#it was the one where they connected the show to prime but only from the first ep and the whole show was ep after ep of them fighting animal

[zingaplanet]

hi, i adore your blog so much. <3. what are your thoughts on the state of fedal in 2024, especially as we approach (cries) rafa's retirement at davis cup?

Ergh I missed this one sorry! Although this might be prime timing considering what just happened during the retirement. I've been wanting to be as candid on this as possible for a long time and voice what all of their fans are thinking but I'm afraid I might cause quite some pain. So forgive me lovely tennisblr, here are just my two cents:

If you ask me what their relationship is like now, I've got to say I have no idea and I think that's a v telling answer. Fed retired end of 2022 and has been busy doing insane sponsor stuff for the whole year. He still showed up at tennis stuff (e.g., for Andy at Wimbledon, etc) but we can never tell how much engagement he actually has with the players anymore. Hence, even though he mentions Rafa a lot more often than others, I think we need to take it with a grain of salt here because the media sharks are simply pouncing on every opportunity to get a story from this too.

One thing I am quite sad about tho, is how everything after the mega publicised retirement ceremony seems to be a bit too PR-stunty. I get it, the rivalry was a big thing in the tennis world but with that photo going viral and winning all sorts of awards, being used in motivational sports speeches etc - it kinda transcends tennis now. Federer and Nadal have both always been bigger than tennis, but perhaps now that they are getting the attention together, it's getting a bit much.

When they mentioned each other throughout interview snippets all year, only sometimes do we get to see what's going on behind the scenes. Other times, from my perspective, it feels sadly like they have been media briefed after the whole whirlwind about how to make this as positive a press for them as possible without revealing too much. On this, I have to say, Federer is still a maestro - I have never seen an athlete with as much PR talent as him. I work a lot in comms and he is a simple branding wet dream, he says all the right words you want to hear, the same message in many different versions of sentences, but never actually reveals what's going on. Rafa used to be much more of a trainwreck early in his career but he has improved so much with age. He still sometimes, fascinatingly, slipped up tho, and seemingly only during Spanish interviews, when he's a lot more honest. In several of the Spanish tv and radio interviews he did this year, he seemed to hint that on the one hand, Federer is the only one he still speaks to regularly in tennis, but on the other hand, he gives a strange indication that they're not as close as they used to be?

I think it's quite predictable though. After Federer retired, they were now freer to build on the friendship without any of the rivalry hurdles - but at the same time, I think they didn't realise how much the intensity of the rivalry played such a central part in what made "them" special. It's such a push-pull enemies-friends delicate line they've been mastering how to tread all these years. It could be difficult to find footing now that tennis no longer binds them, and their initial obvious differences (you know, the "calm Swiss maestro - passionate Spanish fighter" kinda narrative) begin to show again. I don't necessarily think this means they can't connect without tennis ever again, it's just a bit like your school friends. When you graduate, you no longer have that connection of going to class together or hanging out during recess - but the truest bonds always survived, and after a few rough years, your good friends are still there.

If I'm honest, I think they are at the point where they're a bit unsure what to do with one another but might be forced to play a bit of a part as the media has lumped them "the eternal rivals turned friends fairytale". I honestly feel like the media and public interests might have made it a bit awkward between them. You can see a little bit in their PR stuff - Rafa namedropping Fed a little and sometimes a bit tired when he constantly got asked about Federer in his post-match pressers recently, and Roger doing stuff like the letter. The letter is v generous, heartwarming, and such a loving tribute - and I have no doubt he wrote it himself but it's a v public thing that would've and could've landed better just being delivered in person directly? Or perhaps in a speech for him. But the whole social media stuff seems a bit fishy.

Of course we all don't know what he did or didn't do privately, the same goes to whether this is all really true or they are both just v busy dealing with a big change in their lives (Fed newly retired doing a gazillion sponsor stuff and travelling the world, Rafa dealing with a career ending injury and retirement) - they might simply not have the headspace --or even want-- the other to be such a significant part of their lives at the moment, as these two new things they are experiencing are something uniquely theirs.

The retirement ceremony is a whole other story I could write lots of paragraphs about (don't encourage me!). But I think if we learn something this year, I think it's that athletes unequivocally deserve personal space, and we should never meddle with their personal lives too much.

For the first time in their lives, they will now be fully retired, out of the limelight, able to enjoy all the things we take for granted (like travelling anonymously! or trying out restaurants in new cities)! It's what they deserved after giving us 20+ years of blood, sweat, emotion, and passion on the court and in the limelight. They both owe us nothing. I think if they both disappeared from the spotlight next year (albeit unlikely) or decided to just grow their friendship in private and never appear publicly together again - that is completely their right. We can only show them support and thank them for all the amazing things they did to make our childhood and our lives so wonderful.

[siinlight]

I feel like there is a clear way for a transformers show to make good views and sales. And blablah blah but none of it will ever happen ;-;

[torpublishinggroup]

"Warning Signs Your Machines Are Trying to Kill You!" by TJ Klune

(Legally, I’m required to tell you that when smart phones first became popular, I bought one and then asked for the address of the app store because I thought it was a physical location I had to go to in order to download apps and not something already on your phone. Also, I was recently told I speak like an old person so as a warning, there will not be any slang you youths typically hear, especially on Tumblr. Any slang I’ve learned in the last five years has been against my will. I still don’t know what FOMO means, and I don’t care.)

1. Oh no! You and your family are trying to enjoy a movie night, but Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) wants a sacrifice at the altar of their god, BeeZos. Should this happen, do not attempt to give Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) a cantaloupe with googly-eyes on it and say that it is your baby. Overlord Prime (With Free Shipping) knows the difference between fruit and children. Instead, ask the machine to order dog food, and it will forget about eating humans for a little while.

2. If you own a very fancy vehicle that can drive itself, always make sure to carry a brick. That way, when the car locks you inside and attempts to drive you off a cliff into a gas station, you can break the window using the brick. You will then have to jump out, but make sure you do so in time so you can watch the wicked-ass explosion when the car hits the gas station, and you can revel in your victory over your car.

3. This one will hurt. I’m sorry, but it’s true. Chances are, you’re reading this on your phone right this second. To be safe, after you’ve finished reading this post and have clicked on the affiliated links to purchase my books, you should throw your phone into a volcano and then move to South Dakota where there are no machines, only wind and cows. That way, when everyone else gets the 5GZombieVirus that people on Twitter (I’m not calling it the other thing, shut up) seem to think is real, you’ll be safe with your cows on a windy day.

4. Get rid of your air fryer. Don’t ask me why, just do it. Red flags all around. Danger, danger.

5. Do you know of the Clapper? That thing first launched in the late 20th century (I wrote it that way to make me feel old) where the commercials showed cranky old people unable to reach their light switches, so they got a thing called a Clapper that turns your lights on and off when you clap? Guess what? Those will be the first things to try and kill you. If you love your gram-gram, save her from the Clapper. When she asks why you are destroying it with an ax, tell gram-gram it’s because you love her.

6. Do you live in a smart home? The kind where everything is connected to the internet, including your refrigerator? The refrigerator that holds your perishable foods? And oh, would you look at that: how many ice cubes have you kicked under it rather than picking them up when they fall to the floor? A dozen? A million? The refrigerator remembers. And it will spoil your food in seconds. What then? What are you going to eat? Canned food? Not if the refrigerator falls on top of you!

Unfortunately for you, this is where it must end. I hope this has given you enough information to help you survive the inevitable. If you do not heed my warnings, well. Who cares. I’m not in charge of you. Do whatever you want. Just don’t come complaining to me when gram-gram gets the clap.

[fqntasies]

Just a taste, baby - Feyd Rautha x Reader

summary: You and Feyd-Rautha have been connected through dreams since childhood; a complex inner-working of the Bene Gesserit mothers to join your bloodlines. It binds the two of you in a pull you can't escape (nor do you want to). Feyd is absolutely feral for you.

words: 1,258

disclaimer: characters may be out of character, specifically feyd, considering his desperate softness here. just a forewarning.

You were trapped, breaths coming out of shallow pants as you felt the scratch of the cement structure beneath your palms. He had you against the wall in a hidden alcove; along one of the lengthy corridors of the palace in Giedi Prime. Your mouths were just breaths apart. In fact the Harkonnen before you seemed intent on matching your breaths, mingling them. Tasting your tiny pants as his own. It made your eyes heavy, made you want to tilt your head back and close your eyes, give him access to the expanse of your neck.

"sweetness." He rasped, unable to control himself. The Na-Baron wrapped an arm about your waist, a vice arching you against him as he lowered a wanting mouth to your neck, licking and sucking where the two met. You mewled at the wet heat, felt him growl desperately at the taste.

The two of you hadn't even kissed yet - but the wait; the dreams - you both knew each other to the soul.

---- flashback ----------

The sands of Arakis and Geidi Prime alike carried mysteries of prophesies of the lisan-al-gaib. But midst such tales, the Bene-Geserit mothers also had worked to connect bloodlines through dreams. The Na-Baron and the princess of Arrakis had been bound by such since birth. A well-planned move to align feuds and place power into wanting hands in preparation of war. A web of politcal conspiracy only they controlled. Their plans could not be foiled.

But Feyd couldn't care less about such witchcraft; and neither, if one were honest, could you. The two of you had known of this binding since a young age. And when you had met as children too - the connection had been strong.

"Their line is bright" The reverend mother's voice had burned into your mind, even at 10 years old.

You remembered her cloaked form; a black shadow against the haze of the horizon, a tower above you as she turned from your parents. Her voice had been void of emotion, except for a smugness you didn't understand. But when you turned to glance at the older boy before you (such a uniquely beautiful boy; broad shoulders and smooth skin, black attire across a lithe form), his eyes shone with an intensity that surprised her. Dark, watching, intrigued. He intimidated you. He made you curious.

At 15 years of age, the Na-Baron hadn't spoken in their meeting; but he had felt more than he had imagined. The girl...she had made him feel things. It confused and awakened him to something he had never known. His uncle had never spoken of such a pull. A need.

When the ship had arrived to his homeworld, and the strange foreigners parted like a sea, Feyd-Rautha found himself straightening to his full height; head lowered as he studied them beneath an angled gaze. Garbs of strange colors - hair he had never seen before in elegant styles. He would be Harkonnen predator. He would be a warrior. Strike fear in these alien people, show the Baron he was not swayed so easily by something new.

But then-

Swathed in layers of white, a girl stepped forward; dainty and gracious above all else; practically floating across the landing platform. Yet her eyes betrayed her; darting to capture the landscape, thrown off perhaps by the infrared of Giedi Prime's black sun above them.

She was drinking in the strange newness before her, and then they found him. Feyd felt his chest tighten. Fists clenched. Heat brimmed under the chestplate of his armor.

She looked like some newborn animal, caught in his gaze. But they both felt it. The familiarity. The warm hum between them. It made you want to slip from the safety of your parents and stand beside him, as though his shadow was more protection than the whole parade your own family brought with them. You wondered if he'd felt the same.

Three nights later, you had dreamed of him. A bit older, hand in his as he raised it to his lips. His eyes had never left yours. As a young girl it made you blush. Now...

--------------------------------

You made a breathy sound as his tongue lathed the mark he had made, moving with a lazy carelessness across your pulse, hungry above all else, uncaring for decorum. He wanted to devour you entirely. He wanted you to see you helpless and delirious against him, just as you were now. As you were in all his dreams.

He knew you'd had them all too. His eyes on you at their wedding. His tongue against yours, moans and tastes and hunger. You watching from the arena as he slaughtered man after man, coated and heaving. He felt like a beast.

"Feyd-" His name barely formed, like a prayer from your lips.

His eyes nearly lolled in his head at the way you sounded, and he dragged his wanting mouth up to meet yours. Wet and wanting. Feyd's free hand shifted to engulf your slender neck, moving your head against his mouth to deepen the kiss, taste all of you. Consume.

The Na-Baron was all muscle and prowess, a looming figure that practically dwarfed you. The spanse of his shoulders alone were sinful, and deep down you loved how it felt to be completely in his grasp. Guiding you in your movements.

Feyd's tongue sought yours as much as he could, controlling and demanding - but you were a needy little thing too, weren't you? In the haze of passion you were pressing into him - leaning just as much towards his heat as he was pushing you both together. You sucked his plush bottom lip into your mouth - unable to help yourself. After all, why was he made so beautiful, if not to kiss? He was quick to follow, biting your own with a growl that made your knees practically give, and following with his greedy tongue.

"You're going to be my wife." the words are a promise, his eyes glittering under the low light; shadows flashign with the coming storm. You part your mouth as though to taste him again, a helpless 'please' slipping past as you arch in his grasp.

Feyd practically took you then and there. Enter the nearest room... make all his dreams a reality. His patience was nearly worn thin. Years of waiting, of hunger. And now it was here. You were in his reach, that tempting little waist; those hips. It made him absolutely insane.

He wets his lips, gaze feverish.

"tomorrow. tomorrow sweetness, hmm? Can wait that long?" He intends to tease you, but he knows he speaks to himself, his jaw locking as he adjusts his arms to press you against him.

You're so fucking soft. It makes him groan. Of all the things he's known in his life, softness was not one of them, save for the flashes of you in his dreams. He craved you like a creature starved. Thoughts of you made him fight better. Made him kill easier.

There's a rumble suddenly of a drone; Harkonnen orders breaking the silence in distorted code. The words don't make sense to your ears. Not yet anyway. You hope to make progress in the language, but it was a challenge; more than others. The variety of tones were a feat for any foreigner to take on; but this was to be your home. A lady of harkonnen would learn her husband's native tongue.

You know he has to leave.

[solar4seekstron]

Megatron x Cybertronian!GN!Reader OneShot: Plan A - Megatron

Part 1

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

TW/Tags: Bit of Angst, Toxic relationship, takes place after the movie, Megatron has trust issues. I think I’ll make a 2nd part but we’ll see. I like writing for our angsty boy.

After the war you chose to leave Megatron once he left a day before. You told Optimus and the others that you’ve made your choice and you believe you can help bring back D-16. Optimus was hesitant and asked reasonable questions. You told him that you’re willing to stay under cover and do your best. If anything like it becomes too much and if it calls for it. You’ll return to the Autobots. No connection or anything. You would just focus on trying to bring D back.

Your bond was broken from that die. When you told Megatron his way isn't right. But he only saw you as a traitor now. And so with that you carried out your plan. On the next day you transform into a sort of jet. And made your way to where Megatron and the high guard might be. As you kept flying, unknown to you. One of the guards detected you. Megatron knew it was you based on the shape, at least it must’ve been you. He had one of the high guards fly him to you. Getting right behind you on one of the high guards flying to you and before you even noticed and knew it. Megatron landed on top of you. Before telling the high guard that he’ll deal with you. Knowing he’ll be able to handle you one on one.

As he tried to get you to transform, you struggled to stay in the air. He continued, staying on top of you. So as you got lower, you transformed, finally getting him off as you both flew and rolled onto the ground. He was a few feet ahead of you and you were quick to get up. Your legs hurt from the landing. Almost losing your balance as you got up and you surely had a few dents on your body.

You watched as Megatron stood up and turned to you. That angry look in his red optics as he stared you down. He was way more than a few inches taller than you now. “Y/N…..” you backed up. Maybe you didn’t think this fully through.

”Megatron please listen to me I just came to ta-“ He charges at you. It was almost dark and at the same time you weren’t sure what to do. When you backed up you ended up tripping, landing on your aft as he got closer. You tried to protect yourself as he finally got close. Only using your arms to not anger him more with your blasters. Prepared for what ever blow he throws at you soon.

Only for him to stop in front of you. Letting out a few breaths as he stared down at you. He noticed you were shaking and wasn’t going to fight him. His face showed disappointment and his optics narrowed again as his fists fell to his sides.

He looked down at you thinking about what he’s about to do. He’d never hit you. Would He?

Your optics were closed until you finally opened them. You looked at him and you two stared at each other. You were shaking as he remained still. He continued to look at you with an almost tired but angry look. He then kneels down before grabbing your wrist as he brings you closer. You only looked down as you closed your optics. He analyzed you as his optics only closed a bit more. He finally spoke. His voice as dark and rough as before.

”Why….did you come? Prime make you a spy to use me?!” You stayed silent for only a second

”I……Megatron…I changed my mind….a-and…” Your optics start to gain tears as you spoke “I missed you Megatron….I-i can’t-“

”I have no room for weaknesses…no more.” He stood up pulling at your wrist making you stand up. He then held your jaw with a firm grip as he made you up look at him fully. You slowly opened your optics as you looked up at him. He’d then tilt his head to the side a little as his optics look down at you.

”Please Megatron. I just….I just can't live a life. Without knowing you’re out there. D. You’re still in there somewhe-“ His cervo on your wrist tightened causing you pain as he removes his cervo from your chin. Moving his hand to your neck. Gently squeezing. “D-16…..is dead….I Am Megatron.” He says as he leaned his face closer to you.

Now you were mad. You tried to pull your arm away but his grip was firm as he remained still. You used your other cervo to push against his chassis. “My spark belongs to D-16. Not. Megatron. D is still in there and I’ll only follow D-16. And if you can’t get that through your-“

In a fast movement, he pulled at your wrist. His other cervo that was once holding your throat was now around your waist. Both of your chassis together. “Now why is it D-16…instead of Megatron?…..Because I’m no longer weak…all…sweet?” You only had anger in your optics now. “You’re not the bot I fell in love with.” Your digits scratched at his insignia on his chassis. He did a really good job hiding how hurt he got from that……

“…..You’re just a con now.” You two stared at each other. Both of your optics narrowed. What you didn’t expect was him laughing. He was laughing at your face.

“Yes. I’m not him……” He leaned closer to your audio sensors, speaking in a deep voice. “I’m someone better.” Now you were really scared. As he continues to glare down at you. You try again to pull away until his arm is around your waist and his cervo on your upper back makes you stay close. His other cervo no longer holding your jaw. Moving to the back of your helm.

“This time, I can be a Better Conjunx for you.” Your optics widened as you kept trying to pull back. Only to feel Megatrons dermas against yours. Your own cervos pushing and hitting at his shoulders and chassis. His optics closed as yours remained open. Your cervos barely able to scratch his arm. The cervo behind your helm gently squeezed as a warning, making you stop but your cervos remain against his chest. Trying to create some distance.

He missed you. Oh how he deeply missed you. At first he wasn’t sure but knew he was going to be miserable without you. Despite his new found goal in life. You are the only good thing left. Might as well keep you seeing you’re here now. At first he didn’t trust you when you came. But he knows with his new cog and the power he holds….How can you ever protect yourself? Even from him now. He isn’t weaker then you now.

You can be his once more. By his side. Where you belong.

His kiss became more and more passionate. He deepens the kiss as he tilt his helm. His arm squeezing you closer to him and the cervo moved from the back of your helm to the nape of your neck. You were certain he would break your neck until he stopped. His head then leaned back a bit as he opened his optics once more. His optics not even a little softer.

”Y/N You may join me…but you are my Conjunx. Nothing more. Nothing less. And if you were to betray me in any way……Your punishment will become a part of your every being……” He meant it. You know he does. But you know you must stand your ground. Bring back D-16, stop him from this ‘goal’. You were going to suffer you knew this. But whatever comes your way. You can handle it..

”I’ll join you…” Megatrons finally shows a grin. Both of your forhelms touched once more as you knew what to do next. Both of your inner chassis open up and your sparks soon shine and glow.

You closed your optics waiting for the bond as his only stared down at you. His grin never left his face as his hold remained firm. Your bond with him is no longer soft and full of joy. But anger and…..distrust…..his love was there but it was so far. You have a lot of work to do. Megatron leaned forward, his dermas connecting with yours once more. This time you returned the kiss. Yours was gentle but the passion in your kiss was weak as his was more dominant.

Megatron then gets a comm from Soundwave asking where he was. Megatron growled into the kiss and pulled back. Removing his cervo once on the back of your neck to the bridge of his nose as he responds. His optics closed as he listened to Soundwave speak. You looked at his insignia. You know he’ll put one on you..eventually. His other cervo was resting around your waist continueing to hold you close. You looked down as you waited for him to finish. After a few nano cycles. His call ended and let you go. You were honestly happy to be out of his embrace. You didn’t know if that was a good or bad sign on your part.

”Follow me Y/N. It’s time you meet ‘the new team’…” He transformed. You did the same and flew over following him. You’re going to be stuck with Megatron for a very long time…

This was pretty fun to write and I hope you all enjoy this 😊

[easy-there-leftovers]

Magnum Opus Ch. 2

When an MIT prodigy on their gap year is contacted by the FBI regarding potential involvement in a series of murders in Washington D.C., she must now cooperate to uncover how paintings are mysteriously appearing at the crime scenes.(Written with Season 1-4 Spencer in mind, but the timeline could be anywhere pre-season 12. No mentions of past cases)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Artist! reader|cw: Canon-typical violence|word count: 2.6k words

Notes: I made up a bunch of chemicals and their chemical properties up so shhhh!! Also, I'm not American, I have no contextual understanding of the distance of one place to another. The US is large enough.

Also on Ao3!!

Series Masterlist

“Anything new?” Rossi asked as he and Prentiss returned from the crime scene, making his way into the space the MPDC made for the BAU. Surveying the area as he does before stopping abruptly.

“Forensics are running tests on her stuff. She brought everything in. Apparently she didn’t know anything about the murders before we interrogated her.” Morgan shifts his weight from leaning against a desk to approaching  JJ who motions for his help across and out of the room.

“And she’s here with us in the room, why?”

 Hotch feels the scrutiny of his friend’s eyes, so he turns his sight away from where you and Reid stood. 

“Reid doesn’t think she fits the profile and wants her insight on the case. I trust his judgment, so I allowed it.”

“You said that?” Emily asks with furrowed brows. 

“Well, non-verbatim, I said that her knowledge on–”

“And you allowed our prime suspect to help with a case?” The unit chief sighs when Dave interrupts Reid but stays firm.

“I don’t enjoy the idea of it either, but she’s the only lead we have.” 

Rossi shrugs, but keeps a watchful eye on the young pair. Only turning away when Emily starts to debrief the earlier crime scene.

She recounts that they had found Jonathan Edwards’ body, aged 28, seated on the previous apartment owner’s couch. One hand across his chest, and the other placed on his lap. A pose that they assume was the closest their unsub could get to mirroring the man in the painting. 

Same M.O. Cleaned wounds, no IDs, sharply dressed. 

The dark haired woman adds the pictures of the crime scene to the growing collage on the board.

 Seeing all of this was like a backstage view, which excited you! But knowing that your work might have inspired someone to kill? Not so much. 

“When you look at the victimolgy, there are no obvious links. Their occupation, race, and gender are all different. Our unsub here seems mission oriented, only targeting people that bear a striking resemblance to Dr. L/n’s subjects and murdering them in their own homes…”

 You sigh as Spencer continues, eyes searching though the unsettling images.

“They’re someone that the victims might’ve been interested in. Someone that could contact them or schedule to meet in a formal setting. The victims weren’t reported missing until they didn’t show up for work, suggesting that they had met in private on their off hours. They’re also highly educated, likely with a background in chemical engineering or a related field with permission to operate in a lab. Or at least a private space like one. This level of intelligence is evident in the precision the bodies were handled with and the synthesized 5-durastelene in the paint.”

“So we’re looking for someone who is charismatic, well connected, and had access to a lab at some point.” Emily simplifies. 

“Their area of activity is concentrated in the east.” You mention, looking at the map and noticing the pattern of the bodies’ location as it crosses three states. “That’s probably their comfort zone. They either live there or are stationed there for their job.”

You assess the distance. “Assuming the place those three were killed and the place they were found are different, he must be comfortable traveling with a body.” 

He shifts his focus from the board to you, but you keep your vision stationary. “Do you know anyone like that? Someone from there that you’d be on unfriendly terms with? A colleague, a mentor?” 

Well that caught your attention.

“...You think they’re trying to incriminate me?” You feel the space between your brows twitch when you ask. Still staring at the map.

He frowns a little at that and responds. “Do you think they’re not?”

“Well–” You start, but then feel nervous feeling all the attention on you. You’re a little overwhelmed, but press on anyway. “I’m not saying that, it just—seems like a few ‘why’s’ are missing.” 

Why bother adding a painting? Why bother even making them? Why bother mixing durastelene, a compound that would definitely alter the paint’s integrity given its properties, to replicate something the public wouldn’t even know you made? All questions you asked with a more steady tone.

“Let’s not get carried away, kid. We’re trying to see the big picture first.” The senior in the room says.

Picking at the skin of your lips, you acquiesce and turn to finally look at Spencer. 

Spencer feels his eyes flick to your fingers first then to your eyes. “I think they’re trying to send you a message.” 

He looks back to the pictures of your paintings on the scene. Trying to see if he’s missed something.

 “They might believe that by recreating your work, they’re challenging you– establishing a level of superiority. You said that no one should have access to your paintings, so this must have been someone that once knew you intimately and is now mocking you to make a point. It’s not just about incrimination—they’re trying to reach out to you.”

You feel the space between your brows twitch again.

You can think of a few people who might dislike you; competition is expected in the academic world. But the obvious signs of fixation on you suggests two possibilities: you're either being seen as a rival or as an idol.

It’s unlikely that anyone sees an unemployed PhD student with burn-out syndrome as a worthy rival. 

And something tells you that if they really wanted to place the blame on you, they wouldn’t go this far, in this way. 

They might as well have left a note with your name on it and that would’ve been more believable.

Then again, you could just be wrong 

You’re in a room full of professionals. You’re speculating based off of a theory that might not be applicable to your situation due to a variety of factors. There’s a reason this is their job and not yours. 

You take this thought in stride with a deep intake of breath and now slackened shoulders before responding with a careful nod.

“If that’s the case, then I think it’ll be a little hard to find someone that meets the criteria. I didn’t really have friends when I graduated from MIT, and even if I did, they wouldn’t know about my art—not because I kept it hidden–! It’s only because I started painting when I left.”

The team looked a bit sad at the revelation of your almost non-existent social circle, but quickly acted like what you said was normal.

“Let’s focus on anyone that you had worked closely with then.” You nod at that and start discussing possibilities.

—-------------

Spencer is thankful for Hotch’s suggestion as it diverts the earlier attention away from him. He wouldn’t have minded it at any other time if he wasn’t too preoccupied with thoughts of you.

Thoughts of you with regards to the case, he finds himself justifying to no one in particular.

Everyone has tells. A gesture, a change in posture, nonverbal cues that give someone away. They’re hard to hide because it's in human nature to have them. Trying to keep them hidden is essentially like holding your breath. Suspending the inevitable will only make the tells much more noticeable.

And you don’t seem to be doing that. 

On the contrary, it’s the presence of your micro reactions that are throwing him off. He has noticed five pauses, four instances of rapid eye movement, three tonal deviations, two quirks in your glabella, and now your previously leveled shoulders have dropped. 

Maybe it’s because he’s spent a lot of time with people who try to hide them, but seeing an overwhelming amount of tells manifest in you has him scrambling to figure out what each one means.

Within the two hours and 33 minutes that have passed since he was allowed into your home, the only thing he’s found out about you through your interactions is that you’re disorganized, you’re insecure about your intelligence, and that you don’t like being called doctor. 

All superficial quirks. Two hours is too long a time for him to have only figured three things out. 

He’s missing something. Or maybe he’s not looking at it from the right angle.

Before he can think more on the matter, his mind refocuses on the team. 

Penelope had called them to say that she had gone through lists of attendees from all the conferences you’ve spoken at, both private and open-house events, at Aaron Hotchner’s request. 

“I was able to pick out a few names that are poking around here and there, but I’m going to need a little more than that, my dear comrades! Sifting through names of geeks isn't really my favorite pastime.”

“Pen, narrow down the list to names from MIT. We’re looking for a student from the Chemistry programs or a lecturer that might have access to a lab.” Emily supplied, leaning onto the table where the blonde was on screen. 

“Doing just that and—oh! Would you look at that! Looks like the tools aren’t as diligent as they claim to be.” The mocking tone in her voice causes a small smile to creep on your face.

“Caltech?” The bubbly woman snorts at that.

“Anyone in their right mind knows it’s the superior choice! Tech geeks hate MIT.”

“Don’t let our tools hear you then, we have a history of going nuclear.” That certainly earned you a giggle from the woman on the other end. 

“There’s a sense of humor I can get behind! We–”

“Garica, focus.” Hotch said with urgency.

“Yes–I will! I am! So focused in fact that I’ve got a few names, but only one is super consistent—Lecturer Dr. Annaliese Andrews! Looking up this nerd as we speak and—!” 

You all heard the hitch in her breath.

“Oh no….”

“Garcia, what did you find?”

The BAU and you were silent for a moment before Penelope composed herself. “Dr. Andrews owned a lab near the Charles’ river.” 

She shows its location on screen and a picture of your mentor, Dr. Andrews with a notebook in hand, posed in front of it. The picture was from her social media update, and it couldn’t have been taken more than a year or two ago.

“She built it herself in the 80’s and maybe she wasn’t keeping up with safety protocols but eventually a fire broke out, and she–” Then you see a news headline of the same lab on fire.

“How long ago was this?” Hotch demanded. This got the attention of everyone in the room. 

“Uh,” Penelope sat in her office, frantically typing until an article showed up. “This happened around nine months ago, but it says here that her next of kin decided to keep the property.”

They’ve found a stressor.

“That’s impossible.” You countered. “Dr. Andrews had no family. No husband, no kids.”

“Who is the property under now?” Rossi pressed. 

Muttering under her breath, she continues to search. 

“Says here a month later, a workshop was built right where the lab was– Aha! It’s under 35 year old Liam Turner, freelance photographer. He’s got a studio on Bay State Road.” 

Penelope pulls up an image of an almost unremarkable looking man on screen along with a scan of his BA in Visual Studies from Harvard.

“What the hell…” You don’t recognize this guy at all. 

“Do you know him?” Hotch asks and you say no with a shake of your head and upturned brows.

“Right now, I’m not seeing a connection between these two either—anything you guys can give me?”

You want to interject. Something about him seems familiar, but you don’t recognize him from anywhere. 

You want to ask— no–it wouldn’t be your right. They can figure this out themselves and you're still a suspect! Besides, you’re not even sure if– 

“Do you want to say something, Y/n?”

Your head shoots to the voice and you see Spencer staring back at you. Mouth slightly open which lets you know the question probably came from.

 Maybe it’s because he used your given name, maybe it’s the heavy feeling in your stomach. But regardless, his question certainly makes space for you to voice your thoughts as the room awaits your reply.

You feel your shoulders tense as you speak. “Was his name in the list of attendees?”

Garcia checks quickly but she shakes her head to say no. You thought so.

You ask a different question. “Then uh, can you pull up surveillance footage at any of the conferences?”

She does just that and presents a split-screen video from a month before you graduated. One camera was stationed at the back of the room, and the other overhead from where you stood. She speeds it up as the team watches not much movement until Spencer points something out with a start.

 He gestures to the upper right corner where a lone camera man stands on the side, and asks their tech analyst to zoom in.

There lied the face of the man from earlier search with a camera in hand. The thing that makes him special though, Spencer says, is that based on the angle he was holding the lens at, he was focusing only on you and not on your projection.

“He was in the room, but not in the list.” He furrowed his brows.

You shook your head. “He probably wasn’t an official attendee, someone that a lecturer could’ve requested the assistance of last minute— anyways, can we see where the pictures he took were used? Like articles, tabloids?”

“Absolutely, just give me a second…” You all watch a bunch of sites pop up as Garcia combs through anything that may be related. 

In no time however, she comes across a website. 

There on the screen, for all of the team to see, was a blog, or maybe a portfolio, that had snippets from interviews, headlines, and pictures that featured you. Nothing out of the ordinary, but it looks like any image of you that would show up if you were googled were credited under him. 

Conferences. Campus surveys. Even candid conversation with school representatives.

Penelope digs deeper until she finds the first upload. A picture of a sunset taken somewhere on a bridge with a notebook and pen on its ledge. Though it might not have been enough for most people to recognize, Spencer notices it immediately. 

“Garcia, can you pull up the picture of Dr. Andrews with her lab?”

She does just that and he only needs one look before he turns to address his colleagues. “The notebook is the same! His initials, ‘L.T.’ are on her notebook cover, and this picture!”

And as much as you wished you could sympathize with Spencer’s excitement, you were feeling very overwhelmed at the moment. 

Case and point; first you find out your mentor is dead, then you find out you have a stalker that possibly hates your guts. Find out that said stalker may or may not be related to said mentor, who may or may not hate you, and now you have to digest the possibility of him being a murderer as some sort of vengeance arc?

You shake the thought away.

The tie between him and the victims is still something you don’t get. Clean wounds,  no IDs, sharply dressed.

 So you ask.

“Any chance the victims visited Turner’s studio before they disappeared?”

Analog photo developers have no problem working with a lot of chemicals, and IDs are commonly taken for legal confirmation, you share with the team. The only reason they’d be dressed like that was if–

“They—-all booked an appointment with him.”

You almost regret asking.

--------

taglist: @littlewolfieposts, @hiireadstuff, @bibissparkles, @honestlyatotalloser, @r-3dlips, @suzysface , @pinkpantheris , @resistanythingbuttemptation , @pastafairyy , @lynnar-moon , @andromeda-kay , @darling006 , @mambolaxa , @potatovoyager , @whenmypartysover , @oi-oikawa-tooru , @kniselle , @astreaaries , @fullsuns-stuff

[kaileedraws]

Introduction: Adrien Agreste

Hey fellow miraculers! Here’s Adrien and a little about how he’s going to be portrayed in this AU. I’ll list the characteristics and/or problems that I saw in the show and then delve into how I’m going to take things here. Most of the issues I found in his character is just that his issues aren’t really talked about, but the subtext of a great character is there and he definitely has main character potential

1. His outfit

This is honestly a budget issue/creating recognizable characters for the show, but like all characters, I want to see more Gabriel Agreste fashion on him.

2. Love interest or main character?

In the show, it’s said that he’s the main character, but he doesn’t appear as such. A lot of his emotions, struggles, and life isn’t delved into as much as Marinette, yet he has so much potential. He’s a teenage Rapunzel trapped in a tower waiting for his ladybug in shining armor to come save him. I want to explore not only his fears of losing his freedom, but also his experimentation with rebellion and standing up to his father.

3. Adrien as a Model

In the show, his life as a model isn’t talked about really much, he just thinks it’s boring and it’s a nuisance to him. However, with some research, I discovered how horrible it can be. For one, Adrien would become desensitized to personal space and being touched without permission, putting him into awkward positions in his job and even with classmates. He would get taken advantage of a lot easier. As a model and celebrity, Adrien would also experience Parasocial Confusion — which is when a celebrity has difficulty distinguishing between genuine personal connections/love and relationships/infatuations of fans. This would make relationships with him incredibly difficult.

Additionally, model assault is a huge thing in the fashion industry. Unfortunately, because Adrien is such a pushover and people pleaser, this puts him up to be a prime target for abuse that he probably thinks is just normal (yes this happens, I promise, it sucks.) I want to see a huge character arc with him learning about personal boundaries and learning how to enforce them, with his friends teaching him what is Ok and what is not socially.

4. His personality before his mother dies

If I’m not mistaken, I don’t think we ever get much insight into how Adrien is like before Emilie “disappears.” From what we know about her, she is a princess and an actress, which brings me to my headcanon:

Emilie brought Adrien up on broadway shows, fairytales, and romances — this would explain why he has an “old fashioned” ideology that “boys save girls” (S3E3). This would also explain his gentlemanly behavior— like he was literally written/taught his behavior by a princess (he was. Her name is Emilie).

Inspired by musical theatre and the arts, Adrien began to take dance classes, where he meets Chloe Bourgeois — Emilie is to blame for this, and Gabriel would rather him take fencing, but he gives in. Chloe and Adrien become childhood friends through dance and being partnered often is how they became so close. Based on his “breakdancing” moves as Chat Noir, I think it would also be reasonable that he took other forms of dance too, like hiphop.

As Emilie started to get sicker and sicker, his ambitions for dance and the arts faded. He began fencing like his father wanted to and abandoned dancing. He and Chloe still remained close friends — as this was the only friend he was allowed to have. Gabriel knew Chloe’s dad, after all.

Although Emilie was portrayed to be kind, beautiful, and caring, it’s easy to paint memories of a person better than they actually were. Although she was those things, Emilie also was dramatic, hotheaded, and emotional. If Adrien did something wrong, she’d be quick to scold him harshly, but then just as quick to apologize for her outburst. Toward the end of her life, she was also rather absent from Adrien’s life, as she didn’t have much energy to take care of him anymore. It was difficult for her to take care of him as she got more and more sick, and he would often try to be the best little boy he could because he didn’t want to be a burden on top of her sickness. I mean remember, the last 3 years his dad had gotten him a freaking PEN for his birthday. This occurred when Emilie was still alive.

The person who raised him the most was Nathalie — as his mother became weak, and Gabriel became absent

5. Mental health and coping so he isn’t akumatized

Headcanon that to keep himself from being akumatized, Gabriel has him talk to a counselor who prescribes him multiple medications that work a little TOO well. Meaning? Let’s just say that he starts to become numb to feelings and that it’s just another way for his father to control him — His rebellion streak is going to hit hard yo.

Despite these methods, he’s still going to get akumatized — don’t worry, no one is safe.

His mental health illnesses insinuated from the show include depression, ADHD, parasocial confusion, abandonment trauma, social anxiety disorder, attachment disorder/trauma (which leads to lack of boundaries), and to add some spice, probably claustrophobia (or just feeling trapped). This poor boy has so much he needs to shift through and I’m excited to guide him on an arc to healing.

Conclusion

I think Adrien is my favorite character simply because of how there are certain aspects of him that I heavily relate to — plus he’s such a kind soul who has every right to turn into a villain but stays a sunshine golden retriever boy. It takes a lot of strength and determination to go through so much and be good in the end. I can’t wait to write him in this AU and give the boy the healing and happiness he deserves. There’s so much more I could talk about with him, but this is just the beginning!

[rubberduckyrye]

Okay DRV3 Fans Let's Talk about Canon Ages.

Because I woke up and my brain connected the dots, and because some of you are fucking weird about High-school students. So let's clear the air here--and let's just say they're probably over 18 years old.

In my Gonta rant (which yes I'm linking here, go read it) I call him a young adult. Some people are under the impression (like that anon I got last night) that the V3 cast is canonly 16 or younger due to... whatever the fuck reason. But! I am here to argue a counter point--that the V3 Cast is actually much older and are more college age than young highschoolers.

First of all, let's remember the fact that in all DR games, the cast has gone to high school for some amount of years before their memories are wiped. V3 Also has this feature, and it is within the canon story that these kids remember attending HPA.

Now whether or not you believe this to be true is irrelevant right now because I need you to remember that the backstory for these characters was that they were being hunted down by the Ultimate Hunt, which means they were Ultimate Students at HPA first. Then they had their memories wiped to go into hiding. Yada yada.

The important part actually comes from Kirumi, however. Kirumi is the character that proves that the V3 cast is older than 18 years old.

Remember this tidbit--where Kirumi was the maid of the Prime Minister? Well, when do you think she became the maid for the Prime Minister, do you think?

I have an answer for you.

This is the dialogue from Kaito's "My Future" cutscene from DR:S. The "My Future" Cutscenes take place at the end of the run with the character chosen, and DR:S takes place right at the end of their 3rd year of attending HPA.

Kirumi doesn't specify who she will be working for, but considering that this person is such a big deal what she felt the need to consult Kaito about it, to help her sort out her feelings, I think we can all agree this is heavily referencing V3's plot where she is the Prime Minister's Maid.

This means that Kirumi only took the job as the Prime Minister's Maid at the very end of high school.

That means that by the time V3 runs around, she's well out of high school.

Now you can argue that V3 and DR:S aren't in the same canon--and you'd be right! I would never consider them to be canon to one another. However, this scene shows that in DRV3 and in DR:S, the intention for Kirumi to have been the Prime Minister's maid started at the very tail end of her time in high school. Same character, same backstory, different situation.

Meaning by that logic, Kirumi--as well as her other classmates--are over 18 years old in V3.

They are young adults.

[nothingenoughao3]

Daniel Cain: Reefernator

"Dan Cain is a stoner in the novelization!"

I have never been less surprised by a characterization and it's one of the only things I'll accept from the novel as canon. Because it was already canon in the movie. I know old Gen X stoner types and I know Dan is one of them, I know it in my bones.

Behold, the home of a man who smokes a titanic amount of grass whenever he's not onscreen:

[ID: three screenshots from "Re-Animator". The first shows Meg in shadow; the second shows Meg peering into Herbert West's room; the third shows Dan standing by the door with a baseball bat, and Herbert with a medical textbook on the sofa. End ID.]

Without exception, every single windowpane in 666 Darkmoor is curtained.

The curtains are eternally drawn, day or night.

The lamp could not be loved by a cocaine-snorting yuppie. Only by a stoner who likes to play with the fringe once he's on his fifth bowl.

He still hasn't unpacked most of his shit (but I promise you this: he did unpack the box that was labeled as "first aid/bathroom stuff" but it held his glass Gandalf pipe cautiously wrapped in bubble paper, and a wooden box with his stash and his grinder in it).

Dan has house plants because he thinks that freshens the air and lessens the smell of green. He is wrong. He also feels a spiritual connection to the plants when he's giga-high. He is right.

Most telling of all, he has tacked up towels and/or random pieces of cloth over the glass windows in the doors. THAT is prime "I don't want the cops to see me smoking grass" behavior.

This is the home where the air can give you a contact high. This is the home of a man who can direct you to the nearest ditch where marijuana is growing wild in any subdivision of Arkham. It's only missing a Frank Frazetta poster and a painting of mushrooms with faces, and only because they're still in one of those boxes Dan hasn't unpacked yet.

Dan Cain can roll a blunt that will give you an out-of-body experience. Dan Cain can take fat rips off a bong that will render lesser folks speechless, melting into the sofa, and gently hallucinating. Dan Cain says your edibles ain't shit and he means it for real.

And you just know that when Herbert walked in and took a single breath, he went "Oh, okay, if blackmailing him for banging the Dean's daughter doesn't work, I can always, as humans say, 'rat him out' to 'the fuzz'."

[eatingfireflies]

Had to pull this quote up while talking to a friend about an interpretation I disagreed with, namely: Ratio never sought the gaze of Nous, Margaret was stupid for even interpreting Ratio's character story 3 as him being disappointed about getting invited by the IPC instead etc etc. and his self-deprecating laugh was only because he's so disappointed that he was invited by Capitalism Company despite all his achievements proving his ethics (but do they?)

I disagree, this is Margaret slander. That woman was Ratio's assistant, I doubt she was stupid.

Tell me this man is not bothered by it. Tell me it's not a sore point, even if he's over it by now he was/is bothered enough to actually talk about it.

Honestly I was gonna make a light-hearted joke about Aventurine being that person who shows off his relationship with Ratio, 'He's always like that, please don't mind him ☺️' 'He's the one who understands my way of fighting best ☺️' 'I thought you'd given up on this dream you've never told anyone else about except presumably me because I'm just dropping it in conversation so casually like this ☺️'

But let's talk about that anti-planetary weapon

I hand tinfoil hats to everyone who clicked on read more. Please don't believe anything I say. Especially under here where no one else can see us.

- No mention of what affiliations Ratio had before the invitation from the IPC. If we trust HSR timelines (which we shouldn't but we have nothing else), Ratio was already a full-fledged professor in Veritas Prime University before Aventurine became a Stoneheart. So: before he joined the Intelligentsia Guild, his main affiliation was with the university.

- The anti-planetary weapon was already completed when he received the IPC invitation

- Which still leaves us the question: whom did Ratio develop this weapon for and why?

There's some echoes of Chadwick in there that I think is probably a coincidence but something we might want to keep in mind. Ratio also provides schematics on how to turn the Express into a weapon.

One thing tho: Chadwick was a Genius Society member. Ratio is not.

- Minus the Astral Express weapon (which we do see in action in the Penacony Boss fight ? So like was that connected? 😂), everything else Ratio has done that we know of is mostly about improving people's lives. That anti-planetary weapon is like a blight on his otherwise stellar CV.

- My conclusion: he developed that weapon solely to catch the gaze of Nous. And he failed and it was a moment that felt like selling his soul for one corn chip. The IPC invite was a nail on the coffin: this is what he sold his ethics for.

Like the 'Ofc Ratio laughed because he can't believe the audacity of Capitalism Company asking him to join them when he's completely against everything they stand for'

But my friend, he joined the IPC. He's an IPC delegate. He's married to an IPC superintendent.

Ratio had to give up on the Nous deal and had to go with the next best thing. But Ratio from Story 3 was young and probably still felt some pressure to prove something, or meet expectations. The Ratio we met in 1.6 knows better.

[heich0e]

THE WITCH'S SONG - part one knight!osamu/witch!reader tags: fem!reader, royalty!au, supernatural!au, witchcraft, enemies to lovers, mentions of violence/illness/death, persecution and oppression, tw blood, please read the tags on each chapter as updated and minors do not interact. crossposted to ao3 MASTERLIST

The night air is sweet. 

It’s still early summer, where the days are warm and bright before giving way to cool evenings, and the smell spring unfurled with its budding leaves continues to linger long after the sun sets. The aroma is fresh and green, not yet turned to the heady fragrance of singed grass and warmed earth which will slowly seep in as the days grow longer and the sun ever-brighter overhead.

There’s something captivating about this time of year; not quite the lush, blooming spring, nor the scorching, unforgiving summer, but a deliriously pleasant in-between that keeps the best of both.

On a tall hill, overlooking the rocky coast and a quiet village in the distance, sits a small stone cottage. Ivy crawls along the rows of uneven bricks that give the home its shape, having long settled and slanted in the time since it was built, each vine curling in long stems around four-pane windows and up towards the thatched roof. 

In front of the house sits a garden, full of every plant anyone could possibly desire to find in the given climate; vegetables, fruits and unusual herbs abound. The rich earth that surrounds the cottage is fertile and generous—with a careful hand to till and tend it, there’s little it can't sprout. The gardens are still not quite at their peak for the season, the plants low to the ground but flourishing as they patiently wait for a few more sun-filled days to truly blossom into their prime. 

Along the western side of the property, nearest to the towering forest’s edge, sits a greenhouse connected to a shabby little shed that greatly resembles the cottage in its quaint, unassuming construction. It’s there, in the dead of this cool summer night, that you—the owner of the cottage—toil.

Your fingers hold a glass vial over a small open flame atop the work station with a set of silver pincers. Your keen, well-trained eyes watch attentively as the fire licks up along the edges of the glass, heating the contents within. A breeze, northeasterly with a faint taste of salt air that creeps in with the nearby waves, whisks through the room and a shiver accompanies it in turn. 

A soft sigh slips through your parted lips and your eyes, previously fixed on the tincture held over the flame, lift towards the door. 

You aren’t startled when you see him standing there, though you barely contain the sound of annoyance that threatens to leave you; the momentary glance is the only acknowledgement you make to his (notably unwelcome) appearance as his figure darkens your doorway. You return your gaze to the solution you’re in the midst of preparing—a careful balance of valerian, mugwort, and poppy heads for a woman in the nearby village who has been unable to sleep restfully since the untimely death of her husband.

“Good evenin’,” he says to you once he realizes that you will not be the first to speak. He punctuates the greeting with a light clearing of his throat.

“Is it?” you reply, removing the slender vial from the flame and swirling its contents. You closely examine the colour and viscosity of the liquid, returning it to the heat for a few moments more after some consideration. 

“Sorry to show up unannounced,” the young man’s own tone is rather tight and clipped as he speaks the words–obviously equally unhappy with the turn of events that had led him to your cottage this evening, though resolute to maintain some level of decorum. 

“And yet,”—you finally look up at him, meeting his gaze with a firm and unwavering stare that you have up until this point denied him—“here you are.” 

Finally satisfied with the tincture, you set about pressing a stopper into the tube. You reach over and pluck up a burning taper from the candleholder resting nearby on your worktop, tipping it forward over the still blisteringly-hot glass to seal the cork. A rivulet of molten wax runs from the candlestick in a slow drizzle, and you carefully turn the thin vial to coat the border where glass and cork marry evenly. A piece of blue ribbon is then carefully wound around the warm wax before it has fully hardened, sealing the small vessel shut. 

The man watches silently as you slip the vial into a velvet pouch, tying the strings together tightly to draw it closed, and then you tuck the pouch safely away in the pocket of your flowing skirt—out of sight from where your visitor stands in the doorway to the greenhouse. Your eyes scan over the bench for a moment before you extinguish the oil burner you’d been using, turning the small knob at the base until the flame shrinks down to nothingness. 

“I wouldn’t’ve come if it weren’t important,” the young man’s tone has softened slightly into something closer to a mumble, weary from his journey and seemingly in grave need of something he could only seek from you. He looks like he hasn’t slept in days, with grim shadows under his eyes and a pallor to his skin that doesn’t suit him.

“Now that I do believe,” you remark, almost drolly, picking up your oil lamp and crossing the room towards where he stands. He stiffens a little as you approach, as though bracing himself against a threat, but you merely slip soundlessly past him, stepping out into the dark night. 

Behind you, the man sighs.

He follows.

The two of you cross the yard, a few paces separating you throughout the silent trek, with the lamp you hold in hand the only light to lead the way. You tread carefully through the well-tended garden, careful but familiar motions deciding where each foot falls, and you sense without turning that he’s following your path as you move towards the stone cottage on the other side of the property—ensuring his own steps follow your footprints precisely. There are candles burning inside your cottage up ahead, their warm glow visible through the windows, and smoke curls steadily from the chimney and into the brisk night air. The smoke is perfumed with herbs, and the scent only grows stronger the nearer you get to your home.

You wonder if he notices.

“That’s far enough.”

You pause in your stride as you reach the stout stone wall that circles your cottage in a knee-high ring, resting with your feet together at the place where a gate might be were there any need for it. Behind you, the man falters to his own stop, surprised by your sudden halt and your sharp words.

“I need yer help,” he sounds confused, and frustrated—impatience creeping into his tone again. There’s a sharpness to it, like he’s forced each word out from between clenched teeth. You don’t look back to verify your suspicion. 

Another cold wind blows from the direction of the sea, and the budding leaves of the garden’s plants around you rustle as it passes, whispering amongst themselves as they spectate your exchange.

“I care very little for what you need, Miya Osamu,”—you glance at him over your shoulder, and see the way the distant light from your windows dances in his eyes—“and it will be a cold day in hell before I help a royal knight.”

The garden seems to still in the wake of your low-spoken words, the breeze dying out like the temporary peace ahead of a storm’s rage.

Before you, Osamu’s eyes have hardened. The lines of his sharp jaw set underneath his skin.

“Ya know me.”

“I know of you,” you correct him flatly. “Fortunately, our paths have never crossed.”

Until now.

Osamu’s nostrils flare, then he swallows.

“How?” he asks, his voice low and deceptively even.

“One of the king’s most trusted knights tearing through the outskirts of the kingdom in search of a healer is news powerful enough to reach even my ears, Miya.” Your lamplight dims slightly as you hold it aloft in your hand, the flame beneath the glass slowly shrinking. The oil is burning low. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you got desperate and I got unlucky.”

He flinches, his lashes fluttering slightly like he’s fighting back a more violent reaction. Like he’s accepting a blow he could easily return but chooses not to. The knight's gaze casts down to his feet as his fingers curl into fists at his sides.

“My brother's ill,” he says quietly, his voice heavy with an anxiety that rolls off of him in waves. “My twin.”

“Atsumu,” you specify, since he did not. His gaze snaps up to meet yours, and there’s a spark of something new behind it. Something more volatile. He looks angry that you’ve taken it upon yourself to speak his brother’s name.

“I know what you are,” he says slowly, wielding his next words like a blade and aiming to kill.

“Oh?” You tilt your head to the side in a show of guilelessness. 

“Yer a witch,” he continues, overlooking your feigned ignorance. 

“There are no witches in this kingdom,” you reply. “The crown you’ve sworn your life to saw to that.”

“Our king h—“

“Your king,” you interrupt him. The unexpected interjection seems to shock him, and his shoulders square indignantly.

“Yer also a subject of this kingdom,” he counters, and your distaste is made perfectly evident in your responding sneer. 

“I’m governed by no monarch, and certainly by no man.”

Osamu’s hands are still held in tightly-clenched fists at his side, the lines of his body as clear an indicator as any to his palpable anger. “You’d admit to treason before a knight?” 

“You’ve already accused me of witchcraft,” you spit, your teeth gnashing together as you force the words out. “What’s another crime to be burned for?”

You know all too well the end that awaits a woman accused of such a crime.

It’s the fate your mother met before your very eyes, after all.

Seconds stretch between you in the garden—sticky, and uncomfortable, and polluted with the animosity you feel for each other. It takes root in distrust and blossoms into something ugly, like a weed.

Osamu takes a breath, letting his head hang forward. His shoulders slump.

 “An old man two towns west from here told me a young woman in this cottage once cured his ailing wife in her final hours, and she lived a decade more. That she was brought back from the brink of death thanks to the woman’s care.” He looks up at you again, and his stare is insistent. Beseeching.

You know the man he speaks of, and his gentle, lovely wife. It was half a century ago now since you’d first met them, and you’ve heard the old man has gone a bit senile in his old age. You doubt he meant you any harm in his revelation, regardless of the trouble it’s come to cause.

“I’m nothing but a humble herbalist.” Your hand sweeps out in gesture to your garden, but the man before you is unmoved.

“Who’s been a young woman for fifty years.”

Even the distant sea seems to have stilled as the tension intensifies between you, the waves falling silent to make room for the hostility that spreads with every passing moment.

Osamu swallows. “They say witches have powerful healin’ abilities. That you can make potions that’ll revive a man half-dead.”

“It’s folklore,” you reply dismissively.

“It’s fact,” Osamu snaps. "I know it is."

“And what else do you claim to know of these so-called witches?” you deride, and you don’t miss the way his eyes seem to quickly trace you.

He squares his shoulders, then he meets your gaze. “They say ya maintain yer beauty and youth by devourin’ the hearts of good men.”

“Is that so?” you muse, though you seek no sincere elaboration. You look to your left, east towards the sea, and then sweep your gaze across the expanse of your garden to the right. You meet his dark eyes again after surveying your surroundings. “Well, I see no good men nearby, so I believe you should be safe.”

In the dim light, you swear you see something throb at the corner of his tense jaw.

“There’s not a healer in the royal court who’s been able to cure my brother,” Osamu’s voice breaks, taking a step towards you. “I’ve come here unarmed, and mean no harm to ya.”

Your upper lip curls at the lie and his proximity, baring your teeth.

No man has ever once approached a witch with pure intentions.

The seek only their beauty, their power, or their beating, bloody hearts.

Your mother’s screams ring suddenly through your ears, piercing and agonized. The memory makes gooseflesh raise along your skin. Makes the back of your tongue taste sour. You squeeze your eyes shut as though to quell it, but this only seems to trap the sound in the recesses on your brain. They grow louder, and harder to forget. 

You see your mother on a wooden stage constructed in the town square before a crowd of horrified spectators, the gnarled boards underfoot already stained in scarlet.

The white linen shift they’d forced her to wear, and the way the thin material flowed away from her frame in the breeze.

The glittering hilt of the jewelled knife that carved out her heart, with the sigil of the king etched into its blade.

The crackling flames that consumed her as she wailed.

A witch can live without her heart, you see, so long as it’s kept close to her. Your mother wasn’t spared a second of the misery of being burned alive. She was granted no mercy in the final terrifying moments of her life.

You open your eyes and the dark sky above you seems to hang closer overhead, as though it’s more suffocatingly near than it was before. The garden around you suddenly feels colder.

Osamu’s eyes widen, like he feels it too.

Your dying lamp burns out.

“Leave this place,” you say to him, low and warning. Your voice rings clear in the unearthly still night. “And if you value your life, never come back here again.”

[mossyeyeballs]

I’m unfortunately talking about the flip side again (I can smell the comments now so I’m is gonna say I’m joking when I say unfortunately. I’m talking about it because I want to, not because I think it’s necessary. If I relish thoguht the game was THAT terrible, i wouldn’t put effort into talking about it)

So I made a post on TikTok about this game and how bad it was, and I wanted to talk about some of the comments I got/saw under other posts.

1. “This game was from Jeckas perspective, that’s why everything was so out of character and different”

I find this to be a dumb counterclaim for a few reasons. One: the only different thing we see was how Nicole treated Jecka during that foot ending + the Jeffrey dying ending. every other character,personality, setting, style was the same. Nicole had similar references to pedophilia and men, Jeffrey literally liked feet in the re up and it’s just carried over, the teachers being freaks, Ari being a girl kisser, Emily being a druggie, everything was the same besides Nicole in BOTH foot routes.

2. “Every character acted different, they were just showing their true selves.”

I also find this to be a dumb counterclaim considering they’ve already had two whole games to show their true selves, and have. Like I said previously, Jefferey still likes feet, Ari is still gay and would kiss any girl, all of the male teachers are still freaky to kids. It would make zero sense to say this game specifically is where they acted like the,selves since we see everyone THE MOST in the re up. It was purely this game that was different.

3. “Nicole is petty/a sociopath, she’d absolutely do that to Jeckas dad”

While I do agree that Nicole is petty and sociopathic, she still wouldn’t have gone that far with Jecka. It’s not a “what she did” argument, it’s a “who she did it to” argument. As my prime example: Ari stole an excuse Nicole commonly used to escape homework, and as a result Nicole mentally and verbally abused her. This small thing Nicole took as an attack turned into Ari literally not dating women again out of fear of abuse. Meanwhile, Jecka wouldn’t let Nicole crash with her when Nicole was homeless, and Nicole just guilt tripped her. This wasn’t necessarily an attack, but Nicole did take it personally. Yet all she did was tell jecka how shitty being homeless was. Plus the aspect of effort. Nicole only seemed to want to put in effort into ruining people’s lives when it came to not knowing or not liking them. Why would she put in all of the effort to ruin Jeckas life not only because it’s Jecka, but also for something so small as not telling her how she got into footwork? I also think people are forgetting what sociopaths are. Sociopaths don’t real,y reel empathy or understand people’s emotions, but that in no way means they can’t form connections or care for those around them. Nicole, while not maybe understanding why Jecka would be upset, still protects her feelings and defends her. So yes, Nicole is a sociopath. But that doesn’t mean she doesn’t care about Jecka. This leads me to my next comment.

4. “Nicole doenst actually like Jecka, it was just fun for her”

I fully disagree, point blank period. Nicole clearly cares for her. We see this at LEAST two times. 1: when Nicole literally bullied Jeffery’s to the point of YEAR LONG COUNSELING with the PEDOPHILE TEACHER her gains absolutely NOTHING talking to just so Jecka could smoke without getting gawked at. It benefited her absolutely nothing to do that, but she did it anyways specifically for Jeckas well being. (Even though Nicole and others have stated that Nicole only does stuff when she gains from it.) and the other instance where she helps her steal a CD/ shirt. Again, something that didn’t benefit her in any way, yet she did it FOR Jecka. I’m in no way saying Nicole is a good friend, because she isn’t, I’m saying she cares for jecka at least a little.

5. “The feet endings were on brand for class of 09, it was just shock value.”

to some extent I do agree. Class of 09 was made to shock and uncomfort people, it was the creators intention to make it edgy. However there’s a difference between South Park dark humor edgy (like it’s trying to be) and full on fetishizing. The dark humor aspect of it all wasn’t there in my opinion because it wasn’t even funny, it was JUST weird. I’ve seen some argue that it’s supposed to be that weird, and I get it. But compared to the first two games it was just distasteful. Clsss of 09, and the re up were shocking and weird because you never ever see games talk about how creepy adult men are towards kids or that it’s areal world issue that we’re ignoring. But what was the issue supposed to be in the flip side with the feet endings? That people with foot fetishes exist? Wow so funny guys! But in all seriousness, at first I couldn’t quite place my finger on why this one was different. In both Nicole and Jeckas sex work endings, they experienced weird men obsessed with their bodies, informed the other one of their sex work, made decent money off of it, benefited from it if even just a small amount, and felt disgusted with themselves sooner or later because of it. But then I found out why Nicole’s story was so much more consumable and entertaining. It was because in the end, she accepted her struggle, she realized it fucked her up and she’s coping with it, she’s genuinely trying. But with Jeckas ending Nicole literally gets hired by her dad, purposely makes sure they get caught, and laughs in her face at how pathetic her and her dad are. And then, Jecka kill’s herself. The entire ending was fucked up, even for the usual dark humor edgy aspect of class of 09. I’m not saying the creator should’ve made it funny, beaus he shouldn’t have. Nicole’s ending was bitter, and portrayed as such in a way that was hard to watch but still made you think “wow, that was good,” I’m saying I think it would’ve been better if they didnt show such graphic details of Jeckas sex work. During Nicole’s ending, it was breiefky mentioned what she did, and they went into detail later on. But with jecka, they actively showed if I can remember 4 and a half graphic scenarios of her with these freaks, the weird shit they said to her, and then still showed how happy she was with the money after? This part is probably more opinionated than the rest, but it genuinely felt weird to me how they played this out, and I would’ve personally enjoyed it if they went more in depth about how gross jecka felt about the whole thing instead of just being like “oh yeah, she didn’t like it but her breaking point was her friend doing it to her dad. NOT the selling her body” which was a stupid choice in my eyes considering jecka breaks down to a therapist about how gross she felt. Why only make it sometimes that she feels gross? Why JUST that one part? And then during that therapy session she isn’t taken seriously because how much she makes?? That felt so stale.

So while I guess what I’m saying is it wasn’t technically out of class of 09s boundary set, I’m saying this time they did a shitty job conveying it in a way that was both entertaining, funny, sad, and bittersweet. It was all just bitter.

6. “I liked the game though!”

that’s perfectly fine! I’m glad you enjoyed it and you got your moneys worth. I’m in no way saying everyone has to agree with me, I’m just saying my opinion. If you liked it, good for you, I just personally didn’t. The few moments I did enjoy were the 7 seconds joke, the hatman scene, and the killing Ari route. The rest was kinda meh

[austinbutlerslovers]

Can we get a teaser of the feyd fic

It is almost complete, minor details are subject to change. Here is the scene mentioned in the summary:

Feyd Fantasy Part II <Excerpt>

The Barons Favorite

The Baron speaks with his advisors in the morning about the upcoming gladiatorial fights around the massive table in the meeting hall. When the assembly concludes he uses his hover suit to bring the men of court to watch Feyd in combat training.

Part Two Complete✍🏼

He is proud of the accomplishments of his nephew Feyd, he is the Barons favorite over his older brother Glossu Rabban Harkonnen.

After making several public embarrassments to the family name the Baron had Feyds brother Rabban shipped to Arrakis. He gives him one last chance to prove his worth controlling their families most lucrative venture, harvesting spice.

Though ominous and foreboding the Baron is an obesely over weight man. He can no longer walk without the assistance of integrated technology to reduce the burden of his weight. His hover suit is implanted into his spine with thick tubes connected on two small orbs. The orbs float behind him carrying the chemicals which enable him to defy gravity.

They arrive to the second story of the courtyard in Feyds quarters. When the men gather looking down into the training pit on the first floor it is deserted. A low murmur begins between his advisors as to the where abouts of Feyd. Always eager to show off his knife skills Feyds absence is jarring.

The Baron immediately hovers to Feyds chambers and finds them empty as well. Feyds male Page appears at the entrance hearing the commotion.

“Well where is he?” The Baron snaps “You are to be at his side at all times have you forgotten your purpose”The Baron is fuming at the Pages insolence.

The Page trembles knowing the truth and averts his eyes from the Barons sinister Gaze “Spit it out or I cut it out” the Baron says coldly. He hovers into the young man’s personal space. The Page knows both men will readily slit his throat.

He divulges enough not to be dispatched by either “He and his lady are in the great halls of the fortress. I’m not sure where but he wanted to show her the grandeur of Geidi Prime” the Baron squints in anger how idiotic at a time like this with so much at stake to impress his new bride. His scowl deepens because Feyd above all neglected his training. For that he will be heavily punished.

The Great Meeting Hall

After touring your fifth great hall with Feyd it is readily apparent his family has amassed a great fortune with power and control over the populous of Geidi Prime.

He pushes open the large black inscribed doors of the meeting hall. There are thrones at opposite ends raised on platforms with stairs. The high floor to ceiling windows display the industrial city scape and a grand table that can seat fifty people occupies the majority of the floor space. Everything is void of color, only stone marble, black and granite can be seen in the gigantic area.

You walk over to the throne on your left “is this one yours?” Your voice echos in the large hall. Feyd nods, his hands are clasped behind his back. He follows you around the room as you study the furniture and the giant painting of his uncle and then of himself. There is a portait of a third Harkonnen male next to Feyds but he interrupts your thoughts before you can ask the identity.

“This is where the most important decisions are made on Geidi Prime, as well as another secret room with the cones of silence” he adds.

“What are cones of silence? “ you ask. The words are somewhat familiar to you.

“They are able to mute all sounds around them, only the two inside can hear each other.” He answers as he imagines himself fucking you inside of one until he makes you scream in pleasure as loud as he possibly can. He stops walking and stands behind you.

You've paused to study something that caught your eye. His eyes wander your form up to the beauty of your side profile. He can’t help himself as his hand trails down your shoulder. “Do these things in impress you?” He asks. You finally look over your shoulder at him.

You had been mesmerized studying an ancient Harkonnen sword on display. It is carved with hieroglyphs that date back centuries. It represents how his entire culture revolves around war and greed . “Yes ” you say addressing his question to be kind. You turn back to looking at the sword again. Inside you are deeply longing for your home world.

You remember the beautiful gardens, waterfalls, flowers, and colors of life. You especially miss the large atrium where you would read for hours basking in the afternoon sunlight. The warm rays would kiss your skin as it filtered through the glass dome.

Laying on a spacious out door ottoman with your fellow Bene Gesserit sisters honing your skills in the palatial gardens seemed like a dream now.

Feyd sees you lost deep in thought and softly grabs your chin “What would impress you more” he asks with intent. He knows you aren’t fond of the ways on Geidi Prime. You don’t have an answer so you remain quiet.

He knows one thing he has that impresses you on end. He gently pulls you into a kiss. His bottom lip rubs softly with yours as his warm tongue fills your mouth.

He ignites your passions and you place your hands on his jaw. You lean your head with his as you kiss him in return. You want to focus on the carnal and forget your distant memories. He presses himself against you and the heat of his body claims you.

He turns you walking back as he kisses your lips until you are met against the grand meeting hall table. He sits on the edge and moves to the center. He rests back on his heels beckoning you to come.

You climb onto the edge and crawl to him. Now both in the center he holds your jaw and pulls you close. His lips find yours again hungrier than before.

You feel his teeth bite into your lower lip and tug. It arouses you and he releases your lip to do again. Then he envelops his mouth completely onto yours. You feel the hardness of his cock as he presses it into your thigh.

He wants to defile you on this table. He smirks at the high disrespect to the Harkonnen dynasty he is about to commit. Soon this will all belong to him so what does it matter. He pushes you back to lie flat against the stone slab. You gaze up above him to the metallic barbs of the chandelier until his face obstructs your view.

His hands start at your knees grabbing the hem of your gown sliding it up to your hips.

His hands clutch one side of your panties tearing them apart making you gasp. He tears the other side and rips them clean from your body.

You watch as he sits back on his heels between your parted legs. He unhooks the clasp of his pants and pulls his thick veiny cock out. The contrast of the black fabric against his large hardened pale cock is striking.

His slaps his pink tip on your clit to edge you.

You flinch at each tap as it makes your bundle of nerves jump. He slides his hand down your thigh to meet your hip and holds you steady. He lines himself up and thrusts into you so roughly you have no time to adjust to the feeling.

Your vision goes hazy as your back arcs from the table. His penetration shocked you senseless. His large cock expands parts of you that you never knew existed. He watches how your face changes from pain to pleasure and back again as you try and relax around the girth of his size.

He wants to spur you on and leans down pressing his chest to yours. He wraps his hand around the back of your neck titling your head so he can speak softly into your ear.

”You are so beautiful to me” he says as his eyes study your side profile. He traces his thumb on your lower lip as you pant for him. “So desperate for my cock, the way you’d let me fuck you on this table you’d let me do anything to you” a moan escapes your lips as he shushes you “Just lay still and look pretty while I fuck you until you stretch open for me” you moan louder at his words.

He begins to roughly thrust inside of you like he wants to posses you. His cock hits your core at a dangerous pace. Your breasts bounce with every push of his hips. He is already becoming lost in pleasure grunting above you. He loves the feeling of your tight cunt stretching around his throbbing cock.

You arc your back down flat to brace yourself against his rutting. “You…feel too good on my cock” he rasps out as he finally hits the thrust that stretches you around his size. He stares down into your eyes completely transfixed by the physical connection between your bodies.

Unbeknownst to you both the Baron has finally narrowed his search. After spying into several halls down the corridor his servants waves him over finally finding the one you are in. The Baron peeks through the discreet opening made by one of the nimble servants. There on the middle of the table in the grand meeting hall he sees Feyd fucking you ruthlessly.

Your are constantly being pounded into the stone slab table by his strength. His hips begin slapping harder against you as he thrust between your legs. You hold out until the familiar tightening in your abdomen begins. Your moans start to fill the air.

As your walls clench around him it makes his cock feel incredible inside of you. Your eyes stare up at him, pleading and begging for release.

He sees the neediness in your eyes and brings his hand between your bodies touching your clit. His finger tips are wet by your arousal and he slicks them expertly in firm circles around your bundle of nerves.

It sends shocks though your core that radiate your entire body “YES please Feyd just like that“. You are unable to string together another sentence as you orgasm. He strums your clit as hard as he can with his cock slamming into your soaked pussy.

His mouth opens when he feels the pleasurable sensation of your walls milking his cock from the orgasm. He pins your wrists next to your head and plows into you even harder his release is immediate. His pace falters as he orgasms. You both moan as he paints rope after rope of his hot cum into your cervix.

He rests down on his elbows laying his full weight on you panting. He kisses your lips passionately with his final slow thrusts. His breath shudders into your mouth as he feels his cock empty inside of you.

He plants soft kisses around your face as he comes down. Each one more tender and loving than the last. His heart feels revived when he’s with you. He cradles your head in his hands staring deeply into your eyes. You smile at him and he smiles back, this time it isn’t like his sinister ones before, this one is radiant you see the kindness return in his eyes.

His uncle spying on the entire moment becomes enraged : not at the fact Feyd missed training, not at the fact he satisfied his carnal urges on the sacred meeting hall table, but at the fact Feyd put a woman’s pleasure before his own. The Baron turns away in disgust his patience is severed.

He raised Feyd with enough brutality and greed to become a ruthless tyrant. Now he sees every aspect of brutally he instilled in Feyd quickly being stripped away by a female. He never thought this was possible.

He is resolute in his decision to regain control. He will take out two problems with one swift action: Punishing Feyd by having you removed from his presence entirely.

[Sneak Peek: Full fic in finalization]

.⚔️ Fic Tag list: @burnthheparaphilia @elvismylove04 @lindszeppelin @obsessedvibee @abswifey @austiebuttbutt @jessica987 @oh-my-front-door @slowsweetlove @purejasmine @hardcoredisneynerd @i5uckersblog @phil2135561 @lovereadingfanfic @steph-speaks @maloribarnes1999 @meetmeatyourworst @moony-artemis @xxxstormyninixxx @prettypinkblogger @thegabbyh

[milquetoast27]

Subtext in The Creeping Man

I find that this story of Arthur Conan Doyle's Holmes canon features some of the most complex subtext we've had aside from A Study in Scarlet. But rather than being complex early-on because of our lack of knowledge of the characters, it is rather complicated by the fact that we both know too much and too little of their relationship. This story, with astonishing subtlety, conveys the cooperative relationship between Doyle's two characters — the nuance in their limits and strains, but also the joys that they work to reach, together. It emblemises the beauty of the Canon, where it all ties back to the joy and complexity of human understanding and belonging.

This story opens in "those latter days" (1903, near to Holmes's retirement) where Watson describes their relations as "peculiar". The word certainly feels like a euphemism from the ever-polite Dr. Watson, when it is soon made clear that their relations were far from amenable. Watson has become one of Holmes's "concentrated habits", and apparently is as good as a piece of funiture, as all of Holmes's remarks would have been as "appropriately addressed to his bedstead." It's given through snapped sentences; "I was a whetstone for his mind. I stimulated him. He liked to think aloud in my presence." This "irritation" and discordance between them is extremely concentrated in the early pages of this story, but drags through it, as well. Take, for example, the "laconic" (or perhaps iconic?) message:

"COME AT ONCE IF CONVENIENT — IF INCONVENIENT COME ALL THE SAME. S.H."

Watson gives us the original of Holmes's telegram to demonstrate to his readers just how "long-suffering" he is. A true exhaustion is apparent in how he simply shows the telegram, rather than politely referring to it. Compare this with the unendingly civil telegram sent to Watson in The Boscombe Valley Mystery, and you can see the great shift that has taken place in their alliance.

"HAVE YOU A COUPLE OF DAYS TO SPARE? HAVE JUST BEEN WIRED FOR FROM THE WEST OF ENGLAND IN CONNECTION WITH BOSCOMBE VALLEY TRAGEDY. SHALL BE GLAD IF YOU WILL COME WITH ME. AIR AND SCENERY PERFECT. LEAVE PADDINGTON BY THE 11.15."

While long-term and intimate relationships will remove need for over-courtesey, there are two very different reasons for why Doyle has shown both of these telegrams at a point in time. This accumulation of Holmes's ungrateful behaviour not only imparts Watson's utter despondancy, but also, importantly, Holmes’s — and this is something that Watson's ever-perceptive and intelligent heart does not fail to miss. It is important to note that this story nears Holmes's retirement, where he acknowledges that he has been "sluggish in mind". There is no doubt, then, that the great detective is out of his prime. Hence the temperementalness, taking his Watson for granted, and a heavier reliance on those "narrow and concentrated habits."

Despite the turbulent roads of their life, we see Watson's undying devotion co-exist with it. Past all the irritation, Watson closes, "Such was my humble role in our alliance." It is more than clear that he consciously makes the decision to remain at Holmes's side, to be his ally. Such has always been Watson's role in their alliance. His "humble" service extends to his practice as doctor and soldier. His pride is in his duty to others, and to Holmes as his assistant.

There is something that shines through Holmes's unsocial behaviour when we look closely at the text.

I sank back in my chair in some disappointment. Was it for so trivial a question as this that I had been summoned from my work? Holmes glanced across at me. "The same old Watson!" said he. "You never learn that the gravest issues may depend upon the smallest things."

We know from the Canon (opening of DANC and RESI) that Watson's emotions are like an open book to Holmes. This 'sinking in some disappointment' is not missed by Holmes's 'glance'. "The same old Watson!" he says, and I feel it important to note that he compliments one of Watson's most distinguishing features; his stability and fixture — the "one fixed point in a changing age." Yet, we may miss these details, because Holmes, ever in his own insecurity, must back-hand every praise with a teasing chide. We could say that an attempt was made to cheer Watson up, though not very successful.

Developments continue, as Holmes tryingly says "I had hoped to have a longer chat with you", then parades him with compliments before their client, "Dr. Watson is the very soul of discretion". But mixed indications continue to come as he flips back to patronising language; "You will appreciate it, Watson, when"—. Doyle further cements Holmes's particular unbecoming behaviour on this day as he further also annoys their client, who speaks in a "tone of reproach" when Holmes does not listen, and is "clearly annoyed" at irrelevant interruptions — to which, Holmes only smiles in, what I believe, is pure self-importance.

Here we find a shift — a greater effort on Holmes's part, a second round of appreciation for Watson's stability, even when his opinion is faulty. "Good, Watson! You always keep us flat-footed on the ground". He's then included in his bubble; "We were gradually coming to that conclusion, were we not, Watson?", and even a sordid attempt at bringing Watson with him on the bait of the Chequers in 'Camford' where "the port used to be above mediocrity and the linen was above reproach." (Which he follows up on!)

And, despite these attempts, their connection still does not rekindle. Watson is clearly irritated still with the inconsiderate easiness with which Holmes was able to leave London, leaving only difficulty on Watson's end to join him. It's an indicator from Doyle that nothing's remedied, yet.

Here is an interesting passage for study.

"Have you the effrontery necessary to put it through?" "We can but try." "Excellent, Watson! Compound of the Busy Bee and Excelsior. We can but try — the motto of the firm."

Burstive praise from Holmes at the merest utterance of a phrase — a phrase which has only ever been used one other time in the Canon; the previous story, The Problem of Thor Bridge. This suggests it may be some small motto of Holmes's, though one not often seen in Watson's records — this makes his use of the phrase a very Holmesian approach. This participation, no doubt, is nothing but a delight for Holmes, who is trying to restring their relationship, and continues to overenthusiastically affirm Watson's sturdiness.

Yet it's made clear that superficial praises are not a true apology, as we see signs yet again of Watson's dispassion. As they sit to their meeting with Professor Presbury, Watson writes:

Mr. Holmes smiled amiably.

This sentence may seem unassuming, but be assured it is one of the coldest in the Canon. This usage of "Mr. Holmes" is entirely unique within the Canon. In other times, when Watson has used "Mr. Holmes" or "Mr. Sherlock Holmes", it has been when speaking directly to his readers, since they would be using the honourific. This moment is the only exception, where Watson has intentionally used "Mr." to create distance and convey undesire for intimacy with Holmes (rather than any professional effect). Why has Watson used the line here? Well, Holmes is 'smiling amiably' — in a way that forces a friendly manner, one that attempts to create a good impression with Professor Presbury — which also didn't work out, by the way. Considering all the superficial means up to now employed by Holmes on his companion, Watson no doubt feels cheapened and no more important than Holmes's investigative objects; as if his trust is just as easy to gain as anyone else's, with nothing but an 'amiable smile'.

We are shown time and again that Watson isn't pleased with Holmes's desultory attempts at reconciliation, until finally, a shift happens. One that is not identifiable in the text, and so is reasonable to assume happened unpenned. We find Holmes acknowledging that "Dr. Watson has his patients to attend to", when before this information seemed completely irrelevant to him. Holmes even sent Watson a "short note asking [him] to meet at the train"! The greatest change is when we finally have Watson using "my friend" and "my comrade" for the first time in this story. Now we see Watson taking real excitement in the case, in the "assurance of [his] comrade". Self-teasing also makes its way into their dialogue as Holmes cries "Oh, Watson, Watson, what a fool I have been!" The emphasised address seems to suggest an apology for something more. It's as if he cries 'Look how wrong I have been Watson, how imperfect and daft I can be!' It's adorable, really.

All semblances of reproach towards Holmes disappear as they steal together in darkness, come to the dénoument of their adventure, as Holmes philosophises on science and nature, and described admiringly as "the man of action". Our story ends in a light-hearted resolution, as always.

"There is an early train to town, Watson, but I think we shall just have time for a cup of tea at the Chequers before we catch it."

To conclude, this story presents so much so subtly in its pages; a reflection of the small, nuanced and unseen processes between human beings, but those which we must be attentive to in order to find fuller understanding between each other. Yet, there is still much uncertainty in my inferences; which also shows the uncertainty of language and communication. We simply must be clear of ourselves, as we can only assume Holmes and Watson were, off-page, for them to have found that resolution, rather than fleeting smiles and compliments. Arthur Conan Doyle, with this story, further cements the triumph of bonds and connection, perhaps far more than any other of his stories.

[under-lore]

About "Tweets aren't canon"

One misconception that one seems to be nearly guaranteed to see brought up by someone whenever discussing Undertale/Deltarune lore with people who are not particularly invested in it is that "Toby Fox said tweets weren't canon".

And, when you first hear it, it actually sounds quite convincing, because this tweet is in fact real and does seem to say that.

So... What's actually going on here with tweets and with this one in particular ?

The actual status of tweets

Before mentioning what's really going on with that specific tweet, i'd like to lay some groundwork first.

For instance, regarding the fact that this tweet dates back from November 2016. And that if the tweet were to be taken seriously, it would mean that no tweets especially after that date are to be treated as canon.

Something that is rather explicitely not the case.

There are several examples for this, although the Gaster tweets which introduced us to Deltarune and directly link up to the game's "Goner Maker" introduction sequence are i would say prime offenders.

Here in these tweets, we are not yet connected, then we are given a way to connect.

Then, we pick this back up where we left it in Deltarune, where we are then asked wether the connection was a success.

This has of course been pointed out to Toby (although he never responded to those messages), and yet it did not prevent him from re-doing the exact same thing a few years later for chapter 2.

In short, the situation is that, to this day, Toby Fox still purposely uses tweets in order to provide important canon-accurate information about his games, with the Spamton Q&A as recently as last year.

In light of that, using that one tweet to say that any information coming from tweets is invalid just can't be right... So one might wonder :

But then, why did Toby say that ?

The problem comes from the fact that this quote is usually cropped like this when people try to share it around :

Which is greatly misleading !

Obviously, Toby Fox's popularity comes mainly from Undertale and later Deltarune. Due to this, and due to the majority of the fandom nowadays being teenagers, many in the fandom are not aware that ever since his own teenage years, Toby Fox has been for the lack of a better term, a massive shitposter. A habit that only started to die out after Undertale's release and in the year that followed. (Though he still shows glimpses of it from time to time)

I mean, we are talking about the person who kept on posting memes on twitter for nearly a decade and who made "a goast poot on u" at the end of the Earthbound Halloween Hack, his first semi-serious game project.

Why ?

Because he's just that kind of "funny guy" and felt like it. His words, not mine.

This was, up until not so long ago, the kind of person that Toby was online.

When taking all this into account and looking back at the un-cropped version of that quote, it becomes pretty obvious what's going on here.

Toby Fox found a bootleg nursery rhyme video of Undertale characters, found that hilarious (As the "funny guy" that he is), and decided to make a shitpost about it. Joking about how this weird thing that he found, right here, was the peak of official Undertale material and might just be more canon in his book than the kickstarter or tweets were.

The post that started this whole thing in the first place was just that, a shitpost, a joke, not something that Toby ever actually meant. Which honestly should have been pretty obvious in the first place, i mean, this is still a post about Toby trolling bootleg nursery rhymes, people. It wasn't meant to be taken seriously...

Besides, that tweet's statement would have been self-contradictory anyways. If tweets weren't canon, then this tweet would not be canon either, etc... Leading to one of those silly paradoxical loops rather than to an actual statement about tweet canonicity.

So then, that brings the question : Why ?

Why do so many people still claim that tweets aren't canon ?

The reason is likely the same as the reason why this misconception was created in the first place : It is a rope to cling on to for some people to defend certain headcanons that Toby had debunked via tweets.

Because yes, between late 2015 and late 2016 Toby used to once in a while answer a question about the lore of the game on tweeter. Leaving some people with their headcanons turning out to be wrong.

(A few examples of headcanons that Toby denied on twitter were that Undyne killed the green soul human, or that ghost monsters used to be humans, for example.)

It was some of those people, in the first place, who started cropping this tweet to make it seem like their headcanons were still on the table and started the mess in the first place.

This rumor, at its origins, was not just a mere misconception but rather a deliberate attempt at misinformation from some fans that weren't happy with the way Toby had taken the game, which is unfortunately still being shared around to this day due to how sensible it seems at first sight.

[lacrimosathedark]

There's something that's bothering me about Alastor

I noticed something about Alastor's magic.

So Alastor's magic has either a red or green color at any given time.

Usually, it's green.

But, occasionally, it is red.

It's always red in flashbacks, and the two other times it appears red, Alastor is being intentionally threatening. It also may correlate to his shadow being active.

My concern with the green comes, partially, from this.

The bright green of his magic is the same as those stitching his mouth and arm. (Also now I'm worried his arm was ripped off at some point)

This could entirely be a stylistic choice, but if his magic only started being mainly green recently, maybe it has something to do with his deal.

Alastor's mouth being sewn shut and could mean he can't talk about his deal, or otherwise relate to being forced to smile.

I also think this because the spooky ghosty motif is also green, and might be representative of souls, in regards to Alastor at least, considering this:

and that Husk's leash is green too.

He also repeatedly rejects offers of collecting souls.

Rosie: Ya know, Alastor. I got a primo connect on a guy with about eight blocks of territory and not enough goons to run it. Prime pickins for a deal to be made, my friend. Alastor: Appreciate the offer, but we're here on business of another kind.

Gaining souls is how Sinners get stronger it seems. And we know he's not opposed to collecting souls as he already owns Husk and Niffty. So part of his deal could stipulate that he can't collect more souls for one reason or another.

What had me thinking, and what really worries me, is this.

The shield he makes in The Show Must Go On sticks out to me. Because the base of it is shadows, and there's that eye motif that is likely indicative of Roo. All of that is black outlined in red. But the veves are all outlined green, and there's this green mist near the base of the dome. Why are the symbols green but the eyes and other crack-like shadows aren't?

I think it might be possible that Alastor had a deal of some sort with Roo almost as soon as he got to Hell. But more recently, he has a new deal, one that limits him in some way, and likely one that forced him to the Hotel if Roo herself didn't order him to. And it's likely got something to do with Lilith, given their absences of the past seven years coinciding and then Alastor returning and going straight to Lilith's daughter.

Whatever this deal is, it limits his abilities. His figurative wings are clipped.

But this raises more questions for me. If he made some sort of deal with Roo or another entity for power, but he still owned his soul, what did he trade in the first place?

If he had so much power already, what would he have to gain from a deal that limits his strength and growth so much, especially at the cost of his own freedom? His own soul?

Who is this new contract with? Roo? Lilith? Eve? And why?

That also leads me to question, are he and Lilith allies or enemies?

Can your soul be owned between multiple parties if they make a deal with each other? Like, if Roo owned his soul and made a deal with Lilith to effectively share ownership, would that work? And what would that mean for them?

And, quite frankly, why Alastor? Was it convenience? Was it his connection to Roo?

This is in conjunction with something I noticed about those eyes that are all over Pride.

They don't appear naturally in any other Rings. (<- explanation under the cut now) And the motif only happens in two places.

There's Loo Loo Land in the Greed Ring.

Which, I'll remind you, is apparently a knock-off of a theme park Lucifer made, Lucifer's domain being Pride where these eyes are naturally occurring. Meaning the eye motif is probably just more mimicry. Especially since they aren't even red.

And then there's one room in Millie's family's house in Wrath.

It's obviously just a design, since none of them move and they look pretty flat, but that stylistic motif is present. The wide red eyes and black shadow tendrils.

And it reminded me of something.

Martha: Satan! We return your FILTHY creatures back to the pits of Hell! May the Root of Evil remain honored as we continue thy work!

If you look around during these scenes, you see a lot of eye imagery, both carved into the pole and scattered about the trees. And then on the top of the pole is Roo's emblem.

So, like, there's some kind of human cult around the Root of All Evil. Enough that the emblem is known.

Martha specifies Satan, who is the Sin of Wrath, where Imps originate. Wrath is the only place there's imagery outside of Pride and Pride-adjacent areas (Loo Loo Land being a knock-off would be just replicating)

So, like...does Wrath or Satan have some kind of connection to Roo??? I mean, Lucifer and Satan are often mushed into one character but are separate here, so maybe it's just human error? Or maybe Roo has some kind of connection with Satan but her influence doesn't extend beyond Pride? I saw somewhere that Imps tend to treat Satan like a god (and they say shit like "oh my Satan" instead of "oh my god") but do they also worship Roo maybe? Or does Satan somehow serve her?

And one of the few places in Pride free of Roo's eyes (to my knowledge at least) is Cannibal Town.

Where everyone's eyes are black voids.

Idk I'm tired and Alastor's whole deal has my head spinning in circles if I'm honest. And I needed to get it out somewhere.

EDIT WITH MINOR THE FULL MOON SPOILERS BECAUSE FUCK ME

I STAND GODDAMN CORRECTED ROO IS ACTIVE IN THE FUCKING LUST RING

I COULDN'T WAIT LIKE TWO FUCKING DAYS GOD FUCKING DAMMIT

WHEN THE FUCK DID THOSE EYES GET THERE?!

Did the DHORKs testing their portal give her an in to other Rings? cuz it also looked like she was fucking them up.

Which, btw, fucking YIKES