#i've always been like this too!!! idk why!!!

[lila-went-missing]

Hiii, saw you wanted some requests for Sevika and I've had this idea bubbling up for a while. Imagine Vika with a reader that's normally experienced, yk has fucked one or two people before and it's not a sex god, and they're growing insecure about sevika never starting intimacy even after months of dating, so they think it's because they're not as good as the girl's she's been with before. Idk just thought that'd be good

I'm kind of obsessed with this, ngl. This isn't the first smut that I've written but it is the first smut that I've posted on here so feedback is always appreciated. Y'all will never guess... it's not proofread. Again. Enjoy my lovelies! X

Warnings: Smut (obviously), mild angst but nothing too horrible, mentions of body image issues but readers body type isn't specified or described.

Fem reader, of course, with female genitalia.

At first, you didn't think anything of it. She probably just wanted to take things slow with you. You weren't as experienced as her so she probably wanted to take her time.

That made sense for a while.

But now, after eight months together, you haven't had sex once. More importantly, she hasn't initiated it.

Realistically, you know that it's fine. There's plenty of reasons as to why nothing has happened so far. But that voice in the back of your head is doing a fantastic job of convincing you otherwise.

Sevika was kind of a sex symbol before you two got together.

She'd been with countless women, she was a regular at Babbettes. Her name was uttered on the streets like a sacred prayer.

You, on the other hand, have only been with two people: your ex, and a drunken one night stand that was less than satisfactory. So you did have sexual experience, but not nearly as much as her.

Honestly, it's starting to worry you.

Did she not like you? Was she not physically attracted to you? Was there something wrong with your body? Were you not showing enough skin?

Thoughts plagued your mind night and day. You were stuck in constant turmoil. It was impossible to stop your own brain once it got going.

It was taking everything in you to focus on the stove and not burn dinner.

You flinch at the sound of the door closing. Heavy footsteps sound through the house, approaching the kitchen.

Sevikas thick arms wrap around your midsection, her face making home in the side of your neck. For a long time, she doesn't say anything. The only sounds come from the meat sizzling in your pan. Moments like this make it easier to not think about the painful lack of aw sex life between you two.

Her lips purse, pressing small kisses against your skin. She hums against your neck.

"What are you cooking doll?" Her voice is muffled against your flesh but you understand her all the same.

"Spaghetti." You feel her smile.

"My favorite.." She mumbles. You hum a small "Mhm" before focusing back on the seasoned beef and water you're waiting for to boil. Her arms tighten ever so slightly, one hand slipping under your shirt. Her thumb caresses your bare skin.

It should be sweet but it really just drives the nail into the coffin for you.

Your voice comes out before you can stop it.

"Why won't you have sex with me?" You regret it the moment it leaves your mouth.

"I- woah, what? Doll what do you mean?" She honestly sounds baffled.

"Forget I said anything, please. It doesn't matter."

Her hands gently grab your shoulders, turning you around.

"No way. What are you talking about?"

You shake your head. "It's stupid.."

"It's not stupid if it's bothering you." She reassures you.

"It's just, we've been together for eight months, and we practically live together. But we haven't done anything. I know you don't have an issue having sex because half the undercity talks about how good you are and I just don't understand. Is there something wrong with me? Am I not appealing to yo-" Your rant is cut off by her lips. Her hands are holding you like glass, one on your cheek, one curled around your hip.

"There is nothing wrong with you." Her voice comes out as a soft whisper. "I'm sorry I made you feel like there was. I just knew that you don't have as much experience as I do. I didn't want you to feel rushed, or forced."

"Rushed? No, you could never.. I thought you just didn't want me that way." She immediately shakes her head. She kisses you again, more urgently this time.

Her hands grab anywhere they can, pulling you in. They're on your hips, waist, groping your ass.

"I do want you." Then they're picking you up and lifting you on the counter. "Let me show you how much I want you?" All you can do is nod as her lips trail down your neck. Her touch dances over your body, removing your top.

Her mouth follows soon after, sucking dark bruises into the skin on your neck and chest. She takes a nipple in her mouth and swirls her tongue around it. A low whimper leaves your mouth at the new, but not unpleasant, sensation.

Her right hand copies her tongue's motions on the other, pinching and pulling. Your body trembles against the counter with need.

She moves away from your breasts, kissing and licking down your stomach to your navel. Her hands unbutton your pants. She looks up at you as she lowers herself to her knees, silently asking for permission. You nod your head. You don't trust your voice. Your pants are off in seconds and thrown somewhere in the kitchen that you'll worry about later.

Her hand splays across your stomach and gently pushes you to lay against the tile. It's cold against your bare and burning skin, your back arching off of it but she keeps your hips pinned down.

You gasp as her teeth nip at the skin of your thigh. A breathy laugh leaves her.

"Shut up.." You mutter.

"Didn't say anything."

Your eyes roll in fake annoyance but you don't get the chance to reply as the cold air hits your bare cunt. Her thumbs pull your lips apart, admiring the sight before her.

"Fuck doll, you're so wet. All of this for me?" Her voice is husky between your legs and it stirs something delicious in your belly.

"Yes, all for you Sev.." She chuckles. Her teeth take the hem of your panties and drag them down your legs. She kisses your hips and navel, sucking hickies and marking you as hers.

"Please, Vika. Need you.." You whine. You can't bring yourself to care about how desperate you sound. You're sure that you look even more so from her position.

It seems, though, that your prayers have been answered because as soon as the words leave your mouth hers is back on you. This time it's between your legs.

She licks a long stripe up your pussy before stopping to suck your clit into her mouth. A loud moan reverberates from your chest as you lean your head back into the counter. Her tongue kitten licks at the bud before suckling on it like shes trying to nurse herself.

You've had people eat you out before but never this well. You don't think it could get better than this.

She moves down, opting to fuck you with her tongue instead. You definitely understand the appeal now. You've given yourself plenty of orgasms but this is the fastest one has risen before.

She feels it in the way you clench around her tongue and moves back to your clit. Her fingers fill up the now empty space, fucking into you in a gently but rough way only she could manage.

She's eating you like a woman starved and with the lack of sex the two of you have had she may as well be. If you didn't know better you might think this is her last meal.

Gasps and whimpers leave your mouth in a desperate way you can't stop.

"Fuck Sev.. ngh~ m'gonna cum, please.."

She smirks against you once more, speeding up her ministrations.

"Come on my tongue baby, make a mess on me." Her voice is muffled against you cunt, vibrations travel through your clit with her words.

You last maybe thirty seconds longer, hand tangled in her hair, before releasing over her tongue.

She laps you up, milking you for all that you're worth. She's never tasted anything more delicious. Her mouth doesn't let up until your whimpering from the overstimulation and pushing her head away.

She looks you in the eye as she sucks her fingers clean before kissing back up your body. Her lips lock onto yours and you can still taste yourself on her tongue. It makes your head spin in a way you've never felt before.

When you come back to earth, her hand is running through your hair.

"I'm sorry I made you believe that I didn't want to do that." She mumbles. "But now I may need it to be a daily thing." You giggle at her words.

"It's okay. I wouldn't mind honestly." She helps you sit up, a large hand cupping your cheek. "You didn't get to cum.." You whisper as you lean in closer.

"Don't worry about me, I'll get my fill later." The look on her face tells you that this isn't over. "I'm going to change out of these clothes. You just worry about dinner okay?" She slips your panties back on along with your shirt.

You nod, sliding off the counter. You wince at the mess you made but she's already wiping it up. Her lips meet your temple as she mutters a low, "I love you."

"I love you more." She shakes her head, chuckling before walking back to her room. You feel much better now, and you really can't wait for what she meant by "later".

[maaenyo]

I'm not responding to this for you, rather i'm doing it so whoever finds the post is not so mislead by your bias. Really, your attitude at the end of the post is unfortunate, like who died and named you master of the lore?? Specially when you're getting it wrong.

I don't know where you got that from, i've played the game enough and don't recall such a statement. The Blight is contained in the Black City, that's why it's black. There's hardly any doubt about this idek why it's a point at all

The Fade has spirits, spirits represent or mirror emotions, ideas, concepts. Some are positive, others are negative, they're still spirits. The Veil separating reality changed everyone's perception of things, spirits once used to the fluid nature of the Fade were suddenly faced with a stagnant reality that didn't adjust to their will; crossing the Veil becomes a traumatic experience that literally changes their composition. This resulted in aberrations and other scary things that humans called demons. Whatever humans fail to understand always gets demonized. In the harrowing of a circle mage Warden we meet Sloth, a so called demon. The Fade is full of desire demons tempting mages all the time. We have seen this many times both in games and other media like the comics. Nightmare was not an anomaly only present because of Corypheus, call it demon, spirit or whatever, it was always there to begin with because fear is one of the most ancient and natural emotions of life. I agree demons are spirits too, but the lore states very clearly they don't just turn negative by crossing through the Veil, they ARE already present in the Fade from the start.

Another idea you pulled out of..somewhere, idk, i've never read anything like it. The Veil choking?? the life and magic out of Thedas? The Veil is an unfortunate by-product of the Evanuris prison, whatever went wrong in Solas' ritual caused the barrier meant to contain the Evanuris and the Blight in the Black City to extend further and contain the entire Fade apart from the rest of the world. And it's a VEIL. Not a wall, not just any barrier, but a VEIL. Veils are usually of see-through fabric, they're not rock solid, they allow for some things to pass through, and the Veil gets thinner in some places, making that even more likely to happen. And things have been passing through, pushing through for ages; it's only been ripped open in places a few times (Magisters Sideral, Corypheus, the occasional mage fucking shit up). A Veil ripped open is what we see in Inquisition, with the Breach and the tears all over, and in future Redcliffe as well, a Veil torn and taken down carelessly. It's not a wall -unless you count the shield Gaxkang drops called "Fade Wall" which if you think about it is indeed a way of seeing the Veil-, if it were it'd take more than a knife to open it. I think there's a confusion between the Veil, the Fade and the prison Solas made. The whole thing is like a freaking onion, i once posited all the circles in the murals were a barrier between a barrier and i was correct, there's the Veil surrounding the Fade -an accident- and the containment around the Black City. You don't wanna consider it, fine, but that does not erase the fact DAV clearly states multiple times that the Blight is in the Black city and Elgar'nan is trying to break in to get it out; it's not just chilling everywhere in the Fade.

I'll just point this out because I think is hilarious you did it: first you say he doesn't lie. Massive retcon, right? Oh he doesn't lie. Then you say he's an absolutely terrible liar. Which one is it? Either he never lies, or he lies poorly (which is still lying, mind you), you can't have both. Also, every damn single time he uses the "i saw it in the Fade" excuse he IS lying. We know he didn't see shit in the Fade, he lived it, he was there when things happened for thousands of years. Tricksters trick but also lie, a lot, lying it's a big part of their trickery. You failing to grasp this is entirely on you, and sorry not sorry but you don't get to define any aspect of the lore like this when even you contradicted yourself! This is the point that got me to write a lengthy counter because it is ridiculous, and i say this as a lore fan, who played all the games, dlc, got all the books, comics, i even watched Redemption ffs, also as a Solas fan, a Solavellan even. Solas has lied more times i care to count. Not just by omission, but actively lied. He spent all of Inquisition lying "oh i saw it in the Fade, i saw it in the Fade" dude you were there when it happened!! LOL Are you for fucking real? You literally went just "nuhn unh, Solas doesn't lie cause i say he didn't".

You can dislike the game all you want, but do yourself a favour and heed your own advice, listen to people who know the lore. Right now you just proved you don't know it as well as you think, and that your interpretation of it is tainted with your bitterness over a game you didn't like, which whether you accept it or not will always be a Dragon Age game, and the lore it presents, whether you accept it or not, will always be Dragon Age lore.

I'm relegating you to the list of people who didn't understood shit about the lore and Dragon Age as a whole. I've spent YEARS diving into the lore, analyzing everything, got a whole blog dedicated to that, got a considerable number of things right in the process, but i always phrased things as maybe, might be, could be, because i'm well aware my word is not the law. Your attitude is the most annoying part of your post, you can have any headcanons you like but you're not a lore master and you don't get to twist things in your anger like that.

Do whatever you want, believe whatever you want. And using Veilguard as any sort of source for anything remotely related to canon Lore is just ridiculous. It's so... awful, IMHO, to use it to defend any sort of point.

I'm not certain if this would be considered critical, so I'll put it under a cut. Potentially critical of Veilguard.

Though I'm really just talking about the Lore.

I point out 4 massive retcons in Veilguard that blew my mind and that I see people commonly using as arguing points. And yes, if someone wants to pay me for the time, I can prove all of it with sources.

What little canon Lore they actually used in Veilguard? They twisted beyond recognition.

Just a few examples.

1. The blight is NOT, in fact, (or even in Veilguard) 'everywhere in the Fade'. It has always been contained to the Black City, that floats disconnected from everything else in the Fade. It's why the previously golden city is black ffs! Even in Veilguard, it's really damned obvious that the Fade isn't full of blight. We hop in and out of the Fade throughout the whole damned game like it's a shopping mall.

2. The Fade is not full of demons. Demons are spirits (people) of emotion. What usually twists them into demons is coming through the veil! The only reason there was the big demon in DAI is because it was attached to Coryphyfish. There's probably some, but it's an arguable point that an emotion spirit of, say, anger, or spite is actually a demon. Emotions aren't bad. They wouldn't automatically be demons simply because they reflect a negative emotion.

3. The veil has been canonically choking the life and magic out of Thedas for thousands of years. If the veil didn't come down, there would be no Thedas. This is clearly spelled out in canon. The veil was never meant to be part of the world. At the end of Trespasser, the veil is as holey as my grandmother's doilies. It's not as they tried to depict it in Veilguard, a firm, whole wall holding hordes of demons and the blight of blights back. That's such a bullshit retcon, and I make weird faces every time I try to figure out the mental gymnastics necessary for someone to come up with that idea.

4. It's also a massive retcon that Solas lies. (Sigh. Yes. It really is. No matter what you believe.) He canonically does not. They rewrote his character for DAI so that he doesn't lie because it weakened the character. He was originally written as much more similar to Blackwall. They decided it weakened Solas as a character and made sure he doesn't lie. He obfuscates, misleads, doesn't answer, and is really good at letting people make assumptions or even leading people to make assumptions. Because that is what a Trickster does! But in all of DAI and Trespasser, he does not lie except once. At the Winter Palace when you ask him where he got the experience of court. No. A 'lie of omission' is not a lie by the definition or philosophical understanding of what a lie is. You, as the player, not paying close attention to what he says doesn’t mean he lies either! He is not the 'god of lies'. That's Epler's hate shining through. Throughout 3 games, many dlcs, books, comics, short stories, the Dread Wolf is known as the Trickster. The god of rebellion and sometimes the god of betrayal. He is never once referred to as the god of lies in anything pre-veilguard. It's. Bullshit.

And Solas is an absolutely terrible liar. He stumbles all over himself trying to do it in the winter palace. It's hilarious tbh.

There were more retcons. But I need to go help with dinner.

Just, even if you liked Veilguard, don't use it as a defense in any sort of discussion of Lore. Perhaps listen to us Lore fiends, instead? Because they shat all over the Lore for Veilguard.

Real talk? It makes you look ignorant to anyone who actually has been paying attention to the Lore.

FWIW? I'm not in the best of moods right now. Please think twice, then a third time before responding/reblogging in disagreement. (Unless you're polite and actually have sources I haven't seen. I'm usually willing to have polite discussions or answer questions. I'm also willing to stand corrected if people actually can prove me wrong with sources attached. A 'nuhn unh, Solas lies cause I believe he does', won't get you far with me.) Nor will using anything from DAV to support an argument. I've relegated DAV to the graveyard of not-canon because of the complete disrespect of the Lore.

And I'll just laugh at you if you try to attack me. Internet randos filling my responses with shit doesn't phase me, bother me in the slightest, or make me upset. I find it incredibly, laugh out loud amusing because I've lived through so much more than that in my life.

[bradshawshawaiianshirt]

the bodyguard | prologue

bradley 'rooster' bradshaw x famous!reader AU

After joining Maverick's security team once he left the navy, Rooster had become the best bodyguard around. He never thought too hard about it, he'd go in, protect whoever he was assigned, and leave. The threat against his client never really went anywhere if he was on the job, and he always put it first. All until your assignment came along. Suddenly his biggest threat might not be the stalker watching your every move, but rather trying not to fall for the world's biggest pop star.

warnings: adult language, drinking, threats, stalker? idk let me know if i've missed something

length: 340

masterlist

Iceman sat wearily in his office, his eyes darted between the phone, and the letter on his desk.

Mine.

The word seemed to repeat in the letter over and over. If it were up to him, he'd light the thing on fire, but of course it was now needed as evidence, according to the police.

The words of your father ran through his head.

I don't care how you handle it Ice, just keep her performing, and get that damn album released. Soon.

He let out a tired groan, and before he could think too much of it, picked up the phone, hoping the number hadn't changed.

"Hello?"

Iceman let out a sigh of relief, "Mav. Thank god."

"Iceman?" he could hear the smirk in Maverick's voice, "Well I'll be damned. It's been a while. How's LA treating you?"

"Just great." Iceman groaned, "Look, I need your help, a big favour."

He heard Maverick chuckle, "You're asking for my help? This must be serious."

Iceman sighed, "It is. I need one of your guys. I'm not sure for how long, all I know is.." he paused, his voice hardening, "I need the best you've got."

"Are you okay? What-"

"I'll explain everything in a sec." Iceman interrupted, "Just.. I need someone I can trust, Mav."

There was a beat of silence, before Maverick sighed, "Rooster. I'll call him into my office, tell him he's got a new assignment."

"Thank you." Iceman said, "I'm grateful, really."

"I know you are." Maverick chuckled a little, "I assume you're not the one needing a bodyguard?"

Iceman glanced back down at the letter on his desk.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

You're father's words.

Get that damn album released.

"No." he eventually forced out.

Maverick sighed, "Rooster isn't gonna like this one bit. The kid's not exactly accustomed to the celebrity lifestyle, I gotta warn you."

"That's fine." Iceman grunted, "Once I tell you why she needs a bodyguard, you'll understand."

Maverick paused, hearing the shake in his old friend's voice. "Im listening."

---

A/N: chapter 1 coming soon! prepare for enemies to lovers vibes with this one :))

[arcadia-smith]

Note: Gonna be like 4 or 5 parts of this one. I've had this planned for so long.

Summary: I think the title speaks for itself.

TW: idk, angst, fem!reader is a traitor, Simon Riley is pissed. Mention of blood, torture. Let me know if I've missed anything.

Flashback—Two Years Ago

The campfire crackled, casting flickering orange light over the small clearing. It was one of those rare nights—no mission, no gunfire in the distance, no orders barking through comms. Just a handful of them out in the open, the cold air nipping at their skin while smoke curled into the dark sky.

Ghost sat across from you, mask off, but the skull-painted balaclava still hung around his neck. A rare sight, one not many got to see. His face was all sharp angles, tired eyes shadowed by the weight of too many sleepless nights.

“You keep staring like that, I’m gonna start thinking you’re in love with me,” you teased, poking at the fire with a stick.

He huffed, shaking his head. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You smirked. “Maybe.”

Ghost leaned forward, forearms resting on his knees. The firelight made his eyes glow, sharp and unreadable. “You always like playing games?”

Something in his voice made you pause. The teasing between you was common, but there was something different about tonight. The air was heavier. Charged.

“Depends on the game,” you murmured.

He studied you for a long moment, the quiet stretching between you. Around you, the others had already begun turning in for the night, leaving just the two of you with the fire and the dark.

Ghost’s voice was quieter when he finally spoke again.

“You ever think about leaving?”

You frowned. “Leaving what?”

“This life. The missions. The constant fightin’.” His fingers flexed, curling into loose fists. “Ever think about just... walking away?”

You exhaled slowly, considering him. “No,” you lied.

Ghost gave a short, knowing laugh. “Bullshit.”

You rolled your eyes, but he wasn’t wrong. The thought had crossed your mind before—more than once. The weight of it all, the things you'd done, the blood staining your hands. There were nights you dreamed of just disappearing.

But you never thought he did.

You watched him carefully. “Why are you asking?”

His gaze flickered to the fire, jaw tight. “No reason.”

You nudged his boot with yours. “Liar.”

Something passed over his expression—something raw, something real. It made your stomach twist, made you want to reach for him, to—

“I just…” He hesitated, as if trying to find the right words. Then, softer, “There’s gotta be more than this. More than just killin’ and losin’ people and waiting for the next fight.”

For a moment, you didn’t know what to say. Because, in the end, that was all you knew, wasn’t it?

You forced a smile. “You planning on running off, Riley?”

He huffed, shaking his head. “Not without you.”

The words hit you harder than expected.

Not without you.

You swallowed, the fire crackling between you, the world feeling too small all of a sudden.

If things had been different...

Maybe.

You nudged his boot again, this time softer. “Better be careful, Ghost. Someone might think you actually care about me.”

He didn’t smile. Didn’t joke.

Instead, he just held your gaze and said, “Yeah. Maybe I do.”

And for the first time in a long time—you didn’t have anything clever to say back.

Present

Your wrists are bound. Ankles too. The cold steel of the chair presses against your spine, the weight of your capture sinking in. But you don't beg. You don't cry. You simply watch him.

Ghost stands before you, arms crossed, the balaclava masking everything except those sharp, piercing eyes. Eyes that had once softened around you. That softness is gone now. Replaced by something colder. Something lethal.

“You gonna start talking?” His voice is rough, scraped raw from battle, from betrayal. From you.

You tilt your head, feigning confusion. “About what?”

His gloved fingers curl into fists at his sides. He’s not stupid. You knows that. He’s watching, waiting, searching for the lie before it even leaves your lips.

“Don’t pretend you’re some meek, pathetic little girl,” he growls, stepping closer, the weight of him suffocating. “Not when I can see that vicious mind working behind your eyes.”

Your lips twitch—half amusement, half something else. “You always did see too much.”

“And yet, not enough,” he spits. His hands slam down on the arms of the chair, caging you in. “I trusted you.”

Something flickers in your expression, something so quick that most wouldn’t have caught it. But Ghost does. Regret? Guilt? No. It’s not that simple, is it?

“You shouldn’t have,” you murmur.

His fingers twitch like he wants to grab you, shake you, make you tell him why you did it. Why you sold them out. Why you left him picking up the bodies of men who should still be alive.

Instead, he exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his mask like it might help steady him.

“You don’t get to sit there and act like this wasn’t your choice.” His voice is lower now, dangerous in a different way. “You chose this. Chose to lie. Chose to betray us. Betray me.”

Your gaze drops to his chest, the black combat vest littered with dirt, dust, blood—none of it his. You wonder how much of that blood is because of you.

When you speak again, your voice is quiet. Almost regretful.

“If you were in my position, you would have done the same.”

Ghost goes still. His entire body. Like a predator moments before the kill.

“I’d never be in your position.”

You smile then—small, sad. “That’s what you think.”

For the first time, uncertainty flickers in those dark eyes of his. And you know you're still in his head, whether he wants you there or not.

But Ghost is nothing if not relentless. And he’s going to get his answers. One way or another.

And you?

You're going to make him work for them.

It’s a standoff, a battle not fought with fists or bullets but with patience and will.

He’s waiting for you to break.

You're waiting for him to snap.

The dim light above you flickers, casting shadows that stretch and twist across the cold concrete walls. Somewhere outside this room, soldiers are cleaning up the mess you left behind. Counting bodies. Patching wounds. Cursing your name.

You wonder if any of them are still defending you. If any of them think maybe there’s an explanation.

But Ghost isn’t like them. He doesn’t deal in maybes. He deals in facts. In truths. And right now, the only truth that matters is that you put a bullet in the trust he once had for you.

His fingers twitch at his sides. Small. Almost imperceptible. But you catch it.

He’s angry.

Good.

You tilt your head, pushing against the restraints just enough to test them, to remind him that you're still here. “You gonna hit me, Simon?”

His jaw tightens.

You say his name on purpose, tasting the weight of it. Simon. Not Ghost. Not the soldier. The man.

But the man is gone, buried beneath layers of war and loss and rage.

“You’re not worth the effort,” he mutters.

You chuckle, the sound light despite the situation. “That’s not what you used to think.”

Ghost stiffens.

There it is. The crack.

You lean forward as much as the bindings allow, your voice dropping to something almost conspiratorial. “Tell me, do you hate me more because of what I did? Or because you didn’t see it coming?”

Ghost’s breath flares through the mask. His shoulders square, tension winding through every muscle like a wire pulled too tight.

Then, suddenly, he moves.

You barely have time to process before his gloved hand grips your chin, forcing you to look up at him. It’s not gentle. But it’s not cruel either. It’s something in between, something laced with frustration, with an anger he doesn’t quite know what to do with.

His thumb brushes against your jaw, just for a second. A ghost of something softer.

And then—

“You have no idea how close you are to finding out exactly how much I hate you,” he murmurs, voice dark.

You swallow. Not fear. Something else.

His eyes burn into yours, and you realize with certainty—

Ghost is not here for vengeance. Not yet.

No, he’s here for the truth.

And he’s going to tear you apart to get it.

Ghost steps back, a shadow falling over you as he moves to the table beside you. The clink of metal as he retrieves something—a pair of pliers, a knife, a set of instruments. Tools for precision, for control, for breaking a person in more ways than one.

You don't flinch.

Don't give him the satisfaction of reacting.

“Still playing tough?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.

You don't answer. There’s nothing left to say.

Simon’s fingers linger over the pliers before he sets them down with a soft clink, his eyes still on you. “I should’ve known better. You were always good at hiding what was underneath.”

The words catch in your throat. A memory—of laughter, of something real between you, of trust that now feels like a cruel joke.

Your lips part. "I never lied to you."

Ghost’s eyes flash at the statement, like the very idea of you suggesting any innocence on your part angers him. "You didn’t need to. You betrayed me without saying a word. Without hesitation."

A beat of silence, and then he steps forward again, crouching so he’s eye level with you. The mask hides everything, but his posture speaks volumes. This isn’t just about information anymore. It’s personal.

"Tell me why," he demands, voice raw, "why the hell you did it."

You meet his gaze—cold, calculating. There’s nothing in your eyes now. Not fear, not guilt. Just silence.

The silence eats at him. You know it does.

And he knows that you know.

Simon’s hand snaps out like lightning, grabbing you by the jaw with an iron grip. Your teeth click together, the pressure of his fingers hard enough to make you see stars.

"I won't ask again," he growls.

You don't blink. Don't give him the satisfaction of even a flicker of weakness.

"Then you’ll never get an answer," you retort, voice tight but defiant.

His grip tightens.

"God, you’re stubborn." He lets out a harsh breath, more exasperated than angry now. His fingers leave your jaw, and he steps back. "Fine. You wanna play it like this? You wanna be a goddamn enigma?"

You don't respond.

For a long moment, he stands there, staring at you, calculating. You can see the storm swirling behind his eyes, and for the first time since the betrayal, you wonders if he’s considering breaking you. For good.

Then, to your surprise, he steps back even further, turning his back to you.

A loud clink echoes in the room as he picks up a chair, spinning it around before sitting down, his broad frame leaning into the backrest, arms crossed over his chest.

"Not gonna make it easy, huh?" he mutters, almost to himself. "Thought you might’ve learned something from your time with us."

You lift an eyebrow, the barest hint of a smirk curling your lips. "I’m not your puppet, Simon. Never was."

He narrows his eyes, glaring over his shoulder. "We’ll see about that."

Another long silence.

Then—

Click.

Your head snaps up at the sound of something sharp. Ghost is holding a knife now, just barely out of your line of sight, running it lightly over the edge of the table. The sound alone is enough to send a shiver through you.

"You’ve never been good at waiting, have you?" He tilts his head, his voice softening just a little. It’s the calm before the storm, and you both know it. "You always had to be in control. I gave you control. I trusted you. And now look where we are."

Simon’s eyes narrow dangerously. He leans forward slowly, placing the knife on the table with deliberate precision.

And for a moment, just a fleeting moment, Simon hesitates. His eyes flicker toward the blade, then back to her.

“Answer me, and I’ll make it quick,” he says, his tone now laced with an edge you haven't heard in years. "Why. Did. You. Do. It?"

You don't answer.

Because the truth is too damn heavy.

And Simon—Ghost—isn’t ready to hear it.

[rook2ii]

dude, why does accidentally messing up on RYM feel scarier that accidentally messing up on MusicBrainz :[

[crazyalien87]

gender dysphoria is not the same as anorexia or bulimia. liposuction doesn't work for eating disorders since they will always want to be skinnier. or something idk why i should have to know about every single mental disorder that gets compared to gender dysphoria by biased, uneducated fools. has a liposuction ever cured a eating disorder or at least reduced the symptoms? no. but medical transitioning works for most gender dysphoric people to reduce or even eliminate their dysphoria. also, trans people usually have to go to therapy for several months to a year at least before they can even medically transition. a good therapist would help them deal with their body issues and anything else to get rid of their dysphoria before continuing with medical treatment. yes, trans people and gender dysphoria are understudied due to bias against them and mental health in general. but that doesn't mean that hormones and surgeries that have been done for many decades are too dangerous for anyone to get them.

maybe if gender dysphoria was actually studied more and from an unbiased lens, we could know why it is often different from other "body dysphorias" (did you mean dysmorphia?). maybe it is because those with eating disorders want to become unhealthily underweight, whereas gender dysphoric ppl want to go from one healthy state to another. or maybe it is because those with eating disorders and body dysmorphia have a skewed perspective of their body (those with anorexia think they are way fatter than they are and those with body dysmorphia either perceive a bodily "flaw" that they don't have or they see it in an exaggerated way), whereas those with gender dysphoria see it as it is. a trans woman is not being delusional when she sees she has a masculine jaw.

are gender identities just a fantasy, or something stemming from gender dysphoria (or you saying you should hurt a mentally ill person a purpose? nah of course not). AGAIN, gender dysphoria is NOT DELUSIONS (yet you act like you are smarter than me somehow...). Also, when did I say I supported people "forcing their gender identities" on anyone? Let me lay it out for your annoying ass. I think it is reasonable to refer to trans ppl as the pronouns of whatever the fuck they pass as. I also think it is reasonable for trans ppl to not come out to too many ppl b4 they pass as the opposite sex (obviously they have ti come out to doctors and psychiatrists tho). I also think that having to call a non-passing, non-dysphoric trans woman she is ridiculous. what happened to trans women boymoding until they can pass and go stealth? vice versa for trans men. nonbinary ppl can be a bit more complicated, but it shouldn't be difficult for others to refer them as they and avoid using sexed terms for them when around them.

I know what I'm talking about, I've been in lgbt spaces online for several years, I've been a tucute, a truscum, a gender critical, a terf, and a tirf.

why should i accept trans people "as they are" if they couldn't accept themselves as they were born? and don't tell me that "they accept themselves, they were just born in the wrong body and the wrong gender», sperm is not a dumb idiot like you, open a biology textbook and find out why the hell you were born the way you were born

[thedreadvampy]

lmao it is undeniably true that I am Depressi Spaghetti but you know. fuck it we continue.

[sunbloomdew]

i can't stop thinking about the constant mentions of fall and summer in regard to baxter and mc, in the dlc.

i find the emphasis put on the seasons very interesting. unlike other potential love interests - cove and derek - baxter is not from the sunny state of california, but a town in oregon, surrounded by forests and mountains. in fact, baxter is the only character from the cast of olba that is not associated with summer, but with autumn instead, so it makes perfect sense to draw attention to that dissimilarity.

following that fact, just by acknowledging it we can see how different baxter is from other characters from sunset bird at his core. and since most of his time is spent with mc, that means the focus will be drawn to how different are these two specifically.

on a side note, this might be a complete overreach, but i consider it interesting how baxter uses the phrase 'suitor for a season' to describe himself in step 3. the use of the word 'season' in my opinion drives home the idea that their time together will inevitably come to an end, just like summer will end eventually, and there is simply no other outcome for this relationship.

when we consider the seasons theme even more, a thing that stood out to me is that summer and fall aren't opposites, like i'd say summer and winter are. they are next to each other (like california and oregon) and in some ways they intertwine. still they are different enough, to be regarded as separate seasons.

just like baxter and mc, no matter how alike, feel so different from each other, and they are aware of that.

i really love the monologue in the sightseeing moment, that mc has about them and baxter being different in that way.

"More and more, you felt as though Sunset Bird formed a vital part of your emotional core. Happiness to you was the sound of waves on the shore, the feeling of warm sand between your toes. [...] Maybe you'd forever be seeing the world through sea glass. But Baxter was another person entirely. For him, perhaps the world was monochrome, or maybe it was golden, but with color of leaves instead of sand. Talking with him made it impossible to ignore just how different your lives had been up until now. How separate your worlds were. All up until that moment, when he showed up on your street. Now your lives were intertwined, however briefly, the forests and the seafoam commingling. Though you knew his love was in the trees and the fall air, you couldn't help but feel happy that he'd wandered his way down to the shore. To you."

i find it so beautiful. everytime i read it i get a little choked up, you know? in my opinion, the summer/fall parallel is the perfect way to portray their relationship. the brainrot gets so intense every time i remember about this,,,

the same seasons theme returns in step 4 when the two reunite. to be precise, it comes back during mc's internal monologue preceding a confession. i was unable to recall if it appears somewhere else in the dialogue as well, but if you happen to find some more, feel free to reblog with this post!

"He tore himself away from you like an autumn storm bringing down a sapling/He fell away from you as naturally as a leaf fluttered off its branch in the fall. There was no holding on to your suitor for a season. Yet the affection you'd nurtured never died out. It had gone dormant for a long winter, ready to burst back to life if the cold passed. Seasons were meant to come and go, but there was no guarantee summer would come again for you and him."

(i'm pretty sure the dialogue here changes based on how you decided the break up went, cause i found two versions of the same confession monologue. still, both of them have a comparison to autumn!)

seasons can be used in art with a lot of different symbolism and meanings behind them. the cycle of the seasons is usually used to portray the passage of time, how the nature but also people change.

in this part of the monologue we see the usage of changing of the seasons to show how despite the time that passed ('winter'), mc still had feelings for baxter, that were ready to return ('spring'). the words "seasons were meant to come and go" bring our attention to how wrong things were between the two, to have something inevitable like the seasons cycle stop.

each season on its own also has its own meanings, and can be used to enhance certain themes or emotions in the text.

in case of baxter and mc, summer is the season in which they met time and time again. not only did their relationship start during summer but it developed in that season as well. as such, for them summer is inextricably a time of growth for their relationship.

outside of their relationship, individually their characters' are connected to summer and fall respectively. as mc referred to it, their emotional cores were influenced by their hometowns - one a summer tourist spot and the other a picturesque autumn town.

to bring back one more thing from mc's monologue in step 3, they wonder if baxter sees the world in gold, but in the colour of the leaves and not sand. well, i noticed, how when they make up after the wedding, the whole place is bathed in gold. you could view it as the summer gold and autumn gold merging together, as those two finally reconcile. or you could see it as a summer gold, as this season is important for their relationship. i like both options.

aside from that monologue, there are several instances of baxter's appearance being compared to things associated with autumn or nature, like descriptions of his eyes as "brown rich like the earth" (i love this one sm it lives in my head rent free) and "oak brown eyes". i think it's a great characterization to have baxter be a 'woodsy person', despite most of us (me for sure) thinking he would be a 'city boy' kind of character at first glance.

i think the reason there is such strong focus on the fact that mc and baxter embody different seasons, is to make the differences between them even more pronounced. when they ultimately reunite and overcome their struggles to mend their bonds, it's even more impressive to witness.

either way, i cannot stop thinking of summer/fall parallel and how genius i think it is. the vibes! the emotional turmoil!! the art potential!!! it's incredible. especially if you try to implement it more into your mc, which is what i'm trying to do.

i'll leave you with this screenshot, that is kinda making my stomach go funny, because of the whole summer/fall parring thing,, i am so unwell in the best of ways

because like if you think about it way too deeply which i of course had, he's saying that summer/fall combination is beautiful, like he's not saying anything besides that BUT when you remember that mc is summer and baxter is fall, then you know?????

i hope you had fun reading this spontanous post! i've been thinking about the summer/fall thing since my first playthrough, so i'm happy to finally gush about it <3

i should not be here, it's 4am and i'm leaving in three hours,,, my time management skills never fail me. toodle-oo~

[anghraine]

One of the more peculiar things about my current academic existence is that it's like—

me (to my best friend): It feels kind of strange that I've always had so many ties to people who are much more literary than me. There are all these people I know who keep ending up at "I discovered True Art and now I'm too good for Star Wars" and I'm just thinking, "damn, couldn't be me."

best friend: ...you have a PhD in literature.

me: True, but not their kind of literature!

best friend: It's still a PhD in literature. Do these people have that?

me: Well, hmm, maybe not, technically. But I've never been all that interested in major experiments with form and style—doing that stuff myself or reading the kind of literature that focuses on pushing those boundaries. I've always cared more about popular literature that prioritizes immersion and world building and just getting people to care a lot about characters and plot and such, not the really prestigious stuff.

best friend: You literally teach Shakespeare.

me: Well, I decided not to study the things I love most so they didn't get tainted by academia. And anyway, I still focused on popular literature from my eras. The seventeenth-century stuff I was writing about made a lot of the late Victorians very angry because they thought it was crude and cravenly appealing to unrefined common tastes instead of True Art. The novel in Austen's lifetime was even more of a low-prestige popular form at the time, especially the female-dominated genres, which were most of them, and she took care to identify herself as a woman.

best friend: I know you did get into academia through Tolkien and then didn't study anything close to that.

me: I couldn't let them ruin him for me! And besides, I know that Shakespeare and Austen are about as prestigious as it gets now, but for me they've still got that pop culture media energy, you know? Though sometimes when people make sweeping pronouncements about artistry and literature that don't make sense for anything in English published before 1700, I have to fight the temptation to be ... that person.

best friend, laughing: You mean pulling a well akshually? At least you have the credentials. You could even do it like "well actually, *obnoxious cough* as someone with a PhD in this subject..." now. You spent years earning this! Tell a few people Well Actually as a treat and then go watch Star Wars.

[coollyinterferes]

The unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching begins to fill the air. Whoever is coming seems to have brought some company along…

They are getting closer… and closer… and closer…

…and closer…

……until..................

"Goooooood evenin'!!" Comes the loud greeting from a certain blond man. A big smile on his face and all.

"We beg your pardon for our prolonged absence. It was completely beyond our control..." Then adds the gentleman standing by his side, apologizing on behalf of both, offering a genuine smile along with the apology.

"...BUT! We're back!" And hopefully for good this time…

[moe-broey]

Amateur Hour but I gotta outsource this. Aromantics. Heed my call. What is "romantic" love to a non-believer?

Bonus Round if you're not entirely ace -- does experiencing any amount of sexual attraction influence your answer? Also acknowledging that both aro/ace identities exist on a spectrum. Believe me. I am deeply familiar... with so many kinds of spectrums........... 🧍

Also if this breaches containment It's Not That Serious........... just a personal question. For a friend. Me 🙂‍↕️

[gobblinhours]

am i normal for not being able to sleep while my roommate plays warzone (no volume except for xbox controller clicking which sounds rlly loud for some reason) 10 feet away from my head until 3 am or am i a pwissy wittwe baby who can't handle a little bit of flashing lights and talking. leaning towards the latter

figured it out sleep on side with headphones to block noise they might break so that's ba but worth it

never mind talking now pillow on head not enough

[telesodalite]

Woe, unfinished, mildly edited, fulfire fic tid-bits be upon you

-

Like a magnet, his optics kept drifting back to Misfire's face. His stupid, strangely charming face.

For a short while, after Clemency, it had been that face that haunted some of his nightmares. His recalls blurring the lines between the strange reality of Misfire's hands reaching into him to lock his fuel pump back into the very spot he'd pulled it from, and the fear that just as easily he could pull it out again. They had been bloody dreams. Dreams that had him startling awake, gripping his chest in the vain attempt to close what wasn't open, before spending the rest of the day avoiding Misfire's optics.

But now things were different. Not Misfire's face. No, that hadn't changed much. But Fulcrum's dreams had definitely changed. To say the least of what all rolled around in his processor as he slept nowadays.

Some of those newer dreams had crept to the forefront of his mind as he sat there on the couch, staring as the lights of the screen reflected dully across Misfire's plating in hazy blues and greys.

The lighting made his colors seem muddy and faded, but Fulcrum didn't really care, nor did he care to think what it made himself look like. He was too busy bringing an empty engex can to his lips while he watched the crinkle of Misfire's nose as he barked a laugh at something Fulcrum didn't catch onscreen.

He'd started noticing it months ago, all the ways the silvery mesh of Misfire's face would scrunch up with his emotions. Those little crinkles along his optics and nose when he laughed or glared. The creases indented along his cheeks when he grinned. Fulcrum found himself quietly logging away these little details. Idle notes and observations that had suddenly started piling up in the corners of his processer.

He… He'd never really done that before? He'd never really noticed those sorts of things in other mechs.

The faces and expressions of his past colleagues never seemed terribly important. All the details of every smile and frown were never worth filing away, outside of few notable moments where those expressions reflected his work performance. But besides the smile that meant promotion, and the frown that meant he'd screwed up, nothing else was noticeable. Nothing was worth remembering.

But now the memory of every genuine laugh that bubbled out of Misfire sat comfortably besides memories of warm joyful optics that Fulcrum found himself collecting every time Crankcase cracked a rare half-smile for him, or when Krok placed a reassuring hand against his back, or the times Spinister spontaneously pointed out something odd but ultimately nice about his stupid frame.

He didn't really know why he was doing it, memorizing all these mundane little things, just to have them flit through his processer randomly. Maybe it was because those expressions, those details, felt… comforting? Comforting in such a strange and unfamiliar way. But, a good way. A good sort of strange, much like the mechs themselves.

-

-

He had stared for a long moment, the credits and their rolling tune playing somewhere in the background as Fulcrum stared back. But Misfire was never one for personable silence, even as the sound of some likely long dead Iaconian orchestra filled the room.

"What is it?" He asked, a small chuckle escaping him as he brought a hand to his face, "Don't tell me I've poured it all over myself again."

It had taken Fulcrum longer than usual to unstick his glossa from the roof of his mouth as he watched Misfire run a thumb over his lips, but eventually he had coughed out a small, choked, "No."

That had earned him an odd look at first, but with their fields loose and open, Fulcrum could almost feel the exact moment something clicked in Misfire's mind, as the idle comfortable static he projected in pulsing waves evened out into something openly curious and almost subdued.

It wasn't often Fulcrum felt him that clearly.

Misfire tended to keep his field fairly close, though, maybe not as close as the others did, what with how Crankcase kept an iron grip on his, and how Krok's always held an air of strained control, even when it slipped from him. But still, Misfire's was always hard to read, no matter the reach or depth of his field.

Even then and there, with it loose and unfiltered and buzzing with the engex running through his system, there was an ever present undertone of something indescribably jumbled about him, like too many feelings at once, each too vast and hurried for Fulcrum to really feel or understand.

It always seemed to stir the passive anxiety Fulcrum must've been forged with when Misfire's field brushed against his own. As facing the indescribable vague mess of Misfire felt like trying to untangle a pile of live-wires he couldn't even see.

It was almost frustrating in a sense, the need to try and sort and understand what wasn't even his to begin with. But at the same time it was almost exciting as well. It was like a game, like a puzzle he had yet to solve.

-

-

Finally letting his own can go tumbling to the floor to join Misfire's, Fulcrum had brought a hand to cover his face as he drew his legs up and leaned back against the arm of the couch, trying to suppress the fit as the sly look slipped from Misfire's face at the sounds.

While Fulcrum had laughed, and… snorted, embarrassingly, he had felt Misfire's field change again, brushing something fizzy and almost warm against his plating as Misfire's features softened.

"I'm looking at you," Fulcrum had said then between gulps of air, letting his hand fall from his face as he reached out to poke at Misfire's chest, "Dumbaft."

His finger had lingered over the thick plating there for maybe a little longer than necessary, drawing Misfire's attention as it slid down a little before pulling away.

Looking back up again with his helm angled slightly, Misfire had followed the sight of his hand leaving his plating to where Fulcrum let it fall between them.

"Wow…" Misfire had chuckled a little dryly, "I was gonna make it real easy for you. I was going to say something like, ''Do you like what you see?'' or-… or something like that. But now you've ruined it. Good job."

Meeting Fulcrum's optics again as he pulled his own hand back from Fulcrum's shoulder, he brought it to rest between them as well.

"And you're laughing at me," He said next, faking a small pout as his hand drifted closer to Fulcrum's, "Which totally ruins the whole vibe I was going for really. I mean, it's sort of hard to be all nice and suave-like when you're being laughed at. Total vibe killer. Bit of an ego killer too if I'm being honest. So thanks for that loser, thanks for saying I have a funny face."

With Misfire's fingers brushing distractingly past his own, Fulcrum didn't think before the words stumbled out of him.

"I like your face."

It came out almost matter of fact sounding, Fulcrum's laughter having died down while Misfire complained about it. But at the same time the words felt so simple, they came out so easily, and in a weird way they felt nice to say. But Misfire's optics had widened in surprise, his frame frozen and his field suddenly struck quiet, and despite the engex numbing his usual nerves, Fulcrum felt a sudden pang of anxiety because of it.

The silence in Misfire's field was terribly alien. It felt wrong, and something in Fulcrum spiraled to think he had caused it. But slowly, almost as if it were creeping forward, an odd almost scrutinizing uncertainty fanned outward in a careful wave. Misfire moved with it, leaning closer as he searched Fulcrum's expression for something.

"Oh yeah?" He'd said lowly then, and that sly look returned. But that vague uncertainty didn't fade with it, if anything, Fulcrum felt it strengthen. Caught between what he saw, in Misfire's easy smile and dimmed optics, and what he felt, in the growing hollow distance within their fields, Fulcrum found himself frowning and pulling back.

-

-

Growing frustrated with himself, and wanting that feeling back, he had pushed forward, shifting onto his knees as he reached for Misfire's face before the other could pull away from him entirely.

"I like your face." He said firmly, maybe too firmly. His expression still drawn into a frown as he pressed his fingers into Misfire's helm, brushing his thumbs across the silver mesh he'd been staring so intently at before. "I like your optics, and your nose. I- I like the way you smile. When you really smile, and when you laugh. I do. I'm not lying."

And oh there it was again, that little curl of warmth in Misfire's field. Almost a tangible thing, like a brush of ventilation, but Misfire wasn't venting. His mouth hung open ever so slightly, but no breath left him as he stared at Fulcrum with widening optics.

Spurred on by that tiny bloom of warmth, Fulcrum chased after it with slightly slurred words and clumsy hands as he tried to fix whatever he'd done wrong, hoping with each word that Misfire might soften and smile again.

"I like your expressions, and- and I like your voice," He said, glancing down at Misfire's parted lips, and laughing softly, nervously, as he continued, "Even when you say something so stupid. I like- I like the way it sounds. I like your accent, I like the way it makes your words sound. I- I like your- your mouth?"

Once more that weird but nice feeling settled in Fulcrum's chest. Those simple words felt good to say. It felt like a weight off his shoulders, like an admission he'd been waiting to say. About what and why? He wasn't really sure. But the warmth grew, and Misfire took a sharp vent inwards, and that felt right, so Fulcrum kept on.

"I like your helm," He said with a smile, reaching up to brush his fingers over the jutting finials there, before dropping his hands to settle lightly over Misfire's chest. "I like your frame, the colors of it. I like your-"

Before he could finish, Misfire was surging forward, knocking their helms together and nearly bruising the mesh of their noses as he tried for, and just barely missed, Fulcrum's lips.

-

👁👁👍

[sundial-bee-scribbles]

"my education is my highest priority" everything returns to vocaloid

[longagoitwastuesday]

Jacob Elordi and Margot Robbie as Heathcliff and Cathy seems like out of The Onion

[icewindandboringhorror]

There's always a slight yearning in the back of my mind wishing I had been born in the right place, time, family situation, income level, etc. to have just lived in one single house for my entire life. Imagine being born in a place that still suits you, even through all of your personal evolutions and etc. The idea of deep familiarity with an area because you've lived and explored it for 40+ years, being encased in a web of memories and connections. Being able to clean out your old childhood bedroom and find personal artifacts, to dig in the yard and remember. I know those lives can still be plenty imperfect, but there's just something so seemingly solid and stable and Grounding about it that I sometimes wish I could have.. (At least from my outside perspective as someone who's moved around a bit geographically and even within the same area, never lives in the same house/ apartment /etc. for more than a few years usually.) Like... having a place that is printed upon, fully your own, rather than chronically a visitor, every thought of a space always tempered with the notion that one day soon you'll have to pack it all up again, etc. There's something peaceful about the permanence.