#i just.............. have so many gd feelings about this.............

[reedsues]

jedi june 2024 — prompts week 2: advice/inspiration

you have to know, tu'ala, why you would sacrifice yourself for another. it isn't that the force loves you less than other creatures. it is that you love other creatures more.

star wars tales #14, the lesson

[everythingsinred]

trying to make teachers' (global) complaints abt kids theyre supposed to be teaching about "generational politics" and saying stuff like "people always complain about the young generation" is so dismissive and ridiculous. atp yall are being purposefully obtuse. these kids cant read. they cant write. they cant think critically. teachers GLOBALLY are begging parents to care, to no avail. kids dont respect their teachers, they dont respect their schoolwork, they dont respect their education, theyre severely behind across the board. to try and write that entire problem off as "complaining about the young generation" is so dismissive i have no words. obviously its the fault of the kids' parents but we are looking at an entire generation of people who are graduating high school with no skills. these people are joining society and dont know how to think. yall should be furious and instead youre trying to write it off as "hating on gen alpha". please get over yourselves

[lovelyrotter]

thinkin about dragon age for the first time in like ages but smth that always struck me as odd is how often cole is mischaracterized and misrepresented. like i can tell when someone hasnt read asunder from how they depict cole. dudes half avvar like hes not a tiny little boy. thin yeah but have you SEEN his LEGS?? and his SHOULDERS? this is a full grown half-avvar man. the avvar are fuckin massive like theyre chasin up the qunari regularly in terms of height. spreading my tall cole agenda

[non-un-topo]

Have to thank my partner for realizing before I did that talking about kids with people makes me extremely dysphoric --- whereas I thought I just had a problem and hated children or something lol

[quasieli]

I'm laying in my bed, exhausted but restless and a bit in pain. My mind is swimming after tonight's Reforged session, things are really amping up, but all that's on my mind is babies. I think I have a piece of writing I wanna do for Saube. I, like them, have a lot of thoughts to work through, and I think some prose might help get that out.

[suprsingr]

I have never in all my life had so many emotions about a tumblr poll but oh my GOD I'm so happy Garak won, lmao. That was so tense.

[modern-alebrije]

ugh... i miss my dolls 😔

[brionnnne]

Liar's Den WIP [Working Title, Unfinished]

Almost a solid year (Mar 23rd, 2022) since I started writing and editing this thing, and I planned / plan (?) to do more with it, but I'm honestly not quite sure where to go, and in a way, I honestly think it works alright as a standalone, so I'm just going to throw it out there to show that I do, in fact, write. I had fun writing it, at least, and I hope to make something more of it someday, but...?

Wariness is her natural state. Calculating. Observant. Perceptive. Even then, it isn’t very hard to notice that, out of all the seven deadly sins, she had only ever seen six. No mention of Sloth, of Belphegor, was made—seemingly a taboo topic among the brothers. No wonder why, Morgana thinks now. 

“Why are you trying to trick me? I have eyes, you know.” Her expression turns into a bemused smile. “A brain? I may be a mere human,” she makes mystical motions with her fingers, eyes wide and dramatic, before she drops the act with a scoff, “but I know exactly who you are.” Her eyes flicker towards his fingers, blue-tipped nails, which tighten on the door. Another giveaway, Ana observes. She knows by now that Asmo paints all of their nails, but his are chipping; faded. How long has he been here? As long as I have? Longer? She doesn’t ask him. “I’ve seen your portrait, you know? Even if I hadn’t, your fingernails are painted. That might be fine by itself, but your eyes?” She tilts her head, “Strange color for a human. What is that? Purple, right?” Related to Beel? Internally, she rolls her eyes. Obviously.

His hands slacken. He shrugs, trying to appear lax— a nice imitation, or it would be, except the tightness has moved up. The stiffness of his shoulders makes the action slightly less loose than it should be. Interesting, her eyes narrow. He doesn’t like being called out on this. Why, though?

“You caught me,” he raises his hands in a gesture reminiscent of Asmo. It’s sort of … cute, on him. Intentional? Questions she can’t answer yet run rampant. There’s not enough information to infer much of anything, as frustrating as that is—very. As for his lies, she thinks there could be a logical reason behind them, and while his state of captivity makes him look like a victim in some form, his deception speaks against that. Regardless of logic, the hasty fabrication, the stiffness of his fingers and shoulders, makes her have doubts. He’s certainly capricious—just listen to how even toned he sounds now, compared to his earlier panic—but to what extent? Perhaps further sarcasm would be … unwise.

Morgana looks back up, “So what is it that you want, then, if you were desperate enough to lie for it?” She frowns, gesturing to the door that holds him. “Freedom, I assume?”

For the first time, she sees something like a spark in him. Energy that wasn’t there before. 

“I thought I might get your help,” he says, “if I pretended to be human.” She can’t tell whether this is duplicitous or not. Even a close inspection shows no obvious signs. Perhaps he’s just that good of a liar. Perhaps he isn’t lying at all. It could be both. Insertions of truth, twisted to fit one's liking, have always made lying easier. Harder to detect by a casual, or even careful, viewer. She’s only seen a single tell, and even then, being stiff doesn’t always indicate a lie — it can be normal tensity; discomfort. Plenty of things that make her slow to place any defining bets. He’s shown her basically nothing. 

She had never really given further thought to the implications of Sloth on behavior. Acedia, she remembers, is apathetic. Listless. Lack of care. Her eyes track to his hair — messy; bedhead — to his clothes. They’re barely resting on his frame, and not in the sense of weight, but rather, the jacket he wears is nearly falling off. His shirt — plain, white — is a bit more kempt, but only just. It lifts at his midriff, revealing an un-tied pair of sweatpants that dip low on his hips. He wears no shoes at all, but when she peers in, she can see a pair of long boots sitting in the corner. Effortless. Slip-on. Morgana’s eyes find her own slippers, and she shrugs. Understandable, she thinks. Nice, too. The room itself reflects his state of dress. Untidy. Lacking organization. Her gaze falls onto Belphegor again. He seems, as expected, unbothered. It isn’t like she can criticize that; in fact, it appears they share these traits in common. That being said … 

This … probably shouldn’t bother me as much as it does. Her brow furrows. Regardless, the feeling doesn’t leave. It isn’t very often that she can’t get a good read on someone. Being out of her element like that makes her feel uncomfortable. Most people—even the other demon brothers—are easy enough to read at the best of times. Belphegor …isn’t. 

(Asmo tells her that she isn’t, either. Is that what dealing with me feels like to him? Eugh.)

“I can’t break the seal on this …door,” he admits, scowling. Surprisingly expressive, his hands flutter before it. That, at least, is truthful. There’s no hesitation in his words, no tightness of his frame. His emotions are visible, but not overdone.

“Frankly,” she says, unable to tamp down her bitterness, “I don’t know what you expect me to do about that. I have no magic.” This may not endear him to her, but it’s true. She’s been painfully aware of her status since being deposited here. Even with potential, the understanding of theory, all that becomes useless when she can’t even apply it.

“That may be true, but you have pacts.”

Morgana raises her eyebrows. “And you know about this …how?” 

“Don’t get so worked up,” he huffs, rolling his eyes. “Lucifer told me.”

She snorts. He is cute. Sort of. Shakes her head. “Humor me, then. If I were to free you,” Ana posits, “what is it that I would have to do?”

“If you made a pact with all of my brothers, that would be enough to break the seal.”

She hums. “What do I get out of this deal— I mean, why should I?” It sounds cruel. He could be innocent, she reminds herself. But it’s a genuine enough question, really. Why risk herself? Mammon’s pact was pure luck, and Levi's was borne of some uncanny trickery. Fooled into believing she had won when she hadn’t. He’d been too worked up to realize, and she was, of course, in no hurry to correct him. She was weak here; having something concrete would be protection. “I don’t even know you.”

“Are you—?” His eyes flash. She has to cradle her face to hide the smile this brings. Thumb and forefinger resting on her cheeks. Her hand; a curtain. Neither his apparent anger nor her amusement lasts for very long. “You’re a human,” he says, incredulous. “Don’t you want power—or something?”

Morgana sniffs, fingers coming down to rub at her eternally stuffy nose, “I don’t particularly care.”

He blinks. “Are you not driven by … generosity?” His words are metered, strained, and pushed through clenched teeth; she suspects the word he wishes to have said was not half as nice as the one he had chosen. He’s being careful. It’s notable that he does seem genuinely curious, however. It’s just a guess, really, but this probably wasn’t how he had expected their meeting to go. And it must be weird to meet a human not simply drawn in by that promise of power, especially a power received so idly. A thing that Belphegor is known for accomplishing at a price; a particularly devious demon—manipulative, her textbooks had warned. She’s not sure she wants to deal with the cost of that, really; power and influence are overrated things, anyway—she wouldn’t deny a level of self-motivation in seeking out pacts like Pokemon cards, but. Power is the least of her concerns. Control is a trivial matter. She simply wants to live unburdened, and to do that, she needs to actually be alive. It’s a simple desire; all things considered. Base. Yet she’s curious—for answers no one else would give, she knows. Who would be so forthcoming? Lucifer? Certainly not. There’s clearly something going on here—this attic room, these spiral stairs, up which Lucifer had told her nothing was or would be—and damn it if she doesn’t want to know why this would be worth lying about; if everyone else was lying to her, too. Did Beel know? It didn’t seem that way, certainly, but she doesn’t really know him, either…

“I can be generous,” she reveals after a moment, “but I’m not going to go out of my way if I don’t need to. Plus,” Ana turns her gaze on him. “You’ve given me no reason to trust you.”

. . .

Trust. She falls onto her bed, sighing. How fucking complicated. It’s true that his lies had made her wary, but a part of her — an annoying, shoved-aside part of her — wants to help him. That feeling is as annoying as it always is. She’d been working on this part of herself, slowly but surely. It’s uncountable how many times now that her generosity has hurt her rather than helping, but attempting to be so selfish hurts all those good parts inside her, too. Tears them up and crushes them underfoot.

Tonight, it bothers her so much that it even stalls her sleep. Lying. Rolling. Restless. Why do you want to help him anyway? She doesn’t know, and more than not knowing him, her ignorance of herself is infuriating. She should know this. She should understand herself like the back of her hand. She thinks restlessly. She thinks endlessly. She thinks and comes up blank every time. He’s a stranger, Ana tells herself. He might even deserve it.

“Deserve being locked away?” She murmurs, an uneasy frown twisting her face. “With nothing?” Closes her eyes. It was glaringly obvious how little he actually had, after all. No D.D.D., which she’d already noticed early on. Absence from chats. Communication. Healthy things that were necessary. Isolation. Loneliness. One of Lucifer’s ham-fisted ‘punishments’? It doesn't feel right.

Even without trust, even if he did deserve some form of punishment, could she say that it would be this? Could she condemn him? Because that’s what it would be. Damning. Not helping Belphegor would only mean that he would be stuck there—living in those conditions, alone, for as long as Lucifer saw fit to hold him. Her wariness didn't mean she had to be okay with that by default—didn’t allow her to simply turn a blind eye. It’s true, she knows this, but that doesn’t mean she likes facing it.

[unluckyxse7en]

I bring a "guy you can just ignore/talk over" vibe to the discord that my BPD really don't like

[starshipdecay]

Toon Zelda redesigns! I've never been fond of the Toon Zelda design, and these girls deserve some individuality. Design notes and rambles below the cut :D

(time to turn the proper grammar off i aint capitalizing all this. warning: i am verbose)

first up, tmc zelda!

shes the one most like toon zelda, since i felt like the vibes fit the *most* (though not a lot). also, with her place on the timeline, i could justify a lot of bits, like the wings and the cape

the cape! obvs it comes from the toon zelda base design, but also it involves skyloftian fashion! i take the timeline as a challenge, and i once saw a take somewhere that the skyloftians all wear their family crests (most often birds lol) on their person. zelda here (and link too) do just that, wearing their family crests on little caplets. on the back is, of course the royal crest

i went very cutesy princess for her. tmc has such a *whimsical* vibe that i feel is very. muted? by the fact its stuck with the toon style. so i wanted to put in that vibe here. also her sprites make it look like her skirt is super poofy, so how could i not?

curly hair: i wanted something interesting, and most zeldas have straight hair. so! adds to the cuteness

i didnt draw it so well but she (and link) both have very sleepy expressions. zelda especially just has a sleepy expression in her sprite, its quite adorable.

shes not as decked out as other princesses, cuz i see tmc taking place before the royal family really starts to get *royal* as we see it. shes still of course got a tiara and some embroidery tho.

Tetra! her base design isnt all that changed from the original. her name is a fun hc of mine tho. i think "von Hyrule" sounds better as a surname than just "hyrule". shes not zelda, but shes still a descendant.

(WW) princess z (as i call her)

I went more oot zelda vibes for her, since she would be closer, temporally, to oot. i also went very warm, since ive never seen the flood as a *warm* endeavor.

shes got the shoulder danglies, as most zeldas have shoulder armor of some kind. the danglies instead of actual armor are supposed to kind of evoke a royal sea captain kind of vibe.

shes ghostly, with a fish-eyed stare. shes been dead and gone for a long time. shes also a bit taller and a few years older than tetra (as of ww). shes just some spectre the king saw in tetra, not at all a close match

tetra, being smaller than princess z, doesnt fit into the clothes. the dress is too big for her (as is in canon gd that skirt is WAY too long for her), the coat is baggy. the role of a princess *literally* does not fit her.

the ribbons! theyre my replacement for the wings, and they represent the wind in the game! since its represented by white lines, the ribbons are a perfect symbolic match. (also, a note, tetras hair is shorter and coarser than princess z's)

i mostly bullshitted the blue panel but the vague idea i gave it was 'a hope for the triforce to give good fortunes to the people' (pictured as dots, mostly behind her arms)

Pirate Queen Tetra

ph! about a year has passed, and tetra has really grown into her own! as well as literally grown!

shes still tetra, pirate and captain, but shes incorporated that royal heritage into her identity: quite literally! she made piecemeal of the original outfit (what was left of it anyway after the fight), and added bits and pieces to her new life.

she also takes full advantage of said heritage to call herself pirate queen. its great for branding. whos gonna say she CANT go by pirate queen?

the seagull feather is from Aryll. only crew member tetra wears a trinket from (who can say no to that ball of sunshine! certainly not tetra)

not many notes. yall can see whats there. (also she still wears her hair in a bun, its just in a low bun (you can almost see it) when she wears her hat)

st zelda!

first note is: shes not a princess! shes an heiress of the company tetra had made and left behind. hence her title of Lady zelda. ("new hyrule" rly just like-- the ending of ww was *literally* that hyrule is dead and thats okay. how did they miss that :sob emoji:) also calling her Lady Zelda fits with the train vibes

shes in a 1880s style bustle dress because 1) i am OBSESSED with bustle dresses. i love them. so much. 2) the more historical vibe works really well with trains! also a lot of the other outfits in the game have late victorian vibes, so shes certainly not out of place.

her hat (and gloves): any proper lady has a hat on when going about town, however, when she gets body snatched, she pulled out her hatpin to use (ineffectively) as a weapon (she IS tetras great-great-granddaughter), causing her to lose her hat *and* hairdo.

shes still got the hatpin in her ghost form, too. she uses it to threaten people for funsies

Ribbons! on the topic of hairdo, her ribbons! visually tying her to tetras design, the ribbons here instead take on the image of train tracks, with her pin (on the left side) evoking a train engine. the pin also makes her look rich and girly. when her hair comes undone, this makes the ribbons all loose, like how the train tracks disappear in game. (the hat also kinda connects her to tetra)

thanks for reading :D i hope you liked reading this as much as i liked typing it

[7ndipity]

Dating Yoongi headcanons

Yoongi x Reader

Warnings: swearing, lil suggestive, not proofread.

A/N: Alright, if we're gonna do this series, then it's time we talk about my ult. The man, the myth, the meow meow(I'm sorry Yoongi)

(Also, I'm already planning a pt.2 for this series that's more on the crack side, so if anyone wants to send me headcanons for the members to possibly be included in future lists?)

Masterlist

Requests are open

°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•°•

Dating Yoongi is comfortable.

So soft for you, I can't even begin. Like, I don't understand how people ever think he's cold, he is the epitome of soft boi.

Blushes when you complement or brag on him.

Turns into a scrunched up, spluttering mess if you call him cute(we love our tsundere).

Very cautious at first with his feelings, but once he feels comfortable enough to open up, he's very straight forward.

To call it dating is a bit generous though. Like, y'all immediately go from 'kinda dating' to 'married-but-not-married'.

Tells you he loves you for the first time in one of those long ass, 3am texts like he sends to the members.

Random,(half-)joking proposals(Marry me, Yoongi uno reverse card!)

"What kind of ramen do you want?" "Marry me." "Both it is."

So many songs about you, but you will not know until they're released(or he makes them into a playlist/mixtape for your birthday or anniversary)

Actually really hesitant about letting you in his studio(sorry fellow writers). He just prefers to have a level of separation between his work and you.

Dates are usually pretty chill(except for special occasions or when he wants to flex and rents out a whole fucking skating rink for y'all or smth)

Another who lives for domestic activities with you, like cooking together or even just grocery shopping. Idk, he just likes getting to be with you.

Probably would love going camping with you in one of those little camper vans.

Likes to teach you things?

I mean, he won't want to be your full time teacher, but if you show an interest in smth like piano or producing, he'll get a kick out of teaching you the basics.(let him teach you about basketball, he'll lose his gd mind)

Not big on nicknames(big shock🙄). Like, you have a perfectly good name, why not just fucking use it? Also calls you 'Jagi', but that's if he's feeling particularly soft or needy.

Acts of service King.

Have you eaten? He's making food. Are you cold? Makes you take his jacket. His top priority is making sure you're taken care of.

Gets lowkey jealous of Holly getting too much of your attention. "Yah, are you dating me or my dog?!"

Sass and bickering are basically a second language for you two.

Subtle about pda. If he's not holding your hand, he has to have one resting on your back.

SOMEONE HOLD HIS FUCKING HAND FOR THE LOVE OF-(sorry, I'm calm)

Not always vocal about wanting physical affection, but when he is, he's lowkey dramatic.

*laying on the couch*"If you don't kiss me, I'm gonna die." *kiss* "Better?" "Hmm, still in critical condition. Keep going."

Another who gets more than a little enjoyment in winding you up into a flustered mess, and is smug about it(again, shocking no one, I'm sure)

Slow, lingering kisses as he holds onto you like you're the most precious thing in the world.

Gets really quiet if you fight(and sulks), but is usually the first to apologize because he absolutely cannot stand y'all being mad at each other.

Holds you to go to sleep.

"Marry me." "M'kay."

Okay, that's enough delulu for right now, Imma go cry.

[lunarticxenia]

Astrology Observations #4

Hellooooo I’m back!!!!!

TW: SA mention, Ab*se mention

🌬Gemini suns are the epitome of golden retriever energy. 

🌬I’ve noticed a lot of people in the psychology field or with psych degrees tend to have Cancer and/or Virgo placements in their big 6. Either that or strong 4th and 6th house energy. Makes a lot of sense. 4th house= emotions. 6th house= service for others.

🌬Cancer suns are underrated for being leaders, I’ve had so many bosses and higher-ups who have been Cancer suns. 

🌬I’ve noticed that homewreckers tend to have a lot of fire/water dominance in their charts, which I think is due to their passion ruling their decisions. I’ve noticed this with cheaters as well. I also think with water placements it comes from insecurity.

🌬Cancer sun women are underrated in terms of sex appeal. My mom said the same thing too so it’s not just me tooting my own horn. Let’s think of some popular Cancer sun celebrities- Pam Anderson, Ariana Grande, Lana Del Rey, Sofia Vergara, Selena Gomez. All have sex appeal and have been sexualized a lot. Cancer sun women do get sexualized a lot. I’m realizing this as I type it. I only notice this in women though, sorry Cancer sun men LMAO. I’m a Cancer sun and I get sexualized for no gd reason.

🌬I’ve noticed that Taurus Venus and Taurus Mars people tend to go for more curvier/voluptuous women. 

🌬Peak Aries moon energy is losing interest in someone because they’re not giving you enough attention. 

🌬I feel like Cancer suns care a lot about politics and this quality is often overlooked. 

🌬I feel like Taurus rising women+ feminine presenting people have like the ultra divine feminine energy. I think it’s because Venus rules their chart, but a lot of Taurus risings I’ve noticed are VERY feminine or have feminine qualities.

🌬Taurus risings and Sagittarius risings tend to be thick LMAO or at least very curvy.

🌬Not really an observation but other aspects in your chart can be very powerful and overshadow qualities you’re “supposed” to have. For example I have two friends who are Aries suns with Libra moons with earth rising, and they are so different. I will say both do have feminine qualities though, like personality wise and physically. Other than that though they’re very different, one is the stereotypical Aries and the other is more like a Pisces.

🌬Idk what’s been going on but I feel like I’ve been encountering so many Libra suns with Sagittarius moons. I don’t know if that’s a common combo, but I’ve been coming across a lot of them lately. (I also work with one). I’ve noticed the men with these aspects are such fuckboys, the women usually aren’t, but the men? Oof.

🌬I’ve noticed a lot of people with Bipolar disorder or BPD tend to have harsh aspects between their sun and moon. I think it’s because those are the two most personal parts of our charts and having them clash can create conflict within.

🌬I feel like a lot of prominent Sagittarius placements get tattoos or wanna get tattoos. P much every Sag placement I’ve known has tattoos or wants to get them. 

🌬Libra sun women have nice asses. I SAID IT OKAY. Even if it’s not big it’s a nice shape.

🌬Libra Mars and Cancer Mars tend to have stomach issues, I feel like it’s because we bottle up our anger and it affects our bodies 😂

🌬️I feel like people with their Venus and Mars in the same sign can balance their masculine and feminine energy very well.

🌬️One Virgo placement in the big three can really make someone so anal retentive which ironic bc Virgo rules the bowels… 👀👀👀👀 Even if they’re not like that about cleaning, some aspect in their life they’re very obsessive over… however I do notice it’s cleaning for many. I live with two Virgo risings and I get screamed at for leaving a fork in the sink, y’all scare me…

🌬️Going off of that, Cancer and Libra placements get a lot of crap for being passive aggressive, but y’all need to include Virgos in there. They are so passive aggressive it’s not even funny 😂

🌬️Asteroid Medusa (149) harsh aspects to personal planets can indicate s*xual assault.

🌬️I stg 12th house synastry is so fucking hard, I feel like I see this a lot in relationships that couldn’t get off the ground or where one person is obsessed with the other. I think that makes sense since the 12th house deals with illusions, unclarity, etc. It’s such a deep connection too, when it works it works but when it doesn’t, it really hurts.

🌬️The house that your Midheaven ruling planet falls into can tell you a lot about your career. My midheaven is Virgo which makes the ruler Mercury, and my Mercury falls in my 8th house. This house deals with a lot of taboo and intensity, which makes sense because I work on an inpatient psychiatric unit. I also want to be a psychologist. So there ya go lol.

🌬️Nessus in the 1st/aspects to the 1st can indicate ab*se in the native’s life, whether it’s giving or receiving. It’s very heavy energy. It can also indicate being into some freaky ass shit in the bedroom, alot of adult actors have this in their chart. 

🌬️Going off of that, Nessus aspects in a positive manner can make someone who wants to help victims of ab*se, whether they’ve been ab*sed or not themselves.

🌬️If a person has both Nessus and Dejanira in their chart, they may have been a victim of ab*se and maybe ab*sive towards others. With this played out in a more positive manner, it can make someone who was a victim of ab*se want to help other victims. ^^^

🌬️Mutable risings really are chameleons when it comes to their appearance. They can manage to make themselves look like completely different people, i.e. Lady Gaga, Kim Kardashian.

🌬️Algol 26° Taurus aspects to NN can make an individual very stoic and able to handle chaos & negative situations well. 

🌬️Prominent Virgo/Mercury placements tend to pick at their skin and enjoy things like popping pimples and stuff lol. 

🌬️Asteroids Messalina (545), Swindle (8690), Sirene (1009), Tantalus (2102), and Lie (26955) aspecting Mercury and/or in the 3rd house can indicate someone who’s very good at lying and manipulating others. 

🌬️Asteroid Sappho (80) in women/feminine people and Asteroid Ganymed (1036) in men/masculine people having harsh aspects to NN or personal planets can indicate LGBT+ people who heavily struggle with figuring out their sexuality (more so than usual lol). 

🌬️I have Asteroid Achilles (588) conjunct my North Node, and that’s the asteroid of where we’re most vulnerable and where our weaknesses are. I feel like that makes sense for me... lol. I tend to let other people tell me how to live my life, and struggle with making decisions for myself. I also have it in the 8th and I tend to struggle with my sexuality. (Kind of a part 2 to the previous bullet?) I also have it in Cancer and I have mommy issues LMAO. I guess this one’s more of a self observation...

I know this isn’t a crazy long post but it feels good to be back lol!

[sgiandubh]

The door faces North

This has been, by far, one of the most complex investigations I have ever done in this fandom, and I am truly sorry for the long wait I had to inflict on many of you & for the uncharacteristic radio silence in DMs and comments. During this peculiar journey, I checked, double-checked and cross-checked as many details as I could and I carefully considered at least two different theories, of which I still think they do not exclude each other. I am now confident enough to make not only an educated guess, but also a daring bet on SRH's next whisky move.

Also, sorry for the length of this post. Truly sorry - think of the completely pulverized night sleep I had to give up, in order to bring this to you.

But first, a word on Marple's obvious PR tip on the Hopetoun Estate refurbishment and distillery old/new project. I am fair game enough to tell you the obvious: her overall recounting of the principals is roughly correct, spare perhaps one or two minor details. Correct, but dry - she limits herself to the technical documentation submitted by Golden Decanters and The Hopetoun Estates Trust to the West Lothian Council for approval. She correctly points out that S is not a visible part of the deal, at this point in time and she does a decent summing up of a very, very, VERY plethoric amount of bureaucratic information. She concludes, and I think she is partially right, that he might be interested in becoming an investor (I am taking things a bit further, though). But in doing so, she focuses on the development phase of the project only: the possible connections with SRH and his own spirits business are less, if at all, obvious.

I am going to give you my view of all this charade and, if I am going to mention (and probably repeat) some things already found by her, I am going to focus on the people: this is where the whole story starts to become remarkably interesting, at least to me. After all, I remember promising you some more clarity. Here's an honest, fair play take.

Little did I know, when I started to write about that (now defunct) company, Midhope Castle Distillery, Ltd (https://www.tumblr.com/sgiandubh/748597198794670080/the-info-provided-above-is-correct-but-outdated?source=share), that my investigation would turn to this:

... for it was to be just an almost random layer of a juggernaut matryoshka of defunct or still active companies, featuring roughly the same people and no less than 6 different name combinations centered around Midhope, Hopetoun, etc.

The following pics will give you an idea - feel free to open them in a separate tab, for clarity . I preferred this synthetic approach, because otherwise you will curse the shite out of me. But it had to be done, with or without Depon, Advil's Greek cousin (and before you ask a graphologist, this is my handwriting, and nobody else's 🙃):

The only explanation for the whole almost frantic Midhope/Hopetoun crisscross/hopscotch (LOL) combos I can think of is two people trying to secure one (several?) credit lines or to attract significant investors for their project and ultimately failing to do so. But I might be wrong (although I doubt that, thank you). Out of this entire maze ( I swear I now have a migraine), there are only two active companies remaining: Golden Decanters Ltd (renamed GD Spirits Ltd, in April 2022) and Midhope Ltd (renamed Skosk Ltd, in July 2023). It is on them I am going to focus my gaze.

GD Spirits Ltd was incorporated in Berwick-upon-Tweed, England (just across the Scottish border), probably for tax reasons, on March 11, 2015, the nature of its business being listed as 'wholesale of wine, beer, spirits, etc.'. It started with a team of two women: Julia Mackenzie-Gillanders and Ann Medlock, whose names we are going to see over and over again in all the eight corporate avatars. Later down the timeline (LOL for three decades and a half), on January 30, 2018, they were briefly (until July 19, 2018) joined by two very interesting professionals: Mrs. Margaret Boswell, an attorney at the very prestigious international law firm Gide Loyrette Nouel (Paris and London offices)...

...and Ken Robertson, former Corporate Affairs Director at Diageo Whisky, a subsidiary of the international Diageo group, one of the major players on the world spirits' market:

The second company, Skosk Ltd, was incorporated in August 2021, in Perth, Scotland, its nature of business being listed as 'distilling, rectifying and blending of spirits', with the clear intention to align with the exacting criteria prescribed by the 2009 Scotch Whisky Regulations:

[ Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Scotch_whisky - sorry, I don't have time to wax lyrical on this, and neither do you]

This time, we only meet again the two distillerettes, Gillanders and Medwick. Up until now, at least, nobody else (attorney, former sales executive, whisky expert) has joined the platoon - TBC? I would not speculate and leave all options open.

There is little to 0 transparency on Skosk's financial situation, at the moment and to be honest, it looks very much like S's co-star (hehe)'s Irish business venture...

... but I was a bit more lucky, and the numbers more chatty, as far as GD Spirits was concerned:

Paging all shipper chartered accountants out there, but to me, it doesn't look great, at the moment. Cash is ridiculous, the net worth is hemorrhaging and the current assets are negligible, compared to 2020, when I think they managed to secure one or two credit lines, but not nearly enough for what they needed. Just enough to pay themselves and their external consultants and cover the operating costs, if you ask me.

The revised Planning Statement, of 8 February 2024, posted first by Marple, echoes my initial guess (COVID blew it up, see link to the first post) and the above assessment:

Mark this: 'Discussions are now proceeding with investors and there is a realistic prospect that work will begin in the near future (2024/2025) to implement the permission.' Given that they will start with the road and parking rehabilitation and upgrading, probably overlapping with the distillery building, it would make sense to begin this autumn at the earliest, with the most urgent: access to the site itself.

The initial Planning Statement, dated 9 July 2020 and re-posted on March 21st, 2024, tells a more detailed story. This is part and parcel of the current project as well, since the revision is just pointing out the changes operated, not the entire rest, which remains unchanged. You be the judge:

Also keep in mind this tiny, tiny thing: the Business Plan is 'submitted (...) under Private and Confidential Cover'. See where I am looking?

The initial plan was (and still is) for GD Spirits to produce their own booze, using Midhope's own barley (this is very important for the rest of my theory!). They even offer an overview of the real impact of their project on the local economy:

20 to 38 initial new job creations for a £ 15 to 30 million investment is not 'huge', madam Marple. Cumbernauld is huge. This? This is rather modest, if you ask me. But hey, what do I know about the labor market, right?

That initial Statement tells also the story they want to tell about the genesis of their idea, the scouting for the right location and a couple of other interesting details:

So they are telling us they started to look for the perfect location in 2018 and oh, hello, they found the Hopetoun Estate rather quickly, already starting the pre-planning application consultations as early as July 2019 (don't get me started, please):

If so, then why did they incorporate not one, but two different companies clearly linking them to the Estate (Hopetoun Estate Distillery Ltd and Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd) the same day and as early as May 23rd 2017 (and both dissolved in December 2022), as my above penciled timeline (LOOOOOL) shows? Who is really behind this project and why this entire ballet? It's like me pre-emptively looking for rental properties in (let's randomly guess) Lisbon, when it's just wishful thinking, heavily projecting and with 0 guarantees I will be posted there, right? I mean, I adore and deeply know Lisbon and I would be thrilled to go there. But I am not currently looking for any rental property, just like that, because that would be a #silly, rookie mistake. In their case, I think there's a different situation - again, you be the judge.

A first answer, as to who is really behind that project, was given by the UK media, back in 2020:

How odd, when we know that both Mrs. Boswell, the well-traveled attorney and Mr. Robertson resigned from GD Spirits in July 2018. Do they still say hi to the two distillerettes? Do they quietly keep an eye on the project? Are they silent partners? Business angels? Shareholders? Time to remind you that under UK law, there is 0 visibility on the shareholder's structure of a company. You just see the officers (Director, Secretary, etc), on the Company House website. On an umpteenth, last- second cross-check, it became apparent that Mr. Robertson remained involved in another company of the distillerettes, Hopetoun Estate Whiskies Ltd (yes, the one mentioned above), until its voluntary strike-off, in December 2022.

Their best laid plans do mention OL, and how could it be otherwise? But all this £ 15 to 30 million hullaballoo for 20.000 people only (who counted them and how?), on a seasonal basis?

High-end restaurant, luxury B&B, event spaces, you name it. Interesting, to say the least.

And, for the people in the back, who still think SRH has a 100 years lease at Midhope (Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ, the stupidity!):

This is why he commented as a 'member of the public'. At face value, there is no public involvement into that project. Yet. But it is my belief there is a vested interest in all this, justifying the comment, the visit, those papers rolled in his fist, etc. At first, I thought that was a visit to Lallybroch by the Exec Producer of OL's Season 8, to discuss technicalities - and shared that privately with a wonderful friend only. I mean, why not and still perfectly possible. But then, as I could not sleep tonight and felt guilty to have you all waiting, I started to connect some tiny dots.

Like this one, for a start:

Yes, I know, Marple told you that FIRST, I would not dare say otherwise, because if I did there would be a transcontinental screech. That trademark application was filed at the US Patent and Trade Office in September 2023 and I thought (and still partially do) it was a potential rebranding solution to The Sassenach's EUIPO nightmare (much exaggerated by the fandom's toothbrush experts):

But you also know I am an idiot and I always check people's CVs, when I follow a thread. This morning, the one Distillerette I am particularly interested in is Mrs. Julia Hall-Mackenzie-Gillanders (née Scales) and not like *urv would be.

Her LinkedIn profile is exceptionally talkative, too:

... and a BA (with Honors) in Fashion Design, class of 2005, at the Northumbria University.

The Financial Times article 'From packing boxes to wine deals worth millions', you can read on her LinkedIn page, tells a very interesting story. It is the story of a shy underdog (lots of temple bells clinging, at the moment), who made it by sheer persistence. It starts like this:

'When a painfully shy young woman contacted a fine wine merchant and said ' I have no qualifications- can I help?', she got the job and today is signing deals worth millions of pounds.'

It obviously did ring a bell and if SRH knows she exists (she is married, *urv!), and I dare to speculate he does, it must have struck a deep chord. Would I do business with her? I wouldn't speculate, although I am not very sure. Would he? He'd probably listen very carefully to what she has to pitch, for a start.

And what she has to pitch is also very interesting, in his world. A brief look at the Golden Decanters' website shows a first high-end single malt sourced collection of 4 exceptional expressions already sold out:

And when they mean high-end, they mean gold leaf labelling and all the tralala:

And, some last minute news, too:

Remind me, because I am an old woman, after this white night: wasn't The Sassenach (no comment, we agree to disagree and I am very skeptical), a blend?

We have these dots, then:

Bold Underdog ->spirits business->high-end collection of single malts sold out->business partnership with owners of Midhope Castle, fictional Lallybroch in OL, including a distillery and whisky production with Midhope/Lallybroch barley -> visit by the male lead and spirits entrepreneur (also the fictional Lallybroch laird) to Midhope/Lallybroch and vested interest in the estate's most recent business project....

What if The Sassenach would be included, for a start, in that new Blended Collection? And could it really be fanfic to imagine a future high-end, limited edition, Lallybroch whisky produced at Midhope, with Midhope/Lallybroch barley? It wouldn't be the first time, would it: after all, they did it with that limited tequila batch.

As I said, because I am (remember Someone? LOL) a 'silly cow', I was hoping he wouldn't do it. But my guess is he might very well do exactly that, with those people and under that label.

It's half past eight AM, local time and I need a strong, black coffee.

I rest my case (and I am bracing myself for the screeching). I will answer Anons later, after I come back from the hairdresser's. Appointments must be kept at all costs. Thank you all for your patience.

[stackslip]

OK OK CHAINSAW MAN THOUGHTS FOR THIS CHAPTER UHHH i haven't done this in a while.

love, love the continuation of the previous chapter's yoru pointing up into these regular americans pointing up (possibly giving the gun devil more strength inadvertently?). this series of chapters is gonna be such a treat to read once it's put into a volume

lots of talk about how "freedom" and "gun" sound almost the same in japanese and this is clearly a dark pun, but the thing i also really love here is.... the arm symbolizing the "light"/flame of america/american styled "freedom" falling and replaced by a gun. the bit of the gun devil clearly having emerged FROM the statue, crawling out of it and revealing its ghastly interior, the sham it's always been. fujimoto's works starting with fire punch have always been obsessed with the idea of the image/representation and the many truths it disguises, how ugly realities are turned into stories, or propaganda, or even into merchandise to be bought, sold, covered up, used as justification for idleness or atrocities. belief is what makes devils powerful. the statue of liberty symbolizes deep held beliefs that America is all about pursuing dreams and protecting freedom, no matter what america's actual past and present actions reflect upon it. this is just the nature of that symbol and what it represents laid bare for all to see!

one of part 2's greatest strengths and worst weaknesses has been asa's passivity--which fits thematically, and makes her character that much more realistic and interesting when fujimoto bothers to draw her and put her emotions center stage (and makes it that much more depressing when she barely has a role outside of gawking at new information). but see this--this! this is what i want! this is what makes asa's passivity so devastating as a character! the exchange here is SO perfect, from yoru having committed the crime to asa suddenly being in her place, witness to the atrocity she's let herself be an accomplice to--and by extension, having committed it herself! we've seen that most of her power is fueled by guilt and regret--something that comes to her so, so naturally. and now she's confronted with it. with the results of her actions, of her dreams and attempts to save chainsaw man (to have a friend/someone who could love and understand her). the results of her passivity vis-à-vis yoru. she's committed this atrocity, essentially. she can't hide behind yoru for it. this is her body too.

just an unbelievable panel. the hole looks like it's *bleeding*, like a bullet wound on a corpse. sick sick sick!

see what i mean re asa's passivity being so compelling when used right. how could i forget? how could i get so comfortable? gd. also yoru's laugh is so good she looks so awkward. and most importantly she looks like nayuta did when making fun of asa after making her bark like a dog. sisters!

sick ass design. absolutely TWISTED parallel to when denji last faced the gun devil, with humans helping denji and begging him to save them. TWISTED parallel to makima's "save me, chainsaw man" and asa's own "i'll save you, chainsaw man!". fujimoto king of making narrative parallels so evil you'll feel sick ever rereading the first panels.

yeah uh i'm just gonna drop the parallel here and fucking run and die. isn't it romantic? you understand, don't you chainsaw man? you of all people would get the love involved in this?

the juxtaposition of the ruined city by asa/yoru and the children being led to the slaughter by the japanese government to resurrect denji is just. jesus christ man

[g00d--m0urning]

Unnamed Pt. 1 (Daryl Dixon x AFAB!reader)

Part two

This is my first time writing in a long ass time, so please, feel free to leave criticism.

word count: 3208

Summary: ex-cop!Reader's world is rocked thrice over when Daryl Dixon breaks up with them, they discover their pregnant and the world goes to shit in the span of a few months. A/N: this is gender neutral, no other pronouns but you/your used. Reader is obviously AFAB since they get pregnant. Also this first part is hella slow. Basically just getting background out of the way. No y/n used. (No smut, angst? IDFK)

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Being a cop whilst dating a criminal is… well, interesting, to say the least. And in both of your defenses, Daryl’s not, like, a murder or anything, just petty theft and trespassing and the occasional assault charge (they never go further than a slight fine, it’s a small town in Georgia, nobody gives two fucks). The problem is the eldest Dixon--Merle, the GD bane of your existence--the dumbass is constantly dragging Daryl into his shit (drugs, to be clear) and the youngest refuses to stop riding along with him. No matter how hard you try, therefore, it's a constant point in arguments; much like this one.

“You can tell him no!” you shout exasperatedly, for probably the millionth time tonight.

The ‘him’ in question is Merle Dixon, and the needed ‘no’ is Daryl refusing to ride along to one of his drug crusades. You weren’t even supposed to know about this run, Daryl kept that part of his life separate, per your request, keeping from having to turn either Dixon in, as your academy oath swore. However, the FBI had gotten wind of this trade--something about some cartel being included--and they started sniffing around in search of making a bust and you really didn’t need your boyfriend in federal prison for being associated with that.

“Nah, I can’t!” Daryl shouts right back, smacking his hand against the shitty, peeling folding table he calls a dining table.

This has been going on for probably almost an hour now; you push, he pulls and it just turns into a vicious circle. It had started as an earnest plea, asking him kindly not to go on this run and he just scoffed, continuing to scarf down the three-day-old leftovers you heated up. Now it’s this screaming match, one you’re both tired of. You go to open your mouth to ask why, but he raises a hand, cutting you off like he can read your mind (he can’t, you’ve just had this same argument so many times, you can predict the exact words to come out of each other’s mouth).

“He’s family, been there for me mah whole life,” he hasn’t, he’s been in and out of jail his whole life, but ok. “Least I can do ‘s be there for a simple run, done it a thousand times.”

You just groan in response, pinching the bridge of your nose as you pace, just trying to figure out what to say. How to change his mind. There’s a simple answer, you can’t; if there’s one thing you learnt almost immediately in this relationship is that once the Dixon mind is made up, it’s made up.

“What?” he barks, clearly annoyed by your annoyance.

“Nothing, D.” you mutter, shaking your head at this whole situation.

He huffs at that, knowing it’s not ‘nothing,’ but not wanting to know what it truly is, it’d just stoke the fire. Being the pouty baby he is, Daryl plops into a folding chair, the old hinges creaking at the intense weight add, crossing his arms over his chest. If you weren’t so mad, you’d find the scowl on his face and the way his muscles bulge attractive. A loaded silence falls over the two of you; the neighbor’s dog barks at something, presumably the car that can be heard driving across the old gravel road, a door slams, and cicadas chirp, having come back to enjoy the southern summer heat.

“You know what? No--” you set your hands on the table, putting a stop to your pacing as you look over at Daryl, something indiscernible clouding your face.

“What’re ya--” he starts, sitting up in the chair, cutting himself off as you butt in before he can finish.

“It’s not nothing, Dixon. This--” a quick gesture to the air between the two of you, “isn’t ‘nothing.’ You insisting on going on your idiot brother’s crusades isn’t ‘nothing.’ And I get that he’s family, I do, but you shouldn’t have to throw your life away to repay whatever debt you think you owe him for sticking around!”

You’re the one to get cut off this time, being silenced as he scoffs, abruptly standing up from his chair, anger evident on his face, maybe even a hint of betrayal if you looked real close.

“Fuck that’s supposed ta’ mean?” he asks, brows furrowing as he steps closer to you.

“What’s what supposed to mean?” you ask back, confused by his sudden reaction. You didn’t think you said anything wrong, just expressed a very correct opinion.

“Ya think ‘m throwing mah life away?--ain’t like I got much ahead of me, right? Not like you do, right?” he puts extra emphasis on that last right, rounding the table to stand in front of you.

Another constant topic brought up in arguments--him thinking he’s got no life ahead of him other than ending up dead or deadbeat like his parents and you, having been dealt a much better card of hands in life, having much more planned for you. No matter how much you tried to convince him he could do so much more than be a lackey for his shithead brother, he denies and you guys end up ignoring each other for days until one of you cracks.

“Well, newsflash, all of us ain’t got some shiny future waitin’ for us. Some of us got a life being a ‘lackey’ or whateva you said, fancy pants. And ‘m sorry if that ain’t good enough for ya.’” he states, invading your space inch by inch as he mocks your words.

“That’s not--that’s not what I meant. You know that’s not what I meant!” you stammer, panic slowly beginning to boil beneath the anger. If you thought he, or his family situation, or anything about him, wasn’t good enough for him you wouldn’t have put in the almost two years being his friend and another two and a half dating his stubborn ass. He continues his encroachment until you’re toe to toe,

“Sure as hell sounded like it’s whatcha meant,” he snarls, rubbing at the scruff he has yet to shave before straightening his posture, looking away for a moment. He sucks at his teeth, huffing before he looks straight at you, something you can’t make out clouding his face, “I think you should leave.”

Your face falls, tears slowly welling in your eyes as the words leave his mouth. He’s not kidding, nor was it some sort of freudian slip, he wants you out. It seems different this time, too; not some enraged get out that gets resolved with rough make up sex, or the more tearful one that usually ends with sobbing in each other's arms.

This, this is different. He doesn’t look angry, there’s no tears clawing their way through his stubborn ducts, he’s just… blank. No emotion, other than that stubborn Dixon resolution. This feels like a breakup.

“Fine, I’ll leave.” you huff, taking in a shaky breath as you turn on your heel to make the short trek to the front door. Shoes are haphazardly shoved on, the tongue stuck under your foot and laces shoved in, and your phone and keys shoved into a pocket as you head out the door, slamming the screen door shut behind you.

You don’t bother looking back, not wanting to risk the tears falling, until you hear the broken door of the Dixon trailer jimmied shut. A few tears slip from your eyes, angrily swiping at the wet streaks before continuing down the ‘driveway’ to your car.

Maybe if you stayed inside another minute you could’ve seen the tears glassing over Daryl’s eyes. Or maybe if you stayed outside another minute you would’ve heard the sound of another hole being punched into the wall of the Dixon trailer that continues out of sight as you drive away.

A few days pass by, no contact between you two, letting each other cool down; at least you thought. It’s about a week before you try talking to him the first time, having stopped by the car shop he works at to bring him lunch (a BLT from the greasy dinner, the one next to the even greasier motel near the edge of town). The only response you got was a sideways glare before he huffed and returned to fixing the neighbor’s old pick up, leaving you to put his sandwich on his toolbox and walk back to the station.

Another three days pass before you try again, approaching him in the rundown bar, but again, he ignores you, turning away and slipping into the crowd Merle had gathered. You don’t want to be desperate, but you try calling him a few times, no response to all four calls. As a week turns to two and two to three, your attempts become less and less often.

Around week four is when you got the letter; your application to attend the new agent training for the FBI has been approved. Holy-fucking-shit. You read the letter over and over until the words turn to blurry specks you can no longer decipher and that’s when the nausea kicks in, heaving into the bushes by your mailbox. You write it off as stress sickness, between your breakup and now this; I mean, it’s a big deal, going from beat cop in bumfuck Georgia to a possible FBI agent in Virginia.

You wait on the decision, debating if you want to uproot the life you’ve set up here, getting sick a few more times in the process. You try calling Daryl after a few days of thinking to no avail as he doesn’t answer; that helps you make your decision, handing in your badge the next day and spending the last few days of the week packing your stuff into a u-haul.

You stand on the last step of your shitty porch, staring at the even shittier two room house you’ve called home for the last five years, tears welling in your eyes as you think back to the memories. They’re not all good, not all bad either, and the longer you stand there the more you regret your decision, so you wipe away the few tears that slipped down your cheeks and turn away.

Away from the house, down the step and down the uneven pavement you call a driveway and to your car. You open the door of your baby (a lovely ‘69 Chevy Impala you got from an old lady a few years back), taking one more look back before sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car: starting your new life.

Settling into your new apartment in Virginia wasn’t as hard as you thought it was going to be; honestly it was a breeze. The whole move was a breath of fresh air, it's nice being in a city where you don’t have to worry about everyone knowing everything about you. The only bad part is you still feel like crap--physically, not mentally, or not really--you’ll have to find a doctor soon anyway, the FBI academy requires your health records and you do not remember the last time you had your shots.

It’s about a week before the academy starts, so you decide it’s time to get to the hospital and get everything checked out. The doctor you booked with seems nice enough when you get there, going through a routine checkup: reflexes, blood pressure, weight, shot records and updates, all that lovely medical stuff.

“So, dear, I’m all done, unless you have any concerns of your own?” the doctor asks, tapping a manicured nail against her desktop as she looks up at you through thin framed glasses.

“Uh, yeah, actually, these past few weeks I’ve felt pretty nauseous. I don’t think it’s anything, just the stress from my move and all, but I wanted to make sure before I started work.” you tell her, a faint blush painting your cheeks under her gaze; normally you could never admit something like that, not without it getting out and people forming all sorts of conspiracies.

“Hm… Well, you’re healthy as a horse, so you’re probably not sick. It most likely is the stress.” she tells you, standing up, her heels tapping as she moves in front of you, red painted lips pursing in a thin line, “Is there any chance you could be pregnant?”

“W-what? No. No, there’s absolutely no way I could be preg--” you stammer, trailing off as you think back to about two months ago. You and Daryl had been drunk off your asses, desperate, sloppy..

“Here, the bathrooms down the hall and to the left.” she hands you a pregnancy test with a chuckle, clearly oblivious to your inner panic. “And don’t worry, this kind of thing happens all the time.”

You have to hold back the urge to glare at her when you get up from the chair, annoying hospital paper crinkling beneath you. How can she just play this off like it’s nothing? It’s not nothing, you could be pregnant! This could fuck everything up, you can’t attend FBI academy whilst pregnant.

Squatting awkwardly over the toilet so you can piss on the stick while simultaneously managing not to miss the bowl, you hum to yourself as you actively avoid meeting your own gaze in the awkwardly placed full length mirror. You finish, quickly tossing the pee-stick into the sink and deal with the rest of your business before pacing the bathroom as you wait the longest three minutes of your life.

Your phone is in and out of your pocket, continually checking the time until three minutes have finally passed; thank god. You grab a paper towel, reach in the sink and grab the test, trying to find the courage to look at the results. Before you can psych yourself out you look, your heart sinking as you stare at the two pink lines glaring up at you.

You feel sick, you are sick, apparently; there’s a full ass human growing in you. As you gag over the toilet the doctor knocks on the door, slowly pushing it open. An apparent sympathetic expression reading her brows as she moves to gently rub your back. She sits with you until your stomach is emptied, the only thing falling into the toilet being tears.

“It’ll be ok, honey, it will. No matter what you decide.” she tells you as you both exit the bathroom, having spent a good ten minutes sitting on the floor dreading the future. You haven’t a clue what she means by ‘no matter what you decide’ until she passes you a pamphlet for an abortion clinic, offering you a pity smile as you leave the room.

The rest of the day is a blur, between swinging moods between rage and depression it’s hard to keep track of when what happened. You can’t go back to Georgia, you don’t want to go back to Georgia, but what’s going to happen? You know absolutely nobody and your plans have been utterly fucked. So, what? Get rid of the kid? Maybe? No. Maybe… No. Just get a job, raise a kid, yep, sure; this has to be the worst thing ever.

Surprisingly the next month of pregnancy isn’t horrible, you snagged a desk job at the local police department, and you’ve been setting roots down. The doctor--Lillian, you learn, the doctor from before--has been a big help, a friend, you’d consider her; she has a kid of her own with her wife and has been coaching you through your first trimester of growing an unnamed fetus growing within you.

You’re sitting pretty in your OB/GYN’s office, waiting for her to come in and do your four month ultrasound and tell you the gender, which you hope is some because if you have to listen to anymore of the incessant drone of the news anchor you might go insane.

Finally she walks in, all chipper smiles and pink gloves as she wheels the ultrasound machine in behind her. The gel is cold, making you hiss as it’s smeared across your stomach, the tech chuckling at the reaction.

“Do you have any names picked out yet?” she asks, getting the machine all kicked up and ready. She tuts playfully, as you shake your head no, waving a hand through the air. “Well, no pressure, I had a friend who didn’t pick a name until her kid was crowning.”

You cringe at that, finding it to be way too much information; if there’s one thing you know for certain, it’s that you’re getting a c-section. Natural birth seems scary as shit.

“Are you excited to find out the gender?” is the next question asked as she drags the transducer across your stomach, trying to pinpoint the child. You shake your head again, a ‘yes’ this time.

“Yeah, I am. I don’t have a preference, but I figured knowing the gender would take a little stress off, knowing what to buy and all.” you tell her, pulling a chuckle from both of you. She nods in agreement, cheering quietly as she finally finds the baby.

“In that case, I am happy to tell you that you are having a…” she moves the wand around a little more, squealing happily, seemingly having found the right angle, “girl, it’s a girl! Congrats!” she beams, reaching around to press the print button on the machine.

A sigh leaves your lips as you stare up at the black and white blob that is your baby; a baby girl apparently. Wow. You smile as she hands you the pictures, ‘Congratulations’ scrawled on the bottom of the film.

You can’t seem to find words as the doctor hands you a paper towel to wipe the excess gel off, her head wiggling as she celebrates on your behalf. She busies herself with cleaning everything up as you pull your pants pack on properly, ready to leave the room before something catches your attention.

There’s a red banner rolling at the bottom of the TV, words flashing ‘breaking news.’ You tap the doctor’s shoulder, asking her to turn the volume up on the TV. Her face falls at the sight, nodding as she clicks the volume up several notches.

“Breaking news, multiple reports of a virus outbreak have been recorded in the last several hours. There has been little comment from the government--Wait, one moment please,” is the only thing you manage to hear before a loud and annoying blare emits from the TV, “This is not a drill, I repeat this is not a drill,” and back to the news guy.

“This just in, cities are going on lockdown, soldiers invading hospitals and the government is advising everybody to stay in their homes. Do not try leaving your city, stay at home or indoors. There has been an outbreak. I repeat--” what the fuck? You listen to the spiel again, trying to wrap your head around what he’s saying.

A nurse rushes in, ushering you out of the room and out the front door, bidding you good luck. There’s already panic starting in the streets; people are flooding stores and cars jamming the streets.

You know how you said being pregnant was the worst thing ever? Scratch that.

[scoobysnakz]

heyy girl i think if u haven’t what abt u write a dbf miguel x reader ik i see so many but theyre so gd to read they get me so invested every time🤷🏽‍♀️

summary: you’ve just come home from college for christmas but there’s a stranger in your bedroom

a/n: dbf as in dads best friend or dad boy friend? 😭 i’d do either but for this i’ll do dads best friend bc… yh. also tysm for the request it means sm 😚😚😚 also I guess this is a fic now? Bc I kinda hate one shots bci can never cut down on lore and stuff.

❤️

You hadn’t realised how easily college had managed to seep its way into every aspect of your life, pulling you away from both your family and social life, until you came home for Christmas.

Everyone looks so different, your mum is more colourful and chirpy, your father is healthier and your brother is surprisingly mature. But what takes you most by surprise is the lack of silence that has taken them by storm. When you had come home for the summer most of your stay had been filled with an uncomfortable but unfortunately familiar silence following you around but now, you can’t shut them up.

The entirety of the drive home from the train station is full of chatter, and for once they include you. They seem so genuinely invested about you that you don't even question the randomness of their questions, ranging from the journey home and the local shops that surround your campus.

“I heard that there's one of those pretentious, hipster coffee places nearby,” your dad claims from the driver's seat, not bothering to look around at you.

“Vegan?” you offer dryly, unsure of it he knows you work there or not.

“That's it!” he clicks proudly, resulting in both you and your brother sharing a sigh.

Part of you hopes that it’s because of you; that maybe they realised how much they loved you while you were gone and now feel overjoyed at your return. There’s a feeling of doubt floating around in your mind, telling you that this is just a random occurrence, but you push it to the side, wanting to focus on the positive and unrealistic.

***

Your brother helps you lug your suitcase into the house claiming, ‘It’s the least I can do’ which is surreal coming from someone who hasn’t written to you the entirety of your time away. You hand him your antler clifton all the same, glad you didn't have to carry it across the drive as well as up the stairs.

The warmth from the house welcomes you in, the softness of the heated air a stark difference from the harsh bitterness from outside. The sweet smell of cinnamon and gingerbread candles lures you in so soothingly that you don't even notice the extra pair of shoes neatly paired together with the rest by the front door.

“I'll leave it here,” your brother mutters before sliding across the floorboards towards the living room on the heels of his feet- not as mature as you presumed. You smile half-heartedly with a small nod, jealous of how easily he can dismiss himself.

And suddenly you’re alone again, left to your own devices as your parents go start dinner and your brother now yelling into his mic from the living room. It hurts slightly, moments ago they were all over you, so invested in you and your life that you forgot what they're truly like. It's the way it always been and you're a fool for thinking otherwise.

You scold yourself for being so naive as to believe that they'd changed, that they weren't as self-absorbed as they used to be, before pulling yourself away from your sea of negative thoughts.

You stare at your suitcase, bright white light shining on it from the lamp hanging above your head, and decide to leave it there, too tired to carry it upstairs to your room.

The steps creak under your weight as you slouch up the stairs, one hand idly dragging across the chipped bannister. You can't count how many times your dad’s tried to repaint it, how much money he's spent on overpriced glosses and varnishes, how many hours he's spent sanding the thing down.

As you cross the landing, thick carpet dampening the sound of your steps, you the bathroom door left ajar and the soft heat emanating from it. Which is… weird because both your parents and your brother are downstairs. But you shrug it off, too fed up to care, and drag yourself over to your bedroom, head drooping downwards with fatigue.

Casually, you push your door open, expecting the room to be empty and your bed freshly made as it often is when you come home for the holidays. Except it isn't.

Soft jazz music hums throughout the room, playing from a speaker you can't quite place, and the smell of an intoxicatingly strong aftershave clings to the air. Your walls are still decorated with the wallpaper you had when you left but it's covered in various posters. Some are boring and presumably scientific based on the array of symbols, whereas others are insanely niche but you don't really put too much effort into trying to understand them- you're too distracted by the man standing in the middle of your room, half naked and dripping with water.

He's tall, intimidatingly so, but the soft dimples that form in his cheeks as he smiles down at you soothe your nerves- slightly.

“Hey,” he grins down at you, head now cocked to the side and pats his ear causing water droplets to drip onto your carpeted floor.

You blink at him, completely dumbstruck and unsure of what to do. “What the fuck?” you breathe shakily, palms clamming up as your brain desperately flickers between arousal and fear.

The man’s brow furrows at your anxious tone and his smile falters slightly. “I think I should be the one cursing here,” he jests, tone annoyingly light, “you’ve just walked into my room without knocking or anything.”

“You're room?” you scoff, arms folding across your chest. “You're the stranger here, not me.”

He grins at your attitude, those dimples presenting themselves again. “I’m offended, has it been that long since you've last seen me?” he questions, large hand splayed across his chest feigning offence.

You pause for a moment and let your gaze scan him for a moment. He looks familiar, dark slicked back hair and mahogany eyes that are simultaneously scrutinizing and sympathetic.

“A la mierda, querida, have you really forgotten me?” he teases.

And then it clicks. You feel so embarrassed now, for not recognising him. Miguel, your dad’s best friend who you haven't seen for years, is finally visiting again.

He does look different now, though. He's still tall and his face is as chiselled as ever, though there are creases in his skin from when he's smiled too often or squinted too hard at the sun, but he's bulked up a considerable amount. His biceps look bigger than your thighs, tensing and relaxing with every slight movement and shining with the shower water in the yellow light of the evening sun. In fact, his entire body is covered in muscles, and what you can see of his lower half is toned, covered in dark tufts of hair, yes, but the curvature of each muscle is still visible.

He clears his throat and you realise that you’ve been staring longer than intended, shame burning hot on your neck.

“Sorry,” you mutter, “about not recognising you.”

He shrugs off your apology, which irks you slightly but you push past it, and smile once again. “I look different, old age is catching up on me.”

That's definitely what's different.

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