#queue or die the choice is yours

[powderandclay]

Obsessed with playing Mass Effect over and over again like this story will literally never end in anything but tragedy. Shepard might be an asshole or a saint, a caring friend or a hardened soldier, a complex enigma or an open book, and any combination or in between thereof.

And it doesn't matter because Jenkins always dies. And Ash dies, or Kaidan dies. And Shepard dies. And Shepard lives. And your crew dies. And the little boy is shot down. And Palaven burns. And Illium falls. And earth is ripped apart. And Shepard dies.

You can't save them. Nearly a dozen playthroughs of hard work, an endless uphill climb, and even if you get it picture perfect, take every quest, save every hostage and gun down every bad guy, your reward is the ugly choice, the mirror of war: how many lives will you sacrifice to take one more breath? Will you kill the geth you just painstakingly saved for a single inhale on the charred remains of an exploded station? Or will you let the narrative go the way it's meant to and just let Shepard die?

So Shepard lives, or Shepard dies, and the story always ends the same goddamn way. And you queue up Mass Effect 1 again because you have to.

Keep trying. Maybe it'll turn out this time.

[doctorbitchcrxft]

Emotions Pt 2 | Sam Winchester x Angel!Fem!Reader

Pairing: Sam Winchester x Angel!Reader

Warnings: SMUT MDNI 18+ ONLY!!!, cunnilingus, p in v (wrap it before you tap it), discussions of grief

Word Count: 3110

A/N: Hi! Trying to work on my requests to give myself a bit of an escape from what’s going on in my personal life right now. I am combining requests I was getting for a part 2 to my Sam x Angel!Reader fic with another request from much later in the queue, so I did have to jump around in the order of my fic requests! I hope that’s okay! 

General Writings Masterlist

Pt 1

If you thought humans were strange and intriguing before, being human was even stranger. Your existence had been predictable before you met Sam Winchester. And now, you were feeling and experiencing multitudes you hadn’t known to be possible. Navigating the full scape of human emotion was incredibly difficult and draining at times. Thoughts you’d never had emotion assigned to would cross your mind at random times of the day. And suddenly, you’d be sniffling and trying to control the tears forming in your eyes. 

Sam had gotten good at navigating these moments with you. He would talk about your feelings with you very openly and share some of his own. 

The first time you realized that Sam would one day die, possibly leaving you on earth alone, you were horrified. 

“What’s wrong?” Sam asked, seeing you trying to hold back tears while staring at the ground. 

“You’re gonna die one day,” you said plainly. 

“Uh, yeah,” he snorted. “Yeah, I am.”

“It’s not funny,” you snapped, eyes flashing to his. 

He shook his head. “I know, I know, I’m sorry.” He sat down on the chair across from you. “Just caught me off-guard, ‘s all,” Sam replied. “What brought that on?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know. It just… came over me all of a sudden. Does that not scare you?”

He considered for a moment. “No. I don’t think so.”

“Why not?” you asked. 

“ ‘Cause somebody told me Heaven’s real—” he nudged your knee with his, making you huff out a small laugh— “and maybe I’ll get to see my mom. Actually meet her.”

“But what am I supposed to do?” you asked.

Sam stared at you for a moment. 

“You’re my best friend, Sam. What am I supposed to do if you die first?” you asked, eyes becoming glassy again.

“What you did before me,” he replied simply. “You just gotta keep going.”

“No offense, Sam, but you’ve been a complete mess without Dean.”

“That’s different. He’s my brother,” Sam said. 

Your gaze was soft, but it held intensity. So much so that it made Sam squirm beneath it. 

“What?” he asked. 

“I don’t think it’s different,” you sniffed. “I just think it’s— oh, what’s that word— grief.”

Sam couldn’t bring himself to look at you. 

“And I think that because you know what you know, you’re convinced that there’s some way to bring him back. And because you can’t do it, you’re not allowing yourself to accept the grief. You’re just… kinda… stuck,” you finished. 

A heavy silence blanketed the air. 

“Y’know, for an angel with zero understanding of human emotion, that was pretty good,” the young man chuckled.

A genuine smile spread across your face.

****

Even with Dean gone, you could see Sam starting to heal. You hoped you played a large part in that. However, you were growing curious as to why you hadn’t heard the angels talking about Castiel retrieving Dean. What were they waiting on?

Ruby hadn’t shown her face, either, much to your surprise. You assumed she could feel that you were here and decided to make herself scarce. A wise choice on her part, if you did say so yourself. 

Sam’s demon blood addiction would sometimes cripple him. On those days where his withdrawals or cravings would get bad, you would sit on the couch or the kitchen floor with his head in your lap and allow him to cry or sleep until the pain subsided. Sometimes, he’d get angry with himself for not being strong enough to push through the affliction on his own, to which you’d remind him that not many humans survive demon blood addiction as well as he had.

“It fucking hurts, (Y/N),” Sam told you, shivering beside you. Sweat beaded at every pore, and his face was flushed. 

You held a wet rag to the back of his neck while he clutched at your knee.

“I know, Sammy—”

“Why didn’t you just let me have it? Maybe I could find Lilith if you’d just—”

You cut him off, trying not to get angry with him. “Sam, no.”

“—But (Y/N)—”

“No.” You pushed yourself off the couch and turned to sit on the ground so that you were eyelevel with him. “I will not let you do that to yourself again. Do you hear me?”

Sam grimaced with watery eyes, but he nodded. 

“I— I can’t watch that happen to you,” you said, tears catching in your throat. It was surprising to find yourself unable to express yourself evenly and coherently as you always had, but your emotion seemed to help you get through to Sam more. 

The other angels had no idea what they were missing. 

***

When you were an angel, you truly didn’t have an internal dialogue. And now, your mind was flooded with constant thought. Occasionally, it was burdensome, but you wouldn’t trade it for anything. 

Before, all you had was experience and memory. It was as if you were entirely continuous with your environment, and you took everything around you at surface value. There was no internal reflection. 

“That’s called ‘sonder’,” Sam explained to you. 

“What is?” you asked, temporarily looking away from the river below you. 

You’d discovered a creaky, wooden bridge over a rushing stream on a walk through the forest with Sam. 

“What you just said. Realizing that everybody has their own experiences, and thoughts, and lives entirely separate from yours,” he continued.

You gently kicked your feet back and forth over the edge of the bridge with your arms crossed over the railing in front of you. Sam sat beside you, watching you. “Does it ever get overwhelming?” you asked him, thinking maybe you were the only one feeling so burdened by thought as a result of your new status as a human. 

“What?” Sam asked. 

“Feeling. Thinking,” you elaborated, unable to look at him out of fear that he may judge you.

“Yeah, frequently.” He nodded, a slight smile on his lips. “But, uh, certain things make it better.”

That caught your attention, as his tone sounded a bit loaded. “What things?”

He kept his gaze down but nudged your shoulder with his. “Certain angels.”

A wide smile spread across your face. “Certain Sam Winchesters make it better for me, too.”

He returned your expression. 

***

The fall months were upon you. The cabin you stayed in with Sam was where you first discovered what “warmth” was as you sat by the fire. Now, though, a different feeling encompassed you. 

It started slowly; ignorable, almost. First, small little bumps formed on your arms while you brought the trash out to the dumpster about a mile away from the cabin. Then, you felt like the wind was blowing through your body. You tried your hardest to ignore the feeling, but soon, it felt like your insides were shaking. 

It freaked you out, to say the least. And when you lifted the lid of the dumpster to put your trash inside, your fingers were blue. In fact, you almost couldn’t feel them at all. 

“What the fuck,” you muttered. 

Afraid of what was happening to you, you began running all the way back to the cabin. When you nearly broke the door down with your entry, Sam jumped to his feet. “Whoa, (Y/N), what the hell?”

You were panting, hunched over, and panicking. “Something— is happening…” you swallowed thickly, “to me.”

Sam rushed over to you, bending down to your level and tucking your hair behind your ear. “What? Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think so,” you breathed out. You looked down at your fingertips and realized they weren’t blue anymore. “Wait, where’d it go?”

You and Sam both straightened up, and you continued to search your fingers for the discoloration. 

“Where’d what go?” Sam questioned. 

“My— My fingers were blue just a minute ago,” you explained. 

“Blue?” he repeated.

You nodded. “And my insides were shaking.”

A small smile began to pull at the ends of Sam’s lips. “Did you also have little bumps on your arms?”

Your eyes snapped to his. “How’d you know that?”

“You’re a seraph. You’ve been around for forever, and you got scared of the wind?” Sam asked. 

“The wind didn’t do that to me,” you said pitifully, “it’s never done that before.”

Sam laughed. 

“It’s not funny,” you pouted grouchily. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Sam continued. “You just got cold, (Y/N).”

You furrowed your brow. 

“Here,” the brunet continued. He opened the door for you, and you walked out of it hesitantly. The first of the Autumn leaves had fallen to the ground and crunched under your feet as you made your way out. 

Sam followed behind, and the two of you stood beside each other silently. You looked up at the trees rustling in the wind, and small wisps of your hair began to lift away from your face. And then, you felt the little bumps forming on your arms again. You looked down, a little less afraid this time. 

“See? Just the wind,” Sam explained. 

Then, a shiver ripped down your spine, and your body began to shake from the feeling. 

“C’mon, let’s get you inside,” he said. Once you were, Sam offered you the jacket that was laying on the back of a chair in the kitchen. You wrapped yourself in it while he continued to tend the fire. 

“It’s probably gonna get cooler tonight, too,” he explained, dusting his hands off and standing from the ground. “This room’s the only one with heat in it.” 

Your eyes widened in worry, as your shivering hadn’t stopped even with the jacket wrapped around you. 

Sam chuckled with fondness at your expression. “You can take my bed.”

“But won’t you be cold, too?” you asked through your clattering teeth. 

He shook his head. “Don’t worry about me.” Off your look, he continued. “Seriously. I’m kinda a human furnace.”

“C’mere, then,” you asserted. 

The brunet seemed caught off-guard. 

“Please?” you begged. “I’m still cold.”

Hesitantly, he sat on the couch beside you and opened his arms to you. You shuffled across the couch to where you were curled into his chest between his outstretched legs. Sam relaxed against the arm of the couch and wrapped his strong arms around you.

With a look that almost bordered on pleading, you pulled back from his chest and stared up at him. His eyes seemed to almost search your face before he began to lean down toward you. Feeling a sudden surge of confidence, you leaned up to press your lips to his. 

Sam immediately groaned at the contact, and you threaded your fingers through his hair while his hands explored the curves of your waist. When his hand grazed the underside of your breast, you took in a sharp breath. 

Immediately, Sam broke the kiss. “Is this okay?”

Without breaking eye contact, you grabbed his hand and brought it to your breast. An intense lust clouded his eyes, and Sam pulled your head back toward his while he kneaded your breast in his hand. 

Heat flooded your thighs, and you were a bit overwhelmed by the feeling. Your breath quickened as you allowed Sam to push your shirt up over your head. 

He broke the kiss again only to say, “Bed, now.”

You nodded eagerly, pressing your lips back against his. He took your legs and wrapped them around his waist. With you pressed so closely to him, you subconsciously began to grind against him as he carried you over to his bed in the corner of the room. He gently laid you on the bed and pressed his forehead to yours, panting. “You can’t— You can’t do that.”

“What?” you asked timidly. “Did I do something wrong?”

Sam shook his head, still trying to catch his breath. “No, no, you’re fine. But I’m not gonna be able to hold back if you keep doing that.”

Hesitantly, you planted your feet on the bed on either side of his hips and began to grind up into him. 

A challenge in Sam’s eyes, he leaned back down to kiss you with an unrivaled passion. His hands roamed your torso, careful to avoid the band of your sweatpants. Gently, he ran his hands along the band of your bra. “Can I take this off?”

You nodded feverishly, breath quickening. As soon as he’d gotten it off, Sam began to kiss down your chest while kneading your breasts in his hands. He continued to kiss down your stomach, nipping at the soft flesh every once in a while. When he was eye-level with your clothed pussy, he asked, “Can I take these off?” running his hands over your clothed hips. 

You nodded, but Sam could tell something was wrong. “What is it?” He straightened up. 

“I’ve just never done this before,” you said honestly. 

“It’s okay,” Sam told you. “If you wanna stop, we can stop.”

You quickly shook your head “no.” “Don’t stop, please.”

He chuckled and began to take your sweatpants and underwear down your hips slowly, teasingly. 

“Please, Sam,” you said. “I don’t know what this feeling is, but I need you here.” You took his hand and brought it near your throbbing cunt. 

He took in a sharp breath, almost seeming unable to contain himself. “Can I touch you?” he asked. 

You nodded eagerly, and he pulled your hips closer to the edge of the bed before dragging his fingers through your folds. You keened while his long, thick fingers circled your clit. He then pulled your thighs toward his face and dove between them, lapping at your clit like a man starved. Your hands flew to his head, and he grabbed them, lacing your fingers together. Sam held your hands on either side of your body, gently stroking them with his thumbs in contrast to the fierceness he was eating you out with. 

“God, Sam!” you cried, grinding your hips into his face. That simply spurred him on more. 

Suddenly, what felt like a knot began to form in your lower stomach. “Wait, Sam,” you said, as the knot began to tighten. 

He pulled away from you, bringing his fingers back to your clit while he crawled over the top of you. “Uh-huh?” he asked. 

You continued to grind down onto his fingers, closing your eyes at the pleasurable feeling. “Something—” you bit your lower lip to keep yourself from crying out, “Something’s happening.”

Sam smiled. “Don’t worry, okay? It’s normal.”

You nodded breathlessly. “Okay.” 

Then, he started to insert his middle finger into you, pulling a sharp breath out of you. 

“I know,” he coaxed you. “But I gotta get you ready for me, okay?”

You nodded. 

“Words, (Y/N/N),” he asserted. 

“Okay,” you said shakily. 

Sam inserted one finger, and then, another. He began to move them in and out of you while putting pressure on your clit with the heel of his hand. The feeling was overwhelming, and you tried to close your legs around his hand. However, you were stopped by his body between your legs. 

The feeling continued to build and build, and you couldn’t hold back your cries anymore. A string of moans and curses left your mouth. 

“Just let it happen, okay? I’ve got you,” Sam told you. 

You nodded. 

“Words,” he demanded. 

“Yes, god, yes,” you replied. “Don’t stop,” you begged. 

He scissored his fingers inside of you, pushing you over the edge. The knot in your stomach snapped, and your core began to throb around his fingers. 

“God, Sam!” you cried out. “Fuck!” 

As your breathing began to slow, he asked, “You okay?” You nodded. “Yeah,” you breathed out. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” he smirked lopsidedly. 

You looked down at the bulge in jeans, and you looked up at him wantonly. 

“No, no, this isn’t about me,” he told you. 

“But I wanna make you feel good,” you whined. 

“You already are,” Sam told you. 

You leaned up to pull his face down to yours, kissing him again to convey everything you felt for him in that moment. You helped him out of his jeans, and once he had a condom on, he began to line himself up at your entrance. 

“You sure you want this?” Sam asked. 

“Yes,” you nodded. “Please, I need it.”

Slowly but surely, he began to push into you. He put his elbows on either side of your head, allowing you to curl your nails into his back with the pressure you were feeling inside of you. 

“I’m sorry, I know it’s uncomfortable,” he told you.

You shook your head, bringing your hands to either side of his face and kissing him deeply. Sam used that opportunity of distraction to push himself all the way inside, causing both of you to moan into each other’s mouths. 

Once he’d ensured you adjusted, he began to thrust into you. Sam’s movements were slow and deep, allowing you to feel every inch and ridge of his cock. You closed your eyes and dropped your head back in pure euphoria as he began to pick up his pace, bringing both of you closer to your climaxes. 

When you felt the knot beginning to form in your stomach again, you brought your hand to your clit and rubbed circles over it. Sam, having none of it, pushed your hand aside and mimicked the motion himself, allowing you to rake your nails up and down his back. Between the feeling of him thrusting inside of you and the pressure on your clit, the knot inside you snapped. 

With a keening cry, you moved your hips in time with histo ride out your high while Sam rode out his. The two of you breathed heaving breaths, allowing time for both of you to come down.

When the both of you were cleaned up and thoroughly spent, Sam held you against his chest while you drew invisible patterns on his upper chest. 

With a smile tugging on the ends of his lips, Sam asked, “You still cold?”

Taglist for Emotions:

@slutforfictionalcharacterss @criminalmindsiscool @littledebbieinabigworld

Forever tags are open; Series Rewrite taglist is closed!! :) Requests are open!

[readychilledwine]

what do you think prythian's food is like? Like how does the food differ in each court? Which one is known for spicier food? Or meat centric or veggie centric food? Summer would probably have more seafood right?

The Food of Prythian Headcanons

Warnings - Mentions of alcohol. While this is food based, it is based on the vibes of what I felt the culture of each court would be like in comparison to real places in our world. Some of these may be discussion worthy. We handle that in polite ways. Also, Liz thirsting over Helion's thighs.

A/N - The gif had to be Anime food. No cooking show makes ya girl hungry like anime food does. Welcome to the beginning of the requests being queue. Some of you have waited a very long time for me to get out of my funk. I cannot thank you all enough for that.

Spring-

Spring in my opinion would be French style foods. Why? Because of how SJM described the molten chocolate Feyre had.

I imagine Spring to have fresh ingredients that, combined with meats, make light but filling meals and vibrate plates.

I see Tamlin as the cheese board kind of guy. I think Spring would be filled with different cheeses from around the map and lands and people capable of telling you all about them and proper pairings.

Wine. I know we hear about wine a lot in Night, but I will never drop the headcanon that Spring is 7 course meals with different wine pairs as the meal progresses

Overall, I imagine Spring to be filled with dishes that are focused on fresh and quality. I think they'd have a wide variety of options for meats and game.

Ps, edible flowers. They garnish plates with edible flowers

Summer-

Hear me out, I think Summer would be a combination of Hispanic and Latin foods

Summer is seafood heavy, no doubt. Fresh catches served after flavorful preparations.

Summer isn't afraid of seasoning. Nor spice. I think in terms of getting your spicy food fix, Summer is your best options.

Access to fresh fish and summertime thriving fruits such as limes and lemons, naturally Ceviche is a very common dish to be served and a traditional welcome meal for guests.

Pazole would also be right up there with the incorporation of fresh peppers and produce to make it flavorful and impactful.

Alcohol pairings in summer also include fruity mixes. Tarquin is a margarita on the rocks baddie. I will die on that hill.

Autumn-

I'm hiding from how controversial this one might be. I was torn with Autumn because of how Eris and Lucien are written. I think the Forest House with the High Lord and his family do not eat traditional Autumn cuisine and try to separate themselves. So, for Autumn, I am torn but will be focusing on my gut instinct.

Autumn is English and Irish cuisines. Hearty beef stews, bangers and mash, Yorkshire pudding. Meals in Autumn are warm, heavy, and meant to be fulfilling at a price point that even the lowest income families can pull off. Spoiler, I 100% think Lucien and Eris are throwing down bangers and mash. Why? Because it feels right.

Breakfasts tend to have a variety on the plate. Eggs and sausage served over beans was an immediate one that came to mind for me.

I think game meat is also very common in Autumn, but farming is the primary meat source. Cattle, boar, and sheep would make up the majority of dishes with chicken being a last choice.

I think fish is potentially common in Autumn, but they are tinned fish central. And let's not bash tinned fish. You can do a lot with it and create meals for a fairly decent price.

Autumn is spiked cider country. Apples grown so rapidly here that they had to find a way to work them into their drinks. Mother bless the barmaid who asked for some rum and said to hold her mead. Apples since have been worked into whiskey, wine, vodka, and whatever else they could sell. Cinnamon apple whiskey is a personal favorite of Eris's. I asked him myself.

Winter-

Winter to me has very Slavic vibes. With it being so bittery cold, though, I imagine their diets are filled with soups and very heavy stews.

Winter is a season that would struggle with produce and with how I picture trade systems working in Prythian, I'll bluntly say it, Winter is the pickled everything part of Prythian.

Pickled fish, vegetables, and olives are all very common ingredients in meals and as snacks.

Root vegetables such as onions, garlic, and potatoes are featured in every meal. They're known to grow in harsh environments, and paired together can be a great base to a meal.

Game meat is common here. Venison, elk and some options that we may less commonly think of such as bear, fox, wild big cats, and rabbit

Drinks wise, like the foods, it is about warmth. Mulled wines, warm ciders, anything to keep their hands warm and bellies full.

Dawn-

It would have been far too easy to argue Dawn is 24/7 breakfast, but I think Thesan is very into cuisine that touched the homelands of his Court's population.

Dawn is heavily leaning to Japanese and Asian styled foods. Bright dishes, bold flavor, and full of experiments and experiences. I don't think there is a dull meal in Dawn.

Dawn is filled with brothy soups centering around rich cuts of meat, different styles of noodles, and an ever rotating flavor profile as seasons change.

Seafood is common in Dawn, but they're open to trying any form of proteins. Eggs are a favorite.

I think meals in Dawn vary from you feeling heavy and ready for a nap afterward to something light and refreshing. I think this variation comes with seasons and availability to ingredients.

Dawn is drinking a variety of things. Hard liquor with touches of fruit, hearty beers, plum based wines, and teas. Dawn is filled with variety in the beverages, all paired perfectly to compliment meals.

Day-

Helion and the Day Court had to be a Mediterranean diet. I won't apologize. She can't describe thigh daddy as wearing white togas, snake arm bands, and not expect me to decide he serves me my favorite cuisine post... thigh admiration.

I also feel this works well with the Day Court due to me picturing it as a similar situation where the days reach high grueling temperatures and Nights are made for dancing under the moonlight in anticipation of getting to see morning break and the sun begin to rise.

The Day Court is light meals during the day hours that center heavily around fruits, vegetables, and seafood kissed with notes of citrus. Nights are slightly heavier with touches of beef and lamb joining in.

Hummus. There's various hummus bowls at every meal, and each one is a different layer of flavor or spice. Helion ensures they are served with a variety of root vegetables, pita breads, or falafel.

Drinking is common, but beers are not. Even beverages are kept light in Day. Of all the courts, though, I feel the Day Court is heavily pushing water intake.

Night-

Full discretion. I wanted to break the Night Court into Velaris, Hewn City, and Illyria. Due to tumblr LIMITING MY CREATIVITY (jerks) i am focusing on Velaris.

Have you ever wanted to make love to your food or make love because of your food? If so, "Welcome to the Night Court."

I think Velaris doesn't necessarily have a region of food from our world, but instead, it is a melting pot due to the variety of citizens and walks of life there. One thing is always true, though, artistic expression is worked into food.

Velaris is known for gorgeous plates, high end cuts of meats, and things being extra. It is common to see edible gold leaf in Velaris.

Proteins wise, I think due to the melting pot, there isn't a common or most popular choice. Venison, beef, lamb, chicken, and seafood are all common. I do think Velaris leans towards roasted vegetables, though. Roasting them can bring out flavor and, most importantly, color. I heavily believe presentation is key here.

Chocolate dipprd fruits are a favorite, but dipped figs with a touch of sea salt are a go to dessert.

Wines. Prepare for wines with every turn. Full bodied reds, crisp whites, flirty rosé, and oh so bubbly champagne.

In short, food in Velaris is meant to make you feel something, to push boundaries and flavor palette, and to fill your tummy.

[reneesghostinthelivingroom]

Since it’s almost Halloween… can you write about Regina and Reader going to a house party for Halloween?

Regina’s costume is that of a vampire and Reader is going as a werewolf. Regina is literally arguing with Reader as to why vampires are better when they’re getting ready for the party. Queue Reader ending up walking around with one of those fake chains around their neck, because Regina said she had to wear it and Regina pulling her everywhere with it at the party 💀 can turn spicy at the end…

(This idea was triggered by a tiktok from user ceekayye)

Vampires or Werewolves?

|| Regina George x nonbinary!reader

|| Warnings; light swearing, underage drinking, highschool party, drunk sex, smut at the end, top Regina, bottom reader, Regina teasing reader, use of 'pup' pet name, Gretchen x Karen hints

|| Summary; reader and Regina can't seem to be on the same page about which is better; Vampires or Werewolves? But there is one thing they're on the same page about..

Requests open!

Started; october 30th

Finished; october 30th

~~~

It was that time of year again; Halloween. Which meant Halloween costume parties. There was one tonight that you and your girlfriend, Regina George, were going to so the two of you were getting ready in her room. Regina was going as a sexy vampire, while you a sexy werewolf.

Regina did a once over of your outfit and raised a judging eyebrow," I don't get why you chose to go as that when you could have just matched with me. Vampires are like, way fucking hotter." She told you and that only made you roll your eyes. Maybe Vampires were hotter, but werewolves were cooler and you'd die on that hill.

"Werewolves are cooler. They can become a literal wolf monster," You defended. Regina scoffed at that.

"Vampires change into bats and fly. What does a wolf do? Run fast?" She smirked at you and you pouted a bit at her.

"Yeah, well- whatever. I've wanted to go as a werewolf since last Halloween." You folded your arms across your chest, trying to defend your choice.

Regina simply sighed and got an idea, her smirk never leaving her face." Fine, you can wear that. But..." She trailed off for dramatic effect, she loved leaving you in suspense. Regina went over to her closet and dug through it before pulling out a fake chain with one of those thick collars attached. Your eyes widened a bit as she walked back over to you," you're wearing this."

"What-" You'd started to say, but the look in her eyes made you stop. Regina was serious about this and honestly.. it was kind of hot. She walked over to you and clamped the collar around your neck, making sure it was secure before giving the chain a small tug. You gasped and looked into the blonde's eyes as she smirked.

"Keep this on, okay, pup?"

You huffed at the nickname and your cheeks flushed," don't call me that."

"Then don't dress like a dog~" Regina teased. Oh yeah, she was going to have fun with you tonight.

A little bit later, the two of you arrived at the party. Hand in hand as you walked in, the loud music immediately going to your ears and starting a small headache. You shook your head, which shook the fake chain. Regina glanced at you then noticed Gretchen and Karen. She headed over to them, taking her hand out of yours and pulling you over by the chain instead. You didn't have much complaints about that.

Gretchen noticed the two of you first and smiled wide," Regina! Y/N! Hi!!" She practically jumped as she gave Regina a hug, who cringed and pushed her off. Then she gave you a hug and looked over both of your outfits." Oo! Love the costumes, I'm surprised you guys didn't do a couples costume though."

Regina rolled her eyes at that," I tried to get them to match with me as a vampire but they insisted being a mutt."

"Werewolf!" You corrected her and she just laughed.

"Yeah, yeah same difference, babe." She gave your cheek a kiss and you sighed.

Karen looked at your outfit and smiled," oh I love dogs!!"

Regina put her hand over her mouth as she tried not to laugh, you gave her an annoyed side eye.

"Yup, me too, Karen." You replied and Karen giggled, pulling Gretchen off somewhere who easily tagged along.

"Catch up later!" Gretchen called over the music before her and Karen disappeared into the crowd. You raised an eyebrow but didn't question them, Regina took you by your chain and pulled you over to the drinks. She handed you one and then took one for herself.

Much later into the party, you and Regina were well into your drinks by the time she decided to sneak you off upstairs. Regina found an empty room, then pulled you over to bed where she forced you down. Straddling herself on your hips with the chain well wrapped around her hand. She pulled it back a little, just enough to make you gasp and look up at her.

"Gina.." You murmured, words slurring together. She shushed you by her lips, pulling you into a deep, bruising kiss. As her tongue slipped into your mouth, her hands trailed your sides. Feeling all along your body as she started to move her hips. Not even caring that the both of you were still in costume. You swallowed each others moans in the kiss, Regina's hips grinding harder against yours. Trying to build the friction.

The alcohol made everything all the more intense, so it wasn't long before the two of you came undone in your clothes. Moans loud as the kiss was broken. Echoing off the walls.

That definitely wasn't the end of your night, though.

[https-genesis]

deserving child | dad!jake x daughter!reader

Sypnosis; Whatever had your father done before you were born had nothing to do with you today, but Quaritch didn't care. Children or not, you were Jake's.

Contents; angst little comfort, typical avatar violence, drabble? extreme depictions of gore?? Jake's pov, no use of y/n,

Dictionary; sempul - dad/daddy, sa'nok - mother, tsurak - skimwing, kuru - queue, uturu - sanctuary

A/N; I hate this but anyway

Jake Sully. Failed life on Earth, dead brother. Paralyzed from the waist down, out of service. Sent to replace his brother on a military mission, Pandora. Falling for the forrest, the culture, the people... Neytiri. Even though he had taken everything from her, her sister, her father, her ikran, her people... Neytiri had faith. She fought with him. His beautiful mate... His children. His firstborn son, Neteyam, and his twin, you. Oh, how life had betrayed him. Or had he betrayed life? After all, he betrayed an entire race. Was it unfair? Had he done the good thing, or was he selfish?

Jake still remembers a quote from the Bible he had read years before his 20th birthday. Before his brother was killed on the field.

"For am I seeking the approval of man or of God? And if I am seeking the approval of man, will I still be a servant of grace?"

As Jake sat still onto the back of his tamed tsurak within the seas of the reefs, hundreds of vengeful Na'vi in the same position behind him, he thought back to fifteen years ago. He could've left with Quaritch. Be could've surrendered. Saved thousands of innocent lives and give his own. But he didn't. He chose to stay and fight, but for what?

He could clearly see your distressed faces kneeling and facing him on the Demon Ship. Quaritch and his men held you and your siblings tighly in place and the gun pressed to your temple that digged into your skin harshly.

Jake chose to stay and fight. It brought him here. His children about to get executed right in front of his helpless eyes, unable to do anything but to weep to himself like a coward.

The sound of Neytiri's distressed pleas in his ears made them ring, but he couldn't hear a single word.

Jake could see in his head the faded image of your brains splattered onto the pavement of the ship and for a brief moment he pondered if this was all a dream. It wasn't, however, you were still alive. The choice was his, he knew it well. Would Neytiri even forgive him? Would you? Would Tuk be able to pass her own Iknimaya without her father?

☆

The freezing cold metal pressed firmly against the side of your head burned like dry ice. You had seen your father use similar machinery on the field, but you had never seen it be pointed at someone else. Even less had you thought you'd be the one in this kind of situation. Quaritch had your kuru thigh in his unoccupied hand, pulling whenever your kneeling stance faltered. You could see the outline of Jake, Ronal and Tonowari from your place on the ship and the way your father's eyes drifted from you and your siblings to his weapon. Was he really considering letting himself get captured for you?

Whatever Jake was thinking was passing fast. He had no plan and you knew it. The simple look of despair on Tonowari's face told you everything. You knew not to scream out because the Avatar had warned you when your brother tried.

"One noise and I'll shoot ya', kid."

Kid. You were just a kid. Your brother and sister were just kids. And Jake stared at you like it would be the last time he'd ever do. It was ironic, really. You came to Awa'atlu seeking uturu and had to end up murdering the entirety of its residents.

Jake felt the cold breeze against his damp skin, the breathlessness of Ronal on his right. His children are about to die. You, their big sister, dying to protect them. His babygirl. The one that lit up his life when he felt he was no Olo'eyktan, no Toruk Makto.

Right. Toruk Makto. Jake is Toruk Makto. The sixth rider of Last Shadow, the one who brought the clans victory against the Sky People. He killed Quaritch once. Can he really do it twice?

It's strange to think about it now, but in this situation he wishes he was more of a father and less of a marine. Lo'ak would never forgive him. The way he treated his children like soldiers... The pain he brought upon Neytiri and the people.

Quaritch's voice brings him back.

"Clock's ticking, colonel. What's it gonna be?"

The hand that rested on his gun lowered and Jake instructed his tsurak to swim forward slowly. He doesn't want to die, but he was ready to give his life up for you.

Quaritch did too.

Payakan thought otherwise. The large beast had felt Lo'ak's anger throughout their bond. Payakan had forgotten all about friendship, but Lo'ak had brought him a sense of serenity he had just about never felt before. Seeing red as he threw itself onto the ship, Jake saw the opportunity.

should I do a part two? seems opportunistic tbh

[angstywaifu]

The Lost Sister - Part 16

Synopsis: Xaden is known as an only child due to his sister who 'died' during the Rebellion. Little do they know she didn't die and has been so close this entire time.

Garrick Tavis x OC A/N: Hope you guys are excited, we are about to start diving into Ophelia's signet! Let me know your thoughts on what you think it could be!

The Lost Sister Masterlist | Masterlist

As I dismount Mealladh after finishing flight training for the day, I hear Tairn growl. So loud to ground shakes slightly. I look up to see his eyes trained on someone. Dain. And he looks angry, more so than usual. Tairn clearly does not like the sight of him as he bares his teeth at him, saliva pooling on the ground beneath him.

Remind me to never annoy you. I say to Mealladh through the bond.

She chuckles. I will never get that angry at you unless you do something stupid. Which I highly doubt.

My bond with Mealladh was getting strong quickly. We could easily communicate with each other, shield each other out with ease. Even without having taken a single Signet Training class. So far the only one in our squad to show a signet had been Sawyer. He could control metal. Nearly took his opponents arm off in challenges when it manifested. Ridoc had told us the story over one of our meals. He thought it was the coolest thing he had ever seen. When would I get my signet? What would it be? They always said the signet represented the rider. Something about their personality or something to aid them. Something they needed. Every time I had tried to think about what it could be I came up short.

Rhiannon appears next to me as Dain slowly approaches Violet. “What do you think that’s about?”

I shake my head. “No idea. But Dain looks angry and Tairn does not look pleased about it.”

”No he does not.” We both laugh.

As it was our last class of the day we were waiting for Violet. All of us usually headed back to the dorms together before . As Tairn takes off Violet looks over to us and motions for us to leave. She had obviously agreed to talk to Dain.

”Have they talked since threshing?” I ask Rhiannon as we start to walk back down to the Quadrant, Ridoc and Sawyer not far ahead.

She shakes her head. “Don’t think so. She hasn’t mentioned if he has. And she would have.”

I nod. “That could be an interesting conversation they’re about to have then.”

”I’d love to be a fly on the wall for that one.” She adds with a smirk.

”Definitely. He says one wrong thing and she’s gonna rip into him.”

As if on queue I hear loud voices behind me. I turn my head to see they’ve barely made it a few steps and she is already angry at him. Poor boy. But he did this to himself. He’d been trying to baby her, send her to the scribes where he thought she belonged. But Violet had been thriving here despite her the limitations of her body. Hell she had bonded the strongest dragon in the Quadrant. Hell she had gotten two dragons. Something no one had ever seen before. And yet he still saw her as this poor frail girl that needed protection. I was thankful Garrick and Xaden had pretty much looked past that with me. I had made sure to prove I was not the girl they left behind in Aretia. I had grown, I had changed. I had adapted to survive. Not that I had much choice. Though I probably could have refused and ended up dead or locked in a cell. I chose the option that kept me alive. The option that got me back to my family, and as close to home that I could get.

The afternoon sun blinds me for a moment as we walk into the courtyard, busy with other riders now that classes are out for the day. I feel that familiar feeling and look over to see Xaden and Garrick leaning against the Academic Building, as if watching over their domain. Their eyes immediately meet mine.

”So what’s going on with you and Tavis?” Asks Ridoc as we stop just inside the courtyard, waiting for Violet to catch up. “Made it official yet now you’ve done the deed.” He wiggles his eyebrows at me.

Rhiannon groans and rolls her eyes at him. “Really? You still call sex the deed? How old are you again?”

”Hey I was just trying to be more subtle about it in case anyone was listening.” He defends with his hands raised.

”Then don’t ask in a courtyard filled with almost the entire quadrant?” I bite back a laugh at her sassy remark.

”It’s fine Rhi. But if you must know, not yet.” I tell him bluntly.

”Was-”

”And I am not telling you details.” I say as I cut him off causing Sawyer and Rhiannon to laugh at his annoyed face.

Violet storms into the courtyard, clearly not pleased after her conversation with Dain. I laugh as she looks over at Xaden and gives him the middle finger as he arches an eyebrow at her. He can probably sense her mood through the bond. His gaze flickers to Dain who walks through the archway looking sorry for himself.

”Everything all right?” Rhiannon asks as she walks up to us.

”Dain is an ass -”

”MAKE IT STOP!” Someone screams as they run down the steps at an alarming speed, holding his head between his hands as if he was in pain. Not if. He was in pain.

I don’t know his name, but I know he’s one of the first years in third wing. He sits near us in battle brief.

“For gods, sake, make it stop!” He screams again, stumbling into the courtyard.

Every rider is on alert. Hands hovering over weapons ready to attack. Mine move to the daggers on my thighs. Next to Violet I see Xaden and Garrick move forward in a defensive stance, ready to jump in at a moments notice. The riders slowly creep forward, a circle forming around him. He was manifesting his signet. And something in my gut told me it wasn’t good.

”Jeremiah!” A cadet shouts as they rush forward.

”You!” He yells as he spins towards a third year, pointing his finger at him. “You think I’ve lost it!” The way his eyes flare and the tilt of his head, I don’t blame the third year. All of us are thinking it. “How does he know? He shouldn’t know!”

That’s when it clicks. He’s inntinnsic. The one signet that means instant death. All of our thoughts are open to him. And the thought makes my blood turn cold.

”And you!” He spins around, this time to a second year. “What the hell is wrong with him? Why is he screaming?”

He spins towards Dain. “Is Violet going to hate me forever? Why can’t she see that I just want to keep her alive? How is he…? He’s reading my thoughts!”

I have to give Jeremiah some credit. He mimicked Dain’s tone almost perfectly. I look over at Violet to see she looks just as terrified as the rest of us. Xaden and Garrick step forward, shoving Ridoc aside as they move up next to Violet and I who were at the front of our group. Everyone grasps their weapons as Jeremiah unsheathes his shortsword.

”Make it stop! Can’t any of you see? The thoughts won’t stop!” He’s panicking.

”Xaden. You need to do something.” I say sternly, dagger now gripped in my right hand.

He nods before turning to Violet. “Start mentally reciting whatever bookish shit you’ve learned.”

She looks at him confused.

He looks at both of us. “If you value your secrets, clear your thoughts. Now.”

Shit. I quickly slam up my shield as hard as I can. Try to recite what ever useless information I can as well.

”And you!” My heart drops as his eyes lock onto Garrick. “Damn it all to hell. He’ll know about Are-” He barely gets his sentence out before Xaden’s shadows wrap around his mouth, silencing him.

All I can do is stare at Jeremiah. To anyone else Are could have been anything. Could have been any word. But with Xaden’s reaction, I know its not nothing. Something in my heart knows what he was about to say. He was about to say Aretia. My home. Our home. That was destroyed years ago. But why would Garrick have been thinking about it.

Something tugs in my mind. And it isn’t Mealladh. It’s as if something else is there. I focus how Melgren had taught me. I’m in the courtyard back in Aretia. My home. To my left is the throne room door, where I can see Mealladh’s red and white presence glowing around the door I’ve shut off. But at the end of the courtyard is something else. Another presence wrapped in… black shadows? Just like Jeremiah was now. Something in me is calling to pull at it, investigate. I feel my left hand twitch as if wanting to tug on it. I’m so focused on it I don’t even see the professor rush towards Jeremiah. My left hand flexes as my mind tugs on the presence in my courtyard in my head. But as I do so the professor grips his head and a crack echoes off the walls. But I hear it louder in my head as the presence disappears as well as the shadows. Everyone’s so focused on the professor and Jeremiah to notice my recoil. Everyone except for two. As I snap out of it I look over to see Xaden and Garrick staring at me wide eyed. Their eyes darting between me and the floor. Underneath my foot is a deep but short crack. One that was definitely not there before. I can tell from the slight scorch mark and power radiating from it. They go to start towards me but I push through the crowd and use my size to get away before they can get to me. Yet again I am running away as Garrick calls my name from behind me. Part 17 Tag List: @riorgail @going-through-shit @fw-gt @bbkissme99 @xceafh @leptitlu @came-to-laugh-but-cried @onthewaytotimbuktu @daardyrnitta

[guiltygearconfessions]

Announcing Retirement

Greetings, all. As some of you may have noticed that the askbox has been closed for a few days now. I did it to give myself a bit of space to think, and unfortunately, I've come to the conclusion that, through a combination of disinterest, real-life obligations, and general unpleasant behavior I've had to deal with on here, I'm going to retire this blog.

Initially, I was just going to close the box and see if the lack of interaction would allow the blog to die organically, but on reflection I didn't think it was fair to all of you to not say anything, especially with how several people have reached out to ask.

Still, I'd like us to have a bit of life before this thing peters out. So I'm going to reopen the askbox again until June 5th before shutting it down again. Please feel free to go ahead and submit to your heart's content, and the queue will be allowed to run with whatever is in there.

And I just want to say that most of you have been absolutely wonderful. I've loved being able to hear so many varying thoughts and have a good bit of fun talking about something we as a community collectively love and love to make fun of. This isn't a choice I make out of any particular joy, but I've found that a combination of factors on this blog here is taking a toll on my mental health, and I'd like to think I'm responsible enough to know when to know my limits and tap out.

It's been a good run! I'm glad to have met so many people. I hope you've enjoyed your stay and had a bit of fun!

-Mod Rabbit

[can-your-fav-escape-the-timeloop]

have you ever looked at a character and wondered "could they survive a time loop"?

this blog aims to answer that question! submit a character of your choice via an ask, and i (skiddle), will set up a poll with the following options:

would escape on their own

would escape with help

wouldn't escape

wouldn't want to escape

would die

other (explain in tags!)

your job is simply to vote on which option is most likely! voting will last one week!

RULES AND GUIDELINES FOR SUBMISSIONS:

each character submitted must include their source. (EX. siffrin from in stars and time)

i will allow MOST media to be submitted, but characters from harry potter and south park are strictly forbidden. i'm not comfortable with associating with them.

submitting a character that has been submitted previously is fine, but only after a certain amount of time has passed. the current time you have to wait to re-submit a character is six months, but it's not set in stone!

just because this blog is in stars and time themed doesn't necessarily mean the time loop in question has to abide by this game's rules!

images attached to the submission should include an image description or alt text! here's a post linking to a couple of tutorials, along with some other stuff!

WHEN WILL POSTING START?

...when i have enough submissions to comfortably fill the queue! the amount i'll post each day has yet to be decided, i'll figure that out based on the interest around this blog! for now, though, get submitting, and i'll see you all soon!

[sazwritesstuff]

Espresso | Part 1

Coffee Shop AU | Logan Howlett x fem!reader

Summary: You've been a barista at the same cafe for the past few years. You've gotten to know a far few regulars over those years, some you know by name and others you know only by their order. They make your job just a tiny bit more bearable. So when a new handsome regular begins to show up day after day you can't help but take notice.

Tags/warnings: Coffee Shop AU, barista reader, meet cute, swearing, soft Logan | Worst Wolverine (Deadpool 3)

Posted on AO3 here

No one else liked doing the opening shift but you and Sandy. Everyone else complained about having to get up so early to open at 6.30 in the morning. You, on the other hand, preferred it because it meant you got to leave earlier. There was usually an hour, sometimes two, where there were no customers to deal with. Or only a handful of regulars that you had gotten to know over the past couple of years since you started working at the cafe.

Carrol always had a latte with two slices of brown toast, no butter. With a newspaper or a book. If there were no other customers, she’d happily tell you about her daughter and grandchildren.

Gareth always had a black coffee, in a takeaway cup, sitting with his two dogs near the front door.

Paul, a roofer, came in twice a day for an extra-hot mocha in a takeaway cup that he can sit outside with. Even when it’s raining.

There were a few more that came in throughout the day that you had yet to learn the names of. Most of them you liked but there were a few regulars that got n your tits. Usually because they had one of the most awkward bloody orders that they’d get during rushes and find something to complain about. Despite getting the exact same thing every time.

The regulars that you got during the opening shift tended to be pensioners or part of the “yummy mummy” club. Some faces you recognised more than others. But there were always new faces coming and going, some recognising you when you had no clue who they were.

It was one of those curses of hospitality. That and always being understaffed. Or underpaid. Forced to do way too many hours…

Honestly, it was kind of shit.

But there was a new regular that you had noticed that had started coming in everyday now, getting the same black coffee and just sitting in one of the armchairs by the window. Nothing remarkable about his order. Simple. Easy. You gotten in the habit of getting it ready for him as soon as you saw him in the queue.

He was a man of few words. Polite though. Never rude to you, Sandy or any of your other colleagues. But you had seen him tell a few not so nice customers (usually men, but there were the odd Karen mixed in there) to “go fuck yourself” followed by a few other choice words.

Most people tried to start a fight until they actually turned around and found an over six-foot tall older man with more muscles than most gym rats.

He had become a bit of a favourite of yours.

You’d managed to make him smile a few times and even get a few short laughs out of him.

He was tall, handsome, older than you (but that had never stopped you before), and you so desperately wanted to know his name!

Even if it was just to add fuel to your little fantasies about him. Like running you fingers through his thick brown hair and tugging at the little tufts of hair that remind you of cat ears. Or running your hands up and down those veiny, muscular arms. Or giving his plump rump a smack.

If you could climb that man like a tree, you would die happy.

But you didn’t want to do the classic write your name on his coffee cup with your number, which was practically impossible as he preferred to sit in with a mug, or write it down on a napkin that he’d surely lose.

You’d seen and read enough rom-coms to know that was a terrible idea. Plus, it felt a little cliche.

Simply just asking him for his name and number weren’t an option either.

One, you had never seen him actually using a phone so you had no idea if he even had one. Two, he looked as if he was old enough to be you father (again, not that that had ever stopped you before) and could easily be married or in a serious relationship. Three, your co-workers all already teased you about your preference for older men. Four… he made you nervous. So, so nervous.

He was ruggedly handsome. Tall. Muscular (you wanted to lick those veins you’d seen peeking out under his sleeves).

Today, he’d come in while you’d gone to get some more milk from the walk-in. Sandy had served him his usual, your eyes straying over to where he sat with his coffee by the window.

“I see the crush is still going strong.” Sandy joked as she tamped down the coffee grounds before slotting the portafilter into the machine.

“Shut up! I can’t help it if he’s hot.” Without glancing up you said as you knelt down to put the milk away in the service fridge.

Sandy laughed at your words. “Still haven’t ask for his number then, have you?”

Straightening you sighed, “No. I haven’t and I’m not going to.”

Sandy placed the cappuccino down in front of customer waiting “Here you go! Enjoy!” with a large false smile on her face. Turning back towards you as the customer walked away, she crossed her arms and leant back against the counter. “If he was my type I would totally go for it. But I don’t have daddy issues.”

“No, you just have mommy issues, Sands.”

“Yeah, and if a hot MILF walked in here, I would be all over her like a fly on shit.”

“You’re so gross.”

“So, I’ve been told. But people also tell me that I’m super sexy so it balances itself out.”

Shaking your head smiling at her you said “If you say so.”

“I do and I also say that you should go take to Mr Tall-Dark-and-Brooding and ask him for his number.” She said nodding over to the man in question.

When you glanced over you swore you saw him smirking and trying to hide it behind his coffee.

Fuck me sideways, you thought, he’s so hot! How is that legal!

Rolling your eyes you said the one phrase you knew would annoy Sandy enough to distract her “If you have time to lean, you have time to clean.”

“Oh, shut up!” she said throwing a damp cloth at you. Sending you both into giggles.

“But seriously we should both try and look busy, Jodie’s going to be in in the next ten minutes.”

“Oh, no, not Jodie!” Sandy whined “I thought she was only working at the weekend this week.”

“She swapped with Hannah.”

“Noooo!” she whined pouting “That’s it my day’s ruined now. Scratch that, my whole week’s been ruined.”

“I’m not happy about it either but-" you stopped. Noticing movement out of the corner of your eye. Turning you were half way through saying “Hi, what can I get you?” before you realised it was the man that you’d been talking about only a moment ago. The smile on your face turning genuine as you felt your cheeks heat.

“Hi.” He said, his voice a deep rumble. Is it normal to get turned on just from someone’s voice?

“Did you want a refill?” you asked, still smiling.

Shaking his head he placed his cup down on the counter. “I just wanted to bring this back and, ugh,” he placed a piece of paper down next to it “give you this. I’m Logan by the way.” He said smiling and winking at you as he turned and walked away.

Leaving you standing there dumbstruck.

Sandy picked up the piece of paper that Logan had put down and squealed. “Oh my god! It’s his phone number! I told you. I fucking told you!”

Snatching the scrap of paper out of her hand you looked down at the numbers he’d scrawled with his name ‘Logan Howlett.’ underneath. Patting your pockets you said “Shit! Where’s my phone? I should text him. Oh my god, what do I next text him. Wait will it seem too desperate if I text him straightaway?”

“No.” Sandy tilted her head in contemplation, “Well, maybe. But if he wasn’t interested, he wouldn’t have given you his name now, would he?”

“But what if he doesn’t actually like me. What if he just felt he should because he overheard you earlier?”

“Y/n,” Sandy said placing her hands on your shoulders “Hot men don’t just go around handing their number and name out to any random person they come across. Stranger danger and all that. He’s obviously interested and decided to take a chance. Something that you need to do too. Now. Text the hot, sexy old man.”

Taking in a deep breath you nodded. “Okay, okay, yeah.” Pulling out your phone from your apron pocket you tapped Logan’s number into your phone and typed out a text. Trying not to over think it you pressed send.

Y/N: Hey Logan, this is sarah, you gave me your number in the café just now. I was wondering if you want to grab a drink sometime?

Three grey dots appeared. Vanished and quickly appeared again. You chewed on your fingernail as you watched the grey dots on the screen. No less than a minute later a message came through from Logan.

Logan: I’d love too. Are you free tonight?

You glanced up at Sandy “He wants to go out tonight.”

“Well, say yes! Get that DILF dick baby.”

“Sandy!”

“What are you two talking about?” Jodie’s nasally voiced asked as she joined you behind the counter, tying her apron around her waist “It doesn’t very work appropriate.”

“You’re not work appropriate.” Sandy muttered under her breath glaring at the woman.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing Jodie.” Sandy said moving from where she’d been standing next to you. “Can you go clear some tables for us?” she said handing her a tray.

Tuning the two of them out you turned your attention back to your phone.

Taking a deep breath, biting nervously at your thumb, you replied:

SARAH: I’m free tonight How about we meet at Malones at 6?

Logan: I’ll see you there beautiful 😉

You couldn’t wait.

[oddygaul]

Avatar: The Way of Water

You know, not that I have any particular faith that this series will make anything of it, but The Way of Water actually raises some interesting questions about the way consciousness and the transfer of self work in the Avatar universe.

My first watch, I treated Recom Quaritch as just an excuse to bring back the most charismatic antagonist the series had – that he was more or less the same one-dimensional character as before, with a quick handwave for how his return was possible. But they’re honestly doing more than that with his writing. This isn’t Quaritch back from the dead with a new lease on life; his “I am not that man” speech to Spider is not a shirking of responsibility, and his iconic skull crushing scene is not an uncaring show of stoicism. 

Recom Quaritch is terrified. 

When he sees Neytiri’s arrows, he is experiencing primal fear. When he sees Spider, left behind alone on an alien world, he regrets the callousness of his former self. He sees where Quaritch’s bravado led him, sees what the end result of his mistakes was, and decides to firmly reject that he’s the same person as the original. He has Quaritch’s memories in his mind, but he doesn’t feel they belong to him. When he crushes Quaritch’s skull, it represents a refusal to honor the man the RDA assumes him to be: Recom Quaritch is his own man, and he will make his own choices about his future.

I always appreciate it when sci-fi takes this approach towards ‘revival’ via a backed-up consciousness. A lot of my favorites explore its implications – the Culture books, for example, dive deep into the drawbacks of a backup-based system – but all too often, they’re glossed over and treated as a magical solution to death and danger.

I don’t care how thorough and precise your backup is, unless there’s some instantaneous, streaming consciousness-transferring device, if you die and your backup is placed in a new body, that is NOT you. Sure, to everyone else, it might as well be: as far as they can tell, you look and act the same as you always have. But YOU, your stream of consciousness, your awareness, the ongoing perception of the world that defines your life – that has ended, and no amount of backups can bring that back. It only makes sense that the revived’s sense of personhood might be drastically different.

It’s an interesting pivot, because the original Avatar sorta takes for granted the functionally seamless transfer of consciousness used in the Avatar system. Via the link unit, one’s mind can be ping-ponged back and forth between a human and Na’vi body as much as you want, in real-time, with only the sensation of waking up from a nap to show anything changed. Jake’s permanent transfer into his Na’vi body at the end works the same way, just using a big tree instead of the science tube: he simply closes his eyes as a human, and wakes up in his new body like nothing ever happened. The societal implications of this technology are staggering – people could functionally live forever by growing new bodies and instantly transferring over, for example – but it's used only as a plot contrivance.

That is to say, the first Avatar is fully disinterested in exploring the potential nuance of these ideas, and much more focused on really hammering home its comparisons between technology and the natural world; they want you to be thinking about the contrast between the Na’vi queues and the human link units, not some fiddly philosophical quandary. Still, now that The Way of Water has raised these questions, it would be cool if the future sequels – maybe the one set on Earth? – dig a little more into the horror inherent in recreating the minds of the dead.

Being in this headspace for this watch also made me realize how fucked it is to have an Avatar after the human it’s based on has died. In The Way of Water, we see Grace’s Avatar body, and it’s… well, it’s still there. It’s alive, submerged, and kicking… just with no mind inside, empty, a bespoke vessel made for one soul that just doesn’t exist anymore. Brutal.

—

Other thoughts:

The first Avatar relies on its adventure setpieces – Jake’s first bond with the ikran, the montages of running through Pandora by night – more than its action setpieces, which themselves are like, aight. Way of Water’s action, by contrast, legit kicks fucking ass start to finish. Consider:

-the slow-mo train derailing -the Metkayina ducking in and out of the water to avoid gunfire then leaping out to spear RDA chumps -the speedboats, crab mechs, and assault subs, all of which are infinitely more fun than Avatar’s clunky mechs, and the spectacular flips they do as they bounce across the surface of the ocean to explode on nearby rocks -the big whale doing straight-up Action Hero shit -Neytiri shooting a guy through another guy

Seriously, it’s killer. As someone that considers themselves fairly weary of fight scenes these days – so much of it is just noise with no art – I remain impressed after a rewatch.

[t0bey]

ALRIGHT here's postman tips i keep in mind when i solo-queue 💌

Before I go into details on each letter, general thing but Victor is very reliant on teammates using pings!!

Tranquility Letter:

-When you first jump into a match, keep tabs on who pings decoding progress first. i wouldn't recommend giving anyone tranquility letter until another teammate pings that the hunter is chasing them so you're sure they will actually use the letter. I would also not recommend immediately using this letter until you find a working cipher.

-Prioritize tranquility letter at the beginning of the match. It increases decoding by 10%. Even if the hunter is chasing you at least try to make sure you send the letter just so that decoding is done while you kite. Ideally the best target to give it (who isn't currrently kiting) is a character with a decoding debuff like Mercenary, Batter, or Forward, so that they will be closer to finishing their cipher by the time someone goes down.

-This letter is relatively straightforward, just use it to help push ciphers quicker for the people decoding while someone is kiting.

Inspiring Letter:

-If you have no tranquility letter in your selection and someone is currently kiting, alongside farewell and urgent letter this is a very safe letter to give to the person kiting. It increases the person's vaulting speed by 10%

-While most of vic's letters have a limited use time, Inspiring letters do not have a cooldown and last as long as the match does unless Victor gives the person a different letter. Meaning this letter is *extra* useful for characters with slower vaulting speed like mechanic and mind's eye, but on the opposite end can make characters with faster vaulting even more annoying like batter, lol.

-This letter works better early game and ok late game, but endgame is where its important to put distance between a kiter and the hunter is where farewell and inspiring letters can give near immediate distance

Farewell Letter:

-I consider farewell and inspiring to be interchangeable enough that you can choose either/or for a person who's currently kiting and it would be fine, but farewell letter does give the person a 3 second speed boost of 40%.

-It's the fastest speed compared to urgent letter, but at the cost that you need a pallet to vault for it to activate. which is why i'd prioritize giving a person just rescued from chair urgent letter over farewell, but this letter is still solid.

Urgent Letter:

-Increases movement speed by 10% for 15 seconds, so its really useful when kiting but like i said before, both farewell and inspiring are also good choices in the case you don't have urgent in your selection.

-I usually give this letter to someone who was just rescued from chair. Even if they get downed, if they have tide activated then they can use it to create distance from where they were chaired. Which is why its very useful to escape basement, if the kiter pings that they're kiting near basement, or they've already been rescued from a basement chair.

-Said it before but urgent letter + farewell are great letters for detention kiters becaus it puts immediate distance between them and the hunter.

Bravery Letter:

-Pretty straightforward, you always give this letter to the person pinging that they're going to rescue. Even if they don't ping, if you see someone decoding relatively close to the chair, or someone is already moving towards it, make sure to give it to them.

- Increases recipient's Rescue Speed by 30%. Also increases recipient's Movement Speed by 10% for 180 seconds when near a rocket chair, so this letter can be very useful against double hit campers like Jack, Hastur, Antonio, or chip camp hunters like BonBon and Galatea.

-Even if rescue characters already have kits built for rescuing, give it to them anyways if there's no tranquility letter to give to someone else decoding OR you think they won't be able to make it to the chair before half/they're about to die

Hope Letter:

-This letter does reveal the dungeon to the person who gets it, but even more importantly it can increase exit gate decoding speed by 15%. This is so important to make sure you give the hope letter either right before the final cipher pops OR right afterwards.

-Give this letter to someone you know will probably decode an exit gate over the detention kiter in the hopes they get dungeon. If the detention kiter goes down before/after they get your letter it would be worthless at that point. Always prioritize someone opening the gate, because a lot of hunters either have teleport, trumpcard teleport, or the slow gate decoding trait and they will likely teleport after downing/chairing the detention kiter. Your main priority is opening the gate as fast as possible before the detention kiter goes down which is why this letter is so important.

-If the gates are already open and everyone else alive escapes/already died then sure give it to the detention kiter in the hopes they get to dungeon

Peeking at Letters

-Basically when Victor selects himself instead of other teammates, only he gets the buff. Instead of the delay period of usual letters getting to the recipient, the buff you select is instantly given to victor.

-Avoid using letters on yourself unless you're the one kiting, or if you know you're the only person decoding while everyone else is rescuing/harassing and use tranquility letter on yourself.

-If you're being chased then I consider urgent or farewell letter to be the best ones for kiting, depending on how reliable you think you can get to a vault

Wick Tips

-Wick's travel speed delivering letter buffs depends on how far away you are to the recipient. Which means there can be a long delay between them getting it. A little trick I try doing is giving a urgent/farewell letter to a person who's currently chaired if they're far away from where i am, but the rescuer is also about to rescue them. that way, they get the buff almost immediately after they get rescued instead of waiting for the long delay if you give them a letter afterwards (though this depends on accurately predicting when the rescuer will rescue, so it's risky.)

-If someone else is kiting close to where you're decoding, and they're injured, i'd recommend throwing wick at the hunter to slow them down. same for if they teleport to your cipher/gate, throw wick where you see the red cloud a second after it happens.

-Usually you don't want to look back for a long time to aim wick more accurately because that can throw off where you're actually going, just throw him when they get close but not close enough that they could still down you with one hit.

-If you're rescuing but a hunter injures you before you can make it to chair, chuck that dog at them like its a football and chances are you'll make it to rescue the person chaired in time

[thestraggletag]

Kin, Part 2 of 3

Prompt: Dragon, Transform, Capture, Marriage, Nest

Giftee: @minnl70

Summary: Chosen by the Blue Fairy to slay the last dragon, Belle defies her fate and strikes a deal with the beast, Rumplestiltskin. As they search for a way to break the enchantment, an unexpected bond begins to form, but magic is never without a price—and never quite straightforward.

Rating: M

A/N: Surprise, @minnl70, it's me, your Secret Santa! I'm away on holidays right now but I made sure to properly queue this up for you. If all goes well all chapters of this fic will be posted today, but I'll try to check to make sure they are (and, if possible, also upload the fic to AO3, which I know makes it easier to read). Enjoy and Happy Holidays!

He had arrived at the clearing a good deal before he had revealed himself. He had been half-convinced the summons was a trap, a newfound way the Blue Fairy had concocted to try and trap him. He wasn’t the last living dragon for nothing. He hadn’t outlived his kin by coincidence. While other dragons had hoarded riches he had accumulated power and knowledge, and had honed his understanding of magic and mastery of himself till he had become all but untouchable. No fairy could trespass on his territory, or surprise him. Their usual tricks and wiles did not work on him, and he had stamped down his weaknesses till there were none they could exploit. Until he could feel safe. And he was damned if he let that little slip of a girl threaten that.

She was like all the other ones, he reasoned, only with a little bit more sense, which worked in his favour. Enough to distrust the Blue Fairy, and make a choice to try and save herself, if only temporarily. He couldn’t kill her yet, but couldn’t risk her being used a second time against him. So he would find a way to dissolve whatever connection the Blue Fairy had concocted between them, which bound him to her mortality, and then he’d dispose of her. At least she would die knowing her people were safe, which is more than he could say for himself.

In the meantime, there was no reason why he couldn’t have a little fun watching her struggle, watching her try and survive in his castle, away from her servants and creature comforts. With that in mind he went early in the morning to check on his little maid, eager to see what a miserable night of sleeping in the damp, dusty floor had done to her posh look and gentle manners. Her brave facade was unlikely to have survived the night, surely.

The first thing he thought when he opened the creaky door to her cell was that it looked cleaner than he had imagined it. The strewn straw that had covered the floor before had been gathered into two piles, one of straw that was wet or mouldy and another of cleaner straw, where the chit had no doubt slept. The cobwebs had been cleared too, and the mouse holes covered with mud. The girl herself sat huddled in a corner, looking as prim as possible, though her hair was a mess and her face and arms were very dirty. Her eyes looked puffy, and her long lashes were still wet. Tear tracks were evident along her cheeks, which gave him a modicum of delight. It wasn’t quite the amount of suffering he’d envisioned, though, which displeased him.

He left her alone until she went out looking for him, and derived only a small amount of pleasure from pointing her towards the kitchen and its meager array of food, imagining the way the apples and the bread would turn her stomach, the way she would have to battle between her hunger and her disgust. He would have walked her to the kitchens himself, but he had other pressing matters. There were magical artifacts and ingredients to collect, and deals to make, after all, so he flew out just after his interaction with the little chit, content on imagining rather than seeing her unhappiness as she got to know her new home. There was no shortage of blood and gore around the castle, especially in the rooms dedicated to his studies. As a dragon he was, by nature, a hoarder. And though most of his kind tended to beautiful things- and it was in his nature too, to seek out what was pleasing to the eye- he had always focused on power. Power in the form of ancient magical items, rare ingredients and potions and knowledge and mastery of spells and incantations. 

His line of enquiry required him to cut open a lot of animals, from common vermin to oxes and the like, either in search of ingredients or to gauge the result of an experiment. Getting someone to clean up the aftermath had always been a chore, given the unpalatable nature of his work, so he never bothered, choosing only to keep clean those rooms that required it for his experiments. There were entire wings of his castle where the air was thick with the smell of rot and death. In time the little maid could, perhaps, get used to the smell. And the mould. He doubted she would ever get used to the maggots or the flies, though. 

The day proved fruitful enough, with the acquisition of two tricky ingredients he had been having trouble getting his hands on and two favours, no conditions attached, to be used at a later date of his choosing. It always amazed him how careless people were, how narrow-minded their view of a favour was, especially with no specifications. Inevitably when he came to collect and named his price someone would say something along the lines of “You can have anything but that!”, as if they had thought to put conditions to their promised favour when they carelessly gave it away.

He kept his visits to the denizens of the Enchanted Forest short but memorable, remaining unseen when it was convenient to him and growing in size and ferocity when he needed to make an impression. Too much exposure and he’d lose some of the reverential terror he had striven hard to cultivate. Not enough and people would grow complacent and forgetful of the monster in their midst. It was a fine balancing act to remain halfway between myth and reality, but he had perfected it over the years. 

When he arrived home he felt the change almost immediately. Though the little chit was nowhere in immediate sight he could feel her presence about, the definite knowledge that he wasn’t alone. It was a strange sensation, which made him twitchy. He went looking for her, finding her making use of an old bucket, a sliver of lye soap and a coarse brush, down on all fours cleaning the kitchen floor. He could see, even in the dim light provided by the few sputtering torches, that it was slow going, since he had sometimes used the kitchen to open up the animals he needed parts from, and over time a layer of crusted blood and dried entrails had accumulated on the floor, and in splatters on the walls. But now the room looked almost like nothing that violently died there, which was quite a feat.

She was looking the worse for it, though, her dress dirty, the robin’s egg blue looking more like murky grey, her hair beginning to lose its shine, hanging more limply around her shoulders. Her eyes, however, remained stubbornly luminous and defiant. 

“I thought you were a maiden, not a maid.”

He giggled at the way she jumped, clambering to her feet, eager to be in a less vulnerable position in front of a predator such as himself. He saw her glance him over- the novelty of his more human form, he was sure, which tended to be more unsettling for humans, in many ways, than his traditional dragon form- before taking a deep breath and attempting a semblance of a smile.

“I’m just making things a bit more pleasant, that’s all. No reason why my stay here cannot be productive and enjoyable.”

He snorted, plumes of smoke coming out of his nostrils and his mouth, and he watched as she followed the smoke around, fascinated.

“At this rate, dearie, you won’t get past the kitchens.”

And she’d be lucky too. He knew what his castle looked like. A noble lady was unlikely to have the stomach to tackle more than a room or two. And it would be to her benefit, since he was hardly the only danger the castle housed. Several of his treasured magical items were deeply cursed, with magic darker than even his own, and would leave his little maid with at least a missing hand, if not something worse. He told her so, cautioning to never enter a room the little wisp he had conjured for her would not dare go into, delighting in the little flickers of fear that swept through her eyes.

She was a silly little thing, that he unfortunately had to keep alive, but more tenacious than he had given her credit for, as he found out after several weeks of uneasy cohabitation. He almost never showed himself to her, but he spied on her when the mood struck him, mostly to make sure she was alive and in one piece, since he had yet to make any advances on how to break their mutual enchantment. She’d struggled with the food at first, until she’d learned to dip the stale bread in water to soften it, and to distinguish between a bruised fruit or vegetable and a rotten one. She made daily use of the well just outside the kitchens, carrying buckets of water, using an ancient wheelbarrow she had uncovered in the barn, every morning.  It was freezing cold, however, which made every bathing experience an excruciating one, he was sure. The kitchen hearth was clogged and there was not readily available wood to build a fire, so she made do with what she had.

He could have easily made things easier, but he didn’t. The complaints he so sought, however, never came. The girl cried sometimes, in the relative solitude of her room, and looked quietly miserable most of the time, but she never voiced an objection towards her treatment, or expressed any outward sign of displeasure. 

The little chit was resourceful, too. With only the barest of tools and surely the barest of knowledge she managed to find innovative ways of doing everything he set her mind to, from cleaning the castle windows inside out to removing impossible stains or even, one time, scraping congealed blood off the rafters of his laboratory, up in the tallest tower. That had been up there for decades, he had no idea how she had managed to wash it away. He barely remembered how it had gotten there in the first place.

She would not give up on a task until it was finished, pausing only to eat or when she retreated to her dungeon for the night. He found it all deeply… unsatisfying. He had wanted to feast in her misery, to delight in the sight of a human wretched by enduring even a little of the misery humans had foisted on his kind. He had thought it would be grand to see a plushy human suffer as they did, but things were not going according to plan. Blasted girl and her blasted iron pride. He understood, as the weeks dragged on and she remained respectful in her treatment of him whenever she saw him but quietly defiant, that his efforts were for naught. The girl suffered, but in silence, giving him no amount of satisfaction.

As time dragged on he found himself displeased with how his little human wilted. How her hands reddened and her hair grew matted, the cold water doing little to truly rid it of the filth and the sweat that she accumulated while cleaning. She had brought a couple of dresses with her, but both were looking worse for wear, and neither was particularly made for the cold temperatures of the castle, meaning that she spent very little time outside, which made her look pale and sickly. 

He frowned. As a dragon, he was naturally inclined towards beautiful things. Things that looked sparkling and valuable. His maid no longer looked like a treasure, and it bothered his creature sensibilities. Besides, he needed her healthy. There was no telling how her declining health would affect him, given their magical bond. So he instructed his little wisp to direct her to rooms in the castle where he knew there was clothing that would fit her. He had looted his fair share of castles over the century and had accumulated all manner of odds and ends. He had a predilection for fine fabrics, having been brought up by a couple of spinsters as a wee hatchling, so he had taken a fair share of gowns here and there, when a particular colour or texture caught his fancy, all of which he had stored in proper trunks, with all the care he had been taught as a child. There were a few things her size, including some that would be more practical for the wintry weather. 

He unearthed a big copper tub from one of the storage rooms, setting it in a corner of the kitchen beneath a pile of discarded linens, as if he had forgotten it there long ago, along with a pile of wood, properly cut and ready to be made into a fire. Then he cornered her just as she was mopping the entrance hall, instructing her to bathe herself properly, telling her the smell offended even his base sensibilities. She opened her mouth, as if to counteract his insult, but thought better of it and closed it instead.

Later that night he snuck into the kitchens, eager to see if the little chit had stumbled into his carefully-placed gifts and had followed his advice. It was immediately apparent to him that she had, since the kitchen was more luminous than usual, a healthy fire roaring in the hearth and the air damp and smelling of vanilla. He saw her curled up inside the copper tub, steam rising from the fragrant warm water- she had found the bar of vanilla-scented soap he had left deep inside one of the cleaning cupboards, along with a bottle of oil for her hair and a pot of cream for her roughened skin, her soapy hair looking almost red in the light of the low candles. Truly a beautiful human, even with dark circles under her eyes and dirt under her fingernails that would take more than a bath to remove. Fragile little thing too, naked and relaxed, not glaring daggers at him or holding her head up high in silent defiance. He made sure to make a lot of noise before retiring to bed, lest the damnable chit fall asleep in the bath and wake up pruned and chilled. 

He began to bring more food from his incursions outside the castle, sacks of flour and oats, fresh milk and butter that the castle’s larder would keep fresh, sugar and salt and spices. He opened up the castle’s orchards, enchanted into a state of eternal summer, so she could get fruits and vegetables and some much-needed sun and instructed the little wisp to guide her there. It was fascinating to him to see her growing healthy again just from a few small concessions, colour blooming in her cheeks and her demeanor brightened.

It was with a perhaps unusual bit of pride that he came to the conclusion that his little maid was a treasure indeed, beautiful in a way that few maidens stolen by dragons had been. He began to feel possessive of her, like he did of everything else he guarded in his castle. His castle reflected his newfound attachment, losing some of its gloominess in favour of letting in sunlight in the rooms she favoured and keeping dust away from places that the girl would usually spend hours cleaning. He let it happen, reminding himself that her presence in the castle was fleeting, and a few temporary disruptions to his routine were not much concern.

And it wasn’t like he was growing fond of humans in general. His frequent incursions into the outside world kept his dislike for them fresh. Greedy little things who thought the world belonged to them alone, who cut down magical forests and chased creatures away from their homes to raze the land to the ground. When he had been a wee hatchling he had been terrified of them, small and defenceless as he had been, with no kin to protect him or guide him. Over time, as he began to grow in power, he started to see humans as petty vermin beneath his notice, except when one was desperate enough to be manipulated into surrendering something he wanted.

But every now and then, very rarely, a human got the best of him. Surprised him in some way he had not been able to foresee. Very few things could even hurt him anymore, but someone had learned that squid ink was one of them, and had seen fit to catch him with a crossbow on his way back to his castle, having previously tipped the arrow in squid ink. Thankfully it hadn’t done any real damage to the wing, the membrane remaining mostly intact, but it burned like hell and rendered his magic useless till the effects wore off.

He managed to keep himself in the air long enough to make it home, shifting to his more human form with enough energy left to drag himself in front of the fireplace of his trophy room, one plume of smoke igniting it just as he yanked the arrow out, feeling chilled and sluggish as he curled up on the stone floor, feeling the squid ink spread inside him like ice-cold water pouring over him. 

He shrugged it off. It would pass. Squid ink did not last forever, particularly on someone as powerful as him. He’d recover in a few days, would get enough magic back under his control to knit the skin back together and move. He was safe in his home and if the girl chanced upon him he trusted she was smart enough to leave him be.

He woke up what felt like days later, and took a moment to take stock of his condition. He felt as lethargic and sluggish as he had anticipated, his magic responding slowly and weakly to his call, but there was no pain, and no discomfort. The overwhelming cold that had taken over him right before he had passed out was gone, and he could feel something soft and heavy draped over him, keeping him toasty warm.

The next thing he noticed was that someone was bathing his face, a soft cloth with warm water passing across his forehead, over his eyelids and down his neck, soothing the slight ache he could feel there, the remains of a fever recently broken. There was a pleasant smell too, like burnt caramel and vanilla, that seemed to engulf him. He turned his head to the side, his nose chasing after the scent, and realised his head was pillowed on something soft. Something that moved.

“Shh, try not to move.”

The cloth was removed, but before he could protest there was a hand carding through his matted hair, nails scraping just so against his scalp, soothing and not at the same time. 

“What can I do to help, Rumplestiltskin?”

“L-little maid?”

He struggled to get out from under the fog he seemed to be trapped in, feeling weak and vulnerable, exposed. 

“Yes, it’s me. I found you like this a day ago. You had a fever, but it’s finally broken. Is there anything else I can do for you? You’re still bleeding, and I can’t make it stop.”

“Get the wisp.”

A dragon’s flame had sentience of its own if a dragon saw fit to grant it, so his little wisp existed independently of his magic, unaffected by the squid ink, so with a flick of his wrist he set it out to guide the maid into his main laboratory, where he stored, in a small, murky bottle, antidote for the ink. He had told her often, during their few encounters around the castle, to stay out of his laboratories. Had gone into details about all the horrible things that could happen to her if she ventured in there. So he expected her to make a valiant attempt at following the wisp only to cower at the last minute, when common sense prevailed over her sickly-sweet disposition. Didn’t matter, though, the squid ink would fade on its own, it would just take a little longer. 

He closed his eyes, intending to rest them for a minute, but when he opened them up again he knew immediately a long time had passed. The next thing he noticed was that there was a complete absence of pain, even the faint headache he had had before was gone, and when he pulled at his magic it answered back readily. He knew before he moved his shoulder that the arrow wound was gone, his muscle and skin having knit themselves together while he slept. He turned towards the fire, noticing a small amber vial next to him, its contents long gone. He recognised it immediately as the bottle where he kept his squid ink counter potion.

So focused was he on that little amber bottle that he almost jumped off the floor when his little maid came into his field of vision, holding one of her ever-present books with one hand and a glass of water with the other.

“Oh, good, you’re awake. I brought you some water.”

“Go away.”

He burrowed deeper into the quilt she had draped around him, trying not to dislodge the pillow she had placed under his head. He thought about teleporting himself to his nest, but he knew his magic was unreliable at best at the moment and it would be foolish to spend himself so when he was just recovering. 

“This is the only fire roaring in the entire castle, and I’m too tired to light the hearth in the kitchen.”

“The wisp can light it for you.”

He knew he was sounding petulant and ungrateful but he didn’t much care. Whatever it would take to get rid of the little chit so he could have some peace and quiet.

“Flicker has done more than enough. He deserves some rest.”

“You named it?!”

He watched as the little wisp came running, as if called, and danced around the maid’s fingers, as if enjoying a caress.

“Some more sleep would do you good, I think. And maybe some food, when you’re up for it.”

He continued to go in and out of sleep, still too weak to feel comfortable using magic but not enough to complacently acquiesce to his little maid’s coddling. Eager for some solitude he tried to scare her away with his temper, conjuring up even a few plumes of fire and more than a bit of smoke, once managing to singe a bit of the hemline of her dress and the spine of one of her precious books. The latter seemed to be the only thing that truly bothered her, causing her to disappear from his side for an entire afternoon. He told himself he was happy about that, but he couldn’t deny the little twinge of relief when she finally came back, carrying a plate with shredded meat and some more water.

“Maybe you’ll be nicer after eating a bit.”

She was fearless, more so than he had previously given her credit for, refusing to shy away no matter what he did to try and spook her. She was, indeed, a most prized treasure, unique amongst humans, which would explain why the Blue Fairy had failed so spectacularly at making her a dragon’s last sacrifice. 

Too good to kill, he decided as he devoured the meat. Once he figured out how to undo what that little gnat had done to them, he would give her some of his gold and let her walk away and explore the world to her heart’s content.

[ur-fav-is-older-than-discokid]

General Blog Info

(Repost because tumblr thought the original info post was mature content??)

The blog's name is kind of a misnomer. This is a blog for characters that existed before May 18th of 2009, which is the release date for Punch-Out!! Wii in North America, the game in which Disco Kid was introduced. This blog is not for characters who are older than Disco Kid's canon age (20). That would be lame.

Of course, I can’t run this blog all on my own. I need your guys’ suggestions! Here are the rules for submitting characters.

1) This blog is for characters that existed before May 18th, 2009, not characters older than 20 in canon. (For example, despite being a child, Link from The Legend Of Zelda: The Wind Waker could be posted to this blog, since WW came out in 2004. King Rhoam from The Legend Of Zelda: Breath Of The Wild would not count for this blog because even though he is an old man, BOTW came out in 2016.)

2) I say characters but submissions can be anything. Fictional characters, places, real people, books, video games, TV/movies, songs, albums, other??? Get creative. (The reason real people are OK here is because this is a fact-based blog and not a hc one. If a celebrity’s age and birthday are public knowledge, I don’t think they’ll be uncomfortable with a random tumblr blog pointing it out QwQ)

3) Surprisingly (/s), I am not familiar with every piece of media that’s ever existed. So, if you send in a request and I get information in the post wrong, please feel free to send an ask or a DM or whatever and correct me! I won’t be offended, and I’ll update the post, no hassle. If the date of a character’s first appearance or of something’s release would be confusing to an outsider, consider writing the “birthday” directly in the ask! You don’t have to do this, but it’ll prevent me from getting things wrong on accident ^^

4) Only content disqualification is like, explicitly seggsual stuff. Suggestive things are okay, as are characters from suggestive things, but if the character/media is straight up poon I'm not doing it bc I wanna keep this blog mostly SFW (ignore the bad censoring, trying to repost the intro without having it flagged)

4.5) Do not submit characters from the Persona series, especially not the protagonist of P5 (he wouldn’t even count!). Not trying to be a dickwad but the entire series is a CPTSD trigger for me and the sight of that specific character is enough for me to start reliving trauma so like. Just don't.

5) I have the right to refuse any submissions so use common sense on whether or not what you're submitting is inappropriate, in bad taste, or hateful.

6) | promise l'll get to everyone's submissions eventually so please don’t send me 500 asks for the same character!!!

Post schedule: I’ll have at least one post per day that’ll be a character of my choice, because while I’m getting a lot of requests as I’m writing this, it’s bound to die down eventually lol. Also, it’s my blog, I wanna share my things, too :p Alongside my submission, I’ll post submissions I have on queue; Up to nine per day, for ten tagged posts, max. I don’t wanna tag spam too much, which is why there’s a limit of ten. If my queue for the day is full, don’t worry, though!! Your ask will be posted the next day, or a following day if I’m really full for some reason.

[fayes-fics]

Hey peeps

So… my most recent fic has made me make some tough calls about my upcoming writing slate.

It was my longest gestating WIP and I’d struggled so long with it because the request was quite angsty and detailed. Now the second half has been posted, feedback, beyond a couple of my lovely mutuals/regulars, has been muted. It represents many hours of effort and tbh, right now, it doesn’t feel as if it was worth it.

Which leads me to believe that, despite receiving many requests for it, readers don’t want angst when I write it. Or I’m just not good at it. Either way, this has galvanised me to make decisions I’ve been considering for a while:

I will be declining a number of requests in my queue that specifically requests angst or angst type situations.

I have also updated my request guidelines to say if you want angst, I’m not likely your request writer of choice. I find it difficult and draining/not particularly enjoyable to write.

I’m sorry if yours is one the requests I jettison, I’m sure it would be a great story. But I’m not going invest my time if the end result is not enjoyed. I am a request writer, not someone who writes for themselves, so I live/die by feedback. When I get little, I heed that.

Thanks for your understanding 🫶

Faye 🧡🧡

[1960z]

I changed my mind: I do have things to say. spoilers for the latest r&m episode (unmortricken)

ok so firstly I love love love how purposefully anticlimactic and unfulfilling it was. when I, and I think when a lot of other people too, envisioned this episode it was always an episode that looked a lot like rickmurai jack, which had so much build up, both in the overarching and immediate story and so many things were revealed that suddenly made sense of everything and it felt epic and emotional and just so cathartic. that’s what I always imagined this would be like. it wasn’t, and that was the point.

instead, we got this mid-season out of basically nowhere. we know rick’s been hunting prime for a while now, but it’s always been in the background for the most part. this didn’t feel like the culmination of everything, it all just kinda happened. and then at the end of the episode rick kills prime and it’s over. nothing. no explanation or understanding of why prime did what he did — rick just gets his revenge and now prime is dead and it’s done and nothing feels like it’s really changed because it hasn’t. which perfectly mirror’s rick’s own mental state about the whole thing. it wasn’t the satisfying closure he’d always envisioned in his head (even if he’d never admit that’s how he envisioned it lol.) evil morty even points this out: “how’s it feel? better? no? exactly the same? yeah. it always does.”

like in the back of our minds we all knew that killing prime wasn’t actually gonna fix anything for rick, but because of the general understanding of how stories are supposed to work we, or at least I, put that aside an expected to get to indulge in the fantasy that the end of this revenge plot would feel anything but hollow to someone actually experiencing it. and the way this episode was set up completely shattered that.

and the look on down from the bridge rick potion #9 call back really hammered all of that home. the ending to that episode is kind of what everyone thinks of when people think about the “nothing matters, we don’t matter and we’re all gonna die” mentality of the early seasons and making a call back to it… I don’t think it’s a return to that mentality but rather showing having that mentality didn’t save rick. he always looked down on caring about “the little things” because he knew none of it really mattered. but a cosmic multi-dimensional cat and mouse game ending in a revenge killing in the name of his dead wife? now that’s something to care about. and now it’s done and it didn’t really feel all that different to all those little things he insisted were unimportant. how does he find meaning now?

more than that, it’s also a good callback because of the revelation that the scenario is basically the same. in rick potion #9, the scene is a demonstration of morty’s shell shock of taking the place of a dead version of himself like it’s nothing and then having to live on in the monotony of said dead morty’s life as if it’s also nothing. and as prime aptly points out, rick is basically doing the same thing with prime’s life. rick slotted into the life prime left behind and is now living the life prime would be living if he hadn’t gone rouge: “hang out with my grandson. raise echoes of my daughter… I just walked into your garage before you walked into mine. but eventually you did. you lived in my house.” and now, prime is dead. queue look on down from the bridge.

“hope you’re happy with your choice.”

[nofucknway135]

HotD time travel fix-it idea that's free to a good home:

Rhaenyra dies and wakes up the day that Viserys announced his intention to marry Alicent. Instead of flipping out on Alicent (as seen in some fics), Rhaenyra loses her fucking shit on her dad ("You murdered my mother for a son, and now you would steal my dearest friend as well? Tell me father, how many young girls will die before you are finally contented?") and points out that the only reason he has to remarry is if she's being disinherited. (She may or may not try to stab him à la Driftmark, whatever floats your boat)

After the disastrous meeting, in which Viserys revokes his marriage offer and summarily has a slight crisis over missing the apparent boiling rage growing in his daughter, Rhaenyra goes to find Alicent and try to start over again as the girls they had been only to find out: spoiler alert, Alicent and Sir Criston also came back! Queue Rhaenyra apologizing profusely to both of them for everything she did and trying to make amends.

Alicent, while both shaken and touched by Rhaenyra's rage on her behalf, and extremely thrilled to not to have to repeat everything all over again, is understandable wary but willing to work with her for the good of the realm. Criston of course, still hates her (as is his right) but loves and respects Alicent enough to go along with it.

Key points of this au are:

Rhaenyra does not go for Daemon; she's able to realize that he was just using her and would have happily seen her and her first sons die if it meant he got the throne. She also acknowledges he's an abysmal choice politically

Alicent gets to find happiness, and she and Sir Criston get closure and heal while staying very good friends; they both get actual, genuine apologies from Rhaenyra, and she does improve her behavior to match

Larys dies. Alicent breaks down and tells Rhae and Criston about everything he did to her (sexually manipulating and extorting her, making her an unwilling accomplice in his crimes, etc.) and the two of them share one singular Look and suddenly he's very, very dead

Sir Criston and Rhaenyra become co-presidents of the Alicent Hightower Defense Squad; neither of them actually like each other (even if Criston can find a way to forgive her, which is a big if) but both of them would die and definitely commit murder for Ali

Rhaenyra finds a way to defer the Velaryon marriage by a generation, and Laenor and Joffrey live long, full lives with each other

Alicent gets to ride a dragon; she deserves it

And that's as far as I got, anyway enjoy!