#but that too much for my brain to figure out

[backofthebookshelf]

It's not a controversial take necessarily -- it's just that the particular environment of AO3, where you can see how many times your fic was loaded in a browser window and where the little heart button has a different meaning than it does on every other social media site, is uniquely bad for the human brain.

For the VAST majority of history, both the history of making art generally and the history of writing fanfiction in particular, you did not get to know how many people gave your work a cursory once-over, or how many people checked your book out from the library and never read it, or how many people overheard a line of poetry and thought "huh, neat" and never did anything else. These interactions were, as they should be, completely anonymous and uncountable. Even in the pre-AO3 days of fanfiction, there was an understanding that page hit counters were kind of crap (for one thing, they would count you every time you loaded the page, and you had to load the page to check the counter, so that was incentive not to look at it that much).

Even in other artistic contexts where you do now have page hit counters on everything, they're contextualized through marketing research, not consumed as a raw value. Marketing talks about conversion rate, which is the % of people who saw something who then went on to do the thing you wanted them to do - for a business that's probably buy the thing, for a nonprofit it might be donate or sign up for a volunteer session, for a fanfiction writer it's leave a comment. At work I work with multiple major companies you have definitely heard of who spend half a million dollars and 1-3 full time employees every year on something that increases their conversion rate by 1-2%. They do this because the conversion rate on our emails is 5%, which is INSANELY high.

And yes, leaving a comment doesn't cost money, but it does cost time and energy. Writers overestimate how easy it is for people to write comments--my coworkers are out here using chatgpt to write boilerplate work emails, I can't imagine ANY of them ever leaving a comment on a work of art they enjoyed. Verbally, yes--and "in a friend discord is much closer to verbally than in a comment form--but in writing? Absolutely not.

As for kudos, I can't help but think that the "likes don't do anything, you have to reblog" culture of social media like twitter and tumblr affects that too (and yes, by the latter days of twitter I was seeing people saying that on there, because the algorithm was so broken). Kudos is essentially a like button, and like the like button on twitter that used to be a favorite button before they changed it and some people never stopped treating it like one, it has meanings for people you'll never understand. "It's just a click!" It is a symbol with vague connotations but no specific universally agreed upon meaning; it tells you how many people clicked on that button, and that's all.

So yes, actually, I guess I am saying that as a writer, you are supposed to assume that many more people liked your fic than you will ever hear from or even know about. And that's a good thing! You have the chance to touch someone's life even though they have no idea who you are and don't think of you as a person so much as a semi-mythical figure called "the author". And that's part of the magic, to me, of creating things. You pour yourself into a thing and then you set it loose into the world and you hope it means to someone else as much as it meant to you. Sometimes, very rarely, someone will tell you so, and that's amazing, I'm not going to pretend it's not, but you have to have enough faith in yourself to believe it happens whether you hear about it or not.

I really don't understand how "without getting kudos or comments a fanfiction author is going to assume that people who clicked their fic didn't like it" became a controversial take.

I don't know why some people think an author should imagine, or guess that people who click their fic enjoyed it it when nobody is telling them that.

If you're re-reading a fic constantly, or leaving it up in your tab so that it re-loads every day for a hundred days the author is not going to know that unless you tell them. They'd love to hear it. It would make their day.

And if you don't tell them you liked their fic, there's no reason for them to assume you did.

[the-oblivious-writer]

The Perfect Girl

Jackie Taylor x Implied Fem!Reader

One-Shot

Summary: You and Jackie - your ever so lovely girlfriend - share precious stolen moments away from prying eyes in your very bedroom.

Warning(s): Intimate scenes/implied smut, innuendos, pre-crash/no crash au (up for interpretation), and underage substance use (marijuana)

Notes: How are we doing after ep 4? Yeah. Figured.

The smoke hangs lazy in the afternoon air of your bedroom, curling around the shafts of golden light filtering through half-drawn blinds. Robert Smith's voice floats from your record player—the one your dad gave you for your sixteenth birthday with strict instructions to "treat the vinyl with respect, for God's sake." You'd promised, never imagining that one day you'd be using his precious sound system to provide the soundtrack for making out with Jackie Taylor.

Jackie—varsity soccer captain, homecoming queen nominee, and the girl whose public image couldn't be further from this moment: her perfect hair mussed beyond repair, wearing nothing but your oversized Sonic Youth t-shirt and a pair of lacy underwear that had made your brain short-circuit when you first saw them.

"You're staring again," she murmurs, taking another hit from the joint you'd been passing back and forth. Her eyes are slightly red-rimmed, her smile looser than the one she wears in the school hallways.

"Can you blame me?" You prop yourself up on your elbows, drinking in the sight of her. "Do you have any idea how many people would lose their minds if they could see Jackie Taylor right now?"

She rolls her eyes, but you catch the pleased flush creeping up her neck. "Please. I'm hardly centerfold material."

"You're right," you agree solemnly. "You're much better."

The way she looks at you then—half-exasperated, half-adoring—makes your chest ache with how much you love her. A year and a half of sneaking around, of stolen moments between classes and elaborate excuses to your respective friend groups, and sometimes you still can't believe she's yours.

"Come here," you say, making grabby hands at her.

Jackie raises an eyebrow, taking her time with another drag before passing the joint back to you. "Demanding much?" But she moves toward you anyway, settling onto your lap with the practiced ease of someone who's been there countless times before.

"Pictures of You" starts playing, and Jackie groans, dropping her forehead against yours. "God, not this song. It's so sad."

"It's romantic," you argue, running your hands up her bare thighs, delighting in the goosebumps that rise in their wake.

"It's about loss," she counters. Her fingers toy with the collar of your shirt, brushing against your collarbone in a way that makes it hard to concentrate on the philosophical debate about Cure lyrics.

"It's about love," you insist, leaning forward to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth. "How everything fades but photographs and memories."

Jackie pulls back just enough to study your face, her expression caught between amusement and something deeper. "Since when did you become the romantic one? I thought that was my role."

"Don't worry," you laugh, hands now resting on her hips, thumbs tracing slow circles against the fabric of her borrowed shirt. "Your title as 'most likely to cry during romantic comedies' remains unchallenged."

"That was one time!" she protests, but she's laughing too. "And 'The Princess Bride' is emotional terrorism."

"Whatever you say, captain."

Her eyes narrow playfully. "You know, for someone who's currently enjoying the privileges of having me on their lap, you're being awfully snarky."

"Privileges, huh?" You raise an eyebrow, feeling bold from the weed and the warmth of her against you. "And what privileges might those be?"

Jackie's smile turns wicked, a side of her no one at Wiskayok High ever sees except you. She leans down until her lips brush your ear. "Play your cards right, and you might find out."

A shiver runs through you that has nothing to do with the temperature. "I've always been good at cards."

"Hmm," she hums, unconvinced. "Is that why you lost twenty bucks to Shauna at poker night?"

"That was—" you splutter, indignant. "Shauna cheats! She has that whole quiet, innocent act down to a science."

Jackie laughs, the sound lighter than the carefully modulated one she uses at school. This laugh is just for you—unfiltered, slightly too loud, and utterly perfect.

"My point," she says, "is that you might need to work on your bluffing skills."

"I don't need to bluff with you," you say, suddenly serious despite the pleasant haze of the high. "Never have."

Something in her expression softens, the armor she wears so carefully around everyone else slipping away entirely. These are the moments you treasure most—when Jackie is just Jackie, not the perfect student, not the soccer star, not Jeff's sometimes-girlfriend (a convenient cover you both agreed on, with his reluctant cooperation).

"No," she agrees quietly. "You don't."

You reach up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and she leans into your touch like a cat seeking affection. It still amazes you sometimes, how different she is in these private moments—how the Jackie Taylor who intimidated you during your first soccer practice freshman year transformed into the girl who now melts at your simplest touches.

"Remember when Coach Martinez paired us for drills that first day?" you ask, thinking back to how it all began. "And you told me my footwork was 'almost adequate'?"

Jackie groans, hiding her face in your neck. "Can we please not relive my bitch phase?"

"It was kind of hot, actually," you admit, laughing when she pinches your side in retaliation. "What? It was! All commanding and authoritative."

"You're deranged," she says, but she's smiling against your skin.

"Maybe. But you're the one who cornered me in the equipment shed two weeks later."

"Because you kept looking at me with those eyes!" She sits up, gesturing dramatically. "All... intense and stuff. It was distracting."

"My sincerest apologies for having eyes and using them to look at the prettiest girl on the field."

Jackie rolls her eyes, but you can tell she's pleased. She's always been a sucker for compliments, especially the earnest ones.

"Smooth talker," she accuses, before leaning down to press her lips against yours.

The kiss starts slow, languid with the unhurried confidence of people who know each other's bodies by heart. Your hands find their way under her shirt—your shirt—fingers tracing the dip of her spine, the curve of her ribs. She sighs into your mouth, shifting on your lap in a way that makes you both gasp.

"You know," you murmur against her lips, "we have the house to ourselves for at least three more hours."

Jackie pulls back just enough to look at you, her pupils dilated from more than just the weed. "Is that your subtle way of saying we should move this to a more horizontal position?"

"I was actually thinking we could finish our calculus homework," you deadpan. "You know how I get turned on by derivatives."

She snorts, an undignified sound that she'd be mortified to let slip in front of anyone else. "You're such a nerd."

"Says the girl with a 4.0 GPA."

"That's different," she insists, tracing a finger down your sternum. "I'm academically gifted. You're a genuine weirdo who reads physics books for fun."

"Only sometimes," you defend yourself. "And they have pretty pictures of space."

Jackie shakes her head, a fond smile playing at her lips. "What am I going to do with you?"

"I can think of a few things," you suggest, waggling your eyebrows in an exaggerated way that makes her laugh again.

"Can you now?" she challenges, and then she's leaning in to kiss you again, deeper this time, with an urgency that makes your head spin.

Your hands drift higher under her shirt, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts. She makes a soft noise against your mouth that sends heat pooling low in your belly. One of her hands tangles in your hair, the other bracing against your shoulder for leverage as she rocks against you.

When you break apart for air, her lips immediately find your neck, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your pulse point. It's your turn to gasp, head falling back to give her better access.

"Jackie," you breathe, hands now gripping her hips tightly.

She smiles against your skin, clearly pleased with your reaction. "Yes?"

"The record's about to end."

She pulls back, blinking at you in confusion before her brow furrows in annoyance. "Seriously? That's what you're thinking about right now?"

You can't help but laugh at her indignation. "I just thought you might want some more mood music."

"The mood," she says, deliberately shifting on your lap in a way that makes your breath catch, "is doing just fine without Robert Smith's help."

"Fair point," you concede, voice slightly strained. "But you were the one who insisted we needed The Cure specifically for our afternoon delinquency session."

"That was before you started doing that thing with your hands," she counters, leaning in to nip at your bottom lip. "Now I couldn't care less about the soundtrack."

The needle reaches the end of the record, the soft scratching sound barely registering through the haze of desire clouding your brain.

"Besides," Jackie adds, her voice dropping to a whisper as she brings her lips to your ear. "I'd rather listen to the sounds you make when I do this."

Her hands slip beneath your shirt, and suddenly the lack of music is the furthest thing from your mind.

Later, much later, when you're both lying tangled in your sheets, catching your breath, Jackie props herself up on one elbow to look down at you.

"You know," she says, tracing patterns on your bare shoulder, "we won't have to hide next year."

The thought sends a rush of warmth through you that has nothing to do with physical pleasure. College, away from Wiskayok's judgmental eyes and rigid social hierarchies. A place where Jackie won't have to pretend to be someone she's not, where you can walk across campus holding her hand without calculating who might see.

"I can't wait," you say honestly.

Something vulnerable flickers across her face. "You won't get tired of me once I'm not your dirty little secret anymore?"

The question surprises you. Jackie's always so confident, so sure of herself and what she wants. But sometimes, in these quiet moments, you get glimpses of the insecurities she hides from everyone else.

"Are you kidding?" You reach up to cup her cheek. "I've been counting down the days until I can show you off properly."

Her smile is small but genuine, relief softening the tension you hadn't even noticed in her shoulders.

"Besides," you add, unable to resist, "I've invested too much time teaching you good music taste to abandon you now."

She gasps in mock outrage, grabbing a pillow to smack you with it. "Excuse you! I knew who The Cure was before I met you!"

"Name three albums," you challenge, laughing as you try to fend off her pillow attack.

"Disintegration," she says immediately, punctuating it with another swing of the pillow. "Kiss Me, Kiss Me, Kiss Me. And... uh..."

"That's what I thought," you tease, finally capturing the pillow and tossing it aside so you can pull her down for another kiss.

Against your lips, she murmurs, "You're lucky you're cute."

"I'm lucky, period," you respond honestly, and the softness that returns to her eyes makes your heart flip over in your chest.

The Cure may have stopped playing hours ago, but as Jackie settles against you, her head tucked under your chin, you think Robert Smith would approve of this particular love song—the one written in the rhythm of your synchronized heartbeats and the promise of a future where hiding is no longer necessary.

[astrolook]

The First Lord in Different Houses: Your Personal Astrology Adventure! 🌟

Grab your chart, get comfy, and let's dive into the First Lord and how it impacts your identity. Whether you're the life of the party or the secret genius, this is where the magic happens, and honestly, it's kind of hilarious too. 😜

First Lord in the 1st House

You walk into a room, and everyone knows you’re there—there’s no hiding.

Confidence is your middle name, and you never miss a chance to strut your stuff.

You are an introvert’s worst nightmare!

Independent? Yeah, you invented it.

People say, “Look at them go!”... and you say, “Yeah, I know, I’m fabulous.”

First Lord in the 2nd House

You might lowkey feel like a walking bank account sometimes (it’s okay, you’ve got the swagger).

Money, possessions, and fine dining—that’s your love language.

Your idea of a good time? Maybe buying a new shiny thing or investing in something ‘important’.

A strong connection to your self-worth... and your credit score.

You get really excited about sales. Like, really excited.

First Lord in the 3rd House

Conversations? Oh, you’re always ready for one. And you’re the one leading it.

Your brain is like a Google search engine: full of random knowledge and probably some memes.

You could talk a dog into believing it’s a cat, and they’d never know the difference.

Restless much? Thought so. You’re onto the next idea before the first one’s finished.

Social media’s best friend—wait, is that a notification?

First Lord in the 4th House

You’re basically the “mom friend”—making everyone’s home feel cozy and safe.

Family gatherings are your jam (but only because you secretly judge everyone’s cooking).

Your vibe? “My house, my rules, but I’ll let you have a snack.”

You might look for a place to hide from the chaos and recharge... hello, couch naps!

Your home feels like a warm hug—and you give really good hugs.

First Lord in the 5th House

Drama? You’re probably starring in it (or at least watching it from the front row).

Flirting is your second language—don’t even try to resist.

You’re the life of the party, even if it’s just your dog and a Netflix marathon.

Hobbies? Well, they’re more like passions that take up all your time.

You’ll probably try to make everything a competition. “Who can make the best TikTok?”—Spoiler alert: It’s you.

First Lord in the 6th House

You love a good routine, but only because it means you’re in control.

Your daily mantra: “I’m not stressed, I’m busy—there’s a difference.”

Healthy eating? Absolutely. Just as long as it’s also fun (kale smoothies and 12-step meal prepping, anyone?).

You might accidentally become a perfectionist because, well, why not?.

You can’t relax until everything’s in place. Spoiler: It’s never in place.

First Lord in the 7th House

Relationships are your thing—friendship, romance, business partnerships, you name it.

You need a partner in crime—someone to do life with.

You’ll be the diplomat in any situation: “Let’s just all get along, okay?”

It’s not “me,” it’s we. You’re practically the CEO of Teamwork.

You thrive on validation from others—but hey, who doesn’t love a little support now and then?

First Lord in the 8th House

You’re that one person who probably has a secret collection of ancient texts—or at least watches a lot of true crime documentaries.

Deep transformation is your thing—your emotional rollercoaster has no brakes.

You have a knack for digging into other people’s deepest fears... or maybe just for figuring them out.

You’ll never shy away from a good existential crisis. Isn’t life just a series of changes?

You live for the intense, the mysterious, and, of course, the taboo.

First Lord in the 9th House

Wanderlust is your middle name—you’ll plan a trip to the other side of the world just because.

Your mind is always soaring above the clouds—metaphorically, of course.

You’re a fan of philosophy, and you probably have a shelf full of “deep” books that you’ll talk about for hours.

You think big, dream big, and might just try to change the world (at least your corner of it).

If you haven’t been to at least three countries, are you even living?

First Lord in the 10th House

You’re here to make a mark, and the world is your stage (just don't forget your best performance).

Career is serious business for you—but you’ll look fabulous doing it, of course.

Your reputation? Oh, it’s everything. You’ll take great care of that.

People might ask you what you do, and you’ll casually drop your “BOSS” vibes.

You’re the leader, the boss, the go-getter. They just haven’t realized it yet.

First Lord in the 11th House

You’re always looking toward the future—Hey, have you seen that next big thing?

Your friendships are everything, but don’t expect small talk. It’s all about big dreams and world-changing ideas.

You’re the social butterfly, flitting between events and people... but deep down, you’re a visionary.

If you’re not organizing a group project, are you even living?

You can totally turn any group into a movement—don't underestimate your powers.

First Lord in the 12th House

Solitude is your best friend—you probably thrive on some alone time... okay, a lot of alone time.

You’ve got that “mysterious vibe” going—people aren’t sure if you’re an enigma or a guru.

Spiritual awakenings? You have all the answers, but you don’t always share them.

You might be a secret healer, helping others in ways no one will ever know.

Boundaries? You prefer to merge with the universe, thanks.

Feeling curious about how each House Lord affects your identity and life journey? 🌠

Message me for a complete astrology reading / synastry compatibility reading, and let’s unlock the hidden secrets of your chart together! 📩

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[sensationallysangwoo]

𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚃𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝙵𝚕𝚘𝚠𝚎𝚛 𝙱𝚕𝚘𝚘𝚖𝚜: 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗/𝚂𝚘𝚗𝚐 𝙹𝚞𝚗𝚐-𝙷𝚘 𝚡 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝! 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛!𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝙻𝚄𝙵𝙵 ♡

♡ 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚝. 𝚈𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚋𝚜𝚘𝚕𝚞𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚢 𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚛𝚒𝚏𝚒𝚎𝚍 𝚝𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚋𝚘𝚢𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍, 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗, 𝚋𝚎𝚌𝚊𝚞𝚜𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚝 𝚝𝚠𝚘 𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚢 𝚍𝚒𝚏𝚏𝚎𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚍𝚘 𝚝𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚒𝚖, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚎𝚗𝚜𝚞𝚎𝚜.

♡ 𝙲𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝: 𝚂𝚎𝚖𝚒-𝙰𝚍𝚞𝚕𝚝 𝚌𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝. 𝙱𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚏 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚖𝚞𝚝. 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚐𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚢. 𝙼𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚌𝚛𝚒𝚖𝚎. 𝙱𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚗 𝚋𝚎𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚟𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎. 𝙰𝚐𝚎 𝙶𝚊𝚙 (𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁 𝙸𝚂 𝙰 𝙻𝙴𝙶𝙰𝙻 𝙲𝙾𝙽𝚂𝙴𝙽𝚃𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙰𝙳𝚄𝙻𝚃.)

♡ 𝚃𝚑𝚊𝚗𝚔 𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝙰𝚗𝚘𝚗 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚚𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚝!

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

Your hands are shaking. You feel like crying as you anxiously wait for the result of the test.

You honestly should have 100% expected this to happen, but in the moment, neither you nor Berlin were thinking about protection.

He was on top of you, kissing and worshipping your whole entire body as you came undone underneath him. The way he slammed in and out of you was heaven as your bodies intertwined passionately.

Before you knew it, he exploded inside of you and you were so caught up in the pleasure you didn’t even consider the outcome. All you could focus on was him.

Berlin is your boyfriend officially, but things are still very very new. You have only been together for a little less than a year now but you know in your heart that he’s perfect for you. He’s intimidating, bold, the slightest bit domineering. Your sweet, gentle disposition compliments him perfectly, making you two a match made in heaven.

He’s older than you as well, so much older. He’s 41, and you are in your early 20’s. You look up to him as sort of an authoritative figure, but primarily a lover. He guides you through life and you remind him not to take himself too seriously, despite the “business” he’s in.

The double line illuminates on the screen of the test. Positive. Your pulse throbs in your neck as anxiety washes over you.

What will Berlin think? You immediately do what your brain always does: imagine the worst case scenario. He’s going to be pissed, upset, stressed, and then leave you. He won’t want to deal with a baby at his age, let alone at all. Berlin, Song Jung-Ho, one of the most high-profile criminals in the country, is not going to want to be a father. Nuh uh. No way.

You hastily throw the test in the trash.

You’ve always wanted to be a mother. You love babies. You have always wanted to nurture a little one, watch them grow and develop their own personality, and share so many memories and experiences with them. Will Berlin want that too, though? You really truly don’t know, but as mentioned before, you’re almost certain he doesn’t want that. He’s too wrapped up in his “business.”

The front door jostles and heavy footsteps clunk in the foyer. Shit, he’s home for the day.

“My angel! Where are you hiding?” His voice echoes through the house as you slowly tiptoe out of the bathroom.

“Hey…how’s the planning going?” You ask, trying to make conversation while also keeping your cool.

“It’s going well. Those goddamn hostages better start behaving themselves, though. I’m tired of their shit. The only way to get ‘em to listen is to scare the shit out of ‘em.” He scoffs.

You nod slowly, a worried expression clearly donning on your face.

He’s quick to notice that you are not your usual cheery, bubbly self. Normally you’re all over him, arms wrapped around him, peppering his face in kisses. Right now, you’re noticeably somber.

He approaches you. His tall frame hovers over you as he brings a hand up to your cheek, cupping it tenderly.

“What’s wrong my little love? You can tell me anything.” He softens his gaze.

You smile bashfully at his touch. His dark, almost black eyes bore into you . Your own eyes fall to his chest, unable to maintain eye contact. He knows the hold he has on you.

“Nothing, Jung-Ho. Just have a stomach ache, that’s all.” You lie.

“Go lie down, then.” He squeezes your cheek before kissing it, then pats your head and makes his way to the bathroom. Oh fuck.

Your heart races. You lie down on the couch and hope and pray he doesn’t notice the test in the trash. This was futile.

The bathroom door creaks. Berlin stands in front of you. He crosses his arms, smirks, and cocks an eyebrow. “You thought I wouldn’t notice, huh?”

You gulp as you quickly stand up.

“Jung-Ho, I’m so sorry—I was way too scared to tell you—If you want to leave I understand—“ Your face burns red hot as your stammer.

He smiles so widely that the corners of his eyes wrinkle. He immediately pulls you into a strong embrace. He nearly breaks you with how tightly he’s holding you. You melt into him, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. His lips meet yours in a gentle, soft kiss.

“We’re going to be parents!” He exclaims. Your heart melts at his enthusiasm. You’re extremely excited and also extremely relieved.

He presses his forehead against yours. “Why were you afraid to tell me, little love?” His words ghost against your lips.

“I-I didn’t know how you were going to react. I was afraid you were going to leave me.”

“Leave you! That’s ridiculous, my darling. I would never leave you no matter what. Also, you’re a horrible liar. I knew something was up with you the minute I stepped in here.” He laughs.

You beam at him. You look at him and see your future. The father of your child. Your future husband, hopefully. He rubs your belly tenderly. “Well what are we waiting for? We need to prepare for our little one!”

Over the next couple of months, your belly grows and so does your love for Berlin. He’s always been a completely different person when he’s at home, with you. Now he’s an extra different person with the pregnant version of you.

He gets you whatever you want at the drop of a dime. If you mention you are craving something, he will buy you 100 of them. He cooks for you, cleans for you, and watches you like a hawk to make sure you’re safe and healthy. He’s follows you everywhere, you’re his top priority.

He’s so worried about you that it could even be a little overbearing at times, but you know he means well. He doesn’t want anyone even so much as looking at you while you’re pregnant.

“Do you need anything? Do you want anything?” You hear these phrases come out of Berlin’s mouth over a thousand times a day. His tough exterior completely fades when it comes to you and your child. He’s always holding you close by, his arm around you protectively.

He holds your waist, holds your belly, and is constantly giving you kisses and cuddles and reassuring you that you look beautiful, even if you might not feel that way.

The night before your due date rolls around, and Berlin is as excited as ever. His phone rings, but he doesn’t care about anything relating to the heist right now. He just wants to meet your precious angel who he will love forever, along with you.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @yxluana , @swtt4hk , @massivecheesecakesmuttss , @miss-conjayniality , @ladiesman21777 , @dilfismz , @vkeyy , @kudiikis , @daeholuvs , @insidekatmind , @sealcowboy , @torasgfreal , @melfresita-ruri , @ellfucksup , @hrh007, @m4nbl00d , @phoebecatesl0vr , @meadowfics

[cvntroach5000]

I'm Just A Girl Goon 🔞

pairing: sylus x reader (no use of y/n)

reader has the Command Evol and works for Sylus alongside Luke and Kieran

content warning: smut, shibari, blindfolds, mind control, reader has a dick and you get to decide why

minors dni i mean it your brain isnt ready go read a crack fic or smth

smut content: dom/sub dynamics (sub sylus), oral sex (reader receiving), use of sex toys, overstimulation, throat fucking, anal fingering

sylus is ooc but he's cockdrunk so be nice to him okay

Sylus kneels on the floor in front of you, braced on his toes as he bounces up and down a silicone dildo. His body is wrapped up in intricate patterns of red rope, which dig deliciously into his skin, accentuating his pectorals and pinning his arms behind his back. He's wearing a pair of nipple clamps, connected together by a chain and his eyes are covered with a silk black blindfold.

Even in this position, his large figure forces him to angle his head down as he takes your cock into his mouth, practically choking on it with every bob of his head. His chin is dripping with cum and spit, leaking down onto his chest.

Between the two of you, it's hard to say who's losing their mind more. Sylus' body is tired, forced to fuck himself with the toy over and over by the will of your Command Evol He's lost count of how many times he's come, barely remaining conscious as he chases his next high. Every time he slows down, too exhausted to lift himself off the dildo, you activate your Evol, ordering him to keep going. The blindfold is stained with tears of overstimulation, and the way it sticks to his skin drives him wild.

"B-Boss..."

The fact it's your superior, the feared leader of Onychinus, choking on your dick until he cries makes your brain turn into mush.

"Fuck... Ah—! Your mouth feels so good... You're so, ngh, pretty... Taking my dick so well, sir."

He's never been put into a humiliating, vulnerable position like this. He's aware that without his Evol, there's no way he'd be able to escape these binds and that knowledge makes him so hard it hurts. You prepared him gratuitously to take the silicone cock, fingering and stretching his hole, applying generous amount of lube, until the toy slipped in with ease that made him blush. It was hard to believe he's never taken anything up his ass before, with how skillfully he grew accustomed to it. He's always been a man of many talents.

Occassionally, you reach down and tug on the chain of his nipple clamps, drawing out whorish moans from him. His body has always been sensitive, reacting strongly to the slightest touch. It goes without saying that his nipples would be especially tender. The slight pinch of pain is exquisite and he's shocked at the discovery of pleasurable sensations that he hasn't considered before.

"Mfngh... Ahh..." He moans around the mouthful of your dick, the vibrations running up your spine and setting your nerves on fire. Your hand cradles the back of his head, massaging the nape of his neck and occassionally tugging on his white locks.

You feel yourself approaching another orgasm and pull on his hair, encouraging him to pause his ministrations. But he's undeterred, seemingly doubling down on his efforts, massaging his tongue along the underside of your cock. You groan.

"Stop."

Unable to resist the command issued by your Evol, Sylus lets your dick slide out of his mouth. It grazes his lips and cheek, smearing cum over his face as he pants like a bitch in heat.

"M-Mooore..." He whines, resting his forehead against your hipbone.

"Geez..." You huff and caress his face in an attempt to soothe him, "Who would've thought that the most wanted man in Linkon was such an insatiable slut?"

You laugh breathlessly, your remark lacking any real bite to it. You're genuinely impressed with his perfomance. From the sight of his painfully hard nipples and weeping cock, to the sounds of the dildo filling his hole, to the feel of his mouth on your dick—this man has made as much of a mess of you as you've made a mess of him.

"Aren't you feeling sore, sir?" You ask, genuinely concerned "I can untie you and take care of you."

He shakes his head lightly and presses his lips to your abdomen, plating wet kisses on your skin.

"Ah... Just... One more..." He insists. If he could see right now, he'd be eyeing your cock like a starved man, "I want you to cum down my throat again."

Despite your logic screaming at you to wrap this up, your dick twitches at the idea of being stuffed in your boss's mouth again. You sigh and rub your cock against Sylus's mouth. He inhales sharply when he feels the tip press agaist his lips, the intake of air tickling your sensitive skin. You hold back a moan as he swallows your cock in one go, the soft hairs at the base tickling his nose.

Despite being at this for a while, his enthusiasm seems unaffected and he bobs his head up and down, throat constricting around your cock deliciously.

"Haahh, you know... I can, hng, hear your hole squelching all the way here. You're so dirty and, hah, greedy, boss. You keep begging for me, ah, to stuff my dick in your mouth, but I didn't, mmnn—! Didn't even get to fuck your ass yet."

Sylus sobs at the thought of having you fuck your warm cock into him, filling him up and painting his insides with your cum. He slobbers all over your dick and you moan, shooting another load down his throat. You grip his hair to keep his head steady as you let your cum flow and mix with his saliva.

You pet him affectionately as you come down from your high, feeling him suckle softly to draw out the last drops of cum from you. Your cheeks flush and you can't help but feel endeared by the large man's submissive, debauched display.

Before he can start begging for you to fill him up again, you hoist him up from the floor, tugging him towards the bed. He yelps in surprise, groaning softly as the dildo threatens to slip out of his slick hole. You might be smaller than him, but you're still pretty strong. As soon as he lands on the mattress, you rub your hands on his back, comforting the cockdrunk man. He whines when he feels you start pulling the dildo out of him.

"Hngg—! W-Wait...!"

You ignore his pleas and carefully remove the silicone toy, taking a moment to appreciate the sight of his gaping hole. It flutters, practically winking at you, clamping around nothing in desparation.

Feeling sorry for the slutty, hungry hole, you gently push two fingers inside, massaging the hot walls. Sylus moans in contentment, appreciative of your effort to not leave him suddenly empty.

"Well, Boss." You coo, feeling around Sylus's asshole, looking for his sensitive spots, "Think you still have enough energy to take my cock?"

Without hesitation, the man under you nods his head frantically, sobbing into the blindfold.

"Yes, fuck! Please, fuck me with your cock! I want to feel you, hahh, inside..."

You hum in response, tentatively brushing your fingers against his g-spot. His body convulses and he shivers violently, crying out in surprise. His wails turn into desperate moans.

"Alright, alright." You chuckle, slowly pulling your fingers away.

They're sticky with lube and you wipe it off on your dick, as you grab it to press the tip against Sylus's puckered hole.

He drawns in a breath of anticipation.

"You asked for this, boss." You warn him, "So don't come crying to me when I won't be able to stop."

[chrissturnsfav]

star!reader giving rapper!chris a bj but star!reader had lip plumping stuff on?

⋆.˚✮ singer!reader's lip plumper leaves rapper!chris pleasantly confused

you're down on your knees in front of chris—who's sat at the edge of your bed, watching you take his thick cock into your mouth and bobbing your head up and down, batting your lashes up at him all pretty as he grips at the sheets.

but something seems off in his expression. sure, he looks pleasured, but his brows aren't furrowed in just pleasure, but confusion, and you know exactly why.

it makes you smirk around his dick, jerking whatever doesn't fit between your lip plumper glossed lips, and his hands move to your head, letting out a shaky grunt.

he's trying to bask in the pleasure—he really is—but his fucking cock keeps tingling, and it's making him feel too confused to focus on how good your mouth is feeling.

"baby," he mumbles, his face washing over with confusion and concern, gently tugging your mouth off his cock by your hair. "hold up."

you fake a confused look up at him, furrowing your brows, wiping at the drool at the corners of your mouth, "what's wrong?" you ask, voice dripping with innocence.

chris studies your face, prodding the inside of his cheek with his tongue. he notices the way your lips look more plump and red than usual. his thumb swipes slow over your bottom lip, dragging at the gloss. "what the fuck you got on your mouth?"

you let out a cheeky giggle, pursing your glossy lips up at him, "lip plumper," you chirp, like it's nothing.

he stares. then licks his own lips. then squints down at your lips. "lip what?"

you bite back a grin. "plumper. makes them look fuller."

his head tilts, still confused, still staring like he’s trying to figure something out. then, he realizes why his dick is tingling, his eyes flitting down to his length and then back to your mouth.

"hold the fuck up." he leans back on his palms, rubbing his lips together. his whole face twists. "what the fuck—"

you blink up at him, innocent. "what?"

chris furrows his brows down at his dick, tilting his head at it, "s'that why my fuckin' dick is burnin'?"

you giggle up at him. “it tingles, huh?”

his eyes flick down to you, then back to his member, like he's still trying to process the sensation. "nah, what the fuck kinda witchcraft—"

"it’s just the gloss," you say, biting your lip to keep from laughing. "feels kinda nice, right?"

chris doesn’t answer right away. just keeps looking at his still hard dick, looking confused as hell, like his brain is short-circuiting.

and then a little smirk spreads on his lips as he looks at you, still confused, but there's a slight glint in his eyes now. "i mean…s'kinda fire."

you raise your brows up at him, smirking back at him as you slide a hand up his thigh, "yeah?" you ask, reaching into your sweatpants pocket to pull out the lip plumping gloss.

"nah, nah, lemme do it," he says, snatching it from your hand like you can’t be trusted to apply it yourself.

you sigh, but you pucker up anyway, lips barely pursed before he swipes the gloss on way too aggressively.

"chris," you whine, trying to pull back. "that's so much."

"nah, we need extra," he mutters, going back in, his free hand grabbing your chin gently. "i'mma make sure i cum from this shit. all over your pretty face, let's go."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @sturns-mermaid , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @dvinesturn , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind , @mattsleftball , @softhyunieeee , @whore4mattsturniolo , @tezzzzzzzz , @corspebridedelrey , @softhyunieeee , @sturn1oh0 , @riasturns , @u-didnt-see-this , @sturniolo-szn2

@chrissturnsfav ™

[anakinsdumb]

I'd do Anything for You |

a/n: I've had this idea percolating in my brain for what feels like years at this point, so I figured why not put it into writing, even if just for myself. if you enjoy you'll have to let me know! I plan on continuing this, but knowing if other people enjoy it too will give me more motivation haha

part one

pairing: anakin skywalker x jedi!reader (fem reader)

wc: 1,073

*22 BBY*

It was rare that Coruscant felt like anything less than the bustling city planet it was, but tonight, for once, you felt like you could take a deep breath. You hugged the baluster in front of you, your cheek resting on the side of it, below the railing, as you watched the sun began to set on the Coruscant skyline, your legs dangling over the edge of the balcony, freely swinging.

“You better not pass your Jedi trials while I’m gone.” You turn your gaze over to your friend, Anakin, who’s comment broke you out of your trance like gaze on the skyline. It wasn’t often the two of you just got to sit and relax together anymore, so you made sure to get at least one more sunset in together before he left for his first solo mission tomorrow morning, escorting Senator Amidala back to Naboo.

“Why?” You jokingly ask Anakin before adding “do you really think you’ll be able to pass them before me?” Smirking playfully at him, the setting sun casting a golden glow across his already tanned face.

Anakin scoffs and rolls his eyes, his smile betraying his attitude, “easily, if I wasn’t being sent on my first solo mission, you wouldn’t stand a chance.”

 “Uh huh, of course, you already have an excuse on why you couldn’t beat me to it” You sarcastically respond, mocking him by rolling your eyes dramatically back at him. Anakin kicks your leg playfully, trying to maintain a façade of annoyance, but he couldn’t really hide his smile when with you. You were his closest friend and one of the few people he knew he could trust fully, and would never judge him, even when others may think critically of him. 

Silence falls upon the two of you, as the sky turns from a golden glow to a vibrant orange and pink, the sun falling behind some of the skyscrapers along the Coruscant skyline, casting a halo like effect on the buildings. You happily swung your legs in the breeze, taking in the serene atmosphere once again, but you notice an unsettling energy to your left brewing.

“Any advice?” Anakin asks quietly, a rare moment of insecurity for the usually boisterous jedi padawan next to you. Your Master, Plo Koon, had already sent you on a few solo missions of your own, as you are a few years older than Anakin. You return your gaze over to Anakin with a soft smile.

“You’ll be fine, you’re already a stronger jedi than me when I left for my first solo mission, just trust the force.” You say softly, trying to snuff out the haze of insecurity, and surround him with a feeling of comfort instead.

“Obi-wan doesn’t think I can do it.”

“And yet, he didn’t forbid you from taking on this mission.” You say trying to remain positive, but he just scoffs at you, no playful smile in sight this time though.

“Obi Wan thinks I’m too unpredictable, doesn’t understand me,” you watch him solemnly as he takes a deep breath staring out to the darkening skyline. “He’s never listens, he’s overly critical… it’s like he doesn’t trust me.”

You felt for Anakin in this moment, your master challenged you and pushed you, but never once had you felt he was unfairly critically towards you, and it surprised you to hear him say those things about Obi Wan, but in reality, you didn’t spend that much time with Obi Wan and Anakin outside of training, so maybe that’s just how he always was with Anakin. 

You wanted to help Anakin see the positive though, remind him of what could be if was successful at his mission. “This will be a great opportunity to prove yourself though,” you say softly, trying to give him a smile, before adding “and if you can handle this, you’ll be ready for the trials.”

“I already am ready.” Anakin replies bluntly, with no room for questioning, and you can feel his emotional walls building back up around, ones that he very rarely uses around you.

“Fine.” You try to reply nonchalantly, looking back towards the starlit skyline now dark with dusk, your legs still swinging softly in the wind. “You’ll prove to Obi Wan you’re ready for the trials,” you pause before adding “just don’t do anything stupid.” A sly smirk splays across your lips, hoping a small tease will bring him out of his spiral.

“Stupid?” Anakin asked bluntly, his heated gaze spun to face you but melting one he saw the small smirk across your face.

“Yeah, stupid.” You jokingly respond, kicking Anakin’s leg playfully. “I know you Anakin… sometimes you do things without thinking of the consequences-“

“Hey, that’s not fair” he cuts you off, but you give him a dirty look to the side. Anakin finally smirks and playfully roles his eyes “it’s not stupid if it works, it’s just a new way of doing things… one might even say I’m a trailblazer” Anakin says smiling at you and kicking his legs a bit.

“Uh huh, a real trailblazer” you sarcastically add, before saying “as long as Master Plo Koon and I don’t have to come save your ass… if I’m going to pass my jedi trials I can’t be getting distracted by your immature ways” Anakin playfully kicks your leg again “relax, I’m just kidding” you pause “you know I’d do anything for you…even if it’s cleaning up one of your messes.” Your laughter filling the once quiet atmosphere, as Anakin playfully shoves your shoulder, muttering something along the lines of how annoying you are.

*Present Day*

The harsh breathing of Lord Vader’s respirator breaks you out of your meditation in the corner of the dark, cold, steel room. You could hear him before you could feel him, his stare weighing heavily on you through the two-way mirror. Even if his breathing was quieter, you still would’ve noticed him. His presence, even from the other side of the glass, stole what little warmth was left in this room. 

Often when he came to monitor you, you could feel him pressing against your mental walls, sometimes trying to dig, and sometimes pressing, just to remind you that he could try harder if he wanted to, but today it was quiet. There was no pressure on your mental walls, no digging, no poking, he was just there, looming, watching.

And that terrified you. 

divider by @/cafekitsune, thank you!!

[gingermaybel]

Clones, Cocktails, and Common Senses (or lack thereof)

Decided to post it here too since I spent like a thousand hours translating it into English.

中文版在这里（0人在意）：https://archiveofourown.org/works/63547516

Good news: you’re in Star Wars

Bad news: you’re in the Clone Wars

Worse news: you’re no Jedi, clones, or politicians, but a (graduated) social&humanities student. which means you get to work the most boring job in the lamest place stuck with the most annoying customers

(May works at a hopeless bar underground Coruscant, today’s customers are a lil different—or a lil too same?)

1

A group of men was laughing in the bar. May stared at them.

No, nothing like what it sounded like. Sure, they did look good, but they also looked like they couldn’t scrape a single credit for a tip out of pockets-not that they even had pockets to begin with. Their armours were made out of plastic, nothing like the Mandalorians in holomovies but more of a bunch of suck cosplayers. The total eight of them ordered five of the cheapest drinks on the menu to share, and had been sitting there chatting loudly for two hours. No extra orders, politely declining refills, not even asking her for the toilet code. May was a little sad. She needed tips-with the bar's base pay, she could only afford a plastic shack propped up by two wooden sticks 3600 levels below the surface of Coruscant. But she didn't need medical bills, and if she told these muscleheads to either tip or leave, that might be the only thing she'd walk away with.

The downsides of working in the lower levels.

(Not that there were any upsides.)

They were the only customers in the bar. It was midday cycle in this district, only these men and May’s business-illiterate boss would think this was the best time to grab a drink. Even the two Zabrak bouncers—whose salaries were slightly higher than hers—were nowhere to be seen. Have to be when they’d actually be useful for once! She sighed and remained sitting cross-legged on the bar counter, waiting for them to leave.

Seemed like they’ve started an argument at some point when she lost concentration. Then, a man with two odd yellow markings tattooed on his cheeks waved at her. “Sir—Ma’am, may I ask you something?”

May rolled her eyes internally but still put on her best work smile as she hopped down and walked over.

“This thing,” the next man to speak had a white eye and a scarlet scar running across it. There was a picture of a Corellian rose just as red in his datapad. “Is it a war declaration sign for you natborns?”

“Uh, no?” May blinked. “If you mean the Twi’leks, we usually see Corellian red roses as a symbol of romantic love. That’s pretty universal across most cultures.”

“…Which means?” The man with a jagged scar curling around his left eye asked.

“One of you received roses?” she asked. “Someone wants to bang you.”

All eight of them—whether had spoken before or not—burst into cheers all at once. Someone’s wolf-whistling when the rest of them took turns slamming the back of the guy in red armour, almost knocking him into the level below.

May’s lekku twitched nervously at the noise. The scene was oddly familiar, anyone who grew up in a big family could easily tell the resemblance-

“Are you brothers?” The intrusive thought left her mouth before her brain could stop it.

Silence. They turned to her in sync with the same strange look on their faces.

“I—I mean, uh—it’s just you guys look kinda alike. And my cousins act the same way when they—”

“We guys look kinda alike.” The man with a “58” tattooed on his left temple repeated flatly.

“I’m not good at telling human faces apart, sorry—”

“I don’t think she’s making fun of us, brothers.” The man with two red stripes of hairs murmured.

“Wh-why would I be?” May asked incredulously. “What else am I supposed to—”

“You don’t keep up with the news much, do you, ma’am?” The bald man with some stubble asked.

She was getting dizzy from looking back and forth figuring out who’s talking.

“Are you busy, ma’am?” The one closest to her scooted over, patting the spot next to him. “Wanna sit and chat for a bit? If we tell you what we are, could you tell us more about this Corellian red rose?”

2

Bly, Gree, Monnk, Fox—May didn’t even bother to list all their names. These guys multiplied like cockroaches, if she had to remember all of them, she might as well grow a third pair of lekku as a new brain. The clones met each other at the bar whenever they had the chance, but that classic eight-man group never gathered in full again. There always had to be someone not on Coruscant but on the latest battlefront being broadcast on the holonews. May was still having a hard time to believe that these clueless beans were what the senators on the surface called the fist of the Republic. In fact, when you think about it, putting all your hope of not getting kidnapped to serve gasolines in some droid bars in the hands of a bunch of idiots who thought grandpa was a genre of holomovies was a pretty idiotic thing to do itself.

They brought in new guys, and those guys brought in even more newer guys. That was when May realised that the same people who had spent hours pestering her about natborn courtship rituals were actually some sort of officers in their field. It felt weird watching one group of identical dorks following after another group of identical dorks calling them commanders. Unlike their COs, these captains, sergeants, and privates were stiff as hell, standing at attention like making mission reports when they ordered drinks. As long as they weren’t passed out drunk, they would even clean up the tables and take out their trash before leaving. May wanted to tell them to loosen up a little before they scared off the other customers, but there were no other customers left to be scared off before she could realise it. The Humans, Trandoshans, Ithorians, and all other sentients you’d expect in an underground bar had started avoiding this place entirely.

At least May’s boss was happy enough. The Republic didn’t pay its troopers, so they were still sharing drinks and never tipped. But they also had no sense of time, the bar was now always crowded with armoured men no matter time. Little money added up, and their revenue shot way higher than before. The boss had been advertising around to hire stuff for the early shifts, but just like the customers, there weren’t many bartenders eager to share their space with clones. May had been working crazy lately, slept for eight hours in the past three days. However, as the lucky one who had made the OG eight decide to stick around, she got a fat raise out of it. So she decided she could tolerate them.

“Ma’am.” Ponds grinned and flicked two fingers in greeting, Cody tilted his head at her. Four clones she’d never met sat down beside them, all wearing those lizard-like dumbass collars. It meant they were at least lieutenants? May hadn’t figured out the logic behind the troopers’ limited fashion choices yet.

“Evening.” She smiled back, tossing her lekku behind shoulders and pulling out the datapad from her apron. “Bakuran bitters and bloody rancor.” Ponds and Cody both nodded. “And for the new guys?”

“Uh.” Said the green trooper with slicked-back hair. His collar-buddies snickered.

“Get him the most expensive shit you have here, ma’am.” The trooper with ridiculously complex tattoos smirked widely. “Howzer’s getting promoted!”

Across from him, a clone with a blond buzz cut reached out to point at the price on top of the menu. Tattoo guy winced.

“I got this, you useless di’kute.” Sitting beside the blonde was a silver-haired trooper with the same shade of orange as Cody’s painted on her armour. Their heads were gleaming under the disco ball light like two credit ingots. “Made a killing selling titty pics on the holonet.”

“You what?”/“Thanks, Judith!”/“Cool, can I buy some?” Blonde, tattoo guy, and May spoke at the same time.

“I think your ears are working just fine, Rex. You’re welcome but I’ll make you pay me back someday, just wait for it, Keeli. If you stick one of those tiny paper umbrellas in my drink like they do in the holoshows, I’ll give you a discount, sweetheart.” Judith answered them one by one. Cody buried his face into his hands. She winked at him.

“Captain Howzer will take his first assignment on Ryloth.” Ponds flicked the green trooper-Howzer’s collar as May returned with a tray of drinks. He looked awkward. “Can’t say too much, but any dining etiquette we should learn about? Can’t have the kid embarrassing the GAR.”

“I wanna learn too,” said Keeli. “General Di always say Ryloth’s a good place. Should pay it a visit when the war’s over.”

“Oh, so you see a random Twi’lek on the street and just assume she’s from Ryloth?” May shifted her weight, setting a hand on her hip.

“Uh, no, it’s just that your accent—” Ponds spluttered.

“What about it?” She raised her eyebrows.

“I think what he means is—” Cody stepped in, but May burst out laughing before he could finish. The both of them looked thoroughly confused and disturbed.

“I am from Ryloth, trooper.” She grinned, revealing all her canines, Ponds curled up a bit. “This is payback for last time. I’m petty.”

“Gimme your frequency, I’m giving you a lifetime membership.” Judith suddenly declared in the stunned silence. Rex elbowed her in the armpit.

3

Keeli never came back. He and his General Di died defending May’s homeworld. One of May’s cousins said she had seen him fighting side by side with the Syndullas. Cody said Judith wouldn’t be returning either. She didn’t wake up after 18 hours in the bacta tank. The senators on the surface signed the Disposal Confirmation of Damaged Properties.

Cody was sitting alone in the corner, holding the last half-bottle of Chandrilan Blue ’439 that Judith had kindly paid for last time, when he told May that. His eyes bloodshot. Ponds had already headed to the next battle.

May cried the whole night in the shared bathroom of her broken-ass apartment 200 levels underground at the not-so-dignified videos Judith had sent her in the chat.

4

Four rookies sat stiffly in a row at the bar—May now knew that only troopers freshly off of Kamino would wear such shiny white armours. And they sure acted that way: eyes darting around fidgeting in their seats, looking like they might jump up and start saluting at any moment.

Across from them inside the bar was their own rookie, purple little thing with hoofs called Melina. May’s boss disappeared several weeks ago. Sitting in his office now were a smug Senate aide and a red-armoured clone. The former had barely stepped inside the bar before pinching his nose and barking orders for the staff to deep-clean it, muttering about the two billion allergens floating in the air; the latter awkwardly nodded at everyone who waved their mop at him asking him to move over. They’ve taken over the bar—clearly by order of the Senate. May didn’t ask where the boss had gone. He surely was alive and well somewhere in the galaxy—what kind of Weequay would he be without survival skills? Then arrived Melina, stepping in as the new bartender when Jakoian followed the boss away. Rumor had it she was from Kamino, homeworld of all clones, though she clearly wasn’t a trooper. She even had flapping furry ears. Some monk from the Jedi Temple had slipped her onto the payroll, which May found a little unfair—she and most of other staff had to go through an entire round and a half of interviews to get hired, and every drink made by Melina came with this weird shade of purple!

Good news was the troopers didn’t care about such details. There was nothing they wouldn’t drink. May suspected that even if it was massiff piss in the glass they’d just wonder why today’s stuff’s a bit stronger than usual. 79’s had officially become the lowest-barrier-to-entry workplace in the galaxy. Now, watching the rookie bartender and the rookie troopers yelling I don’t understand whatcha saying at each other with the same accents, she just wanted to sigh.

One of the troopers fished the celery stick out of his dragon juice and gave it an experimental lick. She actually sighed.

What was worse than the rookies were the rookies getting picked on. Other troopers kept kicking their stools as they passed by, snickering as the purple drinks spilled onto their chests.

“Who let the Wanker Squad in? Can’t escape their pathetic whines even here at the bar, it’s making me sick,” one of the other rookies pretentiously covering his nose as his friends smirked maliciously.

“Kriff off, ’32. We can go wherever we want,” one of the pathetic rookie squad members—even the lengths of their flat tops were identical, May honestly couldn’t tell any of them apart — flipped the bird.

“What did you say, weirdo?” ’32 bared his teeth. “I say you don’t even deserve to leave Kamino. General Ti must’ve been out of her mind. Who knows if you two weren’t—”

The four pathetic rookies and one Melina jumped up at the same time. May nervously turned to call for the bouncers, when two clones in blue armours squeezed past her.

“Good evening, I couldn’t help but overhear your conversation.” The trooper with a goatee grinned widely as he casually draped an arm over ’32’s shoulder. ’32 glanced at his lizard collar and his face paled instantly. “What should we do now? It’s our holy saviour that you’re disrespecting.”

The other trooper stood next to ’32. Same lizard collar, same skirt, a blue handprint emblazoned on his chest. The dark visor staring ominously at him.

“S-sirs!” ’32 snapped to attention and saluted. “I didn’t mean anything by it—”

“Oh I don’t think that’s didn’t mean anything by it,” the goateed clone patted his cheek. “What does the reg say about disrespecting superior officers, Echo?”

“3G.A.R.C.47, Article 89,” Echo recited, “Anyone who shows disrespect to superior officers shall be punished according to a military tribunal’s ruling.”

“Ha! That’s the one. But I was magnanimous enough to stop you from saying something irreparable.” Said the goatee guy. “I want you to run 79 laps around 79’s, and then, with all your gratitude to me, head back to the barracks and don’t let me see you here again for a week.”

“Yessir!” ’32 saluted again before starting walking away dejectedly.

“Double time!” Goatee guy shouted at his back. “You’re not taking a vacation!”

’32’s friends also saluted, scrambling to follow him.

“Wow, thanks, sirs,” said the brave rookie who flipped ’32 the bird.

“Buy us a drink and we’re even,” goatee guy waved dismissively, “I’m almost having flashbacks. Standing in the corner watching the Bravo Squad show off their balls feels like just yesterday, and now we’re sirs. Where did all the time go, Echo?”

Echo took off helmet, revealing his own standard-length flat top. His thick eyebrows furrowed in disapproval. “You should’ve written a report to his CO instead of punishing him on your own, Fives.”

“Who would’ve thought this ARC armour would be so intimidating?” Said Fives, “Who would’ve thought I’m not a saint who doesn’t abuse his power?”

His friend rolled his eyes and didn’t respond.

“I’m Titmouse,” the brave rookie said, taking the chance of the conversation. “This is Frank, Chamber, and Ranter. What can we get you, sirs?”

“Nice to meet you guys. Grumpy dude here’s Echo. I was going to say just call me Fives, but on second thought, I really enjoy being sir, so please, feel free to say it a few more times,” Fives said as he sat next to Ranter, who took an excited breath. “Get me a Captain’s Special. Who knows, maybe it will get me promoted again to captain and move into Rex’s en-suite.”

“Where should Rex sleep then?” Echo asked him.

“En-suites come with private freshers, what kind of monster you think I am?” Said Fives. “Now, which shiny wants to hear the story of the legendary Domino Squad and its saviour?”

5

Four troopers lined up in front of May like a wall, all wearing sweaters that were bright pink in an oddly familiar way she couldn’t quite place. She had to crane her neck to look up at them, the sequins on their sweaters sparkled blindingly in her peripheral vision. Never heard of social distancing, these clones.

“Ma’am,” said their leader, “do you have a booth that can accommodate a repulsorlift chair?”

Like a pair of doors swinging open, they stepped aside to reveal a fifth trooper behind them.

Sitting in the repulsorlift chair was another clone with two streaks of red hair, half his face covered in words tattooed in a language May didn’t recognise, his legs were missing from the knees down. He was in his armour, but over it was the same sweater as his friends, embroidered with “SURVIVOR” in Aurebesh. He gestured a few signs to May that she couldn’t even begin to understand.

“Survivor says he doesn’t want to… cause any inconvenience?” said the trooper with a faint scar under his left eye that was only visible from this distance. His sweater read “RANTER.” “If you have a foldable… bird… toilet—what?”

“If you have a spare storage room, he can park the chair there,” the trooper with three yellow stripes tattooed on his scalp (“CHAMBER”) translated quietly.

“Survivor’s trying to blend GAR tactical hand signals with basic sign language, Ranter hasn’t been paying attention,” their leader (FRANK was literally the most boring clone name) ruffled Chamber’s hair approvingly as he spoke.

“I missed ONE session because I was helping the general!” Ranter protested indignantly.

The names sounded familiar. May glanced at the “TITMOUSE” on the last trooper’s chest and things suddenly clicked. “Wait, you’re that rookie squad from last time! The ones almost got bullied!”

“Owie, that’s harsh,” Titmouse clutched his chest and the letters on it. “Rookies? We’re now the core members of the 29th Thunderbird Company!”

“More like the only members,” Frank rolled his eyes. “Ma’am, about the chair…?”

May looked at Survivor, whose brown eyes gazed back at her with heartbreaking innocence. A sudden unease crept up her spine.

She had never seen a clone this badly wounded before. Troopers like him usually just disappeared on Kamino, left behind them a number on the property disposal lists and the tears of their brothers after three bottles of Corellian Whiskey. That was how they had lost Judith. Maybe that explained his name: the unfortunate survivor of this massive slave exploitation operation.

Neither the previous owner nor the current management had ever considered installing accessible facilities, as it was never necessary. And now these troopers who were made to die for them were asking her for space for a wheelchair. The elegant professors on the surface would be clutching their pearls over this barbarity, she thought, and a flash of anger surged in her chest. Her classmates were scattered across the galaxy talking justice into people’s heads, while she remained in the same spot, doing nothing and completely helpless against the most urgent yet unspoken problems of the war.

She suddenly wanted to scream, to collapse onto the floor, to storm into the senate building and strangle every one of those high-and-mighty politicians. But the troopers were still waiting. Smiles growing stiff, the awkwardness deepening with every passing second.

She rubbed her face, turned around, and shoved a booth’s seating aside to clear the space without a word. The softie uni graduate version of herself from one year ago could never have done this, but an entire year of tray carrying had injected some strength into those noodle arms after all. She wiped the greasy feel off on her apron. “Please have a seat, honoured not-rookie-anymores.”

Titmouse let out a cheer and slid first into the booth, the others following in succession. Ranter carefully maneuvered Survivor’s repulsorlift chair up to the table before turning awkwardly to Maybel and handed her a card.

“Miss Mayia-zyondennurravayblex, General Bou gave me this. She said she’s covering our tab tonight.”

“Bou?” May yelled. “My great-aunt is buying you drinks?”

“What’s a great-aunt?” someone whispered.

Ranter shrugged, equally confused. “I asked the same question, she didn’t answer. But she did spend half an hour training me to pronounce your name correctly, hope I got it right.”

At least May solved one problem: she finally figured out why that pink of their sweaters looked so damn familiar.

6

A year into the war, May had met enough clones to confidently call herself a kinda-expert on the GAR. Sure, she didn’t know the difference between battalions and regiments and she still wasn’t sure if that deecee17 was just a curse or an actual weapon. But 365 standard days of seeing what was essentially the same man in slightly different variations over and over again had forced her to start noticing the patterns.

Wolffe’s boys were both fierce and artistic at the same time. You could find the most unhinged bastards that were best at pretending to be normal in the 212nd. The red-armoured Coruscant Guard looked more like clones of their commander than of Fett himself—same attitude, same perpetual scowl, only ever appeared in packs either early in the morning or late into the night as the other clones whispered behind them. For all their attempts at individuality, the lifelong barrack life had already shaped them into some kind of collective personalities—and nothing had ever truly separated clones from one another, after all. They bared the same numbers of teeth when laughing, curved their brows at the same angles when brooding; same slang spread across every legion, same batch of rookies always chose similar armour patterns. After 365 days of all this, May started staring at her reflection in the mirror, suspecting her own brows were growing into those square, thick shapes too.

That was why she immediately noticed something was off about the boy sitting in the corner—not just because he was a boy.

Judging by the clone growth rate, he couldn’t be older than six (why did she automatically calculate in clone standard? She really needed a vacation), tiny enough to be lifted by the armpits and shook for a few times. He would have been kicked out on Ryloth or any of the other thousands of planets, but he’s now in Coruscant’s underground levels, and the bouncers at the door would only think he was a particularly overgrown adult Anzellan.

May had heard that some outstanding clone cadets were selected to leave Kamino early and get a firsthand look at the galaxy they would defend with their lives one day. She didn’t think he was one of them. He had the face of a clone, but was wearing Mandalorian armour. He had been silently judging everything around him for hours, wary eyes flickered over every trooper that passed by and then snapped away; features twisted in a way that was just…wrong, something between smelling fart and sorrow. May had never seen such complicated emotions on a clone before. Other clones, they could only process about 1.03 kinds of emotions at a time, saying them out loud immediately unfiltered.

If she had to guess, May would say he wasn’t a clone at all. Thire’s second cousin, maybe, definitely not someone who grew up in a sterile lab. But he didn’t seem to have any bad intentions either. May didn’t get paid enough to make it her problem anyways.

“You did at least give him non-alcoholic stuff, right?” May asked as she passed by Melina.

A while back, under her oh-so-kind-it-was-almost-unsettling insistence, Melina had convinced May to move out of her tiny brokenass apartment and into the dorm she converted from a storage room behind the bar. It wasn’t much better—she had to fight hoofs for blankets, bargain early morning unisex ‘fresher use with seven Coruscant Guards who never seemed to leave, and stare at the Fives graffiti someone from the 501st had left on the door panel every time she took a piss. But at least she no longer had to deal with the lingering smell of death sticks in the turbolift or the corrosive liquid her idiot neighbours kept dumping into the pipes. Their relationship had progressed rapidly as a result. May would sometimes bring ice cream back to their now-shared little dorm, where they’d lounge on the bed watching Nar Shaddaa’s Ultimate Culinary Battle: Carnivore Edition while Melina complained about the first boyfriend of her goat life. It also meant they started to chat with each other during shifts, instead of May standing at a distance watching Melina make purple drink after purple drink

“Ah, that’s Boba Fett,” Melina said the name like it’s the answer to every mystery in the galaxy. “He could spit acid out from his mouth, alcohol’s nothing compared to that.”

“Fett?” May echoed. “As in Jango Fett?”

This wasn’t the first clone she had known with a last name—the Skiratas had been in the bar before, and the legend passed by word of mouth among troopers, some Cut Lawquane. But a clone named Fett felt as strange as a Wookiee named Scaleback.

“He’s basically Fett’s son,” Melina mused. “Followed Dad around everywhere, pressed up against the glass staring at us lab clones. Heard he disappeared after Fett died, guess he ended up on Coruscant. I knew it was him the second he opened his mouth.”

The clones’ Prime was beheaded in a desert arena by Ponds’ general. They spoke of it with awe as if it were ancient Tusken tribes taking down the great krayt dragon, even though according to Davijaan, the clone army arrived a full thirty minutes after Fett’s head hit the ground and none of them had actually witnessed it happen. However, if the man’s kid was there, May couldn’t think of a worse kind of childhood trauma.

That explained the way he looked at the other clones.

“Sounds like he needs a social worker, not a drink,” said May. “But I feel like if I said that out loud, he’d bite my nose off.”

Melina shrugged noncommittally. So May turned back to work, leaving Boba Fett behind her mind.

But the boy kept coming back. He always took the same spot in the corner, ordered the same drink, never spoke to May or the other servers, and glared at anyone who so much as glanced in his direction. The older clones had already recognised him and were dedicated to avoiding eye contact; but the younger ones who were freshly off of Kamino still believed he was some runaway cadet, and every once in a while some of them would come up and try to ruffle his hair, congratulating him on how well he had mastered the survival skills. That was when he’d freeze up before snapping, baring his teeth and snarling them off.

May was 95% sure he was trying to grieve his father by being around his clones, but it wasn’t working out. She had never met old Fett, but judging by the way clones talked about him, there wasn’t much in common between he and his three million carbon copies. Young Fett was clearly starting to realise that, too. He grew desperate and restless, more and more frustrated with each passing day; that rage, unmatched by his age, carved deeper lines into his face, weighing down his young shoulders.

May felt bad. She didn’t know why he looked like he was on his way to some death mission everyday, just like she had no idea where he went after leaving the bar each night. Monsters ready to swallow people whole hid in the shadows of Coruscant, she just hoped she wouldn’t see his dead body lying in syringes on the street. Finally, after five days in a row of Boba’s brooding presence, May made up her mind to ask if he needed help. She knew several good doctors, the kind who wouldn’t piss people off with candy-box psychology tests, and a few qualified social workers. Even if it meant getting her nose bitten off, she figured it was worth a shot.

But she was caught up by a group of troopers who suddenly started projectile vomiting after drinking something God knows what. By the time she finished dealing with the mess, she turned back just in time to catch the moment the boy switching off his comms. A flash of blue light flickered, he put on his hood and left in a hurry. That was the last time May saw Boba Fett.

Half a month later, one evening, May sleepily walked into the work area for her night shift. Her steps came to a halt after passing three groups of clones huddled together whispering to each other, hands still tying her apron as her numb brain finally processed what it had just heard.

They were all talking about the same thing: the death of Commander Ponds. He was killed by Prime’s son Boba.

7

Sometimes May felt like the universe was laughing at the clones.

A week after Ponds’ death, Judith was back.

Three rounds of drinks in—sponsored by May’s Jedi great-aunt—the core members of the 29th Thunderbird Company had poured their hearts out to May, lamenting their greatest fear in painful detail: their new CO and the rest of the company were set to arrive soon. As the last five survivors of the now-defunct 934th Attack Battalion, they had always thought that Survivor stuck around simply because he had no other choice. The moment new options became available, he would abandon them without hesitation, join the normal soldiers who weren’t weirdos like them and leave.

“A toast to our last moments together! May Survivor not roll his eyes too hard when he sees us outcasts in the mess hall in the future.”

By then, Survivor had already been fitted with metal legs and a vocal implant, yet he still instinctively talked through sign language, gesturing frantically on the side aggrieved. As the other poor bastard frequently slandered by Ranter for not being much of a talker, Chamber gave him a sympathetic pat on the shoulder and slid the glass into his hand.

The next time they showed up, no one would have called them outcasts. Quite the opposite—Wanderer Squad entered into the bar right in the middle of a big crowd, their bright pink armour still stood out jarringly in the dim light. May glanced at them once. Then again. Then she realised the silver head leading them from the front looked familiar.

The new CO of the 29th Thunderbird Company was Judith. She had lost an eye, face now covered in tattoos. One half of her armour was blackened with scorch marks, as the other was also painted pink. One of her vambraces was missing, the uncovered right arm gleamed with the sheen of metal.

She looked like a scrapped battle droid crawled back straight from hell.

The pink clones pushed a few empty booths together and crowded into them shoulder to shoulder. Judith sat down on Frank’s lap. As May walked over with her datapad, she noticed that almost every one of them had at least one cybernetic part attached to their bodies. She could never figure out exactly what great-aunt Bou got up to in the temple upstairs—but this time, she thought she had a pretty good idea.

Judith looked up at May. Her once long silver hair had been shaved into a mohawk, burn scars faintly visible beneath her blue tattoos. May and Frank beneath her blushed at the same time.

“Wow,” said May. “No idea what happened, but happy rebirth.”

“Thanks.” Judith smiled. “Hope you didn’t change your frequency, I’ll start updating again next week.”

The Thunderbird Company’s party lasted all night. May glanced back one last time when she clocked out at dawn, just in time to see Rex and Howzer remove their helmets and sit down beside Judith.

8

A massive search happened on Coruscant.

Such thing happened frequently enough here that it should not have caused much of a stir, but dozens of fully armed shock troopers stormed into 79’s, holding stun guns and a wanted poster for a specific clone. Never had a clone committed a crime grave enough to be wanted, all the clones who weren’t on the poster were terrified.

All the staff was gathered together to identify whether they had seen the guy in the holopic that night. May froze at the tattoo on his temple and the goatee on his chin.

It was Fives.

She shook her head in denial, but out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of a staggeringly similar goatee heading toward the ‘fresher, sneaking glances around nervously. She had no idea what Fives had done this time, but it must have been something much worse than public nudity. But he was also the one who knocked out the junkie who had been whistling at May in the alley. For some reason, May turned around and pointed to the other side of the bar, saying she knew he liked to dance over there. That part was true enough; she just hoped Fives wasn’t that crazy to slide into the dance floor with his posters all over the bar. The troopers thanked her and headed in that direction, not noticing her trembling lips and knotted lekku.

May hoped they didn’t catch Fives.

9

No one ever heard from Fives again. But no news is good news, right? May asked Melina as she stirred the drink she made her absently. Melina buried her face deeper into her red scarf without answering, so May shut up too. Selling a lie that even herself wouldn’t buy felt stupid.

She remembered Fives’ favourite drink was Naboo Sunset, because, well, the sunsets on Naboo are really beautiful, I’ve seen them with my own eyes. She remembered Fives’ brother, he died two years ago. So many had died. Keeli, Ponds, Echo, Thorn. Legends say that Twi’leks born on Ryloth become spirits after they die, wandering the sands of the Jixuan Desert. May wondered where would clone spirits go. They didn’t even have a place they were willing to call home. May chewed her straw gloomily.

Not that she was slacking off; it was just the bar had been much emptier lately. Clones were being recalled to the upper levels, Kamino, and all sorts of places, standing by for orders, because the war was over. Thousands of systems were celebrating on the holonews from millions of lightyears away; people cheering, fireworks bursting, music playing for the rise of the new government and the arrival of the promised peace. But Coruscant had never truly experienced the war. Kidnappings and terrorist attacks happened in daily basis, never decreasing in frequency or increasing in intensity because of the distant threat of the Separatists. The capital people had always been too busy with their own business to worry about anything else, so the latest development barely made a ripple. A few nearby shops hung up Imperial banners, and that was it — and even that was just to curry favour with those Senate aides who had recently started making sudden visits, rather than the newly crowned Emperor Palpatine himself sitting comfortably in the throne upstairs.

The new Empire wasn’t a fan of Jedi — that much, May knew. The Jedi Rebellion has been crushed, read the headlines, accompanied by images of the Temple billowing with thick smoke. Senate aides, flanked by the Coruscant security force and clone squads, swept the entire planet for any remaining insurgents, kicked into 79’s five times within a week, rounding up all the staff for questioning. It was because the Jedi brats used to love this place. The older Padawans would sneak down to the lower levels in packs, getting a taste of the worldly pleasures forbidden by the Jedi Code. And ever since the clones had taken over the bar, 79’s had become one of the few spots their masters were willing to turn a blind eye to. The bouncers threw their hands up in surrender at their braids, the bartenders happily accepted their meagre tips, and the clones crowded around them, competing to see whose little commander could down the most Calamari Xinphar in one go before forming volunteer escort squads to make sure they were safely back at the Temple by midnight. But those days were gone. May hadn’t seen Zett Jukassa in ages, or that always gloved Kestis. That’s exactly what she told them. She never could have imagined snot-nosed little nerds like them taking part in a rebellion. Nobody knew how deeply the Jedi had rotted. We were all deceived, said the aide.

As someone personally placed in the bar by the Jedi, Melina was taken to separate rooms for questioning every single time, scratches and anger all over her face when she came out. Then one day she just disappeared. No words, no notes, her luggage was still there, the only thing missing was the scarf she always wore. May had no idea if she had finally been arrested, and there was no one to ask. She tentatively sent a few messages to Bou but received no reply, nothing to do but nervously deleting the chat, couldn’t even let the thought of her being dead cross her mind. The clones she was familiar with stopped visiting either. All of May’s friends were gone.

Grey finally reappeared at the bar several weeks later. She hesitated for a while, but still asked him about his commander, that Dume kid who always followed him around. He sharply interrupted before she could even finish her sentence, “Discussing the Jedi is an act of treason, ma’am.”

The entire room fell silent at his words, dozens of identical eyes staring at May, silent and alert. She swallowed hard, for the first time in her life understanding why other natborns found that face creepy.

“Sorry, I didn’t know,” she replied awkwardly. “He also participated in the rebellion?”

No one answered, and she fled in panic. The newly formed Imperial Security Bureau knocked on her door just a few hours later. Suspected of maintaining contact with a fugitive, deliberately concealing the fugitive’s whereabouts, and openly discussing treasonous topics, with every word her eyes widened further. The absurdity of the accusations was almost hilarious, and just before she could start to argue, they slammed her against the wall, cuffed her, and shoved her into the enforcement shuttle.

“There must be a misunderstanding, Stone. Which one of your men is being dramatic? Should try their hand at the Galaxies Opera House when they retire,” she shook her head as she spoke to the clone in front of her, still trying to maintain her professional server smile. “You know me, I mess up everything, no one would trust me to join even if I actually wanted to rebel.”

“Are you admitting to having treasonous intentions, Miss Gin?” Stone’s tone was as flat as ever, the only constant in this entire shitshow, though it offered no comfort whatsoever.

“W-what?? That’s not what I said! What the kriff, Stone?”

Stone scoffed, turning his face toward the viewport without responding.

May hadn’t been on the surface in a long time and had forgotten how blinding natural sunlight could be. Her eyes watered the moment the shuttle ascended out of the tube, and then the tears just wouldn’t stop. The helplessness of losing contact with friends and the regret of not having resigned and gone home earlier flooded her heart. She sobbed pathetically, asking Stone for tissue to wipe her nose. But he simply stared at her without saying a word, so she started wailing.

She was thrown into a drunk tank in Coruscant Police Department, where she was felt up by two dizzy Zeltron women, followed by two whole days of enduring the annoying singing of a hyperactive Pa'lowick choir. Then she was isolated in a more heavily guarded cell in a neighboring building. No one came to interrogate her. And honestly, even if they had, she wouldn’t have been able to answer a single question. There was nothing in the cell but a surveillance camera and a toilet. The meals were delivered in trays by guards holding guns, and she could only track the passage of time based on this. They had no personal markings on their armours and never respond to anything she said, so she had no idea if it was the same two people every time. A week later, she had gone through the all five stages of grief, overcome her fear of having her nails pulled out during interrogation, and began shaking the bars of her cell, shouting for someone to bring her a magazine.

No one answered, naturally. But she realised the camera was turned off when she woke up on the cold floor on the tenth day.

May stood up and pressed her face between the bars, trying to get as close as possible for a better look, unsure if she had finally started to have hallucinations after being caged for so long. The gate in the distance opened with a clank. She jumped back to the corner, afraid that the guards who came to deliver food on schedule would interpret her weird action as not only treasonous but also an escape attempt.

But today, the guards didn’t have trays in their hands. Before May could start worrying if she was finally being taken to her execution, they removed their helmets, revealing silver hair and black tattoos.

“General Bou gave you 60 seconds to make a choice,” Judith said. “Do you want to squeeze into a ship packed with 127 rogue clones and 1 traitorous Jedi and leave Coruscant, or rot here until they catch her?”

“Stone’s holding me as bait to draw out my distant great-aunt? He might as well try Chamber instead,” was May’s instinctive answer.

“55 seconds left. Titmouse can only keep the surveillance access for this long,” Survivor reminded her.

“What? Okay, okay, I choose the first one. Get me out of here, I never want to eat that nutrient paste anymore.” She eagerly clung to the bars again.

“Tell me about it.” Judith smirked, skilfully taking off a familiar-looking silver cylinder out of her gunstock. “Bou lent me this. Move back a bit, I’m still getting the hang of it.”

May complied, running toward her future of a fugitive.

Melina belongs to @lepplum and Chamber belongs to @vale24601

[ghouljams]

I really appreciate you reblogging that post about how difficult it is to quit an addiction. I myself am currently struggling with a sugar/caffeine addiction, and I drink way too much coke cola (and if I can't get my hands on some, energy drinks). It's nice to be reminded that it's not just me who is constantly thinking about how good it would feel to have juuust a little more, even if I said I would stop. I've tried to quit it multiple times, and each failed attempt disheartens me greatly and makes me feel weak willed, even if I rationally know everyone battling an addiction has those moments.

Sugar addictions often aren't treated as seriously as the "scary" drugs or smoking, but it's just as damaging to your health and difficult to quit, especially when the human brain is hardwired to want sugary, fatty foods. I hope one day to be strong enough to resist those cravings and get my health back on track.

You can become addicted to anything that makes you feel good. People are getting addicted to AI chat bots for god's sake, it doesn't even have to be quality stuff as long as it gives you that rush of dopamine it can reel you in. Now, some things are better designed to addict you, drugs and alcohol, sugar and caffeine, but that doesn't mean you aren't still getting that good feeling. Even if you don't get it every time, even if you only get that hit the first time, humans will chase that first high for the rest of their lives. It's the reason people stay in abusive relationships, things will never be as good as they were at the start but there's this silent promise that they might be.

Anyone can become addicted to anything. And I'm not saying that to scare anyone, but more to make the point that no one is above addiction. Addiction is not a moral failing, or a weakness, it's a human survival tactic. We want the thing that makes us feel good, that keeps the loneliness at bay, that stops us from feeling bad things even if they do that by keeping us from feeling anything at all. Our brains want that dopamine shot, even when reasonably we know whatever is giving us that shot is bad for us.

Getting past an addiction is hard no matter what that addiction is. I try to tell people that they need to find something to redirect that craving towards. For one of my loved ones we're working on finding a painting class and a book club because they've realized that a lot of their relapsing comes from feeling lonely. For you, maybe having a chew fidget would help, or keeping fruit on hand, or (if you're like me) purging your house of all sugary snacks. I can't keep sugar in my house or I'll eat it, so I don't buy it. It sucks, I want it, but I know myself and I know that the best way to keep myself from doing something is to try and remove as much temptation as possible.

It's much harder for me to justify leaving my house to go get candy than it is for me to get up and get a chocolate from the pantry. Or if I really want a sweetie, I have to figure out making it myself. Which means I can try and figure out a healthier option to make. Idk it's a long road, and something like sugar/caffeine/alcohol is so ingrained in our society that it feels impossible to avoid.

I have a friend who used heroin (now clean, I'm so proud of her) and she always said the hardest part of recovery was giving a shit about herself. She said there was always going to be part of her that wanted to use, so she had to make the rest of her louder, had to find reasons to care enough not to go back to her old habits. She got a lot of tattoos during her recovery, reconnected with her mom.

Not to say that addicts don't care about themselves, or that you don't care about yourself, I always thought she meant it more in the way of a parent caring for a child. You know, you don't let kids do something just because they want to because you care about keeping them safe. In the same way you sort of have to parent yourself. Say you've got sugar at home even though you don't, promise you'll make yourself donuts and then quit as soon as you get home because you don't want to boil oil. Learn to make croissants and then never make them again because they're such a fucking hassle. idk

You're not weak because you have trouble telling yourself no, people generally have trouble with that. You're just a person trying to listen to your body. It's just too bad your body isn't always a great judge of what's good for it.

[nananti]

lessons of love — park wonbin

୨ৎ pairings. tutor!wonbin x reader genre. fluff wc … 521

warnings. wrote in lowercase (sorry)

💬 — nananti talks. happiest birthday wonbin! i really hope he enjoys his birthday despite everything that’s been happening cause he deserves it, and happy wonday to anyone who celebrates it! (੭´͈ ᐜ `͈)੭ guys wonbin is 23… like- but anyways i hope you all enjoy this! and as always please excuse any grammatical errors and or punctuation mistakes.

bookshelf 📓

❀˖°

you never wanted a tutor. you were perfectly fine scraping by in calculus with half-understood notes and late-night cramming. but then they walked in-your new tutor, effortlessly brilliant, with that quiet confidence that made even the most complicated equations seem easy.

at first, it was just studying. frustrated sighs over derivatives. wonbin’s patient voice guides you through each problem. but then you started noticing the little things-how his eyes lit up when you finally understood something, the way he absentmindedly twirled his pen when deep in thought, how he always remembered your coffee order.

you're both in a quiet library corner. your tutor, wonbin, sits across from you, tapping their pen against a calculus textbook. you're supposed to be solving a problem, but your brain is more focused on how unfairly attractive they look when they concentrate.

and suddenly, calculus wasn't the hardest thing to figure out anymore. because somewhere between limits and integrals, you started falling for them.

wonbin nudges your notebook before saying “you're staring at the page like it personally offended you, need a hint?” you snap out of it, “huh? oh. no, no, i-i got it. definitely got it!” wonbin raises an eyebrow “yeah? okay then. solve it.”

you glance down at the problem, panic setting in. “right. uhh... derivative of... wait.” you attempted to sound confident but you stuttering voice proved otherwise. he laughs with a slight smirk “you don't got it, but that’s why i’m here just ask for help!”

you groan, dropping your head on the table “why is calculus like this?” he laughs softly at your actions, “you’re doing fine!” “i’m not-” he cuts you off “you are, you know what the word derivative means so… that’s a start!” you groan slightly banging your head on the table.

“okay so let’s not do that,” he said with a light chuckle, sliding his hand under your forehead, his hands warm and soft, “here let's break it down. what's the first step?”

“falling in love with my tutor and hoping they solve it for me,” you mumble to yourself as you lift your head. he pauses “what…?”

you clear your throat sitting up straight, “what? nothing. i said, uh, something about… limits?” but nothing about the tone of your voice or body language was convincing. “no, i'm pretty sure that's not what you said.” wonbin said with a smirk, you speak without making any kind of eye contact. “you're hearing things, studying too much messes with your brain you know? but that's okay! it happens to the best of us.”

he chuckles lightly “right…”

“right!” you clear your throat “so uhm calculus! love that, what's next?” wonbin watches you with an unreadable expression “hmm, i think i should test you on this concept more, let’s see if you're really focused.”

you groan, “you're evil.”

“and yet, you keep coming back.” wonbin grins watching you put your head down.

you speak quietly, your voice below a whisper, “yeah… i do.”

the corner fills with silence. you're staring at your notes, but wonbin is still watching you. and somehow, calculus is the last thing on your mind.

© nananti. do not copy, re-upload or even translate my work without my permission. please and thank you!

[balkanradfem]

To make a pond + Earthworks!

I've been enamored by the idea that I could build my own pond in the future, but when I started looking into it (typing 'how to build a pond into youtube'), all people did was put a big plastic tarp into a landscape and add water inside. That wasn't what I wanted. I wasn't about to bring a plastic tarp in my environment, and it was obvious that once the tarp gets damaged and punctured, the water would drain into the soil and the pond would be no more. That's no fun.

Unable to immediately find a better way, I turned to my own brain to figure this out. There were natural ponds in the world, and somehow they didn't need a tarp to hold all that water in. Artificial lakes existed, and for sure there weren't any tarps holding the water in. Rivers don't drain easily, and they usually have a lot of sand on the bottom – but sand is a very drainable material, so that's probably not it.

I stumbled upon an interesting piece of information when I was learning about rocks. By some definitions, ice is also a type of rock, so there was a lesson on icebergs. I found out there that sometimes icebergs split apart and travel in the water, and when a huge chonk ends up in a non-icy landscape, it eventually melts and it turns into a lake. There were pictures of lakes that looked like they had no business being in that landscape, but were there because an iceberg had melted there. The water didn't drain or ran off, why? I assumed it was because the iceberg was so heavy it compacted the soil underneath, and the compacted clay was enough to hold the water in.

So I started playing with the idea that if I locate a soil with high percentage of clay, and then dig a pond, and then line the bottom with the highest-density clay I can find, and then I redirect all water from the landscape to go towards that pond, maybe I could make a little pond in there. Possibly it would dry out during the summer but for the rest of year, having a natural pond would be very nice. I wasn't sure if this logic would hold but then I also couldn't see why not. Clay doesn't drain easily and there's lots of it deep underground. I would grab a shovel and try.

I got an additional piece of information reading a book about collecting and filtering rainwater to make it drinkable; the book recommended before you do anything about this, you need to learn about 'Earthworks', a system of modifying the earth's surface to keep as much water in as possible, and to redirect it to where you want it. I immediately liked this, because I had already planned to do that, but I was interested in tried and true methods. So I looked it up, and one of the first videos I've found, was of people deciding to make a natural pond in the forest. They found the most dense clay-rich ground, dug to see if it was super dense and non-draining deep in. Then they created a dam to stop water from flowing past the pond, and redirected all rainwater that would fall into the forest, towards the pond. And it worked. It filled out within a month or two. It wasn't draining away.

I felt so vindicated, the logic I had put together in my head was real and I could see how other people did it in real life! And I learned about berms and swales; they're methods of making your ground uneven, so it could take in and hold more rainwater. Berms are little hills you make that have good drainage, and swales are shallow canals you make inbetween the hills; they hold the rainwater, stop it from flowing away from your property, and redirect it to where you want it to, for instance to irrigate a garden, fill a pond, or to water a big tree you want to grow.

The methods of keeping rainwater from evaporating are currently relevant, because the climate is getting unstable, and rain is no longer as consistent as it has been in the past. I've noticed that we now get tons of rain in the spring, winter and fall, but next to none in the summer, creating a drought. The forests and the animals feel it too; they struggle to survive the summer, and a lot of plants and animals die from lack of hydration, which they didn't need to deal with beforehand. There's also less ground covered by old resilient trees and foliage that keeps the water in the landscape; clean cutting forests means dry ground, water evaporating, streams and canals drying up, trees drying up because of no water supply.

The people who were building a pond in the forest were not doing it for fun and giggles; they noticed the natural streams of the forests have dried up as a result of cut areas and lack of consistent rain. The forest was in danger of drying up. So by building a system of swales (or trenches) to redirect rainwater, and ponds to store it, they've managed to revitalize parts of the forest. The forest around the pond was visibly greener within months, wildlife was multiplying around the pond where it could get water, new flowers and native plants were flourishing next to the pond.

Slightly modifying the landscape to keep water in is something people do to prevent the spread of deserts; digging half-moon shaped holes in the ground to hold water has enabled trees to grow even in the driest, sun-heated areas. I've been fascinated by the methods of growing trees in the desert! And right now we need to make sure other livable  green areas don't start turning into deserts, because the climate is threatening it, and the animals are unlikely to survive it all on their own.

And if you build a little pond, you're gonna have more birds in your backyard. There's gonna be little frogs and turtles and tiny critters coming to drink from your pond. Maybe a little lizard or a snake. You're gonna be able to plant flowers around it, your trees will be happy, and if you want a great big willow, she's going to enjoy that water too, and purify it with her roots. I'm still putting it together in my brain if I could make a little swampy area and plant rice in it, that would be the ultimate success.

[serenityluvz]

𝗘𝗻𝗵𝘆𝗽𝗲𝗻 𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗰𝘁𝗶𝗼𝗻: 𝗬𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗙𝗿𝗶𝗲𝗻𝗱𝘀 𝗪𝗶𝘁𝗵 𝗕𝗲𝗻𝗲𝗳𝗶𝘁𝘀 𝗮𝗻𝗱 𝗬𝗼𝘂'𝗿𝗲 𝗣𝗿𝗲𝗴𝗻𝗮𝗻𝘁

⋆𐙚₊˚ˢᵉʳᵉⁿⁱᵗʸᴸᵘᵛᶻ

Jay – "We’ll figure this out together, okay?"

Jay is shocked, but he pulls himself together fast. He might not have planned for this, but once he hears the news, he’s already thinking of solutions. There’s no hesitation—he’ll take responsibility, no matter what it means for your relationship. You’re trembling, barely able to meet his gaze. "Jay… I’m pregnant." He freezes, staring at you in disbelief. But after a moment, he exhales, running a hand through his hair. "Okay," he says, voice steady. "I mean—this is huge. But I’m not running away from it. We’ll handle this together." His eyes search yours, waiting for your reaction. If you’re scared, he’ll be there—no matter what happens between you both, he won’t abandon you.

Jake – "It’s my baby, too. I won’t let you go through this alone."

Jake’s first reaction is pure shock, but once reality sets in? He steps up. He might be terrified, but the thought of you doing this alone is worse. If you’re unsure about what to do, he’s ready to support whatever decision you make. "You’re… pregnant?" Jake repeats, blinking rapidly. You nod, looking away. You expect panic, maybe even rejection—but instead, he reaches for your hand, squeezing it gently. "I know we weren’t planning this," he says softly, "but I don’t care. If you want to keep it, I’m all in." His voice is firm—because the last thing he’ll ever do is walk away from you.

Heeseung – "…Guess I’m gonna be a dad, huh?"

Heeseung is silent at first, just staring at you like his brain short-circuited. He’s scared, but not because he doesn’t want this—he just doesn’t know if you do. Once he gets over the initial shock, he sighs, rubbing his face before finally looking at you. "Are you serious?" he asks, voice tight. You nod, gripping your sleeves. Heeseung exhales, running a hand through his hair before looking at you again—this time, his expression softer. "Alright," he finally says. "Tell me what you need from me. Whatever it is, I got you." Heeseung might not have seen this coming, but he’s not the type to walk away.

Sunghoon – "Shit… What do you want to do?"

Sunghoon panics. He’s not mad—just overwhelmed. He’s the type to need time to process things before giving you an answer, but the moment he sees how nervous you are, he forces himself to man up. He’s pacing, running a hand through his hair as he mutters curses under his breath. "This wasn’t supposed to happen," he says, voice shaking slightly. You feel your heart sink, but before you can respond, he stops pacing, turning to face you. "But… it did," he sighs. "And I need to stop being a coward about it. What do you want? I’ll do whatever it takes." It’s clear he’s scared, but he refuses to make you go through this alone.

Jungwon – "…I need a second."

Jungwon is young, and this kind of responsibility terrifies him. He’s responsible, sure, but this is big. He needs time to process it before giving you an answer—but one thing is clear: he won’t abandon you. "Jungwon, I’m pregnant." Silence. His eyes widen slightly, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard. He opens his mouth, then closes it again, rubbing his temples. "I just… need a second," he mutters, his voice strained. It takes a while for him to fully process, but when he finally speaks, his voice is softer. "I don’t know what happens next, but I’m not leaving you. I just… need to figure this out." It won’t be easy, but he’ll try.

Sunoo – "You’re… joking, right?"

Sunoo freaks out. Not because he’s a bad person, but because this is so much to take in. He’s the type to laugh nervously, not knowing how to react, before reality slams into him like a truck. "No way," he blurts out, staring at you in disbelief. "This isn’t real, right?" When you don’t respond, his breath catches. "Oh my God," he whispers, sinking onto the couch. His face is buried in his hands, and for a moment, he’s completely silent. It takes a while for him to come to terms with it, but in the end, he sighs, looking at you with serious eyes. "I don’t know what I’m doing," he admits. "But I swear, I won’t let you deal with this alone." He may be scared, but he cares—and that’s enough for him to start trying.

Ni-ki – "…No way. This isn’t happening."

Ni-ki completely shuts down. He’s young, reckless, and the last thing he expected was to deal with something this serious. His first reaction? Denial. His second reaction? Panic. He doesn’t know how to handle it, and it terrifies him. "I’m pregnant." Ni-ki stares at you, his body stiff. Then, he laughs—a nervous, disbelieving chuckle. "No. You’re messing with me, right?" he says, voice tight. "This can’t be real." When he sees your serious expression, his stomach drops. He doesn’t run, but he does shut down emotionally for a while. It takes time before he’s able to talk about it seriously, and even longer before he figures out what to do. But in the end? He won’t leave. He just needs time.

[jbuffyangel]

Hello Barry Allen: Arrow 2x08 Review (The Scientist)

It is bittersweet to remember how much I loved Barry Allen, before The Flash made me hate him with the fiery intensity of a thousand suns, but that’s a topic for another time. Let’s just enjoy this precious golden retriever who comes to Starling City to be the third point in an Olicity love triangle.

And y’all – I love me a good love triangle. Let’s dig in…

Olicity and Barry Allen

Full disclosure I did not know Barry Allen was The Flash when Grant Gustin guest starred on Arrow. I missed every foreshadowing moment of the forthcoming spinoff because I barely knew who The Flash was and really didn’t care.

The husband, of course, filled me in and oddly enough it didn’t tick off in my brain that they were pairing FELICITY SMOAK with one of the most famous comic book characters – a character even more popular than the Green Arrow. This is not something you do if the female character is simply comic relief. (No, I am never letting that Katie Cassidy comment go. Should I move on? Yes. Will I? No.) Season 2 Jen wasn’t that smart y’all. Bottom line, if Season 2 is a chess game, then Felicity Smoak’s pawn will become a queen. 

There is a break in a Queen Consolidated warehouse and this is where Oliver, Diggle, Captain Lance and Felicity first meet Barry Allen.

Lance: Who the hell are you?

This is one of Oliver’s all-time best comedic lines. Stephen Amell is bringing humor to Oliver’s blinding jealously, which is a lot of fun. It also offsets Oliver’s egomaniacal hypocrisy and makes him far more tolerable. Good choice, Mr. Amell!

Barry: I’m Barry Allen. I’m from the Central City Police Department. I’m with the Crime Scene Investigation unit. We’re working on a case with some similar unexplained elements to Central City. So, when the report of your robbery came over the wire, my captain sent me up here.

I bought his story. Oliver does not.

Barry is convinced it’s one guy who broke down a door of reinforced titanium and the security footage seems to support his theory. Also, the bruising pattern on the dead guard’s neck suggests someone used one hand to break it.

Barry: I’m guessing you don’t know how hard it is to break someone’s nec.

Oliver: Hmm? No. No idea.

Barry also figures out what was stolen – an industrial centrifuge (it separates liquid), which is a very big and heavy machine the thief ripped out of the ground.  Felicity offers some explanations, and Barry adds his two cents and soon these two adorable nerds are sparking off all the science.

Felicity: What did you say your name was?

Barry: Barry. Allen.

Felicity: Felicity. Smoak.

Source: @buffysummers

Barry looks at Felicity for about 1.2 seconds too long and Oliver gives him THE LOOK. Let’s keep those eyes on the centrifuge, Mr. Allen. I’m cackling. Jealous Oliver is one of the best Olivers.

The thing is Barry’s theories are based on evidence and Oliver is taking them very seriously because he knows exactly what can produce that kind of strength in one man.

Both Diggle and Felicity find additional evidence (and video footage!) that proves Barry Allen is dead on. The pup has some smarts! He arrives at Queen Consolidated at Felicity’s invitation. I just love that this young buck is popping up on Oliver’s turf and annoying the crap out of him.

Source: @oliver-and-felicity

Barry makes Felicity laugh and Oliver finds this puzzling. Felicity enjoys laughter and not a simmering pile of brooding man pain??!!

Felicity is socializing with another male. This cannot be born. Oliver gently pulls Felicity toward him, and more precisely away from Barry Allen, to ask a very important question.

Source: @kurtweller

The way Stephen’s voice rises to a full soprano is flat out hilarious. I accept no other interpretations.

Felicity accurately points out that forensic science is not really her thing, and she could genuinely use Barry’s help to figure out this latest mystery. Oliver agrees, and boy he is not happy about it, but all he can do is make sad puppy eyes as Felicity flounces off with her new “friend.”

Felicity and Barry gather evidence, and this is the first time Emily Bett Rickards has an equal sparring partner to banter with. The reason Barry and Felicity click so much is because they are basically the same person.  That said, inviting Barry into the home office is putting him precariously close to Oliver and team’s nighttime activities and, just like Felicity, Barry is no dummy. He’s done his research on The Vigilante, and it is safe to say that Barry Allen is a fanboy.

Source: @lyricalarrow

Barry: Green. That’s interesting, right? I mean, why green? Black would be better for stealth and urban camouflage, but personally I think that he trained in some sort of forest or jungle environment and the green is a nod to that.

I love Grant’s reading of this line because no detail is too small for Barry – he’s fascinated by Felicity’s attempt at monosyllabic. But more worrisome for Felicity is Barry, once again, is dead on.

Felicity: I don’t give the vigilante much thought.

Oh girl. You are so bad at lying.

Barry: Police reports show that he uses carbon arrows, but if he switched to an aluminum carbon composite, he would have far better penetration.

Source: @eddiethawne

This inadvertent sexual innuendo is almost as bad as “It feels really good having you inside me.”

Barry is also convinced that the vigilante has partners. Ok, so let’s just give the kid a job and call it a day. I do like that the writers acknowledge all the obvious things the police should figure out about the vigilante through Barry Allen’s obsessive fanboy investigation. In this way, I feel a kinship to him.

Felicity is curious as to why Barry is so curious, which gives us his character’s back story. His mother was murdered. They never caught the guy who did it and maybe the vigilante would. Barry Allen is looking for a hero. (SAD PANDA)

Barry and Felicity found the truck that stole the centrifuge, and it was just used to rob a blood bank. Oliver pressures Barry for more information about his “similar case” in Central City, but Barry is equally as bad of a liar as Felicity. Actually, he’s worse. Oliver is done with the close proximity to Felicity and the lies.

Oliver: I want you to look into this Allen kid. There’s more to him than he’s letting on.

Diggle: His intentions seem pretty clear to me.

This is why I love Diggle, and he will forever be the number one Olicity shipper. He will nudge Oliver about Felicity when necessary. This teasing remark is also a direct message to Oliver, without flatly calling him out. Barry is being clear about his feelings for Felicity and Oliver is not. Diggle lets Oliver know he has some competition and it’s time to get in the game. But Oliver, no matter how much he knows Diggle is right, is nowhere near ready to do that. Hence, his absolute dejection.

Source: @oliver-and-felicity

This is why Barry Allen is so necessary. It’s been quite a run of Olicity episodes thus far. First, we have the Russia debacle, with Oliver sleeping with Isabel and Felicity was hurt and jealous. Oliver also takes the opportunity to tell Felicity that even though he feels something for her he will never be with her. It’s a pretty definitive slamming of the door on any potential relationship between these two, except these feelings keep brimming to the surface.

Oliver heroically saves Felicity from the Count like a scene straight out of a romance novel. Nothing bonds two people like shared trauma. Oliver also tells Felicity that he will always choose her because nothing is more important to him. I mean honestly this man set the swoon standards.

But these are also some very frustrating episodes – for both Felicity and the viewers. He clearly has feelings for her, will die for her, will kill for her, betray his code for her, but refuses to be with her. So… where the hell does that put them? Oliver and Felicity are in a very murky gray zone.

Oliver knows Felicity wants to be with him. Even if she was trying to hide it (like she is in this episode).

Source: terushimasyuuji

The pain of the Russia debacle made Felicity’s feelings clear.  Even Oliver isn’t that stupid, which is what prompted the “I have feelings for you, but I’m going to let you down easy because I’m a selfless hero who is also the dumbest of pine trees to ever exist.” Of course, Oliver likes all Felicity’s attention and concern (because he’s in love with her even if he won’t freaking admit it). Whether they want to admit it or not, there is a serious power imbalance between the two of them. Oliver is calling all the shots.

But it's Felicity's life too. Felicity is asserting her independence with Barry. She is taking Oliver at his word. Ok, you don’t want to be with me? Fine. I will move on. Felicity isn’t trying to make Oliver jealous. In fact, I don’t think she notices he’s jealous at all. I think there’s a large part of her still feels, despite all the moments she’s shared with Oliver and the things he’s said, that he will never feel for her what she feels for him.

Felicity’s feelings for Barry are genuine, which is why it’s driving Oliver crazy. He’s been able to enjoy all the emotional benefits of a relationship with Felicity, without actually being with her. Barry Allen a big bucket of cold water on all the warm fuzzy feelings.  He’s also a flashing red warning sign. Oliver needs to understand there is a shelf life to all this “I must suffer because I am undeserving of love.” His trauma will cost him Felicity.  She will not wait forever for him. 

And there was some part of Oliver, deep down, that thought Felicity would wait forever for him. This is where the egotistical hypocrisy comes in. It’s okay for Oliver to have girlfriends and sleep with whoever he wants when he wants, but Felicity so much as looks at another man, and Oliver is ready to break his neck with his bare hands.

Felicity is a hot ticket. Some guy will absolutely cut in front of you to be with her. This is so Dawson Leary. Yuck. Take it away Pacey Witter.

Pacey: Look at that girl, Dawson. Just take a good look. She's a freaking goddess, man. How long did you think it was gonna be before some guy comes along and is interested in her? I mean, really, dude! And when that happens, what are you gonna do?

Dawson: I'm just gonna take it all as it comes.

Pacey: You're gonna take it as it comes. Oh great, well perhaps you should start figuring out right now because the guy that comes along is not gonna be your best friend and he's not gonna ask for your permission. The guy that comes along is gonna take one look at that woman and just cut right in on ya.

So, am I that bothered that Oliver gets the crap beaten out of him a couple times? Nah. Not really. He had it coming. Maybe the Mirakuru soldier can knock some sense into his concrete head.

Source: @olicitygifs

This was so overly dramatic. Oliver is an enormous man child with muscles. He’s not upset Felicity was a little rough with the medical tape. Didn’t this man use to suture his own bullet wounds, but he can’t handle Felicity’s soft womanly hands against a little scrape? Boy, please. He can’t yell at her about Barry, so he yells about her nursing skills.  

Oliver decides to come clean with what he knows about the super strength thief. He tells Felicity and Diggle about the serum on Lian Yu designed to create human weapons. Oliver assures them that Ivo and anyone injected with the serum are dead (spoiler alert Oliver, jeez) and he burned the last of it on the island.

Oliver asks Felicity to analyze the blood on the bent arrowhead.

Felicity: Barry and I will get right on it.

Diggle: I think our Miss Smoak is smitten.

Both statements cause Oliver physical pain. The man can barely breathe. Alright, I’m starting to feel a little sorry for him.

Diggle confirms that Oliver’s suspicions are right about Barry. He’s not being honest about who he is. A very pissy Oliver comes in hot, pumped up on jealousy, testosterone filled overprotection and raging hypocrisy, to confront Barry for lying about who he is – in front of Felicity. Naturally.

Barry immediately confesses the real reason he’s in Starling City. His father is in prison for his mother’s murder. Barry knows his father is innocent because he witnessed the crime. A blur with a person inside killed Barry Allen’s mother. Nobody believes him because that’s crazy. So, he seeks out the crazy cases like a super strength thief in the hopes it will lead to his mother’s real killer and freeing his father. He’s so damn earnest and hopeful, it’s like watching Oliver beat the crap out of a fluffy bunny. This is not a good look when trying to show your not-wife what a douchebag her new boyfriend is. Barry leaves town, which also costs Felicity her date to Moira’s welcome home party Oliver randomly decided to throw.

Instead of immediately apologizing to both Barry and Felicity, Oliver doubles down and defends what he did. Apologizing is not really his forte, so this is not unexpected.

Source: @owenelliots-blog1

I love my unproblematic queen who can acknowledge the mountain of hypocrisy Oliver is standing on. YEAH, BIG GUY. YOU LIE ABOUT YOUR IDENTITY EVERY DAY AND USED TO KILL PEOPLE ON THE REGULAR. TAKE SEVERAL SEATS.

The party for Moira is a disaster. Shockingly nobody shows up to celebrate the freedom of the woman who helped kill hundreds of people in Glades. What a shocker. I love you Oliver, but you are so out of touch sometimes with normal people. Also, the elitist rich of Starling City don’t want to be tainted by associating with the Queen family.

Oliver has thought about his actions and acknowledges he overreacted about Barry.

Source: @dianaclairmonts

I love that she doesn’t let him off the hook right away. Felicity is mad and she has every right to be. Barry shouldn’t have lied. I agree with Oliver on this one small point. But both he and Felicity know it wasn’t all nobility, like he’s some standard bearer for the truth, that made Oliver confront Barry like he did. Oliver was trying to obliterate any potential “something” growing between Felicity and Barry – and they both know it.

Source: @o-rigamii

My kingdom for these two to dance. Let us not speak of how long we had to wait for it to happen. YEARS, people. YEARS.

Oliver: I know. That’s why I called him. They will card him at the bar.

Awww. He called Barry. Oliver is trying to make it right. I’m even going to allow the snark because it was hilarious. Did you notice Oliver immediately racing to the bar and downing a shot with Isabel to avoid watching Felicity dance with this kid? I did.

Oliver’s acknowledges he has no right to interfere in any relationship Felicity wants with Barry, primarily because he refuses to give her one with him. Oliver is trying to be the better man, to stand back and allow Felicity the happiness he feels he cannot give her. But all I want is for Oliver to cut in. Diggle is right. He needs to get in the game!

Whatever may be happening with Barry – it’s going to be long distance because he needs to go back to Central City, or he’ll be fired. He leaves without kissing Felicity. They are both wistfully hesitant. Interesting.

Is it too soon for a kiss? Yes, especially in the land of television. I like Barry, but I don’t actually want Felicity to end up with him. He’s the third point in the love triangle and that’s all. He’s a mechanism to get Oliver’s ass in gear. I don’t need to see them make out. Also, Barry Allen has always been a little asexual to me.

For Felicity, it’s one thing to say you’re moving on. It is another thing to actually do it. Maybe it’s not so easy for Miss Smoak to put Oliver behind her.

Source: @oliverqueenz

Barry and Felicity determine the sedative in the thief’s blood is Ketamine. (Isn’t that shit for horses?) The only place that has enough for the centrifuge is an ARGUS disaster bunker. It’s time for Oliver to suit up, but Felicity is not sure he should go.  The simple fact is the thief’s muscle mass is the same as concrete. Oliver is going to be punching a literal brick wall.

Source: @oliverqueenz

Oliver is a little taken aback. It’s not like Felicity not to believe in him. But this is not lack of belief, it’s a legitimate concern when faced with a scientific reality. Sure, Malcolm Merlyn was bad, but he wasn’t made out of concreate. You can push those romantic feelings as far down as possible, but they will always rise to the surface when the person you love is about to face mortal danger.

Like it or not, Oliver Queen is the Arrow. It is his responsibility to stop guys like this, so he faces off with the super soldier – and gets his ass handed to him on a platter. This guy bounces Oliver around like a ping pong ball. Oliver was also injected with an unknown substance during the fight.

Source: @mrsmaudlin

Diggle and Felicity find him unconscious, but don’t know how to save him because they don’t know what substance he’s poisoned with. Diggle is ready to call 911 and blow the whole vigilante cover to smithereens, but Felicity has another idea. One that can save Oliver and protect his identity – if this person will keep his secret.

Source: @bifelicitys

One second Barry Allen is waiting at the train station and the next he’s waking up in the Arrow cave, with Felicity begging him to save Oliver.

And Oliver is not going to be happy with this turn of events.

Slade and Shado

Slade is in serious trouble. He’s burned half to hell and fading fast. So, is it a little odd that Shado chooses NOW to question Oliver about his romantic life? Yes, but a girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do.

Shado: How do you know that girl?

The girl in question is Sara. ISN’T THAT SUCH AN INTERESTING QUESTION OLIVER? Yes, please do explain to Shado how you know Sara.

Oliver: Sara was on my father’s boat… with me.

Shado: What about the girl in the picture? Laurel. The girl you told me you were in love with.

Oliver: Sara is her sister.

Shado is disgusted, which is the natural and appropriate reaction to anyone finding out about Oliver cheating on Laurel with her sister. This is a canon event, Shado. We can’t interfere. You must realize for yourself why it is impossible to ship Oliver with either Laurel or Sara. I bet Slade isn’t looking so bad right now.

Sara: I guess a lot happened in the last year.

Shado finding out about Sara. Sara is finding out about Shado. Oh, what a tangled web Ollie weaved. Honestly, he was just so slutty.

Just imagine you are Sara. I’m choosing Sara since she’s known Oliver longer, but Shado has every right to be angry too. But imagine you are Sara, and you betrayed your only sister for a guy who hooked up with someone else after you’ve been barely “dead” a year. We know Oliver didn’t forget about Sara, but that’s exactly what it feels like. Such a mess. I can’t imagine Sara loving the choices she made right now.

Did you notice Shado said, “The girl you WERE [Laurel] in love with.” That’s past tense my friends and Oliver doesn’t correct her. Now, Shado might believe Oliver is in love with her (although neither has said these words in a year). Oliver might not want to correct Shado in front of Sara. There could be lots of reasons. It’s difficult to juggle three love interests at the same time. But I don’t think this past tense reference is a small thing. 

Team Flashback is on the run and looking for a way to save Slade. Eventually they find the serum and must decide if Slade should take it. They don’t have all the necessary ingredients for a successful super soldier, however.

Oliver: What happens if we give it to Slade without the sedative?

Sara: He’ll die for sure.  

Shado: He’s going to die anyway.

That was dark Shado. Dark but true. Ultimately, it’s Slade’s call and he tells Oliver to inject him with the serum. But before he does, Slade uses his last moments to apologize to Shado.

Slade: I’m sorry. For not telling you how I really feel.

Then he touches her hair. SOB. I know some people think this storyline with Slade and Shado came out of nowhere, but I don’t agree. They built this relationship since Season 1, and it makes absolute sense that Slade fell in love with Shado. And it makes absolutely sense why he hid his feelings for so long.

Oliver is SHOCKED by Slade’s confession. At least he is consistently clueless about love in all timelines. What I love more than anything else is Shado doesn’t give two shits about Oliver’s reaction. Her focus is on Slade and only Slade. See? She’s making better choices too.

Slade’s reaction to the serum is violent, complete with bleeding eyes, and then he dies which was slightly anticlimactic to be honest. Oliver and Shado have barely begun to mourn him when Ivo shows up and kidnaps all three. This guy is like a bad case of herpes. He just won’t go away.

Moira and Malcolm

Malcolm is back and he wants Moira to tell Thea who her biological father is.  

Moira: You killed Tommy. You killed your son. You cannot have my daughter.

Murdering your child should disqualify you from ever parenting again – I feel like that should be a law. We need to ask why Malcolm cares about Thea now when he never did before? Well, he’s a sociopath so there’s that. Malcolm is all about his “legacy” and now that Tommy is gone – Thea is it. Not that he was ever happy with Tommy in the legacy department, but Thea isn’t replacement Tommy. You don’t swap one child for the other. Doesn’t work that way.

But this isn’t the Moira of Season 1. She’s done fearing Malcolm. When his villain monologue reveals he trained in Nanda Parbat, Moira makes a couple calls. She notifies Rha’s Al Ghul that Malcolm is in Starling City.  Since he’s alive, this allows Rha’s AL Ghul the pleasure of killing Malcolm for the Undertaking betraying their code.  Is this the first Rha’s Al Ghul mention? The Batman fan in me is geeking out.

Moira: So, my advice to you, Malcolm… run.

I am here for bad ass Moira not taking any more shit. She still doesn’t tell Thea about Malcolm and quite frankly I’m fine with it. I don’t want Thea to know.  Can the Queen family just be happy for five minutes?

Stray Thoughts

If you are wondering where the pink in my blog comes from – it’s this dress. I think the only dress I love more than this one is the 3x01 red dress.

Oliver and Felicity looked so good this episode. Oliver in suspenders is a lot. I am amazed at their self control.

Felicity: Is it ok to laugh because I was ordered to say anything about you being in prison just to avoid any awkward exchanges.

Oliver: Like that one.

I would die for her.

“Why couldn’t you be marooned in Aruba?” Felicity is so real for this. I’ve been to Aruba. I would love to be marooned there.

“Oliver is a good son, if not the best judge of character.” SHOTS FIRED!! Moira vs Isabel is the Bitch Off I’ve been waiting for.

Put the purse down, Felicity. You aren’t going to get ripped off while dancing with Barry at the Queen mansion.

Sara learned all the science last year. I guess she didn’t have cable tv, so I’ve chosen to find this believable.

Roy is getting a little too close to this Max/super soldier thing and Oliver wants him to back off for his safety– especially since Thea is involved. When Roy refuses, because he’s Roy, the Arrow shoots him. I love Oliver’s Season 2 problem solving skills.

Listen to the Watchover podcast reaction to 2x08!

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Disclaimer: Any gifs on the blog are not mine. If you would like a gif removed from my reviews, please message me!

[necronatural]

no real GSW post-131 spoilers just thinking abt where we are at chapter 166:

ok ive been thinking this for like 30 chapters where does kim soleum sleep. not once has his rest ever been addressed - the times we do actively see him sleep its 1. in the hospital 2. in a different hospital

he obviously can't go back to company housing. not having a place to go home to was a serious conflict when joining the company. his bedroom has been a major setpiece as a "private space" until this point. where does kim soleum go home to

heres my thoughts on the story thus far (actual spoilers this time)

You're not supposed to visit the fox counseling office regularly.

In chapter 166 Ho Yuwon gets a little upset that Kim Soleum is bothered by the conflict of interest of your company exec being your therapist; because he is a Darkness, he prioritizes doing his job. He is not an exec who is a therapist, he is a therapist who is an exec.

There is no one more fucked up than kim soleum rn

Despite the theming, it's likely Ho Yuwon is not in of himself a kumiho, but instead the youngest brother from the tale The Fox Sister, which is heavily associated with the use of potions; he's repeatedly described as unusually young, he controls the fox counseling office (who's true form is a thatched hut in a state of disrepair, much like the house was when the disowned brothers returned home), and in Chapter 143 when Kim Soleum skillfully lies to him, he is overcome with deep longing and reminiscence for his past self - in "The Fox Sister", the youngest son keeps his position by constructing an elaborate lie to appease his father's sensibilities.

There are memory erasure services from both the company and the Bureau.

Ho Yuwon specifically points out the ring isn't just dulled, it's completely tarnished; he then repeatedly pushes Kim Soleum to attend a session. something is actively wearing down on it.

In both arcs, we see an extreme reaction to figuring out the exact right way to save someone. He isn't just relieved or heartened, it's outlined as somewhat similar to taking a hit of cocaine. It's a rush. He also fucking cut his fucking arm off. Kim Soleum is brainpoisoned.

Braun is still following Kim Soleum, but is an inactive participant; he's only appeared for Kim Soleum when he's unusually frightened

Kim Soleum has not used the heart of merit since the resolution of the Train to Tamra arc. I'm pretty sure he's saved the lives of a hundred people at this point between when he started and where he is now

THEREFORE:

Something is actively eating at Kim Soleum's brain

It is where he is going home to every night

Ho Yuwon has noticed it, but because he is a therapist, Kim Soleum has to choose to go to him to keep his brain from getting eaten

This plot point is going to resolve explosively in a Fox-Sister-themed arc where Kim Soleum abuses his new potions to escape

Removing the ring will make him so terrified he can doxx himself (funniest concept so far)

The heart of merit's abilities are no doubt astronomical at this point

POSSIBLE CULPRITS FOR KIM SOLEUM HOMELESSNESS:

The fox sister is drawing him in (bad)

Ho Yuwon is drawing him in (neutral; funny)

The elevator reflection he let free is drawing him in (???)

Director Cheong Psychic Attack (definitely bad)

Alien safehouse Kim Soleum does not have the clearance to remember (good; funny)

Fucking Braun again (???; funniest)

The heart of merit has become a Darkness corrupting him because he is literally so too good for this world too pure it unlocked a special new state. Kim Soleum becomes a cult leader for real (inevitable)

[dcsiderivm]

Hearing Tanner, of all people, giving her a bit of grace, at least for her character overall, was..surprising, yet awfully desired after all this time. Sure, Daniela had done something horrendous and hurt the one person she'd never dreamed of hurting, but it didn't erase every other good thing about her. It overshadowed the good times she'd had with her ex, but it didn't quite change the fact that before that incident, their time together had been relatively amazing, and she just needed to be reminded of that. Trying not to relish in that small victory too much right now, she mindlessly studied Tanner's facial features as she let the woman continue speaking. Even while dealing with a range of emotions stemming from this encounter, her ex was still breathtaking, and damn if those dimples weren't still one of her favorite things about her.

Snapping back to reality at the mention of their poor choice in handling their problems, Dani sighed as she nodded in agreement. "I guess us not having any real relationship experience beforehand kind of left us scrambling to figure things out, and we just made the wrong decision." She'd replayed the crumbling of their relationship so many times now that she could recall all of the little things, the ways they ran from their problems or simply pushed things aside and only focused on work instead, and how they'd let other people try to push them into taking the next steps before they were even ready to sit down and talk about them. That had certainly been one of the main problems for them, and she hated how much it spooked them and gave them a reason to start avoiding one another. When Tanner pointed out the obvious, what had really broke her, Dani felt that guilt rising up yet again. "I was very aware, and hearing you say it out loud makes me feel even shittier, but I deserve that. And I'm sorry. Truly." If she could take it all back, Dani wouldn't hesitate to do just that, but since she couldn't, all she could do was keep apologizing. Though for now, it was starting to get a bit redundant, probably because they'd gone from somewhat fighting to now being more civilized, and this had been a lot to process so she knew they had to give each other some time.

Revealing that her and the lover who had come between her and Tanner was no longer in the picture hadn't been planned, but for some reason, Dani had felt like clearing the air there might help them...move forward? Remain civil? She didn't quite know, but it was out there now, and maybe it would provide a little comfort for Tanner to know that she wouldn't have to worry about seeing the pair around town together. As her ex seemed to change her stance on how to handle them running into each other in town again following this encounter, she smiled softly. Avoiding Tanner cost far too much energy, so Dani wasn't keen on having to do it forever. She wasn't expecting the offer to reach out to her ex should she need something though, and she was sure that the stunned expression on her face proved that. "Oh, uh..okay." She nodded her head slowly, letting her brain fully process it before she pulled her shit back together.

"I promise I'll handle myself better if we run into one another again. And if you feel the need to snap at me, I'll refrain from biting back and let you get it out of your system." She promised. It would be hard, sure, but she'd swallow her pride and deal with it. "Tell your parents I said hello...and that I'm really sorry for hurting their daughter." She stated before giving the woman a gentle smile. "You look beautiful, by the way. Not that you don't always look beautiful, but even under today's circumstances, you're still the most beautiful woman I've ever met." She shrugged. "And the phone thing works both ways, so if you need anything, or just want to chew me out, my number is still the same." And with that, Dani spun around and finally walked out of the alley, feeling a bit more relieved now that she'd gotten to formally apologize and give her ex the explanation she'd deserved since day one.

Something Tanner understood was that sometimes people felt such immense guilt that they wanted the offended party to hate them, to wish evil upon them, maybe even bestow some form of punishment on them. "I hate what you did—your actions, your selfishness, your cowardice," she volleyed back, a flat look on her face that eventually softened, "but—" That but was the big problem in Tanner's life. "One horrific thing doesn't change all the good that was once between us." And that string of truth was likely the answer to why this encounter had been so emotionally charged. Nostalgia was often called a dirty liar for looking back with rose colored glasses, yet Tanner had known one thing for certain—she'd never loved anyone the way she did Daniela.

Today was a red flag for Tanner. It was a display of just how much she hadn't go and moved on despite it having been a year since their breakup. Regardless of how it had gone down and the specifics of it, never minding all the comments over how much she'd changed in the last year, she'd hidden herself in her heartbreak. When her ex shook her head and wouldn't allow her to apologize a smile slightly curved her lips. It was more like a ghost—something you weren't quite sure of seeing. "It's all just hitting me right now. Different waves of emotions." That time she didn't refute Dani's sincerity. "Getting answers, or an explanation, helps. My mind went wild the last year and," turned Tanner into hating the world.

Hurt people hurt people. Her own guilt couldn't be assuaged over how once she'd been broken she'd become calloused to other's feelings. Often burdening them with a wrath they hadn't earned. The humorless chuckle pulled Tanner astray from the path her rumination was headed down. "It's crazy how we couldn't see a big picture then. How it was easier to avoid and let a divide grow between us." Maybe it had something to do with the fact that her family, even Dani's had been well-meaning in their encouragements and their excitement for what they saw in a future between the two women. Everything her ex had said landed somewhere and there was much to think about. "It's hard to know, I think." Her booted foot toed a crack in the alley asphalt as her hands rested lazily in her pockets. "I get it. Sometimes we don't know what we're doing and the ripple effect of those actions when we're in the thick of it." A sigh released and Tanner held a hand up between them. "Look, I'm not blaming the downfall of our relationship and everything that went wrong with it all on you. I'm aware it takes two. It's the break up. It's the someone else." After looking away for a moment her eyes found Dani's once again. "I just need you to know that—if you were unaware."

All the explanations, reasons, and apologies a year later left Tanner feeling unmoved by it all. Perhaps she was numb. It was much to process. Through the thick of it there had been a big word shared between them: love. And once uttered they both avoided it like a poisonous snake. Maybe what they had genuinely needed was time and space from the situation, because now that Tanner had shoved her anger aside to have as much of a conversation as possible she was chewing over and digesting every bit of information. "Thank you for acknowledging that," she said calmly and sincerely despite a flash of heat that surfaced on her neck and cheeks at the allusion of this other person that had come between them. Part of her wanted to ask if this person was here with Dani, or if they would follow. If they'd broken up—why? These questions rolled through her thoughts despite how much the answers could hurt and anger her. It felt sick to even wonder these sorts of things. Some part of Tanner's heart still held a silent claim on her ex, that had to be the reason.

Then unasked questions were answered and a swell of relief washed through Tanner. Given the state of things it felt like a best case scenario outcome of this encounter. Tanner listened and nodded, stoic on the outside, acknowledging that Dani was no longer with the person she'd left with. That being around Tanner was just as hard for Dani, that she wasn't moved on either. Hope didn't spring in her chest, at least things weren't as bad as they could be. "No, I get why you came back—this is your hometown, too. And, well, your family," she swallowed and the pause was a moment of respect for her ex's loss. "I just don't want us to be childish. I don't want to be at war with you or pulling immature moves if we see each other around. We're not teenagers." If they happened at the same place, same time in the future it likely wouldn't be easy but they could each be mature about it, right? A bit of conversation gave Tanner some comforts and made things a little less intense in comparison to when she first saw Dani. "Yeah, I think we need some time to think. I'm not going to lay some ground rules on you or play games, I don't have the patience for it. I think we can be mindful in the least, though." Then, it was out before she could stop it, "my number hasn't changed if you need or want to talk about things."

[aniju-aura]

Bored so decided to make them teams. Mostly Pokémon I have used. I don't find myself using grass types very much except for three that are not Gen 1 Pokemon sooo they don't got any :c I didn't want them to share too many Pokémon with Red or Blue's teams These are the names of my Pokémon except for Riptide because I didn't have a Blastoise. I actually had a female Charmander named Ruby :> but Miki comes with a name already, so ummm Ruby will show up later. :3c