#except I ! I don't even know for sure what all of these are and I'm not NECESSARILY /any/ of them at all and

[shackleton2]

it's true and I say this as an avid binge-watcher who in the stone age had to look up transcripts of episodes because I couldn't wait THREE ENTIRE DAYS OF MY LIFE FOR NETFLIX TO MAIL ME THE NEXT DVD

Seasons of TV released as one fat drop of 8-12 1-1.5hr episodes, literally being told THIS IS FOR YOU TO BINGE IN ONE INSANE SITTING is the exact definition of my dreams and desires.

......why are they no good??

I can definitely think of exceptions, but "both of them have too much time and not enough time for the characters to struggle and grow and change," as it's well-put above, does seem to be the rule more and more. But what does that phrase really mean??

I saw something recently weighing in on this and saying series in particular seem to think every single thing depicted on screen has to move the story forward, possibly because everything is angled to encourage "binging". It's funny because that sounds like it should do the opposite of making the story feel ponderous and pointless!! So what's going on?

Maybe it's because Real Life™ isn't constantly moving towards one plot resolution, so the more you write a story where that's true, the more impossible true immersion for the viewer becomes?

But also I think actively designing a series to be compulsively watched in one or two massive sittings is hurting them as stories. Maybe it's because bingeing, especially as it's understood in other contexts, is not about enjoying something massively good, at least not after the initial part.

We all know this, right? You don't binge on something because it's just sooooo good. Are there people out there who have never done any kind of binge? Maybe so, so I'll tell you because I surely have: it's inertia. A really scary kind, to be honest, that feels, after a while of getting acclimated to nonstop-consuming the thing, like an absolute involuntary need. Because the second I stop eating the family sized bag of chips, stop taking another drink, stop lighting another smoke, reality will come rushing back in place of the comfort-stimulus. And in reality I am not experiencing joy or even pleasure, I am experiencing the kind of existential horror you get when you try to convince yourself you don't actually have to deal with your own mind. This 100% applies to letting the next episode autoplay after 5 hours of watching one story unfold.

Sorry I got kinda dark there, but the point I'm trying to illustrate is that I don't think you NEED a GOOD PRODUCT in order to get people to binge. And, well, that shows more and more with this "content" streaming services are releasing.

True Blood was a hot mess in so many ways and my mental health sure as shit was too but holy shit watching that obsessively years back was so FUN. That show and other story-loves of mine feel different from stuff getting released in full-season streaming dumps right now, and I don't think it's quality of writing or acting or effects or anything else making the difference as much as whether a show seems to genuinely LIKE itself, or whether it's counting on you finding it preferable enough to reality to let the next episode play and thus get good stats.

we need 15-20 episode seasons again these limited series have the worst pacing in the world and none of the character decisions hold any weight

[dorabellingham]

Bed breaker

warning: there is a part where if your native language is not english, you can substitute :)

characters: jude x reader

summary: when you decide to do certain things and the bed ends up breaking

may contain spelling and translation errors!

You were relaxing on the couch, wearing a light and comfortable dress, still savoring the unforgettable moments of the day. The apartment was silent, except for the sound of your favorite playlist playing softly in the background. It was already night when you heard the front door open.

—Babe?

Jude called, entering the apartment with his hair still damp from the shower in the locker room after training. He was dressed casually, in a tight black shirt and sweatpants.

You stood up with a smile, going to greet him.

—Here!

Jude wrapped you in a tight hug, burying his face in your neck.

—How was the rest of the day? Did you have fun?

—It was perfect. —You answered, feeling his comforting warmth. —And your training?

—Tiring, but nothing I can’t get over. —He pulled you closer, running his hands around your waist, and murmured: —Now all I can think about is how I want to end the day.

You laughed, but you could hear the tone in his voice.

—Oh, yeah? And what would that be like, honey?

He tilted his head, looking into your eyes with a mischievous glint.

—I think you already know.

Before you could answer, Jude picked you up, ignoring the shy protests you whispered.

—Jude!

You exclaimed, laughing as he carried you towards the bedroom.

He gently placed you on the bed and climbed in right after, pulling you towards him. The atmosphere quickly changed from playful to intense, with the closeness of you and his slow, determined touches.

You always loved the way he made you feel —special, wanted, like you were the only person in the world that mattered. And in that moment, you knew he was completely focused on you.

Things heated up quickly, the two of you completely forgetting about the world around you. But then, as the rhythm grew more intense, a loud crack echoed through the room, followed by the sound of wood breaking.

You and Jude froze, exchanging confused looks. And then... the bed gave way completely, the mattress sinking to one side as the frame broke.

You let out a yelp of surprise and then began to laugh uncontrollably. Bellingham, who was half on top of you and half trying to balance himself, let out a deep laugh.

—Are you okay, Y/n?

He asked between laughs.

—I am! But the bed clearly isn’t!

You replied, wiping away tears from your laughter.

—That was a sign that we’re too intense.

Jude joked, sitting on the crooked mattress.

You shook your head, still laughing.

—I knew this bed was flimsy, but you took it to another level, babe!

While you tried to compose yourselves, you started talking without thinking, still lost in the fun of the moment.

—It's completely ridiculous... I don't know how this happened

Jude stopped laughing and looked at you with a mixture of surprise and delight.

—What did you just say?

You blinked, realizing what you had said.

—Oh, sorry, it was automatic.

—No, no, keep going. —He asked, still smiling. —I love it when you talk like that. It's been years since I've heard your accent, sweetie.

You blushed, but decided to continue.

—I don't even know what to say. Maybe you should buy a sturdier bed?

Jude laughed out loud.

—I'm sure I'm going to have to buy one now. But you talking like that… I almost don't want you to stop.

You rolled your eyes, but couldn't hide your smile.

—You're really stupid, Jude.

—And I have no idea what that means, but it sounds cute.

He replied, leaning in to kiss you.

After a few minutes of joking and talking, you decided to improvise. Jude pulled the mattress to the floor and adjusted the pillows.

—This will have to do for now. And tomorrow, we'll buy a bed that can withstand our adventures.

You settled down next to him, still laughing lightly.

—I can't believe the bed broke today.

—I'd say it was a memorable way to end the day.

Jude replied, hugging you.

As the rain gently tapped on the window and tiredness finally caught up with you, you realized that, despite the setbacks, you wouldn't trade that moment for anything. You laughed until you fell asleep, promising that the next one would be even more unforgettable—with a new and much more resistant bed.

[heartandbow]

Midnight Blue

BUCKY BARNES X FEM!READER SMUT

summary: Bucky hated you in many different ways, and tonight was no exception. tw; smut, choking, dom!bucky.

Despite Bucky's reputation of being big, bad, and dangerous, there is yet to be a time he ever scared you. Even now, where he was in the very building somewhere to kill you, you knew his only weakness — he couldn't sneak around.

It's not surprising when you think about it. With his death stare and metallic arms, anybody would spot him coming from a mile away. You just have to make sure you're faster than him, which happened to be your specialty. Being a thief for the last few years taught you everything there is to know about blending in with the shadows.

Which was a shame, you thought, because I look nice today.

You did look nice. You were currently in a gala for some valiant cause or other, hosted by some rich businessman you hadn't bothered to catch the name of. You had on your midnight blue gown, embedded with pearls that reflected off the champagne glasses and Rolex watches.

"Excuse me," one of the attendees said, tapping your shoulder. "Are you Miss Malley?"

"No," you smiled broadly, knowing the guy was about to hit on you any second.

"Oh, my mistake." He had a sheepish grin. "I'm Shane. Can I buy you a drink?"

"The drinks are free," you said, grinning right back.

"I know."

"Aren't you busy trying to find Miss Malley?"

"Who?" The smile hadn't worn off.

This particularly uninteresting conversation was cut short by sudden silence at the gala. The foolish sack of a man had diverted your attention just enough that you saw a metallic death stare at the end of the gala — a stare that seemed just for your particular demise.

Don't panic, you thought, staring right back. He wouldn't dare hurt you with this many people present. Even then, he was making his way towards you. You moved away, silent as a ghost.

With each turn of crowd, you realized you might quite possibly be stuck. Bucky had brought in reinforcement ranging from Natasha Romanoff to Captain America, all of them in regal formal attire and in different corners. No one except Bucky had spotted you, possibly because he was the only person who actually had a personal vendetta against you.

Get out, your brain said clearly. Get out before they bring you to Stark. You had enough beef with that man to last for a lifetime.

You grimaced, then looked for the exit. Not the one that the attendees use, no, that would be too easy. You headed for the staff exit, the one behind the kitchen.

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

Half an hour later, you were walking through the dark alley, your heels clinking against the pavement. You were exhausted from all the walk, but you were used to this dance by now. Move until the target is off your back. That's how it's always been.

You wondered if you'd ever get tired of the steps.

Someone whistled. You turned to see a man around his late 40s, clearly drunk out of his mind.

"How much for the night, sweetie?"

You squinted. He looked harmless enough. You kept on walking, ignoring his continuous calls behind your back.

"Don't be like that! What, I'm not young enough for you? I thought your kind took money from anyone with a dick!"

You had half a mind to punch him in the face with the hidden knife.

No, walk on. Last thing you need is a corpse on the street.

A second passed, then two. The man's immediate silence ticked off your senses. You turned around to see him on the floor, unconscious. Somehow, it did not look like it was the alcohol that took him out.

You were almost impressed when a knife appeared at your throat from behind.

"You're getting better at sneaking around," you said proudly. "You didn't have to knock him out though. Chap was not laying a hand on me."

"Shut the fuck up." Bucky's raspy voice sent a jolt of adrenaline down your spine. His anger was controlled, but you still could hear it.

"Your wish." You stepped on his shoes. He let out a pang of hurt, not expecting your heels to feel that sharp.

One moment of distraction, that's what cost him. You whipped your gun and faced him, smile on your face.

"How did you find me?" you asked, genuinely curious.

"That hardly matters." He put his hand out, grabbing the gun, or trying to anyways. You stepped out of the way just in time and he grunted.

"You need to loosen up. Like the night we did the Catherbury mission, remember?"

That only seemed to rile him up more. You didn't think he even cared that much about the fact that you were in Avengers a good deal of time before you sneaked into Stark's office, got his card, stole a great deal of gadgets and sold them off the black market. You didn't think he even cared you were the biggest thief in the city, one that fooled even the avengers.

His vendatta against you was personal, because he considered you his friend. The cold, cruel Bucky was duped for the world to see.

"I really think we should sit down and talk," you said, the gun still held high. "Everything I did was business Bucky, stop taking it so personally."

Bucky's face showed just a tinge of hurt, but then he hurled — no weapons, no hesitation. Just full-on pounced on you, and your back hit the wall.

"If everything wasn't so fucking personal, shoot me," he practically spat out those words.

You realized you hadn't even thought of using the gun that lay hanging lifeless from your hands. You tried to grip it, but Bucky pushed his hand on top of it, bending the metal seamlessly in a way it was upside down. You let it go and tried to move.

Bucky clapped his hands on the wall on either side of your head. His eyes were smeared with charcoal and he smelt like musky cologne.

"Where's your disappearing act now?" he whispered, making you feel all sorts of things.

"Let me go," you said, gritting your teeth. God, he was standing too close.

He bent his head down and brought his lips near your ears.

"You've no clue how long I wanted to have you like this," he said, making your heart skip a beat. "Unescapable, vulnerable, scared."

"I'm not scared."

"You should be." He put his hand — the non-metallic one — over your throat. His touch was gentle, but the message was clear; he could kill you in a touch.

Though it didn't help that you liked it a little too much.

"How did you find me?" you asked again, calmly.

"Shane is my friend. He put a GPS tracker on you. I knew you'd run so all I had to do was wait."

You were impressed yet again.

"How did Shane find me? I was blending in the crowd well."

Bucky's eyes shone brighter. "You weren't going to blend in with a dress that beautiful," he stopped, removing his hand. It was as if he just realized how close he actually was to you. His eyes slid down to your lips just a second. His hands started lowering from the wall to your waist.

Then his lips were on yours, and you could have sworn he put all his anger into it. One kiss and he was prying your lips open, making out with you in that dark alley with a knocked out man five feet away.

"James," you whined between kisses, pulling him closer. The moans did things to his brain. He slid his hands through the slit of your dress, grabbing your thigh with a force that had you unnerved.

"Can I—"

"Yes."

He closed your mouth with his other hand. "No, listen to me first. I want you to mean it. Completely. Because I don't know the things I'll do to you when you say yes."

In response, you took his hand from your thighs and slid them higher, right into your panties. You pressed your body against his and you could feel him being hard.

"I hate you," he said curtly, then picked you up with effortless strength. Two minutes and you were in a secluded part of the alley, and he was setting you down on an old bench. He bent down, keeping eye contact with you all the while.

"You're so fucking beautiful," he whispered, placing a kiss on your neck. You moaned, but didn't move. He dragged your lips from your collarbones to the edge of your neckline, and pulled the dress down.

Without waiting a beat, he took off your bra and kissed your nipples.

"Bucky," you whined, and all he did was bite down harder. He let his hand drag down and pushed two fingers right into your pussy. The pain was immediate and pleasurable. His pace was slow and you started grinding on his fingers for more friction.

"Shush," he said, taking off his fingers and setting you up straight. "Do you want me to fuck you, Y/N?"

"Yes," you said, moving in for a kiss. He turned his head away.

"Beg."

"Fuck me Bucky, please." You moved your hand to his pants, and he looked like he might lose all control. A few seconds of unbuckling and he took you in his arms, pressing you down to the bench and spread your legs wide.

You were wet already, and the sight of his big, hard cock hadn't helped. You were dripping down your panties.

"Beg," he said again, taking off your panties and throwing them away.

"Please fuck me, James, fuck—" you gasped when he thrust his dick in you. A moment of holding onto his hand and he was fucking you like you were his. He leaned over and bit down on your neck. A kiss and a few sucking and you knew that was going to leave a mark.

You didn't care. You were being dicked out of your soul and you were taking every second of it.

Then it stopped. He pulled away from you, his dick still hard. You were confused to see that big smile on his face, even more so when he started zipping his pants.

"You left me three months ago," he said, straightening his hair. He leaned down to kiss your forehead. "Next time you think of me, I want you to think of me fucking you like you're my bitch. How having my hands on your throat was enough to make you wet."

Revenge. That's what it was?

"You wanted to fuck me to make me regret lying to you?" you asked breathlessly, feeling ashamed that it already worked.

Bucky smiled. "I wanted to fuck you for a whole lot reasons Y/N, but I also want you to knock on my door and apologize, preferably on your knees and begging. On all fours. I'd sacrifice the rest of the night to see that."

He pulled you up and put the dress on tidily. "Goodbye. And, you really do look beautiful."

Motherfucker, you thought to yourself as he left.

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

commissions info

kofi

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[writingwisterias]

Ruined

Kidnapper!Leon Kennedy X AFAB!Reader Warnings: DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, SMUT, 18+ONLY, Emotional Manipulation, Degradation kink, Kidnapping, Injuries, Isolation, Manipulation, Dub-Con, Rough Sex, Public Sex, Manhandling, Implied Abuse, Initial Carving, Blood Play, Unprotected Sex, Age-Gap Words: 5.9k Dedicated to @friedtofu4 for allowing me to ramble about this for days

Taglist: @rigorwhoring

You were pissing him off. You always did when you acted like that. His fingers twitched at his sides as he watched you beg beneath him. Another escape attempt. That just wouldn't do. Couldn't you see that he was just trying to help, to keep you safe from all the threats he had seen in the world? You were so perfect, always devoted to him. Always following every rule he had in place except for today? Yet now you are here sobbing at his feet in a ruined nightdress, an expensive one he treated you to after such good behaviour. What a waste. Of his time, his money. Your dumb brain clearly didn't understand. 

Your tears were fat and heavy as they ran down your dirty cheeks. He wasn't proud of the way he manhandled you to the ground, sighing at the sight of your face dirtied from the mud as you fought him off. Leon hated seeing the cuts and scrapes that littered your arms, the specks of blood on your lips from where he had bit down on it too hard in a kiss he forced you to participate in. "I'm sorry Leon...please...forgive me" you spoke in choked breaths, your chest rattling with each intake. 

You weren't sorry, you did it on purpose. He knew that. He wasn't stupid. You took him for granted, something you needed to be punished for. After all, he's only helping you, providing a life where you don't have to worry about anything but keeping your legs open when he is around. But you still ran away and tried hiding in that thorn bush. The blood on your skin was your own fault, you needed to understand that. "If you were sorry you wouldn't have done it. I'm trying to keep you safe" Leon said, his tall frame never faltering. His back is just as straight as when he shut the door. "I know...I'm sorry...please...I'll do anything. It was a mistake" you cried. Practically kissing his mud-coated boots. Your hands tugged at the hem of his jeans, holding onto them for dear life. 

Leon lowered himself into a squat, his fingers tilting your chin in the air as he looked at you. Your bottom lip was jutted out, a pathetic look for you. Feigning Innocence. "I thought we grew out of this baby" he cooed. "You were behaving so well" 

His presence was a false comfort, his tender touch was soon to turn sinister when he finally got you into the headspace he wanted. The easy pliable one that would just take whatever he gave you. Leon wasn't sure if he wanted to shove his cock inside your mouth. Maybe even shoving himself so far you couldn't breathe, only himself filling your senses. The thought of you on your knees made his cock twitch in his trousers. He would thrust deep inside of you, making sure you thought of nothing but his relentless thrusts. However, the thought of giving you endless creampies was also appealing. The options were limitless. 

“Leon…I'm sorry” you sobbed again. Your hands are now gripping his knees. “You’re all dirty after that honey” he sighed. You nodded, breaking his eye contact to look at the state of you. You weren't the presentable thing he always liked, the little doll he wanted you to be. “Please forgive me, I didn't mean to run away” 

It hurts him that you were lying. Of course, you meant to, you didn't hide your dislike for him very well. He had noticed the bathroom window suddenly opening wider and wider with each shower you took. He trusted you, trusted that you would change your behavior; to not run into the woods like you did today, but you didn't. He sighed, his knees clicking as he rose above you again. You watched him, never breaking eye contact. Leon held out his hand, your own sliding in it fingers brushing his wrist as you used it to help him stand up. “Let's get you cleaned up” Leon spoke as he dragged you away towards the bathroom. The only room you ever had privacy in, not that you would anymore. The privilege was now to be taken away, the window cracked open as a reminder of your escape. Of how close you actually were. 

Leon had to admit it was smart, he never noticed until one night as he pissed he felt the cold breeze. The window just above the toilet in front of him was open and the cause of the breeze. It wasn't enough for him to jump into action, he waited; baiting you into actually going through with it. It's like you forgot what he used to do for a living, the job that trained him to have the same set of skills that have kidnapped you and kept you hidden for so long. 

Leon turned the shower on – the steam combating against the winter chill. His hands were gentle as they stripped you, the dirty fabric pooling on the floor around your ankles. “Look at how messy you are” he sighed as he led you into the stream. Your knees ache as you bend them to get into the tub, the small scabs breaking allowing the blood to flow again. Leon tutted at the sight of you, at how desperate you were to leave that you didn't even care about your delicate skin. The white tub was soon filled with a brownish red.  You stayed silent, eyes flicking towards the door, window and Leon. He watched your brain tick as your thoughts began to outweigh the risks. Calculate an escape plan or think if it was worth it with him in the room. “Aren't you tired of fighting? Don't I do enough for you?” Leon sighed. 

You watched his features, his eyebrows curved upwards showing concern and sadness. Whether those were genuine feelings you didn't know. The occasional up turns of his mouth, a smirk waiting to be revealed, told you otherwise. You constantly fell for his tricks and that's what made you so mad. So desperate to run away. You hated how he loved you unconditionally no matter how much you kicked and screamed or plotted against him. His love and loyalty never wavered. You never understood why he wanted you to be so special, to feel this unwavering love he had for you. It hurts your brain late at night as you think about it, looking at the thin netting blowing from the tiny gap he allowed in the window. His arm draped over you, fingers grasping at your waist tightly. Sometimes you awoke to bruising. 

You were tired of fighting but it felt like it was just too easy to give in. Accept this as your new life, even if you didn't ask for it or work for it like you were raised to. A retirement fund sitting in your bank account that you no longer have access to. “Aren't you? Tired of fighting?” Leon repeated his question. His hand grasping your chin to bring your attention onto him. You wanted to answer, if you said yes; you would get everything you ever wanted without having to worry about the outside world. Maybe he would even let you wander the woods if you built enough trust. You could see the stream from the living room, maybe you would be able to touch it freely. Yet, if you said no, you would be here anyway. Your restrictions are tighter, rules stricter. A structured life inside the wooden walls. The air escaped your chest as you nodded, looking at the open window once before opening your mouth to finally speak the words. “I am tired of fighting” 

Leon’s grin grew. His laughter filled the room only to be silenced as he kissed you. Guilt flooded your system quickly, the shower didn't wash it away as you thought about everyone outside of these woods. All the people that loved you traded for a life of luxury and freedom. A life provided by your kidnapper. “I'm proud of you baby. You made the right choice” he spoke, his hair dampening as leaned into the stream to kiss you again. You enjoyed the taste of Leon, the feel of him as he thrust into you. You knew you wouldn't regret your choice to be with him forever, an unofficial marriage. But your family and friends cannot be a part of your life. You would soon become an unsolved mystery to them, their life filling with grief and mourning you whilst you lived perfectly fine. 

Leon fed you lies, and told you they didn't love you. That if they did they would have found you, but that one last group of brain cells that you clung into told you otherwise. Maybe one day you see them again, and beg for forgiveness for all the harm you caused them by agreeing to him. By living this life. You were sure an apology wouldn't fix anything, burning that bridge to them was a death sentence to that life. The final claim snipped away with the hand that now dragged you out of that shower. The ones that wrapped you in the fluffiest towel and led you into the bedroom. “Oh baby you are going to be so happy” Leon chatted mostly to himself as he led you. His words fill the emptiness of the cabin, echoing through the long dark corridors. “I'm sure I will be,” you spoke quietly. Your voice was strong, not letting your emotions leak out into the words you spoke. Never allow the turmoil inside you to become visible to him. 

Leon patted you dry and combed your hair with utmost care. Then he tended to the scraps, cotton pads with witch hazel, some coated in disinfectant. His hands were not gentle when he touched them, fingers pressing into the bruises watching your reactions as they flashed across your features. “Hurts doesn't it? This is what it felt like when I went to check on you and you weren't there. Only to find your footprints leading away” Leon spoke, looking up at you through your brows. “I didn't…mean to hurt you” you spoke bluntly, you even cringed after the lie left your lips. His head snapped up, eyebrows raised as he looked at you. “You expect me to believe that?” Leon chuckled, his hand pressing down on your knees earning another hiss. “You think I'm a fool, do you?” 

Your wet hat stuck to your face as you shook your head. “You hurt me too,” you said. Your voice was timid as you sank into yourself. “What I do. Is nothing compared to what I've seen other people do” he stated, his words were clipped. “I have only protected you. I will always protect you”

Leon lowered his head again, tending to your wounds once again. You nodded your head, words unable to form in fear he would just dispute them. You could feel his love, his claim over you in every word he spoke and yet you still defiled him, denied him of your own. 

“I want to be able to go outside…to see the stream” you whispered after a little while, breaking the silence. Leon's head shot up again scanning your face for any form of lie, a hidden meaning underlying your words. “Maybe I could – I could earn back your trust?” You spoke again. You cringed at his sigh and flinched at his movements to stand. Leon looked down on you, dominating you. Yet instead of talking to you or offering you an ultimatum to your request he just held out his hand. “Come on...before I change my mind” 

“I'm naked” 

“No one will see…there's no one for miles” 

He had told you this before, the words never settled easily in your stomach each time you heard them. You followed him out the door, goosebumps rising on your skin as it deflected the chill. The mud was cold as your bare feet walked alongside his boots. The footprints that left a trail back to the house symbolise how much bigger he was than you. Leon’s hand tightened around yours the closer to the stream you got, almost like he was afraid you would slip away. Like you would actually risk running through the woods stark naked with the impending promise of night. 

Leon watched you carefully as you approached the running water, as you crouched to touch the ribbons of the current as it went through your fingers. Despite the speed it seemed peaceful, you wonder if it ran into a peaceful lake with fish and other animals. He was leaning against a tree, lingering in your eyeline like a warning. A dangerous predator in the shadows.  You contemplated it, accidentally losing your balance and falling into the cold water. Hypothermia or shock would eventually take before he could. At least it would be by your choice, something you chose to happen. Then again, staying here willingly was also your choice. His promise of protection is too good to refuse in this world. His words will always manipulate you, twist your world to just be this woodland. 

To Leon in this moment you looked like an innocent deer, one so completely unaware of the dangers that lurked around you. Your attention solely on the river running through your fingers was just another reason why you needed him. You didn’t hear his footsteps as he crept behind you; attention never faltering when he accidentally stepped on the twig and snapped it. No, you were a useless deer, just a little fawn unaware of the dangers that surrounded you. This is why he was here, to show and protect you from these dangers. 

You didn’t notice him until he grabbed your wrists. Your body jolted against his as he pressed himself against you; his breath ghosting the shell of his ear. “Leon! I wasn’t doing anything…I haven’t done anything wrong” You gasped as he finally turned you to face him. Your expression is priceless as his eyes gloss over your face. “Oh baby, you didn’t even notice I moved. How did you even manage before me?” He chuckled darkly. It was only when he pressed closer to you that you noticed his belt was already undone, his body pressing you to fall back onto the ground. Your instincts wanted you to fight back, to kick and scream like you did the first time but you were tired and you promised not to fight anymore. 

His hands pressed you into the mud, smirking to himself as your just clean skin was dirty once again. Your fingers sank into the mud as he trapped your hands underneath his own. “Come on. I let you outside. Now open up, I didn’t have to after the stunt you pulled today” Leon groaned as he tried to pry your legs open to be able to sink himself into you. He wanted you to adore him, to worship him as he provides everything for you. To become some mindless hole for him, a little treat. You were already bare for him, for anyone. Perhaps he should leave a reminder and have his load dripping out of you for the rest of the day as the mud dries on your skin. Something for you to be reminded of who you belong to now. You listened to his command, legs spreading to make room for his form. Leon's skin never touched the ground nor was it ever exposed to the cold. His cock nudged the entrance of your pussy, sighing as he finally inches it in. Without any preparation, his stretch hurt, and whimpers began to leave your lips. Your frame squirmed in the dirt. 

He didn't care though, he just wanted you. He could feel the wet ground eating into his trousers. Only imagine how cold you must feel currently, your naked form so close to the freezing river. Your hands are trapped above your head elongating your frame. Your breasts bounced with every thrust he made “Fucking hell, look at you” Leon moaned in your ear. Your pain turned into pleasure, overstimulation creeping in as he continued his assaulting thrusts. Your nipples were sore and sensitive, the air making them harden and peak to extreme lengths. You forced yourself to look at him, watch his grin grow wider or his eyes darken as he gazed upon you. The twigs and mud scraped against your back and the squelches of your movements muted the ones that filtered from where he entered. It shamed you how turned on you were, how attracted you were to this man. Someone you should hate, fight, or do anything but accept his desire to own you. Yet, here you are underneath him begging for more.

“That's it, baby, cum around my cock…warm it up for me please it's cold out here. Didn't you know” 

Of course you knew, it was Leon's attempt at a teasing joke. Your skin was blotchy red, freezing to the touch. Your hands were ice cold, he made sure they never touched anything but his wrists. Your orgasm was impending quicker than you wanted to, his touch was possessive - greedy even. He was always anything but kind taking everything he could from you without giving anything back. The only reason why you reached that high each time was because he felt so good. His veins always dragged along your walls perfectly, hitting that spongy spot inside you that made your toes curl. His cock curved in such a way you could feel every single movement he made. He never touched your clit, only sucked on your breasts if he felt like it. Yet you still simply came from just his cock…and boy did it make Leon feel like a god. 

He felt your walls tighten, sucking him in as they refused to let him go. His balls tightened, groans leaving his lips and echoed throughout the vast woodland. You felt him flood you with warmth as his load exploded inside of you. His final thrusts caused your orgasm to flood through you a cocktail of the two of you spilling out into the mud. Leon didn’t stay inside of you long, his warmth was taken away quickly as he stood back up. Tucking himself back in his trousers to glance down at you. He was never one to shy away from a dominant display. His point was proven as you had lost your sense of surrounding to the stream, any dangers that lurked could have easily gotten you. He was one of them and he did. 

Leon had the courtesy to hold out his hand for you, watching as you shivered as you attempted to stand. “Thank you” You muttered to him, your head bowed as you avoided eye contact. Your hand tightened around his savouring the warmth that he gave off through his palm. Part of you wanted to lean in for a hug, to accept that he was the only one who was going to be able to give you what you needed. He could see your inner fighting, the refusal to accept that he was the only one for you, despite your claims of being tired of fighting. Leon decided for you as he pulled you into his embrace. His body folded around you, shielding you from the world for just a moment. Your shoulders shook as you finally gave in, your once stiff form now melted into his embrace. Your final need to fight is released from your body. This was your life now, this is what you were reduced to. 

You watched from the doorway as he lit up the fireplace. Your arms were wrapped around yourself picking at the dried dirt that was still on your skin. His seed dripping down your thighs. Leon’s eyes flickered over to you as he occasionally gazed upon your form. Part of him felt bad that you were so cold, tempted to wrap you up in the warmest blanket he could find and let you read a book until night fell. But you ran away today, he must not forget that. “Can I shower?” You asked him, your voice was barely above a whisper he almost missed it. He turned to you fully, still in front of the fire. “If I treat you nicely again you aren’t going to try and escape are you?” He asked, his question was blunt straight to the point. Guilt flooded your system as you remembered the trust he had placed in you. One that you broke. 

“Please, I know I broke your trust today…just the mud… it's irritating” You admitted. You watched as he turned to the fire to think; watching the flames lick at the wooden logs turning them into embers. The simmer of a fire was always the hottest part, the embers that lingered underneath the ash. You had yet to see this anger from Leon, the heat that made him so protective over you or the anger that simmered causing him to do hurtful things to you. You had never pushed him that far and you weren’t sure you wanted to. “Since you asked so nicely.” He nodded finally, turning again just in time to see your eyes light up. “But I have to be in the room” 

Despite his add-on to your request, the light never faded from your eyes as he continued to look at them. Perhaps you have had a change of heart. You waited for him to walk to the bathroom first, your smaller frame following his. The steam from earlier still lingered on the bathroom mirror. You looked at your reflection, the condensation dripping down your features as if you were crying. Leon turned the shower on his hand in the stream as he waited for it to heat up. Part of him wanted to leave it cold and come up with some bullshit excuse that you wanted to go outside again after the last shower. But your knees had turned purple, he could see nail tracks where you scratched against the flaking mud on your skin. 

The tub was again filled with brown as you watched it swirl down the drain. You closed your eyes and faced the stream allowing the water to methodically fall over your features. A sense of peace washed over the room, you could feel his eyes on you as his thoughts were loud but it felt right almost. Maybe you were just tricking yourself to make the situation more bearable. Leon however was watching his cum that dripped down your legs get washed away, his claim on you was never permanent. He didn’t want children, no he was too old for that now. Besides that would involve too much medical interference; outsiders would have to get involved if something went wrong. It was too risky, too many people for you to say what happened to you if they pried too hard. 

His mind swirled with ways he could mark you as his, a permanent solution. Something you would look at and never forget your place. It wasn’t until you had left the shower and wrapped yourself in another towel whilst waiting patiently to follow him that he got the idea. He walked you to the bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bedding as he watched you dry yourself off. It was unnerving you that he hadn’t said anything for a while. The corners of his mouth twitched upright occasionally as he sat there thinking about something. “A penny for your thoughts?” You asked shly. He blinked at your question. It was rare you initiated any form of conversation so it took him by surprise. “I have an idea…to make sure everyone knows you are mine” 

“You said no one will see me? Who are you proving it to?” 

You got him there he supposed, it was a valid reason not to do what he was planning. Yet, it wasn’t enough to stop him; he could already feel his cock stirring awake. He looked at you again before a large sigh left his lips. “I want to mark you as mine, permanently” 

His words confused you as you were unable to follow along with him. Silence filled the room again as you both waited for someone to speak first. He almost seemed like he was giving you space to object, offer an opinion to the situation or even a suggestion to his wishes. You however knew better than that by now, he didn’t care what you wanted, he was going to do it anyway. He just likes to make you feel in control. You nodded your head, wordlessly agreeing to whatever wicked plan he had formed in his head.  

Leon was giddy as he left the room, his attitude was suddenly diminished leaving behind a more lighthearted side to him. You wish he showed this side more often, maybe it would have made the past few months more bearable. You could have learned to love him instead of resent him but he didn't make it easy, he never did. Leon returned to the room holding a blade, the metal shone in the dim lighting. “This blade has been with me for years. It was given to me by someone…someone that is no longer with us” Leon began to explain. He went to hold out but hesitated, he watched your behaviour; scanning for any signs of disobedience as if you were really going to risk stabbing him. “I’m sorry for your loss” you whispered. His eyes remained on you, the change in your behaviour was weird and off-putting; he was used to the constant fighting and arguing. He could see the effects it had on your soul and body, your face now dull and diminished of any light and joy. 

Leon had never told you about his past before, how he ended up the way he has. Maybe if he did you would have felt more comfortable as if you knew him on a deeper level. You possibly would have been able to connect with him better and understand why he did what he did. Your now curious nature was making him regret his choices, his approach to keeping you here. It was conflicting with him. “Come here” Leon commanded as he sat back on the bed. The knife still gripped in one hand, his other outstretched to you. You settled in between his legs, his fingers toying with the bottom of your towel, the soft fabric getting caught in his calloused fingers. He brought the black knife to your collarbone, teasing the tip of the knife against your clean skin. “What are you going to do?” 

He sighed at the weight of your hands on his shoulders, the action feeling strangely domestic. His eyes flickered at the shadows on the walls, the sight depicting a couple in love…maybe the two of you would develop to that stage. Just like he wanted. You hissed as he pressed the tip of the knife into the skin. A droplet of your blood ran down your chest and began to stain the towel. “Leon…that hurts” you whimpered as he continued to drag the knife down your chest. He didn't respond, only observing his work as he continued to move the knife. His kind nature was replaced as quickly as it appeared. 

He smiled when he was finished, ignoring the small strips of blood. He had marked you. His initials are now embedded into your chest. “Leon why…” you whimpered looking down at your ruined skin. The air exposed to the wound made it sting, you couldn't even forget about it. It would be visible in anything you wore when you showered or looked in the mirror. Leon just looked at it with a smile. His fingers swiped away at the streams of blood. “You'll never forget now” he stated simply. “Never forget what?” 

“That you belong to me” 

His words swirled in your head creating a fuzzy side to them. They were meant to comfort you, that's what he intended. To protect you to keep you safe but it felt wrong, to be kept here in these woods. With nothing to do but look pretty for him, you had no hobbies, no life outside this house now. “You always belonged to me, from the moment I brought you here you were mine” Leon added, his words unnerving you further. You watch his eyebrows pinch together, his expression turning darker. “you are my gift for all my service, all my pain” 

His eyes met yours again, scanning your features for a reaction to his confession.” you make it all worthwhile” 

If only you knew who he was deep down, you might have been able to sympathise with him. Soothe him from his apparent pain like a normal partner would have. If he was hurt in his life why would he repeat the cycle, why would he ruin yours the way he was ruined? Take away your freedom, and your choices. Leon watched your face contort as the problems circled in your brain, he waited for you to respond. To shower him in love, that's how it worked, wasn't it? He opened up and you accepted him? His breath hitched as you initiated another form of contact, your weight landed on his thigh as you sat on his lap leaning back into him. Leon's arms timidly wrapped around yours almost like he was afraid to scare you. To end this moment too soon. “What happened to you?” you asked. You felt him tense, his eyes falling back towards the wound he made on your chest. “I was forced to become a government agent after I survived an event no one should have lived through. I've been a pawn my whole life, experiencing nightmares one after the other.” 

You nodded at his explanation, his words were short and clipped. You took that as your sign not to pry anymore, to accept the information he gave you in the doses he allowed it. After all, he's been more than kind since your escape this morning. Even if the wound was now a reminder of the last time you attempted to. “I'm sorry the world treated you like that, but I don't understand how I fit into it?” You asked. Leon sighed, his hand forcing your head to look at him. “You are my chance to finally keep something and someone safe. To provide a happy ending when all I have seen are bad ones. A happy ending for the both of us” 

You understood where he was coming from, you were never opposed to the idea of living off the grid with someone you loved. But that was the difference with this situation, which Leon will never understand. You haven't optionally chosen to love him, to live this life. There will always be a part of you rebellious to him, demanding to be set free. You didn't object to his words, you didn't smile or frown. You just accepted them, accepted this as your new life. His kiss was tender this time as he brought yours to his. His touch was softer and more loving. It confused you how when you behaved he acted like this. That was until his finger swiped against your wound, drawing your attention back to it - reminding you that it was there. 

At the same moment, his other hand slid underneath your towel, instantly finding your folds. That was weird he never prioritized your pleasure, his fucks were only ever for himself. “I've been a dick, let me make it up to you” 

The towel fell around you both as he removed it, letting you stand up in front of him again. Once again this small second of standing in front of him was interrupted as he pressed kisses against his initials. You felt him groan as he licked against the dried blood before sucking against the fresh blood that began to pebble. It was a strange sensation when he kissed you again, tasting the iron of your blood on your lips. Spotting the darkened red tone of his own as it dried against them. He stood above you once more, spinning you both around and walking you backwards until you fell against the bed. His shirt was removed first, the light showing off the scars and his abs which were mostly hidden behind a layer of fat now he wasn't in service anymore. The clink of his belt was loud and sharp as it cut through the tension, you didn't miss his smirk as you flinched. 

His hands spread your legs, watching as your pussy glistened in the light. Perhaps he should do foreplay more often if you were greeting him like this. You watched as his cock sprung free, the length always intimidating despite only receiving it earlier. You flinched again as his body made contact with yours, ignoring the flash of hurt in his eyes that despite promising not to flee anymore you still had the instinct. His grip was still possessive as he tugged you closer, lining himself up before burying the length back into your warmth. Instead of the brutal pace you were used to at first he was gentle, as if he was learning the curves inside of your body. Enjoying each clench you gracefully gave him in favour of a particular movement. It was when you started squirming that his brain flicked a switch. The pleasure building up too quickly causing you to thrash and moan beneath him but to Leon you tried to get away. Again. 

His hands trapped you in a tight grip halting your movements bringing him closer to his moving pelvis. Your back arched in retaliation giving him the chance to go deeper. Leon stopped his movements as he watched you, the orgasm you had impending now fading away. Your whines were pretty, as were your flushed out cheeks. His body leaned over yours, his lips attacking your neck before moving towards your collar bone. Finishing his trail once again on the carving he had made. He sucked on it again as he began to move, pain flaring once more as it mixed with the pleasure he was giving you. “I have left such an imprint on you that if you escape…everyone will have to know about me to learn about you” 

He wasn’t wrong, the searing pain coming from your chest was proof enough, a scar would soon form. One you would never be able to cover up. His lips silenced your whines as he began to work on his own pleasure again. His balls tightening as he increased his onslaught. He felt you cum around him; your arousal now coating his length allowing his movements to become more fluid. His grip was bruising as he manhandled you into position. Your leg hoisted over his hip, “ Look at me” 

Your eyes flicked over to him instantly, you hated how obedient you were to him now. How willingly you followed his every command. You felt his warmth flood throughout your insides, his hips still working hard to thrust his final mark of the day inside you. Making sure you never forget about him. He quickly eased himself out of you, allowing your body to relax against the bedsheets. He watched his cum spill from between your legs, the large smears of blood over your chest. He had ruined you, ruined you for anyone else. 

[ethankyou]

I don't think we have ever had a canon confirmation that this is make-up or not, but they've supposedly confirmed it outside the show:

Though I couldn't load that tweet. It might have been deleted or the account privated. I also found this nugget:

...and went "Oh boy Garak's doing makeup now too? 👀" Rewatching the episode he does have a some blue applied to the spoon in the scene where he's having lunch with Odo (and the next scene or two he's in). Neat!

I also remembered that Ziyal appears without any blue marks. I can't find any pictures of Ziyal wearing blue - if we saw a canon picture of her wearing blue on her spoon at some point, that would just about confirm it.

And before anyone else mentions that she is only half cardassian, I'm aware. But if the blue colouration was sexually dimorphic instead of makeup, we should expect to still see some colouration either on the spoon or neck. Though I will admit we don't know that for sure.

When I was pouring over pictures of Ziyal I did find this though:

Which was labelled as Ziyal in a fanwiki of some sort, but this is just a shot of Kira in the episode Second Skin. So still notta for Ziyal. Interesting they dabbed some blue on that thang before they woke Kira up though! Maybe this weakens the make-up theory, idk!

But for now at least I feel that the blue being makeup is about as conclusive as it can be without having a character say "I applied blue pigments to my spoonamathing and neck rufflidges!"

Now as far as blocking out certain wavelengths of light, that is possible! So as I said before, the blue pigment would block everything except for blue light.

If we presume that is the purpose, we have to ask two things:

What benefit does blocking all light except blue on a parietal eye give cardassians?

Why do females (typically) apply this pigment and not males?

But first we gotta talk about something I mentioned previously, which is the cardassian sun.

Our sun in the sol system is a yellow dwarf sun and gives off a majority of light in the visible spectrum. Is that lucky for us being creatures that just so happen to be able to see this light? No it's not luck! We see this light because we evolved from species who adapted to the light given from our sun over millions of years!

Astrophysics is not my field, but I understand that other types of suns would still give off light in our visible spectrum, but may produce a majority of light in other wavelengths. So a sun that produced more infrared light (such as a red sun) would produce nore infrared and less visible (to us) light. Light with shorter wavelengths are cooler colours (purples, blues) while longer wavelengths are warmer (reds, oranges).

But "visible" light of course is a very human-centric perspective as even on earth there are many organisms who can see outside of our visible range (and some who struggle to see our visible range at all!). We just evolved from organisms who adapted to the light that was the majority produced by our sun.

If humans were to have evolved on a planet with a different kind of sun, such as an orange sun, then we might have adapted to view whatever range of light was the majority produced. This would probably lean more into the infrared compared to our yellow sun and our vision would be adapted for that. If you took this hypothetical human who has adapted to a visible light spectrum that has leaned towards infrared, they might have a harder time seeing shorter wavelengths of light - what we perceive as blues & purples.

Now researching the cardassian sun, low and behold it's an orange sun!

So would you look at that, the Cardassians are our hypothetical humans!

But I'm not sure there's any evidence to suggest that they perceive colours differently from us, or that they perceive infrared or other longer light wavelengths than we do, despite their different sun. On the contrary, we know Cardassia Prime is dark. What does that actually mean for a planet to be dark? Well its a hot planet so they can't be far from the sun. It's a humid planet ao there might be a lot of cloud cover. But if the more of the light the sun gave off was outside of the visible spectrum, the planet would certainly appear darker to us and them.

So unless evidence is given to the contrary, we'll have to assume they perceive the same visible light spectrum that we do.

Now. What benefit does blocking all light except blue on a parietal eye give cardassians?

The best working theory we have about the spoon is that if it has a function at all, it functions as a parietal eye. That is the assumption I will be making here.

In species on earth, the parietal eye detects the presence of light and uses this to regulate circadian rhythm. Some species can also use it for navigating or to detect predators (if it's light above you and then suddenly dark, you might be about to be eaten!), but I'm not sure that's relevant to this question. Or rather we don't have a way to explain, test, or find supporting evidence for it. So I wont.

The parietal eye is basically a cluster of photoreceptors, usually rods (black & white) but sometimes also cones (colour vision). A blue pigment would filter out everything but blue light. If their parietal eye was just rods, then a blue filter means it would only detect the presence of light if it was blue spectrum. If their parietal eye was rods and cones, or just cones, then it might distinguish between multiple wavelengths of light, but the blue filter would restrict all but the blue spectrum.

If blue light has the same disruptive effects on cardassians as it does us, then this blue filter would not protect them. In fact it would ensure that is the only light that affects them! So what are the disruptive effects then?

Blue light acts as a signal to our brain to stay awake longer. Our brain does this by suppressing the production of melatonin. All light does this to some extent, but studies have shown blue spectrum light has a much stronger effect on this than other spectrums of light. It's also been theorized that blue light can have damaging effects on our eyes, which is why little devices held up to your face - such as the one I keep writing out these theses on speculative cardassian xenobiology - can cause eye strain and thus damage as well. Try to remember to take lots of breaks from your phone and don't forget to blink folks!

So will the blue pigment protect from this? Well, no because blue light is the only light getting through. But even if it was an orange-yellow pigment to block out blue spectrum light, kind of like our blue-blocking glasses, it probably still wouldn't help. Studies have shown our blue-blocking glasses don't seem to do the things they claim to do.

Either the technology isn't there for us yet or there's more going on with light and our bodies than we understand. Who would have thought, we are complicated biological machines afterall!

If we assume that blue light has a similar effect on cardassians as it does to us, perhaps there is a benefit to just allowing blue light through? Blue light messes up our sleep but put another way it reduces fatigue - what better way to stay awake than to bombard your eyes with the Stay Awake Beam? There is also some evidence to show that blue light can increase attentiveness, but there's not a large enough body of evidence to say this conclusively, but we're already speculating about the theoretical organ of a fictional alien species so sure, we can have a little unsubstantiated claims as an treat. So dabbing that thang with some blue would allow this to happen. But you know what would also allow this to happen? Not dabbing that thing with some blue! Having no filter means just as much blue light would pass through, but it also means that other spectrums of light would pass through too.

So perhaps spectrums of light other than blue have the disruptive effects on cardassians that blue light has on us. We can speculate on that but that's pretty much all we can do. So what else might be happening?

We said Cadassia Prime has an orange sun. If we are assuming that cardassians see the same spectrum of visible light that we do, this means their orange sun would produce less purple snd blue light. Still some, but less than our yellow sun. If there is less blue light produced overall, perhaps having a filter that allows you to detect the presence of blue light at all, might have a benefit in the environment they adapted in. What that benefit is, we can only guess. But if there's less of something that you want to find, having an enhanced ability to detect it would be an advantage!

But if it's an advantage, why do females (typically) apply this pigment and not males?

As I've mentioned before, cardassians are an intelligent and ruthless people. If dabbing that thang with blue would give them an advantage men would do it too. So why don't they? Except for Elim Garak.

There could be a sex difference in how light is perceived by the spoon between males and females. But if there is, then we don't have any evidence to back that up. Sadly we can count on our hands how many female cardassians we meet through the whole of star trek and it ain't many.

In fact I'll do it off the top of my head!

There was Gul Ocett, girlboss, and i believe first cadassian we see with blue on the neck ridges. There were those two female cardassian scientists. There was that one cadassian that put O'Brien on trial. There was Natima Lang who also had a little chest spoon that we haven't seen before or since (though we don't see a lot of cadassian chests). She also had a female student. There's the cardassian that Kira was gaslit into thinking she was. There's Ziyal, of course. And who could forget Elim Garak's nanny. There's certainly more I missed, but the fact of the matter is there isn't many! All of which (except Ziyal) have blue on their forehead spoon. Some have blue on their neck ridges, but that seems to be less consistent.

We can speculate about how wavelengths of light might effect females differently from males, but beyond the presence of blue pigments, we don't have any evidence for differences between the cardassian sexes. But even if we assume there is a difference, and that the blue pigment serves a function on the spoon, why do some cardassians then also dab a little blue on their neck ridges too? Certainly there can't be parietal eyes there too, and if there's some other special organ what are the odds that an additional pair of theoretical organs on the neck would benefit from the same blue pigment as the head spoon.

The simplest explanation is of course, it's just make-up. Without some evidence to suggest that there's a sex difference, if dabbing blue gave some kind of advantage males would use it just as commonly. Garak is the only male we have seen dab that thang and it goes unremarked the single time we see it.

That might also seem like the boring answer, but it's interesting to think about what social dynamics or pressures may have led to them dabbing some blue. Is blue associated with arousal and this is like a blush situation? Is this ornamental, but just something that females do (and also Garak), like when women from earth wear different colours of eyeshadow and other makeup? Is this a hierarchical thing that female cardassians do and this is why the neck ridges are inconsistent? Why only blue? Are we just dead wrong in assuming it's make-up and it's actually a dimorphic trait? Still lots to speculate on even with the "boring" answer! But perhaps that's more the realm of specualtive xenoanthropology than specualtive xenobiology.

The funniest explanation to me however, which I've needed this whole post of background just to reach, is that perhaps cardassians just cannot see blue - we established on their orange sun planet they may have shifted their visible spectrum of light - and the pigment they dab on is just some sort of "colourless" salve or ointment that is used more by females. It goes unremarked by other cardassians because it blends in with what they perceive as fleshtone, and it goes unremarked by everyone else because no one wants to ask the ladies the insensitive question of "why you got blue up on there?" Which leads to countless starfleet debates on the social or biological purposesnof the blue, but the reality is just like "sometimes the spoon and neck gets itchy."

As a quick but important tangent, a lot of cardassian uniforms also seem to emphasize a tear or diamond shaped mark on the chest right where Natima Lang's was. This might imply that all cardassians have another spoon right in the chest. And if they do have a matching chest spoon to their forehead spoon... It kind of begs the question of why? If it's another parietal eye (i guess it would be more like... A thoracic eye?) they don't mind covering up so it certainly doesn't have any function that cardassians care about. The reality of all this is the killjoy one that i mentioned at the top if my last post, which is that a lot of this stuff was just designed in the 90's without a thought about functionality.

However I would like some to write me a 4-5 page essay on the function of the chest spoon next. Chop chop!

And for the love of the prophets people it's not a bullet or phaser hole... They don't even use bullets anymore unless evil Picard packs a six shooter just for executions...

I have been thinking about gul dukats skull all day and I need a moment alone with the cardassian lovers to discuss why the spoon would have a Hole. Its like the soft spot of a babys skull… what are the anatomical implications here…

[tinfoil-jones]

Jerk Ford AU: About

[Art by: @tearosepedall]

[Jerk Ford Not a jerk to his brother and only his brother The most hated Ford in the Multiverse]

[Doesn't need as much protecting Teen Jerk Ford: F#ck off Teen Stan: Ford! Don't do that!]

[Stan is a well liked guy Stan never ended up homeless, because Ford believed him]

Ford was the worst type of student because he's really good at everything that he does, just like any other version of himself. Like, the teachers were mad he was their best (academically speaking) student.

They'd prefer it if he was a delinquent who never did his homework and showed up late to class. But no, he not only did all of his assignments, but he also did extra credit that he didn't need, and showed up early to everything. Just like all of the other Fords.

He was the Chess, Spelling Bee, and Debate Team champion all four years he was in high school. He could have skipped several grades and only didn't because ya know, twin. And this continued while he was in college and got his 12 PHDs.

Stanley was his only supporter in all of that because everyone wanted him to fail. Some people (like their parents) even tried to pressure Stan into also hating his brother but one of the Universal Constants is that you can't make Stan hate his brother. People didn’t even bring up the fact that Stanley wasn’t the genius twin, people called him the ‘good twin’ because he wasn’t a jerk.

Stanley is just a regular guy in this AU. He was never a criminal or con artist. He went to Backupsmore University with Stanford and Fiddleford (Fiddleford would sometimes use Stan to pass messages along to Ford, because he did not want to talk to Ford if he didn't have to). He's a Chemistry Teacher who also helps out with Theatre.

[Bill: You tricked me!!! Jerk Ford: Skill Issue]

[Jerk Ford, to all other AU Fords: Wait! You all actually fell for that triangles flattery?! LOL]

He knew Bill Cipher was just f***ing with him with all of that talk of "I'm a muse" and "You're more special than everybody" (he already knew that he doesn't need a triangle to validate that). Ford just wanted to flip the script on him in the end in the most elaborate 1980s version of Jackass you've ever seen.

All of the other Fords hate him so much not just because he's a jerk (that's the majority of the reason though), but because of how weirdly competent and self-actualized he is comparatively speaking.

He didn't fall for Bill tricks. He's so sure of himself that he doesn't have the same hero (or villain, depending on the AU) complex. He doesn't want to take over the universe, or be the savior of it, or even be the one who kills Bill Cipher. He's just a jerk to everybody (except Stan) because he likes being a jerk.

Jerk Ford is one of the few Fords who maxed out his Charisma. He just uses that charisma to make people hate him instead of like him

Because charisma isn't just 'likability', it's your Presence and Force of Personality. His presence is so strong all he has to do is walk into a room, and you know he's an a**hole.

If you were to sum up what Jerk Ford is like around other Fords, it's like this:

"Every Stanford Pines in the multiverse reviles and despises that man."

Jerk Ford: You all want to be me so bad.

"NO WE DON'T YOU A**HOLE"

[Mabel: He's not actually THAT big of a jerk right?" Dipper: *wants to strangle him* Jerk Ford: Stanley who are these twerps?]

[Stan: Oh! They are family poindexter, Shermies grandkids! Jerk Ford: I see *doesn't care*]

If I were to give Jerk Ford a unique design to set him apart from Fords of other AUs, his turtleneck and muddied boots are swapped with these:

The hoodie is the usual red colour, the font is probably the same gold colour as his zodiac symbol. The puffed croc boots are also probably the same colour as canon Fords.

He doesn't have any embarrassing tattoos because the tattoo artists of Gravity Falls would never service Ford. Because he's not just banned from every establishment in Gravity Falls, but if he enters any business you are legally allowed to and encouraged to shoot him.

In fact Bill gave up possessing Ford to ruin his reputation with the townsfolk early on because nothing he did was worse than anything Ford did by himself.

You know how Ford drew himself coming out of the portal with aura in Journal Three?

Most of the other Fords try to look cool, and you just have this dude over here who doesn't give a s*** because he already believed his own hype. He doesn't feel the need to be ✨Extra✨ unless if he's being mean or generally unpleasant to somebody.

[flooffybits]

Tell Me

Idol: Hirai Momo (Twice)

Momo has conflicting feelings that she doesn't quite understand. So someone has to knock some sense into her.

Word count: 3.2k

Warning: mean Momo, reader gets sick, Jihyo and Jeongyeon are angry

☕buy me a coffee☕

Things within the group have been a little more comforting as of late. Even with your late addition to the team, you all seemed to gradually get along with all of the girls, especially with having to deal with constant comebacks and late night practices.

Except for one person.

"Unnie, do you want to come with Mina and I?" You ask with a little bit of a hopeful look in your eyes, but the older woman didn't even bother looking your way as she shook her head, eyes trained on the device in her hands. "I'm busy, have fun though." She answered curtly and your shoulders deflated a little before you nodded in defeat, exiting the room to meet with the other Japanese woman.

Once she heard the door close, Momo finally lifted her gaze and let out a sigh, glancing at the door you just exited from. A frown crept up her lips and she had to roll her eyes before grabbing her bag and then waiting a few more minutes just so she was sure you still wouldn't be around.

Once she hears the sound of the front door closing, Momo takes that as a sign and finally moves from her spot, shoving her phone inside her pocket as she navigates herself through the kitchen.

"So, you're busy with… what, exactly?"

The short haired woman jumps in surprise, squeaking before she whirls around to look at the source of the voice that had nearly given her a heart attack before shouting. "Yah! Don't do that!" She protests while Jihyo gives her an odd look.

"You're ignoring Y/n." The leader doesn't beat around the bush when she speaks and Momo has a bit of a hard time collecting herself from the sudden accusation that wasn't entirely false.

In all honesty she doesn't have a clue on how to get out of this, and unfortunately for her Jihyo already senses it before she can even manage a sound.

"I thought we talked about this before, Momo?" Said member only sighs while leaning against the kitchen counter. "I know! But every time I see her I just… I don't know! I feel so unsettled whenever she's around and I can't help but distance myself from her." She explains, exasperation laced in her tone as she ran her fingers through her hair. "And I know that she hasn't done anything but I just can't help but remember how much we went through to get here."

"And Y/n has gone through the same. The only difference is that she was alone while we had each other." Jihyo reminds her for the umpteenth time that Momo doesn't even remember how many times she's heard that from the leader or even any of the other members. They were right no matter how she looked at it.

She could never change how things went. She could never truly blame you for being assigned here either. It wasn't your fault.

You didn't ask to be here.

Momo could always remember the hesitation you had displayed when you were first presented to the group. There was shame in your features that none of the girls could blame you for and she's honestly guilty for being so hostile since the beginning.

You weren't a bad person.

In essence, you were one of the nicer people that she's met in this industry and she would consider themselves lucky to have such nice and caring members.

That was why the guilt never went away because she wasn't nice.

Not to you at least.

"I know." Is all she can say and Jihyo doesn't quite understand what she's thinking because her expression right now is unreadable. "Sorry but I… think I need some air."

Jihyo doesn't even stop her when she exits the dorm nor does she question where she's headed. At times like these, Momo only had only one other place to head to.

"Momo unnie isn't back yet?" Tzuyu's question earns a few of the members to look over and Nayeon just shakes her head. "She's probably with Heechul oppa again."

It wasn't an abnormal occurrence, the majority of the group, if not all, knew that your senior had a crush on the dancer. But only a few of them knew that it had already exceeded that level of admiration between them. It just wasn't their secret to tell.

"They've been going out a lot." Sana comments while she fiddles with her phone. "Do you think they're actually dating now?" She can't help but ask and Chaeyoung raises a brow. "Aren't we prohibited from being in a relationship?" The younger girl can't help but question, sharing your own thoughts because you knew that there was a dating ban when it came to artists.

Jeongyeon snorts while leaning her chin against her arms. "We don't always follow the rules, plus it won't be long before that ban is lifted. I wouldn't be surprised if they're already going out together." Somehow the comment makes you uneasy.

Maybe it's the thought of your member getting into possible trouble with the higher ups. But given how your members aren't too bothered, you try to shrug the feeling off before focusing on the game that was currently on your phone with Dahyun beside you.

You don't even remember how long you've been in the living room. You only know that you refused to leave until Momo had returned home. Even when your roommates were telling you to head to bed, you just made some excuse about being comfortable where you are and wanting to finish the game.

You didn't even know when you fell asleep on the couch.

Nayeon had only sighed and shook her head at you before she grabbed a blanket and draped it over your body, patting your head as she headed for her own room.

Jihyo had noticed you when she went to grab some water, but she had stopped at some point, hiding in the corner when she noticed that Momo had finally arrived and was crouched over your sleeping figure.

Blinking in surprise, the leader quietly watched as the Japanese woman examined your face, her brows pinching together in concern when she saw the way you were sleeping before she muttered something under her breath.

Carefully adjusting your position, she made sure you were comfortable and tucked you in, too tired to carry you to your room before she quietly exited the vicinity so as to avoid being caught.

After that night, Jihyo pays a lot more attention to how Momo acts when she thinks no one else is looking.

Momo cares about your opinion more than she'd care to admit. She always has to look in your direction when she's doing something and it's only when you smile or nod does she feel like she can breathe again.

It makes absolutely no sense if you ask her.

But when you're getting compliments from everyone else, she can't help the frown that settles on her face or the way her chest constricts as though there are a pile of bricks laying there.

So she distances herself so she doesn't have to feel that and it only earns itself a frown from you because you think that the rift between the two of you is nowhere near narrowing. She's still so far away from you and it both confuses and frustrates your leader because she sees that Momo is going one way then another.

She can see the effect it has on you and while she does scold the dancer from time to time, she can't help but bite her tongue when she sees that you've opted to be the one to adjust instead.

Your leader was merely a spectator to the odd relationship you and Momo had, dancing around each other but never meeting due to fear and rejection, while the other with uncertainty. It was a difficult relationship to appreciate, and at some point, one of your roommates soon noticed this push and pull as well when she caught Momo peeking inside your room one day when you had fallen ill and failed to participate in one of the events you had scheduled.

"What's… going on?" Jeongyeon muttered curiously the next day, passing by the dancer who had subtly checked the door of your room when the short haired woman left.

"What do you mean?" The culprit was quick to reply, doing her best to seem casual while Jihyo, once again, watched from the side. "You do know that you can just come in to check on her, right?" It was becoming ridiculous at this point, really. Despite being one of the older members of the group, Jihyo was very close to scolding the dancer for the way she had noticed her acting.

Momo, on the other hand, just looked like a deer in headlights as she blinked owlishly. She isn't sure what to say. “I just wanted to be sure if she's still sick. I don't want to get sick too." That was definitely what she wanted to say.

Jeongyeon’s face scrunched up in displeasure while Jihyo scowled.

“Look, I get that you're not her biggest fan, but don't treat her like she's not a person. If you don't wanna get sick, then don't come near her.” The short haired woman scolded and Momo had to cross her arms, defensive as she retorted. "I was just saying! I didn't mean anything by it.” She tells them and Jihyo just sighs while shaking her head. "Momo, enough. Just go somewhere else."

The comment earns a scoff from the dancer, but the thing that irritates her is how she's being told to stay away from you.

"What? You're kicking me out?” She snapped angrily but Jihyo only shook her head. “I don't care where you go right now as long as it's not anywhere near Y/n."

"This isn't healthy, Momo. I hope you realize that.” Jeongyeon spits out before she turns and enters your room, shutting the door behind her and refusing to give the Japanese woman a chance to respond.

She's had enough and you needed her more at the moment rather than Momo needed to be taught a lesson. Plus Jihyo was there and judging by the look on her face, Jeongyeon could tell that the leader would be more than accepting of the role of scolding their friend.

“You guys need to stop arguing like this." All of a sudden a new voice cut through, beating the leader off before she could utter a single sound. “We're all adults here but you're acting like children." A frown is present on Nayeon's face as she looks at the two. “We're supposed to be the unnies here. But you guys are creating a bad vibe that no one can enjoy.” She sighed out and Momo scoffed. “I'm not doing anything.”

“Oh, cut it with that bullshit. We know that you don't like Y/n but at least be civil!” Nayeon scolded, taking the reign this time whilst Jihyo listened. “How can we be a group when you're acting like one person should be left out? How are you setting an example?” She went off as Momo looked away with a huff though the twinge in her chest tells that Nayeon had hit her mark. “Y/n isn’t some outsider, Momo. She’s here to stay so get that through your head.”

There’s a pregnant pause as the three of them stood in the middle of the room, Momo’s thoughts going a mile a minute as she kept stealing glances at the closed door that separated you and them.

“Why do you hate her so much?”

All eyes are on Jihyo as she stares at the dancer, a tired expression on her face. “I mean, I get that you weren’t happy about her joining outside of Sixteen, but you know just as much as I do that she had to deal with things differently from us.” Momo struggles to come up with an answer.

It was true that she had been upset by the decision. She worked hard and suffered through a reality show, fighting to be where she was now. But couldn’t the same be said for you?

Jihyo was right, you were alone throughout your training process while they had each other. They depended on each other during the survival show but who did you lean on when things were getting too much?

“I don’t hate her.” Is all she ends up saying. And judging by the look on her face, it looked like that was the only answer she was willing to give.

..

The practice room was always a paradox for the Japanese woman.

She could always relax and let the music take her away from all the mess that went on with her life, but the same room always reminded her of all the suffering she’s been through just to attain her dream of being an idol.

The never ending practices, the starvation, the crying - it all seemed to happen a lot in this room.

Even when she found solace in it, it still held the storms that she had gone through and the ones she was currently going through.

“Oh-”

The sound made her pause and Momo quickly spun around to see you standing meekly by the door, a timid look on your face as you looked anywhere but her. “I… didn’t think anyone was here already.” You say awkwardly, hand still on the knob.

“I’ll just-”

As you moved to exit the room, Momo wasn’t sure what tugged at her chest, but she was stepping forward without realizing. “It’s okay. You can stay.”

That made you blink and your eyes snap to her face to see if she was kidding. But this was Momo. She didn’t joke, not with you at least. So when you see that she actually means for you to stay, you slowly step away from the door and head over to one of your usual spots in the room.

All the while, Momo’s eyes follow your every move, contemplating on what she could possibly say.

Even when she’s been an utter bitch towards you, Momo realized that you neve retaliated or treated her with any ill will. It was always the other members that did that for you without you knowing and she knows that she deserves it for how she treats you.

You’ve only been understanding of her situation, greeting her with a smile even when she shrugs you off, offering her things you know she likes, but she would always turn you down just because it was you.

God, she felt horrible.

Why did you have to be so nice to her?

“Y/n.”

The call of your name had you looking up during your stretch and you fidget a little when Momo waves you over.

Were you asleep right now?

Momo was calling for you?

That didn’t seem right.

Nevertheless, you stood and approached the older woman and she internally sighs when she sees the shy look across your face. You were cute, she had to admit.

The thought made her pause.

No, no, no. That was not what she needed right now.

But as you stood awkwardly in front of her, the older woman could see the way your eyes looked up at her, kind and shy, she had to bite her tongue before exhaling loudly and then awkwardly putting a hand on your shoulder.

She frowns when you flinch a little at the contact, but the look you give her is reassuring that it leaves a bitter taste in her mouth.

“Don’t look at me like that.”

You were honestly surprised by the softness in her tone, lacking its usual edge whenever she was talking to you, but the look in her eyes manages to make your breath hitch. 

“... I wanted to apologize.”

You keep quiet as she tries to find the right words to say. “I haven’t been fair to you, but I just wanted to let you know that I don’t… I don’t hate you.” She mumbles softly, her hand moving from your shoulder, down to your forearm, until she’s eventually taking your hand in her own, albeit hesitantly, almost as though she were afraid you would pull away.

“I know that I have a lot to make up for, but I hope you know that I’m really sorry.” She sucks in a deep breath. “I was confused and frustrated, and Jihyo was right, I shouldn’t have been taking it all out on you because you didn’t ask for any of this. I was just a bit bitter.”

You raise a brow, the corners of your mouth twitching a little. “A bit?” You can’t help the teasing lilt in your tone and Momo huffs. “Shut up, I’m trying to apologize.” And you do so with a smile on your face this time, and Momo can’t help but find that she likes your smile better.

“You somehow make my skin crawl and I get this weird feeling whenever I see you. But at the same time, I don’t like it when you’re upset or sick.” She remembers Jeongyeon getting mad at her again and she knows she has to apologize to her, too. “I hate not being able to talk to you because there’s so much going on with me that I can’t sort out.”

Your eyes widen a little and you know there’s heat crawling up your cheeks at that point because… god, this sounded like some sort of confession in some way. But you keep your mouth shut because you barely knew Momo enough to assume whether you were right or not.

Especially not when she acted like she didn’t like you.

“Unnie.” You began quietly and she’s squeezing your hand like a lifeline. “Is there… a chance that you were… jealous of the others being able to talk to me when you couldn’t?” You bite your lip when her brows furrow, but she nods either way. “And when Sana unnie or Nayeon unnie are hogging me to themselves?” She huffs at that and rolls her eyes. “It’s annoying, really.” You snort a little in amusement before you finally try one last thing.

“Can I hug you?”

Momo’s brain seemed to short circuit at your request, but when she doesn’t say anything, you’re afraid you may have overstepped.

Just as you were about to pull away from her, she tightens her hold on your hand before tugging you closer, making you tumble into her arms before she’s holding your head close to her chest.

Her warmth wraps around you like a blanket and you could hear the way her heart pounded against her chest even when her fingers ran through your hair.

“If this is how hugging you feels like… you can hug me as much as you want.”

Honestly, that and the way her heart sped up a little more only made the stupid grin on your face widen.

She wasn’t too sure what she was feeling right now. But maybe after a bit more of time, she could finally come to terms with herself and tell you how she really felt.

[liketwoswansinbalance]

What would you do if you knew you couldn't fall??

Did you mean "fail?" Unless you meant literally falling, I will answer as if you wrote "fail." You can correct me if that is the wrong interpretation, and I could answer the question again.

Assign first-class experts to solve the world's problems... so I wouldn't have to do it all—assuming the technicality is that I start the projects, then they probably would not fail. Would that loophole work? (Realistically, if it didn't work, I don't think I'd actually be altruistic enough to do all that...) Would I have to see the projects through to completion? That's quite a lot of work. But doing this would likely mean I will probably have a clean conscience for the rest of my life, ideally, because, I know I should if I had the power to do so.

In relation to #1, even if this is non-necessary, also assign people to figure out if there's life on other planets. I just want to know. Don't need to contact whatever is out there—I don't want anything to go wrong. I'd just want to possibly spy on them for a little while. The problem is: spying is unethical, so I'd have to convince myself that I'm either doing it for cautionary reasons or as a longitudinal, naturalistic "study." This could be a pandora's jar, so I might take it off the list.

Cure stupidity and herd mentality. (Curing all physical ailments is built into no. 1 already.) Or better yet, get someone else to do it. (At the same time, we could argue that these qualities are part of being human or flawed, and that we shouldn't tamper with our human-ness. In which case, just no. Also, we would lose part of our former connection to literature, pre-cure. For instance, we would no longer comprehend the meaning of the trope: "love causes poor judgment." So, would it be worth it? Even if the world were terraformed and otherwise reshaped in more metaphorical ways to be "perfect," I think we would still manage to invent new problems because it's what we've always done as a species. Thus, there needs to be a reasonable stopping point. And, I'm not sure what that point is, meaning several other items on this list might have to be struck out.)

Have the world's politicians be... better somehow? Ensure they are sane and moral, that they trust science, are scientifically-literate... I feel, perhaps, like we might get better results if we chose science-fiction writers, particularly those who've managed to predict our present and know how to do social commentary. They seem to be aware of and actually care about the state of humanity. (I'm not really well-informed enough to make any decisions, but I know well enough that the world needs people of varied knowledge and skillsets to continue on. So, I'm not completely, intentionally trying to valorize only what I'm interested in. I'm just biased like any other human being is.)

Delegate everything I don't like doing to competent people (like cooking), and reap the benefits of the exact outcomes I'd want every time. If they were successful, I'd never have a problem with dust and no one would ever move my stacks of books and paper, which often collect dust.

Turn myself immortal and gain eternal youth. (This should probably be item no. 1 on the list, actually, to account for how long the first few tasks could potentially take.) Then use those means on others who would want it done. If it's someone I don't like, I could still let them become immortal, and would just tell them after this favor not to cross paths with me again. I would also try to convince anyone I want to keep around to stay.

No. 6 would attract too much publicity. I'd need a way to continue being relatively anonymous, except for what I would selectively want to be recognized for. (If I couldn't fail at it, I'd love to become the next "Shakespeare" or some kind of literary giant... and maybe then have the world forget about me... and be rediscovered and reinterpreted by future generations who use my original and/or revolutionary works as required reading in their syllabi. That'd be striking and cool. I'm not sure how I would stop suffering from belatedness though.)

Find a way to never sleep, never eat, never exercise, and not experience cognitive decline. I would only do the ones I like doing.

Find a way to resurrect people from the dead. (I already know this has too much margin for catastrophe, so there would have to be restrictions on what can and cannot be done. At the same time, I am also aware this would violate nature, so it might have to be removed from the list. Who am I to decree the rules?)

I haven't addressed religion yet. I'd have to find some way to alleviate my guilt, but that's more of a temporary fix and not a real solution. I'd have to find some way to remain a mostly good or at least harmless person, assuming I'm mostly one now. If there's no reason for anyone, any force, or anything to object to my existence, I would hope I would be allowed to continue on with my plans.

If there were some way to affirm what I think my personal beliefs are, that would be great. At the same time, that defeats the point of faith, and so, I'm not sure what to do about this dilemma.

Learn everything I want to learn now that I have infinite time to learn it (and infinite time to procrastinate).

Consume all the media I want to consume and also never miss new installments or works of art because I wouldn't be outlived by creators.

Become some kind of successful writer. I mentioned this before, but to specify: maybe a novelist or maybe an academic critic—why not both?! Sky's the limit!

Eventually, if I could never fail, I might wonder about whether anything could ever be a challenge or worth doing anymore. (Doubt that will happen since I have a fear of failure anyway—and being cured of it would be a wonderful reality to live in!)

And so, I could want to die eventually. (Again, highly doubt that will happen.)

In case: It's not my top priority, but: study philosophy, so I don't become corrupt, apathetic, or suicidal since I know things can happen to the human psyche after too long.

If no. 1 didn't happen, and humans were faced with climate change as well as other problems, then I would want to die before the planet were barren and ruined, so I wouldn't have to live under dystopian conditions.

Some of the above might not happen because I may procrastinate too much. That would suggest that the revised item no. 1 should be: conquer procrastination once and for all, and only then proceed in a rough order.

[solarkness]

Okay but 32 is actually really annoying. 30 is just, whatever, it's a clean number that's low, "people aren't going to spam the same person THAT much"-thinking. 32 adds "ooooh binary numbers so we can just use exponents of 2 :D" to it... which has MULTIPLE ISSUES!!!

First off, what if there are NO notifications? Do you still want there to be a 1 because you have no 0 case? No? You wanna use a boolean whether notifs are there at all in general? Congrats you just added another bit in storage as its own variable for *1* state. Which would be an additional 32 states if you made it part of your notification number. Okay, so, you look up how integers work and what numbers represent and do what most programmers would do: You start counting with 0 and end up with a max of 31 notifications, because 0-31 is 32 possible states. Great, first issue fixed.

Second issue! 32 isn't really used a lot as the max number chosen. Why's that? I mean, 16 is popular enough, you basically can't avoid 256 if you start looking, and even 64, just one additional power of 2, is very popular in Minecraft! So what's wrong with 32? Well, it's 2^5, AKA 2*2*2*2*2. That means you need 5 bits (with 2 possible states, 0 or 1, each) to represent it. Seems easy enough. Until you realise that now you're probably claiming a specific byte in storage, which is 8 bits, and are only using 5 of those! 3 are being wasted and sure, you can probably reuse them if you write your program's functions to access and categorise the storage it is using... but that's a lot of work that you can very, very easily fuck up. It's easier to just go "fuck it, we use the whole byte" and go for 256 possible states (or 255 as max number of notifications). 16 is exactly 2^4, so half a byte - At that point, you can get TWO variables out of each claimed byte, and then it's worth to optimise it a bit on the side of the program by telling it to cut the first or last 4 bits when looking for either of the variables hidden in the byte. (Nowadays, this is less likely to be done because storage is cheap and abundant. Games used to perform miracles on fractions of the storage because they had to in order to exist; A LOT of storage was reused for multiple different variables at different times, which is why so many weird skip glitches exist where you for example instantly beat Pokemon Blue. Using the same storage for multiple different variables of different types is pretty much illegal nowadays, as the high-level languages do their best to keep you from shooting yourself in the foot with needless optimising of plentiful storage.)

So why does Minecraft use 64, which is 2^6, for its stacks? I don't know. If anybody knows, please tell me; But I'm guessing it's just the closest power of 2 to the amount that works best balance wise. More interesting is why it uses 64 instead of 63, since I suggested using 31 instead off 32. Minecraft has a lot of different items that could be in that inventory slot, so it needs an item ID to know what is in there. The case of NO item is handled through that ID - If there is effectively no item ID, it's an empty slot. So the integer that counts the amount doesn't need to account for it not being asked. (This is similar to adding a boolean for no notifs, except it covers more states by covering all possible items, working together with the integer of the amount to determine the actual content of the inventory slot.) So it doesn't need a 0 state, instead it can start with 1. For the notification system, we can only ever have notifications and no, I don't know, alarms or something that are separate but clog up the same system while overriding the notification counter. So the notification system will only deal with notifications, and only ever count how many there are. A separate variable for 0 is pointless when it will always add atleast 2 possible states, when you can just count 1 less and have your 0 state built-in.

Of course, all of this is pointless if you just use regular unsigned 32-bit integers that have a max count of 4,294,967,295 (starting your count with 0). (For the amount of bits, we don't run into the issue of 2^5 with 32, because 32 is a multiple of 8 - The amount of bits in a byte. So we just use 4 bytes for the integer.) At that point, fuck it, just let the notification counter go up to 999 or whatever amount of digits doesn't break your UI.

The fact that Bluesky's "pending notifications" counter only goes up to 30 suggests some very specific things about the usage patterns its designers were expecting.

[asidian]

for the make me write game: 🌊 😈 :)

😈: The start of the second chapter of Hell Touched:

It's been three bloody days, and Charles still doesn't know what to do with himself. Sort of lost the trick of it, hasn't he? The office is too quiet; everything's too still. The halls don't echo with poor sods screaming their bloody lungs out, trying to get somebody to make it stop. The halls don't echo with him screaming his lungs out, trying to get somebody to make it stop.

🌊: The start of the third chapter of the Case of the House on the Water, which has languished so long I had to go reread it to remember what was happening, I'm so sorry /)_(\

Charles hasn't been wet in thirty-seven years. Oh, sure, he's been in the water – dipped his toes in the waves at Blackpool Sands, and fished around at the bottom of the Bolton Strid in that bloody awful case with the lich from back in '05, and then there was that great sodding storm a couple years back that drenched all of London. But Charles is a ghost, isn't he? And being in the water doesn't mean getting wet, not usually. The rain passes straight through him, and the waves don't touch him, and even the Bolton bloody Strid didn't much bother him, once he quit panicking and realized he could just phase right back up to the surface through the rock again. Water's bloody awful, but it can't touch him anymore, is the thing. Except that right now, it can.

[nicherayyy]

I loved your post on La Squadra with a Power teammate, can you do one with the bucci gang? Thank you!! ❤️❤️

Of course, anon!

By the way guys happy New Year!!!

Bucci Gang & Power-like teammate hcs

Bruno's still shocked he let them in the team

It all started when he saw them near the dumpster, having a fight with a stray dog for a piece of salami

And of course, with good intentions at heart he treated them for a nice and filling meal at a restaurant

Do you know the situation when you feed a stray cat and it just... never leaves?

Basically, that is what happened.

They followed Bruno around because quote "I like free food.. and your ugly-ass bowl cut is funny as hell"

Leone: ..Bucciarati, who's that punk?

Bruno: Don't even ask

Leone: Want me to take care of this?

Bruno: ...No. No need

Yeah, they let themselves into the team without any invitation

They don't feel any shame about it.

It was such a relief for Bruno to discover that they actually have a stand

Cause honestly, hanging around stand users without having a stand is kind of.. dangerous?

Bruno: So, what is your stand like?

Teammate: ...I'm not telling you

Bruno: ...Why?

Teammate: you'll need to pay me if you want to know anything about my stand

I think it'd be the same situation as with La Squadra

The teammate would not show up to any meeting

Exception: they'll show up if there's exactly the type of food they like

Or if they want to piss off Leone

One of their favourite activities, truly

But at this point Leone is immune to all the attempts of getting a reaction out of him

(The only thing he's not immune to is their smell)

Teammate: Your stand is lame

Leone: Okay

Teammate: ..And my stand is better than yours

Leone: Good for you

I think we all know that Leone would NOT seek their company

So he minimises any interaction he might have with the teammate

Same thing with Fugo and Giorno

I swear, it's the first time Leone ever agreed with Giorno

Fugo gets bonus points because he makes them take a shower at least once a week

They have no choice in the matter, either a shower or a garden hose

So.. yeah.. the teammate is too much of a headache for those three

Mista is not really fond of them either

I mean, he used to like to joke around with them

...Until the teammate found out about his numerophobia

Teammate: This cake is awesome, I could eat... let's say, at least FOUR more pieces

They make sure to say the number as loud as possible too

Narancia thinks they're kind of mean

But he still enjoys their jokes

He even hanged out with them once or twice

They made him steal a pretzel.

[demonslayerunhinged]

Uhm...hello...oh my god, okay, this is my first time doing this so I probably should apologize in advance for I just know this is going to be a big yap session (there'll definitely be a question, trust).

I'm rather new to the KnY fandom so I haven't really completed the manga yet (as in, analyzed it) although I've gotten all the Spoilers I could get. I've read the light novels to an extent, too)

Sanemi really became my favourite character although it was a connection I couldn't really explain or express since he unfortunately remains one of the most hated characters in DS, and yes I began shipping Giyuu x Sanemi even though many people seem to think that's weird and came out of the blue.

A Pinterest pin with a link to your page; a post where you had a theory that Sanemi had some form of anxiety...and boy am I grateful to the person who made that post, I've been hooked to your blog ever since.

So, uhm, first of all let me just say that I love all your writings. They're convincing, elaborate, and the amount of research you've put into them is mind blowing! The Obanai analysis, the fandom discourse, to name a few, are some of my favourites. I've only read a few, so you might've already made a post answering a question similar to this, but uh...lemme ignore that. Okay, that's enough...onto the questions.

I wanted to ask you about Giyuu and Sanemi's relationship. One thing critics love to say is that their relationship would be "toxic." (That Giyuu's uncommunicative ways will be irritating and unbearable for Sanemi and since he's shown to be rather impatient, he'd lash out and Giyuu will only become even more quiet.) I genuinely want to know what you'd have to say about this. I can already tell you're an unapologetic GiyuuSane shipper, so I wanna know, as I don't know much about their relationship myself, but found that I adored the ship so much it became too much to bear.

Another thing is about Demon Slayer itself. I'm almost very sure that you are aware of how many people criticize the show. I've fallen in love with KnY and I genuinely want to understand why it's hated so much. So far I've been hearing that KnY is badly, poorly written; it has one-dimensional/ one-sided characters, sucks at world-building, is inconsistent, overrated, mid, cliché, unoriginal and what not. I've seen somebody make a freaking hour-long YouTube video on why DS is that bad. (I'm unsure if you've seen it, though.) Some people say there's way too much plot armour and the villains got nerfed, that Douma vs Shinobu fight was just the author rushing things; apparently the ending was rushed too. Its pacing was "horrible" the backstory dumping and the endless monologue is annoying to them, and "the only personality the characters ever have is their backstory." Someone even commented "the characters are basically caricatures with catchphrases."

I've heard that Obanai's character is boring, inconsistent and lacked development (that his character can literally be summed to "I hate all women except Mitsuri"), that Zenitsu is annoying, terribly written and is wasted potential, that Kanao is a typical Y/N character and that the Kamado siblings are nothing special, and are extremely generic and boring (especially Nezuko, she seemingly has zero personality.) Idk much, but there are some posts on Pinterest saying that all the canon ships except the Uzuis have poor writing. Even Giyuu seems to be a "Wattpad mafia lord who acts like he's carrying too much pain." Basically they're saying the characters are one-sided, lacking in development, mid, the villains are auraless, the anime is cliché and has nothing unique to it, and the only thing that carries KnY is Ufotable's animation.

Now the reason I'm writing to you is because I really, really want to know what your opinion on this is. I mostly think perspectives differ based on how people define "good" or "bad" writing, everyone has varied views; however as much as I want to defend an anime I've surprisingly grown embarrassingly attached too, I think you're better qualified. It hurts when people attack something that's close to your heart, even if it is just a bunch of pixels. I'm probably stupid to get affected by mere criticisms of a damn ANIME this much, but unfortunately this doesn't seem like something I can control. I am a deranged, cowardly escapist so I didn't even watch the criticisms properly but got the gist of it.

Uhm...yeah, I'm very sorry if I sound demanding, you can take your time, it doesn't matter how long it takes to reply (it's okay if you don't even want to reply, needed to get this off my chest to someone somehow), please don't stress yourself out, I've seen all the amazing titles you're preparing for, wish you luck.

(Okay I'll stop now. Sorry.)

Hey Anon,

I hope you're doing well.

Not gonna lie your ask made me tear up a bit especially towards the end of it because I get you, I get you so, so fucking much. Being a Demon Slayer fan, specifically an English-speaking Demon Slayer fan, is tough. It's like everywhere you look, all you see is negativity towards the series. At some point, you start to feel like you're the only one, you start to doubt yourself and feel, just as you described, crazy and deranged for getting so emotionally attached to such a'mid' anime series.

But lemme tell you this. Fuck those guys. Never be embarrassed for getting emotionally attached to a piece of media, that's what makes you human, it means that you have the time to critically assess and think about what you watch instead of just consuming it mindlessly. Creators LOVE people like you, and I'm absolutely sure that Gotogue-sensei would be touched that her work means so much to you. It's better to be attached or be a stan of something than to be a mindless bot wading through life with no passion for anything.

And I'm not just saying this because I'm also a deranged fan. This applies to any piece of media or any anime series. You know your heart, you know what you've been through in life, you know how life especially in this century is so fucking hard where it seems like everything is trying to crush you, where it feels like you're constantly trying to keep your head afloat in a vast ocean of despair being weighed down by, well, everything and if you find that one life raft that keeps you above the surface, that one thing that allows you to keep on going, that one ray of sunshine that makes you think hey maybe the world isn't so bad, as long as you’re in your lane, just enjoying KnY and engaging with the fandom in a positive way then who the FUCK are those barely sentient pieces of shit to take it away from you?

So with that being said, let's explore your concerns

SaneGiyuu is toxic

I feel the reason people think it’s a toxic ship is because a huge chunk of the fandom tends to infantilize Giyuu and vilify Sanemi. Which is a side effect of the lack of media literacy and shallowness that a lot of people possess.

Giyuu is always made out to be this soft, quiet, uwu-baby boy who is in need of protection because he's constantly bullied by the big, scary meanies like Sanemi and Obanai. Which people with working brains will know is far from the truth; Sanemi and Obanai talk shit about him yes, but if talking shit about someone constitutes as bullying then we’re all bullies and I bully my former boss.

Sanemi on the other hand is always made out to be either this irredeemable monster or this dominant, feral, 'hide-your-daughters' type man who's always alpha and on top, grrrrrr, he's both demonized and sexualized by a lot of fans. So with this mischaracterization of both characters, it's no wonder that people will see SaneGiyuu and come to the conclusion that it’s toxic because all they see is this soft, baby-uwu angel being paired up with this rabid monster. They want Sanemi and Giyuu to be Izuku and Bakugou from MHA so badly, which is just dumb. The other detractors of this ship usually lack the ability to recognize subtext or are just plain homophobic, thinking that the ship interferes with their fantasies.

Here’s a list of some posts I’ve made refuting these claims, but also exploring their dynamics. Just like you, this ship is really important to me because of it’s underlying themes of found family, trauma, miscommunication, isolation. And just the comfort of finding someone who has been through the same things you’ve been through and understands your pain.

The Anime is mid

Since you're new to the fandom it’s no surprise that the 'Demon Slayer is mid' comments would get to you, they used to get to me too. Long time fans will tell you how they’ve learned to just tune out the nonsense and focus on the fandom. Like yea yea we heard you, demon slayer is only carried by the animation, when you’re tired of complaining you’ll shut up and go back to snorting the Cheetos dust off your keyboard 🙄. 

I consider Demon Slayer a litmus test on how people analyze media, especially media that doesn’t have elements that they’re familiar with. See, here’s one thing that a lot of people, even fans of Demon Slayer, don’t get. Demon Slayer is a character driven story—every event or fight is done for the development of the characters in the story. That's why the plot is so simple because it’s not about the plot, it’s about the characters. When people criticize KnY’s plot for being simple, I can’t help but laugh because almost all the greatest stories in humanity have simple plots or some none at all.

Lord of the Rings is about a bunch of dudes who travel to a tower to destroy a ring. 

Gladiator is about a fallen general who is out for revenge on the emperor who betrayed him. 

The Matrix doesn't even have a proper goal until the third act of the movie. 

Harry Potter is about a bunch of kids who want to defeat the wizard that killed Harry's parents. 

American Psycho doesn't even have a proper story structure. It's just about a psychotic dude who goes axe-crazy, literally. 

The Star Wars franchise is about a bunch of people rebelling against a dictatorship. 

Sam Raimi's Spider-Man is about Peter facing the Villain of the week.

So why are these stories so close to our hearts? It’s because of the characters. All this talk about characters being nerfed, fights being boring, plot armor, pacing etc. etc. are all plot-related complaints which don’t apply to the story because it’s all about the characters. Those who say the characters are one-dimensional are just fucking stupid, lazy and shallow-minded. The rest don’t even properly watch the anime or read the manga, they just parrot whatever opinions are popular at the moment.

It also doesn't cater to the western gaze. KnY is completely and unapologetically Japanese, it can’t take place in anywhere but Japan. it’s so rich with Japanese culture, mythologies, folktales, and stories that it’s either you get it, try to get it or you don’t. Even the name 'Kimetsu no Yaiba' directly translates to Blade of Demon Destruction and not just any blade either, Yaiba specifically refers to a Japanese sword. It’s a love letter to Japan that celebrates Japanese culture and values so much that it borders on nationalism 😂. This is foreign to some anime dudebros who are used to anime that either takes place in modern Tokyo, Western-inspired fantasy countries, some version of 'San Fransokyo' or the Edo period.

This especially goes for that arrogant streak of shit who has dryer lint for hair that made the 1hr-long video. I’m sorry, but I’ll be damned before I entertain the opinions of someone who thinks Walter White is a great, complex character. Like bitch, you're not some deep, philosophical critic, you’re just a stupid edgelord who just happened to snare the interest of other stupid edgelords who want to feel like their existence and opinions matter in the grand scheme of things.

Here's a video where the creator refutes that asshole's bullshit criticisms. And here are some other positive and more nuanced analysis videos by people who have actual brains and, y'know, HAVE ACTUALLY WATCHED THE FUCKING ANIME AND READ THE FUCKING MANGA! Here, here, here and here. I'll post them in my pinned post and update when I find more stuff.

So please don't feel sad Anon! Nothing any of these cum-stain-should’ve-beens spew out of the cesspool inside their skulls will change the fact that Demon Slayer is a cultural phenomenon that revitalized the manga and anime industry. It is so popular that even the prime minister of Japan is a fan, that it introduced millions of people to not just anime/manga culture but also Japanese culture, that it revitalized the anime industry. There's also the debate about how it apparently outsold the entire comic book industry in 2020 and university researchers have studied and published analysis pieces on the characters. Not bad for a 'mid' series 😤

I hope I was able to answer your questions, and make you feel better. I'm glad you love my work but most importantly:

FUCK YEA!!! WE GOT ANOTHER GIYUUSANE BELIEVER!!!

[zepskies]

Aww here we go!! 😍 👏🏽👏🏽 I've been very excited to see what you'd do with Russell, considering your affinity and talent for writing our favorite law enforcement boys. This was just as twisty and exciting as I thought it would be!

“Extra fluffy for you, Mr. Russell,” Rosa, the maid, would say every morning with the brightest smile.

loll what I'd give to make sure he's got everything nice and fluffy. 😏

(A hot tub in the back, huh? Wayne, stop giving me ideas for ESC one-shots. 🥵🫠)

Providing answers didn’t come easy for the older Shaw, however. In fact, it had always been sort of a problem for him – even in the past. Especially in the past. Russell never lied, but he did omit things. Important things. On purpose.

Ooh yep! You really picked up on aspects of Russell's personality that I felt inherently when I was watching (studying) him, but hadn't consciously put into words. 👌🏽

All they had was them. They were friends. Best friends. Always competitive, but friends nonetheless.

It's also so interesting (and crazy) how little Russ and Colter know about each other now as men. There's got to be shades of who they were when they were younger, but it's bittersweet in a sense. And now they're both trying to suss each other out like lone wolves that are kinda sorta friends. 😂

Of course, there's still that "I thought you killed our dad" for 20+ years -- on Colter's end. 😅

“Yeah, well, let’s just say in an ideal world this, uh, woman would be part of that exit,” Russell said and sounded purposely casual as if he didn’t care the mission was successful or not in the end, omitting yet another thing – he did care. He cared a fucking lot.

Okay, this whole thing with the reader is fascinating. Because why does he have to go through all this trouble to find her if they've been a thing for 10...12...14...20-something years?! (Love how the number in Russell's "memory" just kept getting longer. 🤣🤣) It feels so sketchy all around, and oh so intriguing. Why haven't they seen each other in so long? Were they...

And if she's still "in the game," how does Russell think he's going to get her out and settle down with him? 😏

I'm full of questions, but I know you have a brilliant master plan for all of this. I've noticed this about the most recent stories you've created, but you're so very good at writing these law enforcement/military men paired with heroines that share their world, almost the "same foxhole" type of deal. Except for that his heroine partners usually outrank him. 😏

I tend to go the opposite route, partly because I'm interested in the dynamic between these kinds of men and a "civilian," but also because I don't think I'd be able to do the "same foxhole" trope justice. So that's something I really admire about you as a writer. 💜

The push and pull banter between Colter and Russ in this chapter was also so fun to read lol. I could literally quote every moment because it was all so well-written and priceless. And it just kept building up the mystery of the reader and why Russell is doing all of this, right up until that awesome cliffhanger!!

This first chapter hooked me right in -- can't wait to dive into chapter 2 next! 🤩🤩

The Exit Strategy – Part 1

Summary: Russell is ready to hang it all up and retire, open up a brewery, and enjoy the rest of his civilian life. However, there's one important thing missing before he can take the big plunge. Luckily, he knows just the right person to help him find it.

Pairing: Russell Shaw x Female!Reader

Warnings: +18, language, mystery, a tinge of angst, humor & brotherly banter, one tiny surprise 🤓

Word Count: 5.8k

A/N: Happy holidays, guys! Enjoy 🎄❤️

Main Masterlist || Series Masterlist || Tag List

Part 1: This Is Not a Pipe

The heavy truck door slammed shut behind him as Russell slid into the passenger seat with an exhaustive sigh. Colter’s big pickup was parked right next to his beautiful Chevelle in that same old motel parking lot in Virginia.

Russell hadn’t moved – yet. Well, sort of. He’d been away on assignment in some frosty region for a couple of weeks. He wasn’t allowed to say where exactly he’d been, and he knew better than to put it into writing, so let’s just agree he was at the North Pole looking for Santa Claus.

He could’ve ended up anywhere he wanted once he touched ground in the States again, but a very appreciated phone call from a former colleague made the decision for him. Besides, Russell knew this particular motel well. The coffee was more than decent and got the job done, the owner and employees were nice, comforting, and, most of all, trustworthy, and there were always fresh towels.

“Extra fluffy for you, Mr. Russell,” Rosa, the maid, would say every morning with the brightest smile.

Oh, and they had a hot tub in the back…

“Thanks for coming, man,” Russell extended his greeting without glancing at his younger brother once. He could feel Colter’s scrutinizing eyes on him, though, drilling for answers. Granted, his request had been rather unusual, so Russell understood where his younger brother’s ever-frozen furrowed brow stemmed from.

Providing answers didn’t come easy for the older Shaw, however. In fact, it had always been sort of a problem for him – even in the past. Especially in the past. Russell never lied, but he did omit things. Important things. On purpose.

“Yeah, uh, sure,” Colter replied with a polite smile as he started the car and rolled out of the lot.

Ah, yes, politeness…

That was what they were at, although it was progressively improving. It was only the third time the brothers were seeing each other since they had reconnected. And while the last two encounters had given the Shaws some well-needed time to talk things out and build trust, Colter was still naturally wary of his estranged sibling. As was Russell.

“So, what’s this about? You were pretty vague on the phone. You in trouble?”

That finally caught Russell’s full attention. He quickly shook his head, causing his hair to fall into his face. “What? No! No… No trouble,” he swiftly assuaged his brother with a dismissive hand gesture and a lighthearted chuckle. “Just need your help tracking down an old friend of mine, is all.”

Colter quirked an eyebrow at that. “Another Army buddy of yours?”

“Uh, something like that, yeah,” Russell replied rather mysteriously and didn’t even try to conceal the fact that he was hiding something more behind his ambiguous answer. But Colter only intensified his stare at him and wouldn’t let go that easily. Russell knew that. After all, they were related.

Persistence was a Shaw family trait. Another survival skill, if you will.

But this time, Russell wasn’t hiding a big government secret (or maybe he was). No lives depended on this particular mission (or so he thought). He wasn’t protecting a client, a company, or even his dubious employer (but someone else). He wasn’t choked by an NDA or about to save someone in grave danger (as far as he knew).

No, if anything, it was the fact that Russell didn’t know how much he could or should share with his brother. They were related, yes. But, technically, they hadn’t seen each other in decades, so they weren’t just considered merely estranged but strangers. Russell had always been aware of that fact, and Colter was beginning to catch on.

Especially during this mission.

See, once upon a time, the two hadn’t been just brothers. After moving to the cabin, societal contacts became scarce for the siblings. All they had was them. They were friends. Best friends. Always competitive, but friends nonetheless.

How much did they really know about each other now, though? How much of the old was still there?

“So, who are we looking for? What’s the guy’s name?” Colter asked, suddenly eager as he jumped into gear. He had always been restless, even as a kid, which fondly reminded Russell of their childhood.

But how much was he still the Russell that Colter once knew?

Well, Russell, on the other hand, remained calm and ruffled a casual hand through his beard. “Well, she’s, uh–”

Eyebrow cocked, Colter snapped his head to the passenger seat where his brother started to squirm. “Oh… Oh, so it’s a she,” he emphasized with a small grin. “Now I think I get it.”

There it is. I knew it, Russell thought with an internal sigh. In order for this mission to work, he knew he had to reveal some things. Private things. Things about himself and his life. Going in, Russell knew he couldn’t ask Colter for help without giving him something.

Their father had loved tests (and so did you – but that’s another story…). Russell always thought it had been the professor in him. So, Russell saw this as a test as well.

Could he trust Colter? And more pressingly, considering some long held accusations of murder, did Colter trust him?

A clear of Russell’s throat cut right through Colter’s chuckle. And then, the eldest tried his best to give no reaction at all. “Yes, she’s a… woman, but hold your horses. It’s not what you think, okay?” Colter lifted his eyebrow once more, causing Russell to heave another exhaustive sigh. “Fine, alright? It’s exactly what you think.”

Well, close enough, Russell thought. He knew Colter couldn’t even possibly imagine the reality in his wildest dreams.

Usually, Russell was an expert in avoiding uncomfortable questions. He was a pro at ditching answers and keeping secrets, even under torture and duress. However, there was just something entirely unique about dodging questions posed by little brothers.

And Russell saw it as a perfect bonding opportunity. He wanted to fill the chasm between them that their father’s death had caused – once and for all. But he couldn’t lie and say he wasn’t walking around on eggshells most of the time – something that reminded him of you again.

Learning from past mistakes, Russell wanted Colter to experience the fun side of him. The one that brewed his own beer, cared too much about his car, and had weird tastes in food. He chose to leave out the rest – the dark stuff and the very best stuff, too.

After all, Russell was good at omitting things.

Colter chuckled triumphantly. “Does this mean you’re finally giving up on Reenie?”

Amused, Russell let out a snort. “Ha! You wish… First things first, alright? Let’s just see how this thing pans out. It’s kind of a long shot. You know that exit plan I told you about?”

“Yeah, you wanna open your own brewery, right?”

“Yeah, well, let’s just say in an ideal world this, uh, woman would be part of that exit,” Russell said and sounded purposely casual as if he didn’t care the mission was successful or not in the end, omitting yet another thing – he did care.

He cared a fucking lot.

“Really? Okay.” Colter scratched his jaw and gave his words some thought. Then he offered a small, yet kind, smile. Honestly, Russell didn’t know what he had expected. “But, you know, if you want me to find the future Mrs. Shaw, I’m gonna need more information to go on. A name, last address, or a-, uh, a picture, maybe?”

“Well, name’s not gonna help you much in this case.” Your first name might’ve been shareable intel, but your last name was of the highest classification. “Her last address that I know of was in Berlin. And while I do have one photo of her, it’s not meant for your eyes, brother,” Russell said with a firmly territorial look that still carried a mischievous twinkle, revealing the exact nature of the photograph to be indeed inappropriate.

Russell had one naughty photo, yes. But he had a whole giant box of others, too.

Colter’s eyebrows met above his nose as he licked his lips. Customarily, people gave him more details when they needed him to find someone. But then again, those people usually weren’t his brother. “Do you know anything about this woman? How long have you two dated?”

“Uhm… not that long,” Russell supplied with a clear of his throat before mumbling the rest of his answer, hoping his beard would swallow most of his words. “Ten years. Give or take…”

What is time anyway if nothing but a concept, right?

Colter blinked at him and almost steered the vehicle off-road before gripping the wheel a little tighter. “I’m sorry… Did you just say ten years?”

“Well, might be more like twelve,” he admitted finally. “Well, anyways, saw her last three years ago.”

“Wow, okay, uhm…” Colter became quiet for a moment, speechless probably, the tiny bits of information running on a loop through his mind. He figured his brother still had lived a life while they hadn’t been speaking. Of course he had. He just never thought about what that life might have entailed, aside from classified military operations. “So, you’ve dated a woman for twelve years…”

“Fourteen.”

“…haven’t seen her in three, and know basically nothing about her?”

Russell snorted a laugh. “Yeah, I know. Ridiculous… Not even sure the name she did give me was her real one,” he said. It was a joke. He did know the name. He knew everything there was to know about you. So, maybe he did lie – sometimes. “But it’s the job, you know? It’s-, uh, it’s complicated.”

That part was true. Truer than he could ever possibly describe in words.

“I guess so…” Colter sighed, and Russell could hear the growing frustration. “So, she does what you do?”

Russell nodded. “In a way, yeah…” And Colter knew what that answer meant – he couldn’t say more. Again. “But don’t worry. We won’t have to turn over every stone on the face of this planet. I have a general idea of where she lives these days,” Russell provided. “One of my, uh, associates was working a job with her not that long ago. That’s how I found out she’s back in the States.”

Colter nodded in acceptance, knowing it was no use to try and prod more answers out of his brother. “Alright. Guess that’s something. So, where are we headed to?”

Russell then flashed him a grin with newfound determination sparkling in his green eyes. “Falls Church.”

The short drive had remained quiet for the most part. Colter refrained from asking more questions, knowing he wouldn’t be able to get straight answers out of his older brother in one form or the other. To accentuate Colter’s assumption of receiving non-answers, Russell mostly stared out the window with an intensity that had Colter believe his brother was counting trees when, in fact, Russell was pondering what he would, could, or should tell Colter.

Of course, Colter could also always ask more questions about their elusive father, but he didn’t do that either. Sure, one could say he was curious. More than that even.

What did Russell really know about his death? Their mother? Their family? Their work?

Another time, he kept telling himself throughout whenever he stole glances at his long-lost sibling. It was too soon. What was the point when Russell was so clearly reluctant to share anything at all?

Thus, there was nothing left but silence among peaceful woods and dense foliage till Colter pulled his truck over curbside in the idyllic town center of Falls Church.

Patiently, he waited a moment for Russell to open the floor and tell them their next logical steps. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, blew raspberries, clicked his tongue, and waited and waited and waited…

Nothing.

If Colter didn’t know any better, he would’ve thought someone carved a lifeless wax statue out of his brother and planted it on his passenger seat. Russell’s entire body stood motionless, only a set of green eyes flickered alive every once in a while and swayed out the windshield in search of something – or someone.

“So, what’s the plan here?” Colter asked with a clear of his throat. “You just wanna stay here and wait till she accidentally runs across the street?” It was meant as a joke, but to Colter’s dismay, Russell remained dead serious.

“That’s exactly what we’re doing,” the older Shaw confirmed and squinted his eyes at the busy street. Again, he had omitted a few things. In his mind, Colter didn’t need to know why Russell knew to be in front of the post office at exactly 15:03 (UTC–4) on a Tuesday.

Colter snorted a laugh. “What? C’mon, that can’t be the plan… Do you know how many people live in Falls Church? Or in the general Washington metropolitan area? We could be here for days. Weeks even…” The younger Shaw then switched fully into work mode, grabbing his phone from the Bluetooth car mount. “We’re never gonna find her like this. You got a phone number, maybe?” But before Russell could answer, Colter replied himself, shaking his head at his own silliness. “What am I even asking? Of course you don’t.”

Russell only smirked at that. Restless, he thought again.

“What about an old one? Maybe even that would help. I could call Bobby, Reenie… You got anything? Nothing?” But the younger Shaw’s questions apparently stumbled upon deaf ears. “Russell? Russ? Are you even listening to me? I’m trying to help you here. You could at least–”

“Found her!”

Russell almost jumped out of the car as his voice rang with sheer excitement. His heart was beating a mile a minute when his emerald eyes landed on the target. It felt like the very first time all over again.

Granted, the first meeting didn’t go so smoothly – there had definitely been some bumps (all on his part). Then again, he expected this next meeting to go a little roughly too (again, all on him).

“Wait, what?!”

Russell downright beamed. “Told you this would work.”

Colter only scoffed under his breath, the familiar competitiveness crawling back to the surface. “Yeah, well, beginner’s luck, okay?”

One boot had nearly touched asphalt before Russell remembered this wasn’t a situation that required him to storm in guns a-blazing – not even covert. Gentle hands, he reminded himself and swiftly closed the car door again, falling back into his seat. His lungs deflated.

Colter, on the other hand, was more confused than ever. “What-, uh, what are you doing?” Half-amused, his brow furrowed a bit more. “If you’ve found her, go talk to her. Where is she? Who is it?”

Curiosity could only be contained for so long. Colter wanted to know who had been a part of his brother’s life for almost as long as he had. He felt this was a key piece of information that would cause the first domino to fall. And then, revelation after revelation about Russell’s past would unravel.

Basically, Colter was waiting for the big epiphany. No pressure.

Russell vehemently shook his head. “Can’t. At least not like this. I need more intel first. You need to find out her name, and then we need your guy Bobby to get onto this.”

And yet again, guess what? Yes, Russell was, indeed, omitting things.

“Me? Why me?” Colter blinked at him. Surprise, surprise…

“‘Cause, obviously, she’d recognize me,” Russell pointed out. Again, omission. Like he had explained earlier, it was a real problem…

Colter exhaled a deep sigh. “Okay, and I’m guessing you’re still not gonna tell me why we’re doing all of this, right?”

“Nope.”

“Yup, thought so.” Still not convinced, Colter narrowed his eyes at his clearly paranoid brother. Maybe paranoia ran in the family. Not to point fingers – he recognized it in himself, too. “Do we really need to go through all that trouble? I mean, you’ve known that woman for, what, fourteen years, you said? Isn’t that a little extreme… even for you?”

Fifteen, Russell corrected in his mind. Close to sixteen. Nineteen max.

“Just trust me, okay? It’s necessary,” Russell reassured, knowing those words bore some weight. Hurriedly (he was getting antsy – this was a time-sensitive issue), he pointed a finger out the window to the sidewalk across the street. “You see that woman walking into the post office? That’s her.”

“What, the brunette in the flowery dress with the golden cross necklace? That’s her?”

“Yup.”

“Wow, okay…” Surprised didn’t come close to explain how Colter felt. He had expected… different. His brow almost met his hairline, but he still tried his best to conceal his wonder – to no avail.

Suspiciously, Russell leaned back in his seat and assessed his brother’s demeanor with a small glare. “What?”

“Nothing.” Colter threw his hands up in surrender, swallowing. “Just… She doesn’t really seem like your type.”

Amused, Russell stifled a chuckle. “And what exactly do you think is my type, little brother?”

“I don’t know…”

“What, you think some nice Christian girl is too good for me?” Russell deadpanned. Admittedly, he enjoyed bantering with his little brother. It reminded him of what he had missed out on for years. This was what he had wanted and longed for since he had left the family at eighteen.

Well, “left” wasn’t really the right word for it now, was it? It implied a voluntary act, and his leaving wasn’t so voluntary.

“That is exactly what I’m saying,” Colter countered, laughing. “It’s just, you know… dental hygienist in a motel hot tub springs to mind.”

“Okay, alright… You done?” Russell huffed, shaking his head. He refrained from showing his honest amusement. “You’re gonna follow her in or not?”

“Alright, I’ll go,” Colter finally agreed somewhat enthusiastically and jumped out of the car, swiftly following the woman inside. After all, he was curiouser and curiouser…

Russell kept his eyes trained on his younger brother until Colter vanished inside the post office. Now, it was out of his hands, only hoping his little brother wouldn’t blow it. Chances were high he would. Not that Russell didn’t have some faith.

He just had more faith in you.

Colter spotted you picking up mail from a PO box and decided on a plan of action in a matter of seconds. After all, he was quick thinking on his feet and the best at what he did. That’s why he was here. That’s why Russell had picked him for the job, right?

As you made your way back to the door, Colter eloquently intercepted you without disturbing the crowd. Another thing he had learned from his father.

He bumped straight into your shoulder and almost tackled you to the ground by the sheer force of his sneak attack. The mail in your hands scattered to the tiled floor like autumn leaves, and as Colter bent down to help you pick it up, he took a peek at your name on a postcard.

“Oh my God, would you look at that… I’m so sorry, Miss–,” the younger Shaw apologized clumsily, “Nora Laurier.” He uttered your name with a suave smile as he handed you back your pile of letters. The flirt in his eyes, however, he only added for Russell as revenge for Reenie. “Beautiful name.”

Your hands lingered on the letters between you for a moment as you took in his features and tall stature. It left you with a strange haunting of familiarity.

“Thank you,” you finally said with a hint of a smile as he let go of the mail. “Be more careful next time.”

“I will. Sorry again.” Colter chuckled with blushed cheeks and watched you leave. He waited till you had passed the row of windows before exiting himself.

He was a good actor, too.

Antsy, Russell almost bit his lip bloody as he stared the post office down till a migraine began to form. God, what he wouldn’t pay for some X-ray vision and super-hearing. He could be downright Superman with that – and the hero always got the girl.

His heart dithered anew with longing as you walked out – it took his breath away. You always did that, and you did it well. But then, you stopped short for a mere second, which wouldn’t have caused a civilian to raise a single brow. But Russell did.

“Shit…” he mumbled in the silence of the truck and lowered himself down to the dashboard. He watched you reach for your phone in your purse and call someone as you headed down the street.

Eventually, you stopped three houses east and finished your call in the shade of a tree next to a busy (and noisy) bus station. Russell caught your eyes drifting back to the doors of the post office, though, just as his little brother walked out and jogged towards the car.

“Shit, shit, shit!” Russell ducked even further down, hitting his head in several places. “What did that knucklehead do?”

The driver’s door opened as Colter casually slipped inside. “Got a name,” he announced victoriously. Part of his happiness emanated from gathering yet another puzzle piece of his mysterious brother – meeting you. “She goes by Nora Laurier now… And she seems nice. Way too nice for you, actually…” As he drifted off, his eyes searched for the elder one before finding him almost kissing the floor mat. “Russ, uh… What-, uh, what are you doing down there?”

“What the hell did you do?” Russell’s tone was both snappy and frustrated.

“Whoa, what d’you mean what did I do?” Colter waved off defensively. “I did what you told me to do!”

“She made you!”

“She did not make me,” Colter brushed off with a laugh, quite confident of his own skill set. They’d had the same teacher. He would know if you had suspected anything.

“Then why did she wait and look after you, huh?” Russell pointed out in annoyance.

Colter’s lips itched to break a smile. He couldn’t help it. It was the perfect opportunity to teach his flirt of a brother a well-needed lesson. “Well, maybe I caught her eye… piqued her interest, you know?”

Russell cocked a brow from below, his stare lethal. “Did you flirt with her?”

Colter hesitated for a moment. Mostly for dramatic effect. “I-, uh… You told me to get her name. ‘Sides, I told you Reenie was off limits.”

“Oh, so this is about revenge? Very mature.” Russell frowned. “She still there?”

“Where?” Colter stretched himself a bit as he looked out the windshield.

“Tree. Bus station.”

An amused smile formed on Colter’s lips as he spotted you. “Oh, yeah. I see her. I don’t think she suspects anything. She’s not even loo-… No, uh, wait… Yup.”

“What?” Russell’s brows drew together as he rose a little from his crouched position.

“Yeah, she’s definitely looking over here.”

“Well, stop looking down,” Russell hissed through gritted teeth. After a deep breath, he spoke in a calmer, more advising tone, “Pretend I’m not here.”

“Trying to, trust me… Should I wave at her? Smile?”

“Are you nuts?! Just look ahead. Pretend you’re getting a phone call.”

Colter did as he was told and held his phone to his ear. “She’s still looking,” he informed with a pressed smile, barely moving his mouth when he spoke.

“Okay, what’s she doing now?”

“There’s a-, uh, there’s a car coming and pulling over by the bus station. Dark gray Audi A6. Virginia Plates. Yankee-Papa-Charlie-5824,” Colter said as Russell hauled a pen from his pocket and began to jot down the plate numbers on his left palm.

“Copy that.”

He’d memorize them anyway, but one could never be too safe. He could get a concussion in the next hour or so (most likely because of you), and then what?

“Okay, she’s getting in,” Colter narrated. “Driver’s in his late-thirties. Male. Glasses. Medium height. Medium build… I think you could take him,” he added with a teasing grin.

“Shut up,” Russell retorted. “Are they gone now?”

“Pulling away from the curb and… Yep, they’re gone. Headed south down the road,” Colter affirmed.

“Alright.” Russell popped back into his seat with a sigh and some sore muscles. He had been sure he’d heard a few bones crack while he’d been cowering down there. He might be finally getting too old for these missions. But that was part of the reason why he was here in the first place – retirement was calling. And Russell wanted to fill the chair next to him on the porch.

“You good?” Colter checked and choked the small laugh that wanted to escape upon the ruffled sight of his older brother.

“Yeah, go ahead and follow them. Just keep a low profile,” Russell instructed. “On our way, you might wanna call your op analyst, too. See what he can find out.”

“Alright,” Colter agreed somewhat reluctantly but still tailed the sedan. “You sure this is a good idea?”

“What d’you mean?” Russell said mindlessly, keeping his eyes focused on the target vehicle.

“Us… stalking your ex-girlfriend?” Colter noted with a cocked brow. “And her potentially new boyfriend?”

Russell only laughed at that. “We’re good. Trust me.”

Admittedly, though, a small part of him wondered (and worried) if this was all real. Maybe Nora Laurier wasn’t your real name, but it might be your actual new one – one you’d adopted as a safety precaution after you’d left it all behind. Maybe you had finally done it and retired, found a perfectly normal guy, and settled down – just without him.

Or:

Maybe you were still in the game, after all.

Russell was hoping it was the latter. Otherwise, he could probably expect a hefty restraining order in his future, but he wasn’t about to tell Colter that. Not until he knew for sure.

The Audi parked in front of an organic grocery store a few blocks down. Colter chose a spot across the parking lot, keeping a reasonable distance with the perfect view. Russell watched as you and Unnamed Man #1 sauntered into the store, an arm slung tightly around your waist and a smile on your face.

While on the phone with Bobby, Colter could tell that the sight of you in another man’s arms stung. “Okay, uh, thanks, Bobby.”

“What’d he say?” Russell fired as soon as Colter had removed the phone even just an inch from his ear.

“Uh, well, there’s some bad news,” Colter revealed hesitantly and licked his lips, not knowing how he was supposed to break his brother’s heart. “Bobby ran the plate number through the DMV. It’s registered to an Aiden Laurier.”

“Laurier?” Undeniably, Russell’s heart flinched at the connection. “Maybe a brother. Cousin…”

Or a colleague, Russell’s mind stubbornly added.

Colter bit his lower lip hard before he spoke, “They’ve been married for two years. I’m sorry, Russ.”

A hand comfortingly patted Russell’s shoulder. A part of him wanted to scream heavenward, but something else inside was gnawing on him.

He clicked his tongue. “No… No.” Sure, one could argue that denial was always the first step of grief. “No. No way she married sweater-vest John Mulaney over there.”

“I’m pretty sure she did. Bobby sent me the marriage certificate,” Colter countered and showed him the screenshot on his phone.

Russell glanced at it for a short second, not even bothering to waste more time on fake news. He shook his head. He knew better.

“Nah. I’m not buying it. You need to go in there and tell me what you see.” He sealed his words with an encouraging pat on the shoulder.

Colter exhaled deeply. “Russ, I-, uh, I think you need to let this go, man. You’re starting to… Never mind.”

“No. Go ahead. Say it,” Russell prompted with some thunder in his voice. “I’m reminding you of Dad, don’t I?”

Colter only twitched his shoulders. “I mean, yeah. A little.”

Russell’s head bobbed in thought before he met his little brother’s eyes. “You really don’t see it?”

“See what?”

“The post office, the road crew over there, the-, the fake documents?”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“C’mon… Just think about everything Dad taught us, huh?”

Was Colter really not getting it? Russell found that quite hard to believe. He had known his little brother to be as sharp as a whip. While Russell didn’t always have the nicest things to say about their father, he could admit the old man had prepared them well for life. Well, one life at least. This one.

The nomad life, the odd jobs that required them to have a particular set of skills like Liam Neeson.

Colter shook his head. “I have no clue what you’re talking about, Russell.”

Russell let out a sigh and leaned back in his seat. “Alright, if you don’t see it, you don’t see it.” A smirk twitched in the corners of his lips. “It’s your funeral, brother…”

With narrowed eyes, Colter pursed his lips. “Alright, just tell me one thing, okay?”

“You know I can’t tell you anything,” Russell reiterated and brushed his beard.

“I know. I know… It’s not that kinda question,” the younger Shaw reassured.

“Go ahead,” Russell relented and curiously looked at his brother.

Within a second, Russell could think of a million questions Colter might want to ask him, but this hadn’t been one of them:

“In the past three years, how many times have you thought about her? And I don’t just mean ‘crossed your mind’ every couple of months. I mean ‘seriously thought’ about her?”

“Hmm.” Russell pondered for a moment before replying, “Every damn day.”

It wasn’t a lie, no omission of anything, and Colter could tell. You were the first thought that popped into Russell’s still groggy mind when he woke up and the last one every night that fluttered across his weary eyelids. Obviously, he didn’t give Colter the soppy answer, though.

“Fine. I’ll go,” Colter softened his stance. “You owe me,” he added with a pointed finger before setting foot outside the car.

“I do owe you. Anything you want, brother,” Russell agreed with a broad grin. “How about we start with a full case of my homebrew, huh?”

Colter danced gracefully through the aisles, spying through canned goods and boxes of cereal. He watched you carefully select fruit with your husband, move through the dairy talking about “organic” and “locally sourced” till you landed on a few choices of toothpaste and finally strolled to the cash register.

Everything seemed boringly normal and ordinary. You chatted with the cashier. They handed you a coupon, which you slipped into your purse. Your husband paid with his credit card (which carried the same name matching the DMV records), and both of you left the store with two paper bags in your arms.

Once through the sliding glass doors, you stopped and turned to your husband. “Darn, honey, I think we forgot the milk.”

“You want me to grab it?”

“No, I’ll do it.”

“Okay, I’ll wait by the car and load the rest of the groceries.”

Now, Colter found that odd. He had watched you spent at least five minutes in the dairy aisle. How could you forget something as basic as milk?

As you hushed inside, your husband sauntered back to the car, and Colter followed you back in. You passed right by the dairy and, with a few looks that resembled a scan of your surroundings, you slipped past the door that led to the restrooms.

Waiting a beat, Colter went in after you. But you were long gone – just not to the restroom. An ‘Employee Only’ door that led to a dumpster alley outside was just falling shut.

Granted, Colter had a bad feeling about this. It was the same feeling he always got shortly before walking into a trap. In his defense, though, you were not a seven-foot-tall, 300-pound kind of guy. He wasn’t about to be ambushed by Shaquille O’Neal, which is probably why Colter didn’t find it necessary to pull his gun.

In hindsight, he should have.

The narrow alley was quiet and empty, except for some trash littering the ground around the dumpsters. It was closed-off, too, wedged between buildings with no view to the parking lot or nearby streets.

And then, something hit him. Or better yet: You hit him. With an elbow to the face and a stiff, flat palm to his throat, Colter stumbled forward before you gave him the final blow and knocked him off balance, tackling him to the ground.

Pressing his cheek into the rough and unforgiving surface of the asphalt, you jumped on him and restrained his arms tightly behind his back. While he squirmed to get out of your hold, he didn’t use as much brutal force as you expected he would.

“Shit,” he muttered below you, his voice muffled by the gravel. A light chuckle escaped him. “Okay, you got me.”

“Sounds about right,” you agreed with a smirk and tightened your grip on his arm.

Then, Colter heard a gun click above him. Hoping to see his brother, he looked up – only to find your husband with a weapon in hand as he stared down the barrel.

“Ah, I think you broke my nose,” the younger Shaw mumbled with a groan.

“Good. You’ve been following me. Why?” you prompted sternly. “Who are you? Who are you working for? Jafari? Mueller?”

“Listen, I-I think you’ve got the wrong idea. I’m not who you think I am,” Colter argued with a strained voice. What the hell had Russell gotten him into? “This is just a big misunderstanding.”

“Uh-huh.” You could only roll your eyes at that. How many times had you heard that line before?

“Let’s hood him. Get him to the Market,” your partner suggested. “We’ll see if he talks then.”

“No, really,” Colter insisted, growing a bit more uneasy. He had no idea what the Market was, but it didn’t sound pleasant. “You know my brother.”

“Who’s your brother?” With your elbow, you put more pressure on his back.

“Ow, alright…” Colter groaned once more as the pain intensified. “Looks kinda like me. Think two decades younger. He was in the Army, so probably didn’t have long hair and a beard. Uh, kind… green eyes? No? Doesn’t ring a bell?”

Colter watched your brow furrow in his periphery as he squinted upwards. He could see the gears starting to turn in your head. You just needed one final push to put all the puzzle pieces together.

“If it helps, my name is Colter. Colter Sh–”

“Shaw,” you shot like a missile. Your jaw plummeted to the ground, your heart springing right out with it. Your grip on the man caught between your thighs loosened, hearing Colter’s sigh of relief before you heard his voice.

“Hiya, sweetheart.”

Your head darted up, the man beneath you long forgotten. You swallowed as your eyes landed on an all too familiar face – even when it was covered by a bunch of hair that had never been there before. The heart-crushing smile was still the same as if it had been ripped straight from an old photograph you had of him.

“Russell?!”

Part 2: This Is a Russell Mission

Quite the entrance! Writing Russell reminded me somewhat of Plastic Hearts Dean (minus the addiction problems unless you count lying) because of all the wild overthinking 😂

If you enjoyed this story, then I'll gladly keep working on its prequel. Was a bit nervous to post this since I filled in some family history gaps myself 😅 I also dove into the books a little and added some things that kinda fit their "show" personalities.

Please let me know what you think and if you'd be interested in a young soldier!Russell series 😉🤍

TAGS:

Forevers: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

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@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

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@deansimpalababy

[therandompagesblog]

Hunting Your Soul Chapter 5 🫀Y/N🫀

Trigger Warnings: Stalking, Mentions of death and murder, mention of the word rape, mention of the word torture, mentions of period blood

I seriously needed to get out of the house. I needed to move and stay somewhere else. I can't believe my stalker cut me. Except I don't think he was any type of stalker. He was something that lived in the shadows. He was something that was supposed to be in a prison cell but would never get caught. I believed he was the monster that was supposed to stay in my grandmother's fantasy books. I could be wrong but I felt it in my bones. This creature was a vampire or a monster. A monster that has sharp claws. A werewolf even. If he was a vampire surely my blood would have tormented him and called to him. Surely he would have drained me. I was guessing it was a male. It was this stereotype that women didn't stalk. But what if this one did? I honestly didn't want to think about it too much. My head was hurting. I decided I needed to get out. I needed to go for a walk. Grabbing my coat I walked out of the house and headed down the street. The sun was up. I believed if they were a night monster they wouldn't follow me. They would hide in the shadows where they belonged. I walked along the beach so my trainers wouldn't get covered in the sand as I embraced the sun. I felt the sun warming up my skin and it made me excited. I smirked for a brief moment when my phone rang. "Be careful my love. One day the sun will burn." The voice spoke before hanging up. The voice was hoarse and husky. His words were a giveaway. He was a vampire and he wanted to damn me. He wanted to turn me into one. At least it confirmed he was a male. His voice frightened me and caused me to turn around. There was nowhere where he could be. It was far too open. Unless he was in the black-tinted car. Shit he was. Fuck my life. Do I run? I spun around and walked forward nervously. He couldn't get me if I was out in the open. Out in the sun. I was safe out here, but how long could I stay out here? I walked towards the pier when something buzzed in my pocket. Unknown: I'm not going to hurt you petal. You can enjoy the sun. It was nice to see you happy. I want you to embrace your last days till you're mine. I realised then a vampire was stronger than all forces put together.  Me: How long have I got left? Unknown: So polite to ask. A week. More if I am generous. Me: How long till you kill me? Unknown: A while. I will not kill you straight away. I want you to beg to be killed first. I sucked in a breath and put my phone away. I was not going to allow this monster to ruin my last few days of freedom. One thing I wasn't going to do was beg to be like him. I wouldn't be a monster. It wasn't who I was. I sat on the bench on the pier. Listening to the waves crashing against the rocks. Listening to the wind whisper. The birds fluttering by. Listening to my thoughts wander off.

I was thinking about what the monster would do to me when he kidnapped me. Would he hurt me? Rape me? Torture me? I wanted to know what he wanted from me. Would he tell me if I messaged him? If I messaged him, I would be luring him closer. It was a stupid thing to do. No sane person would ever do that. I guess if I was already damned. I slapped my forehead. I felt like a fool for my thoughts. I shouldn't message him, but I wanted clarification on my death so I could prepare. I wanted to know how I would be treated by my capture. Was that so wrong to know? Surely not. It wasn't like I was being captured by a human. I was being taken by a monster. Something inhuman. Me: What is your name? Can I know that? I waited for him to answer but he didn't so I gave up. He wasn't going to tell me. There was no point pushing the chapter to tell me more information in case I riled them up or added to their obsession. Now that was the wrong thing to do. The right thing to do was go to my Grandmother's house and listen to the creepy readings she was currently reading. That was the right thing to do. Except when I got there Grandmother was out with her friend Avis again. Leaving me alone. Possibly endangered. What could my grandmother do anyway? Wack him with her walking stick. I'm sure he'd win anyway. I picked up the book my grandmother was reading and it was called SKZ Mate by The Random Page. I nonchalantly flicked through and read a couple of pages to pass the time when I ended up engrossed in the book. Maybe grandmother does have good taste in books. Just not men. That was a joke everyone told themselves as Grandfather died from a horse chase on a lad's holiday in Spain. Apparently, he and his friends had annoyed these horses and they ended up chasing Grandfather to his death. It was ironic considering grandfather was always up to no good in his youth. Grandfather was known to pull random stunts with his friend so it wasn't a surprise he died in that way. It was a story to go by. At his funeral, Grandmother was said to have scolded him for having an early grave. It was a shame as I never got to meet him. He sounded hilarious and a stereotypical man. Some say my father was like him until he met my mother. She grounded him some say. It was also said that my father stalked my mother until she agreed to go on a date with him, so I guess mother and daughter alike. Except I had a planned kidnapping. Did it bother me that my stalker wasn't responding? A little bit. I had no idea why I was so bothered by it, but I was. I at least wanted him to communicate with me so I could become familiar with him until I died. Not become dead but dead buried in the ground. I sighed at my thoughts. It was like I was yearning for him already. I was ridiculous and I was blaming it on my hormones since I was due on. I had no idea when I was due but I was. I just prayed he wasn't a vampire and wasn't appealed to it. I hoped he was the vampire that saw it as deceased blood and it didn't bother him. I was praying for it at this point.

Did my prayers come true? Absolutely not. Days later I woke up to change my bin that was filled with tampons and I found them gone. All gone. I could see they were once in the bin as the bin bag was stained red but they were nowhere to be seen. Instead, a note was there. Thank you for your deliciousness. Chan x I learned the monster's name was Chan as he answered my text message a few hours later. Apparently he sleeps during the day. Which made me gather he was a vampire. The traditional stereotypical vampire that sleeps during the day and comes out at night. The one that burned during the day. My stalker continued to text me throughout the days. Asking me how I was as if he was trapping me into kindness. Sometimes I started to fall for it. Each day he was more curious about the things I liked. Each day he dropped me a present. A book on vampires. Some pyjamas. Another day it was flowers. He was softening me up for the day he would take me. Take me away from my family. My Grandmother.

18+ Taglist for those who are not turning back

@catlove83 @itsyourleilei @whatudowhennooneseesyou @leeknot @estella-novella @fackeraccount @eastjonowhere @cocofia143 @jennibahng @noerinspace @sleepingmissingprincess @ye0lkkot @hiitsmebbygrl16 @shhimhereforsmut @jaeminie-cricket @stayceebs97 @ritiiiiiii @chlodavids @beautystarry @hyunjinhoexxx @hash2013 @jeonginontopforever @catnipchannie @kaqua @fairy-lixie @myflowercloud @galaxy4489

[chasedeys]

https://www.tumblr.com/chasedeys/771700105318383616

So we have all clocked Joe being reserved when it comes to pda with Ja’Marr ??!

asakljfjkl i think it's like. less 'reserved when it comes to pda with ja'marr' and more of like. 'shy as all hell when it comes to ja'marr'.

begging youuuu to see carmen's post and tags (and also mine lmaoooo) here adore it to bits.

no wait i don't actually know what you mean by 'reserved when it comes to pda' because when you say it like that i take it to mean like. they're already together and joe doesn't really want to show to the world that he's close to ja'marr. that he can be really fucking tactile and clingy with ja'marr. because he's reserved when it comes to his personal stuff. which sure! totally understand this!

but i interpret the entire thing to be like this. they aren't together yet and joe is incredibly.....shy (?) with touching even the bare minimum of skin with ja'marr. six years and the pinky shake is still like a breath of fresh air for him. keeps reaching out first to do it with ja'marr!! every time!!! this man is incredibly sure with everything he does no doubt about it! but with ja'marr he's also sooo uppity and clumsy and awkward it's so endearing!!

joe is reallllllly really tactile as shit with everyone. he lives for skin to skin contact he loves that shit to death if he doesn't show affection to anyone by touching their shoulders knocking his head to theirs or fist-bumping or (especially with tee god this is so important to me too) nuzzling the side of their neck he might actually wilt and collapse into a puddle and like. die. no joke.

and ja'marr is no exception! in fact ja'marr especially!! loveeee writing how joe just. wraps around ja'marr. folds into him. early morning collapses into him and sniffs at his neck and head. sitting together on a couch and there's all that space but they sit on a single spot together (hard knocks titans ep....). reaching out to tuck a finger into ja'marr's belt loops and tugging on it so ja'marr stumbles into him. pinky shake but he doesn't let go and instead pulls on it so ja'marr falls into him. but like. these are whole other examples of a whole other thing sorry ANYWAYS.

joe still shows affection to ja'marr! all the pinky shakes. fist bumps. out of mind helmet slamming bunny hopping touchdown celebrations. shoulder grabbing. saints interview, mid-game calling for attention so many clips of this i'm not kidding. punches his chest telling him good job. kc game shove lol. ufc matches. donut incident. that cowboys tucking into his chest teasing him truly gem of a moment. oh that post-titans game walking together to the bus too actually i don't know why that's such a soft moment to me. and like other examples of just being unable to really look at ja'marr in the faceee, just from the corner of his eyes like that titans mic'ed up moment teasing his ass god what a moment that was. he's soooo shy and abashed with ja'marr! like a schoolboy with a crush! doesn't know what to do! holds himself back! tries to put himself forward but freezes up too easily!!!

so really it's less 'unwilling to show pda' and more like. not wholly able to? like he wants to but something is holding him back and that something is his big fat fucking crush on a boy. if he touches that boy he might combust into a cloud of mushroom and everyone will know and see and he will be perceived, including by the boy he loves. and wow he can't have that.

[benjiclarington]

'Done nothing wrong' and 'for no reason' are not mutually exclusive. The reason was the enforcement of a clause that even you have seemed to had a change of heart about... Yes, it's harsh, but we would have had to do something had this not resolved itself, Baxter. Because 'this clause is in effect except for this couple' wouldn't work. Not legally and, arguably more importantly, not socially. Especially in an environment like ours where the hostility between the Queens is already so constant, keeping it to three incident reports a month is considered a win...

Would I have felt bad? On a personal level, of course. And on a business level, I would have extended him a hearty but reasonable severance package. I also would've immediately spoken to Enrique over at The Peacock, Róisín at Irish Gold, Jerome at the Beast Chamber, and Augustine at The Gallery to put in a good word and hopefully negotiate a reasonably similar rate for him at one of their establishments, [he pointed out lightly.] We were never going to just... throw him to the wolves, Baxter. But we were going to work within the confines given to us, [he pointed out lightly.] Because that's what works long term.

I have never once called you stupid or purposely tried to talk down to you, Baxter. What I've been trying to do--perhaps not well--was appeal to your logical side at times where it's obvious your emotional side is taking the lead.

You own a business. Many of the employees are your family and friends. And that's fine in theory. But you cannot allow that to cloud your judgement when push comes to shove. We still have to be evenhanded with our policies. We still need forms. We still need contracts. We still need incident reports. Really, we need all those things more because of the extra element of so many close ties on the payroll...

None of that should be seen as an insult or as some indication that trust isn't enough. It should just be... procedure. A must that doesn't necessitate much additional thought until something flags otherwise. It should be like... renewing your renter's insurance. Does having renter's insurance inherently mean you don't trust the people that live in your building? Of course not. But you still have it just in case.

You hired me to worry about the long term. And the long term means remembering that I'm not the only person who's going to be looking at our documentation, or our hiring choices, or what policies we do or don't choose to enforce and why. Tax auditors... liquor licensers... government agencies... they'll be checking in periodically even if there's never a single complaint filed about this club--partially because the previous owners ran this club so poorly and partially because that's what they're supposed to do occasionally anyway. ...And I won't even list all the others that get involved if something does get filed as I'm sure I've labored that point more than enough by now...

My overall point, Baxter, is that just because I've spent 30+ years learning how to keep emotions out of it, doesn't mean I don't have them. Or that I derive some kind of... pleasure from doing the logical, business choice--especially when someone's livelihood is on the line. But that's the field I've chosen. And whether you realized it or not at the time, it's the field you've chosen, too--or at least you have if you actually want this club to continuing running when you're no longer in the state.

If this is just a short term endeavor for you, that's fine. Let me know. But if we want this business to survive long term, one of us will have to make those hard decisions. And that's what I'm here for--not because I want to, but because I recognize it's necessary.

...Baxter. ...Why do you have it in your mind that all I want to do is fire the people close to you for no reason? [Atlas asked quitely. Was that... hurt in his voice?]

[Atlas turned his chair to make sure Iris and Marv were still preoccupied in the kitchen before continuing.] Listen... I know we haven't been in lockstep lately, but... I always thought we agreed on at least the broad strokes for what you wanted for The Flame's future and the expectation of you wanting me to do what's necessary to keep it growing and managed in a better way than the previous owners...

...I... If it isn't working out... you can just tell me.