#the benefit of hardly anyone knowing who i am

[not-poignant]

Do you know an artist I Am Luna Sol? Her antis went wild and it is really scary... check her twitter com /iamlunasol/status/1531760416967245826

Hi anon,

Unfortunately while the situation with that artist is terrible (no, I don't know them, I'm not in their main fandom), this is something I've seen happen again and again to many artists for the content they create. This is not the first time I've seen something this bad happen, but...I've seen worse. (Which isn't to minimise the trauma that this artist has repeatedly gone through simply for drawing ship art, it's horrendous.).

Antis are just like this. They have done it to many artists and writers. Some are proud when they make someone need to go to a hospital because of their mental health from constant bullying and abuse. They have actually tried to kill artists and writers in the past.

I would also add that in this day and age, mass-reporting someone you don't like on Tiktok and Instagram happens all the time, even if you're not in fandom. I follow a lot of immunologists and doctors on Tiktok who educate about Covid being real and a threat, and they get mass harrassment all the time with real consequences of being banned or having many posts removed. Likewise, an autistic person I follow on Tiktok, has had their account banned several times because they get reported for being, well, autistic. They've had to create back up accounts. I think it's happened 3-4 times already this year alone. It's not just an anti phenomenon, but it doesn't surprise me that antis use the same tricks as the fascists, the most far-right of the anti-vaxxers, and the ableist, bigoted puritans.

But yeah, honestly, the extreme antis are vile (personally I think most are, but some antis do grow out of it eventually and actually realise they're believing stuff that's just straight up factually untrue and using it to viciously and cruelly and maliciously harm people, it might be a tiny percentage, but still). Antis are, imho, one of the biggest scourges all fandom has ever seen. And they are going to get worse until creators are given more tools to deal with them.

[sunonyoreface]

One Cot - Simon “Ghost” Riley

Hi there, this story is a one shot about Simon Riley. I haven’t played COD before and I don’t know much about his character, but I love the thought of tough men being soft.

Summary: You help Ghost on a cold night and he returns the favour.

Word count: 2398

Pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x Reader

Warnings: none, fluff.

Crews like task force 141 aren’t the type to pack extra cots. They don’t need them. Because crews like 141 don’t make a habit of bringing home extra bodies. There’s only ever one scenario when they have extra cots. Luckily for them, tonight’s not one of those nights.

For me, however, that means another night on the floor with my ankle cuffed to the bottom of one of their cots in case I try to run.

 Although I’m deemed non-violent, I’m also a flight risk. According to them at least.

 According to me, I have no clue where we are or how I’d even survive away from them. I’ve got no money, no ID, no map or compass, or even the slightest clue how I’d escape. Regardless, the cuffs stay on.

 My wrists face the same fate. But my hands are free enough to rake them through my damp hair, working them through the tangles. It’s a soothing feeling of normalcy in this strange place.

 In his cot on the other side of the room, Soap waits for one of the other boys to return from the showers and trade off babysitting duty.

 One thing I can say is that chivalry is not dead, because they allowed me to shower first. Not that it matters all that much. There’s no hot water anyway so there isn’t much of a benefit in going first. But it’s the thought that counts.

 Ghost is the first one back. It’s strange not seeing him wear layers upon layers of tactical gear. Instead, he only wears dark jeans and a black henley. And the balaclava too. I’ve yet to see him take it off. I wouldn’t be surprised if he showered with it on. I don’t know that the other guys have seen him take it off either. They make comments sometimes, little jabs and jokes about how it never comes off. Ghost hardly notices though. Or maybe I should say hardly reacts. He’s stoic through it all, preventing any emotions from breaking through.

 Soap leaves without a word. They understand their positions. So well, that half the time I think they’re communicating through their thoughts.

 Ghost places a duffel bag on the cot I’m cuffed to. I sit cross-legged on a blanket on the floor as he ruffles through it.

 His strong form towers over me two feet away. Ghost doesn’t make eye contact as I watch him search through the bag. He’s less threatening without the bulky gear and a gun in his hand. But that mask is still terrifying enough to find its way into your dreams.

 However, it's not the mask that sets me on edge around Ghost, it’s his eyes. They’re cold and unwavering, giving away nothing. They’re the eyes of a killer. Of someone who enjoys inflicting pain. Of someone whose been in so much pain himself, his only release is passing it on to others.

 He hasn’t bothered me that much since my first day with them all. Back when he was ready to put me down like a lame horse. I was a loose end that needed to be tied up. Still am, if I’m being honest. Price stopped him, but if it was up to Ghost, I’d have been dead for days now. Even now, I’m sure part of him wants to kill me knowing it’s the more logical option. But until then, he’s under orders to keep me alive.

 “Anyone ever tell you that you’ve got a staring problem?” His rough voice breaks the silence. He rarely acknowledges me so for him to speak up must mean I’ve struck a nerve. My mouth suddenly feels dry.

 “Just you,” I say. “Sorry.”

 But I don’t look away. I continue to watch him search through the bag. I don’t know what he’s looking for but he can’t seem to find it. The tight sleeves of the Henley hug his strong arms. Even through the fabric, I can see the defined lines of his muscles. His posture is nearly perfect and his movements could almost be considered robotic.

 “What’re you looking for?” He doesn’t seem like the type of person to misplace his things.

 “Nothing,” he responds bluntly.

 “Maybe it fell behind the cot. I can check for you?” I offer.

 “Negative.”

 “Are you sure beca-“

 “Stop talking, y/n,” he snaps. I flinch at his response. As he says this he finally makes eye contact with me and I regret ever looking at him. There’s an anger in his eyes that no man I’ve ever met has been able to match. A deep-rooted hatred for the world and all of its inhabitants. It’s not a look that you’re born with. It’s one that’s carved from years of pain and betrayal. He’s witnessed the type of things that would break most people. The intensity of his gaze is too much. I break eye contact to stare at the floor.

 Fine. I won’t try to help.

 I lean against the cement wall and try to think about anything else. I press my hands to the inside of my thighs in an attempt to warm them up.

 When they found me I was only in ripped shorts and a ratty tank top with nothing else to my name.

 Since then some of the men spared me a set of long johns, a long sleeve shirt, and a pair of thick socks. I’m not allowed shoes in case I try and take off. It’s better than what I had but the warehouse is cold and the cement floor seems to suck out any heat my body produces.

 Ghost angrily zips up the duffel bag and tosses it on the floor at the other end of the cot. I watch the bag skid for a foot before finally coming to a stop.

 He climbs onto the cot with a dissatisfied grunt. Ghost sleeps with his head on the far side of the cot and his feet at the end I’m cuffed to. He doesn’t take his shoes off. None of them do. In fact, I’m surprised he isn’t sleeping with more gear on. Some days they’ll all sleep in their tactical gear as if they’re waiting to be attacked. Part of me is relieved they don’t feel as though that’s a threat tonight.

 I can hear voices echo down the halls. Some of the others must be done in the showers.

 I lie down on my makeshift bed: a pillow and a blanket that I fold in half to act as a mattress and duvet.

 When I lie down, however, something shiny catches my eye under Ghost’s cot.

 It’s a tiny chain. A necklace.

 On my hands and knees, I crawl under his cot to grab the necklace.

 “What’re you doing?” Ghost mumbles above me. I hear him shift his weight against the rough canvas fabric.

 When I back out from under the cot, he’s sitting with his legs off the edge. Suspiciously eyeing my movements. His right hand is in one of his pant pockets probably wrapped around a knife in case I try something.

 I kneel in front of the bed beside his legs. My damp hair clings to my neck and the tip of my nose is red and cold.

 I raise the chain up to Ghost. His eyes latch on immediately.

 “Is this it?” I ask. He eyes me suspiciously. I see him searching for any signs of deceit. Maybe I lied to him and hid the chain from him. Maybe I pickpocketed him before he went to shower. But I didn’t do any of those things. I hold his eye contact this time. His brows soften ever so slightly. It seems to be enough.

 Ghost doesn’t say anything. Instead, he simply grabs the chain from my hand. His fingers brush against my palm as he scoops it up. He examines it a moment before slipping it over his neck and tucking it under his shirt.

 I don’t know why but I was hoping for a thank you. Or at least an acknowledgment that I’d helped. But Ghost remains silent. At the same time, the voices reach the room. Roach and Gaz round the corner from the hallway.

 At their entrance, I turn back to my makeshift bed and pretend to sleep. It’s not that I don’t like them - although I don’t, in fact, I don’t like any of them - but I don’t have the energy for more questions from them tonight.

 I hear Ghost shift in his cot and it seems our thoughts are on the same track.

 As hard as I try, sleep doesn’t come. They shut off the main lights over an hour ago, yet I still haven’t calmed down enough to drift off. It doesn’t help that I can’t stop shivering from the cold.

 The warehouse remains utterly silent except for the light snores and breathing of the men. Only the emergency lights fill the corners of the room with dim, orange light. They’re almost comforting in a way.

 I pull the single blanket tighter around my shoulders and ball up even smaller if that’s possible, but nothing helps. My bones shake and my teeth rattle. If only I had another blanket.

 The cot next to me creaks as Ghost shifts in his sleep. It creaks some more and then I notice he’s sitting up.

 Ghost spares a glance in my direction as he rummages through his pocket for something.

 Something silver glints in the light and I realize it’s a key. He wordlessly tosses it in my direction and by some stroke of luck, I catch it mid-air.

 It’s the key to the cuffs. I spare an uneasy glance in his direction. He wants me to uncuff myself?

 Ghost doesn’t react. Instead, he watches as I process my thoughts, as I push through my weariness and unlock my ankles first before freeing my wrists.

 I reach to pass the key back to him but instead of grabbing the key, his large hand wraps completely around my wrist and tugs me in close.

 I’m face to face with him as his other hand wraps around my jaw so I can’t pull away.

 “If you try to run, I’ll kill you,” his low voice is barely above a whisper. The edge to his tone makes the threat feel all the more real.

 “Okay,” I nod in response. My heart is racing and I feel the blood rush to my cheeks.

 “Come here. Bring your blanket,” he motions to the cot. I spare a glance at the narrow bed. Surely he doesn’t want to share it with me? There’s barely enough room for one person let alone two.

 “I don’t know,” I whisper back as though it’s an option. I don’t know where he’s going with this suggestion and I don’t think I trust him.

 “That’s an order, y/n,” his response does nothing to ease my soul, but I grab my blanket anyway and crawl onto the cot.

 It’s now he notices my hesitancy. How I purposely leave space between us on the bed. That I’m unsure of why he wants me up here. The fogginess of his intentions.

 “I can't sleep with the sound of your teeth rattling in my ears all night,” nothing changes in my expression so he tries again, his tone softer this time. “You’re safe, y/n. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to happen.”

 I sigh in relief but don’t say anything in response. He knows.

 “C’mere,” he lifts the blanket for me to slide in. The warmth immediately welcomes me into the space.

 The cot is more narrow than a twin mattress and leaves little to no wiggle room for two people. I’m pressed tightly into Ghost's chest as his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me closer and preventing me from falling off.

 I thought I’d be tense but the heat under the blankets completely relaxes me. I nuzzle my face into the crook of his neck. His balaclava is soft against my cheek. I hear his breathing pick start to pick up. I can feel his chest expand deeper than before.

 “Thank you,” my voice is barely audible, but I know he heard.

 As I adjust to our proximity, I breathe in the scents that linger on his skin and in his clothes. I can smell the same standard citrusy shampoo on him as myself and the rest of the crew use. But there’s also a remainder of smoke and gunpowder from the day’s work. There’s something else more unique to him and yet I can’t put my finger on it. I take a deep breath and allow myself to revel in the calming smells. This shouldn’t be comforting and yet it is.

 Nothing about this situation should be comforting and yet I feel safer than I have in weeks.

 Wrapped in Ghost's arms, I know nothing else in the world can get to me. My only danger is the man who holds me. Yet I know in this instance after he’s sacrificed his space and his bed for me, that I’ve got nothing to worry about.

 Ghost shifts against the canvas again. This time pulling me on top of him as he spreads out across his cot. He wraps his arms around my back he readjusts for the final time. I feel so small on top of him. Ghost spreads a hand out across my lower back and it feels as though it takes up the entire width of the space. His thumb soothingly brushes back and forth along the arch of my spine.

 I lay my head on his chest and listen to the thrum of his heart. It beats strong and steady like a bass drum. I feel myself relaxing even more as my breathing starts to match his. I feel myself start to drift as my head lulls with his chest when it rises and falls.

 For the first time in a long time, I don’t worry about what tomorrow brings. I’m so content in his arms that I don’t think about what’s next. All that fills my mind is the strength of his heartbeat and the distant scent of gunpowder. The last thing I think about before finally nodding off is the feeling of his thumb brushing up and down along my back, letting me know everything is going to be alright.

Edit+A/N: I have never received this much attention on a story before so thank you!! When I have time should I write more for Ghost?

Fic based on this concept:

[fatuismooches]

The way the little cakes in Arlecchino's masterpost look like wedding cakes 😭

As morbid as it sounds... this gives me an idea for an Arlecchino drabble/fic. Imagine Arlecchino proposes to her lover, but before they could have their wedding, their beloved dies/is killed 😭

synopsis: Arlecchino did not initially seek happiness, but now that she's had a taste of it, it hurts for it to be ripped away.

includes: arlecchino w/ gn! reader

notes: Anon...? Who hurt you? I didn't even think of the wedding cakes thing but then your angst? Enjoy this then </3.

Arlecchino, the Fourth Harbinger. The operator of the House of Hearth. The one who has a talent for making people... disappear.

However, despite all of the facts above, to say the Knave was smitten with her lover was an understatement. Yes, even someone like her had a partner, which bewildered anyone who even knew her name.

Most people were not aware of your existence, save for the people that worked at her estate, who were obviously sworn to secrecy. And then there were the Fatui agents stationed at the orphanage who saw you every now and then. Initially, they were confused, but seeing your interactions with their commander, they quickly connected the dots, especially when Arlecchino sent them that look. Working under the Knave generally meant you had to be tight-lipped anyway.

But engagement and marriage can hardly ever be a quiet affair. Word was bound to get out, and it did. After all, one of the Cryo Archon's Harbingers getting married was practically international news. Especially Arlecchino, who never seemed to have a trace of emotion on her face. But with enough control, the word of her union was contained to the Fatui and other high-ranked nobles. Even the Tsaritsa herself was said to be attending the wedding.

It had grown into a bigger event than Arlecchino had planned for, but when she saw how happy you were, she couldn't bring herself to complain. She could endure some idiots for a day if it were for you. She would do a lot of things for you, actually. Never would she have thought of getting married, much less genuinely falling in love. Always, she was out to benefit herself and didn't care for the aftermath of her actions. But after she met you, she knew couldn't ever do that to you. And now, here she was today.

Admittedly, at first, Arlecchino was unsure of how to propose to you. She had bought the ring already, one with a brilliant red stone, a gorgeous thing that would look even better on your finger. (She measured your ring size while you were sleeping.) But now she was left with the problem of how she was to go about doing this. What would you like the best? Should she take you somewhere fancy? Or prepare some words for you? She did not know. She never breached the topic of marriage with you so she had nothing to go off of. As the days passed by, she could only play with the ring with her fingers as she stared at it contemplatively.

Although Arlecchino remained stone-faced during work, Columbina had noticed her friend's dilemma, which at first had proved to be amusing for the Third Harbinger, but even she had grown to feel pity.

"Arlecchino~♫ That's quite a long face you're wearing, hmm?"

"...Oh. It is you, Columbina. Is there something you require?"

"Hehe, it seems to me that you are the one that needs help instead, isn't that so?" At Columbina's cheekiness, she knew what her friend was referring to.

"I am just... uncertain of how to proceed," she confessed, and Columbina hummed in agreement.

"I say you just be honest," Columbina said simply. "You're not a very talkative person, are you? Perhaps this one time you should use your words to describe how you truly feel. Don't rehearse or plan it. It will come to you naturally. I think [Name] would enjoy that more than anything else."

Arlecchino had thought about what she said. Would you enjoy something like that? She was slightly frustrated at how unskilled she was in matters of the heart. But the more she pondered, the more impatient she grew. She wanted you to be hers now.

And so, one morning, you woke up to your cheek being pressed against something soft. It was probably just a pillow, you thought in your sleepy haze. Until you realized this pillow was stroking your hair repeatedly. When you peeked up, you were astonished to see your lover still in bed by now. Normally, she was up early in the morning and returned late at night, so morning cuddles while you were awake were far in between. The rare occurrence had made all the sleepiness in you dissipate as you shuffled in Arlecchino's arms, drawing her attention.

"A-Arlie? Why are you still in bed? Normally you're gone way earlier!" She merely shrugged her shoulders like it was no big deal.

"Partners must make time for each other, no?" She didn't elaborate but she didn't need to, you already knew what she was trying to say and you were overjoyed by this simple gesture. Her warmth and presence had suddenly made the sleepiness seep back into your body, but now that you finally had Arlecchino to yourself again, it felt like a waste to spend that time sleeping! You should spend this time talking to her! Although it was mostly you doing all the talking while she bore her eyes into you (an act of unspoken love.)

Arlecchino quickly noticed you fighting your drooping eyelids. "Sleep," she commanded. "I will be back earlier today as well." With that, she placed a kiss on your forehead, and though you were even more surprised at her early return, you drifted back to the land of dreams.

When you awoke, she was gone, but that was okay. Because soon into the evening you were somehow having dinner with your beloved. It was probably the longest dinner you ever had, as you couldn’t help but babble and bask in the presence of Arlecchino as she nodded and hummed, sometimes putting in a few words or even sentences of her own when you asked her how her days have been lately, and if everything was okay since this was kind of unusual, but in no way were you complaining! But she graced you with a rare small smile and instead continued to feed you dinner and occasionally wipe your mouth with a napkin. When she easily carried you bridal style to your shared bedroom, all the servants kept their eyes on the ground.

After the two of you took a bath together, you knew for sure something was up. And you weren’t sure what was happening. Was she just in a good mood? Or did she have something to tell you? You didn’t realize you were pacing back and forth in your room until Arlecchino broke into your thoughts.

“Are you alright?” To others, her face would look the same but you could see the concern laced within her features.

“I am fine… but are you okay? I mean, I’m incredibly happy about today, but you seem… distracted,” you admitted. You knew from the flicker in her eyes you were right. She had become more vulnerable with her emotions around you.

“I have something to tell you, [Name].” With that, she moved closer to you until your bodies were practically touching. “It’s something very important…” she murmured, a lean and strong arm coming to rest on your back while the other cupped your cheek.

“I have thought long and hard about how to say this, but nothing I think of seems like it’ll be up to the standards you deserve. But nevertheless, I hope you can accept my words.” You were touched by her sincere vulnerability. You leaned in to press your forehead against hers and Arlecchino’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You don’t need to worry about being graceful or perfect around me, you know. I’ll take anything you have to say, love.” Your lover did not respond but you know she deeply appreciated your answer. She stepped back and instead intertwined her fingers with your own.

“I am not adept with words or feelings, or romance or emotions. I saw no need to be acquainted with those things, having believed they served no beneficial purpose. But when I look at you, I feel the urge to make sure you know the extent of my love, whether I have to whisper it into your ear or show you. Not once have I thought someone was truly beautiful until I met you. Your eyes, smile, laugh… they make my days less tiring and more bright, something that I have never experienced before. So, what I am saying… no matter what happens in the future… I want you to forever be by my side,” she finished, getting down on one knee and looking straight into your eyes. As she popped open the ring box, she asked, “[Name], will you marry me?”

After a few seconds of silence, tears sprung to your eyes as you nearly tackled her in a hug. Through your weeping, you happily accepted and cried out her real name, as she slid the ring onto your finger. Her soon-to-be spouse.

You were engaged to Arlecchino… wow.

Now, Arlecchino preferred to leave the details of the wedding planning to you. It wasn't that she was uninterested, no, of course not, but rather she was more content seeing how excited you were over it. It was the dream of many people to plan their most important day, down to the placement of each decoration and how this color matches with that and so on. Plus, although she loathed to admit it, her duties as a Harbinger left her little time. 

Though when she managed to get off early, she made sure to listen to every word you spoke about how the preparations were going, adding in little 'hmms' and 'that does sound lovely' here and there as she protectively cuddled you to her chest. The theme, flowers, colors, venue, outfits, music… you were putting thought into many things. She had to admit that though she was more focused on the act of marrying you rather than the party aspect, the way you spoke about it seemed like it may be more than enjoyable for her. Hopefully, because she did not plan on getting married ever again.

Speaking of preparations, it seemed that you had a request for her by the way your eyes shyly flickered from her face to elsewhere. Arlecchino held your chin and inquired what you needed. Her betrothed need not be shy about anything. Your face grew warm as you whispered two words embarrassingly.

“Cake testing.”

“Cake… testing?” She repeated your words slowly. You nodded your head.

“It’s basically where the couple samples a bunch of cakes together. And they decide which one they want. You know, for the wedding. So, I was thinking maybe we could go together… just for a bit! I know you’re busy and all…” Your face grew hotter the more she stared at you. Archons, that was embarrassing.

To be honest, Arlecchino wasn’t very informed about wedding rituals or customs, but by the look on your face, she could see that this was very important to you. And so she promised to find some time off. (But… cake testing, huh? Out of all things, you asked her to share sweets with her? You were so cute.)

It took a while, but eventually, you found your arm intertwined with Arlecchino’s one, situated with tables of cakes and different desserts to sample from. Of course, no expense was spared. Only the best was to be offered to the Fourth Harbinger and her soon-to-be spouse.

Arlecchino did not have much of a sweet tooth, but she was all too happy to watch you kick your feet at the delicious flavor of the cakes. To obediently open her mouth as you fed her some yourself. To listen to you ramble on about how you liked this one but that one was also too good, ah, how hard life decisions were! (The scene looked quite eerie to the staff, and they weren’t sure whether they were dreaming or having a nightmare, for this surely could not be real life. Not the Knave, the ice-cold snappy and sarcastic Harbinger who brought only fear and anxiety into the room.)

After many conversations and cake-consuming, you arrived at one final cake - pure white with a blood-red cherry on top. It looked mouth-watering, and you were all too happy to bring the fork to your mouth. Arlecchino had her fill of sweets for the day and was content to hold you to her chest as you ate. She liked seeing you happy.

A cough resonated through the room. Arlecchino stiffened and looked down at you worriedly. “That’s enough sugar for now, don’t you think? You won’t be able to sleep tonight.” Her eyebrows furrowed as she received no verbal response. Only this time it was not just a cough. It was coughs and hacks and wheezes. Immediately she was on guard and quickly flipped your body around as the plate clattered to the floor. You were clutching your throat and practically fell into her, weakness overtaking your body. Never had so much surprise shown on Arlecchino’s face.

Quickly, she yelled for the servants, something no one had ever seen her do, but she did not care. You tried to force out her real name as you gripped onto the cuff of her shirt with everything you had left. Her eyes skittered to what you were eating and instantly made a connection. Without hesitance, she reached for another cherry and put it in her mouth and that’s when she knew. 

Poison. Someone poisoned you. As a highly trained Harbinger, she was resistant to many types of poison, but you… you were just a… normal person. Who would- who could not… She could only look on helplessly as the life in your eyes dissipated and you failed to respond to her calls. Never did Arlecchino believe she could be so powerless. Not until now.

At this point, many Fatui and staff had crowded into the room as well. But it was too late. Many stared not only in horror at your stillness, but also the sheer anger and bloodlust radiating off of the Knave.

The feeling was one unfamiliar to Arlecchino. Never had she lost someone that made her feel like her heart, soul, and body had been burned and withered to ashes. Because you were the first person she loved. You were the one who gave her a taste of what happiness was like. But now you had also given her the taste of genuine loss. 

As she cradled your lifeless body, she made another promise to you and herself, one that she would keep this time:

You wouldn’t be the only person dying today.

[ohsalome]

And I am once again reminding you that for centuries, Ukraine wasn't given its own voice in the world discourse. Our history, politics, culture were written by the people who colonised us and benefited from convincing the world (and us!) of a distorted picture. A good majority of information in English language that exists about Ukraine, that you believe to be the default knowledge of the world, is such distorted information. Because that is how russian propaganda work. They take a snippet of truth and blow it out of proportion and add a bouquet of lies to it and repeat it many-many times until you think that it is just basic information about the world that everyone knows.

No, Ukraine is not run by nazi. Ukraine has a non-zero percent of nazi population that is marginalized out of politics because their rhetoric is not relatable to the majority of the electorate, which leans towards socialistic populism and anarchism.

No, ukraine is not "brotherly nation" with russia. Antropoligically we belong to the same slavic family of nations that includes many other eastern europeans like czechs, polish, moldovan etc. There is no reason to select russians, belorussians and ukrainians into a distinct category that isn't political. The idea of "three brotherly nations" was literally created by a theologist Theofan Prokopovych as a part of philosophical justification to russian imperialism in the 19th century meaning of the word.

No, DNR and LNR are not "people's republics". They were created by russian army, run by the russian army and following the orders from the kremlin. Russis spent decades trying to create a dissident movement in the eastern Ukraine but failed and stepped down to brute force. Everything you see in the southern Ukraine now has happened in the east in 2014. The only difference is that y'all swallowed russian lies back then.

No, Crimea didn't have a "referendum to join russia". Russian soldiers occupied the peninsula, forced the politicians under the gunpoint to announce the referendum, and made sure that the results would be the ones they like. The native population of the peninsula, crimean tatars, that had been twice genocided by the russians in the past, boycotted the referendum. Despite making up only ~12% of the population, crimean tatar rallies were much more numerous than those of the russians in Crimea. The people who "supported" the "return of Crimea" were russian nationals, who moved to the peninsula after the ethnic cleansing of the native population and proclaimed that "it has always been theirs".

No, Ukraine doesn't have a "government-run kill list". Myrotvorets is (1) run by the volunteers, not the government, (2) is a database of pro-russian propagandists, and (3) hardly anyone on that database has been killed so far. FFS, our current first lady used to be in this database.

No, Ukraine didn't ban russian language. Ukraine has implemented laws that would help ukrainian book, music, film industry survive the competition with russian industry that has for many years monopolised our market. Ukraine has implemented the law that our politicians need to know ukrainian language if they want to hold office (this will sound surreal, but many didn't. Can you imagine such scenario in any other country? A spanish minister that doesn't speak spanish?). Ukraine has implemented a law that websites, advertisements published in foreign languages need to have the information accessible in ukrainian as well Ukraine has implemented laws that state that ukrainian citizens have a right to governmental service in Ukrainian. And if you bothered to open the law you criticise at least ONCE, you would have seen that every article has a clarification "the communication can happen in any language as long as both parties consent, but if the consumer requests to be served in ukrainian, the provider is obligated to respond to them in ukrainian".

No, Ukraine doesn't use the war as an excuse to repress the political opposition. The only people that have been "repressed" are the ones who have been colluding with ruZzia and have helped in organising the invasion of Ukraine. FFS one of those "poor oppositioners" is literally putin's godfather, and another visits russian tv channels agitating russians to nuke Kyiv. The proof against them is overwhelming and well-documented, and ukrainian civil society has been pressuring our government to stop them for literal years. Even today, many russian agents remain in governmental structures.

No, Euromaidan was not a "coup". It was a response of civil society to the police brutality and usurpation of power. We do not need white saviours to tell us that being beat up at peaceful protests is bad. We have enough agency to understand this without external help.

It's almost a year of this war. It's high time for people to stop spreading russian propaganda, especially if they claim to support Ukraine. I am yet to see a "both sides are wrong" argument that wasn't based on russian propaganda.

[iliveinyourwalls68]

𝒴𝑜𝓊𝓇 𝓁𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓌𝑒𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝒷𝒶𝒷𝓎

Shane x reader

                  Tw: biting, public, loud, rough 

               Summary: Y/n gets drunk. Shane gets hard. The back room of the saloon is used for things that Gus probably didn’t approve of.

                 Words: 1800

Y/n walked into the saloon after a long day of work on the farm. She had been working since 6 am, picking and watering crops, tending to her animals and repairing things around the farm.She was exhausted and decided it was time to take a well deserved break during the night. She walked into the saloon, aware of the stares of the others inside. The farmer had been in Pelican town for a little bit over three years, but still spent most of her time on the farm. She had a few friends- Abigail, Sam, Penny… and Shane. She didn’t really know ywhat Shane was to her anymore. They had started out as friends, but when someone has put their dick in you… are you friends or more? “Friends with benefits” is what Shane had claimed before they started this whole thing. “Absolutely NO feelings involved.” Oops. Y/n wasn’t sure when she had started to fall in love with Shane. Maybe the first time she saw him, walking around town. She had eagerly walked up to him and introduced herself, hoping that she would finally make friends in the town. He had dismissed her at that time, in such a rude way that Y/n was anyone else she would probably be offended by. But she found herself intrigued by him instead. His dark hair and eyes, his sharp jawbone, his slightly muscular frame… He was everything Y/n found attractive… if he had been someone else. Still, after a few months, Shane’s hard sullen exterior started to slowly melt away. Whenever y/n saw him in town, she would say hello. Shane would usually respond with a sharp remark, and Y/n would respond with one of her own. Soon they became kind of friends. Then actual friends. Then… whatever they were now. Friends with Benefits didn’t seem like a good way to explain. They were somewhere between that and dating, neither of them wanting to take the next step. Maybe since the first time she saw him, wandering around the town on her first day. Y/n realized she really liked Shane, but a burst of guilt fell over her. What if he doesn’t like me and I’m just being delusional, am I actually attractive, is he attracted to me? The attraction was probably mutual, she decided, because why would Shane like her back? Maybe…

Y/n was so lost in thought, wandering up to the bar counter that she hardly heard Gus trying to take her order.

“Y/n? Y/n? Y/N?” He shouted, finally getting her attention. 

“Huh? Oh, sorry, I’ll get a beer. Gus nodded and handed it to her. Y/n looked around for somewhere to sit. Abigail and Sam were there, but they were with their other friend Sebastian, who Y/n had never liked. He was rude, but not in the way Shane was. Y/n suspected that he was annoyed that she hung out with his friends so much, and felt like he was getting replaced. She didn't want to intrude on the three of them. His eyes fell on Shane, who was sitting by himself, at the corner of the counter. He was just sitting in the corner, all lonely, he must not have many friends, maybe he just wants space. Or maybe he’s just REALLY drunk, which was true.. Y/n tried her beer, she’s never had much alcohol before, weird. It tasted tangy and kind of sour, she liked it, but it tasted different. She went over to Shane and sat beside him. 

“Hey, Shane” she said, already feeling the effects of the alcohol.

“Hi,” Shane said awkwardly. They sat in silence, y/n looked around, she was bored as hell and had nothing to do  Y/n quickly finishing her beer.

“Uhh… do you want another?” Shane asked, nodding at her empty glass.

“Huh? Oh, yeah.” Y/n said, nodding happily. Shane waved Emily over from where she was cleaning glasses. Y/n couldn’t help but stare at Shane’s muscular, veiny hands, maybe they would be good for.. 

y/n’s thoughts got interrupted by Shane’s low voice.

“One more beer for the lady please. On my tab.” 

“Thanks. You didn’t have to pay-“ 

“I wanted to,” Shane interrupted. Y/n blushed. Yeah, she was definitely drunk. From one drink? Laaameee. She had to get out more. Y/n thought. Emily set down Y/n's second drink, Y/n thanking her as she went to take other people’s orders. She eagerly grabbed the glass and gulped down all of the beer inside in a few seconds. Shane ordered one for himself, but not one for Y/n. 

“Why don’t I get more?” Y/n asked, pouting. Shane smiled at her. 

“You’re a lightweight, baby. Don’t wanna get you too drunk, or else I’d have to carry you home.” Y/n scowled, but decided Shane was probably right. Two was probably too much for her, but it was too late to go back. Y/n felt herself get drunker and drunker, her normally logical, sensible mind slipping away. Until she asked the question that had been on her mind all day.

“Why’d ya call me baby?” She half slurred, leaning closer to Shane, awaiting his answer. He froze, turning towards her and setting his glass down.

“What?” He asked.

“Why’d ya call me baby?” She asked again, leaning directly next to his ear to speak. He gasped.  She smirked at the reaction before glancing at his lap, looking at his huge bump. Y/n’s smirk vanished, replaced by lust. Shane was…. Hard. 

“Ohhh” Y/n whispered. He was quickly turning red. She reached towards his pants rubbing it up and down, something she would never do usually, but she was drunk and horny.

“Y/n” Shane gasped. “Please… I can’t wait.”

“Ok. Let’s go to the back room.” Y/n tried to stand up, but since she was drunk she nearly fell over. Shane caught her.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this… you can barely walk.” He said.

“I want you to make me barely walk” Y/n mumbled back. “Please Shane, we both want this.” Shane hesitated, but nodded and took her hand. They stumbled to the back room, ignoring the looks of the other bar patrons. Some of them were judgmental, but Y/n swore a few people gave her a knowing smirk. Abigail even winked at her. Y/n flushed even redder. Everyone in town knew what the back room was for. Y/n had learnt the hard way after she had walked into it looking for something for Gus and ended up catching Sam and Penny in the act. Neither of them had been able to look her in the eye for weeks after. That being said, Y/n had never… used the back room. She hadn’t even been in there since that day. Shane opened the door for her, ushering her into the room, locking it behind him. There were barrels all around them, along with a few chairs. There was also… a bed. Y/n wondered how many people’s …. Fluids were on it. She kind of didn’t want to use it, god forbid she got an STD. She could not go to Harvey with that. She decided to give Shane a blowwjob. 

Y/n dropped to her knees in front of him ,wincing as she felt a wave of nausea roll over her from the sudden movement. She reached for Shane’s pants and pulled them down. His hard dick poked through his underwear, the pre cum leaving a wet spot. In the front.

“This turned on for me?” Y/n slurred, feeling drunker by the moment. 

Shane groaned in response. Y/n reached out and pulled down his underwear, smirking as she saw his dick. Shane was big, 6 inches long and thick. Y/n loved the feeling of him inside of her. But before that, she decided it was time for a little fun. She leaned closer and licked the wet tip, tasting the pre cum. Shane moaned and tried to thrust his hips forward, but Y/n placed a hand on his hips to stop him. 

“Be a good boy or I’ll stop.” She said sternly . Shane nodded, eyes dilating more than Y/n thought was ever possible. She went back to licking him slowly, Shane whimpering above her. Y/n decided she had teased enough, so she started to take him into her mouth. She decided it was best if she tried to take it all at once, since they didn’t have much time. She gagged at the intrusion of her throat for a moment, but after a few seconds she was fine. She experimentally tried to tighten her throat around him, internally laughing at the sound he let out while she did that.Suddenly, without warning, he started to thrust his hips, filling her throat with every movement. Y/ns hand went into her pants. She started to rub herself, almost as turned on as Shane was. After a minute or two, Shane half shoved her off. 

“Why’d you do that?” She asked, pouting,

“I was gonna cum” Shane said, breathing heavily.

“Why didn’t you?”

“Cause I wanna do that inside of you.” Shane replied before grabbing Y/n and throwing her onto the bed. Y/n was too horny to care about the other things that had probably gone on in this bed. Shane pulled off her shirt and bra, admiring the view he had for a moment before nudging her to lift up her legs so he could remove her pants and underwear. He fingered her quickly before shoving his dick in. Y/n gasped at how sudden it was. He started thrusting super hard, filling her up with every movement. He bent down and kissed her, pressing his tongue against her lips until she opened her mouth for him. They Frenched as they fucked, the bed moving from the force of it. Shane reached down and started to rub her clit, sensing that they were both close. After a few seconds, Shane started to thrust harder than Y/n thought possible. He came quickly, filling her up as she clenched around him, also coming. They both lay there panting for a few minutes until they got their breath back. 

“Round two at my place?” Y/n suggested. Shane nodded in agreement. 

They both avoided eye contact with everyone in the saloon as they walked out.

[joka13]

FANFICTION: Weasley Twins x Reader (Slytherin Girl) - Part 4

WARNINGS: unconsented kissing

"It's not that big of a deal," Maddy says as you walk with her down the hall to your next class.

"Oh, you're just saying that to make me feel better about it," you sigh. Detention, and on the first day of school! You can hardly believe it.

"Yes, I am," Maddy admits with a blunt laugh. "But at least you'll be having it with the twins, right?"

"I'm not so sure that's a good thing..." you mutter under your breath as Maddy is now distracted by another friend.

You're beginning to think that the Weasley twins are (surprise, surprise) a bad influence. Sure, you've had your share of naughty days before — you are a Slytherin after all —, but they were only ever for your own sake. And you've never been caught. That's the important thing. Today you took a risk trying to help someone other than yourself, and you got caught. At the time, breaking the rules with Fred and George felt simply natural, but now you can't remember what had possessed you to do it in the first place. You rack your brain for a reason. It's not like you know the twins personally. This morning's incident was your first real interaction with them. Still, some part of you wonders if maybe you did it for the twins rather than just with them. But in what way had you hoped it would benefit you? You aren't sure. Perhaps you truly are just desperate for some excitement in your life...

You've arrived at your next class: Divination with Professor Trelawny. You and Maddy sit yourselves down at a table in the back.

Amongst the students filing into the classroom after you is Malfoy. You grow nervous as he scans the room casually, and his eyes light up when they land on you. He smirks and starts toward you.

Your heartbeat quickens with anxiety. You silently pray with all your might that the open table next to yours gets taken before he can reach it. Fortunately, a couple of Hufflepuffs claim it, and you thank the heavens as Malfoy stops to turn and walk away with a disappointed look on his face.

You are able to relax for the rest of the class. Divination is the one subject that you don't fully understand — though you don't think most people truly can, even Trelawny if you're being honest —, so you usually enjoy it more than others. There's still more for you to learn, still some intriging mystery to it. Time flies by, and the class is over all too soon.

You and Maddy have lunch together. You munch on a sandwich and read over The Daily Prophet, along with some of The Quibbler. Not to your surprise, most of the gossip is still about last year's eventful Triwizard Tournament. You'd been lucky enough to witness the contest by simply showing up for school. The tournament by itself is worthy of discussing in the paper, but this time no one cares about who won or lost. You aren't exactly sure who or what you should believe, but many claim that He-Who-Must- Not-Be-Named made an appearance towards the end of the contest.

"Can you believe this rubbish?" Maddy scoffs, slapping her own copy of The Daily Prophet on the table. "The Ministry is doing a fine job of making a fool out of themselves. They seem so desperate against Dumbledore."

"Do you believe what Professor Dumbledore is saying?" you ask.

"I believe that You-Know-Who is back..." Maddy glances down at her wrist watch. "We had better get going. Class will start in about five minutes."

You gather your things together, and you and Maddy part ways outside the Great Hall's entrance. You head for Professor Snape's classroom.

You've just descended the stairs when Malfoy seems to appear out of thin air. He blocks your path, leaning against the brick wall coolly.

"Hi, y/n."

"Malfoy," you reply, nodding once, then try to move around him, but he moves with you.

"Please, call me Draco," he says. He gives you a smile that would seem friendly on anyone else, but you know he's up to something.

"Would you mind getting out of my way? Class will be starting soon."

"Potions I presume?" Malfoy turns his head to look back at Snape's door, which is about three yards down the hall. "Me too. Don't worry about it. Snape won't care if we're a bit tardy, him being head of Slytherin and all." He takes a step toward you. You grow fidgety as you realize that you and Malfoy are the only people left in the long, dark hallway.

"Well, I care if I'm tardy. So would you please—"

In one quick movement, Malfoy suddenly has you cornered, backed up against the wall with his hands on either side of you. You are trapped in front of him.

"I've missed you, y/n," Malfoy says quietly. Your heartbeat quickens. Your face is only mere inches from his. He looks down at your mouth.

"You don't even know m—!" Malfoy's kiss cuts you off.

You try to push him away, but he doesn't budge. You squirm and squirm to escape his grasp, but he holds you in place. You want to scream, but he kisses you again and again, and you soon find yourself giving up. You don't kiss him back, but you don't fight him either as he makes out with your unwilling lips. You hope that if you don't respond that he will eventually stop.

But he doesn't stop, so you pretend to enjoy it and kiss him back. Malfoy pulls you away from the wall and closer to him when you wrap your arms around his neck, his kisses growing in intensity. He moans softly as you weave your fingers through his pretty, blonde hair. You grasp a handful of it, and then you yank down as hard as you can.

Malfoy cries out in pain and backs away from you. You make a dash for Snape's classroom. Snape himself emerges from behind the door before you even reach for the knob.

"I heard a ruckus," Snape grumbles. A now greatly disheveled Malfoy comes trotting up behind you.

"She assaulted me, sir!" he says, pointing an accusing finger at you with one hand and massaging his head exaggeratedly with the other.

"No, he assaulted me!" You're practically shaking with furry. "So I hurt him in self defense!"

Professor Snape pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs heavily, as if to say that Slytherin house has never suffered greater embarrassment. "Come see me after class, Malfoy. Y/l/n, take it to the Headmaster." And with that, Malfoy follows Snape into the classroom and you are left alone out in the hall.

"I will, thank you very much," you huff, then start for Dumbledore's office.

[sparklecryptid]

“Why is Gen Z seeming to age faster than Millennials?”

1) making a broad generalization like that without any evidence save for people you seen on the internet is kinda silly 2) even if Gen Z is aging faster than Millennials the only people who will benefit from people talking about it are makeup and skincare companies who will try to use the fear of aging to get their products into more hands 3) who carreeesss climate change is happening, everyone thinks they need to know everything about you, the boundaries of public and private life are ceasing to exist and I’m supposed to care about whether or not I look four years older than I am? I don’t! I don’t care!

But even if we (Gen Z) are aging faster than Millennials have you considered the fact that we are fucking tired. I hardly know anyone who has a retirement plan because most of us know that unless things change we are gonna have to work until we are dead. We were pushed so hard to make ourselves marketable to companies so we can get a job and a home only to find out that even if we get a job we might not ever wind up owning a house so what was the point of all that effort? I know people my age who feel like the systems in place failed us because we were promised more and what we got was high rents, a rapidly changing climate, being locked out of the housing market unless you have someone willing to go in with you or mom and dad have some extra cash and politicians that want us (queer/disabled etc Gen Z) dead.

Like.

Out of all of our problems I think us ‘aging more quickly’ is the least of them.

[tommarvoloriddlesdiary]

“I’ll admit,” Percy Weasley starts. He’s hardly paying attention to anything outside the documents he’s perusing, throwing occasional glances at the small, constantly updating graph shimmering in the air beside him. “When Granger came to me with this idea, I thought she had finally gone mad.”

He snorts to himself and flips to another page, “It’d be about time, honestly. Dating my brother really should have done her in sooner. But Granger is smart. She’s got a good head on her shoulders. So, even though I thought the time had finally come to declare the one sane addition to my family, insane—I gave her the benefit of the doubt.”

Someone off camera clears their throat, “Mr Weasley, could you clarify what idea Ms Granger had that you’re referring to?”

Percy looks up with furrowed brows. He tilts his head and asks, “What do you mean? It’s obvious.”

“It’s obvious to us but not to the audience.”

“Ah,” Percy nods sagely. “I understand. Right. I am referring to Hermione Granger’s idea of filming a documentary about life inside the Ministry of Magic in an attempt to raise recruitment across various departments, of course.”

-

“The ministry gets a bad rap,” Hermione Granger says while walking briskly down the halls of Level One. “People think we’re secretly dark. They think that underhanded things are happening in the underbelly of our ministry. As Junior Undersecretary to the Minister, I oversee many finer details of our departments here. And, lately, overall interest to work for the ministry has suddenly declined.”

She pauses before a door, one hand on the knob before she turns to address the camera head-on, “Each year, more and more students graduate from Hogwarts. The wixen population in England has flourished, but we’re not seeing an influx of resumes.”

A paper bird flaps its folded wings and lands on her wrist, pecking at her sleeve for attention. She glances down at it and plucks the bird, her magic smoothing out the folds until all that’s left is a small piece of blue paper with a brief note.

She reads it as she continues, “That’s where you all come in. PR is Percy’s job, but with the Minister’s upcoming reelection push, he hasn’t got the time to spare. So I’m counting on this inside look on the ministry to soften our public image and make us more approachable….” She pauses.

Her head lifts slowly and carefully. “As an aside, please do not speak with the Head Auror until further notice,” she stresses and enters the doorway leaving the crew behind.

-

The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Head Auror Harry Potter, stands casually in a training hall, overseeing the strict regimen for the sparse few new Aurors. His robes are draped over his shoulders and not quite worn in accordance with uniform regulations. But no one has the guts to tell him.

He replies to the quietly asked question simply, “Hermione doesn’t want you speaking with me because she thinks nothing shifty is happening in the ministry and wants this documentary to go off without a hitch.”

Before he continues, Harry carefully shrugs, “Whereas, I’m the opposite, really.”

Silence lingers before someone is brave enough to ask, “The opposite, Head Auror Potter-sir?”

Harry catches the eyes of the cameraperson who spoke up—they flinch with the intensity of his stare—but he just smiles and says, “Yeah. And Harry is fine, please.”

There’s a brief moment where it looks like Harry is contemplating how to word his following sentence, but his straightforward attitude seems to win out. “Our Minister is a Dark Lord in disguise, clearly. So anyone with half a brain cell would be smart to keep away. And if we’re going to have a whole documentary trying to prove otherwise, I plan on doing everything I can to stop it.”

The camera still zooms in a little on his pleased face even though no one knows what to say for a long, long while.

-

Ron Weasley adjusts himself in the tall folding chair the crew set up for him in the Auror Break Area. He’s holding a small bag of crisps and slowly makes his way through it before straightening up in his seat.

He looks very concerned and a touch manic when he says, “Harry is obsessed with the Minister.”

-

The Minister for Magic is yet to be available for an interview.

-

[lady-morrigen]

i know you didn't reblog this prompt list, but i'm sending it anyway because this just screams allaegon to me

❝ i’ve been fighting far longer than you. ❞ & ❝ the more people you love, the weaker you are. ❞

i... you... you really got me to come out of retirement for this! here's a little blurb (1200 words) for my favorite couple in all of Westeros. please be nice, i'm rusty

your support of Allana means the world to me. thank you for all that you do. i love you 🖤

(banner by the ever talented @acrossthesestars)

“No, Allana, you don’t understand. There is no winning here. I’ve been fighting far longer than you. I must do my duty.” 

King Aegon paced, back and forth, from his grand bed to the fireplace. He ran a hand through his disheveled, silver hair, turning her with exasperation. She leaned against the bedpost, her arms crossed over her chest, her fingers twisting in a lock of wine-red hair, and raised a brow.

“Poor little princeling. It must have been so hard for you to grow up here,” Allana gestured vaguely around the room. “Surrounded by people who loved you, supported you, who understood you. To have your siblings…” It may have been a stretching of the truth, for she knew that Alicent had never understood him, nor had Otto. But his siblings, they had at least tried. 

If Aegon understood the weight of those words, it did not register on his face. He continued pacing. A white silk shirt lay haphazardly across his broad shoulders, his doublet cast aside and forgotten, the untied neck exposing a swath of his chest, glistening with sweat. 

“You think any of these people actually love me? I am a pawn, a means to an end. Nothing more.”

His voice was louder now. Allana knew it to be from the wine, but she couldn’t help a slight wince. He would never hurt her, of that she was sure, but the memories of her father’s rage were hard to forget completely.

“Oh Aegon, don’t be such a child.” She ignored his wince at this, refusing to go easy on him, not now. “Helaena adores you. Aemond, he just… isn’t good at expressing his feelings. He loves you in his own way.”

It was true. Helaena loved her family unconditionally. There was no arguing that she was the best of them. She was tender, and delicate, and incredibly passionate. She gave her love freely and without stipulation, from her family to a stranger. Aemond, however, kept his feelings close to the vest. He hardly knew how to make sense of the tangle of emotions in his brain, much less how to articulate them. Yet he would be the first to mount up and fly off in a rage to avenge a perceived slight to anyone he held dear.

“Aemond resents me, because he knows that he deserves the crown, but he’s a second son forced to watch his idiot brother fuck everything up,” he scoffed. “Helaena doesn’t know me. Not really. She wouldn’t be able to handle it.” 

She rolled her eyes. “Which part? The constant drunkenness or the alleged horde of bastards fathered in the beds of  every brothel in Flea Bottom? Helaena knows far more than you’d imagine, and she loves you despite it all.” 

“I-  how did you- That’s not true!” His face blanched, the color gathering in the fists clenched tightly by his sides. Allana wielded knowledge like a knife, always holding on to it until the very moment she knew that the blow would be lethal.

“Oh isn’t it? You’re the king, Aegon. All you need do is wish for a woman in your bed and you shall have it. If you need someone to clean your ass, simply snap your fingers. But if it’s secrecy you’re looking for, my lord, not even you can buy that. The servants will always talk.” 

“There’s no proof…” 

She had always known things, absorbing the whispers and gossip like a sponge, and knowing when to observe and interpret things left unsaid. When she wasn’t using the Tyrell charm to her benefit, Allana was quiet, yet attentive, a chest of knowledge tucked away in case of emergency. 

“You’re right, there isn’t. Though I think a sudden increase in silver-haired babes might have tipped a few people off.”

He deflated at that, the bravado of his anger leaving him. “What am I going to do?”

He had stopped pacing, landing in front of the fireplace, gazing at the flames as if the answer could be found within them. Allana almost felt bad for him. Aegon never asked for the responsibility that rested on his shoulders. When his father died, he had snuck away with the intention of catching a ship to one of the free cities before the news had even left the keep. He was willing to give it all up, to let Aemond rule, yet duty reigned supreme. 

“You’re going to stop feeling sorry for yourself, for one. Despite what you say, I know we can fight this. They won’t win this time.”Allana pushed off of the bedpost, crossing the room to stand beside him, her hand on his shoulder in an attempt to ground him. He was warm beneath her fingers, warm and familiar.

“There’s too much at risk, Allana! I am the king! The king does not show weakness.” He straightened, pushing past her to slump on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

“And what weakness would that be? There isn’t a single person in Westeros that would dare challenge a Targaryen. Not a single person in Essos or the Great Grass Sea. The only one brave enough to do so is your own blood.”

“Love,” he choked; the sound hoarse, as if it pained him. “The more people you love, the weaker you are. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Wouldn’t I? You don’t know all that I lost to be here, to do my duty.” She clasped her hands in front of her, so tightly that her knuckles turned white. She made no effort to stop the tears as they fell, hot against her skin. “I loved my brother endlessly and his death cleaved my heart in two. Then Rowan left without even a letter to soothe my pain and I swore that I would never allow myself to love again. I loved my parents, Aegon. Despite everything they’ve done, I still do. Yet they sent me here to grieve alone, a scared girl in a strange place who needed comfort and found none. I’ll never forgive them for that.”

Aegon looked at her then, an expression on his face that she could not place, not unlike one of fear. Fear that she may not love him as she claimed. She crossed the room, standing in front of him, her delicate hands cradling his face as she continued, tilting his face up toward hers so that he may see the honesty in her eyes.

“Love has brought me nothing but pain, again and again, heartbreak after heartbreak, and I’m afraid that my heart will not be able to bear another.” She stood taller now, letting go of him, her chin lifting defiantly. “But I risked it all, Your Grace. I risked my reputation, my safety, and my heart… for you.”

His arms circled her waist, pulling her tight and resting his head against the smooth fabric that covered her stomach. Instinctively, her hand tangled in the shaggy silver hair atop his head, the other stroking soothingly over his back. She held him tight, her tempestuous king, clinging to him, ivy to a mouldering wall.

“I will make this right,” he breathed. “I will find a way. For you.”

taglist: @acrossthesestars, @dragonsbone, @emilykaldwen, @arrthurpendragon, @lightblindingme

[valiantvillain]

WIP Wednesday

Tagged by @poetikat. and @arendaes

While I'm still working on chapter 2 of Duty, Diligence, Devotion, I can say that I am nearing the end of this rather long chapter so I got plenty of snippets to choose from this time.

Characters: (half-orc paladin Tav) Miraz x Astarion

________________________

Squaring her shoulders, she made her way over to Astarion, who sat with his back to her, examining the thin line of red scouring the length of his forearm. One of the spiderlings had gotten in a good slice when it had phased right in front of him and struck out with its razor-edged mandibles. They had staunched the bleeding easily enough afterward, knit most of the flesh back together with only an utterance to cure minor wounds and leaving only a shallow groove of flesh behind. Something that the body would repair well enough on its own given time, but Astarion glowered at it all the same. As though its very existence confounded him. 

Miraz recalled that vampires had formidable abilities of regeneration. Such benefits extended to the spawn as well. Yet since she’d met him, Astarion appeared to recover no faster than the rest of them. It seemed the tadpole had its drawbacks alongside its boons. 

“In my experience, staring doesn’t make them go away,” she remarked as she approached. He might have also been sporting a sizable bruise across his back, given that the matriarch had sent both him and Karlach flying halfway through the fight. 

At the sound of her voice, he momentarily went rigid before registering it was her and allowing the tension to ease from his limbs, though not without a small sound of discomfort. A large mottling splotch of red and purple undulated beneath the thin white silk of his shirt with each tiny motion. That confirmed the bruise then. Even so, he painted an impish grin onto his equally impish face. 

“How very lucky that we have you and Shadowheart around then.” His head swiveled to look at her, gaze lingering a moment longer than could be considered platonic and bearing a dreamy expression. An elegant hand lazily interlaced with hers, entangling itself between the grooves of her fingers with an almost unconsciously intimate ease, tracing the tiny scars of battles past on her knuckles. “Especially you, darling.”

Miraz bit her tongue, then told herself not to fight it and just let him regret it later. Instead she placed her free hand gingerly upon his back, a sharp intake of breath hissing through his teeth as she touched the tender flesh. The delicate edges of his nails, meticulously manicured and maintained, grazed the hills and valleys on the back of her hand as he squeezed it. It didn’t hurt. She didn’t think he had it in him to actually hurt her in any regard save her patience.

“I suppose it pays to have someone knowledgeable in the fine points of the undead, though Wyll’s hardly without expertise himself.” The paladin pressed her lips into a thin line to prevent the small smile tugging at them as Astarion’s nostrils flared, pettily displeased at the mention of the Blade of Frontiers. Just as she had predicted, the pale elf had indeed lost to him in the long, arduous war of wits they had waged for the better part of a few days. His clever comebacks steadily whittled away by Wyll’s amicable perseverance. 

Yet his bitterness fled just as swiftly as it had arrived, gone with the planting of a kiss upon her clasped hand. So lightly delivered that Miraz questioned whether it had happened at all. So gentle and tender that anyone less sensible could have mistaken it for a loving gesture. Of course, he made certain to catch her gaze, hoping to make her heart flutter through eyes half-lidded with the suggestion of desire. 

“Your company is far more preferable, darling,” he asserted in the hushed tone of a sweetly shared secret. 

Miraz rolled her eyes. “You needn’t flatter me. I was going to heal you anyway.” 

“You know, a less persistent man would be thrown off by such hardheartedness.” 

“That’s certainly one way to describe you. Now let me do my job, will you?” 

Remarkably, he fell silent and kept still. Unnecessary but definitely better than a squirming patient. She had one last spell in her, one last spark of divine magic, and as his injuries were, they were minor. One incantation and it would be as if he hadn’t so much as scraped his knee. Closing her eyes, Miraz drew deep from the remaining drops in her well, felt the wellspring of her oath beneath its floor. The source would replenish, the well filled once more to the brim with a bit of rest come morning. Still, she managed one last pull from the pool of her oath, conviction made manifest, both warm and cool at the same time. Comforting balm and unrelenting invigoration in one flowing through her being, circulating through the chambers of her heart and all the way to her fingertips. Light emanated from her palm, shifting hypnotic hues of teal, turquoise, and cyan spreading wide and deep into the elf’s body. Loosening the knots of muscle, knitting flesh together with the delicate painstaking grace of a spider’s spinning, repairing the broken vessels beneath his skin like washing red wine from fine ivory silk. Miraz heard the sigh of relief leave his lungs before it reached his lips. Contentment bubbled within her. She had always liked this, using the same hands that wielded a weapon to soothe and settle, to watch the body put itself back together beneath her careful touch. 

It was not tiredness she felt when she had drained the last drops of her reserves, but rather a faint hollowness deep in the recessed of her being. One that might have saddened her, and indeed it had made her quite lonely in the first days of her oath when its powers were new and yet somehow as though they had always been a part of her, were she not able to feel them but a short distance away. Long mollified by the knowledge granted by time and experience that the waters of faith would flow in her anew come dawn’s first light, ready and waiting to be unleashed just below her fingertips and beating with all the strength of her warrior’s heart. 

All these years later, she still marvelled at it, though her doubts of whether or not she was deserving of such powers, such favor, had mostly abated. And when she looked upon her work, her heart swelled with pride. 

“There, that should do it.” 

“Mmm, much better,” purred Astarion, who rolled his shoulder to test the newfound range of movement now that it wouldn’t be plagued by twinging and throbbing. He suddenly appeared much more limber, refreshed. 

Miraz also noted that he had yet to surrender her hand, nor had he lessened his hold upon it. Indeed it seemed to have leeched some of her own inner warmth. 

“I should hope so,” Miraz said drily. “Because that’s the last you’re getting until tomorrow. And no, you will not be getting priority for asking nicely.”

“Not even for an acknowledgement of your exquisite beauty?” 

“That will bump you to the back of the line.”

A chuckle sounded low and lush in his throat as he leaned back to take her in above him, squinting in mock scrutiny. A wry grin fought its way onto her face, an act for which she internally admonished herself and that prompted him to try and tug her closer. With very limited success, mind. 

“There is something rather intriguing about that stern charm of yours. All those little walls and defenses. You only make it so much more tempting to peer through the cracks.”

Miraz raised a sardonic brow. “And you expect to find the tender heart of a romantic beating behind them, correct?”

That overconfident grin of his widened as he brought her their conjoined hands to rest over his clavicle. The bone was fine as a bird’s. Was this supposed to entice her? Coax her to lower her head to kiss him? He should have been grateful he was good at holding his breath. Still, her treacherous heart skipped a beat.

“Oh, I suspect I’ll find much more than that, my dear.”

What a charmingly vague prediction. So many words to say so little. 

Sure enough, he made to kiss her, craning his neck to reach her lips only for her to pull back with the quickness of instinct. 

“Not yet,” she hastily muttered, the tips of her ears burning hot at the prospect of being witnessed by their companions. 

Even if Miraz had been taken with him, even if she had been madly in love with him (gods fucking forbid), she did not think she could ever warm up to the idea of displaying affection so publicly. Too used to shamefully stolen glances and couplings locked tightly behind closed doors, discouraged from so much as greeting her past partners with more familiarity than a passing acquaintance. It was bad enough his “intentions”, if they could even be called that, were so transparent. She didn't need their comrades watching them with any more curiosity than they already did.

To the credit of Astarion's performance, however, he seemed almost delighted at her prudishness. Like a rake with a maiden he believed to be putty in his hands, hanging onto fragile conventions of modesty lest she fall victim to his amorous overtures. How very literary. How very in the tradition of cads and lusty ne’er-do-wells and seductive charlatans. Yet there was that recognizable thread of strain to the way he held his smile, that thread of tension strung taut throughout his entire body that belied hesitation, an innate discomfort. And yet Astarion maintained the facade. 

Why? What was so vital about ensnaring one of them? After all, Miraz had hardly been his first choice. Had he not struck out with the others, it would be one of them subjected to this foolish game. A reliable source of blood would have been the obvious answer. But then why continue when that access was now permitted and assured? She doubted he was so desperate for the haphazard excuse for companionship that could be afforded in their current predicament now that he had escaped this Cazador. Of course, sex had rarely ever been the first item on her list for seeking succor. 

“A quiet evening, for once. Perfect for two people who’d like to take some time to themselves, if you catch my meaning.” His whispered words wrested her from her thoughts, each one more hushed than the last as if bidding her to come closer. “And I do mean sex, to be clear. We’ve been waiting long enough.” 

Miraz’s mouth went dry for all the wrong reasons. Maybe if she were lucky he would run off before any clothes came off, primarily hers. Then she could tuck away the added slight of not having even gotten her out of her trousers for later as well. She swallowed, stubbornly setting her jaw to steady her resolve. 

Just a little longer and it would be all over. Like ripping off bandages. 

“All right, but where will we go?” It was a stiffly stated question if ever there was one. 

A long slender finger pale as bone oh so fondly began to tangle itself in her hair, winding the black strands thick around it. This time when he tugged her nearer she reluctantly hunched over, making sure her ear was level to his mouth. Discreetly as she feasibly could of course. 

“Let’s find our own little piece of nowhere. Somewhere we can lose ourselves and forget all about this madness.” He cooed and charmed so prettily that she could almost feel that slimy tongue of his flicking against the shell of her ear. “There’s a secluded place that should do nicely. Wait until the others are asleep, then come and find me there.” 

“I’ll see you there,” was all she managed to say. 

“Indeed you will, my love, I can’t wait.” 

My love. My dear. Darling. Sweet nothings from a serpent’s mouth that made her skin crawl. 

He scarcely left her side for the rest of that evening, practically glued to her in a way one could almost believe was genuine. The saccharine seeming of a new relationship where one sought any and every excuse to steal a clandestine touch, a suggestive bit of wordplay, a more than simply appreciative sideways glance. Likely done in as much of an effort to inflame her in preparation of their doomed rendezvous as to convince the rest of the party of his ardor. His supposedly undeniable desire of the paladin who had only spared his life but provided him with her blood. 

Were they really fooled by this charade, Miraz wondered.

[blackjackkent]

@zenjestrr said:

speaking of the lantern, try inspecting it

Oh shit ty for the reminder! I noticed that was an action option on the lantern and meant to check it a bit back and then forgot.

Whatcha got for me, buddy?

Narrator: The lantern gives off a chilly glow, protecting all in its vicinity from the surrounding shadows. You notice a tiny pixie trapped within. [INTELLIGENCE] These fey creatures are infamous for their trickery - sometimes playful, sometimes malicious.

Hm. Well that's a bit fucked up.

Having been noticed, the pixie begins to speak, in a high squeaky voice with great urgency. "Oh please, oh golly, me-oh-my! You must release me or I'll die! This lantern only lights the way when I am hurting night and day!"

It would probably be better for the pixie if Hector hadn't JUST been dealing with all of Raphael's weird rhymes as well. As it is, between that and his own intelligence check, he is skeptical.

He does get a cleric line here though. [GOOD CLERIC] "You poor thing, why would someone hurt you so?"

(A/N: I don't remember ever picking an alignment for Hector. I'm assuming the GOOD modifier there comes from Selune? Or is it based on actions Hector's taken thus far?)

"My pixie dust is bright as day; my injuries can light the way!" squeaks the pixie.

Karlach frowns. "I know the feeling," she says sadly. "We've got to set her free."

Well. That settles that; after hearing Karlach's perspective on it, he's hardly going to do anything else - but it doesn't change the fact that they need this lantern or they're all going to get obliterated by the curse (except maybe Shadowheart). They need more information.

"Who are you?" Hector asks the pixie.

"My name?" squeaks the pixie. "My name is Dolly thrice. Now won't you free me from this vice?"

Hector rubs the back of his neck thoughtfully. "I need protection from this curse," he says cautiously. "If I release you, will you help me travel through the shadows?"

The pixie's voice jumps yet another octave in excitement. "It would be my pleasure, truly! Once I'm freed I'll help you duly!"

Hector glances at the others uncertainly. This feels like a terrible idea - it's all too possible that the thing is tricking them. But it goes against his own instincts to leave a thinking creature imprisoned like this, even for his own benefit, and even if it didn't, Karlach's hangdog, worried expression would be enough to convince him. He can't let anything stand that puts that expression on her face.

Release the pixie.

The cage of the lantern swings open and the pixie erupts outwards from it, the glow around her fading as she moves. She settles into the air at his eye level - a woman's form, purple in both skin and dress.

"FINALLY!" she cries. Freed from her prison, she is no longer putting on a squeaky, innocent act; her voice is about two octaves lower now, and coarse as sandpaper. "Been trapped in that coffin with no one but a mad drider and my own farts for company." She squints at Hector thoughtfully. "Did me a good turn there, didn't you? What do I owe you?"

"I need to get through this shadow curse," Hector repeats patiently, watching anxiously for any sign that the tiny creature is going to abandon them. "Can you help?"

"Sure, I caaaan," she says cheerfully. "But will I?"

She waits just long enough to watch the expression of alarm flash onto Hector's face. Then she laughs. "Yeah, sure, why not."

"Here. Give this bell a shake, speak the magic words, and you'll get what you've earned. Protection from the shadow curse; what more could a dingus want?"

Turning, she zips off into the darkness without waiting for a response. "You're welcome!"

True to her word, everyone on the team now has an (apparently permanent) buff:

This is actually huge, since it means Hector no longer has to carry the moonlantern as his active equipment and can stop doing unarmed strikes in combat in dark areas. A little less ideal for anyone in the Harpers who was expecting to use this lantern when/if we get back, but we'll cross that bridge when we come to it.

[polyklok]

Hello again, i love all your work!!! 💕💕

I was curious of your opinion about skwickles and if you have headcanons for them? (≧∀≦*)

Well, firstly, I’m all for every single inter-Dethklok ship and I don’t think I really hate any of the ‘mainstream’ ships for the show in general. The only exception to this is maybe Natgail but I think that’s cause Abigail has 0 appeal to me the writers did her so dirty. So you can bet your ass that I love Skwickles even I can’t pronounce it for shit.

I think they would first get together in Dethklok’s early days, five boys squeezed together in a small apartment and making music. Skwisgaar and Pickles shared a room, Skwisgaar having a futon floor mattress shoved in one corner and Pickles having a bundle of clothes, blankets, and a single pillow that he often just fell into in the other. Pickles, a washed up glamrock star, and Skwisgaar, a mysterious guitarist that hardly spoke any English.

Out of anybody in the band, they had the highest sex drives and most flexible sexualities. Pickles was charming and scrappy, Skwisgaar was seductive and passionate. They just sort of fell into each other…on several occasions. It became routine for Skwisgaar to pluck mindlessly as his guitar while Pickles did a horrid job of explaining the English language and then fucking each other to sleep.

Even as Dethklok rapidly grew in popularity and hoards of groupies were throwing themselves at them; the two grew apart a bit sexually but ultimately had a stronger relationship.

With their consistent drunkenness, shameless horniness, and pure audacity, it’s not uncommon for all the members of Dethklok to occasionally get frisky with each other simply for ‘convenience’. There was an unspoken rule to do the deed and then never speak of it again. But with Pickles and Skwisgaar, they often didn’t seem uncomfortable by their experience with messing around, even teasing each other with tones that were oh-so-slightly flirty.

I’ll say that, for the sake of these headcanons, they have a complicated friends-with-benefits relationship rather than an official one. It’s not gay if it’s your band mate, am I right?

Skwisgaar is a perfectionist and has some workaholic tendencies. He’ll shred and shred at his guitar until it sounds just right to his ears, even if his hands ache and his fingertips bleed. He relies on Pickles to tear him away from his guitar, even for just a few minutes to take care of his hands or clear his head. Skwisgaar will complain and whine, but he really does appreciate it in the long term.

Similarly, Pickles parties way too hard way too regularly. I mean, Dethklok are all kinda like that, but Pickles is on another level. Skwisgaar is often the one to sober Pickles up or take care of his brutal hangovers. He’ll lightly complain but they both ultimately know how sweet he’s being.

Pickles has to regularly fight off Skwisgaar from cleaning his hair. He likes his disgusting, filthy, stinky dreads!

I imagine them both be kind of crybabies, so they often sit in a dark room together, share a blunt, listen to some music, and just…cry. They’ve agreed to not speak of it to anyone.

Also, yeah, they share a whole lot of weed together and Pickles was the one who got Skwisgaar onto it in the first place.

Skwisgaar will very occasionally let Pickles do his makeup. In exchange, Pickles has to let Skwisgaar pick out a nice outfit for him. They act like they hate it but it’s one of their favorite bonding activities.

I don’t have much else. I’ve waited a couple days to let inspiration flow but my brain is giving me almost nothing. I might update this later if I come up with more. Thanks for the ask!

[willows-woes]

edgy ranting.

Nothing matters and nobody cares. Nothing is done from the "goodness of your heart," that's bullshit. There's no reason for anyone to ever go to the hospital because the only person it benefits is you, and you being alive or dead probably won't make much of a difference to society as a whole. They're giving you care because they HAVE to, because it's their job. But if you died, everyone would forget in a week. It would never make news anywhere except the local radio on that one station you keep on for ambient noise while driving and hardly ever pay attention to. People being alive, in general, benefits nothing except themselves. We're all selfish for simply existing, nobody ever chose to be born so if you make the decision to have a child-- you're putting them up for a life of misery and dreary work at a 9-5 minimum wage retail store until they get retired at 50. And that's if they're lucky enough to even get a fucking job at all.

Instead of bringing more hatred and misery into the world, I'd advise shooting yourself in the head with a .44 caliber round. You wouldn't have to deal with this shit [or make anyone else, either] anymore.

Who am I to care? Who am I to speak up on anything at all, acting like I'm great. I'm a lonelyass reject piece of shit. I contribute NOTHING, nothing at all. I sit in bed all day and every couple weeks the psychiatrist ups my goddamn meds because, as I expected, they do jack shit. And I don't know if they ever have or ever will.

Should I, myself, die? Yes. Yes I should.

Everything, everyone and everywhere, would be better if humans didn't exist.

Scratch that, life itself. Everything. Nothing has to exist and yet it does, meaninglessly.

I think this is the truth. The truth of all things. The truth many pathetic cowards don't want to hear, but I KNOW. I know the goddamn truth, and I'm giving it to you here.

Life. Shouldn't. Exist.

That includes you, and me, and that bitchass dumb as shit dog in your neighborhood.

Nothing should exist. The universe would've been better that way.

[dismemberment-on-a-tuesday-night]

Tales of Iyuetse: The Enemy of My Enemy part three

Whumptember day 9. “This was always going to happen”| Doomed relationship | Opposing sides

TW: military, injury, stab wound, blood, dead bodies, minor character death, battlefield, passing out, mandatory bed rest, fear of death, religion, human whumpee, vampire caretaker, human whumper

Note: We're skipping ahead a bit. Don't worry, we'll get back to Jahda eventually.

In the heat of the moment, Marcus hardly noticed the dagger sliding into his belly. But his body rebelled against the unwanted intruder, muscles spasming around the blade.

Finally realizing his peril as adrenaline flooded his veins, Marcus fled, stumbling over bodies of soldiers lying dead on the ground.

It seemed hours before he found a familiar face. Jaran, tearing out the throat of an imperialist soldier, and drenching himself in human blood.

This sight didn't help his fear in the slightest, but Marcus couldn't think of anyone else who might care to help him. God forgive him for finding refuge in his spiritual enemy.

"Jaran," Marcus gasped, unable to bring his voice above a whisper. "Help me, please."

Aided by his supernatural hearing, Jaran heard him over the din of the battle and dropped the body of the soldier he had killed.

Wasting no time, he picked Marcus up in his arms and carried him back towards camp. Marcus clung to him, trying to ignore the searing pain in his stomach.

The blade would have to be removed, but not yet. They had no bandages to wrap the wound or alcohol to prevent festering.

No human so brutally injured could have made the long trek back to camp on their own, so for the first time, Marcus was grateful to be fighting alongside vampires.

Auras obscured Marcus' vision, growing more intense the longer he tried to ward them odf, and an awful ringing robbed him of his hearing.

Was this really what it was like to die? Dizzy and senseless in the arms of your compatriot, knowing your life to be a lost cause?

He must have fallen unconscious before reaching camp, for he woke in a medical cot. The slightest movement was agonizing, so he laid still. He was grateful for the dim and quiet room, though it threatened to lull him back to sleep.

"Hey sleepyhead," Jaran said. "Glad you're not dead. You had me worried."

Marcus groaned and looked up at Jaran. "Are you… holding my hand?"

Jaran immediately let go of his hand and laid it gently on the cot. "Sorry. I was just- uh… I was checking your pulse."

"Uhuh." Marcus grinned sleepily. "I know those pointed ears of yours could hear my heartbeat from twenty yards away."

"Fine, I was just worried you were going to die. Because humans do that. A lot."

"So do vampires."

Jaran scoffed. "Not as much. And not as easily. This was always going to happen. I just didn't think it would be so soon."

"So, what's the prognosis, doc? Am I gonna make it?"

"We got your wound cleaned up. You won't even have a scar. Benefits of vampiric coagulants. You're welcome for that."

As repulsed as he was by the idea of Jaran taking it upon himself to lick his wounds closed, Marcus was very glad to have survived. Though he didn't particularly like owing a life debt to a vampire, even one as seemingly friendly as his newest companion.

"Did we win?" Marcus asked.

"We cleared the imperialists out of Rohim Province. Most of them tucked tails and ran as soon as they realized how many goddamn vampires were actually joining the fight."

"That's some good news. So, you leeches are good for something.""Hey, this leech saved your sorry ass." Jaran smiled. "I think that makes us friends."

Marcus wanted to protest, but couldn't find the words. Maybe making friends with old enemies was the right way to move forward, as long as he was careful not to fall into any temptation.

He tried to sit up, but Jaran pinned him down with a firm hand on his shoulder. Marcus struggled against his supernatural strength for a few moments, managing to utterly exhaust himself but not to escape.

"You have to rest for at least another day," Jaran said. "The sun is already up, so I can't go anywhere without getting burnt to a crisp. That means I'm going to sit here with you until sunset. Got it?"

"In that case, you should still be holding my hand."

Jaran did as he was told. The clammy sensation should have repulsed Marcus, but he couldn't help thinking how nice it was to have a friend around to make sure he didn't bleed out.

Taglist: @hugh-lauries-bald-spot @whumpsday @whumpshaped @heavenlyeden @thecyrulik

[kicktwine]

I hope you don't mind me asking, but what are your blind thoughts going into stormblood? Although you mentioned having received slight spoilers, despite what you may or may not know, are you hopeful or wary about the upcoming expansion ahead of you and ch'ahri?

I dunno hardly AAANNYTHING here is a complete list of my thoughts

kugane tower jumping puzzle (I will not be attempting to win this one) (I’m decent at jumping puzzles, but only because I’m on controller and enjoy platformers)

Godzilla 💕💕💕💕 no one told me Godzilla was here (seriously even the music and laser beams were goji-like) - they seem to be leaning into some tropes this time (with Gosetsu as well)

people seem to like the omega raids? excited for those. Halfway thru Alexander as we speak and those are fun I love gobbie

i am slightly wary going into the actual story content, since the concept of freeing ala mhigo is a healthy amount of detached from real-world allegories but also a healthy amount more connected to real world conflict around annexed powers and occupied peoples than we’ve previously gone into. It’s very grounded - the primal is a consequence, rather than a part of the conflict, and I expect them to split the focus. Insofar as post-arr and heavensward are, I mostly like how they handle complex societal topics and I trust them as far as not mucking it up entirely goes, but I put myself at a literary distance about the whole thing because im not one to speak about if they’re gonna handle it well. I’m gonna watch and mess around in the world they give me first. As far as pre-stormblood goes, in my not-a-guy-who-knows-things opinion, they handled it about a 7/10? Some dialogue bothered me, some things were like dam the horrors of war and desperation so true😔 (this is a positive). Some things were like yo is that Godzilla

I do LIKE the tone though. I think they did a tonal shift into something a little darker and brought in a Silly Guy to balance it, and it feels like they have a complete grip around their overarching story and world now.

I also wonder if they’re doing two things at once and how they’ll handle it? I want to visit Doma. I want to visit doma I want to visit that underwater bubble city you look like the monkie kid dragon place. Ch’ari will probably like it too, he’s one of those weird cats who likes water and being in water

i wasnt all that interested in the trailer aside from pretty location, it seems very stereotypical fantasy asia world tour. meteor buddy grow your hair out you look so good in Dawntrail

im trying to keep my opinions my own, since I hardly hear anyone talk about stormblood, sandwiched as it is between heavensward (everyone’s first exposure to the good kush) and shadowbringers (everyone’s perfect baby). So, about 1/4 wary of the msq content, 1/2 excited for the new dungeons and fights (is all of stormblood going to have 15+ enemies coming at you at once?? My frames get scared unless I’m wired into the internet and go down to 30 fps when they all load in), 1/4 excited to see new environments and new characters again :]

Ari is always excited to go to a new place. He always tries to make a good first impression, because whatever you do next (even if you’re rude) is colored by your first impression, and it sometimes fails and sometimes works to his benefit. He didn’t have a good reputation in Limsa, and it was shaky AT BEST in Ishgard, this is the first city he goes where either no one knows him or if they do know him it’s in a positive light. New experience for kitty

[sixofpomegranates]

The Dove and the Agent | Ch. 31

🕊 Story Masterlist  | 18+ | AO3 | Wattpad 🕊

🔙 Previous Chapter

Chapter CW: Mentions of anxiety/food-alcohol+consumption, jealousy, pining, exes, friends with benefits, Van Gogh,

A/N: Hi! Sorry that it's been so long! As you may have hurt: I published my first NOVEL! (Big thanks to those who told me to unalive myself for publishing it) The Link is in my profile!!

I hope you enjoy the new chapter, and tell me how you like the new cover!

"Do you know that it is very, very necessary for honest people to remain in art? Hardly anyone knows that the secret of beautiful work lies to a great extent in truth and sincere sentiment."

— Vincent Van Gogh

✿ Dove's POV ✿

Today? A total success — I mean, as much as a funeral can be one...

Spencer seemed so happy at the end, even dancing to a song. Not even to mention that he said that I was now his favorite person.

I did not cry because of it, but I definitely wanted to.

I had never been somebody's favorite anything before. I like to think that maybe I would've been Ellie's, but she never understood what I meant with the whole "favorite person" notion of mine... To be fair, I overthink all of it too much anyway.

When the guest had left, and solely the team and I were left at the funeral home, we helped clean up. Afterward, as we actually wanted to go home, Rossi invited us back to his mansion since tomorrow Alex Blake, Aaron Hotchner, and Kate Callahan would be leaving again.

I was a little tired, my batteries drained from all the human interactions, but as I saw how excited Professor Reid seemed, I agreed to it.

It was a lovely, warm evening, so we sat outside in the garden, Penelope and Krystall mixing cocktails for us. I sat next to my Professor, simply listening to the ongoing conversations.

"Here, Kitten," Penelope said, handing me a deep red drink in a sugar-rimmed glass.

"Thanks," I chirped in reply, feeling Spencer eyeing the cocktail. I held it to him, offering him a sip, but he instantly declined, mumbling something about something that red, not seeming healthy.

"So, Dove. You're still in college?" Blake asked me as the previous conversation had died down.

I wasn't exactly excited about having to talk about myself since it wasn't like I had anything interesting to tell, but I nodded, "Yeah. Uhm, I will graduate in July and then directly start my FBI training."

Hotch raised his eyebrows, asking fatherly, "You already got some firearm training?"

Shaking my head, I began fidgeting with my fingers, a little embarrassed, "No. B-But Professor Reid said he'd take me to a shooting range."

As my nervous gaze met Spencer's, he scrunched his nose and grinned at me.

The former BAU Chief nodded, "Okay, the first thing you should learn is not to be afraid of the gun in your hands while also treating it with the uppermost respect. It may be just an inanimate object, but in this job, it is also your partner." While taking a sip from his scotch, he snickered, "Spencer needed years not to get scared by his gun. He even failed his firearms qualification exam in the beginning."

Licking his lips as all laughed, Spencer said, "And now I carry two guns and am an excellent shoot."

Drinking from my cocktail, I was hit with a nice sweetness through and through. It was probably one of those cocktails that hid away just how alcoholic they were—dangerous stuff.

"You like it?" Krystall asked, and I nodded. "It's Pomegranate syrup," Penny explained to the group so everyone having a drink would know.

Leaning over, Spencer whispered into my ear, "Careful, Sweetheart, else you might end up having to spend six months a year in the underworld."

I giggled, looking at him, "Say what you want, but Hades and Persephone had the most unproblematic relationship in all of the Greek pantheon."

He shrugged. "It's not like Zeus made that a difficult task."

Nodding, I giggled, "Yeah, Zeus's a slut." He looked at me, appalled. "Dove." "What? Am I wrong?" I asked, blinking innocently, making him chuckle.

"Who's a slut?" Penelope asked loudly, having parts of our private whispers announced to the whole table.

I quickly shook my head, cheeks starting to become hot as hell. I didn't have the means to explain my unfunny jokes. "Oh, no one. It's nothing."

Tara raised her eyebrows and Emily asked teasingly, "Were we interrupting the fun?"

I quickly shook my head, physically scooting a little away from Spencer while taking a sip from my drink. The awkward silence solely seemed to be noticed by me, but God, the moment was awkward.

Spencer seemed to catch a glimpse of my discomfort, asking Alex quickly, "How's work going?" Turning to me, he explained, "Blake is a professor at Harvard."

"Harvard?" I asked, surprised, feeling my silly little heartstrings being pulled by something I couldn't describe as anything other than melancholia.

The brunette nodded. "Linguistics."

"I always wanted to go to Harvard; they have a great art program," I overshared.

"Can't imagine a smart girl like you didn't get accepted," Aaron said.

I quickly shook my head. "Oh, I did. I actually got accepted by a couple of Ivy League Colleges. I- I just went to Georgetown so I could study with my cousin together."

Ellie. A stinging in my heart, that most certainly had shown in my voice, reminded me so suddenly of her.

Why didn't I think of her lately? What friend was I to just live my life as though my best friend didn't die only a couple of months ago?

Spencer's hand wrapped around my thigh, squeezing it. That guy was reading my mind, I swear.

"You switched majors at Georgetown too," he said, directing the subject into safer waters before I would drown. "Only the final exam was missing to get your title of Master of Fine Arts, right, little bird?"

Kate frowned. "I'm sorry, but how did you go from art to psychology? Not really understandable for me."

"Oh, Uhm, my mom wanted me to change majors because she worried being an Art Major wouldn't get me a real job."

"You know, if you really had all your hours and exams until that, you could ask if you can take the finals with the other students at the end of the semester and get your diploma," Alex informed me.

"Really?" I asked, intrigued and surprised. "Doesn't- Doesn't that mess with my other exams?"

"Only if it's too much for you to learn."

I quickly shook my head, laying one hand on Spencer's and wrapping the other around his wrist.

He chuckled softly as I giggled. "Oh, no. I know that stuff by heart."

"187?" Kate asked. "126," I replied.

"Do you want me to write the dean about it?" my Professor suggested.

I had always wanted to be an artist... Yes, painting and creating art still made me one, but there was something so special to me about having a diploma in the one and only thing I had ever chosen for myself.

My whole life was built on the unsteady ground of academic pressure. My worth was my grades. My hobbies were studying to improve my grades. My mother always discredited my art as a waste of time.

My hobby now academically titling me an artist would prove my mother wrong. It would be something solely for me, something she could never attribute to herself.

This title would be mine.

"Yeah," I whispered.

Spencer smiled. "Sure?"

I nodded. Mom would either don't care or absolutely hate this. She liked to be involved in my academic decisions. "Uh-huh. I want that."

"Look at you, making decisions for yourself," he praised me gently. "Gonna talk to the dean first thing on Monday. Promise."

We smiled at each other, and he squeezed my thigh again. Alex cleared her throat, making us look at her. She took a sip from her beer, smiling at my Professor. "So, Spence, are you seeing somebody at the moment?"

Spencer quickly removed his hand from my thigh, licking his lips which parted into a coy grin. I knew he had no girlfriend, but my wrongly-wired brain still felt anxious about his answer.

He chuckled. "No. No, not at all."

"And you, Dove?" Alex asked.

A very loud laugh escaped me, startling me completely. I quickly shook my head. "Sorry, I- No. No, no chance. I am unfit for any human relationship."

"She's also Franz Kafka," Spencer snickered towards his friend.

"I just relate to that quote," I speedily spoke to my defense.

He nodded teasingly. "Yeah. And you have an awful taste in man. Logan is definitely the blueprint for idiots worldwide."

"Yeah, so? I- Jake's nice, though," I stammered, making him raise his brows. "I was just teasing you a bit, little bird," he said."I didn't know you were still talking to Jake..."

I shrugged, staring down into my drink. I needed to have it sound casual, normal. "I- We're still talking... Kinda. At least once I have the guts to reply to his texts."

Yeah, now that wasn't a dipshit answer at all. I legitimately sounded like a thirteen-year-old.

Penelope looked at me, surprised. "What did he write?" she asked, quickly taking my phone as I held it out to her.

The table became silent, everyone now seeming to be up in my business. Penny cleared her throat dramatically.

"Hey, Dove. Haven't heard from you since our date, and classes switched back to home office. Hope everything is alright. Wanted you to know I had a blast at our date; maybe we could do it again? - J"

I hadn't thought I'd hear from him again, to be honest. I had been awkward and ended up staying with Spencer and the guys, joining their gentleman's night, but apparently, Jake had a blast.

"Aw," Penelope squealed, looking at me. "Why haven't you written back yet?

I shrugged, embarrassed and red-faced.

I mostly didn't write back because I was lost for words. What was I supposed to write? As I'd learned, it takes me ages to build up relationships in a romantic type of way, and I hadn't thought there was a connection between us, even after I'd let him kiss me... So I put it off.

"You want me to tell him off?" Spencer offered promptly.

I shook my head. "N-No," I said, taking my phone back. "I... just need time to figure out what to do."

"If you don't wanna see him again but are too scared to tell him, just let me do it," he insisted.

"I don't know if I don't want to see him again."

My Professor's jaw clenched, and both his eyebrows shot up. "Oh," he said in a suspiciously neutral tone. "Okay."

"It was a nice date," I said.

"You said you two didn't connect." His answer had come so promptly that it threw me off.

"Well, that probably just takes some time. Demisexual and all that, remember?"

"He left you behind at that bar," Spencer frowned, almost disgusted. "Didn't even bother to take you home."

"He left me with you, Derek, Luke, and Matt, because I wanted to stay."

Okay? Was I missing something? Jake was a nice guy, and although at times a little petty, Spencer had no reason to be that upset.

As he shook his head, I asked, "Why don't you like Jake?"

"I don't dislike the boy. I just think someone like you shouldn't date a guy like him," my Professor let out, annoyed.

I furrowed my brows, "Someone like me?"

"A smart, beautiful woman that has options. You could have anyone, so why settle for someone that doesn't sweep you off your feet every second you're together?"

"Yeah, because the guys willing to date me are piling up on my doorstep," I deadpanned.

"Dove," he pressed, making me giggle with a snort.

"No, I'm serious," I insisted with all the sarcasm I had to offer. "It's getting hard opening the door to my apartment. Any more guys, and I'll have to buy a super long ladder and climb in through the window."

"Dove, I am serious." "Well, hi, Serious. I'm Dove."

He looked at me, that one vein on his forehead so much more prominent than usual. "I really don't understand why we're arguing over Jake... It's not like I'm criticizing your relationship with – what's her name? – Max."

"Max is my ex. You can't compare that," he exclaimed, making me answer him just as loudly. "And Jake is a guy that took me on a date ones. See? I told you this conversation is ridiculous."

"I'm just watching out for you, Dove." "Well, don't. I think Jake's a nice guy, and I don't care if I can do better in your opinion."

"Dove," he said as if this talk-ending voice of his had ever made me shut up. "Spencer," I replied, watching the vein on his forehead pulsate.

"Guys?" Kate interrupted us.

We both looked at her and then at the others at the table. Derek looked like he was having a blast. Aaron was pinching the bridge of his nose, still smiling however.

Tara and Emily were snickering something behind their hands; then they applauded us. "Brava," Emily said, lifting her glass in our direction. "Encore," Tara chuckled.

Spencer and I shared a look; both embarrassed over others witnessing our nonsensical bickering.

"We should start charging money for this bit," he sighed, resting a hand on my back and starting to rub circles. "I'm sorry, okay?" he said. "I'm backing off—no more overprotectiveness."

It was annoying but sweet that Spencer was overprotective. I nodded, grinning at him. "It's okay. Old habits die hard, I guess."

"I trust your judgment, Sweetheart. When you say he's a good guy, I'll try not to have Penelope stalk his ass."

Derek let out a deeply amused chuckle."Imagine one of us would've overreacted that much when pretty boy had his first little tête-à-tête."

I tilted my head, some of our friends laughed. "Excuse me?"

I was certain I had just misheard that. Spencer wasn't one for flings... Right?

"Everyone has some adventures in their youth. We only know about Reid's because he joined the BAU so young," Aaron said.

I nodded. "So, you know Spencer for quite a long time now?" He smiled. "Since Gideon got him to join the FBI at twenty-two."

Nodding again, I took another sip of my drink. I wasn't a nosey person... No. Not me.

"You wanna hear that story, don't you?" Derek grinned.

My professor answered faster than I could. "No, she doesn't."

The table went mostly silent, ready to let go of the subject unless I'd say something.

"I'd actually like to know," I mumbled.

Spencer groaned. "No, Sweetheart. Don't be nosey."

"I'm not nosey," I answered. "It's just that everybody else seems to know, and I feel left out."

Sighing, Spencer leaned back against his chair, signaling to our friends to tell me the story.

"Okay, so, you know Lila Archer?" Derek asked. I nodded. Who doesn't at this point? "Good. When she starred in this beach-teen TV show, before the Rom-Com with Dean Havans, she had a stalker."

"Yeah, her friend from Julliard. Mom watched Lila's interview with '60 seconds' on the news when I was five or six," I said.

"The BAU was working on that case, and Spencer was her bodyguard," Aaron added.

Feeling my cheeks heat up, I said, smiling, "Okay, yeah, right. Now you're just messing with me. Got it."

I knew jokes like that; my parents made them all the time. It was funny to them telling me lies and having me fall for them. It was like a party trick for them.

"Nah-uh, pretty girl," Derek said.

Penelope handed me her phone. There was an old cover from a gossip magazine.

'A Mystery Man In Lila's Life?' it read. On it: a very, very young Spencer Reid kissing nonother than Lila Archer.

Derek continued the story. "Me and Elle, a former co-worker, caught a very invested paparazzi taking pictures in the bushes when those two were having a little something in Lila's swimming pool."

"The girls in college would have a field trip with this," I said, voice coated in humor. "I mean, Lila Archer? Seriously."

She was so pretty; it actually felt like a kick to the stomach as my brain involuntarily compared me to her.

I held the screen in Spencer's direction, noting a deep blush on his cheeks and how he avoided my eyes. "It was just a kiss," he insisted.

"Uh-uh. Those hickeys said something else, Spence," a woman joked as she stepped out into the garden accompanied by Portia, who'd come home and seemed to have let her in.

The stranger was pretty, around the same age as my friends. Her almond-shaped dark brown eyes gazed teasingly at my Professor, who jumped up and pullied her into a hug.

One after another, my friends left the table, greeting the dark-haired woman. Her arm was still slung around Spencer's waist; his arm was laid over her shoulders.

I got up as well, to be polite, I assumed. A smile was plastered on my face as I joined them.

Why the fuck were they so touchy with each other?

"Dove," my Professor said. "This is Elle Greenway."

Elle. Okay. I had contacted her via mail days prior but never got an answer.

"Hi," I said, holding my hand out to Elle... Purposefully so she would take her hands off Spencer.

Like, seriously, get a room. Just don't get a room, you know?

She shook my hand, smiling. "Hello."

"Dove's one of my students," Spencer told her half-heartedly while walking her to the table and offering her his seat. "I can't believe you are here. It's been two years, minimum."

One of your students... Uh-huh. Spencer, you're missing a few things. I am not only your student. I'm also:

Your colleague.

And your neighbor.

And your friend.

And your fucking favorite person?

I sat down at the table again, not liking that I had to sit next to this woman I didn't know. Emptying my drink, Penelope quickly replaced it with another, winking at me.

"Don't be jealous, Kitten. They're just old friends," she whispered while I watched Elle running her hand through my Professor's curly mane.

"Not jealous," I whispered back, a little insulted, starting to drink my new, more alcoholic beverage.

*****

After two more glasses, it was fair to say that I was tipsy. Elle was nice, one of those bad bitches who didn't take shit from anybody, having completely encaptured Spencer's attention... Making me annoyed.

I wasn't jealous. I was annoyed.

"I totally saved your life," my Professor insisted as they discussed an old case in which a magic trick performed by him had saved the day.

Portia had joined us shortly after Elle, and since then, I sat between her and Penelope.

"Green's not your color. Take a shot," the blonde said, filling mine, her, and Penny's shot glasses with tequila again.

"I look good in green," I informed her, pouring the burning alcohol down my throat and scrunching my nose at the taste.

Rossi had already decided that we were all going to stay the night. Yet, with Alex, Kate, and Aaron here as well, we needed to share the rooms.

I couldn't stop my face from scrunching up as Elle rested her hand on my Professor's thigh. Way too high up on his thigh, actually. Flirting-territory high.

Standing up and grabbing the tequila bottle, Penelope announced, "Okay, Kitten, Portia, let's go upstairs, fill the air mattress, and change into our jammies."

I was going to stay in a room with Penny and Luke. Where Spencer was going to sleep was a mystery to me since he was too busy catching up with his friends, but that wasn't my problem... Just didn't know if I could sleep without my white-noise koala.

Portia pulled me to my feet, and we walked inside. In her bedroom, Penelope and I sat on the bed while the blonde searched through her closet.

She threw short hot pants and a tank top at me. "You think Spencer and this Elle are doing it?" she asked, making me choke on the sip of tequila I had just taken.

"No," I said, irritated. "He- He just came out of a relationship a couple of months ago."

"As far as I know, they're just friends," Penny said, changing into the pajamas from her go-bag she kept in her car.

"They have that energy between them, though," Portia said while I turned my back to them to change into the clothes she'd handed me. Looking me up and down, she added, "That looks hot on you."

In the mirror in the far left corner of Portia's bedroom, I inspected the scratches on my throat. I was a lot of things, but hot wasn't one of them.

We walked into the guest bedroom and let the electronic air pump blow up the mattress while we continued drinking.

"So, you snatched yourself a Luke Alvez," Portia started. "How's it going?"

Squealing happily, Penelope chirped, "Amazing. Like, I knew he's a great man, but now I know know he's a great man."

"Sounds awesome, Penny," I said, having her pet my knee.

"I'm sorry, Kitten. I didn't want to rub it into your face."

"You didn't?" I told her, confused, taking another sip of tequila. "I'm really happy for you and Luke. You're my friends."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely," I assured her. "No matter what my situation is, I would never not be happy for you out of envy."

"Okay, then..." Penny said with a dramatic pause. "We're thinking about moving in together."

"Already?" I asked, surprised.

"Yes. Luke has two dogs, as you know, and my apartment is too small... So now the question is if I move into Luke's house, or we buy a new one."

"That's great. I- I'll help on moving day if you want," I offered. "I hope I'm one day as in love as you two are."

"Can't believe you're single," Portia said. "You are so cute."

I shook my head. "I'm basic at best, and my trauma didn't even make me funny, only weird."

"Don't say shit like that," the blonde scolded me. Penelope agreed. "You are amazing, smart, pretty, and kind."

They passed the bottle between them, and I asked, "Do you really think Spencer and Elle have something going on?"

"So you are into him," Portia said, but I shook my head.

"N-No. I don't really feel things like that. Also, is Spencer, my favorite person, and having any non-platonic feelings for him would ruin that," I explain, blushing.

"What's a favorite person?" Portia asked, making me shrug while thinking of how to explain it without seeming like a crazy person.

"It's like a comfort person, I guess. Somebody who knows that you're broken but still stays. Somebody who makes you feel like you're worth the effort."

The silence between us was broken when Penny said, "Okay. That just killed me." She wiped a non-existent tear from her eye. "Does Reid know how you feel about him?"

I nodded. "I- I don't know if he fully grasps the concept of the title, but he lives up to it as though he does."

"I say that's love," Portia announced. As I shook my head, she added, "That level of feelings is love. Platonic or romantic, doesn't matter."

Taking the last sip from the tequila bottle, I said, "The thing that bugs me about all about Elle is just the same as with Max, JJ, and Lila fucking Archer. They are so pretty and confident and have their shit together. Why is that his type? I'm really starting to get an inferiority complex."

"Two things," Portia said, holding up three fingers but quickly collecting herself. "First, stop comparing yourself to others. No matter how beautiful you think a person is, some will always disagree with you. Secondly, you're scared that Spencer could like anybody more than you."

"Because if he has a girlfriend, he'll stop spending time with me. I bet she wouldn't be the biggest fan of me sleeping in Spencer's bed or him calling me Sweetheart, either..." I said, guilt filling me. "I'm selfish. He deserves to be happy, but it legitimately makes me want to vomit."

"Yeah, it's selfish," Penny agreed. "Thanks," I answered sarcastically. "But Spencer is no better. Why else do you think he doesn't like Jake?"

I shrugged, making Penelope give Portia a quick rundown of who Jake was.

"Oh," Portia laughed at the part where Penelope shared her theory of the migraine Spencer had gotten last week being actually jealousy induced. "He is so jealous. You two are literally matching that one Ariana Grande song."

Both started singing Boyfriend, absolutely motivated and completely off-key.

Wanting to take another sip, I noted the empty bottle. "Not drunk enough for this shit."

"You know what that means," Portia laughed. "Let's go downstairs and get another bottle."

We walked downstairs, about to enter the kitchen, when Penelope stopped us. There were two people inside, talking. One was Elle, and the other person, standing with their back in our direction, was Spencer.

"I'm sorry things didn't work out with Max," Elle said.

Spencer sighed. "Well, what can you do? At least we didn't end entirely on bad terms. You're sure you wanna go back to the hotel? You could stay here."

"Why?" Elle asked. "You offering to share a room with me?"

Stepping closer and rubbing her hand over his chest, she said. "It's been a while. Why don't you just come with me, and we spend the night as we would before your relationship?"

Oh. Portia had read the signs right. I swallowed roughly, sharing a look with the two blondes. Maybe we should spy on them.

"Let's go back upstairs," I whispered, tugging on Penny's arm. "Eavesdropping is a shitty thing to do."

Spencer leaned down closer to Elle, and that was when Portia grabbed my hand and dragged me back to mine and Penelope's room.

Fuck. It shouldn't even bother me as much as it did. Spencer was a single man who was allowed to have as many casual flings and fuck buddies as he wanted to. It was none of my business.

Drunk Dove truly was a jealous bitch.

*****

♜ Spencer's POV ♜

"I can't," I told Elle, taking her hands off my chest and holding them in mine.

Of course, never when I was in a relationship, but Elle and I had made it a habit of seeing each other casually whenever she was in town after leaving the FBI.

Now that I was single, it was more than fair for her to assume I would take her up on her offer and fuck her silly to get rid of pent-up tension, but I didn't feel any interest in her anymore.

She was still a friend, and I had been thrilled to see her since she wasn't the most reliable person when it came to keeping in touch, but my body held no desire for her since my heart already lived elsewhere.

"Can I ask why?" she questioned calmly.

"Dove," was all I said.

"Your student?" "She's so much more than just a student," I said, holding back the urge to brag about my little bird.

Elle tilted her head. "I didn't know you two are-" I interrupted her. "We aren't."

A grin spread on her lips. "Spencer Reid, are you in love?"

I nodded, cheeks burning. "Very much so."

"Haven't heard you say that since Maeve," she said. "Too bad I didn't get to talk to her much."

"Dove's shy and today probably very drunk, thanks to Portia and Penelope."

We both chuckled.

"How bout us having some lunch before I leave tomorrow? You could bring her along," Elle suggested as I brought her to the front door, a cab already waiting outside.

"I'll check if she's up for it. Else it'll be just the two of us," I promised her, holding open the door for her.

"Stop talking to me like that, or I'll take you back to the hotel with me," she warned jokingly, hugging me goodbye.

"Back off, woman. I told you I'm devoted to another," I joked back.

I waited until Elle was in the cab, then returned to the kitchen, where Dove and Portia were in the midst of stealing some snacks and alcohol.

"Oh. Hey, ladies," I greeted them, Dove looking at me shortly with a tight-lipped smile.

"Hi," she mumbled, continuing to unpack frozen pizza pockets and putting them on a plate.

Portia looked me up and down with a smile. "Where's Elle?" she asked, something in her voice almost sounding like an allegation.

"Drove back to her hotel," I answered casually.

Portia nodded. "Didn't think she's your type, tbh, but like, good for you."

"We're just friends," I told Rossi's stepdaughter. "Did I do something to upset the two of you?"

Dove elbowed the blonde gently, them exchanging a look, and then she smiled at me. "She's nice... From what I could see, I mean," my little bird rambled. "Didn't really talk to her a lot; she also never answered the mail I sent, but yeah... Nice."

"Glad to hear that, Sweetheart," I answered, hoping she wasn't being passive-aggressive right now. "She actually asked us to have lunch with her tomorrow before she leaves."

"Us?" Portia asked, laughing teasingly while taking the pizza pockets from the microwave. "Don't think Dove's into threesomes."

I watched Dove become pale instantly. "I'm not into sex in general," she informed her new friend, taking the bottle of tequila from her. "Tequila makes you aggressive."

The blonde looked at her. "Tequila makes me woke."

"Nobody using the word 'woke' is actually as aware of things as they believe to be," Dove giggled, taking one of the pizza pockets. "Why don't you go upstairs with the food and the wine?"

Portia nodded, trying to grab the tequila again, but Dove moved it away. "Uh-uh. I'm cutting you off before you end up in a fistfight."

As we were alone, I asked, "Did I do something to make her hate me?"

Doce shook her head, blushing. "W-We might've overheard you and Elle talking earlier."

No. Fuck.

God, please tell me Dove didn't hear me say I'm in love with her.

"Oh, I- uhm... What did you hear?" I stammered.

"Nothing," my little bird smiled.

"You're lying."

"Just to make you feel better," she assured. "We shouldn't have spied on you."

I stepped closer. Did she know?

"You look pale," Dove mumbled, hand reaching out to my cheek. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just a little tired," I lied.

She quickly withdrew her hand, brushing some of her white-blonde mane behind her ears. "Are you leaving soon?"

I furrowed my brows. "Why should I leave? We were going to stay the night."

"Oh. Oh, yeah. Okay... Guess I just thought you'd leave with Elle because..." Her voice fell silent as she broke eye contact.

"Can you tell me what you overheard?" I asked as it dawned on me that the picture she had of me right now wasn't the best. "From favorite person to favorite person?"

"Just that you and Elle are... You know," Dove said, quickly looking at me. "I- I'm not judging. Elle is very pretty, and you seem to get along well. I just thought you'd take her up on the offer to drive to her hotel together, and yeah, guess I was wrong."

She thought I was having sex with Elle... Which wasn't entirely wrong, but she definitely missed the most crucial part of it all. Herself.

Elle and I? We were in the past.

Now I just needed to convince Dove about it without dropping the "I love you"-bomb on her.

"Elle and I, we-"

She interrupted me, smiling. "You don't have to justify yourself. It's also none of my business who you're hooking up with."

"We're not hooking up," I said. "We did... In the past, but not anymore."

"So you're just friends now?" I nodded, making her tilt her head. "I don't get that. How do you turn that kind of emotions just off?"

"It was just sex, no love," I chuckled.

Dove shrugged, taking a sip of tequila straight from the bottle. "Guess that's the demisexuality for me 'cause I can't separate those two things. Casual sex is so weird to me. I mean, sex in general because but, yeah... You know what I mean."

I nodded. "I know what you mean, Sweetheart."

She shifted her weight to her other side, wobbling.

"How drunk are you?" I asked, making her giggle.

"Pretty drunk," she answered, breaking her pizza pocket and handing me one of the halves.

I took a bite, burning my tongue. "That is so hot," I exclaimed, gulping firey tequila to save my tongue.

"It's fresh out of the microwave. What did you expect?" Dove giggled.

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her against my chest, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"Can I tell you something?" she asked quietly.

"Everything."

"Portia asked me what a favorite person is because I mentioned that you're mine, and I had a pretty hard time explaining it..." she started. "Do you know what I mean when I tell you that you're my favorite person?"

I nodded, "I think I do."

Her big blue eyes stared at me. "Can I try to explain it to you anyway? Just to make sure?"

"Of course," I said.

I held the title of favorite person dear to my heart. I was sure to know what she meant, but there was no harm in hearing it come from her heart-shaped lips.

"I'm all ears," I cooed.

"My favorite artist is Vincent Van Gogh," she said.

"Something within me resonates with him ever since I was little. He struggled with his mental health, his parents didn't understand him—even asked him to move out, he was often treated like he was crazy, and he couldn't keep a job although he wanted nothing more than to be needed and do good.

"It already started off wrong when he was born. There were expectations put upon him he just couldn't fulfill. His still grieving parents named him after his older brother, who died at birth the year prior, with whom Vincent even shared a birthday..."

Dove shook her head, wavy white-blond her framing her face. "I'm sorry, I'm rambling. What I want to say is: Vincent Van Gogh had a brother named Theodorus—or Theo for short. He actually had five more siblings, but bear with me here," she said gently.

"Although Vincent had a good relationship with all his siblings... his and Theo's was special. Theo was four years younger, but he was sort of taking on the big brother role. He encouraged Vincent to start painting as he wanted to be an artist but didn't dare to, he bought him paint, he financially supported him.

"Theo would say that he was able to sell Vincent's paintings at his job as an art dealer and gave him money, yet what actually happened was that nobody wanted those paintings. So Theo lied and secretly hoarded all the paintings at home because he believed in Vincent and knew that one day the world would appreciate his brother's art as much as he did.

"He was there when Vincent needed to be institutionalized and made sure he was allowed to continue painting in there. He could've just let Vincent rot there as so many did back in the day with mentally ill family members, but he didn't.

"Theo said that loving his brother was hard at times as it felt like Vincent was torn between two different personalities, but his unwavering love for him always stayed strong.

"When Vincent then was on his deathbed, Theo wasted no time traveling to him and sat next to his brother until he died."

Taking a deep, shaky breath, Dove blinked away some tears. "Shortly after Vincent's death, Theo lost it, having to be institutionalized. He died only six months after this brother, some saying he couldn't handle the loss of Vincent as he was his only friend. It was simply too much. His wife Johanna made sure they could be together in death, burying the brothers side by side in a commune in France.

"Vincent was Theo's favorite person and vice versa. I never loved anybody like that except for Ellie. So, when I tell you that you're my favorite person, I mean that you are the Theo to my Vincent. That I know, I can trust you to be there for me even when I am too broken to be loved."

Dove wiped away her tears; I helped her while blinking away mine. Her explanation was so personal, raw, and vulnerable. I didn't wonder that she struggled to define it to Portia.

I still hadn't thought about how I would go about my feelings toward her. I didn't know if she would ever romantically return them, but I was okay with this.

Pure, unapologetic love.

Her words explained it better than I ever could. Seeing the other's most ugly self and still loving them was special and a deeper form of love than I'd ever experienced.

Dove loved me as her Theo, and would never stop, even if I'd turn into Vincent.

I wiped some tears from my eyes, knowing that I would go through all the hardships my life had given me one hundred times again if this would be where I would end up.

"I love you too, little bird," I promised her. "Always will, as much as you'll need me to."

I respected the wobbly line of platonic love between us, but how platonic was love between soulmates? Was it even to be separated in platonic and romantic love, or was it so much more than any of our simple-minded human words could describe?

Dove smiled at me, stating, "I need a hug."

Within seconds I had pulled her into one. Pressing her face into my chest, she mumbled, "I miss Ellie. Don't know why, but today it hurts again."

I gently rubbed her back. "It's okay. I understand it."

"I know. You always do," she said. "You're my person."

She pulled away from the hug, looking at the cold pizza pocket and the open tequila bottle on the kitchen counter.

"Are you staying with Penny, Luke, and me? We could share the air mattress on the floor," she asked, making me kiss her forehead.

"Of course," I said. "But just be warned that I'm getting too used to us sleeping in the same bed.

She giggled. "Ditto. We're so co-dependent."

"So, does my favorite person come to lunch with me tomorrow?" I asked, making her forehead crease. "You do not have to, Sweetheart."

"Only if you promise I won't see you flirting with Elle," Dove finally said, sounding a little jealous. "That would be so awkward. Don't wanna be the third wheel."

I chuckled, promising her I wouldn't.

How should I even look at another woman if my heart had already arrived, anyway?