#new hawke incoming

[inquisimer]

witch hunt DONE which means I can finally queue up my new run of da2 tomorrow!!! I loved redoing nika's playthrough but this is what it was all about 😤😤

[cashmere-caveman]

from Hawk by Franz Wright

[fudgechocolatepuff]

a lovebirds bloom! (pumpkin pie edition) pt.ii🍁

keigo t. x fem. reader | wholesome fluff :)

pt.i of a lovebirds bloom , pt.iii of a lovebirds bloom

sneak peek ➸ you bump into the winged hero again in the fall season by chance, but neither of you two mind.

word count : 2.6k

Brisk air flew over your face upon wiping the window for the -mpth time today.

Although you carefully scrubbed at the glass to rid it of any visible blemishes left from the busy workday, the window remained foggy, dewy droplets sticking from the outside and obscuring your view of the street beyond. 

The sky above was nothing short of clear, the stars twinkled from above in contrast to the darkening of the blue sky, now a navy-black colour. 

In response to the sudden draft drawn in from the decreasing temperatures outside, your fingers wrapped around the end-loops of your scarf and pulled, tightening its hold on your neck in hopes of trapping the heat there. 

If only the small window tucked in the back would close all the way instead of inviting a day-lasting breeze to nip at the tips of every customer’s ears.

Aside from the chill air that bit at the tips of your fingers, you grew more satisfied looking over the decor that you were tasked to put up, just in time for the incoming autumn season. 

No matter for what season you decorated for, the warm-toned paint of light cafè brown matched every occasion. 

This time—since you were put in charge of the aesthetics of the shop—you made sure that the festivity of the harvest-halloween period would radiate more than the past years’ decorations, and draw in more customers!

Perhaps, if you tried hard enough, you could draw back the attention of the winged hero.

You shook your head to snap yourself out of that ridiculous fantasy. 

Okay—sure, you missed the interaction exchanged between you and the hero, but you doubted he’d ever come back, let alone acknowledge the tension he’d left behind when he dashed through the doors that spring morning. 

It was embarrassing! Being stuck up on a menacingly short conversation was not of your character, especially as it was confined in your professional workspace. 

But you couldn’t deny, he teased and teased your little talk together, leading himself on to flirt and flatter you. Hell, you even let him enamor you, blushing at every comment he made about you. 

“He was a hero though, of course he’d do a bit of romancing, that was his way of making talk with any woman around his age!” you reminded yourself, the pride that resided in your heart shrinking to embarrassment. 

After letting yourself stare at the wall and ponder whether you should quit your job and start a new life in Europe, you continued your ritual of turning off each lamp scattered throughout the shop, appreciating the orange-ish glow it reflected onto the fresh stock of pumpkins and giving the space a homely fall ambience. 

You retrieved your coat that hung on the teensy wooden rack, slipping it through your arms as the tired began to rush into your body. 

Hanging your bag over your shoulder, you stepped toward the double doors, not before letting your nails glide past and tap against each of the candles, a subtle waft of vanilla-pumpkin flowing through your senses.  

You snatched a candle to take home, just as a souvenir, you’d pay it back tomorrow. 

Flipping over the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed’, the bell of the door jingled as you walked out, with a bittersweet feeling now settling in your chest. 

——————

With a swift movement, Hawks’ hands tugged at the collar of his jacket, the fluffy white trim heating his lower face the tiniest bit as he flew through the crisp air of the autumn night.

He groaned in annoyance, regretting his decision of leaving all his hot-pockets at home, his frown grimacing more at the feeling of his empty, cold pockets. 

Hawks hated this time of weather. Not the merriment of outdoor activities, oh no—he loved the idea of pumpkin patches and apple picking. 

It was the transition between summer and winter. The drastic decrease in temperatures after the steady 70s in the past weeks left the man shivering. 

He wasn’t used to the dropping temperatures and neither was the rest of the civilians below, all bunched up in their coats and arms crossed tightly against their chests. This year brought quite the chilly autumn, maybe the coldest of them all. 

“A cup of the hottest, frothiest and sweetest coffee would really hit the spot,” the hero thought, scanning over the masses of people, hopping his pupils over every few buildings in seek of refuge from the cool night and to be treated to a nice dessert-in-a-drink. 

Just when his eyes lit up to the sight of a coffee shop that looked quiet enough to not be noticed, something else caught his eye rather quickly.

A lady dressed in a dark coat and a slightly brighter, but full and cozy scarf wrapped around her neck that held a peculiar yet chic pattern on the woven fabric. 

She appeared to be running on an empty street—or… chasing something. Hawks looked ahead of the woman, to which he spotted a small cylinder container rolling downhill that the woman must’ve been trying to catch. 

To this, Hawks laughed to himself softly, not to make fun of her, it just looked a little silly! The hero’s gloved hands cupped the outside of his mouth, where he huffed out to capture at least some tinge of warmth before descending onto the street of the escaping container. 

If it had been some other instance where he wasn’t bored out of his mind and actually had to patrol an area, he would have just sent a feather on its dandy way to complete a small mishap like this one. 

However, he had finally found an escape. 

His boots landed on the smooth pavement with a quiet ‘tap’ at the end of the street as he crouched down to reach his hand out, catching what looked to be a candle just in time. 

The woman who scurried down the road slowed her steps to catch her breath. 

“It’s not every night where your own candles run away from you. This yours?” the winged hero held out his hand as he flicked his eyes to the woman. 

But the cheeky smile instilled on his face suddenly dissipated into a wide-eyed stare, his question almost being cut off by his shock. 

The bundled-up woman breathed in once again—finally able to breathe steadily—as she extended her own fingers to take back the candle, but tensed up as her pupils recalled the dark shade of the man’s gloves, and felt her shoulder blades freeze. 

“Oh… you’re—“

“The flower shop girl,” Hawks remarked, a gentler smile blemishing his face, “the cute one who gave me the bouquet that Miruko adored.” 

Despite the cold sitting in the air, the warmth still made its way onto your skin. Your voice shook nervously, trying to not make this situation as awkward as much as you could.

“It.. it was nothing really, just wanted to dedicate something for a hero I really admire.” 

You shifted your hands to be clasped in front of you, just below your stomach as you spoke. 

“Well, she really loved it. Seriously, if I had gone to another store I wouldn’t be called the ‘best feather flower fairy.’”

A laugh ran through from your chest as you imagined Miruko’s reaction to the “flower fairy” delivering her bouquet. 

“I suppose you aren’t the kind of person to give her gifts like that.”

“Nah, not really. However, I just figured to get her something with a tad bit more of sentiment for her 25th,” he replied casually, still grasping the sweet scented candle in his hand. 

“Oh, that’s so sweet! I bet she really got all emotional and recited an honoring speech dedicated to you, going on and on about you being so thoughtful.” 

“If the speech was followed by a smack in the arm and a 2 minute-long cackle at me being so sappy, then yeah, I’d say she got a bit teary, almost gave me a hug, even.”

“I wonder how she’ll react next year.”

“Perhaps she’ll dedicate a memoir to me and buy me a bouncy house. A gift for a gift.”

Not many were able to joke with him like that. Of course, Hawks’ fans and acquaintances always felt ecstatic to chat with him, but there was no real talk—only jokes he’s heard millions of times before. 

And he’d never want to offend them, but they were either quite boring, or too overwhelming.

Either way, they didn’t treat him as if he was any other person, just a man-doll that swooped by and teased or flirted those who wanted his attention. 

With you, though, he could be sarcastic and not be looked at in a ‘were you joking?’ kind of way. He had almost forgotten what it was like to connect with another person on a deeper level. 

No, this was a bit more sweeter, and he didn’t want to lose that. 

Your delicate fingertips shooed hair out of your face as you looked onto the street, now completely drowned out by the darkness of the night, lit only by the orange-hued street lamps. 

You didn’t even notice the lingering gaze the winged man held onto your face, glossing over your features hypnotically. 

He stepped to your side and met with your eyes, “Hey, I know it’s getting a bit late, and you probably have work tomorrow. I just wanted to know if you’d wanna grab a quick bite with me. I saw a cafè down a couple’a blocks down.”

Although the fatigue in your body raged deep in your bones, you could endure it a bit longer for a nab of coffee. 

——————

The walk to the cafè was fairly comfortable. 

He noted to you that he even saw some pastries displayed on the window. A “sugar plum fairy” you called him, to which he grumbled at the reminder of the foolish name. What a baby. 

You didn’t expect to be asked about the progress of the flower shop, but you gladly told him about the new pumpkins that came with a carving kit, how you’d probably snatch one for yourself to make a design. 

“Wouldn’t a starry night be easier than a character like Hello Kitty? You’re quite the artistic type.” 

“Shushh! I’ve always fantasized about a glowing hello kitty with a witch hat, don’t crush my dreams.”

“Poor little florist, wants to express all of her feelings through Hello Kitty! Don’t worry, sweets, I won’t do too much on you.” 

“I’m glad you understand the severity of my fixation.”

“Heroes are always empaths, ya’know?” 

“You not so much!”

In response, he side-eyed you and crossed his arms.

You shuffled your hands into the pockets of your coat, when a sudden thought slipped into your mind. 

“Oh, by the way, my name’s (your name).”

“Hi, (name).”

——————

Upon arriving to the cafè, you felt like you could have fallen asleep on the leather-seated-booths that gave just the right of cushioning, but at this point you were starved for sugar. 

Its style was a bit more foreign like—a banner next to the cashier framed the statement that read the inspiration came from Western Europe. The beauty and emptiness of the little shop just proved it to be a gem that you’d keep a secret forever.

Somehow, you found yourself matching Hawks’ vibe with the coziness of the café. Warm, golden, fuzzy. 

You darted your eyes back down to the menu before Hawks could catch you staring at him, focusing on the ‘hot options’ category. 

When you looked up to ask what he’d order, he was already staring you back, a mischievous glint in his eye. 

“I saw that.” he taunted, a smug grin rested on his lips. 

“Sorry,” you mumbled, the obvious humiliation present on your features, pursing your lips together with the intention of relieving your shame. 

“It’s no problem, doll,” his assuring statement completely opposite of his teasing expression, “Do you know what you want?”

As if it was on cue, a waitress ambled her way over to your table, notepad in hand, not even batting an eye to the number two, “What would you guys like to order?”

“May I get a (hot drink of your choice), please?” 

The waitress scribbled down your order and turned to the man across from you.

“Ah, can I have a hot white-mocha with an extra shot of caramel as well as a slice of pumpkin pie?”

“Alright, I’ll have those out for you two in a bit!” 

You thanked her before she scurried on into the back, “It’s absolutely ludicrous that nobody else acknowledges the fact that you have a huge sweet tooth.”

“Sugar energizes my system more than caffeine, it’s just how I function.”

“Do you brush your teeth at night? Y’know, sugar can rot those pearly whites of yours.”

“Yes, mother, I brush my teeth every night,” he chuckled, adjusting the buckle of his watch.

“It can also give you a condition, don’t know if you’ve heard, but it’s called diabetes—“

“Yeesh, I didn’t know I’d come to this place just to be lectured about my tastes.”

“If it were anybody else, they’d say the exact same thing.” 

“Oh, let me be.”

The two of you went silent after that, but in a comfortable moment of calm, engulfing the presence of each other and the faint chatter of the minimal customers that were also sat down in the cafè. 

Hawks in that moment wondered if he twisted the crown of his watch back far enough, he could make this night last forever. 

Before long, you’re both gulping down your hot beverages, a waterfall of heaven swirling in the brown paper cups in your hands. 

After a short debate, the two of you decided that it was getting late, and you both had busy work days to deal with tomorrow, and so he took the pumpkin pie to-go and shared it with you on your walk to the train stop. It wasn’t rude courtesy if no one could see you two at the dead of night. 

“How come you live a bit far from your flower shop?”

You chewed your piece of pie, both crust and filling, “I don’t know, honestly. I think after applying to all the jobs I had in mind, I drew little paper pieces from a hat to just decide and get it over with.” 

“Decision making can be tough when it comes to jobs.”

“You get it,” crumbs of pie fell onto your coat as you responded with your mouth full.

The hero held the empty plate with sprinkles on crumbs left behind in his hand, and with your candle in the other as you two continued the walk, about 3 minutes away. 

Stopping at the top of the stairs that descended down into the underground station, Hawks stopped you from going further. 

“Look, I really enjoyed this little going out together, although it started out with me ending your game of tag with your candle.” 

You huffed lightly looking back at the thought, a shy smile tugging at your face, “Yeah, I’m glad I bumped into you when I did.”

Placing the candle into your palms, he began to take a few steps back, and Hawks admitted to you, “I hope to see you soon, sweets, whenever time permits.”

You waved to him, “Thanks for the pie.” 

He nodded his head and gave you a sweetly sick smile, before turning to walk away and prepare to fly off. 

As much as you hated for this night to end, you could at least encourage him to come back to you. 

“Come back to the shop soon!” you shouted from afar, hoping he would hear.

The winged hero turned his head, waving his hand and shouting back, “I will!” eventually flying away into the alluring night sky. 

The next time you’d come back to this cafe, you promised to order pumpkin pie every time. 

a/n: so sorry for not posting this sooner! i’ve been so caught up in my studies and i couldn’t find time to post! however i lovedd writing this and figured now would be the best time to publish this. i hope this makes up for my absence :) love you and happy october!!

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Gaz and Soap use Nikolai as attitude adjustment.

cw: canon typical violence, mild sexual content towards the end.

If Gaz and Soap really want to humble a new trooper that's got a bit arrogant, they won't escalate them to Ghost or Price, because any fresh recruit would expect to be obliterated by fully trained operators at some point during their training; it would be viewed as a privilege to be crushed by the one and only Bravo Six, and Ghost is legendary.

Instead, they put them in a room with Nikolai.

It was Gaz's idea originally. Nik isn't SAS, he's precisely the type of unhinged, formidable opponent these little fucks are going to have to face in the field. In fact, he was one life decision away from being one of their actual enemies. Every time Soap and Gaz have to go toe to toe with the Russians they're sure to thank whatever higher power that they haven't got Nikolai running rings around them rather than waiting to bail them out.

They have one particular scrote who has been pissing them off all week. He thinks he's Billy Big Bollocks and, while he follows the letter of an order, he always likes to think he knows best and... interpret. The sergeants told him to focus on endurance and cardio in his workouts and he continued to build strength, he navigated a river crossing wrong and ended up stranding his crew. Lots of little things that mean if he doesn't shape up then he's gonna fail.

Gaz and Soap take him, and the friends that are beginning to get ideas, to Nik's hanger where he's working.

"Nik, fall in," Gaz calls at the Black Hawk.

Nik drops from the top of the heli where he was doing some maintenance on the main rotary engine, and Soap has to work hard to keep his face serious, because fuck does Nik play his part well.

He's shirtless, sweating from the exertion of turning the big wrench in his hand, and there's grease spattered on his stomach, up his arms. That gold chain really tops off the look, nestled in the fur on his chest, and he looks every bit the Russian mobster. Gaz can see why the captain thirsts so much.

(Not that there's anything wrong with that, sir. You hit that, uh... man, umm..)

"Sergeants," Nik greets them respectfully, and then those dark eyes turn to the trooper standing at their side. To his credit, the kid squares his shoulders and meets Nik's eyes, which is a pretty big ask given Nik's reputation on base. "Between one and ten?" Nik asks, still the very picture of affable civility.

"Four," Soap says, pulling a baton and a coil of rope from his belt. He throws them both to the floor in front of the trooper they've brought for a lesson in respect and listening skills. "Subdue and apprehend."

"What?" The trooper asks, stunned.

"Subdue and apprehend the target," Soap repeats, and then juts his chin after Nikolai. "'E's yer target."

Nik places his wrench down and uses the rag on his workbench to wipe his hands. He is completely unarmed, dressed only in his combat trousers, belted low on his hips, and boots. He glances at the baton and rope on the floor, and then to his intended adversary. "When you are ready, comrade."

The trooper picks up his weapon, glances at his sergeants, the rest of his troop and then flicks the baton out. Nik stands there placidly, hands down by his sides as he flicks his fingers in a little come on gesture. The trooper runs in.

The slap Nikolai lands across the lad's face echoes around the hanger. Even Gaz and Soap grimace, while the other two troopers flinch, their shoulders rising around their ears. The trooper recovers after being forced into the work bench with the force, and leans in for a swing to the gut, which Nik swerves, shoving the incoming shoulder down.

With each failed or blocked attack, Nik retaliates with precision, administering openhanded slaps to the jaw, shoving away or ducking poorly timed swings, before landing a gut punch and then swiping the trooper's boots out from under him. The lad recovers with a decent enough roll and dives in for another, but Nik grabs his shirt and slams him into the side of the Black Hawk. He makes it look easy.

The trooper groans and staggers. Nik growls, irritated. "Pochemi ty tebya ne perestat vyyobyvat’sya, eh?"

"I wouldnae take tha' rookie, he called yer ma a bitch," Soap calls over.

Gaz huffs. "No he didn't."

Soap shrugs then forms his mouth into a grimacing 'ooh' when Nik lands a knee to the bollocks, proceeding to dissect their trainee's defences with brutal efficiency now that he had run out of patience. He grabs the wrist holding the baton, twists and throws his opponent like he's nought but a cheap stuffed toy from the local carnival.

When the lad scrambles to his feet, now without defence, Nik is already waiting with a right hook that sends him down to his knee and three swift kicks to the ribs that takes him the rest of the way to the floor.

Nik rests a boot on the trooper's face, and reaches for the spanner on his workbench. Gaz clears his throat, flashing four fingers with a single shake of the head to remind Nik of the agreed scale, and Nik nods, lifting his hands apologetically before clasping them before his hips. He tuts down at his felled opponent. "Ah, it appears you have been killed, comrade. A shame."

Soap swaggers over, his hands tucked inside his carrier vest, and crouches down by his trainee's head. "An' that was him at a four. Can ye imagine wha' 'e woulda done to ye at ten, eh, hen?" Soaps answer is a groan and a gurgle.

"Nikolai!"

Soap stands abruptly, Gaz straightens and the two intact troopers smack their boots together, backs rigid. Nik looks up more leisurely, his placid, Labrador eyes, now empty of malice, settle on Captain Price, who stands in the shadows of the hanger door, his arms folded. "That's quite enough. I think Reynolds has learned his lesson. Let 'im up."

Nik steps back and tucks his hands behind his back. The way he stands at ease reminds Gaz and Soap that their favourite Russian arms dealer used to wear a uniform instead of a leather jacket, and they're again thankful he bats for their team. Ha, in more ways than one, as it goes.

Reynolds climbs to his feet slowly and rejoins his mates as Gaz dismisses them.

"Get them to mess. It's dinnertime," Price says to his two sergeants, and then looks at Nik. "My office."

Someone unfamiliar with the captain might have missed the way he looked Nik up and down before he turned his back, from scruffy boots to sweating, grease-slick chest, his blue eyes aflame like pilot lights in a bloody gas boiler, but Gaz didn't. He smirks as Nik swaggers past, his jacket slung over his bare shoulder. "You dog," Gaz mutters.

Nik winks at him before he disappears with the - his - captain.

"Really?" Price asks, with a kind of tired exasperation, as they step across the threshold into the pokey little cubby hole he occupies on base.

"I was teaching," Nik says, shoulders rolling in a shrug.

"Yer take far too much joy in slappin' 'round my soldiers, Nik." Price leans against his desk, arms folded, his eyes raking over Nik's body with a white hot desire roiling in his gut.

"You must enjoy your work to perform it to a high standard." Nik strolls up into Price's personal space like he belongs there, nudging the captain's boots apart to make room, gaze dropping to his crotch. "And, perhaps, you enjoy my work too?"

Price chuckles low in his throat. "Yer sick bastard," he growls, reaching to wind his hand through that golden chain and yank Nik down.

The kiss is fierce, tongue licking possessively into Nik's mouth as Nik slots between his legs. Nik's filthy hands find Price's waist and then slide down to his arse for a greedy squeeze, moving to Price's thighs when his knees hook up and over Nik's hips.

"Hng, bloody 'ell, get those fuckin' kecks down and fuck me," Price snarls, still keeping Nik in place by his chain even as he yanks open his belt and fly.

Nik had wanted to finish his repairs, but railing Price over his desk when he looks about ready to devour him feels like a far better use of his time.

[the-sweet-hibiscus]

Thinking of Gaz being a (mostly absent) owner of a lounge, and catching the eye of escort!reader.

Kyle, who, begrudgingly, inherits the lounge from his late, estranged father. Returning from deployment to a new passive income and a business that practically runs itself. Yet, he still feels an urge to at least see the establishment he now owns.

So imagine his surprise running into you. A pretty thing who's mask seems to fool the elites surrounding one of his finest booths, but one glance and he sees what lies beneath. Calculation. The cold look of someone filing away any seemingly innocuous statememt for later use. He sees your perfectly manicured nails, the spots of retouched makeup on previously tear stained cheeks. He wonders what those tears would taste like. He wonders if your cunt is as puffy as your coat, or if it was as tight as your dress. He wonders if he can experience both at the same time.

He asks his manager about you. The old man tells him about your near daily jaunts with different clients nearly every day. The way you pretend to be a girlfriend, wife, or date to whomever buys your time for the night. He doesn't need to ask your rates or for a consultation with your agency. He takes your name and sends it off to Price, a simple favor promised in exchange for information. It will take a while – low priority on the list of things to run – but he has a while until his next deployment.

And, well, he needs something more to do on this leave. So he watches you. Day after day. Slung on a new arm with a new, pretty dress. Never the same outfit twice. But the look remained the same. You'd smile politely at opportune timing in conversation, never contributing much outside generic praise for whoever had brought your time for the night. And at some point during the night, you'd catch his eyes.

The first few nights you don't seem to catch on. But after a week you seem to be hyper aware of him. Instead of the normal once and a while, suddenly you're glancing at him every few minutes. Watching like a hawk as he mingles around the room, introducing himself to the regulars as the new owner. He makes a show of handing his card to those with less than pleased demeanors, offering to raise everything to higher standards.

He doesn't approach your table the first night he sees you staring him down. Nor the second. In fact, he lets you cycle through your weaker clientele until you're back at the VIP booth. He introduces himself to your date, effortlessly charming with his smile and outstretched card, before turning to you. He compliments your appearance as an off-hand remark to your date – "your girlfriend looks radient tonight, we're glad you chose us to pamper her with."

Your date is pleased and oblivious. A meandering hand slinging his way across your shoulders; the sleeze has the audacity to press a kiss to your cheek. Showboating asshole.

Your tight-lipped smile is all he needs to know he's captured your interest.

He extracts himself from your table, continuing his duties and refusing to spare you another glance. He can tell it bristles you. And it does. Enough for you to come back after closing. He can see the door from his office, your curves just visible behind the bouncer at the door. He almost wonders how long it'd take for you to give up.

But you don't. At least not before he approaches the door himself.

"There a problem here?" He asks.

The bouncer grumbles something or another about pesky troublemakers. But you stare at him. He can't tell if it's anger or surprise or contempt but you're staring at him. A cocked eyebrow is all it takes to break you out of whatever trance you're in.

"You keep staring at me." It sounds dumb to your ears. Like all the fire you had in storming over here was wiped away by confusion. Still, his next words reignite your previous spark.

"I think that's a mutual thing, love." You scoff. Being curious about the handsome stranger across the room eyeing you up every night was not the same as watching a girl every night.

"Well stop?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because...it's fucking with business."

He laughs. The bastard has the audacity to laugh at you. You're not sure if your face shows the flurry of emotions you feel. Indignation and annoyance feel righteous. Those are the feelings you feel comfortable with – the ones that so frequently you've learned to crush deep, deep down whenever you went out. But the lust comes unbidden – the pool of warmth that instantly settles itself into your belly, a flush you can't blame on the winter air gracing your cheeks. It knaws at you for the seconds that he continues to laugh that deep honey timber. It's almost infectious.

Then he stops, eyes suddenly alight as he takes you in anew. There's a pit in your throat now. Your body's too-late warning that there's danger a foot.

"I think," he says, stepping into your space. "Our business is about to be heavily intertwined."

_____

A/N: i wrote this entirely buzzed off of several mimosas and cocktails while in Vegas so I'm sure there's typos just say nothing about them 🥰

[ellitx]

Pls share those yandere Alastor concepts with us sometime! No rush and no specific request at this point, but I would love to see more of what’s on your mind, I really enjoyed the first one! :)

Yandere Alastor concepts

well this isn’t really a spoiler per se but i suppose i’ll give everyone a preview of Alastor and darling’s relationship since it’s going to be mentioned a lot (albeit in little details) in the upcoming stories

first part | second part | third part

word count: 1.4k

warnings: fem!reader

Before arriving at hell:

Alastor and darling are colleagues in the radio station they worked at.

She works as the scriptwriter and is in charge of creating the scripts for him (mostly for the weekly Saturday gossip)

Eventually, the longer you worked together, the less Alastor needed a script since he’s good at ad libbing

But he finds an excuse he needs one so you can visit his office and give it to him. For example, he needs a proper guideline for his upcoming broadcast

Most of the time he’ll invite you for a coffee inside and you’re worried your boss may find you slacking off the longer you stay, but Alastor reassures you it’s still job related discussion

He’d offer you a cup and you happily accept it

Once he knows you also prefer teas, expect there are several options prepared (mostly coffee cuz he doesn’t like teas)

After work, if it’s getting too late, he’d offer to walk you back home, AND he even gestures to you to hold onto his arm which you really find it sweet

Now Alastor’s a real gentleman. You find that very charming and you brush off his little touches such as his hands lingering a little longer when giving his script or when he stands next to you while the producer tells you the new ideas and his arm is brushing over yours

But Alastor can never forget the time you patted his head and praised him

He was flabbergasted. Shocked even. His smile was stiff like a mask. Then he looked away from your gaze and quickly walked towards the door

You were worried if you did something wrong due to his abrupt departure. Maybe he wasn’t comfortable being treated like that more than you thought

If only you knew what was going on in his mind…

The next day he was back to his usual self, but more chirpy and lively. It somehow unnerved you but you disregarded such thought and waved at him.

As usual with work life, you wrote the new script, your producer stayed back to give suggestions on how to improve the script, and Alastor was supposed to prepare himself for the recording.

Nope.

He stayed and tweaked the script. He would brush against you, giving you small jolts each time, and every time you subtly turned around, his glazed eyes met yours and you quickly returned to your typewriter.

His gaze is more intense. As if a hawk is waiting for their prey to take a step out of line. When you turned your face away, Alastor continued to watch you from behind. Your heart was beating so fast, you wished you could leave the booth and go back to the comfort of your house.

After the success of the latest episode, you weren’t expecting an invitation for a nightcap, especially coming from the infamous radio host. With the recent market crash making stable income a rarity, you found yourself hesitating.

Yet Alastor was persistent and he insisted on footing the bill. The urge to decline was strong, yet as you opened your mouth to refuse, his expression shifted, his eyes darkening slightly while his never-faltering grin remained unchanged.

“How could you refuse him?” Your inner voice scolded.

Before you know it, you find yourself at a speakeasy, a glass of chilled whiskey appears before you. You followed the trail of the arm, a long white sleeve covering the muscles you didn’t know were toned.

Has he always been this well-built?

“Is whiskey not to your liking, dear?” Alastor’s voice cut you off from your nonsensical thoughts.

Your gaze never took off from the glass.

I prefer beverages with a lighter touch than whiskey.

You mentally chastised yourself.

You heard a light chuckle, the wood creaking once he took the seat next to yours. The glass clinked as the small cubes danced along the waves.

“Hm, so my guess was right you prefer light alcohol over heavy ones.” The radio host remarked.

Your eyes widened, hands clamping over to your delicate lips. Did you just say that out loud?

“What’s wrong with wanting light alcohol?” The edge in your voice stung the other. His eyes narrowed ever so slightly at your remark in amusement.

“I never said it’s wrong to like light drinks,” Alastor swirled his glass before taking a small sip.

Your glass was still untouched, although curiosity was gnawing away at you.

“Why don’t you take a sip? It won’t hurt,” He offered.

Glancing at the burning amber liquid reminded you of the fate that awaited anyone who would be careless enough to get their drink mixed up. The cold droplets made you shiver slightly as they drifted along the sides of the glass.

You pushed the glass to him, “You can have it. I don’t want to get a headache when I still have to work on a new script tomorrow.”

Alastor gazed at your liquor. The jazz music of the bar was a nice touch after a tiring day, yet his visage that reflected beneath the soft glow of the speakeasy said otherwise.

“You’ll be working with Clyde?” There was a sharp tone in his voice.

When did he start caring about what you do?

Alastor looked past you, his eyes narrowed dangerously. That person whom you had previously mistaken for just another co-worker seemed more sinister, ready to pounce on any of your weaknesses. Was it because you rejected his invitation earlier?

“Yes,” you nodded meekly, shifting against your seat as you avoided making contact with his eyes. “The producer told me they want a new broadcast for our station. Like a theatrical drama rather than the weekly hearsay from our listeners,” you explained.

A loud crashing sound resounded within the small bar and you flinched, instinctively recoiling at the piercing noise and you gasped upon noticing a blood trailing from Alastor’s hand.

His drink which was half-empty was now dripping on the counter mixing with the blood that seeped through his hand.

“Alastor! For goodness sake, I just bought that!” A shrill voice shouted from the other side of the counter. A short woman in a flapper dress clicked her tongue and ordered the barkeeper to clean the mess.

“Pardon me for the unpleasant commotion. I didn’t mean to shatter the glass.” Alastor opened his palm and it felt like someone had suddenly slammed a brick wall right across your face.

The sight was sickeningly frightening.

You rummaged through your purse and took out your handkerchief, carefully removing the small glasses pricking into his skin.

He observed your careful ministrations with keen interest, a slight thrill shooting through him as your fingers grazed his. It was like experiencing a treat, each touch sending a wave of unfamiliar sensations coursing through him. Sweet yet sour.

The corner of his lips tugged, almost reaching his eyes. Your pale face, trembling hands, tightened jaw, stumbling words of assurance as you asked for medical assistance— he watched your face intently to catch every subtlety of your expression. He wants to devour every single bit, drink it, absorb it, consume it, nibble on it…

You cleaned up the last bits of blood oozing from his left palm, and he clasped your hand in his unblemished one, holding it firmly as he lifted your knuckles to his lips.

A broad grin spread across his face, reminiscent of the Cheshire cat's, and you couldn't shake the feeling that behind his dark eyes lurked a hint of mischief. It was a smile that seemed to dance between sweetness and something more sinister, leaving you both intrigued and slightly unnerved.

His lips that brushed against your skin provoked a shiver running down your spine, a cold realization settling in your bones. It lurked a darkness that sent a chill through your soul, leaving you with a sinking feeling.

—

After the small night of drinking, you promised to call Alastor later. You thanked him and hurried back home.

On the way, your thoughts are continuously turning into worry and fears. You asked yourself: why do you feel so uncomfortable around him? What makes you feel like you’re in danger?

Were you overthinking this? Maybe. But you couldn't shake off the uneasiness inside you.

Did he plan to hurt you? No, no way. It would be impossible since he was an impeccable gentleman.

This fear of the unknown and dread that gnawed at you will be the root of your sleepless night.

[stop-breaking-my-heart-dragonage]

I said I wasn't going to get started on the topic of Aveline ruining Carver's chances with the guard but I lied okay, it's Carver Hawke defense hours.

Here's the thing; it doesn't matter if you believe Carver was or wasn't fit for the guard. That's a different debate that I'll get to. What matters is Aveline's in no position to tell the guard not to accept his application. Why does she think that's her right to judge whether or not he's fit?

Carver should've had the chance to prove himself one way or another. If it turns out he's not a good fit, then let him fail. Let him learn from it.

"Oh but failure could mean lost lives-"

Aveline doesn't get to talk shit about failure and the people. Plenty have died on her watch yet she still believes she's a good guard and Guard-Captain.

"maybe Aveline's protecting him, Carver could die while on patrol-"

Carver could die working in the Bone Pit, or serving as a templar, or when he's running around with Hawke. Carver could trip and fall down a set of stairs and die. In fact, he can die in the Deep Roads, somewhere he wouldn't have to go if the Hawke's weren't desperate.

Either Carver fails as a guard, or more likely, he succeeds and proves himself worthy of it.

But let's be real, Carver probably kept getting rejected due to being a Fereldan with a past of smuggling/mercenary work and Aveline only reaffirmed the decision, either because they asked her what she thought or she stuck her nose in unprompted.

But what irritates me is that she admits to telling them not to accept his application, and then has the balls to call Carver too proud to take up a trade or find another line of work.

Carver tells her, "And who would take on a Fereldan apprentice? Maybe in another year I could work my way up to pissboy." He has a good point here. Aside from the guard, the only other place Carver could work and use his skillset is with the Templars. Or go back to mercenary/smuggling work.

And Aveline doesn't even have a real answer for him. No suggestions, no encouragement, nothing. Just "Fine, let's crawl down some holes. Good bloody luck for your sake."

Also, if you do the Mark of the Assassin DLC in Act 1-

Aveline: You should see if any of the noblemen are looking for new men-at-arms. Carver: Are you trying to get rid of me? Aveline: It's a role with some autonomy. A good fit with your training and... tendencies. Carver: After serving King Cailan? You want me to suffer some poncy git who needs two servants to wipe his own ass? I'll find my own way, thanks. Aveline: I wish you would.

You wish he would?? Aveline, he was trying to find his way into the guard, a position he'd make a good fit for, and you helped deny him of it because YOU didn't think he would be good enough, I just-

If I haven't made it clear yet, I firmly believe that Carver would've made a great guard. He wants to help people, to be a protector. He's loyal, and despite what Aveline claims, he can follow orders and take his duty seriously. We see him do incredibly well with the Grey Wardens, after all. If he were a guard, he wouldn't have to go down into the Deep Roads with Hawke, and I think he would've been okay with that! He's so hurt and bitter when you leave him behind because that effectively tells him, "I don't need you." Carver's spent the whole first act telling you he wants to go on the expedition aka that he wants to be needed.

But if he were a guard, he would be needed elsewhere. He'd be in training as a recruit. He'd look after Leandra while you go. He wouldn't be backed into a corner with no income and only the templars left as his chance at forging his own path and providing for his family.

He doesn't get that opportunity, though.

By the way, if he becomes a warden, you can get this banter:

Aveline: I'm glad you found a place with the Wardens. Carver: Well, it's not the city guard, but it'll do. Aveline: Carver... it wasn't the place for you. Carver: No, it's all right. It is. It cost a lot, but I get it. I really was a bit of a tit those days, wasn't I? Aveline: Well...

This banter makes me want to scream.

Aveline's just... she's so insistent that she's right. She's someone who will double down rather than entertain the idea that she's wrong and it's not just with Carver and the guard, it's with everything. The "my beef with Aveline" list gets longer and longer every time I replay da2, I swear.

Say what you will about Carver, whether you think he would've been a good fit or if Aveline's right and it wasn't for him, he was denied a chance and it cost him so much in the end. He either dies, or he joins the templars where he deals with Chantry's bullshit trying to brainwash him with "mages aren't people" and "magic is a cancer in this world", or he's infected with the blight and becomes a Grey Warden, forced to serve the rest of his life fighting darkspawn, tormented by voices and nightmares.

I will never not be bitter about this.

[newkatzkafe2023]

Can you please have the Monkey Kings reacting to their monkey S/O (gender unimportant) who's super motherly/fatherly/parental towards any kids they cross paths with? Like SWK's knew his S/O to be a fierce sharp-tongued warrior, now he's seeing them playing with human kid and monkey cubs like they were their own...

Baby fever incoming!!!!!🤯🤯��🤭🤭🤭

(Lmk Wukong) He couldn't believe his eyes. You With the ability to put the fear Of god into your many enemies. You are over here caring for the baby monkeys like you are their mom. I've been doing that for many years being together with him , but sometimes it still baffles him. One time you were caught away. What are the long keys that wouldn't stop crying? And the second he was in your arms. He was at peace again. It was like you were meant to do this while being a powerful warrior. He tends to daydream about. What would it be like when you guys have your very own cub. God never fails to put a blush on his face. He is really wondering if you are trying to tell him something???

(NR Wukong) He has been noticing does something's going on with you. You who can beat the crap out of demons Enemy is left and right You've been getting side tracked by the children of the city. You would watch all of them like a hawk and made sure they don't get into it any trouble. One time a little human girl almost ran into the street and you with your inhumane reflexes got her by her arm before a Motorcycle can hit her. You even treated Li like He was your son making sure he ate healthy got plenty of sleep even go As far as washes clothes or bandage up his bruises. He's starting to wonder if you yourself wants to be a mother. But he's nervous to ask cause last time you broke his mask While he was wearing it. But between you and me you will love to be mother

(HIB Wukong) He noticed how You are much more attentive to Liuer then he is. Not just with him but with all the village children. He has seen you viciously rip the head Of a demon that was messing with the tool of you. But the next moment you're helping a young mother calmed down her new born baby. Like you were the mother of that child as well. It probably doesn't help out a lot of the Village children dubbed you as mama (Y/N). As you were always protecting them along with protecting Liuer If this doesn't get it through Wukong's Thicks Skull that you want a child then I don't What to tell you.

(Mk Reborn Wukong) He seen you like that with fruity. You lay watse to demon armies for a living yet You find yourself attending to a tiny baby fruit fairy??? You clearly don't seem Mind but it's confusing to him a little. He would always tease you about it and you would always cave his face in. Even with the monk in the village , the children would rather talk to you than to him. Your answers to things are funnier , but it makes more sense to where they even they'll understand. Then they will come and ask more questions what's your patient enough to answer. He could not believe his eyes. Usually when people are annoying, you would already rip their heads off their shoulders. But then again, these are just children that are talk into you. They're no real threat or annoyance they're just being themselve. When this whole journey thing is over , he'll wanna pull you to the side and ask if you want to start a family. You know wanna you won't kill him.

(Netflix Wukong) He is already aware of how popular you are with the village children. One moment you're caving in the face of a invader Is demon who dared to attack Your home. The next moment you're on your helping a small child who scraped their knee. You even kissed it better to be sure does there no longer in pain. You also get protective Of my inner things falling objects treacherous walk ways Do we even take the time to explain to the children That there are some tools they are far too young to use yet Such as kitchen knives. You don't even like them running around with sticks they found on the ground You watch every single one of them like a hawk just like a mother would. A lot at a time he will be on the side blushing of already imagining the family you would probably have In the late future.

FEEL FREE TO REBLOG

[aromanticautiesworld]

finn x fem reader whos really into science, rambles on a bunch and finn actually listena to her which she hasnt seen anyone do and actually CARE about what shes saying and immediately starts crushing (they were og friends but it just made her heart flutter and it was a pretty sunset)

YES YES ABSOLUTELY love this <- fixated on astrophysics since he was six and is considering becoming one in the far future

////

finn with a fem reader who’s a science nerd

word count: 745

Finn called you over for repairs to their telescope not too long ago, something about a fight with the Ice King where he cracked the lense. The sun had already gone down, and the stars (now more visible after all the human’s pesky light pollution was gone) came out of their hiding spots along with the crescent moon.

You stopped the video game you were speeding through, the call being a necessary distraction to pull you out of what would otherwise be many hours straight of gameplay, and a significant lack of self-care.

You pack your bag with snacks, and (of course) books about astrophysics and astronomy (just in case the hangout became a sleepover, or you suddenly needed them. Things can get very chaotic very quickly with Finn), two of your favorite and very closely related sciences. Unlike him, you didn’t want to adventure for your whole life, you did eventually want to become an astrophysicist, maybe study with Peebs.

“Why do you even have a telescope if you never use it?” You say, looking down at the new lense you were trying to install.

“‘Cuz we need it to see any incoming baddies,” Finn waves his sword around, whacking imaginary enemies.

“What about, like. Using binoculars instead,”

“Telescope sees better,”

“Fair point, fair point,” You raise an eyebrow at him, “You do actually know what it’s for, right?”

Finn pauses to think. “I mean…you look at the stars. At least I think you do. I dunno why you’d look at them through that when you can see ‘em perfectly fine from here,”

“It’s cool, trust me! It’s to see them in more detail,”

Finn stares blankly at you.

“So, in space, there’s, like. a hundred billion things—things we can’t even see from here—and this telescope lets you look at all the stuff you can’t see and all the stuff you can see but better,”

Finn sheathes his sword, “I thought there was just the stars, planets and the moon in space?”

“Oh, well. Yeah, but there’s also asteroids, meteoroids, all those decayed satellites from before the mushroom war, supernovas—oh oh oh! Do you know what a supernova is? They’re so cool—they’re basically a big, big star that after becoming a red supergiant they implode in this huge burst of energy that lasts years—and at the end it either makes a neutron star, or a black hole. Black holes are actually super cool too, they don’t let anything out—not even light! Most black holes are smaller than Ooo but there are some massive ones at the center of every galaxy—which is a whole other thing—that could’ve been formed by being compressed at the center of giant stars back in the ancient universe. Also, they’re probably going to be the last thing in the universe but because of hawking radiation eventually they’ll fade away too, and…um…”

You look back over at Finn, who now sat criss cross on the floor of the balcony. He’d been intently listening (even if he didn’t understand some of it) but in your eyes you were boring him. Most people don’t have the energy or desire to listen to your long rants about space, and once you start, the conversation fizzles out and they’re too tired to talk to you.

You look down at your hands, “Sorry, I was rambling again. We can talk about something else if you want, haha…”

“No, no no no,” He had zoned out many times during PB’s talks of numbers and other things kinda irrelevant to him, but for you it was different. Maybe he just likes hearing the sound of your voice, he doesn’t know. “Can you keep going?”

Your heart flutters.

Your rambling continues on into the night, moon and stars slowly moving across the skies. Finn doesn’t add much to the conversation, mostly watches with a fluttering feeling he couldn’t figure out in his chest. Man, you were pretty when you talked.

Many hours later (you don’t know it, but the sun’s coming up soon), you sit by Finn’s side, both of you sleepy from staying up all night.

Finn looks over to you, “Tonight was fun,”

You’re quiet, “…the funny thing is, most peeps don’t like to hear about it. The stars,”

“I wanna hear about the stars, if it’s you talking about them,”

Your eyes practically sparkle, and you pull him into a hug. Finn’s face grows hot, and he freezes before hugging you back.

“Tier one, dude,”

“What?”

“What?”

[delulu-with-wandanat]

Fatal Attraction

Pairings: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff

Warnings: Mentions of sexual stuff.

Summary: Natasha gets hurt during a mission with Wanda, and Wanda for some reason found herself more attracted to Nat. Yes, in her state on injury. (Featuring Y/n, Natasha's dumbass little brother and Wanda's wingman)

"Incoming!" The young super soldier yelled as he jumped into the Quinjet with his best friend. Wanda groaned at his antics, wanting nothing more than to go home and continue watching her shows.

Y/n had insisted Wanda that they flew into the back of the Quinjet instead of entering like a normal person. It's not that Wanda didn't have the heart to say no, Y/n simply doesn't take no for an answer. "So long fuckers!" He gave the middle finger as the door closes.

"Will you stop using my powers for your little attractions?" Wanda asked.

"Gosh you train with Nat too much you're starting to sound like her." Y/n rolled his eyes.

"That's not a bad thing! She get things done."

"I get shit done too! But, I make it fun."

"Not when we're-"

"Ugh quiet you two, you're being too loud." They heard Natasha complained. The two young Avengers glanced at her and their face twisted into concern when they finally noticed her injury.

Before Y/n could approach his sister, Wanda was quick to be at her side. "Natasha! What happened?"

Natasha shook it off with a faint smirk, "Don't worry about it Wanda. It's just a scratch."

"This is not just a scratch."

"I've had worse."

"You need to go to the med bay."

The former Russian spy rolled her eyes, "No doctors."

"Wands, there's no point. One time she got a broken rib and she still wouldn't go." Y/n snickered, he was concerned for Nat, but he knew she had went through worse. A flesh wound on the side of her stomach was nothing... To the Black Widow I mean.

Meanwhile Wanda's eyes grew wide at the new information. "Just take a seat, little witch. I'll handle this." Natasha said gently. Natasha was normally sarcastic to everyone, yet she had a soft spot for the young witch. Wanda blushed slightly at the nickname.

Wanda took a seat across from Natasha, Y/n approached his sister and handed her a medkit. "You good?"

"Just a normal flesh-wound-Friday, I'm good." She responded with a flat face. Her little brother rolled his eyes and took a seat next to her.

"You're always so mean to me. Wanda doesn't get this kind of treatment." He grumbled.

"Because she's kind and cute, meanwhile you're a pain in my ass." Wanda's heart skipped a beat, she thinks I'm cute? She heard her best friend groaned again.

Wanda and Natasha had been growing closer each day, especially now that Natasha was mentoring her. Wanda was close to Y/n first, as they were closer to age and not to mention he was the first to welcome her into the Avengers. Natasha took a little while longer, not that she had any resentment towards the young girl, she just wasn't exactly a people person.

Now that Steve had assigned Natasha to mentor Wanda in hand-to-hand combat, the two women are now closer than they were before. And also caused Wanda's itty bitty tiny crush on Natasha to grew. Y/n knew of course, Wanda was not subtle, at ALL.

The way her gaze would follow Nat at the gym, or how Wanda would blush whenever Natasha gave her compliments. Honestly, he might've been the one who gave Steve the idea to assign them to train together. You'll never know.

It seems like Wanda was too deep in thought as she failed to notice that Natasha had unzipped her suit in order to stitch the flesh wound on her stomach. She only looked up when she heard Natasha saying, "Keep it steady Steve."

Holyfuck, Wanda turned as red as her powers. The widow had her suit partially unzipped from the waist up, she had the sleeves of her suit take off as well to give her more flexibility. Showing off her toned bicep and of fuck her rock hard abs. Wanda let in a sharp breath.

Natasha, who has ears like a hawk, looks up at Wanda and gave her a wink. "Like what you see?"

Wanda knows Natasha is a flirt, but damn you don't gotta do her like that. Wanda quickly averted her gaze. She swore she tried to maintain her eyes elsewhere but with Natasha grunting as she tended her wounds, it's pretty fucking difficult.

She used alcohol to clean up the wound, and winced. "Agh shit-" Natasha cursed. Well that twisted something in Wanda's stomach. Y/n who had been playing on his phone, internally scoffed at his sister. She was doing this on purpose. He decided to pull out his earbuds, I'm hearin none of that.

The widow was more than capable of not making any sounds when her injuries are being cleaned. Y/n knew damn well Natasha was just teasing Wanda.

"Do you uh... need any help?" Wanda asked timidly.

"It's alright, little witch. It's nothing I can't handle." Natasha winked again. Christ, Wanda is a mess right now.

Natasha grunted again, "Ugh fuck-" she rested her head back and purposely tightened her abs. Wanda's mind raced again at the thought of hearing Natasha curse while they're in bed as she rides her abs-

No- nooope no no no

Wanda quickly shook to the thought again. The whole ride to the compound felt excruciatingly long. Natasha had opted to wear a tank top that she kept hidden somewhere in the Quinjet. (Don't question her-)

When the quinjet door flew open Y/n was the first to dart out, Steve followed after him. He look back at the two women, "Wanda, make sure she goes to the med bay. The wound still needs a proper cleaning."

"Leave it, fossil." Natasha said flatly as the two walked beside each other. Steve merely gave them a kind smile and continue his way inside the compound.

"Do you need any assistance?" Wanda asked.

"In what terms?" The widow teasingly asked. Wanda turned bright red again.

"I- you know what I mean." Natasha let out a soft laugh, she sounds so beautiful. Wanda could listen to Natasha laughing all day.

"It's alright, little witch. I can walk to my own room."

"Nu uh! Steve said-"

"Wands, I've had wounds like these many times in my life. I can handle it." Natasha said gently with a smile.

Wanda huffed slightly like a little child, shit she's so adorable. "At least let me walk you back to your room then?"

Natasha chuckles, "Alright, lead the way." The two women made their way in a comfortable silence. They reached their shared floor and soon enough they reached Natasha's room. "Well, here we are."

Natasha opened the door to her room and look back at Wanda who was standing outside awkwardly, "Are you sure you don't need to get to the med bay?" Wanda asked again. Her face showed concerns for the other woman.

Natasha gave her a gentle smile again, fuck her smile she's absolutely gorgeous. "I'm sure." Natasha retreats further back into her room. "I'll see you around, Wanda." She closes the door. Wanda lets out the breath she had been holding.

Fuck everything about this woman drives her crazy. Even as simple as Natasha saying her name. She wonders how her name sound if Natasha moaned it-

"I swear how many seasons do I have to wait til you guys get together." Wanda heard a voice beside her and yelped in surprise. She turned to find her best friend standing in the hallway leaning against a wall with his arms crossed. He had a shit-eating grin on his face.

"What are you talking about?" She asked Y/n.

"You like her, she likes you. Seriously, stop with the tension and just kiss already-" Wanda quickly shut his mouth with her hand.

"SHHHHH-"

Y/n's face cringes in confusion, "Hmpf?!"

"You can't just say things like that!"

"Like what??" He asked as Wanda let go of her hand over his mouth. "That you like her?"

Wanda glared and shut his mouth again. Y/n being the dumb best friend decided to stick their tongue out causing Wanda to pull her hand back and wipe it on his face. "EW!"

"Noo!!! I'll get a breakout-"

"Then don't lick my fucking hand!" She yelled in hushed whisper.

"Wanda, as your friend, and her brother, I'm telling you just ask her out or something."

"What if she says no?" Wanda asked, "Beside I don't want to ask her out until I'm sure she's into women."

With that Y/n gave a very, very, extremely, disappointed look. "You really did not just say that." Did she not hear the part where I said, 'she likes you'?

"What?"

"I-" Y/n shook his head. "Never mind." He turned on his heel and walked away.

"Y/n? What does that mean?!!" She chased after her friend.

These dumb lesbians I swear.

I just wanted an excuse to use that pic of Nat, teheeeeee. Hope you guys liked this! I'm still not sure whether or not to make this into a series or nah, butt i love me sum Nat x Sibling!reader shenanigans.

[noblest-roman-of-them-all]

Polly Jolly Christmas but as a Sanders Sides AU

Logan is an architect, Janus is a lawyer, and Roman is an up and coming singer/songwriter.

By some chance of fate, all three of them end up in the same small town to visit their girlfriends for the holidays. The same small town where a new hotel is meant to be going in, possibly threatening the income of one of the five or six bed and breakfasts already there.

Logan is confronted by his girlfriend upon arrival because his plans were apparently being used for the hotel, the "How could you do this to me?" lecture ensues and Logan can't get a word in edgewise to explain that the plans in question were stolen months ago, that she knew some of his plans were stolen, he told her about that. He tries to take her hand as she turns around and slaps him across the face.

Janus arrives and is immediately torn into by his fiance because another lawyer at the firm he works for is representing the Evil Hotel Guys, and it doesn't matter how much he tries to explain he didn't know about it, it's not his case, why would he? It doesn't matter that he tries to offer to represent her and her cause, she still throws the ring at him and storms off, leaving him speechless.

Roman has been planning this for a few months. He was going to surprise his girlfriend by being one of the performers at the Christmas and pulling her up on stage and proposing. But part of it being a surprise meant being a little cagey about the details of his holiday plans, though he did at least promise he would absolutely see her Christmas day. He arrives in town a few days before Christmas to get everything in order for The Big Day, and despite his best efforts of remaining incognito, is seen by his girlfriend's high school sweetheart, who is somehow convinced that he's here with the Evil Hotel Guys and tell her so. The girlfriend literally hunts Roman down to confront him about it, Roman ends up having to tell her about his plans to surprise her to convince her he's not part of any marketing scheme to get everyone to want a new hotel. This somehow still makes her angry, and she tears him a new one for making the proposal all about him, and goes off about how unsupportive he's been, and decides that's a good time to announce she's been writing her own music too, that she was planning on performing at the Christmas Parade, but couldn't because some arrogant no-name was coming into town and turned out to just be him. Roman is shocked and tries to tell that of course he'd back out for her, that he would have helped her if he'd just known, if she just told him. She declares he should have Just Known. Roman quietly leaves without telling anyone to give her the chance to Save The Day by being the last minute fill-in. Sure it might ruin his reputation there, but at least she'll be happy. He leaves a recording of the song he wrote for her behind and immediately hawks the ring he'd bought to cover his cost of now wasted travels.

Janus and Logan meet first in the lobby of Bed and Breafast Number Four. Logan is on the phone, trying to figure out how he can get his stolen plans back, frustrated and nearing tears, visibly bruised from being stuck. He hangs up, ready to break down when Janus apologizes for eavesdropping, but he's a lawyer and maybe he could help. Logan explains the situation and Janus is immediately pulling up his laptop to get things going. Logan tries to tell him, it's fine, it's Christmas, he's sure Janus plans. Janus laughs bitterly and explains that no, he doesn't, and briefly explains the fued with his ex-fiancee.

That's when Roman stumbles in, visibly upset, and obviously trying not to breakdown, asking about availability. He's informed that they're booked full due to the concernt happening at the Parade and Roman musters up a smile, and says something about a friend of his performing there, before walking away. He collapses into a chair near where Logan and Janus have been chatting and takes out his phone to figure something out, before just giving up, burying his face in his hands.

Logan is the one who tentatively breaches the heavy silence, offering Roman the extra bed in his room. Roman appreciatively accepts, stating he's hoping to get out of tomorrow, and explains the concert debacle. Janus offers his sympathies, explaining his fiance had just broken up with him because of his job, and Logan laughs bitterly chiming in with his own breakup story. They get to chatting and it turns out that not only were all their partners from the same town, but it turns out so are they. Janus has the idea to just rent a car and they can all just leave town together. They're all headed toward the same place anyway, and the cost of canceled plan tickets is well worth not having to stay in a place where they're all miserable. They all agree and head off.

They're only on the road for a few hours when Roman gets a call, from his now ex demanding to know where he is, what he was thinking leaving town like that, he has an obligation to fulfill. Roman explains as calmly as he can that he left so he wouldn't be overshadowing her anymore, citing what she had told him during their Big Argument. Janus pulls over when Roman finally says that maybe she's better off without him, that he hopes she's happy with High-school Sweetheart and that all her dreams come true and ends the call. Janus holds his hand while he cries and Logan scoots to the middle and puts a hand on his shoulder.

They make it back without further incident. Janus and Logan keep in better contact as Janus is helping him with the stolen plans debacle. Both do try to keep in touch with Roman, though it's a bit hard to do with how much he withdrew after everything happened. And it's not really till a few months later when Janus and Logan meet up at a bar to celebrate getting Logan's plans back that they actually see Roman again. They track him down after his set on stage and invite him out to get food with them, but it's late and a lot of places are shutting down soon, so Logan suggest they grab food and take it back to his place. They all end up chatting till early in the morning and at that point Logan insists the other two just stay the night, citing his concern for their safety driving with such little sleep.

Janus and Roman wake the next morning only to overhear Logan on the phone, locked in conversation that was quickly devolving into an argument. Janus catches on that it has to do with the stolen plans and immediately is checking on things to make sure that they, indeed, get everything settled and Logan walks in a few minutes later, visibly upset and offering breakfast. Janus is at his side in an instant, asking to know what was wrong, and who was asking about the plans.

Logan explains that it was his ex, that she just found out the hotel isn't being built because it came out the plans were indeed stolen, and that she was trying to apologize and, essentially, get back together. Logan had turned her down and was just glad he could hang up and not have to worry about being slapped again. Before Janus can even fully react Roman has Logan in his arms and Logan finally breaks down for the first time since everything started. Janus stands close by, rubbing Logan's back, trying to offer at least a little comfort. Once Logan has calmed, Janus suggests going to breakfast together, his treat.

Breakfast together on Sunday morning becomes A Thing for the trio and the next thing they know they're planning Christmas together. Janus offers to host and when he greets Roman and Logan at the door with a kiss each, they all realize how much sense it makes, none of them can quite say when their friendship turned into something a little more, but now that they're here, they could see that it had indeed, become something more romantic. And that it simply made sense, it felt right, the three of them together. They spend the evening exchanging quick pecks on the cheek and playfully shouldering each other out of the way or bumping hips while cleaning up after dinner and finally huddled in a tangled mess of limbs on the couch watching the faux fire place. Quiet "I love you"s are finally exchanged, though at that point it was already known and didn't really need saying. But it felt good, felt right to say it. They stayed together that night and began making plans to spend every night together.

[vodkacheesefries]

big spoilers for dragon age the veilguard from early access players beneath the cut.

Also lengthy rambling/opinions.

proceed at thine own peril

In theory I'm okay with things being boiled down into a handful of simple questions to help new incoming players establish a background for their game.

HOWEVER, we're only getting three, and those are:

Did your Inquisitor disband/keep the Inquisition?

Did they vow to save/stop Solas?

Who did they romance?

That's it. This is. A choice.

I get it. it's been 10 years since Inquisition came out and longer since DA2 and DAO. A lot of people probably haven't played the early games, and there are hundreds if not thousands of choices across all three games that including them in Veilguard would be difficult.

But there are a handful of choices/decisions that it is absolutely wild to me that they aren't including in Veilguard's questionnaire. At the bare minimum I was hoping for the following:

What was the fate of your Grey Warden?

What was the fate of your Hawke?

Who drank from the Well of Sorrows?

Did your Inquisitor disband/keep the Inquisition?

Did your Inquisitor vow to save/stop Solas?

That's it! Only two more questions than we already have, and two of them are the same as the ones we're getting. All of the important story choices, and small choices that you could make in the prior games boil down to the fate of your character in that game so there's no need to get more detailed than that.

For example, obviously if your Warden survived the final battle, the dark ritual took place, so there's no need to ask more about it. Obviously if Hawke was left in the fade, they didn't go to Weisshaupt, and Alistair/Loghain/Stroud stayed in the Fade. Obviously if Morrigan drank from the well of Sorrows, your Inquisitor isn't going to be linked to Mythal, but Morrigan is.

Those feel like arguably the most important story beats from the previous games and I feel like that still keeps it simple enough and doesn't rely on importing potentially thousands of choices you made across the three prior games, while still explaining just enough without having to explain too much to new players.

(side note: I suppose if we want to get extra fancy we can add a question for "Who did your Warden/Hawke/Inquisitor romance" because callbacks to those relationships have always been fun, especially if we're getting any sort of cameo of past companions. Which at this point, I don't think we are.)

As far as past player characters returning, I get why that's hard to do because there's so many different endings for the Warden, and even Hawke post Inquisition. Would I like for them to show back up? Sure. But I'm okay if they don't.

TBH the most I've been hoping for is that maybe somewhere in a level/mission you're on, maybe with Davrin, you could find an easy to miss crumpled up letter/codex entry on it talking about how if your Warden was still alive they found a cure and disappeared into a well deserved retirement and to not bother them with anymore end of the world bullshit ever again.

Hell, I'd even accept it if it mentioned they'd started hearing the Calling and went to the Deep Roads and they're sorry they couldn't do more. I just want to know what happens to them. It doesn't have to be a pivotal plot point or anything.

Crumbs.

I am begging for crumbs, Bioware.

PS: I know it sounds like I'm being incredibly critical of the game, but I am actually very excited for it and I do think I'll enjoy it, despite any ties, or lack thereof, to prior games. I'm a big fan of being critical of the things you enjoy.

Now if you want me to get really critical because I don't like something, ask me how I feel about Inquisition because WHOOO boy I could give a Ted Talk about how much I dislike Inquisition.

[justjesse116]

Yooo, eeeextra long, kinda rambly dabihawks post incoming. I talk a fair bit about myself, because that's where my experiences come from, shocker there. God speed.

Woooooof here I am being extra emo about dabihawks tonight, so sit back and pull up a chair while I make good on outlining exactly what my main malfunction is concerning them, for the 3 people that care. One ticket to sad bitch island, population: me.

So I'm beginning this by saying; no this is not about canon dabihawks, I do in fact think those bitches are not good for each other from what I've seen, HOWEVER. I tend to look at things as they could be, not as they are, and the potential here is just ridiculous.

Source? Me. And people I know. And what I mean by that is I've lived as close to Dabi's life as I feel anyone is going to get without turning into a real life murderer, and I know plenty of people (myself included) who share plenty of attributes, aspirations etc with Hawks as well.

And I know, I know, they're fictional characters and there's no way anyone can pin down who they truly are, but I guess that's kind of my point. There's just enough suspension of disbelief that you could explain away pretty much anything, but that's true for most fanon pairings, and not my point.

SO. Onto my main point.

..........Human nature.

I hate to get all psychological but STAY WITH ME. As long as I can remember I've been very independent, the "I don't need anybody" type, because life had so thoroughly kicked the shit out of me that I was downright afraid of human connection because it always ended badly and I was always so hurt by it. Well now, later in life, and a couple diagnosis later, not only can I better sus out which relationships are worth pursuing, but I can understand what I'm looking for from other people and how to get it. And do you know what it is that I want now, no matter the cost to myself? Yessir, it's love, as fucking cringe as that is for me to say. Who saw that coming, eh?

There was a meme of sorts another user posted on Tumblr of the LOV and what they all wanted most as tweets or something, and someone else edited it(?) to have all of their reasons just say 'LOVE ME, LOVE ME, LOVE ME', and that lives rent free in my fucking head.

I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it turns out love is, in fact, the answer.......(*soft gag*) Shit do I hate to admit that.

SO ALL OF THAT TO SAY.

Dabi and Hawks understand at least broadly what the other has gone through, so they would at least have a vague understanding of one another from that. People underestimate the power of empathy.

I'm gonna be kinda toxic here and say I'm at a point in my life where I need a partner to argue with. I need to bicker, and I also do NOT need to be surrounded by yes men, I need someone to call me on my bullshit, and I feel like they would truly be like that together. Going along with the understanding, I feel like they're very well suited to holding the other accountable.

Their chemistry in my mind is undeniable. I'm a red/blue pairing bitch, I have no defense for that one.

And I'm not gonna lie, at this point I'm having a very difficult time articulating what other reasons I have beyond projection, so perhaps I'm full of shit??

There's the ever constant popular trope of both their relationships with Endeavor complicating things, their quirks being incompatible, the, you know, literal backstabbing etc, but for my purposes that's all neither here nor there. Because there is something about their relationship, both as it is and what it could be, that makes me half feral. It's The Good Shit™.

Yet again, all this to say that I truly believe despite Dabi's villainous tendencies and Hawks' position as the No. 2 hero, at some point both of those shits are going to be mighty sore for a similar connection, and I truly believe they are best suited for one another.

[psalacanthea]

The Fall of Arlathan- Ch: 11

hey you got two updates this year, that's more than previous! lol. Happy New Year, here's an update to the modern au/ancient elvhen au? Whatever you want to call it. The Schooling Pride sequel. Solavellan, around 8k.

NEW CHAPTER HERE

in this chapter: meeting new friends and processing having left the ruins of your life with your out-of-touch nomad ex-boyfriend.

...

“In thirty minutes we will pass a cafe that intrigued me.  Anderfel–”

Regretfully, as she did love his ramble, Ellie interrupted in a hiss.  “This is more of an emergency situation.  We’re traveling by car and this isn’t a battle worth fighting.  If we can find cheezie dragons that buys us your thirty minutes.”

“No insult intended, but it is only thirty minutes.  Is a second stop truly necessary?”

“Solas, she’s two,” Ellie said with exasperation.

“Three.”

Fuck.  Right.  Ellie sighed and gave the back of his seat a small, reproving thump.  Not enough to disturb him, just enough to make her annoyance clear.  “Not old enough to understand the linear passage of time when her tummy is empty.  I have the energy for one battle a day, and this isn’t it.”

“Understood,” Solas said instantly, much to her relief.  

And back came reality, pushing through the cracks to ruin her ignorant peace.

It crashed into her, the miasma of real life and all the shit that came with it.  What was she doing?  When Hawke looked at you like you were crazy, you were fucking crazy.  On top of that, Zevran had quit!  Out of nowhere!  So even if she did try to turn around and go back to her life, even if she wasn’t fired from the damned investigation, she’d have to find a new nanny and a new home, and that was a whole emotional burden she wasn’t prepared for.  But she hadn’t even told her sister!

Yes, technically Mira should be fine if she didn’t pull any shit.  Her little sister was a technical and legal adult.  She had transportation, income, food, and somewhere to sleep, but–

“Ellana?”

And now she was running away with her college ex boyfriend who had spent the last ten years haphazardly drifting around Thedas being Interesting.  What did he want her to be, his anchor?  Creators!  She had a kid, and a job, and a whole entire life that didn’t involve teaching some dilettante hipster philosopher his new meaning of life until he moved on to the next…shit.

Wait.

Oh, great.

Not this again.  

[mariacallous]

If anyone was under any delusion that Donald Trump was not going to be as bonkers as he said he would be, then his announcement on Tuesday that he would slap a 25% tariff on all imports from Canada and Mexico (and deeper tariffs on China) should remove all doubt.

“Tariff” has become the economic word of the year thanks to the incoming US president.

It is no surprise that there has been a spike in Americans searching “What is a tariff?” on Google (sadly more people are asking that now, rather than before the election).

The answer is this: a tariff is essentially an import tax.

And despite what Trump might tell you, it is not paid by the country or the company that is exporting things to your country.

A 25% tariff means anyone importing things from – in this instance Canada or Mexico – to the US will now have to pay a 25% tax on the good. So, something that cost $100, now costs you $125.

If you are then selling that item or using it to build something that is then sold, that cost is of course going to be passed on to your customers.

Tariffs raise prices much like the GST raised the prices of things – and like the GST it hurts people on low and middle incomes the most.

Canadians and Mexicans will lose out as well because American importers will look to get goods from elsewhere because now those products are more expensive to buy. Maybe they will buy American-made items; more likely they’ll just import them from another country.

But the world economy is complex. A lot of what Americans import are things used by American companies to make their own products.

About 35% of what the US imports from Canada is petroleum – either refined, crude or gas – so the tariff now raises the price of that. Same for aluminium products and wood and all manner of other “input” goods.

That means the cost of overall production in America also rises.

So, not good.

And you can expect Mexico and Canada to retaliate with their own tariffs against US imports.

This would hurt the US economy because Canada and Mexico are America’s biggest export destinations:

The Mexican president is already announcing this will happen.

Welcome to a trade war – where no one really wins, because everyone just pays more for things.

Australia used to have some very high tariffs – especially for manufacturing and agriculture.

But since Gough Whitlam, who cut tariffs by 25% in 1973, the drive has been to lower them:

The big drops occurred during the 1980s and 1990s as the Hawke and Keating governments sought to make Australian industries compete with the rest of the world.

As Bob Hawke told parliament in his 1991 “Building a Competitive Australia” speech, the result of these tariffs was “inefficient industries that could not compete overseas; and higher prices for consumers and higher costs for our efficient primary producers”.

Because tariffs keep import prices high, local industries can become rather inefficient and lazy.

In the 1980s imported cars had a 57.5% tariff. It meant Australian cars could be poorly made with few features that were standard in Europe and the local companies didn’t have to worry about you buying the better made European car because they were far too expensive.

And so down came the tariffs from the 57.5% rate to 35% by 1991 and then by 2.5% a year to a 15% rate in 2000.

The impact on car prices is pretty clear:

From 1972 to 1996 car prices rose essentially in line with overall inflation. Since 1996, inflation has risen 108% while car prices have fallen 12%.

That’s the good news – cheaper cars for all!

Not so good if you had a job making one though.

The problem with tariffs is that while there are clear benefits to the economy (and society) from reducing them from very high levels to low levels, the benefits diminish with each cut.

This is pretty obvious from the improvements in productivity in the 1990s when the big cuts were made on manufacturing tariffs, and the only small improvements after then even though the smaller tariffs kept being cut:

The tariff of 15% brought cheaper, better cars onto the market, forced the local industry to improve in order to compete, and yet still gave it just enough protection to be able to compete against the massive car producers of Japan, the United States and Germany.

But the tariff cuts kept going.

The tariff on passenger motor vehicles dropped to 10% in 2005 and 5% in 2010.

And in 2008 Mitsubishi announced it would stop local production.

Government subsidies kept the industry going but Joe Hockey as treasurer ended that assistance.

And in 2013 Ford and Holden announced they would stop local production.

And then in 2014 Toyota announced it too would stop local production.

And now just 6% of all employed work is in manufacturing, compared with more than 20% in the 1970.

But Australia is not alone in this – in the 1950s about 30% of all workers in the US worked in manufacturing, now it is just 8%:

And this brings us back to Trump.

Why put tariffs on Canada and Mexico and China (and other nations including Australia) if it is just going to raise prices?

The theory is that it will bring back the factories and jobs.

Alas tariffs are a bit like a bath plug – they keep the water at a certain level but if you take it out the level goes down, and putting the plug back won’t cause the water to rise.

American manufacturing might get more work but mostly it will just take workers from other sectors that are not as protected or which get hurt more by tariffs other nations apply.

The big question though is: is this all just bluff?

Trump is great at saying he will do something, not doing it, saying he did and declaring some huge victory when nothing actually happened.

Economists and anyone who buys products imported or made from imports will be hoping this is what he intends this time.

[nerdforestgirl]

Note: A story? Not on May 24th or my birthday? Wild. Enjoy. Set During The Long Distance Dissonance.

Sheldon hung up the phone, and had a smile on his face. He had just called Larry Fowler to get his permission to ask Amy to marry him. He thought the tradition was silly, but he also knew that it would make Amy happy to know that he asked. Amy liked weird old timey stuff like that. It was worth the few minutes to call. Particularly because Mr. Fowler had been all too pleased to give the asked for permission.

Now Sheldon was just at the airport waiting for his flight to take off. He wished he could call his own dad. He always wanted to include his father in big moments. Then Sheldon thought of someone else he wanted to talk to. He pulled out his phone.

Knock Knock he wrote into the text chat. It was a version of the old code they had in their bedrooms as kids. He wanted to make sure she was available to talk instead of just calling. She must be, because a photo of her and her son appeared on his screen as an incoming Facetime call almost immediately.

“Hello, Missy,” Sheldon said into his phone after he answered it.

“What do you want, nerd?” Missy replied.

A little bit of a smile fell across Sheldon's lips at her insult of affection. She was the only person other than perhaps Leonard who could make him smile with teasing.

“I am at the airport. I am going to New Jersey to ask Amy to marry me,” Sheldon told his sister.

“Whoa. Big. Did you tell Mom? She's going to be thrilled.”

Sheldon wondered why he didn't call his mother or Meemaw first. Then he realized that his mother and grandmother would be supportive, but they wouldn't necessarily be honest. He wanted to know if this was a mistake. Not Amy. Amy could never be a mistake. But maybe he was moving too fast. He had only been with her for seven years after all.

“No. I will wait to talk to Mom after Amy agrees,” Sheldon admitted. “Do you think I'm doing the right thing?” he added more quietly.

“Other than the fact that you should've done this years ago, of course,” Missy said. Everyone else always assumed that Sheldon would end up alone, but even when the twins were teenagers, Missy had a feeling that Sheldon would find someone for him. He might be annoying and weird, but there was a charm to Sheldon that Missy could see. The right people always loved him.

“You never regret getting married?” Sheldon asked. He could only have asked this question to his sister. Of course she could tease him for asking, but she never truly judged him. He didn't believe that they had any extra connection from sharing a womb, but she did get him in a way that no one else did. Maybe it was all of those late night talks when they shared a bedroom as kids.

“Oh. I absolutely do, but my husband is an idiot. But you will be the idiot if you don't marry her. It's obvious that you love her,” Missy said.

“How do you know? You have never even met her,” Sheldon reminded her.

“Whose fault is that? You never bring her to come see me. Not even when you've come back to see Mom. And I have eyes and ears. I've seen the way you talk about her. Everyone knows you love her. You even stood up to Meemaw for her. Mom wanted to print the invitations to your wedding then.”

Sheldon appreciated the reminder that he love for Amy was so clear. Not just to himself, but to everyone around him too. Sheldon knew that his sister would never steer him wrong. Not with something this important.

Then Sheldon heard the announcement that his flight was boarding. He knew he should hang up and get on the flight. He didn't want to miss this flight for anything.

“I have to get on my plane, but thanks for taking to me,” he told his sister.

“No problem. Let me know when she says yes,” Missy said.

Sheldon nodded and pressed the button to hang up the call. More than even Stephen Hawking, talking to his sister made him feel like this was definitely the right decision.