#its the one purpled is coaching

[bioluminescentfrog]

whenever i see new people trying to speedrun, or hell, even mccsr participants. im sometimes like. have you ever seen someone speedrun. have you ever watched a single mcc in you entire life. like my brain may analyze things too much. but you dont have this thing figured out? im not even judging the gameplay, my gameplay is shit, but the questions are sometimes so simple. like honey please do 1 (one) singular vod review and take notes.

[zweiginator]

enemies to lovers with patrick is cool….BUT ENEMIES TO LOVERS WITH ART

like that man is a hater when he doesn’t like someone. i bet its so so intense

yup. and it's just one of those situations where neither of you remember why you hate each other so much. it's just a fact of life. the sky is blue. ice cream is sweet. and you and art donaldson fucking hate each other.

you met in middle school; you had just moved to town and started on the tennis team. art was good, great even. but you were fresh meat, and you were pretty and you got all the attention that year.

and then came high school, and even though you and art obviously never formally competed in tennis, you were always doing so subconsciously. you avoided each other at team dinners, never spoke at parties and even slapped him across the face hard enough to get you suspended for a week after he said you only made varsity after another girl moved away to maryland.

neither of you could even enjoy your full-ride sports scholarships to stanford, once you figured out the other would be joining you. four more fucking years.

you and art feigned the biggest smiles you could muster for the local newspaper in your stanford tennis hats, and scrubbed your arms raw afterwards, disgusted that you had to touch each other.

but stanford was big. and since he was obviously on the boys' team and you the girls, you didn't see each other as often as before. your friends on the tennis team mingled with him, and hung on his arm during formal events. you went on a few dates with one of the boys on the team, although there was never a spark.

one day at a team dinner, high school and hometowns came up. and everyone was confused that you both were from the same small town.

"you grew up together?" your teammate asked.

"yep." art raised his eyebrows, unamused.

"i've never seen either of you speak a word to each other."

"don't need to." you said.

another teammate, michael, spoke up. "something happen?" always nosey.

"he's a raging piece of shit." you moved your rice around your plate, plastering a fake smile on your face.

"and you're a bad fucking tennis player." he would never call you a name.

"so is that why we are on the same team?" you got up. "excuse me. i just became a little nauseated."

art stood up too. "yeah, me too."

you both went your separate ways to the bathroom, heated. the way he knew exactly how to crawl under your skin and rub and rub at the same sore spot until it drove you crazy made your cheeks red and your knuckles white.

you had a tennis party that night, after dinner. a mandatory tennis party--your coach had a roster and everything.

when you showed up, art was wearing a tux with a maroon tie. you wore a purple gown, silky with a deep neckline.

art turned away from you, swirling his glass of champagne.

it started with your eye roll. the whole night chasing each other like cat and mouse. it was fun, making digs at his stupid jokes, embarrassing him in front of girls he was flirting with.

art talked over you all night and scoffed at everything you said; played devil's advocate.

when he went out to smoke at 10:30, you followed him.

"leave me alone!" art turned away from you, shielding his cigarette to light it.

you don't know why you were being such a bitch. you tore it from his mouth and smashed it with your heel, and art called you out for it.

"why are you being a fucking bitch?" he snapped.

"excuse me?"

"yeah i called you a bitch because i don't know what else to call this pathetic, obsessive behavior."

"obsessive?" you stepped closer to him. "nobody is fucking obsessed with you."

art grabbed you by the chin. "lose the fucking attitude."

you retaliated, grabbing his wrist. "you started this."

"oh god," art scoffed. "yeah, sure I started it. you followed me out here."

your heart was beating fast. maybe for the past fourteen years you had been blind to him and he to you. because right now art looked different. his once crooked teeth were straight, spotted skin smooth and peppered with stubble. art noticed your pink lip gloss, the low cut of your dress, how it hugged your figure.

you grabbed his tie, and his hands found your ass as you kissed him. his hair was soft and smelled like sea water and coconut. he moaned against you, pushing you against the brick wall outside. the strap of your dress fell down and art's hand found your breast, his thumb rubbing against your nipple as your hand grazed against his cock, hard and visible, even through his pressed trousers.

"what are you doing?" you asked, gasping.

"what are you doing?"

you ignored him.

"did you drive here? where's your car?"

art took you there, to his black sedan, his hands on the small of your back, his hips rutting into you. the door was still ajar, the repetitive beeping of his car a mantra in your ears.

art bunched your dress up, admiring your pussy as he pressed a kiss to it, wet and needy. he would never tell you he had dreamt of it since he was fourteen.

[endangeredrandomfanfics]

"A Song to Gather Witches"

Taglist- @skittlebum @circe143 @quailbagutte

Masterlist

Summary: You've got your powers Agatha found a way to make them useful for your cons scamming gig, this time you've witnessed her do it draining witches seeing her purple -Chapter IV

===============================

The saloon was dimly lit, filled with the smell of smoke and aged wood, the murmur of voices and clinking glasses creating a lively atmosphere. Amidst the crowd, the young reader sat on a small stage, their fingers hovering over a dusty piano as they glanced around, gauging the room. They could feel the quiet hum of their mother’s magic, woven into the air like a whisper, guiding them toward their purpose tonight.

Just before leaving that morning, Agatha had leaned in, her eyes sparkling with pride and a hint of mischief. “Remember, my love,” she’d murmured, brushing a stray hair from their forehead. “Tonight, we need the song to travel—so that the right ears might hear it.”

And so, here they were, under the warm glow of candlelight, ready to sing the melody they’d written together: Witches’ Road. They knew the song by heart, every note and word crafted to call out, inviting magic-seekers toward its ancient lure. The piano keys felt cool beneath their fingers as they began to play, the haunting melody weaving through the saloon.

As their voice joined the music, soft and sure, conversations began to quiet. Heads turned, listening as the words drifted through the room.

"There's a road that's wild and wicked, winding through the wood

Where all that's wrong is right and all that's bad is good

Through many miles of tricks and trials, we wander high and low

Tame your fears, a door appears, the time has come to go…"

Their voice was filled with a subtle magic, a lure that pulled at hearts and minds, drawing listeners into the mystery of the song. Eyes watched them with fascination, some captivated, others with an uneasy curiosity. As the song reached its chorus, a few women near the back exchanged glances, leaning in closer, their interest piqued.

"Down, down, down the road

Down the witches' road

Down, down, down the road

Down the witches' road

Down, down, down the road

Down the witches' road

Follow me, my friend

To glory and the end…"

When the final note lingered, fading into the air, there was a soft hush in the room, broken only by scattered murmurs. The women from the back made their way forward, curiosity gleaming in their eyes.

One of them, a tall woman with silver-streaked hair, gave the reader a long, assessing look. “That’s a peculiar tune for someone so young,” she said, her voice low but warm. “Where’d you learn a song like that?”

The reader met her gaze with innocent wonder, tilting their head as if the question surprised them. “It’s… something I came up with myself,” they said, keeping their tone light, humble, even a bit shy. “I’ve always been drawn to magic, to the mysteries and stories of witches. But it’s hard to learn when no one is willing to teach.”

The woman raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued, and the others exchanged whispers. “You’re… self-taught?” another asked, her eyes narrowing slightly.

They nodded. “But it’s not enough. I’ve been looking for someone who could show me the true path—a real mentor.” The reader’s voice took on a slight note of longing, one that Agatha had coached them to use, and they cast their gaze down, as though a little shy showing a subtle colored little spark from her hands.

The silver-haired woman’s expression softened as she looked at the reader, her curiosity turning to something else—a hint of sympathy, perhaps. She glanced at her companions before giving a slight nod. “Come with us,” she said, her voice gentle but firm. “If you’re serious about seeking the path, I believe we may be able to help.”

The reader smiled, a small, grateful smile, and slid down from the piano bench. They followed the woman and her companions out of the saloon and into the quiet night, their pulse quickening as they thought of Agatha, waiting in the forest.

As they walked, the reader could feel the air changing, a faint vibration in the earth beneath their feet. Magic was gathering, old and powerful, drawn by the song and by the reader’s carefully spoken words. They kept their face calm, nodding along as the women spoke in low voices about the “Witches’ Road” and its history, speculating about how such a young soul could know a song like that.

After a while, they reached a clearing, surrounded by tall trees whose branches stretched up toward the star-filled sky. The witches turned to face the reader, their expressions serious.

“We don’t usually take to strangers, especially ones as young as you,” the silver-haired woman said, her eyes narrowing thoughtfully. “But something about you is… different. There’s a power in you that feels older than your years.”

The reader met her gaze, giving a small, earnest nod. “Thank you for trusting me. I promise, I’m ready to learn.”

Just as the woman was about to reply, a soft rustling sounded from the shadows, and the air grew thick with tension. One by one, the women turned, sensing the shift in the atmosphere. The shadows deepened, twisting and stretching as if alive, and from the darkness, Agatha emerged, her silhouette outlined against the moonlight, her eyes gleaming with a fierce intelligence.

The witches took a step back, their expressions shifting from curiosity to alarm.

“You’re… you’re her mother?” one of them whispered, looking at Agatha with dawning recognition.

Agatha smiled, a calm, knowing smile, and nodded. “Indeed. And you were kind enough to keep my little one company tonight.” Her voice was smooth, filled with a dark charm that held them in place, even as they sensed the danger.

The silver-haired woman’s expression hardened, realizing the trap too late. “This was a setup,” she hissed, her voice low with anger.

Agatha tilted her head, her gaze unyielding. “I never said it wasn’t.”

Without another word, she raised her hand, and a dark mist coiled around her fingers, crackling with a subtle, sinister power. The witches tried to resist, casting protective spells and trying to break free, but Agatha’s magic was stronger—each spell they cast was met with a swift, effortless counter. She moved gracefully, almost as though she were dancing, drawing power from them, siphoning their magic as they struggled.

The reader watched, both awed and unnerved. They knew what their mother was capable of, but witnessing her in action, surrounded by these powerful witches who had no chance against her, was something different entirely.

As the last of the coven fell to the ground, drained and silent, Agatha turned to them, her eyes softening as she approached. She brushed a strand of hair from their face, her expression filled with warmth and pride.

“You did perfectly, my love,” she murmured, her voice a gentle contrast to the fierce power they had just witnessed. “Just as I knew you would.”

They looked up at her, a small, relieved smile breaking through. “It worked,” they whispered, the weight of the night’s events settling over them. “They really believed I needed their help.”

Agatha smiled, pride shining in her eyes. “That’s because you have the heart of a true witch—clever, resourceful, and far stronger than most would ever guess. You’re learning fast.”

But even as her words brought comfort, a pang of guilt stirred in the reader’s heart. “Mama… I didn’t know it would feel like this.” They looked at the fallen witches, an uncertain shadow crossing their face. “What if they… what if they didn’t deserve it?”

Agatha knelt down, her expression softening as she took their hands in hers. “Listen to me, my love. Those who would harm us, or stand in the way of what we need, they give us no choice. This is the path we walk, and it’s a path not everyone can understand.”

The reader nodded, letting her words sink in, though the weight still lingered.

Seeing their unease, Agatha cupped their cheek, a tender smile playing on her lips. “You have a compassionate heart, my dear one, and that is a gift. But there are times we must be strong and unyielding to protect what’s ours.” She stroked their cheek. “Trust in your strength, and trust that you were right to call them to us. You did nothing wrong.”

With Agatha’s reassurances, the reader felt a calm settle over them, a reminder of their purpose and the bond they shared with her. They walked together back through the forest, the night quiet around them, the stars gleaming overhead. As they walked, Agatha began to hum the familiar melody, and the reader joined her, their voices mingling softly as they sang together.

"There's a road that's wild and wicked, winding through the wood..."

Their voices blended, filling the night air with the haunting, beautiful song, a mother and child bound by love, secrets, and a strength that would see them through any trial ahead.

===============================

A/n: Comment?,👀😩🖐🏻, I'm bored and lacking motivation for this

[authorhjk1]

Hi writer-nim, I'm no detective, but since checking out and enjoying your colour series I'll take a wild guess though I may be wrong lol but the one with the * has to somewhat be RV related since the first two stories about it are connected but the secret lies in the characters mentioned during the first one with Irene and since Seulgi showed up in the second one I guess the remaining members would show up then (I hope) but since Yeri was already written in black I hope you could make another one of her in this? She looked amazing here I guess this counts as purple even though she has a white dress inside lol but the outfit sure is tempting since it looks so easy to rip off everything from her, I mean who doesn't want to see maknae tiddies being cared for while bouncing up and down all over your face. But its ok if you can't make one more of her, however you can make this for a future piece if you feel like it. Have a nice day.

https://kpopping.com/documents/c9/4/1200/240405-Red-Velvet-Yeri-Coach-Pop-Up-Opening-Event-documents-4.jpeg?v=c62fd

https://kpopping.com/documents/36/1/1200/240405-Red-Velvet-Yeri-Coach-Pop-Up-Opening-Event-documents-2.jpeg?v=3cf88

Purple

(Kim Yeri X Male Reader)

You take your tie out of Yeri's hand. The bottom part is already soaked. Looking down on her, you see her phone in the other hand. A picture of you is on the screen.

"Are you going to punish me?"

Yeri's mischievous grin awakens something dark within you. Punishing her is something you've always wanted to do. To wipe that satisfied smile off her face, by totally ruining her body.

"Or are you gonna rat me out to Irene unnie?"

But then again, that's exactly what Yeri wants. And you don't want to give in so easily. Her cheeks are still showing a hint of red, after you've just caught her in the act. Of course you knew what was going on inside her room, when you saw her thong dangle on her doorknob.

"Do you think Irene would like it, if I told her you touch yourself to a picture of me?"

You hold up your tie.

"And use this as well?"

"You don't have any proof."

Her victorious, teasing smile makes a fire burn inside of you. She manages to piss you off and turn you on at the same time. After Seulgi, Joy and Wendy all slept with you, you expected Yeri to eventually follow in their footsteps. You just didn't expect she would actually touch herself, thinking about you. It turns you on more, thinking about how often she could've already done this.

"So what? You want to pretend to be a bad girl?"

Yeri stands up, the top of her head barely reaching your chin.

"I am a bad girl. And what do bad girls like I get.... daddy?"

She whispered that last word. And she watches you with amusement in her eyes as she waits for a reaction.

Just like the other three, Yeri doesn't know that Irene is allowing you to sleep with them. She really wants to be a bad girl. To seduce someone else's boyfriend. Even if it's Irene. The thrill of finally getting what she wants rushes through her veins.

"No."

Yeri's face falls, when she hears your rejection. She expected you to kiss her, or to grab her by her throat and and tell her how bad she really is, or run to Irene and tell her about this. She didn't expect a cold rejection.

"But-"

Before she can finish her complaint, you grab her shoulders and turn her around. You push her onto the bed and Yeri hits the mattress she was sitting on just now. With her face buried in her sheets, you straddle her legs and place your hands on her ass.

"You're not a bad girl, Yeri."

Using your tie, you first put both her hands on her back, before tying her wrists together.

"You're just a pathetic brat."

You hear a muffled moan at your words. Seems like you hit a nerve.

"I will punish you. And then, I'm gonna make sure you won't act up again. Understood?"

Yeri slightly lifts her head to give you a nod. When you reach for the purple fabric, you lick your lips. Time to claim the last Red Velvet member. You can't believe you're actually getting to fuck all of them. With new found strength, you rip Yeri's dress off her body. Another moan into the sheets follows a surprised gasp.

You expose her ass by tearing the purple dress open further and bunching up the white one around her waist. Her white cheeks instinctively make you deliver a hard slap. You don't even take your time to properly admire her body.

Moan after moan leaves Yeri's mouth as you strike her again and again. Within a matter of minutes both her cheeks show a fiery red. Her moans start to turn into sobs.

"Do you want me to keep punishing you?"

You slowly place a hand on her right cheek, which makes her flinch, before you slowly let it travel inside the gap between her thighs.

"Or do you want me to use you?"

You don't give her another option. Yeri's doesn't deserve just sex. The way she acts makes it clear that the only way she is useful is by being used.

"D-Daddy,"

Her voice is still shaking a little. Especially when you let your fingertips graze her wet labia. Her breath hitches.

"P-Please use me. I promise I'll be a good toy."

You squint your eyes in suspicion. It seems like you managed to turn her around faster than you expected. Or she is just putting up an act.

"Turn around, little brat."

Your mocking tone makes Yeri listen and she quickly does what you tell her. She is now lying on her back and you can see her face now. A mixture of satisfaction and anticipation. As if this is what she expected, but she didn't think you would go this far? You don't really care at this point. You only care about that cute pussy underneath her purple dress. Since it's almost completely see through, you can already see it. And because you ripped open her dress earlier, you can now just push the useless fabric to the side, revealing her pink lips.

Usually, you would've leaned down and started to eat her out. And she does look delicious, no doubt about it. But you want to make a point. That you are the one who controls her and not the other way around.

You gather some of your saliva in your mouth, before you spit onto her pussy. Yeri gasps at your lewd, almost rude, actions and you push yourself inside of her.

Soon, she is a mewling mess. Her loud cries echo through the dorm, which Irene is probably able to hear. By now, you've basically folded her in half, her ankles to her ears and your face close to hers as you drive yourself into her depths again and again.

"D-Daddy! I-I-I'm-"

Your powerful thrusts and her incoming orgasm makes her tongue and mouth useless. Her brain can't comprehend what's going for a second, before the climax rushes through her. Her body shakes underneath you, eyes rolling to the back of her head.

You grab a fistful of her hair, once she is finished. You manage to stay inside of her as you lie down on the bed yourself and make Yeri straddle you.

"Alright, little brat. Ride me and make me cum. Or I will only punish you from now on. Without the sex."

Yeri's eyes grow wide with fear and a moment later, she starts bouncing on your cock. Her hands hold onto your chest, her eyes are closed as she takes as much of you as she can. She still feels to well dressed for your taste. You reach upwards and grab the purple fabric once more. Yeri watches with big eyes as you tear her dress open again, right above her chest. You only need to pull at the white one a little bit and suddenly, Yeri's tits bounce freely to the rhythm of her riding. You use both hands to play with her soft flesh, enjoying her slick pussy around your cock and her mounds in your hands. When you start to play with her nipples a little more, Yeri throws her head back in pleasure, letting out louder moans.

"You have some nice tits, little brat."

Girls like Yeri always pretend to be bad girls, but they usually love to get praised. You feel it working when Yeri picks up the pace. Pulling her upper body a little more towards you, you capture on of her nipples with your mouth. You greedily suck on both of them individually, switching at random intervals.

Yeri is a moaning mess on top of you. Her hands, which are still tied together, are pressing onto your chest for support as she loses herself in the world of pleasure. Just like you. Your hands have travelled from her tits to her sore ass cheeks. Your mouth still licking and biting her soft skin. You start to pull her onto your cock with more force.

"Fuck, you really are a bad girl."

You say between licks as you feel her pussy squeezing and massaging your cock.

Yeri moans louder and you give her a couple of more spanks, which make her shake.

But you stop after a couple, because your own orgasm overwhelms you. You hold her in place as you thrust upwards, cuming deep inside her cunt. Yeri moans and whines, feeling your cum fill her insides.

[merceyca]

Hold Tight

Andrew and Neil accidentally crash Abby and Wymack’s carnival date.

The fairground was rife with people and noise. Andrew had warned Neil that this would be the case, but the screaming, the music, the crowds; it all had Neil wondering what the appeal of a day at the fair could possibly be.

The day itself was drawing to a close, the sky turning a deep orange and fading to purple at the edges. Andrew had flown in that afternoon, and when Neil picked him up from the airport he happened upon the flyer for the Palmetto State fair.

Although, after spending ten minutes there, Neil came to the conclusion that they should have just had an easy night at home. Murder, She Wrote reruns were a better alternative to this.

Andrew caught him by the shoulders, yanking him out of both his thoughts and the warpath of an ice-cream-wielding toddler. Neil checked himself for stains, but he remained unscathed.

‘Thanks.’

‘Those jeans are designer,’ Andrew informed him.

Neil shook his head, smiling. He opened his mouth to respond when a familiar voice called, ‘Neil! Andrew!’

They both whirled to see Abby hauling Wymack over by the hand. She was beaming, her hair free from its customary ponytail and whipping around in the breeze. Wymack appeared to be reevaluating his life choices.

Neil met Andrew’s amused look with an identical one of his own, allowing Abby to catch him in a hug when they met them halfway.

‘I didn’t know the two of you were coming here tonight,’ she said fondly.

‘The warning would have been nice,’ Wymack added, less so.

Neil fought the childish urge to stick his tongue out at him. Living in the dorms with just Robin was beginning to have an effect on him.

‘We didn’t intend to crash your date,’ Andrew said, sending a meaningful look down at Abby and Wymack’s joined hands.

‘And what noble reason do you shits have for being here?’ Wymack returned.

‘Candy floss hunting,’ Andrew said at the same time Neil said, ‘Breaking in my jeans.’

‘They’re designer, you know,’ Neil continued when Wymack cast his eyes heavenward.

Abby laughed at their antics. ‘Have you tried any of the rides yet?’

‘Er, no.’ Neil tried to think of how best to skirt around the topic of Andrew’s acrophobia, but Andrew beat him to it.

‘I sustained a head injury in last week’s game,’ Andrew lied. ‘No roller coasters for me. So sad.’

Abby frowned. ‘A head injury? In which quarter? We watched the whole game.’

‘You must have blinked,’ said Andrew. ‘I’m going to line up for food if you want to take him on something puke-inducing before we eat. Coach?’

Wymack sighed but seemed to accept that his date had been crashed. ‘Yeah, take the kid on that death trap you pointed out earlier.’

‘The one you said would put your heart to the test?’ Abby asked.

Wymack huffed. ‘We’ll meet you by the tables.’

‘Are you sure?’ Neil asked Abby. ‘If you don’t want to—’

He trailed off when he saw that Abby’s green eyes were alight with excitement. She clutched his arm. ‘Come on, Josten. Don’t chicken out on me now.’

Neil couldn’t help but laugh as she dragged him across the fairground. The years between nurse and striker fell away, and suddenly they were both kids, nervously boarding a ride called The Crazy Coaster that allegedly spun as it sped over the tracks.

Abby’s joyful squeals accompanied the swoop in Neil’s gut at every drop, making him laugh harder. They took the first two dips facing forwards, but the biggest one was coming, and their carriage was turning.

‘Oh, god. Oh, god,’ Abby gasped, her hand fumbling for Neil’s. ‘Neil, we’re backwards.’

Neil managed a hysterical, ‘What do you want me to do about it?’

Abby finally caught his hand and gave it a firm squeeze. Neil held tight to the woman who had patched him up so many times he’d lost count, who kissed his forehead and cheered him on at every game, who brought him on this stupid ride and showed him that surrendering your control to wheels and cogs and gravity could actually be fun.

The two of them shared a pair of frenzied grins as Abby said, ‘Here we go,’ and then they were falling.

[chasedeys]

Hi do you have a favorite moment between Joe and Ja’Marr ?? Also how would you describe their relationship I’m new to this fandom and they are just so close and adorable

hi there!! thank you sm for coming by and sending this ask bc now there's like 2k+ words under the cut 😭 i feel like i should apologize profusely for the unchecked word vomit oh my god

to start off, like would you believe me if i said i’ve been a fan of the bengals for like a month :')) started ts during the week leading up to the first regular season game when jamarrs contract literally gripped me with the drama of it all. so for all my word vomit below feel free to fact check me ahaha

you asked me for a favorite moment for joemarr and i start describing their entire life together i am so very sorry, but:

on the top of my head literally just two weeks ago. this 63 yarder jamarr and joe made that led to an mildly feral celly where they just. didn’t know how to act right and got made fun of for not doing a cool celly?? this insane anon ask i sent before i caved and made a sideblog was actually just my word vomit over it 😭. And also last weeks celly, a whole lot softer and more tender with jamarr skipping then walking straight towards joe who held his arms out for him? thats crazyyyy he was expected! he was welcomed!! he was loved!!! the way one of the fired up coach just let joemarr have their intimate little moment before slapping jamarrs shoulders in joy is also crazy to me 😵‍💫 and just this screenshot of that celly where they’re just wrapped around each other right in front of their sidelines. the fuck. watched that shit sick to my stomachhhh i had enoughhhh.

this edit with the compilation of their post-tds pinky shakes oh my goddd. just every time they do pinky shakes!! who does that!!!! the softest possible way they can make a handshake (since college my god) in a status quo where you make the most elaborate handshakes to look cool and spread joy and burn up adrenaline but these two chose to do a quick twist of their pinky fingers (the symbolism of it alllll how dare theyy) and pressing knuckles together for however long they want to. the roty award where they did their pinky shake is one of my favorites huhu

the lakers date…..the way i had no idea sam and dj reader were with them on this date until i see a full vid of lebron meeting them 😭 and the lore goes crazyyy for this whole thing bc apparently joe was having the shittiest week in arizona and jamarr made an obscure ig story that he arrived in az before deleting it (like whyyyy would he do that) and then boom. they’re in the lakers game in lsu/lakers colors. and jamarr did that arms around shoulder thing that blows my mind because what the fuck is wrong with him why would he do that in front of lebron james and anthony davis and like national tv idk. joe also clapped (??? for whatever reason this fucking dork my godd) his hands right in front of jamarrs face when jamarr was being introduced to the stadium.

THE WEIRD CLOTHES PAIRING THING IS INSANE TO ME TOO. they do it in such subtle ways that you just think its a coincidence and you're delusional and it probably is but!! but??? they went to the game wearing yellow and purple (color coordinating lakers colors!! if i were on a date i would also do that cringy shit!!) that is also coincidentally lsu colors! another theory is they each chose to wear lakers colors without the other knowing of which this is just another case of soulmatism. the matching shoes during week 3! the sort of matching color schemes for their away game airport fits! last week both wearing rick owens apparently idk?? no idea if they've done this before this season btw i just got here lol. this is reaching ofc but very fun to think of!

jamarr being batshit crazy with his words abt joe. 'he's like a god to me' 'trying playing without my favorite quarterback' 'i told him dont scare me like that again. he knows how to slide he's just hard headed' 'im here for the future, for him. i want you to be here for the future' (this was abt joe playing through an injury :)) etc etc. something about 'just keep winning as many championships together' or like 'me and him come as package' or something fairy tale ish like that idk man he's crazy i could make something up only to be bamboozled because he has in fact said shit like it before. and like his refusal to consider anyone but joe for the no. 1 qb hhh. somebody needs to put him in an mri and study his brain when shown a picture of joe burrow bc like?? the way jake had to prove himself before jamarr even followed him on ig is ??? pls be normal jamarr i beg of u (he's perfect the way he is).

while jamarrs insane with his words, joes insane with his actions!! the lsu sec championship ball he gave to jamarr. that little look like ‘hey you want it? okay its rightfully yours' mkayy crazy ass!!! jamarrs lsu championship game worn jersey joe asked for and worn for their first game back in nola. just what the fuck went through joes mind that led to this. their dads (both named jimmy both close since lsu too, cute!) were asked about their fav joe game day fit they said the jamarrs lsu jersey 😃! in laws approving your partner of choice etc. this is jimmy chases interview regarding joemarr too btw haha. anyway back to joe being insane—the demented way joe runs to jamarr and hops around him and slams his helmet to his when jamarr makes plays. and like again this is speculation as in no citation sorry but jamarrs reason for going to cincy is definitely in part because of joe?? joe being the one to text him pack your bags you’re going to cincy is crazyyy. firmly believe joe talked him up and asked for him! when they last parted before joe went to cincy did they make a pact that they would play in a team together again? did jamarr reach out when joes 2020 season ending injurys news reached him? did he watch him go down that first time?

also during their lsu days they interviewed the wr core and they were asked abt who joe likes best (stupid ass question in my opinion btw. why would they ask that), it was so....sooooo......like jamarr was so shy and unsure!! he's like 'is it..me?' and terrace going 'he does like throwing to jamarr most' and then jamarr bursting into embarrassed laughter like okay??? okay 😭😭 fine okay be cute or whatever. in my mind back then jamarr was a whole lot more unsure of his presence in joes life because hes super young, his qb is literally 3 years older, its their first year playing together etc but i think being joe being upfront on asking jamarr to play with him in cincy (again speculation on my part no idea if this is true ha) just cements the little gremlin in his head that believes he has to be crazy about joe

their 2021 preseason jamarrs drops were apparently disgusting enough for people to shit on his entire life idk and crucify the bengals for drafting another wr but joe was so firm on his belief in jamarr! that's devotion babyyyy his clap back in the first post game presser was very much what were u saying abt the loml coded love that for them

last feb probowl dramaaa rumors of jamarr moving to houston bc he chirped at cj stroud that he knew cj wanted to play with him or smtg so he had to post this very emotional very sincere tweet and speak abt it in an interview 😭😭 just head empty no thoughts mouth racing! joe probably teased the ever living shit out of him 'so you’re moving to houston without telling me :( i had to find out through twitter :(('

just teasing each other in numerous occasions over each others speed??? that mic'ed up moment when joe teased jamarr over being slow! yelling out his name so many times just to say that he was a little slow and jamarr shooting back instantly with an incredulous ‘be serious. be serious.’ vs jamarr nagging joe over being slow ass hell during his 20 (?) yard rushing attempt and joe defending himself in the whiniest voice i have ever heard from him saying he had to wait for ted to block before him (ted then going what did i do? ted I’m sorry you had to be dragged into their weird mating dance banter) and also this gem of a jamarr tweet (x)

speaking of jamarrs twitter, 17yo him’s curiouscat answers that insanely aligns with joe is nothing short of crazy. they have not met or heard of each other then i don't think. but according to it he likes them older, smart, doesn't mind if they're taller, but he doesn't fw long distance so he flew his ass to ohio 😮‍💨. (also whooo be sending these asks high schoolers dear lordd 😭). the soulmatism between them is kinda crazy like joe being well over 3yrs his senior yet still they had a moment chance to play together during jamarrs freshie/sopho (?) year in college because joe chooses to transfer to lsu, and coach o taking a chance on him despite not playing for how many long, winning a championship (!!) together for that one year that they could play together, and saying fuck that only one year bullshit before flying jamarrs ass right to cincy so they could play 4 and counting more years together.

jamarr talking abt where it apparently clicked for joe and jamarr that joe can throw to jamarr and jamarr would be right there to catch it haha. like he didn't give a shit if people thought it was joes big life changing moment hes just insisting that that was when he and joe really clicked!

literally my favorite mic'ed up moment between them. the teasing! the nagging! 'you see the big blue thing' 'don't do me that' 'that's the endzone' then the laugh!!!! ‘he’s gonna get mad at me when i tell him this shit' then gesturing joe over like hes a cat my god jamarr 'you couldnt overthrow me?' a very affronted 'my guy you were wide open' aughuhghuhhguu joy love laughter etc. (side note can't help myself sorry pretty sure the reason joe teased him about the endzone is bc jamarr could’ve gone for it but got tackled bc he was kinda slow to start sprinting and when he did he just sat there legs out shoulders dropped looking disappointed but cute as all hell i love him sm)

sooo many other moments because theyve literally been in each others lives for over five years!!!! recently joe saying jamarr playing is fun to watch 😵‍💫, jamarr saying numerous times that joes a tough mfer but also hard-headed and how he's also hard-headed but at least he listens (my guy....reflect again), that article of jamarr knocking on doors for a house near joe that he denied i think but he also said that he kept his stuff in joes house before he got his own, that jamarr gq shoot where he went insane and lied (or did he?) about buying joe clothes that just led to the ridiculous clothes saga that is still unsolved to this day and that tb and tee very obviously teased him over and somehow the socmed team clowned him on too 😭

etc etc stop me please

AND ANYWAYSSS MOVING ON:

how i would describe their relationship is ride or die with incredibly similar way of living by which i mean they live and breathe a sport they’re so talented in and they play to win and beat themselves up for doing bad in but also with the awkwardness of knowing they’re two vastly different people with different ways of seeing things and handling things but also even with that steadfast difference of being they also believe in each other in a truly outrageous way that it translates to them saying and being insane about each other (hence the list above) with little to no shame. (i hope this makes sense because im not reading all that over again wow)

like they’re so complicated to me!! by all means i don’t actually know these two or what they’re really like, but surface level they’re so different! their temperament is literally 180, joes cool and steady persona, incapable of being ruffled, closed off, moments of silliness he brings out only in certain situations, smart little quips he gives out at times like he can’t help himself vs exuberant open extroverted blustering to hide his shyness runs his mouth always down to fight jamarr chase. they couldn’t be more different! so how can they read each other so well? how can they run routes and plays with minute changes whilst running from men trying to take them down between one heartbeat to the next? how is it that jamarr is so down bad for this man that he can just say the shit he does about him? how much trust does joe have in this man that he shuts down every bad shit anybody tries to tell him or coax him to say? something about /always/ choosing the other despite everything is always a thing that attracts me to a ship.

also after that infamous kc game shove, i definitely think they had a very tough heart to heart where jamarr maybe spills his full feelings over the contract and how he hasn’t been getting the ball to actually make big plays and how his worth as a wr1 is being brought to question and joe probably spills on his own feelings on how jamarr held out so long and had last minute (?) changes of playing that week one ramps up joes own anxiety and hang ups like i definitely feel like he had some unchecked anxiety over playing with his wrist that first game that jamarr probably said something incredibly insane yet uplifting about in response. the next game its like they mended some unseen frayed stitch of their connection! first drive banger of a 41 yarder td for jamarr, two tuddys for the game in fact lol!! joe gets him his deep ball, then the insane way joe rushed at him after his 63 yarder in the next game, its like that first touchdown against minnesota again. i just wish the very best for them, to keep making these insane passes and insane runs they've been making since lsu.

anyway i feel like a lot of my rambling is for jamarr sorry 😭 he’s like a drug to me such an interesting person i base my thoughts around him. I feel obliged to say i wrote my first ever fic and its them lmao and i link this just as a fair warning to everyone that i very obviously write and ramble in the tags like im in love with jamarr, definitely with some bias, and I’m learning how not to be ashamed of that !

also nobody asked but scrolling through the hell that is my photo gallery i just have to share my favorite tee photo which is coincidentally the mock photoshoot the bengals socmed team made them do to clown jamarrs gq shoot ahaha

hearts ❤️ thank u for reading all the way through :"))

[willowsnook]

Can I get scotch and sprite in a flute 🧍🏼‍♀️

josh allen x gf!reader

just shut up and come here

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

"Fucking hell," you muttered, eyes wide as you watched your boyfriend once again refuse to slide and get rocked by a massive linebacker.

"He'll be feeling that tomorrow," one of the other WAGs said next to you.

"Probably tonight," you agreed. "Good luck to me."

Waiting outside the locker game after the game you scrolled through your phone. The video of Josh was making its rounds on Twitter and you shook your head.

"Baby," Josh whined coming up in front of you. "Don't watch that."

"How ya feeling big boy," you greeted him and he winced as he started to pull you to the exit. "Just slow down baby, take it easy."

You could tell that the right side of his leg was going to be black and purple tomorrow and your heart clenched for him.

When you got back to your shared apartment you drew a hot bath for him, letting him relax while you made dinner. A little while later you felt his arms wrap around your waist as he rested his chin on your head.

"Smells good," he mumbled and you hummed in response. After plating it you sat down at the dining room and dug in. Josh talked through the game with you and you listened, offering input when he asked.

When you guys were done eating you cleaned up while Josh got a movie ready in the living room. He laid back carefully on the couch, eyes watching you as he waited. You finished up and came over, stopping before you got to the couch.

"Guess who I am," you said juking an invisible defender and fake sliding before pulling your leg up in mock pain.

"Just shut up and come here," he grumbled while you giggled.

"Okay Mr. Hero Ball," you said saluting and he gave you the finger.

Laughing at his grumpy reaction, you climbed onto the couch next to him, settling in carefully so you didn’t bump his sore leg. As soon as you were close, Josh pulled you into his arms, tucking you into his chest. His grip was firm but gentle, and despite the tough hits he took during the game, you could feel how much he still craved being near you.

“Better?” you teased, resting your head against him.

“Much,” he mumbled, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head. “You always make it better.”

You smiled at that, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your cheek. “You know,” you began, tracing small circles on his chest. “You’d probably feel even better if you thought about sliding every once in a while”

Josh groaned dramatically, but there was a smile in his voice. “Not you too. Coach already gave me an earful.”

“Well, I’m just saying. Maybe save the heroics for the fourth quarter, not the second.” You grinned, lifting your head to look at him. “I like my quarterback in one piece.”

He chuckled softly, his hand gently rubbing your back. “I’ll try, for you. But no promises.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes playfully before leaning in to press a kiss to his jawline. “Just stop scaring me out there, alright?”

Josh’s smile softened as he cupped your cheek, pulling you in for a gentle kiss. “I’ll try,” he repeated, his voice low. “But at least you’ll be here after every game, right?”

“Always,” you whispered, nuzzling against him.

With that, he pulled you even closer, wrapping you up in his warmth as the movie played in the background.

[doumadono]

Hii I saw that you do emergency fics, and they're very awesome, so is it okay if I send one too? It's been quite stressful with senior year of high school, entrance coaching and the pressure from myself and my family, and the stress gets so bad to the point of migraines (which I always complain about) so I wanted to request a Bakugou comfort fic for the stress?

Sparks of solace - Bakugo x Reader

A/N: I'm really sorry to hear that you're under so much pressure right now. It sounds incredibly tough, but remember, it’s okay to take a moment for yourself when things get overwhelming. You're doing an amazing job juggling everything. Hang in there, and be sure to care for yourself too. You've got this!

EMERGENCY REQS MASTERLIST - PART 2

The final bell at U.A. High School didn't so much signal the end of the day as it did the start of another battle for you.

As the other students streamed out the door, eager to shed the weight of their responsibilities, you remained seated, your head cradled in your arms against the cool surface of the desk. The familiar ache of a migraine pulsed behind your eyes, exacerbated by the relentless pressure of senior year, entrance exams, and the towering expectations from both yourself and your family.

The classroom door banged open with a force that only one person in the school could muster.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the room, coming to a halt beside you. “Still here? You planning to move in or what?” The voice was unmistakably Bakugo Katsuki's — abrasive, impatient, and impossible to ignore.

You lifted your head just enough to give him a weary look. “Just trying to make it through the day, Bakugo.”

“Tch, you’re letting that crap knock you down? Seriously?” Bakugo scoffed as he dragged a chair beside you, the metal legs screeching against the floor. His approach was neither gentle nor tiptoeing around sensitivities. “You’re tougher than this, aren’t you? Migraines again?”

“Yeah, and everything else. It’s all too much sometimes,” you admitted, hoping he’d tire of your company and leave you to wallow in your misery.

Instead, Bakugo huffed, his brow furrowing. “That’s because you’re letting it pile up until it crushes you. You’re stronger than this crap, you know.”

His attempt at encouragement was as subtle as a sledgehammer, yet it held an undertone of genuine concern. Bakugo wasn’t known for his soft side, but his presence, strangely, was somewhat comforting. His attempt at motivation might have been wrapped in layers of impatience, but Bakugo had chosen to stay, a fact that carried its own form of comfort.

“So, genius, got any better ideas?” you challenged, your voice tinged with both sarcasm and a hint of curiosity.

“Obviously.” He stood abruptly, grabbing your arm to pull you to your feet. “Get up. We’re going out.”

“Out? Out where?” You stumbled slightly, caught off guard by his sudden decisiveness.

“Somewhere that isn’t here, dumbass. You need a break, and I’m not watching you turn into a complete wreck. We're going out to get some damn fresh air. And ice cream. It helps, believe it or not,” Katsuki declared, leading the way with a certainty that left no room for argument.

The streets of the city buzzed with life around you, a stark contrast to the stillness of the classroom.

Bakugo’s confident stride was uncompromising as he led you to a small, local ice cream shop. The choice was yours, and you opted for something simple, while he chose a fiery flavor with spicy chocolate chips.

“Sit,” Bakugo commanded, pointing to a bench. He plopped down beside you, arms crossed, watching the sunset with a grunt. “Look, I get it. It’s tough. But you’re not doing yourself any favors by pushing too hard. Learn to recognize when you’re at your limit. Being strong isn’t just about pushing through the crap. It’s knowing when to take a damn break so you can fight another day. That’s what real strength is.”

Your eyes drifted from his face to the horizon, where the sky was painted in strokes of orange and purple. “I didn’t expect to hear a pep talk from you, of all people.”

“Tch, it’s not a pep talk. It’s common sense,” he muttered, though the harshness in his voice had lessened. “I deal with the same crap. But I figured out that sometimes you just need to explode a little less… and breathe a little more. I’m just making sure you don’t fall apart. Someone has to.”

You chuckled softly, the tension easing from your shoulders. “Explode a little less, huh? I’ll try to keep that in mind, boss.”

Bakugo’s mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Yeah, well… just don’t forget it. And if you need to — whatever, just come find me or something. I’m not gonna let you crash and burn over something stupid like stress.”

The simplicity of his declaration, the gruff concern laced through his words, struck a chord within you. Here was Bakugo Katsuki, known for his fiery temper and relentless ambition, offering a lifeline.

“Thanks, Kats. I mean it,” you said, turning to meet his gaze.

He shrugged, his eyes softening just a little as he looked away. “Whatever. Just don’t make me regret this.”

[rosewaterandivy]

Summary: it’s always the best laid plans of mice and men, isn’t it?

Pairing: s.h. x f!oc

W.C.: 5.4K

Warnings: gilded age!au, miscommunication, a comedy of errors/manners, society snobs, a masquerade ball mishap, arranged marriage, steve ‘down bad’ harrington, and a reader/mc who doesn’t have time for this shit - she was educated abroad, she went to Vassar with Miss Nancy Wheeler, okay?!, back on my iliad bullshit (i know, i know)

playlist | m.list

I. Coup de foudre

It’s a dreary December evening in Manhattan. The streets are damp and slick accompanied by the cacophony of hooves, equipages and carriages trundling down the way. Somber topcoats and fur-trimmed capes hide the tailored waistcoats of the men and ornate skirts of the ladies, as is to be expected with the current onslaught of weather. 

Small white flurries of snow that are sure to bring a swift end to laborious dinners and engagements at the club. And the man in the sleek black equipage himself is all too relieved about it— at least he would be released from the obligation of hearing his father’s friends complain about these upstart robber barons descending like a horde of locusts on Fifth Avenue.

A quiet night in his study would be a welcome distraction.

That is, if they can ever get home in this weather.

He can hear the whinny of the horses from up front and the soothing tones of the driver. The streets are probably close to icing over at this hour, making it difficult to find traction. 

Suddenly, the equipage swings quickly to the side and careens into something with a loud thud, sending its sole occupant straight into the door with a smack. He hisses lowly at the twinge in his forehead as the driver descends with a flurry of apologies.

He opens the door himself and steps outside before the driver can assist him. The white puffs of his breath speak to how quickly the weather had turned. He draws his coat closer and approaches the two drivers as they attempt to settle the horses.

“Gentlemen,” He greets, “What seems to be the problem?”

“Noting to worry about Mr. Harrington,” His man, Andrew, assures him, “The ice just snuck up on us is all.”

He nods taking in the damage, dents and scuffs on both vehicles but the horses appear to be fine. Reaching into his coat pocket, he brings out a small notebook and a pencil to scribble his information down for the other driver. Is about to tell the man to bill him directly when someone steps out from the carriage opposite.

The footsteps themselves are delicate and tentative. He tears his gaze from the driver’s, glancing back only to find a young woman emerging from the carriage. She’s holding her skirts in one gloved hand, shivering in the cold. 

“Is everything all right Jesse?”

Her voice is like music to his ears, melodic almost. And she looks like something stolen from a painting— bright and alluring.

The winter light is quickly fading, and the lamplighters were sure taking their time this evening. Her cape is dark, like his coat, but the split at the front reveals a purple skirt trimmed in demure black lace, signifying an exit from her period of mourning. 

Her man, Jesse, shepherds her back toward the coach, “Let’s get you back inside Miss, don’t want you to catch a chill.”

“Of course,” She says with a shake of her head, “How silly of me.”

And before Steve can embarrass himself in an attempt to introduce himself, she’s safely ensconced back in the carriage. Her driver returns and takes the paper from Steve, tucking it into his coat.

“Apologies gentlemen, but I must be on my way.” He pulls himself back onto the driver’s box, “Have to get the young Miss home to her brother’s, you understand.”

He tips his hat, and with a tug of the reins he’s gone.

Steve finds himself standing right where she left him, feet riveted to the very spot where she once stood. He must have taken a step toward her at some point, like an utter madman, probably startled the poor girl half to death.

Despite their disastrous non-meeting, he can’t seem to shake her from his mind. As if everything had been in black and white until she stepped down from the carriage and breathed color into his world, spring bursting forth at the sound of her voice. It sounds positively insane, even to himself, but if Robin were here, she’d understand.

Hell, she’d probably have a word for it too. 

Something French, inevitably.

“Mr. Harrington,” Andrew says, a hand tentatively resting on his shoulder, “Is something wrong?”

Steve blinks; a feeble attempt to clear his mind from thoughts of the mystery woman.

Andrew refrains from rolling his eyes, “Right sir, let’s get you home then.”

The journey back to the Harrington family manse was uneventful. The familiar brownstone facade came into view as Andrew swung the equipage onto the street outside the house. Luckily, the home was large enough that his late arrival wouldn’t be noticed. 

He thanks Andrew and watches as he takes off with the horses for the carriage house a few blocks away. Stepping into the house, he makes quickly for his study slipping through the door just as one of the maids turns down the corridor.

Steve shucks his coat onto a nearby chair and tugs off his cravat with one hand, the other pouring a healthy portion of bourbon into a highball glass. He downs the amber liquid too quickly, the burn welcome against his throat. 

After pouring another glass to sip from, he settles into a heap on a club chair by the window. Resting his jaw on a hand, he faces the glass panes, eyes trailing the flurries of snow outside, unsettled by the quiet of the street. His mind won’t stop racing, vacillating between kicking himself for not getting her name and hoping he’d run into her again, albeit this time under better circumstances.

Little did he know, that several blocks away a man was questioning poor Jesse about his whereabouts when a slip of paper was placed into his hand. He scans it quickly, face paling at the name scrawled there: Steven Harrington.

“How could you let this happen Jesse, really? The accident, I understand, but allowing my sister out of the carriage unaccompanied?”

“Sir, I had no—”

“I’ll not hear your excuses.” Christopher Fairchild balls his hand into a fist, the paper crumpling in his grasp. “You said he saw her, Harrington, that is?”

“Unfortunately,” Jesse admits, “I intervened as best I could and got her back into the coach. He seemed rather transfixed by her.”

His employer grunts, “Yes well, that is unfortunate. What if someone had seen her with that man, no chaperone in sight?” He turns to the sideboard and pours himself a drink, says with a scoff, “Not even out to society and potentially scandal-ridden.”

At this point, his wife, Marian, chooses to enter, having seen the young lady to her rooms and getting her settled for the evening. She places a tentative hand on his shoulder while Jesse trains his gaze to the floor.

“Darling,” She soothes, “Your sister is asleep as is the baby, don’t get yourself into a fit at this hour.”

He sighs as her palm moves in slow circles against his back and takes deep breaths. “Of course dear,” He sips from his drink and turns to her. “I just worry about her. All the work you’ve put into her debut and planning the ball.” Christopher places a kiss on the back of her hand, causing her to blush. “I don’t want it to be all for naught.”

She sighs prettily. 

“It won’t be,” Marian advises, “You’ll write to the Harringtons tomorrow and we’ll get this matter settled. And there won’t be a speck on your dear sister’s reputation, I’ll see to that.”

But, oh dear reader, where would be the fun in that? 

As we all know, the New York winter season is winding down rapidly, and do we not deserve something to keep us warm over the holiday? I would say so! 

So, in honor of her long-awaited arrival, let us give a hearty New York welcome to Miss Eleanor Fairchild! Fresh from the society of Paris and a graduate of Vassar along with Miss Nancy Wheeler, her debut this week is the talk of the town. 

Despite her indecorous brush with Mr. Steven Harrington, I am sure she will not have a shortage of suitors after the ball this weekend. 

But the question remains, my loyal readers, of who will take a shine to Miss Fairchild and step out from the long shadow cast by the Harrington name? 

Only time, and this weekly missive, will tell.

Morning in New York was startling and nothing like waking in Paris.

House maids, lady’s maids, and valets moving up and down the stairs, knocking on doors to air out the linens and draw the curtains aside to let the murky winter sun stream through. There was, of course, the soft babbling from the nursery as Gus woke from his repose, the nursemaid and his mother close at hand.

A sharp knock sounded from the door just as you drew the bedclothes closer to you, content to roll over and sleep through the gray morning.

“Bonjour mademoiselle, vous permettez?”

“Oui!” You say, curious at the chipper voice now opening the door, “Sorry, yes, you may enter.”

“Merci, mademoiselle.”

The girl, your new lady’s maid, softly shuts the door and turns to regard the room.

It’s certainly larger than what you’d grown accustomed to in France. But then again, most everything was in New York, especially so since you hadn’t returned to the city in well nigh on a year or more.

The room itself is well-appointed and elegant, Marian saw to that; soft colors and fabrics, diaphanous and frothy, a subtle nod to Versailles no doubt. You hadn’t had much time or energy to give it a glance last night, more inclined to have a late dinner, divest yourself of traveling clothes, and pass out as soon as possible.

The lady’s maid continues her silent assessment as another knock sounds from the door. She steps to open it and let in the housemaid.

“Good morning Miss,” She greets with a smile, her voice rounded with a warm Irish lilt. “I ‘spect you’ll be needin’ a fire this morning.”

You nod just now noticing the chill in the air. She busies herself with the kindling and sweeping ashes from the fireplace. The maids exchange a few soft words before she steps out to get the firewood from the Useful Man down the hall.

“Apologies,” You say by way of greeting, “But I don’t believe I got your name?”

“Oh, pardonne-moi,” the lady’s maid curtsies briefly, “Je m’appelle Marie.”

“Marie,” You repeat, “Pleased to meet you.”

“Moi aussi, mademoiselle.”

And from there, the ritual of dressing began. The house maid, Louisa, lit the fire and spirited you out of bed to air out the linens. At Marie’s suggestion, she also tackled unpacking the various trunks placed near the dresser and closet.

“These are fine frills Miss,” She smiled, her fingers delicately folding chemises and hanging skirts or dresses. “The Missus said your debut gown came all the way from Mr. Worth’s shop in Paris, is that true?”

A soft sigh escaped you at the memory, ivory chiffon and silk revealing the décolleté and arms, gauze and tulle providing a tempting illusion of bared skin. A full skirt with bustle that would skim the floor accompanied by a small train. With gloves and a fan to match, of course.

“Indeed, it is,” You allowed with a cheeky wink, “But I think Marie would have my head if I touched it before Friday.”

Marie, for her part, merely smirked and continued her preparations for your bath.

Across a few city blocks, a footman knocks on the imposing doors of the Harrington manse. The family butler, Campbell, just happens to be descending the stairs and takes it upon himself to open the door.

“Good morning sir,” The footman says with a bow, “Mr. Fairchild bid me to deliver this.” He hands over an envelope addressed to Mr. Samuel Harrington.

“Yes, well,” Campbell sighs, opening the door to let the footman in. “I’ll get this to him. If you hurry, Cook can scrounge up some coffee and a pastry for you. Just take the servant’s hall to the right.”

“Much obliged,” The footman says with a bow as Campbell starts up the stairs.

The handwriting on the envelope is neat, if a bit cramped. Must be the young Mr. Fairchild then, rather than his wife sending the correspondence.

Mr. Harrington’s study door is cracked open, the sound of papers shuffling to and fro on his desk as the butler enters. He briefly glances up to find Campbell, “Happen to know where I put those contracts, Campbell?”

“Perhaps the drawer on the left, sir.”

Mr. Harrington pulls the drawer open, “Right you are, good man.” And thereby loses himself to perusing the documents and thus ignoring Campbell.

“A letter has arrived for you sir,” He says stepping closer to the desk, “From Mr. Fairchild, it seems rather urgent. I have his footman waiting for your reply.”

“Hmm, well let’s have it then.”

He takes the letter from the butler’s hand and slips the blade of the letter opener under the paper. Retrieving the missive, he scans through it quickly, lips pulling down in distaste.

“See to it that Mrs. Harrington gets this,” He instructs, pulling out a new sheaf of paper and beginning his correspondence. “If she wishes to see my reply, she best be quick about it.”

The letter itself detailed the unfortunate meeting between Mr. Fairchild’s sister and Mr. Harrington’s only son. The man was understandably concerned about how it would seem should someone have happened upon them sans chaperone, as the young lady had yet to make her debut into society.

Mr. Harrington’s reply was cordial in an attempt to smooth things over— the Fairchilds, like the Harrington’s were of good stock, two families of the New York Four Hundred deemed to be unblemished and acceptable company by none other than the Grande Dame herself, Mrs. Astor. It wouldn’t be fitting for reputations to be sullied as the result of a simple misunderstanding.

As expected, Samuel’s wife, Amelia, swanned into the study seemingly in the midst of her morning toilette. Her hair was up, but she still wore her housecoat as her day dress had yet to be put on by her lady’s maid. Mr. Fairchild’s letter waved about in one hand, while the other pressed upon her chest as if to stop her racing heart.

“That boy of yours is going to give me heart failure.”

Samuel signs the letter with a flourish and lays his pen to the side.

“Oh, so he’s only my boy when he acts indiscreetly with the fairer sex, but he’s your son when he’s winning accolades at Harvard and breaking hearts abroad, is that it?”

She tuts and sits demurely on the divan, “Well, yes. Precisely that Sam.” She fans herself with the letter as her husband leans against his desk. “The social set have already written him off as a lost cause and we can ill afford a whisper of a scandal, especially now.”

Sam passes the reply to his wife and pauses, as if to choose his words carefully.

“Still moving forward with your plans to find Steven a wife then?”

“Of course, dear,” She answers brusquely, “There are many suitable ladies this season of decent breeding and passable looks.” She glances up and passes the letter back to him. “Your response is sufficient, send it off with the footman.”

Amelia rises from the divan and turns to leave. “Wake Steven and have a talk with him will you? I’ll send Maude out to the florist, he should write a note of apology for her to send along.”

“As you wish, dear.”

Amelia leaves just as abruptly as she appeared. Samuel sighs and furrows his brow, the inklings of a headache coming on. He taps his fingers against the desk and checks the time.

“Campbell,” He calls into the hall, “Have Calvin wake Steven and tell him to see my in the study.”

“Of course, sir.”

He takes a seat and settles himself behind the desk once more.

“And have Cook send something up? Coffee and breakfast for two.”

Awaiting the arrival of his son, Samuel Harrington turns and faces the bay of windows that look out onto the street below. He watches as Fairchild’s footman hops on the back of the coach and slides from his view. He contemplates his son’s options, admittedly there are few.

Such are the advantages and disadvantages in marrying a woman who’s as sly as a fox. It’s just a matter of out-maneuvering her; an entertaining and seemingly endless chess match that’s lasted even longer than their marriage.

But the silver lining in all this, he supposes, is that Steven Harrington, their sole child and heir, just so happens to take after his father in this respect, in that he’s crazy like a fox.

Funny how things work out, isn’t it?

As for the young Mr. Harrington, well, suffice it to say he had quite the morning. The newly arrived Miss Fairchild, however, had a luxurious start to her day (that is, if one discounts the pulling and pinning of hair, the tugging on of stockings and tightening of corset laces).

You joined your brother and sister-in-law in the dining room while another maid fixed a plate of breakfast for you; Pierce, the butler, stepped in to pour the coffee. You thanked them both and broke your fast, listening as Christopher and Marian discussed the events of the day.

“I’ll need to see to the accounts today,” Your brother said, turning his newspaper with a shake. “Everything should be in order before the ball this weekend.”

Marian nodded and sipped from her coffee cup. “I have some calls to make today, and thought Nell could accompany me.”

Christopher slowly lowers his newspaper and glances your way— don't feel obligated to do this, you haven’t been properly introduced into society yet.

Buying time, you take a bite from the flaky croissant on your plate and ruminate. In a way, both Chris and Marian are correct; you aren’t obligated to escort Mrs. Fairchild, nor would it be wise to turn down an informal introduction to those in Marian’s circle. She would, after all, be serving as your chaperone, and, along with your brother, introducing you to Manhattan high society on Friday at the ball.

Your debutante ball, to be precise.

At the time, Vassar was a welcome distraction and reprieve for being paraded around like a prize calf at auction. But then came the unfortunate illness and demise of your parents, followed by a year of mourning.

It would seem that your time of delay had finally come to its end.

After all, no one wanted a spinster for a bride.

Dabbing at the corners of your mouth with a napkin, you clear your throat and brace yourself.

“That sounds lovely, Marian. I’d be happy to escort you today.”

She smiles and makes to reply, but before she can open her mouth to do so, a knock sounds from the front door. Puzzled, the three of you glance at one another, clearly not expecting a caller at such an early hour.

Pierce nods to someone by the door, bidding him to open it. He quickly returns with a beautiful arrangement of flowers, only to set them to your right and hand you a card. Baffled, you take in the spray of purple orchids, white tulips, lemon geraniums, the sprigs of rosemary, and tucked away behind the hearty green stalks, the shy blooms of forget-me-nots.

Respect, sincerity, an unexpected meeting, remembrance, and affection.

“Well,” Marian prompts from across the table, “Who are they from?”

It’s only then that you recall the card in your outstretched hand. Slipping from your reverie, you thumb open the small envelope.

Miss Fairchild—

Please accept my sincere apologies for our run-in yesterday evening. I hope it did not startle you. I’ve liaised with your brother about the repairs, and in the meantime will give you use of my equipage and pray it will suffice. I also hope that you’ll enjoy the flowers and please know that they relay my deepest and most sincere sentiments.

Cordially yours,

Steven Harrington

P.S. Je vous prie d’accepter mes sincères regrets et ma sympathie à l’occasion du décès de votre proches.

For the remainder of the week, Steve was a bundle of nerves. He’d written the note as his mother asked and even went so far as to accompany her to the florist, managing to slip in a few blooms that complemented the arrangement nicely. And if his mother didn’t happen to notice the errant sprigs of blue or the lingering scent of rosemary, then so much the better.

What he didn’t anticipate was the lack of a response.

“It isn’t done,” Miss Robin Buckley reminded him on their promenade in Central Park. “Until she is out to society, her brother is no doubt keeping her under lock and key.”

“You could provide the introduction,” He points out petulantly. “You’re choosing not to in order to entertain yourself with my suffering.”

“You cad,” She swats at him with her fan. “And no, I cannot. There’s a reason I fled to France after my disastrous debut, as you well know.”

And thus, Steve resigned himself to pining for a woman who barely knew of his existence, while the eligible bachelors of New York bided their time until her debut at the ball.

“For what it’s worth,” Robin says carefully as they round a bend, “There have been many deliveries to the Fairchild House, but yours was the first.”

He warms at the thought.

“That has to count for something, I suppose.”

She grins, “It will.”

They continue to walk, grateful for the brief break in the weather and discuss the evening’s festivities: who will wear what, how many dances until Robin steps on someone’s toes, how ostentatious the new money Vanderbilts will be.

They exit the park, parting ways as their carriages await. Robin catches a curious expression on her friend’s face, both dreamy and apprehensive. She lays a gloved hand on his arm.

“À cœur vaillant rien d'impossible.”

Steve glances down and says with a playful smirk, “Qui vivra verra.”

On Friday afternoon, Marian and Marie carefully assess your gown while Louisa dashes to and fro with the pearls, no the diamonds.

“Sapphires? No, that would ruin the effect.” Marian muses and Marie agrees.

You, by the by, are seated on the bed in a chemise and loosened corset, bored stiff, as the two hem and haw over how to best display you for the ball.

Because that’s all this is really, an overblown dog and pony show in which you’ll be paraded around and shown off to great effect all to attract suitors. It was enough to make one queasy. God forbid a woman do anything on her own or without the approval of a man.

As if men ever did anything worth doing that a woman didn’t have to make right.

Having quite enough of their chatter, you shrug into a robe and pull its sash tight, toe on some slippers and make your way down the hall. At the end of the corridor, you spy the cracked door to Christopher’s study. He’s shuffling papers and muttering to himself as you slip inside.

“I think the accounts can handle themselves for the evening,” you say with a smirk, settling yourself on a chair by the window.

He chuckles, “I suppose you’re right, clever girl.” Sorting the papers into a single file, he looks up at you with a quirked brow. “Had enough of Marian’s prodding, I take it?”

You sigh and dramatically cast your head back, “That’s the worst of it— they haven’t even begun!” Warming at his familiar laughter, you continue: “If I’d known that this is what I’d be subjected to, I would’ve stayed in France.”

Chris studies you at that; your weary sigh, crossed arms, and face a mask. Can’t make heads or tails of if you’re serious or not. Is it too soon? Did you still need time to mourn Maman and Papa? But then your debut had been delayed so much already…

“Is that what you want?”

It’s a question you hadn’t expected from him. But suddenly you’re reminded that he’s your brother, the only family you have left in the world. The man who dropped everything and took the first ship bound for France to be with you at your parents’ deathbed. He had insisted you stay at the house in Paris until you’d recovered your own strength and sent Marian and Gus to keep you company while he saw to business at home.

And knowing him as well as you do, Chris wouldn’t ask something idly.

So you choose your next words carefully.

“I no longer trouble myself with wants.”

The lightest dusting of snow begins to gather on the windowpane. Soon enough, all of the city would look like a snow globe. A perfect winter wonderland for the evening’s festivities, and your favorite kind of weather— snow makes everything look softer somehow, muffles the sound, and blankets the world in swaths of pure white. Your mother adored snow, had somehow convinced you and Chris that she could smell when it was about to begin. And maybe that’s why you’ve taken a shine to it now.

Turning from the window with a small smile, you rise to exit the study and get ready for the night. Leaving your elder brother puzzling over your parting phrase.

Steve could hardly forget your first meeting, but seeing you that evening nearly eclipsed the recollection. Without a cape and no longer in the purples and grays of half-mourning, you were quite a sight to behold.

And he wasn’t the only one who thought so.

Several men from the club, Hargrove, Hagan, and Byers, were scattered around the room sizing up the competition just as he was. Somehow, Edward Munson had been granted an invitation— with his railroad money and lack of pedigree. Regardless of social standing, each eligible bachelor in the room was jockeying for position; who would be the first introduction, the first dance, did her eyes fall on him or the man to his left?

Steve was well-versed in this routine, he’d been to enough debutante balls to last a veritable lifetime. Usually, he’d enter and make the necessary greetings before grabbing a refreshment and picking a wall to lean on because god help him if he was going to actually dance more than the bare minimum required.

But in this instance, things were different.

Namely, that he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about you since that fateful night. Despite the lack of interest from you (which was to be expected, really), he couldn’t help but think of you fondly. Descending from your coach to check on your driver and the horses, shivering in the evening chill, voice soft and sleep-worn.

There was also the fact that his mother was hovering somewhere behind him. She’d oh so fortunately seen Mrs. Fairchild as she was making her social calls earlier in the week and had received an informal introduction to you. She’d said as much at dinner that day and ever since then, she’d been subtly laying the groundwork for a possible courtship.

And as much as Steve did not want to bow to his mother’s machinations, he also desperately wanted an introduction with you. So he sips his drink and observes the goings on around him his attention turning to the grand staircase as someone announces:

“Presenting Miss Eleanor Joséphine Fairchild, escorted by her brother Mr. Christopher Fairchild.”

The symphony starts up as you descend the stairs to polite applause on the arm of your brother, eyes demure and downcast, your subtly rouged lips pulling into a soft smile. And Steve can hardly breathe— it’s as if the world slowed and went fuzzy at the edges, everything and everyone falling by the wayside save for you.

Because you are positively incandescent; beautifully angelic in your finery and reminiscent of Venus emerging from her shell. He feels as if he’s been struck, a warmth radiating in his chest, and wouldn’t be surprised to find one of Cupid’s golden arrows lodged there. And Steve knows a little of desire, of wanton lust; he is, after all, a man of privilege in a world that caters to his whims. But while this feels reminiscent of that— the heat, the wanting— there is also, oddly, restraint.

All eyes are on you as your brother leads you across the floor, smiling politely at those assembled, eyes never staying on one person for too long. You’re playing nice, presenting an unimpeachable image of the demure lady, it wouldn’t be done to favor one gentleman this evening. In fact, it would send the wrong message entirely.

Everyone present knows this; it is a game often played in polite society, even if its ramifications are— how shall we say it?— best left behind closed doors.

“A lamb and her shepherd,” His mother says, voice pitched low for only him to hear. “Bo-Peep will soon abandon his charge, and that, Steven, is when you will make your introduction.”

It’s all he can do to school his features and recede into himself; eyes glassy and blank, face a mask. Polite and charming, affable even. And while his mother thinks she is being helpful, it’s hard not to believe she isn’t pouring poison in his ear. Half expects her to say something akin to, “Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under't.”

She doesn’t, and for that he is grateful. Instead, she melts away into the background and loops her arm through his father’s. And, sure enough, your brother does eventually leave your side only to be replaced by Mrs. Fairchild, who slips your wrist through a dainty loop of cream ribbon with a dance card and a small pencil attached.

The room stills, a pack of wolves lying in wait. Drinks are set aside, conversations cease; Amelia gives her son an unceremonious push forward, her gloved hand on his shoulder tipping him toward the inevitable. Steve nearly stumbles from the shock of it all.

Because in one moment he’s just another man in the crowd, an eligible bachelor at yet another ball prepared to drink the night away. And in the next, his eyes lock with yours, and he feels himself falling. It’s hopeless to fight it, this gravitational pull you seem to have over him; haven’t exchanged even two words, and he’s already in your thrall.

He can see your chest rise with your sharp intake of breath, eyes widening at his approach. Steve’s trying not to spook you, really he is. He thinks back to his favored horse, Balius, the clomping hooves and fierce breaths, tries to calm you in the same manner— a slow approach, a small smile, and soft words.

And while he would never bow to the stubborn dappled stallion, Steve does bow to you and says, “Steven Harrington, a pleasure to meet you officially Miss Fairchild.”

Your eyes light in recognition, of his name or him he cannot tell. But you curtsy all the same and offer him your hand, as etiquette dictates. He takes it gladly, marvelling at the fine fabric of gloves adorning it. His finger finds the racing pulse on the underside of your wrist, running along it slowly.

Another sharp intake of breath at the sensation, a heat skittering underneath your skin as his fingers loop around your wrist, your pulse thudding in their wake.

He opens the booklet and takes his time writing his name, well aware at the gathering of eligible suitors at his back. He’s loathe to release your hand and leave you to all of this, the wolves at the gate, but as much as he wants to whisk you away from what is sure to be an uncomfortable and tiring evening, Steve is required, as is everyone else, to play the game.

And Steven Harrington is playing to win.

Mr. Harrington—

It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance this past Friday, and thank you for your presence. I do hope the evening passed pleasantly for you and my apologies for not seeing to you more frequently, but other obligations, as you well know, prohibited me from seeking your company. Furthermore, I must apologize for being remiss in not offering my sincerest gratitude for the lovely flowers and the gracious use of your equipage. You are truly a generous man, and I am grateful for your friendship.

Cordially yours,

Miss Fairchild

P.S. Merci pour le sauvetage de Monsieur C—. Je n'avais aucune idée sur sa relation avec Mademoiselle C—. J’espère que vote intercession ne reflétera pas mal sur vous. Je vous suis redevable.

_

Steve’s postscript: Please accept my sincerest and deepest condolences on the passing of your parents.

Nell’s postscript: Thank you for the rescue from Mr. C—. I had no idea about his relationship with Miss C—. I hope your intercession will not reflect poorly on you. I am in your debt.

[tartrat]

Unnamed Coaches' Name Headcanons!

Random unnamed coaches and the names I’ve given them. I decided it would be funny if i gave each quotes and quests. I also just gave them all the classic rarity because it would've looked weird without. theres 9 maps and 10 coaches.

1. Freed From Desire: Garnet. I mentioned this in my other drawing of her. I just felt like her being named after a gemstone was fitting, like she just has that air to her. The gemstone itself is believed to bring emotional balance and self confidence, which i think fits with the map.

2. All The Stars: Vega. A while ago I was thinking about avatars for other coaches and I remembered her. Vega is one of the brightest stars in the night sky. maybe she comes from a long line of coaches who use the stars, so she was named after one of the brightest. Side note but i accidentally gave her robes the beta colours, they should be like a purple instead of red.

3 & 4. Love Story: Just straight up Romeo and Juliet. I thought about giving them names that are similar to Romeo and Juliet, but realistically that's what they would be named. I just wanted to draw both of them since Love story is one of my favourite 2022 maps.

5. Blinding Lights extreme: Jayyce Sway but friends and family call him Jayy. I can’t get the idea of him being Talia Sway’s father and him settling down in Wasterra out of my head, plus "Sway" as a last name just sounds futuristic to me. Jayyce is just a corruption of "Jace" that i thought would look futuristic with two ys. I just think he's cool and would be a great father. (you can't really see it but he is smiling here)

6. Giddy On Up: Belle. Another map i miss, its just really fun trying to do those high kicks. Other names i was thinking for her were Andrea and Laura ( after Laura Bell Bundy), but neither sounded country enough for her. Then i thought Annabelle, which i then shortened down to Belle.

7. Follow the White Rabbit: Allison. I didn't want to just straight up call her Alice, unlike how i just gave the love story coaches Romeo and Juliet. Originally i was thinking of spelling it as Alicyn but then went against that. But also it sounds like "Alice In" as in "Alice in Wonderland". Also i know that its the rabbit who says "I'm late!" twice but the quote i was originally giving her didn't really make sense. I rushed this one because intitialy she was in the same pose as one of the gold moves from FTWR but it looked too weird and i wanted to move on. She looks shocked here, i don't want to think about this drawing anymore.

8. John Cena: Jeanne Cena. this is just like the John Wayne coach all over again. You’d pronounce Jeanne like John. It was the obvious choice, and I also just wanted an excuse to draw her. Doubt you'll need her name if you can't even see her in the first place. One of my favourite maps, its just so good.

9. Levitating Extreme: Aster. I was thinking along the lines of Astro for some reason, then the name Aster kept popping up in my head. Turns out Aster means "star" and is also a type of purple flower that is star shaped. Given the space imagery from his background it makes sense.Definitely the type to not tell you his name because he sees no point because he thinks he's disposable (as if Si'ha Nova ever gets attacked).

10. Buscando Extreme: Jacques. I don't know why but he looks french to me, then the name just stuck because i couldn't think of anything else. One of my favourite extremes, at some point in early 2021 i somehow knew most of it off by heart. also i like to think of him as the father of the coach from the classic version. At some point all the male 2021 extremes i'm just going to headcanon as the father of another coach.

-

So this is what i've been working on. I mentioned the love story, Giddy on up and Blinding lights extreme coaches in previous posts because i was doing this lol.

i did it in the order of JC - BLE - FFD - LE - ATS - FTWR - GOU -BE - LSTV. By the point i got to Buscando extreme i was getting tired of doing this so he along side the love story coaches look fucked up. Given that it was my first time drawing some of them, i didn't really think that they'd look good, since i'm not used to drawing them. But it was good to draw coaches that i haven't drawn before, and draw the ones i have already drawn, again.

I have other things i want to draw next, there's a map concept in my drafts that i want to actually draw so that will probably be my next fanart post.

[senseandaccountability]

One thing that I really dislike about Veilguard is that (spoilers through most of act 2)

the tone of the Lighthouse crowd is so chipper, so life coach-y whereas DA sidequests in their usual way are all about death and despair and little codex entries about idk people dying alone in the dark not because of some god’s failure but because people suck and betray each other out of greed and fear. See: overarching theme of the series.

And the Crossroads are LITERALLY FALLING APART AT THE SEAMS with Solas’s guilt and regret and you can, as you poke around there, fight a Boss Champion called The Betrayal of Felassan which the Caretaker says is extremely powerful because FELASSAN and there are notes and codes entries scattered everywhere that tells a much more subtle story not just about him but about the past. But it drowns in the many variations of the same group convo circled around the topic “so Solas regrets what he did?” WELCOME TO THE MEETING ROOK, YOU ARE ONLY TEN YEARS LATE LET’S START FROM THE BEGINNING AGAIN, SHALL WE? The main narrative is trying too hard to make him a (very sexy) Trickster God of Trickery and it exhausts me when the minor things like Solas’s memories and the codex give me a much, much better character and depicts an Empire that got corrupted by its own brilliance and lack of boundaries and Solas and the likes of him being counterweights to that, forming the line that should not be crossed, questioning authority - which is ANOTHER CRUCIAL THEME FOR THIS SERIES. The subtext talks about the dangers of blind worship, of hierarchies (please remember Solas proto-anarchist takes on society in DAI, his genuine disgust at all sorts of servitude, his spite if you abuse your Herald status, his entire CHARACTER) and abuse of power, of entitlement and lack of morals. You can do this thing, but should you? That's one of the crucial things about Solas as a character too, it cuts through the best and worst of him. His greatest fear, as he tells a friendly route Rook after Blood of Arlathan, is to end up like Elgar'nan, entitled and blind. As a summary of this moral conundrum the game gives us “SO SOLAS AND MYTHAL WERE DOIN’ IT?” and Rook’s refusal to accept that is written like “ewww, not the guy in my head doing it with Mythal” like some overgrown teenager. THAT DOESN'T EVEN MAKE SENSE, ROOK? 

Also, the lack of subtlety and nuance about the Veil thing drives me batty like Solas tells Rook that he had made a plan to minimize the damage done to the world when the Veil was meant to go down. No follow up for that though. Like, is that a possible option to consider? Solas says Varric wouldn’t have agreed to thousands dying (I’m really not even sure about that characterization of Varric) and Rook is meant to just let that go? Come on. I want Rook to talk to Solas - THE CREATOR OF THE VEIL - about the Veil. I am so extremely uninterested in “exchanging verbal jabs” with the Dread Wolf (I hated you so much, Purple Hawke, you were part of the reason I stayed away from the DA fandom for years) I WANT THE LORE OF THE VEIL AND ITS ACTUAL CONSEQUENCES OVER THE PAST TEN YEARS WHAT ABOUT THOSE, FEN’HAREL TELL ME WHAT YOU HAVE BEEN UP TO. 

Sorry. Those were… some words. 

I don’t even think Act 3 is going to solve these issues for me (NO SPOILERS), but we’ll always have fanfic, I guess. I’ll write a coda where everyone is miserable and has existentialist convos about mortality and morals and faith. 

--- A friendly reminder of this DAI banter that never fails to break my heart, and tell us the truth about Solas in a less clunky way than group conversations at the Lighthouse:

Cole: You didn't do it to be right. You did it to save them.

Inquisitor: Solas, what is Cole talking about?

Solas: A mistake. One of many made by a much younger elf who was certain he knew everything.

Cole: You weren't wrong, though.

I really, really wish Veilguard's main narrative gave me a sense of wanting to depict this.

[purpleaqua8]

What Lesson Are You Currently Learning?

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⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

The Smiley Face: Wheel of Fortune The lesson you are learning at this time is how to allow yourself to truly embrace happiness. You’ve endured and overcome many heavy experiences, to the point where you may feel hesitant or even paranoid about enjoying life, fearing that something bad will follow and disrupt it. Spirit is gently guiding you to live in the moment and to accept the duality of life—its ups and downs.

Spirit wants you to know that wonderful things are on their way to you. However, if you continue to overthink or focus on worst-case scenarios, you risk missing these blessings. Life will always have its favorable and unfavorable moments, but your focus and energy shape your experience. By choosing to dwell on the positive, you align yourself with more joy and fulfillment.

Once you learn to embrace happiness, your next lesson will center on balance—finding harmony between enjoying life and managing practical responsibilities. This balance is key to avoiding unhealthy extremes.

For now, Spirit encourages you to prioritize your happiness and allow yourself to have fun without overthinking. Trust that everything will work out as it should, and remember: a positive mind is your greatest asset.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

The Wand: The Hanged Man You are currently learning an important lesson: how to save yourself. No one is coming to rescue you—you must be the one to take action and lift yourself out of this rut. As the saying goes, “God helps those who help themselves.” The Universe is ready to assist, but it needs to see you making an effort first.

You already possess all the tools you need to manifest your desired reality. Now is the time to get creative and think outside the box. Utilize every resource at your disposal, no matter how small or insignificant it may seem. You have the power to transmute your current circumstances into something better.

This is your opportunity to break free from the victim mindset and take control of your life. It’s time to train your mind for success and step into your personal power. Spirit is showing me that some of you may have been neglecting your spiritual work. Healing requires dedication, and while it can feel heavy to face and process past events, it is a necessary step on your journey.

You are at a pivotal moment—a “sink or swim” phase in your life. Without consistent action toward healing and creating a solid foundation in all areas—career, emotions, mindset, home, physical health, finances, and spirituality—you risk remaining stuck in the same cycle. However, if you commit to doing the work and following through on what you already know needs to be done, you will experience a powerful transformation.

The shift on the horizon is intense, but its rewards can be life-changing. If you embrace the process, you will feel lighter, more fulfilled, and in control of your destiny. Don’t give up—your future self will thank you.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

The Brain: The Chariot You are learning how to navigate the turbulence that life often brings. Remember, balance is key—aligning your heart and mind will help you make choices that are in your best interest.

Reflect on your past decisions—the ones that led to positive outcomes and the ones that didn’t. Use these reflections as a guide to improve. Understanding where you went right and where you went wrong will prepare you to make better choices moving forward.

Life will continue to present you with challenges and decisions, but by embracing the ups and downs, you can cultivate resilience, strength, and clarity. Spirit encourages you to think before you act and to keep your mind clear. Even when time is limited, aim to choose the path that aligns with your highest good.

Soon, you will have an opportunity to rest and recover. Embrace this blessing fully, as your mind and body will need it to recharge. Take advantage of the calm when it arrives so you can face what’s ahead with renewed energy and focus.

⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰

[derpydoteddrake]

Do you have a moment to talk about out lord and savior viktor tendersrisp?

Let's try to answer the question, how does the arcane/viruses/pollution/Jesus/cosmic horror and Viktor come together, and most importantly,

WHAT THAE HELL IS THIS THING?!

We know that the same infection that is present in the hex core, or at least what it spreads somehow got into zauns systems. Jayce even brings attention to this.

The oblivious problem with that the hex core was made with viktors blood, he fundamentally connected to it.

To answer this conundrum we need to go back to the beginning and examine how it was first conceived. The first time Viktor was affected by it.

The first time he hallucinated he was inside hex gates after he caught some blood into it, it even got emphasized in a shot, and later in s2 ep3 we can see a red stain at the bottom on the gates, so it clearly had significance.

Immediately after that he gets the idea to make the hex core wich later allows him to change into the form we see in s2. Not only that, but the first time his health really begins to deteriorate he also hallucinates, before coaching up blood that the hex core absorbs.

When it comes to Viktors illness Jayce describes it as caused by pollution, which is certainly a factor in why his health is not great in general, but that is just Jayces theory and never gets confirmed.

And isn't it odd that Viktor had divine inspiration (literally described as a vision), before making the hex core, and right after making it his health began to deteriorate wich forced him into transforming his body?

But what actually is the core then, how could it affect viktor before it was even built. Why is a single hex gem so powerful?

Which brings us to the main thesis of this theory, the real core was never this weird purple ball, the real hex core is a hive mind, a better name for it is perhaps the will of the arcane.

Its an ancient entity that resides or is the arcane, functions like a virus when it comes in contact with the material one, and it needs a host to interact with the material world.

Sounds outlandish, but let's take a look at how Viktors relationship to it began.

This is where the blood he spilled in the hex gates becomes important, it was at a place where the line between realms was artificially thinned.

When viktor accidentally spilled his blood into it, this entity got attuned to him. This is why immediately after he comes in contact with it, he gets divine instructions on how to create the tool that can prepare his body to properly spread it.

This is why everything else he tried it on died, the problem wasn't just that they were not perceptible to change, it's that they were not viktor, the hex core was not attuned to them.

In jayces journal he even alludes to the idia that crystals attune to a sole user.

And the more he changed himself and the more organic material the core absorbed the closer it got viktor to begin his transformation whole heartedly, and gaining the ability to chanel the hexcores power by himself.

Jayce even noted it's like  the core was connected to viktor.

This is where we get to the carrot and stick way the core treats viktor.

He didn't started dying out of nowhere because of bad luck, the core was actively eroding him to give him an incentive to fuse with it.

Especially when he was away from it or harmed it in some way. 

When viktor was in contact with or around it, he looks energized, he wasn't coughing as much, he is more active.

When he was away for too long, he was more sickly, weaker, no wonder he got obsessed with the thing.

This is why we didn't see anyone else with symptoms this bad that came from zaun, what's killing him was the core. He even heard voices before collapsing.

And this is what Heimerdinger noticed when he said something has changed in viktor. He got attuned to the core.

As to why it waited until viktor almost died when after it absorbed Sky, Viktors body and the core was ready, if its functions as a virus its possible it waited until Viktor was literally unable to resist it, it would have probably deteriorated him until he got into that state.

This means by itself it never could have forced viktor into transforming.

But why does it need viktor to spread if it seems to be perfectly capable by itself?

It looks like after it has chosen its host, through the thinned layer between realities that the hex gate causes (hextech radiation if u will), it successfully polluted the material world.

Its exactly because in itself just kills whatever organic material it comes in contact with. If a virus is too effective in killing, that's detrimental to it.

what makes me think this thing is ancient? or that it was present from the beginning?

Its how Heimerdinger describes it.

He mentioned he saw something like this and it always came with destruction, he later explains that the destructive tendencies of magic and mages might be in their nature.

(Not to mention even back in s1 jayce notes mentioned that they hexgems emitted some spider web like formation.)

Which would make sense, if it's a virus that spreads by being in contact with organic material and through the thinned planes, that means when mages overuse their power or a power source, it even actually infects them, and tries to persuades them to use their powers more.

In conclusion the way this entity works is that its always present in the arcane, maybe its itself the arcane, when people draw power from it, the line between the material realm and arcane temporarily thins, and even actually it will come into contact with something that can function as its host.

After it attuned itself to a compatible host, it can begans to mold them into a form where they can carry out its spreading, and it starts to infect and spread through parts of the world where the line between realms is thin.

However, it needs the host to mold biological beings into a form that can survive it, otherwise it just even actually deteriorates them. And it wants a host that actively spreads it because the contact it can have with the material world is limited.

Viktor is very likely the first non mage this happened to, mages most likely got infected by over using they magic or magic items (like world runes), however in Viktors case, it was because hextech thinned the line between realms.

Its ultimate goals are unknow.

It is most likely in order to stop the spreading, the host needs to be destroyed.

Thematically speaking: pollution poisoned Viktors blood, and now Viktor poisoned the world with his blood.

[take-taker-taken]

hi hi!! could you do a femreader x ministry taker forbidden romance type thing? something like our kingdoms are rivals/taker is rivals with our father, but we ended up falling for taker and find ways to meet with him. would be awesome if you could include smut! thank you 💓

Hellooooooo, lovely Anon! I’ve dipped in and out of this one ever since you sent it to me, as I don’t think I can do it as a one shot, so here is Chapter One. I have no idea what to call it as a title overall - if anyone has any thoughts on that, please feel free to drop them into the comments.

Awaiting Title

Chapter One - An Unexpected Visitor

You stare out of your bedroom window at the approaching carriage, pulled by a team of four majestic black horses, complete with purple bridles and deep, plum coloured plumes. The coachman pulls the horses to a prancing, neighing halt and you draw back away from the glass as a giant of a man emerges from the vehicle.

He pauses and looks up at the house, a severe expression on his face and you gasp and freeze when he’s suddenly looking right at you. His countenance seems to soften and you could swear you saw the corner of his mouth pull up into the tiniest hint of a smile. You’re completely bewitched as your eyes lock with his, but the spell is broken when he looks away and then you hear a loud knocking at the front door.

There’s a short silence and then some scuffling that you can make out even through your closed door and feeling slightly panicked you rush to open it, only to be faced with your elder brother.

“Get back inside,” he hisses urgently. “This doesn’t concern you!”

“What’s happening?” You ask, matching the whispered pitch of his voice. “Who is that man? What does he want?”

“I told you, it’s none of your concern - now stay there and keep quiet!” With that he pulls the door closed and must be holding it shut because you’re unable to shift it an inch. About ten minutes later you hear the front door bang closed and so you rush back to the window to see the giant striding back to the open door of his carriage. Your nose is all but pressed against the glass when he turns around and looks back up at you. He pauses and then turns around fully and then… he points at you. He’s mouthing some words that you can’t make out but you find yourself nodding and then he turns away, climbs into the carriage and the coach is leaving up the drive in a cloud of dust.

Who was he?

~*~*~*~*~*~

It’s raining… you can hear it against your window when it pulls you from sleep. You lay there with your eyes closed, listening, and then gradually come to realise that the sound isn’t regular. Intrigued, you slip silently from your bed and cross over to the window where you draw back the curtain just as the noise comes again. The crumbs of soil from the flowerbed below bounce off the glass and then you see him stood on the driveway. The gaslight on its tall pole behind him sets him into shadow but there’s no doubt that it’s the man who visited earlier in the day. Your eyes have grown accustomed to the dark now and you can make out some of his features but you don’t have time to contemplate as he raises a hand and beckons to you with a single finger.

You turn away and almost without thinking take your robe from the back of the door and then very quietly turn the handle and step out on to the landing. Taking great pains to make as little noise as possible, you make your way down the staircase and then you’re carefully drawing back the bolts on the heavy front door and turning the key. You pull the door open and peek around it as clearly there’s still a shred of sanity within you. He doesn’t advance and so you leave the safety of the house and walk towards him. You stop about six feet away and take in the sight before you. Your brain hadn’t exaggerated earlier - he really is a giant and if you stood next to him you doubt you would come up to his shoulder.

“I had to see you again.” He says, his voice a deep rumble. “When I noticed you at the window earlier today I was captivated - it nearly made me turn away from my business with your father.”

He’s dressed all in black with a heavy cloak around his shoulders, and he has long hair that is pulled back into a neat braid. The thought flits through your brain that it’s dreadfully odd for a man to have long hair… then you realise what he’s said and so you reply, “What is your business with my father?”

The man gives you an inscrutable look and then says, “He has some land that I would like to purchase but at the moment he’s… not very receptive to the idea.”

You pull your robe around you as a breeze whispers through and flutters the leaves on the trees and bushes.

“Forgive me - I know the way I’ve gone about this is far from ideal.” He says and removes his cloak with a small flourish. He takes a couple of steps that bring him startlingly close and swoops the heavy wool around your shoulders whereupon it trails on the ground.

“I’m sure if you approached my father, he would permit a more traditional meeting.” You volunteer as you smile up at him, but he shrugs with one huge shoulder.

“I fear not - our interaction was not particularly amicable. But I simply had to see you up close.”

“Where’s your carriage, sir? Or did you make your way here on foot?” As you stare at his chest, you’re dimly aware that all this small talk is quite ridiculous given the situation but what else can you say?

The corner of his mouth twitches in a tiny smile and he half-gestures behind him. “I left it out towards the road; nobody will happen upon it.”

You breathe in the scent of incense that hangs around the fabric of the cloak he’s wrapped you in. “What happens now?”

He reaches out and gently touches your hair and you feel as though you’re under a spell. Stood here in the cool night air in your nightclothes, with a stranger, wearing his cloak. Everything about it is wrong and yet you feel so at peace.

“I will return in two days, at noon; that’s the deadline that I gave to your father. Will you meet me at the road at half past eleven?”

You’re nodding ‘yes’ even as you frown and say, “Why have you given him a deadline?”

He doesn’t answer, but takes your hand and raises it to his lips, kissing it softly and you’re sure you can feel the skin tingling where his mouth touches. He gently turns you back around and ushers you towards the still ajar door, slipping his cloak from your shoulders. “Today is Tuesday. Come meet me at the road on Thursday and we can talk before I visit with your father.”

You move through the door and then quickly turn back, but he’s already striding away from the house and you know that you can’t call out. You quietly push the door closed and lock it up again before creeping back up the stairs to your room. You go straight to the window in case you can catch a glimpse of him but the darkness reigns and you can’t make out much at all. Still slightly chilled from the outdoors, you climb back into bed still with your robe on and turn on to your side. You close your eyes and bring the hand that he kissed up to your face and drop back off to sleep with your lips resting close to where his brushed your skin.

TBC

[blueikeproductions]

So with TFONE attempting to simplify the Primes and some recent cartoons trying to theme some shows around them, it has led to a thought how this could work.

The biggest problem the Primes have is that nobody really knows or cares that much about them. The only one most actually care about is The Fallen because of the Bay film. Vector Prime via Galaxy Force is fondly remembered by TF fans, but that version also predates the modern Prime mythology.

Transformers Prime was intended to look more into what it means to be a Prime, but never truly does so. It also introduced the modern 13 Prime lore, but also does very little with it. It’s mostly limited to Solus’ Forge being a reoccurring weapon, Megatron grafting a Prime arm on to him, with creatives unable to decide who it’s supposed to be, and Alpha Trion making a cameo (more so to reference G1 than do much with the Primes).

RiD15 also uses the Primes, with Micronus (the main rep and Optimus’ life coach) and The Fallen (the first season’s main villain) as the stand out ones. Despite Micronus being the first Mini-Con, he has no influence on the cartoon’s Mini-Con gimmick it adapted later in its run. Liege Maximo appeared in chapter books and is the only (not Fallen) one who got to properly do something. I still greatly insist Onyx Prime should’ve been the rep due to the Beast theme instead. Also Thundertron, but that’s a different problem.

Cyberverse used Alchemist Prime specifically, but while being one of the better characters, he’s not very memorable. Onyx and Alpha Trion have minor roles, with Alpha Trion getting a toy… that nobody bought. He was also there for G1 ‘memberberries, in a role similar to the old cartoon. The Cyberverse staff were not shy admitting to only writing the show for themselves and like minded fans and not actual children.

And now EarthSpark uses Quintus in a major role… but it feels like there’s some conflicting ideas about who he is. Storyboards suggest he’s more benevolent having everyone’s best interests in mind, while the show keeps insisting he might be shady and a dead beat dad.

And like the aforementioned Onyx, the series isn’t great about using Primes better themed to a show. Combiner Wars opts to NOT use Nexus Prime, when instead perhaps they could’ve made him into the evil leader of the Combiners, forcing them to wipe out non Combiners so Cybertron is theirs to rule. Vs the show just having them fight… because reasons. He also never got a toy in the Combiner themed line. This could’ve also been tinkered with once more in RiD15 for its Combiner Force, casting him as a neutral who gifts power of combination to the Bee Team and the Pack, seeing who’s more worthy to use the Enigma for an upcoming problem involving an ancient Combiner unique to the show. (Also having Chop Shop as a minor villain again.)

I think the problem is largely NOT letting the other Primes being proper characters. Vector Prime and The Fallen are allowed to be characters, with Vector allowed to be part of the Autobots, make bonds with them and the kids, and have a little arc of his own, remembering the value of life throughout time.

I think if we went back to that, having a surviving Prime join the Autobots and find their footing in the modern era on Earth during the battle against the Decepticons would help.

It’s actually kind of shocking in the current “DEI” era that they don’t have Solus Prime in such a role, working alongside Optimus. The downside to this is current writers would probably make her into a more arrogant Captain Marvel type, but ideally Solus should be cast in a role similar to Vector in Galaxy Force. I feel like it’d be funny if she especially bonded with the kids, a loving but firm grandma, who drives them around, with the gag being the kids are ferried around in a big purple construction vehicle. Solus is also happy to fix things with a gentle tap of her Fixit Felix hammer, usually the kids’ phones, but an episode sees some repercussions, where the phones and other gadgets start Transforming into semi sentient-semi automatic weapons.

Think the Appliance Bots from ROTF.

Amalgamous is really the only one that’s too abstract to use as he is. I feel like the trick is to create an in-story reason why he can’t infinitely Transform, limiting him to being a Six Changer like Sixshot. This way the writers and artists can be more creative, and have a character arc where Amalgamous learns to be one of the Autobots with a running gag he forgets he can’t change into whatever he wants anymore and turns into a car or dinosaur that isn’t appropriate to the situation.

Liege is easy enough. He’s the Sideways trying to nudge the Autobots, Decepticons and humans into doing what he wants for nefarious reasons.

I feel like Prima would be a hybrid of TFA Ratchet & TFA Ultra Magnus, a cranky foxy grandpa that means well and tries to guide Optimus and the kids, but he’s quite literally an overbearing helicopter parent trying to dictate what Optimus should be doing. While still powerful in his own right, Prima does get overwhelmed by Megatron’s sheer rage.

The 13th Prime is up in the air. It could be Zeta, Rodimus, Adaptus, Mortilus or a brand new Prime for the scenario. I got nothing.

I am a bit concerned about Vector. He was already used effectively, but his schtick is time travel and manipulation, and to move the story of TFONE along that didn’t help him against Quints or Sentinel. Can you even use time travel effectively anymore? Maybe if Vector was more in line with Time Patrol Bon, not that anyone watched the Netflix reboot of it.

[superluigiglitchy]

Multi Meggy Mayhem (Get to Know Your AU Meggy)

I’m a vein similar to Into the Marioverse, someone is going around, kidnapping and subsequently brainwashing the multiverses Meggy’a and it’s up to the Splatsquad to save the universe from its biggest threat- thousands of armed and dangerous brain washed Meggys

And now here YOU yes you get to meet the various Meggy’s we meet in this silly adventure

Triple Dose - A Meggy who has been hypnoshaded then sanitised and a few years into her recovery feom said sanitisation was fuzzified, shes taller than most Meggy’s (about Tari’s height) but suffers from severe back pain and needs to wear a brace as a result, currently recovering from amnesia and sometimes slips into a feral like state

Paper Jam - A Meggy from the paper jam verse, she is currently Captain of the Squidbeak Splatoon and got adopted by Cuttlefish, adoptive guardian of Veronika and currently dating Saiko, Tari and Desti in an open relationship, because of the sanitization her right eye is blind due to its light sensitivity, leaving aher needing to wear an eyepatch to avoid strain and had also been coaching a Team Blue from the Splatoon Manga and has also been present for the events of the Manga she doesn’t like others thinking they’re better than everyone else and sometimes gives such people a taste of humble pie (in the case of Wireglasses) if they go too far, she also dislikes the mindset of “The Strong rule the weak” since everyone needed to start from somewhere even the strongest Turfer used to be one of the weak you know, has emotionally adopted Team Blue and is now a single mom that works two jobs something something survivor

Soldier 30 - A Meggy who was made for super soldier program and was essentially a child soldier for most of her life it wasn’t until she was 14 and she ran into Mario (and tried to kill him and SMG4 on multiple occasions) that she began to learn that not is all as it seems and began to slowly but surely question her commanders orders, it wasn’t until she was 16 did she defect and that was during the anime arc, unlike canon Meggy who has green and purple eyes Soldier 30 has red and green eyes and also a list of war crimes

What-If Fuzz - Set in the what-if universe version of Squid Meme, this Meggy’s corpse was used as essential Subject 0 for Mr. Grizz’s Fuzzy Ooze for 4 years because of this she was extremely more fucked up than other more recently fuzzified subjects being a very tall cat bear like creature, it wasn’t until she ran into the NSS who were investigating Alterna whilst on her 333th escape attempt and got partially domesticated due to her immediate attachment to the Captain (who happened to be her younger sibling, Paige) did she begin to regain her suppressed memories that were sealed because of the combined trauma of getting stabbed, coming back from the dead and the countless experiments performed by Grizz, nowadays she has since regained her memories and is trying to live life the best she can whilst being a fucked up mutant cat bear thing, she’s also quite tall being about Saiko’s height and suffers from body aches from the bones she has

Italian Squid - This Meggy was taken in by Mario and Luigi after she was abandoned by her parents on the side of a road when she was a baby as a result she has an even stronger sibling bond than most Meggy’s with her Mario and Luigi and ended up learning a few tricks from them as well, now being able to Jump around like a bro and to swing around a hammer like a pro, she also has a minor italian accent, don’t worry Red and Lou still took her to Inkadia to exprience her heritage and culture, her best friends are Sam, Heavy Squid and Kenji and she’s been on her own Mario branded adventures like her brothers

Meggy and the Music Box - This Meggy has seen more horrors and is on the brink of a mental breakdown and going mas with the only thing keeping her sane is her determination to save both of her brothers from the clutches of the Mario Mansion, she is currently on her 40th loop and always has bruises around her neck from escaping a possessed Mario who was trying to strangle her

Wolf Squid - Before meeting Mario, this Meggy got bitten by a wolf on a camping trip with her friends as a result she now carries lycanthropy, doesn’t really change many things yet causes massive changes, shes a feral little shit who just wants pets

SuperBowserGlitchy - With Bowser being the Avatar instead of Mario, things are bound to change to fit this new Narrative as such this Meggy instead of being like a little sister to Bowser is straight up his adoptive daughter, Bowser ended up adopting Meggy and now she’s the General of his Army (and also has her own mini biker faction of the koopa army called the Killer Splatz) and honestly she makes them work like the damn Navy, she has a whole biker aesthetic going on with her owning a motorbike with a mini side car and instead of wearing a Plumber hat to replace her headgear she wears a Bowser sanctified Koopa baseball cap hat (it’s basically a baseball hat worth bowsers hair and horns) and is practically Bowser Jr. and the Koopalings cool older sister who they hide behind whenever things look grim, due to a magic accident that almost cause Meggy to suffer what was essentially ego death, she is now part koopa along with her being a human and inkling amalgamation (which in itself is a complicated thing), she’s somewhat fire resistant as a result and also carries around a shield of a spiked koopa shell (which may have been bowsers great grandpa but who the fuck knows at this point) which she carrie’s on her back

Puzzle Pieces stained in Orange - This Meggy was childhood friends with Puzzles (key word on the was) and was there to bare witness to his downward mental spiral into insanity and saw first hand the after math of cutting his face off and relplacing it with a television set, now she’s just trying to live her life peacefully after ditching puzzles

Love in the Cold - This Meggy is married to her universes Shiver after a series of misadventures and messes and has 3 kids with said Splatlandian, she also is a bit older than other Meggy’s being about 25 (basically she’s a girl dad with a loving family

There are Many Benefits to being a Mersquid - A Meggy from a world where pirates and high magic are common place, shes a mersquid and not just any mersquid but one blessed by the sea god Ollyseus and is the current de facto King of Inkadia due to winning the Turf War Crowning Tournament and “slaying” the corrupted Sea Demon King One-Shot Wren