#also going back to the name thing the names are supposed to be like [first name] te [middle name?] [last name]

[ratatattouille]

arcane season 2 was artistically beautiful and thematically cheap. every interesting and meaningful thing it did with its characters (even in season 2 act 2) was reduced to romanticized bullshit, utterly divorced from its season 1 roots. it's so bad it can be considered pro-status quo propaganda (and i do mean that). good ships aside (and i do mean the caitivi, jayvik, timebomb holy triad), this season squats and shits on every zaunite character in the show. not just their zaunite-ness, but how it literally shaped who they were as characters.

Let's start with Vi:

-Vi and Vander: Vi's loyalty to The Lanes always went beyond Powder. Zaun was her father's, Vander's dream. Zaun was her friends (do you remember how protective she was of Ekko aside from her adopted brothers?) and her family. When she's giving Caitlyn a tour of The Lanes, we see how much she embodies and revels in Zaunite culture (esp in the food scene). She cared for Zaun like Vander taught her to. Her "protective" trait extended to ALL the vulnerable in The Lanes, because Vander taught her that. It wasn't EVER just Powder. Zaun is her HOME. As a child, she wanted to make a name for herself IN ZAUN "one day, this city's gonna respect us." You can make the excuse that Vander's death meant that side of her died, but it clearly didn't because of how she regarded it while showing Caitlyn around. "Family" to Vander, extended to the vulnerable of Zaun, which is how Vi and Powder came to be his "daughters" in the first place. Because Zaun was for THEM. Zaun WAS THEM. Vander and Silco "weren't allowed to fail" at Zaun (i.e. the two daughters). Additionally, Vi and Jinx were supposed to succeed where Vander and Silco hadn't: forgiving each other and uniting so they could realize their dream for a free Zaun. The whole reason Zaun struggles to be free is because of their own internal divisions (the different gangs fighting for scraps). But if they united, they would be able to liberate themselves from Piltover (who is still the enemy). The whole reason the others are prosperous in the alternate timeline Ekko and Hemmerdinger travel to is because Vander and Silco reconcile (not because Vi dies).

-Vi and Caitlyn: Caitlyn was an interesting development for Vi, particularly because Caitlyn mirrored Vander's care for all people. Caitlyn was an enforcer that wanted to truly understand and help people. This challenged Vi's biases and also gave them a common goal. Caitlyn appealed to Vi because she gave Vi renewed hope for peace in The Lanes. That Zaun could be free through co-operation instead of violence. Her whole teaming up with Caitlyn, romance aside, was predicated on Vi brokering for peace between Zaun and Piltover. The first break-up between the two (Season 1's "Oil and Water") centred around Jinx, more or less. Vi believes Silco is a threat to peace between Piltover and Zaun (even though The Lanes aren't known as Zaun to her, I'm just using the names interchangeably). She believes Jinx is acting out due to Silco's influence, as well (and she isn't entirely wrong). Had Caitlyn not been injured on the bridge (and had Jinx not felt betrayed by Vi), Vi was going to leave her in pursuit of Jinx. Vi has never fit into Piltover (and that's also shown in Season 2 act 1-2).

-Vi and Jinx: This show was ALWAYS about a tale of two sisters/cities (cue the record insert of their two faces at the beginning of every episode). When Vi becomes an enforcer, it isn't because she's switched loyalties. She wants peace for Zaun, she just wants to take Silco's (and her own) creation--Jinx--out of the equation so it can work. The only reason she agrees to Caitlyn's plan is because, again, their two goals align: get Jinx. The difference is Vi wants to kill Jinx to get Powder back, while Cait wants to kill Jinx to get her city (mother) back. The show in season 2 TOTALLY LOST THIS FOCUS. Vi's guilt at hunting down her own people with enforcers (and it's already insane that Vi would even agree lmao) is ignored a lot by fandom, especially bc her post-breakup scene where she goes full goth is framed as regret for letting Cait down (rather than the self-disgust she would feel for joining her oppressors). Vi played a part in creating Jinx. Every single step of the way. This is barely acknowledged, and every time it might be, it gets shoved aside for romance with Cait. Cait, who, literally became a dictator and weaponized the air ducts her mother had created to SAVE ZAUNITES. The whole thing is viewed as Vi betraying Cait instead of Vi betraying Jinx/Zaun/her family and Cait betraying Vi ("promise me you won't change") and her mother. Cait was the one who sought to help Zaun (like her mother) but betrayed who she was when she was willing to kill Isha, an innocent child. (ALSO IMPORTANT: Just to further prove my point on how integral the sister's love for each other was, every show started with a record playing. The cover of the disc was Vi and Jinx. They were always the center focus of the story. The song that the record played? Likely "Our Love" by Curtis Harding and Jazmine Sullivan which goes "Our love is a bubblin' fountain, our love, that flows into the sea, our love, deeper than the ocean, our love for eternity." This love deeper-than-the-ocean can apparently crumble in the face of a dictator girlfriend you've known for less than a year lmao).

Where the writers FUMBLE is:

-Vi's and Jinx's relationship becomes secondary not just to the entire plot of the show but to Vi's arc. Zaun and Piltover's conflict was set up to be the epitome of the show, and the fact that it got shelved for a more *ahem* American industrial military complex epic battle between humans and robots is very telling about the writers and showrunners.

-Vi forgives Cait easily and prematurely, trashing Vi's true loyalties as established in earlier seasons/episodes

-Vi herself takes a back seat in most of season 2, and becomes a passive yes-man to Cait

-Vander's re-introduction is almost completely worthless to the plot and narrative (he comes back just to die), and he is used as a cheap way to re-unite the daughters in a way that has no significance to the themes (also, Silco as Jinx's father is completely ignored)

-Cait's deferral to fascism should have been permanent. Idc about the shippers at this point. Vi and Cait should have never come back from Cait shoving the back of her gun into Vi's injured side (let alone the gassing of the ducts). Vi would've never forgiven her, attraction or no. The fact that Cait could become a dictator after losing one parent is proof of their class divides (after all, Vi held onto hope despite losing all her parents to enforcers and Jinx was all she had left of her family). That should have cemented the death of that relationship (and it would have made for more compelling storytelling on class). The only reason it was kept was because it matters more to white Western audiences to have a Romeo x Juliet rendition that assuages their classist sensitivities. Cait becoming a fascist made sense and was true to her character and the world. Vi forgiving her (and then having sex with her in the prison she was thrown into as a child?) destroyed both her character and the narrative. And it's frankly made the ship that much more unpalatable. If Vi had to be destroyed as a character for the ship to work, then the ship wasn't all that good (even though it started off that way). It's honestly left such a bad taste in my mouth. What a fuck you to oppressed groups that whole subplot was. (And it's made worse by the fact that the creator thought that was somehow an empowering and liberating act for Vi, like fuck that).

Let's Talk About Victor:

-Viktor and Heimmerdinger: This is one of the biggest fumbles, IMO. Heimmerdinger and Viktor were the most polar of opposites. Heimmerdinger was not only a privileged, ulta-wealthy Piltoverian, but he had a comparatively endless lifespan while Viktor's own human life-span was cut short due to being a Zaunite, born at the bottom of the barrel and raised on toxic fumes that led to his terminal illness. Viktor's desperation to unlock the Arcane was explicitly about him overcoming his circumstances, his illness, his premature death. It wasn't merely about his internalized ableism, but the unjust way in which he had to suffer. Heimmerdinger could afford patience because he had all the time and resources in the world, but Viktor didn't. Not merely because he was a mortal, but because he was a Zaunite.

-Viktor and Singed: Viktor's arc with hextech is foreshadowed with his childhood interaction with Singed. I understand that in the games, Viktor is a villain-type character and his catchphrase or whatever is "Join the Glorious Evolution." While Viktor is horrified by Singed killing the creature that he eventually uses for shimmer, Viktor later says, "I understand," hinting that he saw the sacrifice (and death) necessary to "heal" the world of its ailments. Both Viktor and Singed grow up in The Lanes, and both have ailments they want to cure (for Viktor it is his lung cancer and for Singed its his daughter's dying). In season 2, Viktor tells Singed that while he understands what healing all those people could cost him, he will not sacrifice their humanity for Singed's cause. Then Jayce blasts him in the chest and that all goes out the window. All this despite Sky being there with him in the astro-nether. Now Viktor's idea of becoming a higher being is just getting rid of emotion (despite the fact that his character was one that was consistently willing to sacrifice himself and die in order to not harm others, and Sky's death only solidified that). Jayce killing him without explanation was all of a sudden all he needed to become a divine dictator, lmao. The same Viktor that looked terminal illness in the face and preferred to spare others instead of himself? The same Viktor who's immediate action after waking up with a new body was to go and use the arcane he wished had been destroyed to help others? Sure.

-Viktor and Jayce: Now, I think Jayce's speech had some merit and could have been framed better with a little more time and thought. The philosophical idea of perfection or a perfect world (one which Piltoverians strive toward) being untenable, maybe even undesirable, is a fascinating concept worth exploring. BUT MAKING IT ABOUT SOME INTERNALIZED ABLEISM FROM VIKTOR IS FUCKING STUPID!!!! I'm sorry, but Piltover being the city of progress until it actually included becoming progressive with Zaun was absolutely one of the things Jayce and Viktor's sub-plot was trying to explore. Viktor WANTED TO LIVE. Viktor wanted his people to STOP SUFFERING. Viktor WAS RIGHT. He wasn't merely eliminating "imperfections" (and of FUCKING COURSE A PILTOVERIAN WOULD SEE IT THAT WAY), he was trying to cure sick and dying people who did nothing to deserve it. He was buying them time that people like Jayce and Heimmerdinger had in spades, but Viktor and Zaunites had stolen from them. Children dying of disease and violence in The Lanes was by Piltoverian design! It was not some predestined cosmic necessity. Viktor WAS RIGHT TO HATE HIS FUCKING TERMINAL ILLNESS ARE THESE GUYS INSANE??! Wtf kind of message is Viktor embracing it as part of himself sending to vulnerable, impoverished and ill people? Is that supposed to be some kind of fucking comfort? Fuck off right to hell! And don't even get me STARTED on Jayce's trip to other-world hell being some kind of "Jayce seeing the world through Viktor's eyes" bs. Yes, it was good that our idealistic Jayce got to see the dark side of the Arcane as Viktor showed Jayce the beauty of the dream he sought for all people, but whatever message on class struggle Jayce is said to have learned or paralleled in his alternate timeline clearly didn't sink into his head because he still gave that dumbass speech to Viktor. And I'm glad if it resonated with any disabled people, but Viktor's struggle with his body was a protest against Piltover, not himself, and I hate that the writers gutted that character development. Viktor's and Jayce's paths "diverged a long time ago" because Jayce had the luxury and time of pursuing his dream while Viktor didn't. Viktor, even up there as a scholar of Piltover, was still getting the Zaunite treatment. Jayce had the time to pursue a better world, while Viktor had to struggle for a little more time. When Viktor becomes part of the arcane, suddenly he has all the time in the world to realize HIS OWN DREAM. Why would wanting a better world for others have to result in "dreamless solitude"? Viktor becoming obsessed with fixing what ailed humanity was warranted, and his extremism was hinted to have been due in part to the effect the arcane had on him, but it still made the themes of arcane a joke. There was so much potential and the writers (and showrunners) just squandered it for some more romantic bullshit.

Where season 2 FUMBLED:

-"Humanity, our very essence, is inescapable. Our emotions, rage, compassion, hate. Two sides of the same coin, intractably bound. That which inspires us to our greatest good is also the cause of our greatest evil.” That's a neat quote, but wars don't start simply due to emotions or whatever. This lacks class analysis, and it's annoying that the writers made this the whole theme of season 2 (and retroactively the show) in a story on class divides. Cait did not merely gas the Zaunites because of her mother, but because of her privileged upbringing that made it more acceptable to her to view Zaunites as animals (remember Ekko telling her "you guys hunt us down like animals"). Cait knew the humanity of Zaunites was real. She'd seen it. She just chose to ignore it because she could afford to. While it is interesting that Viktor would come to see being human as a flaw that destroys any hope of achieving peace (conflict theory would like a word with you), it ignored that fascism is not an inherently human trait and detracts from how or why it persists in the first place. It's almost the same as saying men/white people oppress women/poc because the latter were mean to them. It's victim-blaming (and false lmao). The British didn't colonize the Americans because the natives did anything to them. All prejudice is unjustified, that's what makes it prejudice. Again, Cait became a fascist when her mom died, but Vi still drew the line at killing children and even council members despite losing every single one of her family members to Piltover's violence against The Lanes.

-Jayce's speech would have been cute in another story, but it's downright insulting in Arcane's. Yes, yes, Jayce's words would have been the only ones to have broken the real Viktor out of Arcane Viktor's grasp by appealing to this deep childhood wound, but Viktor's desperation was not to belong (because his leg kept him from playing with other children) but TO LIVE (because he was dying of an illness). Jayce's speech isn't bad, just misplaced.

-Viktor did not have to become a fascist-aligned deity in his quest to heal people. It is a typical MCU thing to have a "villain" that's technically right and then destroy their entire character to make their (correct) philosophy untenable by making them do something extreme. Typical pro-status quo propaganda trope. Idc if it was so we could get some game version of him. Viktor was right in bringing progress and his discoveries to The Lanes instead of devoting his efforts to Piltover, the fake city of progress.

-While I am annoyed that the climax of the show hinged on Jayce and Viktor and hextech (a tool to explore the inequalities of Piltover and Zaun) instead of Jinx and Vi, I think it kinda makes sense. Hextech built what Piltover has now become. Jayce, Viktor and hextech kinda represent Piltover (what it could be) and Jinx and Vi represent The Lanes (and the Zaun it could be). Both would have been integral, but the story shouldn't have hinged on hextech, IMO. Hextech should have remained a tool to explore the politics of both cities, but instead it overshadowed everything, cheapening the story's themes, characters and world-building.

-Jayce calling the Zaunites to arms was downright absurd. But not as absurd as Zaunites volunteering.

And Then There's Jinx:

-Jinx and Isha: Isha's only use, as far as I'm concerned, was to be a reconciling force between the sisters. When Cait was willing to shoot her to get to Jinx, that should have stopped Vi right there and brought her back to defending Jinx 100% idc. When Isha sacrificed her life to save Jinx, that should have been Jinx's wake-up call right there and helped her understand why Vi kept leaving her out of missions as a kid. But instead what do we get? Depressed, suicidal Jinx and an astoundingly even more resentful and indifferent Vi. Vi still refuses to acknowledge her own hand in creating Jinx in the first place. Jinx, who has always wanted to be useful to those she loves. Who pursued her own hextech inventions in order to give her siblings a fighting chance when facing down Silco. Who wants to give Zaun a fighting chance as Silco's daughter. To be useful to the goals and dreams of her family. Isha was the perfect opportunity to bring the sisters together, but no. Instead, the kid was some kind of foreshadowing to Jinx's own heroic self-sacrifice for her sister (a message that left both sister's arcs unfinished). Vi had to acknowledge how wrong she was for abandoning Jinx and Zaun (instead of taking responsibility as Vander had taught her). Jinx needed to accept herself and the love others showed toward her (Silco, Vander, Ekko and Vi). Jinx keeps blowing things up because she repeatedly rejects herself (both Powder and Jinx), ignoring the good she's done and tried to do. Isha was a call back to the good Jinx has done and can continue to do for Zaun and others.

-Jinx and Ekko: Timebomb is the only ship that didn't ruin anyone's character, lmao. Because Ekko's and Jinx's relationship is precisely an exploration of how Piltover's violence against Zaun forced these children with entire futures ahead of them (they are both child prodigies) into endless war and hellish heroism. Ekko and Jinx are repeatedly shown to be hesitant and even unwilling to participate in violence against others, especially their own. Ekko does not hate Jinx, though he wants to, and Jinx does not like who she is when she's violent. She is trigger-happy because she already expects Vi and Ekko to want to kill her (projecting her self-loathing on them, but not entirely unreasonably). She doesn't have faith in their love or mercy because she doesn't see any part of herself as redeemable or loveable, which is why she consistently sabotages her life (but not without help from Vi and others). Ekko and Jinx are symbols of progress for Zaun AND Piltover (and Heimmerdinger saw that, especially when Ekko insisted he had to go back to his timeline, even if the one he had landed in was better). Heimmerdinger saw what they could have been in the alternate timeline, all the genius that was squandered in The Lanes. Jinx and Ekko are the ones most willing to put an end to violence and injustice because both of them are nostalgic for their families. Jinx just doesn't have the same faith in her ability to do so as Ekko does, but Ekko manages to convince her for a moment anyways. Ekko recognizes (like Silco, Viktor and Isha) how integral Jinx is to the creation of a new world. She injects colour and life and hope into Zaun and is the only one who can unite all warring factions in Zaun in the first place. Both her and Ekko are rebel leaders, but that is hardly used in Zaun's interests in the end. (ALSO THAT WHOLE CONVERSATION WITH VIKTOR AND JINX. This show would have won with a Viktor and Jinx team-up to unite Zaun--also in parallel to Jayce and Vi's team up. We could have had it all!)

-Jinx and Silco: This, is only second to Vi in the most FUMBLED things about Jinx. Silco was her guide once Vander died and Vi ran away. Silco not only took care of her, but gave her purpose and nurtured her talent (one that Vi and their brothers scorned). Silco accepted Jinx (he did not create her, Vi did) even though he weaponized her (which backfired for him). Silco, like Ekko, was the one who saved Jinx from death and offered Jinx a home. While everyone else patronized Jinx for her own childhood trauma, Silco was gentle, understanding and provided space for that, even when her psychosis killed him. He showed zero resentment toward her. But when Silco dies and Vander returns, Jinx just . . . oopsie, doopsie! Forgets about Silco until one final hallucination she has of him in the jail cell. The only one she has where he talks. And what does he say? She needs to break the cycle. How? Not by eliminating Piltover or gaining Zaun's independence like he'd talked about and dreamed about. Not by accepting herself as Jinx and Powder, the inventor, the fighter, daughter of both Silco and Vander, but by offing herself? Leaving her family to think she's dead? Embracing the lie that she really was the poison in their lives and the reason none of them could be happy? The reason they died? NICE! SWELL! WHAT A SATISFYING CONCLUSION! Even worse, they made her "death" staged. I'm sorry, but do we really believe that this same girl who killed herself multiple times in front of Ekko just 24 hours ago somehow found the will to live and escape into air ducts when she was falling with Vander? She decided to live right when she was about to die? And let's not forget that she was falling to the same song that was playing when she was trying to commit suicide. Why? And why would a heroic death (staged or not) be any form of character growth for Jinx in the first place? When her whole thing is distrusting the love offered to her? Or was she accepting herself by being the one to kill Vander because she knew Vi couldn't? Either way, it's cheap!

Fumbling points summarized:

-Jinx not being radicalized by Isha's death and the sight of her sister hunting her down with enforcers.

-Vander's letter to Silco could have been why she hallucinated Silco talking to her about forgiveness, but breaking the cycle here is about forgiving (unapologetic) Piltoverians instead of herself, which needed to happen to complete her arc.

-Jinx being the reluctant Girl Saviour of Zaun after clinging onto her identity as a jinx so she didn't have to take responsibility for Silco's dream (and by extension death) should have been the point of the show, IMO. As far as Jinx's arc is concerned, she was meant to reject the identity of jinx that Vi gave her and embrace the identity of Jinx that Zaun (and Silco) gave her. Loveable and capable of doing the right thing and saving others. Using hex-tech, something Jayce and Piltover had levelled against her people, against them. And she does this to some extent, but we don't even get a hint as to why Ekko's speech worked (and how he got her to fight alongside him and the Firelights in the first place). We know she does so for Vi, but she so quickly gives up once she and her sister are back on the same team. She allies herself with her sister just to die and then fuck off to another land? BRUH! Like act 3 is SO FRUSTRATING!

-The commitment to saving Piltover instead of destroying it ruined so many arcs, most notoriously Vi's and Jinx's. This should have ended in a war between the two cities, not one where both fought against robo-people and Ambessa.

I could go into how the show fumbled Mel, Ekko, Sevika, Jayce and more, but I think they still fare better than the ones I've talked about here. Caitivi has now (narratively) become distasteful, jayvik a joke, and timebomb unnecessary misery porn with little to no reward for all their efforts.

TLDR: Bad message to send to oppressed people, mentally ill people, and people dying of terminal illnesses, lmao. The Zaunites ALL LOST with this one.

P.S.: It's okay if you think the show is good because it succeeds in many other things, I just think it drops the ball in the places I've mentioned. But if your main criticism of my criticisms is going to be defending your ships, please find another post. Oppression is a serious reality that deserves serious depiction and it's insulting to have such necessary political discussions devolve into dumbass ship wars.

[cxrrodedcoffin]

☆ 𝐎𝐧 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐑𝐮𝐧 ☆

Vigilante Older!Rafe Cameron x Fem!Reader (Part 1/3)

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐤𝐞𝐞𝐩 𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐠𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠!

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐚𝐛𝐬𝐨𝐥𝐮𝐭𝐞 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬 @bloodibambiidoll @babygorewhore 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐩𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐨𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐦𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬, 𝐢 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡!! ໒꒰ྀི˶˃ᆺ˂˶ ꒱ྀིა ᯓᡣ𐭩

𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐝𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝♡

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: dom!rafe, older!rafe, age gap (rafe’s mid 40’s, reader is mid 20’s), established relationship, murder, mentions of past abuse, mentions of missing persons & kidnapping, handcuffs, condescension, praise, reader isn’t a virgin but experiences a couple firsts, daddy kink, breast play, oral sex fem receiving, fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, pull out method, doggy style, overstimulation, squirting, pet names (doll, baby, babydoll, princess, sugar), rafe’s a smartass with a heart of gold, he talks you through it

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 4.8k

Rafe Cameron was your neighbor. That’s all he was ever supposed to be, but three weeks ago when he broke down your front door after hearing your pained screams echoing down the secluded street, everything changed. He held no hesitation in beating your abusive boyfriend to a bloody pulp, and by the time you had regained awareness of your surroundings, Rafe was dragging you out of the house, leaving your boyfriend’s lifeless body to rot in the house you once called home.

You’d had your flirtations in the past, in fact, that’s what you and your boyfriend had been arguing about before he tried to kill you that night. He saw the way you looked at Rafe, knew you had a crush on him, and his brain made the jump that you must have been sleeping with him. It’s not like you hadn’t thought about it back when you were single, he was classically handsome, but he was also twenty years your senior, and you surely would’ve been the talk of figure eight if the two of you had actually started seeing each other, so you’d resigned yourself of that idea a long time ago.

When Rafe took your hand and dragged you behind him out of that house you didn’t have any urge to try and run from him, it was like you knew he was doing what was best for the both of you. You followed behind him the entire time he spent scrambling to gather things around his house, packing up the most important parts of his private life inside an old duffel bag and pulling several large stacks of cash out of his safe before running with you in tow to the body shop down the road to hotwire the most inconspicuous car there. You were ready to go, to leave your mundane life behind if it meant being with him like you’d spent many sleepless nights fantasizing about.

There were many pressing issues at hand, tasks that needed to be completed to ensure you wouldn’t be caught. You needed aliases, a story to cover your tracks as you drove cross country to evade arrest, and what Rafe suggested after hours of contemplation made your heart skip a beat.

“If anyone asks what we’re doing on the road, I’m your dad, and we’re going to visit family, got that?” His left hand held strong atop the steering wheel, the strength of his grip making the veins in his forearm particularly prominent in that moment. You swallowed, eyes wide as he took his eyes off of the road for a split second to see you slowly nodding your head in understanding.

“Like anyone’s going to believe I’m your kid.” You joked, your voice cracking despite your efforts to disguise how flustered the thought of calling him dad made you.

“Believe it or not babydoll, I am actually old enough to be your dad. I doubt anyone will think it's that far-fetched of an idea.”

“We don’t even look alike.” You scoffed, turning to watch the expanse of technicolor trees climbing the mountain side directly out your window.

“No one’s gonna be paying attention to our family resemblance if we stay under the radar, just keep your pretty mouth shut and you won’t have to worry about it.”

That thought was the only one you could conjure for the next two hours on the road until Rafe pulled into the parking lot of a seedy old motel so the two of you could get some much needed rest. He had to go out for gas and to buy a change of clothes for you and him at the truck stop down the road the next morning, shaking you out of your slumber to drag you to the closet and handcuff you to the hanger rod in the small closet.

“Now don’t think I don’t trust you babydoll, I do, but these are an insurance policy in case that silly little mind of yours decides to go all rational on me, understand?” He locked the first cuff around your wrist before looping the chain over the bar and securing your other one, leaving you to struggle against the metal.

“C’mon Dad, just take me with you.” You teasingly pleaded, pushing your chest out as you tried to take a step toward him.

“Can’t, it’ll look suspicious if we’re with each other all the time. You have to stay here and I gotta get this done so we can get back on the road. I’ll be back in twenty minutes tops.” He left you there, slamming the motel room door behind him as a silent threat to be good. You did, staying in place and stirring over how you could manage to take this whole dad thing further to push Rafe’s buttons as much as you could. You were getting bored. As much fun as running from the law was, the miles of highway and generic gas stations and fast food places were starting to meld together into one monotonous blob in your head, and you wanted some good old fashioned entertainment. You made a plan, figuring you’d slowly execute it over the next few days.

The next thing on your fugitive checklist was a change in appearance. You dyed and cut your hair in a truck stop bathroom after a couple days of driving, knowing your face and signature long locks were likely all over broadcast television at that point. Rafe, on the other hand, wasn’t too keen on the idea of chopping off his beloved mullet. He’d grown accustomed to it, spent twenty years perfecting the length and cut to his liking, but he knew he had to part ways with it if it meant keeping you. He hadn’t had a buzz cut in decades, not since his early twenties, and he wasn’t sure how it would suit his more mature features, but your words of encouragement gave him the push he needed to grab the electric clippers and head for a mirror.

When he finally walked out of that old motel bathroom, you had to bite back a moan. He was hot before, no doubt about it, but with the buzzcut? You wondered what it would be like to feel that peach fuzz against your palms as you pushed his face further into your pussy.

“Thoughts?” He studied the look on your face, that glint of something desperate in your eyes as the corners of your mouth pulled into a soft smile.

“I love it! Very dilf of you.” You beamed, giggling to yourself while shifting to your knees on the creaky old motel bed as he closed the space between you.

“You realize you just implied you want to fuck me, right?” He folded his arms over his chest, toned biceps framing firm pecs and you had to swallow back a groan at the sight.

“I know exactly what I was implying, Dad.” You pulled him closer by the bottom of his shirt, the look of amusement on his stubbled face only emboldening you further.

He stood at the side of the bed, looking down at you as your hands found the back of his neck, rubbing over the soft patch of hair at the nape just to feel the velvety smooth texture for a moment. The sound of the nightly news droning on the television across the room quickly became drowned out by the white noise of both of your bated breaths. You couldn’t take it anymore, all the stolen glances and unspoken tension. You needed him, now.

“Rafe, please.” The words came out like a whine, more needy than you’d intended.

“Please, what?” He cocked his head to the side, the corners of his lips pulling into an inquisitive smirk.

“You know what.” Your hands moved over his shoulders and down to his chest, fingertips ghosting over his shirt.

“I need to hear you ask for it. I’ve made a lot of fucked up choices in my life and my morals may not be that sound but I do have some that I won’t compromise on. I need to know I’m not taking advantage of you.” He took your wrists in his hands, stalling your movements until you made eye contact with him.

“I may be young but I know what I want, Rafe. I’ve wanted to fuck you since the day I moved in next to you.” He wasn’t exactly surprised by your bluntness, but hearing those words in your angelic voice still threatened to knock the wind out of him.

“Fuck, baby, you’re breaking my heart here. You know how many times I fought the urge to knock on your door and just flat out ask to taste your sweet pussy?” He dropped your wrists, instinctively going to run his right hand through his hair only to be reminded he’d just buzzed it all for you.

“God, Rafe, I wish you would’ve, we could’ve avoided this whole thing.” You sighed, hands returning to his chest as you looked almost painfully into his tired eyes. There was so much built up energy between the two of you, emotional and sexual, and as a tear slipped down your cheek, all Rafe could think about was how pretty you’d look crying with his cock in your mouth.

“If we were still back in Kildare I’d be showing you off all over town, making every one of those little frat boy assholes jealous with you on my arm.” His tone dipped an octave as his rough hand met your cheek, brushing the tear away. His eyes bore into yours until you looked down to his chest to hide your flattered blush.

“I’ve wanted to pull the goddamn car over and pound you into the backseat on the side of the highway for three weeks.” He exhaled as he spoke and something broke inside of you, a chain snapping to let you finally crash your lips against his. It was crushing, all plush lips and slipping tongues, small gasps for air as your hands groped at one another, pulling at fabric until you’d both managed to discard your shirts.

“You’ve really been hiding these from me this whole time, sugar?” He sighed, large hands groping your breasts over your thin lace bralette.

“I wasn’t hiding anything, it’s not my fault I’ve been living in baggy truck stop shirts for weeks.” You shot back, arching into his touch despite your attitude.

“Didn’t know you had slutty little things like this on underneath ‘em.” He snapped the thin strap against your shoulder, taking note of the way you mewled in response to the short sting the action caused.

“I don’t want to talk anymore Rafe, just fuck me, please.” You whined, your hands haphazardly undoing his belt to allow his worn jeans to fall to the ground.

“That’s not how I do things, babydoll. We’re gonna talk until I say otherwise.“ He paused his movements for a moment, looking into your eyes and it took everything in you not to avert your gaze. You didn’t know why you suddenly felt so intimidated by him, you’d been firing back snarky remarks at him for weeks, what was turning you into this shy thing all of a sudden?

You just nodded, eager for him to keep going. He hesitated, narrowing his eyes for a moment before resigning to continuing his efforts to pull your bralette over your head, finally fully exposing your breasts. He flashed you a smile before pressing a kiss to your lips, gentle at first before devolving into something more hungry, his teeth grazing over your bottom lip as he made his way down to your neck. Your hands found their way to his hips, palming his half-hard cock through his briefs and the low groan that grumbled up from his chest made you reach for the waistband. His hands wrapped around your wrists, halting your movements as he pulled away from your neck, his face only a few inches from yours.

“Slow down, doll. I’m not losing out on the opportunity to see what makes you tick just because you’re impatient.” He chided, holding your wrists together with one hand while he opened the bedside table drawer to search for something.

“I thought guys didn’t like this foreplay stuff.” You sighed, trying to see what he was reaching for.

“That what your little boyfriend told you?” He pulled the handcuffs from the other day out of the drawer, clicking one cuff around your left wrist before moving your arms behind you, securing your right wrist in the remaining cuff.

”You’re gonna learn real fast how good this ‘foreplay shit’ can be for the both of us. I’m going to talk you through every last thing I do and you’re going to tell me exactly how it makes you feel.” The look on his face was serious, not a hint of insincerity in sight, and yet, you couldn’t quite believe what was being demanded of you.

“You want to hear me?” You clarified, the innocence and underlying hurt in your voice almost sending Rafe into another blind rage over how your boyfriend had been treating you before he took care of him.

“I need to, that pretty voice is what keeps me going every day.” Rafe wasn’t usually so sappy, that snarky attitude of his running rampant for as long as you had known him, but there was something about the softness you held underneath that opinionated exterior that made him want to be soft with you. You could go toe to toe with him in sarcasm any day, but he wanted to meet you in that softness you didn’t show very often. He continued his position at the curve of your jaw, leaving open mouthed kisses across your skin that made it feel like he would devour you whole if given the opportunity.

“You’re purring like a kitten and I’ve barely touched you.” You could feel his smirk against your skin along with the cockiness in his tone and as much as you wanted to retaliate, put him in his place, you couldn’t find the words. He was impossibly good, each nip and suck of his lips and teeth down the column of your neck drawing quickened breath and needy whimpers from your kiss-bitten lips.

He continued the trail down to your collarbone, ghosting his lips over your skin as his hand splayed out over your stomach, gently pushing until you took the hint and laid back on the bed. You could feel your cuffed hands digging into you, repositioning them to sit in the curve of your lower back, the slight discomfort quickly falling to the wayside as Rafe’s mouth returned to your chest, plush lips wrapping around your right nipple. His fingers found the left, brushing rough fingertips over your sensitive bud as he sucked softly, movements working in tandem to draw as much sound from you as possible.

You stretched your legs, thighs absentmindedly spreading to allow him space to slot his toned thigh between them as he continued to shower your breasts with attention, marking your skin with bruising kisses and tweaking your nipples until you couldn’t help but moan his name.

“So sensitive babydoll, you like when daddy plays with your tits?” He pulled away from your chest, shifting so his face was above yours, his pupils blown with desire as he took in the sight of you all worked up for the first time.

“Mhm.” Your face flushed at the bluntness, his confidence and curiosity such an interesting change of pace from the men you’d been with before.

“Speak up.” His playful tone turned serious again, his hands moving to your hips as he pulled your hips to the end of the bed, your clothed cunt pressed against the thick of his bare thigh. You gasped as he flexed the muscles in his thigh, rocking against your aching clit through your increasingly wet panties.

“I’m not him, princess. Let me hear you.” He gently gripped your chin, forcing you to look at him as he brought his movements to a halt, watching your face drop in disappointment from the lack of friction.

“I didn’t know it could feel like this, I love it, Rafe.” Your voice held a slight tremble as you forced yourself to share your thoughts, still so unfamiliar with the notion that a man could want to know how you’re feeling.

“God am I glad I killed that piece of shit. He didn’t fuckin’ deserve you.” He sighed, a hint of pride lacing his low tone as he ran his hands over your sides, feeling every curve of your body as he slowly dropped to his knees beside the bed. He slid his hands over your hips beneath the fabric of your underwear, pulling the thin cotton slowly down your legs.

“Look at me.” He waited for you to carefully prop yourself up on your elbows, the cuffs digging into your wrists from the angle. His eyes held your gaze in an almost intimidating stare, his hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“You ever had your pussy eaten baby?” His question caught you off guard despite how obvious it seemed given his current position, and you were sure he already knew the answer from the look on your face.

“N-no, every guy I’ve been with said it was gross.” As soon as the statement hit Rafe’s ears he could feel that anger rise to another level, the need to make you forget about every shitty guy you’d been with stronger than ever.

“Where are you finding these assholes? I’ll kill the rest of them too, just say the word.” His tone was lighthearted but you knew from the look on his face that he was the furthest thing from joking. You laughed him off, your attention pulling to his hands finally pushing your thighs apart, making space for him to slot his broad shoulders between your legs.

“Rafe, you don’t have to.” You tried to pull your legs together but to no avail, the action only spurring him on. He hooked his hands underneath your thighs, pushing your knees up to your chest to give him full access to your cunt.

“No shit, I want to. Need you to keep your eyes on me so you can see how much I’m enjoying tasting your sweet pussy.” He locked eyes with you as he dipped his head lower, watching the way your brow furrowed and a soft gasp left your lips when he gave the first drag of his tongue through your folds. He smiled briefly before diving back in, lapping hungrily at your dripping entrance before sucking softly at your clit, the way your thighs tensed under his grip a physical indication of how much you were enjoying it.

He glanced up at you, watching the way your bottom lip quivered with every whimper and moan of his name in response to his tongue expertly flicking over your clit. His right hand slowly slid down from your thigh, his pointer and middle finger prodding teasingly at your entrance before sinking into your wet heat, the new sensation making you buck your hips against him. He pumped steadily in and out of you, massaging your walls with each flex of his fingers as he pulled his mouth off of you.

“How does it feel babydoll? Everything you hoped it would be?” He smirked at you and you had to fight the urge to laugh at the almost ridiculous question. You knew he knew how good he was making you feel, and yet he still wanted you to stroke his ego. He sure was living up to the reputation he held back on Kildare, that’s for sure.

“Yes, fuck, it’s so good, just keep going, please.” You sighed in frustration, desperate to have his mouth on you again. He had the nerve to laugh, but you couldn’t find it in you to call him out on it, just relieved to see him lowering his head back down to your cunt.

He wasted no time, flicking over your clit at an impossibly quick pace, his fingers curling up to hit that soft spot inside of you until you were throwing your head back, barely able to support yourself anymore as your elbows gave out behind you, falling back against the mattress as your thighs began to tremble. He wrapped his lips around your clit, humming in satisfaction as he felt your walls clamp down around his fingers, the sound of his name falling from your lips in a desperate cry like music to his ears.

He continued lapping gently at your cunt, working you through your orgasm until he could slowly slip his fingers from you, his digits coated in your cum. He waited for you to catch your breath, taking a moment to recover before propping yourself back up on your elbows, looking down at him through half lidded eyes. As soon as your eyes met his he brought his fingers to his mouth, sucking your slick off of them slowly, savoring the taste. Your lips parted in a small gasp, barely even audible, seeing him enjoy going down on you just as much as you had enjoyed it.

He rose to his feet, putting his erection right at your eye level and your small gasp turned into something much more substantial, the sound drawing Rafe’s attention.

“Did that really turn you on that much?” You squeaked out, your voice much more unsteady than you intended it to be.

“I told you it would be good for both of us, I don’t lie about shit like that.” He took a step toward the edge of the bed, His thumbs slipping into the waistband of his underwear before pulling it down, his weighty cock slapping against his thigh as he did so. You bit your lip, watching him wrap his hand around the base of his shaft before tapping the tip against your sensitive clit, the action sending a jolt of pleasure straight to the coil in the pit of your stomach. He rubbed his shaft through your folds, coating himself in your wetness as he watched your expression change from confusion to curiosity to desperation.

“Feel that? It’s all for you, babydoll.” He leaned forward, his face only a few inches above yours as he continued rubbing himself against your cunt, teasingly brushing over your clit in a way that had you squirming and silently begging for more.

“What, baby? What do you need?” He asked, feigning ignorance to what he knew he was doing to you. This was the longest any of your sexual encounters had lasted and he wasn’t even inside of you yet.

“Need you inside of me, please.” You whined, trying to shift your hips to position him lower. He took hold of your hips, stopping your efforts before abruptly flipping you onto your stomach in the middle of the bed, your head almost hanging off the end. You felt the mattress shift under his weight as he positioned himself behind you, pulling your hips up to meet his so you were kneeling before him. Your cuffed wrists made it impossible for you to lift your upper half without assistance, your face and breasts resting against the mattress with your cunt on full display.

“Bet your shitty little boyfriends never showed you how to do anything other than missionary, that right?” You whimpered out a soft “yeah” as you pushed your hips back, feeling his head bump your entrance for a moment before he pushed fully into you, slow enough to allow you to get used to the angle but not torturously slow. He was over playing games now, all he wanted was to show you what you’d been missing with every man who wasn’t him. Your eyes rolled back, the unfamiliar angle stimulating your sensitive walls in ways you’d never experienced before. He steadily increased his pace, his balls slapping against your clit with every slam of his hips, that familiar pressure building impossibly quickly.

“Who’s that pretty girl on the tv? She looks awfully familiar.” His voice pulled your attention away from your impending orgasm for just a moment just as he took hold of the handcuffs and pulled your arms back, putting the tv right in your line of sight. The image that flashed before you made your stomach flip, a group of three photos of you with your physical traits and last known whereabouts listed beside them as the news anchor read off a teleprompter, “Nationwide search for missing Kildare, North Carolina woman continues as police expand their search into three new states.”

Your eyes glossed over, the sight all too surreal and the feeling of his cock hitting places so deep inside of you that you weren’t even sure they existed before this very moment too much as every nerve ending in your body erupted in euphoria, the strained cry of pleasure that ripped from your throat almost drowning out the news broadcast.

“You like seeing your missing poster plastered everywhere? Want everyone to know I own you now?” He teased, continuing to fuck into you as you mumbled incoherently in response, too fucked out to form a proper response.

“Listen to that, they’re saying I kidnapped you, callin’ me a monster. If only they could see how good I’m making you feel right now babydoll, how good your daddy’s making you feel.” His words pierced through your post orgasm haze, pressure starting to build in your tummy again.

“Oh my god, daddy, it’s too much, I can’t, please!” You begged, overwhelmed by the pleasure still coursing through your body as he brought you closer and closer to another orgasm with every thrust, his remarks only spurring you on.

“I know you can baby, your pussy’s gripping me like a vice.” He laughed again, but you could feel his hips starting to falter, his thrusts becoming sloppy, he had to be just as close as you were.

“Fuck, who’s your daddy, baby?” He groaned, watching the way your ass reverberated back against him with every thrust.

“You are!” You moaned, so close to the edge.

“Say it.” He commanded, a darkness present in his tone that hadn't been there before.

“You are, Rafe, you’re my daddy!” You cried out, a white heat unlike anything you’d ever felt before rushing through you as you felt a warmth gush from your cunt, your body going limp against him, his grip on your hip and the cuffs being the only things to keep you from completely collapsing into the mattress.

You barely registered him pulling out of you and cumming on your ass, the warmth of the white stickiness dripping down into your folds being one of the only things able to draw you back to reality.

“You ever done that before?” His voice sounded miles away, your ears still ringing from your release.

“Done what?” You asked sleepily, turning your head to look at him. When you saw the liquid dripping down his lower stomach and thighs onto the wet spot on the bed, your eyes went wide, trying to scramble to your knees the best you could with your wrists still cuffed.

“Oh my god, no, I didn’t mean to, I’m sorry!” The panic in your voice startled him, but that quickly turned to anger as he thought about what your shitty exes had done to you to make you feel like you needed to apologize for something so natural.

“Hey, hey, calm down.” He soothed you the best he could, grabbing the key to the cuffs and undoing them as he rubbed the red marks on your wrists to ground you.

“You’re not mad?” You asked, blinking back the tears that had gathered in your waterline.

“God, no. I’m gonna be making you squirt all the time now that I know you can.” He laughed, trying to lighten the mood again. You smiled, and his anger quelled. He had to remind himself that those assholes were in your rear view, he was your future. That’s all that mattered.

“What about the sheets?” You asked, standing from the bed to pull the wet linens off of the mattress, bunching them up in a pile in the corner of the room.

“I’ll just go ask for new ones at the front office, you go hop in the shower and I’ll join you when I get back.” He reassured, kissing you on the forehead and using the loose sheets to dry off his stomach before reaching for his scattered articles of clothing to get dressed to run to the office.

—

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[all-purpose-dish-soap]

64 / 4.1k / soap soulmate au, final part

...

"You doing okay?"

Hearing Graves’ voice knocks what little breath you had out of your lungs. It's been months, but that's him. Your old boss. You never thought you'd hear his voice again.

"I've been better," you say finally. "Been awhile."

"Yeah, it has," he says. "Wish you'd've called me to catch up sometime, rather than under the circumstances. You don't sound too banged up. They treat you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask how you feel. I asked if they roughed you up."

You feel your own temper shorten in response. "I need you to call KorTac off."

There's a pause. You can imagine his frowning face, the way he's thinking that one over. "I'll take that under advisement," he finally says, but you can tell he's not going to do what you ask of him. "Puttin' me in a predicament here, kid. You're giving those boys a hard time, and here I thought I was helping you out. Paying your bail, so to speak."

"It’s more complicated than that."

"Always is. Let’s just have you dropped off back on base with us. You can clean yourself up and we’ll talk."

He waits for your crisp yes, sir, but it never comes.

He speaks again. "You got somewhere else to be?"

"I can't go back."

"Can't or won't? You got something you ain't tellin me, soldier?"

"I said I can't go back. And I'm not your soldier anymore. You're not my boss. I don't work for you."

"You know Shadows don't leave one of our own behind. Not to rot in some CIA prison cell. So lose the attitude," he says, voice like iron. "This ain't a good time to play games, kid. You're comin' back with me because I spent a pretty penny on you. You owe me. You have your personal business, fine. Come on back to base and let's talk this out face to face before you go makin' any hasty decisions."

You're so frustrated it's hard to form words. You should be grateful. You know that. Graves doesn’t pretend to care about his men. He cares enough to lead from the front. But you met your soulmate, and you can’t act like it didn't change you. You need to make things right. You also can’t exactly tell Graves you kind of sold him out.

"Hey. Focus up." He doesn't raise his voice to a command. Still, the order is in his voice, and you have been long trained to follow your commander's orders. Then he sighs. "What happened to you, kid?"

"You betrayed the 141. You killed innocent people in Las Almas, looking for them."

You can almost hear his jaw working behind his clenched teeth, the muscles in his face tight. He does not allow this kind of disrespect. "You think I like what I had to do? General Shepherd's orders were clear. We followed them. 141 did not." He huffs out a sigh. "I didn't enjoy it. But that's the job. You of all people know that."

You swallow. "You told us they were our brothers. You killed innocent people, Commander. Johnny said he saw you do it--"

"Johnny?" Grave's voice rises. "You on a first name basis with Soap now?"

"We all know what happened in Las Almas," you retort. Your skin goes hot at the way he says Johnny's name. "I won't work for Shepherd anymore after that. I won't fucking do it."

"Don't pull that with me." The warning is written in his voice. This isn't like you. To the Shadows, you’re calm. Cold. You don't lose your temper. You don't talk back. Especially not to Graves. "You think you can walk away at the drop of a hat just because you don't agree with an order? It doesn't work like that. You follow an order, even if you don't like it, even if it pisses you off. You don't get to decide what you think is right or wrong to carry out. When I give you an order, you follow it. That's your job. Your loyalty is with me. Not with the 141."

"I did my job."

"Then act like it," he snaps. "Stop acting like I'm some evil bastard out here. I made the only choice I could. Task Force 141 was not supposed to be there. They knew my orders, and what did they do? They came after my men, went behind my back, screwed us over. We did what we had to. You wanna be pissed at someone? Be pissed at them."

You glare down at the ice, but say nothing.

"You know I'm right." He knows you. He's getting to you. "And you know what else I find interesting? You don't seem a bit surprised to hear me alive." His voice is too casual and sharp as a knife. "Didn't you get the memo? Did no one forward you my obituary, soldier?"

You stiffen. You're not supposed to know he's alive.

"You're an awful liar. Always have been." He pauses for a long moment. "It ain't easy, surviving against the 141 if they want you dead. You know how I managed it, soldier?"

Yes. "No,” you retort. “And stop calling me that. I'm not your soldier. I don't work for you anymore."

"The hell you aren't. Maybe you're not on the payroll anymore, and maybe you're no longer under my command, but once a Shadow, always a Shadow. That makes you my responsibility. And my goddamn headache." Something shuffles on the other end of the line. "You know exactly what I'm willing to do to keep one of my Shadows safe. But if you're so keen on turning yourself in, fine. I'll have you in front of Shepherd's desk first thing tomorrow. Is that what you want? You know Soap and Ghost put Shadows in the ground that night in Las Almas."

"Shadows tried to put Johnny and Ghost in the ground first."

"This isn't about who shot first. This is about you." His voice is dangerously low, but he keeps his temper in check. Then he huffs a laugh. "You keep callin’ him Johnny. Makes my brain itch." Johnny MacTavish. John MacTavish. Yeah, that's it. "I'll be damned," he mutters.

You touch your exposed soulmark compulsively as if to hide it. Most soldiers hide theirs, but yours has always been tough to cover up. He's seen it more than a few times.

"Got you right out from under my fuckin' nose."

Your stomach tightens. You feel too exposed, like suddenly he’s putting the story together--how 141 got in.

"Shoulda known. Shoulda known. You know the military has a registry for this shit. There are rules. What's wrong with you?"

"I made a mistake," you mutter.

That might be the funniest thing he ever heard. And he's heard some good jokes. "You don't make mistakes, kiddo. You never have. That's not how I trained you." He's right, and you know it. "But hey. Guess it's true what they say about it."

"What?"

"Soulbonds. Make you take your best-laid plans and raze ‘em. Full scorched earth.”

“This isn’t about that. I’m making this decision on my own.”

“You think?” He takes a puff on his cigarette. “I don’t. I don't blame you, either. You sure as hell fought it as best you could. Didn't give in to save your own life. If that's not the soulbond making your decision for you, soldier, I don't know what is."

You look up at the sky. For all the time you spent working with Graves, that past version of you might as well be dead. Maybe that’s the grave you’ve been digging. "I can't work for Shepherd anymore. I won't do it."

"You're a good soldier, 86. You were loyal. I still think you're loyal, even if I'm not who you're loyal to," he finally says. His voice is still calm. It doesn't make you feel any better. "You know if you choose to walk away from this, the next time we meet might well be as enemies."

"Then I guess we won't meet again, sir."

He says nothing. Then he lets out a long huff. You really are going to do him dirty. You can hear his scowl. "That's a damn shame, kid. But you have more of a spine than I gave you credit for," he says. There's a tone of reluctant respect to it. That's as close as you're going to get to a compliment from him now. "You're a loose end, then. You'd best stay well out of the way. Mine and Shepherd's. I hope you're not making the wrong choice, 86," he says quietly. "I really hope you're not."

"It’s out of your hands now. And pay KorTac," you add. "Pay my squad. They did their job."

That makes him scoff. "Now why would I do that? You might be a traitor, but you're still my investment. You were worth more on my payroll than theirs, and that’s a fact I intend to maintain."

"You owe me," you remind him.

"Don't push your luck," he warns. "You're an asset. You don’t get the privileges of rank anymore. But, well..." He sighs. You imagine him with his heels kicked back on his desk, cigarette in hand. "I’ll tell you what. I’m in a charitable mood. I'll pay them off. I'm a man of my word when the time comes to pay off my debts. Hell, I’ll even throw in a tip for a job well done." Despite the annoyance in his voice, you don't doubt he'll do just that. "But that doesn’t mean I trust you anymore. I trusted you once, and you went rogue. I let you go now, that means I expect you to keep my secrets. Don't you go singing if Shepherd puts you in a chair. You got that?"

You glance up out of the corner of your eye at Soap, whose hands are still clenched in tight fists at his sides. "If Shepherd puts me in a chair, he's the one who's gonna sing. Not me."

Graves chuckles. "You're a good soldier, 86, but you can't take on an old war dog like Shepherd. Leave that to someone more qualified."

"Like who? You?"

"As I said, you best steer clear. I don't want to hear your name again." His voice hardens, and you hear your old commander again. "Good luck, kid. You'll need it. And give Soap hell."

You toss the phone back to Horangi. He listens to what Graves has to say. Then, eyes meeting yours for a moment, he wordlessly moves out away from the river, leaving you weary with relief. It's over. Finally.

Soap watches him disappear into the trees. Then, he looks back at you, alone and shivering on the ice. You look half-dead, bleeding, and your lips are near blue. He wants to make his way to you, but the ice is scarcely holding you. It won't hold him, too.

"Oi," Soap calls. His voice is rough with anxiety. "Get over here. You're gonnae freeze to death even if you don't fall through."

You blink up at him. Standing in the rising sun the way he is now, he looks like someone’s guardian angel. Yours? You'd like very much to be wrapped in his wings.

You make your way over to the bank, but the rocky ledge up is slippery and icy. Behind you, between the ice where you're standing and the bank, there's a yawning gap. To your left, there's a bridge, but snow has already melted off the surface of the ice, and it looks thin. "There's no way up," you call. "But downriver..."

"No’ a chance in hell I’m going to let you try to cross that," Soap says as he approaches the edge. "You'll be swept away and drown, hen. You're not in any condition to swim, and even if you were, that river's too bloody fast to risk it."

"Then what do you suggest?"

His eyes sweep over the river once more. It's wide; too wide to attempt a jump across. The ice has fallen in, leaving it almost impossible to make it to the bank. It isn't safe. The longer you stand there, the more the ice cracks under you. He admires your guts for putting yourself on the line like that to get back to him, but damn you. His blood pressure has never been higher.

Soap throws off his pack and slings his gear onto the bank. "I'll pull you up."

"But..."

"But nothing." With the adrenaline still pumping through his system, Soap thinks nothing of the risk of the bank collapsing under you both with his added weight. The only thing on his mind is getting you back in one piece. "We both know damn well, if I was the one on the ice now, you'd already be down there trying to help me, so for once, just shut up and let me help you."

Can't argue with that.

He pulls out an ice hook--mountaineering equipment; he was prepared to climb this mission, luckily--and offers it to you.

You toss the grenade as far as you can in the opposite direction. Then you raise your hands to grasp the rope. He's holding the sharp end and giving you the handle. You try to keep hold, but as he lifts, your bloodied hands slip just as the grenade explodes nearby, too close, spiderwebbing the ice with a final crack.

You land hard, break through, and disappear under the freezing water.

Soap has never known panic faster than when he sees you go under.

He dives after you. He has to get you back to the surface before whatever air you had in your lungs gives out. Your survival is his survival.

He finds you in the rushing black abyss when your fingers hook around his sleeve. Wrapping his hands around your arms, Soap anchors you to his chest.

You come to in his arms. You're colder than you ever have been in your life. Your fingertips tingle in pain and numbness. He's carrying you ashore somehow--far downriver, thinner ice--and he ducks into an old cabin with you in his arms.

Soap kicks the door shut behind him and moves into the cabin to set you on the floor, propping your back against the wall. His hands work fast as he pulls out his knife to cut away your soaked thermal clothes and gear. You dip in and out of consciousness until he wads up a fistful of gauze and packs it into your side wound. The sudden pain chokes you. Then a wave of nausea washes over you. You’d like nothing more than to tell him where precisely he can shove that gauze, but you’re too lightheaded.

"You with me, hen?" His gruff voice wavers. "I need you to stay awake."

He gathers you up in his arms and lifts you into his lap. It's a tight fit, wedged underneath the frosty window and between a table and an upturned stool. You register the warmth of his skin on yours and dimly realize he's stripped both of you almost bare, huddling around you to prevent hypothermia.

You soak up Soap’s body heat instantly. He's a furnace, and he needs to be, given the state you're in. He tucks you as close as he can. You're both shivering, but he doesn't care. He can be cold as long as you're warm. His broad body shields you from the drafts leaking into the decrepit cabin.

"No, no, eyes open." He tilts your face up as your eyes flutter. "Don't go passin' out on me."

You gaze up at him in your stupor. Maybe it's the blood loss, but even through your own pain and frustration, he's the most gorgeous thing you've ever seen.

"You have really odd eyes," you mutter. "Like blueberry soft serve."

Oh, you're definitely delirious. Maybe concussed.

But he can't deny the look you're giving him right now makes his stomach flip. The sight of you in his lap, your frost-scorched fingers wrapped idly around his ID tag and staring up at him like he's just pulled the moon out of the sky for you... it's the first time he’s seen you with your guard down.

He swallows and keeps you pressed against his skin. There’s a lot of blood. He can’t tell what’s yours and what isn’t. "You're in no shape to flatter me."

You hum, your fingers dabbing idly at a smear of blood on his chest.

He doesn't move to stop you. Instead, his eyes flick down to your hand. Your fingers leave a trail of sparks over everywhere you touch.

With a soft sigh, Soap catches your wrist. "Quit it, hen."

"Quit what?"

"Teasin'. Makin' me wish you'd put those hands to other uses," he says, voice quiet and rough. It's just you and him in the little cabin. The world is far away. His thumb rubs against the inside of your wrist, trying to bring some warmth back into your skin. "You're in no shape to be feelin' me up, either."

Your head lolls against his shoulder. "Maybe it's the perfect time. Maybe we won't get another time."

Hearing you say that twists his insides into knots. He leans down to rest his forehead against yours. "Maybe you just need to shut up and let me take care of you. Don't talk like that." His voice leaves no room for argument. He tightens his grip on you, pressing you closer as if he can somehow press that into your skin by sheer will alone. "There'll be plenty of times for you to get your hands on me."

"Mm." You tuck into him tighter. You'd be mortified with yourself if you weren't half-dead from blood loss. "Sorry."

He exhales into your hair, pressing chaste kisses there.

You're practically in his lap, the two of you tangled into each other from head to foot in the space under the window. He's surrounded by the smell of you. It's a soothing presence in all that surrounds him.

He shouldn't want to touch you, shouldn't want to take advantage of your weakness--but the thought of having you so open and wanting, of you willingly in his arms, makes something in him ache. Makes the selfish parts of him scream.

"You're a pain in my arse," he says. He focuses on taking inventory of your wounds, brushing over your arms with his touch to assess the damage. "You gonnae bleed out on me?"

You shiver a little as he drags you closer by your bare thigh. "Wouldn't be the worst way to go."

"Oi," he snaps in warning. He slides his hand up your side, checking for bleeding. It’s just as much a caress over your bare skin. He has to ignore how his skin tingles every time the curve of your body slides against his in that tantalizing way. Something in his lower belly tightens. "You don't get to tap out after makin' me go through all this trouble for you. You're livin' through tonight or else."

"Or else what?"

"Or else." He moves his hand up to the base of your throat, his large, calloused fingers wrapping around your neck and tilting your chin up to look at him. He fixes his blue eyes on yours to take in the dazed expression on your face. "I'll drag your arse out of hell and tan it until you can't sit right."

You're too weary to laugh, but you rest your scuffed cheek on his thumb, and it pushes your lips into a smirk. "All for me?"

"Aye. Hell of a lot more trouble than your pretty face should be worth."

You pull free and rest your head on his shoulder again. "Where do you live?"

"Glasgow," he says. "Not sure I should be tellin' you that."

You trace his chest around the chain of his ID tag. So many muscles. "Probably not."

"And what about you? Do I get to know?"

"No. Maybe. If we get out of here."

"Yeah? Well, you're not goin' anywhere with this wound. Bleedin' out, nearly froze to death, and still mouthin' off. No idea how to shut up and be good." He looks down at the injury, assessing how bad it really is in the dim light of the cabin. "You lost a lot of blood. I bet you feel tired." He brushes your hair off your face. "Stay awake a bit longer. The boys'll be here soon."

"I shouldn't," you mutter.

Soap doesn't miss the slurring of your words. He knew the blood loss would affect you, but he was hoping for more time before he had to really worry. "Shouldn't stay? Too late to get away from me now," he says, trying to keep his tone casual. Your skin is too cold for comfort. The gauze in your wound soaking through with blood can't mean anything good. "I don’t trust you as far as I can throw you. Sure as hell not letting you out of my sight. You've got a lot to repay me for."

You try to keep your eyes open. Every blink is more sluggish than the last. "Like what?"

"Runnin' away and makin' me chase after you, for one. Puttin' yourself in the line of fire for me, second. Takin' a swim in a frozen river. Scared me to death." He presses his lips to the crown of your head, a gentle, chaste touch at odds with the possessive, dominating instinct he can feel creeping into his thoughts. You're vulnerable right now, something he should never want, but part of him wonders if he’d ever have caught up with you without this. "Aye, you owe me. First thing we do once you're patched up? We have a long talk. We have a whole hell of a lot we need to say to one another. And you'll answer every question I ask you."

"I dunno if you'll like the stuff I say," you mutter.

"Hardly matters. You’re plenty keen on spittin’ fire at me as it is. No reason you can’t keep tellin’ me everything I don’t want tae hear."

Another shiver wracks your body.

Soap rubs your arms. "You gotta give your word you stay awake for me, aye? Stay here."

His radio beeps nearby. You huff. "Fine."

"Fine." He leans over to grab his radio and tries to keep an arm around your shoulders to keep you warm as he does. He keeps you cradled against his chest as he responds to Price.

"Soap here."

You don't hear the conversation. Instead, you listen to Soap's voice vibrate through his chest. He speaks to Price in hushed tones, talking about your condition and the team's ETA.

Price has a laundry list of questions, but Soap manages to wrangle them into holding off until they have everyone back on base. No sense exhausting you on a mission that's already been a shitshow. Finally, they're done. Soap lets the radio go to focus entirely on you again. "Still with me?"

"How long do we have?"

"Shouldn't be too much longer," he says. He checks your side again. The coldness of the air has soaked into the wet gauze. You shiver again. It makes something in him ache. "ETA's about ten minutes out."

You pull his lips down to yours and kiss him.

He's surprised, but he doesn't pull back--not from you. He lets you kiss him. Your taste seeps into his brain and turns all rational thought to white noise. One hand cups your jaw with a surprising gentleness, and the other slides behind your waist to keep you against his body. He's gentle--you need to be handled with care right now.

He pulls back before he loses himself in the desire to deepen the kiss. His eyes search your face, his forehead pressed against yours, his breath hot against your lips.

"You're lucky you're injured," he murmurs. "Or you'd be in a very different kind of trouble right now."

You shiver, but not with the cold. Just that one kiss has you feeling much warmer. You touch your name where it's written on his arm. Then you curl your fingers around the back of his neck and pull yourself closer. "Hold onto that thought for later," you murmur. "Give me something to wait for."

Then you kiss him again.

...

← previous part / [part 13] / epilogue →

part 1 / more Soap / masterlist

thank you <3

[ikuzeminna]

What does a goose have to do with any of it...?

We're all wondering what the heck Tallgeese is supposed to be derived from, so I decided to do some research and the result is either ¯\_ (ツ)_/¯ or a Simone Biles level routine of mental gymnastics, which, notably, is not allowed to stick the landing.

But I finally figured out what Epyon is supposed to mean (which is an utter embarrassment that it took me so long, I'm so sorry @tinyozlion), so hooray for small victories, at least.

So first things first, let's get Epyon's etymology out of the way. The mobile suit name Epyon, phonetically /ˈe.pion/, is likely derived from the Ancient Greek word επιόν, phonetically /e.piˈon/, which means "the next one/the future one." Awfully fitting considering the characters treat Epyon and its system as though it can tell the future. I also find it hilarious how the Greek wiki page features a translation, whereas the English version just assumes everyone is fluent in Attic.

As if.

Bonus information for linguists:

Here's the excuse I have for not finding out sooner Epyon is apparently taken from επιόν. Επιόν is the present active participle, neuter nominative/accusative/vocative singular, of the verb ἔπειμι (épeimi), according to Attic inflectional endings, with the verb having various meanings, among them "to exist in the future/to approach/to attack" etc.

This means that επιόν is not a word you can directly look up in a dictionary, like the one I have lying around. You need to know it's derived from ἔπειμι and then know your Attic declension to reach this form. All I wanna know right now is who the Ancient Greek buff at Sunrise was who's to credit for this. Because this was in the era before anyone even thought of uploading translations of Ancient Greek words onto the worldwide web. And how you end up with one suit having a name you need to have studied a dead language for and another named after statuesque waterfowl.

Ikeda, I have questions.

On an additional note, επιών, the masculine singular, sounds the same phonetically, but since Epyon is a mobile suit and thus an object, it makes more sense to go with the neuter. Unlike with humans and animals, things don't usually have a gender in Greek unless it's a loanword.

Okay, so now that Epyon is figured out, let's look at Tallgeese. This one is a wild ride.

For the sake of argument, we'll step away from the goose thing for a second. Tallgeese in Japanese is spelled トールギス (Tōrugisu), which, taking Japanese's limits into account and the translated Amazon.co.jp listings of the mobile suit's various gunpla kits, means we could write Tallgeese as anything ranging from "Tallgis" to "Torgis." I've seen all kinds of spellings for it. (The obscure ones sometimes let you find a kit at a very reasonable price.)

So let's look at what theme OZ suits adhere to. Here's a list of all of them:

OZ-00MS Tallgeese

OZ-02MD Virgo

OZ-06MS Leo

OZ-07AMS Aries

OZ-07MS Tragos (Greek for Capricorn)

OZ-08MMS Cancer

OZ-09MMS Pisces

OZ-12SMS Taurus

OZ-13MS Epyon

OZ-13MSX1 Vayeate

OZ-13MSX2 Mercurius

Bonus: battleship Libra

The grunt suits are all in the 01-12 range, which corresponds to the Zodiac constellations being 12, even if they don't care about the correct order. Tallgeese, Epyon, Vayeate and Mercurius are the only ones outside this Zodiac range, so time to look at what other constellations there are.

Turns out there are 88 of them by now. 48 originally if we go with Ptolemy's version.

Let's look at the suit to find some hints as to what we're looking for.

The red front-to-back plume evokes Roman or Spartan military. The round shield is definitely closer to trademark Spartan than Roman, so coupled with the death wish you need to pilot it, I'd say Spartan is a reasonable pick.

I mean, if it fits, it fits.

The other interesting detail about Tallgeese is the yellow bird emblem on the shield, which it doesn't have in the series because it probably would have been too much of a pain to animate. The gunpla feature it though.

Here's the Tallgeese, and the Tallgeese Flügel version.

The emblem on the shield is tinier, but it's there, and it's added to the giant wings as well. The reasonable assumption is that that's an eagle, which happens to exist as a constellation. Aquila, or rather Aëtos, and more specifically the Aetos Dios, "was a giant, golden eagle which served as Zeus' personal messenger and animal companion."

Tallgeese would be equated to Zeus then, since the suit obviously isn't the golden eagle itself, being all white. If we view Tallgeese as the father of all mobile suits and consider that Zeus fathered... honestly, everyone and his dog in Greek mythology <_<, it fits.

So, do we have a constellation that is something big, white, preferably with wings, that's connected to Zeus? Yup, there is the swan, Cygnus, or Kyknos if you prefer Greek, which has a very interesting story of how it ended up in the night sky.

Turns out it's another one of Zeus' romantic adventures where he transformed into a swan to seduce Leda, the queen of Sparta.

"Leda was a queen of Sparta, the wife of King Tyndareus, who was seduced by Zeus in the guise of the swan. There were several versions of the parentage of her children:- Some say she laid an egg from which were hatched the Dioskouroi (Dioscuri) twins, Kastor and Polydeukes, both sons of Zeus. Others say she laid two eggs each containing a child of Zeus and a child of Tyndareus--Polydeukes and Kastor in one, and Helene and Klytaimnestra (Clytemnestra) in the other. Yet others relate that the second egg, containing just Helene, was delivered to Leda by the goddess Nemesis who had lain it after coupling with Zeus in the guise of a goose."

....We have arrived at the goose.

Fun fact: geese, swans and ducks are grouped into one family (anatidae). This is an important tidbit as things will become very dumb from this point onward.

Because I may have gotten Spartan, golden eagle, giant white bird and predecessor all consolidated under the Cygnus constellation, but etymologically, "Tallgeese" is nowhere near anything I've discussed so far. :(

It doesn't sound like Cygnus, it doesn't sound like Zeus, or any child of his with the Spartan queen. It doesn't even sound Greek, and yes, I checked more carefully this time. The best I can give is στοργής (storgís) which would be the genitive form of the word "affection," which could fit with the swan story if you reach enough to rival Luffy, but doesn't explain where the S went. The other option is οργή (orgí) which means fury, but is missing the T.

So I got the theme of the suit figured out, I think, but the name? Nope.

Is there maybe a star in the Cygnus constellation that sounds like Tallgeese or even just tall or geese?

Nope. I checked the other birds as well, like the eagle or the dove. Nothing. I checked if there was any star at all that sounded anything like tall or geese and the closest I got was Gliese 581, which is a red dwarf in the Libra constellation and not visible to the naked eye.

Fun fact: there is also Vulpecula et Anser, the Fox and Goose, which have been reduced to just the fox in modern constellations, so we did have a goose up there in ancient times.

All these dead ends lead to three options:

I'm either looking at the wrong language and Tallgeese or Torgis or whatever is close to the word for swan in a different language

Ikeda is trolling and it really is a tall goose or

I'm off my rocker and the Tallgeese was never associated with Cygnus to begin with. Which would call the goose into question again.

So, which one is it?

¯\_ (ツ)_/¯

The final season of Sailor Moon never fails to have me in tears because of the absolute hilarity that are the Sailor Starlights' attacks. Sailor Star Fighter's attack is "Star Serious Laser." Sailor Star Healer's is "Star Sensitive Inferno", which already has me go ???? But it's Sailor Star Maker who breaks me with her "Star Gentle Uterus." I have no idea what that lady is throwing, but I know I don't wanna get hit by it.

What I mean to showcase here is that [random adjective] + [random noun] = perfectly fine attack name for a Japanese manga/anime in the 90s.

It's hard to believe that the crew who had ridiculously specific knowledge of Ancient Greek would just derp with English, but what if they did? Let's say they wanted to name the suit after Cygnus, but in a language different from Latin or Greek to cement it is an outlier, while also pointing out that it is bigger than normal suits, so they got "tall" but landed on goose instead of swan because someone mixed them up. And it's "geese" and not "goose" because it's a nod to there being more than one Tallgeese, especially since Japanese doesn't even differentiate between singular and plural.

....

Look, I tried.

[domm1etae]

sent to tempt me - chapter one

chapter one: the first glimpse

chapter summary: Yunho arrives at his new dorm, hoping for peace and quiet, but his expectations are shattered when he meets his unexpected and enigmatic roommate

pairing: yunho x mingi

genre: smut (not yet but there will be eventually), angst, fluff, romance, m/m, non!idol!ateez, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, drama, coming of age, collage, religion

rating: 18+ (for the whole series bc there will be smut eventually) | mdni

word count: 2.2k

warnings under

collage, roommates, sub!yunho, dom!mingi, bad boy mingi and religious church good boy yunho same-sex attraction, m/m, teasing, dark themes, homophobia, self discovery, pet names, strangers to lovers, religion and religious topics, aaaand more will be added soon hehehe

 next chapter | AO3 | this fics masterlist

author's note: my first series, yaaaay! I’m so excited about this, and I hope you’ll like it. let me know how you feel about the first chapter in the comments. also, should I make a tag list for this?

Yunho grew up in a house where silence spoke louder than words. Yunho grew up in a house where everything had its place.

Every Sunday morning, he woke up to the scent of his mom’s freshly brewed coffee and the sound of his dad humming hymns in the kitchen. Breakfast was always ready by 8:00 a.m. sharp, the same time they left for church.

His family wasn’t unkind; they loved each other in the way a well-rehearsed choir loves its conductor: faithfully, dutifully, but not too loudly. The Jeongs didn’t argue or slam doors. They lived in neat, quiet harmony, with Bible verses framed on the walls and a family portrait taken at the church picnic hanging above the mantel.

Yunho always knew his role in this symphony of order. He was the son they prayed for, the one who didn’t talk back or skip curfews. At 13, he was the boy who stayed late after services to help clean up, stacking chairs and sweeping floors while other kids hung out in parking lots blasting music. He was the one teachers praised, neighbors admired, and his parents held up as an example, they always smiled proudly, calling him “their angel.”

And Yunho liked being good.

At least, he thought he did. Until the dreams started.

Dreams that left him waking up in a panic, drenched in sweat, begging God for forgiveness before he even got out of bed. Dreams that weren’t about the soft curves of a girl’s body, like he knew they were supposed to be, but about sharp jawlines, strong hands, and broad shoulders.

It wasn’t just the dreams. It was the way he couldn’t stop looking. At first, it was small things—admiring how his classmate’s uniform shirt stretched across his chest during gym class or wondering why he felt so warm when he saw certain smiles. He convinced himself it was normal. Just admiration, nothing more. But it didn’t stay fleeting.

He prayed for hours at night, whispering to God to make it go away. “Please, Lord,” he’d say, clutching the cross on his bedside table until his hands hurt. “Don’t let me feel like this.” But the thoughts didn’t stop.

He never told anyone. Not his friends, not his parents, not even the priest during confession.

He thought about telling Father Lee once. After Sunday Mass, he lingered outside the confessional, hands trembling, heart racing. But when he finally stepped inside, knees pressing into the wooden kneeler, the words froze in his throat.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” he managed, his voice barely audible.

The priest’s calm, steady reply came through the lattice screen. “What troubles you, my child?”

Yunho’s hands gripped the edge of the pew until his knuckles turned white. He wanted to say it. He wanted to confess. But the weight of it, the shame—it was too much.

Instead, he mumbled something about talking back to his parents and skipped dinner that night, too sick with guilt to eat.

Books became his escape.

Yunho discovered literature the way some kids discover a secret hideout: by accident, but it quickly became his sanctuary. He wasn’t one to seek it out; books, like distant cousins, were something that didn’t seem to fit in his world. But on a lazy summer afternoon, when his parents were busy with their own lives, Yunho wandered into his father’s study. The room smelled of old wood and dust, filled with shelves of books that always seemed too formal to touch, too thick to bother with.

It was there, buried under a stack of untouched textbooks, that he found an old copy of The Great Gatsby. The cover was faded, the corners of the pages slightly curled, but something about it called to him. There was no reason for Yunho to pick it up—he wasn’t interested in the world of the Roaring Twenties, the glamor or the excess—but something about the worn edges, the ink fading in places like a secret waiting to be unraveled, made him curious.

He sat down on the living room floor, cradling the book in his hands, the cover smooth under his fingertips. When he opened the first page, it was as if the world had shifted. The words seemed to leap off the page, weaving a narrative that was both foreign and familiar. He got lost in it: the parties, the glamour, the yearning, the tragedy. The way Jay Gatsby’s life felt so full of promise, yet so hollow at the same time.

There was something about the way words could paint entire worlds, how they could make you feel things so vividly that it almost hurt. With every turn of the page, Yunho found himself sinking deeper into Gatsby’s world, a world that was both dazzling and dark, where no one was who they appeared to be. For the first time, Yunho could relate to the idea of masks—of playing a part and feeling alone, no matter how many people surrounded you. It was as if the book had taken something deep inside of him and pulled it into the light.

For Yunho, books weren’t just stories; they were freedom.

They were a bridge to a place where no one judged him, where no one expected him to be perfect. In the pages of The Great Gatsby, there was no family name to live up to, no prayers to recite, no duty to be a certain kind of son. There was just the raw, beautiful act of existing without judgment. The characters, flawed and human, didn’t try to pretend they were anything other than what they were. They loved, they hurt, they sought something more—but they were always, in some way, authentic.

Books gave Yunho a place to escape the life he had to lead—one that demanded perfection, one that demanded silence when all he wanted was to shout. Every character, whether they were noble or tragic, flawed or redeemed, felt real to him in ways his real life didn’t. He could be whoever he wanted to be when he opened a book. He could think things that scared him, feel things that frightened him, all in the comfort of knowing it wasn’t real.

He read everything he could get his hands on—Shakespeare, Frost, Brontë. Wuthering Heights, Jane Eyre, Hamlet—the classics that made him feel like he was standing on the edge of something monumental. He fell in love with the way poetry could turn pain into something beautiful, the way prose could make even the simplest moments feel profound. Each word he read felt like an invitation to a world he was never allowed to explore in real life.

There was power in poetry. The kind of power that made you feel seen even when you weren’t speaking. A line from a poem could echo in his chest like a secret whispered into his ear—how the pain in the words felt like his own pain, and yet it was shared, universal. He began scribbling lines in the margins of his notebooks, quoting his favorite poets, trying to capture something of the way they made him feel. But his words never seemed enough. His words never seemed to touch the depth of the feeling, the longing he couldn’t explain.

In books, there was no shame. No guilt. Just characters and their stories, raw and human. No one to look at him with pity in their eyes, no one to ask questions he couldn’t answer. He was free in a way that no one ever told him he could be.

When the acceptance letter from the University of Seoul arrived, Yunho saw it as a sign.

A fresh start.

A chance to focus on his studies, to leave behind the heavy silence of his house, the suffocating expectations of his family. To be free, not just in his mind but in the world. He dreamed of quiet nights in a tidy dorm room, stacks of books surrounding him, the hum of a desk lamp keeping him company as he read well into the night. He imagined himself walking the leafy campus, the world sprawling before him—endless possibilities, untouched and waiting. He imagined being the kind of student who got lost in lectures, who lost track of time in libraries, who got so caught up in books and ideas that the rest of the world felt far away.

He imagined a life where he didn’t have to hide who he was. Where his thoughts didn’t feel like a burden. He could be a literature major, someone who was known for his intelligence, for his passion for the written word, without anyone ever asking about the things he kept hidden. No one would ever know about the turmoil inside him, the yearning that crept up every time he thought about something or someone in a way that didn’t feel right.

The thought of a fresh start was everything he’d dreamed of. It was the chance to begin again, to bury his fears in books, to embrace his studies without the guilt.

But when he stepped into his new dorm, those dreams started to crack.

The first thing Yunho noticed about the dorm was the smell.

It wasn’t bad—just different. A faint mix of cleaning solution and something else he couldn’t quite place, something organic, maybe even a little musky, like a place that had been lived in. It hit him instantly, a sharp contrast to the scent of the fresh air outside. As he stepped inside, the small living room greeted him with beige walls, mismatched furniture—an old, faded gray couch with a wobbly coffee table in front of it, and a tiny kitchenette tucked into the corner like an afterthought. The kind of space that made you think the people who built it were more concerned with efficiency than comfort.

There were two doors leading to separate bedrooms, just like the housing brochure promised, and a narrow hallway that led to a cramped bathroom. It was basic, functional, nothing fancy.

Yunho let out a small sigh of relief. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough. It was quiet—blissfully, eerily quiet. The kind of quiet his mom had warned him about, the kind he’d been desperate for since they’d first dropped him off at the university.

“Call us when you get there, alright? And eat well! Are you sure you’re not forgetting anything? Don’t forget your vitamins—oh, and make sure you pack extra socks!” His mom’s voice had been a constant hum in the back of his mind the entire journey. She was always so concerned, so fixated on the little things.

His dad, quieter but just as insistent, had kept reminding him to stay focused on his studies and “be a good boy.” It wasn’t that they didn’t trust him, but they’d never really let him out of their sight long enough to be sure he could take care of himself. So, as Yunho unloaded his suitcase into his new dorm room, his parents’ voices still echoed in his head. “Eat well,” “Take care of yourself,” “Stay safe.” They said it as if every part of his life depended on their supervision.

But now, as he stood there alone in his new room, he felt a little freer than he expected. Sure, the place wasn’t what he’d dreamed of, but it was his. No hovering, no expectations. It felt… private. Safe.

He dropped his suitcase by the door and took a moment to look around. For a second, the room felt empty—like it was waiting to be filled with something, or someone. Yunho had imagined this moment a thousand times in his head, but it didn’t match what he had expected. He’d pictured coming here to study, to read in peace, to finally get a break from the pressure of his family and the silent, constant burden of expectations that never seemed to ease. Here, he thought, would be his fresh start.

Then he saw it.

A black leather jacket draped over the couch.

It looked expensive, the kind of thing Yunho had only seen in movies or on mannequins in department stores. The leather was soft and worn, creased in places where it had clearly been lived in. The silver zippers glinted faintly under the fluorescent lights, and as Yunho stepped closer, the scent of cologne hit him—sharp, musky, and a little too out of place in a room this plain.

Yunho frowned. His roommate must have arrived already.

Curious, he stepped closer and reached out, fingers brushing against the cool material. It felt smooth under his touch, almost like the jacket had been designed to be a piece of armor—something protective, something that spoke of confidence and mystery. A strange thought flickered in his mind: Who was this person?

He had barely processed the thought when he heard a voice, smooth and low, slicing through the silence.

“Sorry. I shouldn’t have left it there.”

Yunho froze, his breath catching in his throat, as the sound of another voice rippled through him.

[maxdibert]

And that is precisely the worst reason, because just as they could choose to exercise violence, they could also choose not to, but they opted for the first choice. We can’t forget the reason behind that power: their power came from the lack of consequences for their actions and the certainty that there would be no serious repercussions. James and Sirius knew they could attack Severus because he was someone without a family name, blood status, or financial resources. No one was going to defend him, no one cared about him, he wasn’t important among his peers, and he didn’t have present parents. He had no money, no influence—he was a nobody.

And they weren’t nobodies. They had all of that. James knew his parents would do anything for him, and while Sirius came from a bad household, Walburga would never have allowed her son to be humiliated—even if only to flaunt the power of the Black family and preserve their image. They had a safety net; Severus didn’t. So they could do whatever they wanted to him. If that hadn’t been the case, they would’ve picked on Mulciber or Rosier or any other Slytherin. But they didn’t—because they couldn’t. Those kids came from good families with resources, and their actions would’ve had consequences. So James and Sirius weren’t interested. Sure, they might’ve played a prank on them once or insulted them, but there was no prolonged bullying, no targeted abuse, because if they’d done that, they’d have gotten into trouble. With Severus, they had free rein—and that’s the most sinister part of it all: they went after him because he was defenseless.

They could have chosen not to do it. They could’ve been like many other popular boys and girls with social influence who don’t go out of their way to torment others. They could’ve chosen not to be violent, but they didn’t want to. I was part of a popular group in my school, and there were kids with a lot of money whose parents were important people, and they didn’t go around tormenting anyone. People can choose not to be terrible human beings—especially people like James, who had no trauma or underlying reasons to explain his behavior beyond being a violent, narcissistic jerk.

James was raised in a loving, progressive family, surrounded by care and privilege. His duty was to choose not to be violent, yet he decided to become a despicable, classist bully. Even Sirius has a backstory that makes his sociopathic tendencies somewhat understandable, but James? He’s just a fragile, egotistical jerk who couldn’t stand someone else getting close to the girl he liked, and because that someone turned out to be an easy target, he chose to torture him—even after he “got” the girl. Honestly, I find him a despicable character in every sense.

I also completely agree with everything you said. When people talk about Severus being resentful and violent, they tend to equate him with James and this supposed “change” James underwent that we never see or have any evidence of. But people often forget what I said earlier: James had no reason to be a jerk. His whole life was easy. He was filthy rich, adored by his parents, and after finishing school, he no longer ran into Severus in the halls, so he had no one to torment.

Meanwhile, Severus faced violence at home and at school. He endured teachers (the people responsible for his well-being) ignoring the bullying he suffered, even telling him to stay quiet when he was almost killed. He lived in a house full of supremacists as a half-blood, constantly having to prove he deserved to be there despite his status. He had no financial safety net to fall back on if things went wrong. He was groomed by members of a cult. He was groomed, emotionally manipulated, and had his insecurities and traumas exploited by Dumbledore. Very few people could have endured Severus’s life without ending up taking their own life.

People completely disregard his context. Sure, he had a horrible personality, but his life was horrible too. It’s not like he had many other options.

“I was bullied in school and didn’t turn out like Snape.”

Well, that argument works both ways. I was never bullied in school—in fact, I’d say I was part of a group of people considered “cool,” and not once in our lives did we go around picking on others, either verbally or physically. Nor were we going around drawing attention to ourselves with jokes that only appealed to the intellectually challenged. So, I don’t know, this whole “kids will be kids” thing doesn’t sit right with me because I was in that position, and I was never that childish. Neither were my friends. If we’re going to personalize the argument without considering the characters’ context, then let’s all do it, right?

The ironic part is that the same people who endlessly excuse the Marauders are exactly the kind of people the Marauders would have bullied relentlessly, and the fact that they genuinely don’t see it is… I don’t know whether to find it sad, pathetic, or both.

[lukeskqwalker]

ok, so. lucanis's recruitment quest doesn't make a whole lot of sense at first glance, so this is my attempt of putting together what the fuck you walked into and what daily life there was like.

to start, i don't believe the room you meet lucanis in is his cell at all. i think lucanis had succeeded in 85% of his breakout when you recruit him. the cells that were shown were much smaller and more sparse, I believe he was not given special treatment. I believe he managed to kill the guard bringing his meal, broke out, got his gear back (armor, sweater, knives, etc), and killed MOST of the guards. the sheer number of guards caught up to him, and some mages managed to encase him in ice and lock the door with red lyrium while waiting for someone else to bring his blood so that they could transfer him back to his cell.

I can't decide how much, if at all, spite showed himself in the ossuary before his attempted breakout. part of me wants to say that he spent the entire time as spite (lucanis's quote about how he survived by shutting down completely, be nothing, feel nothing, etc. makes me think that he genuinely just gave spite the reins), and the other part of me wonders what lucanis meant when he said that they were waiting for spite to burst from him like a cocoon. Like, the physical demon of spite, killing lucanis in the process? or the symbiotic relationship they have now, just manifesting physically like when he has the wings/is in control? I'm leaning towards the first one, though the feel nothing/be nothing quote could still apply if spite never showed himself.

as for the blood, i'm sure they used it often to walk him to the torture/experiment room and for, well, general human needs. that's why he knows its there.

side note. lucanis knew who a LOT of zaras people were, and mentions their role in the bloodbath quest. (helpfully named, as its the one with the bath. of blood.) when you kill one of zaras people, he mentions how this one used to come to the ossuary to read bones. why is he there for this? how long would he be kept on a torture table to know these things? how many times has he attempted to escape and gotten part of the way through before being stopped?

I DO wonder if spite could sense the red lyrium cage breaking and That be why he decided to break out of the ice right in that moment.

going back to the gear, its... well. a hilarious detail thats fitting to his character. its so tidy! he wears a little bolo tie! his shirt is completely laced to the top! hes got that HOMEMADE SWEATERRRRRRRR. all while attempting a prison break. I think it was supposed to add to the fear factor and thus go back to the crow training related to throwing the target off guard. also, probably helped with feeling more human instead of an experiment.

[trashisstillhere]

Now while I currently do really need and want to work on the things I want to draw, I’ll just give yall the currently uncolored, official ref of the New Ninja!

I mostly did this cuz I thought it was about time they got an actual ref. I mean, I have drawn them many times before yet never made an actual drawing of their full body. So I did it now! And since they’re officially one of my Rc9gn ocs, I kept the ‘UnNinja’ version of them that I drew for ask (it was about what NN looks like without the ninja suit on) long ago which was at first ‘unofficial’ since I basically said you could imagine them in any way all of you wanted but now, that’s how they’ll REALLY look like!

They don’t have any official colors yet, that is one of the parts that will take quite awhile..

Like I did with Serenity, here’s some info about them! (Mostly for the ones who may not be aware of New Ninja and all the posts I did about them before along with a few more stuff I haven’t really either told or shown before about them before I had completely stopped drawing them I guess(??).)

-New Ninja is…well a new ninja chosen to be Norrisville’s new protector in the future right after Randy, their story is supposed to take place (kinda) in a few years after all the events in season 1 and 2 in the show. (All the canon characters are like kinda older at this time, the other teens like 17-18 I think? Idk, I haven’t fully decided yet but basically they’re supposed to not quite be in 9th grade anymore I guess (except New Ninja of course). Randy is actually still a ninja here, still has his mask and everything even though he soon isn’t gonna quite be the main one anymore. However the Nomicon let him keep his mask for now, especially now that he’s currently helping the new Ninja. Plus he absolutely refuses to let Nomicon stop him from doing so, he refuses to just sit back and watch another random kid struggle out there as the new ninja.

-New Ninja’s real name is ?????????… yeah…. They don’t have a official name yet either, no last name, nothing. that part will also take too damn long to figure out and work on so for now, just call them ‘New Ninja’ or NN for short.

-they go by any pronouns! And by any I mean ANY. I know I wrote they/them there on the ref and I mostly use those for them right now too but still, I said before they can still be called by anything and I ain’t changing it. So go ahead, use any other pronouns for this kid if ya like. But I will still keep using they/them for them. (I totally didn’t just make them gender natural who is okay with any other pronouns cuz i had no clue what gender or whatever to make them identify as. Pfft- totally not-)

-as the new Ninja for Norrisville, you’d probably expect them to either be excited to be the new hero and/or take it seriously like a pro….but they’re not, they’re the complete opposite. Instead of them being giddy about this like Randy pretty much was, they’re scared for their life. This new job of theirs has not only already changed their whole life but put so much pressure on the poor kid, they already had struggles in their normal life and now they have gotten even MORE.

-New Ninja isn’t really confident, brave, social, just nothing like the out going kids out there. They’re insecure, a coward and pretty anti social. They get stressed and overwhelmed easily when they’re the center of attention, they often have bad thoughts when they think they’re not doing good enough and worry too much about not being ‘perfect’ enough. This is exactly how they were at first, before and after becoming the next chosen one. But now with Randy being there for them as support, they’re slowly starting to work on themselves to overcome their fears. Will it easily get rid of all of their problems? No. But will it help a lot? Yes!

-Randy calls New Ninja ‘Kid’ quite a lot, it was mostly just a little nickname for them at first during his time trying to help them that just came out but now he can’t help but keep calling them that every time they are together, even acting like a brother/father figure to them! New Ninja is an only child so they never knew how it felt to have any siblings of any kind. (Found family trope my beloved)

-New Ninja gets easily flustered by all sorts of praise such as compliments, affections, etc. they aren’t really used to have so much love and support from other people, not even used to have many fans yet (even though they know that the ninja always had fans for years to begin with-). Now with Randy pretty much doing this, the kid feels like some random kid being embarrassed by their parent or something.

-New Ninja hasn’t ever really gotten to have any sort of fun times and memories during their life, they don’t even know how to play video games at Greg’s Gamehole! Poor kid. But thankfully with Randy’s and Howard’s (yes, even him,) help, they’re learning.

-and uh yeah, they do know Howard too. At first they didn’t, to them he was this random guy that Randy seemed to talk a lot to so much and couldn’t help but be curious by their relationship. After some little investigation and all that crap, they’re more aware of the chubby guy now. How? That’s another part I still haven’t worked on yet.

-because of Randy pretty much being their mentor, New Ninja can’t help but mostly cling onto them. They often feel helpless without him, always asking him for help. They do learn to not always ask him for help later on during their development, yet there are times where the kid still can’t help but feel safer around him. Not just because he is the one who gives him tons of help with ninja stuff, but also cuz they really trust him and may or may not start to feel attached to him.

And that’s pretty much all I’m gonna say for now! Because if I wrote even more, it would take WAY too damn long and this would never get to be posted here. So yeah. Sorry if there will end up being some misspelled words or grammar mistakes, I’m too lazy to read all this again to check for them.

Will a colored version of this ref be done soon? Who tf knows!

[kris278m]

My prediction for the Chapter 1 Victim

So I haven’t really been able to look through the tag, so I’m not sure if anyone else has mentioned this, but I thought I would get my thoughts out anyway

I predict that the first victim is gonna be Mark.

I know, I know, but hear me out.

I know that everyone, including me, likely noticed that Toshiko was missing the whole trailer, and that is a huge red flag. However, the Eden’s Garden team has to be smarter than just leaving this extremely damning clue in there. I think it’s a red herring, and that they altered trial footage to trick us. Mark is also one of the people who doesn’t have any voicelines in the trial. I think it’s safe to say that the ones with voicelines in the trial are safe, victim-wise.

But then, while going through the trailer once again, frame-by-frame, with my friend, there was something that stuck out to me a bit. This moment right here.

And no, I’m not talking about Wolfgang or what he's saying. What stuck out to me was the tiny little detail in the corner, which only appears in a second.

This right here, on the podium beside Cassidy. It sort of looked like a hand to me, on my first watch, but then I looked into who was supposed to be standing there. So I went back and found footage of the prologue trial, and-

It was Mark? But that “hand” didn’t look anything like Mark. Moreover, when looking at where on the podium the silhouette starts, it’s way too thin to be Mark. He would have to lean extremely far to the side for this to even be considered as one of his sprites. Speaking of sprites, I looked through all of the released ones. None of them matched.

And then it hit me.

Could it be a Death Portrait? If you look close, you can even see something that looks to be the side of a frame, sticking up from the top of the “hand”.

Now, this didn’t completely convince me either, but I also found one more piece of rather incriminating evidence.

After finding this, I noticed all the names at the bottom of the official poster, crediting all the voice actors.

And since I was with my friend, I asked them to help me figure out who voices each character. At first I wanted to do this, to see if the order of the names would give us a hint regarding who would be more “important” in this chapter (like the blackened perhaps). Sadly, I quickly found that all the credited names are in the same order as in the official VA-cast reveal.

However, that doesn’t mean it was completely fruitless. Another much more important detail, that I honestly didn’t think would be left in there, was found by my friend.

Mark is missing.

And he’s the only one. Every other character, even Tozu, is credited. The only other non-credited characters are Cara, who’s not alive, and Mara, who doesn’t speak and doesn’t have a voice actor (to our knowledge).

Mark’s voice actor isn’t credited, even though everyone else is. If Mark is the victim, that would make sense. All the voiced lines he has would be during the Daily Life segment of the game (those small exclamations or grunts), all of which are recorded and have been presented to us during the prologue. The only other times characters speak actual unique lines are during special events where we are shown CGs (which doesn’t need to include Mark), or during trials, where he would be absent.

This isn’t perfect proof, but I do think there are some things to consider here. Would love to hear you guy's thoughts.

[blueskittlesart]

Maybe draw Ganondorf from your au?

i was sincerely hoping someone would bring up sof so i could show off all the designing ive been doing in my free time LMAO here's ganon as of rn :)

[coridallasmultipass]

I am once again begging online shop payment processing companies to allow me to enter a separate name for shipping and separate name for billing!!

It's the same address, I'm just trans and have not legally changed my personal name, but I still prefer to receive mail as my preferred name! Like it's literally my professional name, I do business as my preferred name.

Annoying as fuck, and I don't want to chance my bank rejecting the payment (though I'm sure someone at my bank has put a note to allow it on my account by now, since I've contacted them a couple times before when I realized too late that the billing section didn't let me input another "address/name" section, and they said the payment was fine in those cases.)

Anyway, legal name changes should be free and non-advertised for everyone. Tbh, you should get a free name change every time you file your taxes on time as an incentive for good citizen behaviour. Once I am elected pres-

[ratatatastic]

entering to panthers pulse does go pretty hard luosty yeah

Luosty Cup Day | 8.5.24 (x)

[darabeatha]

One more thing is that in game, M.octezuma takes on a new and different name which is 'i.zcalli' and I think that in the context of a Grail war, he could go by that instead of being called 'avenger' to conceal his true identity

[blog-of-reaction]

The amount of times Seth said “Shut up, Richard,” in just one episode is hilarious. And yeah, Richie done be crazy. But that doesn’t mean what he sees isn’t potentially real. Also, was the lady at the beginning already a vampire or whatever or was she just a regular human before she was thrown in the pit with the snakes?

[evanatsuhi]

i cannot believe they pulled an axl with zelda but instead of it being interesting it just ended up pissing me off

[muddi-gutz]

Now that I’m seeing people make snow na’vi with white hair I wanna change mey up 😗