#i jist feel so awful

[sxnctxxry]

.

[grandmasickomode]

God dads outburst at me about the election really has left me shaken and fucked up

Spent the last few weeks feeling incredibly lost and tired. All it took was dad breaking my trust in him and losing his stupid ass to the right wing.

[turb0pussy]

men are the worst thing to ever happen to femme friendships

[lmfaoimsorry]

i don't feel good

[sweetheartvalle]

george needs to run up ssmp again cause dear fucking god this is a shitshow

[milliesfishes]

Omg i jist had this thought

Reader secretly pining for billy and hes oblivious to her little crush and innocently rejects her advances to spend time with her because he jjst doesnt think too much about it and unknowingly hurts her feelings until someone has to spell it out for him and he comes to the realization and realizes he returns her feelings

౨ৎ꣑ৎyou love billy (he has no idea)౨ৎ꣑ৎ fem reader x billy the kid

Billy wouldn't describe himself as a ladies' man.

He wasn't one to flirt, keeping his interactions with women the same as he did with men. Polite, kind and quick. But everything has an exception, and his happened to be you.

The inn where you'd both been staying at first had you in rooms in the same hallway, and that was how you'd met. Bumping into each other one morning when the two of you were too tired to pay attention where you were walking, the long-term result had been a friendship he wouldn't trade for anything.

Brighter than sunshine, pretty as any flower in the forest, he embraced your bright presence when it entered his life. He'd have been a fool not to. You were one of a kind, the sweetest girl in town. Billy couldn't imagine his life without you.

You were his favorite riding companion, and he sook you out for it as often as he could, racing you through the grassy prairie fields and venturing into the nearby forests and mountains. You were funny, making little observations that had him laughing all too often, and he didn't laugh for just anyone.

He'd walk through town with you, arms linked together as you chatted with him about whatever was on your mind. Though initially shy, as you became more comfortable, you'd talk about almost anything with him. And he loved to listen.

Always so lovely and mild-mannered, he cherished your presence, the fact that you chose to befriend him. A no good, wanted man as far as he was concerned. In the company of the gentlest girl he'd ever met.

Billy was a rough-and-tumble outlaw. You were the kindest girl this side of river. He wasn't about to be the one to corrupt you. In fact, he'd go to lengths to make sure you were never corrupted at all.

You were absolutely darling, so sweet to him even though he'd argue he didn't deserve it at all. Eventually he moved out of the inn and acquired a little cabin in the nearby woods about ten minutes from town, and you frequented it at his request.

One night it was raining hard, and you were sitting by the stove with him to keep warm, just talking in your sweet way. He had opened his mouth to say something when a clap of thunder made you jump, automatically moving into his chest.

His arms came immediately around you, and he couldn't help but smile at the fact that you felt that safe around him. Rubbing your back, he leaned his head down to breathe in your scent.

At that moment, when you were burrowed into his arms, hiding from the storm, he had an overwhelming feeling of protection. That was all he wanted to do forever- to keep you safe from anything that had the potential of marring your precious innocence.

He had you over to his place as often as he could get away with, always nervous about you staying at the inn with no protection, especially since it was mainly occupied by men.

Sometimes when the two of you had lost track of time and the sun was long sunk behind the hill, he'd tell you to just stay over. Lucky for him you often agreed, and you'd spend the night cuddled in his arms like a cat curling up for warmth. His heart always twinged at the adorable sight of you.

He was in awe of just how good you were to everyone to matter what. But even though you were nice to all you met, he liked to think you had a soft spot just for him. Were you staying over at your other friends' houses and sleeping in their arms? No, you weren't.

He didn't realize how close the two of you really were until you came to his cabin late one night, exhaustedly collapsing next to him and seeking comfort. Of course he'd obliged, pulling the blanket up over you on his bed and holding out his arms to you. "Rough night, pretty?"

"Mhm," you smiled at the nickname he'd given you as he'd hoped you would, as you always did. "Tessa had her baby. Took all day."

"You were with her the whole time?" Billy mused, nosing against your hair.

"Yeah," you mumbled into his chest, and he smiled. Your eternal kindness never failed to amaze him.

"You're a good friend, pretty, ya know that?" he mused, rubbing your back. "Always lookin' out for others."

"She has hardly anyone else. Poor thing, her baby's daddy up and left her when he found out," you said softly, and he nodded sympathetically. "Just about everyone in town's shunned her cause of it."

He kissed your temple and marveled at your selfless actions. But your words got him thinking.

Billy didn't often make a habit of worrying what others thought. He was far past that, with his status as an outlaw and his former life on the run. A few days after that night he noticed people whispering as the two of you walked arm in arm through the square, and he started to care again.

He saw the two of you from an outsider's eyes. You could be on a poster for an angel baby doll, so darling and dear. He was on a different kind of poster, with a cash prize underneath.

People talked. He knew that better than anyone. And while he didn't care what they said about him, it bothered him that they might be saying bad things about you. In this world, a woman's reputation was all she had, and he didn't want you to end up like Tessa: abandoned and hopeless, besmirched by an outlaw.

So, the next day when you came up to him in town, asking if he wanted to go for a ride and fidgeting with your fingers, he said he had other work to do. That someone was gonna have his head if he didn't get it done by this-time-or-other.

Your face had fallen, and it made him feel bad. But of course, you didn't argue, just gave him a slightly let down smile and walked away. He felt an odd feeling of disappointment, like he'd wanted you to protest, call him out on his excuse. You wouldn't have, though. You were too sweet to even dream of it.

Over the next few weeks, he continued to brush you off, although it hurt his heart. He didn't want to keep his distance from you- he wanted the complete opposite. But if it kept you safe and protected, he'd keep his distance forever.

It was lonely; being separated from you and spending his weeks without your sunshiny presence was lonely. His bed was cold without you there to cuddle up beside him. His rides through the desert felt melancholy. Billy couldn't recall ever missing a friend in this way before, but then again you were special. He felt twinges in his heart that he set aside to figure out later.

It got to the point where you stopped approaching him at all. It saddened him though it was completely his fault. He'd see you across town with some of your other friends, and long to go up to you and just apologize over and over. But he didn't.

He heard that Tessa had been ill, and you'd gone to care for her and the baby. The news made him smile at how goodhearted you continually proved yourself to be.

It also made his heart jump, hearing about you. He was unsure why.

A couple of times, his boys asked where you were, since they'd been so used to you hanging around, even fond of it. Billy would always shrug and brush it off, saying you were busy. He caught a few of them exchanging odd looks, which confused him.

All in all, he managed to keep his distance. And it was for the best, he tried to convince himself. It was for the best.

This mindset was kept up until one day when it was raining.

He'd been coming back home from a ride, water drizzling over the brim of his hat. It hadn't been the worst day for work, but he was still tired and he looked forward to sleep.

Off in the distance, he noticed something lying in the grass. Thinking it was an animal, he rode a little closer to investigate. But as he got a better vantage, he realized it wasn't an animal at all.

It wasn't just any person either.

You were collapsed in the grass, breathing faint, eyes closed. Your skin was pale, and he could see sweat beading on your forehead. The rain only made the sight more miserable; you were shivering because of it.

Without thinking he jumped off his horse and fell at your side, panicked thoughts filling his head. "Oh pretty..." Worry flooded his senses as he assessed your condition. Shaking your shoulders lightly, he breathed, "Pretty...pretty...wake up...please wake up..." You hardly stirred.

You must have caught what Tessa had, he realized frantically, remembering what he'd heard about you.

Billy could still hear you breathing, which was a good sign, but your skin was hot, your movements feverish. He scooped you up, gently lifting you onto his horse. You gave a little moan, and he gritted his teeth, knowing you must be in pain. "I know," he said hurriedly, grabbing the reigns while keeping his arm around you. Your weak body was slumped against his chest, and he could feel how hot you were through your clothes. "It's gonna be okay. We're just a little bit from home."

He rode as quickly as he felt he could with you propped against him. You were hardly conscious, and the sight of you sunk and settled into his stomach like a stone to the bottom of a river. Anxiety coursed through his blood; he hated sickness and all the tragedy it'd held for him in the past.

Once he reached the cabin, he tied his horse and lifted you into his arms as gently as he could. You whimpered, waking up a little. He hated that you were in pain but he was glad you were hanging on.

"'S okay. 'S okay," he mumbled as he carried you inside, eyes on you as yours sleepily opened. "Hey pretty, I've gotcha."

"Billy?" you mumbled weakly as he laid you down on his bed.

"I've gotcha pretty," he repeated, getting up and rifling through his drawers for something for you to wear. Your wet dress wasn't doing your condition any favors. He decided on one of his shirts for now, resolving to cover the rest of you in blankets.

Going back over to you, he kicked off his boots and sat on the bed next to you, pulling you into him to sit against his chest. You gave a weak little noise of protest, but he rubbed his hand up and down your arm soothingly, unbuttoning the back of your dress and easing it off you. "Shh, I know, I know," he said softly. "'m just gettin' ya more comfy. 'm not gonna do anything bad for ya."

He got you into his shirt and settled you back down into bed, pulling the covers up around you. You were still shivering despite your fever. Billy went to get more blankets, and he wrapped them around you, cocooning you in warmth in an attempt to quell your cold.

Billy went to get a rag and some water, and once he returned, he mopped your sweaty brow diligently, trying to get you to sleep. "Shh, pretty...try 'n rest."

You whimpered, opening your eyes and looking at him so desperately it broke his heart. "Billy..."

"Don't speak," he muttered, his thumb smoothing your cheek. "You're real sick pretty. Ya need some sleep."

"Was I awful to you Billy?" you mumbled, stirring.

"You ain't never been awful to me," he said quietly, mostly focused on getting you to close your eyes. "Pretty-"

"I must've," you insisted weakly, reaching a limp hand out for his. "If you didn' wanna be 'round me."

Billy's brow furrowed as he realized what you were talking about and a tidal wave of guilt crashed over him. He shook his head, squeezing your hand. "No...no pretty. It ain't nothin' you did. It was somethin' I got in my head."

You were too exhausted and sick to respond, and he wouldn't have let you if you tried. He smoothed a hand over your forehead, and you relaxed at the feeling. "Shh, sweetheart. You just rest. I'm 'boutta take care of ya."

He nursed you all through the night, trying to break the fever. When your lips were dry, he squeezed water over them. When you shivered even under all the blankets, he got under them with you and let his body heat warm you up. When you thrashed feverishly from your sick hallucinations, he held you tight in his arms, whispering things to you until you calmed down.

The next day, you weren't better by much. You mumbled things about secrets and guilt, and all he could do was listen and try to calm you down. It hurt him dearly to see you like this. He worried for your life at different intervals in the day, when you were passed out from exhaustion.

After a worrisome night, he woke up next to you and felt your forehead, relieved beyond belief when he felt that the fever had broken.

You opened your eyes, looking up at him tiredly. He gave you a little smile, stroking your hair. "Hi sweetheart. How ya feelin'?"

"Tired," you murmured, blinking sleepily. "Achey."

"Oh," he leaned down and kissed your forehead, his lips lingering there. "My poor girl."

A little smile came to your face, and you rested your head back on the pillow next to his. "You've been so good, taking care of me."

"Course I have," Billy tucked some of your hair behind your ear. "I found ya lyin' in a field pretty. I wouldn't ever just leave ya there." He traced his fingers up your cheek. "What were ya doin' there anyways?"

You looked away, biting your lip. "I was...I was just out walking."

He nodded, half smiling. Then he sat up, resting his hand on your head comfortingly. "I'm gonna go into town for just a bit. 'm gonna try 'n find some medicine, okay? You just rest while I'm gone."

Looking up at him with something in your eyes he couldn't quite place, you nodded. Billy rubbed your cheek once before standing up and tugging his boots on, kissing your forehead before he left.

At the general store he found what he needed quickly, heading over to be rung up. It happened to be one of your other friends at the counter today, and he greeted Billy kindly, noting what he was buying. "Feelin' under the weather?"

"Nah," Billy explained the situation. "She's doin' better now but I want her to stay better so-" he gestured at the little bottle.

"Ah," your friend smiled. "Mighty kind of ya to care for her. Course I shouldn't expect anything less from her man."

Billy tilted his head. "Oh...we ain't like that. I'm just helpin' her out."

Your friend frowned in confusion. "Oh? That ain't what everyone's sayin' 'round here."

"What d'ya mean by?" Billy asked, unable to help his curiosity.

"Y'all are so close, everyone thought you were together," your friend chuckled. "Sides, she's head over heels for ya. Anyone could see it." He handed Billy the medicine bottle. "Guess we got it wrong though."

His words hit Billy like a punch to the gut, his head nearly spinning. The thought of you...loving him in that way was shocking...new...he'd never thought you'd ever care for him in that way.

So when he'd thought everyone was whispering awful things about you, it'd really been rumors about the status of their relationship. He felt...relieved at the fact, but still confused at what else your friend had said.

Head over heels? Billy left the store in a daze. He somehow was able to get on his horse and start the journey home. But the thought kept swinging back around like the pendulum on a clock.

If what your friend said was true and you loved him...he'd made a huge mistake over the past few weeks. Brushing you off, refusing to see you...how could he have made such a mistake?

On the way home it was all he could think about. How he'd been trying to protect you, but he'd inadvertently ended up hurting you. But he'd truly had no idea.

The thought of you loving him sent his head into overdrive. He toyed with it, let it bounce around for a second...his heart fluttering at the thought.

Did he love you? He knew he did, but he'd never thought in a romantic way. But now as he thought of your head on his chest as you slept, and your laugh, and your smile, the way he'd felt when he thought you could die from your sickness, and the protection he wanted to give you, the everything he wanted to give you...he realized he did.

He loved you. And he'd been fool enough not to see it.

By the time he came to this conclusion, he was back at the cabin, jumping off his horse and rushing inside to you, the medicine bottle clutched tightly in his fist. He eagerly went to your bedside, kneeling beside you and setting the medicine on the side table.

You opened your eyes when you saw him, and he couldn't help his smile when he saw the sweet sparkle back in them. "Hi pretty," he said softly, reaching for your hand and stroking it. "Feelin' any better?"

Nodding, you sat up a little, a tiny smile on your face. "Better."

"Good," Billy kissed your knuckles. Now that he'd realized how he felt everything about you seemed so much brighter. Your soft hair, your soft skin, your bright eyes.

You looked nervous for a moment, looking down at your joined hands. "Billy...I need to tell you something. I...I lied about why I was in the field. I was coming to see you that day." By the look on your face, you'd been thinking about this all day.

He looked into your eyes, showing he was listening. "You were? When you were sick?" There was a little jump in his chest at that.

"I didn't know I was that sick." You nodded, finally meeting his eyes. "I missed you so bad, Billy. And I was tired of keeping it all inside. I was ready to say I was sorry for whatever I did, whatever I said that made you upset."

Billy lifted his hand to your cheek, stroking it softly. "You didn't do a damn thing. I was tryin' to protect ya...went about the wrong way of doin' it for sure, but I only had good intentions."

You seemed to understand, and you looked down. "I felt awful..."

"I'm sorry," he murmured, coming up to sit next to you on the bed and holding you close. "I am. I shoulda told ya 'bout how I was feelin'. I was worried people were sayin' bad things 'bout ya bein' seen with me." He took in a breath, preparing himself for what he was about to say. "I was tryin' to protect ya cause I...cause I love ya."

There was a little moment of silence. You looked up at him with the sweetest baby doll eyes he'd ever seen, and then he saw that tiny smile again. Sitting up slightly, you brought your hand to his chest, your expression soft. "You love me?"

He nodded with a quiet smile. "I love you."

"You love me." Your face burst into the sweetest smile he'd ever seen, and then your arms came around his neck, leaning against him. He folded his big arms around you, holding you nice and close to him, right where he liked you. "And I love you."

"You do," Billy murmured into your hair, pulling back so he could see your face. "You love me and I love you."

He'd never seen such joy on your face, and you leaned forward, nudging your nose with his. Billy didn't want to play the waiting game, and he pressed his lips to yours, reveling in the way they locked together perfectly, like they'd been made for it.

"I love ya," he mumbled, kissing your nose. "I love ya to the stars. Ain't no more questions 'bout it."

come talk about billy here!

[ryleigh130]

Frostbite- - - ryleigh130

Summary- reader gets hypothermia on a mission and the boys help warm them up.

Relationships- platonic!taskforce 141 & gn!reader

Characters- cap. price, soap, ghost, gaz.

Word count- 2.2k

Warnings- hypothermia, profanity, 2nd person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of c/n [code name/call sign].

Note- This is my first ever fanfiction written on here so please leave me suggestions on how to improve! This story is inspired by the creator @python333 so go and check out their work it’s absolutely amazing! If you would like to leave a request for me to do a specific prompt feel free to message me! That’s it, thank you and I hope you enjoy! <33

It’s. Fucking. Cold. The three words repeat in your mind over and over again as you consider voicing your complaints to the team for what had to be the 8th time in the last 30 minutes. You couldn’t help it, it was cold. Freezing actually, you and the others were assigned a mission in the middle of butt fuck nowhere Siberia so excuse you for being cold.

To make matters worse for you, you’re the only 141 member currently suffering the biting cold as you were the one who drew the short end of the stick and got put on sniper duty whilst the others get to enjoy the warmth of actually being in the building they’re trying to get the info from.

With that thought, you sigh and shift your position slightly from where you are laying looking through the scope on your M107. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were actually moving around but instead, you’ve been laying in the same position, in the snow, for around 3 hours and you’re starting to loose feeling in your fingers and toes.

“[c/n], how copy” your radio sparks to life as the gruff, British accent of your Captain comes through.

“Still fucking cold, are we almost done here? I’m freezing my balls off out here” you groan, tentatively flexing your fingers trying to spark life back into them.

A low chuckle is heard over the radio as you can practically hear Price roll his eyes from where he is positioned, “you’ve mentioned. But yes, as soon as Soap plants the bombs we should be good to go. How’s it looking Soap?” A clicking can be heard over the radio when suddenly the loud, Scottish voice of John “Soap” MacTavish booms through,

“Aye Cap’n, jist aboot done” you hear another click and a hushed exclaim of victory, “Aw set!” You practically let out a cry of relief at the thought of going back to the safe house and getting warm,

“Took you long enough!” Gaz’ teasing voice pipes up before promptly getting shut up,

“Oh shut it you bawbag” Soap’s voice is light as you hear their footsteps going down the halls to escape the building. You watch through the scope of your rifle making sure to keep an eye out for any rouge enemies that might be hanging around the building the team was gathering the info from. You see Gaz leave the building first, followed by Price and finally Soap. You frown slightly, waiting a few moments before radioing,

“Ghost, how copy” you wait a few seconds before radioing in again, this time sounding more worried, “Ghost, ho-“ before you could finish your sentence, Ghost’s voice, accompanied by the sounds of gunshots filter through

“Solid copy.” He grunts out “I’ve got a few on my tail now but I’m taking care of it” you hear more gunshots as you look through your scope trying to spot Ghost’s form. Suddenly, an alarm rings through the building, you watch as dozens of enemy soldiers flood into the building your team once occupied,

“Fuck Ghost, incoming” you manage to warn before you hear Price’s loud and commanding voice boom,

“Ghost! Get out of there now! We need to detonate this thing now!” You hear Ghost reply with a short grunt. You watch as Ghost’s body runs out from the quickly populating building spraying round after round at accompanying enemies following. You try and help the best you can picking off as many enemies as possible before you hear Soap’s shout,

“CLEAR!” And with that, the building goes up in flames. You duck your head from where you’re positioned to avoid the ash and debris from the burning building,

“All Bravos, how copy?” You hear Price’s voice through the slight ringing of your ears,

A chorus of “Solid, copy”’s respond to the Captain, including your own as you begin to pack your weapon up to head out.

“Brilliant, alright everyone good work. Let’s regroup at the safe house 5 clicks from this position.” A murmur of approvals ring through the coms as you absentmindedly hum your approval and mute your radio. You finish packing up your gear when you hear a twig snap somewhere close by. You perk up and draw your M18 from where it’s positioned in the small holster on your thigh. As quiet as a mouse you sneak through the snowy brush to where the noise originated, peaking through the tree line your heart sinks to the bottom of your stomach as you see a squadron of about 9 soldiers approaching your position.

Fuck me. You practically groan, you know you won’t be able to take them all down at the same time so you do the only sensible option, you run. Expertly navigating through the snowy taiga, you run, duck, and jump over the obstacles in front of you. You can hear the pounding of footsteps behind you and the whizzing of bullets flowing past your body, barely missing their target. You run until your lungs burn and your eyes water from the cold air. You look around seemingly cornered by the enemy soldiers and the barren landscape when you spot it. A frozen over lake and possibly your one chance at survival, without a chance to second guess yourself, you’re running towards the lake. You hear yelling in the distance followed by more gunshots as you continue towards the lake. You reach the shoreline and tentatively put your body weight on the ice, judging by the fact it didn’t immediately crack, you take the risk and start sliding toward the other side. Luckily you are small and light enough to be able to tread across the slippery surface. You look over your shoulder to see the soldiers staring at you and continuing to try and shoot you. Before you could react, a stray bullet embeds into the icy surface and a loud crack and be heard. You look down in terror as the ice begins to crack and splinter. With a new objective in mind, you quicken your pace to the reach the other side of the frozen lake.

It’s too late. You’re about 3/4ths of the way when the ice suddenly relents under your weight and you get plunged into the deep icy depths of the water. The icy water causes your body to immediately freeze and jolt in pain as the below freezing water feels like pins and needles getting pushed into your skin slowly. You sink toward the bottom of the frozen pool before your mind catches up with your body and a gasp of air leaves your mouth. You’re choking on the icy water as you struggle against the cold, slowly and painfully you make your way back towards the surface. Your head emerges from the water first, then followed by your hands as you desperately try and grab onto something to be able to drag yourself out of the water. You can’t get a grip on the slippery surface causing you to gasp and sink back into the water, kicking your feet one final time you propel yourself out of the water and onto the ice. With the last bit of your remaining energy you fling yourself to the safety of solid ground on the other side of the lake.

You lay on the snowy ground shivering violently. You look out at the side of the lake where you came from and notice the soldiers were gone, must’ve thought I was a goner, you think bitterly. You don’t have time to reminisce on it as the wind picks up and reminds you that you are currently shivering, wet, and unable to feel your own body. Weakly, you try and turn on your radio to signal for help. You almost cry when you realize it’s gone, you must’ve lost it when you fell in. Coughing violently, you shakily get on your feet, stumbling once, then twice, you manage to stand and take unsteady steps towards where you assume the safe house should be.

The hike takes longer than it should’ve as you continuously stumbled and fell, taking longer than you care to admit to get back up and continue. It’s around 1700 judging by the just setting sun, when the small cabin comes into view. You almost weep in relief when you see it, you pick up your pace into a small run and, promptly fall down face first into the snow. You lay in the snow no longer shivering as your body begins to shut down, No! Not like this, I’m right there! You feel yourself thinking. You feel as if you hear a noise that resembles a door opening and voices yelling but you chalk that up to your imagination as your vision slowly fades into black. With one last tired breath you close your eyes and let the warmth take over you.

When you wake up, you’re burning, and not in a nice way. You feel as if your skin is on fire and is about to melt off your bones. It hurts, painfully so and you make sure to vocalize your discomfort with a pained screech. You try moving your body away from the burning heat but your muscles won’t respond to your brain so you can do nothing more then just let out pained screeches as tears flow down your face. Faintly you can hear hushed voices trying desperately to soothe you but you’re too out of it to notice. With one last screech you black out, in the back of your head you feel as if you can feel a hand card through your hair.

When you wake up again, the pain is still there but significantly lessened. You can feel yourself lying on what you assume to be a mattress with possibly the fluffiest blanket you’ve ever felt on top of you. You try opening your eyes, the light took adjusting to but after a moment you are able to look around the room where you are laying in. Almost immediately you spot the sleeping form of Captain John Price, he’s leaning back in the old wooden chair he’s on with his mouth open in a soft snore. His hand is laying on your covered leg comfortably, he looks tired and worried like he hasn’t slept in a good while. You look around the room trying to figure out where you are before you make yourself known. With a small clearing of your throat Price violently jerks awake and stares at you for a moment before he moves into action,

“Jesus Christ you’re awake!” He states as he starts to worry over you. He gently takes his hand and puts it over your forehead, frowning at what he feels, he moves toward yours eyes. With a flashlight he checks your eyes and nods once before setting the flashlight back aside. Once he finishes his initial exam, he surges forwards and wraps you in a tight embrace,

“NEVER do that again, you hear me?!” He started firmly, his voice laced with clear worry and concern. You chuckle lowly and rasp out,

“My bad, next time I wanna take a quick dip in the pool I’ll wait until summer.” This obviously was the wrong response as Price fixes you with a firm glare,

“I’m serious [c/n]! Do you have any idea how worried we were! First, you were MIA for 2 hours! Then, you show up DRENCHED in −5 °C weather! And THEN, we find you face down in the bloody snow! [y/n] we thought you were dead!” He scolds. You look down with a light blush of shame tinting your cheeks but before you could apologize, the door slams open causing you and Price to jump. In rushes both Soap and Ghost as they storm over to your bedside. Soap grabs your hand and holds it to his face,

“Steamin Jesus kid, ye gave us quite the scare there.” He says into your palm, Ghost approaches his side and stares at you in worry,

“How are you feeling?” He asks. You open your mouth to respond when suddenly footsteps echo through the hall and Gaz comes barreling into the room.

“[c/n]!” He rushes to your bedside and pulls you into a tight hug,

“Gaz! Quit it! Ye gonna hurt the lad” Soap scolds immediately as Gaz pulls away sheepishly with a muttered apology. You take a moment to gather your thoughts before looking back up at the team you consider family.

“M’sorry” you mutter out, tears threatening to fall, “they- they came so quickly and and I tired to run but I couldn’t lose ‘em so I tried to cross the lake but then they shot at it and I fell in and itwassocold-“ your rambling coming to a stop when a firm hand lands on your shoulder. You look up to see Price, Ghost, Gaz, and Soap staring at you with an unreadable expression.

“Hey, hey kid. It’s ok, it’s ok. You’re safe now” Price soothes gently. “It’s gonna be alright we’re here.” He continues giving you a soft look. You nod looking at your shaking hands when suddenly clothed hands cover your own. You look at Ghost as he warms your still cold hands with his own, you feel a hand in your hair and smile as you lean into Price’s touch. Soap and Gaz bring up a chair next to your bedside and sit close to you, protectively shielding your body from further harm. With the team you consider family so close to you, you give into your quickly tiring eyes and fall into a deep, comfortable sleep.

[alexa-fika]

okay hold up I just a.. unique idea

Im rewatching OP and im at sabody arc, n Laffy jist knocked the shit outta the noble

Idk who to ask this for but id love to see how'd you'd write a character reacticing to a noble trynna BUY child reader..

Or perhaps how mihawk would react with them trynna buy winged!child!reader?? IDK IT JIST SPROUTED

Do with as you will👹

Embracing Feelings and Family (Rayleigh x gn!winged!child!reader)

A/N: Not sure how to feel about this one., I think is really mid, maybe it’s just because of the dark nature of the piece itself but idk. I think this goes without saying based on the request but beware of the dark undertones of this piece as it portrays human slavery and auctioning. I couldn’t come up with something for mihawk so I went with our favorite grandpa

Dividers by @/saradika

“Up next, we have ourselves a true rarity! This one will blow your minds; we have a winged child! You can fly it around as you want or even have them carry you around the skies! They can even deliver you special things in a fraction of a time!” The announcer enthusiastically explained

“Let us start the bid at 10 Million Berry! Who offers 10 Million Berry?!”

“Let me go, you Jerks! Im not an item!” The child growls, banging on the cage’s bars

Charlos awes childishly before throwing out the first bid

“It’s a big Bird! It’s a Big Bird! 50 million Berry!” He yelled out joyfully before waving happily to the child in the cage

“Grandpa will get you all! Grandpa will save me, you gross creeps!”

The bidders ignore the child’s threats, continuing to bid

“60 million!” A man in the back screams

“80 million!” Another man hollers back

“I’ll do 800 million!” Charlos shouts back while waving his arms frantically in the air excitedly

“D-Does somebody bid any higher?”

“800 million….” “Awe, man, I was excited to have it too!” The crowd mutters

“Going in 3!

Going in 2!

Going in 1!

Sold!

The winged child goes to Saint Charlos for 800 million berry!”

Reader screams as they open the door to their cage and begin pulling on the chains, trying to pull them out and take him toward Charlos.

“Don’t touch me!” They sneered, throwing a kick toward the handler that was closest to them

The handler dodges out of the way and gives them a look.

“Rude little one, don’t bite the hand that feeds you!” The handler growls

“You have just been bought for a very generous amount of money for no one less than a Saint himself! A nobody like you should be Grateful!” They turn towards The Saint and bow

“A-Apologies for its insolence Saint Charlos; if I may, I’ll gladly teach it some manners for you; no need to trouble someone of your status to teach slaves some tricks.”

Charlos groans, sticking his finger in his nose.

“Could you hurry it up? I want to fly it!”

“Yes, Yes, of course; im sure you must be extremely busy, Saint Charlos. I promise not to take more time than is needed!” they assure him, turning around towards the child

“Now come here, you stupid brat,” they growl, raising a baton towards them.

“You will learn to listen!" the exclaim, bringing the baton down, but instead of receiving a blow, the man before them falls to the ground, knocked unconscious.

Reader sighs with relief when the man falls to the ground, the people in the auctioning house following the familiar pattern they have come to expect from their grandpa’s powerful Haki

“Grandpa!” They say, trying to flutter their way to Rayleigh but are cut short due to the chains binding them, causing them to plummet to the ground

“Ow”

“Geez, Reader.”

Rayleigh sighs calmly as he wrenches the chains from them easily, not paying any mind to the explosions that followed once they were removed.

“You seem to be able to get yourself in all kinds of trouble,” He says calmly as he sets the child back down

“Haven’t I told you not to get near this place and much less showing off those wings of yours?”

“What was it this time?” He asks as he looks them over for injuries

“I tried to fly higher…but a wind current caught me, and I couldn’t get myself out from it; it dragged me here, and they brought me here.”

“A wind current?” Rayleigh asks curiously

“One strong enough to drag even you, that’s pretty surprising, to say the least,” He says as he continues to look them over

“Are you alright? Have you sustained any injuries?”

“Im okay.”

“Alright, good to know,” He says as he scoops them up and leaves the wretched place.

“That must have been scary, huh? Im sorry it took me so long to get there; my body doesn’t move the way I want to anymore.”

“I wasn’t scared,” they mutter

“It’s okay, you know.”

“What?”

“To be scared for one’s life from time to time it’s not something one should be ashamed to admit; it doesn’t make us any less brave; you have the right to be scared, just as much as you have the right to be brave.”

“Your feelings are real; you shouldn’t deny them,” He says as he continues to carry them

They stare at him as their eyes begin to water

He smiles gently

“Just let it out, Reader; no one will think less of you for being scared.”

They hug him tighter, diving their head in his shirt as sobs start escaping them

“T-They kept calling me ‘it,’ they kept saying how they would fly me around like I was a kite,” they sob

He ran his fingers through their hair while he let them continue to cry, hugging them back tightly as he did.

He couldn’t help the anger he felt rising when thinking about what had happened inside the auction house

He rubs their back gently as he continues to walk

“Nothing that they told you in it is true; Reader, do not listen to their words; you are invaluable and your own person, not someone to be owned,” He says

“I -I know b-but the way they said it, they meant it, Grandpa; I was nothing but an item for them to use in their eyes.”

He pulls them a bit more tightly as he did

"I know, some people are like that, wretched beings who enjoy stepping in other people and causing them misery simply because they can."

“You are someone special to me; always remember that; you are the biggest treasure for me and your grandmother,” He says gently as they rub their back

"Now what do you say we go back to the shack and ask Grandma to make you your favorite drink?" they offer, chuckling when they feel the child nooding

"Can we add extra chocolate to it?"

"Anything you want, Reader," he smiles, knowing that it would take a long time and effort to build their confidence and sense of security back to where it was after everything that had happened, but they would get there together.

Ya’ll I have summoned my choice wheels to do some platonic!reader x character, not child reader, normal age reader but still platonic 👀 Had to fight to find some good roulettes.

Taglist

@imaginarydreams

[yanderemommabean]

You have no idea when I saw your status change from 2 months to 6 hours ago. I audibly gasped!! I'm so so sooo glad you're doing okay and out of that awful situation, as someone who did the exact same thing at 16, it's really hard at first, getting things sorted out and moving out for the first time is definitely stressful, but as you said it will feel like home once the dust settles. Also is there any way we could send money your way to help out? Best wishes momma!!!

I'm happy to try and be back! I'm feeling myself out more, I've come to find that some stuff that used to squick me doesn't so much anymore, and I've come to feel like I'm allowed to rest without guilt, allowed to eat without being berated, and so on! Sammy's vet bill is my main concern, but Im thinking of opening coms again soon after I get some things figured out on how I wanna go about it and how I wanna change some stuff up! I'll link my Ko-fi here and on my pinned message for peeps who are curious on where to donate and such if you want! But don't feel pressured!

ko-fi.com/mommabean Im currently looking for pharmacy tech jobs, as I graduated a training school recently while sickly but still managed! I just dont have the PTCB yet, but I know I can apply for a certificate and work for about two years (or less? Ill re-look into it, things get messed up) before having to reapply and what not. (again, could be COMPLETELY off but the jist is im job hunting lol) No ones called back yet and while im hopeful, I also know how the job market is more of a dead internet thing at this point. Sorry for the ramble! Im just happy to talk and what not!

I hope you have a wonderful day bean <3 you're very sweet!

-Mommabean

[callmejod]

Yey! I love him so much but there is so little for him! Could you do a headcanon for him falling in love again (reciprocated) post potc please- if we pretend he didn't die. Pretty please.

Hohohohohohohoho this was also on my mind for a few weeks

Had to mill it over the last few days, sorry for not responding. I also wrote this for an entire day so I hope you like it.

Kinda oc reader, foreign!reader, James being down bad for the reader , reader being too good to be true

This got really long so bare with me

I don't know if I'm even able to write short fics

So the jist is :

If he didn't die and came back to Port Royal as Admiral Norrgington - he would be happy he got his career, his honor and his purpose back.

Living on the sea has changed him. He no longer could stand this uptight, fake world that Port Royal thrives in. The cravats, the paperwork, the wigs. Fuck, he couldn't breathe most of the time, always sweaty in the thousand-layer suits, head itching from both the powder and the weigt of his hats. Having to sit through those god awful formal dinners, balls that bring nothing but superficial gossip was nothing but pure torture. Don't get me wrong - he's grateful for being able to even attend them, but the honest, freeing way of pirate life has broken him out of the cage of chaperoned conversations with ladies and standoffish men making fools out of themselves. He remembers the joyous dancing, full of fluidity and life, now having to endure stiff, distant and "civilised" english dancing.

One day, while having a conversation with one of the Ports ministers he hears about a merchant who's come from afar. He knows of your stay at Jamaica. He had a few documents regarding your long stay brought to his office to sign. Your ship suffered damage in a run-in with pirates and had a lot of repairs to do. A gorgeous vessel. He wonders if the captain is as handsome as their ship. Hopes he gets to meet you before you leave. You only arrived four days ago, and already the talk of the ton. Impressive.

The men described you as lively, wild as a tropical storm. The ministers complained about your accent, your way of dressing, your carefreeness, anything they can put a pin in, they do. James feels quite uncomfortable listening to the convesation not being able to put in anything. He then sets his mind to finding out who you are - he has grown out of judging a person by word from another mouth.

That encounter came earlier than he expected. And to be frank - saved him from a horrible stack of particularily boring paperwork. Having you barge in full-force into his office steaming mad, followed by two petrified soldiers was not something on his agenda. He noticed the few things the ministers mentioned - clothes of unusual cut and style, quite tasteful if his opinion was concerned, hair and hairstyle so different from locals that there was no mistaking you. You were the eccentric foreigner. But fawning over your beauty was for another time - now he had an angry merchant going off about something he both didn't listen to for a while and frankly, couldn't really understand due to your speed of speech.

'S-sorry could you slow down a second. I'm afraid I'm loosing some of what you're saying."

'Sir they need to make an appoin-'

'It's fine gentlemen, this must be urgent if I am needed. Please, let us speak in private.'

After the guards step out, he offers you to sit and something to drink.

'I have no need for no courtesy Admiral. I need a problem fixed. You can skip this stupid charade.'

'Oh, then it is more serious than I've thought. What is the problem?'

'Those - those'

You wave your hand in the air to make him help you find a word.

'Minosters of yours'

'Ministers?'

'Yes! Those idiots. They won't let me handle my own ship the way it needs to be. It needs to be seen by - argh!'

Your frustration runs high. He smiles.

'There's no need to stress. You mean carpenters? Is there a problem with the wood of your ship?'

'Are those who work with wood?'

'Yes, so you need to hire carpenters and the dock officials won't let you? That is strange. You have registered your stay and gave us all the documents we need.'

'But they don't!!'

You grab his forearm and try dragging him out of the office. He slows you down and explains that he will talk to them, just let him take a few things. You scoff and cross your arms.

'You English and your weird rules. Wasting time and not helping.'

He couldn't agree with you more. He smiles and starts walking out. When you two make your way to the port, he has difficulty keeping his pace with you - passersby stare at you storming off to port with their Admiral desperately trying to keep up with you. You sometimes mumble curses in languages he does not ever try to understand, but you two make your way faster than he realised was possible.

There you stomp to an official, who not seeing James trailing behond you shouts:

'Ow piss of ya cunt! I won't let you disgrace our carpenters by working on a ship that carries your kind!'

James is stunned you don't rip his head off when he sees your fists clench by your sides. Anger nips at his mind, how dare he treat you like this?! When slows his pace and asks in a flat voice:

'What do you mean "their kind"? Is that how my officials treat esteemed, foreign guests? And how dare you use such language to a person that was only looking for your help.'

The man's face whites and he starts to stutter an apology, but James stops it and sends him to get carpenters. Admiral's orders. When the official slips away to fill his duty, James turns to you and starts profusely apologising for the incompetence of his subordinates.

He's horrified when you inform him, that this is not the first - ha!, only time of being mistreated because of your looks or manner of speech. Anger boils in him when he hears that not only you, but majority of your crew had to endure this for a while now, accomodation denied not by matter of the lack of, but prejudice. Before he even thinks, he immedeately offers you a place in his home - something that brings surprise to you both. He cannot stand the thought you had to sleep on your ship when there was far grater comforts available.

He flushes red and again apologises for being inappropraite, but gets cut off by your boisterous laughter. The sound hypnotises him, seeing you smile for the first time makes his heart bang on his ribs. You laugh so hard tears come to you eyes and a shortness of breath. He cares not that many are looking at you two or the impropriatey of the situation. Time freezes for him. There's only you and him.

'Oh admiral, you are funny. I cannot leave my men to sleep on the ship when I am given all comforts of life.'

James flushes again and meekly asks:

'Then would you accept a simple dinner as an apology for your mistreatement?'

He almost doubles over when you beam at him and accept. The way you look at him so amused - he would make the biggest fool out of himself just to keep that look in your eyes. You set a date for a few weeks later and James makes sure that your your crew is not being mistreated anymore than they already have. Of course, Gilette and Groves relentlessly teased him for his obvious affection towards you. They weren't surprised though, it was hard not to even tolerate you.

Over those few weeks he started to watch you closely. Both of you were invited for a few balls, and the conversations you two had were the most fulfilling he had in a long long time. Your knowledge of the sea, of literature, politics and history had impressed him and added a new dimention to your person - not only beautiful, but wise.

He saw you many times playing with children on the street, helping people in need, play-fighting with young boys, showing them your battle scars and sometimes even your handpistol or sword.

You brought an air of freshness to the stuffy, ever "proper" society of Port Royal. You smiled often, you were polite to those who deserved it, made an effort to not be a bother. Yet, you never hesitated to get you crew in line when they were causing a ruckus.

Your manner of speech was charming, that certain twang to english and he would be a liar if he denied finding your way of trying to remember words or coming up with new ones when you couldn't was not adorable. Talking with using your hands was also a thing he found endearing. He would deny it to his grave in front of you, die of embarrasment if you knew. He heard that you got into a heated conversation with your first officer, and while talking with using your hands smacked a passing lady in the face. Apologised a lot and brought her an apology gift in form of a few yards of stunning blue silk. The dress she had comissioned to be made of it was breathtaking. But nothing could ever compare to your beauty.

All this was just pulling him into your direction. And when the awaited evening came, James was so nervous about everithing being perfect. You were perfect so your expectations were not to be let down. But, you being you, as if feeling his nervousness arrived early and instead of courtsies and stiff welcomes hugged him like a family member long missed.

As the dinner went on, your conversation flowed over many topics, never ending, never boring. You moved to the sitting room, where to James' torture you sprawled yourself over a love seat and rested. He sat, watching you strech like cat, admiring you quietly. You made eye contact with him and asked :

'James, would you like me to court you?'

He choked on his spit. In a coughing attack, he flushed so red, you jumped to your feet and held his shoulder to try and help. After a while of hacking and a visit from a concerned maid, he stopped and looked at you, not knowing what to say. He saw the unceirtainty in your eyes, even hurt.

'Do you not wish me to court you, James?'

His eyes widened. After years of endlessly chasing Elizabeth's affection, you being so open about it shocked him. He knew he harboured feelings for you but never imagined that feeling would be reciprocated. He took your hands and squeezed them.

'I was just cuaght off guard, dear don't worry. It's standard for men here to ask someone to court.'

'So I'm supposed to wait forever? You have been open with your feelings, but I am an impatient person James. I do not make games.'

'Play games?'

'Is that how you say it?"

James chuckled an held a hand to your face. That prompted you to surge forward and kiss him. For a second, he froze in surprise but leaned into you, sighing into the kiss. You threw your arms over his shoulders and he moaned.

That made you break apart from him and look into the sea green of his eyes. Your warm breath fanned his face, heating it impossibly more. You seemed lost in them and made him nervous that he did something wrong. Seeing his concern, you locked your lips again in a gentle kiss. God, he never wanted it to end. He smiled into the kiss, making you giggle. You two broke apart and looked at each other.

James then spoke :

'I would very much like you to court me, if you let me do the same.'

'Finally making some sense, James.'

[j4mboree]

as much as i like cutesy sweetie lil guy petey who has been given god's hardest battle i wish we could like do something more than that as fandom. like petey can be more than just a sad little guy who gets bullied alot. how about we make him look decrepid, make him look like a little freak cat whos been dumped into a bat of freezing cold water, make petey scary. people dont stray away from making jimmy and gary look weird and unnerving but what about petey? why is he confined to this position of always just being the cute one. like make him a lil thing creature who looks like hes going through it i need more lil thing petey please pleaseeepleasee.

heres a visual representation of my idea ft. my hc petey design, poorly drawn ik

the first one is fine tbh, its representative of peteys appearance on the surface, a lil guy whos sad alot of the time aw mannnnnnn :'( hes so sad and pathetic!!

the second one is interesting imo. he looks like an animal that just crawled out of its hibernation burrow /affectionate. like it really showcases the internal disposition of petey that he could be feeling to put it simply. i think he should be tired, and miserable looking

i would love to see somebodys depiction of petey and its like petey but he looks like hes been stomped on 15 times ran over by a train, and double tapped. cuz to put it plainly bullworth is literally the worst school ever and petey is most likely one of the main targets of bullying for literally anyone. give him eyebags to indicate he cries alot, give him a slouch, make him look tired, let him fidget with his hands, bite his fingernails, pick at his skin. this kid is the worlds most specialist little guy that routinely gets nothing in return from it i love him.

another thing is that petey is just like this desperate little freak. like he has no friends and doesnt really hang out wit no one cuz he doesnt feel like he fits in with anyone else. hes pretty socially awkward and only hangs out wit jimmy and gary cuz he wants to feel included by others and have a semblance of friendship even if they mistreat him. i feel like the second one really illustrates that, not to say that being socially awkward and having no friends means youd look like that but you get the jist.

so in conclusion i think more people should draw petey like this

[fablesrose]

Ch 12 - The Lost Heir Job

Series Rewrite Masterlist 

Pairing: Eliot Spencer x Ford!Reader

Description: The con this week takes a couple turns as they try to steal a rich man's inheritance from his lawyer and give it to the charity he requested before he passed away. The client's lawyer is an interesting character as well.

Words: 4989

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Nate didn’t tell anyone, but I knew that he went to see Sophie, despite his insistence of leaving her alone on the last job. I wasn’t sure if she would show up, so I left Nate to meet the client on his own, just in case she did. What I didn’t expect was that our client would bring an attorney and that she would want to know what was going on all of the time or else we didn’t have a client at all. 

“I hate this,” Eliot said when Nate explained the situation. 

“You do not let Vicki Vale into the Batcave, ever,” Hardison said. I would have to refresh my memory on that reference, but I got the jist that he didn’t like the situation either. 

“First, this is my home, not a cave,” Nate replied. “Second, we’re not gonna allow her up here.”

“Sophie would never approve,” Parker said forcefully. “Call her.”

“We can’t just keep calling Sophie.”

“Okay, I see how it is,” Hardison said. “We can’t call her, but you can go off and have a little secret meeting with her.”

I should have known Hardison would already know about it. 

“What are you talking about? I was in Harrisburg, researching a client,” Nate defended. 

“Wow, cause you know what?” Hardison put some evidence on the screen behind Nate, “your passport got dinged going through Heathrow Airport yesterday. Heathrow’s in London. I guess you couldn’t get a direct flight to Harrisburg.”

“Well it’s hard when you do the same day booking,” Eliot pointed out. 

Hardison stuttered a bit in response to Eliot before getting back to his point, “Did you realize that London is the home of the most security cameras in the world?”

“Really?” Parker said, feigning interest. 

“Who feels like playing Where’s Waldo?” Hardison asked. “I do.”

Parker raised her hand with an ‘Oh!’

“Do you think he wore his trenchcoat to be inconspicuous?” I asked.

“Damn girl, it’s like you already knew,” Hardison praised as he showed a picture after picture of Nate, in his trenchcoat. “Waldo Ford. Oh, is that Big Ben? And you?”

We all smiled at each other as Hardison continued to milk it.

“Wow, you got twins and triplets everywhere.” Hardison became more serious, “and lookie there, 11:18 am standing outside of Sophie’s apartment looking quite pensive.”

“Aw, he’s rehearsing what he’s gonna say,” Parker said. “I’ve seen him do that.”

“Alright, alright guys. Okay, you caught me,” Nate conceded. “I went to London. Yeah. I saw Sophie.” He paused, looking at each of us individually. “And she’s not coming back.”

My heart sank. I had already assumed this to be the case since she wasn’t here, but him saying it outloud really hit it home. She wasn’t coming back. 

Parker shook her head, “Not now, or not ever?”

“I, uh, don’t know,” Nate said. “An, uh, I don’t think she does either. So, uh, that’s that.”

There was a moment of silence as we all contemplated what that might mean. 

“Could you please take the…” Nate gestured at the screens behind him with the surveillance photos of him. “Thank you,” he said once they were gone, “Can we get back to work?” Nate stood, moving the stool he was sitting on out of the way. He took a business card out of his pocket, “This… Tara Carlisle. Hardison, maybe you could just do a background check on her and if everything pans out, I don’t see why we can’t have an outsider just this once tag along. Hm?”

I couldn’t help but make a comparison, “I mean, I don’t think it’d be much different than having me around. Especially in the beginning…”

Nobody answered or added to my thought, but I did notice some clenched jaws and subtle head movements, as if weighing the odds. 

“Ok, why don’t you run it for ‘em,” Nate told Hardison. 

Hardison started his slide show, “Meet the late, great Bennett Kimball. He made his fortune the old-fashioned way: polluting, union busting, employing sweatshop labor. His personal life was even worse. Drunken driving accidents, chasing women, paying off the mob. 

“Why haven’t we ever heard of this guy?” Parker asked. 

“Because to the rest of the world,” Nate answered, “Bennett Kimball was a pillar of Boston society. Thanks to one very hard working lawyer.”

“Meet his longtime attorney, Peter Blanchard,” Hardison said, showing his picture on the screen. “This is an interesting guy. He’s a blue blood Harvard Law Graduate who turned into Kimball’s personal janitor. Dude would pay off the cops, pay hush money, God knows what else.”

“And he was rewarded by being named the executor and sole beneficiary of Kimball’s estate,” Nate added. 

“Lovely,” I commented sarcastically, “So he’s invested, to say the least.”

“Mmhm,” Hardison agreed. “See, Kimball didn’t have any kids. He had a couple of ex-wives way, way back, but Blanchard is the closest thing he has to family.”

“Well, I guess this Blanchard guy didn’t count on his client having such a giving side,” Eliot said. 

“Funny how that works,” Nate replied, standing up. “What happens to rich people when they know the end is near… It’s really, really amazing. Okay, I don’t know that we have a legal angle to play on this one, because in three days, he is going to present the will in probate court and assume control of the estate.”

“And our client’s charity gets nothing,” Parker said. 

“Now, Blanchard was the keeper of Kimball’s secrets so…” Nate continued, “Yeah, so that’s our way in, right there.”

“You want a skeleton from his closet,” Parker deduced, a bit excited. 

“Absolutely,” Nate agreed, “and there’s gotta be tons of skeletons. I mean, we want something so scary that the mere mention of it makes this guy run for his checkbook. So, uh, if that weren’t hard enough, we’ve got the chaperone to think about.” Nate clapped his hands a bit awkwardly at the task we had a head, and then took his exit. 

“Tara Carlisle,” Hardison said to us. He, Nate, Eliot, and I stood outside of a prison, waiting for the attorney to arrive. “She checks out. Civil rights lawyer, does a lot of pro bono work. Collects lost causes like kittens.”

She pulled up in a low profile sudan, practical. 

“Well, she’s honest,” Eliot commented.

“Crusader, incorruptible,” Hardison said as she stepped out of her car. She wore heels and a pencil skirt, professional, but still flattering along with her blond half updo and glasses. Hardison seemed to notice as he added, “And one sexy librarian.”

I looked over at him and Eliot with a raised eyebrow, but they kept their gaze on her. I rolled my eyes as I returned my gaze to the newcomer. 

Nate waved and walked to stand beside her, “Hey guys, I’d like you to meet Tara Carlisle. She’s our client’s attorney. She’s gonna be joining us today.”

“I’m here because I believe we share a common goal,” she said as she shook our hands. “I just want to make sure it’s done the right way.” She turned to Nate, “Now, you said you had something we could use against Blanchard?”

Nate nodded, signaling for Hardison to explain.

“Okay, well behind these prison walls, or, um, prison shrubs,” Hardison started, pointing at the low security prison, “is Kimball’s former business partner, PJ Orson. He’s doing ten years for embezzlement. Kimball’s company paid $50,000 to a company called Lamond Holdings back in 1980.” Hardison was about to continue when he zeroed into Tara dutifully taking notes in a little note pad. 

“That?” Nate asked. “Yeah, she does that. It’s okay, go ahead.”

Hardison continued, “Well, Lamond Holdings is a Vegas front company for the mob.”

“Yeah, $50,000 used to be the going rate for a contract killer in those days,” Eliot clarified helpfully. 

“I’m not gonna ask how you know that,” I said before I could stop myself, since I had an idea.

“Good, cuz you don’t want to know.”

“Fair enough.”

“You think Kimball paid to have somebody killed?” Tara asked. 

I didn’t have to look at Eliot or Hardison to know that we all made a little bit of a face at the question. 

“Okay,” Nate took the attention to himself, “now what we’re gonna do right now is we’re going to go undercover.”

“Well, why don’t we go talk to Mr. Orson?” Tara asked.

Hardison and Eliot laughed. 

“No. The best lie is the truth Mr. Ford,” she said resolutely. “I think if we go in there, and plead our case, Mr. Orson will wanna talk to us.” 

She had so much confidence walking into that prison with Nate and I behind her, even up to explaining the situation to Orson. Until he laughed in her face. 

Nate and I glanced at each other with a knowing look. Eliot and Hardison were getting ready for undercover anyway. It looked like we would need them after all, crazy. 

Orson explained to Tara how he was living a very comfortable life in the prison. He didn’t need his sentence reduced, he didn’t need any deals. 

Once Orson left, Nate told Hardison and Eliot to put the squeeze on him and for Parker to case Blanchard’s office. Nate then turned to us, “Why don’t you two come with me. I’m about to become a really terrible lawyer. You can watch.” He then turned to exit the prison. 

I waited for Tara to gather her things, walking alongside her, “Don’t worry, it’ll be fun.” 

She gave me a skeptical look.

I reached my hand out to shake again, “I’m Y/n, Y/n Ford.”

She shook it cautiously this time, “Daughter?”

I shook my head, “Niece, but he raised me after my parents passed.” She let out a quiet, ‘ah,’ but before she could provide condolences as I could see she was about to, I spoke again. “So, I have to deal with his bullshit all the time, trust me, you’ll enjoy yourself at least a little bit.”

The three of us headed over to the courthouse after Nate changed into an… interesting suit to say the least.  It was a three piece suit, everything was powder blue except for his tie, which was orange. It was clear–he was there to make a statement. 

“Look, Blanchard’s here at the same time as you are. That’s a coincidence,” Tara said excitedly as she spotted Blanchard in the hallway. 

“No, it’s not,” Nate said, “we hacked into his online appointment schedule.” He quickly corrected himself, “I mean, yes, what a coincidence.” He waved a hand at us, “why don’t you wait for me outside?”

“What are you going to do?” Tara asked.

Nate stumbled over his words trying to say what he was doing somewhat discreetly, “uh, make an appointment with… You’ll see.” Nate then walked ahead of us, past Blanchard, to a judge’s door.

I stepped slightly in front of Tara, facing her as if to have a conversation, “You can watch over my shoulder, make it a bit less suspicious.”

She nodded, tilting her head curiously as she did as I told her. I in turn listened as Nate knocked on the door. 

“Hi there. Listen, Jimmy Popodokolos, Las Vegas, attorney at law. I’m here to talk to the judge about the Kimball probate hearing.” He then obnoxiously kept throwing in filler words and “very important”s  as the secretary tried to put him down for an appointment. 

“Oh, can you see Blanchard? He must be peeved,” I asked Tara. 

She hesitated, “Well, he’s facing away from me…”

“Come on, you’re a lawyer, don’t you know body language?” I didn’t wait for her answer before stretching a bit, peeking towards Blanchard in the process. “Yeah, he looks tense, this’ll be good.”

Once Nate was done talking to the judge he came walking back towards us. Tara and I quickly fell into step with him as we exited the court house.

“I think we should go back to the prison, something tells me Orson is gonna talk to us,” Nate said, stepping into the car. 

I laughed to myself a bit, knowing that Eliot and Hardison must have been successful in scaring the crap out of him. They were posing as guards within the prison and were stirring up trouble for Orson. The very real threat of getting him transferred to maximum security prison was looming over his head. 

Tara was confused, but Nate refused to elaborate.

“Who are you guys? Feds, playing hardball?” Orson asked once Tara picked up the phone again. 

“I’m sorry, what are you…?” she said. 

“Listen, the payment to Lamond Holdings was made to someone named George Gilbert.”

“Who is George Gilbert?”

“I don’t know. Blanchard said to keep it to ourselves because the mob was involved. That’s all I know, I swear. I don’t want to die in a prison riot. Please, call off your dogs.” The guard then came and told him that time was up, so he left the visiting area. 

“Alright, so Blanchard paid the mob $50,000 to kill someone named George Gilbert for Kimball,” Nate said. “Well, this should be an interesting meeting.” Nate then swiftly exited the room, Tara and I close behind. She was substantially more confused than before. 

Nate went to meet with Blanchard with this new found information to try and blackmail him a bit and buy enough time for Parker to break into Blanchard’s safe in his office. I went back to my apartment and changed into some comfier clothes and made myself a snack. I should have been excited to have another “outsider” around, to be able to share what I’ve discovered with someone else. But for some reason, it made me a bit anxious hanging around her. Like something wasn’t right. I tried to shake it off, it wouldn’t be the first time anxiety built up for no reason. Having a minute to myself in my apartment helped, I was able to decompress away from people for a little while. 

That was until Eliot knocked. When I opened my door, I didn’t fail to catch the quick look over he did and the slight tilt of his head. I took a second myself to admire how the long sleeves of his white undershirt were pushed up to his elbows before locking my eyes with his.

“We need you over here again. There’s been a change of plans,” he stepped away from the door, letting me step out after him. 

I rolled my eyes as I pulled the door shut behind me, “when isn’t there.”

“Touche.” 

Eliot gave me a quick run down as we crossed the hall and entered Nate’s apartment. It wasn’t a mob hit that Blanchard paid for. It was a stripper, a pay off to make her disappear. Nate then claimed that Parker was Kimball’s child from that stripper. 

Parker was complaining when we sat down that she was one digit away from cracking the safe. 

“Yeah, no. This is much, much better than the safe,” Nate assured. 

“I got everything on Georgia Gilbert, and I mean everything,” Hardison said. He relayed her birthdate, education, medical tidbits, including that she was colorblind, and even her shoe and dress size, heaven forbid. “And how in the world did you know that she was pregnant?”

“Wait, she was pregnant?” Parker asked. 

“Yeah, gave the baby up for adoption.”

“What happened to Georgia?”

“She died in 1985. Cancer.”

My face scrunched up in sympathy. That must have been rough. 

“Tough draw,” Eliot said. 

“Well, it wasn’t really a guess,” Nate said, bringing us back to Hardison’s question. “I mean, for decades Kimball, he had a lot of women on the side, avoided a lot of scandal, right? So what made him decide to marry Georgia Gilbert over all those women?”

“Blanchard paid her off and Kimball thought she ran out on him,” Eliot said. 

“Now, how did you know that baby was a girl?” Hardison asked. 

“Oh, oh yeah… That- that was a guess,” Nate admitted. 

Eliot and I chuckled a bit. The luck of this man…

“But, that’s a fifty-fifty deal.” 

“Why don’t we find the real daughter?” I asked. 

“Adoption records are sealed, paper only,” Hardison replied. “I have a reference number, but nobody can see inside. All this is good, until Blanchard wants a DNA test. I gotta say, even with my bag of tricks, I can’t rewrite Parker’s genetic code.”

“That’s quitter talk,” I said simply. 

“You know what-”

“Yeah, so we just have to convince him that asking for DNA is the worst possible choice he can make,” Nate said, cutting Hardison from a retort. 

“How do we do that?” Eliot asked. 

“We don’t.”

Nate briefed Tara of the plan. She was to go to a meeting with Blanchard and do some reverse psychology to get him to not want a DNA test. With Hardison attaching one of Parker’s aliases to the adoption reference number, it made it look like Parker was the missing daughter. It sounded like it was pretty successful, but only time would ultimately tell. 

It didn’t take long for Blanchard’s assistant to call, setting up a meeting with Nate and Parker. While it seemed like good news, I’ve been learning not to celebrate until we were truly home free. 

I decided to go to the hearing both to show some moral support and just in case something went awry. I had an earbud in, listening to how the meeting was going to go on the riverfront. Eliot went along as well, just in case. It was a good thing, because not long after they arrived, I heard gunshots. 

“Nate?!” I tried to whisper. Luckily the hearing hadn’t started yet, so others were chatting, but Tara heard and looked towards me with a worried expression. I waved her off, quickly and quietly exiting the courtroom. “Eliot, what’s going on?”

“Well, he was convinced alright,” Parker answered instead after the fighting noises stopped. “Good plan.”

“No, no, no, this is good,” Nate panted. “Because, I mean, you know, we get you to the hearing, he’ll cut us a check in the hallway just to keep you from getting in front of that judge. Just make sure that Parker gets to that hearing. No matter what.”

I started pacing the hallway. This wasn’t good, but hopefully salvageable. 

“Hardison, give me some good news,” Nate asked after a little while.

“Oh, I’ve got some great news for ya,” he answered, somewhat sarcastically. “They just put an APB on Parker. It says she’s a late 20s Caucasian woman who shot an officer. She’s an addict and she’s armed. Trifecta.” 

“Hardison, how good’s the description of her?” Eliot asked, but Hardison didn’t have to answer as I heard sirens coming through from his end. 

“Pretty good,��� Parker answered. 

I listened to the background noises of them running and then eventually Nate took a call from Blanchard. Once he hung up he addressed us. 

“Hardison, y/n, Blanchard’s headed to the courthouse. You’ve gotta delay him. Buy us some time.”

“How do you expect us to do that?” Hardison asked. 

“I don’t know, use your imagination.”

“Just use my imagination…” Hardison said to himself before trailing off. 

“Do you want me up there in the foyer, Hardison? Or should I stay back here, behind the security check?” I asked him. I was fumbling over what I could do to keep him from getting here. 

“Uh,” He said, it sounded like he was rummaging through his pockets, “No, I think I have an idea to keep him here at the security check for a while. Stay back there to run last minute interference if necessary.”

I sighed shakily, “Okay… okay okay.” 

He started talking with people in the lobby, asking for things to help, I assumed. I looked around, trying to think about what I could do to slow Blanchard down once he got here. What would Sophie do? Think of the classic tricks, the plausible movie tropes. My eyes flicked around the corridor, catching benches and people milling around. Then someone walked by with a coffee cup.

That might work. 

I was impressed with how long Hardison held Blanchard up at the security check, but it wasn’t long enough, Nate was still running behind. To top it off, Parker couldn’t find a way into the courthouse since every entrance was covered by police. I didn’t manage to find any coffee, but I did find a cup and water, so it would have to do. I poured some on the ground a little ways from the courtroom, to have a little more space. I had the rest of the water in the cup, ready for some oscar worthy performances. 

I watched as Blanchard turned the corner. I hyped myself up a bit, I had rough housed a little in college, played a pick up game every once in a while. I could do this. I timed it so I slipped on the water one step in front of him as I crossed the hall, not giving him time to avoid me. As I fell I took his legs out from under him and spilled the rest of my water for good measure. Unfortunately I fell a bit wrong and he fell on top of me, not quick enough to catch himself. 

“Aw, shit,” I whispered to myself. That hurt. I vaguely heard Nate talking to everyone else, giving orders to tweak the plan again, but I wasn’t listening. A crowd had gathered around, helping Blanchard and I up. 

He quickly apologized, but excused himself. He tried to run, but the water made the floor slippery, which significantly slowed his progress. I wanted to smile at the little victory, but I was soaking wet and my body was aching, so I just gently shook myself off before slowly following him. 

I sat down next to Hardison in the back of the courtroom once I got there and he gave me tentative knuckles. I touched my fist to his with a sigh, “that went better in my head.”

“Well, you bought some time, so…” he shook his head a bit, “but maybe don’t hurt yourself next time.”

“Noted.”

Nate loudly entered the courtroom as Tara was questioning our client on the stand. After introducing himself, the judge demanded that Nate represent the missing heir immediately. Nate took a moment to gather his things and thoughts, which the judge allowed. I heard Tara scold him a bit for posing as a lawyer through his comms.

“Well, stick around. I’m about to practice medicine, too,” he retorted back softly. 

I turned to Hardison, “oh, this’ll be good.” To which he nodded. 

“Uh, Your Honor, I’d like to offer into evidence these documents showing a payment that Mr. Blanchard made to a Georgia Gilbert, a woman I contend bore Mr. Kimball’s child,” Nate said. 

“Yes, Your Honor,” Blanchard interrupted, “Mr. Popodoklips-”

“It’s Popodokolos.”

“Pokadolokisp… Pop… Popa-”

“Popodokolos.”

“This man!” Blanchard said louder, “spun these fairy tales in my office. It’s a shakedown from a disbarred-”

“Suspended!”

“Ambulance chaser from Las Vegas!” He shouted. “And he says that he found Bennett Kimball’s daughter. So I only have one question for him,” he said much calmer. “Where is she?”

Everyone stared at each other for a moment before Nate replied, “I could produce her, Your Honor, if you just allow me to ask the witness one question. One question to the witness.”

The judge nodded, “Please.”

Nate then walked up to our client, “Miss Walton. What… color… is my tie?”

She hesitated, “I don’t know. I’m color blind.”

Nate went on to explain to the judge, and everyone else in the room, that both Bennett Kimball and Georgia Gilbert were color blind. It was extremely rare for a woman to be color blind, both parents would have to be color blind for her to have it. 

“Wait…” Ruth said from the witness stand, “Are you saying that I’m Bennett Kimball’s daughter?”

“It’s no coincidence, is it, that you started a program helping foster kids get adopted?” Nate asked her. “No coincidence, is it Miss Walton?”

“No, I was adopted myself.”

“Yes, in 1982,” Nate said. “You were two years old. The state of Nevada.”

“Yes,” she said in disbelief. 

“Now the last time you saw Bennett Kimball, he called you by a different name, didn’t he? What was it?” He asked, but she didn’t answer. “Gigi? Georgia Gilbert. Gigi.”

She nodded imperceptibly on the stand. 

“That’s who he was looking at when he saw you that day. Your birth mother, the woman he loved and lost in 1980.” This whole time he was speaking just to Ruth it seemed, but he then addressed the judge, “Your Honor, Bennett Kimball didn’t call Miss Walton here out of the blue to donate money to her charity. He searched for her. He searched for his daughter.”

“I move to strike Mr. Popodokos’s evidence from the record based on the fact that I haven’t been able to get adequate time to review these outlandish claims and prepare a proper response,” Blanchard said almost desperately. 

“Popodokolos,” Nate corrected again. 

“Popodokolos!” He nearly screamed. 

“I agree, Your Honor,” Tara said, standing elegantly. “And I would also like to add a motion to compel a DNA test to put to rest any doubt that my client is Mr. Kimball’s daughter. The truth will win out.”

“Motion granted,” the judge said. “When we get the results, I expect I will be awarding Miss Walton the Kimball estate. We’re adjourned.”

Blanchard wasn’t too happy with that outcome. He got even more upset once he was arrested as a result of the dirty files Parker handed over to the authorities from Blanchard’s office. He was screaming insults and suspicions that Nate wasn’t a lawyer as he was dragged out of the courtroom. 

“So,” Nate said to Tara, “do you still think law is, you know, the only pathway to justice?”

“Now more than ever,” she replied. “I like to think that you learned something from me today.”

She then left the courtroom with a pep in her step. We all filed out after her, heading back to the pub. 

We met up with Ruth, giving the bit of closure we could when Nate asked her where her lawyer, Tara, was. 

“My lawyer? I never met her before this week,” she replied confused. “She told me she was with you.”

We all shared a look. We quickly said our goodbyes to Ruth, wishing good luck, before heading up to Nate’s apartment. Once we entered, it wasn’t hard to spot Tara sitting in the middle of the room. She was wearing more comfortable and revealing clothes compared to her lawyer outfit. She also wore darker makeup and had her hair down.

“Took you long enough,” she said, much more relaxed than before as well. She waved an envelope in her hand. 

Eliot stepped in front of us, “Who are you?”

“Tara Cole,” she replied easily. “I’m a friend of Sophie’s.” She handed the envelope to Nate, “She said you were short handed, asked me to help. It’s in there.”

Eliot stood intimidatingly close to her, arms crossed. Parker looked her up and down evaluating. 

“So you help out by lying to us,” Hardison accused. 

“I wanted to see how good you really are,” she answered simply. “And show you how good I am. Consider it my audition.”

I stood back a bit, giving some space, “well, I’m never ignoring that gut feeling again.” I said, somewhat to myself, but I didn’t mind if anyone heard. Tara tilted her head and raised an eyebrow at me in response. 

“I bet you’re not even a lawyer,” Parker said, a bit of disgust in her voice. 

“Awe, Sophie was right. You are adorable.”

“Excuse me?”

Eliot, Hardison, and I stepped in a bit there, trying to defuse the situation that would surely lead to Parker starting a fight. It stayed at a bit of arguing before Nate caught our attention.

“She’s right. Sophie did send her.” Nate looked back at the letter, “And, uh, Sophie asked us to give Tara here a shot.” Nate handed the letter to Hardison to read to confirm. “Well played. Welcome aboard.”

“Thanks,” Tara said, shaking Nate’s hand. She then started for the door.

“Whoa whoa. Hold up,” Hardison said, stopping her. “What is this?” He held out another paper. 

“Oh, that’s my invoice,” She said. “For my cut of the inheritance.” We all stared at her for a moment. “Hey, I’m not a candy striper. This is my job.”

We turned to Nate and he gave a single, slow nod. 

“There, see? We’re getting paid already. It’s gonna be fun.” She then made her exit. 

I sighed after a moment, “well, I say we sleep on it. Not worry about it tonight.” I stretched a bit, a groan leaving my lips when a bruise protested. 

They all hummed in agreement, dispersing themselves and the tense energy around us, just a little bit. 

Eliot stepped up beside me, “How’re you feeling? I heard you took a tumble, just tackled Blanchard to the ground.”

I chuckled a bit, “Something like that. I’m okay, nothing like what you do, but I’m definitely gonna be finding bruises.”

He shook his head, “yeah, but you’re not used to it like I am.” 

“True.” We headed to the door, Eliot walking me across the hall.

“Take a warm bath, epsom salts help the aches,” he said once I opened up my apartment. 

I looked up at him, his eyes were shifting around my face, as if looking me over. If I didn’t know him, I would have said he was nervous. “Thanks, I’ll do that.”

He nodded and then turned and started down the exit stairs supposedly going home as I shut my apartment door softly.

A/n: Reblogs and comments are welcome and encouraged! Thank you for reading!

Tags: @instantdinosaurtidalwave @kniselle @technikerin23 @kiwikitty13@plasticbottleholder

[neverchecking]

I have so many thoughts about Sweet but Psycho au, which btw I absolutely love that name 🩵 this ask definitely won’t be as long as my last one, I haven’t nearly thought about this as much as the last one, but I’ve had thoughts about this idea in particular, and after reading the ask about Ganon, it fed even more into my thoughts for this one in particular, but I always wondered, how do you think the chain would react to reader that’s actually a goddess? Particularly a reader that doesn’t know she’s a goddess, but maybe only finds out after she’s activated her powers after saving one or multiple of her boys— unlike a certain someone who shall not be named

But also I think it would be interesting if reader’s powers could be used in a way that she could integrate them whenever she praised them for a job well done ✨ maybe it leaves them feeling a nice warmth inside, maybe it can help them relax and takes all their stress away, there’s lots of ways to play with this, and I haven’t properly thought out this idea, so honestly you’re completely free to have fun with it ^u^

Can you tell I have a healthy dislike over Zelda and Hylia? Cause I do ✨ if they won’t appreciate and love the chain, I will project onto y/n cause the boys deserve so much better

— 🫐 anon

🫐anon! Welcome back! We've got a second so the Sadistic! Reader Au is now officially dubbed the 'Sweet but Psycho AU'!

OOOOH you've given me some ideasss.

Like imagine Reader as the Goddess of the Heroes, meant to be an oracle of sorts to the Holder of the Triforce of Courage (Because they obviously cannot trust Hylia to protect them-). So she has this...supernatural link to each of her boys. Only recently, maybe on Sage's journey, is she given a mortal form? Kind of like Hylia but...Better.

And they are just smitten. To know this absolutely divine being has seen them, their deeds, their soul and has deemed them worthy. And when they found out she's an actual celestial being? Perhaps their cornered by a mob of monsters that just keeps going, reader being kept protectively behind them? And then one is struck, and Reader is trying to get to them, but oh no, they start falling like dominos because when one weak point is exposed, it'll get exploited. And, oh does it get exploited. At that point, Reader is just so overwhelmed and her boys are all hurt and the monsters are going to kill them and- She probably calls upon some divine power that wipes them out easily. It leaves her drained, but awake enough to care for the boys. The ones still conscious and stable are left in awe, quickly explaining everything to the others once they're awoken.

Just knowing that their Goddess saved them, even when she didn't have to (She could've run with the monsters preoccupied with them), drives them so much further into their devotion. They could name another Goddess born in their lives, but she would never dream of doing the same for a number of reasons (They had a kingdom to run, who else would carry the Goddess' blood, their a knight and should be able to handle this-). But you did it without hesitation.

FJFJFJ IMAGINE that by saving them, this creates a soul bond between her and each Link. One that the praise makes sing in glory. It makes their nerves settle and wounds just ache less, helps them sleep better, clears their skin, opens their pores- those lost two were jokes, but you get the jist.

I also have a healthy dislike of Hylia and certain Zeldas (Flora, Fauna, Natura. Looking at you three >:(). I kinda wanna bash on them more but I feel like thats mean :(

[pondering-gales-left-orb]

okay i know im like 30000 years late to the DA discussion but i have some thoughts i'd like to put out: (note these are my theories and headconons nothing official nor do i argue that they might be official thanks don't yell at me )

the simple jist of it is : i think Anders is Andraste incarnate OR his destiny is to quite literally seek vengeance for her.

!!SPOILERS FROM HERE!!

the long thought:

reading about Andraste and what she stood for and her story it mirrors Andres's story in so many ways, she sang to the gods to help the slaves and the maker answered her at first but eventually refused to help, Andres in his story tried to speak to the chantry and get them to see that what they are allowing the templars to do is enslaving the Mages and tried to get them to do something but like andraste he was not answered they refused to help him,

now this is my own personal gripe but i find my self very very angry FOR Andraste the more i interact with the chantry and the followers because i feel like by this point they have disrespected her and dragged her name and teachings through the mud, Andraste wanted to help the slaves free them she wanted to fight for them, but now the same people who erect statues for her and speak of her teachings and words to the masses refuse to move for the people that she died trying to help, and now refuse to move and say that this is done in her and the makers name and that they would want this, if i watched from above people letting enslavement and brutality go on and on in my name i would be angry and try to do something about it.

this is where Anders and justice come in, we learn in DAO that spirits can posses people and help them but we dont know what compels them to do so ( according to wynn her spirit of faith watched over her but she says shes not sure why her specifically or why step in for her she speculates only that's its for the warden and the blight but its never confirmed in the games), what if its Andraste herself? what if Andraste saw Anders disapproval of the chantry and efforts to end the abusive enslavement of the mages and decided to compel the spirit of justice to help him,

what if through justice she was trying to set things right? and what if it was not Anders anger that turned justice into vengeance but Andraste's anger and frustration is what turned him ? and what if he turned way back before he even merged with Anders because through Justice Andraste saw how much curler the world has become and how far they dragged her name and the makers name through the mud since her departure?

what if Vengeance blowing up the chantry was actually her finally fighting that war she wanted to fight for the mage lord slaves but this time its for the templars and chantry wrongdoings and abuse of the mages?

*also the more silly reason that made me think of this is that Anders's name sounds very similar to Andraste in fact you can make his name from here with two extra letters that sound and awful lot like -the- so Andraste= Ta Anders = the Anders also Anders sounds like the shortened modern name derived from Andraste like ridchardson ->rick. lol idk*

[lieu-rey]

what kkk inbred bitch?? feel free not to answer im really nosey😭im so sorry

no no it's okay I get it BDNEBFND,,,, I'm talking about my punk ass neighbor who's incapable of being a normal person and keeping his goddamn mouth shut. he's a self proclaimed white supremacist who was in the klan, which I'm sure you can imagine how well that goes for us as a mexican family. the amount of slurs we've been called is insane, not to mention everything else hes done. we had literally never said a word to the man but our existence was enough, as it usually is for a vile, raging fucking racist like him.

to make a long, exhaustingly long story short, the police have been involved countless times and we've been in and out of court for literal years over numerous charges that have been brought against him. despite the court orders to not fucking say anything to us he STILL DOES IT AND IM GENUINELY SO FUCKING SICK OF HIS ASS IM ON MY LAST FUCKING STRAW DUDE. the (in)justice system is a goddamn headache and an entire joke on top of it and i could spend five hours discussing how fucking awful its been dealing with cops and the court system but. just. ugh.

so yeah that's the jist of it lmao

[spitinsideme]

Yup, it's me again (also sorry about the new fnaf trauma).

I have 3 things to say

1: Do you have any headcannon about ragapom (Ragatha x pomni)?

2: Why tf your pomni being a mess with Ragatha is so relatable for me (Am I a anxiety gremlin too?)

3: Love your art, keep with this amazing work OwO

its okay i do not min the fnaf trauma ... tl me they are all just silly roblt guys becahe i do not knkw what its about ...

1. i do actually !!!! i have a few headcanons, one being that pomni sometimes gets overstimulated because its all too much and everythingstoo loud and shes just have an awful time so she looks to ragatha for comfort just by holding her dress (shes nkt in a talking or touching mood she just wants to feel close to ragatba as it helps her), also !!! ragatha is very touch starved and she absolutely adores touching so she will jist casually always be touching pomni (like jusy holding her hand, hands on her shoulder, sitting close together so that theyre touching, stuff like that) and pomni used to always get so flustered about it but now shes used to it bjt she rarely initiates the contact (she likes to let ragatha do it or tell her to becaude .. autism .. she likes being told what to do so she can do it perfecty) i have so many mkre but just these twk for now is all i will say .. the rest i will draw or maybe write down later when i think of mkre somwtimes they jsut come to me randomly

2. you are definitely an anxiety gremlin also if my pomni reminds you of yourself like i draw her a mess !!!! like she is so fuckinh full of anxiety !!! if you look at her fucking panic whenever ragatha eeven breathes in her directikn then yes, you are an anxiety gremlin, embrace it 💪💪

3. I WILL !!!! IM GLAD YLU LIKE MY ART XX I WILL DO MY BEST TO KEEP IT UP