#i'm certainly not one to not give credit to the team but it was very clear from listening

[thissying]

did he just take away credit for max's call for inters?

[jonnywaistcoat]

I'm really glad to see that everyone seems to be having a good time with The Magnus Protocol, and my heart is very full with all the wonderful comments people are making, but I do need to flag something up.

For some of these episodes, a lot of folks are giving me credit for stuff I did not actually write. The cases for episodes 3 and 4 were both by guest writers, Graeme Patrick and Cole Weavers respectively, and they really deserve some love thrown their way.

That's not to minimise my own part: me and Alex certainly do editing work on them, and add in a few bits here and there to make sure everything cohesively fits in with the overall story and tone of the show, but if you enjoyed these episodes, then Graeme and Cole are the ones to thank for it.

And for that matter, Alex wrote episode 2 and deserves more of the accolades for how good that one was than I think he got (my edits just made it a bit... squishier).

Protocol is much more of a team effort than Archives was and so while, in a broad sense, you can still lay most of the blame for bad things happening to characters you love squarely at my feet, it's genuinely important to pay attention to the "written by" section of the credits this time around, 'cause often it's not gonna be my name there, and someone else deserves the thanks for giving you a horrible treat.

[cuubism]

as a certified horse obsessed freak i'm obliged to have an equestrian au so here's an equestrian au. make it olympics flavored for relevance. but there will be no sex in hay!! EVER!!!

it is smutty though.

--

Dream Endleas’s reputation for being difficult preceded him. His critical eye, his adherence to perfection, his crisp turnout and refusal to ever appear the slightest bit disheveled even after competing in the summer heat; his family, his money, his luxury-brand sponsorships—Hob had seen enough videos of Dream’s Grand Prix tests to be prepared for all of it. But he wasn’t prepared for the force of seeing it in person.

Dream in person was somehow even more perfect and posh than he appeared on video. Hob hadn’t actually spoken to him yet, had only communicated through his groom, Matthew, while getting the horses settled in—but God, he looked like such a prat. He looked like the type of snotty kid Hob had seen around the yard growing up, the type who thought they could ride because their parents had bought them a fifty-thousand pound pony. The type that persisted into adulthood, rolling up in a Range Rover to get on an already tacked horse, later handing their fancy horse back to the groom before stalking back out of the stable in pristine white breeches, leaving all the care to others.

Hob might have had a bit of a chip on his shoulder about that sort of thing.

It would have been easy to hate Dream, except that, fancy horse or not, he actually could ride, exceedingly well at that, and—and Hob was feeling very betrayed by his dick on this one—he was also blisteringly hot.

Dressage competition wear was, by and large, not one’s first choice of clothes that would be considered “sexy.” The combination of “business formal” and “cavalry officer on parade” wasn’t exactly giving come hither, but Hob took one look at Dream stalking down the center aisle of the barn in his clean white breeches and his high boots and his black coat with its little fucking Union Jack embroidery and he wanted. It was a good thing thoughts were an internal situation because it was embarrassing how quickly he went to I want those skinny little thighs wrapped around my head. Mortifying, really.

He was thinking about it so hard he didn’t immediately realize Dream was coming for him.

“You,” Dream said, stopping before him. “You are the stable manager.”

“That’s me,” Hob agreed. Regretting it more every minute, too. Managing the horses for the Olympic team had sounded like a good gig in theory…

“Why have the horses not been turned out?” Dream demanded.

“Aren’t you competing in—” Hob checked his watch— “an hour? Why are you asking me this now?”

“Because it came to my attention that things were mismanaged,” Dream said, unrepentant, then stood, waiting for his answer.

Hob sighed. “They didn’t provide us any turnout space.”

“They did not provide—” Dream started, then stopped, apparently flummoxed. “That is unacceptable.”

Hob had to grudgingly admit that it was to his credit that he cared. Not everyone did. “Tell me about it. But if you hadn’t noticed, we’re in a several hundred year old stable and they weren’t about to revamp the entire situation for us.”

“As per usual, horse welfare comes last,” Dream said, narrowing his eyes. Jesus Christ, Hob thought, he’s wearing eyeliner. “Be advised that I will be paying close attention going forward—” he looked at Hob’s name badge— “Hob Gadling.”

And with that ominous statement, he turned and stalked off.

“Good luck with your test,” Hob offered, half-heartedly, to Dream’s retreating back. Then, to himself, “Really? That prick’s the one you want?”

He could hardly be angry with Dream for being upset about it, though. Hob certainly had a bone to pick with the organizers about the horses being stalled 24/7. But he doubted that the people who managed The Palace of Versailles gave a fuck what he thought.

It did mean less for Hob to do, though. So once he’d done another round of their team’s wing of the stables he headed out to the arena to watch Dream’s test. There was no way Hob was going to miss watching him ride after a performance like that. If you were going to live up to your reputation of being rude and difficult you had damn well better live up to your reputation for skill as well.

Unfortunately for Hob, Dream did in fact live up to that reputation. He and Jessamy were gorgeous together. She was a smaller and lighter horse than many of the others and seemed to practically float across the ring. Dream made it look so easy when Hob knew damn well it was not. Hob could have watched him for hours, though of course the test was only a few minutes long.

In addition to watching Dream’s test, he was keeping an eye on the horses going in and out of the stable, keeping up to date on any injuries or soreness, though each had its own groom who was responsible for the horse’s immediate care. At the conclusion of Dream’s test, Hob expected him to hand Jessamy off to Matthew, but instead Dream just dropped his stirrups, letting Jessamy steer on a long rein as he wandered off towards the grassy area past the border of the dressage arena.

“Oi!” Hob called, catching up to him. “Where are you going?”

“I am going for a hack,” Dream said, hardly sparing him a passing glance.

Hob followed the direction he was headed. “On the cross-country course?”

“They aren’t using it,” Dream said, uncaring. “We”—presumably he meant himself and the horse—“are sick of being in the stable.”

So saying, he started off again, Jessamy’s ears pricked forward in interest as she picked her way across the grass.

Hob doubted he could stop him. And he had to admit it was probably more entertaining for the horse to go for a walk than to sit in her stall. It seemed a strange thing for Dream to do, though, wander off across the grass, legs swinging free out of the stirrups, instead of maintaining a strict training regimen in the arena.

Dream stopped before he was too far away, turning over his shoulder to call out: “I will be back before the final test is complete. If scheduling concerns you.”

So there was some recognition of the fact that it would be Hob’s neck if the horses weren’t where they were supposed to be when they were supposed to be. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving a hand. “Though given your score, I’d imagine you want to be back before they announce the medals.”

He got a half-smile from Dream for this, and then he was wandering off again, sitting comfortably in the saddle with the reins long, Jessamy’s tail swishing away the summer flies.

Hob watched his retreating back for a long moment, then turned back to the ring to keep an eye on the rest of the horses.

As Hob had predicted, Dream did win gold. He showed up just in time for it, finally giving Jessamy back to Matthew to take inside. She’d picked up some grass stains on her white socks, though Dream’s clothes were as pristine as ever. He seemed immune to dishevelment. He accepted his medal with predictable stoicism and bore the obligatory photos with grace and poise but what seemed to Hob like resignation rather than enjoyment of the attention.

Hob didn’t see where he ended up next. He had horses to feed and water and tack to be sure was in order for tomorrow’s events. In fact, he doubted he’d see Dream again at all. It should have been a good thing, for all Dream was a source of frustration for him. Instead, he found himself feeling disappointed. 

Hob was always the last one in the barn at night. Partly out of obsessiveness, partly due to the fact that unlike the riders, his lodgings were actually on the stable grounds. So he did his final round looking in on the horses at around 9 p.m. Not that there was much to do—check water, throw a little hay, make sure none of the horses had managed to keel over in the last two hours since he’d seen them—but it was a soothing ritual, making sure everything was shut up tight before going to bed himself.

Or it would have been soothing, if there wasn’t somebody else there.

The distant sound of a stall door sliding open had Hob immediately on edge. No one else had cause to be here this late, and at such a high profile event, he couldn’t rule out the possibility of ill intentions—or just of a horse getting out past an improperly latched door. He walked quickly towards that wing of the stable, though there had been no more sounds since—

Oh. It was Jessamy’s stall. Hopefully that meant it was Dream, or at least Matthew, because otherwise Dream would be royally fucking pissed.

Hob peered around the door where it was cracked open. And then just stood there, frozen, because it was Dream, crouched down in the shavings cleaning the grass stains from Jessamy’s leg—but not Dream like Hob had ever seen him.

For one, he was wearing shorts. Actual jean shorts that fell to mid-thigh, legs bare down to his paddock boots. Legs which were just as wiry and pale as Hob had imagined under his breeches, but covered in dust, with a streak of mud across one knee and a small bruise on the other thigh of the type you inevitably get when you spend enough time in the barn. Instead of his crisp white shirt and black jacket of earlier, he was wearing a loose black t-shirt spotted with water across the chest—watching the way Jessamy was sloshing about in her water bucket, now full of hydrating additives, Hob could just about guess how that had occurred. Dream even had a piece of hay stuck in his hair.

It was all so shocking Hob didn’t realize Dream was calling his name until he’d said it a second time.

“Hob Gadling. Do you require something, or can I be left in peace for the first time today?”

“You’re wearing shorts,” Hob said, dumbfounded.

Dream raised an eyebrow. “It is very hot out, if you hadn’t noticed.”

“I just— I can’t imagine you in shorts.” Or covered in dirt, for that matter. Dream was so pristine, so refined. Except for now, when he was at least fifty percent dust.

“Do you imagine me frequently?” Dream asked, and Hob was grateful that the low lighting disguised the way his cheeks flushed.

“No, I—” he did, though. He’d imagined Dream constantly since first seeing him. Since first learning they’d be crossing paths at the Olympics, really. “Maybe.”

Dream smirked, and stood, stepping out of the stall and perching instead on his tack trunk in the aisle, latching the door behind him. “What about me makes you think I do not own shorts?”

Hob was definitely blushing now. “You just. Always look so put together. And now you’re…” he gestured to the various bits of grime sticking to Dream.

“Of course I am put together at a show, Hob,” Dream said, rolling his eyes. “You could hardly expect me to show up to the Olympic final with mud smeared across my face.”

This was a good point, actually.

“I did not intend to be seen like this at all,” Dream added, giving him a pointed look.

Hob found it charming, though. The fact that Dream’s relative familiarity in being sticky with sweat and hay dust meant he did at least some of his own horse care regularly. The fact he didn’t just show up to get on and off.

“Why are you here so late?” Hob asked, glancing over at Jessamy. “I think she’ll survive with some grass stains until tomorrow. You’re done competing anyway.”

Dream’s brow pinched. “The amount of socializing at this event is stressful. And there is no reprieve in my rooms.”

This made Hob grin. “Not having fun in the Olympic Village?”

Dream wrinkled his nose. “I do not like having a roommate,” he said, and Hob had to laugh at the disgust in his tone. “I considered booking my own hotel room, but was informed this was not demonstrative of team spirit.”

“Oh no, you had to be part of a team at a team event, that’s terrible,” Hob said, still grinning. “Poor Dream.”

Dream’s lips twitched into a half-smile, but it did reach his eyes, Hob saw it. “Terrible,” he agreed. “Hence, I am hiding in the barn.”

“And you wanted to check on your horse,” Hob guessed, softening. He had finally reached the conclusion that he had been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was likely to be. And shouldn’t have assumed it in the first place.

“I worry about them overheating,” Dream said. “This barn has poor airflow.”

“You’ve got better at your place back home?”

“My horses live outside,” Dream said.

Hob had really been wrong about the type of horseman Dream was.

“Now you will tell me they will break themselves in the field,” Dream sighed, apparently well-used to the argument.

“Nope,” said Hob. “So do mine.”

Then, Dream looked at him in surprise and, if Hob wasn’t mistaken, a new hint of grudging respect.

“Mine aren’t as expensive as yours, of course,” Hob teased. He could only guess at the price tag on Dream’s Grand Prix dressage horses.

“They are insured,” Dream said, dismissively. “I care little for how much they cost me. They are happier out of their stalls.”

Hob smiled, and felt the softness of it on his own face. Goddammit. Now he wasn’t only finding Dream hot, which he could maybe have coped with, but going soft on him, too. “I really am sorry about the turnout situation here. There’s just not much we can do about it. I did ask.”

“It’s no matter.” He’d apparently decided to give up on his annoyance with Hob about it. “I may bring her home early. Though I doubt they will let me leave until the end.”

“No one’s ever been less excited to be at the Olympics than you, Dream,” Hob said, laughing, and Dream cracked another smile. He was very pretty when he smiled. He was pretty when he was stern and focused, too. Really, all of him was doing it for Hob.

“I am not very good at dealing with people,” Dream admitted.

Hob felt abruptly bad for him and the reputation he’d developed. Not that Dream hadn’t done anything to justify it. But it couldn’t make it any easier to make friends. He looked so much smaller, too, sitting on the tack trunk in his shorts and t-shirt, covered in dust and hay. Far from the stern and unapproachable Dream Hob had seen earlier.

“Come take a walk with me,” he suggested. “We’ll finish checking in on the horses and then, I don’t know. Get a drink or something.”

It felt too bold a suggestion as soon as Hob suggested it, but Dream sighed and stood, dusting off his shorts. “I suppose I should try not to sequester myself.”

“That’s the enthusiasm I like to see,” Hob said, and got another smile out of Dream. He was quickly becoming addicted to getting those smiles.

Dream followed as Hob checked in on the remaining horses, helping him top off waters and throw hay. By the end Hob was just as covered in dust as Dream, t-shirt drenched in sweat, and had tied up his hair in a bun to get it off the back of his neck, not that it helped much. Dream had been right, the barn was poorly ventilated, and they were both suffering the results of that.

When he turned from tying up his hair, he found Dream watching him, gaze tracking the movement of Hob’s hands, the fall of his hair, then back to his face.

“What?” Hob asked.

“I—” Dream swallowed, throat catching. “Was I. Wrong. To think I caught you looking before?”

Somehow Hob knew exactly what he meant. He probably should have felt embarrassed about it—but it was hard to when Dream was looking at him like that now. Dust sticking to his hair, sweat gleaming along his neck, and he was looking at Hob like he’d suddenly found something very compelling to cut through the weariness of the day.

“No,” Hob said. “Did it bother you?”

Dream shook his head. “No one looks at me like that.”

“Seriously? But you’re gorgeous.”

Dream’s mouth popped open, and even in the semi-dark Hob thought he saw his eyes dilate. “Am I?”

“Maybe they’re all just too intimidated by you to show it,” Hob said, taking a step closer to him.

“And are you?” Dream asked. “Am I so terrifying?”

“I think I can handle it,” Hob said, and closed the remaining distance between them, sparing one moment to think I can’t believe I’m fucking doing this before he took Dream’s face between his hands and kissed him.

Dream whimpered into the kiss, clutching at Hob’s wrists. He opened his mouth to Hob, head tipping back. Dream had such a strong presence that Hob hadn’t realized there was a slight height difference between them, but he took full advantage of it now, pressing him back, letting go of his face to catch him around the waist.

Dream pulled away long enough to take a breath, then dove back immediately into the kiss, sucking on Hob’s lower lip, digging his fingers into Hob’s hair. Hob steered him back, half-blind for kissing, until they stumbled into one of the empty stalls being used to store extra tack, where he pushed Dream down to sit on one of the tack trunks.

Dream’s breath caught, his pulse hammering where Hob set his lips and teeth to it, sucking a mark into his throat on his way to kneeling between Dream’s spread thighs. “I was thinking about you as well,” Dream admitted, once Hob had detached from his neck and dropped fully to kneel on the floor, grinding dirt into his knees. “Seeing you. Carrying bags of feed over your shoulder like they weighed nothing. Mmm. Your shoulders.”

“Oh, yeah?” That was heady to think about, Dream watching him like that. Hob undid the button on his shorts, skimming them and his underwear down and off over his paddock boots. This revealed Dream’s pretty pink cock, already plumping up as he leaned back on his hands on the tack trunk. Hob nosed at the base, taking in the sweat and musk of him, hearing Dream’s breath hitch. “You know what I was thinking about?”

“What?”

“Doing this.” Hob took the head of Dream’s cock in his mouth, pulling a wrenching cry from Dream as he twitched where he sat, thighs trembling. Hob bobbed his head, sucked up the length of him, pulling off with a pop and saying, “This is exactly where I wanted you.”

“Indeed?” The word was shaky. Dream’s fingers twitched on the wood of the trunk.

“Go on,” Hob told him, and Dream’s hands went to his hair, pulling it from its bun, directing Hob back down onto his cock. Hob took him deep, pressing his nose into the hair at the base of Dream’s pelvis. The weight of Dream in his mouth was addicting, and then Dream’s legs shifted and he tucked them up and over Hob’s shoulders, thighs pressing in against his head—yes, perfect.

Dream pulled him close, thrust his hips up into Hob’s mouth, hesitant at first then bolder when Hob hummed in encouragement. Dream’s fingers combed through his hair, not quite pulling but tugging and tangling in little pinpricks of delicious pain, and Hob closed his eyes, surrendering to the experience of satisfying him, so hard in his own jeans but ignoring it for now—it only made everything feel more vivid, anyway.

“Hob,” Dream cried, cock twitching, pre-come spilling over Hob’s tongue. Hob didn't let up, only took him deeper, Dream bumping against the back of his throat as he swallowed.

Dream cried out as he came, hands clenching to the point of pain in Hob’s hair, legs tightening around Hob’s head. Hob nearly came himself at the feeling. Instead he swallowed again, sucking on Dream’s cock as it softened until Dream whimpered from overstimulation, and then Hob carefully let him go, finally able to take a full breath as Dream curled around his head, thighs trembling against Hob’s cheeks.

Hob turned his head to kiss his thigh, grazing his teeth over the small bruise he’d seen earlier, making Dream gasp. He uncurled himself from Hob, letting go of his death grip on Hob’s hair to instead caress his cheeks, run his thumb over Hob’s wet lower lip. Hob looked up, met his gaze, nearly perished at the look of blown-out pleasure there. He could live on that look, he thought, feed himself on it every day.

“Come here,” Dream ordered. Hob was helpless but to obey. He let Dream draw him up, disentangle them so Dream’s legs were around his waist instead of over his shoulders, and Dream plucked open the button on Hob’s jeans, pushed his underwear down far enough to take him out. Dream took him in hand, humming in appreciation.

“Like what you see?” Hob teased, but it came out far breathier than he intended, all of him going taut with Dream's hand on him. Dream only smiled slowly, stroking Hob, slow but firm.

“I do,” he said, and drew Hob in with his other hand wrapped around the back of Hob’s neck, sticking in the new sweat that had beaded along his skin, letting Hob rut into his fist. Hob kissed up the side of his neck, leaving marks, breath catching when Dream hooked a leg around the back of his thigh to pull him even closer.

“So perfect for me,” Dream praised, hand sliding up to curl in his hair while his other kept expertly working Hob’s cock. “Mmm. Later, I want you to fuck me properly. I want that gorgeous cock inside me. I know you will fill me so well. I want to feel you.”

All it really took was Dream’s sweet words to send Hob’s arousal boiling over. He gasped into Dream’s throat as he came, hips stuttering into Dream’s fist. Dream pet his hair as he came down from the high, wiping his hand off on his shirt. Hob kissed the side of his neck once more for good measure, tasting the sweat there, before finally pulling away.

“You really want me to fuck you?” he asked. “You going to—”

Dream laid a finger over his lips. “If you make a joke about me riding you I will walk out of this stable and never return.”

Hob broke down laughing, pressing his forehead against Dream’s shoulder. “You get that one a lot?”

“Constantly.”

“I’ll bet.”

Dream was chuckling, too, chest rumbling against Hob’s body. Hob liked the sound of it.

“Cross my heart, I swear I won’t make any jokes,” Hob promised.

He liked this. Leaning against Dream. Touching him. Sharing a soft moment. He liked it a lot.

Dream tipped his face back up with a fingertip under his chin. “I do still want you to fuck me,” he said, watching Hob with dark eyes. Hob swallowed hard. “Will you take me back to your rooms? For we are certainly not going back to mine.”

“Don’t want to involve your roommate?” Hob teased, and Dream sighed.

“Don’t make fun of my indignities,” he complained, and Hob laughed.

“I’m sorry, darling. You suffer so much. Your life is terribly difficult.”

“And you are making it worse by making me wait,” Dream complained.

Hob certainly didn’t want that. So he stood, tucking himself away again, and rearranged Dream in his shorts, helping him up. He paused then, wondering just how far this burgeoning thing between them went, before deciding, fuck it, and pulled Dream in for a soft kiss, hands light on his lower back. Hob was feeling very fond of him right then. He might as well show it.

Dream hummed into the kiss, sinking into him. When they separated, his lips curved into a soft smile.

“Perhaps you might make me breakfast in the morning, too,” he said, taking Hob’s hand.

“If you’re willing to wake up at six,” Hob said. “Because that’s when the horses get breakfast.”

Dream groaned dramatically, but didn’t let go of Hob’s hand, and as Hob tugged him out past the stall door and towards his lodgings at the far end of the stable, he was smiling, eyes bright. And Hob thought waking up to him before sunrise might be very beautiful indeed.

[like-yknow-nyah]

you know what isn't appreciated enough? the ways in which tsukishima takes after sugawara senpai~

it's not really emphasized by the framing of the anime like other character dynamics, but there are some pretty consistent tell-tale throughlines that hint at how much tsukki respects him. the obvious start is that tsukki never sasses or talks back to suga - sure, this is generally pretty true of all the third years, but i think he seems especially yielding to suga. suga even gets to hit him and mess up his hair, and tsukki will respond to him with reserved frustration but none of his usual irony - at worst, a very earnest "could you please stop?" he certainly has thoughts about it, but he actually exhibits resraint with that sharp tongue of his lolol i have to wonder if he holds back because suga somewhat reminds him of akiteru, who plays a similar role of being supportive, guiding, and sincere.

as for volleyball, we see from the get-go whenever he steps on the court that suga is actually a very intellectual player. he keeps a keen eye on where everyone is on the court, measuring where their strengths and weaknesses are, so that even if he doesn't have hinata's attack speed, kageyama's precision, or tsukki's high blocks, he can pinpoint the exact weak spot that only needs that little push to come apart. and then he tugs on that thread to see how much of the enemy team's formation he can unravel. his strategy is consistently on point, not unlike the play style we see tsukishima adopt as he grows out of his shell.

and i'm sure that's partially just because they happen to have a natural inclination toward the mental game of volleyball. but there are also very specific on-court habits that appear to be directly modeled after suga. the first time we get to really see suga's strength in action in s1, he's running all over his team's side of the court saying "hey you, come here, i have an idea," integrating each and every member of the team in the way that best suits their abilities. the play suga specifically asked tsukki to try is the strategic blocker switch. tsukki even tries to give him his due credit for a well-called play, but suga explains it like it's actually a really easy call to make. it's not really shown, but i do genuinely think something clicked into place for tsukki that expanded the ways he can read the court.

by season 2, tsukki is using a very similar thought process to predict where kyotani will hit and do the blocker switch with tanaka. and i don't think it's a coincidence that this is during their rematch with seijoh, the team against whom suga originally deployed this strategy.

we see tsukishima further mirror suga's play style (albeit adapted to the position of a blocker) in s3 as he becomes more confident and comfortable with his role in the team and on the court. he begins to take the initiative to conceptualize plays to share with his teammates, walking up to them individually like "ちょっと..." and asking if the team would trust him to make certain calls.

it's these little moments of behavior borrowed from suga that open tsukishima up to his teammates, especially his fellow first-years, and become that first cornerstone upon which they build up to a near-blind trust in each other throughout s4. the only one on karasuno aside from tsukki and suga who even sometimes makes these kinds of plays is kageyama, who is more directly suga's mentee by position, but arguably takes after him less than tsukishima does.

[yukidragon]

I'm a bit curious was it ever confirmed that Shaun and Ian interacted with one another or met before the eventual breakup between Ian and MC. If not what are some of your headcanons on this matter would they have gotten along at all?

Actually, yes, it has been confirmed that Shaun and Ian knew each other before Ian and MC broke up in this comic posted over on the official Sunny Day Jack twitter!

Credit as always to Sauce for their awesome artwork and for giving us this hilarious glimpse into college age Ian and Shaun. Consider supporting them and the rest of the SnaccPop Studios team by joining the patreon for even more lore tidbits I can't even mention publicly. Just remember, don't share anything privately posted!

While a lot of teaser/development art should be taken with a grain of salt, if it appears on one of the official pages, it's a pretty safe bet that it's canon to the timeline of the game.

So this comic, also drawn by the awesome Sauce, while hilarious, may or may not be canon.

I think it's a pretty safe bet to say that Ian did not pass Shaun's vibe check.

The first comic certainly makes it clear that Shaun didn't find Ian attractive considering the way he reacted. Maybe it's due to jealousy (I don't think Shaun wants to think about his crush having sex with someone else) or maybe it's because of Ian's bad taste in anime. Who can say?

Content Warnings: This post contains talk of cheating, jealousy, drinking in excess, (unintentional) self-harm, near death experience, SA, issues with sex, and toxic relationships.

I suspect that these two just didn't get along. Between Shaun suffering from jealousy due to his crush and the two of them having different tastes, they were probably only friendly to one another for MC's sake.

I would imagine that Shaun's opinion on Ian took an extreme nosedive when they found out Ian cheated on MC.

Man... can you imagine how much pain Shaun has been through? He had to watch his best friend/crush be happy with someone else... then get devastated by being cheated on. The worst part was if he had bad vibes from Ian from the start, but he ignored his gut feelings for MC's sake.

When it comes to my personal headcanons that I use for Sunshine in Hell... Shaun and Ian had friction since the first day Alice introduced the two of them.

It wasn't just Shaun being jealous of Ian either. Ian was jealous of Shaun too!

Ian has always suffered from a low sense of self-esteem. Shaun, by comparison, is much more well put together, more outgoing, and has this natural charisma that draws people to him. Shaun is just so likable that he gets a lot of attention and friends. For years, Ian was the exact opposite of that, which led to him being bullied and degraded often.

So one day Alice, his childhood friend and partner, is super excited to introduce Ian to her new friend. Shaun and Alice have a lot in common, and it was very visible in the early years of college when Alice was in the middle of her pastel goth phase. Shaun and Alice had a love for horror movies, cats, the goth aesthetic, and a whole bunch of other things. They clicked so quickly, and it scared Ian a little.

It didn't help that Alice had trouble making friends like Ian did. They had that in common, something that gave them a sort of understanding that no one else could intrude on. Now that they were in college they started making more friends, and that was a good thing, really! But Alice clicked with Shaun about as fast as she did with Ian.

In the 1st grade, one day Alice mustered up the courage to talk to Ian in order to cheer him up. After that they started talking every day and they were besties ever since. From there, they started dating. She's never really clicked with anyone else so fast like she did with Ian...

Until Shaun, that is.

Ian kept comparing himself to Shaun, unfavorably. He kept worrying about Alice falling for Shaun instead since, well, clearly Shaun had so much more than Ian had to offer. Why wouldn't she? What didn't help his insecurities was the fact that they had been a couple since high school, but they still hadn't had sex yet.

I integrated the comic into part of Alice and Ian's troubled sex life. The depicted instance was Ian's attempt at making things romantic so that they could finally go all the way.

It took them a while to start being sexually intimate due to their mutual lack of practical knowledge and Alice's SA trauma. She was very cuddly with Ian, not afraid to kiss him or go into a make out session, but she struggled to go further than that for a long time. It left Ian struggling with insecurities, fearing that he wasn't attractive to her despite her constantly reassuring him that wasn't the case.

Really, it was that insecurity and self-blame that pushed Alice to go further than she was ready for, to pretty painful results that she learned to just accept as part of the experience.

Alice is the type of person who can't be comfortable with people touching her unless she trusts them. However, when she gets close to someone, she can get pretty cuddly, even with her friends, giving them hugs often. So, for Ian, seeing his girlfriend get comfortable hugging another guy... someone he might have noticed looking at her a certain way...

Well, getting cockblocked on his rocky road to losing his virginity didn't help Ian see Shaun in a more favorable light.

Really, this was an incident that pushed Ian to be a bit more possessive of Alice. He was already struggling with the fact that his partner was sharing a dorm with someone else, but for Shaun to just casually walk into her bedroom like that without knocking? Ian certainly had permission to come in there without Alice knowing since he's her boyfriend, and he was planning to surprise her with a romantic evening, but how long had Shaun been just letting himself into her private space so casually?

Ian didn't believe that Alice was cheating on him, but what if Shaun decided to take advantage of her? What if this casual blurring of their living space led to feelings blooming?

What if Alice realized that Shaun was so much better than Ian in every way?

This led to Ian asking Alice to move into an apartment with him, even if it cost them money. He was able to feel more secure when they were living together, and he could be the one going into her bedroom at any hour of the day to be with her instead of someone else.

Shaun did try to befriend Ian, but it seemed like every time they hung out, something would rub him the wrong way. He did his best to be happy for Alice and Ian in their relationship, but it wasn't just Ian's shit taste in anime that struck Shaun as a red flag.

It didn't take Shaun long to notice a pattern in Ian and Alice's relationship. Ian would be down on himself, even cry and apologize for being inadequate, and Alice would reassure him. It seemed like every day, he saw this happen at least once. He tried reassuring Ian as well when he could, but after a while it gets tiring to try and lift someone up who keeps dragging himself down. Shaun would suggest Ian try therapy, and Ian would insist it wouldn't work, he was hopeless, and it wasn't worth wasting money on.

It was only when Alice showered Ian with love, and when their mutual friends bent backwards to cheer him up, that Ian would perk up again.

Shaun saw the red flags going up, how Ian was so needy for Alice and it was wearing on her. She went out of her way for Ian all the time, doing so much more because Ian "needed" her.

What made it worse was that Shaun saw how unbalanced their relationship was, how Alice gave Ian so much more than Ian gave back. Because Ian was so clingy, Alice had to often cancel meet ups with friends at the last minute, citing that he was having a bad day and needed her. Yet, on days when Alice was feeling like shit, she just kept powering through, pretending nothing was wrong. It took Shaun a lot of effort to pry her into leaning on him, and he'd even go out of his way to do stuff for her without her asking, like buying her lunch when she was so overworked she forgot to bring any.

Shaun worried for Alice because she was his friend, and she didn't deserve this sort of treatment. It was like she had become Ian's emotional crutch. Regardless of his attraction towards her, regardless if they could ever get together, he wanted her to be happy.

Shaun's opinion of Ian slowly deteriorated over time, but it turned into downright hate when Ian cheated on Alice, especially after she almost died because of it.

It was just a normal night when Shaun got a phone call from Ian. It was about Alice of course. It was the only reason Ian ever called Shaun - to check up on Alice. That night was different because Ian was in a panic. Alice wasn't picking up for him, which was unusual enough, but Ian was insistent that Shaun needed to check on her to make sure she was okay.

It was lucky that Shaun had the spare key to the apartment Alice and Ian shared. The sight of her lying unconscious in a pool of blood in the bathroom is a scar that'll forever be etched in his memory.

Shaun spent an entire night terrified, wondering what had happened. Did Alice try to kill herself? Why? She might have been missing Ian after he moved across the country, but she always reached out to Shaun and others when she wanted company. What happened that night? When he mentioned Alice's state to Ian, he just wailed that it was all his fault and Shaun couldn't reach Ian after that, as Ian was busy trying to book a flight back home to see her at the hospital.

Shaun had to be the one to call Alice's family too, but he had no answers to give them. The doctors would only let family or her legal partner see her for a while. It was only the next day that he learned that it was all because Ian had cheated on Alice, and she drank to dull the pain, only to hurt herself under the influence of alcohol poisoning.

Shaun could've kicked himself. He saw the problems in their relationship, but he didn't think it was his place to say anything. He worried his jealousy was coloring his perspective, seeing things too negatively. Now he wished he pushed harder like his gut told him, got Alice to see that the relationship was no good for her.

When Alice forgave Ian and tried to make it work, Shaun couldn't just sit back and let it happen.

So, yeah, Shaun's opinion of Ian in the present day is very negative. He views Ian as a toxic, manipulative, cheating scumbag who didn't deserve Alice. It was a relief when he managed to help Alice see that too so that she could finally end that toxic relationship. He was there for her so many nights when she cried over Ian and missed him. He saw the pain Ian put Alice through, and it just made his hatred of Ian grow.

Ian is grateful for Shaun being there to help Alice and even getting her to the hospital, but that doesn't get rid of his jealousy. Shaun and Alice are still talking even though she never picks up the phone for Ian anymore. He sees their exchanges online. They're still close. Shaun could one day sweep in and...

Ian can't let that happen. He can't let Shaun steal away the person who means so much to him. He can't let Alice just let him go like this. He just has to apologize to Alice, keep apologizing, and everything will be fine.

Sooooo... yeah, suffice to say, Ian and Shaun do not get along, and I doubt that they ever will... at least in my headcanons.

@channydraws @earthgirlaesthetic @sai-of-the-7-stars @cheriihoney @illary-kore @okamiliqueur @kurokrisps

[fakescenariosbeforesleepblog]

I'll never be with you.

Alex Keller x Reader (Y/N) x Captain John Price.

Alex saw you a long time ago at the subway station, you were certainly beautiful, but then he lost you. Now years later he finds you again, in someone else's arms.

Warning: spelling and grammatical errors, I think there's nothing dark here so no more warnings, oh, images not mine, credits of them to their creators.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters nor do I claim to own them. I do not own any of the images used nor do I claim to own them.

He met you during a rainy night waiting for the subway, you had a very short and common conversation, nothing special, weather, time and the inefficient subway service.

You looked like a beautiful angel, your voice was soft and full of kindness, also your sense of humor was delightful, some jokes were enough to make him laugh like he never laughed before. Both took the subway and exchanged some more words but then a sea of people took you away from him, he couldn't see where you were, that was the end of the story. And he, honestly never thought about the possibility of seeing you again, but the memories of that moment live in his mind.

Another successful mission for Alex and the 141 team, all of them were landing in the base, Soap and Kyle had some injuries but nothing serious, there were jokes and insults in the air.

- Hey Cap, is your queen of hearts waiting for you already?

- Careful Soap... (He chuckled)

- Who? (Alex was clearly confused).

- it's Y/N, for all of us it's our medic but for the captain well... it's something else. (Gaz answers while looking at the captain with a malicious smirk)

Meanwhile Ghost observes through the window of the helicopter and sees you.

- And In fact, the doc is already waiting.

Everybody Laughs scandalously even Alex, he feels out of place tho. But once everybody is out, you approach Price and give him a long deep hug.

- You smell like cigarette... Have you been smoking?

- Just one, my love.

- Is there no hug or at least a Hello, for your children?

Soap jokes all the time about you always acting like the mom of the team.

- Ha-ha, thanks for bringing the captain alive.

You give a fake laugh to soap while you friendly punch him in the arm. Price takes your hand to get your attention and you see a familiar face.

- Love I want to introduce you to...

- Subway guy!

Alex sees you well, for the first time in years he has a second chance, looking at you, you're still as beautiful as he remembers.

- Jesus! It's you...

- the world is so small sometimes.

- So do you know each other?

Price doesn't have that bright smile that always has for you, in exchange he has a serious face.

- Yes, he's the guy I talked to you about before! He was very funny that night.

- I could say the same about you, so... You're Y/N, I think that night I didn't even ask you your name...

- yes I am, and you're...?

You turn back to Price and he quickly finishes to introduce Alex to you.

- Keller, Alex Keller, an old friend.

- Nice to formally meet you, Alex.

- Pleasure is all mine.

That's all he says, everybody walks inside the base, you check the injuries and all about the health of your team.

You were finishing the paperwork with all the reports of your patients when Alex appears in your door.

- Hey Doc!

- Alex, hii, come in, I'm still very surprised to see you here!

- As much as I am, that night I really never thought you were a doctor and that you worked for the army and all this...

- Oh well, I started to work here a few years ago, I met John and well... Now I'm the medic of his team and also his fiancee.

Alex froze at the moment he heard your last words, fiancee? He stays quiet for a while, he suddenly remembered that night once again, you were a sunshine in the middle of that rainy night, in the middle of the storm that his life was in that moment. You gave him more joy that night than somebody else in years and now he simply sees you with someone else, you belong to someone else, he never had a chance to make you his, it wasn't meant to be, It never was.

- Alex?

- Huh?

- Did you hear me?

- Yes, congratulations, John is very lucky...

You laughed.

- What?

- Thanks but I was talking to you about that night...

- Oh sorry, I'm all ears, tell me again.

Maybe there's some hope, he says to himself. Maybe you're not really happy after all, maybe he still has a chance.

- I was telling you that... I thought about that night for a long time, even for a while I was just waiting in that subway station every night, same hour, same spot, but you weren't there, so eventually and after I met John I realized we weren't meant to be, you know? We just met fortuity, and I'm glad it happened that way because if something was different I wouldn't be here with this job and that wonderful man.

Alex simply smiles and nods, he can't deny it, price is an honorable man, a good person and as a friend he has been incredible, so Alex feels a little bit guilty for thinking about stealing his friend's girl.

You and him talked about some other things for a couple minutes more and then he says goodnight and leaves.

He didn't want to stay more time, he wanted to leave and go back to his life he wanted to pretend you were still a memory full of possibilities not a story that actually never started, he was going directly to John's office to let him know he wouldn't wait until the next day.

He's out of the office ready to knock on the door when he listens to your laugh, then silences and soon some soft moans full of 'I love you' 'you're mine, all mine'. The drop that spilled the glass. He didn't dare to interrupt, he simply had enough, he left without saying goodbye.

[gallysglader]

I Just Don't Like Him

Summary: Ever since youve met Gally, youve thought him to be obnoxious and rude, and yet...

Pairing: Gally x reader

A/N: I know its not 100% enimies to lovers but I just have zero patience I'm sorry

Request: rivals to loverssssssss. cuz it suits him best to me. maybe he meets em when he first starts workin for the right arm since its something new. Fellow soldier mayhaps?

Honestly, when The Right Arm got word that Group A had finished the Maze Trials, I knew instantly I should volunteer to check the place where they would exit into the W.C.K.D headquarters. I don't really know why, we weren't going to do it at all, but I just had that feeling that we should check, maybe something there could give us a boost. When I went to Lawrence to get the 'OK', he actually welcomed the idea. Said it was a good play. He immediately set me up with a team, obviously I couldn't risk going alone.

We arrived in a van, just in case there were things we could use, we'd have more space in the vehicle. The building was dark and surprisingly cool, and there was blood and broken glass on the floor. We didn't have to look hard to see two bodies lying dead. We all immediately rushed towards them, checking pulses to see if they survived somehow. One of the boys was younger and looked to be 12 or so. He had a bullet wound in his chest.

Donnie, a friend of mine, checks his pulse. He looks at me sadly. "Dead." He drops the boy's arm and stands up, running his fingers through his hair. The rest of the team starts walking around the large room, checking for more. We walked over to the other boy, who looked closer to me in age and had a spear stuck in his chest. This scene is offputting, like there are important details I'm missing.

"What do you think happened here?" I ask, grabbing the boy's wrist

"Dunno, too bad we'd never kn-" Before he can finish is sentence I gasp. There's a pulse. The boy's alive. How?

"He's alive!" I practically shout before everyone else runs back toward us. We waste no time, grabbing him and practically shoving him into the van and driving back to HQ.

It wasn't long until we realized he was immune to the flare, after making that discovery everyone started working harder to fix him back up and get him out of his coma-like state. I got put In charge of possibly the most degrading task, talking to him in his sleep. Not even about anything specific, some of the guys just thought that if he heard a voice talking to him he'd wake up faster, I don't know what sort of logic that is but I really don't feel like disregarding orders, so I agreed.

I mostly just sit in the chair next to him and feel awkward before attempting small talk. Small talk. To practically a corpse. What the heck.

"So...um...it's pretty hot out today right?" I groan and feel like an idiot. Of course, it's freaking hot out we are in the aftermath of the scorch. I try again. "Well, I mean yeah, obviously, um-" I look away and hope nobody watching the security cams right now.

Suddenly I hear a groan and look at the boy. He's waking up. He rolls over and opens his eyes, looking right at me. "You really suck at conversations." Really? Those are the first words he says? Wow.

"Well give me some credit, your not a very talkative person yourself, you certainly didn't make it easy." I cross my arms. He scoffs, and winces.

"Damn, getting shot with a spear sure shucking hurts." He scoffs again. This dude seems very laid back considering everything. I'm curious.

"What happened back there? Do you know how you-" He laughs (wincing again), interrupting me. He seems really rude, and I frown.

"Is that your way of flirting?" He smirks and raises his eyebrows. The fuck? The nerve and ego of this guy is just unbelievable.

"Trust me, if I were flirting you'd know it, not that I'd ever flirt with you." I roll my eyes and get up to leave, to alert someone that he's awake and an asshole.

He laughs and rolls onto his back. "Trust me, the feelings are mutual."

Since he's been awake the rest of the group has been working to completely heal him, and some have even started training him to be a soldier already. I've been avoiding him as much as I can, with the occasional dreadful pass through hallways, but it gets tricky, especially at mealtimes, where we are all packed together and eating for about an hour before going back off in our separate ways. Of course, we always somehow end up sitting at the same table, like today.

"Hey Y/N." He says in that annoying tone as he plops his tray of food down on the table. Today we are eating potatoes, I think. The food here isn't exactly five-star. I roll my eyes and scoot away from him. He knows I dislike him, and he knows I know he dislikes me, and he loves bothering me, more often than not our lunchtimes end with harsh words.

I groan. "Hello, Gally." Even his name is stupid. Gally? What kind of name is Gally? When I first learned his name I burst out laughing, and he glared at me so hard, if looks could kill...he sort of looked away and mumbled after, "Y/N is a stupid name too..." but honestly it was just pathetic.

He just stares at me for a minute or two before eating, still looking at me.

"What do you want?" I ask, my face starting to burn. He's just staring like a doofus and I know there's likely not even a reason for it. He's just doing it to get a reaction, I kind of hate myself for giving him one.

"Did you know that you have a resting bitch face?" He asks, putting on a fake smile and happy tone. I hate when he does that.

"Shut up, eyebrows. You don't get to make fun of appearances." To this, he looks outraged. He's always quick to anger, it's almost funny, he'll be making that chirpy voice when he's teasing me one minute and the next he starts yelling at me.

"HEY!" He stands abruptly and slams his hands down on the table, making me and everyone nearby jump. I can feel everyone's eyes on us. "AT LEAST I'M NOT A LITTLE BITCH WHO GETS AWAY WITH EVERYTHING! AT LEAST I DON'T WALK AROUND ACTING LIKE EVERYBODY LOVES ME!" His face is tomato-red, and he storms off, slamming the door on his way out. The cafeteria is quiet, you could hear a pin drop.

Donnie moves closer to me, his voice low. "What was that about?" He looks at me, waiting to answer. I don't. Gally gets mad very easily, but this was seemingly worse than other times. I don't know why. When I don't say anything Donnie sighs. "Why are you guys so hard on each other? Why don't you like him?"

"I just don't like him." I get up and walk out the door. I need to think. Why was he so much more mad today? I try and think back, we've insulted each other before, although...now that I think of it I don't think I've ever said something about appearances. I've never insulted the way he looks. Why would I? He is pretty good-looking, handsome, strong, with a good build. Not that I'm attracted to him or anything. He's just decent-looking by textbook definition. We may quarrel, but I'm not blind. So, his appearance must be a touchy subject, I must have struck a nerve. I know I don't like him in the slightest way, but I feel obligated to apologize to him. I don't know why, he's said some pretty cruel stuff to me. But still, I end up walking to his room and knocking on his door. He answers it glaring down at me.

"What?" His voice is cold, and his face is still red, presumably from the argument. He crosses his arms and looks away.

"I just wanted to... apologize if I crossed a line back there." He looks back at me in surprise.

"You're...apologising? We never apologize."

"I know, but you just seemed really mad this time and I just felt like I needed to say it. Why did you get so mad anyway?" I look at him waiting for an answer, it feels weird having a normal conversation with him. He doesn't say anything for a long time.

"I dunno." he shrugs. They way he says it, I just know he's lying.

"Be honest." I cross my arms and stare.

"I don't have to explain anything to you!" He goes to slam his door but I put my foot in the way, I'm surprised at how much it hurt.

"Just tell me!"

"No! Just FUCK OFF" He yells, his face burning.

I raise my voice, exasperated "JUST TELL ME WHY YOU GOT SO MAD!"

"BECAUSE I'M IN WITH LOVE YOU!" His eyes widen and he gets more red. I feel my face burn in return.

"What?" I ask, my voice a whisper. His shoulders sag and he looks down and away.

"I'm in love with you."

I stare for a long time. How could he be in love with me? We hate each other, don't we?

"I know you don't like me, but honestly I've always respected you, and I love how fired up I make you. I didn't realize it at first, but I was hopeless. And I guess when you said I was ugly I-"

"Hold on, I never said you were ugly. You're not." He looks up and I look him in the eyes, willing him to believe me.

"Well, when I thought that, I just got...upset. I guess I just hoped you'd like me back but...I mean you hate me, so-" Before he could finish his sentence, I'm not even thinking of it, I grab his shirt and pull his lips down onto mine. I didn't realize it, but I've wanted this. I've wanted him. And this...changes everything.

I slowly pull away, "I love you too..."

He smirks and puts his hands on my waist. "Are you flirting with me?"

[wearevillaneve]

Sandra Oh (Kinda Sorta) Finally Wins an Emmy!

It only took Sandra 19 years and 14 nominations before she got her first Emmy, but it was announced she won as a producer for the Hulu comedy, Quiz Lady. So...yay?

It's kind of bittersweet though, isn't it? Jodie Comer won for Killing Eve during the primetime show and for her individual performance. Sandra's "win" for Quiz Lady is for the movie itself, not for her acting in it. She wasn't even present when the announcement was made.

What this is like is when a film wins a Best Picture Oscar, but none at all for the directing and acting. It's nice, but a little hollow.

Technically, Sandra finally received an Emmy, but it is very much a shared award as part of a team, not as an individual like Jodie's. I would bet Sandra is pleased but hardly satisfied. Nor should she be.

She was nominated for playing Eve Polastri in 2018, 2019, 2020 and 2022. She lost to Claire Foy, Jodie, and twice to Zendaya. She was also nominated five times for Outstanding Supporting Actress in a Drama Series for Grey's Anatomy, and she lost twice in 2018 both to Comer and for Outstanding Guest Actress in a Comedy to Jane Lynch. It always surprises KE fans to learn it was Oh, not Comer, who was nominated for Outstanding Lead Actress in a Drama for all four seasons of Killing Eve. Oh has also broadened her resume to receive Emmy nominations as a comedic actress, as a host of an awards show, and as a producer on Killing Eve. In 2019, Oh was up for no less than four Emmy nominations in different categories and lost ALL four.

Long story made a little shorter, Sandra has waited a long time for an Emmy, and not to diminish the Quiz Lady win, because any Emmy has to be better than no Emmy at all. Right? Except for the fact, that Sandra did the work on Grey's Anatomy. She played Cristina Yang for only nine seasons of a show about to begin its 21st, yet remains its most popular character. Except for the fact, that Sandra was nominated not only for acting but producing Killing Eve. Except for the fact Sanda was the first Asian woman to host an Emmy and for her comedic work on Saturday Night Live, Quiz Lady, and even the lone season The Chair received. The thing I want Jodie stans or Ellen Pompeo stans or anybody who isn't a Sandra Oh stan is she is so good at what she does, she doesn't have to be the star or even the emerging star of a show to shine. She's short. She's small. She's not blonde. She's not built. She's not fitting the conventional Caucasian image of what is beautiful or what is sexy. That's because Sandra Oh's acting accomplishments, commitment to her craft, and untapped talent are given neither talent nor the credit she deserves or the accolades she has earned.

Sandra isn't always the best thing about any project she does, but she's never the worst. I believe Sandra is an actor other actors respect. Certainly more than all these dipshit award shoes who kept giving White actresses the glory until the Emmy decided Zendaya was the Person of Color most deserving of a victory. No shade to Zendaya, but Sandra has been grinding at this for DECADES. I'm happy she finally has one even if it's not for her acting abilities, but when the fuck IS her Emmy acting award coming?

Not for Grey's Anatomy. Not for Killing Eve. Not for Quiz Lady. Not for The Sympathizer. So what will it be for? When will Oh be recognized for the work she's put in and what she's done?

[batsplat]

so i’m kinda new to motogp, i started watching it from this season and your account has been very helpful. i have a question, i’ve seen a post on insta where they were comparing marc and pedro results from the first race to the fifth races (i think?) in their rookie year. and a lot of people in the comments where talking about the fact that you cannot compare their results because they’re two whole different situations. but are they? ‘cause at the start of the season everybody was calling pedro the next marquez and a lot of motogp legends were talking about how talented he’s. which i’m not entitled to discuss. but if you compare the results, i wouldn’t say pedro’s season is disappointing (because it’s still early and he has two podiums), but i think it’s pehraps underwhelming compared to marc’s. so what i’m trying to understand is why are their situations considered different and why some people kind of “discredit” marc rookie season when they compare it to acosta’s? (like i thought that winning a title in you rookie year was the most impressive thing you could do)

welcome to the sport, and that's really nice to hear!!

so, I did do my 'comparing between eras is impossible' thing here, but obviously this isn't particularly useful. I'll get over myself and give you a proper answer, but fwiw I still believe that direct parallels can only ever be of limited use. here's a few things to keep in mind when comparing the two:

factory vs satellite: factory teams will always have at least a little bit of an advantage over the satellite squads. even if it's not in equipment... it's also just about the amount of resources that are being mobilised to help you get your results, the experience of your team, etc etc. now, I put this first because I don't think this is a massive factor here. ktm's whole thing is that they want to essentially run four factory bikes, see the rebrand next year, and obviously they're very motivated to help pedro out. I'm sure he's getting a lot of backing - in terms of historical comparisons, it's a bit more valentino 2000 than it is casey 2006

bike quality: the honda in 2013 was the best bike on the grid. pedro's ktm is... well it's certainly not in the top four. after that, the pecking order does get a little tricky, but it's certainly not decisively clear of either the aprilias or the gp23's. we do know pedro basically has equal machinery to the other ktm's. now, those are the first riders he has to beat... and he's beating them! going into this year, binder was getting top three rider on the grid shouts and pretty much everyone thought he'd be outscoring acosta at least in the first year (not me tho <3). I think these acosta performances have sparked a bit of a debate over 'was the ktm better than we thought all along and the riders were just being overrated, or is acosta just that good'... makes it kinda easy to forget how people talked about binder last year. but crucially even people who rated pedro very highly generally didn't think he'd have the upper hand this soon. pedro is p5 in the standings (behind three gp24's and marc marquez), versus the other ktm's at p7, p...16? jesus. and p17. marc's teammate in 2013 was p3. now, yes, nobody is saying binder is as good as dani pedrosa and he's been having a very rocky season - but at least some of binder's issues seem to be bike-related... definitely a bike that seems to have some serious gremlins and pedro needs to be credited for mitigating those. also, this is an era in which the bikes are more complicated than ever and generally considered to be even trickier to adapt to than in times past, which makes pedro's immediate consistent pace pretty much everywhere, every session particularly noteworthy

spread of field: related to the previous point - not only is pedro's bike worse, but the field as a whole is more competitive. in 2013, if you weren't on one of four bikes, it was going to be really hard for you to fight for wins. in 2024, there are a lot of bikes capable of fighting for wins, and you see that in how mixed up the order is race to race. it's just a different era... from around 2007 to 2015, there was a clear disparity between a few bikes and the rest, enabled both through technical regulations and other external factors (e.g. the impact of the financial crisis and smaller teams struggling as a result). the average level of the field is also higher nowadays, there's a lot of very strong riders - which means if you're having a slightly rougher weekend, your floor is considerably lower and you will have to accept you might not be in the podium fight at all. the margins are smaller now in both qualifying and in races... small swings of performance in both bike and rider can have way more dramatic repercussions

the eye test: for obvious reasons this one's a bit harder to put words to. but... pedro just passes it, with flying colours. it's the way he throws himself around on the bike, the obscene amounts of lean angle, the ridiculously late braking and the way he somehow still gets the bike turned, how he keeps taking lines that nobody else is taking, how it's allowing him to fight his way through the field (notoriously tough in motogp these days)... in the same way in which marc in 2013 was clearly just riding differently to all the other riders that preceded him, you see this stuff with pedro, you see he's the next step. you can tell he's just got that special something that allows him to do stuff with his bike that nobody else can. also, this isn't quite the same as rating his rookie season, but obviously everyone already knew what a hyped prospect pedro was headed into this year. he hasn't shown any sign whatsoever of succumbing to the hype/pressure and letting it get to him, which is also a great sign for the future

how good his results are: so, obviously he hasn't won a race yet - even though he's now secured multiple podiums. but again, unlike with marc''s 2013 there is no single weekend in which the ktm has been the strongest bike. sometimes it's been a bit closer and sometimes it's a little further away... yes, pedro has started making a couple of mistakes, but also that may just be the result of putting the bike in places it doesn't really belong. marc only had one race crash in the rookie season, but he also knew he couldn't afford to make mistakes - he was in the title fight. pedro is playing around with a worse bike and if he thinks he has the pace to win, it makes sense for him to just push that little bit extra, come what may. it's now been quite a few weekends since pedro hasn't decisively been the best ktm on pace - and, really, what more can you ask for? unless binder's suddenly forgotten how to ride a bike, it's reasonably likely that the ktm is at least a little worse than it was last year, which makes these results even more impressive

the rookie title question: yes, a rookie title is uniquely impressive! it's a particularly tricky situation to deal with... marc really had to be operating on a very high very consistent level that entire year, and in no way should it be diminished what kind of performances he had to put in week to week to claim that title. (though, of course, marc did get a little bit lucky that year, in particular with his rivals' injuries.) the thing is, we'll never know if pedro would manage the pressures and travails and ebbs and flows of a title fight in his rookie season as well as marc did... because he hasn't had the opportunity to fight for it. we just don't know! which makes it a bit hard to penalise pedro for not being able to match that... you just have to find a happy middle ground where you acknowledge how impressive marc's title was, while also allowing that on pure performance pedro might be shaping up as every bit as impressive

marc is very marmite in most online motogp fan spaces, whether those detractors are partisan valentino fans or think he's too aggressive for their tastes or don't particularly fondly remember his dominance or just don't like his vibe... so I'm sure there's plenty of people on instagram who would like to discredit him!! but I don't think calling pedro's rookie season comparable should in any way be used to discredit marc - the only point is that if you look at his current performances, it's completely plausible to believe he can match/surpass marc in the future. what he's doing right now is really impressive! it's not quite the same headline numbers, but there's weekends where he's quite plausibly on. like. the joint 12th best bike or something. so it really is all very tight and he is doing very well! but also you can't compare eras and all of these comparisons easily break down and sometimes you can just treat two things as separately impressive without attempting to definitively determine which is 'better', especially in motorsports where so much isn't determined by the actual athlete themselves and instead by factors they have zero control over

[spade-riddles]

I agree this situation is unpredictable, and as an old hand at this, I feel like you do. This could go either way. But one thing that is clear - and of some interest - to me is that Taylor is really throwing Joe under the bus here.

That decision alone gives credence to the idea of him as the 🎃 recipe thief. How many times did we here in the fandom say Toe seemed like a nice guy overall? That he was the best of all the beards? That message about people pretending to be nice is certainly one I'm looking at in a different light, given the actions of the last few days. It's impossible to know how pre-planned the decision to strike at Deuxmoi could have been - but the release of You're Losing Me, "Sweet Nothing was about Paul and Linda", and Jack poking holes in the Toe narrative, all feel very much orchestrated.

The normie interpretation I'm seeing, IRL, is that Toe were on the rocks for a long time because Joe didn't value Taylor's emotional needs. People are connecting "I wouldn't marry me either" with the "pain and trauma" Tree says the marriage rumors caused, and turning on Joe hard. MH and TK are being interpreted as rebound relationships. Moving too fast and being too public out of nowhere. Fans have turned on Joe (which I think was the intention) but pushing these stunts so hard in the aftermath of the "break up" has made it look like Taylor is still hung up on him, and trying to make him jealous. Which I don't think was the intention.

The casual fans I know had mostly forgotten about Joe until the events of the last few days. All this drama has thrust him into the spotlight again in their minds. I know some in the fandom are saying Taylor did this to erase Toe and give an upcoming TK "engagement" more legitimacy - but if that is the plan, I think it's backfiring. Everyone and their mother is going to believe she's rushing into an engagement to make him jealous. It only adds to Joe's perceived importance in her story - and again, I'm not sure that was the plan.

If it was me, I would tone down the Travlor and give people something else to talk about. Now would be the perfect time to poke some holes in the feud narrative, by having Jack or Blake or someone post some unseen Kaylor images. That maybe hint the pretender wasn't the real muse for Reputation. Hit him where it hurts by stripping away his connection to the album that made Swifties so besotted with him. They're already reevaluating their perceptions. Why not blow their minds a little further? We already have one perfectly meme-able image of our understudy side-eying the real muse, just waiting to go viral, if Tree wants to pull that trigger 😘

(By the way, if Joe is the recipe thief, it's been staring us in the face all along. The recipes = the songs. We witnessed that particular theft happen in front of our eyes with his "producing credits" and the Grammys speech. We even speculated at the time that it was what his team demanded as the price of sticking around during the pandemic, when he lost work and stunting opportunities were limited. And speculated again that he'd jumped ship early before the Eras Tour began. Maybe we should have gone with our gut and teased out those suspicions a little further.)

Just some thoughts, percolating as we await the next move.

[bokettochild]

I find myself in a conundrum

I've been working at a clothing store for over a year now. I was hired as part time but tend to work somewhat full time hours (roughly 35-40 hour weeks). I'm getting paid just short of $12 an hour and most of the work I do is very physical. There's a lot of folding clothes but I also work a lot with our shipment team.

When new stock arrives I count the boxes, wait for the manager to sign off on the delivery, and then it's my job to move all 200+ boxes from the delivery zone to the unpacking zone sorting them by department as I go. I then help to open the boxes either starting day of arrival or at 6 am the next day. I frequently help with moving large fixtures in the store, cleaning, and processing outgoing orders, as well as the standard upkeep of the store and working register. In short, I've picked up how to do anything that isn't a manager's duties.

But I'm barely saving anything for school.

My last job was for almost $11 an hour, and I would sit in a kid's jewelry store all day waiting for customers to come in. I still worked with reorganizing the store (often alone), processing incoming stock (receiving/unpacking/placing) and I still kept the store in order and cleaned, as well as piercing ears on weekends (It was a Claire's so yeah) and while the pay was a dollar shorter, I spent a good portion of my time at work writing fics because it was so darn slow! And I had manager approval to do that!

Thing is, they're hiring again at my old job, and offering $14 an hour to do the same job I used to do. Management has changed, so I don't know if it's as lax as when I worked there, and they're only looking for part time workers, but I'm technically part time now.

My issue is that I actually enjoy most of my work currently, and my coworkers and boss are all really great! The only issue is the pay, otherwise I wouldn't want to leave. But, I have bills to pay and keep having to dip into my college savings, so I really do need another job. The circumstances at Claire's weren't great, but we were also between managers and I hear it's really improved (from the current staff). It still has downsides, of course, but up-selling and piercing is less stress inducing then having to get credit cards every day in order to maintain standing (which I fail at). Talking down panicking kids is easier than de-escalating an Karen, and often involves the parent's help. It was generally a pretty chill job before, and I'm genuinely considering going back, as long as I can assure that I can get at least 30 hours a week. Besides that, I know they never open till 10 and they close by 7, so I wouldn't have any really early hours, I know how they operate, and I have previous experience so I might be able to land the job with ease (not that I didn't the first time).

I don't know!

On one hand, I have great co-workers and managers, I enjoy most of what I do and I'm assured plenty of hours on most weeks, so I'm averaging at least $1,000 a month. On the other hand, working the same number of hours at my old work place would bring me $1,200 instead, on average, and make things less tight (I could afford health insurance!). The issue is though that I won't be assured the great managers or co-workers I have, or a minimum of hours.

I think I might send in an application all the same though, get an interview, and see where things lay over there and what it would look like if I did, even if I didn't decide I wanted the job. It'd certainly be less physically intensive! Which is great because my knees keep giving out on me these days.

Honestly though, I hate uncertainties and having to change things, but this is a needed change. I need a new job, the only question is, is this really the best I could do?

[skylertheminish]

Even more inane dog water writing! Please read tags for credit... can't wait to find typos and awful grammar later on lol.

A rumor and a bad guy.

The past few days had been awful. Case after case had been springing up and all with concerning records. Considering staff had rescues to take care of after hours, such as myself, this increase of workload was worrying indication of something sinister. While there was no evidence to confirm the suspicions of my boss. There was plenty speculation among staff that an organisation was the cause.

Galar has a Team for sure. But this wasn't Team Yell's kind of thing. And sure they were a headache to deal with, sinister they were not...or cruel for that matter! And it certainly wasn't Team Rocket. They got disbanded...right?

I finished off the last bit of work I could before clocking off. My bones cracking as I rose from my chair. Heading down the hallway I met up with Kate.

"Ya look awful. Like something dead warmed up" she commented while handing me a cup of tea, rather something passing itself off as tea. Don't know what the centre got for drinks but I'd wish they'd spend a little more on tea that had greater strength than 3 tea leaves.

"Aye" I sighed along with my thanks. Taking a sip of the weak tea water tea. Weak but welcoming.

"So have ya heard?"

"Hm? Heard what?" I asked before taking another sip.

"About the rumor going about. Thought you'd of all people would know" she gave a rather confused look at me.

"If its anything about whom is behind all these new cases then I have an idea or two. But anything outside of that I dunno. Been drowning in work."

This for some reason just prompted her to give a small smile. Which only confused me even more. She clearly knew something about this rumor.

"Well I've got something for ya to think about on the drive back home! Not exactly a change of scene, but I'm sure it will catch your interest to say the least."

"Aight what's the word then?"

As per usual for these rumors. It started off with someone who knew a relative of someone else with a gammy leg or whatever. Although in this case it was true. A member of staff has a relative who fits the description, and they were the source of the rumor. Kate was on the money about it catching my interest too.

"A missing Ceruledge you say?"

"Aye. Kinda odd we'd hear about this while you have your wee ones don't 'cha think?"

"I think it's just a coincidence. Odd for sure, but nothing more than that" I finished the tea "I'd best head off before traffic gets worse. Cheers for the tea Kate!"

"Take care!" I heard her say as I made my way to collect the Ceruledge infant and her brother from the daycare in the centre. Thankfully the drive back home was calm with only moderate traffic. Perfect for mulling things over! Kate knew full well that rumor regarding the percular Ceruledge would hold my interest, and get my mind somewhat off the recent cases. The person who rescued the pokemon from the lake was set on finding out more about it and its trainer. Knowing there was someone going out of their way for this Ceruledge cheered me up somewhat.

The drive home almost flew by before I knew it. If not for the few spells of traffic it certainly would have! Arriving back home, I went to preparing my Pokemon their dinner before loading a game to play and relax and distract myself from the past few awful days.

A good hour or so had passed. And Ceru decided she wanted to watch me play the game by climbing up onto my lap. She seemed to enjoy what was being played on the tv. Or at the very least was interested. But her response to a particular npc caught me off guard.

"Rrrrrr"

Her growling prompted a chuckle from my tired self. I knew this character she was growling at. It was the main bad guy currently disguised as a rotund, joyful mayor. "You don't like that man?"

"Rrrrr!" Hissss!

Oh she really didn't like the funny round man on the tv! And her hissing got me into a fit of chuckles. "Oh we don't like that man huh?" I commented while giving Ceru pats in an attempt to calm her.

"Don't worry lass. He is the bad guy and we won't let him win!"

Ceru crossed her arms and gave a nod. This video game character wasn't going to win. Not on her watch!

The past few days had been awful. But seeing Ceru look so determined, and hearing her adorable growls cheered me up and reminded me why I do what I do. They're worth fighting for.

[a-world-with0ut-dr34ms]

High and Dry

From Control - Full Story in Progress on AO3!

Soap x Reader x Ghost

Summary: You haven't talked to Soap much since you've known him, much less alone. Though the thought didn't intimidate you. Unlike Ghost or even Graves, Soap hasn't tried to put on any acts with you. In the most endearing way possible, Soap was just… Soap.

Tags: TW/Implied PTSD, Pre-Canon, Angst, Slow Burn, Fluff, Romance, Flirting, Banter, No smut (sorry), almost like an awkward three-way café date, kind of reads like an OC a little.

Word Count: 4.4k

A/N: I wanted to write something cute for Soap because I've been typing Ghost x Reader x Graves (Which is certainly not over with), but I love creating new ways for drama to seep in, and Soap's right there looking fine as hell so... I tried to write it like a cutesy fluff romance. Enjoy!

Masterlist

Soap was the first to arrive at the café that night.

He lingered about on the sidewalk alongside the city street, having walked here alone. The café hadn't been as far away as he'd thought originally, and the walk itself wasn't anything some headphones and music couldn't make breezy. Though the late summer night grows colder the longer he stands around waiting for you and Ghost to arrive.

Hopefully he hasn't been stood up again. It seems to happen a lot these days.

Everyone has their excuses whenever it happens too. It usually went along the lines of "I'm too tired" or "something came up". Whatever worked for the moment.

Soap never held it against his team when the plans would fall through though. People all have lives of their own; he understands that better than many give him credit for. And tomorrow's always there, it wasn't like he'd be away from the team for long. Not when he's worked as hard as he did just to be a part of it.

Still, he'd been hoping tonight wouldn't be another dud. He was really looking forward to actually having a second chance to talk with you.

The last time he had the opportunity to get to know you, he'd gotten black out drunk instead; Soap was still kicking himself in the ass for that one. But he didn't plan on making that same mistake again. No, this time he's ready.

Another cold breeze wisp the back of his neck, raising goosebumps on his skin. He hugs his arms together and lets out a shivery sigh, as he leans against one of the streetlights, his eyes diverting back and forth between the passing cars and those who'd walk by him on the sidewalk. All while the minutes crawl, the city ambience rumbling around him. It wasn't that late at night, yet the city bustled with life.

Laughter and boisterous voices erupt suddenly. The café doors swing open again, with its familiar bell chiming above. It allows for the interior's warmth to wash over the Sergeant, the smell of freshly made coffee and baked goods blowing out just before the door shuts. It sings to the man, who now desperately looks around himself for any sign of his companions.

The sound of distant car horns and aggressive chatter pull at his attention once more. He can't help but sigh to himself in marvel, swearing beneath his breath. "Shite..."

It's all very big, this city he's found himself in; his hometown in Scotland felt small in comparison. 

There was just so much here -- it was big and loud and dirty and busy, just like some old backdrop in a movie. With his half of the Task Force on stand-by at their current base, he was already mapping out places he wanted to visit, assuming there's enough time to venture before getting sent out again. He hopes so.

It's not often Soap finds himself in the States, but the atmosphere never ceases to enamor him. The others would say that's rather easy to do though, given the Sergeant's attention span and spontaneous nature outside of combat, which in that case Soap would have to agree.

He always was an easy man to please.

"Soap?"

That soothing, familiar voice of yours turns his head without hesitation, as he catches you walking towards him down the sidewalk. And as easily pleased and enamored Soap always found himself, you watch the stars shine in his eyes the moment they finally set sight on you.

You cleaned yourself up since the last time he saw you a few hours ago, having done your hair and put on something more suitable for the café setting. You decided to forgo your makeup for tonight as well. Your face sat rather worn, making the natural look of you that much more comfortable to be around, your eyes inviting him forward.

Soap had to keep himself from gawking.

He greets you, "There she is!"

You jokingly strut your way over and hold your arms out to present yourself. Soap must have taken the gesture as you trying to initiate a hug, in which he needed little convincing to reciprocate. A large smile grows on his face and two giant steps later he's in front of you, his arms wrapping around like a heated blanket.

The hug made you jolt at first, catching you off guard. The first thing you register is his scent, not a cologne or shampoo, but not bad either. It's very... him. Easy to take in. Before long you've let the warmth of his large arms and frame lull you into him, taking the cold night air away with his touch. 

You wrap your arms around him and hug back, laughing into his shoulder. "Aw," you start to tease. "I wasn't gone that long."

Soap lets you go, though he remains close. "You certainly got dolled up," he comments, taking the opportunity to take a better look at you beneath the streetlight.

"Oh you know," you shrug at his comment, your tone sarcastic. "I couldn't resist. You'll quickly learn I secretly crave being the center of attention."

Soap lets out a sharp exhale at your joke, chuckling to himself. He then almost hesitates before speaking again, "Well, you look lovely tonight."

You cock your head in amusement, your eyes growing pleasantly wide. "Why thank you."

Despite his sudden shyness, Soap certainly makes sure to look at you like he isn't. Having this natural gumption about him. He gives you a charming smile. "You're welcome."

You look Soap up and down and start to lean on your leg, as you cross your arms. "Hm," you say. "Gym attire still?"

Oh yeah. His outfit. He'd changed before coming here, sort of. Sure the man was still in his gym clothes, but Soap figured a hoodie would be enough, the black pullover he'd found fitting somewhat snug on him. However the longer he waits, the more he wishes he'd gone ahead and put something else on.

"Hey," Soap merely shrugs. "It's cozy."

You giggle. "I imagine."

The two of you enter into the café side by side, quickly skimming for a place to sit as you shared idle chatter together.

The café was a small, quaint little spot, some mix between a coffee shop and a bar, with dark wood flooring and interior. Soft music plays in the background, just barely humming over the crowd. And the smell, it had Soap's stomach grumbling the moment he took his first step in.

You find a table somewhere off near a corner of the main area, beside a misty window and candle lights, with just enough chairs for your impending party. For now however, it would only seat you two.

You and Soap sit across from each other. You don't notice the lack of legroom beneath the table until you feel yourself accidently bump against the man. Your ankle rubs against his leg, brushing faintly before you both awkwardly shift yourselves into place, pretending to ignore it. Though you both give each other a goofy look after.

"This place is quite adorable," Soap comments suddenly.

"Right?" You smile. "It looked nice on Google and didn't have completely shitty reviews, so I figured we could give it a try."

Soap chuckles to himself, looking around more and really taking in the scenery. The place is done up nicely with its candles and stringed lighting carefully placed, the plants and decorations giving the space a very cozy vibe.

It's just the two of you right now, tucked away at some candlelit table only a few feet apart. Alone.

"Feels romantic."

Your eyes widen a little, but you don't appear flustered. In fact, the comment only seems to further intrigue you. The small reaction is enough to bring a playful smile out of Soap. "Ya know," he teases. "If you wanted to ask me out on a date, you could have just said so."

You smile and scoff.

"Too much?" Soap asks.

"Mm." You give him a sultry look, humming to yourself and leaving the man in suspense. He starts to lean in curiously, his smile never leaving, and his gaze never faltering. Soap's piqued expression tickles you. "It's cute how you look at me like that."

Ah, he thinks to himself. That doesn't quite answer his question, but it definitely tells him something. Something he finds himself also intrigued by.

"It's cute how it makes you smile."

Now he's gone and made you blush, the image getting a little rise out of Soap, who takes that as a small victory.

"Any word on Ghost?" you ask him suddenly.

Oh right. Soap had to remember this was indeed not a date. He shakes his head, "He said he'd be here though."

"Oh well," you wave your hand jokingly. "I'm sure we can handle ourselves in the meantime. Keep each other company."

Soap smiles innocently. "Aye."

The conversation between you went peacefully. Flowingly even. It seems this chatty side came to you when work wasn't the topic of discussion.

You talked a lot about whatever caught your mind, sometimes it was an old story, other times it was just an opinion about a TV show you'd watched. But you talked. And Soap listened happily, having fun hearing all the ways you used your words and expressed what was on your mind. And when he talked, you gave him the same amount of eager attention.

You were a lot more chatty than he'd originally thought you were; which was saying a lot, as you were already pretty talkative. Soap's watched you speak in riddles with Ghost in the past, but with him, you seemed more interested in just being yourself.

And honestly, he was just getting lost in you in general. 

The entire aura you had was addicting to interact with. Your eyes bounced around animated-like when you talked about something you were more passionate about. You licked your lip a lot when listening to him, and always nodded, letting him know in smallest of gestures that you were indeed invested.

As the minutes fly by, Soap thinks to himself. This is really nice.

Had Ghost not finally arrived, Soap's sure he would have talked to you all night like this.

Ghost stepped into the café, turning a few heads his way just from his presence alone. As usual, he opted for something dark and comfortable to wear for the occasion. And as usual, he wore his skull balaclava.

The minute Ghost enters your peripheral, your face gleams with excitement, as you struggle to bottle up a cocky smirk. It was a lot different than how you had looked at Soap when you saw him. It piques his curiosity. Naturally, this doesn't intimidate the Sergeant one bit. He didn't get here being uncompetitive after all.

"You're late, lieutenant," you say to him.

Ghost looms over the table for a moment, growing more comfortable in the spot you two had chosen, as it wasn't as close to everyone in the building. "I had business to attend to," he says cryptically.

"Business?" Soap raises an eyebrow. "This late? What sort of business?"

"That's need-to-know, Sergeant."

...

Once Ghost was seated, Soap watched your attention shift slowly from him to the lieutenant, your jokes and jabs leaning towards Ghost now more so by every comment. Though you do what you can to share the attention, as did Soap, all while Ghost sat passively by, giving his same tired responses to the both of you.

After some time, the conversation starts to flow naturally between you three. Once a few kinks were worked out. You and Soap do most of the talking for Ghost, who had been more than happy with listening and responding as prompted. While his demeanor said otherwise, somewhere in him he was happy his aloofness hadn't seemed to rub either of you the wrong way.

Eventually you two somehow "convince" Ghost to go and order the drinks for all of you, giving him a chance to break away from all the extraverted energy exuding in the air. He practically jumps at the opportunity, leaving you alone with the Sergeant again. Just as Soap had unknowingly been hoping for too. 

You didn't last long with his smiling and eyeing you before you were doing the same.

"So, do you always go by your callsigns outside of work, or can I use your real name as well?" You lean forward on the coffee table with intrigue, your chin rested in your palm, as a smirk pulls at your lips. "Before I start making up pet names that is."

"Pet names?" Soap lets out a sharp laugh, the flicker of the fancy candlelights twinkling in his light blue eyes. He then grows sly, resting his arms on the table across from you. He leans in a little. "What kind of pet names?"

You bite your lip a little and look over his shoulder at the other patrons. "Only the most fitting kind," you say coyly.

"Too shy to share now, are we?" Soap asks.

"Maybe I'd rather just say your name instead."

The thought of you letting his real name roll from the tip of your tongue seems to bubble something hot inside the Scotsman, which manifests itself into a shy little laugh. For such a naturally talented, and deadly man, he could be rather bashful.

"If you want to say my name, you only have to ask me," he says, his voice low and gravelly now. "Nicely, of course."

"Soap." In the nicest voice you can muster, you ask, "Can I call you by your name?"

"Why yes you may."

"John, right?" you ask. "That's the name on your files, if I remember correctly."

There's a spark in his blue eyes after you say it, almost like he's been waiting to hear what it sounded like in your voice, wrapped in the allure of your words.

"Aye," he smiles. "That's right."

"Jooohhn," you sound his name out a little more, letting it familiarize itself in your mouth. It makes the air get caught in his throat. You smirk. "I guess you look like a John."

"What gave it away?"

"Mmm," you place a finger to your lip and think to yourself, letting your eyes look him up and down. He watches you detail the veins in his forearm, the bulk of his arms, the shape of his stubbled jaw and the red blush that formed at the corners of his ears. "Your body."

"My body?"

"Yeah," you confirm. "Your body. I'd say you're built like a "John". Big arms, big smile, strong, a little stocky -- I'd say that's very "John" like of you."

Soap laughs again. He laughs a lot, you've found. It was rather infectious; you could hardly stop yourself from reciprocating it. Nor did you want to.

"Don't forget handsome," he adds in.

"Right," you say. "Also smart."

"And charming," he smirks.

"And overconfident," you tease.

"That's not a bad thing."

"I agree," your gaze lowers a little. "I do like my men a bit cocky."

"Oh?" Soap leans on his arms now. He hasn't taken his eyes from you since you've started this conversation. "I'm yours so soon then?"

You rest your chin back on your hand and lean forward some more, playfully being seductive. "Is that a bad thing, John?"

You see the blush begin to pool into the man's cheeks, as he lets out a shy chuckle. However, despite the blushing, he grins, never breaking eye contact. "I wouldn't complain."

Your hands both rest on the table, only a few inches away from one another. You're not exactly sure what convinces you to do it -- maybe knowing that he was the only man around you that would allow for it -- you extend a finger and gently let it graze the edge of his palm, stealing a warm touch. A simple, gentle poke.

Soap's jaw tenses at the sensation, though not because he didn't like it. His eyes drop down, watching your hand move stealthy. Your finger retreats as quickly as it had reach out to him. You look off into the room again, purposefully acting as though you hadn't noticed your hands touch.

You don't see his smile, but you do feel his hand gently graze yours a few seconds later, lingering. They're quite warm, both firm and gentle all at once. Your hand subliminally chases his skin at the slightest motion, and before long the tips of your fingers hover over his again.

"Is this the part where you tell me your name now?" he asks. "As much as I like Canary."

That's when Ghost decides to come back with those drinks. You both quickly straighten up, attempting to bring back your more casual demeanor. 

"I may have spooked the barista," Ghost says, before taking a seat and passing you both your orders.

Soap's goldfish attention span carries his gaze from you to the lieutenant. Sarcastically, he goes, "I wonder why."

"You'd think she saw a ghost," the lieutenant quipped. Ghost takes a look at the both of you, seeing the coy expression on your faces and the blush on both your cheeks. It raises a brow from him, beneath his mask. "Am I interrupting?"

"Canary was just about to tell me her name," Soap looks back over at you, not letting you get off the hook just yet.

"Ah," Ghost says.

"You're not curious L.T.?"

"...I already told him actually," you laugh awkwardly. 

Soap gasps. "You did?"

"It was a little bit ago actually," you say.

"And ye didn't tell me?" His Scottish accent swirled the words of from his lips, as you could hear the heartbreak in his voice. "Can I know too then?"

"I don't know," you tease. "Maybe I might keep it a secret now. Keep you guessing."

"Wha'?" He scoffs.

"It takes a little more than asking me nicely to get my name, Sergeant. Though I appreciate you telling me yours."

"You're a cruel lady, Canary."

"Tell you what," you get a mischievous look on your face suddenly, one that pauses Soap patiently. "I'll tell you my name," you bring your eyes to Ghost, who sits quietly at the table with his drink (which was already half gone despite having just seated himself). "If Ghost tells me his name first."

"His name wasn't in the same files?" Soap asks.

You shake your head. Most of Ghost's files were blacked out and classified, though his reputation proceeds him clearly. Meanwhile, Soap's files couldn't be any more of a stark difference in comparison. 

The man's files read like a novel of high praises and decorations. A 22 Regiment member at only 18 years old, with some of the highest scores on record, and the youngest to ever pass the selection into the SAS too. There are whole pages spent going into detail on everything he specialized in; he might joke around about his callsign, but even the name Soap carries some weight to it.

You really felt lucky he even cared to know your name at all.

Soap looks over at Ghost pleadingly, though he already knows what to expect. Ghost keeps his eyes closed nonchalantly, holding his drink close to his chest.

He pouts at his superior. "L.T.?"

"You're on your own, Johnny."

Soap bows his head in defeat as you laugh, standing from the table with your drink. You excuse yourself for the moment, leaving the men to themselves.

As you walk away, Soap watches you go, his eyes dropping from the back of your head to the lower half of your body. He sees the bounce in your step and the sway of your hips move before you vanish behind the crowd of other patrons.

"Don't stare too long Johnny," Ghost's voice cuts in suddenly. Soap nearly jumps when he looks back over and sees Ghost staring dead at him. The shock on Soap's face only makes Ghost shake his head disapprovingly. "Might burn a hole in 'er back."

The Sergeant smiles to himself. "I can't help it," he says. "I mean shite... What a bonnie, aye?"

Ghost gives Soap a deadpan stare. "A what?"

"Oh," Soap clears his throat. "She's cute."

Cute? Cute ? From the way Soap's whole demeanor lit up the moment he saw her, Ghost could have guessed as much. However, he hadn't expected the Sergeant's words to make Ghost feel so... odd about it. Mulling over it in fact.

Ghost looks across the café, watching you approach the halls to the restrooms, just out of range of the men's conversation. He imagines this would be a little awkward if you heard them talking.

"Keep your head on straight, Sergeant," Ghost states. "We aren't off work just yet."

"Aye, I know sir," Soap sighs. "But this is nice too, no? Havin' a break every now and again."

"You shouldn't drop your guard so easily," Ghost chides. "Especially around strangers."

"She's not that much of a stranger," said Soap.

"No," Ghost's eyes unconsciously roam the room, droopy with exhaustion. Indeed you didn't feel quite like a stranger, least of all to Ghost. "But she's not us."

"I guess you're right..." Soap is quiet for a moment, and then a thought passes his head. He pouts at the lieutenant all grumpy like. "Though that's funny comin' from ye, seein' you clearly had a chat when no one was around."

Ghost groans to himself, taking his eyes away from the Sergeant. He hadn't mentioned anything about that night with you to anyone, having just kept the whole event locked away in his mind. It's been a struggle enough just doing that.

"I just drove her home the one time," Ghost sighs. "No need to work yourself up, mate."

"Right, from that other night," Soap reminisces. "I was out for damn near most of it. Though I heard there was a fight."

"Don't ask me about it," Ghost says. "She didn't say much, and I didn't ask for an elaboration."

"Or maybe you're just hiding all the juicy bits," Soap starts to poke.

"No one likes a gossip, Johnny."

"Fair enough," Soap sighs.

"I find her being here odd," Ghost comments suddenly. "Why transfer her here with us? Why now?"

"It is a bit strange..." Soap admits. "I'm sure it's not anything she can help. Orders and all."

"Good orders, or bad ones?"

"I doubt they're bad," Soap sighs. He then gets this quizzical look about him, as he nudges at the lieutenant suddenly. "You think they sent her to spy on us?"

Ghost's eyes search for you in the café again, still finding you standing off to yourself near the back. Frozen. It's rather peculiar now, it makes the lieutenant's brow furrow.

"My gut's tellin' me somethin's off."

"Your gut says that a lot," Soap jokes.

"It's kept me alive this long."

"And alone."

Ghost pauses at Soap's comment, the words sticking to him. He opens his mouth to say the first thought that comes to his mind, how being alone suits him just fine. But then he pauses, letting that sentence sink back down into his throat. Pretty soon too many seconds have crawled by, and instead Ghost settles for silence instead.

Soap comments no further, giving Ghost enough time to look over and see you still standing where he last saw you. Frozen still.

This time Ghost excuses himself, as he makes his way towards you, if not just to make sure you were doing OK.

By the time Ghost nears, he finds you standing off a ways in the café, just teetering at the start of some small, narrow corridor towards the building's restroom and backrooms. The lights are off in the hall, the glow of the main seating area cutting off sharply against the archway of the hall. The corridor stretches endlessly into its own darkness.

You stare deep into the hallway, frozen, eyes wide, and contrite. Your drink is clasped so tightly in your hands that the plastic bends unnaturally in your shaky grip. And the other patrons glide by, chatting idly, ignoring you, the world continuing on all around, as the store's music drowned out the sounds of your heavy breathing.

A fear of some sort has overtaken you. Ghost almost thought that fear had manifested itself into someone standing down at the end of the hall; the two of you deadlocked in a glare. He keeps his distance when he approaches you, not to have his presence disturb you just yet. Wanting to see what it was you saw.

Ghost looms a few feet away, the shadow of his large figure barely meeting your peripherals. Your back stays turned to him, completely unaware of his large figure behind you. He feels the tension riveting from you the closer he inches forward.

He looks down this hall that's captured your gaze, expecting to see the face of the stranger that's stopped you so abruptly. Yet when his dark irises trail along to where your gaze stops, he's met with the cold ending of an empty hallway. Not a soul in sight.

And yet you stand here, peering in. Afraid. No longer here in this moment.

Immediately, he recognizes what it is that is happening.

Ghost rest his hand on your shoulder, carefully. A small nudge that should knock you out of this trance this hallway has taken you down. Something tells him, you'd appreciate the distraction and a change of scenery. However, the man's touch against your arms does anything but calmly bring you back.

The minute his cool fingers glide against the fabric of your clothed covered shoulder, his touch sends a thunderbolt through you. Your entire body tenses and you yelp, your drink falling from your hands and crashing onto the tiled flooring, spilling everywhere.

Ghost takes a step back, feeling the eyes of the other patrons looking your way. Their stares seem to bother you most of all.

"Shit," you look around, searching for anything you could use to clean the mess you'd suddenly created. "I'm sorry..."

Eventually one of the workers walks from around the counter with a mop and a bucket, their trained smiles already ushering both you and Ghost away from the spill so they could clean the mess. The store settled back to itself rather quickly, allowing for you to not feel as trapped in by everyone and everything.

You can't seem to lift your gaze from the floor, ashamed by your sudden behavior. You spare Ghost no words, and the man can't seem to find words suitable enough to spare to you in return. All you're left with is the unspoken tension and familiar darkness swirling about.

Your head sags, and you speak nearly at a whisper now. "...I need to get out of here."

Before Ghost can reply, you zip past him in a shameful flurry, making a beeline for the exit. You run into Soap on your way out. However, his joyous smile and matching words did little to stop you from walking out the door.

...Chapter Sixteen Here!

[hinatastinygiant]

8 | Lady Emma Hamilton

Pairing: Ominis Gaunt x Fem!Reader

Serpents and Roses

The following afternoon, you walk into your brother's class with a grin on your face. You take a seat next to Luna, who leans over and whispers, "Where were you yesterday? We missed you."

"Oh, um, I went out," you say quietly, knowing it would be hard to explain where you had gone.

"Oh yeah?" she grins. "Anyone interesting?" she asks, just as your brother looks up from his desk and scans the room.

"No," you shake your head and do the same, only for your eyes to fall on Ominis and Sebastian taking their seats across from you and Luna. Your heart drops to see Sebastian glaring daggers in your direction.

"Y/N," your brother calls out. "Despite being a muggle, I do hope you'll pay attention to the lesson today. Or perhaps, would you prefer to take a trip to my office?"

"Sorry, no," you say, feeling your cheeks grow warm as everyone turns their gaze to you.

"Very good. Now, as I was saying, open your books to page 108. There's a story there I'd like to discuss," he announces.

You look over at Luna who already has her book open and out on the correct page. Just how long were you staring off for?

Once everyone has turned to the right page, James begins to read aloud, "The lightbulb was invented in 1890 by Thomas Edison. This allowed humans to have electricity running through their homes, which led to more and more technological advancements. One such invention is the telephone, which was created in 1876 by Alexander Graham Bell..."

You can feel yourself about to fall asleep as your brother's monotonous tone lulls you into a daze.

"Y/N?" James' voice suddenly calls out to you.

"Yeah?" you answer, jolting upright and wiping away a bit of drool.

"Do you know anything about this story?" he asks, causing a few students to chuckle.

"Yes," you answer, trying to remember what he'd just read.

"Can you tell me what happened in 1890, please?"

"Um, yeah," you nod, looking at your textbook.

"Take your time," he smiles.

You scan the page, trying to find the answer. Finally, you see it, "In 1890, Thomas Edison and his team perfected the electric light bulb..."

"Very good," James nods. "Five points for Ravenclaw."

"What?!" you hear a Gryffindor in the back yell. "How the hell is that fair? You can't just give her points for saying something we already learned!"

"Mr. Prewett, I believe you should mind your own business," James frowns. "Now, if you have nothing else to add, please keep quiet. Perhaps if you focused more on the subject, instead of making a scene, you'd learn more, hmm?"

The room falls silent once more and James continues reading.

Luna sighs dreamily, resting her head on her hand. "God, he's so hot when he's mad."

You glance at her, a little surprised at the comment. "Luna, what the fuck?"

"I mean, I'm just saying," she shrugs. "You have to admit, he's not bad to look at."

"I think I'm gonna be sick," you groan. "Please don't talk about my brother like that in front of me."

"Don't worry, he's not my type anyway," she laughs. "But he is definitely a hottie. If I was a few years older, I might have gone after him myself."

"Luna!" you snap.

"Alright, alright," she grins. "My apologies. But I do need to tell you that he's definitely catching the attention of more than a few female students."

You roll your eyes. "James is smart enough to keep to himself, I'm not concerned about that."

"Maybe, but you should still keep an eye out," Luna whispers. "Just in case."

"Yeah, I will."

"Oh, by the way, I thought you weren't taking this class? You know, since you're a muggle anyway," she then asks you.

"Yeah, I wasn't going to but I figured it might help beef up my credits so here I am. Besides, maybe I could be of some help? I don't know," you shrug.

By the end of the first class, James' mood has certainly soured. He's never taught before, so it's no surprise that he's quick to become frustrated when a student can't answer a question.

"Since you all seem to think you're experts on muggles already, I propose a project. You will choose a famous muggle artifact and create a presentation on this item to present it to the class. This will count as your final exam. If you do not receive a satisfactory grade, I will fail you. Understood?" James explains.

"What kind of an assignment is that?!" a student cries.

"One that will challenge you to think outside the box," he says.

The class groans and you smile. You're sure to get an easy A with this project, so there's no way you'll fail. There's more than a few things you can write about.

After James dismisses the class, a Slytherin slams his hand down on the table where you are and leans down close to you.

"You're an interesting one, aren't ya?" he smirks. "Bet I could write a damn good paper on you. I bet you'd love that, wouldn't ya?"

"Um, no thanks," you say, leaning away.

"Don't be like that," the boy continues. "We could have some real fun together, you know? I could write all about the things you'll let me do to you."

You're speechless, unsure of how to respond. Thankfully, Luna is still next to you. You turn around to her seat, but she's gone. Instead, she's up in the front of the room talking to James.

"I'd rather die," you mutter, turning away from him and grabbing your bag.

"That can be arranged," the boy snarls.

"Enough," a voice from behind says.

"Mind your own business, Gaunt," the boy retorts.

"I'm afraid that is not an option. Now, I'd advise you to leave Y/N alone," Ominis tells him.

"What's the matter, Gaunt? I thought your family didn't let you be friends with muggles."

"Shut up, Nott. Now go away. Before I make you," Sebastian snarls, chiming in.

"You're nothing without a wand, Sallow," Nott smirks. "Don't think I don't know."

"And yet, I've beaten your ass more than a few times with just my fists. Want me to prove it again?" Sebastian asks, standing up.

"I wouldn't, Nott," Ominis says calmly. "Just leave the girl alone."

"You're right. She's not worth it. Perhaps I'll see her 'round, though. Without the likes of you getting in the way," the Slytherin then sneers before walking away.

"Are you alright?" Ominis asks as he approaches. "Sorry about him. He's always been a bit of a prick."

"Yeah, I'm alright," you nod. "Thanks guys."

"No problem," Sebastian shrugs, glancing between the two of you.

"We should get going, Y/N. Don't want to miss dinner," Luna says, grabbing her things and walking over. "Ugh, what do you two want?"

"They were-"

"We were just saying goodbye," Ominis interrupts in the most elegant way possible. "Have a nice night, Y/N."

"Yeah, but-"

"Come on, let's go," Sebastian says, cutting you off and pushing Ominis out of the classroom.

"Luna! What the hell was that?!" you frown as the door shuts behind the two of them.

"What?! Those guys keep bothering you. It's like they're trying to steal you away or something!"

"Steal me away?" you laugh. "Luna, I'm not some kind of object. They're my friends."

"Well, maybe, but still, I don't like it," she says, crossing her arms. "There's something off about those two."

"Whatever," you roll your eyes. "Let's just go get something to eat. I'm starving."

***

Later that evening as you are sitting in your dorm, you open the small book that Ominis had given you the day before. You can't get out of your mind the moment when Ominis slammed his hand on your book, not allowing you to look inside. Is there something he didn't want you to see? But, if that's true, then why would he give it to you in the first place?

"Hmm," you say out loud, wondering if perhaps the pages have been enchanted. You open the book to a random page and look around. Everything seems fine. You start reading about the Kelpie in the Great Lake.

Subconsciously, you reach up to the necklace that Ominis had given you and toy with it between your fingers. It's beautiful, you have to admit, and it fits you well.

"Damn, this is some cool shit," you mutter as you turn the page and begin reading about the Acromantula. "Terrifying, but sick."

And then, you reach that page on Thestrals. Tears begin to well up in your eyes. You flip the page again and notice that there is not much information on the Thestral. Instead, it says, "Thestral cannot be seen by anyone who has not witnessed death. Their bodies are skeletal, and their wings resemble that of a bat's."

You blink, thinking that perhaps your eyes are playing tricks on you. You shake your head and keep reading.

"Thestral are believed to be very docile creatures, although it has been known to attack a human if provoked."

After, you gently shut the book and lean back in your bed. Thoughts of James fill your head from back when you were much younger.

"Remember, Y/N," he says, holding your hand as the pair of you walk into the grocery store. "If anyone asks about Mom and Dad, you tell them that they've asked us to take up more responsibility around the house and that we're the ones picking up the groceries from now on, understand?"

"Don't they know that mommy and daddy-"

"Shh, not so loud," he tells you. "Remember, this is our secret."

"Okay," you nod, following him down the aisles.

When you reach the cereal aisle, he stops and picks up the most bland thing he can find. Of course, because it is the cheapest. Neither of you has any money and since your parents disappeared, there's no money at home either.

"Can we have something sweet?" you ask, eyeing the chocolatey treats nearby.

"No, this is enough. Now, come on," he says, tugging your hand.

"James," you whisper as the two of you pass a mother pushing her daughter in a shopping cart. Your eyes begin to water and, even though you know James will be pissed, you can't help it. "Don't mommy and daddy love us anymore?"

James stops abruptly, causing you to bump into him. "Jesus, don't you know how to shut the hell up, Y/N? Answer your own damn question. Do you think they'd leave if they cared about either of us?"

As he turns back around and continues to pull you along, a few tears escape and trickle down your cheeks.

"No," you answer, knowing that he's right.

"Good," James mutters, leading the two of you up to the checkout. "Now nix the crying and wipe your face."

You sniff and quickly brush the tears away, doing your best to keep yourself from breaking down again.

"And what about Hunter," you say, twiddling your thumbs. If you don't cut the crap soon, James might snap.

"What about her?" he asks, paying for the food.

"Are we going to have a funeral?"

"Babies don't need funerals," he shakes his head.

"What are you going to tell the social worker?"

"That's not your concern," he frowns, grabbing the bag and pulling you away from the cashier. "Time to go home."

You had received your first black eye that night. It wasn't because James was abusive or anything, but because you fell while running after him all day long. James did everything in his power to take care of you, and for the most part, he was a pretty decent older brother. However, you never understood why he never held a funeral for your little sister. After all, both of you did see the gruesome way in which she died.

"James," you whisper to yourself.

"He's not coming, Y/N," a voice suddenly replies, making you jump. You turn around to see Luna and Amit standing in the doorway.

"Uh, what're you guys doing here?" you ask as you wipe the drool from your chin.

"Waiting for you! It's after nine already. We've got to go to breakfast. Come on!"

Serpents and Roses

[bonni]

Listen. Regarding this situation with the Taylor Swift concert. I am trying very hard to be objective and sensitive, and to not let my dislike of Taylor Swift taint my perception of the situation. I know that what happened is the fault of the people who organized the concert, and I don't doubt that Taylor was handing out water or that she expressed some level of concern. But I'm really not loving the mindset that Taylor tried soooo hard to prevent this and there was nothing more she could have done. There are certainly celebrities out there who are beholden to the whims of their managers and teams, but Taylor Swift is not one of those celebrities. She's one of the most famous and powerful celebrities in the world. She could have ended the concert when she noticed that people were getting sick. Again, I'm not saying what happened is her fault, but don't give her so much credit just because you buy into the image she's built around how much she supposedly loves her fans.

[bluisgayandmoregay]

I'm just gonna say it. Linus Media Group is just another shitty company owned by another shitty rich white guy. Maybe Linus is "nicer once you get to know him" or some other bullshit like that, but everything that has happened and has been happening with them is down right sad.

No one should ever be dismissed or told off or belittled or shamed for coming forward about assault in the workplace, hell anywhere, and Madison deserved much better when coming forward to higher-ups.

If LMG responds to Madison's allegations the same way they've been responding to all the inaccurate videos callouts and the whole Billet Labs controversy, then Terren should consider taking a long hard look at who he employes while he gets situated as CEO

On related topics, first my opinions about the "mandatory meeting" video from

this link (credit u/Nitazene-King-002 on Reddit. It was originally posted 6 months ago around when Madison left, however the comments on the original post are upsetting).

This is the most corporate bullshit response Linus could've given. I've heard some of these exact phrases a dozen times working for Big Corporate™ before.

The fact that barely anyone knew about an internal anonymous reporting feature is highly concerning as that implies no one told them either purposely or accidentally. And either way is shady.

James's "joke", while maybe funny to some of a certain inner circle, was very clearly poorly timed and disgusting given the circumstances of the meeting itself.

Second, my opinion about the Billet Labs waterblock prototype scandal.

In LTT's video addressing the data inaccuracies and "how the company will move forward from this"

(credit: Linus Tech Tips on YouTube)

They say that they simply misplaced and mislabeled the waterblock and auctioned it off at the LTX convention, and, after finding out that it was supposed to be sent back to Billet Labs, handled refunding the auction in a very unprofessional way.

Third, my opinions on the inaccurate graphs and lazy post production fact checking.

While LMG is certainly not the biggest tech company trying to give people data on products, they most certainly have the time, money, and effort to fact check everything in their videos, despite what Linus has said on both the LTT forums and the WAN show. While they do address and focus on this topic in the above YouTube video, it is once again filled with corporate copypasta phrases and empty feeling promises as they try to calm everyone down. The video feels half assed and like most of them aren't taking it seriously as they insert inside jokes to the script. (but that is just my opinion)

Fourth, my opinions on Madison's allegations.

A link to Madison's thread

(credit: @suuuoppp on Twitter. It's a long read and heartbreaking, but worth it if you still believe LMG is a good company)

explaining everything that happened to her while working for LMG, and exposing higher ups for how they dismissed and belittled her for feeling attacked by other coworkers.

In my opinion this thread alone should be enough to tell people that something is wrong at LMG. She did not deserve anything that was mentioned there, whoever dismissed her cries for help should be fired for putting an employee's mental health in danger.

I believe Madison without a doubt, the behavior of some of her coworkers is completely unacceptable.

All in all, I expected better from LMG. I feel bad for Terren for having to deal with this right as he joins, but perhaps he's going to be part of the problem later.

I hope some of the smaller teams in LMG like TechLinked/GameLinked and Mac Address come out ok. Maybe Riley takes the linked writers and an editor to make his own tech news channel, or Horst can do the same with Mac Address.

And I genuinely hope the best for Madison. She was a wonderful part of any video she was in and never deserved anything that wronged her during her time there.

(Small explanations for certain parts:

Remember that these are opinions about facts, while I do literally state that Linus "is another shitty rich white guy", that is my opinion. I've never met him nor anyone who I'm hating on in this post.

It is entirely possible that Madison is lying, but knowing what it's like to be a woman in the corporate tech industry. Right now I believe her 100%.

I am aware of and have seen Gamers Nexus's video calling out LMG about the inaccurate graphs and lazy fixes and the Billet scandal. This post is essentially in tandem and agreeing with their video, while also adding Madison's allegation.

And for those confused as to why James's joke "Are you gonna dance on that table, or just stand on it?" is bad. That line is a reference to someone performing in a place like a strip club, and the way it was said was (in my opinion) satire on the way people in a club might say it in a demeaning way to a performer. I'm not sure who he said it to or why he said it in the first place, but closing a meeting about discussing assault or harassment in the workplace with that line is very disgusting.)

And of course I don't know everything, I'm just putting my opinions on the Internet™. If I've missed anything you know about you can reply/reblog/send an ask and I'll edit/add it on. Same for if I've gotten anything wrong.

#tl;dr I think Linus Media Group sucks right now.

Love,

Brie