#had a revelation today. and i needed to get this out of my system in the only way i know how (humor)

[a-lamp-shade-art]

[starlightsalvatore]

hunger / damon salvatore x reader

i'm back !!! I needed to write a damon one-shot while I work on a new fic and this just tumbled right out of me lol

hunger / damon salvatore x reader

word count: 3.1k

warnings: everything??? drinking, swearing, blood sharing, oral (m and f receiving), unprotected p-in-v, a tiny bit of degradation?? this is self indulgant filth, seriously 18+ mdni

You ran a hand through your hair as you walked back and forth, unsure of what else to do with the restless energy surging through your system as you tried to fight one of your most basic, primal urges… hunger. Your fingers drummed against your thigh as you tried to focus on anything else, find something in your brain worth occupying your mind and switching course from the visuals running through your head. Your recent transition had been a shock to everyone, and Stefan had you on a tight leash to keep you in check… and you’d been on board, at first. You never wanted to cause harm, to be the reason someone else’s life ended, but with the itch in your veins threatening to undo you completely you couldn’t really find it in you to care anymore.

You heard your door push open and your head snapped up to see Damon walking in, two glasses and a bottle in his hand with an unamused expression, “if you don’t knock it off I’m going to have to replace the floor,” he said, setting everything on the dresser before pouring two generous cups of bourbon. 

“Not now, Damon,” you sighed, ignoring him entirely as your feet remained on course.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asked and you shook your head.

“Not really,” you said as he shoved a glass in your hand, his eyes telling you to drink which you did… all in one gulp and he was a little surprised as he took it to refill. 

“Well, something’s gotta give,” he replied as you finished the second as quickly as the first. “At this rate the bottle will be gone in a minute and I’m not replacing original flooring.” He gripped your shoulders, halting your movements and you huffed, looking up at him.

“I’m hungry, Damon,” you said, as if it pained you to do so and he furrowed his brow.

“The freezer is full- oh,” he cut himself off, realizing that’s not what you meant as a smirk spread across his features. “You want your blood at 98.6,” he said and you rolled your eyes, pushing him off you.

“Will you cut it out?” You poured another glass, hoping at some point the alcohol would subdue your cravings but you knew that was about as likely as him leaving you alone, so you tried another angle. “I can’t… Damon, the blood bags aren’t doing it for me, I can’t think, I can’t sleep… will you please take me out?” For a moment you thought he’d say yes, revel in the opportunity to feed with abandon with someone else, but it wasn’t that easy.

“No can do, sweetheart,” he replied and your brows pinched. “I’ve got enough on my plate without you losing control and giving me more bodies to deal with.” He was right, there was too much going on and you spinning out wasn’t an option, but that didn’t make it any easier of an answer to tolerate. He gave you a once over, it wasn’t as if he didn’t want to take you out… he would have loved to, but you were new and he knew you could eventually get to where he was, one day you’d be able to feed and leave them alive with no memory of what had happened, but that day wasn’t today, you had a long way to go and he couldn’t afford to have you slip up.

But… he couldn’t afford to have you slip up. One look told him you were wound tight, the diet Stefan had you on was restrictive, never enough to fully satisfy, and the less you drank the tighter you spun, threatening a catastrophic snap he could only assume was looming on the horizon with how frustrated you looked right now. He ran through his options, knowing letting you sit in this hunger any longer would result in a much bigger problem, but the only thing he could think of posed another set of issues and would lead to him teetering on the edge instead of you.

He let out a sigh, closing the distance between you and plucking the glass from your hands to discard on the dresser and you looked up at him questioningly, the invasion of space catching you by surprise. His normally bright eyes were dark and swimming with something you couldn’t understand, deep blue pools you found yourself getting lost in as you waited for him to say something. “You need to feed,” he said and your eyes fluttered shut just at the thought.

“I need to feed,” you whispered and he nodded, catching your chin between his fingers and forcing your head back up when you tried to look down and the action had your breath catching somewhere in your throat. 

“You still haven’t felt it, have you?” he asked, voice low and you shuddered. “What it’s like to sink your teeth into something…” you shook your head, Stefan hadn’t allowed you to drink anything that didn’t come from a cup. “Poor thing,” he chuckled, he could feel the tension radiating off you in waves, you were practically shaking beneath him as you fought to retain your grip on your sanity, on your control.

“Damon,” you sighed, eyes pleading and he just smiled as he gripped your hand and brought it up to his neck, the pulse beneath your fingers driving you wild. 

“When you feed you have to be careful… if you bite just along here,” he said, dragging your fingers along the vein, “you can control the flow. It doesn’t have to be messy,” he explained and you couldn’t tear your eyes away from the subtle way his skin moved with each beat of his heart, the sight bringing the veins beneath your eyes to the surface, your fangs descending.

“Don’t fight it,” he said, noticing you trying to rein it in, and you were having a hard time focusing on anything with the way his hands were trailing up your arms, pulling you closer. “Go on,” he tilted his head just slightly, “give it a try.” he encouraged and this pulled your focus, eyes snapping to his as you tried to ascertain if he was being serious. You had a lot left to learn, but blood sharing was personal, and you knew that… but all you saw in those dark blue eyes was a fire simmering beneath the surface you were sure was a mirror image of your own.

You slowly reached onto your tiptoes, as if he were a deer in the woods threatening to startle and bolt, but the closer you got the harder it was to resist, anticipation burning through your veins at the prospect of giving in. Your fangs were tentative as they broke the skin just where he’d indicated, but the first drop of blood immediately made you feel dizzy and intoxicated… It wasn't enough. You quickly grew feverish, your hand wrapping around his throat as you surged forward, crashing into the wall behind you and he let out a grunt as his back collided with the hard surface, pinned in place as you fed.

“There you go… that’s it,” he said, leaning back as he relaxed and let you take what you needed. His arm snaked around your waist while a hand brushed the hair from your face, cradling the back of your head as warm blood radiated through your body. A soft groan fell from his lips as you drank from him, and the sound elicited an unexpected reaction from you, your hand tightening around his throat and your body pushing flush against his and despite everything in you telling you to continue, you forced yourself back knowing if you didn’t stop you’d bleed him dry. 

Your eyes were wild and satisfied as they met his, and he dragged his thumb across your bottom lip, collecting the remnants and you were almost surprised when your lips wrapped around him, ensuring you didn’t waste a single drop. His smirk returned when he felt your tongue slide across his skin, “better?” he asked and you nodded, keeping him in your mouth for maybe a second longer than you needed to. The air was charged between you, you’d just crossed a line in the sand and you wanted to push a little further, go a little farther… 

Part of him knew he should put an end to this… stop before it went any further. He knew it before he’d even offered up a vein for you, he knew as soon as he did he’d be teetering on this ledge and he didn’t have that much self control when it came to you. Perhaps, if he really analyzed the situation, he knew somewhere in the back of his mind why you’d been so worked up, he knew what you needed and instead of letting you wreak havoc on the blood cooler he let you push him against a wall and take what you wanted, he let you feed from him in the most intimate way he could think of. 

And when you were looking up at him like that, eyes mischievous and holding an unspoken challenge with his blood still on your plump lips, who was he to resist? Your chest was heaving with anticipation as you waited for him to do something, anything, and the movement was so fast you almost didn’t register his hand curling around your throat, flipping you around and slamming you against the wall with such force you were sure you’d be dead if you were human. Your gasp of surprise was swallowed by his mouth on yours, searing and frenzied as he connected your lips and kissed you with a hunger that rivaled your own only moments ago. 

You both fought for dominance, neither one of you willing to submit just yet but you were outmatched… he grabbed your wandering hands and pinned them above your head, grip so tight you whined as he kissed down your neck, biting into you the same way you’d done with him and you couldn’t help the moan that fell from your lips as he did. Your hips rolled forward and feeling his hardening length against you gave you the surge of confidence you needed to break your hands free, sliding down his chest to pull his shirt apart, buttons flying and clattering against the floor as you pushed the fabric over his shoulders. 

His lips were greedy across the expanse of your chest as he nipped and sucked the soft skin, tearing your shirt to shreds as he pulled it from you, a mess of fabric in your wake as you surged forward and pushed him into the wall opposite you, regaining your upper hand. Glass shattered on the floor around you as the force rattled the dresser but you couldn’t find it in you to care what had broken as your hands pulled his belt free, fingers quickly undoing the button as you sank to the floor and pulled his jeans with you.

His length stood erect in front of you and you were quick to take him in your mouth, focusing your tongue on his swollen tip as your hand worked what didn’t fit, and you couldn’t help but moan around him at the groan that fell from his lips, “such a good girl,” he cooed, his sweet words undercut by the harsh hand in your hair gripping and pulling you closer, forcing you to gag around him and the sensation had his head falling back against the wall. Tears sprung to your eyes at the sharp pain in your scalp and the way he was hitting the back of your throat, but all you could focus on was the throbbing between your thighs and he didn’t miss the way you clenched them together, desperate for friction. 

You were quickly on your back, too caught up in the moment to bother moving to the bed and you pushed glass aside as he settled between your legs, tearing your underwear off and diving in like a man starved and you could feel his smirk against you at your surprised moan, head hitting the floor as your back arched in pleasure. He switched between your clit and your entrance, not giving either attention long enough to give you what you really needed, and you whined as your fingers threaded through his hair, tugging harshly.

“Damon, please,” you sighed, hips bucking against his face and he focused his attention on your sensitive bundle of nerves, tongue expertly working you up as you shamelessly moaned his name. Somewhere in the back of your mind you knew with the way you kept slamming each other against walls and the floor, the breaking glass, and the sounds falling from both your lips someone might come to make sure you were alright, but you couldn’t find it in you to care… not when he felt as good as he did between your legs. 

Your moan changed in pitch when he slid two fingers into your entrance and it went straight to his cock, his head swimming as he watched you come close to falling apart above him. When he crooked his fingers just so your grip in his hair tightened, pulling him closer as you started to grind against him, “fuck, just like-” you were cut off by your own moan when he started massaging that spot inside you, legs trembling as you careened off the ledge. His touches remained merciless as pure euphoria surged through your veins, your head cloudy as your body trembled. 

“So fucking beautiful,” he muttered against you, kissing his way up your body and you tugged him closer to reconnect your lips, tongues swirling against each other as you tasted yourself on him. His hands felt greedy and possessive as they roamed over you, gripping tight enough to leave bruises that would heal before they even had a chance to form, and it was as if neither of you could get enough. You pushed forward, tugging him up with you and all but throwing him onto the bed and his smirk was devilish as he watched you crawl on top of him.

He looked like he was about to say something but you didn’t give him the opportunity as you kissed him, rough and demanding as your hips settled above his, hand reaching between you to line him up at your entrance and you both let out groans as you took him inch by inch. The stretch was sweet, filling you almost to your breaking point as you settled fully and started to roll your hips against him, shuddering at the feeling.

“Fuck,” he moaned as you started to bounce up and down, setting an unforgiving pace and you felt like you could feel him everywhere, every nerve ending radiating with fire. He sat up to wrap his arms around you, hips bucking to meet yours in a way that had your head rolling back and he took the opportunity to sink his teeth into your neck and you had never felt pleasure like this before. His hand was firm around your throat as your body shook with each thrust and soon you were boneless in his lap, only able to hold yourself upright as he drank you in. 

When he pulled back you licked along his lips, face changing at the taste of blood and he swore he’d never seen anything sexier. Neither of you was going to last much longer, not like this, and he delivered a rough smack to your ass that had you whining and rolling against him. “Oh my god,” you breathed out, letting your forehead fall against his and he smacked again, gripping the tender skin, “Damon-” you tried, but nothing would come out.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” he teased, gripping your hair and pulling you back to look at him, “oh, look at you… all cock drunk and fucked out,” he teased and you had nothing to say as a firm thrust had you seeing stars. You buried your face in his neck, fangs sinking into his skin as you felt your release barreling towards you, the mixture of blood and his steady thrusts too much to bear and a streak of red trailed down your body as you came, only able to shout his name as you cried out.

Your grip on him was maddening, pulling him right over the edge with you as you milked him for everything he had, and when you both slowed to a stop you were having a hard time catching your breath, your mind floating somewhere above you as you tried to return to your body. You felt his tongue along your chest, cleaning up your mess as you leaned back and he tried to commit the sight to memory… your hair wild, cheeks flushed, and skin dewy as blood lingered along your skin. 

You still weren’t fully with him, stuck in a haze as you felt him whisk you into his bedroom, and into the bathroom and it wasn’t until you were under the stream of water with him that you hummed contently against his lips as he kissed you softly, “there she is,” he chuckled.

His hands were delicate as they roamed you, and yours slid down the front of his chest as you looked up at him, doe eyed and happy. “That was…” you trailed off, unsure of what word to use to fully sum it up and he placed another soft kiss on your lips.

“Everything you ever dreamed of?” he provided and you laughed as you swatted his chest. 

“Hush,” you replied, feigning annoyance but you didn’t have it in you to feel anything other than bliss. The rest of your shower was spent with wandering hands and sweet kisses, a stark contrast to how rough and domineering you’d been with each other and when he pulled you into bed and wrapped himself around you, you looked up at him as your fingers trailed along his chest absentmindedly.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked, and you flushed slightly under his gaze.

“It was more than I dreamed of,” you answered, and he raised a brow in question. “I haven’t… I hadn’t done that since turning, I didn’t know it could be like that,” you explained and realization passed over his features.

“My god,” he chuckled, “no wonder you were wound so tight.” His hand on your back was comfortable, holding you tight against him as he rubbed soothingly, “we’ll go on a little trip this weekend,” he said as you rested your head on his chest.

“A trip?” 

You felt him nod, “away from all the chaos here… we’ll find you some warm bodies and I’ll teach you how to do it the right way, you don’t have to live a life of blood bags forever.” 

“I don’t know, you seemed to do the trick,” you teased and he laughed.

“Sweetheart, you have no idea what you’re missing.” 

[vaguely-concerned]

I think there is no better illustration of the more intimate, internal angle veilguard chooses to approach its characters and themes with than the fact that like... listen in this game we get to follow so much pain back to its source, and we find it really does permeate everything in thedas today on a level that evokes a kind of cosmic horror. the bones of the earth itself are broken open and drenched in trauma; the world is mired in suffering down to the core and the marrow. as above, so below. as outside, so inside. on the big scale, and the small. all of creation is a throat gone to bloody shreds from screaming in agony, when you allow yourself to listen. (maybe that's why we usually don't, or can't, bring ourselves to listen.)

...and yet the thing that makes me personally so desperately gnaw-my-own-arm-off sad that it feels like I could die from it is that in a run where you save minrathous, lucanis never gets out from the ossuary in his mind. what's worse, no one even knows he's in there. he's still in there. and there is no rescue on the way, because he's locked down so deep inside himself this time that there's no way for anyone to even understand there's a need for it. would he be able to welcome one, if someone did realize it and tried to reach him? You know him -- you can open the door, but he won't walk through. He won't move. There's nowhere to go. the way he says 'it doesn't matter what I want' with such utter, leaden, final resignation in the wrecked treviso cutscene is going to haunt me forever. it makes perfect sense to me you can't romance him after that, I'm not sure he's ever really here completely in that version of events, at least within the timeline the game takes place. he's just standing in the shitty awful ossuary torture room all alone, and no one's coming to find him.

and what is that, next to the millennia of suffering screaming through all of history and creation? well. nothing, of course, not really. a single plucked string in an endless deafening symphony of despair. one singular trapped and broken soul among the untold millions that have gone before and the untold more that will surely come after, that are being made as we speak in the conflicts and tragedies unfolding through the game. but more importantly it's also everything. to me. and to the game too. the game says this also matters. just as much as anything else, this pain matters and deserves to be loved and comforted. even in the face of all the suffering in the world, beneath the systems perpetuating all the banalities of evil, for good or for ill sometimes, we matter to each other. and what would be the point of anything, if we didn't? that's where hope lives. as long as you're alive, the right key might still arrive to gently open the locks of your mind, the right hand might reach out one day and you will bring yourself to take it. you don't know what tomorrow's going to be. if in the meantime the only thing we have to gain in staying is each other -- isn't that enough? isn't that everything? why does this one guy saved mean the world saved to me, a little bit? hello. hello. hello. there's stuff going on in the deep here.

when I say that the deep thematic spine of this game is so good and solid that the occasional clumsiness and false tones of the writing on top of it simply cannot hurt me... I think this is part of what I mean. works for every single one of the characters of course! lucanis' is the predicament that speaks to me most viscerally. for. uh. personal reasons there simply is no time to get into at this juncture lol. but just as much the idea that davrin can die before he could see the world freed from the blight and the need for wardens, or that harding can get cut down right at the beginning of a great revelation that could change everything and heal things no one had even dreamed could be healed. all of them are like this. each and every one of us has a world and so many stories inside that matter, and it's not to dismiss the larger systemic forces and evils that create so much of the suffering in the world to focus in on that for one installment of the series -- only to view it from a different angle that brings other things to light than what we're looking for normally in this series. it's worth looking at what's actually here.

(have you ever heard the poem 'good light' by andrea gibson? it's very good. you should check it out if you haven't, you can find it on youtube. it has these lines:

Come make it count Our finding each other like we found God Come root for the salt Come believing we can heal it all, even everything Even everything that has ever been done I know how much the pain of this world weighs But I can still tip the scales in light's direction Whenever I have your name on my tongue

and yeah. I think that's basically what I'm trying to say here.)

[rvmoviest]

my girlfriend is a witch

witch! reader x karina

Karina's girlfriend had ghosted her on Halloween, leaving her feeling abandoned and confused. But that unexpected silence ultimately led Karina to uncover Y/N’s biggest secret—a revelation that turned everything she thought she knew about their relationship upside down.

October 31st, Halloween night—a thrilling time to be with friends, hitting up parties after a cozy evening of horror movies, hot chocolate, and pumpkin-shaped cookies. But for Karina, the day was anything but fun. It was all because her lovely girlfriend had texted her last minute: "can't hang out today, enjoy with the girls. love you, baby <3."

Of course, she loved spending time with her friends, but not when she was the only one without her partner. Seeing Yizhuo cuddled up with her girlfriend made her miss Y/N's warm embrace; watching Minjeong bake those pumpkin cookies with her partner only reminded her of how Y/N would wrap her arms around her from behind whenever they cooked together. And the hardest part? Watching Aeri get showered with kisses when all she wanted was her Y/N by her side. The entire evening, Karina couldn’t help but complain, wishing she could just be with the one person she truly wanted there with her.

Karina had hoped things would get better by nightfall—maybe a party, a few drinks, and then she’d crash at home. But instead, she felt even more irritated. First off, she hated her eyeliner; Y/N usually did it for her and always made it look perfect, way better than she could manage herself. And then there was the fact that her girlfriend hadn’t texted her all day after that one message: “Can’t hang out today, enjoy with the girls. Love you, baby <3.” What could possibly be keeping her so busy that she couldn’t even send a quick follow-up text? The more she thought about it, the more it got under her skin.

The final straw came when Karina passed by Y/N’s house on the way to the party. She noticed Y/N’s car parked in the driveway, lights on, and faint voices coming from inside. Her heart dropped. Y/N couldn’t be cheating on her… right? The thought made her stomach twist, and she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that something was off.

“You should stop by,” Aeri suggested, swirling a cup of vodka in her hand. “I mean, she’s your girlfriend. She should let you know what’s going on.”

“Maybe she just needs some time to herself,” Yizhuo offered, then paused, remembering. “Like on her birthday, when she left the party super early and… yeah. You should go check on her.”

Being in a relationship with Y/N had always been… strange. She’d disappear unexpectedly, only to come back like nothing happened. Sometimes, she’d talk to herself or even to animals. Once, Karina had woken up in the middle of the night to find Y/N muttering something in the bathroom amid strange noises. But despite the oddities, Karina could hardly imagine her girlfriend cheating. Y/N treated her like a queen—gifts, regular date nights, help with college work, and fierce loyalty against anyone who dared give her a hard time. Yet, the thought lingered, making her question: Could she?

After a couple of beers and some persuasion from her friends, Karina finally decided to head to Y/N’s house. Y/N shared the place with five other girls—all seniors in college: Joohyun, Seulgi, Wendy, Sooyoung, and Yeri. They were all undeniably gorgeous, but Y/N had always reassured her, saying, “They’re like family; I’d never date any of them.”

Normally, Karina would believe her without a second thought. But tonight, with a few drinks swirling in her system and jealousy creeping in, she couldn’t shake the memory of how Seulgi always seemed to dote on her girlfriend, stopping by her room to offer snacks or just to hang out. What if… Y/N was cheating on her with Seulgi? The thought made Karina’s heart race as she approached the door.

Karina knocked once, then twice. She could hear the girls’ voices inside, but no one came to open the door. Luckily, she knew about the spare key hidden in the plant pot by the door. She grabbed it and quietly let herself in, the voices inside abruptly falling silent.

“Someone’s inside,” she heard one of the voices say.

Before she could think of hiding, a sharp knife flashed near her neck—a prop, she realized, held by a girl in a purple cape. The girl pulled off her hat, revealing Yeri, one of Y/N’s roommates, staring at her in shock.

“What the hell?” Yeri muttered, her eyes wide. “Y/N, why is your girlfriend here?”

“My girlfriend?” came Y/N’s voice, and then she appeared, draped in a red cape. Her face twisted in confusion as she looked at Karina. “Rina, what are you doing here?”

Karina could have tried to play it cool, but the words tumbled out before she could stop them.

“Y/N, are you cheating on me?”

"I’m… what?!"

"Guys, can we please get back to the ritual? The guy’s about to wake up," Seulgi said, appearing in a yellow cape before noticing Karina. "Oh, hey, Karina."

"Can we take a break? Like, half an hour? I need to get Rina home," Y/N said, slipping off her cape to reveal a skin-tight black dress that made Karina momentarily forget her suspicions. How was her girlfriend this gorgeous?

Y/N walked over and took Karina’s hands, guiding her toward the front door. But as they passed the living room, Karina caught a glimpse of a guy tied up and sound asleep on the coffee table. Before she could react, Y/N quickly covered her eyes and ushered her outside.

"What the hell is going on?" Karina demanded, stopping in her tracks and forcing Y/N to stop too. "First, you disappear all day, then there’s some weird cult thing happening in your house, and I saw a guy tied up in the middle of the room! Can you please explain?"

Y/N stayed silent, her gaze fixed on the moon as she bit her lip, hesitating.

“It’s… complicated,” Y/N said, letting go of Karina’s hands and brushing her hair back. She took a deep breath before meeting Karina’s eyes and finally said, “Rina, I’m a witch.”

Karina’s first reaction was to laugh—hard. She doubled over, tears spilling from her eyes, until she realized Y/N was watching her in complete silence.

“You mean, like… a Halloween witch? Right?” she asked, still chuckling.

“Rina, there was a literal guy tied up in my living room.”

“As a joke?”

“As in, he’s an asshole incel and a virgin and we’re offering his blood to Satan,” Y/N deadpanned.

“Yeah, right.” Karina rolled her eyes. “Can you please be serious now?”

Y/N sighed, then lowered her hands to her sides and whistled sharply. Karina was about to ask what she was doing when, suddenly, a broom flew across the yard and landed right in Y/N’s hand.

“I know it’s weird,” Y/N said softly. “But I love you, and I don’t want us to break up just because of who I am.”

Karina’s eyes widened in disbelief. “You’re… actually a witch?” she stammered, staring at the broom in her girlfriend’s hand. “Like, brooms, hats, and—God forbid—pacts with the devil?”

“Kind of.” Y/N said with a shrug, a small, nervous smile playing on her lips.

There she was, standing in front of the girl she loved, who wasn’t cheating on her but was preparing to sacrifice a guy in her living room. Y/N wasn’t betraying her with someone else; she was making pacts with the devil. And here was Karina, raised Catholic and grappling with all of this.

But despite the absurdity of it all, she realized she had never loved anyone like she loved Y/N, and she had never felt as cherished as Y/N made her feel. Maybe she could handle a little insanity for the sake of their love, right?

“Can you fly?” Karina asked, looking down at her feet, completely unaware of the enormous smile spreading across her girlfriend’s face.

“Yes, I can,” Y/N replied, whistling again. The broom started to hover beside her. “Do you want a ride home?”

And how could Karina possibly say no to that?

[demonshauntingthedoves]

Right of ravage- providing to the lord the right to devastate the fields of his own domain and much more.

Pairing: Lord Jimin x maid reader

Timeline: medieval period (inspo french revolution)

Warning: yandere, power disparity, feudal system, destruction, slavery, foul language, implied physical assault, harsh treatment, degradation.

a part of my Debt series (maknae line)

It was distraughting. You screamed watching your farm burn away.The merciless fire swallowed the precious crops.All the year’s worth of work ashened to nothing. All the food was gone.

Your loud wails echoed over the growling of fire.You were frantic and begged his brother who groped at your hair.

“You’d been returning the money since decades. You ugly peasants should never be offered slack. Now bear the consequences.” He spat in mirth and disgust and threw you in the soil.

Jimin observed the clamour from over his horse. He remained unaffected as if the earth wasn't burning beside him. Your tear clamped eyes shifted to him. You knelt before him, pleading for his pity.

Ugly sobs made you shudder. And he for sure pitied you. Helplessness in human form.

“Lord, please spare us. Please stop the fire.” You cried. The triangles of your neck and the dips of your clavicles appeared with every breath you heaved. Red rimmed eyes stared at him in hope. For he would give the last word in this.

But as much as he pitied you, he wanted to claw up that little hope in you and chew at it. So, he nodded in approval at his brother rather than dismissal and backed his horse away, watching your face turn grey like the smoke swaying in the sky.

This was exactly what he wanted.

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

You winced when the needle dug in your finger, you sucked the pierced part, before getting back to stitch the button. This pain was negligible compared to what you’d dealt with.

“Are you fine?”

You faintly smiled and nodded in response to the lady by whose feet you sat. The lord's wife- Mrs. Park. A soft feather amongst stones. Unlike the other harsh noblewomen, she had treated you so well since you were kept to work as a maid. Her kindness was a balm to all your wounds. The same wounds her husband caused.

“Ha-eun.”

Your back cowered at his voice. The said woman made her way to him, humming to her beloved. You kept your eyes lowered, resisting the trembles his fearful presence stirred in you.

Mr. Park retrieved his carriage and placed it on the bed, on the other side of which you remained.

“ My dear, you said your visit there was a month away.” Mrs. Park’s voice saddened, she pressed herself to Jimin’s side, her head over his shoulder.

“The officer has asked for me, I would need to leave today, to reach there in five days.” he informed her, eyes dissecting your reaction to the news, every flicker of your lids and twitch of your lips.

“Fine. I’ll go ready your meals to pack.” she sighed and kissed his shoulder before retreating. “Y/n, get the shirt done and come to the kitchen.”

As Ha-eun footsteps dulled, your heartbeat lurched. To be left alone with Jimin filled you with dread. You hurried to sew the last patch of the shirt and leave.

As you bit the thread and bundled it, you slowed down, staring at the pair of feet that were now in front of you.

“You forgot to greet me.” he complained, voice gravelly and authority. A shiver ran down your spine from his propinquity. You hastily curtsied him, eyes pinned to his shoes.

“Hm. My shoes seem dirty, don't they?.” you understood his demand and reached for your skirt to carefully clean them. Park now held a satisfied smile, hands sneaked in the pockets of his trouser. He reveled in watching you kneel by his toes because that's exactly where you belonged.

“ You are happy, aren't you?”

“Wh-what? My lord? No.” you bend your head lower, to prevent Jimin from noticing your lies. It was true that your heart had thrumped with happiness when you heard he was leaving.

Jimin let out a laugh, which was more of a thinly veiled threat than a joyous one, a warning of impending harm.

“You seem relieved that I'm leaving the town, relieved that you’ll be free now. Awaiting your dreams to come true.”

You bit down a painful sob when he clamped his boot down on your hand, nearly crushing your knuckles. You cried when he pressed heavily on your fingers.

“And even wishing that I wouldn't ever return back and die there. This is what you’d do, right? you ungrateful wench.” Jimin spit with an intent to injure, eyes narrowed on you.

“N-no, lord, I would- I would never wish that upon you.” words tumbled out your mouth in a stumbling rush. You needed to deny it and convince him. You couldn't do otherwise. Pleadings were better before punishments than during the course of it. You crept forward to cling over his leg for forgiveness.

He retracted back in disguised disgust, before lifting his leg and wedging the tip of his shoe under your chin to tilt it up. Humiliation burned you. You still didn't flicker your teary eyes to him. You weren't permitted to look him in the eye.

“Don't lie to me, I’ll crack your jaw open in one swing. I saw your face when I told Ha-eun.” He growled and threatened you. You winced when he dangerously pressed the tip of his shoe on your pulse.

“I swear, I wasn't happy about it. Please, I'm sorry if it appeared like that.” You snivelled, making desperate attempts to appease him. You were just trying to save yourself and delay your doom.

“Look at me.”

Your cowering eyes fluttered up. While Jimin's eyes were blown dark, lust overflooding his anger. He was aroused watching you grovel. He lowered his feet from your chin and dragged it down your breast, subtly prodding at it. Your breath began to writhe.

“Give me your hand.”

He rubbed soothing circles on your wounded hand, you closed your eyes at the show of his care, only to have them blink open in panic the moment your hand was placed on his bulge.

“My lord, please, I'm needed in the kitc-.”

“Go in the attic, now! ”

[carolmunson]

must be a kind of blind love

(older!modern!eddie - interlude blurbie) orange colored sky setlist

a/n: wrote this little older!eddie blurbie in honor of me needing glasses. my birthday is tomorrow so consider this an early present from me. this doesn't have to fit in order of any time line, it's just cute and fluffy. however, there are some exciting revelations in here.

tw: references to smut, foul language, otherwise pretty tame. idiots in love.

"Yyyyell-o." "You gotta stop answering the phone like that, Ed."

"It's how I always answer the phone, baby -- it's like a muscle memory."

"Ooh, muscle memory, big word for you," you chuckle, you can hear him click clacking against his keyboard on the other end, "You busy?"

"Not too busy, you okay?" he asks, the click clacking slows down to a stop, you hear the roll of his desk chair and some shuffling, the sound of an iPhone being unplugged from his computer.

"So um, I just left the doctors..."

"Okay before you finish what you're saying, I need you to never start a phone call with 'I just left the doctors...' fours days after we had sex," he interrupts, "We clear on that?"

You laugh, it's hearty and bubbly, enough to calm him from the heart racing 'what ifs' running through his head, "Yes, we're clear -- but you knew I had this doctor's appointment!"

"I know, but still -- how'd it go? Everything good?"

"Well..." you start, "It was an eye doctor appointment, like, an optometrist."

"I know what an optomestrist is, baby girl," he says sweetly, "But thank you for clarifying."

"Anyway I went and got my eyes check and uh..." you trail off, not wanting to say it. You can hear the low giggle coming from his throat, practically see the smile in his next sentence.

"Aw, you need glasses, don't you, peach?" he smirks into his question, heading down the metal staircase into the kitchen to refill his coffee cup.

"Yeah," you say poutily, "And now my eyes hurt cause they did dialysis on my eyes I mean -- dialated my eyes, whoops."

"I would hope they didn't perform dialysis on your eyes, jesus," he still can't hold back his gruff giggle, "Is it bad? What's your perscription?"

"I think it's honestly just an astigmatism? But better safe than sorry," you explain, "Don't make fun of me."

"Oh baby, I'm gonna make fun of you," Eddie pops the mug into the microwave, "Now you know how I feel every time you tell me to put my glasses on. Not fun gettin' old, is it?"

"You make it look pretty fun," you shrug, walking over to the train. The printed out paper with your perscription on it is blinding outside, the white glaring into your dilated pupils, "Fuck that's bright."

"I'm almost done with work for today, you wanna just come to mine?" he asks, "We can go look for frames for you."

"You're gonna be mean," you complain, "I don't like when you're mean."

"I won't be mean, I promise."

"Do you want me to come over?" you ask.

He bites his tongue, wanting to reply with a snappy 'Would I have invited you if I didn't?' but he can tell you just need the reassurance.

"I'd love to see you," his voice warm honey while it drips into the receiver, "Of course I want you to come over. You getting on the train?"

"Yeah I'm like, maybe twenty minutes way," you smile.

"Well then I'll see you in twenty, okay?" "Okay."

He spends the first couple minutes teasing you when you get in to get it out of his system, peppering you with kisses when your fake pout gets too cute for him. Eddie gives you his glasses to try on but you squint.

"These are too blurry," you shake your head, scrunching your nose in a way that has him melting.

"Well that's cause my visions a little worse than yours," he shrugs, plucking them off your face by the bridge and popping them onto his own.

"I think your glasses are nice," you shrug, "They make you look handsome."

"Handsome, huh?" he quirks a brow, "I think they make me look like my uncle. He's like, 74."

"You don't look 74," you roll your eyes.

"No?"

"No, babe," you say sweetly, tilting your head when you look at him, "You look at least 72."

He clicks his tongue and puffs out a breath, "How did I know?"

"You love it," you smirk, kissing his cheek and then the tip of his nose.

"Yeah, yeah, I love it," he nods along, tilting his head up to kiss your lips. He pulls you in close to him, taking a seat on one of the barstools at the kitchen island where you stand between his thighs.

Yeah, yeah, I love it. I love you. I think I love you.

"When your eyes feel a little less blurry you wanna look for some frames?" he asks, noses touching. You nod, feeling safe in his hold, eyes fluttering closed when he kisses your cheek. Eddie's full lips kiss from your cheek to your jaw, to the top of your neck -- implying all the ideas he has in mind to pass the time.

"We can fool around if you want," he asks against your skin, "That sound good to you, four eyes?"

You groan into a laugh, shoving him lightly off you, "Fuck you."

Laughing in the kitchen together is his new favorite past time.

Cat-eye, round, square, wire-rimmed, low brow -- there's too many options. You chew on your lower lip looking at the walls of frames, trying to not get in the way of other people while they grab pairs to try on in the brightly lit mirrors.

"Where do I even start?" you ask yourself, feeling Eddie close behind you. His hand presses against your mid back, leading you over to a wall that doesn't have people crowded around it. It gives you a moment to breathe, he rubs your shoulder as it relaxes.

"What types of sunglasses to you normally wear?" he asks, "That's a good place to start."

You had a few fake pairs of Raybans, a couple cat-eye frames from when you were in your early twenties. One pair of rimless glasses from a 90s party that you don't totally hate. You reach for the Wayferer shaped ones, wire rim bottom and flat top -- you find it accentuates your brows in a way that isn't quite right. They sit uneven on your face.

"These are awful," you mumble, taking them off.

"No they're not," he assures. He grabs a few pairs that are sort of ridiculous just to get you laughing -- big wild pairs with bright colors, a pair of transition lens aviators that look straight out of a serial killer movie, exaggerated cat eye lenses that he said his great aunt would've worn in the 80s. He heals every tease with a gentle kiss to your temple or forehead just over the bridge of your nose.

Eventually he starts looking at sunglasses for himself while you gain the confidence to go for it on your own. It's not lost on him when some of the ladies who work there come over to see if he needs help that they're flirting, and to be fair, he's never one to not indulge. You catch his eye in an opposite mirror where he gives you a wink -- he blushes when you roll your eyes in return.

You finally think you've settled on a pair you like, one that surprises you. Thin wire rimmed, brushed gold, they sit slightly round over your face, dipping a bit onto the tops of your cheeks. They don't accentuate whatever is happening with your brow line, they almost feel like they're supposed to be there. Your next thought sounds like your mom in your ear -- They go with everything!

You push your hair back, seeing if you'll still like them with your hair out of the way and down again. You snap a picture -- well, you snap a few. You don't hate it.

"Hey," you call out, tapping on his shoulder when you get behind him, "What do you think?"

Eddie turns, smoothly taking off the new sunglasses he was considering, "Lemme see."

"Oh honey," he coos, "Oh my god you look like a sweet little secretary."

"Stop," you laugh, heat hitting your cheeks at his praise. "Gotta get you a type writer so you can come work for me," he eggs on playfully, "You can screen all my calls. Maybe earn some over time..."

"Don't be annoying," you chide, slapping at his arm when he snakes it around you.

"No, peach you look so sweet," he gushes, "Really."

"I don't look like a nerd?" you ask, looking into the mirror again.

"Of course you do," he confirms, "But that's what I like about them. Plus, they go with everything."

"We'll be like twins," you say with a nudge, "Yours are sort of like this but silver."

"You're right," he nods, "Look at that, nerds in love."

He gives you a quick kiss -- but both of your hearts sink when the weight of what he says hits both your ears. Nerds in love.

In love.

In love.

You hear him swallow and you do the same. There's a jitter to both of you after, like both of you are pretending to not have heard that sentence. Like it didn't happen.

"So you like these ones?" he asks, voice cracking like a teenager. He clears his throat before flagging over one of the women who offered to help him before, "Can we uh, can we get these set up with her prescription?"

The woman's smile is dazzling, perfect for retail -- you'd buy anything she told you to buy. She takes the pair in your hand and goes to work, calling you both over to the iPads by the check out desk to get the order in. Your heart hammers while you make your way over.

"Ed, I don't even know how much those cost," you say under your breath.

"It doesn't matter," he mumbles back, "You're not paying for 'em."

"Ed," you protest, "No." You shake your head, the serious look on your face makes his chest hot with embarrassment.

But he's quick, he's a loverboy for a reason, "Just think of it as insurance for all the jokes I get to make at your expense. I'm earning my right to bully you by buying them."

"You're so dumb," you huff, taking his hand while he reaches out to you to place your order.

"You love it."

"Yeah, yeah, I love it."

I love it, you think, I think I love you.

prev | next

[laurents-laces]

Dumping my thoughts on the new aftg short stories here to contain all the spoilers in one place, because if I don't get to talk about them I'm gonna explode. Someone very kindly made a typed-up version of them here if anyone wants them!

TFC: David

We all know Neil is "distressingly single-minded about Exy" but I'm dying at the revelation that people in Millport knew this about him. He was supposed to be lying low 😭

Kevinnnnnnnn my boy!!!

"This is better. Easier? Better." Ouch

I had a feeling he was seeing Betsy more often than twice a year! And that we just didn't know about it because Neil didn't. That's amazing for him

Wymack is being such a great dad right now and he doesn't even know it

So excited to have one (1) canonical sentence from Kayleigh Day herself

I was headcanoning Kevin as ten when he moved in with the Moriyamas. I know nine is only a year younger but somehow it's breaking my heart a little more

Awww I always thought he looked just like his mom

I hope he looks a little like Wymack too but no one noticed before

I wonder if he ended up telling Betsy who his dad is? I don't think so but I'm sure she'd have kept the secret. Even though it would've been so hard to keep a straight face about it

"Coaches have no honor. Your word is enough. Just yours." I wanna hit every Raven coach with a very heavy stick, starting with Tetsuji. But I love how Kevin's always trusted that Wymack was different. He can be a surprisingly hopeful person sometimes. He's a little like his dad in how he sees the potential in people no one else does

Am I crazy or is Wymack talking about Andrew here?? Because it reminds me of the part in the extra content where Andrew keeps breaking into Wymack's apartment to rant about Kevin, until one day it's Neil he's more interested in

I always thought that Andrew agreeing to protect Kevin so easily might mean he was kind of into him. If canon unrequited kandrew is gonna be a thing then Andrew and Jean should form a Victims of Kevin Day's Big Green Eyes Support Group

TRK: Betsy

I'm so upset right now I don't even have words

It's so interesting to see what Andrew is like alone with Betsy. And I love that Wymack makes him feel safe

He loves his brother!!

"They cannot keep him. I will not let them." I fully believe Andrew would be down to break Aaron out of prison if he got jail time

"One week Neil had been the subject of some very grandiose conspiracy theories, and the next Andrew had only said 'He's Kevin's problem now, the end!' and refused to elaborate." That's the most Andrew response he could've had 😭

And he was so right about Neil being suspicious as hell! I need everyone to look back on the beginning of the year and realize Andrew was right about him

"Everyone knows now, Bee." My heart just broke into a million pieces

"Neil flinched. He'd pushed because he needed to see that horrible smile crack. He needed to know if Andrew was screaming behind the euphoria his drugs fed his veins. But Andrew wasn't, and Neil couldn't live with that. Andrew's medicine was too strong or his psychosis too twisted; either way, tonight didn't mean anything to him. This was a setback Andrew could sidestep and ignore." That part of TRK really stuck with me. It's a good thing he didn't actually try to act completely unbothered by everything that night but it still hurts to hear about

"I know what happened to you today was beyond cruel and that Drake's death will not undo what he did to you. I know our system has failed you every step along the way and that a part of you will carry that distrust and betrayal for many years to come, if not for the rest of your life. And I know you have done astoundingly well despite life's every attempt to crush you. I'm sorry," she said, trying and failing to catch his eye, "and I'm so, so proud of you." She just said everything I'm feeling, perfectly

Chaos and mayhem, or Blockbuster. These books are so 2006. I miss Blockbuster

TKM: Aaron

This was the first one I read and it took me ages to get through because I was laughing so hard. Aaron calling andreil's matching arm bands a promise ring broke me

He's such an asshole. I love him. He might not like it but he's a Fox through and through

"Exy this, Exy that, get a fucking hobby already. Oh, but I guess he did?" He sent a pointed look at Andrew. He's the funniest character actually

I've always wondered if he was a little jealous of a certain mouthy liar who has everyone wrapped around his little finger. Hearing that Ichirou chose Neil over his own brother must've been a wild experience

I also wondered if he actually had a passion for medicine or if he just picked the most respectable career path he could think of. It's so good to hear that it's really something he loves. He's gonna get his dream job and fix things with his brother and marry the love of his life some day, and I'm so proud of him

Neurosurgeon Aaron and paediatrician Katelyn are properly canon now! It's nice to get all these details from the extra content as part of the actual books

A few months ago, Aaron never would have imagined Andrew needed his approval. Finding out how important he was to Andrew was an ongoing, eye-opening experience. Aaron finally realizing how much Andrew has done because of him might be my favourite thing

"His father's people tore up his arms with a lighter and knives, and none of it is going to fade. He doesn't need to see those." Andrew Minyard you fake idgafer. You care so much. So much.

I wonder what would've happened with andreil if Andrew was in less denial about their relationship? I don't think he'd date someone on purpose while the no-dating deal was still in effect

"Andrew didn't want to talk about Neil with Dobson because once he broached that subject he had to either lie to all of them or admit Neil was more important than he wanted him to be." I love that Aaron understands this about Andrew

I love that the only other Aaron POV story we have also ends with him being able to tell when Andrew is lying to himself. The twinyards have their misunderstandings but at the end of the day they get each other

[hexesandroses]

Fade away with you - Il Dottore x Female Reader

This is based on a post I shared earlier today. Very short but I had to get it out of my system (one day I'll explore this idea a different way but that's a problem for future Ella to deal with). If I see anyone beneath the age of 18/ageless blogs liking this post, I'm blocking you. It's on sight. Also on AO3.

NSFW. MDNI.

Dottore hadn't known solitude until he met you.

You appeared in his life like a Padisarah blooming in spring; a creature so lovely and sweet that he could not believe you could be his. You were all-consuming, you were otherworldly. Your words awakened in Dottore parts of himself that he thought nonexistent; your touch set his entire body aflame and made him understand just how ravenous he had been his entire life.

He had never considered it before - that he could be hungry for something like this: you lying bare beneath him, hair splayed out on the soft pillow, eyes pooling with tears as you took him in. Gracious, generous. Dottore had not known intimacy of this kind before but you showed him all that he had been deprived of. Was it wrong to want more? Should it bother him, that the feeling of your walls enveloping his cock so sweetly was not enough?

A thought that would not leave his mind no matter what he did. Dottore ached with the desire to fill you until he was all you knew; to take and take until you had nothing left to give; to merge your souls into one, forever intertwined, never to be separated by the omnipresent island in the sky. And you would let him - you were kinder than he could ever be, sweeter than all the dandelion wine in Teyvat.

Dottore thrusted in and out in time with your wanton moans. He couldn't remember when his rationality had been overtaken by such desperate want, but that had ceased to matter the moment he slid into you. You were his only respite from a world which despised him - your body a haven he could have never dreamed of.

Archons, and why didn't he meet you sooner? Why did the stars mock him for five hundred years before finally allowing this to happen?

You whined when his cock brushed against that particular spot. He knew you were overwhelmed; your legs, wrapped around his waist, twitched every so often with a plea for release. Dottore reveled in that, too: that he could see you at your most desperate and prolong the sweet torture that he knew you so loved.

"I can't," slipped the miserable confession past your lips, "please, Zandik..."

He brushed damp locks of hair out of your face with a careful hand, kissed your tears with a softness he never knew he possessed. Dottore's gaze was nothing if not fond as he took in the sight of you.

"You can take it, dear," he murmured, slowing his thrusts to an agonizing pace, "Be patient."

It was a lot to ask of you when Dottore himself was on the brink of losing all self-control. Your arms were wrapped around his neck, bringing him closer and closer still; as if the proximity between you would force him to move at the pace that you favored. Had you forgotten, in your haze, that Dottore much preferred these slow, tantalizing strokes? That the sight of you writhing impatiently fueled his lust more than anything?

His lips trailed your skin: beginning with your jaw and stopping at the crook of your neck, where Dottore bit down in time with a sudden, harsh thrust that made you moan loudest. He went as deep as he could - squeezed by your walls in a way that made him groan against you. Intoxicating, divine. You would be his undoing.

"You're teasing. It's- it's too much."

Dottore chuckled softly. "Is it? Can't you take it?"

Fool. Terrible, fatuous fool.

How you'd melted every ice wall that shielded his heart - a shriveled thing, rotten to the core. Never had he yearned so deeply to mark you, to show the world that you had proven him worthy of being desired.

"I need more, Zandik," you said, words coming out in gasps as he pushed in and out, in and out. "I want to come."

Whatever resistance he had was crushed into dust. How could he deny you a thing when you had given him life?

"Anything you desire." He said, before pressing his lips to yours in a fervent kiss. His hands roamed your skin - your hips, waist, breasts, the pads of his fingers brushing against your hardened nipples, eliciting a sigh that sent shivers down his spine. He couldn't get enough; even when your hips bucked against his, even when your fingers tugged at his hair as he thrusted deeper, harder. His hunger for you was bottomless - a mere taste was not enough. Dottore wanted to become one with you; like the ley lines buried deep in the earth.

You broke the kiss first, but Dottore did not spare you the moment to catch your breath. He dove back in, thirsty for more, his heart nearly fluttering when your mouth welcomed his again. Could you feel it, the adoration he held for you? Did his rough kiss convey everything that you made him feel? If you were to open your eyes in that moment, you would have seen the passion with which he kissed you: in his creased brows and eyes closed shut. He focused everything he had on wordlessly telling you, mine. You're mine and mine alone.

He kissed you until his lungs betrayed him. Dottore rested his forehead against yours, the feeling of your warm breath on his swollen lips setting him on fire. Your body had tensed where it was pressed against his own - a sign of your impending release.

His hand moved down to your core, thumb slipping past your slick folds to rub circles against your clit. The moan that slipped past your lips as a result was an exhilarating melody that he could never tire of.

Dottore wished to see you as you came; to catch a glimpse of your expression, twisted in pleasure utterly unbearable. But he couldn't muster that strength, for his own release was creeping closer, turning his movements sloppy, the thrill of the moment too great to bear. He could only hear your voice, the slapping of skin against skin, could only feel the way you took him in - you consumed him with no mercy. Everything you did had formed cracks at the edges of a mask he spent five hundred years carefully crafting.

It was only when you stilled beneath him that he slowed his thrusts. You clenched around him for a brief moment - eliciting a hiss - and then you came undone with a cry that Dottore could feel in his bones.

He nearly forgot about his throbbing cock, still buried deep inside you, for Dottore couldn't tear his gaze away from your face. All coherent thoughts escaped him until all that was left was the same mantra he repeated each time he looked at you: mine, mine, mine.

[mi-rae07]

Song Mingi : Chance (Part 3/3)

Pairing : Song Mingi (Ateez) and named character (Jung Miyeon)

_________________

Minho : is he sick?

Miyeon looked up at her son while she was putting her shoes on to step out for work in the morning, mingi asleep in the guest room upstairs. Of course minho had known by now. Miyeon smiled and nodded, bending down to hold her son's cheek with her hand before saying

Miyeon : he is. So just let him rest today, okay? Don't cause any trouble, and don't stress him out.

Minho : is he really sick? Like, does he need to go to the hospital-

Miyeon : are you worried for him, min-ah?

Minho bit his lip, looking away as miyeon chuckled and said

Miyeon : you do not need to be embarassed for worrying over him, minho. He's your father.

Minho : except he abandoned you.

Miyeon : mm. well I came to understand, yesterday night, that your father didn't really abandon all of us after all. It was someone else who had asked him to do that, and…he was just scared for us.

Mingi had told her everything yesterday night, and she couldn’t be happier for it. Minho's eyes turned wide at that revelation.

Minho : wait, really?

Miyeon : yeah. So don't be harsh on him, tell your sister that too.

Minho nodded with a small smile before saying

Minho : we'll take good care of him while you're away, eomma.

Miyeon giggled, ruffling minho's hair before saying

Miyeon : of course you will. I'll see you later, min-ah.

Minho nodded and kissed his mother's cheek before whispering

Minho : I love you.

________________________

Mingi groaned as he heard the door to his room opening, that small sound waking him up from his sleep. Mingi opened his eyes as it landed on his son walking up to him with a tray in his hands, a cup on top of it. Mingi frowned sleepily as he slowly sat up, feeling his head go dizzy from the small movement. God, he really was tired.

Minho : you're awake.

Mingi : are you…going to have your tea here?

Minho kept the tray on the bed-side table, motioning towards it before saying

Minho : no, this is for you.

Mingi : m-me?

Minho : yes, you. Peppermint teas are apparently good for your immune system. And since you're sick, so we thought it might help.

Mingi felt his heart jump at that. He hadn't expected them to care about him or his sickness.

Mingi : did you actually make tea for me?

Minho : we're quite mature, if you didn't notice.

Mingi smiled as he asked

Mingi : so you're not grumpy with me anymore?

Minho : something like that, you can say.

Mingi chuckled, holding his arms out before saying

Mingi : come to me then, prince.

Minho smiled widely at that nickname, quickly getting on the bed before crashing into his father's arms. Mingi smiled and patted his son's back, feeling minho sigh against him. The both of them had wanted this for a long time, and now they'd gotten it.

Mingi : minji-ya, I can see you peeking your head through the door gap. Come in here, you little sneak.

Minho giggled as minji entered the room with a small smile, mingi extending his arm for his daughter as well. And soon enough minji had climbed into bed, wrapping her arms around her father with a satisfied smile.

Mingi : thank you for the tea, and for having accepted me even after all the mistakes that I made, both of you.

Minji smiled, resting her head on mingi's shoulder before saying

Minji : we will always forgive you, appa.

Mingi felt his eyes tear up at her words, his heart filling up with joy as it finally felt complete. They had called him appa.

Mingi : I love you, my prince and my princess. The both of you mean the world to me.

Minho : we love you too, appa.

_________________________

Miyeon walked towards song jina's house, a determined look in her eyes. This was long due, especially now that she knew jina had been the one behind mingi's leaving. She had manipulated him and threatened mingi, along with her husband who had died a few years ago. It was time miyeon talked to her, for having taken away hers and her children's happiness.

Miyeon rang the doorbell to her house, jina opening the door a few seconds later. As soon as she saw miyeon, shock filled her eyes.

Jina : jung miyeon-shi?

Miyeon : yes, it's me. And I want to talk with you.

Jina : about what?

Miyeon : about your son, miss. About the father of my children.

And soon enough miyeon was sitting in the living room of jina's house, her looking at miyeon with dangerous eyes. Miyeon sighed as she said

Miyeon : you need to stop forcing him.

Jina : you're telling me what to do?

Miyeon : yes, I am. You had your way with him for his entire life, miss. You've ruined his childhood, and now even his adulthood. You need to stop doing this, because none of this is helping mingi.

Jina : and he told you that?

Miyeon : no, he cried because of it. You are his mother, do you not have even an ounce of sympathy for your own son? Can't you see this sort of a life is suffocating him, miss?

Jina chuckled, looking away as she said

Jina : I raised him to be different than this, miyeon-shi. I raised him to be fit for this sort of a lifestyle, and he was fine with it, all of it. Until you came along and ruined it for all of us. It is you who is to blame here, not me.

Miyeon : really. It's my fault he loved me? It's my fault I loved him?

Jina : love, is irrational, miyeon. Love isn't supposed to exist in his life.

Miyeon : well, it does now. He has children, and he has me. If he wants to stop this life of his, then he will. Because it is his choice.

Jina : no it isn't.

Miyeon : miss-

Jina : break up with him, miyeon. Leave this country, I will buy you a ticket to some place far away from here.

She was doing it again.

Miyeon : what?

Jina : you heard me. I need you out of my son's life. You and your stupid children, you need to leave him and go away.

Miyeon scoffed, looking away as she said

Miyeon : are you threatening me?

Jina : and if I am?

Miyeon smirked and nodded, standing up. She had expected this from song jina, of course she had. But she still wanted to give her one last chance, and she had burst it.

Miyeon : then it won't work, jina-shi. This isn't as this once was, I will not be your puppet, and I will not let you hurt the man I love.

Jina : jung miyeon-

Miyeon : no. this company belongs to mingi now, and so does it's men. You have no power here, jina-shi. You only have mere words and those don't threaten me any longer.

Jina stared at miyeon in shock, not having expected her to say any of this.

Miyeon : so you, will listen to me now.

Jina flinched as miyeon threw a flight ticket right at her face and said

Miyeon : flight tickets, to Peru. Flee this country and go far away from my children and mingi, song jina. Because your time here is done. And if you refuse to do that…

Miyeon bent down to face jina, her face inches close to miyeon as she whispered with a small smile

Miyeon : I won't bother asking mingi's men for a favor. So unless you want to die at such a…young, age, get out of my life.

Before jina could say anything miyeon walked away from her, leaving a teary-eyed jina behind. She knew she had no choice now, things here had to be wrapped up.

___________________________

Miyeon entered her house a few hours later, the sound of laughing and giggling coming from inside the house. Miyeon frowned in confusion, taking her shoes off before walking towards the kitchen. The sight in front of her made her eyes widen in pure horror and shock. Three flour covered figures were running around the flour filled kitchen, giggling and having the time of their lives. In short, there was flour everywhere and the entire kitchen was a mess.

Except miyeon didn't care. Because for the first time in her life, she was seeing her children be truly happy, and mingi being carefree and light. The three of them hadn't even noticed miyeon, that was how much fun they were having.

And seeing the three people miyeon loved the most in the world being together and happy, almost brought tears to her eyes.

Mingi : yeon-ah!

Miyeon looked up as the three of them paused on their tracks, minho and minji both going behind mingi to hide themselves from their mother's wrath. Miyeon let out a breath, keeping her bag aside as she said

Miyeon : seriously? What the hell happened here?

No one said anything.

Miyeon : song minho, song minji. Stop hiding behind your father and come out?

Mingi pressed his lips together as both minho and minji stepped to his side with half-scared eyes, eyeing their mother.

Miyeon : why is their flour all over my kitchen, three of you?

Minho : it was him.

Mingi's eyes widened as minho pointed his hand at him, minji nodding in agreement as well before saying

Minji : yes yes, it was appa.

Mingi : what! No! you're the one who told me we should make cake for all of us! How dare you betray me-

Minji : he's lying.

Mingi let out a noise of betrayal, turning to face miyeon who still had a straight face.

Mingi : I apologize for our children's actions. This was definitely not my fault, however.

Minho : appa!

Mingi was about to say something when miyeon suddenly laughed, shocking all three of them. Minji leaned closer to mingi before whispering

Minji : do you think she's gone mad?

Mingi : what do you mean, she's always been mad.

Miyeon : oh my god, all of you look so funny!

Minho : uh, what?

Miyeon giggled and spread her arms for the three of them before saying

Miyeon : come here, three of you. Give me a hug.

Mingi : but there's flour all over us-

Miyeon : I don't care, come here.

The three of them smiled before crashing into miyeon arms, mingi wrapping his arm around the three of them protectively as miyeon sighed in satisfaction.

Miyeon : do you know how long I've wanted this?

Minji : we give you hugs everyday, what are you saying.

Miyeon smiled as she looked up at mingi with sparkling eyes

Miyeon : I love you, all three of you.

Mingi smiled, kissing the top of miyeon's forehead before saying

Mingi : we love you too.

______________________________

Miyeon was now sitting on the sofa at 2am in the night, staring into nothingness as she thought of how her night had been today. Of course, she had been happy when it was only her and the twins. But mingi made all the difference now. Miyeon supposed it was different when the twins had their father and her, her partner. Except she didn't know what mingi and her was right now. Of course, mingi did seem to still care for her and miyeon definitely still loved him, but did mingi know that?

Mingi : why aren't you asleep?

Miyeon flinched as she turned around in her seat to face mingi who was standing behind the couch in pajamas, his hair a mess.

Miyeon : the twins?

Mingi : they're asleep now, I managed to finally put them to sleep. Or so I hope.

Miyeon smiled before nodding, turning back to face the front as she said

Miyeon : they love you, mingi.

Mingi smiled, sitting on the couch beside miyeon before saying

Mingi : I love them too, almost as much as I love you.

Miyeon blinked her eyes in confusion, turning to face mingi with partly shocked eyes.

Miyeon : what?

Mingi : what. Did you think I had fallen out of love with you when I left? No, miyeon. I left because I was in love with you, I left because I was scared my parents would do something to you and I would rather die than see you get hurt.

Miyeon : why are you telling me all this now?

Mingi : because I know what you did today afternoon. You visited my mother, and she's leaving Korea now, thankfully.

Miyeon sighed, leaning back against the sofa as she whispered

Miyeon : so you do have your contacts.

Mingi : look, I can understand if you do not love me anymore, or if you want me to leave you alone. But I need you to know all this, so I don’t regret it later. I love you, miyeon. I always fucking have. When I saw you with the kids, saw how much of a good mother you always have been to them despite getting abandoned by your own partner when you needed them the most, it…it has only made me love you more.

Miyeon pressed her lips together as mingi cupped her cheeks, looking at her with sincere eyes

Mingi : you're the strongest woman I've ever seen, miyeon, and you'll be the love of my life until I die. Whether you like it or not. I've told you before, I only love once.

Miyeon : mingi-ya-

Mingi : and for what it's worth, I'm sorry I was a coward. I didn't fight for us, or our children. I just…ran away like that. And I'm sorry for it. Because if I was given a chance again, I would stay and fight, yeon-ah.

Miyeon : that would've been stupid, mingi. You may have been a coward, but you saved all of us by doing it. And for that I will always be grateful.

Mingi smiled, nodding his head.

Mingi : then I will go ba-

Miyeon : no! no, don't.

Mingi : you…want me to stay?

Miyeon : yes, yes. Stay with us, stay with me, until I ask you not to. Which, will probably be a very, long time before I say that.

Mingi stared at miyeon as she got on his lap, wrapping her arms around his neck with a small smile before whispering

Miyeon : I love you too.

Mingi's eyes widened at that.

Mingi : wh-what?

Miyeon : I love you too, song mingi. Although I did resent you for a while after you left, now that I understand why you did so, I love you all the more for it. So stay, stay and be happy with me.

Mingi smiled, small tears in his eyes. Was she really giving him another chance?

Mingi : I thought you hated me.

Miyeon : well, now you know I don't. you're a very hard person to hate, song mingi.

Mingi chuckled, leaning forward and kissing miyeon before whispering

Mingi : you're a really hard person to hate too, jung miyeon.

Minho and minji stared at their parents in secret from the staircase, minji's face twisted in part-disgust and minho's face bright with a happy smile on his lips.

Minji : ugh, they're so gross.

Minho : sheesh, they're adorable.

Minji rolled her eyes before climbing up the staircase as she said lowly

Minji : I can't watch any longer, my heart's going to drown from their cheesiness.

Minho : I can't watch any longer either, my heart's going to burst from their cuteness.

Minji rolled her eyes once again as minho giggled and ran up to his sister, wrapping his arm around her before leaning against it.

Minho : carry me, my beloved sister! For your dear brother is dying!

Minji : if you were dying, I'd literally just leave you right where I found you and leave, song minho.

Minho giggled, knowing well enough that his sister would burn the entire world down before she let him die. Minji smiled as well, leaning her head against the top of her brother's as they both climbed up the stairs arm in arm.

Because they had finally gotten their family back, and all by a single chance.

__________________________

Tag-list : @curly-fr13s @jeongintwt @jamia-wilson @treasure-hwa @dandycharmer @channiesbum @bigzaddydwaekki  

____________________________

[roaenexists]

Oracle decks are any divination art cards, like Kipper, Tarot, or archetype decks. It's an umbrella term and includes a lot. Today I want to talk about how to use the decks that don't follow any specific pre-established system.

These oracle decks tend to very focused on a limited theme and this can lead to infrequent use. How often do I need to check in on who my spirit guides are? How often do I need to do a reading on my yoga practice? Not never, but also not often, right? And then I've got my favorite deck or two that I could use daily and still get fresh, tailored takes. Look, not all oracle decks are made the same, but I certainly want to use them all as much as possible. Get my money's worth, you know?

So today I mixed my favorite archetype deck with three other oracles (this many is not necessary i just have a problem) and got one of the most powerful, cutting, and simultaneously supportive readings I've had in ages. I had a nice cathartic cry even. And not a tarot card to be found.

Now I'm not saying you need to go out and buy every super niche oracle deck you can get your hands on, but let's say maybe you've bought some cards that aren't getting as much use as you'd hoped. Before you rehome them or turn them into an art project (an alternative we should all consider more often), try using them with other weird lil cards. Maybe the message to love yourself because you're made of stardust or whatever will ring more true when it's paired next to a firefly that doesn't have keywords. And vice versa, maybe you don't need keywords on every image if something else in the spread brings even the vaguest of messages to the table. You get me?

Maybe I'm preaching to the choir but this was a revelation to me so maybe it'll be helpful for someone else to see, too. Just get freaky with it. No one can stop you. Combine your ancestor oracle with your affirmation deck with your herb cards. Now we're cookin.

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 24: Bandaids Don’t Fix Bullet Holes

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: While Michael meets with his solicitor, you're stuck at his house, and you slowly start going crazy. A visit from a particular someone drives you even crazier.

Warnings: Angst, Frank (yes, that's a warning)

Word Count: 3.2k

A/n: I've finally gotten around to finishing this chapter. It might not be as exciting as you guys hoped it would be, but I have a plan for the next following chapters and I had to leave space for that, which is why this isn't as plot heavy as I intended it. (Also, I’m not sure about the title, but I’ve run out of songs to use)

You’re still tired when you wake up the next morning, but the sadness that overcame you the day before has been replaced by emptiness. You just feel numb now, but it’s better than being in pain. 

Michael has an appointment with his solicitor this morning. Your blood burns your insides when you think about being left alone for the day. His family surrounds you. Not literally, thank God, but with them living on the very street Michael does, it feels as if they’re caging you in like a zoo animal.

You tried to convince him to let you go home, but he insisted that you stay in his house until he’s back so he can make sure that you’re safe. His house has a better security system in place than your own home, and after everything that was unraveled the other day, he would rather not take any chances until he has figured out how serious the repercussions of Frank’s actions will be.

They blew up Michael’s phone all day yesterday, but ever since he blew them off, no one has been brave enough to his house in person. It has been otherwise quiet, too. Thankfully. Still, you can’t help but be wary. 

You’re sitting in bed with your legs pulled up to your chest, resting your cheek on your knees as you watch him rummage through his wardrobe to get ready. Today is an important day to him and he doesn’t want to risk making a bad impression, no matter how big the chaos around him is.

You called in sick from work. You can’t stand being around people, let alone put on a fake smile. The scent of coffee makes you nauseous. To top that off, your hand is still swollen, bandaged, and your knuckles have started getting irritated. Any doctor would have told you the same thing Michael did; your wrist is sprained and you need to rest your hand, which means that work is off the table. 

You know you’re going to use up all of your sick days if you keep going like this, but at this point, there are no worries on your mind. None but one, and that is your sister. Okay, maybe you’re overthinking about a little more than that, but you refuse to acknowledge that or you will drive yourself crazy.

At least Michael’s house smells like safety. You can’t describe it, but the comfort his scent engulfs you in makes this a little easier, even with the separation anxiety eating you alive like a flesh-eating amoeba.

“Hey,” his soft voice brings you back to reality. It has a bit of a scruff to it, but that’s what makes him so attractive.

The bed dips before you, and you look at him with red eyes. “Are you gonna be alright?” Michael asks, his hand reaching out to cup your cheek. “I could call the solicitor and tell her I’ve changed my mind, that I can’t do it today, I…”

You shake your head. The last thing you want is for him to put you over getting his daughter back. The truth about your past, then Jamie’s death, and now the revelation with Frank and Amanda messed with both of your lives, and God knows what else happened in the time you were at work. 

The things Michael threw in Frank’s sounded so serious, you can’t imagine that he has fully forgotten them just because of this one appointment. There seems to be more to it, even, and that scares you. It scares you that he’s going through hell and now he’s going through yours too. And you’re forced to go through his, thanks to his family and your inability to stay away.

You have an inkling, but you don’t like what it is telling you, not one bit. You know Michael, and you know how easily he could be pushed to a point where he would do just about anything for the people he cares about. It’s a terrifying prospect that you could lose him.

You shake it off. You’ve already done enough stupid things for the time being. You can’t do this alone anymore, and you don’t have to.

“Go,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll manage. Don’t put your future with Anna at risk just because of me. It’s not worth it.”

Michael’s eyes soften. “Yer always worth it, that’s not–”

“No. Not this time.”

He sighs. “We’ll talk about how to keep your sister safe once I’m back, alright?” It sounds like a compromise. “Just don’t do anythin’ rash ‘til I’m back,” he says.

“I know,” you answer.

“Promise me.”

You open your mouth. An exasperated sigh slips your lips, and he gives you an incredulous look. “Okay, fine,” you cave. “I promise. I won’t do anything rash until you’re back.”

You’re not sure how you’re going to keep it, but he’s right. You can’t do anything rash or you will risk a lot more than your sister’s safety. She’s the most important thing in your life, above all else, and if you put her at risk just because you’re impatient and drowning in your concern… You wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself.

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” Michael leans forward and presses a kiss on your forehead.

You close your eyes and lean into his touch. “I love you,” you whisper. 

He smiles right back at you. “You too.”

Michael checks his appearance a few more times in the mirror, and you can tell he’s nervous. He rechecks every document twice, and he repeats every question he prepared himself for in his head. 

You want to lift him up, but you’re too low to say anything supportive other than what you feel for him. You hope it’s enough, but you feel useless and numb, and the state you’re in is a horrible middle space between being an exhausted mess and being on high alert. But most of all, the fear never leaves your bones. It has manifested and it’s eating away at your soul. 

“After our fight,” you speak up, “I, uh, called the inspector on the case of my sister’s death six years ago.”

He deserves to know.

Michael stops in his tracks and turns to you. “And?” he asks. 

You shrug. “I was redirected to Scotland Yard’s official hotline, and the front desk lady told me she would pass my message along, but…” With a defeated sigh, you lower your head and shake it. “He didn’t call me back.”

Michael purses his lips. He’s not mad, you can tell. He probably would have done the same in your position. You took the only road you thought could help you, but it ended up being a dead end, after all. Or maybe you missed something crucial.

“Maybe he’ll call today,” he says almost hopefully. “If he’s anythin’ like ya said, he’ll call eventually. Maybe he’s just… swamped.”

“Or maybe he can’t help me.”

“I’m not going to lie to you.”

You want to kiss him just for that.

“So,” he says, “him not wanting to help or be associated with this case again is somethin’ we need to consider.”

You nod along. He’s right. It’s possible. The truth hurts, but at least it’s true.

Wiping your dry cheeks to prevent yourself from actually crying, you clear the lump in your throat. “Well, regardless, I need to pick up the file,” you add, your voice stronger this time. 

He shakes his head. “We can do that once I’m back, alright? Yer not goin’ anywhere without me.”

You don’t have the strength to protest. Michael kisses you again. “Good girl,” he says. 

When he turns to leave, you hug him for a little longer than necessary. He rubs your back, knowing it’s hard for you to let him go, but he has to leave. You understand now why he was so clingy the other day, and it hurts to watch him walk out the door and down the street, disappearing out of your sight, and you lock the door the way he told you to. 

Against what your brain tells you, you don’t go back to bed. You make yourself a nice cup of coffee and find some toast in the cupboard to make yourself some breakfast, and you force yourself to swallow a few bites for your upset stomach. Maybe that will give you a clear mind. 

You spend a few minutes sitting in the backyard, staring out into nature. Every once in a while, you peek over at Jimmy and Amanda’s house. It seems so deserted. You wonder if they fought after you punched her. 

Michael and Jimmy don’t seem all too close, but they’re still brothers, and Michael seems to see something in him that you don’t. You don’t need to understand it. 

You busy yourself with cleaning for a while. Just as you’re scrubbing the stove, you catch something from the corner of your eye. Your peripheral vision picks up on a silhouette close to the bushes that adorn the sides of Michael’s driveway. 

She’s concealed halfway by your car, but you catch a glimpse of the girl’s face that is staring directly into the house, and when she meets your eyes, she gasps and bolts.

Anna. 

You know Michael has secretly been watching her just to get a chance to see her, even if it’s from afar. You never expected Anna to come to the house herself.

She was still little when he went to prison and she must be more than curious, but also a little angry because she probably doesn’t know or understand the full truth behind her mother’s death yet. She’s a child, but she’s not stupid.

You open the front door and storm out of the house. You call out, “Anna?” But upon hearing her name, the girl runs faster, and soon enough she has disappeared around the corner in her school uniform.

You sigh. Whether or not you will tell Michael about this depends on how his meeting goes. Now that she saw you, what must she think? Knowing her father whom she hasn’t seen for eight years has a strange woman standing in his kitchen and cleaning it like a mad woman. 

By opening the blinds to let in some light, you might have just screwed up in the eyes of a teenage girl and Michael’s daughter, and that fills you with dread because you don’t know if he’s going to process the truth in the way you want him to. 

Locking the door behind you again, you draw the blinds closed and return to angrily scrubbing the stove, making the pain in your injured hand worse without even using it, but at least it makes you feel something other than the gaping emptiness deep within your soul. It keeps you from going crazy. 

Suddenly, there’s a knock on the very door that you just closed. Startled, you turn around. Goosebumps form on your skin. For a second, you consider what to do. Should you go upstairs and hide? Should you call Michael? Should you grab a knife or the gun behind the fridge? 

You move toward the front door, your steps careful and calculated. The knocking intensifies. You can feel yourself quivering in the fuzzy socks you’re wearing.

Then, you hear a faint voice call out your name, and you can see Frank peeking in through the kitchen window. He waves at you as if he can see you through the slits in the blinds. You hold your breath. 

“I know you’re in there!” he calls out for you. “I just wanna talk.” There is a pause, and you stand there completely paralyzed until he adds, “It’s about yer sister.”

Your feet carry you the rest of the way to the door and you open it enough to look outside. 

“What do you want, Frank?” you snap. “Do you get off on harassing innocent people? Or are you just that stupid?”

He looks at you, and… is that guilt in his eyes? You don’t want to believe it. The audacity he has to show up here and look like that. He’s cruel, he’s vile, he is an asshole and he doesn’t deserve your attention. But he mentioned your sister. After what happened the day before, he knows that you would jump at the mere mention, and that is how he gets you. 

“I just wanna talk,” he repeats. “Please.”

“Michael’s not here,” you say. You have to stand your ground. He’s doing this on purpose. He has to be. This man is capable of unspeakable things. 

If Michael knew, heads would roll. 

“I’m not here to talk to Michael, I told ya. I’m here because o’ you.”

You let out an exasperated sigh. You shouldn’t, you know that you shouldn’t, but your body acts without listening to your common sense. You open the door just enough to let him inside. 

This is about Maya, you tell yourself. Whatever he has to say could be important. And you can’t say no to the man who threatened her once before. He is the reason she might be in grave danger. So, whatever he knows, as small as it might seem could help prevent any further damage. And if he’s lying, you can still grab the gun behind the fridge and put an end to this disgusting excuse of a human being. 

“Thanks,” Frank throws your way as he steps in, almost as if you’re friends, and you hate that he carries himself with that godawful, confidence-secreting attitude. 

Does he not realize what he did? Michael threatened him with a gun and this is how he walks around, with his hair styled and an almost sly smile on his face—it’s just a hint, but it counts, and it makes you feral. 

He stands in the kitchen, turning to you. You stand across from him, arms crossed and waiting for him to make a move. You won’t offer him a drink, that’s for sure. 

He lets out a long breath eventually, pulling something from his backpocket. You flinch at the sudden movement of his hand, and he lifts them almost as if to reassure you that he isn’t a threat. But to you, he is everything bad and more. You hate him in a way you ever only thought you could hate one person, even though it’s a different kind of hatred nonetheless. 

Frank pulls out a small envelope, looking down at it for a moment before slowly extending it to you. You frown at him. He insists you take it, but you’re not sure if you want to see the contents. 

“Open it,” he encourages you. 

You roll your eyes, reaching for the envelope. The paper feels thin under your fingers, almost rough and worn. It’s barely closed. You only have to pull a little to open it, and when you look inside, you can tell there is a series of pictures waiting for you. You shoot Frank a glare. 

“What’s this?” you ask as you take the photographs out of the envelope. 

“It’s the pictures my men took of your sister,” he answers. 

You stop. “What?!” Your voice echoes. The house isn’t even that big, but you are loud enough for the sound to carry. 

“Relax–” 

“Relax? You had my sister followed and now you come here after deliberately putting her in danger, telling me to relax? How sick can you possibly be?!”

“They’re the pictures I was plannin’ to have sent to ya so you’d leave Michael alone. I told my men to back off. I promised tha. I don’t like being threatened,” he says. “They’re the only photographs left of her. Swear to God. It’s done. It’s over. Nothin’ more to worry about, alright? So… relax.”

His voice holds a certain edge as if your anger is somehow annoying to him and not at all justified, and only for that you want to use your healthy fist to hit him.

No, you won’t fall for it. You see a glimpse of humanity, but you refuse to let it blind you. People like him know how to fool someone in a crisis like you, and they use that vulnerability to their advantage. 

You take out the photographs he gave you. He’s right, it is Maya. Your little sister, all alone and vulnerable. It’s so different to see her walking the streets of London after school, hanging out with the few friends she has, and–

You stop. The last picture has your father in it. The look in his eyes resembles death. He smiles at your weak mother, but there is nothing but evil in his eyes. You can see that he has no soul, he never had one. It makes your stomach churn. 

“You’re lying,” you say, but your voice is barely above a whisper. “This was never supposed to happen.”

“Believe me or not, but it’s done,” Frank repeats. “They won’t hurt her, and for the record, I was never plannin’ on havin’ her hurt anyway, but after what you said about your father… You know, we can help–”

“Don’t even start,” you cut him off. “You had men follow my sister and put her in danger because you didn’t think. You were dissatisfied with Michael choosing himself over your twisted family for once in his godforsaken life, and you were ready to let it out on an innocent child you didn’t know instead of taking it up with me. That makes you as much of an asshole as my bastard of a father, and I’ve encountered many people in my life. You threatened me and my sister and that is not something I can just forgive. So forgive me for not trusting you, but you have done nothing to earn it.”

He nods slowly, processing your words and agreeing, “Yer right. For what it’s worth, I’m…” And he struggles to say it. “Sorry,” he says. 

You stare at the pictures, then back at Frank. Tears of frustration and pure rage form in your eyes, and they already start pricking at the corners. “Get out,” you say, trying to stay calm. 

“C’mon now, let’s not make such a big deal out of it. You know that ya have your own problems and that you’re not ready for what this family brings with it. I just wanted to protect us. I only hurt those that need t’be hurt, not innocent children.”

The urge to punch him grows with every passing second. Every word in your head makes less and less sense as you start losing sight of what’s most important. You want to give in to your anger. You want to be selfish. 

But you can’t. You can’t allow yourself to give in. This is not who you are. And Maya wouldn’t want you to lose sight of that as much as she wouldn’t want you to lose sight of her. 

“You already hurt her,” you say.

“I didn’t. She’s alive. She’s no longer being followed, and your father has no fuckin’ clue ‘cause my men aren’t that stupid. What more do ya need?”

“Frank,” you spit his name like a snake would dig her teeth into its victim. You’re inching closer to the point of disaster. “I’m going to ask you nicely,” you say, “even though you don’t deserve any bit of my kindness. Get the fuck out of this house or I swear to God, I will make use of the gun Michael keeps around here and shoot your cock off!”

Instead of cowering in fear at your tone, Frank only smirks. He looks surprised, impressed even, but not scared. At this point, you’re boiling like a tea kettle on a gas stove.

“I was wrong ‘bout you,” he says. The sound of impress is laced in every vibration of his vocal cords. 

You stretch the fingers of your uninjured hand. He needs to get out. Now. 

“If you don’t get out, I will call Michael right now and tell him you harassed me.” It’s your last straw. He doesn’t respect you, so maybe he will respect the man that already bashed his head in. 

The next time he comes face to face with him, you know he won’t be as merciful. 

You pull out your phone. “I’m sure he’d love to hear what you had to say to me, word for word.” You unlock it and select your boyfriend’s contact at the top of the list. “I have a very good memory, you must know. I can remember conversations pretty vividly.”

Of course, it works immediately. Frank’s face falls. As soon as you mention Michael and the possibility of telling him every last word that was passed between you in the past five minutes, he takes a step toward the door. 

“Take care of yourself,” Frank tells you, and you have never been so relieved to watch someone walk away from you as you are now. 

You’re quick to lock the door behind him, letting out the breath you had been holding before, and your entire body quivers as you sink to the floor with the photographs in hand. The tears start streaming down your cheeks as the helplessness of your situation settles in. 

You’re not sure where to go from here, and it is terrifying. 

How much longer can you hold on before everything around you, including the people you love, turns into ashes in front of your very eyes? 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @glowstick-lesbian @acharliecoxedfan @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle @ravenclaw617 @lunaticgurly @mattmurdocksstarlight

[janisrenzi-blog]

My Journey with Grief

December 2, 2019, the day everything changed for me. In an instant, I was not who I once was. I watched the woman who gave me life, who was my biggest cheerleader and trusted confidante take her last breath and it shattered me. It’s a wild thing when you're suffering so profoundly and everything around you keeps going. I remember having dinner that night with my sister and stepdad,  and I was sitting there, probably in shock, but inside I’m thinking-why are we here, why are we eating? Just 3 hours ago, I watched my mom die. It is by far the most surreal and bizarre feeling. Worrying about work or my daughter missing school- so much of me was thinking “who the fuck cares about any of this”, but the thoughts were still there. Nothing mattered and everything mattered. I struggled more than most people are probably aware, other than my sweet husband. He had a front row seat to so much of my heartbreak, devastation, depression, anger, and rage. All my emotions were so surface level it was quite surprising and a bit scary.  Oh and the trauma, I cannot forget the trauma. Much of the first two years are a blur. How I survived, I don’t know. Well I do know, actually. Therapy. More  therapy (EMDR). God. My husband and daughter. My sister. My niece. A handful of friends that could sit in the uncomfortableness of my pain. And my ability to make myself sit with my grief. I told myself -you will feel every part of this and if that means you are miserable for years, so be it.  I was determined not to run from my immense sadness because I knew it would just be waiting for me. Or it would ruin my life in other ways, because unhealed trauma will do that. It took about a year plus before I even started to grieve the actual absence of my mother in my life. My nervous system was so dysregulated from the trauma of her illness and death, I spent the first year or more just trying to make myself feel safe and that everything in my life wasn’t going to blow up. The newfound fear and anxiety that surrounded my life after my mom died was horrendous. Around the 18 month mark, I started EMDR therapy to help with the trauma. I quit my job and pretty much all I did was therapy & any type of self care I could think of and afford. I was so scared to quit  my job but it was the best thing I did for myself. For me to be able to live with this deep grief that reshaped my whole life and be the mother, wife, sister, aunt, friend that I wanted to be, one that my mom was so proud of, I needed to focus everything I had on healing & learning to live without my mom. It was one of the most selfish times of my life and I have no regrets. It saved me. I’m beyond grateful for that year and a half break. 

Today, December 2, 2024, is five years, five long and five short years since my sweet, feisty, loving Mom left this earth.  I miss her so deeply. I instantly tear up when talking or thinking about her most days. I still cannot look at pictures of her and if I come across one unexpectedly, I feel like I can’t breathe. I can stare a few minutes longer than I could 5 years ago, but not much. I have one picture of my mom in my house, that’s it. They do not bring me comfort… yet. It’s a prayer and hope of mine that one day, I can have more pictures of her (and Brandon) in my home and when I look at them I might feel sadness but I’ll also feel joy to see their faces again. One day. But not today. 

Grief has been a really hard journey. I have surprised myself with what one person can handle and hold. I have been caught off-guard by how much one can change. One major surprise was how much my confidence took a hit when my Mom died. I remember when I was looking to go back to work, I was so hard on myself. I really thought I could not get back out there and be successful. I lost all faith in myself and I could not figure out why. After processing this disturbing revelation in therapy, I realized that my Mom was my biggest encourager and cheerleader. She honestly thought I was the smartest and most capable woman and I guess without her, I felt like that wasn’t true. Again, so odd and something that caught me totally off-guard. I hated feeling that way about myself. I knew it was a lie but it really held me back. With time, I put my big girl panties on and I got back out there and I encouraged myself. Even made a sign that hung on my bathroom mirror reminding  myself I am capable, smart, confident and all those things my Mama once told me. 

I’m not sure who I’m writing this for, mostly myself, I guess. I have felt for awhile I wanted to get down my thoughts on grief and the five year anniversary of my Mom’s death feels really big. It’s a long time to not hear your Mom’s voice, receive a hug and hear that she loves you and is proud of you. Thank God I had a Mom that told me all those things when she was alive and wrote them in every card she ever gave me.

I’ll continue my hard journey with grief until it’s my time to be reunited with my Mom. A few weeks ago, my daughter and I met for lunch and she was  talking about  missing her Mamaw and Brandon. She said with tears in her eyes “Mom I’m a happy person and I feel joy, but deep inside I’m a sad girl” and if I’m being honest, my first internal reaction was to try to explain why she should be happy and convince her not to be sad, life is beautiful, blah blah blah. But I did not do that, because that would be awful to say to someone who was being open and  honest with their feelings. So I just sat in silence with tears streaming down my face. And then she said “I don’t let it consume my life or my thoughts, but I’m sad inside” and I sat there and after the nausea washed away, I said “ honey, that’s grief. That’s exactly what we all feel. Me, Aunt Carmen, Lauren”. Everyone that loves deeply will eventually carry a forever sadness in their heart and for me, often my gut.  My girl described  grief so perfectly and beautifully. We will carry sadness with us forever but it doesn’t mean we won’t also find joy and happiness and be joyful and happy. Because in the end, life is brutal but it’s also beautiful. 

Thanks for reading, 

Forever a Sad Girl 

[madhogthymaster]

I Played Every BioShock Game in One Month, And I Must Scream!

On January 2nd 2023, I made the sporadic, partially ill-begotten decision to buy all three BioShock videogames. Up to that point, I had never experienced these titles directly save only through cultural osmosis, the occasional meme and, naturally, The Discourse! I would spend the following lunar cycle playing them, writing down my thoughts and posting them on Twitter dot com. Today, after enough time passed for my heightened feelings to reset, I have collected those floating brain bubbles and transliterated them into some manner of structured essay for your reading pleasure - or utter lack thereof. Did I have anything meaningful to add to the conversation on one of the most dissected and dissertated franchises in the history of the art form? You may be the judge of that. It begins.

-

Part One: Atlas Drowned

BioShock. The first BioShock. BioShock the First. "Spiritual" successor to System Shock 2, Bioshock. Yes, that BioShock. This is most certainly not a title that requires any sort of elaborate introduction. Since 2007, there have been many videos, articles, essays, podcasts, and everything in-between, dedicated to its analysis. For better and (decisively) for worse, the concept of Videogame Discourse was birthed from the metaphorical wreckage of this opus smashing itself onto the collective consciousness. I may be indulging in prosaic hyperbole here but the point still stands: it was, and still is, a big deal. You have probably heard it all before: the game is about the Folly of "Free-Market" Capitalism as it drives Society to ruin, the inadequacy of the wealthy to lead, a satirical takedown of Ayn Rand's Objectivism as it unceremoniously flops when confronted with the reality of basic human nature and needs. It's about America, in other words. It gleefully revels in its political stance with the subtlety of a clown-faced vending machine yelling: "Welcome to the Circus of Value!" It might as well be using a copy of Atlas Shrugged to wipe its anus, at this point. That is all to say, first impressions were quite positive and I was enjoying it a lot.

The underwater city of Rapture is a poignantly depressing location: everything from its very name to its opulent Art Deco architecture screams of egomaniacal pretention. It is a monument to its founder's hubris turned into a decadent, decaying tomb for his ambition. It perfectly conveys all you need to know about Andrew Ryan, the founder of Rapture and initial antagonist. He is a rich twat who hated having to pay taxes so he created his own version of a Libertarian Blockchain disguised as a country where there would be "No Gods or Kings. Only Man." He then proceeded to make himself the god-king of his utopia; it crashed and burned along with everyone in it. "Is a man not entitled to the sweat of his brow?" he said, indeed.

Rapture is a wonderfully designed world, in that sense. The only elements that clash with the contextual aesthetic would be the aforementioned "Circus of Value" marketplaces. Let me explain. Andrew Ryan, like all demagogues, takes himself super seriously. His entire platform was built on the premise that he's a charismatic genius and everything he says is Gospel. His whole civilization was constructed on the terrible ideas he convinced both himself and many others were actually good. Seriousness, self-importance and overcompensated grandiosity were the building blocks of Rapture, the roots of its aesthetic, the basis by which this society could function - until it wouldn't anymore. As such, the presence of those vending machines, openly mocking the very foundation of Uncle Andy's Ryanworld, feel out of place within the narrative and universe at hand. They have been clearly put there so that the developers could do a little meta-humour, a wink and a nudge at the player, to redundantly point out how absurd it all was. They must have been worried the game was too subtle and some players would not get it... Anyway, this was but a minor complaint. By all means, take it with a grain of salt. Now, I have some legitimate criticism to bring forth.

Whilst a lot of the conversation has been directed at Brow Sweat Man, his God complex, his insane ambition, his "Chain of Industries" ideology and "Laissez-Faire" economics, not nearly enough analysis was ever dedicated to the other major antagonist of the game, and I can definitely gather why. I will now openly address spoilers for the latter half of the story by discussing the character of Frank Fontaine (aka ATLAS), the de-facto main villain of the piece.

Fontaine is a grifter who played a long con at the expense of the "Kingdom of Reason." He started a smuggling ring that introduced gun violence and religious bigotry to the city, used the malcontent of the exploited working class to start a bloody rebellion, manipulated and killed people behind the scene through various aliases. His corporation is the one responsible for mass producing all the Big Daddies and Little Sisters, the iconic "monsters" of the series running around town. They are a product of Eugenics science based off Nazi Germany's human experiments. I should stress that Ryan approved all this as the city needed exploitable labour in order to run. The reason behind Frank's actions is simple: money, profit, cold hard cash. Andrew Ryan was a wealthy fool hooked on his delusional Capitalist drivel, his "daring vision" for the future of mankind, Fontaine was the reality check. The thematic exclamation point to the game's entire thesis, the depressing yet irrefutable truth behind all the cruelty and horrors caused in the name of IDEAS is good old fashioned Greed. Someone in a position of power will always be there to make a buck out of human suffering.

To be perfectly honest, I find this throughline rather pedestrian. It is the truth of Capitalism, yes, but it is such an obvious statement delivered with such un-earned gusto that it makes the entire game less interesting as a result. Here we have a compellingly detestable villain in Uncle Andy, the "good guy" of his story, a living byproduct of American Exceptionalism, Ayn Rand's poster boy, a poignant satire of the current socioeconomic establishment, being replaced by a basic money-grabbing baddie. What made Ryan so effective is how real he felt: he represented the warped worldview of the out-of-touch, obscenely rich class that rules the planet and that's going to eventually lead us to our demise - much like in Rapture itself. Fontaine, by contrast, is a mustache-twirling cartoon. He acts and talks like a typical videogame villain who doesn't have anything meaningful to say to you other than how smart he is, how he loves money and how he's totally going to get away with it (insert evil laugh here) while sporting the worst accent I have ever heard in my life. His point as a character is moot and the writing is messier as a result. Still, BioShock is a good game, perhaps not as masterfully crafted as many believed it to be, but rather innovative for the time. There is a clever (for 2007) twist right before Fontaine takes over as the final boss in which it is revealed the player's character was being mind controlled the whole time. It's a cute meta-commentary on the unique nature of our interaction with videogames.

Had I played BioShock when it first came out, I would have probably placed it atop a golden pedestal, sung its praises as the best written story in the history of the medium and angrily rejected any criticism towards it in the most obnoxious way imaginable... I think I was trying to make a point but my brain gave up half way through the tangent. As such, I shall conclude this tirade by saying I enjoyed playing this classic title but I have no interest in going through it a second time. Is that fair? Yes, it is.

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Part Two: Tetsuo The Drill Man

I moved on to Bioshock 2: The BioShockening, a game that didn't need to exist, in many ways. On one hand, it drags the theming of the first game to unnecessary levels of dilution as its message had already been abundantly delivered. On the other hand, you play as a Big Daddy with a Big Drill. There is a new ruler in Rapture, her name is Dr. Sofia Lamb. She took over after the fall of Andrew Ryan's "Individualist Utopia" by indoctrinating its inhabitants into a cult that's equal parts Early Christian commune and Eugenics with an extra dose of fanaticism. Much like with Frank Fontaine, we have a case study as to how an unregulated, isolationist, capitalist state lays the foundations for stochastic terrorism and sociopathic grift - just in case it wasn't already obvious that Rapture is supposed to represent America. I say that but, to be brutally honest, Dr. Lamb's politics or set of beliefs are as undercooked and generically laid out as they can get. I had to interpret and extrapolate what her deal was through context clues more than anything else. It wouldn't surprise me if the game's intent was to comment on Communism instead of everything else I pointed out, which would somewhat invalidate its previous stance on Capitalism and would further bring into question the overall political stance behind the BioShock series... but let us put a pin on that thought, for now.

As far as the gameplay is concerned, I believe this is a slightly better, more refined, more challenging loop than its previous iteration. These titles are both solid First-Person Shooters with light RPG elements but the second one improves upon its many shortcomings. The ability to hold both weapons and "magical gene powers" at the same time is such a simple yet elegant mechanic that it (bio)shocks me it wasn't implemented earlier. The hacking mini-games have been simplified to the point of fruitlessness - and I'm fine with that. The big change comes with the Big Daddy himself and his huge, oversized, dominating drill that penetrates all its victims at full force, making them scream. It singlehandedly redeems melee attack as a worthwhile feature. Did I mention it's a huge drill?

Beyond that, there isn't much to add to The Discourse. To reiterate, BioShock 2 is a thoroughly pointless sequel and it barely qualifies as one. It's a glorified expansion pack that adds nothing of substance to the narrative, lazily resting on the laurels planted by its predecessor. It's a more polished and fun title to play, undoubtedly, but it's otherwise easy to see why it is considered the forgettable middle child stuck between an era-defining first outing and whatever Infinite turned out to be. Speaking of which, it's time to get into that one.

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Part Three: Infinite Mysery

WARNING: the following few paragraphs represent my initial impressions on the game, left mostly unaltered as I experienced it for the first time back in January 2023.

So, Infinite, BioShock numero tres but technically a prequel set in 1912, the flying city of Columbia, and all of that. All I knew about this game beforehand was that its engine was used to revolutionize 3D pornography for years to come... Do not ask how or why I know that.

Our "Andrew Ryan" for this episode is played by Father Comstock (oh, brother), an evangelical, white supremacist prophet who gathered his "flock" to live in a conferedate utopia closer to the "Kingdom of Heaven" and far above the "Sodom Below." I used to think the first game was unsubtle and heavy-handed with its commentary, impassioned in its righteous indignation if a bit simplistic by the end, but this game takes that sharp edge and slashes the US flag with it, literally!

This game appears to have things to say about American myth-making, the religious zealotry fueling the glorification (and alteration) of history as a means for Power, The White Man's Burden and the dangerously real threat of Christian Nationalism. It seems to condemn it all with the fervor that bespeaks decapitating a cop with a portable blender - which Infinite is all too eager to provide. What makes the experience truly effective is the setting itself: a far cry from the claustrophobic doom of Rapture. The misery of that place served as a remainder that Capitalism is unsustainable and leads society to ruin. That's an obvious statement by this point and, as such, it left me lukewarm on the experience. All it did was reinforcing my beliefs. Columbia, however, is a different beast. It is not the sunken tombstone to the hubris of a rich fool, it is the realm of the "Chosen Race" thriving under the watchful gaze of the deified Founding Fathers. It's a thriving, gorgeous vision right out of Jules Verne's mind, and it runs on the back of slaves.

That's what makes it truly horrifying and infuriating. The fact that it works, that its ruler managed to build a community for "good white Christians" thanks to the power of religious indoctrination and the exploited labour of the "lower races" that keeps it afloat. It is unsettling, bone-rattling, how inviting the city looks at a first glance, its Victorian architecture bathing in the sun as a barber shop quartet entertains curious onlookers. It's a grotesque dream of Dixieland as filtered through Gone with the Wind lenses.

As such, getting to disrupt the perfect little order of this bigoted, racist 19th century style town through acts of wanton violence is INFINITEly more cathartic than killing random junkies in an already disrupted, dead society. Sticking it to an unjust hierarchy by murdering cops and destroying property elevates the enjoyment of playing this title tenfold. It's exactly what was missing from my ideal BioShock experience. It's simply more compelling to defeat that which is yet to be even challenged. Another major element in the game's favour is a main character with actual agency, as opposed to a silent protagonist whose whole deal was his tragic lack of agency. It's much easier to be invested in the narrative when my guy has a literal say in the matter.

I sure hope the game does not somehow ruin everything in the second half. That would be so disappointing...

WARNING: the following are my real, unfiltered opinions on BioShock Infinite.

Do you know what is the most egregious, baffling, aggravating turn a narrative like this could have made after all it's done, after putting out such an inflammatory takedown of the American conservative institutions? Why, Bothsidesing, of course! According to this game's oh so wise writing, when those rebelling against their literal slavers do it by employing Direct Action instead of "the right, non-violent way" then they're just as bad as them. That is how Infinite chooses to frame the Anarcho-Socialist revolution of one Daisy Fitzroy (the only named black character) as she's compared to Father Comstock (the racist theocrat) with the all too familiar adagio of "Both sides are in the wrong." I am seething with rage.

This game went out of its way to pontificate against America's history of bigotry and racism up to including actual horrendous ethnic caricatures to drive its point home. Then it cowardly decided to throw it all away by taking the "Enlightened Centrist" stance. Essentially, the people in charge of the project have demonstrated to me their unwillingness to commit to a difficult subject as soon as it came to addressing the Real American history, opting thusly to an implicit endorsement of the Neoliberal Status Quo. The message now reads: "Slavery was bad but the slaves should not rebel against it! They should debate the slavers in the Market Place of Ideas!" You could take such a blanket statement and apply it to every sociopolitical scenario where there is a clear Oppressor with a clear Oppressed and expect it to be uttered by those who benefit from the Oppression.

I understand this title is more than a decade old but I will unendingly rag on the plate of unfulfilled potential due to cop-out writing. In fact, this whole situation has forced me to reevaluate my thoughts on the first title, as well! All of a sudden, the dichotomy between Andrew Ryan and Frank Fountain (the latter pretending to be on the side of the working class with a "clever" pseudonym) starts to feel like a less immediately obvious form of political bothsidesing. It wouldn't surprise me to learn that the game was cherry-picking its themes as if they were somehow divorced from the larger critique on the Establishment. Implying, in other words, that concepts like the "The Invisible Hand", Objectivism and Manifest Destiny could be extricated from the very fabric of American Society when the inconvenient truth is that they are as much a part of it as Racism, Slavery and Genocide. I am not necessarily changing my opinion on that first iteration, mind you, but I do find myself dubious over my initial read given how the series ultimately panned out, with all the poise of a bald eagle covered in blood-soaked feces! It has just occurred to me, as I was writing this down, that Infinite is basically a remake of the first BioShock but dumber in every conceivable way. More over, BioShock 2's main antagonist, Sofia Lamb, was presented as the total opposite to Andrew Ryan (but just as bad) which reinforces the aforementioned Centrist stance the series now appears to champion while serving as a prelude to what would become the profoundly stupid thesis of the third one! It is astounding just how bad Infinite is turning out to be: horrible in a manner that makes me retroactively question my own ability to understand media literacy. This, dear readers, would be the time when I start screaming.

That said, it's not even the worst part. No, the most offensive aspect about any of this is that None of it actually matters, by the end.

WARNING: That Ending.

It turns out Father Comstock and your main character are the same person but from a different timeline when an Important Choice was made because of Guilt which led to becoming a Reborn Christian and the foundation of Columbia. You had a daughter which was taken from you by your evil doppelganger from another dimension and you were left trapped in a pocket world of some kind and then the rest of the game happens. Something, something, Regret. Something, something, commentary on Player Agency. Something, something, you must stop existing in the past in order to erase all the bad timelines, Sonic '06 style. By the way, there are timey-wimey bollocks, in case it wasn't clear. This is garbage and I do not care for it.

To see what this game was actually about, all along, further undermines whatever "political position" was presented to me throughout the diegesis. Depictions of oppression, racism and human suffering very much rooted in actual history were used as a mere thematic red herring. Meaning that there never was any real commentary, it was a "distraction" from the true narrative. Let this thought consume you for a spell. The game will have you slaughter fascist cops as well as recently liberated black men in the same gruesome, sadistic fashion while framing both groups as "equally bad", only to then pull the rug from under you and tell you it was all window dressing for the Real Story, which was about our (white) protagonist being tormented by his bad life decisions. I am beyond done.

The best I can say about the third and final chapter of the thoroughly tainted BioShock saga is that its contentious presence can be applied to a broader discussion about the nature of Art, namely if or when certain lines should be crossed, for what purpose should they be crossed and, especially, by whom. Infinite was built on the foundation of bad ideas and irredeemable execution. It presented a vapid vision of political radicalism from the obvious perspective of White Privilege and managed, bewilderingly, to not have anything to say about said politics, at all! It's the kind of idiocy that should have been nipped at the bud before wreaking untold damage - much like the main character himself. Nevertheless, it is a real piece of media that exists, a piece of gaming history and, like all history, we can learn something from it... Never Again! That would be the lesson to learn here.

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Part 4: Something, Something, A Conclusion

As I am about to put this series inside the proverbial Tomb of Amontillado, I suppose this would be the right time to enlist my many gameplay pet peeves, my general pedantries, starting with the hacking mini-games: annoying in the first game, pointless in the second. In general, dealing with turrets, cameras and security robots was an unpleasant experience throughout the trilogy.

In the first two entries, some wise guy had the "great idea" of mapping the jump input to the upper button of the controller. I positively loathed that. They finally fixed it in the third game, just in time for it to stain the bed with several more horrible decisions! Why can't I hold more than two weapons at once in my inventory? That is such a backward step compared to the rest of the series!

Infinite must have also been one of the first AAA games to implement the hideous, horrendous, hackneyed sprint feature that would have you press on the left analog stick while the character is moving. Why was this ever considered an acceptable design choice?

I guess there were a few DLC. They sure exist.

... And with that underwhelming post scriptum, I shall now set my sights elsewhere - away from "Great Chains" and "Kingdoms of Heaven." New games await but we will always have the memories.

The memories of the giant drill, specifically.

---

BioShock and BioShock: Infinite were developed by Irrational Games. BioShock 2 was developed by 2K Marin.

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[gwemmieee]

I'm having a lot of thoughts. A lot of things happened today. Some very good, but some intensely stressful. I started the day with another trauma nightmare and have been low energy the entire time, maybe due to my new routine of weekend caffeine withdrawal.

There's one line of thought I can't get out of my head. In the middle of a passionate discussion with some friends, I realized today that at some point, between finally understanding and trusting myself, then having that trust tested by a car accident and resulting new physical disability, then breaking out of a lifelong case of Stockholm syndrome, and finally running away to find real family, I became aware of my lost innocence. I looked the world I had come to understand dead in the eye, and rejected it. With intense hatred. I realized that if there is any being who decided that the universe should operate the way it does, then I truly believe that I will never have it in my heart to forgive that being. In fact, sometimes I enjoy fantasizing about wringing this personification's little neck, and reveling in their own painful death by my hands. I recognized myself, my soul, as a being who will never accept this world as it currently is. I considered ending it all--but then I made a conscious decision to keep going anyway. I've finally come to understand now how I did that.

As long as I can remember, at least as long as I've been old enough to be able to form memories at all, I have felt a pain and an answer. The pain is something I emotionally and unconsciously attach to every individual piece of the unusually large quantities of suffering I've been through so far in my life, but I suspect it originally was born from abandonment, of being born to a biological family that was never going to lift a finger to help me feel welcome or loved. The answer is, "this is wrong." The answer is, "it doesn't have to be this way." The answer is, "I can and will do everything I can to help effectively eradicate suffering from the universe." Please do not read any rash actions or arrogance into my words. I am not about to go out on some sort of violent spree. I do not believe in applying force to systems or creatures that aren't ready to change. I am not interested in jumping the gun and doing harm. I seem to have an infinite well of patience. To this day, nothing makes me happier than the feeling that I might actually be having a tangible and permanent effect on the world, a push towards more kindness and less cruelty.

So I thought about all of this more today, and I realized how lonely I am in these feelings. I don't actually think that I haven't already met anyone who feels the same way, but... I've been so afraid of opening up about this, and so confused on how to articulate it, that I've never had the chance to really be heard by someone who understands what I mean. And I think what I really need right now, that would help me feel better, is just a hug and a shoulder to cry on from someone who does understand. So, let me know if you're out there reading this.

[f0rt1e]

Devlog #1 | Major functions prototyping

Today, I'm excited to share a closer look at the nuts and bolts of my indie game development journey—specifically focusing on two pivotal aspects: building and pathfinding. As I've been piecing together my medieval city builder, figuring out the best ways for players to construct their cities and navigate them has been both a challenge and a revelation. In this post, I'll walk you through the different approaches I considered for these key game mechanics, the reasoning behind my choices, and how these decisions are shaping the game's development. Let's dive into the foundations of building systems and the intricacies of pathfinding algorithms!

Pathfinding 

Right from the start, I envisioned peasants as the backbone of my game. They're the ones who get things done—building structures, transporting goods, and tackling tasks like woodcutting and farming. I also knew I wanted a user-friendly road system; something as simple as drag, click, and voila—a road appears. My goal was to design the pathfinding in such a way that, when calculating routes, the peasants would prefer paths with road tiles over those with grass tiles. Fortunately, Godot offers some great features like pathfinding and the A* algorithm, which are perfect for this.

I opted for the pathfinding capabilities provided by navigation agents and navigation servers in Godot 4. This system allows for straightforward designation of tiles as walkable or non-walkable. Additionally, it supports the use of navigation obstacles for path avoidance strategies. While Godot offers an extensive toolkit for navigation, it can be challenging when dealing with objects that have collision shapes. This required some intricate coding on my part, involving setting up areas and collisions, creating polygons, and then integrating everything by baking the polygons and areas into a single region that communicates with a server. Fortunately, this approach worked seamlessly, perfectly accommodating the mix of tile obstacles and node-based obstacles present in my game.

Pathfinding with Navigation Agent and Navigation Server alongside with custom solutions to find a road tiles

The real challenge cropped up when I started fine-tuning the path calculations. As you might recall, my goal was for the peasants to prefer roads over any other type of terrain. Unfortunately, I discovered that Godot pathfinding didn’t have built-in functionality to assign different weights to the tiles, which was crucial for my needs. To work around this, I developed a custom solution: I implemented raycasting to dynamically assess the area around the peasant every time they moved. This system checked the six surrounding tiles, prioritizing the road tiles for movement and recalculating the path repeatedly until the peasant reached their destination.

Although this method seemed promising, it was riddled with bugs. It failed to function correctly when moving from the negative Y to positive Y direction, occasionally missed the final destination, and sometimes caused the peasant to loop unnecessarily. Overall, I was quite disappointed with how it turned out.

With A* pathfinding works smoothly - it calculates the path using the roads and considers objects as obstacles

I then switched to another strategy—using the A* algorithm. A* facilitates grid-based movement without actually needing to implement a physical grid. All I had to do was overlay the tilemap and specify which tiles were navigable and which weren’t—similar to what I tried with navigation agents, but this method was far simpler and required significantly less coding. Once I integrated A*, things started to fall into place beautifully. I could easily set obstacles and assign weights to different tiles, influencing movement costs. Now, my peasants automatically prefer roads over any other terrain.

The only snag I hit with A* was dealing with objects that had collision shapes, making them impassable. To handle this, I needed to calculate the space each object occupied, convert that into an array of tile positions, and mark each tile in that array as non-walkable. With these adjustments, A* now functions precisely as I envisioned.

Building

When it came time to decide on a building system, I was torn between a grid-based setup and a freeplacing system. Without a clear preference for the pros and cons of each, I opted for the freeplacing approach simply because it seemed straightforward.

Implementing this system was relatively smooth. I added a few buttons, sketched some designs, and incorporated a handful of aesthetic enhancements like building ghosts for preview, Z sorting for layer management, and obstacle checks to prevent overlap. The mechanics were basic: select a scene, node, or tile, grab the mouse coordinates, and drop the new object right where the cursor is located.

Freeplacing system allows you to put building wherever you want

I didn’t stop there, though. I integrated collision shapes to keep objects from overlapping, devised a road system for constructing pathways, and even developed a feature that snaps buildings to the nearest road if one is nearby, enhancing the building experience.

Road system has a temporary road color. It works only in 4 direction between point A and B - but it's enough at this point

However, over time, I noticed some issues with this freeplacing method, particularly with area checking and pathfinding. It became clear that I needed a more structured approach, prompting me to start transitioning to a grid-based system. This change is still underway, and I’ll share more about it in future updates.

On the bright side, the building system I’ve set up is highly flexible and scalable, thanks to custom resources similar to Unity’s ScriptableObjects. This allows me to easily create a variety of buildings by simply generating new resources from the established custom resource template.

Current system allows to put roads and few types of building, also checking the overlapping

Overall, I was somewhat pleased with how the freeplacing system turned out, but I couldn't shake the feeling that its initial design was a bit off. It ended up being more complicated than necessary, with several superfluous features that only served to clutter the code and lead to a slew of errors. I'm still on the fence about which system is truly better, but considering my future plans and the direction I want to take the game, I'm leaning more towards adopting a grid-based system. It seems like it will better align with my upcoming needs.

Future plans

In my upcoming posts, I’ll dive into some key features I've been prototyping, such as work placement, assigning tasks to peasants, the basic mechanics of their first jobs, and some initial interface designs.

As I mentioned before, I’m currently overhauling the building system. It’s a substantial update, so it's taking a bit of time, but I'm optimistic about sharing some positive updates with you soon. Once the new building system is in place, I plan to introduce additional workplaces to demonstrate how different systems interact. For example, a woodcutter will chop down trees, transport the logs to a hut, and then another worker will take these logs to a sawmill to process them into planks and firewood. This will showcase a linear progression of materials within the game.

Thanks for reading - and do not hesitate to ask any questions if you have some. See you soon!

[ingek73]

You may not like Prince Harry but his win against the Mirror is huge – and he’s not finished yet

James Hanning

Piers Morgan now has a problem, but so too does much of the press. It is in the crosshairs of a man on a mission

James Hanning is a former deputy editor of the Independent on Sunday and author of The News Machine

Here’s a thought for key sections of the British press: be afraid, be very afraid. Prince Harry’s battle with the Mirror Group (MGN) and his success today will come as no surprise to those who have studied the working methods of the red-top newspapers over the last few decades, so brace yourself for more revelations. The availability of the technology to snoop on their targets made it daft, in a highly competitive market, not to hack phones. If it looked as if the other side was doing it – and the law requires us to say that there is no confirmation that the Sun was indeed doing so – then you would be missing a trick not to do it yourself.

How did it work? Initially, it was done by experts sitting in dingy suburban offices, but then the editors and their accountants realised there was no need for the experts, and it became a free-for-all. Why pay for a hack to stand on someone’s doorstep when you could get someone in the office to do some “finger-fishing”, as it was sometimes called, on any number of people?

Anyone could have a go. The only time the experts were needed was when hacks were snooping on one another, trying to find out who was having an affair with whom. Damn them, they kept changing their pin codes.

All this was denied for years, of course. No, no. Anything the press did was in the public interest, though that was debatable, and certainly not in the face of laws designed to stop illegal snooping. One newspaper even had a “hack off” contest, to see who could hack the most phones in a given period. It was won by a senior executive who has so far escaped justice.

About a dozen years ago, I was told that a senior executive on a red-top paper had suggested to the police that there be an amnesty for phone hackers. He knew how widespread and how normal it was. He knew it was systemic and smiled upon, and had been made indispensable by bosses, but to my knowledge the police dropped the idea pretty quickly. The bad guys would have got off without penalty, and any number of Milly Dowler moments – the hacking of that murdered girl’s phone by the News of the World – would have been buried.

Which is why the judgment against MGN is just the start. The judge ruled that there was extensive phone hacking between 2006 and 2011. He also found that Piers Morgan, who was forced to resign from the Mirror in 2004, knew about phone hacking. He even called it a “little trick”, yet he denied on oath to the Leveson inquiry knowing anything about it. His own position will now surely come under scrutiny.

You may or may not like Prince Harry. You may think he is a damaged young man who has had too much therapy following the highly public death of his mother. Even allowing for the creation of hateful narratives about the influence and ethnic background of his wife, in most circumstances he would be a candidate for widespread public sympathy, but there is little sign of that in the way his activities are reported.

If you have ever wondered why Prince Harry gets such a bad press, consider the context. For Britain’s most popular newspapers, the backstory is terrifying. This is a man on a mission, and while you may say he is tilting at windmills in trying to reconfigure the British media, it will clearly take more than a bit of personal abuse to stop him. The newspapers may or may not be guilty, but the legal costs, let alone the reputational ones, of trying to prove their innocence, and the costs of defending subsequent claims from aggrieved celebrities, will be breathtaking.

Having done a small amount of work investigating this area, I think I know that few cupboards are entirely skeleton-free. Some of the activities that went on can arguably be defended as public interest journalism. But many fail the test set by the great Harry Evans (of Sunday Times fame), which is as follows. If a journalist is considering using subterfuge or doing something ethically questionable, he or she should ask themselves this question: when I come to write up this story, will I be willing to confess to the reader exactly which ethical corner I cut? In other words, will the reader be willing to say that, say, in pursuit of a paedophile I invented a false story, or whatever, then that was fair enough?

That simple test is surely a good basis for any such discussion, and should help dismiss any notion that trawling through celebrities’ private lives – all of which perpetuates a market that needs to be fed – has any conceivable wider public interest. Tittle-tattle may be hard to define, but you know it when you see it.

Quite how things have come to this ought to be a mystery, but it isn’t. The former Press Complaints Commission was asleep at the wheel and almost completely failed to keep tabs on how new technology had made unlawful snooping a piece of cake. And the police crossed their fingers and hoped that, after a few junior execs had gone to prison and a lot of money had been spent, the last-chance saloon had learned its lesson. They had no idea of the depth of the problem, that there was in effect a boozy lock-in going on. That is the party Harry and his friends want to break up, and he, Elton John and others have the money to do it.

James Hanning is a former deputy editor of the Independent on Sunday and author of The News Machine, about the phone hacking at the News of the World