#I have have a particular affinity for them but I just think it’s interesting and it reminds me of a long time ago

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

He'll Follow me Down Every Street, No Matter my Crime

PAIRING: John 'Soap' MacTavish x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: You had an affinity for shiny objects. This time, a sting of pearls locked away in a mansion calls your name through the crowd of a party - only trouble? You have a hunch the man you help at the front door isn't all who he says he is.

WORDCOUNT: 11.9k

WARNINGS: Guns, blood, death, gore, heists, theft, suggestive mentions, mentions of sex, heavy flirting because reader's a tease, propositions of sex, drugs, the reader is loosely based on Cat Woman from DC, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You wouldn’t call yourself a good person.

Life had given you the short end of the stick early on, taking what little you had in your grubby hands and shoving it into the ground, making you watch as they stomped on it until all that remained was a remnant of hope. Like a shard of glass, you held it even as it cut your palms open. But there was only so much that you could hold until you longed for more of it—until you wanted to take the broken bits and try and form a mosaic out of them. 

It started as petty crime—the theft. 

You got good at it. Very good.

You remember the first time you tried to pick a man’s pockets; aged fifteen with a switchblade in your pocket that you had never used before, bought off a man in exchange for cigarettes. When you’d been caught, the man—looking quite like Albert Einstein, mind you—had snapped your wrist so far back you heard it snap in two places. It still aches on cold days. 

In that moment, a firm resolve had taken over you. A rabid understanding.

No one was ever going to do anything for you, and if you can’t rely on your skills to get you through, then you only had yourself to blame when it all went bad. 

As you said, it started with petty crime. Then it got a bit more serious. 

You dabbled with blackmail and multi-level schemes that involved all sorts of money and luxurious items. Extortion.

You considered yourself quite the salesperson, admittingly.

But personality-wise: arrogant, prideful, and vain. The list went on and with no near end in sight. It was life, was it not? You were finally able to live it lavishly even from the time you’d just gone past the border of the drinking age.

But the best part about it was that you were entirely alone. Alone in every sense—not even a cat or dog to your name, much less a person to care for or about. It was perfect. 

Years of this went on, and you mean years. This was a job to you, and as you slipped into the hugging form of a deadly red dress, and rubbed your lips with the exact same shade—#4A0000 Oxblood—it was enough to make your pulse thump with excitement. The thrill of this made you want to never let it go; adrenaline junkie down to the jitters in your fingers when you first got the invitation. 

‘On behalf of Victor Lawson, you are formally invited to his mid-autumn get-together at his estate. Enjoy such finery as a five-course dinner, open access to his ballroom and gardens, and the pleasure of the host himself who’s eager to have you over. This invitation is viable to bring a plus one. We look forward to having you. ’

It was perfect. Perfect.

Chuckling under your breath, you think of the items that Victor had in that mansion of his—the jewelry and the raw cut gems. Your particular interest was a set of pearls that his mistress wore, well, wife now. Affairs are such messy things.

Slipping into black heels and looking into the full-length mirror, you smirk slowly at yourself, glancing up and down. You were the picture of elegant perfection—like a woman born and bred into money. Your penthouse was layered with the remnants of your spoils, stories on every counter or vanity; engraved into the pieces of fine metal and stone you wear on your wrists and neck. Bleeding wealth. Everything you have you had lied for, but did lies not take more practice than truths? 

You consider yourself an artist. 

“Perfect,” you clip the heavy earrings to your lobes, seeing the skin droop at the weight of rubies. Brushing down your dress, you hum, clicking your tongue at the thought of how pearls would better compliment the outfit. “No,” you grumble, frowning in disgust. “Nearly perfect.” 

Walking out of the fabric curtain you have to block off your room, your heels click against the marble floors, creating a large echo over the vaulted ceiling; the place had a coldness to it, really. A separation. 

Not that you cared.

Grasping the modest wool dress coat from the coat rack, you slip it on with a huff and fix the collar; hand moving into the pockets to take out your silk gloves and move your fingers into them. Last was the purse—a small black leather handbag that you let hang off of its strap on your right shoulder like another limb. The invitation was kept safe inside of the wool.

One last breath to try and keep your cool and stop the constant smirk that tries to force its way onto your face, and you call the elevator to your floor before stepping into it. 

“The pearls are in the office,” you say, inserting your key and pressing the button for the lobby. “His wife leaves them in the glass display case if that maid’s words are anything to go off of. And tonight,” you hum, finger grasping your phone from your purse and pressing into the front to unlock it. A social media profile pops up and you stare, eyes half narrowed in lustful pleasure. “She’ll be wearing her sapphires.”  

Victor’s wife is pictured in blues and silvers, and you had to admit, it wasn’t the correct color scheme for a mid-autumn ball. But you supposed she wanted to be the center of attention anyway, so her plan if that was the case would pan out perfectly. No one wears a blue that shade this late into the season. 

You drop your phone into your coat pocket and shrug, blinking slowly as the small waft of the elevator music is interrupted by the ding of the doors; that sudden lightness to your head shows that it has come to a stop. Stepping through the opening, you wave to the doorman and plaster a sickly sweet smile on your lips. 

“I’ll be back soon,” you explain. “Don’t miss me too much, then.”

He grins like an idiot. “Yes, Ma’am! Here,” the man scrambles, “I’ll get the door for you.”

“Oh, lovely, thank you, Dear.” Outside is a nice chilled breeze, leaves moving over the street only a small distance of concrete away—your driver is waiting patiently outside of it, the tinted windows up and the engine already running. 

Your body moves to it. 

“Ma’am,” he nods.

“Hello there, Buck,” you blink slowly at him, politely reaching out an arm and squeezing. “So good to see you again—and the Misses?”

“At home resting, thanks to you.” You hum, dismissing the comment as the man pulls at the car handle and moves to the side.

“It was the least I could do. Such a horrible feeling,” your lips mutter, “getting sick. If I only have to throw some of my money to get people to listen to their patients, it’s money well thrown. Do tell her I hope she feels better soon.”

“Of course, Ma’am.”

“Wonderful.” Sitting down on the seat, you carefully tend to your dress so it won’t wrinkle, picking at loose bits of wool from your jacket and gazing at your reflection in the glass. Such a vain little creature you’d grown into. Your eyes trail down your nose, lips, down the swell of your neck, and the bones of your face; running a finger over your cheek and trying to stop itching at the makeup you already long to take off.  

But beauty takes time. 

You’d look better with those pearls. 

Buck gets into the car and locks the doors, and soon the entire vehicle is speeding off into the darkening sky. Your skin tingles with anticipation. 

You enjoyed making those who’d broken the backs of others see a bit of your power when they realized you’d won, but the instances when you could go in and leave without a trace made you feel on top of the world. A woman with such a desirable position; an unforgettable ease of mastering a conversation. 

It was addictive to watch them fumble around like idiots. Go crying to authorities about things they could easily buy again and again. It makes you want to never stop talking. Your fingers twitch at it—your heart pounds. 

A sly fox’s smile comes to your lips, and you hum under your breath as the car brings you into the lion's den.

—

“Well,” Johnny grumbles, voice gruff. “I don’t understand why it needs to be me. Gaz looks better in a suit and everyone knows it.”

“Damn right I do,” the man in question replies, tossing a belt the Scot’s way, to which Johnny catches with no problem, slipping it into the loops of his dress pants with a heavy hand. “Don’t forget it.” 

MacTavish's throat echoes with an unimpressed grunt, side-eyeing Kyle as he smirks. Grabbing the fly of his pants, the man runs it up, moving his feet to make sure he’s not stepping on any of the fabric. 

“Garrick needs to be nearby in case of trouble. He’s your oversight.” Captain Price leans against the far table of the hotel room, glancing at his watch. “Five minutes, Sergeant.” 

“Five bloody minutes,” Johnny groans, blinking as he tightens his belt. “Couldn’t at least have bought a bigger dress shirt? Suffocating over here, Sir.”

Ghost glances at him from where he stares out the window, arms crossed and fingers tapping his bicep. “You can blame Laswell for that.”

“Just make sure you don’t rip it in the middle of the party,” Gaz pats his shoulder, and Johnny glares, sighing out aggressively at the pull of fabric. The fellow Sergeant is smug and amused. “Can’t go in and bring you another.”

“Ah,” the Scot grunts. “Don’t worry, it’s just a little public embarrassment. Nothing I haven’t gone through before.” 

“Story for us?” Simon utters, raising a brow.

“Not one I’m willing to tell.

John interrupts the banter session easily with a sharp command. “Alright, you can trade stories all you want later, we’re short on time and the driver’ll be here any minute. Soap,” Johnny blinks over, buttoning up his waistcoat and pushing the blue tie under it. Price stares, raising a brow, but his lips pause for a minute. “...Why are you wearing a bloody blue tie, Son?”

“What?” Johnny’s face pulls in, stubble shifting the scar on his chin. The sides of his eyes crinkle in. “Why’s that matter?”

John’s eyelids close for a moment before he takes a long breath and looks to the side, shaking his head. “No time,” he utters before coming back to it. “Go through it again, Sergeant. Slowly.”

“Target is Victor Lawson’s computer—located in his office at the back of the mansion. Three rights and a left is the fastest way there, barring breaking down the walls.”

“Good,” John grunts, seeing Johnny’s smirk at his joke. The Scot goes and grabs his suit jacket. “And?”

“One gun and a knife, hidden in the back garden with a silencer near the fountain,” the man licks his lips. Gaz passes over an earpiece which he hooks into his shell, clear and nearly invisible against his skin. “M9 with only one magazine. Fifteen rounds.” 

“You don’t have to use it,” Simon weighs in. “In situations like these, opt for a knife. Less mess to clean up if you do it right.”

“Don’t want to think about the types of parties you go to, Lt,” Soap sends a sly smile the Lieutenant's way. “Think I’d shit my pants if I saw you at one. Mask or no.”

“I like parties,” Ghost says blandly back, blinking at him slowly. “They don’t skimp out on the appetizers.”

“Why am I not surprised,” Johnny mutters, moving back and hurriedly flattening out his suit. “Right! Time to get this over with, boys. I’m goin’ in—don’t miss me too much while I’m away.”

Price’s hand goes to rest on his shoulder, moving him out of the door as Kyle calls his good luck to him. The Captain moves a hand in emphasis on the words he ends up speaking. 

“In the inside pocket, you have a USB,” he says, and Johnny’s blue eyes stare at him, serious with his lips flat. “We don’t need the entire system—just plug it into the box and let it do the work.”  

“Rog.” Soap asks, “Anything I need to expect from this Lawson fellow?” 

John grunts. “Negative. Man’s a drunk who likes to flaunt wealth, he’s in the background of his practice; has others do the dirty work for him. But we need his intel.”

“Then I’ll get it,” the Scot assures firmly, steel determination in his gut. “M’not so easily distracted, Price. It’ll be like takin’ a walk through the park.” 

—

“I’ll be back soon, Ma’am,” Buck comments as he opens the door for you, sticking a hand out to assist you out to the red-carpeted grounds. “Call if you need to.”

“Thank you, Buck, I will,” you chuckle, nodding. 

Walking past you run your hands over your jewelry, slipping your fingers up the inside of your wrist until you grasp the sleeve of your coat and pull it down more. It was growing colder out, and it was best to get inside the party as soon as possible. Already the air was thick with the noise of music and small talk, properly illuminated by lights that spilled out like water from a river. 

Around you, the front entrance was guarded by the tall sentinels of rose bushes; decorations in the form of strung lights and pumpkins placed and carved to immaculate detail. The mansion itself was the biggest on the tree-strangled street, and cars were coming and going quickly; lights moving through the dark trunks. 

Looking and walking slowly down the red carpet to the front entrance, your shoulder is lightly grasped. 

“Ma’am?” You startle, head whipping around to the sound of a deep Scottish accent. 

Your eyes lock with cobalt blues, a large man behind your form holding a piece of paper in his hand. You look at it quickly, the calloused and firm fingers extending the item.  

He was in a black suit, and while you fight to raise your brow at the deep shade of blue for a tie, you find that the outfit suited his stocky build quite well. You could see the size of his biceps easily, and in the light, your face nearly went slack at them. 

Not even mentioning the thighs.

“Apologies,” the stranger breathes, backing up a step and releasing you with a soft smile on his lips. “Saw this fall out of your pocket. I’d hate for you to lose it so close to the door.”

Staying silent for a moment, you quickly fall back on your natural charm. 

“My pocket?” Your hand extends, brushing against the man’s own before lightly taking up the familiar shade of the invitation. You flip it over in your hands, eyebrows raising in slight shock. Your other hand pats down your coat pocket, finding no firmness besides the body of your phone. 

“I didn’t even notice,” you chuckle lightly, focusing on the man ahead of you. A small flutter of upset moves in your veins. “Thank you very much, Sir. That would have been embarrassing.”

“Ah,” he shrugs his wide shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. And Johnny’s just fine, Dearie.”

“Well, it’s very nice to meet you, Johnny,” you move up and lean forward, lips shifting to leave a delicate kiss on the side of his cheek. Hearing a slight hitch in his breath, you hide your smirk, leaning back fully to stare into Johnny’s slightly widened eyes and the reddish sheen to his cheeks. He clears his throat, mohawked hair shifting in the breeze as he turns his head to the side for a moment. “You’re a lifesaver.”

You tilt your head. 

“So, here for Victor’s party then?” 

“Ah,” the man recovers quickly, nodding as you turn and begin a slow pace. The both of you stay near each other as the stairs to the front door get closer. “Yes, Ma’am. Have you…been to one before?”

You humph, shaking your head. “No way, I only ever go to these things once. Waste of time, in my opinion.” Your eyes send Johnny a glance to find him blinking at you in confusion. “What? You thought I would be all snobby about it? Most of the people here can’t even take back a shot correctly.” 

A shocked chuckle exits the Scot’s lips, eyebrows raising on his face. A far more casual smile now takes form on his part. 

“What are you even here for then,” he asks cheekily. “If you don’t mind me asking?”

You smirk. “The spoils of war, of course.” 

“You’re strange, you are,” Johnny utters, but finds he can’t wipe the grin on his face for the life of him. In his ear, Price’s voice grinds through like iron. 

“Soap, stay on schedule.”

He grunts, rolling his shoulders. Johnny’s thumbs go to rest in his belt, looping the brown leather.

“War’s a big word, Bonnie,” his blues glint.

“Would you prefer quarrel,” you dart back, and your spirits seem to enjoy this conversation some. The man was…new, so to speak. There was something different about him that you couldn’t place; he felt more layered than the normal people at these events usually came. Like you could speak to him for hours and only crack the surface. But, even by just his eyes, you could tell that he was intelligent. Very much so. 

“That might be more your speed,” you end with a tilt of your head, jewelry lightly clinking against one another. 

“I think you’d be surprised.” Your chuckle is smooth and easy to listen to. 

“Perhaps.”

Johnny hums, smirking as he pulls ahead a tiny bit. “And what do I call you, exactly?”

“My name?” You find a hand in front of you when you make it to the stairs, and you mildly get thrown off by it. Blinking quickly for a moment, you recover and delicately place your hand into the Scot’s, smiling as he helps you walk up. 

His flesh is warm, and you can feel it even through your gloves as it bleeds into you. A warmth that pushes back the chill of autumn, sending winter scampering like a dog with a tail between its legs. You ignore how your breath hitches at that action.

“You can just call me Cerise.” Is what you say as the doorman draws near and as Johnny stares with an intrigued furrow on his brow. Before the Scot can speak, you’ve already walked away, heels clicking and your purse swinging; hand whispering out of his like it was never there. 

Blue eyes watch, but they quickly snap out of whatever trance was there beforehand. 

There were things to accomplish—adrenaline was already taking hold in Soap’s bloodstream, making his focus hone in. While your conversation had been…interesting, and you were quite the beautiful woman, of course, he had a job to do. 

But first, he had to get through the door.

As you were speaking with the doorman, easily handing over your invitation, the man slips his hand into his pants pocket to get it ready; voices from other guests all around.

But his hand touches nothing. 

Immediately, Johnny feels his stomach drop.

“Where’s the fuckin’ invitation,” he hisses under his breath down the line, trying to keep his voice low. Soap’s eyes darted about on the ground, thinking that maybe he’d done the same as you and just dropped it. But no, nothing.

John’s hurried voice moves through the earpiece.

“Sergeant, don’t tell me you lost the fucking invitation.”

“It was in my pants!” He growls. “Bastard things that are making my thighs go numb.”

You’re none the wiser to the conversation in the man’s ear, only pausing when you hear the implication of something not going right. As the doorman takes your invitation and looks it over, you turn your head to the side and watch for a moment in confusion as Johnny pats his thighs and backside, hands over the pockets and his body turning in a circle.

“Johnny?” You call, walking towards him. The man freezes, eyes snapping back to you. You grab onto the tips of your gloves and begin taking them off, stuffing them into your coat. “Are you alright over there?”

His jaw is clenched, eyes simmering with annoyance. “Just fine, Hen, no need to ask,” your eyes narrow, slowly dropping to where the obvious lack of an invitation sits in his hands. “Just…uh, seems I’ve gone and lost something o’ mine.”

He goes back to whispering under his breath, throat bobbing with irritation that could rival even yours on a bad day. Even his cheeks gained a sheen of red to them, and not from the wind. 

You blink, sighing under your breath. 

You weren’t a good person, but you weren’t heartless either. The man had been good company, the least you could do was repay him. A good conversation is so hard to come by these days. 

“Oh,” you play off with a chuckle, turning back around and speaking loudly. The doorman looks up at you quickly. “I’m so sorry, I forgot to tell you about my boyfriend, Johnny.”

The air halts, and wide blue eyes snap to the back of your skull.

“It must have slipped my mind in all the excitement, you can understand how such a magnificent property just takes all of my attention.” You chuckle, pushing an embarrassed sheen to your eyes and body—hunching your shoulders in, gripping by the elbows, even bending your spine lightly forward to lean closer to the man. “It’s so beautiful here, I was so caught up in the decorations. He’ll be my plus one for the night.”

The doorman chuckles with you, glancing at the Scot who quickly clears his throat; taking this blessing for what it is and ascending the last steps in record time. 

A hand hovers over the small of your back, a bulky body slotting beside your own. Your nose twitches to the scent of hair gel and…you pause, swallowing down saliva. Was that the tang of gunpowder?

“It’s just fine, Miss,” you blink back to the present. The invitation is put to the side. “You’re both welcome inside. Please, enjoy your time in Mr. Lawson’s estate.”

“We will,” Johnny grunts, nodding. “You have a good night, Mate.” 

You smile politely, the two of you walking through the open doors. A pair of lips moves to your ear, the words said with low reverence.

“I owe you, Bonnie,” he pauses. “Big time. Nearly scuffed the entire thing.”

“We can’t have that,” you ease, voice like water. “Quickly, what’s your last name?”

You both walk side by side, yourself only stopping for a moment to shimmy out of your coat. Hands move to the back of the collar, helping. 

“Last name?” Johnny asks, confused at the instant question. “Why?”

“They’re going to introduce us when we walk in—I need to know so I can tell the announcer.”

The Scot stares, holding your coat as you take your phone out and put it into your purse. He passes off the item to a man near a side door, who asks your name and scurries off when he has it.

“MacTavish, full first name, John.” He grunts, admitting, “There’s a lot more to this than I expected.”

“It’s all for show, Mr. MacTavish,” your hand moves to his arm, lightly taking him along with you and restraining the want to squeeze the muscle under your fingernails. The man was as built as an Ox—what did he eat? 

“There’s always more to things like this,” you chuckle. 

A small silence falls, but it’s broken when Johnny’s curious nature betrays him. The way you had lied to the doorman…it had been so natural for you it had made him pause now that he had the time to think it over. Hell, he’d half-believed you himself.

Price had even been silent in his ear since then, only a shocked grunt moving across the line. As you shift a hand-held mirror out from your purse and bring it up, looking into it, he speaks up.

“You were good at that,” the Sergeant mutters, looking around at the paintings and decorations in the hallway, hearing more people entering from behind. The noise echoes from ahead as well, the party in full swing. “It was quick-thinking on your part, any reason as to why you’d help me?”

A smirk flicks over your lips as you snap your hand-held closed, moving it back into your purse. “You’re asking if I want to get into your pants?”

Johnny nearly chokes. “N-no! Not at all.”

Your head tilts, side-eyeing him, heels hitting the floor and carrying your snake-like stride. Not once do you blink at him, studying; taking him apart. Johnny’s enamored by the way you do it. 

He suddenly knew to be far more cautious around you than he had been previously. His fingers twitch at his sides, and he goes to push back his mohawk with a run of his palm over his hair. He licks his lips and turns his face forward with a heat writhing under the skin.

“It’s alright,” you explain. “I wouldn’t be opposed, but, unfortunately, tonight I have other things to fuck than you, Mr. MacTavish. Perhaps at a later date.” 

The man is at a total loss, jaw as slack as a piece of paper in the wind.

But what shocked response he could give you is lost as you move into a far more open room, you both at the top of an overhang—pillars and a large chandelier, shining bright. Marble with real vines wrapped around banisters; tables full of food in such quantity it seemed excessive. But the people. Hundreds of them, all dressed their very best at the bottom of these double stairs. 

Soap’s eyes went over all of them, studying faces in an instant and memorizing them for later. No Victor from what he could see…he just needed an excuse to slip away when everyone was occupied. He had to get to the garden first; get that knife and his gun that had been stashed. If it all came to worse, he couldn’t afford to get caught without one of them. 

Gaz can only do so much as overwatch from outside.

You move to a woman at the left, smiling as you move to whisper into her ear your title and Johnny’s.

“Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.” 

The woman nods, and no later does she call into the crowd, moving her voice above the bob and flow of the conversation waves. Many of the men in the crowd choke on their drinks—eyes snapping up—at the mention of your moniker.

“The Miss Cerise and her plus one, John MacTavish.”

“Johnny,” you call, and the man blinks, seeing and immediately moving out his elbow so you can loop your arm through his. “I am curious about one thing,” you say as the scent of gunpowder returns. 

“Yeah?” Soap asks, scanning the faces that now pause their speeches and look at the pair of you. He grows uncomfortable at the attention, but you seem to soak it up—particularly the glares from a few faces that you seem to be acquainted with. “What’s that then?”

“You’re not here for the party, are you?”

Bloody fucking Christ, who is this woman?

“What makes you say that, Bonnie?” He forces out, his muscles winding up; jaw working itself in a tight clench. The Scot’s stubble writhes with the force of it. Has he been compromised that quickly? Not possible. Johnny’s mind starts running, and Price gets into his ear to call a firm order to move away from you immediately. 

But that would make your unblinking eyes worse, and Soap didn’t want that. The hair on his arms starts to rise, spine straightens like a stick. You felt it, feet going down the stairs without having to look at them, your head is stuck gazing at him. 

“No offense, of course,” your voice even results in his feet wanting to disobey him, to turn your way. The way you spoke was hypnotic. A siren. Some womanly beast from long lost history, coming to haunt him when he had a job to do on a limited schedule. 

You continue. “But you’re not right. You don’t fit into this crowd.”

“What?” Soap tries to push a flat joke. “Did my hair give it away?”

You study him, smirking. “No.” There’s no other explanation beyond that.

This was supposed to be simple.

Give him a gun and he’d be the most experienced shooter in this room; a jumble of cables? He’d have a homemade explosive in minutes. 

But why the hell would they put him in a suit?

“Listen, Cerise, Hen,” Johnny levels, “I’d love to stay and talk, really, but I need to fuck off and find some of my friends. Thank you very much for the save at the door, but there are some things I need to take care of.”

“And here I thought I’d get to keep my fake boyfriend,” you pout, leaning into his side. He watches you tensely. 

Your lips move in a laugh like a ringing bell. “But, yes, you’re right. I also have to take care of my entertainment for the night.” You move up to his cheek again, placing a kiss on his stubble as you both reach the bottom of the stairs. You whisper into his ear. “It was very nice meeting you, Johnny. Do tell me if you’ll ever take me up on the offer I gave you.”

Disappearing into the crowd, it’s like you were never there.

—

Johnny grunts as he tries to bend down, the fabric around his thighs and arms pulling tight enough to stop the blood in his veins. 

“If someone doesn’t get me properly fitted,” he growls down the line, “you can find a new demolitions expert, Price.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, Sergeant.”

“It was short notice, Johnny,” a Manchester accent follows.

Blue eyes glared at the bag hidden beneath foliage, a hand snatching out and grabbing it quickly.

“Ghost,” Soap huffs. “Good of you to join us with our late-night heist.”

“Figured you could use the support.”

“Oh,” Johnny scowls, “always. ‘Specially when I have to get myself surgically removed from this piece of utter shite.”

“Now you’re just being dramatic.” With a shake of his head and a growing smirk, the Scot takes out the M9 and the combat knife. Moving to attach the silencer to the gun. Blue eyes scan the garden rapidly; on the lookout for any guests or guards walking near the fountain at his back. 

“Alright, I’ve got the gun.”

“Knife?” Ghost asks. 

“Affirmative, Lt.” 

“You’ll be smart to use it away from any prying eyes. Neck leaves too much of a spray—go for the gut and cover the mouth until they stop moving.”

There’s a moment of rustling fabric as Soap shifts the gun into the small of his back, the back of his suit enough to cover the grip but restricting the ability for a fast draw. Simon was right—the knife was the best option for him. 

“You are stone cold, Simon,” the Sergeant smirks, eyes gazing over grass and gravel as the knife finds a home up his right sleeve, resting against his forearm. “Price, has Gaz checked in?”

“Affirmative,” the Captain comes back on as Johnny stands, re-hiding the bag into the bush. “Says he has eyes on from the neighboring mansion’s roof. He’ll lose you when you go inside, but if you need any guards terminated, lead them outside and he’ll take care of ‘em.”

Soap nods, head swiveling and brushing down his front. “Copy. I’ll keep it in mind.” 

But as he’s walking, the Sergeant pauses, dress shoes getting brushed by the grass. A bead of silence lingers on him like a needle into fabric, a nagging feeling like an itch at the base of his skull. 

“Price?”

“What is it?”

“I need you to look into someone else at the party, calls herself ‘Cerise’.” Johnny can practically hear the confusion over the line and he moves on to explain as he walks farther into the garden. “See if there are any files with that name. I have a bad feeling, and I can’t place it.”

“The woman?” Simon’s voice enters his ear.

“Aye, her. The things she said…they’re stickin’ with me.”

“Hate to tell you, Soap,” Price sounds slightly amused in his dim monotone way. “But the things she says stick to most men.”

He growls, face going heated as his chest tightens. “I’m not speaking ‘bout any of that.” Johnny’s head swivels up to the balcony of the ballroom, trying to pinpoint his location from the maps he’d memorized prior. “I’m talkin’ about how she—”

Speech halts in a fast instant of a choked-off sentence. 

A flash of red catches his eye. 

“Johnny?” Simon asks over the earpiece, confusion in his tone. But with a slack jaw, Johnny can only watch in awe and shock at the woman currently breaking into one of the locked balcony doors. And he knew they were locked. The informant had said they would be. 

It was you. 

Red dress and moonlight over your flesh, you look around the balcony before bending and opening up your purse, fiddling for a moment with the contents inside. 

“Johnny, sit-rep.”

Unblinking, Soap watches as you take something out, moving closer to the door and inserting it into the door lock. 

“She’s fucking picking the lock,” Johnny breathes, his breath making a cloud on the air. 

“Who, Sergeant?” Price asks.

“Cerise,” Soap huffs, his jaw closes slowly, blinking as a hand comes up to rub at the back of his head. Only a minute or so later, you move back from the door swiftly, stuffing your items back into your purse and standing. Hand going to the handle, you push into it…and it opens with no trouble at all. 

Walking through, Soap gapes as the door closes silently behind you.

“She got in,” he relays, and he hears Price order for Simon to contact Laswell—possible hostile inside of the mansion. “How do I go about this, then?”

“We need that intel—neutralize her if she interferes.”

Something swirls in Soap’s chest, but as he hurries to the stairs up to the balcony after you, gravel stuck into the grips of his shoes. With a grunt, he says, “Copy, Sir.”

Reaching the very same door you’d just gone into, the man slips inside without a whisper, clicking off his earpiece.

—

You trail a hand along the wall at your side, keeping to the barrier and resisting the temptation to fill your purse with expensive pewter statues and whatever other bits you can fit. But you can’t fight off the feeling for long, and before you take a fast right on the way to the office, your noiseless hand snatches at a small statue of a knight and stuffs it into your bag. A low chuckle breeds in your throat. 

As you pass mirrors, you gaze at your neck, trying to imagine the glint of pearl and the way they’ll feel over your flesh; sitting heavy with wealth and dripping perfection down to the golden clasp. 

“Three rights and a left,” you go off the words from the maid, pausing when you hear the sounds of staff or security. Heels muffled on the thin carpet, your body slinks along like a cat, red dress trailing with all its dangerous intentions. 

You’re only one last turn to the hallway of the office when you’re unceremoniously grabbed by the scruff of your neck. 

Eyes snapping wide, a sharp inhale is muffled on your lips as a hand settles over your mouth, ripped back along the carpet and shoved into the wall with a rattle of picture frames. 

Ignoring the sting of your spine and the fingers that find purchase around your flesh, you blink away the sheen of panic and lock eyes into familiar cobalt blues. 

“Johnny?” Your voice is muffled behind skin, and your hand snaps up to his wrist when pressure is set over your windpipe. Shock flies to every other emotion available, confusion taking precedence. 

His face is rabid with anger.

“Who the fuck are you?” The words are snarled on his accented tone—lower than the bottom of a canyon. 

Physical interactions, in this sense, were never your strong suit, of course. You specialized in getting out before anything like this ever happened, not when a hand was around your throat and starting to put pressure. In fact, now that you thought about it, the man ahead of you would have absolutely no trouble snapping your neck in a second. Despite all of your pride, a bead of fear moved up your back. 

Yet, you still glare with all the venom you can muster over the barrier of Johnny’s hand. The weight at your neck stays, but the one over your mouth moves to lean into the wall beside your head. 

“Get your hands off of me, you brute,” your words are tight, nails digging into his skin and making indents. 

The man can feel your pulse under his hand, the thump of your blood as he looms, glaring heavily. He wanted answers. 

“I asked you a question, Bonnie,” his jaw clenches, eyes unblinking. “I think it’s in your best interest to answer it truthfully, eh?” 

“And what about you then?” You force out, “I guess my hunch was correct, you’re not here for the party.”

“I have a job to do,” Soap snaps under his breath, eyes moving the hallway as your free hand delves into your purse slowly. “I have a feeling you’re lacking in that department, Cerise, whatever the hell that name bloody means.”

“It’s French,” you snarl, teeth bared, and feeling insulted. “It’s elegant.”

“It’s a load of bullshit. That’s not even your real name, you minx.” His hand tightens even more, and your eyes gain a sheen of panic as your throat closes—his hold was unbreakable just as is, a trained and dangerous thing. Trained? Who was he? What did he want with Victor’s estate? 

Was he a thief like you, or hired security? 

“Answer me!” His face moves forward, nose nearly brushing yours and breath puffing your face. “Who do you work for?”

“Work?” Your voice raises, confused and angry. “I fucking work for myself, asshat! Do you think I’d waste my time doing this for someone else? Those pearls belong with me.” 

His eyebrows pull in, face tight.

You lash out with the pewter statue in hand, aiming for his head. Halfway there, the man’s limb beside your skull flashes out and you find your wrist captured, shoved back into the wall, and outstretched beside you. 

Gasping at the pain that ricochets your bones, your hand drops the item in an instant. Your brows go tight with old wounds, the memory of your first attempt at pickpocketing sparking up along with the pinch of marrow. 

“Not very bright, Hen,” Johnny’s voice is graveled, glancing at the statue as it bounces along the floor. His lips twist, expression shifting as he takes in your prior confession one word at a time. The attack hadn’t even phased him. The scar at his chin roaves, as he huffs out as the hold on your neck loosens, “Now what did mean pearls—?”

Your knee reems itself upward and connects with his crotch.

Balking back, Johnny’s spine bends, curling in as a long and loud groan enters the hallway—a curse hurled out soon after. Not planning on lingering, you bolt off, jewelry jingling, and lungs heavy in your chest. 

“What the hell,” you gasp, taking that last left and staring at the large wooden door at the end of the lineup; fancy gold handle. Fingers shaking and neck aching, you hear the sharp call from behind you as your body gets to the barrier.

Yet, there’s no time to pick the lock. A curt bark moves along the walls.

“Cerise!” 

“Fuck,” you draw the word out, quivering hand moving through your purse to find your picks. 

Johnny rushes the corner, one hand still on his aching lower body and the other pointing down the hall. 

“Get over here,” he snaps. 

“Fuck you!” You snap, glaring. “Stop acting like there was anything down there for it to hurt!” 

“I am five seconds away,” the man hisses, “from dragging you out of here by your arm and throwing you to the fuckin’ security. You’re a damn thief.” He says it with utter surety, knowing as he puts all the pieces together. 

“I am a businesswoman,” you back up a step as he moves even closer, the bulk of his body intimidating now that you know what it could do to you. “And, apparently, you think it’s acceptable to toss one around like you’re trying to have sex with it,” your eyes flare, back going flat to the window behind you. Johnny looms once more, arms caging you in as they go beside your head and the fingers curl. Both of you bark at one another with, at present, no bite.

“I’m not opposed to fun, Mr. MacTavish,” your smirk is venomous. “But I prefer to do it when I’m not on the job.” 

“Stop talking,” he snaps, eyes darting to your lips as your gut spikes with adrenaline. His front is nearly flush with yours. “This isn’t worth it—you’re wasting my time. I need to get into that office”

“Then let me go,” your lips are near his, brushing with every word. Now your silver tongue has something to latch onto. He wants to get into that office just as much as you do. “We can help one another.”

“You?” Johnny scoffs, tilting his head as footsteps echo down one of the nearest halls. “Help me? Sorry, Dearie, but after that stunt of kickin’ my fucking balls in, you’ll have to wait for ‘em to re-drop before I put any sliver of trust into you.” 

“Tempting,” you huff, both of your teeth bared like dogs—not once do either of you blink away. “But you can’t get that door to move without me.”

Johnny raises a disbelieving brow, and you elaborate.

“If the pins aren’t all moved in under ten seconds, and the door opened, an alarm goes off,” the man stills above you, and you smile in pleasure. “All security in the area will come rushing down on you and your horribly styled hair,” he snarls, eyes flashing, but you continue, face triumphant. “And I hate to say it, Mr. MacTavish, really I do, but I doubt you can pick a lock better than me.” 

Johnny glares still, and this time, it’s far more sharp. Something moves behind his blues; consideration or exasperation, you don’t know. Hell, you still don’t know what he’s going to do when he gets into the office. But this is an alliance between wild animals.

The man is about to open his mouth, jaw already loosening, when a loud, questioning, voice moves from the end of the hall. 

Both of you freeze, pupils going tiny from where they stare into one another's. Even the blood in your veins slows to a near stop; shock so potent it renders you speechless. Someone was coming down the hallway.

“Is anybody down there?” A voice calls, echoing off the ceiling. There wasn’t anywhere to hide. 

Johnny moves back immediately, a hand going to the back of his suit to try and grasp at something as you hurriedly blurt out, “Kiss me!” 

The man flinches, anxious eyes narrowed. He blinks rapidly. “What?”

“You heard me,” you snap. Footsteps get closer and the Scot looks at you like you’ve gone mad. 

“I am not fuckin’ kissing you, Bonnie,” he says bluntly, a chuckle on his lips. “No way on God’s green earth.”

“Do you want to get caught or do you want to play it off as a mistake?” Your hand moves forward and grabs at his tie, yanking him back to you. He barely budges, raising an unimpressed brow. “I swear to God, MacTavish, do not ruin this for me.”

The man glares, snapping, “I’m not the one that decided to kick a man in the dic—”

“Hurry up and kiss me!” No time.

Someone’s shadow cusps the visible part of the hallway, and you stare with a pleading expression, Johnny glances over his shoulder before he moves his hand away from the M9. With a deep grunt of disapproval, he leans forward swiftly and slams his lips to yours.

Gasping at the intensity of it, your face is smushed as the Scot’s hand comes up, grasping under your jaw and keeping you attached to him, the other stuck at your hip where it creases the fabric. 

For a moment you even forget why he did it, and your body melts slightly as he huffs through his nose—your fingers finding his waist. He shivers as they dig in, and he pushes you into the wall, making the dichotomy of warm flesh and a chilled window leave your eyes nearly rolling to the back of your head. 

When your tongue brushes his lips, soft smacking meeting your ears, he hums, leaning into you harder. Neither of you fight it when your lips meet again and again, this time making your hand go to the back of his head, greedy mouth opening when he growls into your flesh. It’s nearly feral with clacking teeth and a massacre of senses. His fingers knead at your jaw slowly.

“E-excuse me,” Johnny rips himself from you, whipping around with a red face. Keeping you in front of him, his pounding heart makes his eyes blur for a moment, attempting to focus. You peek over his shoulder, face burning like a million suns, but a smirk forcing itself forward.

The man behind the mysterious Scot is older, and not part of Victor’s security at all. Just a partygoer who had gotten lost along his way. How he even got back here through the main way without being spotted was something of an achievement, you supposed.  

He stutters into the heated air. “Sorry to…erm, interrupt, but I don’t suppose you two know the way to Mr. Lawson’s garden?” 

The both of you are brainless for a second, Johnny’s hand still on your hip. 

“Two lefts and a right,” you utter on swollen lips, eyes smug. “Door’s already open.”

He hurries off, without a glance behind him, and silence falls again. 

You blink at the man now suddenly unable to meet your gaze, backing off of you like you’re made of red fire. Your head tiles even as molten heat rages in your bloodstream, pounding in the base of your throat. 

“My, my, Johnny,” you draw out, leaning closer as he sends sharp glances. “I’m impressed, who knew you had that in you?”

“Stop it,” he ends the subject, voice fast and firm.

“And here I thought you’d be a bad kisser. Very attentive to a woman’s needs.” You smirk, slinking past him and muttering in his ear, “Gold star for you, Mr. MacTavish.”

“Get the door open before I change my mind!” He snaps, but you aren’t put off by the darkness of his eyes.

You raise your hands, tossing a look over your shoulder.

“How did I know you’d be so pushy?” The man’s jaw moves as it clenches, nose twitching. He runs a hand over the back of his neck and glares.

You kneel, opening your purse and snickering as you grasp the picks and twirl them between your fingers. They were metal—long and bent to be inserted into the lock and manipulated until you found the correct sequence of pins inside of the mechanism. Inserting the first pick, you take and turn the knob slightly to the left, keeping it like that as you hurriedly insert the second.

“Ten seconds,” Johnny utters, watching closely as his anger simmers down to annoyance with you. Yet, he can’t deny that he liked that kiss, either. “Bastard has a lot to hide.”

You hum under your breath, face close to the door and ear twitching with each click. “Not for long.”

White pearls glimmer in your mind. 

Feeling around, the pressure from one pin to another is easily definable to you—years of practice moving from brain to brawn flooding out. With every bit of loose metal identified, the handle is moved by the first pin to keep them from slipping back down. 

“Five seconds,” the man behind you forces out, looking back from you to the hallway, anxious about getting caught. 

“Do shut up,” you sigh harshly, head tilting. “Stop breathing down my neck and make yourself useful.”

“Doing what,” he grunts, blues getting stuck at the back of your scalp.

“Hand near the door,” your voice is easily forced to sound hurried. “You need to push it open, shoulder and all.”

“When?” He barks, already rushing to hover his large limb over your head. You finally get the small snap of all of the pins in place, a click of achievement. 

Your heart skips a beat, yet you say casually, “Now.” 

He nearly barrels it down, and your eyes widen as he moves through with the force of a bull, your left-behind form kneeling as the man’s shadow dashes. You blink a few times, brows pulling in with distaste.

While you should have been happy, all you do is stare with a raised brow at Johnny as he stops the inside handle from making a dent in the wall, head on a swivel.

“I said to push it open, MacTavish,” you grunt, standing. “Not bring it down, you idiot.”

He turns as you fix your clothes, taking out your compact mirror once more and running your hands along your neck; slinking into the office. Johnny huffs, rolling his eyes. 

“Forgive me, Cerise, if I didn’t want the entire bloody party comin’ to me.”

You wondered if now was a good time to tell him you lied about the alarm but decided it was better to hold off until you had your prize. The less he knew, the better.

“Yes, yes,” your voice is low, “are you going to tell me what you want with this place or am I going to be left in a well of intrigue?”

“You’re not gettin’ a peep out of me, Dearie,” he levels looking around slowly—always keeping an eye on you. Johnny doesn’t trust you, but, hell, you don’t trust him.

Shrouded in mystery. 

You shut the door behind you, gazing with glee at the expensive decor and knick-knacks. Was that a gold statue of a deer, you spied? Oh, that would fit just perfectly on your foyer’s side table. Pity you can’t just carry it out of here. 

“Such a tease,” you hum, sauntering like a fox over the hardwood. “But I have to admit, John, I don’t care a large deal. You’re not important to me.”

“Likewise, Thief,” he grumbles, eyeing the way your hips sway with every step. 

There’s the click of a safety going off, and before your fingers can card along the glass case set into the side wall, keeping velvet boxes in their clutch, you freeze. The door’s lock is reinstated. 

Eyes still, you stare at Johnny’s reflection in the glass, heart slightly pounding faster. His face is staring, lips pulling into a smirk. 

“As much as I’m just loving our little session, Ma’am, I just need you to understand something, yeah?” 

You don’t speak, don’t blink. You hate to admit it, but you feel a droplet of unease as it enters your bloodstream. Had he had a gun this entire time? Your eyes find it now, an M9 hanging from his right hand. It’s black body and the long silencer, an image of death if you’ve ever seen one. You’re not new to guns—no, no, not with how you’ve chosen to live your life; the world you’ve taken by the throat and throttled. But getting threatened with one never became easier.

“I think I understand just fine,” you say, smoother than you feel. Shifting your head, you look over your shoulder, raising a brow. “I have business to attend to, MacTavish. I suggest you do the same.”

“I can’t have witnesses,” you laugh, shrugging. Your hands go to the clasp of the glass cabinet, flicking it to the side with a slide of cold metal.

“And I can’t go without these pearls, do you expect me to care about what you can or can’t have? My needs outweigh yours.”

A low rumble. Johnny’s hips shift weight, and that gun still hasn’t risen from the side. He wasn’t going to shoot you, though you recognize that it may be a bit of a shock to him as well as to yourself. 

“I very much doubt that,” enters the air with an accented drawl.

“Doubt it, then,” your bluntness is cold and precise, attention already taken as you move to grasp one of the jewelry boxes, pushing the top open with a squeak of the tiny hinge. A silver sigil ring meets you, and your lips twitch at its shimmering material. “Just stay out of my way.” 

“Bloody fuckin’ bastard,” the Scot utters under his breath, shaking his head harshly before his feet take him to the desk set near the back. He allows you to stuff your purse to your fancy, even as his mind screams at him to just put a bullet in you and end this—there wasn’t time for games. Certainly not ones played with a damn fox like you. 

The memory of the kiss still sears the man’s brain, until Johnny thinks of every interaction you two had had over this fast-paced and stressful night. 

But now it was time to hone in. Clean-up later. 

“Price, I’m in the office,” Soap mumbles through the line, clicking his earpiece back.

“Good,” the reply is swift. Johnny ignores your small intrigued look, not commenting on the amount of valuables you suddenly have bulging out of your purse. Like a kid in a candy store. The sight is almost enough to make him smirk at you. “Insert the USB and let it do its work. Should take a few minutes—hunker down and assess the exits. There are three floor-length windows behind the curtains; if it comes to it, break through and drop into the pool below.”

“Swimming lesson?” Soap jokes, patting his inner jacket pocket and producing a small black USB stick. 

“Eager, are you, Sergeant?”

“Not particularly, Sir.” 

“Coulda fooled me,” Ghost joins on, dry response adding to the choir of strange humor.

Johnny’s fingers move to plug the USB into the port, hearing the click of it inserting and stepping back as lines of code jump across the now illuminated screen—files pop up and disappear just as quickly, and the blinking light on the stick tells him all he needs to know about if it’s working or not.

“Johnny,” Simon pipes back in, and the man shifts his body to the side, hand coming up to his earpiece on reflex. 

“What is it, Lt?”

Across the way, your eyes glint.

Lieutenant? So the man’s military? Jesus, that changes things. I thought he was just some guy trying to get dirt on someone he disliked. Business partner, maybe. But military?

Your shoulders get a bit more tense, but it doesn’t stop your fingers from brushing your real prize—the last box inside of the case; red leather. It was all but calling your name like a veiled ghost of lust.

“Got a hit for a file with an Unknown, alias ‘Cerise.’ Laswell dug through the records.”

“Do you?” Johnny licks his lips, feet backing up a step and swinging his weapon. “Lay it on me, then.”

“Not much to relay—multi-year investigation, borders on some of their top classified cases for untouched HVTs. Don’t even have a description. String of high-caliber thefts, blackmail, extortions, and suspected of multiple murders to end it all off. Woman’s been busy.”

“Well,” Soap draws, tilting his head with raised brows. “Isn’t that just lovely?”

But the last part stuck with the Sergeant—murders? Call him naive, but you didn’t seem the type for that.

Blue eyes linger on you, slipping up and down with a twitch in their lids. He sees your face light up as you pop open a jewelry case; lips peeling in a violent smile as the round bodies of elegant and expensive pearls meet the light. Hell, Soap nearly hears you squeal. 

Murder? But he knows that looks are deceiving. 

He addresses Price, peeling his eyes away and taking a long breath. “Any advice, Captain?”

“She’s not the mission. Get what we need and get out.” It wasn’t shocking. 

“And Gaz?” 

“Still on overwatch—getting antsy. Says there are more security patrols in the gardens but they haven’t done anything more than speak to an old man.” 

Johnny blinks. “Say again, Sir?”

“Old man,” Price repeats. “Have him out by the gardens, moving about; asking questions.” A pause. “Why?”

“We might have a problem,” Soap growls, and not a second later there’s news being relayed. 

“They’re moving up the stairs into the mansion, Soap.”

“Fuck me,” the Sergeant snaps, rushing to pull at the curtains behind him, seeing the pool far below—it would take a bit of a jump to land a safe distance from the concrete, but there were limited options. 

Making out in a hallway pretending to be horny partygoers wouldn’t fix this.

You glance over at the ruckus, in the middle of clipping your prized necklace over your flesh, feeling the weight of it against your collarbone. The sensation of pleasure was so overwhelming your gut swirled with achievement like a storm at sea. 

It was perfect. 

Staring long at yourself in the glass reflection, your smile is wide and sharp—uncaring to the Scot’s sudden anxieties. You had your pearls and a few extra treasures, that was all that mattered to you. All that was left was your escape. Taking your phone out of your stuffed purse, you text Buck and tell him you’re ready for a pick-up and to park a little way down the street.

‘Need to walk the drinks off a little bit,’ is what you type, before hitting a firm send with a smirk.

Moving backward, Johnny still speaks hurriedly into the earpiece you had deduced that he has, and has probably had since the evening began. Fast-clipped sentences, and glances to the whirring computer, the USB stick you see inserted into its body. Your curiosity has always been your downfall, but you weren’t about to mess with whatever heist this was; especially involving the military and their forces. 

That was a cat you didn’t want to drag out of the bag. 

Making your way to the door, your hand is just about to grasp at it when you full-stop. Blinking slowly, your head tilts, your ear twitching to hear the muttering from beyond the barrier. With a moment of understanding brewing, a hand lands on the back of your neck and yanks you back, dragging you like a toddler for the second time tonight

Before you can shout at the brutish man, a hand is once more over your mouth, and a voice in your ear. Was this really the only way he could figure out how to keep you quiet?

“No speaking—you’ll just give away our position.”

You glare, unimpressed, until he releases you—blue eyes firmly leveled on your face in order. 

“Keep it shut,” he harshly whispers. As your mouth opens, he raises a finger and clicks his tongue, moving away quickly as you stare past in insult. Jaw loose, your eyes glint with hatred, growl in your throat as you turn after him. 

“I’m not fucking three, you asshat!” You exclaim under your breath. “I bet I’ve gotten out of more situations like this than you have. And would you quit dragging me everywhere?!”

The handle across the way is jiggled, Johnny glancing at the computer screen in desperation. It wasn’t done yet. He scoffs, face twisting. 

“Debatable.” You vehemently roll your eyes, looking around the room. This wasn’t exactly good—but it wasn’t unsalvageable. Looking at the woodgrain of the door like a plotting snake, you decide you could always play it off as one of Vicor’s multiple affair partners. He had scores, no way the man could remember them all. Tell security that he’d invited you here to discuss child support or hush money; that had to be fair play. 

You hum under your breath, sighing. How would you explain Johnny? A lover? Bodyguard? Your mind runs through scenario after scenario, until a large knife is shoved right in front of your face. You balk back with a choking sound, startled like a bird on a line.

“Take this before I change my mind,” Johnny grunts, grasping at his gun firmly. 

Your eyes stare with a sneer at the combat knife, which wiggles as the man’s hand shakes it impatiently. 

“I’m not taking that—are you mad?” 

Soap’s face is as stubborn as stone. “I’m not leaving without my intel, and neither are you.” A look is thrown up and down your body which makes you straighten, heels situating themselves below you. “You wanted to be here, Dearie, so you can’t back out now, can you?” 

“If I was here alone, none of this would have gone wrong,” you get into his face, eyes deadly. The door shakes as someone runs a shoulder into it—loud shouting from the hallway. 

“You’re a vain little minx that plays mind games because she thinks it’s fun,” Johnny hisses, breath atop of yours and eyes unblinking. “Mind yourself, you hear? This is bigger than a necklace, you vain creature.”

You huff. “It’s funny you think I care.”

“Little—” The computer beeps, and Johnny’s head whips back around as the frame of the door begins to crack.

The USB’s light glints a steady green, and then goes off, just as the computer screen blackens.

“Price!” Soap barks. “USB is done uploading, I need intel from Gaz, now!”

“Everything below the window is clear, Sergeant—get out!

“I need something to protect the damn thing from the water,” the man is already moving back, gun clattering to the desk as he opens drawer after drawer for anything—even just a little bag of—

“Holy shit,” you laugh, picking up something that had fallen to the floor in Johnny’s rabid search. “Victor was getting up to it.”

Cocaine baggie—the Sergeant snatches it from you. 

“Woah,” you huff. “Wasn’t aware you had an affinity.”

“I am beggin’ you to keep your trap shut.”

“Ooo,” you smirk, eyes shimmering. “I like that.”

Johnny seethes like a dog, looking at you as he dumps out the drug and rips the USB out, shoving it inside as white powder hits his dress shoes. From there, the thing gets shoved into his pocket with a heavy hand.

“Come here,” he takes you by the arm, pulling. With his other, he grasps his M9 once more. Your annoyingly smooth voice in his ear is a constant knife right to his brain. 

“Of course, Handsome.”

“Sergeant, for the love of God, tell me that Cerise isn’t in that room with you.” Price’s voice interrupts the two dogs at each other's throats, baring their fangs with sharp intentions.

Soap tilts his head harshly, moving to the window with you beside him. For whatever reason, he fights his senses to leave you here to be caught. 

“Then I won’t tell you, Sir.”

“Fucking hell, Soap.” The Scot huffs, smirk at his lips. 

“In a worse way because of it, too.” His hand tightens on your arm and you only chuckle, fingers to your mouth as heat moves up Johnny’s neck. He clears his throat, looking away, muttering to his Captain. “Won’t bloody leave me alone.”

“Awe,” your free hand captures his bicep, running up the fabric of his suit jacket. “I’d never leave you alone, Baby.” 

Soap suppresses a whole-body shiver, your heated kiss still strangling him every second he gets a whiff of your perfume. His feelings towards you were strange; potent like a snake to a mouse. 

The worst part was that he didn’t know who was who in this equation.

Releasing you, your body jostles at the sudden lack of a brace, but you recover with a laugh and a raise of your brow. 

Johnny takes his gun and sends four rounds into the glass.

Yelping, your hands go to your head, covering your ears and slightly ducking. 

“Time to go, Sunshine!” Your waist is gripped, legs jerked up with a grunt. All at once your eyes widen, your brain understanding the total lunacy that’s about to take place.

“Wait!” You shout just as the front door is busted down. “I’m wearing tangerine quartz—i-it can’t get wet!”

He’s already in mid-air, a smirk on his face, peeling back the stubble on his cheeks as his body crashes through the broken glass.

There’s the sensation of flying, briefly experiencing what a bird lives before gravity takes over, stealing you just as it does your stomach. You yell sharply, but that’s all you get above Johnny’s heavy chuckle before water enshrouds you both. It sloshes over your head, and takes you down into its depths; chlorine makes your eyes burn before you snap them shut.

You’re taken by the first thing that strikes you as your waist is pulled back to the surface—Johnny hiking you upward with your back to his chest. 

Who keeps water in the pool this late into autumn?

Gasping as your head breaks out of the water again, your nails dig into Soap’s wrist, loud commotion from far above, and the screaming of orders. 

A bullet whizzes past your face. 

“I’m going to need Gaz on this!” Johnny shouts, unwilling to let you go as his legs begin kicking, water running through his hair and flowing off of his nose.

There’s a muffled call before one of the security guards from the office window is struck in the head, a spray of red popping from the burst container of his skull—body slumping out of the hole. He hits the ground with a slapping crunch as you pant on fast breaths. 

Getting forced back along with Johnny, you curse in the open air at the sight, eyes wide as your dress is utterly ruined by the pool. 

You’re tossed upward, body grunting and skidding along the concrete as your palms slap the ground. Scrambling up, Johnny pivots with you behind him, taking his M9 and leveling it up, firing off a few rounds before the sound of your rushing heels strikes him. 

Soap calls to you, but you’re already speeding away to the tree line, water leaving a long trail as you sprint to the best of your ability. The pearls around your neck glimmer, slapping against your flesh.

“What the fuck,” you gasp, heart rushing like a lion. “What the fuck!”

Grass moves near your feet, the estate slashing by—gunshots still echo, those loud booms moving over the night; you even hear the loud panic of the party, beginning to understand what they’re hearing. 

Stumbling on a rock, your palms skin themselves along the ground, but you don’t wait to think about the sting. You push back up and keep running.

“Cerise!” Soap barks, running after, looking over his shoulder as his earpiece is full of loud orders. 

A hand swipes at the back of your arm and misses as you pivot and grasp your purse strap, swinging it around until it slams into Johnny’s head. 

“Fucking hell!” He snarls, hand raising to shield himself as you do it again. 

“You’re crazy!” You yell, mind stuck on blood and bursting heads. Your purse is in the air, swinging from your raised hand; feet still backing up from the bulky form. 

Blue eyes blink at you, occupied with both looking behind for pursuers and shots as you both move into the trees rapidly, circling one another even while escaping. “You’re shooting people?!”

“It’s my mission!” Johnny shoves out, jerking out a hand. “We need to leave—now!” 

“I’m not going anywhere with you!” You yell, looking him up and down, backing up, and bringing your purse close to your chest. 

Both of your eyes lock in a battle. 

“Bonnie,” the man levels, “You’re not staying here with them—they’ve seen your face.”

“I like my chances better when I’m alone,” you swallow down your tone, evening it out to emanate the confidence that you always try to carry like a sword. You’re not going with Johnny—not now. Now you had to go through aliases; move again—run like a petty criminal. You had to hide your valuables and get your finances together.

Staring, you pant, water dripping from your nose. 

You needed to disappear again. 

“Don’t be a bloody fool,” Johnny hisses, moving closer. “C’mon, we need to leave.”

“You’re right we do—go, then.” It’s final. “I’m not following you anywhere,” your eyes darted his form, remembering how his weight had pressed you into your wall. “Enjoy your intel, Mr. MacTavish, but I have my own affairs to deal with.” 

You slip your purse strap over your body and unclip your heels, dangling them by your finger as you stand back to full height with a deep breath. You’re scared now—nervous. Being around guns was one thing, but watching someone get shot was another. 

No one was supposed to die tonight; you’re shaken.

“Cerise,” Soap opens his mouth, annoyance in his veins. But he looks into your eyes and pauses, seeing the fidgeting, the flightiness. The man stills, glancing at your visible heartbeat, gobsmacked. 

You were afraid. The woman who’d smirked when he’d pushed her into a wall—the woman who had no terror of getting caught. Afraid of him.

He backs up a step raising his hand. 

“Hey,” Johnny eases, lowering his tone. You don’t change your attitude.

“No, MacTavish,” you clench your jaw. “This is where our game ends. For good.”

Eyes lock; stare. They dig and they stay still, night aflame with chaos. The game had been fun, but, Soap knew the truth about this as well as you did. It was felt in the very air along the vibrations. He can’t drag you along back to the Exfil point—it would bring nothing of it but wasted time and energy. There wasn’t any time, and even as his instincts told him to level the barrel of his weapon with your skull…he couldn't do that.

He had to let you go.

There aren’t any words spoken; none said in parting or goodbye—in all accounts, the two of you don’t even know if you like one another. Both of you would aggressively deny any such thing, even if the pair of you were absorbed in how one another feels rubbing your hands along clothes. That dig; that pull.

In the end, you turn, and you disappear into the trees, rushing to circle back to the front of the property where Buck will be waiting down the road. Your heart patters, your jewelry bouncing, and your purse full of your stolen quarry.

In the end, blue eyes watch you for a long moment.

And then Johnny backs into the shadows of night, and neither of you seemed to have ever existed at all.

TAGS:

@sheviro-blog, @ivebeentrashsince2001, @mrshesh, @berryjuicyy, @romantic-homicide, @kmi-02, @neelehksttr, @littlemisstrouble, @copperchromewriting, @coelhho-brannco, @pumpkinwitchcrusade, @fictional-men-have-my-heart, @sleepyqueerenergy, @cumikering, @everything-was-dark, @marmie-noir, @anna-banana27, @iamcautiouslyoptimistic, @irenelunarsworld, @rvjaa, @sarcanti, @aeneanc, @not-so-closeted-lesbian, @mutuallimbenclosure, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @gildedpoenies, @glitterypirateduck, @writeforfandoms, @kohsk3nico, @peteymcskeet, @caramlizedtomatoes, @yoursweetobsession, @quesowakanda, @chthonian-spectre, @so-no-feint, @ray-rook, @extracrunchymilk, @doggydale, @frazie99, @develised, @1-800-no-users-left, @nuncubus, @aldis-nuts, @clear-your-mind-and-dream, @noonanaz, @cosmicpro, @stinkaton, @waves-against-a-cliff, @idocarealot

[povlnfour]

ੈ✩‧₊˚ OVERDRIVE (LN4)

pairing: lando norris x f!reader

summary: a practical stranger is determined to change your opinion on cars (and maybe make you fall in love in the process)

word count: 2k

content warnings: brief mentions of alcohol, brief make out, 110% irresponsible driving (don’t take ur eyes off the road kids)

“you’re right next to me, feel the heat, going overdrive” — conan gray, overdrive

cars were never something you understood.

your friends growing up had always had a weird fixation whenever they saw specific models racing down the streets where you lived, stopping to ogle and obsess as they used key words that were entirely lost on you. when you expressed your disinterest and lack of care over a model’s ‘horse power’, you were met with groans of disappointment and a quick change of subject.

perhaps that was why those particular friendships never lasted out of teenhood. they became stagnant over the years when you found new interests and connections that led you elsewhere.

somewhere in the back of your mind, despite time making those old acquaintances nothing more than a distant memory, you wondered what they’d say if they could see you now.

so it stood true that you never understood cars, but you certainly had an affinity for pretty men driving them. and lando norris definitely fit into that category.

sat in the passenger seat of a mclaren model you had entirely missed the name of, you gained a new outlook on what made such cars so good. granted it had nothing to do with the technicalities of the car, and more the way the wind whipped through your hair as lando guided the two of you through the streets of monaco. it was dark by now, but the city still shone bright with the lights from the buildings that towered over you — casinos and restaurants much like the ones you found the driver in to begin with.

you barely spared lando a glance, too afraid to lose focus on the road ahead of you. if you were to spend too long admiring the man you might never be able to look away. he had a certain transfixing aura around him you couldn’t quite explain from just the short time you had known him.

the city whizzed by as lando made green light after green light, turning onto less clustered roads where he could finally show the full potential of the car he was clearly so fond of.

“you look like you’re enjoying yourself no matter how much you’re pretending not to.” lando commented, and for the first time since accepting his offer of a drive home, you turned to face him. he was already looking at you, paying no attention to the roads despite the danger such an action possessed, and you couldn’t help the blush the attention brought to your cheeks. “let yourself have fun. stop trying to hate it so much.”

laughing, you shook your head, amazed at how a man who was nothing more than a stranger to you less than three hours ago already had such a good read on you. you’d have plenty to tell your friends who you had met at the casino in the morning it would seem.

“i’ve got a reputation to withhold here.” you admitted, enjoying the way he laughed as he looked back towards the road that grew quieter with every passing metre.

“not a car person?” lando observed.

“not at all.” you admitted, shaking your head fondly as you recalled those times you disappointed your friends. “i don’t think i’ve ever quite understood the fascination behind it.”

lando hummed, going quiet momentarily. he made an action similar to that of checking a watch, seeming to think over a grand idea. “you don’t have anywhere to be, right?”

it was already long gone two in the morning, he knew as well as you did the answer to that. “besides my bed, nope.” popping the ‘p’, you looked back towards the man driving.

“then let me show you what you’re missing.”

you underestimated to what extent his determination reached until his foot was on the pedal, and the slick car was rushing away from the city with nothing more than a light humming sound. your laughter mixed in with the whisp of the wind as suddenly you shot off into the night with a man who was barely more than a pretty stranger.

lando seemed to enjoy the sound, one hand slipping to the bottom of the wheel so he could rest on the door of his car whilst he eased his way through the roads. he navigated with such an ease you were sure he had done this route many a time before, slowing just enough when he reached cameras as to not be caught, but keeping the experience all the same.

“you’re insane!” you laughed as he skidded the car around a perfectly timed corner, knowing your mother would be crying in fear if she saw how reckless you were being.

“admit you’re enjoying yourself!” lando prompted, still finding time to look over at you once more throughout the journey.

grinning through your lies, you refuted “you’ll have to do more than that to impress me.”

“oh come on!” he whined, no malice or despair in his voice, but a glint in his eye that told he was more than prepared to take the challenge, “you’re a hard crowd to please.”

with that, he shifted the gear once more, finding a corner at which he unexpectedly spun back around on, bringing you back onto a straight towards the city that gave him plenty of opportunity to show off.

“you’re going to kill me!” you squealed, clinging on to the door for dear life as you giggled over the wind once more.

lando barely missed a beat before he shifted speeds once again, offering a playful “i’ll make sure they say you died enjoying yourself in the obituary.”

as you swung another corner, you let the motion pull you back towards the centre of the car, the electricity between the two of you becoming more prominent than ever. lando noticed it too, swapping the hand which held the wheel as his right one found its way to your left. you looked at the contact, unsure for just a moment, until he lifted your arms above your head, letting the recklessness wash over you until it shifted into exhilaration. you couldn’t help but lift your other arm to enjoy it, till you were practically shouting with adrenaline field joy into the night.

the fear of the speed was outweighed by the thrill, and you closed your eyes for a beat, enjoying the simple sensation of wind in your hair and lando’s hand in yours.

when you began to emerge into those more populated areas once more, the sight of red lights up ahead, lando spun once again, masterfully avoiding any disturbance with a practiced ease. the motion threw you further to the side, and this time, the squeal that left your mouth was entirely involuntary. you whipped your hands down from the air, this time choosing to find purchase on lando’s bicep as you steadied yourself.

lando chuckled lowly, making no quick decision to move away. instead, his hand that previously held yours found it’s way to rest on your thigh, holding you in place against the centre console and his shoulder. his comfort made you bolder, so even when you had steadied yourself, the grip you had on his arm only faltered enough to provide him momentarily relief, staying close to his side with your hands still linked now at his elbow.

“if you crash, i’ll kill you.” you joked, lando whipping his head around to face you with a smooth wink in your direction.

“you underestimate my skill, baby.”

the way your heart fluttered at the pet name made you briefly consider your own insanity. speeding down unpopulated streets with a stranger, with no care for what may happen. selfishly, you only wanted to bask in the feeling of his hand on the scarcely clothed skin of your thigh, and the look on his face whenever he met your eye.

you spared a glance towards his lips, pulled taut into a smile as he showed off for you. there was something about his confidence that only added to the compellement you felt towards him.

before you could readjust your attention, his eyes flickered back towards you, and the sharp decrease in speed told he had caught where you were looking. you may have pulled back in embarrassment had the grip he had on your thigh not tightened in response.

the temptation to apologise was quelled just as fast when he brought the car to a less extreme speed, able to spend longer fixating on you without the imminent threat of crashing if he lacked too much focus.

“i’m gonna need you to stop looking at me like that.” he practically growled. “otherwise i’ll do something stupid.”

you considered for a moment, debating just how reckless you would allow yourself to be tonight before the words left your lips involuntarily. “nothing’s stopping you.”

it was as though something shifted in the man, his hand finally leaving your thigh just long enough to bring the car to a halt in a convenient lay-by. and before you even had the chance to react to the standstill, he was pushing back over the centre console and connecting his lips with yours.

his hands found the back of your neck with a terrifyingly practiced ease. one your own gripped onto his forearm, your other finding it’s way between his curls and giving a sharp tug that had him gasping into your mouth. he recovered fast, using his tongue to swipe against your bottom lip in a request you couldn’t deny.

as lando deepened the kiss, he tugged you towards him, one hand slipping down to your waist and helping you across the console without ever having to disconnect your lips. you planted yourself firmly against his thighs, chests connecting as his tongue encircled yours. both his hands now crept towards your ass, squeezing firmly when they found their goal.

you almost automatically rolled your hips down as he gave a tug, eliciting a groan from his lips you so desperately wanted to hear again in a less public situation. he only held you tighter in response, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth in an attempt to gain some power back. you let him take it happily, bracing your hands against the headrest to gain some stability.

you were sure your lips were red and swollen by now, too enticed by the man below you who tasted vaguely of mint from the singular mojito you had seen him nurse all night.

the alcohol in your own system would be little match for the memories of lando’s hands on your skin. his fingers found their way up your waist and between the slits in your outfit so that they could dance along your skin with a wave of electricity.

lando tugged you closer, a feat you didn’t feel possible until your bodies were flush together, your knees taking the brunt of your weight to allow the closeness to remain. you let one finger slip from the headrest to trace the curve of his neck, enjoying the way his muscles tensed in anticipation at the contact. the sly smile it brought to your lips was enough to finally break your kiss, the two of you panting shallowly as your foreheads rested together.

lando took a moment, squeezing your waist as he closed his eyes to regain some of his own sanity.

“i should really get you home.” he muttered, voice void of any real haste “you make it quite hard to let you go.”

as he tilted his head to trail sweet kisses along the side of your jaw, you couldn’t quite help the offer that left your lips. something about the man below you had you believing that a rash decision would somehow be worth it.

“i never said you couldn’t come in.”

lando grinned in response, connecting your lips again as he turned the ignition back on in a clear acceptance of your invitation.

you’d have to clamber back into the passenger seat soon enough, but for one last second you allowed yourself to revel in the realisation that your night was about to get a lot more interesting.

so maybe you didn’t understand cars, but you’d certainly thank them for this outcome.

hello pals

soooo my first one shot ?! on this account at least. i used to write terrible 1d fanfic so this is a step up lmao. written based on overdrive by conan gray, 10/10 recommend

if you’re still here, thank you SO MUCH for reading. feel free to leave your thoughts in the comments/reblogs/asks, i always love reading what people have to say. i have not proof read this bc i hate my own writing so apologies if there are glaring mistakes.

i’ve also only been to monaco like three times but these quiet streets are entirely made up that place is manic (for someone who lives so close i do not go enough)

got some ideas in the brain, mostly around lando but also a few charles and oscar bits as they’re my boys so let’s see how this goes

but for now, big love! taglist can be found in my pinned post along with masterlist i’m slowing filling out🧡

- love, gigi xx

tags: @idkiwantchocolatee @vellicora @alessioayla @bborra @crimeshowjunkie @paolexsstuff @champagnelovers101 @loxbbg @hobiismyhopeu @moonypixel @celestialpato @champagneproblems17

[halogenwarrior]

So you know how there is often a trope in fantasy where the wise wizard or princess or whoever has an affinity with animals and can get them to work for their cause of restoring the rightful king or whatever it is? And generally, this is supposed to show how positive a figure the person is and how righteous their cause is that even nature itself knows letting the good humans win will keep the balance. I think it would be interesting if it was turned on its head and played for horror - a human feared by animals, with horrific powers that can twist an animal into forgetting its basic view of the world, its survival, its home, those it cares about, in favor of zealously promoting inane human causes that would normally be incomprehensible. That magnificent deer is suddenly infused with alien horrifying concepts of human states, and human family lines, that lead to the conclusion that getting whoever that person thinks is the rightful king on the throne is more important than life itself, abandoning its herd and children for reasons it can't even comprehend. The mother wolf, loving and brave for her children, suddenly grows an unnatural obsession with a random human baby's supposed chosen destiny and abandons her children to feed the human alone, and their cries echo in the forest as they slowly starve, not understanding anything of what has happened. They claim this proves righteousness and wisdom but it's not, it's just power. And it's not even just humans who can do this, maybe it's a gift randomly born into individuals of all species. You, a human, could just be wandering around a road when suddenly you encounter a gifted prairie dog and suddenly all you can think about is the great importance of the politics and struggles of a particular colony of prairie dogs, your brain forced to comprehend a mind and world alien to yours and abandoning all of the goals and humanity you had previously to it. And any animal can have this power, at any moment any other animal's will could be bent to serve a cause it understands nothing of. That's just how it is.

[arminreindl]

Varanosuchus: First Fossil Croc of 2024

We are two weeks into the year and we already had a bunch of big croc papers, so today I'll cover the first of the two new genera named so far. Varanosuchus sakonnakhonensis (Monitor lizard crocodile from Sakon Nakhon) is a small atoposaurid neosuchian from the Early Cretaceous of Thailand, a country that has seen a virtual boom in croc papers this past year between the description of Alligator munensis and Antecrocodylus.

Varanosuchus was a small animal, maybe a meter in length if a little longer with a notably short and deep skull and long slender limbs revealing it to have been at least somewhat terrestrial. We actually have a decent amount of material of this guy. The holotype consists of a 3 dimensionally preserved skull as well as assorted postcranial remains (vertebrae, ribs, osteoderms and limbs), there is a second skull of whats likely to be a differently aged individual also showing a 3D skull and well the third ones just a skull table but 2/3 is still great.

Now this guy was an atoposaurid, which is a group of crocodylomorphs that lived from the Jurassic to the end of the Cretaceous, their last members existing on the island of Hateg some 66 million years ago. Atopsaurids were generally small animals with short snouts and longish legs. Some examples of atoposaurids include Knoetschkesuchus from Germany, Aprosuchus from Romania and Alligatorellus from France and Germany, all three pictured below, art by @knuppitalism-with-ue

Now the matter of ecology for atoposaurids in general and Varanosuchus in particular is not clear. Altirostral skulls such as that of Varanosuchus are generally associated with terrestrial crocodylomorphs as best examplified by notosuchians. Their teeth and size both obviously speak against being shoreline ambush predators like modern crocs and their legs are straight and slender, suggesting they had an erect posture and not the more sprawling one seen in semi-aquatic forms. Though they could have still had some aquatic affinities. The authors for instance argue that the osteoderms, having plenty of pits, are more like those of an animal that spends time in the water and would thus use them in thermoregulation. So maybe they did enter water from time to time, somewhat like some modern lizards, tho I think its fairly certain that they spend a decent amount of time on land. The artwork below is the reconstruction from the paper itself.

Another matter discussed in the paper is phylogeny, more precisely the relationship of Neosuchians and how Eusuchia is defined. On the first front, its worth noting that the paper recovered both atoposaurids and paralligatorids as monophyletic groups and had them be each others closest relatives, a notion that has been recovered before. More interesting perhaps is the fact that the next closest relatives to these two were hylaeochampsids and Bernissartia, which are typically recovered closer to modern crocs. Which in fact form a separate branch that is the sister group to all the afforementioned clades and taxa. And then you got goniopholids, dyrosaurs and pholidosaurs which are all more basal than the paralligatorid+atoposaurid+crocodilian group, which is back to the ordinary really. The second thing is the definition of Eusuchia. So for the longest time Eusuchia has been defined to include those Neosuchians that have choanae that are fully enclosed by the pterygoid bones (I know I know a bunch of anatomy stuff bear with me). So if the choanae was surrounded by the pterygoid, its an Eusuchian, if not, its more basal. Well, atoposaurids don't have that....BUT VARANOSUCHUS DOES. This, coupled with hylaeochampsids also having this feature and being recovered closer to atoposaurids than to Crocodilians basically suggests that the feature is not diagnostic for Eusuchia and instead appeared multiple times independently.

Moving away from anatomy and phylogeny and all that stuff, I think its very cool that croc research in Thailand has kinda picked up this last year. And fittingly enough some people have even worked on a short documentary covering the known diversity of pseudosuchians from Thailand, giving an overview over the named forms from the Jurassic to today, from titans like Chalawan to even these newest dwarf forms. While the narration is obviously in Thai, there are English subs and I highly recommend looking into it (even if I disagree with their depiction of Varanosuchus as arboreal, its perhaps overshooting the goal a little bit).

Finally here's the paper itself (tho paywalled) New Cretaceous neosuchians (Crocodylomorpha) from Thailand bridge the evolutionary history of atoposaurids and paralligatorids | Zoological Journal of the Linnean Society | Oxford Academic (oup.com) and the wikipedia page I've been working on Varanosuchus - Wikipedia

I'll try to write up a post on the other new genus, Garzapelta, later this weekend so stay tuned for that.

[nameuserlee]

“The heartless are the most faithful.”

Another part of Sylus’ lines compilation, all from interacting with him at the café. He is the gift that keeps on giving. Part 4 (links back to part 3, and so forth.)

“People who don't overthink things tend to sleep well. I'll think about you more when I can't sleep.” (I might be missing a few words here, I only got the first half of the line.)

“Having more plants in the bedroom isn't always good. You don’t need to keep bringing some back for me. They don’t produce oxygen when I'm awake.”

“You got me. I do have something in my hand that will pique your interest, sweetie. Have you decided what you’ll trade for it?”

“Is this a ticklish spot? I’m checking so you don’t accuse me of sneaking up on you later.”

“I found your weak spot. Heh, I won’t go easy on you now.” (Choose “Don’t do it!") “Good. I’ll take my time finding all your sensitive spots when I make my move.” (Choose "Nope.")

“How do we compare neck lengths? With a ruler?”(I’m sorry but LMAO.)

“You want to leave your scent here [on my neck]? You’ll have to work for it.”

“Are you planning to tie a red ribbon around my neck as if I’m your present?”

“(Y/N), keep it up. I like feeling your breath on my skin.”

“Your lips almost brushed against mine. It was hot.”

“I often place my hand here [on my heart] as well. It makes me feel alive.”

“(Y/N), does rummaging through my belongings provide a joyful experience? Your tail’s standing up straight, kitten. We should get a mirror so you can see for yourself.”

“At the fashion show, I saw a dress with the night sky stitched over a river. I ordered one for you. It'll be sent once the measurements are correct.”

“The scenery on page 37 of the travel magazine you were looking at a few days ago is nice. When we’re free, let’s clear our minds. Should we make that place our travel destination?”

“Do you want a distraction? Night fishing might work. If you spend one whole night fishing, you might get things like drift bottles, tattered hats, or plastic dinosaurs. They’re just jokes that fate throws at you.”

“When you feel like night fishing next time, head straight for that shop by the sea. Should I have someone get the yacht ready? We can set sail tonight.”

“Why am I inviting you to go fishing? No reason in particular. If I must give one… I’ve never a kitten catch a fish before. I’m very curious.”

“You already have Luke and Kieran acting like they’re your henchmen?”

“Anyone who has crossed me isn't active for long. Do you think you’ll be any different?”

“Those people's tracking skills are laughably bad. I lost them by just taking a random turn.”

“Do you see those 'little sparrows' keeping watch outside the window? Let’s make a bet. Guess how many will remain after a gunshot.”

He's a menace, what can I say. A cheeky, thoughtul, playful, and secretly sweet menace. I'm still cackling about that ruler line, btw. Let me go get one actually, hold still-

I think this'll be the last part for a while, I'm trying to raise his affinity level now. I've already exhausted basically all of the interesting lines I came across. Hope these were fun for you as much as they were for me :)

edit: he then proceeded to spew like five more new lines at me what a TREAT. might be able to squeeze one more compilation after all.

[viquipo]

No bc I'm so mad rn I usually post my rants on ig stories but I need the tumblrites to tell me if I'm crazy or what. Jwcc/ct spoilers WHATEVER

First of all I want to preface this by saying that this is just my opinion on the matter, I'm not saying your headcanons are "wrong" or whatever tf, it's a kids cartoon where they unironically use terms like "fam". You can play with the characters however you'd like.

That being said, this is why TO ME it does not makes sense for Ben to be anything other than gay. Again, if you think he's bi or straight or anything else that's cool. I'm also leaning towards the opinion that he does actually have a girlfriend. I don't think the shows gonna pull a 180 on it because, realistically, 2 queer characters is already a lot for a DreamWorks kids show. As much as I'd like it not to be.

But, since the beginning, Ben has been very clearly coded as exclusively into men to me. Before finally going into it, I remind everyone on here that I'm a lesbian. I have felt an affinity with his character specifically for the experience of only liking the same gender. I might be totally projecting.

Ok, so.

1. The arc Ben goes through during the show is yes, one of self discovery, but also one of self acceptance. He changes a lot from the start of s1, but he also comes to terms with stuff himself or other people didn't like about him. He doesn't throw the dork pouch away or tells Kenji to keep it, the first thing he does when he takes it back from Kenji is put on hand sanitizer. He is covered in dirt, he's not afraid of filth anymore, but he still does that action because it's part of who he is as a person. He also becomes very unashamed at the things he does. He went from being embarrassed of his carob bars to eating grubs in front of people who he knows think it's gross. He knows himself as he is and he accepts it. To me (and to lots of other people) this works very well as a gay metaphor, and pairs up pretty nicely with the whole "jungle boy? Jungle MAN" arc being a trans metaphor. But how does this make Ben uniquely into men?

Well, it doesn't. But I think this next one does.

2. Enter Yasmina. She's pretty, she's smart, athletic, funny, all that good stuff. I'm not saying that means every wlm character should automatically be into her, but it certainly helps. Now forgive me if I don't remember specific episodes/seasons, but we all remember that episode where Ben convinces himself that Yaz is in love with him for some reason. When he "rejects" her, he says : "I'm just now starting to find myself". That's cool, cause I'm pretty sure Ben's " finding himself " personality wise was over and done a couple of seasons ago. To me, that is a really good hint at him dealing with his gayness.

3. He's also the first person Yasmina talks to about her feelings for Sammy. Now, in this particular context, the options for Yaz to talk to were Darius, Brooklynn, or Ben. It would initially seem to make more sense for her to confide in Brooklynn, since the two of them are far closer than her and Ben, and it also wouldn't be the first time she brings up Sammy as a romantic interest for Yaz (see: everyone tweaking abt that one line back in like s2). So why does Yasmina, a very private and reserved person, choose Ben to talk to about her same sex crush? She has probably gathered from the previous conversation that Ben relates to her struggle in a unique way in which Brooklynn just can't. Ben seems very receptive of what Yaz is saying ("feelings, am I right?") and it seems like he REALLY gets where she's coming from.

4. This is one I don't see talked about a lot, and maybe it's just cause I'm too out of the loop with the fandom, but I want to examine it as well. It's when Ben decides to not actually stay on the island. Everyone (except Sammy) already knew he wasn't going to stay in the end, but still didn't force him out. I think this is especially clear in a line Darius says when they reunite on the boat that goes something like "you needed to figure it out on your own" *smile hand on shoulder combo*. No explanation needed I think

I am diagnosed with autism did you guys know what

[shadowtraveled]

would love to know your thoughts on rinsha dunmeshi. or on rin and kabru :-)

OH!! i love rin honestly lightning damage and unaffiliated spellcasters will get me every time.

i would have loved to see more of her, but i do really enjoy kui's style of storytelling where she gives us the information about a character that will tell us exactly what she wants us to know. it reminds me of the way someone described suzanne collins' writing as surgically precise—she has more information about characters and the world, but she included what would get her story across most effectively. kui gives off a similar impression, and i think rin is a good example of that.

sorry readmore because that was getting long already.

rin's backstory is really interesting to me because it helps us to extrapolate so much more about the world and the other characters in it.

for what it's worth, i don't think it's terribly likely that her parents were practicing ancient magic. they were immigrants of a visibly different ethnicity, though, and they were magic users, which othered them doubly in the northern continent, and that otherness cost them their lives. this is sort of a running theme in dungeon meshi overall ofc, but i think a lot of discussion surrounding dungeon meshi discrimination focuses on the elves. which is fair, since they seem to be the most significant world power and they're weird race elitists as elves in fantasy frequently are, but the story does not want us to forget that discrimination is complex and so is otherness. tallmen may not be respected by long-lived races, but in communities where they do have power, they're still perfectly capable of leveraging it against others. they seem to have a particular bias against magic, but really anything people deem weird or creepy is enough to land you in trouble: laios faced constant rejection and, in some cases, severe harassment just for being autistic; kabru's eye color was enough to push his mother to the fringes of society and get her accused of witchcraft, suggesting that "weird or creepy" is regularly conflated with "magic" in tallman societies; and falin's affinity for magic led to her isolation and ostracism as her mother frantically tried to suppress it. rin's parents, meanwhile, were outright executed. the nature of these reactions to anything unfamiliar or non-standard are definitely meant to convey something about tallman societies in the world, but i think rin and kabru's situations specifically lend some explanation as to why falin is so forgiving of her parents. they didn't really know what to do with her, and some of the things they did to her were harmful, but she seems to see them as trying their best to protect her, perhaps because she knows the emergence of her magic could have put her in immediate physical danger but didn't.

with that being said, i'm surprised rin doesn't have more of an aversion to tallmen, but maybe kabru made enough of an impression on her that she developed some hope for them.

her dislike of elves, meanwhile, is entirely understandable—her interactions with them seem to be framed as emblematic of how they treat short-lived races in a way we don't really see with the others. milsiril objectifies short-lived races but does seem to... kind of care, otta fetishizes them but seems to... kind of care, mithrun's squad only get to be patronizing for a bit before it becomes apparent they bit off way more than they could chew, and mithrun isn't invested in these designations anymore. but the elves that found rin treated her like evidence, then like a toy, and then they got bored and ignored her, and then she was evidence again, and then she got adopted out to elves who kept her like they would a pet. miserable fucking experience, and a very thorough and efficient way of expressing just how little the elves are socialized to consider the humanity of the other races.

as for her relationship with kabru... i'm glad they had each other around. it's impossible to be surprised that she latched onto him in her circumstances, and i think it's sweet that she was the one he stuck with (despite the implication that milsiril was raising other children alongside him that he ostensibly would have spent more time with).

i also love how apparent their closeness is! rin gravitates to kabru, and if i'm remembering right, most of the time she speaks it's to him. that immediately established to me that she is uniquely comfortable with him, and interestingly it goes both ways! it's less apparent with kabru, because he's a lot more social than she is, but vitally, he lets the mask slip with her. she's the only character he goes out of his way to tease, and sometimes he takes it a little bit into "alright that was kind of mean" territory, which sucks of him but is kind of the point. kabru's interactions with rin are the earliest ones where we see him fuck up or be a little bit of an asshole, and that's almost certainly because she is a person he feels comfortable enough with to not try to game every conversation. kabru being a little bit of a bitch is the first time we see him not trying to be charismatic. and she gives it RIGHT BACK lmfao it really conveys the feeling that these two are kind of "safe people" for each other, even if they're bantering a little meanly. very charming, top-tier childhood friend dynamic, no notes.

editing to add:

^ YEAH THIS IS IT thank you @gerrykeay i think this really captures the spirit of her revulsion with regard to things like magic school (and its graduates), etc... she seems to think of magic school as this sort of lofty opportunity only people with a certain level of social standing are able to access (which seems to hold a level of truth) and reject it on the basis that something like that is fundamentally incompatible with who she is as a person, and that's probably the same reason she remains unaffiliated despite knowing practicing magic without organization ties is potentially dangerous for her. these systems rejected and failed her family and her, so she rejects them in kind.... god i'm so obsessed with the way practically every character has a main character backstory and motivations this really is like a ttrpg lol

[shovelbug]

Could you perhaps write an Amethio x Ghost Specialist! Reader,?

(Reader probably can communicate with them kinda like the gym leader Alister-? Idk, I think it'd be intresting as Amethio has a Ceruledge,)

a/n: combining these two reqs since they’re so similar.

Amethio x Ghost Specialist! Reader

you’ve always found solace in the presence of your ghost-type friends, as they’ve always been there to keep you company.

perhaps because of that, you developed a similarity and particular affinity for ghost-types in battle.

like you said, Amethio has some (limited) knowledge of ghost types because of his Ceruledge, so he’s not as put off by you as some would be.

(Though, that may be because he’s more interested in having a battle with you.)

If you’re particularly shy or cover your face with a mask, he’s not the type to make a big deal of it.

He’ll definitely want to have a match if you also have a Ceruledge.

You do give him a heart attack sometimes, though. You and your pokemon are deadly silent and oftentimes he swears you pop out of nowhere behind him.

He gets used to it after a while though, but he’s still a little unnerved.

Your pokemon probably play tricks on him. It’s a little annoying but at the same time endearing.

He’s also baffled you can communicate with them but adjusts eventually.

Now waking up in the middle of the night with you in the corner of the room, shrouded in total darkness while you mutter back and forth with a Banette that wandered in? That, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to.

Spinel x Ghost Specialist! Reader

Good luck scaring this man. Even if he can��t keep track of you like he normally would, he has a sixth sense for when you’re skulking about.

You try to sneak up to him while he’s busy working and he just says “Hello, my dear,” without even turning around to look at you.

Also, his Umbreon is also constantly aware of your presence.

You were a bit worried about how your pokemon would take to his, due to the type difference, but after the initial wariness wore off they get along pretty well.

Every so often Spinel will send you a photo of your Mimikyu and his Umbreon cuddling.

He finds it fascinating that you can speak to your companions. He kind of wishes he could do the same with his.

He might tease or make a comment if you hide your face, but it’s lighthearted, and he’s quick to stop if he thinks he’s genuinely upset you.

Spinel’s not unnerved by any of your more unusual behaviors, but he’s also not the most normal guy himself, despite the facade he presents to others.

“Spinel, Gengar says he wants to go on a walk in the graveyard.”

“That’s nice, dear. Have fun.”

[drdemonprince]

Any chance you'd expand on the hank hill trans guy post? (Sorry, best indicator I could come up with.) The concept interests me as I decidedly know my maleness, yet don't feel impeded by for the most part, any male gendered norms/boxes. I am fairly masculine, though I rarely use those kinds terms to describe myself. I have found I often do stray outside of what society pushed for me when I transitioned, yet I again do not feel it has taken from my right to maleness whatsoever. I am just me, who happens to be male. I have had friends try and suggest I am NB adjacent but I do not feel this way whatsoever. I feel more people are outliers to gender expectation than we care to admit and it's disappointing the way cis-people deny that. Hope this wasn't too long winded, I value your writing and perspective, and wanted to hear more of your thoughts on this.

Yeah, well so many things all get conflated by gender labels, and it's all so personal, you know? Masculinity does not have to mean maleness, and a person's gender identity might be a reflection of some innate quality they experience themselves as having, or a general summary of their tendencies, or their desired presentation, or their sense of affinity with other people, or an interpersonal tool, or something they just go along with because it was given to them by society, or any other number of things.

I think my recent substack piece on detransition goes into this pretty well, and I have an upcoming piece of what @pastimperfection calls "bilateral dysphoria" that comes out next week that delves into it too.

I think I mostly saw taking on a male identity as a means to an end more than any kind of innate reflection of who I was, though I did feel an affinity with effeminate men for a lot of reasons. I think I also discounted how much I have in common with my fellow nonbinary people of all stripes, because that identity became so strongly associated with being an annoying type of queer person that everybody else just wrote off as ultimately being their assigned gender at birth anyway no matter how much they protested. it doesn't help that 'nonbinary' is a catchall term for literally thousands if not millions of very distinct experiences and desires.

transitioning gave me control over how i was perceived, finally, but hormones are a throttle that only go in one very specific direction, and you don't really have all that much control over which changes kick in at which times and what people will make of you once you do start registering to them as some identity other than what you were first saddled with. it's an incredible gift to be able to toggle that throttle. but it's limited, not because medical transition isn't incredible and needed for so many, but because there is no escaping the goddamned binary cissexist logic that influences everything about how people treat you, how you navigate institutions, who finds you desirable and what they want out of you, and so much else.

if you're able to cast a lot of the external societal bullshit aside and feel strong in your maleness, maybe you're stronger than me or maybe our orientation to these things is just different, i don't know. i was never all that sensitive to feedback that i was doing the whole being-a-woman-thing all that wrong. i reveled in violating those rules to an extent. succeeding at being a woman despite my best attempts was what felt super dysphoric. and now i guess im succeeding at being a man, insofar as im always read as one, and it feels just as uncomfortable and objectifying and false. i thought that with manhood i could probably just grit my teeth and deal with it, but i'm finding that i can't.

ive always been very open that for me, gender is a thing I Do, and i guess to those who know me well it wouldnt be surprising to hear that i have gotten tired of Doing Being a Man and dont feel like playing that particular gendered game anymore. I tend to get bored of things! and find the flaws in things. and find my comfort in being fault-finding and contrarian and not being a joiner. and thats okay. i learned a lot along the way. not having to try any more is a huge relief. i can just do whatever. and know actively that people will more often than not be wrong in what they make of me.

maybe it was natural feeling for you to decidely 'know' your maleness without a care for masculine standards because that is the right identity for you! and maybe i only feel secure in the "not knowing" realm and in letting go of what people think of me or finding any kind of tidy categorization for it because that's the right spot for me. for now. until i find a new interesting way to be unhappy and striving for more and different again. :) that's just part of being alive, for me.

[lowpolyshadow]

i transcribed the sonadow bumblekast episode so you don't have to

hopefully the formatting isn't really weird lol

Kyle: So this time, for Pride Month, we get to address the hypothetical fandom ship that's probably helped more than a few Sonic fans figure out their sexuality: Sonadow! A lot of straight fans probably had Rouge or Sally be their awakening, so don't throw stones. 

Ian: True, true. 

Kyle: Shadow is not quite in a place where it's easy to imagine him having a healthy romantic relationship. But it is honestly a bit problematic to have one character shift until they're suitable for another, unless it's a mutual situation. How would you execute the character growth for Shadow and Sonic that would most help enable Sonadow? 

Ian: There would have to be an understood vulnerability to Shadow, he would have to open up to a degree that makes him more accessible at a personal level, and it doesn't take much? We've seen hints of it throughout his appearances, it would just need to become established, and that I think is all you really need to build that bridge because Sonic is casual and accepting enough as he is, and he's going to allow Shadow to be who he is which is kind of prickly and standoffish as you would have that occasional moment where Shadow lets his guard down and is more empathetic or emotionally available. But otherwise they would both play it fairly cool and aloof I think (lol). 

Kyle: Yeah, they're together. What of it? So? Big deal. I like it.  There are obviously a lot of different popular ships in Sonic. In order to make one really stand out, you'd probably need to really spark intrigue on it before pushing the two characters together. How would you arrange the first key romantic spark that was intended to drive the fans towards wanting them together? 

Ian: I think it stems more from the characters already having good chemistry. I mean you look at the fandom in general and the fleet of ships that are sailing and all of them are based off of the fact that these characters are fun in their interactions regardless of who we're talking about. So if it were an intention of building something from scratch, for most of the Sonic cast, I think the work's already been done and there's already a great deal of trust and mutual respect between most of the characters. It would just be a matter of realizing that there is more than respect, there's more than kinship, there's a romantic affinity, and for one of those characters to make that realization and start to pursue it in their own particular way.  And then it becomes a question of well, is the object of their affection going to reciprocate? And if they don't, which leads to an interesting story of, now that they are on this path, yeah, they know that this is an option, do they come around to it? Or do they not? Are both characters kind of interested but they don't want to take that first step and so you have that carrot on a stick that is ever so effective for however long you want to run it? 

(laughing) 

Kyle: There's nothing that gets, uh, Sonic's motor running more than being called a faker. Apparently. 

(more laughing) 

Ian: Oh, he'll show you how real he is. 

Kyle: Oh, no! This is a family show, sir!

(even more laughing) 

With that idea fresh in our minds, how would you make it official for the two of them? 

Ian: God, if that ever came to pass. (lol) 

Kyle: I feel like it would have to be kind of like, understated? Like it would just kind of happen? 

Ian: Yeah, I've, they're both so cool and aloof in their own way, I don't see them making any kind of dramatic declaration or ... suddenly turning all mushy and lovey-dovey, it's not who they are. Um ... I, you know, the adventure concludes and they're standing side by side on the hillside looking at the sunset and the wreckage ... and they share, you know, a compliment, and instead of like a fist bump or a "see you next time" and, y'know, one of them runs off ... maybe they throw arms around each other or something and just kind of stand there. Again, they're not gonna be all "mweh mehmehmeh" ... tonsil action, it's, I see them being very chill about it all. 

(lol) 

Kyle: Also, keep in mind everyone, this is all just ... 'fan ideas', this is probably never gonna happen, it's very unlikely, we're just having fun here. 

Ian: It's hypothetical situations that I am approaching as reasonably and as authentically as I can. 

Kyle: Yes, yes, just to keep that in mind, just keeping everybody on the same page here. 

Ian: I am not endorsing, I am not unendorsing, 

I am just answering questions. Everybody simmer. 

Kyle: Let's assume that for whatever reason Shadow decided to seek out advice from the following, and whoever he asked has to answer with an honest attempt at the best advice they could offer. How would Professor Gerald, Dr. Eggman, the Commander, and Black Doom advise him? 

Ian: Gerald would be the most wholesome and effective, I think. I think he understands people better than ... certainly a lot of his family. Uh, and would advise Shadow to look inward to ask himself what he really wants, and to ruminate on that and then act with caution, you know, don't be hasty on this particular thing. Like all great research, it takes time to get the results that, you know, you want, or the results that will come to be - don't take anything as a given, but don't be afraid to pursue the truth, whatever that may be.  Eggman would scoff at the notion and, you know, sarcastically offer to set him up on a date, making it quite clear that it would all be a trap and an ambush and whatever. The Commander ... I don't see as being a very romantic individual, but I think he might be direct about that, right. He would say that his partner was someone he managed to find for himself, but that was largely thanks to her, and her efforts, because he was kind of clueless about this, but Shadow is also kind of in the same boat so you know, maybe ... at least be aware of your surroundings? If someone is prepared to make that gesture, be ... ready to receive it and understand it for what it is. How do you do that? He's not quite sure how he figured it out himself but you know, he's not good at this sort of thing.  And Black Doom would again, scoff. Love is a weakness, it is a distraction at best, a malady at worst, it is ... an affliction of the mind. An illusion created by inferior beings to facilitate necessary natural processes. You do not need love, you do not need anyone, you are my Ultimate Weapon now go get me them Chaos Emeralds. 

Kyle: (laughing) Those damn fourth Chaos Emeralds! They're all fourth!

Ian: (mimicking Black Doom) Honestly, Shadow, what's love got to do, got to do with it. What's love but a second hand emotion. 

Kyle: (laughing) Well, we all know Shadow can't resist a dying wish. Let's say in the aftermath of a terrifying evil scheme, Eggman once more had to team up with the heroes to save the world, but he died in the process, leaving Sage and her brothers in the care of his uncle and uncle-in-law. Assuming that if money were real, GUN would pay the kind of money that would keep a classy act like Rouge on staff so the boys don't need to change their heroics too much, how would they do as parents to Sage, Orbot, Cubot, and after a while if she so chose, potentially Belle? 

(THIS IS METAL ERASURE >:( whatever he doesn't wanna be part of this family anyways)

Ian: I'm a little lost in the wording on who is acting as surrogate parents here.

Kyle: I think it might supposed to be Sonic and Shadow ... but Rouge is also there? I think? 

Ian: Well I mean someone would have to look after the kids because it ain't gonna be them. 

Kyle: (laughing) No, I guess not?!

Ian: I mean, Sonic would Sonic would kind of show up for birthdays and events and to check in but he's ... he's not the stay at home dad. He's not the stay in one place dad, he's the dad who gets his steps in, if you catch my meaning.

Kyle: Okay, no, it was more an example of they’re ... willing to pay Rouge ... so they would be willing to also pay them ... so ... but ... I guess Rouge would not be the caretaker. So ... they would have to be the caretakers ... I don't think it would go well! Luckily, I think they're self-sufficient ... for the most part ... (starting to lose it)

Ian: I mean I can't really see GUN letting them off ... interestingly, to anyone. They would be on facility. But it would be Sonic and Shadow weighing heavily saying they're not captives, they're not tech to be assimilated into the greater GUN network, they are wards of your facility, right? Right? Which again, Sonic would be checking in on occasion to make sure that it's going well. And maybe Shadow would kind of become a satellite agent of GUN, just keep tabs on everything, check in on the others to some degree ... but ... we wouldn't have a case of My Two Dads on this one, they're not the parental types.

Kyle: We probably shouldn't trust GUN with child care. Probably not. Even robot children.

Ian: And ... you don't even need them to be a pair to get the kind of ... bickering parental - conflicting parental guidelines in this scenario. Sonic would be very much, ehhh let them stay up, let him eat ice cream, let them do whatever they want, Shadow's like no, they need discipline, you're going to spoil them.

Kyle: Worst fathers ever.

Ian: Belle I ... I, again, I can't really see as a parental role but I could see her as the put upon babysitter. She tries her best to look after them and keep things under control but ... honestly ... they're Egg tech, they're not going to cooperate all that much.

Kyle: ... Yeah ... yeah I guess ... Belle would have to be the older sister and she'd probably end up being the one who does most of the work. Ugh.

Ian: Someone who tried to stop the caper of stealing the Commander's loafer or something. "I'm gonna get in trouble you guys! Stop!"

Kyle: Alright. Shadow is immortal, he will probably outlive Sonic. Unfortunately, given Sonic's lifestyle, that may not be that hard ... although given Shadow's first adventure, it could go either way. Sonic would probably understand that Shadow copes with things like this better when he has a sense of meaningful purpose to focus on. This seems like the type of thing Shadow would project onto his partner if it came to it, so what would each other ... so what if ... so what would each of their dying wishes to each other be?

Ian: Morbid. 

Kyle: (lol) 

Ian: You're going for the beautiful sadness type of thing I think. Uh, Sonic's would be ... what he wishes for everyone, is to be true to yourself and to live free. Perhaps that be true to yourself ringing a little more resoundly in Shadow's case, you know, don't close yourself off ... again. You know, be free to open up to someone else again down the road, and just be honest with yourself and be free to make that choice. 

Kyle: Open your heart, Shadow, it'll be alright.

(laughing)

Dammit! You would do that. 

Ian: Yeah, I absolutely would. 

(more laughing)

As for Shadow ... he would want Sonic to endure, you know, to just continue to carry on ... to not be defeated by anything. To find a way to escape death and just continue being, because, you know who else can replace him? Nobody. He would want that to endure forever.

Kyle: Yep. Good thing Sonic's got extra lives.

So Sonic and Shadow have gotten engaged, and they're trying to figure out how to approach their family name. Would Sonic take Shadow's last name, or Shadow take Sonic's, each keep their own, or each add the other's with a hyphen? Given Shadow's right to certain other last names, there could be a timeline with a Sonic Robotnik or (losing it) Sonic Doom.

Ian: No, they'd go with their current surnames, and as a sign of solidarity, they would just swap them so it would become Sonic the Hedgehog and Shadow the Hedgehog.

Kyle: Right, okay, okay ... good, good. Yeah, okay, it'll be fine, as long as Shadow doesn't take Maurice or something we'll be good.

(laughing)

Sonic and Shadow the Hedgehog. No relation.

Ian: We could hyphenate it! Sonic the Hedgehog-Hedgehog! (Shadow voice) Don't make me regret my decisions. 

Kyle: Too late, he already does. He already does.  Sonic has a great found family, and presumably in order to get Shadow to a point where he could date Sonic we'd be dealing with a much more Team Dark take on Shadow, who also has that. How would they both adapt to regularly hanging out with each other's found family? 

Ian: Uhhh ... The Sonic side of things is always very opening and it's ... open and accepting. And that's ... hilarious ... to the Team Dark side of things, because you can take such advantage of that. I think there would be attempts made on Team Sonic's side to incorporate everyone into the big happy family and eventually it would come to the understanding that, you know, there's appreciation ... there's respect, but there also needs to be distance. It's okay that they only get together for like, the holidays, and then they all keep to themselves. Nothing against anybody it's just, you know, oil and water don't necessarily mix all the time. And the time Rouge stole the Christmas presents ... Knuckles’s still a little salty about that one. 

Kyle: Aw. Poor Knuckles.  I play a lot of DnD with my boyfriend, he's big into it and happy to have another person for his DnD groups. Meanwhile I always enjoyed the little bit I got to play, but didn't get the opportunity as much in the past. It is unfortunately, for him, very much a ... forever DM for the group he has assembled. With this new little family we've assembled around the Sonadow pairing, who would be their forever DM? Omega is a war forged Barbarian, right? I mean yes. I mean ... you mean in the game? I mean he could be whatever he wants in the game, but in real life, yes.

Ian: I think you could make a case he's war forged Barbarian in every connotation of the word. 

Kyle: Pretty much! 

Ian: Uh ... I can't remember how we ... because I feel like this ties into just general DnD, we've been asked this before ... I would think Tails would be the DM. 

Kyle: Yeah ... yeah, Tails is the one who has the most, uh ... patience, I think, to really learn stuff. Amy maybe. 

Ian: Maybe ... I mean, he would like to construct the campaigns, he would be the better rules lawyer between the two of them. Um, I think he might be a little more of a stickler than Amy, I think Amy would allow for a little more rule of cool, but I don't think Tails would be obnoxious about it, you know. If you roll a one and things have gone very badly, he'd be trying to help you figure out a way around it. It's like, you know, okay, this is a bad situation! What do you see around you that could stop you from being on fire? Or, Amy! Don't you remember you have this particular Scroll of Healing or whatever? I - I haven't played DnD I don't know.

Kyle: I mean, yeah, that exists, it's fine, you got it. 

Ian: He wouldn't be a "rocks fall, everyone dies" DM, but he would be someone who's like, no, you can't fudge the numbers, you miss. "How do you mean I miss, I'm right in his face!" You rolled a two, what can I tell you! 

Kyle: He might think about "rocks fall, everyone dies" for a second, though, once again fed up - 

Ian Every turn, Omega's like "I KILL EVERYONE IN THE ROOM." Even the party? "YES." No, you can't do that! "IT IS IN CHARACTER." I don't care!!!!

(laughing) 

Kyle: Oh man, yeah, I mean, I don't know how long it would take for him to get fed up with Monty Python references but ... (lol) Probably not very long. Uh, and it turns out Monty Python is an actual python comedian in their world, and ... (losing it again) I'm here for it. That'd be cool. Time for the coveted Digimon question! I don't know who's coveting the Digimon questions, but alright, I guess Twilord is. In Digimon, there's a concept of DNA digivolution, where two digimon can fuse together. Sometimes this phenomenon creates a mental link between the Tamers and lets them glimpse each other's thoughts and feelings. This admittedly varies a bit so you have a lot of creative freedom on your solution. Assume the two of them were closeted for lack of it having come up yet, from those whose Digimon starters you might've ... you might choose to have DNA digivolve with Sonic's or Shadow's partners ... which partners figure it out from the basic mental connection, and of them how would they handle knowing without being told? I'm assuming that ... like, they have not confessed their love for each other but they somehow use this to figure it out.

Ian: And really ... Digimon ... it's not asking about the Digimon themselves, it's acting as Sonic and Shadow are the trainers, right. 

Kyle: Right. 

Ian: Uh ... The hardest question of this is who is more obtuse between the two of them ... 

Kyle: (LMAO) Yes. That's the answer. 

Ian: Shadow ... in general ... might be a little quicker on the draw ... so he would make the realization and that might prompt him to ... open up ... whereas Sonic just already kind of took it as a given, it wasn't really a realization to him, so he didn't really think much of it. 

Kyle: I guess ... Yeah, I guess that kind of fits. I guess that fits. 

Ian: (Shadow voice) Once we were linked, I cam to a realization ... and well, now that I know it's reciprocated, I guess I can say I'm really into you.  (Sonic voice) Oh yeah, I already knew. 

Kyle: (laughing) Yeah, everyone's into me. No, no that's not what I mean - 

Ian: (Shadow voice) It means you don't have a romantic bone in your body. 

Kyle: (LOSING IT me too dude) I think the idea ... apparently .. I'm getting word that the idea behind this question was that they haven't told anyone yet, and their friends find out this way.

Ian: Ohhh, okay. 

Kyle: Okay. Well here's the thing ... Most people in Sonic's world are very accepting and everything, so I don't think it would ... be a big deal? (lol) 

Ian: Yeah, I mean, if anything ... the biggest reaction would come out of Amy. There might be shock she found out ... Well, shocked at first, but if she found out, and they haven't really opened up to each other yet about it, she would go hardcore matchmaker. 

Kyle: Oh, no! (laughing) 

Ian: Like, if they both feel that way, and they aren't being honest with their affections, ohhhh no no no, she will not let that stand. Nope. She will move heaven and earth to see love realized. 

Kyle: (laughing) Even if it's not Sonic loving her, I guess, huh? (more laughing)

Ian: Disappointed, sure ... but, y'know, fine. What she wants is for him to be open and true with himself, and true with others. Love is a powerful force in the universe, and she will see its will done. 

Kyle: Yeah (lol), she is a true ally, yes. 

Ian: A real intense ally. 

Kyle: (laughing) Kind of frightening. 

Ian: Again, put down the torches and pitchforks, this is a hypothetical, this is for funsies. Let it be. 

Kyle: Yes, let's have some fun. 

Ian: Moving on, he's got a question for you, Kyle. 

Kyle: Alright. 

Ian: So in terms of romantic progression for fictional characters, you would say that after the romcom where the parents get home together in the sitcom where they all have to live their lives together ... can you please pitch me three episode ideas for the up and never coming sitcom, The Hedge Hogs, for me to rate?

Kyle: Oh, no. Uh, I didn't read this before we started! Uh ... hm ... come up with these on the fly ... um ... I'm like, not great at that. Let me think here ... Let me think here …

Ian: Let me help you out. 

Kyle: Okay, hit me. 

Ian: Fast and the Furious ... they both run out to get takeout quickly and they deal with incorrect orders. 

Kyle: Okay - 

Ian: Becomes a conflict of their personalities where Sonic's like hey, I'll take the pickles off! And Shadow's like he said no pickles. 

Kyle: Okay .. ! (laughing) Yeah, that's good. That's good. Um ... Hm ... hmm ... God, I really am bad at this (lol). I feel like there has to be one where they're trying to drive somewhere and they can't decide ... they'd like get lost, and then one of them is like, you don't need directions - it'd probably be Sonic, Sonic would be driving and he refuses to ask for directions, and Shadow's like trying to get him to pull over and ask for it. 

Ian: (Shadow voice) Please, pull over. 

Kyle: (laughing) Yeah, yeah ... I mean, that's another trope of sitcoms. (lol) 

Ian: Here's one for you ... Surprise Control - Sonic and Shadow are each trying to prepare a birthday surprise party for the other, not realizing that, son of a gun, they share the same birthday! No, they've never actually discussed this or put it together. Hijinx ensue. 

Kyle: (laughing) Do they, actually? - No, nono, Sonic Adventure 2's like a few days before ... but, you know, it's funnier if they do. 

Ian: Rouge is the first one to figure it out and she runs interference to make sure nobody clears it up for them. 

Kyle: (laughing) Yeah, yeah, I like that one ... Alright, let's see - 

Ian: Turns into a big blow up where they're both angry that neither of them knew what each other's actual birthday was, and then the tension is broken when Omega pops out of the cake like Marilyn Monroe. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU. HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO THE TWO OF YOU. 

Kyle: (laughing) And then ... he sets off the fireworks. Which are actually just …

Ian: Omega, not inside the HOUSE- !!!! 

Kyle: (LAUGHING) Which are actually just more DAKKA.

Ian: Has to be inside an apartment complex so Eggman can pull a Newman(?). "Hello, Sonic." 

Kyle: (losing it) Ohhh, nooo ... 

Ian: "I hear you've got the prime time cable package. Mind if I come in to play games on it?" ... Yeah, sure I guess, it's fine - "COME ON KIDS, HE SAID IT'S FINE!" 

Kyle: (still laughing) Oh, no .... 

Ian: Orbot ... Cubot ... Tribot ... a few Egg pawns ... 

Kyle: (laughing) Uh, who's the Kramer in this situation? (laughing) Knuckles?

Ian: Big the Cat. 

Kyle: Okay. 

Ian: Exact same mannerisms. 

Kyle: OKAY. (laughs) Yeah, okay. 

Ian: You know, mid conversation busts down the door, (Big voice) Froggy? Froggy, where are you? 

Kyle: (truly shitting it now) Oh, no ... Oh, no ... Oh nohoho ... The episode where Shadow's parents all come over for the holidays ... All four of them ... 

Ian: (cackles) (Shadow voice) Why do I have so many parents ... 

(laughing) 

(Black Doom voice) Now, we shall air our grievances on this festivus ... Shadow, finish the bowl. 

Kyle: (losing his mind) 

Ian: (Black Doom voice) Festivus ... is for the rest of us ... 

Kyle: Oh, boy. Oh boy. Terrible. I love it. I love it ... Alright, I think that's enough.

Ian: It certainly is. Happy pride month to all of you celebrating. Be good to yourselves, be good to each other, and we will see you next time.

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 8/6/2024

people mad at a video game for being woke, i'm mad at it for not being woke enough. so it goes.

also i wrote a yeehawgust fic

listening

another addition to the "SOMEBODY COME FUCK THIS (GAY)" playlist, thank u charli xcx and billie eilish

-

reading

im still really annoyed with Retraction Watch for platforming a terf last year and then not doing any sort of sockpuppet damage control in the comments. since they got acquired by crossref they've done way less guest editorials. not to be all "stick to sports!" but stick to sports, retraction watch.

they did introduce me to this substack series i will be following with great interest about the rise and fall of hindawi. wiley acquired a paper mill a few years back, bc they seemingly did zero diligence, and then blithely ignored the problem for two years before being forced to do the single largest retraction of papers in scientific publishing history, somewhere above ten thousand articles because it is STILL ONGOING.

i do love following various retractions bc i like seeing what finally made someone go "wait a minute", and, as i have just written in a cover letter, "I studied astronomy and have held several data jobs because I’m fascinated with how and why systems work and fail..."

-

watching

my best friend has decided while i'm at her home in the evenings eating her food and bothering her children (for my mental health, it is very important i am fed tiny bits of mushed up banana by hand by her one-year-old), our new project is watching all the xmen movies. i have no particular desire to do this or special affinity for the xmen, and i would like to keep eating very good texmex and bothering her children (for my mental health, it is very important i play hot wheels with the five-year-old). this sounds so super bitchy of me but it's hard to convey that these are essentially on for background noise.

saw the first two. the two things i know about them are that hugh jackman is in them and they're at the statue of liberty in one

-

playing

an ideologically baffling little environmental game free in the epic store this week, LumberJack. this is on PC and Switch for $13, which is far more money than the playtime anyone can get out of this game. tiny tiny tiny little Spain-headquartered studio without an active website, it looks like one guy hired out to make this and two more games and then went back to single-dev projects. i can respect that!

steam reviewers are mad at this game for being woke, and i'm mad at it for being woke in a very strange way. your one mechanic, as a bear, is swinging a big axe to remove cars and trailer offices and portapotties and various garbage from the landscape.

i wish the movement and look controls are inverted, and i wish they weren't, or at least had an option to make them normal. i know Why this isn't a mobile game (can't monetize something with twoish hours of gameplay and twenty levels) but it's a very straightforward and simple game that would translate very well to mobile. much like donut county.

now for being picky about the political mindset of the developers: as much fun as it is to be a bear swinging an axe around, lumberjacks are not the people i associate with wild preservation movements.

saving the land and turning it back into pristine and perfect land for wild animals in this game looks like erasing every hint of human activity from a site and turning it into sheer recreational use. many levels are heavily polluted, but some can definitely be read as recycling centers. im confused by the erasing every hint of humans in early levels, and then this level where you break down a radio station, slap the host with your axe, and she turns into a park ranger who starts gardening and taking care of chickens?

i don't think that removing all the traces of people from the landscape will magically fix everything, nor do i think simply being in unspoiled wilderness will magically fix me.

there's a golfing level where you whack bombs into various small buildings. i think golfing to save the environment is a strange choice to make for designing a game.

i also briefly thought this bird in every level was an extinct ivory-billed woodpecker, which was a little alarming bc there are some real nutjobs out there with very strong beliefs about this bird and government overreach and how much the government is lying to you about the extinctness of various animals.

i stopped playing about halfway through bc i was not having fun and found the underlying environmental message a little confused. they've managed to sell at least 10k units which is...not very good. i am not surprised this is free on epic, and i wonder what their payout for that was. would not be surprised if they negotiated a payment to their nonprofit partner ecologi as part of that.

-

making

yeehawgust fill! i have another bitchy blond babygirl!

what the fuck is the prisoner? cult 60s british spy tv. with all the surreality and anxieties about the cold war and midcentury psychological horror you could possibly want

He’d been drugged enough times to recognize the splitting migraine rapidly galloping down his neurons. “Where am I?” He fought down the taste of bile (ketamine? xylazine, by the aftertaste) and the rising panic. Oddly enough, the migraine was always worse with veterinary sedatives. One would think a mind would adapt to nearly three hundred years of irregular drugging and constant experiments. One’s body had adapted and ghoulified, but in equally unhelpful ways. The tycoon flickered, approximating an appraising blink. “This meeting has been a long time coming, hasn't it? You've come a long ways, literally and, I suspect, figuratively as well. You’re in the Free Economic Zone of New Vegas.” They’d pretended the prisons were so many different places: across the Continent, in various parts of London, up and down and all around the East Coast of these wretched States. Rarely this far west, aside from the awful escapade in the faux pre-War Western town. “What do you want?” He managed to swing his ankles off the saddle (also pre-War? Heavily used. It certainly wasn’t his, the equestrian event had always been his worst event in the pentathalon) and jolted what felt like every half-dead nerve in his half-dead body.

[karouvas]

Something interesting is that Ronan doesn’t immediately connect the “Adam would hate this Gansey” to his description of the Gansey on fire he knows, the Gansey who contains every wild spark etc., just that it’s a Gansey who doesn’t tend to exist around Adam because Adam can be centering/soothing for Gansey as we see in TRB pre the ending (and wild and angry aren’t synonyms, so I think Ronan qualifies Gansey on fire as a different Gansey from the one brought out by fights with Adam too. then again a lot of Adansey’s most major fights are when no one else is around to witness so could also be some unreliability there..). It’s Gansey on this specific night and the way he is interacting with Kavinsky, that glacial laugh that is meant to portray superiority and not humor, the type that would unequivocally say he’s better than other people (not that Adam would have issue with saying Kavinsky is lesser than them he doesn’t give a fuck about Kavinsky. but he likes that normal Gansey thinks all human life has value later) is a side to Gansey that Ronan thinks Adam would hate: “But this was not Gansey as usual. This was Gansey with a lofty tilt to his chin, a condescending quirk to his mouth. A Gansey that was aware that no matter what went down here tonight, he would still go back to Monmouth Manufacturing and rule his particular corner of the world. This was a Gansey, Ronan realized, that Adam would hate. Gansey said, “And what is it my dog needs?” 

The Gansey that Adam would hate isn’t necessarily wild Gansey although there is definite overlap here / the wildness is what allows this Gansey to come forth, it’s arrogant to the point of being cruel Gansey. A Gansey who is simultaneously less in control / more destructive and actively is very comfortable having control over other people, in ruling, in being arrogant or superior, which it makes sense would bother Adam so much more than Ronan because of class dynamics and Adam’s control issues and fear of Gansey proving he shouldn’t care for / trust him by exerting control over him. This is a version of Gansey who could really easily hurt Adam (taking notes on this scene for my Gansey comes back wrong / no humanity Gansey fic idea).Also want to contrast this from how Adam reacts to a Gansey who is exuding confidence/power but is extremely controlled about it in the DC section, because there are things he really dislikes about that Gansey but he’s also quite enamored by him in a really unhealthy way, and it generally…. Is a Gansey that riles Adam up a lot in a few ways imo. But he definitely sees that Gansey sometimes and wishes for the control to break which is actually a bit similar to Ronan enjoying this less in control Gansey. So I do think Ronan is right that Adam’s reaction to this Gansey would include hate and he wouldn’t have the affinity for him Ronan does but I also think his reaction would be more complex than just negative.

[toastofthetrashfire]

Color in DFF: Part 2

Okay so here I have a post where I run down some of the way DFF is using color in the past (at least for ep 5-6). But there's even more to unpack in episodes 1-4. I'll have to return to color when more episodes are out cause I'm sure there'll be more clarity and layers to add. But for now let's jump to the present!

Shout out again to @slayerkitty for brainstorming with me!

In part 1 I came to this conclusion:

There are basically 3 groups of colors.

Blue=the friend group, conformity, those trying to harm or coerce others

Red=Non, poverty, outsiders and those with stigma

Yellow=A third category, not in lock step with the group, outliers

So what about the present?!

There's a lot going on with color:

-It show's the character's flaws and desires

-It signals romantic pairing(s)

-It conveys group dynamics and insider/outsider status

On top of that we have people changing colors and exchanging them

Importantly in the present we start getting more than just the strict primary colors groups. Our group is less in sync and now that they've had time to grow up and be apart there's less conformity and cohesion, more fracture. We could argue that more of their own colors are able to come out rather than be subsumed in just blue (though a few characters definitely stick to blue still).

Let's start at the beginning. For a number of these boys their color represents their worse traits and fatal flaws:

Por is in a pale green. This clearly represents his VERY deep relationship with nature (sorry not sorry). It also can represent rebirth which means he isn't dead yet.

Okay, joking aside, green can can represent greed and jealousy. Certainly things relevant to Por who both has it all and still constantly wants and needs more (especially affection from his father) and is willing to take credit from Non to get it. This greed obviously contributed to the way everything spiraled in the past.

Green can also indicate sickness, nausea, and disgust. Por often expresses disgust towards Non, wiping his hand off after touching him. We even get him and Top reacting with disgust in the opening scenes when Fluke is puking.

On one more note, there are cultures that would group green and blue in as the same color so perhaps we can still see him as not so separate from the group as we might think.

Tee and Top are still in blue. These two are dedicated to hiding the truth and protecting themselves. Blue can also indicate loyalty and trust as well as confidence. Tee clearly has an issue with loyalty in both the past and the present. He's quick to throw his friends under the bus but does so while hiding this to still fit in. In the present he struggles with whether to abandon White or protect him. Top on the other hand is over confident, constantly wanting fame and attention.

Tee in particular is interesting because of his tie die shirts. They always mix blue with another color, just like he mixed blue with red in the past. Now it's a pink. Perhaps this means his money troubles have lessened or that he mentally feels less of an outsider or weirdo than when he added red in the past. Or perhaps it shows his strained loyalty to White, containing a color other than blue but not quite orange.

This is certainly the case in a later episode when he changes his t-shirt to blue and orange. I'll mention this later but White is introduced in orange. So Tee's colors show his dedication to the group, his continued attempts to hide secrets that harm people, and his battle between running or staying to protect White.

While Tee switches to orange and blue, Top switches to yellow and white. He makes the switch before he goes off with Tan and returns to kill Por. The yellow is a stark change. Unlike Tee who retains his blue, Top loses it completely. He's in yellow, marking him as an outlier. Is he possessed? Drugged? In any case he is operating without any affinity to the group at this point.

We don't know much about Tan yet, but he's also in blue. He starts in a blue button up and then switches to darker blue with gray underneath. This is a bit odd since he's the most vocal about pushing the old group to reveal what happened in the past. Yet he isn't wearing orange (Phi and White), red (Non), or yellow (outlier). In fact, unlike our other characters he doesn't mix in other colors or change his color at all. It feels very sterile, as if he is operating under different rules. So either he is just part of the group and likely fodder, working with Phi, or up to his own plan. Regardless I think at this point he is probably hiding his color, or rather the show is hiding his color from us for a later reveal of some kind.

Fluke is in purple. It's a balanced mix of blue and red, marking the way he acts as a bystander. He is in the group but not necessarily at the center of it. It also represents ambition, which Fluke clearly has in spades. So much so that as he tries to protect his ambitions, he makes things so much worse.

Interestingly, when Fluke changes clothes he still chooses purple, but his collar has a stripe of red. This of course is what he wears as he starts to crack, ultimately confronting Tee about what happened to Non. The blood on Fluke's hand adds more red.

Jin is in pink and a dark blue or grey. He later switches to a dark blue shirt. So part of him is still attached to the group (blue) but he also operates in a faded pink. Pink can represent love and compassion. We know that Jin acts as the kind one of the group generally. Interestingly this is quite a faded pink, perhaps representing how Jin, despite being kind (or at least having a kind exterior) is quite jaded. He's lost his rose-tinted glasses and they've become a washed out pink.

He no longer is in yellow. Does this mean at some point he failed to push back on the group in an important way? Why is he still with the group and wearing blue/gray colors? Does the fact he's wearing pink, a faded red mean he's still dedicated to Non?

Clown theory: Non was in pink in the preview for episode 7, so does this mark Jin as a romantic pairing with Phi? Does it mean Non died and possessed Jin's body (🤡)?

Phi and White both have orange to start with. They're odd ones out. Interestingly, Phi also has on a denim shirt, making him outwardly seem to match Tee and Top, but the orange shows his true colors. This is very fitting given we know he's up to something (most likely revenge) and not genuinely trying to be a part of the group.

Orange is also partway between red and yellow. If we go by the past, Phi has had something going on with both Non (red) and Jin (yellow, past). Interestingly in this opening shot Phi's backpack moves from blue (his disguised allegiance to the group) to orange (his outsider status) and red (his allegiance to Non). But he is also next to Jin whose pink could be seen as a version of red.

White has orange but like Phi he has blue as well. Does this mean that White is aligned with Phi or is it just a way to signal that White is also a newbie to the group? If so why is Tan not in orange too? Is White Non's brother?

Both Phi and White remove their orange as things progress. Interestingly they both keep the same touches of blue but change to neutral white/light gray tones. They're blending in now, either by force of the situation or in order to hide their intentions. But compared to Tan, we at least see them operating in other colors first.

One last thing of note here. Phi wraps his outer shirt around Jin to brace his shoulder. This completely removes the blue from Phi and gives it to Jin. Is this a color exchange? But blue isn't Phi's color, so does is this an act of protection or is Phi marking Jin as a target?

And what does it mean that Phi is now purely in white--an absence of color? Or is white his color? If so, then what about White?

We've gone from 3 primary colors in the past to a mix of colors in the present. On top of that we have white too, an interesting contrast? pairing? with the black of the mask costume.

Okay this has been equally as much analysis as questions. I'm excited to revisit this when we have even more episodes and information to see what the patterns are here!

[raavenb2619]

Does coming out lead to too much focus on labels?

(I don't really have a main thesis I'm trying to convince anyone of, I just had a thought and wondered what other people thought.)

When I had recently figured out I was ace/aro/nonbinary, I really cared about finding the right labels for me. And the aspec community in particular has so many unique perspectives and labels that you can apply to yourself. What kinds of attraction do you feel, how do you label your orientations and attractions, what model do you use to think about attraction, how do you think about relationships, how do you feel about sex/romance/relationships, etc. It was super eye opening to learn about lots of different terms, and different ways of thinking about things, and things I'd never even thought about or thought I even could think about, and I ended up applying lots of labels to myself.

But, it's been many years since then, and over time I've grown less interested in applying specific labels to myself. I'm still queer/ace/aro/trans/nonbinary/polyam, but I don't really use other labels. (And depending on the situation, I might end up omitting labels when vagaries work fine.) That's not to say that I don't have affinity with other labels, whether that's "I'm similar to what this label describes" or "this label provides an interesting perspective that I like", I just...don't use other labels to define my identity. If I'm comfortable enough talking about something that I could use a label for, I'll just describe my experiences directly, instead of saying "I'm [blank]".

And, I wonder if that shift from specificity to vagary has to do with coming out. For a young aroace like me, part of why coming out was so nerve-racking was that I felt like I had to prove that my identity was real, and having specific labels I could point to and say "look, this is real, I'm not making this up, other people are like this too" was super helpful. But, it's been many years since I've come out, and I'm more confident and know who I am, and that insecurity that I fought back with fistfuls of labels and well-rehearsed explanations is gone. (With the potential exception of QPR-related discussions, which feel kind of like coming out again; I might make a post about that some time if people are interested.)

Every time I've ever come out, or seen someone come out in real life or in media, it's always been "I'm [blank]", but I've never seen someone come out as "I'm not cis/straight". It's always a declaration that you are a specific thing, never a statement that you aren't something someone thought you were. I remember really wanting to make sure I knew exactly what I was and didn't come out as one thing and then change my labels later, because it would mean I'd have to come out again and it would be embarrassing that I got things wrong and maybe people would start to doubt me and not believe me when I said I was something in the future. But, people don't have to be a fixed, immutable set of labels forever; I'm comfortable with using vague labels for myself and letting myself be vague and nebulous and fluid without frantically trying to label every single part of myself. (And, in fact, I did technically get my labels slightly wrong the very first time I came out, and everything turned out okay in the end.)

So, maybe coming out puts an undue pressure on finding specific labels and making sure they're exactly right; maybe coming out should also be able to be "I'm not cis/straight". What do people think?

(This is not to say that specific labels are bad, because they can often be very helpful! Specific labels were helpful for me when I used them, and their existence can spark conversations and lead to new perspectives and learning. Even as I'm finding vagueness and nebulousness to be better for me right now than specific detailed labels, other people can be finding that specific detailed labels give them a sense of belonging and community and identity. But, I still wonder if coming out placed an undue burden on younger me to find all the right labels when vagueness could have worked just as well.)

[loth-creatures]

What do the supporting characters and minor villains (AP-5, Rex, Sato, Pryce, the Inquisitors, etc) think of the whole wolfwalker thing? Heck, what do Vader and Palpatine think?

Well I went into some detail about what the other rebel characters think of it here.

The villains though. I've been actively avoiding having most of the villains know much about the wolfwalking at all bc it would have consequences I don't feel like dealing with. However.

The Inquisitors have probably encountered Wolf Ezra a couple times. They've never actually witnessed him transform though. They can sense that Ezra and the wolf are strongly connected, but it doesn’t occur to them that they are one and the same. Their reports of a giant wolf creature connected with the Jedi don't get much attention until Thrawn is in the picture. I feel like Vader just wouldn't really give a shit? Like they know Ezra has an affinity for animals, the wolf doesn't seem very significant. Ezra and Kanan only encounter Vader directly twice I think and then he's out of the picture, so he never finds even finds out about it.

Maul would find out. I don’t think he would need to see Ezra transform or even see Wolf Ezra at all to know. He can just sense there is something special and different about him, and is curious to learn what that might be. When he does learn, he thinks its awesome and would encourage Ezra to use such a unique power to unethical means but I don’t really have any plans to explore that in depth. Though I do have a friend who has some excellent ideas for an au of the au that does get into it so that might be a thing later.

Thrawn is the one who actually starts investigating in depth all the reports of a giant wolf amongst the rebels from both the Inquisitors and other Imperials. He is very quick to make the connection between the wolf, the Jedi from Lothal, and all the artwork from Lothal that he's been collecting and studying.

Kallus as Fulcrum does his best to scrub and delete reports and footage of Wolf Ezra, the moment Thrawn starts asking for them. This slows his research down a little but in the end doesn't take much to figure out what Ezra is based solely on research into Lothal’s ancient art.

Thrawn's research is probably what puts Ezra on Palpatine's radar. Palpatine's "plan for Lothal" has been forshadowed since S2 but as far as I remember there was never any indication of Palpatine being interested in Ezra in particular until the World Between Worlds episode. I feel that he would be wary of the wolfwalkers' returning, as it's clear from the old art that they function as guardians of Lothal along side the lothwolves and Ezra is proof that they can be powerful. He would certainly preferred they'd stayed extinct. However he also wants to know if they could be useful.

The Empire might have caught some very scant evidence of the wolfwalkers' powers, but regardless some of the artwork Thrawn has studied alludes to things like healing powers and teleportation, and the World Between Worlds situation would probably confirm some of that. So would Wolf Kanan’s survival, even if the Empire had no footage of his escape from the fire, they know for a fact his human form is dead. Yet there is still a wolf.

Palpatine would be frothing at the mouth for healing powers that could aid his immortality scheme, and the power to walk between worlds at will. If the Empire had survived much longer, and wasn't driven from Lothal, if Ezra hadn't vanished and taken the Empire's biggest Lothal expert with him, there would probably be a whole top secret operation dedicated to capturing and experimenting on Ezra or any wolfwalkers at all, once the Empire learned there are more.

[lopposting]

I absolutely love your lore theories for LoP! Very new to the fandom :). Stayed up all night reading your posts abt it whahaha please keep making them!

Just wanted to ask what you think, if Camille was the recorded first puppet with an awakened ego and was Carlo's mom... does that mean Geppetto let his wife be experimented on by the alchemists upon her death or???

Another thought, do you think Sophia knew Geppetto's plans? Given that she reached out to P at the very beginning and called him by name ((geppettos puppet)) She knew Simon's plans yeah. But what abt Geppettos?

Thank you so much for your kind ask!!!

I panicked briefly because I thought I lost this ask somewhere. I have a LOT of thoughts surrounding Camille and parts of the game that I struggle to put together really cohesively, so on certain topics, i'm just going to ramble.

So, there is this image from the opening cutscene.

Maybe it isn't literally Camille and Carlo, but it may be alluding to them. [And what are they shown playing here? dundundun]

There is a particular affinity and focus the game has on the Piano as well.

Music is so linked to humanity in this game, i think it's very sweet.

There was also this really interesting post about the blue fairy (in the og collodi novel) that I don't think I can dig up anymore, but I remember it was something like this. It was pointing out that, realistically, the blue fairy really isn't a good parent. She lets a seven year old child be hanged on a tree, she watches by as he is enslaved; she makes him "work" for the right to be a real boy instead of reasonably granting him it, etc. The blue fairy also appears omniscient or goddess-like, appearing as a child, a young woman, a goat, and a mother (in perhaps her most adapted incarnation).

if Sophia's knowledge is endless, couldn't she have warned us about geppetto? wouldn't she know about carlo (someone she knew as a child) being tortured in a box? was it her discretion to let us suffer, because he needs to be able to suffer to be strong? Does that make her a moral or ethical person? Can any personhood with omniscience, who, in a sense, allows evil to happen, be moral or just? Perhaps, herein lies the philosophical, inherent flaw, in any relationship with an omniscient being, but I digress.

However, I think Sophia's endless knowledge that Arlecchino [sadly I write his name wrong every time] refers to is spiritual, or emotional, in a sense: that because she could manipulate time, all of it was at her disposal. When we wake up in the train car, her words are: "There you are, I've been looking all over for you!" She could not have known where we were, if she was searching for us (possibly through the blue butterfly figure we see). Also, I think she could've warned us about Geppetto.. but maybe then we wouldn't have gone to save her, and her goals are to get us to save her from Simon, which I believe she either says or suggests are "selfish" intentions (although I think she is very well within her right to have tbh). I don't think she is all-knowing in the way that Simon's world of truth would be. Maybe it's just a plot hole, perhaps it's just a "flaw" innate in writing any story with an omniscient character, but I don't think she was omniscient in that fashion.

And then coming back to Camille: One of my absolute favourite things about the game is the Saintess of Mercy Statue/Pieta Motif that we see in the Grand Exhibition. And Camille, who is inferred to have been the mother of Carlo, is said to have engineered the statue. She is directly connected to the game's central visual motif of death and rebirth. And then the statue also being diegetically[not a word apparently?] associated with rebirth and renewal ("Bring new life to puppets") in that you are "re-setting" and re-spec your character's stats there??? Equal parts beautiful and spectacular and touching.

[I feel SO sad that apparently, not every gamer got to see the statue. Opening those doors after the phone call riddle and then the camera panning up to the statue is such an amazing and special moment to me, and then the fact that it's also raining (another symbol of birth) too]

I don't know if the Camille puppet was literally the same Camille (who may have been the wife of Giuseppe), though. We know that she seems to have saved a baby from falling, on which afterwards she says "bring me back to my child". Not only is the Camille puppet a devoted mother character, she's also the first puppet to awaken (in other words, being associated with the idea of birth). "Camille" is so tied to the idea of motherhood and birth, that I think the Camille puppet is another connection here, and may not literally be the same Camille who was a technician. Although, I don't put it past Geppetto to be doing nefarious experiments with puppets, even if it were his wife. It might be a little ominous in regards to his attitude to P, that he doesn't see puppets as "people", but he does see people as puppets.