#to th point th twins could quote his every word

[aaandbackstabbed]

Della and Donald: you’ve told us this story many times

Scrooge: and you’ll hear it again!

[haikyuu-sickfics]

Vomit warning!

I feel bad about how poorly written my first Suna centric fic was so heres attempt #2

First it was Atsumu who came down with the horrible bug.  Though, thanks to his whiny nature, the abnormality in his condition was noticed quickly by his family. The early detection of the ailment allowed for him to not leave the house and spread his illness throughout the school- or worse his team.

This plan had one weak spot though.

That weak spot had a name, and a position on the volleyball team the Miya's tried so hard to keep healthy.

Though they struck luck, in a way.  Thanks to Osamu's reserved nature, it seemed that no one on the team was at risk of contagion.

No one but the only person closer to Osamu than Atsumu.

Rintarou.

The two were practically joined at the hip, if one of them was having a bad day- they both were.  If one of them sprained their ankle, magically the other did as well.  And, obviously, if one of them got sick, the other would definately catch it.

But they didn't get sick, one of the pros of being an observer and not a engager- like Atsumu.

"If ya got me sick I swear to everything I'm gonna pummel yer head in," Osamu threatened as his dull headache throbbed on the walk to school.

"Okay lemme just," Atsumu pursed his lips and sucked in as though a straw was in his mouth.

"The fuck was that?"

"Oh I'm just sucking all the sickness out of you because appearantly I can control where that shit goes," Atsumu sassed.

His attitude dropped quickly after recieving a knock on the head by his twin.

"The hell was that for?"

"You had immunity while you were sick, I've been holding that in for so damn long."

Atsumu pouted, absentmindedly rubbing the sore spot on his head and distancing himself a bit from his walking partner.

Todays walk to school felt significantly longer and more treacherous today, the suns rays beating down harder than they ever had, enveloping Osamu into a sweaty unwanted hug and injecting grogginess into his every movement.

Atsumu didn't point out Osamu's slow movements, fear of another rutheless attack providing more than enough restraint.

The sight of the schools familiar architechture proved a very welcomed sight to the both of them.  Atsumu waved goodbye before hurrying to join his group of friends, desperate to get away from his twin.

Osamu mumbled some line about his brothers rudeness before beginning the search for Rintarou.

They usually met up outside of their shared class, but Osamu wished to talk with him earlier.  As much as he disliked falling behind in work, there was no way he would be able to make it through a full day of school.  Having the same train of thought as Osamu, Rintarou was pacing to the left of the enterance, slender eyes scanning for the formers familiar presence.

Once the two caught eye contact they quickly walked up to eachother.

"Where did you say your brother has been?" Rintarou question immediately.

"Stomach bug," Osamu replied sullenly, knowing where this conversation was headed.

"Ok and did he sleep on the couch or something?"

"Nope, he stayed in our room because the couch was 'too hot,'" he surrounded the last bit with air quotes.

"So do you think-"

"That I caught it?  Yes," Osamu knew enough about his body to know that the bubbling sensation in his stomach was a sign of some sort of ailment.

"So it's contagious," Rintarou confirmed.

"Mhm."

Rintarou groaned, burying his face in his hands.  The moment he woke up with nausea pummeling down on him, his subconsious knew what had happened.  But it took Osamu strengthening his theory to make him sure

"So... are you going to school today?  Maybe you should stay home, I could walk you and make sure you get there safe," Rintarou hid his own eagerness to skip school by masking it with Osamu's.

"Yea okay."

Smiling inwardly at this small victory, Rintarou began the familiar trek to the Miya house.  The walk was blessfully short, the cool morning air and light traffic cruising by singing a soft lullaby.  By the time the house came into view, the two were practically sleep walking.

"M' moms not home, she missed a lotta work last week," Osamu informed between yawns.

Rintarou nodded, a small part of him hoped that the eldest Miya would be present,  her presence was always comforting and her extense experience in the ways of parenthood allowed for her to always know exactly what to do next.

Honestly, Rintarou really needed her right now, he hated to admit it but she was the closest thing he had to a mother figure, and doesn't everyone want to be nurtured when they're sick?

"When's she coming back," he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

Osamu shrugged, slipping his key into the lock on the door and turning it.

"Dunno, she usually gets off at like 5 but she might stay longer to catch up."

Biting his inner cheek to suffocate his dissapointment, Rintarou followed Osamu into his house.

"I'll go make soup," Rintarou offered as Osamu dissapeared down the hall.

"Ugh no!  I've had soup for the past week, just make some sandwhiches or something."

That didn't sound like the best sick-day meal, but hey, it wasn't his house.

Rintarou knew his way around the Miya's kitchen as if it were his own, allowing him to effortlessly find the ingredients for a simple fruit sandwich.

With the two snacks on a plate, Rintarou walked down the hall to the twin's room where Osamu was huddled under the blankets on his bed, back to the door.

"I have food."

"Mneh."

"Yea ok."

Rintarou gently placed the food on a dresser before sitting next to Osamu on his bed.

"How you feeling?"

"Like shit," Osamu groaned, peeking his head out of the safety of his covers, "you?"

"Tired."

Osamu scooched over, pressing himself against the wall and patting the now empty space next to him, "then sleep."

Rintarou nodded thankfully before tucking himself under the blankets and curling into a ball on his side.  The bed was hot, or was that just him?  He didn't know anymore.  All he knew was that these blankets kept every degree of body heat trapped under its fibers, sticking it to the sweat beading on the both of their body's.

"Do you have shorts and a tank I could borrow?" Rintarou asked, tugging at the collar of his uniform.

"Mhm," Osamu lightly pushed Rintarou out of the bed before pulling himself up.

He rocked in place for a moment, eyes shut and jaw clenched and relaxing periodically.

"You good?"

Osamu held a finger up, waiting for the spell to pass.  It didn't pass.  He sat down quickly on the edge of the bed, elbows braced on his knees holding his head in his hands.

"No no no, not now," Rintarou scanned to room for a bag or bucket or anything that would keep Osamu from making a mess.

The only thing he could find was Atsumu's old sport duffle.

Better than nothing.

Rintarou grabbed it, not even checking to see if it was empty before thrusting it onto Osamu's lap.

A smile flashed behind Osamu's eyes as he imagine how pissed his twin would be when he saw this.

His devious joy didn't last for long though as his barely digested breakfast came barreling up his throat.  Lips parting slightly, a light wave of disgustingly sour stomach contents splashed into Atsumu's property.

"He's gonna be," Osamu passed to stifle a burp, "pissed y'know."

Rintarou hummed, purposely staring in the opposite direction.

Before Osamu could ask of his friends wellbeing, vomit took the place of words and a thicker wave of cereal landed on top of the previous with a sickening splat.

Rintarou walked out of the room at this, his head spinning with intense nausea.  He took deep breaths, trying desperately to calm his stomach long enough for him to make it to the toilet without incident.  The smell of fruit lingering on his hands assaulted Rintarou's nose as he covered his mouth.  A quick gag tore its way out, pressing ruthlessly against his stomach as the boys legs threatened to collapse beneath him.

He tried so hard to make it.  The bathroom was right there, he could see the door knob, practically touch it.  So close to turning it and entering into the clean comfort of the cool tiled floor and porceline bowl.  He didn't make it.

Of course he didn't.

Rintarou's inner struggle forced it's way out to paint the restroom door a dark abstract splash.

"The fuck was that?" Osamu called after hearing the splash.

Rintarou groaned, wanting nothing more than to sink into the floor below him and allow dirt to hug every crevice of his body.  Maybe if he sat still enough that would happen.  Or maybe enough dust would accumilate to hide his existance from the rest of the world, just another speck of dirt on the floor.

That was unreasonable thinking.  There was no avoiding the cold hard fact about what had just happened.  Rintarou just repayed the years of hospitality from the Miya's by decorating their interior with whatever the hell he ate the last handful of hours.

A sob forced it's way out before he had a chance to stop it.

It was at this moment he realized he had outstayed his welcome.  Sinking to the floor and giving up on the idea of going to the bathroom, Rintarou curled into a ball- his mind a blur of fever and frantic thoughts.  The floor felt uncomfortably comfortable, maybe it was the knowledge that this may be the last time he would ever know the bliss of touching the floor of this house.  The last time he'll be allowed to make sandwhiches in the kitchen a short walk away.  The last time he'll be allowed to cuddle up with Osamu and stay up late watching videos without headphones, much to the chagrin of Atsumu.

More tears forced their way out, completely distracting Rintarou from the fact that he was sick at all.  The only thing he felt right now was remorse and pure sadness.  His chest heaved as breath refused to come normally.

A goldball edged with burning metal was lodged deep in his throat, attracting his stomach contents with a strong magnetic pull but refusing it to go all the way up.  He coughed desperatly, trying to rid of the horrendous feeling plaguing his upper body or at the very least dislodge the ball.  It worked, not in the way he had hoped for, but relief was provided nontheless as the cough brought up another wave of sick to splash down between his chest and knees.

The door pushed open at this moment.

"Hello?  Is anybody home?  The doors unlocked."

Rintarou's breath caught as the familiar feminine voice reached his cotton stuffed ears.  His body froze with icy terror, trying his best to stay completely still and camoflauge into the wall.

"Ma?" Osamu's voice yelled out, ""M here with Rin, I think we're sick."

Rintarou shook his head as Osamu outed him and delicate footsteps made their way closer.

"No no no no no," he whispered to himself, eyes squeezed shut as if to force himself awake.

"Oh dear," Osamu's mother commented as Rintarou's pityful sight came into view.

"'M sorry, I'll clean it, I tried to make it, I'll leave when it's clean, I can run down to the store for supplies," he began his semi rehereased spiel.

"Sweetheart, no," she made her way closer to him, eyebrows furrowed in concern as tears ebbed the edges of her eyes, "It's alright, it's not your fault you feel like this."

She rubbed his hair away from his forehead before using her soft thumb to wipe his tears away.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?" She gently scooped her arms under his shoulder before opening the bathroom door and lowering him onto the toilet seat. "I'll grab some clothes and water, feel free to use the paper towels to wipe yourself down.

Rintarou didn't respond, too ashamed to look her in the eyes even to thank her.  He knew he was only making the situation worse, the absolute least the mother deserved was a heartfelt thanks.

So he just sat there, frown etched deeply on his face and eyes glued to the floor as the Miya went to check on her biological son.

Osamu was much neater looking, his mess had all been contained within Atsumu's sporting bag.  Still, his face was a mess.  A deep flush decorated his sickly pale skin which was glistening with thin beads of sweat and tears of exertion.

"Oh, did ya catch what 'Tsumu had?" She asked, sitting next to him and rubbing between his shoulder blades.

He nodded with a pout, leaning onto his mother's forehead who was working on zipping up the bag and setting it on the floor.

"Do you feel a little better now?"

He nodded.

"Great, would you please help me with a couple things?  I hate to make you do stuff, but I just need to get Rintarou a new set of clothes and I would hate to rummage around your closet.

Osamu nodded once more, standing up to search for suitable clothes as his mother took the soiled bag outside.  Once it was properly disposed of (next to the door to be dealt with later) she grabbed a couple rags, some cleaning solution and a bucket.

When she arrived to the bathroom, Osamu was already there with the clothes, trying to hand them to a refusing Rintarou.

"C'mon it;'s okay, please wear them."

Rintarou refused, fresh tears streaming down his face as his lips frowned deeply.

"I don't," he sniffed, struggling to speak between rapid breaths, "I don't deserve them."

"Don't be silly!" The eldest assured, quickly standing in front of Rintarou- forcing him to look into her caring, concerned eyes, "Please put them on, as long as you're under this roof- you're a Miya and you get the Miya-family-treatment whether you like it or not!"

Rintarou clenched his jaw, appreciation and love flooding through him in a way which only these people had ever been able to make him feel.  He had longed for this all of his childhood, the caring presence of an adult who wanted nothing but the best for you.  Who didn't care about how much of a mess you made, how rude you had been.  Someone who looked past all his faults and cared- truly cared- for the person beneath it all.

"Thank you," Rintarou finally whispered, a sad happiness taking over his expression as he collected the change of clothes, "Thank you so much."

The mother hugged him close, not caring about whatever may stain her shirt at this point.

"Anytime."

[sparklywaistcoat]

I find the online version of the 1967 TV Times interview with Diana Rigg unreadable online, so I’m reproducing it here for anyone else who has difficulty with accessibility due to the web page’s design.

The Girl Behind Emma Peel, TV Times, 12/10/1967 (reprinted here from http://deadline.theavengers.tv/tvt1067a.htm)

...the two worlds of actress Rigg... above, as Emma Peel of THE AVENGERS; a series seen in 40 countries; men feast their eyes on her while muttering endearments in 22 languages.  Right, Diana as she is to herself...

Diana Rigg has returned to Shakespearean acting - she is the female lead in a film version of "A Midsummer Night's Dream".

As far as she was concerned, it was the most wonderful thing that had happened to her in years.

She had been Emma Peel's alter ego so long she had to get away - - or else.

"I had become paranoid," she assured me, "with an underlying urge to pack and run.  It is a curious thing.   People who have never been subjected to it can never really understand what it means.

"I can only describe it as a sense of panic that seizes you when you are Diana to yourself and you are walking down the street.   An instant later, you are somebody else to a lot of people who behave as if you belong to them.

"If you are quite a private person, which I am, this seems an intrusion on my privacy.  I just have to run.

"Mind you," she adds, with an apologetic smile, "I am not ungrateful.  I will be the last to minimise what television has done for me.  It is a phenomenon, a miracle medium, that can accomplish in six months what takes years on the stage.  Suddenly, you are famous.  Suddenly, everybody knows you.

"The point is, though, that you are not yourself.  Only the other person you portray in the series.  That person is, of necessity, imposed by television, one-dimensional.  You ask yourself - - is it worth it?

It should be.  In the three years that Diana Rigg has spent in THE AVENGERS she has been catapulted into a position of bargaining power.

Hollywood producers have offered £100,000 to work in one film.  It seem they would go higher, if that is what she wants.  But she has turned them down.

"So far I have not been offered anything I want," she says.  "I don't want a long-term contract.  As an actress I will work where and for whom I want, if the script is exciting enough.

"If a script is good and they have a director I can trust, then I will do it."

Really it is a matter of time.  The big, international film-makers are confident they will have lassoed this high-spirited long-legged English girl long before Emma Peel loses her hold on the masses - if she ever does.

THE AVENGERS is eagerly watched each week in 40 countries, and Emma Peel (Mrs.) is the series' irrepressible whimsical Amazon of the jet set.  Men feast their eyes on her while muttering endearments in 22 languages, and their women try to emulate her - - but they never will, of course.

Consumption of champagne the world over has been increasing ever since John Steed and Emma Peel began toasting each other in bubbly stuff, from the television tube.

"Avengerwear" - - Emma's fancy "cat" suits and things - - is reaching the shelves and racks of department stores all over the world.

"Emma Peel's" international fan mail, still growing by leaps and bounds, promises to assume astronomical figures before the winter is out.

Diana never touches this mail and has enlisted mother, in Leeds, to head the Emma Peel fan mail operation.

Says Diana: "We have this room at home, measuring 20ft. by 15ft., and it is full of letters.  More are delivered each day - all addressed to me.

"I am supposed to answer them.  But I can't, and that worries me deeply.  I get persecuted by the mere thought that there's an obligation which I am not willing to fulfil.

"That is where mother comes in.  She reads, and she answers.  And I feel ashamed.  But I can't help it.

"People have made up their minds to identify me with a fantasy of theirs on television.  In their minds they want to have a relationship with me based on fantasy which can take any form.

"I have heard from my mother that there have been letters from children saying: "You look like my dead mother and so I write to you."  I think that is terrifying."

The story of Diana Rigg is, in a way, the story of two women - the real one and the imaginary one.  They are identical twins.

The conflict within this beautiful and intelligent young woman, who is just a little older than 29, reminds me of the case of Sean Connery, alias James Bond.

In Connery's case, though, there was resentment.  Connery, the man, gradually developing such a passionate hatred for the image he had created that he refused to continue as Bond even at a million dollars a throw.

He made his last two Bond films under protest.  Bond made him a multi-millionaire, but you cannot escape the feeling that he would settle for half this amount if his identity remained - that of himself and not that of the slick, women-loving, superb and deadly Secret Agent 007.

Emma Peel has some of the same qualities as 007, well-screened and suppressed, to fit into a family-watching hour on television.

The innuendo, contained in the name has been a source of Rigg's unconcealed unhappiness.

Asked what innuendo, she blushes and confides in a conspiratorial whisper: "Believe it or not, Emma Peel is a phonetical transposition of "M Appeal", the M in this case standing for Men.  In other words, "Men Appeal."  Isn't it a scream?  Sorry that I blush."

She adds wistfully: "I wanted to be Lady Peel, not for any grandiose reasons, but simply because it seemed to get some rather good comments over on the English aristocracy.  Of course they wouldn't do it."

"They" being the producers who have been running the show like a tightly-run ship.

Not unlike Sean Connery after "Goldfinger", Diana Rigg said goodbye to THE AVENGERS on the last day of a contractual stay at an ITV studio in Borehamwood, Hertfordshire, last August 31st.

"They" were highly hopeful that she would be back, if not immediately, then later.

The production schedule could be stretched to accommodate her, she was reminded.  A new regime was taking command of the series, and this, it was felt, would offer Diana an incentive.

She was not sure.  But on the last day of the last batch at the close of shooting at 5.20pm she produced a bottle of champagne to toast her co-star and co-workers.

They had become a closely-knit family, and she would miss them if she were not to come back.

"I am devoted to Patrick," she says, referring to co-star Patrick Macnee, who plays John Steed.  "I'm frightened of minimising him by talking about him, because it always sounds so glib, but he's an extremely generous and gentle and marvellous man."

They are comrades-in-arms on television.   Off screen they are the best of friends, but that is all.  Macnee married a second time during the series.  Again to quote her, she is "totally committed" to another man.

Diana is simply devoted to a number of other people on the series, including her stand-in, Diana Enright, and her double, stunt-woman, Cyd Child, who resembles her so much that all three directors of the series have dared to have Cyd perform her stunts in full-face and semi-close-up.

Viewers have yet to write to complain that the girl hurling herself through the air at an adversary is not Diana Rigg.

And then, there's Diana's studio chauffeur, John Taylor, who is also her "Man Friday".

"I wouldn't know what to do without him," she says.  A confidante, he also does her shopping while she is working, and has the ability to always be there when needed.

Diana didn't join the series under duress.   She was tested for the role, as were others after John Steed's leading lady Cathy Gale (actress Honor Blackman) left the series - - ironically for a Bond flick, "Goldfinger".

Why did a promising young Shakespearean actress offer her services to a television series Shakespearean actors have looked down on with patronising dismay?  To quote the lovely Diana: "I did it because I had left the Royal Shakespeare Company knowing that if I renewed my contract and stayed on for three or four years, I would have progressed and played good parts, but I was yearning for additional scope.

"To accomplish this I would have to plunge into the deep end, and nothing seemed deeper than this.  I was right.  Nothing is deeper."

Before dawn in a delightfully feminine bedroom the phone jangles.  The young woman sleepily answers.  Then struggles out of bed, just like a scene from THE AVENGERS.

But the call was from the telephone service Diana Rigg instructed to wake her.  It is still only 6.30 a.m.  She gropes through the house, takes her luke-warm bath, drinks a glass of lemon juice.  Into the street by 6.50 a.m. - without a touch of make-up.  "I've got no vanity at that time of the morning."

North London's suburb of St. John's Wood is still fast asleep and there's no one to catch sight of Diana Rigg below her perfectly-groomed best.  Except John Taylor, her chauffeur.  He arrives a few minutes earlier, but his instructions are to wait .... about two lines are incoherent here...

"I'm never late," she shudders, "comatose that I still am, and I hate that sound of the bell - at this ghastly hour."

Off to the studios in Borehamwood, Herts.   She reads the morning paper on the way.

"It isn't my paper," she says, "It's John'.  I don't like it but it's the only paper there, so I read it.  Every morning."  Apparently it had never occurred to her to ask John to bring her a paper.  And so... another day in the life of Emma Peel.

This has been her routine since she became a television star.  Diana moved to this house, a lot more compatible with her status, from an old mews cottage she has lived in for five years.  Not that she was so concerned with status symbols.  Diana Rigg couldn't care less about such things.

She simply fell in love with the old house in St. John's Wood.  And her accountant approved of the move.

At her new address previously lived the artist Augustus John; and once Dame Laura Knight.

There, Diana Rigg now lives in the style and comfort of her private world revolving around a specially designed kitchen and window boxes sprouting home-grown herbs.

The house is out of bounds.  Except close friends.  Not that she is a recluse.  She feels that her life is her "own ruddy business".  But when in the mood, she will readily explain that she is every jealous of preserving her own privacy.

She insists on leading a life she considers right for her; not concerned with what she defines as "other people's social consciousness.  I like to do because I wish to, not because I ought to."

Diana was born in Doncaster, in Yorkshire, on July 20th, 1938.  She had spent the early part of her life at Jodhpur in Rajputna.  Her family was in the Indian Government Service.  Later, she was sent home to school at Great Missenden in Bucks.  Eventually, her parents returned to Yorkshire to settle in Leeds, where they now live.

There, Diana finished her education at Fulneck Girls' School, enrolled at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Art (The RADA) and two years later graduated to an acting career.  Was she withdrawn as a child?  "No, I don't think so.  I had the ability to withdraw and I still have it.  But above all I always has a strong sense of personal identity.

"One thing that I never did was dream.  I was always very practical.  I grew interested in the theatre when I was small but not because it offered me an entrance to a world of fantasy, but because it gave me a chance to assert myself.  And I loved its freedom.  I thought of it as a challenge."

Diana reflects: "I can still remember the first time I met an audience on these terms.  I was an understudy at Stratford-on-Avon, when I was called on to replace the principal in 'Alls Well That Ends Well'.  Her name was Priscilla Morgan.

"They gave me maybe an hour's rehearsal.  By a coincidence my parents were out front that night.  I didn't tell them that I was going on, so that when I came out and started shaking, they thought I was just walking on.  Then they realised, and sort of clutched each other in absolute fear.

"My fear was of a different kind.  I was simply not sufficiently prepared and so I was annoyed with myself.  Still, the audience was very kind as it always is when an understudy takes over and doesn't want to make a complete mess of the play, and I was led forward and allowed to take a solo bow.

"I played it for about a week, I guess.  And it was about the end of the week only that I began to enjoy it."

Then Diana was 20 years old and earning £7 10 shillings a week.  "To make ends meet, I was living on faggots, scraps of meat put inside intestines you still get at the butchers in the provinces.  Poor people's food.  They cost fourpence each.

"Four times a week, my dinner would consist of two faggots and maybe some potatoes and another vegetable, and fruit.  And you know what?  I was very healthy.  And very happy."

Diana had an old second-hand bicycle for transport around Stratford.  "And not only did I make the £7 10s stretch, but I could never do without perfume.  I guess I was so very young and this particular perfume was very heavy and musky and made me feel extremely sensual ... I never changed my perfume in all these years!"

Her faggot-eating period came to an end when she moved to London to appear in the London productions of the Royal Shakespeare Company.

The bicycle went.  Now she drives a green Mini.  She lived in the mews cottage, all this still modestly.  No more faggots, but all the perfume that she felt was required, by a young actress, not too bad-looking.

She took a small bottle when she travelled to the United States, appearing in 'King Lear' and 'The Comedy of Errors' on alternate nights.

The company also toured the Continent, as far as Moscow.  From her experience on this tour comes Diana's boundless admiration for actor Paul Scofield.

"He's been my ideal since I first saw him on the stage.  I was working with him in 'King Lear' when I became aware of his sense of identity, a strong totally compromising identity."

She says: "The beauty of it is that here is a man who has just won an Oscar in an Oscar-winning film and Hollywood is after him.  What does he do?  He's gone back to Stratford.  Obviously, he doesn't care for the money.  And he's right.  Of course, it's your beliefs that matter.

"In a way I followed his example when I agreed to film "A Midsummer Night's Dream".  Peter Brook was doing it and I believe in him and I grew up with him, so I had to answer his call.  Professionally speaking, I am part of his troupe.

"Even though I think I'm too bad for the part.  The pay?  Obviously a pittance by comparison with what I'm making, but then, money is so transitory ...  I will not forget that I could, when forced to, live on £7 and 10 Shillings.

Tourists at Athens airport could swear that the young woman killing time in the long drab waiting room  by stopping at souvenir counters to inspect, for the umpteenth time, the pseudo-Grecian vases for sale was... Emma Peel.

She wore her auburn hair loose, letting it flow to her shoulders in the manner of the star of THE AVENGERS.  And her mini-skirt revealed a pair of very feminine, familiar and beautiful legs.

"It was not easy to say I was not Mrs. Peel," Diana Rigg recalls, "because I dislike lies.  But I would have had to explain why and what I was doing there, and it was a long story."

Actually, she was changing planes, going from London to a little-known place in Western Greece.

Eventually a shaky little plane which flies up into the mountains over some breathtakingly lovely countryside delivered her there, to make the trip worth her while.

Two days later, she took the same route back to London and Borehamwood, Herts., to resume where Emma Peel had left off.

It was an unconventional way to spend two days off the series.  "I go to the craziest places for the weekend," she said, dismissing all attempts to explain herself.

In the case of the Greek place, a British film unit was there shooting "Oedipus, The King", and lots of friends were there.

One weekend last winter she flew to Zurich, rented a car at the airport and set out, a map in her lap, for Klosters, the Swiss ski resort.

"I drove through the night, with the craziest Swiss drivers whizzing past me over the ice-covered road," she said.   "It twisted its way through the mountains, and I just hung on the wheel and prayed.  I could have turned back, but I didn't.  Too proud."

Until this experience, she had never motored on the Continent before, much less had snow-covered mountains by herself.

All of which seems to indicate that, not unlike Emma Peel, Diana Rigg is a rather unusual person.

It was she - and not Emma Peel - who helped to launch the mini-skirt, in an attempt to be different.

"The designer and the other men were horrified," she said, chuckling at memories of production executives looking aghast at the abbreviated skirt she was wearing and which she wanted Emma to wear.

"They pulled their hair ... said you can't do that, it's impossible ... I argued that one must look forward and not back and by wearing these brief skirts, one was looking forward.

"In fact, one was creating fashion very avant-garde, rather than remaining at the tail end of last year's styles.  And it turned out that I couldn't have been more right."

Not that she has profited financially from the so-called "Avenger-wear" that mirrors her ideas.  After all, she's an actress!

Nor does she care to identify with an image.  "I never wear the clothes in the series outside," she said.

"But there's a style there that I think is common to both of us, and I have no intention of changing my appearance after Emma Peel is no more.  After all, it was I who affected her."

She has no intention either of abandoning the mini-skirt, which, as far as she is concerned, was from the beginning Diana Rigg expressing herself.

Where the tastes of Emma Peel and Diana Rigg meet is champagne.  Emma loves it, Diana loves it.  And, for the record, she loved it before she became Emma Peel.

"I'm always very well stocked," she said, "but I never drink it at the studio.

"The stuff Patrick Macnee and I drink on camera is bubbly lemonade, very harmless.  I don't touch the stuff then.  You mustn't when you work.  At home, well, that's another story ..."

Diana's secret passion is to cook, and to have friends come to her house in London's St. John's Wood to enjoy her meals, without much ceremony, exquisitely prepared with the help of her home-grown herbs.

"I'm not joking," she proudly expounded on the subject of her herbs.  "They are all mine, and they all grow in window boxes outside my kitchen.  Every window has its own herbs.

"Left to right, I have sage, thyme, marjoram, rosemary, which is very beautiful, chervil, and two kinds of mint, sorrel and my bay trees.

"Bay tree leaves are marvellous for fish ... true mine are more like baby trees.  And basil, and fennel, and chives.  And that's it.  Except that they all live and prosper, outside my kitchen windows in London."  The secret passion of Diana Rigg ...

"I had always wanted to grow my own herbs," she said.  "This was my obsession.  So I got the address of a herb farm 95 miles out of town, and one morning I went there.

"A little old lady took me around and she muttered under her breath and said they would never grow in the London smoke.  I said I'd like to try anyway.  So, she shook her head and gave me what I wanted.

"They came in little pots, as I brought them back to London they were all looking sad and sick.

"So I put them in larger pots and stuck them in my window boxes and every day I watered them out of a jug.  And the miracle came to pass."

Diana Rigg has become enriched as an actress in the years at Stratford-on-Avon; on tours and the three years that she has played Emma Peel in THE AVENGERS.

She tells about the director she met at a party who told her he had a marvellous script for her.  She had it sent over.

"Well, if I wasn't the girl who comes tearing through the door with a gun in one hand and a flame-thrower in the other," she reported in mock despair, "I was the sexy siren sneaking through the door in Veronica Lake style.  I lost my temper, for the first time.

"I sent them a message saying that I couldn't do it."

[crystalelemental]

So I finished Ephraim’s route in Sacred Stones for the first time since the game came out.

When I was young, I remember saying the same thing: I don’t like Ephraim’s route.  It just didn’t seem as strong as Eirika’s.  And I could never articulate why, to a degree where most of my friends would insist it was because I just played Eirika’s first so the complete deviation felt weird, even though Ephraim’s route was just as solid.  But I’m an adult now, and I like to think better at articulating opinions, so maybe now I’ll finally be able to express why I don’t like Ephraim’s route.

Part of it is Ephraim himself.  I don’t like Ephraim, I find him incredibly dull, and think he embodies every insult people want to throw at Micaiah.  Unbeatable in battle, unnaturally good at everything contrary to what’s told to us, the plot literally revolves entirely around him.  Ephraim’s just bland to me.  I think the best way to express this is to use a quote from someone who really likes him, courtesy of the only Fire Emblem fandom personality that I legitimately cannot stand.

Their take on Ephraim’s route is that: "Ephraim says he doesn’t pick fights he can’t win, but then he does pick a fight with Lyon.  Then the journey after that is his character arc, of accepting how to become a king.  He goes back to his kingdom a loser, and learns to accept that loss to become a better person.”

Problem: not a single word of that is true.  For one thing, Ephraim never lost a fight, because that would be a flaw.  Ephraim won every fight he was in ever, because “I don’t pick fights I can’t win.”  Ephraim, you are three guys, exiting a castle, surrounded by a moat, further surrounded by mountains.  Your only backup are cavalry units, and your enemies are mostly flying units, including a general so powerful that he injured Seth, your country’s best knight.  But oh no, he gets to escape.  No explanation, because you cannot possibly write a believable explanation for how that happened.  He just gets away because Ephraim’s just so cool.  So yeah, there’s no “learning to accept the loss,” because there is no loss.  To anyone, at any time.  I have no idea what they’re even talking about with “his loss to Lyon.”  My best guess is they just hadn’t played in a while and forgot.

If anything, Ephraim’s crucial flaw should be presented as being a fucking slacker.  They poke fun at it when they’re being taught as kids, but when war broke out, Ephraim left Renais to rush into battle, got his ass stranded, and wasn’t present to help Renais at all.  This is slightly acknowledged when they finally return to Renais, but only in the sense of “he’s back now and he’s better so it’ll never happen again!”  But (1) it’s mentioned exactly once, and (2) it’s not brought up nearly as often as Lyon being weak-willed, or Eirika “relying” on Ephraim protecting her, as flaws go.  Which is its own issue, considering we never actually see Eirika relying on Ephraim at all.  She didn’t actually need his help either time he showed up.  Nice to have, but far from saving an unwinnable situation.  We’re just told she always needs his help, because if she didn’t then Ephraim can’t be the cool twin who’s so good at war.

And that’s all that Ephraim is, and all he ever becomes.  There’s no “learning to become a king.”  He accepts that he’ll take the crown, but there’s really no reason to it aside from his penis.  He’s the prince, so he gets to be king.  Nevermind that Eirika’s route was more about establishing diplomatic ties, and that she’s by far the better leader.  Ephraim gets to lead because reasons.  All Ephraim does is charge into battles.  We get exactly two establishing scenes of Ephraim’s leadership qualities, both of which are around war and not actual leadership in a governing sense.  And get this!  They’re both with Seth, who, again, is their kingdom’s best knight. And guess how both scenes go.  You’ll never guess.  Ephraim’s either just as keen as Seth, or is presented as the one in the right.  Seth comes along as Ephraim’s advisor, but literally never has to advise, because Ephraim’s just so capable and good at this.  And remember, this is the hero who never read a fucking book.  Who copied all of Lyon’s homework, and couldn’t be asked to learn shit in his life.  I’m fine with him being a strong soldier.  Hell, I’m fine with him even having a keen sense for combat due to practical experience.  But being able to keep up with or exceed Seth, who should be one of the best minds for fighting we have, is kind of annoying.  At the very least, allow Seth to have some role as an advisor, rather than just...nothing.

At no point does Ephraim really learn or develop in any compelling way.  He starts out great and ends great.  Any flaws the narrative presents are solely as a backdrop, they’re never reflected in the story.  Him being bad at studying and books never bites him in any way.  Hell, it never even comes up, save for flashbacks and a singular comment the Demon King makes about Ephraim being “poorly educated,” which was more a taunt about him not immediately guessing Demon King.  Ephraim suffers from exactly no faults ever.

This leads into the other big issue.  Lyon.  I do not like Ephraim-route Lyon.  At all.  There’s a lot that goes into this, but the short version is I actually think Eirika-route Lyon is more engaging, complex, and shows greater force of will.

Eirika-route Lyon presents as fully consumed by the Demon King.  His soul is actively being devoured, and the beast within is winning.  However, at certain points, Lyon takes back control.  Briefly, but he’s trying.  He fights back as much as he can, but it’s impossible to resist the Demon King’s control.  His motivations are the same in both routes, and largely comes down to a desire to save his country and his people.  He’s used the arcane arts to manipulate the energy radiating from the Sacred Stone that has the Demon King trapped within.  He uses it to heal people, and see into the future to attempt preventing disaster.  In Eirika’s route, the Demon King expresses more of the unresolved feelings for Eirika, and his inadequacy because Ephraim’s just so good.  So like...they had a compelling tragedy going.  I could absolutely believe a 17-year-old has inadequacy issues around the girl he likes, and that this would be an easy mark for an ancient eldritch evil.  But the fact that it has to double back to Ephraim pisses me off.  But we’re talking about Ephraim-route Lyon, so that’s enough paraphrasing her route.

Ephraim-route Lyon seems to present just as himself.  On the surface, this seems like Lyon is showing greater willpower and resolve, right?  He’s in control!  He’s going to use the Demon King’s power to save Grado from impending disaster!  That’s way more impressive, right?

Well, not really.  Considering that Lyon acts in control, but is ultimately just going about this like a nitwit.  Complaint #1: Lyon doesn’t act as in-character in this route.  Ephraim even acknowledges it.  Lyon’s peaceful, he’d never instigate a war over this.  Like, this is an Edelgard move, not a Lyon move.  But here we are, being told that Lyon, of his own will, started this war.  Why?

Complaint #2: Because Vigarde sucks, for a start.  In the last flashback, Lyon is talking to his dad, and expresses uncertainty about his ability to rule.  Again, great in for the Demon King.  But Lyon’s actually on this one.  A major disaster was foreseen, and they need outside aid for their people to survive.  Vigarde says Renais would never aid them, because they need to put their people first.  There’s a bit of interesting consideration here, in that Renais, a smaller nation, probably can’t take in all the refugees that Grado would have.  But like...Renais is friendly with Frelia, who could be persuaded to help.  Rausten is all about charity like this, as the religious epicenter of the continent.  What the fuck are you on about, Vigarde?  Pinning literally all of this on Lyon to find a solution isn’t just cruel, it’s stupid and wrong.  Get it together, asshole.  How did you manage to not lead Grado into the ground?  Was it hard to teach yourself to breathe through your ass, or is that natural talent?

Complaint #3: Lyon’s motivations are all over the place.  This starts because he revives Vigarde, and this breaks the Sacred Stone, creating the Dark Stone that houses the Demon King.  Okay cool, this is when the possession starts.  But remember, they’re presenting this like Lyon’s in control.  After this point, Lyon still takes leadership.  He still makes the commands, through his father.  And he instigates a war.  Why?  Well, they never really say.  One answer is envy of Ephraim, and a desire to beat him.  The other is self-sacrifice.  He talks with Knoll about some documents that allegedly allow him to circumvent the foreseen history, and it involves human sacrifice and great magical power.  He plans to use the Demon King’s power and his own sacrifice to accomplish this.  But that...doesn’t explain the war.  You could just kill yourself on your own time, dude.  Like, hidden motivations include saving your people, but all of this was the worst possible method.  If you anticipated latching on to other nations after your death ends the royal bloodline, then your people are now reviled for being instigators in a completely meaningless war.  They’re less likely to get help than ever.  If it was to conquer territory for them to move to before the catastrophe, then why self-sacrifice at all?  The war now has a point, but nothing else does, because you’d have accomplished your goal through the war.

So basically, if Lyon’s in control, there are two possible motives for the war: showing off to beat Ephraim, or a pre-cursor to your self-sacrifice for some reason.  Either way, it’s super shitty.  Like really, what’s your motivation for enacting continental warfare?  Complete disillusionment regarding mankind’s right to rule, and seeking to end strife through complete subjugation by another species that (allegedly) doesn’t feel the emotions that lead men to folly?  The belief that war is inevitable and that living beings cannot help but kill one another for the most banal of reasons, and thus the most just course is to re-awaken their creator to put them all to an eternal rest?  Recognition that the structure of society is so bad that people are constantly suffering and dying, and decided to stand up and tear the structures out by the roots through bloody conquest if necessary, in hopes of a better tomorrow?  Or because your childhood friend’s dick was too huge and made you feel inadequate/you had to kill yourself and I guess this was the best you could come up with?

The more likely reason given how fucking incomprehensible his motivations are otherwise, is that the Demon King was always in full control.  That Lyon was never actually in command of things, but thought he was, even as the Demon King ate away at him from within.  This makes more sense, because it’s just...Demon King killing things for funsies.  But it also means Lyon has 0 actual agency, and it’s even more just the demon king.  In Eirika’s route, Lyon actually fights back and wrestles control, if just for brief moments at a time.  But in Ephraim’s, the only implication that makes sense is that Lyon never had anything.  He was never in control, and never even put up a fight.  He was just easily duped into believing that these were his conscious decisions.  Which makes Lyon a lot less compelling overall.

I just...I don’t like Sacred Stones.  I figure that’s clear, but it’s good to be open about it.  I feel like the game just tries so hard to make Ephraim the coolest thing ever, and every male character (except Seth) who interacts with Eirika is just obsessed with this notion of needing to be better than him before she’ll love them back.  It’s why I can’t stand Innes.  All their supports are is him being bullheaded and insisting that no, he has to protect her, because that’s how this is supposed to go, and he will be better than Ephraim so she’ll accept him.  Fuck you, Innes.  Though man, Lyon’s not much better.  I can at least sympathize with Lyon’s feelings of inadequacy and uncertainty about Eirika reciprocating, but the fact that it all boils back down to Ephraim again...god, neither of them even consider Eirika in this.  It’s all about Ephraim and your own dick-focused insecurities.  At no point do either of you consider Eirika’s feelings in the matter, everything’s about you you you, and needing to be better than Ephraim who’s just too cool I guess.  May as well rename this Toxic Masculinity: The Game at this rate.

tldr, Ephraim’s route sucks.  Eirika’s route is at least a decent tragedy, but sidelines its main character too hard to really feel like her route.  Lyon would be better off without Ephraim’s route.  The end.

[probably-writing-x]

Further.

~Kind of like the idea of this becoming a series?? Thoughts??~

~~~~~~

"Alright I'll be there in five minutes," You comment hurriedly down the phone to your brother as you step quickly onto the awaiting tube.

"Did you remember everything?" Tom asks as he instantly makes the assumption that your forgetfulness had got the better of you.

"Yes I remembered it all. Your list was, and I quote, get shit for a barbeque and some ice creams," You shake your head, sitting down onto one of the free seats on the vehicle, "And yes I remembered Fab lollies for Haz,"

"Alright alright," Tom laughs, "See you in a minute then,"

You hang up and welcome your music returning into your headphones, settling your head back and blocking out the rest of the public as you await your stop.

~~~

When you get off the tube, the station is in a state of hustle and bustle as the heat begins to overwhelm London once again.

"(Y/n) Holland?" An unknown voice calls and you pull out your earphone to turn around and acknowledge the voice, "Oh my god hi! I'm such a huge fan of Tom and your family!"

"Aw thank you," You smile politely, giving the young girl a hug, "It's lovely to meet you,"

She takes a photo of the two of you and as her phone locks, you notice her lockscreen is full of photos of you and Harrison. It wasn't particularly surprising. Plenty of Tom's fans felt as though the two of you should be together and they already practically treated you like a couple. But still, it sent a little pain through your heart.

Nevertheless, you bid her farewell and dismiss yourself, ascending the escalator before beginning your walk back to the house.

~~~

"That was definitely longer than five minutes," Harry states simply as he opens the door, appearing alongside your other younger brother, Paddy.

"Well then you can go shopping next time you lazy ass," You roll your eyes, handing him one of the shopping bags.

"Public transport makes you cranky," Harry jokes, carrying the bag into the kitchen where the rest of the boys - Tom, Sam and Harrison - all wait.

"Finally!! Harrison's been in a foul mood, like full on hanger," Sam shakes his head, nudging Haz's shoulder.

"Somebody grumpy?" You pout as you reach behind him to put something in the cupboard, "Is it your time of the month?"

Harrison rolls his eyes and leans down so his face is inches from yours, "Must be, I guess we're synced!"

You hit his chest and push him away, busying yourself by starting to unpack the other bags.

"Alright how do we actually make a barbeque?" Tom clasps his hands together, lugging in a big bag of charcoal.

"I've been gone all afternoon and you guys still didn't figure out how to make a fucking barbeque?" You laugh, "I have to do everything in this family!"

"We were busy," Paddy retorts, "Harrison wanting to fill up the pool,"

"That pool we had when we were about five?!" You exclaim, running your hands through your hair to pull it out of your face.

"Well we couldn't find the pump so we had to take turns blowing it up," Sam admits and it makes you laugh even more.

"Something funny?" Harrison raises his brows, tickling your sides as you double over to avoid him.

"Come on! I'm fucking starving!" Harry encourages, all of them oblivious to Harrison's actions being anything more than brotherly.

And before you know it, all of your brothers have left to go into the garden and somehow work out how to make up tthis barbeque.

You and Harrison settle into a silence and it is only then that you can notice the lack of brightness in his eyes.

"Everything okay over there?" You frown, folding your arms as you stand opposite him in the kitchen.

"Um, yeah, yeah," He nods reassuringly, "Can we maybe just find some time to talk later?"

Your face doesn't falter from it's frown, "Yeah, of course. But for now can you somehow help me keep these boys under control?"

He laughs and it seems like he lets his worries slip away temporarily as he follows you outside, hand somehow subconsciously settling on your back as the two of you join the boys in huddling around their project.

~~~

In a while, after the barbeque took far too long to set up, you're all relaxing on the grass as Tom gets up occasionally to check on the cooking.

"Here you go boys," You call, carrying out four beers and a lemonade for Paddy and handing them out to each of them.

You hand Harrison's to him last as you sit down beside him.

"You even got my favourite," He comments, nudging your shoulder, "Thanks love,"

"What can I say?" You joke, "I'm just an all round ten out of ten,"

"You really are," He mumbles but its completely inaudible to you.

And its completely hidden to you how much his eyes focus on you.

~~~

"Ooh call me Gordon Ramsey boys, I am the Antoni Porowski of this group and you cannot tell me otherwise," Tom grins as he starts to plate up burgers and hot dogs for everyone.

They were slightly burnt and some of the burgers were strange shapes from his failed attempts to flip them but nonetheless, they were worth the wait.

"Did you seriously forget to buy ketchup?" Harrison sighs, his hand settling low on your back as he pokes his head over your shoulder to look at all of the food.

"On top of everything else, yes I may have forgotten ketchup," You admit, turning to face him and finding yourself a little too close to him. It provokes a blush to appear on your face and the words to fall away from your lips, no longer being important enough to break this moment.

Harrison swallows the lump in his throat and lets his eyes fall to solely focus on you, dancing across your face like they were terrified to be so close. He envied everything that had ever been closer than this. Every drop of rain, every kiss on the cheek from your brothers, every ex - he envied them all for being closer than it was possible for him to ever be.

"Harry fuck off!" Sam hits his twin over the head as Harry tries to flip the paper plate out of his hands.

It snaps you and Haz away from each other as you reside to your seats on the grass, still gravitating to sit beside each other.

~~~

When the evening begins to draw to a quiet close, your brothers have resided to sitting indoors to watch a match on the TV - leaving only you and Harrison outside after both of you offered to tidy away.

"Are you okay to talk now?" You ask into the quiet air as Harrison stops in his tracks.

"Oh no you don't have to-" He begins nervously but stops as soon as you take his hand.

"Come here," Fingers locking with his, you lead him over to the sofa chair that furnished the patio.

You both sit down and, instinctively, your legs lift up to go over his, one of his hands settling on your thigh whilst the other still plays with your hand.

"So, what's been on your mind?" You ask quietly, looking up to try and focus on his crisp blue eyes as much as possible.

"(Y/n) I don't know how I say this in the right way or how I say it without it seeming like I'm making things worse or I-" He sighs, running a hand through his hair, "But I'm just going to say it because you overthink just as much as I do anyway,"

You can't help but smile a little.

"I think you know how I feel about you,"

"And I think you know the same for me," You mention, watching as he focuses solely on the dance between yours and his hands.

"But I also know that you know where we stand," He admits, "You see, a number of years ago I knocked on the door to your house and it was the first time I'd ever been invited for dinner. And I remember your Mum ordered us pizzas and we played on Tom's old-ass PlayStation. And from that point on, I started treating that household like it was my second family. I confided in your parents like they were my own, I relied on your brothers like we were related and I started to love Tessa just as much as Monty," Harrison chuckles, "And Tom became my best friend. But bit by bit I found myself falling in love with his sister,"

You're silent because the lump in your throat is too prominent to overpower.

"She was this know-it-all that intimidated me and she was so sure of herself and she'd more than likely debate her opinions with me for hours. Sometimes, I'd just pretend to disagree with her just to let her talk," He chuckles deeply, "And I found myself wanting to see her every time I went round. She'd come back from a date with a guy and we'd critique what he'd ordered at the restaurant or which sweets he chose at the cinema. We'd stay up to finish the movie when everyone had gone to bed and we'd eventually watch the next one because we couldn't resist. In all ways she's way way too good for me but I fell for her,"

You finally manage to speaks as he falls into a silence, "And she fell for you,"

"But there are four boys behind that wall that I care very much about and so do you," Harrison gestures towards the house, "And thats the only reason that I can't act upon those feelings,"

"Haz, if we even tried to start anything between us, we both know the repercussions. We know Tom wouldn't handle things well and who knows about the others. If it goes well between us, we could risk losing what we have with the boys," You explain, "And if it doesn't go well between us, we lose us. And we definitely don't want that,"

"I really do like you (Y/n) but we can't do that to your brothers,"

You shake your head quickly, "So, I say we just keep things as they are. I'm sure we can handle that. Over time it will grow to be normal anyway, right?"

Harrison pauses, lifting up one hand and tucking your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers ghost across your jaw and brush past your neck, "Right,"

You're both interrupted by the boys yelling angrily at the game on TV and you take it as opportunity to snap out of the labyrinth that you'd got lost in in Harrison's eyes.

"We should probably head back in," You comment quickly, hopping up and outstretching your hands to him.

He stays silent and follows you back into the house, welcoming the typical sight of all of the boys crowding around the TV screen.

"What took you two so long?" Paddy asks, eyes not once leaving their focus from the blue lit screen.

"We uh-" You turn and glance once more at Haz, "Just had a bit of a debate,"

"Oh god," Tom laughs, "Just like the old days. Did you lose again, buddy?" He turns to glance at his best friend as Harrison takes the empty seat beside him.

"Always," He mutters, eyes watching only you as you take the other empty seat beside Sam, on the complete opposite side to the boy of focus.

~~~~~~

Tags: @imarypayne @sunshine112 @bringmethehorizonandpizza @supernatural-girl97 @vibhati123 @butithasntkilledyouyet @faefictions @carisi-sonny @trap-house-homiecide @spiderrpcrker @tommydaspidey @oneblckcoffee @darlingtholland @fanficparker @xxtomxo @httpfandxms @jackiehollanderr

[simply-m-a-d]

was going through some of ur posts and...tell us about you d&d character?

*muffled screaming* !!! I’ll gladly tell you about my dumb, precious son!

•His name’s Niirion, which means something like “son of tears” so. Angsty backstory!! (You can summarize it with this quote: “I had it all, lost it all and found what I needed”)

•He’s a cleric necromancer drow (idek if that’s the right order for the words and idc)

•Has a twin brother that betrayed him. He used to be crown prince of their kingdom until his brother betrayed him, took him out of the kingdom and sold him as a slave. He had a lot of hope to change the way other races see his own but, well, never got the chance.

•Was saved by his master/teacher (???) when he was in the brink of death and was introduced to his “religion” (?????). They believe in Ilikas, god of Death and of the Forgotten Ones and not anyone can join.

•Embodiment of “looks like a cinnamon roll and is a cinnamon roll”. He’ll take the secret of his past and what happened to him to the grave tho.

•Can’t see shit in broad daylight, has cute google-like lenses to help him with. He’s the only one who can properly see in the dark from the party and is a lil shit about it.

•DM: “you arrive to a VERY dark cave” Niirion: “can I see?” DM: “yeah only you” Niirion: *keeps walking while peace signing to the rest of the party*

•Not very careful tho... Niirion: *steps on every fuckin trap*

•Too curious for his own good bfksjf [*sees a weird chain holding someone weird* Niirion: *touches it and loses a finger* Oh.]

•Loves braiding his own and other’s hair!!!

•Forgets he’s the cleric of the fuckin pARTY BFDKHD

•Party member: “we need to heal her!” Niirion: “but who’s gonna do th- oh.”

•Chaotic neutral. More chaotic than neutral tho.

•Niirion: *feels weird energy after joining his amulet with a stone* oh. *does it again and gets shocked off a fuckin dragon*

•Niirion: *trying to stop time with his dragon’s help* DM: “if you try again and it’s a bad roll....” Niirion: *tries again* *loses 39 health points forever and almost dies* [he literally spoke with his gOD WHEN THAT HAPPENED!!!!]

•Niirion: *after having done something stupid and hence losing connection with his god for the last few hours* “guess I’ll die then. If I jump off this dragon will I die???? Gotta speak with my god”

•Oh, yeah. He has a fire dragon. Loves to sleep above her and hunted a rabbit once to give it to her. A rabbit. For a freakin dragon.

•Can’t go to sleep without praying to his god, with whom he speaks a lot.

•Despite praying and believing in a god of Death, he’s afraid of dying and has asked his god to be the one to receive him when his time comes.

Fhldbdskdblsns I could talk about my boi all day tbh but I’m gonna stOP HERE. He’s easily my favorite character so far and I love him so much thank you for giving me the chance to speak about him ( T ^ T)~

(Also!!! Have some crappy doodles I’ve done for this boyo, his god and his master/teacher (/ 0 w 0)/)

[solarbird]

Old Soldiers, Chapter 29 of 30, as we are near the end, gets a cut. Rating, novel: M (Chapter: T) Pairings: Widowtracer, Pharmercy Warnings: Intentionally unused until complete Summary: Decisions are made, some with more impact than others... eventually.

This chapter is worksafe. Click through to read. [AO3 link]

[All text in «angle quotes» translated from the Spanish.]

"Ana is safely at our facility in Algeria," Amélie informed Angela, as they loaded up for their return flight, back to Alicudi. Sombra had already headed off, job well done, to her favourite listening station in the north and some overdue snuggle time with her girlfriend flying in from the west. "She has been informed of certain new realities, and is... rather angry, as one might expect. And not, I think the phrase is, giving an inch?"

"Of course she's not," whispered Angela. "But... she is alive. At least there is that much."

"You did not cause Jack's death, Angela. He brought it to himself. Aggressively."

The doctor looked up at her oldest friend, and her once more than that, and shook her head, no, denying the comfort.

"I am not lying, Angela," the blue assassin insisted. "We do not lie, amongst ourselves."

"Amongst... ourselves?"

"Talon."

A small laugh. "Of course."

"Angela," Amélie stressed, "Jack Morrison was going to die today, one way or another. It was a certainty, a thing I know in my way - and it would have been at my hands, if no one else's. Of the options, I suspect you gave him the quickest, least painful death he could've met."

"A Mercy killing, as it were."

Amélie laughed, low, and dark. Lena would've loved that. I will have to repeat it, later. "If you insist."

"And that may all be true, but I am, still, the one who did it, the one who chose to pull that trigger." The doctor sighed. "I do not regret it, if that is what you are asking. It was not always inevitable, or necessary, but it had become so, perhaps... perhaps long ago."

"Good," Amélie said, putting on a gentle smile. "I am glad you feel that way."

She offered Angela a small box.

"This is yours, if you want it. Should you wish to be with us again, in the future."

Angela looked at the box - small and wooden, finely inlaid with gold, carrying the Talon insignia - and opened it. The twin pins she found it contained would fit the tabs of her collar nicely.

"...as a medic, and only that?" she asked, for her own sake.

"I assumed that would be your desire." Amélie smiled. "But if I am wrong, and you wish to enter as an assassin..."

"No," Angela laughed, softly. "I have killed... enough. But... as a medic..."

She took the pins, and attached them to her collar, one at a time.

"I have missed you, Amélie."

Amélie hugged her, strong and cool in her embrace. "I have missed you so much, and I am so glad you have returned. Thank you."

"But only as a medic," she said, thinking of her wife.

"Naturally."

"Good."

-----

«So, Gabe,» Laticia asked, as the Overwatch transport lumbered its way, low and slow, along the eastern coast of Mexico. «Where's that Sombra character from?»

Gabe looked over at the Los Muertos gangster. «Why?»

«'Cause I'm pretty sure I know.»

That's... bad, he thought. Goddamn, girl, have you figured out all our secrets? «Puts you ahead of me,» he said, carefully. «Let's keep it that way.»

«What. Really? Why?»

«Yeah. Really. And why is because there are several things in this arrangement we make a point of not knowing, and that's one of them.»

«...oh,» she said, thinking about it. «Oh.»

«Yeah.»

«I'll... keep it to myself, then,» she said, chewing on her lip. «Like the rest.»

«That's what I'd do,» he said, «if I were you.» He grinned, lopsidedly. «Sometimes, girl, you're a little too smart for your own good.»

She grinned, despite it all. «Not the first time I've heard that.»

«I believe it.»

The two sat together in silence, Gabe's feet up on the console, but away from the controls, making himself look more casual than he felt.

«Y'know,» Gabriel said, after a couple of minutes, «...there's no reason you have to go back to Los Muertos. I mean, you can, we're almost back to Dorado. But... we don't have to get there.»

«What d'ya mean?» the gangster asked.

«You are smart. And clever, too, which is different, in ways that matter. And frankly, you're not bad in a fight.» And you have nobody left to back to, he did not add aloud, but did think. Except the gang.

She gnawed on her response, briefly. «Where else would I go?»

«Ever been to Switzerland?»

Laticia blinked, and thought about it, and blinked again, eyes wide. It had been in the back of her mind, but she hadn't let herself consider it, not really. «...Are you...»

«It's been a while since I've had someone to train up. Been a while since I wanted to, too, but...» He shrugged nonchalantly, his hands in the air. «Look, you'll be a hell of a gangster if you want to be, and if that's what you want out of life, so be it, but... have you considered maybe stepping up a level? Signing up for the good fight?»

«...you're really serious?» she asked, sitting a little straighter in her chair.

«Absolutely.» He took his feet off the console, and sitting properly in the pilot's seat. «On my authority as Tactical Operations Director, Overwatch, I officially offer you ... let's call it an internship. Reporting directly to me.»

«Paid?» Laticia asked, pointedly.

The Strike Commander chuckled. «Paid. Yes. Of course. I could use an XO, and you're not ready for that yet, not by a damn sight, but... I think you could get there. It'll be hard work, there are a lot of gaps in your training, but...» He tilted his head, looking directly at her. «Want to find out?»

«Will I get a ride on one of those, what'd you call 'em, Sparrowhawks?»

Gabriel Reyes laughed again, and leaned back in his chair.

«Yeah. I'll get you a ride on a Sparrowhawk.»

«Aw yeah,» the former gangster said, putting her feet up on the console where Reyes's had been. «I'm in.»

Thank god, he thought, both glad she was along, and relieved he had one less thing to worry about later. But on the outside, he just gave her a stern look, albeit one with a grin not completely suppressed underneath.

«Feet off the console, ensign.»

«Sorry?»

«You heard. If we're gonna do this? We're gonna start immediately.»

«Do I have to call you sir now?»

«No,» he said, as he leaned forward, sending a message to air traffic control. «Commander Reyes will do just fine.»

«Aye-aye, Gabe,» she said, grinning, but not moving.

«What'd I say about feet?» he said, swatting her boots off the console. «You gotta learn to take orders.»

«Sorry... Commander,» she said, grinning, and straightening up in her chair.

«Much better,» he said, laying in the course to Geneva.

A moment went by, in silence.

«...is Ambassador Winston really a gorilla?»

Commander Reyes laughed, a third time. «Yes,» he said, «he is.» And I think you're gonna deal with that just fine.

-----

"Well," Angela said, as her flyer approached Geneva, and the Lunar Embassy. "Here we are."

Lena nodded from the pilot's seat, controlling the approach - back in her Tracer kit, and not even minding it a bit.

"Long way of gettin' here, but yeah, it worked out in the end... despite everything." She let out a little puff of air, a hoo noise. "So... y'gonna tell Ree?"

Angela nodded. "I must. I... could not keep such a thing from her, I think. I should not."

Lena puffed up her cheeks, making more noises with her breath. "Yeh. That sounds about right. I'd still be happy t'take the credit, but..."

"No," Angela looked down, at her hands. "If I have learned anything from this, it is... to own what I do. Including that."

"Fair cop," Tracer agreed.

"And also, on that note, I..."

"Hm?"

"I..." Angela swallowed, and tried again. "I am sorry that I did what I did, some weeks ago. I should not have acted against your stated wishes. I broke my word, and that was... wrong."

"Ah yeah," Venom thought, thinking back to the illicit bodyscan, taken against every agreement Talon and Overwatch had. "Y'did the wrong thing, Ange," agreed Tracer. "For the right reasons, but still. Could've cost us everything."

"I know." She knew Talon wasn't big into forgiveness, not generally, but she also knew she had a very large edge in that department, even if she did not wish to lean on that too heavily. "Can you forgive me, and - not just say the words, as you have, but... actually mean it? It is, after all... not what you are known to do."

"That's the funny thing, innit?"

"What?"

"I meant it, back at Alicudi, when I said I would. I'm really, really not gonna hold it against you. Not the scan, not takin' Jack down - hell, I couldn't do it, not that that point... not a whit of it. And not just 'cause why it all happened, either."

Mercy's heart kicked up a beat, as a cord of tension still held inside her released. "Really?"

"Really." Lena snorted a little. "Sorry if I was keepin' you in suspense, I had to let it churn for a while, get it all straightened out in my head. It's not easy!"

"I have also had a lot to think about, as of late, and so that, I understand. But... if I might ask... why not?"

"Well, for one thing, you're one of us, now. But more... I think... " She adjusted the flight attitude controls. "I think I kept Morrison - the old Morrison - alive in my head for a long time. Kind of my personal bogeyman for way, way too long. Even when we all thought he was dead, I was keepin' him goin', in my brain."

She shook her head, as the flyer dropped for final approach. "And that whole time, he wasn't th'... I dunno... the giant I thought he was. He wasn't that kind of monster, he was... he was just... just a bitter, delusional old bloke who'd screwed up big, livin' out what time he had left on the fringes, not really matterin' to anyone. Him and Ana both, holding on to what never had been... and I fell into it too." She looked a little regretful, at that. "What a waste of my time."

"He mattered, to some, even at that point."

"Maybe. But he didn't have to matter to me. Not like he did." She shook her head, again. "I bought into that whole statue thing, I guess. The propaganda. The Great Hero." Another dismissive noise. "I was seein' the myth, not the egomaniacal prat he actually was."

"Do you want an honest opinion?"

"Always, luv. Between us."

Angela took in a big breath, fortifying herself before answering. "I agree. You are right."

Lena laughed, nodding.

"But you are also wrong, and I mean it," Angela insisted. "He had been a hero. In the Omnic Crisis, he had lived that legend. He had done great things, before... whatever went wrong, in the years after. None of that is changed by what he later became - but.. I think...." She put her hands down, flat, on her legs. "The combination of the hero he had been, and the conspiratist he became... the terrible synthesis you were hating, and fearing, I think... had never existed at all, at least not outside of your own head. Not even if all the things he'd done were real."

Lena hummed, letting that sink in a bit, as well, clearly deep in thought. It's kinda different, she considered, if it's not some sorta great plan, innit? If he wasn't always some kind of evil demigod, or some kinda mastermind, or just a fool. If it just... happened. If everything he did, he did just because he... because he was coming apart, inside, before anybody even knew.

"That's fair," she replied, after another few moments, "and kinda sad. But also kind of deeper than I was goin', really."

"It is?"

"Yeh."

"Then I presume you will enlighten me...?"

Tracer shrugged off all the heavy thoughts, smiled, and waved through the glass at Winston and Fareeha who stood by waiting to greet them. She settled the craft down on the pad before looking back to Angela with her famous half-grin, unlocking her flight restraints.

"I just think I'm done holdin' onto grudges."

[peacelovedolan]

Prompt - G.D.

Prompt: “...And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

Summary: The Dolan twins are the most popular guys at school. What happens when they pass Y/N walking to school in the rain? 

Warnings: cursing, like once or twice

Word Count: 2,234

You had seen Grayson around school every so often, but the most interaction you had was glancing at each other from across crowded hallways. He was one of the most popular guys in your grade, as was his twin brother, Ethan. It just seemed natural that they would be at the top of the food chain, considering they play football and lacrosse, get good grades, and are some of the funniest kids you’ll ever meet - not to mention their devastatingly good looks. 

Due to their popularity, nearly all of the girls in your class had a “favorite” twin. Most of the girls were Team Ethan because of his more outgoing personality, but you always had a soft spot for Grayson - you found his tendency to shy away from the spotlight quite adorable. However, you never told anyone - not even your best friend, Lauren, who was more of an Ethan girl - because you didn’t want to seem desperate. You never took the whole thing seriously, anyway, as you knew that they would never notice you. Or so you thought. 

It was a dreadfully rainy day in the middle of March, and you were late to school. You thought your Mom was going to let you drive her old Toyota Camry, but she had already left with it by the time you woke up that morning. So, you were forced to walk to school. You hurried down the sidewalk as you cursed under your breath. Lost in thought, you don’t hear the car driving next to you, but its horn jolts you into awareness. You turn to the car, ready to whoever it was a dirty look, but to your surprise, you see a pair of identical faces - Ethan and Grayson.

“Hey,” Ethan yells from the driver’s seat. “You go to school with us, right?” he asks tentatively, laughing slightly at his own question. 

You give a small, amused smile in return. “Yeah...”

“Do you want a ride?” Grayson pipes up, “I mean, if you want. We just figured a ride would be better than walking in th-”

“Yes, please! you interrupt his rambling, even though you secretly find it adorable. “Oh my God, thank you so much,” you say, getting into the backseat.

“Oh, yeah, it’s no problem,“ Ethan says. “Do you just, like, not get a bus where you live? Is that why you had to walk?”

“Yeah, no, I don’t, unfortunately,” you laugh, “ My mom took the car, and I didn’t know, and I forgot my umbrella, so...”

“Yeah, that really sucks,” Grayson says, turning back to look at you for a moment. There’s a moment of silence as you look around the car, trying to think of something to say to these virtual strangers. 

“...so, you’re Y/N, right?” Ethan asks. You reply in confirmation. He laughs and says, “Okay, good. Just making sure.”

“And, you’re Ethan and Grayson, right?”

“Yep! Hey, can you tell us apart?” Grayson asks with a goofy smile on his face.

“Hmm...” you draw out, putting a and on your chin dramatically. “No, I’m just kidding. You’re Grayson, and you’re Ethan,” you say, pointing to each twin.

“Nice! Most of our teachers can’t even do that,” Ethan says, and Grayson chuckles.

“Well, I’d like to think I’m a little bit more with it than your teachers, guys,” you say. Grayson's chuckles turn into full-fledged laughter.

“She got you dude,” Grayson says, and Ethan simply smiles and shakes his head, pulling into a space at the school’s parking lot.

“So, thank you so much for the ride, guys,” you say, putting on your backpack.

“Woah, hang on, do you even have an umbrella?” Ethan asks. You shake your head. “We can’t just let you catch a cold like that, Y/N. Grayson, share your umbrella with her.” Your heart leaps at this, hoping he accepts. You happen to see Grayson give Ethan a dirty look, but he’s already getting out of the car. 

“You don’t have to, Grayson...”

“No, it’s not that, he’s just... I’ll share with you, if you want.” Grayson says, cheeks flushing a light shade of pink. 

“That would be great.” He leaps out of the car, opening the umbrella. He even opens the door for you, holding the umbrella so the rain doesn’t get on you. “Seriously, thank you guys so much. I would’ve been so late if you hadn’t picked me up.” You say to them. You and Grayson fall into step together as he holds the umbrella above you. Although you know this isn’t the case, you can’t help but find it a little bit romantic.

“Of course, Y/N. I mean we can’t just let a fellow student get stuck in the rain,” Ethan says with a cheeky grin. Glancing ahead, he recognizes someone. “Hey, I’ll catch you guys later,” he says, giving a slight wave while jogging ahead. He stops next to a girl walking alone, putting his arm around her and kissing her on the forehead.

“Aww,” you say, turning to Grayson, “I didn’t know he had a girlfriend.”

“Really? he asks, bewildered. “They’re always with each other. It’s kind of annoying.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah,” he groans, “But, I don’t know, I’d probably act the same way if I had a girlfriend, so I guess I can’t hate too much.” At this, your heart leaps again. He doesn’t have a girlfriend.

“Yeah,” is all you manage to say, and an awkward silence ensues. Trying to change the subject, you say, “Wait, who is it? Now I’m curious,” you laugh, and he chuckles in return.

“Uh, you know Emily?” he glances down at you. You nod, and he continues,” yeah, it’s her. She’s a cheerleader, he plays football. It’s kind of expected.”

“That’s kinda sweet,” you say, silently cursing yourself for not trying out when you had the chance.

He holds the door for you as you walk into school, and you feel like you’re about to swoon. 

“So, I’ll see you around, I guess,” Grayson says shyly. 

“Yeah, thanks again, Grayson. Nice to finally meet you,” you accidentally blurt out the last part. Great, You just sounded like a crazy stalker.

Thankfully, Grayson just smiles. “Yeah, nice to meet you too.” You turn to walk away, but before you can move, Grayson puts his hand on your arm.

“Wait! Um... hey, I bet we could give you a ride home too.” Quickly, he adds, “you know, if you want.” 

“That would be awesome,” you say, and you can’t help the grin from spreading across your face. Grayson smiles back at you.

“Okay, cool. How about you just text me where you are at the end of the day, and me and E can meet up with you? Here,” he says, handing you his phone. “Can you put your number in?” You happily oblige, handing him back the phone, and he slides it into his back pocket.

“See you later, then,” you say, still smiling.

“Yeah, bye, Y/N,” he walks backwards for a few paces, looking at you, before turning around, disappearing into the crowd of other kids on their way to class. You turn in the opposite direction to your first class. 

After your first few classes, you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You check it, and to your surprise, you see a message from an unknown number:

Hey, Ethan is really craving fro yo for some reason. We could drop you off before if you want, but I just figured I’d ask. Do you want to get some fro yo with us?

Seconds, later, you get another text:

This is Grayson btw

You laugh, typing back a quick I’d love to! before heading to class, trying to contain your smile. You turn the corner of the hallway and run immediately into an angry-looking Lauren. 

“Oh, hey, dude,” you say a bit nervously.

“Hi?” Lauren replies, sounding expectant of something, but you were lost. 

“What?”

Lauren looks exasperated as she whisper-yells, “You got a ride with the Dolan twins  this morning?!”

“Oh, uh... yeah,” you mumble. While you had never been openly obsessed with them, Lauren would talk about them with anyone who would listen.

“...And when did you plan on telling me about this?”

You felt terrible, because you really should have told her when you saw her in class earlier. You knew this was exactly how she would react. “I wanted to! I dunno, I guess I just felt kinda weird and I didn’t want other people hearing us talk about it. I’m sorry.” The truth was, you wanted to keep that morning your little secret because it had felt special and important to you, for a reason you didn’t think others could understand. 

“That’s true. I didn’t even think about that,” Lauren says, cracking a smile. Whew. She wasn’t mad.

Suddenly, a though occurred to you. “Wait, how did you even know about that?” you ask.

Lauren’s small smile turns into a devilish grin, as she says, “Well, I may have done a little bit of eavesdropping on Ethan this morning.” You shoot a confused look at her, and she continues, “He was talking to one of his buddies in the class I have with him, and he was talking about how they picked you up that morning. I also  heard that a certain Grayson Dolan has a ‘thing’ for Y/N,” she says, using air quotes. As soon as she says your name, you feel your stomach flip in a mixture of excitement and fear. 

“What?” you exclaim, “Why would he do that? I mean, why me? I don’t even talk to him!” You didn’t know why you were questioning this, but you were.

“Dude! Don’t question it, just go with it!” she yells back.

“Well, actually,” you say. This time, it’s you with the evil grin on your face. “Grayson invited me to get fro yo with him. And Ethan.”

“DUDE!” she yells, which earns a shh! from a nearby teacher. “Sorry,” Lauren says. “You have to tell me about this at lunch,” she says, already walking away. “Go to class!” she yells, waving. You smile, shaking your head and waving back, as you walk in the opposite direction.

After filling in your  best friend on your after-school plans with the Dolan twins, you feel the nerves begin to kick in. What were you guys even gonna talk about? Do you have anything in common? What if it’s awkward? You can’t stop yourself from overthinking for the rest of the day, even as you meet up with Ethan and walk to his car. You didn’t feel as nervous around him as you did with Grayson, who you could now see waiting by the car. The rain had basically stopped by now, and the sun was peeking out from behind the clouds. 

“You guys ready to go?” Grayson asks, looking up from his phone. 

You and Ethan both yell an excited, “Yeah!” and get in the car. You watched from the back as Grasyon slid into the driver’s seat. As you rode in the car with the two boys, you couldn’t believe you had been so nervous. The boys were so naturally kind and down-to-earth, and they made sure to always include you in their conversation. In the short ride to the fro yo place, the three of you talked mainly about school - homework, which teachers you all hated, and which ones you liked. Your conversation continued as you arrived and began to fill up your cups. In your conversation, you discovered that the three of you all liked the same football team, which caused the guys to yell excitedly.

“I knew it!” Grayson yells, huge grin on his face. “Everyone else like the fucking Eagles,” he says. Both he and Ethan look disgusted at the mere mention of their name. 

“Oh my God, you’re so right,” you giggle. “They win one Superbowl, and suddenly they’re the best team in the league? Yeah, tell that to the Steelers’ six rings,” you laugh, leaning back in your chair. 

“Exactly!” Ethan yells, “Dude, you’re, like, my best friend,” he laughs, glancing at Grayson before turning back to you. You look at Grayson, who is simply looking at you with a satisfied smile on his face. 

The three of you had ended up sitting there for almost three hours, just talking and laughing. The boys dropped you off at your house, yelling, “See you tomorrow!” You waved back as you opened your front door and stepped inside. You guys had made a deal so that, whenever it was raining, the boys would give you a ride to school, but you had to get fro yo with them after school. You couldn’t see a downside to that deal. 

About half an hour later, after you had taken a shower and were beginning to work on your homework, you get a text. You feel your heart skip a beat as you read Grayson’s name at the top of the thread:

I had so much fun today omg

You smile, typing out a response:

Me too!! can’t wait to do it again

A few minutes later, your phone dings again:

Yeah me too! Maybe we could go sometime this week, just the two of us

You smiled, typing out a reply:

That sounds great to me!

There was so much you had to tell Lauren tomorrow. 

[totallyrhettro]

Territorial, chapter 18

Word Count: 2151 Rating: This chapter: PG-13. Overall story rating: explicit Warnings: Forced Human Captivity Summary: After finally realizing their shared love for one another, all internetainers Rhett and Link had to do was live happily ever after. Unfortunately, as it turns out, that’s a lot harder to do in a world of werewolves. Notes: Takes place 1 year after Animalistic began. Still no wives; Rhett and Link are in an established relationship. This is a sequel to that fic. You don’t have to read that first, but it is highly recommended.

Also available on a03

First Chapter Previous Chapter

Link pulled up to the trailer home early in the afternoon. He’d seen similar places in the backwoods of North Carolina; A single wide with rusted aluminum siding and broken out windows. Never before had he ever felt so apprehensive about approaching a house back home, however. Now he was feeling vaguely terrified. There was also the strong sense of choicelessness. He needed to find Rhett and this was the only way to do that.

Here on this middle-of-nowhere road, well outside of the city limits, Link wasn’t even sure he’d be able to get cell service to call for help if anything happened. It looked like something out of a horror movie and it took him a few minutes to build up enough courage to get out of the car. Even then he took very slow steps up to the front door, scared that a crazy man with a double barrel shotgun was going to come out shooting at any second.

Stepping over the cracked stone path, and up the metal steps to the door, he knocked with some confidence. The door shook with every hit, shaking off dirt and dust from the slanted roof. After a minute or so there still was no answer. Twice more he knocked; he didn’t seen any sign of a doorbell. Finally he tested the door. It wasn’t locked. Desperate and impatient, he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

“Hello?” he called out into the darkened room. The stench of old takeout, dirty dishes, and general dampness permeated the space, stinging Link’s nostrils. Under it all there was a distinct scent of dog… no, something bigger. Maybe to a human’s untrained nose it was dog, but Link knew better. This was werewolf. The whole place reeked of it in the worst way. He couldn’t tell how recently, but someone had been staying here. “Anyone here?”

A creek in the floorboards, a flash of beige and before Link could say another word he was thrown against the open door. Acting on instinct, he pivoted towards the opening, ducking down and under a very large arm that was trying to pin him in place. He managed to get free, but he found himself stumbling out of the trailer, barely staying on his feet and eventually finding footing a yard away. Looking up he got his first real look at his attacker. It was Alistair.

“Fuck, man!” he exclaimed. “What the hell?”

“What are you doing here, Link?” Alistair demanded, like a parent about to scold a child. “You’ve got a lot of nerve showing up.”

“Theo sent me-”

“He said he was sending a friend over. Didn’t tell me it’d be you.” He backed off a little, but maintained a stance of dominance as he stared Link down. Sure he was only a few inches taller than Link, but he looked like he could bench press the trailer behind him without a second thought. “You better have a damn fine reason for coming here, Link.”

“It’s… it’s Rhett. He’s… Seth took him. At gunpoint,” he added.

“And you thought… what? That I could do something about it?”

“Max’s been shot!” At this, Allistair visually flinched, but he didn’t stop glaring. It was as if he didn’t want to be distracted from his tough guy routine.

“Is he alive?” There was a slight lilt to his voice, a crack in his veneer, and Link latched onto it.

“I… I don’t know. He’s in the hospital. Theo’s with him.” Link gave a heavy sigh and he slumped slightly. Almost as if that gave him strength, Alistair set his jaw again and stood taller.

“You see him get shot?”

“N-no, but I saw him… on the floor…”

“And now Rhett’s been taken.” It wasn’t a question. “I told you. I told you, Link. You can’t hide from this war. Now you’re just like the rest of us. Now you’ve lost someone too.” That did it. Something inside of Link snapped and he crossed the short distance between them with fire in his eyes. Pointing a finger right at the other man’s face, Link stood toe to toe with him.

“You don’t tell me that!” he shouted, his face red and furious. “You don’t get to just write off my best friend without even trying. He’s still alive, and you are going to fucking help me find him!” Alistair was taken aback for a moment, genuinely surprised at Link’s fury, but he wasn’t scared in the slightest. If anything, after Link’s outburst, he looked… cocky.

“Leave. Us. Alone,” he quoted. “Isn’t that what you said? I told you you’d have to deal with other wolves, and you brushed me off. I told you were in the middle of this shit, and you ignored me.” He shoved Link back, nearly knocking him to the ground, but with such ease it had to be just a fraction of his strength. “Well, way to wake up, buddy. Welcome to the party. Guess what? You’re on your own. You didn’t want to pick sides, fine. You’re not on our side, and we’re not on yours. You want your precious Rhett back, go fucking get him yourself. I have my own people to worry about.”

“But… I don’t…”

“Good luck.” Turning around, Alistair went to go back into the trailer. Link was hot on his heels. Rhett’s life was on the line. Damn if Link was going to leave here with nothing just because this guy wanted to be an asshole.

“Please,” he begged. “You have to help me. You just… you gotta.” Alistair turned to brush him off again, but Link continued. “I know you hate me. Fine. Do it for Rhett; He’s done nothing to you. Do it for Theo; he asked me to come to you. Do it for Max; Seth shot him. If anything do it because you hate the Lowells. I’m going to find Rhett and if any of the pack get in my way…” Alistair cocked an eyebrow, considering Link’s plea before letting out a sigh.

“The Lowells have a hide-away house just north of Twin Lakes. I don’t know where, exactly,” he added, before Link could get too excited. “I never found it, but I know that’s where he likes to take people before he… before he makes them disappear.” It was better than nothing. Now, at least, Link had a starting point.

“Thank you.” He meant it.

“Don’t thank me,” Alistair told him. “Just make them pay for what they did. Make them sorry they ever fucked with our friends.”

“I promise.” Link would make sure of it.

~ ~ ~

The cage was solid. Rhett searched every inch of it’s bars and ceiling for a weak spot or a way out without any luck. The entire thing was bolted securely into the concrete floor, so even if he was strong enough to lift the heavy structure, that wasn’t an option. The rest of the basement was almost entirely bare; a single cabinet on the far side stood too far away to reach and the window behind him was too small to squeeze through. Even then the glass was reinforced with steel bars. The walls were made of old stonework, solid and impenetrable. This was a dungeon, a prison pure and simple, design to hold the most dangerous of creatures, the wildest of animals.

Maybe he was still exhausted from the whole ordeal, or maybe it was just because there wasn’t anything else to do, but after completing his inspection of his cage, Rhett laid down and slept. It was a few hours later when his jailor reemerged.

“I hope you’re hungry,” Caleb chirped. Rhett couldn’t tell if the man’s enthusiasm was real or faked, but he didn’t really care. Sitting up he saw his captor standing before him, tray in hand. “Made you something to eat, as promised.” As he knelt down, Caleb placed the metal tray onto the concrete floor about a foot away from the cage. A silver cloche sat in the middle and a bowl of water sat beside it. With a short flourish, he removed the cloche revealing a large plate of what appeared to be gravy-coated meat. It smelled horrible.

“What is that?” Rhett asked before he could stop himself. Caleb smirked as he straightened up. Taking the folding chair off the wall he set it up right in front of Rhett and sat down before talking again.

“I’m not like Seth, you know,” he began. Rhett held his tongue, but he found the statement rather obvious. If Caleb wanted to talk, he wasn’t going to interrupt. “Seth hates mutts… all of you. You know he… he’s obsessed with… with pure bloodlines.” Shaking his head, Caleb leaned back, his eyes looking into the past, or just anywhere that wasn’t in this basement. “Pointless, really, but whatever. Me? I respect the mutts, the rogues, the wild ones. I really do. You’re all so much more in touch with the wolf.”

“Like you?” Rhett asked, during a long pause. Caleb looked over at him, seeming to have forgotten for a moment that he wasn’t alone. Then he smiled that bone-chilling smile.

“Yeah, like me,” he agreed. “Members of the pack here believe we’re more… evolved than mutts. Definitely more than humans, sure, but… than mutts? Mutts are so much more intuned with nature, becoming one with their true selves. If it was up to Seth, well… he’d wipe you all out. Every last one of you.”

“Not you, though?”

“Hell, no. If Seth wants to make the bloodline more pure, who’s more werewolf than a mutt? His humanity is constantly tested, the wolf always trying to get out. It’s a fight, a pure internal conflict. Purebloods? They’ve all been trained since birth to calm the beast, to…” He swirled his hands around, trying to find the right words to explain. “They don’t let it take control. They treat it like a pet, not like the wild animal it is. The wolf is a majestic creature that deserves to be treated with the respect it deserves. Know what I’m saying?” Of course, Rhett nodded in agreement.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. You want more mutts in your pack?”

“Absolutely. There’s quite a few already in the pack. Does that surprise you?” Caleb added, seeing the confusion on Rhett’s face. “The days of the mighty wolf houses are all but gone, my friend. Nowadays the pack will take anyone willing to play by the rules. Of course, the alternative is… well…” With a chuckle, he gestured towards the cage.

“Your way or the highway, huh,” Rhett surmised.

“That’s how Seth likes to run things. Sure many folks join the pack genuinely wanting to, knowing it’s safer in numbers, or realizing that it’s better than going it alone. Still, some don’t want to join up, and then they we have to teach him there really isn’t a choice.” Standing up, Caleb pushed the tray forward with his feet, right up to the edge of the cage. “You live in the pack, or you die like a dog.”

“Nice to know I have options,” Rhett mumbled, eyeing the food with suspicion. Caleb ignored his comment, walking over to the controls on the cage’s ceiling. With a grunt, he turned the crank and lowered the spikes down another foot. Everything settled into place with a clang and Rhett couldn’t help but flinch. It was way too close, even with him sitting down.

“Eat up, or don’t,” Caleb said, sauntering back to his chair, picking it up and putting it away. "Not long now before sunset, my friend. You know, one good thing about being a pureblood, the moon doesn’t hold as much sway over us.” He pointed at the small window. “When the moon tells you to turn, you turn, and if you don’t tell us what we want to know…” He pointed at the spikes. “Those will make it very uncomfortable for your bigger self.” Rhett swallowed, finally understanding. The cage was cramped at best, sure, but he was human now. If he turned into his giant werewolf-self in here… He didn’t want to think about what those spikes would do to him, even with his regenerative powers.

“I don’t know where the mutts are,” he insisted. “I don’t!” Caleb shrugged, heading for the exit.

“I told you, I don’t really care.” His grin returned with a vengeance, broad and slightly demented. “It’s been far too long since I’ve had a guest down here. I’m eager to see how things turn out either way.” With that, Rhett was once again left alone in the dark cellar.

After a moment he poked the food, half out of curiosity and half out of real hunger. It took only a smidgen of taste to figure out it was dog food. He pushed it away in disgust. He wasn’t that hungry yet.

Next Chapter More fics

[im-basically-logan]

welcome back to the routine of me yelling about the latest sander sides vid! everything will be under the cut but just know there are obviously spoilers.

see you on the other side lmao

they all did that intro all at once???? damn!

MARCO 2.0 FOLKS!!! LOOK AT JOAN’S BEANIE!!!

ALSO KYLE DOING THE THING!!! FOR THE INTRO?? AMAZING!!!

thomas... what are you doing. also Joan’s line of thought is what i thought of first lmao

shoehorn

“... just how weird that was” indeed. look at the nerd risin on in tho!

“feeling it...”

Logan’s groan of frustration to thomas saying “motivated” is a big mood

“now you’re just pandering to my fondness for being told that im right” lmaoooo

logan’s sass is great

i love logan too, thomas

DECEIT HE’S BACK AT IT AGAIN

S L I M E Y B O Y

deceit flipped them off jdkshgjkfdhs

i sure hope he doesnt excrete slime jfc

they actually looked at the painting on the wall omfg. logan being confused by it’s abstract look is hilarious imo

existentialism ACTIVATED

DUSHGJKFDLS THE SIDES ACTUALLY PULL EACH OTHER UP TO SUMMON THEM OH MY GOD

when they were trying to get virgil to come out?? roman was literally pulling him omfggg why

also patton and logan just sorta told him to come out but pulling could still be a thing in that regard but rOMAN TUGGED ON HIM

back on topic--”YOU PULLED MY HAIR”

roman back at it again with the weird phrases!

“I would talk about you in another room” “...fair enough”

YESAAAAAAHH UNDERSTATEMENT MUCH

roman’s facial expressions are amazing

“i think you’re just being a jerk” hgjksd roman’s pouty face lmao

I LOVE TERRENCE’S HANDWRITING??? A LOT???

yay roman complimented logan!!!

“myth of the great manbaby” what the hell roman

when you break the fourth wall column and make everyone uncomfortable

i love the drawing things for roman’s thinking. he is creativity after all

the thing about financial perception is great-- i love listening to logan talk kgdfhgkdfl give us a podcast. (jk jk)

THOMAS TALKING ABOUT THE WITCHER 3 YES

the fact that logan indirectly acknowledges he’s a nerd lmaooo

virgil spawning in and saying “i’m listeninnnnng”

“hi virgil” “sup thomas”

ngl roman, that idea is pretty... bad sorry

“but you just called me a little bratty baby--” “A- DUB DUBGFBBFJK THOMAS”

I LOVE LISTENING TO LOGAN TALK ABOUT EXISTENTIALISM AND QUOTING ALAN MOORE

“holy sh-” THOMAS

is aunt patty a real person??

constantly circling the answer lmao

windshield of diamond...? i mean diamonds can be clear but-

“we’re talking about a car, not a horse” lo... logan it’s a metaphor

“i hope you know that my agreeing to a point i made is not a win for you”

once again i love the little animations

thomas playing an elongated word association game is me tbh

“a.. scripted series” “nods in agreement” KJEHGJDFK THE FOURTH WALL HAS BEEN DESTROYED

WHAT IS ROMAN’S FACE AT 12:00????

nexus... instrument??? oh wait nvm

“quixotic, quarreling. quaaaaaaaaaaaah” and the little shake as he said “im not good at nicknames” lmao

circadian rhythm? who’s she???

ok listen i know logan is right about the sleeping schedule but also??? no?? thanks??

“but twitter!” “tumblr?” “tinder?” “twinster!” JDFKJDS

“my twin kinda looks like you, logan!” REALLY ROMAN?

and then all the remy fans went insane...

“copulating” LOGAN

pancake and pillow fights jffkhgsf

tHOMAS DONT FIGHT PEOPLE WITH PANCAKES-

“BRO-gan” JDSKHASJK didnt thomas say that in a tweet lmao

“okay dad” “y’called?”

“love you patton” “love you thomas”

“BUT A BIG MEAL MAKES ME SLEEPY” oh jeez i’ve never tried doing that and i probably wont-- thanks logan lol

“this snack over here is wondering if you’re finished or not!” roman..?? what??

i love logan’s face when he’s about to start rambling again lmao

i just noticed the amazing sound design for the handwriting effects, kudos to you guys!!

ROMAN NO IT’S NOT-- IT’S NOT ALCOHOL YOU FOOL

“shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots, shots i endorse, are vaccines” agreed but also logan n o

look at his face tho he looks sorta proud of himself

“why are you drinking... out of a blender” "this is the biggest container that i have” th-thomas..??? my god lmao

“but how is it good for you?” “how?” logan is slytherclaw tbh

“CORN! ... to eat”

nice pie chart

roman’s face at 16:06 is a mood

“and health...! facts!”

logan being a literal encyclopedia is amazing... also fairly robotic wouldnt you say (hahaha)

but also roman brushing his teeth immediately after dlsjgdfkl

roman throwing a little temper tantrum lmaooo

“elms need tending..”

i like to think roman just has imagery dancing around for thomas and logan to see in his hand or smth. or he’s awkwardly projecting it idfk

17:43 logan is a mood (i say this a lot bear with me)

once AGAIN! I LOVE THE ART STYLE OF THE ANIMATED PARTS!!!

roman, sorry buddy, but shakespeare plagiarized a lot of things and frankly i believe thats a big no no for you? (remember the originality episode oof)

“FORGET SLEEP” same roman

“then you will care for your friends more than they have ever been cared for in their. entire. LIFE” “yES”

THE CLICHE WESTERN MUSIC JDKF

“i dont know the meaning of the word...” “it means ridiculous” “oh really?” ROMAN??? HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW THAT?

all the other times logan has used preposterous just went over his head????

hasnt roman USED the word preposterous?????

mANTICORE CHIMERA?? OKAY THEN

i go straight to logan’s thinking. roman get the heck out of there? dont fight a chimera with a broken leg plz

“how can you be teaching me so many things but also be so wrong today?” WOW ROMAN LMAO

20:09 Logan...ok listen, somebody just send me a bunch of screenshots of their faces in this video plz

NJKDSFFSJAHKS I LOVE HOW THEY PUT PATTON AS THOMAS’ DAD IN THE FAMILY TREE

“pardon me while i laugh! .... ha” ok the motions before he “laughed” looked oddly like deceit...

ROMAN WIGGLES A LOT

hello yes?? can we get a sander sides soundtrack??? the music while logan explains the worth of living is great

“uber yawn” im sorry roman, w h a t

“rOMAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA-” y’gonna... stop....?

ok there we go

DID LOGAN JUST CALL ROMAN A PREP FJKDSHGJFDHK

aww logan’s little smirk

“that sounds cool..” roman is such a dork jkdshfs

DING DING DING IT’S THE LOGINCE TRAIN. also! i want the music SO BADLY

logans little bounce at 23:43 gives me life

awww they’re getting along

the next video thomas was hinting at... the puppet show

also i would’ve mentioned this earlier but i forgot but I THINK THATS A NEW SHIRT? :O

MOXIETY MOMENT!!!

“every dog has it’s day” Virgil: patton n o

“may the force be with you” lmao

patton sounds oddly... solemn? it just sounds slightly lower than patton’s usual voice??? i dunno im reading into things

take it easy guys, gals, and nonbinary pals!

we’re at the end! im so proud of thomas, talyn, and joan! amazin as usual. Also best wishes to Joan’s recovery. they better rest after this

[unnatural-humanity]

The Advertisement of my Life Part 8

Summary: Jared and the reader announce your relationship during the Christmas festivities at Jensen and Danneel’s.

Genre: Fluff, Lil’ bit of angst

Characters: Jared Padalecki, Reader, Jensen, Danneel, Misha, Vicky, Mark S., Sarah

Pairing: Jared x Reader

Word Count: 1.2k Words

Warnings: none

A/N: Jared and Gen are divorced (nothing against Gen, I love her, I just couldn't find different reason)

Tags: @pretty-fortune​ @smoothdogsgirl​

2 months later -  Christmas Eve 2016 This year we spend Christmas at Jensen and Danneels house in Malibu, because Danneel had just given birth to their wonderful twins and travelling with two newborns just wasn’t possible. Joining us were also Misha with his family and Mark with his wife Sarah and daughter Isabella. It was a lovely evening. Because of the mild temperatures outside, there wasn’t any snow in sight but we made the best out of it. The kids were playing under the big Christmas tree and the adults were sitting and chatting. Jared and I had decided that this would be the perfect moment to tell everybody. 

“Hey”, Jared tipped with the side of his knife against his wine glass to gain the attention of everyone,”I have to tell you something. Or better, we have to tell you something. Y/N and I are together.” “Should this be a surprise?”, Misha asked cautiously. “You knew?” I was surprised. I thought we were discreet. “It was quite obvious, Y/N/N”, Mark said with a friendly smile. “Oh, okay then.” I was baffled. Have we really been that obvious? The conversation went on and leant against Jared's chest, intertwining my fingers with his. Later that evening, the kids were sleeping and Jared and I were sitting on the couch in front of the tree. My legs were in his lab, suddenly he pulled my face to him and gave me a loving kiss. “Merry Christmas, darling.” And right in this moment I heard the sound of a camera behind us and jerked apart staring at Misha who was standing right behind us. “Sorry but this was just too cute.” Misha held his smartphone so that we could see the picture he had taken. “Send me that, could you? We haven't made it public yet.” Just minutes later our relationship was announced on twitter and Instagram. “Come on Misha, let that two lovebirds have their privacy”, a deep, soft voice with a British accent said. I could hear the smile on Mark’s face. We sat there quite a while, just talking. Jared played with red hair as I told him detailed about my late bunnies. I wasn’t sure if he was listening or not but it was nice just to talk, being alone together. I don’t know how late it was but at some point, I had to have fallen asleep. I could feel two arms lifting me up and carried me upstairs and laying me down on a soft, comfortable bed. A few minutes later the mattress under me shifted and Jared laid down next to me, pulling me into his strong arms. “I love you Y/N”, he muttered into my soft hair.

Next morning - Christmas Day 2016 The soft tickles of the sun rays woke me the next morning. During the night I somehow landed on top the sheets, but still trapped in Jared’s arms. Slowly, trying not to wake him I climbed out of our bed and made my way downstairs. “Morning, Sunshine”, Jensen greeted me with a big smile. “Morning.” Yawning I rubbed my eyes, embracing the cup of coffee he handed me. With closed eyes, I took the first sip and nearly moaned as the hot brew touched my tongue. “So good?” “Jensen, you’re the God of coffee.” “Thanks”, he chuckled and flipped the pancakes over. “Anyone else awake?”, I asked still sleepy. “Just you and me-”, a small whine came out of one of the baby monitors, “-and the baby's.” His chin fell on his chest and he put down his own cup of coffee. “I can go. If it’s okay for you, of course.”, I quickly offered. “Nah. I’ll go. Just keep an eye on the pancakes.” And with this words the rushed out of the room to his kids. I picked up the flipper and made sure nothing got burned. “Here you are”, a deep voice behind me rumbled. Without turning around I knew it was Jared. The sound of naked feet on the ground told me that he has stepped behind. He rested his chin on top of my head and wrapped one arm around my waist and grabbed Jensen’s coffee with the other. “Twitter went bonkers last night, you know?”, a British voice behind us said. Jared flinched and nearly spilt his coffee all over himself and me. “Geez Mark! You can’t just creep up to people like that!”, I exclaimed. “What do you mean ‘Twitter went bonkers’? The good or the bad kind?” “‘Oh Chuck, they are so cute together’ ‘Good luck you two!’ ‘I’m glad he’s happy!’ Should I go on?”, he quoted twitter. “Th-” “Are you seriously drinking my coffee?”, Jensen cut me off mid-word. With one of the twins, I could never say who was who, in his arms, he stared at his best friend who swallowed the last sip. “Sorry, buddy.” With an apologizing smile, he shrugged his shoulders. “Daddy?” We all turned around to see Tom standing behind Jensen, with bare feet, his teddy bear in one hand. "Hey, Tom.” Jared crouched down and opened his arms to pick his oldest son up, “What are you doing out of bed little man?” “You and Y/N/N weren’t in your bed. I’m thirsty daddy.�� “How about Y/N/N makes you a glass of water and I wake Shep and the others? Because I could swear Santa has already been here!” The little one nodded and Jared sat him down on the counter.

Soon the others were awake and the kids had attacked the gifts. I sat with Vicky, Danneel and Sarah on the couch, watching our boys playing. “Daddy! That’s for you!”, Thomas handed his father a sealed, red envelope with a green, velvet bow tied around it. “Where did you found that Tommy?”, Jared asked his oldest son. "Can’t say.” Tom grinned and took off to play with JJ and Jensen. Confused Jared looked at me and opened the envelope. As his gaze fell on the four pieces of paper his eyes widened, with two steps he had reached me and lifted me up my to my feet. “You bought plane tickets?” “Yes.” "Why?” "To meet my family, we have this big family tradition, every year on Easter, we meet at my grandparent's house and celebrate together. I took that as an opportunity to meet everyone, and before you ask”, as had opened his mouth to interrupt me,”I have already talked to Robert, he is okay with you leaving for a week and a half.” “You- you want me to meet your family?”, his Adam's apple bobbed as he gulped nervously. I took his hand and led him into the kitchen for a little more privacy. ″Yes, of course, but I you don’T want to, I can always cancel the flight…” “No! No, I want to meet your family, I’m just not sure if I fit in. What if they don’t like me? What if they don’t understand me?-” “Jared, listen” I interrupted his rambling and searched his gaze, “They will love you! And if they don’t, it doesn't matter, because I do! I love you, Jared Tristan Padalecki! And I always will! Besides, the only ones that don’t speak English are my parents, grandparents and the kids.” He hesitated but eventually gave in. “Okay, I’ll come with you!” Squealing with excitement I threw my arms around his neck and kissed him passionately.

[vincentvelour]

The Economic Effects of Missing Out on the World Cup

The Economic Effects of Missing Out on the World Cup

11/20/2017

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        By John Bostwick, Managing Editor, Radius

  When sports fans or commentators say a game is “meaningless” they usually mean the game’s outcome will have no bearing on either team’s chances of qualifying for, or improving their seeding in, a postseason playoff tournament. In at least one sense, it’s absurd to say a particular game has less “meaning” than another simply because it won’t affect the teams’ respective future schedules. After all, one game in a professional league is much like any other — it consists of athletes competing against each other in front of spectators. What difference does it make if there are no playoff implications?

  For one thing, most fans don’t spend time and money on games for the pure enjoyment of watching technically accomplished athletes. They have rooting interests and want their teams to win leagues and championships. Maybe more significantly, a game without playoff implications is the rough equivalent of a stock with no potential for growth. A professional or revenue-generating college team that fails to qualify for future games — whether in a league playoff or in a tournament sanctioned by a body such as the NCAA or FIFA — has invariably forfeited monetary incentives, sponsorship opportunities, gate and TV revenues, reputational enhancement and other economic benefits. In that light, calling a game with no postseason implications “meaningless” is justifiable.

  Unfortunately for the US men’s national soccer team players, coaches, administrators, fans, commentators, sponsors and many other interested parties, the team will (arguably) not play in another meaningful game for nearly two years. The team’s 2-1 loss to the small twin-island nation of Trinidad and Tobago last month — which Sports Illustrated writer Grant Wahl called “the most surreal and embarrassing night in US soccer history” — knocked the US out of the World Cup for the first time since 1986. The economic consequences of the team’s on-field failure will be significant and long-lasting.

  If there are any US readers out there still laboring under the misapprehension that the World Cup isn’t a massive economic engine, consider this: Every four years since 1998, the venerable American finance behemoth Goldman Sachs has published e-books called “The World Cup and Economics.” The most recent edition, published a couple of months before the 2014 World Cup in Brazil, notes that soccer is almost certainly “the world’s most popular sport,” with over 250 million regular participants in more than 200 countries.

  The World Cup finals tournament has mirrored the sport’s popularity and growth, as well as reflected economic globalization. The first World Cup took place in 1930, with 13 participants. (Shockingly given our unimpressive national soccer history, the US actually came in third in that tournament behind Uruguay and Argentina.) The World Cup now has 32 teams, a nearly threefold increase that according to Goldman Sachs speaks to the world economy’s growing interconnectedness.

  A good measure of this interconnectedness, the report says, “is the size of goods exports, which have increased from less than US$30 billion in the 1930s to more than US$22,000 billion” at the time of the report. The report predicted that “the same market forces that are driving up exports are also likely to push for a larger representation of teams, especially as African and Asian nations increase their presence on the global stage.” The report’s authors were prescient. Earlier this year, FIFA announced its decision to expand the World Cup to 48 teams, starting with the 2026 tournament.

  While the expanded pool may dilute each qualifying nation’s economic benefits, the benefits will certainly remain substantial for many interested parties. Those benefits are perhaps most glaring when they fail to materialize against expectations, as happened with the US this year. The two most prominent economic losers following the US’s surprise failure to qualify are the US Soccer Federation (USSF) and the Fox television network.

  The New York Times reports that the USSF’s revenue spiked from about $76 million to $102 million in 2014, an increase largely due to the men’s “national team game revenue, sponsorship and licensing, directly related to participation in the [2014] World Cup.” Forbes points out that the USSF won’t receive the $12.5 million each team gets from FIFA for qualifying for the 2018 tournament, and will miss out on “gate revenue and TV rights fees from pre-World Cup friendly matches.” NPR says that the USSF will “also likely … lose tens of millions of dollars in potential sponsorship deals, merchandise sales and television licenses.”

  There are additional possible negative ramifications for the USSF that are impossible to quantify. NPR notes that the US’s failure to qualify could affect the already dubious reputation of US soccer and its players, diminishing the USSF’s ability to schedule lucrative friendly games with high-drawing national teams such as Brazil and Germany. More generally, a failure to qualify is a missed opportunity to create new soccer fans and players in a country that still has huge untapped markets.

  In addition, players with dual citizenship may be less inclined to tie themselves to the US national team. For about two decades now, the US has been considered a lock to qualify for World Cups out of FIFA’s relatively weak CONCACAF confederation. I’ll mention one example of a player who (almost certainly) chose to play for the US due to the high probability it would qualify for all the World Cups over the course of his playing career. During the last World Cup cycle, US-born, Iceland-raised Aron Johannsson chose the US national team over Iceland’s, a decision that enraged Iceland’s football association. Despite the controversy in Iceland, Johannsson’s choice seemed like a rock-solid career move at the time. Predictably, the US qualified for the 2014 World Cup and Iceland didn’t.

  Things have changed. Almost incredibly, not only did the US fail to qualify for next year’s World Cup, tiny Iceland punched its ticket, doing so out of UEFA, considered one of FIFA’s most competitive confederations (also called associations). In any case, if dual nationals become less inclined to choose the US team in the wake of its recent failure to qualify, and after hearing stories like Johannsson’s, then the US talent pool, and by extension the USSF’s economic potential, will diminish.

  As for the other big economic loser, Fox, it has been widely reported that the network paid over $400 billion for the English-language broadcasting rights to the 2018 and 2022 World Cups, outbidding among others ESPN. InvestorPlace reports that Fox and the Spanish-language Telemundo together paid over $1 billion for the US TV rights. That sum is more than double what ESPN and Univision paid for rights to the 2010 and 2014 World Cups. InvestorPlace believes “the failure of the team to qualify for the biggest event in soccer will hurt viewership” for Fox, though Telemundo “might not get impacted by the elimination of the United States,” given its viewers’ rooting interests, which tend not to include the US team. InvestorPlace observes that Fox’s reduced viewership will “result in lower ad revenues, which in turn might affect [Fox’s] profitability.”

  Other sources make similar points about Fox’s situation. Sports Illustrated is particularly emphatic, saying: “Hyperbole is the drug of choice these days in the sports media but the [US’s failure to qualify] is a disaster for Fox Sports. Disaster. That is the correct word.” The Times article I mentioned quotes a Fox executive who indicates that while Fox has already sold about three quarters of its sponsorship deals, the absence of the US in the World Cup may result in Fox’s failure to “meet its ratings guarantees it gave to advertisers,” and it may hamper the network’s ability to promote Fox programming during World Cup broadcasts. Others point out that Fox has already suffered from the US’s on-field failure. Yahoo notes that the day after the Trinidad and Tobago loss, shares of Twenty-First Century Fox Inc. fell 2.5 percent.

Countless corporations, small businesses and individuals stand to lose money from the US missing out on the World Cup. Tweet this

Alongside these two stakeholders, there are countless other corporations, small businesses and individuals that stand to lose money from the US missing out on the 2018 World Cup. The US’s fledgling but fast-growing top-tier soccer league, Major League Soccer, employs the majority of US players called up during the most recent qualification cycle. MLS will take a global reputational hit from the national team’s failure and may not see the increase in attendance you’d expect following a World Cup. The Washington Post notes that the league is experiencing a “sponsorship boom” that may be driven in part by popular interest in the US national team and the US’s bid to host the 2026 World Cup. But with the US out of the World Cup picture for now, the Post says that “MLS could see growth of sponsorship revenue slow.”

  There are other obvious losers, such as Nike, the US team’s jersey sponsor. Less than two weeks before the US’s shock loss to Trinidad and Tobago, the company, or anyway a designer named Franco Carabajal, leaked a photo of the US’s “potential” 2018 World Cup uniform. I’m not sure what the fate of that particular design will be (my hope is that it’s buried forever), but whatever jersey Nike and US Soccer release next it will be a modest seller during the 2018 World Cup.

  As an Italian politician observed in a Bloomberg article on the Italian national team’s own shocking failure to qualify, non-participation in a World Cup “is not only about missed advertising sales, television rights and merchandising related to the event…  There is much more to it, including the missed sales for travel operators organizing holiday packages to Russia, let alone the turnaround of betting companies and of bars and restaurants across the country during the matches.”

  While soccer is not nearly as culturally important in the US as it is in Italy, many businesses will suffer at home and abroad. The Yahoo article points out that “American fans have attended the World Cup in droves recently — more than 200,000 tickets for [the 2014] games in Brazil were purchased by US residents.” Of course, many Americans root for non-US national teams and will still book tickets for next year’s World Cup, but the share of American tourists and dollars going to Russia will be far lower than it would have been had the US qualified.

  Consider also small US-based businesses. A local Fox news website in Michigan quotes the owner of SpeakEZ Lounge in Grand Rapids, who estimates the effects of the US’s non-participation this way: “Let’s say the US has three [World Cup] matches and goes out; that’s roughly $3,000 per bar per match. So, 30 bars in the West Michigan area that’s $270,000. That’s a conservative estimate. I would guess it’s actually $400,000 or $500,000 just in West Michigan for an economic impact.” Needless to say, bars in more populous soccer hotbeds like Brooklyn, Portland, Washington, DC and Seattle will take even larger hits.

  Then there are the players. The World Cup has the ability to create stars like no other athletic stage. Former US national team defender Alexi Lalas explained in a 2012 interview: “Personally, I lived the power of what a World Cup can do to an individual in the summer of 1994. The reason why I’m sitting here talking to you today is without a doubt because of what happened in that tournament. ... I’d like to think that because of that summer, I was given an incredible life to live.”

  Current US national team winger Christian Pulisic, only 19 years old but by most estimates already the team’s best player, seemed poised to become a global star during the 2018 World Cup. He was a standout throughout the final round of World Cup qualifying. He scored the only US goal against Trinidad and Tobago last month, and was one of the few American players to have a respectable performance in that game. After the final whistle he appeared distraught, no doubt realizing the loss’ implications better than anyone.

  Pulisic wrote about the experience last week for the Players’ Tribune. In the article he recalls watching on TV a 2014 World Cup goal by current US teammate Clint Dempsey: “it almost felt like that one moment changed the mood of the entire country. And it’s hard to put into words how powerful that is. … Which is why I feel so crushed that we won’t be giving people that feeling this summer.” I don’t think it’s cynical to note that Pulisic won’t only be deprived of proud and profound feelings by not playing in the 2018 World Cup. He also stands to lose millions of dollars in potential endorsements and salary increases, and he won’t get another shot to play in a World Cup until 2022 at the earliest.

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