#and let her... learn. and see if it's possible. to let go.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

girl i love your shut up mom and career day fic so much!!!!!! i was wondering if you can do something similar to bothh? no pressure if you dont wanna!

Baby's first words

Tags: fluff, crack, jjk men as dads x fem!reader, angst on Nanami's!!!

Synopsis: You and your husband have been trying to get your child to say their first words. Chaos ensues.

An: I hope this is close enough to what you were requesting!! I really couldn't think of much more. Also, I want to point out that I completely forgot that Todo's first name is Aoi. I want to clarify that it is completely unrelated to your baby's name with Satoru lol.

SATORU • SUGURU • TOJI • SUKUNA • NANAMI

SATORU

"Alright Aoi, say da-da, and I'll give you this yummy scoop of baby food." Your husband coaxes as he holds out a spoonful of baby food just out of your small baby's reach.

"Stop bribing our kid to say dada." You giggle as you walk up to your adorable baby sat in his high chair. You fluffed Satoru's hair affectionately with your hand. These were the moments that made life worth living.

"Hmph. I want dada to be his first word. Wouldn't that be so cool?" He asks with a small pout as he coaxes your baby's attention again with the spoon. "C'mon Aoi, da-da." He sounds out the word phonetically to try to teach Aoi.

However, your pretty blue-eyed baby looked up at you with the brightest smile. "Mama!" Aoi cried as he made grabby hands for you.

Yours and Satoru's mouths completely dropped. While you immediately started laughing and picking up Aoi out of the highchair to snuggle your baby, your husband just looked at you with a bittersweet pout. He wanted to be y'all's baby's first words, but it was worth it to see your reaction to Aoi saying mama.

"That's right, baby. Mama." You encourage, smooching him on his chubby little cheek.

"Alright, I get it kid. I'd say mama to get a kiss too." Satoru laughs as he holds out his cheek towards you with a playful grin.

Jokingly rolling your eyes, you press a kiss to Satoru's cheek too.

SUGURU

"Alright girls, can you say da-da?" You said to the two young twin girls in their highchairs. You pointed to Geto as he stood next to you.

"They're too young to be talking, darling." He muses as he looks at your twin girls.

"But they're not too young to learn. Don't act like you don't want to hear them say dada." You poke Geto in his side, causing for him to let out a hearty chuckle.

"I want to keep them as young for as long as possible. Watching them grow up is going to send me into an early retirement." He says as he lovingly rubs on your back.

A doorbell sounding throughout the house caused your husband to sigh deeply. He hated being pulled away from these moments with you and the girls.

"Were you expecting someone?" You curiously ask.

"No, it's probably just one of those filthy monkeys again." He gripes as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Dada!" Mimiko shouts with a giggle, garnering both your attentions.

"You really have to stop saying that in front of the girls." You chide as Geto picks up Mimiko from her highchair.

"My sweet girl." He grins at the baby in his hands and blows a raspberry on her cheek.

The doorbell rings again, and you sigh this time. "I guess I'll go get it." You say as you start to walk away.

"M-m... ma..ma.." Nanako quietly whimpered as your presence left the room.

"Oh, it's okay, little one. She'll be back." Geto soothes as he picks his other daughter up with his other arm. What's the purpose of having two arms if you couldn't snuggle both your twin daughters at the same time?

After scaring off a salesman, you return to the heartwarming sight.

"You missed it, darling. Nanako said mama." Geto informs you with a proud smile.

"I always miss the good parts!" You complain as you scoop Nanako up out of Geto's arms. "I hope they stay this little forever."

"Me too."

TOJI

"Okay Gumi, can you say ma-ma?" You say as you're staring with a bright smile at your flat expression baby. He honestly looks like he might be judging you for even insinuating that he'd say mama.

"Okay, tough crowd." You muse as you hand Megumi one of his toys for him to play with.

You have been trying to teach him how to say mama for the past month or so, but he hasn't really said much of anything. He'll babble sometimes, but it's rare.

You were concerned about his mental and social development, but his pediatrician assured you that there was nothing wrong with little Megumi.

"He just doesn't want to talk yet." The doctor informed you with a lighthearted laugh.

It was semi-funny, but you couldn't help and compare with other moms. You knew it was wrong and every baby developed at their own rate, but you really just wanted to hear your baby's sweet voice.

Toji walks in through the front door immediately kicking his shoes off. "No one touch me. I'm covered in blood." He grunts as he tries his best to maneuver and not spread the blood everywhere.

Given his job, you were already use to this. "It's not yours, right?" You ask as you look up at him.

"Course not, babe. What do you take me for? An amateur?" He asks with a cocky grin.

Megumi looks up from his highchair, and his eyes immediately go as big as saucers upon seeing his dad walk in through the door. "Papa!" He immediately cries out, making grabby hands towards Toji.

You stare at your son in disbelief. "You little traitor!" You whine, but you also feel the relief pool into you. Your baby really just didn't want to talk to you, but that's fine.

"Ahh you little shit. You would do this when I can't pick you up. Your mama will kill me if I get blood on you." He grins as he carefully pats Megumi's hair with a clean hand.

"Damn right. Go shower." You instruct with a small grin.

"Yes mam." He retorts playfully as he shot you a little wink.

SUKUNA

"Okay Ryu, say ma-ma." You say to your little pink-haired baby as he's looking at you from his high chair.

"That's so amateur. He's the son of the king." Sukuna says as he pulls up a chair and sits backwards in it, facing y'all's baby. "Say dismantle." He grins wildly, and your sweet baby just giggles at him.

"You dare laugh in the face of a king, hm?" Sukuna asks as he playfully narrows his eyes. Despite how scary he was trying to seem, Ryu just kept smiling at him and giggling.

"Stop trying to get our baby to say cursed techniques." You chide your husband while shaking your head.

"Fine. Say Satoru Gojo's a bitch."

"Ryomen!"

"What!?" Sukuna shouts defensively. "I'll never forgive that white-haired bastard for teaching his kid to say 'kuna sucks'." You quietly laugh remembering that random video that was sent to you two.

In their older age, Sukuna and Satoru had settled on having a baby race. Constantly filming their baby's milestones and gloating to the other.

Sukuna had practically cheered whenever little Ryu was eating more solid foods than Gojo's kid was.

"D...d.." Ryu babbles and tries to get his syllables right.

"Woman. Get your phone machine out. He's going to cast his first domain." Sukuna says as he's immediately grabbing onto your arm.

"Sukuna, for the last time. It's just called a phone, and he's not going to cast a domain." You say as you start recording your little baby Ryu.

"Da..da... dada." Your son babbles out reaching up towards his dad.

Sukuna's face slightly drops, but it wasn't to one of sadness. No, he felt surprised. His son was reaching to him, calling for him. To most people, he was the King of Curses, but to little Ryu, he was simply dada.

Your husband scoops your son into his arms, hugging him lovingly. "I'll let you slide just this once. Next time you'll cast a domain." He says playfully while cradling his son in his arms.

Later, you would get a text from Gojo after sending him that video.

Gojo: Cute kid. Sukuna looks happy. Fucker is finally softening in his prehistoric age.

NANAMI

"Say da-da..." Your voice plays over Nanami's phone as he watches the video you just sent him of you teaching Hana how to say her first words.

"Dada!" Hana yells with a cheerful smile while clapping her little hands together.

Your husband smiles, missing you two dearly right now. It feels like his heart lives outside his chest. If he could afford it, he'd go home and snuggle with you two.

Yn: Stay safe out there, Ken. Please.

He promptly texts back, promising that he'll be back home before you know it. Though, something about the air in Shibuya tonight gave Nanami second guesses about that.

He could leave. He could leave right now and return home to you and his daughter, but his students and his peers need him.

Yn: The power's out here, Ken. Is everything alright?

Yn: Jesus I can hear the explosions from here...

Yn: Please tell me that you're safe...

Yn: Hana and I are evacuating. I love you. Please text me as soon as you can.

Yn: You fuckig promised... you liedd to me.

Yn: What do I tell Hana every time she says dada?

[readychilledwine]

What Dreams May Come

Part One - Asher

Summary - 50 years after sending his pregnant mate and children into hiding, Tamlin wants nothing more than to reconnect with his family.

Warnings - Rhys Slander is HEAVY in this series, references to smut, references to abuse, death, schmurder, fated mates and hidden family trope, kind of angst, tension, if you see an error, no you didn't 👀

A/N - I was going to wait to post this mini series, but I can't. I've been rereading it over and over and judging it harshly (as I do all my writing), so I'm putting it out there before I abandon it. Ps- each child has their own powers. You will learn each child in depth during Araceli's chapter. These are just little previews. Bonus points if you can figure out what Asher’s might be.

🥀What Dreams May Come Masterlist🥀Tamlin Masterlist🥀Master Masterlist🥀

Divider by @tsunami-of-tears (seriously peep the blog. Adorable season court Dividers)

Asher was thoroughly unimpressed with the horned beast staring him down as he flirted with the twin river nymphs he had been chasing for a few days now. Feral eyes were locked on his chocolate brown ones before the body of the beast because to slowly approaching. Asher sighed as the nymphs dove back into the water of the river, whispered melodically in their native tongue. “And what manner of beast are you,” He motioned up and down. “I believe parents should write stories about you. Ugly thing, you are.” 

He froze as the beast shifted, long blonde hair and sun kissed skin replacing the fur. Strong arms went across a wide chest, “Be careful with your words, son. You look just like me.” 

Asher, in fact, did not look like Tamlin. Tamlin screamed of sun, golden blonde hair and green eyes, Asher sang for the moon, dark short hair styled to one side, deep chocolate eyes he must have gotten from his mother's side, tanned skin. It was in their facial structure, the sharp jawline, the nose. That is where the signs of Tamlin rested in his son.

He had grown into a tall male, strong from what Tamlin could tell, but definitely with the same soft heart he had. Tamlin could see it in those eyes. Eyes that currently swan with confusion. The Lord of Sping simply opened his arms smiling as his first son dropped the act and came to him. 

“Dad,” the word was foreign on Asher’s tongue. They had been in hiding for so very long, not even mentioning the word out of fear. Asher had not been held by his father since he was 4, but it felt like he remembered. 

Hugging Tamlin, hugging his dad, it reminded him of the first warm rain in a season. Of getting a blanket warmed near the fire on cold nights from his mother. Asher melted into it, savored it as he took in the vaguely familiar scent of petrichor and freshly trimmed grass.

“I missed you,” Tamlin's deep voice made his eyes close as he rested his head on his shoulder. “Tell me everything. Tell me every happy moment, every ache, tell me you hate me. Anything, Asher. Anything.”

His mother was not home when Asher brought him back to the cave she had turned into a true home. The rumors that she could move mountains were, possibly, not rumors in her son's eyes, because, behind the waterfall the cave was hidden by, she had created a home. Everything he and his siblings had needed was magically summoned and made by his mother. They never wanted anything during the 50 years they had been isolated. 

Asher knew now his mom's magic ensured they had beds, blankets, comfort, through technically stealing. To be conjured, it had to come from somewhere. He had written a poem once about being a shopkeeper in the Night Court and coming into an emptied out shop, but Asher would put money on his mother somehow leaving a note to bill the High Lord of Night. 

Asher had also written a poem about his Uncle finding said bill. His mother told him it was inappropriate while smiling and folding it into her back pocket. 

He and Tamlin stayed quiet as he let the blonde male look around, “They say you can take the female out of the Night Court, but never the Night Court out of the female.”

Asher scoffed at that, “I believe she picked our furniture and goods on where she wanted to take from. Can't feel bad stealing from a rich asshole,” he quoted her exact words. 

Tamlin gave him a look, his lips clearly trying to remain in a stern position. “Your uncle is a-”

“Pompous asshole who feels that he is the change the world needs by just existing and not acting,” Asher was raising a dark brow at him as he poured them some tea. “Mom told me.”

“Asher,” Tamlin continued to try to be firm, “We do not speak of family that way.”

Asher blinked at him, unphased. This child, his oldest son, his mind was unwavering. Not even the Gods themselves could convince them of his Uncle Rhysand's good had they tried. It was his mom's fault, she was blunt and cut throat with her honesty, even when she knew lying would have been best.

Asher had found the history. He'd read the story of how his grandfather had threatened the life of his grandmother, forcing his father's hand to tell him where Rhysand would be meeting his mother and youngest sister. He read how his grandfather forced his father to watch as he mutilated them. 

He then read how Rhysand and his maternal grandfather got their revenge. Minds being melted, an innocent female, a victim in her own right, slaughtered mercilessly. Asher’s mother had still chosen his father, though. She was the only one who saw both sides and felt both heavy hands. Asher knew from the sadness in her eyes she would pick Tamlin again and again, though he had not met his own mate to know why yet.

“Do you always chase females,” Tamlin finally sat, relaxing enough to truly appreciate how handsome his son was.

A wide grin appeared on Asher’s face, “I can't help but to chase them. I've never met an ugly female,  father.”

Tamlin internally cringed at the word father, so informal to the earlier plea of “Dad”. “So no type?”

“Pretty, and they all are. Has to enjoy my poetry, and they all do. I have a, uh, certain way with words."

“So you seduce them with just words?”

Asher glanced up, “Why try something else when I am so good at it.” His face was filled with pride as he went to the book shelf and grabbed a leather book worn with love. He handed the heavy collection of paper to him, “Go ahead. Tell me how fantastic I am.”

Tamlin chuckled as he opened the book. It was definitely made in the Night Court, a sign of where his wife had been technically stealing from outside the obvious furniture and leathers Asher was wearing.  The pages were thick, stained slightly from ink transferring from paper to hand and back. His son's handwriting was influenced by his wife. Soft scrolls flowing together like a melody. The poetry was good, very good. “You haven't decided if you like Quatrain or Villanelle, have you?”

“No,” Asher shifted. “Should I have?”

Tamlin shook his head, “I'm over 500 years old and still bounce from around with different formats and stanza structures.” He continued reading an odd feeling setting into him before he closed the book and saw the shocked look on his son's face.

"You write poetry?!" He watched deep eyes light up and the conversation flew from there, father and son, bonding over poetry, over literature. 

The topics grew, varying from serious, to funny, to gossip. Tea constantly poured between them as they discussed being forced to train, of their mutual love of chocolate, of their favorite writers. Tamlin learned so much as the hours past before Asher asked if he wanted some fresh air.

Asher was strong, mentally, emotionally, and physically. It comforted Tamlin as they moved outside using a back magical gate made by Araceli. It took them to a vegetable garden that thrived, insects flying all around, fruit hanging from heavy trees. “Where is this place,” Tamlin looked around.

“We're still in The Middle,” Asher laid out the blanket before gently tossing his bag down. “I'm sure you secretly do recognize the cottage we're near.” The High Lord did, nodding as he studied the place he'd been told his whole life to avoid. The Weaver’s home was deadly, dangerous, and forbidden. Yet his son sat outside of it like it wasn't even phasing him. “Mom made her a deal. The Weaver likes her hair. Mom likes the protect she gives us. Once a year, mom let's The Weave cut her hair for threads in exchange for protection and us being allowed to grow this garden.”

The horrified expression on his father's face wasn't missed by Asher. A bargain with a being like The Weaver was not taken lightly. His mom worked hair to ensure her hair stayed healthy, long, and ready. The Weaver claimed her hair had some magical properties, but all Asher envisioned when he was young was the ancient being using them as some sort of enchanted tie to his mom, ready to rip her from them and eat them at any given notice. 

“Is she insane?!”

Eyes narrowed at him, “She was alone,” Asher emphasized the word making it a dagger. “She did a lot of dangerous things to protect us. You should be worshiping the very ground she walks upon.” 

Momma’s boy. 

Asher was still momma’s boy. 

Tamlin shook his head, “I love her. More than you know and understand. I love you more than you understand.”

“Loved them so much you hid them away in one of the most dangerous places in the realm?” The soft female voice had Asher smirking. Tamlin turned to face a young blonde, her hair falling in soft waves with braids placed strategically to help prevent the locks from falling into soft green eyes. 

This. This was him. Had Tamlin been born a female, this is what he'd look like. One cheek dimpled as she smiled, the asymmetry flattered her, complimenting soft cheek bones, a gently sloped nose, full blush lips. Along every inch of her face, freckles danced, marking her skin like soft kisses. 

“Sister,” a pen met paper as Asher spoke. “You are busy little bee I see.” 

Her hands were both filled with baskets almost overflowing with herbs, vegetables, edible flowers. Her nails had dirt under the nails and staining the skin. She carrying a look of pride and accomplishment Tamlin knew well. This was her garden and it was fruitful. “Your squash was ready,” she was speaking to Asher but her eyes were on Tamlin. “Momma said she could turn it into soup?” Asher nodded, but he was deep into capturing Something on page, a grunt was his only other response. She continued to stare at Tamlin, “Do you know which of your children I am?”

Tamlin wanted to roll his eyes at her, say of course, but he refrained, watching as she moved, sitting next to Asher but slightly behind him. “I know my own baby girl, Taryn,” the High Lord said. “Your dimple gives you away.” He couldn't help but reach for her cheek, but a firm hand stopped him from touching her.

“I don't believe my sister gave you permission to put your hands on her face.” A smirk of pride grew on Tamlin's face as Asher now fully looked at his father and little sister. “You may touch her when, and if, Taryn allows. Until then, no.”

Taryn leaned her head onto Asher’s shoulder as Tamlin lowered his hand. “You two are close?”

“Very,” they answered in unison.

“How were Darya and Amaya?”

“Who?”

“The river nymphs twins,” Taryn glared at Asher. “The two you've been trying to bed for a week now?”

Asher sighed and laid back, “They're impossible!”

Taryn and Tamlin glanced at him, “How so,” the high lord asked.

“They're identical! They said they only sleep with males who can tell them apart! Their hair is the same length. Their eyes both sparkle like a clear lake. They both have the perfect little nymph figure. Hair black as coal. They're gorgeous, fun, witty.” Asher covered his eyes by dramatically laying his arm across his face, “One of them I am most interested in. I believe it is Darya.”

“Does she have a shell braided Into her hair?”

Asher nodded at his sister's question, “She's.. she's just stunning. Inside and out. I may be in love."

Tamlin hid a smile as he reached into Taryn's woven basket filled with fruit and stole an apple. Asher continued telling Taryn his woes before sighing. "I wrote a new poem for her," he whispered with an air of insecurity. "I just.. wish she would respond some way, any way really.

He stood and then reached down to grab each basket, “I'll take these home. I.. I'm going to try just her. Maybe that will help?" He looked to his sister and father for some reassurance.

Taryn nodded, “I like that idea.”

“I think she's special.”

“Then she is,” Tamlin answered simply. “Go. I'll take care of Taryn.” Asher nodded, disappearing in the same gate his mother had opened.

Silence fell between the two on the blanket. The air was thick and heavy, a contrast to the brightness of his daughter's garden, to the smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes.

“You may hold me.”

4 words. 4 soft words. Spoken with hesitation, anger, grief, fear. 

Yet they opened a floodgate as a father pulled his daughter to him, the process beginning again as the sunset behind them. 

Tamlin knew his goal as he took him the scent of strawberries lingering in her blonde hair.

Board by board. Brick by brick. Nail by nail. He was going to rebuild his family. Even if doing so hurt him in the process.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites @littlest-w01f

And my fellow Tamlin girlies:

@nocasdatsgay @pit-and-the-pen

[cannibalspicnic]

I've been wanting to organize my thoughts and theories about the trial, so I'm gonna try writing through them here. Honestly, one of my favorite things about this show so far is the endless potential for speculation so, here it goes....

I think the trial itself was mostly Santiago's idea, and it was the perfect power grab for him.

Lestat's presence at the trial, however, I think is pretty much entirely Armand's doing and the main reason Armand involved himself as deeply as he did.

Santiago didn't know Lestat, didn't seem to particularly appreciate Lestat's presence at the trial, and moreover, didn't need Lestat at the trial. As Claudia pointed out, it was never really a trial. It was a stoning. Execution was the foregone conclusion, and the trial was just a piece of theater. All he really needed were Claudia's diaries and maybe Sam's more poetic extrapolations. The "jury" had no idea what was happening anyway and were just doing call and response.

But Armand's got this whole love/hate obsession with Lestat, and I think the hate and resentment part of that obsession gives cause for Armand to want Lestat to be forced to witness in person the execution of his family. As far as the love part of the obsession, I think Armand hopes that once Lestat is left alone, he'll have no choice but to stay with Armand. Possibly there's a part of Armand that genuinely wants Lestat to see him as his avenger.

I do not believe Lestat was there willingly. I think, like in the books, he was imprisoned and starved to keep him weak, but he wasn't as completely incapacitated as he was in the books. Lestat agreed to read the lines and rehearse etc. because if he hadn't, they wouldn't have let him participate in the trial at all, and the trial was Lestat's only chance to even SEE Louis and Claudia, much less try to save either of them.

And once the trial starts, Lestat repeatedly tries to undermine it, but he's still walking a fine line because if he fucks with the coven too much, he might be removed and lose any chance he has to affect the outcome. I think we also might find out that he tried and failed a few other ways to save Louis AND Claudia.

Which brings me to the question of Lestat and Claudia. I do not believe Lestat ever wanted Claudia dead, though it's understandable to believe differently from what we've seen in the show so far. I do think we're going to find out that Lestat made one last ditch effort to save Claudia after Louis was dragged offstage, even if it was only to plead with Armand for her life. Armand's being the only version of that moment feels too juicy to not come back to it. That being said, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that Lestat prioritized saving Louis first, and that's one of the things that continues to haunt him after the trial about Claudia's death. Especially after all she says about it never being about her.

What I find really interesting is that when Louis is recounting the trial, he repeatedly insists that Lestat was there for revenge and that he believes Lestat helped orchestrate it. But in the flashbacks from Louis' memories, we also see Lestat is not having a good time and is somehow weakened, that something is not quite right with him.

It's one of my favorite examples of Louis reaching for the truth he knows is inside of him, inside his memories. That's why the revelation that Armand had directed the play and Lestat had saved him made such a huge impact. Those were the missing pieces of the puzzle, and they are what led him to recontextualize everything he already knew. Namely, if Lestat had saved him, he was never there for revenge. And his genuine contrition about the drop, his attempt to take some of the responsibility for Claudia's making, his unsteady and unhappy demeanor...they make sense because Louis realizes that Lestat was a prisoner during the trial, not Armand. I don't think Louis would have ever gone to find Lestat if he truly still believed that he organized Claudia's death or even agreed to it.

So back to Armand. I do actually think that Armand loved Louis. I've said before, when it comes to Armand, it's best to let go of reason and embrace the gremlin to understand his actions. I do think some of Armand's initial interest in Louis is specifically because he is Lestat's fledgling, but he did come to love Louis himself. And I think Louis came to love him. I know this is not a popular opinion, but hear me out.

First of all, I think Armand never let go of the idea that he was going to have to kill Louis. I think he always kinda saw his time with Louis as delaying the inevitable. But he did want Louis for himself, and so he kept buying more and more time. So when the coven confronted Armand, it didn't even feel to him like he was betraying Louis, so much as he'd run out of time to keep Louis alive. I think in Armand's mind, he genuinely didn't feel like he could prevent it.

As far as how Louis feels about Armand. I know I've seen people mention that the reason he can tell Armand, "I love you," is that he doesn't mean it. And I agree. I do not think Louis loves Armand during the events of "I Want You More Than Anything in the World." But season 2 takes place over several years, and I think Louis was able to find love for Armand.

However, because I love it when things are really fucked up, I think Louis only really started to let himself feel love for Armand after Armand left the coven for him after Louis turned Madeleine. Which is unfortunate because Armand was obviously lying his ass off about that.

But when we see them at the café, and Madeleine says she can feel Louis' love for Armand, we see a different reaction from Louis than in 2x04. He is more uncomfortable with the idea of it. I don't believe that Madeleine was misreading Louis or actually feeling his love for Lestat. I think Louis is uncomfortable because it is true.

I also think it's the first time Armand actually believes that Louis loves him. And because of that, I think that moment just before the coven descends on the café is the first time he even realizes that he had a choice in all of it. That he could have tried to save Louis.

If I'm right, UGH, so fucked up. I hope I'm right.

Anyway, I've rambled so fucking much. I don't even have a tl;dr because even *I* don't wanna have to read all that to summarize it properly. And I probably forgot some stuff, but let's all just be grateful for that.

Just to reiterate, this is all speculation. I could be very wrong, and I know there's stuff the cast has said that might indicate that I am, but I take stuff like that with a grain of salt, especially in this show.

[enden-agolor]

When i tell you i screamed, i SCREAMED, Lukas and Petra's interaction with a very tense and very saddening vibe really adds to Petra's character of always and making sure not to let her emotions and feelings spill, keeping up her facade of a strong and very strict leader when deep down she just wants to go out and adventure with her friends again :( The whole mayor thing really doesn't suit her but she probably became one as to lead the people the way Jesse did but ended up with what she has now, when her frustration of keeping things to herself has spilled because of Lukas' and his similarities to Jesse had really made me sad as her way of dealing with grief is to not show it, when she said that he sounded like Jesse, it seems that the memories of her and Jesse instantly came up and she just kinda wanted to think about it, about what Jesse wants and for the first time she actually think about Jesse with how he'd go and scold her for turning BeaconTown like this and I'd like to think that she'll go to his treehouse and stay there as it helps whenever her head is in shambles and need to think :> JDIDJNEJD I LOVE THE NEW CHAPTER SO MUCHJH

YES. YOU GET IT.

I know this is a jesskas story but I very much deeply care about the other characters and making sure they stay true to their canon counterparts as well, even with all these new life changes. Petra is very much unhappy where she is now. Eventually, you'll see and understand why she's in the position she is, despite hating it. While she does feel very bitter towards Lukas for what he does as a job, it mostly comes from the jealousy she has that it's not her who is travelling the world the way she wanted to back in the day. Lukas is a walking reminder of something she wishes she had, and his care towards the people and the environment makes it even worse because he does think like how Jesse would. Jesse would do what he did in his situation, and that's to tell Petra that she's running BeaconTown wrong and that this just isn't right. Lukas has no relationship he fears of ruining with Petra, so snapping at her for running the town the way she is wasn't something he was scared of if there was any ounce of possibility that it could benefit the town, or maybe even Petra herself. Learning that she's an Order member definitely changed his perspective of her, understanding now that there is something much darker deep down inside her happening. Lukas doesn't despise her, but he certainly doesn't like her. He believes in her though. And that's something she really needed to hear. It means a lot, especially from an outsider who barely knows her or her situation.

There will be a lot more plot involving her in the future 😁

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Surprise Pt. 5 | Soap x Reader

Summary: The boys learn that they don’t know you as well as they thought they did, while you find some newfound ‘friends’ in an American and his unofficial boss in Urzikstan.

Word Count: ~ 4.6k

Warnings: Descriptions of death, knives, blood, guns, explosions, debris, gas, torture, kidnapping, shooting, choking, heavy topics, biting, it’s a lot yall

A/N: umm sorry ive been gone for a week here’s some food!! *runs away* this is a big switchup though from mainly 141 to Alex, Farah, and a few more pieces of reader’s backstory so lmk any thoughts or theories (yk I love them) hope you enjoy<3 (side quest: find how many characters you can recognize from cod!)

Requests are open!

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The first thing Captain John Price registered when he walked into the room, the rest of his Task Force following closely behind, was that they were in some deep shit. They’d just gotten back from a mission. The one they’d been called into during the volleyball game. It had been low stakes, but instead of going back to the apartment, they’d been told to get back to base as soon as possible.

Laswell was pacing back and forth, fidgeting, two things she never did unless everything was falling apart at the seams. The last time he’d seen her so worked up had been years ago. When she caught sight of him, there was no sigh of relief or relaxation, she breathed out four words.

”They got her, John.”

He tried not to let the tension in his body show, tried not to look just how internally panicked he was right now. Simon stiffened, hands balling into fists. Price knew it was a conscious effort to not lash out immediately.

”What.”

Ghosh ground out, eyes narrowed. Soap tried putting a hand on his shoulder, a hand that Simon only shoved off immediately. Laswell just shook her head, looking to be in shock as she only sat down at one of the chairs in the dimly lit room, pulling documents out from a drawer under the long table.

Price was the first to sit, followed by Gaz, then Soap, and finally, Simon who refused to relax, his leg bouncing impatiently under the table, hands on his knees.

Laswell opened one of the files, sliding it around to where they could see it. Lo and behold, it was a picture of you from a few years back, maybe when you’d been 14 or 15. You shouldn’t have been able to get in that early, it shouldn’t have even been possible. You wore a uniform, the file listing you by your first and last name, your callsign in the center. There was no official position or branch like there should’ve been.

“Wasp.”

Price stared at it for a few moments, reading whatever he could glean over in the file before glancing up at Laswell, who in turn pulled another file out. This one looked newer, the corners were not bent or warped yet. When she opened it, there was no picture on file. This time, it stated “Marines” as your branch. Your last name was listed as “Woods” instead of Riley.

To keep Simon from finding you on the database, most likely. Or someone else.

And the thing that caught his attention the most?

The “Captain” title right next to your first name.

”That’s nae possible.”

Soap said, jaw clenched as he glanced at Simon, the man refusing to meet his eye, glaring down at the files.

”It is,”

Laswell said, breathing out a shaky breath. Trying to calm herself, Price knew.

”They found her in a camp at 12, Frank Woods took her in, pulled some strings, and enrolled her early off record. He kept her mostly off base in a safe house until she turned 18.”

Gaz’s gaze was on Laswell now, narrowed, pinned on her. Interrogation was his specialty, after all.

”A camp?”

A nod.

”Essentially a POW camp, her relations to Ghost meant she was a valuable asset to bargain.”

Price didn’t need to glance over at Ghost to see the way he’d nearly stopped breathing, the shock being a common aspect among the group. Gaz let out a deep breath, hand going to hold the brim of his cap, his gloved finger running along the seam.

”Then how the bloody hell is she in high school?”

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place.

Simon asked, trying to reason with how this could’ve happened, how you could’ve lied to them, to him, for so long about everything and he’d never even caught on. It hadn’t been a volleyball camp keeping you from attending his mum’s funeral, it had been a POW camp, one you had been in because of him in the first place. And the new, somewhat stable foster home you’d been in? A safe house provided by your new foster parent, Frank Woods, an American Sergeant that Simon had heard whispers of.

He’d allegedly been a force to reckon with during the Korean and Vietnam wars, retired now and pushing 60 probably, but no less legendary by military standards.

”She’s 23, Lieutenant. It was a cover mission.”

Another surprise.

Another lie.

“Steamin’ Jesus…”

Soap muttered, the gleam in his eye dimming from what was most likely concern.

”It was an undercover mission, but with her gone, I don’t know how we’ll handle Nova…”

Laswell muttered to herself, catching herself just in time to shut her mouth then and there, probably realizing she’d already said too much, when Price stood up, staring her down.

”Nova? The hell is that?”

He asked sternly, and Laswell gathered the files in her hands, putting them neatly back into stacks, falling back into the controlled woman he usually saw her as.

”That’s classified, John.”

“Considering we’re closely involved with her, I don’t think it is, Kate.”

He saw the slight whiplash it gave her to call her by her first name, which made sense considering it was always Laswell. Her face grew stern, despite the worried frown lines already carving into her face.

”Don’t. We’ll get her back.”

The rest of the boys watched as she walked out of the room, Gaz muttering something sarcastic under his breath, Price pacing, Soap cursing not so quietly under his breath in his full unbridled accent, and Ghost sitting deathly still.

”I’ll talk to Briggs.”

Price said firmly, words stiff as he walked out of the room.

A moment of silence between the remaining three in the room.

Soap was the first to speak.

“Fuck!”

~

The sweet and irony smell of blood filled your nose as you shakily tried to move, limbs trembling for some reason.

Blinking to try and clear the blurriness in them, you opened your eyes, only to begin rapidly blinking as something small and grainy lifted from a sudden draft and blew into your eyes.

Sand.

You hated sand. The way it shifted under your feet, how it got under all your clothing and in your mouth, under your nails, and in your shoes. The grainy, grinding texture of it against your skin when you had a high-stakes mission and had to lie in it, waiting for the perfect shot.

But sand of this texture was in a handful of places, so at least you could narrow your location down a bit. Getting up and looking around would also help.

You were in a small room, from the looks of it, leaning against a wooden beam that dug at the clothing on your back with jagged edges. Textured, colorfully patterned quilts and blankets hung around, and shifting your head to turn right despite how it throbbed, you saw a corkboard filled with pins and images of people, locations, and notes. A few of the faces were recognizable, not in a good way though. Recognizable in the sense that you had seen those faces before you thought you’d killed them.

The sandy floor beneath you had wood underneath, by the feel of it. Your palms pushed against the floor, trying to get the leverage to stand up, only for you to slump against the wood again.

You needed to get up.

This time using your good leg to push against the floor, as well as your palms, you got almost halfway up the beam, nearly standing, when the sand made your foot slide back out and you fell onto the floor again.

A small, breathy chuckle from the other side of the room had you immediately turning your head, the quick movement making it spin slightly, even as you heard the sound of metal moving against the floor as well as only one footstep every few seconds.

“I don’t like the sand either. Hard on my leg, or what’s left of it, anyways.”

The American from earlier came in, maybe Alex? You’d been so disoriented when he’d told you that you could hardly remember. Fragments of foggy bits came to light, but nothing more than that.

His hair was a sandy color, dirty blonde almost, with a mustache and hair that was sticking almost straight up but short enough to not look ridiculous. His one leg was perfectly normal, but on the other, there was a curved piece of metal to replace the lower half of it where a nub was all that was left.

He offered you a hand, one you hesitated before taking. An American soldier wasn’t a threat, or at least shouldn’t be. He pulled you up as you stumbled to your feet.

“Where are we?”

Your raspy voice asked, throat dry. You tried to clear it to no avail. He grabbed a canteen from a table a few feet away, near the corkboard, and handed it to you with the lid already popped off.

“Zaravan City, Urzikstan. We’re not close to much anything, though, this is one of our safe houses.”

He spoke while you chugged the water, it flowing down your throat mercifully and filling your empty stomach, only serving to remind you that you were also starving. Food could wait, though. When you handed the nearly empty canteen back to him with a small sigh, you raised a brow.

“Our?”

A woman’s voice, thick with a familiar accent, spoke then.

“Yes, our.”

She was standing by the corkboard, glancing over the information with a sharp eye, before walking over to Alex. Her hair was dark and thick, tied tightly back into what seemed to be a ponytail beneath her dark garb. A gun hung from her hip, something semi-automatic. You weren’t sure if that was legal or not here, but couldn’t find it within you to care.

“Farah, in case you don’t remember, Riley.”

You were glad she’d told you because you most definitely did not remember her name. Her gaze met yours, and you held it for a long minute, recognizable facial features coming to your mind, like a dream, you could reach but not quite hold. And then—you remembered.

“Karim,”

You breathed, eyes narrowing. General Karim had proven to be more than capable more times than once during the scandals throughout Urzikstan, especially to the boys.

The boys.

You’d nearly forgotten until now, but you wondered just how much they knew. Whether someone had spilled, or Laswell had told them everything. They would probably be biting at the leash, but there was nothing that could be done now, not with the mission having failed.

They were on their own now.

Farah nodded.

“It is not every day we find an American in a Mexican facility,”

A pointed glance at Alex, whose lips curled slightly up at that.

You grumbled, legs still shaky, probably from the gas that had managed to slip in before you’d put the gas mask on doing rounds through your body, the last of it yet to leave. Managing to stumble over to a chair near a small round table in the corner of the room, you sat down, it groaning under your weight.

“Not every day I see a group from America and Urzikstan in a Mexican facility.”

You shot back and watched as Farah and Alex exchanged a glance, a silent conversation happening right in front of you. Rude, but you couldn’t say you hadn’t done the same thing before.

Alex sighed, grabbing the chair with one hand and easing himself down onto it with his leg, propping the prosthetic up on a nearby crate.

His blue eyes met yours as he set one elbow down on the table.

“We were going after Santiago Garza, a key member of their cartel, which we have reason to believe has…”

He exchanged a glance with Farah, who gave a nearly imperceptible shake of her head.

“…access to things he shouldn’t.”

Alex finished. Farah spoke next, already sensing your oncoming interrogation despite not being in control of the situation.

“We answered yours, now answer our question. Why did he want you?”

Her tone was demanding, leaving no wiggle room for you to try and keep anything from her. If this whole arrangement was going to work out, you were going to have to be transparent with them, anyway. Or as transparent as you could be.

“I have a… personal history with the Garza family. Not a pretty one.”

Farah pressed her lips together but didn’t question further.

The American wasn’t as smart.

“What kind of history?”

He asked, brows raised in an almost innocent expression if it weren’t for the gleam of suspicion in his eyes. You shook your head. Not willing to talk about it. Not now. Woods was the only one you’d ever talked to about it, other than David when the bastard was even there.

Which hadn’t been often.

“What’s the date?”

You then asked. If you’d been captured in America, and then taken to a supposed Mexican facility, then to Urzikstan, it must’ve taken quite a while. Not to mention the travel from there to the safe house…

“The 24th.”

Farah answered, hands moving to idly wipe sand off of the barrel of her gun, back leaning against the wooden post. Her finger remained near the trigger. Untrusting.

It had been nearly four days.

By then, someone had to have noticed the body of Nalani in your room, and your obvious absence. A homicide and a missing person’s case as well, most likely. The boys had definitely heard of it then, despite what you assumed was a mission they were on, considering how early they left that volleyball game.

Had Woods been informed? Had anyone on your team been informed, or were they still too deep in their work in your absence?

Alex’s eyes snapped to the window as he heard something rustling outside, and within moments he was down on his haunches, you and Farah were quick to follow as he lifted one of the thin sheets lying over the windows from the bottom, glancing out for a second.

The pain in your limbs was barely even noticeable compared to the mini-adrenaline rush you were flooded with, mind and body sharp and alert. You’d performed while in much worse conditions, you could manage this one just fine, you were sure.

But without a weapon, you were defenseless.

Reaching for a gun that was laid out on the table, Alex’s hand grabbing your wrist stopped you and refused to let you grab it.

“We’ll handle this, stay inside.”

He said in a hushed tone, voice firm, even though Farah was the one with the most authority here over the both of you.

Farah slowly opened the door, peeking out, dark eyes scanning the dusty roads and markets, when several shots rang out, feminine screams following quickly as the sound of people running became all too obvious.

“Al-Qatala.”

Farah murmured, jerking her chin to Alex, before slipping her gun from her side and walking out of the door, the American man giving you one last glance that clearly said “Stay here.” before following.

Racking your brain, you tried to remember anything that might help you. Urzikstan. A small country in Western Asia. Violence wasn’t uncommon, by the sound of it. And Al-Qatala…try as you might, you couldn’t remember anything about whoever they were. Maybe some sort of gang? Probably, judging by the gunfire and angry Arabic being barked out in the streets.

But you weren’t going to be helpless, stuck in this tiny “safe house” that had two entrances and one large window a man could easily fit through. You stood up, careful to stay clear of the window to avoid catching any strays, only to find the gun that had been on the table gone.

Alex must’ve taken it.

They surely had more weapons somewhere, except for the fact that no matter where you searched, there was nothing to be found. Nothing except documents of blacked-out information, pictures on the board, and a small stash of food and water lying around. A lot of dates, too.

It wasn’t an ideal situation, but you could work with it.

A few strands of rope that you quickly picked up were lying around. Every lesson you’d overheard Woods giving to his team, drilling it into their heads, began repeating in your mind. Like a dream, almost.

“Can any of you boys tell me the five rules of guerrilla warfare?”

His voice, sharp and brusque but not hostile, asked the men in front of him.

You were crouched down, hiding in one of the small areas where the metal of the walls dented outwards slightly, giving you an area to lay down and peek through at him.

One of the men raised his hand in a salute, chapped lips opening to speak.

“Hit and run, sir!”

Woods nodded, hand shooting out to point at another man down the line of soldiers. Mostly young boys who stupidly enlisted, living for their country and dying for it. You didn’t see the point, even if Woods did. You’d never seen the point, not even when Simon had enlisted.

He could’ve been one of the dead.

He still might be. You hadn’t seen him in a while.

“Ambush, sir!”

You snapped back into focus at that, eyes watching keenly as the man nodded again. He had a habit of it; nodding very often. Even if you just inclined to take a bite of soup, he’d nod. The praise was sort of nice, you supposed. Even if you barely knew him, just having arrived here a few weeks ago.

They’d found you on one of the starving horses from the camps, near the front of the marching people, leading their way to freedom despite how sickly and beaten most were. You weren’t much better.

And when the bastard controlling that camp must’ve ordered his remaining men to circle like vultures and take out as many of the surviving prisoners as he could?

Everyone alive after the vicious attack had huddled together in a small cave, the people at the entrance usually being shot from overhead planes by the men too cowardly to approach.

They’d found you huddled up, a warm body on top of you, on one of the sides. Thrown you over their shoulder. Taken you away despite your hitting and biting, and brought you here to domesticate you again. They weren’t bad. They were just soldiers. And soldiers were all about duty and honor, two things you couldn’t find within yourself to care about much anymore. You wondered if Simon still cared about them, or if he’d been numb to it for much longer. After the death of his mother, and how pissed he’d been that you’d missed the funeral, you seriously doubted it.

Snapping out of your thoughts, you watched Woods nod again. You must’ve missed the others, but you knew them by heart by now. After watching and listening for so long.

Harassment.

Mobility.

And finally…

“Surprise.”

A hand grabbed you by the arm, yanking you forward and through the wall, through the hole you’d been watching from. Woods held you by the arm infuriatingly easily, which made sense considering how much of a runt you were. Or had been at the time.

The metal had scraped against your shoulder, cutting open a shallow scratch from collarbone to right arm. You glared at him, kicking at him even as his soldiers chuckled.

Laughing at you.

You despised how patronizing it felt, leaning forward and sinking your deceivingly sharp teeth into the wrist of his hand that held you. Blood drew, and he didn’t drop you, simply moving to hold you in his other arm, smiling warmly at you as his shoulders shook from silent laughter.

“Feisty, huh?”

He said in an amused tone, ruffling your hair while someone went to grab a medic.

The memory felt warm and fuzzy, a reminder of a long time ago, though it only felt like yesterday.

But you had more important things to do than have an existential crisis.

Spying a fan in the corner, you pried the metal caging off, wrapping both hands around one of the metal pieces on it, and yanking until a piece came off. Jagged and sharp. Just how you needed it.

Wrapping your little pieces of rope around the base to protect your hand, you crept towards the back exit, listening for the sounds of any footsteps nearby. It would be hard to overhear, especially with the sounds of yelling, screaming, and gunfire in the streets. You wondered if your little makeshift friends had joined the dead or not.

A near-silent step, a branch accidentally cracking under his step, and you were on him.

Hit and run.

The metal slid smoothly into his throat, a quiet wheeze being all he could get out before you leaned his body back, watching his eyes glaze over as the blood ebbed and flowed. You pulled the gun from his hands, searching and taking what was left of his weapons as well.

One flash bang.

One knife, the case of which you strapped onto your hip, the flash bang being tucked into it soon after.

Mobility.

You crouched down, glancing left and right on the street, and breaking into a low sprint to a building down the dusty road. A restaurant by the looks of it. You couldn’t read the Arabic on the front, it having been one of the languages you hadn’t learned, even in your training for Special Forces.

More if the men flooded the streets just as you ducked behind the counter. Letting them all know you were here with gunfire wasn’t beneficial yet, not when you were so badly outnumbered. You needed to find the central point they were getting in from.

You needed to move.

Waiting for the men to pass by, you eventually went out of the back exit of the restaurant, passing the cool chill of its freezer near the kitchen before jumping onto a ladder in the alleyway outside, climbing up, and falling prone onto the ground as soon as you were there.

Looking up over the ledge, you could see now how there were so many.

Trucks were spread about the city, men exiting them and taking cover for a few seconds until they got to where they wanted to be, and started opening fire. They communicated through their radios, but why they would be here didn’t make sense.

Why try to raid a city when you couldn’t gain much, if anything from it?

Unless they weren’t trying to gain but to take someone out.

Someone who had always been against what you assumed was their little group. And that someone was none other than Farah, judging by how quickly she recognized them, and the gleam of hatred in her eyes when she looked at them. She’d been a bit too eager to slaughter them.

And with how quickly the men were flooding the roads and streets, and their communication, it wouldn’t be long until they found her.

Unless…

Glancing at the rooftop a few buildings over, you saw none other than a large tower. Not just any tower, but an antenna tower.

You observed the crowd for a moment, scanning, watching everyone, until you saw it. Heard it, rather, the loud boom it made, the man yelling “RPG!”. It was the second story of the building across the street. You couldn’t get there in time, even if you got over there without being killed or without too many civilians dying.

You needed to buy time.

Gathering the fractures courage left in your body, you got onto the balls of your feet, and against everything you’d been told, to stay quiet and unnoticeable, you began a mad dash across the building, jumping, and not stopping to marvel when your feet hit the solid ground of the other rooftop, only running further.

You still hadn’t gotten his attention.

You were almost to the antenna tower. Now or never.

Harassment.

Slipping the flash bang out of your belt-ish thing, you pulled the pin out, throwing it up in the air. You heard it when it went off, your vision blurring white as you dove and hit the floor. He must’ve heard it too, considering that when you glanced over, the large weapon was aimed at you, and when he fired, you saw it sail through the air not only at you but at the tower as well.

Diving over the edge of the building, you heard the blast, and chunks of debris and wire began raining from the sky in your area. Your ankles burned when you stood, legs screaming against any movement. Ash floated into your nose and throat, as well as the smell of fire, and you took off into another run, diving into a building, only to run face-first into another man.

Ambush.

Your fist met his jaw before his bullet met your body, but barely. You both rolled to the floor, kicking and flailing around, landing hits on each other. He jabbed at you with his gun, his knife out of reach. You rolled him onto his back, your knife coming out, only to be knocked away by his calloused hands.

Your arm went around his neck, hand locking into place with your other elbow as your knee pressed on his neck. Your breathing was pants, more gasps than anything as he gave a final few kicks, before going limp.

You picked your knife back up, head jolting up when you heard a familiar female yell just a few streets down.

The members of the Al-Qatala seemed lost, some shouting to others in Arabic, others going on rampages against civilians just for the hell of it, seemingly. You didn’t doubt that Farah had a small army of her own, but they hadn’t been prepared.

Neither had you.

Sinking lower to not attract attention, you crept through the streets, watching carefully, or as carefully as you could through your blurry vision. Sand and dust blew into it, but you couldn’t find the strength to blink it away.

Your head was throbbing again.

You weren’t sure how you managed the journey there, brain taking a temporary lapse in recording memory maybe, but the next thing you knew, you were near an old warehouse.

Talking came from inside.

A raspy voice. Old, but not kind or warm, not like the voices of the old men you were used to. Harsh and sharp. Like a whip wailing as it flew through the air. Cut paths through it.

“Where is it?”

Silence. As you crept up to the entrance of the warehouse, where the door was just slightly ajar, you could see the outline of Farah tied into a chair. Multiple other men inside. Maybe three or four. Pulling your gun slowly out, you set the handle against your knee, putting your eye right on the scope.

“We know you have the gas, Farah, or should I call you Karim?”

Cruel.

Unnecessary.

But it gave you a kernel of information.

Information you would think about later if you had the time. If you didn’t die here.

A harsh hit to the face. Audible.

You could tell it stung, but she didn’t budge.

You lined the scope up with his head, finger closing in on the trigger, holding down, just not enough until.

Surprise.

The blast of the shot alone rang out through the warehouse. Except it wasn’t who you’d been expecting to fall to the ground who did.

It wasn’t who you’d thought it had been. Not Al-Qatala, not Cartel.

No, instead, Philip Graves, director of the Shadow Company, fell sideways in the dirt.

And the men surrounding Farah?

None other than your own team that had been handed off to Graves during your departure.

Tags:

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[waffles505]

OMITB S4 Killer Theory

....SPOILERS....

...

Ben GLENroy isn't dead. 

This is my theory for OMITB Season 4. Although I do ultimately think that there are 2 killers/people involved, I believe I have a good part of it solved. Again, just a theory, this could end up being totally wrong...but let me know what YOU think. 

...

In S4E4, our favorite trio (Charles, Mabel & Oliver) go to "Concussions", a bar for stunmen founded in the 70s. We learned that Sazz was there and posted a selfie the day she was murdered. When they start asking questions about Sazz, stuntpeople who were all friends with Sazz, start to get agitated. Especially with Charles (this makes sense as he was Sazz's "face"). As things start to escalate, out of nowhere, a man rolls into the conversation. The trio is shocked to see Ben Glenroy (the victim of S3). Irish Paul Rudd says that he is actually Ben's stunt double...Glen Stubbins. Glen explains how he's mad at the trio for taking "Ben" from him and claims that "15 years he worked for Ben". Throughout this conversation, Glen keeps seeing "rats" everywhere, trying to kill them. No one else sees the rats he's talking about. As the stuntpeople start to get more upset, Glen escorts the trio out of the building. Once they are outside, Glen apologizes for having to play up the "fighting" and wants to talk to Charles. Specifically, he asks Charles if he will be his new "Face". Charles politely declines and Glen begs him for work on a project. Mabel offers Glen a position on the film being made about their podcast and Glen is relieved. He then goes on to show off some "stunts" he can do and the trio is impressed and scared at the same time. When asked about the back room in the bar, Glen tells them about Dr. Maggie who is a chiropractor that helps all the stuntpeople with their pain management. Charles, alarmed, asked if Sazz was in pain. Glen responds "She was in pain, thanks to you". After deciding to take Charles to meet Dr. Maggie, Glen warns Charles to "Mind the rats". Glen stays and listens in on Dr. Maggie's conversation both Charles. We learn that Sazz was in pain and planning to retire to a new career. She was "hurt from a one-sided relationship", Charles believes it's himself that hurt her. We later see Charles return to Concussions, where he decided to "Tap in" for Sazz, so that she could have a proper stuntman's funeral. 

After being hit with a fake bottle, Charles is shocked (rightly so). Glen leans in and tells him, "Lie still, dead man". When it's Glen's turn to say his "goodbyes" to Sazz, he accidently(?) uses a real bottle to hit Charles, knocking him out. 

As chaos ensues and stuntpeople fight one another, Glen says to himself, "this is what Sazz would have wanted."

Soo...what is my theory? 

Ben Glenroy didn't die. His "stuntman" did. Here' what I think happened: 

Ben was the one that temporarily died from the rat poison. In S3, we're led to believe that Ben died from the poison, miraculously survived it, only to be murdered again after being pushed down an elevator shaft. #Rip

Here’s the thing…Ben showed up rather quickly from the hospital to the after-party. With something as serious as ingesting RAT POISON, there’s no way he would be able to walk around and show up, just fine, to the party that occurred so soon after. I believe that while Ben was recovering in the hospital, Ben’s (real) stunt double went in his place (or shall I say, “tapped in”) to the party and unfortunately ended up being killed. Now, whether Ben knew about his stunt double doing this at the time, I don’t know. Recovering from Rat Poison would likely take days, possibly even weeks to recover from (especially considering the amount he was given).  I think the loss of his Stunt Double, especially if they had a relationship similar to what Sazz and Charles had, would hurt him greatly. Ben would probably feel guilt, like we see Charles experiencing in the current time. But if someone wanted Ben dead, hearing the news that he was still alive could put himself in danger. So what does he do? He decides to put on another great performance…that being ”Glen Stubbins”. 

We know that “Glen” is seeing rats everywhere. Ben was poisoned with RAT posion and I wouldn’t be surprised if he had to deal with some side effects after such a serious health scare, such as hallucinations. Ben also likely has PTSD and could be seeing these “rats” as a result. 

Also…Ben Glenroy? Glen Stubbins?

They both have the word GLEN in their names. That’s too much of a coincidence. There’s NO WAY that Ben just happened to find a stunt double who looks identical to him with partially the same name as him. We know that Ben isn’t the smartest bulb in the pack, so perhaps he should have picked SOMETHING other than “Glen”. 

Now, why would Ben do all of this? 

MOTIVE: We know that Ben HATED Charles. While Charles was working on Brazzos, a young Ben Glenroy was cast as a series regular. However, after the first table read, Charles told the director that Ben was a phony and had him fired. Ben blames Charles for his failing acting career. Ben could very easily, in some twisted way, ultimately blame Charles for his Stuntman dying. 

This could mean that Ben had the motive to kill Charles AND/OR Sazz. 

*Although I believe Charles was the true intended target, Sazz being the target is still a possibility. 

Let’s say Sazz WAS the target, Ben knows Sazz. How? Ben briefly worked on Brazzos, which Sazz was Charles’s stuntman for. Maybe Ben wanted Charles to understand the pain he’s in? He wants Charles to know what it feels like to lose that special person. 

IF Charles was the intended target, we already have several reasons for why Ben would kill him. Charles “ruined” his life. What makes a better murderer than someone who’s already supposed to be dead? NO ONE would think/suspect Ben Glenroy, a dead man, could have done it…

I don’t think Ben decided to pretend to be his stunt double until he realized that Charles wasn’t the one that died, Sazz did. Ben gets away with murder, it never gets solved, he ruins Charle’s life in the process, and imagine the Hollywood comeback he would have if he revealed that he had actually been alive this whole time.  What a performance!

As for the other murderer/person involved, I don’t know WHO it is yet, but think Ben must be connected to someone in Hollywood. This person would have to distract the gang with a “movie” about the podcast…but I don’t think the movie is even real. I think it’s all a distraction just to lead up to the big reveal...A movie/documentary about the return of Ben Glenroy and how he survived death. Now THAT would be a huge blockbuster hit. 

As for who dies next…I’m worried for Howard, Loretta, and Oliver. 

Let me know what you think! <3

Reddit Link: https://www.reddit.com/r/OnlyMurdersHulu/comments/1foy09g/s4_killer_theory/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

[year2000electronics]

If you could, how would you have made Wendy be included in the secret basement scene at the end of Not What He Seems? She was the only main character left out and I always thought that was unfair.

OH GREAT QUESTION! so, when you look into behind the scenes stuff for really plot heavy episodes like not what he seems and atots, you kinda end up realizing that pacing is REALLY important and they need to use every second of those 22 (and 30 in ATOTS’ case) minutes as effectively as they possibly could. not what he seems is a very tight episode and i think it’s hard to fit in stuff in there, especially considering i think that wendy is the “weakest link” of the show character wise, but if i HAD to pick, i think id have wendy be in manly dan’s truck when he swerved into agent trigger’s car!

i mean think about it. dan is already in that episode, and wendy seeing her friends in a STRANGE GOVERNMENT VEHICLE that they literally got her dad to RAM to escape, uh, yeah i think she’s gonna make it her problem now! i think you could possibly shave off the kerpranked bit to put wendy in? or like other bits i don’t know. maybe just a moment or two where wendy’s like “what is going ON, is mr pines in trouble? are you in danger??” and then she can join the kids at the shack

it’s hard though. it’s definitely hard. because i think that wendy as she is now really couldn’t fit into the emotional core of the episode, which is, of course, the turmoil between the kids (as well as the viewers) and this secret about stan that’s rapidly spreading to them out of his control and they’re learning all the wrong stuff first and the tension between stan not even being stan and the kids trusting their uncle is like, JUICY-

but, like, wendy? we know she likes working at the shack, but that’s because she’s Cool and likes to slack off there. she slacks off and she’s like “meh” to stan a lot. i mean, she slacks off at the pool, too, when she gets that job. does she like stan because he lets her slack off? that can’t be right because stan doesn’t really let her, it just sorta happens. how did she even get the job from stan? did she ask? was he hiring? does she find him annoying because he’s always telling her to do her job? does she find it odd that stan would bring two kids up to his place for the summer? we don’t really know.

i can’t imagine her being stuck between these two extremes for stan because she never seems invested in stan. she must always be the aloof one, the cool one, never made to be vulnerable because being vulnerable is Not Cool. her only appearance in not what he seems being her going “nope i’m not going into work today that’s too much for me” is so telling in all the worst ways. and it can be frustrating

[sageluvsjoel]

Lost and Found

part two to; a different kind of miracle

jackson!joel miller x reader x autistic! daughter

Requested HERE

masterlist

summary: A couple years after Joel had accepted and learned to adapt to his daughters autism, he loses his temper with her and she disappears

genre: hurt to comfort, post outbreak, fluff at the end

wc: 1.4k

likes, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

i do not authorize plagiarism or copying of my work!

It had been an exhausting week, one of those stretches of days where everything seemed to go wrong. Winter was coming early to Jackson, the temperatures already biting through the air, and Joel was on edge. Supplies were running low, and the town was trying to organize runs to gather essentials before the weather turned too harsh. He’d been so focused on making sure everyone was prepared—on doing something—that he hadn’t noticed how much it was weighing on him.

And, of course, his little girl, now ten years old, had her own struggles. Lately, she’d been more withdrawn, more prone to sensory overloads. Jackson was a safe place, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t noisy, chaotic, and unpredictable—three things that sent her into a spiral. Joel knew this. He understood her in a way he hadn’t a few years ago, but that didn’t mean it was always easy.

She had a routine—one she relied on to get through the day. That routine kept her grounded, kept her focused. But life in Jackson didn’t always allow for perfect routines, and today had been a prime example of that. Joel had asked her to do something simple—help him clear a path outside their house so they could prepare for the coming snow. She’d been reluctant, focusing intently on the puzzle she was working on, her mind miles away from the task he wanted her to do.

At first, Joel had been patient. He always tried to be patient now. But with everything else gnawing at him, his frustration had bubbled over.

“I need you to listen, alright?” Joel had snapped, his voice harsher than intended. “I’ve asked you five times now, and you’re just sittin’ there like I’m talkin’ to a wall!”

She had flinched, her small body going rigid as her fingers hovered over the puzzle pieces. Joel immediately regretted his tone. But it was too late—the damage had been done. She closed herself off, retreating into her own world, her face expressionless, her eyes downcast. Before he could soften his words or try to reach her again, she was gone—out the door, moving fast.

“Hey!” Joel called after her, but she didn’t stop.

He’d thought she needed space, so he let her go, figuring she’d come back when she was ready, as she always did. The town wasn’t big, and she often found quiet places to be alone when she felt overwhelmed.

But hours passed, and she didn’t come back.

The sun dipped lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the snow-dusted streets of Jackson. By the time dinner came and went, you and Joel were growing increasingly worried.

"Have you seen her?" you asked, anxiety creeping into your voice as you looked out the window. The sky was bruised with dusk, and there was no sign of her.

Joel shook his head, trying to keep his own fear from showing. “She’ll turn up. She just needs some time. You know how she gets.”

But as the hours stretched on, and the cold deepened, doubt started to gnaw at him. He’d checked the usual spots—the quiet corners of town where she liked to hide when she needed to be alone—but there was no sign of her. And with each empty space he searched, the knot of fear in his chest tightened.

You grabbed his arm, your face pale. “Joel, what if she’s… what if something happened?”

It was the question he had been trying to avoid, but he couldn’t deny the possibility any longer. He had seen too much, lost too much, to take anything for granted in this world.

“I’m gonna get Tommy,” Joel said, his voice strained, the panic rising in his throat. “We’ll start searchin’ in pairs, see if anyone’s seen her.”

Tommy didn’t ask questions when Joel showed up at his door, his face drawn and tight with worry. Within minutes, half the town was mobilized, everyone searching every corner of Jackson, calling her name.

The minutes dragged on, turning into an hour, then two. The cold was biting now, the wind picking up as night settled fully in. Joel’s heart pounded in his chest, each passing minute heightening the terror that something had happened to her.

Had she wandered too far out of town? Had something—or someone—gotten to her?

The questions battered his mind, a relentless barrage of worst-case scenarios, each one more terrible than the last. He tried to keep it together, tried to stay focused on the search, but the weight of it—the thought of losing her—was suffocating. It was his fault. He’d yelled at her. He’d made her run.

You found him pacing near the stables, his breath coming in harsh, ragged bursts. “Joel,” you called softly, your voice trembling, “we’ll find her.”

But Joel barely heard you. His mind was already lost in a sea of guilt and fear. “What if… what if somethin’ happened to her? What if she’s out there, and it’s my fault because I couldn’t keep my temper in check? I should’ve never—”

Before he could spiral any further, a voice crackled over Tommy’s radio. “Hey, we think we found her.”

Joel froze, his heart leaping into his throat as he grabbed the radio. “Where?”

“She’s in the old storage shed behind the library. Looks like she’s just sittin’ there.”

Joel didn’t wait for a response. He was running before Tommy could finish speaking, his boots crunching through the snow as he sprinted toward the shed. You were right behind him, both of you breathless and frantic.

The door to the shed was slightly ajar, and inside, huddled in the corner, was your daughter. She was sitting cross-legged, her arms wrapped around her knees, staring down at the ground, completely still.

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t panicking. She was just… sitting there, lost in her own world, oblivious to the chaos she had left behind.

Joel fell to his knees beside her, his heart hammering in his chest as he reached out to touch her shoulder. “Baby girl,” he rasped, his voice thick with relief. “Where have you been? We’ve been lookin’ everywhere for you.”

She blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, and looked up at him with wide eyes. “I didn’t know you were looking for me,” she said quietly. “I just… needed to be alone.”

Joel’s heart ached at the simplicity of her words, at the quiet truth of them. She hadn’t run away because she was scared or in danger. She had run because she was overwhelmed, because the world had gotten too loud, and she needed space to breathe.

And he had panicked because he hadn’t understood that, because he had let his fear take over.

You knelt down beside her, brushing a hand through her hair. “You scared us, sweetheart,” you said gently, your voice shaking. “We were worried something had happened to you.”

Her brow furrowed, her expression soft with confusion. “I was just sitting here. I didn’t mean to scare anyone.”

Joel closed his eyes, the weight of his relief crashing over him like a wave. “It’s alright,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “You’re alright. That’s all that matters.”

You pulled her close, and Joel wrapped his arms around both of you, holding on like he was afraid to let go. For a long time, none of you spoke. The only sound was the soft rustling of the wind outside, the quiet hum of the world moving on.

When you finally stood up, Joel kept a hand on his daughter’s shoulder, his grip gentle but firm. “Next time, you tell me if you need space, alright? I’ll give it to you. Just… don’t disappear on us like that again.”

She nodded, her face still calm, but there was a flicker of understanding in her eyes.

As you led her out of the shed and back toward home, Joel couldn’t shake the lingering fear in his chest. The world was still dangerous, still unpredictable. But as long as they were together—as long as he understood her, truly understood her—he knew they’d be okay.

She was his miracle, and he would never lose her again.

dividers by @kodaswrld

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[zorkaya-moved]

" you are always on about helping me," for someone whose voice usually comes in a subtle, warming tone, it has taken the turn for something more heated today as their debate, nay, argument had come to blossom as a result of long nights and dreadful projects. in the aftermath of the disagreement, kaveh will find himself in a pit of embarrassment and guilt for having stood his ground, but he couldn't accept it. he wouldn't accept it.

" to say that it's pride is only a portion of it, but i have never had to rely on anyone in my life --- i couldn't. there was simply no room for me to rely on anyone, let alone ask for it and --- that's why i can't stand by and simply allow you to help me, when you clearly do not wish me to help you in return. are we not equals ? do we not share a mutual form for respect, do you think less of me because you see yourself in a position to protect me and support me ? because i won't have you in such a position, zarina. "

it's not anger , per say , simply frustration. he is frustrated with how she puts up a mighty act of a stable, strong woman, for while she is ( archons know she is, she is so strong, and kaveh looks up to her in so many ways / had he been one for prayer, her feet would be the ones he'd find himself bowing to in seek of grace ) she remains as human as him at the end of the day. the pain and hurt he felt certainly were no strangers to her. does she not think he feels the way her face tends to drop the second he turns, or notice how her thoughts wander in the corner of his eyes when he find himself occupied by the desk ?

" let me look after you the way you look after me. let me take care of you the way you take care of me --- for it seems too long ago since anyone did the same for you. " crumbling in his stance ( is my love not enough for you ? ), the heated tone has come to falter in favor for a softer and honest one, as hands seek out to her cheeks, pleading to hold her tenderly in his grasp. " you are my life , zarina. how do you expect me to allow you to be my foundation when you refuse to accept it from me in return?"

@avaere

Their argument breaks out and nothing feels real for the first second. They’ve never argued like this before, it’s never come to this. It’s unusual for the architect to look at her like this and speak to her like this. It confuses her, it makes her wonder, and it makes her question exactly what brought this out. And the more words leave Kaveh’s mouth, the more confused and puzzled she becomes. It doesn’t make sense. It simply doesn’t make sense to her. Is he… not happy? Is he upset that she offers her support? Is he upset that she wants to keep him safe? It doesn’t seem logical nor does it seem like something he should be so frustrated over. The questions circle in her head and Zarina tries to search for an answer, but instead she’s met with a wall. She slams into it mentally as Kaveh keeps talking. 

—That's why I can't stand by and simply allow you to help me, when you clearly do not wish me to help you in return. Are we not equals?—

“We are…” Sokolova whispers to his question, still finding herself at a loss for words simply because she cannot fathom the reasoning for his upsetness, frustration, and fiery anger. It makes no sense for him to be hurt in her mind. 

 —Do we not share a mutual form for respect, do you think less of me because you see yourself in a position to protect me and support me?—

What are you talking about? Zarina asks internally, eyes empty and hollow at those words. Suddenly, his words echo in her head and she can’t find the will in herself to really suppress them. To her, everything he says right now simply doesn’t fit in her understanding. Is she not supposed to help him? Is this not proof of her love? Is this not enough for him to understand how much he means to her? Is this now what love is supposed to be about? 

Finally, Zarina isn’t weak to keep those she loves unprotected. She gained everything she needed to keep these important people safe. She has power, she has influence, she has money, she has it all. She has information on each and every important person in almost all of Teyvat. She has customers and clients who are of noble birth and who would beg for her to take a look at their cases. She has it all to ensure those she loves have a comfortable life. 

Because she, a woman who lacks any humanity behind her void gaze, can only feel human while being with them. They keep her a person. They keep her away from the numbness, void and hollowness. They keep her away from losing the joys and colors. They are her colors. Kaveh is her Sun and the person she wants to keep happy the most. 

But… 

—Because I won't have you in such a position, Zarina.—

…I’m strong enough to be in that position, am I not? Why don’t you just let me do it?  

She isn't weak. She isn’t weak anymore to have others fuss over her. She doesn’t have anyone to worry over her and try to keep her from harm’s way. Now she can take care of herself, she can protect others like she always wanted. There won’t be laughs of men cruelly kicking her and calling her a little princess, there won’t be Victor hurt while trying to protect her, there won’t be Aleksey who they fret over as her parents are gone, and there won’t be any other people they’d be indebted to who can use them for their own ridiculous schemes. 

No, she’s climbing to the top and it means she won’t have anyone look at her or her family the wrong way. She can tear apart anyone who dares to mistreat her or her family. She has everything to keep herself occupied, interested, away from the deafening silence and frigidness. 

Ah, but that’s not it. That’s not what Kaveh says and that’s where the dissonance happens. Her past clashes against her present.  

Why do you look at me like Victor did? I’m stronger now. I can protect you. I won’t be hurt anymore. There’s no need to worry, no need to try and protect me, I’m fine. I’m…

—Let me take care of you the way you take care of me --- for it seems too long ago since anyone did the same for you.—

His tone crumbles and she can see him reaching out. After all, she had no second to input any of her words into this conversation. His stream of words hit her a bit harder than she’d ever expected. It makes her confused, all too confused and lost.  

This means that she hasn't been successful or what does it mean? It makes her think of Victor who’s been trying to take care of her when she was rescued. It makes her think of how when she came to Sumeru, she was looked down on by Scholars and those who were against Snezhnaya. Now they love or hate her, seeking her out despite pride and prejudice because they know she’s stronger. Isn’t it fun to see those people crawl to her? 

It makes her think of her selfishness, her indulgence, her sick satisfaction with reaching the top and watching people who underestimated her crumble before her feet. But then it all dissipates, she’s grown bored and sought out more. Like a ravenous beast in the body of a beauty. All hedonistic indulgences fade with time aside from sex and planning. The long-standing plans hold her interest for a little while longer until she’s left disappointed or satisfied for a medium period of time. It all fades, but not the warmth she feels when she’s with those she loves. Not with Victor, Aleksey, Kaveh… Not with them. Not with him. 

Oh, but Kaveh reaching out to her both emotionally and physically almost makes her feel fear. Almost, if not for her control over the internal state. It’s a titanium hold, but when his hands touch her cheeks, Sokolova feels something inside start to crack. The whispers in her mind say over and over again how he’d find her revolting, tyrannical, and cruel. He doesn’t know how little care for the world and its riches she has. 

She’s always lived selfishly, so giving to her loved ones feels like what she can do. After acquiring everything because her selfish self wanted to see how far she’d be able to reach, this development seems to be… baffling. 

His touch and his last words bring her out of that stupor. Still, confused and puzzled over these confessions within the argument, she feels at a loss. Emotions aren’t her strongest forte. Nay, genuine emotions aren’t her strongest forte. Zarina knows how to use them, manipulate them, and twirls them for her own benefit, but right now? It’s not about manipulation and malice. It’s not about shadows and darkness. It’s not about survival. It’s about… love, trust, and communication. 

Everything she wanted to protect since childhood yet never surrounded herself with until return home or when Kaveh was by her side. 

“What do you mean you don’t help me with anything?” She suddenly asks, her voice coming out genuinely puzzled but her eyes… Her eyes are bleak and cloudy, no, they’re hollow and empty when she begins. His hands against her cheeks feel so hot, her own body feels so cold. Is it because of her vision or is it because she remembered everything from that past? She doesn’t understand him, or does he not get the amount of things he does for her without knowing? “You always do. You’re the only one here who does.”

No one in Sumeru matters. No one in several regions matters aside from Snezhnaya where her brothers stay. Kaveh doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the ‘survival of the fittest’ rule she lives by, rules by, orders by. 

Zarina brings her left hand up, touching his hand but she doesn’t yet grasp it. Her fingertips grave over the fabric covering his wrist. She worries that if she grasps it, she’ll break it. Zarina recalls her first hunt in the snowy plains of Snezhnaya. She doesn’t want to break him.

“You make the nightmares go away. You make me feel safer than I’ve ever felt since…” The agonizing pain, the loud screams, the laughter of those who had control. “...since I was hurt,” Sokolova looks away for a moment, her words feel like they’re spilling out as if in desperation to get him to hear, to understand, to give him enough to have an idea but not dive into details (not yet). “You indulge me, you give me your time. There’s no silence, no hollowness, no void. You make me feel…”

Clarity returns to her golden eyes. The silverette takes a second to breathe, finally letting her fingers wrap around his wrist (tenderly, carefully). Her shoulders drop, her expression is one of light exhaustion and still flickers of bewilderment. 

“You make me feel human.”

It must be so strange to hear, isn’t it? To feel human. Isn’t she almost the most beloved in all Sumeru for her scholarly achievements, for her charismatic nature, for her connections and for her being the strongest candidate for the Amurta Sage? And yet, Zarina knows better than anyone that those achievements are not done for the sake of gratitude or betterment of the world. It’s selfish, it’s ambitious, it’s all out of boredom and pettiness. 

“You never ask for anything. I have power, I have money, I have connections, I have it all, but you never ask for anything,” she starts off. “You are my equal, if you were not…” She lets out a soft chuckle, but it’s sharp and cold. “...I wouldn’t fall for you, love you, treasure you, want to give you as much as I can. If you were not my equal, you’d be lost in the sea of faces I meet.” 

Golden eyes return to look at him, but she doesn’t smile nor show any emotion. If anything, she’s stone cold, but not guarded. She doesn’t hide, but there’s no bright light in her gaze and in her behavior.

“Do you… really think that I’ve reached all of what I have today through honored and honest work, Kaveh?” She gives his hand a gentle squeeze, but her golden eyes are growing colder the more she thinks about what she’s done… and how she feels no guilt or remorse or regret over everything. The people’s screams, the Abyssals’ pleas for mercy, the blood, the merciless ends, the survival. “Do you really think that I don’t see you as my equal? If I didn’t care about you or saw you as my equal, you would’ve never even gotten a glimpse of who I am. Like everyone else in Teyvat.”

A hard hitting sentence, isn’t it? Especially said with that razor-sharp gaze and a voice that got deeper as if she growled it out. But instead of showing the same cold-hearted ferocity, she presses her lips together and looks away from him as if ashamed. It’s not that she’s ashamed of who she is, but she is unsure of how much more she can say. 

“I… don’t know how to let others care for me,” she admits. “I don’t know how to stop protecting who I care about. And I don’t think… You’ll look at me the same if you learned the things I have to do to survive…” But also because when you’re not here, the boredom and silence come back in full force and I return to those frigid days. “What if the person you love is only kind to you, Kaveh? Will you hate me for it?” 

There’s a glimpse of cracks, of a weight no one ever expects someone to carry. But she doesn’t mind that. If it means she’s indulged and her family is protected, it means nothing. Is she really human when she does not feel any remorse for all the things she’s done? Perhaps, the only remorse and sadness comes when it comes to Kaveh. What if he fell in love with a phantom? What if her sharper and crueler sides will scare him away? There’s no fixing that. It’s simply who she is. 

“I don’t understand you.” Her lips are pressed together in frustration. “I don’t understand what you mean by taking care of me more than you already do. I don’t understand what you want from me right now. All these riches, all these connections, all of what I have… They are nothing compared to what you’ve given me. You taught me that I can love, I can experience love, I can feel it.” She brings her other hand up to touch his, but then pries his hands away from her face to hold them instead. “And yes, it doesn’t make the world better and it doesn’t make colors seem brighter, but it settles me down. It makes me… think that a normal life isn’t out of the question for me.”

 Then, Zarina laughs. But it’s hollow and bitter and feels like shattering. 

“To accept your help, I must give up control… of everything I am. And if I do,” she lets out a soft exhale. “I don’t know if I’ll be able to pick myself up if you reject me.” 

Finally, she smiles but that smile is soft and careful. Not sharp, not hollow, not cold. It’s more familiar to him. It’s more genuine, it’s as genuine as she can muster when her mind remembers everything she does behind his back to remain on top. She cannot simply end everything she rules over, it’s already too late. Too many people want her head, too many people rely on her, too many people have their eyes on her, too many people wait for her word like their only prayer.

“You are my lifeline, Kaveh. You already give me so much, I want to…” She gives his hands a squeeze, gaining up courage to say the next words. He’s more important to her than everything she’s acquired. She’s lived her life selfishly already. “But alright. I don’t yet understand, and that’s why… Can you teach me… how to let you care for me in a way you meant?” Without this iron control over everything. As she holds his hands in her own, she bends down to press her forehead against his knuckles. A beast offering its leash to another, she hopes he won’t turn away the more she opens up. “But please, I’m begging you, give me time to tell you everything. My life belongs to you, you are my heart. I still don’t understand, I probably will struggle, but be my guide here. So please,” she straightens up and gives him another small smile. She’s trying. It’s obvious. She’s trying against everything she’s been taught by life, by experience, by struggle and torturous existence. But for him? She’s trying. It’s tense, but she’s trying. “Be a patient teacher with me. I’ve never… been protected… and I haven’t been cared for since my childhood.”

[ineed-to-sleep]

ENDING SPOILERS FOR BG3 AHEAD

Hate that I found this scene kinda hot

[welcometogrouchland]

Darius 🤝 Willow

Beefing with the blights in complex, somewhat homoerotic ways

[hearties-circus]

I kinda feel like I've just hard erased any happiness or elation I had from being done with school all just so I wouldnt get asked a stupid question anymore I hate this I hate this

[foone]

Given how wizards are themed around higher education, with their universities and ivory towers, I wanna see more fiction that goes into their published papers.

Like, there should be massive drama in the Wizarding world about how Fantasy Wikipedia says "There's no consensus about the origins of skydoves" when in fact, there very much is, everyone knows they were created in the first or second dragon wars, and that's uncontroversial. One single wizard at the University of Towers who thinks they're an offshoot of mermaids DOES NOT MEAN IT'S AN OPEN ISSUE.

Papers that are rebuttals to other magical discoveries. Like, look, that spell just won't work, and you can't call it a "theoretical exercise" just to cover up the fact that you've not been able to cast it. You can't combine Ichthyomancy with completely unrelated elemental summonings, that's just not how magic works, in all due respect.

Thesis defense would be significantly scarier when all your reviewers can cast Everburning Fireball on your ass.

Learning Theoretical Evocation from a hungover lizardman TA at 8am, because the professor for this course has been off on the Elemental Plane of Circles for half the semester trying to finish her paper on how Centaurs predate horses rather than the other way around.

Speaking of which, the life of a wizard graduate student... You keep getting called to go on "quests" which are just overgrown research expeditions to help out some professor's project. You spent nearly a month in that damp castle capturing all the spinfrogs you could find, all to help your professor's project on the possibilities of concentrated soul essences. To this day, you still get dizzy whenever you see battlements, let alone a donjon.

[libraford]

It is possible to interact with people whom share opposing views and no this is not about pineapple on pizza. In fact, it is imperative that you learn how to be civil with some people who you may find difficult to agree with.

At work, Youngin would often tell me that the guy that trained him (Ginger) was a misogynist. I had never met Ginger, and I had very little to say on this matter. But I would ask Youngin some questions about him because I like to know the other seasonal workers a little. I ask about Ginger- first words from Youngin's mouth 'he's a misogynist.'

I asked him why he thought that. (There are many misogynists at this location, as someone that is woman-shaped I see it often, I am comparing notes.)

"We were on our way to a location and a driver was going really slowly. When he got around her he said 'fucking women drivers.' Like he was going out of his way to prove that the driver was a woman."

The last month or so, Youngin worked exclusively with me because I knew that it was a matter of time before he said something that pissed off one of the guys. He was not going to get along with people here, it just wasn't happening.

When he left, everyone wanted to know what he was like to work with. And I finally got to have a conversation with Ginger.

"I'd like to ask you something a little strange- he said that on his first day there was an issue with a driver going slowly. Can you tell me about that?"

"Oh yeah! She was going super slow and when I got around her I said 'yup- little old lady driving.' And he was like 'what's that supposed to mean?' And I just kind of dropped it, but I hear he was saying I was a misogynist over it?"

So I give Youngin some grace because he's young, he's got a social bubble that's very liberal, he has not met very many people that weren't part of that kind of scene. But he often talked about how every person here has said something that pissed him off and he seemed really surprised that I (woman-shaped queer liberal) would be okay working with all these sexist homophobes.

And I give grace to Ginger because he had no reason to think that his words would be interpreted like that. What he was saying was normal to him. This is... somewhat the culture of landscaping jobs. And its not even close to the worst thing I've heard out of these dudes mouths. (Literally had one of the dudes comment that he would like to 'motorboat' one of the pedestrians.)

It was weird for Youngin to carry that with him for the whole two months that he worked here, over a very... small comment.

Every single person I've worked with here has said something that has given me pause and I tuck it away to rant about later and then I let it go. If it gets out of hand, I talk to one of the bosses about it. I know how to contact HR. I came into this place knowing that I was going to disagree politically with most of the people that I work with because I'm coming in to a culture that is fundamentally different from my own.

If I am being frank, I find the overt bigotry somewhat better than the corporate bullshit of 'we value your contributions, but won't be granting your accommodations request out of fairness to other workers' or the glass cliff or literally being fired for my sexual orientation but phrased with 'oh you just weren't a good fit for the culture here.' I at least know what I'm getting into when I come to work. I know what not to talk about. Last time I thought I was safe to talk about something queer with my boss she blindsided me with some transphobic garbage.

Its admirable to stick up for the marginalized people in your life, but part of changing minds is knowing the time and the place to comment. I think I've changed more minds at this warehouse by being a visibly out lesbian at work than I have by making carefully crafted speeches.

That is fine. It is fine to disagree. Sometimes you have to work with racists, homophobes, and assholes. That is part of being an adult. You talk about things like... sports or TV or weather or some cool bug you saw. Finding common ground with people who are different from you in many ways is an important part of socialization and it sucks to think you have anything in common with a jackass but look- you're spending 7-ish hours with these people and at some point some of them are going to say stupid shit. You are going to say stupid shit also. I have said my fair share of stupid shit. Deal with the fact that you're all stupid shits.

And for fuck's sake, wear your hardhat.

[classyrbf]

YOU'RE PREGNANT! — JJK MEN

SYNOPSIS...how the jjk men(toji, gojo, geto, nanami, choso) act when you’re 9 months pregnant and ready to pop

INFO...jjk men x fem!reader, fluff, comfort, reader is pregnant (obvi), mention of mood swings, cravings, emotional reader, jjk men being great dads

OTHER...likes and reblogs are appreciated

TOJI

toji has already dealt with this kind of thing before when it came to megumi, but it’s been so long that he’s almost forgotten what it was like. You’re waddling around the house, a stank look on your face as you stare at him. “Yes?” He questions, eyebrows raised. “I want food,” you simply answer. “Okay, what do you want?” He asks. And when you tell him you’re not sure, he lets out a long sigh because he knows this is gonna end in you getting emotional. You’ll complain your back hurts, your feet hurt, and then you’ll end up cursing him out for putting a baby in you. So all he does is walks over to you, and hugs you because he’d rather do that than get into a stupid argument about food. “Toji!” You cry into his arms. “I’m just so hungry and I don’t know what to eat!” You sniffle. To help with your problem, he starts listing off every fast food restaurant and food he could think of in hopes you’d find one appealing enough. “Chinese food?” He shrugs. You gasp with excitement. “Ugh, yes! Me and the baby could go for some orange chicken!” You smile. Toji just chuckles, “making the call right now, sweetheart.” He watches as you waddle over to the couch, smiling like a kid in a candy store.

GOJO

ever since he found out you were pregnant, he was at the stores buying whatever supplies he saw, doesn’t matter if you needed it or not. And till this day, when you’re about a few weeks from popping, he’s still buying the baby things. “What do you think of this, eh?” He smirks, holding up a onesie that says “my dad is the best”. “You’re gonna spoil her rotten, is what I think,” you groan as you reach into the bag to see what else he bought for your daughter. “More toys?” You hold up a fake set of plastic keys. Gojo snatched them from you. “I’ll have you know that she will be learning life skills at a very young age, thank you very much,” he scoffed. All you did was laugh, shaking your head at him in disbelief. Your daughter’s room was filled to the brim with clothes, toys, blankets, you were starting to wonder if you had any more room. “I can already tell she’s going to be a daddy’s girl,” you said with a sigh, rubbing your belly. “Yes she is,” Gojo leaned in towards your very plump belly, “isn’t that right?” He placed a kiss on your stomach.

NANAMI

nanami is the type that doesn’t let you do a damn thing by yourself. You’re reach for something to high on the shelf, he’s sprinting towards you, ready to be at your service. “Be careful,” he says, rubbing your back. “Kento, I got it,” you chuckle. His eyes are always on you, watching your every move. Especially when you’re in public, he hates when people get too close to you. He knows others don’t watch their surroundings and could easily bump into you. “Ken!” You shout from the bedroom. “Yes?” He peeks his head around the corner. “Can you help me get my shoes on, I can’t even reach,” you pout. Within seconds he’s on his knees, slipping on your sandals, and tying them around your ankle. He will even go as far as to paint your toes if you forgot because he knows how much you hate not having them done. Like I said, he won’t let you do a thing by yourself. “Thank you, Ken,” you kiss his lips.

GETO

geto literally pampers you. I’m not saying he acts like nanami, but I’m saying that he makes your pregnancy as comfortable as possible. “Sugu, baby, can you rub my feet? They’re swollen.” You frown. “Of course.” He grabs the lotion and casually massages your feet while you’re both watching a movie, and literally over the course of your pregnancy he’s become the best masseuse ever. He’ll also randomly creep up behind you and wrap his arms around your waist before lifting your belly, feeling the weight off of your back. “Feel better, mama?” He kisses your cheek. “So much better.” You nod, closing your eyes as you embrace the moment. You’ve even found it hard to shower while being pregnant and geto takes it upon himself to help you, albeit jumping in the shower with you or sitting on the edge of the tub while you’re in the bath. “Is the water too hot?” He rubs the soapy water over your shoulders. “It’s perfect.”

CHOSO

I’m sorry but choso is clueless. Not in a bad way, but in like a panicky way. You’re an emotional wreck through your pregnancy, moods swings like crazy. “Can you just get out please?!” You’re annoyed with him, bothered about the littlest thing ever and then in the next two minutes you’re walking out the room just crying and apologizing to him, kissing his cheek. He has no idea what the hell is going on, and you’d think he’d learn after nine months, but no. All he can is just sit there and comfort you. “It’s fine,” he assures. He gets your favorite food that you’ve been craving for the past two weeks, eating it non stop and then within a split second you’re gagging, pushing the food away. “Oh my gosh, Choso! Please throw it away, it tastes so bad.” You gag again. “But…I…you were just eating this yesterday…?” He’s says, confused before throwing the bowl of food in the garbage. Quite literally doesn’t understand anything, just confused to all hell, but he’s trying his best.

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.