#what I post next is an enigma to everyone including me

[crazymecjc]

a modern prometheus.

#frankenstein #victor frankenstein #oof my art I guess #HELLO HI I COME BEARING CLASSIC LIT FANART #so fuckin proud of this one i can’t even lie #this took me like seven hours truly one of the most intensive pieces I’ve ever done #I love a silly lil mad scientist twink #victor my king please stop messing with forces beyond ur understanding ur gonna give them daddy issues :// #I’m so crazy about this book #truly rotating in my brain 24/7 #the art gods possessed me for this one I think idk if I could do that again #but I sure as hell will try #I wanna draw Henry clerval so bad so maybe expect that in the future??? #what I post next is an enigma to everyone including me #anyways if anyone needs me I’ll be thinking abt the Themes

[thequeenofsheba-blog]

Report: Enigma; Disfrutar; Tickets; Gresca

ORIGINALLY POSTED IN 2018

One general observation (not necessarily in the restaurants mentioned, but noticeable across the more casual places we visited) was the decline in service attentiveness. Generally I found this had deteriorated from previous visits to Spain (e.g. we were ‘mostly’ left to pour our own wines/bottled water and dishes were sometimes cleared away by reaching across patrons). Replacement of cutlery was also inconsistent.

Having said that, we still had some excellent food and prices were definitely below those encountered in other European venues.

But, to the specifics (ignoring casual places, and described in the order we visited):

Disfrutar was up first and it wowed as an outstanding meal. With 4 people we had hoped that we could have two separate tasting menus (at least; they offer three) but the rule that we must all order the same menu was rigidly enforced [ to be fair, allergies were handled by serving entirely different dishes, rather than adjusting ingredients within a dish, so we did get some additional courses].

Service was EXCEPTIONAL – with extremely knowledgeable servers and multiple ‘wow’ dishes. I think we had around 30 dishes and, of course, there were some misses , but the impact overall was of a genuine desire to impress, rather than a series of gimmicks (although some individual dishes were clearly a triumph of technique over flavour). A ‘gimmicky’ walnut presentation turned out to be (for me) the taste sensation of the whole meal – even if it did tend to wipe out the following dish. Regardless of flavour, some dishes wowed visually – instant Instagram classics – plus there was some playfulness (even more so if one considers the heritage/lineage of the cuisine e.g. for those familiar with spherification, there was a beautiful ‘twist’ where salmon eggs were re-constituted into a single ‘egg’).

The wine list was also excellent. Wine pairings were offered, but some of my favourites were available by the bottle (at what I considered fair prices), including my go-to Pazo Señorans, Selección de Añada – an outstanding match for the cuisine (as is Cava).

After an outstanding meal, where the wine flowed freely, we left without collecting our ‘souvenir menus’ but we were staying just down the street and popped back in the following day (the market across the street was our target for lunch) to see if we could get a copy of our menu. While we waited for them to be printed off, they comped all four of us a glass of Cava in the garden out back (can’t guarantee they’ll do this for everyone), but it was a lovely touch that sealed our impression of an outstanding meal. OK Enigma – top that!

Next up was Tickets – actually my third time there, but the first for two of us. The opening server patter was the usual “Have you been here before?” – but the response was ignored – the ‘standard’ speech ensued with an offer to supply us with a specially selected set of dishes “just for us”. I, as usual, wanted to see the wine list first (with a consequent delay, which may have unsettled the schedule, as clearly there was a timetable to turn the table). Sadly, the wine list has diminished from what I recall previously, so I settled for what was described as a Rose Cava, but when it arrived was as pale as possible (I’ve had whites that were darker), but was still a reasonable match. Subsequently this was poured liberally by the servers who had to be asked several times to top up our water glasses. But they did manage to prompt us to order more wine.

The menu at Tickets seemed identical to the one I recall both other times I was there (I assume the oysters had changed seasonally, but why go to Tickets for oysters if they aren’t adding any ‘value’ – other than choice?). Apart from the oysters we essentially ordered every dish on the menu (in various quantities) – ordering is an issue; some ‘plates’ are single bites; some can serve four people (and some two) without any easy identification of the size (yes, there are separate sections on the menu, but no indication of whether there’s enough for 1, 2…etc. bites; even the (in) famous ‘olives’ didn’t state how many (it was one) – obviously those aren’t suitable for sharing. And the order of serving (and frequency) seemed random (or maybe I just couldn’t figure it out). Sometimes one dish was on the table; sometimes two; sometimes more. Empty dishes were also removed randomly – sometimes reaching across us ‘in mid bite’ (yes, really)! One of my first-time guests was flabbergasted to find a hand reaching across while she was raising a bite to her mouth. So no pattern or flow to the meal. Inattentive (at best) service. And a menu that doesn’t seem to have changed in several years. Some excellent dishes, but overall a jaded time – even the Jamon Iberico de Bellota didn’t seem as silky and tasty as the one I had last time (I recall it was specifically identified as Cinco Jotas last time, but no branding this time).

This was my first time being invited to move to the dessert room, where service was a bit better (except only one menu provided for four of us to select from). We observed that ‘most’ of the empty tables here were pre-set with the ‘rose’ dessert (one for each attendee). Yes, it’s a ‘wow’ presentation (albeit gimmicky, and hardly worth the 10€) – especially if you haven’t had it before. But it also signalled to me that most guests must have opted for the ‘feed me’ approach pushed so hard at the beginning – how else would they know that the rose would be ordered?

Actually, the price wasn’t too outrageous overall (but we did order for ourselves). But the experience was lacklustre and everyone found this the weakest ‘fine dining’ experience.

The next fine-dining (sort of) was Gresca – an old favourite that usually punches well above its price-point. As always, value was superb, but again service was perfunctory and a little less ‘wow’ than usual. Another insistence on everyone having identical dishes and we had great difficulty with choices (the famous soufflé came on a menu with less-desirable dishes). They weren’t prepared to ‘substitute’ (even if all four had the same substitute) [hey, I asked politely – if the chef declines I understand that we may come across as ‘demanding, unreasonable tourists’]. It’s a small place and substitutions may be very difficult – both for the kitchen and inventory management. And in fact they did substitute for an allergy.

BUT the most memorable thing here was the wine (the food was good too) a 1964 Gran Coronas from Torres for 100€ (which of course includes taxes). I don’t know where this originated (I’ve eaten 3 times at Gresca and never noticed it before). I also don’t know if it was their last (or even single) bottle. Yes, I was nervous, and the cork was a challenge, but the wine was sound (albeit a bit past its peak) – maybe it topped out at 40 years – but what a treat!

And finally, the motivation for the trip – Enigma!

Don’t forget your pass code – that’s the only way in. You are faced with a VERY heavy door, inducing panic if you can’t (at first) open it - we saw the party ahead of us struggling, but it was only when the door seemingly failed to open for us that we experienced the same discomfort. But the message on the keypad welcomes you by name, so summon up your strength. Once you gain entry you will be greeted by a futuristic-garbed server and will enter the ‘experience’. The ‘rules’ will be explained and allergies, wine selection, questions etc., will be resolved and you will be allowed to take photos – but are asked to NOT post these anywhere for others to see, in order to keep the various activities as a surprise for subsequent visitors. It’s not clear why this is a concern, but they did ask nicely so I will keep the dishes themselves somewhat generic in my comments [you WILL be impressed!].

The actual meal is served at a series of ‘stations’ – you proceed sequentially through these [smaller parties might be accelerated; larger parties will meander a little longer]. At the first few stations you will be served a variety of snacks and drinks. Seating here is either casual or non-existent. You may (or not) have other parties in the same station at the same time.

Eventually you should reach a fish station (plancha) where several courses will be served while you are seated (again you might share this station with others). This station seemed to be a bottleneck on our visit, as one spends significantly longer here to be served a number of courses. It appeared to me that (at least) one party skipped this station (possibly they returned after following a different sequence) – but do ensure that you get here as this was (for me) the highlight of the meal. Several seafood/fish dishes cooked in front of you, with commentary, and that 30 mins (approx.) was just stupendous. Although I’ve had comparable seafood in other dishes elsewhere, the total effect of the sequence was almost magical. Highlight building upon highlight. Worth returning just for this!

After this you'll be escorted to the main restaurant area where a parade of 'mystery 'dishes will appear and you will be invited to identify the ingredients. We participated fully and did fairly well - not sure what would happen if you don't want to play the game. There were some ‘mini-themes’ within this set of courses but all (for us) were served as mystery dishes. I’m not sure what the point was, although this ‘game’ would clearly be pointless if people were posting descriptions and/or pictures.

Finally, you'll move again to the dessert and coffee area and choose dessert from a confusing dessert menu that gives no indication of the size of each dessert (I recall some additional charges here but don't have the bill with me).

Overall, excellent food but I still don't get why we had to keep moving. There seemed to be significant creativity at each station but, if there were any themes/techniques that required being at that place, I guess I missed it. I except the fish (plancha) station where the interaction wouldn’t be feasible in a large room.

Maybe I’ll just have to return with an experienced eye to see if the techniques employed are transportable.

[literate-lamb]

can I kiss you on the dancefloor?

Steve Rogers/Reader

One year into a relationship, yet still dancing in secrecy. Steve thinks he’s protecting you.

When a civilian and a hero fall in love, anything could go wrong. But not in the way Steve would have thought.

Or how the media play with the lives of superheroes.

►word count: 7.6k

► warnings(!): slight angst, alcohol

A/N: My gift to @blue-like-barnes for the Hoelentines Fic Exchange! I’m sorry it took some time, giftee. I didn’t expect this to turn into a monster (yikes). Thank you for hosting @amythedvdhoarder @chrissquares @drabblewithfrannybarnes ! Dividers from @firefly-graphics​ and GIF from Giphy

On his day-offs, Steve Rogers was a man full of disguises. 

When they first started, it was the baseball cap and thick-rimmed glasses. He liked it, it was simple, but he knew it wouldn’t be long before someone would notice. How could one not when his face was the one plastered in old war propaganda, in the museums commemorating his achievements, and even flashes on the telly when you walk past the local electronics store. 

Hence, it wasn’t a surprise when the tabloids posted a photo of him in his disguise, waiting at a crosswalk on a cold night. 

‘Captain America spotted on a midnight stroll’ came the next morning. It was taken after he was done walking you home, thankful they didn’t catch a glimpse of you.

“So capsicle, where were you off to last night?” Tony greeted him at breakfast, offending paper in hand. He unrolled it, opening and making a show of reading, displaying the front page for all seated to see. “Nice reading glasses, wasn’t aware you needed them.”

Striding into the room, Natasha came and snatched the tabloid. She gave it a critical eye, judging, before turning towards him. 

“Hmm, recycling disguises, Rogers? I’m disappointed.” 

Steve just groaned in reply.

The second time it happened, he had gone to the Black Widow herself for advice. He had expected sound advice coming from a former KGB spy who spent her paycheck on hair, but all he got was a stick-on mustache. Something about ‘needing to blend in rather than pointing the obvious’.

“I don’t know what you’re up to, Steve, but at least it’s better than that nerd get-up,” she smirked.

You had liked it. Giggling every time he kissed you, the fibres tickling your lips. He had ‘a caterpillar’ on his upper lip as you called it. And Steve had learned to get used to the itch.

But it wasn’t long before his new look was the star in barbershops. 

‘Captain America’s new look takes the world by storm.’ They had caught him again in another paparazzi shot. Tony had teased him for days after.

He couldn’t shake it off easily, constantly reminded of it when he walked the streets. Seeing them on screens when he’s channel-surfing. Even when he’s training new recruits, his vision filled with a sea of unshaved cadets, their hairy upper lips a prominent fixture.

He knew he had to do something when Bucky and Sam came in one day sporting twin mustaches. 

He discarded the strip of fibre in the bin. Reminding to pay Natasha a visit.

The third time he decided, he seeked out the help of Scott Lang, who was a master in keeping out of sight during his burglary days. Scott had given him a black beanie and told him to grow out his facial hair. 

The beanie hid his golden locks and the beard made him look rugged. You loved it, your thighs quivered when it was him and you in the four walls of your room. Uncontrollable groans as he went down. ‘Beard burn’ you had called it. Whatever it was, he loved the sounds you let out.

Four months. That’s how long the disguise lasted. His longest disguise to date. 

Before he became a trend.

‘Captain America is the new style icon.’ The internet sleuths found out where he got it too. ‘The sale of Walmart beanies skyrocketed by 70% thanks to Captain America.’

Tony had bought everyone in the compound a black beanie for Christmas, including the receptionist.

“Our grandpa’s a trendsetter, who knew,” he announced. Steve had smacked the back of Tony’s head with the beanie before retiring the disguise.

Now, sitting in The Sleeping Cat, Steve had opted for aviators and a Nasa baseball cap. He still kept his beard after your pleads, and he liked the look, he admits. It was back to basics for him and this was one of the only places where he was safe from prying eyes. Afterall, it was in this very café where he had met you.

The Sleeping Cat was a quaint little thing, a hole in the wall in a quiet part of the city. Not many knew of its existence, the entrance obscure, a blink and you’ll miss it. Which made it all the more perfect for him. The baristas knew him and minded their own business, offering him a smile every time he visited. ‘You’re safe with us’ they seem to say. 

He could say the same about the patrons. Most that frequented were regulars like him, they seemed the same, looking for a place to get away from the overbearing world. They seemed to share an understanding, paying him no mind as if he was just another man they passed on the streets. And that’s how he preferred it. 

Just a boy from Brooklyn.

Ding!

The chime of the door pulled him out of his thoughts. Facing the door, he saw you, smiling as you came through.

This was the best part of his days. 

You had met Steve Rogers at the most unexpected of times.

Terminated from your previous job at a small gallery, dumped by an ex-boyfriend after a 2 year relationship, you were at an utmost low. To escape your roommates —in case of pitying or prying, but if you were honest with yourself, it was to escape your own humiliation— you left the apartment on weekdays under the guise of going to work. In reality, you were at The Sleeping Cat applying for jobs on your laptop.

It was during one of the afternoon hours when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

Turning to your left, you were greeted by a pair of startling blues. They were bright but worn as if they’ve seen too many. Looking at the bigger picture, you took him in. Hair hidden under a cap, a sharp jaw and an equally sharp nose, and if you looked closely, you thought you could spot a few moles on his cheeks. He looked familiar, but you couldn’t put a finger to it.

Eyes fleeting to his lips, you realized he was actually talking.

“Huh?” 

“I was wondering if this seat’s taken?” He smiled, gesturing towards the empty seat opposite. He was clearly amused.

“Yeah, sure, sure,” you nodded, making room for his things. 

The following days, it became a routine and an arrangement. You would be at the café as early as the owner would allow, laptop in hand. While he would come in the afternoons in a different jacket each day, a sketchbook in hand. You would be propped up, sending application after application, praying for luck. While he would quietly sit, churning sketch after sketch, in a relaxed demeanour. 

Sometimes you would peek over your screen and watch him draw for a few minutes, lost in his strokes. When you look up, you’ll find his eyes locked with yours, and you’ll immediately reimmerse yourself behind the screen, embarrassed.

It was a comfortable routine. You came to expect him everyday. And on the days that he didn’t make it, you felt a bit forlorn looking at the empty seat. You both didn’t talk much, yet you were getting comfortable in his presence.

Until one day, he broke the silence.

“So, what is it that you do?”

You stared, dumbfounded. Looking around there wasn’t anyone nearby. 

“Were you talking to me?” you asked.

“Yes,” he chuckled. “It’s just that you’re always on your computer…” he trailed off.

“I’m an assistant curator at an art gallery— or, er, used to be,” you explained. “Long story short, I lost my job and now I’m looking for a new one, that’s why I’m here.”

He seemed to ruminate before replying, “So you know a thing or two about art?”

You both started a new routine; one with a lot of communicating. He would ask you about your mundane weekends and interests and in turn, you would ask about his. Except, he was anything but mundane. 

On the days he was absent, you learned Steve was away on a lot of ‘business trips’. When he returned, he had never failed to present you with a souvenir. From matryoshkas to sarongs, it was always a surprise accompanied by a tale.

“The pattern on the sarong is called a batik, and it’s amazing how they’re drawn using wax like a liquid crayon. It’s an interesting art form.”

Outside of your little routine, he was an enigma. You barely knew about the Steve outside of The Sleeping Cat. Sometimes he threw the names ‘Bucky’ and ‘Sam’ a lot —out of exhaustion— without giving away anything, remaining tight-lipped. While his mysteriousness should’ve been a cause of concern, you couldn’t help but gravitate towards him, wanting to peel more of his layers, like the shell of a matryoshka. 

The routine went on for a few more weeks, with calls of interviews and business trips in between. Before you received a phone call.

“I got a job! At the Whitney!” you squealed, shaking his shoulders over the table, oblivious to the other patrons. Steve endured it, smiling. 

“Congratulations,” he said when you’ve calmed down. “I guess this is the last time I’ll be seeing you?”

You froze, high coming down, realization settling in. After a few weeks of secret meetings, of getting to know him, of having lunch together, of sharing laughs, you’ve come to see Steve as a good friend. And maybe, there was the birth of something more.

“Let’s exchange numbers,” you said, opening your phone. “This way, maybe we can hang out again. Have lunch sometimes?”

“I’d like that.” He smiled. 

And the rest was history.

Making your way towards The Sleeping Cat, you amused yourself with past memories. Memories from almost over a year ago. 

Steve had come to give a speech at the opening ceremony of an exhibition at the Whitney. Your first exhibition as a curator. An exhibition on art from the war times. When they had announced his title, a loud ‘oh’ was the only thing you could muster. 

The ‘ding’ of the bell resounded, announcing your arrival. Heading in, you saw a head perked up, beaming, baseball cap securing his golden locks and aviators hiding his mesmerizing blues.

This was the best part of your days.

But maybe, you were getting a little tired.

If someone were to ask you months ago if you were happy and content with your relationship, you would’ve replied with a swift yes in a heartbeat. No hesitation, no reservations, no doubt. Now, sitting in the same cafe, the same one you frequent on dates, the same one you both met in, you weren’t sure of the answer anymore.

As Steve gets up to order for you both, your eyes wander to his sketchpad. It was filled with sketches of random objects; the flower on the table, the pastries on display, sometimes the patrons of the cafe, and occasionally, you. 

“You’re my favourite subject, so far.”

It was not for the lack of love or the lack of affection. Steve was the most loving; loyal in so many ways, gentle when asked, and protective to a fault. Maybe the protectiveness was the cause of it all.

Staring at Steve’s back, your mind shifted to a memory from the past week, when your roommate pulled you aside from a get-together at the ice rink.

“Hey,” she called your name, taking a hold of your elbow. “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“Sure, what’s up?” you followed her, leading you to the sides.

Her eyes conveyed her worry. It amplified with the chewing of her bottom lip, a nervous tick.

“Are you and Steve… okay?” she asked, her brows perked. “I’m not sure if you notice, but today, it’s full of couples.” 

You looked towards your group of friends. There was your roommate’s girlfriend tying her skates, your other roommate and her boyfriend talking to another couple —their friends— and they were all holding their significant other’s hand. Oh.

“I don’t want to throw you out of the loop, but there would probably be a lot of double skating involved today,” she said, widening her eyes, looking comical. “Do you want me to talk to Steve? Maybe I could convince him to come, y’know?” 

Out of your two roommates, she was the only one who knew of your paramour. Having walked in on you and Steve making out on the couch. She was sworn into secrecy, with the promise of autographs from all the Avengers. 

“Look, it’s okay,” you assured her. “I can handle skating alone, and you know why he can’t really come here with us,” you shrugged.

“Okay, but aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around? Don’t you want to shout to the whole world ‘I’m fucking Captain America!’” she flailed.

You shushed her, muffling her mouth with your gloved hand.

Part of the secret was how Steven Rogers was an engineered superhero. A superhero with many enemies, leading him to fear for his loved ones, and that included you.

You went into the relationship whole-heartedly knowing the challenges; discreet rendezvous, kisses in the dark, minimal contact in public. You were his secret and he was yours. It was for your own good, wasn’t it?

“What’s got your little head wrapped up?” Steve’s voice startled you, bringing you back to the café. On the table, two cups of coffee and a slice of cake was served.

“Hmm? Oh, just thinking about this party the museum’s throwing this weekend,” you took your cup, blowing, contemplating your next words.“Say, how about you and I, I don’t know, go as dates?”

Steve crunched his brows. “You know that’s a hard thing for me to do, especially with your colleagues around.”

“I know! But maybe… maybe, you can go in one of your disguises this time? Remember that one time we went to Central Park?”

Steve exhaled, he remembered that afternoon. It was the one-off that you both ventured on a date in the outdoors. 

Decked in his beanie, casually strolling through Central Park with you beside him. Although he was still wary, keeping his hands in his pockets, fighting the urge to hold your hand. 

No one had recognized him; not the ice-cream man, not the kids running around, not the mothers pushing strollers. No one. 

“I’ll see what I can do.”

You leaned forward, pecking him on the lips multiple times. “Thank you!”

“You sure this looks convincing?”

“Trust me, punk. Grade A assassin here, thank you very much,” Bucky boasted while fixing the wig on his scalp, untangling the unruly strands.

Steve had sought Bucky for help, with the belief that assassins were good at hiding in plain sight (and maybe, he just didn’t want to go to Natasha twice). Bucky was also his most trusted confidant and he knew about you, Steve trusted him not to tell. But now looking at himself in the opposite mirror, he wasn’t so sure of that anymore. 

Long dangly tresses hung on the sides of his face parting in the middle, a trimmed beard leaving a bit of goatee, and to finish it off, Bucky dressed him in a checkered shirt consisting of random coloured squares. He looked like he just stepped out of the 60’s.

“Oh, wear these,” Bucky handed him a pair of large wire-framed glasses. “Done.”

Steve took a look in the mirror. A seedy pimp was the first thought that crossed his mind.

“Thanks Buck, I owe you one.”

“Sure Stevie, just bring me around next time on one of your dates, I’d like to meet her,” Bucky winked. “Or make it double.” He wagged his brows. “Like old times.”

Steve snorted.

“Okay, I got—“ Steve’s words halted when an alarm blared overhead. It demanded their attention.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, your presence is required in Prep Room six,” called the disembodied voice. “There’s been a breach of extraterrestrial energy in the airspace of Sweden.”

Steve exited and rushed through the hallways, Bucky following close behind. He made it through the living quarters, trudging to the training wing before entering one of the many prep rooms. 

“Nice costume, Cap. Halloween already?” Sam quipped. Almost everyone was present, they were equally amused.

Before anyone else could follow, Tony strided in immediately, grumbling. “Okay team, there’s been an E.T synthezoid putting holes in the ozone layer. I’ll fill you all in the quinjet. Suit up and meet me at the hangover in 10.”

Everybody gathered their equipment and hurried to leave, passing by him. Before Tony could, he took notice of Steve and did a double take. And then a third. 

“What’s with the pimp daddy get-up, Capsicle?” 

Steve huffed, ignoring the jab. “I have something that I need to attend. How important am I in this, Tony?”

“We need all hands on deck. We don’t really know what we’re up against, Fury’s still running recon,” Tony explained, squaring his shoulders. “Whatever it is you have, Cap. It can wait. Lives are at stake here.” With that, he left, not standing by for a response.

“Darn it,” Steve cursed, removing the glasses and the wig.

He left the prep room with his shield in hand. With one hand, he shot a text to you. He’ll make it up next time.

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Emergency mission

Loverboy [6:30 PM]: Can’t make it, sorry

You switched the screen off, sighing. Around you, the party was in full swing. Invitees mingling with refreshments in hand, discussing the pieces on display tonight, and bidding on the pieces they find exquisite. Hors d’oeuvres and champagne were being served, brought around by servers on silver platters. You’ve been munching on them non-stop, grabbing one every time a server comes your way, needing something to occupy you.

Surrounding you, you’d see the occasional couple walking around, enjoying their time. The palms of their hands locked in each other’s as they navigate together, rarely straying afar. 

You clenched your hand, reminded of how empty it felt. 

It was inevitable, you were warned of this, you were told to expect this. Dating a superhero meant that he was never solely yours. You were sharing your boyfriend with someone, except that someone was the world. 

“Hiiii!” a shrill voice broke your thought, calling you by name. A blonde woman, followed by a brunette emerged from the gathering of art-goers, headed towards you. “It’s been a long while!”

“Hey! Yeah, it’s been awhile,” you waved, recognizing the two. 

When they reached you, you were aware of the slight tension in the air, leaving the three of you standing awkwardly. After all, these two were your ex-colleagues and you didn’t exactly leave the previous gallery on good terms. Tonight was a night with masks, it seemed.

“So, how are you two doing?” you decided to get it over with.

“We’re fine, everyone’s fine! But how are you? We heard you worked here now, pretty impressive,” the brunette —Claire— winked at you. You laughed.

“Yeah, it’s so nice seeing you again, and at the Whitney? The pay must be good, you know what I’m saying?” Hilda chimed, knocking her elbows with yours. You didn’t appreciate it but you endured.

 “Say, what are you doing over here far away? Why not you join us over there,” Hilda pointed, towards a mounted canvas at the end of the hall. It was occupied by two men in a discussion among themselves. “Chat a bit to catch up, a bit of art philosophical debate in between. What do you say?”

You contemplated her offer, not wanting to seem pretentious, but thought about the false flattery and ego-stroking that would sure ensue in their company. The thought of it drained you.

“It’s okay,” you waved them off nervously. “I have to call my boyfriend sooner, gotta check up on him and let him know I’m... alright.” You held up your phone, playing on convincing.

“Oh? He isn’t here tonight?” Claire seemed to feign worry. 

“No, he got caught up with something. He’s a busy man,” you cooked up an excuse. No one could know. 

“Okay… In that case, we’ll leave you to it. Maybe we’ll bump into each other sooner.”

“Yeah, I’ll see you guys soon.”

They waved before backing away into the mass of patrons. You let out a breath you didn’t know you held in. 

While the interaction was unexpected, this was what you had to deal with when it came to the question of your relationship. The excuses, they became second nature to you. The lies. The deceit. Anything to protect Steve’s identity, and inadvertently, you.

Throughout the night, you mingled with any clients interested in a work of art, all the while stepping out of Hilda and Claire’s line of sight. You didn’t wish a repeat of the earlier evening.

When the crowd started dwindling, signalling the end of the night, you were relieved of your duties. You headed straight for the restrooms after, one getaway before leaving. You huddled yourself in a cubicle, locking it shut.

Seconds in, you heard the creak of the restroom door followed by the clicks of heels.

“Can you believe it? Someone like that got the chance of working here.” 

You recognized the nasally tone. It was Claire. 

“Yeah? Not like she deserves it. I mean look at her? Demure, slow. It’s like talking to a mouse. I bet she’s a prude too.” That was Hilda.

The gushing of the faucet muffled their voices, but their sharp words were clear as day, your ear catching every snark and hiss.

“And when she was talking about her boyfriend? He probably doesn’t even exist, it was just to get off our backs,” Hilda paused. “Last time I heard, her boyfriend dumped her. So, I guess she’s creating imaginary ones now.” 

They both cackled.

By now, you knew they were talking about you. Their words didn’t hurt as much, you knew the colour of their hearts beneath the masks. But was that how people viewed your hidden relationship? A facade? A farce?

Once the door clicked shut, and the tapping of their heels faded, you left the restroom, heart feeling heavier.

(y/n) [6:45 PM]: stay safe stevie ! remember to hydrate

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: punch those meanies

(y/n) [6:46 PM]: (`⌒*)⍟-(`⌒´Q)

Steve chuckled when he turned on his phone, amused at your texts. You always sent him good luck messages every time he went off for missions. Although he didn’t seem to get the emoticons that you sent, even after being taught by Peter Parker. He just didn’t get them.

Steve dialed your number, sitting on the edge of the bed as he dried his washed hair. Beeps ringed before you picked up, your smooth lilt permeating the speakers. 

“Hello? Stevie?”

Steve smiled, missing the caress of your voice after a day filled with explosions and cries.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he greeted. “How’s my girl been?”

“Great, now that you called,” you teased. “But are ‘you’ fine?” you emphasized.

On the other end of the line, you mirrored his position, sitting on one corner of the bed. Picking the newspaper in your lap, you observed the front page: ‘Avengers saves the Arctic!’ 

“Same old, same old,” his voice carries. “Listen, about yesterday—“

“It’s okay,” you interrupted him, other hand gripping the newspaper. “You have to protect the Earth and that also means me. You don’t have to apologize, I knew what I signed up for.” 

Did you? Or was it now a hollow statement to convince yourself?

“I still want to make up for it, my girl deserves that much,” he responded.

You slowly unclenched the paper. It left Steve’s form crinkled.

“If you want to sooo bad,” you exaggerated. “There’s a Valentines charity ball for our arts program in three weeks time. You think you could make it this time?”

“You know no promises, but I plan to, even if I have to do everyone’s laundry for a week.” You heard rustling on the other line. “What’s the exact date? I’ll put it on my calendar.” 

“The 16th.” Scratchy scribbling filled your ear, the sound loud in the silence. 

“Done. Can’t wait to see you all dolled up, sweetheart.”

“Me too, baby,” you said. “At least put on a nice moustache this time.”

He laughed. Your heart felt lighter. To him, it was probably nothing, but to you, it was a form of reassurance. A reassurance that what you had was real.

“Steve, you got a moment?”

The aforementioned man turned around, taking a glance over his shoulder. Sharon Carter slowed to a stop, a small smile on her face. As always, she carried an air of superiority, matching that of Steve’s wavelength. Yet today, it seemed dim.

“I think we need to talk, you have time for coffee?”

Glancing at his watch, he nodded. “Sure, Sharon. Lead the way.”

She took them outside of S.H.I.E.L.D and into the chilly air of DC, navigating through streets and crowds while huddling in their coats. They chatted, breaths puffing as they caught up, the familiar scenes passing by.

He hadn’t been in DC in awhile, it felt good to be back. 

“We’re here.”

Sharon headed in first, holding the door for him. He thanked her. They ordered and got seated. A smile was shared, strained as it seemed. 

“Better just rip the band-aid off,” Sharon sighed. “I miss us.” 

“Sharon—“

“Please, hear me out first,” she insisted, showing her palm. “We probably shouldn’t have done what we’ve done after Aunt Peggy’s funeral. I just lost someone I looked up to the most, and you lost the woman that you loved. We were both grieving. It wasn’t fair to the both of us.”

“While I do miss us, I know that it wasn’t meant to be,” she continued, shooting a sombre smile. “I understand that now. I guess, what I wanted was closure.”

Her hand quivered on the table between them. Steve clasped his over hers, offering to soothe.

“I don’t regret what happened in Germany. While yes, it should have not happened, it was what we thought we needed at that time. We both lost someone we held dear,” Steve explained, hoping his words reached her. “None of it was a mistake, Sharon. You’re still someone I trust and hold dear, remember that.”

Steve clutched her hand tighter, running his thumb over her knuckles in circular motions, attempting to calm and show understanding.

In his efforts, unknown to the two, the shutter of a camera went off across the street.

Something felt off. Everything that could go wrong, went wrong. At first, you thought it was your own anxious mind running. 

You woke up late on a work day, burned your eggs and toast, accidentally wore unmatching socks, and your roommate was acting weird. All jittery when you entered the hall, stammering her words, and performing this bizarre dance when you walked past the living room. You gave her no mind when you passed the threshold and slammed the door, phone gripped in hand.

Loverboy [6:00 AM]: Good morning, dear 

Loverboy [6:01 AM]: [image]

A photo of Steve, sweaty after a run showed on the screen. He was smiling, shirt stained and clinging to his chest. You had taught him how to take selfies.

You [7:20 AM]: morning, handsome

You [7:20 AM]: 😍😍😍 

The morning texts were the best part of your morning commute. It made the arduous and packed journey worthwhile. Even when you almost tripped at the doors, it couldn’t take away your joy.

You made it just in time and clocked in, meeting clients and discussions with artists throughout the day. It was uneventful, although the bad luck seemed to have followed when you spilled your coffee on the concrete.

It was when you left the museum that your day took a turn for the worst.

On the ride home, the man opposite you was reading a newspaper. Nothing unusual, but at a glance, you thought you saw a familiar face printed on the corner. Before you could take a closer look, the man folded it in half and got off.

A few minutes later, you arrived at your stop, exiting the station with the fast-paced crowd. That’s when you were bombarded.

Lining the streets, your vision was filled with the scattering of a crowd of papers. Every face you saw was plastered in them.

‘The Good Captain In Love?’

‘A Superhero & A Civilian Romance?’ 

‘Captain America’s Girl? Mysterious Woman Sighted’

The sight of them left you in a panic, your anxiety spiking through the roof. Your world started spinning, everything —buildings, trees, faces— blending altogether. Everywhere your eyes deflected, a headline invaded your sight, imprinting itself on your retinas. Had they found out?

Composing yourself, you headed towards the nearest news stall, mind boggled with too many questions and not enough answers. How? Why? When?

Only, it wasn’t your face they were publishing.

‘“Oh Captain, My Captain” America in love? Spotted last week in DC was Captain Steven Rogers with a mysterious lady. They seemed to be cozy with each other, an eyewitness told Us Weekly. Story on Page 11.’

The photograph showcased Steve with a blonde woman, sitting in a café with their hands clasped on the table. Your heart shattered at the sight, remembering how empty yours have felt lately. 

Was he purposely out with this woman in public? What did that mean for you? Why were you shadowed?

“Are you and Steve… okay?”

“She’s creating imaginary ones now.”

“Aren’t you tired? Of all this sneaking around?”

“You know that’s a hard thing for me to do.”

“Hey lady, you gonna pay for that?”

You were shaken out of your stupor. Looking down, you were clutching the magazine too hard, ripping the image of Steve and the woman in half, right in the middle where their hands met.

You apologized to the man and paid for the magazine. Immediately discarding it in the next trash bin you saw.

“So… you and Sharon?” Sam had asked him after training.

“What?” 

“You, and, Sharon,” Sam emphasized, pronouncing each syllable. “Are together. Man, when were you gonna tell me? I thought it was over.”

Steve froze before replying, “Because it is. A long time ago.”

“Well, this seems to say otherwise.” 

Sam showed him his phone, the screen displaying an article; ‘Captain America’s Girl Revealed. A Family Affair That Transcends Time.’ On top of the article was a photo of him and Sharon at the cafe in DC, his hand atop of hers on the table. A zoomed in version of their hands were provided, fueling the tabloid’s narrative.

Steve paled at the sight. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This was his fears manifested; his anonymity taken, his privacy invaded, but his worst fear was putting his loved ones in danger. And if it was due to their association with him, it would leave him racked with guilt. 

While the tabloids were wrong, he knew that Sharon could defend for herself. You on the other hand… 

His heart rate rose, a new wave of anxiety spiked. Steve wondered if you’ve seen this. No, you must’ve seen this. 

Fishing for his phone, with clammy hands, Steve quickly dialed your number, anxiously waiting for the beeping to end. 

‘The number you’ve dialed is not—‘

“Damn it!”

His outburst surprised Sam, shocking him. Sam gave him a look, inquisitive. 

“Sorry Sam, I have to run.” 

He left, heart in his throat.

When Steve arrived at your apartment, he was almost out of breath. He was still anxious, the ride here not doing much to his addled mind. But he was determined.

Rapidly knocking on your front door, Steve composed himself. When it opened, he was met with the sight of your roommate -- the one that he has never met before.

“Ca-Captain America?” she yelped, shocked to see him on the doorstep.

“Is your roommate in?” he steeled.

“Which one—” 

“Steve,” a voice interrupted.

The door pulled further, widening the entrance. Steve was met with your familiar roommate. She was tense, arms locked across her chest, eyes full of fury. Steve detected something else in them; worry.

“You fucked up,” she said. He winced.

“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m here to make things right. Can I please see her?”

She sighed, stepping in, nodding towards your room. 

Steve hastily walked in, stopping in front of your door. He knocked thrice, signalling you, before turning the knob. It was unlocked. The room was dark when he entered, every source of light switched off, except for your curtains. 

Sitting on the edge of the bed was you, figure illuminated by the street lights against pitch black darkness. When he stepped in closer, you looked up, eyes meeting his. 

Steve turned on the lights and closed the door. He took a good look at you; hair frazzled, eyes bloodshot and dry, nose red. You were the image of heartbreak.

“Are you ashamed of me?” you asked, eyes locked with his. 

“What? No, I—“

“Is it because I’m not strong?” you cut him off. “I know she’s Peggy’s niece… a-and I know how much you loved her. She was your first love.”

“She and I, it’s all in the past. She moved on and lived her life, and I… did too.”

“But did you really, Steve? Move on?” you whispered, getting up. You stood in front of him. Steve could see how puffed your eyes were from crying. “Or was I just… a rebound?”

“No. No, you were never a rebound,” he took hold of your forearms. “I care for you, too much.”

“Then why?!” you shrieked, shocking Steve. “Why the secrets? Why the hiding? Steve, you’ve never even introduced me to your friends. Shouldn’t they know?”

“I wanted to protect you!”

“Protect me from what?!” you roared, eyes full of fury. “The Avengers? If they knew about me, they would protect me. Don’t you think so?”

Steve had no words to that, his mind a jumbled mess.

“I’m… beginning to think that you’re embarrassed with me,” you sighed. “We’ve never been on a date publicly, as each other. We’ve never held hands in public. I want you to meet my friends. I want to introduce you to them, and maybe soon, I want you to meet my family.”

“B-but, I’m tired, Steve. Tired of all the hiding. Of all the sneaking around. I want to tell the world that I’m in love with Steve Rogers, not Captain America,” you sighed, shedding a few tears.

You waited for his reply, only to be disappointed. 

“You know I can’t do that.”

You saw red. All you saw was red. 

You started pushing him, swatting him in the chest. Steve didn’t fight back, letting you unleash your anger, your disappointment. He took your hits, letting you release your pent up emotions. He began backing away when you started advancing, back against the door.

“Get out! Get out!” you screeched, pushing him.

When he unlocked the door and crossed, you immediately shut the door in his face. Steve heard sobbing from inside, his heart shattering at the sounds. 

“This way, Captain,” your roommate approached him, showing him to the door.

Steve relented, shame flooding him. He fucked up.

You stopped visiting The Sleeping Cat, wanting to avoid him at all costs. You blocked his number. You immersed yourself in your work, prepping for the upcoming charity gala. 

Sometimes you find yourself thinking about him when sleep proved to be difficult. It’s when you’re laying at night that you missed him the most.

But it was for the best, you reasoned. For you and him.

The Avengers PR had pushed for a fix-it, publishing a story that spoke a truth. ‘Just Friends: Romantic Allegations Proved False’. Steve had hoped you’d seen it. 

He called you every day but found himself blocked from everything. He still tried, hoping you’d come around one day. He came by The Sleeping Cat every other day, sitting in the same spot, hoping to catch you. 

But you never came.

You clasped the necklace in place, admiring how it sat on your clavicle through the mirror. You took a step back and took yourself in, smiling at what you saw. It didn’t reach your eyes.

Today was the day of the Valentines gala and you weren’t feeling particularly giddy about it. 

Opening your phone, you stared at the one contact that stood out, finger hovering over his name. That name used to give you so many feelings, but today it was a reminder that you were going alone, again.

Sighing, you threw it in your purse and left. Another lonely night, and on an even celebrating love.

Days turned into weeks, and soon, before he knew it, the day of your Valentines gala arrived. 

Steve stared at the calendar. The heart-shaped doodle he drew called out to him, reminding him of fond memories. Fond memories that seemed like a distant dream. But then, he went back to last week, and it all came crashing.

He had hurt you. While thinking he was protecting you, he hadn’t realized he was inadvertently pushing you away. He had no one to blame but himself. 

He loved you. No, still loves you. You grounded him, gave him the normalcy that he craved. Reminded him of a distant time before he was Captain America. 

You made him feel like the boy from Brooklyn again.

While he was ruminating in his feelings, Steve was caught off-guard when the door burst open with Tony Stark coming through. From his peripheral, he could see Bucky and Sam peeking through the frame.

“Heard from the Manchurian Candidate that someone has a case of the achy breaky heart,” Tony said, smug.

“Leave me alone, Tony. I’m not in the mood,” he grumbled, setting down the calendar. 

“And leave you wallowing like shit while your girl is out there probably equally miserable? I know a thing or two about women, Rogers, and it’s that they don’t like to be kept waiting.”

Tony snapped his fingers and from behind, Sam came in with a tuxedo in hand.

“Thought you might need this,” Sam said. 

Bucky came out behind him, with a brush and can of hairspray. “And I still know how to do hair.”

“And I have friends in places,” Tony quipped. “I can get you in.”

Steve was surprised. His friends had surprised him. You would’ve loved them. He was left speechless.

“What are you waiting for, Cap? Suit up.” Tony winked.

Swirling the glass of rosé, your gaze fell towards the dance floor. An upbeat song was being played as people flocked near the middle, letting their bodies take charge for the night. You saw your former co-workers among the throng, hands thrown around their significant others, having the time of their lives.

The gala was in full swing, if the crowd and chatter was any indication. Red and roses were the main theme, with a red carpet stretching from the grand staircase towards the main hall and roses lining every corner and wall. Taking it all in, you were proud to see your ideas visualized and work came to fruition.

You sipped your rosé, enjoying every bit of the gala as you could. From the sidelines, you spoke with a few potential clients and art collectors. Their presence made you feel your importance, and if you dared say it, a little less lonely.

It was during one of your little chats that you didn’t realize when the hall suddenly fell quiet. You turned around when you felt a tap on your shoulder.

“Hi folks, mind if I crash your party?”

Steve smiled at Tony’s antics. They both had arrived at the gallery dressed in their best, and with Tony’s connections, they were granted access. 

Stepping down the grand staircase, Steve felt all eyes on him. He paid them no mind, the thought of you the only occupant of his racing mind. Gazing over the crowd, Steve spotted you to the side, occupied in a chatter. 

Taking deliberate steps, Steve soon found himself behind you. He admired your gown and hair, it entranced him. You still hadn’t registered his presence, even when your partner had ceased chatting and was now staring at him.

With a tap on your shoulder, he was taken away as immediately as you spun around. Steve took in your whole image; your dolled-up face, your intricate dress, your styled hair. It left him floored.

You always did manage to take his breath away. Was this what he had been missing out all this time?

Taking your unoccupied hand, Steve pressed a small kiss before meeting your eyes. 

“May I have this dance?”

Giving away your drink, you took his hand as he pulled your towards the centre, taking space among the crowd. A slow number started, and before you realized, you were swept in a slow dance. It didn’t take long before you felt the sensation of his two left feet.

“Sorry, a hundred years and you’d think I’d know how to dance,” he said.

A small smile lightened your face. Steve savoured it all he could. Gulping, he took the first step.

“I’m... sorry for what I’ve done. I realize now that you were right,” he started. “I thought I was protecting you, but now I see that all it did was push you away. You have all the rights to be mad at me. I was being an idiot, a selfish one. I didn’t think about how you felt about it.”

You winced. Steve had stepped on your toes again. He murmured an apology, resorting to swaying instead.

“Can we start again? No more hiding. No more disguises,” he breathed, keeping his eyes locked on yours. “ We can meet your friends, you can meet mine. Bucky’s been pestering me to bring you to the compound, he wants to meet you.”

You laughed. How Steve had missed the tune.

“How can I make it up to you? How do you want to take the first step? A picnic at Central Park? Dinner at the compound? A trip to the beach?”

You seemed to contemplate, a thoughtful look on your face. You both failed to realize all the eyes on you two.

“How about now?”

“Right here? Right now?” he asked.

“Yes, right here, right now,” you said, determined.

Without hesitation —no more— Steve dived in, planting a kiss on your wine-coloured lips for the whole world to see. Your first kiss in public, yet it felt as if it was only the two of you there, lost in the moment. 

You both didn’t notice the gasping crowd nor the clicks of cameras from photographers nor the booming laughter of Tony Stark. You both only felt the other in your orbit, and that was all that mattered.

“Can you put that down? You’ve been staring at it for the past hour.”

You pouted, setting the frame on the side table, where it has been designated since its publication. 

“I can’t help it, I think it’s a good shot. Don’t you think so, Alpine?” you petted the snowy white cat lazing on the arm of the sofa. Its’ purrs intensified.

“Dinner’s ready!” Bucky shouted.

You and Steve left the room, joining the others in the dining room for dinner. On the side table, the framed article sat neatly, showcasing the tale of the famed occurrence that took place at a charity gala.

‘America’s Girl: The Modern Woman of The Captain’s Dreams.’

Fin.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers fanfiction #fluff #angst #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #happyhoelentinesday2021

[kiloxy]

Analysis: WHY DREAM IS ACTUALLY BLONDE GEORGE!

NOW DON’T SCROLL AWAY JUST YET!

Listen Guys I have come up with the greatest theory/analysis of my life. Twitter could NEVER. This is about to solidify me as one of the lead big brain theorists on tumblr, cross my heart..... *cough* shit-poster *cough* I mean what? anyway... This analysis includes lots of receipts! Now let’s begin me launching my 1000000000 IQ career faster than Dream can MLG water out of this damning post. 

Tw: Close up of eyes since I zoomed in images of their eyes as proof. It will be under the cut.

So let me start with the question everyone has asked: WHO IS DREAM?!?

He’s the mysterious lime green, tea kettle sounding, god level skill, 10000 IQ, pissbaby enigma that took the internet BY STORM. He has grown so fast and so quick it’s insane, big brain plays must be through the roof. We could wonder how he did this... Why he did this.... But really. All we should care about is WHO THE FUCK IS HE?!!?!

Excuse my language... But anyway.. I have been working DAY AND NIGHT. To figure this out for you guys. It’s been 78 hours of no sleep. After escaping Dream’s basement (smart ass found out I was going to expose him) I have finally made it to a computer to post this...   

Dream is Blonde George

Okay wait wait wait! Before you go leave, screaming and appalled, slamming the button to unfollow my broke ass, hear me out. 

First point... What the fuck is blonde George?

THIS MAN. REMEMBER HE BLEW UP?!?! WHY DID HE? WHY??? I mean we hate him! Well the only reasonable explanation is that he was a PLANT!

Yes that’s right, blonde George was a plant. This is actually Dream. Now Dream loves chaos, he’s even mentioned before he may make a stan account/pose as a cosplayer and I think this was his way...He leaked this photo of him on twitter to fuck with us. To test the waters before the Mr.Beast video where he might reveal himself as blonde George. 

Only Dream and his 1000000 IQ could blow up a post like this guys, think about it! 

OKAY TIME FOR THE REAL PROOF:

We know Dream’s hair color okay, look at this twitter post where he does a hair color reveal:

POST HERE

Now let’s take a closer look. Here’s Dream’s hair:

Rest of the analysis under the cut includes more analyzed images, links, and video as proof:

Now I took to an eyedropper and examined Blonde George’s hair and got:

LOOK HOW CLOSE THE NUMBERS ARE!  AND WE KNOW NUMBERS DON’T LIE! The more samples I took of blonde George’s hair and compared to Dream’s the clearer it became... Their hair... Is the same! 

Now that we have the hair matching what else can we figure out? I mean Dream said he had green eyes, we even have a pic here of them. 

But I ask you.... Dream’s smart. You really think he’s telling the truth? I mean think of the the vlog incident. Man is a liar. 

I introduce to you a concept: CONTACTS

You see Dream knew that blonde George would get a lot of traction (he wanted it to). But he didn’t want to be outed too fast. I mean blonde white dude? blowing up on twitter? Obviously traceable back to Dream. So change one of his most distinct features, his eyes! He is wearing brown contacts. I have proof, let’s look at blonde Gog again. uSING MY EXPENSIVE HIGH TECH EQUIPMENT I-

ENHANCE ENHANCE ENHANCE!

I mean first just looking at this you can see the odd white glare on his eye... Now that is not your usual eye glare, no... That’s an eye glare that shows what it looks like when light reflects off a contact lens. He is wearing contacts! 

But if that isn’t enough for you I cleaned up the photo of blonde George’s eye using mad skillz I learned from crime shows and got:

YEAH THAT’S RIGHT! CLEARLY A CONTACT LENS AND A CHEAP ONE TOO! LOOK HOW ARTIFICIAL IT IS IN THIS CLEAR ZOOMED IN PICTURE OF BLONDE GEORGE’S EYE THAT IS OBVIOUSLY NOT A PHOTO OF A RANDOM WOMAN I FOUND WITH A CONTACT. 

Dream put in brown contacts! Why else would this “blonde George” be wearing contacts huh??? We know real George has 100% real gorgeous brown eyes. 

Now you may be saying, well that’s just an edited photo of legit George. We have the real photo of George.  But no, it’s not! THAT’S WHAT DREAM WANTS YOU TO THINK SHEEPLE, WAKE UP!

Dream put on a red hoodie, styled his hair to look like George, and he posed just right so it looks like it’s an edited version of that photo of Gog. But it’s not! We can tell by the contacts! Also George would never exude the off vibes blonde George does. It doesn’t pass the vibe check. 

Now while there are so many other bits of proof... This is getting long and I want to wrap it up. So here’s one last big bit of proof. 

THIS VIDEO OF THE SCUFFED PODCAST AT 15:37

They talk about blonde George and, George claims it is photoshopped but he smiles nervously. And as he pulls up blonde George Dream does his nervous laugh. Why is he nervous? Why would he be nervous?? about this “meme”. Maybe because he’s scared to be found out,

Now the most important part:

“I don’t rlly like it tbh.”- Gog.

“Uhhh I don’t like it.”-Dream.

Now you may have brushed past this upon viewing, but.... Nobody asked for Dream’s opinion. This was supposed to be about GEORGE why would Dream input his opinion and speak like it’s about him... BECAUSE IT IS HIM

Now the most damning of all... 16:50 same video.

“Dream have you like ever done a face reveal or no?”-??

Dream HESITATES 

“No- I haven’t yet. I do plan on doing one but I haven’t yet.”

As he speaks his words get more rushed and quiet, he’s lying. He’s nervous.

Then George saving him, redirects the topic completely off blonde George and Dream immediately jumps on the new topic eager to switch focus. It’s so weird how fast they move the topic, the clearly don’t want to talk about it. George is a good friend, he knew that Dream was scared and needed an out of the conversation before he outed himself as blonde George. 

But... they couldn’t keep the ruse up.... BECAUSE I AM HERE! 

I see you Dream and your 10000000 IQ. HE THOUGHT HE COULD CONTAIN ME, CONTAIN THE TRUTH. BUT I- BREAKING GENESIS CAN NOT BE STOPPED. I ESCAPED HIS BASEMENT JUST FOR THIS FUCKING POST! IT WAS MANHUNT, I SPEEDRAN THIS SHIT. I BET HE’S LOOKING FOR ME NOW.

*cough* Anyway, now my very very last point. 

Why haven’t we ever seen Dream and Blonde George in a room together huh? It’s weird right?? They can’t coexist separately because THEY ARE THE SAME PERSON. IT’S SO OBVIOUS! 

If this grade A++++, wagyu quality, meaty with receipts analysis wasn’t enough to convince you then.... I am going to hack into Mr.Beast’s content. I am on my way to his house as I type this... Next post I am LEAKING images from the shoot when Dream drops the sign that will SHOW that he is in fact Blonde George. 

If you have more proof.... Anything to add... react... or respond to this analysis. My inbox is open.

Wish me luck, I honed my hacker skillz just for this. You may not be able to trust Dream, but you can trust me! Hopefully I can do this before Dre catches me again. 

o7 bois 

#shitpost #i mean #analysis #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #blonde george #this is the real shit #I legit spent so long on this kill me #please don't unfollow #this analysis slaps #This is my best work #Dream

[ri-ahhh]

for the win

After dealing with a lifetime of insecurities, Winnie Walker finally gets the courage to pursue her dreams, with a few bumps along the way. But that confidence may not carry over when it comes to a certain hazel-eyed football player who’s had her attention for much too long.

A/N: this was a random inspo that hit me out of nowhere a while ago and I was gonna make it an epic oneshot, but I think I’ll just break it into parts instead. So, hence, this is part one. Hopefully you like it enough for it to be even worth posting more.

warnings: none yet, other than this is def gonna be as cheesy as you think it is

***

Winnie Walker has always considered herself an enigma. Not in that annoying, ‘I’m so cute and quirky’ type of way, but rather in the way that made her someone who never quite fit into one defined space. The kind perfected by years of self doubt, an emotionally distant mother, and the random ebb and flow of confidences and insecurities that always helps her remember that she is, in fact, perfectly un-extraordinary: her face is too round, but she’s always been called pretty; her personality is dry enough that she finds it challenging making female friends, but she fits in well with the boys; and she has a penchant for being the last one to talk about anything she might be feeling until she puts a pen to paper and speaks through the mouths of others.

Sports and writing were her main passions, but it still took until her senior year of high school to decide that she wanted to be a sports journalist. Not just a journalist, though -- more than anything, she dreamed of stepping out into the light as a broadcaster. Shy by nature but an athlete at heart, it once again put her in that enigmatic grey space where she wasn’t sure what the hell she was thinking.

But it’s what her heart was calling for her to do. For the first time in her life, Winnie Walker felt sure about something despite everyone’s doubts -- including her own. She grew up an athlete, and some of her fondest memories as a child were caught between either being in her dad’s man cave with all of his friends, cheering on their team of choice for whatever sport was on, discussing heatedly what plays should or shouldn’t have taken place. Or, on the volleyball court. 

The full ride offer from USC that was presented but never came to fruition because of a devastating knee injury in one of her last club tournaments haunted Winnie in the months leading up to her high school graduation. 

Her mother, Dahlia, was not-so-secretly thrilled. A stage mother through and through, she had always supported her daughter as she made headway in her sport as a star player, but it was an open point of contention that Winnie planned to follow her passion for it all the way to college. She wanted her middle daughter to attend the local university, get a nice marketing degree, and settle into a high rise in downtown Dallas, where she could point at during brunch with her friends and brag about the pretty penny her kid made with her perfectly nice degree she attained in her perfectly nice hometown. 

That’s not Winnie, though, and everyone except Dahlia knew it. No one was all too surprised that she still wanted to escape to California (again, except her mother), even if they were slightly shocked about her decision for a major. The reactions from her friends and sisters and dad had her even more excited as she scanned the email of her academic acceptance into USC. It finally gave her the courage to spill the beans to her mother as well.

Dahlia Walker very much scoffed in the face of her quiet, introverted, hopeful daughter sitting across the kitchen island while she scrubbed at the dishes from dinner.

“Winona, sweetie, you refused to even speak at your sister’s wedding as the maid of honor, and you want to be on TV? With all those... men?”

Winnie cringed a little bit and rolled her eyes at the slightly far-off look on her mother’s face as she no doubt started imagining the sweaty athletes the reporters would stand next to post-game.

“You don’t think I could do it?” she asked flatly, flicking a chip of her nail polish off her finger so it flew across the otherwise spotless granite — her mom hated when she did that. 

Dahlia’s hands picked up their pace again in the suds, slowed down by whatever middle-aged fantasy was going on in her mind. She shook her head, the highlights in her perfectly styled blonde bob shifting under the recessed lights.

“The girls who do that are just so bouncy. Friendly. They curl their hair.”

Winnie bit her lip. She didn’t know if she should laugh or cry. Her body felt deflated. “I knew I could count on you to be supportive.”

“Oh honey, I’m just trying to be realistic with you,” her mother said dismissively. Like she didn’t realize the pang her words caused to spread in Winnie’s chest; it should have been be all-too familiar by then, but the sting was never weakened with age or predictability. “And California? Are you really ready to be so far from home? You hardly ever even leave your room.”

It had taken everything in Winnie to hold back the open scoff she longed to throw at her mother; instead, she just stood up and left the kitchen, along with any childish hope that Dahlia might ever make an effort to really know her middle daughter.

Because anyone that knew Winona Elle Walker could predict just how much she would thrive in California. In the persistent sunshine that never quite reached the peak of being too hot for very long, unlike the nearly six months of 90 and 100-plus degree days of summer she knew so well in Texas. Within close proximity to a beach that didn’t have swamp-colored water washing ashore.

In a place well over a thousand miles away from Dahlia.

And that’s exactly how Winnie found herself in LA: thriving. She made friends easily, enjoyed life on the USC campus while she studied the exact major she had set out for the first day she sat down in her first class -- Navigating News in the Digital Age class -- and it was a relatively cheap flight home if she ever missed it too much. Winnie started feeling less like an enigma, and more like someone whose quirks were becoming more of a benefit to her success than she could have ever imagined.

Now, as a woman in her senior year, nearly 22 and set to graduate in only a few months time, she’s finally up for the most coveted position in her major: being the prime time student reporter at the biggest sporting events of the school’s entire athletic program — the Trojan football games. Reporting at football games was a job always reserved for seniors, and she had been driving her roommate — and best friend in California — Naomi crazy all summer prepping for the spot’s audition.

“Winnie, babe, you know the plays backwards and forwards. You’ve understood more about the rules of football since you were a kid than I’ll ever know as a grown woman. You have all the key players’ and coaches’ names and numbers memorized. You couldn’t be any more prepared,” she smiles, good-natured irritation clear in her eyes and behind the blinding smile that shone from her mocha-colored skin.

It softens some when Winnie stood from the couch, and Naomi reaches over and slaps her retreating ass just hard enough to make Winnie yelp and giggle. “Not to mention those squats are paying off big time, bitch. You’re gonna kill it.”

Winnie rolls her eyes and continues to make her way to the kitchen to refill her wine glass. “The camera won’t see my ass, but thanks.”

Naomi winks. “No. But Grayson Dolan might.”

Grayson Dolan — the walk-on that had stunned everyone when he was thrown into a game his freshman year after two of the starting tight ends had become injured on two consecutive plays. Now a senior himself, he’s led the team ever since in receiving yards, receptions, and TD’s, and is a clear prospect for the NFL in the coming months.

He also happens to be the player Winnie had drunkenly admitted she had a crush on during a girls night last year, and her friends have yet to let her live it down. She had felt ridiculous saying she had a crush as a 21 year-old, but that’s really all it was; he was hot, an extremely talented player, and she barely knew him beyond that one time he had spilled a drink on her at a frat party, and the rather interesting reputation that followed him around campus. There was nothing more to it.

Even if her attraction to him hasn’t died down in the passing time.

Winnie only blushes and pours herself a little extra, blaming the Maison No. 9 when Naomi throws her head back with a cackle and calls out the matching pink in her cheeks.

The morning of her audition, a mere two weeks into her fall semester, Winnie has butterflies fluttering madly in the pit of her belly. Her truer nature of being somewhat shy and timid in these situations has never left, always flaring up in moments of self-doubt and unpredictability. Undoubtedly, however, this audition deserves all the nerves; it’s a clear stepping stone into network broadcasting, and would almost guarantee her a spot as an intern at FOX Sports next semester.

She stares at herself in the mirror for a moment, silently urging herself to get her shit together, and takes a deep breath before eyeing Naomi’s curling iron plugged in by the sink adjacent to her own.

Winnie hasn’t curled her hair once in the nearly four years she’d been in LA. Not for nights out, or auditions, or even a date. A brief moment of madness overtakes her as she stands there staring at the metal device, her hand starting to reach out as words that should be long forgotten ring loud and clear in her head. For a second, the pale beige paint of her apartment bathroom turns the light blue and grey color scheme of her childhood one. Her mom had ‘surprised’ her with the the renovation one year when she decided to redecorate the house while Winnie was at volleyball camp, insisting she had chosen Winnie’s favorite colors, when in reality it simply matched the rest of the monotone suburban house that Winnie secretly couldn’t stand. It was boring, and typical, and...stuck, despite its relative newness.

With that, the fog clears as quickly as it had come, and she sets her jaw determinedly. She hasn’t let Dahlia psych her out for this long; she isn’t about to let now be the first time since she’s been out here on her own.

And maybe Naomi was right. Maybe she’d catch a certain tight end’s eye with a tight end of her own, after all.

The nausea suddenly returns as she shakes her head and reaches for her straightener instead, flicking it on before sectioning off her hair.

“No wonder you’re so fucking single, Win.”

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #blurb #g blurb #why am i posting this in the height of everyone elses amazing oc’s #stupid

[cristobalrios]

My Holo-Headcanons that I still need to turn into fics sometime and the original posts I made about them, A Compilation:

The Trouble With Emergency Holograms: La Sirena Tribble shenanigans, already started writing this one but has just been sitting in my WIPs for like a year.

Multiple Personalities: Some Sci-Fi reason the holos all have to temporarily be inside of Cris's head so they temporarily take over his body like That Episode With Data or That Episode With Seven, or kind of like That Other Episode With Seven and Doc although personally I'd prefer this to be an episode and not a fic, so we actually get to see Santi doing the rapidly-switching-between-personalities thing.

Holo Programs for Emergency Holos: Steward's recreational holo-program for the EHs where everyone gets to have their own dream job that's supposed to be not what they're programmed for, like an "if you could do anything other than your current job, what would it be" scenario. Emil is just... A doctor. Or is he? His hospital is actually a front for his secret spy base and no one knows it until Enoch spies on Emil and then the secret's out.

The Importance of Being Eddie: Rios pretends to be an Emergency Hologram that doesn't exist to get out of a conversation when he was Not in the mood for anything resembling social interaction; it was quick and easy and felt really good so he started using this excuse more, so he invents Eddie, the Emergency Departure Hologram. The Holos hear Rios doing this sometime and decide to help him out and have some fun of their own, so they take turns pretending to be this Eddie holo so people don't only see Eddie when they're looking for the captain and Eddie doesn't only leave the room to "find him" and never come back. And things... Get out of hand. Title named after the fact that this sounds suspiciously close to a variation of "Bunburying" as Algernon named it in The Importance of Being Earnest (I also love the fact that his name is Eddie, as named by @enigma-the-mysterious, specifically for the fact that it's reminiscent of Edward Hyde that this also... kind of resembles, if you squint, although the name came from "Emergency Departure Hologram" and was not, as far as I know, a literary allusion)

Hospitality: The origin of the Emergency Hospitality Holograms, an idea pitched to Doc when working on the Emergency Hologram Basic Installation Package, by his friend and fellow Voyager veteran Neelix, after meeting another beloved self-aware hologram, Vic Fontaine. Not exactly a story about our Holos on La Sirena, but sort of an origin story for Steward, so related.

The KitKats and That Time Cris's Generosity Was Mistaken for Negligence: Working title. Two things were talked about here; a Cute Fluff story where Enoch gets to have Emil's KitKat because Emil doesn't like them, but there are Conditions, and; Rios handing some things out the the holos, and Enoch sneaks back in line seeing if he can get away with getting Two without Cris noticing, and when Cris does give him another without any comment, he is suddenly worried that Cris really didn't notice that one of the holos was there twice and he's slightly offended.

Holo-ween: The Holos have a tradition on Halloween; try to confuse Rios about which Holo is which. They switch it up every time, including one time all of them looking exactly like him with no other visual or auditory indications of differences.

Portal: The Holo Squad play Portal. That's it, that's the entire thing.

I Swear My Smart Devices Are Alive: A modern AU where the EHs are Cris's smart devices and Agnes is the cute IT Tech who comes over to fix them when their idiosyncrasies get on Cris's nerves enough.

Forgery: The Holos can mimic Cris's handwriting perfectly...

Collection: This one is actually post-Picard S1, or during. Elnor wants to learn about why people have... Stuff. Just, stuff, for no apparent purpose, that they seem very attached to (read: Cris and his mermaid statues). Steward tries his best to explain it to him and the Holos show Elnor their own collections and hobbies, and help him find hobbies of his own.

Diagnostics: Ian takes his duty as their equivalent of ""Doctor"" to his fellow Emergency Holograms very seriously, but in true Rios-fashion, neglects to take care of himself. This results in the actual EMH having to step in. @talvenhenki already did an absolutely wonderful fic based on this idea that I love in chapter 8 of Voyages of the Freighter La Sirena, but I might do a version of my own. Maybe it will take place not long before this one, when Emil (and possibly Agnes, as mentioned in that version above, so that's an idea) goes to Ian before Cris intervenes. Anyway, whether or not I ever actually write it, definitely go read that version!

Emergency Command Hologram: A theory I had pre-Stardust City Rag that started off as a joke and turned into "wait this would actually be fun if not in canon, at least as an AU" - I have subsequently decided that this is going to be a recurring nightmare of Rios's, that he finds out that the real him died and he's a holographic copy of himself as a modified ECH the holos have been using to fake still having a captain. That he actually died and the holos covered it up to avoid being deactivated permanently or changed by the ship's next owner. The cover up aspect, of course, goes "nicely" with Cris's trauma.

Steward and His Roombas: I really don't know where the original stuff is for this (the link to the post is broken now, I don't know where it went) but this was completely inspired by Stabby the Space Roomba about Steward and his ship cleaning bots and Emmet taping a knife to one of them like the infamous Stabby that inspired the wonderful, beautiful fic @procrastinatorproject wrote and gifted to me, A Night at the Opera. Please go read it if you haven't (and reread it if you have). And listen to the podfic version @thelaithlyworm is making, here. They're both wonderful!

Meta that aren't fic ideas but are interesting/important observations and/or headcanons:

An Exploration of Emmet's Tattoos: Pictures, identification of whatever I could identify, and discussion of all of Emmet's various tattoos that we have been able to see on screen so far.

Connection: The holograms in the Emergency Hologram Basic Installation Package are interconnected with each other and the ship in intricate ways. This post itself is mostly a meta on the holos instead of an actual plot bunny but there's definitely stuff that can be done with these concepts.

Emergency Hologram Basic Installation Package: I have character bios for each of the holograms on my carrd that also has some headcanons about the EHBIPs as well. Carrd Home Page; Emil; Enoch; Steward; Emmet; Ian.

Also, these ideas are open for other people to steal (I would love but it's not required to credit me and possibly any others who helped make these ideas, as shown on their original posts, since a lot of them were definitely a collaborative thing).

If you do use any of these ideas, feel free to reblog this with the link to it!!

#cristobal rios #holo squad #emil (emh) #enoch (enh) #steward (ehh) #mr. hospitality (ehh) #emmet (etsh) #ian (eeh) #reference

[ravnicaforgoblins]

Ravnica for Goblins

Exciting Planeswalker Visitors

(Caution: Before we begin, this post is going to be much more opinion-based than previous ones. These are my own homebrew ideas, use them as/if you wish, discard/dismiss them if you prefer.)

Planeswalkers are an integral part of MTG Lore, as well as several of its most iconic characters. Put simply, a Planeswalker is an individual with an inherent gift for traveling between planes, or worlds. The gift does not appear at birth, but is usually triggered by some manner of incredibly emotional (usually traumatizing) event. In addition, each Planeswalker displays a unique aptitude for a particular style of magic; be it plant growth, transformation, becoming transparent, illusions, invulnerability, summoning beasts, structural analysis, setting things on fire, etc. Whatever their specific brand of magic is, it’s usually on a higher level than an ordinary person can hope to achieve.

Planeswalkers, as a general rule, are wanderers by nature. They may have a home plane, or even an adopted home plane, but being able to traverse the multiverse leads many towards lives of constant adventuring/shenanigans. Add in the fact that Planeswalkers cannot bring anyone else with them on these travels (except in very rare cases), and you end up with a special breed of super-powerful magical loner. They show up, make a name for themselves with their big magic, and depart when they feel like it. Did you say, “Instant Adventure”?

Ravnica has a few native Planeswalkers among its citizens; Ral Zarek, Vraska, and Domri Rade. In addition, it has several Planeswalkers who have at some point or another (depending on your timeline) devoted enough time & energy to be effectively considered citizens; Azor, Tezzeret, Kaya, Dack Fayden, Dovin Baan, Gideon Jura, and Jace Beleren. Some of these are currently dead, missing, or magically barred from ever returning. At one point, Ravnica had more Planeswalkers on it at one time than any plane in the multiverse has ever or will ever see. If you are going the War of the Spark direction, good luck. You'll need it and so will your players. For everyone else, which Planeswalkers you choose to include in your campaign (if any), should be based on who will work the best for the story you’re trying to tell. A recommendation; if you find their lore too distracting and complicated, stick to the main beats. A lot of these figures can be boiled down to simple ideas, and you don’t want to bore your party with the entire novel of these usually dramatic/tragic lives. Trust me, the base concepts are enough.

With that in mind, here are four Planeswalkers that I, a random person on the internet, believe would work great for a Ravnica campaign. My choices are not based on who has canonically already spent time in Ravnica, or who would be the most powerful/dangerous to suddenly appear in the city. Several Planeswalkers have their own prior commitments on other planes that are pretty central to their character, and BAMFing them to Ravnica for a quick Bad Guy to take down wouldn’t do them justice. These four characters would slide into various aspects of Ravnica beautifully. These four would be the most exciting visitors to Ravnica.

Ashiok, Dream Render

I don’t think any MTG character could be as good a fit for a Ravnican Guild as Ashiok is for House Dimir. Ashiok is almost literally a walking shadow of secrets and intrigue. Their origins, their age, their motives, their face; hell, their gender is a secret yet unrevealed. Ashiok’s power is creating living beings born of the greatest fears stolen from people’s nightmares. Literally.

It’s like if the Dimir stopped half-assing the art of stealing thoughts and turned it into a weapon of mass destruction. Because even the mightiest of Ravnicans are afraid of things. Ask Niv-Mizzet about the Nephilim sometime, see how quickly he changes the subject. What’s better, for a Guild that prides itself on always having the up & up on everyone, Ashiok is inscrutable. They have no past that can be divined, no secrets that can be stolen, no previous encounters to prepare any for their arrival. Neither Lazav nor Etrata can claim such anonymity, despite their best efforts. Ashiok is a true enigma and a dangerous new weapon for House Dimir.

Ashiok also comes with the ability to create minions and NPCs from out of any PC’s worst nightmares, making encounters a great combination of roleplaying & combat. Fighting them is specifically facing one’s deepest & darkest fears made real. Can you say, “character development”?

Ashiok’s arrival could spread this new magical art to other Dimir Agents for a longer campaign, but it might be best to confine it to Ashiok in order to allow for a cleaner victory. Ashiok is not a fighter, cornering them into a direct confrontation should be enough to make the Nightmare Sculptor run for the hills. The mind is powerful, but also very squishy.

Tibalt, the Fiend-Blooded

You know how the Cult of Rakdos are technically Chaotic Evil but generally just a bunch of artsy hedonistic nuisances? Tibalt is to them what a gallon of gasoline would be to a lit stove. Good for fire, bad for everything else. Tibalt is an empath specializing in Pain Magic. Quite literally, he loves hurting people for fun. Drawn to pain like a magnet; physical, emotional, spiritual, psychological, etc, he is sadism personified.

His brief time on Ravnica during War of the Spark was enough to make a strong impression on the Rakdos.

“I like this one’s energy.”

This is because they do not realize how bad Tibalt would be for the Cult. There is a fundamental difference between the Chaotic Evil the Cult practices and the Chaotic Evil Tibalt delights in. The Rakdos have survived 10,000 years by taking in the freaks, the rejects, and the crazies, and giving them a place where they can live out their most depraved hedonistic fantasies. They are the voice of the outsiders bringing all figures of power & authority down a peg. They always punch up, never down. Tibalt is a young man with no home, no friends, no job, and no interests or hobbies beyond inflicting pain in as many people as possible. Tibalt punches everyone. The most important distinction between the two is that the Cult of Rakdos is a culture, a way of life for people to embrace; it might be crazy, but it welcomes & accepts people no matter how insane the world says they are. Tibalt does not care about anyone but himself. Following his example would see the city turned into the largest, bloodiest, and most destructive riot in its history; with Tibalt inciting and sicking every monstrosity he can find onto the city at once. He will burn the Rakdos candle at both ends and leave them to suffer the consequences of his fun. The aftermath being the city in ruins, the Cult wiped from the face of existence, and him moving on to his next project. In short, Tibalt will hurt the Cult of Rakdos as much, if not more, than the rest of Ravnica. Because that’s how he gets his kicks.

The one thing standing in his way will be Rakdos himself. As the single largest diva on the entire plane, Rakdos does not tolerate anyone who tries to steal his spotlight. As a 10,000+ year-old Demon Lord, Rakdos is in a league of his own, and Tibalt is just a hotshit little pain mage with a few tricks. It’s not a fight, it’s either an exit or a curtain call for the Planeswalker. If Rakdos is around, Tibalt’s spree will be very short-lived. If, however, Rakdos is doing his usual thing of hibernating for weeks, months, or years at a time, that’s a different story. Tibalt is good for if your campaign wants to bypass politics & intrigue and go straight to killing Cultists & Demons. He’s bad for anyone he comes in contact with.

Garruk Wildspeaker

In case I haven’t made my contempt for Domri Rade clear, I hold Domri Rade in utter contempt. As a character, as a Planeswalker, and most of all as a Gruul, he’s a failure. Scrawny, weak, gullible, and stupid. My chief grievance with Domri is that he fell short in all the areas the Gruul Clans idolize. He couldn’t survive in the wilderness on his own without his Planeswalker abilities, he couldn’t fight for himself except against weaker opponents or with herds of animals as backup, and he acted on orders from someone else who wasn’t Gruul. For a Guild built on independence and survival of the fittest, he failed both completely.

Garruk is the real deal. Gigantic, strong, savage, and cunning. Here is a man who, on a fundamental level, has embraced animal savagery as a way of life. He lives like a predator on the hunt, an alpha of any pack, and a fierce threat to all who intrude upon his territory. On a plane like Ravnica, where civilization has encroached on the untamed wilds almost completely, Garruk would be a gamechanger. Not only could he feasibly fight Borborygmos for leadership of the Gruul, he could win, and he could unite the Gruul under his howl of reclaiming the wilds from so-called “civilization”. Garruk would bring animal strength to the Gruul in ways they’ve only begun to tap into, and he’d do it in their language. Because Garruk understands the Gruul, and they understand him. They have so much in common with each other that it’s hard to think of any Planeswalker who could be welcomed so readily into a Guild. They would become so much more than rock-smashers and anarchists, they would become Ravnica’s reminder that nature will survive when all traces of society have crumbled away.

As if taking on the city itself wasn’t big enough already, Garruk has also taken to hunting other Planeswalkers, and can actually track them across the Multiverse. Meaning a few high-ranking members of Guilds and even the Living Guildpact have to take his threat seriously. He’s got a particular grudge against necromancers, dislikes talking, and has a special gift with animals of all varieties. All of which provides plenty of ideas to build from. He’s an 8ft tall Human Druid/Barbarian who willingly chooses animal savagery over intellectual reasoning, can there be anyone more perfect for the Gruul?

Did I say Ashiok was the most perfect fit for an MTG character in a Ravnican Guild? Yeah, scratch that. Garruk is.

Sarkhan Vol

Most Planeswalkers have a theme to their abilities. For some, that theme extends to their personalities as well. And then there are Planeswalkers who can be adequately summed up in a single word. For Sarkhan, that word would be “dragons”. Sarkhan sees dragons as nature’s purest & most destructive form, and carries a fascination with them that is perfectly healthy for anything with wings and scales that breathes fire, but generally less healthy for everything & everyone else.

One of the things that makes Ravnica unique is the distinct lack of dragons (emphasis on the plural). Ravnica has a dragon, Niv-Mizzet the Firemind, who made the executive decision thousands of years ago that he alone was sufficient to represent his entire species. Ravnican dragons are considered more intelligent than dragons on other planes, Niv himself being a prime example of this. Around the original signing of the Guildpact, Ravnica’s Godlike dragons were hunted to extinction, with Niv leading the hunt against his own kind. They were not entirely successful in this endeavor, but what few dragons do remain in the present day survive by staying as far off Niv’s radar as possible. Some dragons live by carrying out Niv’s will under constant supervision, or by hunting in the untamed wilds outside the city, or as sideshow attractions for the Rakdos (usually with their wings cut off to prevent escape). They are effectively stripped of anything that would identify them as “dragons” for the sake of their own existence. Since dragons are such a notoriously touchy subject for the Firemind, few have the nerve or fire immunity necessary to speak out against it.

Sarkhan would be horrified. If he thought the extinction of dragons on his home plane of Tarkir was bad, seeing them living like this would infuriate him beyond words. What would Sarkhan do once the initial shock of seeing his spirit animal (in more ways than one) reduced to pitiful scraps of life as lab rats, scared prey, and freak shows wears off? Let’s make it a game! Do you think Sarkhan will:

A. Cry.

B. Throw up.

C. Embrace this as a plane’s reality that he has no right to get involved with.

D. Scream.

E. Set something on fire.

F. Set everything on fire.

G. Bring back the dragons.

H. Burn the city to the ground with dragons.

I. Kill Niv-Mizzet.

J. All the above except “C”.

If you selected Answer “J”, then congratulations! You’ve just won a free trip to a BURNING METROPOLIS! Sarkhan will absolutely make it his life’s goal to bring dragons back to Ravnica and destroy the whole wretched city down to the last brick. How he would do it is up to you, but it’s a solid bet that even if every other Guild treats him like an apocalyptic madman, the Gruul might side with him over some shared beliefs in smashing the city apart with ferocious animal savagery. They tend to lean towards such ideas with uncharacteristic willful compliance. Ravnican dragons are primarily red, with the most prominent breed still remaining being the Utvara Hellkites beyond the city limits.

Oh, and Sarkhan can turn into a dragon, too. Have fun with that.

#ravnica for goblins #ravnica #goblins #d&d #dnd #dungeons and dragons #dragons #planeswalkers #mtg #campaign #roleplaying #tibalt #sarkhan #ashiok #garruk #fun ideas #guilds

[enigmainvestigations]

ENI Season 1 release date

Hi everyone! The time has finally arrived, Season 1 (book 1?) of Enigma Investigations is finished! The release date will be January 20th here on Tumblr! It might be released earlier over on AO3, since it’s a lot of Episodes and I want to make sure they’re all formatted right, and that the art in them posts. If you’d like to follow my AO3 account, it is Gh0stWriter! (and yes, I will only be posting the ENI story on there)

Remember! We’re releasing the seasons half a Season at a time, so the first release will include everything up to the Mid-Season Finale. For this Season, that is 7 episodes. Then, at a later date we will release the next 7 episodes to the Season Finale. We still haven’t decided how long of a break there will be, since I want to give people time to read, it’s still being edited, and it will also give us more time to work on Season 2 (which is already in the works). ALSO, this will give me time to draw the things from Season 1 that I want to while it’s still relevant.

Also, also; the first episode will be posted here to Tumblr with links to the next 6 episodes at the bottom of the post (so I’m not bombarding you all with 14 different writing posts). AND, the AO3 posts will contain ART. I’ll be posting the art here later on, but I found out that I can wrap text around images over there and I kinda lost my shit. 

Thank you all for so much support while we’ve been working on this! I’m really excited for y’all to be able to read it and see what you think!

#updates #ENI updates #Season 1 updates #fair warning I'm going to reblog this a bunch #wanna make sure everyone gets a chance to see it

[imagineclaireandjamie]

Shielded. Chapter SEVEN. Catastrophe.

Anonymous said to imagineclaireandjamie: Prompt: Young at heart.

Morning/afternoon/evening all - sorry there wasn’t an update on Sunday, I’ve been moving house so it’s all a little messy at the moment. After next week, though, Shielded should return to normal <3 (for those who’ve asked, this isn’t posted on AO3, it may be at some point but at the moment I don't have enough time to post in both places, so sorry) MBD.

--

There should have been something endearing about being butted daily by a bouncing cloud, but the ewe Claire had taken care of for Jamie seemed to be having more fun than it should. For the third time that week she found herself chasing the bleating thing around the house as it continued to knock pictures, magazines, books, remotes and anything else not glued down over and off every single surface. Nothing was safe.

“OI!” She yelled, hoping her ‘mum voice’ would subdue the raging beast (it didn’t). “Watch the…”

Too late, she thought, as it went careering into the side of the wall. Luckily the house was made of stronger stuff, and her erstwhile companion simply shook herself and trotted off down the hallway.

‘Headstrong’ was the word she’d used in her earlier call to Jamie. He had laughed, covering his mouth so that she couldn’t hear him, as she’d relayed the story of her morning but had made a mental note that perhaps having a lamb in the house had not been the smartest move. Usually timid, sheep could pose bigger issues the more...content...they became with human contact though he hadn’t thought her large enough to pose as much of an issue as she did.

By the end of the week she (the ewe) had fully established herself as head of the house and Claire had succumbed to allowing her free rein.

Peace had been restored for which everyone was grateful.

“Clearly she feels more secure in the house wi’out the other sheep to boss her about.” Jamie said over dinner on Friday -  a night he had, thankfully, managed to get home at a reasonable hour.

“Yes, so it seems.” Claire added, without humour.

Keeping his eye on her, he tried to playfully nudge her under the table and it wasn’t long before a slight pink blush coloured her cheeks and she began laughing too.

“Nothing that’s worth having in this life comes easy,” he quipped, winking as best as he was able, “including the raising of sheep, sassenach…”

There was a moment of silence as Claire cocked her head to the side. “Nope,” she said, a glint of humour behind her eyes, “you’re going to have to explain that one.”

“One what?”

“Sass-a-what now?”

“OH!” For a moment he seemed abashed, his eyes glancing away from hers as he tried to find an effective (and non-insulting) way to explain his comment. He had been thinking of how to address her. It was clear she was finding it difficult to adapt to her new name (more so than her surroundings, though, he was pleased to note). “Well, it’s a bit of a...slur...really. But I didna mean it that way. Only I didna want to keep calling ye ‘lass’ all the time, and it seemed to suit you.”

“...so, what does it mean, technically speaking?”

“Literally it means ‘foreigner’, but it’s usually only used to describe the English.”

“Fitting then?” The sweet smile on her face betrayed her and he knew she wasn’t angry at the assessment.

There was a certain automatic understanding; he was right, she was struggling to connect with her new identity and he’d clearly picked up on the hesitation she had in answering to her new name. She felt like a foreigner in her own body so it seemed natural that her nickname should be linked with such a phrase. And, even though it was meant to be derogatory, she had immediately felt a kinship with it.

“Do you have any Scottish slurs for a cantankerous lamb?”

Having been ill-prepared for the immediacy of her humour, Jamie choked on his drink as he tried to contain his shocked laughter. “Being a notorious farming community, I’m sure there must be something but usually when the animals are misbehaving we just use Gaelic curse words.”

“Maybe you should be the first to coin one - it can be your legacy.”

Raising his eyebrows, he took a sip of his  tea and made an indistinct low noise in the back of his throat. Settling back into a comfortable silence, he watched her take a bite of a biscuit, his interest piqued as she dunked it carelessly into her hot drink. Although she was mostly still an enigma, he was starting to get a sense of her. Certainly she’d been raised well, in a middle class household. From her dress to her manner and the way she spoke and carried herself, he guessed she’d been privately educated.

But there was also something incredibly earthy about her, an aura of something more down-to-earth than that and he was drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

The dreams hadn’t stopped, he’d had one free night but he was niggled persistently by something just beyond his reach and he would wake (usually before his alarm) breathless and needy, sweat often rolling down his back. The cold showers had become a regular occurrence and he felt a little embarrassed when he looked at her - even though, hopefully, she had no knowledge of the inner workings of his mind.

He’d been told on a number of occasions that his face gave nothing away and he couldn’t have been more grateful for that now.

“If you think much harder, Jamie, your brain might fall out of your ears.” She joked, pushing the plate of biscuits across to him as the orphaned ewe bleated loudly in the background. She found that the noise made her giggle and she couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she watched him dismantle the jammy dodger. “Though that may be preferable to dealing with that furry bully.”

“She’s just a lass with spirit, that’s all.” He returned, watching as she dipped her head, the shorter parts of her hair falling from the bobble she had it tied loosely in to hide away her face.

“Lord knows we need a few more of those in our lives.”

“It can’t hurt, can it?”

As the atmosphere in the room changed, Jamie pushed the half empty plate back across the table, his little finger sliding ever so softly against hers before pulling back. He saw the second her confidence dipped and wanted to calmly reassure her without openly baring her insecurities.

“So,” she said, shaking off her downturned mood relatively quickly, “she probably needs more skilled hands than mine to continue raising her?”

“After the weekend my pal Rupert will come and take her, he has an older ewe he thinks might be able to take her on. But dinna think too much of it, she likes you, she feels comfortable wi’ you that she’s able to-”

“Run me ragged?”

“Aye.”

“It does feel like one of those high school experiments made to put you off becoming parents.” She was stood now, looking into the back utility room at her newest friend, who’d given up making noise to, instead, lie sleepily on the small smattering of hay Claire had placed down for her to munch on.

“She’s probably a wee bit more intense than an egg?”

That image made her snort. “Did you have to take care of an *egg* like a baby?”

“Oh aye, I drew a face on it.”

“It!? No wonder they only gave you poultry produce with that attitude.”

With contentment settling between them once more, Jamie allowed the weight of the last few minutes to fall from his shoulders. He felt proud that he’d been able to turn it around with a humorous quip borne from his own experiences. At the same time, he could see that she too felt relieved.

As the lamb stood sleepily and began to suckle gently on Claire’s outstretched fingers, a delicate moment passed between her and the little ewe.

“See, I told you she liked you.”

As he got into bed that evening, Jamie tried to recall the look of pure pleasure on her face as she’d noticed the bond that she had cultivated. Having been a city dweller for most of her life, she’d spoken to him over dinner about the pet cat her uncle had owned when she was very young but she’d hardly had much chance to engage with animals before or after that point. He’d suggested that he didn’t have to send the ewe away with Rupert but that’d both agreed it would still be better in the long run and he sensed she wanted to keep hold of the good memories she’d made (albeit few and far between) before she grew any bigger and caused anymore damage.

“Sleep well, sassenach,” he whispered, the ghost of a smile pulling at his lips as the image of her nursing the ewe was replaced by Claire with a small red-haired child - the vision appearing unbidden as he fell softly to sleep.

#Anon #ask #;mod mbd #shielded #jamie x claire

[kkairosclerosis]

uncommon things i associate my deities with~

hi guys! im back from a quick hiatus! 

i recently moved to the city, but not too far from where i lived previously in the country. living in the city, however, is proving to be a bit more difficult then i had imagined, so ive been taking some weekends to go back home and ground myself again so i can feel more connected to my craft<3.

anyways, this morning, i was sitting on the porch of my parents farmhouse, looking out onto the sunset as my idiot dog ran laps around the frost-covered lawn, feeling more connected to my deities than i had in weeks. i decided, ‘hey, here a nice post idea. maybe ill talk abt the things i associate with my deities that others might not, and hopefully inspire them to as well!’ so, here it is! 

uncommon things i associate my deities with!

hermes——««

if this isnt your first time on my blog, you probably know: hermes is my patron. he has been for a while, even before i began to worship him. if you want to know more about why, check out this post. 

regardless, you can imagine that i hold very dear everything i associate with him.

in this case, it’s my dog. 

my dog is an...interesting border collie named oliver. i got into hellenic worship very shortly after getting him, and i have a very strong feeling he has a lot to do with it. 

i am thoroughly convinced my dog is a child of hermes. hes chaotic, but extremely smart. very, very fast, and spends hours running out in the yard. just running. nothing else. its even more intense when its windy, which, if you read the aforementioned post, you know that i associate the wind heavily with hermes. hermes is also the god of animal husbandry, and oliver is quite the farm animal. 

watching him run, i always get a strong sense of comfort. i know that the energy of hermes resides in him, its very clear. its almost as if his running brings the wind.  like hes running, and hermes says ‘hey, that looks fun! let me join!’ 

i, very regularly, ask for hermes protection of oliver. i do this because i know of the love hermes has for him. i can feel it. it makes me comfortable knowing hes safe while im not home with him. and i can tell it makes oliver feel safe as well.

aphrodite——««

aphrodite has always been dear to me, even before i started actually worshipping. i remember reading about her in the mythology books i frequented in the art room after i finished my projects, carrying them out to the field to just sit and read. she was an embodiment of beauty to me, and that has not changed since, so its natural that i associate her with one of the things i find most beautiful on this plane of existence: clouds.

when i was thinking of writing this post, i was sitting and looking at a cloudless sky. i was thinking: why is it that we most often consider a cloudless sky beautiful? is it because of the absence of ‘blemish?’ does a cloud signify a flaw? must all beautiful things be completely clear, or without mark? 

obviously, i thought this was ridiculous. clouds are so very dear to me. i mean, i have an entire album of photos on my phone of pictures of clouds i have taken. i have always been enamored. 

while i was pondering this, it hit me. beauty is unique. beauty is individual. thats exactly what aphrodite is about. these ‘marks’ in the sky are what make the sky beautiful to me. aphrodite is in these ‘blemishes’ because i find them beautiful. 

now, i dont mean to wrap this up in a corny way, but i encourage the people reading this to think this way about themselves. beauty is in your imperfections because they make you you. i have not seen one cloud that looks exactly like another i have seen, and thats exactly what makes them so beautiful to me. aphrodite loves all of you, and someone else does as well, so do not disrespect them by being mean to yourself. their idea of beauty is not misconstrued, so trust them. and if you dont think someone thinks your beautiful, know that i do<3.

apollo——««

apollo, to me, has always been sort of an enigma. i have a harder time interpreting his signs, especially recently, and i think that its particularly because of my recent falling out with my creative side. i have sort of abandoned my art, and it think its difficult for him to communicate with me through anything else.

one thing, however, i can feel him in is the sound of the birds in the morning. particularly, roosters.

as i mentioned before, my parents live on a farm. its natural to hear roosters first thing in the morning. some people find it annoying, but to me, its incredibly comforting. it means another morning has come. i’ve lived another day, and i have a whole new one to look forward to, until i hear the rooster the next morning. it means the sun is rising, and apollo rises with him. 

as a witch who particularly enjoys the sunrise, but has a hard time waking up to see it, the roosters serve as a sort of natural alarm clock. even if i do not physically get up to see the sunrise, i know it is happening, and i am awake for that first moment of dawn. it brings me comfort and a sense of small accomplishment, even on really difficult days.

and the days im in the city, and cant hear the roosters, its the morning songs of the birds in the part right next to my apartment building. this might be even more so, as apollo is the god of music. 

its a different type of comfort to wake up to the chill of the morning and hear the birds, knowing its a deity that loves me and wants to see me the next morning as well. i hope you, dearest reader, come to feel the same:).

asclepius——««

now, i haven’t talked about this much on this blog, but to me, asclepius has been such a pillar for me as of recent. with the pandemic and my own current health situation, i rely on him a lot for hope and support. i ask him to protect both me and my friends and family from illness or ailment, and in case of ailment, i ask him to facilitate a speedy recovery. thus far, he has never failed me, and i do not ever expect him to. i put my trust in him wholly. 

other than health, i find myself associating asclepius with cleanliness. while i see asclepius as the medic, i also see him as someone who is clean and organized. this is why i associate him with dewdrops.

now, bear with me in my explanation. morning dew, to me, feels clean. it feels almost pure, as it is one of the first forms of moisture a person can be met with during the day. 

picture it now. you wake up at sunrise, and venture out into your yard, the chill of the am just tickling at your face, cooling your nose to the touch. you take your first step off of the deck, and your bare feet sink into the grass, cold, and now wet from the dew. the feeling is shocking at first, as your feet get used to the new temperature, fresh out of the warm comfort of your blanket that sits invitingly on your bed inside. 

but the feeling is fresh. its grounding. its healing. 

that, to me, is how asclepius feels. 

sobek——««

i must be honest, sobek is the reason this post came to existence. i feel extremely strong about this one, particularly because i feel that sobek is under-appreciated and misunderstood as a god. i constantly encourage people to include sobek in their worship, as he, to me, has proven to be one of the most reliable gods i have ever worked with. i feel such a sense of comfort and love within him. i could sit in his energy for hours, days even. especially as a person who suffers from bouts of paranoia, his energy is one to learn to accept and become. 

for me, i see sobek in flowers. 

not many would see this, as sobek has this image of a tough, crocodile, protection god, which he is. but what a lot of people forget, is that sobek is also a god of fertility, particularly in harvest. in fact, sobek has done so much for my family’s farm. our garden is plentiful, and our harvests are more than we know what to do with. we end up making a lot of extra things with it, and giving it away to family friends and neighbors. i genuinely think that sobek creates abundance in our garden so he can give to our community. that is how loving i know him to be. 

however, what i specified was flowers. one of the most common offerings i give to sobek are roses. he seems to love them. sobek seems to protect that of which he loves, and roses are a symbol of love for me. i want to attempt to give him what he has given me. 

my family has a wildflower garden in front of our home. the morning i was sitting on the porch, i felt his presence, and i immediately looked to the flowers. delicate, yet extremely strong, and persevering. thats how i wish to be, and i can feel sobek in the encouragement of the flowers. 

i hope that didn’t come off too corny, although im pretty sure it did lol. i hope that this post was a good insight into my deities and how i understand them to be! again, disclaimer, not everyone experiences the gods in the same ways! some may agree with this post wholeheartedly, and some may have completely different experiences that make them disagree entirely! i am not one to gatekeep and define what the divine is, because the divine shows itself in different ways to different people. i hope you enjoyed this post, and have a wonderful day!

p.s. i love you and you’re worth it!

#hellenic polytheism #Hellenic witch #hellenic polythiest #hellenic worship #hellenic devotion #hellenism #pagan witch #pagan #paganblr #chaos witch #egyptian #Egyptian Pantheon #gods of egypt #Sobek #sobek ra #Hermes #hermes god #hermes greek god #Aphrodite #apollo #asclepius #asklepios #witchcraft #witch #witchblr #polytheism #greek polytheism #egyptian polytheism

[spnsmile]

Final Monday: Profound Bond

for #SPNstayAtHome Challenge by @helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen ❤ with beautiful art from @verobatto-angelxhunter  here!  ❤

When almost everyone—demons included— all but told Dean that his angel is the hottest, most devastatingly handsome angel in the face of the seven seas, he not only believed them, but he’s secretly and most exclusively Cas’ number one fan.

Cas is really the looker and even without all the buzzing acclaims from hell and earth, Dean’s already smitten from the start. Cas’ vessel is naturally attractive and really stands out with that crazy dominant eyebrow, lightning in a bottle blue eyes, cutting jaws and regal high-cheek bones— but more than the vessel, it’s the insane hot angel beneath trench coat that makes his insides swoon.

Dean can’t explain it—every time Castiel just goes all out wrecking doors, walls, even smashing on cars and smite a whole pack of demons and monsters alike in a blink of an eye— now that—that is really hot!

So he doesn’t blame them from noticing his strapping companion, he actually isn’t that surprised when someone approaches them one day to scout Cas to be a model while they are in a middle of a Djinn case.

“Dean is my model,” replies the angel with that dorky side tilt, getting Dean’s stomach to flutter.

“No, Cas he meant uh, you know… they wanna take pictures of you, you posting like Mr. Calendar,”

“Why?” Cas says sharply.

Dean tries his best to explain but at the end of the day, and because they still need to monitor the case on a closer level, they agreed with talent scout to have a screen testing the next day. Dean was also asked but he politely declined. The worse thing he can land himself in as a hunter is to be under the public scrutiny who will follow his every movement.

Cas on the other hand has a lesser risk because Cas doesn’t care. The angel is an enigma and can get himself out of situations with one flap of his wings.

So here they are, just another day with another case inside a studio with Dean trying to focus his attention to any supernatural occurrence around, but really the only supernatural thing happening at the moment will be Castiel half-naked in a setup of white clouds and overcast skies for of a Bruce Almighty segment.

And Cas’ theme?

Angels.

Dean still can’t stop laughing at the irony and kept the hilarity of knowing how no one is capable of cracking any expression from the angel’s stony face.

It was all fun at first when Castiel was dragged away and Dean was hollering when he spoke to Sam over the phone about the developments of the Djinn case preying on dreamers in the modelling agency that has killed two victims so far. He waited for Cas to come out imagining the long white toga the angel would be wearing like one of those pictures of angels with harps. Cas hates those representations and Dean can’t wait to bawl his eyes out laughing.

Meanwhile, Dean smiles and winks at beautiful models passing by and to his credit, they all give him a disgusted look. Oh well. No one likes the police these days.

He was busy ogling at himself in one of those giant reflectors when Castiel’s team came out. Dean was ready to make fun of him imagining Cas finally in proper angel dress— only to get a slap in the face when he sees Castiel stripped off his trench coat and toga—but was wearing a blue tight jean showing a well-shaped round ass and loose white button-down shirt where the barest of holy skin is peeking.

[sexy Cas art here]

Dean gasps, electric shock hitting him straight to Manhattan because holy fuck this isn’t what he was expecting—what the hell happened to the angel theme?

It didn’t help that almost everyone has the same reaction and if the photographer wasn’t there barking his directions, Dean’s sure Castiel will be smothered to death.

“That magazine is going to be sold out.” Says one of the crew guys standing behind the lighting next to Dean, “I’ve never seen anyone so… cute and hot and…” a struggle for the right words then— “divine. How does he do that?”

“Exists?” Dean drawls with arms tightly crossed on his chest. The crew guy beside him snorts.

“He can easily get followers and we need models with huge fan base online, you know, free advertising.”

Dean half-rolled his eyes at the crew member mesmerized by the amateur model. Half an hour later, green eyes following Castiel’s every movement in the middle of a battlefield of flashing cameras and light reflectors, of smothering group of stylists with powders ready at hand and demanding photographers asking for a ridiculous mood board— and what’s with all those hands touching Castiel?

Dean can’t help feeling sour every time the assistant manager runs to Cas’ side just to dust his shoulder, open his collar more or when he simply tilts Castiel’s jaw the right way—Dean is livid—who touches his angel so casually with grubby hands!?

And he’s beyond control when he sees the man opening Castiel’s button-down wider like—just strip them out stop teasing! Dean finds himself shrinking to the wall while murmuring curses and snapping on the phone every time Sam calls. They have work to do and Sam’s been constantly asking for updates while he works the field over the victim’s family for any lead to follow and Dean only has eyes for his angel being instructed by the photographer. Cas was bewildered at first with all the goading and salacious comments, Dean cringing for his friend. Castiel looked miffed at some point, but Dean can’t go to his side yet. If he does, he might grab him and leave the premises and that’s not being professional.

They need to find the Djinn among these people soon.

Standing in the sideline watching his friend try different angle that surprisingly fits him— except the photographer is losing his patience with the dorky angel who doesn’t understand structure and context—

“This is like a dance, move those sexy hips, give me suave look, pout lips— that’s grumpy, baby—give me seduction—yes those blues, seduce me— seduce me, don’t murder me! That’s it, you got this sweetheart, make me melt with that look! Melt me—melt—where are you going—?”

“You said melt you—I” he raises a hand—

Dean nearly jumps from the wall to stop Cas smiting any hollering directors but then—

“Go back in position, sweetheart, don’t make me lose all my hair where you can’t see them—okay, look devious—devious—don’t frown— imagine a blade in your hand. Now that’s fantastic, a tilt of the head? Adorable, now quit that, we’re aiming for sex appeal! Now make me want to have you—pout those sexy lips—pout, pucker them—forward—no, don’t slump forward you’re not Quasimodo’

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Give me passion—give me something you want so badly!”

Castiel glances at Dean.

“He’s not bad,” Dean grunts to himself as he meets the blue eyes. Castiel pulls back and stares up the sky. Dean doesn’t know what he sees there but the sigh that came out is drawn long.

When the photographer exhaustingly shouted five minutes break, Dean watches Cas get crowded by the stylists to one corner, hearing them praise the angel about not sweating and giving him googly eyes.

Dean leaves the room and heads straight to the vending machine stations. He was just about to push for a coke when two members of the crew stop beside him to use the next vending machine supplying chocolate bars. Dean would have ignored them except one of them says Cas’ fake agent name.

“Wright? Got everything wrong. Yeah, he got the face but he’s so stupid. Giovanni’s giving all the best instructions and the model just stands there like a wall. Doesn’t even bat an eyelid, he’s like a hammer, at least a hammer is lethal, that Wright guy doesn’t know any instructions.”

“You know what they say about pretty faces, they lack a brain.” says his companion. They snicker and press for chocolate bars.

Dean remains silent as two cokes slide down the port with clanking sounds. He bends to take them quietly.

“The bar is stuck,” says one of the crew members.

“Don’t add to my shit day, it’s a long day already with that useless model—” A loud crashing sound breaks in the corridor as Dean slams his fist on the metal side of the machine. The chocolate bars fall on the slot with the crew’s mouth hanging open.

“Your bars.” He says, walking away but not without leaving a huge dent on the corner of the machine. He hears the whispers after him, the comments about the public property but Dean doesn’t care. He could easily smash their faces but he’s not that violent.

He gotta get Cas out of there.

Speaking of the angel, Cas is immediately in his space the moment Dean returns in the studio.

“Dean,” he says in his usual gravely voice, “where did you go? Are you okay?”

“Hey, how’s the pretty model?” Dean dismisses him as he let his eyes roam the model’s gorgeous new look as he hands Cas his coke. “You don’t look bad, Cas, you’re killing it there.” Actually, killing them, he adds thoughtfully.

Castiel raises a hand to reach the refreshment, but he ends up pulling Dean’s other hand.

“Thank you, now why is your hand hurt?” blue eyes stare at him dead in the eyes. That kind that really goes straight to your soul.

Dean swallows hard. He can never understand why Castiel cares so much. He’s spent years without anyone watching his back and now he’s got his own angel. Dean really doesn’t know who to thank for that.

“Nothing,” Dean tries to pull his hand to no avail, “The vending machine was broken, had to get my money’s worth,”

“I don’t think that is a good displace of a public officer,” Castiel raises it closer to his lips and kisses the pain away.

“An angel would know, huh?” Dean sighs upon feeling Castiel’s grace smoothen the slight tingling pain and pulls his hand back once Castiel lets him. Castiel’s eyes are still intent on him.

“What’s the development with the Djinn?”

“Uh… yeah, Sam’s on it and since you’re playing the sexy bait—”

“I don’t think any Djinn would find me appealing,” Castiel confesses and it’s too adorable not to take the chance to tease so Dean grins.

“Oh, come on, who knows? You might marry one someday?”

“Angels don’t marry.”

“Sure, they don’t, they also don’t do modelling,”

 “Well, I’m not attracting them right now as I am anyone in this place, I’m failing you, Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding? You’re like hot captain garrison out there—very good mood play with the face, it’s so uh—angelically unreadable, and nice button toss,” Dean reaches a hand to Castiel’s collar and in swift movements, because his hands have been itching, he buttons it all the way up Castiel’s throat. “Let’s just not show too much when your off-duty.”

“Off-duty?”

“Off—like uh turn off the sense responsibility?”

“I see,” Castiel narrows his eyes. “The basic human response when feeling lethargic. Indifference to things that do not directly harm them. I am not that. I am feeling quite fit, in fact, even when my thighs can’t freely move from this…  suffocating jeans,”

They both look down the angel’s thighs and Dean licks his lips. When opportunity just presents itself, who is he to deny himself the pleasure? But then—

“It’s impossible to get in that dress alone—Cas did they—?”

“I ripped two pairs,” Castiel says quietly. Dean stops, eyes wide.

“W-what?”

“I tried putting them on my own, they won’t fit. I tore them to shreds whenever I pull it up, so they had to help me,”

Dean makes a face, “Yep, dorky Hercules,”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Sam ripped his jeans once too,” Dean smiles from ear to ear, “We were digging and he’s so tall and his jeans are frigging tight and he bents down and—" he makes a tearing sound which makes Castiel slowly smile.

“That I understand.”

Dean laughs.

“You do. Look, Cas, I know the photographer’s being a hard dick on you…but it’s not your fault you can’t understand the references because we’re the ones not adjusting to you… now look here, buddy… you can’t trick a fish to climb a tree so it’s okay to just be you…um… you get what I mean?”

Castiel is still smiling softly. “I understand you are trying to comfort me,”

Dean shrugs. “Is it working?”

Castiel tips his head, “Have you been a model, Dean?”

“I’ve been everywhere,” Dean tells him mysteriously and gives his friend a pat on the shoulders, “So later you’ll go get em, little tiger,”

Castiel nods

“Excuse me, Mr Wright?” they both turn to a young lady in a black crew shirt with a clipboard is standing behind the angel. “We need to set up your wings for the next op,”

“Set up my wings?” Castiel quickly turns at Dean and if that doesn’t get the hunter to act quickly, nothing will. He immediately holds Castiel’s shoulder and tightened his grip so his friend doesn’t interrupt.

“Where is it? I’m going to help him,”

“There’s really no need, we have plenty of staff—"

“I insist,” Dean gives her his most brilliant flashing smile and she quickly points the direction of the props room. Dean drags Castiel there.

Dean picks up a fake white wing with wires and holsters and shows it to Cas who easily frowns who presses it back to Dean’s hands.

“I have wings,”

“Yeah, not like you can let people see the shadow flip-flap thing, okay?”

“Flip flap thing?” Castiel repeats uncertainly, eyebrows raising. Dean shrugs.

“You know, making your ginormous shadow show in the flashing lights—you can’t do that. They want a model and yeah, they need to do marketing, but not that kind. No flip-flap of wings,” Dean throws the wings back at the table.

“I will use my wings I just have to contain my power so it doesn’t break into its real form.”

“You can do that?”

“I can do anything.” Castiel’s eyes suddenly glow without warning and Dean steps back as Castiel raises his magnificent wings with the cracking sparks of fluorescent lamp and there is Castiel, the angel of the lord, in all his glory and dorkiness included max out—Dean’s eyes reflect and behold its beauty. Until the power steadily holds and shrinks down to a fitting one enough at least to make him fit a door.

The power in the air subsides and Dean realizes how he is holding his breath. The beauty of his friend did not strike him in its real essence until now—where Castiel is actually bare in front of him with his black wings’ appearance. He exhales and stands next to the angel where he can see his wings.

It strikes Dean yet again how Castiel is an angel. But every time he looks at his friend, in this form, in this vessel, he's just ultimately... Cas. 

"That's fucking hot, Cas,"

Castiel smiles all gummily. "Thank you, Dean."

“Can mortal eyes see this now?”

“Yes,"

Dean whistles. Then there's that question that's been itching to be said, a question Dean knows won't leave him in peace if he doesn't ask now. Because it's now or never.

“Uh...Cas...can I touch it?”

Castiel's glance is an automatic sharp look that Dean can describe as a shock, but then the angel nods slightly without looking at him. He doesn’t reach. Something about Castiel’s reaction is bugging him.

“Are you sure I can?”

“Yes, please."

Dean takes him to his word and runs his fingers on the wings, his fingers sinking on the soft feathers like it’s made of cloud. Castiel trembles under his touch with a slight moan escaping his lips. Dean stares and sees the tip of Castiel’s ears are red.

"It's beautiful..." Dean licks his lips, "Cas... you... you're truly magnificent, have I told you that?"

"Not in so many words," Castiel doesn't look at him.

Dean just knows he is also having a mental breakdown.

“C-Cas?”

“It’s fine,” the angel whispers, head bent. “Just a little… it’s never been touched by human hands.”

Dean wavers on the spot and takes steps back in shock.

“Y-you mean—I’m the first one—I’m your first?!”

Castiel glances over his shoulder, his eyes leveled. He nods. "What's mine is yours, Dean. I'm yours."

Dean Winchester's head is a puddle melted and stirred by none other than the hottest angel in the garrison. He wants to tell Castiel never to say something like that- not when they are in a room alone because Dean is only a man- instead, he pulls Cas into a deep kiss. It's unexpected and truly catching them both in surprise, but when Castiel doesn't pull, Dean sighs and holds Castiel's shoulders steady. He doesn't know if he can tell Castiel that, but Cas is one of the best kissers he knows attributed to the pizzaman. 

To Dean's delight, Castiel kisses him back. It's swift and lingering when Cas bites his bottom lip and runs their tongue together in a dance. He never thought he'd be kissing Cas like this. Then there's the noise Cas makes, especially when Dean runs his palms on the smooth surface of his chest. Dean pulls only to breathe because angels don't do that, the moment he does, Castiel is there capturing his mouth in another heated kiss and Dean drowns in him.

Castiel is absurdly hot. All the bumps and contours his palm lands into, Dean can't help getting electrified. He knows he is getting hard and there's only one thing left to do- he slips his right knee between Castiel's legs and grinds his steadily hardening groin on Castiel's thighs. The sensation is instantaneous and Castiel doesn't let up. The angel kisses him between the soft moan and sighs that all can Dean do is cling tight on the angel's hipbones. He wants to do many things to Cas aside from pressing hard on him with hands roaming all sacred places that make Cas catch his breath too. He wants to tell Cas to take them away but the thought of his brother facing a Djinn stops all his thoughts.

But he promises himself he will take this. He and Cas, later, tonight, they will have this.

Dean pulls back knowing anyone can come to get the model and when he did, Castiel flaps his wings demandingly, frowning at Dean's withdrawal. Dean doesn't know what to say to that so instead, he soothes the angel by running his hands on the smooth surface of the wings. He sees Castiel's eyes droop, sees the contortion of eyebrows leaving the heavenly forehead, knows that Cas is relaxing under his care. There's a long sigh when Dean is done and he stares at his shaking hands next.

“Dean, can you stay beside me,” Castiel says looking slightly put out and Dean quickly steps right into his space and stares Castiel in the eyes. Castiel doesn't even question the kiss. Dean thinks they still need to talk about it later. For now...

“What’s up?”

“I don’t want anyone else touching it,” Castiel says deadly serious. Dean is about to point to himself but the angel holds his gaze and adds, “Except you.”

Dean wants to hide his face somewhere.

“Dean, are you okay? Your face is red—Dean?” Dean turns away from the angel, body reaching boiling point if he thinks more about what else Castiel is allowing him to do when his phone rings. Still a little shaken, he answers softly only to be greeted by his impatient brother—

“Dammit, Dean! I’ve been trying to reach you for a full ten minutes! I got the Djinn in the warehouse—you may want to help me out! And stop making a pass at Cas! Now is not that time!”

So the kiss was only ten minutes?

“I’m not making a pass, give me the location, bitch,” Dean listens carefully and once he’s done, he turns to the angel apologetically. Castiel’s expression turns serious.

“I understand, we are here for a case, after all, I am sorry my job is in your way.”

Dean stares at him in awe.

“Cas, you’re not a real model, we’re ditching this job!”

There’s a beat.

“Oh.”

They were just about to leave the building when Castiel remembers to get his trench coat. Making a side trip back to the changing areas, Dean meets Sam halfway who informs him the Djinn has been taken care of no thanks to Dean daydreaming about his model boyfriend.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Anyway, where’s Cas?”

There’s a scream from the changing room.

The Winchesters exchanged glances and together they run inside to find Castiel standing in the middle of the room wings spread out and on his hands is the talent scout they’ve spoken to yesterday. Dean’s mind reels—is this another Djinn?

No, that’s human!

“Hey, Cas—no, no we don’t smite talent scouts!” Dean hurries beside the angel, firm grasp on his arm as he tugs it back, causing the talent scout to fall on the floor coughing. Sam is beside him at once while Dean deals with the hot-headed-angel. “Cas, what the hell!”

“He says he wants you,” Castiel growls back, pure anger hatred in his eyes.

“What?”

“He says he wants to take you and you have given me permission to defend myself

Dean throws the talent scout a dirty look. “What exactly did you say to him?

“I said I wanted to recruit you, okay?”

“Not your exact words,” Dean narrows his eyes. The talent scout grimaces.

“I said I want you, that’s it, is it hard to understand? I want him too,” the talent points at Sam while massaging his throat, “You brothers would make the best boxer models,”

Dean blinks at Sam who stares back in disgust.

“No, thanks,” his brother says, “not my dream come true.”

“Might be mine,” Dean turns to the agent, “Okay, dude, here’s the thing—we’re done being models and frankly, it’s not even the safest job. Now leave Cas alone too, he’s cut for it, but not for us...”

“What made you choose him anyway?” Sam wants to know. Dean throws his brother an incredulous look.

“The man was smiling like a real angel when I saw him, of course, I’d recruit him.”

And Dean looks back to when it was before the scout approached them, he and Castiel standing side by side and talking about the most mundane things Dean has done that day. It’s weird because not once has Castiel said about not understanding reference when the topic is about Dean.

Castiel gets him. Dean is his reference. It makes sense.

Sliding an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, he pulls him closer and smiles.

“Come on, Cas, time to go home.”

Castiel slowly looks at him, really looks deep inside his soul, and the angel smiles—and Dean’s glad he can crack that from such a handsome face.

“Yes, Dean.”❤

-end- ao3- ❤

Thank you for giving us this escape during quarantine! We enjoyed it! :)

#SPNStayAtHome #fluff #model cas #canon #Destiel #destiel oneshot #tooth rotting fluff #art prompt #final monday: Profound bond

[dogbearinggifts]

The Return of Everyone: A Humble Theory from a Humble Fan

MCR have been doing their best to confuse us lately.

Through their blog Current MCR News, @frnko-mars and @fabfrnkie have done a superb job of keeping us all up-to-date on the frankly baffling posts to come from Instagram. Fans more versed than I in the Theban alphabet have interpreted posts that turn out to be even more cryptic once translated. Whatever the band is teasing, it’s a mystery wrapped in an enigma and coated in a layer of Teflon to keep us from really getting ahold of it. 

Except it might not be as inaccessible as you think. 

Because I, dear reader, believe I have cracked the code. The code, built of images just connected enough to spark an idea, disparate enough to leave us scratching our heads. The code they thought no fan could break. 

Until now. 

A note before I begin: MCR News mods, I tagged you because I link to and reference a lot of your content in this post. If you want me to remove the tags, let me know. To everyone reading this: Feel free to take this theory as seriously as you’d like. If you think it’s plausible, I’m flattered. If you don’t think it’s likely but it does make you laugh, wonderful. I’m glad to have brightened your day.

SO. In case you haven’t guessed, I think we’re in for more than a tour. The video I linked certainly seems to be advertising a UK tour in June, but we’ve gotten too much else along with it. Between the very good dogs and vaguely fruit-flavored sparkling water, we’ve been given a number of images and videos that seem too elaborate for a tour, too specific to simply be things Mikey likes. Over the past few weeks, we’ve been treated to….

This picture of a hospital, bearing an eerie resemblance to Black Parade promos, captioned with a vampire emoji

This guy, who could be a personification of Death or just a regular Joe who likes skull masks and cloaks 

A man who appears to have some sort of portal in his chest, an awesome  “Thank You for the Venom” tattoo, and two songs with intriguing titles

A video with serious Danger Days vibes, concluding with the letters DD and a symbol no one has volunteered to interpret

Much of this, as you’ve noticed, harkens back to prior albums. And it could be nothing more than that. This could be nothing more than a band, glad to be back and grateful to their fans for waiting, celebrating the music that brought them to where they are. However, remember the theme of their current tour? The one they’ve put on a T-shirt and plastered on promotional material? 

The word Return might not be important. After all, it’s what the band did. They returned, they announced a handful of shows and hinted at a few more. That could be it…..but what if it isn’t? 

Let’s return (ha!) to the images and videos I’ve linked. The connection between the hospital, tattoo, and car in the desert is obvious: they reference The Black Parade, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, and Danger Days—all of which, you might recall, are concept albums with plots and protagonists. But what of the masked man, the portal, and the song “Where You’ll Find Me Now”? Are those red herrings included to throw us off? Are the former three celebrations of the past and the latter three hints toward the future? Or all of them—album references, strange images, and the tour title—connected in a much grander scheme than we might have imagined? 

What if Return doesn’t refer to the band? 

What if Return refers to their albums’ protagonists? 

Look. I know I don’t have a ton of proof here. It’s less a conclusion drawn from overwhelming evidence and more of a hunch with some compelling evidence to back it up. And I know the things I’m using to back up this hypothesis could be taken any number of ways. But the connection is there, if you want to see it—a connection that only grows stronger when you consider the many references made to magic since their return (the sigil Gerard wore, the Theban alphabet, etc.). How else would the heroes of these very different stories, set in very different worlds, all be pulled together if not by some sort of magic? 

There’s one more piece to this puzzle, though: the UK flag flashing across the screen of the Theban alphabet “June” video. Now, as I pointed out before, this is likely their next tour location. But what if it’s more? The fact it’s combined with the Theban alphabet—which plays into the magic/witchcraft theme of much of Return’s promo material—and not embedded in a message written in a different sort of code makes me wonder if it’s not significant to their forthcoming material as well. It’s possible that the setting for this massive crossover—the central point toward which all our protagonists are pulled and at which they meet—is in the UK. Perhaps this point is a hospital, as hinted at in the vampire emoji post? 

So. The burning question is: What does all of this mean for us as fans? I think it can be summed up in a couple of points. 

First, this next album will be chaotic to the extreme. You have a bitter war vet dying of cancer (who is maybe also a vampire now? I dunno?) a bunch of (literally) colorful artists fighting a corrupt system through a radio station, and a guy who made a deal with Satan to get revenge on the person who murdered him and his lover. None of these stories mesh, none of them have clear links to one another, and putting them together is going to be so chaotic it might force scientists to revise their current theories. You know how Simon and Garfunkel sang about the sound of silence? This new album is going to be the sound of raw, unfiltered chaotic energy. 

Second, it’s going to be awesome. It’s going to be so awesome the word awesome doesn’t even describe it. Where their other albums carry parental advisory labels, this one will carry a warning from the Surgeon General: The sheer awesomeness of this album has been known to melt faces. Listen at your own risk. 

Finally—and perhaps most importantly—if all of our protagonists do indeed meet up in a hospital, then the staff are in for quite the surprise when a car full of Killjoys crashes through the cancer ward. 

#my chemical romance #my chem #mcr #return #return theories #return theory #three cheers for sweet revenge #the black parade #danger days #Gerard way #frank iero #Mikey way #ray toro #kinda serious kinda not #if you take it seriously great #if you don't fine #crossover

[dear-yandere]

lots of ilya (oc) q&a below - part 2

tw. heavy and graphic mentions of noncon and murder (typical ilya stuff), mentions of childhood abuse.

[ part 1 ]  [ part 3 ]

question: So, would Illya still like being murdered by his darling if the darling was immortal? Like he can shun the darling, but how would he feel if that darling surprise-attacked him?

answer: betrayed, at least in the first few moments. there’s something particularly romantic, to him at least, about a darling who loves him so dearly they’d go against his wishes and still reward him with the highest form of love he thinks anyone has to offer - death. he’d certainly like being killed by this type of darling, and being the little shit he is, he’d mock them in his last moments; after all, they just killed the only other person that could possibly understand the reality of murderous love.

“is this worth being alone for eternity, darling?”

question 1: How would Ilya feel about a darling that is an assassin for the mafia? Would he view them as more exciting prey since they can fight back? I feel like assassin darling might view his attempts on their life annoying especially if it’s during a hit.

question 2: How would illya feel about an assassin darling? Would he find them interesting because they are capable of fighting back?

answer: ilya would no doubt find this darling intriguing; it’s not everyday he somehow manages to court an assassin, especially one that’s after his head. it’d be a game of cat and mouse, one where he’s likely to lose given that he isn’t a mastermind. he can’t keep his game going for long, not against someone who’s literally trained to kill evil men like him. considering how lax he is about who he courts and kills, ilya no doubt has a bounty over his head among the underworld. one wrong kill and the next thing he knows, the mafioso father of his last lover is hellbent on rearranging his guts. it’s not an easy life, and that makes it all the more fun to toy around with an expert killer while he has the chance.

question: I can't get this outta my head ever since that one ask where ilya would be happy if his darling successfully kill him and I was thinking would he come back as a ghost because yeah he's happy that someone "loves" him but wouldn't he still have this hatred towards the world that makes his soul unable to move on? OR a better one is one of his darlings coming back as a ghost haunting him??? Idk these ideas have been rattling in my head for a while and I'm wondering your perspective on it.

answer: so ilya is actually set in a different world than every other oc i’ve made, so there’s nothing supernatural at play here. but if there was, he’d be annoyed that he’s come back as a ghost after such a wonderful display of love from his darling. what’s done is done and he’d rather just move on.

funny thing is, when i was originally playing around with the concept of ilya, my first thought was a ghost! darling who continually haunts him long after he’s killed them. perhaps they whisper totally unsexy things to him while he’s in the heat of the moment...and of course he can’t do anything about it.

i wonder if they’d drive him mad enough to consult an exorcist or something...

question: what if... ilya’s darling accidentally killed someone though? out of self defense they strike someone down with a bit too much force and end up killing them, what if it’s a coworker that maybe ilya feared his darling might have caught feelings for. would he read it as his darling being in love with the man they killed? would he misread the whole ordeal? what would he do?

answer: as a victim of abuse and assault himself, he understands the important distinction between ‘love’ and defense. in fact, the shattering mentality of a darling who’s just had their first kill would be a welcome change for ilya. will they ask him for help? what will they do -- what sort of fun mental hoops will they jump through? how long will it take them to break? will he even have to intervene, or should he just watch as they slowly fall apart?

even if he feared his darling has caught feelings for someone else, he isn’t all that fussed so long as that darling is smart enough to give him what he wants when he wants it. in the end, they’ll die at the hands of his suffocating love anyways; darling’s wavering affections really make no difference when it comes to their fate.

question: honestly Ilya is such a wonderful character to me because he's the absolute opposite of everything I believe in. Like I think hurting others BC you've been hurt is the most egotistical disgusting thing u can do and hypocrites make my blood boil. I don't even wanna b his partner in crime or his lover but I'd LOVE to just sit down w him and have a nice discussion about our morals lol

answer: this isn’t a question but i’m including it here because i’m lazy but -- i completely agree! even as his creator, i find new paths to explore with him every day; messed up characters like him, especially killers, are so interesting to explore and pick apart their psyche.

a bit off topic, but i think you may find the ted bundy tapes on netflix of particular interest. you get a glimpse into someone that i, more than once, found myself basing ilya off of.

question: How does Ilya decide how long he wants his Darling to stick around before he kills them?

answer: whenever he feels his darling would suffer the most! every darling is different, of course, so it’s really up to his discretion. if his darling is the type to take things slow, he’ll likely kill them the first time they have sex as it’s so fun to betray their trust in such a way; on the other hand, if his darling is more sexually-outgoing, he’ll simply kill them when they least expect it -- perhaps going so far as to assault them without consent, all the while calling them derogatory names and proclaiming they practically begged him for this. his favorite part of murdering his beloveds is catching them off-guard -- it always makes for the best expressions and death screams. if he’s feeling particularly sadistic, he’ll slit their throat right before they cum; there’s always that quick flash of surprise followed by betrayal and finally...realization.

question: out of curiosity, did you make ilya sex-crazed as a side effect of his childhood abuse? kids who were abused tend to act impulsively (ex: drugs, unsafe sex), among many other things. if not, that’s a wild coincidence, but if so, thank you for being attention to the effects of childhood abuse on a person.

answer: that’s exactly it! i was going to explicitly mention this in his character post, but i didn’t want to offend anyone and risk anons telling me that “not all victims react like that”...even though i have firsthand experience with this topic (not childhood abuse, but i don’t intend to go more in-depth). 

anyways, i really wanted to create a character who shows the extreme end of the coping spectrum; rather than becoming quiet and reserved and fearful, there’s still that underlying fear but it manifests as ‘outgoing’ / impulsive behavior, though ilya’s case is obviously particularly extreme. in a way, he became the monster he hated in order to get the ‘sweetest’ form of revenge -- that’s why he knows how much of a hypocrite he is. he knows that better than anyone, but this is the only way he’s found that’s helped him ‘cope’ while also ‘getting back’ at those he hates -- the adults who did nothing to help him and in, some cases, led to his messed up outlook on life. this sentiment eventually extended to a misanthropic hatred of every adult he comes across; having spent his entire life faking himself and being the perfect charming good-boy his parents wanted, wooing anyone he sets his mind to is now fairly easy.

now i’m no expert on serial killers, especially ones with traumatic sexual experiences, but i’ve had yet to see a yandere oc who can relate to assault survivors while also managing to be so hypocritical and abnormal to this extent. in a way, ilya is very very close to my heart and i enjoy the feedback he’s gotten! i think the obsessive love that comes with yanderes ties in nicely with his contradictory character; his love is suffocating, just like the “love” of his teacher and the lack of love from his parents. his story is one of tragedy -- the famous modern-day (still debating if i should set this in the 1800s) Jack the Ripper, an enigma who keeps everyone at a distance because he himself is too terrified to admit the monster he’s become. he’s a character meant to be so outrageous and morally-corrupt and yet so frighteningly human.

enough of my rambling though, i’m glad you caught this and gave me a chance to further explain my thoughts on him! thank you dearly :]

#oc questions #*ocs #ilya #tw noncon #tw murder #tw abuse

[ryanmeft]

My Top Performances of 2019, Part 2

Here is the second half of the list of my favorite film performances of 2019. I tried to be as objective as possible, but it’s also a result of personal preferences. As before, the order is unimportant. Part 1 is here:  https://ryanmeft.tumblr.com/post/190668845597/my-top-performances-of-2019-part-1?fbclid=IwAR3_d80vj0FbIVXqWaTV1heUlIDJJmL-JB_ZksaadO_oNRztnhBMICxzTd8

Zhao Tao in Ash is Purest White

She’s got everything you could want in a rusting former industrial town: a good boyfriend who has influence in the area’s small underworld, which gives her power, love and money all at once. In a blink it is all gone, and she finds herself adrift in the world, dealing with the resentments of people with no patience for what she has gone through. Tao is the key component of this crime drama, which is more drama than crime. She does not take the world in blazing force as a crime figure in a Scorsese film might do, but quietly and slowly accepts that the days of her power are past---and unlike the men around her, tries to adapt to, rather than battle, the inevitable.

Ana De Armas in Knives Out

Knives Out is in the grand, disappearing tradition of the character actor, albeit with the parts mostly played by superstars. Yet among a roster that includes Captain America as an irresponsible playboy and Michael Shannon as a professorial-looking semi-Nazi, De Armas’s humble heroine Marta stands out. Maybe it’s because Marta is humble but not naive or entirely innocent, and De Armas manages to capture both her cunning and her honesty without turning her into a doe-eyed victim. She’s the kind of character you want to become a Nancy Drew-esque mystery hero for adults, so you can revisit her later adventures.

Joaquin Phoenix in Joker

Some hated the movie, some loved it, but one thing it seems everyone could agree on is Phoenix’s performance. He’s credited as Arthur Fleck, not as Joker, and his handling of the character couldn’t be more different than any previous portrayal. Arthur is sad and lonely, not at all an enigma---his private life is laid out for us in great detail---and Phoenix portrays him as just sort of being blown through the world, bereft of any real agency. You can debate all day whether the character deserves to be portrayed in a sympathetic way, but you can’t say Phoenix doesn’t pull it off, making us root for this maladjusted, societally-forgotten misfit almost up ‘till the end. 

Sienna Miller in American Woman

In a just world, Miller, hardly a household name, would have her face up on the stage Sunday night for playing this role, a drunken, hard-partying too-young mother and grandmother whose life begins to change when her daughter disappears. I say begins to, because this is not one of those magical stories of miraculous redemption. Debra does not become a good parent to her grandchild right away, and never becomes a great one. Instead, the film follows her throughout years of her life, during which, naturally, she must go on living as she mourns. Miller embodies each stage of this perfectly, never once allowing drama tropes to disturb her unflinching portrayal of an ordinary life.

Jeff Goldblum in The Mountain

What does the word “monster” conjure for you? Whatever traits it brings to mind, they are all present in Dr. Wallace Fiennes. He’s an egotistical, self-interested, callous man who performs lobotomies on mental patients in the 1950’s American heartland, the kind of person for whom his gruesome practice is not an outmoded method to be improved on by advancement, but an art form in itself, and his patients merely the canvas. This isn’t handled like a horror movie: Goldblum is not a mad scientist cackling away in a lab, but an urbane, cultured, engaging professional---which makes him all the more frightening.

Gugu Mbatha-Raw in Fast Color

Wonder Woman and Captain Marvel were, to a large extent, a marketing department’s ideal female superheroes: always flawless, gorgeous even when kicking ass, unable to make any very serious mistakes. Ruth is very much not that. She’s living wherever she can, dealing with the effects of past addictions, running from the government, scared of her own powers. She’s not just unlike any other woman in tights (without the tights), she’s unlike any mainstream superhero ever has, can or will be. Mbatha-Raw is one of our most underrated actresses, and she portrays Ruth in a way that allows us to both sympathize with her plight and support her as she grows stronger. The movie’s not getting a sequel, because the Hollywood franchise machine isn’t ready for imperfect superheroes yet, but it is getting a series, so at least we’re getting more of Ruth in some medium.

Renee Zellweger in Judy

I won’t pretend I knew much about Judy Garland going in, and frankly I’m not sure I understand her after seeing the movie---it was, in most respects, a fairly typical music biopic. Where it broke the mode is in Zellweger’s performance. I think it’s fair to say the once-household name has been largely forgotten by Hollywood in recent years; she never had the perfect starlet looks or the ideal girl-next-door adorableness that is the main standard on which women are judged. But she had the acting chops, and here she finally gets to prove it. Her Garland is twisted and gnarled inside and out by years of sexist treatment and the resulting substance abuse, but still a loving mother to her children and a great singer---and justifiably angry at the industry that used her up and spit her out.

Paul Walter Hauser in Richard Jewell There was never a single chance of seeing the camera pan to Hauser during Sunday’s roll call of acting nominees---both he and the person he plays are about the polar opposite of Hollywood’s image of itself. And it must be said that while Jewell should not be forgotten, Eastwood’s movie, with its ginned-up anti-press narrative, maybe should be. But none of that is on Hauser, whose performance firmly proves that fat guys can be more than bumbling comedic relief or ineffective sidekicks in the movies. It matters that someone who looks like Jewell is portraying him, and that he does it so well that we can almost overlook the film’s other faults.

  Honor Swinton Byrne in The Souvenir

This one was little-seen, and though it generated awards buzz initially, it’s already been largely forgotten. That’s too bad. Byrne’s Julie is a woman torn between her own ambitions and her love for a man who is---abusive? How to judge him? It’s a toxic relationship fueled by addiction on his part, but the movie is more about how you cope with a partner who is committed but not capable of commitment. Perhaps the most resonant aspect of Julie’s character is the way she holds out hope even when everyone tells her not to, even when she herself knows deep down that it is hopeless. You may find this weak, but I’ve never known a human being who wasn’t in some measure susceptible to it.

Jonathan Pryce and Anthony Hopkins in The Two Popes Everyone has strong feelings about the Catholic Church---it’s not a thing you go half-measures on. And every Catholic has strong feelings about the last two Popes---again, they aren’t the kind of personalities that inspire milquetoast reactions. What Pryce and Hopkins do in portraying Francis and Benedict, respectfully, is remind us that no matter how much they claim to be the chosen of God, these are after all two men---two men with flaws and opinions, whose own lives have shaped them every bit as much as the Bible or the church. When they are on screen together, you can imagine them in an odd couple buddy comedy, two aging road trippers tending to the flock. Lots of performances didn’t make my arbitrary 20-point cutoff. To be dead honest with you, it’s entirely possible that if you ask me in a year, I’ll have re-considered who is on the main list and who is in the honorable mentions; the idea that what I say now, when all these movies are fresh in my mind and affected by immediate emotional reaction, has to be my inviolate opinion for all time is silly. That said, here are some excellent and noteworthy performances that didn’t quite make the cut.

Leonardo DiCaprio and Brad Pitt in Once Upon a Time in Hollywood

Kelvin Harrison, Jr. in Waves

Zack Gottsagen in The Peanut Butter Falcon

Isabela Moner in Dora and the Lost City of Gold

Alessandro Nivola in The Art of Self-Defense

Cate Blanchett in Where’d You Go, Bernadette?

More or less everyone in Little Women (I couldn’t decide, and thought more of the acting than the overall film)

Jodie Turner-Smith in Queen and Slim

Cynthia Erivo in Harriet

Kaitlyn Dever in Booksmart

Edward Norton in Motherless Brooklyn

#Joaquin Phoenix #ana de armas #renee zellweger #jeff goldblum #movies #jonathan pryce #anthony hopkins #leonardo dicaprio #brad pitt #once upon a time in hollywood #Quentin Tarantino #judy garland #knives out #rian johnson #cate blanchett #richard linklater #the peanut butter falcon #zack gottsagen #isabela moner #dora and the lost city of gold #Alessandro Nivola #the art of self-defense #kelvin harrison jr. #waves #little women #jodie turner-smith #queen and slim #cynthia erivo #harriet #Edward Norton

[johobi]

Milestone Thank You Post

So I hit a pretty significant milestone the other day, I wasn’t gonna make one of these but I haven’t in the past and I think it’s important to thank those who’ve made my time on Tumblr so wonderful. 

It’s been a helluva 2.5 years and while I haven’t been the most productive of contributors, I wanna thank all those followers who stuck with me nonetheless, and if you joined me further down the road, thank you to you, too. I hope you’ll all enjoy what I’ve got planned this year. I want to thank you for more than merely supporting my reading, though. I can’t count the number of supportive and commiserative messages I’ve received from many of you and I want you to know that you have genuinely affected my life for the better. I love you.

And to the friends I have made on here - you are precious to me. I’m incredibly awkward and conversationally stunted so those of you who have endured and coaxed it out of me anyway - thank you for persisting, haha. I love you, and I’m honoured to know such kind, skilled people. Even though Tumblr isn’t the greatest of platforms, the people on here are and I love seeing your follower interactions on my dash, seeing your fics do well, seeing you flourish creatively. And when things aren’t going so great, I’m always here if you need me. Anyway, I shan’t ramble on.

Bolded: mutual

Italics: i have read your work/seen your art!!!! and loved it!!!! (everyone else i need to get round to!!! i’ll get there!)

💌 : there’s a special note for you at the end

A-F

@aambrosia​ / @aesthete-soul-13​ / @anyaaniyo​ / @bendthekneetobangtan​​ 💌 / @btsinned​ / @btssavedmylifeblr​ / @btssmutgalore​ / @caramelkth / @cinnaminsvga​ / @dark-muse-iris​ 💌 / @dearlytea / @ditzymax​ / @dovechim / @floralseokjin

G-L

@gimmesumsuga 💌 / @guksheart / @gukyi / @hobiwonder / @hoseokiehopie / @httpjeon / @iq-biased / @jincherie / @jeonggukingdom / @joonbird /  @jungblue / @junqkook / @kittae / @koyamuses / @kpopfanfictrash 💌  / @kpopsmutbin / @lamourche / @littlemisskookie / @lockedarrow / @lthyl

M-R

@maadim / @marginalmadness 💌 / @meant-for-dreaming / @m00nk1ld / @mrsmin88 / @nikiis​ / @noona-la-la-la / @paperpurple / @parkmuse / @readyplayerhobi 💌 / @rohobi

S-Z

@seokeros 💌 / @seungyovn​ / @shelive-shelove​ / @spacejooon​ / @sweetbunnykook​ / @suga-kookiemonster​ / @sugasgrowl​ / @taeken-my-heart 💌 / @taezui​  / @thatlongspringnight / @tuserendipia​ / @underthejoon​ 💌 / @versigny​ / @wearelondonbound / @wildernessuntothemselves / @worldwidebt7​ / @yeoldontknow​ / @yimeizhu​ / @yminie​ / @yoonia​ / @yuscee​ / @zixxossi​ 💌

I also want to say a sincere, heartfelt thank you to the followers who frequent my notifications a lot - your usernames always bring a huge smile to my face and I want to thank you for your continued interest and support. I love you!!!

@99020448 / @ari-maccha / @ascendingbts / @blue-eyed-fantom / @bts-luvvv / @cerulean--rain / @deapplearrow / @dvmbassbitch / @guacj / @igot7nuggets / @joon-dream / @jooniperberries / @junkfoodwriting / @kimyishin / @krystalkoya / @lamptastical / @mellifluous--bts / @mhysaunburnt / @midnighttifa / @motleygirl98 / @murd0cks / @mygsii / @nomnomsik / @oppas-lube / @queenofthefurries / @reddidh / @saxpam24 / @seasofhoney / @shedevil65 / @shunjou-romantic /  @singulari-taes / @stubbornthot / @viva-lian / @yepthatsabingo / @zequiviya

I’m so sorry if I missed any other regulars - these are just some of the names at the forefront of my mind right now.

Special notes  💌

@bendthekneetobangtan: MJ, I’ve already rambled on and on about my love for you many times, but I fear it must be said again!!! You’re not only a kind and giving person, but you are a boon to all the writers you honour with your readership. Your reviews are so damn thorough and AMAZING, I always wriggle in excitement when I see one from you. Thank you so much for sticking with me since the early days (when I wrote more adlkwjalkj). I love you.

@dark-muse-iris: Iris, not only are you one of my dearest friends from this hellsite, but you are literally one of the two people whose writing inspired me to start my own blog in the first place. You are wise, gracious and sassy and I so enjoy watching you grow with your blog. I am so excited for your future projects, including those not related to FF. Love your writing. Love you.

@gimmesumsuga​: STEPH. You know how much I love you because I usually say it at least once a day because you are a cutie-patootie and just one of the loveliest, more interesting people to talk to. I live vicariously thru your IRL shenanigans lmao. Also, you’re such a caring and willing ear; the best to sound fic ideas off of. Speaking of fic, you’re ONE OF THE BEST ON HERE and u should give yourself more credit, sweet. You’re also probably gonna be famous when u publish STS so keep me in mind when u make a shit-ton of money pls. You’re the best concert buddy I could ever ask for. Can’t wait for next time. alkjaljk anyway, I LOVE YOU.

@kpopfanfictrash: Shanna!!!! Okay, not only are you perhaps one of the best writers to grace our community (and most likely to find success outside of imo!!!), but you are just the kindest, humblest, most chill person to talk to. Plus u tolerate my weird-ass humour which is incredible. I love you!

@marginalmadness: Shippy, I am most likely gonna have to bug u on Twitter first to read this bc since our failed collab (LMAO) I don’t think u’ve logged into Tumblr since. STILL. As I’m spilling my feelings, I have to say u are one of my most treasured and oldest (no, not age) friends. We first bonded over otome games. AND THEN, FINALLY, LAST YEAR, WE INDUCTED YOU INTO ARMY!!!! And it’s been amazing since. I was so happy to meet u and your gorgeous, majestic self. Plus u and your headcanons always make me w*t (w/ tears or other). I appreciate u and how u take care of me. I hope you feel cared for in return. I LOVE YOU.

@readyplayerhobi​: Tali, u are a wonderful enigma. U put up with my clingy-ass affection and ridiculous jokes and only sometimes get annoyed at me. Plus u are literally the Queen Of Fantasy And Amazing Fic Ideas/Execution and am always in awe of you. For that, and your productivity. Like, damn, girl. Also, u talk about the weirdest things and I appreciate that. I like a fellow weirdo. Hope I can meet u more in the future!!! because I love you!!

@seokeros​: Tessa, I’m certain you don’t check tumblr much anymore but if u do, I just wanted to communicate to u my deep appreciation for the support and encouragement that you offered me in the early days of my blog. I was so in awe of you and your writing skills that I could hardly believe when u began to interact with me. I’m sure ur the driving force that pushed out several of my pieces when my motivation was low. I want to thank u for everything u’ve done for the BTS FF community and when u do decide to leave for good, I will be first in line for your bestselling books. I love you.

@taeken-my-heart​: NORA!! I think I’ve known u for nearly as long as my blog’s been alive. Not only are u literally just the sweetest, purest bean, but u wowed me recently with your writing and I’m waiting with baited breath for the conclusion of Independent. Even though many of our chats are brief they are a frequent mood-lifter for me and I want to thank you for being here. I love you.

@underthejoon​: Fal, thank u for introducing yourself to me bc otherwise I would never have been able to get to know the lovely u (I’m too shy). U are for certain one of the most supportive and kind people I know on here and ur also my emotion twin (Scorpios unite!!). I really hope your experience on Tumblr improves because u deserve nothing less but love and appreciation. For your writing, too, because u have a fucking knack for it. I love you!!!

@zixxossi​: Last but not least, my darling frogger Alexa. U are my bestest and most treasured friend. We’re chalk and cheese but we’re also Bonnie and Clyde (without the death). We’ve spent so many hours dreaming up worlds and writing them into being and those were some of the most fun nights. We’re past that now, but I know we’ll forever have a strong bond and I’m so, so happy to see u flourish these recent months. U deserve nothing less, my little 6′1″ angel. I can’t wait to see u again and suffocate u in a hug. I LOVE YOU!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#whew that was a lot to write #i wanted to do it tho #thank u everyone and here's to another 2.5 years on here haha #hopefully wylei is finished by then ;P #I LOVE YOU ALL!!!! #milestone

[aire101]

Ferrum Chapter 2

Here’s chapter two, and my apologies for how closely part of it follows Episode 1 of SAO.  After this the story probably won’t follow much of the shown canon at all, though I will probably bring in SAO characters for the boys to interact with eventually.  But in SAO everyone has the same starting point.  But with the world being as complex as it is, I doubt I’ll ever really need to follow episode events or dialogue this closely again.  Though I might get the boys involved in the Level 1 boss battle, we’ll see.

Also, please excuse any incorrect computer/programming/gaming jargon.  I’m doing the best I can. T_T

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

Peter was a masochist.  That was really the only explanation for his current situation.  The person had even offered to go their own way before Peter had opened his big mouth and tied them together for the next few hours.

Peter knew it wasn’t really Mr. Stark, he did.  But the avatar looked exactly like the Tony Stark that Peter remembered— before the space starvation and the new stress lines of living in a post-apocalyptic earth.  And he sounded just like him.  He had the same weird humor that fluctuated wildly between arrogance and self-deprecation.  He got Peter’s stupid science jokes and the laugh he gave when Peter growled out “FINISH HIM” during a fight with a boar was painfully familiar.  Several times he had to stop himself from calling out the wrong name, and each time left him feeling like he was repeatedly prodding a gaping chasm of a wound.

“You ok, Ki— uh, sorry… Tor?”

And then there was that.  All in all, it was a perfect recipe for emotional disaster.

“Yeah, sorry… my mind wandered off a bit there.”

“In the middle of a pvp and monster spawn zone might not be the best place for that you know.  How does this game even handle respawns?” asked Ferrum, striking down another boar with a swift horizontal strike.  It taken a bit of trial and error for them to get the hang of activating the sword skills, but once it had clicked they had made quick work of the low level spawns in the area.

“You know, for someone who managed to snag a limited release of this game you know surprisingly little about it,” responded Peter.

“Yes, I known, I’m an enigma.  Humor me and explain please.”

“We’re supposed to respawn in the nearest town I think.  Given the bugs we’ve seen so far though I’m not sure I’d want to test that at the moment.  Might be one way to initiate a logout though?” said Peter.

“I’d rather not risk it, and I’d suggest you do the same until we hear from an actual GM,” said Ferrum, sheathing his sword.  “That being said, we’ve been out here several hours now, wanna head back into town and see if anyone has heard anything?”

“Sure,” said Peter, also putting away his weapon.  They stood in the middle of a clearing with expansive views.  Most of the beasts in this area hadn’t been ones to initiate conflict, and they would have plenty of forewarning if anything headed in their direction.  So for a moment Peter allowed himself to just relax and take a proper look around the area, marveling at the beauty and complexity of the world Argus had built.  Off in the distance he could see hills disappear into the haze of the the horizon and cities raised atop impossible pillars.  In a field not too far from them there were a couple other players likewise looking out, taking in the beauty of the glistening waterfalls and towns painted in oranges and reds as sunset came over Aincrad.  

“I have to give them credit.  When I first heard about their plans for this game I was a bit dubious on whether they would actually be able to deliver on the promise.  Concept art looks great, but actually being able to code a full sensory experience into an application?  And create an entire open world with that data?  I mean, I had thought about the concept before, but the technology needed to do it always made me a bit uneasy…  It would be way to easy for someone to use it in ways it shouldn’t be,” said Ferrum.

“What changed your mind then? I mean, since you’re here now?” asked Peter.

“…I don’t know,” muttered Ferrum, sounding distinctly unsettled with the admission.

Peter opened his mouth with a joke on the tip of his tongue, something to lighten the suddenly uneasy mood—

When the deep toll of a bell rang out from the Town of Beginnings, rolling through the air with the tone of a death knell.

“Huh, wonder if they’re finally about to make an announcement?” said Peter.  “I’m surprised it took so—”

Suddenly a white light enveloped him.  In those seconds he felt nothing, completely stripped of sensory.  Just as he felt himself starting to panic, the light released him and was gone as quickly as it had came.  He found himself and Ferrum once again standing in the center of the plaza of the Town of Beginnings.  All around them seemingly every one of the 10,000 players were similarly being teleported into the square.  

“What the hell?” said Ferrum.

“I don’t know.  Pretty sure they should be able to make announcements across the whole game regardless of player location.  Maybe its an opening event?  Would explain the theatrics of it,” said Peter.

The whole square was a buzz with nervous confusion as people tried to figure out what was going on, then Peter heard someone call out above the crowd, “Up there!”

Peter looked up, and above the square there flashed a single red polygon with the word WARNING.

The sky turned red as more and more polygons spawned proclaiming ‘WARNING’ and ‘SYSTEM ANNOUNCEMENT.’

Peter wanted to think that maybe they had found the bug.  Maybe they were announcing a fix or instructions for the players…

But even without his spidey sense, something felt wrong.

Then the sky began to bleed.

“What is that?” asked a player to the side in horrified awe as the blood-like liquid began to coalesce into a more solid state.  Within moments it formed into a hooded figure wearing familiar blood red robes with gold trim.

A Game Master— likely an a real one this time.

The crowd of players all began to mutter speculations about the figure or the possibility of an event.

“I have bad feeling about all this.”

Peter jumped.  He had forgotten about Ferrum at his side.  He looked over at the older looking man, taking in the tight lines around his mouth, his eyes darting around the area taking everything in, but not straying too long way from the god-like figure of the GM in front of them.

Peter wished he could reassure the man like he had earlier in the day, but Peter was suddenly very aware that in this world he was no different than anyone else.  Just as vulnerable, just as powerless… What had originally been a main draw for him was now a very real weakness.  

“It would be way to easy for someone to use it in ways it shouldn’t be…”

They were absolutely at the mercy of this monolithic system…

“Attention Players… Welcome to my world.  My name is Kayaba Akihiko.  As of this moment, I am the sole person who can control this world.”

And whoever controlled it.

“Son of a bitch,” muttered Ferrum, a look of horror on his face.

“I’m sure you’ve already noticed that the logout button is missing from the main menu,” Kayaba continued.  “But this is not a defect in the game.”

A shiver traveled up Peter’s spine.  A stone of cold fear formed in his stomach.  Surely not… surely someone along the way would have noticed something so horrendous in the code…

“I repeat— this is not a defect in the game.  It is a feature of Sword Art Online.”

“But how… how can he keep us here?  Surely someone on the outside can still get us out?” asked Peter.

“It’s the hardware, Kid.  He’s fucked with the user client hardware that everyone’s brains are wired into,” growled Ferrum.

“You cannot log out of SAO yourselves.  And no one on the outside can shut down or remove the NerveGear.  Should this be attempted, the transmitter inside the NerveGear will emit a powerful microwave, destroying your brain and thus ending your life,” said Kayaba.

Immediately Peter ran through all the specs on the hardware he was privy to during his time as Tony’s intern, and came to the same conclusion Ferrum already had— this mad man was not lying.  He had disabled the safety mechanism that would keep certain powerful data bursts from frying someone’s brain.

Data bursts such as an autosave or a death respawn.

“Unfortunately, several players’ friends and families have ignored this warning, and have attempted to remove the NerveGear.  As a result, two hundred and thirteen players are gone forever, from both Aincrad and the real world.”

“Two hundred and thirteen…”

Peter turned around to see Ferrum looking on with eyes wide, his right hand grasping his left wrist as his left hand gave small spasms.  

That motion was intimately familiar.  The similarity  was uncanny…

“As you can see, news organizations across the world are reporting all of this, including the deaths.” Multiple program windows opened, most featuring various news channels running live, corroborating what Kayaba was explaining.    “Thus, you can assume that the danger of a NerveGear being removed is now minimal.  I hope you will relax and attempt to clear the game.

But I want you to remember this clearly.  There is no longer any method to revive someone within the game.  If your HP drops to zero, your avatar will be forever lost.  And simultaneously, the NerveGear will destroy your brain.”

So he was right— it was both the autosave and respawn functions that had been weaponized in the headset.  The more he thought about it, the more angry he became.  The man had taken glorious innovations in technology—some of it pioneered by Mr. Stark himself—and twisted it into a personal hell for all these people, some of them undoubtedly children.  As if the world hadn’t been dealing with enough tragedy over the last few years.  He wanted nothing more than to punch Kayaba directly in the face with every pound of his spider strength.

But he couldn’t do that.  In this world, he was just like everyone else.

With great power comes great responsibility… but without that power, was that responsibility still his?

“There is only one means of escape.  To complete the game,” Kayaba said, bringing up a digital layout of the floors of Aincrad.  “You are presently on the lowest floor of Aincrad, Floor 1.  If you make your way through the dungeon and defeat the Floor Boss, you may advance to the next level.  Defeat the final boss on Floor 100, and you will clear the game.”

The crowd, which up till now had been mostly muted in shock, finally began to shout and rumble in confusion and denial.  And from the sound of things, this monologue was just about to wrap up.  When it did, all hell was going to break loose.

He had some choices to make, and fast.

“Finally, I’ve added a present from me to your item storage.  Please see for yourselves.”

Shit.  What now?

Peter swiped down to access his storage, feeling distinctly as if he were walking into a trap.  Out of the corner of his eye he could see Ferrum doing so as well.

An item labeled ‘Mirror’ had been placed in his inventory.

“I’m guessing this mirror is the ‘gift,’ though now I’m wondering if he programmed the auto-drop or did it himself, and if he’s aware of my… status,” whispered Ferrum.

That’s right.  Ferrum was a GM, however that had happened.

“Do you think you could—”

But he didn’t get to finish his question, as at that moment everyone in the plaza began to shout as they were all consumed once again by white light.

When it receded, everyone had changed.

Some looked younger, most looked older.  Quite a few people around him looked to have changed genders completely.  Peter glanced back down at the mirror in his to see his Thor-like appearance gone completely, and instead his true face reflected back at him.  

So that was the purpose of the all too thorough calibration he and Ned had gone through.

“Kid,” said a shocked voice at his side.  

Peter turned around towards Ferrum, wondering who had been behind the meticulous avatar of Mr. Stark…

Only to see that Ferrum was completely unchanged.  Perhaps being a GM had made him impervious to the magic of the mirror?

“Underoos… what are you doing here, kid?!”

With those heartbroken words, Peter’s carefully constructed walls came crashing down.

. . . . .

Peter couldn’t think.  He certainly couldn’t speak.

He could vaguely tell that Kayaba had continued with his closing speech, but he couldn’t tell you what he had said.

All he could process was Mr. Stark’s face in front of him, and the name that only he had ever uttered to him.

It was impossible.  He had seen the body—the horrific scorching where the universal energies had burned through him, the life support system shutting off, the brightness leaving behind a cold husk in a metal suit—

Peter’s whole body flinched when he felt that familiar hand rest on his shoulder.

“Kid!  Are you with me?  We need to get out of here.”

In the time Peter had spaced out Kayaba had disappeared, and now the whole crowd was devolving into a panic.  People were screaming in terror and rage, several had broken down into sobbing messes on the ground.

He wanted to do something— anything to make this better.  Tell people that it was ok, they would figure this out.

But more than that, he wanted someone else to tell him that as well.

Finally he brought himself to focus on what Mr. Stark was saying.

“What do you mean we have to go— where else is there to go?” asked Peter.  “We can’t leave the game, we’ve tried—”

“Not the game, we need to get out of town.”

“What— why—”

“We can talk more later, follow me,” Mr. Stark said before running down a nearby alley.

After a few minutes they stopped, and Mr. Stark started flicking through his user interface.

“This is a fantasy RPG… you can’t tell me there are no helmets…”

After scrolling for a while, he tapped an item on the list and spawned a basic metal helmet and quickly placed it on is head, before continuing to run out of town.

“Mr. Stark!  Wait!” cried Peter.

“Don’t shout that kid, otherwise the helmet is pointless!” Mr. Stark called back.

“Ferrum… why are we heading out of town?  Its about to be dark and the only safe zone we know is here!” shouted Peter.

“The people back there are panicking, Peter.  It won’t be much longer before they start turning on each other, looking for someone to take it out on.  Between my face and the fact that some saw me in GM robes earlier I don’t want to chance hanging around for someone to put the pieces together.  Not to mention this area’s resources are going to be swamped before we know it.  Resource management is built in to the Cardinal system to maintain balance and encourage player movement and activity.  There won’t be enough to go around.”

“But if we die on the road the resources we need won’t really matter!” yelled Peter, pulling to a stop.  “There’s only so much they can do to us in town, it’s a No PVP area.  Lets just find an inn on the outskirts of town and spend the night.  We need a better plan than just running out of the safe zone at twilight.”

Mr. Stark had pulled to a stop when Peter had, obviously unwilling to leave him behind.  He looked down the alley, obviously wanting to continue on, but after a moment his shoulders dropped in an obvious show of concession.

“Fine, lets go to the outer ring and find a place,” said Mr. Stark.

As he turned and started walking away, Peter allowed himself a moment to take in the familiar gait, the way Mr. Stark always walked with his back straight and his head held high, as if he were always prepared to walk onto a red carpet, even in his most destroyed workshop clothes.

He could recognize every familiar mannerism from their hours pouring over suit tech and web formulas.  In retrospect, perhaps that as much as his face was why he had latched onto the man to begin with.  

But the billion dollar question still remained… how?

Hopefully once they found a room to bunk in, he could work out what the hell was going on… preferably before he had a complete emotional breakdown.

#marvel cinematic universe #sword art online #peter parker #tony stark #peter parker & tony stark #irondad #spiderson #crossover fanfiction #mcu/sao #post-endgame #mostly mcu canon compliant #some variations to sao canon #tony stark has a heart #tony stark acting as peter parkers parental figure #protective tony stark #protective peter parker #ai tony stark #mcu canon compliant through endgame #will not follow the shown sao storyline too closely after Kayaba introduction speech #sao canon still happens off screen #i just won't be showing it much #ferrum #aire101 writes #fanfiction #mcu fanfiction #sao fanfiction #also please don't hate me for any incorrect computer/programming/gaming jargon #doing the best i can #not beta read