#though i have not written much there or here

[housederiva]

Here's every version of the letter the Inquisitor gets from their LI plus Varric (which didn't make me cry at all)

If your Inky didn't romance anyone:

Inquisitor, Greetings from miserable, rainy Minrathous! (Don't tell Dorian I called it that.) The rotten weather here is making me nostalgic for Skyhold. The mountains were freezing, but at least the air didn't smell like wet garbage. We'll have to get in another game of Wicked Grace, soon. Harding picked up the trail again. I'd tell you not to worry, but I know how useless that is. Instead, I'll just say: I've got a great team on this. Neve could stare down the Maker, and wait until you meet Rook. He's/She's/They're a natural: Smart, resourceful, completely unpredictable. You'd like him/her/them, as long as you don't try to beat him/her/them at cards. Chuckles'll never know what hit him. I'll write again once we have something solid for you. Drinks at the Hanged Man are on me when this is over. Take care of yourself. Varric

Blackwall:

My love, You have summoned me to Minrathous, and I will answer your call, as soon as responsibilities here in the South allow. I have missed being by your side. Will these troubles be the last we face? The world seems always to conspire, through duty or disaster, to pull you away from me. I do not resent it. You are dedicated to purposes far larger and more significant than myself. I hope you do not think me a fool for hoping that one day, your only concern will be the color you wish our walls to be painted, or the flowers we will plant beside our gate. I'm partial to carnations. Yours always, Thom

Cassandra:

My love, We are no strangers to duty, or the separation it demands of us. You head for Tevinter, and though I want to go with you, there is work we both must do. I will not falter in the tasks that wait before me and I pray my actions, in whatever measure they can, will keep you safe. The others see only confidence in my resolve, but you have always known more than mere appearance. I confess to you, and you alone, that I am afraid. I'm afraid of what may happen, that Thedas will face such turmoil as it did before. I know not what awaits us. Yet even in the face of uncertainty, there are two things I cannot doubt and never will. The first is that our paths are never separated long. That I will find you at my side when I need you, as you will find me at yours. I will play my part in this and follow as soon as I can. The second thing I never doubt is you. Whatever lies before you, trust yourself. Trust your heart as I trust it. It will not lead you astray. Yours, Cassandra

Cullen:

The top of the letter has been punctured by small, sharp teeth, leaving most of a beloved name and a few sentences chewed to read. I fear the puppy started on this letter shortly after I did. I'd start over, but I must send this tonight if it's to reach you. Matters are settled here and I make for Tevinter as soon as possible. I almost believed chaos might spare us this time. I can't say I wished to see Minrathous before now, but I am eager to see you. I long to see your face and know that you are all right. You are I've There's I wish I was better at putting into writing all that's in my mind. For now, simply know that I love you. It is the most cherished constant of my life. The days ahead will not be easy. I know there's much you carry, more than many realize. But whatever you must face, you will not meet it alone. You have my sword, my counsel, my - I could write this list forever when all I mean to say is this - Whatever you need of me, I am yours. Cullen

Dorian:

Amatus, I'm writing. Again. Yes, the sending crystals still work and yes, you'll be in Minrathous in a few short weeks. But a letter, written in blind longing, is real. It can be touched, and it can be held, when ink and paper must substitute for your skin on mine and my breath in your ear. I used to scoff at frequent declarations of affection. Trite, I thought. Save them for rare and precious moments. But time and love are no longer things I care to squander, especially not as we race again toward calamity. And so, in each of these fleeting, ephemeral seconds, I will tell you that I love you. Whether penned or spoken, or conveyed by glance or action, I love you. In this moment, and in all the moments to come, for as long as they do, I love you. I will find you soon. Yours, Dorian

Iron Bull

Hey, Kadan, Not the first time we've marched toward different battles. I know you're keeping the crap from catching fire up in Tevinter. Wish I could be there, but I'll make sure there's a world for you to come back to when you're done dealing with crazy vints and stupid Antaam and whatever other crap Solas kicked up. (Shit, the Antaam. Remember when I was worried what would happen if I went tal-vashoth? That right there!) I know you're gonna be careful, and you've got Morrigan there. Just take care of yourself. If anything happens to you, I'm going to have to take Krem and the Chargers and stomp across all of Tevinter to come get you. It'll be a whole thing, and you know it'll upset Dorian. Being apart from you made me realize something else. I spent so long being whatever the Ben-Hassrath wanted me to be. An investigator. An agent. A mercenary sending reports. These past years, since the Inquisition ended, I've been able to just be what I want to be. And what I really want to be is yours. I like the person I am when I'm with you. So come back safe. Love, The signature appears to be a stylized rendering of the Iron Bull's head.

Josephine:

My Dearest Lord/Lady, I have spoken to friends in Minrathous. They offer us their hospitality, not to mention shelter from the worst intrigues of the Archon's Palace. While you're well acquainted with the roving eyes of grand courts, please take care. Tevinter's regard can be the oldest and cruelest of them all. The family writes the weather back home is beautiful. I do miss our quiet times together. There is a question I've wanted to ask you for so long. I would like to pretend I have been busy, or it was not the proper time. But, if I am being honest, I only waited because I have been afraid of choosing a poor moment. Please, let me make a promise to you here. When we return to Antiva, I will ask you, on the steps of the estate, if you will do me a great honor. And I dream you will say yes. Always yours, Josephine Postscript: I cannot believe it nearly slipped my mind. Yvette and Lord Otranto send their best wishes, and hope to see us back home in time to welcome their third child.

Sera:

(An artistically doodled journal page presumably from the Inquisitor's partner, Sera.) Keep this as close as I need you. (A drawing of a pile of flowers, with lines like it's moving, an arrow pointing to it labeled "us.") - North again, Mini-wrathus still stuck up its own pucker. - Magiturds are scared of us. They don't even know. - We work with Maevaris, right? She's wow. - So many Friends! Jennies in all the walls! - We kill him this time. He took from us twice! (A drawing of a cracked egg scribbled out, with "can't even joke" in letters that tore the page.) - Still thinking of you sideways. - Never mind the Dalish, here's the Veil Jumpers! Tempest-kin! (A drawing of a tall, shorthaired elf (Sera?) and Irelin brandishing two fingers, backflipping as a tree explodes in runes.) - The memory thing makes my head spin. If that Rook doesn't take it, throw it out. - Tell Morrigan ppbbth! for me. - I'll also tell her ppbbth! She knows why. - Tell them to Stripe. Him. Up. I wanted more books. (More heavy scribbles that tear.) - You meet; I'll keep you safe. Then I'm your time off, and you're my time on. (The last section has different colored inks, like Sera has returned to it several times.) New naked names: -Sweet-tits (scribbled out) -Bestest (scribbled out) -Loverly (scribbled out) -Lovey (scribbled out) -My-for-always-and-ever - name's not too long, time's too short. -But "Sweet-tits," though (scribbled out)

Solas:

Vhenan, I do not know if you will see these words. My ritual is ready and will soon be set in motion. Perhaps when you read this the world will be as it once was, and you will see why all I did was necessary. I cannot ask your forgiveness, but I hope you come to understand. That night in Crestwood, when I shared the truth about your vallaslin... you do not know how close I came to breaking. I could have shared the truth, or even put my plans aside and simply stayed with you as Solas... as I wanted. I regret the pain I caused you. What I feel for you will never change. The note is unsigned, but the handwriting is Solas'.

[thatonebirdwrites]

Gosh, I can relate to this.

I think about what fandom is a lot since I sort of lurk in a lot of spaces (until I feel brave enough to speak or share).

First off, the point of this addition isn't to guilt trip anyone, but to get people thinking about what community means. What inclusion means, and what engagement means. And how those are interconnected.

One of the crucial pillars of fandom, and the reason fandom exists at all is because of community.

Writing fanfiction and sharing it for free is about building community with one another. It's people who loved a show/movie/book enough that they wanted to play in the world longer, so they play together in that world with other people who love it too. That's what fanworks are -- it's people playing together in community because of a love toward a specific series/media.

But community requires communication. It requires building connections. It requries engaging one another.

I write long fics. In fact, adding up the word counts of my fics in AO3? It's well over a million words in two different fandoms. These are free novels written because the community had been welcoming at first and it had encouraged me to keep going.

But I made a mistake. Two of these projects (in two separate fandoms) I made into a series. Because of how each part in a series means the sequel gets less engagement, it feels like I'm watching a community dissolve, and that's painful. I don't get paid for this. It's all free, and part of the reason I went to fanfic writing was because of community.

Lack of engagement gives, often unintentionally, the author the message that they aren't really part of the fandom's community. At least not anymore (if they ever were).

Some say, "Well, don't write for your readers!"

Well, no, I don't write for my readers, but the act of sharing for free is me giving to the community and building up community.

But part of building up community requires people to give back in turn. Oherwise the community will fracture and fall apart.

The reason fandom exists at all is because of community.

It's the community part of fandom that has helped me to heal enough to write again, but when that community dries up or no longer engages with me, then what am I to do? I've lost that community, and if I continue to engage with it and get very little (if not nothing) in return, then at that point, I'm throwing my energy into a void in hopes for a scrap of community.

It ceases to fulfill the need. It leaves me feeling lost and alone. And finding out later how much people loved a fic I wrote but that fic received very little engagement? It tells me that I'm not loved as a person within the community.

I have watched and listen to people talk about how much it hurts when the work they put in so much effort in for the community gets little to no engagement. It often pushes them to engage less, to stop writing, and watching that happen? It hurts to see.

Community requires communication. Do not treat an fanfic author like a kiosk, where you grab the story and run. Treat them like they are part of your community. By doing so, by including them, you bolster their sense of belonging and are more likely to get stories in return.

Community needs to be reciprocal. And I fear fandoms are losing that understanding of what community is. They expect and sometimes demand more, but what are they doing to support that fanfic writer or artist? Are they engaging them and uplifting them within the community? Or are they not engaging them?

If you read an author's work and love it, include them in that community by sharing your thoughts in a comment. You don't necessarily have to comment on every chapter of a longer work (Though it is so lovely some do), but to at least offer up comments here and there to be inclusive of that author.

Engagement bolsters the community bond.

The lack of engagement breaks the community bond.

And that's a sort of grief. Us writers came for community and to share our love of the fandom with others. When we fail to be included in that community, it will hurt. It's a type of rejection that people may not even realize they are doing.

Community requires communication, and for fandoms, part of that communication is comments, kudos, (and gosh, even tumblr asks).

I hope that helps give people another perspective to consider.

Think it over. Think about what you'd like to give back to the creators in your community.

And please understand, if you can only give back one or so comments? That's okay and valid, and that too builds up community.

Even little actions matter.

Never think your small action doesn't matter or that your comment or kudos doesn't matter. It does. It helps build community too.

Thanks for reading. Be safe.

A writer friend told me something that broke my heart a little bit today; they're going to quit publishing their fanfic.

My instant thought was that they had been trolled or attacked or that something terrible had happened in their life because this person is so passionate about their writing. It wasn't any of that. Engagement with their works has been going down, as it has for many of us. Comments are like gold dust a lot of the time, and just looking through the historical comment counts on old fics on ao3 demonstrates this trend very clearly. It was not simply the comments dropping off which caused them to decide to stop posting, however.

My friend came across a discord server for their fandom (I should point out here that their fandom interest and mine diverged a couple of years ago, we stay in touch but don't currently read each other's posts because I'm not into their fandom and they would rather gouge their eyes out with a wooden spoon than read anything Star Wars) and specifically to share fic in that fandom. They joined, because we all love a good fic rec, only to discover that their latest multichapter fic, which has almost no comments and very few kudos, is being hotly discussed in this server as one of the best stories ever. Not one of these people has bothered to say this to them on the fic. When they asked, none of participants could see the point in telling the author of the fic they apparently loved so much that they love it.

This discovery has absolutely destroyed my friend's love of sharing fic. They share because they love seeing other people's enjoyment, and fic writers do that through comments and kudos/reblogs/likes because we don't get paid. There is no literary critic writing a blog post/article about how amazing the story is for us to copy and keep/frame. There is no money from royalties. All we have are the words of the people reading our works.

Those people on that server could have taken five minutes of the time they spent gushing about how amazing my friend's story was to other people and used it to tell the one person guaranteed to want to hear that praise how much they loved it. They could have taken a moment to express their opinion to the person who spent hours upon hours plotting, writing, editing, and posting those chapters. Instead, they deprived my friend of thing that keeps them sharing their writing, and in the process have killed their love of it. My friend now feels used and unmotivated.

I won't be sharing a link to their fic, they said I could share their experience but not their identity. I know they plan to post one final chapter. I know they intend to express their hurt at being excluded from the praise for the thing they created, and I know they intend to announce that as a consequence they will not be posting for a long while, if at all.

So please, I beg you, don't hide your love of a story from the writer. It's just about the only thing we have.

[goldfades]

TIGHTLING ─── LUKE HUGHES

request: "luke hughes + reader doing tiktok couple trends??"

here is the trend i was doing!

The phone props precariously against a stack of books on the coffee table, its tiny lens trained on you and Luke as he lounges on the couch beside you. His long legs are sprawled out, a stark contrast to your cross-legged position, and he looks completely at ease, a faded Michigan sweatshirt hanging loosely on his broad frame.

It was your idea—of course it was—to rope him into yet another TikTok trend. And honestly, it didn’t take much convincing. Luke, for all his teasing about how “obsessed” you are with the app, has never been one to back down from your antics. You swear he secretly loves these little moments where the two of you can just be goofy together.

“Okay, so here’s the deal,” you start, holding your phone up to demonstrate the angle and framing, even though he’s barely paying attention. His eyes flick lazily from your face to the camera. “I’m gonna ask you a bunch of questions, and they’re things only girls would know—like, makeup stuff, skincare stuff. You just have to guess what they mean.”

Luke blinks at you, visibly unimpressed. “That’s it? I just guess?”

“Yes.” You grin, wide and mischievous, and he narrows his eyes at you suspiciously.

“Why do I feel like this is just a setup to make me look stupid?”

“It's not, I promise.” You say, patting his knee in mock reassurance.

He scoffs, rolling his eyes, but the corners of his mouth tug upward into the faintest smile. You’ve won, and he knows it. “Fine. But you owe me for this.”

“Uh-huh,” you deadpan, grabbing the remote and shoving it out of the frame. “And what exactly do I owe you for a few minutes of your time?”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you stop stealing my clothes every time you come over?”

“That’s a deal I’ll never make,” you quip, setting the phone back on its makeshift tripod. “Okay, ready?”

Luke leans forward slightly, brushing his hair out of his face as he flashes you a lopsided grin. “Hit me with it.”

And just like that, you hit record.

You settle back into the couch, phone recording, and glance at Luke, who’s already sitting straighter, his focus zeroed in like this is some kind of high-stakes playoff. The intensity is so out of place that it’s almost impossible not to laugh, but you manage to keep a straight face. Barely.

“Alright,” you say, scrolling through your mental list of girl-specific words. “First question: What does waterline mean?”

Luke blinks. “Waterline?” His brows furrow, and he leans forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees like he’s trying to think through an SAT question. “Like... the edge of a body of water? Or where water stops?”

You gasp dramatically, clapping your hands together. “Oh my God, yes! That’s exactly it. How did you know?”

His face lights up, the corners of his mouth quirking into a self-satisfied grin. “Seriously? I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“Totally,” you nod fervently, resisting the urge to crack up. “You’re so smart.”

He smirks, leaning back against the couch. “Told you. What’s next?”

You bite your lip, stifling a laugh, and move on. “Okay, next question. What’s a cuticle pusher?”

Luke’s face scrunches up, his confusion written all over it. “A... what?”

“Cuticle pusher,” you repeat innocently, as though this is a perfectly normal thing for him to know.

He hesitates, narrowing his eyes at you. “Uh... is it like... something you use to push dirt out from under your nails?”

You gasp again, clutching your chest like you’re shocked by his brilliance. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, how do you know these things?”

He lets out a laugh, visibly proud of himself. “I don’t know! It just made sense!”

“Wow,” you say, shaking your head like you’re genuinely impressed. “You’re two for two.”

“Duh,” he quips, leaning forward again, his confidence swelling. “Keep going. I’m on a roll.”

You suppress another laugh and press on. “Okay, what about... baking?”

“Baking?” he repeats, frowning. “Like... cooking?”

You shake your head quickly. “Not that kind of baking. It’s a makeup thing.”

He sits back, tapping his fingers against his leg as he thinks. “Makeup... baking... Does it have something to do with heat? Like, you heat the makeup onto your face or something?”

It takes every ounce of willpower not to break character. “Oh my God, yes! Exactly! You bake it onto your face to, like, set it. You’re literally on fire, Luke. I can’t believe this.”

He laughs again, a full, genuine laugh this time, his cheeks a little pink. “I’m just that good.”

“You really are,” you say with mock awe. “Okay, okay, one more for now. What’s a winged liner?”

Luke doesn’t even pause to think this time. “Easy. It’s eyeliner, but it’s, like... shaped like wings.”

You clap your hands together, nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! You’re literally unstoppable!”

“I know, right?” He beams, clearly riding the high of getting “everything” right. “See? I told you I’d win.”

You bite back your laughter, nodding along like you’re his number-one fan. “You’re seriously the best at this. I’ve never seen anyone crush these questions like you.”

Luke leans back, folding his arms across his chest, looking far too pleased with himself. “Alright, what’s the next round? I’m ready.”

You can’t hold it in anymore and burst into laughter, but he just looks at you, confused but still grinning. “What? Why are you laughing? I’m killing it!”

And the best part? He truly believes it.

You shake your head, waving your hand as if to dismiss your laughter. “Nothing, nothing! You’re just—you’re killing it, Luke. Like, I think you might know more about this stuff than I do.”

He grins, sitting up straighter. “I mean, you said it was trivia. I’m just good at picking stuff up.”

“Right, right,” you say, wiping an imaginary tear from your eye as you compose yourself. “Okay, next question. What’s... double cleansing?”

Luke pauses, his competitive streak kicking back in as he furrows his brow in concentration. “Double cleansing... like, washing your face twice? First to get the dirt off and then... to, I don’t know, make it extra clean?”

You gasp again, clutching his arm this time. “Yes! Oh my God, that’s exactly it. How do you keep doing this?”

He looks so smug now, like he just nailed a game-winning goal. “It just makes sense, you know? Two steps—one for the surface, one for deep cleaning. I’m basically an expert.”

You nod vigorously, stifling another laugh. “Seriously. Like, you should teach a class or something.”

“Maybe I will,” he says with a smirk. “Alright, next one. Hit me.”

You glance at your mental list again, biting your lip to keep from cracking up. “Alright. What’s a dupe?”

Luke tilts his head, confused but determined. “A dupe... like... a duplicate? Something that looks like something else?”

You slap your hand over your mouth, pretending to be floored. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, you’re literally on fire. It’s like a cheaper version of something expensive. How are you so good at this?”

He’s grinning so wide now, his cheeks pink with pride. “I don’t know. I guess I just have a natural instinct for this stuff.”

“Clearly,” you say, barely holding it together. “Okay, okay, next one. What’s a beauty blender?”

“A beauty blender?” He pauses, his competitive edge shining through as he carefully thinks it over. “Uh... like... a machine that mixes stuff? Like makeup or foundation or something?”

You clasp your hands dramatically, your jaw dropping. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke, are you kidding me? How do you know this?”

He throws his hands up like it’s no big deal, even though he’s clearly eating up the praise. “What can I say? I’m just built different.”

You double over with laughter, but quickly try to disguise it as a cough when he narrows his eyes. “I’m serious! You’re like... a prodigy.”

“I know,” he says, fully leaning into the role now. “Alright, what’s next? Let’s keep going.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, wondering how far you can push this before he catches on. “Okay, this one’s tricky,” you warn, straightening up. “What’s... tightlining?”

He blinks at you, a little wary but still confident. “Tightlining? Uh... when you line something up really close together? Like... packing it in tight?”

You gasp again, throwing your head back. “Yes! Oh my God, Luke! It’s when you line your eyes super close to your lashes! You’re incredible!”

His grin is so wide now, he looks like a kid who just found out he’s getting a puppy for Christmas. “I mean, it’s just logical, right? Tightlining. Tight lines. Easy.”

“Easy for you,” you say, shaking your head in mock amazement. “You’re like a makeup genius.”

“I should probably put that on my résumé,” he jokes, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Luke Hughes: NHL defenseman, trivia champion, and makeup expert.”

You can’t help but laugh again, your chest aching from holding it in for so long. But he still doesn’t catch on—he’s far too busy basking in the glory of his “success.”

“Alright,” you say, wiping a pretend tear from your eye. “One last question, and this one’s a doozy. What’s a halo eye?”

Luke’s face scrunches up in confusion, but he’s clearly not backing down. “Halo eye... uh... is it like... when your eyes look shiny? Like they’re glowing or something?”

You clasp your chest, pretending to be in awe. “Yes! That’s exactly it! How did you know?”

He throws his hands in the air, grinning ear to ear. “I mean, it’s in the name. Halo. Glow. It’s not that hard.”

You’re practically wheezing at this point, barely able to hold yourself together. But Luke? He’s still riding that high, completely oblivious to the fact that he’s been getting it hilariously wrong the entire time.

── COMMENTS

melia 🤍 "halo eye… uh… when your eyes look shiny?" IM SCREAMING ♡ 18k

abby grace ���� the gasp after every answer has me CRYING 💀 ♡ 14.5k

lily 🦋 the fact that he’s dead serious makes this even better ♡ 6.3k

viv 🪩 “double cleansing… to make it extra clean?” i can’t breathe 😭 ♡ 292

nj devils enthusiast “baking… does it have something to do with heat?” AND YOU SAID YES 💀💀 ♡ 500

sarah rose ☁️ his face when you said he got it right 😭😭😭 pure joy ♡ 4.2k

ellie ✨ he’s never gonna trust you again when he finds out 😭 ♡ 1.8k

emma 🤍 “tightlining… tight lines… easy” LUKE WHAT ♡ 239

sophia 💕 he’s gonna tell people he’s a skincare guru after this 😭 ♡ 2k

madeline you could’ve asked him anything and he’d still be so proud of himself lmaoo ♡ 103

noah’s gf how is he so wrong yet so sure every time 💀 ♡ 89

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[space-blue]

I didn't get the impression that the inventions by Heimer were the cause of the reconciliation.

I'll need to rewatch, but he's been there for 1000 days, which is 2.7 years. I don't think what we're seeing is 2.7 years of progress and freedom of Zaun.

It's possible... But I much prefer the idea that Marcus walks in on a dead child (Vi) and Jayce is either dead too, or is exiled for his dangerous inventions.

Heimer in that world probably didn't reach out to him in jail, since there was loss of life and it was a clear cut case.

I feel like it's the perfect moment for Piltover to have a reality check, while Silco and Vander reconcile (most likely as Silco knew Vi or at least her mom, he may have reached out to Vander first.)

Unrushed now by the Piltover attacks in Zaun, shimmer isn't hurried out. Silco and Vander talk it out, and through Grayson they have a voice that can reach the council.

I feel like the 5 to 8 years we're seeing since season 1 episode 1 are a good time for Piltover to come to flourish and become independent. It's never clarified though, so who knows.

I think the wounds being different is also perhaps an issue of Singed? We don't know what he did to Silco, if he went to him after the Vander fight. Perhaps they fought, but simply not in polluted waters (so Vander covers the stab wound with his tattoos and Silco's scars healed normally).

But overall we can just assume a few other things are different besides Vi's death.

I already wrote a reconciliation AU that may as well be canon, so if you haven't read it and are curious, it's here. It got fanart, but only smutty stuff, none of the Silco and Powder interactions.

It is giving me brain bunnies, but it's not helpful that I feel like the show isn't inventing anything I haven't already written or read many times over.

This happened

[stylesispunk]

Silent strain | part vii

outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

previous part | next chapter

summary: Joel still holds on to the idea of ​​giving you the world even though everything feels broken.

w.c: 9k>

warnings: angst, mentions of murder, mentions of death, panics attacks, fluff.

a/n: Hello! I have to be honest. I don't feel really connected to this story since I stopped thinking about it for 3 weeks. I don't know if this chapter makes sense at all. I went to my drafts and tried to join all the different ideas I had written for this chapter 😭 I didn't want to end this story here and there will be one more chapter 🥺 thanks for your patience and sorry for my outbursts. By the way thank you so much on all the love you had given to my marcus acacius fic that one was carefully written haha ✨ Reblogs and comments are always appreciated. Happy reading 💌

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

For the last few days, the house had been quiet.

Unbearable quiet.

The air seemed to be charged with some kind of machiavellian aura. You could breathe the fear coming out your lungs mingling in it with it in some kind of joke. Because after a long time of surviving and doing everything, you could to arrive to a place where you could come to close your eyes at night without the fear of being murdered. The dream faded.

After a long time, you felt hopeless and scared.

After a long time, you had to face the imminent death of someone you loved.

Your biggest fear.

You had seen your sister died before your eyes when the world became mad. You saw Tess died sacrificed for you all, and now, you almost lost your daughter.

Joel hadn’t left your side since you were dismissed from the infirmary.

He had been watching you. At nights when you were finally sleeping, he kept himself awake just to see you sleep and making sure you were fighting your demons in your dreams.

It cut him deep in the heart to feel it, to hear it, and to acknowledge. The sight of you, every day in front of the window with your arms crossed around your middle as a shield from the outside broke his heart. Joel’s heart ached as he watched you, your usual force now cloaked in fear.

The soft light from this morning highlighted the bruise on your face, the purple and blue tones reminding the events that had happened just a few days ago. He hated it, the mark on your skin, the haunted look in your eyes, the way your hands shook no matter how tightly you tried to hold yourself together.

The ring he had given you laid on your finger, shining as the only light you could see during the clouding morning.

He hated this. He hated that someone had dared to put that mark on you, hated that he hadn’t been able to stop it before it happened. But more than anything, he hated seeing the fire in you dimmed, replaced by this trembling fear he didn’t recognize in you.

You had been holding Rosie close every day. The grip on her became almost desperate, like you were afraid she might slip away if you let go, and Joel’s chest tightened at the sight.

And the moments like this, when she was lost in sleeping dreaming about butterflies, you were gripping your arms around your middle, again and again.

Joel cleared his throat softly, not wanting to startle you, but enough to pull you from whatever dark thoughts were haunting you. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and gentle, like it was meant to keep the fragility of the moment intact. “You’re gonna wear a hole in that spot if you keep standin’ there.”

You glanced over your shoulder at him, the tiredness in your eyes making his stomach churn. But you didn’t speak, just offered a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your face before turning your gaze back out the window.

He stepped closer, his boots barely making a sound on the wooden floor. “Hey,” he said softer this time. “You’ve been standin’ there all mornin’. Come sit with me.”

“I don’t want to.” You replied, “I’m looking…whenever he comes back. I’m going to kill him.” 

Joel’s breath caught in his throat at your words. The cold, steely tone in your voice sent a chill down his spine. It wasn’t just the anger, he’d seen you angry before, it was the edge of pain buried underneath it, sharp and raw.

He studied you for a moment, the way your jaw was clenched, your arms still wrapped tightly around yourself like you were holding something in. Joel sighed softly, stepping closer until he was right beside you, his hand brushing against your arm. “I know you’re hurtin’,” he said carefully. “I know you’re angry. Hell, I’m angry too- “

You didn’t look at him, your gaze fixed on the horizon like you were waiting for some shadow to reappear. “He hurt her, Joel. Hurt Rosie. And he-” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting to keep it steady. “He tried to kill me.”

“I know,” Joel said, his voice heavy. He wanted to reach for you, to pull you into his arms, but he didn’t. Not yet. “And if it comes to it, I’ll be the one to handle it. You don’t gotta carry that on top of everythin’ else. That ain’t who you are anymore.”

Finally, you turned to him, your eyes blazing with a despair “You don’t get to tell me who I am, Joel,” you snapped, your voice trembling. “You think I don’t know what killing him means now that we are here? But do you think I care? He almost took Rosie from me. I can’t--I won’t let him get away with that.”

Joel’s jaw tightened, the weight of your words cutting into him. He reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your face with a tenderness that contrasted the fire blazing for your words.

Tears welled in your eyes, and you looked away again, shaking your head. “I can’t sleep well, I can’t breathe, knowing he might come back.”

Joel’s hand moved to your shoulder, grounding you. “We’ll protect her,” he said firmly. “I’ll protect you. I swear to God, he’s not gonna hurt either of you again. I won’t allow that.”

You blinked and turned to look at him, your eyes glassy with tears. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about what could’ve happened,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “If you hadn’t been there, Joel... if Paul had...”

Joel shook his head quickly, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing over the unbruised side. “But he didn’t. I was there, and I’ll always be there. No one’s gonna hurt you or Rosie again, you hear me?”

Your lower lip quivered, but you nodded, the tears finally spilling over. “I feel so stupid. I’ve faced worse before, but now... I can’t even step outside without panicking.”

He wrapped an arm around you, pulling you into his chest, holding you as if he could shield you from the world. “You’re not stupid,” he said firmly.

You buried your face in his chest, breathing in the familiar scent of him, and for the first time in days, you felt a flicker of safety amidst the storm. “I don’t know what I’d do without you,” you whispered.

Joel kissed the top of your head, his lips lingering there for a moment. “You’ll never have to find out, darlin’. Never.”

“Never leave me, please” you whispered, your voice trembling as your eyes locked with his. The love in Joel’s gaze was overwhelming, deep and steady, like it could ground you even in the midst of your unraveling. In that moment, it felt as though he could heal every wound in the world just by looking at you like that.

He didn’t say anything right away, but his hands cupped your face gently, his thumbs brushing away the tears that clung to your skin. His touch was so tender, it almost broke you all over again.

“I’m here,” he said, his voice rough but steady. “Always. I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

The weight of his words, the sheer promise in them, weakened you. You leaned in, pressing your lips to his with all the love, fear, and gratitude coursing through you. The kiss wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was deep, purposeful, filled with everything you couldn’t put into words.

Joel responded with equal intensity, his hands steadying you as if anchoring you to him. The kiss deepened, and you poured every single feeling you had for him into it, your love, your fear, your desperate need for him to know just how much he meant to you.

When you finally pulled back, your forehead rested on his neck. His eyes stayed on you, dark and filled with so much love it left you almost breathless.

“You are my world,” he murmured, his voice rough with honesty. “There ain’t nothin’ that’s ever gonna take me away from you.” He paused, “No Paul, not even Tommy” he said, finally allowing himself to be angry with his brother for not acting properly when you needed.

You smiled softly, your fingers lifted, tracing the familiar lines of his face. “You heal me, Joel,” you whispered. “In ways I didn’t think were possible.” You sighed, “I’ve slept just because you are by my side,” you whispered, your voice trembling with the vulnerability you rarely showed.

Joel's eyes softened at your confession, the lines of his face etched with worry and love. He pulled you closer, wrapping his arms securely around you, as if shielding you from everything outside your small, shared world.

“I’ll always be here,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “No one’s gonna hurt you again, not while I’m breathin’. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.” He tilted your chin up slightly, meeting your gaze with an intensity that both comforted and steadied you. “You believe me, don’t you?”

You nodded, a tear slipping down your cheek. “I do,” you whispered. “I just... I don’t want to lose you, Joel. Not again. You mean everything to me. Rosie and Ellie need you. I need you.”

His lips pressed into a firm line as he kissed your forehead, lingering there for a moment before speaking. “You won’t lose me. Not to this world, not to anyone.” His tone carried a weight of conviction that made you believe him, despite the dark corners of your mind that tried to tell you otherwise.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers clutching the fabric of his shirt as if holding on to him could ground you further. “I love you,” you said, the words spilling out with a mix of desperation and relief.

Joel tightened his embrace, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I love you too, darlin’. More than I’ll ever be able to say.”

The days that followed, the tension between Joel and Tommy hung in the air like a storm cloud, heavy and unrelenting. The anger in Joel’s chest refused to leave and every time he thought about Paul, about what he had done to you, about Rosie crying in your arms, about Tommy and Maria’s insistence on letting him live because he was the most capable doctor in Jackson, made his blood boil.

Joel stayed distant, avoiding Tommy whenever he could. But the inevitable day came when Tommy finally showed up at your door.

The sound of footsteps outside was followed by a knock. You opened the door cautiously, seeing Tommy standing there, his posture tense, but his face holding a mix of determination and concern. He wasn’t going to let this go.

“Can we talk?” Tommy’s voice was low, almost pleading, as he stood at the threshold, not pushing any further without an invitation.

You glanced back at Joel, who stood in the corner of the room, his arms crossed, jaw clenched. His posture was rigid, his anger simmering just beneath the surface. You could feel the weight of his gaze on Tommy.

“You’re here now,” you said quietly, your gaze flicking between the two men. "Let’s just talk. It’s time to sort this out.”

Tommy looked at you, grateful for your willingness to listen, but then his eyes moved to Joel. “I’m not here to argue,” he said, his voice steady but carrying a hint of frustration. “I just want to make sure you both understand why I did what I did. Maria and I- we thought it was best for Jackson.”

Joel stepped forward then, his voice tight, filled with a simmering anger. “Best for Jackson?” he spat; his words heavy. “You think keeping Paul around is what's best? After what he did to my family? After what he did to her?” His gaze flicked to you, and his face twisted with pain and rage.

Tommy’s face faltered slightly, but he stood firm. “We can’t just murder people, Joel. We’ve got to think about the bigger picture here.”

“The bigger picture?” Joel’s voice broke through the silence, louder now. “The bigger picture is you letting him get away with what he did. You think a doctor’s skills are worth more than the safety of someone?”

You stepped in between the two men, your hand on Joel’s chest, trying to diffuse the tension that had only escalated. “Joel.” you said softly, your voice firm yet gentle.

Joel’s anger didn’t subside, but he took a deep breath, his gaze hardening as he met Tommy’s eyes. “I get it, Tommy. I do. I get you don’t kill people. But this is not about you or me. It’s About her, about Rosie.” He nodded toward you, his voice softer but still filled with that quiet fury. “You failed us, and I’m not gonna forget that.”

Tommy’s face tightened, but he didn’t flinch. “I’m not asking you to forget,” he said, his voice growing quiet, but steady. “I’m asking you to try to understand. I had to make a choice. And I’m sorry it hurt you. I didn’t want that. But we can’t just act on anger. It’ll destroy us all.”

The silence between them was heavy, the weight of their words hanging in the air. Joel’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, the two brothers just stood there, glaring at each other. You could feel the tension in the room, the hurt, the unresolved conflict.

“I’m gonna kill him, Tommy” you say, leaving no room to even think about an answer. The words left your lips before you could even stop them. You meant it, if you were just speaking out of fear, anger, or something deeper. But in that moment, it felt real. It felt like the only thing that made sense.

Tommy’s face paled; his eyes wide in disbelief. He took a step back, as if your words had physically hit him.

“Don’t say that,” Tommy said, his voice shaky now. “You can’t mean that. No matter what Paul did, that’s not-” He looked to Joel, who stood silent, his jaw clenched tightly as his gaze fixed on you.

Joel’s expression didn’t soften. His eyes were filled with an intensity you knew all too well, but it wasn’t just anger anymore.

“I can’t let him hurt us again,” you continued, your voice steady. “Not after what he did. To me. To Rosie.” Your hands tightened into fists at your sides, the thought of what Paul done still fresh. “He can’t be allowed to walk away from this.”

“I get it. I know how much you hate him. How much you want to make him pay. But that’s not the way” he said, trying to open a door to your own feelings and make to see you beyond the anger.

You shook your head, the frustration bubbling up. “You don’t understand. You knew what he did and you did nothing to stop it.” You could feel the tears threatening to spill again, but you fought them back. “I can’t just let it go.”

Joel’s gaze softened at you, and he gently cupped your face, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The tenderness in his touch was a stark contrast to the rage that was building inside you.

“I don’t want you to become like him,” Joel whispered, his voice cracking with emotion. “I don’t want you to lose yourself in this. You’re better than that.”

Tommy stood quietly behind Joel; his face pained. He opened his mouth as if to say something, but the words caught in his throat. He looked between you and Joel, his hands rising in a gesture of helplessness.

“Please,” Tommy said softly, the weight of his voice more sincere now. “I don’t want to lose you both. Not like this.”

There was a long silence, the tension between the three of you palpable. You could feel the storm brewing in your chest, the fury, the fear, and the loss. But looking at Joel, his eyes filled with that quiet, unshakable love, something in you began to still, just slightly.

“Joel…” You whispered, your voice cracking as you tried to hold onto your resolve. But the reality of the situation hit you, the sheer weight of everything that had happened.

Joel’s hand never left your cheek, and he pulled you closer, his body shielding you, his love steadying you. He didn’t need to say anything more. The silence spoke volumes, louder than any words ever could.

For the first time in days, the raw anger inside you began to dull, if only for a moment. And in that moment, you knew what he was trying to do.

 keep you whole.

You closed your eyes, letting out a shaky breath as Joel held you, his strength grounding you in a way words never could. The storm within you hadn’t passed—it was still there, simmering—but his touch, his love, gave you a moment of clarity.

“I don’t know how to let this go,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. Your fingers clung to the fabric of Joel’s shirt, desperate for something solid, something real. “I can still feel it, Joel. What he did. How he made me feel powerless. How he put our daughter at risk.”

Joel nodded, his jaw tightening as he pulled you closer. “I know, darlin’. I know.” His voice was thick with emotion, his own rage barely contained. “But you’re not powerless. You’ve got me. You’ve got Rosie. We’ll face this together. You don’t have to carry this alone.”

Tommy shifted uncomfortably in the background, his hands shoved into his pockets. He looked at the floor, at the walls, anywhere but directly at you. When he finally spoke, his voice was hesitant but firm. “Paul’s gone. I made sure of it. He’s not coming back here. He doesn’t get to hurt you or your family again.”

You opened your eyes, pulling away from Joel just enough to look at Tommy. “Gone where?” you asked, your tone sharp despite the exhaustion in your voice.

Tommy met your gaze, his face solemn. “Out of Jackson. Banished. He’s on his own now. That’s his punishment.”

It wasn’t enough. Not for you. But the flicker of guilt in Tommy’s eyes told you it was the best he could do under the circumstances.

“Banished?” Joel’s voice cut through the tension like a knife. “That’s supposed to make up for what he did? You think that’s justice, Tommy? Letting him walk away alive?”

Tommy winced but stood his ground. “It’s all I could do, Joel. You know that. Maria and I—”

“Maria.” Joel’s voice was laced with bitterness, his lips curling into a sneer. “Of course, Maria had a say in this. She always does.”

“Don’t do that,” Tommy shot back, his tone defensive. “Don’t make this about her. She’s trying to keep this place together, same as me.”

Joel shook his head, his grip on you tightening protectively. “This ain’t about Jackson. This is about family. And you sure as hell didn’t act like it when you let him off easy.”

The tension in the room thickened, the weight of Joel’s words pressing down on all of you. Tommy opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I’m sorry,” he said finally, his voice low. “I didn’t mean to let you down. Either of you.”

You watched him carefully, the sincerity in his voice softening your anger but not extinguishing it. You leaned into Joel, your voice steady but quiet. “We needed you to protect us, Tommy. And you didn’t.”

Tommy’s face fell, and for a moment, he looked lost, like the younger brother Joel used to shield from the world. “I’ll do better,” he said after a pause. “I promise.”

Joel didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he looked down at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of what you wanted. You gave him a small nod, your fingers brushing against his hand.

“Fine,” Joel said gruffly, his tone still heavy with distrust. “If he comes back, if he so much as looks in our direction, I won’t wait for you to make the call.”

Tommy nodded solemnly, knowing better than to argue. “He won’t,” he said. “I’ll make sure of it.”

With that, Tommy turned to leave, pausing at the door. “I meant what I said,” he added, looking back at both of you. “I’ll do better.”

Joel didn’t respond, his attention already back on you as the door clicked shut behind his brother. His hands cupped your face, his thumb brushing away the tears that had spilled during the heated exchange.

“You, okay?” he asked softly, his voice a stark contrast to the anger he’d directed at Tommy moments ago.

You nodded, though the ache in your chest lingered. “I will be,” you whispered, leaning into his touch. “As long as I have you.”

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over Jackson as you stepped outside for the first time in days. The cool breeze felt foreign on your skin, and the familiar hum of life around the town was both comforting and unnerving. People moved about, their voices mingling in the air, but it didn’t take long for you to notice the glances, those fleeting, pity-filled looks that made your stomach twist.

Joel had left early for patrol, a reluctant decision that you’d seen weigh on him. Before leaving, he’d turned to Ellie, handing her the silent responsibility of looking out for you. She had protested initially, grumbling about not being a babysitter, but her eyes had softened when she looked at you. Joel knew, as did you, that Ellie’s sharp wit and unwavering loyalty were exactly what you needed to ground yourself amidst the whispers of the town.

“Come on,” Ellie said now, falling into step beside you. “Let’s go to the stables. I think is time to introduce you to Shimmer.”

You gave her a small smile, grateful for her enthusiasm. “Think so? I haven’t exactly been good company lately.”

“Don’t start with that,” Ellie replied, her tone firm but not unkind. “People in this place don’t know what they’re talking about half the time. Who cares what they think? You’re way tougher than any of them.”

Her words stirred something in you, a small flicker of strength you hadn’t felt in days. “Thanks, Ellie.”

She shrugged, her usual smirk returning. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get all mushy on me.”

The two of you made your way through Jackson, the familiar paths slowly feeling less daunting with Ellie by your side. She talked about anything and everything, her rambling stories pulling you away from the stares and murmurs. By the time you reached the stables, you almost felt like yourself again.

As you ran your fingers along Shimmer’s mane, Ellie leaned against the stall door, watching you with an expression that was rare for her, soft and patient.

“Y’know,” she started, her voice quieter now, “Joel worries about you a lot.”

You nodded, your hand still brushing against the horse. “I know he does. I worry about him, too.”

Ellie hesitated, as if weighing her next words carefully. “You don’t have to be okay all the time. It’s fine if you’re not. But...you’re important to him. And to me. So, if you need anything, just...say it, okay?”

The lump in your throat was back, but this time it wasn’t from fear or sadness. It was gratitude, pure and simple. You turned to Ellie, her usual tough exterior softened just enough to let her sincerity shine through.

“Thank you, Ellie,” you said, your voice steady. “For everything.”

She grinned, her cocky demeanor sliding back into place. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t mention it. Now let’s get moving before Joel gets back and freaks out because you’re not at the house.”

You laughed softly, the sound surprising both of you. For the first time, you felt like you were taking a step, however small, toward reclaiming the part of yourself that Paul had tried to steal.

Joel would come home later, his expression softening the moment he saw you standing in the kitchen, Ellie at your side, and Rosie cooing softly in your arms. The sight of you holding her, your face showing a glimmer of the strength he had always admired, eased the tension in his chest.

“Hey,” he said, his voice low and warm as he stepped inside, shutting the door behind him. His gaze lingered on you, taking in the small smile that graced your lips as you bounced Rosie gently.

“Hey,” you replied, meeting his eyes. There was still a shadow of everything you’d been through, but there was also something more—hope.

Rosie reached out a tiny hand toward Joel, her soft babbles filling the room as she wriggled excitedly. Joel couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face as he walked over, pressing a gentle kiss to her head before turning his attention back to you.

“You been good today?” he asked, his hand coming to rest on your waist, grounding you in that quiet, unshakable way only he could.

“I’ve been okay,” you admitted, glancing at Ellie. “Ellie made sure I didn’t completely lose it.”

“Damn right I did,” Ellie said with a smirk, though her tone was laced with affection. “You should thank me. I could’ve let her go feral.”

Joel chuckled, his fingers brushing your cheek. “Thanks, kid. Knew I could count on you.”

Ellie shrugged, playing it cool, though her smile betrayed her pride. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t get sappy on me.”

Rosie giggled in your arms, her tiny hands now tugging at Joel’s shirt. He let out a low laugh, taking her from you and cradling her against his chest.

“You been keepin’ your mama company, huh?” he murmured to Rosie, his tone soft as she babbled in response.

You watched the two of them, a warmth spreading through your chest. Despite everything, despite the weight of the past days, there was this, your family. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t easy, but it was yours.

And as Joel wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close while still holding Rosie, you realized that no matter how rocky the road ahead was, you’d face it together.

Later that night, the house had settled into a calm quiet. You and Joel were in your bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp illuminating the space. Joel sat on the edge of the bed, running a hand through his hair while you folded Rosie’s tiny clothes, setting them neatly in a small basket by the dresser.

A knock on the door broke the silence.

“Come in,” you called, glancing up to see Ellie poking her head inside.

“Just wanted to say goodnight,” she said casually, but the softness in her eyes revealed more.

You smiled warmly, setting down the clothes. “Goodnight, Ellie. Thank you for today.”

Ellie waved a hand, brushing off your gratitude. “It was nothing. Just, you know… don’t go all weird again, okay? Makes me feel like I gotta be responsible or somethin’.”

Joel chuckled from his spot on the bed, his gruff voice carrying a note of fondness. “You’re plenty responsible, kid. More than you give yourself credit for.”

Ellie scoffed but didn’t argue. Instead, she gave you a small smile, her gaze lingering on you for a moment. “Night, guys.”

“Goodnight, Ellie,” you and Joel said in unison, watching as she closed the door behind her.

The room fell quiet again, the air filled with a comfortable stillness. Joel shifted, standing to walk over to where you stood. His hands settled on your waist, his touch firm but gentle.

“Got somethin’ I wanna ask you,” he said, his voice low.

You looked up at him, curiosity flickering in your eyes. “What is it?”

Joel took a deep breath, his eyes scanning your face as if searching for the right words. “You know… maybe we could…” He paused, seeming almost unsure, then continued, his voice quiet but filled with a flicker of hope. “Maybe we could find a farm. Somethin’ out there, for us to live together. Rosie could grow up there, maybe Ellie could come too.”

A small smile crept onto your face, the idea warming something deep within you. The thought of a place away from the constant need to survive, a place where Rosie could learn what it meant to grow up safely, it was more than you’d ever thought to hope for.

You squeezed Joel’s hand, meeting his eyes. “I’d love that,” you murmured, imagining the life you could have together on that farm. “But maybe… let’s give Rosie a bit more time. Let her grow a little. She’s just starting to get to know this world, and Jackson’s safe for now.”

Joel’s face softened; his eyes filled with a warmth that made you feel completely at home. “Yeah,” he said, nodding thoughtfully. “Ain’t no rush. Just… it’s good to have somethin’ to look forward to. Somethin’ better for her. For us.”

You leaned into him, letting the silence settle over you, both of you holding onto that shared vision. A little farm, a life of peace, a future beyond the fight, one that you could finally believe in.

“Wherever you go, I’ll follow you, Joel. Always.”

He let out a breath, his shoulders easing, and a quiet smile formed on his face. “Guess I’m the luckiest damn fool in this world, then.”

His words made you smile, and you closed the small space between you, resting your head on his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you. The warmth of his embrace felt like the safest place in a world that had taken so much, yet somehow, you had found each other. And that was more than either of you had ever thought to hope for.

His lips brushed over your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, each kiss tender and deliberate, as though he wanted to mark every part of you with the love he felt.

“We’re gonna get married,” he repeated, his voice low but steady, as if speaking it aloud made it more real. His fingers traced soft circles on your back, his touch reassuring and protective. “Then we’ll make that farm happen. A place for Rosie, for us. Maybe some chickens, a couple of goats. We’ll figure it all out.”

You laughed softly, the sound light in the quiet room. “Chickens and goats, huh? You planning on becoming a farmer, Miller?”

“Don’t see why not,” he said with a small grin, his eyes twinkling with a rare spark of humor. “Figure I can learn, long as you’re by my side.”

Your hand came up to rest on his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heart beneath your palm. “That sounds perfect.”

His gaze softened, his arms tightening around you.

You smiled, lifting your head to look at him fully. “Dream as much as you want. Just know that wherever you go, I’ll be right there with you. Always.”

His jaw clenched slightly, emotion flickering across his face before he leaned in, pressing a deep, lingering kiss to your lips. When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“You’re my whole damn world,” he said quietly, his voice thick with sincerity. “Now get some sleep, baby. You deserve it,” Joel murmured, his voice soft and soothing as he brushed a strand of hair from your face.

You felt the exhaustion finally catching up, the weight of everything settling down now that you were safe, here in his arms. His hand traced gentle circles on your back, a calming rhythm that lulled you closer to sleep.

With your eyes closing, you whispered, “I love you, Joel.”

He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice a low, comforting rumble. “I love you, too. Now rest. I’ve got you.”

And with those words, you let yourself drift, knowing that, for once, everything was exactly where it needed to be.

A few weeks later, the world outside your home didn’t seem as suffocating as it once had. You found yourself stepping out more often, though each time felt like a small battle. The whispers of pity had dulled into occasional glances, but you didn’t care much anymore. What mattered was reclaiming pieces of yourself, the parts that had been shaken to their core.

Joel had noticed the shift in you. It wasn’t just bravery returning; it was something darker. There was a hunger in your eyes, a quiet, burning thirst for vengeance. He didn’t need to ask to know what you were thinking. He had seen it in the way your grip tightened on your gun when you joined him on patrol for the first time, in the way your eyes scanned the horizon as though searching for someone. Searching for him.

Paul.

“I don’t know if this is the best idea,” Joel had murmured that morning, watching you strap on your gear with determination. Rosie was with Ellie, safe and sound, but Joel couldn’t shake the unease in his gut.

“I need this, Joel,” you replied firmly, your voice leaving no room for argument. “I can’t sit in that house anymore, feeling helpless. I need to do something.”

Joel hesitated, but he couldn’t deny you. He knew the feeling of needing to act, of needing to take back control. So, he let you come, though he kept a protective eye on you every second.

Now, as the two of you rode along a quiet path outside Jackson, the sun dipping low in the sky, you felt the weight of your riffle against your shoulders, silent reminder of the decision you’d already made in your heart. If Paul was out here, if by some chance you found him, you wouldn’t hesitate. You couldn’t.

Joel glanced at you from the corner of his eye, his jaw tight. “You’ve been quiet,” he said, his voice low.

You turned to him, your expression guarded. “Just thinking.”

“About what?” he pressed gently, though he already had a good idea.

You hesitated before answering, your fingers gripping the reins of your horse a little tighter. “About what I’d do if I saw him out here.”

Joel’s hand twitched on his own reins, his eyes narrowing slightly. “And what’s that?” he asked, his tone careful.

You looked straight ahead, your voice unwavering. “I’d finish what he started.”

Joel’s breath hitched, and he pulled his horse to a stop, forcing you to do the same. He turned to face you fully, his expression a mix of frustration and concern. “You really think that’s gonna fix this? Killing him?”

“It’ll fix the part of me that still wakes up at night hearing Rosie cry,” you shot back, your voice sharper than you intended. “The part of me that can’t shake the image of him grabbing her, hurting her.”

Joel’s face softened, but his eyes remained steady on yours. “I get it,” he said quietly. “God, I get it more than you know. But that path? It doesn’t end. You take that step, and it stays with you. Forever.”

You swallowed hard, his words hitting deeper than you wanted to admit. “You’ve done it,” you whispered. “You’ve done what needed to be done.”

“And it’s carved pieces outta me I’ll never get back,” Joel said, his voice rough with emotion. “Pieces I don’t want you to lose, too. Not when I’ve fought like hell to keep you whole.”

“Have I ever told you about how my sister really died?” You asked, stopping on your tracks.

Joel froze at your words, his brows knitting together as he watched you. The rawness in your voice, the way your shoulders tensed, told him this wasn’t something you’d ever shared before, not with him, not with anyone.

“You don’t have to-” Joel started, but you cut him off, your tone firm yet fragile.

“No, I do,” you said, gripping the reins tightly, your knuckles white. “If I don’t say it now, I don’t think I ever will.”

Joel dismounted his horse without a word, grounding himself on the dirt path, his full attention on you. He didn’t try to stop you again. He knew you well enough to know that this was something you needed to let out.

You took a shaky breath, your eyes fixed on the horizon. “She wasn’t just sick,” you began, your voice trembling. “She didn’t die because we ran out of medicine or supplies. She died because someone decided her life wasn’t worth saving.”

Joel’s jaw clenched, his fists curling at his sides as he listened, his heart sinking at the pain in your voice.

“We were desperate, starving. I’d gone to trade what little we had for anything that could help her, food, medicine, something. But the man… he said no. Said it wasn’t worth it for someone who was already on their way out. I begged him, Joel. I begged him with everything I had.” Your voice broke, tears threatening to spill as the memory clawed its way back. “He just walked away.”

Joel took a step closer, his chest tightening at the sight of you, so strong yet so broken by the weight of the past.

“When I got back, she was already gone,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “And I’ve hated myself ever since for not doing more. For not forcing him to help her. For not-” You stopped, your breath hitching as tears slipped down your cheeks.

Joel reached for you then, his hands gently cupping your face, pulling you to him. “It wasn’t your fault,” he said firmly, his voice steady but laced with emotion. “You did everything you could. Don’t carry that blame, not for a second.”

“You looked up at him, your tears reflecting the fading light. “She was Ellie’s age, and I’ve carried it every day, Joel. And now, with Paul... I can’t let him walk away like that man did. I can’t let him think he can take something so precious from me and just go on living.”

Joel’s gaze softened, his thumb brushing away your tears. “I understand,” he said, his voice low and unwavering. “More than you know. But listen to me, you’re not the same person you were back then. And this time, you’re not alone. You have me. You have Rosie. Ellie. We’ll make it through this together, but not like this. Not by lettin’ that hatred eat away at you.”

You let out a shaky breath, his words sinking in, though the fire inside you still burned. Joel leaned his forehead against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Please, don’t let him take any more from you than he already has. Don’t let him steal the light I see in you every day.”

“If it has to be done,” Joel paused, “It’s gonna be me the one to do it for you.” He finally said.

You stared at him, your breath catching in your throat as the gravity of his promise hit you. His hands remained steady on you, grounding you, while his eyes held that unyielding intensity, a mixture of love, pain, and determination.

“Joel,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want you carrying that. Not for me.”

His jaw clenched, and he shook his head slightly. “It ain’t about what I want to carry,” he said firmly. “It’s about what I won’t let you carry. You don’t deserve to live with that weight, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep it off you.”

Your heart ached at the sheer depth of his devotion. You reached up, your hand resting on his cheek, feeling the familiar scruff beneath your palm. “You think I can’t live with it, but I’m not sure I can live with you doin’ it either,” you admitted, your voice cracking.

Joel exhaled sharply, his forehead pressing harder against yours. “I know you’re stronger than you think, darlin’. But I also know what it’s like to live with somethin’ like that. I won’t let it twist you up inside. You’re the one thing in my life that’s still pure. You are carrying my secret already.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a blow. Your hand faltered slightly against his cheek.

“You’re carrying the only thing I can’t tell Ellie yet” he murmured, his voice thick with unspoken emotion.

“Ellie’s carryin’ that guilt without even knowin’,” Joel said, his voice cracking. “And you’re carryin��� my guilt. I see it in your eyes, darlin’. You’re strong enough to hold it, but it doesn’t mean you should have to and I can’t let you to carry this responsibility.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you cupped his face, your hands trembling. “Joel,” you breathed.

He shook his head slightly, his forehead brushing against yours as if he couldn’t bear to pull away. “That’s my burden to bear,” he said quietly. “Not yours. Not Ellie’s. You didn’t ask for this, darlin’. I brought it to you, just like I brought so much else.”

Your hands steadied on his face, thumbs gently tracing the lines etched deep from years of pain and survival. “You think I can’t handle it,” you said, your voice soft but firm, “but I can. Joel, I’m not breaking under this. You’re not dragging me down—you’re keeping me standing. We’re carrying this together, even if you can’t see that yet.”

His eyes closed briefly, his breath shuddering as he let your words settle over him. “I just…” He exhaled, shaking his head as if trying to push away the weight of his guilt. “I just don’t want to lose the parts of you that make me believe there’s still good in this world. You’re my light, darlin’. I can’t let this world take that away from you like it’s taken so much from me.”

You leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. “You’ve lost pieces of yourself to protect the people you love, Joel. But you didn’t lose your heart. You didn’t lose the ability to care, to love. That’s what I see every day. That’s why I love you.”

Joel’s hands slid up to cradle your face, his eyes glassy as he gazed at you. “You make me wanna believe we can have somethin’ better. You and Rosie… Ellie…” He trailed off, his voice cracking under the weight of emotion.

“And we will,” you whispered, your own tears slipping down your cheeks.

For a moment, the room was filled with the quiet hum of your shared breath, the weight of Joel’s secret and his pain hanging between you like a fragile thread. Then, as if finally surrendering to the truth in your words, he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you tightly.

“I’ll do my best,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your hair. “But I’ll never stop tryin’ to protect you. That’s who I am. That’s who I’ll always be.”

You nodded against him, your own arms wrapping around his waist as you clung to him. “And I’ll protect you, too, Joel. Always.”

……………………………………….

The next morning, you woke to the quiet sounds of the house, birds singing outside, the soft rustling of the wind through the trees. But as you blinked awake, a familiar sense of unease settled deep in your chest. You turned to find Joel already up, getting dressed in his patrol gear, his movements steady and practiced.

But there was something about the way he moved this morning, something that made your stomach twist. The sense of calm you’d felt the night before had faded with the dawn, replaced by a gnawing feeling in the pit of your stomach.

You sat up in bed, rubbing your eyes, trying to shake off the unsettling feeling that lingered. “Joel,” you called softly, watching as he fastened his boots.

He turned toward you, his expression softening when he saw you awake. “Mornin’,” he said with a small smile, though there was something in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place.

You frowned, pushing the blankets aside as you slowly got to your feet. “You got patrol?”

Joel nodded, adjusting the straps on his jacket. “Yeah. Gotta keep an eye on things, make sure no one’s out there stirring up trouble.”

The unease inside you only deepened as you stood there, watching him. You wanted to say something, to voice the feeling that gnawed at you, but it was hard to put into words. You’d been through so much together, and you knew the risks. But there was something in the air this morning, something different.

“Be careful,” you finally said, your voice low. You moved closer, your eyes searching his face. “Please.”

Joel’s eyes softened at your concern, and he reached out to touch your arm gently, his fingers warm against your skin. “Don’t worry, darlin’. I’ll be fine. I’ve done this a hundred times.”

“I know,” you murmured, but the unease refused to leave you. It settled deep, a cold weight you couldn’t shake. “It’s just… I don’t know. I have a bad feeling, Joel.”

He gave you a reassuring smile, though there was a glimmer of something in his eyes that made you wonder if he was hiding something. “You’re just gettin’ anxious, that’s all. Ain’t nothing to worry about.”

You didn’t believe him, but you didn’t press further. He could see it in your face, the doubt, the fear, but he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he leaned down to kiss your forehead.

“Look, I’ll be back before you know it. And I’ll be careful, promise. I told Ellie to check on you when I get out there. Everything’s gonna be fine.”

You nodded, though the worry still clung to you, heavy in your chest. You watched him grab his rifle and head for the door, your heart tightening as the unease only deepened.

“Come back safe,” you whispered, though he was already out the door, the sound of it closing behind him leaving you with nothing but the silence of the house.

The day passed in a haze; your every step weighed down by the gnawing feeling in your chest. Rosie was a constant, her small hands gripping onto your fingers as you walked through the house, but even her giggles and soft coos couldn’t shake the sense of dread that clung to you.

You tried to keep busy, shifting from one task to the next, preparing food, tidying up, organizing things in a way that felt normal. But it wasn’t normal. It wasn’t right. Your thoughts kept drifting back to Joel, to the way he’d left this morning, and to that unsettling feeling that something was going to happen.

Rosie’s tiny laugh broke through your thoughts, and you turned to her, forcing a smile as she looked up at you with her bright, innocent eyes. “What’s so funny, huh?” you whispered, leaning down to kiss the top of her head, but the sensation of unease lingered, like a shadow you couldn’t outrun.

You carried her around the house, humming softly to calm her, but the tension inside you only seemed to grow. You tried to focus on the present, on her needs, but your mind kept returning to Joel, to the patrol, to the feeling of something wrong.

You spent hours moving through the motions, your hands busy with Rosie, but your mind was somewhere else. You couldn’t shake the weight of the silence. Even the usual comfort of Jackson, the rhythm of life, the sense of safety felt distant. You wanted to believe that Joel would come home safely, that everything would be fine, but every part of you felt like it was bracing for something.

Every time you heard a sound outside, whether it was the wind brushing through the trees or footsteps in the distance, you jumped, your heart hammering in your chest. You knew it wasn’t rational, but the dread wouldn’t leave.

You glanced at the window once more, eyes scanning the horizon. The day stretched on, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of being stuck in limbo, waiting for something you couldn’t see or name, but could feel settling deeper into your bones.

By the time the sun began to set, casting a golden glow over the house, your nerves were frayed, the silence between you and Rosie growing thicker. She had fallen asleep in your arms, her little breaths gentle against your chest, but even her calmness couldn’t settle your mind.

You tried to push everything aside, focusing on her, but as the evening wore on, the darkness began to close in. The sounds of Jackson, usually comforting, seemed muted, everything felt distant, like you were separated from the world outside, and the only thing that existed was the growing ache inside you.

You forced yourself to sit down on the couch with Rosie, running your fingers through her hair, trying to lull her back to sleep. But all you could hear in the back of your mind was the warning, something was wrong, and you couldn’t ignore it.

The clock ticked on, and the hours seemed to stretch impossibly long. Joel should’ve been home by now.

Your eyes drifted to the door, and for the hundredth time, you found yourself wondering if he was okay. You could feel the weight of the night pressing down on you, the silence now suffocating, and no matter how hard you tried to focus on Rosie, the bad feeling wouldn’t let go.

You couldn’t ignore it anymore.

And then, it came, the knock at the door.

The sound shattered the quiet like a thunderclap, and your heart leaped into your throat. For a split second, you stood frozen, staring at the door as the sound of it echoed in your chest.

Rosie stirred slightly in your arms, her small body shifting against you, but you didn’t move, didn’t speak. The knock came again, more urgent this time, and it felt like the world was holding its breath.

You slowly set Rosie down on the couch, her sleepy gaze not yet aware of the tension in the room. You walked toward the door, each step heavy, your mind racing with possibilities, none of them good.

When you finally reached the door, you hesitated for just a moment, your hand resting on the cold metal of the doorknob. Your chest tightened with each breath, and you could almost feel the weight of whatever was about to happen bearing down on you.

With a swift motion, you swung the door open.

Standing on the other side was a familiar figure, one you didn’t want to see right now. Tommy’s face was grim, his posture stiff and anxious. The second his eyes landed on you, he froze, his expression darkening further.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady, but it trembled nonetheless.

 “Where’s Joel?” The question was simple, but it felt like it would crush you to ask it out loud.

Tommy looked down, unable to meet your gaze, his lips pressed into a thin line. His silence was enough. You could feel your chest tightening, your breath coming shallow.

“Tommy…” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. You needed to know, needed to hear him say it wasn’t what you feared. But the way he held himself, the way he refused to look at you directly, it told you everything you needed to know.

“He’s… he’s not coming back right now,” Tommy said, his words falling like a weight in the room.

Your breath caught, a sharp, cold wave crashing over you. “What happened?” you forced out, each syllable like a blade.

Tommy’s jaw tightened, and he glanced over his shoulder as if searching for something he couldn’t find. “He… got caught up in a situation. We’re trying to find him, but-” He stopped himself, eyes flicking to the ground. “He wasn’t alone.”

Your heart skipped a beat. You barely heard him over the rush of panic flooding your mind. You reached out for the doorframe to steady yourself, the cold wood grounding you as everything else around you seemed to blur.

“Where is he?” you managed to ask, barely able to hold back the tremble in your voice.

Tommy looked at you, his eyes softening with regret, and then he finally spoke the words you were dreading to hear. “I don’t know yet. But we’re looking. We’re gonna bring him back.”

But it didn’t feel like enough. Not nearly enough.

The dread you’d felt all day was now a full-on tidal wave crashing through you. And the silence between you and Tommy stretched on, thick and suffocating, as your world began to unravel again.

You looked at Tommy, but his expression was distant, haunted by the same dread that clung to your own heart. His eyes were hard and red, but there was a flicker of something beneath them, something that looked like guilt, like he had already resigned himself to the possibility of losing Joel. And you couldn’t bear that. You couldn’t let it be true.

The world around you seemed to fade away, the noises of Jackson growing muffled, distant. It was just you and that empty space in your chest.

Where is he? Why can’t they find him?

“Please,” you whispered, your voice barely a breath. “He can’t be-he can’t be gone.”

Tommy’s silence was enough of an answer. You felt your knees go weak beneath you, your vision blurring, and for a moment, the world seemed to close around you. You barely caught yourself against the nearby wall, your body trembling violently as a cold sweat broke out across your skin.

“No”you gasped, shaking your head. “No... No, no, no...”

Everything around you shifted, the edges of reality blurring like the melting colors of a fading drawing. The walls seemed to warp, stretch. Your breath was quick and shallow, heart pounding in your chest.

Tommy’s voice reached you, but it felt like it was coming from miles away. “We’re gonna bring him back,” he repeated. But his words felt wrong, distant. The hollow tone of them echoed in your mind.

And then it all snapped into place.

A flash of bright light, too bright. A sharp pain in your chest. Joel’s face. Blood. The unmistakable scent of the forest. A scream, raw and panicked, splitting through the air.

You felt yourself falling, your vision spinning. The world kept shifting, twisting in strange angles you hadn’t seen before. Memories of Joel, his soft brown eyes, his smile, his touch. They all merged into one blurry mess, until they were impossible to separate. You reached out instinctively, your hands clawing at the air. But there was nothing there to hold on to. Just emptiness.

Was it real? Was he really gone?

A jolt of pain sliced through your head, and you gasped, your whole body seizing with terror. You could hear your voice, but it was distant, like someone else was screaming your name, calling for you to wake up.

"Wake up!"

Your eyes snapped open.

The room was still. The silence was deafening. Your chest heaved, each breath sharp and jagged as you fought to understand where you were. Everything felt wrong, like it didn’t belong. The cool air caressed your face with calloused fingertips.

You were still in your room.

But where was Joel?

Was he really-?

You turned, heart drumming against your ribcage as your eyes scanned the room, your pulse ringing in your ears. And there he was. Joel. Alive. But he wasn’t moving. His form was just an indistinct shadow in the moonlight, still and silent as the night itself.

Your breath caught in your throat as you reached for him, hands trembling.

“Joel?”

You whispered his name, too afraid to speak louder, afraid that it would shatter the fragile illusion you were holding on to. Your hands brushed against his arm, and the relief that flooded you was instant.

His skin was warm. He was real.

But as your eyes adjusted to the darkness, you noticed something odd.

Joel wasn’t looking at you.

The way his body was turned, half-covered by the shadows, the slow rise and fall of his chest... it wasn’t like him. Something felt off.

And then the silence broke. His breathing was ragged, strained.

Your heart stopped in your chest.

A voice, barely a whisper, weak and broken. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

And with that, everything slipped once again.

Was it real? Was this a nightmare you hadn’t woken from yet?

You couldn’t tell anymore.

Tags 💌: @jasminedragoon @orcasoul @missladym1981 @hiroikegawa @eleganthottubfun @lumpypoll @cuteanimalmama @thespookywookies @goodvibesonly421 @karaslqve @greenwitchfromthewoods @somedayheaven @bambisweethearts @joelsteinfeld @guelyury @biapascal @picketniffler @mrsyixingunicorn10 @httpvomitello @kulekehe @callmecath1 @persephone-girl @colmiillo @pedroswife69 @keileighr @capswife @fallout-girl219 @sullyselena @cymbalta-slut @my-tearsricochet

[celestie0]

hi my friends! hope you're all doing well. just wanted to come on here and share a little updates w you guys (if you're still here lol)

i guess it's been like a month n a half since i formally went on hiatus, and it's been nice! i got kinda sick for a little bit lmfaooo which was tough to manage w school, but i'm better now

although i took time away from my blog, i still delved in writing here n there. i haven't written anything for kickoff since tbh i'm in such a slump w it. but i still have big plans for stuff that happens after ch13, so hopefully i can just push through this next chapter and get to a better place. thanks so much to anyone that is still interested in the story, it means a lot to me. i know i'm so slow w updates and the story has been going on for almost a year now, but the continued support is so sweet! even though i didn't work on writing it these past one n a half months, i still really love it and plan to finish it.

i'm not sure if many people remember that i had this sort of "apocalypse" gojo x reader au about an asteroid being set to hit the earth in three days, and reader n gojo are ex lovers n the impending end of the world makes them break no-contact...yeah i finished writing the first chapter for it and i really love it so far! it's like set in new york which is really fun haha i love stories where new york is kind of its own "character" if that makes sense...it will definitely be a limited series w only 4 chapters or so, but i kinda wanna finish all 4 chapters before i start posting it bc i don't want it to be a drawn out series in terms of posting since i think it'd be best enjoyed in frequent succession if that makes sense

as for ihm, i think i wrote the most for ihm during my hiatus. i finished three chapters for it, but they are shorter chapters (around 3-4k words). i kinda realized one of my biggest reasons for burnout w my fics were the reaaaaallly long chapters...like didn't i have a 22k chapter for kickoff or sumn lol. idk i can't remember. but anyways, yeah the mindset behind the longer chapters was bc i liked each chapter to kinda have its own conflict, build up, tension then resolution in a sense. but it was exhausting to write that way tbh lol. so i think moving forward, for ihm, i will have shorter chapters. i just don't wanna think to much about things anymore, and write from my heart, bc i have a lot of things planned for ihm, and among the criticism i've received for my writing choices vs my own vision for the story, i've realized during my hiatus that the only way i can finish ihm, or any of my storeis for that matter, is if i just.........stop giving a fuck about it. lol idk if that sounds strange to say, but like, i don't want to over-edit anything. i don't want to think too much about redundancy. i don't want to flower things up or cut stuff out. i'm at the point where imma just write a first draft, check for grammarly errors, and then post it. i guess the reason i'm sharing this is because idk if this means that people may enjoy my writing less since i will admittedly be spending much less time on it than i did before, but tbh i realized i find the most joy while i'm writing, and not while i'm editing. so i want to spend as little time on the latter as possible, and if that changes the quality of my work, then so be it.

anyways, hmm as for hiatus. i guess i'm off hiatus now? i really enjoyed being off of tumblr tbh this app has a lot of questionable content at times (esp in jjk community) and it also did wonders for my studying bc i wasn't spending time doomscrolling or shit posting anymore lmfaooo. but as for writing in particular, i think i will start to post ihm again exclusively. i can't say anything about kickoff or my other projects, but i feel comfortable to start posting ihm again.

sorry, i know that i have kept my replies and ask box off for a long time. but i will open them again once i start posting chapters because i really miss interacting with you guys.

anywho, these are my updates lol i'm like not sure how many of my readers are still here or which ones have moved on but that's ok, i'm grateful to anyone n everyone. hope to see you all soon again!

[swoleas]

Since Veilguard was released, there is this genre of Dragon Age fans popping up who are explaining Dragon Age lore, who have been talking a lot about Qunari lore. Disappointingly, they've just been taking Bioware's qunari lore at face value for every single game, no matter how much the Qunari lore for each game retcons the lore from game before it.

And I feel like, it needs to be understood that, Qunari were designed to be "Militant Islamic Borg" -- the intent behind them is to be this oriental technologically advanced people who are violent and expansionist savages and made specifically to contrast the rest of Thedas, meant to be White and European. They are routinely called barbarians and savages, real world slurs used against people from the SWANA region, by characters the players are meant to see as sympathetic and intelligent, like Solas. The lore starts and ends with this. And even with Gaider not working on the game, each bit of new Qunari lore introduced is built on 2 things: Racism and Vibes.

Trying to explain Qunari lore without even examining the deeply racist framework within which Qunari lore exists is inadvertently reinforcing the racism and the orientalism and xenophobia in the writing. You cannot separate them.

I have been seeing people calling Qunari society "inherently violent" or "teaching violence" and that this is why they are written as having had the Antaam branch away and go to the South and join the ancient Gods. And No. That is not correct in any sense. But if you rewrite the lore of the Qunari in every single game, of course that would be your takeaway. The real reason they are written this way is so you can have a faceless orcish brute enemy archetype that you can kill in Dragon Age: The Veilguard without any guilt. It's literally not deeper than that.

Why is it that Bioware is so resistant to having us go to Seheron or go to Par Vollen and walk amongst Qunari society and view them in a context where they are just living their lives? Is it possibly because it will draw attention to how alien and inhuman they are intended to be? Is it so they are not humanized in a way that makes every previous inclusion of Qunari seem jarring and uncomfortable to see?

In Origins, we meet Sten, and though he exists to expound on this group of people who exist in Thedas, the Qunari, and introduce us to this bit of world building which isn't directly relevant to the main story, but fleshes out the world beyond Ferelden. The writing was still racist (after all "militant Islamic Borg" refers to their Origins iteration), but you got so little information that you could infer that there may be some nuance there, especially given the way Sten is written in a way that humanizes the Qunari. Later lore shows him as being someone who cares deeply about the world around him and, as Arishok, about diplomacy. And all this not conflicting with his belief in the tenets of the Qun.

And in Dragon Age 2, the game pivots into making them one of the major causes of conflict in the story. This is the first introduction of Qunari as faceless brute enemy archetypes which you can kill without guilt, without explanation of why you can kill them without guilt--at least not immediately. You do not walk into DA2 knowing who Tal-Vashoth are and why they are attacking you--only that they're violent and they yell things in a foreign language at you.

The Arishok in Dragon Age 2 is stubborn, dogmatic, and violent when opposed or crossed. He shows up, sets up a military compound, and stays there for years. Your only representation here is a military leader and his subordinates, contrasted with equally violent mercenaries who the game promises are of a completely different ideology. All shirtless muscular men, who speak in a growling menacing dialect.

Then Bioware turns around and goes. Just kidding! Those weren't the real Qunari; they're a violent offshoot! We promise they are nuanced, you just haven't met those ones yet. They give us Tallis in Mark of the Assassin, but she's an elf, and one who had to pick between slavery and the Qun, and picks the lesser of two evils. Sure, she's sympathetic, but you get the impression that Hawke feels betrayed to find out that she's Qunari, and interrogates her on this--which, is partly, I guess, you, the player, clicking the dialogue options to learn more, but Tallis is on the defensive, trying to convince you Qunari are people, just like you and me.

Inquisition introduces another Ben-Hassrath, like Tallis, in the Iron Bull. And on the surface, his inclusion is quite a lot like Sten in Origins. They both showed up because there was an unknown threat in the South that they were ordered to investigate. Unlike Sten, though, you are given the option to convert him away from the Qun. Not only that, but the game drills into you how there is no free will under the Qun. But then contradicts itself with Bull telling you that under the Qun you DO have the choice to change your role under the Qun and that there is even a word for it, Aqun Athlok, which means transgender, but, in a society where gender is directly related to the role you perform in society, that implies less rigidity and more open-mindedness than every other character wants you to believe.

However, beyond dialogue with Krem and the Iron Bull about gender (and later Taash in the Veilguard), Bioware is not interested in exploring the implications of the existence and acceptance of Aqun Athlok in Qunari culture.

And in the end, if Bull becomes Tal-Vashoth, that's framed as the outcome that is overall most positive--the outcome where he can keep his romantic relationships (whether that's with the Inquisitor or with Dorian), his friendships with the Inquisition and the Chargers, and his individuality. It's reinforced in banter with his companions and dialogue with the Inquisitor. And it all sounds a little too close to how white savior types talk about Muslims who leave SWANA and leave Islam to come to the more enlightened and liberating West.

By the Veilguard, the Qunari lore is already so wishy washy that sure I guess now we have to believe that the Antaam (literally just the Qunari military) broke away from the other Qunari because the other Qunari weren't expansionist and violent enough. I guess that's what we are going with. And that's the reason why, as a gameplay mechanic, we see the return of the Qunari as a faceless brute enemy archetype. And this time, instead of them clearly speaking in normal pitch but in a foreign language (like in DA2), they communicate in inhumanly deep, animal-like grunts and growls. Even when they're not being hostile to you, and you pass them by in Treviso just hanging out? They are still hollering and growling in monstrous deep voices, without a trace of a thought out and well-enunciated language. And how racist do you have to be for you to be more racist than the DA2 Qunari?

I don't even want to get into whatever scraps you get through Taash and their personal quest because it's so irrelevant and detached from everything it feels like putting a bandaid over a stab wound. Nevermind Taash introducing us to a brand new and innovative genre of Qunari who can sniff things out like hunting dogs. Thanks for that one Bioware -- "but nooooo, Nairuz, they're part dragon it makes sense in the lore" -- the ancient Elves can also turn into wolves and dragons and even monsters, but you don't see them growling and sniffing and prowling like animals.

All this to say. Stop trying to make sense of Qunari lore in a way that validates and justify the decisions Bioware made, when they made those decisions out of Islamophobia and racism and orientalism. I am tired of seeing this lore be uncritically parroted by Dragon Age lore accounts.

[rottenzombrainz]

How would the ghouls feel if a like dove appears while they're with mc/pc

I'm so so sorry this took me so long!!!

anon this is a beautiful idea I love you mwah mwah mwah mwah mwah

I hope you don't mind me tweaking this just a little though!

Ghouls Reaction to Seeing a Like Dove While Alone with MC

These are all written under the assumption that you're the one whose feelings made the Like Dove show.

Frostheim:

Jin Kamurai - Jin would notice the dove but he wouldn't care for its presence or for what it means. He's King Kamurai, after all. There's probably dozens of students thinking about him.

Tohma Ishibashi - I could totally see Tohma teasing you about the dove once he sees it. He'd ask you if you know what it means or if you brought it here- but he'd change the topic before you could answer

Lucas Errant - Luca would point out the dove, thinking it looks pretty, but he wouldn't realize what it means despite Kaito telling him in the early chapters.

Kaito Fuji - Kaito would freak the fuck out and cry like he just won the lottery. Seeing a Like Dove basically is like winning the lottery for him.

Vagastorm:

Alan Mido - Alan would point out the dove, but only because he thinks it looks nice. He has absolutely no idea what it means. "Hey. Look at that bird. Why?... It seems like something you'd like."

Shohei Haizono - Sho is used to seeing the doves hang around Leo, but not him. What did they mean again? Something about someone liking someone else? Whatever, he doesn't care.

Leo Kurosagi - Leo wouldn't pay any mind to the Like Dove. He sees those things all the time, after all. It doesn't mean anything to him anymore.

Jabberwock:

Haru Sagara - Haru would think it's just another anomaly wandering around Jabberwock- not that it's near him for any specific reason. He'd still tease you about it though. "Gyahaha! A Like Dove! Those only show up when someone's crushing on you!! Do you have a thing for me?"

Towa Otonashi - Towa would get so giddy and happy. After all, he saw a Like Dove while he was with you!! That must mean you love him justtt as much as he loves you! He'd wrap his arms tightly around you and give you a big hug as he nuzzles you.

Ren Shiranami - Ren would brush it off completely. "Oh, that? Yeah apparently those show up and visit people when someone's crushing on them. Dunno who'd ever be into me tho."

Sinostra:

Taiga Hoshibami - He'd eat it. And then he'd eat you. It's up to you whether it's in the kinky way or not.

Romeo Lucci - The Like Dove would immediately catch Romeo's eye and he'd demand you to capture it for him. He'd be too focused on grabbing the rare anomaly to even confront you about why it appeared when you were with him.

Ritsu Shinjo - Ritsu wouldn't say anything about the dove but he'd take note of it. If he kept seeing them around, he'd eventually talk to you about it. " I often see Like Doves whenever we're together. Do you have romantic feelings for me?"

Hotarubi:

Haku Kusanagi - Haku would tease you about the dove, but in the kind of way that revolves around you. "You see that dove over there? It means someone's thinking of you. I'm not surprised. You're quite the catch~"

Subaru Kagami - Subaru would be more shy about it than you. He wouldn't want to bring it up... what if you think he's accusing you of having a crush on him? He probably wouldn't even be able to look at the pink bird.

Zenji Kotodama - Zenji would point out the dove and sing a little rhyme he wrote about it. He'd tell you stories of the dove without really realizing why it showed up for him.

Obscuary:

Edward Hart - Ed would pretend not to notice the dove while he teases you (aka asks you outlandish questions). And of course, he'd throw in a "Do you prefer Rui or Lyca?"

Rui Mizuki - Rui would point it out and tease you about it relentlessly. "You know what those mean, right? Someone has a crush~"

Lyca Colt - Lyca would notice the Like Dove from the sudden new smell. He'd glare and growl at it, thinking it means danger. "Grrr... what is that thing? Why's it following me around?"

Mortkranken:

Yuri Isami - Seeing the dove would boost Yuri's already massive ego. Of course someone's thinking of him! He's a magnificent doctor! Wait... what do you mean Like Doves show for romantic adoration?! After this realization, he'd go into Victorian Gentleman Cardiac Arrest ™

Jiro Kirisaki - Jiro probably wouldn't even notice it unless you pointed it out. Even then, he'd just info dump about the biology of the Like Dove, the meaning of it's presence completely going over his head.

[musingsofahufflepuff]

Just to Stop the Feeling

bi!Theodore Nott x m!reader; angst & fluff

summary: in the wake of his mother’s death and his father’s ever increasing expectations of him, Theodore finds love in a place he never would have expected

a/n: a year in the making and this might be the gayest thing i’ve ever written. big shout out to @suugarbabe for listening to me yap about this for weeks, the anon who requested this, and everyone who’s been supporting me the past year. here's 6.2k words of bi awakening, enjoy ♡

The Great Hall was loud, too loud if you asked Theodore. The Sytherin was sat at his house table, head propped up on one hand as his friends chattered around him. The sorting ceremony had just wrapped up which meant everyone in the Hall was catching up about their summers. Theo thought back to just a couple days ago, the oppressive silence that haunted the Nott Manor in stark contrast to just how lively and crowded it was now. His father was rarely in common spaces nowadays, thank Merlin, but that left Theo to stalk around the Manor much like the ghosts floating above him now. If only it was as interesting an existence as Sir Nicholas or even Peeves. Not even a poorly rolled cigarette in the garden brought much enjoyment to him these days.

“Theo! Are you with us mate?”

His eyes drag up to meet the inquisitive look on Enzo’s face. He hums in acknowledgement.

“We’ve been talking to you for the past five minutes.” Theo takes the cue to look around and see the group looking at him, some in amusement and some—Mattheo specifically, though he tries to hide it—with concern.

He slips on his signature lazy half smirk with minimal effort, rehearsed and perfected. “Tired from the train, what did I miss?”

Enzo perks up and launches them back into conversation, Mattheo visibly relaxing in his peripheral. Arm still supporting his head, he jokes and laughs and nods along to everyone recapping their summer breaks, feeling hollow.

The Slytherin common room wasn’t cozy in the traditional sense, with its cool lighting and excess of stone architecture, but Theo found it comforting nonetheless. He was sitting on one of the leather couches in front of the fireplace, this time only in the company of Mattheo and Draco.

Cool leather against his skin contrasted nicely with the heat of the fire, the familiar voices of his friends putting his soul at ease for the first time in months. He loosely kept up with what they were talking about, his mind simultaneously wandering to thoughts about the new term. Evidently, Draco and Mattheo were on the same wavelength as the topic shifted to Hogwarts and—much to Theo’s dismay—girls. “So Nott, got your eye on anyone this year?”

Theo rolled his head against the back of the couch to face Draco, that smirk back on his face. “Eh, hadn’t thought about it too much. I know Pansy has hers on you, Malfoy.”

The blond scoffs, “as if I wasn’t aware.”

“Like a predator on prey,” Mattheo cracks, smile evident in his voice. Theo allows himself to chuckle as Draco looks at them helplessly. Theo feels Matt’s elbow nudge at his side. “Too bad it isn’t Granger looking at him that way.”

A pillow flies past Theo’s head and smacks the boy next to him square in the face. Mattheo dramatically falls back onto the couch before erupting into laughter.

“Too bad you aren’t a beater, huh Malfoy?” Theo quips, quickly putting up his hands to potentially block another projectile pillow.

Draco just groans, “I’m going to bed.”

The first month of classes flies by fairly quickly, everyone falling into their usual rhythm. Quidditch practices a few times a week, late nights smoking in the astronomy tower and the odd party here and there. Theo is itching to get off the castle grounds.

That’s why he jumped at the opportunity to go when Enzo asked the group for company on his shopping trip that Saturday morning. Theodore loved Hogsmeade in the fall. The shops would put up festive decorations and the entire atmosphere of the small village grew extra cozy.

With a Slytherin scarf loosely draped over his shoulders and Butterbeer on the brain, he met his group of friends at the beginning of the path to Hogsmeade.

The breeze was comfortable as they walked through the village, stopping every couple of shops to peruse the new inventory. They finally make their way to the Three Broomsticks, finding a table for the group.

Theo groans as he gets voted to go up to the bar for drinks. Sitting at one of the stools is a guy in scarf showing off a badger emblem. As he gets closer, he realizes he vaguely recognizes the Hufflepuff. Theo settles himself down on the stool next to him, causing the guy to look over.

He has a quizzical expression on his face, eyes lighting up as he figures out who he’s looking at, “You’re Nott, right? I think we have a couple classes together.”

His heart thumps a little harder at his name on the boy’s lips. The boy in front of him tilts his head when Theo doesn’t respond, reminding him to give a quick nod.

The Hufflepuff’s lips tug up into a small smile as he offers up his name.

Theo blinks a couple times and stammers out something about seeing the guy around sometime before he’s speed walking back to the table, no drinks in hand.

“Whoa, who got Nott blushing?”

Theo furrows his brows together in confusion, a hand coming up to his face. And sure enough, heat was radiating off his cheeks.

“Never mind that, Theo! Where’s the butterbeer?”

Monday morning Theo is sitting in History of Magic before class starts, getting ready for an hour of boredom, when books hitting the desk with a thud catches his attention. He’s startled to see you, the Hufflepuff boy from the Three Broomsticks, standing there already looking at him.

“Mind if I sit here?”

Theo nods, feeling like an idiot. Why was this Hufflepuff boy able to completely shut off his ability to speak, let alone think?

That bright smile is back on your face as you take the seat next to him. And his heart flutters.

“So glad this is the last year of having to put up with Binns and his masterclass story telling,” he can practically feel the sarcasm dripping from your voice and finds himself cracking a smile. An actual smile, not the smirk he usually puts on.

“I know, it’s a wonder anyone manages to stay awake.”

You gesture to the travel mug in your hands, “gotta keep at least a bit of caffeine on me for emergencies. One of my muggle-born friends gave me something called an energy drink? It’s…a lot, to be quite honest.”

Theo huffs a laugh, “energy drink? You’d be better off with some espresso than whatever muggles put in those things.”

You give a contemplative nod, “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Before he can figure out something else to say, to keep existing in the surprising warmth of conversation with you, Binns is starting up his monotone ramble. Theo feels his heart sink as you look away from him to at least make an attempt to pay attention. He silently looks through his textbook, trying to ignore the weird sensation in his chest.

“Hey Theo, wanna come to the Astronomy Tower tonight?” Mattheo’s voice comes from behind where he’s sat in the common room the next evening after dinner.

He pulls his nose out of the book he was buried in as he thinks it over. It had been a while since he’d had a proper smoke with the lads, and he didn’t need to ask to know that’s what Mattheo had in mind. It doesn’t take long for him to set his book down on the table with a nod, “yeah, sure.”

As he turns around to face him, he sees Enzo right behind the other boy, grinning with a thumbs up. The look on his face makes Theo debate changing his mind, but he walks out of the common room with the pair anyway. 

The walk up to the Astronomy Tower is long and filled with so many stairs that Theo is very quickly reminded why he doesn’t bother coming up here as often as he thinks he’d like to. Enzo and Mattheo walk slightly in front of him, talking about something Theo doesn’t really bother to listen in on, Quidditch perhaps? How those two don’t run out of things to talk about, he’ll never know. He’s so lost in thought he barely notices the last two flights of stairs to the top and he’s suddenly hit with the cool air of early fall. He’s also suddenly aware that Mattheo and Enzo are no longer talking, but instead looking at him. He blinks.

“Huh?”

“Told ya he’s just been on a different planet lately,” Enzo quips, nudging Mattheo with his elbow. Mattheo nods in agreement but doesn’t comment on it, instead repeating his question, “I said do ya got your own smokes or are you taking one off me? Cause if you are, we’re fucked. I’m out.”

Theo isn’t surprised in the slightest, “is that why you invited me? Free cigs?” Nonetheless, he pulls a pack out of his pocket and holds it out for him.

Matt grins as he swipes one, “nah, but it doesn’t hurt. You’ve always got nicer ones than me.” Enzo immediately scoffs.

“It’s cause you’re broke Matty—”

“Shut up, no I’m not!”

“Then explain why you keep mooching off of me—” they continue to bicker before Theo cuts them off. “Matt, got a light?” 

Mattheo shuts up and holds out a lighter, flicking it to life with practiced ease. Enzo swoops in with his joint before Theo can even pull a cigarette out of his pack, rolling his eyes at his friend. Mattheo raises an eyebrow quizzically, “weed? Seriously?”

Enzo just shrugs nonchalantly, cocky little smirk on his face. “Not my fault neither of you know how to have fun—hold on, is that my fucking lighter?!” Mattheo gives him a shrug, moving it away from where Enzo’s leaning in to get a better look. 

Theo sighs, “I think he meant on a school night—”

“Who are you? My mum? Didn’t think you cared about actually attending lessons, Teddy—” Theo immediately scowls at the nickname, making Enzo raise his hands in surrender, smirk still planted on his face. Merlin, he could be insufferable.

Theo returns the shrug, trying to play it off, “just figured with OWLs coming up—”

He’s cut off once again, this time by Mattheo, “don’t tell me, you wanna make sure you don’t miss sitting by that Hufflepuff.” Damn his ability to see straight through him. “Don’t think we didn’t notice you two sitting together yesterday in Binns’ class.”

“Well, I didn’t…” Enzo interjects but is ignored by Mattheo other than an exasperated eye roll.

“You seemed pretty chatty; wasn’t that the same guy at the Three Broomsticks last Saturday?”

Theo quickly lights the cigarette on Mattheo’s still flickering flame and shoves it between his lips. He receives an unimpressed look at his attempt to avoid the question, but to his credit, Matt refrains from pressing further. The same cannot be said for Enzo.

“So what, you’re fraternizing with Hufflepuffs now, are ya mate? Never thought I’d see the day—” his teasing is abruptly ended by Mattheo whacking him upside the head.

Mattheo lights his own cigarette before putting the lighter away, taking a deep drag from it. There’s a beat of silence between them. A gentle breeze passes through the tower as Theo looks out at the Scottish Highlands bathed in the light of the moon.

“He’s just…nice, I guess. Doesn’t seem to mind I’m a Slytherin,” Theo finally answers, releasing a stream of smoke.

Enzo chuckles, rubbing the back of his head where he was whacked. “Fair enough. I feel like usually only girls that want a little fun are willing to break that barrier.” He raises his eyebrows suggestively as he takes a drag as well. Mattheo snorts with a nod. “At least it's not a Gryffindor.” Theo’s nose subconsciously scrunches.

“Yeah, remember that Gryffindor Enz was all over end of last term because word was going around he had a good pot stash?” Now it’s Mattheo getting shoved, but he barely reacts besides a huff of a laugh. 

“Didn’t even have the goods,” Enzo pouts petulantly, “wasted a whole 2 weeks for nothing.”

“I think you’ll live, mate.”

Theo leans back against the railing, cigarette between his lips as he watches his best mates as their bickering shifts into them laughing and joking like it always does. He adds a couple quips here and there, mind wandering to the Hufflepuff boy periodically as the cigarette slowly dwindles. Once it’s reached the end of its life, he snuffs it out, pushing himself off the floor where they’d ended up sitting for the past hour. “I think I’m heading back down to the dorms, it’s getting late.”

Mattheo shares a look with Enzo. With a smirk, Enzo wolf whistles, “gotta get your beauty sleep for your little badger, eh Nott?”

Theo just flips him the middle finger as he crosses the tower to the first of many, many stairs. As his descending footsteps echo through the stairwell, Enzo turns to Mattheo, “poor fucker is whipped.”

Mattheo nods, “and down right oblivious…how many galleons are we betting for how long it takes him to figure it out?”

There’s a mischievous smirk on the other boy’s face. “How much you got?”

The next morning, Theo is once again startled by the Hufflepuff boy dropping his books on the table with that same dramatic thud. If Theo didn’t know any better, he would start to think it was intentionally to get his attention. This time, he speaks first.

“Morning.” 

There’s that bright smile again and Theo’s chest feels…odd.

“Morning!” you chirp as you slide into the seat. “I took your advice and got some espresso, much better than that muggle concoction. Figured since it was your suggestion, I’d bring you some. Mum got some beans from a cafe in London when I wrote her about it.”

Once again a warm sensation floods Theo as a second mug is set on the table and slid his direction. He carefully picks it up and takes off the lid, finding a double shot inside. It’s still hot from what he assumes is a temperature charm on the mug and the warm sensation in his chest gets stronger.

He raises the cup to his nose, inhaling the comforting aroma of coffee before taking a sip. It’s not quite the taste of home, but it’s close. He nods appreciatively. 

Then before he can stop himself he’s making an offer, accent a hint thicker than he typically tries to control, “I’ll have to make you a cup the way I had growing up sometime. This is good though.”

Theo doesn’t have time to backtrack or change his mind before your smile is turning softer. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

To hide the flushing of his cheeks, he quickly downs the rest of the liquid and hands the mug back. For maybe the first time ever he’s glad Binns decides now is the perfect time to begin the monotonous period. 

Out of the corner of his eye he sees you put the mug back in your bag, soft smile still on your face. And maybe Theo doesn’t hate this class as much as he thought he did.

Over the following weeks, Theodore does the unthinkable: he looks forward to bloody History of Magic, just for the opportunity to chat with you before class. 

His friends share looks at breakfast as he starts leaving earlier and earlier each Monday and Wednesday, hoping to get even just a bit of extra time with you. Because he’s too nervous to ask you to hang out. And he cannot for the life of him figure out why. 

He’s Theodore Nott. The stoic, level headed and lusted after Slytherin. Right? He makes people nervous. He flusters pretty girls. So what the bloody hell is going on? 

He’s never, not once in his 5 years at Hogwarts, ever considered the possibility that someone could do this to him. Let alone a stupid, pretty Hufflepuff boy with a gentle, excited smile that’s way too eager to mingle with a snake. But somewhere in his gut Theo knows he’d be devastated if the other boy stopped. 

And that terrifies him.

One morning after several weeks of sitting together, you once again drop your books onto the desk with the theatrics Theo’s come to expect from you. He subconsciously finds himself perking up at the sound just before you start chattering away, something he’s also grown almost fond of. He likes that you tend to fill the space he’d otherwise find awkward or tedious in conversation, seemingly undeterred by his often quiet nature. And he’s more than happy to just listen to you and bask in your welcoming presence. 

This time you’re talking about the History of Magic exam coming up in a couple weeks and your lack of a study partner, something that instantaneously catches Theo’s attention. 

“Yeah, my usual study buddy bailed on me, the nerve,” you laugh. “So now I’m on the hunt for a new one…” 

Theo’s heart rate picks up as you trail off, there’s no way you’re going to say what he’s hoping you will. Right? There’s no way he’s that lucky. Hell, there’s no way someone like you would want to be around him outside sitting next to each other in the worst class offered at Hogwarts. He’s pretty sure you have less controversial friends to ask than a brooding Slytherin whose best mate is the son of Voldemort, for fucks sake—

His internal pity party is cut short by you looking at him almost… nervously?

“Would you maybe be free to, I dunno, study together some time next week? It’s cool if you’re not, I just thought—well, I’m not sure what I thought—other than that I would offer,” your question starts to shift into a ramble and your cheeks flush as you seem to realize it. Meanwhile, Theo’s heart has stopped and his breath catches in his throat. He has to hold himself back from shouting a thrilled “Yes!”

He clears his throat, desperately clinging to his composure. “Yeah, sure, I could make that work. When did you have in mind?”

Theo feels nearly sick with nerves as he sits at the Central Hall fountain outside of the library waiting for you. He was at least 15 minutes early, mostly because Enzo said he would hex him if he kept pacing around the dorm room like he had been for the prior half hour. His foot taps anxiously in a way he is not used to. He's no stranger to stress, but this is on a different level. All he's going to be doing is go over the most boring aspects of wizarding history with you for a couple hours and here he is, worried he's going to end up in the Hospital Wing with heart palpitations. He takes a deep, shaky breath as he looks up at the snoring dragon mural above the library. Just breathe you idiot!

“Hey Theo, sorry I'm late. My dormmate would not shut up.” He hears your voice before he sees you, his head turning to follow the sound. And he tries to keep the surprise off his face at hearing you call him Theo instead of Nott like you had been since that afternoon in the Three Broomsticks. “You ready for the most exciting next couple hours of your life?” Oh, and what he wouldn't do to see that teasing little grin on your face more—

“Ready,” he stands from the fountain bench, following behind you through the heavy wooden doors of the library.

He walks half a step behind you as you weave your way through the tables and shelves, finding a relatively remote spot in the already quiet space. For maybe the first time in—your friendship? Theo hopes that's what you two are at least—the entire time he's known you, your set your books down without the slam.

You must have noticed the look he was giving you because you smirk. “I don't just go throwing books when you're not around. And close your jaw, you'll catch lacewing flies.”

Theo lightly bites on his lip as he sits next to you at the table, your shoulders almost touching. You flip the massive textbook open and pull a couple quills and parchment from your bag as you settle in to go over the material.

There’s a feeling of familiarity with you that Theo wasn’t anticipating. Conversation comes more naturally than when he’s spoken with you before class and he realizes he really, really likes spending time with you. There’s no bickering like there is with Matt and Enzo, no snarky comments thrown around for laughs. It’s peaceful and warm. 

He feels like that around you a lot, he realizes, warm. Comfortable. His arm brushes against yours.

Theo and you spend the next couple hours working through the exam material, interspersed with getting to know each other. He listens to you ramble about your favorite classes this term, your friends—anything you’re willing to tell him, he wants to drink it all in.

Neither of you seem to notice how close you’ve gotten to each other until he can feel your breath on his face and that warmth that seems to radiate off of you. Then, you’re getting closer.

There in the back of the library, Theo’s world comes to a standstill as you gently press your lips against his, his heart threatening to pound out of his chest. It takes him a couple seconds to regain his senses before moving his lips back against yours, losing himself in the kiss. 

He notices you taste like earl grey which blends with the woody scent of your cologne in an intoxicating mixture. Much too soon for his liking you’re pulling back and he has to stop himself from whining at the loss of contact. 

His eyes flutter open to find you haven’t gone far. In the silence he thinks about how pretty your eyes are and maybe—no, definitely—that’s his new favorite color.

“Was that okay?” your voice is just above a whisper.

Theo just leans forward and recaptures your lips in another kiss. First his mind swirls with this is what kissing is supposed to feel like. He’s dumbfounded that it really can feel like fireworks and it’s not just some sappy bullshit made for the romance novels Pansy and Daphne read.

Then it all comes crashing down.

The next thing he feels is dread. Overwhelming, overpowering dread. He can’t quite place why, but it’s there. And suddenly he’s pulling away from your lips like he’s been burned.

He sees the shock on your face, but before he starts to apologize or explain, his father’s voice is itching in the back of his mind. He steps back.

Your voice saying his name is muffled by the ringing in his ears and your concerned expression is taken over by that all too familiar disappointed look in his father’s eyes. He runs away, feeling more like a coward than he’s ever felt in his life. 

And the worst part is he knows he’s leaving you alone, confused and hurt. But he does it anyway.

After wandering the corridors of the castle for the better part of 10 minutes, lost in thought, he finds himself in front of the music room. Like his body instinctively knew where he needed to be. He pushes the door open, relieved to find it empty. The wooden stairs creak as he walks up. He sits on the rug by the piano, hugging his knees to his chest.

Theo is alone in the music room not 20 minutes before Mattheo finds him. A bloodhound that boy. Or maybe he just knows Theo too well. 

“Your little badger sent me.” Mattheo eases down onto the rug next to him, close enough for his knee to lightly graze Theo’s thigh. “He was freaking out like the world was ending or he kicked your cat or something. Didn’t know where to find you, but he did find Berk and I in the Astronomy tower. So I said I’d take care of it, you’re welcome.”

Theo just hums in acknowledgment.

“So…did he actually kick your cat or what?”

Theo shakes his head.

“Well it must have been pretty bad since you came here. Haven’t seen you hiding out here since, well—” his mum died. Mattheo doesn’t have to finish his sentence, they both know.

A long breath he didn’t realize he was holding breaks out in a sigh as his eyes shut. The soft enchanted piano music is the only sound for a moment as he wills away the emotions threatening to surface. “I don’t know, maybe the world is ending.”

A couple more beats of quiet. “Wanna talk about it?” He knows deep down it’s a question Matt will respect the answer to. And he briefly debates turning him down, but something compels him to slowly nod.

“He—we kissed.”

“Was it bad?”

“No.”

Mattheo nods as he considers the response he was given. “So the problem was that it was good?”

“Yes? No? Maybe?”

“That’s kinda dodging the question, mate.”

Theo groans, “I don’t know, okay?” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I just— cazzo! This is wrong, isn’t it? Feeling like this?”

“Theo—”

“I can’t feel this way for another guy. My father would disown me and it’d ruin my life. I’m supposed to marry a pureblood witch and produce an heir and—”

Before Theo has time to stop him or even process what’s happening, Mattheo is grabbing him by the face and pressing their lips together, and that same fluttering sensation is back. It’s not as strong and thrilling as kissing you, Theo’s not sure that’s even replicable, but it still feels nice in a way none of his previous kisses have been. Where he was going through the motions for some reason even he didn’t understand. But no, once again he can understand why people would want to do this.

Then as quick as he was pulled in, his best friend is pulling away, silently observing him for a moment.

“Did the world end?” 

“…No.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

They sit staring at each other as Theo’s brain struggles to formulate a response. 

“Matty, I—” he hesitates like this is going to be what destroys their friendship, “I don’t think I’m…straight.”

“I didn’t think you were.” 

And something about the way he says it makes Theo feel better. Like he’s not being judged or ridiculed for feeling this way. Like it’s something natural. A no-brainer, boring fact of life. Theo thinks he might cry. 

Instead he leans forward and connects their lips again, just briefly. And part of him knows Mattheo can feel the underlying sadness and fear in it. But when they pull apart once again, neither of them comment on it. A weight feels like it's been lifted off him.

“I think,” Theo pauses as he debates speaking about this out loud for the first time, like it will make it real. “I think I haven’t really felt like myself since my mum...y'know?” He says it like it’s a question, but they both know the truth. “I know it’s been 2 years, I should be fine. But I’m not.”

Mattheo, who had been quietly listening, speaks. “I don’t know Theo…I’ve barely heard you talk about her since you came back to school third year. Have you talked about it to anyone? Hell, have you let yourself grieve?”

“I…I don’t know how. My father stopped mentioning her after the funeral and—he barely acknowledged she was even gone.” He pulls his knees back up to his chest. “I miss her.”

He feels the comforting warmth of Matt’s hand on his shoulder blade. And the gentle touch of his thumb across his cheek, wiping a tear away is the first indication that he’s started to cry. He quickly sniffles in an attempt to stop the tears, but it doesn't work. If anything, it just makes them fall faster. He tucks his head down, forehead against his knees. Mattheo's hand gently rubs his back as they sit in silence as he cries. He's grateful Matt doesn't try to help by speaking, the gentle piano filling his ears like a warm hug after being lost in the cold for days with no reprieve.

The silent sobs eventually slow, his body no longer shaking from the force of them. And weirdly, he feels better. He’s spent his whole life being told that men don’t cry, especially pureblood wizards of their status, so when the weight comes off his chest he’s shocked at how easy it is to just breathe. 

He pulls his head up to look at Matt, who isn’t looking directly at him but keeps his hand on Theo’s back. A soft murmured, “thanks,” passes his lips and causes the curly haired boy to return his attention to him. Mattheo doesn’t comment on how red and tear-stained his eyes are, much to Theo’s relief. 

“You good, mate?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Mattheo hesitates before speaking again, “you don’t have to listen to me, cause what do I know, but I think you should talk to him.” Theo thinks back to you, how lost and hurt you looked when he ran from the library and he sighs. 

“When did you get so wise?”

Mattheo shrugs, “we’ve all had to grow up pretty fast…you’re my best mate Theo. It sucks seeing you like this, y'know?” He lightly nudges Theo’s shoulder, “kinda ruins the vibe.”

Theo can’t help but chuckle, “you’re an idiot.”

“And here I thought I was wise.”

“I was wrong, you’re fully a dumbass.”

“Nah, that’s Enz. But seriously, talk to him. We’re all tired of you pretending this isn’t something you want, whether you realize it or not.”

Theodore reluctantly nods, “fine. Fine, you’re right. I think I like my, what did you call him? Little badger?”

Mattheo grins and shifts away from Theo, looking a bit too happy for a man that just watched his friend cry over a crush.

“What are you so cheery about?” Theo raises an eyebrow as Mattheo gets up to return to the Astronomy Tower.

Mattheo throws a smirk over his shoulder as he lingers at the top of the stairs, “Enzo owes me a hundred galleons.”

“Wait! You two idioti bet on this?!”

Despite feeling somewhat better after his talk with Matt, Theo avoids you for the rest of the week. Come Wednesday morning, he’s sliding into the seat next to Mattheo in History of Magic, ignoring Enzo’s annoyed “Hey!” in protest and Mattheo’s side-eye.

He doesn’t turn around to see the disappointed look on your face as your books softly thunk on the desk behind him where you two usually sat. But he doesn’t miss the lack of usual flair the sound has. His heart aches.

“Riddle said you’d be in here.”

Your voice breaks through Theodore’s thoughts, pulling his eyes toward you walking up the steps and over to him.

He'd been finding himself coming back to the music room over and over again since he started avoiding you. He wasn't entirely sure why, maybe he just wanted to stop the dull ache of loneliness in the absence of you. He pushes the thought out of his mind.

You settle down on the rug next to him, jarringly similar to the position he'd been in with Mattheo a week ago. Only you were further away, and while he couldn't blame you, he hated it.

“Sorry for kissing you so suddenly, I just—I’d been wanting to for like a month and I guess I was hoping you wanted it too. I didn’t mean to scare you off.”

He quickly shakes his head, “no, don’t apologize, it was—I liked it. I’m sorry for running off like that. I think I got…overwhelmed. I didn’t exactly know I was, y’know, into guys before…you.” He forces it out despite his embarrassment, cheeks a light shade of pink.

You look at him with a small, somewhat sad smile, “it’s fine. Kinda reminds me of that day we properly met in Hogsmeade. You ran then too.” You pause briefly before adding, “and don’t worry about it, this is new for me too.”

Theo flushes more intensely at the memory as you turn your head to look around the music room. “I don’t think I’ve ever been in here before. Riddle had to give me directions...Why here?”

His mouth goes dry as he stares at you. “My, uh, my mum used to play the piano. She tried to teach me, but I couldn’t fully get it before…” he trails off for a moment before pushing past it, “I come here to feel close to her.”

A look of realization passes over your face, “oh, I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I don’t really like to talk about it.”

A hesitant hand reaches out to rest on his knee. He didn’t even realize he’d relaxed his legs down from his chest. 

“We don’t have to talk about it, Teddy—”

He gasps at the nickname, soft and filled with raw emotion. “I want to.”

“She was… the only person I felt truly got me, before Mattheo at least. And she uh, she used to call me Teddy. So since she—” he hesitates, the finality of it all hitting him at once like it’s the first time he heard the news all over again, “since she died, I haven’t let anyone call me that.”

He sees the way your eyes soften further, but it’s not from pity, like he’d come to expect from the topic, no, it’s deeper than that. It’s empathy. “I didn’t know,” your voice is quiet, like you’re about to apologize, but truthfully that’s the last thing he wants. So he keeps speaking.

“She would have loved you.” His hand shifts to rest over yours, still on his leg. “She would have loved how…happy you make me. So, I want you to call me Teddy, please.” It comes out a bit more desperate than he intended, but when did anything ever go as planned when it came to you?

But you don’t run. You don’t look at him in disgust for showing emotion. You just nod with a soft, “okay Teddy.”

And god, that fluttering sensation is back. A small smile tugs on his lips; before he knows it he’s leaning forward, needing to be closer, as close as you’ll possibly let him. And this time, without any guilt or shame or fear, he kisses you.

And he feels like he’s drowning. Drowning in your lips, in your scent, in you. Like water filling his lungs, it burns so sweet. Surrender to the unknown, letting his lingering heartache and worries about his father’s expectations go until all that’s left is you.

It’s pure bliss. 

As your lips move together in sync, his body heats up and he finds himself craving more. He’s just received a taste, but he can already tell he’s going to be insatiable; the need to devour you, to become one with your very essence, is overwhelming. But he doesn’t run away. He pushes deeper. 

He feels your hand cupping his face, almost to steady yourself from falling over as his tongue brushes against your lips, begging, pleading for mercy. Like he’ll fall apart if you don’t let him explore every inch of you. Your lips part. 

Tongues dancing together, he pushes you down until your back hits the rug, his torso hovering over yours as his hands on either side of you hold him up. Your fingers caress his cheek, touch featherlight. 

The kiss lasts until neither of you can breathe, parting only to gasp and pant, inches from each other’s face. You suddenly laugh, a sweet sound that rivals the room’s quiet piano in its beauty.

“You’re still here,” your eyes search his, like you’re trying to find doubt in them, but there is none. He wants to kiss you like that for the rest of his life.

“I don’t think I’m scared anymore.”

Your arms coming up to wrap around his neck and pull him back into another kiss catches him off guard, but he melts into it like his body was made to meld with yours. It’s soft and sweet and feels like home.

The next morning at breakfast, you’re sitting next to him like you belong at the Slytherin table, at his side and getting acquainted with his friends. Enzo’s in the middle of asking you for details on which Hufflepuffs have the best weed when Draco comes over and sits down, an apprehensive look on his face. “I suppose this is something you just expect us to get used to?” 

“Yes.” It’s Mattheo who speaks, grabbing a bit of toast off Draco’s plate and taking a bite. “He makes Theo happy, he’s one of us now as far as I’m concerned.”

Enzo pipes up from beside him, “I’ll do anything to never have to listen to Theo hopelessly pine like that ever again.”

Draco huffs and as Theo’s about to say something, he hears you laugh softly next to him as your hand gently squeezes his thigh. “Just gonna have to live with some yellow brightening your mornings, Malfoy.” The other two boys snicker at the defeated look on Draco’s face and start to tease him that he’s just jealous Nott grew a pair and managed to ask someone out. But Theo barely notices.

He presses a kiss to your temple, heart fluttering as you grin up at him and for the first time in a long time, he’s happy.

[purinfelix]

HII!! can i request a mistletoe?

So i was thinking of the scene in notting hill where william(random guy) and anna(famous movie star) meet for the first time at the bookshop and later william spills orange juice on her, he take anna to his flat to change and before leaving anna kisses him (idk if i should be more elaborate with the plot help)

maybe you can write something smiliar or with this plotline for franco?

<3 love you

out of reach ᯓ★ - franco colapinto

w/c: 1.2k a/n: OHHH NOTTING HILL IS LITERALLY ONE OF MY FAV FILMS EVER I LOVE U FOR THIS - this req literally gave me an excuse to go rewatch this scene so tysm (also this started out as a blurb but .... here we are)

this is part of my 1k event - check out the rules here!!

It was your day off - or at least, it was supposed to be.

You had it all planned out, since being one of the hottest up-and-coming actresses meant time to yourself was extremely scarce. Starting the morning a little later by letting yourself sleep in, then going for a walk downtown through the morning markets and vintage stores, even dropping into a small travel-book store that caught your eye. Not so much because of your passion for travel books but rather for the boyishly charming store clerk who you locked eyes with through the front window.

But that was where you encountered your first issue, when the only other customer in the store recognised you and proceeded to ask you for a signature, while you were trying to pay for a book. Of course, you obliged, but to your surprise, the clerk continued to ring up your ridiculously overpriced book without even seeming to recognise you, or at least, he pretended not to - instead going on a tangent about how, really, your mistake was buying such a poorly written book, though you chose not to heed his advice just yet.

With just the little bump in the road cleared, you were free to return to your perfect day, a fact which lasted all of ten minutes before being interrupted. Only this time it was by a total idiot running into you with a coffee cup full of orange juice - and who even orders orange juice from a cafe? - spilling it all over your white shirt.

You were prepared to lose it until you peeked over your dark sunglasses, a weak attempt at a disguise, and caught the eye of none other than the boy from the bookstore. Immediately he began rattling off apologies, and whilst a small part of you found it a little cute, they did little to fix your sour mood. That's when he mentioned that he, conveniently, lived just a couple steps away from the street corner the two of you were standing on and that you could come over and clean yourself up.

So that's how you ended up here, in the entryway of some stranger's house - a charming stranger, but a stranger nonetheless - soaked in orange juice while he scrambled ahead of you to clean up the mess he lived in.

"Right," he huffed, noisily shoving empty pizza boxes into the nearest bin, "come on in, the bathrooms on the top floor."

You do as he says, offering an awkward smile to show appreciation for him allowing you to come over but also how weirded out you are by this whole interaction. Once upstairs, you hastily change into the only spare clothes you have - being a sparkly top and skirt combo you had been planning on wearing to tomorrow's press tour, but would have to do for now.

As you tentatively climb down the creaking stairs, you're met with the sight of the stranger clearing his dining table - which is covered in half-empty cups and unwashed plates. When he hears you though, he spins around with a bewildered expression, lips slightly parted as his eyes follow you.

For a minute you just stand there, watching his expression as the side of his mouth quirks up into a smile and as strange as it seems, you feel almost shy under his gaze.

"Oh, sorry," he finally says, breaking the silence, "do you want something to drink? Coffee?"

"No, thanks."

"Tea?"

"I'm good."

"Mate?"

"Ma- what?"

"It's from Argentina, where I'm from, it's really good, I drink about two litres of it every morning," he begins excitedly rambling once more, picking up a cup and flask from his counter and bringing it to you. "I know it doesn't look like much but it really flushes you out, like if you eat something bad in the morning just a couple sips of this and you're-" he gestures with his hands to demonstrate the laxative effect of the drink and you can't help but let out an amused laugh as you shake your head.

"Right, well, how about something to eat?" He moves swiftly, setting down the cup to open his fridge and from where you're standing you can just see inside it - though there isn't much apart from a couple old apples and a half-eaten mandarin.

"An apple?" he offers.

"No," you smile.

"Do you always say no to everything?"

You think for a little before replying slowly, "No." He nods, understandingly.

"Well, I better get going," you say. "Thanks for your," you pause, searching for the right word to describe this experience, "help."

leans his head against the corner of his fridge, green eyes on yours. "And before you go, can I just say," he begins and you brace yourself, finally, for him to make a comment about how he recognises you.

"Once you read that book, I don't think you'll be coming back to my store anytime soon, it's awful, really."

"I'll keep that in mind," you say, smiling in relief as you begin to move towards the door, and once he realises this, he moves quickly to open it for you.

"It was nice meeting you," he breathes out as the two of you stand in the doorway, "strange but nice." You nod in agreeance, and in amusement at how awkward he seems - but also how charmed you are by it. Standing there, with seemingly the only man in the world who doesn't see you immediately for the films you've been in or the characters you've played, you feel an intense force drawing you towards it.

And before you realise what you're doing or have the sanity to stop yourself, you're up on your tiptoes, with one arm wrapped around his neck, pulling him into a kiss. He doesn't seem any less shocked by your sudden actions than you do, but soon, you feel a strong arm wrap around your waist.

Pulling away, you let out a quick breath, mostly in disbelief at what you've just done, and when you look at the dazed expression on his face you can assume he feels the same.

"I'm really sorry about that strange but nice comment from earlier."

"That's okay, I thought the," you pause to mimic his actions from before when describing the mate, "bit was a real low point."

He laughs before saying abruptly, "Franco."

"Sorry?"

"My name, it's Franco."

"Well, Franco, it was nice meeting you," you turn to grab the doorknob with one hand but pause to turn to him again, "Oh, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about this."

"Right, of course, no one," he nods eagerly, "I mean, I'll tell myself but even then I might not believe it." You can't help but let out an amused laugh as you slip out his door, and back into the sun of the late morning - and as you do, you're unable to stop yourself from smiling.

[pedroscurls]

Hi! Idk if your requests are closed or not so feel free to ignore this but I’ve been going through a really tough time and I don’t have time to even breathe anymore so I was wondering if you could write something where Hugh just comforts the reader thanks!

safe with me (one-shot)

summary: hugh knows you've been having a difficult time and he hopes that he knows just what you need to help you feel better. pairing: hugh jackman x fem!reader content warnings: n/a, comfort / fluff, no use of y/n. word count: 701 a/n: to this anon, i'm so sorry that it took this long for me to fulfill your request. i hope things have gotten better since you requested this and if not, my inbox / messages are always open. thank you for requesting this (as i've been having a hard time myself with just life) - this was very cathartic and therapeutic for me. hope you enjoy. and as always, this is purely fictional! i mean no disrespect to hugh jackman.

Hugh knows you’ve been having a tough time lately, can see a change in your behavior even though you tell him that you’re fine. You smile at him, tell him that everything is okay, but Hugh knows that everything isn’t. Whenever you come home, he can see the distress and the exhaustion written all over your features and when he pulls you into his arms when in bed, he can feel the tension in your shoulders. 

It’s been like this for the last few weeks and Hugh doesn’t know if there’s anything that he could do that would help, that would alleviate the stress you’re feeling. If he could, he’d take it all away – whatever it is, Hugh would do anything to make you feel better. 

So, when you text him that you’re working late tonight, it gives him enough time to put his plan in place. He grabs two glasses of wine and your favorite white wine and ascends the stairs to go to the master bathroom. Hugh runs a warm bath for you, lighting candles around the bathroom. He looks around and bites his lower lip, slowly opening the blinds to reveal the skyline of the city. 

Hugh then jogs back downstairs to grab the bag of rose petals that he purchased earlier that evening and walks back into the bedroom. He scatters the rose petals on the white tiled floor and pours a good handful into the water. He hears his phone chime, but doesn’t have enough time to look at it when he hears you step inside the apartment. 

“Hugh?” you call out, a quiet sigh leaving your lips as you ascend the stairs. “You in the room?”

“Yeah, baby!” he answers. Hugh looks up when he sees you enter the bedroom and when your eyes meet his, he’s sure that he has done something wrong with the look on your face. Quickly, he steps out of the bathroom and walks over to you, his large hands coming up to rest on your hips. “What’s the matter? Is this too much? I just–”

Tears trickle down your cheeks and you wrap your arms around his shoulders, burying your face against the crook of his neck. Slowly, Hugh’s strong arms wrap around your waist, holding you tightly against him. “I’m not okay,” you whisper, voice trembling. 

“I know, baby,” he says quietly, moving a hand along your back. “But that’s okay,” Hugh reassures. “I’m right here.”

You cry against him, feeling like the last few weeks are finally catching up to you. You had tried to push it aside, tried to make yourself feel better, but it only pushed it further down. Being in Hugh’s arms, you finally feel like you can breathe, can finally get a glimpse that things will be okay. 

“I ran you a bath,” he whispers, turning his head to place a soft kiss on your temple. “You up for it?” 

You pull back and look up at him, wiping the tears away from your face. “You didn’t have to…”

“I know,” Hugh leans in and pecks your lips lightly. “I wanted to.” He releases his hold on you and instead reaches for your hand, leading you into the bathroom. 

You look around and bite your lower lip, tears again pooling at the corner of your eyes. “Hugh…”

“Too much?” 

“It’s perfect. You’re perfect.” 

Hugh smiles and turns to face you, gently reaching up to remove the blazer you’re wearing. “Far from it, baby. Now, let me take care of you. Will you let me do that?”

You nod slowly and look down to see your blazer pool at your feet. “Okay,” you whisper. 

Hugh hooks a finger under your chin, slowly lifting your gaze to meet with his. “Whatever you’re going through, I’m right here with you, baby. Now, let’s get you in the bath. You’ve been tense and I think you need a massage.” He smiles and pecks your lips lightly, pulling away only to help you disrobe the rest of your clothing.

You let out a relieved breath. For the first time in weeks, you feel the weight slowly begin to lift off your shoulders and that’s all thanks to Hugh.

[lady-menrva]

So...about Nico...I can't make out what Rick was trying to do with his character, so I'll take this from the top.

In PJO, he had a complete arc with development, and a good characterization (especially) considering his position as a side character, and later, a major supporting character in the original saga.

However things eventually start changing for the worse:

(Excerpt from Son of Neptune)

And

(Excerpt from Battle of the Labyrinth)

In BotL this part was so important for Nico's character. It showed that he's finally come to terms with Bianca's death, atleast up to an extent.

But in son of Neptune the way Rick just ruined it, only to make Nico a redundant plot device for Hazel's resurrection was just cheap. There were other ways Hazel could've come back to life (maybe as an escaped soul, for instance).

Later on, Rick tried to make the "Bianca was the only one who accepted Nico" excuse, but of course it doesn't add up (because chronology and logic, duh).

Fast forward to Mark of Athena, things don't improve and he's still just a plot device. This could've been fixed easily by giving him a couple of short PoV chapters, maybe focusing on his journey through tartarus. Why do I say this? Because Nico is supposed to have a more important role in HoH, and the sudden narrative upgrade from plot device to side character/major supporting character is some truly unsatisfactory writing.

Now, moving on to the House of Hades, he doesn't have much of an actual characterization, even though he stars as a major supporting character (of sorts) here. A tad disappointing, if you ask me.

Again, everything flips a complete 180 in Blood of Olympus, this time for the better. He gets a layered personality, with consistent and well-written flaws (unusual for a character written by Rick), and equally important positive character traits. His interactions with anyone not named Will or Percy were top-notch, and he had a good amount of emotional depth.

But then came in the inevitable spanner in the works: Will Solace and romance.

Thereafter, ToA onwards, everything was back to square one for Nico's character, and he was diminished to "goth ball of darkness" as complex characters often are, when paired off with highly underdeveloped and one-dimensional characters (you know, he had to match Will's 'freak')

To give the sum and substance of it, he never really had a bona fide character arc aside from PJO. In HoO, there was potential, but it never went anywhere, and in ToA, even the potential was lost. Moreover, his development post PJO was in dynamic retrograde.

Anyways, I'm so used to Rick wasting potential that I'm not even surprised any more.

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 1

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

---

Steve's parents always locked their hearts in a safe in his dad's study at night.

For as long as Steve can remember, he watched them do it, pulling their hearts out of their chests and tucking them away in the safe in an easy, practiced motion - like a dance, like something they did without even thinking about it.

He liked it, liked watching them move in unison. It made him daydream about his own partner in the future, how they could move in sync with each other, anticipating each other's every movement and not having to say a thing to know what the other wanted.

Even his parents’ hearts were similar. They were both the same pale pink, bisected with only a few silver scars, and though they didn't quite beat in unison, it was close enough that Steve's young eyes didn't notice the difference. 

“One day,” his dad always said. “When you're old enough, your heart will go in here, too. When you're trained to be separated from it, when you're grown up.”

Steve wanted to be grown up more than anything.

But his heart never looked like theirs. Even when he got old enough to pull it out of his chest, to first show it to his beaming parents, it was a deep, unblemished red.

A kid's heart, his dad called it.

“It's not a bad thing!” his dad was quick to say. “You're young, Steven, you should have a kid's heart. Go be a kid.”

He ushered him out to play with Tommy and Carol, pleased as punch when the three of them came home to get snacks.

“You've made the right friends, Steven, my boy,” his dad said one day, while Steve was in his study, watching him take his heart out of the safe and tuck it into his chest. “Tommy's not bright, but he'll do what you say, and Carol looks like she'll be taking after her mother. Find yourself a girl who fits in, and you've got the makings of the next generation.”

Steve didn't really understand what that meant, but he liked his father's approval, and Carol and Tommy were the best friends he could ever imagine, so he guessed it didn't really matter.

—

The first time his parents leave for more than just one night, Steve protests.

He grabs onto his dad's slacks, his mother's skirts, and refuses to let go.

“Steven,” his mother hisses, a warning clear in her voice.

“Little tyke loves us so much,” his father says to his business partner, who’s waiting in the front hall. There's something in his voice that Steve's never heard before, something in his eyes that makes a chill go up his spine. “Give us a minute to say goodbye.”

His parents argue in his father's study. Steve hasn't been allowed in, so he doesn't know what they're saying, but he can hear the tone, knows it's angry. 

He's not sure what he did wrong, but it must be something, so when the door opens he flinches. 

Mom doesn't look happy, but she doesn't look unhappy, either, and Dad looks pleased, so he guesses it must not be something too bad.

“Come on, Steven, my boy,” his dad says, ushering him into the study. “I think it's time we trusted you with something.”

Steve perks up, eagerly following his dad into the office and over to the safe.

“Now, you know we lock our hearts in here every night to keep them safe,” his dad says.

Steve nods. “One day mine will be in there too.”

“That's right!” His dad is smiling again, but there's still something lurking in his eyes that makes Steve nervous. “But it's not just at night. We keep them here when we go away, too, and we need someone to stay here to keep them safe.”

The idea of being trusted with something so important outweighs the lingering nerves, and Steve lights up. “Me?”

“Of course! You're our son, Steven, the best of both of us! Who else would we trust with it?”

They still leave him alone, after that, more and more often, but Steve doesn't mind.

They trust him, and he's not going to let them down.

—

Steve doesn't really like keeping his heart in his chest. It's okay, for a while, but the longer it stays the more it feels like it's trapped - like his chest is too tight and he can't breathe, like he's more alone than he's ever been.

He doesn't think hearts were meant to be locked away, but his parents tell him different, so he listens.

They're just trying to keep him safe, after all, trying to make sure he's smart and strong and doesn't get hurt. 

—

"Ugh," Carol groans. "I'm so tired of my mom asking to see my heart at the end of the day. Like, I'm in middle school now, I don't need her checking if my feelings have been hurt."

"Mine still does it, too," Tommy grumbles. "Dad keeps telling her to knock it off at least."

Steve can't remember the last time his parents wanted to see his heart. 

"Mine leaves me alone now," he brags, because it feels like he should, even if his heart clenches painfully. 

"You're so lucky," Carol says wistfully.

"Already king of the castle, huh?" Tommy asks, jostling him with his elbow.

Steve snorts. "Yeah? If I'm king, what does that make you two? Prince and princess?"

Carol wrinkles her nose. "Prince and princess are for babies," she says. "We're not kids anymore." 

"What are we, then?" Tommy asks.

"Duke and Duchess," she says decisively. "I've read about them, they're like the second commands. The king's advisors."

"Yeah," Tommy says, bobbing his head. "We're like the royal court. The three of us can take on anything."

"Hearts out," Steve says. "That's what my dad says you have to do when you're entering into an agreement."

Carol and Tommy obey immediately, holding their hearts out in the middle of the little triangle they make. Steve holds his out with theirs. All three of them are a vibrant red, plump and solid - Steve's is a little deeper, a little fuller, than both of theirs, but he figures that's okay.

He's the leader, it should be different. 

"Now what?" Carol asks.

Okay, so, Steve doesn't exactly know. Still, he can guess, based on what his dad has mentioned about his business partners, and he confidently says, "Now we make sure all of us are worth dealing with. Liar's hearts are black, and people with hearts too broken to function are full of holes and scars, and hearts with no color can't be trusted."

The three of them inspect each other's hearts closely, then nod at each other. 

"We need to touch them, too," Carol says. "My mom says that's what you do with people you trust."

Steve isn't sure about that, but he figures it can't hurt, so they rotate hearts - Steve's to Tommy, Tommy's to Carol, Carol's to Steve, and then around in a circle until Steve's holding his own heart again.

It did hurt, a little. But it didn't feel bad, just a little scary.

It's okay, though, because it's Tommy and Carol. His Duke and Duchess, the royal court.

They'd never hurt him. 

—

"Hey Mom?" Steve asks the next time she's home when he gets done with school. "Do you want to see my heart?"

"What for?" she asks, a hint of confusion in her voice that doesn't show anywhere on her perfectly made up face. "Has it changed?"

Steve's shoulders droop a little bit. He set himself up for this one. "No," he admits reluctantly. 

She hums softly, more a vague acknowledgement than anything else, and goes back to pinning her hair up.

His mom and dad must be going out somewhere tonight. 

"Can I see yours?" he asks, wanting - something. He knows they'll lock their hearts away for him to protect before they leave, knows how much it means that they trust him with that, but sometimes he just wants to see them.

"Of course, darling," she says absently, pulling it out with a practiced motion and setting it on the vanity in front of him. 

It's still exactly the same as the last time he saw it. Steve glances over at her, but she isn't even looking at him. He bites his lip, then reaches out to touch it, his hand resting gently on top of it. 

His mom flinches, just the tiniest bit, but doesn't tell him to take his hand away. 

Steve frowns. "Does that hurt?"

"It always hurts when someone touches your heart, Steven," she replies. "That's why you need to keep it in your chest, why you need to be careful about who you let close to it."

He considers that. "But you let me touch it anyway."

"Of course," his mom says. "You're my Steven."

He likes the words, and if he were a little younger, he thinks they might fill him with warmth, make his heart flush even redder. But he's old enough now to recognize that tone - the same tone she uses when he hears her on the phone with one of her friends or one of her clients, and she thinks they're being stupid.

Steve isn't stupid. 

He pulls his hand away.

If his mom's heart hurts every time he touches it, then he won't reach for it anymore.

—

Steve is in eighth grade when they learn that people can't travel far from their hearts without suffering any ill effects.

Tommy's watched Steve's parents put their hearts in their safe and leave for dinner out while he was staying over, and he laughs when their teacher tells them that.

"Something funny, Tommy?" Mr. Clarke asks.

"Well, sure," Tommy says. "It's just that isn't true, right Steve?"

"Right," Steve agrees earnestly, eager to show off his knowledge on the subject. "Or it's not always true. Some people can go miles away from theirs, I've seen it."

He says people, and not my parents, because he knows better than to drop personal information like that in the middle of class. 

Mr. Clarke had been frowning at Tommy's laughter, but something about Steve's eagerness makes him smile. 

"You have?" Mr. Clarke asks. "Tell me more."

Aware that everyone's attention is on him now, Steve makes sure to slouch casually - he can't look too invested. "Well, they didn't just leave their hearts out in the open and unguarded. They left them with someone they trust to protect them."

Mr. Clarke's smile grows, his eyes lighting up a bit in excitement. "Ah! You found the loophole. Steve's right," he says to the rest of the class, making Steve preen just a little bit. "Heart exchanges! People can travel much further from their hearts if they're safely tucked away in the chest of someone else. They can even survive things that might have been fatal, if their heart was in their own chest."

He gives a little chuckle. "There's even anecdotes of things like soldiers leaving their hearts with their fiances as they go off to war, knowing they'll be kept safe. Romantic, if unlikely. There's been no conclusive evidence of someone able to survive such a distance from their heart for so long, even with the loophole."

Steve frowns. His parents have been gone weeks at a time, leaving their hearts safe with him. 

"What about if it's locked away in a safe, and guarded?" Steve asks. "I know - I mean, someone told me that would work."

Mr. Clarke frowns a little. "Even more unlikely, I'm afraid. There's some studies that have shown people can train themselves to go further and further from their hearts, but still not without ill effects." 

Kevin sneers. "Well it sounds like someone is a liar."

Steve bristles. 

Kevin Carson is the worst.

He's a bully. Both in the way that his dad taught him the word - the kids who are too stupid to realize that brute force will only get you so far in life - and in the way that makes Steve's stomach turn a little, choosing to pick on people who can't fight back. 

The last two years at Hawkins Middle, he'd have never gone after Steve. But Kevin wanted to be basketball captain, and Steve got it instead, and now Kevin's been dogging him every chance he gets.

It's starting to get really annoying. 

Before Steve can say anything, though, Mr. Clarke's moved over to Kevin's desk, frown deepening.

“You know better than that, Mr. Carson,” Mr. Clarke says, in his disappointed voice. “We don't ridicule anyone's curiosity journey in this class.”

Kevin scowls, but he mutters out an apology. Mr Clarke watches him for a moment longer before nodding, moving back to the front of the class to continue.

"Teacher's pet," Kevin hisses at him, loud enough for the others nearby to hear but not Mr. Clarke.

Steve's never really understood why that was a bad thing - why wouldn't you want your teacher to like you? - but he knows it is, so he grimaces.

"I just listen to Coach better than you," Steve replies. "Must be why I'm captain this year."

Kevin's expression shifts into confusion. "What?"

"You don't keep your grades up, and you're on the bench for the rest of the year." Steve shrugs, leaning back so he can show how pointless this conversation is - and open it up even more for others to hear. "Aren't you looking at an F in Mr. Clarke's class? Maybe you should have more enthusiasm for your curiosity journey."

—

Tommy punches Kevin at lunch that afternoon.

Someone starts shouting, "Fight, fight, fight!" and Steve and Carol look at each other, realize they can't find Tommy, and immediately go where the crowd has gathered. 

It parts easily as Steve and Carol push through to the center, where Tommy and Kevin are squared off warily against each other. Steve tugs at Tommy's arm, and Carol shoots Kevin a look as she helps herd Tommy off to the side.

“What happened?” Steve asks Tommy, voice low and urgent. 

“Kevin was trying to rally some of the team against you,” Tommy spits out. “Said that they should get you around back, teach you a lesson about the way things are supposed to work.”

Steve's stomach twists. It's not surprising from Kevin, but the rest of the guys are his friends.

“Did they agree?” Carol asks sharply, eyes flashing.

“No,” Tommy says. “They told him to shut up. But Kevin was going on about how you're not captain material.”

Okay.

Okay, that's better, Steve can handle that. Kevin's persuasive, but Steve can be, too, and Steve hasn't been picking fights that make the team have to run drills when Coach gets pissed at them.

He leans away, pivoting back to face the group.

“Seriously, Carson, again?” Steve demands, not bothering to hide how irritated he sounds. "You remember Coach has a zero tolerance policy for starting fights, right?" 

"I didn't start anything, he punched me first!" Kevin says.

"That's not what I heard," Steve says conversationally. "I heard you talking to the other guys, trying to get them to jump me while my back was turned. Didn't know you were a coward, Carson. You got something to say to me? Why don't you say it to my face?"

Kevin draws himself up and gets in Steve's face, and Steve hears Tommy curse and start to move forward, but Steve holds up a hand. 

Steve's not scared of Kevin, and he doesn't want Tommy to get in any more trouble. He juts his chin out, tipping his head to the side so he can look down at Kevin - Steve and Tommy started their growth spurts early, and it's only by an inch or two, but they're the tallest guys here right now. 

"You gonna hit me, Kev?" Steve says softly. 

"Maybe I will," Kevin says. "Maybe it's the only way to put you in your place. Your daddy gets you out of everything, but he can't get you out of a black eye, can he?"

Steve's not sure where anyone gets the idea that his dad gets him out of anything. His dad barely knows what's going on with his life - but he guesses he doesn't really have to, guesses it's more about his dad's reputation than anything else. 

Still, it turns his irritation into anger, and just a little bit of hurt, and Steve finds himself smiling.

"Black eyes fade, Carson. You know what doesn't?" He leans in, lowers his voice a little. "How's <lyour dad gonna react when you get kicked off the team, huh? Yeah, we all know he was a high school star - it's all he ever was - what do you think he's gonna say when you can't even be that?" 

Kevin looks like he's a second away from shoving Steve, and for a moment, Steve thinks - yeah, go ahead, come on. The stuff he's saying? Steve deserves to get shoved. 

But Kevin doesn't.

Steve pitches his voice back louder. "Starting fights at school and flunking science? Not looking good for you to play at all the rest of the year, Carson. And anyone who's not playing now can kiss their spot on the high school team goodbye."

"Yeah?" Kevin asks. "Who's going to go blabbing to Coach?"

Steve shrugs, giving a disappointed sigh. "I don't like it, but it's my duty as captain to tell Coach when someone isn't being a team player." 

It probably isn't. Technically, Steve isn't even officially the captain - their coach just wanted them to be prepared for what it's going to be like in high school, and the players all voted Steve as their unofficial captain. 

But he knows that Coach will appreciate that Steve is taking it seriously, if he does tell him about anyone affecting the rest of the team.

"What are you even pissed at me for?" Steve asks. 

It's a genuine question - he actually does want to know - but it comes out sarcastic, and he can't backtrack it. 

"Passing science? Not letting you walk all over me in Mr. Clarke's class?" he adds. "Or are you just trying to get the rest of the team to be a bully like you? You want to get them in trouble, too?"

Carol hip checks him, and - yeah, okay, he sees her point, he needs to end this before Kevin has a chance to spin things back in his favor. 

"You're not worth my time," Steve says with a sneer.

There's a beat of silence.

"Didn't you hear him?" Carol asks. "You're dismissed."

Kevin tries to pull a sneer, but with his split lip it looks more like a snarl. "Who died and made Steve Harrington king?"

Carol examines her nails, the picture of boredom. "Your spot on the high school basketball team, apparently."

“Give it up, Kevin!” someone calls out.

“Come on, man, I'm sick of having to stay late at practice because of you, can't you just chill out?” Mark Jefferson bitches.

There's a chorus of agreement, and Steve watches Kevin's face as he realizes he's not going to get any backup here. Anger flickers briefly in his expression before he rolls his eyes, huffs out “Whatever,” and stomps off.

Now that there's not going to be a fight, everyone else disperses, leaving Steve alone with Tommy and Carol.

"You need to tell me and Carol before you hit someone again, okay?" Steve says seriously. "Let us handle it first."

"Yeah," Carol agrees. "You'll get in trouble if you do it all the time - you have to only do it when someone really deserves it. When we tell you."

Steve doesn't want Tommy to hit anyone, no matter what, but he guesses Carol's right. 

He'll just have to keep an eye on them.

–

When he's home, he goes straight to his dad's study and stares at the safe.

He knows the code, but part of him doesn't want to open it up. If they lied to him about this - what else have they lied to him about? Did they think he was stupid, did they not care if he ever figured it out? 

But he knows he has to, so he opens it up, and stares at what's inside.

Nothing.

Of course his parents didn't leave their hearts with him to watch over, and he feels like an idiot for having ever fallen for it. 

Something in his heart cracks, but he ruthlessly ignores it, slamming the safe door shut again.

He doesn't care, he tells himself.

His dad's an asshole anyway.

–

Nancy Wheeler is the first person to truly hold his heart in her hands, without it hurting the slightest bit.

It makes it even worse when she calls him bullshit, bullshit, bullshit, and he feels his heart crack so deep he's not sure it will ever heal.

[dunmeshistash]

Greetings, Mr. Meshi!

This is perhaps a bit of an unorthodox question, but one that has been bothering me for an unreasonable amount of time.

Now, here's the thing: I OBSESS over Marcille outliving everyone she holds dear. It's a theme very close to me, but even beyond that I just find it to be one of the most interesting elements of Dungeon Meshi's story for me personally. I've written an embarrassing amount of lengthy essays on it that will never see the light of day - that's how obsessed I am over this specific element of her character. But, there's something that bothers me...

A lot of poignant stories and artworks that tackle this topic get comments on 'em whenever Falin is the subject of aging, each one some variation of "Everything points to Falin having an extended lifespan after her revival!" which... Seems weird to me?

I don't know why this bothers me so much, but setting aside my personal annoyances, I don't remember anything pointing to this at all. At least, nothing concrete.

I don't know if this is a question you'd want to answer or not, but since your blog is a hub for all sorts of opinions and headcanons, I'd love to know where this line of thought could originate from.

I really wouldn't blame you if you didn't answer this question, though. Part of me feels I'm just asking this because I want to see if others share in my confusion or not.

Rrrregardless, though! Lemme take the opportunity to say that your blog is delighful. Love it! Also, that mushroom man with the funny face that sometimes responds to you with lengthy essays is also really cool. Everyone is cool. At least here on the northern hemisphere! It is smack dab in the middle of fall, after all! Coolness all around! Stay frosty! Or don't! Maybe warm up at a fireplace. I don't know!

Hi there! Thank you for the kind words, I love reading other's opinions on what I post so I also love the additions by the mushroom <3

It's quite hot over here in northeast Brazil, send some coolness my way please I'm dying.

Your question isn't strange at all! And I don't mind answering anything (unless it's rude or sounds like shipping war bait) so don't worry.

(Decided to put the rest under a readmore, TLDR: Kui said "maybe so, right?" about Falin having a longer lifespan but I have arguments why I don't think this actually confirms it. Anyway if you're someone who likes the headcanon you might want to skip this post)

To be honest those type of comments bother me too because I also LOVE Marcille's struggle with mortality and sometimes "Falin will live much longer!" feels undermining of the lesson she had to learn. I don't mind it in the headcanon sphere where everything is allowed and happy endings grow on trees but when it becomes intertwined with canon it starts to make me a little disappointed.

Just a reminder of the lesson she has to learn

She has to come to terms with the cycle of life and death, that something she wants (everyone to live longer) shouldn't be forced upon others just because it causes her grief. So, to me at least, Falin being made into something that will end up outliving other tallmen would undermine the message? In a canon sense ofc, if you're writing a wish fulfillment story then her living longer would have a different meaning, I just wanna be clear I have nothing against it in that sense, it all depends on what story you're trying to tell.

Anyway, actually answering your question that idea comes from the fact she was fused to a Red Dragon, and the fact her body has been affected by it, her sight was fixed and she grows feathers for example, so people theorize maybe her lifespan has been affected too. But we don't really know how long dragon's live so it's hard to say how much it would have been affected if at all.

It also comes from this answer Kui gave in a QnA

Q: Would Falin have an extended lifespan after the whole chimera thing? A: Maybe so, right?

To me this reads as the usual non-answers Kui gives, like, "I'll leave it up to your imagination" but for other people this read as a confirmation of the headcanon, in another questions she answers "I hope so" about Thistle leading a happy life after having his desires eaten and it's even debatable if Thistle survived at all so I don't think those comments indicate much of canon (I'm that way about most QnA answers tbh, unless it's something inconsequential like confirming Mithrun's Brother's name or stuff about very minor characters)

Another argument I have against her having a different lifespan is Izutsumi, Izu has been mixed with a monster but continues to age at the same rate a Tallmen would, even tho she also has different biology because of the Great Cat she's fused with (ears, reflexes, eyes etc etc) she is still a tallman

Falin isn't really the same thing as Izutsumi tho, I understand, but it's the closest example we have, if we believe the AB descriptions and demi-humans are really mixes between humans and monsters that's also another argument about it not affecting lifespan, since all of them are short lived and have an average lifespan of 55.

All of this *can* be dissmissed tho, the other demi-humans and beastmen are all mixed with mammal monsters and nothing nearly as powerful as a Dragon, so there is arguments to be made that Falin is different and that she *might* have an extended lifespan, all I'm saying is that there's no solid confirmation of it, it's fine to believe it but going around "correcting" other people saying it's a fact wouldn't be right I don't think, especially if you're saying that in a conversation about Marcille journey of death acceptance.

Death is a touchy subject and everyone is at different stages of their own journeys with it so I really don't want to judge those who would rather have Falin or even Laios live longer. I'm not really sure how to talk about this in the proper way, but I hope I didn't make anyone upset!

[scarabies-real]

PLEASE TELL ME ABOUT JUNCOS IT'S A NEED

YOU’VE ACTIVATED MY TRAP CARD!!!

YOU’LL REGRET THIS!!!!!!!

Okay so dark-eyed juncos (Junco hyemalis) are one of the most fascinating and overlooked species of songbird in the US because they are, generally, fairly plain looking and common. They’ve been called Snowbirds throughout the Eastern US and they’re often disparaged because spotting a junco means it’s about to snow. However, this is often not true because many places have resident populations (meaning they live there year round) and they are subject to a sort of confirmation bias—you’ve heard they’re a winter-only bird so you’ll only notice them during winter, similar to American robins that are known as a “first sign of spring” bird even though their seasonal movements are very complex and they often have resident populations.

Onto why they are FASCINATING, or at least why I think so (and I am correct always obviously) there are many, many different subspecies of dark-eyed juncos. And we have NO IDEA how many there actually are! It is highly debated and depending on who you ask there’s anywhere from 14-15 recognized subspecies, with 2-3 different large groups and 3-4 smaller ones. I’ve even heard people say as little as 9 and as many as 17. I have watched seasoned professionals with tenure get up in arms about this. It’s incredible.

Here’s an example of some!

Read Top to Bottom/Left to Right: Rocky Mountain (Cassiar) Junco (cismontanus), Pink-sided Junco (mearnsi), White-winged Junco (aikeni), Slate-colored Junco (hyemalis), Gray-headed Junco(caniceps), Red-backed Junco(dorsalis), Oregon Junco(oreganus)

If you live in the east of the us, the little guy in the middle (slate-colored junco) is going to be the one you see the most, and if you live in the west it’s the bottom right (Oregon junco). Usually. Very broad, and there are many subspecies within the Oregon group that often get (incorrectly, but understandably) labeled oreganus when they are likely something else.

It’s extremely difficult to identify junco subspecies in field and without particularly great photos most people are left shrugging and putting them in slate-colored or Oregon groups.

This range map is incredibly simplified

And THIS range map is. Well. Yeah. Don’t get me started on intergrades.

There’s several subspecies within the Oregon group and a large, unresolved debate about whether or not the Oregon group is actually its own species separate from slate-colored, with several subspecies.

Their systematics is a MESS (loving) and we’ve just recently moved the Guadalupe Junco to be it’s own species!

MY research has centered around this

You see this little guy right here?

This absolute little stinker that took me forever to photograph because they were being scared by hawks?

Yeah, that’s a Cassiar Junco.

Probably my greatest, rarest observation to date. And most people would write it off!

(Not sharing downloaded image bc location stuff lol. When I say rare I mean RARE.)

The Rocky Mountain Junco, also known as the Cassiar Junco, (Junco hyemalis cismontanus) is a presumed subspecies within the slate-colored group.

Depending on who you ask! Some believe it to be a subspecies, some believe it to be an intergrade between the slate-colored junco and Oregon junco, and others believe slate-colored and Oregon juncos to be distinct species making the Cassiar junco a hybrid. I will not give my opinion here yet since this is, technically, research I am currently doing but…let’s say I am observing breeding behaviors for a reason :)

They are incredibly rare, with most sightings taking place in the Northwest. Though they are spotted across much of the lower 48 a lot of these sightings are thought to be mistaken identity.

Looking at eBird range maps they fall within 0-2% sighting frequency, and all but disappear during summer months.

Is this because they are mistaken for slate-colored and written off? Or are they truly this rare? And if so, why?

There’s so many unsolved mysteries about this group of forgotten birds and especially the Cassiar junco.

Recently I’ve been looking into the research in gonadal growth delay in migrant populations vs resident populations and oh my god I could infodump a whole post on that but I’ll spare you. For now. If you express further interest there will be no saving you. It’s so cool man (said like siren song)

I am incredibly excited to focus my field research on them this winter (especially now that I have…connections) and I am very fortunate to live in a place that seems to get them more often than others.

Three cheers for Cassiar!

[lutiaskokopelli]

I have an issue with constantly getting distracted, so I got distracted from working by making a 100% customizable Pomodoro App to keep my future self from getting distracted. Have a Google Drive download link.

The Pomodoro technique, if you don't know it, is a discipline method for keeping track of when you are working and when you are taking breaks, notably through the use of a timer.

There are tons of apps centered around this, and yet after looking at so many of them, I somehow could not find one that would do the most basic thing I'd like to have for a study companion: change the background of the app so that yes, I do have a timer telling me to work harder, but I also have an image of my choice to cheer me up along with it.

So what did I do? Did I take the rational, reasonable path, to just suck it up and stick to one of the already existing apps even though it would mean saying no to having my adorable Hearthian OC sleep in a corner of my screen?

Or did I go the hyperfocused insane route of utter procrastination and learn a whole new programmation language from scratch just in order to get my frikkin baby to comfort me while I work?

Yeah, who could have guessed.

So! The Google Drive link I shared will let you download everything you need in order to run your own version of this little app, including a tutorial on how to customize it to suit your needs.

The first thing you will see after unzipping the archive is this:

The "ast" folder (standing for "assets") contains every image used by the app -- which means that you can change them as you please! I even gave you transparent versions of the buttons in the "Asset Creation Help" subfolder, in case you like the shapes but want to change the backgrounds.

You think that's cool? Oh, but the image assets are far from being the only thing you can change for this app's behavior! You can change EVERYTHING that this app is doing (which isn't much because it's literally just three different types of timers, and even then there are some trickier details with more coding than others (but I still give tips on how to handle those), but shush. Everything this app can do, you can customize to your heart's content).

How do you do that? Well, this is what you get when you right-click on the "Pomodoro.ps1" file:

The Pomodoro.ps1 file is the "app" itself, written in PowerShell code that I made as legible as I could make it. There is a whole tutorial in there, made easier to read if you right-click on this file's icon and choose the "Edit" option. Have a preview!

Through editing this file, you can then run a Pomodoro app from which you can have the window's appearance customized, from its size, opacity (if you want to still half-see what's sitting behind it), and start position on your screen (the window can be dragged around, but if you have a preferred position you can tell the app to always load it in that preferred spot right from the get go), to stuff like the custom messages you get whenever the timer progresses:

So, yeah. I made a little app meant to help with productivity. One out of many already out there, sure, and it's probably not as cool as many others (but I'll just remind you that three days ago I knew absolutely nothing about PowerShell as a whole, so- I guess that would be still a little impressive that I was able to make a working app like that at all? xD), but as far as I've looked, it's the only one that will let you have your favorite images keep you company while you use it.

I don't know whether anyone other than me will like it enough to use it, but just in case, it's here! Hope it's as easy(-ish) to customize as I made it out to be, or at least close enough.

PS: The version I use for my own personal choices uses some slightly different assets compared to the version I share in the .zip file on my Google Drive. This is because the version I share online solely uses official Outer Wilds art (while the version I made for myself notably uses one piece of OW fanart that I did not make myself, and it didn't sit right with me to share that piece uncredited, even in an edited form. If you are curious, this is the artwork in question).