#i don’t really like how these turned out. tbh

[charliemwrites]

Hiiiii! So I’m not super thrilled with this but I’ve been having a time of it at work so I worked on this when I could 🙃

Not sure if there will be a second part yet tbh we’ll see!

Edit: almost forgot to add that the gorgeous divider below is by @gildui they have some absolutely beautiful cod themed dividers.

Carrion

Reader comes back Wrong

Content: implied/referenced torture, injury, suicide reference/implicated “pact” (by background character), lack of wound care

The breakup was bad.

Not in the top 3 of Simon’s worst nightmare-inducing memories - but likely top 5. He certainly wakes up chest aching and eyes burning often enough for it to be a solid contender. He’s haunted by tears that dripped like acid and the cracks in your voice deafening him.

On bad days, he thinks he can still see you shuffling down the halls, eyes sunken and red-rimmed, dark circles and chapped lips. Anger giving way to resignation giving way to pain and sadness. The rest of the team tight-lipped and wincing, no sides taken, shoulders and ears offered equally in commiseration.

Your misery wanted no company, though.

You didn’t tell Simon that you were leaving. Gaz let slip over a subdued but obligatory game of cards, you’d be gone for a long time - loaned out to Laswell.

Simon didn’t go to see you off. Didn’t ask why you were leaving or accuse you of being too immature to be on a team with him. He didn’t wish you good luck, stay safe with the rest of the team on the tarmac at 0-dark when you took off.

He should have.

Price says you’ll be gone for six months. Just six. It’s better this way, he reminds them when Johnny balks. His eyes are on Simon, though, when he adds that you need to get your head on straight, and you weren’t able to do it with them.

So. Six months.

Simon stops expecting you on his left. Stops smelling your shampoo lingering on bits of clothes he pretended not to notice you steal. He still dreams about you begging him not to push you away.

183 days come and go.

On day 184, Laswell sends word - your temporary team likes you quite a bit. They want you to stay on for one more month… one more mission… one more…

Six months turns to ten.

312 days since you left; since you were home.

The team hasn’t stopped leaving a space for you at their tables, right between Gaz and Price. You miss your own birthday. Laswell says she’ll pass along well wishes.

The situation changes. A target resurfaces. All hands on deck, including yours.

374 days. Twelve months and some change.

They don’t spend the holidays with you, but there’s a stack of presents waiting in Price’s office. Your mugs have collected dust in the back of the rec room cabinet.

Laswell says you’re still deployed on one last mission, return TBD. Soon, though.

487 days. Still TBD. Soon. Really. Just some loose ends to tie up.

561 days. There was some trouble during exfil but you’re alright. Just a bit of recovery.

You’re coming home.

590 days. You’ll land at 0700 tomorrow.

It’s been 591 days since Simon last saw you. Since any of them last saw you.

Laswell has come to deliver you personally, a kind of apology for keeping you away so long. She’s the first off the transport and you’re right behind her.

Your hair is shorter. Much, much shorter. There’s a new patch on your jacket - memento from your temporary team, Simon figures.

Apart from that, you look… almost exactly how you did when you left. Dark circles under your eyes, mouth drawn and tight. There’s invisible weight compressing your shoulders, urging them in and down. But you’re there again. Just the way he remembers.

(Why are you the way he remembers?)

“Long time, no see,” Gaz calls, reaching for you.

There’s half a beat, you blink. Hesitate.

Then you grin and reach back.

“Missed my pretty face, did you?” you reply.

Johnny laughs and brings you in for a hug. You twitch hug him back, patting his shoulder as you pull away.

“Good to have you back, Sergeant,” Price says, shaking your hand.

You turn to Simon, nod in greeting, expression pleasant. “Ghost.”

So that’s how it’ll be? Alright.

“Sergeant.”

That night, you go out for drinks with the team and Laswell. Simon goes along to show there are no hard feelings.

(Not that you seem to need reassurance. It’s not even that you’re not looking at him. You are. Whenever he speaks, the rare times he does, or if he shifts in his seat. Your gaze doesn’t linger or jerk away, you treat him like you do Johnny and Gaz and Price.)

When Johnny mixes up your usual for Price’s, you don’t even seem to notice. But Simon does.

“When did you start drinking whiskey?” he wonders.

You used to swear you’d never like it, claiming it tasted like boot polish and the “Boys Club” wasn’t worth the indigestion it gave you.

“Someone from my other team,” you say by way of explanation.

You don’t ask for another whiskey. Laswell gets the rest of your drinks for that night.

Simon turns into the rec room two days later and finds you already there. There’s only the light above the sink on, and you’re staring at the steady drip, drip, drip from the faucet. A cup of black coffee cools in your hand. You’re already wearing gloves.

“Sugar’s in the left now,” he calls.

Your head twitches, something pops in your neck.

“Oh, thanks,” you chirp, turning for the cabinet. “Sleep okay, LT?”

“‘Bout as well as I ever do,” he replies gruffly, sidling up next to you for the kettle.

You hum. There’s a yellow packet in your hand. (Didn’t you used to like the blue one?)

“I get that,” you sympathize.

He snorts. Since when?

“Do you?”

When he glances down, you’re not looking at him. Instead, you’re trying (and failing) to get the sink to stop dripping.

“You know that’s been broken for ages,” he says.

At least as long as the 141 has been around. You tried to fix it once when you first joined up, too, with no luck.

“Right,” you say. A little too quickly, a little too agreeably. “Well, anyway, enjoy your tea, Lieutenant.”

You leave the packet of sugar behind. Unopened.

You’re back and it’s like it used to be - not just before you left, but before the breakup. Before there was ever anything to break up.

Your time away seems to have given you whatever space from Simon you were hoping for, because you act like there was never anything at all.

He’s half expecting, dreading, that you’ll pull him aside at some point. Ask for a word after dinner, or swing by his room before bed. Talk about the break up now that cooler heads prevail and 19 months have sanded down the rough feelings. Seek closure, maybe.

But you don’t. The weeks pass until a month has gone and you never exchange more than easy pleasantries with Simon. You give him space, give him privacy. Things you never used to give him much of before, for better or worse.

You fool around with Gaz and Johnny, trade quips with Price, and follow Simon’s orders. Train recruits. Write reports.

You’re back, better than ever.

So why does it feel like Simon’s still waiting for you to return?

You’re always dressed now, head to toe. Day or night, rain or shine. From the neck down you’re in full sleeves, long pants, boots and gloves.

It doesn’t occur to anyone until you’re sweating through your compression shirt in the gym. Wipe your shiny forehead for the dozenth time before Johnny says, “why not just take it off?”

“It’s not that bad,” you laugh, waving him off.

When you lie down to bench press, Simon notes the bottom of your shirt tucked tight into your waistband. He exchanges a glance with Johnny - he’s seen it too.

You used to dress in shorts and sports bras during exercise, a towel over your shoulder. In the common room, you’d mill in tank-tops and boxers. Even used to trot down the hall swaddled in a towel or robe, mumbling that you forgot a razor or some other toiletry before showering.

“What, did ye get an embarrassing tattoo or somethin’?” Johnny asks finally.

You blink at him, expression bemused. “A tattoo? Why do you think I have a tattoo?”

“Yer covered up like a nun on Sunday. It cannae be comfortable.”

You snort. “Just because you’re allergic to clothes, MacTavish…”

“Allergic?! Wha’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?!”

Gaz barks a laugh. You grin and continue your workout.

Simon tries not to be disturbed by the name “MacTavish” coming off your tongue for the first time since you met.

It’s your first mission since you’ve been back. You have new gear, a new handgun. Something’s been carved into the side of the barrel in Cyrillic, Simon can’t read it. A new callsign.

(“What kind of a name is Carry-on?” Johnny teases, but he doesn’t quite hide the unease in his eyes.

You snort and lace your boots tighter. The edge of you sleeve inches up, revealing the curve of a glossy scar that wasn’t there before.

“You’re one to talk Mister Maybelline.”)

Someone painted an upside down cross on the temple of your helmet with their finger. You thumb it before stuffing it over your head.

“You ready for this?” Gaz asks, knocking his knee into yours. The two of you have been paired together for this mission. (Was it Simon’s imagination, or did you look annoyed that you would have a partner?)

“Always,” you reply.

Simon doesn’t hear what happens, but Gaz looks shellshocked when you haul him into the helicopter during exfil. You shake him a bit once everything is secure and the bird’s in the air.

“Garrick,” you shout, “c’mon, where did he get you?”

It takes him a second but he blinks, offers his arm for your inspection. You move with a speed even Simon is impressed by, tearing into the nearby med kit almost viciously. Gaz is patched up in record time and you sit back with blood on your hands, barely even seem to notice as you wipe them carelessly on your pants.

(You used to be more squeamish, weren’t you? You used to be the last one they asked for medical care because seeing your teammates in pain made you nauseous.)

“What about you?” Gaz asks after a small eternity.

You yawn. “What about me?”

“You got nicked too, didn’t you?”

Simon takes a second look at you and now that Gaz mentions it, you’re soaked in blood. Wet patches on your vest, your pants, dripping down your boots. It takes him a moment to notice the tear in your thigh, shredded flesh visible when you rock with the wind turbulence.

“Did I?” you wonder, glancing down like you only just noticed it.

Johnny curses, reaches for you - but you wave him off.

“It’s just a scratch,” you reply. “Barely even feel it, no worries.”

Then why is it still bleeding?

When the team lands, you hop off the heli without so much as a wince. Droplets of blood lead all the way back to your room.

(When Simon asks Nikolai about the hand-etching on your gun, he says the word means “promise.”)

In the after-action report, your callsign isn’t “Carry-On.” It’s Carrion.

Laswell takes you off the mission two months later, a joint assignment with KorTac. They send three operators to work with TF141 - Stiletto, Konig, and Nikto.

On the transport to infil, Simon notices the Russian inspecting his handgun in a seat separated from the rest of the squad. He recognizes the Cyrillic carved into the barrel this time: Promise.

It’s an eerie, creeping suspicion. An anxious fog rolling in.

It’s not one single thing that trips an alarm in Simon’s head, but a steady collation of oddities over months. A single arhythmic beat, a note off key. Just once or twice, but over and over until he can’t notice anything else.

You act just like yourself except for all the minute ways you don’t.

You smile big and wide, sunshine bright, when they make a good joke. Your laugh is still the same, bubbling up in your throat, head thrown back. You smell the same when you pass Simon in the hall, shampoo and soap that’s haunted him for a year and a half.

It’s insidiously subtle; he can’t pinpoint what it is for the longest time. Your mannerisms are almost too practiced, the cadence of your voice too measured. A missing turn of phrase you often used, replaced by something unfamiliar.

Simon dismisses it as guilt-laden paranoia. The two of you ended on bad terms with a year and half worth of space between. He’s hardly one to gauge what’s normal for you anymore.

And besides, the few times someone else has noticed at those tiny yet all-too-obvious inconsistencies, you shrug it off as something you picked up while away.

But he catches Johnny’s brows furrow one afternoon as you light up a cig (after swearing for years that you’d never pick up the habit) and Simon knows he’s beginning to see it too.

“You ever notice,” Gaz begins slowly. You’re the only one missing from the rec room this evening, retired with a drawn-out yawn. “That Carrion always mentions being away, but never talks about it?”

Simon stills. Johnny’s eyes fly to Price, who’s grimly tapping at his crossword puzzle.

“The file’s redacted,” he says. He’s seen it too then, tried to investigate for himself.

“That’s normal for a mission like that,” Simon reasons carefully.

“I don’t mean the mission,” Price says. “I mean Carrion’s file.”

“This is a good movie,” you mumble from the armchair you’ve stolen from Price. “What’s it called?”

Simon exchanges glances with the rest of the team. No one points out that this is (used to be?) your favorite.

Price looks into the team you were loaned out to. All were KIA or remain MIA. All but one. His file has been scrubbed too, the only documents readable are discharge orders and a PMC contract, both associated with the callsign “Nikto.”

They’re running out of time.

Less than 36 hours on the clock with only one lead, and it’s a zealot with a suicide pact. Price and Laswell both took a crack at him with nothing to show for it. Even Ghost has gotten hardly anything and he’s running out of nails. With time, he might get something useful, but they don’t have much of that left.

In the anteroom looking into interrogation, you’ve been observing through the one-way glass with your hands in your pockets, head tilted, expression serene.

Price and Laswell are discussing strategy, contingencies. Gaz and Johnny are throwing in their two cents, but Simon… Simon is watching you.

Like medical, torture used to be your Achilles. You were trained like the rest of the team, but there was never any need for you to step into the room yourself. Hell, you were a last resort even for observation or emergency resuscitation. No one blamed you for having a weak stomach for information extraction.

But today, you glance over your shoulder and make eye contact with Laswell.

“I’ll handle it,” you say with an air of finality.

The room goes silent. Price opens his mouth, but it’s Laswell that speaks, voice hard with resignation.

“Do it.”

You don’t blink. “Yes, ma’am.”

You walk out the door without a backwards glance, shoulders loose but each step steady and purposeful.

“What the hell is going on, Kate?” Price demands.

Kate sighs, looks away as you enter the interrogation room.

“Let’s do this outside. It won’t take long to get that intel.”

The only thing she’s able to share is that you and your team were captured. For a long time. And then you’re already stepping out of the interrogation room, wiping your bloodied hands off on an old rag.

There’s an unusual glint in your eye, an unnatural stillness in your expression.

“Got what we need,” you announce cheerfully.

[drenched-in-sunlight]

doing Rennala’s fight again and I feel like I’m going insane because in phase 1 her eyes are golden, but in phase 2 in the illusion Ranni conjures of her, her eyes are their original teal blue. it’s not hard to put two and two together that the egg bewitched her and made her deep in that slumber state. So what drives me up the wall is… why on earth none of her kids help her … ? or why are there no item description even hint at them trying to help their Mother out of that state? or just items suggesting a close tie between them in general ?

I don’t think being locked up in a library enchanted by an egg is doing her any favour. This isn’t even the same as Marika’s situation where none of her kids know she’s locked up inside the Erdtree to even come for her, I’m pretty sure all 3 Carian kids know Rennala’s current state.

Is it because she’d go insane if they take away the egg? Is it because they want her to remain in that state and out of their way? Ranni stated she’d not let Rennala’s slumber be disturbed… is it because the only other option is an even worse fate ??? Is it out of protection for her or something else ???? I mean it’s a pretty popular fanon that Ranni must have hated Radagon, but all the stuffs she did later on… lowkey adds to Radagon’s favour through and through ? Keeping Rennala in that state, killing Godwyn who is the only support Marika has left after Godfrey and Messmer are taken away from her, like… ???

And I’m not even wondering all of these because I think Ranni is secretly evil or self-serving (& even if she turned out to be so… it’s fine!), it’s just things are not adding up and I’ve got ppl asking why I don’t really draw the Carian side often and … this is why? Since I already figure out the motivation and story that make sense to me on Marika & her G + M kids… the fact that I don’t really get the R kids at all results in me having no idea how to portray them in my art? Because I don’t really buy into the popular “oh they all love each other and much more wholesome than the Erdtree side” take at all …(and tbh my hot take for the past 2 years or so is that I don’t think Rennala is a good mother, and after the DLC… a good sister at all. But it is what it is)

[neverenoughmarauders]

Hi! what are your thoughts on the ever present fanon idea that James repeatedly asks Lily to date him before she finally concedes (he pesters her tbh)?

I feel like this throws a lot of people off of Jily as it just adds a bit of creepiness to the ship and makes it weirder for Lily to get with James considering this behaviour, after what must’ve been a fair amount of reckoning since he tormented her childhood best friend for years. Like even if Lily hated Snape at this point I don’t think she’d forget how James treated him easily and let James off the hook without a proper reckoning so adding pestering behaviour to that dynamic just makes their relationship more unlikely ya know. Honestly just tryna find reasons why fandom in general dislike Jily more than jegulus atp.

Hi anon

This idea that James repeatedly asked Lily out I think far precedes Jegulus. In my youth, the few fics I engaged with (often because my best friend kindly helped translate them) seemed to position it as a very cute thing - although it always annoyed me even then, because it has no basis in canon. The day and age where James persistently asking Lily out was seen as cute are over, and now this fanon idea is presented in favour of Jegulus or Snily.

Actually, as an aside, in general the marauders' story is one that has aged poorly... You can't really view the marauders without the lens of it being the 70s and during a wizarding world war - but people do and it completely changes everything.

How do I feel about it?

I feel the same way about this as I do with all fanon ideas that get presented as evidence. It drives me up the wall no end. We all get carried away with our own interpretations and that's fine, but if people cannot separate canon from interpretation of canon /headcanon from fanon, how can we have an informed debate?

Canon:

"Why are you so obsessed with them anyway? Why do you care what they’re doing at night?” “I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are.” ... “I didn’t mean — I just don’t want to see you made a fool of — He fancies you, James Potter fancies you!” The words seemed wrenched from him against his will. “And he’s not ... everyone thinks ... big Quidditch hero — ” Snape’s bitterness and dislike were rendering him incoherent, and Lily’s eyebrows were traveling farther and farther up her forehead.

My interpretation of canon:

The conversation between Snape and Lily to me indicates that it is a relatively new development (which means sometimes not long before/after the whomping willow incident). At this point I think it's hard to argue that James has asked Lily out - why on earth would Snape feel the need to point out that James fancies her if this be the case.

Canon:

“I will if you go out with me, Evans,” said James quickly. “Go on ... Go out with me, and I’ll never lay a wand on old Snivelly again.” ... “I wouldn’t go out with you if it was a choice between you and the giant squid,” said Lily. “Bad luck, Prongs,” said Sirius briskly, turning back to Snape. ... “There you go,” he said, as Snape struggled to his feet again, “you’re lucky Evans was here, Snivellus — ” “I don’t need help from filthy little Mudbloods like her!” Lily blinked. “Fine,” she said coolly. “I won’t bother in future. And I’d wash your pants if I were you, Snivellus.” ... “What is it with her?” said James, trying and failing to look as though this was a throwaway question of no real importance to him. “Reading between the lines, I’d say she thinks you’re a bit conceited, mate,” said Sirius. “Right,” said James, who looked furious now, “right"

Also canon: Lily found James attractive at this point, despite not liking him very much. It was confirmed in an interview, in response to whether or not Lily hated James, but as we know even from the source text:

“How come she married him?” Harry asked miserably. “She hated him!” “Nah, she didn’t,” said Sirius.

My interpretation of canon:

James is being an immature d***. That aside, nothing about this dialogue suggests to me that James has ever asked Lily out before. Why? James looks FURIOUS at the rejection, he does not give off the vibes of someone who has routinely been rejected by Lily.

There's also the small stuff which doesn't by itself mean anything but which adds up, such as Sirius' and Snape's reaction. Sirius doesn't come across as someone who has seen this a hundred times. He's obviously far less affected or surprised by the outcome, but that's not the same thing. Snape completely loses it with Lily - why? It's not the first time James and Sirius has bullied him, but if it's the first time Snape has listened to James ask her out - worse still, use him to ask her out, he might be furious. He told her so, didn't he? James Potter fancied her.

My headcanon:

We know Lily found James attractive, and that James is shocked to be rejected. We also know Snape is nervous that Lily might be falling for James: 'I’m just trying to show you they’re not as wonderful as everyone seems to think they are' Why? Probably because by now Lily and James have flirted a little on and off. If Lily spoke the way she spoke to James by the lake - if James routinely asked Lily out - then the conversation between Severus and Lily makes no sense.

If people want to like Jegulus, they can. Personally, I think Jily holds everything I want from an "enemies" to lovers trope, and if I want another trope it's usually best friends to lovers, and I've got prongsfoot for that. Or if I am feeling like I want both, there's always Jilypad <3

[mjbear130]

Rufus Gunslinger

yeah

[bazookaboi]

oh and here’s the unshaded version of the TBH-A1 drawing so that you can see that it has ever so slight countershading.

[lovecoredeity]

got around to designing an outfit for my little porcelain doll cat character! I think it turned out nice 🤍💙

♡ if you like my art please consider buying me a kofi ♡

[pikoeatsglue32]

Mesmerizer miku.

[ashipikaur]

FRIENDSHIP SHENANIGANS. i cranked all of these out in one day cuz i just felt like it <3

shoutout to @mikusoup @nohrianhime @asteroidtaker @lavendertarot and @tunaloaf respectively for giving me their sonas <333333

[simcardiac-arrested]

unleashes the horrors upon you (the horrors are my gay little ocs)

[bloos-bloo]

I don’t like it, gonna redo my Q!BBH rebirth design

Also I suck at backgrounds

[cuteniaarts]

@katkastrofa, circa 40-ish hours ago: Hey, what if our newest bunch of OCs adopted a baby from one of the other brothel girls who knew she couldn’t afford to raise one? That would make for some fun shenanigans :D

Me, with a notoriously non existent sleep schedule, instinct of self preservation or concern for my poor wrist: Alright, bet. Watch how fast I can make you fall in love with this hypothetical baby >:)

Daneli as a gentle and loving caretaker-turned-adoptive-mother is something that can be So Personal, actually, and originally I was going to leave it at this quick sketch, but then I got carried away thinking about what this child will grow up to be like raised by this little gang of misfits, so…

Here she is!! A little older and so, so beautiful, I need more of her in my life immediately, she’s way too precious

And, because I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t also add a sapphic element to this absolute cinnamon roll, a small crack ship that I’m only half serious about for when she’s a little older still:

All in all, we may be getting impossibly far from canon, but I for one already cannot get enough of sweet darling Kumisai <3

(I fully drew three pieces from scratch in 9 hours I cannot feel my brain or my hands anymore send help)

[deityofhearts]

the way I walk is great because I can get around without being heard which is very fun and silly but also. I look fucking stupid

[p1x1x]

[jann-the-bean]

Alrighty! Here is my new sona- Beanie! Bean! Or Beanie-Boo!

Tbh I was inspired by both @help-im-a-gay-fish and the movie Elemental and wanted to create something similar!

It just started as a basic doodle but talking to gayfish inspired me to turn the doodle into my sona!

She is an energy/fire being and her ‘hair’ can very depending on her mood. If she’s angry or embarrassed her hair will rise up but if she’s upset or sad it will dim down.

I’m hoping to draw more of her in the new future

[camgoloud]

i simply feel that if you burn shit in your roommate’s skillet you should then feel the obligation to be the one who scrapes it out and cleans up

[gayabeilles]

my house is STINKY send post