#posting this from da swing

[sam-sessington-the-third]

wish i could see my art as the people that reblog it screaming about it do

[mohntilyet]

actually sorry dav reads like a game that was written by people who think da2 is about found family. in every other game my ending feels earned and my choices are my own and then veilguard asks the bold question what if we could bring the hr mandatory team bonding experience into a video game?

[icharchivist]

im worked up about DA and Solas again

[mournthebird]

Gentle Hand.

summary: Soldat has a panic attack.

warnings: Post!HYDRA Winter Soldier | Post!HTP and abuse | PTSD symptoms & behavior | Panic attacks | Brief medical treatments | Flashbacks of HTP | Past dehumanization | Brief mention of SA

a/n: This was supposed to be posted before the other one I just posted, but I got impatient lol. So it might sound a little out of order, once I have all these parts out I'll put them in order. He's getting through it, you're being patient. Unedited. ;; wc: 3.4k

There were a lot of complicated things with Soldat.

Significant complications with his health, for starters, which caught you off guard given his status as a super soldier. You had initially assumed that his enhanced physiology would grant him a far greater resilience compared to an ordinary human, as had been proven with the likes of Steve Rogers. However, the treatment from HYDRA had somehow managed to infiltrate his system so profoundly and extensively that it had wreaked havoc on his entire physiological makeup, leaving him in a severely compromised state.

The issue of malnourishment was addressed through a carefully planned regimen of intravenous treatments, much to Soldat’s dislike. This approach was complemented by a gradual reintroduction to solid foods, a process that required meticulous attention and patience. The goal was to slowly accustom his system to regular nutrient intake without overwhelming his weakened digestive tract. Not to mention the fact that Soldat often refused food or that his body simply could not handle it, even in small amounts.

Honestly, re-feeding him was a whole other problem you had to tackle.

A similar strategy was employed to combat his severe dehydration and restore proper fluid balance. You also noticed that he experienced significant difficulty in swallowing, a symptom that hinted at potential damage to his esophageal tract or neurological complications affecting his ability to consume liquids normally.

Then, there were the myriad of wounds that covered his body. Stubborn injuries that had been persisting for a duration that far exceeded your initial expectations and caused you considerable worry. You found a small measure of solace in the fact that the majority of these injuries, while numerous, consisted primarily of superficial cuts and bruising.

Treating these wounds was far from easy. His behavior during treatment sessions mirrored a cornered wild animal, skittish and unpredictable, making each attempt at care a delicate and often extremely stressful. You didn’t want to stress him any further than he probably was in a stranger’s home, with a stranger, but you needed to at the very least keep the wounds from bleeding everywhere.

He lashed out at you with his metal arm, swinging wildly without any real force behind it. You could instantly discern that his actions were driven by sheer terror rather than malice. His eyes were wide with panic, darting frantically around the room, and it was evident that he wasn't actively trying to cause you harm. As you approached with the antiseptic and gauze, he bared his teeth in a defensive snarl and let out a feral hiss, his metal arm swinging once more in a desperate attempt to keep you at bay.

He had backed himself into the corner of your bathroom, the face he couldn’t go anywhere was frightening him just as much as you were. "Easy there, Soldat," you murmured, your voice steady and reassuring. "You're not scaring me. These wounds need to be cleaned and treated." Your words were calm and gentle, but they seemed to do little to soothe his frayed nerves.

In another display of agitation, he swung his arm downward, connecting with your tile floor. The impact was forceful enough to shatter the tiles into several jagged pieces, the sound of breaking ceramic echoing through the room. He fixed you with a glare that was clearly meant to be intimidating, but you could see right through it. His expression was a forced mask of hatred, a poor attempt at appearing dangerous. He was trying so hard to maintain this façade of aggression, but his fear was as obviously visible beneath the surface.

"Listen, Soldat," you said, your voice taking on a firmer yet still compassionate tone. "If you really wanted to harm me, we both know you would have done so by now. Your behavior isn't fooling either of us." You gestured to his injuries, your expression softening. "Now, please, let me tend to these wounds. If we don't bandage them soon, you're going to end up bleeding all over the place. That can't be comfortable for you. And I would really appreciate it if you didn't stain my carpet..."

His face held a stubborn, forced scowl, but also an undeniable air of resignation. He relaxed at your approach, albeit marginally, allowing you to come closer. Sharp, audible breaths exited his nostrils in rapid succession, betraying his lingering apprehension. You knew he was tense so you offered reassurance, "You're alright, I promise this won't hurt. We just need to take care of these."

Your words seemed to have enough of a calming effect as you carefully began tending to him, finally able to assess and treat his injuries. As the moments passed and he realized your true intentions were solely to help, not harm, his demeanor shifted. He became increasingly receptive to your ministrations as each cleaning session came, and he allowed you to clean his wounds and change his gauze without resistance.

But there was one thing you couldn't help but notice, and it was perhaps the biggest hurdle of them all. An almost violent aversion to certain actions and decisions.

To the outside eye, they appeared completely random, and they did to you too. At first.

Soldat refrained from doing anything, no matter how mundane, without first seeking your explicit permission. Something as simple as taking a seat or reaching for a glass of water seemed to require your approval.

At first this behavior confused you, but as you observed him more closely, you started to understand a little but more. HYDRA, while you knew very little of his experiences, did a number on his psyche. He was grappling with intense internal struggles, and in an attempt to cope with his sudden freedom, he was projecting his deep-seated need for structure and guidance onto you. By relinquishing control over even the most basic decisions, he seemed to find a semblance of comfort and stability.

This realization left you with mixed emotions.

On one hand, you felt a twinge of discomfort at being thrust into this unexpected role of authority. The weight of his dependence on your decisions was not something you had anticipated or necessarily desired.

Yet, on the other hand, you couldn't deny the visible relief and calm that washed over him when operating within these self-imposed boundaries. Witnessing how this dynamic seemed to provide him with a sense of security and ease, you found yourself reluctantly gave into.

Despite your internal reservations, you knew that this arrangement was serving as a crucial coping mechanism for him during what was clearly a difficult time, even if it had begun from something awful. So, setting aside your own discomfort, you made the conscious decision to lean into this role, at least for now.

Your primary concern was his well-being, and if this is what he needed to feel safe and begin healing, then you were willing to adapt and provide that structure for him.

His comfort level around you was noticeably increasing with each passing day. Gradually, he began to emerge from the bedroom where he had initially isolated himself, seeking out your company in subtle ways.

Your presence seemed to have a calming effect on him, acting as a source of reassurance in his new environment. He made a conscious effort to be in the same room as you, his actions betraying a growing desire for proximity.

He maintained a considerable distance for a while, positioning himself at the far end of whatever space you occupied. He often watched you, or sometimes he’d allow himself to nap, he never spoke. You chose to ignore him most of the time, not wanting to give him too much attention and spook him away.

Time progressed and you noticed a slow but steady shift in his behavior. Like a cautious animal gradually acclimating to a new habitat, he inched closer to you day by day. He continued his gradual migration until he finally felt secure enough to position himself right beside you.

One particularly lazy afternoon, he slowly made his way towards you, his steps heavy with hesitation. Upon reaching the living area, he carefully lowered himself onto the floor adjacent to the couch, his eyes fixed downward on the carpet. Eventually, his gaze lifted, settling on the television screen. He watched the program you had selected, you couldn't help but notice a glimmer of curiosity dancing behind his eyes, his engagement slowly growing with his surroundings.

You had tried many different offers and encouragement, but he refused to make use of any furniture in the house. The comfortable couch remained untouched by him, and the inviting bed you prepared for him went unused night after night. He had ripped the blankets off and curled up on the floor instead.

His reluctance to using the couch and the bed made you start to think. Had he been conditioned to believe that he wasn't allowed to use something as basic as furniture?

You remained silent, not uttering a single word as you observed him sitting there, seemingly without any discomfort. After a moment of hesitation, you decided to break the silence. "You know, you're more than welcome to sit up here with me," you suggested, your voice soft and kind. His head lifted ever so slightly in response to your words, his eyes glancing at you from under the bits of hair that fell over his face.

The soldier's gaze met yours, his eyes filled with a mixture of doubt and confusion. His frown deepened, etching lines across his forehead as if your words were spoken in a foreign tongue he couldn't quite decipher. You gently patted the empty cushion to your left, emphasizing your point. "Really, you can sit up here if you'd like," you reiterated, your tone warm and encouraging, hoping to dispel any lingering uncertainty he might have.

Several minutes pass and he doesn't budge.

You decide to just let him sit there if he wants to, observing his actions without comment. You didn't want to make him do something he didn't want to do anyway. So you turned your attention back to the show playing on the screen, watching she shitty adult cartoon full of jokes and clichés. But you had to admit, it was pretty funny. You felt something beside you, the subtle shift in the couch's cushions as his silver prosthetic makes contact. The furniture dips ever so slightly as the soldier cautiously lowers himself onto it.

His movements are painfully slow and deliberate, as if he's treading on eggshells, anticipating that you might suddenly change your mind or lash out at him at any moment. When he finally settles, his posture is noticeably stiff and unnatural, not to mention his obvious aversion to sitting flat on his ass like a normal person. His wounds and injuries were brutal, and you knew he didn't like to sit often. But right now it seemed like he was forcing himself to do so.

The discomfort radiates from him, filling the air with tension. He sits ramrod straight, muscles visibly taut beneath his clothing, and his eyes are wider than you've ever seen them, pupils dilated and darting around the room. It's as if he's desperately searching for potential threats or escape routes, his entire being on high alert. The sight reminds you of a cornered animal, teetering on the edge of fight-or-flight, barely containing the urge to bolt from the room at the slightest provocation.

"Soldat, it's alright. You're safe here. You can sit here, I said you could," you said in a gentle, reassuring tone, attempting to alleviate his visible anxiety. Your voice was recited soft and steady, hoping to create a calming atmosphere. Soldat still tensed up as you adjusted your position. His reaction was immediate and he recoiled as though anticipating a blow, his body language screaming of deep-seated fear.

His breathing became erratic, each inhale and exhale a struggle. His hands trembled and gripped the cushion with such force that the knuckles on his flesh hand turned white. It was clear he was desperately trying to maintain his composure in what he perceived as a threatening situation. The sight of his internal struggle tugged at your heart, you couldn’t believe something as simple as sitting on the couch could cause him to be this distressed.

‘Assets sit on the floor!’ A heavily armored combat boot collided with its nose, it heard a crack, felt the warmth of thick red ooze running down its face and throat, tasting the metallic flavored substance. The rusty tar. ‘Try to get up here again, and I will chain you up to that fucking stump outside. See if you can withstand below zero all night.’

Its handler really hated when it sat on the furniture. Used a bed. Used a chair. Its handler liked to threaten and hurt it.

He liked it to sit at his feet, like a good asset should. Be silent, be obedient, be subservient and pleasing for handler. Make sure he is satisfied and serviced well. Maybe then it will get to sleep? Maybe it would get a blanket tonight. Maybe it wouldn’t have to serve the team tonight.

Or not.

Concern etched across your features as you observed his distress. "I promise you, everything is okay," you reiterated, your voice laced with sincerity and compassion. However, as you shifted slightly to face him better, it became apparent that this small movement was what he had been unconsciously anticipating. The second you made that tiny little shift in the cushion, he leapt to his feet, his sudden movement causing him to stumble. His knee collided painfully with the coffee table, but he seemed oblivious to the impact.

Backing away from you, his eyes darted wildly around your apartment, resembling those of a cornered animal searching desperately for an escape route. There was panic in his gaze, his chest heaving with each rapid, shallow breath.

Unable to maintain his stance, he sank to his knees, his legs unable to support him any longer. His hands flew to his head, fingers entangling themselves in his long hair, gripping tightly as though trying to anchor himself to reality. His breathing had become so labored and quick that it appeared he was on the verge of hyperventilation, fighting for each breath as though he were drowning on dry land.

He cowered away from you as you approached him with worry, his body surrendering to you.

'Stupid fucking asset! Did they fry out all of your common sense, huh? I said NO sitting on the furniture!' Handler's voice thundered through the room, each word laced with venom and contempt. Its wet nose collided violently with his boot for the second time, the impact reverberating through its skull. A sharp, searing pain pushed into its face, and it wondered if a fragment of its broken nose had been forced inward.

Its handler seized a fistful of the asset's hair in a vicious grip and yanking, forcefully dragging it across the floor. The wooden planks, rough and splintered, scraped against its skin as it was hauled towards the dilapidated door of the safehouse. This ramshackle structure was their temporary refuge for the night, a necessary evil in the unforgiving Siberian wilderness. The biting cold of the subzero temperatures was a constant source of irritation for the American team, who were ill-equipped to handle such extreme conditions.

As its handler stepped outside, the asset felt the icy bite of a frozen chain wrapping around its neck. The metal was chilled to an impossible degree and seared its skin on contact. The unexpected pain elicited a cry of surprise and agony from the asset but it was cut short as the chain constricted, squeezing tightly and cutting off its air supply.

Panic set in as it gasped and clawed desperately at the unyielding metal, its lungs burning for oxygen. Just when unconsciousness threatened to overtake it, the pressure relented, allowing it to gulp in precious air once more. The asset's mind raced, recognizing the depth of its handler's fury in this brutal display.

Its handler secured the other end of the chain to an old tree stump barely visible through the snowbank. The makeshift anchor stood amidst piles of chopped wood, all buried under a thick blanket of freshly fallen snow. The wind howled mercilessly, its icy fingers clawing at both the asset and its handler. 'I'll come back in the morning,' he spat, the words barely audible over the roaring gale.

As its handler retreated indoors, the asset felt the blood on its face begin to crystallize, the crimson stream halting its flow as the subzero temperatures took hold. The relentless wind continued its assault, driving icy particles into every exposed inch of skin. With no other option available, the asset curled into itself, seeking what little warmth it could generate as it resigned itself to enduring the long, brutal hours of frozen misery until dawn.

At least it didn't have to service anyone tonight.

He remained motionless, neither pleading nor protesting.

Its handler hated when it begged most of the time. Sometimes he did like it, but it didn’t want to risk angering you by opening its mouth. No. It should only do that when its handler commands it. Otherwise, it was a whore.

In his mind, he braced for the inevitable feeling of your hand roughly grasping his hair, forcefully dragging him away to face some cruel punishment. How could he have the audacity? Sitting beside you on the couch, as if he dared to consider himself your equal.

Time seemed to stretch endlessly. After several long, dreary seconds that felt like an eternity, he summoned the courage to steal a glance at you. His eyes were partially obscured by strands of unkempt hair, peered out cautiously. His breathing remained ragged and uneven, though he made a conscious effort to quiet it.

Its handler preferred silence, after all.

This thought, ingrained deeply within him, only served to heighten his anxiety.

"Soldat, breathe... it's okay, you're safe here." Your voice broke through the silence, gentle and reassuring, though tinged with a noticeable tremor as you witnessed his breakdown. "It's okay. I'm here. No one else but me. You are safe." You repeated these words, emphasizing them as you carefully lowered yourself to the ground beside him.

The soldier’s hyperventilation persisted despite your gentle efforts to speak to him. You remained undeterred and continued to speak, hoping that somehow your words would penetrate the fog of fear surrounding him.

Or the thick snowbank slowly freezing its skin.

"Whatever you're seeing right now isn't real, it's in the past," you explained, your voice soft but steady. "You're here, in my apartment. It's just us. No one is going to hurt you." You inched closer, gradually closing the distance between you and his huddled, trembling form on the carpet. Your movements were slow as you consciously made the effort to be careful and not to startle him further.

He heard you, the absence of pain confused him, but it also provided some soothing to his pure panic. You were telling the truth.

You weren't going to hurt him.

Soldat's gaze met yours once more, his eyes filled with a profound sadness as he gradually descended from the heights of his attack. His breathing, still irregular and labored, came in erratic bursts, each sudden intake of air punctuated by a noticeable hitch. To your shock, he began to inch towards you, his movements hesitant yet deliberate.

Under his breath, he emitted soft whimpers, struggling valiantly to maintain his silence as he had been engrained to do. His entire form quivered violently, reminiscent of someone caught in the grip of an intense chill, and without warning, he allowed his weight to collapse against you, seeking solace in your presence.

A muffled sound escaped him, barely audible as it was absorbed by the fabric of your shirt. Your arms encircled his trembling frame, careful in case he didn’t want you to do so, but you felt no resistance. As he muffled, your ears pricked and you carefully leaned your head down a bit. Your cheek gently brushed his forehead, your mouth close to his ear. "What is it...you can tell me." You whispered, waiting for him to speak again.

Given the other times he had spoken, you braced yourself for Russian, but those concerns dissipated like morning mist when he finally found his voice and spoke. His words were simple, he murmured out again, the admission barely above a whisper and surprised you when they hit your ears.

"I'm cold."

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

Cover images from Pinterest. I do not claim them as my own.

Taglist: @millercontracting | @teafangirl | @questionableratatouille00 | @buckybarneswife125 | @hazydespair | @leighta | @knoxic | @ghostlyfleur | @beckies000 | @seventeen-x | @freyjhasdesiredreality | @curlycow01

Let me know if you'd like to be added/unadded anytime.

[writing-with-moss]

Saw your post, and thought: why not?

Ok ok, imagine reader is a sleeper, and they like to sleep in most mornings. But one day they decided to wake up in the devil hours of the day and bake apple pie, waking up the 141 and they're generally concerned about reader's sleep schedule and health lmao.

If you understand what I mean.

thank you anon! I really appreciate the ask. My inbox had been really funky these last few days so I'm sorry it took so long!

Poly!TF141 x F!reader

TW/CW- mentions of anxiety and pregnancy, reader wears glasses and is called American, but nothing more than pure fluff!

It was dark when your eyes fluttered open. The warmth of the bed almost pulls you back to sleep. But you manage to get your eyes to stop drooping, your body lazily rolling over and glancing up at the clock.

3:20 a.m

You groan, might as well get up and start the day. So you sit up and swing yourself off the warm covers, leaving your comfy safehaven to maneuver through the dark room. Your hip brushes against a bookshelf and your hands enclose around your pair of glasses.

Finally able to see, you stumble into the kitchen, stretching out with a hum of pleasure, shivers running your spine. The gentle lamp light of the kitchen and the rumble in your stomach kept your socked feet moving along.

You settle on a book, wide open to a certain page. Apple Pie. Warm saliva filled your mouth at the thought of what you had been craving for weeks now. It had been so intense your boyfriends thought you might've been pregnant.

You open up the cupboards and drag out a few bowls, cutting up a few apples.

You must've been too loud because you were halfway into pouring the filling when a large form fills the doorway.

"Wha' da 'ell ya doin' Bonnie?" A sleepy Scottish man grumbles, stumbling towards you in just his boxers. "Cant feckin' sleep with so much bloody ruckus-"

He pauses at your baking, raising a brow. You turn and give a weak smile. "Sorry....Didn't mean to."

"Wha' da 'ell are you makin'?" A rougher voice came from the doorway, a man in matching black sweats stood behind Soap, tilting his head to watch you work.

"Apple Pie." You curtly answered, smiling as you hummed along, popping the dish into the oven.

"Yer so feckin' American." Soap wraps his arms warmly around your waist as he pecks a few kisses to your jaw. His stubble brushing against your cheek, causing a giggle to bubble in your chest. Ghosts warm hand landing on the back of your head to scratch at your scalp before gently tugging at Soaps Mohawk.

Johnny sticks his tongue out at him, before smiling. Ghost responding roughly. "Yer hair makes ya look like a fecking rooster."

Before he could reply, another man walked in.

"American apple pie huh?" Price came in with an almost concerned expression, pouring a mug of steaming coffee. "Yer up early baby. Somethin' goin' on?"

You shake your head. "Don't think so. Just had some cravings and got up early." Soap buries his head a bit deeper into your shoulder as he chuckles.

"You sure you ain't pregnant?" You elbow his side and he laughs, pulling back with a grin. Hopping onto the counter.

"I am not!" Ghost side eyes you and you huff, laughing. "Trust me, I would know. I already took a test. I. Am. Not. Pregnant."

"What about pregnancy- Oh is that apple pie?" Gaz suddenly pops into the kitchen, scratching his chin. "You okay babe? You're up really early."

"Yeah, I just woke up weirdly early. I dunno."

Price tilts his head, wrapping his arm around Gaz' shoulder as they cuddle up. "You anxious?"

"Maybe? I think I'll be okay." You respond, sighing as you cross your arms over your chest. Ghost gently pulls you a bit closer, enveloping you in warmth.

"We're always here for ya. Our sweet girl." He pecks a firm kiss to your forehead and they all nod.

Soap grins slightly. "But are you sure you aren't?-" You throw your towel at him before he can finish.

(Hopefully this is good enough! Thanks for the ask Anon! Requests are open!)

[pespillo]

The entire bizzyboy team x godpoke

wait hold on had to make a whole graph for this

i present the bizzyteam panopticon of romance routes, Godpoke in da middle. biased to headcanons of course as godpoke is a player stand-in after all.

pink heart is for most potential mutual relationship/crush. red heart is infatuation, more of a heavy handed attraction than actual investment. light blue circle is friendly terms. grey zig-zaggy line is for complicated, unsure feelings.

pattypoke, obvious, i think they found eachother at the right point in time, godpoke traveled real far simply for the sake of meeting an idol and ended up becoming part of history, and patty did as well by standing up for herself and finding her voice and identity again, they are sweet like candy to eachother.

alexpoke, i honestly think godpoke tries to flirt with em but alexei is incredibly skittish or straight up doesnt get it, doesnt mean it CANT work, but al would need to come around n not get distracted so much.

vibipoke, ive seen cute stuff with em but i dont really ship em, in fact i think vibi simply cant really vibe romantically with a person of so few words of their own, vib wants megapon, or capo, whoever comes first.

banapoke, this is krerdly deltarune 2 if we believe in ourselves/lh, i honestly like it a lot, its cuteee.

grujapoke?, i think grujaja feels unsure about godpoke and really hasnt opened a lot to people in general to form a coherent relationship at this point in time, also sometimes megapon loud as fuck and he cant take it, godpoke wants to try to be more mindful of their wellbeing to hang out.

capopoke oooohh boy, capo definitely feels Things for godpoke, its mostly about the rivalry going on and being pitted against eachother, but its also the fact that Godpoke doesnt feel that strongly against Capo even after everything, in fact they seem to Actively care, which drives that weird attraction further, Capo is just that guy that loves provoking something just to get manhandled, probably.

Inspekpoke , HOOOH BOY how do i say this its pretty fucking obvious that Inspekta is crazey for the new deputy, immediately wants to pull them in, immediately wants to get weird about it, a lot of it comes from Spek projecting a buncha things at once at em, and thats a problem, i think he sees them as a strictly blank canvas that can be easily swayed by promises and sweet nothings, but to me Godpoke finds it probably a bit cute at the beginning and then it just turns, clingy and uncomfortable towards the end, especially with the passive aggressive behavior and mood swings coming in, too much too quickly. they got a lot to talk about post-canon, lotsa things to be apologizing for.

anyways thanks for coming to my bizzy presentation.

[twstfanblog]

*~Thanks Give Me~* Pt 1

A/N: I'm excited to get this fic out that I'm posting the first part before the second is even done XD Enjoy the fic and look forward to part two! Word Count: 2.5K Warnings: Swearing, Glossing over the history of the Native Americans Next

Banging on Ramshackle's front door was easily the quickest way to get Yuu to answer. Banging on Ramshackle's door at 7am was easily the fastest way to get Yuu to murder whoever was at the door with reckless abandon. 

Yuu had to give credit to whoever was on the other side, they did not let up on their knocking even at the sound of them stomping down the stairs nor the aggressive way they started to undo the locks more than likely broke one of their nails. Swinging open the door, hair wild from sleep and tired eyes glaring they started to yell, “What the fuck do you WANT-”

Ruggie barely missed a beat, stepping closer to squeeze himself under Yuu's arm and into the entry hall of the dormitory, “Hey Ramshackle! So…you told me about a holiday from your world last year and I wanna hear about it again.”

“...” Yuu slammed the door closed, “You were knocking on my door like you were the fucking police because you wanted me to info dump holidays?”

“Nah, nah, nah…Just the one you talked about happening in November…the food one…tell me about the food one again…”

“...Thanksgiving-?”

“Yeah, Thanks Give Me. Are you doing it…this year? Did you do it last year? You should do it this year…and invite your good friend Ruggie-”

“I should fucking kill you. You woke me up on a Saturday for this shit-”

“Come on, prefect!” Ruggie’s face had slipped into an almost pleading expression, “You told me that you'd host one if you had the money for it!” 

He gestures around, the updated and safer Ramshackle a clear difference from the poor squatter Yuu used to emulate, “You can't even bullshit me and say you don't have money now!”

“...” Yuu stood with their hands pressed together, lips resting on their interlocked fingers as they tiredly glared at the floor, “Ruggie if I threw a fucking Thanksgiving dinner will you get the fuck out of my house and let me sleep?”

“Yes.”

“You are so lucky you did this shit on the 1st, we've got three weeks to plan this dumpsterfire-RUGGIE!?”

Ruggie had quickly hoisted Yuu over his shoulder, fireman carrying them out the door and into the early morning, “Sorry, Ramshackle! Just gettin’ some insurance from your boyfriend!”

Azul had been just as confused and startled when Ruggie banged on his bedroom door at 7am demanding he draft up a contract between him and Yuu regarding their promise. A conversation that led to a contract that was painfully vague. An issue Azul tried to bring up but Yuu simply stated wasn't worth the trouble of explaining and to just do what Ruggie asked.

(“Is this what I do to you guys? Is this What I'm like? Why do you love me?”

“For many reasons, please just tell me what's happening.”

“Naw, this is more fun.”

“Alright…”)

Only a week after that incident, during a housewarden meeting, did Yuu call everyone to attention. They stood, going around the table and passing out invitations tied close with golden ribbons to the other wardens and the vices that had managed to be in attendance.

Vil opened his invitation first, squinting his eyes at the ornate yet bold script and reading aloud, “You are formally invited to the first annual Ramshackle Thanksgiving Dinner…what is Thanksgiving?”

Yuu clicked a button on the room's master remote, calling down the screen and turning the projector on to show a PowerPoint. She moved the projector control panel to the front, putting their flashdrive into it.

Riddle sat up straighter in his seat, pointing toward the set up in anger, “You did not file a request to use the projector!”

“Riddle, let me cook. This is the only way I could think to explain this and I have a magically binding contract with Ruggie.”

Leona groaned, letting his invite fall to the ground, “Is this what Ruggie’s been yapping about for the past four days? He's been hounding my ass to just agree with whatever you propose and I have half a mind to say no out of spite.”

“...”, Yuu pressed a button on the panel, a slide coming up showcasing an obvious stock photo of a feast, “Thanksgiving is a holiday from my world where you come together and eat so much you pass out.”

“...You have my approval.”

Idia spoke up, giving Leona a side eye while he held his own invite like a wet rag, “Wow, folded that fast, huh?”

“I'm depressed, not suicidal, Shroud…”

Yuu clicks to a new slide, showing another clear stock photo of a family all gathered around a dinner table, “As stated, it's a family-based holiday. Immediate and extended family all come together to share a meal, catch up, and just have a general good time and maybe watch some football.”

Idia frowned, the very idea of his extended family all in his home being nothing closer to a waking nightmare.

Another slide, hand-drawn images of two people; one dressed in an all-black traveler’s outfit of an olden Queendom citizen and a Republic Native in a large headdress*, “It started back when the pilgrims landing in America and had their first successful harvest with the help of the Native Americans. And now we just…don't talk about that.”

Trey tucked his invite into his jacket, raising an eyebrow, “Why?”

Yuu clicked to the next slide, showing the Native now scribbled out with red ink and the traveler smiling evilly as she mumbled, “Oh, the stealing of land, assaulting of women and children, the deliberate spread of disease, and erasure of culture-”

Riddle spoke for them all, eyes wide at the various horrors Yuu was seeming to brush past, “The what?”

Yuu clicked the button again, showing a new text slide that (annoyingly) used comic sans as the title font, “Anyway, your jobs. We're gonna do this fast because I have to beat Sebek into submission after this meeting. And just to explain, we're doing what is technically called a ‘FriendsGiving’. It acts more like a potluck instead of a traditional Thanksgiving.”

Jade raises his hand, “I think we'd like to hear more about the apparent deliberate spread of disease?”

Pulling out a collapsible pointer, Yuu smiled and clicked on a new slide to slap it against the screen, “Riddle, you're allowed to bring a store-bought dessert. But your main job will be to yell at everyone to behave and then call to the meal once it's prepared. Actually, Riddle, take notes, everyone will need it.”

Riddle sighed heavily, taking out his notebook and scribbling down notes that he would have to copy and deliver to the others.

The pointer hit against the screen more aggressively, Yuu glaring directly at Trey, “Trey…you bring dessert.”

“I'm not so sure I want to celebrate a holiday involving the desecration of a culture…”

“You bring a dessert or you will be hunted for sport.” Their pointer smacks against the screen again, “Cater: Gay Cousin.”

Idia looked at the screen in confusion, watching as even Riddle was tripped up before writing down what was said, “Is he… is he bringing a gay cousin or-”

SMACK “Deuce, he can bring an egg dish. I can't trust him with anything else. Ace, the family member that no one wants there but shows up anyway.”

Trey was already thinking of what dessert he wanted to bring, making a list in his mind of what the group would like the most, “Do…we invite Ace or do we just bring him with us-”

SMACK “Leona, your job is to hog the TV and watch sports. Just really manspread it on the couch; be even better if you fell asleep while watching it but won't let go of the remote.”

While he didn't agree nor disagree, Leona gave Yuu a look of annoyed bewilderment.

Vil spoke up, his own face pinched in confusion, “This is a food-based holiday, correct?”

Yuu was either willingly ignoring them or she actually was focused on dealing out her strange tasks. The pointer once again slapped at the fabric of the screen, “Jack, something…maybe a nice vegetable side or a pear-themed dish. No chicken…in fact, no meat. He can't be trusted. Ruggie.”

The room was silent as Yuu looked at the screen, a brief pulse of rage in her eyes before inhaling deep and releasing it, “Anyway. Azul, you're in charge of managing the drinks for the evening. We want a decently diverse but small selection of alcoholic and non-alcoholic to pick from.”

“I have no issue with that, though I'd like to know what the final menu will consist of to make a proper selection for wine…also. Is there a reason Jade and Floyd's names aren’t on this list?”

Jade spoke up, “I was also wondering. You are aware that my brother and I are in Mostro Lounge’s kitchen more than Azul is. We'd be best to bring dishes since most of the attendees are not so…culinarily inclined.”

Yuu had been poised to slap their pointer to Kalim’s name, pausing and looking over their shoulder to Jade, “Oh, You're not allowed to participate in prep.”

“...” Azul leaned forward in his seat, making a point to also scoot away from a now blank faced Jade, “You want us…namely me…to tell Floyd he isn't allowed to participate in a group activity that almost everyone else is allowed a hand in?”

“Yes.”

“...Do you not love me anymore?”

SMACK “Kalim-”

“Answer me?”

“-You will actually be securing a tableware set for the festivities. Nothing insane; simple but with a hint of fancy and lots of serving platters and bowls. Crystal or China is traditional, but I'll let you pick what you think would be nice within reason.”

Kalim had perked up, a story about how he had the perfect gold and gem-encrusted dish set dying on his tongue as he thought Yuu's request over, “Don't you…have a room in Ramshackle filled with tableware you found? It was some pretty nice stuff from what Cater told me…”

“Oh yeah. So after some further investigation, turns out all of that was just cursed and Sam has since confiscated it from my property. The cutlery was fine though, so we're good on that front, but if you find something to match the table set, get it.”

“...Okay!” Kalim quickly pulled out his phone, looking up tableware and just how many types of serving platters there were.

SMACK “Jamil.”

The look the vice gave them already showed how tired he was; a holiday based solely on hosting and seemingly meticulous planning of decorations and food prep sounded like an average day in the Asim household, making nothing new nor relaxing to Jamil.

“Do whatever the fuck you want.”

“Parden?”

“The actual task you'd normally be assigned is ‘Day-of Cooking’, but I'm not going to do that to you. So just…show up or don't. Take a nap the day of honestly, me or Kalim will bring you a plate.”

By the Seven, he loved this girl…

SMACK “Vil, you bring a salad. That is all I can trust you with.”

The Pomefiore head stopped looking at his nails with half-lidded eyes, glaring at Yuu's impassive expression, “Do you believe in my cooking skills so little!?”

“Yes. Though, I do have a secondary job for you. It’s to make sure, everyone is within dress code for the meal-”

Leona spoke up, folding his arms with a scowl, “Hold on, you never said there was a dress code-”

Vil raised his hand to Leona's face without looking, promptly silencing the other warden, “What's the dress code?”

“We wanna hover around the casual zone, but not informal. Best option is to be smart casual just tipping into business casual.

Vil had pulled out his own notebook without prompt, writing down notes and sketching out silhouettes of outfits, “Color scheme?”

“The holiday color scheme is fall theming, the warm tones with pops of purple and green. You don't need to follow color tones for the meal, though. Just make sure you're dressed for like…a nice dinner.

“My nice and your nice are two very different things, but noted.”

Rolling their eyes they slap the pointer to the screen, “Epel is allowed to bring anything apples are used in. Which is my way of saying he’s bringing pork tenderloin.”

Jade raised his hand, now fully glaring toward Yuu, “Funny how your friends are allowed to bring dishes.”

“Jade, you can’t be fucking trusted to not put poison in the food. So to be fair, Floyd isn’t allowed to help out either.” Yuu looks toward Rook, fluttering their eyelashes as they tapped his name gently multiple times, “My dear ex.”

Rook smiled back, leaning against the back of his hand and fluttering his eyelashes back, “Mon vieille amor?”

“You have the most important job of hunting down a massive turkey for us since that will be the centerpiece dish of the meal.”

“A hunt!?” Rook stood up so fast his chair slammed into the floor, “I shall make haste!” he raced out of the room, leaping from the window and disappearing around a corner outside.

Vil sighed, writing the last of his outfit ideas before packing up his items and walking out of the room, “Riddle, please forward your notes to me. I'll be free for style suggestions should anyone need them.”

Yuu calls out to him, “A salad! You're bringing a salad!”

Vil's middle finger was flashed just before the door closed behind him.

Rolling her eyes, Yuu turned back to the screen, “Idia, your job is to show up.”

“I'd rather not-”

“Too bad, it's mandatory. I already texted Ortho.”

Idias's tablet dinged from his hands. Looking at the screen his face pinched. Ortho was already sending him smiley emojis and rapid-fire messages on how excited he was to design a new shell and take photos of the upcoming group dinner. Sprinkled in were pleading and pensive faces begging that he agree to come and didn’t try to weasel his way out.

Glaring over his screen, already typing out a reply to Ortho's multiple messages, “You're a bitch.”

“Wear an actual outfit. Malleus.” SMACK.

The fae was still looking contently at his invitation, nodding as he already understood what Yuu was asking of him, “I'm aware of my job.”

“He can not know.”

“Lilia will only be made aware as we are dressing for the festivities.”

“You are one of the treasures of my life. Silver is tasked with making bread rolls for the dinner. Sebek is going to be helping me make the rest of the menu the night before/day of.” Yuu put the pointer back in its collapsible mode, putting the screen back up and clicking the projector off.

Leona raised an eyebrow but said nothing when Yuu had grabbed a stapler sitting beside him.

Riddle was too busy double-checking his notes, but Trey attempted to stop Yuu as she walked past, “What…what do you have there Yuu?”

“As stated at the beginning of my presentation, I have to go beat Sebek into submission and we have a rule now that I'm not allowed to use a brick anymore.” Yuu waved the stapler around, “So I’m going to use this instead.”

My take on Pilgrims and Native Americans in Twist

Next

[peacerisendove]

I really need a list of all the pop culture references Kon makes/mentions in comics. I just think it's so interesting (Also an interesting way of him displaying his implanted knowledge, I believe).

(I'll update this post once I get through all the comics; I will have to swing back around to 1-50 in Superboy. And then reread all of YJ.)

Star Trek (Superboy ?)

Star Trek - Quote, Worf, Tribbles — Superboy #55

Star Wars - Womp Rats — Superboy #59

Betty and Veronica/Archie Comics - Superboy

Tolkien - Young Justice #3

Scream - Superboy #45

The Postman (1997) - Young Justice: The Secret Vol .1 #1

Leonardo DiCaprio - Young Justice (1998) #16

War by Edwin Starr - Young Justice (1998) #35

Magilla Gorilla (The Magilla Gorilla Show) - Superboy (1994) #53

Leonardo DiCaprio, Kate Winslet, Titanic (1997) - Superboy (1994) #54

(Maybe) Wacky Racers, Muttley - Superboy (1994) #54

Mighty Joe Young - Young Justice (I'll have to check)

Sammy Sosa, Mark McGwire, and the 1998 Major League Baseball home run chase record. - Superboy (1994) #59

Richie Cunningham / Happy Days - Superboy (1994) #62

Men in Black (1997) (maybe?) - Superboy (1994) #62

Star Wars - Superboy (1994) #63

Star Trek and Captain Kirk - Superboy (1994) #66

Bob Dylan "Mr. Tambourine Man" - Superboy (1994) #66

Archie's Pals 'n' Gals - Suprboy (1994) #72

Jiminy Cricket - Superboy (1994) #75

Steven Spielberg - The Adventures of Superman (1987) #580

Pokemon and the Pokemon Theme - Action Comics (1938) #767

Scarface - Action Comics (1938) #767

"I'll be back" - Terminator (1984) — Superboy #76

Vinnie Barbarino from the show Welcome Back, Kotter — Superboy #83

"You're despicable." - Daffy Duck — Superboy #83

"I pity da fool" - Mr. T's catchphrase from Rocky III — Superboy #83

Metallica albums Master of Puppets and The Black Album — Superboy #83

Korn (band) - Superboy #83

Dark Angel (2000) (Television Show) — Superboy #84

Patrick Ewing (Basketball player and actor) — Superboy #84

Jabba the Hutt - Star Wars — Superboy #84

"We Are the World" by U.S.A. for Africa — Superboy #84

Rage Against the Machine — Superboy #84

The People's Elbow - WWE; The Rock's signature move. — Superboy #84

Parody song of Barry Manilow's "Mandy" — Superboy #84

"Muskrat Love" - Captain and Tennille — Superboy #84

"Happy Little Trees" / Bob Ross — Superboy #84

Ally McBeal (1997) TV Series — Superboy #84

"Burn Baby Burn" - I'm assuming it's a reference to "Disco Inferno" by The Trammps, but it could be a lot of things honestly. —Superboy #85

Tinkerbell - Superboy #85

Kurt Cobain and Nirvana - Superboy #85

[wtfdemother]

CW: 18+ Foodplay. Dw it’s just whipped cream.

post dividers by tsunami-of-tears

You and König get into a tiff, how do you proceed since he won’t shut up?

It’s simple, ‘Two and a half Men’ in its later seasons was so out of pocket, you actually learned a thing or two. Surprisingly enough you didn’t get the idea from Charlie Harper rip (rest in pussy)

The thought came to mind when leaning your shoulder against the fridge. You try so hard not to roll your eyes as König drones on about… honestly, you forget. You were ready to forget, you just had to convince König to do the same. Then, lightbulb. 💡

He interrupts himself with an annoyed click of his tongue, eyes narrowing down to you swinging the fridge open. Glass condiments clatter gently against the rails. He looks at you puzzled while watching you rummage away. “Was ist da— What the fuck are you doing?”

You ignore the rasp of confusion in his voice from a deepening accent, yanking the canister of whipping cream out. You bring the plastic tip to your lips, his eyes follow your finger and you press down, squeezing a generous glob of whipped cream into your mouth. Your round, puffy cheeks reminded him of a hamster for a minute but the thought quickly evaporates when you sank to your knees.

The absurdity of the situation almost caused him to back out, but you hold him firmly by the back of his thighs. “Mh-hm, mhh,” which he miraculously understood as “Nuh-uh, wait.” He tried to trust the process, he did, watching your fingers fumble with his fly, only to try and back out for a second time. “Ah, Schatz, I really don’t think—” But he shuts himself up. The feel of your mouth wet with cream digs at a spot in his brain, it feels too good. “Oh… Das is gud… Gott…”

König groans, gripping the curls at the back of your head, guiding you to take him deeper. “Oh… Oh, Schatz—” he cuts himself off, hissing a derogatory curse in German. “Where the fuck did you learn this?” You swirled your tongue around the tip before his shaft at half-mast disappeared into your mouth, you felt it harden further on your tongue.

Lewd, squelching noises echo through the quiet kitchen as König leans his weight on the counter, jaw hanging low without a sound. The cream dissolves with your saliva, coating his erection in a heavenly slick as he slowly fucks your mouth. You press the muscle in your mouth flat under his cock, feeling the prominent bulging vein rutting gently against your taste buds. Things get wet and sticky, drool pools from underneath your chin.

“Fuckkk… Liebling, don’t stop—” you sputter and gag around him, the rhythmic clicking of your shared wetness resounded in the open air. He guides you up and down his cock, mind fuzzy yet mindful that you couldn’t take him all the way. No matter, the rapid rise and descent of his chest followed by heavy breathing was a good thing. His responses were getting choppy, his hips bucking forward slightly to further chase that high. Knowing he was getting off this much drenched your panties, you’ll have to bump your clit on that crooked nose of his later on. Maybe even suffocate him.

For now, you picked up the pace and swallowed him whole, burying your nose in his pubic hairs, resting his happy trail right on your forehead while you peered at him above. “You look so beautiful…” he mutters caressing your cheek, returning your gaze below through heavy lidded eyes. “I’m so close, baby…” he resumes his pace, pulling out enough just to ram himself back inside. He really tried to take it easy, but your mouth was such a warm hole and your plan worked a little too well. Your partner’s mind was solely focused on chasing that searing release pooling below the navel. “Please… take all of me, be so good for me and take me…”

Hot tears border on your waterline as you try not to cough, your lips plump and sheen and wrapped so prettily around his throbbing cock. He could cum from the sight alone, you’re being so good for him he can’t take it. He slips a hand down your jaw, feeling his cock protruding down your throat with every thrust of his pelvis. “Ja, ohhh, jaaa… take me, take it all and swallow my cum. Swallow my cum, baby and don’t. waste. a. single. drop.”

He emphasized his words with harsh, brutal thrusts towards the end, releasing a torrent of potent seed down your throat with a guttural groan. He pushes your head down as far as you allowed, feeling his balls tighten against your chin with every pulse of his essence. He tangles his fingers deep into your hair, his vision almost spotting from the intense pleasure as he continues to come inside your mouth.

After the high finally dissipated and his cock softened, König slips himself out of your pretty lips, watching a pearly string of saliva connecting you to the tip. He sinks to the ground and kisses you, tasting himself on your tongue, his touch mindful of your sore and puffy lips. “That was so good, liebling… now, lay down. I want to return the favour.”

König guides you down on the cold tiles then ate you out on the kitchen floor. You ordered take-out and cuddled on the couch afterwards.

[seireitonin]

I said this on TikTok before but I think the funniest thing about ppl trying to make Toby an unfeeling cold hearted asshole is that the UWU waffles Toby is closer to his canon personality. Of course that portrayal has issues too bc ppl made him too childish and infantilized him especially bc he has ADHD (this is coming from someone with ADHD) but that’s a different conversation.He’s “upbeat and obnoxious but also a jerk. He can be kind to certain people though” so yeah he’s a happy guy but has mood swings and only really cares about people in his close circle. So ig he can be on both ends of the spectrum of happy and upbeat to cold cruel killer and that’s what I love about him!!! He can be written to be so complex and interesting!!! His humor is cruel like pranking ppl till they cry or annoying the fuck outtta ppl. Honestly besides the whole murdering part he’s probably chill but frustrating to be to be around LMAOOO (also I feel like I write Toby too gloomy sometimes but that’s because I’m emo and when I write upbeat stuff it doesn’t sound right LMAOOO I’m 2 angsty for this world/ hj) but I like to write him and upbeat and gloomy bc realistically if you had every disorder he has you’re just not gonna be upbeat all the time bc they affect you and that’s just the truth. I speak from experience on that. Me and Toby do share some disorders and I’m really upbeat most of the time but my disorders can make me moody/ gloomy/ etc anyway rambling over!!!

(Kastoways post about his canon personality under the cut :3 obviously it’s old but it still applies also adding some old “ask Toby questions” from kastoways DA to show how he talks/ interacts w ppl. Feel free to add to it!!! Bc there’s more posts about his canon personality. I’m so normal about Toby guys and omg Toby’s about to be 30)

[mariacallous]

The target is you, voter. Russia, China, Iran, and other bad actors sought to interfere in the run-up to today’s US elections, according to research by the Atlantic Council’s Digital Forensic Research Lab (DFRLab), which has been monitoring online trends along with statements by governments, private companies, and civil society in its Foreign Interference Attribution Tracker. As DFRLab experts detail below, this year’s malign efforts in many ways surpass previous influence campaigns in sophistication and scope, if not in impact—and they are expected to continue well after the polls close.

Tipping the scale

“By sheer volume, foreign interference in the 2024 US election has already surpassed the scale of adversarial operations in both 2016 and 2020,” Emerson says.

Dina notes that each US adversary played to its strengths. For example, Iran and China “attempted to breach presidential campaigns in hack-and-leak operations that raise concerns about their cyber capabilities during and after the elections,” she tells us.

At the same time, the United States is more prepared than it was in previous election cycles. Russian efforts in 2016 “made foreign interference a vivid fear for millions of Americans,” Emerson notes. “Eight years later, the US government is denouncing and neutralizing these efforts, sometimes in real time.”

In fact, Graham tells us, “the combined actions by the US departments of Justice, Treasury, and State against two known Russian interference efforts was the largest proactive government action taken against election influence efforts before an election.”

Doppelgangers and down-ballot races

US officials this week called Russia “the most active threat,” and it’s easy to understand why. Emerson notes Russia’s “ten-million-dollar effort to infiltrate and influence far-right American media,” alongside the “Doppelganger” network, which has spread “tens of thousands of false stories and staged videos intended to undermine election integrity in the swing states of Pennsylvania, Georgia, and Arizona.” Increasingly desperate, Russian actors have even sought to shut down individual polling places with fake bomb threats, he adds.

Meanwhile, China has focused on “down-ballot races instead of the presidential election to target specific anti-China politicians,” Kenton explains. Using fake American personas and generative artificial intelligence, China-linked operations have appeared across more than fifty platforms. Perhaps surprisingly, Kenton adds, “attributed campaigns appeared sparingly” on the Chinese-owned platform TikTok and far more often on Facebook and X.

Faith, fakes, and falsehoods 

“The primary aim is to erode Americans’ faith in democratic institutions and heighten chaos and social division,” Kenton explains, and thus to undermine the ability of the US government to function so it will have less bandwidth to contain adversarial powers.

“Some of the fake and already debunked narratives and footage circulating before the elections will likely continue to be amplified by foreign threat actors well after November 5,” Dina predicts. Expect to see activity around the submission of certificates of ascertainment on December 11, the December 17 meeting of the electors to formally cast their votes, and through inauguration day on January 20.

And in a post-election period where the results will likely be contested, Graham thinks there’s a “high likelihood” that foreign actors will “cross a serious threshold” from pre-election attempts to broadly influence American public opinion in service of their geopolitical interests to “direct interference” by trying to mobilize Americans to engage in protests or even violence.

Nevertheless, Graham points out that the high volume of foreign-influence efforts observed during this year’s election cycle so far does not appear to have had a significant impact in terms of changing Americans’ opinions or behavior.  

The consequences of foreign disinformation, Emerson adds, should be assessed against “the far more viral, sophisticated, and dangerous election-day falsehoods that Americans spread among themselves.”

[jamiefoxxhairline]

tagged by @testphasedemo @staringatcandles @sleepythug to post some of my favorite music artists and a favorite song from each:

Akira Yamaoka - Magdalene Aphex Twin - aisatsana [102] CLIPSE - Mr. Me Too Cool Kids - Mikey Rocks DJ SCREW & LIL KEKE - Pimp Tha Pen Gucci Mane - Swing My Door Freddie Gibbs - God Is Perfect Future - Truth Gonna Hurt You Isaiah Rashad - 4r Da Squaw J Dilla - Im So Glad Youre Dorothy LIL B - Finna Hit A Lick LIL UGLY MANE - Ethics Migos - Emmit Smith Raekwon - Pyrex Vision SADE - Paradise Sampha - Indecision Stove God Cooks - John $tarks Strawberry Switchblade - Nothing Changes WESTSIDE GUNN - Connie's Son Young Thug - The Blanguage

@bobbie-doll @flirty-milk @loungin @skatalite @aveyzm @blxckhippxy @itaintfair @late-night-programming @slumsaintt @brand-n @als0als0 @sonshinin @guwop07 @osaretine @sixphon6s @bryllando now it’s your turn🧐(or not)

[comfortless]

hello beloved 🥰 🫶 every time you mention ‘The Dungeon’ whatever da hell that is my brain just goes dungeon crawler! könig! dungeon crawler! könig! so might i request a dungeon crawling könig?

what the hell. do not send König down here… get him away from me…. *immediately forgets everything else i was doing to begrudgingly write this*

sigh… dungeoneer! König x fem! reader

content / warnings: violence, sexism, suggestive.

Retrieving the golden eye of a wyrm to be made into a lovely pendant for the Queen would pay well, keep him afloat and drifting from land to land for long enough to decide upon where to settle. The posting tacked to the wall of the inn, detailing a handsome reward, was surely the sign from a benevolent god that a glorious fate had been handed to him on a silver platter. He stuffs the parchment into the pocket of his trousers as he downs the last of his ale, tosses his coins to the barmaid on his way toward the door and sets off for the deepest dungeon in the kingdom.

There are no bright-eyed knights lobbying around the entrance, a good sign that the wyrm’s bounty was all his to claim. It makes him elated, really, and the idea of finally having his own place, bedding down with a pretty maiden each night is even more of an adrenaline rush than the actual fighting that comes the moment he steps foot into the darkened underworld. The dungeon is filled with the reanimated skeletons he’s grown so accustomed to— a quick jab with his claymore to the center of the spine leaves them a crumpled heap of bone and dust. They’ll rise again when the moon hangs lofty in the sky, but he’s done this enough times to know the best way of navigating such a place. The other beasts haunting the cavernous ruins are a bit trickier to deal with, and he’s fortunate that most shy away from the light of his torch.

Only, she does not.

The woman standing before him in full plate armor is poised for battle, blade making a steady ascent above her head in preparation to strike as her lantern is cast aside. She charges at him before he can even breathe out a word of protest, swinging the heavy sword at him so quickly that at most, he can only thrust his torch before him to prevent her plunging the tip between his ribs. She’s quick to draw back when the wood splinters and the fire sparks up on dry bone and the tattered remains of clothing from all that came before layered upon the dirt and grime coated floor. The blaze of the fire seems pale in comparison to the flames in her eyes as she pivots towards him again, and once more— he merely blocks.

“A maiden shouldn’t be here,” he says through gritted teeth as he easily pushes her back against the wall, caging her between the flat of his blade and the bulk of his body.

He hadn’t realized the ache in his groin until the woman tilts her head up to spit in his face. König doesn’t bother to wipe it away, to even pretend to be disgusted by her actions. From this small breadth between them all he sees is divine beauty— even as her eyes narrow like that of a viper preparing to strike.

“A knight to be,” she corrects him as he gives her blade a shove, the sounds of steel hissing against steel and crackling fire echoing throughout the cavern.

“Not likely.”

Their fight drags on for what feels like hours before his flask his split at his hip and she finally does back down. Even this lady knows well enough that being lost in a dark dungeon with no source of light and no water is a death sentence, and she finds him both incredibly frustrating and fun enough to keep him a live just a little longer. He’s adept enough to block even her quickest strikes, parry her with a gentle jab to her side with his index rather than his blade. He’s shown her her own weak points during their little battle, and she’s garnered a bit of respect for him for that.

As she sheaths her blade and locks eyes with him, his erection is practically trying to tear through the seams of his pants. She’s so pretty, so strong, so unlike the barmaids and damsels in distress he’s come across so often and it’s all gnawing at the recesses of his mind. The bounty almost entirely forgotten, he wants not to penetrate the wyrm with his blade but rather spear her with his cock.

He reaches for her, almost tentatively hoping to somehow melt through her armor and feel the warmth of her flesh. She’s doesn’t pull away when his hands rest against her waist, just gives him a little flutter of her eyelashes before rearing a hand back to almost playfully strike his face just before she turns on the heel of her boot and gathers her lantern.

König follows along behind her, not just out of necessity, but because she asks him to. Beckons him along with the curl of her gloved finger, coos at him when he falls behind trying to picture her body beneath the layers of chainmail and fitted steel.

“I’m taking the bounty,” she tells him when they stop to take a sip from her flask, feast on the preserved fruit and dried meat from his own satchel.

It reminds him of why he’s come all this way, what he’s supposed to be doing here. He’s a little tense— on one hand he wants to give this lady the entire kingdom, make her his wife and rid away those silly thoughts about becoming a knight, but she’s so determined!! He’s at a loss on how to tell her that there are no women knights in the land, that no matter what she brings back for the King she’ll probably only be mocked and sent on her way.

“Let me help you,” he says instead.

“You would lend me your blade?”

He just blinks at her… this silly woman has spent far too long dreaming and watching the knights in the castle yard, he just knows it. Down to the way she speaks! She’s incredible and infuriating, just as he is to her. It makes him want to push her just a bit, see what she’s capable of entirely before they part ways (she is never getting rid of him).

“What do I get in turn?”

The little knight mulls that over for a moment, as she leads him down a long corridor; everything all gilded and decorated, lit aglow by the dim orange of lantern light. The golden coins, rolls of fine silk now muddied and trampled littering the floor are enough of a sign to show they’ve nearly made their way to the heart. The wyrm would no doubt be lying in wait at the end, resting protectively over its hoard of cattle bones and shiny objects, golden eyes piercing through the darkness as it prepares for the fight to come.

It’s when the wyrm’s first hissing growl rings out through the darkness that she does turn back to face him, a mischievous little grin tugging at her lips.

“Only to live another day.”

“Nein… something else.”

He can’t stop himself from pawing at her again, curling a hand around her neck to tilt her chin up to face him. Her breath fanning over his face, her scent like peony and lantern oil make him feel drunk enough. The hand that slides between his legs to grasp at his cock is far from anything he ever anticipated from her. She was bold, too bold and too pretty for her own good.

Fate had blessed him more than he could even begin to fathom, after all.

[babyjakes]

sweet surprise. [blurb.]

〈 disclaimer: this blog posts content not suitable for individuals under the age of 18. minors are strictly prohibited from viewing, sharing, or interacting with this blog. for more information on this blog's commitment to protecting minors, read our full statement here. 〉

event | august '23 general requests blurb night

summary | ransom has a surprise encounter with your little niece.

pairing | soft!ransom drysdale x auntie!reader (+ reader's baby!niece)

warnings | SOFT RANSOM IS BACK. just soooo fluffy, like unbearable amounts of fluff hehe. written from reader's pov, but most of it is just ran & da baby <3

word count | 689

requested by @brandycranby | hiiiiii eun ✨💕 for blurb night, maybe we could see a fluff or hurt/comfort + unexpectedly soft!ransom + baby? like a teeny tiny chubby wubby baby 🥺

an | aaaahhhhh i'm so glad you sent in this request brandy bby, i've been DYING to write soft!ran lately and this is just the sweetest idea ever ever, hope you enjoy sweet friend and thank you for the amazing idea!!

You don't hear Ransom as he returns home from work, tossing his bag beside the door with a quiet grumble. As always, he's not in the best mood after spending nearly six hours at his grandfather's, helping the old writer with the logistics of his business. He can't wait to spend time with you, the sunshine that always brightens his day and erases any worries that might be floating around in his mind. He doesn't see you as he looks around the living room, but what he does see catches him off guard. On the floor, across the room, sits a strange-looking contraption— some sort of swing. He lets out a gasp as he sees what's sitting inside: a tiny baby whose big, bright eyes are looking over at him with a darling sense of curiosity.

"Oh my," Ransom hums to himself. He stands frozen for a few moments, looking around the room again. You're nowhere to be found. "Now what are you doing here all alone?" he hums softly, finally building up the courage to start making his way over to the swing.

He stops several feet away, just observing the tiny being. Judging by the sweet pink lettering on her jumper that spells out Mama's Girl, he's able to easily guess the infant's gender. "My goodness," the large man whispers, his face softening as the sweet little girl smiles at the sound of his voice, "you're so tiny. What're you doing here, hmm? Was y/n looking after you this afternoon?"

He sits down cross-legged on the floor, scooting himself up a bit more as the baby sways gently in the swing, clapping her tiny hands together clumsily to show the stranger that she's happy to see him. Ransom bites back a smile, reaching out a hand to brush back the little one's thin tufts of hair. "Hi there, pretty girl," he murmurs, "Are you clappin' for me? That's so nice of you, sweetheart. What a smart girl you are."

The infant claps a few more times, giggling softly as a defeated smile finally crosses the brown-haired man's face. "You're too sweet," he admits, stroking the baby's chubby little cheek. "I wonder where y/n is, hmm? Have you seen her?" he asks comically, his grin widening as the baby just continues to wiggle and smile in the swing. "You wanna come out, sweetheart? C'mere, let me hold you."

His hands are steady and careful as he gently unbuckles her from the swing, being sure to support her neck and head as he lifts her up and brings her to his chest. "Oh my," his voice flutters as she tucks her tiny head against his shoulder, snuggling right up to him. "There you go, angel. I got you," he whispers, stroking her hair as he bounces her gently in his arms.

"Welcome home," you giggle as you enter the doorway to the kitchen, your heart swelling at the sight of the giant man holding the tiny baby so carefully, as if she's the most precious thing in the world.

"Look, there's y/n!" Ransom coos excitedly to the little one, causing her to look over at you and offer you a huge, toothless smile. "I bet she missed you!"

"Looks like you're Uncle Ran, huh?" you joke as you join the two on the floor, rubbing the tiny girl's back as Ransom sways and cradles her. "Never knew you liked babies."

"Me neither," the man chuckles, looking down at your niece with the gentlest smile. "But I think this little one might've changed my mind. Look at how tiny she is. So tiny and precious, aren't you?" he fusses her again, earning a chorus of giggles from the baby as he messes her hair carefully. "How long is she staying?" Ransom asks, looking back up at you. "Can we see her again soon? I'll take off work, Harlen won't mind— we should bring her over to see him! He loves kids."

"Hey, hey, slow down," you laugh, leaning over to kiss the sweet man's forehead as you remind him, "I haven't even told you her name yet."

[dreadfutures]

The people who don't engage with thoughtful criticism *from their own friends* and only look at whatever randomly shows up in their For You tab or the main tags unfiltered have such a skewed view of what the core problems are with the game and their defensiveness and rebuttals are just heartfelt "I enjoyed the game it can't be bad!" for the most part

I also enjoyed the game, it is objectively a very well crafted game. It is the best DA game to play. I like the characters. We agree on that. Have you taken the time to consider the gaping plot hole i tripped on, the complete loss of the main character's motivation, the "don't look behind the curtain" metaphysics of Thedas and its accompanying morality, the criticism of the game's clear message that the status quo is god, or the racism that many fans of color can't overlook? You're just going to gloss over how racist and awful Taash's quest is for anyone who comes from a mixed experience because we got our trans rep? You're just gonna ignore the upsetting non-progress, anti-community, and racist messaging baked into Harding's quest? Your essays about how the game made you feel good are not helping. I'm happy for you. I'm happy Lace Harding is allowed to be angry. I'm happy Taash found a queer community and their mom's dying breath validated them. I'm happy both your choices for Archon and all the good guys around them think slavery is bad and are going to take care of it. If you don't want to look deeper, fine, but stop making "essays" that "address" "the haters" because they aren't essays (they aren't structured arguments), they aren't addressing criticisms that are in good faith (because you are ignoring all of them very pointedly except for the absolutely wildest batshit takes you saw on YouTube 2 months ago being parroted by some random Tumblr user you've never met before in the main tag), and I'm not a hater 😔

I keep going and touching grass and recentering my fandom experience with people who just enjoy the game and aren't defensive about it and then someone has to come out swinging with "people who have problems with this game are just reactionary haters because it made me feel good and I am the only person who considered that we needed a story that makes us feel good right now and just like every other DA game these haters will go away--"

You know, I think a lot of the criticisms I have for DA4 are actually founded in some real soul searching and serious thought that I had post-game, after the warm fuzzy feelings wore off. The more I think about them and re-play the game and re-experience those moments, the deeper my concerns and critique go. That is not reactionary "she wasn't the bioware game ***I*** built up in my head" y'know?

[kiwimintlime]

A Simple Favor

SEASON 2 SPOILERS!

for @terrickweek2025

word count: 2.3k

prompt: betrayal (this is technically for the wrong day but I did want to post it today for @icy-book's birthday)

cw: angst

notes: this takes place like 2-3 years before the start of season 2. I'm bad with my timelines so if that doesn't make sense shhhhhh. this is definitely not my usual wheelhouse, but I did enjoy writing this. happy birthday Icy! (also I literally just finished writing this no beta we die like Doug)

Terry wondered if he was getting just as paranoid as Lark. All day he’d felt the sensation like he was being watched. Something just at the edge of his periphery, making the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. He’d tried scanning the area with magic, and once he could’ve sworn that he just felt something, but no luck. And he could only look over his shoulder so times before he started getting weird looks.

“Hey, are you sure you’re okay?” his date, Veronica, asked him, “You seem on edge.”

“Uh, yeah,” he did his best to give her a reassuring smile, though he had no idea how convincing it actually was, “just a bit stressed from… work… is all.”

“Oh, well we can end things early tonight if you’re too tired, I completely understand.”

“No,” Terry took her hand and smiled. “Being with you relaxes me.” He did genuinely mean that. He liked Veronica, he liked her a lot. And even if it was only their fourth date, he could see things going pretty far.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” The two of them walked hand in hand in the cool night air through the park, simply enjoying each other’s company. After a while Veronica slowed down, looking quite serious. “So, Terrance.”

“Yeah? “

“I like you, a lot,” she bit her lip, “I like what we have and I want to keep seeing you.”

“I feel the same way, “ Terry gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m glad, “ she brightened up a bit before steeling herself again, “I just feel you should know, if we are going to keep seeing each other and this thing is serious, that I have a kid.”

“Oh!” Terry didn’t know quite what to say. He didn’t mind at all, he just didn’t know what exactly was the appropriate reaction.

“She’s thirteen. Her name is Theresa, but she actually also goes by Terri.”

“What a coincidence, I like her already.” Terry grinned, “Thirteen huh? I’ve got friends with kids around her age.”

“So… you don’t mind? “

“Not at all. As a matter of fact—”

There! There it was again. That feeling of being watched, even more intense this time. It wasn’t just a feeling anymore either. It was more tangible, a presence, a… scent. And a scent Terry recognized all too well, no matter how many years it’d been. Something somewhere between wood smoke and incense.

“Terry? Are you okay?” Veronica asked.

“Uh, yeah,” Talk about shit timing. He had to get her out of here. “Um, no actually. Look, I hate to do this l, and I promise it’s not because of what you just told me, but I really have to go. I promise I’ll call you okay?”

She looked crushed, though she hid it the best she could. “Um, okay. I’ll be waiting on your call.”

Terry watched her leave, chest tightening.

“Ooh, yeah, she definitely hates your guts now. A real shame, she seems nice.” A voice said from behind him. Terry whipped around, swinging as he went. He’d always been the stronger of the two. But to his surprise the blow was easily blocked and parried, with his weight being used against him. He somehow ended up pushed up against a tree, wrists held above his head, a razor sharp tail close to his throat.

“Nicholas.” Terry spat out.

“Now is that any way to greet an old friend?” Nick flashed a smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

“Oh and this,” Terry looked pointedly down to the tail at his throat, “is friendly to you?”

“Hey, you swung first.”

“What do you want?” Terry hissed.

Nick’s eyes slid away from Terry’s face for a moment. “I need to ask a favor.”

“You’ve got a funny way of asking for one.”

“I— oh for fucks sake” Nick’s tail darted away from Terry’s neck and into his pocket, snatching out his phone. He looked Terry in the eye. “I’ll let you go if you promise not to attack me and hear me out.”

Terry thought about it for a moment before nodding. “Fine.”

True to his word, Nick let him go. Terry rubbed his wrists. He didn’t remember Nick being that string, especially with just one arm. He looked at Nick. “Can I have my phone back? “

“I think not. I’d prefer you didn’t call for back up, considering what happened the last time we were all together.”

“You mean the time I asked you for a favor? I don’t know what makes you think I’d do you one now.”

“Because this could solve all our problems.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“There are literally hundreds of other worlds out there, if not more. The problem is getting to them.” Nick explained, “You knew how to get to hell, which is why you needed me. I’ve spent the last ten years searching for access into any of them. Terry, I’ve found one I think could be perfect. And the access point is just about two hours from here.”

This was bullshit. It had to be. Terry himself and everyone at D.A.D.D.I.E.S. had spent just as much time looking for the same answer. For it to fall into his lap like this, hand delivered by the person who had the most reason to hate him… it just wasn’t possible.

“Why come to me with this?” Terry asked.

“I need a sorcerer, they’re not exactly easy to come by.”

“I know for a fact hell’s got a few of those. Hell, you’ve got a decent amount of magic yourself.”

“And all their magic, like mine, is touched with The Infernal. The portal I found is non reactive to natural phenomena, and extremely volatile to everything from hell. I need magic that doesn’t have Satan’s stink on it.” Nick’s voice got louder. “You think I didn’t try other options? You think I want to be here, asking you for help?”

Nick looked… desperate. It didn’t look good on him. Something tugged in Terry’s chest. Something he pushed down.

“I can’t trust you.” Terry said.

“The feeling’s mutual.” Nick sighed. “Look, the sooner we fin a solution the sooner our lives go back to normal. Wouldn’t that be nice? No more everyday battle, no more looking over your shoulder, no more constant worry about the safety of those you care about. I— I could see my son again.” Nick’s voice cracked. Badly. Terry reached out a hand without even thinking but Nick batted it away. “Don’t… don’t patronize me man. Are you helping me or not? “

Terry gave it a last thought. “Fine.”

Nick’s face brightened into the kind of smile Terry hadn’t seen in a long time. That tug on his heart was back, and it was harder to pretend that it wasn’t. He cleared his throat.

“Can I have my phone back?”

“Hell no. At least not until you see that my idea is viable. I don’t need to others jumping me again when I least expect it.”

“I— I wouldn’t do that.”

“Yeah, real convincing. Come on.” Nick led Terry around the corner to where a convertible was parked. It was covered in flame decals because of course it was. “Hop in.”

Terry did and once Nick was in the driver’s seat they sped off into the night. Out of San Dimas, out onto the highway . The night air was cool and the stars were stunning. What felt like a million lifetimes ago Terry and Nick had spent their summers just like this. Open road, less worries, more freedom. Sometimes with the others, a lot of times just the two of them. A million lifetimes indeed.

“How long have you been following me?” Terry asked.

“Don't flatter yourself. Just today. I wanted to know how much of a problem you’d be to deal with.” Nick smirked. “Clearly not much. Guess brawling with presidents pays off.”

“What?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

They were quiet for another ten minutes before Nick asked, “Why you? Lark I would’ve understood. He thinks this whole thing is his fault and it’s his job to fix it. He’s the mot desperate of all of us. And Sparrow will go with whatever he wants. Grant… I dunno. But you? You were my best friend, you were my— Just… why?”

Terry exhaled a long breath. “I don’t even know anymore. I’ve thought about it for years and I— I think I thought you would understand. I didn’t think things would end up this way. I figured we’d force your hand and you’d make the right choice.”

“The right choice?” Nick’s voice was dangerously low.

“That’s not—” Terry sighed again. “I don’t know. All of us were so miserable, so worn down. I thought if it came down to it you’d choose us.”

“My dad is the king of hell, I have a responsibility—”

“I know. I know that now, I understand better.”

Another silence fell between them. Then Nick spoke. “I wasn’t just following you around today. I stopped by Taylor’s school. He’s doing alright. Could use some more friends, but he seems happy enough. Cassie’s doing a great job.”

“That’s good.”

“Mhmm.” Nick's voice was quiet again,“He doesn’t need me Terry. I’ve turned out worse then Glenn. At least he came home every couple weeks.”

The pit in Terry’s stomach grew deeper. He knew what it was like not to have a dad, and he’d taken one away from this kid.

“Did you ever think about taking him with you?”

“To hell? At the beginning yeah. But it was no place for a kid that young, a kid with no frame of reference for what was going on. Not to mention his mother had no idea about any of it. And now… now it’s too late. Can’t exactly show up with a gallon of milk, ya’know? Especially not with the FBI on my tail. I keep an eye on him, I’ll be there if he needs me, but until this whole thing is sorted out it’s better I keep my distance.”

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry that Taylor had to go through all this.”

Nick just kept his eyes on the road.

“Me too.”

They drove on in silence. Terry must have fallen asleep to the sound of the engine and that wood fire scent, because next thing he knew Nick was shaking his shoulder.

“We’re here.”

Terry looked around. They were out in the desert, on a patch of road as unremarkable as the rest of the highway. “Where’s here exactly?”

“Come on.” Nick started walking out into the desert, stopping about 20 feet away from the road. He looked back. “Come on, it’s hard to see from far away.”

Terry got out of the car and walked towards Nick, peering into the moonlit night. Sure enough, if he looked just the right way, there was a ripple in the air. “Oh my god.”

“Right? Watch this.” Nick picked up a stick and tried to poke at it. The stick stopped just short of the ripple, evidently unable to go any further. He then set his hand ablaze with infernal flame and reaches out to touch it. This time, the tips of his fingers just barely made it through before the ripple spat him back out. For a split second Terry caught a glimpse of something beyond. Nick looked at him. “Your turn champ.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“I dunno, just… magic at it.”

Terry sighed and got closer to the portal. He reached out towards it, and as his hand got closer it almost felt like it was being sucked in. “I don’t know about this.”

“Are you kidding me? This is it! It’s another world, it’s exactly what we’ve been looking for. This will fix everything.”

Terry’s hand crossed the barrier. It felt almost like a soft, fleshy curtain. He felt himself being tugged further in, all the way up to his elbow. “Nick, I don’t like thi—”

“Yeah I bet you wouldn’t. It’s not the best feeling.” Nick's voice was velvety soft and dangerous, “But hey, at least you won’t lose the arm.”

“What the hell—” The portal was all the way up to his shoulder now.

“Oh don’t be so dramatic, it’s not like it’s a 1v4.” He was clearly holding himself back from laughing now, a dark chuckle in his voice.

“Nick!” Terry felt his chest being almost folded up into it, pulled in an unnatural way.

“I got stuck in here a little while back. It’s not like a full world per se, more like a pocket dimension. Kind of like the one Willy’s in actually. Definitely not pleasant, but I survived.”

Terry’s entire torso was inside the portal, his legs soon to follow.

“’Course, the difference is, I had people who knew exactly where I was. Dad sent some demons out here to get me in just a couple hours. You, on the other hand, don’t .”

If this thing followed any sort of natural logic, Terry’s legs should’ve been snapped backwards at the pelvis. As far as he could tell, nothing was broken, but it all just felt so wrong.

“A bit naïve, don’t you think? Following someone who hates you out into the middle of nowhere. I honestly didn’t think this gambit would be so easy.”

“Fuck… you…” Terry managed to spit out. His head was the only thing still sticking out.

“I’ve got demons in hell for that darlin’.” Nick leaned in, “It’s not a nice feeling is it? Being betrayed. Oh and before I forget.” He took out a paper seal and slapped it on Terry’s forehead. “Can’t have you figuring your own way out of here with magic.”

With that he pushed Terry’s head the rest of the way in. He just stared at the ripple for a moment before walking back to the car. Terry’s phone buzzed in his pocket. Nick looked at the screen. It was a text from Veronica. He shrugged before burning the device to ash in infernal fire. Not his problem. He opened up a portal to hell and drove back home.