#because it does sound strong and intimidating and imposing

[feroluce]

Thinking tonight about Caelus, and the nature of his loss and his grief after the Everything that went down in Penacony during 2.0.

Because Acheron, Black Swan, and Misha kind of knew of Firefly, they at least met her, but they didn't like really know her, and Caelus never even got the chance to introduce her to the rest of the Astral Express Crew. The only person who would have talked to her much was Sparkle, who is. Probably not really someone Caelus is interested in grieving with skznmsks

Anyway, all this to say, I like thinking about how alone poor Caelus is in his grief, because he was the only one who knew Firefly. He's the only one really mourning her. There's no one to talk about her with. There's no stories to trade or memories to reminisce with anyone over. It's not as though he knew her for long, but still. No one else knew her at all.

And I love the thought of all of this coming bubbling up, hot and acidic and bitter, during a conversation with Sampo, who Caelus just so happens to run into in the Golden Hour. Poor Sampo is kinda blindsided, he knew shit was going down in Penacony, but yeesh. And he just. Isn't quite sure what to say about it all, because he's never really encountered this before. His feelings about the Masked Fools are...a mixed bag, but he's been a part of them for a very long time, and when you're with a close organization like that, it's hard to feel alone, in grief or otherwise.

So Sampo sits there on their little bench that the two of them have occupied, and he thinks of his old friend April, how she'd died in his arms cackling and spitting her own blood after a heist gone wrong, and how after he'd dragged himself back to the World's End Tavern they'd all held a Fool's Funeral- which is basically just a big party where everyone gets really really drunk and reminisces and toasts the dead and celebrates their life.

He still thinks about her a lot, and he remembers how the time he'd most keenly felt her absence was on Jarilo-VI, the one place where he couldn't talk about her because he couldn't say anything to give himself away as an alien. The Fools still tell stories about her every time he goes back to the Tavern. His first toast of the night is always in her name. Even now, all these years after she'd died, Sampo is still learning new things about her. He's never had to grieve her alone.

Caelus doesn't have any of that.

He might never have that. As they speak, Caelus has no proof that Firefly was even her real name, or if she dreamt with her true appearance. He might not ever find out who she even was.

And just imagining that kind of loneliness hollows out a strange little pit, right behind his sternum, deep between his ribs.

So Sampo claps Caelus' shoulder and offers him a deal. Come find him outside of the dream. He knows a guy who can get them a lot of beer for really cheap-

("Is that guy you and your five finger discounts?" "Whatever do you mean, dear friend, I don't even know the meaning of the phrase, hehee.")

-and they can hole up in a bar or a hotel room or something, and get completely shitcanned. Tell him all about Firefly, tell him everything, and he'll tell Caelus about April and everyone else he's ever lost. Sampo will carry Caelus' memories of Firefly with him, and at least this way, Caelus will be a little less alone in remembering her. And the next time they cross paths, Sampo will be the one to bring her up, and to tell her stories, and Caelus can get to be the one listening. He won't have to be the only person to talk about her anymore.

Caelus rolls his eyes when Sampo avoids another remark about sticky fingers, but...ok, yeah. That sounds good. Nice, even. Thank you. Caelus bumps his shoulder against Sampo's. Sampo bumps back.

(They find each other again the next day, and true to their word, get themselves completely and utterly shitcanned. Caelus talks more than Sampo has ever heard him; every minute detail, every word choice, Firefly's every odd little mannerism and habit. Because Caelus wants to make sure this will outlive him, that even if the Stellaron dwelling within him finally burns him to a crisp and he really does up and kick the bucket, or even, godforbid, if he forgets, he wants to make sure someone remembers her. She deserved that.)

((And it takes quite a while, after that. Caelus doesn't see Sampo again until after everything has settled down. On his last day in Penacony, he finds the guy slinking out of a seedy back alley and all but runs right into him. Sampo happily leads him to some dive bar in an even seedier back alley that Caelus has never even heard of, and Sampo raises his glass. "To Firefly! Who sounds like she probably would have hated me at first, but I would have liked to have met her anyway."

And Caelus stares at him, almost looking startled, long enough that Sampo worries that he's read him wrong and brought this up too soon. He's halfway into planning how to talk himself out of this situation when Caelus finally throws back his head back and laughs, tells him that yeah, Firefly would have politely called him out on every lie he told, and all their conversations would take twice as long with the way Sampo is so full of shit.

And he can see it, the same way he watches and sees through everyone, that Caelus' eyes have a tightness to them, his knuckles are nearly white around the handle of his mug. But he smiles. He hits his glass against Sampo's far too hard and throws it back and gets foam everywhere like he does every time they drink because the guy's about as elegant as a raging bull, but those things don't lessen the genuineness of his smile.

The grief is there, but so is the elation, and those emotions aren't a sliding scale between one or the other. It is all of both and both at once, and that's what contents Sampo enough to throw his own mug back when Caelus makes a toast of his own, "to April!!".))

#caelus #sampo koski #hsr caelus #hsr sampo #sampo & caelus #sampril #honkai star rail #hsr #my fics #me a few days ago: my favorite silly little guys uwu #me today: ANGST #honestly I feel like this isn't even a super strong angst though #it's more just. bittersweet? melancholic? something. #I JUST. REALLY LOVE STORIES ABOUT THE NATURE OF GRIEF #and 2.0 laid the groundwork for that beautifully woohoo #I just remembered this probably isn't common knowledge oops but April is the cute red haired girl in Funny Bone #her name was revealed by the creators on twitter. she's named April like April Fools! #anyway I ship it hardcore now thanks bucket boi & studio #but anyway yes I love and adore the loneliness of the trailblazer's loss and grief after 2.0 #because we know from Sunday that Firefly is “spiritually dead” but the trailblazer wouldn't have that knowledge #and they wouldn't know her identity or about any of her connections to other people #and I love that juxtaposed against Sampo and the possible strange nature of his own grief- #-given how the Masked Fools operate and how they see Elation in everything and everywhere #Sampo is no saint- like at all lol- but I do like him and Caelus getting along and being bros #and I don't think it would be terribly ooc for him to care about someone he sees as a genuine friend #he maybe rarely considers someone a genuine friend. but still dmxjjdjdk #listening to Sam's boss theme as I tag this... have been listening to it a lot ever since I finished 2.0 tbh #it's probably what inspired a lot of this haha #because it does sound strong and intimidating and imposing #but you can hear it

[killerpancakeburger]

Breaking Point (1/2)

SUMMARY: Civilian!Reader, who works as Price's assistant, has a breakdown at work. Soap+Ghost help the best they can. Hurt/comfort. Can be read as platonic or romantic. Gender Neutral Reader.

PAIRINGS: Ghost x GN!Reader

Soap's version.

TAGS: Hurt/comfort. Military inaccuracies (I make shit up for the sake of the plot). Ghost is... Ghost; taciturn, blunt, aloof, but Not An Asshole, protective, trustworthy, He's Trying ☆.

WARNINGS: Mention of relative in the hospital, suicide ideation, depressive thoughts, swearing. Ghost's part is significantly darker than Soap's (in terms of suicide ideation, not as in he's a yandere).

WORDS COUNT: 3.6k

A/N: Very self-indulgent, Reader is going through it and so am I. 🙃 Ghost role-plays (NOT SEXUAL) as the world's worst psychiatrist. Yours truly suggest to listen to "Strong For Somebody Else" by Citizen Soldier to set the mood. (Song includes suicide ideation and depressive thoughts too, so listen at your own risk).

The news you’ve just been told cannot be real. Life could not possibly be that cruel. What did I do to deserve this? you wonder helplessly. It’s like every time you get back up, life knocks you down again, sending you tumbling on the cold, hard ground.

After ending the call, you put down your phone on your desk in a daze, hand shaking.

Clenching your fists, you stare into space, a thousand thoughts disorderly swirling inside your brain, all bursting with anguish, until a burning tear running down your cheek brings you back to the present. You’re at work, your boss is in the next room; a breakdown is a luxury you cannot afford right now. Better bite your tongue hard enough to draw blood than be caught sobbing. 

Inhaling a shaky breath, you take your head between your hands, shoving your fingers into your hair, trying to convince yourself to postpone your nervous collapse. Only one hour left, and you’ll be free to cry your eyes out at your flat. Or on the way home, even. It’s not like the other passengers ever paid you attention the other times you’ve cried on the bus.

But somehow your attempts have the opposite effect, and more tears roll down your face, staining the papers beneath it. As you furiously wipe your face with your sleeve, with a blend of frustration and despair, pissed at yourself, and wanting to get rid of the evidence of your fragile state as fast as possible, the unmistakable sound of your office’s door opening makes you look up.

The sight of the dark, bulky silhouette standing in the frame does nothing to appease your worries - quite the opposite. Of freaking course of all bloody people that could have walked in on you, it had to be fucking Ghost. The most intimidating - not to say terrifying - man on the whole base, but also the most cryptic. 

Towering over 190cm and built like few were, even on a military base, you had recoiled despite yourself the first time you met. Every single detail regarding him was redacted - you knew because you had checked his file, consumed by curiosity -, including his own face - unvaryingly covered by a black mask adorned with a white skull. That semblance of halloween mask and an alias was all that he shared with the world. 

He dispensed his words in dribs and drabs to a handful of privileged people, which seemed limited to your supervisor, Captain Price, who was also his direct superior, and his teammates of the Task Force 141. He couldn’t have offered you more than ten syllables in the six months you’ve been there. Yet, everyone knew who he was, what he was capable of, and crowds systematically parted with his passage like the Red Sea. 

You had wisely taken the resolution to not heed the rumors about him, which ranged from hardly believable to frankly ridiculous, but you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach every time he was nearby. It wasn’t only his imposing stature that put you on edge, but mainly the fact that he was always impassive. His mask effectively hid his emotions, sure, but his voice didn’t let anything show through either. Most of the time you had no idea what he was thinking or feeling, leaving you puzzled at how to interact with him. Not that there were that many interactions to begin with, but the few that happened left you with a lasting impression.

However you were pleased with yourself after you quit agonizing over his opinion of you, focusing instead on doing your best to treat him like the other soldiers. He may not be friendly, but he never had been disrespectful either.

You stare at him in horror, a deer in the headlights, unable to emit a sound. You didn’t even have the time to fabricate a bunch of excuses to get you out of this situation.

Shit, shit, shit. What do I do? WHAT DO I DO?

“Ya good?” 

His tone is gruff, as it always is, but not hostile. The question feels like a way out of this awkward situation, a lifebelt. You cling onto it like you're lost at sea.

Maybe you can still turn this around - pretend everything is OK. He will follow the implicit rules of politeness and leave you to it.

You hasten to reply.

“Yeah, yeah, it's fine. I'm fine.”

As you finish drying your face, he steps into the room, stopping in front of your desk.

“Did you need something?”

Your voice automatically switches to “customer service” mode, and you plaster a fake smile on your face. The mental image of a puppet, strings forcing the corner of its lips to lift, comes to your mind.

Ghost doesn't respond. His eyes are searching your face like it's an encrypted message that could provide a target's position.

Your smile vacillates under his scrutiny. The examination is cold, clinical; there's no warmth nor sympathy in those brown eyes.

“Doesn't look fine to me.”

He announces the statement like a fact, voice dull, neutral. He doesn't provide sympathy, but he doesn't cast judgment either. It’s not less irritating though.

Your first instinct is to snap at him, tell him to mind his own business, ask why he even cares. You resist it. Picking quarrels will only make matters worse. You grit your teeth and lie some more, trying to sound carefree.

“It's nothing, really. I'm just being a crybaby.”

Crybaby.

Ghost turns the word over in his mind, unconvinced. He still recalls vividly the moment he stopped considering you like another faceless office worker amongst others and made an effort to remember your name.

He was mindlessly killing time in the break room with Gaz and Soap until you showed up at the door, a forced smile on your face, attempting to look casual but your body language betraying your nervousness. He spotted you first, the other two engaged in a lively conversation. Relief spread on your face when you saw he had noticed you, sparing you the trouble of having to call out for him, and you approached.

“Ghost, can I have a word? … in private?”

He straightened up from the wall he was leaning on and followed you wordlessly, feeling the prying stares of his teammates lingering on him. You stopped in the hallway to face him.

“You forgot to fill out the medical part in your last report.”

Fingers linked together, you were anxiously twiddling your thumbs. His eyes followed the movement unconsciously.

“I haven't.”

You frowned in uncomprehension. 

“Your medical file said-”

“I know what the medical file said,” he retorted firmly, hoping that you would understand his intention without him having to spell it out loud.

The furrow in your brows didn’t go away, quite the contrary.

“You want me to lie.”

The statement wasn’t an accusation, but a request for confirmation.

“You catch on quick.”

The sarcasm and patronization unintentionally slipped into his voice. You were just a newbie trying to do your job well, after all. However the others before you never took the trouble to confront him about this, either out of fright or negligence, and this felt like a waste of his time.

He watched you search his face for something, an explanation, a way out? You bit your lips, conflicted, before replying:

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, raising a skeptical eyebrow that you couldn’t see, crossing his arms. He didn’t know whether to be annoyed or amused. He wasn’t used to being turned down anymore, except for so few individuals, like Price or Laswell, that they could be counted on the fingers of one hand. That the first person to oppose him in so long wasn’t an uptight high ranking or a gutsy enemy, but you, an average civilian, was definitely a surprise. 

“I'm not taking that risk”, you added with a determination he didn’t expect.

“Ya wouldn’t be takin’ any. Nobody will be none the wiser.”

“That's not what I- urgh. I am not letting you go back injured on the field! I don't care if you're the ghost or whatever, you’re not invulnerable. So either you fill that damn file or I'm telling Price.”

“Oh? You'd snitch on me?”

“I'd do it to save your life, yeah.”

And with that, you shoved the papers in his chest, turned around and walked away. You had barely disappeared around the corner that he was already mentally calling himself a bloody idiot. Why had it been so tempting to provoke you? Because out of nowhere your usually bashful self showed audacity? Because you were absurdly hellbent on defending his expandable life? No matter the reason, he started to look at you differently from that day on.

Clearly you and him had a different definition of “crybaby”.

He deposits the stack of files he had been holding on your bureau, but as you reach to seize them, he covers your hand with his own and leans in.

You would have stared in disbelief at his gloved hand over yours if the proximity of his face wasn’t a much more pressing matter. You can feel your face warm up and you loathe it.

“Those'll still be there tomorrow, love.”

You blink in surprise at the pet name. It's like you're a spooked horse and he's trying to soothe you with sweet nothings.

“But the paperwork-”

“Fuck the paperwork.”

Easy for him to say.

“But Price-”

“I'll deal with Price.”

“My mom's in the hospital”, you brutally admit, having run out of pretext.

You look each other in the eye for what seems forever. 

“Ye take yer coffee with three sugars, yeah?”

“Uh, yeah?”

You reply hesitantly, stunned by the ask that, a priori, has nothing to do with your wholehearted confession. How did he even know that? The words have barely left your lips that he already disappeared into the corridor. You stare in disbelief at the door, mouth agape. You poured your fucking heart out and that socially inept bastard in his goofy ass halloween costume just ditched you after wringing the truth out of you like you were an interrogated enemy soldier.

Sipping the content of your mug with the Ghost's unblinking stare fixated on you is an unsettling experience, to say the least. Seated on the chair facing your desk, legs wide open, wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and gray pants, one hand holding his mug of tea, he hasn’t taken his eyes off you since he sat down. 

Does he seriously not realize how unnerving his starring is?

He exudes an aura of tranquil power; the unchallenged authority of someone who is used to being obeyed without question, combined with the nonchalance that comes with being unmatched. Even casually sprawled like this, he remains formidable.

A few minutes ago, he set down a steaming mug in front of you and a box of tissues - a delicate attention that sent a pang in your chest -, before taking a seat. The fingers of his free hand are softly taping his knee.

“Guess I won’t need to kill anyone tonight,” he declares in a detached manner.

You blink in incomprehension at that.

“But you don’t have a mission tonight…”

“Won’t have to kill anyone for makin’ ya cry,” he clarifies.

“Oh.”

What else can you possibly reply to that? The murder machine lounging in front of you has enough confirmed kills to make a sniper of legend green with envy.

“So…”, you initiate, not without uncertainty, “is this the moment where I get everything off my chest?”

“Do whatever ya want.” he placidly counters, shrugging.

It really, considerably, sounds like he doesn't care at all; but if he did, he wouldn’t be here.

You take a deep breath, staring at your desk.

“She's in the ICU. Paralyzed, intubated, put in a coma.”

Tears flood your eyes again. This time you don't try to fight them.

“I'm terrified for her. But, what's worse is…”

You swallow your saliva; blink in rapid succession - the tears sting.

“I can’t help but think the worst. About what'll become of me without her.”

Water overflows your eyes. The dam ruptures abruptly. Raw honesty spills from your lips.

“She’s all I have. Without her, I have nothing. I am nothing.”

The ensuing silence is deafening. You wonder what the hell you’re doing. There’s something about the man in front of you that, paradoxically, makes you want to confide in him. Despite his lack of warmth, he feels steady, reliable. A rock to lean on when your whole world is crumbling. Solid ground when it feels like everything is caving in around you. Like you could lay all your burdens on him and he wouldn’t even flinch under what feels like the weight of the world.

You feel awfully selfish to entertain that thought, but you doubt he'd ever give you the opportunity to return the favor. 

“Bollocks.”

His tone is surlier than before. You look up at him to be sure you heard correctly.

“What about yer job? Ye enjoy it, right?”

You scoff bitterly at that.

“It's just a temporary gig. I'll be kicked out in two months.”

“We can make it permanent.”

You shoot him an incredulous look.

“You're just saying that.”

“‘M not. Wouldn't lie just to make ye feel better. Not my style.”

A cynical chuckle escapes you before a mischievous smirk stretches your lips.

“I’m sorry big guy, when did you get nominated as the commander of the base? Cause as far as I know this is outside your jurisdiction.” 

A similar smile spreads behind his mask. He’d take your sass over your tears any day.

“I have my ways,” he replies tranquilly.

From anyone else, you’d call it bragging or bluffing. Coming from the Ghost, it doesn’t sound as anything but the truth. He stares at you intensely, as if daring you to doubt him again, or intent on proving you his integrity through gaze alone. 

You look away, your cheeks heating up.

Ghost never minded that you can’t maintain eye contact. Just like he’s not into small talk, or physical contact. He knows most people tend to take it the wrong way, interpret it as contempt, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

“Thank you, but I can’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’d feel like I’m manipulating you.” 

He chuckles darkly, sending a shiver crawling down your spine, one you do not know if it was born of fear entirely or attraction. 

“Oh sweetheart, you couldn’t even if you tried.” 

Another tingle. Definitely pleasant this time. You desperately busy yourself with the content of your mug, the effects of that sentence on you too intense for the solemnity of the situation. 

Your strategy proves itself fruitful until a movement at the periphery of your vision attracts your gaze. You peek without thinking, and freeze at the sight of Ghost lifting his mask above his nose to drink from his cup. One scar crosses his mouth, another departs from the corner of his lips, both ancient but deep. They don’t faze you though - truth be told, the omnipresent mask made you expect him to look like a world war one veteran, so heavily disfigured that you wouldn’t be able to bear it. 

“Enjoyin’ the view?”

He doesn’t sound even remotely annoyed, but you lower your eyes in shame all the same.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“If I didn’t wantcha to look, I wouldn’t have taken it off.”

As you need a moment to take in the implications of that sentence, he talks again.

“What's your poison?”

“Pardon?” you reply, genuinely lost.

He snorts at your exaggerated politeness.

“Coffee isn’t gonna cut it. Whataya usually take when you feel like this? Alcohol? Cigs?”

A pause.

“Sex?”

You choke and set down your mug out of fear of dropping it.

“No, no… and no.”

“Nothing?”

He sounds doubtful.

“I… cry myself to sleep?”

It makes no sense to formulate it like a question, but everything about this is surreal.

He hums, contemplative.

“You’re not making this easy.”

“What?”

“Helpin’ ya.”

You scoff, suddenly irritated.

“You could lend me one of your guns and let me blow my brains off with it. That would help.”

 “Not gonna happen,” he counters with emphatic authority that leaves no place for rebuttal. 

“Worth a shot,” you say, trying to get the last word. “Ha, shot. Get it?”

“Very funny.”

You roll your eyes at his comment, like he’s a tired parent indulging you, a tireless child.

“You just don’t have any humor.”

The words left your lips before you could consider their impact. Yes, you never heard the Ghost laugh, but maybe he has a very good reason for that. Maybe several. Maybe you’re just a fucking asshole.

“Why are colds bad criminals?” 

Your head pivots towards him so fast you fear your neck is going to snap.

“Why…?”

“Because they’re easy to catch.”

You stare at him in bewildered silence, not quite believing what just happened, before starting to laugh, first softly, then, carried away, louder and louder, bordering on hysterical. You don’t even giggle because of the joke, but because the contrast between the silliness of it and how deadpan Ghost was when enunciating it is simply too good. That, and the nerves are probably getting the better of you.

“Never had anyone laugh that much at this one before.”

You attempt to get your breath back, alternating between pants and laughs, wiping a solitary tear at the corner of your eye.

“It’s just… you… I didn’t see it coming, jeez.”

Sighing wistfully, you take in the quietude of this fleeting moment.

“This is nice.”

“I'm always nice,” grunts the lieutenant. 

You let out a good-natured scoff, then reality catches up to you.

“SHIT! What time is it!?” you shout in panic as you violently get up. “Maybe I can still catch a bus-”

You log out of your work session, turn off your PC and shove all your belongings inside your bag in record time. Ghost barely bats an eye, still like a languid cat; a very big, very dangerous cat.

“You can spend the night.”

“No I can’t!”

You push your chair under your desk and pick up your coat.

“We can make some sorry bloke sleep outside.”

“Noooo- That's horrible!”

You have no idea if he’s messing with you or not.

“Not worse than what's waiting for ‘em on the field.”

“Well, I still can’t do that.”

“Good for you that I can, then.”

You finally look at him, an half-amused smile on your lips, raising a skeptical eyebrow. 

“Lemme guess. This is you ‘having your ways’ again, isn’t it?”

His offer is tempting. You really don’t want to be left to your own devices tonight.

He stands up and takes a step towards you while pulling his mask down and, oh, with him sitting this all time, you would have almost forgotten how much he towers over you.

“S’that a yes or a no?”

You could almost detect a hint of playfulness in his voice.

“It’s a yes, sir,” you retort while pronouncing the “sir” with as much impertinence as you can muster.

“Better keep up, then.”

And just like that, he vacates the premises, and you do have to focus to keep up because those long legs of his ain’t just for show.

As you two travel across corridors unknown to you, you wonder once again what the hell you’re doing, hanging out with this mountain of a man who’s more myth than human, and breaking the rules of a military base on a whim. Lost in thought, you don’t pay attention to the voices edging closer, and you’re completely taken aback when Ghost grabs you by the back of your shirt and drags you in a dark alcove with him. You’re so astounded, you don’t even make a sound. He takes hold of the back of your head and presses you against him to occupy as little space as possible, effectively hiding you from the men walking by. Only then you recognize Captain Price among other officers.

“Sorry ‘bout that, love,” whispers the man you’re squeezed against, barely audible, imperturbable as ever, like this is an everyday situation for him.

You don’t answer - you can’t, anyway, essentially muffled by his pecs. You should be more irked by those circumstances, but the sudden proximity set your face ablaze, therefore you’re very happy with its current concealment. 

“Price will have my head if he thinks I made you cry.”

You’re about to protest, but then you remember that one time when Soap tagged along when you were carrying a huge box back from the archives, and when Price saw you two, Soap unconcerned with empty hands, and your face almost disappearing behind the imposing cardboard, he called the sergeant a bloody useless muppet and then proceeded to call into question his ability to transport his rucksack for days. Nevermind that you were the one who insisted on carrying the crate on your own as it provided a nice workout, and that you had to bare your teeth at Soap to prevent him from taking it from you.

When the peril has walked by and Ghost releases you, you silently thank the shadows around you hiding how affected you are by this ersatz of a hug. Later, he drops you off at an unoccupied bedroom, small but including a bathroom and furnished with everything you could ever want. You say your goodbyes and your thanks at the door, and he. pats. your head. You don’t even have time to be outraged that he states he will see you tomorrow, something that sounds like a promise as much as a threat, probably in reference to the morbid fantasies you shared, and he vanishes into the shadows like a… ghost.

A/N : The real reason Ghost ran out:

He be googling “how to comfort female civilian age between 20 and **”

In the TF Group Chat (Price not included):

“We have an emergency.”

“Send as many kitten pics as possible to [Reader] … stat.”

#mine #cod x reader #cod x you #call of duty x reader #cod mwii #cod mw2 #simon ghost riley #ghost cod #ghost fanfiction #cod fanfic #cod fic #ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley x you #ghost fluff #hurt/comfort #cod fluff

[thewritetofreespeech]

Could I request Toru Kirishima's s/o seeing his tattoos for the first time and getting inspiration for her art from it?

“Take your shirt off.”

Toru stopped dead in the middle of what he was doing for a second, then returned to it with a cheeky grin. “[Y/N]-chan, not here in the middle of work…”

“It’s not for that.” They replied with a stern look. Which in turn deflated Toru’s expression because this wasn’t going to be as fun as he wanted. “I want to see your tattoos.”

His expression perked up again, this time in surprise, at their request. No one, or at least no sane person, asked to see a yakuza’s tattoos. “Why do you want to see them?”

“I’m working on a series based on Sakuragi family tattoos. You’re the only one besides Ryota who has a decent one.” They explain as they opened up their sketch pad to get ready.

But Toru felt uncomfortable.

“I don’t think the boss would go for that. He doesn’t like our tattoos on display.” The boss’s rules were simple: you had to get them, and they had to be able to be covered. Toru had already been pushing the line with his arm & wrist tattoos. Discretion was the better part of valor for the boss and he needed soldiers who could blend in when he needed them to.

“I already cleared it with him. He said it was fine.” Shit. “He said as long as I don’t copy the actual tattoos, and use them just for inspiration, and don’t use anyone’s names, I could do it. Now take your shirt off.”

He felt backed into a rock & a hard place, but if the boss said ok Toru didn’t really have a means to refuse them. So he took his shirt off.

Standing there, with his back towards them for a while in silence, Toru finally spoke up, “you’re not doing the whole piece now are you? I’ll have to pick up the little lady from school soon.”

“I’m just working on a rough sketch. And it’s only been 5 minutes.” Toru sighed. “Did they hurt?” They then asked him. Seemingly out of the blue. “When you got them?”

“As much as when my ribs got broken by that baseball bat? No.” He told them. “But…yes, they hurt.”

“Why do it then?”

Toru had to think about it for a minute, over the sound of their pencil scrapping. Sure, the boss and families usually require it when you joined. But it wasn’t just that. “I wanted to belong.”

There were a few more moments of pencil scratching before [Y/N] announced, “I’m done. You can put your shirt back on now.”

“Why do I suddenly feel so dirty?”

[Y/N] chuckled as they came over to him and gave him a peck on the cheek while he buttoned his shirt. “Your support of the arts is appreciated. I’ll see you later.”

“I don’t even get to see it?” He asked incredulously.

“You can see it when it’s done.” They told him. “Just like everyone else.”

“I thought being the boyfriend of the artist got you perks.”

“It does.” They told him. “Your canvas gets to be bigger.” They kissed him again and then were off.

Toru didn’t see them for a while after that, but that was pretty normal. When they were working on their art they would disappear for days on end working on whatever project they had envisioned. Finally, one day, he got a call that the piece were ready and that they were going to do a small show at a local gallery and invited everyone to attend.

Everyone, of course, couldn’t come (that would be a little excessive for the small space) but Toru, Sugihara, and the boss all came to see what [Y/N] had been up to. They were right. His canvas was bigger.

“What do you think?” They asked. Slinking up beside him, like they were any other patron and not the artist.

“I don’t get it.” He answered honestly. “But then again I’m not an art buff.”

[Y/N] snickered at him. “You really don’t have any opinion?”

Toru stared at the painting some more. A large, black dragon. Imposing, intimidating, wailing with its jaws open at the sky in terror perched on a mountain. But then, at its tail, it looked at this it had been ensnared with sakura branches. Delicate, yet strong. The pink flowers a stark contrast to the bleak sky. The parts of its tail it had bound to slowly turning it white. “I like the flowers at the bottom.”

[Y/N] laughed again. “Always the direct one, eh?”

“How much is it?”

“I’m selling it to people who can actually pay me.”

“I can pay you.” Toru snarked back.

“I wouldn’t take your money.”

Toru huffed. “So my skin is good enough for you, but not my money?” Some of the more upper crust patrons gave them funny looks at their conversation.

“Do you really want the painting Toru?”

“Yes.”

“Then I’ll give you the original one.” They told him. “This is a duplicate. I always planned on giving the original to you, if you wanted it. I just didn’t think you’d be so up in arms about it.”

“I’m not ‘up in arms’.” He argued. “I just like the painting.”

“Then you should have it.” They agreed. Giving him a smile and squeezing his hand. “I have to go talk to some other people with money now. Don’t run off without saying goodbye.” Toru nodded and went back to staring at art and sipping his drink.

What was that old saying? He may not know art, but he knew what he liked?

“Do you think [Y/N] would be mad if I took this off the wall now?” He asked Sugihara when they were alone. To which Sugihara told him emphatically yes, but he still considered it.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers) #kirishima #toru kirishima #toru kirishima x reader #toru kirishima scenario #kirishima tooru #the yakuza's guide to babysitting #the yakuza's guide to babysitting x reader #the yakuza's guide to babysitting scenario #scenarios #imagine #kumichou musume to sewagakari #kumicho musume to sewagakari x reader #kumicho musume to sewagakari scenario

[inkwolvesandcoffee]

Conversations over Coffee (Werewolf!Leo Demidov x Reader)

Genre: Romance, Fluff, Werewolf AU, Modern AU

Pairing: Werewolf!Leo Demidov x Fem Human!Reader

Word Count: 2.9K

Warnings: None

Summary: A cup of coffee or tea has the power to bring people together. No matter their walks of life, there is a powerful magic in the small moment shared over a warm drink.

It was a cup of tea which made Leo decide to put his trust in you.

But it was over a cup of coffee he promised to stay.

Author’s Note: I had to rely on Google translator and do some cross-referencing across sites for the Russian used in this piece. If you see any mistakes, please let me know and I’ll immediately edit it out.

Tag List: @potter-solomons @hecatemoon87 @zablife @vir-tual @alikaheroes @dreamlandcreations @buttercup32sstuff @woofgocows @ilovemanypeople @liliac-dreamer @elijahssuit​

TH Masterlist

Not all beginnings are easy, especially when it comes to being placed in an unknown environment. To be fair, I can’t blame him for reacting the way he did. After all, he’d been smuggled into the country after having spent months in a container.

However, I’m glad he’s at least talking now. Well, to me, that is. The staff of the shelter harbouring him and other fugitive Wolves couldn’t get so much as a peep out of him. Don’t misunderstand, they were all the same glad I signed up as supervisor for the WHO’s reintegration program. It is a government-funded program to reintegrate the supernatural into the mundane world without it causing any issues like witch trials and werewolf hunts.   

I remember walking through the narrow hallways and the small rooms, bunk beds on either side with little space in between. The air was stale and musty. People had to almost squeeze past each other to get somewhere. It only made it all the more clear that immigrant housing isn’t a problem which only pertains to humans. 

The staff member at my side, whose accent gave away he’s from Belfast, seemed to become more fidgety the closer we got to the room of the person I asked to be assigned to. 

When we reached it, his breath tapered as he told me to be careful and he’d stand watch. The man I was to meet could be violent in his silence. Fights had frequently broken out, most of them started by others yet always won by Leo. 

Won without getting so much as a small sound out of him.

I stepped into the room, shoulders squared and my chest puffed out with fake bravado. The key to dealing with a Wolf who might still prove to be Feral is to remain calm and collected. Like any other canine, they can smell fear so it’s crucial to have your nerves under control.

Leo sat in the corner of his bed, like a caged animal filled with nothing but distrust. His blue eyes were cold as ice, full lips hardly trying to suppress a scowl. I was to keep my distance. Any kind of provocation would be met with dire action. Fortunately, I had a powerful card to play.

I remained by the door, hands at my side to show I was unarmed. “Leo, it’s nice to meet you. I’m Y/N. I suppose they’ve told you about me.’’

‘‘I know who you are,’’ he sneered, his surprisingly very good English underlined by the thick accent of his native tongue. ‘‘What do you want?’’

‘‘I understand you don’t trust me. Rightfully so, I wouldn’t either if I were you. But I own a fairly big cottage that feels quite empty, so I could do with some company.”

“So you choose a Russian killer, a former KGB agent?” He bared his teeth, fangs already protruded from his gums. “Vraki. You go back, da, return to your nice cottage and live happy. Loneliness makes person strong, you’ll see.”

“Does it?” I tilted my head, foolishly having decided to start playing with fire. “Because I see a man consumed by it before me and I don’t think it’s made him strong.”

Leo rose to his feet, half-succeeding in letting his muscular and imposing frame intimidate me. Then he leant in, close enough for his breath to ghost over my lips. A whiff of mint and cologne hit my nose. Later, I’d recognize the woody undertone as his aftershave. “I have no time for little girl games.”

“I’m not mucking about.”

“Leave.”

“There’s a lot of open terrain where I live. Lots of nature,” I said when he turned his back on me. In hindsight, I suppose the gesture meant he didn’t see me as a potential source of danger. Otherwise he’d kept his eyes on me while retreating. “You can run around freely.”

Now that caught his attention.

Slowly he turned back, enough to look at me over his shoulder. 

“The Cotswolds is really nice. I live in a kind of remote area, but the people don’t really bat an eyelid when it comes to the supernatural. Okay, well, it still freaks them out, but chances are slim something will happen. No witch hunts, in any case.”

He leant in as before, taking me in. Or, rather, he was assessing me. Measuring how much of a threat I was, trying to find out whether I was bluffing or not. After all, the prospect of open terrain must’ve sounded heavenly compared to his holding cell of a room. “You are a funny woman.”

“How about we discuss things over a cup of tea? I’ll show you around the house, where you’ll have your own room of course. If you like it, I’d very much appreciate it if you stayed. If you don’t, well, who am I to keep you?”

I’ll be honest, I bribed him a little bit by offering him the lightest and largest room at the back of the house which provides a splendid view of the rolling fields stretching into the horizon.

And it worked.

He stayed. 

The sound of the front door opening interrupts the silence, shortly followed by heavy footsteps in the hallway. 

“Leo, that you?” I ask without looking up from the dishwasher. 

“Da!”

“Had a good workout?”

“Mhm.”

“The others still listening?”

“Da, the pups still are very much aware who’s in charge.”

Leo has been working as an instructor at a boxing school for newly turned Wolves. There are a couple of humans among them, but they are in the know about the nature of their fellow boxers. Or they find out about it soon enough after accidentally getting knocked out because their sparring partner isn’t in control of their new strength. 

He likes to stay a little longer to get some practice himself and prepare for the next class. Lately, as confessed over last night’s dinner consisting of the borscht his mother taught him how to make, he’s been thinking about participating in tournaments.

I beckon for him to hand over his water bottle. Leo drinks the last of his protein shake, takes off the cap, and hands both compartments over so I can place them in the dishwasher. “Don’t go too hard on them.”

“Some Russian discipline might do them good. Teach them proper. Makes good fighters.”

“Not everyone’s as hardy as you.”

He grumbles something in Russian about controlling something, likely the beast within. Then he points at the large shoppers on the counters. “Also, next time, da, tell me when you go get groceries. I’ll carry bags.”

I laugh to myself, shut the lid, and put on the program. “How about we go out today?”

“Out?” Leo asks, perking up. Had he been in his Wolf form, his tail would have been wagging. 

Though he keeps up a guard, I can’t help but notice he’s at his happiest when outside. Be it on a walk in the countryside, cruising through it on his motorcycle, tending to the garden or the vegetable patches he’s planted, or even so much as a trip to the big supermarket outside the village, his mood is better than when he’s cooped up inside. Nonetheless, it’s a small victory he’s finally sleeping indoors.

“Yes, I thought it’d be nice to go get coffee in town for a change.” A low rumble resounds from his stomach. “Although, let’s make that lunch.”

“Good idea. I’ll take a quick shower and we go. We can go. Um, da, be right back!” He rushes upstairs, his footsteps soon sounding towards the bathroom.

Even though he’s likely not aware of it himself, I cherish moments like these. When the walls crumble and there is no strict boundary between the man and the beast inside. When he’s carefree, excited by the prospect of going on a walk. 

I start putting away the groceries, mumbling to myself. ‘‘You’re really just a fluffy oversized wolf on the inside, aren’t you?’’

A busy day in the village is incomparable to its urban equivalent. Although, the capital of the Cotswolds, Cirencester, hardly becomes any busier than a quiet day in London or Southampton. All the same, it makes for the ideal ground for those wishing to reintegrate and connect with people because it allows them to adjust slowly without being surrounded by a sea of potential triggers.

After parking the car, Leo driving as per usual, we casually walk towards the centre of Baron’s End. The white cobbled market plaza forms the beating heart of the town. On Wednesdays and Fridays, the local farmers sell their produce. On Saturdays, there is a small fabric market. Once in a season, though, an antique flea market takes place here. Yet, even when there’s nothing going on, it still forms the essential link that connects the villagers with each other.

I notice Leo is sticking closer to me than usual, enough so for his fingers to brush past mine. Either he doesn’t notice or willfully ignores it because when I look up, his eyes are trained on something in the distance.

The same thing happened last week while we were out doing groceries. Whereas normally one of us has the cart and the other wanders around, picking up items off of the list or at random, he was adamant we had plenty of time so we could browse together at leisure. There’s also been a recent development in our habit of sitting together by the fire after dinner to read and drink tea. We each used to sit on either end of the sofa, a gap between us. However, Leo now tends to sit directly next to me. I don’t have the courage yet to lean on him when he does, too afraid of the repercussions. After all, we’ve only known each other for around four months, our bond still fragile.

We strike down at a little café in a former cottage. The interior is rustic and simple, dark wood mingled with vintage items and small plants. Here and there, there’s a pop of pastel pink or blue in the form of a print or flower. Bright sunlight streams in through the French windows of the sun room.

The bell above the door tinkles softly as we enter. Leo holds it open while gesturing for me to go in first. Though it happens less frequently now, he still draws more than one pair of eyes to him. And not all of them are appreciative, especially when they hear him speak. “Go find seat. I’ll order. Cappuccino, da?”

But it are the female gazes that are more than appreciative, including the young barista’s, which occasionally make me not want to be out with him at all. It’s odd, but recently I’ve found myself unusually annoyed with them. Moreover, they make my stomach roil and reluctant to leave his side in a way that goes beyond the role assigned to me by the WHO.

Nonetheless, I have to let him do these things. Not just to improve his English, which has improved greatly over these past four months and is likely in part to blame on the many books he reads in the library and in bed. Many a time I’ve seen the light still on in the dead of night, his door cracked open just enough to show him immersed in whatever novel he picked from the pile on his bedside table that night. But I also have to let him so he’ll find his own way.

Without me. 

I nod.

“See? I know what you like. Go find spot to sit. Be right there.” He tilts his head when I don’t move, fists clenched at my sides and my gaze averted to the ground. “Y/N, what is wrong?”

“Nothing,” I let out the breath I’d been holding and force myself to look at him, making sure to first blink away the tears. “Guess I’m still a bit tired. Didn’t sleep all too well last night.”

He grabs my wrist when I turn around. His big fingers are warm, their grip iron-like. Protective even to the point it hurts. “Malen’kiy-’’

Leo lets go the moment I snap my head back to throw him a glance over my shoulder. He’s never touched me before.

Realising the same thing, he opens and closes his mouth. Neither in his native tongue nor his second do words come, so he settles for a sigh and gestures helplessly to the tables off on the side. “Go sit.”

We’re in luck because I manage to capture a seat by one of the windows overlooking the plaza in the sun room. I watch him order, my jaw clenched thanks to the doe eyes the barista gives him. However, she quickly pales at something he says as he points behind him and nods frantically in response.

I sit up a bit, my interest piqued by the strange display.

What did you tell her? It didn’t look like the Wolf came out, but she looks awfully spooked. Should I interfere or won’t that be necessary? Also, what were you pointing at?

There is no time to check out what’s going on because, after doubting for a moment too long, Leo has already arrived at the table. Gently and with care, he serves me the cappuccino. “That’s one for you, malen’kiy. It’s on me.”

Scrambling to regain my composure, I try to keep my voice devoid of the curiosity gnawing at me. “Really, it’s no trouble to-’’

He sits down and holds up his hand. “It’s fine. I recently got paid.”

“Thank you, Leo.”

His features soften as a rare warmth illuminates his eyes. “You are very welcome.”

“By the way, what does it mean?”

“What?”

“What you called me. Ma- Male…”

“Malen’kiy?”

“Yes.”

“It means little one. And since you’re, um, well,” a rosy flush creeps into his cheeks and to hide it he hides behind his cup, taking a big sip of the black coffee, “it- it suits you.”

He isn’t wrong there, being a head taller. But his reaction is telling of the fact that more goes on beneath the surface of the uncharacteristically clumsy argument. There is a reason for the nickname, but he won’t divulge it to me yet.

Nevertheless, perhaps to save us from our mutual discomfort, I clear my throat and take a sip of the soft, foamy coffee in my hands. ‘‘Can I ask you something?’’

‘‘You are full of questions today.’’ He grows still as he takes me in, trying to discover why I’m crossing the apparent maximum of one question a day. Leo doesn’t like talking, especially about himself. Fortunately, I have luck on my side today. ‘‘Go on.’’

I nod at the barista, who’s gotten some colour in her skin again. ‘‘What did you say to her? She looked mortified when you two were talking.’’

He throws a glance to the side before gazing down into his cup, head bowed. A few stray dark brown locks dangle in front of his eyes. ‘‘Hm.’’

‘‘Leo?’’

‘‘I set boundary. Boundaries are good. Keep things in place.’’ Sullen, he takes a sip of his coffee. ‘‘Where they should be. Protects them.’’

The sternness in his voice forms a clue that I won’t get more than this out of him. Evidently, the conversation on this subject is over.

To save us from the discomfort of the violent silence between us, I change the topic to a more business-like one. “So, we’ve been living together for a few months now. How are you liking it?”

“Good. It’s good.” He takes a sip of his drink and nods in appreciation, making it hard to know whether he means the coffee or living together.

“I notice your insomnia has gotten less.” Nowadays, I don’t catch him as often reading in front of the hearth of the library we built together or, if the skies are clear, watching the stars in the sun room. At least he’s staying indoors now rather than wandering off across the meadows or sitting in the middle of them until morning.

“That is true. I sleep better now.”

“Do you think you could be happy here?”

He purses his lips in contemplation. “I think so, da. I owe you a lot and I am grateful for your help.”

“You’ve grown a lot since we met. I’m glad we’re talking now.”

His response catches me off guard. “I am too.”

“Leo… I’ve been thinking. I suppose it’s inevitable, but, how to phrase this, have-’’ the words catch in my throat, too afraid and jumbled to come out. I tap my fingers against the side of my cup.

He puts his down and places a warm hand over my wrist. “Remember what you told me. Breathe. Take your time, but breathe.”

I take a few deep breaths yet do not have the courage to meet his gaze, to see the strange tenderness that’s taken root in the ice. “Have you maybe thought about moving out at some point? Live on your own?”

“And leave you, my friend, my companion, my m-’’ he clears his throat, cheeks tinged with a rosy flush. “No, I stay. The house is very big and you’ll be very lonely. And loneliness is not good. It breaks you.”

“That it does.”

“I’ve seen you change too. You’ve become, how to say, radiant. More life, no, lively.”

I blink, surprised by his observation. “Have I?”

“Da,’’ he answers resolutely. ‘‘You have. It’s good to see. Very nice.’’

“Leo?”

“Hm?”

“Stay for as long as you like.”

Preferably forever. 

“I will.”

#Leo Demidov #Leo Demidov x Reader #Leo Demidov imagine #Tom Hardy #Tom Hardy imagine

[void-of-valentino]

Harrison Bergeron—Kurt Vonnegut

This is one of my favorite short stories, it's quick to read, but it requires a whole lot of thought to even begin to understand! I want to go over a few interesting things about this story, meaning the themes, symbol(s), and motifs(s) that I've found.

This will contain spoilers! I highly suggest you read the story before reading this post!!!

Themes: 

The danger of total equality.

Harrison Bergeron is the story of  a dystopian American society that’s set in the year 2081. In this society, everyone is equal; both mentally and physically. Contrary to the popular belief,  Kurt Vonnegut suggests that total equality is unacheavable in a safe and/or humane manner. He suggests that total equality is not something that is worth striving for; and that it is more so a mistaken goal that is disastrous in both execution and outcome. The government in Vonnegut’s story tortures its citizens. The beautiful must wear hideous masks or disfigure themselves, the intelligent must listen to earsplitting noises that impede their ability to think, and the graceful and strong must wear weights around their necks at all hours of the day. The insistence on total equality seeps into the citizens, who begin to dumb themselves down or hide their special attributes. Some behave this way because they have internalized the government’s goals, and others because they fear that the government will punish them severely if they display any remarkable abilities. The outcome of this quest for equality is disastrous. America becomes a land of cowed, stupid, slow people. Government officials murder the extremely gifted with no fear of reprisal. Equality is more or less achieved, but at the cost of freedom and individual achievement.

The power of television.

Television is an immensely powerful force that sedates, rules, and terrorizes the characters in Harrison Bergeron. To emphasize television’s overwhelming importance in society, Vonnegut makes it a constant presence in his story: the entire narrative takes place as George and Hazel sit in front of the TV. Television functions primarily as a sedative for the masses. Hazel’s cheeks are wet with tears, but because she is distracted by the ballerinas on the screen, she doesn’t remember why she is crying. The government also uses television as a way of enforcing its laws. When dangerously talented people like Harrison are on the loose, for example, the government broadcasts warnings about them. They show a photograph of Harrison with his good looks mutilated and his strength dissipated. The photo is a way of identifying the supposedly dangerous escapee, but it is also a way of intimidating television viewers. It gives them a visual example of the handicaps imposed on those who do not suppress their own abilities. Television further turns into a means of terrorizing the citizens when Diana Moon Glampers shoots Harrison. The live execution is an effective way of showing viewers what will happen to those who dare to disobey the law.

Symbols:

Harrison Bergeron:

The title character of the story represents the spark of defiance and wanting for individuality that still exists in some Americans today. Harrison does not display the passivity or cowardice that virtually everyone else in the story does. Rather, he is an exaggerated, power hungry, alpha male, kind of character. A towering, brave, breathtakingly strong man. When he storms into the TV studio and announces that “‘I am the Emperor!” cried Harrison. “Do you hear? I am the Emperor! Everybody must do what I say at once!’” He then goes on to say that he is the greatest ruler who ever lived, which makes him sound like he has truly lost it. At the same time, however, his boastfulness is exhilarating. It is an exaggerated expression of the defiant urge to excel that some Americans still feel. When Harrison rips off his steel restraints and handicaps, the physical strength and beauty he reveals reminds some viewers that underneath their own restraints and handicaps, they too are still talented or lovely. But in the end, Harrison, symbol of defiance, is killed in cold blood by Diana Moon Glampers, the administrator of government power. The quick, efficient murder suggests that if a defiant spirit still exists in America in 2081, its days are numbered.

Motifs: 

Noise: 

The noises broadcast by the government increase in intensity and violence during the course of the story, paralleling the escalating tragedy of George’s and Hazel’s lives. When the story begins, a buzzer sounds in George’s head as he watches the ballerinas on TV. As he tries to think about the dancers, who are weighed down and masked to counteract their lightness and beauty, the sound of a bottle being smashed with a hammer rings in his ears. When he thinks about his son, he is interrupted by the sound of twenty-one guns firing, an excessively violent noise that foreshadows Harrison’s murder. Thoughts about the laws of equality and the competition that existed in the old days are shattered by the sound of a siren, a noise that suggests the extent to which the government has literally become the thought police. As Harrison barges into the television studio, George hears a car crash, a noise that connotes the injury of multiple people. The noise that interrupts George roughly at the same time that his son is being executed on live TV is described only as “a handicap signal,” an ominously vague phrase. Vonnegut suggests that the noise is so awful that it can’t be mentioned, just as the murder of Harrison is so awful that George and Hazel can’t fully comprehend it. The final noise George hears is that of a riveting gun, an appropriate echo of the way Diana Moon Glampers killed Harrison.

#harrison bergeron #kurt vonnegut #writing #writblr #writers #creative writing #writerblr

[a-pale-azure-moon]

Midnight Plays Azure Gleam: Chapter 3

I definitely was not expecting this turn of events! My interest in the story just increased about a hundred fold, though I'm not without some complaints.

Chapter title is "Crisis in Fhirdiad" and I'm immediately listening.

...But we start with a conversation between Arval and Shez that basically says nothing and goes nowhere. How is Solon's shapeshifting like Shez's super mode? They really don't look similar in the least.

Dimitri: "Power is neutral. The good or evil of it comes from the one who wields it." Yes, exactly! (Also, he considers the gift of his strength was so he could use it to protect others. <3)

Dimitri gets summoned to see Rhea because Rodrigue has arrived with a message. But rather than see that meeting, we cut to the Lions gathered together. ...Okay.

Wait, Rufus has declared war on House Fraldarius? And he's claiming Dimitri is Rodrigue's puppet? WTF?

Pfft. Felix sounds insulted at the accusation but naturally phrases it in the most asshole way possible.

Sylvain notes that he's heard nothing good about Rufus' leadership.

Huh. Ashe says Lonato used to be in Rufus' service. Interesting.

Now we get a scene with Dimitri, Rhea and Seteth. It's really sweet, actually. Rhea likens Faerghus to a child of hers (or the church's). Seteth makes a vague allusion to who I'm assuming is Gilbert/Gustave.

(Seriously, Sothis help you if you forgot/didn't pay attention to the story of 3H. They clearly assume that the player is going to remember every little detail of the mothership game.)

Ah, poor Annette's stuck in a difficult position in that Baron Dominic's territory is surrounded by lords who are likely to support Rufus. Ashe sticks with his gut and decides to come with us, regardless of what Lonato does.

This is all so weird though. What little we heard about Rufus in 3H implied that he was a lazy womanizer uninterested in being the regent, which was why he sucked so badly at it. But apparently here he's trying to seize power and kill Dimitri? It's tough to say if this is a straight up retcon or not given that Rufus was a vague character, but it still feels off. If they do something interesting with this however, I won't belabor the point.

Now we cut to an encampment and Annette's apparently left the party. Before I even had a chance to deploy her or use her. Good game design!

Rodrigue is here! He says Shez has been a boon to Felix. Really? He and Shez have known each other for a month at most. [Sigh]

Gilbert's here too, as predicted/expected.

Mercedes says Jeritza went to the Imperial capital. Surprise, surprise.

One of the NPC soldiers is scared of Dimitri because he "can't tell what he's thinking." I mean, I get that Dimitri might seem intimidating at first glance (he's royalty, he's physically imposing), but that kind of evaporates upon speaking with him for two seconds. This tidbit feels extremely forced.

Another NPC has a much more disturbing tidbit: Dimitri was under house arrest after Duscur?! And Rufus apparently cut off all contact he had with his friends on the outside, which...wow that's brutal.

Dedue "loathes" Rufus. Further, he says the western suppression Dimitri took part in two years ago was apparently meant to be an assassination attempt? This actually sounds plausible; I brushed it off as a Faerghus/warrior prince's duty thing in 3H, since Felix participated too, but it did seem odd for an orphaned crown prince with no siblings to be placed in a dangerous situation like that.

And there were assassination attempts at the castle too! This goes a long way to explaining why Dedue is so fanatically protective of Dimitri, aside from their obvious trauma bonding.

Seriously...poor Dimitri. As if his life hasn't already sucked enough to this point they toss in these new details. (Press X to hug!)

Now we get to see Rufus himself in the flesh, at long last. He definitely isn't as handsome as his brother or nephew, but there's still a strong family resemblance.

Dimitri's letter is nothing but respectful and practically begging for them to not come to blows, and Rufus thinks it's a threat and there's a ripping sound effect (nice touch). He refers to Dimitri as a "creature."

Cornelia's here too, still being her bad bitch self. She's a fun character to hate.

Rufus says Dimitri has "monstrous eyes." Has he actually seen Dimitri in one of his blood rages, or is this projection?

...Wait, what?? Rufus killed Lambert?? Do they mean that directly or that he was one of the conspirators in the Tragedy?

Cornelia (or Cleobulus, I guess is her Slitherer name?) is mad about something Thales is doing or failing to do. Probably meant to be a hook about Scarlet Blaze.

Back to the Lions. Gilbert flatly asks if Dimitri can strike down his uncle and Dimitri's reply is, "I will do what I must." He has his sad portrait face through the whole conversation, and Felix notes (with his usual complete lack of tact) that he looks like he's heading for a funeral. Oh boy...

Wow, this nugget. Dimitri says there was support for him to take the throne before he went to Garreg Mach, and that he didn't because it would divide the Kingdom. That flatly contradicts 3H, where it was stated that he was simply too young to be king (and he's not 18 yet here either, though I doubt that's going to matter). This is not a necessary thing to add; Rufus trying to seize the throne is enough for the scenario to work. Worse still is that Dimitri says he's "breaking" the peace by daring to fight Rufus for his own birthright. That mindset is in character, but it's still victim blaming and Shez (or someone else) should point that out to him, because otherwise it's just left dangling there like the player's supposed to think Dimitri's the bad guy here.

....Oh my god this map is HUGE! But I can finally switch units around at least, and Rodrigue and Gilbert are both here as green units.

The Lions comment on how Rufus (and Cornelia) are using the citizens of Fhirdiad as human shields. This sounds familiar...

I have no clue what I'm doing. This map is huge and confusing (there's tons of routes that are just blocked off) and I still don't have the feel of the gameplay down. It doesn't help that my other units tend to stand around and do nothing until I give them instructions.

I really wish I could take a moment to actually look around Fhirdiad.

Viscount Kleiman shows up as an enemy reinforcement. He's faceless, but I remember this guy was one of the conspirators in the Tragedy. Do I get to kill him outright or does he retreat?

Neither. He gets defeated and captured. Good enough.

This is so freaking chaotic. I would've greatly appreciated another lower-stakes map or two (or a practice mode) before having to do this.

MORE REINFORCEMENTS!

Now Cornelia comes out of hiding. Rufus is accessible as soon as she appears, so we get two bosses at once. True, they aren't in the same room, but this is way too much too soon.

And you have to go all the way around to get to Cornelia too! Seriously, I want to speak to the person who thought this was a good idea for the freaking third mission of the game.

OMG, her boss dialogue with Dimitri just punched me in the gut. She taunts him by saying he should've died at Duscur and his blunt reply is that he agrees with her! Holy shit. I was certainly not expecting the game to lean in that hard, but I guess that answers my fear about whether or not they'd ignore Dimitri's mental health issues.

Now for Rufus. He again calls Dimitri a monster, telling him he has no right to rule when he's barely human. Again, is this projection, manipulation from Cornelia, or has Rufus seen one of Dimitri's blood rages?

IIRC, the most Dimitri ever said about Rufus in 3H was that they didn't get along. I know it was a fairly common headcanon that Rufus was abusive, so I guess now there's semi-canon proof of it. Because again, Dimitri's life hasn't sucked enough already.

Taken out with a crest-fueled Knightkneeler. Didn't plan it that way, but I like the poetry of it.

I got a B Rank. I am not at all surprised. This map was so overwhelming compared to the last one. Way, way too much too soon.

Cutscene time. Felix says, "All traitors get put to the sword. It's his duty, as king."

Are they actually going to show the execution?

(Gilbert and Dedue are in the background. Nice touch.)

Rufus taunts Dimitri about slaying his own kin (like he's one to talk). And Dimitri looks absolutely torn.

HOLY CRAP THEY SHOWED IT! Bloodless and cutaway of course, but there's no mistaking the sound of the sword blow or the sight of Rufus' prone body on the ground. Wow.

...The shaky breath Dimitri lets out gives me simultaneous chills and the sensation of onions in the room. (Relatedly, what a treat it is to hear Chris Hackney reprising this role. He hasn't lost his touch at all.)

(Can I please Press X to hug!?)

Someone new speaking about the lords involved in the Tragedy, and how they received supplies from the Empire, and then implicates Cornelia and Arundel.

And this new face turns out to be Margrave Matthias Gautier, a.k.a. Sylvain's dad. Neat! Now we get a full name and a face for him too. Sylvain doesn't really look like him though, aside from the hair color.

Dimitri calls for this news to be spread around. Gilbert and the Margrave are kinda like, "you sure about that?" and Dimitri doesn't back down. It probably says something that in both fiction and real life that we expect politicians to lie/cover up the truth by default. But good on Dimitri for sticking to honesty. He's right that a cover up, if found out, would shake people's faith in him.

And Rodrigue announces he's stepping down and making Felix the new Duke of Fraldarius. I'm not 100% sure on the logic, but he's doing it as a way to shield (heh) Dimitri from criticism/guilt by association. I guess it makes sense enough.

Dimitri and Felix are officially school dropouts, lol. And Gilbert basically gets no choice about staying in the Kingdom, not that he fights it much. Annette will be thrilled I'm sure.

Cut to Shez, who asks if Dimitri's even slept since the battle. And he completely ignores the very legit question, of course.

He asks Shez to head a new private army in House Blaiddyd, because bribery was rampant under Rufus. Shez asks why them, and Dimitri says he wants the army to be comprised of commoners, not knights and nobles. <3

Short narrative teaser of what's going on in the other paths, and then...that's the end of the so-called "academy phase."

Given how rapidly the tutorials were thrown in my face and how bonkers chapter 3 was, not to mention how Annette wasn't even playable, this part was exceedingly crunched, not just in terms of story but in gameplay. The prologue really needed at least one more chapter to balance things out. I get that they didn't want to rehash White Clouds, but good grief was the pacing here bad.

Why'd they even bother including the Officer's Academy when it was so brief? I can't help but feel it was for marketing purposes, because it was far too short to matter story-wise. They could've easily just had Shez be a wandering mercenary who arbitrarily wanders to one of the three territories at the start or something.

Or you know, told a new story with Byleth still as the main character. That was an option too.

Snark and pacing issues aside, I liked this chapter overall, and I'm now genuinely curious about where the story is going from here.

#few3h #fe3hopes #azure gleam #midnight plays azure gleam #blue lions

[bts-hyperfixation]

Happy New Year Mr Park

It's your first Holiday party at your new company as secretary to the CEO, who are you going to be kissing at midnight?

Prompt: Jimin is the scary ceo but he’s kinda sweet and blushy around y/n, maybe some pinning. Sub Jimin preferably, size kink so y/n is taller then him 14) “There’s a storm coming, you should stay here.” 34) “I don’t want to kiss a stranger at midnight.”

“You look positively wonderful this evening Y/N” CEO Park greets you as you walk into his mansion. He graces you with one of his trademark smiles, meeting your eyes as he stares up at you. Even without the added height your stiletto heels provided you were taller than your boss, but with the added inches you practically towered over the man.

“Thank you so much for allowing us to have this year's Holiday party at your house, Mr. Park.” You bow your head graciously.

“How about for this evening we forget the formalities Y/N? Please call me Jimin.” He reaches for your hand placing a chaste kiss on your knuckles making you blush.

“Of course… Jimin.” His name sounds awkward on your tongue, so used to his last name. You pull your hand back to your side, trying not to let the innocent gesture affect you, he most likely welcomed all the women this evening in the same manner. Park Jimin had a notorious flirty personality. In fact, his last two secretaries quit because they couldn’t keep their feelings separate from their work. You were determined not to become the third.

You were doing a terrible job.

The party was in full swing an hour later. You flitted around the room making polite conversation with a mix of colleagues and clients. Nothing more than skin deep chatter. It was rather boring overall, but pleasant enough. Most holiday parties you’d attended for other jobs had been filled with ill-chosen hook-ups and salacious gossip. Obviously, no one here dared mees up their chances in Mister Parks illustrious entertainment company.

Every so often you’d catch sight of Jimin as he made his way through the throngs of guests, stopping with each one to catch up. You couldn’t help but smile watching some people get intimidated by the man. People often ask how you work so closely with such an imposing man. You often hear confessions of how truly terrified of him they are. All you ever saw was a strong man with a heart of gold. In fact, he was often quite shy when it was just the two of you working late. It was just one of the perks of being his private secretary you assumed. He’d only ever made you feel completely at ease.

Your heart flutters a little when his gaze catches yours and he signals that he will be with you soon. He does nothing to help the crush that you were forming.

He is about two groups of people away from you now. You watch from the sidelines having grown tired of the same conversations. In desperate need of a breather, but you daren’t leave the room in case he needed you. You were technically never fully off the clock, but the job came with too much money and too many benefits for you to care about that.

“Y/N! I can’t believe a beautiful woman like you is hiding away over here…” You rolled your eyes as Alex sidled up next to you. “Ah have you finally succumbed to our CEO’s charms? You know he will never go for a secretary when he could have any model in the room right?” He commented following your gaze.

“Alex… to what do I owe the displeasure of your company?” You ask taking a sip from your champagne flute.

“Ouch, that burnt.” He mockingly shook his hand in pain. “Guess I hit a nerve there…”

“I’m doing my job Alex, something you would know very little about. I have no feelings for Mr Park. I’m just trying to get a bit of space from some of the guests.” You look him up and down trying to make him get the hint, but he just settles in more.

“So, who are you kissing at midnight?” He asks casually. Being on New Year’s Eve, it had become a tradition to kiss someone at midnight to bring good luck to the company for the new year. It was silly but all in good spirit, and the most gossip you’d be able to find for the next month. You’d only been with the company eight months and hadn’t been able to experience it first-hand. In all honesty, you weren’t sure who you were going to kiss at midnight, but you knew who you weren’t.

“Not you.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“But you were going to.”

“Maybe I was…”

“And the answer is no.”

“Oh come on Y/N who else are you going to kiss?”

“She said no Mr Steven’s” A chilling voice came from behind you. Alex stiffened, bowing deeply before making his exit. You turn to face your saviour.

“Are you having a good time sir, I mean Jimin?” You ask stumbling to rid yourself of the formalities.

“A brilliant time, and yourself? Why are you hiding here?” He asks gesturing to your secluded corner.

“I’m having an amazing time; it really is lovely in here.” You respond gesturing to all the decorations and food.

“But..?”

“It’s a lot to take in and I’m kept so busy with you that I don’t get to meet many others within the company.” You admit. It seems like he blushes a little when you mention how much time you spend together but it’s gone as soon as you thought it appeared.

“Ah of course, how silly of me… I didn’t think. I should have introduced you to some people, I should’ve made sure my most important employee was completely comfortable here. He starts to ramble.

“Oh… no Mr Pa… No Jimin I’m fine, I’m completely comfortable here I promise I was just taking a break.” You place a hand on his shoulder to calm him. He looks up to meet your eyes.

“So that does bring us to the question of who are you kissing at midnight? Can’t have my personal assistant having bad luck in the company, that just won’t do…” He takes in a quick scan of the room before returning his gaze to yours. “Anyone take your fancy? I can introduce you to anyone here, just take your pick we still have ten minutes.”

“That’s okay Jimin, I don’t want to kiss a stranger at midnight, but thank you.”

“Well… then you could… kiss me?” He averts his gaze then, twiddling his thumbs like all his hope for the evening rode on your response. The sudden idea sent your brain in a few different directions.

Why would he offer the most sought-after kiss of the year to you?

Does he pity you?

Does he actually want to kiss you?

How much shit were you going to get about this come Monday?

How much did you care?

“Jimin?” You lift his chin up to look at you again, feeling braver as he became more vulnerable. “Would you mind if I said yes?” As soon as it appeared the vulnerability was gone.

“Of course not Y/N.” His smile was brighter than a million watts, his eyes scrunched up cutely. “I would never offer if I weren’t serious.” He took your hand and escorted you to the middle of the dance floor just in time for a five-minute countdown to appear on the wall. “Wonderful, just enough time for a dance. I haven’t had a chance to dance all night”

He pulls you in close, respectfully turning his head upwards to not stare at your cleavage the entire time. He waltzes the two of you gracefully around the room, twirling you when appropriate. You can’t help but giggle as you spin, completely under his control. Just as you start to get lightheaded the music fades, and a one-minute countdown starts to echo through the room.

People start to pair off around you, many in well-established couples that had found each other at previous parties or had brought their spouses along. The newer couples stood out like saw thumbs, nervously shuffling on the spot waiting for their moments. But no one was more obvious than the CEO and you stuck in the centre, his arms still around you.

You could see Alex glaring at you from across the room and knew you weren’t going to ever hear the end of this. So you might as well enjoy it.

The final ten seconds began, and the room came alive. Loud shouts of numbers in native tongues sounded around the room. English, Korean, Spanish, Russian. It was hard to hear yourself think as your brain tried to comprehend all of the voices around you.

3!

Jimin unwraps his arms from your waist.

2!

His hands were placed on your cheeks, pulling you down gently to meet him.

1!

He pushed up on his tiptoes just in time.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!

His lips were so soft as they met yours and it was in that moment you knew you had screwed up. There was no way your crush could be contained after this. You kissed him a little harder hoping to savour the moment, but just like that it was over, and you had to pull away as the music started up again to welcome in the new year.

Someone handed Jimin a microphone and you shuffled away to the side. He addressed the entire room, performing an elegant speech about what the new year would mean for the company. A speech you had seen many times as he prepared for this evening. You smiled and clapped where appropriate, hoping your face wasn’t as red as it felt and that it wasn’t obvious to all those around that your eyes kept migrating to his lips.

As his speech ended so did the party. You stood by the exit and thanked all those that attended as Jimin dealt with the caterers and band, tipping them a hefty year-end bonus. The last few guests gathered their things and bowed to you as they walked out of the ballroom.

With everyone cone you start to clear up some of the remaining decorations to ease the work for Jimin’s staff tomorrow. You were just moving all of the balloon centrepieces to one table when Jimin re-entered the room.

“Y/N? What are you doing? The staff will do that in a few days’ time.” He scolded taking the balloons away from you.

“It’s no trouble really, I’ve no plans tomorrow, I might as well help out.” You shrug going to grab the piece back from him. He throws it to the side and catches your hands in his.

“Well if you have the time, how about another dance? I felt ours got cut short earlier.” He tugged you in. You don’t refuse but you do think to question it.

“Jimin there isn’t any music…”

“We don’t need music to dance.” He states as if it's common sense. You relent leaning into his embrace, well aware that it might be the closest you get to satiating your crush for a long time.

You sway together in silence, his head resting on your shoulder for a few moments. It’s nice You can feel his breath on your neck, affecting you more than you care to admit. You just hope he can’t feel the way your heartbeat has quickened.

“Y/N, I need you to tell me immediately if this is inappropriate and too forward… but can I kiss you again?” He asks straightening up so he can look you in the eye. Your taken aback by the request completely not expecting it. He takes your surprise for apprehension. “Of course… that was a silly question you are a very professional woman, you’re so good at your job, so powerful and self-assured… You would never want to fool around with the boss. I admire you for that greatly.” He is rambling again.

“Jimin? Could you tell me why before I make a decision?” You ask cutting off his train of thought. He blinks confused as to why you are still standing in front of him.

“Because you’re stunning, and I thought our earlier kiss was cut far too short.” He answers honestly.

“Okay.” You answer leaning down to close the gap between you. You will your sudden bought of bravery to hang around as he fills the remaining inches between you. His arms wrap around your shoulders as he pulls you in. You can feel your lips bruise as desperately tries to get impossibly closer. You open your lips, and his tongue immediately fills the gap, tasting you hungrily. Just as his hands start to wander you are interrupted by a singular cough from the doorway.

“Excuse me, Sir, there is a snowstorm on its way. If Ms Y/L/N wishes to get home safely she should leave now.” The elderly butler announces before disappearing again.

“With a storm coming, you should stay here.” You raise an eyebrow, and he catches on to what he accidentally just suggested. His cheeks turn crimson as he tries to think of the right words to fix his blunder. “I mean one of the maids can make up a spare room for you… I don’t… I didn’t… I wouldn’t assume.” Once again you cut him off, pressing a finger to his lips.

“What if I wanted you to assume?” You say daringly, pushing your body forward into his. It was too late to turn back now anyway.

“What if I want you to want to assume?” He counters back. You press your lips back to his for a moment before you are interrupted again, but this time it's by him. “Last chance? Are you sure? Please know this has nothing to do with your job and that I’ve just found myself pining after you for the last few months.”

“I’m sure.” You answer confidently. As soon as the words leave your mouth he takes you by the hand a takes off in the direction of the stairs in the grand hall. Every few feet he stops kisses you haphazardly and then continues towards, what you assume is, his bedroom.

The room is exactly what you’d expect of a rich bachelor. Red satin sheets, long velvet curtains, beautiful art worth more than your parent's first house. There were smaller features you might not think of, things that clearly carried sentimental value that you had no doubts his interior designer must’ve hated. Soft, well-used blankets lay on a cuddle chair near the window, an obviously loved stuffed animal lay on in pride of place at the head of the bed, but your favourite feature had to be the picture collage of his friends next to the closet.

He releases your hand to remove the stuffie from his sheets, clearly embarrassed of the creature you’d found so cute. It was reassuring that he mustn’t have been expecting the extra company for the evening.

You reach down to remove your heels, but he is immediately back at your side preventing you from removing the tall shoes.

“Please leave them on, you look so powerful towering over me like that, so pretty.” Of all things you had expected of THE Park Jimin, a preference for taller women had been nowhere on your list. A lot of the women he had been linked to through rumours had been 5 foot nothing… but that’s probably why there were only rumours.

You straighten up to your full height and appreciate just how much taller than him you were like this. Ordinarily, you had maybe a cm or two, but right now you must’ve been closer to ten. He admires you properly. His eyes trail over every inch before he drops to his knees

“Tell me how to please you.” His head is just about in line with your crotch. His hand trailed up through the slit in your dress along your bare leg as he awaited your answer.

“Take off your shirt.” You start simply not sure how to take the new power dynamic he created. He does as he is told removing his shirt and tie. You knew he spent a lot of his spare time in the gym but seeing his hard work paying off so close was intense. It looked like even his muscles had muscles, and you were desperate to see what they could do.

“Can I taste you?” He asks so quietly you almost miss it. You nod your head, and he reaches forward, ripping your skirt out of the way as if it were made of paper. “I’ll buy you a new one.” He comments as he brings his lips to your underwear. His tongue dances tentatively along the middle teasing you through the cotton. He quickly tires of teasing, using his teeth to destroy the tiny piece of fabric. He takes a deep breath and admires your bare pussy.

“Jimin, touch me.” Your command is more of a whine, but he obliges anyway, eager to follow your lead. One hand lands on your thigh as he reaches out with the other, a finger extended to press inside of you. His lips connect with your clit as his finger curls inside of you. As your knees buckle you start to wish he had let you take the heels off.

As if he read your mind the hand on your thigh, wraps around your leg and pulls your knee over his shoulder allowing you to use his body to lean on. You tug at his hair showing him exactly where you need his skilled tongue. A second finger joins the first thrusting inside, barely stretching you. Feeling no resistance Jimin immediately brings a third finger into play. Each one pulls in a different direction readying you for him.

You moan as he nibbles down on your clit. Your high coming fast. The feeling of his thick lips against you was more than enough to get you off let alone adding his talented little fingers to the mix. You practically yank at his scalp as your orgasm flows through you. His fingers disappear as his tongue tries to gather as much of you as he can from where you have him restrained.

Deeming himself satisfied, he pulls back after easing your hands from his locks. He undoes the buckle of the shoe that’s on the floor before allowing your other leg off his shoulder so he could do the same. He holds your hand as you step out of the shoes. He then stands so he is almost at eye level with you again.

“Ready to take this all the way?” He asks a mischievous glint in his eye as he gestures towards the bed…

Notes:

Sorry for the blue balls, this was just getting a little long.

Masterlist

Happy Hoe-lidays

#jimin smut #jimin fic #jimin sub #jimin ceo #ceo bts #bts fic #bts smut #kpop fic #kpop smut

[niqhtlord01]

Humans are weird: Bio-Terrorism

The gaping maw was the most imposing location on the entire planet of Savan VI. 

Since the dawn of Gillden’s civilization it had been an almost holy place for their people. A place that judgement was cast upon the accused and should they be found wanting their bodies would be cast into the bottomless hole and their memory erased from existence; a fitting end for those whose crimes were monstrous enough. 

As the ages had passed and the Gillden’s had become more technologically advanced building was built around the maw which became known as the “Hall of Justice” while the surrounding area became known as the government district of the world. While more modern facilities were built as the Gillden entered the galactic stage they still held to their old beliefs and still held trial for their most severe crimes at the maw. 

Criminals were led into the hall from a narrow walkway to a grav unit podium in the center of the room. As the accused reached the podium the walkway would retract leaving the accused on the floating island of the podium while being observed by those around them held aloft on similar grav unit benches and stands. 

In the event the accused was found guilty the podium they stood upon would slowly tilt sideways until flipping upside down and casting the guilty into the gaping maw below. Before righting itself again for the next case.

The hall of justice today was a chorus of hushed voices; its occupants speaking in hushed tones, eyes darting at the nearest sound louder than a whisper. 

The Arbitrator General sat atop a large stand opposite the podium slowly going over papers strewn across his desk.His thin fingers slowly turned each page with the dexterity of a archaeologist handling the find of a century, the thin strands of his hair being casually flicked out of the way more by reflex rather than conscious action. 

Finally having read enough, the Arbitrator gave a subtle nod and the doors to the hall opened opposite him. 

A lone figure was shoved forward through the door and fell to their knees. They wore the grey garments of a prisoner of Saran VI yet they themselves were not Gillden.

The human stood to their feet unsteadily and after a moments hesitation continued walking along the gangway to the podium. 

“Prisoner 47893″ the Arbitrator spoke as the human reached the podium and the gangway retracted. “You stand accused of crimes against the Gillden people. How do you plead?” 

Shielding their eyes with their right hand the human took in their surroundings for the first time. They saw the faces of the Arbitrator and the onlookers all watching them with their crimson eyes. It was like being watched by demons in the dead of night waiting for the campfire to die out. 

“Not guilty.”

The onlookers raised their voices in uproar at the humans words, waving their fists and some even trying to hit them with thrown objects. 

“SILENCE!” 

The Arbitrator’s voice was deafening and the onlookers fell silent like school children. 

“The prisoners stance is recorded. Accuser, you may begin.”

One of the onlookers stepped out of the benches and on to a separate platform that drifted towards the center of the room. 

“Noble Gilldren’s,” they began as their platform slowly spun in place so the Accuser could see all of the onlookers, “I have come here before you, to our most holy sight, to prove that this human is a monster beyond all recognition.”

The Accuser pointed at the human with what the human thought was meant to be an intimidating star but if stares could kill than this Accuser’s was about as deadly as a water pistol. 

Pulling up a data pad, the Accuser hit several runes and large hologram display panels appeared overhead. “State your name for the record.”

“Silva Torris.” the human spoke. 

“What is your profession Ms. Torris?” 

“I am a biochemist.” 

“And what does a biochemist  do?”

Silva cocked her head to the side. “Are you people fucking stupid or have you not advanced past the dark ages yet?”

More clamor came from the onlookers but a slam of the Arbitrators fist against their stand silenced them. 

“Permission to treat the prisoner as hostile?” the Accuser asked the Arbitrator General. Receiving a subtle nod the Accuser pressed another key on their data pad and the shackles of the human sent a strong jolt of electricity coursing through Silva’s body.

The suddenness took her off-guard and she recoiled as if she had just been punched in the stomach. She was bent over when the Accuser repeated the question and she straightened herself out. 

“I study the chemical reactions of living organisms.” 

“Do you know why you are here today?” 

She shrugged. “Clearly not for my sense of humor.” To which she was then shocked again by the Accuser. 

“You are here,” the Accuser began as his platform circled Silva’s podium slowly, “because you released chemical agents on Savan VI that have resulted in the deaths of more than 400 souls.” 

They leaned in close to Silva. “Do you deny this?” 

Silva looked at the Accuser, matching his stare. “Before I answer your question, would you answer one of mine?” 

Silva received another shock but this time was better prepared for it. 

“You can shock me all day but you won’t get an answer from me until you answer my question.”

The Accuser was about to shock her again when the Arbitrator held up a hand to forestall it. They looked down at Silva with a inquisitive look. “What is your question, human?” 

Relaxing slightly at not getting shocked again, Silva rolled her shoulders to stretch them out and looked at the onlookers. 

“Is a human or Gillden more biologically perfect?” 

The onlookers and Accuser laughed and even the slamming of the Arbitrator’s fist was not enough to silence them this time. 

Floating in front of her again the Accuser looked down at her. “Gillden’s are clearly superior to humans.”

“And how do you know that?” 

The Accuser looked at the human in puzzlement. “It is a simply a well know fact.” 

“Do you have proof of it? Reliable sources” 

The Accuser seemed unsure how to answer and coughed before attempting to regain the initiative. 

“We are getting off topic now. I have answered your question now you mus-”

“But you haven’t.” Silva cut in, “You have answered my question with a statement supported by nothing but ones beliefs. Belief does not change the world around you. I could believe that I can fly and escape this prosecution but that does not make it fact nor will it change my situation. Therefore your belief that you are superior holds as much weight as your belief that I am guilty.” 

The only sound to come from the Accuser was a series of starts and stops of replies of sentences of rebukes and counter arguments not being made and dying in his throat. Rather than say anything the Accuser reached for their pad and triggered a shock causing Silva to bend over again in pain. 

When the shock finally stopped Silva coughed several times before spitting out a blotch of blood on to the podium. 

“Is that how the Gillden do things?” she mockingly said. “When you are proven wrong by facts you seek to undermine those who have proven you wrong? Do facts mean nothing?!”

The Accuser was bristling in rage now. 

“Since you seem so keen on facts let us bring up some.” 

With a wave of his hand the holograms changed and showed footage of a crowded plaza near the market district. The footage was from a floating security drone that monitored the area so the quality was immaculate.

Out of the corner of the busy plaza came a large moving van. It came to a stop on the outskirts of the plaza and the drivers cab door opened just as the Accuser paused the video. 

“That is you Ms. Torris is it not?” 

“It is.” she confirmed as the video continued playing. 

Hopping out of the van’s driver side door and approaching the back she slapped the side of the van three times and the back opened up. Two cargo bots stepped out carrying between them a strange metallic cylinder. Once it was set down Silva stepped forward and began twisting and turning several nobs on the device before leaving it and returning to the front of the van. 

The two loader bots hopped back into the van as the back closed and the vehicle drove away leaving behind the strange device. 

Several seconds passed and everything on camera appeared normal until an elderly Gillden collapsed to the ground near the cylinder. Those nearby rushed to their aide but upon getting within a foot of the collapsed Gillden they too began to spasm and collapse to the ground. 

Spreading out from their like a wave as the seconds passed more and more of the people in the Plaza began to convulse and collapse to the ground clutching at themselves wildly. Some tried to grab their young and carry them to safety only to fall and crush them under their own weight. 

In a matter of minutes the entire once bustling plaza was left littered with the bodies of the dead. 

The Accuser turned back to face Silva. “The fact is that three days ago you entered the market district and unleashed a deadly chemical agent. Within the hour the entire district was sealed off as the contagion began to spread from person to person like fire and rages on even now.”

They glared down at her, her mask of disinterest all the more infuriating to him as he seemingly nailed her to the wall. 

“Do you deny that it was you in the video who murdered those Gillden?” 

Silva shook her head, but before the Accuser could pronounce her guilt she continued. 

“That indeed was me in the video but it was not murder.” 

Rounding on her in surprise the Accuser had to stop themselves from physically striking her.

“What else would you call such madness?!?”

She once again shrugged her shoulders. 

“A scientific experiment.” 

The Accuser’s mouth hung open in disbelief so Silva continued. 

“For centuries the Gillden people have proclaimed themselves as you have just now to be the most supreme species in the entire universe. I put that question to the test with a common mutagenic from my homeworld and released it into your populace to study the results. I was unimpressed by the results.” 

The calmness in which she casually described this horrific act shook everyone present to the core. 

Wrongfully thinking she had correctly assumed the expressions of those around her Silva continued. “My first case was somewhat inconclusive as you interrupted me before I could finish gathering data so I prepared a second test to further disprove your superiority belief and replace it with hard facts.” 

This was a surprise to all present. “What do you mean “second test”? Have you planted another device on our world?!?” 

Silva shook her head. “This time I thought it best if I witnessed the results first hand.”

Before the Accuser could continue his line of questioning he felt his muscles begin to tense. His eyes began to become blurry and he wiped them away as he tried to focus. He looked down at his sleeve to see to his horror that it was smeared with his blood as his eyes became blurry once more. 

Coughing and gurgling could be heard behind him and he turned to see the onlookers and even the Arbitrator General showing similar side effects as their eyes began to bleed and their muscles locked up. He saw the Arbitrator begin convulsing rapidly to the point they lost balance from their stand and fell into the great maw below them in a silent scream of horror. 

The Accuser collapsed to their platform and nearly fell themselves before they grabbed hold of the edges. He looked up through blood clotting eyes to see Silva kneeling over him looking at him with an ponderous gaze. 

“The chemical agent is neutral in liquid form,” she began calmly as if the Accusers dying gasps were nothing but a nuisance, “but once the liquid evaporates it becomes active and turns into an airborne agent. Frankly rather hard to design chemically but I would settle for nothing less for my experiments.

Silva slowly knelt down and drew her finger across the dried blood she had coughed up earlier. “It is amazing when one species is so completely immune to something they can even carry it in their body as if it was nothing more luggage.” She looked over at the Accuser with a look of disdain. “Your people really should have spent more time doing medical checks than beating me in prison.” 

The Accuser attempted to make a lunge at her with one of his free arms but missed as his body suddenly convulsed. He lost his grip with his other hand and to his horror he could feel his body begin to fall into the gaping maw below. 

“I guess you weren’t as superior as you thought.” 

Silva’s final words to the Accuser rang out to him as the darkness of the maw swallowed him whole.  

#HUMANS ARE WEIRD #humans are insane #humans are space orcs #humans are space oddities #scifi #story

[limelocked]

some backstory: basically look at this post then work on the assumption that phil is like Ancient/ages slower than humans/players

phil meets babyblade for the first time (brought to you largely unedited from discord messages)

---

thinking about phil being a traveller, walking or flying from town to town trying to find the new place to stay for like 100 years as a cryptid, passing thought a town, well developed with electrical streetlights not yet too common for testificates or players. The day pass slowly into night and with an unwillingness to take into an inn he settles to finding a cave or tree to camp in.

Techno is at that point perhaps half Phils height but still built shockingly strong for a child and he knows well not to disturb armed people sleeping in the woods. The dew clings to his hooves and fur as he inspects the man sleeping among the leaves and his wings. Phil is already awake, watching back from under the shade of his hat, seeing this upright, scar covered, piglet inspect him. Phil slowly moves as if he's just woken up and techno scampers away

phil knows about pigmen, hes never seen one of course but he's heard plenty about them. Theres villager texts with myths about them and its generally accepted that they're the cause of ruined structures though different cultures seem to disagree on if they caused the ruin or caused the building now in disrepair. He asks in town about pigmen but they only talk about what a pest the zombie pigmen and piglins that come through the resident portal are, the undertone of hate matching that of those that theorize towards the more... evil side of the pigmen. 

 They have heard nothing about any pigmen in the area, for all the town knows, and for all that most people know. They dont exist and they might never have

So he goes back to the forest and "accidentally" leaves some food and trinkets at the food of the tree, barely getting any sleep as he waits for the little creature to arrive. And he does. And with caution the piglet studies the food and items for a while, freezing with every movment of the wind through phils great folded wings. Techno takes some of the food, not all of it, and none of the items even though a cheap dagger seemed to make him hesitate on that choice

It goes on for a few nights, phil sleeping through most of them but knowing who it was that took the gifts and left the little napkin neatly still covering what he didnt take and who he found one morning returning with a handful of berries as a return gift. Phils back fucking hurt sleeping in the tree but he'd gotten invested now so what're you gonna do yknow?

Its noon after a week and a day and phil is half nocturnal because of this little thing coming to take and give like trade under his tree. He's almost falling asleep when bushes move and he's back on (exhausted) high alert. He doesnt move. Under him theres no napkin or items or food this time, he just needed a nap, but that doesnt bother the pink spot down on the ground from moving closer and inspecting the spot.  He's disappointed but returns shortly after with more berries and a messy leg of lamb. He thinks, as phil will never find out, that he's stolen everything this stranger has in terms of food so he has to give back some that he's gotten himself right? its only polite? 

"did you get the lamb by yourself?" to say that techno jumped out of his skin would be an underestimation. 

He didnt freeze but instead, just as cautiously as he seemed to do everything, hunched down into a fighters stance knowing well that the man with wings above him could easily catch him "dont worry mate" phils tone became softer, testing the bounderies of this child "-im not going to hurt you if that's what youre worried about"

he didnt change positions other than to look up slowly to.... g- glare? was this little pig kid GLARING at him?! what was that gonna do?? who would be intimidated by this adorable little fuck?!?! Phil would admit it every time anything even remotely related came up later that he laughed, i mean who wouldnt? hed liken it to a puppy glaring you down and how could that be taken seriously its just cute if anything 

techno, covered in scars of battles both with people and with nature, looked at this winged man in almost disbelief. phil, the nicknamed angel of death who seemingly could never die himself, was almost falling off the branch he'd been using as a bed for a week clutching his stomach as he laughed.

"what?!" the impatient, small, voice piped up after a few seconds "whats so funny!?" the seriousness both stopped phil in his tracks and Didnt Help At All. the tone was serious and.. desperate. it caught him off guard and finally his balance fails and he falls, unfurling his wings to catch himself and kicking up leaves and dust from the ground before his adorable little thief 

 "you're a piglet, you couldnt beat me up so stop looking like it" this was the closest the two had ever been, still a few meters apart but it was apparent that techno had only just realized just how Tall phil was compared to him, and how imposing his wings were when stretched to their full width

"heehh i could totally kill you" fake it til you make it, a strategy that had won him many battles before and it had only failed him.... a few times....  "oh could you?" while techno sounded cocky and serious phil was playful and in the ears of this kid, taunting  "mm.. ya" but phil didnt fail to notice how easily a child had threatened murder

-

A month can go quick and a conversation can go slow. A festival had been set up in the time that it took the two to finish their talk under the tree, or so techno would have you believe. There had been three weeks of food being left by both parties and playful banter countered by genuine threats becoming less so by the meeting. Phil had gifted techno, who'd in exchange given his name, the dagger he'd looked at that first night. The exchange was there sure but phil had also had to joke about techno not being able to kill him with bare hoof hand things, he'd need, yknow, a weapon

They sat then, that meeting in the woods a month after their first encounter, sharing food in relative silence. "-and you dont have any parents im guessing or else you'd not be hanging out with this stranger" phil said absentmindedly, a retort to his own lack of family

"fuck off"

stunned. he looked at techno shocked not only at the swear but at the nerve he'd apparently struck, "sorry mate- didnt mean.." he trailed off, studying the pigs reaction but there was none, he'd just kept eating... he watched for a moment more before debating taking another bite of his own food but, no, no he could be stupid "that means you can travel more though right?" a recovery, but only a stepping stone

"mm, guess so yeah" bait effective

"have you been to to the north much?" "... nah.. mostly around here and west" there was a long pause before the eventual "i think" that phil had come to expect at this point, though this time it wasnt accompanied by an equally unsure "im pretty sure"

"well im leaving town, could come with me?"

#technoblade #philza #sbi #sleepy boys #this wont show up in the tags because of the link im guessing #mcyt

[pluviophile-imagines]

Kiri with 2 via girlontumblur

Why thank you, me. @girlontumblur requested this one through this submission. I tried to get it out before midnight but that did Not happen rip. Happy slightly belated bday kiri 😭😭😭 ig technically this occurs around this time the night after anyway 😳Enjoy!

2: moving around while kissing, stumbling over things, pushing each other back against the wall/onto the bed

You’re not entirely sure how this ended up happening, but you’re certainly not complaining.

To be honest, you’ve been crushing on Ejiro for months. You’d met him through Mina and promptly been rescued by him a week later, immediately falling hard. It’d have been a feat not to, with how friendly he is and that dashing smile and those muscles. Pro heroes have a tendency to be large, certainly, but he’s over two whole meters tall and bulky as all hell—only Sero comes close to his height, but his presence isn’t nearly so imposing thanks to his slender build.

Ejiro, though, is the kind of guy who’d be intimidating if he weren’t an actual ray of sunshine. It’s that combo which draws you to him; for months you’re haunted by the memory of his strong arms as he pulled you out of a collapsing building, and it’s only exacerbated by the way he grins at you whenever he sees you.

You think he’s just being friendly, but that idea is entirely crushed tonight.

It’s his birthday party, but you don’t know that until after you arrive at the bar. Mina had invited you mere hours beforehand, and when you overhear a newcomer wishing him a happy birthday, you pull her to the side to hiss out a question: why hadn’t she informed you? You hadn’t brought a present.

She just grins and tells you that you are a present, and then leaves without any further explanation.

You have no clue how she does it, but you’re absolutely certain this is her doing.

You and Ejiro are both a little tipsy, but not nearly enough to be fully inebriated—just enough to be bold, and enough to be a little hazy on the details of how you’ve ended up here. You’re still not complaining, though; you’ve practically been fantasizing about this since the moment you met him.

He’s on you the moment you cross the threshold of the apartment he shares with Bakugo, kicking the door closed as his hands fly to pull you close and he kisses you. You’ve been here before, so you have a vague notion of where you ought to be headed as you blindly move backward and force him to come with you in order to keep kissing you.

Perhaps it’s simply because you’re eager, or perhaps it’s because Ejiro’s presence fogs your mind, or maybe it’s just the adrenaline high of getting to do something you never dreamed you’d get to do, but all elegance has left your body. You’re a clumsy mess, tripping over your own feet and stumbling into furniture, but to be fair he’s so damn big it’s hard to feel anything other than his hands on you and his thick arms and his plush lips.

He gives an affectionate nibble on your lower lip with those sharp teeth and your legs turn to jelly, forcing you to fall down onto the console table behind you. It shakes, and you wince at the sound of multiple knick knacks toppling over, at least two dropping onto the floor.

You and Ejiro pull away momentarily—not far, he’s still holding you tightly and when he speaks it’s practically into your mouth, not even looking down.

“Bakugo’s gonna kill me,” he mutters, clearly unconcerned as his grip tightens and he hoists you up with one of those powerful arms braced so that you’re practically sitting on his forearm. He swallows your uncontrollable giggle, grinning into the reinvigorated kiss as you let yourself explore him.

It’s arguably no less clumsy, but it’s his apartment, so you feel less guilty about it. You’re pretty sure he’s attempting to make it to his bedroom at first, but then you feel him stumble and there’s a bigger crash and you’re pretty sure he knocks over an end table with a lamp and some coasters on it, and he seems to decide it’s best not to move very far because he turns and presses you up against a wall.

Where you’d been clutching his bicep before, you let your hand fly up to his hair; it’s pulled back in a ponytail like always, so you pull it out of the elastic and roll the very thing onto your wrist while he busies himself with using those teeth on your neck.

“Been wanting this for too damn long,” he breathes into your skin, and you grin at the revelation.

“Mmm,” you hum, “if it’s half as long as I have, we’ve got months to make up for.”

He doesn’t bother talking, only groaning against you as he pulls back and attempts to capture your lips again.

You don’t let him, turning your head teasingly and lunging forward to nip at his ear and draw out another low, husky sound. “Happy birthday, my big, strong hero.”

#bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #kirishima x reader #kirishima imagine #kirishima ejiro x reader #kirishima ejiro imagine #red riot x reader #red riot imagine #girlontumblur #ask.🌧 #mine.🌧 #event.🌧 750 follower prompts #char.🌧 kirishima

[captainofthetidesbreath]

I personally think Warlock 11 is the better choice right now, the 3rd spell slot and Mystic Arcanum would do much more to increase Fjord's power and versatility than anything a ABI/feat could do. Especially considering their current circumstances. The only reason to go Paladin 4 now instead of later is Thirsting Blade, will Matt let him swap at Paladin 5.

re: Fjord’s level 14 options and my personal suggestions, I assume. Maybe just in general, but linking to my post about my thoughts on Warlock 11 / Paladin 4 regardless

While I agree that Warlock 11 is a strong option that would be fantastic to take at this juncture, and I know we’re talking personal opinions here, I so strongly vehemently disagree that Paladin 4 isn’t an equally strong option, is useful now “only” insofar as sorting out the eventual Thirsting Blade / Extra Attack problem, and doesn’t just as offer Fjord mechanical versatility or added benefit. Warlock 11 and Paladin 4 both offer Fjord these things. They just do so in very different ways. They’re equally strong paths to take.

Frankly, I think it’s underestimating the value and power of an ability score increase or a feat to cast both as not offering as much value to Travis as a player at this time and position Paladin 4 as a having no strong benefit beyond straightening out what will eventually be an Invocation problem.

After all, Warlock 11 cannot improve his AC, or as effectively improve his strength as a face, or make provoking opportunity attacks less risky, or increase his movement speed, or allow him to grant temporary hit points to the party, or more easily break enemy caster concentration. I find these all mechanically and strategically strong choices to make, both for the short-term campaign and in the longer run. Paladin 4 can absolutely grant him these things in this moment, and it is by far and away not a weaker option at this juncture.

The movement options, combat abilities, skill proficiencies Fjord could gain through a feat are all valuable ones, and a feat or an ability score increase improves his general versatility or push further into a niche in a certain and specific ways Warlock 11 never can, just as Warlock 11 can offer options in ways Paladin 4 never can. Travis has a fascinating decision on his hands BECAUSE this Warlock 11 / Paladin 4 split offers a wealth of options in both directions.

On top of that, taking Paladin 4 purely to work toward higher Paladin levels is a very strong rationale in itself. Having Paladin 5 (Extra Attack, 2nd level spells) and Paladin 6 (Aura of Protection) sooner is a strategically sound decision. For that alone, I think that gives Paladin 4 great weight.

Also, while one always considers the short-term in leveling decisions, I don’t think there’s anything “especially” about the weight of their current circumstances in Eiselcross and the Takers. I believed that the group could succeed against Lucien before level 14, and I remain staunch in that belief. Before anyone remarks “but Fjord needed three spell slots to get through that encounter with the Takers, so it proves the point”, I don’t personally believe one mistakenly missed spell slot in a recent definitively proves quite anything about how necessary or inherently better the third spell slot and Arcanum are as choices to Fjord’s build at this moment in time. Multiclass leveling is a very complicated beast, and one that absolutely requires one consider beyond the short-term benefits and consider the mid- and long-term math involved.

Additionally, the questions I have with the argument that Warlock 11 is clearly better in terms of increasing Fjord’s mechanical power and versatility are these:

What do we mean by “power” in this context? Combat effectiveness? General effectiveness? Is it derived from his versatility?

What do we mean by “versatility” in this context? Combat versatility? General versatility?

In what specific manner would Warlock 11 increase these things?

Does Fjord NEED to become MORE versatile, powerful, or effective—especially in a party this large and covering this many bases?

These are what I think is the central question to how I personally think of this mechanical moment, and it’s how I personally think of character builds and mechanical choices in general.

Generally, Fjord is already an incredibly versatile character in combat. He is, in my opinion, the single most mechanically well-rounded member of the party in combat. He is a nuisance at all ranges, can produce both high burst damage and steady poke damage, has incredible mobility, has a high health pool, and rarely finds himself in a situation where he cannot be of some use. When one remarks that Fjord would become more versatile, what does that mean in light of all that? And how does Warlock 11 specifically work toward his general versatility in a manner that Paladin 4 cannot?

As for Paladin 4, never underestimate how important an ability score increase can be. An increase of his Dexterity by even one point will increase his modifier to +1, which would improve his AC (historically terrible), his Dexterity save (currently +1 through Cloak of Protection), his Initiative bonus (currently 0), and his Stealth bonus (currently 0). It’s only by one point, but that one point makes a lot of difference very often, especially when these specific stats are extremely commonly brought up and Fjord’s Dexterity is truly awful. This alone truly makes Paladin 4 a strong option. I truly cannot stress how important Dexterity is as a stat, and Fjord’s poor Dexterity is one of his overall weaknesses. Yes, I absolutely think delaying Warlock 11 is worth it just for an increase in his Dexterity. That’s just how important I think Dexterity is.

I also disagree that a feat could not offer him versatility benefits or other options in a way that Warlock 11’s Mystic Arcanum, additional spell, or the third spell slot can. I included in my post about Fjord’s level 14 options my personal suggestions for feats. The idea that Warlock 11 would “much more” increase his versatility and effectiveness than a feat could is one I disagree with. It’s a matter of considering the value of what options are available to him.

A proficiency in Persuasion via Prodigy or Skill Expert (a Tasha’s feat) would be huge, given that Fjord makes so many Persuasion checks as the party’s face, and expertise in Intimidation or Deception would be a massive boon for the same reason. Taking Skilled would allow him to pick up proficiency in Persuasion and also bolster weaknesses in other skills he commonly rolls, such as Stealth, Insight, or even Acrobatics. Rounding off his skill bonuses is an underwhelming option on paper, but it’s in practice valuable. It’s a strong option that increases Fjord’s ability to do certain things effectively, especially in out of combat situations.

Inspiring Leader has been pitched repeatedly by myself and many others. It is a valuable pick for being a consistent and easy source of temporary hit points for multiple members of the party without anyone expending spell slots—19 points is a lot—and it serves Fjord’s narrative character as someone coming into his own and becoming comfortable with leadership.

Mage Slayer makes great use of Fjord being often in melee range. As we saw with Cree in 2.123 and historically throughout the campaign, breaking enemy concentration is an important tactical priority, and the feat’s language does not restrict the disadvantage on damage only caused my Fjord’s melee attacks. It also would be useful in a campaign filled to the gills with hostile casters.

I made a niche pitch for Martial Adept given that it works well with how Fjord uses a weapon as a primary form of attack, and Fjord having access to maneuvers from the Battle Master subclass would greatly increase his options in combat. I can spend all day weighing half the maneuvers list and what boons each offers Fjord, but just to talk about a handful: Maneuvering Strike allows a member of the party to move as a reaction on Fjord’s turn without provoking opportunity attacks from the creature Fjord strikes with the Star Razor, which would’ve been useful in any number of fights, including in the Takers fight in 2.123. Evasive Footwork, which bolsters his AC during one movement, would make provoking opportunity attacks less risky; opportunity attacks are historically very dangerous for Fjord. Riposte leans into Fjord as mechanically built to punish melee attackers for choosing him as a target.

Slasher, from Tasha’s, also works well with Fjord as a melee combatant and allows him to further control the spatial dynamics of the battlefield by allowing him once per turn to take 10 feet off the speed of a target he damages with slashing damage, i..e the Star Razor, until his next turn. Automatically imposing disadvantage on a creature’s attack rolls when he crits with the Star Razor is valuable, and he also can gain +1 to Dexterity, valuable for the prior outlined reasons.

I joke that Mobile is a joke pick, but Fjord having a movement speed of 40 and the ability to not provoke opportunity attacks from a creature he made an attack against is genuinely valuable and further increases Fjord’s intense mobility. Mobility is king, especially in a playstyle as positioning aware and movement efficient as Travis’ is. Again, opportunity attacks is a historical issue for Fjord.

This isn’t even all the feats I think could be valuable to Fjord at this time. This is just a handful of ones that I think illustrate very well how a feat can be valuable to Fjord’s mechanical build in this current moment. I could go all day. Fjord is a mechanical wonder to me personally because he is so intensely versatile that almost any feat Travis can opt to take is a massive boon to Fjord and the party. He is just so mechanically well built, and Travis’ mechanical choices so far have been, in my opinion, brilliant.

Again, I do agree that Warlock 11 offers very strong choices, and it is a valuable level to take as Fjord’s 14th. I think any choice Travis makes here automatically massively benefits Fjord’s mechanical build. It’s just the nature of where Fjord is and the carefully cultivated versatility Fjord has. My issue is the couching that Paladin 4 does not offer similarly valuable versatility and effectiveness. The things he can potentially gain from Paladin 4 all just as much increase Fjord’s ability to function, and these ways feel to me just as significant or valuable as a third spell slot, a Mystic Arcanum, and an 11th spell. And, I think it’s a disservice to the value of ability score increases and feats to cast them as not offering anything to Travis as a player in this moment.

They’re equally strong paths to take.

#Critical Role #CR spoilers #Critical Role things #CR #long post for ts #no i will not cut this i want you all to read this #Fjord

[eternallytiredfr]

“Recruit Levi,” her voice is cool, smooth, but Levi has good ears, she can hear the faint amusement and condescension. “Above ground, women keep their shirts on.” A ripple of laughter goes through the assembled men. Levi sneers at the other woman, standing there amidst the other soldiers, perfectly in place and at home where Levi stands out, because she’s a frigid, feral little underground rat.

Levi shrugs off her oversized shirt. None of the women’s fit her shoulders or biceps, and none of the men’s were small enough, so Levi’s been wearing the smallest men’s size while she works on altering a few shirts to fit her. Her torso isn’t naked, Isabel had insisted that Levi wrap her chest in a few thin bandages, so she could be more like the other women. As if Levi cares, but for Isabel’s big green eyes she had conceded. Levi turns in a circle, arms held out.

“Tits covered. Happy, Blondie?”

“Not particularly, but carry on.” Yep, definitely condescending. Levi glares at her. She would prefer to fight bare-chested, she’ll be damned if the bastard pulls out a knife and she ends up dying of an infection because a scrap of fabric got caught in the wound. But she doesn’t argue (more). She’s not imagining things, she can see how the taller woman is eyeing the wrap with what looks like interest, hungrily devouring where Levi’s firm pectorals have a shadow between them, how the serrated muscles on her ribs move and stretch beneath the cloth, how the thin fabric just barely highlights the ever so slight curve of a petite breast, the soft puffy peaks of her nipples. Levi’s a fully grown adult woman, despite what people tend to say, and if Smith wants, she’d be quite happy to pull her into an empty room and show her exactly just how mature and developed Levi’s body is.

“You gonna stare at my tits all day, Blondie, or you gonna referee?” Smith doesn’t even have the grace or good manners to pretend like she wasn’t staring, pointedly keeping her eyes on Levi’s chest for a heartbeat longer before raising them, raising a dark brow along with it. Smith’s face is strong boned and beautiful, elegant even with her full lips and rosy cheeks, those bright blue eyes, but those brows are too thick for even a man to pull off. Levi hates how they somehow work with her other features, how they make her look even more attractive and imposing.

“Hmm? Oh, my mistake, I didn’t realize there was something to stare at.” The men laugh, and if Levi didn’t have such superb control over her temper (she does, Farlan, she does), she would flush bright red, walk over there and grab Smith’s own, grab hard and twist to hear her yelp. She bets Smith’s voice would go high, girlish, an utterly humiliating sound escaping her throat that Levi wants to hear so bad that hot rage burns in her stomach. Levi doesn’t, she doesn’t go over there or punch the other woman, or pull her into a vicious, feral-like kiss, she just clenches her fists at her side and glares venomously at the men who dared to laugh. “You may begin,” at this the bitch has the audacity to wave her hand airly, like she’s the fucking queen or some shit.

“Bitch,” Levi hisses, and a cool not quite smile settles on the other woman’s face.

“Perhaps,” she agrees, “but the pot is calling the kettle black, is it not?” Levi bares her teeth, fuck Smith for thinking that she knows even remotely what the bullshit that came out of her mouth just was.

“Aw, Captain, it’s not a fair fight,” the man complains, flexing his arms like it intimidates Levi in the slightest. “Look at her, she’s tiny!” It’s not false, Levi doesn’t even reach five feet, and she probably doesn’t even weigh half of the man. But Levi saw the way his eyes widened slightly and Smith’s had sharpened when she took her shirt off. She may be small, but every inch of her is corded in solid, hard and prominent muscle. Her shoulders are broad, biceps and core thick, so unlike the little waif that he was probably imagining that she would be.

“Would you prefer to forfeit?” The Captain asks, mild and pleasant. Levi’s brow furrows, what is the other woman playing at? Does she want Levi to fight her men? Smith’s face is calm, kind looking even, but Levi is very, very good at reading people, no matter how inscrutable they think they are. She can see how her icy blue eyes seem to glint almost coldly, cruel and vindictive. Oh. She wants the man to get his ass kicked, because she can’t do it herself. Oh.

Levi clenches her fists, gnashing her teeth as she glares at Smith with enough force to send grown men running away screaming. The blonde woman merely cocks an eyebrow, meeting Levi’s gaze without so much as a flinch.

“Is something the matter, Levi?”

Yeah, something is the matter. Fuck Smith if she thinks that Levi is just content to be her little attack dog because she doesn’t have the balls to punch the man herself. Fuck her.

“Yeah, fuck you. I’m not doing this.” Levi scoops up her shirt and goes to stalk off, but jeering stops her in her tracks.

***

I don’t really know where I’m going with this, just a snippet of a wip that I had

#eruri #snk #erwin smith #levi ackerman #fem!eruri #cbc writes #cbc snippets #fem!acwnr #I’m working I’m working I don’t know where I’m going with this but I’m working #my writing #fem!levi #fem!erwin #my fixation knows no bounds #wip and shit

[fantasmalforces]

S.W.O.R.D.S. Headcanons : Lupa

Lupa doesn’t say much and mostly communicates via body language and small gestures. When she does trust someone enough to speak to them, she tends to keep her voice very low and soft.

Naturally though, her voice is very rumbly, reverberant, and powerful. She leads the mutant members of the group with strong, commanding tone.

She slumps her shoulders and hunches down to be closer to eye level with people. She does this not only to be courteous but also to appear less intimidating. She’s easily close to eight feet tall, so she feels it best to try and make herself more approachable to her allies.

Like all of the Six, Lupa has a super-mutant form. It emerges when her stress level skyrockets and her vitals elevate to a certain point. The mega-mutation triggers certain “keystone cells” in her body to go into overdrive and bring about the biological changes associated with the Z-Virus. In her case, she becomes a giant bipedal wolf-like creature with eyes all over, huge teeth, and bristly spine-like protuberances as a result of bone filaments accumulating on clumps of hair. She also develops super huge claws. Her reactions are more primal, but ultimately, she’s still responsive to people. The mutations recede once she manages to calm herself down again.

Lupa never eats real meat despite it being a necessity of her viral infection. Instead, she eats replacement-meats fortified with additional amino acids and protein. She can’t stand the taste of blood or real meat after an incident she had during testing.

Lupa has only ever bitten people twice. The first time happened during testing under Umbrella. They kept using pain to try and motivate her to attack a target. She turned her fangs on the guard instead. Sinking her teeth into his arm triggered some weird instinct in her and she ended up devouring him, leaving nothing but a couple scraps, his gun, and a pool of blood behind. She was immediately wracked with guilt and vowed she’d never use her teeth as weapons again. The second time, she bit an Umbrella guard for grabbing Alice after she yelled out how he was hurting her. She almost ate him too until Alice stopped her.

She voluntarily wears a muzzle when around other people for both their comfort and safety, and her own personal insistence. She only takes it off for missions and to eat or bathe.

Lupa is so conditioned to not using her teeth, she rarely ever even shows them during confrontations. She will claw, punch, headbutt, swipe, kick, but she will never even show her teeth.

Lupa insists on being sedated when being transferred between sites.

Lupa loves the outdoors. She loves hiking, climbing, running, and swimming.

Despite how quiet she is, Lupa can be heard singing a lot when she thinks she’s alone. Especially at night. Her voice claim is Sarah Cothran. Her voice is often described at “hauntingly beautiful.”

When Lupa wants to call all her team/allies together, she’ll howl for them. The sound can be heard for miles.

Because of the way Z is intrinsically linked with elements of the T, G, and Los Plagas viruses, she can use her imposing presence and “wild call” to recruit other (low intelligence) infected animals/creatures to fight for her as allies (lickers, Cerberus dogs, etc.)

Lupa really likes reading. Well, more specifically she likes listening to audio books.

Lupa loves the smell of peppermint and spearmint,

Lupa is the main person who takes care of Alice. She keeps her entertained, keeps her on schedule, provides her education and exercises, and plans most of her meals and activities in day to day life. She also ensured that Alice receives normal socialization as a human child, and helps her manage complications related to her mutations.

Lupa has fluctuating bouts of tinnitus.

Lupa is 7’8” tall, very broad, and very muscular.

#{ keeps their moet et chandon in their pretty cabinet : headcanon } #{ the fanged sword : lupa } #( s : resident evil )

[i-write-sometimes-blog]

Flesh and bones (Captain Phasma x Reader)

Request: Can you write Phasma being vulnerable or sympathetic? I’m outraged at how Lucasfilm treated her and it would be nice to see some fic humanizing her a bit. By @thatfantasylovingdork

Words: 1,875

A/N: This took me longer than I thought, sorry darling. It was a bit hard to write her just from the films, I had to read a lot to be sure this was kinda accurate and oh boy I fell more in love with her. Hope you like it, thanks for requesting!💕

There were screams down the hall. Barely audible screams that sounded anything but happy and became louder as you walked with the small blaster in your hand, you cursed not having a bigger weapon but you didn’t need it, troopers were supposed to protect you, a commander, yet they were nowhere to be seen.

The sounds came from a garbage compactor and confused you even more, why would there be someone inside a trash compactor? and if so who was it? Perhaps a young cadet victim of a cruel prank from their comrades. Whoever it was seemed to be in a very need of a hand, frustratedly grunting and groaning as a bunch of curses echoed through the place.

“Hold on there, cadet.” you said typing the code to open the magnetically sealed door, the hatch opened fastly after you placed the last number and you hurried to find out who was inside and for your surprise it was someone you never expected. “Captain Phasma” you greeted.

“Don’t ask.” she warned stepping carefully out the room filled with industrial waste, moving some big metal pieces out of her way.

“Are you alright, Sir?” you asked offering her a hand but she ignored it.

“I didn’t need your help!” she growled when she was back on her feet on the hall with you, her voice rumbled very angry through her chromium helmet.

“Was I supposed to leave you in there then?” you huffed.

“Maybe.” she told you “It was not of your business, Commander.”

“Why were you screaming then? You expected me to let you crushed to death by the compactor?” you questioned her “I very much doubt your armor would have withstood that, Captain” you told her which clearly didn't made her happy as she leaned her tall imposing figure closer to you.

“Listen carefully, Commander. I’ve survived worse things than this and I didn’t need…” there was a big explosion that shook the whole place. The lights flashed for a moment before the emergency alarm started to sound all around the place.

“That came from Precinct 47” you murmured looking in the direction the sound came from. “This is bad”

“You think?” she mocked already making her way through the glossy halls of the base. You followed her closely as all the base seemed to start crashing. Phasma was heading to the nearest hangar, you remembered every turn on every hall of this big place and by the sound of the explosion that specific hangar must be gone, the only chance you both had to escape the collapsing planet was outside.

“Captain, this way, we have to cross the forest and get in a ship now!” you told her but she kept moving towards the hangar. “Captain!” you yelled and she turned fastly walking close to you.

“Why would I trust you?” she said. You had worked with this woman from a really long time now she should've trusted you after all those years but you knew she didn’t even trusted her own soldiers and it annoyed you sometimes.

“Fine.” you told her “Go on then, but you’ll only find ashes in that direction.” you kept your voice control and serious as you talked looking up to her. “Or you can follow me and live. Your choice, Phasma.” you told her. You waited for a moment and then you continued your escape with the sound of her heavy boots behind you.

Things outside weren’t much better than inside the base, a few X-wings were chased by TIE-fighters as the cannons in earth tried to stop them without much success. You rushed to the woods, the thick layer of snow making it not really easy to run, by the corner of your eyes you caught the light shining on Phasma's silver armor, you were surprised she was still following you.

“Wait!” she told you stopping you with her hand just before the ground cracked in front of you as the planet trembled beneath your feet. You looked at her and gave her a little thankful nod.

You hurried to the black ships and eventually made your way to them getting inside the very first one, it was imperative to leave the planet as soon as possible, from the distance you contemplated the trees falling as the ground copalsed, you didn’t know how much more it could resist, you had to hurry up. So you pressed the buttons to initiate the small ship.

“Commander, take off right now!” she commanded you, there was anger in her voice but at the same time there was anxiety and fear, she was nervous, fearing it would be too late if you didn’t take off.

“You’re not being so helpful, Captain!” you said as you pushed the last lever and the ship started to move, pulling the rudder up you took the ship outside the planet hearing how it crashed behind you.

Then finally you were out there hoping to keep a safe distance. You left just in time, moments before the small ship outer space the whole planet crumbled to itself burning to exploit a few moments later with such power it made you skip a beat.

Then it was quiet, so quiet until you heard a soft metal sound followed by a unmodulated voice.

“Well, that was a thing” Phasma murmured in the seat behind you.

“You think?” you joked with her own words as you kept piloting the ship.

“I-I” she murmured “I want to apologize” she said, she sounded a bit different without the helmet, intimidating but more like a regular person, she stopped for a moment struggling to find the right words.

“I was a complete bitch back there” she told you pausing for a moment “I still don’t understand why you helped me. Someone else would have preferred to leave me in that trash compactor, my own troopers would have done it” her tone lowered but not in angry way, she was rather sad yet completely aware of the truth on her words.

“Lucky for you I’m not a trooper” you told her.

“True” she said “And then, if I hadn’t follow you I’d be probably dead right now” she murmured. “I… Thank you, Commander” she said.

“Y/N” you told her and you saw her looking over her shoulder hoping to find your face, you couldn’t see much of her features except for a deep blue eye that contrasted with her pale skin as some golden curls fell on her face, then you got your attention back to the rudder.

“I’ve worked with you for years” you told her “This is the first time I hear you apologizing to someone”

“Well, Y/N. I have to say it’s very new for me” she explained “I’m not… used to being helped. This is a cruel world, you have to watch your own back because nobody else will do it for you.”

“Friends watch out for each other” you said and waited for her answer.

“I don’t have friends” she said serious “Nor family, I don’t even trust in the soldiers I train, I know they would blast me the second I give them a chance. Allies would betray me too, I know that for sure. It always has been me against the world.”

Her voice was cold yet filled with a mix of the emotions she was trying to hide: pain, sadness.

“Sometimes I see cadets helping each others out and comforting when they fail a fight” she said “I hate it. I repress them, only cause it reminds me how lonely I am. Nobody cares about the cruel Captain Phasma, they fear me, they hate me. I’ve heard the hurtful comments the troopers say behind my back, maybe you’ve heard them too, Y/N”

You didn’t answered though she was right, there were a lot of rumours around the base, some of them calling her a coward, some of her uncertain and mysterious past and some about her appearance, no one had ever seen her without the chromium helmet, except maybe you now.

“People think I’m as strong and repellent as my armor” she confessed “Truth is I’m just another human. It sucks to be me.” she sighed.

Never in your entire life expected this from Phasma, she seemed so strong, so intimidating, willing to beat the hell out of someone that would dare to even look at her the wrong way. But she was right, she was just human after all, a woman of flesh and bones, who could be hurt, who had feelings always hidden by her shiny armor. You understood how lonely she must felt all the time.

“That’s why it meant a lot to me that you, a person I barely know was willing to help me, to offer me a helping hand. I don’t think you realize what it means to me, Y/N” she added sincerely “Don’t know why I am even telling you all this” she said, her tone seemed a bit ashamed of her words.

“Look” you rose your voice after a time in silence “I know we don’t actually know each other well but…” you looked over your shoulder “I’m still worrying about you. No one deserves to be alone, Phasma”

You caught her gaze on you, finally seeing the side of her face, delicate compared with her tough uniform, it was strange to finally know the person under the mask and see her facial expressions after years of talking to your own reflection in her armor.

“I mean it, no one” you told her “This is a cruel world, you said that yourself, but it could be easier if you have someone who watch your back, or just to talk at least.” you said. “We watch out for each other”

She nodded slowly and there was the shadow of a smile, faint but it was there.

“Does that make us friends?” she asked and you chuckled.

“If you want, Captain” you told her, nothing you would have liked more than get to truly know her, this soft side of her, discover more of this mysterious woman. “I’d love to”

Then she turned back to her seat to hide the growing smile on her lips, you were the first person to be kind to her, to be true without looking for something in return, to listen her and offer her help and friendship. She was slowly falling for the commander that saved her.

She clear her throat before raising her voice again, now with a serious but certainly playfully tone.

“If you ever mention something about the trash compactor, I’m going to have to kill you, understood Commander Y/N?” she said and you couldn’t help but smile, yeah maybe this wasn’t a joke at all but you knew she was trying to make you laugh.

“Now that sounds more like the Captain Phasma everybody knows” you told her chuckling and for a brief moment you heard a soft laugh from Phasma.

You piloted the rest of the way in silence, feeling safe with the company of this strong woman and looking forward to meet more about the woman beneath the chromium armor.

#captain phasma x female reader #captain phasma x reader #phasma x reader #captain phasma #phasma #star wars imagine #star wars tlj #star wars #captain phasma x y/n #captain phasma x you #phasma imagine #captain phasma imagine #i-write-sometimes-blog

[diosefm]

THE OLD LION

when: very very late, right before the rebel announcement where: the gardens triggers: shitty dads mentions: minos valey, @virgobydcsign @pista-clearmark @deezeeashfrost​

DIOSE

She might have completely ruined the only good thing going on with her life, but at least she's got Virgo again. And she feels things are different now. There is now a silent agreement between the two. They're trusting each other now, they're actually acting like siblings. It doesn't matter if their lives are in shambles, because now they know they can both rely on each other. The newly-found softness between has been translated into physical acts. Diose and her sibling sit in the garden, Virgo's head resting on her lap as they exchange whispers and secrets. They mention Blythe, Pista. Silly yet important things. Things they couldn't discuss before. After the chaos that happened inside the main hall, Diose is at peace now. Sort of. But that's quickly ruined as she hears the familiar sound of her father's boots approaching the pair. "Virgo, we have to go."

VIRGO

They didn’t expect this to be so easy. That after everything they could go running after Diose (literally) and things would be okay. That they’re comfortable here, the delicate scent of their sister’s perfume and the way they bind her secrets to their own. Their eyes drift closed as they listen. Tiny details. Sweet, lovely things they never should’ve missed in the first place. Diose’s shift into panic and their instant understanding. 

 “No.” Virgo stiffens, surprised by their own resolve. They don’t move, their head a solid weight in Diose’s lap. “I think we should stay.” They’re tired of being scared. Shadows cast across their face as Minos comes between them and the light trickling out from the party, almost tempting them to look. Almost. His silence betrays nothing.

DIOSE

Diose has never been scared of her father. When she was younger, the older Valey idolized him, relished on the attention he gave her. While the appearance of Virgo did cause a rift between the two of them, Diose remained his favorite his favorite due to her younger's sibling inability to honor the Valey name despite being the one with actual Valey blood in their veins. As glad as that made Diose at the time, she stopped seeing her father in the same way. And now? She is not scared for her, but for Virgo. So, it's surprising that their younger sibling chooses to not flee and face him instead. Diose knows she can stand her ground when it comes to their father, but has her doubts in regards to Virgo. Still, she is no one to contradict him, so she nods and waits. 

 Despite his age, Minos Valey stills stands tall and proud. His presence is imposing, able to instill fear in the most powerful of men. Because no one can beat him, they're all below him, he's made it clear. And when he speaks, it's even worse.

"You two ought to be happy now. You've been given everything, you were set up to triumph and you've thrown all of that away in favor of playing stupid, childish games. Was your pathetic display last year not enough for you, Virgo?"

VIRGO

They’d be lying if they said they hadn’t been expecting that. Minos did well to hold his tongue this far with regards to their tragic debut. Granted, he’d made a few comments here and there over dinner, but those events had always had company and their father was cautious. Virgo finds the truth now doesn’t hurt them half as much as it ought to. The thing which does creep under their skin, unsettling what calm they’ve found with Diose, is the expectation. So much pressure to hold up archaic ideals of perfection. Being pitted against each other and then against the world because one arrogant old man believes his legacy trumps all. They didn’t ask for this. Neither of them have ever been given much choice. 

 “We haven’t thrown anything away.” Virgo cracks an eye, squinting up at their sister. Even now they look to her for guidance. “Feels like half the guests tonight are dressed in Diose, that’s huge. She’s all the style recaps are going to be talking about for weeks.” Okay, that’s maybe not quite true considering the Games really are coming. But they know their point is solid. If they had the guts to, they’d add that Diose’s work is better for the change in her. They see what she’s done for Nelly. 

 Minos’ expression is unreadable. The art of intimidation is all in the subtleties, the way he angles his chin to look down on the both of them. “What good will that do? After the display you put on for all these esteemed guests?” A weighted pause. “You mean to make a mockery of all I’ve built for you.”

DIOSE

Diose wants to tell Virgo to shut up. They've been dealing with Minos's parenting for longer than they have. They've lived with him, had his eyes follow her everywhere until she decided it was time to flee the nest. She looks down at Virgo and can only shake her head. She's thankful, really. Virgo uses their turn to speak to compliment her, help her appear like she is still flawless and can do no wrong. Maybe Minos saw her that way once, but when Diose looks at him, sees the way her father clenches his fists, she knows how he truly feels.

"Wearing your sister's designs used to mean something. I could hardly hide my disgust when I saw the kind of individuals who dared to don your sister's designs. Rejects, vagrants. People who are not up to our standard, who do not deserve to break bread with us." A pause. "Let alone sit beside you two when the eyes of the Capitol are on you two"

His words sting. They hurt because she knows he is know speaking directly to her. It's a wonder how Diose is able to lift her gaze and look him right in the eye, hand buried in Virgo's hair. "I merely stood up for myself." She does not dare to mention Pista. She doesn't need her father to think of him, have him on his sights. It'll do no good. "Should I have allowed that man to humiliate me? He is nothing but a drunk. I don't understand why you must give him such importance." As much as she hates DeeZee, mentioning his name is not an option either. Pista cares about him, obviously. She'll protect him this one time. Not that his father can't figure out who is who. Diose just wants to direct his attention somewhere else.

"You're pathetic. Both of you are. Pathetic children tainting my hard work, embarrassing me in front of my colleagues. That is not the way we do things, Diose. Discretion is of utmost importance when dealing with vermin."

VIRGO

Virgo may have taken their father’s chastisement with relative ease (at least the won’t think too hard on it until later) but the way he speaks of Diose boils their blood. They think she’s done the right thing in extending her gift to the people they want to call friends. Nelly looks beautiful; Pista is worlds away from toiling over trains. Just because they aren’t Capitol penthouse elite doesn’t mean they shouldn’t get to share in their sister’s perfection. Diose is showing a side of herself they’ve admired for years now, the one she likes to pretend doesn’t exist: true kindness. 

 “It means more now,” they say, softly. Virgo wishes they’d been bold enough to swallow their anguish and ask Diose to dress them, too. The point doesn’t hit as hard when they’d deflected elsewhere. “Weddings are supposed to be about unity. That’s what Diose is showing, collaborating with the people who worked harder than all of us to be here. Not vermin, victors.” 

 Virgo wants to cringe at how pretentious, how idealistic, they sound. Words influenced by the low-budget dramas they love so much but can’t quite capture the heroism of. Speeches aren’t their strong suit. They reach up to squeeze Diose’s arm, gentle reassurance that they’re on her side. After all that she’s shared with them they need her to know they’re on her side. No matter what they say, they know neither would get through to Minos alone. Chances they’ll do it together aren’t great either. 

”Save your excuses. You ought to know better than to stoop to their level. Don’t you realize the damage you’ve done? It’s clear all those years of education were put to waste if you can’t outsmart that halfwit.”

DIOSE

Diose's night has been absolutely terrible, but she finds solace in the fact that Virgo and her are closer than ever. Still, Diose wants nothing more than to put her hand over Virgo's mouth and keep them from talking. She appreciates their words, she really does, but the last thing both of they need is to provoke their father. Diose knows very well what he is capable of when he is upset and she doesn't want her father to target Pista or Nelly. "He provoked me, and I'm your daughter. Should you not be on my side?" But she knows better than that, knows her father is only on the side or those who are winning. With Diose being the laughingstock of the night, she knows the only support she has right now is Virgo's.

"Unity? The only people that you should be concerned about are your family. Your sister's designs are now almost as worthless as yours. Do you not care about my legacy, or your mother's? I knew she spoiled you too much. You're soft. It's sickening. I won't be on your side nor your sister's when you two are determined to spend your time surrounded by people below us. I've had my eyes on both of you all night. Have you forgotten whose blood runs through your veins? That woman you're with has done nothing but spit on your family's work for years."

She feels her father's insults will sting more now that they're getting personal. Diose is certain she can handle at least some of his poison with the help of her remaining grace and poise, but it's Virgo she is worried about. Father is right, they are softer than any other member of their family.

VIRGO

Their father’s words begin to fall on deaf ears. If they’re being honest, they don’t fully understand the concept of a legacy. They’ve heard the word thrown around so carelessly their entire lives that it’s begun to lose all meaning, absent the ambition they’re sure it’s supposed to ignite in them. With Diose, they can see how someone might pin their hopes on her to make them proud. They don’t give themselves the same credit—and for good reason. All the time and money in the world wasn’t enough for Ma to make them who she wanted them to be, a fact she’s begrudgingly accepted. Virgo isn’t surprised to learn their father can’t handle that.

 Virgo’s eyes widen and they push to sitting, angled instinctively toward Diose.  As if they’d stand a chance at sparing either of them this lecture. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” they snap. The tangled mess of rage, and pain, and fear they’ve tended since the hijack flares once again. “That’s—it’s— nothing to do with you.”

“Everything you do, either of you, reflects upon my name. There are eyes everywhere, children, do not think that any of your pathetic attempts at stealth render them blind. Money won’t buy their silence forever. What do you think happens when people begin to question why my daughter has been seen cavorting with some middle-district victor? When they question our loyalties?"

DIOSE

Instinctively, Diose grabs Virgo's hands. For support, and in case she needs to squeeze it so let them know it's time to shut up. Their father isn't the one to give up. And the angrier they make him, the worse the consequences will be. As much as she'd like to properly fight the man and get rid of him at once, Diose still needs him. And he is too powerful. And maybe, she is scared, fearful of what the man could do to her since she's not his blood. Both of her parents have always emphasized how powerful Valey blood is and how lucky she is that they rescued her from Ten. She doesn't doubt her father would be quick to turn on her now that his brainwashing has stopped working on her. Virgo is his biological child, which she sees as an advantage over her.

He says eyes are everywhere and Diose feels like throwing up. She knows this, obviously. Both Virgo and her do as they've been confronted with footage of their wrongdoings before. It was easy to deal with it back then just because Pista wasn't involved. Diose can only guess Virgo feels the same way given how protective they've been of their crush for months. "My loyalties are in the right place. Can you say the same, father? You seem to be losing allies while we've gained new ones. Regardless of who they are, you have always said there is strength in number, have you not?" It's a stupidly dangerous reply, but she is tired and won't have him hurt Pista. Her own self is fair game, but he is out of the question.

"Alliance?" An horrid, sarcastic chuckle fills the air. "Clearly your mother didn't do a proper job teaching you where your priorities should be. And you," he turns towards Virgo, eyes filled with rage. "It has everything to do with me. Defy me again and not even your mother will be able to save you from my rage. Neither will your sister or the fools you two have been sharing your time and beds with."

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

We are headcanoning the rest because writing that man is exhausting, so bear with us.

Virgo and Diose continue arguing with their father. To give y'all some context, Minos keeps blackmail worthy footage of his kids. He is a producer and in charge of the propaganda you see everywhere, so he is omniscient. He has done this since they were both children and hasn't stopped. If anything, he has more of a reason to keep tabs on them now. He continues berating them about their recent choices and who they let his friends and colleagues see them with. By now it is pretty obvious Blythe and Pista are on his shitlist and he doesn't want them near his children. But do Virgo and Diose care? No.

When he implies he intends knows more than be is letting them know, the Valey siblings rightfully start worrying since if the man has managed to acquire footage of them on the trains, they're fucked. Diose is able to pretend she still has everything under control, but Virgo starts shaking.

Anyway, Minos grabs both Diose and Virgo and drags them towards the main hall. His intention is to take them home so he can fully unleash his fury without anyone seeing him, but Virgo and Diose are saved by the bell. Well, the rebel announcement. Everything is chaos. Virgo completely freezes. It reminds them of past announcements so they don't even react. Thankfully they got Diose who as we know is quick on her feet so she takes advantage of their circumstances, grabs Virgo, and heads straight towards her suite.

The spent the rest of the night having what is probably the most fucked up sleepover party you could ever imagine. Dioses tries her best to comfort Virgo while Virgo tries to fix Diose's cheek but they're both in such a weird state of mind they just stay up talking until they're so exhausted they pass out on Diose's bed.

#sp #in more steph n becky have a severe case of got brainrot news...

[writings-of-a-hufflepuff]

First Meetings - Arthur Morgan/Elizabeth McGill

Series: Call it Fate or Call it Chance 

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Elizabeth McGill (Plus size, Female OC) 

Fandom: Red Dead Redemption 2

Summary: Arthur Morgan hears someone in distress in the woods and goes to help. It’s a small world though and soon finds himself meeting a friend of one of his acquaintances. Little does he know it’s the start of a relationship that might just change his fate.  

Warning: Talks of hunting, wolves get killed because they’re trying to eat OC, sorry! Talks of canon character death, spoilers? 

Rating: T

Notes: So, I don’t have the energy these days to write a full fic, but I figured if I write a series of interconnecting one-shots then I can write for these two, get the story there, but without needed them all to lead off from one another like chapters. This series will document that relationship between Arthur Morgan and Elizabeth McGill, a plus size, English OC of mine who’s basically the online character but with less of the outlaw stuff. I hope you love her as much as I do and I hope you enjoy this first part in the series.

Archiveofourown

I’m always happy for requests, suggestions, prompts, questions about this two even if my normal requests are closed. Feel free to draw my characters, feel free to write stuff for them, feel free to ask me questions about them. 

“Oh, go away you bloody little blighters! Shoo! I said shoo!” Arthur heard the call over all else, a lilting English accent, soft but scolding, like a mother to a troublesome child. He shifts Dave, the large black shire who he’d allowed Jack to name, forward, just breaching the tree line to see a woman standing on the lower branch of a tree, arms wrapped around the trunk. Wolves circled the base, baying, waiting, biding their time, hoping she’d slip. They were so entirely focused on her that they gave Arthur and the large horse no mind, not caring much for them at the moment. Clearly they had decided this woman was dinner and had some sort of spiteful vendetta, if wolves could feel spite that is. 

She was a plump thing, short in height, round in figure with dark chestnut hair piled high in a gibson style pompadour atop her head. Her cheeks were rouged and her lips painted a poppy red, heavy skirt falling around her feet, kicking up every now and then as a wolf attempted to jump high enough to reach her, to try for a bite. He watched her kick one a way, a well aimed kick that set the wolf flopping to the ground with a yelp before it got back up again growling. A pretty thing, for sure. 

Elizabeth McGill very rarely cursed out her horse, Scrawny, but today she was certainly doing so, mentally of course. She loved her big, doofus of a horse, the gypsy cob was anything but scrawny and he was gentle natured. He was, however, a coward when it came to wolves. He had bucked her so hard she’d lost her glasses, and in her haste to climb a tree hadn’t been able to find them again. If she could see she’d just shoot the bloody wolves circling her, unfortunately, she was blind as a, well, person without her glasses, and she did not trust that she’d hit a single one. She was usually a fine shot, hunting had become part of her trade, but...she usually could see while doing it. It also didn’t help that Scrawny had run off with all but her revolver, leaving her there. His loyalty was astounding. 

“Y’alright, miss?” She can’t see much, just a blurry shape at the edge of the trees, big enough to be a man on a horse, big and dark coloured. The voice is deep, a heavy southern drawl that is pleasant on the ears, even more so because she’s been waiting desperately for a helping hand. 

“I could do with a little assistance, sir!” She was usually the one helping others, but today, the tables had turned and she was not going to turn down the one person who’d arrived in the last half hour. She was fed up of clinging to a tree trunk especially in a heavy autumn skirt. She hadn’t been planning on hunting that day, she’d already done quite enough on the journey down from the Adler Ranch and had been close to Valentine, expecting to simply sell the pelts, teeth, claws, and the like that she’d gathered. Her first mistake was expecting a simple, calm journey of course. Things never were simple or calm, if it wasn’t a cougar attempting to eat her, an ambush by some local gang, or some fellow in need of help, then it was bad weather or snakes. The latter of which Scrawny hated even more than wolves, if that was possible. 

She didn’t so much as watch the man circle around on his horse, shooting the wolves, as much as squint ineffectively and listen to the sound of hooves clipping the dirt, snorts from a remarkably brave horse, and the dying yelps of wolves. Part of her was envious that Scrawny wasn’t that brave, had he been she could have easily dealt with the wolves herself and never ended up in this damnable tree.

“You can come down now, miss.” The man proffers a hand and Elizabeth takes it using its strength and a hand on his shoulder to keep her balance as she clambers down from her perch, she’s still blind and the help is appreciated. She doesn’t doubt that she’d easily take quite the tumble without guidance. He is nothing if not respectful, the other hand that rests at her waist to help down is placed just so as not to cause offence and is removed the moment her feet are on stable ground. 

What he truly notices is just how short she really is, now she’s beside him her head barely comes to his shoulder. He feels suddenly too imposing, large, and feels the urge to make himself smaller if only to appear less intimidating. 

“I...thank you, do you happen to see a pair of spectacles on the ground? My horse bucked me and I lost them...otherwise I would have handled the wolves myself but, i’m rather blind like this.” Arthur finally notices the way her hazel eyes don’t quite focus on him or her surroundings, when he speaks she can’t quite look him in the eye, but instead moves her gaze around as if trying to. Her squint is also more noticeable all of a sudden and he finds himself hastening to find her spectacles, looking across the ground careful to mind his step. 

“You probably shouldn’t go telling strange men that, ma’am, some might take advantage.” He doesn’t say it to be intimidating or the like, simply out of concern. She clearly couldn’t see well without them and a lesser man, someone like Micah, would surely take advantage. Her trust in him is refreshing but concerning at the same time. He, after all, does not consider himself to be a good man.

“Well, it’s a good thing that a gentleman like yourself happened by instead then, Mr…?” She knows he is concerned for her, she is sure like many men before he thinks her too naïve, too sweet, and perhaps he isn’t wrong on some of those counts. But, she preferred not to live life assuming the worst of everyone, even if people tended to prove that they were indeed rather rotten inside. The amount of strangers in need of help she’d stopped by only to be ambushed was rather alarming at times. But, she did pride herself on her own ability to look after herself, except when she found herself without her glasses. 

“Morgan, Arthur Morgan.” 

“Elizabeth McGill, a pleasure. Thank you, for stopping. I might have been up there for hours otherwise, until they got bored that is, but...I’ve known wolves to bide their time.” She pretends to help because really her running her hands along the grass isn’t doing much, she can’t see after all. 

“Uh, here, Miss McGill, your glasses.” He finds them a ways away from the tree, far enough that he knows she’d have never found them on her own. They’re round and surprisingly unbroken which he is oddly relieved to see for a man not at all invested in them. He passes them to her, watches them change the shape of her face, the clarity coming to her eyes as she blinks up at him with a soft smile. They suit her, feel like something she’s supposed to be wearing, not something that she has to wear. 

For the first time Elizabeth can see her saviour clearly and the man certainly impressed. He was tall, that she already knew even without her glasses, and he was broad, strong, the sort of man that could clearly lift a heavy weight, tackle a man to the ground or hold his own in a fist fight. Mr Morgan had a weathered, but handsome face, little freckles marked his skin, signs of spending time in the sun, his beard was long but neat, but most striking of all were his eyes. He had the most gentle bluish-green eyes she’d seen on a man of his size. 

“You gonna be okay? Your horse still around?” His brows pulled together in the middle out of concern and she found herself smiling at him without much thought. He had been kinder to her in the last 15 minutes than most people were. It warmed her heart just a little more. 

“He’ll be around,” She stops and whistles, sharp, and high. Clear as crystal, and waits a few beats before whistling again. This time Arthur can hear the sound of heavy hooves galloping forward and moves just in time to avoid a large palomino gypsy cob that comes careening out from behind some trees. The horse is lumbering and large as any draft horse is, white and cream dappled coat, dirty from his escape. His hindquarters are covered in pelts, more pelts than Arthur has ever seen, and it’s clear to him that this Miss McGill is a skilled hunter and, if not for her spectacle issue, would have been just fine on her own. It changes his opinion of her, shapes it from a naive, delicate woman, to someone more capable, though still seemingly sweet and lady-like. If possible his interest in her peaked further. 

She places her hands on her wide hips, scowling up at the horse, who’s nodding his head up and down at her in greeting with little nickering sounds, “Scrawny. I hope you know I’m terribly disappointed in you. Leaving me like that. I thought we agreed we were going to work on this wolf phobia of yours, or were you just conning me out of all those oatcakes?”

The horse huffs in a decidedly human way that makes Arthur grin, he doesn’t doubt the big thing had been making away with as many oatcakes as possible with absolutely no understanding or intention of facing a pack of wolves anytime soon.

“You’re lucky that kind Mr Morgan here was happy to help, what would you do if I was eaten by a ferocious pack of wolves?” The horse nickers and presses his large head against her, bumping into her hard enough for her to let out an ouph and take a few steps back. Her back hitting Arthur’s chest, he raised his hands to the tops of her arms to steady her before taking a polite step back, aware he could easily crowd her. 

“I was just doing what anyone would, Miss McGill.” She turns to raise an eyebrow at his words and he feels decidedly admonished before she’s even parted those red lips.

“I think we both know that’s not true, Mr Morgan. I’ve stopped to help enough people who’ve turned a gun on me to know that you are one of a small minority of good folk, whether you want to believe you are or not.” She watches him rub the back of his neck, worn hat tilting forward to hide half his face, but she can still see the beginning flush to his skin from the attention and the creeping little smile twisting at the corners of his mouth. It makes her smile in return, this large, imposing man, bashful at a little compliment like that. 

“What are you doing out here anyways, Miss?”

“I just came down from the mountains. I was visiting a friend who...well, she wasn’t there and her...her husband was dead.” There is a shaky pause, he can see her hand trembling slightly at the thought of her friend and her husband before she bunches it up in her skirt, “Did some hunting on the way down, figured I'd make my usual stop in Valentine to Ted, the butcher, usually gives me a fair price for the things I bring him.” 

Elizabeth can still see poor Jake’s face, cold, frozen solid in the back of a wagon. Some animals had gotten to him before he’d frozen completely and she’d spent a whole day just digging him a grave, hard work considering the ground was almost completely solid itself. But she couldn’t leave him like that and she knew he’d prefer being buried on his own property to burned or some such. She still had blisters on her palms from the digging, despite gloves the hard work had rubbed her hands raw. Made it a tad more difficult to hunt on the way down with her bow, but she’d managed. 

“What was your friend's name?”

“Mrs Adler, Sadie Adler. Used to do jobs for her and her husband when I visited...why?”

“Well, it’s a small world, Miss McGill.” He looks almost surprised at the name she’d thrown out, before smiling at her softly and elaborating, “Me and my friends, we found her oh about...3 weeks back? She was in a pretty bad state, but she’s been with us since. Awful business that with her husband, some O’Driscolls killed him.” Arthur looks apologetic and it soothes her distress to know that at least Sadie is safe, that at least despite all the bad luck in the world something had gone right for her. She hadn’t been found by someone else, someone who would hurt her and that was a small blessing in a world full of problems and bad people. 

“You and your friends?” It’s said with a raised eyebrow and all he can do is rub the back of his neck and look away from her. It doesn’t feel right to lie to her, when she clearly suspects his friends aren’t just his drinking buddies. But, he’s not entirely sure if he can trust her. She seems nice enough, but plenty of people seem nice enough till they find out you have a bounty on your head. Not that Elizabeth could take him in, he doubts given the sheer difference in size that she’d manage it on her own. But, he wouldn’t put it past her to try...if she were so inclined. To him she seems both gentle, delicate, and formidable, words that seem like they shouldn’t work together until you look at her. 

“Well…”

“Relax, Mr Morgan. I understand.” She does, she’s known enough ‘gangs’ of ‘outlaws’ to know that not all are as bad or dishonourable as they seem and that the need to protect their made family was great. She had her suspicions but if they had helped Sadie as Arthur had helped her then she had little doubt that they were the honourable sort of outlaw that she had little problem with. So long as innocent people weren’t getting hurt and the poor weren’t being robbed from she had few objections, even if she personally wasn’t comfortable with robbing or lying, herself. 

The world was a harsh place, few could support themselves on simple law abiding trades like hunting. She was lucky in that respect. One mouth to feed was different to 20. 

“Could I...I hesitate to ask, after all you’ve done for me, Mr Morgan...but could I see her? I...I can’t imagine what she’s going through and I’d like her to know Jake had a proper burial. I did rites and all. She deserves to know.” She twists her hands together, nervous of his answer. She could understand if he said no, he clearly needed to protect his gang and she was a stranger to him. But, she wanted to see her friend and most of all she wanted her friend to know that Jake wasn’t left out there to be eaten or for someone else to find. She’d even managed to gather some of Sadie’s things from the ranch in the end. Photos and trinkets that she’d hoped at the time to be able to give her if she was still alive. 

Arthur rubbed a large scarred hand across his beard, the hairs scratching at his skin as he looked at her. She was small in stature, soft in body, and those hazel eyes held honest intentions. Taking her back to camp wasn’t without risk, but a liar knew a liar when he saw one. She didn’t care about his gang, she wasn’t hunting them down for a fat bounty, she just wanted to see her friend and after everything Mrs Adler had been through he thought she might want to see her friend too. 

With a deep sigh and a quick thought that he hoped he wasn’t making a terrible mistake, Arthur pulled the black bandana from his back pocket. “I’d have to blindfold you, Miss...I gotta...I gotta protect them and I can’t be havin’ you know where we’re at. You understand?”

She could walk away, that was the offer. Be blindfolded by this stranger, this tall, broad, imposing figure or walk away. It was an easy decision to make. He was large and he was imposing, but the gentle way he held out the piece of cloth, the soft furrow to his brow, the way he hunched his shoulders to look smaller, all those things told her he was a good man. Not a pure man, not devoid of wrongdoing or bad deeds, but good in the sort of way that a man out here could be good. She would be safe with him. She could trust his intentions towards her. 

“I understand, Mr Morgan.” She consents taking the fabric from him, it is softer than she expects, “Before we go, I'd suggest we skin those wolves. Your camp needs food I'm sure and those pelts’ll fetch you a good bit of coin, waste not want not.”

“Are you sure?” She’s the hunter after all, or it seems that way and part of Arthur can’t help but feel like she’d have done just fine without him had her glasses not been knocked off. Maybe, she’d been wanting to hunt the four wolves in the first place. He doesn’t want to offend her by taking what she might see as hers, but she just gives him another one of those looks that reminds him of a prettier, younger, much more amicable Ms. Grimshaw. 

 “Mr Morgan, you shot them, they’re yours to plunder. I have enough bloody pelts as it is, Scrawny here would probably complain if he had a few more to carry, right boy?” As if in answer the big cob nods his head up and down with a huff, clearly used to be used as a pack horse. He’s not sure the horse really understands the question, but it’s clear he’s a responsive horse used to a talkative owner, not like Dave who’s stood quietly behind Arthur, only occasionally nudging him with his nose and nibbling at strands of his hair as if expecting a sugar cube to be there. 

“Well, if you’re sure…” She helps him skin them, while she hadn’t intended to do any skinning today and her blouse would certainly hate her for it, sharing the work would make it go quicker and she could offer a few tips as they went. Not much seeing as Mr Morgan was already a skilled hunter by the looks of things. The pelts were in fine condition, he was clearly a good shot, one rifle round to each wolf’s head, no mess, no unnecessary injuries or wasted ammunition. While they had wanted to kill her, she held a healthy respect for wolves and was glad that they didn’t die slowly. Quickly, cleanly, and humanely, something she held dear when it came to hunting. 

Elizabeth grabbed a ratty cloth from her saddlebag, using it and some water from a canteen to clean her arms, it was never smart to leave blood on you and it wasn’t particularly nice either. She offered both to Arthur who gladly did the same, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, thick forearms being cleaned of blood. It was startling to her in that moment that she didn’t feel scared or worried at all. Here she was in the woods with a stranger, a broad, striking and clearly strong stranger, who had multiple guns, a hunting knife, and a bow all on hand. Yet, she didn’t feel a lick of apprehension or worry. 

“Who’s this beautiful boy then?” There was a split second when Arthur, despite himself, almost thought she was talking to him. That was clearly not the case when he looked up startled to see her approaching Dave. The large shire usually disliked others, but was only watching the woman cautiously, deciding whether to bite, kick, or con her out of some food. When Hosea had given him the large beast claiming he was hard to handle and that he’d be better off selling him, something in Arthur had understood. The horse was a bit like him, he was a bit world weary, cautious of others, afraid of getting hurt, but underneath it all a soft hearted thing. 

“...Dave.” He wished in that moment that he hadn’t allowed Jack to name the shire, he loved Dave. Had bonded well with him, but telling a pretty lady that your horse was named Dave rather than Boadicea was a might embarrassing especially when that horse was 17 hands high and capable of trampling wolves underfoot. 

“He’s beautiful.” She likes his name, not that she says that, but it’s clear from the flush to Arthur’s cheeks that he’s not confident in the name choice. She thinks it suits. The shire is beautiful, giant compared to her and larger than Scrawny who was an impressive 15 hands high, especially considering his breed. The Shire pawed at the ground as she got closer, but she hushed him, little quiet comments and soothing sounds, a hand pulling a sugar cube from a skirt pocket. 

There was always something special about getting a horse like that to trust you, to eat from your palm and accept the touch of your hand to their neck. Dave was clearly a distrusting animal, but he let her pat his neck and brush his forehead. He let her tie Scrawny’s reins to his saddlehorn knowing she couldn’t guide herself blindfolded. 

“He don’t usually take to people too well…”

“Well, he just needs a kind touch that’s all. Someone hurt him real bad and he just needs to know that won’t happen again, right, sweetheart?” She says to the horse in a gentle tone, low and quiet. Arthur feels as if she’s talking about him, he thinks on the times he’s been bitten, the way he’s drawn back from people and he understands a little bit more why he and Dave work so well together. They’re two sides of the same damn coin and this woman had a way with both of them already. 

She takes a few steps back, before turning and clambering up into her own saddle. Despite the sheer size of her own horse, she manages well enough to clamber on up even in a thick, heavy skirt. She settles herself, arranges her skirt and takes those delicate round spectacles off and pockets them before grabbing the fabric he’d given her. 

“You’ll make sure Scrawny doesn’t run into any trees?” 

“I got you, miss. Don’t you worry.” It’s with that that Elizabeth wraps the blindfold around her eyes and tightens it at the back of her head, hand holding onto the saddlehorn as they begin to move. 

Arthur cannot help but be a little bit in awe at the trust she has decided to place in him.

#arthur morgan/elizabeth mcgill #arthur morgan/oc #arthur morgan x oc #plus size oc #arthur morgan x elizabeth mcgill #call it fate or call it chance #ship fic #my oc #my character #red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #rdr2 fic