#faceguard

[jrueships]

Stef headbutting (bunting) Josh every five seconds and josh just letting him

[knickknacksandallthat]

need you to know that @ your last ask i immediately imagined kevin and jeremy meeting at their starting position after an exciting play, kevin leaning down to do a gentle helmet tap with jeremy as a "good job babe" gesture

omg anon YES 😍 - he can't help it, ESP when they're all out on the court together. (Ahem...and crushing his former teams into dust.) He's gotta let his boys know just how good they are. Gentle helmet tap for the win 🙌

(And can we hc Jeremy smacking his butt back? bc 100% happened, no doubt 🍑)

[istherewifiinhell]

[ID: gif of a person holding a scarab, specifically some kind of rhino beetle, it takes off from their hand and flies up to the room light. END]

whatever. go my scarab

[daylighted]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ˗ˏˋ 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝟔𝟕.ᐟ ˎˊ˗

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ───── SEASON ONE, ───── ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ───────── PART THREE ─────────

────────────────────────────────────────────

summary. phi kappa psi throws a party to honor the first cardinal win of the season, and the past sneaks up with a phone call.

ㅤword count ! ㅤㅤ 3.8k ㅤㅤ content warnings ! ㅤㅤ john winchester hate. alcohol mentions. pining? taylor king! sam! ㅤㅤ track the season !

starting quarterback; two words that dean hadn't expected to hear in the starts of his freshman year. but suddenly, there he was, sat on one of the locker room benches, as coach greene gripped him by the faceguard of his helmet and shouted them in his face.

along with a few less nice words. idiot, he'd exclaimed, though without the biting, flippant tones that usually came along with his father's insults, i give you a play, you do the play! that's how football works! teamwork!

dean wasn't used to being on a team. he wasn't used to being anything besides a lone wolf, scampering through the woods to kill the bad guys with nothing but a blade for company.

he'd work on it.

"you have to trust me, too!" he'd said back to the coach, and had to resist the urge to physically wince when he did. standing his ground was engrained in who he was; even when john winchester tried to beat it out of him, it still rang true.

coach greene, though, simply stood toe to toe with dean, towering over him only now in this instance where dean was sat down and bent over himself. "alright, kid." his palm was heavy when it patted dean's shoulder. "you and i are going t'have to get t'know each other real quick this season."

and that was it. there was no scolding for speaking out of line, and certainly no other disappointment than what dean caused by stepping out of the team's trust and calling his own shots. this was how teams were supposed to work, he realized; not one person dictating everything, but a perfect harmony.

huh.

taylor king was less humble about the winnings. dean had barely pulled a pair of sweatpants on before he was being dragged by a larger hand toward the locker room's door. "whoa, whoa, wh─"

"frat party," he says in answer, giving dean a good shake by the grip on his bare shoulder, "in your honor."

dean snags his hoodie out of his locker with a strangled noise, too far away to get to shut it. at least he'd left his dagger at home, after weighing the options a couple of times. how would he explain a knife in his locker to people whose biggest concerns were if the moon landing was faked?

"i didn't ask the frat to do that."

taylor snorts, ruffling up dean's hair with his fingers. "so, you save the game, steal a w for the team, and you expect to go back to your room and, what, mope? sleep?"

dean's shoulders lift in a shrug. "why is that unreasonable?"

"i'm so damn excited to corrupt you."

truthfully, dean didn't need corrupting. his head was already a little messed up from all of the shit he'd seen at his ripe age of too young, and not to mention that parties after games weren't exactly a new concept to him, either. once he buckled down and got serious about wanting to get out of kansas, he stopped fussing over invites and started to actually study.

he liked it a lot that the image he presented so far at stanford was nothing like how he used to be, and what he would have become. dean must have been doing something right, even if it meant letting his friend think he was introducing him to the more fun sides of college.

"is this the frat that you've been kissing the ass of since the bonfire?" dean asks, conceding to taylor's physical pushing. he breaks free from his grip enough to slide the hoodie over his shoulders.

taylor's answering cackle is confirmation enough, but he never misses a chance to run his mouth. "yes, bro. phi kappa psi." he circles around dean to pat his hands down on his shoulders. "i'd kiss 'em all on the mouth if they asked."

"i'm sure they wouldn't."

"cameron wyatt's in there, you know?" taylor hums, his fingers drumming on the sliver of skin peeking free from dean's hoodie. "m'sure he'd love someone to kiss him better after his accident."

dean balks for a second, and then squeezes his lips shut. too many things to unpack at once. "i'm sure," he repeats, picking one of the slew of comments to address, "he's gonna have a couple of cheerleaders licking his wounds for him. and that you don't have to kiss them to get selected? taylor."

taylor laughs aloud. "yeah. sorry. had a little wine 'fore i snuck back in here to get your ass."

dean can't help his laughter, either. it's so ridiculous of a conversation that he almost relaxes into it. but something else nags at him. "you think wyatt's gonna be out of the hospital tonight?"

taylor gives dean a last slap on the shoulder before moving to walk beside him. they pass officials and crew and lingering teammates as they walk, all of them offering dean grins, or passing comments. he was a little overwhelmed by the prospect of his sudden popularity, but it was made easier by taylor there, practically basking in it all.

"if he does," taylor answers finally, words drawling slowly out of his mouth, "i don't think he's gonna be anything but bedridden for a while. why?"

dean chews on his inner lip, pushing the stadium's back door open and holding it for taylor, who slips out with a duck of his head to avoid knocking his skull into the frame. "no reason," he mumbles, the blast of fall wind whistling in his ears, "just hope he won't be pissed i've taken his spot on the team."

"wyatt's a junior with middle-of-the-line stats," taylor huffs, crooking a smile at a scantily clad girl passing by. dean blinks a couple of times when he realizes he'd been staring, too, as she circled around them and walked ahead of them. christ. "i doubt he's gonna be pissed that the next generation of cardinal players is in good hands, or that you won us a game tonight."

dean didn't think of it like that. he was often finding himself doing that; assuming that his successes would be downplayed, or made into unnecessary competition. he grits his teeth together. but nods, because taylor wasn't wrong. when was he ever wrong when it came to the inner workings of frat boys' minds?

"hey, wait!" a familiar voice calls from behind the both of them, and dean finds himself drawn into the sound of it, turning to meet the eyes he knew he'd find. you, chasing behind them in heels too tall to logically run as quick as you were, a skin-tight long sleeve cherry red dress draped over your frame. you were so damn gorgeous. "oh, hi," you stumble out, spinning on the thin balance of your heel to face them as you pass by.

"hey, cherry," dean traces his eyes down your outfit and back up, a flicker of a smile on his mouth, "you changed quickly."

you give him a look that could only be described as dumbfounded. "it's the first official frat party of the season. i'm not missing it because i'm caught in a locker room." your heels echo on the sidewalk as you walk backwards, sparing a glance over your shoulder. "i'm guessing i'll see you there?"

dean grins this time, giving into it. "yeah. we'll be there."

"cool." you turn again, facing forward as you break into a little jog, fixing the strap of your heel in hobbling steps. "wait, kristen─"

taylor's hand slaps hard into dean's ribs, forcing a scoff out of his mouth. "who the hell was that?"

dean's smile softens. it's one thing to have you to himself, it's another for his friends to learn about you.

"a friend."

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

the party must have started during the last quarter of the game, because it was already in full swing once taylor pushed open the doors. the thick smell of hot sweat and alcohol wafted out the space, music shaking the doorframe and rattling the open windows.

he clears his throat, raising a hand in gesture to the crowded space. "ladies first."

dean elbows taylor in the stomach as he passes. "shut the hell up."

taylor's shoulders lift in a shrug, one hand coming up to rub the spot between his ribs where dean had dug in. "you're right. that's my bad."

dean gets only a couple of steps in before taylor bends and launches, rearing his head in between dean's legs, his hands going to his shins as he lifts him into the air. dean's hands flail before they grasp into the thick black strands of taylor's hair, his surprised laugh loud in comparison to the grunge on the speakers.

"ladies and gentleman," taylor announces, steady on his feet even with a full-grown guy on his shoulders, "your new fucking quarterback's arrived!"

dean yanks hard on taylor's hair. "shut the hell─"

"someone pour this shithead a drink!" taylor interrupts, his grin widening on his mouth. he'd grown up in a house of six; the oldest of four kids, all of his younger siblings below double digits. taylor king was more than a little used to showboating and acting out so long as it brought a smile to everyone else's faces.

dean, he could tell, was grinning. he acted nonchalant, closed off, but taylor knew an older sibling who wasn't used to the attention when he saw one. if there was one thing dean winchester wouldn't be with taylor around, that was looked over.

slowly, taylor lowers him to the floor, anticipating the punch to the shoulder before it comes. "what we're not gonna do," he says with a stern expression, arms firmly crossing over his chest to punctuate his serious tone, "is act like you're just some dude at a frat party."

dean blinks at him. they're only a couple of inches off from being the same height, but taylor uses those couple inches in his favor now. "i played for one minute of one game."

"and now you're gonna be playing every minute of every game," taylor answers, turning at the tap that comes to his shoulder. he flashes a dazzling grin at the girl and the cups she holds out ─ cropped cardinal red jersey, the stanford logo emblazed on her breast, a white skirt... kristen, dean's friend had called her. he couldn't wait to hear kristen's voice. "bottoms up, winchester. welcome to the hall of fame."

taylor grabs both cups from her, purposeful when his fingers brush against kristen's, and lifts them out of her grip, extending one of them to dean. "here's to the new backbone of the team," taylor hums before he takes a long drink, barely wincing at the burn in his throat. smells like rubbing alcohol, tastes like it, too. "don't fuck it up."

dean tentatively raises the cup to his mouth, and it's enough to make taylor grin. he's like a little southern puppy playing where he shouldn't. taylor wants to take him everywhere and see what he gets up to.

kristen's fingers curl around taylor's bicep, and he's afraid to leave dean, but the thought of not taking advantage of his given opportunities makes his stomach feel knotted up. "will you show me which room is yours?" she asks, her dark eyelashes fluttering up at him.

taylor could have bust right there.

"oh, i don't have a room here yet, honey," he drawls, his hand moving to trace his fingertips over her cheekbone, "but we can go test out all the beds. y'know, so i know which one i want when i do move in. how about that?"

dean audibly groans behind him. it's not taylor's fault that girls fall at his feet. who would he be to turn them away from what they want?

"go run off n' find your pretty little friend," taylor says, reaching up to pinch dean's cheek between his fingers, "cherry, right? go hang out with her and leave big daddy king to handle all your lovely new fans. as a favor for winning for us, yeah?"

dean doesn't blink, doesn't smile. his lips somehow flatten even more. taylor grins. "as a favor."

"you're welcome, by the way," taylor adds, letting himself be dragged through the sea of sticky people toward the staircase, "and tell cherry her friend's in great hands!"

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ────

maybe there was another frat party that night, and that's where you'd run off to. this may have been the biggest one, but maybe you didn't fuck with crowds either, like he didn't; picked one of the smaller houses blaring music and snuck inside.

dean was considering it.

every step he took, someone said something to him about the game, about his save, or tried to drag him away upstairs like kristen had with taylor. as appealing as the idea was, he was curious about where you'd gone, and wasn't about to give into his desires on the very first celebratory frat party.

you were always so easy to find.

you had this light about you that dean had yet to find in another person on campus. you, somehow, were always where the laughter came from, or just so happened to be the source of it.

and there you were, in the center of the expansive living space of phi kappa psi, like a red beacon.

it wasn't as graceful as taylor had been, shoving past the clustered student body to get to where he wanted. taylor was a big, tall guy, and people seemed to dip out of his way the moment they saw his head over of the crowd. dean was tall, too, but he didn't carry the same over-the-top attitude. there could only be one taylor king, after all.

he's two steps away from you when his pocket starts buzzing. dean's eyebrows furrow. all of the people he keeps in contact are here. he knows; has already spoken to them, and their friends, and their friends' friends. unless it's─

dread pools in his lower stomach. he's in the eye of the storm, about to drop out of it and back into the chaos, as the crowd shifts and squeezes around him. any moment, he'll get swept away from you. any moment, his phone will stop ringing.

he manages to pull it out without it being knocked out of his fingers, flipping it open to read the caller id. even more dread fills him. sammy.

"sam?" he asks once he presses the green answer button, though even he can barely hear his voice with the buzz of laughter and chatter, and the music blaring through the speakers pressed straight ahead against the wall. "sammy?"

impatience and frustration flutter through his stomach. he can't hear shit on the other side of the line. he clicks the volume button up as high as he can, and still nothing.

dean's eyes catch on yours, and his heart pangs at the beginnings of concern etched into your expression. "hang on, sammy, let me get outside─"

he turns his back to you. it's even harder now to get out of the house with how full it'd gotten since dean and taylor showed up, the rest of the football team and cheer team and whoever else having made their way over.

breaking out of the crowd and finding the front door is a breath of fresh air all of in itself. finally, he can hear something on the other side of the line.

"are you at a party?" sammy's voice still sounds weak. the cell reception was the problem this time, not the overstimulation of sounds. dean takes a couple of steps down the sidewalk leading up to the house, in the direction of the mailbox planted by the winding road. "sorry, you can go back, i'll─"

"shut up, sammy," dean says without any malice behind it. "i haven't talked to you in a week. you're not interruptin' anything."

"i just wanted to know how it was going."

dean smiles a little despite himself. he wishes more than anything that he could drive the twenty seven hours back home and bring him back with him, even if sam was still just a sophomore in high school.

"there was a football game today," dean says, resting his elbow on the bricked in mailbox, "and, uh, we were losing. not by a lot, but it was tense. the quarterback, his name's cameron wyatt, he... he got injured, and i─"

sammy's line cuts in again. "─what was that? i don't think dad paid the phone bill again, i think my minutes are about─"

the line goes dead. in his ear instead of sam's voice is the incessant beep of a dropped call.

dean tries to ignore the pang in his chest. he doesn't move the phone from his ear yet, as if his sheer will could force the call to go through again. "i won, sammy. i got put in and i won it for us."

us. for the team. for himself. for sam. even if sam wasn't capable of being there.

dean sighs, scrubbing one hand over his face as the other shoves his phone back into the pocket of his sweatpants.

"the connection's really shitty out here."

dean blinks in surprise, glancing over his shoulder to find you there. the moon highlights the vibrant red of your dress, and the jewelry around your neck. his eyes trace over you in your entirety, his bad mood slipping away like water through his fingertips.

"sorry, didn't mean to..." you trail off, your arms wrapping around your chest, fingertips tapping along your inner elbows. "interrupt. i just wanted to see if... if you were okay. you looked a little─"

"i'm good," dean cuts you off, forcing an easy smile onto his mouth. "just... my brother called, is all. call dropped."

you look like you don't believe him, and your lingering silence only adds onto that theory. dean doesn't know if he hates you for it, or wants you to stick around.

"like i said," you say finally on a short, dramatic sigh, "this area's got the worst cell connection. i guess that's why every room, basically, in alpha phi─"

"no way," dean interjects again, this time with a laugh. "you joined a sorority?"

to your credit, it takes you a few seconds to blush. under the pale moonlight and the golden streetlight, you look the same color as your dress. his smile widens. "i just wanna know the whole college experience, you know?"

"hm." dean shoves both hands in the deep middle pocket of his hoodie. "i figured frat parties, microwave dinners, and failing exams was the college experience. not that i'm judging, of course."

you laugh then, too. "sounds a little like you are," you hum, and then your face twists up in some sort of recognition, eyes glimmering, "i told you i was rushing sororities! why do you sound so surprised? think i wouldn't get in?"

dean rolls his eyes, his expression warm, his heart feeling lighter already. "no. i figured you'd get in."

"oh, so you just forgot?" you tsk, starting to walk the sidewalk up to him. "fame's already gotten to your head."

"fame─" dean gives you the same flat look he'd given taylor earlier. "there's no fame. and i didn't forget. don't be ridiculous. i can't forget anything about you."

again, the silence afterwards feels heavy, this time with something other than disbelief. then, you nod toward the street behind him. "hopefully you aren't too distracted with college popularity to walk me home?"

dean watches you for a few seconds. the wind tossles your bouncy hair, gloss glitters on your mouth, your heels tap against your arm. he hadn't even realized you weren't wearing them. maybe he should have. you were back to being a good bit shorter than him.

"sure," dean concedes, reaching out to steal the heels out of your hand by their straps, "after you, cherry red."

you scoff, but don't say anything back for a while. the silence isn't awkward, at least to dean. it feels peaceful, almost. the wind whistles through the scattering leaves, making your hair flutter behind you as you walk, and you look utterly enchanting because of it.

"it's just a couple of houses down," you say eventually, lifting a red-nailed finger to point at one of the big buildings.

dean nods. "thought there'd be pink bows all around it. or flowers. both."

"don't be ridiculous," your eyes roll, the corners of your mouth tilting up when your gaze is back on him, "they're inside."

dean lifts his hands in surrender, your heels bouncing off of his forearms. "rookie mistake."

your laugh is like music to his ears. he can't take his eyes off of you. it's only when you slow to a stop that he realizes you've reached your destination. the prickling on his skin from your gaze is almost enough to make him flush.

"thank you, 67," you say with noticeable sincerity. "i know it probably took time out of your busy schedule to fit walking me home in, but─"

"please," dean shakes his head, holding his hand up to stop you, "don't bring it up. i swear to god. taylor's already gotten it in his head i'm some campus celebrity now."

your fingers close around his as you take your shoes from his hand. "just don't forget about me when everyone else starts to realize you're a pretty cool guy, okay?"

dean shakes his head, his smile soft and molten, and somehow a little sad, too. that you could think you were so easy to forget was a joke in of itself. "promise i won't." he nods toward the building behind you. "get some sleep. it's late."

you start down the sidewalk, and dean's seconds from taking a step back to walk back to his dorm building when you speak again. "goodnight, 67. you were great tonight."

dean had endured a lot of flattery that night. none of it felt on the same level as those few simple words you'd said to him did. didn't even come close. "goodnight, cherry," he calls back to you, and doesn't look back again, because he doesn't think he'd leave if he did, and that was a dangerous thought.

always such dangerous, ridiculous thoughts when it came to you.

the walk back to his dorm room is quiet. the wind doesn't sound the same when it's not whistling through your hair, flipping the strands around your face.

he should call taylor, make sure he was alright, even if dean knew in his heart that he was doing as he promised and making sure all of the girls looking to celebrate that night were getting taken care of. he should message sam, see if everything was alright.

and he will. but for some reason, he's drawn to the boxy computer monitor on one end of his and taylor's shared room. he wiggles the mouse to pull it out of sleep mode, and realizes why he felt the need to look.

tens of hundreds of friend requests to his aol account, probably because of the win he'd secured. and right at the very top, the newest one, was cherrypie.

special features !

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤget to know WINCHESTER ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤget to know READER ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤsend in FANMAIL ! ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤwanna know when a new episode drops ? join the WATCHLIST !

────────────────────────────────────────────

watchlist !

@whyyouegg @sthefferrete @cevansbaby-dove @titsout4jackles @cosmicanakin @bluestrd @ultravi0lence14 @mccartneyqp @poughkeepsie99 @depressionbarbie2023 @im-bili @ariasong11 @chevroletdean @angelblqde @ostaramoon @deansbite @lyarr24 @psyches-reid @reynas13 @momoewn @deanswidow @jasvtsc @figthoughts @beausling @frosttbitessam @aileenunfiltered @samslvrgirl @taeists @globetrotter28 @urfavpisces95 @rubyvhs @jackleslvr @hollywoodxrose @imsiriuslyreal @bluemerakis

────────────────────────────────────────────

DAYLIGHTED © i do NOT give permission for my work or ideas to be used, rewritten, or reposted!

[batchilla]

Fata Morgana Chapter Two - A Dance Earned

Content warnings of violence, death, and outdated views on women.

Sweat drips down Jason's nose, and his breathing is laboured. He cannot wipe it away, not without lifting the faceguard of his helmet. So, he lives with the discomfort, the sting of sweat in his eyes, the stink of it within his metal suit. His arms, one holding his sword, the other bearing a shield strapped to his forearm, ache. His head is pounding. His heart feels as if it may explode with how fast it beats.

He adjusts the grip of his sword to refocus himself. In the edge of his vision, tied to its hilt, the princess ribbon flutters gently in the breeze.

Centred, and reminded of his reasons, Jason levels his sword, and charges to meet his opponent.

The man’s name escaped him - it had been a long day. However his green heraldry told Jason the man likely serves the Queen family. Formidable archers were plentiful in their barracks. It was likely the bow he held had carried him to the final round more than the shortsword at his side. So, Jason would make it his priority to close distance, to force him to rely on melee skill.

He strikes out, his sword colliding with the breastplate of the other, trying to unbalance him, sending a loud clang of metal on metal, almost lost in the cheers of the crowd.

His opponent hurriedly drops the bow, draws his sword and hits back, making Jason grunt as he feels the opponent's sword collide with his dominant arm.

Jason isn’t so easily distracted though, he had fought far too many more deadly foes to drop his blade or allow pain to distract him in the heat of battle. He takes his shield, slamming it into his opponent's chest, sending the man colliding with the ground.

His victory is swift and definitive over the green clad man. In a real battle, he would have ended the lesser warrior with ease. It would be so easy. Something in his blood urges him to do it. A ruthless instinct that had kept him alive thus far. He puts the point of his blade to the defeated’s throat.

The roar of the crowd fades out. Morphs and twists into the screams of battle. Of that battle. Of the fields of Arkham. His grip tightens on his sword, and he looks down, not at the Starling knight, but at the face of a boy. He holds a pike, and wears leather armour that will do little to save him - that will not save him - that didn’t save him as Jason plunges his sword into his heart. He hears the boy cry, not a scream, a whimper. The last, trembling word that leaves his lips as he dies is a call for his mother. He looks up, to a field of bodies. A battle won at last, an enemy army slain… The field of battle soaked in blood, the smell of death mingling with the ocean air. And in this moment he knows himself a monster.

Reality fades back in, and Jason is not looking at the seaside battleground of Arkham, but looking up at the royal box. At her. At his Princess. The princess, he reminds himself - not his.

She looks … beautiful. She always does, in his humble opinion. Today, however, he feels his breath catch at the mere sight of her.

She’s worn red. But not just any red, his red. The same velvet fabric as the ribbon tied to his sword - surely something she had done deliberately. She had planned this for him. He gulps, grateful that no one can see his expression due to his faceguard.

Her gaze trails down to his opponent, still laid on the dust. Yes. Right. The other knight.

“Yield.” Jason demands, his arm flexing as he ever so slightly presses the sword in further to make his point.

“I yield.” The other man says, a little too quickly. Jason sheaths his blade, and offers a hand to bring the man to his feet.

Jason takes a deep breath as he removes his helm, and locks eyes with her.

You are going to die.

It should be illegal, frankly, for Captain Todd-Wayne to look like that.

He offers his hand to his defeated opponent, and you near swoon. To see such an honourable act after witnessing him put the realms warriors to shame all morning near stops your heart.

His hair is stuck to his face with sweat, his face flushed with the effort of the fight. His chest, you imagine, is heaving under his plate. Mentally, you imagine that paired with his half tied shirt from the night before, and are forced to pull out your fan to cool your face.

Your lady in waiting, Lady Stephanie Brown, leans down to whisper in your ear over your shoulder. “Are you quite well, M’lady?”

“Hm? Ah. Yes. It is simply… the heat.”

“But of course.” She replies, in a tone that from anyone who wasn’t a dear, dear, friend, would have you asking if they were daring to imply your dishonesty.

“You there!” She calls to a servant “fetch the princesses parasol!”

Then, turning back to you, she whispers once more “The heat?”

She echos playfully. You swat her arm.

“Hush.” You chide, and in response she wiggles her eyebrows.

You watch Jason leaving the arena, watch him splash a ladle of water over his head from a nearby barrel, and doff his gauntlets to take from an adjudicator a plush pillow, on which rests the crown of roses.

You smooth your skirt and carefully arrange yourself to appear adequately surprised when he approaches. Certainly you knew that as much as your heart was his, that crown was yours - but it would not do well to be too obviously aware of his affections, nor display your own.

Sure enough, you watch as he approaches, bowing deeply to your Father, your Mother, your younger brother, and finally, you.

Jason lifts out of his bow, meeting her eyes and trying not to appear as nervous as he felt.

He knew, of course she would not deny him.

It was testament to her charity that she indulged his annual request, similar to giving alms. A single moment where he could pretend he stood a chance at being anything more than her guard dog.

He knows that should you not wish to allow him this, you would not have given him a favour. Still, his hands, hands that have ended countless lives, calloused and rough from a life of hard, violent labour in her fathers name, but for her sake, shake slightly as he takes the crown in hand.

“Your royal highness.” He holds the crown out, and she bows her head obligingly.

Jason places the roses among her locks, trying not to linger on the sensation of her hair under his fingers. She looks up at him, her eyes wide and so filled with…

Love. His soul whispers. Wishful thinking, he knows. Affection, perhaps. Fondness, even. But it would be prideful to the point of insanity to think she loved him. Certainly she looked at him as if she did… but it could not be. Surely.

He steps back, taking her in the sight of her in his crown, knowing that for a few minutes that evening, he would get to hold her in his arms.

The dress you’d laid out on the chaise for the ball tonight lays forgotten. Not Jason’s red - it would be too overt to wear such a colour twice in such swift succession. So, something close, but something that inspired innocence and femininity. You had risked much in sneaking away from the palace to his tent, much more in wearing his colours. Tonight, you must be the picture of what your father wished of you. Mindful, Demure, even.

You pace the length of your rooms as the sun sets, running a hand down your face in distress.

“And you are quite certain?” You ask, turning to Stephanie, who stands beside the gold coated four poster bed you’ve slept in since childhood.

“Do you think I would tell you this if I had doubts?” She counters, shaking her head. “My source is good. Your father has been made a… rather generous offer by the Earl Sionis in exchange for your hand. A significant portion of fertile farming land.”

You nod. You had always known it would be your fate to form a political alliance, since the birth of your brother had taken the kingdom from your grasp. You were not even particularly opposed. Many such marriages were tolerable, and realistically once your husband had his son, you would only need to see him on formal occasions, and enjoy a life free of strife and hard labour.

But Earl Sionis? You had heard nothing credible of course, at least to the courts. Only rumours. Only the claims of his survivors, few as they were. Chief amongst them, in your mind, being Stephanie. You knew not exactly what he had done. But mention of his name filled your closest friend with fear and that was enough for you to think the lowest of him despite being unintroduced.

Still, you understood at least the political mechanics of how the match came to be. In the divying of the spoils of Arkham the Sionis line had been richly rewarded. Rewards that may well have been due to Captain Todd-Wayne, had he not been thought dead. Between the peasants, lands, and spoils he had taken, the Earl would have resources enough to make your father amenable to the match.

You sigh, your shoulders falling in defeat, in helplessness. You feel Stephanie move closer, and her arms wrapping you up in a hug. “I’m so, so, sorry.”

She whispers in your ear as you allow yourself to rest your head on her shoulder, and take a deep, shaken breath to fight tears. It would not do well to be seen to have been crying, especially if you could not explain how you had come to know of your inevitable engagement. You take a hankie from your pocket and dab at your eyes.

“Fret not. I… I will be safe while my father lives. He will not risk the Kings ire. I have till his death to endear myself to him.” Your lie tastes of ash on your tongue. But Stephanie seems cautiously comforted by your words. You were, after all, a talented liar. You may well have been a talented mistress of whispers in another life.

This is not that life though, and rather than a mistress of whispers, you are a princess. A helpless, beautiful flower blown by the winds of fate. You are not a talented spy. You are property of the realm. Privileged and pampered property, though property all the same.

You take another, deeper breath and withdraw from Stephanie’s arms. “Well. I have a ball to prepare for and I daren’t be late. I presume the Earl is in attendance this eve?”

“He is.” she confirms, as you ring a bell to summon your handmaidens to help you dress.

“Well then, we must make an impression.”

You did wish to dazzle, of course, but not your potential husband. If this was your last chance to dance publicly with Captain Todd-Wayne? You intended to look your very best.

Jason was not a scared child. He was a seasoned warrior. He was not skulking. He was simply scouting the ballroom's perimeter. The rooms' grandeur, while beautiful, lead to many nooks and crannies for an assassin to take refuge in. He was most certainly not hiding from his adoptive father.

Take for instance the pillar he stood behind. 12 of them lined the walls of the ballroom, made of marble and polished till they shone. Anyone could be using them as cover. The polished tiles with their elaborate design and the way they made voices and footsteps echo and carry to create the most lively atmosphere could conceal whispered threats in their manufactured noise.

Technically he had the evening off. Though when it came to her safety, he refused to let the matter fall into another’s hands. Especially after West’s embarrassment last night, letting her escape. Honestly, she had never tried to flee his company, and couldn’t understand why his brothers in arms struggled so much in containing her.

She was a menace, more often than not. Take last night. He was a man of honour, or at least he would always portray himself as one in the presence of a lady. Perhaps a little less than honourable was that he had given the minstrials a heavy coinpurse to ensure the song that opened the ball was a long one. No harm was caused by his deception, but he felt a treacherous liar all the same.

He reluctantly steps out from behind the pillar, before anyone could dare to accuse him of anything so childish as avoiding the Duke. Besides, the royal family would soon be announced. Traditionally, she would enter with them, but as the crown of roses was hers, she would enter after, as tradition dictated.

Sure enough, The King, Queen, and the young Prince enter, and as he often does, Jason’s eyes rake the crowd, looking for any sign of an unordinary reaction from the gathered peerage. True he bore the King no particular fondness, but a threat to her family was a threat to her.

Jason observes the Earl, Roman Sionis, who uplifts his glass to the King in a smug gesture. It … was no crime. Nothing he did in public was. Nevertheless, it set his bones on edge. He didn’t care for the look in the Earl’s eyes. Then again, something about Roman Sionins had filled him, since his return, with great unease. Nothing the man had done seemed to earn this, beyond the many rumours… what Jason felt was more visceral. But a feeling alone is hardly grounds for an accusation if he did not have a crime.

But then, with an eruption of trumpets, your name is announced. Like a doomed sailor, Jason turns to her. She is his gravity. She is … his everything. She looks radiant. Her dress is a soft pink, like a sunrise, with white underskirts that shimmer ever so slightly as if made of woven starlight. She has worn the rose crown, and jewels fine enough to likely feed half the country for a week.

He moves towards her, A moth to a flame, he cannot look away as he extends a hand. She takes it, and Jason kisses the back of her hand, momentarily despising whichever handmaiden had put her gloves on this eve. “My lady.”

He whispers against the fabric of the glove. He rarely said it. Only when he forgot himself.

She smiles at him, and Jason … can’t help but to notice it doesn’t seem sincere. Well. Her performance of affection had been impressive thus far - he could hardly fault her if her facade wavered.

The nobility move back, clearing the dance floor as Jason leads her to its centre. He places a hand on his waist, the other behind his back. She places a hand on his right epaulette. She stands a slight distance from him, and Jason ignores the desire to pull her closer, flush against his starched black military uniform with it’s red sash and the array of medals pinned to his chest.

Jason guides you by your waist in a series of slow, sweeping circles, before taking your hand and spinning you, first away and then close. You have to stop yourself from colliding with him as you are pulled back by placing a hand on his chest. You feel him tense, which, unlike plate might, allows you to feel the raw strength he possesses. You breathe deeply. Now is not the time for depraved thoughts.

“You fought well today.” You whisper to him he takes your hand from his chest with the one that had been behind his back, lacing your fingers together as you move into a more traditional waltz around the room.

He shakes his head in self deprecation “I was… motivated, my lady.”

You try to fight your smile and your sorrow, which work in a strange dance of their own.

“I am only sorry that this shall be our last.”

Because it would be. While Captain Todd-Wayne was of high enough rank and respectable enough standing he could petition a space on your dance card at many a ball, he did not. Would not. For reasons unknown to you, despite your brazen affection for him, and his for you, you had danced only those four Fata Morganas. And now that was all there would be.

“What?” He asks, his voice pitching higher than you’d previously heard it. It was a risk to tell him, but you trusted in his ability to be discreet. He deserved to know, you figured, that this was in many ways goodbye.

“I suspect myself soon to be wed.” You admit, fighting to keep your voice appropriately light. You needn’t concern him with the worst of the news yet, needn’t ruin the night utterly. You feel his grip on you tighten, and see his expression become mournful.

“Well.” He says, his voice tight and forced.

“I suppose it was a day always on the horizon, Congratulations my- Your Royal Highness.”

You hear the music end, but can’t quite bring yourself to step away from him. Can’t look away from his eyes, the bluest, most beautiful in all the land, you were sure. Neither of you move as you look at each other, as you squeeze his hand back, and fight the desire to tell him you love him before the chance is lost to you forever.

You hesitate too long. Perhaps you will always regret it.

An imposing, stately man approaches. You have never met him, of course, but you know him at once. From his suit so fine it borders on the garish, to the smug and self confident smile on his face. Earl Sionis bows to you, seeming to ignore the Captain entirely.

He speaks your name in a manner far too familiar. He smiles, and speaks with the charm of a cat toying with a half dead mouse. “My Lady, your beauty was not exaggerated in the tales that reached me. Might I have the honour of your hand… For the next dance?”

The deliberate pause is not lost on you, though you pretend it is. He is goading his perceived rival, you figure.

A ridiculous notion. There is no rivalry. Captain Todd-Wayne… Jason, would win the contest for your heart with laughable ease.

But you are petals in the whirlwind of fate, and so you smile, and say you’d be delighted. You do not look back at Jason… Captain Todd-Wayne. It would surely kill you.

[theangrycomet-art]

trying out prime's art style with the duo I wish were explored more.

two halves of a whole idiot, ride or die besties

powerglide would still be a plane (by CHOICE)

this decicsion often gets him a lot crap but he doesn’t care

his face was badly clawed during a fight with Starscream,

ripped off the front half of his jaw & half-blinded his left optic. He keeps his faceguard/mask up to protect the remains of his face as well as make other people more comfortable (its' an admittedly unpleaant sight)

moonracer was recruited from Elita's squadron by Ultra Magnus for both her sharpshooting and her skills as morale officer

her go-to gun of choice is a Wheeljack original dubbed the Lunatic, custom made for her after her first successful mission with him

powerglide and moonracer were partners in the wreckers and were terrifyingly efficient between his dogfighting and her sharpshooting

she was not only the best 'bot one at shooting decepticons straight out of the sky, but she was also the only bot crazy enough willing to do it in the air with/on him

currently they are working on separate teams, but they each have a custom piece/tool made of the other's armor so that they "always can have each other's backs"

he has a small but powerful pistol with the range and targeting scope of nearly 5 miles

she has a grappling line with a hook with a grip that's been known to dig into even to the toughest of alloys

COMMISSIONS OPEN

[simverses]

TSM Knight Asymmetric Pauldrons Armor + Knight Helmet Faceguard, 2 versions

When going to war, or participating in jousting, a good and pretty armor is a must.

This set, with options for adult sims (male/female) and also kids and toddlers, protects your sims from bodily harm.

Converted from Sims Medieval, edited and adapted for Sims 4. Updated and improved, delete old version - I also added a toddler size. (Because cute. And some pages were young.)

Kids and toddler's versions get their textures from the adult male version. All merged in one file, if you want to edit or remerge, unmerge first.

TSM Knight Helmet Faceguard

A classic helmet with Faceguard function. Available for adult male and female sims. Base Game Compatible.

TSM Knight Helmet Faceguard Ponytail

The Faceguard helmet, but as a hat-hair with a ponytail attached. Available for both male and female adult sims.

This is a hat-hair and needs EP Growing Together to work.

This means that you add the crown in Hats section - and the hair comes with it. Hair color is added automagically, if you change the hair color of the sim, the hair color of this hat-hair will also change. It's not a method that suits all hats - and it only works if you have Growing Together (afaik). In the merged file there is a file called HairOverlay, and if you want to edit the hair colors, you do it in this file. The mesh for hair is in the hat file.

In the merged file the hair colors (24 EA swatches) are included, unmerge if youw ant to edit or remerge.

Download Knight Asymmetric Pauldrons Armor (Curseforge)

Download Knight Helmet Faceguard (Curseforge)

Download Knight Helmet Faceguard Ponytail (Hat-Hair) (Curseforge)

[neramontagofficial]

Oh, do you not get skol meya out there? It's a sparri sport but it's always been extremely popular in Karrakin space, and tends to be one of the biggest parts of the House Games. I think you'd enjoy it.

[File titled "Pre-Fall Christian Bible, all notable translations, explanations of different denominations as well as the causes of inter-denomination violence]

Here's the primer they gave me for my pre-fall history course. Did you know that Christ the Buddha was originally two different figures?

@dojhr-noah-colorado-reed

I'm somewhat familiar, although I have not done much independent reading into foreign religions. The Church of Christ-the-Buddha is present here, and I have seen them in passing when I was living on Umara, but I have never really engaged with them.

I intend to incorporate this into my reference material, although I am unlikely to read it in whole. I'm busier now, but I'm also looking into some of these other movies that you've sent me as something to potentially do in downtime.

[slushie5544]

This is just a headcanon of this au that I haven't stopped thinking about-(472 word count)

For some context, Heinz has technically seen Perry outside of being a knight but he wasn't aware it was him when they were at the ball. Perry used a quick name Percy during the ball. Anyways I really hope ya'll enjoy! Much love and have a lovely day/night!

Heinz opened his door to a person in shining armor, accents of gold were etched into the metal. Despite the silver metal being beaten and worn down with scratches the gold still shined brightly from the small rays of light that peeked out from the large thicket above. His eyebrows scrunched together as he gripped the door tightly ready to slam it closed, he wasn't in the mood for this.

"Listen, if this is about some quest to thwart my plans, I'm really not feeling up for anything right now, alright? Besides can't really make any 'evil schemes' when half of my home is destroyed. Just tell the others to leave me alone, ok?"

As he watched the alchemist start to close the door, Perry swallowed back a gulp and shoved his foot between the wooden door and the wall. That flash of fear on the other's face only made him more determined to fix this, he couldn't let this go on any longer. His heart pounded against his chest as he weighed his options and slowly started lifting his faceguard.

"I SAID LEAVE. ME. ALONE!"

The knight's eyes widened and in a swift motion thankfully for his reflexes, caught the swinging door. Yet, when he managed to catch the wooden slab something clanked to the floor. Both men looked to the ground and saw the helmet rock back and forth until it came to a stopped against the door.

Perry's heart sank to his stomach, he was ready for any type of reaction. More screaming, perhaps the door to slam in his face, or even a warranted back smack to his head. However, what he didn't expect was the lack of a reaction at all. When looking up he saw Heinz was using his left hand to cover his eyes.

"I-I'm sorry! I shouldn't have d-done that! I realize that now! I don't know what came over me! I ju-just want to be by myself right now and.. Mein Gott, please don't take me in! I didn't kn- huh?"

His apologetic ramblings were quieted when a pair of hands gently lowered his arm. His eyes were still shut and his head tilted down to his chest as he waited for the knight to retaliate in some sort of way. All he could feel though was a gentle caress against his cheek down to his chin which lifted his gaze slightly upward.

A familiar man smiled sadly up at him, faint dark circles bagged under his glossed-over eyes. His teal hair was a mess going in every direction some strands just stuck to his forehead.

"Percy!?"

An exhausted sigh escaped the quiet man's lips as he grabbed his helmet and shoved it back over his head.

"Wait.. Percy the knight?"

He lifted the face guard and grinned sheepishly.

"PERRY THE GOLDEN KNIGHT!?"

[ramavataramaart]

Woo finished the lines! Decided to keep the shoulders and faceguard as separate layers to make alt versions (and not decide on it after it was lined out and having to redo the chest lmao)

[bird-in-the-space]

Transformers oc Carina

(I wanted to try digital drawing after such a long time. I say not a bad result though the image here is kinda off)

Based on my headcanon The Siblings of Fate. This is Carina, cloned from Megatron's spark.

I wanted to try to draw her in Earthspark style, so this is an Earthspark version:

Carina and her siblings escaped their Quintesson masters after being thrown to Quintessa hunting grounds, where they were supposed to perish for the enjoyment of their masters. However, together they survived and fled to Earth where they found a home and a family who took them in.

Carina took her name after a star constellation after spending time star gazing with her human little brother.

Carina is calm-headed and cares a lot about her siblings, even though they sometimes get on her nerves. Due to her bulkier frame, she would throw herself first on the line in case of danger. Compared to her siblings, she's much introverted but shows patience and compassion when needed. She dreads and feels anxious about the Quintessons finding them again, thus causing her to be more cautious toward other transformers. Even after living on Earth for some years, she still suffers from nightmares during her time on the hunting grounds.

Her hobbies include reading different human novels--- her favorites being murder mysteries, sci-fi, and fantasy. This earns her the bookworm nickname in the family. She also enjoys watching wildlife, finding Earth's animals and nature fascinating. She even makes an effort to scare away unlicensed hunters or poachers who try their luck in hunting endangered animals.

She helps her human family at the farm by watching over the animals, feeding them, and caring for their well-being. She also helps with the hard work of fixing things.

Carina's favorite flowers are Forget-Me-Not, Violet, and Magnolia.

Carina is a triple-changer. She has both a ground-based form (a car) and an aerial-based form (a helicopter). She prefers using the latter as it allows her to observe things from a distance.

Carina's headpiece can switch down to be her faceguard in combat situations.

Carina's weapons include an energon-powered spear which she took as her primary weapon at the hunting grounds and a built-in energon-powered shield. Her only projectile weapon is the built-in rocket launcher on her back.

[srkizer]

speaking of kissing the robot. one show featured kissing as the method of reproducing, as in impregnating. it's nothing weird as it validly is a for all ages anime.

he fails at parenting but he still tries his best. he shall take getting scolded by his wife to his heart.

we still should quarantine him inside his universe, apply a half mask on him must him be called into other universes, or force him to put on his faceguard at all times. or, lips are too exposed of a body part and the same mistake™️ would happen.

[quantumlogician]

❣ Kiss Roulette : A nuzzle kiss — @deceitfulcharmer

It was a close call. Far too close.

Starscream never winked an optic when it came to Megatron's battlefield prowess. As much as he'd never admit it, he thought his lord physically infallible in honorable duels and open-field confrontations. Much as the bare gray-metal suggests, Megatron was a weapon honed into a wide flat blade, wickedly sharp on the blade, and deadly to the draw. He's felled legions with his own servos alone and there existed a modicum of comfort knowing that whatever may happen to the rest of them, Starscream would never have to worry about him.

That was up until the last excursion. In the haze of some desert, sand kicking up with the wind and glittering in the afternoon sun, visibly was exceedingly low that even the Seeker's excellent optic-sight could not cut through the layers of obscurity.

He should have trusted his intuition. He knew something was amiss, but he dismissed it as another lick of nervous circuitry trying to press doubt into his complex. More foolhardy than that, he rushed into battle without so much checking behind himself of where the battalion resided, placing too much his trust in Megatron to handle the field on his own.

And, that's when it had happened. A modified, supped up sniper whipping its proton blast through the hot mid-day air, catching Starscream's master clear through the chassis.

The irony of it all was that the force of the shot blew clear the ground below, providing the show of it all, in what should have been a moment of glory for both him and the Autobots. yet, that sinful need to plunder all that his lordship had evaded him. It was his opportunity right before him, ripe for the taking, he only need to grind his heel into the wound and snuff his spark out before it reclaimed its beat.

None of the masterfully outlined contingencies in Starscream's mind were executed that day.

And to add to the embarrassment of personal failure, he had spent every waking moment near his master's side, overseeing his recovery. It was easy to mask it as another scheme ( for those keen enough to know him ), or genuine worry of a loyal Second-in-Command ( for the low ranks that don't know better ).

Every moment he didn't have to take up the role of leading the others ( it was what he always wanted, right? And yet... ), he'd slip into the Medbay, shoulders bowed in inspection and worry on Megatron's potential recovery until this one time, where instead he was greeted by the sight of— nothing.

Armor plates immediately scorched in panic, Starscream was ready to rip through the throat cables of all the mechs that failed to notify him of what had happened to their most important patient. No forewarning, no caution, no status update. Oh, the torture he'd run them through would put Shockwave's mechanisms to shame.

He turned heel to step briskly out the room when he caught a glimpse of a large thigh off in the corner, propped upright in a seat hidden away in the simulated nighttime darkness. A soft and sudden " master " slipped from his intake before he could capture it and before any of that, he kicked his heel-jets to life, tackling into the broad expanse of that freshly welded chassis.

The wound may have been grievous, but he didn't care. His commander can take the hard clash of Starscream's smaller, softer metal front-plate. It wasn't the collision that was of any actual concern, as it was Starscream threading his long claws along the faceguards of that massive helm, locking his digits on and pushing his front-helm into Megatron's. A briefest scrape of their connection before his tilted his chin forward and pressed the most urgent, relieved kiss over that snarl not anticipating it.

" Oh master, I thought you were done for. I thought you really have been lost to m- to us, " he didn't wait for a response before another kiss, and another was pressed in-between the Seekers incessant pushing of his helm into the commander's.

[mercruwury]

leon kennedy w/ faceguard mask icons (i rarely use this accessory but i kind of like it ngl)

[the-crazy-echidna-lady]

was looking at a mutual's posts and saw excalibur sonic topic and had to search for the ass cape (she and anon were right and I somehow never noticed lmfao) Anyways because of that I found Paladin Amy Rose-- and I gotta say, glad they made her a knight too for more modern stuff even if it's only for a mobile game

Girl put on a helmet/faceguard, the ear guards aren't cutting it. Love the new hammer weapon though. Anyways, love the design, and at least her cape doesn't come from her ass

[uokbti]

I talk about hockey?

Hi so lets ignore whatever the frick i posted last time and remember that i do more with my life than i realize because what the FRICK IS HAPPENING?

I love the way i feel when i play hockey. All of my anxiety suddenly disappearing when i get on my skates and hold the stick in my hands. Firstly- I don’t have all my equipment yet… let alone gloves- so i might get blisters from stickhandling BARE but its a good feeling…. Maybe similar to what people feel like at the gym idk lol. I also play with a fucking broken helmet because i lost my cool the day my glasses broke- my fault for playing with them, but yeah i dont even have a faceguard let alone a VISOR. SO essentially i am kinda going to battle with no armor BUT its a fun sport if you’re okay with the chances of breaking a bone everytime you play lol. Yesterday i cried because i missed team entries for the tournament because i was in the freaking HOSPITAL, so I don’t even know if im gonna play tbh- i cried harder than jack hughes at the beginning of his nhl draft. Also i can’t read that hockey boy ff stuff… idk it just irritates me so much. I also get irritated by people who “watch” nhl because the players are cute (same with formula1) like get out? Idk if theyre tryna have an icebreaker moment. No hate to icebreaker or hockey boy luvers but I can’t take it. Especially because i figure skate AND do hockey, like i am the entire trope itself and i guess its awkward in a way. Regardless of that i guess hockey isn’t the FIRST sport i would have chosen to do had i lived overseas, i would have wanted to seriously continue with figure skating but given the circumstances- hockey is the sport. I love both so much and i love my teammates, they’re super cool and i guess stay safe out there guys.