#my ability to even has been severely compromised | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

stellar-skyy · 8 months ago

Text

♡ - LOST & FOUND - Platonic Arlecchino & reader

i. SUMMARY: Hell hath no fury like a parent whose child has been taken from them. ii. CWS & NOTES: description of blood and injury (mildly graphic but not gory), violence, mentions of kidnapping, swearing (like once), implied murder. PLATONIC arlecchino & gn!reader. house of the hearth!reader. angst & slight hurt/comfort. 2.5k words. iv. A/N: i am... so normal about parental arlecchino... so normal... i hope you enjoy because i loved writing this!! i have a little written for an epilogue featuring the lyntwins + freminet reuniting, so stay tuned for that ♡

It had been fifty-eight hours, and twenty-seven minutes since [Name] had vanished.

Freminet sat curled up in a velvet armchair that dwarfed his small frame, with Pers on his lap and his brother and sister flanking each side. They had both refused Father’s offer of a seat, which showed the severity of the situation more than words ever could.

No one ever refused Father. Even she had raised an eyebrow at their sudden rebellion.

“Lyney, Lynette. Defiance will not make [Name] come home faster. Take a seat.” Father sipped her tea, poised as ever. Even with that impassive mask, Freminet still noticed the tension in her shoulders.

He always noticed.

“There’s no need,” Lyney said shortly, adding on a respectful “Father.” as an afterthought.

“What my brother means—” Lynette cut in smoothly. “—Is that we do not want to draw this conversation out any longer than necessary. We only came to get permission to postpone our current assignment and search for [Name]. I’m sure you can see the circumstances are dire enough to warrant such action.”

“I’m afraid I do not, Lynette.” Father placed her cup down and folded her hands over her lap. “They are a very skilled agent, and this mission was hardly out of their ability. No need to compromise your current—and very important, I might add—mission, for trivial matters.”

“It isn’t trivial, it’s our sibling!” Lyney burst out, causing Freminet to flinch. He reached out a hand blindly to settle on Freminet’s shoulder, squeezing it quickly in both a comfort and apology for startling him.

“I would be mindful of your place within this household, Lyney.” Father said mildly, the warning clear. “I have given you a direct order, and you will follow it. Do not stray from your assigned mission. [Name] will be fine.” She paused for a beat. “You are dismissed.”

“That’s it?” Lyney hissed. “So, you’re going to just leave them to die?”

It sounded like less of a question and more of an accusation. Freminet winced, feeling Lynette stiffen beside him as well as they waited for the consequences of Lyney’s bluntness.

Arlecchino rose from her seat, the tension in the air thick enough to choke all three of the siblings.

“I never said that. [Name] will be home in due time.” Her gaze shifted from the left to the right side of the armchair. “Lynette, you will have tea with me later, won’t you?” Father asked, causing the girl to freeze.

She bit her lip, answering carefully. “I may. Maybe if [Name] returns, we can all have tea together.”

“A good plan,” Father agreed, ignoring the quiet angry undertone of her words. “When I see them, I shall invite them.”

“It had better be soon; it’s getting late.” Lynette countered. Freminet’s eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. Lynette was always better at matching Father’s games. Freminet crumbled under the weight of her gaze, and Lyney wasn’t any better at handling the pressure without his emotions causing him to crack and splinter.

“Lynette, Freminet. Let’s go.” Lyney said sharply.

Throughout the entire exchange, Lyney’s hand had not moved from where it was planted firmly on Freminet’s shoulder, as if he was refusing to let another of his siblings out of his grasp. Freminet might have remarked that Lynette was handling her worry better, but he noticed how her tail kept curling around his leg when they walked into Father’s office. Neither of the three was willing to part with the others for even a second; not when one of their own had gone missing by doing just that.

As he drew back his hand and moved away, Freminet caught his arm.

“Just… a moment, please. Wait outside, I’ll join you soon.” Freminet murmured, letting go. Lyney pursed his lips.

“Be quick.”

The twins vanished through the doorway, leaving Freminet alone with his Father.

“Freminet dear. You’re hesitating.” Father raised an eyebrow. “Are you waiting for something? Do you want me to give Pers a kiss on the head before I leave?”

Freminet flushed at the memories of holding the toy up to Father when he was young, insisting the penguin deserved a proper goodbye too. “Ahem. I’m not a child anymore… Father.”

“No? Then why are you still here?”

He swallowed awkwardly, forcing himself to look her in the eyes. He met her stare

“I know you’re just as worried as I am.” He said bluntly.

Father’s expression was almost impossible to read, but Freminet managed to catch a hint of surprise at his words. “I see. How did you come to that conclusion?”

It wasn’t denial, nor was it defensiveness. That was a good sign. Freminet continued, “There is a pinch between your eyebrows that you keep trying to smooth over. You’re gripping your teacup much tighter than usual. Your shoulders are tense. And you were far too quick to dismiss the twins’ concerns. You of all people would know that the situation is severe enough to allow a brief pause to their investigation, but you were swift in making sure they were kept as far away from the situation as possible.”

Arlecchino stared back at Freminet silently. She always had that unsettling way of watching him, as if she was picking apart the cogs and wheels spinning in his mind to know exactly what he was thinking.

“Observant as always, Freminet.” Freminet stood up straighter, pink touching his cheeks. “So, tell me this: what am I to do next?”

“You’re… going to find them yourself?” He asked slowly.

“That is correct. I will be.” Father agreed, and something inside him swelled. If only Lyney was still in the room, he would have collapsed with relief. “And what will you be doing?”

“Helping.” Freminet said without a thought.

“Incorrect. You are going to return to your room, go to sleep, and not say a word to your siblings.”

“But—”

“No. You are not involved here.” Arlecchino turned her back on him, looking out the window with her arms folded behind her.

“Father—”

“Do not forget that if you or your sibling’s interference costs me my mission, [Name]’s blood will be on your hands.”

Freminet recoiled sharply, as if she had struck him across the face. Arlecchino refused to lay a hand on any of them, but her words were more than enough to wound them.

“I—”

“I’m not looking for an argument, Freminet.”

Freminet shut his mouth with a click, lowering his head. He forced back the wave of emotions sweeping across him, sinking them so far into the depths of his mind that not even a champion diver like himself would be able to reach them.

“I am looking for an answer.” Father raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, Father.” He said quietly.

“Good child,” She murmured, laying a gentle hand on the top of his head. “You are dismissed.”

-----

Arlecchino made her move at the stroke of sundown.

It was disgustingly easy to track them down, and the sheer incompetence only fuelled her rage until it burned brighter than the flames that curled beneath her skin. The assailants were sloppy, leaving plenty of traces for her to find, as if they were waiting for her to find them.

One of her agents had returned with a slip of paper that evening—a ransom note, crudely explaining that they had captured a House of the Hearth agent, and demanding a hefty sum in exchange for their safe return. She had chuckled at that last part. They would be lucky for her to leave them with their lives after what they have done, let alone a reward.

Their hideout was located in a quiet cave near the ocean, with an entrance half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. It was a quaint spot, a cosy place to sit back and watch the sun set over the water. She was sure the view behind her was breathtaking, but she made no move to take a glance for herself.

The vines made way for a long, narrow tunnel, ending with a wooden door. Arlecchino quietly turned the handle, scoffing under her breath when it turned without a key being inserted, and slipped through without making a single sound.

Six were scattered around the dingy room; one woman, five men. Seeming to be aged between their mid-twenties at the youngest, and early-forties at the oldest.

“Have we got a response yet?” The woman muttered impatiently, tapping her foot against the floor.

“How should I know?” One of the men grunted. “We left the note. Eventually it’s gotta make it’s way to the boss herself, and we’ll get the reward.”

“Just gotta be patient,” Another murmured. “Gotta be patient.”

Slightly past them was a wooden cage, secured with a metal lock.

They were in a heap on the floor of the cage, breathing weakly—Arlecchino quietly thanked the Tsaritsa that they were breathing at all—and looked to be passed out.

The fire inside her sang, and she could hardly breathe under the heat of it all.

“How long is this woman gonna take?” The woman rolled her eyes. “I’m tired of waiting.”

Arlecchino chuckled, causing all of the six to jump. “Oh, then allow me to assure you that you won’t have to wait much longer at all.”

Instantly they were on their feet, grabbing whatever weapon was closest. Their expressions ranged from outright fear, to an egregious amount of confidence for how weak they were in comparison to her.

“Knave,” the closest man grinned crookedly. “How kind of you to join us. I’m assuming you’re here for—” he jerked his head towards the figure still unmoving. “—that one?”

“‘That one’?” Arlecchino repeated slowly, drawing her scythe to her side. “I am here for my child.”

Two of the men—the ones closest to the cage—looked at each other nervously. Arlecchino smiled. It was a pity the rest of the group didn’t share the sense to fear her, but they would learn soon enough.

“Well you see, we’ll be happy to hand them over—” the man’s grin widened. “For a price, of course.”

“A price, you say?” She mused. “How about this. You step aside, I retrieve my child, and offer you a quick death. I would say that is more than fair, considering what you have cost me.”

The smile dropped off the man’s face. “That ain’t an option, lady.”

“Then I think you misunderstand.” She took a step towards him, then another, eyes glinting dangerously in the low light. “I wasn’t asking.”

“Boss—” one of the men tried to say.

“Shut it.” the first man hissed, bringing his shovel up in a defensive position. It was almost laughable, how he thought that would protect him.

“You made four mistakes tonight,” Arlecchino said smoothly. The tip of her scythe brushed the floor, sending a loud scraping sound across the walls. All of the people inside the room winced at the sound, but Arlecchino was unfazed as she continued prowling towards them.

“One… you failed to cover your tracks, making it remarkably easy to track you down.” In one swift motion, she lunged. The group barely had time to blink, before her scythe sliced across the chest of the closest one.

There was silence, before the man made a low gasp, bright crimson blood spilling down his shirt. He collapsed forward onto the ground with a thud, and the room erupted into chaos. A scream tore from the throat of the woman, and she dropped to her knees at his side, desperately clutching his shoulders. Arlecchino aimed a quick strike at her back, and she fell against the man heavily.

“Two, you left the door unlocked.” A pair charged towards her, hammers and shovels swinging. She knocked the weapons from their hands with one hit, and knocked them down with a second.

“Three—” One snuck up from behind, quickly tossing a string of rope over her head and around her neck, pulling harshly to cut off her breathing. An elbow in his ribs winded him enough to loosen his grip, and a knock to the head with the hilt of her scythe sent him to the floor. “You brought far too few people to last in a fight against me.”

The final man stumbled backwards until he hit the wall, shrinking against the bricks. Arlecchino walked with slow steps, stalking towards him like an animal cornering their pray. He shielded his face with his hands, in a desperate attempt to protect himself. Once she was about a foot away, she stopped, leaning in close.

“And four.” Arlecchino grasped the man by the throat, digging her nails into his skin hard enough to draw blood. “You hurt my fucking child.”

She tossed his body to the side, watching him hit the wall with a thud and collapse to the ground like a ragdoll.

“Pathetic.” She scoffed under her breath, stepping over his limp body. Her anger wasn’t nearly quelled—an inferno is not easily cooled, after all—but seeing them all lying lifelessly across the floor of their own base at least brought some vindication. She turned her back to the man, looking over at her child.

They were curled up in the cage like a trapped animal, rattling breaths ringing through the bars. Arlecchino gritted her teeth at the sight, making sure to step on the nearest captor’s fingers as she walked over. She swung her scythe against the lock, shattering it into bits of metal.

Her hands were gentle in reaching into the cage, hooking a hand under their knees and cradling their back with the other. They made a pained cry, and Arlecchino hurried to pull them out. She held them close to her chest, letting their cheek rest where her heartbeat pounded against her chest. Her face didn’t falter from that stony expression, but inside she was burning with fury.

“My child,” She murmured, more to herself than the shivering form in her arms. There was something dangerous in her tone, a note of warning to the assailants still conscious enough to hear her voice. She kissed their forehead, a tender gesture out of place among the bloodshed. “Didn’t I promise you that while you’re with me, no one can hurt you?”

“F-Father…?” A broken whisper slipped through their lips, followed by a sob, first sinking Arlecchino’s heart then shattering it into two.

“Shh… it’s okay. It’s okay, darling, I’m here.” She crooned, carrying them out of the room and through the tunnel. All throughout the journey through the tunnel and back onto the beach, she didn’t stop murmuring comforts and pressing kisses to their head in the most maternal way she’d ever remembered acting.

“I’m sorry, Father…” they mumbled, cheek pressed against her chest.

“Darling…” Arlecchino hummed, even as the smouldering ashes in her chest began to spark and flicker. “You have nothing to apologise for.”

The night was cold, but her child was a warm weight in her arms. She revelled in the warmth, a gentle reminder that they were still alive.

“We’ll be home soon,” Arlecchino promised, even though they were barely conscious enough to hear her. “Soon.”

reblogs are appreciated ♡

#✒️ — writing #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic x reader #arlecchino x gender neutral reader #arlecchino x gn reader #arlecchino x reader #genshin arlecchino x reader #platonic arlecchino x reader #platonic arlecchino x gn reader

641 notes · View notes

thedansemacabres · 11 months ago

Text

Introduction To Supporting Sustainable Agriculture For Witches and Pagans

[ID: An image of yellow grain stocks, soon to be harvested. The several stocks reach towards a blurred open sky, focusing the camera on he grains themselves. The leaves of the grains are green and the cereals are exposed].

PAGANISM AND WITCHCRAFT ARE MOVEMENTS WITHIN A SELF-DESTRUCTIVE CAPITALIST SOCIETY. As the world becomes more aware of the importance of sustainability, so does the duty of humanity to uphold the idea of the steward, stemming from various indigenous worldviews, in the modern era. I make this small introduction as a viticulturist working towards organic and environmentally friendly grape production. I also do work on a food farm, as a second job—a regenerative farm, so I suppose that is my qualifications. Sustainable—or rather regenerative agriculture—grows in recognition. And as paganism and witchcraft continue to blossom, learning and supporting sustainability is naturally a path for us to take. I will say that this is influenced by I living in the USA, however, there are thousands of groups across the world for sustainable agriculture, of which tend to be easy to research.

So let us unite in caring for the world together, and here is an introduction to supporting sustainable/regenerative agriculture.

A QUICK BRIEF ON SUSTAINABLE AGRICULTURE

Sustainable agriculture, in truth, is a movement to practise agriculture as it has been done for thousands of years—this time, with more innovation from science and microbiology especially. The legal definition in the USA of sustainable agriculture is:

The term ”sustainable agriculture” (U.S. Code Title 7, Section 3103) means an integrated system of plant and animal production practices having a site-specific application that will over the long-term:

A more common man’s definition would be farming in a way that provides society’s food and textile needs without overuse of natural resources, artificial supplements and pest controls, without compromising the future generation’s needs and ability to produce resources. The agriculture industry has one of the largest and most detrimental impacts on the environment, and sustainable agriculture is the alternative movement to it.

Sustainable agriculture also has the perk of being physically better for you—the nutrient quality of crops in the USA has dropped by 47%, and the majority of our food goes to waste. Imagine if it was composted and reused? Or even better—we buy only what we need. We as pagans and witches can help change this.

BUYING ORGANIC (IT REALLY WORKS)

The first step is buying organic. While cliche, it does work: organic operations have certain rules to abide by, which excludes environmentally dangerous chemicals—many of which, such as DDT, which causes ecological genocide and death to people. Organic operations have to use natural ways of fertilising, such as compost, which to many of us—such as myself—revere the cycle of life, rot, and death. Organic standards do vary depending on the country, but the key idea is farming without artificial fertilisers, using organic seeds, supplementing with animal manure, fertility managed through management practices, etc.

However, organic does have its flaws. Certified organic costs many, of which many small farmers cannot afford. The nutrient quality of organic food, while tending to be better, is still poor compared to regeneratively grown crops. Furthermore, the process to become certified organic is often gruelling—you can practise completely organically, but if you are not certified, it is not organic. Which, while a quality control insurance, is both a bonus and a hurdle.

JOINING A CSA

Moving from organic is joining a CSA (“Community supported agriculture”). The USDA defines far better than I could:

Community Supported Agriculture (CSA), one type of direct marketing, consists of a community of individuals who pledge support to a farm operation so that the farmland becomes, either legally or spiritually, the community’s farm, with the growers and consumers providing mutual support and sharing the risks and benefits of food production.

By purchasing a farm share, you receive food from the farm for the agreed upon production year. I personally enjoy CSAs for the relational aspect—choosing a CSA is about having a relationship, not only with the farmer(s), but also the land you receive food from. I volunteer for my CSA and sometimes I get extra cash from it—partaking in the act of caring for the land. Joining a CSA also means taking your precious capital away from the larger food industry and directly supporting growers—and CSAs typically practise sustainable and/or regenerative agriculture.

CSAs are also found all over the world and many can deliver their products to food deserts and other areas with limited agricultural access. I volunteer from time to time for a food bank that does exactly that with the produce I helped grow on the vegetable farm I work for.

FARM MARKETS AND STALLS

Another way of personally connecting to sustainable agriculture is entering the realm of the farm stall. The farmer’s market is one of my personal favourite experiences—people buzzing about searching for ingredients, smiles as farmers sell crops and products such as honey or baked goods, etc. The personal connection stretches into the earth, and into the past it buries—as I purchase my apples from the stall, I cannot help but see a thousand lives unfold. People have been doing this for thousands of years and here I stand, doing it all over again.

Farmers’ markets are dependent on your local area, yet in most you can still develop personal community connections. Paganism often stresses community as an ideal and a state of life. And witchcraft often stresses a connection to the soil. What better place, then, is purchasing the products from the locals who commune with the land?

VOLUNTEERING

If you are able to, I absolutely recommend volunteering. I have worked with aquaponic systems, food banks, farms, cider-making companies, soil conservation groups, etc. There is so much opportunity—and perhaps employment—in these fields. The knowledge I have gained has been wonderful. As one example, I learned that fertilisers reduce carbon sequestration as plants absorb carbon to help with nutrient intake. If they have all their nutrients ready, they do not need to work to obtain carbon to help absorb it. This does not even get into the symbiotic relationship fungi have with roots, or the world of hyphae. Volunteering provides community and connection. Actions and words change the world, and the world grows ever better with help—including how much or how little you may provide. It also makes a wonderful devotional activity.

RESOURCING FOOD AND COOKING

Buying from farmers is not always easy, however. Produce often has to be processed, requiring labour and work with some crops such as carrots. Other times, it is a hard effort to cook and many of us—such as myself—often have very limited energy. There are solutions to this, thankfully:

Many farmers can and will process foods. Some even do canning, which can be good to stock up on food and lessen the energy inputs.

Value-added products: farms also try to avoid waste, and these products often become dried snacks if fruit, frozen, etc.

Asking farmers if they would be open to accommodating this. Chances are, they would! The farmer I purchase my CSA share from certainly does.

Going to farmers markets instead of buying a CSA, aligning with your energy levels.

And if any of your purchased goods are going unused, you can always freeze them.

DEMETER, CERES, VEIA, ETC: THE FORGOTTEN AGRICULTURE GODS

Agricultural gods are often neglected. Even gods presiding over agriculture often do not have those aspects venerated—Dionysos is a god of viticulture and Apollon a god of cattle. While I myself love Dionysos as a party and wine god, the core of him remains firmly in the vineyards and fields, branching into the expanses of the wild. I find him far more in the curling vines as I prune them than in the simple delights of the wine I ferment. Even more obscure gods, such as Veia, the Etruscan goddess of agriculture, are seldom known.

Persephone receives the worst of this: I enjoy her too as a dread queen, and people do acknowledge her as Kore, but she is far more popular as the queen of the underworld instead of the dear daughter of Demeter. I do understand this, though—I did not feel the might of Demeter and Persephone until I began to move soil with my own hands. A complete difference to the ancient world, where the Eleusinian mysteries appealed to thousands. Times change, and while some things should be left to the past, our link to these gods have been severed. After all, how many of us reading know where our food comes from? I did not until I began to purchase from the land I grew to know personally. The grocery store has become a land of tearing us from the land, instead of the food hub it should be.

Yet, while paganism forgets agriculture gods, they have not forgotten us. The new world of farming is more conductive and welcoming than ever. I find that while older, bigoted people exist, the majority of new farmers tend to be LGBT+. My own boss is trans and aro, and I myself am transgender and gay. The other young farmers I know are some flavour of LGBT+, or mixed/poc. There’s a growing movement for Black farmers, elaborated in a lovely text called We Are Each Other’s Harvest.

Indigenous farming is also growing and I absolutely recommend buying from indigenous farmers. At this point, I consider Demeter to be a patron of LGBT+ people in this regard—she gives an escape to farmers such as myself. Bigotry is far from my mind under her tender care, as divine Helios shines above and Okeanos’ daughters bring fresh water to the crops. Paganism is also more commonly accepted—I find that farmers find out that I am pagan and tell me to do rituals for their crops instead of reacting poorly. Or they’re pagan themselves; a farmer I know turned out to be Wiccan and uses the wheel of the year to keep track of production.

Incorporating these divinities—or concepts surrounding them—into our crafts and altars is the spiritual step towards better agriculture. Holy Demeter continues to guide me, even before I knew it.

WANT CHANGE? DO IT YOURSELF!

If you want change in the world, you have to act. And if you wish for better agriculture, there is always the chance to do it yourself. Sustainable agriculture is often far more accessible than people think: like witchcraft and divination, it is a practice. Homesteading is often appealing to many of us, including myself, and there are plenty of resources to begin. There are even grants to help one improve their home to be more sustainable, i.e. solar panels. Gardening is another, smaller option. Many of us find that plants we grow and nourish are far more potentant in craft, and more receptive to magical workings.

Caring for plants is fundamental to our natures and there are a thousand ways to delve into it. I personally have joined conservation groups, my local soil conservation group, work with the NRCs in the USA, and more. The path to fully reconnecting to nature and agriculture is personal—united in a common cause to fight for this beautiful world. To immerse yourself in sustainable agriculture, I honestly recommend researching and finding your own path. Mine lies in soil and rot, grapevines and fruit trees. Others do vegetables and cereal grains, or perhaps join unions and legislators. Everyone has a share in the beauty of life, our lives stemming from the land’s gentle sprouts.

Questions and or help may be given through my ask box on tumblr—if there is a way I can help, let me know. My knowledge is invaluable I believe, as I continue to learn and grow in the grey-clothed arms of Demeter, Dionysos, and Kore.

FURTHER READING:

Baszile, N. (2021). We are each other’s harvest. HarperCollins.

Hatley, J. (2016). Robin Wall Kimmerer. Braiding Sweetgrass: Indigenous wisdom, scientific knowledge and the teachings of plants. Environmental Philosophy, 13(1), 143–145. https://doi.org/10.5840/envirophil201613137

Regenerative Agriculture 101. (2021, November 29). https://www.nrdc.org/stories/regenerative-agriculture-101#what-is

And in truth, far more than I could count.

References

Community Supported Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/community-supported-agriculture

Navazio, J. (2012). The Organic seed Grower: A Farmer’s Guide to Vegetable Seed Production. Chelsea Green Publishing.

Plaster, E. (2008). Soil Science and Management. Cengage Learning.

Sheaffer, C. C., & Moncada, K. M. (2012). Introduction to agronomy: food, crops, and environment. Cengage Learning.

Sheldrake, M. (2020). Entangled life: How Fungi Make Our Worlds, Change Our Minds & Shape Our Futures. Random House.

Sustainable Agriculture | National Agricultural Library. (n.d.). https://www.nal.usda.gov/farms-and-agricultural-production-systems/sustainable-agriculture

320 notes · View notes

robinnsblog · 3 months ago

Text

Most themes and symbolism about the game have already been discussed, so I’m not going to focus on those here. What I’m going to focus on, however, are the “friendships” in the game.

The game has clear influences from Neon Genesis Evangelion, one of its themes being human connections — so it feels fair to explore those here, don’t you agree?

Let’s start with the more positive ones: Swansea, Anya and Curly.

Both Curly (in How Fish Is Made DLC) and Swansea (after he mercy kills Daisuke) mention working over a decade for Pony Express, so they most likely went in several trips together and got to know each other. The case with Anya is a bit unclear, but she is close enough to playfully tease Swansea about liking the cake, and Curly has brought both of their playlists (Swansea’s and Anya’s) to the ship for years. Not only that, Curly calls Swansea “Big Swan” in flavor text and he probably was the one to gift him the swan keychain.

Between Anya and Curly we have the medical evaluations, including the one in the demo. It’s true that Curly didn’t open up much to Anya and the conflict with Jimmy ended up disastrously, but those brief moments were kind of sweet and they showed that there was at least a bit of trust between the two.

There was also some trust between Anya and Swansea, since he trusted her to rely his message to Curly, instead of sending Jimmy —who was standing outside the Utility room doing nothing— to get the Captain. At the birthday party, the two were standing next to each other as well, so one can safely assume they were in friendly terms.

Swansea and Daisuke

I don’t think I can add anything that hasn’t been said already. Swansea didn’t want Daisuke to join the corporate hellscape and become a jagged adult like them, and saved the cryopod for him so he could get saved if the situation came to it.

Now, let’s analyze the negatives ones: Curly and Jimmy.

I must preface this that I’m not going to discuss any relationship between Jimmy and the others, only those two, because I don’t think he ever considered them friends and viceversa.

In other words, there is no friendship to discuss there.

But to be fair, there isn’t much friendship between Jimmy and Curly either, because I hope we can all agree that Jimmy is a toxic/abusive friend to Curly. If you search the signs of an abusive or toxic friendship, Jimmy fits all the criteria even before the crash:

Not only he does not show an ounce of gratitude to Curly for getting him the job to begin with, he isn’t happy for his friend’s accomplishments.

Though he asks what is troubling Curly, he does so not out of concern, but because he can’t comprehend why his “friend” isn’t happy with the position he, Jimmy, covets.

And when Curly opens up, immediately after Jimmy makes it about himself. Curly tries to cheer him up, despite being the one down in spirits and in need of moral support.

Not to mention, when he gets angry, Jimmy uses what Curly shared in confidence as ammo to hurt him: he puts words in his mouth, barely lets him talk or defend himself, and insists his intentions were something else.

In my personal opinion, Curly only said: “I can fix it”, “We can figure all of this out”… because he was aware that he was also to blame for what happened to Anya — as Jimmy points out, as the captain, Curly should have had everything under control. However, what Jimmy is doing here is shifting the blame entirely on Curly, exploiting his guilty conscience to avoid repercussions.

All of this was, of course, affecting Curly’s health, compromising his effectiveness as a captain. Some of the effects of a toxic friendship are as listed:

Increased stress: Curly had trouble sleeping, though that could be attached at their horrible work conditions and wanting to escape to something better.

Emotional exhaustion, which can reduce your ability to focus: in the very first scene we control Curly, Anya calls him out for not paying attention in his med eval.

Isolation and distrust: in the same scene, Anya also calls him out for not opening up.

Fear of conflict: in their confrontations, Jimmy is the dominant voice and Curly barely gets out two sentences.

I don’t want to excuse Curly, but the first step to drop a toxic friendship, is recognizing you’re in one, which is difficult if you have been led to believe you were always the one in the wrong and the “good moments” make us forget the “bad times”. As Curly said, they go far… but how far did Jimmy mess him up? We can only speculate.

As a silver lining, maybe this hallucination was Curly’s subconscious warning him about Jimmy and how miserable his “friend” was making him.

But in the end, Jimmy was to Curly, what the alcohol in the mouthwash bottle was to Swansea…

… that one setback away from their worst selves.

#robinn.txt #mouthwashing

97 notes · View notes

zeusmachina · 6 months ago

Text

Forgot I didn't post it here but here's the final ref sheet for my Arcane fan character, Jaan. I love her a lot, she deserves real pure love (or to be locked away).

UPDATING HER STORY YEEPEE

₊‧⁺𓇼ㅤ𓂂ㅤ˚ㅤ◌ ✧⋆

JAAN ⋆ Moodboard

Jaan was a former herbalist in her early thirties working between Piltover and Zaun but who saw her social situation gradually deteriorate when Silco took over the city below. The patients discovered that Jaan was from Zaun and turned their backs on her due to lack of trust and began to spread numerous rumors about her. Her reputation preceding her, her shop was closed and the young apothecary found herself forced to find refuge in the slums of her hometown. Easier said than done, the young woman suffered various forms of violence and treatment that completely broke her. She will then make the desperate choice to join Babette's brothel. The latter welcomed her with kindness despite Zaun's critical situation. Then began Jaan's harsh journey as a prostitute. Several years have passed and Jaan is now one of the most prized courtesans in the house, even bringing some important clients from Piltover. She assists Babette by collecting various compromising informations from all sides and sometimes ruining the lives of the citizens from above and below. Her objective is simple: Make Silco and its collaborators pay for where she is now.

₊‧⁺ Character traits

The former herbalist has changed a lot during these difficult years although she still retains strengths from her past. She has a way with words and has always known how to get out of complex situations thanks to her physical and social charms (and maybe her knowledges in plants, drugs and poisons helped a bit). She is someone who has always been very attentive, which allowed her to best advise patients when she was still working in her pharmacy. Today she listens to the problems of her clients, some lost, others unfaithful or simply megalomaniacs. Despite her attentive ear and her sensitivity to the journey of others, she does not seem to want to share what she feels and seems pretty stolid about her past, her present and her future plans. Jaan no longer trusts anyone and could easily betray those who get in the way.

₊‧⁺ Infos dump

Jaan has no preferences, she woos anyone who piques her interests.

Between the loss of her shop and the return through Zaun and its twists and turns, the young woman quickly fell into drugs. Her abilities as a pharmacist allow her to improvise her own mixtures with few resources. She has never touched shimmer.

She always seems to have a cigarette in her hand (often held at the end of a cigarette holder).

She knows how to dance and do a bit of pole dancing.

#arcane #my art #oc: jaan #fan character #lol #league of legends #oc #original character

97 notes · View notes

crguang · 7 months ago

Note

Hello! May I have some fluffy yukong x reader with prompt 92 "My heart isn’t beating faster, my heart isn’t beating faster, I swear it isn’t, get ahold of yourself." I just miss the wife.......so much.......

im so happy this was requested man, yukong's one of my favorite characters of the game, i love her so much. i know that she's a serious woman and all but the thought of her being so unused to romantic affection that she turns into a school girl with a crush is just too cuteee

The days have been shorter for Yukong lately. Her memories have been forgiving, leaving behind a lingering sense of nostalgia that doesn’t pain her as much anymore instead of the constricting weight rooting her feet to the ground that makes her feel helpless. When she stands under the glaring sun, she’s in a cockpit again, enjoying the stars’ warmth from the quietude of space. She’s able to enjoy the feeling rather than have it be twisted by wistfulness, and the same can be said about the comfort of the nebulas. She often leaves the Palace of Astrum on her work breaks to immerse herself in them, her chin tilted to the heavens. While she will always long for the clouds, as they are part of her soul, most of her regrets seem to have melted. Her limbs are lighter, her breaths come easier. After Qingni enrolled as a fighter pilot, the burden of upholding Caiyi’s last wish was removed and, though she doesn’t see her daughter as often these days, less of her time is spent arguing with her about her ambitions. Yukong would gladly take the distance over Qingni’s puffed cheeks and furrowed brows if it meant bettering their relationship. Work also feels less stressful recently, she still has a mountain of duties to take care of each day and she can’t wait to retire, but the hours go by faster. The only issue is her productivity, it seems to have slowed in a noticeable manner over the past few months. She… is aware of the root of the problem, but hasn’t found a solution for her distracted mind yet.

Her head has joined her heart among the clouds and you are to blame. You, a known figure in the business world, who came to Starskiff Haven three months ago seeking to work with the Sky-Faring Commission. The small team of men and women you brought with you to aid you in this endeavor didn’t make a lasting impression on her, but you did. You discussed your proposal over friendly tea, just the both of you, to facilitate the conversation, and Yukong feels ridiculous admitting it but she has thought of you ever since. Your brilliant ideas, your ability to compromise in a way that minimizes losses for both parties, the insight you apply to most situations (your earnest smile, expressive eyes, the wind in your hair)— she’s noticed it all. It’s not unusual for her to gauge the people she’s doing business with, she owes it to the commission to make sure it thrives. It is surprising, however, how inspired she felt after your meeting. You have an air of assurance about you that makes others see you as trustworthy, an asset that will insure the best outcome for your partners.

A couple months later, and Yukong knows you’re not all show. You’ve kept good on your promises, sometimes exceeding what she previously negotiated for even without the insurance of turning a profit. Your business prowess is to be admired, for sure, but it’s not what she thinks about whenever she’s working through a pile of documents. The two of you have had several meetings following that first one, both with others present and alone, both of professional and casual nature. Her mind often wanders to the way you take your tea, excessively sweet, and how your hands move as you talk like instruments accompanying the melody of your voice. She can’t help but dwell on your enthusiasm as you converse with her, no matter the topic, it makes her feel listened to, like whatever she’s saying is relevant in your eyes. She can hear your laughter clearly, it’s high and closer to an amused giggle, and it always reveals your upper teeth. The sound replays in her mind like a broken record she’s not interested in replacing. Her pulse picks up a pace, her teeth sink into the interior of her lip, she can’t see the document she’s supposed to be revising—

Yukong looks up from her desk to see you having a discussion with one of her employees. The hand over your mouth fails to conceal your laughter while her secretary leans over her desk with a cheeky smile. She realizes that she was lost in thought just now, and that she wasn’t truly imagining the sound of your laugh, you’re actually here. She feels a touch less embarrassed. She looks back at the papers in front of her, tries to get back to work because your presence shouldn’t impede her job, but it’s useless. The pen in her hand is immobile, her ears twitch, straining to hear what has you so amused despite you being all the way to the front desk, and she’s annoyed by her own behavior. Seriously, what is she, a school girl? She’s way too old to be getting distracted by someone this young.

She hears you coming before you even plant yourself in front of her desk. She raises her eyes to meet your warm gaze and the sight of your happy smile directly influences her heartbeat.

“Good afternoon, Helm Master.”

Her title, Helm Master, sounds different in your mouth. She hears it every day but with you, it feels more like an endearing nickname than the proper way to address her.

“Good afternoon,” she replies, putting down her pen. “Are you here for something in particular?”

“Yes, in fact. This is around the time you take your daily break, right?”

Yukong blinks. She turns to glance at the clock on the wall to her right, then back at you. It’s almost 2 PM, so you’re correct.

“It is. How do you know?”

You hold your hands behind your back and shrug with a smile. “Xikui told me. You have a very flirty secretary.”

Yukong chuckles softly. “I know. But she does her job well, so unless I hear any complaints, I don’t interfere in those kinds of things.”

“Oh, no, she’s very respectful, if only… a bit forward.”

Her mind goes back to the way you were laughing earlier and she can’t help wondering if you enjoyed the attention.

…Not that it’s any of her business.

“Anyway,” you clear your throat and change the subject, “I was in the neighborhood and thought it’d be nice to come and say hi. You’re always cooped up in this room… Now that I know you’re about to go on a break, maybe we could talk for a little while?”

“Oh.” Your consideration takes her by surprise. She has no reason to refuse your offer, nor does she want to. Something crawls in her stomach at the idea of you thinking of her as you go about your day, and she ignores it. “Yes, of course.”

You watch her close a couple of colorful folders and place them back on different piles. “Xikui says you like looking at the clouds. The sky is beautiful today, we should go do that.”

Xikui talks a bit too much about things she’s not paid for, it seems. Yukong stands from her chair, grateful for the opportunity to stretch her legs. She never really got used to sitting around all day after being so active on the daily, which is why she cherishes the walks she takes around that time a lot. You follow next to her, a pep in your step, as she leads you out in the open and in front of the Palace of Astrum where she gets a wonderful view of the Jade Wheel in all its grandiosity. The familiar spot instantly puts her at ease and she briefly breathes in the fresh air with closed eyes. She’s meant to be outside, in open air with the breeze in her hair and on her cheeks. She takes her work seriously, though, so she’s content with simply allowing herself these moments of reprieve from the confines of the Palace.

Her eyes blink open to find you looking at her. You’re leaning on the railing, chin in the palm of your hand, and staring at her with something unknown to her. There’s that smile at the corner of your lips like you’re aware of something she isn’t, yet she can’t find it in herself to be guarded.

“What is it?” She asks.

“The sun rays are beautiful on you.”

You avert your gaze immediately after replying, eyebrow twitching, as if the words slipped out of your mouth before you could revise them. Yukong’s lips part in surprise at the unexpected compliment. She hears her heartbeat in her ears, unable to tear her eyes from your sheepish expression. The chatter of passersby and the general commotion are muted, she can only register the drumming of her heart— dum, dum, dum; your easy words freeze her where she stands and she becomes only refrain and replay. Though it’s been a while since she’s heard such genuine praise from another, she’s not the type to get embarrassed by simple flirting— are you… flirting?— being complimented by you somehow feels like she’s a young girl again, chasing after her best friend. She must look ridiculous after a moment passes and she still hasn’t said a word, but her mouth is dry and she finds herself not knowing how to respond, all her practiced diplomacy rendered useless.

You seem to regain your composure because you meet her eyes once more and try to suppress a smile. “Ah, Helm Master, you’re blushing.”

Her fingertips rest on her cheek, feeling its warmth, and Yukong has to take a moment to clear her throat and busy her hands, finally looking past you at the far-away Jade Wheel instead. She cannot have been this flustered, and by just you saying she looks good in the sun, no less. She won’t accept it, how easily you turn back time and make her feel like she's someone who gets crushes. The mere notion is absurd. She has decades on you. You’re teasing her and she is absolutely not getting red in the face.

My heart isn’t beating faster, my heart isn’t beating faster, I swear it isn’t—

“—Get a hold of yourself.”

She only realizes that she said the last part out loud when you blink and regret bends your lips downward.

“Oh, I’m– I’m sorry,” you straighten up, glancing away from her for a few seconds.

“No, I…” Yukong takes a shuddering breath and brings a hand to cover her eyes. “I apologize. That wasn’t directed at you.”

“You don’t have to reassure me, if you’re uncomfortable you should let me know. I won’t take offense.”

“I am not uncomfortable. You surprised me, that's all.”

She hopes you can sense the sincerity in her tone. The last thing she wants is for things to grow awkward between you, you still have to work together after this and she hates the thought of you believing she doesn’t enjoy your company. Sure that her blood is no longer stored in the apple of her cheeks, she turns to face you again. You nod slowly and decide to let the matter go. Silence settles between you. You stare up at the nebulas she knows so well and her gaze is on the creases around your eyes, the lashes brushing your cheeks with every blink, the smooth curves of your lips. The minutes fly by, she ends up staying outside with you longer than the 30 minutes of reprieve she allows herself each day. When you bid her goodbye with a wave and a gentle smile, she’s lighter on her feet. The days have been shorter for her lately because your face lingers in her mind and her internal clock is attuned only to your proximity. One day, Yukong will admit that she’s falling in love for the second time in her life. Today, she’ll absentmindedly scribble your name in the top corner of a sheet she’ll discard right afterwards.

#sat’s follower event #yukong x reader #hsr yukong

94 notes · View notes

atopvisenyashill · 8 months ago

Note

Please tell me more of your thoughts on maegelle, maybe it’s cause I’m new to the Fire and Blood side of the fandom but I’ve never seen anything deeper about her maybe being negative. Especially in regards to her mother/family. I’m quickly becoming Saera girlie and I wonder if Magelle’s role in the church might’ve contributed to her sister’s “”rehabilitation”” being bad enough to have her leave the continent.

Okay so the thing here is that she does to Alysanne what Jaehaerys does to Alyssa, which is force/cajole their mother into taking back and living with a man who has publicly humiliated her and made incredibly clear he has no respect for her, but we only really whack Jaehaerys for this. The first quarrel is more personally egregious to me because it's only Alysanne who must bite her tongue here and not Jaehaerys - she is not asking for anything extreme here! Her daughter committed the heinous crime of fucking before marriage, it's been like three years, and three of their daughters have subsequently died, but he hasn't calmed down at all about Saera. Alysanne even tries to compromise by just asking to fly to Lys to visit her and he forbids her from seeing her own fucking daughter. That's an insane level of abuse. And what does Maegelle do? Well she tells her parents that they need to keep up appearances and be seen in public together. Reminds me a lot of show alicent's "you may slap him about as you like at home but out in public we must be united" comment - essentially, Maegelle is telling Alysanne she has to cope with being barred from seeing her daughter and grieving her losses properly to keep up appearances. I mean fuck, maybe Alysanne genuinely wanted a divorce from Jaehaerys. Maybe at that point she was so distraught she wanted Jaehaerys to take a lover, and replace her, and leave her the hell alone so she could be with Gael or otherwise just go to Lys anyways. But Maegelle puts a stop to all of this by invoking Rhaenys' wedding and how they need to look united. Ghastly behavior.

BUT THEN. Less than two years later, Aemon dies and Jaehaerys names Baelon heir. And look, Alysanne is 100% right to be pissed the fuck off at Jaehaerys for naming Baelon - from our several comments about Rhaenys being called "our future queen", the fact that Aemon and Jocelyn never have any other kids, I think the fact that Rhaenys has a dragon as well, all of that makes very clear that everyone is sort of expecting Rhaenys to carry on the Targaryen line in some form or another. Beyond that, Jaehaerys knows damn well that Alysanne has historically been touchy about this - see her comments about little Daenerys. Jaehaerys, with this move, makes it clear that he had never planned for Rhaenys to be queen at all and was misleading everyone. This one is on par with Rogar's nonsense imo because it's so public and everyone knows how Alysanne feels about the succession. He doesn't talk it over with her after she's lost a son btw, he just announces it and takes everyone by surprise.

AND THEN ONCE AGAIN. HERE COMES MAEGELLE. "mom just get over it." And again, what does Jaehaerys give up here? Nothing. He's either sending Maegelle or he's just straight up leaving Alysanne alone and assuming she'll come back to him? It's just nasty. She's losing the ability to walk, to ride her dragon, to remember people's names, she's barred from seeing Saera, she's got a daughter the age of her grandchildren because Jaehaerys forced her to have another child, and she's not even allowed to just spend her last years on Dragonstone being left to age with what dignity she has left. No, she has to be at court, she has to be by her husband's side, because That's Her Place. It's just as smug, just as cruel as Jaehaerys forcing Alyssa to Rogar's side - and the cruelty, in my opinion, is the point here. "You made your bed now lie in it" type behavior, towards a woman who has just been publicly disrespected, who is grieving her dead children.

So anyways, do I believe Maegelle was just as viciously cruel to Saera and that's part of why Saera ran away? I can absolutely believe that yes. I think we see that a lot with Septas to be honest - women who get a thrill out of torturing other women who don't conform properly. Mordane actively eggs on the gap between Arya and Sansa until it becomes a gaping chasm, Moelle and Unella are happy to take orders that involve them sexually humiliating Margaery, her cousins, and Cersei and take a sort of sick glee out of doing it, so I don't think it's exactly far off to say Maegelle had a cruel streak in her that came out when it came to the women in her family not conforming properly. I think we can also take into account George's general distate for religion and Catholocism specifically and the way the Septas work as nuns, and the way nuns were like, insane at various catholic schools. I think there's an interesting play here right - that Jaehaerys can look a mother who put her own life on the line to make him king and hand her right back to the husband who hates her to die having his kids, because he's being vindictive and cruel about her having the audacity to remarry without his permission, and Maegelle looking the mother who has ruled capably and given her the space to be what she wanted to be, and hand her right back to the husband who clearly has no respect for her whatsoever, because she's cruel and believes a woman is not allowed to have differing opinions from the man who currently owns her. It doesn't matter what Alyssa or Alysanne personally did for the two of them; they're women, and they have no right to disagree with the men around them.

#like people call alicent a tool of the patriarchy and while i get that take alicent is reacting from genuine and founded fear for her kids.#maegelle enables her father's abuse of her mother twice over for no other reason than...what spite? religion? love? fuck that shit.#MAEGELLE is the fucking tool of the patriarchy. there's no reason for her to completely side with jaehaerys here. she does it anyway!#TWICE. at least alysanne's dumb ass eventually UNDERSTANDS the way she's treated saera is awful. maegelle does Not Care.#oof this era gets me fucking heated.#anti maegelle targaryen #anti jaehaerys i targaryen #asks #anons

61 notes · View notes

butterflydm · 2 months ago

Text

some thoughts on spirits (DAV)

I feel like the game has done a good job making Rook feel like someone with natural leadership abilities. And while I do love the companions in the previous games, I feel like DAV's companions are my favorites (at least currently; entirely possible that a replay of the older games would make me feel different!).

I also really like the different dynamics between Rook and their companions. Just... idk good vibes.

Also, here is Rook being very relatable for me:

I am just really loving all the characters so much -- Lucanis stole my heart as my favorite (he's my 'personal demon' now in the character screen lol) but I'm very attached to all of my companions. I love how the game has made it easier to know when they have something new to say, and I like that they distinguish between 'conversations' and 'outings' in the companion quest section. I've really been enjoying getting to know them and I feel like this game has done a really good job appropriately gating dialogues and areas.

It feels like they found a good compromise between 'open world' and 'mission-based game'. Each of the areas feels really big but it's also gated in natural ways that get unlocked as the story goes on, so you can't bum-rush the Crossroads and do literally everything the first time you're there, for example. In DAI, I would sometimes have to impose my own pacing to make sure that things flowed well for me, and I haven't needed to do that with DAV.

One thing that leaving the Fereldan/Orlais area did is really let us get to know a lot of mages who don't have the same sense of shame and self-hate that mages are taught in the Chantry of southern Thedas (or the even more extreme way they are treated by the Qunari!). We got hints of this approach in earlier games, but getting to dive more in-depth into several cultures who do not have the same "let's toss all the mages into prison" approach to magic that southern Thedas has has been very illuminating! Obviously we've always had exceptions like the Dalish clans, but they were very much depicted as deliberately on the outskirts of society, and going against the Chantry-defined norm.

And to contrast, in DAV, I recently had a long conversation with Emmrich on the potential merits of lichdom! Basically an unthinkable conversation in either Ferelden or Orlais. Nevarra doesn't burn their dead and they don't have such a deep fear of the dead, demons, or magic itself. And it really just to illustrate how much the oppression of mages that was so much at display in the Circles is just... nonexistent in places like Nevarra. The oppression is cultural and it's religious -- it's not actually something that's necessary to 'keep magic in check'. (which, yeah, is obvious from the outside, but always nice to have reinforcement from the actual games!)

I'm also watching a let's play of DAI on the side and the person just got to Solas and Cole's personal quests and, yeah, they resonant so hard after the additional Solas revelations in DAV. And it really does feel so much like DAV is in a strong conversation with DAI (as makes sense). Solas and Varric are talking about Cole but Solas is also talking about himself.

Varric: "A spirit who is strangely like a person!"

Varric: "He came into this world to be a person. Let him be one."

Solas: "We cannot change our nature by wishing it." Varric: "You think?"

Solas: "You would alter the essence of what he is." Varric: "He did that to himself when he left the Fade."

[if Cole is made more spirit]

Varric: "...could have been a person." Solas: "Would that have made him happier?"

Is Solas's endgame becoming a spirit again? Or has he experienced and changed too much? (would it make him happier? is that a desirable goal?) Is it all a matter of perspective? Cole approves of the Inquisitor's choice whether they make him more of a spirit or more human. I feel like Solas would lose a lot of himself if he became a spirit again, but maybe that's a matter of perspective too.

And then Solas's DAI quest is all about dealing with the damage of a Wisdom Spirit being corrupted against its purpose -- the same kind of Spirit that Solas once was. Wisdom vs Pride (but once you're a person and not a spirit, you can be filled with both at the same time).

DAV is really making me want to do another run of DAI, and take Solas literally everywhere, lol. But the conversation about spirits in the 'real' world didn't start there either -- it started back in DAO, with Wynne. It continued in DA2, with Anders. Both DAO and DA2 are more 'standard' than what we get in DAI with Cole, in the sense that they were possessing a body (though with permission) but it's still part of the same conversation.

But the conversation really did explode into something bigger in DAI, with Cole as a spirit who was with us without possessing a body, and with learning that being briefly possessed can reverse Tranquility (via Cassandra's quest). And now, with what had been confirmed in DAV, we know that a spirit that takes mortal form can, over the generations, become mortal, as that's what the ancient elves did, so Cole could have kids who were fully mortal, maybe. And Cole did it without using lyrium (and thus taking something from the Titans to fuel himself) -- at least as far as I understand.

I am also finding myself very curious about where humans come from -- we know that the ancient elves were once spirits; we know that the dwarves are fragments of the Titans. Where did humans come from? Evolution? Or is there a magical answer for them too? Is the Maker a spirit and/or Titan who created humans specifically?

(I think it's implied that Qunari were genetically/magically engineered in some way, and possibly crossbred with dragons somehow?? iirc DAI correctly)

I'm really looking forward to removing my filters on DA-related stuff and reading other people's thoughts. I've covered my eyes and clicked on posts a couple of times so far and have been rewarded by mostly getting fanart and not spoilers, lol. Mostly.

I genuinely have zero critiques of the game so far, if anyone was wondering if I was just holding some back or whatever. I like the quality of life changes they made to a lot of little things like companion banter; I never had an issue with the art style*; and I'm enjoying the story and characters as they unfold.

(*I know that was a big thing with a lot of people but, confession time: I genuinely can barely tell a difference between DAI and DAV's 'art style'. You can change Qunari hairstyles separate from horns now in the character creator? People walk less awkwardly than in DAI? The menus are purple instead of green? idk, maybe my brain just doesn't register whatever it is that makes DAV so different, art-wise?)

I also love that I can literally just throw myself at boxes to break them open to get materials. It's so satisfying. I have a griffon that I can pet. idk, I guess I'm just a simple girl with simple desires. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Looking forward to playing more this weekend!

Current progress note: a Dalish clan (at least one) has been kidnapped for potential blood sacrifices, so trying to rescue them is my next main quest. I'm about eighty hours into the game.

#dragon age #dav #dai #dragon age spoilers #dav spoilers #dragon age the veilguard #dragon age inquisition #my meta

21 notes · View notes

auroramoon-draws16 · 1 year ago

Text

My friend convinced me to get into Star Wars

Send help

(Warning: SPOILERS and I’m not THAT into it, so correct where you see fit)

Assassin’s Creed x Star Wars

But the Brotherhood is an ancient af group, as old or older than the og Jedi order, they’re so secretive and mysterious that not even the modern order are sure they exist. Kind of like a spooky myth?

The Force be like: “Brotherhood? What Brotherhood? I didn’t help make any Brotherhood!” We love a bad gaslighting bitch 💜

I think they’d be force users who pretty much do as their original universe do: “We work in the Dark to serve the Light.” All the tenants included.

Their sabers are small af and more blade-like, sort of like the darkblade, but crystal clear and emits very little light, they barely make any noise too. (Phantom Sabers? Maybe? That sounds cool, right?) The Assassins got the white hoods and shit too. Omfg they can finally do the Leap of Faith wherever they want! Fuck gravity! We have the fucking force!

As for Eagle Vision, I think you could pass it off as a force ability. Being able to sense feelings and danger is a thing already, so being able to do a large sweep and tag friend/foe would be a step above that. Also treasures. Like the grabby lil dragons our Assassin babies are. They need to be able to fund shenanigans on the fly, and not all of them have time to grab some from their reserves!

As for their role in the main Star Wars story, we got options:

Shoving Desmond into this shit because I can~

Desmond and his Team™️ investigate the Clone Wars shit, because the Brotherhood has always been against oppression and have been systematically wiping out slavery from several parts of the galaxy for a while now, so they would automatically get suspicious. (Clones? Meant for fighting?? For an entire republic??? With no rights of their own???? Idk man, that sounds sus. Oh and the Jedi don’t have a choice because there’s a whole ass war and it would be against their code not to do anything about it? And there’s an order to kill literally all of them at a moment’s notice? Alright, guess we’ll fix this ourselves!)

Des and the crew find the chips and save the Jedi from mass genocide. Maybe killing Palpatine, because fuck that guy.

Would they need to reveal the Brotherhood’s existence to have that happen? Probably not, but it could happen. Boy, wouldn’t that be interesting?

Also, clone shenanigans, because I love them sm

Especially Bad Batch and Domino Squad

And Rex and Cody

My poor babies

But: if the Brotherhood was weakened like in their og universe and they couldn’t investigate (lets say they were compromised by the Sith for a while before the clone wars)

+ Des was born a bit later

Time to aid the rebellion and face destiny!

(If you REALLY want to throw Des into bullshit, like I know you do: Time travel fix it fic with Luke, Leia, Han, and Desmond!)

(You may also include Mandalorian fun, because I also love the Mandos, my other babies <3 Mandalorian culture goes hard and the fics that include them have kidnapped surprise adopted me)

Y’all have fun, I’m tired ^_^💜

#assassin's creed #desmond miles #star wars #the clone wars #the prequels #idk enough about this shit #i’m winging it #the force #force bullshit this time #time travel shenanigans #the mandalorian #someone write a fic #crossover motherfuckers #obi wan kenobi is hot #desmond go flirt with him #add him to the harem #do it

82 notes · View notes

colourstreakgryffin · 2 years ago

Text

Yandere! Romantic! KNY Uzui Tengen Headcanons

This one with Tengen is honestly a bit rough and was a little hard to write for, but I hope it’s okay. Enjoy my glass angels!

Tengen as a romantic Yandere has the Yandere traits of; Delusional, Lovesick, Obsessive, Possessive, Overprotective, Romantic, Manipulative and Dramatic

If I’m being honest. Tengen would never be a “only you” Yandere since he has Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma, and him treating one new wife differently over his original three is unrealistic to his character so I made a compromise to make it better:

This is a very unique circumstance with the Sound Hashira himself. He is already married, not only married but married to three women. Why would he need a fourth wife? He doesn’t need four, but he wants four as he has eyes for the Ice Hashira, otherwise, you. You’re so bedazzling and jaw-dropping, it would be impossible to not fall for you on the spot

Tengen is a straightforward man with no insecurity and lots of confidence to back it up. He doesn’t fear to straight up tell you how he feels for you and insist you come over to his Estate for “training”

Tengen’s Yandere Traits begin very early, just like for his three wives and work in a pattern that extends to you as well; befriending, tricking, proposal, marriage then everything else and that everything else includes stealing away rights and preventing his love of choice from walking away from their marriage. He keeps his wives trapped under his thumb in hopes they’ll love him back eventually

Tengen is very lovesick over his new love interest, just like Giyuu. You cloud over his head as much as Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma do and he can’t function properly without seeing you everyday. He becomes overwhelmingly emotional if you’re not by his side 24/7 and he would probably go berserk so just keep him under control. He needs to feed his lovesickness

Why are you ignoring him today? You were enjoying your visit yesterday! Did he do something wrong? No, he couldn’t have! He only has been loving you, he’s the most perfect husband! What is the problem?

In a matching style to Shinobu, Tengen is a trickster and manipulates you into visiting his Estate a lot more then one should. Forces you with witty wordplay to befriend his wives and prays that you’ll like the both the friendly faces and luxurious life enough to want to stay permanently. Tengen is a chronic manipulator that plays with your decisions and drags you wherever he wants, it’s not like you can fight back…

Tengen is the least aggressive and murderous Yandere of the Hashira Nonad as he is 1) very confident in his abilities to woo and keep you as his and 2) he values his loves’ happiness and positive view of him severely. Why ruin that by killing when it’s unnecessary? His threats will run away with their tail inbetween their legs just at the sight of him. Tengen can easily get whatever woman he wants but he doesn’t mind getting a bit scary to shoo away those annoying pigeons

His wives, Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma aren’t Yanderes but he is obsessed with them in the same way he is obsessed with you. Due to his extreme care for his wives, Tengen can’t do the lot that the other Yandere Hashira can; the main being kidnapping. Even though, his three spouses are scared of him, they’d be desperate to escape if they caught him kidnapping you. Tengen doesn’t want to lose all three of his wives for one, no matter how obsessed he is

Tengen regularly proposes to you and the phrase “regularly” means EVERY. SINGLE. DAY and each of your rejections just flow past his head. You’re rejecting him because you’re not ready for that type of commitment and that’s okay! He can wait! He knows you like him, you’re just nervous about getting married.

He just can’t see that you’re not interested in him because he frightens you with how needy-pushy he is. Even if his wives are very kind and all, you don’t want to be around Tengen

Though, he won’t keep waiting as overtime, he eventually forces you to accept his proposal through emotion manipulation and subtle bribery. You have no choice, you’re gonna become the fourth Uzui wife against your will in front of Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma in the Sound Estate

Tengen is the most romantic Yandere ever. He gifts you the prettiest roses, the shiniest jewellery, the silkiest kimonos all the time to express his intense affection. He embraces you, gives loving kisses, tends to your injuries as much as he can. He doesn’t think it’s over-the-top or unnecessary as to him, you deserve being spoiled with all the most beautiful luxury

Like how he is with his wives, Tengen is overprotective over you. In all means; during conversation, during battle. You don’t need to talk to anybody but him and his wives, they are your true friends, the only people you should ever rely on. You don’t need to battle demons anymore, Tengen can provide enough money and protection for you, just stay with him!

Tengen is extremely dramatic in his temper fits. He wants your love, your attention, your affection and he throws a massive flashy hissy fit over you giving it to anybody else. He mainly uses guilt and emotion-means to manipulate you into averting your affections to him

“How could you, Dokusha?! Aren’t we the closest?! I can’t believe you’d pick a floozy over me, I’m the best catch! Do you even like me?! You have torn out my heart and stomped on it! I will forever be in pain for this stunt! You’re giving other people the attention they don’t deserve! Look at me! I’m so much better!”

Tengen is hella delusional like goddamn! You aren’t frightened nor disturbed by his obsessive nature, you’re flattered by how much he cares for you! He doesn’t let any insults, begging for freedom or outrages you throw at him process, you’re just moody from that injury you got recently. You could straight-up punch Tengen for trying to hug you and he would happily go back for a second hug, his brain scrambling to explain to him that you don’t mean anything harmful

Tengen is possessive and obsessive over his three wives and his fourth soon-to-be-wife. You have his last name, it means you now belong to him and only him. You don’t need your friends, you don’t need your old family, you just need him and the girls, you’re safe from those vile demons and he’ll confide to all the needs he knows about to make you happy as every Yandere Hashira will do.

He loves decorating your Kimono in the flashiest gemstones as he forcefully cradles you in his big lap and gives you kisses all over as you hold in your disgust. You don’t want this manipulative monster anywhere near you

He lured you into his trap by acting like a confident, playful ally-to-dear friend and then his little choppers snapped. He kept twisting your head until you said yes to his aggressive requests. All he does is hurt you but he won’t recognise it as he is blinded by his unhealthy passion for you

Even though you’re stuck in this garbage situation, just having the caring Hinatsuru, Makio and Suma there makes you feel so much more safer as they will defend you from Tengen as much as they can. Rather you, as a Hashira, be stronger than all three of them, they are fellow manipulated victims of Tengen’s twisted love circle and will help you through it so maybe, this new life won’t be so bad

Really, Yandere Tengen is somewhat the most like usual Tengen, he just spams the manipulation like crazy so he make sure you’ll stay in his Estate then he can love you to drown away everything nasty he did to your head

“A-Ah, look, Lord Tengen. She is quite pleased with her kimono”

“See that smile, Lord Tengen! Our lovely Dokusha is thrilled for the wedding!”

“She looks so pretty! Don’t you like what we did, Lord Tengen? We made sure it’s perfect!”

“You’re so beautiful, my love! Words aren’t enough to show you how happy I am for you to be mine. My gorgeous ladies, you have done such a wonderful job! Our Dokusha is as flashy as us and I’m so proud of your hard work! Do enjoy this day, it’s gonna be the best of your life and everything beyond will be so flamboyant, it’ll outdo every firework out there”

#kimetsu no yaiba #demon slayer #anime and manga #uzui tengen #tengen uzui #yandere #yandere romance #yandere tengen uzui #kny hashira #sound hashira #yandere imagines #kny imagines #headcanons #polygamy #tengen x reader #uzui x reader #tengen uzui x reader #yandere headcanons

283 notes · View notes

taciturntraveller · 2 months ago

Text

Spine

What Laswell sees as an asset, Price sees as a liability. Lacking confidence in her abilities, the Captain puts Corporal Fairford to the test, pushing her strength and her morals to the very limit.

(A/N: So this one... is quite a bit longer than my previous fic, but I had fun writing it. I did consider breaking it down into multiple posts, but I decided to keep it as one cohesive unit because I felt like it flowed better. I hope you understand, and I hope you enjoy!)

Word count: 8,482

Warnings: Implied character death, threats of torture but no actual gore, swearing, canon typical violence

30th September, 2020 - Verdansk, Kastovia

In the quiet of the early morning, the Coalition’s makeshirt medbay is sparsely populated, with only a few patients and medical personnel milling about. Even so, the sharp smell of antiseptic still somehow lingers, causing Captain Price to wrinkle his nose in displeasure every so often, along with squinting his eyes in the bright fluorescent lighting. The facility that they’ve taken over in Verdansk is hardly a proper hospital, with darker concrete walls rather than clinical white ones, but the brightness is uncomfortable regardless.

He stands just in the doorway, leaning against the wall with his arms folded, as he eyes two of his teammates on the other side of the room. One is Gaz, who sits on a collapsible bed with one knee raised and a bandage being wrapped securely round the area underneath it. He’d caught a bullet to the leg during a skirmish with Al-Qatala, but fortunately he was otherwise in one piece. Gaz himself seems to be taking it in stride, smiling easily as Price watches his mouth move to converse with his present company.

Said company, who is their other, and newest teammate. Corporal Maria Fairford sits in a chair next to the bed, carefully wrapping the bandages and smiling as she listens to Gaz talk. At one point she lets out a laugh, light and free, at something he says. She must be saying something chastising back, because Gaz promptly looks mockingly offended.

Price tilts his head and frowns slightly as he watches. Fairford is hardly what he expected, and admittedly not what he had wanted. When Laswell had approached him about the idea of adding a medic to the team, he had initially refused, citing the team’s ability to perfectly take care of themselves, thank you very much. But then Ghost had caught wind of Laswell’s musings, and had apparently found an old friend stationed in Verdansk while they searched for Zakhaev, and all of a sudden Price’s opinion was being challenged on two fronts. Two very stubborn fronts.

So here they were, giving a medic a chance.

Fairford is perfectly capable of taking care of herself, of course - she went through basic training the same as any other soldier. He knows she was in Verdansk during Makarov’s attack back in April of last year, and despite receiving several burns, she persisted in taking care of both soldiers and civilians, her determination to help the wounded not held back by her own injuries. Or, at least, that’s how her previous Lieutenant so eloquently put it.

But Price is a man who prefers to see things for himself, and it’s not her skills that he’s questioning. It’s her heart.

“Ye wanted to see me, sir?”

Speaking of which. Price turns his head to glance towards a familiar Scottish accent, and watches Soap settle beside him, his eyes briefly tracking Fairford before turning his full attention to his Captain. It’s hardly a secret that Soap has been paying a little more attention to their new medic than his other teammates, and as long as it isn’t compromising the mission, Price has been content enough to ignore it. Now, however, it poses an opportunity.

He motions with his head towards the scene at the other end of the room. “What’s your opinion on Corporal Fairford?” He asks plainly, as if it’s nothing more than casual conversation and not a means of reading the situation.

Soap looks back again at the Corporal, and Price sees something soft flicker briefly in his eyes, before he promptly steels himself. He shrugs nonchalantly, “She’s… capable,” he offers.

Price raises an eyebrow at the simplicity of the statement. “Capable?”

“She’s a good medic. She’s calm under pressure, she knows what she’s doing, and she knows when not to take our shit. I think she’s a good fit.”

“That all?”

Soap looks back at him, his expression narrowing, knowing what he’s implying and silently challenging him to say anything. “Don’t know what ye mean, sir,” he states flatly. His demeanour then changes to one of curiosity, raising an eyebrow of his own, “Ye got doubts?”

Oh, he has doubts alright. Fairford has already expressed a lack of desire to do anything harmful to their enemies - the only reason she carries a gun is for last resorts, and he knows damn well the only reason she let Ghost teach her how to properly use a knife was to help the Lieutenant feel better. She ensured the survival of an interrogated Al-Qatala operative back in June, although he’s not sure how long that worked out for the guy. The point was, despite her skills, she thought with her heart more than her head.

Price built the 141 to do what others couldn’t, or wouldn’t do. He needs to be sure that his team can work effectively in any situation. More importantly, he needs to be sure none of them will become a liability of any kind.

He needs to test her.

And using his team as imagined consequences will have to do. He did consider using a family member of hers, but that had turned out to be harder than expected. Her father is out of the question - Admiral Fairford is a force to be reckoned with on a good day, and Price knows with confidence that the old man would sooner take his own life than allow himself to be captured, if he was kept in the dark about the plan. And if he wasn’t, there was no way he’d ever agree to traumatising his daughter like that. Not to mention the annoyance that would rain down on them if he found out she was associating with them at all.

Another laugh draws his attention back to reality, as he watches Gaz animatedly tell a story of some kind, and Fairford listens with a soft look in her eyes.

She’s already attached. That’s good enough for him.

“I need you to do me a favour,” Price tells Soap.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The helicopter flies low over the centre of Verdansk, as Maria looks out of one of the small windows at the metropolis below. The city has long since been evacuated, and the silence is filled only with the sounds of distant gunfire and explosions, and now the echoing, rhythmic beat of the rotors. Things look generally clear for now, but she knows full well that everything can change in a split second.

She glances away from the window and back to the rest of the 141, watching over them curiously as they ready themselves. With the temperature starting to lower, soldiers have taken to wearing thicker gear in an effort to stay warm, so they’re all clad in thermals and padded clothing. The extra weight across her body is taking some getting used to, but she figures it’s a lot better than hypothermia.

Gaz gives her a warm smile, soothing her nerves slightly, as Soap concentrates on his ammo count and Ghost watches the terrain pass by outside. Price, fortunately, has finished with the cigarette he’d been smoking for the duration of the flight, and focuses now on the fast approaching mission.

“Zakhaev’s been using the underground metro to avoid us,” he explains over the helicopter’s internal radio. “Farah’s reactivated the trains, so now we’re flushing him out. We’ll be working with the Marines to hit multiple stations at once. We start with the airport, then keep moving clockwise until we get lucky or regroup with the Demon Dogs.”

Maria takes a sharp intake of breath, but otherwise doesn’t respond. The last time she was at Verdansk airport, she ended up in the middle of an explosion, and almost got fast-tracked back home with a discharge. She still feels the prickling of a phantom pain on the right side of her body, the memory of flames clinging to her gear and skin seared into her brain. She subconsciously links her fingers together, trying not to draw attention to herself as Price continues.

“We’ll split into two teams. Gaz and I will head down to the station, Ghost and Soap will check the airport itself for any activity. Fairford, you stick with Ghost.”

“Copy.” She agrees, not entirely sure which option was worse - the memories that the airport would give her, or the enclosed environment of the underground station. At least she had someone covering her this time.

The helicopter tilts sharply as it drifts over the landing site, and eventually touches down with a much softer thud. The 141 are on their feet instantly, marching down the ramp with purpose and hitting the ground running. Maria makes sure to keep up with Ghost and Soap while Price and Gaz split off, heading towards the entrance of the metro. Eventually, the helicopter pulls away, its noise slowly disappearing into the distance, and quiet settles back into the area.

The group of three comes to settle on a small hill overlooking the airport, and Maria can see that once again, the runway and the buildings are in ruin, with smoke trailing up into the sky from multiple places. Evacuations had initially been focused on using the planes to ferry people away from Verdansk, but that hadn’t lasted too long in the wake of the Al-Qatala attacks. They did everything they could to help who they could, but sometimes she can’t help but feel it wasn’t enough.

“Looks clear so far,” Ghost mutters, lifting the scope of his rifle to his eye to get a better look at their surroundings.

“Might be out of luck here,” Soap laments, “Might be more action at one of the other stations.”

“Stop hoping to get yourself into trouble,” Maria chastises him quietly, leaning into distracting herself from the past. Soap glances back at her, the corner of his mouth raised.

“What, you don’t fancy patchin’ me up?”

“Let’s move,” Ghost interrupts before she can give Soap any backtalk. She frowns slightly, noting his lack of snarking right back at them like he normally would, but she figures he’s just particularly focused on this mission. It’s not an unusual thing.

They move across what remains of the runway, passing broken planes and abandoned airport vehicles, making their way closer to the main terminal building. Soap covers the rear while Ghost makes his way towards a fire escape, slowing down as he reaches out to grasp the handle and slowly edge it open. He leans inside, checking the hallways, before moving further in.

“Clear,” he notes, and they make their way inside.

As they come into the centre of the check-in area, now lifeless compared to the usual hustle and bustle, Maria finds that she remembers these surroundings vividly as she slows down slightly and looks around. They had set up a triage area here, assessing the wounded from the stadium attack and evacuating as many as they could. Even now, she hears the cries of pain and distress echoing, smells the faint scent of burning flesh and medical chemicals.

She remembers the orange flash of light, the shockwave slamming into her chest and knocking her to the ground, the searing pain on her arm and leg-

“Ye alright?” Soap’s voice cuts through the noise, and Maria blinks, focusing on his concerned expression. She takes a deep breath and nods.

“I’m good,” she assures him. He doesn’t look too certain, but he doesn’t continue the discussion further.

Ahead of them, she sees that Ghost is also glancing towards her, but she knows he has more of an idea of what’s affecting her. Still, they can’t let it compromise the mission.

“We need to sweep through this building and make sure Zakhaev isn’t here,” he determines, looking down the hallway towards the East wing of the building. “We’ll start this way and-”

Everything happens far quicker than Maria can process. She only just registers the crack of a bullet slamming through the large glass windows that look out onto the runway, and cannot comprehend the sight of Ghost crumpling to the floor in a heap, his eyes now out of focus and staring up at the sky.

In an instant, the whole world has lost meaning. Her body seizes and her thoughts vanish. Nothing else exists apart from the depiction of her own failure that lies in front of her. She stares at his body with wide, horrified eyes.

She broke her promise. She failed him. He’s dead. He’s dead he’s dead he’s dead-

“Get down!” Once again, it’s Soap’s voice pulling her back into focus, as he slams into her and pushes her down to the ground, moving her towards the nearby waiting area seats as a form of cover. Confronted with the reality of the situation, Maria’s training kicks in, and she looks past the seats as much as she dares to get sight on Ghost again.

“I need to get to him!” She cries out, already grabbing her medical pack and looking for bandages to try and stem the bleeding, adamantly pushing away the gnawing truth.

“We can’t move until we know how many there are!” Soap tells her firmly, raising himself up to lean his own weapon on the back of one of the seats to look through the scope and find himself a target.

But she can’t sit here. She can’t leave Ghost to lie there and rot. She has to try something. Scrambling to lower herself, she army crawls across the floor towards him, praying to God that whoever is shooting at them isn’t able to get a good sight on her.

“Maria! Christ-!” She hears Soap yell at her, but he’s interrupted by another shot piercing the glass, the bullet whizzing through the air above them. His footsteps sound against the marble flooring as he moves to catch up with her, firing out of the window in the direction of the shots to cover her. She edges closer to Ghost, reaching out to drag herself closer to him…

The sound of a door slamming open sends a chill down her spine. Another, much closer gun fires, and she hears Soap cry out and drop to the floor. She looks back in panic, watching him grasp at his side. From the left, she sees a man clad in all black, with his face hidden by a balaclava, stalks towards him, gun raised to fire again.

“No!” Maria launches up from her stomach, trying to make her way towards him, but someone grabs her from behind, locking their arm around her neck and restraining her. “Get the hell off me!”

“You fuckin’ bastard, I’ll-!” Soap snarls, but is cut off by the butt of the man’s gun slamming into the side of his head, causing him to fall to the ground again. Maria desperately struggles to free herself from the grip of whoever is behind her, but she can’t get loose.

Something sharp then pierces the side of her neck, and for one horrific moment she thinks her throat’s been sliced. She is quickly proven wrong, however, when the world starts to blur and her body feels heavier than usual. Sedative, she manages to think as her thoughts become sluggish and her resistance slows. She tries to cling to consciousness, tries to focus on Soap and Ghost. She can’t leave them here like this. She can’t…

But she’s not strong enough, and everything fades away into darkness.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first thing that hits her is the cold. Even before Maria is fully conscious, her body starts shivering, dragging her quicker to her senses. She blinks slowly, trying to process what had happened and what was going on now.

After the cold, she notes the tight feeling of rope around her wrists, binding her to the chair she’s now sat on, with her ankles tied to the wooden legs. She feels bare - she’s been stripped of most of her gear, leaving her in her thermal under-layer, which offers little protection in the face of the bare concrete room that she’s found herself in. She has no idea where she is, but she knows immediately that it’s nowhere good.

Her eyes widen as she’s hit with the memories of earlier. The surprise attack. Soap being knocked to the ground. Ghost. So many things had happened in such a short amount of time, and she feels her chest tightening as she tries to comprehend them. How could something like this have happened? How could everything have gone so wrong so quickly?

What would happen next?

As her vision clears, Maria catches a welcome sight - Soap, seated opposite her and tied up just the same, is leaning towards the back of the chair, presumably trying to free himself. She scans him quickly for injury, seeing no initial signs of the bullet he’d caught, and feels relieved that he’s at least still alive.

“Soap,” she breathes.

He glances back immediately, his eyes wide in concern. “Maria!” he exclaims quietly, “You’re alright?”

“I think so.” She doesn’t feel any kind of soreness that would indicate a wound, so she assumes she’s in one piece. She moves on to taking stock of their surroundings. “Where are we?”

“Not sure,” he admits with a frustrated growl, shifting his arms to try one last time to free himself before accepting temporary defeat, “but Price and Garrick will know we’re missin’. We just need to hold out until they figure out where we are.”

Maria grimaces at that. Neither of them know exactly who had taken them, whether it was Al-Qatala members or someone else entirely. They also didn’t know if these people knew who they were, or what knowledge they had. Regardless of the intel they’d gathered, they would probably want more, and from what she’s seen of the 141’s work so far, there was only one way that that went.

She had no idea if she was ready. Or strong enough.

Soap seems to register her reservations, because he leans his head forward and talks to her quietly and gently. “Listen, just let me do the talkin’, alright? Don’t say anything.”

“Soap-” she protests, but he shakes his head.

“It’s what we train for. Let me handle it.”

Maria may not like it, but he’s right. Resistance to interrogation is part of the process for the SAS, so he’ll be a lot more resilient than she is. She links her fingers together behind her back, fidgeting nervously. All they have to do is hold out until Price and Gaz find them. The two would be looking high and low, and they wouldn’t stop. Everything would be fine. Unlike…

Her face screws up in sorrow as she remembers the one they’d left behind. “Ghost,” she whispers desperately. “Did you… is he…?”

But Soap’s expression is uncertain, his lips pressed together. “I don’t know,” he tells her softly. Maria squeezes her eyes shut and lowers her head, still trying to deny what her eyes had seen.

She had promised him, in a run down hospital in Urzikstan, that she would be there if he needed her. She had told him, from a makeshift medbay in Verdansk after the airport explosion, that he needed to look after himself.

And suddenly he was gone.

Her grief is cut short by the sound of the door to the room slamming open, causing her to jump in surprise. Three men walk into the room, all clad in black with balaclavas covering their faces. One closes the door behind them and remains standing guard in front of it. The second moves to lean against the right side wall, standing at an equal distance between her and Soap with his arms folded. The third approaches from her left, strolling as if contemplating the situation, then throwing his hands up in greeting.

“Look at this!” He declares, a thick Russian accent lining his voice. “Two guests from afar, out for a walk in Verdansk.” His arm lowers as he casts his gaze between his two captives, and Maria tenses in discomfort at recognising how he looks at them like pieces of meat. “Is a little dangerous, no?”

Soap doesn’t say anything, only glaring at the man in response, and she keeps her mouth shut too, as per his request. The man paces a little closer to Soap, tilting his head at him.

“I know you,” he remarks, pointing a finger casually, “from the Taskforce that has been sniffing at Zakhaev’s trail. The explosive one. The wild one. Did Captain Price let you off your leash?”

“Fuck yerself, ye scum,” Soap growls, and the man tuts in response. He then turns his head to Maria, causing her to stiffen further. Fortunately, his eyes seem to narrow in confusion.

“You, I don’t know,” he admits. Well, thank God for small mercies. “We found little red cross on your gear. A medic, да? Did the 141 go so soft so quickly?”

She scowls at that, a comment of her own on the tip of her tongue, but she keeps it to herself. She needs to stick to whatever Soap is planning, although she suspects there’s not too much there right now. Her eyes cast briefly to the other two men in the room. She would say it was two against three, but it’s basically one against three with her lack of proper hand to hand combat training. Ghost’s knife training only worked if she could actually get hold of a knife, and that was unlikely right now.

Undeterred by her silence, the man straightens to his full height, and withdraws something from the back of his waist. Maria swallows thickly as she sees the silver glint of a revolver, the man regarding it for a moment before opening the chamber, giving it a quick spin, then slamming it shut again.

“This is very simple,” he tells them, “You will tell me what Captain Price knows about Zakhaev and Al-Qatala, and you will give me his whereabouts… and I will let you both go.”

… And that was just as unlikely. Maria exchanges a glance with Soap, and he narrows his eyes in determination. He’s not going to give anything up. She has to do everything in her power to make sure that she doesn’t either.

But the man then strolls towards her, just as casually as he’d made his entrance. “Let’s start with you, Sergeant.” And then, the cold of the room is immediately outmatched by the shock of the muzzle pressing against the side of her temple. She can’t help the barely restrained hum of terror that escapes despite her firmly closed lips.

Soap’s reaction is immediate, pulling against his restraints as he speaks, “Get the fuck away from her!”

“I will count to three,” the man answers without remorse, and she hears the click of the hammer as the weapon is armed. Maria’s eyes widen, her breathing quickens, and despite everything she struggles desperately with her wrists, hoping that somehow the ropes will just drop loose.

“I swear to God, I’ll rip yer fuckin’ throat out!” Soap snarls, though through his anger she can see the hints of uncertainty starting to emerge.

She can’t let him do that. She’s terrified, she doesn’t want to die, but she can’t let him break. Not for her.

“One.”

“It’s okay,” she assures him, though everything is quite the opposite.

“Two.”

Soap presses his lips together, a mixture of frustration and regret colouring his face. “I can’t…” he starts, but she shakes her head.

“I know,” she whispers, “It’s okay.”

“Three.”

She squeezes her eyes shut, hoping that Soap will look away, hoping that he won’t see what remains of her-

Click.

Suddenly the world shifts back into focus, and her eyes snap open, frowning in confusion. The man laughs, removing the muzzle from her skin and walking away from her.

“You are familiar with Russian Roulette, yes?” He asks, and she blinks, taking a moment to comprehend his words. After a moment, she releases the breath she was holding, trying to focus on getting oxygen back into her lungs and calming herself down.

But this isn’t over. Now, the man has his sights set on Soap, and a pit falls in her stomach. “Well, if you don’t have anything to say,” the man continues… and then raises the gun to press against Soap’s head instead, “perhaps the little bird does.”

Maria’s eyes widen in horror, rendered motionless at the sudden reversal of the situation. Everything had been far more simple when it was her life on the line. Now, she had Soap’s life in her hands. A far contradiction to how quickly Ghost’s life had been taken from her. She looks between the two men, unable to think clearly.

“Don’t say anything,” Soap says firmly, but that only causes the man to push the muzzle harder into the side of his head.

“If you don’t speak, he dies,” the man states.

Maria shakes her head rapidly. She can’t tell him what she knows, but she can’t stay quiet and let Soap take all of the heat like that. “I don’t know anything,” she protests.

“One.”

“I don’t, I swear! I’m just a medic, they don’t tell me anything!”

“Two.”

Flashes of Ghost’s body hitting the ground plague her mind. She can’t handle that happening again, not to another member of the team that she’s supposed to be looking after. Tears prick at the corners of her eyes, trying to think of something that will pacify the man.

She can’t say anything. She can’t. But she can’t watch him die-

“Three.”

Click.

Oh Christ. Maria inhales a breath of relief. Even if they’re still going, at least Soap remains alive for a little longer. The longer they can hold out, the better chance Price and Gaz will have of finding them.

Price and Gaz will find them. Everything will be fine.

“Think yer so tough?” Soap berates the man as he walks back towards her. “Let me out of this fuckin’ chair, I’ll tear ye a new one!”

The muzzle is back against her temple again, but Maria is calmer this time. As long as the gun is on her, then it’s not on Soap. If only one of them can walk out of here today, she needs to make sure that it’s him. Her job is to look after them, whatever that results in. She straightens her back, furiously blinking away the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.

She will not look weak in front of these men.

“Once more,” the man sighs, looking towards Soap, “tell me what Price knows about Zakhaev’s operations. Tell me where he is.”

Soap presses against his restraints. The scowl on his face is angry but desperate. All of his training is keeping him in check just as much as the ropes binding him, and it’s clear that he’s struggling with the weight of what’s required.

“One.”

She offers him a smile, trying to reassure him again that it was okay. He needed to stay quiet. He needed to let her go.

“Two.”

“I’ve got nothin’ to say to ye-”

Click.

Maria jumps as she hears the trigger being pulled, and Soap’s eyes widen in surprise at the action. The man stands up straight, stalking towards Soap with a new sense of annoyance. Her smile falls as she watches him, panicking again. This wasn’t how things were supposed to go.

“I am tired of this,” the man growls out, and presses the revolver to Soap’s head again as he looks at her, “You only have a few chances left, little bird. Tell me what I want to know.”

She’s hyperventilating now, acutely aware that the more the trigger of the revolver is pressed, the higher the chances of Soap dying in front of her. For months, she has gotten to know the 141, gotten attached to each of them in their own unique ways. Now, she has lost one and is potentially about to lose another. Confessing all she knows might save him…

“One.”

… but there’s a higher likelihood that it won’t. Either she will die and the 141 will be put in danger, or Soap will die with the same result, and the added consequence of Price viewing her as a traitor, and whatever punishment will come with that declaration.

And Ghost…

“Two.”

She can’t forsake Ghost’s memory like that. She can’t break Soap’s trust like that. She has to be strong. She has to be brave.

“I don’t know anything,” she says at last, barely a whisper, “I don’t know anything-”

BANG.

Maria feels her chest crack open, but not from any bullet. She watches as a flash of white explodes from the muzzle of the revolver, and Soap’s head drops, his entire body going lax in his restraints. She stares at the scene before her, everything else fading into nothingness. He’s just… gone. Executed without a care. Two of the people she valued, ended without remorse.

Air barely manages to make it into her tightened lungs as she sobs brokenly, “No! No!”

Her head falls as she closes her eyes tightly, crying loud as her shoulders shake with every desperate breath. In the span of a day, it feels like she has lost most of her life. The people she cared for, the people that trusted her to look after them… she’d failed them. She hadn’t protected them. She hadn’t brought them home.

She never should have been assigned to this team. Without her presence, they wouldn’t have had more to worry about. They might still be alive.

Footsteps echo closer towards her, slow and purposeful. A hand grasps her chin and points her head back upwards, forcing to stare into the eyes of Soap’s killer. He looks… curious, as if considering her. What more does he want? She has nothing to offer him anymore. Of the two of them, he killed the one that would actually have the answers he wanted.

Maria scowls at him through her teary vision. She has nothing left to say. She has nothing left to lose.

“Alright, that’s enough.”

Everything comes screeching to a halt. She knows that voice. Her eyes widen and her jaw drops as she registers the man that’s leaning against the wall, who has just spoken in a very distinct and familiar British accent.

The man stands up straight, pulls off his balaclava… and sure enough, reveals the impassive expression of Captain Price.

Maria stares at him, unable to comprehend what’s happening. The man in front of her releases her chin and takes a step back, and the man by the door steps forward, pulling off his own mask to reveal the much less impassive, much more trepid expression of Gaz. He puts his hands up in surrender as he approaches her.

“For the record, this wasn’t my idea,” he confesses, before moving behind her to start untying the ropes that are still restraining her.

She doesn’t have anything to say, bewildered by everything, even when the third man pulls off his mask to reveal someone she doesn’t recognise - a man with slicked back black hair and a nervous expression of his own.

Price motions towards the man, “Corporal Fairford, meet Nikolai,” he introduces, as if they’re merely meeting at a social gathering, and nothing in the past 24 hours has happened, “He’s our pilot, and a very good friend.”

“It is good to meet you, Corporal,” Nikolai says carefully, “I am sorry about the… circumstances.”

Maria finally closes her mouth, shutting her eyes to take a long, deep breath to calm herself and rearrange her thoughts. She stays silent for a moment, replaying everything over in her head, and coming to the slow realisation that everything had been a lie. Everything had been an elaborate setup. A game, almost. Once she feels the rope fall slack, she brings her hands to her lap, balling her fists.

“This was…” she starts, but is unable to find the words.

“This was a test,” Price clarifies, “I needed to know how you’d do in a situation like this.” He pauses, tipping his head in apparent acknowledgement of her performance. “To be fair, you did well. Kept your mouth shut. Passed with flying colours.”

A test. Being sedated and kidnapped was a test. Being strapped to a chair and stripped of her gear was a test. Being threatened with a gun to her head was a test. Watching her teammates die was a test-

Wait a minute.

Maria’s gaze promptly snaps towards Soap… who is now sat up straight again, perfectly alive, and looking at her with a guilty expression. She stares at him, just now realising that in her state of grief, she hadn’t even noticed that there was no blood, no gore, no hole in the side of his head.

… Had there been blood when Ghost had been shot? Had she been so blindsided by the situation that she hadn’t even looked for something so basic?

Her breathing threatens to quicken again, but she steels herself. Part of this is shameful - she’s a goddamn medic and she didn’t even register the lack of blood from either Ghost or Soap. She’d been so swept up in her failures that she’d missed all the little hints that something wasn’t right. The lack of emblems on the masked soldiers. Sedating her, rather than just killing her since she was only a medic and couldn’t possibly be of interest. Bits and pieces come together to paint an entirely different picture.

She wants to tear them a new one. She wants to drop to her knees and sob. She wants to throw the stupid chair at the wall and shatter it to a million pieces. But her father’s words echo through her mind, and she sees him standing proudly on the bridge of his vessel as he tells her about his way of life.

Never let them see you break.

Maria takes another deep breath, and moves to stand up. “Am I dismissed, sir?” She asks, glancing over at Price.

He seems briefly surprised by her statement, perhaps expecting more of an outburst. His expression quickly switches back to impassive, however, and he nods. “Affirm, you’re dismissed.”

Without missing a beat, Maria stalks towards the door. Soap’s gaze follows her, and he opens his mouth as if to say something, but she doesn’t give him chance. Fortunately, the door is unlocked, so she’s able to rip it open and then promptly slam it shut behind her, as she starts to head down the outside corridor.

She has no idea where they are. It looks like a warehouse of some kind, but clearly it hasn’t been used in a while - a thin layer of dust coats the desks that she passes, and cobwebs shift gently in the breeze that slips through broken windows. Her own footsteps are the only sound that echoes through the building, until eventually she forces her way through the main entrance.

She’s immediately greeted by a forest, with no other hints of civilisation nearby. So they’re not in central Verdansk. Great.

Maria raises her head to the sky, trying to focus on her breathing, but she can’t keep it steady. She lets out a desperate gasp for air, sinking to her hands and knees and gulping oxygen, her eyes wide and briefly unseeing. Everything kept replaying in her mind - Ghost, the revolver, the threats, Soap… and all of it was fake. All of it was made up and orchestrated by Price, as a means of testing her resolve and her commitment to the 141.

And he looked so goddamn passive about it.

Her fists clench, but she forces them to relax again as she brings herself up to her knees, taking in slow, purposeful breaths. Today had been awful… but it also hadn’t been real. She had been brought to the edge of what she thought she could handle, and she surpassed expectations, both Price’s and her own. That was what she needed to focus on - she had found strength she didn’t know she had. There was no reason to linger on things.

Bringing a hand to her face, she uses her thumb and finger to clear her vision of moisture, and as she refocuses on her surroundings, she notices a grey van parked a few metres away from where she had landed. That must’ve been what they used to bring her and Soap here. A thought occurs to her - if Soap had been in on this, had he been conscious the whole time? Had he sat in the back with her, watching to see if she woke up from her sedation?

Waiting to subtly alert Price?

She frowns slightly, considering the vehicle for a few moments.

… It would be petty. She’s not normally a petty person. But to be fair, they did put her through hell.

Mind made up, Maria pushes herself up to her feet, and walks straight towards the van. Her fingers reach out for the handle, and she’s pleasantly surprised to find that the vehicle is unlocked. Pulling the door open, she slides into the driving seat, closes the door behind her, and turns the keys in the ignition.

The engine fires to life, and she can feel the barest hints of the heater starting to kick into gear. She lets out a sigh of comfort, relishing the warmth even though she knows it’ll take some time to really warm up. Adjusting the gear lever, she puts her foot on the accelerator, and the van lurches forward, moving down the makeshift road that she can see ahead of her.

The surrounding trees are uniform, and there’s no obvious landmarks. How she’ll make it back to Verdansk, she doesn’t know, but for the moment she just needs to get away from everything that has happened. She needs to feel like she’s getting her own back somehow, even if it’s in a stupid way.

She’s been driving for only a couple of minutes when a low, gravelly voice sounds from the back of the van.

“So where are we going?”

“Jesus fuck.” Maria curses as she nearly jumps out of her skin. From behind her, the familiar presence of Ghost leans against her seat, his arm wrapping around the headrest leisurely. She briefly glances at him with a glare before returning her focus to the road. “So you’re fine, as it turns out.”

“Price figured you’d recognise me too easily, so I was the emotional trauma,” he remarks, sounding just as impassive as Price had. It irks her.

“I’ll trauma you in a minute,” she mutters darkly.

Ghost snorts in amusement, and she feels the motion of his shrugging against her seat. “This was always going to happen eventually, Maria. We needed to know how you’d handle it. You’re not trained for it like we are, so we need to know your limits.”

Part of her, begrudgingly, knows that he’s right. But she can’t help but protest anyway. “You didn’t need to do it like that.”

“That’s how things are. One of us could die today, or tomorrow, or next year. You can’t keep us in one piece forever.”

Maria’s grip on the steering wheel tightens at that suggestion. Keeping them in one piece is her job. Just because it can’t last forever, doesn’t mean she shouldn’t keep trying. It certainly doesn’t mean she should just stop caring, like some people seem to want her to. She’s here to patch them up. She’s not here to break them. The least they could do is try not to break her in turn.

“It’s not personal, Maria,” Ghost adds, his voice softening ever so slightly.

She lets out a sigh, her fingers relaxing and her eyebrows lifting back to a less frustrated appearance. For as much as she hates it all, this fiasco has taught her valuable lessons. It’s shown her the truth of what she’s signed up for, and it’s taught her that she’s still able to handle it regardless. She won’t admit that to Price, of course, but the guy definitely knows how to bring out a person’s real self.

They continue to drive in silence for a few moments, before she feels him leaning closer to her.

“Did you like my acting?”

The corner of Maria’s mouth twitches, but she refuses to allow it to show. “No,” she answers flatly.

Ghost tuts, “Everyone’s a critic.”

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Ghost had eventually persuaded her to let him drive, and soon enough they had made it back to Coalition headquarters in Verdansk. Now, Maria sits in the canteen, hiding in one of the back corners, nursing a mug of peppermint tea, breathing in the fumes of the drink and basking in the silence. She has picked her moment well - most of the operatives have cleared out to do some hunting within Verdansk itself, and she has this place to herself. She has time to think.

She replays the events once more, this time addressing what she had failed to do in certain moments. Not realising that there had been no blood was one thing, one incredibly basic thing. She had let herself be overwhelmed in the moment and had forgotten her training. She needed to make sure that didn’t happen again.

And perhaps next time, she can be a little more observant in other things, like checking their surroundings for enemy activity. She had put far too much reliance on Ghost and Soap for that.

Her thoughts are interrupted by the sound of footsteps, and she looks up, surprised to see the approaching figure of Gaz, holding a mug of his own and looking a little sheepish. It’s been an hour or two since she left them behind at that warehouse, so she figures they’ve pretty much only just made it back.

“Can I sit?” He asks.

Maria regards him for a moment, but then nods, and watches him as he slides into the seat opposite.

“Hope you didn’t mind me driving back,” she says, with just a hint of spite in her voice.

“We had a spare,” he confesses with a small smile. Well, at least they didn’t end up hypothermic in the middle of nowhere, she supposes.

She doesn’t really hold anything against him. He was just playing a part, and not even a main one at that. The other four men involved had all had roles to play, but Gaz had just been taken along for the ride. As much as his involvement at all should elicit some resentment, she can find none.

Gaz stares at his mug for a few moments, clearly contemplating what to say, before he takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry,” he finally admits, looking up at her earnestly.

She presses her lips together, nodding slowly. “Well, you’re the first one to actually say that,” she tells him, and he lets out a huff of a laugh.

“Yeah, that doesn’t surprise me.” He raises the mug to his lips, taking a quick sip of what is presumably regular English tea, and then continues once he has lowered it again. “I’m not gonna sit here and try to justify what we did. It wasn’t right… but…”

“It was necessary,” she finishes for him, softly and with an air of acceptance.

Gaz falls silent again, his fingers twitching slightly as he frowns to himself, seemingly grappling with something. Then, he speaks up again. “Last year, when I started working with Price for the first time, we were after a man from Urzikstan called the Wolf.”

Maria tilts her head in recognition. “Omar Sulaman.”

“You know about him?”

“I was stationed in Urzikstan a couple of years before all that went down,” she explains. “That’s where I met Ghost.”

He nods in understanding, “His second in command was Jamal Rahar. The Butcher.” He then narrows his eyes. “I watched him murder a kid, without remorse, in the US Embassy in Urzikstan, and I wanted to put him down for good. But we needed him alive because Al-Qatala had planted a bomb in Russia. So we caught him, and we brought him for interrogation.”

Maria watches him as she listens intently, noting the way the grip on his mug tightens before he carries on speaking, “Price and Nikolai… They brought in his wife and son. To persuade him.”

She stiffens at that, her eyes widening slightly. She’d known in advance that Price was the kind of man to push the boundaries of what was acceptable actions, but… this seemed excessive. To bring in civilians like that? To threaten them?

“Worked like a charm, obviously. I thought about killing him after we got what we wanted, but… after I saw his kid I just…” Gaz shakes his head, glancing away.

After taking a moment to process things, Maria reaches across the table and gently lays a hand across his wrist. He looks back at that, and smiles slightly in response. He then takes another breath, and meets her eyes.

“So believe me,” he tells her, “I do get how you feel.”

She nods slowly in response, and gives him a sympathetic look. “And you stayed.”

Gaz tilts his head in acknowledgement. “I wanted to take the gloves off. I wanted to fight back properly, and make sure bastards like that didn’t get away with anything. And then it happened, and I got blood on my hands. But… I figured I could still do some good here.” He then smiles reassuringly. “I think you can too.”

Her hold on his wrist briefly tightens, before she releases it and draws her hand back, mulling over his words. As morally questionable as the 141 may be at times, she did understand that they were doing some good in the middle of all the bad. As Soap had said a few months ago, someone had to get dirty to keep the world clean.

In spite of everything, she wants to keep looking after them too.

“Corporal,” a voice calls from the doorway. Maria looks up to see Price, once again with an unreadable expression on his face. Time to face the music, it seems.

She takes one last sip of her tea, then gets to her feet, laying a hand briefly on Gaz’s shoulder, which he pats in response. She moves towards Price, regarding him with an even expression of her own.

“Sir,” she greets calmly.

Price moves his hands to grasp at the sides of his tactical vest, taking a moment to breathe in before he speaks, “Listen, I know you’re upset, but this wasn’t personal-”

“I’m not upset, Captain,” she interrupts, keeping her tone steady, “I understand your point of view perfectly. You had concerns, and you addressed them.”

He raises an eyebrow at the simplicity of her words, clearly expecting something else. He then nods slowly, “Well, as long as we’re clear on that-”

“I do think you have an expectation of how things are going to go, however, and I would like to address that.”

That’s definitely more in line with what he expected, and he folds his arms as both his eyebrows now raise. “Oh?”

“I know the kind of team that you run, and the beliefs you have in yourself, in them, and in the world,” she states. “You’ve taken promising individuals and you’ve made them into something more. But I am not here to be anything more than I am. I am a medic. I am here to fix your injuries and ensure you make it home in one piece. I am not here to do any breaking, and I am certainly not here to be broken down and made anew. You can try your best, but all you are going to be is disappointed, and I will still be here patching you up, whether you like it or not.”

There is a lengthy, tense pause, and for a moment Maria thinks she has severely overstepped. She had tried to keep her composure, but she needed to get her point across, regardless of whether it was a breach of the chain of command. The consequences did not weigh as much as her determination.

Then, Price’s lips form a smirk, his eyes sparkling with something like mirth. He nods in approval. “Keep that spine, Corporal,” he tells her, “You’ll need it in this business.” And with that, he turns and walks off down the corridor.

She releases a breath of relief, glad that she’s cemented her opinions and still maintained her place. But as Price walks away, she catches sight of another man further away, looking at her with a familiar mix of uncertainty and regret.

Soap.

Price seems to mutter something to him as he passes, and Soap’s expression tightens. He clearly wants to say something, but he isn’t quite sure how to go about it. Maria doesn’t move as he locks eyes with her again and strolls forward carefully, as if approaching a frightened animal. He opens his mouth, then closes it, then tries again.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, and she softens slightly, until he then goes and ruins it, “It wasn’t personal-”

She sighs, shaking her head. “God, if one more person tells me ‘it wasn’t personal’, I’m gonna lose my mind,” she hisses, and starts to turn away.

“No, wait,” Soap protests, and she feels his hand grasp hold of hers. She pauses, surprised at the contact, looking back and seeing how their fingers interlock together. This is the first overt kind of move he’s made. She’s upset with him, yes, but… she finds herself liking the way his hand feels in hers, gripping gently but firmly. His skin is rough, calloused, but reassuring.

She could get used to it. Someday.

He follows her gaze, and blinks at the sight of his own actions, releasing her and instead gripping his tactical vest, as if to keep his hand distracted. He does eventually get back on his train of thought. “I didn’t mean it like that. I just…” he huffs in frustration, struggling to find the right words. “It wasn’t meant to hurt you. I didn’t do it to hurt you.”

Maria frowns at him, wanting to forgive him for going along with Price’s orders but unable to get the image of his dead body out of her head. It still feels like a personal failure, even if it wasn’t real. It feels like she lost something, even when she’s not sure if she had it to begin with.

“I thought you were dead,” she explains quietly, “and I don’t think you understand that.”

Soap looks down guiltily. The silence stretches long enough, with neither of them able to properly express what’s on their minds. She can’t stand here like this. She turns away from him, walking in the opposite direction, seeking something to take her mind off things.

In truth, she will forgive him. Eventually. She’ll forgive them all, really.

That’s just who she is.

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

Tagging: @socially-awkward-skeleton

#taci's fics #oc: maria fairford #long fic #i am frazzled but i had fun with this one :D

13 notes · View notes