#coping though fanfic will get me though this hell

[cillianmurphysdimples]

A Female Y/N / Cillian fanfic (Part Eighty Six)

Absolutely not based on anything real at all, all totally fictional, fanciful and is all total bollocks.

Warnings for sexual references and language. Adult themes. Not suitable for under 18s.

We Got Issues

Part Eighty Six: Y/N tries to rationalise her father's history within herself as she nurses Clíodhna. Cillian learns what happened in his absence, and Y/N doesn't know if there's more to come for his reaction. [Mild Angst]

@cherrycilly @aesthetic0cherryblossom @meister95 @vivianleighwishesshewasme @watermeezer @meadowshelby @lavender-haze-01 @strangeions @borntodiemp3

Watching Clíodhna's eyes flutter closed as she drifts back into sleep on your arms is a powerful relaxant. You stay reclined in the chair and smooth the fingers of your right hand gently down her velvety cheek. You've been here since nine am and you don't intend on leaving before you see Cillian, before you get to make sure he's okay, and see him once again relax under the barely-there weight of Clíodhna on his chest. Your mind is full and, try as you might, it isn't just with the little life in your arms. You had barely slept a wink, and paced the bedroom wondering if he should call Cillian or not. You hadn't, too fearful of adding to his burdens, but the want had sat heavily on your shoulders. With Clíodhna, now, that want was still there. It was past lunchtime, and now that she was fed and asleep again, you do consider leaving the unit for both coffee, and to contact Cillian. You mostly want to know when he'll be home, but the desire to hear his voice is reaching a need over a want. 

“What are we gonna do, little girl?” You mumble, looking down at Clíodhna's tiny, sleeping face. Those full lips of hers, so like her Daddy’s, bobbing a little as she dream suckled, causing little bubbles to form between them. “This funny old life we have, the people in it? How are going to make it better? That's without even thinking about Malachy?” You smile as her eyelids flutter. “I know you miss him, too, hey? Daddy. You don't seem to like lying up on me the way you do with your Daddy. You snuggle in on Daddy's chest and you're happy, and I tell you…Daddy is too. He needs your cuddles, I think, more than mine.” You feel emotional, and it hits you harder than you anticipated it would when you don't hold off the tears. “How does it happen?” Your face crumbles, “How does anyone look at babies, at little kids, and ever do those kinds of things, Clíodhna? I know he wouldn't… your Daddy, I know with every fibre of my being he would never, ever… but if he ever laid a hand on you, I'd kill him without hesitation.” You swallow awkwardly, and shake your head. “But you're so lucky, because I know he wouldn't. And anyway, I don't think you belong to me,” you smirk sadly, “I don't think you're mine at all, are you? No - I think you belong to your Daddy.” You take a deep breath. “I'm surprised he went on his trip, but I'm glad he did. Daddy doesn't take a break beyond a Granddad nap, and he needs to. But he barely copes with leaving you at night… only he’s made to, I don't think he'd leave at all.” You smirk. “Oh, ignore me,” you sigh. “I know this for certain, though. You are safe, and loved, and wanted…you'll always be those things. You've got Malachy and Aran, and I know for certain your Uncle Páidi is probably going to be just as annoying as your Daddy! And you have your Daddy…who I know will bring down the moon if you need it.” 

“I could try,” You whip your head up, startled by the sudden intruder, and your heart thuds despite the relief of it being Cillian at the door. 

“Fucking hell.” You breathe out heavily. “How long have you been there?” 

“Since the part where you don't think I need a cuddle from you.” Cillian says, giving a soft, sad smile. He's pale, and while the wound you're searching for is evidently hidden beneath his floppy hair, the day-older bruise on his cheek looks green and stands out viciously. “You know that’s bollocks. I need them all the time. And -,” he says, walking into the room properly. He drops his bag by the chair before he sits down beside you, “I would fully expect you to kill me if I ever laid a hand on her.” He looks at you seriously, with tired blue eyes. He leans over the chair and firmly places a kiss against your forehead. “Hello.” He whispers huskily with a smile as he sits back again. 

“Hello.” You smile softly back. You feel more emotional now - now that he's here, now you can smell his smell and hear his breaths, and it feels warm and safe again - and you draw your mouth into a thin line. “I missed you.” You say, and as you speak your voice cracks. 

Cillian frowns immediately, “Ah, here, what's up?” He leans forwards, against the arm of the chair, and gets closer to you again. 

“I can't tell you yet.” You shake your head and the tears feel hard to control. “Because you want to hold her, and it isn't good.” 

Cillian frowns, “What are you talking about?” He shakes his head carefully. You reach out your right hand and push his hair back, mindful not to apply pressure. You can see, just at the hairline along the right side of his head, five delicately placed stitches. They are hidden well, and are a little red around the outside of them, but you know this face intimately so it's something you can spot. He reaches his hand out and cups around your wrist, then brings your hand down and holds it in both of his. “What happened?” 

You draw your hand back from his and sniffle as you get to your feet. “Hold her for a little while, okay? You've missed her, and then, we can put her down and get a coffee? Yeah? And we can talk then.” 

“Tell me now,” he says, following you with his eyes as you walk towards him with Clíodhna, ready to hand her over. “You're scaring the shit out of me, Y/N. Is there something wrong with her?” 

You shake your head quickly, and realise you probably should have led with that. “Oh, no, love. No, she's fine.” You say, taking in the terrified look on his exhausted face. You bend a little as you hand her to him, and while he quickly settles her on his chest, he looks back to you once she's safely nestled. 

“So...what?” He raises both eyebrows. “I'm still hanging out of my arse, Y/N, and I haven't the capacity to keep the head with the fucking anxiety, so will you just tell me?” He insists, his voice firming slightly. “I won't be fucking yelling with her right here,” he nods down at Clíodhna's tiny body. He holds out his left hand to you and waits until you take it. “What the fuck has happened between talking to you yesterday evening, and now?” he smooths his thumb back and forth across your fingers, and you watch the digit move slowly. “Talk to me, will ya?” 

You take a huge breath and it rattles through your frame horribly. “Martin.” You say, and goosebumps run up your whole torso at the utterance of his name. “As soon as we hung up the phone, he was in the carpark.” You watch his frown slowly get deeper. “It was him, who claimed to be my brother, and he already thinks you've begun admitting what we did so he can't do anything.” You explain. “But…but there's things he knows, Cillian, and things he found out.” 

Cillian shakes his head slowly, “Like fucking what?” 

You swallow hard, “Like he had a new report about my…Dad. He's been jailed for sexual abuse crimes. Martin…knew and said that they're looking to further prosecute, with more crimes, and that they're going to find me…about what he did when I was little.” 

The shaking of his head speeds up, “Wha…” he stammers. “How does he know anything about you as a child? It took you over a year to talk to me about that stuff, and I know full fucking well there's still things I don't know.” 

You shrug your shoulders, “I don't know.” You sigh heavily. “But he…” you clamp your lips tightly as your chin begins to quiver. “...said something that makes me think he's going to have someone take her away.” You choke a sob.

His hand tightens around yours, “Like fucking what?” He asks, and you can see his jaw tighten even through your tears. 

“He asked if the Social Services know that she has ‘damaged goods’ for a mother.” You say firmly, and the words make you feel sick. “I know rationally, Cillian, that they cannot and will not do anything - I work with them - but what if he says things, lies and cheats, and…and they try to take her way?” 

He shakes his head quickly once again, “No. No fucking way. Not a chance. He can't get a fucking finger near her, nevermind anyone else. We'll get…fucking security, nobody will get near her.” His teeth are gritted through every word and you don't think he even realises it. Subconsciously, his hand has smothered across her back more, like he's gripping her tighter and closer, and you know full well his heart his beating too quickly beside her tiny little ear. He lets go of your hand but you know it's not because he doesn't think you need his presence, what you can instantly see is that his overwhelming feelings right now is ensuring Clíodhna is safe. He encases her small body with both of his hands, almost hiding her beneath them. “He just appeared?” He asks, looking at you. You're not sure which emotion is stronger across his tired face - anger or fear. 

“He must have been around, I don't know. As soon as we hung up the phone, I put it on the seat and he just…he knocked the window…and he was standing out beside the door.” You explain.

“You shouldn't be fucking driving.” He raises his eyebrows and shakes his head. But the concern for that seems fleeting as he focuses back on Martin. “We make sure it's just you and me to get in here, and-and Aran and Malachy, but only with us, in case they let someone in and don't know…” he stammers, thinking too quickly to keep up with himself. “And we need to speak to the consultant, see what's stopping her coming home yet? At home, she'll be fucking fine. We'll be fucking fine. And whatever the fuck he tries to do, or if people get wind of your father, or Martin does decide to start shooting his fucking mouth off… she's safe at home with us then, and we do what the fuck I said before…we say fucking nothing!” 

“I won't matter if we speak or not, if he got that information then it means others can.” You shake your head. “I'm not incapable of looking after our daughter, Cillian. I'm not.” You insist, your heart thrumming hard in your chest. “But I don't feel safe if you're not here too, and that makes me useless to her…” 

“Stop it! You're letting that cunt in, and that's not what we're fucking doing. You're not a bad fucking mother, and wanting me here with you doesn't make you one. For fucks sake, this…” he huffs a breath heavily through pursed lips. “We'll find out if she's okay to go home, and if they say no we find out why, and if she can't come home yet then we get some fucker here to watch the fucking door. And we don't leave her.” 

“You know that isn't allowed. And you start throwing around the ‘don’t you know who I am’, and it isn't going to go well. If we want that, we'll have to explain everything to them. Do you want to do that?” You ask him, and you're not being confrontational - if he said yes, you'd do it. 

He shakes his head almost immediately, “We tell them anything about all of this, all of it, then it's another fucking outsider that knows shit they shouldn't.” 

“What about the guards?” You suggest, pacing a little before him. “We could speak to the guards?” 

Cillian sighs, and you hear him whispering gently against the top of Clíodhna's head. But after a moment, he looks back up and you pause your pacing before him. “I could ring Jim.” He says quietly. 

Garda James Collins - Cillian had approached him before, when you two had moved into the house in Malahide, and there had been people around consistently when the house wasn't entirely secure. He'd been helpful, and since then Cillian had remained friendly with the man whenever he saw him. “Officially, or as a friend?” 

Cillian shrugs, “Friend first, see what he says?” He sounds calmer, but you suspect he wants to blow up now more than ever as all you've talked about settles into his head more. But has his baby, and he won't do that now. He shakes his head as you look back at him, and he rolls his eyes like he doesn't even know what to think. “Why is he doing this? He fucked off and now he's fucking back here because you're father was in the news and the courts for being a fucking rapist. But what the fuck has that got to do with us? Because we're not involved. Why does it matter what is happening with that scummy fucker? We're not involved! So why the fuck is Martin back here? Why is he doing this, I don't fucking understand it?” 

“Money?” You shrug. 

“He'll not get a fucking cent! If he thinks I'm handing over a a single fucking euro to him, he's off his head. He bribed us, followed us, threatened us, and now he's back thinking he can do it again? He can fuck off!” He breathes deeply, and you can see him trying so hard not to blow up with Clíodhna on him. “I've to put her down.” He sighs, sitting up. He keeps his hands cupped over Clíodhna's back and bottom as he gets to his feet. He moves to the cot and lays her in gently, and it's as though placing her down pulls a plug. He buzzes with unspent energy, anger and fear, and almost instantly his teeth clamp down over his bottom lip. He paces slowly, shifting his energy around, then stops as he looks back at you. All you can do is shrug, not sure what the fuck to say or do. He sighs heavily and crosses the small distance between you, and wraps his arms around you tightly. “Nobody is doing a fucking thing to you or her.” He whispers into the top of your head. “I'll murder the cunt who tries.” you know he's only quiet because you're near Clíodhna, and somewhere in your mind you prepare yourself for the shouting and slamming doors when you get home. You remind yourself that, if that's how he needs to cope, you can't take it to heart. You're scared, and sad, and you know that he is now, too. Perhaps it's a blessing he's still slightly hungover - maybe it'll keep him just off the edge of the cliff whilst things get sorted out?

.

[drowninginblox]

Reminders

A group of drabbles that I wrote on a whim. Enjoy!

It's been some time since Tubbo last saw the morning crew altogether. It wasn't something he lingered on, he had plenty of machines to distract himself with. Yet every so often, the thought would seep in between the brief spaces between his geers. Lingering laughter intermixed fragments of English and Portuguese. The smell of coffee and oil intermixed with wine, dandelions, and sweat. Sometimes he would space out mid-experiment only to be taken out with the howls of his business partner or the reminder of his ever-sleeping daughter.

Forexample, just earlier today, as the young satyr was reading himself for the day, he passed a loose calendar on his way to the coffee pot. Most of the time Tubbo would pay it no mind. However, a day was circled in pink marker- marking the day as one sunny made sure to remember in the case Tubbo did, which he is always one to do. Ceasing his trip mid-step, he lingered on the brief note longer than he should.

"Fit's Arm"

A few charges in his brain fire, a smile, small and tired, slowly creeps onto his face. He didn't get to ask Fit about his arm. It must've slipped by with a myriad of things Tubbo's sure to have missed throughout his life. But, with this newfound vigor, he can't help but chuckle. Maybe later today he'll stop by Fit's place. Pac's too if he can't find the Florida man. A laugh follows as he gets back to his journey to the coffee pot at the realization that he'd give up an arm and a leg for his morning crew

------

Phil wasn't that worried when he saw his children still in bed. He made sure to check their temperatures, to which both were fine, and sighed when nothing changed after three days. This isn't anything new to Phil, Chyanne and Tallulah on separate occasions have had their bouts of long rests. Yet when Bagi and Tina reported that the other eggs were the same, Phil could only fear the worst. It was one thing for the Ender King to go after him, that's fine. But children? This was a new low.

Even though he was a vessel of the gods, he could only do so much when it came to their rights. So in solidarity, he lit some incense, burned a few roses, and prayed that his anxieties weren't reality. In the meantime, making medicine for the eggs when they were lucid enough to take some.

It's been weeks now, and nothing has changed. Phil was sitting on the fishing perch with a fresh cup of green tea in his hands, contemplating the horizon for the twelfth time that week. His eyes and throat stung and exhaustion was on the cusp of his soul. Yet he remained. "Darling, please," A voice he only heard in his dreams coaxed. One that was sweat like honey and dark as night. "You know I won't go down easily love," He relented. A shared sigh followed as a light touch made contact with his shoulder. "I know."

He turns his head. A form he knew too well greets him, veiled from the sun and other's gaze. "It's been too long." She admits. Phil smiles before glancing at the door. Eyes do wide with panic. "Please don't tell me you're here for-" She puts her other hand on his other shoulder, holding him together. "No." Her hat moves with her shaking head. "No. I am here strictly for personal reasons. I have no business here, I promise you." A breath he didn't know he was holding almost took the man's soul. "Thank the gods," She slaps his shoulder. "I would never do that to you, you know that!"

"I know you wouldn't! It's just, others... have come here. 'Sinked their claim into my family, Kristen." She sighs. A tear slips though the warrior's gaze. "I'm so sorry my love." A hand holds his face as the cracks slowly grow in his guard. Who knew the reaper mourned the living?

------

The movement of his weapon carried Pac through his nights. With thoughts of his beloved haunting him in his dreams only to take up to see his sons trapped in their haze of sickness, the only thing that seemed to get him through these restless nights was monster slaying. Something about it was so cathartic. The repetitive swing of an axe, scythe, or sword and the groans of pain of those he vanquished. In a way, it was a great form of exertion. One that made his mind blur into itself while his body acted on sharpened instinct after a year of hostility.

While he replayed a conversation with Ramon in his head, he was taking out half a dozen zombies at a time. Hoards of them have turned into a nuisance more than a lingering fear. "Oi!" The break through the groans snaps Pac out of his haze, his body turning to the noise. Mike stands on a nearby hill, waving something bright in his hands. A surge of pain trails up Pac's arm, redirecting himself on the annoyance at hand.

It doesn't take him too long to clean up the group but the clearer Mike's voice became, the faster the exhaustion laced itself through his muscles. Before he knew it the grip he had on his sword gave. He could hear Mike clearly now but the words were nothing more than white noise as his knees gave into the gravity of the situation Pac put himself in.

Mike was there to catch him before he hit the ground. Concern and panic flooded his mind as he pulled out his warp stone. "Sinto muito, meu amigo. Eu deveria ter ajudado você" he mumbled through the echo of the contraption. Within moments they were at Pac's house. The sun was rising over the savannah as Mike carried his friend inside. "Há quanto tempo você é assim?" Silence was what he expected, but from Pac's position over his shoulders, he could hear the mumbling "Fitch... Why, Por que você teve que sair?" He looked down. He and Pac had been through hell together, but he knew Pac would hate to see him like this. So instead he tried to look for the secret warp to his basement and bit his lip to shush himself. The ass beating he had in store for FitMC- *"I'm so sorry my friend. I should have been there for you." .... "How long have you been like this?" *"Why did you have to leave?"

Eventually, he found it, teleporting him and his semi-conscious brother to his bedroom. "Pac, faça-me um favor e vá dormir, porra." He ordered, tossing the smaller onto his bed. A groan was all he needed to hear. "Não dou a mínima para o fato de você estar triste, você está cansado. E eu só consigo lidar com uma emoção de cada vez no momento." He waited a moment for any bitebacks but he was relieved to be met with obnoxious but believable snores. *"Pac, do me a favor and go to fucking sleep." ... "I don't give a shit that your sad, you're tired. And I can only handle one emotion at a time right now."

Whether it be out of paranoia or satisfaction, he lingers for what he hoped was only a few minutes. Eventually, he vacated the basement upstairs. There he put on a kettle to brew some tea. From there he would take the rest of the day to pick up after Pac as he slept for the first time in who knew how long. It wasn't a lot, at least to Mike but it was a good start for an overdue apology.

[petrock42clone]

I swear to God, arguments made by proshippers to justify their degeneracy will never cease to amaze me with how stupid they can get.

"But it's not real." Doesn't matter, it's still gross to portray that shit in a positive light.

"I wouldn't support this in real life." If you're not gonna support it in real life then why the hell would you support it in fiction? Just admit you're a creep and get it over with.

"I use it as a way to cope with trauma." I don't want to call those people liars, but nine times out of ten I only ever see them saying this when they get called out for it. And if it's meant for coping, then why do most pieces of proship media glorify and portray it as a good thing when it shouldn't be seen that way? Also, I don't wanna be that guy, but maybe you shouldn't post that sort of thing publicly when actual creeps/criminals could use that for gross purposes.

"Fiction doesn't affect reality." Tell that to every piece of government propaganda ever released. Also, proship content does have an effect on people, especially young kids. I was exposed to a proship undertale fan blog when I was nine, and for at least two years I thought that shit was ok.

"So you support harassment towards proshippers?" Harassment is bad no matter who it's directed towards, so no I do not support harassment towards proshippers. Though I'll be completely honest and say that I don't feel sympathetic towards proshippers either.

"You're just a puritan." Dude if I were the puritan you claim I am, I probably wouldn't be ok with writing gore/torture scenes in some of my fanfics. And before you start yapping, I make it clear in those fics that those acts are not ok and are not meant to be seen in a good light.

Proshippers/Neutrals do not interact. Try arguing with me about why this shit is ok and the most you'll get out of me is a block.

[unhingedpolycule]

I just read the new Nikto/Krueger fanfic….. and HOLY mother of sh-t! didn’t know Nikto! My man was old enough too be my dad!

Still hot 🥵 thou 😏

Hahaha, yes, a lot of people seem to be blindsided by this (again and again)… but for me, those nasty men are at least forty. I get an aneurism every time they are like… in their twenties? I can cope with thirties, but 40s/50s are the sweet spot for me personally. (Absolutely NO hate though. To each their own, but if I read a fic, I imagine them to be old by default. Lol.)

Mostly because I believe that Nikto in his 20s/early 30s was a wet cat and Krueger was also way less palatable. Still smart, still interested but also less keen on just existing to serve another. He wanted more space and the codependency he and Nikto got going is only possible because they mellowed out with age (again, just MY hc!) Personally, I live for the odd flavor of fluff they have going on… just so comfortable in the relationship, having come to terms with each other and having fought most fights there are to fight. Nowadays, its small things they sometimes blow out of proportion because they are both stubborn (they like fighting with each other. Its called enrichment) but they are not at risk of breaking up or anything. Its just peaceful and they are super set in their toxic ways, which kind of work for them.

They are one of those old people couples that no one likes/knows how they work, but they are happy with each other (oddly enough).

Aside from that, I also just find a lot of comfort in them seeing the other age. Like… wrinkles, less strength, skin less taunt… and just being amazed at having gotten to this point. It’s a nice thought to appreciate each other for their physical changes as well. Nikto specifically is a bit obsessed with Krueger’s hair greying or his skin on his chest/stomach getting less taunt. It’s so soothing to him that this man chooses to spent their life with him and he is quite possessive in a gruff way, so seeing Krueger change with the years… hell yeah. Big emotional turn on.

[aziraphales-library]

Hi team! I was wondering if you might have some recommendations for Aziraphale-centric fics? Not really looking for whump, or fics where his feelings for Crowley are his sole focus (though I'd still enjoy it if were a significant part of the story), but moreso fics that look at Aziraphale holistically. First fic that comes to mind as an example is "Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach" by Nnm. Thanks!

Hello! Here are some Aziraphale-centric fics for you...

Could you breathe with me? by Euny_Sloane (T)

Aziraphale goes to counseling/therapy with an unnamed therapist and spends some time exploring his feelings related to love, loss, and family. Note that this is an imagined counseling session, and so may bring up uncomfortable feelings, regardless of how many tags I place, especially if you have the unfortunately common experience of feeling unloved by your family, or unworthy of love. Nothing graphic happens except a reference to Pompeii, though.

In a Perfect World, I would Hold your Hand and Kiss your Cheek by boredom (T)

A chance encounter with a young man leads Aziraphale on the path of healing and discovery. Maybe now he can finally admit to what he wants, without guilt and without fear. Maybe now he and Crowley can finally move forward, together.

Human Labels, and Angelic Discovery by Hemlock_Holmes (G)

Aziraphale discovers autism, and goes on a one-angel mission to learn everything he can about it. This is a purely self-indulgent fic about discovering yourself after many years, because I am so tired of reading books (not fanfic!) where the word autism is skirted around and treated like taboo, even when everyone knows that's what the author means. Just say it people! Also because nothing gives me greater joy than watching Aziraphale stim.

something wretched about this by IvyOnTheHolodeck (T)

You might wonder why Aziraphale can't seem to enjoy his retirement in peace. You could ascribe his distress to the series of terrifying thoughts that haunt his days, or the only book he wishes he'd never read, or even the wound that still hurts after six thousand years. Really, though, you should blame the fact he's never learned to talk about his feelings.

The Other Arrangement: or, How the Angel Got so Hungry by burnttongueontea (T)

‘It’s just… funny. Don’t you think it would be funny, if it turned out we’d had it the wrong way round all these years? If I ate all the time, and you hardly ever?’ Crowley discovers that Aziraphale has been strictly and obsessively limiting his food intake for millennia, due to fear of punishment from Heaven if he gets caught eating too regularly. The angel’s confident facade comes apart at the seams after they move to the South Downs, as he struggles to cope with new-found freedom while still keeping his past a secret. With the future of their relationship soon hanging in the balance, Crowley must find a way to convince Aziraphale that he is a safe pair of hands to collapse into – and that they can rebuild things from the ground up.

My Favorite Ghost by cassieoh_draws, DiminishingReturns (T)

Decades after the world didn’t end, Heaven and Hell got their war — and nearly destroyed everything in the process. When Aziraphale finally manages to reacquire a corporation and return to Earth, he discovers he was gone longer than he thought and the planet has become unrecognizable. As he searches for Crowley and tries to figure out how he fits in a world that Heaven, Hell, and God have all wiped their hands of, nature works around him to reclaim the bones of an old civilization as the scraps of humanity build a new one. A lush and optimistic post-apocalypse story, told from the POV of an immortal who can't let go of the past.

And the one you mentioned...

Angel-Centered Therapy Through A Multicultural Lens: An Integrative Approach by Nnm (G)

“I’d love to meet with you,” Davey said, apologetically, when he had been called up by a fellow looking to initiate therapy, “but I’m all booked up for months.” “Are you sure?” The fellow said, through a poor connection that crackled. Davey had been sure. And yet. Right there in his calendar was a blank spot, just a few days away, which he had somehow completely overlooked before. “How about that…I’ve got Wednesday at eleven, if you can make that work.” “What a miracle,” the fellow said, “that would be just the perfect time.”

- Mod D

[fuckyeahmhawkefenris]

It is unbearably quiet on tumblr lately, and what little talking there is, it's all about the next game. Yeah, we're no longer in 2012, I get it.

I'll just keep entertaining myself however I can.

I've always wanted to talk about one fic I secretly refer to as one of the hidden gems in the fenhawke archives. I have never ever seen anyone bring it up, and in all these years I've never dared to recommend it to anyone... Don't think you can even find it so easily? For good reason tbh...

Thing is, it's a fill for da kink community on livejournal. Anyone remember that place? The safe haven where anyone could anonimously submit the kinkiest most shameless things you could think of - offering prompts, filling them... Those were some desperate times when we were painfully low on content, and it was very hard to find something to read. Finding a story with characterization that suited your vision was near impossible!

I myself was desprate enough to brave through countless pages of imageries I could not stomach, skimming through them just to get the general idea until something captured my attention.

So I found this, and honestly, to this day to me it is one of the best examples of... idk, not just good characterization, but the overall feeling of the fenhawke relationship, why I can't let go of them after 12 years? It's all subjective, of course, but no fanfic ever resonated with me as deeply as this. Also back then mage Hawke was not very popular and most stories featured rogues... I used to be very sad and lonely!

Warning: it's extremely triggery. I wouldn't even recommend reading the first part at all, because it's too difficult and painful to get through. Hell, I couldn't read it! I was looking through the text very VERY briefly to get only the most basic and vague understanding of what was happening, and it was still hard! There is a lot of abuse, rape, slavery things...

To get the idea:

The Alone quest did not get resolved as planned. Danarius managed to win that battle, captured Fenris and returned to Tevinter, gravely injuring Hawke in the process (Fenris thought he was killed). To break the remains of his will, Danarius threatens to erase Fenris's memories of Hawke, and he succumbs and stops resisting altogether. I don't want to recall the details, but it was awful. Go straight to part 17 (it's a flashback) to read a very lovely take on fenhawke first night together. It's super sweet and gentle, though painfully sad in context. Still, beautiful. Well, it gets worse before it gets better! Somewhere in part 19 Fenris's friends come for him (they sailed all the way here on Isabela's new ship) and he's rescued. What follows is an exceptionally touching tender reunion with Hawke. Oh, and then, once all is settled comes the second part - All the King's men, which is much less controversial and fairly easy to read. Fenris copes with his experiences, and Hawke is always there for him. There are some truly fantastic moments as they slowly get close to each other again! Isabela is pretty great here, and Anders... sorta made me warm up to his character? And it's all fairly believable and close to how we see them in the game.

I'm saying all this and linking this fic on the off chance that someone with tastes similar to mine ever needs something like it. I know I am grateful it exists, and still hold it very dear to my heart. Definitely never regretted finding it!

[andarans]

a love letter to dragon age.

i’ve been trying to cope with the news that all the dragon age devs have been laid off or reassigned these past two days, and i just…. it’s hard. it might sound silly to say but i’ve barely been able to do anything because i feel as if i’ve lost a family member. took today to have a good cry. dragon age was such a formative series for me. i joke all the time i got into it for the romances and stayed for the lore but really everything about it i love, dearly. i love that each companion and side character had stories that moved me and made me cry, stories i could relate to even in a world with magic and dragons. i love how the lore is presented, including the brilliance that is the codex—that you’re never quite sure who to believe, that discovering the truth requires you to be an archaeologist. i love how my choices always mattered, that decision i made in origins affected my playthrough in inquisition. i loved the message dragon age as a series sent, about corruption, about power, about propaganda. dragon age influenced so much of my fantasy tastes and own writing and art. it left such a huge mark on my artistic inspirations and work. hell, my first ever dnd character was a tiefling that pretty much looks like a qunari with having a backstory that affected the world she was in, reminiscent of the depiction of elves in dragon age (still one of my favorite and nuanced takes on elves in fantasy, btw). even with the dnd campaign and world i’m writing now, i see dragon age in nooks and crannies. i wrote so much fanfic and drew so much fanart and made so many theories and anxiously followed every bit of news for the development cycle of veilguard. i’d watch the game awards every year with my friend hoping for dragon age news. speaking of friends, god i made so many friends because of dragon age. that common interest sparked so many fun conversations and ideas. i even was a writer for an anders focused dragon age charity zine.

above all i loved the community around dragon age. sure, fandoms all have its moments and toxicity, but by and large my experience with the DA community was wonderful. i love getting to see people’s OCs and world states because i also obsess over my DA OCs and world states. i love getting to see people write theses about dragon age’s themes and masters worthy character studies. the communal love for this world and its characters is so, so profoundly inspiring.

i’ve spent so much time moping but i do want to highlight what i loved about each game and my favorite characters.

DAO: my first intro to the series. by god the gameplay was so slow but the story and characters and lore and writing made it SO worth it. made me appreciate CRPGs too. alistair ended up becoming my favorite character, i remember actually gasping and blushing at the rose moment in his romance. the landsmeet is still one of my favorite quests, i love fantasy political intrigue. morrigan also was my best friend, when she called my warden a sister i cried.

DA2: one of the most underrated games by far. i loved the smaller scale, i loved how personal hawke’s story felt, i loved every single companion and this found family. fenris was my first romance and one of my favorites, he is so complex and misunderstood and secretly has the best sense of humor. i think anders ended up becoming my favorite though—god, anders. i could speak about him for hours but i appreciate the DA devs for what they did for him and letting us romance him. anders made me appreciate his character archetype so much; he is such a tragic man transformed by bitterness and vengeance and rage. “ten years from now, a hundred years from now, someone like me will love someone like you, and there will be no templars to tear them apart.” i love you anders.

DAI: i love the inquisitor. i love how tragic of a character the inquisitor is, ripped from their life and forced to become an idol for a movement they might not even believe in. a lot of people criticize DAI for being “the chosen one” cliché, but it’s not. it’s a critique of that very trope and how it destroys a person. the inquisitor is forced to become an idea, and it does not matter who they actually are; they have all autonomy taken from them, and that is horrifying. cullen ended up ruining my life for a good amount of time, his romance is my favorite in all the series and god he got such a good redemption and ending. (i even bought cullen themed soap from a local convention, lol. i’m telling you i was obsessed). and in my replay solas’ romance absolutely destroyed me, turning him from my dearly detested to my dearly beloved. god trick weekes i will miss you so much, thank you for writing solas.

DAV: i know how contentious veilguard is. believe me i have many of my own criticisms. but i still love it anyway. i love the companions, all of them, i love how act 3 absolutely fucking gutted me and made me cry twice. i loved the amazing visuals and character creator and ost and environments. i love the QOL improvements. i loved seeing the cameos and my inquisitor again. there’s so much to love in veilguard and i’d rather talk about how much i love it than what i didn’t. lucanis was my first romance and while there wasn’t as much content as i was hoping for, i sincerely appreciate what we did get. i love how ride or die he is, how his love language is acts of service, how he’s afraid to hurt rook. i love his facial animations in his romance, i love zach mendez’s performance. i’m hoping to play emmrich and davrin’s next, and i’m sure i’ll love them too.

it’s hard to accept the fact that dragon age is probably over. it makes me sad knowing we’ll never find out about certain lore questions or know what DA5 could’ve looked like. and i’m still so angry for the developers and how they’re so callously treated and thrown away by EA/bioware. sometimes i wonder if the same thing would’ve happened if veilguard sold more. but it’s not helpful to dwell on these what-ifs, because we’ve seen how the industry treats both successful games and what they deem as failures: layoffs and no remorse. i hope the team finds work soon. i hope they realize how loved their work is. i hope someday the game industry is completely, wholly unionized. i’m glad at least we got veilguard to answer the biggest questions we’ve had.

thank you, DA devs, for everything. thank you for answering our silly questions about your characters favorite coffee flavors and perfect date nights. thank you for bringing them to life. i won’t stop playing the games or making art or fic. i won’t stop being inspired. dragon age lives on in my creations, in my dnd characters, in everything. i hope to be back in thedas soon, one day. dareth shiral.

[wowowwild]

Ace's All Time Best Fic Rec List (AATBFRL) April 2024: Ace Attorney

It's been a 6 months since my last list so here we go again! (I specified Ace Attorney in case I start doing this for other fandoms.) I originally planned to have all the old recs here as well but the list was too long so here's a link to the previous list. These aren't necessarily in any particular order, but if you can think of a good way for me to organize them, please let me know for future lists!

P.S. Anything rated over T mentions that immediately for your browsing convenience.

Doing more self promotion this year, so check out my pinned post or fic tag (desktop only)!

London, 2021- 7 yg Wrightworth hint of Krisnix. Phoenix is presently in London with Edgeworth. Phoenix is presently knowing that he knows about Kristoph but doesn't want to acknowledge it bc Kristoph has been really good to him and Trucy. But that doesn't matter right now bc they're going to the theatre.

if you leave the light on- 7yg Wrightworth. Nothing can happen until it's over but something Keeps happening. Miles will wait as long as it takes and Trucy decides he's part of the family.

In The Dead Of Night- During the 7yg Edgeworth invites the Wrights to Europe. Trucy has a nightmare and 'Uncle Miles' comforts her.

Phoenix's List- After getting his badge back, Phoenix has some regrets and sets about fixing what he can.

Perfect- I actually found this on another fic rec list and I can see why it was their favorite. Set towards the end of the trial of Bridge to Turnabout. TW if you have memory issues, it might be a little hard to get through parts bc of all the mindfuckery. I have to be really vague here so as not to spoil it. (Wrightworth)

Eo Nomine- Klapollo fake marriage turned real marriage but ig that's what happen when you get fake married while being real in love.

the best you'll never have- Rated M for sex reasons. I love the tagline: "Someone else's wedding is something that can actually be so personal". It's a Blackmadhi complicated relationship, what relationship, they weren't actually dating but also...

Apollo and the Artist (1975 - Oil paint, wax crayon, pencil, collage)- Rated M for mentioned sex reasons. Apollo is not an art person. But to Klavier he is art... and also a person. They've known each other for 8 years and it's probably been coming for just as long. It was a long time coming.

darling i'd wait for you (even if you didn't ask me to)- Wrightworth fake date bc Edgeworth needs a plus one to a wedding for some guy, it's not really important. But the cake sucks.

A Knight in a Loud Red Suit- oh my god oh my god oh my god Klavier gets shot and Apollo stabs a guy. And also love confessions at the hospital. They could have me also if they wanted.

Written- Rated E for sex reasons. Edgeworth moonlights as a Steel Samurai fic writer, and due to it being an obvious coping mechanism for his life and feeling Maya finds out... and accidentally sends a fic to Phoenix who... finds out. Half of the smut is Edgeworth's own fanfic, so we get like... fanfic-ception. That doesn't really work with more than one syllable words, huh...

Lover Be Good to Me- Rated M for implied sex reasons. 5+1 klapollo wooing each other.

Love Love Love- Rated M for implied sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a good way and takes wayyyy too long to call themselves boyfriends. Set from middle of aa4 to past aa6.

delicate- Rated M for sex reasons. klapollo is messy in a bad way (long distance is hard) and they break up but it works out, I prommy. If you don't like angst you'll want to skip this one, though.

(i was) enchanted to meet you- klavquill! I love them, I need to read more fics with them. They meet at the Prosecutor gala for the first time and sparks fly. Actually, they were fireworks, but that's not important.

Process of Elimination- Rated M for sex reasons. One day I will read a fic where Blackmadhi is not complicated as hell. Can they ever talk about their feelings? Apparently I like this, though, bc I keep reading and recc'ing them. Um, Nahyuta is looking for a fuck buddy and by 'process of elimination' ends up deciding on Blackquill but whoops! Feelings.

feel your skin- Rated M for one boner. Klavier is infuriating AND wearing lipgloss and Apollo can't take it. Cue making out in the janitor's closet.

moribund- I keep thinking about this one so I need everyone else to read and think about it with me. Pre Gant busting, POV Lana has to help clean up his messes. This a comedy, mostly of errors.

chronophobia- StarrSkye (AngelxLana) Be forewarned, you are going to cry. Lana has done her time and is trying to find a way to reconnect with the most important people from her past.

Crash! Landing- Junithena, fantastic traumatized autistic representation, if I do say so myself as a traumatized autistic person. It is very sweet and Juniper is a real one. I need me one of those.

In Pursuit of Justice- This one is not yet complete, but I preemptively j'adore'd it. It's a klapollo. Sebastian is great. He says Apollo looks like a frog (accurate).

Witcheln Woes- Secret Santa klapollo and they are cute and Clay is alive and it is sooooo fluffy.

Samurai Swear- Maya making besties with Edgeworth! Maya and Phoenix being besties also! Dash of mutual pining wrigthworth.

Missing You/Missing Time- Ok, hear me out, yes, the mystical bullshit tag is accurate, and de-aging is a weird concept, but !!! It actually serves this story very well! It is a fanfic that feels like a fanfic, but sometimes you want that, you know? Not every fanfic needs to feel like Little Women. Established klapollo first I love yous.

[pruneunfair]

My feelings on cry or better yet beg and the utter wasted potential for a psychological tragedy of the imbalance of relationships between noblemen and their mistresses

First off, if I was told I could only kill off one male lead, it'd be him

Lot of people rn especially on tik-tok probably would flame me for this with the "at least he loves Layla! He's so protective of her!"

"it's a dark romance! It won't be sunshine and rainbows you snowflake!"

"He just doesnt know how to express his emotions because he's so sheltered!"

No, just no, I don't care how "hot" he is, I don't care if he's your protective little bad boy. I don't care about his supposed character development, That's a straight up abuser who started off killing birds knowing it would damage to Layla to straight up assaulting her. (I don't know if that will stay in the webtoon, but it was in the novel) no character development can make me like a fucking rapist

Like how in the hell is Claudine considered worse than Mathhias, sure she isn't so peachy herself but goddammit to think of the fiance who if anything would be supported had she been the main protagonist, yes she's pretty demeaning, a bit shallow, and only views Matthias as the perfect Duke, but at least she's not going around mentally torturing a boy who can't do anything against her. I haven't gotten to her ending yet but from what I hear, it isn't a good one. She such a wasted opportunity since she is such a perfect example of a woman prepped and groomed to just be a Dukes wife would come out feeling that her worth only comes her husband.

Justice for Claudine, I just know there's a fanfic out there where you get with Riette, grow as your own person, and live a pleasant life.

You wanna know what really hurts me about this manhwa though? The fact that's it's so unintentionally accurate to how horrible it truly is to be a mistress in an era where women, especially women with no royal titles or status, were often treated by rich and powerful men. They would mostly have no right to say no to a man who decides he wants her, Layla romanticizing her abuse is not just heartbreaking but also unfortunately realistic as it's a coping mechanism for those who had endured nothing but abuse their whole life so they tend to shove their feelings in a box and pretend everything is okay (obviously this isn't the same for all victims of abuse, it's one of the many coping mechanisms people could develop)

In a lot of historical manhwa, there's usually the obligatory mistress character designed to be a dumb trashy bimbo to uplift the lead. Most of the time, the mistress in question is either a daughter of minor nobility that was chosen by a Emperor, crown prince, or Duke, or the mistress lived her life as a poor farm girl and in some situations lived a life where no one cared about her and was likely abused, the latter is often rare for these mistress characters since authors of those stories only want you sympathizing with the leads but in rare cases, the mistress did have a hard life but it ends up being undermined to further damage the mistress as torture/revenge porn or in Laylas case: used as an explanation to give a disturbing reason to why she ends up falling in love with Matthias which wouldn't be wrong if the story was written in a way that was a tragic one, not a romantic one.

you would think this kind of glamorouzation of abuse would only exist in the authors mindset and the degeneracy that is a junior high girls mind, but no, the ides that Layla is somehow the one in the wrong for her own abuse and reluctance of Matthias and there is even an Instagram post claiming she has BPD for being too "difficult" they sound like those 1950s doctors that find any reason to lobotomize a patient.

Laylas character does open the truths of what it's truly like to be practically owned by a nobleman, she's not like Rashta or Aisha from divorcing my tyrant husband where she's portrayed as a silly and cute strumpet with ulterior motives, she is genuinely upset but she can't do anything about it so all she can do is convince herself that Matthias loves her so she can keep her sanity, but where it goes wrong is that instead of portraying this as an unhealthy yet sole coping mechanism for an abusive relationship, the story just chalks it down to "silly Layla! You'll see that he's just misunderstood and you really do love him deep down!" Its frankly atrocious that the one time a story has a realistic pair of the typical women in this trope, the first wife who is classy and refined and the mistress who is young and free spirited ends ultimately destroyed yet again with a case black and white writting. One woman must be good and the other woman must be bad.

Frankly these characters are well written for the most part and until I realized I supposed to see Matthias as the love interest and not Kyle, I was fine with who Matthias was since he was presented more so as a villain, the art is also one of the prettiest cottagecore artstyles I've ever seen to the point where the 3D models look really good since it blends in perfectly, it's just sad that cry or better yet beg is a sick twisted tale equivalent to the average Colleen Hoover book.

[luminouslywriting]

Chapter 2: Toccoa, Georgia (The Prophecy)—A Band of Brothers Fanfic

A/N: I am so so so so SO sorry this is out late. This past week was super hectic! I hope that you really enjoy the chapter. I did my best to make it my own and different from other beginnings of BoB that I've seen, so you'll have to let me know what you think! Also, as a side note—I did, in fact, live in Toccoa area for 13 weeks a couple years back, so I actually do love that place!

Winnie could say that she had never been to Toccoa Georgia for any reason in her short lifetime and would probably have no desire to ever return. Though there wasn’t any snow on the ground here, it was just as gloomy as the rest of Georgia was in the winter months.  Everywhere she looked, there were men in uniforms and people bustling towards the wartime factories that had popped up.  

Her arrival at Camp Toccoa was a rather quiet affair, and so there she sat in a wooden chair inside a small waiting area.  Occasionally, Winnie glanced over at the precipitation building on the windows.  When she was a kid, she had long periods of waiting like this one—where her father was in jail or at some bar and she would just wait for him to come back home. 

It would usually rain—and considering how the weather in Georgia changed as quickly as a summer breeze, Winnie had taken to counting droplets of water as a way to keep her focus on something that she could control. 

The simple fact of the matter was that Winnie had precious little control over a lot of the circumstances in her life.  But the things that she did have control over, she kept those things close to her chest; clung to them like they were her most precious possessions and no one would ever come close enough to take that freedom of control away from her again. 

She clicked her heeled shoes together exactly once, eyes straying to the scuff marks on her simple church shoes.  She wondered how her brothers were all faring in their training at the moment.  If they were all coping with the reality of what war would be—if they were prepared to go and be on their own. 

Richie wasn’t the one she was worried about.  He was two years younger than her and was always rather serious.  He worked harder than anyone else that she knew and wasn’t one to get distracted by a pretty face or lofty promises.  Any day now, he’d be shipping out to go to the Pacific as a Marine and it made her truthfully want to follow him all the way down there and have his back with a gun herself.  

They were Allens.  And they trusted themselves and one another.  No one else outside of their circle of siblings had proven to be someone that they would trust their lives with.  But Winnie knew that they would never allow a doctor—and a female one, at that—to go down to the Pacific and be a part of the carnage and horrors there. 

Robbie was in the same boat, proverbially speaking of course, as Richie.  Set to go to the Pacific in a few weeks.  He was always so quiet and watchful.  Winnie hoped that it would serve him well to be on his guard and pick up on the things that the other soldiers wouldn't notice.  They had yelled a lot back and forth before he had enlisted—she had told him to finish his degree and go into the JAG-Corp.  He had told her to go to hell—which he had tearfully apologized for when she dropped him off at the train station.  

Winnie stretched out her fingers over her lap, letting out a breath.  It had been nearly thirty minutes of waiting to be allowed to see the Colonel—and this was just for him to review her application to join the Paratroopers as a Doctor and training officer for his medics.  She wished that the level of urgency the war truly had would transfer over to her wait time. 

Because if she needed to haul everything back to Buford, Winnie would almost certainly rather pick up and move to the Carolinas and try to sign up for a different branch of the military that would, in fact, utilize her. She hated being idle—hated being alone, even more than that.  

The younger three boys were the ones that needed supervision—needed all the prayers of the good congregation of Buford’s Christian Non-Denominational Church.  Nathan was the first problem in Winnie’s pleas to God.  That boy had been raised wolf-wild by herself and Richie and Robbie.  They hadn’t been much, but they had had each other.  He was always picking a fight with an older boy—and she could only hope that this whole army experience was going to straighten him out.   

Then there was Joshua, also set to end up in the Pacific as a medic.  That had granted her a degree of peace, knowing that his evenings helping her study for school were going to come in handy where he was going.  It might, in fact, just be the thing that ends up saving his life.  

But Charlie? Charlie was, in every sense of the word, hers.  She had raised him from the time of his infancy and so to Winnie Allen, Charlie was her child.  Currently, he was in Texas and Winnie had never been more grateful for the fact that the Air Force programs were long.  She would take those 9 months like a sacred gift from God that he wouldn’t be anywhere near the fighting—at least for a short while. 

And then there was her.  Just her—with no idea where she’d end up, with no clue what her side of the war would entail.  Which of course, would be typical of her life thus far. 

Just then, the door opened and a man stepped inside, clipboard in hand.  “Dr. Allen?” 

“That’d be me,” Winnie said, rising to her feet. 

The man piqued an eyebrow, but said nothing about the fact that she was a woman.  He just let out a weary sigh and gestured towards the door with his head.  “If you’d follow me, ma’am.” 

Of course, a moment ago she was Doctor, and now she was ma’am.  God, she loathed the South.  

Winnie obliged, following after the man with quick steps.  As they crossed out of the building and onto a dirt path, Winnie caught sight of some of the trainees—some of them in the field and doing jumping jacks in the field, some of them running towards a trail through the trees.  There weren’t too many of them at the moment, but that didn’t deter Winnie in any way. 

“Are these the officers that are in training?” Winnie questioned, speeding up her stride to match the man in front of her. 

He let out an annoyed breath.  “You catch on quick.  Sink will like that.  Though I can’t account for how he’ll feel about a woman applying to train our medics.” 

“I’m a trauma surgeon and doctor.  I think my credentials speak for themselves,” Winnie retorted dryly. 

No response from the officer this time, just a huff of air as he came to a stop in front of one of the buildings on the camp.  “Wait here, please.” 

Winnie just crossed her arms and waited patiently, inhaling the cool air.  Not even thirty seconds later, the man had returned and gestured for her to enter the room.  Winnie was grateful for the slight reprieve from the cold air as she entered the room.  And there, sitting in a chair and smoking a cigar, was Colonel Sink. 

“If you’d please take a seat, Doctor Allen,” he gestured at the seat across from his desk with his cigar.  Usually quick to follow orders, Winnie slid into the seat, looking at Colonel Sink expectantly.  It was another moment of silence before Colonel Sink set down his cigar and fully looked at her.  “I’ll be honest, we don’t see too many female doctors come through the military.” 

“I expect you’d see more nurses, sir.” 

“Damn right, we do,” Sink stated.  “This whole war—unpleasant business, not really meant for women.” 

“If I can speak freely, sir?” 

“I’d be appreciative of the honesty, if you did.” 

“You’re right, it’s unpleasant.  But those women are still going to bury husbands, sons, brothers, and fathers.  It affects them just as much as it does the men.” 

“I can’t say I disagree.  Your point?” 

“I’m not a married woman.  I’m a trauma surgeon and head of the trauma department in Buford General.  I was the top of my class and as it so happens, I don’t have any children or brothers—they’re all off in training to fight in this war.  I don’t particularly like sitting on my ass or fancy myself a factory worker.  But I can help you train damn good medics, sir.” 

Sink stared at her for a long time.  His gaze reminded her a lot of her mentor’s, from back in college.  He was always trying to figure out her angles too.  Trying to figure out if she was as good as she claimed to be. 

“I’ll be honest with you, Allen.  We’ve got hundreds—thousands—of men coming in the next few months to train to be paratroopers.  Now I want them to be the best of the best.  And if I want them to survive more than five minutes over there, then that means I also need the best of the best doctors to train my medics.  So I’ll concede to your point.  Your application was good—I’m a self-made man myself and I respect that work.” 

“Sir?” 

“But I’ll also be honest with you.  This isn’t going to be pretty.  It’s going to be bloody and long and tiring.  This isn’t the type of place where you can just escape from whatever life you don’t want to live.  At some point, you might be elbows deep in some man’s guts and I need someone unflinching.” 

“October 27th.” 

“Pardon?” 

Winnie shifted in her seat, leaning forward.  “October 27th, a man and his two daughters are brought into Buford General.  Automobile accident.  The man flung his arm in front of his daughter sitting in the passenger seat.  His arm was hanging by a few strands of muscles and he was going to bleed out.  Now the daughter in the passenger seat got impaled by a fence post—it went straight through her stomach.  The daughter in the back was flung through the car and landed 15 feet ahead.” 

“That’s both gruesome and tragic.   Your point being?” 

“I was the surgeon on call that night.  I triaged.  I assessed.  I delegated.  The father lost his arm but he kept his life.  The daughter who flew through the car wasn’t going to make it.  She was 11.  We were short-handed and I had to tell the nurse assisting me that the little girl wasn’t going to make it and that she needed to focus on the other one.  So she did.  We lost the one—but she was mostly gone by the time she had arrived,” Winnie stated.  “My point here is that I can give your men skills that they won’t get anywhere otherwise.  Real life experience teaching practical application of the skills.  Triaging, assessing, not hesitating in doing the work and saving lives.” 

Sink leaned forward in his seat.  “You’d be hard on them?” 

“I’d be brutal. Because that is exactly what they are going to face out there.” 

“You be the hard-ass doctor that trains my medics, then.  But if you’re gonna be here, then you’re gonna train like my men train.” 

“I’m not a fragile southern belle like Melanie Hamilton, sir.” 

“No, I imagine you’re not.  I’ll give you two nurses to assist with actual injuries on base—and based on performance, you and them might just end up traveling with us wherever we end up.” 

“Sir?” 

“What?” 

“Thank you for letting me advocate my case.  I won’t let you down.” 

“You sure as hell better not.  Or lots of good men are going to die and that’s going to be on your shoulders.” 

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

Within the first hour of being there, Winnie had selected her nurses from the pile of applications.  It hadn’t been that hard of a choice to begin with—some were just practical eliminations, and the rest were a careful read-through of letters they had sent in along with the application.  

Reba Garrett and Eileen Gray were the two chosen candidates that she had landed on.  Reba was from New England and had been working as a nurse for well over five years now, placing her as one of the older and more experienced women applying for the position.  But it wasn’t her experience that attracted Winnie’s attention—it was the letter, and the way in which she described wanting to do some real good in the war and that started with saving lives rather than ending them. 

That sounded exactly like the type of person that Winnie wanted to have on her side.  

Eileen, on the other hand, was from Savannah, Georgia.  While her experience time of only two years wasn’t quite as well-established as Reba’s was, it was the picture that she had included of her brother that caught Winnie’s attention.  Eileen’s brother had been stationed in Pearl and he had been one of the many men to be immortalized under the ocean there. 

That gave her motivation, it gave her righteous anger—and in Winnie’s eyes, it was exactly the sort of thing that God would do—place Eileen in her path to ensure that justice was seen. 

So Winnie penned her first letters to the two women that would soon be joining her here in Toccoa.  And then she took those resumes straight to Colonel Sink—who wholeheartedly approved of the decision, though it was made in haste.  Just another reason for him to see her as a capable doctor—as someone he could trust. 

And in two weeks time, Eileen Gray and Reba Garrett would be joining her at Camp Toccoa.  In the meantime though, Winnie’s own training was set to begin.  And she’d be damned if she let herself be torn down by any man—her superior officer or not.  She was determined to earn her place amongst the men here—and earn their respect.  Consequences be damned. 

[jenroses]

I am in so much pain.

It's probably temporary but by which I mean "I should have an hour or so of complete relief Tuesday when they do a medial branch block" and if that works for an hour, they will follow it up in an unspecified amount of time with a nerve ablation.

You see, my spine is falling apart. On approximately six levels I have foraminal stenosis, disks bulging or slipped, and substantial spinal arthritis. Also bone spurs. None of those locations include the place where my spine takes a random hitch in what my doctor calls "mild scoliosis" and which I call "what the hell it's not supposed to bend like that and also I'm 52 and no one ever told me shit about scoliosis and I know they looked."

Anyway the cervical segments manifest in migraines sometimes and if I don't use a travel pillow to keep my shoulders off my ears when I side sleep my arms start to have Issues. But those are okay right now.

The problem now is in my lumbar and sacrum, where Something Has Gone Wrong and there are multiple nerves getting pinched and thus I have shooting pains, pins and needles and electric shock sensations down my left leg most of the time and my right leg occasionally.

My baseline chronic pain used to be a 3-4.

It's now 7 on a good day.

I also have me/cfs, and i cannot adequately express to you how fundamentally draining it is to hurt all the time.

Because I'm having a procedure tomorrow, I'm off my supplements. No turmeric extract, which is a startlingly heavy lifter in the inflammation department.

No fish oil, which seems to increase my coping ability.

And I haven't been able to take naproxen, which is a rare breakthrough med for me, since Thursday.

Which leaves oxycodone. I hate oxycodone, because it constipates me and isn't very effective at the levels which don't give me a headache.

I've been sleeping in 3-4 hour medicated chunks. The lidocaine patches which usually help are not really doing it.

Sitting up HURTS like a mofo. Standing up sends shooting pains down my leg and lights up buzzing up and down my thigh.

Nevertheless I've spent the last three weeks in Christmas/birthday prep mode, mostly directing other people's cleaning efforts but building a 3d printer and computer for my kid, and having to micromanage party prep because no one else seems to actually see the messes.

The party is over. I am lying in bed on oxycodone that has brought my pain level down to about a 5. 10 is kidney stones and childbirth. Standing up a few hours ago put me at a 9.

I managed to cobble together 6 or 7 hours of net sleep last night in 3 chunks.

In a bit I will apply a massage lotion and use gua sha stones to work on my hip and thigh. It is a very temporary relief but I need all the relief I can find. If the massage did not fatigue me, I'd do it every damn day. But overstressing my hands makes them hurt.

It's hard to remember that I have not always been in pain and that I will not always be in pain.

Fuck insurance companies and their requirements for me to go though so much to get the actual issues addressed.

Fuck Medicaid for not covering any of this shit when I had it.

Fuck fatphobic doctors who just shrugged and said "you're too fat to operate on" when I asked for help 2 years ago. The doctors I'm working with now are the second opinion but if I'd gotten real help 2 years ago I'd be better off already.

Anyway fuck everything. I'm getting 100% of my dopamine from the lovely comments people are leaving on my fanfics. So I've been posting rapidly. There's a good chance this is my last fanfic.

We're supposed to go to Costa Rica in February. I hope I can.

[sketchyorsomething]

So, the long anounced lellinger-fanfic is here!

This is the link for ao3

But if you want to stay on tumblr to read it , you can find it underneath the cut.

Thanks to @skijumpingf1 for beta-reading it and leaving lots of nice comments in the process!

Tags are mainly Hurt/Comfort and Fluff and Angst, it's about Lellinger trying to cope with their bad start into 4hills

„Oh, look! I’d say we‘ve already seen Oberstdorf a lot greener at the start of the four hills", Andreas pointed out, nodding outside of the car window. Stephan hummed in agreement. He chuckled as he entered the circle crossing „Well, that's a way to advertise your brand". The Geiger building on the left side of the road showed a ski jumper – probably Karl – along with the slogan 《fly…. And land your dream job》.

„You can't tell me that Oberstdorf doesn't have a gang problem", Andreas joked.

„The Geiger-Gang?“

„Well, or the Schmid-Gang, you can choose one. Though, I like the alliteration in Geiger-Gang"

„Do I have to turn left here?“, Stephan asked. „Huh, I think so?“ „Thank you for help"

---

It was always a struggle to carry all their things inside their accommodation, no matter how often they have already done it. While Stephan and Andreas tried to figure out how to reduce the amount of times they would have to go back to the car, their team noticed their arrival.

„There you are, what took you so long?“, Pius asked, looking at the other two struggling.

„Andi isn't really the best navigator", Stephan complained while passing him. But not without Andreas overhearing it and starting to argue. He, in turn made a sad grimace as he went inside.

„You know you could also help us, Pius, instead of“, Stephan paused, „supervising us“. It was Stephan‘s third time going back to the car, with Andi already arranging their belongings in their room. He wasn't even sure how they could fit so much stuff into the car. There is no way they are using all of it. Especially because they would stay in Andi's flat for the competition in Bischofshofen and only needed luggage for a little over a week.

„Aren't you done now anyways?“ Pius sounded far too amused for Stephan’s liking. „And besides that, youngsters like you and Andi need all supervision you can get". If Stephan could kill with just a look, Pius’s chance to win the four hills would equal zero right now.

„Please don't remind me“ Stephan rolled his eyes, he did not exactly like his birthday always taking place amidst the tournament. He took out the last bag and closed the car trunk. „We’ll meet up for dinner, right?“

„Oh, yeah. Though Karle and Hille are going directly to the nordic center. But everyone else will be here at the hotel first“, Pius answered as he accompanied Stephan to his room. He said his goodbyes to Pius while already entering it.

His hand ached a little from the strange grip he had to carry the bags with. Stephan heard some rustling from the bathroom. Andi was probably unpacking their sanitary bags. He had already put everything else away (which looked like their jumping related stuff on different piles across the room and one pile with their other belongings. They have not even been here for more than an hour and their stuff is already piling up. They really need to work on their neatness . (There is no way that is actually going to happen – what do they always say? Never change a running system. Even though that exact system is the reason why Stephan isn't sure anymore which Shirts belong to himself and which ones are Andi's)

„Is everything okay, love?“ Andreas made his way back into the main room, hugging Stephan from behind while resting his chin on top of his boyfriend's shoulder.

„We‘ve just arrived and this room already looks like the fight between heaven and hell happened here", Stephan pointed out yawning. „The tournament hasn't even started and I'm already tired.“

Andreas just hummed in agreement. The new season had not been too kind to them yet. Somehow, with their good preparation in summer their current results were even more frustrating. And he should not be the one to complain; he is still considered one of the top jumpers. Stephan had to fight for his spot on the team just a week ago. He profited from his role as the supportive and understanding navigator of the team, who would always listen to everybody’s worries, no matter how small they seemed – even though god knows how much he himself had to worry about. Stephan would always try to help everyone, even if it ended in slowing down his own career. Andreas loved this selflessness, Stephan's empathy. The possibility that this quality could cost him his spot on the team scared him. „Can I sit next to you at the opening ceremony? I don't think I'll be able to answer all the questions about my performance without you by my side"

Now it was on Stephan to make a vague noise of agreement while he maneuvered the two of them towards the bed to properly cuddle his boyfriend. „Sounds good"

---

The weather in Oberstdorf was phenomenal. Andi was right, they have seen it a lot greener already, with snow just on the hill and the skiing tracks. But right now, it glistened in the sun on top of the trees. It was basically perfect ski jumping weather.

With the promising conditions in mind, Stephan made his way to the top of the hill. Sure Østvold wasn't bad – he certainly earned his spot on the team – but Stephan was confident he could beat him. Or at least get into the lucky loser list.

(He ignored the fact that he didn't exactly like the hill in Oberstdorf, Andi always tells him that he shouldn't think about everything that could potentially go wrong and why it could)

Instead he let the sun shine on his face while he stretched and concentrated on his preparation as the first jumpers started.

„Stephan!“, he turned around when Andi called out his name. „Good luck" Andreas reached out to take his hand before he could go the inrun for his training jump. He held it so gently as he kissed Stephan's knuckles and looked at him with a soft smile. It wasn't the bright and blinding one after a great jump that won him the competition, drunk on adrenaline and success. It also wasn't the wide grin, that Andreas always had when he teased Stephan to no end, fully knowing that he could never be annoyed of him. It was the smile of pure love , the one smile that was only Stephan's to see, the smile that made his day each time he saw it, a smile full of trust and support that made the world around them disappear. The smile that always made Stephan smile himself. He pulled Andreas' hand towards his own mouth to press a kiss onto it. „Thank you". His voice was a lot hoarser than it should be. And deeper. Andreas' eyes widened. „Good luck to you too, my love"

Stephan took a deep breath as he turned around, hearing Andi chuckling in his back. That man did things to him, makes his heart going way to fast when he should be focusing on his jump. Stephan loved every second of it.

His jump was good, over 130 meters. He would have beaten Østvold with it, if it had been the actual competition. Stephan was positive the next one would be even better.

He was wrong. The next jump – the one in the competition, the one that was important – was horrible. 115,5 meters. On a large hill. You can't really call that a jump. It was more of a crash than anything else.

Lahti.

It felt like Lahti all over again.

He tried to keep his reaction to professional disappointment. Stephan knew Andreas was watching his jump – his reaction to it in the athletes‘ room . And he wouldn't be able to properly focus on himself if he had an actual reason to worry about Stephan’s wellbeing. So he tried to keep the frustration, the anger, the sadness and the growing fatigue inside.

(He knew Andreas could see right through it)

He waited for Andi's jump. 129 meters. And with that he already lost the tournament. There were already jumps which went nearly ten meters further.

„Come here", Stephan greeted Andi with open arms. A hug would help Andi to swallow his own disappointment and calm him down enough to focus on his second round.

„How are you feeling, Stephan?“, Andi asked as he pulled out of their embrace.

„Tired.“, he answered. „I’m already done with my interviews. I'll take the train back to the hotel after this round finishes. Good luck with your second jump“. Stephan tried to give Andi an encouraging smile but judging by his frown didn't exactly succeed.

„I think we should be there for dinner at around 8. I'll text you when we are heading to the hotel". Andreas knew that Stephan would like it best to be alone for the rest of the day. However he also knew that his boyfriend will start to spiral down in negative thoughts if he was alone for too long. It's always the same with him; Stephan will isolate himself from the others as to not cause any – in his mind unnecessary – worries, thinking that some time alone will calm him down and make accepting the loss easier. In reality, he will only bottle all of the negative feelings up inside him and become more and more antsy and restless throughout the season. And when the season ends and the new preparation begins, with no real expectations, Stephan will be better than all of them combined and everybody will be confused as to why he hasn't been able to perform as well in competitions. And then they will all think that he is going to be the next favourite for the new season, finally back from his injury. And as soon as the new season starts, Stephan will loose his form and will disappoint their coaches‘ expectations again, which will cause him to do even worse because he doesn’t want to disappoint anyone. And now Andreas is the one spiralling down negative thoughts.

The point is: they both need each others' company to perform well. Which is technically why Andreas needs Stephan to stay at the hill, but he understands the wish to not see all the pitiful looks.

---

Stephan walked back to train station. From there he would take a train to Fischen, where their hotel was located. The cool air did not leave any space to think of something different than his fingers aching, his toes freezing and his nose running. So in theory this was an unpleasant state to be in, but right now it felt like heaven.

He took a longer way to the station, wandering through the little city. It seemed quite calm right now, a great difference to when they wanted to drive to the hill. A few hours ago cars could barely make it through the streets because they were filled with people everywhere. People who came to watch Germany taking the first step to secure the golden eagle again after over two decades.

Now he started to think again, what a bummer. To distract himself from that fact, he looked upwards to the lifts going up the mountain behind the ski jumping hill. What was it called again? Nebelhorn. At least according to the big letters on top of the building he was standing in front of. Stephan had actually never been able to go skiing in the cities they visited with the world cup. Although Karl and Hille and Katha and Selina and Lilly and why are there so many people from his team that already live here? Anyways, they all said that there are a lot of good mountains around here.

Oh, there was that book shop that Hille always talks about. The one with the wooden façade! Stephan could go inside and take a look, the shop was still open. However he doesn't know when the train will arrive and he doesn't want to be too late.

Stephan could already see the church, so the train station wasn't too far away anymore. He read through all of the different names of the endless cafés and restaurants. It felt like there were two at every corner. „Bäckerei Schwarz", he mumbled one name. „L'Ultima Trattoria, Café Franziskus". That one looked cozy. He liked the rounded enteryway, it gave the building a certain depth. Cute. Now that he thought about it, Hille probably talked about that one as well. Didn't he have a date here or something? Stephan took a step closer, there was a big yellow letter taped to the door. 《Dear Guests! The Café Franziskus will open its doors for the last time from the 25.12.2024 to 02.01.2025. Thank you for your understanding. Let's hope for someone who wants to keep this tradition alive. Stay healthy. Yours, the team Franziskus》. They are closing. Permanently. Now he remembers what Hille said, he was sad about the café closing. Stephan should really get going.

„Excuse me", Stephan asked one of the police men in front of the train station. „Do you know when the next train to Fischen will arrive?“. Apparently it did in roughly ten minutes. That was more than fine.

---

„Stephan?“, Andreas asked into the darkened room. He did not receive an answer. Taking a few steps into the room he saw that Stephan wasn't lying in the bed but had – judging by his open sketchbook on the little side table – sat at the desk at some point of the evening. That's good. It meant he still had enough energy in him to do something else than lying in bed and stare at the ceiling. And the sketch was already finished as well. Andreas recognized the photo Stephan used as a reference. It was a portrait of Andreas smiling at Stephan behind the camera from his birthday in August. He always drew Andreas if he had no idea what to draw, calls it ‚studying real life subjects to incorporate elements into finished artworks‘. Andreas skipped through the thick pages of the little book. There was another one from today showing Stephan’s hand. The one he kissed before his training jump. Although Stephan seemed to have scrapped the idea of actually finishing the sketch, there were still a lot of lines all over the place resulting in an almost airy, feathery look. Andreas is always amazed by Stephan’s ability to draw. The thought that someone could create feelings with just some strokes of their hand felt nearly godlike, divine. It was the reason Andreas loved Stephan's hands so much, loved kissing them.

„Oh, love, you're back!“, Stephan came outside of the bathroom. Now that the noise had disappeared Andreas could tell that he heard the shower earlier but seemed to be too accustomed to noise at that moment to notice it.

Stephan wore just his boxers and there were still some stray droplets of water running down his body. Godlike, divine. If Andreas could draw, he would also only ever draw Stephan. There would be no reason to draw something else if he already had the most beautiful thing god has ever created right in front of his eyes. (Although Stephan always told him that art isn't always about beauty; it's about feelings. But then again, there was no feeling that made him feel better than being close to Stephan)

„Andi? Are you still there?“, Stephan waved his hand in front of his eyes, smiling, and suddenly being way closer to Andreas. He immediately grapped onto his boyfriend's barely clothed waist, pulling him flush against his own body. Oh, he had missed him. Even if it had just been a little over two hours. Stephan pulled back a little to cradle Andreas' cheek and press a kiss on his lips. He tried to chase it, against his better judgement. They should get going, there is still a meeting waiting for after the dinner. Still „My second jump was better again"

„I know, I watched the livestream while drawing". Another kiss. „I'm proud of you, love.“

„You know, as much as I like to stand here and cuddle and kiss my nearly naked boyfriend,“ Stephan laughed at that comment. His laughs always make Andreas' day. It deserved another kiss.

„To finish my sentence: we should hurry up a little. I don't wanna keep the others waiting"

„I'll grab something to wear then", Stephan smiled without actually letting go of Andreas.

„Just, give me a second". He buried his face in the slope of Andreas‘ neck. Stephan was clearly cold. He had goose bumps all over his body and was shaking in his arms. They stood like this and Andreas knew the moment would be too long, too raw for the both of them. His hands started roaming Stephan’s back, slowly bringing one hand upward to caress the back of his head. Andreas heard him sobbing dryly. „Shhh, I'm here, everything's alright"

„I'm sorry", Stephan cried.

„What are you apologizing for, dear?“

„It's just-", Stephan breathed, trying to pump air into his lungs. When did it become so hard to breath? „It's just“, he tried again. „I know that if I continue on like this, I won't start in Innsbruck". It wasn't just that. It meant a completely new routine, a new roommate, a new schedule, less time to spend with Andi. And it meant worse results – for both of them. Those are what his is apologizing for.

When did they get this dependent on each other?

Oh right, it started basically in the first week they have known each other. Their relationship has always been special, not like a normal friendship. They were always bound to love each other, always bound to be in each other's lives. Only that Stephan's performance, or rather the lack thereof, could result in weeks not spent together. Could result in having to celebrate his birthday alone.

Stephan hated that his birthday always took place amidst the four hills. Andi only ever made them bearable.

„Oh, you are starting to spiral“, Andreas mumbled, softly trying to focus Stephan's attention onto himself rather than his thoughts. „Hey, you know there is still a good chance you're gonna make it. Don't give up before you even started trying"

„I'm cold“, Stephan said and parted from him, his voice hoarse from the regret he felt. „And we're probably late, sorry about that"

Andreas grimaced. Stephan should not be sorry for needing someone to care about him.

„Don't worry about it", Andreas said as an answer while Stephan pulled a shirt over his head. That one certainly didn't belong to Stephan. It had Andreas' sponsors plastered all over it. He smiled.

„You know what I was thinking earlier?“, he asked to pull Stephan further away from those dark thoughts. He looked at him expectantly. „I think we should make up for the missing Raclette way at new year's eve.“

Stephan huffed and started to grin a little.

„You know the weekend after the tournament is empty. They removed Predazzo.“, he further explained his idea.

„Do you really think that's a good idea? All the fatty cheese in the middle of the season? I know you don't really notice that, but not everyone has your genetics". That's good. Stephan joined the banter.

„You know what they say", Andreas mumbled as he pulled Stephan – sadly now fully clothed – towards him. Stephan's eyes were red rimmed from the tears that have yet to be cried, but he smiled a little. „The way into a man's heart is though his stomach". He kissed the tip of Stephan's nose. „And you could definitely use some love.“

„Aren't I lucky to have you as my boyfriend then?“, Stephan asked, just mouth just millimetres away from Andreas'. He closed that gap.

[serendertothesquad]

Seren's Study: Odd Squad Gaming Unit -- What We Know So Far, What We Can Expect, and Can I Have Some W's in the Chat, Please?

(Just as an editor's note: I picked this screenshot of a GEICO Direct ad for a header image out of sheer randomness. But fuck if a foil-wrapped dog delivering a letter that's "too hot to handle" to its owner isn't fitting in several ways, so it's staying.)

It's always fun when I search for something Odd Squad-related and I get hit with an absolute newsflood. This time, though, there's the fact that I'm not the one who found out about this new iteration originally. That honor belongs to TheAGamer on Twitter, who delightfully tagged Athena P to inform her of the newest franchise IP.

So what, pray tell, is this new IP that's got all, oh, 20-something-or-other people riled up? Why, it's Odd Squad Gaming Unit, of course! Finally, I get to see something I never asked for before, having stuff like Pokemon and Sonic and Mario all become canon in the Oddverse and fulfilling my dreams of joy and whims- oh.

...Sorry, what?

...What the FUCK DO YOU MEAN THEY'RE NOT GONNA BECOME CANON?!?!?!

Okay, well, fuck you, I'm mad as hell. I'm mad. I'm seething. I can't cope with this. Fuck coping. Bitch I'm seething.

*long sigh* All right, all right. I'll explain the whole deets below the break.

----------------------------------------------------------

So What, Exactly, Is Odd Squad Gaming Unit?

----------------------------------------------------------

I'm going to speak my opinion piece right out: the whole "Odd Squad X Unit" naming schtick was fine when Odd Squad Mobile Unit did it. And then they did it again with Odd Squad Time Unit, their interactive smartwatch face. And now they're doing it again with Odd Squad Gaming Unit. If, as a creator pitching your spinoff show idea, you can't get past a certain naming schtick that I've only seen dedicated fandoms come up with as fan nicknames, then I will say this with the utmost politeness: please go back to the drawing board. Brainstorm with friends. Really sit and think. Because in terms of everyone who has ever worked on this show, not even I can commit to calling my fanfics by nearly the same name only differentiated by a noun that describes the gimmick of the spinoff story. I'm lazy, but I'm not that lazy.

Okay, with that grievance out of the way, allow me to explain what this thing actually is.

Odd Squad Gaming Unit is a spinoff web series akin to Odd Squad Book of Games and Odd Squad Gadget Testers. With 52 5-minute episodes, it focuses on two agents, Oaklynn (no relation to Oakley from Season 1) and Olindo (no relation to Olando from Season 3), who communicate through video chat and play games together. However, the games they play aren't anything first-party, third-party, or even indie -- they're PBS Kids games.

...Yeah, needless to say, that's a twist I really didn't see coming. Like, at all.

Essentially, OSGU (and I hate that acronym, Jim) serves as a sort of advertising campaign for the PBS Kids Games app and the games on it. This isn't exactly new territory for the network, as they've been doing Let's Play videos with real children on their channel for a long while now. And honestly, I'm fine with that. Doesn't interest me, but sure, okay, why the hell not? They're having fun, and that's what matters. But when you drag a longstanding IP like Odd Squad into it and use it as nothing more than advertising...well, let's just say that GEICO did it better with Helzberg Diamonds in all of 30 seconds. (The difference, of course, is that Berkshire-Hathaway hasn't been abusing GEICO as a company for a decade straight. Maybe. Hopefully. Fuck if I know, man, I don't even work there.)

The main characters are, as stated, Oaklynn and Olindo. Oaklynn is described as someone who is a hardcore gamer, addicted to rules and efficiency but also knowing when to have fun and oh my God it's Olive if her love for video games went beyond "Game Time". Good God.

Okay, well...Olindo is described as someone whose attention span is minimal and whose video game experience is next to none but loves any challenge he can get his hands on PBS when I fucking smite their asses with lightning on God's SOUL.

Orli and Ozzie were flawed main characters for a variety of reasons (which I am getting into in my OSUK recap essay), but at least they had somewhat unique personalities. Oaklynn and Olindo are basically recycled Olive and Otto clones separated only by gender because their roles are open-gender and by partnership because they're not partners. Am I jumping to conclusions? Perhaps, because I'm going off of casting calls and sample scripts and things can always change. But I'm fairly confident that things like character development will go fuck-all out the damn window in favor of advertising, because I'm an old cynical bitch who is getting a dose of the "what can happen with franchise rot" reality.

...I'm sorry. I will never get over the fact that Odd Squad has been reduced to an advertising springboard. I'd have been happier if we got Odd Squad episodes translated into ASL with a translator dressed in an agent suit. (Hey, they could bring back Jayce Alexander!) Instead, this is what I have to settle for. Not a second season of OSUK that could mend the mistakes the first one made and improve that series, not anything new and fresh that could breathe new air into the franchise, but a spinoff web series made with a dark heart from a network who couldn't give two shits about the IP unless it's to flex that their delusional asses have a pseudo-Spongebob and they aren't afraid to use him like it's the real deal.

Moving on to other informational tidbits: Mark De Angelis is coming back as a writer, while Blair Powers and Ellen Doherty are exec-producing. We don't have a director yet; it's up in the air as to whether it'll be Tim, Adam, or someone else entirely. For all we know, neither creator may have any involvement, though that's still unknown at this time.

----------------------------------------------------------

What Can We Expect?

----------------------------------------------------------

Setting aside the obvious advertising gimmick of it all, I'd like to put this on a pedestal next to one other digital web series that I had the...engh...honor of watching: Wordsville. I've already covered whether or not it's an Odd Squad ripoff, but the way OSGU is set up has brought at least a few comparisons to it, and looking at people bring it up, it stokes my curiosity.

Wordsville is basically what happens when you misuse the concept of video chat for a series in more ways than one. Without giving too much of my Mystery League review away (and believe me, that is coming -- I'm binging the whole series and only God can stop me, damn it), that series does better with 11-minute segments than Wordsville does in a mere five. The difference between OSGU and Wordsville, though, is that one is definitively episodic, while the other is also episodic but is executed too poorly and is in the wrong genre. Because of that, I'm not expecting OSGU to be as terrible as Wordsville in terms of execution, because...well, yeah, it's advertising. Execution is a construct. Push product to kids so they will consume product and then consume things similar to said product. Wordsville, by contrast, has no advertising. And while Wordsville is heavily inspired by Odd Squad at worst, OSGU isn't really trying to rip off anything. Unless, from a certain angle, you think it's ripping off OSMU/Season 3, in which case, that's your opinion and I'll respect it.

With 52 episodes set to be filmed over the course of May and June, it's possible we will be getting this series late this year or even into 2026 if the US government decides to engage in more fuckery with PBS (which, aside from them slicing their DEI efforts, is another can of worms in relation to this essay that I don't feel like opening up -- if you know, you know, and if you don't, do some Googling). While this short timeframe was a problem for OSUK, I doubt it'll have any impact on this piece of media in regards to plot or story or whathaveyou. For, y'know, obvious reasons.

Now, as to whether they'll announce it or do a shadowdrop like with Book of Games and Gadget Testers...that remains to be seen. As of now, the only things we have to go on are a Production Weekly newsletter walled behind a $75 monthly payment and the Larissa Mair stuff. If we do get any official announcement on it, it'll likely be sometime in May or June, though if PBS has an upfront this year then don't expect OSGU to be a part of it. (That honor will go to Weather Hunters and Phoebe and Jay.)

----------------------------------------------------------

So In Conclusion...

----------------------------------------------------------

Am I as hyped for this as I probably should be? Absolutely not. Not even in the slightest. There are numerous ways you can take Odd Squad as a franchise, even if it is bound by PBS and their S&P. Using it for commercial purposes ain't it, especially when you take into account its longevity, its staying power, and its successful marketing to territories outside of its native homelands. It's a step down that's just disappointing to see for me.

That being said, if you are hyped for this and are willing to watch it, then by all means. I'll be...well, not hatewatching it, because hatewatching is antithetical to wanting a show to fail, but I'll maybe watch the first episode. Maybe. At this point I feel obligated to. Whether I end up liking it and watching more or not liking it and staying away from it is my own decision. Either way, making episode followups for all of these is not something I plan on doing anytime soon, mainly because I'm not familiar with the Games app and mainly because I'm not planning on feeding into PBS Kids's consumerism any more than I already am (i.e., watching their shows).

Now if you'll excuse me, I'm off to stew in my disappointment and wish for all the snow around me to fucking melt already. I'm like the Among Us meme guy but with snow!

Thanks for reading. Seren out.

[the-s1lly-corner]

Uhh i request you

<-forgot everything about creepypasta after stopping reading fanfics

Uhhhhhhh

Um

...slenderman uhhhhm meeting reader who is the same.. species? Found family????? Reader being chipper and welcoming?? Artistic and calming?? Basically um. I dunno. They also live in the woods and collect poor souls, helping them cope and detach from this world??????

I am.. stoopid.

Slenderman x slender-person!artistic!reader ! (found family)

dusts out my slenderman hcs as well as my au ideas on him aheehee ahoo speed running this since i just put my first round of macarons into the oven and im too impatient to wait until theyre done baking for me to write this NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT

okay but im getting this idea out of the way before i forget. imagine the reader, instead of doing paintings and stuff for the "artist" thing they make little structures and statues and stuff and have them around in your area. of course theyre all made with forest material; mud, sticks, pinecones, ect ect i dont know, i just love the nature aesthetic with this idea and rrrraaaaaAAAAH

for some reason or another, you make your home in the same woods THE slenderman lives in; or perhaps it was the otherway around? regardless, it doesnt take long for you to become aware of one another....

okay but how funny would it be if you guys bonded over your annoyances over people collecting your stuff. people taking his pages, and people taking your art projects (at least the ones that are portable). like!

though i cannot think of any lore reasons for slendermans pages in my au.... i will one day i promise, i feel like thats too much of an iconic thing to just cut out

it DOES take a long while for slenderman to get used to you, much less foster a friendship with you... but a family bond? i mean yeah sure, hes very reclusive... but thats not just with humans. he doesnt like interacting with other creatures, either

pats your shoulder

my moot

my dear moot, allow me to go on a tangent about my take on slenderman

basic summary is that he and all other demon/most nonhuman creepypasta characters were made by zalgo in my funky au; basically to bring disorder and that kind of shit. but like in a "this is just a part of this universe's nature" way. thus making slenderman himself in my take the be a simple fact of life... thinks.. and he resents his own existence, i think. i mean how cruel is it that he was made to cause issues, in fact he cant live without it (eats people) but he was granted the ability to be able to grasp the complexity of morals and emotion. like thats fucked

i love it

anyways, theres that and him just naturally being reclusive! hell even his supposed "brothers" (splendor and trender, i refuse to touch the third one) hes still.. distant

basically what i mean to say is that you guys probably arent going to be.. outwardly close... if that makes sense. like hes not going to be very affectionate; so dont expect many familial... things... and its not often that he would seek conversation out... though

as i write that, if i recall correctly i did give him the vague craving of connection, and while i usually save that for traditional x reader stuff, i think this would still apply to found family stuff! so actually, i think he WOULD eventually start seeking your company out, just for the fact of having someone else to talk to who doesnt resent his existence the same way he resents his own

sits

given my silly hc i do think he would have some understanding with your relationship with humans/lost souls. would he do it himself? i think it really depends on the situation... like if hes not actively hunting he usually just drives people out of the woods, no sense in wasting.... things... you know?

sits

im all jumbled all over the place my apolocheese im just excited to write for slenderman again

will get annoyed if you snatch away his "meal" since AGAIN, he was cursed to feed on people . like he understands why you did it, and he has mixed feelings around eating human (like not in a "im distressed and i hate it" way more so "its not totally desirable but i cant survive without doing this" way)

sits

i think

im gonna toy around with my slenderman hcs... this ended up being more of a hc dump than a x reader, my apologies

its also that as im typing this i realize how similar my takes on eyeless jack and slenderman are... which is funny because they live in the same woods in my au but they fucking HATE each other

territorial stuff you know

[sterlingsilver-starlight]

You are a Gift ❤️‍🩹

Pairing: Park Seonghwa x Female Reader

Genres: Hurt/comfort, angst, drama, fluff, romance

Content Warnings: emotional trauma (reader has verbally abusive mother), very brief implication of past suicidal thoughts, briefly racist language/discussion of racist behavior (reader is mixed white/Asian) mild language, intimate moments (heated makeout scene, but nothing further)

Word Count: 5938 words

Summary: After struggling with an abusive mother’s racist and oppressive behavior, Reader finds solace (and possibly more) in the arms of her closest friend, Seonghwa…

Inspirations: I listened to this emotional music mix and this piano tutorial version of Star 1117 while writing this :]

This was very comforting to write…this is the first fanfic I’ve written (though I’ve read plenty here and there ^^); I hope everyone can find someone like this in their life 🫶🏼

Also please note that this is in no way supposed to represent or depict the actual idol; this is just created for storytelling/entertainment purposes only :)

“Hey…what’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You slumped against the wall, head pounding as dizzy visions pranced about the room overhead. Your hands trembled at the slightest of sounds. Your eyes brimmed with tears that refused to fall, yet collected on your lashes like raindrops after the storm.

What even was real? What was life, anymore? What had it been?

Every step you took…only ever felt like it was one being taken backwards.

Maybe she was right. Maybe you were just a failure at life. A disappointment because you couldn’t keep straight even the most basic things.

You’d tried to drown out the noise as much as you could. But there was only so much you could play pretend with.

The chill in your spine ached like the fever dreams you’d been struggling to cope with the past few nights. Sweat pouring down your temples, constantly waking up in the middle of the night scared with tear-stained cheeks.

You had never meant to get sick. You had never meant to come home and spend the weekend recovering from a cold. And most of all, you had never meant to spread it to your sister.

So little could have prepared you for the awful things your mother would shout back, in spite and hatred that you could do little to deflect.

Except ignore, grit your teeth against, and eventually, cave into and cry silent tears to.

“We were having a great weekend until you had to go and get sick and get your sister sick!”

“I’ll bet you’re so glad you went to see that movie this week, huh? Maybe if you’d had some white friends you’d actually have known better than to walk in the cold like an idiot!”

“Stop pretending to be someone you’re not! All you do is act like you’re 120% Asian! Newsflash: You’re NOT, so get off it!”

There was no end. You bit your lip, fingers shaking furiously. There was no end to what might be said the next day.

Maybe this had all just been a horrible idea to bring him into it, too. You were just disturbing him. After all, isn’t that what she always said? That you were too sensitive to everything in plain —

“Y/n?”

You inhaled a shaky breath, desperately trying not to cry, but to hear him call your name, to hear someone call your name so calmly, as though you weren’t just a piece of trash left on the streets, triggered a dam of emotions.

“I-I…” you started, hoping he would still stay on the line after having been given the unintentional silent treatment for so long already.

“It’s okay. Go on. I’m right here. Talk to me, okay?”

You choked back a sob. “I-I’m sorry I’m such an inconvenience to you. I’m sorry for calling so suddenly, on such short notice, I…” You took a deep breath. “I don’t have anyone else to talk to right now, I’ve been in hell these past few days and I know I look like it. I feel like it. I’ve constantly been reminded how much I’ve screwed everyone’s lives up, to the point that I got so afraid that maybe…”

You couldn’t go on.

There was a light sigh on the other end. “They’re all settled in by now, right?”

Your eyes widened at the sudden shift in topic. “Y-yeah. W-why?”

“Pack some stuff in a bag. You’re staying with me for a few nights.”

Nothing else could have compelled you to gather clothes and spare toiletries in a duffel bag so quickly and so quietly, especially on a late Saturday night.

But when Seonghwa gave you advice so directly, you didn’t hesitate to see it through. He’d been one of your closest friends for what seemed like forever, even though it had only been slightly less than two years since you first encountered him walking to class one chilly winter morning. You smiled at the brief memory.

Headphones charged up, supplies ready to go for lecture, phone at the ready for impromptu sky snapshots, check threefold. You smiled at the glistening snow on the trees, the slight crunch your boots made with every step, the way the sun brightened the eyes of even —

There was a jolt, and before you knew it, you’d completely spazzed out and knocked into a fellow passersby. Pulling down your headphones, you turned around frantically. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

The stranger looked up at you with warm brown eyes that scrunched upward as he smiled. “Don’t worry about it, it’s all good. I should have watched more carefully, no?” He chuckled lightly tapping near his ears, indicating your headphones.

Your eyes widened, cheeks burning crimson. “O-oh! Yeah…sorry about that! Once I hear a good song, I just really get lost in its melody, I guess!” You bit your lip, trying to look anywhere else besides this man’s general direction. He was really quite beautiful, though, the more you observed him: from the outline of his nose jutting out nicely from the soft curve of his eyes and round, full lips, to the delicate swoop of his jet-black, wavy hair.

“Anyway!” you started, realizing you’d been taking in his features much too long. “I’m Y/n. Nice to meet you…?”

“It’s Seonghwa,” he replied softly. “Nice to meet you as well.”

“Seonghwa…” you tested the name on your tongue. “It’s a very nice name. I think it suits you very well.” You beamed up at him shyly.

Now it was his turn to blush. “T-thank you, yours as well…Y/n.”

You sighed as you packed the last pair of socks in your bag. Yes, it really had been that long already since you two had met, and it hadn’t taken an eclipse or anything nearly as occasional for the two of you to become as thick as thieves. For it had turned out that he was also a student at the university, so naturally, you started meeting up regularly, sometimes for study sessions, sometimes to explore the campus, sometimes just to talk about everything and nothing all at once.

And he was the trustworthy, empathetic kind of person as well. So much that, the first time things had really gone downhill back home for the weekend, you had felt dead certain he was the only person you knew who could be trusted with knowing such details. It wasn’t a logical conclusion, going straight off how long you’d known each other, or anything of the sort.

You could just feel it.

At first, you’d been deathly afraid that he might view you differently, worse even, if he knew what kind of dysfunctional shambles you were living under. But when he’d taken your hand that day and assured you that he wasn’t going anywhere, only then did you feel brave enough to tell him what was happening.

Fast forward to tonight, and something very similar was happening. The problem is, you realized, there were still secrets in the shadows that even he did not know of, and that you would rather die than attempt confessing to him.

You see, over the times you’d spent getting to know each other, getting to trust one another more and more, you’d slowly but surely found yourself developing feelings for him, but with how close and intimate your friendship was, you’d been determined never to say anything. Why chance it? Why chance losing a bond that was so precious, that had given you so much hope, so much strength through so much chaos?

“It probably wouldn’t matter, anyway,” you mumbled to yourself. This offer he’d made over the phone was probably just a one-time thing. You were sure that had the roles been reversed, you would be doing the same out of compassion.

You turned again towards your bedroom door, reveling and realizing in that moment all the hells and horrors you’d been an earwitness to for so many years. Most probably wouldn’t believe it when you said that the words your mother spoke, whether out loud to you face-to-face or within earshot from another room to your sister or father, were enough to make one consider taking their own life.

But it was true.

You hated how things had gotten to this point, but, you supposed, maybe most of it could be attributed to just growing older and becoming more aware, more dead set on educating yourself about the red flags and the signs that something, or someone, was toxic. That their atmosphere, their vibe, so to speak, was unhealthy for you to keep absorbing like secondhand cigarette smoke.

There wasn’t much you could do about it, though. You were a full-time university student whose campus happened to be close to your family’s house, so being the frugal young adult you aimed so much to be, you’d chosen off-campus housing with your parents for financial reasons. There were much bigger struggles out there, you’d convinced yourself, that you just didn’t want to tackle yet: juggling bills, paying for your living space, and so on. And while you had been able to save up a bit of money from your summer job, you needed to continue those habits as long as you could to make it all the more easier after you graduated and started working for a while, to ease your mind before graduate school.

A sharp pair of raps at your window startled the rambling trail of wondering memories. You jolted, having squatted the whole time by your bag just collecting things and your thoughts, and looked like a deer caught in headlights as you quickly turned to the glowing windowsill, curtains drawn back enough that they resembled billowing, flowing tendrils in the night.

Seonghwa’s smile might have been hidden by the backlight of the moon tonight, but you could still make out his almost toothless grin as he beamed back at you from the other side of the glass. You couldn’t help but return it as you slowly got up to open the window, realizing how grateful you were that your bedroom was on the first floor.

“So,” he started, looking up at you with a twinkle in his eyes, “are you ready?”

You nodded. “Yeah.” You grabbed one of your bag straps tightly. “Yeah. I am.” You wore a firm-lipped smile as you carefully followed him out the window, taking one more quick look-around behind you to make sure nothing was too out of place — not that anyone would be checking for the next week, anyway. Since you had been getting over a cold, almost everyone (namely your mother and sister) had decided you were about as worth talking to as an infected might be in a zombie apocalypse series: enough to confirm alive-or-not status, and after that, nil.

Realizing this, you stopped behind him and tried not to panic already. He heard your lack of footsteps and stopped with you. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” you swallowed the lump in your throat. “I’m feeling…fine now, but I should let you know,” you continued, backing away slightly to put more distance between the two of you, “I was getting over a cold recently, and —”

“Y/n, I’ll have you know that I’m not just gonna abandon you because you were feeling a little unwell. Everyone gets sick from time to time. Sure, it’s not the greatest thing to be feeling, but it’s certainly no reason to start treating you like you aren’t still, well, you. You’re still the Y/n I know and love, so that settles it.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, taking no apparent notice of the way that your heart was pounding in your throat at those words — or at the smooth warmth of his fingertips.

Don’t overthink it, he’s just saying those things from a place of friendship, remember?

“Come on, let’s go. My place isn’t too far from here, remember? Plus, it might be a good time for a walk.”

Once you made it to his apartment, you felt unease slowly dissipate from your body.

“Make yourself at home. I have no intention of kicking you out quickly, so stay here as long as you feel you need to.” He took off his jacket and hung it on the coat rack near the hallway. You smiled, taking note of the fluffy pink headband with cat ears still hanging near the end; it’d been a birthday present to him not too long ago that you’d figured he would like since cats were something he could just about talk your ear off from.

Setting your bag down, you took a seat on one of the sofas in his living room, the open layout of the place allowing you to continue watching him as he moved his things around, flicked on the lamp near the sofa, and settled in next to you.

“So…” he clasped his hands together, rubbing them gingerly.

“So…?” you repeated playfully, already feeling a bit more lighthearted than you had just earlier.

“What’s going on? Is everything alright?”

You took a deep breath. “Well, you know how earlier I was saying I’ve been getting over being sick, right?”

“Yeah?”

You nodded sadly. “Well…my mom…she didn’t take too kindly to that when she found out. Like, at all. I had a mask on just to be safe when I was headed to my room after my shower, which is unlike me because I usually take it off when I’m home, but my sister spotted it and then pointed it out and then my mom took notice and, and —” You felt tears start pooling in your eyes again, and frantically put the back of a hand to your mouth to quell any sobs that threatened to come forward.

“Shh, shh…it’s okay,” Seonghwa assured you, rubbing one hand gently up and down your back, taking care with the other to pull away the shaky fist you had balled up by your lips. “Keep going, you’re doing great. Nothing and nobody is going to hurt you right now. It’s just you and me. Right here. Right now.”

His hand didn’t leave yours, his fingers slowly unwrapping your clenched ones until they were intertwined.

You swallowed, taken aback by his boldness. “M-my mom took notice, and from then on…it was like I was a prisoner of war being looked down upon every other minute. Even from behind my closed door, I could hear her spewing angrily how surely I had just gotten sick on purpose so I wouldn’t have to do anything while I was at home, how I just loved ruining everyone’s day and everyone’s weekend and how I never failed to not take care of myself and make everyone stressed about possibly catching something from me and…” You looked up at his round boba eyes with your own teary ones.

“And?” he questioned, eyes never leaving yours.

“And…” you stumbled, recalling more that you didn’t want to recall. “How I’m a fool for surrounding myself with people who aren’t white, even though I’m myself white. How…” I bit my lip, still looking into his eyes — for courage, for strength, for something deeper than what I’d been led all these years to believe existed within the eyes of someone viewed in my house as ethnically inferior.

“How?” he continued, urging you to keep going, no matter how hard it got in the middle, or near the end, or even in the beginning, of your words.

“How…I’m bringing shame to my family and convincing myself otherwise just to feel good. How…the friendships I’ve kept are…ridiculous because they’re mostly Asian, perpetuating the lies I tell myself about being mixed or wanting to identify as mixed, even though genetically I am mixed because my mom is half Asian, so by genetics that automatically makes me a quarter.” You broke down into soft sobs. “B-b-but that’s n-not even the worst p-part.”

He said nothing, but the squeeze he gave your hand was more than enough of a response. You worried about continuing, but at this point, you were already in too deep, so you figured you might as well put things out there while you still could.

“The worst part,” you trembled, “is that my own mother would rather die than see me one day in a relationship with someone who isn’t white. Like it would be doing some disgrace to her efforts with having married a white guy, my dad.” You shivered. “It’s just not fair, Hwa! Getting taunted that I pretend to be someone I’m not is one thing, having the friends I meet up with to go see a movie get made fun of and berated because of their ethnicity is another, but now it’s about the kind of person I might one day want to be involved romantically with? I can’t —” You ripped your hand from his to catch your face in both hands. “I can’t take this anymore, Hwa! It’s just not right!”

Uncontrollable crying resonated throughout the apartment for what felt like hours on end. The broken child inside of you was aching more and more with every passing second, half in disbelief of all the verbal and mental abuse and trauma you’d gone through for so many years, especially recently, and then half in shock that you weren’t already dead by now from collapse and grief and complete hopelessness.

“Maybe she was right…maybe I do deserve to just —”

“Stop it right now.” The solemn firmness of his statement knocked you out of a weeping daze instantly. He was firm, yes, and he could be firm, yes. But never authoritatively like this.

“What?” You brushed strands of hair out of your eyes, blinking back tears, lips trembling like hell had frozen over.

“Stop saying these horrible things about yourself. Even if they aren’t things you yourself said in the first place.” He took both of your hands away from your face, cupping your cheeks so that you were both looking each other in the eyes again.

“You are an amazing person, inside and out, and if she can’t see that because of something as trivial as you falling ill temporarily, then she is the fool, not you. She mentions how you’re bringing shame to the family by believing or supporting the people and the cultures you do? Well, she should be ashamed of herself for being mixed and yet being the one to dishonor it as much as she does. And as for that last point?”

He bent down so you were both at eye level, close enough now to watch every eyelash as it flickered up and down between blinks.

“That last point…I personally think that’s for you to decide, who you’re interested in and whatnot. Ignore the noise she brings into your head. It won’t always be there to cloud your thoughts. I know you wish you could have been able to foster a better relationship with her, but…” His eyes slowly welled with tears as well, making yours only brim more.

You hated seeing him cry.

“H-hwa…y-you’re crying…” you raised a hand to caress his cheek, wiping away a lone tear.

He smiled sadly. “For good reason.” His eyes widened more as he took you in. “And…”

“What is it?”

“You’ve never called me Hwa before.”

You smiled back softly. “I guess it just slipped out. Spur of the moment. But…you’re the only constant I have in my life right now. Like the stars.”

His cheeks warmed. “Then I guess it’s only fair to say that you are very much…the same, in my eyes.”

You bit your lip yet again, instantly reminded of the day you two had met when you were a nervous wreck and eager to look anywhere else as much as you could.

“Yes, really.” He repeated, as though answering your unspoken doubt. He continued smiling at you, no ill intent or manipulation locked away in those warm brown eyes, no hatred or malice brushing aside the pure kindness and love that somehow, you could just sense in his gaze.

“Then I…” It may very well have been now or never. You had never been more sure of anything in your life than you were at this very moment, and yet you had never been more unsure of anything, either.

Somehow he seemed to catch on. “Do what you need to do.”

Your breath hitched. “I’m afraid.”

“I already told you…I’m right here. Talk to me. Okay?”

You leaned in, the flicker of the lamp only adding to the small warmth nestled within this space that you two shared.

“Hwa, I…I don’t know how else to put this.”

“Try.”

“You…you feel like home.”

A smile. “I’m glad. Because so do you.”

His hands reached to grip yours, firmly but softly, before he leaned in slowly, closing his eyes. You followed suit, the last thing you saw being the trickle of a tear or two down his lashes, down his cheek, before you met his lips in a gentle kiss. You pulled away slowly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, checking with him silently to make sure it was okay.

To make sure this was real and reciprocated as you were, hopefully, not overreading into.

He smiled back, a small crinkle in his eyes as his view flickered to your lips and then back to your eyes again.

You leaned in again, pressing your lips to his, this time letting your hands travel through his locks, pulling him in closer while his hands wrapped around your waist, moving you ever so slightly so you were in his lap. His tongue nudged your bottom lip, and you obliged, sucking softly on the warm muscle that now danced lithely in your mouth.

His fingers massaged up and down the small of your back, soothingly, as the kiss deepened and the world around you seemed to fade away. For whatever horrors and dangers might be beheld outside these walls, in this moment, it was as though the universe had conspired for circumstances to bring the two of you together here, in the now, in a moment that felt like a dream inside a dream.

With every tender touch of his lips against yours, you could feel warmth and affection pouring from his soul, and through the tears, through the ache of the past, your heart still raced in response, and you couldn’t help but smile into the kiss. It brought a sense of serenity in this way your bodies seemed to melt into each other — a connection that transcended mere words.

You lost track of time as the kiss continued, wrapped up in the sensation of living mindfully, living in the moment, of being so close to him, feeling his breath against your skin, and the way his fingers played a gentle symphony on your back. It was a moment of pure bliss, and you couldn’t help but somehow be grateful for the pain and turmoil that had enhanced your ability to fully embrace and cherish this point — for how would you have been able to genuinely feel the significance of a moment like this, had you not gone through so much dark before?

When you both needed to catch your breath, you pulled back, your foreheads resting against each other. Your eyes locked, and you shared a wordless conversation, a silent promise of what the future might hold for the two of you. It was an unspoken agreement that whatever challenges were up ahead, you would face them together.

His fingers continued to trace patterns on your back, and he spoke softly, “What would you say if I told you I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long, and that it’s even more incredible than I ever thought it would be?”

You giggled, feeling the deepest of happiness truly start to bubble up inside of you. “Me too,” you replied. “I guess I should have just said something earlier on, no?”

His laughter filled the room, a rich, melodious sound that still sent shivers down your spine. “Maybe,” he considered, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. “But I think the anticipation, the longing, made it all the sweeter…even if it took the pain that you’ve been so strong to overcome to get there.” He leaned in to kiss you again, his lips moving with a newfound urgency, a hunger that you sensed had been building for far too long.

As your mouths met once more, the kiss deepened, and the passion between you ignited like a wildfire. His hands moved from your back, now exploring the curves of your body, tracing every inch of your form as if committing it to memory. You gasped into the kiss when his fingers delicately found their way to the small of your back again, pressing you closer to him.

The room seemed to grow warmer, your breaths coming faster and heavier. The chemistry between you was undeniable, an electric charge that pulsed through every touch and every kiss. His tongue danced with yours — a sensual, intoxicating rhythm that left you breathless.

You moved your hands from his hair to his chest, feeling the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch. You could sense the desire in his every movement, and it mirrored your own. The intensity between you kept growing like a storm on the horizon, threatening to consume you both.

His lips trailed from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of fiery kisses in their wake. Your back arched as his mouth nibbled on an area just below your ear, and a soft moan escaped your lips. He smiled and started sucking slowly, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body like lightning.

With a desire that couldn’t be contained any longer, you straddled his lap. It was a bold move, but you were both now beyond the point of hesitation. His hands explored your body more eagerly now, caressing your curves, tracing every inch of your skin as he murmured sweet, passionate words of longing.

The heat between you two continued to intensify, your bodies pressing closer together. Every touch, every caress, every stolen kiss sent electric currents of desire through your veins. It was truly a symphony of passion, and you both were eager to explore every note and melody.

Your fingers found their way to the buttons of his shirt, deftly undoing each one as you revealed the sculpted contours of his chest. His skin was warm and smooth beneath your touch, and you couldn’t resist tracing your fingers along the lines of his muscles. His sharp intake of breath was all the encouragement you needed to continue.

His own hands weren’t idle, either, as they slid beneath your clothes, slowly teasing the sensitive skin of your lower back. You shivered at the touch, a mixture of delightful anticipation and longing snaking through your body. It was a dance of sensation, a thrilling exploration of each other’s bodies that left you both aching for more.

His lips continued their journey down your neck, leaving a trail of soft, moist kisses that made your skin tingle. You couldn’t help but arch your back more, a quiet moan escaping your lips as you kept yearning for his touch, a fire of pleasure igniting within you. The sensation of it all was exquisite, and you held onto him tightly, your nails grazing his back as you bit your lip to stifle your moans, all the while feeling the comfort of being in the arms of someone who genuinely, deeply cared for you.

As the two of you finally broke apart and just lay there, sweat still building and hearts still beating like there was no tomorrow, he sighed in content. Wrapped in the afterglow of your intense connection, he whispered, “You’re safe now, love. I honestly hope you packed enough things coming here, because…”

You eyed him curiously. “Because…?”

He smirked, giving you one more small peck on the lips. “Because you don’t have to go back to that place, to the pain your mother brought. I’ll protect you, and we’ll build a better future together.”

Your eyes widened in shock. “Then…in that case…does this mean that we’re past…?”

He smiled. “That we’re past the point of friendship? Well,” he laughed softly, “considering how the past several moments were just spent, I would believe so. Unless you would prefer otherwise?” He pulled his signature eyebrow raise that instantly made you feel weak in the knees.

“N-no, definitely not!” you stuttered, half-excited and half-nervous. “I mean…I’ve just never gotten to the point where anyone wanted to consider me like that…l-like a girlfriend, I mean.”

“Well,” he whispered near your ear, hot breath cascading down your neck with every syllable, “consider me honored to be the first.” He left a gentle trail of kisses near your collarbone before meeting you at eye level again, waiting for your response.

On the one hand you were filled with gratitude and love, brimming with hope for the future, but on the other hand memories of your past kept your heart heavy. Your throat felt tight as words became hard to say, though they formed so quickly in your mind.

Hwa noticed the shadow that crossed your face, the turmoil still swirling within you, and he gently lifted your chin to meet your gaze. “I can see the worry in your eyes,” he said, his voice tender. “You’re afraid that you’re inconveniencing me with everything now, aren’t you?”

You bit your lip and nodded, the insecurities ingrained by years of manipulation from your mother resurfacing. “I can’t help but feel like a burden sometimes. It’s just that…my mom always made me think I was, and it’s hard to shake those feelings.”

Stroking your hair, Hwa leaned his forehead against yours. “I know you’ve been carrying the weight of your past for a long time. I know you’re still coping with moments of doubt, especially from the difficult relationship you’ve had with your mother. But please, please understand that you are not defined by her words or her actions.”

You closed your eyes finally, feeling the warmth of his presence soothing your troubled soul. “I’ve tried to be strong, again and again,” you whispered. “I’ve tried to let go of the past…but it’s like a shadow that never quite disappears.”

Hwa’s voice was filled with empathy as he continued. “You don’t have to be strong all the time. It’s okay to feel vulnerable, to acknowledge your pain. You’re not a failure. You’re a survivor, and you’re so much more than the hurtful words that were thrown at you.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you finally, finally allowed them to spill over, lips trembling as you realized in that split-second how much you’d pushed to the back of your mind, how much you’d really forced yourself to hide away all these years — how much you’d feared being shunned by another as your own blood mother had for so long. “I just…I don’t w-want to b-burden you with my problems. I’m a-afraid…to be too sensitive, like she always said. Or to string you along under the guise that I’m something I’m not, like an imposter of my heritage or — ”

“Your mother’s words have no basis in reality,” Hwa began, his voice firm but gentle. “You aren’t defined by her prejudices or expectations. You aren’t a prisoner of her narrow-minded views. Y/n, you are your own person, with your own identity, and you have every right to embrace all aspects of your heritage, including the Asian part.”

Your eyes met his, wanting to believe the truth behind what he was telling you. “But, Hwa, I’m only a quarter Asian, and my mom’s made me feel like I have no right to claim that part of my identity. Plus, she makes me feel like I’m doing something wrong by having friends who aren’t white.”

He smiled softly and cupped your face, shaking his head as his eyes filled with warmth. “You are as much Asian as you are anything else. It’s not about the percentage, it’s about how you feel and what you choose to embrace. Embracing your Asian heritage doesn’t make you any less of who you are. It’s a part of your identity, and you have every right to explore and celebrate it. And your friends, no matter their ethnicity, are bringing diversity and richness to your life. I can always see the effect glowing in your eyes. Don’t ever lose that spark. It’s what adds to your amazing character, whether you know it or not. Those connections you’re always so apt to keep making just reflect the beauty of your open heart and your willingness to meet people from different backgrounds. You should be proud of the friendships you’ve built, so don’t let anyone ever make you feel otherwise.”

You felt a spark of hope kindling within you, the idea that you could embrace all facets of your identity, all features of your ethnic communities, and not be constrained by your mother’s views. You wrapped your arms around Hwa’s neck, nestling your cheek against the warmth of his chest, the steady pace of his beating heart syncing in time to your slowing breaths.

Hwa’s expression softened even more, and as he held you tighter, he looked down at you lovingly, wiping yet another stray tear. “And you are not a burden, my love. You are a gift. You bring so much light and happiness into my life, and I’m grateful for every moment we share. Your feelings are valid. I’m here because I want to be, because I care about you, and because I want to support you through this journey of healing, however long it might take. Your sensitivity is a strength, not a weakness. And it hurts me to see you carry this weight, but please know, you are cherished, and you belong here.”

His words were like a warm embrace for your soul, and you felt the tight knot of self-doubt beginning to unravel. “Thank you for being so understanding and patient with me, Hwa,” you whispered, tears of gratitude glistening in your eyes.

He leaned down to kiss your forehead and held you close. “You’re not alone in this, my love. We’ll face your past together and build a brighter future, one filled with the love and happiness you deserve. I’ll always be here to support you, to remind you of your worth, and to love you unconditionally. You’re not alone in this, and you never will be.”

You smiled slowly but surely at him again, bringing him close to you for another kiss, softer but sweeter this time around. As you nestled into his arms, the storm of your past seemed to fade away, and you basked in the love and acceptance that he offered. With each passing moment, you felt yourself healing, letting go of the guilt and insecurity that had held you back for so long.

With Hwa’s support, you felt more and more of a renewed sense of hope and determination, ready to leave behind the painful memories and look forward to the beginning of a life you could feel ready to step towards, together. A breeze began to pick up outside, as far as you both could hear, but you could care less now, your embrace and love stretching the seconds and enriching the heart in such a way as to convey just how thankful you were to have him in your life, in your arms, in your warmth, and in your future.

[prepare4trouble]

So, after my post about finding old fic, I decided to make a post, of fanfics I’ve loved over the years. I thought maybe other people might enjoy them too.

It’s not a complete list, there are a lot of other fics that aren’t in the list, mainly because I have and have had favourites saved all over the place, and I’ve got still more that I probably haven’t remembered. I’ll add more later.

All of these are complete, I haven’t included WIPS as much as I have some I loved, I doubt they will ever be finished now. Maybe I’ll add them later too, with warnings of course.

Most of these are pretty long. They are all ones I’ve gone back and read over and over, some though, I haven’t read in years, so maybe they’re not as good as I remember. Hopefully they are though.

This list is mainly for my own benefit, but I hope someone else gets some enjoyment out of these too, and please feel free to reblog and add your own faves.

So, in no particular order:

Cruel Necessity by Epona Harper - Real Ghostbusters fanfic. 79k words.

Summary: An attack on Peter has far-reaching repercussions.

No Little Charity by Perspi - House MD fanfic. 37351 words.

Summary: It was an old ritual, old magic from before the world had rational explanations and cold science. Cold science had failed House; Wilson had nothing left to try but this. (You need to be logged in to view this one)

Tarred and Feathered by Crydamoure - Good Omens fanfic. 75735 words.

Summary: It was the most obvious punishment. The Archangel created to carry Her voice suddenly rendered mute.

(Gabriel falls, personally inconveniencing Beelzebub)

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan - Good Omens fanfic. 10452 words.

Summary: "All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?"

Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval.

 "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."

 AKA The Fic That Tumblr Made Me Write. Heaven and Hell share a corporate party once per millennium. This time someone's had the bright idea of issuing a challenge to the demons of Hell. Crowley has no intention of missing the opportunity; Aziraphale's just enough of a bastard to make him work for it

Eclipse by AconitumNapellus - Star Trek TOS fanfic. 82773 words.

Summary: Spock is blinded in an explosion on the Enterprise and relocates to Earth for his rehabilitation. While he grows used to his new world and finally returns to the Enterprise, he and the crew must find out if the explosion was an accident, or terrorism.

(This one is part of a series, but you can get to the others from this one)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm. Good Omens fanfic. 99423 words.

Summary: As soon as Aubrey Thyme, psychotherapist, had opened her office door and seen her new client, Anthony J. Crowley, sitting in her waiting area, she was observing and assessing him. At first glance, she paid attention to the following:

--His clothing was expensive and stylish;
--He wore very strange but noticeable cologne;
--His relationship to the seat he occupied could only, very loosely, be described as “sitting;”
--He looked angry;
--He was wearing sunglasses.

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

The Manipulation of Julian Bashir By The Tystie. Star Trek DS9 fanfic. 218000 words

SUMMARY: When you have lived a lie for over half your life, how do you cope when the truth comes out? A story about Julian Bashir, set in season 5.