#I PREDICTED THIS LIKE A YEAR AGO HOLY

[sofidragonheart]

I don’t know how to feel about this

Moonlight was already a pain to obtain, can’t imagine how hard these last few updates must’ve been for f2p players

Aside from that though..

MY HYPE FOR COOKIE DRAGON CONTENT WILL NOT CEASE IM SO EXCITED FOR PITAYA!!!!! AGHSJKFORWOWHD

IT FEELS LIKE THEIR FIRST EVER DEBUT(crob) AGAIN WAAAAAAAA😵‍💫😵‍💫😍😍

[reasonsforhope]

No paywall version here.

"Two and a half years ago, when I was asked to help write the most authoritative report on climate change in the United States, I hesitated...

In the end, I said yes, but reluctantly. Frankly, I was sick of admonishing people about how bad things could get. Scientists have raised the alarm over and over again, and still the temperature rises. Extreme events like heat waves, floods and droughts are becoming more severe and frequent, exactly as we predicted they would. We were proved right. It didn’t seem to matter.

Our report, which was released on Tuesday, contains more dire warnings. There are plenty of new reasons for despair. Thanks to recent scientific advances, we can now link climate change to specific extreme weather disasters, and we have a better understanding of how the feedback loops in the climate system can make warming even worse. We can also now more confidently forecast catastrophic outcomes if global emissions continue on their current trajectory.

But to me, the most surprising new finding in the Fifth National Climate Assessment is this: There has been genuine progress, too.

I’m used to mind-boggling numbers, and there are many of them in this report. Human beings have put about 1.6 trillion tons of carbon in the atmosphere since the Industrial Revolution — more than the weight of every living thing on Earth combined. But as we wrote the report, I learned other, even more mind-boggling numbers. In the last decade, the cost of wind energy has declined by 70 percent and solar has declined 90 percent. Renewables now make up 80 percent of new electricity generation capacity. Our country’s greenhouse gas emissions are falling, even as our G.D.P. and population grow.

In the report, we were tasked with projecting future climate change. We showed what the United States would look like if the world warms by 2 degrees Celsius. It wasn’t a pretty picture: more heat waves, more uncomfortably hot nights, more downpours, more droughts. If greenhouse emissions continue to rise, we could reach that point in the next couple of decades. If they fall a little, maybe we can stave it off until the middle of the century. But our findings also offered a glimmer of hope: If emissions fall dramatically, as the report suggested they could, we may never reach 2 degrees Celsius at all.

For the first time in my career, I felt something strange: optimism.

And that simple realization was enough to convince me that releasing yet another climate report was worthwhile.

Something has changed in the United States, and not just the climate. State, local and tribal governments all around the country have begun to take action. Some politicians now actually campaign on climate change, instead of ignoring or lying about it. Congress passed federal climate legislation — something I’d long regarded as impossible — in 2022 as we turned in the first draft.

[Note: She's talking about the Inflation Reduction Act and the Infrastructure Act, which despite the names were the two biggest climate packages passed in US history. And their passage in mid 2022 was a big turning point: that's when, for the first time in decades, a lot of scientists started looking at the numbers - esp the ones that would come from the IRA's funding - and said "Wait, holy shit, we have an actual chance."]

And while the report stresses the urgency of limiting warming to prevent terrible risks, it has a new message, too: We can do this. We now know how to make the dramatic emissions cuts we’d need to limit warming, and it’s very possible to do this in a way that’s sustainable, healthy and fair.

The conversation has moved on, and the role of scientists has changed. We’re not just warning of danger anymore. We’re showing the way to safety.

I was wrong about those previous reports: They did matter, after all. While climate scientists were warning the world of disaster, a small army of scientists, engineers, policymakers and others were getting to work. These first responders have helped move us toward our climate goals. Our warnings did their job.

To limit global warming, we need many more people to get on board... We need to reach those who haven’t yet been moved by our warnings. I’m not talking about the fossil fuel industry here; nor do I particularly care about winning over the small but noisy group of committed climate deniers. But I believe we can reach the many people whose eyes glaze over when they hear yet another dire warning or see another report like the one we just published.

The reason is that now, we have a better story to tell. The evidence is clear: Responding to climate change will not only create a better world for our children and grandchildren, but it will also make the world better for us right now.

Eliminating the sources of greenhouse gas emissions will make our air and water cleaner, our economy stronger and our quality of life better. It could save hundreds of thousands or even millions of lives across the country through air quality benefits alone. Using land more wisely can both limit climate change and protect biodiversity. Climate change most strongly affects communities that get a raw deal in our society: people with low incomes, people of color, children and the elderly. And climate action can be an opportunity to redress legacies of racism, neglect and injustice.

I could still tell you scary stories about a future ravaged by climate change, and they’d be true, at least on the trajectory we’re currently on. But it’s also true that we have a once-in-human-history chance not only to prevent the worst effects but also to make the world better right now. It would be a shame to squander this opportunity. So I don’t just want to talk about the problems anymore. I want to talk about the solutions. Consider this your last warning from me."

-via New York Times. Opinion essay by leading climate scientist Kate Marvel. November 18, 2023.

[writesvani]

Dear Me | 02

lawyer! jungkook x privatechef! reader

SUMMARY: Once upon a time, Jungkook and you were everything. Best friends who shared every moment, every secret—except one: you were in love with him. But life changed. High school ended, real life began, and slowly, you drifted apart, the distance between you growing too wide to cross.

The end. Except it isn't.

One day, after a long day at work, you open your email to find a message from 13 years ago—written by your younger self. A letter you’d forgotten, sent by a service you paid to remind you of your youth, your love for him. As the emails keep on coming and you keep reading, the flood of memories hits you, and you realize something heartbreaking: you never stopped loving him.

But now, it’s too late. Jungkook is about to marry someone else. Or is he?

estranged childhood best friends-to-friends-to-lovers?

TWs (for this chapter): abandonment, unrequited love, emotional pain, jealousy, self-doubt, isolation, neglect, heartache, betrayal, loss of friendship, overwhelming feelings, loneliness

comment HERE for Dear Me taglist;

SERIES M.LIST;

— previous chapter // next chapter

wc: 4,2k // date: 22nd of March

CHAPTER TWO — It's you – well me again, UGH happy reading my gummies...

AN: hey everyone! holy moly, i am literally sobbing seeing how much support this fic is getting. like, i can’t even. y’all are just chef’s kiss. pls keep reblogging, liking, and sharing the love because i appreciate it more than i could ever express! BUT. and this is a big but (no, not that kind of big butt lol), i’m absolutely OBSESSED with reading your comments. seriously, i live for them. your thoughts, your reactions, your theories, ALL OF IT. i am lurking, waiting to reply and fangirl with you. you can also come talk to me on my blog – my ask box is always open, let’s chat, let’s get unhinged. thank you again for all the love, you’re all amazing, and please never forget, i adore you all. now go comment or i will personally haunt your dreams (jk… or am i?) 💕

— love, vani

You’re not certain about many things in life, but there is one undeniable truth: you are a creature of habit. A prisoner of routine. A slave to the ticking clock.

Everything about your life follows a rhythm—a comforting sequence of events that you know like the back of your hand. The way your mornings unfold, how your afternoons stretch on, and the quiet predictability of your evenings. It’s not just familiarity. It’s safety. A shield against the chaos that could unexpectedly break through.

Since childhood, you’ve held tight to the belief that routine is the antidote to disorder. It was the one thing you could count on, the one thing that offered stability in a world full of unpredictability.

But now?

Now, there’s a disruption. And it’s not a small one. It’s as if the very fabric of your week is being unraveled, thread by thread.

There’s a gnawing ache in the pit of your stomach—a hollow feeling that you can’t shake. It burrows into your thoughts, quietly slipping into the spaces where your peace used to reside. It’s a feeling that’s eating away at the walls you’ve carefully built around yourself. A slow, relentless erosion of the calm you’ve worked so hard to protect.

The worst part? It’s not just the present. It’s everything that’s been hanging over you, lingering like an uninvited guest.

The whole damn week—every second of it—looms in the back of your mind. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell yourself you shouldn’t be thinking about it. It doesn’t matter how many distractions you try to throw at it. The thought still creeps in, gnawing at the edges of your thoughts, never letting you rest.

The email.

Not just the email itself, but the fact that it’s coming again.

It’s maddening. The thing that claws at you the most isn’t the dreaded message itself, but the fact that you can’t remember what you wrote in it.

You’ve been writing these emails since you were just a teen. The words, the phrases—they’ve become second nature to you, so familiar that they’ve lost their meaning. But now, now it feels like they’ve become ghosts. You can’t grasp them anymore. It’s as if they were written by someone else, someone you no longer recognize.

Too many things have happened. Too many choices made. Too many pieces of yourself you’ve buried so deep that even you can’t recall them.

Possessed. That’s the only word that could possibly describe what you’re feeling.

You wake up with an unsettling giddiness, the kind that makes your stomach twist, and as soon as Wednesday arrives, it consumes you. A nervous energy builds inside you, bubbling up with every passing minute. You try to focus, to concentrate on the task at hand, but it feels impossible.

At work, you can’t seem to get anything right. The moment you step into the kitchen, disaster strikes. You knock over a pan with a loud clang, the sound echoing like a mistake that can’t be undone. The judgmental glare from your boss stings more than you expect—why does she have to work from home, anyway? You don’t need her disapproval hanging over you.

But the pan is just the beginning. The soup, which you had so carefully planned, boils over on the stove, its aroma turning sharp and unpleasant as it becomes too salty. You have to start over, again, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t get it right.

Then, while washing the dishes, you break not one, not two, but three plates in quick succession. Each crash is like a sharp reminder of how out of control you feel. Your hands shake, your breath quickens, and you nearly cut yourself in the process. Almost.

You know exactly why you’re like this. Why everything feels so off, so wrong. You know it’s not just clumsiness or nerves. It’s because today is Wednesday. The first email came last Wednesday. And that means—

It’s coming. And it’s coming today.

And the anticipation, the weight of it, hangs over you like a dark cloud you can’t escape.

You close the door to your apartment behind you, the soft click of the lock a familiar sound that echoes in the quiet of your space.

Water clings to your skin like an unwanted reminder. Droplets trail their way down your body, dripping messily onto the wooden floor beneath you, leaving small puddles in their wake. Your shoes, heavy with mud, leave their own trail—a mess you’ll have to clean up later.

Your teeth chatter from the cold, and a curse slips past your lips before you can stop it. The realization hits you like a punch to the gut: you’ll be scrubbing this floor again.

"Ugh," you groan, the sound of frustration hanging in the air. You swear to God, you’re going to start carrying an umbrella every day—yes, even when the sun is shining bright.

This morning, though—this morning had been perfect. The lazy rays of sunlight stretched across your room, coaxing you awake with their gentle warmth. It was just warm enough to wear a T-shirt and pants, courtesy of Spring's tender touch. You had woken up to the harmonious melody of birds and nature greeting the new day.

But then, work ended. And as soon as you stepped outside, the heavens opened. The rain came pouring down, without mercy.

You barely had time to brace yourself—a small, five-minute walk from the bus stop to your apartment, and you were drenched. Now, the cold seeps into your bones, creeping up your spine. You can already feel the tightness in your throat, that familiar ache that will make swallowing a painful ordeal, which—coming from a chef—is nothing short of devastating.

And your nose? It’s already starting to run, that disgusting, constant drip of misery. The irritation swells inside of you, a sharp, biting frustration that makes you wish you could just disappear into the warmth of your dreams, away from the cold, the rain, and the never-ending annoyances.

You try to stretch out your shower, clinging to the warmth of the water as it pours over you, trying to let it soothe away the tension of the day. The heat surrounds you, but your mind pulls at you, relentless, reminding you that there’s no escaping what’s coming.

Before you even realize it, the evening slips away from you. Dinner’s a blur. After it, you’ve made your favorite—green tea, comforting and simple—but it’s not enough to calm the storm inside you.

You sink into your couch, the soft fabric wrapping around you like a too-familiar embrace, but it doesn’t quite hold you the way you need. Your laptop rests in your lap, its weight small and familiar, like the way your legs drape over the coffee table in front of you. A simple, normal scene. But nothing feels simple right now.

There’s an unsettling quiet before you break it.

Click.

Click.

You open the email.

It feels almost too much to bear, too heavy for the moment. The words on the screen seem to stretch, pulse, and mock you, as if daring you to face whatever’s inside. The thing you've been running from all day. The thing you can’t shake, no matter how hard you try.

And as your eyes fall onto the text, a wave of something tight and cold wraps around your chest, making it harder to breathe.

“Dear me,”

You bite down on your cheek, a small habit that betrays the nervous energy running through you. Your eyes skim lazily over the words on the screen, barely registering the flow of text at first.

“It’s you—well me again, UGH. THIS SHIT CONFUSES ME TOO MUCH BECAUSE LIKE, I DON’T KNOW HOW TO ADDRESS US? SHOULD I USE ME, US, YOU? I’ll probably be using all of those. Anyway, the past week has been the first week of high school, and I LOVED IT.”

A small, almost involuntary smile tugs at the corners of your lips. She loved it. You can feel that warmth in your chest, a tug of nostalgia for the beginning of your high school journey. The days were full of excitement, each one an unknown adventure. You remember how every second of it felt—like you were just waiting for something to change, to begin.

“Anyways, what’s new is I made TWO new friends, their names are Yoongi and Nina.”

Your heart flutters, that familiar warmth surging within you as thoughts of the twins invade your mind. Your chest feels lighter, as if your heartbeat is dancing just a little faster. You remember those first shared glances with them—the way their presence seemed to fill the room, just as it does now.

“THEY’RE TWINS, ISN’T THAT SOO COOOOOL? AND THEY’RE FROM NEW YORK, WHICH HELLO, SINCE WHEN ARE BIG TOWN FOLK MOVING TO THIS LAME CITY?”

The words ring in your mind, playful and free, as you imagine them—their voices, their laughter, the energy they brought with them. You can’t help but smile, the memory of their faces suddenly so vivid, so real.

“They’re kind of shy though—but they sit behind Kook and me, so I finally got them to talk to us yesterday,”

A flash of Yoongi’s young face suddenly strikes you—a brief, sharp image that you can’t shake. You remember him clearly, sitting in the back row, shoulders slouched, his nose buried in a book. The memory is so vivid, like a photo you’ve never forgotten. That was Yoongi. The bookworm. The quiet observer. He was always tucked away in the corner of the classroom, never seeking attention.

You can still see him now, the way his eyes were always lost in the pages of novels, the weight of words pulling him deeper into worlds only he seemed to fully understand. Yoongi wasn’t the kind of person to take up space with noise or drama. He was the kid who avoided the spotlight, who didn’t need the chaos of teenage gossip to exist. Instead, he was happy in the quiet, turning page after page, writing essays that won competitions without ever trying.

And you loved him for that. For the way he could exist without needing to be anything other than himself. The mutual love of books had bonded you two in a way that few others could understand. It was an unspoken connection that stretched back to high school, back to when the two of you would spend hours talking about novels, about the worlds between the pages.

Now, years later, you’re both far from those early days—living in apartments fifteen minutes away from each other, with careers that have shaped who you’ve become. But Yoongi remains a fragment of that high school you—still here, still unchanged in ways that matter. He’s the piece of you that didn’t fade, didn’t leave when everything else seemed to shift. He stayed.

You bite your lip, the weight of those memories pushing you back into your seat. You’re thankful for having the luxury of knowing Yoongi—having him in your life. You’re thankful that he didn’t abandon you.

Your thoughts drift to Nina, her image flashing in your mind with an almost effortless clarity. Nina was always so beautiful, in a way that felt natural, like it came easily to her. From the chestnut strands of her hair, which would catch the sunlight in just the right way, to the lazy hum of green in her eyes—a color that seemed to flicker, almost mischievously. Even though she and Yoongi were twins, they didn’t look alike in the way you would expect. They shared that one thing—the gummy smile, the one that colored both of their faces, but that was where the similarities ended.

Nina was the embodiment of the teenage dream—the one everyone noticed, whether she wanted it or not. Wild. Reckless. Effortlessly captivating. She never had to try, never had to force attention on herself, yet it always found her. Even when she tried to avoid it, when she would feel the heat of all those eyes trained on her, even when her ears would flush with the soft pink of embarrassment, she was always the center of attention.

And it felt so familiar, like deja vu.

Much like Jungkook. So much like Jungkook.

A shiver crawls down your spine at the thought of him. Your body twitches involuntarily, like some cosmic force is urging you to look away, to move on from the screen.

But you can’t.

You simply can’t.

“I don’t know them well enough, but both Kook and I think they’re cool. Well, I mostly talked with Yoongi because he was reading Wuthering Heights AND I NEVER SAW ANYONE, LET ALONE A BOY READING IT? HELLO? 911 I FEEL LIKE FAINTING.”

You laugh softly, the sound escaping you almost involuntarily, and tuck a piece of your hair behind your ear, the familiar gesture one that feels too gentle, too intimate for the moment.

“And Nina is sooooo pretty. I feel like I’ve never met a prettier girl in my life AND she’s kind,” your gaze drifts, and in your mind, you nod at your past self, agreeing with her—yeah, Nina is pretty. She’s sweet too.

“But I think Jungkook thinks she’s pretty too. Which is weird. Lowkey.”

The words slip too easily, but there’s a weight now, settling somewhere deep inside you. Your stomach flips—suddenly queasy, your skin prickling. Nausea spreads through you like a dark cloud, thick and suffocating. The cold that you feel creeping up your spine could be from the chill in the air, or it could be from the words you’re reading. You're not sure which one it is. Maybe it’s both.

This is it. The beginning. The words you’d been dreading, the ones you knew were coming, yet couldn’t prepare for. Reading about Jungkook and Nina. The start of whatever they were. The start of whatever love they shared that grew so greatly.

You shift uncomfortably in your seat, suddenly feeling the weight of something heavy in the pit of your stomach. The feeling of something real starting. The one thing you’ve feared the most.

Your gaze flickers down to the bottom drawer of your desk, and your heart skips a beat. The envelope. It’s still there, untouched.

The invitation.

The invitation to their wedding.

The wedding Jungkook didn’t tell you about before inviting you.

You try to force yourself to focus on the rest of the email, but the words blur in front of your eyes—nothing seems to matter anymore. Some mention of a fight with your mom over laptop time, a new dish you cooked, but the sentences fall flat, blending together into a haze of indifference. They don’t matter. Not like Yoongi, not like Jungkook, not like Nina. And certainly not like Nina and Jungkook together.

And their wedding.

You can’t shake off the gnawing sense of dread that’s settled deep in your chest, weighing you down. Your stomach twists, heavy and sick with the kind of nausea that feels like a thousand broken shards scraping inside. It's as if someone stuffed it with rocks, cold and jagged, leaving you gasping for air.

You had no idea Jungkook was getting married before that invitation showed up in your mailbox. And it eats away at you, slowly, relentlessly. You hate it.

You tell yourself it’s normal. You two just drifted apart, right? It’s been years. Of course, he didn’t feel the need to tell you something so big. But it still hurts, deep down. It gnaws at you—steals your sleep, pulls you under.

Because years ago, you couldn’t have imagined your best friend getting married and not telling you. It would have been unthinkable, absurd. The younger you would have sworn this was just some terrible, cruel dream. But it isn’t.

It’s real.

To be honest, the shift in your dynamic with Jungkook wasn’t sudden. It wasn’t some abrupt change that left you reeling—it was slow, almost imperceptible, like the tide eroding the shore little by little. Neither of you noticed it at first, and you’re certain that if either of you had, one of you would’ve stopped it.

It all started when you were eighteen. At that point, you knew you didn’t want to go to college. Everyone around you was shocked, confused. Everyone, except for your mom and Jungkook. They understood the real dream—the one you weren’t ready to share with the world. Your summer in Europe. The plan you’d built with your mom to travel and immerse yourself in new cultures, learning recipes from every corner of that continent.

But everyone else? They couldn’t understand. You had always been the perfect student. The one who always did well, excelled. So when you chose to follow something different, they whispered. Lazy. Stupid. Reckless. It didn’t bother you, though. You knew you were doing something others were too afraid to—chasing your dreams, and the thrill of it was enough to drown out their voices.

Jungkook was different. You expected him to do the same—to follow his own path, to go after his dreams, too. But instead, he gave up. He had to.

“I have to go to law school. This drummer thing isn’t gonna pay my bills,” he said one night, voice quiet, almost ashamed. He whispered it after a fight with his father—words laced with a pain you could feel in your bones.

Your heart hurt for him, in a way that felt like it was ripping you open. Because Jungkook didn’t have the luxury of being himself. Not when the weight of his father’s debts was constantly looming over him, threatening to crush him under its heavy burden. He had no choice but to give up the dream that once seemed so bright. And it broke you to watch him do it.

So, you spent the last months of your senior year getting ready for your trip, the one that had been your dream for so long. Meanwhile, Jungkook was buried in his textbooks, his focus unwavering. He wasn’t a natural student, but his determination—his sheer persistence—was something you couldn’t help but admire.

He didn’t sleep. He barely ate. His entire world revolved around those books. You remember just hanging out at his house while he studied, watching him from across the room. His posture was tense, shoulders hunched over the pages, the necks of his textbooks cracked and worn from hours of use. Pens and highlighters were scattered around him, as if chaos had taken over his once organized space. And his face—his beautiful face—was painted with the telltale signs of exhaustion. Dark circles under his eyes, hair falling messily over his forehead. It was then, in that quiet moment, that you first felt the shift.

Then came prom. You were supposed to go with your boyfriend, but right before the event, he broke up with you. You were left standing there, heart in pieces, but Yoongi—always the good friend—was there. He was thinking of skipping prom altogether, but you begged him to take you. You never really saw yourself going alone. Prom had always been something you were excited for. The satin dress, the heels, the makeup, the perfect hair—it was all so meticulously planned in your head, down to the perfect date.

But your dream date wasn’t Yoongi. Not even your ex boyfriend. Your dream date was supposed to be Jungkook. He was taking Nina instead. And even though you tried to push it aside, it hurt. Deeply. So, you begged Yoongi—because you couldn’t let your perfect night die completely, not without something to hold on to. It was the only way you could make the night feel even a little like the one you had imagined.

Nina and Jungkook got together two months before prom, and no one was surprised—not even you. They were always destined to be. The quiet charm they shared, the shyness that somehow made them more magnetic, their popularity, and those soft, knowing glances—they were always a perfect match. Everyone, including you, saw it coming. It was written in the way they were together, how effortlessly they fit into each other's lives. No one doubted it for a second.

And despite the ache that twisted in your chest, despite the quiet pain of seeing them together, you smiled. You smiled because it was what he deserved. It was what you wanted for him—even if it wasn’t you standing next to him. You offered them your support, effortless and kind, even as the weight of your own heartbreak threatened to drown you from the inside out.

You wanted him so much it consumed you, but you kept quiet. You kept silent because you knew deep down that you would never be the one. Not for him. Not in that way. And even though it was tearing you apart, you told yourself it was worth it—because you wanted the best for him. Even if that meant letting him go.

And then came the summer. A season that promised escape, adventure, and a chance to rewrite your story. You spent it immersing yourself in the art of perfecting a croissant in France—its golden, buttery layers a silent testament to the dreams you were chasing. You learned how to make pizza dough in Italy, each knead of the dough a reflection of the foundation you were building for yourself. You basked under the Tuscan sun, feeling its warmth seep into your skin, a quiet comfort in its consistency. You stood in the loud streets of Greece, perfecting gyros with the same passion you had for your craft, and you immersed yourself in the history of the Balkans while sitting on a beach in Croatia. The world was wide, and you were exploring it in a way you had always dreamed of. It was a dream made real—but it never fully filled the hole in your chest.

And Jungkook? Jungkook spent his summer falling in love with Nina. You knew about their secret places, their quiet moments. You knew about the way he looked at her—the same way you used to look at him, the way you still wanted to look at him. He spent the summer laying in the grass with her, the breeze pulling their laughter into the air. They visited hidden beaches in your town, their footprints imprinted on the sand, and he held her close, just as you once imagined he would hold you. He made love to her, touched her, and gave her the things you had always wanted for yourself but would never get.

It hurt, more than you could bear, but you got used to it. It was the kind of pain that didn’t go away, the kind that you learned to live with. You told yourself you would, at least. You had to. You had no other choice. It was the reality of it all—the world that had shifted around you without your permission, without your consent. So, you buried it deep, kept smiling, kept writing to him, kept pretending. Because sometimes, pretending was all you had left.

And then, just when you thought your heart couldn’t take more, life threw you a chance. You were in Montenegro—another place to explore, to escape. It was on a whim, a moment of passion, that you ended up cooking for strangers at a small, bustling seaside restaurant. Someone noticed you. Someone tasted your food and liked it. It was an ordinary day, yet it was the turning point you didn’t see coming. You were offered an opportunity to work as an assistant chef on a yacht.

At first, you hesitated. You had never even imagined such a huge thing. But you always watwd it, so you took it. You grabbed it with both hands, like it was the one thing that could save you from all the lingering emptiness. You had always dreamed of something bigger than what your life had been—the same routine, the same city, the same old connections that kept you tethered to the past. And here it was, an opportunity for growth, for something different.

Your mom traveled with you for the first few months, like a safety net. She was your anchor, your lifeline in the chaos of new beginnings. But she had her own life to return to, and soon, she left. You stayed—alone, scared, but driven. Cooking and cruising around Europe, on a yacht you never thought you’d be on. You cooked for a woman you didn’t know, on a sea that seemed endless. The hours were long, the days blurred together, but you found purpose in it. The work wasn’t easy, but it was yours, and you were making something of yourself.

When you came back, after months of moving from one coastal city to the next, she offered you something real—something solid. She made you her private chef. It wasn’t just a job anymore. It was a new life, a new beginning. You had carved your own place, built a career from scratch, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like you had something truly yours.

But even with all this success, all this newness, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was missing.

Jungkook went to college. The path you thought you’d walk together diverged, and like so many things in life, the distance grew in small, almost unnoticed increments. The calls, once so frequent, became rare—each word feeling heavier, too shallow to bridge the gap that was silently growing between you. You were busy, too busy building your life, carving a future that you never quite pictured would look like this. He was tired, burnt out from the demands of his studies, struggling to keep up with everything.

You were up during the day, hustling in the kitchen, perfecting your craft, and when the clock hit 10 pm, you collapsed into bed, exhausted from the relentless pace of it all. He was the opposite—up all night, pouring over textbooks, and by the time he called you, you were already asleep. When you reached out to him, he was caught up in his studies.

And somewhere, between the rush of your schedules, the world you shared drifted away, unnoticed. You both tried, maybe, but the threads slipped through your fingers, unraveling, until neither of you recognized the version of each other you were becoming. The late-night calls, the inside jokes, the shared dreams—they faded into the background. The connection you once had felt like a distant echo.

And you never found your way back to each other.

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[windvexer]

farming magic versus wild foraging magic

It's been on my mind a bit but I really think in Witchcraft, a lot of it is finding power. A LOT of it.

You know I talk about my system a lot, building relationships with ally spirits ("correspondences"), evoking and petitioning spirits, laying a compass, carefully storing and distributing energy between spells.

And this is all kind of like farming; you can learn how to cultivate the magical ecosystem around you to carefully seed, grow, harvest, and store power, and to make friends with the gods and spirits within and around this system who help you (or decline to hinder you, which is also very good).

This farming is good because it serves the same function as regular farming, i.e., it's hard work but it provides reliable and predictable resources available throughout the year.

But that's not finding power, that's farming it.

Several months ago I did one of the most powerful workings I had done in a while, which transformed my life. There was no evoking correspondences or compass laying or invocations or spirit offerings.

I found a free-flowing source of incredible power (an eclipse, and I found it by looking up), called it into myself, and asked that it do something specific.

No candles, incense, bells, talismans, or whatever: the actual technique I performed was extremely basic energy work.

The results were humbling, and continue to humble me, and I believe it is probably beyond what I would have been able to accomplish working only through 'farming'.

After all, I am a competent adult. I could build a fish farm. I could learn to keep it regulated and sustained to provide fish all year round.

But it doesn't matter how good of a farmer I am, I'll never be able to compete with the open ocean.

A lot of this stuff about Witchcraft techniques - if it seems like a lot, that's because it is a lot; it seems like hard work because farming is hard work, and it seems like you must plan ahead so much because farmers must plan seasons ahead.

But that's not all of Witchcraft, and homesteading your magic isn't just farming - it's wild foraging, too.

So if all this Traditional stuff seems a bit stuffy and laborious and lacking in spontaneity, perhaps it's good to ask if you're ever leaving the boundaries of your homestead and venturing out into the woods.

And all those planets and transits and holy days and plant lore and special tricks for foraging power without profaning it are not tedious rules, but maps that show pathways to wild foraging your own power, bringing great boons and benefits to uplift your seasonal farming.

[starsinthesky5]

Do you ever think songbird gives her opinion on football? Like she has full-on conversations and talks joes ears off when they're watching games and Joe is just like😍🤤 he thinks it's the hottest thing ever. Like I can imagine songbird going around the kitchen while making dinner and talking about the current situation with the Bengals and Joe is standing there DROOLING over her UGH

last one for today <3 you’re lucky it was my day off ;) this was so fun to answer because…hell YES. he’s so obsessed with her and when she talks ball? oh my gawd.

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

he’s absolutely feral for it.

joe knew from the jump that she was a football fan—hell, that was one of the first things that drew him to her. she wasn’t just some casual sunday watcher; she lived for this. grew up on it. could recall games from a decade ago like they just happened. even had baby photos in little onesies from her favorite team growing up.

but what really got him? the way she talks about it.

they’re in the kitchen, cooking dinner together—well, she’s cooking, and joe’s just hanging around, pretending to help while really just waiting for her to hand him some kind of easy task. and she’s talking, bouncing around the space, barefoot in one of his sweatshirts, sleeves shoved up as she preps ingredients.

“i’m telling you, joe, if they don’t start utilizing the tight ends more, the offense is gonna stay too predictable. they need to mix it up—get some quick, high-percentage throws going, especially with how much pressure you’re getting. and if they don’t fix that run game soon? we’re gonna be dealing with the same struggles we had last year. it’s a cycle, and it has to break otherwise i’m gonna rip zac a new one,”.

joe is standing there, arms crossed, leaning against the counter, staring at her like she just invented oxygen.

because she’s not just repeating what she’s heard on some sports show—she knows this game. she’s analyzing it, breaking it down in real-time.

and holy fuck it’s sexy.

“babe,” he murmurs, not even realizing he said it out loud.

she glances up, mid-sentence, an eyebrow raised. “what?”.

he shakes his head, blinking a few times like he’s trying to snap himself out of it. “nothin’. just—,” he exhales, rubbing a hand over his jaw, smirking a little. “you’re so hot when you talk ball,”.

she snorts, tossing a chopped bell pepper at him. “you’re an idiot,”.

he catches it, pops it in his mouth, and just smiles so cutely, because yeah, maybe he is. maybe he’s whipped. maybe he’d let her talk about nothing but football for hours if it meant getting to watch her like this—focused, passionate, all lit up with energy.

he steps closer, wrapping his arms around her from behind, pressing a slow kiss to the side of her neck. “nah,” he murmurs, voice low. “just obsessed,”.

—

she talks his ears off at any given chance. monday nights, thursday nights, and as usual…sundays. she just can’t help herself and needs to ramble about her thoughts while watching, a habit she’s had for years. and who better to ramble to then mr. hunky football man himself?

joe had seen plenty of passionate football fans in his life, but nothing compared to her.

they’re on the couch, the sunday night game on, her feet tucked under his thigh as she leans forward, eyes locked on the screen like her life depends on it.

and she’s going off.

like off.

“oh, come on! why would you call that on third and short? the box is stacked, it was so obvious they were gonna crash the line. they should’ve play-actioned that shit—easy first down,”.

joe doesn’t even care about the game anymore. he’s watching her. watching the way her brows knit together, the way her hands move as she talks, the way her voice rises and falls with pure, unfiltered passion.

and then she hits him with, “babe, did you see how they disguised that coverage? pre-snap it looked like man, but then they bailed into a deep zone and completely baited the quarterback—textbook disguise, i swear, if we don’t start running more of that, i’m gonna lose my mind,”.

and he’s just sitting there, staring at her like she just told him the meaning of life, like his whole world has been rocked.

“god, you’re hot,” he breathes, not even thinking about it.

she barely looks at him, too absorbed by what was happening on the screen. “i know,”.

and fuck, that does something to him.

she’s still talking, still dissecting the game, pointing out mismatches and schemes and coaching decisions—meanwhile, joe is just sitting there, absolutely feral, running a hand down his face like he’s trying to contain himself.

she’s a walking, talking dream to him. because it’s not just that she likes football—it’s that she understands it. deep, real, down-to-the-details understands it.

and she cares. she feels it.

he swears he could marry her right now.

instead, he just shakes his head, grinning, squeezing her thigh as he leans in close, voice all gravely in her ear.

“keep talkin’, baby,” he murmurs. “prettiest analyst i’ve ever heard,”.

and when she rolls her eyes but still keeps going?

yeah. he’s gone.

[corseque]

I honestly just wanted one single plot step that I could not predict given the 10 year wait. More behind the cut, I talk about Emet too, and I'm comparing his writing favorably to Solas' writing and why it worked better for me personally, but I am just talking about the writing skill that went into the games and not the dudes themselves, I love them both dearly of course. idk this is a mess and I am not going to edit it for clarity

For me, the game was a series of me saying

"ok I knew that. cool."

"oh yeah, I knew that. I guess it's good that the larger fandom knows about that now."

"nice, but yeah I already knew that too"

"that was something we've been talking about a lot for years"

"this thing they are acting like is a huge enormous reveal that the characters could not possibly have deduced through simply thinking about it in depth over the 10 years... the fans easily figured out by thinking about it in depth 10 years ago. So you would think his girlfriend would be able to figure it out more easily than we did. Like, why couldn't the game have been like 'oh lavellan already figured that out a while ago' it would have cost them nothing"

"this is something I've been thinking about for years, and now that it's being revealed, the companions' reactions to it are very irritating and jarring and unnecessary and I really dislike the experience I'm having right now, in this, the hour of my greatest triumph"

"this thing that is happening on my screen right now is something that I wrote an essay about 2 years ago describing how it would be a letdown if it happened without the correct setup"

"this way that they're characterizing Solas makes him less likable and less interesting than I have been finding him for all these years, and I have had people tell me 'no, he's simpler than you think' for years but I guess I was wrong, he really is simpler than I thought, so that fucking sucks. I wish I could take that information out of my brain."

"this thing is a retcon of information I have been thinking about for 10 years, and so I don't know how to follow along with this new direction, and I'm not sure if I even want to because it's not particularly interesting anyway"

"aw that was sweet"

"why is it like, so very impossible to have an honest back-and-forth with my favorite character about the dilemma that was most interesting to me about the previous game"

and then, as soon as, like, the other fans had caught up to the Solas lore that was really obvious from the other games, the game was.... over without anything surprising happening, or introducing a new element or plot point or perspective, or a real true twist (or two, or three) for those of us who have thought about it too hard for too long. It was very simple and easy, much, much, much, much easier than I was imagining. It all felt sort of like that Nicholson quote:

The thing was, the whole story was so interesting to think about because in 10 years, I couldn't figure out a good solution to it!!!!! It's why I was never able to write post-game fanfic about it. So I was stoked to find out some reveal we never knew about, some new information, in maybe a SERIES of steps of new information, that made the situation more complicated but also something that could be navigated by everyone involved. I know it was asking for a lot, but they had TEN YEARS, and they seemingly had set up the things they did in DAI on purpose, so surely they had some idea of a complex and satisfying narrative that would reconcile everyone.

The reason why I was expecting this is because FFXIV did a very similar story arc, which was started AND concluded WITHIN those 10 years (so it took the FFXIV team far less time to deliver as well). And the conclusion to the story in FFXIV did what I was expecting Dragon Age to do. So I thought, "holy shit, if this is the FFXIV version of this plot, how much more complicated is DA4 going to be!?!?" The DA devs also PLAYED FFXIV so they were completely aware, several years ago, of a satisfying story ending that was pretty darn similar.

People are probably going to think "oh, well Chelsea was disappointed because she spent too much time building it up in her head" but that's exactly it - I actually speculated and thought about FFXIV's story IN DEPTH NONSTOP for a year+ before its ending came out, and the ending absolutely blew me away. FFXIV Endwalker managed to introduce information and new story elements that I was not able to figure out in the YEAR I spent speculating on the ending of FFXIV's story. It took a complicated situation and revealed several several more facets to it that I was not able to predict, but were very interesting and thematically compelling, and took us all to surprising and climactic places that we could not have predicted.

Endwalker ("end" is in the title on purpose) too, was written to be THE ULTIMATE SATISFYING ENDING for a very long-running story in the exactly way that Veilguard SHOULD HAVE for Dragon Age, so while this complexity is being explored, FFXIV also gave catharsis to many different plot threads that have been built up through the previous expansions, until finally it ends with a bang. The story is desperately good to me, I loved it, it gave me closure for Dragon Age long before Veilguard was even revealed, and going back and looking at its story has made this whole thing far less painful for me.

So, I actually did not have a picture in my mind for how things SHOULD go. I just had the thought "I hope it's complicated and there are points of view or facts that we haven't before been exposed to, and the situation is resolved respectfully for Solas, not making him look like a fucking idiot (lol, the only thing I asked for). I don't even care what happens to Solas and Lavellan, I just need the story to be complicated and interesting to think about. Please, god, don't let it be "solas is wrong and he just needs to be convinced" because that's like the simplest story you could tell with this setup"

(btw they managed to tell Emet-Selch's story without making him seem like he's being an idiot on purpose or can never get anything right, and in fact the more the story goes on, the more you think of him as smart and capable and cool, so it is possible to write.... I wasn't asking for the entire moon)

And I played it and... yeah. Most of the story beats were more simple than I wanted them to be, a lot of them didn't make sense in my heart given the writing from Inquisition. (This is another essay, but if Solas' thematic story arc was always about him needing to let go of regrets, why was his personal quest the way it was? After that quest, doesn't he end up regretting not doing more....? Why did he never really talk about regret during Inquisition? If he was so trapped by regret, why was he able to do so many actions? It doesn't mesh well to me. The whole regret thing was very quarter-baked to me, I don't even like thinking about it.) His story never seemed like one that was as simple as being about one man's regrets, but then, I guess, it was always just about one man's regrets.

Emet-Selch's personal storyline (and the way it interacts with and affects the larger story) is very similar but much more cohesive and satisfying to me. It would be difficult to explain why without the aforementioned 5-hour essay. Emet-Selch's story IS about grief and anguish on a world-shaping scale in a similar way that Solas' was apparently always about letting go of regret, but Emet's story was also very pointedly and beautifully about that one theme for the entirety of his story from every tiny detail, from beginning to end - meanwhile, it seemed to me that they tried to introduce 'regret' as the main thrust of Solas' story only in the short story with the Regret demon onward.

From Inquisition just by itself, the closest I personally could get to a story theme for Solas was his inability to trust others hurting him and the world, but his trusting others in DA4 wasn't really addressed to my satisfaction. He is never required to trust anyone before the ending, he never opens up or makes himself vulnerable at all. People find out information about him, he never really dynamically opens himself. So the personal story I thought he had was never addressed at all, while a new one about regret was introduced that never made a ton of sense to me. And I don't think this is just because of my expectations - my reaction to FFXIV proves that I am able to meet good writing where it goes in surprising directions, as long as it's interesting and thoughtful and clear.

And I think this might be part of what people felt was off about the ending - Solas is sort of uninvolved in the revelations that are about him, and doesn't do much to be part of his own ending. Part of what I loved about Solas in Inquisition is that he is not controlled by you in any way, and so he feels like his own person with a very strong sense of character.

Anyway, Emet-Selch, in a very comparable and arguably more extreme plot position, is very involved in the revelations about himself, he always feels like a very strong character who cannot be affected by the player, and the whole situation is handled with deft emotion and care and delicacy. The story is comparatively very uninterested in litigating Emet-Selch or putting him on trial - the story allows you to simply feel the way that you feel in an organic way, and Emet's story spends that energy instead actually exploring his thematic material about grief and legacy, and the larger story theme of existentialism instead, in a way that is very refreshing and interesting. I've seen a lot of western stories tie themselves in knots over "redemption" and frankly it's almost never been interesting at all. Who cares about any of that. lol

(Now, I guess this is a matter of preference, because some people really like being able to shape a character's story, but idk I rewatched the ending of FFXIV and even though there wasn't a choice with Emet, because it isn't a branching story, his story felt more satisfying to me, maybe because there isn't a patronizing choice to be made for him. He is who he is, and he fulfills a very beautiful narrative role and purpose that no other character could in the story.)

I don't know how this could have been improved to me and still allowed players to choose Solas' ending for him, but I can actually think of a few different methods, none of which involve Rook condescendingly and patronizingly lecturing Solas as if Solas had never thought about a single aspect of this horrible situation he's in before that very moment that Rook lectures him lmfao.

All this to say... idk I'm writing this and I am not going back to edit it so it's stream-of-consciousness. But yeah

I just wanted the story to be complicated on a few more levels than I could have predicted. I genuinely don't care what happened, but I thought of a few twists like the Veil coming down and yeah, I was expecting A Single Twist or reveal to happen. In a Dragon Age game.

I wanted Solas to seem cool and capable and noble and smart, and actually feel like he was as old and experienced as he is.

I wanted a clear theme I could sink my teeth into

Like notice I didn't even say anything about Solavellan. Like I never in 100 years thought they were getting a happy ending where they were both alive in bodies, and I like that we got that, but I would honestly trade it for a more complicated story. To me, if a story is sad you can always write fanfic, but if a story isn't COMPLICATED, that's a much more urgent issue.

These 3 things DA4 didn't give me in a way that satisfied me but FFXIV did. anyway idk the way my hyperfixations work, I completely switch to a new subject so talking about Dragon Age is actually hard for me right now.

[kaizokuou-ni-naru]

What! Are your top five reveals in One Piece! Which ones made you go “holy shit” or “hell yeah” the most!

i'm taking reveal here to mean 'points at which previously-hidden information is revealed to the audience,' not just where we're told something new. so:

THE FREEST MAN ON THE SEA: maybe not as dramatic or seismic as some other things on this list, but to me luffy telling rayleigh that to him being the pirate king just means being the freest in the world is the single most important thing we ever learn about luffy's character, and it defines the themes of the whole series. it recontextualizes everything about luffy and the way he interacts with the world and the way he pursues his goal because now we finally know what that goal actually is, and what it means to him. and for the whole first half of the story we don't know this! it's easy to forget because we're, what, six hundred chapters past it now, but we get all the way to sabaody without really knowing what drives luffy, and then we get it and it slides into place perfectly.

WORLD SANK: a recent one, but so satisfying and well-placed. the sunken world reveal is the best kind of big lore reveal, to me, because it's something that makes so much sense it was completely possible to predict it years ago (and people did), and now that it has been confirmed, it's opened up a massive world of implications and questions that are incredibly fun to think about. i'm really excited to see where the story goes with it.

NIKA: i'm sort of rolling everything we learn about gear 5/nika/joyboy in the 1040 chapters of wano together here; i've written at length before on this blog about why i like the nika reveal so much, so i'll just say now that it takes one piece's most fundamental and powerful themes and symbolism (liberation and joy and the sun) which have been built up across the story and reveals to you that those things are a real literal force in the narrative strong enough to turn a draconic tyrant into a garden snake. and having established what he has now about nika, the way oda has continued to explore the implications of that figure existing in the world has been absolutely fabulous to read.

RAIZOU IS SAFE: a smaller and more arc-specific one compared to some of the others on this list, but i just really like the way this reveal is done. the interval between the dressrosa team's arrival on zou and the reveal that raizou was there the whole time isn't even particularly long, but it's the execution which makes it; the devastation of the city, the solemnity of the whole moment, inuarashi and nekomamushi bowing their heads, luffy and the strawhats' reactions. i like the minks a lot, and this is the moment that defines them as a group, as well as establishing the themes of loyalty and sacrifice that will go on to become very prominent in wano.

ROGER WAS DYING: i've talked before about how i really like the handling of roger as a figure and how our knowledge of him evolves and becomes more personal and human over the course of the story. the turning point in that evolution is the introduction of rayleigh; his reveal that roger was not caught, that he turned himself in because he was dying, and that they found the truth of the world there at the end of the grand line. it shifts the whole presentation of the story; we've been told about roger from the very start of the very first chapter, and it's here that we learn the information we thought we had about him has been woefully incomplete. there's a bigger mystery here, one greater than just 'what treasure did roger leave.' and i really like we get this context about roger in the very same scene we learn what it means to luffy to be the pirate king.

[hoonigiris]

CRIME AND PUNISHMENT

l. heeseung x reader

1.2k

chat, what do you do when you accidentally sleep with your TA that you didn't know was your TA? asking for a friend.

fuck my life.

it's the only thought you've had in the last two hours, maybe even three, if you count the expletives that flew out of your mouth this morning when you woke up to an alarm clock blaring the wrong set of numbers at you.

the clock on the wall ticks with each bounce of your knee. you swallow hard, palms clammy, eyes darting to anything that isn't the man sat at the desk in front of you. it's like some kind of sick joke—maybe even cruel and unusual punishment—to be sat in this chair with too-soft cushioning in deafening silence as you wait for someone to say something.

(not you though. you think you've done enough to last a lifetime.)

if there was one thing you liked about your major, it's that everything was predictable. the same classmates sat next to you, the same bespectacled old professors teaching at the front of the classroom, the same books lining the shelves of every office you enter. until today, that is.

predictable my ass. you distantly wonder if it's too late to switch to another major in the last semester of your senior year. maybe even switch schools.

objectively speaking, heeseung looks downright sinful: perfectly mussed hair, forearms exposed, thin-wired glasses drooping a little on his nose. your eyes catch onto the bit of skin left bare from where he's kept his shirt unbuttoned. you almost can't help yourself, trailing your eyes down, down, down—you blink hard. maybe you need holy water.

he hums in thought, drawing his thumb up to his lip to lick and flip to another page in the packet, and you let out a small, strangled sound. like a shark to blood in water, his eyes flit to you through his glasses, an eyebrow raised.

are you okay? you're pretty sure he asks, but it all comes muffled in your ears when all you can think of is how that's the same exact look he gave you a few nights ago. back when he was just some guy at the bar who offered to buy you a drink, someone that was nice enough and, most importantly, hot enough, to help you forget about the fact it was holiday season and you were freshly alone.

(at the time, you had told yourself that it didn't matter that you hadn't flirted with anyone since your break up with your long-term ex—you'd never learn if you didn't try. at least that's what you had told yourself when you went up to the mystery man you'd been exchanging glances with all night.

hi, he'd said, tilting his head. i'm heeseung.

dark eyes, messy hair, kissable lips, it was exactly what you needed to get off your training wheels again. pulling out the stool next to him, you sat close enough to ignore the way your head spun a little at the sudden movement.

you definitely downed your drinks too fast after your friends left you alone, but you pushed the feeling aside and fixed your eyes on heeseung as best you could in the lowlight. come here often?

no, actually, i'm new in town.

really? it was hard to believe anyone would willingly come to a town where nothing ever happened except stagnancy. not for fun, i'd imagine.

he laughed. i start my new job in a few days, at nearby university. would you call that fun?

you hummed, intrigued. hot and smart, you really scored big time with this one. but small talk could only ever interest you so far, especially when the top thing rolling in your mind was the scent of his cologne, the bob of his adam's apple, the chain around his neck just close-fitting enough to catch the eye and lead your gaze downwards to the dip in his throat. at least this one, you know to be indecent. i could show you something more fun, if you wanted?

he raised his eyebrow, setting down his glass and leaning close. bergamot, lilac, patchouli. maybe i'll take you up on that, then.

the rest you remember was getting an uber home, tugging him into your apartment the second you managed to push the door open after fumbling with your keys for god knows how long, making out with him in the kitchen for longer than you care to admit, and the trail of scattered clothes you found the morning after, leading from the living room couch to the bedroom.

well, you remember this too: the hot touch on the couch cushions, the laughing against the softness of each other's mouths as you tried to shuffle your way to the bedroom while keeping as much intimacy as possible, and of course, the actual sex—)

"you're off to a good start, but you need to work on your sentence structure." you jump, back straightening. heeseung looks up at you, neutral-faced as ever. "there are only so many loopholes to not ending a sentence before you just have to use a period."

ok. you frown. that was uncalled for. "that's not—"

"also," he turns the paper around, pointing at the third paragraph. "make sure to check if your em and en dashes are used appropriately. it's a sloppy look, otherwise."

it's like it never happened. he hasn't even spared you an extra glance, not when you saw him during discussion section, not when everyone else filed out of the classroom, not even when he called you in for individual office hours to check over your paper. you'd made the appointment days ago, of course, before you knew of the...predicament you would land yourself in, but the nonchalance in which he barely looks at you has the wolf inside you howling the longer you sit here pretending nothing happened.

(if you didn't know better, you'd think you were mistaken—it's what you'd initially thought when you saw him in front of the blackboard. maybe Hot Guy At The Bar had a twin brother. if he was also named heeseung, that was more of their parents' concern than yours.)

but you do know better, which means you know there are sinister intentions beneath his act. he's playing mind games on you, watching carefully, waiting to see when you'll crack. a trap laid specifically for you.

if there's one thing you don't do though, it's lose. so you push aside all memories if his hands anywhere on you and the feeling of his bare back underneath your nails and his mouth on your neck and you clear your throat, blinking rapidly.

"are you listening?"

"yes." he looks up at you again through his ridiculously slutty glasses, gaze smoldering. a sudden vision hits you, of the big pile of papers on his desk getting shoved in a big sweeping motion to the floor, of you and him getting up to no good in this very office, on the chair, on the desk, under the desk—

"—understood?"

"i agree."

he blinks. you blink back at him. "sorry," you clear your throat, speech jilted. "i mean yes. completely understood."

you grab your bag and scoot your chair out, standing to leave before any more beastly imagine spots threaten to further shatter your academic and professional life to pieces.

maybe this is a good thing, you think. maybe you were being paranoid and he didn't even remember you at all. maybe if you played it cool, you could pretend like nothing ever happened at all, dignity in tact. your pride was another matter, but you'll soothe that over with a nice trip to the college bar tonight, a strict 'NO TEACHER ASSISTANTS' sign plastered on your forehead for your next hookup.

"thanks, heeseung," you say oh-so-professionally, turning back to nod him goodbye.

heeseung nods back, a slight smile tugging at his lips. "i look forward to working with you, miss y/n. i'm sure we'll have a lot of fun this semester."

it's nothing special, you're sure he says that to everyone, but the way he says it... you freeze, hand on the doorknob.

he remembers you.

[error4343]

Questions

CW: gore & blood It all will end where it began - at Snake Meadow Hill Church Love letter for @zzoupz John loves you AU

Don't be afraid, preacher. I hear His voice loud and clear now. He's welcoming you. And so do I. It's our last opportunity to talk before my Ascension. So ask, don't make Him wait

What you want to ask about?

John You don't recognise my face, Miller? I'm John Thomas Ward, a servant of His, just like you. I condemned myself to God since young age and, under guidance of father Garcia, learned true ways of preaching and serving His will. I was priest of false church before you, cowards, threw me away from God's home. But I hold no anger.

Snake Meadow Hill Church Too predictable, isn't it? Sentimental even. I was thinking the same when we moved here. Still, this place more fitting than anything: it's cradle of my own faith.

What you want to ask about?

Horned twins Ah, will-o-wisps. You're not the first whom they brought here. My apologize if they caused you any trouble. I couldn't deny them their fun.

"Him" I see. You forgot for whom you've been praying to. Don't be ashamed: you're not the first or last one to went astray. Recall: Him is above, the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit. If only you weren't so afraid, you would hear His voice though mine.

What you want to ask about?

Lisa Pearson Made not for caring His will on her shoulders, but for guide us towards it. A sinless lamb, iconographer, send to us long ago even before I knew my destiny. She was closer to absolute pureness that anyone of us could get. She was the one whom Initiation you interrupted, but it doesn't metter now. Everything went according to plan. She's with Him now, speaking with us from above.

The Ascension The Ascension isn't some bloody mess as you describe in church guidelines. It's delicate, precise process of hard work. And in the end - He grands His blessing. Firstly, one must clean themselves from any sin. For each sin there's way of redemption. Not just penance: for pride, lust and warth - mortification of flesh, for greed - poverty of monkhood, for envy - condemnation to another, for gluttony - everlasting fest, for sloth - work. Cleaning can take years… But you will know when you're ready.

Then comes the Ascension. No need to describe - you about to witness it. Participate, even.

Oh, how nice of you were to visit us today.

[threepandas]

Bad End: Chosen

I used to love Otome games.

Used to love the genre, predictable as it could sometimes be. It was bright. Fun. A colorful bit of escapism built on love and power fantasies. I read the books. Watched the animes. Engaged with the fandoms freely and with an enthusiasm I can barely remember now.

It was a lifetime ago.

Before I... before, like a monkey's paw wish, I got granted every OI fan's DREAM. I somehow, someway, died and was reborn. A genuine isekai all of my own. I laugh now... I really do... I was so fucking EXCITED.

I was a FOOL.

The world is not a story. PEOPLE are not characters. You can not push the "right" social imput buttons and have a happy ending pop out. Time moves as it always has and always will. Day by day. And? Just because you are HERE? Does not mean you are SPECIAL.

I was old enough to know that, thank the Gods. Or I would have made a likely terrible mistake. Probably a fatal one, by now.

How, you may ask? Surely if you are reborn, you are special! Important to the "plot"! HA. Ah yes, the all forsaken PLOT. That damnable thing, chaining out fates and making us dance, like toys, for the Gods amusement. No, I was merely a replacement part for one worn out and broken down. A soul that gave up.

This dance repeats, you know.

They aren't done with us yet. Not bored of us, all the twists and turns we might take. She could not keep fighting. Keep raging. And so she was replaced. Now I live... a changeling in her place. Knowing my role yet careful to defy it. But... oh...

Oh, how almost IMPOSSIBLE it is to defy it.

I am supposed to HATE her. The Protagonist. The Chosen One. Saintess and beloved. The God's special little thing. Showered in adoration and silks, pampering and protection. While we all DIE. In this, their STUPID fucking Holy War, that we CAN NOT WIN, against "The Dark".

How HELPFUL, my liege. How incredibly SPECIFIC. Is "The Dark" the demons that tore apart my squadron a fortnight ago or the undead that rose and devored an entire village of terrified innocents? How do we STOP them? END this infinite string of atrocities?

Oh? "Only the SAINTESS can push back The Dark"? Well then! It's a good thing she safely tucked away in the CAPITAL THEN, isn't it!? Far from the front lines where we NEED her! Thank the GODS she's getting her chance to play "fuck, fuck, marry!" with the nation's finest while we all DIE!

I remind myself again, desperately, I am not allowed to hate her.

If I hate her, I become an antagonist in this little play. Doomed to die a gruesome and needless death. My men need me. The people need me. The live and breathe and fear for their lives. At the mercy of cruel God's who do not care.

I almost... It is enough that I almost wish my Master was here. But no, HE stayed back at the Magic Tower. Lost interest in me the second the merest HINT that his beloved pet prophecy might be about to be fulfilled. I was his student for most of my life. Chased up and down that mind-bending hellhole for years, giving my everything to meet his every standard.

Does he even remember my name?

Ha ha... gods, as I stare down at the battle map, one of so SO many... I feel brittle. How long will we fight? How many of my men must DIE, before that God coddled BITCH gets off her ass and comes to do her JOB?! We've lost Redwell. Lakehill is covered in ghouls. And no one we sent near the forests of Mirth ever reports back.

But at least the crown prince is getting his fucking birthday party while his people starve. While they run for their lives. Cower from demons and the damned. Because his Twue Woooove~ can't be allowed to put her dainty little self in DANGER now CAN she?!

I'm seething. Furious. Nails digging into the wood on the table before me. I know I should be planning... but I just... gods, I just so ANGRY. So tired. How long can this continue? Am I going to die here, just so those fuckers can DRAMATICALLY "save the day" at the last second? As though they had not let thousands die? Only for it all to begin again? What am I supposed to d-?

Like a roll of thunder and an earthquake combined, the non-physical world SHAKES.

Weight. POWER. Like a mountain appearing from no where, to drop down upon us all. It is CRUSHING. And every bit as dark as being buried beneath tons on soil and stone. My legs nearly give out. My grip on the table before me the only thing keeping me up and alarm bells start clanging outside my tent.

This is it.

I don't know what's about to happen, but I can FEEL it. I... I can not possibly hope to win. It's over. I know, in my heart, I will go out there and fight. Die. Because I refuse to die cowering. Because maybe it'll make a difference for my friends, for the others, for those that yet live. Every monster I slay is one less they fight.

But... this is it.

It's over.

I wish I felt braver. Glorious and filled with light. A beacon of hope, perhaps. But all I can offer is fear and anger and SPITE. Locking my knees so I can stand. Blinking away the tears so I can grit my teeth and bare them. Grabbing my staff so can go a die with the others. Today I shall burn the world. I promised myself.

Take them with you.

Take every last one of those fuckers WITH YOU.

The battle is ugly. It always is and always will be. I heal where I can but kill faster the most can blink. Waves of fire. Blood turned to ice turn to shrapnel bombs turned to flying storms of blood ice shards. Wind attacks and void pockets. Puppets made of mud and rock and bits of armor. The blood of the fallen only making it all that much stronger, that much more terrible.

Magic in war hold no beauty.

I wish I never had to see it again.

"Grandlearner, you've been practicing." A rich voice observed from behind me, sounding pleased. "Good~"

Between one instance and the next, the crushing ocean of power moves between the far side of the battle field to right behind me. I move, spin. Fire my strongest short-range piercing in the desperate hope to gut the man now far too close. I... am effortlessly countered.

He didn't even have to move his hands.

There, standing in the heart of an open battle field, is a man in impeccable fomal clothes. Spotless, dispite the ash and dust, the blood and gore. Almost inhuman in his otherness, compared to the death and suffering surrounding him. He looks like a proper well-to-do gentleman ready for a stroll. The sort of ambiguously ageless bachelor that had haunted the royal university's halls every time I was sent there, to collect something for the Tower.

Too old to be some boyish flirt, too young to be a rougish mistake. It feels false. Mocking. Like a mask held up by some grinning beast. Something older then it seems, effortlessly blending in with the Power of the current age, all the better to play them like fools.

Then the words register and my blood runs cold.

"Learner". It's what a Master calls their personal magical students at the Tower. There are lineage, of a sort. Like bloodlines, almost. Since most never leave. A way to pass on your teachings. Your name and traditions. It's not like we often have the chance to have biological kids. Too busy with our studies. So it's considered effectively the same.

My Master's Master. Who was said to be one of, if not THE, greatest Mages of the last thousand years, possibly longer. Said to have simply vanished one day. Rumored to have "lost his mind" and left the Tower for places unknown after some great argument. Foremost expert on The Dark.

Now standing h...here. Right... Right here. With the enemy army. Of dark and terrible things. The very abominations he once studied "academically". Oh gods. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.

"I've come to collect you, my dear." He says, the very picture of charm as my men scream and suffer around him. As they fight for their lives against his monstrosities. As... as they LOSE. "It has come to my attention, that my unfortunate disappointment of a student has been neglecting his duties to you."

He sweeps his hat gallantly from his head, holding it against his heart at just the right angle, as though offering to merely take me for a stroll. Picture perfect etiquette. As though this were high society and not a warzone. The disconnect stuns me for long moments. "Collect" me?

He strolls forward. Expensive shoe leather somehow unstained by the terrible muck of the battlefield. The blood and mud, the spell water and ash. Amusement rolling off every line of his form, as I try to keep the distance between us. As I struggle against the sucking filth to keep my feet under me.

"I would like to say I am surprised... but honestly? I am not. He always WAS easily distracted by shiny trinkets of little worth. The shinier the better. Like an empty headed little magpie. Disgusting really, how little he values loyalty. I DID try to instill some values. Hard work. Good, honest, study. Some modicum of rationality..."

"It did not work." He sighs, stepping over the fallen body of my Cordelia, my reserve healer. Gods, please no, I told her to RUN... "Unlike myself of course. I, my dear, know EXACTLY what your worth. How you have been WASTED on that little ingrate. It truely has been a theme with him, hasn't it?"

"Tossing aside anything who doesn't fit his perfect little vision. His Master, his Learner, nothing is sacred to him. All he shall ever care for is his little divine tart, won't he?"

The grin that spills across his mouth is like poison through veins, it terrifies me. His face is arranged in a mask of pleasantry. But the look in his eye... that look was coldly covetous. The sort of hunger that would sooner kill than release its hold. It wasn't lustful, I was a child too him. An infant. But I was, perhaps, all that remained. The last piece of his lineage he could possibly still steal away. Corrupt.

I refused.

It... it did not matter much, in the end.

Every spell, he counters. Every attack, he matchs with effortless neutralization. The well of his magic is like the sea. Deep, dark, and crushing. I rage against it, even knowing I stand no chance. I... I have to TRY. I can do no less. Even as I slowly collapse.

Water and ice, electricity and transformation, wind and fire. I try to EXPLODE HIS ORGANS for the Gods sake. In the end, with nothing left, the well of my magic nearly bone dry... I swing at him. Put my back in to it. A staff is a staff after all. It even has a pretty hefty rock in it. It'd probably take out a few teeth.

He, of course, catches it.

Bastard.

He looks CHARMED. Utterly delighted. As though my defiance and struggle are some cute little game. The tantrum of an adorable child that does not wish to submit to their nap. The world swayed as my body begs me to just pass out. To escape within myself. Recover. My legs can no longer hold me. I glare. At last, long last, I let myself HATE.

If that BITCH had just DONE HER JOB. I would not be here, at the mercy of a mad man. While she frolics about, in her happy little tale of love and misunderstandings? I have suffered. People have died! The world has fallen to slow and crumbling RUIN.

Gloved hands cupped my cheeks.

"That's it, little one~ My precious child. Get angry. RAGE for me. Let Master see your fire~" thumbs stroked my cheeks. Looming and entirely too close. There is a glee in that eye, a madness. "We are going to set this world FREE. You? Oh dearest you are utterly PERFECT. Master will take care of everything, understand? All you have to do?"

"Is give in."

Next -->

[wintersoulwitch]

Stage/Fright report

Spoilers spoilers spoilers

Here are my observations and impressions and as many details as I can remember after my first viewing of Stage/Fright. All written up while waiting for my train home, so pardon any inconsistent grammar etc etc

Right holy shit that was so For The Fans it’s not even funny - yet also entertaining enough for people who had never watched the show which is a hard balance to pull off (but if anyone can rise to a challenge like that, it’s Pembersmith)

First of all I was so chuffed that they started with material from the ‘theatre audience’ unfilmed episode (whoo, one of my predictions!) And the fact that it was Hamlet - nice TLOG nod.

Reece and Steve both looked amazing in this first section. Reece didn’t have a wig and was in an unfussy shirt/jumper/blazer combo. I was in the front row so I was taking the opportunity to soak it up.

And Steve looked great as well! Like, I personally think Steve’s best IN9 looks are Sphinx & Trolley Problem so what I’m saying is: Silver Fox. And in this section he has a thick white wig and a blue jacket that sets off his colouring very nicely indeed.

The story was great - some classic Pembersmith comedy dialogue with malapropisms (“I don’t want him to have a prophylactic shock”) and the whole Reece-as-uptight-Englishman-growing-increasingly-irate-at-ill-mannered-people-around-him

(Also, descriptions of the two actors on stage: “One of them’s rather pudgy, like Uncle Gerald. The other one looks like a homosexual” 🤔)

Steve was so funny as a loud, boorish businessman talking on the phone, texting and using his laptop during the play. There was a nice visual gag where Steve was using speech-to-text and the text messages were projected on a mesh at the front of the stage, but everything was mangled eg “Hope that’s OK” being rendered as “Ho that’s so gay.”

And then - murder!

Reece goes on a little murder spree - poisoning an old man with peanuts (his deathly allergy having already been seeded), pouring water over Steve’s laptop charger so he’s electrocuted, and smashing a noisy woman round the head with a metal canteen.

The sketch ends with Reece saying “Ladies and gentlemen may I remind you you’re in a theatre - no coughing, no eating and no mobile phones.”

Omg the violinists! There were live violinists playing an extended version of the IN9 theme song - each standing in a box either side of the stage. They were dramatically lit so that they cast long shadows which melded with shadows and dust projected onto the stage curtain.

After that, Reece and Steve came to the front of the stage as themselves and welcomed us to the show with some banter

Reece: The beautiful Wyndham’s Theatre which we believe is haunted

Steve: Well - YOU believe it’s haunted. I think it’s bollocks.

Ok so we set up the tension of Team Believer vs Team Skeptic. Reece explains that the scene we’ve just watched was a true story. During a production of Hamlet the theatregoer Mr Dowling had been taken over by ‘a strange presence.’

Steve: He then ran into the grand circle and tried to toss himself off. Another thing which is forbidden by the theatre management

(Ushers hold up “no masturbating” signs)

Steve says that grief can do funny things to the brain and make you see things that aren’t there…

Reece talks about ‘la Terreur de l’asile’ Terror at the Asylum. The lead actress was accidentally killed on stage, and her ghost - Bloody Belle - haunts the stage and so Wyndham’s is a cursed theatre, where terrible people things happen.

Steve: And anyone who saw Kenneth Branagh’s King Lear here a couple of years ago will know exactly what we mean.

They introduce ‘the ghost light’ - which you keep on stage when the theatre is empty. Either to appease the spirits or to keep them away.

Steve suggests that maybe Mr Dowling saw his late wife’s ghost on stage instead of Hamlet’s father. “For what is a ghost but a memory? A way of keeping a loved one’s memory alive? Maybe every ghost story is really just a love story.”

Reece then tries to sneak off stage for a costume change, Steve was supposed to have ‘written something funny’ to cover it and not draw attention to him leaving.

Steve vamps for a bit and gets the audience to chant “Bloody Belle” three times to summon her to prove that the superstition is bollocks. He then says that seat F9 in the stalls is haunted and a spotlight appears (poor member of the public in that seat, ha)

I thought BCDR would be referenced and I actually rewatched it the night before the show so that it was fresh in my memory. Well. What I didn’t expect was that they would PERFORM THE WHOLE FREAKING EPISODE LIVE IN FRONT OF ME. WTF LADS.

As soon as the opening music started I recognised it instantly and was like “Ohhhh!” I thought we would get a short scene but it just kept going!

It was an interesting experience to see the episode played out live - the whole communal thing, the way jokes are funnier in a crowd. Normally I watch IN9 on my laptop sitting on my bed all by myself so it was nice to share it!

I won’t go over the whole thing beat by beat. But some things I noticed…

- The cups! They had the blue and yellow cups!

- When Len makes the tea I don’t think he put whiskey in his cup, he drank from a hip flask and Tommy didn’t see

- Len’s mime bit with his arm in the coat was more developed. Early on Len holds up his hand and points to a (n imaginary) wedding ring. The fake figure is much more aggressive with Len, grabbing his face for a snog

- I noticed the mime arm was wearing a big sparkly ring, which reappears later in the show

- The “Drake and Shelby” / “Shelby and Drake” bit goes on longer, which definitely made it funnier.

- When Len did the spit take at the end of the vent sketch I was really worried that I was going to get sprayed. (I did not get sprayed)

- Joe Pasquale ‘he’s 63!’

- The wall for Brown Bottles has ‘Thatcher Out!’ graffiti’d on it

- The Brown Bottles music is different from the one in the TV show - it’s the traditional 10 brown bottles song rather than the similar-but-distinct version, which I’m assuming was some sort of rights issue?

- They didn’t reinstate the cut dialogue (i’ve always loved you…)

- Bernie Clifton’s dressing room is retconned to have taken place at the Wyndham’s rather than the Glasgow Pavilion

- Omg the ‘you nearly died Len’ was absolutely heartstopping, and the way Reece delivered Tommy’s rant was quite different but so passionate

- When Tommy’s talking about Angry Tomato and says he has 100 people working under him, Len says ‘doesn’t that tickle?’ And fucking gooses him! Like full on slap on the arse.

- They had the same Cheese and Crackers playbill and flyer as in the episode.

- On the back of the order of service for Len’s funeral there’s the photo from Steve’s graduation from Bretton Hall.

Then there was a play-within-a-play moment, with ‘Len’ and ‘Tommy’ acting out a sketch about kidnappers that Len had written… but when it started some familiar music played… Rachmaninoff’s Piano Concerti No. 2? It’s A Quiet Night In! (Except I have watched Dead Line way more times than A Quiet Night In, so my brain was adding in the distortion and ghosts)

Tommy reads out the stage directions, which are projected onto the curtain as the set is changed, and we get a sketch that is… A Quiet Night In, the Cheese and Crackers version! Ish. So we have Steve-as-Len-as-Eddie and Reece-as-Tommy-as-Ray, in the black burglar outfits.

So cool to see more of Cheese and Crackers in action! Maybe this is the kind of thing that they had in their TV series? It was really interesting to see Tommy get to be a comedic force in his own right, delivering jokes rather than just setting them up for Len as the straight man. Len did much more clowning (and was definitely sliding into Barry Baggs - to the point where I wondered if we were going to get a Lisgoe-belt-whipping moment)

They brought on their kidnap victim… someone in a paisley dressing gown and a pillowcase on his head. And they were doing charades for the person’s name… Cave-in… Held on… Kevin… wait, what? The Actor Kevin Eldon!!!! My hands flew to my mouth and I let out a scream I was SO delighted. And even more delighted that Steve continuously referred to him as The Actor Kevin Eldon (as is only right and proper! And namedropped Fist of Fun. Only thing that would have made the cook’d and bomb’d forum of my soul happier would have been a reference to a weak lemon drink.) And then I realised that another of my predictions had come true - the kidnap victim is played by a different celebrity each show. Surely a Mark Gatiss appearance is on the cards???

There were references to other episodes scattered throughout… there was a hare statue at the side of the stage, the wardrobe from Sardines, which contained a single black man’s shoe (Diddle Diddle Dumpling), a bit with the number 6 turning upside down to show a number 9 (Once Removed), the use of cockney rhyming slang (Mother’s Ruin), and the house itself is on Mulberry Close.

Something that stood out to me was the different tone of the ending. When Miranda Hennessy came in I didn’t realise she was meant to be Leanne - she seemed like a stranger to Tommy. And the hug at the end was more distant than the hug between Sian and Reece in the ep. You know - the way Tommy holds back at first and then closes his eyes and leans into the hug, and you get this sense of the connection between them? At the end of the ep I felt like Leanne and Tommy might stay in touch and (re)build a relationship, but this time I felt like Tommy was gonna disappear back to France and never look back.

Then instead of ending on Tears of Laughter it goes spoOoOoky, with the lights cutting out and the ghost light appearing on stage, some eerie crackling noises and Tommy looking into the dark calling “Len?”

Then there was a jumpscare and time for the interval.

I stood in a ridiculously slow moving queue and talked to/eavesdropped on conversations - some people were hardcore fans and some had been brought along by partners (“I’ve only watched two episodes of Inside Number 9 and they were both very scary, so I wasn’t expecting it to be so funny” and “I’ve never watched it, I don’t like the League of Gentlemen but my boyfriend does”). Limmy was in the audience tonight and I think I spotted Helen Zaltzmann as well.

The violinists were back for the start of the second half. This time there was a projection of an imposing pair of gates and a 1920s style black and white horror film titles of ‘La Terreur de l’asile / Terror at the Asylum.

Ok so this is the story that Reece and Steve mentioned at the top of the show! Miranda Hennessy and Anna Francolini are a prospective patient (Suzette) and a nurse at Dr Goudron’s asylum. Suzette is dressed in a flapper-ish style with bobbed hair and carries a large green hatbox. She’s wearing the large sparkly ring that the mime was wearing in BCDR.

The nurse has that vintage creepy nun-style nurse uniform with a big white headdress, and strangely pink skin all around her eyes and cheeks. The set has a barber’s chair covered in a sheet (which twitched as if to suggest someone was already sitting in it), there was a bloody saw on the wall and shelves with jars containing various fluids and lumps (Love is a Stranger ref?)

Reece comes on playing a mad scientist type, with a mallen streak and a twirly moustache. He was obviously revelling in it, doing some scenery chewing with lines like “What’s to be gained if they won’t stay awake while I operate on them?” and “I ate them! I ate them up! He sees inside me! He sees everything inside me!”

Reece also performed some of The Elements Song! So random but I loved it.

Turns out that Reece’s character Hugo is an inmate at the asylum, not Dr Goudron at all! The real Dr Goudron - Steve in a white lab coat, coiffed brown wig, and painted on eyebags - appears and Hugo is taken away.

Steve does a turn as a slimy, predatory doctor (Trolley Problem and indeed Sphinx echoes) and recommends trepanation to fix the young woman’s migraines.

Steve: With my methods you won’t feel a thing…

He reveals a bit more detail about his wife’s Unfortunate Demise. (“Her head was never found…” dramatic spotlight on the hatbox)

Then Reece returns, this time being pushed in an old-fashioned wheelchair. Dr Goudron explains that he conducts anaesthesia free surgery through deep hypnosis. He hypnotises Hugo (“I have complete control over his mind and body”), and states that while he’s in the trance he can feel no pain. He demonstrates this by taking a scalpel and slicing Hugo’s face, making it bleed (like Devil of Winter- no, wait, that’s not Inside No 9)

Goudron then asks the nurse to fetch the bonesaw, and asks Hugo to amputate his own left leg below the knee. We’re then treated to the sight of Reece hacking through his own leg and removing it. (I could see his real leg within the chair but it I imagine the illusion looked quite convincing for people further back). He’s then brought out of the trance and we get some patented Reece-in-agonising-pain screams and he’s wheeled away to have the wound cauterised.

Suzette tries to leave and Evil Steve is unleashed.

Suzette: If i could just change back into my clothes…

Steve: No. I’m afraid that won’t be possible.

Suzette: You ravaged her???

Steve: Well as much as one can ever ravage a creature in such a catatonic state… As you will soon find out my dear, after your own surgery has been completed

Things begin to escalate, Dr Goudron reveals he murdered his wife after she caught him ‘in a compromising position’ with a catatonic inmate. Suzette threatens to douse her own face in acid, instead throwing it at the nurse’s face. There’s some nicely gory sfx makeup as half the nurse’s face melts and her eyeball sticks to her hand and comes away, still attached to the optic nerve.

But then! Gaby French appears in an usher’s uniform bearing a coffee order.

Turns out everything we’ve just seen is a rehearsal for a stage play - a performance of Terror at the Asylum to be held at the Wyndham’s. Reece’s character is Markus the Director who berates Gaby’s character Abbie from Front of House for destroying all the tension they’ve built up.

Turns out that the lead is a pop star, Sherry. Steve’s character is Vince, the leading man and a classically trained actor (who likes to do the Guardian Cryptic - Sphinx). He’s frustrated that a leading role in the West End has gone to Sherry, “some bimbo from a girl band”

Reece: It’s not about your CV any more, it’s about how many followers you have on Instagram

Sherry and Abbie have a chat. Sherry has an upcoming audition for series 2 of ‘that Divine Comedy Thing on Amazon’ and if she gets it she’ll have some good scenes with Tim Key (Simon Says/Plodding On).

Abbie reveals that she doesn’t get many auditions - Sherry thinks that’s weird cos she gets “loads” and she’s “not even an actress! Haha!” Some of R&S’s feelings about stunt casting coming through, hmm? Sherry recommends Abbie asks Markus if she can understudy her.

Markus goes through his notes for the actors. There’s some funny bits about bad acting and method acting and fragile egos (Markus’ notes to himself are simply ‘two ticks.’)

The stage is then deconstructed, the naturalistic doctor’s office breaking into modular units and a huge LED screen lifting up. One of the actors comes on with a Steadicam. We’ve gone from early 20th century horror to the cutting edge of digital tech.

Reece: We illuminate the present as well as the past

Steve: But it’s so hackneyed now, you can’t walk down Shaftesbury Avenue without bumping into some cunt with a camcorder filming actors mincing out of the stage door

The steadicam gives a closeup of Sherry, her face is shown in greyscale on the huge screen. They’re going to rehearse the trepanning scene. Everyone acts even more expressionistically and hammy than before with maniacal devilish laughter etc etc. Eventually Markus halts the proceedings and says they need “a gear shift.”

Markus: Let’s make them wonder if Sherry herself has died!

Sherry lies motionless in the chair… is she dead? There’s a long pause… no she was just practicing her dead face.

Then Steve starts talking in his own voice (not the plummy accent he uses for Vince) about Daniel Day Lewis playing Hamlet and walking off stage because he thought he saw his (dead) father on the stage. And then he gives Reece a long, lingering hug, and walks off stage. There’s a moment… huh, what was that about?… and then we’re back in the fiction of the play.

Abbie tells the ensemble about the legend of Bloody Belle - she was playing the role of Suzette 100 years ago and died on this very stage. The prop drill malfunctioned and a six inch spike was drive into her brain. At this point Abbie is standing in the stalls, leaning on the stage, with the camera pointed at her. The scene is bathed in red now, and some of the faces of people in the front row can be seen (including mine during this performance, whoo)

The theatre is now haunted and if someone sees the ghost they become possessed and someone in the company dies. Sherry is appalled that no one warned her about this and storms off.

(Also the offstage tech is called Kevin - I’m guessing this changes with the name of the celebrity guest?)

Later, Sherry is backstage practicing her audition lines for Ninth Circle. Abbie comes to help her with the self tape. The big screen is used again, this time displaying the view through Abby’s camera. Sherry goes through her lines and suddenly there’s A SHAPE AND MOVEMENT in the background. Abbie freaks out and goes to investigate. They rewind the tape to see if they can spot anything. The sound design during this section is lovely and atmospheric, and reminiscent of Dead Line’s musique concrète chorus of electrical hums and sinister drones.

Abbie disappears and Sherry picks up the camera and goes offstage, down the stairs and into the bowels of the theatre. This whole bit is very Dead Line, with human-like shadows/ghostly apparitions, a POV camera with heavy breathing, and a wander through a server room with metal fences etc etc. I was half expecting Steve to scream “jumpscare!” while wearing a rubber mask. That doesn’t happen - but Sherry finds The Hat Box from earlier. It’s illuminated in a spotlight. She opens the box and inside is… the hare!

Suddenly a severed head is dropped from the rafters and lands on stage. Sherry returns, finds the head, and says “Fuck this shit! I’m not putting up with this!” The tension and the spooky atmosphere continues as Sherry protests that she’s not afraid. But suddenly… here comes Bloody Belle!

Markus’ voice comes over the PA “Well done. Great performance. No notes.”

Bloody Belle is revealed to be Abbie. Markus had cooked up a plan to scare Sherry away and force her to quit the play. Abbie says that Markus is “getting off on this,” he says yeah, this is real drama. And it’s “scarier than the actual play.” Abbie asks why doesn’t he “just stage this”?

Reece: What - a Ghost Story with a pop star in the cast? That’ll never work!

Markus thinks the social media chatter about Sherry quitting the “haunted play” will guarantee a sellout show and an extension to the summer. And he plans to recast her with a “proper actress.” Anyone in mind? Yes… Sheridan Smith!

He offers Abbie the opportunity to understudy for Madame Goudron’s ghost. “A bit of skin work… Speaking of which…”

Oh no, he’s a sleazy predator too. Markus starts stroking Abbie’s arms and suggests she comes back to his place. Abbie snaps his neck and he dies. She looks up to the box and whispers ‘thank you.’ Bloody Belle appears and lets out a shriek!

The end!

The company come out to take their bows. There’s a standing ovation. But hang on. When Reece stood up… he’s not Reece anymore? It’s some other guy in the Markus wig and costume? Huh?

Steve says he wants to apologise for walking out of the scene earlier.

Steve: As you can imagine it’s been a very difficult few days and weeks for us as a company. And for me in particular. You probably know that I recently lost my writing partner - the cheese to my crackers. But also my best friend. We’d written this play together, me and Reece. And it said so much about our love of comedy, our love of ghosts and horror stories, and I suppose the difficulty of saying goodbye to someone. So I wanted to honour him with this production. Toby stepped in, who is Reece’s understudy-

(After scattered laughter throughout the speech, there was a big laugh here as any remaining pennies dropped.)

Steve praises Toby’s performance and reveals that sometimes he looked at Toby on stage and “I just saw Reece.”

Then they project Reece’s favourite photo of himself with the text “Reece Shearsmith 1969-2025” on the LED screen

(A missed opportunity to use Paddington Bear Man Dies.)

OK NOW it’s the end.

The cast leave the stage… but the mics are still on. We can hear Steve talking with some of the cast and crew. He says he’s going back on stage to get his mic pack off. The stage manager tells him not to because they’re moving the lighting rig.

“I just need some space, alright?!” cries Steve, heading back onto the stage as the curtain comes down.

Then there’s a crash and a smash! A scream and worried cries of “Steve!” An ambulance siren…

The curtain comes up, Steve is lying on the stage with a theatre light on the ground by his head. Reece appears, all dressed in white, holding two paper cups of coffee. (Two lattes from Planet Organic?) Steve wakes up.

Reece: Here he is! I got you a coffee. Just like old times, you lying on the floor, pretending to be dead. And now you are dead.

Steve:…Toby?

Reece: No, it’s not fucking Toby!

Steve is dead because he summoned Bloody Belle, and Reece fell through the trapdoor in rehearsals and broke his neck.

(And then i was like - is this why Reece hasn’t posted on BlueSky for a while?? Committing to the bit, will he keep it going for the whole run?)

Steve: I can’t believe the twist is that you were a ghost all along!

Reece: Pathetic. Finally ran out of ideas!

Steve wonders if he’s just had a bump on the head and is hallucinating seeing Reece because he missed him so much.

Reece: Maybe. Like you said - what is a ghost but a memory? Maybe every ghost story is really just a love story.

Now they’re going to spend eternity together haunting the Wyndham’s Theatre!

They have some classic bickering banter, Reece suggests that Jason Manford could play Steve’s part in Stage/Fright. Steve isn’t happy about this but Reece snaps back “at least he’s a name! Who’ve I got? Fucking little Toby!

And they have unfinished business… Bernie Clifton’s Dressing Room. Steve cut Tears of Laughter because he couldn’t perform it without Reece.

Reece: One last stop…

Steve: It’s not a bus is it???

And then… the boys leave the stage, some beautiful scenery with painted clouds come down from the rafters, a painted number 9, tinkly chimey music plays, the rest of the ensemble cast appear dressed in white satin and sparkles and maribou. It’s like a Golden Age of Hollywood song and dance number. Reece and Steve return dressed in matching white top hats and tails, and perform a fully choreographed big band version of Tears of Laughter, with new lyrics like:

“Come and dance with us on Cloud Nine”

The other actors leave, they say they’ll leave the ghost light on for Reece and Steve so they don’t get lonely (Til Death ref?), and then it’s just the two of them left to finish the song. For the final “laughter is my memory of YOU” they point at the audience instead of each other.

And that’s REALLY the end. You have been watching… a memorial service for Inside Number 9, and a celebration of the love between Reece and Steve transcending lifetimes and planes of existence. I wish them a very happy eternity together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

For more tidbits, browse the Stage/Fright tag on my blog and check out the list of celebrity guests which is updated after every performance!

[limerence-17]

leave the door open

based on: number 7.

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚

masterlist

warnings: 18+ mdni p in v (bc mentioned,) explicit language, oral sex (f receiving), fingering

word count: 1.6k

A/N: all characters are 18+ here. obx season 4 didn't have to make rafe this sexy but here we are and i hope u all enjoy <3 also psa yes i know kinktober is over but i feel kinky all year and what about it

i wasn't going to touch myself. in fact i wasn't even thinking about it, and yet here i was about to spend the night at my best friend sarah cameron's house and all i could think about was the way her older brother looked coming into the house after getting off his motorbike. the way his hair swayed as he ran his hands through it, and the way he grunted as he walked by us in the kitchen.

he didn't even make eye contact and yet i couldn't stop myself from staring right at him as he walked by.

but here i was laying in the guest room, in this giant house that i still couldn't wrap my head around the fact that my best friend lived in and all i could think about was god damn rafe cameron.

────── 〔✿〕──────

that night, it was rather warm out, but i was feeling tired, dazed perhaps. sarah had come into my room, told me john b wanted to see her which was predictable as usual and snuck out through the guest room window. she told me she'd be back by 7 am which meant i'd be spending the night on my own. i didn't mind it but it could get lonely.

the sun was setting, and i felt strange spending such a lovely summer evening inside getting ready for bed but i suppose that was alright considering i spent the entire day out and about.

i nustled my legs smoothly against the satin sheets. something about staying at the cameron's house always reminded me of staying in some nice hotel. everything just smelt clean, like oranges and fresh air.

my shorts rode up my ass slightly, but i paid hardly any notice to them. it was so hot out anyway. i turned over, glancing outside the window. it was quiet out, too quiet and yet my mind wandered back to rafe in the kitchen. his hair falling ever so slightly in front of his eyes, the way he smelt. like sea salt and expensive cologne.

i couldn't help but shift my body so that my back laid against the bed, slowly arching my back as my hand glided to my shorts, placing soft slow circles against my clit. slowly, but i applied more pressure the more i circled. i couldn't help but let out a moan and had to cover my. mouth as i continued on. i wanted to take off my shorts as i thought about rafe. his hands, his hair, god his hands.

"holy fuck...rafe..." i moaned out in a hushed whisper.

my eyes kept closed, but my fingers continued to roam beneath the sheets until i heard a creak that was louder than i would've thought. i stopped dead in my tracks, moving both of my hands up over the sheets pulling them up swiftly to my chin.

oh my god it was rafe cameron. standing there with his zip up sweater, and clean cut pants. but the way he looked at me, well i couldn't tell what he was thinking but his eyes were wide. very wide.

"shit i didn't mean-"

"swear to god i wasn't listening or anything," said rafe dumbly. he ran his right hand over his mouth, looking at the ground.

"whatever you think you saw or heard or whatever the fuck you didn't rafe!" i was too embarrassed to muster up anything else. i just held the covers high.

"hey it's no big deal seriously... i mean i jerked one off like six hours ago so like-"

"jesus rafe, i mean it! delete this from your mind or i swear to god i'll-"

"see the thing is i can't really delete that from my mind. you moaning my name and all..." rafe closed the door behind him and took a few steps towards the bed.

"oh fuck you heard that?" i was mortified. just mortified. what was wrong with me?

"now the thing is...you're my sister's best friend so so like... i mean that's kinda fucked up-you thinking about me while you touch yourself and shit," rafe said in a drawl, using his hands to express it. rafe was now sitting at the edge of the bed. his eyes were glancing around quickly, his thoughts clearly racing.

i lowered the sheets but made sure that they were still just above my chest. but holy fuck, i was soaking wet now.

"but hey it makes sense- the way you look at me, always thought it was in my head and shit but-"

"it's not." i interrupt him. the more he looks at me the more i just picture his tongue in my mouth and i'm starting to get needy, my legs are clenching together now.

rafe's eyebrows raised, and he froze for a moment. but then his hands slowly crept up the sheets grabbing my thigh. i gasped feeling his hand there. his eyes widened, watching my expression.

"this what you were thinking about, huh?" his hand crept up agonizingly slow. i couldn't get a word out. just stiffled moans until eventually the sheets were down below my chest.

i let out a longing sigh as i felt his sturdy hand cup my pussy, using his other hand to move the bedsheet off completely, exposing me completely.

he looked up, asking for approval as his hands slowly tugged at the hems of my shorts and i nodded quickly.

"yes rafe."

rafe obliged immediately, pulling my shorts down, i pulled my tank top over my head. my legs lifted in the air as he threw them onto the floor. he slowly separated my legs, ogling at my obviously wet cunt.

he used his middle and ring finger to slowly trace a line up against my folds and i gasped at the touch.

"god damn my sister's best friend is a little slut huh? you're wet as shit and that's all for me huh?"

all i could let out was an innocent "mhmm," since the feeling of his fingers tracing against my folds was driving me lust drunk.

"yeah... i'm gonna need to taste you...." he said, now crouching so that his head was between my thighs.

"wait rafe-" rafe stopped immediately, glancing up at me.

"take off your shirt."

rafe smirked, obliging as he pulled it over his head, and i felt my eyelids grow heavy from lust as i looked at his chest. jesus, he was ridiculously hot. my best friend's ridiculously hot older brother was about to eat me out.

this time, more aggressively he separated my thighs and before i could comprehend it his lips were against my pussy. his tongue moved up and down, circles against my clit. as if it was instinct, i gripped at the bedframe. but it didn't last long as he gripped my hips, pulling me in closer to him. my thighs tightened against his head and it felt insane. i'd never had someone eat me out like this. so hungrily and quickly. he was incredible.

"shit you taste fucking unreal-" he grunted and gasped before licking me once more.

rafe's tongue moved quickly but he pulled away, moving so that he was now on top of me. he made eye contact before inserting a finger into me and i gasped. it was only a few pumps, hard and fast before he pulled out.

"taste yourself-" he said and i obliged, sucking on his finger. rafe licked his teeth, letting out a low hum of a laugh as he watched.

"you are fucking wild-" he said. my hands reached towards his pants and he looked down and then back up at me.

"what- you wanna feel me too?"

"rafe i wanna feel all of you- i want you inside me."

that set him off and he quickly reached to his pants, pulling them down along with his briefs. he was hung, like way more than i ever would've imagined. and hard too.

"looks like i'm not the only one whose this turned on either huh?"

rafe let out a sarcastic laugh "ha...ha...."

he got on top once more, this time pinning my legs higher in the air.

"yeah fuck i need to see all of you when i fuck you," rafe commanded.

"you're on that girl pill or whatever it is right?" rafe asked. i let out a quiet snicker.

"birth control, rafe? yeah i am," i said running my hands through my hair.

rafe nodded quickly, obviously thankful since it was clear neither of us brought condoms.

he positioned himself so that his tip was directly against my folds and then slowly pushed himself into me. i gasped, immediately reaching my fingernails against his back.

rafe grunted as his pumps started slow, but eventually quickened up. he moved quickly, thrusting and grunting into me. i let out stifled moans and he clasped his hand over my mouth.

"hey...hey... you've gotta be more... quiet than that... holy....fuck" rafe moaned between thrusts.

his paced quickened, his strong arms now moving to my waist as he pulled me to the edge of the bed. he thrusted deafening quick and i clenched my fist placing it against my mouth in a stupid attempt to silence myself. he was too fucking good at this. too strong, too fast, too fucking hot.

"don't stop! rafe jesus i'm gonna cum!"

"shit... me fucking too..."

it only took a few more thrusts before i let out a stiffled sigh and rafe collapsed, falling on top of me. both of us sweating, exhaling and my hands running through his hair.

he pulled away, laying beside me. i turned over to meet his gaze, my hands still running through his hair. he looked back at me.

"alright round two-"

[thewitcheslibrary]

Types of divination

Please note: Not all of them are going to be here. I will be covering ones that Beginner witches can use and learn as a starting point! This also isnt a guide on how to do it, its is just some ideas and what they are.

Tarot and cards-

People who are unfamiliar with divination may believe that reading Tarot cards means "predicting the future." However, most Tarot card readers will tell you that the cards are only a guideline, and the reader is simply interpreting the likely outcome based on the forces at work right now. Consider Tarot as a tool for self-awareness and contemplation, rather than "fortune telling." Here are some simple steps to get you started reading and utilising Tarot cards in your divinatory practice.

Norse Runes-

According to Norse epic sagas, Odin created the Runes as a gift to humanity a long time ago. These sacred and holy symbols were originally etched in stone. Over time, they grew into a collection of sixteen letters, each with a metaphorical and divinatory significance. Learn how to create your own set of Runes and read what they say.

Reading tea leaves-

People have utilised many different ways of divination from the beginning of time. One of the most recognised is the practice of reading tea leaves, often known as tasseography or tasseomancy. This divination method, while not as ancient as some of the other famous and well-known methods, appears to have originated in the 17th century.

Pendulum reading-

A pendulum is one of the most basic and easy types of divination. It's as simple as asking and answering yes/no questions. Although pendulums may be purchased commercially for between $15 and $60, they are simple to create on your own. Most people use crystals or stones, but you may use any object with some weight to it. There are various methods to utilise a pendulum for divination, and you'd be amazed what you may learn from "yes" and "no" replies. The secret is to learn to ask the appropriate questions.

Osteomancy-

For thousands of years, tribes throughout the world have used bones for divination, a practice known as osteomancy. While there are several approaches, the goal is usually the same: to predict the future using the signals revealed in the bones.

Numerology-

Numerology is a discipline that many Pagan spiritual groups utilise. According to the basic concepts of numerology, numbers have a tremendous degree of spiritual and magical importance. Some numbers are more strong and powerful than others, and combinations of numbers can be created for magical purposes. In addition to magical correspondences, numerals have planetary importance.

Intuition-

Intuition is the capacity to know things without being told. Many intuitives make outstanding Tarot card readers because their ability offers them an advantage when reading cards for clients. This is sometimes known as clairsentience. Of all psychic talents, intuition may be the most frequent.

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

My Top 10 Fics Of 2023

So, because it is the 'wrapped' time of year where everyone looks back on their year through playlists and other types of stats - I thought that I would look back on my year through something completely nonobjective and based on exactly 0 data - my favourite fics I have written this year that are based completely on my personal enjoyment of them.

Last year, I did something similar to this where I counted down the top ten fics based completely on data - how many notes each fic had gotten on tumblr. But most of the posts were shorter fics that I hadn't spent a lot of time working on that I wasn't very proud of. (Like the fact that my current most popular fanfic on my sideblog for fanfiction is the shortest in word count.) So I have decided to go over the fics that are the most popular in my heart - countdown style.

This year I have written 39 different fics and I have written over 395,000 words, and these are my favourite fics that I have written.

Honorable Mentions:

Black Suit - Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader (2,900 words). One of the most well-rounded fics I have written in such a short word count. And just - look at her.

My Bleeding Heart - Draco Malfoy x Fem!Reader (3,400 words). I have never used Death Eaters as the basis for angst in a fic and I had so much fun with it. Plus the kidfic fluff at the end was really fun too.

IFHY (I Fucking Hate You) - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader (8,100 words). So @holy-minseok made a post about how there isn't enough fics with reader characters that aren't nice and sweet and I haven't stopped thinking about it since. Because I have so many fics with rude, toxic readers and this is absolutely one of them. This reader is a Grade A Bitch and that's a huge reason why I had so much fun writing it.

Better Than Sleeping - Jason Todd x Fem!Reader (5,300 words). This is some of the best quality smut I have written this year, hands down.

The Patron Saint of Liars and Fakes - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (8,200 words). I love writing fics based on specific episodes of a show, and this definitely helped to fulfil my whump quota for the year.

Sweet Revenge - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader (16,200 words). This is a fic that definitely converted me from a hardcore Abby girl into an Ellie girl. I am very proud of it. (And eventually I became an EllAbs girl, as god intended.)

Free Use Day - Poly!OG!Titans x Fem!Reader (14,300 words). This is probably my most epic and honorable of the honorable mentions. This is the first time in years that I have written such a long pwp, and it's written about some of my ult favs. So I fucking love it. (It came so, so close to making the top ten.)

(Now, onto the top ten.)

The Top Ten:

10. Dreaming Of You - Gar Logan x Fem!Mute!Reader (31,300 words)

You and Gar have been best friends for a long time. Nothing could disrupt the harmony of such a perfect friendship. Nothing except maybe… your usually predictable powers going haywire and somehow showing you all of his heated daydreams about you. But he couldn’t possibly have romantic feelings for you. He couldn’t possibly want anything more than your close platonic friendship and the occasional steamy fantasy. Right? Gar Logan x Fem!Mute!Powered!Reader. Best Friends to Lovers. Smut and (Slight) Angst. Set during Season 2.

At first I wasn't even sure if I should put this one on the list, because it's technically a re-post, but I was like fuck it, I make the rules here. And the reason it's at 10 is because technically I wrote most of this in 2021 originally (though it feels like longer ago than that omg), but this year I heavily updated the fic, including writing some new scenes for it that flesh it out very nicely. To me, this is everything a good re-post should be. It cleans up what was already there and amazing about the fic and it enhances it so much.

I loved the concept of this fic from its core, and now I get to be so, so proud of the way I have enhanced it years later. To me, this will always be my core Gar fic (as much as I will always write more for him) - and it is something I am truly, genuinely proud of. If you love Gar and you love smutty fantasies involving him, I highly recommend checking this fic out.

9. No Brainer - Derek Cho x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Mayhem (2017)) (7,100 words)

When the ID-7 Virus, aka the Red Eye Virus hits Towers and Smythe Consulting, it throws the entire office building into chaos. With a mandatory quarantine from the CDC in action, that chaos builds in on itself, and somehow, you, Derek, and Melanie get everything that you want. aka You have something Derek and Melanie need. Derek and Melanie have something you want. You all agree to make an exchange, and everyone ends up more than happy. Derek Cho (Steven Yeun) x Fem!Reader x Melanie Cross (Samara Weaving). Co-Works to Lovers. Smut. Based on the film Mayhem from 2017.

This is one of my personal favourite fics of mine that I believe very few people following me have ever read. I absolutely love writing fics based on random one-off horror movies - I have way more in my drafts, and one of my goals for 2024 is to complete and post more of them. But one night I was laying in bed and I randomly watched this film because I knew Steven Yeun was in it. I had seen a lot of clips of him covered in blood and yelling, and I found him really hot in those clips, so I knew that I would enjoy the film. And I absolutely fucking did. Not just based on his hotness, but just - the entire film was so, so enjoyable.

Also, the ID-7 Virus, a fictional sickness that lowers your inhibitions (something that is shown in the film to work like sex pollen) is the perfect basis for a fic. So I literally started writing this on my phone before I had even finished watching the film. And I posted it a few days later. I think it's just pure fun. One of my favourite things to write about is a healthy combination of horror and sex, and this is definitely toeing the line perfectly in my opinion. If you haven't seen the film, I highly recommend it - watch it, and then come back and read this fic.

8. My Heart Is The Worst Kind Of Weapon - Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader (9,600 words)

Ellie confronts your abuser, and after years of torment, you finally feel free. Ellie Williams x Fem!Reader. Strangers to Lovers. Hurt and Comfort.

This is a fic that is very close to my heart. Not only is named after a tragically underrated Fall Out Boy B-Side, one of my favourite songs ever, but it is a fic about conquering the abuse of a family member - and when I wrote this, it was coming from a place of the utmost sincerity.

I am someone who has experienced abuse from a family member, and it felt so entirely empowering to write this - to write about someone coming to your rescue so honestly. Someone rescuing you out of pure want, not because it's an obligation or a burden. But because they are compelled by their own morals and they feel that your abuse is a cruel injustice against the world. This and the companion fic I wrote for Abby with a similar storyline are two of the most important fics that I have written this year.

7. Ghosting - Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader (3,700 words)

Mike has been in love with you for as long as he can remember. For about as long as the two of you have been best friends. He always thought he would have more time to work up to confessing those big, dangerous feelings for you - until something more dangerous swooped in and stole any time he had left with you. Mike Schmidt x Fem!Reader. Star-Crossed Lovers. Pure Angst. Set during the events of the movie (and features spoilers for the plot).

I feel like this list would be incomplete if I didn't pick at least one of the FNAF fics that I wrote (and two of them ended up on here). With how much it was delayed, it was actually wild to see the FNAF Movie actually come to life before our very eyes, and it was amazing to actually write some fics about it. This is the first time (in a very long time) that I have written pure angst with no sense of fluff at the ending, and it was actually so much fun - it's fun to give into the darker side of a fic, and to write about the most torturous human emotions with absolutely no relief.

Also, I think dying in someone's arms (especially holding your lover or your would-be lover) is such a compelling trope and I loved writing about it. This was so much fun for me to write, and it was something so interesting to explore aside from the usual smut that I write.

6. From Your Lips - Jennifer Jareau x GN!Reader (3,000 words)

After JJ is attacked by dogs on the Hankle farm, everyone is busy worrying about Reid’s missing status, but you take the time to check on JJ and try your best to calm her flustered mind. Jennifer Jareau x Gender Neutral Reader. Friends with Benefits. Smut and Angst. Set during Season 2, Episode 15.

This year, I had another large foray into the Criminal Minds fandom, and I wrote a JJ fic for the first time. And just in general, I am so proud of this fic. I think even for a short fic, it has such a great essence - again, I love setting fics during specific episodes, and I found it so fun to play around with the religious imagery and the religious themes already in this episode, as well as the imagery of rabid dogs.

To me, this is what truly makes fanfiction great - taking details of the canon, chewing them up like bubblegum and then adding something else in to make them your own. I had so much fun writing this fic, 10/10.

5. Love From The Other Side (aka The Golf Club Fic) - Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader (5,600 words)

Abby kills the man that has been haunting your nightmares for years. You find it only fitting to give her a proper reward. Abby Anderson x Fem!Reader. Established Relationship. Smut. Set during The Last of Us Part II. (aka - the fic where Abby fucks the reader's pussy with the golf club that she used to kill Joel.)

So, as you will notice with this fic and the next one, 2023 was the year I truly said fuck it. There used to be a time when I was afraid to admit my weirder kinks and fantasies (like, I used to be afraid to even say that I read A/B/O), but then I realized that this is the freak-nasty website. And way too many people are shy. So I must be the one to provide the freak-nasty fics.

This is a fic I had in mind since the very first time I watched TLOU2 gameplay. And originally, it was going to be a simple, purely pornopraphic fic about Abby fucking the reader with the golf club - but as I was writing it, it turned into something that I find oddly beautiful. And (again, just like with the next fic) I find that writing about kinks in long-term relationships, especially the kind of relationships that have come to be co-dependent - it's like writing this toxic, cathartic poetry.

It's writing about two people who need each other but can be so horrible for each other - and it is one of my favourite things to write about because it's so damn interesting. This was a slay, and generally awesome because it was getting out an idea that's been in my head for years.

4. Damn The Man, Save The Empire - Vanessa Shelly x GN!Reader (6,100 words)

Vanessa has always taken care of you. Since the two of you were kids, she has put her neck on the line for you, and you rarely knew how to return that epic kindness. One night, while both of you are raw and on-edge, the dark cloud of your strange past looming over both of you nearly swallows both of you whole - and once again, Vanessa is right there, taking care of you. (Dark)Dom!Vanessa Shelly x Sub!Gender Neutral Reader. Toxic Co-Dependent Relationship. Smut and Angst. Takes place before the main timeline of the film (features spoilers for the movie).

Again, like I said with the previous fic - this was one of my favourite fics to write because it is so delightfully unhinged. I really enjoy exploring toxic relationships through fiction because - for one, writing healthy, functioning relationships is not always interesting. And there is something so beautifully dark and poetic about writing two people who have grown into each other like twisted tree branches and need each other, but are so bad for each other.

And this year I have been exploring gender neutral smut a lot more. I used to always write fem reader smut as my default, but I have been having a lot of fun with the creativity of writing smut without describing the reader's body in detail. I love coming up with metaphors and describing around the body parts. I find it to be a fun creative challenge. Anyway - this was a lot of fun to write, and I highly recommend it if you enjoy reading darker fics.

3. Lessons For A Genius (Lesson One) - Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader (17,200 words)

What could a certified genius possibly have to learn from someone like you? Turns out - a hell of a lot.  And the real ‘teaching’ started when your graphic explanations of slang toward Spencer for the sheer shock value of it turned into something a lot more… hands on.  Sub!Spencer Reid x (BAU)Dom!Fem!Reader. Co-Workers to Friends with Benefits. Smut. Set during early Season 2.

I feel like it would be a miss to make this list without mentioning a fic that I obsessed over for two weeks straight - a fic that drove me insane in the best way. Of course, there is also the sequel, but I personally prefer the first lesson. This fic has been brewing in my mind for a very long time, because it is painfully obvious to me that Spencer (in the early seasons) is an awkward virgin, and I have always wanted to ruin him.

This fic is a lot of my fantasies brought to life, and I feel like it's a really masterful painting of those fantasies - for once, without overly focusing on the murder mystery aspect of Criminal Minds fanfiction (which I have a tendency to get distracted by). I am really, really proud of this fic, and I know you guys enjoyed it. It is definitely a highlight of my writing this year.

2. Emergency Contact - Jason Todd x GN!Reader (10,500 words)

After Jason miraculously comes home from his brush with Deathstroke, you’re both feeling it in very different ways. You have an unexpected physical wound from the battle, and he has many (very expected) emotional wounds. You help each other heal. Even if it’s very stubborn on both your parts. Jason Todd x GN!Powered!Reader. Enemies/FWB to Lovers. Angst and Hurt/Comfort. (Slight Smut). Set during Season 2, Episode 5.

This is a fic I have talked about a lot recently, because I have been working on the sequel. (I was hoping to get the sequel finished and posted before the end of December, but it's gonna be a longer fic, so it's looking like it's gonna be one of the first fics of January instead.) Anyway - to me, this is by far one of my best fics and one of my most important fics of 2023. This was battling for the top spot.

But even if it's second place, I am so incredibly proud of this fic. I think it's beautifully written, I am incredibly proud of the literary references I worked in with The Great Gatsby - especially because I feel like Jason would be the type to read Gatsby and compare himself to someone tragic and doomed like Gatsby (he would soo compare himself to Gatsby, especially because he was also a poor kid who was randomly sponsored by a rich man who saw potential in him). Overall, I just had a very distinct vision when writing the fic, and that vision came to life. And I really, really hope that my vision comes to life in the sequel too.

1. King For A Day - Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader (22,400 words) 

You have always had a special relationship with Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, and the one and only Harry Potter. When you set out to help them find and destroy Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes, it seems that your intimate knowledge of them is the one thing keeping them together - until the unique dynamic shifts, thanks to one of those pesky pieces of dark magic. Angry voices carry, and it turns out - moans of pleasure do too. Poly!Golden Trio x Fem!Reader (Fem!Reader x Harry Potter x Ron Weasley x Hermione Granger). FWB to Poly Lovers. Smut (with a slight bit of Angst). Set during Deathly Hallows.

And finally, we get to my favourite fic of the year!!

So, I'm gonna be honest, a huge reason that this fic gets the top slot is because of my nostalgia for Harry Potter. This year was the first time in a long time that I have written Harry Potter fanfiction, and it felt like a reawakening of my soul. I was genuinely happy, and I was spending time enjoying concepts and characters that I have not thought about for a long time.

This fic in particular, I feel like I have been working on it for years in my mind. This fic is a culmination of all my thoughts about these characters, all my time in the Harry Potter fandom, and generally, I am so, so proud of it. I am proud that my love for Harry Potter has come to fruition in this form - a poly smut fic, something that is just so me.

Overall - I had such a great year chasing fic ideas that make me happy, despite the popularity of the characters or the fandoms, and I encourage you guys to spend 2024 doing the same. Cheers!

[vargamornight]

so imagine you've been talking mad shit about a guy to your new best friend, right. but it doesn't really stick, because the first time she ever meets him, he literally saves her life. so she's like "i don't really see what you see, he seems pretty chill" and you're like "whatever. you don't get it, i grew up with him, trust me, i know him better than you do and he sucks. you can't trust him, he's only out for himself." and she's like "okay" but she still hangs out with him, even though she tries to hide it from you at first.

and then that guy starts dying. you know he's gonna die, you can see it happening, he's just the most recent in a string of deaths. he is going to die, right in front of you, if your new best friend can't figure out how to help him. so what do you do? you sit with him. you hold him. you help him get comfortable. you listen to what may be his last words. and then, when he stops breathing, you realize you can't let him die. you start cpr right there, right on the stairs, and you hope and pray that your friend can undo whatever's been done to him before you break too many ribs.

and she does! holy shit, she does! he starts breathing again, and so do you.

and then he doesn't remember any of that happening.

so you continue insisting that you hate him. that you don't trust him. but you start asking for his help—or, more accurately, you get your friend to ask for his help, because she's way more likely to get a yes than you are, because of your insistence that you hate him. he doesn't let you down, not like the last person you asked for help (she helped, but left you, because the kinds of things that happen to you and your friend were too much for her.)

your friend's birthday rolls around, and everybody gets together for a surprise party. you get her a nice sweater; he gets her a necklace that belonged to her long lost mother. you do hate him for that, just a little bit. she starts spending more time with him, trying to hunt down any information about her mother, which leads to finding out exactly how he's going to die. a man with a tattoo (a stylized maze, with four figures around it like compass points) kills him. you all know it's true. it was seen by a woman who predicted dozens of deaths. you've seen the tattoo before, too—on the arm of the first in the string of deaths you investigated all those weeks ago, when you held him as he died.

your friend spends a few nights in a row on his boat, drinking and playing poker with a mutual friend and two out of towners. you think nothing of it—at least, that's what you tell yourself. more honestly, you refuse to think about it. but then, it turns out, she was actually just spying on the out of towners, who turn out to be bad guys, thieves, after something on his boat. which is great news! she had a real, unrelated reason to be there! whew, that's a relief. out loud, all you say is that she has the right to spend time with whoever she wants, even him.

he asks you for help—his life is in danger. he was double crossed, and some very bad people want him dead. he asks you to help him. but him asking you for help sends a slice of spite through you, and you get the urge to remind him of a time he hurt you. you don't often get urges you can follow through with without facing criminal charges, so you give in to this one. he asks you if he deserves to die for being mean to you in the third grade. you shrug, you let him think you won't help, and then you set up an entire sting operation and arrest the people that double crossed him. he's safe. the two of you spend some time together and, for the first time in years, it's amicable.

a couple days later, he gets a threatening visit from a man, just released from prison, with the tattoo. THE tattoo—the one that belongs on the arm of the man who kills him. he freaks out, which is understandable. but then that man turns up dead, and your first thought is of him. you say it's because you suspect him of killing the tattooed man. you find him, panicked and paranoid, with a shotgun he looks more than ready to use, but his hands are shaking and his breath is uneven and when you tell him the man is dead, he's so visibly relieved it even makes you let out a breath. he's safe, and you know he didn't kill anyone, and he's safe.

your father dies that afternoon.

that evening, you are going to die.

maybe.

there's a very real chance that, if you go with your friend to try and help someone, you will die. you ask him to come with you. maybe you remember, think about the fact that when he was dying, you were with him. maybe you don't. maybe you don't think about why you're asking at all. but when he asks you that question without speaking—why would you want him there with you?—you say you want him there for her. maybe he believes it. maybe he's forgotten everything you've ever said about him. maybe he's forgotten that you tried to keep her away from him, claiming it was for her own good. maybe he's forgotten that, not six months ago, the only communication the two of you engaged in was when you would go to his boat just to slap him with whatever citations you could get away with. maybe he cares more about her than he does about you.

he comes with you, and he stays with you. he doesn't go with her, so now you both know you were lying. he stays with you when you collapse, hanging back and leaning forward, like he wants to hold you but he's afraid. (after all, there are people around.) but your friend is the best at what she does, and she saves you. he helps you back to your feet, holds your arms, looks into your eyes to see if you're okay. the bigoted old preacher who's hated you for decades sneers at the two of you, and insists "the lamb can never lie down with the lion." you wave the comment away.

later, he helps you dig your father's grave without even being asked. (that's a poem, all by itself.) he tells you, smiling: "i'm the lion." you smile too.

and that's just the first season, plus a premiere.

[seramilla]

So Emily after sneaking into hell to find her mother realizes it was a bad idea. Things are so much more chaotic and we'll worse than she thought she gets attacked though is able to escape unharmed and is having a bad time wondering if she should go back to heaven before suddenly she gets hit a by a dart and fall unconscious. She is waking up in a room tied to a chair hearing to women talking in Spanish about what they should do with the angel on is wearing a lab coat with glasses the other a crop top and pony tail. Once they notice Emily has come to they talk demanding to know what Emily was here to do and refusing the answer of looking for her mother. Clara (Emily doesn't know any names yet) threatens to torture her to get the answer out trying to seem though before Odette tells her they aren't both for ethical reasons and the whole torture doesn't work reason. (It doesn't look it up.) Clara wouldn't have she doesn't have the heart to actually hurt Emily but Emily doesn't know that. Emily insists that she is looking for her mom who fell thousands of years ago and the girls continue to not believe her. Finally Carmilla shows up she was in a meeting when she learned her girls caught an Angel and only just now got out to see this angel who they think is a spy. Carmilla doesn't recognize her at first and like her daughters assumes she is lying until Emily says her mothers name is Carmilla. (Emily doesn't know Carmilla's name at this point since the girls call her mom and mama)

Carmilla looks at this woman that her girls have brought before her, shocked and overcome with emotion. Never in all her years of being an overlord has she ever witnessed something like this. An angel, who had been waltzing around Hell and asking questions, as if every second in this place didn't mount the danger for a stranger such as herself tenfold.

It's even worse...so much worse, because she is practically a carbon copy of...her. Sera. Her long lost love. The resemblance is uncanny. Like if she reaches out and touches those freckled cheeks, she will feel the cool and familiar softness of Sera's face against her palm. Could she be...could Sera have moved on? Without her? Then why is this person here, asking for a "Carmilla?" Asking for her?

"Run this by me one more time, Emily," Carmilla says, even her one remaining virtue of patience being tested by this girl's wild story. "You left Heaven, of your own free will, to come look for this Carmilla? Why in all the realms would you do that? Without an entourage or escort? What business could a young angel like you have with a demon?"

Emily looks down. Poking her fingers together, like she's ashamed to have been caught. Ashamed to be breaking one of Heaven's greatest taboos. She should be ashamed, but for some reason, despite the danger, and how utterly careless this young woman is being, Carmilla can't bring herself to push the matter further.

"Like I told your daughters..." Emily begins, motioning to Clara and Odette, who are watching curiously from the sidelines. "I am looking for my mother. She's a fallen angel. Named Carmilla. She was pushed out a long time ago...I just wanted to see if she's still alive...and let her know that my other mother misses her very much."

Carmilla takes a deep breath. Lets it out slowly. No, her other mother couldn't possibly be...

"And what is your other parent's name?" Carmilla asks, already anticipating the answer.

"She is the High Seraphim, Sera. I was conceived right before Carmilla fell. I don't even know if she realizes I exist."

Sera...Emily...Seraphim. Leave it to Sera, but her naming scheme is predictable, if nothing else. Oh, holy fucking Hell, how had Carmilla not realized this sooner?

Carmilla turns around. Clara and Odette look on in concern as Carmilla takes her face into her claws, holding her cheeks as she tries desperately not to show how startled she is. Emily...her and Sera's daughter...here with her now...with her and Sera's other children...

She turns back around to look at Clara and Odette. Her other girls appear to have come to the same conclusion, their startled and shocked expressions giving away everything they must be feeling inside. She's never hidden Sera's name from them. She'd always wanted her girls to know where they came from. Had told them everything a long time ago.

Their mother is also Sera, because Carmilla had also Fallen while pregnant. So this Emily person is their other sister...which means Sera is alive and well. Heaven hadn't found out about their relationship and punished her, too. Oh, thank her lucky stars for that.

Carmilla turns to Emily. Her face has suddenly changed from stern and concerned, to warm and inviting. There are tears in her eyes. Emily tilts her head, wondering if she'd said something to upset the older woman.

"Are you okay?" Emily asks, genuinely remorseful. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make you sad. Do you want me to leave?"

Carmilla shakes her head. She's smiling now.

"No. I'm all right. Please, don't go. I'm just so...happy!"

Emily does look confused now, but also curious. What is this overlord getting at?

"It's just that...my name is Carmilla. I'm the only one I know of in this entire city. Most people change their names when they come here, but I didn't. And I think, based on everything you've said, that I'm the one you seek. Sera was my partner...for many hundreds, thousands of years. She was pregnant when I fell. I think you might be...I hope beyond hope that you are mine."

Emily's eyes widen. She looks at Carmilla, like her eyes might pop out of her head at any moment. Then she is the one crying. Big, drippy, snotty tears. Completely unafraid of how she looks before these complete strangers...in front of her mother.

"Carmilla!...Mama! Are you certain?"

"I think so, mija."

"Ma-Mama!" Emily throws herself at Carmilla, hugging her so tightly, Carmilla thinks her spine might crack. Emily is bawling now. She puts her head on Emily's quaking head, feeling her move up to be closer against her front. "I can't believe I finally found you. Mom...Sera...she will be so happy! I don't even know you, but...I'm sorry I came here alone, but she missed you so much! And I just wanted to meet you!"

Carmilla strokes Emily's hair, as the small angel cries into her chest. "Sshh, it's okay, mija. Everything is all right. I forgive you. Everything will be all right."