#of course the games never do anything with it

[in-class-daydreams]

cw. a lil age gap, but everyone is well over 18 (Gojo and Reader are ~40, Yuta is ~30)

Imagine the way ex-husband Gojo's eye twitches seeing how Yuta Okkotsu treats you.

You and Yuta had only seen each other in passing over the years. In fact, you never even officially met until he was several years out of school on the account of your innate technique causing Rika to go haywire. So while there was always a possibility of you seeing someone after the divorce, Satoru would never in his wildest dreams have guessed who it'd be. He'd heard through the grapevine that you only started seeing more of each other last year.

Satoru has to see you at the biweekly joint staff meetings between the Tokyo and Kyoto schools, made especially awkward after not one, but two (2) post-divorce make outs. The last time he kissed you while you were fighting, you shoved him away and booted him out of the house using your technique. Granted, you kissed him back, but you're not exactly on great terms right now.

So, it's bad enough that he has to see you as much as he does. Even worse is now that everything's out in the open, he has to watch you fawn over someone that's not him.

"You're so sweet!" you cry when Yuta surprises you during your lunch break with takeout from your favorite restaurant. "Thank you so much, but you really didn't have to do all this for me."

Yuta places a hand on the small of your back and guides you towards the door to the courtyard. Adjusting the picnic blanket slung over his shoulder, he asks, "Why not?"

"It's so much effort," you reply.

"For you? Nothing feels like much effort," Yuta says with a cheeky grin.

Satoru just catches a glimpse of you covering your face with your hand - as you always do when you blush - and then the two of you are out the door. It takes all his effort not to gag at how cheesy that was. Never mind how genuine Yuta looked about it.

Of course Satoru had taken you out for lunch while you were together. All kinds of lunches. Mom and pop shops, food stands, upscale restaurants, you'd done it all. Your new suitor wasn't doing anything for you that he hadn't done.

Suitor. What was this, the 1800's?

Suguru appears at his side while he stares after you.

"Was that Yuta?" he asks. "I'm impressed. He's supposed to be at a week-long training in Ibaraki."

Ibaraki? The prefecture that's over two hours away? He came all this way to have lunch with you?

Alright, Satoru never did that. Not that he wouldn't have! He totally would've if he'd, you know, thought of it.

Suguru seems oblivious to the emotional bomb he just dropped on his best friend. "I'm starving. Let's hurry up and go eat. I'm good with anything except KFC," he complains.

It takes a couple tries to get his attention, but Satoru eventually pulls himself out of his thoughts. He comforts himself with the notion that Yuta would be gone by the time he returned.

Imagine that while Yuta himself may be absent, his presence damn near haunts ex-husband Gojo to death.

You're already back in the meeting room by the time he and Suguru return from lunch, only you now have a full water bottle (he noticed you pout when you drank the last of it earlier), a sleeve of oreos sticking out of your bag, and a cute travel mug full of some hot drink that you definitely didn't have before.

If Satoru wasn't so preoccupied with insisting to himself that, 'I totally did things like that back in the day!' and provided his ex-wife wasn't the woman in question, he'd be thinking, 'Yuta Okkotsu, I was unfamiliar with your game.'

Even more frustrating is how energetic you look. You have your notes out and are nibbling on an oreo, kicking your feet back and forth as if there's not another two and a half hours left of this meeting.

It's not that Satoru doesn't want you to be happy. Quite the opposite, actually, since he'd gladly give his life if he thought he could guarantee your eternal joy and safety. He's just not sure what Yuta has that he didn't. Or doesn't.

"What does she see in him?" Satoru murmurs to himself later, when a bunch of the staff members go out for drinks. You're at the bar laughing with Yuki and Shoko.

He regrets speaking out loud when Sukuna snorts from behind him.

"How much time do we have?" your coworker says with amusement. He slides into the booth, nursing his sake bomb with ice. It's a travesty of a drink, if you ask Satoru, but to each his own.

"Great, it's my least favorite person," Satoru gripes.

Sukuna seems to take great pleasure in Satoru's misery. "I think Okkotsu's earned himself that title."

Now, Satoru hates the taste of alcohol nor is it ever a good idea for someone constantly using a cursed technique to get drunk, but he can't bring himself to care at the moment.

He snatches the drink from Sukuna's hand and downs the whole thing in one go.

Imagine how baffled ex-husband Gojo is when his son delivers a cursed artifact to him instead of you.

"Where's your mom?" he asks.

Sen hands over the small box covered in talismans while his best friend, Nao, lingers by the office door. Rolling his eyes, he says, "We had a mission in the area, so Sukuna-sensei had us deliver this."

"Not what I asked you, kid," Satoru replies, leaning back in his chair. He gestures for the boys to have a seat, but neither move.

Nao, who has a tendency to stir the pot if he thinks it'll be funny, pipes up, "She's on vacation for a week."

Since when did you take vacations? And why hadn't he heard of this?

"What's she doing for a whole week?" he asks.

Nao replies. "Okkotsu finished his training and whisked her away to some onsen in Obanazawa."

Sen smirks. "That snowy place that looks like it's from Spirited Away? How romantic."

"Super romantic." Stir, stir, stir, Nao Zen'in.

Sen was not a fan of anyone trying to get close to his mom. He'd seen how the divorce hurt you, but so far, Yuta worshipped the ground you walked on, so Sen was at least willing to not be too hostile towards him if it meant antagonizing his father.

Sen and his friend quickly say their goodbyes and head out to do whatever it is high school boys do. Once they're gone, Satoru pulls out his phone and searches 'onsen obanazawa.' The results show Ginzan Onsen, a place with traditional Japanese architecture with a beautiful snowy landscape. But according to the reviews, though a wonderful and charming place, it wasn't from the best onsen in Japan. He wants to scoff at the fact that his supposed 'replacement' chose anything but the best for you, but then he sees where Obanazawa is, which is in Yamagata prefecture.

Where you grew up. Where you and Satoru met.

How had it never occurred to him to bring you back there?

When he mopes on Suguru's couch later that evening, he tells his best friend the whole story. Suguru's delicate features are twisted into a grimace the whole way through.

"Why are you making such an ugly face?" Satoru asks miserably.

"I've never been ugly a moment of my life, Satoru."

"You know what I mean."

Suguru sighs and clicks his tongue. "They're not official?"

"So she keeps saying."

Though reluctant to kick his friend while he's down, Suguru decides that Satoru needs to know so he can mentally prepare himself.

"He's taking her on a romantic trip to a beautiful resort in her home prefecture. They may not be official now, but after a trip like that, there's no way she's coming back without a label. Hell, if they were official, she'd most likely be coming back with a ring."

Hearing that, Satoru contemplates finding a nice spot in the cursed artifact archive and falling into a coma for at least the next thousand years.

The plot McThickens

Find the other installments of this AU [here] | Find the #gojo sentaro lore [here] | Ask stuff about Sen and the fam [here]

[rcmclachlan]

Heard this was the place to come if we wanted to know about pregnant Buck talking to the baby about the station tasks 🤔

@dadvans is a dirty enabler. He's also the one who came up with the idea of Buck calling the kid "probie" fyi

+

When Tommy walks into the 118, it doesn't feel quite like a homecoming, but when Bobby catches sight of him and smiles as though Tommy's presence isn't just welcome, but expected, something inside him relaxes as though it were twenty years ago and he's about to walk up the stairs to sit down for another incredible family dinner. 

"You guys get called to the thing with the Aon?" Grinning, he shakes Bobby's proffered hand as a matter of course, and part of him can't help but glow under Bobby's approving gaze.

It feels a bit like he's cheating on Captain Salazar, who took Tommy under her wing the second he got to Harbor and has given him free rein to do whatever he damn well pleases when he's in the air, but she doesn't cultivate the familial aura that cleaves to Bobby like a shadow. He likes and respects the hell out of her, but he probably wouldn't steal a helicopter and fly into a hurricane for her.

Some people were meant to be parents; Bobby Nash is definitely one of them. Tommy's working on it. 

Bobby gives a sporting but ineffective swipe at the soot smeared across his forehead with his wrist. "Normally falling space junk knocking over a skyscraper would take the cake, but since twenty million bees weren't released into the city, I'm calling it a ho-hum sort of day."

There's something severely wrong with them that the third-tallest building in LA breaking in half like a Kit Kat Bar doesn't rank above bees, but Tommy had to fly through that shit storm, so he can't disagree. The next person who says 'bee-nado' is getting thrown off the Santa Monica pier.

Speaking of. Tommy throws a quick glance at the three engines parked in their usual spots in the hopes of catching a glimpse of movement, and he's either losing his touch or never had it to begin with, because he's clocked immediately.

Bobby gives him a knowing look.

Caught, Tommy chuckles. "At the risk of sounding patronizing, how much did he overdo it?"

"Buck didn't mind being on winch and hose duty," Bobby says wryly. At Tommy's dubious look, he adds, "Okay, he did try to sneak into the thick of it once or twice, but he complained only a little when I threatened to hogtie him and chuck him in the back of the ambulance."

"Only a little? That's unlike him." Tommy can perfectly picture the mulish pout on Evan's ridiculous lips because someone forbade him from running into a building that was hanging at a 240° angle. 

"Hen may have also hinted that she'd break out The Powerpoint again if he didn't stop whining," Bobby admits. The capital letters are audible.

Tommy gives a low whistle. "That was diabolical of her."

He unfortunately hadn't been there when Hen presented You're Living For Two: A Comprehensive List of Things Buck Will Avoid for the Next 8 Months or Hen Will Have Him Committed (With A Foreword Written By Maddie Han) to Evan and the rest of the 118, but Eddie had texted Tommy throughout the whole thing like he was live tweeting a football game. At slide 40, which had five charts demonstrating the rates at which acute physical stress increased the risks of miscarriage and low birth weight, Eddie sent him a picture of Evan's cowed expression. Slide 43 ("Deli Meat A No-No"), on the other hand, got him a video of Evan in a heated argument with Hen, Howie, and Bobby about the merits of that. 

It ended when Bobby shouted, "It's not just you that you're risking, Buck! Every time you deliberately put yourself into harm's way, you're also risking my grandchild!" and Evan burst into tears and sobbed, "You can't say things like that when you're taking hot dogs away from me!" 

When Evan came home that day, he announced that mentioning The PowerPoint—and anything to do with Microsoft in general—was verboten for the next thousand years. Tommy couldn't help but quip, "It looks like you're upset about your family wanting you to carry this pregnancy safely to term. Would you like help? Yes, no, or cancel?" 

He was forced to sleep on the couch for three nights. He regrets nothing.

"Where is everyone?" The station is eerily quiet for a day spent trying to get ahead of a falling building.

"Burrito run. Buck volunteered to stay behind. He still getting carsick in traffic?"

"Let's just say we've been putting the emesis bags Howie gave us to very good use. Is he busy?" Tommy lifts the bag in his hand so Bobby can see the grinning face of the Colonel himself. "I come bearing gifts."

Bobby laughs the laugh of a man who knows firsthand that Evan's insatiable cravings for KFC's mashed potatoes are the only thing keeping the lights on at the location on W Pico Boulevard. He gestures past Tommy toward the engines. "Last I saw him, he was giving a class on proper hose maintenance."

"Appreciate it, Bobby," he says and starts heading in that direction.

"Tell him he'd better not be promoting bad coupling habits." Tommy turns around, wide-eyed, but Bobby's already got a hand up to forestall the laughter he must know is inevitable. Bobby's grimacing so hard it looks like he might severe his carotid. "I regretted it the second I said it. Do me a favor and phrase it a little better?"

"I make no promises." Snickering, Tommy turns back to the engines and swings the KFC bag cheerfully as he goes, making a mental note to mention this in the OG 118 group chat. That ought to give Howie enough ammo to last through Christmas. 

As he rounds Engine 3, he hears the susurrus of voices, which he expected, but as he gets closer he realizes it's just one voice, which he didn't. He comes to a stop right where the engine's rear strip on the storage compartment ends and ducks behind it a little to try and figure out exactly what he's looking at.

Bobby had said Evan was teaching and Tommy figured that meant he was holding court with the station's two newest recruits, but he's kneeling on the floor and carefully re-rolling a hose while he talks to an audience of precisely zero.

"Now this is called a straight roll," Evan says, voice modulated to be slow and easily understood. It's textbook perfect pacing. Tommy has no clue who it's for. Maybe he's filming a video? "I'm folding the male coupling over and then rolling it to the female coupling, which are unnecessarily gendered terms, but I wasn't in the room when they came up with the names, so."

Tommy's so distracted by how the muscles in Evan's arms strain against the sleeves of his uniform as he methodically rolls the hose that he almost misses what Evan says next.

"Now Daddy wants to do a Dutch roll, because it takes about five seconds and it's hilarious, but Grandpa Bobby would slaughter Daddy if he ever found out. Apparently letting the couplings drag on the ground is the eighth deadly sin." Evan rests back on his shins and pants a little, then pats the planetary curve of his belly with a grin. "Hope you're taking notes, probie. There will be a test."

There are two things in Tommy's life that he will never be able to forget, even if he had a full-frontal lobotomy; even if he wanted to:

The first is the way Evan's shoulders curled inwards as if bracing for a blow while he haltingly apologized about goading Tommy into fucking him after the condom ripped, about how Tommy didn't have to worry because Evan was relieving him of all responsibility, and that he didn't have any expectations because Tommy never asked for this and he hoped someday Tommy would forgive him for keeping what they'd accidentally created together. 

Tommy isn't a violent man, but sometimes he fantasizes about going back through Evan's life and beating the shit out of everyone who ever made him feel unwanted, or treated him like a consolation prize. Even in the early days of their relationship, when Tommy's respect for certain boundaries or simple acts of kindness would make Evan visibly recalibrate, Tommy had to stop himself from demanding a list of names. He has one now, and part of him would like nothing more than to start with Evan's parents and work his way down.

The second is the teary, disbelieving grin that broke across Evan's face like a sunrise when the sonographer pressed the ultrasound wand to his belly and the room filled with the jackrabbiting whup-whup-whup sound of their kid's heartbeat. Evan had looked over at him, laughed wetly at the struck-dumb expression Tommy knew he was sporting, and said, "Sounds like the Bell 206." 

When he reached out for Tommy, the fluorescent lights had glinted off the engagement band Tommy'd bought like a complete lunatic four months after Evan kissed him in the lobby of First Presbyterian. He'd kept it hidden in his toolbox until three months later, when Evan put on a brave face and tried to let him off the hook. 

But he didn't have far to go, because Tommy was already reaching back for him. The metal of the ring was warm where it pressed against his fingers. And if his heart was so full of love and wonder that he cried a little, no one commented on it. Well, Evan did when they got in Tommy's truck after their appointment and then went straight to KFC, but that was to be expected. He'd taken the ribbing like a champ. 

Watching Evan—now in the second week of his third trimester, the hem of his shirt fighting for its life where it stretches around his belly—earnestly teaching the kid still cooking inside him about proper hose care, Tommy knows he'll never forget this one either. He's pretty sure his life is going to be one unforgettable moment after another from here on out.

Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he walks out from behind the engine and gets a hand under Evan's elbow to help him get to his feet. It takes every ounce of his willpower to stand back and let Evan carry the hose over to its compartment and attach it to the main connection site himself. He's learned to grit his teeth and give help only when it's asked for. He has no desire to start up that argument again.

"So?" Tommy happily takes Evan into his arms while Evan happily takes the KFC bag out of his hand. "Is our kid going to graduate from the Academy or wash out completely?"

Evan grins at him. Tommy knows at least 45% of the love in his eyes is reserved for the mashed potatoes. "I'm calling it now: they're gonna be fire chief by the time they're twenty. Youngest in the entire country. What do you think, probie? You up for the challenge?"

Tommy places a hand gently on Evan's belly and immediately feels movement against his palm. Their kid hasn't given Evan a moment's peace since week 15; at any given moment, they're flipping around in there like they're doing zero-gravity training for a space mission. The familiar fluttering feeling makes his heart cramp. 

That's their kid in there. They made that.

"I think that's a yes," Tommy murmurs, pressing a kiss to Evan's temple, then hanging there for a moment, breathing him in. Breathing them in. "Love you."

"God, I love you so much, you don't even know," Evan says, cracking open a container with a pleased hum.

Tommy smiles dopily, then reality trickles in. "You're talking to the potatoes, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Evan lies through a mouthful of KFC's finest spuds.

[mollywog]

Now I am truly in danger of crying, but fortunately Haymitch chooses this time to come staggering across the stage to congratulate me. "Look at her. Look at this one!" he hollers, throwing an arm around my shoulders. He's surprisingly strong for such a wreck. "Ilike her!" His breath reeks of liquor and it's been a long time since he's bathed. "Lots of ..." He can't think of the word for a while. "Spunk!" he says triumphantly. "More than you!" he releases me and starts for the front of the stage. "More than you!" he shouts, pointing directly into a camera.

Is he addressing the audience or is he so drunk he might actually be taunting the Capitol? I'll never know because just as he's opening his mouth to continue, Haymitch plummets off the stage and knocks himself unconscious.

And

"Of course Peeta's right. The whole country adores Katniss's little sister. If they really killed her like this, they'd probably have an uprising on their hands," says Johanna flatly. "Don't want that, do they?" She throws back her head and shouts, "Whole country in rebellion? Wouldn't want anything like that!"

My mouth drops open in shock. No one, ever, says anything like this in the Games. Absolutely, they've cut away from Johanna, are editing her out. But I have heard her and can never think about her again in the same way. She'll never win any awards for kindness, but she certainly is gutsy. Or crazy. She picks up some shells and heads toward the jungle. "I'm getting water," she says.

I can't help catching her hand as she passes me. "Don't go in there. The birds -"I remember the birds must be gone, but I still don't want anyone in there. Not even her.

"They can't hurt me. I'm not like the rest of you. There's no one left I love," Johanna says, and frees her hand with an impatient shake. When she brings me back a shell of water, I take it with a silent nod of thanks, knowing how much she would despise the pity in my voice.

The goal of eliminating Haymitch and Johanna’s loved ones was to break them (and set an example), but the unintended consequence was that they have nothing left to lose.

[c-digital-being]

Randomly had the idea of, in the far, far flung future, Atlus releases like, Persona 17 or something, and I keep coming up with random absurd things about the game (and other things for this bizarre world where new Persona games never stop coming out)

P17's main color is light beige, they used up all the colorful colors by Persona 15

The main concept for P17's "other world" is based on some obscure, loose metaphor a psychologist used for the human subconscious one time, they had ran out of smart, semi-sensical metaphors by like, Persona 10

^ A friend of mine suggested that the "other world" be sandwich themed because a totally real psychologist compared the layers of mental instability to the layers of a sandwich (and to make the excuse that the main color represents the bread)

^^ The Velvet Room is a Subway

There are like 17 Social Stats to increase, they can only be ranked up like once or twice each, but doing it for all of them is tough, especially since you don't know which you'll need to unlock what

They've made so many Personas based on mythology and fictional creatures and the like, that Altus started coming up with their own mythologies just so they could base more Personas off them

There are Social Links / Confidants for every tarot card arcana ever made, but they still needed more Social Links / Confidants, so Atlus had to start making up their own arcanas

P17 actually takes place over the course of 2-3 years, otherwise you wouldn't have enough time to complete all the content even at max efficiency

There are like 32 magic affinities / elements, and like 14 physical ones, each party member commonly specializes in 2-3 magic affinities / elements, as well as a different physical affinity / element

The mascot character is like, an aardvark or something, it has no relation to anything in the game and it's kinda obvious that Atlus is just running out of popular animals to make into mascots

By popular demand, the P17 protag is finally bisexual, have fun trying to date all 50+ romance-able characters in the game, you asked for this

A deluxe version with even more content somehow is in development, get ready for Persona 17 Toasted a couple years after P17 releases

Speaking of rereleases, "Reload"s of previous Persona games have become somewhat of a standard, Altus has said Persona 13 Regrown (P13 is plant-themed) is nearing completion

There are rumors that P17 will have a spin-off that plays like a 3D Collect-a-Thon Platformer, mostly because it's one of the few genres of games the Persona series hasn't tried out in a spin-off yet

On the topic of spin-offs, the Persona Q games have lost their goddamn mind, each game still includes the groups from all of the previous Persona games as well as the group from the most recent Persona game at the time, Q14 literally has like over a hundred party members you can use, it's insanity

Thank you for joining me on this delve into complete Persona-themed stupidity, and I hope you're as hyped for Persona 17 as I am

[abyssal-ilk]

A thing that people always forget when chastising vivienne for being so apathetic to cole is the fact that she is a circle mage. People whom are forced to learn that you should not trust demons nor spirits or else they’ll put you down AS A RITE OF PASSAGE. Think back to what Mouse says in DAO. “Keep your wits about you, mage; true challenges never end.” She knows that for the rest of her life, demons will tempt her and try to possess her. She has seen mages turn into abominations, knows how they get them- of course she will support templars who have the skills to subdue them. And now to have a spirit scurrying around without supervision what is the last bastion against a Tevinter Sidereal… I too would be worried as hell if i were a circle mage.

EXACTLY!

not only is vivienne a circle mage, but there are also a few other factors that play into it that make cole so untrustworthy to her. vivienne underwent her harrowing when she was young– in fact, she was the youngest mage to have ever gone through a harrowing and survived it. we don't get to learn much about what she went through during her harrowing, but we DO have this banter between her and cole:

harrowings on their own are already traumatic enough, and with the added insistence from the circles that all spirits and demons are dangerous (which we see vivienne repeat above, "all it can do is harm."), it makes complete sense on why vivienne would be so put-off by cole! especially given how kind he is! she thinks that kindness is a ploy, and why wouldn't she if her harrowing was anything like the warden's in DAO?

and then that's not even acknowledging the fact that cole isn't just ANY spirit. he's the ghost of the spire. he's killed mages before and admits to doing so. and even though he was wrong to do so and realizes that what he did was wrong, that does not mean that vivienne automatically has to suddenly be okay with what cole did. of course vivienne takes cole being the ghost of the spire harder than everyone else in the inner circle. she is the only circle mage there. it is entirely plausible that she sees cole as a threat and views herself as being the person most able to recognize that threat because of what she was taught. it's why she struggles so much to empathize with cole on any level.

ive already talked about this briefly on another post, but cole is also fairly antagonistic to vivienne as well. it's easy to look at their dynamic and think that, well, cole is just trying to help vivienne but he... isn't? his version of helping her is prying into her thoughts without permission and continuing to do so even after she has shown clear discomfort with it.

cole drags her worst memories and thoughts out publicly in front of not just vivienne, but the rest of the party and anyone else who may happen to be standing near them. it's DANGEROUS, what he does, because vivienne is a player of the game. her position at court is a precarious one, and to have someone like cole who can just pick into her brain whenever he wants with no repercussions? it's scary! it's scary because vivienne has no defense against it, especially if the player supports cole and downplays the harm he does. and what can vivienne do about it? she's an ally of the inquisitor, and that makes her cole's ally by proxy. telling cole to stop doesn't work, insulting him doesn't work, trying to get the inquisitor to intervine doesn't work– nothing seems to deter cole.

which is why THIS piece of dialogue is so important to me:

despite everything i've said above, vivienne still cannot help but care about cole. no matter how dangerous he is, no matter what she was raised to believe, she still cares about him and worries for him. their dynamic is SO interesting to me and i really wish people dug into it a bit more rather than just dismiss it as vivienne being needlessly cruel to cole. it's so much more than that.

[steddiebang2024]

STEVE AND EDDIE MAKE A PORNO  |  Explicit  |  55k

Author: @hitlikehammers

Artist: @hagnoart

Beta Reader: @dontwasteyourchances

[Link to fic]  |  [Link to art]

Pairings: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, (background Robin Buckley/Chrissy Cunningham, Nancy Wheeler/Barbara Holland, Jonathan Byers/Argyle; porn film scene pairings indicated in the relevant chapters)

Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Jonathan Byers, Barbara Holland, Argyle

Tags: Friends to Lovers, Nay: oblivious!BEST friends to lovers, Romcom, Porn, Y’know because shooting a porno is the orienting plot device, Humor, General Shenanigans, Coffee-related Innuendos Abound, Platonic Stobin, Happy Ending (not THAT kind), (…okay also a lot of that kind because again: THEY ARE SHOOTING A PORNO)

Trigger Warnings: This fic is inspired by a film where the filming of a porno is a central plot device; sex positivity, orientation positivity, sex-and-pairings-for-aesthetic-appeal-NOT-for-endgame-purposes are the name of the game.

↳ Keep reading below for a summary!

Unlikely but inseparable best-friends-since-middle-school Steve Harrington and Eddie Munson move in together after graduation and, honestly? Lead a semi-stable if generally-uneventful life (or not-entirely uneventful, fine, because Eddie takes personal offense to that characterization of anything involving himself): but they make a decent living as minimum wage grunts and they never starve, which of course counts as a win in late-stage capitalism. So what if it’s always been paycheck to paycheck and they’ve only just made it outside their hometown: they still do earn their paychecks, Eddie’s booking more weekend shows to pad his kinda-pitiful record store wages, the cafe Steve works at is expanding and a promotion to senior manager isn’t wholly out of the question, and they did make it out of their back-assward hometown, no matter how far they got. Most of all, through better or worse, bound thicker than blood: they’ve got each other. It’s not the life Steve was raised to expect, but it’s not one he’s trade for anything in the world. 

Which is still true when, due to a very unfortunate lack of communication—with good intentions! It honestly was all above-board and stupidly well-intentioned—they may have entirely unwittingly paved their way into bills-so-overdue-the-utilities-are-canceled. Like: bye-bye-water-mid-shower-canceled. 

Which: fucking late-stage capitalism. Ruining everything. 

And it is ruined: it’s the holidays, which means there are extra hours but they’re being vied for Hunger Games style, and the lack-of-heating thing’s going to be a real problem with the Midwest winter that’s creeping up quick. Basically: ‘up shit creek without a paddle’ is an understatement. 

But then, opportunity presents itself in the most time-honored of professions when they run into the shocker (or: not-really-a-shocker, dude was hella repressed) partner of a straight-laced douchebag classmate at their ten-year-reunion: an adult film star who reveals $100k could be within their grasps—bills paid, debt cleared, money to spare for the first time in forever—if the form of...well.

Shooting their own porno. 

So umm...fucking late stage capitalism? 

And honestly it’s a solid plan, despite being absolute insanity (though that’s honestly unsurprising because, again: nothing’s uneventful when Eddie Munson’s your best friend), but the question that rears its head ultimately isn’t one of revenue, but one they probably should have thought through a little harder from the get-go: when budget’s tight, cast is limited, and promotional value is crucial—alongside everyone banging everyone? 

You’re also probably gonna have to fuck your best friend on camera for cash in the process.

(Goddamn previously unrealized and unacknowledged feelings late stage capitalism, man. Fucks up everything.)

[sirwhistledown]

★ summary — during a sweltering day at the horse races, anthony bridgerton finds himself rather enchanted by a sharp-witted, and competitive newcomer... however his greatest challenge turned out not quite to be their playful banter but perhaps something deeper than just that. ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★★ pairing: anthony bridgerton x fem! reader ˖˙ ꔫ —★★★ content warnings. n/a ˖˙ ꔫ —★★ word count. 3.8k ˖˙ ꔫ —★ genre. fluff? not really. idiots in love except they don't know they're in love...? anthony being anthony?? ★ authors note: excuse my god horrendous writing, i fear i have just come back from a 2 year hiatus and well.. it seems as if all my writing sense have bene diminished into the ends of the earth. also mutuals. i need mutuals please, i need to be insane to someone.

Anthony always enjoyed a heartfelt competition.

Perhaps a bit too much for the likings of others, but it always seemed to be infused with his blood. It all came so naturally to him; there was no need to try. As a young boy, he would compete with his brothers, Benedict having quite a hearty laugh when he would fail to beat him in whatever makeshift game they conjured up. It made it worse for the already tense gentleman because his annoying, bothersome brother would never stop bringing out how he was younger than Anthony during such times.

But he was not a quitter. He never was, and he decided that he never shall be. Anthony perpetually told himself that, and the results always ended up in his favor at the end of the day. Just as victory appeared within his reach, he let it go once more, easily slipping through his fingers in the subsequent round. Anthony has always been perplexed as to why this pattern only ever appeared to surround him or why he only noticed it within himself far too much. 

It seemed quite the same when it came to his love life as well. Taking away the winning part—he never quite seemed to win. Conceivably, Anthony never thought he could truly love someone with his entire being; the sensation felt so foreign and despicable to think about. An acquaintance, he supposed, was something he could settle with. And yet, an admirable acquaintance proved hard to find in this economy. The number of women that lined up for a dance, a date—whatever it may be, were all too simple-minded, credulous, or even dumb, if Anthony really thought about it. None of them appeared to be a suitable partner.

Those thoughts haunted him day and night throughout the season—the wonder if he’ll ever meet anyone well-suited for him, he pondered to himself. Anthony deemed himself rather fortunate that he was a busy man, bustling about a handful of places in need to complete the tasks firsthand. When he had his hands full with some problem, even if it may be pointless, occupied his mind enough for him to forget about his marital issues. Taxation never seemed more interesting to him.

Conversely, he found that it bothered him most during social events. Whereas his problems stood face-to-face against him, sometimes it felt as if it were a direct punch to the gut. With the remaining eligible ladies dwindling, his temper for it all only grew to being far more annoyed than anything else. Any other year, Anthony would’ve respectively enjoyed the horse race that he attended within the company of his brothers, but at this time, his mind had been elsewhere as he mindlessly stumbled his way around the course grounds.

There were a number of people that stood around him, chatting expressively with one an

other. Ladies whispering in hushed tones, their husbands gathered amongst themselves, likely betting against one another. Anthony couldn’t help but to do so himself—a solid bet did him well most days. Although, perhaps, he wasn’t the brightest when it came to the subject despite betting upon the favoured horse.

Anthony tugs heartily at his neckpiece, adjusting the pressure against his throat as it pressed in such a peculiar way that he began to pay some mind to it. He adjusted it so that it was allowed to rest lightly, not entirely choking him out anymore as it had done just moments ago. The effort ended up being weirdly abominable.

Peeved, bothered, and sweaty, he decided sullenly the lemonade that the event offered would not be such a bad idea to him after all. Refreshing was the only word that happened to catch his mind as he politely hurries his way towards where the stand had caught his eye as he made his way into the event. It seems as if half of the people there had a similar idea, heeding from the lengthiness of the line. He could perhaps find some place else to get some refreshments, but if Anthony is being honest, the idea of continuing to walk in this heat whilst unknowing if there even was anything waiting for him out there, wasn’t one that he would immediately jump to. And so he begrudgingly waits.

The sun beats down harshly upon him, and he tirelessly slides off his top-hat to appease the sweat that had begun to cling onto the sides of his forehead. Anthony dabs the beads away silently with the cuff of his coat when no one else is paying any mind to him. He liked to call himself fortunate as the line dissipates fairly quickly, and it is only a few minutes later when he finds himself nearing the refreshments area.

“Cooling, is it not?” 

It takes Anthony a beat to realize that the sudden intrusion of the voice is addressed towards him. He swivels his head, pivoting himself so he can adjust to the sudden change in position to locate where the sound had come from. He is quick to answer the question as the fine-looking lady standing next to him stares right back into his betrothed soul.

First impressions always stuck near and dear to Anthony, and while usually it would be noted of their personality and not much else, he finds himself in a different situation to the norm. The first thing he notices happens to be the alluring eyes, mysterious with a gaze that would unsettle any person, man or woman. But the expression read differently, a polite smile stretched upon the delicate skin, her fair hair conditioned beautifully for this particular sunny day. Anthony is quick to return the smile, as he had done so many times before in the past. He could regard it as a daily occurrence now.

“Indeed, it is.” His response is considerate, his voice moderately even; it’s as if he were trained for this. And Anthony supposed he quite literally is trained for it. “Especially on a day as sweltering as this.” 

He can faintly hear in the background a man grumbling incoherently about keeping up the line, and he apologetically (although he doesn’t feel very apologetic) responds to the not-so gentleman behind him. He hastily picks his glass, an internal groan erupting in him when a couple of drops spill onto the earthly grass. At least it had avoided his clothing by its means. Anthony had already begun to walk away, lemonade secured, when he noticed the same lady who had engaged him in a brief conversation engaging in the same direction that he was headed. 

“Such events are quite amusing,” Her words are delicate, but they are firm enough for Anthony to know that she stands her ground. She stands ever so beautifully, firm but beautiful, letting her dress flutter slightly into the soft breeze that washes over the course. “I can not say that they were common in my homeland.”

Ah. So that is why Anthony failed to recognize her—a new citizen, or possibly just visiting some family for the season. After all, Mayfair was quite prestigious in its ways if you stood in the high rankings. “So I take that you are not from here?” He questions, even though he already knows the answer.

The lady shakes her head, the hair atop her head bouncing as she does so. “Not quite.” She responded appropriately. She rattles off some place that Anthony had surely never been before, and he nods upon hearing the answer. "I am here visiting, as my cousin kindly offered to host me, and who am I to decline such a gracious invitation?"

The words rolled sweetly off her tongue, as if she were making a harmonious melody. Certainly a clever tongue in her mouth, Anthony could think to himself. “Well then, I must certainly assume that you are here for the season.” 

It was an honest question. The lady looked to be in her earlier years of life, if Anthony really had to make a guess. Fair skin, beautiful features, and a voice as gorgeous as the waves in the ocean—what else would she be doing in Mayfair at this time of the year? It only seemed reasonable to make that assumption. He stands correct when she pushes her head down as an agreement, “Yes.” She says, yet she pauses for a beat before continuing her sentence, "Though I must say, it is quite a considerable departure from what I am accustomed to back home.”

"In a manner most agreeable, I trust?" Anthony says, and the lady smiles approvingly. It was quite a sugary smile, the sort that sat well within the presumably older man. It looked as if the course grounds had gotten crowded by tenfold since Anthony had turned his back, making the exertion towards the stands much harder than what it should’ve been.

“Well, yes.” Whereas, the tone of her voice contradicted what her words have stated. The lady’s eyebrows furrow for a mere moment, as if he were contemplating something of sorts. “Nevertheless, it is quite hard.”

He inclines his head. Anthony could somewhat agree with her words—the season was always stressful, a throatful of things to stress and worry about, a million matters to perfect to attract the best of the best. He had never felt too stressed, perhaps when he was swarmed with tasks to complete for the up-and-coming ball or party, but never on his performance at such events. Anthony believed that is why he suddenly threw himself in as an eligible bachelor, and the best if he may add, was so diminishing. "With a lady such as yourself, I must presume it is not exceedingly difficult."

The lady, which Anthony now realizes that he does not know the name of, blushes a shade of pink that could only be described as warm, like a rose pelting in the wind. She laughs graciously, accepting the compliment with ease. “I must confess, I am flattered, Mr…” Her words trail off as she too comes to realization with the fact she does not know how to address the young gentleman.

“Lord Bridgerton.” He introduces, his voice not in any way condescending as many others may take him on to be.

Anthony takes note of the way the lady’s eyebrows raise up in surprise, followed by the rather flushed look that began to tint at her cheeks. "Oh dear, I beg your pardon, my Lord." Tilting her head down hesitantly as if she were unsure of what formality would be the most appropriate. It almost forces a chuckle out of the Viscount.

"And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Anthony continues on as it is only polite to ask so. 

"Mm, indeed. How remiss of me not to mention it beforehand…” The lady says, letting out a sort of awkward laugh that could be seen as rather affectionate. “My name is Y/n.” The lady states, followed by a surname that Anthony can faintly remember to be as one of the other Viscounts that lived in the city, although he couldn’t quite say he knew the name all too well. Certainly not one that he had talked to on the occasion.

“I see,” Anthony nods along, a faint smile tainted upon his lips before he even knows it himself. “Charming gentleman your cousin is.” He could not say if the man was truly charming, or a gentleman at all, as he had only read a couple lines about it from the Lady Whistledown paper that his family had received a couple of long weeks ago. 

“Charming, indeed.” The words were more so grumbled, as if she didn’t quite agree with the statement. “That is certainly one way to describe him.”

He chuckles at the disdain laced upon her voice. Anthony fairly enjoyed the new sense of emotion—most ladies he had the pleasure of talking with all embellished their compliments in spite of thinking the opposite. Being able to hear an objection that wasn’t sugarcoated heavily; Anthony would think that he notably liked the trait that distinguished Y/n.

The course grounds slowly appear into Anthony’s line of vision as the conversation dies down. The sound of chatter that did come from his or her mouth refilling his ears—excited husbands yelling bets at one another, ladies shaking their heads as so—the look that was etched on their faces would be one that Anthony could appreciate and find humorous.

"I must confess, some of the wagers being placed are rather simplistic in nature." Y/n cuts in through the stillness of their discussion beforehand. A nice conversation starter, but one that would rile many people up. "It appears as though none of these individuals have ever graced a racecourse before! How utterly rash of them to bet upon the favored contender solely because of his popularity."

He can’t help but be taken aback, although once again, her exaggeration was one that could be seen as comical. That is, before he had realized that he himself had also bet upon the favored horse, Nectar, which Anthony assumed the lady was talking about. For a moment, he wonders if her words are pure bullshit, if she was just making conversation with him. It is as if Y/n sees right through him.

“Oh my, do not tell me you have also fallen into the unfortunate trap of betting for Nectar.” Anthony can’t quite place what expression she expresses, but it does not look good. Disappointed, or perhaps pity. 

“Naturally, I betted upon him, it is a sensible bet, and he is a horse of sound character who shall undoubtedly finish with victory this afternoon.” He defends, the tone of his voice sounding rather offended at the plain mention of his unwary wager. Something deep down in him wonders if the lady was indeed right, if he really did not know what he was doing. Again, Anthony could not say he was educated well enough, and admittedly, he had bet upon Nectar due to the favorability of his win. “I have a well placed feeling about him.”

“A feeling?” Y/n’s eyebrow cocks up, the smile on her face now more jovial than polite. “Or is it the choosing of the horse that everyone has chosen? Well, I do suppose that adds to the list of husbands who shall be more than disappointed once the race has concluded.”

“I beg your finest pardon, I have made a strategic bet.” His words are more puncuated than before, suddenly relishing within the first person to truly give him some sort of competition that did not stem from his brothers or family, for that matter. “Nectar is a prized steed. He is quite well bred, highly trained, and, as many other people have shown, well favored.”

Y/n tsks, shaking her head as if she were scolding Anthony as his mother and father had done when he was a young boy. “I must assume you have not considered the quality of the racing course and the weather to assess the true potential? Although these sorts of events are not truly common back in my homeland, I do must say that many of these may just be common sense.”

She knows that her words are stretching the truth, that it wasn’t just common sense, but Y/n must admit that she took delight in having a friendly banter. She climbs up onto one of the wooden bleachers, sitting herself upon the heated seat, with Anthony following quickly behind her. “You see, my cousin had kindly explained to me the expectations of the race, and it is said that Nectar raced well at Doncaster; however, the track conditions were far from the same. A firmer course, if you will. While now, over here…” She pauses to wave her hand at the field of grass in front of her view. “It is much softer, and it is a rather humid day. He will much slowdown in the final leg, giving HighFlyer the much easy victory.”

Anthony scoffs. Foolish? Perhaps. Tinted with truth? Also yes. "Are you merely echoing the words your cousin imparted to you earlier?" He argues as well, Anthony never backed down from a challenge, and this lady was surely challenging him.

“And are you merely saying that I do not know about horse racing because I am a woman?” She tilts her head to look directly at Anthony; the grin that is placed strategically on her face was one that he could not argue with. And he is sure of that when he opens his mouth to bite back, but being blatantly unable to respond with something witty. Oh, that shit-eating smirk that was so easily disguised as a polite smile made Anthony oh-so infuriatingly upset. Upset because she knew what she was doing; upset because, well, he was moderately fond of that smile.

“We shall see then.” 

Famous last words, because well, he is proved to be utterly wrong. The course of disappointed groans that steamed through the crowd, which Anthony would not admit (but was a part of), as HighFlyer flew his way across the finish line were abominably loud. Nectar staggered behind him moments later, but not before the crowd had seen how winded he was by the heat and conditions. 

The lady behind him had laughed in delight, unable to celebrate fully before she must turn towards Anthony to shove it into his face. “I can not say that I have ever beat a viscount before.” Suddenly, all formality that was once there had been gone, destroyed, as if it had never been there in the first place. “I do suppose there is always a first.”

“And a last.” Anthony grumbles under his breath, in hope that Y/n would close off her ears to the harsh criticism. To his luck, she does hear.

“I must concede, you are just like the many men who claim to be gentlemen.” She replies, even though she seemed not to be very upset by the Viscount’s words. If that had been the case, it would have appeared as though Anthony had experienced numerous episodes of frustration—possibly humorous ones, but nonetheless, frustration.. "Unwilling to concede defeat, even when it lies directly at his feet." 

“I am able to concede defeat if the defeat deserves to be conceded.” His words are sharp, even though the smile tugging at his face says different to his own jumble of words. Anthony could not quite help it when he sees her eyes light up with something that he could not describe. “If it dares, look me in the eyes.”

“Ah, is that right, my Lord?” She questions, carrying herself with the confidence that he hadn’t seen in forever. An admirable trait indeed, if Anthony must admit. "Does not defeat gaze directly upon you as HighFlyer is crowned the victor of this afternoon's fine race.”

He sighs. Anthony was never one to be dramatic; he always held himself upright and, in his family's words, rather serious. Still, he had to admit that his gasp was a bit dramatic. “Ah… well.” His words trail off slowly, grimacing at the truth of the lady’s words. “I suppose you are… right this time.” The syllables were uttered slowly, followed by another huff of a breath that he could only feel to himself.

She laughs, that beautiful melody of a laugh. While in many cases, it would be regarded as an unpleasant sound unless it was done so delicately, hers was not delicate, nor was it ungracious. It was as if the notes from every music piece ever composed had all come together to form one masterpiece of a harmony, one that ebbed and flowed in all the right ways. 

“Oh rejoice! What a sound those words are!” Y/n breathes dreamfully. 

The track is far from empty, with many individuals walking over to congratulate the winner, while the others either mourn the losses of their empty wallets, or giggling gleefully over their new-found bundles of heritage. However, the bleachers were starting to thin out, leaving just a select few groups.

There is a sense that weaves through him as he ponders his next move. He could surely just stand himself up, mutter out a respectable goodbye, and leave, yet at the same time, he could not allow himself to just do that. Anthony seemed far better off conversing with this lady than with any other of the ones that he had danced or engaged with in the slightest. The thought made him laugh at his own stupidity, and yet;

"I cannot suppose it would be honorable of me not to inquire if you might attend the Hearts and Flower Ball with me. I trust you have heard of it?" Anthony asks, not just out of politeness but also the small amount of desire he feels for just a beat of a moment. One that felt odd and far too new in his chest, something that he had yet to feel in the weeks that had came, and the weeks yet to come. 

The lady showed a glimpse of astonishment, and Anthony wonders if he had made the right decision upon asking her about it in the first place. "My Lord, are you, perchance, inquiring if you wish to take me on a social outing?" Though even she could hear the tiny quiver that was woven, her voice seemed steady as she spoke.

“I… suppose I am, yes.” He stands with his head gently cocked to the right, extending his hand in consolation. Anthony can feel the regret seeping into his words as they were carefully placed, because God, if she came to deny his request, he was sure he could drop dead on the grass at that given moment. 

“I would love to.” And Anthony would not be able to stop the sigh of relief that washed over him even if he had tried. The tension that creased his forehead, all the way down to his calves, was quickly overridden with a sense of declaration. 

As he wove through the throngs of disassembling guests, waving courteously to the lady that he swore to uncover the mystery of, Anthony finally let himself pry out of dapper smile. For the first time in a while, he felt as if he were winning. Not just a kid-made, pointless game, but something much deeper than he could have ever imagined. Except, this time, he would not allow it to simply just… escape his grasp.

[ghouldtime]

Hiii it's me again lol

Okayokay, so I just finished reading your rant on the COD fandom's unique choice of pet names, and I'm gonna be straight up and say I'm going completely off topic and INSTEAD veer off to a side thing you pointed out to give my own opinion! This is a kinda hot take so I'm just screaming into the void hoping someone shares my thoughts 🖤

Sooo we all know the Ghost comics released alongside the OG MW2. I personally haven't read it due to the TWs but I've seen enough screenshots and summaries to get the gist of what happens. HOWEVER I believe those comics are only canon to 09 Ghost and doesn't apply to reboot Ghost, and this is what I meant about it being a hot take cuz almost everyone in the fandom agrees the comics happens for both. And I can definitely see why! I mean, we didn't exactly get any concrete backstory regarding reboot Ghost, so anything goes.

Where I stand on the line, I'm a firm believer of reboot Ghost being Just A Guy™️like he had a (relatively) chill childhood but there are some things that stay the same with the comics. Like Tommy scaring him with the skeleton mask when they were children, and Simon enlisting after the 9/11 attack (not sure if those are canon, it's just what I've heard so please correct me if I'm wrong). No abusive father, no Roba, no Christmas trauma. Sure it makes him less interesting but I find it pretty amusing how the person wearing a skull print balaclava has no real reason behind wearing it other than it looking cool lmao

Anyway, yap fest over! Hope you have a wonderful day/night and remember to hydrate! 🖤

- Biscuits 🌺

SALUTATIONS it's good to see you again, I hope you're doing swell as well :D 💚💚💚

Technically, what you're saying is true!

The '09 comics pair with the '09 character and are indeed cannon for only him as far as I'm aware (someone feel free to correct me if I'm wrong). The reboot lacks a true significant backstory. As in, if you search it up, you basically get "he joined the SAS and is super cool and is great at doing cool soldier things and probably can do a sick backflip". What we know about the reboot is basically what we experience in game. And until we get either another game focusing on his earlier life or have confirmed scenes of it, we really don't know.

Personally, how I distinguish "Ghost" as a being is as three versions.

You have '09 Ghost. '09 Ghost is the one we experienced in the OG games and the comics. He's the dead one - and the one with the actual official backstory. Those are both cannon and are tied to him as a character.

You then have Reboot Ghost. Reboot Ghost is, as the name entails, the reboot alone. Basically, what we have of him and know of him is what we experience in game. Technically, we don't know his backstory and the full extent of his life. Is it similar to his '09 counterpart? We don't know. He's kinda the "What you see is what you get". There's some things implied with his dialog but most of his story is up for debate.

And then we have what I'm calling Fandom Ghost who is the most common variant. Fandom Ghost is neither the reboot nor the '09 version - he's a middle ground. He's what everyone is thinking of when you hear 'Ghost'. Usually how I've seen him portrayed is the reboot with the '09 backstory or some semblance of that.

(Side note: I know it's quite typical to specify when you're referring to '09 Ghost specifically because he does, of course, have a very different history and outcome. Not to mention, the dynamics with him and Soap are very different than in the reboot which is another reason why people usually clarify and go "This is who I mean")

I've never actually seen a TRUE reboot Ghost that wasn't fandom based or fanon in writing, now that I think about it. Probably because it's not that easy to write about a character in a limited sense where you don't know much about them and you have to stick to the limited material you're given.

A lot of COD operators lack a significant backstory outside of their military history. That's mainly done because they're videogame characters of a military, shooting focused game and they don't usually have the time to go into depth as to why that character is the way they are. They're primarily soldiers who are saving the world and playing their role. You might see snippets here and there but the focus isn't on their background or the inner workings of their character in a very personal way, aside from what is revealed on missions to add a natural perspective and make them see more human

Because it's not like in the middle of a life or death situation you're going to sit down and explain that you had a dog growing up, you had three sisters, your favorite drink is Baja Blast, and you have a lifelong fear of Burger King.

'09 Ghost, however, we GOT a backstory. We were given something to work with. Clinging to that or melding it with the reboot, who lacks a backstory, is what a lot do because it's trying to make use of the best source material we got until we can maybe get something else too. Personally I was a fan of that backstory because it DID add depth to him, significantly so. I liked it.

Additionally, I think a LOT of people go that route too because it's something that's quite easy to look up so they don't need to make something themselves

(This is an entire theory and me putting on my tinfoil hat: There's a lot of people in the COD fandom who are just here for the big beefy men and don't do their research, haven't played the games - they're just assuming things. And when they see the fandom Ghost, they just assume it's true, and it spreads when they write their own stories. I hope this doesn't read like I'm trying to gatekeep or 'HOW DARE YOU NOT KNOW EVERYTHING' or 'you're not a true fan unless-', cause I really really really do not care. Do what makes you happy, but I'm going to avoid reading what I feel mischaracterizes him for sexual purposes alone hardcore)

I also like to imagine that maybe the team doing the reboots has enough common sense too to not entirely scrap such a backstory as hey, it IS interesting, so there's a strong possibility that reboot might share some origins. Kidding, I'm being fully delusional here and know they won't do that and will likely just ruin it and I'm hoping they don't have a chance. I know any new one they come up with -like the writing in the last campaign -would be utter carbonated hot dog water and I do not trust them at alllllll. I'm refusing to accept reboot Soap's death but that's a rant for another time

That being said though, there's technically no correct backstory yet for Reboot! Ghost aside from what we already know. Anything that adds backstory or melds anything else to him is making him fanon/fandom!Ghost (which is by far the most common iteration and the one people default too)

I love when people give him, and other COD characters, happy or somewhat not dramatic backstories. They already have enough going on with the wars they're thrown in, I live for them having a scrap of happiness and normality. I can't blame people for not wanting to write or deal with heavy backstories and it's nice to see variety and is SO super valid.

But at the same time, I also do like his OG backstory, I love seeing when people dig deeper into the gritty stuff too, exploring that side of characters because not everyone has the best life growing up. And joining the military and when they join can be telling too about their home life

Variety is the variety of life and when there's not exactly a cannon, then I love seeing people make their own reasonings and conclusions and write fanfics with their own theories. It's SO fun to explore what other people think and it really results in some of the sweetest fics that dive more into depth than the official writing team ever could hope to

The Ghost that I write are usually AU Ghosts anyhow so it allows me more flexibility in what I write. BUT if I'm writing for Ghost, I do the blend where it has more of the '09's backstory but his reboot vibes. THAT BEING SAID

I love making him just, A Dude©, still despite that. Having a bad past doesn't make him any less of a person - nor does it make him this ultra mega tough dominant edgy sigma bad boy. He's literally just a GUY. Sure, he has extensive SAS experience and training to boot. Sure, he's easily one of their top soldiers. He's a stone cold killer when he's Ghost. He's there to do the job.

But Simon? Simon's just a dude, like everyone else - they all are at the end of the day. Sure, they have their own personal struggles and do have to go through a lot, but they're still people. He goes to the grocery store and is genuinely confused about all the options of milk now (how the hell did they milk HEMP). He still makes his bed and has to fight the fitted sheet to stay on, using his size and strength to force it in place before it can do 'the thing' that all fitted sheets somehow do. He bought a bird feeder so he could watch the wildlife as he drinks his tea for breakfast. Speaking of tea, he has a whole collection! And the good shit, you know he won't settle for any less.

He's just A DUDE© at the end of the day and I love those mundane things because hell, he needs them to still feel human and to be reminded exactly what he's fighting for

I just find it so silly and ridiculous when he's consistently like "I'M Batman: I AM THE NIGHT" sheer dramatic levels of broody in stories or when he's put in as this mega dommy bad boy who is 6'5", growling constantly, and is like the posterchild for a wattpad biketok fanfic.

Lmaooo be for real, he's out here doing arts and crafts to make his masks. He has a whole paint collection and everything. He went into the craft store for paint and came out with two new hobbies and no, I'm not listening to anyone who says otherwise

[rockwgooglyeyes]

I babbled about it in the server earlier today but I might as well post something and attempt(?) to make it a little more articulate.

@bluemoonscape said that Till's cover of All-In is much more angsty than Hyuna's, and I'll admit, I went into listening with that in mind but it did prove to be true. Nonetheless, with the two of them being narrative foils, they are incredibly similar but set apart by certain fundamental differences and I think that might be shown pretty starkly in this cover. Of course, that's not necessarily true- Mizi and Ivan are foils and yet their covers only juxtaposed the circumstances of their love, both tragic in their own way, an effort in futility, ultimately pointless (as one of them was always going to die and Ivan believed wholeheartedly that Till would never love him).

To simplify it, Till's is far more anguished than Hyuna's, which is meant to be a celebration, something triumphant.

In and of itself, it feels like Till's version is more about ALNST than it is about anything else. "There's no point in fighting back, this is the march of the fools, endless cheers and applause" is reminiscent of their walk to the stadium at the very beginning, where Till flipped off the media. Not only that but the fact that now, Till is the only one left alive (that he knows of) they would truly be a march of the fools, cheered on as they walked into the gaping maw of death (some knowingly, some not). With Till's self deprecating nature and bravado, it doesn't feel too presumptuous to say that he is including himself in that "fools" because, despite how much he is going to fight to win, he may still believe that he's going to lose his round against Luka. After all, that's been the seygein's plan all along.

"Change the game with a single action, trust me and I'll show you" could be reframed to be about Till's round 2 where he smashes Freddie and barely gives Acorn a chance to sing or it could be about Ivan's sacrifice, in equal turn. "We only get one life so I'm living mine for me" is Till's resistance against oppression, his disobedience that ends with him locked up in a change but he still keeps doing it because he doesn't have any other option, not really. also the "I'll create a fantasy in this crazy world" very much feels like an echo of the fact that Till's rebellion becomes his persona as much as it is truly coming from the heart. He's creating a fantasy of the fight, of the resistance, and people like that- they like his anger, his fire, his fight, I mean, they wouldn't put it in the advertising otherwise, right?

Basically, almost all of the peppy, cheerful "hurrahs" in Hyuna's version of All-In, with Till seem self-deprecating or bitter/aggrieved. He is trying to prove a point, that he won't stop fighting, that despite the odds he'll stand up there on that stage and go all-in (but internally, he still believes that this is reckless, that this won't work, that there's no point).

[diazsdimples]

🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠🤠

❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️❄️

Please ignore that I'm doing this several months late 😬

🤠 - 24 for Ranch AU!

But that did leave him with an awful lot of time on his hands. Bobby and spare time have never been great friends – the last time he was left to his own devices for more than a day, he’d ended up knee deep in planning a lavish wedding that had ultimately been chucked out the door when he and Athena realised, they really didn’t need anything more than themselves and the kids. All that to say that it isn’t really surprising that Bobby downloads the Sims 4 onto his ancient laptop and creates a full-scale version of the ranch. He gets the dimensions off the listing, and with the help of a convenient floorplan and google earth, he manages to make a rather convincing version of the home. He does up the exterior to look just like the ranch house, complete with the large veranda and the ornate trims around the spandrels, and even manages to find a tile that looks exactly like the path leading to the front door. The interior is a different matter. Bobby doesn’t love the colour scheme either, and he can’t see himself coping with an oven as miniscule as the one that comes with the home, so he allows himself a little creative licence. It’s just a video game, after all. He’s not seriously planning it out. Several hours later, Bobby sits back in his chair with a satisfied sigh. Blessedly, Athena still has a job, which means Bobby hasn’t needed to worry about her finding out his momentary lapse in sanity, but it also means he hasn’t got anyone to show off his creation to – a thought that upsets him a little more than it should, were he being normal about the whole thing. He’s fiddling around with some of the furniture in the master bedroom when the front door bursts open and a furious looking Buck stalks over his threshold, followed by a harried Eddie. “What’s going –” “Bobby, you wouldn’t believe what that man made us do!” Buck explodes as he starts pacing the kitchen. Eddie leans against the countertop, running a hand over his face. “I know you said I shouldn’t let him get to me but I can’t, he’s just so –” Buck trails off, looking over at Bobby. His eyes flicker from Bobby’s patient expression to the open laptop, still displaying the Fake Ranch. “Are we… interrupting something?” “No.” Bobby goes to shut the laptop but Buck is quicker. “Is that the Sims?” Buck asks incredulously. “Man, you must be bored, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you play video games.”

❄️ - 24 for Frostpunk AU!

“You did it,” he repeats, praying his voice won’t betray him. “You’re safe.” At his words, Eddie’s eyes shut, and his brings his hands up to his face as he lets out a deep exhale. His fingers shake as he wipes a tear from his cheek. “I didn’t think we’d – I thought -” Eddie swallows thickly. He looks around the tent, eyes wet, and his gaze falls on a familiar mop of brown curls. “Is that – is that my son? Can I see him, please?” Buck squeezes Eddie’s shoulder again, offering him a smile. “Of course.” When Buck reaches Christopher’s bed, the kid looks up at him quizzically. It’s clear that he wasn’t as blissfully unaware of his father’s event as Buck had hoped, despite the small crowd of medics around him, all intent on distracting him. “Is everything okay with Dad?” he asks Buck, without preamble. Buck crouches down to Christopher’s level and brushes a loose curl out of his eyes. “Yeah bud, everything’s okay. Better than, actually – he’s awake.” Buck holds out his hand for Christopher. “Want to come see him? He’d like to see you.” Christopher throws himself into Buck’s arms, taking him by surprise. Buck catches him around the middle and hauls him up, carrying him to Eddie’s cot. The moment Christopher sees his father, sitting upright, awake and breathing, a great sob escapes his lips. Buck lowers him into Eddie’s waiting arms and pauses, not sure what to do as he watches father embrace son. Fat tears roll down Eddie’s cheeks as he holds Christopher as tight as he can, muscles shaking after weeks of no use.

[sharkboywrites]

Hi, can you do Halsin and Astarion comfort (plus any others you like writing for) x trans reader struggling with top dysphoria, like to the point they actively avoid face to face contact because no matter how well they bind they can still feel them :( I've been struggling a lot (expecially since I can't bind due to health reasons)

Top Dysphoria

Halsin and Astarion x dysphoric transmasc reader

A/N: Really excited to write this bc I know how much chest dysphoria sucks, but I’m actually working on getting a binder now that I’m 18, so this is good motivation to write. Sorry I’m getting to this late, but I hope you feel better anon

Trans male/transmasc reader, dysphoria, chest dysphoria, all descriptions of dysphoria are based off of author’s experience

Halsin

- Halsin is one of those people that can immediately tell when something is wrong

- He could see the difference in the way you started to carry yourself, all confidence gone and making yourself as small as possible

- Your chatter died down, now often becoming completely silent unless you had to speak

- When you’d see up camp for the night you’d quickly retreat to your tent, not fixing up your weapons or talking to anyone else in your party

- He decided to wait until everyone headed to bed to check on you

- When he came into your tent you were just laying there

- You weren’t sleeping, but you weren’t exactly doing anything either

- You were just staring at the wall of your tent, face stained from tears

- He didn’t say anything at first, just sat beside you

- He eventually pulled you into his arms, holding you in a warm and comforting embrace, a bear hug perhaps

- When you felt comfortable enough to start talking, you told him everything

- You told him how you felt, how it was making every single day hard, how it was affecting your mental health

- He listened to you patiently, wiping away any tears that formed

- He assured you that your body does not define you, that it doesn’t change the way he sees you, but that he also understands why it makes you so upset

- He held you until you fell asleep, before laying with you, patting your hair as he drifted to sleep too

Astarion

- Astarion loves to bicker, that’s one obvious thing

- He throws small insults and comments whenever he can find the opportunity

- And you always bickered back

- It was like a game between the two of you, an entertainment of sorts while you had to walk from place to place, fighting monster after monster

- But suddenly, you stopped bickering back

- You were quiet, keeping to yourself

- You almost seemed smaller somehow, like trying to hide yourself from everyone around you

- He’d never admit it, but he missed your friendly fighting

- So, he decided to check up on you

- In his own way of course

- He’s not good at emotions, but he still addresses the problem directly

- He does it in a whiny way of course, while you’re party stopped at an inn for the night

- He companies about losing his fighting buddy, how quiet you’ve become, but beneath all that it’s clear he’s really just worried about you

- But he feels even worse when he sees you start to tear up

- He sits next to you on the bed as you cry out your feelings, telling him about everything

- His comfort comes in the form of a hand on your shoulder and a nod every now and then

- Like we’ve established, he’s not good with emotions, but he’s still there to listen to you

- He doesn’t have a lot to say, but he gives you a few assuring words about how he doesn’t care about those things and your body doesn’t determine who you are

- He stays with you the whole night, helping you stay distracted, and reminding you that he’s here for you

[nevermorgue]

ms hayley ! !! do you have hc's for how eulalie would interact with the misfit's cast? I feel like she'd get along with them all save for Montresor and will but I need eulalie content 🙏🏻

omg hiii. I think you meant to say annabel’s team because you brought up monty but I GOT YOU. I got you.

With Annabel

- Annabel finds her very odd. She is a bit bothered by how unpredictable Eulalie can be with her blunt words and tendency to not properly understand all social cues. Annabel Lee is a woman used to talking to people that are playing the game she is, so this is not something she is used to. - Eulalie is very perceptive, much to Annabel Lee's dismay. She notices when Annabel is mildly irritated by the way her eyebrows shift on her face. - Eulalie asks Annabel to give her doll curls like her. She does not (and cannot). - Annabel is horrified to see Eulalie putting two different tea bags into one cup. She wants to see what the flavors taste like together. - Eulalie isn't terrible at chess. Not on Annabel's level, but she doesn't mind playing against her. - Eulalie asks her one day why she's mean. Annabel simply responds with "Think me mean if you wish, I am simply surviving." Then Eulalie says something like "What is the point in surviving if you're all alone by the end?" She bites her tongue. She cannot tell Eulalie that she will never be alone as long as she has Lenore.

With Ada

- Honestly I think this could go both ways.

- Ada calls her creepy and finds her weird, but she doesn’t really dislike her company.

- Eulalie thinks she’s pretty! She likes touching Ada’s hair bow.

- Asks to borrow said hair bow. Ada only agrees because someone wanting to look like her NEVER happens.

- Ada is jealous of her singing voice.

- Eulalie mentions something about the length of the small intestine and Ada feels sick She just remembers an ax to the stomach.

- Eulalie tells her that she’s pretty a lot and Ada gets kinda mad bc she assumes Eulalie is lying to her because of her tone/the way she speaks.

- “Why would you think you’re not pretty?”

“Empty flattery will not get you anywhere with me!”

“It’s not empty. It’s quite full, really. You are pretty.”

- And she just struggles to believe it internally because compared to Annabel she doesn’t really feel pretty. But of course she just haughtily laughs and goes like “I know! Finally, you took notice!”

With Prospero - An unlikely duo. Eulalie is interested in his medical knowledge. He is mildly concerned about how much she knows about the human body despite having no medical career. - Eulalie's humming kinda reminds him of his mother. He'd rather die than say that. - She claims that he is mean too, but not as mean as Annabel. He takes mild offense. - She tries to curl a piece of her hair around her finger and put it in front of her face to copy his hairstyle. - Reading buddies. She'll blurt out a random fun fact about bones or something and he'll nod and add one of his own. Freaks. - Eulalie insists that when he's with her, all the "survival games" are set aside. She can tell it stresses him out. His hands tense up when he holds objects, and it's obvious even with the gloves. He's a jaw clencher too. With Montresor - As good as you'd expect it to be, really. - He calls her 'little miss' because she's anything but little. She literally would not care if it were anyone else but him. - He yanks at her sleeves because they're long and easy to grab. - "Why is everyone with great hair so mean?" "Aw, that's real kind of ya to say, little miss." "You’re horrible.”

- He tries to like intimidate her with close contact but she’s almost his height. Plus, she just doesn’t respond to that sort of thing.

- I think they’d be really interesting actually. He’s been compared to the devil, is considered demonic…and she has an interest in the occult. Imagine that.

With Will

- Honestly, not as bad as you might first think.

- She sort of pities him, but not really. He knows the choices he makes are bad.

- She’s happy to share things with him if he stares for a while. He’ll never dare ask for something, just kinda stare like a puppy until it’s offered. She won’t be cruel for no reason.

- She actually likes hearing about his writing journals.

- Will starts to instinctively study her face and body to learn how to become her even though he has no reason to. She can tell by the way he mumbles her words after she speaks sometimes.

- They’ll be sitting in silence and she’ll suddenly ask him what his loneliness feels like. Like uncomfortable questions that he can’t/doesn’t want to answer. But his reaction is enough of an answer.

- Allows him to turn into her so she can braid his hair.

[needleworm]

i am really so disappointed in every case of a horror movie getting widely yaoied it's never done in a remotely interesting way. like yeah of course billy and stu & herbert and dan are kinda gay with it it's almost like it's intentional or something and then adam and lawrence Could be done in an interesting way but no one wants to do anything but adam is alive and they're in a healthy happy public gay marriage despite lawrence's obsession with his image as a Successful Family Man and classist resentment for adam being core themes of the original film uwu aus. when is someone going to be brave enough to draw or write paul and peter from funny games jerking each other off while peter cries huh. who said that. i did

[theoutcastrogue]

I've come across many posts on tumblr claiming or taking for granted that there's a d&d 5e play Culture™ out there where the dm is expected to do all the work, to the point of players NOT being expected to learn the rules, not even how their own characters work mechanically.

This is several light years away from my personal experience. Of course, I'd never generalise or extrapolate anything at all from my personal experience, so I'm not presenting this as anecdotal evidence to the contrary of the claim. But I would ask for (similarly non-anecdotal) evidence to the support of the claim. Who THE FUCK are these people who think it's normal to not even try to learn the rules of the game they're playing? Where do they congregate? Are they somewhere online?

The 5e-related online spaces which I visit from time to time (roleplaying forums, reddit, etc) are, broadly speaking, Not Like That. Sometimes they're the opposite, and there's a lot of rules-lawyering going on. Sometimes there'll be a story about a Problem Player who refuses to learn their own character's abilities, but, and this is very important, it isn't presented as a norm, as THE Culture™. It's presented as a faux pas, a deviation from the norm. And I've NEVER come across such a story told from the Clueless Player's perspective. Like, I've never seen anyone go "lol my DM expects me to know what my character can do, that's your job, stupid!".

But just because I haven't seen it doesn't mean it doesn't exist. Perhaps the internet is full of stuff like that. So I ask all of you, and especially those who do consider this phenomenon "a 5e culture", where is it? Where do I find it? (I'm curious!) Are there like discord servers dedicated to celebrating your own ignorance at the expense of your poor dm?

Or do we have scattered anecdotal evidence and personal horror stories here and there, which somehow led to the theory that this a whole-ass 5e Culture™?

Note: I'm assuming we're talking about deliberate ignorance. No one should expect a first-time player to know and remember everything. Rules mastery comes over time, with experience. Even the most experienced and engaged player/dm will occasionally forget, misremember, or misunderstand the rules. (It's d&d! There's a fuckton of them!) Some rules slip through the cracks because the books aren't well-written (the best feature of the 2024 PHB is undoubtedly the Rules Glossary). And if you don't play regularly, if there's a long gap between sessions, if you're very busy or distracted or stressed IRL, of course it's more likely to forget things. So I'm not talking about any of this, I'm only referring to stories about players who clearly think it's not their job to learn the rules of the game.

[tgmsunmontue]

Never knew I was missing you 1/? WIP

Jake is just trying to find a connection. Shame the guy he connects with the most is lying about his identity online; because he sure as hell isn't A-list Hollywood star Bradley Bradshaw.

PART ONE

                Bradley hadn’t ever meant to become famous. He’d just been minding his own business, doing his own thing and adding some extra curriculars to his schedule to pad his USNA application when someone had sidled up to him after the school production and asked him if he’d ever considered doing it professionally.

                He’d been so confused he’d had to ask do what professionally?

                Act.

                Apparently, he has a flair for the dramatic.

                When he’d relayed this, Ice had rolled his eyes and looked at Mav and muttered I wonder where he gets that from and Mav had, for some reason, just snapped his teeth and then said truly a mystery.

                Bradley had just decided it was safer to ignore them and leave them to their dramatics, because who did they think they were kidding if they weren’t equally dramatic? So he figured he’d give it a shot. He had a year left of high school, and he could delay joining the Navy. Weirdly Maverick had been incredibly supportive, almost pushing him toward it, but he had left all his options open, and then… Well, he’d been asked to do a screen test, and then he’d done an audition and reading, which had then spiraled into being the previously unknown but now new-and-upcoming-star of Hollywood.

                All that is over ten years ago now, he’s closing in on thirty, regularly on the most eligible bachelor and sexiest men lists to his mortification, and he’s also considered one of the most billable actors. He was open about his sexuality from the start, despite his agent advising him against it. So he’d found a new agent, who had crafted a very well worded statement which meant that Bradley has remained scandal free because he’s… Well, he’s pretty boring really. When he takes people out on dates they seem to think he’s going to be like one the characters he plays, and are always a little (or a lot) disappointed when they realize that Bradley is just… well, Bradley.

                “I made you a dating profile,” Callie says, slapping his phone onto his chest and Bradley grabs for it before it can slide down and hit the floor.

                “You did what now?”

                “A dating profile.”

                “Yeah. Sorry, I got that part. I meant why?”

                “Because you haven’t left the house for anything other than work in three weeks.”

                “So? I’ve been keeping busy. Plus I don’t have trouble finding someone to date. When I actually want to go on a date.”

                “Uh…”

                “What?”

                “I’d like to hold up exhibits A through D. Your last relationship and the last three dates you went on. All fucking disasters. If not PR wise, then romantically and-or sexually. Disasters. With a capital D.”

                “And he wants another type of D!” Neil calls out and Bradley rolls his eyes, because of course Neil is chipping in.

                “Do I have an HR department? Can I report you both to HR?”

                “Nope. You’re stuck with us. Your fault for hiring people who know you’re just a giant nerd with no game whatsoever,” Callie says with a grin as she settles on the sofa beside him and shoves her cold feet under his thighs.

                Bradley groans, he hates it when they’re right.

…            …            …

                Jake flicks through the profiles, looking for something to catch his attention. He doesn’t need perfect looking bodies, or dick-pics, he sees enough of both in the locker room. Plus he gets plenty of unsolicited dick-pics whenever he’s horny enough to reinstall Tinder and got looking for something uncomplicated. Of course, as he’s gotten older he wouldn’t mind something a bit more complicated, but some people like having a partner or boyfriend that is around, and Jake isn’t a lot of the time. So his job can be somewhat of a deal breaker, has been in nearly all his past relationships. He reads over his profile and he should probably take out GGG if he wants to be serious about something more but… It’s still true.

GGG Flyboy looking for something a little more heavy duty than a ONS but only in town for six weeks.

                He keeps scrolling and then there’s a picture of A-list actor Bradley Bradshaw and he snorts in amusement. He sure as fuck wouldn’t be on a fucking dating app if he was Bradley Bradshaw. He reads the profile and laughs again.

Half-decent actor, boring AF human. Hobbies include avoiding social interactions with people I don’t know, pinball machine restoration and building model planes. WLTM genuine M or F for dating to something more serious.

                He’s got nothing better to do, so he fires off a message.

>>No way you’re actually Bradley Bradshaw. Catfishing is illegal you know.

>>But I am actually Bradley Bradshaw.

>>Yeah, and I’m a veterinarian and part-time fire fighter.

>>Pretty sure Bradley Bradshaw wouldn’t be admitting to the world that his favorite past times are building model airplanes and restoring pinball machines.

>>Also if you don’t like social interactions with people you don’t know then a dating app is NOT the place for you.

>>I like pinball machines.

>>Well. I like playing pinball. The machines are just kind of necessary for that and sometimes I need some quiet time.

>>Plus this app wasn’t my idea. My friend made my profile.

>>Sure buddy.

>>Your ‘friend’ has some mad photoshop skills though.

>>Legit looks like Bradshaw is working on that pinball machine.

>>That’s an original Lumet. And I am working on it.

>>Not the oldest one I have, but the one that needs the most work.

>>Sure. Okay.

>>So what do you do?

>>I’m in the Navy.

                Jake settles back, wonders if the guy has even bothered reading his profile.

>>Huh. Flyboy. Aviator then?

                There’s his answer.

>>Yep. What do you do?

>>Restore pinball machines and lie about my identity on dating apps apparently.

                Jake laughs, and at least the guy has got a good sense of humor, even if what he’s doing is illegal. Jake’s never been that much of a stickler and he’s not hurting anyone.

>>Also said you build model planes. What kind? Vested interest and legit first hand knowledge….

>>Wait, your username is Brad2lover? You’re a fan?

>>Yeah, hello, I’m not blind. Guy’s scorching hot. And yeah, I guess I’m a fan. But he can do whatever the fuck he wants when he’s not working.

>>Except restore pinball machines. That’s the step too far?

>>He wouldn’t be using a dating app to hook up.

>>Wouldn’t need to.

>>You’d think that wouldn’t you.

>>And not looking to just hook up.

                Jake rolls his eyes. He could fucking start be being honest with who he is, but he feels like he might as well be talking to a brick wall with as far as he’s been getting there. So he’ll talk.

>>Well, I am and I am not…

>>?

>>Vague.

>>Well. I’ve got six weeks leave. I’d like to find something more than hooking up, but most people need more than six weeks to want a relationship, so I’m…

>>In a catch-22 situation.

>>So going to try meeting someone on this app and get to know them and then… what?

>>You’re still going to be deployed again for months on end.

>>Yeah, no shit. Got to at least try though right?

>>Might get lucky.

[elysiaheaven]

𝗡𝗼 𝗹𝗼𝗻𝗴𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗰𝗮𝗿𝗲𝗱-𝟮𝟱-(The Fox's Wedding)

Words:3132

Mentions of k!lling

Hoolay, his demeanor cold and calculating, faced Jiaoqiu with a mocking smile. "Perfect chance? To return to my weak and shattered pack, at the mercy of a ridiculous false prophet, and become a mere puppet in her clutches? Heh, her plan is full of flaws. The only paths she has prepared for you are escape and death."

He then turned his piercing gaze toward Jiaoqiu. "Listen up, a wolf never allows itself to become prey. From now on, you'll follow my orders."

Jiaoqiu, stunned by the sudden shift, could hardly believe what he was hearing. "Wait, what did you just say?"

Mok Tok, clearly unsettled, interjected, "But my Lord...!"

Hoolay's eyes narrowed, a hint of menace in his voice. "Would an alpha wolf ever listen to a cub, Mok Tok?"

Mok Tok quickly lowered his gaze, his voice trembling. "No, I've never heard anything like that... I... I wasn't trying to defy your will. I will always unquestioningly follow your orders."

Hoolay, ignoring Mok Tok's plea, continued with an unsettling calm. "I'm offering you a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Don't you want to run away, Jiaoqiu?"

Jiaoqiu's face was etched with confusion and concern. "What game are you playing?"

Hoolay's smile widened, his voice laced with dark amusement. "Just a little pre-hunt entertainment. Don't you want to run away? I'm giving you a chance to see the ports and report back to me."

Your eyes widened in shock and disbelief as Hoolay's words sank in. You struggled against the cage, your fear and confusion giving way to a desperate resolve. "What... what are you planning to do?"

Hoolay's gaze flicked towards you, a sinister smile playing on his lips. "You Jiaoqiu, too, will aid me in this little game. After all, foxian like you always obediently return to their masters... no matter how far they run away."

Jiaoqiu, realizing the gravity of the situation, looked at you with a mixture of concern and determination. "Y/n, we need to get out of this. I'll figure something out. But you must be ready to act quickly."

You, despite the overwhelming fear and uncertainty, nodded. "I... I will do whatever it takes. But we need to find a way to stop Hoolay and Mok Tok."

Hoolay, pleased with your response, turned to Mok Tok. "Make sure they understand their roles. I expect results, or the consequences will be dire."

Mok Tok nodded, though his face was filled with apprehension. "Yes, my Lord."

Jiaoqiu, couldn't believe his luck. "I can't believe he actually let me go... What game is he playing?" His thoughts raced as he considered his options. "Perhaps I can try to warn the Cloud Knights... No, maybe escaping might be the best course of action..But Y/n...."

He scanned his surroundings, noting the sharp pressure of a foxian's cold gaze. The look carried an unspoken warning: "Every clever little thought you bear might lead to severe consequences you will come to regret."

Jiaoqiu's expression hardened. "Just as I expected... He's testing me."

As he continued toward the port, his mind churned with concerns. "The Cloud Knights must have been aware of the situation inside The Shackling Prison for some time. Will General Feixiao personally lead a squad to capture Hoolay?"

Suddenly, a sharp, familiar pain made him flinch. 

"Y/n?" Jiaoqiu's eyes widened in shock. "What are you—"

You clutched his hand tightly, your expression full of pain and worry. "Jiaoqiu, be careful. Hoolay's games are dangerous... I will come with you tho,every step I take is like walking on a bed of needles."

Jiaoqiu could see the glass shards embedded in your hands and the pain etched across your face. Despite the agony, you tried to control your expressions, maintaining a semblance of calm. "I... I need to warn you. Don't go too far."

Jiaoqiu, torn between his mission and your condition, took a deep breath. "Alright, I understand. But we need to find a way to stop this madness."

He continued to move towards the port, his pace slower now as he kept a watchful eye on you. "I can't risk being seen trying to escape, and someone is definitely keeping an eye on me," he thought, glancing over his shoulder.

Jiaoqiu's mind was a whirlwind of strategies and concerns. "I'll do as Hoolay asked for now, but I need to find a way to alert the Cloud Knights without drawing attention."

Jiaoqiu stood silently before Hoolay, his eyes cold and resolute. "You're back, Jiaoqiu," Hoolay's voice slithered into the stillness. The wolfish leader's eyes gleamed, waiting for any sign of defiance or betrayal.

Jiaoqiu met his gaze without flinching. "You were watching me closely, weren't you? If I had sought help, your people would have killed them on the spot. Was that your plan all along, Hoolay?"

Hoolay grinned darkly, leaning back with a subtle nod. "Smart as always. You're quick to understand. I told you to go check the situation at the port, but I never said you could speak to anyone."

Jiaoqiu clenched his fists, his jaw tightening. He had walked through the streets, ignoring his instincts to seek help from the Cloud Knights, avoiding anyone who might be caught in the crossfire. He had seen the watchful eyes following him, the threat hanging in the air like a knife waiting to drop. But you... you had been with him all along, limping silently by his side, enduring the pain of the glass shards still embedded in your skin.

"Why?" Jiaoqiu growled, his voice thick with frustration. "Why this game? What do you gain from holding everyone's life in your hands like this?"

You glanced between them, keeping your emotions in check. Your steps had been agonizing, the glass shards cutting deeper into your feet with every movement. But you didn't let it show. Not now. Not when it was clear that Hoolay was savoring his control over both of you.

"You did the right thing, Jiaoqiu," you said softly, your voice steady despite the pain. "You didn't involve the Cloud Knights. But that doesn't mean he's done testing you."

Hoolay let out a low chuckle, watching the two of you with interest. "Ah, Y/n. Always the clever one, aren't you? But cleverness won't save either of you here."

He leaned forward, his expression darkening. "You're here because you want to play the game. If you had sought help, I would have had my men execute them in front of you. The more hope you hold, the greater your pain when I snuff it out. But you didn't—so now you remain in my hands, just like everyone else."

Jiaoqiu's heart pounded in his chest as he stared into Hoolay's cold, unfeeling eyes. There was no way out of this. No matter what choice he made, someone would suffer. He had taken the safer path, but it still led to the same end: submission to Hoolay's twisted game.

"You're doing this to prove that you hold all the cards, aren't you?" Jiaoqiu muttered bitterly.

Hoolay smiled, baring his teeth. "Exactly. You may have made it back here without seeking help, but that just means I get to enjoy this a little longer. Watching you both struggle... it's truly delightful."

Hoolay hurted Jiaoqiu!

What are you just staring at them! Do something!

 The moment Jiaoqiu winced from the pain, you couldn't hold it in anymore. A strangled cry escaped your throat, the sound raw and desperate. You rushed toward him, heart racing in your chest, but before you could reach him, something far worse happened.

"Ahhhh!!!!! Kill hoolay now!" You screamed at a borisin nearby. You could control their minds...Thank god!

A nearby borisin, stirred by your scream, lunged at Hoolay, as if trying to strike in your defense. For a split second, everything froze. The air was thick with anticipation, but Hoolay didn't flinch. Instead, with effortless precision, he stopped the creature mid-attack, his strength overpowering it with ease. His hand found its way to the doll that had been clutched in his grip, the one that symbolized a fragile piece of control he had over the situation. With a wicked grin, Hoolay squeezed it with all his might, and you could almost hear the crackle of fabric and stuffing tearing apart.

You stopped in your tracks, anger flaring in your eyes. You glared at him, your whole body trembling with fury as he crushed the doll in his hand like it was nothing. You wanted to lash out, to strike him down for daring to hurt Jiaoqiu, but your limbs felt frozen, caught between fear and rage.

Hoolay turned his gaze on you, amused by your reaction. His smile deepened, sharp teeth gleaming in the dim light as he observed you carefully. "You're a strange one, aren't you?" he said, his voice a soft purr. "You've lost your fear of pain and torture so quickly... fascinating."

You stared him down, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of seeing you break, but your heart stuttered in your chest when Hoolay shifted his attention. His eyes, predatory and calculating, flicked back to Jiaoqiu.

Jiaoqiu's breath hitched, and his face paled as Hoolay's gaze lingered on him, the amusement in the warlord's eyes morphing into something far darker. You saw it immediately—the spark of fear igniting in Jiaoqiu's eyes. His bravado, his strength, all of it crumbled under the weight of Hoolay's piercing stare.

"No..." you whispered, your voice hoarse, barely able to believe the shift in the room. The dread clawed at your throat, choking you.

Hoolay's laugh was deep and mocking, echoing in the small space. He glanced back at you with a knowing smirk, his cruel eyes glinting. "Ahh, there it is... Your weakness is clear to me now," he said softly, his tone like ice cutting through your defenses. "You don't fear for yourself... you fear for him."

His words hung heavy in the air, and the realization stung deeper than any wound. He had found the one thing that could break you—Jiaoqiu. You could endure pain, torment, humiliation, but seeing Jiaoqiu in danger, seeing that fear in his eyes, was enough to shatter the steely resolve you had so carefully built.

Hoolay's laughter echoed once again, the sound dripping with victory. He knew he had the upper hand now. "Your courage is just an illusion," he sneered, "as long as you have something to lose."

You stared back at him.

The suffocating air in the room felt heavier with every word that Hoolay spoke. His voice, gravelly and thick with the weight of ancient hatred, slithered into every corner of the space. You stood there, muscles tensed, watching as he circled Jiaoqiu like a predator toying with its prey.

Hoolay's reminiscing turned into something darker as he recounted the early years of his captivity. His eyes burned with memories of suffering, torment, and bloodshed—of being prodded, poked, and drained by the foxians in their attempts to unravel the secret of "Moon Rage."

Jiaoqiu, despite his training, stood motionless, the weight of Hoolay's words pressing down on him like an invisible force. His face was unreadable, though you could feel the subtle tension in his shoulders, the quiet agony of realization sinking in. This wasn't just another prisoner speaking to him—this was a warlord of unimaginable cruelty, shaped by centuries of suffering, and now, reborn with the dark promise of his ancestors.

You stepped forward, trying to break the heavy silence, your breath quickening. "Stop it, Hoolay," you demanded, your voice sharper than you intended. "What kind of monster are you, to believe in these barbaric rituals? The Lunar Embryo, the moon heart, devouring... you're nothing but a savage, clinging to a nightmare."

Hoolay's laughter rippled through the room, deep and rumbling. He turned his gaze toward you, eyes glinting with amusement. "A monster, you say? Perhaps. But you, little fox, have yet to witness the true power that lies within. Your words are laced with fear, not bravery." His gaze flicked to Jiaoqiu, and his lips curled into a twisted smile. "But not him. No... Jiaoqiu seeks power, but not to destroy his enemies or to become them. He's the most pitiful of all—he seeks it to help others."

You clenched your fists, feeling the sharp sting of glass shards embedded in your skin, remnants of your earlier defiance. The pain was dull now, overshadowed by the anger boiling beneath the surface. Jiaoqiu shifted slightly, glancing your way, but his attention remained locked on Hoolay. His silence was deliberate, cautious.

Hoolay's voice softened, almost mockingly. "I see it in you, healer. You want answers. And I... well, I know everything about the Moon Rage, about the power you so desperately want to understand."

Jiaoqiu's lips twitched, his voice low but steady. "What are you trying to tell me, Hoolay?"

The warlord's eyes gleamed as he began recounting the tale of Duran, the ancestor of the borisin, who sought to defy his limited lifespan and seize control of the stars themselves. His words painted a vivid picture of blood sacrifice, genetic sorcery, and the birth of the Lunar Embryo—a power that, he claimed, resided within every generation of the Borisin Warhead.

Hoolay stepped closer to Jiaoqiu, towering over him like a predator sizing up his prey. His voice dropped into a hushed growl. "Devouring is the essence of life, Jiaoqiu. It's what allows us to endure. To thrive. The divine heart that beats within me has been passed down through generations, through ritual and sacrifice." He paused, then leaned in, his breath warm against Jiaoqiu's ear. "I thought I was lost, that hope had died after centuries of torment. But now... this heart beats once again."

A tremor ran through you at his words. You knew Hoolay's next move would be ruthless, unrelenting. The sheer conviction in his voice was terrifying, and yet, you could see the flicker of hesitation in Jiaoqiu's eyes. He was holding something back, weighing his options—perhaps deciding how much of the truth he should reveal.

Before Jiaoqiu could respond, Hoolay's lips twisted into a sinister grin. "Now, it's your turn to tell me everything about the Merlin's Claw."

The air shifted, and you felt a twinge of unease crawl up your spine. You opened your mouth to protest, to stop whatever was about to unfold, but before you could utter a word, a soft rustle caught your ear.

From the shadowy rooftop above, Moze crouched, his eyes narrowed as he surveyed the scene. His voice, barely a whisper, carried through the night air. "Jiaoqiu... I've found you."

"Little Maggot, Are you sucking off to find peace in this little foxian? You always suck off something from everyone." He said...

Your breath caught in your throat as the rage began to bubble to the surface. Hoolay's laughter echoed through the room like nails on glass, scraping against every nerve. Your heart pounded, hands trembling, blood dripping from the glass shards embedded in your skin. Every fiber of your being wanted to shut him up, to tear down his arrogance. The mocking gleam in his eyes was unbearable.

"Maggot, am I?" you spat, voice shaking with fury. Your words dripped with venom, eyes burning as they locked onto Hoolay's sneering face. "Then, Just like a maggot, I'll *suck* and *slurp* up all your wounds—until there's nothing left. Going on until you're *dry*, until every ounce of blood in your veins is gone. I'll devour every last shred of you, piece by piece!"

Jiaoqiu, eyes wide with both shock and a flicker of dread, watched as your voice twisted into a snarl. Even he hadn't seen this side of you before, the raw hatred bubbling over into every word. But it was Hoolay's reaction you focused on, the slight twitch of amusement still plastered on his face.

Hoolay chuckled lowly, the sound making your blood boil. "Oh? Is that how you plan to finish me off? By sucking me dry like the parasite you've become?"

You took a step forward, unblinking, pain no longer even a distant thought. Your vision narrowed, focusing solely on him. "You'll die so slowly, Hoolay," you hissed, voice shaking with a barely contained storm of rage. "So painfully, that you'll *beg* for the centuries of torment you've already lived through. You'll *wish* you never met me, because when I'm done with you, there won't even be enough left to recognize as human—or whatever you think you are."

Hoolay's smile faltered ever so slightly. For the first time, his eyes narrowed, lips pulling into something less amused and more cautious. He seemed to be weighing your words now, sensing the sheer madness boiling just under your skin.

And that's when you knew you had him.

"You think you're untouchable? That your power makes you invincible?" Your voice rose, anger lacing each word with deadly intent. "I'll drag you into the dirt where you belong. I'll make your heart stop and start again, over and over, so you feel the edge of death—*just* long enough to know what it's like to be helpless. Just long enough to remember what fear *really* feels like."

Jiaoqiu, breathing shallow, took a hesitant step toward you, unsure whether to intervene or let you continue. Moze's presence from the rooftop, unseen to the others, shifted slightly, eyes sharp as he watched your confrontation unfold.

"You... you're strange," Hoolay finally said, his grin returning but with a hint of unease. "To lose your fear of torture so easily... it's almost amusing. But," his gaze flicked toward Jiaoqiu, lingering for a moment before falling back to you, "I see your weakness."

Jiaoqiu's eyes widened as Hoolay's words hit him like a dagger to the chest. You clenched your fists tighter, muscles coiled in preparation, but Hoolay merely laughed.

"Oh yes, you can scream and rage all you want, but your weakness is clear as day." His gaze flicked back to Jiaoqiu, a cruel smirk forming on his lips. "You can pretend to be strong, but when it comes to him..."

"Shut. Up!" you roared, your voice cracking with intensity as you took another step toward Hoolay, teeth gritted.

Hoolay's laughter only grew, the sound grating against your nerves like sandpaper. "Ah, there it is. Your fear, your rage—it's all tied to him, isn't it? Your precious healer. Without him, you're nothing."

Your breathing grew ragged, chest rising and falling with each sharp intake of breath. Every part of you wanted to lash out, to strike Hoolay down in that very moment—but you hesitated. Because as much as you hated to admit it, there was a grain of truth in his words.

He saw the hesitation flicker across your face, and his grin widened. "See? You're just as weak as I thought."

Trembling with barely-contained fury, you forced yourself to remain still, eyes locked on Hoolay's with a hatred that felt like it could burn the world to ash.

"Mark my words," you growled through clenched teeth. "You'll die wishing you never crossed me. You'll regret every second you spent thinking you had the upper hand. When I'm done with you, there won't be a single piece of you left for the wolves to scavenge."

And for the first time in that endless, twisted conversation, Hoolay's laughter died in his throat.