#manifesting circle everyone join hands!

[strangerinthelight]

Letting time pass isn’t fun anymore come on Loki series do something please 😩 COME ONNNN…… Guys 💔💔💔🙏🙏🙏

[lnfours]

* ✰. — supernatural | l.n

summary: this love’s possessing me, but i don’t mind at all ; a new year with the same boy, but in a different way.

warnings: fluff, another friends to lovers!au brought to you by yours truly, based off ‘supernatural’ by ariana grande, pining so damn hard, a hint of language, not proofread bc i can’t sleep and i have this on my mind

masterlist | listen

✧˖°.🪐⋆｡°✩

you weren’t really sure when things changed with lando. how the once platonic touches turned into lingering ones that left a fire burning beneath his fingertips. how quick glances turned into longing stares before the other would notice and a quick shift of vision. everything suddenly meant something.

of course, everyone had put money on it years ago. they all had a gut feeling that at some point, things would come clear to the both of you that you were meant to be all along. how all those past relationships, situationships and failed first dates never worked out because no one could compare. and as always, the two of you would always shut it down. quick to reassure your other friends that if it ever were to happen, it’d ruin a life long friendship which was far more important.

they didn’t want to hear it though. always giving a slight nod, a ‘sure’ or a ‘we’ll see about that’. and boy were they right. they were onto the both of you before you even started. assumptions slowly coming to life as they all watched how the two of you acted around the other all of a sudden. how he’d always have an arm around you, not in a protective way, but in a ‘i need you right here with me’ kind of way. they all noticed how you never backed away, how you’d simply melt into him as the night progressed. your head leaning back on his shoulder as you talked. or how you would slip a hand around his back, occasionally drawing shapes onto the thin material of his shirts. a simple giveaway to them about something you didn’t even know was happening yet.

but now it was new years, the house party buzzing with people and music and everything in between. a celebration of the end of another year and into a new one with new beginnings. manifestations of good things in the air as the music played through the speakers of the house.

you were sat on the couch, drink in hand as you laughed with some of your mutual friends. lando couldn’t help but keep glancing over at you, eyes dancing over the way your eyes sparkled in the dim lighting. how your eyes creased when you laughed and smiled, how suddenly you were all he could see in a room full of people.

“mate,” max’s voice brought him back to earth, “did you hear what i said or were you too busy eye-fucking y/n?”

lando turned to his best friend, eyebrows pulled together, “what?”

he was trying not to get defensive. trying so hard not to tell his best friend that he wasn’t eye-fucking you, but rather looking over at you lovingly. looking at you as his heart went a mile a minute, scanning over all the features of your face for the millionth time, but all of a sudden taking this time, right here, right now, to try to memorize it. memorize everything little thing that made you perfect to him.

“c’mon, mate,” max sighed, almost as if he was tired of the same story, “you’ve been staring at her for the past five minutes. when are you going to go tell her you love her?”

lando swallowed the sip of his drink, rolling his eyes at his friend, “i don’t know what you’re on about.”

“please,” pietra joined the conversation now, arm linked on max’s, “you’re a terrible liar. you both are.”

he looked at the blonde with curiosity in his eyes. you both are? what was that supposed to mean? could it be-

he was about to ask before she spoke, “listen, you’re both single. clearly you’re into each other, just go talk to her!”

and with that, the couple was gone. off to join the circle of people in the living room who were counting down to midnight. he looked at the time on his phone, twenty minutes to the new year. to the new chapter he had desperately been craving.

he took another sip of his drink before he felt a hand on his shoulder, a soft ‘excuse me’ echoing in his ears. he looked up, a smile on your face as you squeezed past the person next to him to stand beside lando. he was quick to wrap his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him in the crowded area.

you smiled, tucking a strand of hair from your face, with your free hand as the other wrapped around his neck, “hey,”

“hey,” he smiled right back at you, “feeling okay?”

you nodded, “i am now, yeah.”

oh if his heart wasn’t already flying out of his chest, it sure was now. your smile alone could send him over the moon. your fingers absentmindedly reaching towards the curls at the nape of his neck, twisting them lightly between your fingers. you loved when he kept his hair a little longer than normal so you could do this.

little did you know, he kept it a little longer just for you to do it.

“want something to drink? i can go grab you something,”

you shook your head, “i’m okay, thank you,”

he nodded back at you, “so, find your new years kiss yet?”

you scrunched your nose, looking around the house, “have you seen the people here? i don’t think i’ll have much luck. you?”

he shrugged, “haven’t had much luck either, but i also haven’t even really been looking.”

you laughed softly, “you haven’t?”

he shook his head, looking past you to look at the clock. ten minutes.

“i mean,” he started, “there’s one girl but i don’t know if she’s into me.”

you raised an eyebrow, trying not to let your face fall as your heart went to your feet, “well, what’s she look like?”

he swallowed a sip from his drink, “she’s gorgeous, even when she thinks she isn’t, she is. she’s really smart, possibly the smartest in the room right now. and she likes to go out, but she’d much rather curl up on the couch and put a movie on or read a book or something. and she keeps me in line, knows when to bring my ego back to earth.”

you smiled softly, “she sounds great.”

“she is,” he scanned your facial features, “she’s the best thing to ever happen to me.”

you sucked in a breath, “is she here?”

“yeah,” he smiled softly, “she’s right in front of me.”

suddenly the world stopped. it felt like time stood still as you stood in front of him. it was like you two were the only ones in the room.

“lando,” you breathed out, unsure of what to say. every birthday wish, every shooting star, you had used for this very moment. and now it was unfolding in front of you, and nothing has made you feel so many things at once quite like this has.

five minutes to the new year.

he smiled back at you, the toothy grin you had learned to fall in love with no matter how much he picked it apart whenever he would take pictures. you loved the little gap between his teeth, the way the moles and freckles charted his skin like constellations. constellations just for you. it was right here in this moment that everything everyone has ever said started to make you realize it has been him all along.

“i know it’s scary and new and every thing we always thought was something that was going to ruin our friendship,” he said, “but i can’t help it. i’m falling in love with you.”

the people around you started counting down, “59, 58, 57…”

“i’m falling in love with you, too,” you said, eyes scanning over his, green with specks of blue and oh so pretty, “i’ve been in love with you since the moment we met.”

he stood now, pulling you closer to him. 30, 29, 28…

“i want this,” he said, “i want you. i always have, and im sorry it took me this long to finally admit it.”

you wrapped your arms around his neck as his snaked around your middle. he was holding you as close as possible, and although it wasn’t a new experience to be this close, to take in the smell of his cologne, the smell of his shampoo and the cream he used to style his stupidly perfect curls. it wasn’t new to experience everything that made him ten times more irresistible, but right now, your heart was about to fly out of your chest at the feeling of him being this close before. a step into uncharted territory and you were growing impatient by the second. wanting nothing more than to just call him yours already. to let the world know that he was yours and yours only. to let your friends know that they were right all along, ready to hear the ‘i told you so’s as long as it kept him right here.

“i’m sorry, too.” you said. and you meant it. you had wished this had happened sooner, you couldn’t help but wonder that if it had, where you two would be now. what your little life would’ve looked like right about now.

with ten seconds left on the clock, he smiled and mumbled to you softly, “be my new years kiss,”

you smiled back at the curly haired boy you’ve loved your whole life, “i wouldn’t want you to kiss anyone else.”

five, four, three, two, one…

there were yells of celebration in the air, the echo of the fireworks on the tv. everyone either toasting to the new years or ringing in a new year with their loved by celebrating with a kiss. but you paid no mind to any of it, to any of the noise circling around you as you took in the way his lips slotted against yours. how his lips tasted like the cherry lip balm you had lent him earlier on in the night with a hint of the whiskey he had been nursing. his hands holding you in place in front of him, yours wrapping around his neck as he took it a step further and licked against your bottom lip.

everything about it sent butterflies straight to your stomach because after all this time, all the dreaming about this moment, it finally happened. you two had managed to crack, let down the facade. and truthfully, it felt like a weight was lifted off your shoulders and it made you question why neither of you came clean sooner.

his nose pressed against yours and you laughed softly, meeting his eyes. he was smiling back at you, wrapping a strand of your hair around his finger before slotting it back behind your ear.

he licked his lips, the both of you basking in each other after years and years of pining, “wanna get out of here?”

“please,” you sighed, and with that he led you through the crowd around you. led you to the door of the house party, nodding and bidding his few goodbyes before heading out. you held onto his arm the whole way, until he was unlocking the doors to the mclaren parked down the street. he opened the door for you, just like he always had, and you slid in. this time as he closed the door, you couldn’t help but notice the shift of energy. the way everything was unfolding was nothing less than exciting.

he climbed in on the drivers side, starting the car before slotting his hand with yours.

“mine or yours?”

you shrugged, looking over at him with a smile, “doesn’t matter,”

he nodded, pressing your hand to his lips as he pulled away from the curb. and really, it didn’t matter to you. because you would follow him anywhere. even to the ends of the earth and back.

which, of course he knew that. because he’d do the same for you.

[sayhoneysiren]

WHAT'S UR SEDUCTIVE CHARM

I II III

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xx HoneySiren xx 🍒

I ~ Your charm is your Elusiveness. You prefer to keep your circle small and don't open up to others easily. It takes effort to get your attention and tie you down, since you have high standards. Many of you may attract athletes or be athletic yourself. People seem to be in awe with your physique. You could enjoy dressing in leather and velvet fabrics.

Underneath your cool exterior you are a very compassionate, sensitive and spiritual person who can be shy at times or have anxiety about being seen. People view your shyness as 'cute' and instantly become somewhat protective over you. In a social setting, you are probably stationed in the corner of the room waiting for others to approach you or surrounded by close people you know.

Your eyes are alluring and can be felt across the room. People yearn to know more about you and what lies behind your enchanting gaze. They question why you're so quiet and to yourself.

When getting to know you, people notice that you are blunt and honest, preferring to cut straight to the point. You can clearly see through players, fakeness and egos and you're not here to entertain the bs. It also surprises people that you are so intelligent, headstrong and charming. But you only open to who you deem worthy.

II ~ Your charm is JE NE SAIS QUOI, Unfamiliar, profound and spellbinding, You are a person of potent power and you know it. Your essence oozes a calm confidence that fascinates and touches everyone around you.

Many may view you as a lone wolf or distinct in the way you present yourself. No one can check you off into any box. Some of you are of a different descent than those around you,

making you seem exotic. People could be enthralled by your accent, voice, unique fashion sense or your culture. You don't care about appearing weird to others. Staying authentic to yourself is most important and by doing this you give others hope, expand their minds and show them that they too can express their truest selves. You take them to another world where they can see themselves with loving eyes.

A glo' up' has been real for some of you and your looks have evolved tremendously. People describe you as a baddie or an it girl. You just have a captivating quality. On top of that, you KNOW how to seduce and don't care about being labeled 'bad'. Some of you embrace the label of the 'bad girl'.

People love taking time to get to know you and you enjoy talking about your big dreams. You don't stay still, always seeking to grow. Therefore always evolving.

III ~ Your charm is the Finesser.

From first glance no one would expect you are a powerful witch. The spell work and affirmations you do helps you manifest things excellently. You are able to see situations for what they are and manipulate it into what you want them to be. You may also be connected to nature and have some unique spiritual tattoos.

You are the undercover player moving in very strategic ways. You’re the type to meet your crush and reverse them to like you. You charm them by playing coquette and get them on your side to do whatever you want. You may use the affirmation "Everything I want wants me more."

You have many different sides to show, but you never reveal your full hand all at once. One day you're innocent then the next day naughty, happy then sad. You always have a one up one people, so things never get dull with you. You may also love to shock and surprise people. 

You're not boastful or afraid of showing vulnerability. You know this works in your benefit and no one suspects you until it's too late. Until they're too far gone under your charm.

People think you're losing but you’re actually winning.

[breannasfluff]

Legend catalogs the reaction he’s noticed of each person with the newest hero.

Wild scares the ever-loving shit out of Four. The smithy steers far away whenever he can help it and his eyes swirl a riot of colors. Legend’s watched him circle the Champion at a prescribed distance—a good 10 feet away if he can make it. Situations that bring him closer result in a flighty energy that steadily worsens until Four bolts further away.

Hyrule spouts so much flowery language and courtly manners he gives Warriors a run for his money. The veteran didn’t know he even knew that many manners, much less how to use them properly. Yet every greeting to Wild is some drawn-out, overextended mess of words that leaves everyone confused. The champion doesn’t seem to get it, either, so who knows why Hyrule insists on keeping it up.

Warriors…well, Legend’s not sure what happened between him and Wild, but the captain is waging a one-man war against his chainmail. Some days he wears it and others he’s stripping as fast as he can. It’d be funny if he didn’t look so frightened. Or if the chainmail stripping didn’t coincide with Wild’s close attention.

Wind is too easy-going to stay away from the champion, but he doesn’t seek him out, either. When they stop at rivers or lakes to bathe, the sailor goes in the water before or after Wild, but never at the same time.

Sky looks perpetually ill, sometimes tripping over nothing when Wild runs up to him. The champion peppers him with questions about his loftwing, or his Zelda. The last brings a frown to his face and if Legend didn’t know the chosen hero was just that, he’d say Sky was jealous.

Legend? He thinks Wild is fucking awesome . Oh, he’s still scary as any monster—scarier, even. The champion brings with him the ache of cold teeth, like chewing on an icicle or eating cold food too fast. Prolonged conversation with him results in a headache.

There’s something wrong with Wild, but not enough to keep Legend away. After so many adventures, it’s rare to find something that surprises him so thoroughly. As long as he doesn’t start manifesting dream creations, he can stay.

“You want to spar?” Legend plants himself in front of Wild, ignoring Warriors choking behind him.

Wild looks up, eyes reflecting light in a way they shouldn’t. “Spar?” It probably hasn’t escaped his notice that no one will fight him, even in training.

“Sure, I need to loosen up.” Rolling his shoulders, Legend moves towards the open area Four and Hyrule were using earlier. The sharp spike of cold goes straight to his head and he futilely presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, trying to warm it.

Warriors, stick in the ass that he is, is trying to get them to stop. “I don’t know if that’s a great idea right now.” He casts about for an excuse, then shifts pleading eyes to Time.

The old man looks like he’s not paying attention, but the veteran catches the tightening in his shoulders and sideways glance. “Play nice, stay safe. Run through some drills, first.”

He’s not a child to be told what to do. Legend tosses one of the practice staves at Wild, not willing to consign himself to metal against the other. “Here, this should do.”

Wild runs a hand over the wood and bends it over a knee, checking it won’t snap. Then he nods and waits for Legend, who stares back.

“Drill?”

“What drill?” Wild’s head tips too far to one side.

Legend doesn’t answer, just starts running through some basic moves. Wild watches but doesn’t join in. Finally, he stops. “Forget it. Fighting or not?”

“Boys,” comes Time’s voice.

“Whatever.” Legend ignores him and raises his stick. “Ready? Go!”

Wild’s not ready, but Legend makes a wide swing to give him time to settle. The kid made it through his journey with whatever weirdness he’s got going on; he can handle one spar without chopping someone’s head off.

His follow-up swing is met with the crack of wood; Wild’s focus is fully on the fight, now. He stays on defense, then switches to offense, and then back again.

Wild’s style is…unique, in that it seems to be a mash of moves with little flowing grace, but he’s a proficient fighter. He’s focused and in control. He doesn’t turn into evil incarnate because he’s crossing blades—or staves, with someone. Warriors worries over nothing.

Legend keeps up, periodically landing faster hits to see how he’ll react. Through it all, the sharp ache in his teeth grows. It’s distracting and the adrenaline of movement isn’t enough to block it out. The tightening band around his head is an indication enough of the growing headache.

Finally, Legend steps back and raises his stave to signal an end. Wild stays poised for one, sharp moment, then steps back as well with a grin.

“Thanks, this was fun.”

Nodding back, Legend tosses the stave to the side and meanders across the camp. Time’s gaze burns, but he ignores it to settle next to Four, far away from Wild and his tooth-aching chill.

The champion may be awesome, but curse the Goddesses, Legend could do without the headache.

Read the rest here!

[something-tofightfor]

2023 Summer Kiss Prompt #5: Tim Rockford - Jealous Kiss

Prompt #5 is for Detective Tim Rockford and asked for a jealous kiss. Now, in Black Days so far, there's really been no reason for either of them to be overly jealous ... but this takes place a few months down the road, and things are evolving.

I HC that Tim, once he's settled on going all in with someone, feels very strongly about them... and that these feelings manifest in interesting ways that he might not always expect.

Thank you for the request, @gracie7209 ... I hope you like it!

Word Count: 1,892

You hadn’t had a lot that night, but the two beers and a mixed drink - poured by Tim himself, who admittedly had a heavy hand - coupled by the fact that most of the food was already gone by the time you’d arrived ensured that you weren’t quite sober. 

He was driving, so there was no issue there, but where there was an issue was the way that he kept getting pulled away from you to talk to other people, which left you with nothing to do but focus on the drink in your hand. 

You knew almost no one else at the party, so while he was busy in conversation with whoever had started speaking to him at the moment, you were on your own. 

But as the night went on, you began to understand just how many connections he had - how many people seemed excited to see him and speak to him, how easily he got sucked into in depth conversations. The man’s hands moved animatedly as he told stories, one finger rising to push his glasses back up his nose and into place. He finally took them off a few hours after you arrived, folding the arms and tucking one of them into the collar of his shirt, the weight dragging it down just enough to tease you. 

And everyone else. You’d seen the way some of the women at the party were looking at him - batting their eyelashes, giggling, finding excuses to stand close and lean in while they talked. Tim was polite as usual and nothing more, but you still found yourself frowning every now and then at the sight, forcing yourself not to intervene because you didn’t want to be that woman. 

To his credit, he found you between conversations, the man apologizing profusely and stealing you away for a few minutes at a time. He planted kisses at the corner of your mouth or to the side of your head, his fingers linking with yours as he suggested going to see if the pizza had been delivered, or for the two of you to step outside and get some air. 

But those breaks only lasted so long before someone else demanded his attention. Rather than stand idly by his side and stare into space when you had no reason to join in on the conversation, you wandered around the house - going in and out of rooms and making polite small talk with people as they introduced themselves, or looking at artwork hanging on the walls and pretending to be engrossed.

And when you finally circled back around to Tim, he was happy to see you, winding an arm around your waist and pulling you close. “We can leave soon,” he murmured into your ear, lips dragging over your skin. “Maybe stop on the way back to my place and grab some real food. I don’t think that pizza’s ever going to come.” 

“I don’t either, so that sounds good.” You sipped from your cup, frowning when you only got half a mouthful of liquid. “I think I need a refill. Maybe some water, too. Do you -”

“Tim? Tim Rockford?” Turning your head toward the sound, you watched a man and a woman heading for where you stood, her eyes wide and his grin huge. “We haven’t seen you in months, where have you been?” He tightened his grip on you as the couple approached, and for a few minutes, everything was fine. 

Tim introduced you to them, explaining that he’d worked a few ridiculously complex cases, and that he’d been spending a lot of his time off of work getting to know you. You saw the look of sympathy in the woman’s eyes, the man rolling his and swearing before asking Tim if he’d ever considered a different job. And here we go… 

You sighed as the conversation shifted, smiling politely for a little while before you excused yourself, squeezing Tim’s hand and telling him you’d bring him another beer when you came back. He let you go - reluctantly, if you were reading his expression correctly - and it didn’t take long for you to make your way into the kitchen. 

Once there you busied yourself with filling and drinking a tall glass of water, frowning as you eyed the large window over the sink that overlooked the back yard. You had to be buzzed - that was the only explanation for the feeling that was twisting your stomach into knots - because there was no other reason for it. 

You were jealous - not of anyone in particular, but of the fact that Tim’s attention was so divided. He hadn’t given you any reason to be jealous, and none of the conversations had been anything for you to worry about, but you couldn’t help it. I wasn’t even like this when I talked to Chelsea, and she was the last person he’d slept with at that point. 

It was the repeated distractions - the way you’d barely had time alone with him in two weeks, and instead of spending the night tangled up on his couch with a movie playing quietly in the background, you were out and socializing, also not spending time alone with him. 

Rubbing at your forehead, you tossed the empty cup into the trash and then headed for the refrigerator, pulling the door open. I’ll get him a beer and grab one of the ciders for myself. Those are low ABV, one more won’t - “Would you mind passing me a beer since you’ve got the door open?” 

Turning your head at the sound of the man’s voice, you opened your mouth to agree, automatically reaching for one of the bottles and passing it over as you spoke again. “Sure. I think there’s a bottle opener on the counter, but -”

“I’ve got one on my keys. Thanks though.” You grabbed two more bottles - one for yourself and one for Tim, and then shut the door, spinning back toward the counter. “Here.” The man that had spoken stepped closer, one arm extended and a set of keys in his outstretched hand. “It’s already out and ready to go.” 

You thanked him, popping the caps off of your drinks and setting them down before you reached forward, giving him back his keys. “Have a good night.” Fingers closing around the necks of the bottles, you moved to step around him and back into the other room, ready to get back to Tim. 

“I haven’t met you, have I?” The man stepped closer, head tilted to one side. “I’m Aaron. Are you friends with Ella?” Shaking your head, you took a sip of your drink, leaning back against the counter. 

“No. I came with someone else. He knows Ella and Devin.” Pausing, you eyed Aaron, waiting to see if he asked who you were with. When he didn’t, you continued. “Tim? I’m not sure if you know him or…” You trailed off when he shook his head, taking a drink of his beer. “He got locked into a conversation, and I offered to come and get him another drink.” 

“That’s too bad. But at least it means I got a chance to say hello, so maybe it isn’t.” He stood up straight, his smile widening. “How could this Tim let himself get distracted from such a -”

“Because Tim’s an idiot.” Your lips twitched at the interruption, head turning enough so that you could see the man leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over his chest and the look in his eyes scorching. “And he’s not distracted anymore.” Aaron scoffed, holding up a hand and then backing away, his mouth set in a disappointed frown. There’s nothing to be disappointed about. 

Moments later, you and Tim were alone in the kitchen, the man pushing off of the frame and stalking toward you, arms hanging loosely by his sides. “I got you a beer.” Heart pounding, you held it out to him. “I was just -” 

“I don’t care.” He took the bottle from you and then reached past you to set it back down, stepping as close as he could and caging you in against the edge of the counter. “Are you mad at me?” 

“No.” You only got the single word out before Tim’s mouth was on yours, the kiss almost desperate as he sucked your lower lip between his. Oh, he’s… this is new. Winding your arms around his neck, you groaned, one of Tim’s hands sliding down and past your waist, fingertips slipping into your back pocket before they curled. 

You rocked your hips forward and felt Tim smile against your lips, his teeth grazing your skin before he backed away. He didn’t go far, though, the man blinking slowly as you caught your breath, hand still firmly in place. What the fuck is this version of him? “It takes a lot to get me riled up like this.” He arched a brow, eyes locked with yours. “And I know I have no reason to feel like …” Tim pressed his lips together, eyes narrowing. “Oh, this is interesting.” 

You’d rarely seen him flustered - even when confronted with your anger over Ryan, or the way Chelsea had shown up unexpectedly - so the fact that the mere sight of you alone in a room with someone else brought out possessiveness in Tim was a big deal. “I think he got the hint, Detective Rockford.” His eyes flashed and then Tim was kissing you again, that one more subdued but no less intimate. 

You parted your lips, the tip of your tongue probing at the seam of his, and he let you deepen it, your fingers raking through the hair at the base of his skull, the hand not on your ass sliding around you and beneath your shirt, his fingertips trailing up the center of your back. So it wasn’t just me. Tonight got to him, too. 

“Oh, he definitely got the hint.” Tim spoke after taking a deep breath, both hands still on you. “I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time with you tonight. I didn’t mean for -”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Chewing on the inside of your cheek, you closed your eyes. “It’s going to happen that way. Even when we’re out places together, we can’t just … spend all of our time talking to each other. We both have other friends, Tim.” 

“Yeah, well…” He wrinkled his nose, letting go of you and taking a full step back. “I got kind of used to having you mostly to myself these last couple months.” 

“Me too.” Your smile widening, you shook your head. “I don’t even really want this drink, I just want -”

“C’mon. Let’s go.” Waving his hand dismissively, he reached for you with his other one. “Let’s get out of here before someone else tries to talk to me.” He winked. “Or to you.” 

The laugh bubbled up and out of your mouth as Tim’s fingers closed around yours, tugging you away from the counter. “Is there a back door? If we walk back through that living room, someone’s going to want your attention.” 

“Too bad for them.” He headed for the door, turning his head to look at you, one side of his mouth lifted in a smirk. “The only one getting any of my attention for the rest of the night is you.” 

—

[gabessquishytum]

Can I please propose a Bathing Addendum to the Amnesia AU?!

Because 1389 Hob definitely needs a little help re-learning the 21st century protocols with regard to bathing/hygiene. And it's a delicate matter because it's not like Dream cares one bit or wants to make Hob feel bad about his natural grimy state. But Hob DID love all those fun, scented, pampering products, (his bathroom looked like an Influencer's free sample stash exploded all over it), even this version of Hob seems delighted by the comforts of the modern world, and not having fleas is SO great, so staying neat and clean could definitely be an important part of the Care and Management of the Amnesiac Hob.

(Though, the one thing he IS a bit weirded out about is how short his hair is. He keeps running his hands through it nervously & wondering how he/they/who cut it that short without slicing his ears with the rusty shears?! It's ok, though, Dream assures him they don't have to keep it trimmed. He shows Hob how to comb it back into a stubby little bun and fix it with these fucking awesome springy circle things.)

Anyway. The first time Dream gingerly shows him the shower and suggests some form of washing, he's surprised that Hob totally goes with it, easy as anything, & immediately just… strips off and even prompts Dream to join him. And Dream belatedly remembers that this kind of thing was more common where/when Hob was from, and he probably washed in the river with his fellow soldiers all the time.

So Dream. Just. Does it. Follows suit. Stripping off his tee and peeling off those tight jeans, all the while STERNLY ORDERING HIMSELF to NOT MAKE IT SEXUAL. No, no, no. It's just a couple of guys washing together.

(He does not, in this moment, realize that it might be useful to remind Hob of the current conventions surrounding adult nudity. Whole parts of his vast mind have just sort of shorted out.)

Dream struggles to keep his physical body under control so as to conceal his own interest as they step in and Hob delights in the warm, indoor rain. But Dream's body is a manifestation of his own will, and right now his own will is having EXTREME DIFFICULTY in shutting the fuck up.

But he can try. He doesn't want to make Hob uncomfortable.

Hob, however, already seems to be having some trouble. See, as tiny a shred of control as Dream has over his own Endless form, Hob is just human and cannot even hope for that much. And his interest is soon VERY clear. He knows not everyone would be opposed to having some extra fun in this perfectly normal communal bathing scenario — he has, after all, frequently kept some of his fellows warm on those cold, muddy nights on campaign if they were amenable. But he doesn't want to presume and scare the pretty lord away.

So Hob is painfully turned on and starting to hate this indoor rain, which is not at all like a river where you could just sneak into slightly deeper water and hope anyone who wasn't interested just politely chose not to notice. He's so self conscious and just trying not to look too much at the perfect form next to him and to hide his own interest — very poorly — with a soapy loofah.

But Dream, who can clearly see what is happening in the sudden spike of daydreams and also right in front of him in the shower, is so sweet about it. And he takes the loofa and gently washes Hob and soothes him and tells him there's nothing to worry about.

And afterward, they fall into the soft bed, which is definitely way more comfortable than a quick fuck in the mud on campaign, and Hob thinks he might really like this modern bathing strategy after all.

Oh absolutely!!! Here's the original amnesia au where Hob doesn't remember the last 600+ years.

I can't stop thinking about the scene in the 1993 Much Ado About Nothing film where all the dudes immediately get naked and wash in a stream(?) together while inside the house all the ladies are in the renaissance equivalent of a shower all together. The casual intimacy of washing together/washing each other is deadass so beautiful to watch.

So yeah, Hob inviting Dream into the shower with him? Very real, very lovely, and feels like an expression of how much Hob trusts Dream. It's all super weird for Hob, but even though he can't remember shit, he just has this feeling that Dream will be good to him. In fact, he has this strange, warm feeling like Dream means something really important to him. And then there's the plain fact that Dream is gorgeous and even in 1389, Hob had a weakness for pretty men.

Dream knows that he should just keep this all platonic and straightforward, but Hob is just adorable. Confused, a little clumsy, so fucking cute with his teeny tiny man bun. Dream is puddle on the floor as he lets Hob’s daydreams and his own feelings combine. So he gives in. He washes Hob’s back, and dries him of in a big fluffy towel that Hob definitely stole from a hotel, and leads him to rediscover the joys of memory foam.

Hob has lost 99% of his memories relating to sex, so Dream doesn't get to experience Hob at his best, necessarily - but maybe because of that, it's actually more special? Hob is vulnerable, a little silly, and very enthusiastic. He wants to explore and learn new things. He's absolutely fascinated and overjoyed by the concept of lube. No spit or oil needed! He can get fucked and it doesn't hurt (much)! Weirdly it also smells like strawberries!

And Hob is mainly just so excited about Dream himself. His gentle, generous and beautiful stranger! He's so in love. Doesn't matter how many memories he has.

[noodleblade]

another idea if you want, the Lost Light makes a detour to visit a cold planet and the crew gets to play with the snow, snow fight!

AHHH THIS WAS CUTE ;--; i hope you don't mind the rodimags/rodimims 👉👈 i love them dearly. Also because this got very self indulgent, there's some various other implied pairings:3 I just want everyone happy and having a good time. ok, ive also given up on this 500 word max challenge i cant do it

Rodimus grinned widely as he stared out across the snow fields of Chioni V. The tiny outpost planet was always a frozen wasteland but it was rare for its harsh winds to die and its dark, violent clouds to part for the local system’s two suns to shine through. It truly was good fortune for land for a restock on the planet’s one nice day every 2000 years or so. Or whatever Perceptor’s prediction models had declared. 

It didn’t matter to Rodimus. As soon as he’d seen the opening, there was little his Second in Command or his “Co-Captain” could do to stop him from declaring a shipwide snow day. By the time his announcement had echoed through the intercom system of the Lost Light, it was too late to turn down the crowd of mechs disembarking the ship to see one of the many delights of the universe.

It was especially hard to deny them now when, for once, everyone seemed to be enjoying themselves. 

Close to the ship, several mechs had begun construction of snowmen. Rung seemed to be leading the operation, helping Fort Max’s large servos apply the right amount of pressure to form the balls without crushing them with his strength. In a very short amount of time, the two of them had made eerily realistic figures of various crew members out of the dusty white snow. 

By the icy shore of a small lake, Cyclonus stood watchful guard as Whirl spun lazy circles around a stumbling Tailgate. Even across the distance, Rodimus could hear Whirl’s delighted laughter as he goaded Cyclonus to join them. Tailgate’s own giggles cross the distance. Rodimus wondered how long it would actually take Cyclonus to dare the slippery terrain. Judging by the way Cyclonus inched towards the ice, it would not be long.

Several mechs had coupled off to wander the frozen wonderland. Brainstorm was dragging Perceptor around to look at the frozen vegetation, almost appearing crystalized beneath the layers of ice. If Perceptor was bothered by Brainstorm’s tugging, he never showed it, never making an attempt to pull from the warm hand hold.

Rodimus even spied Ratchet trudging through the snow. He looked cold, but his scowl was difficult to hide as Drift pressed against him, holding the medic’s sensitive hands close to his chest for warmth. Their smiles were soft but warm. 

Out in the flats of the snowy plains, Rodimus could see a group of mechs playing in the snow. It looked as if teams had formed, Chromedome leading one with Rewind taking the opposition. While Chromedome had built a versatile team of mechs all across the different fields of the Lost Light, it paled in comparison to the absolute powerhouse that was Rewind’s team. Rodimus wasn’t sure how Rewind had convinced Megatron to join his team, let alone play, but Rewind looked smug as he sat on Megatron’s broad shoulder, directing his army of mechs with startling ease. If Chromedome was scared, he didn’t show it. He did, however, seem to be building his team in a more defensive formation, building thick walls to protect them from what would be a pure onslaught of snowballs once the fighting began. 

Rodimus wanted to join, eager to get in the fight. He was about to race across the plans when it hit him that there was someone missing. He stopped, scanning the fields again and checking it with the ship’s manifest. Sure enough, one mech was missing. Really two.

Ultra Magnus, and therefore Minimus Ambus, was absent from the crew-wide excursion. 

Rodimus swept the grounds once more, seeing no sign of blue and white plating or the even more elusive green and white. He sent a ping request and was unsurprised when his Second answered almost immediately. Even in his avoidance, Ultra Magnus was prompt as always. His ping came from the bridge and as much as Rodimus wanted to join the festivities, he was not going to allow his companion to hole up. So with great reluctance, Rodimus walked the gangplank back to the ship and made a beeline for the bridge.

Sure enough, Rodimus found his second seated at his station, helm bowed as he reviewed one of the many datapads stacked on his desk. Admittedly, he was a little surprised to see Minimus rather than Magnus, but that surprise was pushed aside by knowledge that Minimus was growing more comfortable forgoing the armor.

“Whatcha doing, Mims?” Rodimus asked as he approached the mech. He grinned deviously as Minimus’s mustache twitched with annoyance at the nickname.

“Someone needs to monitor the bridge.”

Rodimus rolled his optics as he crossed the distance to push the datapad away from Minimus’s reach, using the empty space to lean in, helm just a tad above the smaller mech’s.

“No. She’s fine for a few hours. Besides, you can bring the remote observation meters with you if you must.”

Minimus avoided his gaze as he reached over to grab another datapad. “That’s okay. I’m quite fine working.” Before the datapad could be set in front of him, Rodimus snatched it out of his hands and set it right back on the stack. “Rodimus.”

“Minimus,” the Captain countered right back. “Today is a shipwide snow day. For everyone. Including you.”

Minimus sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, optics narrowed. “This is pointless.”

“Megatron is even out there. He’s in a snowball fight,” Rodimus groaned, just as exasperated. “Decepticon Warlord Megatron is having a snowball fight and you are sitting here reading the newspaper-”

“They are valuable reports-”

“Oh, whatever,” Rodimus cut right through. “Come on, Mims, you have to come out. That’s an order from your Captain. Your favorite Captain.”

Minimus didn’t appear to be wholly amused but he still pushed his chair away from the desk, climbing to his pedes with a small huff. 

“Fine.”

“Really?” Rodimus perked up, rounding the desk quick to fall in step with his Second. 

“If I must.”

“And you must,” Rodimus was quick to assure, lest he give Minimus an out to be a bigger stick in the mud. “And you must join me in the snowball fight.”

Minimus stopped in his tracks and narrowed his optics at Rodimus. “Absolutely not.”

“Awwww,” Rodimus groaned, reaching to grab Minimus by the shoulder. “Come on, we’d be unstoppable. I was to destroy Megatron and I need you.”

Minimus looked from Rodimus over to where his hand rested against Minimus’s shoulders. Slowly, the smaller mech reached up and laid his hand over Rodimus’s. 

“I’m sure you can defeat Megatron without me.”

“Obviously,” Rodimus grinned, cocksure and bright. “But I want to see the look of horror on his face as you help me. Please? One game, and you can go back to the bridge if you want.”

Minimus contemplated the request for a long moment, his fingers shifting against the back of Rodimus’s hand before he slowly nodded his helm.

“Okay,” Minimus said slowly. Before Rodimus could cheer, Minimus added, “On one stipulation.”

“Mims, if you are asking me to do paperwork with you-”

“No, no,” Minimus quickly assured, squeezing Rodimus’s hand gently. “No, not that this time. I just…would like you to join me later. On the bridge. We can share a cube of warmed energon. If you’d like.”

Rodimus blinked, the words rolling across his processor for a moment before a grin sprang to his face growing bigger and bigger by the second. “Aw, shucks Mims, asking me out on a date? That’s cute.”

“No,” Minimus yelped, stepping away from Rodimus and quickly walking towards the exit of the ship. “Forget it, actually. We’ll play your silly game and be done.”

“And then we’ll share energon together,” Rodimus called after him, racing to fall back into step. He dropped his voice to a softer whisper, reaching out once again to grasp Minimus’s shoulder. “At night, the skies form an aurora. You usually can’t see it ‘cause of the clouds but we should be able to see them tonight. Together. If you dig it.”

Minimus did not shrug off Rodimus’s touch, quietly reaching up to grab his hand once more. Hesitantly, the smaller mech nodded. “I think I would…I would dig that.”

[artemisia-black]

I’ve read your fic about Regulus joining the Death Eaters, and I have a question: in Snape’s memories, he confessed his worries about his soul, which implies he didn’t intentionally kill anyone (except for his unintended role in Lily’s death)

‘“That boy’s soul is not yet so damaged,” said Dumbledore. “I would not have it ripped apart on my account.”

“And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?”

“You alone know whether it will harm your soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation,” said Dumbledore.

Do you think everyone must prove themselves to Voldemort by killing someone to join the inner circle, or is this only required for children of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, like Regulus or Barty Crouch Jr.? Would Voldemort use this as a way to bind members of powerful families to him, ensuring there’s no turning back for them?

Thanks for reading anon :D

So I view the Dark mark as Voldemort imposing a stigmatising quality on a privileged class in order to control them.

I have a meta about it. But here is the pertinent part:

Indeed, many of Voldemort’s inner circle are members of the wizarding world’s upper crust. So how does Voldemort keep them in line and more importantly how is he able to summon them to him when he has been presumed dead for 14 years?

In my opinion, it is because Voldemort understands the nature of stigma, particularly as he entered the wizarding world ostensibly as a muggle born.

So he has an understanding of being stigmatised and also understands that his inner circle of Death Eaters hold a great deal of social capital and privilege.

This makes them difficult to control in some ways (they have the means to nope out at any point) but also easy to control if you threaten their social standing using a physical stigmatising mark.

Whereas the dark mark is not widely known as a tattoo, it is known as a symbol of Voldemort and death/destruction:

“ Ron, You-Know-Who and his followers sent the Dark Mark into the air whenever they killed,” said Mr. Weasley. “The terror it inspired ... you have no idea, you’re too young. Just picture coming home and finding the Dark Mark hovering over your house, and knowing what you’re about to find inside. ..” GoF

So Voldemort strategically brands his social elite Death Eaters with the mark, which if revealed would send them tumbling down the social hierarchy. This would also explain why death-eaters who are already social pariahs, such as Greyback, do not receive them.

Additionally, I envision the Death Eaters as operating along a blood-in, blood-out system, where membership is sealed through an act of commitment that binds them for life. No one simply resigns (as Sirius mentions), and nearly every traitor meets a gruesome end.

Moreover, I believe that Voldemort deliberately tests the loyalty of his followers by pushing them to the brink, requiring them not only to serve him but also to demonstrate their willingness to kill in his name—sometimes for nothing more than the pursuit of power and personal gain. This ruthless demand serves to weed out any hint of weakness or hesitation among his ranks.

Furthermore, and this ventures into Headcanon territory, I see Voldemort harboring a particular resentment toward the Black family, possibly due to his time at Hogwarts with some of them. This resentment manifests in the way he takes a perverse pleasure in breaking Regulus, forcing him to submit, and corrupting his soul.

"Regulus pushed himself to his feet, his legs unsteady, his mind still reeling from the pain. The Mark was there, branded into his flesh, a sign of his loyalty. 

But as he met Voldemort’s eyes, saw the satisfaction there."

In my Tom Riddle fic, I have him swear vengeance on them:

"Tom's silence spoke volumes to Orion, who, placing a hand on Walburga's shoulder, declared,

"A lion has no need to tell a sheep of his superiority.”

Orion's words were met with four identical smirks that sent a shudder through Tom.

Shaking him to his very soul. 

The acrid sting of humiliation ignited a resolve inside him. One day, he would destroy them.  He would burn their house to the ground and bathe in the blood they took so much pride in. 

Schooling his face into neutrality, he met Orion’s gaze. 

Orion’s face was a portrait of disdain as his eyes scanned Tom’s robes. 

"Let the mud blood have his victory today; tomorrow, I will write to Father, and we will see if he ever dares speak to us again."

[entink]

Demons

Y/N takes part in a summoning ritual that she doesn’t really want to take part of and actual demons get summoned. On the positive side, they’re really hot. Turns out, these demons are staying longer than everyone thought.

——————————————————————————

Y/N read the instructions and watched as her friends finished setting up the circle. ‘Why am I even doing this? And why are we doing this at my house?’ she thought to herself as she sighed.

The circle itself was just a basic circle of rocks and salt, with some herbs and stones placed at certain points around it. All that mattered was that they had done their part, so now they had to wait for the spirit or whatever it was they were trying to summon, to take its place in this world.

They all sat around the circle and joined hands. Y/N could tell that her friends were nervous and excited about the whole thing. Even Y/N couldn’t help feeling the same way. It wasn’t every day you got to summon something from another world, let alone a spirit.

One of Y/N’s friends took a deep breath before starting the chant. “Come forth and manifest into this space, so that we may speak with your kind.” She said it very carefully, trying not to get carried away by her enthusiasm. Y/N noticed how her friends also started chanting so she joined in.

As the chorus grew louder and louder, the floor underneath them vibrated slightly from the energy of their voices before it stopped. They finally finished the chant and waited. After some time, Y/N began to wonder if anything would actually happen. ‘What are the chances?’ She thought as she looked at the others beside her.

“Ugh! I can’t believe we wasted our money on this stuff-” Y/N’s friend was cut off when there was a sudden flash of light coming from the circle they made. Everyone yelped and sheilded their eyes.

When the light died down, three men stood there.

One had really pale skin with lots of beauty marks on his face, one had fluffy dark brown hair, and one had a cold expression on his face. But the thing that stood out the most was the horns protruding from their heads and tail coming from their backs.

Everyone screamed upon seeing the men. All of Y/N’s friends got up from their seats and ran out of the house, crying without even looking back. Y/N wanted to do the same thing, but felt herself unable to move. She wasn’t sure if it was fear or something else. She just stared up in shock at the three men who she presumed to be demons.

“You,” the one with the cold expression said, pointing at Y/N. “Get over here. Now,” he ordered. Y/N obeyed and slowly crawled over to him, too afraid to actually get up. “Why did you summon us?” He asked while tilting his head. Y/N gulped and didn’t say a word. The demon growled and repeated himself, “Answer me!” His voice boomed throughout the room.

Y/N cowered back a little bit, still keeping her head lowered. “Don’t make me repeat myself!” he demanded again. This seemed to be enough to snap Y/N out of it. She sat up properly and said, “I…I didn’t summon you.” Y/N’s voice wavered. The man sneered and said, “I know that’s not true. I feel the energy coming from you do there’s no use in lying to me,” the demon then grabbed Y/N’s wrist tightly and squeezed it. Y/N cried out and tried to pry the hand free, but to no avail. “I didn’t…! It wasn’t my idea and I didn’t even want to do the stupid ritual!” Y/N babbled, tears filling her eyes.

The demon snarled and squeezed her wrist, making her wince in pain. “I…I mean we…didn’t mean to summon you. I’m sorry. I really am. It won’t ever happen again swear it! Just please let go! Please…,” her words came out weak and shaky as she sobbed. The demon growled and released her wrist, leaving Y/N gasping for air as she wiped her tears off her face. “That’s better,” he said as he stepped back.

One of the other demons finally spoke up, “What were you even trying to do? You knew that you would summon…something. So what was the reason for it in the first place?” “We…well… ” Y/N stammered. “My friends wanted to…to see the spirits and talk with them. We weren’t even trying to summon demons I swear. My friends thought they should do it at my house so…now we’re here.” She pointed at the circle behind her. The demons nodded, seemingly satisfied with her answer. The demon spoke up again, “Well, it doesn’t matter if you meant to summon us or not, we’re here now so we have a job to do.” His voice was more serious than before, though Y/N couldn’t tell why.

“Now, wish for anything and we will make it come true.” There was a moment of silence before Y/N finally spoke, “Huh?” Her confusion was clear on her face. “Just think about whatever you would like and I’ll grant it to you,” the demon explained impatiently, rolling his eyes. The other two held in a laugh while Y/N was confused. “R..Really?” “Yes really. Now stop wasting my time and wish.” Y/N hesitantly nodded her head.

‘Wait a minute! Don’t if you make a deal with the devil you’re basically selling your soul? Does that mean that if I make a wish I’m selling my soul to them?’ she thought to herself. The demon was clearly getting impatient, waiting for Y/N to make a wish.

“I don’t want a wish,” Y/N said firmly with as much confidence she could muster. The demons laughed, clearly amused with Y/N. “Make a wish. It’s not that hard. Anything your tiny little human heart desires.” Y/N shook her head, “No. I don’t want a wish.” The demon sighed, “We can’t waste time like this. Let’s just go.” ‘Well, that was easy,’ Y/N thought to herself, letting out a breath of relief.

The three demons stepped back inside the magic circle. The one with the fluffy brown hair snapped his fingers. Y/N watched, seeing how they would magically leave, but to her disappointment, nothing happened. The demon frowned and snapped his fingers once more. Nothing happened. “Jake, what’s going on? Why are we still here?” the pale one asked, obviously feeling frustrated. “I..I don’t know your highness…its not working. I’ll try and contact the council,” Jake replied nervously. The cold demon sighed and rubbed his temples.

The fluffy haired demon, Jake, pulled out a crystal ball from his pocket and started muttering something to it under his breath. Someone suddenly appeared on the crystal ball. Jake talked to the person, “Yeah. I know, but it’s not working. No matter what we try we can’t go back. What should we do now?” Jake listened as the other demon told him what to do. He thanked them and put the crystal ball away, turning back to the two demons.

“Um, so…he said that they don’t how to send us back either. He said that it could be because we’re trying to leave without granting a wish but…” Jake said awkwardly, shifting uncomfortably under their gaze. The cold demon turned towards Y/N, “You heard that right? We can’t leave unless we grant your wish.” “Can’t you just grant someone else’s wish?” Y/N asked timidly. The cold demon laughed. “Are you kidding? You’re the one who summoned us so the only wish we can grant is yours,” he explained irritated. “Well, I don’t care. I’m not wishing for anything,” Y/N insisted, crossing her arms. The demon scoffed. “You were crying earlier but now you’re being stubborn? You do realize you can wish for anything in the world right now right? You must truly be an idiot!” The two demons behind the demon started laughing loudly at what the demon called Y/N’s stupidity.

The demon sighed once more, “Look, if you don’t make a wish, things are gonna happen, bad things. Believe me when I say that no one wants to be a part of that. So if you really don’t want anything bad to happen, I suggest you give us what we want and make a wish. Besides, if you don’t do it, we’re just going to be stuck here.” Y/N scoffed, “The only thing I wish for is for all of you to leave!” The demons went silent before Jake spoke, “Does that count as a wish?” “Yes it does! So just leave! Leave me alone!” she shouted at the demon. The other two demons laughed as the one in the center started shaking his head.

“Well…she said that’s what she wished for so we’ll grant it-“ he stopped his sentence when the room was suddenly engulfed in a bright light. Y/N shielded her eyes by closing them tightly and covering them with both her hands.

When she opened them again she put her hands down to see three separate chains in them. She blinked in surprise and turned to look at the demons.

They looked pissed, way more than before. She wondered why they were so mad. She followed where the chains led to, only to see that they each led to a collar around the demons’ necks. The cold demon looked down at the floor, curling his fists. He seemed more embarrassed than anything. The other two demons were equally unhappy as well.

“Why…why do we have this? We didn’t form a contract…” the pale one said angrily. “Maybe it’s a punishment…?,” said Jake, crossing his arm over his chest. The cold demon looked at the collar and frowned, “But we didn’t do anything wrong…we did nothing wrong…so why are we wearing this!?” “Hmm…usually, when a demon first starts the process of granting someones wish, a contract is formed which includes the collars, linking the demon to the human. We’ve agreed to grant her wish, but due to the fact we can’t leave like she wished, we can’t actually grant her wish, causing all three of us to enter a contract with her. Meaning, until we leave, we’ll be in a contract relationship with her,” Jake explained calmly.

“Wow, that was really smart Jake-“ the pale one complimented before he was cut off by the cold one, “You can’t be fucking serious. This isn’t real!” he said, stomping his foot on the ground, “We can’t leave so how are we supposed to grant her wish and end the contract?!” Jake shrugged his shoulders, “There’s not really anything we can do until the council finds a way to bring us back. It probably won’t take too long since we have the Prince with us afterall.”

“What’s going on?” Y/N finally asked while letting the chains drop to the floor. “Long story short: We’re stuck here,” Jake told her. Y/N stared blankly at him. “Seriously? You mean you guys are stuck here?!” she yelled at them, shocked. The three demons exchanged looks, “Pretty much…” “It’s not like we want to be here either.” Y/N looked down at her feet then looked at them, “Well, you’re not staying here. I don’t know where you’re going to stay but it won’t be at my house.” The demons seemed to be slightly taken aback at Y/N’s statement. “Oh? Are you sure about that?” the cold one said. Y/N glared up at the demon, raising an eyebrow, “Yeah?” “You’d better watch yourself girl or else,” the demon threatened, staring down at Y/N as if he was daring her to move.

“Or else what? Are you going to kill me?” she asked sarcastically. The demon smirked at her then walked over to the couch. He lifted it up easily with one hand and held it above his head and said, “Now, are you sure you wanna play this game with me girl?” Y/N stood there for a moment, stunned. She gulped before looking down at her feet and fiddling her thumbs. The demon raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to reply. “Well? Are you gonna make the choice or should I?”

[starsreminisce]

Lucien Week

Day Seven: Free

Mask Part Two

The question loomed over them like an opulent, dazzling chandelier, casting a shadow of uncertainty.

But Elain's response transcended mere words; it manifested in myriad ways, leaving an indelible mark.

It was discernible in the puffiness that clung to her eyes the morning after, as she resumed her stoic facade.

It manifested in the unspoken chasm that had taken root between her and Azriel, a silent testament to the shifting dynamics of their relationship.

It was apparent in the gradual inches she surreptitiously moved closer to him, seeking solace and connection.

It was conveyed through the subtle turn of her head when Lucien discussed Princess Sigrid with their inner circle, a gesture that betrayed her concealed emotions.

It was evident in her wholehearted engagement in the mundane sessions and frivolous arguments, driven solely by the desire to hear Lucien's voice, her attention unwaveringly fixed on him.

It resonated in the rapid cadence of her heart when he turned his gaze toward her, a symphony of emotions playing out in the rhythm of her pulse. In moments of solitude, her heart retained a calm, unwavering beat.

It was unmistakable in the subtle slipping of her mask when Lucien continued to play the gracious host to the captivating Princess Sigrid, and in the princess's flirtatious responses to the charming courtier.

It was embodied in the raw, profound jealousy coursing through their bond, unrivaled by any emotion he had ever known, whenever Princess Sigrid placed her hand on him, or when she bestowed slow kisses on his cheeks, a rage as fierce as a forest fire surging within them.

Above all, it was reflected in the pain etched in Elain's eyes each time Lucien declined their invitations to dine with the princess, all in accordance with the princess's persistent requests.

Lucien longed for clarity, his hope no longer reliant on subtle cues and body language. As long as she remained silent about the question that loomed, his answer would forever be a resounding no.

"Would it not trouble you?" Lucien finally ventured as they lounged in the library after a taxing day of finalizing the treaty.

"That I must present this to my father, who possesses no interest in eradicating slavery?" the princess contemplated.

"That I am bound by a mating bond," Lucien sighed.

The princess regarded him, and he had to concede that she was not only beautiful but also brilliant, forward-thinking, and compassionate. Her concerns about the institution of slavery stemmed from her fear that not everyone would readily embrace its abolition.

He had sworn never to marry for anything less than love, especially as the son of a High Lord, but perhaps he had been looking at it all wrong. Being married to someone who enjoyed his company seemed far preferable to being mated to someone who did not.

"Both of us find ourselves in a precarious situation," Princess Sigrid remarked evenly. "Love may not be a luxury we can afford, given that we are commodities in the political alliances of our respective courts."

He furrowed his brow. "Did Beron approach you with this proposition?"

"Anyone seeking an alliance with Vallahan has made their overtures," she replied with a nonchalant shrug. "My own brother had his mate coerced into breaking their bond because my father deemed the match unsuitable."

"Do I resemble a prized stallion to you?" Lucien quipped wryly.

Princess Sigrid met his gaze with unblinking directness. "Rhysand certainly knows how to leverage your talents. I've heard that the human lands are thriving, the Spring Court is flourishing, and the Night Court's reputation has transformed from unfavorable to coveted."

Lucien chuckled. "So I am, it seems."

"If your mate fails to recognize your worth," Princess Sigrid said, returning to her book, "then seek companionship elsewhere. A mating bond does not equate to love."

"And what if she were to accept it eventually?"

"Then she can join us," Princess Sigrid shrugged, her smirk undeniably mischievous. "After all, I'll need both your assistance in ensnaring Eris as a husband."

Lucien burst into hearty laughter. "I must admit, I'm quite fond of you."

Their private moment was abruptly interrupted by the soft, almost inaudible footsteps that announced Elain's entrance into the library. Her gaze was cold, a stark contrast to the warmth of the room, and Lucien could practically hear the anger and frustration brewing beneath her calm exterior as she observed their closeness.

"Ah, Lady Elain," Princess Sigrid chimed cheerfully. "I was eagerly anticipating a chance to speak with you."

Elain's smile reached her eyes, but their bond betrayed the turmoil within her. "Rhysand would be delighted if the two of you could join us for dinner tonight, given that it's your last evening here."

Sigrid, not one to shy away from tension, turned to Lucien and ran her hand through his hair in an intimate gesture, her voice dripping with sweetness. "I suppose I have been somewhat selfish in monopolizing Lucien's time."

Lucien could feel the electricity in the room intensify, his heart pounding as he witnessed the silent clash of wills between Elain and Princess Sigrid. Elain's civility barely concealed her true emotions, and the air crackled with unspoken rivalry.

Maintaining her composure, Princess Sigrid responded to Elain's invitation with honeyed words. "How gracious of you, Lady Elain. I would be honored to dine with you this evening."

As she leaned in to kiss Lucien on the cheek, she whispered, "Do you think she'll poison me or stab me for touching you like that?"

"Enough," Lucien said, leaning in closer to her.

Princess Sigrid giggled and gracefully left the room, sauntering past Elain. "I need to freshen up. I'll meet you there."

Lucien closed his book and rose from his seat. To his surprise, Elain finally spoke. "I'm surprised you didn't follow your betrothed, especially when I have yet to provide you with an answer regarding our bond."

"You misunderstand me if you think I will wait indefinitely for you, like a helpless fool," Lucien retorted.

"Is all of this just a ploy to pressure me into giving you an answer?" Elain inquired, her eyes probing his.

Lucien reached her, their faces mere inches apart. "No, Elain. You've already given me your answer through your silence."

"She doesn't love you," she whispered, her lips parting ever so slightly.

It was challenging for Lucien to meet her gaze, especially when her vulnerability was laid bare. It was difficult to resist the urge to hold her, to reassure her, as the jealousy transformed into nervousness and her heart beat erratically beneath her icy facade.

“I don’t need her to,” came Lucien’s reply.

Elain's eyes bore into Lucien's, and she paused for a moment, considering his response. After a moment of silence, she finally spoke, her voice filled with an earnest, almost reluctant sincerity.

"Lucien," she began, her tone soft and contemplative, "will you truly be happy, knowing that you're not loved in the way you deserve to be?"

Lucien's gaze softened, and he took a deep breath, contemplating her question. He understood the weight of her concern and the depth of her feelings.

"Does it scare you?" he asked her once again, his voice gentle and searching. "That you'll never see me again?"

The silence hung heavy between them, an unspoken acknowledgment of the painful crossroads they had reached. Elain's eyes searched his, filled with a mix of sadness, longing, and a growing sense of resolve.

"I can't keep living like this," Lucien finally confessed, his voice tinged with weariness. "One of us needs to make a decision, and if you want to change it, then change it."

Elain's gaze didn't waver, her emotions laid bare. She hesitated, wrestling with her own inner turmoil before she spoke, her voice trembling slightly, "So, you'd rather never see me again than hold out hope?"

"Yes," Lucien replied, the word heavy with the truth that had been festering within him for far too long. "And if that scares you, then please let me know. But, Elain, I am leaving to get the treaty signed, and I'll be there for as long as it takes."

A heavy silence hung in the room, and Lucien's heart sank with the weight of uncertainty. He couldn't bear the thought of never seeing her again, but he also couldn't continue living in this agonizing limbo.

Lucien watched as Elain's eyes shimmered, resembling delicate dew-kissed petals basking in the soft, golden light that filtered through the library's grand windows. Her fingers, as fragile as spun gold threads, quivered with anticipation, reaching out to bridge the chasm that had separated them for so long.

In a moment of raw vulnerability, she closed the remaining distance between them. Her lips met his with a tenderness that spoke volumes, as if each kiss held an unsung note in their unfinished symphony. The taste of salt from her tears lingered, adding a bittersweet melody to their connection.

Their kiss was a desperate plea, a silent cry, and an intimate confession all at once. It was a plea for him to grasp the depth of her feelings, to understand the intricate web of emotions that had ensnared her heart. In that fleeting moment, they wove a tapestry of longing and love, with each kiss acting as a golden thread binding their souls together, strengthening a bond that transcended the boundaries of time and circumstance.

As their lips finally parted, she looked into his eyes, her voice trembling. "Please, return. I don't want to lose you, not like this."

Lucien's response was an unexpected twist in the melodrama of their entangled emotions. "Come with me," he urged, the words sincere and hopeful.

Elain blinked in surprise. "What?"

"You know the treaty," he pressed. "Come with me."

She hesitated, her thoughts racing. "I don't… It's too short of notice."

Lucien's eyes held a compelling blend of determination and longing as he spoke. "We'll figure it out together," he assured her, his voice laced with a quiet, unwavering certainty.

But Elain's reaction was far from what he had hoped for. Crushed, she pulled away from him, shaking her head, and without another word, she made her way to the dining room, leaving Lucien behind with a heavy heart.

Regret gnawed at him as he sighed, chastising himself for pushing her too quickly. In the wake of Elain's departure, Princess Sigrid appeared, her frown revealing her understanding of the situation. "I heard. I'm sorry. I did want her there too," she offered sympathetically.

Lucien, ever the master of his own emotions, concealed his inner turmoil behind a practiced smile. "Well," he said, slipping back into the role of the courtier who could never have his heart broken, "it was worth a try. She is my mate, after all."

The dinner proceeded unceremoniously, marked by Azriel's absence. Laughter and banter filled the room, with Rhys and Cassian playfully teasing Lucien by addressing him with variations of 'your highness' and 'your majesty.' Feyre attempted to hide her sadness at her friend's impending departure, while Nesta, true to her character, made a cheeky request that brought blushes to a few faces.

Yet, beneath the facade of cheer, Rhys's reminder that Lucien remained under the Night Court's employ until the treaty's finalization cut deep, grounding them all in the complexities of their situation.

A flicker of hope fluttered through their bond, only to be swiftly extinguished when Princess Sigrid playfully mentioned a 'deadline' in a way that hinted at secrets and unspoken agreements.

The room fell into an uncomfortable silence, all eyes turning to Elain, and it was Nesta who posed the unspoken question, "You do know Lucien has a mate, right?"

Princess Sigrid answered first, her smile unwavering. "I do," she confirmed.

Lucien chimed in, "She's aware."

Elain's concern was evident as she voiced her unease, "That doesn't bother you?"

As the challenge hung in the air like an unspoken duel, the room brimmed with tension. Lucien watched, torn between the desire for a future with Elain and the reality of his situation with Princess Sigrid.

With a serene smile, Princess Sigrid responded, "No, it doesn't bother me."

Elain's brow furrowed as she pushed further, "But it should. He will never truly be yours. He has a mate."

Princess Sigrid's reply was filled with wisdom and calm determination, "Love and possession are not the same, Lady Elain. I understand the complexities of his situation, but I choose to cherish the moments we will have together. If you don’t like where it’s going, change it. Take a leap of faith. Cauldron knows we live far too long to be confined in situations that define us."

The dinner continued, marked by quiet contemplation and a sense of understanding. The night concluded, and the following morning, the inner circle gathered to bid farewell to Princess Sigrid.

Finalizing the treaty took just a few days, and Lucien's departure date was swiftly set. He and Elain had not spoken since their last encounter, and he had come to terms with her unspoken answer. He knew that he wanted all or nothing, and her silence signified 'nothing.'

The day before his departure, he penned a heartfelt letter to Elain. In it, he expressed his gratitude for the moments they had shared, his hopes for her happiness, and an understanding that their paths had diverged. He gently suggested that she reject the bond two days after he had left, to avoid any turmoil that might ensue.

His final words conveyed his longing for happiness and his prayers that she would find hers too. The night before he left, there was a small dinner in his honor, but neither Elain nor Azriel attended.

As he prepared for his journey, sleep eluded him. He wondered whether the distance and the distraction would be enough to mend his aching heart, without the burden of hope. He relished watching the dawn break over Velaris, feeling the thrill of a new adventure ignite within him. The inner circle didn't want to say goodbye, hoping that his departure was only temporary, and Lucien preferred it that way.

As Lucien approached the dock, his heart pounding in his chest, he couldn't help but notice a small figure standing there, waiting for him. Elain looked up as he neared her, their eyes meeting once more, and in that moment, the air was thick with unspoken emotions.

She waved his letter and spoke with a mischievous twinkle in her eye, "I think if I were to reject the bond in two days, it'll be a pain dealing with you when we are on that ship together."

Lucien's brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you…"

But before he could finish his sentence, she kissed him. It was a soft, sweet kiss that held the promise of something more. He responded urgently, his desire and longing finally finding release in their embrace.

"I would have done neither stabbing nor poisoning," Elain whispered, her voice barely louder than a breath. "I would have ruined her in court with rumors."

A surge of hope coursed through Lucien's veins as he dared to ask, "Does that mean you're coming with me?"

In response, she pulled another letter from her pocket, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "It's hard to ignore when a Princess summons you. But she said that she was worried you'd be too distracted missing me to pay attention to making sure the treaty would pass. And she misses my murderous glares."

Lucien couldn't resist the urge to kiss her once more, a fervent and passionate kiss filled with the promise of forever. He thought to himself, "I'll have this forever. I'll have her forever."

She turned around and handed him an apple muffin, a sweet gesture that touched his heart. "I made this for you."

With a playful glint in his eye, Lucien teased, "I don't know, Elain. I mean, I did get a marriage proposal from a Princess."

Elain's frown deepened, and she urged him, "Lucien, stop playing around."

With a mischievous gleam in his eyes, he leaned in close, whispering against her neck, "I've waited two years," his lips brushed her skin, eliciting a small gasp, "you can wait until we're on the ship."

[0ccuria]

2, 6 & 14 for Val'eth <3

[30 Questions for your Tav]

2. Describe their tent setup! What’s on the outside? The inside?

His tent would be a hanging type with a makeshift platform underneath it, tethered to trees or anything that could hold it securely. He doesn’t like sleeping on solid ground. He’s too used to the rocking of ships and weightlessness within the Astral Sea. It’d be made of canvas, dyed a dark maroon, adorned with golden spiritual baubles and other effigies. Hanging on a wooden dowel by the entrance flap would be cured meats along with various creature parts and hides that he had processed himself.

Everything is in its place inside the tent. A vanity with a wash basin and his accessories would be sat towards the back, topped with meticulously organized skin and hair products – both mass produced and homemade. His bedroll is tucked and smoothed out every morning, with his folded sleepwear resting on top. There is a small meditation corner, circled with various herbs and Zerth prayer idols. He also keeps his knives neatly aligned on his weapon rack, going from shortest to longest, but setting his best and sharpest beside his bedroll.

6. How would the player go about meeting them in Act 1? What is their introduction?

Very early around the Nautiloid crash site, pinned on the water’s edge under one of the tentacles along the beach. As you pass him he calls out for help, struggling to free himself. You can either roll a strength check to help lift the tentacle so he can slide out, or if you fail that, he will point to his knife that is out of reach in the sand. You can then hand it to him so he can hack away enough of the meat to wiggle free. Once standing, he explains that he had seen you on the ship and becomes hostile, pointing the knife at you (he will reach for it instead if you passed the strength check). He demands answers that you can’t give.

Suddenly – your tadpoles twinge and make a connection. You see through his eyes, burning from smoke and ash in the air – you’re on the docks of Creche K’liir, currently under attack by the same Nautiloid that abducted you. Caught between fighting Ghaik and your own kin, you call out a name you can’t quite understand due to the chorus of battle around you. Your eyes frantically dart in every direction in search of someone, until you finally lock eyes with them climbing onto the ship. You halt, lowering your knife as the fighting drowns out and slows into a waltz of bloodshed.

She stares back, remorseless, as she hangs off the side of the ship before disappearing into an opening. You call out to her with poison on your tongue and the heavy weight of utter betrayal on your heart. Everything then speeds back into reality and finally – darkness. The connection wanes.

You can either explain your situation and mention that you had actually come across another Gith to talk him down, or you can threaten him back – to which he will respond with respect and sheath his knife. He agrees to join you if you help him find the other Gith, clearly having had unfinished business with them.

When that other Gith turns out to be Lae’zel, he is utterly defeated – she was not the one in question. Allowing a moment of disappointment and mourning to pass, he suppresses his emotions and gets straight to business by sticking by your side to find a cure – having lost everyone under his wing, you're the next best chance he has at not becoming a Ghaik thrall.

14. Where are they from? What was home like?

Despite identifying as a Githzerai, he was originally from Tu’narath and matured on Toril – specifically within a small Creche on the eastern realm of Kara-Tur. He had been raised and indoctrinated like most other Githyanki – strict education and physical training that left him beaten, bloodied and, quite frankly, mentally damaged. His love for ships and sailing, both ocean and astral, manifested very early on during his excursions to The Celestial Sea. It had eventually led him to come across Githzerai travelers that accepted him into their faith.

[bracketsoffear]

The Full, Unabridged Director Oswald Propaganda

[LENGTH AND SPOILER WARNING]

In The Department of Truth, the protagonist’s boss (and director of the titular secret federal department) is a much older Lee Harvey Oswald, though it’s not explicitly known which version of him he is. As in, what story of the assassination is true? Is he the CIA stooge? The innocent patsy? The lone gunman? Our protagonist muses this question in the second issue and can only conclude: “He’s probably not the one killed by Jack Ruby.” And looking at the picture the comic paints of who he is now, he seems much more the type to spend his time in Howard Hunt’s circles than Kerry Thornley’s, if you know what I mean. He has become the image of the perfect Cold War-era fed with his browline glasses, dark suit, quips about a new generation gone soft, and an ever-present cigarette. And that’s because he always has been that. He joined the Department as an agent when he was 19, working to counter the Soviets and gain information on their country’s equivalent of the D.o.T. And we, the reader, do not know what happened on November day in Dallas, but neither does he, it seems. Kennedy stood against the Department and it was his job to take him out, but in that book depository, he saw the Scarlet Woman (a sentient thoughtform who is very personification of violent societal change and conspiracies, her summoning literally bringing about the Cold War itself against the intentions of those who designed the ritual à la the Manhattan Project scientists) holding a sniper rifle, ready to tear apart the country’s sense of truth with a bullet. (Well, three.) But as the story of the assassination spread, so did the idea of Lee Harvey Oswald, the concept of the shadowy assassin that was seen on the front pages—the conflicting theories and paranoias made manifest. To quote Hawk Harrison (another character), “the living embodiment of every horrible thing people think the government is capable of, filled up into a man-shaped thing.” 

And we don’t know which one was saved and which one was killed. And neither does he. He’s left contemplating whether or not he’s truly real or simply another fiction, but at the end of the day, it doesn’t matter. Reality is relative, he’s no less real than this country is. No matter how human he may or may not be, he might as well be American paranoia personified in function. He’s a man desperate to do whatever it takes to uphold the ideal of what America is supposed to be, that Shining City on a Hill; a man fighting in a war of propaganda and information and disinformation, a war of stories and ideas. To quote Indrid Cold, he’s simply a “dream this country is having.” 

For a brief moment though, he tried to escape from what he is in the way so many privileged young people of the 1960s did: growing his hair out and running away to San Francisco in search of drugs, free love, and an answer to his problems and existential malaise. He found the first two, the last is debatable. He finds himself in bed with an unnamed woman with whom he shares his fears about his nonexistence, about the country's nonexistence, only to pull a gun on her when he realizes that she laced his blunt with LSD. ‘Who the hell are you, and who do you work for?’ He asks, pointing the weapon in her face. “Do you know who I am?” She simply answers: “You’re not going to hurt me. I’m just a pawn in a bigger game. A patsy.” She knows. Of course, she does, she’s Company, a CIA agent involved with MKULTA, the agency’s infamous failed attempt at brainwashing its own citizens. “Was it you?” he asks, “Did you pull the trigger?” She tells him that they’re not the ones in control, that “Everyone misses the real conspiracy, don’t they? We’re the little shadow puppets they control. We do what they tell us to do. Some very smart, very dumb people thought they could control what America was without getting blood on their hands. They thought they were storytellers. They thought they were selling Coca-Cola and Chevrolet and hot dogs. They wanted to tell America that “It’s a Wonderful Life,” and they wanted America to believe it. Isn’t that right, Lee? But it’s not a wonderful life. People know that. People don’t want to get along. They want to fuck and feel good and feel righteous. The Department of Truth is selling America its own version of The Truth. Telling everyone Why We Fight. Why We Buy. Why We Believe. But it’s not working, is it? You know it’s not working. You can see the cracks forming all around us. You can see the fracturing. The Counterculture… It’s such a perfect little weapon. These kids think they’re fighting against some big war in Asia, but they’re on the front lines right here in Haight-Ashbury. They eat the lotus flower and they see themselves as little gods, and see their desires as something larger than they are. They sing their little protest songs, but they’ll be voting Republican before their first grays come in. I’m just a pawn. A patsy. I feed the kids the drugs and my bosses tell me that it’s to wash their minds, to see if we can push them, control who they are and what they think. It’s not working… This whole MKULTRA thing… Not how the men in suits want it to work, but me and the kids on the ground, we’ve been seeing it. They do it all on their own. They brainwash themselves. They become rancid, and bloodthirsty, and we have to feed them the blood they want.” 

“I don’t understand,” asks Lee. “Who killed Kennedy?”

 “You’re so fucked up that you can’t even how funny that is…” she continues, “Is it my bosses in Langley? Eisenhower’s military-industrial complex? The big bad commie-hating war machine, not willing to back down in the fight against the hammer and sickle, even if means having to kill our best and brightest? Is it Queen J. Edgar Hoover and his black-suited goon squad terrified that the kids are going to rise up and shoot their parents in their sleep? Is it the Italian mob, and Hoffa, and all their mobsters and teamsters angry that they’re losing their foothold,” No, she says. “It’s the same as it was in ‘63. It wasn’t any of them. It was you. It was me. It was all those kids smoking reefer on the street and thinking about free love. You can’t just tell them that things are going to be better forever like your idiot bosses thought. The kids want to fight for themselves. They want to own it for themselves. You need to let them taste glory.” 

Lee wakes up with a campaign button in his hand: “NIXON’S THE ONE!” The next time we see him, he’s meeting the new president in the oval office, once again wearing a suit with his hair cut short. He has become almost exactly what the unnamed agent described, with one major difference. He succeeds. 

History is, of course, written by the victors, and facts can be rewritten by them as well. After Lee’s “death”, the previous Director (Frank Capra, director of It’s a Wonderful Life) put him in the Department’s archives to try and figure out who the Scarlet Woman was, only for him to use the research to find a new way of doing things, a way to shift reality through manipulating what people believe to be true on a large scale through media, and symbolic imagery, and simple lies that serve to reinforce what the public wants to believe about this country, and for that, Richard Nixon appointed him to the job we know him in, Director of the D.o.T. Director Capra was a naïve idealist who truly believed that the American Dream was not only real but could be achieved through hard work. Lee knows that the American Dream is a lie, but my god, he will do what it takes to make it real, no matter how underhanded the tactics. If you can control the narrative, you can control The Truth. 

For most of his tenure, it was the height of the Cold War, there was a distinct enemy to push against. It was a conflict of countries, of ideologies, of two superpowers trying to keep their way of life at the expense of the other, and it was the U.S. that won out. There is another version of the 20th century, the one that was once real, where the founding ideals of the USSR were much closer to being realized within its border, it was something better than what it became, but the U.S. won the propaganda war and what was once simply a fact had become a hazy fiction that never happened. And so the victor rewrites history. 

And how does one become the victor? Through whatever means necessary, from fabricating events that later became real, to assassinations, to media manipulation, to the creation of the Satanic Panic itself, playing off paranoia and Christian nationalism to strengthen the idea that America is something that exists, that the American Dream is worth fighting for. (And of course, in the case of the latter, to deflect media attention from the whole Iran-Contra Deal.)

And what did this victory get him? A hell of a lot of guilt and a shattered, post-truth society that he’s left trying to clean up the pieces of. The Department is no longer fighting an ideological battle against an equally matched enemy, they’re floundering against the misinformation and conspiracies they once spread, desperately trying to keep reality from falling into the hands of far-right reactionaries using their own methods (and in Lee’s case, his own stories) to try and rewrite reality in their favor. The D.o.T. is rotten to its core, an organization founded to uphold American hegemony, but now, they’re the closest thing to the heroes of this story simply because the other side is so, so much worse. Like Pandora desperately trying to stuff the evils she released back into the box, they’re trying to contain the lies they wrought upon society. 

The phrase “post-truth society” is often thrown around concerning the present political moment, but the comic posits that this isn’t new. There has never been a unified societal truth. But it sure as hell is worse now when any internet fascist can go and rant about whatever fucking bigoted conspiracy they stake their brand on and sway thousands to their side. And we need to fight that at all costs. But preserving the status quo is not the way; I mean, look where trying to do that left us. No, there’s another way. And that’s coming clean about everything. No more secrets, no more attempts to shape the narrative towards your ideal, the public needs to know. (And that’s the power of government transparency and the Fourth Estate, babey!)

Finally, I leave you with this monologue:

“I know you don’t trust me. I don’t care. I’ve done enough bad shit, and spent the last sixty years of my life lying through my teeth every goddamn day. I don’t need you to trust me. But I need to trust you to know that the ends justify the means. You’re sour over your star-faced man. Hawk told you that he stoked the fire there, tried to make it seem realer than it was. That we had a vested interest in people believing that Satan was lurking behind every corner. I was younger then. I was stepping boldly. I was trying to defend the dream of what America was supposed to be. Not let those Russian fucks dictate our future. I’ve done many things that haunt me, more than you can imagine.”

Bonus Propaganda via @mx-information:

.

[classpectingcaxy]

rogue of space ? :3

Alright, let's do this! One of my top three Classes with my second favorite Aspect!

All analysis below the cut.

Rogue

Rogues are a passive theft class. They are the most selfless class, stealing their aspect from the world around them, passively drawing it in, and redistributing it to others. They often have a habit of keeping secrets of some kind, which can be related to their aspect, but isn't always.

This is seen in all three Rogues we know: Roxy, Nepeta, and Rufioh. Roxy was a genius, being beyond simply "adept" with computers and scientific pursuits, and yet hid it behind her drunken party girl behavior, keeping others in the dark about her level of intelligence. Nepeta kept her friends from finding out just how angry she could get, and took active effort to prevent anyone from discovering her OTP. Rufioh also did something similar, in hiding his dissatisfaction with his relationship and keeping secret his confusion on whether to continue with it.

The Rogue class is often unaware of just how important their aspect is. Every aspect plays a role in life, and the Rogue's inability to accept the vital role theirs plays is almost universal. This doesn't mean they disregard the importance of their aspect! It simply means that, while they may understand that its concepts are a part of a balanced life, they have a mentality of "You need this more than I do", a belief that their aspect and it's concepts are wasted on them, best for others.

Overall, it's this very mentality that makes the Rogue...Well, a Rogue! They are selfless and giving, and hide certain parts of their lives in the belief that sharing them would be an unnecessary burden to those around them. They take in their aspect for better or worse and distribute it in ways they feel benefits others most.

Space

Space is the aspect of physics (concepts), physical space (measurable matter/events), as well as creation. It is a powerful and passive aspect, even in the hands of an active class.

Space players are often patient and tactical, calm in the face of serious adversity. They are intelligent and are drawn to some form of creation or life. This can either manifest in the form of an interest in the cultivation of life (such as in botany or birth) or other physically creative hobbies such as inventing, building, or crafting.

Space players also often tend towards one of the two extremes in their value of metaphorical space, either caring deeply and being highly protective of it or caring little at all and often disregarding it entirely. This leads to two common types of Space players: The impenetrable bubble and the casual river.

The bubble is a person who is highly defensive, often only letting in the absolute most trusted individuals. They put great emphasis on their personal space and won't share it with anyone outside their innermost circle. They may be protective of things that others may not find very important, and are often the ones to make others hesitant to ask for more due to how defensive they can be. But for those who do get close to them in due time, they are some of the most interesting individuals in the world.

The river is a person who simply goes with the flow, inviting anyone and everyone to join in. Their "bubble" is the world and all in it are welcome. They may be casual about things most others would be protective of, and are often the ones to make others uncomfortable with how lax they are about things. But for those who find comfort in leniency will find no greater calm than that of "the river" Space player.

Both of these people share a very important trait: They each see a much larger picture than those around them. The difference being that "the bubble" individual is likely to see every individual part of that bigger picture as being equally critical, while "the river" is can best be described as someone who "doesn't sweat the small stuff".

Overall, Space players have a deep connection to both physical/literal and metaphorical space, and often find themselves drawn to physically creative pursuits. They are often very interesting individuals with many hobbies and pursuits that others may find intimidating, either to maintain or to do in the first place.

Rogue of Space

A Rogue of Space is one who passively draws in Space, and redistributes it to others in the ways they feel is best.

The Rogue of Space would have a hard time accepting that they themselves need personal space, being a "river" type Space player, going with the flow and letting in anyone and everyone without hesitation. They would feel that the concepts of space are more for others. This makes them the "chronically online" friend so to speak.

The one you know, no matter what time, no matter what day, you can message them and they'll respond in seconds because they care more about *your* space than theirs. They would also struggle at setting boundaries with others, feeling they're not entitled to do so despite believing others are.

This is a painful combination, Space is already a very passive aspect, and Rogues are a passive and selfless class.

A Rogue of Space is likely to be alone more often than not, with others either avoiding them due to their quirks or due to them being the "third wheel friend" in the eyes of those in their circle. It's an emotionally difficult classpect to bear, as both Space and Rogue often withhold parts of themselves, with "the bubble" doing so protectively and "the river" doing so forgetfully.

However, they are all the more appreciative of those who do show them genuine care and attention, and when a Rogue of Space is properly cared for you'll find they're often extremely interesting and have more skills than can be listed off. They are intelligent and crafty, skilled and creative, and those who sincerely befriend them and maintain that connection will find none more versatile.

Overall, a Rogue of Space has a very, VERY difficult journey, and while others may make many good friends, or a few close bonds, a Rogue of Space is likely to make lots and lots of acquaintances and have one or two individuals as chosen family. They have many hobbies, many interests, and often find themselves alone, and when they do find themselves in company, it's either that of their chosen family or they are giving their company to those they feel deserve it, whether or not those individuals would do the same for them.

[goodlucktai]

coming right on back for you

part 4 of 5

rise of the tmnt x tmnt 2k12 pairing: leo & mikey, leo & everyone word count: 3714 title borrowed from hurricane by lord huron post-movie

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read on ao3

x

This time, they’re watching closely, and they don’t miss the flickers of blue light that run across the striped turtle’s skin like tiny electric currents. He’s out cold so it can’t be something he’s doing on purpose. Thankfully, it doesn’t manifest in any other sharp weapons flying out of thin air, which Mikey and Raph agree to take as a win.

Leo’s brow is wrinkled beneath his mask. He lays a careful hand on the kid’s chest and closes his eyes.

Their eldest brother always listened the closest to sensei’s teachings. He absorbed everything—qigong, the healing arts, boryaku, strategy and tactics, seishin teki kyoyo, spiritual refinement. His siblings used to call him a teacher’s pet, overachiever, Splinter Jr. It hurts to think about that now.

Leo wanted so badly to be the perfect son, to honor his family, because he always thought love was something he needed to work for. He had to be good. He had to earn it.

And all those extra hours Leo spent in the dojo, pouring his heart and soul into an unattainable dream, are something his brothers continue to benefit from to this day. It sucks that Leo can’t just stick all of it behind him and move on; they rely on him too much for that.

Wordlessly, Donnie steps back, circling the bed to join Raph on the other side. He glances at Mikey, a silent cue for him to join them and give Leo space, but Mikey presses a little closer instead. Step by careful step, emboldened when he isn’t snubbed immediately. He ends up shoulder-to-shoulder with Leo, and it still feels far away.

So he closes his eyes, too, and reaches for that hazy peripheral plane he’s been to a couple of times before. It’s easy to find his brothers there, their vibrant, colorful qi flickering like candle flames in his mind, but he doesn’t know how to go farther. His vision quest was a long time ago, and that was more about looking in than looking out.

Maybe it’s not too late for Leo to teach him. Maybe if Leo had someone to go with him, he wouldn’t get lost in his head so much.

It takes closer to twenty minutes than ten, but Leo finally opens his eyes. He looks a little bewildered, and pulls his fingers off the striped turtle’s plastron like it’s hot to the touch.

“I saw a woman there,” Leo says, slowly, each word picking its way delicately out of his mouth. “Um—not a ghost. She was there the way—the way sensei is still here.”

“Like a memory?” Don asks carefully.

“More like a presence.” Jumping right over the implications of that before they have a chance to settle, he goes on, “There were a lot of other people with her, and they were all wearing the Hamato clan symbol. I think they might have been Blue’s ancestors. They seemed to be watching over him. She—the woman—isn’t aware of everything that’s going on out here, just what’s in his head. She sensed that he’s frightened and lost, so she’s sticking close. Normally she’s…sleeping? There’s like a—a huge source of qi that Little Blue is tied to. I think it’s where his family’s spirits go to rest. He can draw from their combined qi when he needs help, and that's why he’s…” Leo gestures at the occasional little cyan sparks dancing playfully around the kid’s body. “…even though his own energy is completely exhausted.”

Mikey thinks that’s really nice, actually. Even though he’s in the wrong place, farther away from home than he’s maybe ever been, part of his family came here with him. He doesn’t understand why Donnie and Raph both seem so unsettled by this development.

“So not just a traumatized kid version of Fearless, a haunted traumatized kid version,” Raph says. “Perfect.”

“Not haunted, I said,” Leo starts, a little testy.

“Was she nice?” Mikey interrupts.

His brothers look at him. The potential argument is cut off before it can gain traction.

It’s a softer Leo who says, “Yeah, she was.”

“Did the not-ghost who’s not-haunting the kid have anything else to say?” Raph grumbles, clearly having reached his threshold with the spooky stuff.

“She wasn’t really—talkative. But she said anata wa hitori janai. It seemed important.” Leo rubs a hand over his mouth. He’s smiling a little. “And when I asked who she was, she told me to call her Gram-gram.”

“Gram-gram,” Donnie and Mikey both parrot, in tones of disbelief and delight, respectively.

The whole thing, the whole spiritual encounter, was like a poultice. It soaked all the fear and uncertainty out of the room in the way of draining a wound, and now there’s just regular worry, regular restlessness. Leo seems quieted by what he sensed in that little metaphysical walk he took, comforted by it, and his is always the cue the rest of them follow.

The next time Little Blue wakes up, he’s much less drugged, and much more coherent. Mikey doesn’t even know the kid is conscious until he hears a dull thud from the back of the lab, followed by a hoarse, “And ow.”

“Yeah?” Donnie says, not without sympathy. “That’s what an attempted jailbreak while you’re recovering from multiple traumatic injuries will do to you. Maybe just stay in bed for right now.”

“Not that you’re in jail,” Leo adds quickly. “The doors aren’t locked, you’re not a prisoner. You’re just, um—not in any shape to be moving around.”

“Heard, felt, seen,” croaks Little Blue, breath hitching as he gingerly eases himself into a sitting position. He presses a hand against his plastron with a wince. He’s probably sore all over beneath that built-in armor. “Damn, I was kind of—kind of hoping I’d hallucinated you.” His eyes are sharp despite the muddled confusion and lines of pain on his face; they trail to the side, following the IV tubing to the drip chamber beside his bed. “‘Course, that’s still a possibility.”

“Doc took you off the opioids after you woke up and pulled a knife on us,” Raph says. He’s got a magazine open in his lap that he’s been pretending to read for the last hour, and now he gestures to the sword propped up by Little Blue’s bed. “Once was enough.”

The striped turtle’s expression does something bizarre when he sees Raphael. He looks like he has no idea who he’s looking at, even though the red mask should be a dead giveaway. For a horrible minute, Mikey thinks maybe he’s from a dimension where Raph doesn’t exist—or worse, one where he’s—

“You’re so short!” Little Blue blurts, eyes big and round, his whole person animated with surprise. For the first time since he fell through that yellow portal in Brooklyn, he looks and sounds like a teenager. “I don’t believe it! Am I taller than you?”

He starts to wriggle, like he’s going to hop off the bed and measure his height against Raph’s. Donnie says, “Hey, remember all your broken bones?” and Little Blue only reluctantly subsides. Raphael seems to go through the five stages of grief right in front of Mikey’s eyes.

“You’re taking this really well,” Mikey pipes up, smiling when he gets the kid’s attention. “Have you gone dimension-hopping before?”

Little Blue gazes at him for a moment too long, searching his face. His brow wrinkles a little bit when he doesn’t find whatever it is he’s looking for. When Mikey tips his head, Little Blue remembers the question with a jolt.

“Uhh, no, can’t say I have,” he says quickly. “I mean, I get the gist. I’ve heard Don’s three AM conspiracy theory on parallel universes about a billion times by now. He’s got a whole corkboard setup in his room, it’s equal parts pathetic and amazing. And, you know, we sort of just created an alternate timeline back home? So, whatever.”

His fixedly unimpressed attitude isn’t taking him as far as he probably hopes. Mikey knows exactly what he’s doing—he’s seen it before. It’s what Mikey used to do. Patch on a smile and make a joke. It’s the maladaptive defense mechanism that lasted the longest out of all of the fun little neuroses Mikey’s volatile childhood left behind as souvenirs.

“Very much not whatever,” Donnie replies, and reaches over to pick a clipboard off the counter. He takes extensive notes for his own benefit, but in this case, it’s a useful tool in proving his point.

Blue takes it from him and starts flipping through the pages in the manner of a person familiar with medical charts. It kind of throws Mikey off a little bit, because it’s a very Donnie-like personality trait and not a very Leo-like one.

The longer the kid reads, the more incredulous his expression becomes. He gets halfway through the third page and that seems to be enough.

“Bullshit,” he blurts. Then, incredibly, he darts a swift, guilty look at Raph, of all people. Like Raph is going to be the one to tell him off for cussing? Please, in what universe? “I mean, uh, balderdash. There’s no way this is—I wouldn’t have survived this. Even if you’d rushed me to an ER with doctors who were totally cool about operating on a mutant, no questions asked, and didn’t mind having zero earthly understanding of their patient’s physiology and no medical history to cross-reference.” He pauses and squints. “Is that what you did?”

Don looks like he might laugh. He doesn’t normally engage with strangers quite like this, even familiar alternate-self ones. Mikey doesn’t know how to articulate, in his own head, why it’s nice to see him smiling at their little guest, but it really is.

“No, Blue, unfortunately we don’t know of any ER quite like that.” Something surprised and pleased darts into the kid’s face when he hears the nickname. A little wondering, Don ventures to ask, “Are you the team medic?”

“Always have been,” Little Blue says, clearly wrong-footed by the question. He sets the clipboard on the bed beside him. “I’ve hauled around a first aid kit since I was like nine. Donnie—my Donnie—he’s got that big ol’ brain, but he’s into machines, not people. And he has this sensory thing, it’d be unfair to make him, you know, touch icky stuff. And Raph and Mikey are both somehow simultaneously the toughest and the squishiest people I’ve ever met. It wouldn’t be fair to them either. So, me.”

“God, it’s universal,” Raph says, which is sort of along the lines of what Mikey was thinking—that every Leo everywhere, when he finds any need, any hole in the team, will just change himself to fill it.

“Anyway!” Little Blue says brightly. “These charts are wrong and I’m good to go. So it’s been real, but I’ve gotta scoot. Places to be. I’m a turtle in high demand.”

Oh, so this whole conversation has been a red herring, Mikey thinks. Noted.

Blue hops off the bed and staggers even though he lands on his good foot, going two shades paler with pain. But before any of them can so much as reach out to steady the kid, he’s regained both equilibrium and that devil-may-care grin. At a glance it’s impossible to find the false edges of it.

Donnie says, just a little bitchy, “I think I know how to chart injuries. And clearly, you hurt, which is your body’s natural, built-in, “stop jumping around, you idiot” warning signal.”

“It can’t be that bad,” the kid shoots back, “‘cause I feel fine now, and if I had even half of what you wrote down there, I’d be in a coma, breathing through a straw.”

“And you would be, if Leo didn’t use his healing hands!” Raph barks. It sounds angry, and it makes Blue draw up short, but Mikey can hear the worry in it clear as day. None of them like to see their big brother actively hurting himself—even this smart-mouthed, pint-sized version of their big brother.

“Healing hands?” Little Blue asks warily.

Leo moves closer to stand right in front of him. Blue can’t seem to look him in the eye for whatever reason, gaze darting down and away and finally finding a place to rest on Leo’s hands when he lifts them into the first seal.

He moves more slowly than usual, each gesture deliberate and precise. As familiar as he is with his brother and this particular technique, Mikey can sense the energy building up like pressure before a storm, on a smaller, more condensed scale. It prickles across his skin, never seeking to harm, only to help.

“Are we in Naruto?” Blue quips half-heartedly, then goes absolutely still when Leo reaches for him.

Leo doesn’t touch, just leaves his hands outstretched between them and waits for Blue to close the distance. It can’t be comfortable, holding onto all that qi that he’s channeled that wants someplace to go, but he holds it anyway, as steady and implacable as he’s been Mikey’s whole life.

Blue hesitates just long enough to look past Leo at the rest of them. His eyes fly to Donnie first, then slide away to Raph—they want to linger there, for some reason, but they don’t. His gaze comes to land on Mikey, where it stays longest, and Mikey smiles warmly at him.

“Go on,” he nudges. “It’s neat.”

It’s enough. Blue scoffs a little, but he does take Leo’s hands in both his own, cast and all. His eyes get big and wide as he feels the healing start to happen almost immediately, that energy rushing through his meridians and settling in his dantian, before flowing out to whatever specific wound Leo is directing it to.

When Leo is done, he gives a little tug on their joined hands and then lets go. Blue looks absolutely gobsmacked, and tentatively puts pressure on his bad leg. When it doesn’t make him wince, he stands on it normally, then hops in place a couple of times, and at that point he gazes up at Leo with literal stars in his eyes.

“How!” he demands.

“Looks like one cast has been rendered obsolete,” Donnie says, already turning to find any one of his power tools that would be able to buzz through the fiberglass like butter.

“And after all the effort Mike put into it, too,” Raph adds from the peanut gallery.

“Call it a good faith gesture,” Leo says wryly. For all that he and Blue don’t seem to know how to act around each other, he’s clearly fond of the kid. Or maybe fondness isn’t the right word. There’s something wistful and affectionate about his expression when he looks at their little guest, something Mikey isn’t sure he knows how to name. “To prove that I really did heal you, and you really…you were in serious danger of not being okay. Now that your leg is healed you’re free to move around, but I’m asking you to take it easy.”

It’s typical of Leonardo to be so hypocritical from such a genuine, good-natured place. Mikey can’t think of one single time in their entire lives when Leo was given a choice between jumping into action and taking it easy and he actually chose to take it easy.

Clearly it doesn’t sit right with Blue either. His immediate, knee-jerk reaction is one of open bewilderment, like the idea of just doing as he’s told and climbing back into bed is so absurd he’s surprised any of them were willing to say it out loud. Right on the heels of that confusion comes frustration, so bright and hot it’s like staring into the sun.

“I can’t,” he says. “I have to go home.”

“We haven’t figured out a way to get you back home yet,” Donnie interjects. His tone is firm but not unkind. Blue gives him a dismissive look anyway.

“I know how to get there myself,” he says, every inch a harassed teenager. “I’ll just go through the Hidden City.”

Mikey opens his mouth to ask the obvious question—what is the Hidden City, and is it as cool as it sounds—but Raph beats him to it. “Is this about the fight you were in? The thing you escaped from? You think it’s still a threat?”

Blue’s expression is on the verge of crumbling. “I didn’t escape anything. My brothers saved me. That gold light—it was them, I’m sure it was. But if I got out, then that monster might have gotten out with me, and I don’t—I don’t know if—”

“Your brothers would want you to be okay,” Donnie says, with all the authority of a younger sibling who has only ever wanted his big brother to be okay.

It’s the breaking point. Blue shatters.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay!” he shouts, hurling the awful truth as he knows it at them like he’s flinging knives. “I’m the family fuck-up alright? The world almost ended and it was my fault! My big brother could have died because of me! All I do is screw everything up at every turn, every chance I get!”

He’s miserable and it’s hard to watch, it’s loud and ugly and comes wrenching out from some place in the very center of him, someplace raw and honest. It’s a wound that needs healing as much as the punctured lung and broken ribs did, but this isn’t something one of Splinter’s ancient techniques can fix.

Mikey’s hands are half-raised in front of him. He wants so badly to help but he doesn’t know how. There’s no way to catch and contain any of this. There’s no way to hold it. He has no idea how Little Blue has been holding it.

“Dad made me the leader and didn’t tell me why and I didn’t want it! I never wanted that! I thought if I didn’t take it seriously, if I messed up and goofed off enough, he’d take it away and give it back to Raph, but he didn’t. So I was the one leading us and I was the one who nearly got us all killed and even when I tried to—to fix it, to be a hero like I’m supposed to be—I messed up again. They had to save me. And now I don’t know if they’re—”

He’s panting now, his battered body struggling to catch up to this marathon of fear and self-hatred and uncertainty. His hands are shaking and his chest is heaving and his eyes are glassy.

“It doesn’t matter if I’m okay,” he says again, really meaning it. “It matters that they are. And I won’t know if they are until I go home. So I have to go home.”

“Okay,” Mikey says at once. He steps forward carefully, even though all his instincts tell him to spring forward and scoop him into a hug and never let him go. “We’ll take you home. I’ll carry you there myself if I have to, I promise.”

Little Blue’s mouth is trembling, like he wants to just give in and start bawling, but of course he doesn’t. He nods at Mikey, maybe just as an excuse to dip his head and shove the heel of his good hand into his eyes even though he hasn’t cried properly yet.

“It was my fault,” he repeats. It seems important to him that they understand that.

“I know it feels that way,” Leo says, very gently. “Believe me, I know.”

There’s an expression on his face Mikey almost doesn’t recognize, for all that it’s familiar. Leo has looked at each of his brothers like that a million times, but he’s never ever shown himself a sliver of that same kindness.

“But Leo,” he adds, the first time his tiny counterpart has been called by name since he got here, “you’re just a kid.”

It’s something someone probably should have said to Leonardo, back when he was fifteen years old and already carrying the world on his shoulders; acting as a second parent to his siblings, inheriting his place in a war their father never should have passed down, always trying to be everything he needed to be for everyone else. Always trying to be good.

Maybe that’s why he’s been so weird around Blue, Mikey realizes, in the tidy little corner of his mind that isn’t preoccupied with the way his heart is literally breaking. It must be strange for him to look at this devastated, grief-stricken teenager and recognize himself.  

“Stay a little bit longer,” Leo barters. “I’ll teach you the healing hands. You’ll be an even better medic for your family once you can practice qigong.”

“And you can tell me about the Hidden City,” Mikey adds brightly, his tone at odds with the nervous way he’s wringing his fingers together.

“I still need to get the cast off your leg,” Donnie says, brandishing an ominous-looking oscillating multi-tool. His red eyes are very gentle, even if his smile is a little ironic. “Also, I think I really want to know more about my counterpart’s conspiracy corkboard.”

Blue hesitates, on the verge of accepting their help, not certain if he should be allowed to.

“Anata wa hitori janai,” Raph says gruffly, arms folded, as if that will disguise how much he clearly cares about this boy. “Right?”

He didn’t miss it, that bit somewhere in the middle of Blue’s meltdown when he mentioned Raphael as his leader and his older brother. And it makes sense now, perfect sense, why the kid always seemed to look toward Raph first. It’s the way Mikey always looked to Leo first—playmate, confidant, best friend, guardian, protector. Like recognizes like.

Raph didn’t miss it, and he acts on it now, in true Raph fashion. Repeating that thing the kid’s Gram-gram said, even though he doesn’t jibe with spooky spiritual stuff, just because Leo said it sounded important and Raph thinks it might help.

From the look on Blue’s face, it helps. When tears finally drip down his striped cheeks, he’s smiling, and Mikey thinks it’s the first real one he’s given them in the whole time he’s been here. Lopsided and charming because it isn’t picture-perfect.

“Right,” he says, leaning into the arm Mikey wraps around his shoulders. “That’s right.”

[danthropologie]

what do we think, does the mustache survive for his jimmy kimmel appearance tonight?

oh god i forgot all about that 😭 everyone gather round and join hands in this manifestation / prayer circle, i think we're gonna need it

[drakonovisny]

Hi!!! Ok I'm super shy so I'm asking on anon. If it's not too much work, could you maybe give like a fact about each of your OCs?? They look so cool I'd love to learn about them!!!

hi!!! thank you so much, i'd love to ramble about them :D

orest tabris: most of his life he felt like his mother's pale shadow, especially after she died at the hands of a city guard for the mistake he made, for which he always blamed himself. they tried to fill her role in any way they could, completely repressing their own personality in the process (she got better tho <3)

neria lavellan: she's obsessed with the emerald knights! as much as she doesn't like learning history, she has every story she heard about them perfectly memorized. because of that neria always dreamed of taming a wolf (very ironic)

ellas lavellan: he didn't realise he's trans until the events of dai. as the keeper's first he has been taught to put his community before himself. so despite his overall emotional maturity, ellas didn't process his own identity until he chose to do something selfishly for himself (ride the iron bull)

lahlas lavellan: they tell everyone that their hair has always been pink, but they were actually born with blond hair. they're naturally good at shape shifting and just figured out how to change the color at an early age (it just thinks lying for no reason is fun :D)

adam trevelyan: he had a twin sister who died at the conclave. she joined the templars after adam's magic manifested and followed them to the ostwick circle. the two of them had an insane relationship, even in death she continues to haunt his every living moment (not in a good way)

ruta adaar: she's an extremely good seamstress! her mother taught her the necessary basics, but she got to improve her skills while traveling to different cities while on mercenary jobs. all of the clothes she and her siblings wore were made by her. before the inquisition ruta's biggest dream was to become a professional seamstress. also they make plushies :3 (stole the plushie idea from @choccy-zefirka)