#he wants us to prove our faith sometimes

[eddis-not-eeddis]

If you deeply desire something and it doesn't come into conflict with God's will and his word, don't give up on praying for it. Pray without ceasing for it, ask your friends and your family members to pray for it. Write it down so you can remember when you started praying for it. PRAY!

Last year I started seeing answers to prayers I began praying five years ago. This year hundreds of prayers have been answered. Prayers I forgot about were answered, and I see God's hand as he works to answer even more.

Don't stop praying because you don't see God's hand in your life immediately. God works in a lot of subtle and mysterious ways, and years down the road you'll discover how he has been working behind the scenes. He is not slow in the way we as humans understand slowness, but he sees the bigger picture and knows what will bring about his glory. His timing is perfect, and I can see that in my life.

[etz-ashashiyot]

You know how sometimes arguing a point is losing?

Like if you engage the argument at all you are inherently putting up for debate things that should never be up for debate and the argument itself is degrading?

You see this with interpersonal gaslighting:

A gaslighter doesn’t simply need to be right. They also need for you to believe that they are right. In stage one, you know that they’re being ridiculous, but you argue anyways. You argue for hours, without resolution. You argue over things that shouldn’t be up for debate  – your feelings, your opinions, your experience of the world. You argue because you need to be right, you need to be understood, or you need to get their approval. In stage one, you still believe yourself, but you also unwittingly put that belief up for debate. In stage two, you consider your gaslighter’s point of view first and try desperately to get them to see your point of view as well. You continue to engage because you’re afraid of what their perspective of you says about you. Winning the argument now has one objective :  proving that you’re still good, kind, and worthwhile. In stage three, when you’re hurt, you first ask, “What’s wrong with me?” You consider their point of view as normal. You start to lose your ability to make your own judgements. You become consumed with understanding them and seeing their perspective. You live with and obsess over every criticism, trying to solve it.

[Source]

But you also see this on a broader societal level, with people asking unfathomably awful questions about minority groups, such as:

[Source]

It should go without saying, but no group of people should be forced to explain that yes, they really are real people, dickheads. The question doesn't deserve an answer; it deserves at best a disgusted eyeroll + "Are you a Nazi?" and at worst a punch to the face.

There is also the related phenomenon of the "when did you stop beating your wife?" type questions. The question is framed as a yes or no question, but the real answer for the innocent is: "I've never beaten my wife and never would." But even that answer still dignifies the question with a real response and puts the idea in the mind of the listener that hey maybe that's a real possibility and this guy is lying because of course he wouldn't just admit that. Now I don't know what to believe, but I'm skeptical.

Even if he answers, doubt has been cast on his character and many people (maybe even most people) neither have the attention span to listen to his full counter argument and supporting evidence nor are invested enough in strangers' lives to take the time to dig for facts on their own. Critically, it comes from a good impulse that shouldn't be repressed or taken too far in the opposite direction; namely, that we want to believe survivors and make it socially acceptable to speak out about abuse.

This leaves us with the uncomfortable reality that balancing believing survivors and whistle-blowers against not automatically believing allegations that very well may be false and/or in bad faith is a very tricky balancing act indeed. Because of this, people tend to struggle with taking survivors seriously and with presuming innocence until guilt has actually been proven, both. And as for the latter, this is at least partially due to the same psychological factors underlying the Don't Think of an Elephant problem.

Why am I discussing this?

See the thing is that these types of discourse have all been used, heavily, against the Jewish community, especially since Oct 7th, but really going back hundreds of years.

If you want to be our ally, you need to be on guard for how people use this rhetoric to accuse Jews of absolutely batshit cookoo bananas allegations (like being lizard people or having horns, or secretly running the world, or killing Christian babies to use their blood in our matzah, etc. etc.) and get away with it. Now obviously if so many people weren't already racist towards Jews as a people and had a vested interest in maintaining their supercessionist cultural worldview from Christianity and Islam, it would be a lot harder for this to work. Alas, the past 2000 years has created a bit of a snowballing effect.

This culminates in the effect described so well by Sartre:

Never believe that anti-Semites are completely unaware of the absurdity of their replies. They know that their remarks are frivolous, open to challenge. But they are amusing themselves, for it is their adversary who is obliged to use words responsibly, since he believes in words. The anti-Semites have the right to play. They even like to play with discourse for, by giving ridiculous reasons, they discredit the seriousness of their interlocutors. They delight in acting in bad faith, since they seek not to persuade by sound argument but to intimidate and disconcert. If you press them too closely, they will abruptly fall silent, loftily indicating by some phrase that the time for argument is past.

— Jean-Paul Sartre

Right now, Jews are facing extreme levels of these types of rhetorical abuse, and are receiving very little help in the way of pushback.

We have to stop trying to explain ourselves and start just naming these tactics instead.

[aguineapigcouldntdothis]

hey. hey. you there. religious jew who wants to do so well because you truly do love g-d and you see His presence everywhere and you have faith in Him and He gives you everything. yes, you. if you're not a religious jew you can read this too this just isn't geared towards you.

ok now that i have your attention read this: g-d knows you. He made your body and your soul and He understands it fully. there's gonna be some times where you can't commit to something, where you can't fulfill that mitzvah. maybe you've got an amazing new job that will pay the rent and the bills youve been struggling with for months but you need to work shabbat. maybe you cant say prayers or blessings in public bc you dont feel safe to speak hebrew outside of your own home. maybe you struggle to keep up a routine and have a hard time with daily mitzvot. whatever it is i promise Hashem does not hate you and does not see you as a failure.

i definitely understand being a perfectionist and wanting to go all out. to show that you are fully devoted and that you appreciate Him at every point in your life. also lets be real sometimes you just wanna prove to yourself that you can do all these little things and that you have the discipline to do it. or you wanna impress someone else you admire. that's completely normal and those emotions are part of what makes us human (however those can be signs of underlying mental health issues so pls talk to someone if you need!). anyway, Hashem doesnt mind that we can't do it all all the time. sometimes we can't do it all ever. He knows that something is always better than nothing. we were given the gift of life, of food, of being jewish, of the torah, of everything else by g-d and we can express our gratefulness for that in so many ways and they are all important.

g-d is not that shitty teacher you had in middle school who judged you in front of the class every time your essay wasnt an A+. He created everything and gave us the joy of life and is here to guide us through us. He made us human with all of our possible emotions because that is what we are meant to be. we are meant to be flawed and without that we wouldnt even be people anymore. you're gonna have shitty days, weeks, months, even years and He understands that and even if you can only do tiny things it still matters.

[calehenituse-brainrot]

Faith

Kim Rok Soo; a conversation about faith.

"Do you ever think of believing in something before?"

Kim Rok Soo raised his head when the question slipped from their lips. It wasn't particularly an odd question, but it did give him a twinge of unease at the pit of his stomach. His dark eyes turned to them, and he saw a flicker of curiosity in their eyes.

When he stayed quiet for a second too long, they added for clarification, "Faith. Gods and religions and whatnot."

Rok Soo lowered his eyes from theirs. The question surrounding faith wasn't something he spent his time mowing about when they lived in an apocalyptic world where everything around them was despair personified. If he were to confess, the idea of a higher being existing and seeing all of this pain and not doing anything to stop it made him feel slightly bitter.

But then again, such an omniscient being can't possibly understand the pains of a mortal, smaller being.

"I don't..." Rok Soo began, choosing his words carefully. He noticed a gap he hadn't noticed before with this question and he didn't want to destroy the semblance of understanding between them that had been built over the years over the matter of faith. "I don't really do that."

"I see," they replied with a faint hum. "I'm sorry if that was something invasive to ask."

"Can't be invasive if there's nothing to invade," Rok Soo replied, taking a swig from his bottle of soju.

They let out a soft chuckle. "I suppose so."

There was a moment of silence that hung in the air between them before Rok Soo added slowly, "It's not that I haven't thought about it. I just... don't have that connection."

They smiled. "I understand. I struggle with it sometimes, too."

"You do?" Rok Soo raised an eyebrow.

They laughed when Kim Rok Soo leaned back in interest at their confession. "I do, yes. It's so hard believing in something you can't see or prove. I believe there's an analogy for it using teapots."

Rok Soo tilted his head. "Russell's Teapot."

They clapped their hands once. "That's it, that's the one!"

"I constantly think about it," they murmured quietly with a wry smile. "It's exhausting."

Another silence between them. Rok Soo didn't know what to do or say to respond to that admission. Was he supposed to tell them he's sorry? Reassure them that their faith is right and they shouldn't be worried when he himself does not hold onto a belief?

"If a god were to exist," Rok Soo began carefully. "It's hard to imagine that they'll understand us."

"That's the opposite of what I had been taught ever since I was young," they replied with a hearty laugh. "That whatever we do, our God will understand us, because He is a merciful God."

Rok Soo looked up at the ceiling and they simply looked at him with a smile. "Tell me."

Rok Soo looked back at them. "What?"

They leaned to him and then tapped at his temple twice with their finger. "Tell me what's in here. What you're thinking."

Rok Soo made himself comfortable on the floor, his tailbone slightly hurting. They had been sitting on the floor of the balcony of his apartment for a while now, their empty bowls of ramyeon stacked by his side and two empty bottles of soju between them both. The cool wind blew against his dark hair and their own, which made him turn to look at them properly.

"I think the idea of a god being perfectly loving, all-knowing, powerful, and everywhere present could not exist without contradictions," Rok Soo began quietly.

"Me too," they admitted with a wistful smile. "A loving God. Yet why does the devil receive no mercy?"

Rok Soo adjusted his position, suddenly interested in the mention of the devil. "You think the devil deserves mercy?"

"Only He could give it to 'em," they said, gesturing at the sky lazily. "Does that mean... even the worst of the worst could still not be forgiven?"

They look up at the sky. "Do you think... our comrades could forgive us?"

Rok Soo grew quiet. He suddenly dreads this conversation.

They chuckled in resignation. "God, who am I kidding? If a God can't even forgive me, then how can--"

"Enough." Rok Soo sighed. "The soju is getting to you."

"Maybe it is," they hummed, leaning to him and closing their eyes. "I'm sorry."

Rok Soo stayed in his position, holding onto his bottle of soju and looking at it thoughtfully.

"You know," they began softly to him. "I may struggle in believing in my God, but not you."

"Never you."

[heechwe]

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 〰 𝘦𝘯𝘩𝘺𝘱𝘦𝘯

⌞ please read my guidelines before requesting anything .ᐟ ⌝

key: 🤍 - fluff, 💟 - smut, 💙 - angst, 💌 - smau,⭐️- lexi’s favorites, tags

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠

cafe au lait 💌🤍 | establishedrelationship!au, the guys being Dudes | when a bad day can be solved with a coffee from the love of your life, you know you have it good.

lips of an angel 💙 | exes!au, established (previous) relationship | He's not supposed to be calling you in the middle of the night after months of silence. And yet you fall back into the same feelings like nothing has changed.

the boy is mine 💟 | secret relationship au, semi-fwb, idol!reader, idol!heeseung, semi-public sex, oral (f receiving), pet names (baby, love, etc.), unprotected sex | A company costume party is not the perfect place for your relationship with Heeseung to be exposed. So, like rational people, you both decide to have a rendezvous in a closet when jealousy rears its ugly head, if only to prove to each other who you belong to.

night changes 💟🤍 | roomates to lovers au, pet names (love, baby, etc.), dirty talk, size kink, face sitting, 69, unprotected sex, creampie | Maybe a citywide power outage is what you need to finally confess your feelings. Well, that and a risque card game.

drabble series: ii (🤍). v (💟).

𝔰𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔦 💟 | "Does he fuck you like this?" + one muse holds the other down during rough sex + in a semi-public place

𝔰𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔦𝔦 💟⭐️ | "Did i say you could stop?" + one muse gives the other oral + against a wall

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐬𝐢𝐦 𝐣𝐚𝐞𝐲𝐮𝐧 (𝐣𝐚𝐤𝐞)

fire meet gasoline 💟 | college au, popular!jakeau, simp!jake, frat au, oral (f receiving), fingering, penetration | jake sim, the head of theta tau's fraternity, was definitely not someone you’d take interest in at first glance. but the way he looks at you, defies your thoughts, and makes you think he may be worth the attention.

dancing with our hands tied 💟⭐️ | brothersbsf!jake, minor age difference, college au, friends with benefits, secret relationship, light choking, semi-public sex, oral (f + m receiving), fingering, penetration, unprotected sex (please practice safe sex folks) | What began as a simple friends-with-benefits situation with your brother's best friend has turned into something deeper, and you now find that your emotions are more complicated than you initially thought.

but daddy i love him 💟🤍 | badboy!au, innocent!reader, opposites attract, sexual tension, corruption kink, dirty talk, fingering, oral (m + f receiving), 69, pet names (baby, angel, etc.), face sitting, protected sex | Just because there's a new and seemingly bad influence in your small town, it doesn't mean you have to fall privy to his charms, no matter how beautiful he is. But when he takes notice of you, none of the gossiping wine moms can stop him from getting what he wants.

canine intuition 🤍 | established relationship, marriage!au, expecting!reader | Sometimes your dog knows what's going on before you do. And shenanigans ensue when she uses her knowledge to protect you, whether you want her to or not.

drabble series: i (🤍).

𝔰𝔲𝔤𝔞𝔯 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔰𝔭𝔦𝔠𝔢 𝔡𝔯𝔞𝔟𝔟𝔩𝔢 𝔦 💟 | "I’m going to fuck you until your legs shake" + one muse makes the other have multiple orgasms + in a bed

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐣𝐨𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐧𝐠 (𝐣𝐚𝐲)

midnight faith 💟🤍 | werewolf!jay, established relationship, pet names (darling, sweetheart, etc.), biting, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, knotting, creampie, cock stuffing, breeding kink | You know his history and where he comes from, both being huge factors that affect your current relationship, but all you care about is your future together.

the start of time 💙🤍💟 | friends to strangers to lovers, childhood friends, miscommunication, pet names (baby, love, etc.), unprotected sex | You've lost your creative spark for the first time since moving away from Jeju Island, leaving behind your best friend in the process without an explanation. But when a work assignment sends you back to your hometown, truths come to light and perhaps lost love can come back with a little time and effort.

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐨𝐧

three men & a crib 🤍 | established relationship, soontobedad!sunghoon, married!au, pregnant!reader | Sunghoon is wasting time not building the furniture in the nursery, mainly the terrifyingly intricate crib his pregnant wife ordered. What else can he do besides call Jake and Jay to help him?

lost in wonderland 💟💙🤍⭐️ | mentions of drug use, fake dating au, rockstar!sunghoon, popstar!reader, enemies to lovers au, jerk to down bad sunghoon, pet names (baby, doll, love, etc.), dirty talk, nipple play, oral (f receiving), belly bulging, spanking, unprotected sex, creampie | Park Sunghoon, one half of popular rock band Into Eden, is on thin ice with his management and the general public. What does his manager Jay decide to do? Set him up with the leader of rising pop girl group PrismHeart. And while it starts as two stubborn people living in a lie, growing feelings cannot hold anything but the truth.

drabble series: iii (🤍).

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐤𝐢𝐦 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐰𝐨𝐨

𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐲𝐚𝐧𝐠 𝐣𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐰𝐨𝐧

drabble series: iv (🤍).

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐫𝐚 𝐫𝐢𝐤𝐢

𝗍𝗈 𝖻𝖾 𝗐𝗋𝗂𝗍𝗍𝖾𝗇

⸝⸝ˎˊ˗ 𝒉𝒚𝒖𝒏𝒈 𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆

versace on the floor 💌 | Your boyfriend's reaction to your lingerie is exactly what you expected. Maybe they were right when they said pictures were worth a thousand words.

. ݁₊ ✶. ݁ 𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚜

basketball (heechwe's version) 💟🤍💙 | enha!hyung line, high school au, basketball au | a series centered around love and basketball, both incredibly intertwined into one game.

dream daddy (enha!hyung line) 🤍 | singledad!enhypen | teaser. ch. 1 - heeseung. ch. 2 - jake. ch. 3 - jay. ch. 4 - sunghoon

all in the craft (enha!ot7) 🤍 | basically enhypen with grandma hobbies | teaser. ch. 1 - heeseung. ch. 2 - jake. ch. 3 - jay. ch. 4 - sunghoon. ch. 5 - sunoo. ch. 6 - jungwon. ch. 7 - riki.

[marymary-diva17]

Running home to her

Life can be difficult when everything around one self is changing, and sometimes it hard to see what will be coming up next. Life can be even more difficult when it easy to see, others around you are not the supportive as ones wants as the ones who are supportive of them are away.

Jake " lo'ak are you even listening to what I'm saying"

lo'ak " yes sir I'm"

Jake " why can't you do anything right way I'm always hearing from everyone else, all the trouble you have gotten into and along with dragging your siblings as well"

lo'ak " dad they started it I did nothing wrong"

Jake " I don't care you got into the fight with those other boys aonung, being one of them during this gather has brought shame to the family and clan"

lo'ak " ......"

neytiri " lo'ak answer your father when he speaking to you"

lo'ak " yes neytiri"

Jake " she is your mother you will address her as mother or ma'am"

lo'ak " y/n is my mama as well"

Jake " neytiri a far better mother then y/n now I can see why you behave, like this she is to blame for your behavior and actions she always enables you"

lo'ak " no she doesn't sir she listen to me and understands me"

neytiri " you two have never brought pride and joy to our family, always shame and disappointment why can't you be like your brother or sisters"

lo'ak " because I'm my own person ma'am and I will keep being myself"

Jake " you will go apologize to those boys and your brother tomorrow after morning meal, and then you will apologize to their parents as well then the clan for your foolish behavior and then you will have chores to do ... to make up for your mistake once again'

lo'ak " the only one I will say sorry to this neteyam those boys were speaking poorly about mama"

Jake " well whatever they said they might not be wrong"

lo'ak " sir she is your and mother mate"

neytiri " that not important right now"

lo'ak " fine if I don't apologize what will happen"

Jake ' you will leave this house and stay elsewhere"

lo'ak " so we finally came to this situation sir"

Jake ' yes and you will not be staying with your grandmother or uncle tsutey as well he mad at you as well, you will leave the home and stay elsewhere until you act mature"

lo'ak " okay sir"

Jake " you can stay in the huts outside of the clan because right now, we don't need anymore trouble"

lo'ak " do my siblings and everyone else know about this"

Jake " we will tell them later they will understand so make your decisions, we will leave you here to think as we need to check up on your siblings and there other ... dont disappointment even more then you have already done"

neytiri " think about this wisely lo'ak for everyone sake" neytiri and Jake soon left, lo'ak made up his idea he soon ran to his room and packed up the belonging he will needed. He was leaving he was going to do everyone and favor and leave, he was going to join you and the other at the second base.

lo'ak " I should go say goodbye to everyone and tell them I will call later" lo'ak was heading those the healing hut to speak with everyone.

tonowari " Jake sully what will you do with the son of yours"

ronal " he has hurt our son and other boys as well, and he keeps on breaking the rules of the clan and questions us as well"

Jake " we have spoken with lo'ak and gave him a scolding, he will make a apology to your boy and the others along with everyone else he will also be punished as well"

neytiri " we are sorry about his behavior"

ronal " it seems like your other child are not demon blooded like him, the clan has faith in your other kids not in the boy ... I and tonowari wish for you as well to make sure lo'ak doesn't drag our daughter down his wicked path"

ronal " we seen the way he looks at her and we don't wish for that for our daughter until the boy prove himself as navi and no demon"

Jake " we will deal with that we have noticed as well and will make sure no more trouble comes to your family"

Jake " sometime I wonder if he even my son or even if he should be a sully after all" lo'ak had a looked of heartbreak on him, he decisions was finally made he was now. It seems like saying goodbye will be bad he just need to go.

lo'ak " hey boy we will be leaving for some time I think it for the best, don't worry we will not be going that far just far enough away from here" lo'ak soon tied his bag onto his ikran saddle and soon got onto the saddle, he soon took off into the sky he was running home to you. It didn't need to be the forest he just wanted to be with you right now.

Hours later

lo'ak " well made it here by morning that a good thing"

???? " lo'ak"

lo'ak " hey mama" you looked at your son happy to see him, as you soon rushed to him and hugged him.

y/n " what are you doing here are your siblings with you ... my boy what the matter"

lo'ak " I just wanted to see you mama I just need you right now, and place to call home" you could tell by the tone of his voice it was bad situation, you soon walked into the base with him. Where lo'ak had see old faces he knew so well and new faces as well.

y/n " here some breakfast you need to eat something"

lo'ak " thanks mama'

spider ' hey bro I didn't know you will be coming here"

lo'ak " hey spider"

spider ' hey is everyone else here as well my dad too this is cool ... bro is everything okay"

norm " hey kid why don't we leave your aunt and cousin to speak with each other, it seems important"

spider " oh yes sorry"

lo'ak " it okay I will tell you all later" spider had nodded his head while norm and him walked away, leaving the mother and son to talk.

y/n " so tell me everything if you wish you have my full attention"

after telling the story

max " hey y/n Jake on the line and he seems very worried about ... oh lo'ak you are here"

lo'ak " uncle max"

max " Jake is calling about lo'ak saying he missing but he is here I will, tell Jake about this...."

y/n " no I will speak with that stupid jarhead and foolish man as well" you had gotten up from your seat it was easy to tell you are mad, as lo'ak and max followed after you.

norm " hey Jake y/n is finally here" once your enter the room everyone saw you, and they all could tell Jake is a dead man walking.

Jake " y/n there you are lo'ak had gone missing something had come up yesterday, and we noticed she was not at home or with mo'at we can't find him"

y/n " oh I know because he is here Jake staying behind me with spider"

Jake " he is lo'ak are you okay"

lo'ak " I'm fine sir I kept true to what your had order me to do"

Jake " I will come get you and we can speak about this with your mama, and mother then you can come home with us ..."

y/n " no Jake he is staying here with me he can come see his siblings and new friends, but he staying here with me he no longer staying with you and neytiri"

Jake " y/n listen ...."

y/n " no you will listen here I'm done with you and everyone in that clan, and it seems like other clan treating my son like his unwanted and a demon it makes me sick and he is staying with me for now and maybe forever until he make his own home"

neytiri " y/n please we can...."

y/n " there is nothing you both can do to make me change my mind the kids can come here and stay for the nights, you all can come and seek help or to discuss anything but I will not have you taking my son away anymore .... he staying with me here on this base and outside as well'

Jake " he is my son'

y/n " don't from the recording lo'ak had shared with me earlier"

Jake " y/n I ...."

y/n " I will be civil for our children sake as I still and will always love them, the are the greatest things that came from my relationship with your and neytiri"

neytiri " y/n"

norm " we will have to end this call soon as seeing there has been enough damage done, by other parties on the line and for the well-being for the boys as well"

Jake " we will call later to speak with y/n and lo'ak" the call soon ended and everyone looked around the room.

lo'ak " mama you are not to blame for what has happened"

y/n " I do feel like I should be blamed I had fallen in love, with them and like a fool I thought they will love me as well'

norm " you are not a fool y/n maybe this time apart will be good for you and lo'ak'

lo'ak " I'm allowed to stay"

max " yes you are young man your mom has a space her for her, human body/avatar as well enough room for you and your siblings"

lo'ak " thank you I wish I could speak with my siblings I feel bad for leaving"

norm ' we can call them later on so you and spider can speak with them"

lo'ak " thank you"

y/n " come on I will show you where I''m staying" lo'ak had nodded his head as spider had tagged along as well, you and spider had even lo'ak a tour around the inside of the base and outside as well. Showing home the place had can call home when he was here with you.

later that night

lo'ak " hey neteyam is calling"

spider ' sweet let speak with him" the boys had answer the call in hopes to speak with the three other sully kids.

neteyam " hey baby bro and spider"

lo'ak " hey'

spider ' hey"

kiri " lo'ak we were so worried when we learned you were gone"

lo'ak " I 'm sorry for leaving I just need to go"

tuk " will you be gone forever and forget us"

lo'ak " I will never forget you and mama is here as well'

y/n " hello my loves'

kids " mama"

y/n " your brother and spider are safe here with me, and you all can come see us and spend night here"

tuk " I will love that mama I miss you"

y/n " I miss you to baby girl but we can see each other again"

kiri " what about mom and dad will they come"

y/n " yes to talk but not to stay at the moment"

kiri " okay mama I will definitely come stay with you and everyone else"

y/n " good"

neteyam " lo'ak I'm sorry for not standing up for you last night"

lo'ak " you don't have to apologize neteyam this might be good, for everyone in the end"

neteyam " well no matter where you, spider, and mama are we will always be family along with everyone else" the boys had nodded their heads and smiled. The kids had talked a bit more until the call ended later on the mother and son had a meal together.

lo'ak " mama are you sure everything okay"

y/n " yes my love I'm just thinking about everything that has happened lately, but I'm so happy you are here my love"

lo'ak " thank you mama and thank you for letting me run to you"

y/n " you can always come to me when you need help my son, I'm your mother and this is our home" lo'ak had nodded his head as he ate his dinner, him and spider stayed up a bit longer talking until they had went to bed. Lo'ak knew he could feel safe and love here now he was, going to fright more for himself and the ones he loves. He had learned well from his you his mom, who will do anything for him and the others she loves.

[sunkiss3dlily]

to you, i'm just a man (to me, you're all i am) part three | joel miller x reader

Joel Miller x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3604

Summary: You find yourself in trouble with David and his people, and you decide to sacrifice yourself for the ones you love the most.

Note(s): Okay, you guys are gonna hate me but I decided to make it four parts as, once again, the third part became too long, but I promise, the fourth will be the last part! I hope this sets you up for the grand ending we are all waiting for haha! Thank you for all the support! And as always feedback is appreciated, but please be respectful! Please give me any (detailed, please!) requests in my inbox or comments if you have any, I would love to hear them! Thank you so much for reading! ♡

Taglist: @wonwoosthetic @paleidiot @orcasoul @slut4mascss @paqerings @missladym1981

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

Fiery orange embers adorned the stack of logs before you. David sat just behind them, opposite you, while the lifeless form of the prized buck lay on the floor, maintaining the distance between you and David.

"You weren't kidding about being a good shot," David complimented, rubbing his hands together by the fire he had made in the centre of the abandoned shack where you two had taken shelter while waiting for James to return with the medicine. "You must've had a lot of practice with a weapon like that, huh? Someone in your group teach you?"

You, for one, did not appreciate his attempts at small talk and straightened up, keeping your rifle balanced on your lap, aiming straight at him just in case. You rolled your eyes slightly, keeping an eye out for the other man, James, in case he tried to sneak up on you.

"You're not one to trust easily; I get it. I've been there." He nods, and you narrow your gaze back towards him. His attempt to relate to you did little to ease your skepticism. The flickering flames danced across his face, casting shadows that only deepened your suspicion. He let out a breath. "Do you believe in God?"

You let out a scoff of disbelief that he was asking you that question.

"I know, I know," he chuckled. "Weird time to find religion, especially with it being the end of days and all, but I've... I've seen and felt things—things that cannot be explained. It's like there's a force out there guiding me and protecting me." He notices your unamused expression and shrugs. "Call it what you want, but I choose to believe in God and his will, and by acclaiming that faith, he has shown me that everything happens for a reason."

An odd chill that isn't just the breeze of the cold wind rises on your skin, multiplying the goosebumps by a hundred. You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

"Like us, meeting in the woods today—maybe, just maybe, our paths crossed for a good reason. Perhaps our meeting was for a greater purpose."

You raise your eyebrows, yeah right. "What, like some divine intervention?"

David nods, his eyes filled with a glimmer of excitement that unsettles you to the core. "Exactly. Like some sort of divine intervention. Call it coincidence if you will, but I believe there is a plan in motion, and our meeting is a part of it. Maybe we are meant to help each other in some way. It may sound far-fetched, I know, but sometimes life surprises us in the most unexpected ways."

An exasperated sigh passes your lips, and it is evident that you are not playing into David's hand by opening up to him.

He clears his throat, sitting up, and this grabs your attention instantly, your hands tightening once more on the rifle. "I can prove it to you, if you like."

"Prove what?"

He smiles and gestures aimlessly: "I can prove that everything happens for a reason, that you and I were meant to meet each other this way."

You gaze back at him with a stoic expression, clearly unamused by the direction of the conversation. However, beneath the surface of your irritation, a subtle pulse of unease begins to intensify, growing more palpable with each passing second in this man's presence.

David leaned in slightly, his gaze never leaving yours, as if trying to imprint his words on your mind. "You see, we didn't expect this winter to be so cruel. Nothing'll grow. The game's been hard to find, but I'm sure you know all about that." He paused, letting the weight of his words linger before continuing. "So I sent four of our people to a nearby town to scavenge what they could."

A shiver ran down your spine, and you tightened your grip on the rifle, sensing there was more to this story.

"And only three of them came back." David's eyes gleamed in the flickering firelight, his voice taking on a sinister edge. "The one who didn't make it was a father. A man with a daughter, just a teenager. Can you imagine the pain of losing your father in these times?" He let the question hang in the air, studying your reaction.

Your heart raced, a knot forming in the pit of your stomach as your thoughts unconsciously wandered to Ellie and Joel.

"You see," he continued, leaning back slightly but maintaining an unsettling gaze, "it turns out he was murdered. Murdered by this crazy man."

Another heavy pause lingered in the air, his words sinking in, and you could sense the direction this conversation was taking, the hairs on the back of your neck standing up.

"And get this." David's tone took on a chilling cadence. "That crazy man was traveling with a little girl and a woman that looked just like you."

In a swift motion, you rose to your feet, rifle poised, and aimed squarely at him, your finger coiling around the trigger.

A contented smile painted itself across his face, and he playfully shook his head in amusement. "See? Fate has a way of guiding us."

Your heart raced, a symphony of adrenaline orchestrating its frantic beats as the thought of Ellie having to defend herself and Joel against who knows how many of those men right now consumed you. "You've been watching us all this time?"

David casually brushed aside the notion with a nonchalant shake of his head. "No, not at all. Just you, just today, just by chance. You see, it wasn't planned, but here we are nonetheless."

The panic inside you was something you hadn't felt in a long, long time. You felt utterly terrified, though your tone was angry as you gritted out, "Where the fuck is your friend? If he's so much as—"

David's eyes glinted with calculated charm as he interrupted your brewing anger with a sly smile. 'I told you, we are not here to cause you or your little girl any harm. We can protect you, both of you. Isn't that right, James?'

You turn rapidly, only now noticing James standing in the doorway, rifle raised and trained on you. You wish you'd had the common sense to remove the bullets when he left. Taking a step back, you aim the rifle back at David but keep your eyes trained on James. "Shoot me and I'll take your fucking preacher down with me."

James glares back at you, though his hold on the rifle is shaky. "You killed Alec."

"She didn't kill anyone, James," David calls, redirecting the taller man's attention back to him. "Lower the gun."

James looks as though he is going to argue, but David shakes his head, and so James concedes.

"Did you bring the medicine?" You ask, keeping your gaze flitting between both men equally so neither of them can catch you off guard. James nods his head once under the watchful eye of David. "Toss it over here."

To your surprise, the bag is tossed your way almost immediately, and you clutch it desperately in one hand, feeling the bottles and syringe against your icy fingers as your heart races. You take a few steps back, watching them both cautiously.

"He's sick, isn't he? The man?" David speaks with a feigned sincerity as he moves to stand up. "You know, he's the only one we need. You and the little one can make it out unscathed if you just hand him over. It's not like he's going to make it out anyway."

You ignore his words, stepping back slowly, the snow hitting you almost immediately as you make it out of the shack. You gesture your gun towards both of them, "I'm leaving, and if I ever see either of you again, I'll fucking kill you."

"It doesn't need to be like this," David calls, still trying to persuade you despite your threat. "You and your daughter can join us, no questions asked. You still have a chance."

You fire a warning shot at James' boot, the impact jolting him with pain. His rifle reacts, rising in response, but you're already hurtling back through the trees. Desperation fuels your every step as you race through the clearing, the silent prayer to any deity echoing in your mind – a fervent wish that Joel and Ellie will still be alive when you reach them.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

You descend the basement steps with ragged, labored breaths, catching Ellie off guard as she tends to Joel's semi-conscious form, gently offering sips of water.

"Where the fuck were you?" Ellie demands, her red-rimmed eyes reflecting her worry. "You were gone for hours!"

You shake your head, having no time to properly respond, dropping to your knees beside the mattress where Joel lies. You lift his coat and shirt, revealing the wound that looks even worse than before.

Ellie abandons her attempts to moisturize Joel's lips, watching as you retrieve a syringe and a bottle of penicillin from the bag James gave you. "What is that? Where did you get it?"

"Penicillin. It'll help with the infection," your breathing is shaky, and you can tell your demeanor unsettles Ellie. Ignoring her second question, you are too panicked to care. "Shit. Where do I put this?"

Ellie looks at you, dumbfounded, before turning to Joel and shaking his shoulder gently. "Hey, man, where do we put this? Joel? Joel!"

You draw liquid into the syringe while Ellie attempts to wake Joel, desperately wracking your brain for any inkling of an idea on where to administer it. However, the looming threat of David and James has put you on high alert, making it challenging to think straight. With an unsteady breath, you declare, "Okay. I'm gonna put it in the wound."

"Yeah, o-okay," Ellie nods, not entirely confident in your idea. "You got this."

Her words, albeit sweet, do nothing to reassure you.

"Fuck," you mumble, reaching over to clasp Joel's limp hand in yours. "Please don't let this be the thing that kills you."

His hand twitches slightly as you make contact, but you are too preoccupied with angling the syringe correctly to notice.

You press down onto the plunger as the syringe makes contact, and Joel's hand tightens on your own, weakly, yet the first proper sign of life in so long you could weep. "I'm here," you murmur, more for your own assurance. You made it in time."I'm sorry," an apology for the pain you are causing him physically, but secretly an even bigger apology for him being the injured one. If it had been you, you wouldn't want them risking their lives like this for you. You'd want them to move on, but you couldn't, and wouldn't, stop trying for him. For him and Ellie.

He groans faintly, and his grip on your hand loosens entirely as you finish plunging the medicine into his wound, steadily retracting the syringe and covering him back up, tucking him under his coat carefully. You lay a hand over his forehead and feel he is still quite hot, but hope that the medicine will start fighting against his fever soon enough.

As you settle down onto your knees beside the mattress with a shaky breath, you look up to meet Ellie's eyes. "No one came here while I was gone? You didn't hear anyone outside?"

"No," she shakes her head, her eyes filling with that familiar fear that you've only seen a few times in her usually bright eyes. "We're not safe here, are we?"

You breathe out shakily, debating on whether to lie or be honest. You slowly shake your head, deciding that it was best for her safety if she knew what was really going on. "I met two men in the woods. They knew who I was, what Joel did to that man. They were members of his group."

"They want to kill us?" Ellie asks after a beat of silence, looking down at the floor to avoid your gaze and to avoid you noticing her fear.

"Not us," and that is all you need to say for Ellie to understand.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

You administered another dose of penicillin to Joel's wound after a couple of hours, fumbling blindly in the dark. As you repeated the motion of clasping his hand in yours, you felt the familiar warmth of his grip in return. This time, it seemed just a little bit stronger, though that might have been your exhausted and desperate mind playing tricks on you.

"You'll wake me if anything happens, right?" Ellie's voice cut through the darkness, causing you to visibly flinch as you were checking Joel's temperature, your hand tensing against his cool skin. She seemed to sniffle before speaking again. "You won't just leave?"

Clearing your throat softly, you replied, "I won't just leave, I promise. But you need to get some rest. We might have to start moving tomorrow, whether Joel is ready or not. We'll have to make our way back to Jackson to get him some proper help."

Silence followed, and you found yourself lying down beside Joel, shuffling as close to him as the floor allowed.

"Are they going to come for us?" Ellie's voice startled you a few minutes later. You did your best to calm your racing heart before responding. "I don't... I don't know. They might try, which is why we need to start moving as soon as possible."

"You didn't kill them? The two men."

You sighed, closing your eyes. "No, I didn't."

"Why not?"

You didn't know. Something niggled at you with the realisation that maybe you should've.

"Goodnight, Ellie."

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

Sleep eluded you that night, despite pressing close to Joel and feeling the steady rise and fall of his breathing beneath your palm. Even the reassurance of your rifle's presence, just a quick flex of your fingers away, failed to bring the peace you sought.

As the morning rays beamed overhead, the burden of exhaustion settled throughout your body. Yet, giving up wasn't an option—not now, not after everything.

Drawing another dose of penicillin into the syringe, you administered it into Joel's wound with an exhausted expression. Closing your eyes, you pressed slowly down on the plunger, dozing for a moment until you felt fingers wrap around your wrist.

It was so gentle that it barely phased you until you finished pressing the plunger down. Opening your eyes, you found a large hand clasping your wrist. Without much hesitation, you wrapped your free hand around Joel's hand and looked at his face, relief blooming in your chest.

'"Joel," you whispered softly, careful not to disturb the sleeping Ellie next to him. His eyes were half-lidded, maybe even less, but they remained fixed on you. Squeezing his hand gently, you observed as his lips parted, though no audible sound emerged. "It's okay; you're okay. Just rest. We're right here. I'll get you through this, I promise."'

After covering his wound and tucking the coat back around him, you released his hand and settled back down beside him. His head turned in your direction, eyes still open, and he gazed at you with an expression that eluded your understanding. Yet, you could discern a softening of his features as he looked in your direction, as if looking at you brought him some comfort.

His fingers twitched in the corner of your eye, and upon closer inspection, you found them almost outstretched. Gently reaching down, you intertwined your fingers with his, and he responded with a reassuring squeeze.

Tearfully, you lowered your head and pressed it against his shoulder, your hand still intertwined with his on the mattress. "Thank you for holding on," you murmured into his shirt. "Just a little longer, okay? Just until I can get you back to Jackson."

You feel him nod, and as you look up, you notice his eyes are beginning to close fully once more. You squeeze his hand, and for a moment, you feel his cold thumb gliding along the back of your palm in a soothing motion until he falls back to sleep, his hand still in yours.

Smiling faintly into his shoulder, you follow him into the realm of sleep.

✮˚. ᵎᵎ 𖦹彡⋆｡˚,

The frantic call of your name jolts you awake, tearing you from the easiest slumber you've experienced in days. Instantly, you sit up, watching as Ellie races down the staircase, mirroring the urgency you displayed just the day before.

"Ellie? What's happening?" Your voice, thick with sleep, responds, momentarily forgetting the looming threat of David and James.

She clutches Joel's rifle, urgency etched across her face. "They're here, the raiders. There's a whole group."

Panic courses through your veins as you quickly shake off the remnants of sleep, your mind racing to formulate an action plan. "Did they see you?" She looks too panicked to respond, her gaze fixed on the staircase. "Ellie? Focus! Did they see you?"

"No, no, I ran back here before they could." Ellie blurts out, her eyes flicking back up the staircase. "They've got guns and—fuck, my footprints. They're going to track us here."

You know she's right.

"I'll lead them away," you decide almost immediately, moving to stand up but stopping when there is a light tug on the bottom of your coat. You turn, seeing Joel looking up at you with an intense desperation in his eyes. He struggles to speak, just like before, but with the way he shakes his head, you can already tell what he is trying to convey. "I have to, Joel. I have to! I'll... I'll lead them away, and if... if I don't come back, then that'll give you both enough time to get on Callus and start back to Jackson."

His eyes plead with you, but you turn away, and Ellie's face is panic-stricken in the same way.

"They'll fucking kill you!" Ellie argues. "We need to stay. We can't go without you!"

"You have to, Ellie. You have to."

Another firm tug on your coat, and you turn back to look at Joel. His eyes are watery, and his mouth opens, but all he can utter is, "Stay."

You shake your head, fighting back your own tears. "It's going to be okay. I'll... I'll find my way back to Jackson somehow."

He shakes his head, and you bite your lip to hold back a sob. You reach down, intertwining your fingers. He holds them without a second thought, and then you squeeze.

Once. I.

Twice. Love.

Thrice. You.

Through your tears, you manage a smile as his body tenses in realization. Before he can react, you gently pull away from his grip and stand up, taking your rifle in stride. You can't bring yourself to look back at Joel, even as you hear him attempt to utter your name numerous times in a hoarse voice. It's torture, but you force yourself to hold back.

"Ellie." You stand in front of her, and she avoids meeting your eyes until you gently place a hand on her shoulder. That's when you notice the tears swimming in her eyes. "It's going to be okay, okay?"

Her lip wobbles, but she nods, replying shakily, "Yeah."

"You're so special, Ellie. You're going to change the world; I already know it." You assure her softly, cupping her cheek. She leans into the touch—the gentlest she's ever known. "But do as I said, alright? Don't you dare follow me. Stay with Joel, give him another dose of the penicillin, and get both of you back on Callus if I don't make it back. Then, just get the fuck out of here. Don't look back, okay? Not for a second."

She attempts to say your name in a pleading tone, but you silence her with a shake of your head.

"Promise me, Ellie," you implore. "Promise me that you will not follow me, please."

She nods, and her lip trembles so much that you can't resist pulling the teenager into your arms. One of your arms wraps around her shoulder, while your other hand rests against her ponytail, running your fingers through her dark locks as if for the last time. Neither of you had ever embraced each other before, but it feels right now. Ellie means something to you now. Joel means something to you now. You have to do this for them.

"I have to go," you murmur, gently pulling away from the hug. Ellie frantically wipes away the tears sliding down her cheeks as you smile sadly at her. Without finding the strength to turn around and say a proper goodbye, you rush up the staircase, closing the door behind you. Leaning against it, you let out a soft sob, grappling with the thought of never seeing either of them again. Yet, you'd rather have them lose you than for you to lose them. You scan the room hurriedly, searching for something to block the door and buy them some time.

Your eyes land on a heavy-looking wooden table pushed against the wall. With a surge of adrenaline, you grip the table's edge, your muscles straining as you drag it towards the door. The weight feels immense, but you refuse to let it defeat you. Sweat beads on your forehead as you finally position the table in front of the door, wedging it against the frame as best you can. It may not hold for long, but it's all you can do in this moment.

Pressing your hand against the door as a silent goodbye, you make your way out of the house, determined to end this.

©️sunkiss3dlily, 2024.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

On September 22, I'm (virtually) presenting at the DIG Festival in Modena, Italy. On September 27, I'll be at Chevalier's Books in Los Angeles with Brian Merchant for a joint launch for my new book The Internet Con and his new book, Blood in the Machine.

It's been 21 years since Bill Willingham launched Fables, his 110-issue, wide-ranging, delightful and brilliantly crafted author-owned comic series that imagines that the folkloric figures of the world's fairytales are real people, who live in a secret society whose internal struggles and intersections with the mundane world are the source of endless drama.

Fables is a DC Comics title; DC is division of the massive entertainment conglomerate Warners, which is, in turn, part of the Warner/Discovery empire, a rapacious corporate behemoth whose screenwriters have been on strike for 137 days (and counting). DC is part of a comics duopoly; its rival, Marvel, is a division of the Disney/Fox juggernaut, whose writers are also on strike.

The DC that Willingham bargained with at the turn of the century isn't the DC that he bargains with now. Back then, DC was still subject to a modicum of discipline from competition; its corporate owner's shareholders had not yet acquired today's appetite for meteoric returns on investment of the sort that can only be achieved through wage-theft and price-gouging.

In the years since, DC – like so many other corporations – participated in an orgy of mergers as its sector devoured itself. The collapse of comics into a duopoly owned by studios from an oligopoly had profound implications for the entire sector, from comic shops to comic cons. Monopoly breeds monopoly, and the capture of the entire comics distribution system by a single company – Diamond – was attended by the capture of the entire digital comics market by a single company, Amazon, who enshittified its Comixology division, driving creators and publishers into Kindle Direct Publishing, a gig-work platform that replicates the company's notoriously exploitative labor practices for creative workers. Today, Comixology is a ghost-town, its former employees axed in a mass layoff earlier this year:

https://gizmodo.com/amazon-layoffs-comixology-1850007216

When giant corporations effect these mergers, they do so with a kind of procedural kabuki, insisting that they are dotting every i and crossing every t, creating a new legal entity whose fictional backstory is a perfect, airtight bubble, a canon with not a single continuity bug. This performance of seriousness is belied by the behind-the-scenes chaos that these corporate shifts entail – think of the way that the banks that bought and sold our mortgages in the run-up to the 2008 crisis eventually lost the deeds to our houses, and then just pretended they were legally entitled to collect money from us every month – and steal our houses if we refused to pay:

https://www.reuters.com/article/idINIndia-58325420110720

Or think of the debt collection industry, which maintains a pretense of careful record-keeping as the basis for hounding and threatening people, but which is, in reality, a barely coherent trade in spreadsheets whose claims to our money are matters of faith:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/12/do-not-pay/#fair-debt-collection-practices-act

For usury, the chaos is a feature, not a bug. Their corporate strategists take the position that any ambiguity should be automatically resolved in their favor, with the burden of proof on accused debtors, not the debt collectors. The scumbags who lost your deed and stole your house say that it's up to you to prove that you own it. And since you've just been rendered homeless, you don't even have a house to secure a loan you might use to pay a lawyer to go to court.

It's not solely that the usurers want to cheat you – it's that they can make more money if they don't pay for meticulous record-keeping, and if that means that they sometimes cheat us, that's our problem, not theirs.

While this is very obvious in the usury sector, it's also true of other kinds of massive mergers that create unfathomnably vast conglomerates. The "curse of bigness" is real, but who gets cursed is a matter of power, and big companies have a lot more power.

The chaos, in other words, is a feature and not a bug. It provides cover for contract-violating conduct, up to and including wage-theft. Remember when Disney/Marvel stole money from beloved science fiction giant Alan Dean Foster, whose original Star Wars novelization was hugely influential on George Lucas, who changed the movie to match Foster's ideas?

Disney claimed that when it acquired Lucasfilm, it only acquired its assets, but not its liabilities. That meant that while it continued to hold Foster's license to publish his novel, they were not bound by an obligation to pay Foster for this license, since that liability was retained by the (now defunct) original company:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/30/disney-still-must-pay/#pay-the-writer

For Disney, this wage-theft (and many others like it, affecting writers with less fame and clout than Foster) was greatly assisted by the chaos of scale. The chimera of Lucas/Disney had no definitive responsible party who could be dragged into a discussion. The endless corporate shuffling that is normal in giant companies meant that anyone who might credibly called to account for the theft could be transfered or laid off overnight, with no obvious successor. The actual paperwork itself was hard for anyone to lay hands on, since the relevant records had been physically transported and re-stored subsequent to the merger. And, of course, the company itself was so big and powerful that it was hard for Foster and his agent to raise a credible threat.

I've experienced versions of this myself: every book contract I've ever signed stipulated that my ebooks could not be published with DRM. But one of my publishers – a boutique press that published my collection Overclocked – collapsed along with most of its competitors, the same week my book was published (its distributor, Publishers Group West, went bankrupt after its parent company, Advanced Marketing Services, imploded in a shower of fraud and criminality).

The publisher was merged with several others, and then several more, and then several more – until it ended up a division of the Big Five publisher Hachette, who repeatedly, "accidentally" pushed my book into retail channels with DRM. I don't think Hachette deliberately set out to screw me over, but the fact that Hachette is (by far) the most doctrinaire proponent of DRM meant that when the chaos of its agglomerated state resulted in my being cheated, it was a happy accident.

(The Hachette story has a happy ending; I took the book back from them and sold it to Blackstone Publishing, who brought out a new expanded edition to accompany a DRM-free audiobook and ebook):

https://www.blackstonepublishing.com/overclocked-bvej.html

Willingham, too, has been affected by the curse of bigness. The DC he bargained with at the outset of Fables made a raft of binding promises to him: he would have approval over artists and covers and formats for new collections, and he would own the "IP" for the series, meaning the copyrights vested in the scripts, storylines, characters (he might also have retained rights to some trademarks).

But as DC grew, it made mistakes. Willingham's hard-fought, unique deal with the publisher was atypical. A giant publisher realizes its efficiencies through standardized processes. Willingham's books didn't fit into that standard process, and so, repeatedly, the publisher broke its promises to him.

At first, Willingham's contacts at the publisher were contrite when he caught them at this. In his press-release on the matter, Willingham calls them "honest men and women of integrity [who] interpreted the details of that agreement fairly and above-board":

https://billwillingham.substack.com/p/willingham-sends-fables-into-the

But as the company grew larger, these counterparties were replaced by corporate cogs who were ever-more-distant from his original, creator-friendly deal. What's more, DC's treatment of its other creators grew shabbier at each turn (a dear friend who has written for DC for decades is still getting the same page-rate as they got in the early 2000s), so Willingham's deal grew more exceptional as time went by. That meant that when Willingham got the "default" treatment, it was progressively farther from what his contract entitled him to.

The company repeatedly – and conveniently – forgot that Willingham had the final say over the destiny of his books. They illegally sublicensed a game adapted from his books, and then, when he objected, tried to make renegotiating his deal a condition of being properly compensated for this theft. Even after he won that fight, the company tried to cheat him and then cover it up by binding him to a nondisclosure agreement.

This was the culmination of a string of wage-thefts in which the company misreported his royalties and had to be dragged into paying him his due. When the company "practically dared" Willingham to sue ("knowing it would be a long and debilitating process") he snapped.

Rather than fight Warner, Willingham has embarked on what JWZ calls an act of "absolute table-flip badassery" – he has announced that Fables will hereafter be in the public domain, available for anyone to adapt commercially, in works that compete with whatever DC might be offering.

Now, this is huge, and it's also shrewd. It's the kind of thing that will bring lots of attention on Warner's fraudulent dealings with its creative workforce, at a moment where the company is losing a public relations battle to the workers picketing in front of its gates. It constitutes a poison pill that is eminently satisfying to contemplate. It's delicious.

But it's also muddy. Willingham has since clarified that his public domain dedication means that the public can't reproduce the existing comics. That's not surprising; while Willingham doesn't say so, it's vanishingly unlikely that he owns the copyrights to the artwork created by other artists (Willingham is also a talented illustrator, but collaborated with a who's-who of comics greats for Fables). He may or may not have control over trademarks, from the Fables wordmark to any trademark interests in the character designs. He certainly doesn't have control over the trademarked logos for Warner and DC that adorn the books.

When Willingham says he is releasing the "IP" to his comic, he is using the phrase in its commercial sense, not its legal sense. When business people speak of "owning IP," they mean that they believe they have the legal right to control the conduct of their competitors, critics and customers:

https://locusmag.com/2020/09/cory-doctorow-ip/

The problem is that this doesn't correspond to the legal concept of IP, because IP isn't actually a legal concept. While there are plenty of "IP lawyers" and even "IP law firms," there is no "IP law." There are many laws that are lumped together under "IP," including the big three (trademark, copyright and patent), but also a bestiary of obscure cousins and subspecies – trade dress, trade secrecy, service marks, noncompetes, nondisclosues, anticirumvention rights, sui generis "neighboring rights" and so on.

The job of an "IP lawyer" is to pluck individual doctrines from this incoherent scrapheap of laws and regulations and weave them together into a spider's web of tripwires that customers and critics and competitors can't avoid, and which confer upon the lawyer's client the right to sue for anything that displeases them.

When Willingham says he's releasing Fables into the public domain, it's not clear what he's releasing – and what is his to release. In the colloquial, business sense of "IP," saying you're "releasing the IP" means something like, "Feel free to create adaptations from this." But these adaptations probably can't draw too closely on the artwork, or the logos. You can probably make novelizations of the comics. Maybe you can make new comics that use the same scripts but different art. You can probably make sequels to, or spinoffs of, the existing comics, provided you come up with your own character designs.

But it's murky. Very murky. Remember, this all started because Willingham didn't have the resources or patience to tangle with the rabid attack-lawyers Warners keeps kenneled on its Burbank lot. Warners can (and may) release those same lawyers on you, even if you are likely to prevail in court, betting that you – like Willingham – won't have the resources to defend yourself.

The strange reality of "IP" rights is that they can be secured without any affirmative step on your part. Copyrights are conjured into existence the instant that a new creative work is fixed in a tangible medium and endure until the creator's has been dead for 70 years. Common-law trademarks gradually come into definition like an image appearing on photo-paper in a chemical soup, growing in definition every time they are used, even if the mark's creator never files a form with the USPTO.

These IP tripwires proliferate in the shadows, wherever doodles are sketched on napkins, wherever kindergartners apply finger-paint to construction-paper. But for all that they are continuously springing into existence, and enduring for a century or more, they are absurdly hard to give away.

This was the key insight behind the Creative Commons project: that while the internet was full of people saying "no copyright" (or just assuming the things they posted were free for others to use), the law was a universe away from their commonsense assumptions. Creative Commons licenses were painstakingly crafted by an army of international IP lawyers who set out to turn the normal IP task on its head – to create a legal document that assured critics, customers and competitors that the licensor had no means to control their conduct.

20 years on, these licenses are pretty robust. The flaws in earlier versions have been discovered and repaired in subsequent revisions. They have been adapted to multiple countries' legal systems, allowing CC users to mix-and-match works from many territories – animating Polish sprites to tell a story by a Canadian, set to music from the UK.

Willingham could clarify his "public domain" dedication by applying a Creative Commons license to Fables, but which license? That's a thorny question. What Willingham really wants here is a sampling license – a license that allows licensees to take some of the elements of his work, combine them with other parts, and make something new.

But no CC license fits that description. Every CC license applies to whole works. If you want to license the bass-line from your song but not the melody, you have to release the bass-line separately and put a CC license on that. You can't just put a CC license on the song with an asterisked footnote that reads "just the bass, though."

CC had a sampling license: the "Sampling Plus 1.0" license. It was a mess. Licensees couldn't figure out what parts of works they were allowed to use, and licensors couldn't figure out how to coney that. It's been "retired."

https://creativecommons.org/licenses/sampling+/1.0/

So maybe Willingham should create his own bespoke license for Fables. That may be what he has to do, in fact. But boy is that a fraught business. Remember the army of top-notch lawyers who created the CC licenses? They missed a crucial bug in the first three versions of the license, and billions of works have been licensed under those earlier versions. This has enabled a mob of crooked copyleft trolls (like Pixsy) to prey on the unwary, raking in a fortune:

https://doctorow.medium.com/a-bug-in-early-creative-commons-licenses-has-enabled-a-new-breed-of-superpredator-5f6360713299

Making a bug-free license is hard. A failure on Willingham's part to correctly enumerate or convey the limitations of such a license – to list which parts of Fables DC might sue you for using – could result in downstream users having their hard work censored out of existence by legal threats. Indeed, that's the best case scenario – defects in a license could result in downstream users, their collaborators, investors, and distributors being sued for millions of dollars, costing them everything they have, up to and including their homes.

Which isn't to say that this is dead on arrival – far from it! Just that there is work to be done. I can't speak for Creative Commons (it's been more than 20 years since I was their EU Director), but I'm positive that there are copyfighting lawyers out there who'd love to work on a project like this.

I think Willingham is onto something here. After all, Fables is built on the public domain. As Willingham writes in his release: "The current laws are a mishmash of unethical backroom deals to keep trademarks and copyrights in the hands of large corporations, who can largely afford to buy the outcomes they want."

Willingham describes how his participation in the entertainment industry has made him more skeptical of IP, not less. He proposes capping copyright at 20 years, with a single, 10-year extension for works that are sold onto third parties. This would be pretty good industrial policy – almost no works are commercially viable after just 14 years:

https://rufuspollock.com/papers/optimal_copyright.pdf

But there are massive structural barriers to realizing such a policy, the biggest being that the US had tied its own hands by insisting that long copyright terms be required in the trade deals it imposed on other countries, thereby binding itself to these farcically long copyright terms.

But there is another policy lever American creators can and should yank on to partially resolve this: Termination. The 1976 Copyright Act established the right for any creator to "terminate" the "transfer" of any copyrighted work after 30 years, by filing papers with the Copyright Office. This process is unduly onerous, and the Authors Alliance (where I'm a volunteer advisor) has created a tool to simplify it:

https://www.authorsalliance.org/resources/rights-reversion-portal/

Termination is deliberately obscure, but it's incredibly powerful. The copyright scholar Rebecca Giblin has studied this extensively, helping to produce the most complete report on how termination has been used by creators of all types:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/10/04/avoidance-is-evasion/#reverted

Writers, musicians and other artists have used termination to unilaterally cancel the crummy deals they had crammed down their throats 30 years ago and either re-sell their works on better terms or make them available directly to the public. Every George Clinton song, every Sweet Valley High novel, and the early works of Steven King have all be terminated and returned to their creators.

Copyright termination should and could be improved. Giblin and I wrote a whole-ass book about this and related subjects, Chokepoint Capitalism, which not only details the scams that writers like Willingham are subject to, but also devotes fully half its length to presenting detailed, technical, shovel-ready proposals for making life better for creators:

https://chokepointcapitalism.com/

Willingham is doing something important here. Larger and larger entertainment firms offer shabbier and shabbier treatment to creative workers, as striking members of the WGA and SAG-AFTRA can attest. Over the past year, I've seen a sharp increase in the presence of absolutely unconscionable clauses in the contracts I'm offered by publishers:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/06/27/reps-and-warranties/#i-agree

I'm six months into negotiating a contract for a 300 word piece I wrote for a magazine I started contributing to in 1992. At issue is that they insist that I assign film rights and patent rights from my work as a condition of publication. Needless to say, there are no patentable inventions nor film ideas in this article, but they refuse to vary the contract, to the obvious chagrin of the editor who commissioned me.

Why won't they grant a variance? Why, they are so large – the magazine is part of a global conglomerate – that it would be impractical for them to track exceptions to this completely fucking batshit clause. In other words: we can't strike this batshit clause because we decided that from now on, all out contracts will have batshit clauses.

The performance of administrative competence – and the tactical deployment of administrative chaos – among giant entertainment companies is grotesque, but every now and again, it backfires.

That's what's happening at Marvel right now. The estates of Marvel founder Stan Lee and its seminal creator Steve Ditko are suing Marvel to terminate the transfer of both creators' characters to Marvel. If they succeed, Marvel will lose most of its most profitable characters, including Iron Man:

https://www.reuters.com/legal/marvel-artists-estate-ask-pre-trial-wins-superhero-copyright-fight-2023-05-22/

They're following in the trail of the Jack Kirby estate, whom Marvel paid millions to rather than taking their chances with the Supreme Court.

Marvel was always an administrative mess, repeatedly going bankrupt. Its deals with its creators were indifferently papered over, and then Marvel lost a lot of the paperwork. I'd bet anything that many of the key documents Disney (Marvel's owner) needs to prevail over Lee and Ditko are either unlocatable or destroyed – or never existed in the first place.

A more muscular termination right – say, one that kicks in after 20 years, and is automatic – would turn circuses like Marvel-Lee/Ditko into real class struggles. Rather than having the heirs of creators reaping the benefit of termination, we could make termination into a system for getting creators themselves paid.

In the meantime, there's Willingham's "absolute table-flip badassery."

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/09/15/fairy-use-tales/#sampling-license

Image: Tom Mrazek (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:An_Open_Field_%2827220830251%29.jpg

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/deed.en

--

Penguin Random House (modified) https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/707161/fables-20th-anniversary-box-set-by-bill-willingham/

Fair use https://www.eff.org/issues/intellectual-property

[alex51324]

Already seeing some rancid takes on Con's new interview about OFMD S2, so here are some points to ponder:

As was pointed out when the strike first ended, we are not owed, and should not expect, complete candor from the actors. Doing press is part of the job, to promote the project, and focusing on positive aspects is expected & customary.

That doesn't mean that Con is necessarily lying through his teeth when he says, " I have nothing but love, respect, and faith in David Jenkins. Trust him. He knows what he’s doing." It could be anywhere along the range from that, to he absolutely 1000% means it with his whole chest.

(And we really shouldn't try to read the tea leaves about which is it, because even a convincing rumor of "Oh, yeah, Con totally tipped us off that he thought it was dogshit" could have professional consequences for Mr. O'Neill in real life.)

But--

At the same time, we do not owe Con (and I'm sure he does not expect) the last word on how we feel about S2 in general and Izzy's ending in particular. Con (presumably) knows things about David Jenkins's vision for the season (and/or plans for season 3), that we do not know. That's fair, but it's also fair for us to evaluate what we actually saw.

If there's something we don't know, which (if we knew it) would make Izzy's death (and the season as a whole) work better, then--why don't we know it?

A choice was made to not show that information, and (given the way TV production works) it was probably a group decision, but the buck ultimately stops with the showrunner. He presumably didn't intend for the season finale to alienate a large (and vocal) swathe of the audience, but it abso-fucking-lutely did, so it's fair to ask what he was trying to do, and speculate about he could have done differently to have the effect on the audience that he wanted to have.

In terms of my personal reaction, I've kind of been swinging around wildly, but the basic throughline is that I suppose it might be possible for David Jenkins to dig himself and his show out of the hole he's put them in, but I'm having a lot of trouble seeing how. Especially if we add the caveat that it's a "this is what was intended and planned for all along" thing, and not an "oops, our bad" retcon.

But I'm willing to be proved wrong about that! As I've said before, maybe the little wooden boy really can pull it off. Middle installments of trilogies are notoriously hard, and sometimes they improve once part 3 is in place.

I don't think this new interview is anything game changing, but it could be a point on the optimistic side of the ledger. Maybe David Jenkins really does have a plan! Maybe he'll even be able to carry it out (even though, from all appearances, the plan for S2 seems to have had an "It's September 1st, boss"-sized hole in it)!

But ultimately, I'll believe it when I see it.

[mania-sama]

i thought i could escape (but it's fate i've come to find)

Shadow Of Mine - Alec Benjamin

➼ information ❧ Call of Duty ❧ Pairing: John "Soap" MacTavish/Simon "Ghost" Riley ❧ Tags: character study, stabbing, hurt! ghost, angst with a happy ending, past child abuse, post-mw2, hurt/comfort, hurt! soap ❧ Summary: When Simon Riley was a child, his mother told him an ancient legend. When you are born, a shadow is born alongside you. As you grow older, it grows. And when it becomes strong enough, it will hunt you down. It was about time Ghost met his shadow. ❧ Word Count: 3,771 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 31 December 2022

As his breath flowed out of his balaclava and crystallized in the air, Simon realized he wasn’t alone.

Ghost retained very little memories of his childhood. He remembered them most at night, when his nightmares prayed on his unconscious mind. In the daytime, he could recall his mother brushing his hair and whispering sweet nothings into his ear, her voice soothing the beating of his heart as his father lurked around the corner.

Sometimes she told him stories. The one she told him only once was the one he remembered most vividly, the memory never diminishing even as time threatened to wear it down. It was his favorite story, not because it reminded him of his sweet, loving mother, but because it sent true anticipation into his veins. It wound him up like a spring, ready to snap at the first hint of danger.

Ghost wasn’t a name he achieved by just being a good soldier. He was violent, relentless, and most importantly, unable to track. If he wanted to slip away from a situation, he could do so flawlessly. If he was in a fight, he would take down all of his offenders and leave nothing to prove he was ever there at all. Getting captured was never a mistake. When someone caught him, it was because Ghost let them.

He was a poltergeist, killing silently and leaving no trace. That’s what had earned him the name Ghost.

Task Force 141’s rendezvous point was far enough from the city that, if they were to be tracked, they could fend off their attacker without leading them straight to their base. Despite doing everything as correctly as he normally did, Ghost had been followed.

When a living being is brought into this world, it is born with a shadow. The story had scared him as a child. Now, as a soldier who’d lived through the worst the world could shove at him, he only felt adrenaline.

Only one person was on his tail, matching him step for step somewhere in the surrounding wilderness. The sounds of the forest did well to hide their feet crunching the snow, but Ghost had a sixth sense. He could tell when other poltergeists were on the hunt, haunting grounds just like he did.

His communications device had broken during the mission, but it hadn’t been a big deal at the time. His team had faith in him to make it back to the rendezvous point in good time. Besides, he was used to working alone and in silence, only relying on himself and his surroundings. It was almost comforting.

His mother’s voice whispered in his ear. I have a shadow. Your father has one, and you do, too. As you grow older, your shadow will evolve with you.

Ghost had thought, at one point, that he was simply his father’s shadow. It wasn’t until he’d beat his old man half to death and kicked him out of the house that he realized he was incorrect. If he had been his father’s shadow, Ghost would have killed him without hesitation.

The white world softened all noise and, with a turning stomach, Ghost failed to detect when his stalker had slipped away. His sixth sense still tingled, but he’d lost where they had been in the forest.

“I’m not going to play this game,” he called. His voice shook the trees of their snow and scared away a small bird. His grip on his gun tightened, though there was nothing to aim at. “Take your shot now and get it over with.”

Ghost was untraceable. He had been abused and betrayed but never tracked. He was a ghost through and through. Nothing ordinary could see his apparition.

Until one day, she said, it will become strong enough to find you.

The first hit came as a strike to his shoulder, right beside the strap of his vest. There hadn’t been a bang, and the metal sticking out of his flesh wasn’t a bullet. Instead of pulling out the star-shaped weapon, he aimed his rifle towards where the shuriken had been thrown. The sound of his shot reverberated through the forest, but it did not hit its target.

The second hit was in his calf. Most of the extra padding in his uniform was around his torso and thighs, as well as the protection of his skull from his mask. So his calves were exposed, outside of a fabric layer, and left it easy to puncture and bleed. The shuriken had sunk itself deep into his flesh.

Pain exploded in his leg, but he ignored it. Things like that became easy overtime if you went through enough torment. “Coward,” he seethed through clenched teeth, shooting in the new direction. He knew his shot had missed when he heard it bury itself into a tree.

The third hit sank into his hip, stuck in between sliver area where there wasn’t padding between his thigh and torso. This was almost a bit of fun to his stalker, apparently, showing off their skill while hidden in the white snow and evergreen trees.

Then, he finally saw his assailant. They smiled, their lips being one of the only true features Ghost could truly make out. He aimed and fired, but by the time the bullet left the barrel, they were long gone from the tree they had been perched in. The fourth hit was in his other shoulder, an exact replica of the first hit.

That lit a fire in his gut.

“Come out, then! These won’t do anything unless you take them out, so come do it!” Ghost yelled into the forest. What he said wasn’t wrong, though if he was hit in a vital area, he would actually have something to really worry about.

He didn’t appreciate being toyed with. They had already proven their capabilities with aiming, and with four pieces of metal sticking out of his body, Ghost knew he wouldn’t be able to outrun them. If they continued like this, he would eventually run out of ammo. He shot towards where an echoed laugh came from. 

Another star-shaped weapon lodged directly into the muzzle of his rifle as he was staring down the scope, splintering the barrel with a crack. Well, shit. His gun was out of commission, then; one shot and it would explode in his face. He had to bring them down to his level.

He’d been in worse odds.

It will try to kill you with everything it has. The more sins you commit, the stronger and more bloodthirsty it will be.

Bloodthirsty was a big word for a child as young as he was, even though he’d already seen what the word meant with his own two eyes.

He never thought Manuel Roba was his shadow. That man wanted him alive, for the most part. Burying Ghost had been a futile attempt at killing him. There was no real effort put in, but rather leaving nature to be his murderer. It had failed, since Roba had not understood Ghost’s will to survive.

Roba had not been Simon’s shadow, and he had proved that by putting a bullet through his brain.

But this person, the one who had tracked Ghost and remained hidden in the trees, had already broken his gun. Unless they had a gun, no bullet would find its way in their skeleton.

The mission hadn’t been without an injury. While Ghost himself had come out unharmed, he knew one of them had not. Johnny. One of the best their task force had, and yet he’d sustained a heavy leg injury. Gaz and Price were the ones that helped him out of the city, but it didn’t stop a coil of urgency to set in his body.

If Ghost took too long, they wouldn’t be able to treat the injury in time, and his leg became permanently damaged. If that happened, they’d lose one of their best. Ghost stamped out the part of him that gnashed ugly teeth made of pounding hearts and sweating palms that weren’t from the adrenaline of battle.

He’d done well to ignore that viscous animal inside of his brain ever since he’d met Soap. He wasn’t going to let it loose now, not that very same person needed him to get a move on.

Despite its inability to fire, Ghost kept his hands on his firearm. He positioned it so it covered some of the unpadded areas of his front body. If anything, it could be used as a shield.

Snow crunched loudly directly behind him, and Ghost turned around fast enough to give any untrained person whiplash. Standing calmly, a shuriken resting between their fingers, was a masked soldier. Their entire face was covered in a black balaclava aside from their mouth, which was spread wide in a grin. If his gun hadn’t been splintered, there would’ve been a bullet on their lips.

Instead, he settled on reaching for one of his knives— long, stained with blood, and made to kill.

“Ghost,” they said. It was impossible to tell gender by their voice and physique, able to say either and it would be viable. The Middle Eastern accent wasn’t helping. “Embarrassing performance. I expected much more.”

They dropped their weapon on the ground, just as Ghost had. He wondered how they could see, what with their eyes being covered. The train of thought didn’t last very long as he began a calculated rush at his assailant.

Once it comes for you, you must defend yourself with equal vigor.

Anger didn’t blind him. He wasn’t goaded on by the mocking taunts. He was level-headed and sure of his movements, the adrenaline of a fight kicking him into cruise control.

Yet, the metal sticking out of his shoulders lodged themselves deeper into his body as the soldier blocked the attack with his own knife. It was a throwing knife, short and clean, yet made to kill just like the rest of them.

Blades were Ghost’s speciality. He’d trained with them against his will since he’d been small, but instead of abandoning them in adulthood, he’d become their companion. He may not have understood shurikens , but knives? Knives were the oxygen he breathed, the iron in his blood, and the chemicals in his brain.

The throwing portion of the knife would be of little use for them. Ghost intended to keep it entirely close quarters to get a handle on their knife to turn it against them. Deflect. Stab. Swipe. Deflect. It had a perfect rhythm that Simon relished in.

Ghost didn’t underestimate his opponents; that would get him killed eventually. More importantly, he didn’t lose knife fights. But they had started to grapple, and the moment he was on his back, the shuriken in his calf was driven to the bone. Searing hot pain flashed through his vision, and that single moment of unclarity allowed the other soldier to straddle him.

The shuriken in his hip matched the one in his calf, sending his nerve endings in a flare. The ones in his shoulders threatened to loosen the grip he had on his blade, but he remained steady. If he didn’t have his fingers in commission, he would be done for.

They were of equal strength and ability. Their fight had lasted longer than any normal one.

Simon, do not be afraid. As long as you keep your hands clean, your shadow will not be strong enough to kill you. Perhaps you will even make friends with it.

Ghost bucked, successfully throwing off the incoming blade. However, the butt of their knife collided harshly with his skull mask, cracking it right down the middle. Between the metal in his body and his now pounding headache, the first hints of true anger set into his bones.

Emotions were a nuisance. They clouded his judgment and threw him off kilter. He’d shut them off long ago, but when they came back, they did so with full force.

It wasn’t just anger. It was a deep-seeded fear that tried to butt its head to the surface every time he took off his mask and showed his face. He was afraid, afraid of the fact that he was losing the knife fight.

But mamma, what if I do bad things in my life?

He successfully rolled them over, but it didn’t last for long. They blocked his direct attempt at their neck, switching their positions. Distantly, he recognized that the shurikens were blocking blood flow to his head and the rest of his body. Parts of his body were going numb as his heart couldn’t get blood to them.

Then it will be very strong, and you will have to fight it, darling.

For a while, Simon thought John “Soap” MacTavish was his shadow.

Soap didn’t aim for his heart with a rifle or a knife. He didn’t kick or scratch or abuse Ghost like all of the other potential shadows had. Instead, Soap had taken a shovel and dug up his heart from where Ghost had buried it underground. He had done so to protect himself from getting hurt again, and from hurting others. Because anything he had ever loved turned to ash underneath his fingertips.

His heart was buried for the greater good. But Johnny had presented Ghost with that dirt-covered heart, shovel in hand and a shit-eating grin plastered over his face. As long as he had his heart in his hands, he could crush it at any moment. It was then, Simon had concluded, that John “Soap” MacTvaish was his shadow.

It had taken too long for Soap to kill him. There had been so many chances, so many opportunities to crush his heart. Get killed in action and stamp Ghost’s heart back into the ground. Leave the military behind and forget all about Task Force 141, squeezing his heart until it pops. Find a nice girl to cozy up with and show Ghost that he was imagining all of the tender moments they’d shared, driving a stake through his heart.

Soap wasn’t his shadow, even though it sure as hell seemed like it for the longest time.

After that, he considered if he was Soap’s shadow, destined to break his heart in all the ways that Ghost had imagined Soap doing to his own. Maybe he would just knock him down and shoot him in the back of his head one day, not giving him enough time to process the betrayal.

He had only thought that for a brief amount of time. A day or two at the most. Then he realized that Soap couldn’t have built up a shadow like Ghost. He was too good of a man who had committed too little sins, even in their line of work. His shadow would be violent, sure, but it wouldn’t be a poltergeist.

So that left Simon’s true shadow yet to be found. The knife, gleaming in the moonlight, came arching down on Ghost’s face.

There is one thing they don’t tell you about shadows, Simon.

His shadow’s smile was sickly. Ghost shifted his head in a vein attempt to stop the oncoming blade from hitting its mark. His arms were barely holding on to his own knife. Several of them had been discarded in their fight, both from him and his opponent. His head was woozy and he could barely think straight.

Their one goal in life is to kill you. They don’t have attachments, and they don’t have anything to live for.

They cut straight through his mask and cheek entirely. The knife’s edge grazed his teeth and stuck into the ground next to where his eyes had once been.

As long as you have something to live for, something to cling to, then you are better than your shadow.

He let that viscous animal out of its cage, the one that gnashed its teeth and only wanted love. It chomped down on his brain and thrashed.

And you will win your fight against it, no matter the odds.

Above him, he heard a strangled gasp. It took one, two, three seconds before his shadow collapsed directly on top of Ghost, the handle of a black knife protruding from their back. His aim had been sharp and true. He didn’t have to pull the weapon out to know it had pierced their heart.

All he could imagine as he pushed the dead soldier off of him and into the dark, soiled snow, was Johnny’s leg. How he wouldn’t be able to walk if Simon died before he could get to their rendezvous site. He ignored the knives littering the ground and pulled out his first-aid kit. There was very little aid inside, just enough to prevent one serious injury from killing someone immediately.

His shaky hands didn’t accomplish much. He wrapped gauze around his mouth as he bled directly onto his tongue and snow. He had to be careful to not move his jaw, lest he tear his cheek open more than it already was. Head tilted down to keep the blood flowing into the gauze and out of his throat, he limped in what he assumed was the right direction.

Up was down, left was right, and the snow collided with Ghost’s face as he fell to the ground. He didn’t know how long he had walked for. He couldn’t feel anything anymore, outside of the copper taste on his tongue. It was a nasty wound. Bits of the wrap had come off from how soggy it was. His arms weren’t quite working anymore, and neither were his legs.

But he crawled, and he crawled, and he crawled until he saw headlights. He couldn’t hear them shouting his name, but he could see them. He couldn’t feel them turn him over to examine him, but he could see that they were missing one soldier, the one that carried his heart.

The white world turned black.

–

“You saved my life.”

From his chair in the hospital room, Soap stared incredulously at Ghost. His leg was in a cast, but it would make a full recovery within a couple of months. The team had been able to bind Soap’s leg well enough that the time it took to get professional treatment was inconsequential.

“I was the only one not out helping you,” he said, eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed tightly in front of his chest. That much was true. What Ghost hadn’t remembered, the team had filled him in on.

Soap had been stretched out in one of the two cars waiting to take the team away from the city, letting his leg rest. They had waited for a concerning amount of time, and just as they were about to send Gaz out to try and locate Ghost, he’d crawled in front of their headlights.

Similar to Soap, they laid Ghost out in the back of the car so he wouldn’t agitate any of the wounds, and the others stuffed themselves into any place they could in the cars. Then, they had broken just about every single traffic law in the country to get to somewhere that Ghost and Soap could be treated safely.

He had been told that he’d almost died. Almost. Ghost could believe it; it wouldn’t be the first time Death had him in its clutches.

Soap huffed. “I think you’re full o’ shit.”

There had been very few people allowed in his room since he’d woken up, and half of them were nurses and doctors. His mask had been discarded in order to let his face wound heal correctly, and he wasn’t comfortable with so many people able to see his face at one time.

The staff had to take pictures of wounds that people were brought into the hospital for. It was protocol, and Ghost knew this. As soon as he had been given the chance, he asked to see his pictures. Whatever he had been expecting, it had been so much worse.

It looked like something straight out of a horror movie. His entire cheek had been cut open, stretching from the edge of his mouth all the way to his jawbone. It revealed the insides of his mouth, which had been coated in dirt, snow, blood, and what looked like a few maggots. He couldn’t be entirely sure, but it was positively horrifying.

It was stitched up now, but it still hurt like a motherfucker. He figured it would for a while.

“I had been followed, Johnny.” Ghost had been asked to give a debrief of his fight multiple times, but he’d feigned ignorance for each one of them. He’d let the monster out of its cage, and it was still biting everything it could.

It only settled down when it saw Soap. “You? Followed? I think you’re pulling m’ leg.”

For once, Ghost was happy he didn’t die. Unfortunately, he feared he would actually miss that horrendous Scottish accent. “Believe whatever you want, but what I’m saying is true,” he said. “I met my match.”

“You survived, L.t..”

“Barely.” His heart was beating in Soap’s hands, the other man’s fingers coiled around it in a bloody mess. This was going to be painful. “My mother told me a story once, about shadows.”

The hospital room smelled of antiseptics and bleach, and Soap wasn’t wearing his military attire. He was dressed casually, like he was visiting a friend and not a broken, traumatized soldier.

He didn’t talk about his mother to anyone. The blood was seeping between Soap’s fingers.

It had taken him a week to be allowed to talk again, and a couple days more to get used to the pain. Yet, in the words that spilled out of his mouth, he found it easy to ignore the pain. He was too focused on watching his heart beat and how Johnny chose to hold it. He could only observe as his fingers became tight on his organ when Simon told him just how he’d killed his shadow.

Then, he gently caressed his heart with that same shit-eating grin.

“If I ever meet my shadow,” Soap said, and his face was lit with the most joy Ghost had ever seen. It was beautiful. “I think our fight would be just like yours. Especially the ending.”

Even though Ghost’s cheek was stitched and he was confined to his hospital bed until he was ready for physical therapy, even though Soap had a fractured leg and a million scars, and even though they were both children born from blood and ash, they kissed as though love was all they’d ever known.

[hanzajesthanza]

my attempts to avoid thoughts of geralt's hanza continue to fail, as sapkowski talks about them in front of my face.

(from manuscript, on the subject of the hero and the quest):

On this expedition, the Hero (Simple or King) is accompanied by others who are stereotypical-canonical fantasy characters, in other words - clichés:

Wizard-Mentor (the aforementioned MERLIN, Obi-wan Kenobi, Gandalf, Allanon, Belgarath, Sephrenia or Moiraine, who supports the hero with advice and help); Faithful Servant (in the case of the King, literally, in the case of the Simple, rather a childhood friend, Sam Gamgee. He serves the plot to recite wise folk maxims and prove that the simple people are the most morally healthy; or to save the ass of his master/friend where magic and a sharp sword will not help, and common sense and a strong, faithful arm will suffice). Good Knight (charismatic LANCELOT, always loyal and ready to fight, sometimes with some dark secret in his life); Worse Knight (always with some dark secret in his life, ambitious like Boromir, in the clutches of Evil, secretly collaborates with Evil, regrets betrayal, undergoes catharsis, perishes); Trickster - Conniver (see LOKI in "Materia Magiczna"**), cheerful, but can cause trouble, which attracts like a magnet; Damsel in Distress, who is saved from danger on the way and included in the team. Usually a princess in disguise. For several volumes of the cycle she does not like the Hero, in the last she becomes his wife.

* Type A = Percival, a hero who does not have power and is searching it, and Type B = King Arthur, a hero who has lost his power and wants to regain it. in other words, Type A = Reynevan and Type B = Geralt :)

** another chapter of the book, "Materia magica, or the Little Magical Alphabetical Lexicon," it's a glossary of various myth and legend. in loki's entry, he recounts some myths of loki and equivalates him with other figures across various traditions: Odysseus, Pryderi, Bricriu, Mordred, Alyosha Popovich, Coyote, Anansi, Maui). then he lists a few fantasy/spec fic characters he categorizes as trickers: Cugel (Dying Earth), Kickaha (World of Tiers), Coyote (Coyote Blue), Peter Lake (Winter's Tale), Moonglum (Elric of Melniboné), Nifft and Haldar (Nifft the Lean), Random (Chronicles of Amber), Saruman (Lord of the Rings), Shimrod (Lyonesse), Silk (The Belgariad and The Malloreon), Gray Mouser (Fafhrd and the Gray Mouser), Talen (The Elenium).

my thoughts:

pretty obvious assignments here, for the most part.

regis is the Wizard-Mentor, but, as he soon loses his mystique, his intellectual, philosophizing manner becomes mundane and irritating than providing magical provenance. he advises incessantly, answering questions before they're asked, giving guidance when no one asked. he only appears to be omniscient, and the others may think he's so smart because he's hundreds of years older than them, but is really just a guy, a middle aged man with a troubled youth which he learned from. his advice is not magically guided and for this reason is fallable, mortal, human. maybe the cliché is also played with in that he's a vampire, not a wizard, sorcerer, or priest, "‘I see.’ The poet sighed. ‘Is Regis a sorcerer?’ ‘No. No, not a sorcerer.’" ... as vampires are typically evil and regis is decidedly a force of good. (on this topic, @wampirzielarz once compared-contrasted gandalf and regis and it was super interesting :))

dandelion is a combination of the Faithful Servant and the Trickster. he's geralt's best friend, and doesn't fight alongside him with sword but his presence is necessary to our hero for moral support, that all makes the first part an obvious assignment... and... sapkowski lists a wide variety of tricksters of various moral alignments, but amongst them are some heroes and some best friends of heroes (and anti-heroes). and asides from being geralt's closest friend, dandelion is, after all, a rascal, who uses words and good looks to get what he wants from people. "a cynic, a lecher, a womanizer and a liar." (also, because i think szarlej also fits this double-definition as well, i won't hesitate to give them to dandelion, as they serve pretty similar functions alongside their respective heroes).

milva is the Good Knight, "always loyal and ready to fight" describes her perfectly, and her 'dark secret' was her pregnancy and plans for abortion. (though, the attribution of lancelot... well, maybe this is why some keen eyes saw a potential in yenva). anyhow, the playfulness with the cliché comes from the fact that she's a woman, which is supposed to be surprising that the hero's strongest ally is a woman. i think the "charismatic" attribute is also supposed to be played with here, as milva is simple and not too well-spoken, only so in her cursing. in other words, she's a peasant woman, and not a born-and-bred nobleman. also, for her gender, she is a play on another trope sapkowski mentions a couple of pages later, but i can't go into it now because it's too funny.

cahir is the Worse Knight, though perhaps in reverse, for all of his associations with Evil was in the past and shed like sports colors when he changed teams. he has no betrayal, "I will never betray you, witcher," all of his ‘betrayal’ was before he was even allied with the hero. but of course, for these sins, he "undergoes catharsis, perishes".

the Damsel in Distress is evidentially angouleme, being "saved from danger on the way and included in the team." the rebuking of the cliché, of course, is that geralt is "genuinely angry, genuinely confused, genuinely embarrassed" when she offers her "gratitude" to him. also, that she is no princess in disguise, just an ordinary girl, though she is confused for the princess they're after (who also happens to be another play on the damsel in distress cliché). and again, like milva, i think angouleme is related to another specifically female character cliché sapkowski calls out; but i'll save it for another post.

[misscherry-26]

The Billionaire and the Stripper. CHAPTER ONE.

Summary: Billionaire businessman, Ari Levinson, seems to have everything he could ever want: wealth, power, and success. But beneath the surface, he is haunted by his troubled past and the demons that have plagued him for years. Y/N Y/L/N is a stripper struggling with dreams of a better life. She may not have much, but she knows how to survive and make the most of what she has. But when one night Ari walks into the club Y/N works at, he is immediately captivated by her presence and drawn to her in a way that he cannot explain. As they embark on a passionate and intense relationship, they must confront the challenges and obstacles of their vastly different lifestyles. Can Ari and Y/N bridge the gap between their two worlds and find a way to make their relationship work? Or will their differences prove too great to overcome, tearing them apart forever?

Pairing: Billionaire! Ari Levinson x Stripper! Reader

Warnings: Mature content. Mention of the objectification of women (slight).

Author's note: I'm so excited about this series. My officially first series and also my first time writing Ari. This maybe don't show much about them yet but next chapter we are going to have more of Ari's pov. Let me know your thoughts about this first chapt after reading it if you want. Enjoy it!!

Series Masterlist.

Y/N

Again. You sigh.

Again you will need to explain to Rita that you won’t be able to pay this month’s rent. Neither will the previous month's. But hey, this is what it is.

“I can lend you money Y/N, you know that right? And then you give it back to me when you can, there's no rush.” Leslie, your faithful co-worker who is also your best friend outside of this place, hugs you from behind. You are sitting in front of the locker room mirror, there is a small wallet on the makeup table, some money inside it, and a couple more in your hand.

"Les, no. I appreciate it but really, no."

Your friend sighs. "Why don't you let me help you?"

You turn your back to the mirror for a moment to look at her. “I am not going to take away what little you have, it is yours. enjoy it."

“If by enjoying it you mean spending it on grocery shopping to survive the whole month, Wow Y/N! What a party I'll have!" Leslie intones sarcastically as you smile, but not out of happiness or grace, more of a hopeless smile.

“Someday my friend,” she turns you around, taking you by the shoulders so that they both face the mirror, “someday, money will rain down on us, we will get out of this joint and we will achieve our goals.”

"I hope so Les, I hope so."

“Good news!” Les jumps behind you, scaring the soul out of your body.

“Dammit!” you say, even though the word is distorted because your mouth is full of food. Your dinner.

Sometimes you wish to eat at some restaurant, order food, like pizza or a big hamburger. You sigh. Clearly, some leftover pasta is going to be for now.

"Stop eating. I have a job for you baby girl." Clapping her hands she smiles and sits in front of you. "Listen, Amanda got sick so she isn't coming tonight and I heard Susan being so fucking sick with not canceling this one. This one is a new client".

"And?" You say, your mouth still filled with a new bite of your food.

"What kind of shows does Amanda do? Duh Y/n! VIP ones!"

You close your eyes, stunned. "Don't shout at me!" You laugh and cover your ears.

"Sorry," Your friend giggles and takes a pause before continuing. ”But back to the important thing, guess who will replace her? You!”

“What?” You almost choke on your food while getting up. "I can't, Les! You know I don't work in those shifts anymore since he…"

"I know, I know. Don't even mention him, okay? Don't, that's in the past. He doesn't come here anymore, and you know." She reassures you, hugging you at hitting such a sensitive topic and experience of your life. But your friend is right, that's in the past.

"Yeah, sorry I–Thank you, Les, really".

Your best friend brokes the hug and smiles. "Does this mean you are going to do it?"

You nod, silently telling her that yes. Leslie jumps and claps her hands, leaving you standing there for a second as she takes her makeup bag and puts it on your desk.

"Sit down, let's get you ready for it baby."

ARI

Patience is not a quality of the big, tall, beefy man who is sitting on the sofa in the room, whiskey in hand.

He has been waiting twenty minutes for today's supposed company. When clearly, at the entrance, he asked everything to be ready in less than ten.

Ari sighs wearily, drinking what's left in his glass. He gets up to refill it once more, taking a moment to look at the rest of the room.

The walls were stained red, except for the ceiling and floor, which were black, as dark as being lost in a forest in the middle of nowhere. From this, it hung a chandelier that gave warmth to the environment. In front of him, a stage, not a very big one, enough for one person, accompanied by the sofa in which he was sitting until a moment ago. Ari walks over to it again after getting his drink and sits down.

At that moment, the door opens.

Y/N

You can do this, you can do this, you can do this. You repeat yourself mentally. Your hands shake too much, nerves? No. Fear.

After months of so much work to move on, to overcome it on your own, as you have always done, today you feel as if it were that same day.

Knock, knock, knock.

"Y/n!! If you don't open this door now I swear you will go home without a job!!" Susan screams from the other side of the bathroom door. "Y/n!!!"

Exhausted, you get up from the toilet and wash your hands (you know that Alicia, the cleaning lady keeps them sparkling clean, but bathrooms are bathrooms).

Looking in the mirror, your smile curves, your eyes narrow. A big smile adorns your face.

Remember why you are doing this.

Stepping inside the room, she had no time to say hello.

"You are late." It's the first thing she hears.

Y/n curses mentally, of course she knows that, but instead of discussing it with the man, she smiles. Remember he pays for you to survive the day to day.

"Well, I'm here now, right?" You try to sound innocent. Stupid. That's what they all like.

" 'Course you are." He laughs, "But truth is, I don't want the show now."

Your expression drops. "What?"

You couldn't see him, not daring to get close to him. After all, you don't know him, you don't really know anyone.

They just pay you, do your job, do what they say. It's what Susan always tells you. But sometimes… sometimes you wish you could tell them only two words… They think they rule the world because they have money. They probably haven't even had to move a pinky at all since they were born.

A throat clearing draws you back to reality.

The big man, whose face is still unknown to you, stretches his arm over his back, exhaling heavily.

" 'You still here? I don't want you anymore, get out of here".

Not knowing if it was the way he said it, so selfless, so dead, like you were a toy. An object. And you can handle anything else, but that? Oh no, not that. No more.

So without thinking, you blurt out those two words you've always wanted to yell from the rooftops to all these rich bastards. Fuck you.

After hearing you, the man makes no sound in his mouth but you notice how his body tenses. So he rises from his seat, resting the half-drunk glass of whiskey on the floor and turns around to face you.

And when he does it, your heart seems to stop.

Taglist (Open): @bunnyforhim @wintasssoldier @buckysteveloki-me @magnificentsaladllama @yoruse

[shady-tavern]

Drabble for the Tailors on Baker Street

@stargotheart asked for a part two for The Tailors on Baker Street an age ago and I finally got around to writing it! Small warning ahead for implied abuse and murder.

*.*.*

Using your horrible ex-spouse's money for a good cause had only been logical and natural. There were many people in situations where they needed aid but didn't know where to go and you wanted to offer a space where they could get good counsel at the very least, if not outright a way out, be it bad relationships or debts.

You hadn't been alone in creating the charity house Daisy Chain, your friend Jane had been a massive help, as had been Julius and Milly. Their eyes had briefly lit up sunshine-gold when you had asked if you could use that particular name and you'd never forget the way they looked at you afterwards.

The way Milly had cupped your face ever so gently in her palms, thumbs smoothing over your cheeks and her smile as sweet as honey as she looked at you. Julius had taken your hand afterwards, touch soft and careful and he had lifted it to pressed a light kiss to your knuckles, gaze holding yours.

"Let us know if there is anyone who could use our particular kind of help," he had murmured, his soft lips brushing your skin and his gaze downright captivating, the color his eyes turning a dark, smoldering gold. "We'd love to take care of such cases."

You could admit to yourself then, as they had stood close to you, brimming with some kind of unnatural joy while still handling you with near intense softness, that you had started to fall in love with them. With these wonderful, strange and kind and lovely people who made you laugh until you were breathless, something you hadn't done for quite some time.

You did not care that their eyes held a golden shine, something human eyes should not have, that they sometimes whisked people into their backroom and you could never prove anything, but you had slowly pieced some things together by asking careful questions in the following days. Whenever they spoke with someone, at least a week or two later, a spouse or family member or acquaintance died.

It would have scared you in the past, before your marriage and it probably would scare others, but mostly you were...glad. That people who had no one else, who lived in darkness and fear as you had, as you still sometimes did when shadows in the shape of your deceased spouse followed at your heels, could turn to someone.

That someone would listen and do something when no one else would. If your fellow humans and the law and even faith was of no aid, there was someone else out there willing to offer a hand.

You loved them for that, too. A part of you loved Milly and Julius for caring, for seeing evil and destroying it. For extending warmth and safety to those who needed it.

That feeling of being safe around them had never disappeared either. To this day whenever you saw them, when you visited their shop or they dropped by your place in the evening, you still felt it. Warm and gentle and yet as steady and present as the sun and moon, as the tides that flowed around the world. They were safe and you were safe with them.

Tonight was the opening night for Daisy Chain and many of your former spouse's friends and acquaintances had shown up, commending you on your bravery in these trying times, as well as your altruistic, good heart.

Being widowed helped more than you had expected, though you weren't grieving at all, of course. It felt like people donated more out of pity than anything else, but you were willing to take what you could get. Especially if it ended up helping others.

Your downright decadent evening garb, made by Milly and Julius, seemed to get compliments from every single person that greeted you and even you could admit that you hadn't been dressed so finely even when your spouse had been alive. 

They had always wanted to look impeccable in the public eye and to be the envy of everyone who laid eyes upon them. Dressing you up like a decorative piece had just simply been part of that.

Milly and Julius on the other hand had hand-sewn you something so beautiful and fitting that just putting it on had given you more confidence. The second you had looked into the mirror, you felt as though you were looking at a fairy tale version of yourself. There was a shine to you that you had never seen before. 

Jane, your best friend who had been a steady source of support and cheer no matter what, had given you a very knowing grin when she had arrived with her beau. 

Milly and Julius had shown up a little while ago as well, mingling with the rich gentry, looking gorgeous and mysterious and they fit in seamlessly. Sometimes though you saw their smiles gain the faintest edge, their eyes tracking someone who you had heard unpleasant rumors about.

You regretfully didn't speak much with them, you were too busy socializing and they seemed to be doing their own little thing as well, but every so often your gazes met. Every time you felt your heart melt at the smiles they gave you. They looked proud and encouraging and so very lovely.

As the evening wound down, you found yourself glad to send your guests home, some more drunk than others. Jane was the one who ushering the last straggler out and into a waiting carriage. She waved at you with a grin and you waved back, mouthing a heartfelt 'thank you' at her.

She sketched a playful bow and mouthed 'always' back at you, before taking her beau's hand and letting him help her into their own carriage. She waved one last time as they drove away, looking tired but happy.

And then, finally, the stressful and yet very successful and exciting evening was over.

The only reason you heard Milly and Julius approach from behind was because they wanted you to hear them. Their steps still threading softer than a humans would and you knew from experience that they could walk utterly soundlessly. You looked over your shoulder at them, finding yourself relaxing fully.

"You did amazing work, darling," Milly said, voice quiet in the empty, large entrance hall and her eyes held a soft, warm golden shimmer in the candlelight. "You truly are beautiful inside and out."

"With a soul as bright as your spirit," Julius added. "Thank you, for honoring us with an invite. For letting us see you shine tonight."

This was another thing they did. They made you just a little speechless with the way they spoke with you, the easy-as-breathing compliments and sweet words and endearments. The way they looked at you. You hadn't had a desire to be close to someone in a romantic way after you had gotten married, but those two...

Within a year they had awoken many of your quiet, sweet little dreams about what love could be. You had buried those dreams upon your marriage and you had even thought them dead and gone until they had lifted your hopes back into the light.

You never wanted to marry again, but if it was them, if they would ever want you the way you had grown to want them, you'd be willing to offer up your heart one more time. To trust someone else with yourself, even if a part of you found the thought of such vulnerability quite terrifying.

"Tonight was quite the success," Milly said as she joined you by the window, the embroidery of her gorgeous dress shimmering in the candlelight. "Though you seem quite thoughtful now."

You might be biased, but in your opinion, she had been the most beautiful woman at the party tonight. She had easily charmed all other guests and no one had noticed her sharp gaze that missed nothing.

Julius joined her at your other side, elegant and tall and in your opinion, among all the other gentlemen, he had cut the most impressive figure. He had gotten everyone around him to relax, smiling and joking and casting him the occasional, admiring look.

You were the only one aware of the fact that people always said more than they meant to around both tailors. That they revealed things they hadn't meant to, especially when alcohol joined the mix. You had caught one or two startled faces as someone hastily excused themselves from a conversation or quickly changed the subject.

"You're just both on my mind," you answered honestly, allowing yourself to be a little daring, riding the feeling of relieved success that seemed to lend wings to your heart and soul. "Could you learn anything useful from anyone?"

"Oh, plenty," Julius reassured you with a charming smile, one that had enough of an earnest edge to let you know it wasn't one of those empty, charming smiles he offered to polite society. "Don't worry, we got everything we wanted and more."

"Even had we gained nothing, we would have greatly enjoyed ourselves," Milly added, drifting an elegant step closer to you, her decadent dress brushing a little up against you. "We came here for you after all, first and foremost."

While that was true, you were glad that they would be able to help more people going forward. It was strangely reassuring to know that dangerous, nasty folk in positions of powers had predators after them. That, even if the law didn't do anything or even protected them, someone would still come for them to stop them.

"We will always be there if you want us to be," Julius added, voice dropping to something quieter as he reached out, tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear, his fingertips warm and slightly calloused as they brushed your skin, causing a pleasant little shiver to travel down your back. "You have become quite dear to us."

"Very much so," Milly agreed and both of their gazes felt warm and heavy on you. "Which is why, if you are not too tired yet, we'd like to speak with you."

You were still riding the euphoric relief of a successful evening and while you knew the exhaustion would hit hard later, for now you felt wide awake.

"I have time," you reassured her, glancing between them curiously. "Is there something I can help you with?" You'd do everything you could to be of aid to them, that was for sure.

"This is no business talk," Milly said and grew more serious, her faintly golden eyes drawing you in with their intensity. "I want to say first that one word from you and we will never speak of this again, nor do we want you to feel like you have to say yes."

"No matter your answer, you will remain our cherished friend and you can always count on our aid," Julius added, just as solemn and serious and intense, his gaze capturing and holding yours when you glanced at him.

A thread of nervousness wove through your gut and around your heart, but it was far smaller than it would have been had anyone else approached you. Because Milly and Julius were safe. They might be dangerous for others, might be downright deadly, but they were protectors at heart.

Even now, as they stood close to you, that feeling of safety was there, the candlelight illuminating everything softly and warmly. It felt cozy and private and comfortable and it calmed every one of your anxieties. It soothed the part of your heart and soul that still carried deep bruises from your previous marriage. 

"Alright," you said, carefully lacing your fingers together to keep from fiddling with anything. 

You had no idea where this was going, but as you looked at them, at the way they watched you, a quiet hope you didn't dare voice began to rise within you. It unfolded weightless wings that seemed to fill your entire chest and before you knew it, you had taken a small step towards them.

They didn't miss that. Of course they didn't and you felt fingertips brush your hands and you easily unlaced your fingers to reach back. Hands that were quite different from each other, one slender and the other big, but both warm and calloused and they held yours as though it was made of spun glass.

"We never expected you to become such an integral a part of our lives when we met you," Milly said, voice growing softer and her smile was sweet and so very hopeful it made your breath catch and your heart flutter. "But the more we got to know you, the more you grew into the person you wanted to be, the more we enjoyed your company."

"We've both found ourselves looking forward to your visits, counting down the hours until we could close the shop and head over to your place," Julius said and when he reached out with his free hand, seemingly unable to help himself to cup your cheek, you couldn't help but lean your head a little into the touch.

His hand was warm and calloused and never anything but gentle and safe and he was solid and grounding.

"We talked at length about this," Milly said, her slender, strong fingers interlacing with yours in that same, gentle and safe manner and giving a little, reassuring squeeze. "If we should even say anything, if our affections wouldn't be entirely misplaced."

"They aren't," you whispered and your heart seemed to fill with so much bubbling hope you wouldn't have been surprised to see it spill out to stain your skin that same, beautiful golden glow that you saw in the eyes of your tailors.

"Then let us to be blunt," Julius said and his small smile was hopeful. "We found ourselves caring deeply for you and we hope that you might allow us to love you."

"We know you know we're not human," Milly added quietly. "But if you want us, we will gift you our hearts as surely as we gave them to each other. As you have welcomed us into your life, we'd welcome you into ours."

You didn't even have to think about the answer. Not when all your quiet yearnings and hopes and soft feelings and your longing for love wove into one big strand that tugged you towards them.

"You shall have my heart in return," you answered, your grip tightening on their hands. "For as long as you want me, it is yours."

"Forever then," Julius said quietly, smoothing his thumb over your cheek before he used the hand that cupped the side of your face to guide you a little closer. "Sweet one, let me steal a kiss."

You'd let him steal that and so much more if he wanted to. You closed your eyes and leaned up, his lips brushing yours with the same love and care he had shown you in all other regards.

"We'll take you out tomorrow," he whispered as he pulled back, he smelled faintly of champagne and something that reminded you of sunshine dancing on cool water, the sort of smell you wouldn't have found on a human partner. 

"We might have been planning a couple of possible dates," Milly added as he pulled back and you turned towards her. She was smiling so happily it filled your heart with even more joy in return. "We'd love to court you properly."

"You don't have to," you said as Julius' hand slipped away and she took a step forward, her slender, elegant hand settling on your other cheek. Her touch felt just as steady and grounding and safe.

"We value too much to not show our appreciation," she said, leaning in and you turned towards her like a flower to light and her soft lips brushed your cheek, then the corner of your mouth and you turned your head just enough to meet her next kiss.

She too smelled like champagne and sunshine on water and her kiss pressed a little deeper than her husbands and you allowed yourself to get lost in it, in her, until she pulled back.

"I might have some plans myself," you admitted, thinking of all the times you had daydreamed about asking them out and them saying yes. Of showing them beautiful gardens and hidden little spots in nature outside the city. Of inviting them to art galleries and theaters and festivals.

"We look forward to them," Julius said, leaning in to press a kiss to your temple, while his wife smiled and kissed your cheek again. "Will you let us take you home tonight?"

"Yes," you answered with a smile. Tonight and any other night. For as dangerous as you knew they were, for all that they weren't human, you knew their hands would be nothing but gentle and careful. 

You could put everything you were into their hold and know, down to the marrow of your bones, that you would be welcomed and treated with care. That they had grown to love you as much as you loved them and despite the shadows lingering, the bruises left on your mind and soul, you could entrust your heart to them as surely as they had offered theirs to you.

*.*.*

You'd like to support me writing more of my nonsense? Please consider checking out my patreon, where I upload a short story every month!

Tag List:

@those-damn-snippets @the-cash-cache @queenofbooknerds @14-lizards-in-a-trenchcoat @fern-writes-whump @bexterbaileyw @setsailforthestars @piperjistic @addrai @catloverlawyer @permanentlydepressedpigeon @tama-on-vetta @marateleam @transpareentdiplomatlandgoth @aprilraine @myst3rious-figur3 @warriorofbooks @pigeonwhumps @laureleikirsch @sillypeachduck @fractalabomination @basilikum7

[isabelawritesthings]

Targaryen kings reacting to books!Daenerys

(I tried to make their reactions consistent with their personalities, If you like it maybe I'll do a part two ❤)

*reactions after daenerys' last chapter in ADWD*

Aegon V: By the gods, did she just get lost in the Dothraki sea?

Aerys I: Correction, she ended up being captured by the Dothraki.

Aegon V: But they won't do anything to her, right? She was a khal's wife!

Aerys I: I think this deserves a family meeting, Aegon, wake the others!

*let's imagine that egg just asked the others to wake up*

Aegon III: What happened, Aerys? Is the girl causing problems again?

Daeron II: Shouldn't she be the greatest pride of our great house?

Aegon II: I thought the conqueror and Jaehaerys I were our greatest pride.

Aegon III: Do you remember, uncle, that my brothers and I were our mother's greatest pride? Oh yes, but you and your brothers killed everyone, including her.

Daeron I: Guys, please, you are worse than the Dornish, and to this day I still can't believe that we married Dornish women!

Maekar I: I was very happy with my Dornish wife when she was alive, I can't say the same about Aerys II's boy.

Aegon V: Guys, can we get back to the point? Speaking of my lunatic grandson's children, what will we do with the last of us?

Aenys I: She brought back the dragons! She is a hero!

Aegon II: She can't be a hero, she's a woman, Viserys should be the hero, but he, well, got the golden crown he asked for so much.

Jaehaerys I: I agree, but I don't deny that she sometimes reminds me of my grandfather.

Aegon I: It is truly surprising that a woman ultimately proves to be the salvation of our dynasty, dragon blood is always strong.

Viserys I: She reminds me of my Rhaenyra, she knows what she wants and is willing to face as many challenges as necessary and... oh, hi, Aegon, I didn't see you there.

Aegon II: Father! Not now! We are discussing whether this little girl is worthy of our approval or not. Although it's a useless discussion, look at her, she's married but she's cheating on her husband with a mercenary?!

Daeron I: Don't you also cheat on Helaena with prostitutes? Even Maegor was faithful to his six wives!

Aegon V: Guys, you are completely changing the focus of the discussion, Dany needs us!

Maegor I: You're all boring, but of course, you had to have Aenys' blood!

Baelor I: Let's stop arguing and let's pray for the seven to bless Daenerys.

Maegor I: A Targaryen faithful to the faith of the seven? We are totally lost!

Aegon I: We are lost if we leave the fate of our bloodline in this girl's hands!

Viserys II: It was my mother's bloodline that prevailed, uncle, yours is dead and buried.

Aegon IV: Whatever, can we drink now?

Maegor I: I want to end you all so bad now.

*the targs start to argue*

Jaehaerys II: Why do people only remember me as "the mad king's father"? :'(

[thinkingofausername]

I think the beautiful thing abt Mouthwashing is that the plot is literally just “I tried, but I still failed”

Curly — he tried his best to be the captain (he is a great captain, according to prior the current plot), he obediently followed orders from the pony express (I think I seen a line where they compared him to a dog; loyal as a dog yk) he got his rewards for being faithful, but felt dissatisfaction, possibly burnouts, unsure of his current life when he reached the highest. he tried to be a good friend to jimmy, helping him improve his life, he tried to help Anya but it wasn’t enough. He said it himself in the fish game.

Jimmy — he tried to improve his life; with Curly’s help, he didn’t have the best life before meeting Curly. Hence why he’s so elated “I like it. we’re in control here” he felt like his life is turning for him, he felt like he has control for once in his life. But he wasn’t a good friend to Curly; he couldn’t see past thru his ego; pride; jealousy which led him unable to actually improve. And he’s a terrible person to every single one of the crew.

Swansea — he didn’t cared abt his own life anymore, nor for anyone else except Daisuke. He tried his best to stop drinking (he did successfully; for 15 years) but ended up drinking again to cope. Although he’s married, have kids; he felt dissatisfied with his life still. He tried his best to guard the cryopod with his everything; bc he knew only Daisuke has the highest chance of having a bette future than all of them combined. But got betrayed by the person he’s trying to protect.

Anya — she tried to be optimistic even when everything is falling apart, to keep herself from spiralling. “I have to believe our worse moments don’t make us monsters” (I like to think she was referring that line to Curly; when they believed curly was the one who crashed the ship; idk where it came from but it FITS) she tried her best to keep Curly alive; despite limited medical knowledge. She failed her exams eight times but she never gave up; she tried over and over again. Until she snapped.

Daisuke — he wants to prove himself to his parents, to everyone that he isn’t useless, he tried his best, sometimes a little too much (referring to when he accidentally triggered emergency foam bc he simply wanted to help), he wants to help, and that led him to he an easy target for jimmy to manipulate and brainwash him. Daisuke is willing to help Jimmy drugged Swansea. To go in the vent, even when he was unsure bc he knows it’s dangerous. He was scared but puts on a brave face, he’s an easy target for authority figures to take advantage of his eagerness to please.

This game is just 👏👏👌 this game needs to win the game of 2024, every character just feels so HUMAN, which is kinda weird to say since they are humans but yk 🤷‍♀️, anyways sorry for yapping so much 😭

— 🐚

Oh don't ever be sorry for yapping, I love yapping about hyperfixations

I love your take, I didn't think of it that way, but yeah - Curly tried keeping things calm and in order, Anya tried remaining optimistic, Daisuke tried doing something with his life like his mother wanted him to, Swansea tried to quit drinking and clean up...

It's a tragic story in the best way

[stardust-in-my-mind-blog]

on beauty

I remember the first dress I picked out for him, where it was in the store, and how it felt to try on. It was white silk, fitted, and looked as though someone had painted over it in watercolor splashes of violet and blending emerald green. It hugged my body in a way I hoped he'd take inspiration from.

I'd always seen my beauty as a tool rather than a gift. It never felt like it belonged to me. I knew how to enhance it. I knew how to mute it. I knew how to make it attractive. I knew how to make it aloof. But for the first time, with him, I wanted to play with it.

I didn't mind that maybe he'd enjoy me at his side looking like I did. I hoped that I could surprise him with it. I experimented with different types of make up and doing my hair and these thigh high stockings I bought just because I could imagine how he'd take them off. Or maybe he wouldn't. Sometimes he didn't.

We'd hadn't met in person yet but I had all these crazy plans. I was in my twenties, but in so many ways, I was still just a teenager. He made me feel like a teenager. All the fun parts. The adventure of it. He made real plans, and that made me feel so special. The plans weren't for him, though I'm sure he made sure he'd enjoy them. He made them for me. He wanted me to enjoy things.

And I enjoyed everything with him. For the first time in my life, I enjoyed my beauty. I enjoyed him enjoying my beauty.

I still remember the two of us walking through this larger than life exhibit of a heart at a museum. It was so interesting, getting to experience the different chambers and the soundtrack that surrounded us. I was fascinated. When I was around him I was fascinated by everything. I felt so open and curious and I wanted to explore everything.

Now I realize that it was because I felt so safe. I could let myself open fully in his presence and know that I would be protected. That my curiosity was something he genuinely encouraged. He liked my intelligence. I asked him questions and he enjoyed answering them. I made up foolish little theories and he'd add onto them. He was the easiest person I ever spent time with. We laughed so much. No matter what happened it was never a bad time, even if I embarrassed myself. I hadn't known much forgiveness in my life, but when I fucked up and apologized, he really chose to forgive me. I tested him a lot of times. He had this nobility about the way he did things. He had this integrity that I admired and tried to absorb into my own personality.

I loved the way he looked at me. I loved making him smile. He never gave me a reason to doubt him, but my past experiences made it so difficult for me to believe this man felt the same about me. I couldn't fathom it. My insecurity was deep inside my heart, and it often strangled the love we built in the distance between us. I didn't know how to communicate or even know why it was impossible for me to keep faith in our bond or connection. Youth. Physical loneliness. The dysfunction of my family at home projected onto him. My own belief in my unworthiness. I threw tantrums and manipulated him. I'd poke at him until he'd explode and think that was how to make him prove his affection. I was not brought up to love authentically. I was not brought up to be authentic.

But with him, I did get a chance to feel what it was like when I was authentic. I liked myself with him. I liked how clever I was when I returned his banter. I liked how our wits were always fencing, looking for a playful way to score a point. I liked when I won. I liked when he defeated me. I liked everything about the way we explored each other's minds and bodies. I liked how we could just spend our time napping and watching things and it never felt like a waste of time. I liked him so much. He was always trying to show me something new.

I think in some ways I never walked out of that heart exhibit. Maybe our shadows stayed in there, hand in hand, waiting until our bodies figured out who the fuck we were before seeking us out again and pushing us back toward something we knew but was also simultaneously something completely new.