#which is understandable considering he's two

[reasonsforhope]

"In Northern California, a Native American tribe is celebrating the return of ancestral lands in one of the largest such transfers in the nation’s history.

Through a Dept. of the Interior initiative aiming to bring indigenous knowledge back into land management, 76 square miles east of the central stretch of the Klamath River has been returned to the Yurok tribe.

Sandwiched between the newly-freed Klamath and forested hillsides of evergreens, redwoods, and cottonwoods, Blue Creek is considered the crown jewel of these lands, though if it were a jewel it wouldn’t be blue, it would be a giant colorless diamond, such is the clarity of the water.

Pictured: Blue Creek

It’s the most important cold-water tributary of the Klamath River, and critical habitat for coho and Chinook salmon. Fished and hunted on since time immemorial by the Yurok and their ancestors, the land was taken from them during the gold rush before eventually being bought by timber companies.

Barry McCovey Jr., director of the Yurok Tribal Fisheries Department, remembers slipping past gates and dodging security along Blue Creek just to fish up a steelhead, one of three game fish that populate the river and need it to spawn.

Profiled along with the efforts of his tribe to secure the land for themselves and their posterity, he spoke to AP about the experience of seeing plans, made a decade ago, come to fruition, and returning to the creek on which he formerly trespassed as a land and fisheries manager.

“To go from when I was a kid and 20 years ago even, from being afraid to go out there to having it be back in tribal hands … is incredible,” he said.

Part of the agreement is that the Yurok Tribe would manage the land to a state of maximum health and resilience, and for that the tribe has big plans, including restoring native prairie, using fire to control understory growth, removing invasive species, restoring native fish habitat, and undoing decades of land-use changes from the logging industry in the form of culverts and logging roads.

“And maybe all that’s not going to be done in my lifetime,” said McCovey. “But that’s fine, because I’m not doing this for myself.”

The Yurok Tribe were recently at the center of the nation’s largest dam removal, a two decades-long campaign to remove a series of four hydroelectric dams along the Klamath River. Once the West Coast’s third-largest salmon run, the Klamath dams substantially reduced salmon activity.

Completed last September, the before and after photographs are stunning to witness. By late November, salmon had already returned far upriver to spawn, proving that instinctual information had remained intact even after a century of disconnect.

Pictured; Klamath River flows freely, after Copco-2 dam was removed in California

“Seeing salmon spawning above the former dams fills my heart,” said Joseph L. James, chairman of the Yurok Tribe, the leaders of the dam removal campaign along with the Karuk and Klamath tribes.

“Our salmon are coming home. Klamath Basin tribes fought for decades to make this day a reality because our future generations deserve to inherit a healthier river from the headwaters to the sea.”

Last March, GNN reported that the Yurok Tribe had also become the first of America’s tribal nations to co-manage land with the National Park Service under a historic memorandum of understanding involving Redwoods National Park.

The nonprofit Save the Redwoods bought a piece of land adjacent to the park, which receives 1 million visitors annually and is a UNESCO Natural Heritage Site, and handed it over to the Yurok for stewardship.

The piece of land, which contained giant redwoods, recovered to such an extent that the NPS has incorporated it into the Redwoods trail network, and the two agencies will cooperate in ensuring mutual flourishing between two properties and one ecosystem.

Back at Blue Creek, AP reports that work has already begun clearing non-native conifer trees planted for lumber. The trunks will be used to create log jams in the creek for wildlife habitat.

Costing $56 million, the land was bought from the loggers by Western Rivers Conservancy, using a mixture of fundraising efforts including private capital, low interest loans, tax credits, public grants and carbon credit sales.

The sale was part of a movement called Land Back, which involves returning ownership of once-native lands of great importance to tribes for the sake of effective stewardship. [Note: This is a weirdly limited definition of Land Back. Land Back means RETURN STOLEN LAND, PERIOD.] Studies have shown around the tropics that indigenous-owned lands in protected areas have higher forest integrity and biodiversity than those owned by national governments.

Land Back has seen 4,700 square miles—equivalent to one and a half-times the size of Yellowstone National Park—returned to tribes through land buy-back agreements in 15 states." [Note: Since land buyback agreements aren't the only form of Land Back, the total is probably (hopefully) more than that.]

-via Good News Network, June 10, 2025

[dduane]

Peter Morwood

The original post about his loss is here.

Today, finally, after more delay than I'd have liked (but the reasons for it were understandable and I support them), I brought his ashes home. They're sitting up on his desk, in front of his computer. It seemed logical, considering how very much of his time he spent up there working (among other things) on his Tumblr posts. (And his queue is still unspooling.)

I miss him so much... but that's never going to change. My job now is to make sure that he's not forgotten, by getting his books into print into more than one or two languages: a project that's going to take a while, but which I welcome.

Meanwhile, thanks again to all of you who've sent your support via Ko-Fi and other methods. You're all in my heart every day: along with

[neilsbeloved]

the alchemy

summary: clark’s always been adamant on being private with his personal life. few friends, low profile, and a hushed relationship. he can’t understand why people would want to publicize everything about their life. that is until he sees you talking to one of the school’s football players.

pairing: quarterback!clark x student body president!fem!reader

tags: tooth rotting FLUFF, legally aged students making out, established secret relationships, clark being Whipped with a capital W, slightly insecure clark, emotionally mature reader, football descriptions, no use of y/n

The faint smell of donuts and caramel coffee fill the council office as you hear the soft click of the door lock. You turn around and you're immediately met with your boyfriend, clad in his plaid blue button-up longsleeve shirt, worn-out bag slung over his shoulders, and lips immediately placing a soft kiss on your cheek.

"Woah, woah, hold it there Farm Boy," you laugh, placing a hand right in the middle of his chest as his kisses quickly descended to your neck. The thought of him not actually locking the door haunted your mind.

"What?" He breathes. Still continuing his attacks on the column of your neck while carefully placing your food and beverage on your table. "I missed you."

With a little more effort on your push—which was exceptionally hard considering how much Clark has improved in terms of making you lose your mind—he finally pulls away. A bummed-out pout shaping his lips.

You smile even wider. Who knew the big friendly farm boy everyone walks all over on is actually the biggest grump when he doesn't get kisses?

No one, of course. Not one soul in Smallville High School knows because your relationship with Clark isn't even out to the public. Not even your closest friend knows about it—and you're sure his closest friends don't know either.

But it's been like that for three out of the on-going four years you two have spent in Smallville High and so naturally neither of you wanted to break the streak.

You run your head through his soft brown locks, giving him a sweet kiss on the lips. Clark's face immediately lights up, already pulling you off of the table you were leaning on to exchange positions. This time, he has a better view of the blank canvas that is your collarbone.

"Missed you," he repeated. "Brought you donuts and coffee from the Talon."

"Didn't know they did deliveries again." You humor him, grabbing the brown bag and pulling a donut out. Clark watched as you point the donut at him, urging him to take a bite. With his eyes locked in yours, he takes a slow and relaxed bite. You wipe the side of his mouth with your finger before taking your own bite. Groaning when the sweet taste of the glazed donut touches your tongue.

"They allow it for certain people." Clark plays along, nodding at you. His eyes wander to the gigantic bulletin board you had in the council office, seeing almost ten listed items now struck-off with a bright red marker. "Specifically people that are overworking themselves again."

You roll your eyes, rolling to his side as you grab the cup of coffee. "Who says I was? I just did my job."

"Babe, you aren't the only one on the council. You can't just cover for everyone's jobs just 'cause they aren't doing theirs," Clark replies, watching you eat.

"Says the one that always takes on Chloe's extra load," You retort with a sly grin. "You do know that the reason most of Chloe's writers are bailing on her is because they don't like her way of gathering her news, right?" You place down the coffee, still eating your donut as you place a hand on the one Clark had resting on the table.

Clark chuckles, "Chloe's my friend, what can I say? She's been like that since fifth grade."

"At least she's passionate about it. It's so rare to see someone so committed in their craft that I can't even deny whenever Chloe asks me for an exclusive… which, mind you, is almost seven times a week." You sigh, head subtly shaking.

"Weren't you the one that wanted somebody aside from me to interview you?" Clark furrows his eyebrows, putting on a thinking face. His eyes squint, "Something along the lines of not getting work done."

Your eyes roll back, finishing the glazed donut in your hand. "Yeah, 'cause I clearly remember how we spent twenty-five minutes eating each other's faces and five minutes actually answering questions."

You throw the crumpled brown bag to the trash bin from afar. You miss, badly, but Clark's quick to distract you from your lack of shooting skills by kissing you. Again.

"Let's shorten that twenty-five minutes then," he smiles into the kiss. Snaking his arm around your waist as he could still taste the sugary taste of the donut on your tongue.

The kiss was anything but sweet. It was full of hunger, desire… and something you can't quite pinpoint. Usually Clark has his own rhythm of sucking the air out of you but this time it's messy—all over the place. Like you'd disappear any moment now if he didn't move faster.

He doesn't mistake the very subtle jingle of door handle. He hears it crystal clear and yet, he doesn't pull away. When the sound registers in your ear, you pull away without a second to think.

You immediately grab a spare folder on the other table. Clearing your throat as you looked down on it, pretending to flip through the papers. Clark on the other hand looked directly at the student who came in.

It was Adam. The same guy he saw you with earlier.

"Oh—is this a bad time? I can come by later?"

"Actually," Clark begins but you cut him off.

"No, it's fine. Do you have a concern?" You ask directly. Putting on your professional mask as you looked at Adam by the door. Ignoring how you can actually feel Clark  glaring holes at the side of your face with his jaw clenched.

Adam stutters. Shifting from you to Clark, then back to you. "I, uh, I was wondering if there were any other tutors available? I'm kinda flunking Chemistry and I need to ace the upcoming test."

"Then study," you hear Clark mumble. It was a little louder than he had expected but who cares, obviously not him.

You inhale sharply, turning your head to the bulletin board for the tutoring sessions for the month. Your shoulders flunk when you see your name under the Chemistry border. The other one—Lana—was already done with her tutoring hours so it was only you left.

Your head turns to Clark. He had already seen the arrangement on the bulletin board, he was looking at you now to wait for your response to Adam's request.

"Uhm, you can take my slot. What time works for you?"

"Any time you're free." Adam smiles at you. Clark rolls his eyes.

You nod unenthusiastically. Taking the clipboard beside Clark and handing it to Adam. "You can write on the 4:30 PM row. I'll be at the library fifteen minutes prior to our schedule, and I can wait for you until quarter to five."

Adam happily writes his name, glancing up to see you and Clark exchanging looks. "Is he signing up for a tutoring class too?"

"No," the two of you say in unison.

Your eyebrows furrow slightly at Clark. The farm boy breathing deeply before he responds. "I'm asking about the, uh, football schedule," he looks at you for confirmation. When you nod approvingly, he does too. "Yeah, the football schedule."

"Oh… Well, shouldn't you be asking Coach Teague that?"

"How would you know?" Clark raises an eyebrow, sounding way sassier than you ever heard him speak. Adam looks at him with subtle surprise, masking it with a friendly smile. "Because I am in the football team?"

The air quickly shifts as Clark and Adam have a stare-down. Only broken off when you clear your throat. Adam reluctantly says goodbye, stepping out of the office with a wave directed to you.

When the door closes, you turn to Clark with your arms crossed. "What?" He groans. He knows that look all too well.

"Are you okay with me tutoring him?" You ask straightforwardly.

"Why wouldn't I be? You've tutored dozens of our classmates over the years." He shrugs. His hand slowly coming up to tug on the strap of his bag.

"You sure? 'Cause it's a yes or no question, Clark. I can have someone else cover for me if you don't want me to tutor him," you say genuinely. Brushing away the lock of hair that fell in front of his handsome face.

Clark's lips purse into a thin line as he nods, hands finding solace on your hips. "Yes, baby, I'm sure. Just… don't overwork yourself, okay? I don't want you gettin' tired from something that isn't even your job."

You bite back a smile, looking into his eyes with stars in yours while he pulls you in for a hug. Your head rests on his shoulder as you wonder to yourself—how exactly did I manage to score a man like this?

"Gotta go, Handsome. I'll see you back home," you give him a chaste kiss. Using every self-control you have not to respond to Clark's obvious attempts of deepening the kiss.

The first tutoring session you had with Adam was a quick one. Adam had a pretty solid foundation, he understood the concepts clearly, his only flaw was in his application of said concepts. Usually, he'd do well on the conceptual-based questions while also failing the problems connected to it.

One session wasn't going to cut it and so he booked you for four other sessions. All of which had a longer time frame, extending thirty minutes more from the usual one and a half hour long session. That only meant that you had to spend two hours with him every Tuesday and Thursday for two whole weeks.

Now if Clark didn't find it bothersome the first time, he definitely did now.

"So, uh, we still up for six later?" Adam leans on the locker next to years, smiling.

"Yeah, uh, sure. Of course. I'll see you at the library." You smile back. You quickly turn back to your locker and grab your things fast. Adam wasted no time diving into another subject.

"Oh, by the way, I—y'know, I really appreciate you being my tutor. I know you're juggling a lot of responsibilities and still, you never come to a session late and…" your eyebrow arches, waiting for him to finish. Thankfully, he takes the look in your face as a hint. "I was wondering if you'd let me treat you to a coffee? Just something after our session to show my thanks."

Your response arrives fast, without any hesitation. "No, Adam."

Adam gets caught off-guard by the firmness in your voice. He didn't expect you to say yes right away but he didn't exactly expect you to deny it in a split second too. He thought you'd at least think it over for a minute.

"Oh! But, it's, uh, y'know, coffee as friends. I'm not asking you out on a date," he laughs awkwardly but you could see right through him.

"I appreciate the thought, Adam, but no. If you have any questions about the lessons we're discussing, you can reach out to me—but anything else besides that, please do not." You breathe deeply. Eyes catching on the tall figure at the end of the hall, watching your encounter with Adam. "I have to go. I'll see you at the library."

You don't give Adam a second to respond, immediately slipping out of his sight only to find the end of the hall empty. No plaid-wearing farm boy in sight. You swallow on nothing, beginning to feel a thump in your chest.

It takes you some time of walking around to finally catch a glimpse of him. He was standing beside Chloe, visibly talking about something as they had laughs on their faces. You walk over to them, locking eyes with Clark in the process.

Just as you were about to walk by them—and possibly strike up some small talk—your shoulder gets nudged by your friends.

"Hey! We were looking all over for you! Did you hear the news?" Janet, your friend, says.

"What news?"

"Not so fresh meat just made it onto the roster. Rumor says he's starting quarterback," another friend, Rose, says. Her tone held a bit of bite to it, as if she didn't want him on the spot in the first place.

"Now that's a nice headline," a bright voice speaks. All three of you turning to the shaggy-haired blonde. "What d'you think, Clark? Not so fresh senior meat now starting quarterback. Kinda has a ring to me."

You tried to act naturally, chuckling at Chloe's words despite your friends glaring at them. Since he is the topic, you look at Clark. Eyes round and awaiting a response from him.

He doesn't respond though. He simply shrugs, looking at you like your were nothing before pulling Chloe away from probably stirring up a fight.

"That guy has some problems," Rose rolls her eyes, checking her nails carelessly.

"Yeah. He's already senior and he's only just tried out for football now? Damn. Talk about a late bloomer," Janet says high-fiving Rose.

"At least he's cute… right?" Janet turns to you.

"Huh?"

"Clark Kent. He's cute, right?" When Janet repeats her question, you felt something inside of you twitch. Janet's calling your boyfriend cute, and Rose's agreeing with her too. They're checking your boyfriend out. Shamelessly.

But you can't even worry about that now—your mind is filled with the way Clark looked at you moments ago. Like you were nothing. Like he hasn't met you even once.

Of course, you two hide your relationship to the school but there's always something unspoken of each time you look into each other's eyes. It's a comfort and a pleasure at the same time. A cozy blanket in the cold air. Hot chocolate every Christmas. Donuts and caramel coffee in hidden rendezvouses.

There were none of those when Clark looked at you earlier. You can't help but feel there's something wrong.

"Hey Mr. and Mrs. K! I was wondering if Clark was around?" You ask with a smile.

Your relationship with Clark may be a secret to everyone in Smallville, but his parents are a definite exception. Yours, not so much.

Jonathan and Martha share a look you recognize to be an apologetic one. "He's, uh, he's at the barn. He's been there since he got home." Martha answers with a strained smile.

You feel even weirder because Clark's parents have been nothing short of supportive. You two may have hidden the relationship from them for four months but they definitely enjoyed the idea of their son going out with you.

When you nod determinedly, turning around to head to said barn, Jonathan calls you. "Clark's, uh… you may want to be careful approaching him. He's a bit pent-up, with the football and stuff."

You nod. "Oh, of course! I'll be careful. Maybe he just needs a little cheer up." 

You head over to the barn in haste. Walking up the loft to see Clark with his head down, writing something in his notebook as a stack of textbooks sat beside it.

"Knock knock." You knock on the wooden rails, letting the sound resonate through the barn.

Clark looks up from his notebook, smiling the moment he registers it was you. But you notice his smile didn't quite reach his eyes. Still, you set that aside.

"What a surprise," he replies, voice clipped. "I thought you'd be slumped up with your council work and tutoring."

"And miss out an awesome opportunity to spend time with the charming plaid-wearing farm boy? Pftt, never," you drop yourself beside him. Propping your elbow up on the backrest as you turned your body towards him.

Clark chuckles, looking back down on the coffee table as he began writing again. You felt an even stronger twitch in your body when he does that—ignore you.

He may be tired, drained, or pissed off—but he had never gone through a second of seeing you without kissing you the moment the coast was clear. He'd always sneak in the quickest of kisses even though you two would get caught if he was slower by a millisecond.

"Clark, hey," you touch his shoulder. "I missed you."

His head keeps itself in place, "Missed you too, baby. How was your day?"

"Clearly not as harsh as yours has been. Wanna talk about it? I can spend the night…" you pause. "Oh, also, I heard you're starting quarterback! How'd that happen?"

"Did you now?" He laughs dryly.

The smile on your face falters, his tone felt like a bucket of ice was dumped on your head without your knowledge. He drops his pen, leaning back on the couch as he actually looks at you for the first time this night.

"Well, the previous one was injured. I stepped in." His answer is short and direct. His voice lacking the enthusiasm you're used to. "How about your day?"

You blink. Once. Twice. Thrice.

"Clark, what's the problem?"

Clark's eyes flicker up towards yours, hurt and anxiety evident in your pupils. He feels a tinge of guilt in his chest. Licking his lips, he reaches out for you only for you to pull away.

"Did I do something wrong?" You question. Though no matter how firm your voice was, Clark knew it was close to breaking.

"No, no, baby, you did nothing wrong—" Clark's voice rises as he panics. Fully reaching out to you so he can pull you to his chest. "It's… it's me, okay? I… I just—" he takes in a deep breath. "Don't you think it's time we made our relationship public?" 

It's clear that you were surprised with his question. The sharp inhale and your raised eyebrows gave it away no doubt. But why wouldn't you be? Not once has Clark ever thought about making your relationship public. In fact, he was the one that actually proposed it in the first place.

You tried your best to understand him though. "Is there a reason why you want to make our relationship public?"

"Babe, we've been hiding our relationship for three years. We started when we were sophomores, we're seniors now. No one can worry about us anymore. We're graduating in a few months—who cares by now?" This is the first time his voice actually held some energy to it. His hands intertwined with yours as he looks at you for approval.

"Clark, I know when you're lying," you say. Clark's throat bobbing up and down as he clenches his jaw. You place a hand on his cheek, your other hand running through his hair comfortingly, "You know you can tell me anything, Clark. Let's talk about this like adults."

It takes him a second to actually decide to speak, and another second to construct the words in his head. "I don't like how people still think you're single," he starts. "The guys talk about you, people in the hall talk about you… I hear so many promises from people that they'll ask you out either after the game or after graduation—regardless, I can't even respond. I can't tell them that you're my girlfriend because in the first place, no one knows about us—no one'd believe me." You feel his heart beat faster. The continuous thump underneath his chest makes your stomach flip as well.

"Call me selfish, but I can't take it when other people look at you and think that they can have you." His voice drops, hands tightening on yours.

"Like Adam?"

A scoff comes from him. "Yeah, like Adam. Have you even heard half of the stuff he says about you in the locker rooms?" Clark's voice raises. His sharp features straining furiously before he feels your hand tighten around his. It prompts him to raise your intertwined hands, kissing your knuckles. "It's nothing bad, baby, believe me. He wouldn't be walkin' straight if they were bad. It was just that he's so in his head that he actually thought he can take you out on a date."

"So this is about Adam?" You arch a brow, testing the waters. When Clark shakes his head, looking away to hide the smile on his face, you laugh. "Well, y'know, Farm Boy, he actually just asked me out earlier."

"I know. I heard."

"Then you also heard what I responded with?" Your lips widen slowly.

He sighs, turning his head back to you. "Yes, I did."

You smile at him. He returns it, ten times wider than yours. Your heart flips as the smile finally reaches his eyes—finally feeling right.

Quiet envelopes you both. A comfortable silence before you snuggle on his lap, resting your head on his muscular chest. "I understand how you feel, baby."

One of the things Clark loved about you was your ability to always have him heard and understood. Even the dozens of times he's missed your dates, suddenly cancelling unannounced; you've always been there for him with a patient mind, an awaiting ear… and probably a grumpy attitude when Clark specifically dipped on a day you were really looking forward to.

Now, one thing definitely changed; if before you had to trap him in the barn, force him to be honest and say his feelings, you were content that now all you had to do was talk to him sincerely and directly, no interruptions, and no hotheads.

"Does this mean we're going public?" Clark asks cautiously.

You lift your head, letting your chin rest on the center of his chest. "Just do good on the game tomorrow, 'kay Farm Boy? We'll see how the day goes."

It wasn't the answer Clark expected but he accepted it. It was better than giving him the hard no.

And so you laid there the whole night, trying your best to stay awake while Clark told you about his day. His hands running aimlessly through your hair and body until you fell asleep. When you did, he took you to his bedroom and let you sleep there.

A soft and tender kiss on your forehead to end the night.

Loud roars of the crowd could be heard from any side of the field.

The bleachers were packed with people, majority came from Smallville High while some were from the rival school playing. It's been quite some time since the game started and yet, it still feels like a win can be called any moment now.

You were there—since the very start—sitting at the very front row with Chloe by your side. Your friends Janet and Rose sitting away where the cheerleaders were sat. Each time you watched Clark fall short of a goal, you could feel your heart thump even harder.

Way before the game started, you had another little rendezvous with Clark. Giving him the best good luck charm in the form of red lace—which God knows where he kept—and a kiss on the cheek.

Clark's been training for this game for so long now. Weeks of hardworking and sweat come to this very day where he finally gets to earn his teammates' respect.

31-28, in favor of the opponent.

The air gets struck out of your system when you see the opposing team score another point. Slowly building on their lead against the Crows. Your teeth unconsciously nibbles on your lower lip, pulling and biting the soft tissue as you prayed for a plot twist.

"C'mon Clark, c'mon," you mumble under your breath. Glancing at Jonathan and Martha from a far as they too shared nervous and worried looks.

You hear a ring from somewhere, and suddenly they're all splitting into their respective teams. "The Crows asked for a time out," Chloe says. You nod, noting that on the pad of paper that Chloe gave you earlier. Both of you have been noting game highlights since the start of the game.

"Should we try interviewing them?" The blonde was already standing when she asks you that, eyes narrowed at the group of players bundled far from them.

"No." You shake your head. Chloe looks at you weirdly, you sounded way too energetic. "It's not really the best time, Chloe."

Seven seconds remain on the clock. All players head back to the center line as the game resumes back. Your eyes lock with Clark despite the distance. You could barely make out the expression on his face while he could clearly see yours—full of anxiety and hope, hands in a prayer position in the middle of your face.

With a new found drive to make you proud, he turns to the front to look at the opposing team.

You watch as all of the players scramble fast as soon as the clock began. Clark inhaled, clocking his arm back before throwing the football with all of his human force, every fiber in his being hoping that the other quarterback is able to catch it before the time ran out.

The football felt like it was on air for more than five minutes. Every head in the football grounds followed the brown ball as it made its way across the field, every person holding in their breaths as the second player reached up as the time hit two seconds.

On the last second, he lands a touchdown.

Happiness through your body as you jump with Chloe on the stands. Lungs screaming Clark's name as thunderous cheers filled the space, loud enough to even make the ground shake. The players run over to Clark, crashing into him while he throws away his helmet, eyes immediately searching for you. Just you.

Your heart begins beating faster, the idea in your head being thrown away as your legs move on their own.

Clark watches as you rush down the bleachers, sliding past everyone and anyone in your way. Confusion hits him for a second until he finally understands what you're going to do. Shrugging off his teammates, he runs over to the bleachers' side, the amount of adrenaline running in his veins was almost enough to push him to super speed onto your side and lift you up—almost.

The moment you reach the ground, Clark's already jumping over the fence, catching you in his arms.

"Clark!" You yell out, feeling his strong arms tighten around your waist as he spins you around. Your hair moves with the wind as it splatters messily all over Clark's face, his lips stretched into the widest and biggest smile you've ever seen from him. "You did—"

Your words are cut off as Clark lifts you even higher, crashing his lips into yours. The outside world is anything but a figment of his imagination now that he has you in his arms just after winning his first game as a quarterback—and the best thing of it all, was that it was in front of the whole school.

The deafening sound of cheers and wolf whistles make you smile into the kiss, head subtly pulling back only for Clark to hungrily chase after you, not letting you up so easily. When he finally does, with his lips all puffy and swollen, he's staring at you with nothing but affection.

"A real quarterback now, huh?" You tease, smirking lightheartedly at him.

Clark rolls his eyes, lunging forward to give you another kiss on your lips. "Not really, just your boyfriend."

You lose yourself in his smile, only to be pulled away from it when your head moves to the side. You see Clark's parents looking at you two with proud smiles while beside them were his friends—all of which had a shocked look on their faces.

Clark squeezes your side to get your attention back. A contented look grows on his face as he keeps his hold around you, making the moment last just a little longer before you two face the outcome of whatever just happened.

"Ready to put me down, Farm Boy?"

"Never.”

hearts, reblogs, and comments are highly appreaciated if you loved the fic !

[deadprince05]

Declaration of love. Blue Lock

How did you start dating the character, what was his confession like?

Characters: Yoichi Isagi, Ryusei Shidou, Rin Itoshi, Sae Itoshi, Reo Mikage, Seishiro Nagi, Michael Kaiser

Yoichi Isagi

Isagi didn’t like surprises. His life, like football, was built on calculations—if you do A, B follows, then inevitably C arrives. But you burst into this well-oiled system like a ball flying on an unpredictable trajectory. At first, he tried to ignore it. You often sat together in the café near the stadium, where he usually analyzed matches. Your laughter—too loud for the quiet morning—your questions about football, naive but not annoying—Isagi enjoyed explaining everything to you. Then he began noticing strange things: how his gaze found you in the crowd on the stands, even though he came to watch the game, not the spectators; how after talking to you, his passes landed more precisely, his shots sharper—as if some invisible thread connected his play to your presence.

The confession came unexpectedly, after an especially grueling practice. You were waiting for him at the exit, as you often did lately, with a bottle of cold water. He took it, your fingers briefly touched, and suddenly he said:

"I don’t understand you." His voice sounded hoarse, nothing like during tactical discussions.

"I’m trying to figure out why you do all this, trying to predict what you’ll do next—but I don’t know your next move. It’s..." He fell silent, gripping the bottle until the plastic crackled. "It’s driving me crazy."

You wanted to reply, but he already pulled you close, and in his embrace, there was nothing of the calculating footballer—only the trembling of a man acting without tactics for the first time in his life.

Later, walking you home, his fingers carefully laced with yours, as if testing whether this was real. And the next morning, he appeared under your window with two cups of coffee—one black, like he always drank, the other with your favorite additions, which he’d memorized without even realizing when. No explanations. No calculations. Just because his feet brought him here on their own, defying all rules and schemes.

Ryusei Shidou

Shidou Ryusei never asked – he took. Soccer balls, victories, girls' attention – everything fell at his feet by itself, all it took was a snap of his fingers. But you... You made him work for you. It all started with a defiant look you threw at him across the bar, while his admirers swarmed around him, and you calmly finished your cocktail, clearly unimpressed by his signature smirk. It got to him. He approached, leaning his hands on the counter on both sides of you, blocking out everything around. "Either you're very brave, or very stupid," he hissed, baring his teeth. You just raised an eyebrow, "Or maybe I'm just not impressed by cheap tricks." His eyes flared with dangerous fire – the same one that usually appeared right before he sent the ball into the net from an impossible angle. Shidou hated losing, especially at what he considered himself the best. For three weeks, he pursued you with the persistence of a madman: showed up at your workplace with gifts (which you returned), bombarded you with voice messages (you sent them to block), and ambushed you after practice (only to get your icy glare). Everything changed on a rainy evening, when you saw the real him – not the star of "Blue Lock," but an exhausted guy sitting under the pouring rain on an empty stadium after a disastrous match. "Go away," he growled when you stepped closer, but you stayed. Silently sat beside him, ignoring the rain, handed him your umbrella – that same one with the ridiculous panda print he'd laughed at a week ago. Shidou examined it, then suddenly grabbed your chin: "You... You're messing with me on purpose, aren't you?" His lips burned yours before you could answer. The kiss was rough, desperate, without a hint of his usual theatrics – as if he'd finally taken off his mask. "You're mine," he whispered, pressing his forehead to yours. "Only mine. Understood?" His voice held a question, not an order. For the first time in his life, the king was waiting for your decision. And when you reached for him again for another kiss, he chuckled faintly – not his usual showy laugh, but a quiet, happy one that no one but you had ever heard – before kissing you again, this time tenderly.

Rin Itoshi

You had always been by his side. At first—just a shadow on the edge of his world, then—an inseparable part of his cold, calculated life. Rin wasn’t the type to bare his soul; his emotions hid behind an icy gaze and sharp words, but you saw the other side of him. You noticed the slight curl of his lips when he saw you, how his eyes lingered on your retreating figure when you parted ways, how once, when you fell, he abruptly stopped training and ran to you, how his hands clenched into fists when you laughed with someone else. You remained just friends, but one evening changed everything. After a hard-fought victory in the competition, everyone had left, but you stayed behind in the empty hall, staring at the ceiling. And then he appeared—Rin, silent as always. "Celebrating your victory alone?" His voice was emotionless. You smiled without looking at him: "And what, are you stalking me?" Silence. Then footsteps. He sat beside you, not touching you, but close—so close you could feel the warmth of his body. "I don’t care," he lied. You turned—and saw his fingers nervously gripping the cuffs of his sweater. His eyes, usually so cold, now burned with fear. "Rin...?" He stood abruptly, as if ready to flee, but instead... turned to you and simply met your gaze. "I hate this," he whispered, looking away. "I hate that you make me feel this way." In that moment, you understood—Rin was forcing himself past his own walls. His confession wasn’t in words, but in the tremor of his hands, in how he couldn’t run even if he wanted to. You reached out and grabbed his wrist. "And I hate that you pretend you don’t care." His breath caught. And then, for the first time, *the ice cracked*—he pulled you to him so tightly, as if afraid you’d vanish if he let go. "You..." His voice was hoarse, broken. "You’re the only one who sees the real me. I love you, even if it’s stupid." You laughed softly—because only Rin Itoshi could confess his love while calling it stupid. But his kiss, no longer hesitant, swallowed your laughter. You held him tight and kissed him back, letting him know—these feelings were mutual.

Sae Itoshi

You were an *inconvenient variable* in his life. Sae Itoshi didn’t believe in love—or, more accurately, saw no purpose in it. Emotions disrupted focus, and relationships distracted from football, but you... you *constantly* threw off his calculations. At first, he simply noticed what set you apart: you didn’t pester him with stupid questions, didn’t flirt like some of his fans. You silently watched his games, occasionally making sharp remarks that made him pause for a second. It irritated him. But then came something far more dangerous—habit. He caught himself searching for you in the crowd after matches, memorizing the way your face looked when you disagreed with him. Over time, he noticed you’d stopped coming to his games as often, started spending more time with some guy—matching outfits, casual touches, the kind of closeness that couldn’t be faked. It shouldn’t have mattered to him. But it did, and that tension coiled tighter every time he saw you together. The breaking point came on a rainy day. You were walking past the training field where he was drilling shots when the downpour hit. You yelped, arms uselessly shielding your head—and Sae turned just in time to see it. "Idiot," he muttered, shrugging off his jacket. He draped it over your shoulders but didn’t step back. Rain streaked down his face as you mumbled about meeting someone, already moving to return it—until his fingers locked around your wrist. "You..." His voice was strange, almost uncertain. "You’re disrupting my peace." You froze. "I don’t understand what’s happening to me. It’s inefficient... It’s in the way." His eyes darkened with something like frustration, like grief. "When you’re not there. When I see you with him—" He cut himself off, jaw clenched. You reached up, brushing rain from his cheek: "Sae... are you jealous?" He flinched, as if struck. "Don’t be ridiculous," he hissed—but his arms were already pulling you against him, crushing you to his chest. "Just... shut up." His face buried in your shoulder like he couldn’t bear to let go. You were stunned, but your heart burned. The truth? You’d loved him for ages, too terrified to show it, convinced he’d reject you. That "other guy" was just your brother visiting from abroad—your feelings for Sae had never wavered, only buried themselves deeper. "I’m sorry, but I can’t stay quiet anymore." Your voice wavered as you hugged him back. "I... I like you. There’s never been anyone else. But I was scared—scared I wasn’t enough for you." Sae stiffened. Pulling back just enough to search your face, disbelief flickered—then softened into something tender. His hands slid to cradle your jaw, foreheads tilting together until your lips met under the rain. He never said it back. Not then. But the way he kissed you—desperate, relieved—told you everything.

Reo Mikage

Every morning, Reo waited for you at the school gates, casually leaning against the fence, with two juice boxes in his hands (one for you). Every time, he secretly watched you from afar, even if he was going the other way. And when other girls, blushing, blocked his path with confessions, he only smiled politely and said: "Sorry, I'm already taken." But you didn’t understand that he meant you. That day was ordinary—you were sitting on the school roof, sharing lunch, when Reo suddenly fell silent. You looked up and saw him gripping his sandwich so hard that the mayonnaise squeezed out onto his fingers. — Those idiots from the soccer club again... — he muttered, looking down where a group of guys had surrounded you the day before. You laughed: — Reo, I don’t even remember their faces. He turned sharply to you, and something new flashed in his eyes—something uneasy. — But I remember. I remember everyone who looks at you for too long. Silence. Your heart skipped a beat. You laughed off the situation, but after that, Reo became… strange. He touched your hand more often, as if by accident, but his hand was burning. He got angry when you were late but immediately softened as soon as you apologized. And once, when you sneezed, he took off his jacket and draped it over your shoulders, saying: "Don’t you dare get sick." But the strangest thing happened after the match. Reo won, and a crowd of fangirls rushed toward him. You stepped aside, but suddenly, you felt a strong grip on your wrist. He pulled you out of the crowd, pressed you against the wall, and whispered: — Why are you leaving? You see—I’m only looking for you. One day, he invited you to the roof at night. The moon, the silence, and Reo, nervously fidgeting with his sweater. "I… don’t know how to confess beautifully," he began. "But your smile is burned into my memory, I think about you too often, I want to see you happy." You felt warmth spreading through your chest. "I don’t want anyone’s feelings but yours. So…" – He took a step forward, and his forehead touched yours. "Be only mine. Please." You saw him clench his teeth, ready for any answer—even rejection. But you didn’t make him wait. "Reo," you whispered, feeling your lips stretch into a smile. "I’ve only ever looked at you." His eyes widened, and for a second, he froze, as if not believing his ears, then he pulled you toward him **so sharply that you gasped, his arms wrapping around your waist, pressing you close, and his lips touched yours. It wasn’t a gentle kiss—it was greedy, full of relief. His fingers tangled in your hair, and you gripped his sweater to keep from losing your balance because your knees were buckling. When you finally pulled apart, he pressed his forehead to yours, his breathing uneven. "I… won’t let you change your mind," he said it like a warning, but his voice held vulnerability. You smiled and touched his lips: "And I don’t plan to."

Seishiro Nagi

You always noticed how Seishiro Nagi avoids unnecessary movements—whether it's training, talking, or even going to the cafeteria. Anything requiring effort seemed like a waste of energy to him. But you… you were the exception. At first, he didn’t even understand what was happening. You were just there —quietly, unobtrusively. Bringing him water after matches when he lay breathless on the grass. Accidentally leaving his favorite energy drink on the locker room bench (even though he never told anyone which one he preferred). And once, when he dozed off in class, you draped your blazer over his shoulders—and didn’t even wake him, unlike everyone else. One day after practice, you stayed behind to help collect the balls. Nagi, who usually bolted to the showers first, suddenly lingered—sitting in the stands, lazily watching. "Hey… aren’t you tired?" His voice sounded unexpectedly loud in the empty gym. You were surprised but just shrugged: "No more than you." He froze. Then laughed. "Wanna grab a bite with me?" he muttered, already turning away as if hoping you hadn’t heard. You headed to a café, the sky gray, soon giving way to rain. You turned to Nagi to ask something but saw how lost in thought he was—rare for him. Then he stopped and looked at you. You stepped closer, asking what was wrong, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he took your hand and pressed it to his chest. Through his soaked shirt, you felt the frantic beat of his heart. "See? This… is because of you. I don’t like it." —But he didn’t let go of your hand. You laughed: "Do you want it to stop?" He frowned as if your question was stupid. "No. Just hard to get used to." Then you reached for him, wiping the rain from his cheek with your fingers. He closed his eyes, finally relaxing —as if all he wanted was to stand here, in the rain, feeling your touch. Maybe Nagi never said outright that he loves you, but you understood—even without words.

Michael Kaiser

You were always there—quiet but persistent. Unlike others, you didn’t shower him with admiration or try to exploit his fame. You simply stayed by his side, and that infuriated Kaiser the most. He was used to people being tools: some for achieving glory, others for entertainment. But you... you didn’t fit into that scheme. "Why are you here?" he once snapped when you sat silently beside him after practice. "I like being here," you answered simply. He gritted his teeth. "Liar. Always lying." That’s what he thought of you. But you didn’t leave. You came back, again and again. One day, after a brutal match, Kaiser collapsed onto the bench, fists clenched. That day, he lost to his rival—he, the imperator, had made a mistake. "Get up," you said, handing him water. "The game isn’t over yet." His head jerked up: "Did you even watch? I fucked up." "I did. But you don’t give up." He froze. No one had ever said that to him—everyone only expected victories. Kaiser began noticing things. How his eyes searched for you. How it irritated him when others talked to you, even though he called it weakness. But then, one day, when you didn’t show up to practice (you’d just overslept), he lost it. Texted. Called. Even stormed out of training to check if you were okay. "You—" He grabbed your shoulders when he saw you in the hallway, his voice cracking. "You scared me." You smiled: "Since when does Kaiser fear anything?" He recoiled like he’d been burned and walked away as if nothing happened. You kept attending his practices, both pretending nothing had changed. Kaiser stood gripping the ball, ignoring you, while you sat in the stands—until he suddenly spoke. "Why are you still here?" he asked, not turning around. "Because I want to be with you." "You’re stupid. I use people. I don’t know how to..." His fists tightened. "Love." You walked down, closing the distance between you. "Who said you have to know how?" And then, he broke. "I—" His voice faltered, trembling. "I don’t want to lose you." You took his hand. "Then don’t." And for the first time in his life, the imperator realized weakness wasn’t defeat. Then he kissed you—greedily, desperately, as if afraid you’d vanish.

[webbluvrsugar]

long pining after each other - bau!reader and Spencer Reid.

cw: fluff, not proofread, female reader.

The thing between you and Spencer is that you both can’t catch the hints that you throw at each other—you can’t get the subtitled compliments he gives you with those facts all missed up and he can’t seem to understand that the morning coffees you bring him are way more than a kind gesture from a coworker.

But everyone knows it. Hotch knows it, Morgan and Emily too, even Garcia figured it out in a few weeks, the problem is that you two seem to be clueless.

Morgan and Emily are the ones who make the moves for you guys, when Spencer is wondering if he should recommend a book to you, Morgan encourages him, when you wonder if Spencer would like a different type of coffee, Emily says ‘give it a try!’ because without their help, you would be stuck in the same spot you were months ago, and you wouldn’t even care—because it’s easy, safe and won’t ruin the nice relationship you built over each other… even if you both crave more.

This time, after texting Emily as you stopped to get coffee for the both of you, you got a little more bold, you walk to his desk even if you don’t really have a clue of what you’re going to say—but you want to say something, so you finally say it;

“I… I like your tie.” You point out, eying the patterned fabric and how it sits around his neck, you don’t really know how to make conversation—not ‘flirty’ conversation anyways—but it’s a nice start, especially as Spencer feels like his tie got tighter in the moment you pointed out that you liked it.

“Uhh… t—thank you, I like your…” your hair? No, that’s too basic. Your makeup? Are you even wearing any? Spencer can only notice your lipstick. Your skirt? No, that’s going to sound a bit too perverted. “Your eyes.” He blurts out, fully acknowledging that it probably comes out weird as he places the paper cup of coffee down at his desk.

“Oh.” You turn red, and if it wasn’t painfully obvious that you actually like him too, the rest of your friends might just write it on your forehead. “Thank you.” You smile, swallowing hard before mechanically taking a sip of your coffee, looking away and around the room.

A long moment of silence pins you to your spot—Spencer thinks he’s finally got a chance, but he’s also working quite the sweat to make a move on you and his mind is currently running through plans you could make or places you could go so he could try and take the next step with you.

“We could…” “Do you want to…” You both say in unison before the silence plays out again.

“Sorry, go ahead.” Spencer says.

“No, you first.” You reassure.

Spencer swallows—what if you don’t like what he’s going to propose and you just think he’s stupid? He glances around the room too until he finds Derek with an eyebrow raised and that’s all it takes for him to finally spill it out.

“We—We could get coffee together next time.” He proposes.

You bite back your smile, fingers tightening around the disposable cup you’re holding before you question him—the coffee shop is close to your apartment, not his, he’d have to wake up earlier to even make it. “It’s too far away from your place, you’d have to get up earlier than you already do.” Which—by the way—it’s already really early.

Spencer stares at you, considering what you just said—he usually thinks about everything before he speaks but it’s hard to do it when he’s talking to you.

“Yeah…” he smiles, sheepish.

“Okay.” You say.

“Okay.” He nods. Guess he’s waking up at six tomorrow.

[riality-check]

Purpose (‘pər pəs) (noun): a subject under discussion or an action in course of execution

It’s been two years, and Jayce still doesn’t quite understand Viktor.

He’s never really been a people person. They’re a lot more complex and unpredictable than tools and machines, and while he likes them well enough, he prefers to spend his time in the forge or workshop with very few exceptions.

Viktor is an exception, probably because he is almost always in the workshop with Jayce. Two years into working together, and Jayce can count on one hand the days that Viktor has missed in the workshop. Meanwhile, he’s never come to visit Jayce at the forge.

He doesn’t know why. Jayce doesn’t know a lot of things about Viktor, actually. He hasn’t spoken about his time at the Academy - which is something the two of them can surely find common ground in - or his family, which Jayce guesses they can’t. All Jayce knows is that Viktor is from the Undercity, he’s the smartest person he knows, and he’s full of contradictions.

Example 1: “don’t ask for permission,” and yet, the first words out of Viktor’s mouth in the nearly four hours they’ve spent holed up in the Academy library searching through prior literature are: 

“Can I ask you a question?”

Jayce doesn’t call him out on it. His head swims from squinting at faded tables and figures, and the clock rings out an hour far too late for them to have not eaten since lunch. If he teases Viktor about this contradiction, they’d banter and promptly lose track of the original question in the process.

Source: too many confused blackboard scribbles to count.

So, he just nods and peels his eyes away from the writings of one Dr. Kovac, who should consider a career as a sleep therapist with how boring his studies on thermal conductivity are.

Viktor sets down his volume (Applied Physics, Vol. 3, Issue 6) and stretches out his legs. His face twitches briefly into a grimace, a blink-and-you-miss-it sort of flinch.

Jayce notices. You don’t work with someone for years and not notice that type of thing, he reasons.

“I will need some help in the next few weeks,” Viktor says. He stares at his hands, where he passes a small screwdriver back and forth between them. 

He has to hold something when he talks. Usually, that need is satisfied by his cane, but when he’s sitting down, he trades that for another object. Jayce noticed this months ago, and he doesn’t mind. He has to have something in his mouth while he reads. 

In that instant, he becomes shockingly aware of how stale his chewing gum has turned while they’ve been here. A quick scan provides exactly zero (0) trash cans nearby.

Ugh.

When Viktor doesn’t elaborate and Jayce realizes it’s his turn to carry the conversation, he asks, “What kind of help?”

“Cooking, cleaning, laundry.” Viktor counts them on his fingers, starting with his thumb. 

Jayce does it that way, too. So does Mel Medarda, and Caitlyn half (50%) of the time.

“So, you want me to be your housekeeper?”

He stretches his arms above his head - whoever designed the library chairs did so with zero (0) regard for the human body - and snorts when Viktor teases, “Smart-ass.”

“Hey, that’s what it sounds like,” Jayce defends.

Viktor looks up at him for the first time, suddenly far more serious. “I am getting surgery-”

“Surgery?”

“-and as much as I would like, I will not be able to do everything myself,” he finishes as if Jayce had never spoken.

“Shit, Viktor,” Jayce says, setting his own volume (Advances in Engineering, 5th edition) down on the nearest, highly overcrowded end table. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“It was not relevant.”

“Of course it’s relevant!”

Viktor raises an eyebrow. Jayce won’t admit it, but he’s jealous he can do that. He practiced in the mirror for months as a kid, but he can still only raise both of them, or none at all.

“How so? If I had told you any earlier, you would have fretted and worried, and that would have taken your time, energy, and focus away from Hextech.”

“We have plenty of time, energy, and focus for Hextech,” Jayce counters.

“True, but Councillor Medarda’s money is not infinite, no matter how well you get along with her.”

Jayce sighs. “You get along with her alright.”

“I do. She is a good investor, and I respect her very much for making something of herself in Piltover,” Viktor admits. “But you are more her friend than I am.”

Jayce runs a hand through his hair. Fuck, he’s tired, and scientific literature isn’t exactly riveting. The data is interesting - at least, the relevant stuff is - but too many scientists write with all the energy of drying paint.

“Aren’t you worried?” he asks, changing the subject. “You said you didn’t tell me because I’d be worried. But you don’t seem freaked out at all.”

Viktor stares at him. “Of course I am worried. They are taking apart my spine to straighten it out with rods and screws.”

“It’s spinal surgery?”

“This is why I did not tell you.”

“Viktor, that’s a major surgery-”

“Correct.”

“And you didn’t think to tell me?”

“Of course I was going to tell you.”

Jayce pinches his nose. A headache is imminent, he knows, between the lack of food and Viktor’s obstinacy. “When it became relevant?”

Viktor cracks a smile. “Now you are getting it.”

Jayce can’t help but smile in return. “When is your procedure?”

“Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Jayce leans so far forward in his chair, he nearly falls out of it.

“Well, tomorrow afternoon, around 3:00 PM, to be more specific.”

The sunset is just starting to fade to the blues and purples of dusk, but there’s just enough light for Jayce to catch the time on the clocktower centered in the window behind Viktor. They pick this alcove of the library for the view. It’s easier not to completely lose track of time when the bells toll every fifteen (15) minutes and the view remains unobstructed.

That, and because the undergraduate students don’t know about this spot. They’re everywhere. And far too loud.

Jayce takes a look at the clock. Less than twenty-four (24) hours until Viktor gets cut open and rearranged. 

Which hospital is he even going to? Should Jayce visit? Is he even allowed? What should he bring? 

“What if I had plans?” he asks.

“Plans,” Viktor repeats.

“Like dinner with someone.”

“You dine with Councillor Medarda on Tuesdays and your mother on Fridays. Tomorrow is Thursday.”

“Or a performance?”

“The ballet is out of season, and I do not believe you have tickets to the symphony.”

“Or vacation.”

Viktor bursts out laughing. His laugh is loud and a little abrasive, if Jayce is being honest. It’s harsh and imperfect, but he likes it. In a world where he got judged for wrinkles in his slacks as a student, he likes that Viktor isn’t perfect.

It makes him feel less alone.

“It’s not that outlandish,” Jayce mutters. Nevermind the fact that not once in the two years they’ve been working on Hextech has he taken anything close to a vacation.

“It is my sincere belief,” Viktor struggles to compose himself, “that if the words Jayce Talis and vacation ever inhabit the same sentence, a cataclysmic event will occur.”

Jayce pouts. Viktor laughs harder. A few undergraduate students poke their heads through the stacks, silently reprimanding them for the noise.

It is finals season for them, isn’t it? Oops. Jayce doesn’t miss those days.

“I assumed, seemingly rightly, that you had no commitments beyond Hextech,” Viktor says, finally serious again. “Much like me. So, can you help me?”

“Yes.” 

Jayce answers before his neurons have a chance to fire off a conscious thought. He thinks that might be instinct, but it’s been ages since he’s taken any sort of biology or psychology class.

“Yeah, I can help,” he follows up.

Viktor smiles. It’s a crooked, quiet smile, but that doesn’t mean it’s small. Nothing about any of Viktor’s expressions is small.

Jayce is grateful for that. It means there’s no guesswork as to how Viktor is feeling, unlike the vast majority of people in Piltover. It’s refreshing.

“Thank you,” Viktor says, and he looks directly into Jayce’s eyes when he says it, dead serious.

He fits perfectly here, if Jayce only considers his eyes. They’re the same shade of gold as the Academy roof.

“Of course,” Jayce says, and he means it with just as much seriousness. “Should we work out details now?”

“We can do it tomorrow,” Viktor says. He grabs his cane and pushes himself to stand. His brace creaks so quietly that Jayce thinks he’s imagining it for a moment.

“Your surgery is tomorrow,” Jayce says slowly. He follows Viktor’s lead and collects his own books. The ones he plans on checking out go into his bag, and he carries the ones he won’t in his arms.

He takes Viktor’s rejected volumes as well, without being asked.

“It is,” Viktor says. “But you’ll be in the lab tomorrow morning, no?”

They begin the walk toward the exit. Viktor’s cane thunks loudly on the wooden floor. The undergraduate students look up at them as they pass.

Jayce notices. He wonders if Viktor does.

“I was planning on it,” Jayce says, dropping their books at the front desk. Angelina, one of the younger librarians, gives him a friendly wave and checks their books out with lightning speed.

“Then I will see you there.” Viktor passes through the heavy wooden door that Jayce holds open for him and out into the cool night.

Jayce follows. “You can’t possibly mean you’re going to be in the lab the morning of your surgery.”

“Of course I will,” Viktor says, affronted. “I will be dreadfully bored otherwise.”

Jayce shakes his head fondly. “Get home safe.”

Viktor rolls his eyes. “You say that like it is dangerous here.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do,” Viktor admits.

The bells ring for the half hour. Jayce’s stomach growls.

“9:00 AM sharp,” Viktor says when the silence has stretched on a little too long.

“I’ll bring your coffee,” Jayce replies.

With a nod, Viktor turns to walk home.

Jayce realizes, as he begins to make his own way, that he doesn’t actually know where “home” is for Viktor.

He supposes that’s question one (1) for tomorrow.

[fatuismooches]

reader refusing cuddles from dottore or the segments habjdbuhsuws hear me out. imagine the panic like did they do something wrong or what ⁉️⁉️

Rejecting cuddles and general affection from Dottore and the segments is possibly the easiest way to have them pause for once and simultaneously think something is terribly wrong. The immediate collective thought is that you're upset with them - so much so you don't even want to touch them, which is really saying something considering you're always snuggling by their side, always asking for attention. The possibility of it being a prank is low for this same reason.

The hive-mind is somehow dead quiet yet buzzing with thoughts at the same time, the minute you maneuver out of Omega's grasp, Beta's tugging, and even Prime's hold. Seeing as this has literally never happened before, the younger segments, especially, are antsy over it, individually picking out each interaction over the past few days that could possibly have you this mad. And oh, if it happens again? Work is halting in that lab. The agents are very worried. Please save them, they beg of you!

If you're actually upset, Dottore will just cut straight through the heart of the problem and ask you what's the matter. He could just let it draw out and wait for you to come to him, but he deemed that an ineffective solution for this, considering the dire situation. Rest assured that you two will come to an understanding eventually, though you should know that Dottore can be stubborn at times, even if he really does love you. He'll find it hard to do anything if he really thinks he wasn't wrong. But he won't be able to withstand the cold shoulder from you for very long after being so accustomed to your warm hugs, so he'll give in. Everything will be well! Regularly scheduled and spontaneous cuddles are once more!

If it just turns out you're teasing them, mercy will be out the window. Prepare for some of them to be petty, and some of them to act like they weren't worried for you. They will get back at you, but in reality, they're more glad they didn't upset you, because that would be difficult to navigate for people like them. (Zandy secretly giggling the whole time, knowing he was still getting hugs from you.)

[ngage2003]

A key (and in my opinion often ignored) theme in Marble Hornets is people's literal views of the world being wrong, with people's lenses being fucked up, with the camera often being a conduit/representation of it, with what our protagonists chose to cut out or leave in, shaping our worldview by proxy.

One of the more explicit example of the main idea here though is with the titular Entry 59, as for the whole series up until then we have more or less been glued to Jay's eye. Yet in this installment, we are forced to reconcile with the fact it was actually wrong, with Tim poking holes in his logic (the perspective we have been spoonfed) while also pointing out how destructive his choices are. Until now, we have been following Jay step for step but now we are forced to see Tim's pain at his actions, and how Jay's choices are ultimately cancerous.

I think this holds true in many different cases though, with another rather explicit one being Alex's belief that he has to be the sole one to end this and his determined shouldering of this burden alone. His vision too is warped, extensively! And this theme only gets more explicit when he loses his glasses in Entry 67, when from there on he becomes more and more of a violent, vitriol-spewing husk.

Another example of this though is Brian in my opinion, who we don't get in the head of as much, but who clearly has a lot of very firm beliefs! Many of which are questionable, along with his sense of reality and his vision. After all, whenever we see his camera, (his eyes/perspective,) he has usually put filters over it, or in some way distorted it. (Usually Black/White filters especially, which imo make sense because well, he has black and white thinking.)

I believe that artistic choice is in some way metaphorical/representative too, like Alex losing his glasses. Brian's smart and makes a lot of plans, sure, but he is stuck in following a false dichotomy or some kinda black and white thinking—whether that be due to his Operator exposure and/or his death and/or a possible head/brain injury—which leads to him struggling quite a bit with his execution, and a fair few of a his plans seem to honestly fall through because of it.

(Jay never led him to the Ark, and Masky left him—probably due to him hurting Tim. Just as two examples.)

All these characters are so rooted in their beliefs and perceptions. It is impossible for them to understand another perspective or compromise in the slightest. The only character who is excused from this honestly is Tim.

Tim is the only person we see earnestly consider other perspectives, specifically Alex's. He is the only character we see properly try to understand and sympathize with other people, even Brian who he blamed for Jay's death, and well, Jay himself too despite everything. I can't say he lives because of it, but I think it is interesting that out of our main quartet, he is the one who lives.

[belladonnafeli]

The False Dragon: Why I Believe Young Griff Will Die Before Meeting Daenerys: A Theory art by: hyloraart

Now many people believe that Daenerys will hear about Young Griff and immediately go to Westeros to take back what she believes is hers, the iron throne. This will then lead to a 2nd Dance of the Dragons but I disagree with this plot point.

First we should look at why Young Griff goes to Westeros without Daenerys. Initially he plans to go to Dany but, he decides against it because Tyrion says this to him.

Tyrion is taking advantage of the naïveté of Young Griff and also taking out some anger on him since he called him a “dwarf” in a scornful way, Young Griff has never considered the idea that Dany would reject him which speaks to his naïveté and arrogance. This will also be his downfall.

Tyrion plays into Aegon's arrogance. His whole life even though he’s been in exile he has been told that he is the future king of Westeros. Similar to Viserys that has always been the goal for him. So while he may play pretend as someone who has struggled. It’s fake.

By goading Aegon into this plan Tyrion has essentially set Aegon up for doom. He tells Aegon to go without Dany. Take advantage of the chaos in Westeros so that when you meet you will be equals. And I believe that Aegon will succeed in taking Westeros, but this is a short term goal that is coming before the long term which will end up having dire consequences.

Tyrion knows Dany better than most of the fandom and says that when she hears of him, she will come running.

Something that seems to be completely forgotten by the fandom is that Daenerys is deeply lonely about being the last Targaryen and craves a home and connection. The narrative that she’s gonna want to kill Aegon when she finds out about him makes no sense and is based on the show.

Why would Daenerys want to murder her last living relative? I know people will say, but he’s the mummers dragon but Daenerys doesn’t know that and I don’t believe that she ever will.

Now onto the main point as to why Aegon will die before he meets Daenerys. There’s two main points. 1. He is a false replica of Daenerys and 2. his arrogance allows him to be manipulated by Tyrion. Tyrion tells him plainly, trust no one. And yet he decides to go with his plan because Tyrion was capable of touching a sore spot for the young prince. His entitlement. He was raised to believe he is the next king of Westeros and it shows. Tyrion even compares him to Joffrey.

He’s the false Daenerys in every way. He’s an exiled prince in hiding. With an exiled knight from Westeros(Jon Connington). An army of foreigners (Golden Company). He knows many languages and he’s learned how to fish and has been taught to be a good king because he understands smallfolk. Daenerys is the exiled prince in hiding being abused and dragged along by a mad brother who believes he is the rightful king. She has an exiled knight from Westeros (Jorah and then Barristan). She has a foreign army (Dothraki and unsullied). She knows many foreign languages and understands the struggle of common folk. Daenerys earns everything she has, whereas Aegon is given it.

He was given Jon Connington someone who protected him well. He likely was never in any real danger with Illyrio and Varys running his life. Dany lived on the run her whole life. Kept by the Sealord of Braavos because he liked unique things as a souvenir. Then kicked out at 5 and moved from place to place her whole life. Dany knows multiple languages out of survival, Aegon learns them by being taught in a controlled environment. Daenerys is sold to the Dothraki as a broodmare, but from that she gains her own strength and power.

She walks into the pyre and comes out unburnt and reborn bringing dragons and magic back into the world. No one did that for her. Aegons foreign army was given to him. The same army that laughed in Viserys’ face when Dany was a child. “Black or red a dragon is a dragon” sure

Daenerys gained the unsullied on her own after coming to terms with her own life being sold as a slave. It was her own tenacity that got her to where she is. Not a cheesemonger and a spider working in the shadows.

He is a foil to her in the same way Stannis and Euron are foils for her. They’re the lies she has to slay in her house of the undying prophecy.

And I know when I say that people will say that’s evidence of their meeting because she must slay him but, Stannis is also in that prophecy and I believe he’ll destroy himself. I don’t think Daenerys needs to slay every lie herself. Although I do believe Euron will be the one she slays as he is the 3rd part of the prophecy and Dany is heavily associated with 3.

But finally the reason Aegon is dying before meeting Daenerys is said plainly in the text by Tyrion himself. While playing cyvasse George cleverly uses it to communicate young griffs end. In cyvasse the most powerful piece is the dragon, and the dragon is a female one.

Daenerys is the dragon. His dragon is too far away to save him, he should’ve moved her to the center of the battle. But by going to Westeros without Dany she’s too far to save him.

The one who will kill him, I believe it’s Euron. People seem to discredit him but Aeron has a vision where he sees Euron on the iron throne as a tentacled monster. I believe this is him after he has summoned a kraken like Cthulhu monster.

In conclusion, it is Young Griffs, arrogance, naivety and machismo which will get him killed before he ever meets Daenerys. Thank you for reading. In my next theory I’ll be discussing how this leads to Daenerys vs Euron.

[canisbrutus]

Pride HCs - [p.1?] Nerd Clique

happy pride month maybe this will be a series maybe not 🌈

Earnest

homophobic repressed queer, & extremely bitter about it.

bi, but you'll never hear it from him. no preference personally, but is often more verbal about boobs for obvious reasons.

extremely dependent on Melvin bc he doesnt know how to process his own faggotry regarding him.

Melvin

also bi. a bit more openly 'curious' esp in g&g with his clique.

genderqueer as well; fond of playing the opposite sex, though probably a bit more lowkey about that. its not a dress its a wizard robe etc etc.

earnest isnt normal about that either, but in the gay way.

one of the notably safer folks to come out to at least.

Thad

somewhere on the grey spectrum- formerly ID'd as ace, but uhhhh

well he's a homo. and likely some form of demi.

aroace-flux? lets go with that. either way he has no interest in women whatsoever and disinterested in dating as a whole.

or so he thought. bucky remains his situationship. i could write an entire post about these two.

Bucky

victim of comphet.

also a homo. also demisexual.

knows very well how he feels about thad but often tiptoes around the subject due to thad's aversion to the matter (and being touched in general).

gender questioning. possibly nonbinary; not particularly attached to the concept of masculinity itself.

Donald

aromantic, demisexual, and a hater

but he doesnt know his own labels; considering himself chaste.

regrettably catholic. sometimes comes off as homophobic but he just looks down his nose at 'all the degenerates'

looks up to earnest a Normal amount however. (lying)

Beatrice

lesbian ❤ in denial. until mandy....... well i shant say.

also a victim of comphet. has had crushes on (mostly fictional) men but. you know. plus her parents Needed to have a say in that.

jimmy was a little different for reasons unknown. (bigender butch)

poor girl was under too much pressure

Algernon

likely bi with no preference, aside from. well. liking more assertive domineering types.

pingpongs between wanting to come out vs stay in the closet bc he's self aware enough to know his reputation is already in the gutter, but ultimately keeps it on the downlow in case Earnest has anything to say about it.

possible gender fuckery; has enjoyed roleplaying as a girl online in the past, but hasnt explored it indepth.

Francois

tboy chaser. i'm sorry. something about liking pussy but girls being too 'unfair'.

otherwise? kind of a pan, prefers women, though he very much struggles to score anyone in person. roleplaying is different however.

has attempted to impress eunice to no avail.

fictosexual/selfshipper, though he has his hangups about it not being taken seriously.

Cornelius Juliet

oh my god please save this poor tgirl. she's basically half out of the closet and bullworth is not a good place to be several minorities at once.

the PA announcements call her out twice; one we know as burton broadcasting her gym score, the other being a 'general reminder' for all students to wear uniforms of the correct sex.

she's not even safe in her own clique considering earnest broke her and her surprisingly understanding boyfriend up. (which Melvin damn near tore his ear off for, mind you, but i digress)

on a lighter note, she's also pan, and admittedly a hopeless romantic.

it's very likely she's crushing on beatrice, who was actually the first person she came out to and has been fully supportive since.

some of these got more rambly than others. dont mind that. requests are open btw in case yall missed it.

[writing masterpost]

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Hey, loves. <3 Important stuff below.

If you've been considering commissioning a fic, now would be a great time to help out your friendly neighborhood writer.

Those of you who have been around a while have probably seen some pictures of my doggo Kuma and may remember that he is the inspiration for Bear in my series Dead of Winter. You may also remember that my beloved black lab Aldo (inspiration for Strider in the same series) passed away a few years ago unexpectedly at age 7. We are coming up on the 3rd anniversary of his passing, and my heart is still healing from that loss.

Unfortunately, last week, Kuma was diagnosed with lymphoma. I caught it about as early as you can in pets. He wasn't (and isn't) acting sick but I had noticed that his lymph nodes were all swollen. I am devastated by this diagnosis. Untreated, the prognosis is about 2-3 months. With treatment, we hope to keep him comfortable, energetic, and give us more time together, six months or hopefully much more. Luckily, he is in very good health otherwise and has responded and tolerated his first week of treatment really well. Here he is only 48 hrs after his first chemo infusion appreciating a nice jaunt through the woods and back to his usual energy level.

Obviously, veterinary treatment is expensive. We are pursuing a multi-drug protocol called COP that tends to have very good outcomes. I am starting a new job in August which will ease my financial concerns a bit, but for the next two months things will be tight and stressful. To make matters worse, my dumbass old vehicle JUST required two back to back repairs of about $1300 each, so the small amount of savings I had are pretty much gonnnnne.

If you've ever considered being a patron of mine and commissioning a fic, now would be a great time.

I know there are so many good causes out there—Relief for Gaza, ACLU, The Trevor Project, your local shelters for unhoused people and centers for LGBTQ+—so I understand if you can't sponsor a fic. A share and comment and like would be SO appreciated if you can't donate or commission something. I also am an artist and have been trying to get some shops up and running to sell some of the things I like to make to help pay for Kuma-bear's treatment. Mostly I have cute bird stickers, blank card sets with my bird art, and a couple prints available right now, but I am working on adding A LOT more goodies. I also do pet portrait commissions and single-strand hand embroidery. So, if you don't mind taking a peek at my page (mandyroseart.com) and buying a cute sticker for your laptop, Kuma and I would be forever grateful. You can also Venmo me @/mandyart if you want to drop a dollar or two. Or use my Kofi link. I'll have an Etsy shop coming soon, which I will share as soon as it's up. Thanks for reading if you made it this far. Kuma has been with me for a lot of my life, and I want to do everything I can to keep him happy and with good quality of life for as long as possible. This is hard to take after losing Aldo so young and feels like opening a barely closed wound. Kuma really is my "first-born" and right hand pup. So, thank you for even reading this far. And extra thanks if you help by commissioning or buying a little bird art. Sending kisses and hugs, babies. Much love <3 Mandy

[tarwis]

Tim Drake is adopted by the fandom, fight me!

DC stands for Disregard Canon, this post is about fanfiction! I read only ao3 and I do not condone Bat-cest!

I’ve read almost every even remotely fluffy Titans Tower AU, the non-demonic Cryptid Tim Drake, I’ve dabbled quite a bit in Tim Drake Joins the Batfamily Early and even the ones where he avoids the bats like the plague for whatever self-sacrificial reason while helping them (often at the cost of his own well-being) under the guise of an unknown name which has zero connections with Timothy Jackson Drake. I like hyper-competent Tim, "bratty" Tim who’s actually an unappreciated hero, wet blanket Tim (caretaker trigger), chaotic gremlin Tim, cryptid Tim, there was even this story with a DID Tim I really liked. The authors are amazing, especially Lulu_Rhythm, destiny919 and envysparkler (also iselsis with DaisyBirb, but theirs are a little heavy for me, and Nation_Ustria whose updates are slow but writing is *chef’s kiss*).

We love Jason and Tim brothering, but hear me out…where. Are. The Damian and Tim fics? Not the Damian-centric ones where Tim is just a support character to Damian’s growth story, but the relationship-centric ones without Tim being a punching bag for everyone physically and emotionally. Where are Damian’s apologies? Where is Damian’s respect, his guilt, his regret? And after that, where’s the bonding, the gentle sparring, the skateboarding lessons, the interpretative art sessions, secret photography runs through Gotham without worrying about gunshots, only about beautiful city shots. Where are the hard moral talks between two logicians in an emotionally constipated family? Where is the click in Damian’s mind about why he shouldn’t kill? (And on that note, why are half the fics in favour of murder? In favour of Tim going batshit crazy and calling it character development?) And in honour of two posts in pinterest from tumblr, where is Damian’s realisation that Tim is his own greatest enemy and where are the friendship bracelets?

And then, does anyone know what kind of dynamic Dick and Tim have? Here’s a whole post about that, please and thank you:

I have nothing to say about Steph because their fights are too complicated and I don’t think they can be together in a fic without ignoring half their history, cramming too much angst or inserting some therapy and for some reason Gothamites are allergic to therapy (considering what happens with therapists and what they have to deal with, it’s understandable).

Last thing! Tim has non-hero/vigilante friends and I think they are relevant. The Fox family and maybe those assassins he befriended? His family is so caught up in their own drama that seeing him being normal with a bunch of unknowns should be enough of a shock. Also the League. That would be a fun conversation, especially with Damian.

Alright bye

[cursedhaglette]

Queen's Gambit

this is a cut scene from Rotten Work that still feels like it deserves a home on the internet. a rewrite of the scene in Veilguard where the Inquisitor meets Rook in Minrathous after Rook saves the Dalish, it's a chance for Morinne to gain some insight on Solas from Rook.

Rating: T Word Count: 2,260

----

“I suppose I need to hear it from you.”

The warden makes a face of boredom and something akin to disappointment. As if it’s below her to ask about something like this.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” Rook says, leaning back in her chair, arms crossed over her chest. “Solas saved us, distracted Elgar’nan by having a shouting match in my skull while we fought our way through the venatori. Who knows if we’d have been able to save the Dalish without him - Elgar’nan had us in a Fade prison of his own and it was…yeah, you don’t need the details on that part I guess.” She pauses, stands and looks around, “I get why you and Morrigan cleared this place out for our meeting, but no bartender means no drinks.”

Morinne watches the young woman, all muscle and tight curves and freckles, jump over the bar with ease and pull a couple of bottles off the shelf, then reach for two glasses. 

“Wine or whiskey?”

Elfroot, Morinne thinks, but asks for wine and watches the girl pour far more than is considered polite in a glass not meant for wine before filling her own with whiskey. 

“Anyway,” she continues, “yeah, Solas helped. I mean, he’s still a fucking prick, but he helped that time. And listening to him yell at Elgar’nan in elvhen - I mean, don’t get me wrong, I didn’t understand a word - but for a second, I almost understood the appeal. Kind of hot, in a very specifically Solas sort of way.”

Morinne has to stop herself from choking on the wine, then reaches for a napkin, glad that Varric’s newest protege has no problem to continue talking around her own drink. 

“Whether or not it was genuine or just to save his own ass though, I don’t know, I mean if we fail then Solas is shit outta luck.”

“You’re still unsure of his motives?”

“Yeah, we don’t exactly see eye to eye on…most things,” the girl shakes her head, and Morinne realizes that’s what she is. A girl. Just as she was when she was charged with saving the world. Evra, though she’s since come to learn that calling her that is a high insult, is younger than Morinne was when the anchor found her though and the knowledge makes her feel horribly old and unbelievably guilty.

“He’s never clear,” she says, taking a drink of her wine, letting it melt on her tongue. “But he’s always thinking about where it ends. Unfortunately, I don’t have much more to offer on whether or not you can trust him.”

“Well you trusted him,” Rook snorts, “and I’m pretty sure I got the highlights of where that ended.”

Ah, and there it is, the moment that seemingly comes each time she crosses paths with this girl. The reminder that, for whatever reason, she kind of hates her. The attitude and snippy remarks, none of which she chooses to back up with enough questions or interest to ensure she’s intellectually prepared for what comes next. This ‘team’ she’s prepared seems to do the question asking for her, which seems endlessly contradictory to Morinne, given that Rook is the face of their party. 

Trust Varric, she tries to remind herself, he trusted the girl, so you should too. You let him stay involved, which cost him his life, and now this girl is here, so trust him.

“How many of Solas’ names do you know?” Rook’s bright green eyes meet hers, curiosity written in the single crooked brow. “How many did Varric teach you before you began on this hunt? Fen’harel, the Dread Wolf, the God of Betrayal, He Who Hunts Alone. They’re all titles he earned from enemies, followers, or fractured history. He and I shared another name. Vhenan.”

“Sorry, when I said I don’t speak elvhen, I mean I really don’t speak elvhen…”

“It’s elvhen for ‘my heart’.”

“Ah,” Rook nods, “so he meant that much?”

“Yes,” Morinne says, nearly breathless to be saying this at all, let alone to Rook. But she has to, just in case. “Yes, he did.”

“Waiting ten years for that though - I mean, you never married, right? The way Harding and Varric talk about it, it sounds like you’re still waiting for him,” Rook shakes her head, disbelief written plainly on her face. “I mean, a decade is a long time, Inquisitor, and he’s…well…trying to end the world and all that.”

“You’ve spoken to him in your dreams, have you not? You’ve felt the power of that mind, it’s matched only by the intensity of his heart,” under the table, she picks at the edge of her nail until she feels a bright sort of pain, enough to distract from the lump building in her throat. “He seemed so kind and wise and sad, and looked at me as if I somehow mattered more than anything else around us. For a time, I thought I would have followed him anywhere he asked me to.”

“But you didn’t,” Rook cuts in, and Morinne takes a steadying sip of her wine. “I mean, you were never one of his agents, you never joined him.”

I wanted to, I tried, I sought him out to join even years later, Morinne thinks, but bites her tongue. No one wants to hear how the heroic Inquisitor, legend of the long gone Inquisition, left the world to burn in the name of love.

“No, it was always a bit more complicated than that,” she says, sipping her wine and gazing to the dockyards outside, leaving little room for further questions on the topic. Or at least polite society, the kind she’s grown accustomed to, would think so. With Rook she can’t be so sure. 

“He was different back then, or so I’ve heard.”

“You mean ‘how could you have fallen in love with a God and never realized it?’”

The warden snorts into her glass, “Yeah, I guess I kind of do. The way he is now, seems like it would have been pretty obviousl”

“He was…yes, different is the right word, I suppose. There were so many things he said, so many half-truths - inevitable in retrospect - but never quite clear enough to understand until we had the full picture.” Morinne pauses, flooded for a moment with the memories of times long since past, of the woman she’d been tangled with the man she’d barely understood. “And to me, he was never a God. He was always just Solas. Even after he left me to clean up all his mess.”

“You mean the Inquisition?”

“All of this. You said it the first time we met, this is my mess you’re working through, just as much as it is his,” she finishes the glass of wine in a final, long gulp and watches Rook pour her another as she continues. “We fell in love, then told me we couldn’t, then told me not to follow while leaving me just enough clues to stay on his trail for a decade.”

“Sorry, hang on,” Rook shakes her head, then downs the rest of her whiskey in a single pull, “are you saying he wanted you to stop him?”

“You know ‘Solas’ means ‘pride’, do you not? Perhaps he couldn’t change his mind himself, and hoped someone else could help him.” Morinne shakes her head, running a finger down the stem of the goblet before her, “or maybe I’m the prideful one, to have spent so long imagining his broken heart so that I never have to face my folly.”

“Hmm,” Rook swirls the ice in her already empty glass, “do you ever regret it? What you had with him?”

“I don’t entirely see how that’s any of your business,” Morinne snaps, unable to help herself, then looks out at the dock just outside the tavern again, watching the world continue to move despite the dull ache in her heart that has never left. 

At this, Rook offers the first genuine smile since they sat down together, “Fair enough. Surprising though, that he gave me an answer when I asked and you won’t. Though his was a riddle I guess, so maybe it doesn’t count.”

“I…” Morinne pauses, clears her throat, “you asked him…if he regrets having been with me?”

She looks smug, the kind of expression Morinne is sure has to have driven Solas up the walls of the Fade at least once, but then shrugs and the smile turns kind again. “He said it was selfish of him to be with you, but you’re a good woman. Oh, and that he ‘lives with countless regrets, but some he’s grown to cherish more than his victories’. That’s what I meant by riddle, the asshole can never just say anything outright.”

Were she anywhere else, she’d let the breath be knocked from her lungs completely at the statement. A general for centuries, for longer than she can fathom, having fought more battles than the modern ages have likely seen in recorded history…

“Do you have a little while longer before you need to head back? I think, well I don’t really know, but I feel like you should see the Lighthouse. The changes to it, I mean,” Rook pours herself another drink, then knocks it back quickly, “you shouldn’t throw away the world for him without, I don’t know, seeing some of the shit we found in there. It might mean more to you than it does to us.”

“I’m not going to throw away the world for him. We have to save it first.”

“Yeah, I mean, he’s trapped in the Fade with no way out so it’s not exactly like you can climb in after him anyway,” Rook stands, extending her hand and Morinne follows suit. She reaches for the glass and bottle, balancing as much as she can between her real and prosthetic hands, but Rook waves her off, “Someone else will take care of that, come on.”

She pulls her hood over her head and they walk through the muggy streets of Dock Town, the smell that permeates the entirety of this sector of Minrathous one she’ll never grow accustomed to. Rot and fish and metal and sweat. It’s hard to reconcile with the areas she’d visited when coming to see Dorian, all spice and incense and magic. 

Morrigan takes shape as a crow overhead, watching for Venatori or any others with ill intent that might be lurking in the shadows. 

“How far is it? To your eluvian?”

“Just a few more blocks, don’t worry, I’ll keep you safe,” Rook gives her a quick wink, then looks away, which Morinne is grateful for as it means the girl doesn’t see the scowl she can’t keep from her face. She may be missing an arm, but she’s hardly incapable. It’s like the warden has completely forgotten the efforts she’s been spearheading to ensure southern Thedas doesn’t completely collapse. Not all of that’s been behind a desk. 

“So going back,”  Rook continues, “he never tried to get you to join him on his quest? Or he did, and you chose not to?”

“He forbade me to join him,” Morinne says, reaching for a handful of gold coins and dropping them in the extended hands of a Dalish mother, children clinging to her hip and visibly underweight. “He said he didn’t want me to see what he’d become. But like I said, I don’t think that was quite the truth. He’s a terrible liar.”

“He’s the God of Lies, Inquisitor.”

“That’s not the title the Dalish generally give him,” she corrects, unable to stop herself. “Treachery, tricks, betrayal - yes. Outright lies? No, Fen’harel was always more complicated than that. As was Solas. He didn’t lie, he danced around the truth, finding ways to twist his words to outright avoid lying. And lies of the heart,” she scoffs, shaking her head, remembering moments in Crestwood and shortly after, “no, lies of the heart he is largely incapable of. In my experience, at the very least.”

“Well, if anyone has experience in that area, it’s gonna be you.” 

“Yes, well,” she sucks on her teeth briefly, unsure of how to respond to Rook’s digging, “I suppose I would.”

“Come on,” the girl guides her, long, red hair blowing in the light breeze, “not far now.”

There was a time when Morinne was a young girl in the wilds, who’s hair was permanently long and tangled, dirt under her nails, and a time when disrespect might as well have been her middle name. It’s been ten years of people bowing their head when she walks in the room however, and she’s become rather used to the reverence shown by those who don’t know her personally. 

And Rook doesn’t know her personally, so this condescension, this attempt at bonding through humor that comes from her judging the fact that Morinne loved a man she didn’t truly understand, irritates her deeply. More than it should, more than is fair. Rook doesn’t understand what she’s been through though, what this decade long fight has demanded of her, what she’s lost. 

Morinne gazes overhead to where Morrigan flies and the crow descends through the crowded marketplace, weaving between sweaty strangers before landing on Morinne’s shoulder just before they pass into the ruined building that once belonged to Dorian’s dragons. 

Rook guides them toward the eluvian and Morrigan shifts back into her natural form, exchanging a knowing look with Morinne before they slip through the mirror. Into the home of the man she once thought she knew like the back of her hand.

[bluejayadler]

DBDa NGL - Charles deflects

Ooo...Yes! And no! (Look, never gonna be a straight answer from me)

I think, yes, this is definitely Charles deflecting. That's his natural state of being when it comes to anyone prodding at any of his emotions that isn't just "happy". Its like its automatic script. "Someone getting to close to an emotion! Divert! Divert!" A smile, a cheery reply, an offer of help - especially as he does have HUGE people pleaser tendencies. Given all that, I think it is definitely deflection. A LOT had just happened and he doesn't want to think. The very next thing he does is jump into the huge distraction that is making out with Crystal (they both wanted the distraction). Charles has spent his life AND afterlife hiding his feelings, his scars, and his pain. He just broke down in front of everyone. He's the brawn, the protector, meant to be the strong one, and he broke down. And, at the same time, he revealed his secret, his shame - not being enough. He opened up, albeit accidentally cause it was kinda like he set himself off like one of his "provisions". But, he said more that night than he probably did all of his afterlife AND his life! Charles views his status as "not good enough" as fact and as his great shame - it led to him being hurt in life, it played a hand in his death, and he probably believes that once the others know it and see it as true, that it will lead to him being abandoned or hurt again. Charles has already physically rejected Edwin's offer of comfort - when he shakes off Edwin's hand at the lighthouse. Charles is still riding that wave of vulnerability, and to him, vulnerability is bad. It makes him weak. It means he'll be hurt. He has to be the happy one, the strong one, the positive one. He can't let the mask slip. But he did! It slipped and he's desperately trying to hold it back in place before the other show drops. So, yes, Charles is deflecting.  BUT I don't think that's all he's doing. I don't even know how much he is consciously deflecting versus that's just his instinctive response.

Because the other thing he is doing is placing Edwin's emotions above his own and also trying to feel like he's enough and to get back to some semblance of solid ground that he's lost. To the first point, Charles is a people pleaser, and its implied heavily that he values Edwin more than himself. And something has clearly been bothering Edwin beyond what Edwin has shared with him. He would view Edwin's crisis and emotional needs as more important than his own and want to give Edwin priority processing time. 

To the second point (being not enough), consider what Charles said at the Lighthouse - his entire rant about not being good enough, which included "not good enough to fix whatever is going on with Edwin." There's two things here to unpack. First, that Charles DOESN'T KNOW what is going on with Edwin. Edwin has withheld information about his interactions with the Cat King, and that has set off all the alarm bells for Charles. Because why wouldn't Edwin tell him. Why would Edwin hide things unless he didn't trust Charles, unless Charles failed somehow? Second, Charles assumes part of it is him not being "enough". Part of Charles is waiting for Edwin to finally open up - because while Charles keeps his trauma a secret, I don't think he believes Edwin keeps secrets from him. Considering how Charles has reacted to Edwin simply not giving details about the Cat King encounters, Charles isn't used to Edwin hiding things from him. And if Edwin is hiding things, he has to have a reason. Given Charles's low view of himself, he's gonna assume it's a failure on his part. Charles needs Edwin to tell him the truth and not hide things from him, because that is their norm. I understand that a lot of fans view Charles's reactions to Edwin hiding facts about the Cat Kind encounters as Charles being jealous. I don't see it that way. To me, Charles is in a state of having his world suddenly become unstable. The Cat King is a threat - he has the power to whisk Edwin away for hours to a place Charles can't get to, he has the power to bind Edwin to this place AND the willingness to keep him bound even after knowing how dangerous it is, and SOMETHING ELSE! But Charles doesn't know what that something else is, just that there is SOMETHING and Edwin won't tell him. Charles cannot protect Edwin if he doesn't know what the threat is, and in his mind, the most likely reason that Edwin hasn't told him is that Edwin doesn't think Charles is enough to deal with it (which is probably reinforced by the fact that Charles can't actually deal with the threat he is aware of).

To the third point (shakey ground) Charles just lashed out at Edwin (kinda) after scaring Edwin and the girls. Charles is probably extremely upset with himself and seeing his father more in him in that moment than for a long time - makes sense given next episode when that all comes out. Charles probably feels like he hurt Edwin and is waiting for Edwin to lash out back or to agree with what Charles said on the cliff, that Charles isn't good enough. Part of him is also waiting for Edwin to prove him wrong, to deny Charles's own claims. And again, there's Edwin's caginess about the Cat King and withholding information from Charles. Then we consider the scene that happened in ep 3, with Monty, when they come back from the Devlin House. Again, many fans reason Charles's facial expression towards Monty after Monty rejects his handshake and goes to Edwin as jealousy. I don't. I view it as rejection. Not rejection from Monty, but a small rejection from Edwin. Because everyone SEES what Monty does. The girls pointedly give a look. Edwin would see to. And while Edwin is often out of the loop on modern day things, he knows the current etiquette for greeting and would've seen that for the snub it was. At least, he should've. But he said nothing. To Charles, that could be tacit approval of Monty's behavior, or at least, a failure to reject Monty's behavior. Also, Charles is very visibly off. He hides it, but part of him probably is hurt that Edwin chose to stay outside with Monty instead of coming in with him after such a hard case. The entire foundation of Charles's afterlife is being shaken up in Port Townsend, and he can't do anything about it. But Edwin can, if Edwin would just say something. Charles has handed all the power to Edwin because while he goes to Crystal for a distraction, its Edwin's words that he needs to return him back to solid ground. 

In the scene, Edwin says "you can talk to be about anything." There's a beat. A beat where the audience sees Charles's face, what Edwin sees - Charles's pauses, fixes his expression as best he can, and then says "you can talk to be about anything too mate". Then there's NO pause! The camera shifts to a wide shot of the two and Charles is already turning. And I think the saddest part is that while Edwin opens his mouth, Charles doesn't wait. Charles doesn't expect an answer then even though he desperately wants it. When he says it, his voice is tight. He turns and LOOKS DOWN! Dejected, hurt (gonna point out that Edwin is not in the wrong and has not actively hurt Charles here in my opinion. Neither are wrong. Neither owe the other all their truths. Its just that neither of them learned how to fucking communicate and process emotions!). This isn't Charles is full deflection mode. Full deflection more is up on the lighthouse saying "all I need is my best mate and a case". Full deflection mode is going to Niko and asking about whatever object she is holding she he doesn't have to focus on what just happened. This isn't that. There is no fake cheerfulness. There is not desperate attempt to change the subject entirely. There's just exhaustion and hurt and "not enough". Unstable ground and Charles is drowning again.

So yes, a bit deflection. And a bit everything else...humans are complicated.

[mrspasser]

Honey, it's probably a dog

a Sterek fanfic

Based on an old Tumblr post by @dappermouth who thought their neighbours had a dog instead of a kid. This fic is kinda the other way around.

When Anna said she lived in one of the prettiest places in the world, she wasn’t kidding. Her house was one in a tiny cluster of houses, situated around a ravine and bordered in by the outskirts of the Beacon Hills Preserve. Anna and her husband Dave had been living here for over ten years already and she knew that most of her neighbours lived there even longer. It was not the kind of place you wanted to move away from, not without good reason anyway. 

Anna sat out on the porch that wrapped the South and East side of her house, enjoying a cup of coffee. The weather was calm, sunny with a little breeze, exactly the right conditions for sound to travel far. Sound did funny things around the ravine; if the wind hit just right, she could hear what her neighbours from across the ravine were saying. Well, not exactly what they said at normal volume, but if they raised their voice, she could sometimes hear them word for word. Everyone who lived around here knew that. If you could hear your neighbours, you knew your neighbours could hear you - if the wind came in from the other direction.

For the past ten years Anna had heard her neighbour Grace call for her husband Bert to come in ‘for a cuppa’. Bert liked to garden and would respond with a confirmation from back in the yard. However, Grace and Bert weren’t getting any younger and after a nasty fall in the shower Grace was practically house bound. Which is why they sold the house and moved to a lovely little house in town. Living by the ravine was beautiful, but it was a bit isolated.

Now, there was a new couple living across the ravine. Two young men with their son, or so she’d heard. She hadn’t had the chance to meet them yet. But she’d heard them. Just like now.

“Eli, get out from under the car, it’s time to go!”

Anna didn’t have any kids herself, but that little boy sounded like a handful. She couldn’t understand what else was being said, but a couple of minutes later she heard the sound of a car door slamming closed, so she supposed they got the kid from underneath the car.

Over the course of the week the weather hardly changed, which meant that she kept hearing snippets of conversation from across the ravine.

“Stop eating the grass, Eli!” 

“No, Eli! Biting is bad!” 

“Eli! You can’t go digging holes everywhere, daddy has to walk here.”

“Are you sure it’s their kid?” Dave said, when they were sitting on their porch with a cup of coffee and had just listened to another rant of one of the fathers about the kid chewing on something it wasn’t supposed to. “Sounds to me like they have a dog. One that is in need of some training too.”

Anna considered that and shrugged. “Who names their dog Eli?”

“You named our cat Henry,” Dave pointed out. Their large tabby lay in her own chair on the porch, her ears not even twitching at the mention of her name. 

Another week later, still not having met the new addition to the neighbourhood, Anna had to concede to her husband that the new neighbours probably had an unruly dog instead of a very spirited child. It made much more sense, considering the things she heard.

“Eli! Don’t go pee-pee in the middle of the road, sweetie!” 

It seemed like a very odd thing to yell at your kid. At your dog perhaps too, because as a proud cat mom Anna was convinced that dogs only reacted to your tone of voice and not the content of your message. Cats just didn’t listen at all, period.

Her idea was confirmed when she heard her neighbour yell that evening, just after dusk. Dave was right, it must be a dog.

“Oh my god, Der! Get Eli! He’s running after a deer!”

Great, a dog with a hunting instinct. Anna grimaced, hoping the deer was faster. Then she looked over at Henry, who calmly washed her paws. “No trace of a hunting instinct in you, huh, honey? The local mouse community is grateful for it.”

And then Anna finally had the chance to pop over to the other side of the ravine. She walked up to a man in a flannel shirt, who was washing the car in the driveway. When he looked up and saw her, she introduced herself. “Hi, I’m Anna, from across the ravine!” She waved a hand in the direction of her house. There were some scattered trees in the way, but their red roof was clearly visible. 

“Ah, are you the lady that practices her flute every evening right after dinner?” The young man wiped his wet hands on his jeans and stuck out a hand. “I’m Stiles, by the way.”

“Nice to meet you, Stiles,” Anna replied, taking his hand. “And no, that’s Joshua, my next door neighbour. He’s pretty good, isn’t he?”

“He sure is!” Stiles agreed enthusiastically. “Eli loves it when he plays. He goes all still and tilts his head in the direction of the sound.”

Anna laughed. “I bet you guys love it when he goes silent for a bit. I can hear you yelling at him sometimes. He’s quite the spirited little bugger, isn’t he?”

Stiles rubbed a hand across his neck, a little bashful. “He’s a handful,” he admitted. “I love him to death, of course, but some days I feel like all I’m doing is telling him no.”

“It’s just a phase,” a new voice said, making Anna turn her head. “You keep telling me that.” 

A dark haired man dressed in a henley and jeans came walking up from behind the house, wiping his hands on a rag. Anna was a bit puzzled on how he could’ve heard their conversation if he was in the backyard, but she quickly put on a friendly smile. “Hi, I’m Anna.” 

“I’m Derek,” the man said, coming closer. “I’d shake your hand, but I’m afraid…” He trailed off and showed his dirt stained hands. “We’re making raised flower beds,” he explained.

“We’re hoping it discourages Eli from digging,” Stiles added, smiling at his partner. “It’s his new thing,” he added to Anna. “Big fan of making holes in the ground. Big fan.” 

“Ah, yeah, the perks of being a pet parent, right?” Anna grinned. “Our Henry loves to play with hair ties. For the love of all that’s holy, I can’t find a hair tie anywhere. She just sneaks them off to some magic place, never to be found again.” 

The two men blinked, the friendly smile on their faces morphing into a confused frown. 

“You named your daughter Henry?” Stiles asked, after a moment of silence that had Anna thinking now would be a good time to develop the superpower to teleport right back across the ravine. She thought she saw Derek mouth the words ‘pet parent’ quietly.

“I - I named my cat Henry,” Anna supplied awkwardly, feeling like she lost control over the conversation, but having no idea when and how. 

The solution came bounding up the driveway from behind the house right at that moment. A little boy of about four or five years old, completely covered in dirt. “Daddy! Papa! I found China!” 

Stiles braced just in time for the boy barreling into his legs. Grubby little hands pawed at his jeans, leaving black stains. “Oh my god, Eli,” groaned Stiles and Anna suddenly wished she could use that supposed tunnel to China to disappear. 

“Oh god, Eli is your kid,” she mumbled, as Derek grabbed Eli under his armpits and hauled him up in the air to give him a good shake. Dirt rained down from his clothes. “I’m gonna kill Dave.”

Fic can be found on A03.

[no-byler-doubt-here]

Could Bychance fit into the Stranger Things storyline AND make sense?

Hello to whoever’s reading this!! For many months now, I’ve been seeing some people on Tumblr, TikTok, and Insta turn the crackship of Bychance into something that they believe could truly happen in ST5. Yesterday, I decided to sit with my thoughts and think through the possibility of Bychance becoming a reality and wanted to share my analysis on here 🤗.

(Additionally, this is my first ever post on here, so hiiiii. Idrk what I’m doing but I plan on possibly posting every once in a while, so we should be moots🤞.)

I’ll be sharing both my claim about Bychance’s probability and my general opinion on this trope in this post.

Part 1: Does Bychance…even make sense?

My claim: In reality, Bychance does not make sense in the story of Stranger Things, and if it were to come to fruition, it would undermine Will’s character arc that the Duffer Brothers have stated would continue into ST5.

A LOT to unpack here, so I’m just going to dive straight (not) in.

Assuming Bychance were to be real (at least at the beginning of ST5), there would be two possible ways their relationship could go about:

Will and Chance are in a private relationship where no one except themselves are aware of it.

Will and Chance are in a public relationship, meaning close friends (or maybe the Hawkins community in general, which would be a far larger group of people) are aware of their relationship.

Before discussing either of these, I want to point out what I hope is obvious in this fandom; Chance is apart of Jason’s friend group. Considering we’ve seen BTS of both Dustin and the jocks at a cemetery, likely for Eddie’s grave, (which people have theorized to be Dustin possibly being bullied/beaten up by them), I would like to believe it is more than likely that, after the 1 1/2 years time skip, the jocks have connected Will to Dustin/Lucas, hence making him a target/someone they’ll all despise, quite obviously contradicting the idea that Will would date one of them.

HOWEVER, for the sake of this post, we’re going to ignore that for now and discuss both possible relationship routes in general.

If Will decides to, within the 1.5 years passed, enter a relationship with a guy who isn’t Mike, this gives off the impression to the GA that Will is trying to suppress his feelings for Mike by projecting them onto another guy. The inherent problem with this, however, is that it’s simply doing just that. Stranger Things, especially ST4, focused on highlighting not plainly Will’s struggle to understand his feelings for Mike because he’s his best friend, but because he’s his best friend who’s a guy. If Will is to avoid these emotions by dating a different guy, that erases his complicated understanding of his own sexuality in a small conservative Indiana town in the 80s. It would mean that we would have skipped over Will’s complete journey to coming to terms with who he truly is because he’s already decided he can still date a man. All in all, Bychance, whether private or public, reduces the problem of Will’s feelings for Mike to being rooted in the fact that he’s his best friend who’s already dating someone else, not that he’s his guy best friend whom he believes is straight because he’s in a relationship with a girl.

NOW, to discuss my first point specifically (Bychance being private).

Right off the bat, if Bychance were to start off as a private relationship as a way for Will to project his feelings for Mike onto someone else, it would only make sense that, eventually, Will either explicitly tells Mike about their relationship OR Mike somehow discovers their relationship himself. If neither of these were to happen, then the plot of Bychance would be utterly pointless to everyone’s plot because, once again reiterating, the reasoning for Bychance is for Will to guide his feelings elsewhere. If Bychance were to have no outward impact on Mike (and the generally desired “jealous Mike” trope Bychance followers want), then Bychance simply has no meaning in the storyline of both Mike and Will. (I hope this makes sense 😭😭).

If Mike were to find out about Bychance either way - assuming he isn’t together with El anymore - what’s he gonna do, try and win Will back while he’s still in a relationship with Chance? If he does try and do this, the GA, Bylers, Milevens, EVERYONE, we’re ALL going to see Mike as, quite frankly, a jerk. Why would he willingly try and win Will over romantically when he’s aware Will is with someone else? I know in a perfect world, we could understand his actions as fighting for the one he loves, but it’s still inherently wrong, even if Will still holds the same feelings for Mike, because Mike himself isn’t aware that Will reciprocates his feelings. In conclusion, what initially-private Bychance means for Mike’s character is that he would be trying to win over someone who’s already taken, pretty obviously paralleling Stancy/Jancy in ST1 which, personally, I do NOT want to have happen with Byler. Although I hold no positive feelings towards Chance right now, I would feel incredibly bad for his character if Will and Mike would kiss/engage in couple-y things, especially if Chance were to find out about them.

OKAY, now I’m going to discuss my second point (Bychance being public).

Honestly, I feel stupid for having to explain why this plot choice would genuinely be the worst choice EVER, so I hope whoever reads this understands what I’m getting at very well.

Will Byers is a teen who was bullied by his classmates when he was younger (at LEAST - we don’t know if there will be more in ST5) for not conforming to the typical standards/behaviours for a little boy, whether rooted in heteronormativity or not. Similarly, his OWN DAD bullied and othered him for the same reasons. As he aged into ST3 and ST4, he realized he identified himself with the exact personal aspect that he was tormented for when he was younger, leading to a strong sense of self-hatred for himself once acknowledging his feelings for his best friend. The burdening societal pressure to conform has encouraged Will to believe he’s a “mistake,” as he stated in the van scene. With all of this, does it really seem plausible that Will would suddenly be out at the beginning of ST5? We’d be skipping over a plot point that is so integral to Will’s character going into ST5 that such poor writing would make me refuse to watch the rest of ST5 - I’m not kidding.

In conclusion for ALL these scenarios I just discussed (Bychance in general…Bychance specifically being private/public), Bychance makes utterly no sense. Every scenario I can imagine gets straight to the point of undermining everything the Duffer Brothers have seemed to build up for Will’s arc going into ST5.

Part 2: My personal opinions on Bychance/this trope.

This section is just for me to rant, so you don’t have to read it, if you wish.

Okay, I know so many people are yearning for a jealous Mike trope in ST5, but, personally, I HATE that idea, and I always have. In my opinion, I find the “get together with someone to either suppress my feelings for someone else or to make that someone else jealous on purpose” trope insanely cliché and lazy. I find it as a way for writers to avoid directly exploring a deeper connection between two characters by instead creating a strong rift in their relationship and having the characters overcome that immature rift in order to grow closer.

I know this is an unpopular opinion, but I’m personally tired of seeing this trope everywhere. Relating this back to Byler, I believe there are many other things that can be brought up to raise tension in their relationship in ST5 that DOESN’T involve forming an entirely new relationship. I’d rather the writers explore Will and Mike’s relationship growing closer than ever before, coupled with tensions in which they acknowledge this unusual closeness, in ST5 as ST3 and ST4 already examined what it was like for their relationship to stumble some.

As my ultimate conclusion, Bychance would genuinely be one of the poorest writing choices I believe I’d ever experience in watching media for all the reasons I’ve already stated. As a strong Byler truther, I think I’d seriously rather have Mileven be endgame and Byler not even be hinted at throughout the season than Bychance become canon.

Sooooo if you’ve read this far I GREATLY APPRECIATE IT I LOVE YOU SOSOSO MUCH 😘😘😘. This post is atrociously long and idrk how long is too long on Tumblr, so oh well!

I acknowledge that a lot of Bychance shippers treat the ship as a joke, but I have seen people genuinely believe/fear it could happen. Considering the rise in discourse around this topic, I would appreciate it if you could reblog this (I think that’s how that works) - I hate Byler doubt spreading throughout the community and only want everyone to have confidence, and I believe this probably-too-long-of-an-explanation could help us all ✊✊.