#always very very baffled @ new people following me

[padfootastic]

hmmmmm i’ve seemed to have hit another ~follower milestone~ and i just—

why

[randomreasonstolive]

Hello there all you lovely shining stars.

N here, with some pretty bad news...

(I'll put it behind a cut to avoid triggering anyone)

C is the person who actually runs this blog. He works tirelessly to make sure this blog always, ALWAYS has reasons in the queue in advance, just in case. There's currently over a month prepared, because he loves y'all, loves this blog, and loves to put in the time to help people.

C is a full-time care giver. At work, he care gives for three wonderful elderly ladies. When he gets home, he care gives for me, N, as I am disabled. And then, in his spare time, he care gives for y'all by working hard on this blog.

C is the most wonderful, amazing person I know, and it really baffles me that something like this could happen to someone like him.

Recently, C was diagnosed with stage 4 cancer.

We unfortunately live in America, where getting diagnosed with Cancer means a massive financial burden. Up until this point we've been doing very good financially, which has been a wonderful switch up from years ago, when we had to ask our community for help just to pay rent.

Now, I worry about our ability to afford things like food, basic needs, and rides to and from the hospital (we don't drive). His insurance company is refusing to pay for his treatment (yes, they're refusing to pay for CANCER treatments), and the minimal paid leave he is eligible for has had it's processing delayed.

Basically, we're financially struggling all over again, because C has cancer, and we live in America.

So what does this mean for y'all?

Well, as I mentioned, C always has the blog filled out ahead of time. He will absolutely make sure that the queue doesn't run out, so y'all don't have to worry about that.

I unfortunately do feel the need to reach out and ask for your help. It pains me to be put in this position again after years of not having to ask for help, but the current circumstances have really hit us hard.

So, what can you do to help?

Well,

Here is our Amazon wish list, if you'd like to help that way. We currently have some food and necessities on there;

Amazon Wishlist

Or, our paypal account is teamcibby@gmail.com

Currently, our biggest need is a new mattress, which is where any funds that go to our paypal will be headed.

C's cancer is the worst in his hips and our current mattress is such poor quality that I have to sleep on the floor. His doctors have insisted that good rest is important for him to heal, and he hasn't been getting very good rest on our current mattress. He wakes up every morning in more pain than he would if we had a good mattress, so getting one is our main goal.

I am so, so sorry to tell you all this bad news. C really didn't want to burden any of you with this, which is why I'm the one making this post.

We both love you all so, so much. Thank you to every single one of you for existing, you matter so much to us and to everyone who follows this blog.

~N

[thedensworld]

Sweet Macaroons | C.Sc

Pairing: Gangster!Seungcheol x Baker!Reader

Genre: fluff, established relationship

Words Count: ±600

Summary: Seungcheol was far from pleased when a food critic posted a negative review that started to impact your sales. He couldn't stand to see you upset.

In the midst of a picturesque five months, Seungcheol, with an air of exclusivity, tenderly asked you to be his girlfriend. Everything seemed to move in slow motion around you, as if the universe itself was savoring the moment. His crew, astounded, couldn't fathom that a humble bakery owner just down the block from their bar had captured their boss's heart. He had transformed into something they never imagined: a unabashedly cheesy boy. Even Jeonghan, Seungcheol's right-hand man, remained baffled by the depth of his friend's infatuation with you. He couldn't quite grasp what had caused Seungcheol to fall so hard until he witnessed how Seungcheol would gladly stop the world at your command.

As an example of Seungcheol's devotion, he had gone as far as hiring a bodyguard to watch over you and ensure your safety. Seungcheol, ever mysterious about his business, would simply say, "I do business in Seoul and Busan," which, in its own way, was true. He owned nearly a hundred bars and nightclubs, not to mention his own association—a realm of details you didn't need to delve into.

Your bodyguard, Jun, who currently disguised as a barista in your bakery, would dutifully relay every detail to Seungcheol. This included mundane activities like your trips to the grocery store, visits from friends at the bakery, or even encounters with rude customers. Despite being in the know about your daily affairs through Jun, Seungcheol cherished hearing you recount your day, especially when it involved a customer that cussed on you. He'd teasingly inquire, "Should I track him down and make him pay?" A promise he would have swiftly fulfilled if you had not said, "No, you don't have to. I'll give him a piece mind when I'm a billionaire."

At times, Seungcheol really wants to say, "Marry me, and you can cuss him back in an instant." He was acutely aware of the influence he held.

However, he received an extremely irritating message from Jun, stating that a popular food critic had left a scathing review on their social media, claiming to have found a fly and cockroach legs in your sweets. This review had a detrimental impact on your sales and the overall image of the bakery, as people began leaving unpleasant comments on your social media platforms.

"Jeonghan, do you know this person?" Seungcheol inquired, displaying a video of the food critic.

Jeonghan confirmed, "Yeah, they're a very influential food critic."

Seungcheol nodded thoughtfully and hummed, "Do you know how to contact them?" he pressed further.

"I think we just need to get in touch with their management. They'll provide you with the pricing for their content," Jeonghan explained, prompting another question from Seungcheol.

"Then we can have them review our food however we want?" Jeonghan nodded, "Why? Are you thinking about having them promote our new foodbar?" he inquired.

Seungcheol shook his head, simultaneously signaling to Jeonghan that he wanted to be dropped off at your bakery.

Jun had informed Seungcheol that you had closed the bakery early today due to the lack of customers following the internet sensation. When Seungcheol arrived, only Jun was present in the bakery. He mentioned that you had gone to the convenience store for a few minutes. As Seungcheol patiently waited at one of the tables, you returned with a plastic bag in hand. Lost in your thoughts, you didn't immediately notice him. Instead, you went straight to Jun, telling him he could go home. Jun subtly gestured towards Seungcheol, indicating that he was waiting for you.

"Hi..." Your voice, though soft as always, carries a subtle shade of sadness. Seungcheol swears he can hear it, a touch of blue in your tone.

He smiles, approaching you and subtly signaling for Jun to leave the shop.

"Are you okay? I saw it online," Seungcheol asks gently once Jun has vanished from view.

You smile back at him, but tears well up in your eyes, trickling down your cheeks. You turn away, hiding your face from him as you wipe away the tears. Seungcheol's heart aches at the sight, a feeling he's never experienced before, like someone's squeezing his heart, causing a deep ache.

"Hey, it's okay," he murmurs softly, turning you to face him and pulling you into an embrace. He can feel the tightness in his chest intensify when he hears you sob.

This is the first time he's seen you cry in the five months you've been dating. He swears he'd never want to be the cause of your tears, let alone someone else.

"It's okay, baby. Bad things happen sometimes. It's not your fault," he reassures you as you try to explain how diligently you maintain your bakery's hygiene and ensure the freshness of ingredients. There's no way the accusations the food critic made could be true.

Seungcheol noticed the contents of the plastic bag you had been holding earlier: cleaning soap and equipment. His heart breaks once again, this time tinged with anger.

"Let's go home and rest, okay? I'll hire someone to clean the shop. I don't want to see you laboring with a heavy heart like this," he insists.

Seungcheol calls Jeonghan and swiftly arranges for his people to clean your shop. He drives you home, ensuring you have a proper dinner before settling down for some much-needed rest. Once you're peacefully asleep, he quietly slips away, reaching out to Jun and Jeonghan.

"Get them for me before midnight. Alive," he instructs.

Seungcheol doesn't concern himself with the specifics of how they carried out his request. But when his people successfully bring them to his office, he finally confronts the face that caused his girl to cry.

"What's your name?" Seungcheol asks, rising from his seat and approaching them.

"Who put you up to this?" Seungcheol presents their damning post about your bakery to their face. Poor soul, Seungcheol thinks. This food critic probably never imagined they'd be dragged in by a gangster and subjected to an interrogation like this.

Once Seungcheol acquires the name, he signals his people to reveal the extent of their capabilities. Images of their family and significant other are displayed, and they immediately plead for an apology, expressing regret for their actions.

"You should've thought about that before you posted that garbage," Seungcheol states, fixing them with a steely gaze.

"Upload a clarification video about your previous review. Go to that bakery tomorrow and apologize to the owner. Post both of those things before lunch if you want to spare them," Seungcheol directs, referring to the individuals in the photos as he delivers his unwavering ultimatum.

*

"It was a very wrong act of me to accept the offer to give a bad review to another bakery. I deeply apologize to the owner and my followers for doing such a wrong thing."

Seungcheol smiled at you as you showed him the video from the same account that had claimed they found a cockroach leg on your macaroon.

"See! I knew that my bakery and kitchen have passed the hygiene standards," you said, placing your phone down. There was a visible pout on your face, prompting Seungcheol to let out a chuckle.

"You're too cute," Seungcheol teased, pinching your cheek. He was relieved to see no trace of tears like the previous night.

You gently pulled his hand from your cheek as you stood up to restock the macaroon stall, which was nearly empty. Seungcheol couldn't help but smile as he watched you, his girl, his love, engrossed in the work you adored.

"Before you go, want a macaroon and your favorite latte?" you offered. He swore he would nod to anything you said.

"Here! I've packed some for your staff as well," you added, handing him boxes filled with sweets and a bundle of coffees for Seungcheol and Jeonghan.

He wouldn't let anyone steal your smile, even if he had to stop the world.

[moonstruckme]

hiii i would love a tasm! peter where reader has just moved out of home for the first time and is feeling a bit lonely! peter comes over and keeps them company, maybe they make dinner or have a movie night :)

Thanks for requesting lovely!

cw: reader deals with loneliness

tasm!Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 753 words

You open your door to the smell of smoke. Instantly you beeline towards the kitchen, worried you’d left the stove on or your new apartment came with some faulty wiring, but you find yourself blocked at the threshold. A tall figure steps into your way. 

“Please don’t—” 

You gasp and jump at the same time, up and back, and Peter has to grab your arms to keep you from tripping over the couch. 

“Freak out,” he finishes. He grins as he rights you, eyes light with amusement. “Sorry, there were probably better ways to do that.” 

“Fuck,” you sigh, bending and setting your hands on your knees. “Peter, what the hell? How did you get in here?” 

“You left your window unlocked.” Peter lets you go, holding his hands aloft for a second to make sure you don’t topple before stepping back. “Super not safe, by the way. I’m not the only person in New York who knows how to climb a fire escape.” 

You shake your head, baffled, before remembering your original concern. “Are you burning something?” 

He winces. “Not intentionally.” 

You raise your eyebrows and move past him, into your kitchen. Peter follows behind. 

“It’s out,” he assures you. You spot a smoldering dish in the sink, the charred remains of what you suppose was once food submerged in cold water. At least the smoke seems to be thin, clinging to the ceiling and drifting slowly out your open kitchen window. “I thought I could be fancy and make something, but, uh, reinforcements have been called.” 

You turn. “Reinforcements?” 

Peter grins sheepishly. “Pizza.” 

A little laugh sputters out of you, and his grin softens around the edges. 

“Can I get a hug?” he asks. 

You step forward willingly, the remainders of the day’s exhaustion seeping out of you as Peter wraps his arms tightly around your shoulders. You squeeze his middle in return, resting your cheek on his chest and wishing stupidly that you could fall asleep just like this. 

“What’re you doing here?” you ask. 

“What do you mean?” Peter’s tone is teasing, but it’s still a bit gentler than usual, mushy fond. “Where else would I be? You thought you could move to Staten Island and get away from me?” 

“It’s kind of far,” you admit. 

“You’re delusional. You don’t get to have an apartment all by yourself, you’re stuck with me and my mooching forever. This is our new apartment.” 

“Really?” you ask, though the words have happiness and affection sprouting to life in your chest. When you’d moved here on your own, you’d figured it would seem empty without your family but you hadn’t known how much you would feel it. You like the freedom, having control of your own schedule and how you decorate and which things go in the dishwasher, but you miss having people around. It’s been so easy to fall into a routine characterized by solitude, with nothing but work to make you leave the apartment and no one to keep you company when you’re home. “You gonna pay rent?” 

Peter squishes his cheek into the top of your head. Unbeknownst to you, he’s picked up on all of this. You’ve been calling him more since you’d moved in here, late at night and in the middle of the day. He’s gotten the sense you just want to talk to someone. He’s always happy to be that someone, but sometimes the phone doesn’t cut it. The trip from Queens to Staten Island isn’t a short one, but he’s going to be making it more often. He’s missed seeing you, your sweet face and the way your eyes crackle when you look at him. 

He pulls back, and they’re doing it now. You’re smiling at Peter like he’s the best thing you’ve seen all week, which is very flattering, but it seems like a low bar. 

“I’m thinking I’ll pay thirty percent of utilities,” he says. “Sound fair?” 

“Totally fair,” you agree, rolling your eyes. 

He grins. “Perfect. You’re getting a great deal, here, sweetheart. I’m already providing pizza and a movie.” 

Your eyebrows raise. “A movie?” 

Peter goes to your couch, whipping up the DVD case. “Yup. Blu-ray.” 

You’re smiling so big he can see all your teeth, but you shake your head. “Oh, Peter.” 

“What?” 

“I just moved in here. Why would you think I had a DVD player?” 

Peter’s head rolls back, an odd breath leaving him that’s half sigh, half laugh. “I guess that’s another thing I’m getting you, huh?”

[cleolinda]

I’ve read a few of the umpteen thousand upset comments about the paid Watcher service, and I’ve read comments angry about the upset comments. There’s one thing I want to point out, and it’s that this isn’t, or shouldn’t be, “You’re saying people don’t deserve to earn money for their work.”

The Watcher guys do deserve to earn money. I already give them money. I give them $5 a month on Patreon, not because I think they do or don’t give me $5 worth of media, but because I want to support them. I canceled Netflix for pissing me off with its price hike/ad tier, but I give Watcher Entertainment money.

They’re saying now that the Patreon will be solely about the podcasts, and they understand if people leave. I’m perfectly happy to switch the support I can afford to the streaming service. With the early adopter 30% discount, I’d actually save money. In fact, I tried to subscribe, but the site didn’t work.

Watcher wanting to profit from their shows isn’t the problem. It’s that they’re now discovering that their fanbase is young and broke in a terrible economy, judging by tens of thousands of comments on multiple platforms. I can throw them $5/month, so I do. But the Patreon only has (checks notes) 5874 paying followers, and there’s a reason for that. $60/year upfront would not be “accessible.” Patreon is literally patronage from the people who can afford it.

If the guys had said up front, “ONLY new shows and episodes will be exclusive to the service,” I think we’d be having a different conversation right now. But at first they did say, “We’re pulling all our content from YouTube,” to the point where Variety had to issue an update. Like, that’s in print and I’m pretty sure it was on video. Now they’ve backtracked to ONLY new etc.—but most people haven’t heard, and they feel crushed. And the trust is probably gone regardless.

So now four years of back catalogue will stay public. And now, you’re paying $6.99 a month for one episode, maybe two, of something a week, and now, not an exclusive back catalogue. I would pay for Watcher shows before I’d pay for anyone else, but I just don’t think the company is big enough yet for a SVOD at that price. They’re not Dropout size. They needed to build more programming and get a higher follower count first, or at the very least, charge less.

The international price/exchange rate situation is a nightmare and I don’t know what it is they’re not doing to make it… not… be like that.

I don’t know what they should have done instead of a full streaming service, but surely there were alternatives? I’ve seen comments from people suggesting they GET a Patreon. Lean on that more! Do the shows exclusive for a month and then let them roll onto YouTube! I don’t know! Anything but One More Fucking Streaming Service, which enraged me, and I was willing to move my support to it!

And I shouldn’t say this, but I will. In the “Goodbye YouTube” video the guys posted, they say that setting up the streaming service has allowed Steven to do a remake of Worth It where he and his cohosts travel the world and eat expensive food. This is the first new show they announce. Not “We have always been committed to diversity and we’re now able to bring on new creator(s) to expand our programming.” No, a redo of an old show that by definition has got to be expensive. Commenters are saying they can’t pay for the streaming service because they can’t make ends meet in this economy. The optics are terrible. I genuinely question what the thought process even was here.

I love the guys and I still watch their shows. I want to see Watcher succeed. I started watching Buzzfeed Unsolved in 2018 while recovering from surgery—as with a lot of people, their shows got me through a tough time. I’m as attached as anyone. If I can continue to afford monthly support—this is not a certainty—I’ll give it to them. I’m not a ~hater who doesn’t want Watcher to make money. But I am absolutely BAFFLED by every single decision here. I want them to figure out how to turn this around and go in a better direction, because right now, this ain’t it.

[comicaurora]

I've started making my way through the playlist hbomberguy made of actually good video essays by queer creators and spotted a comment of yours on the one about the relationship between Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy, which was fun xD red in the wild!

Anyways, just wanted to appreciate how both you and Blue and you are very good at showing your sources! It's always nice to know that the people you've watched for years have good habits after an event like this, and I hope you guys are among the people that get some new fans after this whole debacle, because your channel definitely qualifies for "good educational videos made by queer people"

I'm glad! Blue's much better about listing his sources and follow-up reading than I am.

To be honest, I loved the video, but my imposter syndrome always flares like crazy when I watch an essay like that. It might be the ADHD or it might just be who I am as a person, but I feel like I've lived my whole life striving to make everything I do the best it can be, and still managing to fuck up and get criticised for things I could've done better if only I never missed anything. It's an actual gut-drop when it turns out a source I used wasn't trustworthy, or when in older videos I only went wiki-deep for some claims and didn't check every source to be 100% sure I wasn't being goat-fish'd. And this being the internet, I can get criticized at any time for things I've gotten wrong years ago, since it's evergreen online and to the new-viewing critic it's as fresh as yesterday. It makes it hard for me to stay proud of my work past the first moment of "oh I would've done that different now". There's a cocktail of complicated, scary feelings around this space, no matter how little I actually have in common with the bad guys of this scenario - it's less about the reality and more about who my imposter syndrome tells me I am. I saw several people saying that the video actually made them feel much better about their own work because it made it clear that accidental plagiarism on that scale is impossible, but if my anxieties listened to reason I would've successfully machete'd them out of my skull years ago. I just hope I never fuck up badly enough to deserve an hbombing of my own.

But my own stress aside, the hbomb essay exposed a level of laxness, laziness and entitlement on the part of these plagiarists that I think is almost incomprehensible to people who actually create for a living or even just the joy of it. How hollow do you have to be to take in someone else's writing and not consider it, digest it, let it reshape your views and then formulate your own interpretation on it, but instead to file off the serial numbers and pretend it's yours, trusting that the person whose thoughts and words you valued enough to steal will never be powerful enough to call you out on it? I go down research rabbit holes because I love the frustration and thrill of putting something together! How joyless it must be to skim the surface and borrow someone else's conclusions!

I've sometimes had people email asking for sources on parts of my interpretation of various myths, possibly in the interest of source-citing for school papers (a nightmare concept in and of itself) and with very few exceptions I usually have to tell them "the only sources were the english translations I used of the primary source where the myth was originally written, like I said in the video, and the part where I said I was conspiracy-boarding has no source other than my own analysis of the given source, which is why I called it conspiracy-boarding" and I was always a little baffled by those emails - half the videos are introduced like "this is The Prose Edda" or "this is in Ovid's Metamorphoses" or "this bit is Hesiod" so what else could they want - but seeing the hbomb of the week made me realize that truly original analysis might not be what most people are expecting from a "thing summarized." They might be expecting a compilation of other people's summaries instead.

[zarla-s]

Please don't take this as me being angry or trying to be rude or anything, but this ask is... baffling to me?? For a variety of reasons, haha.

Like, I don't set out to create a "fandom" around my stuff when I do things, I just do them cause I feel like it and sometimes I get lucky enough that people enjoy it and feel inspired to create or talk about it! I'm not really trying to fill a void left by one of these "fandoms" by making a new "fandom" around things I make, I'm just doing stuff.

The idea of a stockpile of interests getting too big is also bizarre to me? Like... for an example of both things, you can watch Stamp on the Ground, it's chock full of all kinds of weird obscure interests of mine I just put in there because I liked them, and I since have many many more. There isn't really a limit to how many interests you can have!

Mentioning abandoning TF2 is also very funny to me because I kind of already did that once?? When I started drawing it again in 2023 I was coming back to it, the last time I drew anything for it was 2009. Twelve years where I didn't even touch it! Starting up again was the last thing I expected and yet here I am!

Which relates to the greater point I guess which is that my interests and inspiration don't just die and disappear, they just go dormant. They're always waiting there for the right cue to wake them up, and I can never predict when it happens. TF2 is the most recent example! But Vargas is a long-running one, I take huge hiatuses from it where I don't write or draw or think about it for a long time, but it's always there in the back of my mind. I went absolutely nuts for it around 2020 and then it went back to sleep for the most part, but I still get ideas every now and then. It's not gone. It's just taking a break.

All the things I like and make stuff for are like that. There are a few I don't see myself coming back to any time soon, but then again I thought that about TF2 and now I've made the most elaborate site I've ever made for it. I can't predict these things. What'll be next? I have no idea. MGS again? StarCon2? Ace Attorney? Or maybe it'll be something new? Who knows!

And I think describing one of those "fandoms" as crumbling and dying is a bit unfair... I don't think of it like that. I mean, I started Vargas in 2003 and I last updated it in 2021 and I'm still hearing from new people that just got into it! All the stuff I've made is still "alive" in that way. I do feel guilty in that transition period between one interest and another because I feel like I'm disappointing people who followed me for that one thing though, haha. But what can you do? Gotta do my thing! Follow where my heart leads me! Not everyone's going to be along for the ride, and that's fine.

(Those of you have stuck around through all my different interests, I appreciate you deeply <3)

[kyeomszone]

good graces ○ lee dokyeom

tags. jealousy. avoiding ppl as a coping mechanism. stupidity. some semblance of a plot. jealous sex. dom/sub undertones. name calling. handjob. penetrative sex (vaginal). orgasm denial.

synopsis. after sleeping with your ex (?), the last thing you wish to do is come across him. But fate has other plans, and you find yourself watching him with another woman, green tinting your vision as he smiles at her.

series masterlist.

You are not jealous.

You do not get jealous.

And yet, you remained frozen in your spot, jaw clenched as you stared at the scene playing out in front of you with narrowed eyes  It was as if you were being compelled to watch, unable to tear your eyes away from the soft warmth in Seokmin’s eyes or the pretty flush on the woman’s cheeks.

You can feel your pulse racing the longer you look, a sick thing curling in your chest the longer you keep looking. And you hate it, hate feeling this way again, hate the tightness in your chest, hate the crawl under your skin, hate the tint of green in your mind, hate the way he’s starting to have an effect on you again. You hate it.

You swallow around the lump in your throat, taking a small sip of your champagne, hoping the bubbly will help with the turmoil inside you and despite how much you wish, you can not look away from him.

You had been doing so well since that night, after having taken your statement back at the court, you had made sure to not come across him. You had avoided any mention of him anywhere and this gala had been one of the events you were sure he would not attend. 

After all, what would Lee Seokmin be doing in the midst of Fortune 500 CEOs? A group of people he’s stood against since the very start of his career?

And yet, he’s here, flirting with one of the CEOs of a company, the same type of person he’s had a trial against just a week ago.

“That’s DA Lee, isn’t it?” You hear an amused voice pipe up next to you. With a frown on your lips, you turn your head to note who it is and he’s familiar enough for you to know his face but not enough for a name. “Always knew he wasn’t an angel.” He ends with a laugh.

“What do you mean?” You bite out at what his tone implied, nearly bristling at his words. There’s intrigue in your tone but the sharpness that slips in is lost on you, not that you notice, eyes too busy with the scene in front of you to see the curious glance the man gives you.

“You don’t know?” The man asked, confusion written in his words. At your ticked eyebrow, he elaborates, “There is a reason that DA Lee keeps being invited to these events despite his reputation. It’s an open secret, the fact that he protects certain companies.”

You stare at him, baffled. You very well remember the early days of Seokmin’s career, following along to the countless news articles written about him despite wanting to stray as far away from him as you could. You remembered every one of his interviews, what he had stated, you could recite them verbatim and everything contradicted what the man was telling you.

“The woman he’s flirting with right?” You nod and the man continues “She owns B Pharmacitucals and it’s rumoured she’s to be charged with━ ”

“Excuse me,” You grit out when you spot the way Seokmin tucks a strand of hair behind the woman’s ears and trailing down her face, his touch delicate and you can also feel it, can feel the phantom touch of his. The long fingers, soft and slightly calloused from guitar strings on tracing the contours of your face each night back then.

Your steps are deliberate, heels clicking loudly against the marble floor as you walk towards Seokmin who seems to have spotted you, looking at you with a small smirk on his face━  his attention solely on you as if the woman he had just been talking to didn’t exist.

“Did you drink?” You ask, your words forced polite and at the shake of his head, your fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him away, completely uncaring of the indigent gasp the woman lets out or Seokmin’s own protests━  not that he says anything, just stares at you with something indecipherable in his eyes as he follows along.

You finally stop once you are out of the hotel, waiting for your car to arrive. Your fingers are still wrapped around his wrist━  and neither of you speak on it. It feels almost natural to leave it there.

“Put the partition up,” you order your driver as soon as you and Seokmin get in and you’re on Seokmin the moment the window is up━  thighs bracketing his hips, lips on his, tongue slipping in his mouth and nails digging into the nape of his neck as you hold his face. His own hands find themselves on your waist, a moan falling from his lips at the sting of your nails.

“Wh━ ” Seokmin starts when you pull away, the burn in your lungs too incessant to ignore but you interrupt him, tugging at his bottom lips with your teeth, thumb pressing against the hollow of his neck.

“Shut up,” You pant out, resting your forehead against his as you take in large gulps of air. “Shut up,” you sneer, leaning in for another kiss━ this time all teeth and tongue, nails digging in deeper, his moans getting louder when you press against the growing bulge, his hands moving from your waist to your bare thighs. 

Mentally, you send a thank you to your stylist for dressing you in a dress with a slit high enough for Seokmin’s hands to slip in and curl around the bare skin of your waist, the heat of his palm burning against yours but all you can think of when you feel the slight callouses against you is his touch on that woman.

It sends a jolt of anger through your veins, and what can only be described as possessiveness curls in your chest━  despite how misplaced it might be. You had no claim on him, no right to feel any of what you are feeling, but you can’t help yourself as an ugly mix of anger and jealousy makes itself home in you.

One of your hands moves from his neck to the tent in his pants, pressing against the bulge making him hiss in pain that turns into a groan.

“Fucking whore,” You mumble against his lips, pressing harder and making him throw his head back against the seat, mouth falling open. You let out a sharp huff of laughter tinged with mockery, “telling me I lost my morals while you were about to fuck that bitch.”

“I━ ”

“Shut up,” you snarl, kissing him again as you press your body flush against his, your heart drumming in your ears. Your hands work at his tie, tugging it loose and popping one of the buttons open to give you access to the rich tan of his skin. Your mouth leaves his to latch onto the junction of where his neck meets his shoulder, sucking at the hard muscle.

You stay there for a while, biting and sucking on his neck until the green tint of jealousy starts to lessen into just an inkling on the back of your head━  the idea that anyone that would look at him would know that he belonged to someone soothing the ugly thing rearing it’s head in you.

A knock at the window has you pulling away from him and it takes you a minute to realise the car has stopped moving, likely meaning it has arrived at your place. You pull away, taking in the sight of Seokmin━ his kiss-bitten lips, the mess of your red lipstick on his mouth and neck, the scratches and splotches that would bloom into bruises, the hazy look in his eyes and the flush on his cheeks.

You slide off his lap, fixing your dress before knocking back on the window, letting the driver know to open the door. You step out, Seokmin following behind and you can’t help but notice the way his ears burn when your driver pointedly avoids looking at the two of you.

You’re on him as soon as the door closes behind you, lips on his, stumbling back towards the staircase as your hands tug at the blazer, pulling it off of him, followed by his shirt. Your hands trail down from his shoulders, nails catching on the brown buds making him moan, fingers caressing the dips of his body, palming at the hard muscles of his chest and stomach. His hands pull at the strap of your dress, tugging them from your shoulders and down to your arms.

You only pull away when you’re at the stairs, climbing up the steps until you’re at your bedroom door. 

“Hands to yourself,” you snap when he frees you of your dress, the fabric pooling at your feet leaving you in your underwear and heels. Seokmin stares at you for a second, his eyes dazed as he takes in the sight of you and you can feel a lump form in your throat when you properly notice whats written on his face. 

He hasn’t looked at you in this way since.. since━ 

“Seokmin,” you snap, your tone coming out harsher as you glare at him, ignoring the heaviness starting to take root in you.

He blinks at your tone, takes a beat to process what you stated and before he swallows, adam’s apple bobbing at the action. “Why….?”

The two of you remember very well that the only time you took control was when you were angry, really truly angry. And it’s humiliating to admit to yourself that even though it has been years since the two of you parted ways, he still has the same hold on you. It’s even more humiliating to admit that to him, to admit that you were jealous when he was interacting with that woman.

“I don’t want your hands on me,” you start, carefully picking your words to make it seem as if you weren’t seething, that at one point in the evening, all you could see was green, that at some point you weren’t contemplating marching to him and kissing him until he was putty in your hands in front of the whole room. 

“I don’t want the hands that touched a psychopath, that launders with blood money.” You sneer, recalling what the man told you. What you don’t realise is the gravity of your words or the way he flinches.

Seokmin swallows again but nods, his hands settling at his sides.

You take a breath before pushing him back until his legs hit the frame of the bed. Your hands move to unbuckle his belt, one hand pulling the trousers down alongside his boxers while the other wraps around the thick head of his cock, stroking the slit and spreading the precum. He moans at the action, his face flushing a prettier shade of red as you run your hand along the length of him, nails scratching along the veins.

You keep stroking his length until you can see the shake in his thighs, until his cock is rod straight, flushed a violent red and leaking.

“Lay down,” you tell him, taking your underwear and heels off as you climb onto the bed after him, settling on his lap. His hands settle beside him digging onto the bedspread to stop from reaching out to you, knuckles turning white from the effort. Not that you notice, too busy with taking his cock and running the head along your folds, gathering the wetness.

“Tell me when you’re about to cum,” You order and at his nod, you line him to your hole and sink down. A soft moan leaves your lips at the stretch, the sound mixing with the groan from Seokmin whose whole body arches, head pushing into the mattress and fingers tightening on the bedspread as you continue to take him in you completely.

You pant softly when you finally bottom out, a glance at Seokmin shows his clenched eyes, bottom lip in between his teeth as he holds back his noises. You roll your hips when you finally adjust to having him in you, Seokmin immediately moaning out your name at the action, the noises getting louder as when you start to move, lifting yourself up before sinking back down.

You keep your pace slow, deliberately so despite knowing your thighs will start to burn soon, the noises he’s making are like music to your ears, helping settle the jealousy that had settled into your bones.

You keep moving, rolling your hips, positioning until he opens his mouth, breathes out that he’s close and suddenly, all movements are put to a pause. You hold back a noise at the empty feeling in you instead focusing on the way Seokmin whines when you take his cock out, denying him his orgasm.

A beat passes and then two, Seokmin’s chest rises and falls rapidly, fingers digging further into the fabric and you can feel his stomach muscles twitch. When all the signs of his impending orgasm start to lessen, you take his cock in you again, moaning at the way it hits your cervix, pushing to the deepest parts of you.

“Fuck,” you moan out, throwing your head back as you start to move again, your pants mixing with his breathy moans that slowly turn into broken little noises the longer you keep moving, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. 

This time, you stop before he says anything, noting the way his thighs twitch, the way his hips jerk up to fuck into you, the way his stomach starts to cave in, his moans more air than noise. Another whine falls from his lips at the lack of movements from you as you deny him his release, the sound more pitiful this time but unlike before, you don’t take his cock out.

You stare at the way water gathers in his lashes, his eyes wide and hazy and simmering like something out of a painting and you have to bite your lips to stop yourself from leaning down and kissing him softly.

The two of you don’t do this, not anymore, not after━

You start to move again, one of your hands moving from his stomach to your core, pressing against your cilt, rubbing at the nub until you can feel the coil in your stomach tighten and tighten and━

A moan falls from your lips as you clench down around Seokmin’s thick length, the man moaning in return due to it as your orgasm washes over you. Your eyes flutter close as you fuck yourself through your orgasm, the tightness of your walls pushing Seokmin closer and closer to the edge and━

His lips shape your name as he lets go, emptying out inside of you as his orgasm hits. His eyes clench shut, hips jerking up and stomach caving in as you keep moving until he’s telling you to stop. 

An exhausted breath falls from you as you roll off of him, almost collapsing next to him. Your thighs are burning and your cunt is leaking his cum but exhaustion had settled too deep in your bones for you to do anything more than curl into the heat of Seokmin’s body as your eyes flutter shut.

In the morning, you wake up to an empty bed. Seokmin taking the warmth of your skin with him.

A heaviness sits in your chest and you settle on a decision.

[pokemonshelterstories]

Hi, Charlie! How you doing? I have a little of a predicament here, see I have a Cyndaquil (Pepper) and a kanto, senior Persian (Roberta), she's a retired contest pokémon that belonged to one of my friend's parents.

Roberta spends most of her time sleeping these days, but she's fairly friendly and social with Pepper and other pokemon she meets! Problem arose when a coworker gifted me a Skiploom during a santa's secret party, apparently just because I said I liked that pokemon and they just... got it...from some random market????? I was baffled, but the little Skiploom is usually a sweetheart and doesn't seem to have behavorial problems besides getting into petty fights with passing drifloom and other flying pokemon when she's out of the house (is that normal? i thought skipbloom were gentle and timid)

My biggest fear was Cyndaquil, being a fire type, but they got along nicely, but Roberta just...apparently hates this Skiploom! And started to do very strange things she didnt' do before, she does as much as smell the skiploom floral scent and will go wild and use fury swipes on the walls and floor. She sneaks into the room were I keep the Skiploom to bite her toys and toss her water bowl. And if the Skiploom is on the same room by accident (since i try to keep them separate), Roberta will straight up use power gen (her sight it's bad at her age, so it always misses, but it's concerning) And if Roberta gets agressive, Pepper seems to follow her lead and will run around and growl.

It's there a way to handle this? I don't want to release the Skiploom since I fear they could be a born-into captivity one, but all this agression and activity is very bad for an old pokemon like Roberta. Should I give away Skiploom or take them to a shelter?

yeah...i wish people wouldnt get pokemon as gifts unless someone has specifically requested that pokemon. it tends to lead to situations like this.

unfortunately, this sounds like a bad situation all around. persian are territorial and fairly aggressive pokemon, and raising them as single pokemon is hard enough before you add other pokemon into the equation. they don't adjust easily to new pokemon in the household, and at her age roberta may be beyond the point where she's willing to tolerate a new addition.

my concern is that this is clearly stressful for all three pokemon. roberta is obviously stressed to the point that she's actively trying to hunt out the skiploom. pepper's aggression in response to roberta's aggression is likely to be a stress response. and obviously getting attacked out of what seems like nowhere is going to be stressful for the skiploom! a stressed skiploom is going to release a lot of sweet scent to try and diffuse the conflict, which will just perpetuate the issue.

while this could potentially be managed through very strict pokeball rotation scheduling, i think in this case that's probably not the best idea. roberta is still going to smell the skiploom around the house. i'm worried that all this stress isn't healthy for her, and it might cause her relationship to pepper to turn sour. it sounds like the best choice to make here is to rehome the skiploom. you can take it to a shelter, though you'll likely have to pay a surrender fee. alternatively, you can try to rehome it yourself using the global trading network.

thank you for doing your best for this little guy- that was a tough situation for you to be put in

[medicetwork]

Mercs if they had modern day cellphones!

Heavy:

The screen is too small and his fingers are too big.

The screen also tends to hurt his eyes after a while but he absolutely refuses to turn down the brightness, saying it would make it even harder to see than before

His main favorite functions are video calls with Medic or his family and listening to music.

His life is complete when he discovers E-books

He can’t read them on the screen but he loves being able to clean Sasha while having his favorite book read to him

Medic:

Really doesn’t use it for much else than phone calls and the occasional google search at first

When he discovers mobile games that takes his interest though!

He becomes a candy crush mom.

Oh you have a broken arm? Wellll…You can tough it out, champ. He’s on level 7,229 right now.

He would make all the other men get Life360

Scout:

Total social media zombie(I say as if I am not one)

Surprisingly he’s very popular on apps like Twitter and Tik Tok. People think he’s hilarious!

Unfortunately somewhere along the way he says something less than respectful about something and his account gets banned

Eventually he’s on account number 6 and trying to regrow his following

It never recovers

He finds out about NFT’s

Sniper:

Mainly uses it to watch youtube and play music

His phone is always on silent and Do Not Disturb

He loves those videos where those guys go out into the middle of the woods and just start building a fucking house out of clay and sticks.

He prefers texting to calling, finding it much faster(he just like me fr)

Baffled by just how much porn he has access to now….

But he’s not complaining.

Soldier:

He doesn’t use it because he just keeps breaking his phones.

They’ve been dropped, blown up, set ablaze, dropped in water, eaten by a bread-tumor monster, eaten by Soldier(???) and run over.

Even if they didn’t get destroyed within 3 days he still wouldn’t use it for much else besides setting alarms and sending confusing group texts.

However, with each new phone he has gotten he asks Pyro for stickers and sticker bombs his phone just for fun

Has an American flag wallpaper

Pyro:

Watches a lot of Youtube!

They love art tutorials, cooking tutorials and those videos with the guys that put molten hot metal balls into water and those videos of people crushing things in Hydraulic presses

Their search history is so fucking strange:

“my little pony free episode”

“my little pony movie free”

“how to draw clouds”

“gasoline cheap prices”

They follow Scout’s pages and always send him nice comments and like his videos

Engineer:

Loves listening to music and watching movies on his phone

Eventually learns how to code and make his own apps

This is also how he discovered he could jailbreak his phone and turn it into a universal remote for his sentries

Very slow texter

Uses way more emoji’s than needed

“Hello yall 👋🏻 going to the hardware store today 🔨let me know if yall need anything while im out👋🏻🚶🏼”

His most used app is the settings app

Spy:

Of course all of his phones are burners.

He never uses one for more than one week

Loves pirating movies on it and watching them in bed

He has no contacts. No personal information and keeps his location off at all times

Likes to pretend to be different people and play around with Google and Youtube’s targeted ads and algorithms

One day he’s an 86 year old woman that’s recommended nothing but metal bands and funeral home ads

The next week he’s four years old and getting recommended Mario and Minecraft let’s play videos

He uses twitter

He’s doxxed many people on Twitter

Like Scout he has MANY banned accounts and has also hacked and stolen many accounts

…He hacked one of Scout’s accounts and got it permanently banned

Demoman:

Loves watching Top 10 videos

Also loves having so much ease and access talking to his lads

He video calls his mother often even she just nags him the whole time and keeps accidentally hanging up

Is frequently texting the other team’s Soldier and laughing at what he says back

Uses Discord and Reddit and is in many servers and communities that focus on paranormal activity, urban legends and cryptids

Actually makes his own youtube videos searching for said cryptids

Frequently comments “cringe” under Scout’s posts

[writer-ace]

Honestly it kind of baffles me how many people seem to think that small talk is an inherently NT form of communication.

If I am the most senior person on a work call, I almost always start the call with the following script:

I say hi / "happy [day of the week]"

If Monday, I ask how their weekend was. If later in the week, I ask how their week is going

If asked back, I share something minor about my week/weekend (e.g., it was busy, I tried a new restaurant, I just stayed inside, I've had relatively few meetings this week)

I start the work part of the call

And thus, small talk.

By doing this, I have established that we are going to have an inherently friendly interaction as our starting point, which is particularly important if junior staff will be showing me something for my review, which can feel less inherently friendly by its nature. I have also broken the ice and not forced junior staff members to be the first to speak.

And I have one simple formulaic and standardized script that I rarely need to vary beyond my pre-established boundaries. I don't need to figure out a new way to start every time.

Events with small talk and the way some people approach it can feel very NT, but as a type of verbal communication it is not any more NT than having a brainstorming session or talking about a topic or having a debate or talking about your life on a deeper level.

This is not to say that it's going to be easy for ND people, or that some NT people won't be a jerk to you during small talk, but just that imho there's nothing about small talk in particular that is specifically more NT.

[centrally-unplanned]

I have been taking my fit-and-starts second stab at playing Victoria 3 - I did a Japan run, and a Korea run, and this is a very frustrating game. It bothers me because its deep core is probably the best of Vicky so far. It understands that the appeal of these game is Factorio-esque; you want to build up this cool little supply chain that goes chug chug chug I make-a the widgets and numbers go up.

Vicky 1 was ofc just pure cheese; most goods could just be dumped on the global market with no buyer and do fine, certain goods were just hard-coded to be profitable, and insane things like 100% of import costs coming out of the government's budget pushed you towards a kind of samey, slapdash hyper-industrial mercantilism. Vicky 2 was the opposite - so opaque in its function that you as the player didn't really have agency over it, as the vaunted World Market just does its thing. Your strategies "worked" no matter what you really did though, so you just kind of followed basic "build factory in same territory as RGO" logic and let the system run itself. Both of these systems made for functional-but-not-exceptional gameplay loops.

Vicky 3 is more complicated than its predecessors, but in ways that makes how the economic system functions more concrete. You have local prices for goods, wider markets with clearly labelled high-and-low demand, and clearly defined "production methods" where buildings can commit to better tech at the cost of different inputs. As a player you can build factories, farms, and mines of a dozen different types anywhere, so you always have agency - and those new production lines gives you goals. Invent steel tools, so now your tooling workshops can make more tools but will need steel instead of iron as a input? You can switch over the lines...but make sure you have enough steel mills! And oh, that drives down the price of tools once you do it...so now your cattle ranches can justify switching their line to tool-assisted butchers! And now you make more meat, your local cost is low, but oh in the Russian market meat prices are high - as shown by that little gold coin icon it - so you can export it now!

Things are looped, contingent, and based on your decisions. It is simple, of course, you are making lots of little, easy calls that build you up over time - which is what makes it fun. It has to be simple, because otherwise it is a dizzyingly complex web of a million markets, it would never work. You feel like you are actually building the economy without being overwhelmed by it.

Which would be great if it wasn't stapled to one of the worst political & military systems I have ever seen, played with a UI God abandoned in shame.

So you can join the markets of other countries? Like you have your own market as a default, so you can click the "market" tab and it will show you how much wheat your country makes, how much iron it buys, etc. All good. But if you join another country's market, now that tab shows the collective market, everyone's wheat, iron, etc. Useful but like obiously I am not playing the market, I am playing the country; so how do I see how much wheat I make?

You can't.

You actually can't! Idk maybe they patched it in recently, but I couldn't find it and all the reddit threads I google from 2023 say you can't. Are you planning to declare independence and wanna see if you make enough food for your people? Too bad! Fuck around and find out I guess. I saw one thread where someone's advice was "save the game, declare independence, screenshot the new market, then reload". Quantum timeline level of experimental design going on in these guys' Bureau of Labor Statistics.

It isn't even the gameplay implications that bother me the most - this is a game about building an economy. You want to see what you built! And they stop you. It is baffling, and is just the tip of the iceberg - there are so many things like this. One of my favourites is that your "construction sector" is a hybrid of government and private projects, sometimes it is you spending the money, sometimes investors. Okay, cool, when it is you spending it comes out of your treasury, right? Well, yes, but the way they show that is when everyone spends it comes out of your treasury, but the private sector reimburses you for their share. Which you will not understand your first ~3 games, and instead just see huge red numbers on your budget screen and panic. And you are just left asking why? Why do that?

Beyond UI, the political system is just half-baked. It is "interest groups", each has baseline popularity, and verrrry slowly that changes as your economic structure changes (or revolutions). And to change laws you initiate campaigns to drum up support with roll dice to pass/fail. Which isn't a bad baseline, but it completely fails to capture how political change occurred in the era. Like the Meiji Restoration is "done" by you putting industrialists in power and kicking out the "landlords" lol. Japan didn't have industrialists then! Landlords are the ones who did the restoring of Meiji.

More importantly than inaccurate it isn't fun - to change a law you just arrange a coalition in power than kind of backs it, then pray you get good random events. In Vicky 2 they had a lot more railroad-style decisions and stuff you could do to capture history, "hit this military score benchmark and launch a civil war" kind of stuff. It wasn't complicated, and it was less organic, but it was pro player agency, you could take active steps to achieve it. In Vicky 3 it is mainly waiting or cheese - people often talk about getting the Meiji Restoration by deleting all your armies at game start and launching a civil war immediately that the AI will lose by default. A checkbox decision is better than that!

The military mechanics are the epitome of their "systems over gameplay" approach. What they wanted to do was two-fold; reduce micro in Vicky 2 where it is "click army to province" over and over, and "balance" the game by making combat not reward micro where players could cheese the AI. Very valid goals, I totally support it. What they did was built a system where armies auto-move to "fronts" and their AI can't handle it, but now as a player my agency over my units is gone so I can't fix it. The UI is awful, you can't even really tell armies to attack or defend, they just ~whim. You have to do a lot of clicking to fight the system - yes it is less clicking than Vicky 2, but in Vicky 2 that wasn't mentally taxing, it was fun enough to wage the war you wanted to wage. Everything was concrete and in your control.

Here...look, as Korea I declared war on China to gain independence. Then the UK - not my ally, just separately, declared war on China as well. So now we are kindaaaa on the same side? At which point half my army auto-reployed to Hong Kong because a "new front" had "appeared". One my one boat. Then the UK declared war on me as well and then 50% of my army was fighting the UK in the South China Sea alongside the Russians (???) while the other half of my army is sitting there at home facing the Qing troops along the Yalu River going "bro, wtf?". At one point a newly spawned army of mine tried to auto-redeploy to Senegal.

All of this is just so preventable - you wanna reduce micro? Make combat provinces really big. You just invade "Manchuria", no clicking from Jilin to Mukden, and have bordering armies support each other defensively or something like that so you don't have to dash back and forth. Don't try to make your AI "do it for you" because it clearly can't and you want to play your own game. I'm sure the above will get better as I learn the system but I can just see the hundreds of players who saw this system and insta-quit, because until you "understand" it, it stabs you in the back. Not what you want out of a game.

Anyway enough me whinging about the game for way too long - the fundamentals are strong in the end. I will test out mods, I could see an overhaul mod really fixing everything except maybe the combat (and then you just cope). I definitely want it to work, the potential is high.

[waaterdeep]

Jumping off of my previous posts, it baffles me how people find Gale annoying because of “mansplaining”. Does he have an ego? Absolutely. Is he proud of how much he knows? Yes. But we can’t forget how because of Mystra he basically only sees his worth as tied to his power/knowledge. That’s why she took a shine to him, and that’s why she eventually let him go.

So when he meets you, when he basically word vomits in your direction, he does so to impress you, to show you that he’s a worthy companion on this journey, that he can pull his weight besides cooking. Having spent a year locked in his tower and probably never having seen combat in his life, he can’t, on paper, stand up against most other companions, especially not Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, and Wyll, who are all battle hardened.

Also, most of his greetings go along the lines of:

“How can I help?” (Neutral)

“I do enjoy our conversations, what do you need?” (High)

“Is something on your mind? You can always unburden yourself with me.” (Romanced Act 3).

To me this shows a man that’s as willing to listen as he is to talk, perhaps more so. He wants to help out. The only deviation I can think of is in Act 3 after the Outer Planes scene where he greets you with “Yes, my love?” but even then, that’s still an invitation to share what’s on your mind. He flaunts his knowledge, pats himself on the back, but at the end of the day he’s entirely willing to listen to someone do the same, to enter a debate, to learn new things. It just comes out weirdly in Act 1 but eventually tappers down in Act 2.

It’s easy to forget how lonely it must have been to spend a year by himself sequestered in his tower. Yes there’s Tara, who he loves very much, but there was no one else. Of course he’s excited to talk to someone, to show himself off. It’s not out of intended rudeness, it’s out of excitement following what was basically a self imposed imprisonment, and a need to prove his worth to you.

[cursedvida]

SAD EYES, BROKEN SMILE IV (Buggy x F!Reader)

PART III HERE // PART V HERE

WARNINGS: NSFW minors DNI, little smut, Buggy being nasty, swearing.

A/N: Part 4 of this and finally some smut. hope you enjoy!

You still can't believe you kissed Buggy. It was not in your plans to be so direct. You have never been so emotionally exposed, but is also true that you have no experience in romantic matters. You haven't been attracted to anyone before, or at least not in that way. Buggy brings out your most primitive instincts and clouds your reason, it's something you can't avoid.

But actions have consequences and so does kissing your captain. Buggy still hasn't recovered from the shock. The last thing he expected from you was a confession followed by a kiss. Ever since you joined his crew he noticed how you didn't quite fit in. You didn't seem very excited about show business, nor did you seem to be up for the shows. He didn't quite understand why you were so eager to be part of his crew, but it didn't seem strange to him either: he is Buggy the Clown, he is famous not only in the East Blue but also in the Gran Line. Pirates fear him, Marines hate him. He is a genius of deception and persuasion, his fame precedes him enough to attract new challengers. You might not quite fit in but it made sense that you didn't want to leave.

He still wasn't sure whether to trust you or not. Your confession had left him totally baffled and that kiss directly disarmed him. He would never have imagined such a reaction from you, do you really like him the way you say you do or is it just a strategy? Buggy is a really suspicious person, especially when good things happen to him. He doesn't want to believe that you like him because he knows that, if he does, he'll probably end up being disappointed. There's no way a girl like you, who could have anyone, really has feelings for him. Although she'll never admit it, of course, because he's a renowned pirate and people should consider it an honor to have him around.

Nevertheless, he is unable to take his eyes off you. He watches you as you clean the deck of the ship, he follows your movements at mealtimes with his eyes. He is able to count how many times a day you yawn or make that bored face that characterizes you so much. The more he looks at you, the prettier you look to him and the harder it is for him to control himself.

You notice his gaze fixed on you, although you don't know why he watches you with such intensity. Sometimes you have the feeling that at any moment he will leave you stranded on the first island you see, that your days in that crew are numbered. You think he might be very angry, Buggy's character is fickle and unpredictable at times, if he has taken the kiss badly he won't hesitate to make you pay for it. He shouldn't see it as an offense either, you may not be the most exceptional woman in the world but he might see it as a compliment just the same.

You try to avoid it or pretend nothing happened. Yes, the best thing will be to pretend, as you have been doing so far. But he keeps looking at you, all the time, and you start to get nervous.

"Y/N, I have to talk to you" you hear him call after lunchtime.

You tense up at that moment, you feel all your muscles stiffen, as if you were preparing for a fight. You have a strange feeling in your stomach, as if you were nauseous. The walk to his cabin is the longest you've ever walked, and it's only a few meters. When you finally find yourselves alone, you realize that you are unable to look at him. You, who are used to always looking the enemy in the eye, suddenly shy away from Buggy almost instinctively. You realize that deep down you are dead embarrassed.

"Did you call me, Captain?" you ask rather sheepishly. This whole thing is starting to get on your nerves. You're not like that, you're not a softie, not a shy, insecure little girl, you're a ruthless killer with several dozen deaths behind you. You don't understand why he makes you feel so weak, but when he's near you your head stops obeying you.

"Why did you do that?"

No beating around the bush, straight to the point. Buggy didn't want to waste any time. When you finally manage to look at him, his eyes look distrustful and at the same time somewhat hurt.

"It was a strategy, wasn't it?" he insists "You think I didn't notice?"

"A strategy?"

"Yes, to see if I forgot about what happened a couple of days ago. You were trying to divert attention."

You raise your eyebrows in disbelief. Come on, don't fuck around, did the asshole really think you kissed him on the mouth as a confusion strategy? But is he really an asshole or did he fall out of the cradle at birth?

"But are you stupid or what's wrong with you?"

That response on your part, so aggressive, so angry, makes Buggy totally bewildered. In his mind, the only plausible explanation for a girl like you confessing and kissing him is that you are, in effect, trying to gain his trust so that he will forget the suspicious things about you. He doesn't understand why you seem so infuriated.

"I find it amazing that you brag so much about how wonderful you are when then you're not even capable of believing that a girl can like you" You blurt out to him, crossing your arms.

"I've liked hundreds of women, I'm Buggy the…"

"Yeah, I know, we all know that" you cut him off coldly "You pretend you're so full of yourself, but deep down you have very little confidence in yourself."

"Be careful what you say, sweetie, the consequences can be very bad."

"Is it that hard for you to accept that I like you?"

That question catches Buggy totally off guard. It pains him to admit it, but it really does. Of course he's aware that many women are attracted to him, but they're always passing flings, people he's barely seen for a couple of days. People who, in the end, don't know him. You've spent months with him, you've seen him fail on several occasions, it's clear that you're talented and may one day become a really strong pirate. Besides, you're gorgeous and you're hot, he really does find it hard to believe that this whole thing isn't a hoax.

"If you're not attracted to me that's fine" you tell him "we're both adults, I can handle rejection. But stop underestimating my feelings, that's cruel."

Buggy is silent for a few moments, something quite unbecoming of him. Then he looks at you, still in disbelief.

"So you were serious about yesterday?"

"Of course it was serious!" you exclaim, exasperated "I've been doing a lot of-"

But Buggy's mouth won't let you finish. When you want to realize, his lips are on yours and his tongue, agile and curious, tries to enter your mouth with desperation. It's the first time someone kisses you in such a passionate way, as if somehow trying to eat you whole, so it's a little hard for you to react to his momentum. You move your lips to match his and your tongues begin a contest of strength. Buggy's kiss is deep, tastes like salt and face paint. It has a metallic aftertaste that hooks you and its smell of gunpowder and sea manages to numb your senses. Just when you think you're about to lose your balance, a hand detached from his body grabs you around the waist, pulling you closer to him, so close that you are only a few millimeters apart.

You'd been fantasizing about something like this for a while, but your wettest dreams were nowhere near as exciting as the real thing. Having Buggy kissing you as if the world was going to end at that very moment makes your stomach shrink and your legs shake as if they were made of jelly. You've never felt so vulnerable around anyone before, but you don't hate the feeling, it makes you feel good for the first time.

You wrap your arms around his neck. You want more of him, you want to hold him closer. You need to cling to him with such desperation that the slightest almost imperceptible draft that can fit between the two of you hurts. He senses that need of yours and automatically pulls you tighter against his torso. His kisses are deep, wet and with a slight hint of anger that makes them intoxicating.

"Fuck" he exclaims, pulling away slightly for air.

You let out a small moan, something that makes Buggy smile.

"What's up, little girl, do you want more?"

Now it is you who kiss him. Buggy responds with momentum, placing his leg between yours. His hands begin to explore your body over your clothes. You've never let anyone go this far, but with him you just want more and more. When you notice one of his hands stop at your crotch you freeze.

"I'm actually really looking forward to you" he comments, whispering huskily in your ear as he begins to rub between his hand and the fabric of your pants "I've been wondering for some time what it must be like to have you in my bed"

"What a liar you are" You manage to say, almost in a whisper. You notice how the fabric of your underwear is getting wetter and wetter "When I came you didn't even know my name".

"You're right" he nods, giving you a couple of kisses on your neck while his fingers press your most sensitive parts "I just knew you were a pretty face. Little girl, you're like a chocolate candy."

He then attacks your neck, making you moan. He slowly pulls down your pants, now the only barrier he has are your panties.

"Fuck, little girl, your panties are so wet" his voice sounds husky and very excited "I've barely touched you and you're already like this? Fuck, what a delight."

"Buggy…" You sigh. It's the first time a man has managed to get his hand on you and the feelings you are now experiencing are totally new. The pleasure, the swelling, the wetness… You feel like you're going to explode, that you need more contact, more intensity. You move me a little to make friction between his hand and your most intimate part "Buggy, I love it."

"I'm going to eat you whole, princess."

Buggy then removes his glove with his mouth and it is at that moment that he slips his long fingers under your panties. You open your eyes as you feel the direct contact between his skin and your most intimate area.

"So wet just for me, this is a treasure" he murmurs, quite pleased.

At first he just slides one of his fingers all over your intimate area, making your skin crawl with goose bumps. You swore you wouldn't let anyone have you at their mercy, but you've totally surrendered to him and when he finally locates your clitoris, gently caressing it with your own natural lubrication, you can't help but let out a moan.

"That's it, little girl. Yeah, moan for me" He smiles, quite pleased.

"It's… God, please Buggy don't stop doing it" you ask him, almost beg, because the pleasure is enormous.

Buggy starts stroking you faster, now you feel like your whole body is on fire, with a kind of heat right in the center of your belly that intensifies every time his fingertips brush against your skin. You start moaning helplessly as he slides his tongue down your neck until it reaches your cleavage.

"Buggy…" You can barely say anything, just moan his name, but that seems to delight you.

"I'm going to make you mine completely, Y/N. I hope you know what you've done."

But just as Buggy is about to slip one of his fingers inside you, someone knocks loudly on his cabin door, completely breaking the mood. You both tense up, giving a little gasp. Buggy lets out a huge growl, looking really pissed off.

"But who the fuck is it now!" he shrieks, hands still shoved between your legs.

"Captain" Cabaji's voice is heard "We have a problem, there's a Navy ship nearby".

"Fuck" Buggy roars, he'd probably love to beat the shit out of Cabaji for interrupting him at a time like this, but the reasons have been more than justified.

He looks at you with an annoyed look on his face.

"We're not done yet" It's not an apology, it's a warning.

You smile at him.

"I hope so, Captain."

[fieldofheathers-stuff]

The Silco Saga. A Retrospective After Season 2

Part 1.5: A brief intermission on The Flashback Issue™, (un)reliable narrators and Silco committing infanticide

Why the timeline isn’t fucked, actually

A common issue I see people have with Season 2 is that some of Vander’s backstory messes with the timeline established in Season 1. While it is true that Vander in the S1 flashback on the bridge appears to be significantly older than the Vander in Silco’s drowning flashback - implying that the two events took place years apart and not, as Vander’s letter says, one right after the other - I would like to offer an alternative reading on the S1 Day of Ashes scene, which in my opinion can be explained in a way that doesn’t necessarily mess with canon too much.*

Arcane S1 has a very interesting way of using flashback scenes, and POV shots in general: they are always firmly rooted in someone’s POV, but despite being subjective, we the audience are led to believe they are fairly reliable narrators. There’s only one person who’s shown as being consistently unreliable in their POV: Jinx (a choice which narratively makes sense, as she suffers from psychosis). Jinx is also, coincidentally, the person who’s POV we see in the Day of Ashes flashback. Now, this might veer into headcanon territory (which I’m OK with), but nonetheless, hear me out: is it really that far fetched to think that Jinx, being very young and in obvious distress, would misremember this event, and superimpose the face of the father she knows as an older child on that of his younger self? While I don’t mind people coming up with their own HCs on this event, I think that there’s a much simpler way to interpret this “incongruence”, which fits both the general canon narrative as well as a specific trait of Jinx’s POV.

*There’s obviously one reading of this incongruence between the designs of Day-of-Ashes-Vander and Drowning-Vander where this continuity mistake can be attributed to external reasons, such as the writers not having a clear idea of the backstory in S1 and later retconning in S2, which I don’t have a huge problem with either. It happens all the time. However, I find a possible in-story reason for this incongruence much more elegant and appealing.

Silco says ‘Fuck them kids’ (except Jinx)

Another complaint I have heard, which I personally find pretty funny all things considered, is that having Vander and Silco know Vi and Jinx’s mother (and, consequently, Vi and Jinx) before the betrayal “cheapens” their story in S1, and makes Silco’s intent to kill them in Arc 1 seem more unrealistic due to his previous connection with her mom. I find this logic quite baffling.

As I have already pointed out in my previous post on Silco’s relationship with Jinx, the main point of his self-asserted narrative is that he was essentially reborn as a new man after his own attempted murder by Vander, unburdened by the sentiment and affection his older self held for others. This belief Silco holds about himself is perfectly in line with his treatment of Vi and Jinx in the first arc of S1: he doesn’t care about them, and he’s perfectly willing to get rid of them if it serves his end, just as much as he’s perfectly OK with killing Vander, because those are connections that only his older self cared about, not the new, “updated and improved” Silco.

The only reason Jinx is saved from an unfortunate fate is that Silco, in a moment of weakness following an extremely stressful series of events, instinctively identifies with her; thus, he creates an unsolvable conflict between his need to uphold his own rebirth narrative (which is really nothing more than a dysfunctional coping mechanism) and this newly found but extremely powerful self-identification with this child. His adoption of Jinx is his own way of trying to have his cake and eat it too: he can still hold on to his ideology, while also offering some sort of comfort to this suffering child, which is actually himself, thus also reinforcing the idea that he is right.

There’s obviously no such ethical conundrum when it comes to his relationship with Vi in Arc 1. Silco quite clearly sees her only as a projection of Vander, an incarnation of his ideals, a continuation of his legacy best exemplified in her physical prowess as a fighter. And since his goal during Act 1 is to either convince Vander to work with him again, or get rid of him altogether, I don’t see how he shouldn’t apply the same logic to Vi. It doesn’t matter she’s an innocent bystander in his conflict with Vander, or the daughter of a former close friend. Silco, after his “rebirth”, is a man who is willing to see the world only within the black-and-white paradigm of his own narrative. Therefore, killing her is no big deal for him.

This indifference towards Vi then turns to visceral hatred in the following two arcs, as she becomes a double threat: a symbol of Vander and a wedge between him and Jinx, the only relationship he can't stand to lose. So yeah. Fuck them kids.

Flashbacks pt. 2: Kids don’t know shit

I think the general logic of “very young kids in Arcane don’t have reliable memories” can be used to explain why Jinx and Vi don’t seem to remember Silco pre-betrayal. First of all, while I keep harping on the fact that Silco’s narrative of dual identities is total bullshit, it doesn’t mean that pre-betrayal and post-betrayal Silco aren’t two very different people to an outsider’s perspective. The pre-betrayal Silco we see in Vander’s memories is humorous, gentle, soft, thoughtful. We do see some hints of an underlying grittier nature (his very serious tone before he subverts our expectations with the “Bozo 1” joke is a perfect example of him already knowing he can be very intimidating if he wants to), but he appears, to all intents and purposes, as a completely different man than his post-betrayal persona. There’s also the factor of physical disfigurement and change of look between pre- and post-drowning Silco which would seriously impact any ability of the girls to recognize him.

Another important factor to keep in mind is also that It’s made pretty clear in both S1 and S2 that the kids don’t know about Vander’s betrayal of Silco, and therefore probably have no idea why Uncle Sil didn’t show up at the Last Drop after the Day of Ashes. Even if Vi and Jinx were close to him pre-drowning (which we aren’t even sure of, since he doesn’t appear in any flashbacks with them as young children), they probably think he’s dead. It’s pretty obvious throughout S1 that both Vander and Silco have kept the whole drowning affair a secret, the first out of guilt and shame for his actions (which he spends the rest of his life trying, unsuccessfully, to repent from), the second because it would make him appear weak against his rival. Vander, when admonishing Vi about her willningess to use violence when fighting Piltover’s oppression, only vaguely hints at the reason why he thinks this approach is dangerous, mentioning how much Powder means to her and asking her what she would do if she lost her (a clear mirror to his own failure towards Silco, but Vi doesn’t know that). On a lighter note, when Ekko hilariously asks Best Timeline Silco, in S2ep7, “Didn’t you try to kill him?”, he’s clearly referring to Silco killing Vander, while both Silco and Vander interpret it as Vander killing Silco, making it for a very awkward interaction between the two.

(On a side note, I love Silco’s sappy “power to forgive” answer. Oh Best Timeline Silco, you softie. This is what having the Nation of Zaun and being gay married to your best friend does to a MF. )

It also kinda makes sense that Jinx, who eventually has a clearer picture of what happened between Silco and Vander, still doesn’t remember him as a part of her childhood. We are told several times that she has very few childhood memories of her family before the Day of Ash. It also makes sense that Silco wouldn’t mention Felicia or Connol to her. The Silco that knew them, after all, drowned in the Pilt the same day they died.

I think this also hints at the fact that Silco probably wasn’t very involved with the girls as kids, which, again, goes very well with his characterization as someone who cares more about The Revolution™ than about the individual people of Zaun. The flashback with Felicia gives us a hint that this was one of Silco’s characteristics even before the drowning: while Vander toasts about “raising an ankle-biter or two”, Silco only raises his glass “to the Nation of Zaun”. I don’t think these are just meant to be throwaway lines: they perfectly encapsulate their future priorities, with Vander dedicating himself to his mission of nurturing Zaun’s people to the point of giving up the fight, and Silco becoming such a radical that he completely looses sight of the people he’s fighting for. (They are both cringe boyfailures and I love them for that.)

[papaver-decervicatus]

Cat/Mouse/Den: Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus

After months of tense flirting and teasing with the mountain of a man she only knows an König, Mouse finds herself in a life-or-death situation while on patrol in the Alps. Maybe her new admiration isn't as one-sided as she thinks…

CW: Obsession, stalking, canon typical violence, intrusive thoughts, unsanitary wound care

Authors Note: Wow! The response to this fic has been incredible, heartwarming, and just baffling to me! I cannot express how happy I am to share this with you all!

Being completely objective, this chapter requires some suspension of disbelief, the circumstance is not totally likely but alas, I am here for fun.

My college classes are starting up soon, so expect slower updates moving forward. As always, please feel free to leave a comment/reblog with a message saying you want to be added to the taglist or just interact in general!

Cura ut Veleas❣️~ Caedis

PREV | Pt. 2, Mus Rusticus | 4.1k words | Mouse POV | NEXT

He’s a vision, he’s hard to miss on the horizon, he stands out like a mountain lion against his fellow men. He sways his hips wide, the trusty Glock Field knife he keeps on his belt shines like a beacon. It’s such an outrageously cocky move, to keep glinting metal on his person when she’s sure he’s supposed to be stealthy. He’s tall as a tree and broad as a train and always has some hood covering his face. He’s sniper candy, he’s so obviously right there it makes her dig blunt nails into her arm in frustration. He’s hard to miss, should be her straight shot. 

But he never is. 

She never gets the barked orders, the confirmation. She’s asked a hundred times. When it’s in the forest, it’s less warfare and more stakeout. She’s not paid enough to know what she’s looking for, but she always sees him. And she’s always been told not to shoot. She stops asking at some point, but like everything else with this man, she doesn’t quite remember when. Her life is a blur of missions and off time and him and nothing else.

It’s been months since the ravine and she’s seen him just about everywhere she’s been. When SpecGru was gathering intel on KorTacs drug affiliations, she saw him in the haunted deserts of Sonora, Mexico where she lies in the dirt redder than blood and coyotes sing her to sleep. She gazes down at him atop crumbling 16th-century Byzantine marble when she picks off the guards of a weapons supplier in Belgrade, Serbia. In the ancient and verdant bamboo forest of Yibin, China, hunting down spy affiliations, she camps across a creek from him for a night. 

It’s a small world, but not quite small enough for her to believe just how they keep running into each other. No matter where she ends up, their eyes always meet. 

The eyes of the apparition with bloody tears on top of an executioner's hood always flick right towards her, even when she’s under a ghillie or some camo or nothing particularly obtrusive at all. She’s even taken off her scope once or twice to reduce glare, to see if the monster still turns her way then. To see if the cat is following a laser pointer she’s unwittingly putting out. 

He does.

Always finds her.

No matter what. 

He would’ve been a good sniper, in another life. If he wasn’t built like the trees she climbs for her shots. 

Very few things are constant in her work. Very few people stay, very few people know. It’s awful, but she starts to hope to see him on the fields. Like he’s some coworker she’s been flirting with in the coffee lounge. 

But he’s not her coworker. Quite the opposite, he’s a soldier on the other side. The enemy. He breaks men’s spines on his knee like toothpicks. He hums with visceral energy, like mud, blood, and guts. He disembowels men like fish. He walks like a monster with three legs (and at some point about three months into their little game, she touches herself thinking about that third leg.) He swings wide, he keeps his knives sharper than cat eyes. 

His stare is constant, glacial, beautiful. 

She wonders what the rest of him looks like, with such a beautiful set of eyes. Beautiful thighs. Beautiful shoulders. He must have some reason for the mask, but she can’t help but think (or hope) he’s a good kisser under there. That his hands must be larger than life, that his skin must be warm. That his teeth must feel good if used in particular places with caution and moderation. 

She’s sure if he ever caught her, the cat would sink his teeth right in. 

She finds she wouldn’t quite mind getting chewed on by him when they accidentally pick up each other’s radio frequencies in the field. They should be encrypted. They shouldn’t be able to, but the cruel stars align and they make their pacts. 

It’s a game of cat and mouse.  They’ve got their own little rules, too. 

They don’t talk about work or positioning, he always knows where she is but never tells anyone on his team. Once she reaches out, he never gets any closer. Like it’s a game. Like they’re playing hide and seek and he knows he opened his eyes too early so he’s closing them again and pinky swearing not to tell. 

He must not tell, because SpecGru has yet to fall into an ambush. So has KorTac, though. If anyone knew they’d have their heads, but no one else does. The secret stays between them and their radios become the divining rods of close encounters. 

Mostly it’s just breathing on each line, mostly it’s just- 

“König?”

“Maus?” 

“Mhm.”

“Hmm.”

And that’s it. And they breathe at the same time, and he looks up at her in the trees or in her towers or wherever she is. And she hopes he’s thinking the same terrible things that she is, and she hopes that he keeps striking out at base camp and bars and wherever just like she has, and she hopes that he’s lonely like she is. That he has nothing else to focus on so she takes all the space in his head like he does hers. 

She knows she should get a shrink or a good fuck to stop fucking thinking about him like this, but sometimes he whispers a joke into his radio and she laughs, and sometimes she tells him about the book she’s been reading, and sometimes he shows her his favorite knife tricks, and sometimes she tells him stories of before she was in the military and he always laughs and asks questions to show he’s actually engaged and he cares and- 

She doesn’t know when she started missing shots. When she started covering his ass the three or so times he didn’t recognize some hostile getting a bit too close for comfort. 

When the fire is heavy and the mission is condensed into a 100th the size of their usual open field rendezvous, she’s seen him in action. He can handle himself, he can more than handle himself.  Some terrible part of her hopes, though, that he is thankful for her. Cover fire from a traitorous Angel in the trees, makes for a good romance novel but a terrible dynamic in war. And that’s what this is, right? It’s war? But what for? 

She doesn’t know. She’s not sure she wants to. So she keeps their little secret and she prays that he stays safe when she really can’t risk covering for him. To that point, though, he does himself no favors. He fights like he can’t get hit. 

When they’re alone he’s the perfect gentleman, he gets no closer than when she reaches out to contact him first. When they’re not, it's a whole different story. He runs into the middle field like if he can just reach her, he can keep her. If he can carry back his conquest, well… kings get their war spoils, don’t they? It’s a terrible secret she keeps alive only in her heart, but she hopes one day he finally will. 

She’d never shoot one of her own, to save his hide. But when it’s one of his own going after his neck, or when one of hers needs cover too, or one of some other guys on him, it’s easy. 

The Mouse saves the King. 

But a game is no fun with only one player. 

The King also saves the Mouse. 

It’s November, it’s somewhere in the Alps. She’s had quite the pleasure of seeing him so in his element, so proud, broad-chested, and covered in the swagger of a mountain as it walks with its own. The snowfall constricts her view but not his movement. He’s practically prancing around like a snow leopard and despite the temperature it’s warming her up a little to think about how happy he looks down there. 

“Are you gonna get me, kitty?” She hums into her radio, lips curling into a saccharine smile, when it’s just them alone in the cold. His eyes find her immediately after she’s made contact. Like always, they breathe in and out at exactly the same time once those terribly fantastic eyes of his meet hers. 

“Haha!” His whole body shakes like an earthquake when he laughs. “No. Just…” he stops for a moment like he’s catching his breath or remembering the right word, “-watching.” He says, hand reaching to his mask, lifting it up just enough so she can see a red, red, mouth and sharp, sharp teeth turning in a cruel, Cheshire Cat smile. He languishes on a stump, playing with his signature knife, downright admiring her from far away. He pulls his mask back down, but the outline of his exhales still turn into clouds in the snow. 

They breathe in tandem. Their hearts must sync. 

Today is unusual because he is actually working at something in his grasp. Usually, his beloved knife is his dancing partner, his muse of movement, the loyal companion of his oversized hands. 

Many times she’s been lost in the beautiful dance of his hands and his knife, as he flicks it up and catches it with ease. Every time he does so, her heart clenches in her all of a sudden seemingly too-small chest as she fears it’ll come down and slice him. She knows how sharp he keeps his many knives, she knows how terribly it would go for him should it ever fall out of its practiced battle dance. The knife, of course, never does. When he gets bored of tossing it, he starts doing little tricks. He balances it on his index finger, he spins it between the fingers on his massive hand, he can even juggle it between his hands without a moment's hesitation. What’s worse, is the whole time he does it, he is watching her with a relaxed posture. Like he’s showing off like he’s saying “Don’t you see how good I can be with my hands? Don’t you want to invite me over? Don’t you ache to know just what I’ll make them do for you?”

This surgical precision never ceases to amaze her because she’s seen him around his comrades. The steady hands she so admires (and yearns to touch her) disappear and shake like leaves the second he has to talk strategy or cover for others outside of immediate battle. He’s a capable soldier, he’s a great commander, he’s an excellent strategist, sure. But he’s never at ease enough to make his knife dance like this, never like he is with her. His hands shake without adrenaline and with the company. 

His hands never shake when the two exist like this, though. No, the shy soldier boy who won’t look anyone in the eye doesn’t exist to her. Like a fairytale, the second the two see each other, he disappears and instead, a man of ferocious devotion finds himself in her sights. He waits for her. He never once gets closer to her than the moment she reaches out to him first. 

It would almost be romantic. If it wasn’t war and she wasn’t herself and he wasn’t himself. 

Her comm line lights up, ripping her away from her inattentive, lovelorn adorations. Apparently, there’s an enemy scout that’s inching treacherously close to her position and slipped past someone further ahead of her. If he gets beneath her, she’s D.O.A in her tree. 

She sees König’s body tense a second after hers, the way she’s come to recognize he’s received a transmission. He stops his idle patrol and puts down the something he was working on in his hands. Quickly, he tucks it into his pocket. He’s ready to hunt all of a sudden, the relaxed air of his body falls away with all the quickness and ferocity of an avalanche. She knows to pity the poor soul on the receiving end of that look in his eyes and-

Is it her this time? Her heart stutters to a stop. 

The snow is picking up, she can’t see much of anything but she sees him blur into motion. Towards her spot. 

“Keep moving and I shoot,” she says to him. In warning. Begging him not to. She’d miss his comfort if he does make her. 

“It’s right under you, Liebling.” His voice rasps through static colder than the snow on the ground. 

She realizes she’s stranded on her branch, there’s a widow’s maker close enough to her perch to mean she’s screwed if she moves too quickly. She doesn’t have enough time to maneuver out of the tree safely and she’s a sitting duck for someone else’s shot, so long as all they’ve got is short range. If it were longer range she’d be dead already. She’s going to fall to her death or get shot at from below. It’s a shame, but she’s a little happy that it’ll be König, her cat, that’ll catch her corpse. 

She sees the would-be assailant on the horizon and she brings her gun to her cheek. He darts frantically between trees, careful to only go far enough that she’ll have to re-aim as he darts out again. He’s gaining a substantial amount of ground as she finally has a good enough line of sight to execute and-

Her gun jams. 

With all the futility of a mouse in a glue trap, she begins to shake and replace everything she can afford to in such little time to make her rifle usable. The man on the forest floor uses all of the seconds she cannot afford to waste as it becomes clear that he will reach her before she can either get down or get her gun unjammed. 

But by the time she’s gone to pray and say her goodbyes in her head while frantically looking around, she hears the footfalls of a desperate man crunching snow and she sees red spill out. 

König’s massive hands cradle one of his very own, dead. She sees the outline of hardwired explosive packs on the corpse’s chest, apparently a suicide bomber? Alone in the Alps? 

For his part, the giant doesn’t seem the least bit displeased with his kill. He wipes his bloody knife on his pant thigh and sheaths it like it’s nothing. He’s got another man’s blood all over his lower half, he sliced that poor bastard clean between his third and fourth ribs.

“Threat eliminated. My position is compromised, I’m moving.” She says to her comm. 

“Rog, Mouse.” Someone in command responds. 

She, very slowly, makes her way down to the carnage near the base of her tree, sniper rifle at her hip like a mother huddles an unruly toddler. When she’s only 12 feet in the air instead of 40, König spreads his arms out to her. It’s snowing. Hard. He doesn’t move, arms outstretched like a tree.

“Maus, I‘ll help you!” He says. 

It’s the first thing he says to her outside of the buzz of the radio. 

It’s her name. Or, the only one he knows her by. 

And the first thing he says is a promise. A promise of help. A promise of aid. 

She shouldn’t trust him. 

She tosses her gun to the pillowy snow, against all safety protocols and everything she’s ever known. He doesn’t move for it. He’s got a rifle of his own, well- not a sniper's rifle, on his back. Maybe he doesn’t need two?

She unhooks her cabling. 

It’s snowing hard. 

She kicks off the tree and into the air. 

It’s snowing really hard and dawn is breaking. 

He does, indeed, catch her. 

He audibly gasps when she lands in his arms. He doesn’t move, she’s much too small and light to move the man. He just holds her. For a moment- in the air. 

“… klein,” he all but whispers and puts her on the ground. His hands don’t start trembling as she expects them to.

She doesn’t know what that means and goes to pick up her gun and makes a quiet mental note to find a German Dictionary or self-teacher or something if this weird romance is gonna keep up. 

“What’s this guy's story?” She motions to the left. Where there’s the stump of a man who should’ve been her death. 

“Traitor, against both sides. Al Qatala. Made off with classified files.” He rolls his shoulders, completely unconcerned. 

It could be a lie. It could’ve been that this man just has a weird obsession with her and couldn’t stand to see her get taken out by someone that wasn’t him. 

Well, if that were the case, why’s she still around? He could just kill her. But then again, couldn’t she have killed him multiple times over? 

She doesn’t think he's lying. He’s affected by some things, not by others. He’s much too jittery and anxious of a man to lie so easily to her. She recognizes she’s putting a terrible amount of trust in the enemy, but if it’s gotta be anyone, she’d rather it be the man who sometimes radios her terrible jokes instead of some stranger. 

But now they’re as face to face as over a foot and a half of height difference will let them be. There’s still the hood on his face which is haunting, but this monster-  he’s scarcely made a move to her that hasn’t been some perverse version of love or care. 

She realizes she’s thankful for him. 

Stockholm syndrome, she decides. Even though this is the first time they’ve been within 80 yards of each other. 

“Thank you.” Is what she says instead, breathless and quiet, almost like she’s sorry she has to say the words out loud. Almost like they’re bad news like she’s telling the kids they have to put the family cat down. 

“Bitte schön,” he says, gentle and warm like a wool blanket. His hands are drumming on his thighs with nervous kinetic energy and he looks intently at where he grabbed her, maybe he’s worried he hurt her? But he’s not trembling. She tries not to think about it, that he’s not trembling. Her face is red and her heart is fast but for all the wrong reasons.

Before they part ways and go back to their little lives on opposite sides of some silly war she’s sure is not worth the human toll, he reaches into his pocket. 

He brings the little thing to his hood and places it right where she reckons his lips are. 

Their breaths puff into billows of smoke. 

They breathe in time. 

It’s bloody from his pant legs when he presents it to her, holding the tiny object in two forefingers and thumbs. She cups her hands in front of her like a child begging the family pet to drop an injured bird it found in the backyard. He drops it just like that pet, a few inches above her hands to avoid bloodying her hands directly. Like it would be a shame. Like he cares about tainting her. 

It’s a piece of light wood, whittled into the shape of a mouse. 

She holds the thing in the palms of her hands and they ache. It is so small, so hard for even her to hold. His field knife, the one he loves so much, is massive but she knows it was the one that he used to make it. She did research one day, trying to discover what sort of blade it was. It's a custom Glock Field Knife, with a near mirror-perfect patina and two whole inches larger than the standard issue. She also thinks he wrapped the handle himself because she cannot find that stark red chord on any seller’s website. It's a monster of a knife, for a monster of a man. It’s not made for woodworking, for whittling, for creation– it's a thing of utter annihilation and destruction. Yet, he changed its nature. He utilized his most favored possession to carve intricately into fallen birch wood. He’s given a second life in the shape of her name to what would rot without his attention. He has created, against all odds, something beautiful and delicate out of a brutal tool and doomed material. For her.

She is dumbstruck by this man. She has no words for him, for herself, she wouldn’t have any for anyone who asked either. Suddenly, the Alps aren’t so cold even though it is verifiably snowing. 

When he turns to go she thinks how much his hands must’ve hurt to make this little thing and she can’t just let him go, not empty-handed. 

“Wait!” She calls to him. 

He stops and looks back at her. She fishes around in her pockets and curses her nearly-frostbitten fingers until she finds it. 

She tosses it to him. 

He opens the little leather pouch and she sees his smile through his eyes as he recognizes what it is. It’s her pocket whetstone, with the crown she doodled onto the leather holder with charcoal. 

Her lucky charm. 

She shouldn’t trust him, she’s really got no reason to. But this man, he’s saved her life. He likes knives more than she does, hell, uses them more than she does. There’s really no reason for her to have it (just like there was no reason for her to put his symbol into the leather.) His glacial eyes melt while looking down at the object and she’s never known the winter wilderness to be so warm. She tries not to think about the way her heart speeds up when his eyes soften looking at the object. 

“I will only use this from now on, Maus.” He says, voice quiet and reverent. Like he holds the keys to his kingdom when he holds the cheap piece of rock. 

“Don’t. It’s- it’s not a great one. Just. My charm.” She shrugs. She wants to say ‘It’s a piece of shit and useless, just like I am. It’ll fuck up your knives. I know you love them. Don’t ruin useful things on my account.’ 

“All the more reason to treasure it.” He replies, simple and unburdened.

God. She wishes he wasn’t so charming. There’s no going back. 

She feels like she’s in his jaws already, totally caught. He seems not to realize that he could march off with her and go anywhere and she’d just let him. He walks away and it genuinely hurts when his form disappears into snow and trees and leaves no trace like he’s a fairy tale. Like he’s not real and never was and cannot be. 

And with that, the King had saved the Mouse. He turned and left and she moved her position before returning to base camp. 

The next time she sees him, about a week later, she sees him sharpening his massive field knife with the tiny whetstone on his comically large thigh, and in response, she thumbs at the wooden effigy in her pocket. They laughed into their radios to each other. Her cheeks flush red. Her thighs clench around nothing. She dreams about those big, big, hands, the ones that cradled her in the air, pinning her down and leaving black and blue bruises all over her hips and thighs. She thinks about that red, red mouth tracing said bruises with a gentle tongue. She thinks about the hands caressing her neck, the mouth kissing the top of her head. The hands, holding her at the hip snug to his massive frame throughout the night. The mouth, hushing her to sleep and promising to be there in the morning. 

She’s got nothing for him, though. Other than her body and the vain, ridiculous, impossible dream that’s enough for him. He doesn’t seem the romantic type. She doesn’t think he’d settle down. She doesn’t know him at all, not really.

But, she does have something for him. The answer to a question from what feels like lifetimes ago. 

“It’s because I’m quiet.” She whispers into her radio, half hoping he won’t pick up. 

“What?” He hums back. 

“Mouse. Because I’m short and quiet in the field.” 

“Really?” He asks back. “That’s it?”

“Yep.” A heartbeat too long of silence passes between them. She chews the inside of her lip to bits, waiting for a response. “Your turn,” she prods gently. 

“Because I am not.” Is his response. 

“Really, that’s it?” She chuckles into her radio. 

He just laughs on the other end. And now she’s really got nothing else to give him, save a rare book recommendation, a laugh in return for his bad jokes, and her sharp eyes always trained on his form in her scope. She’s got nothing to give him that she hasn’t already given him, and nothing he couldn’t just find elsewhere. 

But God, she wants him all the same. 

It’s dangerous to be at war. 

It’s dangerous to play cat and mouse. 

Even more dangerous to fall in love on top of those two. 

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