#title suit

[yesokayiknow]

conrad and mrs flood nervously presenting the first draft of the wish world to the rani and she just sits in silence for the whole powerpoint and then takes a long sip of brandy and is like add dinosaurs.

[lizzybeeee]

DATV Spoilers - The Story We Lost

Posted earlier that I was compiling a list of lore/story threads that have been dropped with DATV's handling of Southern Thedas. The sheer number of things means that I've made this into two parts - this one focusing on all the story threads that have been effectively dropped.

Spoilers for the game ahead, of course.

If you've played the game then you'll know that Southern Thedas - everything from the past three games - was basically swept away by the blight.

A double blight should have catastrophic consequences for the entirety of Thedas, I don’t deny that, it’s nothing short of a mass extinction event – the absolute worst case scenario for all of Thedas.

However, waving away the fact that Southern Thedas - specifically every area you ever traveled to and interacted with in previous games – is gone, devastated by the blight, in a codex entry and line of dialogue makes it abundantly clear that BioWare is attempting to clean the slate so that they can move forwards with the game series with no ties to the previous ones.

The Warden, Hawke, and the Inquisitor effectively accomplished nothing.

As I put it in another post: I never expected them to consider every decision in game outside of the three options they gave us, but I certainly didn’t expect them to go scorched earth on the possibility of ever seeing the results of those decisions either.

How the lore has been handled in this game, summarized to “the elves did it” and “there’s been a shadowy organization in the shadows pulling the strings on everything” is absolutely devastating to the franchise.

The lack of care with which this was treated just bleeds, “There, we’ve answered all questions and finished with this era of Thedas. Moving on now.” At the same time, this destruction absolutely obliterated whatever story threads remained from the first three games.

Could BioWare bring these threads back? Yes, I suppose. But it doesn't change that it was so carelessly thrown aside in the first place.

If they didn't want people to care about their decisions and the impact they made on the world, perhaps they shouldn't have made that a feature of all the previous games.

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Story Threads/ Plot Points that were dropped:

Limited my points to what was in the Dragon Age Keep and what points were brought up frequently in codex entries, conversations, etc...

Edit: I never expected all of these points to be answered in DATV - this is just a list of what was effectively brushed to the side through very bad handling of lore and story.

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Dragon Age: Origins

What is the line of succession in Ferelden?

Things are looking very grim for Ferelden's succession and the Theirin/MacTir line if nothing is done. And nothing was done. The entire plot of DAO literally culminated in resolving this issue, yet no one seems to have learnt a thing from it?

- Anora ruling alone is unmarried with no heir - Alistair ruling alone is unmarried with no heir - Ruling together they have no heir - Alistair and a Cousland Queen have no heir - Anora and a Cousland King-Consort have no heir

The only potential candidate that can fit into several of those world states is Kieran.

Fergus Cousland, according to lore, is the second closest to the throne that is confirmed to be alive in DAI - potentially the brother in-law to the King/Queen of Ferelden.

Ferelden's succession with Alistair as King hinges on whether or not the Warden was able to cure the blight. Alternatively, it is hinted that he may be more resistant since he has dragon blood in him from Calenhad.

The potential implications of Kieran being the bastard son of the King of Ferelden.

Kieran being used as a political pawn to depose Anora using the Theirin bloodline.

DAI took away whatever destiny Kieran had with the Old God soul – that didn’t mean that BioWare had to take away everything else too. Regardless, it doesn't matter. Denerim and Redcliffe have fallen to the Blight - it's unlikely that any of this will ever be brought up again.

2. Did the Warden find a cure?

Unknown. Irrelevant.

Ferelden ended up blighted. Denerim fell. If Ferelden rises from the ashes, it will be without any sign of their influence. Any mention of them will likely be their title alone - no mention of their accomplishments.

3. General Questions about the Landsmeet

What happened to Anora if Alistair is named King? Who rules the teyrnir of Gwaren following the blight?

What happens to Alistair if he's exiled? We know Teagan finds him in DA2 but what happens after?

If Leliana becomes divine does that mean that Connor Guerrin is potentially an heir to Redcliffe?

4. Companion Plot Threads

Morrigan's sisters - the many daughters of Flemeth.

Shale's quest to reverse the process of becoming a golem.

Whatever the hell Nathaniel Howe was going on about when you run into him in DA2 in the blighted thaig.

What, if anything, Avernus leaned from spending a literal age or two studying blighted blood.

5. Zevran's Crusade against the Crows

RIP Zevran's one-man crusade against the Crows and their child slavery ring.

DATV messed up immensely by portraying the Crows as more of a ‘found family’ rather than the horrifically abusive organization it was set up to be.

The very same organization that preys on the weak and disenfranchised - honing them to be tools for the nobles/powerful of Thedas - are now the heroic freedom fighters of Antiva.

The literal decade he spent hunting down the Crows and their leaders is up in flames. No mention in DATV whatsoever.

Wasted a perfectly good opportunity to have a schism in the Crows, with Zevran at the helm of kicking out the antaam, taking in Crows who are are sick of what's happening.

6. The Dwarves of Orzammar

The impact of Bhelen/Harrowmont's reign - ruthless progression verses strict traditionalism

The rumours of an uprising of the casteless dwarves in DAI

Will we ever hear of noble House Brosca or Queen/Lady Rica? Nope.

Will we ever hear of the son that Aeducan can have with Mardy? Nope. (RIP Duncan Jnr - I still love you)

The Anvil of the Void and potential links it may have to the Titans.

If Branka lives what happened to her?

No more fine goods direct from Orzammar

The entire caste system has been simplified by Harding in DATV to effectively be: 'surface dwarves' and 'deep roads' dwarves.

7. The Magisters Sidereal / Awakened Darkspawn

According to a codex in the Descent: one went mad, consumed another, and the final magister fled into the Deep Roads.

Corypheous + Codex Magister + the Architect (most likely) = 4/5 magisters remaining? Possibly?

Reminder that it's hinted that there's an eighth Old God that was struck from the records of Tevinter.

The Architect and his Awakened Darkspawn.

No, it was all the elves. They're all dead now anyway. Thanks BioWare.

8. The Guardian and the Urn of Sacred Ashes

"Where did you come from, where did you go? Nobody in Thedas will ever knowwwww."

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Dragon Age 2

Dragon Age 2 was pretty self-contained, with most things being tied up in Trespasser or DAI. The worst of the plot points abandoned relate to the companions in the game and the lack of closure/answers about them.

General Questions:

Kirkwalls, apparently, endless line of 'provisional' viscounts and constant political instability since Varric ran off to go after Solas.

According to DA: Absolution the Red Templars are still in Kirkwall...yet the show is set after Trespasser - when Varric is viscount? When he mentions that they threw a parade when getting Meredith out of the Gallows?

Aveline, Varric, Merrill and whoever remains of the Kirkwall crew apparently just allowing red templars take over the Gallows?

What happened to Petrice if she lived?

What happened to Feynriel if he went to Tevinter?

If Hawke lives following DAI - where are they?

I have a whole list of lore that's also been brushed over: the Sundermount, Corypheous, the Band of Three etc... I decided to put them in Part 2 since I feel they fit in more with 'lore obliterated' rather than 'abandoned plot points'.

2. Companions

Merrill's Eluvian:

Merrill spent years fixing an eluvian with a piece of string, a potato, and some gum - managing to actually do it.

And it meant nothing.

Eluvians are now a fast travel hub - all mysticism and awe at this marvel of magic are completely gone. Whatever sacrifices Merrill went through to save her sliver of elven history is meaningless.

Imagine if Merrill's eluvian aided in the fight against Solas - if having it intact gave you an advantage against him. Imagine Merrill weeping as Bellara fixes every other single eluvian in ten seconds with her magical omnitool.

Fenris and Slavery in Tevinter:

DATV utterly trivializing slavery in Tevinter is abominable.

Disregarding everything Fenris went through, everything he ever fought for, and making it something barely touched upon in DATV is insanity.

You wouldn't know there was slavery in Tevinter if the Shadow Dragons didn't drop a line or two about it.

Fenris' entire story of going to help free the slaves is diminished because no one wanted to show the ugly, dark side of Tevinter in DATV.

DATV has retroactively made this choice for him to be so unfulfilling.

Where is Anders?

What happened with Sebastian's crusade against Anders? Was he ever captured? Was he executed? Are you telling me that no templars ever pursued this man fanatically after what happened in Kirkwall?

Does his fate vary if Hawke was friends/romanced him?

Varric appointing a new Viscount’s Keep healer called ‘Banders’ who just happens to sleep in the same room as Hawke and their children call him ‘daddy’ lmao

Does his fate vary according to who is Divine? Vivienne hunts him down, Cassandra puts him on trial, while Leliana pardons him?

How does he react to Leliana abolishing the Circles? How much does he weep when the rebellion fails and the mages are destroyed? This man instigated the starting event for DAI and drove most of DA2's major plot and he's just...gone.

The Hawke Siblings:

From DAI we know that Warden Bethany/Carver are safe, but what happened to them if they're in the Circle?

Give us Knight-Commander Carver and First Enchanter Bethany Hawke, you cowards! Have them dismantle the Gallows and be the shining examples of human decency we know they are.

What happens to them after DAI and the Mage/Templar War is concluded? In a world that can embrace or reject them - how do they find their place?

Varric

Trespasser gave him a satisfying conclusion - he's viscount, he's in his shit hole of a city, he's surrounded by the people that he loves and cares about. He has the chance to truly build up Kirkwall after all the shit its gone through.

It just feels so bitter, so meaningless, that they gave him the end that they did in DATV. Varric should never have been the one to go after Solas - the only reason it was him was because he's a popular character in the franchise and was used to draw interest.

Why not Cole?! Who was literally mentioned in Trespasser as being on hand to help his friends - who has the ability to get through to Solas in a way no one else could?

No proper send off - no acknowledgement from those who loved him as to his fate...Varric was reduced to a marketing gimmick to draw people in who wanted to see if he died or not.

Isabela

Isabela's story was brought to a close in DAI - she became an admiral, got a fancy hat, helped the Inquisition, and kept in contact with those she loved/Hawke if defended from the arishok.

Imagine bringing her back in a terrible outfit, having the most sex/gender positive character misgender another person, and making her part of the group that steals cultural artifacts from others.

The tomb of Koslun and Aveline would like a word with you?!

The entire Lords of Fortune group is also extremely bland? No commentary on the ethics/effects of colonialism/cultural appropriation - because confrontational topics/ideas are not allowed in this game. Just like topics of slavery/indoctrination.

Her entire character just seems to have regressed from DA2. Why bother having her cameo in the game if she's not going to meaningfully contribute/comment on whats happening?

Edit - Thanks to bunnyiscthulhu for reminding me that Isabela's mother sold her into marriage...yet she does nothing when Taash's mother is outright forcing them into a life they don't want. Isabela, who believed that everybody should be free - that no one should be forced into a life they don't want, just...lets it happen to another person?

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Dragon Age: Inquisition

What's going to happen to the Red Lyrium that's popped up across all of Thedas?

Ferelden, Orlais, Kirkwall - all areas are reported to have red lyrium on the surface.

What happens to the Red Lyrium in Suledin?

DAI speaks about how they can never stop the spread of red lyrium, only slow it – animals, insects, organisms - whatever life is in the ground is all susceptible to becoming blighted by red lyrium. Suledin Keep in particular was utterly devastated by the Red Templars - what happens to life there?

2. What happened to Corypheous' Inner Circle?

What happened to Samson? How long did he live *if* he’s given the chance to help Cullen? Can something good come from his cooperation?

What happened to Calpernia?

Looking at previous concept art for DATV she was a companion - freeing slaves, gossiping about Samson & Corypheous. Just...what a waste. Any potential insight we could have gotten into Corypheous is gone.

3. The Mage / Templar War:

How does the world vary if you conscripted vs allied with either?

How do the remnants of what faction was not chosen fit into this new world?

How does the world deal with abominations and weird magic shit now? Is an alternative to the Order made if it's wiped out in DAI?

How is Cullen's templar clinic doing? If the templars still exist, how is Divine Victoria changing/adapting the Order to better support mages/templars?

4. Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts:

How do Orlesian politics reflect who was made ruler?

Is Gaspard looking to expand into Ferelden once more? Are the elves being brutalized under his rule like they were by his chevaliers? Does he do away with the grand game like he threatened in DAI?

How does this differ if Briala has collared him? How do his supporters feel that Briala has his balls in a vice?

Do Celene and Briala stay together? Do things improve for the elves and for the culture of Orlais at large?

Do improvements for the elves mean that Solas' arguments to his elven agents are less persuasive?

If Florianne is alive what the hell is going to happen to her? How quickly does she fall on her blade after being forced to wear flat shoes for the rest of her life?

How quickly does shit fall apart if you get all three to cooperate lmao

Friendly reminder that DATV sets up that all of Orlais, except for the Winter Palace has been overrun by the Blight - and that a coup from the Venatori is inevitable, likely resulting in any ruler dying.

5. What is the line of succession in Orlais?!

Why does every noble family in Thedas have no contingency plans for if their head of government dies?!

Part of why we needed to resolve the leadership problem in DAI was because there was no clear, direct heir if Celene died!

Celene has no heir Gaspard has no heir

Florianne planned to frame Gaspard, murdering Celene herself, leaving no clear heir to the throne - Orlais was already in a civil war, the council of heralds/nobles would have all campaigned in their own interests...that was why this was so important!

Orlais shortsightedness and pride in their nation being the greatest in Thedas led to them almost falling in a single night!

6. Here Lies the Abyss:

What are the ramifications of having the Warden's exiled verses remaining in the south?

Trespasser literally states that there's a schism in the Order because some Warden's believe they should touch grass more often and not listen to some bloke up in Weisshaupt for what they do down in the south.

Perfect opportunity to have the wardens remaining in the south mean something! Greater numbers in the south means that there's a greater chance of holding against the blight - while greater numbers in the north can effect if Antiva/Tevinter end up blighted in the first attack!

How does public perception towards the Wardens/King of Ferelden change when they learn they were exiled for committing human sacrifice to demons?!

Give us a warden coup and First Warden Alistair / Blackwall, you cowards!

7. The Well of Sorrows:

What was the point of drinking Mythal's bathwater?!

It's been set up as something that changes you. Bound to Mythal forever?!

Retroactively, Solas feels like he's going mental about nothing! One of the few times he ever breaks - he begs you not to - and...for what? Nothing.

DATV does not acknowledge that in the slightest. Such a waste and disappointment of what was made out to be an impactful decision in DAI.

Imagine if the Inquisitor drinking from the well made us forced to fight against them during the fight with Solas - imagine if Solas, in a world state who hated the Inquisitor, used them as a puppet! Just like the envy demon in DAI - and no one notices until its too late. Imagine Mythal herself, wanting Solas to go through with his plan - (or one of the other evanuris) using an Inquisitor/Lavellan he loved as a puppet - imagine the horror he feels as another one of his friends is reduced to nothing more than a mindless slave of the evanuris once more. Imagine the devastation as he watches Lavellan lose all sense of self - perhaps swaying him to, maybe, not go through with his plan?! Imagine having Cole come back to help save the Inquisitor - or Solas begging Rook to save them.

8. DLC Implications:

What happens if Hakkon is not slain? What happens to Southern Ferelden and the Avaar?

How does the rest of Thedas react to the truth of what happened at Red Crossing and the Dales? How do they react to learning that Inquisitor Ameridan - First Inquisitor and leader of the Seekers - was a dalish, elven mage?

What happens if you do not save the mines in the Descent DLC? How badly is Orzammars economy crippled? There are already rumours of riots occurring within Orzammar - it this enough to push the caste system over the edge?

9. Elven Uprising and the War with the Qun:

The elven uprising that was implied to be occuring all over Thedas as a result of years of oppression, systematic abuse, and Solas’ influence? What happened to it?

Where are the agents of fen'harel?!

It was set up that Solas was planning to use this rebellion as a smokescreen for his plans - the elves, all rebelling for good reason, rallying to his cause while Solas planned to restore the world that once was. The rest of Thedas would only see an elven uprising, not knowing the true face behind it until it was too late!

The war between Tevinter and the Qun?!

Everyone conveniently forgetting that the Qun literally attempted to assassinate every noble family in Thedas? Why was there no exalted march because of this? This should have destroyed any accord between the chantry and the qun. There would absolutely be blood for this – Tevinter could have attacked the Qun and all of Southern Thedas would have applauded - no one would have differentiated between extremist qunari and the normal qun, especially not after Kirkwall.

The implication at the end of Trespasser that we could convince Solas to abandon his plans? Him saying that he welcomed giving us the chance?!

The difference that the Inquisitors friendship, love, or hatred could have in either convincing Solas to take another path or damning him to go ahaead with his plan, no matter the cost?

Have our decisions in previous games matter! How we treated the elves - if we worked to better their lives or 'put them in their place' - can be used to convince him that the world can change! Have the ripple effects of these decisions be seen when the elven gods return, blighted - does the world turn against the elves, hardening Solas, or does the world defend the elves from those who would blame them?

Why was Sandal in the Crossroads?! Where is Bodahn?!

10. Divine Victoria!

How does the world of Thedas change with Leliana, Cassandra, or Vivienne at the head of the chantry?

How does Tevinter react to having a mage divine?!

Do relations change between both nations because of this?

Leliana allowing elves, dwarves, and even qunari to join the Chantry! Leliana also allowing members of the chantry to get married if she's romanced by the warden.

What happened to the Seekers? Are they being rebuilt?

Does the chantry inform the masses, the rest of the mages, that they can CURE tranquility?!

If either Leliana or Cassandra was romanced - what are the implications that may have on the chantry?

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

No wonder the writers insisted that none of the past choices would have an impact on Veilguard - they literally went scorched earth on everything we ever did.

Ferelden is blighted - any legacy of the warden is gone.

Kirkwall is destroyed - any impact Hawke had is gone.

The hard won peace/order of the Inquisition was rendered meaningless since every single place that you went to and helped is now destroyed by the blight.

Orlais' ruler will likely be assassinated by the venatori who are plotting a coup with the nobles - making whomever you chose obsolete.

AND IT WAS ALL THE WORK OF THE MAGICAL ILLUMINATI FROM ACROSS THE SEA???

[nenoname]

i know a lot of scenes from nwhs had to be cut for time but i still lament at stan here being changed to be more of a joke cos argh him putting on a facade is so cool (i suppose it was made into a quick joke instead because the execs thought people wouldn't like the highest rated ep in the series cos "it's missing the jokes!!!" since they're stupid-- wHOA WHO SAID THAT)

but also

why is soos wearing a slave leila costume here 😭 (also the reminder that ford never got to see the last film of the original trilogy rip)

....oh wait this exists cos that movie is called the return of the jedi, i honestly completely forgot (and there's even a pig alien on the poster! stan is luke, dipper is han.... so does that make mabel yoda??? pretty sure he's not on the poster but hey i'm guessing ford would've been vader?)

+ behold this pathetic wet dog of a man

[xxplastic-cubexx]

sorry i keep drawing them in bondage thats just like their thing atp

textless ver below the cut:

[plagueislost]

For your batfam wing au, what wings do you think the rest of the Kents (Kal-el, Kon-el) may have? More farm-adjacent animals or something more unique cause of alien biology? I love your au so much, the way you draw wings is exquisite and beautiful 😊🥰

the Kents!

[rizzem-w-the-tism]

Yeah I'll see myself out

[aq2003]

i guess ten being considered the universe's hottest dude with women falling over themselves to kiss him is kinda crazy to me bc in my mind he is fundamentally a little wretched twig of a guy. like a drowned kitten or perhaps rat to me . i'm realizing that the spirit of donna noble is possessing me as i write this post

[aquapede]

the reviled king of bugs

[morelikesin]

SAM & MAX in: begins the heating season

-

Based on the below Jucika strip!

[babybirbb]

the suits official snapchat story just posted this

the scenes included were the classic pineapple scene (s2, ep2)

harvey giving mike the emancipation case and jessica teasing about mike’s the one being emancipated from harvey, “baby’s all grown up” scene (s2, ep5)

mike having breakfast at harvey’s, ya know the super domestic scene (s4, ep 7)

mike barging into harvey’s place on date night with his days of our lives drama (another classic) (s2, ep2)

the scene from high noon when they arrive to pearson hardman high af (s2, ep10)

also a scene from s7 ep 1, where mike shows up to harvey’s office supposedly hungover? idk i didn’t get that one

anyways that was it and it definitely isn’t every time mike and harvey were more than friends, we all know this, but it was shocking to see that first one on my snapchat home page lol

[lysaisland]

can we bridge the gap between feeling and fact?

He prided himself in being a great detective but, even then, he was still confused. No matter what train of thought he took, all lines led back to you. He was never any good at directions, but this was unbelievable.

Ranpo longed to unravel your entire being, thread by thread, knot after knot. He wanted to know how you ticked, to read you as easily as he would a case.

Surely he could conjure a better plan for his dilemma, instead of staring at the back of your head, the sides of your face, and whatever else his avid eyes could reel in.

The open window allowed the sunlight to stream in, catching your frowning eyes every so often. You were to the right of him, hunched slightly over your desk.

Despite your steady focus on work of all things, Ranpo thought that you had a sort of glow around you. He didn’t know any better way to describe it. It wasn’t all encompassing, or flashy, and it might even have just been the light, but something was utterly magnetising about you. It was subtle, and constant, as natural as breathing. He just needed to figure out exactly what it was.

Mmh, maybe he should go and close the blinds. You would like that, surely. The sun was at its brightest after all, noon, almost lunch, the best time of the day.

He wasn’t used to this. He was being a coward — a disgustingly passive one at that. Everytime his brilliant mind landed on the possible idea of getting up from his desk of doodled paperwork to do something, his, again, brilliant mind shut that idea down faster than he could properly process it. He couldn’t help it.

A small sigh, barely audible, slipped from his lips. If he couldn’t think straight, then it was only logical for him to take a step back and reevaluate his situation.

Ranpo pressed another piece of candy to his mouth, the sweet catching on his teeth. They were not as sickly as he thought they would be, but Ranpo was satisfied with the flavour.

He wondered if he should share them with you. It would be easy, just a call of your name and a small wave, candy in hand. You would come with a comfortable smile on your face if he beckoned.

There were more than enough left in the packet. As well as this, he had noticed that you were partial to this specific brand. Though, only an idiot wouldn’t be able to notice your clear preference for these sweets, especially when the same wrappers practically lived at your desk.

More than once, he had caught you absent-mindedly slipping the candy into your mouth, two at a time, whenever there was a big case that needed to be written up. He supposed that they were a kind of soother, an anchor, for you would always linger around the confectionery aisle, and reach for yet another packet with a soft look on your face. A look of nostalgia, brimming with subtle longing.

What if you looked at him like that?

He froze for a fraction of a second.

You, again. This again. It was simply maddening. Ranpo was accustomed to the gears in his head permanently turning, fine-tuning every minute, conceivable detail, because after all, he was​ The World's Greatest Detective. Hypotheticals were important for scheming, and speculation, for ordinary people. But, it had no real substance. Deductions were far studier.

However, despite this, Ranpo couldn’t bring himself to consider questions like those distractions. He liked to think about you; it was fun.

He was reminded of the time the two of you went to the near-by bakery. It had opened a few weeks ago, and you had asked him if he was interested in trying it out.

You didn’t ask Kyoka or Atsushi, who both had strong preferences for desserts. (Kyoka had to be restricted to one crêpe a week, rather than one per day.)

You didn’t even ask Yosano who was one of your closest confidants, and never passed up the opportunity to eat like a queen. (In fact, she was the one treating Kyoka to strawberry crêpes, everytime the food cart came near.)

The feeling of smug pride that grew in his chest was astonishing. You had asked him!

Suddenly, your voice ran out. Ranpo almost tumbled from his already precarious spot on his chair. He turned and looked up to see you standing over his desk. His name oozed out of your mouth again like warm honey.

Not a figment of his imagination. Very real. His mind slowed, no, halted in its tracks. You were so beautiful, the curve of your cheek looked so soft. The glow he was so focused on before seemed to intensify around your clear eyes. All he could muster up in that moment was how much he wanted to be closer to you.

What if he just slung his arms around you, losing himself in the smell of fresh cotton? Would you hug him back, what if you kissed him?

Ranpo forgot you also had this effect on him. Along with frequenting his mind so often that it could be deemed as a cause of concern, you had the uncanny ability to freeze him in his tracks. It became all too clear that this was not regular co-worker behaviour. It was obvious in more ways than one.

He liked you — a lot so it seemed.

“Would you like to go out with me again? The bakery is having a two for one deal.” Though the question was casual, your voice remarkably steady, Ranpo could see that you were nervous, as you fiddled with the hem of your shirt.

The phrasing was almost exactly the same as the last time you invited him out. Why he found that adorable, he'll never know. Maybe you liked him too, as undoubtedly as he did? His face twisted into a small smile at the thought. Why else would you be nervous?

The agency was freakishly silent, void of everyone, but the two of you. They must have headed out for lunch break a tad early.

Ranpo didn’t trust his voice to not crack — throat a little too dry after eating candy, and a little sticky. He decided to nod enthusiastically before you realised he was taking too long to answer your invite. He got up from the place, where he did absolutely nothing but daydream, and followed you faithfully out the door.

The two of you began to talk. Every word that fell from your lips endeared him, and he couldn’t help but indulge himself. Ranpo hoped that maybe his terrible directional skills would rub off on you. Maybe that way he would be able to stay this way with you for longer. Sometimes, he didn’t know why what he said was so funny, even so, he found himself honestly laughing along to your own giggles.

He could figure you out another time, for now, he would settle for the comfortable peace you gave him.

[not-xpr-art]

The bird flies high but always returns to earth.

A digital drawing of the 15th Doctor!

(05/2025)

This is based on 'The Story and The Engine', I was inspired by the beautiful wax print and woven fabrics of Nigeria! The patterns have specific meanings that I thought fitted with the Doctor's character (pattern along the edges mean 'long life', the spirals mean 'circle of life', and the pattern on his clothes means 'crossroads')

[logicheartsoul]

if you like it, maybe you should put a pin on it

Based on this post where Bucky finds Sam's board that's filled with pictures of Bucky with strings pushed into it when he was trying to find him back in 2014-2016 and Bucky puts post it notes grading him if he was correct or not. People in the tags commented about this spinning off to a proposal and this was born.

This is my first finished fic in years so, I may be rusty. I hope y'all enjoy!

One day, Sam looks over at the board again— amongst all the chaos and dangling string and pinned up pictures and paper…

He tilts his head, squinting, before blinking his eyes.

There, on the map, is a new picture, stuck through with a blue pushpin.

Familiar brick, that doormat given by his nephews, the dark wood door.

Home.

100%, scribbled in black sharpie, across the surface of a bright yellow post it.

But what catches his eye—

“Will you marry me?”

Sam turns his head, footsteps creaking the wood underneath Bucky’s feet. He’s wearing a suit, not uncommon these days, but something different than the typical navy and grey suits he’s pilfered from Sam’s closet along with his ties.

No, there’s a svelte silhouette to his form, as if it’s important the fit is right. He’s in a three piece wearing a pin attached to the lapel.

And in his left hand is a small, velvet box.

The words on the post it note ring in his head as Bucky steps closer toward him.

“You found me,” he says, close enough his heat emanates from his body, seeping deep into Sam's own.

His eyes, those nowadays soft eyes, hold a glimmer of trepidation, but also hope.

“I sure did,” Sam replies, smile smug. “I’m good at what I do.”

Bucky’s other hand is warm when he reaches out, his thumb resting over Sam’s knuckles in a solid grip. There’s a slight tremor that seems to ease and settle when he brushes his thumb over Sam’s skin.

“Wouldn’t want anyone else to try and find me.”

“Well, you said I was 100% right on the last time I found you. No one can top that.”

A smile blooms across Bucky’s face, his eyes glowing.

“You’re right.”

Sam laughs, the joy bubbling through him, light and airy and warm.

“Can I get that in writing? Or better yet, on video?”

With a flick of Bucky's vibranium thumb, the box gently opens.

“Only if you say yes.”

Sam shakes his head, the line of his grin softer but no less strong, his eyes peering down at the ring gleaming in the lights of their home.

“You drive a hard bargain there.”

Bucky releases his hold, the absence creeping in, until he pulls the ring out of the cushion. Sam’s hand is still hovering in the air when the cool metal slides along his finger.

”What, do you want me to beg?”

The box snaps closed; Bucky’s hand slips into his pocket before drawing it out, resting his left hand on Sam’s waist. His other is holding Sam’s, thumb resting on top of the ring.

Their bodies draw closer, not quite a dance, but movements of a beat they’ve done so often, it’s like breathing.

Sam’s lips brush against Bucky’s, not quite a kiss.

“That could be a start.”

Their foreheads are pressed together, touching, gaze so focused all they can see in the reflection of their eyes is each other. Their hands warming the other’s waist.

“Say yes and I’ll do anything,” Bucky declares.

He tries one more time.

“Marry me?”

He strains to hear in the silence but his enhanced senses register Sam’s whisper like a yell.

“Yes.”

The taste of triumph, of victory, of finding peace and home, is on their lips, and steals their breath before they part for air.

They don’t move far away, foreheads still leaning against each other. Sam’s smile is a bit devious now, a cheeky twinkle in his eye.

“Gonna hold you to that, husband,” he says, and Bucky just laughs.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart. Whatever you want.”

_

If you like my writing, feel free to check out my writing tag!

[wu-does-art]

curly haired nico nation rise up!!!

[neumond-alte-sonne]

knight!vi x masc/butch-king!reader

«Golden brown»

The throne room was crowded with noise—noblemen murmuring, advisors gesturing with ink-stained fingers, guards standing like statues at every column. You sat on the throne, newly crowned, the weight of gold unfamiliar and heavy on your head.

You were young. Beautiful, yes—but that wasn’t what made the room pause when you looked up. It was the stillness in your gaze, eyes far older than your face. Sharp and unflinching. The kind of person who had already learned that ruling meant being both blade and sheath.

Vi stood at the edge of the crowd, armor still bearing the dust of travel. She hadn't intended to end up there and stay longer than necessary. She was only meant to deliver a letter—a sealed message from a minor northern lord who owed fealty to the crown. But she had lingered when she shouldn’t have. Something about the tension in the room had kept her rooted. Something about the young monarch had drawn her like a moth to a flame.

A servant noticed her strange, cautious presence and leaned forward to whisper to the king. You looked up and rested your gaze on Vi with a slight frown.

"You," you said, and the whole room quieted. "Step forward," voice like ice cracking.

Vi did not move.

"You’re not deaf, are you?" You asked, arching an eyebrow.

Vi sighed and stepped out of the shadows, holding her helm in her hand. "No, Majesty. Just not used to being called out in rooms like this."

You tilted your head, your gaze fixed on Vi with a serious expression but with a growing, odd curiosity. "You’re not court guard."

"No, Majesty."

"You’re not a noble."

"Gods, no."

A flicker of amusement passed over your face. "Then what are you?"

"I'm just a simple wandering knight," Vi said plainly, but there was a hidden meaning in her words. "I was ordered to deliver a message. I didn’t mean to linger."

"And yet you did." You replied in a calm voice, tracing your lower lip with your thumb in a thoughtful gesture.

Vi looked into your eyes, holding a eerie spark in them. "I don’t like the way they look at you."

The room chilled. Several advisors bristled. A few guards shifted, giving a more threatening air.

But you didn’t move.

"And how do you look at me?"

Vi paused, almost hesitantly, and then said: "Like someone who’s about to be surrounded by hungry wolves."

For a long moment, there was silence. No one seemed to want to rebuke Vi's words. Some eyes held a dangerous haze as they settled on you, waiting for your reaction.

Then you stood.

"Come here."

Vi stepped forward, her boots echoing off marble. When she stopped at the foot of the dais, you descended the stairs, each step deliberate. You stopped only a breath away with your hands behind your back.

"Most people look at me with awe. Or hunger. Or fear," you said quietly, tilting your head slightly. "You don’t."

"No," Vi replied, firmly.

"Why?"

"Because you don’t need awe. You need someone who’ll bleed for you without asking why." A pause. "And someone who’ll tell you the truth when everyone else lies to keep their heads on their shoulders."

You studied her like one might study a blade—measuring its edge, its weight.

"Can I trust you?"

Vi didn’t blink. "No. But I won’t betray you."

That—strangely—seemed to please you.

"Good," you said. "Because I don’t need trust. I need loyalty."

Your eyes scanned Vi in detail, an attention that Vi found intimidating.

"What’s your name?"

"Violet. No title. No land."

"Just a sword?"

Vi shrugged. "And a spine. Which seems to be in short supply around here."

Your smile was slow, dangerous. Not amusement—approval.

You turned to the room, voice rising with regal command.

"Dame Violet is hereby named to my personal guard. Effective immediately. Anyone who questions it can speak to me alone."

Gasps followed and murmurs. Fury hidden in silk and lace.

But Vi? She just bowed her head with a hidden smile, the kind that flickered more in the eyes than on the lips.

"Yes, Majesty," she said, her voice steady, respectful.

Inside, though—inside, her chest burned with something fierce and complicated. Pride, yes. But also disbelief. A memory stirred: the first time she held a sword with trembling hands, the nights spent training in silence, bleeding on the stone floors no one ever bothered to clean. She had dreamed of honor once, before the world taught her to stop dreaming.

And now—this. Chosen by the king.

She did not look up. She couldn’t. Not yet. The smile might break into something else.

And from that day forward, they were never apart—not in war, not in peace, and not in the quiet spaces where duty twisted into something far more dangerous.

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟 𓆞𓆝 𓆟

[theshipsong]

suit of cups | i-iii

basil hawkins x f!reader. childhood friends/crewmates canon au. selfship; reader is an astrologer and explicitly racialized while he isn't. prequel to the stars have all gone. wc 3.5k | est. 13 min read

{ next card }

"You have pretty hair."

It was the first kind thing Basil Hawkins heard from another child since he and his mother moved to her home village in the North Blue. At ten years old, he was quite used to unsolicited commentary about his appearance, so he braced himself to fight, though he didn't hear the snickering of a bully's audience. Instead, he looked up to see you.

Though you stood while he sat, he could tell you were a few inches shorter than him and likely younger. You didn't look at his face or his brow, but truly, honestly, at the ends of his hair hanging past his chin.

"Go away."

Hawkins recalled the straw effigies he'd sprouted from his hands as he made to leave, but to his annoyance, you followed.

"I said go away."

"I'm going home."

"You're lying." He lengthened his steps the little bit his height allowed him.

"Am not. I live in the stone house with the outside kitchen."

That was generous. Smoke and steam wafted downwind to the wooded area where he lived smelling like fish and starches, from what had to be a pot over a fire pit at most. He liked being outside during this island's brief warm season, so he didn't relish when the air smelled like burnt food.

You shuffled quickly to catch up to him. "I heard there was a boy with powers. Is it you?"

"No."

"You're lying. I saw you grow pancit from nothing."

"Pancit?" he repeated.

"Noodles."

Hawkins looked at you sidelong as he slowed his pace slightly. If he was a misfit for the eyebrows he was told were his father's contribution, you stood apart from the villagers with your pitch-black waves while everyone else resembled his mother in coloring, straight, fair hair and fairer skin.

He stopped and held up his palm, conjuring a small scarecrow. You watched in fascination, and bizarrely sniffed the air before frowning.

"That's not pancit."

Other children would call him a monster or a witch and run away, shrieking, but you were unimpressed.

"No, it isn't."

You poked the scarecrow lightly with your finger, and he felt the foreign heat of your hand near his. Was it already that cold outside, or were you that warm? Then you grabbed his wrist and pulled him forward.

"Come on!"

You lived so close by but a world apart from him, with three generations of family who seemed to be mostly fishermen and homemakers. You barely introduced him to the old woman bent over a wok in the small, fenced yard with more gravel than grass before you pointed at the colorful woven mat under her feet.

"Lola, is that straw?"

She hummed affirmatively, and you grinned at him, though he wasn't sure what reaction you were looking for, then or throughout that evening of boisterous adults speaking half a different language while you piled his plate high with food, fragrant with garlic and vinegar and peppercorn. He'd always been left to his own devices, free to come and go as he pleased with his mother's unpredictable hours, so he was unsettled to the very end when you tried your best to walk him home. In practice, you lagged behind him, hobbling with a bundle of leftovers your mother foisted on you that had to be a third your size until Hawkins held out his hand with a put-upon sigh.

"Give it to me."

"No. You're a guest."

"We're going to my house."

"Just for a second!"

"And we're never getting there at the speed you're walking."

You grumbled as he pried it from your fingers, hooking the veritable tower of containers into his own. It really was one of the biggest meals he'd had in recent memory. Neighbors had been curious about the two of them before and made token offers to look after him out of pity for his young, hardworking mother, but that usually ended once they realized how off-putting and somber he was besides his Devil Fruit.

Hawkins was sure your own interest would wane soon and your family was surely gossiping about him at this moment, but he'd at least savor the dishes you brought along before his familiar solitude. You'd probably turn tail now that he relieved you of your burden. You'd probably pretend not to know him once other children got wind of his powers, and he'd resent you for it more than he did anyone else so far, because there was something sadder than usual about a little kid like you discarding him.

But you kept coming back.

The next day, Hawkins stepped out of his house to find you sitting on the fence post with a book that looked much too mature for either of you. Even he scarcely read anything but the comics in the World Economic Journal, so he doubted you were far beyond picture books yourself. You didn't acknowledge him as he approached, but the tension was evident in your neck, like you were waiting for him to speak first. He took advantage of his height and long arms to pluck it from your grasp.

"Hey!"

"On the Heavenly Spheres," Hawkins read out loud. The page you were on had diagrams, not so much illustrations, and he kept his thumb there as he flipped through to see more of the same. "Did you steal this?"

"Borrowed," you corrected. You'd hopped down from the fence to try and take it back, swiping futilely at his shoulders before he handed it back to you.

"From who?" Your family didn't seem terribly bookish.

"This neighbor lady," you said with a sniff. "She smells weird but she has a lot of stuff like this. See?" You held it out, pantomiming for him to take a whiff, and he recoiled.

"No, thank you."

But he didn't mind laying in the grass a few feet away from you with his backlog of Sora, Warrior of the Sea clippings while you hummed and doodled on your left arm in fountain pen, the odd symbols he'd glimpsed in your book, until the sun rose past noon and you asked him for soap in a panic before you both were due for lunch at your house. He could tell your mother restrained herself from striking you for the faint smear of ink left behind, and the next day he gave you the rest of the newspaper to write in the margins of instead.

His own mother was surprised to see you the evening after that, and looked between the two of you curiously as you chatted to her about the trove of food their family of two had been reheating diligently for days.

"I'm glad you're making friends, Hawkins," she said softly when he returned from walking you home.

"We're not friends," Hawkins said. "I'm babysitting."

His mother smiled at that, a little sadly, and he winced. He'd never had one, but understood the concept. It'd always been the two of them.

Summer turned to fall. You tried to teach him go, which the elders of your family played, though he wasn't convinced you understood it, either, with how a pruned man whose exact relation to you was inconclusive scowled every time you clacked a stone down loudly. Hawkins finally unearthed the pack of cards misplaced in their move here, and you played what few games the pair of you could think of for two players, mostly slapjack that left both of you smarting and teary-eyed, except for the times he covered his hand with a thick layer of straw. He made you truly cry, once, and he'd never felt worse. His mother came home and laughed at the scene the two of you made, and you betrayed him by ignoring him that evening to learn knitting at her side.

"We've been here for ever," you said, "but everyone still thinks they're back home, so no one knows how to dress for winter."

Back home, someplace you'd never been but you and now Hawkins heard plenty about. A summer island in the Grand Line. All the straw baskets and mats in your home was waste from white rice, unlike the barley and wheat around here. Hawkins wondered if it was warmer than a Northern summer, or warm like the life you invited him to without hesitation, or warm like your hands.

It was your birthday deep in winter when Hawkins finally met the smelly old woman who supplied you with books.

"You can take a bath right away," you hissed. He was more annoyed that for the next six months you were only two years younger than him instead of three, but now dread filled him along with the memory of patchouli and mothballs from times you'd stuck a book on his sleeping face.

The old woman lived at the edge of town, still closer than either of you, and it was one of the few times you saw other children your age, including a few who he'd punched and been punched by for comments about his mother and about you, so Hawkins took your mittened hand in his, your stitches much neater than his own despite you only learning a few months ago. He didn't let go until you passed the iron gate of a row house and you skipped ahead of him to knock.

Besides loud makeup—dark lipstick, no mascara—the old woman looked much like any other on this island, and you hugged her around her waist like you were used to it, though Hawkins could tell you held your breath. He bit back his smirk at that before you introduced him, and he managed to keep his distance with a polite bow of the head. You kicked him in the shin under the table while your hostess rifled around for something, and he tutted you for almost disturbing the tea.

She left you in a sort of drawing room, whose one complete wall was lined with tall bookshelves, including a few spines he recognized from your voracious intake. Incense puffed off a brass holder shaped like a sea king, and Hawkins couldn't excise it from the cocktail of other scents that was surely embedding itself in his hair and clothes.

"Now, darling," the woman said on return, sitting across from the pair of you at the round table. "How old are you this year?"

"Nine," you answered guilelessly.

"Mm. And you?"

He tried to hide that he was startled at being involved. "Eleven, now."

"Hawkins is a Virgo," you explained.

"Ah. I see." She nodded like you'd exchanged a larger volume of information than he could hear. "Birds of a feather."

With that, she held out a tall deck of cards toward you, and pressed your palm on the top before she shuffled them overhand like any of the men on the docks Hawkins had seen playing cards to pass the time. After a good long while, she set them in front of her counter-clockwise in a large wheel. There were twelve of them, and you made a noise of recognition.

The old woman grinned. "Sharp one, you are. Like him." She tapped the card that was at 9 o'clock from your shared point of view, one manicured fingernail on the crown of an enthroned old man, under which read "King of Swords."

You wrinkled your nose. "How is that my first house?"

"Where is your helmsman, dear?"

"Aquarius... oh."

Hawkins had no hope of following what seemed like an entirely disparate topic, the astronomy you read religiously, so he nursed his tea and inspected the rest of the spread. The deck was more colorful than the playing cards his mother had, with thick swathes of blue, red, green, and yellow and more proper illustrations than theirs. He counted two different kings on the table, and realized he'd never looked too closely before, taking for granted that every suit had two monarchs and a jack. But now that he looked, he wondered if his mother's deck wasn't a version of this with the more mystical cards missing. Why, though?

"Swords on three of your four angles," the woman tutted. "You're going to get yourself into many conflicts, and become known for it."

"By who?"

"Only another diviner would argue this much."

"I don't think I like tarot," you said sullenly. "It's not specific."

"Swords, dear."

Privately, Hawkins was impressed. He often found himself dragging you away from your family or other children by the scruff of your neck, how you challenged them as boldly as you did this woman who clearly found you amusing instead of abrasive.

The woman pointed at the third card, counter-clockwise. "Justice. Maybe you can use that tongue of yours to help the Marine."

"As my third house? I'm supposed to make propaganda?"

"Oi," Hawkins said, only half-offended. It was a familiar point.

"And I'm delighted to meet this young man of yours," the woman continued, and you audibly opened your mouth to contradict her, "but I think you should try to make some girl friends." The fifth card looked like three women clinking chalices together in the air.

"He's like a girl."

Hawkins had heard that before, but none of those who said it were you. If there was something girlish about him, whatever that meant, there was as much boyish in you, and you were each something closer to each other than anyone else.

For the next hour of your asking questions and picking the answers apart, Hawkins itched to take notes like when you read your astronomy books, or ask for the rest of the deck to flick through, and eventually he started speaking up himself, trying his hand at interpretation.

"It feels right for you to have The Star," he said carefully.

"It does. I like you, kid," your mentor—because that's what she was—said with a satisfied nod. You stuck your tongue out at him. "The Star as your eighth house suggests you'll be involved in political upheaval of some kind." Hawkins read headlines, at least, about the Revolutionary Army, and the thought of you dying for such a vague cause was laughable. "Or you will have close contact with someone who disrupts the status quo, violently."

You frowned. "I don't see how. I have Mars there, and it's undignified."

"The Six of Cups for your ninth house..." She looked at Hawkins then. "You two will travel together. I'm sure of it."

Hawkins drew six cards every morning. The first three were his personal reading, and the next three were for you. With your permission. You rolled your eyes as you gave it, but listened to his interpretation, and you in turn reminded him which of his houses had planets transiting through them. You said it was easy because your rising signs formed a trine to one another, his Cancer to your Pisces—only possible with signs of the same element. To him, those were The Chariot and The Moon, and your eyebrow visibly twitched when he said so.

He was fourteen and you were twelve when your grandfather taught the two of you and some of your cousins how to sail in a small double outrigger boat, an old but still-sturdy fishing rig retired from the family business but deemed safe enough for children on calm waters. You were only allowed to sail within a small bay separate from the commercial port at the island's northeast, and for the first time in your families' friendship, Hawkins felt guilty about accepting so much good will. Before this he had some pride and felt offended on his mother's behalf, that any help offered in his upkeep judged her as inadequate. His powers also meant your family would bear responsibility if he drowned, but they accepted the risk and kept sharing things with him like food and a sailboat and their roof, kept sharing you.

The two of you monopolized the paraw. Your older cousins already worked on larger fishing boats while this was functionally a sailed canoe, so the novelty was gone. The ones closer to your age gave you (and him) wide berth, so all summer the two of you sailed circles around the bay, taking turns reading your respective crafts while the other rigged.

"I don't know, Hawkins, it's a little cloudy," you hedged as you used a ruler to keep your place on your ephemeris table. You laid on your stomach on the floor of his room, knocking your shins into him as he sat with his back against his bed, his cards on the floor. He'd been fashioning some sort of stand for them out of straw, mostly to keep them off dirty surfaces, but the mutability of layouts he used made it difficult.

"All the more reason to practice. Do you think pirates get a choice in what the weather is like?"

You kicked his thigh with purpose. "Fine. But if we capsize or get rained on..."

"I didn't draw any Cups," Hawkins said.

"Really." You didn't sound impressed. "There's wet majors though. Did you get any of them?"

Just The Moon, but if he said that you'd be reminded of your sign correspondence rant. "We both got the Six of Swords."

It took you a minute to visualize it: two figures in a boat disembarking, a ferryman and their passenger. "Isn't that bad?"

After a year or so of using his mother's cards, Hawkins saved up enough money doing readings at the farmer's market to order an entirely pictorial deck, quicker for his personal recall than pips. You really preferred words and patterns over images, and responded to the pip deck like he didn't, but you gamely learned the pictures anyway.

You whined the whole time you followed him to the dock. It was cloudy, but the clouds were fluffy and white, not at all heavy with rain, and soon you were out on the water again, where Hawkins was starting to feel at home.

He wanted to see the world. He always had, as he and his mother moved incrementally throughout the North Blue and he noticed the slightest of differences from island to island. Then he met you, and the thought of the Grand Line struck him like lightning. That, and Devil Fruits being more commonplace there. He must have eaten his before he could talk, since he didn't remember it and never could swim to begin with. Your family had been fishermen for centuries, but your own mother neither swam nor feared the water. When the mentor you now shared said you would travel together, he knew that meant he would go to sea.

It was to those happy thoughts that Hawkins reclined across from you in the long outrigger and dozed off. Until...

"Hawkins!"

You shook him awake far more violently than he thought he deserved, and the first thing he noticed was the air was cool, cooler than it should be for a summer afternoon. He blinked one eye open and saw it was nighttime, sunset or just past sunset.

"Shit." You gasped, scandalized. "Don't be a baby," he grumbled as he started sitting up, but you smacked him in the shoulder so hard he went straight back down.

"I knew today wasn't a good sailing day!"

"It didn't rain."

"We're lost. Do you see the coastline?"

Hawkins squinted vaguely where he thought he horizon should be. "...No."

"Fuck!" you hissed.

"Fuck," he repeated.

"We're fine, actually. Okay. We're good." He didn't know if he believed you, but you nearly snapped your neck with how quickly you grabbed the compass that hung from it. "Okay. The new moon was four days ago, so she's waxing. Does that look like a quarter to you?" Hawkins knew better than to answer. "Either way, we can't have moved too far. Good thing the sails were furled."

You chewed your lip and looked up at the sky. He followed your gaze and saw only a field of stars, those clouds you worried about long gone. He stared long enough that his eyes started to water.

"Are you crying?"

"No." He wiped at his face with the back of his hand.

"We need to shunt. I think we've been going southeast."

"You think? How certain are you?"

"I'm not a navigator!" you snapped. "I don't know. I don't have like, a percentage for you, but I'm reasonably sure. Look. There's Polaris."

You pointed, and he supposed some of them looked brighter than the others, but he couldn't be certain. It amazed him that you read the sky like a map written just for you, and he wished his cards were half as useful to your shared survival.

"I'm putting my life in your hands."

You huffed. "It's already there." Hawkins stared, and wondered if you understood, without his saying it, everything you meant to him and how lost he would be without you, that the depth of it all would embarrass both of you, and—"You can't swim."