERO WARNING #AND I SHOULD NOT HAVE HAD TO ACTIVELY ASK FOR THIS INFORMATION #THAT SHOULD BE FUCKING BASIC TO TELL SOMEONE *GOING THROUGH A MOTHERFUCKING SURGICAL PROCEDURE*#I'm fucking pissed about this. i fucking hate doctors.

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castielmacleod · 2 years ago

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The Crowley and Amara thing as it was in canon was very much a complete disaster but part of the reason I so strongly prefer Amara as Crowley’s kid conceptually over him having anything to do with Gavin is because I really prefer the idea of Crowley choosing to be a parent on his own terms because he wants to have a relationship like that, and not out of any sort of forced obligation.

#Especially because to me Gavin only exists because Fergus MacLeod was a gay man who #had to force himself to marry and have children to hide that significant part of himself.#And that is why he resents Gavin so much in the first place. Not that it justifies the mistreatment but that’s at least WHY #It’s at least why Crowley feels that way. In my interpretation that is #So I think Crowley would have a LOT of parenting hang-ups related to that whole ordeal #Which I think is why he has Amara call him uncle instead of papa or something because he’s still not entirely comfortable #with fatherhood and his place in it and so the uncle thing is a way he can distance himself from that a little #But he very much was trying to parent Amara. Like in complete and total earnest too regardless of any initial intentions #I honestly believe that it became less about getting the Darkness on his side and more about him wanting a family #Wanting ANYONE. Love of any kind be it romantic platonic familial etc. He just wanted someone who would stand next to him #And maybe that’s kind of a woobie take but on my head be it I guess because I really do believe that #The show is atrociously written of course so like I said it’s an entire mess but he really did read parenting help books in the middle of #important meetings. Like. What am I supposed to do with that information other than think he is actually really trying here #ANYWAY to return to the point I’m trying to make with the post….. the fact that Crowley wanted to be a parent to Amara and clearly #did not want to have had Gavin is an important difference to me.#And I think if fan content is going to give Crowley any adventure in parenting then I’d much rather see him with Amara #Making the active choice to be someone for her #Rather than force himself to have anything to do with Gavin out of guilt at best and pure obligation at worst #(Due to Crowley and Rowena’s same person syndrome this is also why I think that while they could be friends that their #parent-child relationship is a ship that has LONG since sailed. Rowena is not a mother she’s not comfortable with it etc. So #they would stop trying to force that particular angle and just try and be amiable with each other and I think it would make it #genuinely easier for them to get along if they stopped trying to be Mother and Son and just tried to be people.)#My posts

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jaythelay · 6 hours ago

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We need more AmazingAtheist centric content to get Gen Z men on our side and I'm not fucking kidding.

If you want GenZ Ya'll gotta get comfortable saying the N word and being less hostile towards other verbiage and I'm Not Even Kidding.

If you want the Gen-Z vote you're going to have to focus on the shit Republicans do and not Who to Protect/Stand up for and I'm Not Even Kidding.

If you want the Gen-Z vote you're going to have to "Brigade", Infiltrate, and make a Twitter account, and spam what Republicans actually think and I'm Not Even Kidding. (This is what they've been doing the whole time)

We need to pop these echobox's bubbles through sheer information shoving. If they thought any ideology was being crammed down their throats? You need to show them what that's like but in reverse, show what they believe, what they have done and plan to do, in broad daylight. Go to r/conservative and act like you're excited about a part of Project 2025 that you Know they'll disagree with. Go on Twitter and post under any Republican's page the same thing. Make their Ideology Horrifying And Public.

Make Them Self-Reflect.

Make Leftism Cool.

#gen z #This goes against everything ya'll stand for but sincerely I know this fucking generation too well #We do not have personalities on the left for Gen-Z men. We simply don't #TJ Kirk quite sincerely is the character to play. He was fucking Pissed. He pointed shit out in simple ways. He showed what R's thought and #did. He didn't hold back on democrats or leftists. He felt far more centrist than he actually was leftist with some rightwing shit #That is the personality and balance #Notice how republicans essentially adopted that style of content aswell #Like seriously if someone Knows They Have The Personality For This I'm fully willing to help script and edit that #But ya'll gotta start sharpening some of your circular shape. Ya'll ain't cool anymore and I'm an adult who's unfortunately recognizing #their age. We got old folks. And none of us replaced early leftist/atheist content #It's clearly more complicated than this but seriously it's the age of the internet personality #What TJ did was Not just Bitch n Moan (hello!) he actively informed and Demanded you be better #Idunno maybe my decade(s) old memory ain't serving but what his content instilled within me was #Idunno how else to put this than. Ya'll make fuckers Depressed #TJ made them Pissed #Everyone #That is what you need #Not bitching n moaning. Not depression. We need Vitriol. We need to call people the N wo-#Listen I get it. I really. Really do. But ya gotta make some concessions on this fucking generation they are Stubborn #They'll come to realize eventually but for now honestly we need to focus on getting the male vote. They got a fuckton of personalities to #choose from abd honestly lately it feels like every leftist is trans or gay now and Listen That's Great I Love Them #but MAN is the leftist space alienating for straight people #I've had to pass on so many memes and posts on this website for my friends because much like memes there's too much to explain #And most of them are pretty gay so.#Oh btw if you watch TAA's content today Oho it does Not hold up but it can be adapted

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gallusrostromegalus · 3 months ago

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Move To A Darker Place

This is a story of Man Vs. Machine.

---

Last March, my father attempted to file his Taxes.

My beloved father is a Boomer. Unlike most Boomers, my father is rather handy with technology because he was one of the people that had a not-insignificant hand in Developing a hell of a lot of it. He was studying Computer Science at Cal Poly before the computer science degree existed. I have many fond childhood memories of skipping through the aisles of various electronic and computer part warehouses while Dad described something that either terrified the staff or made them worship him as a God. He taught himself how to use his smartphone. Internationally.

So when he saw the option to file digitally with the IRS through the “ID.me” program, he leapt at the chance to celebrate the Federal Government finally entering the Digital Age.

It was all going swimmingly for about six hours, until he was ready to file and the system told him that it needed to verify his identity.

“Very Well.” said my father, a man unafraid of talking to himself and getting something out of the conversation. “It wouldn’t do for me to get someone else’s return.”

The System told him that it needed him to take a “Digital Image ID”.

a.k.a: A Selfie.

“A-ha!” Dad beams. Dad is very good at taking selfies. He immediately pulled out his phone, snapped one, and tried to upload it.

Please log into your Id.me Account and use the provided app to submit your Digital Image ID. The System clarified.

“Oh. You should have said so.” Dad pouted, but used his phone to log onto the ID.me account, do the six security verification steps and double-checked that the filing looked the same as it did on the desktop, gave the IRS like nine permissions on his phone, and held up the camera to take his Federal Privacy Invasion Selfie.

Please align your face to the indicated grid. Said The System, pulling up a futuristic green-web-of-polygons approximation.

“Ooh, very Star Trek. Gene Roddenberry would HATE this!” Dad said cheerfully, aligning his face to the grid. My father is a bit… cavalier, when it comes to matters of personal information and federal government, because he’s been on FBI watchlists since the late 60’s when he was protesting The Vietnam War and Ronald Regan before he’d broken containment. Alas.

Anyway, there is very little information the federal government does not have on him already, but he’s as good at stalking the FBI as they are at stalking him, and had worked out a solution: He has something approaching a friendship with the local Federal Agent (Some guy named “Larry”. Allegedly), and got Larry hooked on Alternative Histories and Dad’s collection of carefully-researched “there is very likely buried treasure here” stories, and Larry is loath to bother his favorite Historical Fanfiction author too much.

But I digress.

After thinking for a minute, The System came back with an Error Message. Please remove glasses or other facial obstructions.

And here is where the real trouble began.

See, my father wears glasses that do substantially warp the appearance of his face, because he is so nearsighted that he is legally blind without them. His natural focal point is about 4 inches in front of his nose. While Dad can still take a selfie because he (approximately) knows where his phone is if it’s in his hand, he cannot see the alignment grid.

He should ask someone to take it for him! I hear the audience say. Yes, that would be the sane and reasonable thing to do, but Dad was attempting to do taxes at his residence in Fort Collins, while his immediate family was respectively in Denver, Texas and Canada. He tried calling our neighbors, who turned out to be in Uganda.

He looked down at the dog, Arwen, and her little criminal paws that can open doorknobs, but not operate cell phones.

She looked back at him, and farted.

“Well, I’ll give it a try, but if it gives me too much trouble, I’ll call Larry, and Larry can call the IRS about it.” Dad told her.

She continued to watch him. Arwen is an Australian Kelpie (a type of cattle-herding dog), going on 14 years old, deaf as a post and suffering from canine dementia now, but she still retains her natural instinct to Micromanage. She was also trained as a therapy dog, and even if she can’t hear my dad, still recognizes the body language of a man setting himself up for catastrophe.

So, squinting in the late afternoon light next to the back door, Dad attempted to line his face up with a grid he could only sort-of see, and took A Federal Selfie.

The System thought about it for a few moments.

Image Capture Failed: Insufficient Contrast. The System replied. Please move to a darker place.

“...Huh.” Dad frowned. “Alright.”

He moved to the middle of his office, away from the back door, lit only by the house lighting and indirect sunlight, and tried again.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“What?” Dad asked the universe in general.

“Whuff.” Arwen warned him against sunk costs.

Dad ignored her and went into the bathroom, the natural habitat of the selfie. Surely, only being lit by a light fixture that hadn’t been changed since Dad was attempting to warn everyone about Regan would be suitably insufficient lighting for The System. It took some negotiating, because that bathroom is “Standing Room Only” not “Standing And Holding Your Arms Out In Front Of You Room”. He ended up taking the selfie in the shower stall.

As The System mulled over the latest attempt, Arwen shuffled over and kicked open the door to watch.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move to a Darker Place.

“Do you mean Spiritually?” Dad demanded.

“Whuff.” Arwen cautioned him again.

Determined to succeed, or at least get a different error message that may give him more information, Dad entered The Downstairs Guest Room. It is the darkest room in the house, as it is in the basement, and only has one legally-mandated-fire-escape window, which has blinds. Dad drew those blinds, turned off the lights and tried AGAIN.

Image Capture Failed. Please Move To A Darker Place.

“DO YOU WANT ME TO PHOTOGRAPH MYSELF INSIDE OF A CAVE??” Dad howled.

“WHUFF!” Arwen reprimanded him from under the pull-out bed in the room. It’s where she attempts to herd everyone when it’s thundering outside, so the space is called her ‘Safety Cave’.

Dad frowned at the large blurry shape that was The Safety Cave.

“Why not?” he asked, the prelude to many a Terrible Plan. With no small amount of spiteful and manic glee, Dad got down onto the floor, and army-crawled under the bed with Arwen to try One Last Time. Now in near-total darkness, he rolled on his side to be able to stretch his arms out, Arwen slobber-panting in his ear, and waited for the vague green blob of the Facial grid to appear.

This time, when he tapped the button, the flash cctivated.

“GOD DAMN IT!” Dad shouted, dropping the phone and rubbing his eyes and cursing to alleviate the pain of accidentally flash-banging himself. Arwen shuffled away from him under the bed, huffing sarcastically at him.

Image Capture Failed. Please move to a darker place.

“MOTHERFU- hang on.” Dad squinted. The System sounded strange. Distant and slightly muffled.

Dad squinted really hard, and saw the movement of Arwen crawling out from under the bed along the phone’s last known trajectory.

“ARWEN!” Dad shouted, awkwardly reverse-army crawling out from under the bed, using it to get to his feet and searching for his glasses, which had fallen out of his pocket under the bed, so by the time he was sighted again, Arwen had had ample time to remove The Offending Device.

He found her out in the middle of the back yard, the satisfied look of a Job Well Done on her face. She did not have the phone.

“Arwen.” Dad glared. It’s a very good glare. Dad was a teacher for many years and used it to keep his class in order with sheer telepathically induced embarrassment, and his father once glared a peach tree into fecundity.

Arwen regarded him with the casual interest a hurricane might regard a sailboat tumbling out of its wake. She is a force of nature unto herself and not about to be intimidated by a half-blind house ape. She also has cataracts and might not be able to make out the glare.

“I GIVE UP!” Dad shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the office to write to the IRS that their selfie software sucks ass. Pleased that she had gotten her desired result, Arwen followed him in.

To Dad’s immense surprise, the computer cheerfully informed him that his Federally Secure Selfie had been accepted, and that they had received and were now processing his return!

“What the FUCK?” Dad glared. “Oh well. If I’ve screwed it up, Larry can call me.”

---

I bring this up because recently, Dad received an interesting piece of mail.

It was a letter from the IRS, addressed to him, a nerve-wracking thing to recessive at the best of times. Instead of a complaint about Dad’s Selfie Skills, it was a letter congratulating him on using the new ID.me System. It thanked him for his help and expressed hopes he would use it again next year, and included the selfie that The System had finally decided to accept.

“You know, my dad used to complain about automation.” Dad sighed, staring at the image. “Incidentals my boy! My secretary saves the state of California millions of dollars a year catching small errors before they become massive ones! He’d say. Fought the human resources board about her pay every year. I used to think he was overestimating how bad machines were and underestimating human error, but you know? He was right.”

He handed me the image.

My father was, technically, in the image. A significant amount of the bottom right corner is taken up by the top of his forehead and silver hair. Most of the image, the part with the facial-recognition markers on it, was composed of Arwen’s Alarmed and Disgusted Doggy face.

“Oh no!” I cackled. “Crap, does this mean you have to call the IRS and tell them you’re not a dog?”

“Probably.” Dad sighed. “I know who I’m gonna bother first though.” he said, taking out his phone (Dad did find his phone a few hours after Arwen absconded with it when mom called and the early spinach started ringing).

“Hey Larry!” Dad announced to the local federal agent. “You’re never gonna believe this. My dog filed my taxes!”

Larry considered this for a moment. “Is this the dog that stole my sandwich? Out of my locked car?” he asked suspiciously.

“The very same.” Dad grinned.

“Hm. Clever Girl.” Federal Agent Larry sighed. “I figured it was only a matter of time before she got into tax fraud.”

---

I'm a disabled artist making my living writing these stories. If you enjoy my stories, please consider supporting me on Ko-fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Book on Patreon. Thank you!

#Family Lore #Dogs #arwen #Arwen the Crime Dog #Taxes #Ronald Regan mention (derogatory)#long post under the cut #this one is funny this time #I could really use some extra tip money this month

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