#i dunno I just. want to enjoy a game I like a lot. without having to see horrible takes. but that’s not possible I guess :(

[lanternsquids]

oh my headaches

[commanderyes]

The Commander Says Goodbye

I’m not going to lie, I’m extremely anxious as i’m writing this, out of what these news could mean to a lot of people, and my heart feels heavy enough it could drop down my ribcage any minute from now and squish all my other organs. But I’ve been dancing around this topic for a long time now, and I think i’ve finally reached a point where i can’t ignore it anymore, for my own sake.

I hereby announce Commander Yes has come to an end.

As I’ve mentioned plenty of times before, here and to many other people, when I began this comic all the way back in 2018 I was in a really bad, really low place in my life in every sense of the word, and it was a spur-of-the moment decision to cheer myself up, because Path of Fire had just released and my enjoyment of the game had reached fever pitch and I had been playing Guild Wars 2 alone since as far as launch, and none of my other friends had ever really gotten into it. I guess I just, dunno, cried out into the big maelstrom of the community, one voice amidst millions, because i wanted SOMEBODY to look at what i did and revel in the nerdery with me.

And somehow the snowball began to roll and people wanted more and more of what I could do, and I was being actively reached out to, and, well, some time after that I landed my first ever job, I discovered a lot of things about myself, and I found myself in communities that welcomed me with open arms, and many of the people in there have since become among the best friends I could’ve possibly encountered, kindred souls who i’ve shared joys and sorrows for many years and who I can’t imagine living without anymore.

And all the while I kept making the comics, and with every entry posted every week I’d keep having people stopping to comment on them, and whether they were dumb jokes or personal takes on the story, they’d all share how much what I do kept hitting them in the kokoro, and to this day whenever I play anywhere in the game I still get people who recognize me and thank me for doing what I do. It was wonderful, it IS wonderful, and seeing that response motivated me to keep going, because what did still mattered to people, out there.

But I did always say I planned to keep doing these comics until I ran out of energy for them, and I think i’ve finally reached that point.

Because ever since I actually landed that job I’m exhausted and sleep-deprived every other day, so much so that I only have time to work on the comic on saturdays and sundays, and it gets harder and harder to just sit and draw, and at that point it was just more work, and while I still enjoy and play Guild Wars 2 a lot, it no longer consumes my time and attention like I’ve used to and i’ve been having fun with more personal projects, and honestly the direction the story is taking these days does not sit right with me and it’s hard to find inspiration in that, and this might be borderline selfish but every year I find people care less and less about the comics and it really takes a hit to you motivation when hardly anybody responds after you’ve spent a whole weekend trying to squeeze a five-page comic out.

And, well, I have been doing these for six years straight, and I think that’s a good run. I’m tired, and ready to move on, at long last. Let it be someone else’s turn.

But that’s the beautiful thing about this community, isn’t it? Even if I’m hanging up the hat, there are a whole lot of fantastic artists out there, as we speak, still cranking out works of art, deserving of all the attention they can get. And think of all the artists yet to come! For every story that ends, another story is just about to begin!

The world keeps on spinning, one way or another.

I’ll be closing my patreon shortly after this, but the reddit archives and tumblr blog shall remain for people to browse whenever they feel like (or until they both go in flames, i guess, what social media isn’t about to these days)

I still don’t think I ever was that much of a big deal, but all the same, to everyone who’s ever supported me and helped me be the person I am right now, to everyone who’s been there from the beginning, to all the devs of this game that has captured us for nearly a decade now, to all my fellow players and artists out there

Thank you.

See you out there, fellow commanders. Still the stars find their way.

[keymanwritez]

Still wakes the deep headcanons !

Trots

﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

° Very clean, doesn't really like messes and will chew someone out if they mess up his work station

° Has two brothers and one sister

° Never been married

° Likes tea more than coffee

° Okay ish with children, though the messes they bring and when they scream drives him to insanity

° Enjoys having the same scheduled meals each week, gets somewhat upset when it changes

° Cannot handle the smell of ribs, it absolutely will make him gag and throw up

° Has tried so many times to talk to Rennick calmly about safety on the rig and got shut down so many times that he just gave up on doing it calmly

° Enjoys keeping gifts and things hes given on display, he's proud of everything he has

° Used to be a calm person but now is more likely to anger

Infected Trots time 💔

° Sees his family, like his mother, his brothers and his sister etc

° Is tormented by the fact that he doesn't have legs anymore

° most of his pain stems from his lower half due to how corrupted it has become from the shape

° Feels pure anger towards Cadal, more than when he was alive

° Dies in excruciating pain akin to the other infected

° In my recovery au he gets pissed at Rennick a lot more due to him learning how Rennick wanted to leave everyone else and his actions during the crisis

° Recovery: he really cannot stomach a lot of foods, he just can't eat them without vomiting

° Recovery: Hates his body no doubt but also gets irritated at the mess it makes in his words

Finlay

﹏﹏﹏﹏

° One of the strongest on the rig no doubt

° Would've won the dart tournament final if it ever happened, dunno why I think this I just do

° Actually likes the ocean a lot, just doesn't like being on an unsteady and falling apart oil rig

° Talks with Rennick sometimes, They sit down and drink either coffee or alcohol together

° She lets him rant a lot but has no problem telling him when hes wrong about something or a situation

° Still gets pissed when he does stupid or selfish shit though

° Enjoys milk in her coffee and that's about it

° Talks to her son whenever she can, Keeps the letters he sends in a decorated box with photos

° Not a picky eater but doesn't really like canned ravioli, she'll eat it just doesn't like it

° Her and her husband are divorced but not on bad terms

° Hangs with Muir and thinks he's funny as shit, a little too reckless for her though

° Bisexual but doesn't really care about partners at the moment

After the events of the game 💔

° Sometimes would need to take a break due to hearing her son, over and over again

° Hummed the song he was singing to try and calm down

° Despite what it seemed in the game, she was fucking terrified of the shape

° It unsettled her deep in her soul and she finally knew why when the rubble fell on her

° Wanted nothing but her son in the end, to hold him, to hug him, or just to see him

° She knew she would never get to see him again though and that would be a good thing for him

° Recovery: Was confused and then disturbed when she woke in her cot

° Recovery: She was dead and she knew she was, maybe this was purgatory ?

° Recovery: Took a while for her to become comfortable around the infected again

° Recovery: Felt like shit for being distant but couldn't bear to be around the infected or anyone in general

° Recovery: Called her son almost immediately after finding out she wasn't dead

Muir

﹏﹏﹏﹏

° Love pranks, I think everyone agrees in the fandom XD

° Does not like swimming, never was a fan of it, knows how to though

° Once pulled a prank on Rennick and almost got fired

° Has never grabbed the correct helmet and probably never will

° Enjoys jokes a lot, puns not so much

° Can actually be pretty mellow, especially when he's tired

° Either wakes Innes up with a kiss or a smack on the stomach, either one it just depends on the day

° Once made a paper rose for Innes for Valentine's day

° Hangs out with Finlay sometimes

° Does not like coffee but drinks it to stay up

° Once fell asleep at breakfast and woke up with new eyebrows

° Don't know where I saw it but there was a post that he had a daughter and I liked that idea

° Has two left feet when it comes to dancing, or almost anything tbh

Infected time y'all 💔

° Saw Innes and his daughter

° All he really remembers is feeling alone and being angry at that

° Like they had all left him to fend for himself

° He wanted Innes mainly and was angry at him for leaving

° At one point his vision soloed in on Innes and saw his terrified face

° He was confused

° When he finally got Innes he didn't even realize he had killed him

° He thought that he was just sleeping, he didn't kill anyone else after that

° He just held Innes, his love

° He didn't even realize he was going to die until he was

° Tried his best to keep Innes body safe as he died

° Recovery: Was akin to the others confused on why he was back

° Recovery: He couldn't believe he was back, he felt joy and then the realization what he did hit him

° Recovery: He tried to hide somewhere on the deck away from the others

° Recovery: He didn't want anyone to see him due to guilt

° Recovery: Not even Innes

° Recovery: Eventually Innes coaxed him to talk to him and Muir just sobbed and apologized

° Recovery: It took him a long while to adjust to not being able to go inside and his new form but eventually he slowly went back to some of his old self

° Recovery: He doesn't think he'll ever be the same again though, emotionally

° Recovery: Cried on the phone when he was allowed to call his daughter

Brodie

﹏﹏﹏﹏

° Sees Raff as a son of sorts

° I really liked @/lilkumquat27 's au where Brodie had a son but lost him due to cancer so I kinda headcanon that now too-

° Feels odd for viewing Raff's like that but dismisses it a lot

° Likes coffee with chocolate in it [ me too Brodie- ]

° actually enjoys the ocean a lot, loved going swimming in Skye with his family

° He finds one of the best feelings in the world is to eat a warm meal when your cold

° Hangs with Finlay when he can, he finds solitude with her

° Would laugh when he lost against her in the dart tournament if it ever happened

° Not really competitive, doesn't see the point in getting angry over that stuff

° I associate the song ' Everything stays ' from adventure time with him, don't really know why it just seems to fit him

° Loves the moon as well, thinks she's gorgeous at night

In game time 💔

° Was mostly trying to keep a level head

° Threw up after seeing what happened to Raff's in the dive bell

° He actually threw up a lot during the events of the game

° Kept saying in his mind to just keep on going

° Heard his son talking about octopuses and the ocean in his mind

° Just kept going through most of it, only taking short breaks to think things through

° Was terrified but somewhat content when the water and oil started to raise

° That soon disappeared as the phone cut out

° Tried to keep his mind on Skye and his son but couldn't, all he could focus on was the pain of not being able to swim and drowning in the oil

° Recovery: He woke up sputtering, he was so confused and hurt

° Recovery: Finally broke after that and just sobbed

° Recovery: He sobbed for hours before trying to collect himself

° Recovery: Tried to ignore the pit in his stomach but it kept getting bigger and bigger

° Recovery: Hugged Raff's so tight he couldn't breathe, apologized endlessly for letting him go in the dive bell and for what he went through

I shall make another one with more characters later but these are some of my headcanons for my favorite characters !!!! explodes

[pralinesims]

// Character asks

Tagged by @changingplumbob, thanks so much <3

Which OC is the first at a movie theater opening night for a movie they've been excited for?

LMAO this question cracked me up when I first read it bc it immediately made me think of my cinema storyline, truth is out of that particular bunch, besides that specific setting without any obligations, I can only see Luca wanting to show up immediately at an opening night? He's a huge movie buff and always waits for new releases. Emilio wouldn't immediately need to see a movie, same with Aaron. Though it does depend per case. And for Vale, especially not. He usually rather waits for it to arrive on streaming services than to be cramped in a stuffy cinema, even if he does enjoy the movie theater soundscape. Outside of the cinema squad, I can see Gina and Devyn being really excited for new movie releases and wanting to see them as soon as possible.

Which OC is the pickiest?

Definitely Vale, he is REALLY picky with most food and usually not up for new adventures, with exception when it comes to beverages, but yeah. He simply does not eat most fruit for example, and generally if possible, sticks to his safe foods. Besides him, Kaia is kinda picky aswell, not with her palate, but rather textures. She needs her meals buttery soft and/or smushed.

Which OC is the most stubborn?

Aaron, I'd say. A lot of them are quite a stubborn bunch, but he definitely takes the crown. He does NOT budge on like, anything ever, if he's decided something has to be in a specific way, do not attempt to sway his opinions or change him. I'd also consider Emilio and Sharon the next contenders when it comes to stubbornness. If you'd put these 3 in a room and let them try to sort out an argument, you'd see the scenario of all of them wanting to have the upper hand and win lol.

Which OC looks like a pushover, but could actually kick someone's butt?

Baby Maggie! She is surprisingly strong for being so tiny. Amazing at lifting weights, too. Amazing at crushing things. Usually accidentally, but she can build up quite some power.

Which OC is most likely to excitedly talk about hobbies?

Absolutely Gina. A lot of things interest her, and she loves to share what makes her adore the things she does. If she's played a new game she's become hyperfixated on? Must tell her friends. Read a newly discovered manga that's considered niche? Must tell everyone so they know just how damn good and underrated it is. Drawn one of her friends? Mail that piece of artwork to them. In addition to Gina, Maggie and Emilio are probably the chattiest about their hobbies. Also while not on their level, you can easily lure Kaia out of her woodworks if you want her to read a birth chart, or simply talk about the beauty of some constellations.

I'm sooo behind tags and dunno who's done which ones, so I'm tagging everyone who's in mood to do this and also blabber some more about their OC's <3

[suengmi]

can you do where boyfriend! skz are teasing w reader but say a joke that hurts their feelings and they realize and immediately apologize and make it up to you (fluff)

hi anon!! ty for being my first ask, im excited to write! not sure if you wanted full stories/drabbles but i hope you like what i did! <3 also i'm a bit unwell and drained from work so pls be kind. took so long because i ended up writing a lot for some.... like a lot OOPS i trailed off a bit to make it more realistic but asjsdkkjasd anyways im sorry if it's not exactly what u wanted ;_; i did my best, plus i didn't want to make it all the same i guess? but yeah about .6k for each member!

warnings will be written below member names!! all under the cut~

warnings for all: not completely proof read but wanted to answer this prompt asap!! i'm half asleep it's 3am pls also all gender neutral!

┋bang chan ┋

context: grocery store is never fun, especially when your boyfriend doesn't know how hard it can be for you. new!relationship, domestic bliss grocery shopping for a night in

warnings: slight ableism??? before he knows??? idk, chan a bit spicy with his words so not complete fluff my b, some cussing, not the fluffiest pls im sorry idk what HAPPENED

word count: .6k

chan grunts at you, eyes rolling, "i told you it's the wrong one you dumb dumb. "

you look down at the japanese curry powder, trying to make sense of the words written before you. you haven't been with chan for long, but he's treated you better than anyone you've ever met. he's kind, giving and always knows how to make you feel better. he knows that you're happier when it rains, he knows that you get angry whenever you lose a game, he loves that you always defeat him at uno and enjoys how you make a week long parade about it. he already loves you but definitely doesn't know it yet.

there is one thing you're still trying to gauge about chan is how sometimes he can shoot first and ask questions later, and this is one of those moments.

chan frowns, pointing at the curry packet in your hand. "this is the spicy one."

"i'm sorry." you say in a low tone, still trying to read the packet but the font is harder to read, "they look the same."

chan snatches the packet from your hand, placing it back next to the seemingly same ones. "well maybe if you read it you properly for once. i had the runs for like 2 days last time. you know me and spicy no agree."

"i can't.... sometimes."

chan turns to you. "huh?"

you take in a deep breath and speak fast, "i have dyslexia."

"what?" he questions confused.

it's then when the penny drops after a moment of silence. realization a wave over him, all the times he told you to read properly, how many times he made tut noises at your replies not having complete context and how he would grunt when you didn't comprehend something.

"why didn't you tell me? there's nothing wrong with that...?" he prods, gaze gentle towards you.

you fumble with your hands, picking at the skin at the sides of your thumb, your mind trying to find what to say. "i dunno."

he sounds so apologetic when he eventually speaks, he wonders how he could have been stupid. it makes sense. all the times you've told him about your ex and how he called you stupid and dumb for not reading well, making fun of you and saying you just don't pay attention. "i made fun of you so much... wow i'm a dick-

"no it's okay" you interrupt him, a small smile on your lips not wanting him to be hurt.

chan purses his lips while taking your hands in his. he looks at your eyes, his own intense and apologetic. "no- it's not okay, i make fun of you so much for thinking you just didn't pay attention, shit, i'm sorry. i joke all the time about how your brain is always else where."

and with that chan knows that he definitely could have picked up the pieces earlier, that you said it to him, without words. "i'm just... fuck i'm sorry."

"i just you know with my ex they-"

chan pulls you in for a tight hug, as if hushing the words you were about to spill, your glasses pushed against your eyes but you don't mind. he smells like fresh baby powder, his own scent you love mixing in with the clothes he's wearing. you know chan's going to make up for it and that he'll do everything to make you feel better. because you love him too, you just don't know it yet either.

﹋﹋﹋

┋changbin ┋

context: changbin loves working out and you love watching him, even if you don't think he doesn't know. freshly known feelings, uni!au, living together in dorm (i know you said !boyfriend but this was too good not to write hehe)

warnings: CHANGBIN SHAMELESSLY FLIRTING ACK, implications of taking a relationship further (physically), voyeur reader lmao

word count: .5k

you turn your gaze over to your friend, housemate or whatever you two had going on was called. you'd never really thought of changbin as someone you'd like, his gentle an soft nature was a contrast to the man currently a few metres away from you. weights in hand and grunts slipping from his mouth. you lean your head back to get a better angle, the veins on his arm revealing themselves. you knew he liked you and you liked him, but neither of you would dare to open that pandoras box. well, not until tonight.

it's a moment later that changbin stops his routine, almost meeting your stare. you raise your brows, attention turning back to the laptop in front of you. what on earth was i doing? you think, pretending to type something into the computer.

"thirsty?" he asks you, pretending he didn't noticed your eyes on him every now and then for the last half hour.

you turn your attention to him "wha?"

he laughs into his chest, stretching out his arms, "you have drool on the side of your mouth."

"i do- i do not!" you say slamming the laptop down, folding your arms on your chest knowing you've been caught.

changbin laughs, sitting down on the couch next to you, "didn't know i owned a dog."

you had no idea he could be this cheeky, making fun of you for simply watching him. after all, you were perving in a sense.

"don't make fun of me! i know i was... watching."

a smile dances on his lips, knowing that you can be sensitive to these things. "i'm sorry." he almost sounds apologetic... almost. "but... it's just too good to catch you out." he says in a slow almost seemingly mocking way.

"stop it." you mumble, facing the other way. "you know i have issues with... bringing this stuff up."

changbin tugs on your ear to gain your attention, feeling bad for making you feel slightly uncomfortable. but hey, you were the one watching. he smiles and says, "i know i know, i'm just teasing. i'm really sorry."

"i know but... please don't, this is hard for me."

"okay okay," he whines, gently lacing his fingers in yours, testing the waters to see if you'd be okay with this affection. "i promise i won't make fun of you, but if you wanna watch feel free to, don't have to be shy about it."

a blush dances across your cheeks and ears, your tummy suddenly feeling a knot of embarrassment grow. "changbiiiin." you groan, planting your face into the couch cushion.

"okay maybe i lied, i'll definitely enjoy making fun of you."

﹋﹋﹋

┋hyunjin ┋

context: you hate feet. hyunjin thinks it's funny. established!relationship, living together

warnings: obvi mentions of feet?? mentions of vomit

word count: .6k

hyunjin knew you hated feet, just how they looked, how they acted and gripped on the damn floor whenever someone would walk bare foot. hyunjin loved walking around the house barefoot, and it sometimes made you feel woozy, just the image of your own feet touching the floor... imagine. you shivered at the thought, sitting down on the couch next to your boyfriend, his feet dangling off the edge of the couch.

you pat your legs, instructing him wordlessly to lay on your lap. he complies without a thought, scooching back and nestling his head into your soft legs. he let's out a gentle "mm" as he settles in. "soft" he coos, rubbing his head a few times before turning his attention back to his switch.

after another episode of your favourite show, hyunjin suddenly brings his feet up, inspecting one of them. "i think i have glass in this one."

"do you need to do that here?" you say in a tone, eyes avoiding the grippers in sight.

"nah can you just check this one?" he says with difficulty, throwing his foot back towards your face. if you weren't so grossed out you'd probably be impressed by his flexibility.

"hyunjin please--" you swat away his foot with your phone, pushing yourself back into the couch.

"nah see in the big toe right here."

"hyunjin! you know i hate feet stop!"

he struggles, folding his body further to get his left foot near you, "babe just look here near the nail."

and that's when you feel a lump in your throat, nearly retching at the sight. the rice dish you had earlier suddenly feeling not so settled.

"oh shit." hyunjin says in a shock turning his attention to you, hearing your strangled noise. "are you okay?"

"no i'm not okay, go away." you say behind your hand.

shit, he knows he did wrong. his seemingly funny joke was definitely taken too far. he feels bad, real bad. he knew you didn't like feet but not this much. it'd never really come into question the time you'd been together, but god he had no idea.

"jeez i'm sorry." he's unsure where to place his hands and fumbles, words not forming correctly.

you sit in silence for a moment before regaining your thoughts. "don't. fucking. do. that."

hyunjin's eyes are pleading, the guilt in his face almost makes you not want to get him back but then realise you can use this to your advantage. you look over at the massage oils on the table and back at him. "i have an idea."

and you know he'll do whatever it takes. he still had glass in his foot, but that wasn't important right now.

------

┋felix ┋

context: felix thinks your tummy is cute, but you're just not used to it.

warnings: mentions of weight, body issues, tight clothing, BUT ITS FLUFF I PROMISEEEE, felix just a silly soft goose

word count: .6k

"come out please." felix begs, head leaning against the door.

you're sitting in the bathroom on the floor, dressed in nothing but your boxer underwear and a tight bed shirt, felix's bed shirt. you can feel the anxiety seeping into your chest, the weight of reality hitting you. you and your boyfriend had been together for only a month, but this was the first night you were staying at his house. it was on a whim, since most of the trains and buses had stopped running. and of course, you had nothing to wear. so there you were, tight shirt and all. you've never been uncomfortable with your body, if anything you love your body. but for some reason the way that felix talked about your stomach irked you. maybe he meant it as a joke? what did he mean? either way you were upset and needed space for a moment.

"please, i didn't mean it like that." felix sighs against the door, "it's soft and i love it."

you cast a sad expression towards the door. still unwavering from your position. why do you have anxiety now about this? all he did was grab your tummy and tell you it's soft like a kitten belly, or how it reminds him of those marshmallows that fold and how much he loves it because it's you, and he loves you.

you hear nothing but the cracking of a knee, felix bending down to put his fingers through the gap of the door underneath. he splays his fingers like a cat trying to get in the bathroom, darting against the tiles.

"lemme in!" he chimes, grunting to get his fingers further in. "i'll get in either way!" he jokes, using both of his hands under door to attack. it makes you laugh. it reminds me of those videos of cats wanting to get into the bathroom, or videos of racoons grabbing food.

"am i close?" he jokes, moving his hands back and forth.

you groan, stifling a laugh as you get up to open the door. "not even." you say, being met with pleading eyes. you look down at him, his hands still pretending to search where the door once was.

but he suddenly swoops you into a hug, hands around your waist, his head pressed into your soft chest, enjoying the smell of his shirt mixing in with your scent.

you relinquish any negative thoughts you have, melting into the hug. "i know you didn't mean it like that but, i think i'm just nervous... because it's you."

he pulls back, arms still wrapped round your waist, probably a bit too tight. "it wasn't a joke, i do love it." his eye are filled with nothing but love and adoration for you, your body an your mind.

"just... choose different words, please... i'm not a roll of marshmallows."

felix pulls back suddenly before gently pressing a swift kiss to your lips. "tastes sweet." he retorts about your statement, ignoring your words before kissing you again.

"i'm-seri-ous." you say between kisses, you feel his his hands digging into your hips.

instead of stopping, he grins, love apparent in his eyes. "my marshmallow."

you roll your eyes, a bit of anxiety still in your throat but knowing he adores marshmallows, you figure it's okay for now.

﹋﹋﹋

┋jisung ┋

context: a park date is cute until you get attacked my a crow, jisung think's it's funny. established!relatonship

warnings: jisung being a weenie, swearing

word count: .5k

the ground collides with your chest, the mud clouding your vision and your new shirt you brought for the date probably ruined. yep, i definitely tripped and yes it was embarrassing. you think, shame in your chest. of all the days, why your one year anniversary?

all you hear is the cackle behind you getting louder, sharp inhales of breath echoing in your ears. jisung has no shame, actively laughing at you stacking it to the ground.

"ahaha! the crow!!" he gurgles still, bending forwards over the picnic blanket, almost choking on his spit.

"jisung!" you yell, getting to your feet, seeing the mess on the front of you. that fucking crow, why did it choose me?

"jisung!" you yell louder, stomping over to the blanket, definitely covered in mud, dripping behind you as you walk.

"i'm sorry babe i'm-" he says between breathes.

you grunt before wiping the mud from your chest, still feeling it covering half of your face. "it's not funny."

"it fucking is."

jisung's laughs come to a halt as he realised you're upset upset, not just whining like you usually do. he notices how your eyes are suddenly pooling with wells. he stands to his feet and gently holds out his hands, "baby-"

"no!" you grumble, pulling your arms away, tears rolling down your cheek. "i just bought this top. now it's ruined." your dejected tone unsettles jisung, instantly feeling bad for making fun of you.

he says nothing, confused on how to react. but he waits patiently, allowing you to let out your feelings. he's always been good at this, always been patient with you.

after a breath you look back at him, red rings dancing around your eyes.

he smirks as he walks over to the mud and plainly sits down in it as if it what he was meant to do all along. you let out a small laugh, your hands wiping the rest of the mud from your face.

"what?" he asks plainly, as if nothing is weird. he grabs a handful of the mud before pressing it to his shirt, and then another handful to his hair, rubbing it in. "what's funny?"

you laugh behind your mud covered hand walking over to him. he smiles up at you like a puppy, knowing that he's succeeded in making you feel better.

and there he is, completely covered in mud, way more than you are and in that moment you fall just a little bit more in love with him. you lean down and press a gentle but muddy kiss onto his lips.

he stares up at you with nothing else to say, just sitting in the mud. you decide to join him, plopping down next to him, hand in hand as you both just sit in silence and completely covered in mud.

with jisung you didn't always needs words, sometimes the things he did for you were enough.

﹋﹋﹋

┋lee know ┋

context: you're getting ready to go out with friends, but your hair has other ideas, established!relationship, living together.

warnings/other: kisses??? idk, cuss words

word count: .5k

"it's not working!" you huff, re-straightening the side of your bangs for the 6th time. minho was confused at first, wondering why you're so upset over something trivial and small from his point of view. but when he looks up from his phone to see you struggling, his left hand still lazily patting one of his cats. he speaks without thinking,

"it's definitely like a pigs tail." he chuckles, looking back at his phone. in his mind, he assumes that he was just making a light hearted joke, thinking it was cute the way you got so upset over something he coined as small. plus, pig tails are very cute if you think about it.

it wasn't until you made a little sob that he noticed how you were actually feeling. you stare in the mirror, realizing it in fact does look like a pigs tail.

"baby-" he let's out a small but gentle sigh, "i was joking,"

"no you weren't. it... does look like a pig tail." you say between a small dejected sob, lips curled down and hands at your side as you avoid the mirror.

"let me help?" he says so gently as he approaches the bathroom door. instead of letting him help, you just melt into his chest immediately, your sobs muffled by his shirt. "i look like shit." you say defeated.

he lets out a light laugh, kissing the top of your head a few times, "you never look like shit, you know... even with your pig tail."

you step back, immediately hitting the tight muscles of his chest with both of your fists, "fuck off i swear." you talk through your teeth, still frustrated but feeling the urge to laugh in your throat.

"there you are," he says pleased at your spice, fighting with you to place a kiss on your temple, your hand starts pushing on his jaw, his lips puckered and ready. "c'mere." he says through your fingers, still pushing his head towards you, his hands gripping at your neck. "let me-- love you."

after a few minutes of roughhouse struggle, you push him back, feeing slightly better. it's in this moment you realize that you in fact do not enjoy asking anyone for help. but you speak, dejected tone apparent. "yeah... please help."

and nothing else is said while he fixes your hair, gently pressing small kisses on your cheeks as he does so. he knows he can sometimes say things without thinking, but he also knows that you sometimes enjoy just as much as he does. it's why you love him and why you two work so well together. after a few minutes he steps back to admire his masterpiece, a triumphant smile on his lips. "hmm," he ponders, "i liked the pig tail better."

"oi, don't start again you little shit" you say as you begin chasing after him, giggles dancing in with his own as he runs down the hall, nearly slipping on the rug. "get back here! you're in for it!"

﹋﹋﹋

┋seungmin┋

context: seungmin needs to shut his mouth sometimes, even if he doesn't know it. established!relationship, living together

warnings: seungmin being a spicy bitch, some playful physical aggression, kissing

word count: .5k

seungmin has you completely pinned under him on the couch as he covers you with kisses, not relinquishing his hold. "how many times do i have to say it?"

you grunt at the fact that he's weirdly strong in these situations, and as much as you struggle against his hold he's just completely powering over you. just the other day you were the one that had to help him open a jar. but thats besides the point. here seungmin is, currently trying to wiggle his way out of the fact that he took a joke too far. you're determined not to let him get away that easy.

you struggle once more against his hold, your legs flailing underneath him but he's just too damn strong.

he lets out a struggled breath, still above you. his hair falling gently from his face, "isn't sorry enough?"

you turn your head to the side, bottom lip pouting. "no."

"baby-"

you tut at him, tone almost darted, "don't baby me! you've lost your rights."

a gentle grin finds itself to dance over seungmin's face, he likes it when you fight back. he likes it when you put him in his place but still give him enough wiggle room to feel in charge.

"okay," he says with raised brows, "you win. i apologise."

you realise this is the perfect opportunity to get him back, for him making that stupid joke about something he knew you were insecure about.

"oh, whats this? kim seungmin, apologising, what was that?" you speak sarcastically. you're still under his hold, but you'll let it slide for now. "sorry i didn't quite catch that after you made me feel like shit for an entire hour. repeat?"

"i... apologise. i took it too far and i'm sorry."

you feel your chest rise, suddenly enjoying the power that seungmin has given to you. it takes a lot for him to admit he's wrong or that he's done wrong, this is just so damn satisfying.

"actually..." he trails off, letting your hands free a second before quickly grabbing the back of your neck. the kiss he planted on you was fast, and before you knew it you were laying back down on the couch, head dizzy from the sudden kiss, "you can't just make me forgive you with kisses." you speak in a semi-daze.

seungmin presses a kiss to your cheek and then a few more to your lips, the taste sweeter everytime. "i can, actually."

yeah, he's absolutely right. wait, what were we arguing about?

﹋﹋﹋

┋jeongin┋

context: jeongin fucked up, and he wants to make it better. fresh!relationship

warnings: none? kissing maybes, TOO MUCH CUTE

word count: .5k

it only took jeongin about half an hour to attempt to make it up to you.

sometimes being with jeongin was hard, as you both communicated in very different ways, it definitely was something you needed to work on. though, the one thing you loved about him is the absolute time and effort he put into making everything just perfect for you. when it came to you, everything he did for you was worth it.

after taking a walk to calm your thoughts, you realized you were still frazzled from the way jeongin teased you and how you ended up crying, resulting in him just left behind in a confused state. sometimes it took a while for the penny to drop with him, but once he got it, he really got it.

you step through the front door of his house, gently removing your sandals to be met with the sound of jeongin jumping up from the couch, hands out in a display. "ta-da!" he yells, it startles you.

you turn to meet eyes with your boyfriend, his face with a stupid grin slapped across it.

"what is-" and that's when you notice the many items splayed across the ground. there's a few towels on the lounge table, a tub of what seems to be hot soapy water, a box of facemasks and some nail polish next to it. the lighting is low and your favourite soundtrack is playing. you notice the scent in the room, jasmine tea, your favourite.

jeongin takes a deep breath in before showcasing his wares. "salon de jeongin"

"babe i-"

he steps forward, taking your hands in his before guiding you to sit down. "cmon" he coaxes gently, his beautiful dark eyes watching your every step. you say nothing as you follow him, unsure of what's happening.

as if he knows you're going to speak, he places a gentle kiss on your forehead. "i'm sorry."

you marvel at the sight in front of you once more. the fact that he built you a whole salon in his living room within thirty minutes is mind blowing. he knows your favourite scent, your favourite songs and all the products you use. you didn't even realize he had those.

you're still at a loss for words, unsure of where to put your hands or body. jeongin just points to the chair, silly grin still plastered on his face and eyes wide.

you sit down in the chair, eyes darting to jeongin. "does it cost extra for shellac on my nails?"

jeongin pouts in thought, "just a kiss."

"i can do that." you say back at him. and that's all it takes, you know you'll talk later about this and how you can communicate better but this... this was enough for now. more than enough.

"actually," jeongin ponders before leaning so damn close to your face, "i think it's about 4 kisses."

-

DAMN THAT WAS SO LONG I SPENT LIKE AGES DOING THIS MY BAD, i know it's not exactly what u said but oh well i wanted to make them all different!!!! ty for asking!!!!!! <3

[j-eryewrites]

The Great Game (I)

Part 19 of the Arbitrary Lives of the Occupants of 221 B Baker St.

Word Count: ~12k

Previous | Next

SERIES MASTER LIST | MAIN MASTER LIST

Warnings: Canon typical violence, explosions, injuries, angst, Mycroft is Mycroft, Sherlock is Sherlock, murder, bomb threats, kidnappings, language, mentions of serial killers and murder (let me know if I have missed anything)

Author's Note: Man, this was such a long and fun chapter to write. After all, y'all did ask for full-course meals, so I present to you this chapter! NGL there will be mistakes...but I wanted to get this out as soon as possible. Lots of fun and angsty stuff happens, and I'm warning you again, it will get worse, but it will be so good when everything comes together! I hope you enjoy! I always appreciate reblogs and comments! I love hearing from you all!!

Sherlock was busy, or at least, he was trying to be. Busy meant his mind couldn’t stop to rest and if he didn’t have time to rest then it was a guaranteed way of avoiding everything: Y/N, feelings, boredom, feelings again, and then of course Y/N. That always how his thoughts seemed to run these days, both starting and ending with Y/N. 

“Just tell me what happened, from the beginning,” Sherlock sighed. 

It was a dreary place, the prison, and exactly like anyone would imagine: Gray, cold, and dreary. Yet this prison was where Sherlock’s next case was, well, he hoped so. 

“We'd been to a bar – a nice place – and, er, I got chattin' with one of the waitresses, and Karen weren't 'appy with that, so... when we get back to the 'otel, we end up havin' a bit of a ding-dong, don't we?” The man, named Berwick, sitting across from Sherlock explains. He’s in an orange jumpsuit which makes sense since he’s in prison. From a quick glance, Sherlock can tell he’s nervous with the way his hands fidget and flail around as he narrated his story to convince Sherlock to take the case. It was an argument already bound to fail, something Sherlock knew from the moment he sat down. 

“She was always gettin' at me, sayin' I weren't a real man!” Berwick exclaimed. 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as his ears bled from the misuse of words. “Wasn't a real man,” the consulting detective corrected.  

“-What?” Berwick asked. Everything on the man’s face told Sherlock that he did not have a clue as to what he was correcting. 

“It's not "weren't", it's "wasn't", Sherlock duly noted. 

“Oh.” Berwick’s voice got small. 

“Go on,” Sherlock said. 

Berwick nodded his head. “Well, then I dunno how it happened, but suddenly there's a knife in my hands. And, you know, me old man was a butcher, so I know how to handle knives. He learned us how to cut up a beast.”

Sherlock winced. “Taught.”

“What?” Berwick asked again at Sherlock’s interruption. 

Sherlock leaned slightly forward in the cold metal seat. “Taught you how to cut up a beast.” 

A tiny vein bulged out from Berwick’s forehead as his hand motions got more frantic. “Yeah, well, then-then I done it.”

His shoulders slumped and Sherlock fell back into his chair with disappointment. “Did it.” 

Berwick shoots out of his seat and slams his hands on the table between him and the detective. “Did it! Stabbed her... over and over and over, and I looked down and she weren't…” Sherlock eyes flashed with disapproval. “...wasn't movin' no more...anymore.” 

Sherlock nodded and at least he didn’t have to correct Berwick anymore.  

Sitting back down Berwick drew his hands together to plead with Sherlock. “You've gotta help me. I dunno how it happened, but it was an accident. I swear. You've gotta help me, Mr. Holmes!” 

With a deep breath in, Sherlock stands from his seat and begins to walk away from Berwick. 

“Everyone says you're the best. Without you, I'll get hung for this!” Berwick cried. 

Sherlock’s footsteps halted and he briefly looked at his shoulder. “No, no, no, Mr. Berwick, not at all. Hanged, yes.” Then without another word, Sherlock left to try and find another case to keep him busy. It was the only thing he could do if he didn’t want to think of her at all. 

_____

A sigh escaped the young woman’s lungs. It was a full body experience: her spine sunk, her shoulders slumped, and her head fell into her hands. She hurt everywhere, but what hurt the most was her heart. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore, John.” Y/N confessed to her friend next to her. She was on the brink of tears.  

By the inflection of her voice, John could tell there was a serious disturbance in Y/N’s character. Sitting a little straighter, he placed his right hand on her back, giving it a rub. “Start from the beginning,” John said, even though he already had an idea as to what placed Y/N in that particular mood. 

“I…I’m not really sure. I thought I had it under control. We were friends and I–”

She was going on a rant. Y/N tended to do these things when expressing herself. It was as if she could never find the right words, so in her mind, as long as she kept talking, maybe the right words would just come. 

“Y/N. Breathe,” John calmly stated. He was right. She did need to breathe, and so she did. “What did Sherlock do?” John asked. He thought that maybe a more direct question would help Y/N along. 

“He–He did everything and nothing,” Y/N explained. Her fingers tightened their hold on the strands of her hair as John patiently waited. After a particularly long exhale, Y/N finally answered. “He kissed me. He kissed me, John. I kissed back, because–” She faltered. 

John finished Y/N’s thought. “You like him.” 

With glassy eyes, Y/N peered up at John. He was one of her greatest friends since she came to England. He was there for her through thick and thin. He was a friend for life. “Yeah,” Y/N muttered. 

John sensed a hesitancy in the woman. “But…?”

Y/N sat up and glanced to the side. Her eyes trailing the other visitors of the park. She watched as people played with their dogs, children ran with glee, and old women gossiped. “He pushed me away. He left me there in that room and has hardly acknowledged that I exist since we got back. John, he’s…pushing me away and I don’t know why.” 

At that moment, John wished he could see into the great detective's mind. He wished every and all secrets that had ever crossed Sherlock’s mind would now be visible to him, just so he could ease Y/N’s pain. But he couldn’t. He was sure no one would ever know what happened inside Sherlock’s mind. So instead, John said, “I’m sorry.” Sniffling, Y/N replied telling John he didn’t need to apologize, but John just shook his head. “No, you need to know that what’s happening to you isn’t fair. When I say sorry, it’s to say you aren’t alone in this. I’m here for you, Mrs. Hudson is, hell, I’m even sure Lestrade would be willing to lend a shoulder for you.”

“Thank you,” Y/N said in a whisper. 

A peaceful silence fell over the two of them. The park bench was the perfect place for them to get away from the chaos that was Sherlock. On the park bench, they could think without being criticized and feel without being judged. Both John and Y/N cared for Sherlock, but sometimes, they needed to be cared about too. They needed to not feel alone and ostracized from the brilliant mind that was their friend. 

Together they hoped that maybe one day, they could find solace in Sherlock. That one day his brain wouldn’t come in the way of his heart and soul. Maybe together, all three of them, Sherlock, John, and Y/N would never feel alone again. 

_____

Being welcomed home to the sound of gunshots wasn’t exactly what John and Y/N had planned on but expected altogether. 

“What the hell are you doing?!” John scolded Sherlock the second he reached their flat. 

There Sherlock sat in his chair. His knees rose higher than the cushion he sat on. One hand hung lazily over the side, and in the other he held a gun. Still in his pajamas from the night before, Sherlock briefly glanced over at John. “Bored,” he enunciated. 

“What?” John asked. He couldn’t hear Sherlock clearly with the last gunshot echoing in his ears. 

“Bored!” Sherlock yelled before raising his arm to fire another shot. 

“No!” John cried as he saw another whole form in the wall. 

“Bored! Bored!” Sherlock bellowed again. Each time he said the word, he took another shot at the wall of his apartment. 

“Sherlock!” Y/N yelled as the gunshot rang throughout the apartment. Then pinching the bridge of her nose, she held out her hand to Sherlock, waiting for the gun. When he reluctantly placed it in her hand, she mumbled to herself. “I thought I hid all the guns…” 

“You didn’t hide them very well, Y/N. You have a tell.” Y/N shared an exasperated look with Sherlock, who ignored her. “Don't know what's got into the criminal classes. Good job, I'm not one of them.”

John ground his teeth together. “So, you take it out on the wall!”

“Ah,” Sherlock shrugged. “The wall had it coming.”

Feeling the peace, he received from his time with Y/N vanished, John decided to change the subject. “What about that Russian case?”

Sherlock got up from his seat and marched over to the couch before plopping down as if it was his bed. “Belarus. Open and shut domestic murder. Not worth my time.”

John fought the urge to roll his eyes as he made his way over to the fridge. “Ah, shame!” Opening the door, he continued. “Anything in? I'm starving. Oh, fu…” John muttered. 

Y/N whipped her head around to look at John. “John, what is it?” 

“It's a head. A severed head!” John felt like crying now. 

“A what?!” Y/N responded. “A head?” She walked over to the fridge and felt her stomach turn. “Oh god…Sherlock.”

“Just tea for me, thanks,” Sherlock said at the sound of his name. 

Now John rolled his eyes. “No, there's a head in the fridge!”

“Yes,” Sherlock replied.  

“A bloody head!” John flipped his arms into the air and then shut the fridge door. 

“Well, where else was I supposed to put it? You don't mind, do you?” Sherlock asked. 

“Of course, he minds, Sherlock. Just look at him. Where’d you get it from anyway?” Y/N questioned. 

 Without sitting up from his lying position on the couch, Sherlock answered. “I got it from Bart's morgue. I'm measuring the coagulation of saliva after death.”

Muttering curses and pleas, John turned away from the fridge and found a seat in his armchair. He quickly pulled his laptop into his lap and opened it. 

“I see you've written up the taxi driver case,” Sherlock commented. 

Y/N clenched her eyes shut at the memory of that case. 

“Er... yes,” John replied. 

“A Study in Pink. Nice!” Sherlock said and John wasn’t sure if it was a compliment or a mark of disgust and disapproval. John hoped it was a compliment. 

“Well, you know, pink lady, pink case, pink phone,” John explained. “There was a lot of pink. Did you like it?”

“Um... no,” Sherlock stated. 

“Why not? I thought you'd be flattered," John said. 

“Flattered?” This irked Sherlock. Sitting up from his seat he turned to look at John. There was a flash of hurt within his eyes as he recited John’s post. "Sherlock sees through everything and everyone in seconds. What's incredible, though, is how spectacularly ignorant he is about some things." 

John was supposed to be his friend, yet he wrote something so harsh. It was something Sherlock knew well and that plagued his very being. It was the one of the reasons he had left her in that room. He had left Y/N there making his lips grow cold from wanting her. He knew he was ignorant in the ways of love. The very ways that Jim, her boyfriend, was able to give. Afterall, he was perfect, and Sherlock was not. 

“Now hang on a minute. I didn't mean that in a…” John tried to explain.

“Oh, you meant "spectacularly ignorant" in a nice way! Look, it doesn't matter to me who's Prime Minister…” Sherlock barked. He was angry and hurt. He was angry at himself for kissing her. He was hurt by John. He was hurt that he couldn’t love Y/N. However, Sherlock couldn’t say that. At least not now, so he released his anger, frustration, and fury through another source.  “...or who's sleeping with who... Whether the Earth goes round the Sun…It's not important.”

John was shocked. “Not impor...?! It's primary school stuff. How can you not know that?”

“Well, if I ever did, I've deleted it," Sherlock spat. 

"Deleted it?” Y/N questioned. 

“Listen. This is my hard drive,” Sherlock pointed to his mind. “And it only makes sense to put things in there that are useful... really useful. Ordinary people fill their heads with all kinds of rubbish, and that makes it hard to get at the stuff that matters. Do you see?”

“But it's the solar system!” John exclaimed. 

“Oh, hell! What does that matter?!” Sherlock began to rage. "So, we go round the Sun! If we went round the Moon, or round and round the garden like a teddy bear, it wouldn't make any difference. All that matters to me is the work. Without that, my brain rots. Put that in your blog. Or better still, stop inflicting your opinions on the world!” 

Without a word, John opened the door to the apartment and left. His footsteps seemed louder as they pounded on the wooden staircase. 

“Where are you going?” Sherlock demanded. 

“John…,” Y/N called out. 

At the sound of Y/N’s voice, John turned around. “Out. I need some air.” He saw the look of pity on her face, but he knew in her eyes there was understanding. Suddenly, he bumped into something. He quickly glanced at the source and found Mrs. Hudson. 'Scuse me, Mrs... 

“Oh, sorry, love!” She chuckled. 

“Sorry,” John apologized before heading down the rest of the stairs and out the door. 

A mix between a sigh and a groan left Y/N’s mouth as she watched John’s disappearing figure. She whipped around to Sherlock and sent him a glare before busying herself with things in the kitchen. 

Mrs. Hudson entered the room and took one look at her grand-niece and Sherlock. “Ooh-ooh! Have you two had a little domestic?” There was silence after her comment. Quickly, Mrs. Hudson changed the subject to John. “–Ooh, it's a bit nippy out there. He should have wrapped himself up a bit more.”

Sherlock huffed and bounced out of his seat before stepping to the window. His long fingers drew back the curtain to watch John cross the street below. “Look at that, Mrs. Hudson. Quiet, calm, peaceful.” Sherlock sighed. “Isn't it hateful?”

“A little quiet and calm won’t kill you, Sherlock,” Y/N hissed over her shoulder. 

Sherlock’s eyes narrowed on the young woman’s figure. The look wasn’t one of distaste like Mrs. Hudson was expecting. Instead, Sherlock’s blue eyes seemed to be longing for something. Mrs. Hudson softly smiled to herself. She knew that look well. Afterall, it is the very look all the young men in her romantic dramas had in their eyes when gazing upon their love interests. 

“Oh… Oh, I'm sure something'll turn up, Sherlock. A nice murder – that'll cheer you up,” Mrs. Hudson said. 

Sherlock glanced away from Y/N. “Can't come too soon,” he muttered. 

Mrs. Hudson smiled fondly at Sherlock and Y/N. Her mind began to flood with ideas on how to bring them together when she noticed new holes in her walls. “Hey. What've you done to my bloody wall?!” Sherlock’s smirk did not go unnoticed by Mrs. Hudson or Y/N. “I'm putting this on your rent, young man!”

Then, just like John had left, Mrs. Hudson returned to her flat. 

Sherlock was still standing by the window. His back was now turned to Y/N, but even so, she could still sense his ever-cocky smirk. 

“Don’t.” Y/N’s hand’s stilled as her voice pleaded. 

“Don’t?” Sherlock asked. His body now faced her. 

“Don’t,” Y/N repeated. She sent him a warning glare. 

Rolling his eyes, Sherlock began to approach her. “I’m bored,” he said with a precise enunciation. 

Y/N scoffed and took a few steps closer to Sherlock. “That’s not an excuse, Sherlock.” She raised her hands in frustration before dropping them by her side. She was now standing only a few steps away from him and his captivating blue eyes. Y/N shook her head and turned away towards the window. “You’re not the on–”

There it was. A deafening roar that broke the conversation as a sudden explosion ripped through the air. The force of the blast shattered the frail windows of 221B with a thunderous crash. Shards of glass were sent flying in every direction: down onto the streets below, on the wooden floor of the apartment, and deep into the skin of Y/N and Sherlock. The two of them were thrown off their feet with such a force that sent them flying. Furniture toppled over and the walls seemed to tremble with the shockwave of the explosion. 

Alarms blared, smoke filled the arm, people screamed, at least that is what Y/N would have heard if she could hear. Her head was ringing, screaming, pounding, and bleeding all at once. She felt immense pain coursing through her body as she tried to push herself off the floor. Then there was Sherlock. He hovered above her. Y/N’s dazed eyes watched the fear in Sherlock grow. His mouth opened and closed over and over. She couldn’t hear him. 

Meanwhile, Sherlock felt powerless as the fear and vulnerability washed over him. One minute he was conversing with her and the next her they were on the floor. It was the blood he saw first. The dark red liquid spilled from where the shards of glass imbedded themselves into her skin. He crawled over to her, and said the only thing he could, her name. Sherlock said it like a prayer and a plea. Then she moved, the pain evident in her face as she tried to sit up. The sight of her moving did little to stop Sherlock from rushing to her. He pulled her in close and into the safety of his embrace. 

The tremors in the 221 B Baker Street stilled and the kicked up dust fell back down to the floor. There they would sit, Y/N and Sherlock, holding on to each other like a life line. If they were to let go, they were confident they’d both break into a thousand pieces. So, there they would sit until the sound of police sirens and ambulances came cascading down the street to the rescue. 

______ 

The scent of old leather and perfume filled John’s nose as the light of the morning flooded his senses as the curtains drew back with a sharp screech. 

“Morning!” Sarah’s voice called out cheerfully. 

John winced as he sat up. He carefully turned his head back and forth, finally discovering where his pain came from, his neck. “Oh, mor... Morning,” John groaned. 

Sarah chuckled. “See? Told you you should've gone with the lilo.”

Shaking his head in refusal, John replied, “No, no, no, it's fine. I-I slept fine. It's very kind of you.”

“Well, maybe next time I'll let you kip at the end of my bed, you know,” Sarah joked. 

Smiling John, continued on with the joke. “What about the time after that?”

Sarah rolled her eyes playfully before reaching to turn on the telly.  The news flashed onto the box-like screen and the clear voice of the anchor woman spoke out. “Experts are hailing it as the artistic find of the century. The last time…”

For a moment, the two of them focused their attention on the telly to see if there was anything newsworthy before tuning it out as the morning background noise. 

“So, d'you want some breakfast?” Sarah asked. 

John sighed before turning back to look up at Sarah. “Love some.” 

Patting her hand on John’s shoulder, Sarah began to walk away. “Yeah, well you'd better make it yourself, 'cause I'm gonna have a shower!” 

Now it was John’s turn to roll his eyes with a hint of amusement. With his neck still horrifically sore, John decided he could wait a few minutes before starting up breakfast, instead, he turned his attention back to the telly. His hand took up the remote and turned up the volume. 

“...it fetched over twenty million pounds.  This one is anticipated to do even better. Back now to our main story. There's been a massive explosion in central London. As yet, there are no reports of any casualties, and the police are unable to say if there is any suspicion of terrorist involvement.”

Suddenly a dreadfully familiar street flashed upon the screen. It was Baker street, but not the street he had left the night before. No, this street was in disarray: Broken glass, ambulances and police cars, debris, fires, the list went on and John couldn’t bear to look at the screen any longer. 

“Sarah!” John yelled. He could hear the sound of water pouring out of the shower head. 

“Police have issued an emergency number…” The television continued to play. 

“Sarah!” John yelled again. His voice now echoed throughout the apartment. 

“...for friends and relatives…” The news broadcast interrupted. 

“Sorry! I've got to run!” John said before he dashed out the door hailing a cab to Baker Street. 

____

Panic coursed through John’s veins like blood. Even so, John still remained the polite gentleman his mother raised him to be. “'Scuse me, can I get through? 'Scuse me.” 

For the aftermath of an explosion there were an awful lot of people. Some of which John believed were intrigued by the destruction as if it was some sort of entertainment. 

“Can I go through?” He asked impatiently once he reached the police line. The officer standing guard shook his head. “I live over there.” John frantically pointed to the 221 B Baker Street and the officer reluctantly let him through. 

Nodding his head to nearby officers, John weaved between the chaos finally coming to the black door. It was truly a sight for sore eyes. Immediately, John opened the door, and darted up the stairs. “Sherlock. Sherlock!” John called out to his best friend. 

There was a sharp pizzicato note. Sherlock sat unamused in his chair with an annoyed expression plastered onto his face. His violin was still in pristine condition as he plucked the strings. 

“John,” Sherlock acknowledged. His attention was elsewhere. 

“I saw it on the telly,” John said out of breath.  “Are you okay? Where’s Y/N?”

“Here…” the woman groaned. She was holding an ice pack to her head. “...and I’m alright.”

John’s brows creased at her disheveled state. “Sherlock?” 

Sherlock blinked, bringing his attention to John. “Hmm? What? Oh, yeah. Fine. Gas leak, apparently.” He played another note of annoyance on the instrument and turned back to John's chair. John tilted his head in confusion, the chair was occupied. “I can't,” Sherlock said to the person in the chair. 

"Can't?” It was Mycroft. John would recognize that voice anywhere.  

“The stuff I've got on is just too big. I can't spare the time,” Sherlock explained. His eyes narrowed as they glanced over at Y/N. “Maybe ask your spy.”

Y/N let out a defeated sigh and clenched her eyes shut. “Sherlock… for the last time–” 

“Am I wrong?” Sherlock interrupted as he lowered his violin.  His grip on the bow in his other hand tightened. “You are under my brother’s employment afterall to…spy on me.” There was a nasty tone in his voice that made John shudder. 

“What?” John asked. His eyes darted between Sherlock, Y/N, and Mycroft for an explanation. 

“John, did you know Y/N took my brother’s deal? The very one you were offered when you first moved into Baker Street?”

“No, but–”

“She’s been spying on me ever since,” Sherlock spat. 

“Sherlock,” Y/N pleaded and the sight forced Sherlock to turn his gaze away from the woman. It hurt more than he thought it would seeing her like that, but he had to. She had hurt him just as much by conspiring with his brother. 

Mycroft rolled his eyes at his younger brother’s antics. “Oh, never mind this usual trivia. Sherlock, this is of national importance.”

The sound of Sherlock’s violin picked up again. “How's the diet?” He asked his brother. 

“Fine,” Mycroft said. He turned to John who was still standing in the entrance of the apartment. “Perhaps you can get through to him, John.”

“What?” John asked. 

“I'm afraid my brother can be very intransigent,” Mycroft noted and he flashed a tense smile on his face.  

“If you're so keen,” Sherlock questioned, “why don't you investigate it?”

Mycroft shook his head, the smile was still present on his face, but it was anything but pleasant. “No, no, no, no, no. I can't possibly be away from the office for any length of time – not with the Korean elections so...well, you don't need to know about that, do you? Besides, a case like this – it requires... legwork.” He eyed his brother’s long legs. 

A flat note rang in the air and Sherlock’s jaw tensed. “Sounds like a perfect job for Y/N.”

Y/N’s teeth dug into her lip leaving an iron taste in her mouth. “I’m getting a migraine,” she whispered. The growing ache in her mind could be from a matter of things; The recent explosion, how Sherlock had held onto her for hours after the event and now wouldn’t even look at her without disdain in his glossy blue eyes, or the increasing stress levels caused by her newly discovered feelings for the consulting detective. It all was growing too much and she felt like she’d drown in the sea of it all with no one to save her. 

“How's Sarah, John? How was the lilo?” Sherlock abruptly asked his friend.  

“Sofa, Sherlock,” Mycroft corrected. “It was the sofa.”

Sherlock widened his eyes at his brother’s word. “Oh yes, of course.”

Meanwhile John was still trying to process Sherlock’s new animosity towards Y/N, the explosion, the presence of Mycroft, and how they knew he slept on the sofa. “How...? Oh, never mind.” Sherlock’s and his brother’s skills still amazed John despite the lengthy time he had known them. However, being on the receiving end of such skills wasn’t quite so delightful. 

Mycroft shuffled around in his seat and his posture began even straighter, if that was possible. His calculating eyes fell on Y/N. She had made herself small. Her legs were drawn in close to her chest and her head rested on her knees. Her eyes casted aside staring at one of the only undamaged spots on the wall. They were filled with utter misery. Mycroft felt like he should pity her, but he had better things to be worrying about than his brother’s sweetheart. It was obvious to Mycroft what his brother felt for the young woman and it wasn’t ideal. Sherlock was supposed to be free from all the trivial stuff that is accompanied by love, but it seemed no matter how hard Mycroft worked, the damned thing still snuck into his brother’s life and it appeared like he was partially to blame. Afterall, he had paid the woman to check in on Sherlock. 

“Sherlock's business seems to be booming since you and he became... pals.” Y/N’s shoulders tensed as she continued to ice the injury on her head. “What's he like to live with? Hellish, I imagine,” Mycroft mentioned. 

“I'm never bored,” she replied.  

“Good! “ Mycroft beamed, this smile resembled something a bit more real. “That's good, isn't it?”  Suddenly he stood up and handed a file to John, whose hands unconsciously held onto it. “Andrew West, known as Westie to his friends. A civil servant,” Mycroft explained, “found dead on the tracks at Battersea Station this morning with his head smashed in.”

John opened the file and took a quick peek at the crime scene photos. “Jumped in front of a train?” He guessed from the gruesome scene depicted in the photos: A man lay dead with his eyes wide open next to train tracks. He shook the imagery from his brain before peeking up at Mycroft. 

“Seems like a logical assumption,” Mycroft muttered. 

John recognized that tone. It was the same one Sherlock had when he made an incorrect observation. “But...?”

"But?” Mycroft encouraged. 

“Well, you wouldn't be here if it was just an accident,” John promptly said. It was the best response he could muster until he had something more. It was better to be vague than incorrect.  

Mycroft smiled at John’s words. “The MoD is working on a new missile defence system, the Bruce-Partington Program, it's called.” John nodded. “The plans for it were on a memory stick.” 

“That wasn't very clever,” Y/N added, the small comment brought a bit of light into her eyes. 

“It's not the only copy,” Mycroft told the woman. 

“Oh,” she apologetically said and the light was gone as fast as it came, replaced by sorrow.  

“But it is secret. And missing.”

“Top secret?” John asked, already knowing the answer. Afterall, Mycroft was the British government in person. 

“Very,” Mycroft replied. “We think West must have taken the memory stick. We can't possibly risk it falling into the wrong hands. You've got to find those plans, Sherlock. Don't make me order you.” 

“I'd like to see you try,” Sherlock challenged. A cunning smirk grew on his face as his eyes were lit with a defiant fire. It raged on as he stared at Mycroft.  

“Think it over,” Mycroft tensely said, moving his gaze from his brother. It was not a fight he would win now, not with Sherlock still aggressive from his latest discovery. “Goodbye, John. Goodbye, Y/N. See you very soon.”

Sherlock huffed once his brother disappeared from view before he raised his bow with strict accuracy and began to loudly play the same phrase of music over and over. 

“Why'd you lie?” John had to yell over the music. “You've got nothing on – not a single case. That's why the wall took a pounding. Why did you tell your brother you were busy?” 

“Why shouldn't I?” Sherlock shrugged. He brought the bow close to his face, pretending to examine the thin horse hairs strewn together. 

“Oh! Oh, I see. Sibling rivalry. Now we're getting somewhere,” John grumbled. “What happened between you two?” John pointed between Sherlock and Y/N. 

Sherlock just glowered in response. Y/N pinched the back of her neck letting out a defeated exhale. 

“He found out I took Mycroft’s deal to check in on him.”

“A spy. You’re a spy,” Sherlock spat. The fire in his eyes in his gaze from Mycroft’s presence diminished. John knew Sherlock was furious at his brother, not at Y/N. She was the ‘spy’ but it was Mycroft who was truly at fault in Sherlock’s mind. His blue eyes shivered as they admired Y/N. John internally smiled knowing a physical one would only gain Sherlock’s annoyance. He could see the reflection of yearning in Sherlock’s ocean eyes. They often say that the eyes are the windows to the soul, and now John felt like he could truly see inside Sherlock’s soul. It was battered and bruised from the years empty from the light of sentiment. Now, with Y/N in view those bruises had faded, no longer an angry blue and purple, but a warm yellow. He was healing in her loving presence. She made him feel safe. Sherlock didn’t have to say it, John already knew. In his mind, John recalled all the times she was there for him, holding his hand or shutting down any harsh comment aimed in Sherlock’s direction. The longer Sherlock gazed at Y/N, the warm feeling in John’s heart only grew stronger. Sherlock was in love with Y/N. But Sherlock was an idiot. Love was strong but Sherlock’s lunacy appeared to be stronger.  

“No, I’m not. I’m just a messenger for a concerned brother,” Y/N replied. “And for your information I took the deal before I really even knew you. I wouldn’t even think about–” 

Sherlock played the strings louder. 

“Agh!” She groaned in frustration. Then Y/N clenched her hands into fists and raised them into the air before pushing herself off the couch. She brushed past John with a sad look in her eyes that made his heart suffocate at her predicament and in the blink of an eye the sound of her apartment door slamming shut echoed throughout the building. 

“Are you happy with yourself?” John angrily questioned Sherlock, but Sherlock ignored John’s presence. Instead, the consulting detective had discarded his violin and now occupied himself with his phone. 

“Sherlock Holmes,” he said over the phone. “Of course. How could I refuse?” With a click the call was over and an inferno of intrigue was lit in his blue eyes. He whipped around to face John. “ Lestrade,” Sherlock explained. “I've been summoned. Coming?”

No, John wanted to say. His anger at Sherlock’s actions and the disheartened state he consistently had been leaving Y/N as of late made him want to run and comfort her. John wanted to grab Sherlock by the collar and scold him for being so blind. He wanted to pry open Sherlock’s heart and deliver it to Y/N. He wanted them to no longer hurt. There were so many things John wanted for his two best friends. Yet John knew if he went to Y/N, Sherlock would tag along only resulting in more hurt for the two of them. It was in his nature for Sherlock to find Y/N. No matter how much the infuriatingly intelligent man wanted to deny it, he was drawn to her, seeking her out wherever he was. “If you want me to,” John defeatingly said. 

“Of course,” Sherlock replied as he flicked the collar of his coat up. “I'd be lost without my blogger and—” He didn’t finish his thought, but it didn’t take a genius to know who else he was going to say. It didn’t take cunning and wits for John to figure out that Sherlock would be lost, and is lost without her, his Y/N.  Yet here was Sherlock leading himself astray when he knew all paths would lead to her, and for once in all the time John had known Sherlock, he knew the man was truly insane. 

_____

Greg Lestrade was supposed to have the week off. He planned on taking a nice trip to visit his mother and father in the countryside and take a break from Sherlock Holmes and everything that seemed to follow the man. Greg was supposed to get some sleep for once in his life and maybe enjoy a few home-made meals instead of take-out dishes and frozen dinners. This time off seemed too good to be true, and it was. Rather than spending quality time with his elderly parents in the home of his childhood, Greg sat in his office filled to the brim with case files. The phones hadn’t stopped ringing since the explosion the other day. It was getting annoying, and now Sherlock had arrived, Greg’s workload got even bigger. 

“You like the funny cases, don't you? The surprising ones,” Lestrade asked Sherlock. It was a rhetorical question. The strange cases were always the ones Sherlock solved for Scotland Yard. 

“Obviously.” Sherlock rolled his eyes. 

“You've love this. That explosion... Where’s Y/N?” Lestrade peered around Sherlock and John hoping to catch sight of the third companion. He had only known the young woman for a few months, but she soon became ingrained in the chaos of it all. A slight frown appeared on his face, when he realized she was absent. She was the only glimpse of normal he could find around here, and now she was nowhere to be found. 

“Traitor,” Sherlock muttered. Lestrade sent John a questioning look to which John only shrugged. 

“Alright…anyways, that explosion–” Lestrade continued. 

“Gas leak, yes?” Sherlock phrased it more like a statement than a question. 

“No,” Lestrade corrected. 

Sherlock looked puzzled. He was hardly ever wrong. “No?”

“No. Made to look like one,” Lestrade explained. 

John’s eyes widened. “What?” He felt a pounding in his chest. It was an animosity he had never felt before, and it only grew stronger with each hit. Someone had purposefully hurt his family. His best friends. His home. 

“Hardly anything left of the place except a strong box,” Lestrade said. “A very strong box and inside it was this.” He raised up an envelope. On the well-kept paper, the name ‘Sherlock Holmes’ was carefully scribed. 

“You haven't opened it?” Sherlock questioned. He eyed the envelope with intrigue. The same anger in John was a light in Sherlock.  

Lestrade shook his head. “It's addressed to you, isn't it? We've X-rayed it. It's not booby-trapped.” 

“How reassuring!” Sherlock replied, his voice full of sarcasm. He snatched the envelope out of Greg’s hand and held it close to the light. His eyes narrowed as he observed every detail about the seemingly simple letter.  “Nice stationery. Bohemian,” he noted. 

“What?” Lestrade asked. 

“From the Czech Republic,” Sherlock specified.  “No fingerprints?”

“No,” Lestrade replied. 

Straightening up, Sherlock lowered the envelope. “She used a fountain pen. A Parker Duo fold, iridium nib.”

"She?” John repeated. His tone was full of disbelief. 

“Obviously,” Sherlock said. He was a man of few words today. His mind was elsewhere. The explosion, the gas leak was purposeful. He was a target, and so was she. Y/N. He had to keep her safe. It was a foreign feeling, his mind being filled by his desire for her safety rather than the thrill of the case, and no matter how much Sherlock fought it, the desire only grew stronger. 

“Obviously!” John grunted in defeat. Without a warning, Sherlock tore the envelope open revealing the contents inside. A block of pink slipped out the envelope and sent John into a shock. “But that... That's the phone. The pink phone.”

“What, from the Study in Pink?” Lestrade wondered with eyes just as wide as John’s. 

“Well, obviously it's not the same phone but it's supposed to look like…” Sherlock mumbled before tilting his head to face Lestrade. “The Study in Pink? You read his blog?” 

“Course I read his blog! We all do. D'you really not know that the Earth goes round the Sun?” Lestrade genuinely asked and a wave of vile snickers echoed throughout the office. Sherlock’s shoulder’s tensed and his hand ached for the comfort of another–Of Y/N. Sherlock wished she was there, but he couldn’t–no shouldn’t be wishing for that. Sherlock closed his eyes; everything was all too complicated.  

“It isn't the same phone. This one's brand new,” Sherlock noted once he returned his focus to the present case. 

“Someone's gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like the same phone,” John mentioned, and he looked over Sherlock’s shoulder at the device. 

“Which means your blog has a far wider readership,” Sherlock muttered, and John gulped. John was proud of his work, but knowing a criminal who meant his family harm was reading it was almost too much to bear. 

Turning on the pink device, the screen came to life and an automated voice spoke. “You have one new message.” Then five beeps followed after. 

“Is that it?” John asked after hearing the beeping.  

Sherlock frowned, but then a photo appeared on the tiny screen. “No. That's not it.”

“What the hell are we supposed to make of that?” Lestrade gasped looking at the photo. It was a room: practically pristine with everything cleaned and stored away. In all honesty, it looked like something out of a housing catalog. “An estate agent's photo and the bloody Greenwich pips!”

While Lestrade threw a fit, Sherlock found his voice stolen away. His lungs collapsed as his eyes scanned over the photo. This feeling was one he hadn’t felt in awhile. A feeling he hoped to never feel again. The very one that encapsulated his soul the night in the museum during the Blind Banker case. As he looked at the picture, Sherlock realized that he knew this place, yet it wasn’t the place that brought a momentary lapse in his composure. It was where the photo was. “It's a warning,” Sherlock whispered. 

“A warning?” John asked. 

“Some secret societies used to send dried melon seeds, orange pips, things like that,” Sherlock explained. “Five pips. They're warning us it's gonna happen again. I know where that is. Let’s go.” With shaky hands, Sherlock pocketed the phone. 

By the time John had processed Sherlock’s words the man had already left Lestrade’s office. “H-hang on,” John called after Sherlock. “What's gonna happen again?”

When Sherlock looked back at John, there was the terror of uncertainty reflected in his eyes. Cases like these typically excited Sherlock, making John doubt the fear in Sherlock’s eyes. Sherlock was hardly ever scared.  Yet Sherlock’s response only confirmed John’s observations. Sherlock Holmes was terrified. 

____

“Mrs. Hudson!” Sherlock bellowed the moment he returned home to Baker Street. In tow followed John. 

“Yes dear?” Sherlock felt a slight feeling of relief when Mrs. Hudson peeked her head out of her apartment. The elder woman’s eyes smiled at the young detective until she locked onto his trajectory, and she stepped out blocking his path. “No, Sherlock. She doesn’t want to talk to you–” 

Sherlock brushed her aside. “The door's open,” he announced to John.  

“Oh! Men!” Mrs. Hudson said wringing her hands in the air with frustration. She caught sight of John. “Make sure he doesn’t do anything–”

“Stupid?” John finished. “I’m way ahead of you Mrs. Hudson.” Then quickly he ran after Sherlock to Y/N’s apartment.

There was a loudly hissing sound when they entered. Bjørn was furious with the intrusion of Sherlock Holmes and so was the cat’s owner. He growled as Sherlock strolled into Y/N’s apartment like he owned the place. His strides were long and quick as he approached the closed room in the back of the flat: Y/N’s spare room.

“Christ Sherlock! What are you–” Y/N gasped as the man intruded into her home. Her patience for Sherlock was running thin. 

Sherlock stopped in his tracks at the sound of Y/N’s voice. He stood frozen ignorant of the angry cat. His eyes only saw one thing, Y/N. The fear and anxiety that had piled up on his journey back to Baker Street dissipated at the sight of her. Now that he gazed upon her, Sherlock knew he couldn’t live without her in his presence. It was if his eyes were crafted to only look at her. In this trance, Sherlock stood watching her as the confusion appeared on her face. 

“Sherlock, what’s going on?” Y/N asked. Just as her voice drew him into her spell, her words pulled him back out. 

“He's a bomber, remember," John cautioned everyone as he appeared in Y/N’s doorway. 

“Does anyone care to fill me in on anything?” Y/N looked around at the two men. None of them answered. Sherlock, now free from her spell, turned back to the spare room. He trekked over to the door and swung it open. 

It was a neatly organized room despite the cardboard boxes shoved in the corner. The walls matched those in the living room. Everything had a place, except for one thing. In the center of the room sat a pair of shoes. Shoes that hadn’t been there before. 

 “Sherlock what are you doing?”  Y/N hurried on after him. “Why are you–how’d those get there?” 

“That’s exactly my question.” Sherlock stepped away from the door and approached the shoes. He carefully took a step closer and closer until he deemed the shoes no threat. 

“They’re shoes,” John muttered. “Are they yours?” 

“Not mine. I don’t even know how they got here,” Y/N whispered. “Now do you mind explaining things to me. What about the bomber?”

Before any of them could answer Y/N, the phone in Sherlock’s pocket buzzed. He quickly retrieved it, placing it on speaker. 

“Hello,” A soft voice said followed by ragged breathing. 

“Hello?” Sherlock replied. 

“H-hello... sexy,” the voice said. There was a sniffle. The voice, whoever it belonged to began to cry.

“Who's this?” Sherlock demanded. 

A sob from the phone echoed around the room. “I've... sent you... a little puzzle... just to say hi.”

“Who's talking? Why are you crying?” Sherlock listened as the woman over the phone continued to cry. 

“I-I'm not... crying… I'm typing....and this... stupid... bitch... is reading it out.” 

Y/N gasped and raised a hand to cover her mouth. She had seen many things working with Sherlock. Being held hostage was something she knew well. It was an experience she never wished on anyone, and an experience she’d never be able to forget. John felt Y/N’s demeanor change and offered his hand as comfort. She gratefully grabbed his hand squeezing it tight as she fought off the terrors of memory. 

“The curtain rises,” Sherlock whispered as if he was connecting the dots. 

“What?” John wondered.

Sherlock shook his head. “Nothing,” he responded.  

“No, what did you mean?” John urged Sherlock to answer. 

“I've been expecting this for some time,” Sherlock said. Y/N’s hand squeezed John’s tighter. The sight made Sherlock tense. 

“Twelve hours to solve... my puzzle, Sherlock” the crying woman read. “...or I'm going... to be... so naughty.” The call had ended. 

“So, who d'you suppose it was?” John was the first to speak after the concerning call. 

“Hmm?” Sherlock quizzically raised his brow up. His mind was still focused on Y/N’s hand in John’s and not his. 

John blinked. “The woman on the phone – the crying woman,” he mentioned.  

“Oh, she doesn't matter.” Sherlock waved his hand as if to brush away the anxiousness John felt for the hostage. “She's just a hostage. No lead there.” 

Y/N released John’s hand and her jaw hung open with shock. “Sherlock! John wasn't thinking about leads.”

“You're not going to be much use to her,” Sherlock shrugged. 

“Really? Sherloc–” Y/N scoffed.

“I need a lab,” Sherlock mumbled before walking out of the room with the shoes in hand. “Come on, Y/N! John!” 

Taking in a deep breath, Y/N and John shared an expressionless look. They were worried with all of this new information. What did Sherlock mean he was expecting this? What about the bomber and the shoes? There were too many questions and little to no answers to be found. With the look, an uneasy feeling made their stomachs churn. They felt sick, but there was no turning back now. A case needed to be solved. A woman’s life was on the line as well as the potential for more tragedy and destruction. 

“We’re coming Sherlock!”

____

John paced around the lab with his arms crossed over his chest. “Are-are they trying to trace it, trace the call?” 

“The bomber's too smart for that,” Sherlock boredly said before holding his hand out.  “Pass me my phone.”

“Where is it?” John asked as his eyes darted around the room looking for the small cellular device. 

“Jacket,” Sherlock replied. John’s shoulders slumped. Sherlock was wearing his jacket. Biting the inside of his cheek, John reached for Sherlock’s pocket. 

“Careful,” Sherlock cautioned without taking his eyes away from the microscope.  

John rolled his eyes as his fingers carefully brushed over Sherlock’s phone. “Text from your brother,” John announced. 

Sherlock let out a disappointed grunt. “Delete it.”

“Delete it?” John questioned. 

“Missile plans are out of the country now,” Sherlock noted. “Nothing we can do about it.” 

John huffed. “Well, Mycroft thinks there is. He's texted you eight times. Must be important.” He turned the phone around to flash Sherlock the screen. Sherlock didn’t look up from the microscope. 

“Then why didn't he cancel his dental appointment?” Sherlock muttered. 

“His what?” John asked. His eyes widened and he peered back at the phone. How had Sherlock known?

As if sensing John’s doubt, Sherlock began to explain. “Mycroft never texts if he can talk. Look, Andrew West stole the missile plans, tried to sell them, got his head smashed in for his pains. End of story. The only mystery is this: why is my brother so determined to bore me when somebody else is being so delightfully interesting?”

John just stared at Sherlock before reluctantly deleting the text messages. 

Immediately after the messages on Sherlock’s phone disappeared, Y/N’s phone buzzed. “Sherlock. He’s texting me now.”

Sherlock looked up from the microscope at Y/N. “Then maybe think next time before agreeing to my brother’s antics. Now shut up. I need silence.” He winced at his words upon seeing the pang of hurt in her face. He wasn’t planning on them coming out so harsh, yet they were already spoken. 

“Really?!” Y/N scoffed. All the pain in her expression vanished and was replaced with an unknown yet terrifying look. John shivered and he was glad he wasn’t on the receiving end.  “Alright then! John. I’m off to the bathroom to cool down before I murder him.” She reached for her coat, before stomping out the door. 

Once the door had clicked shut, John turned to Sherlock. “Try and remember there's a woman here who might die,” he hissed. 

“What for?” Sherlock impatiently said.  “This hospital's full of people dying, Doctor. Why don't you go and cry by their bedside and see what good it does them?” Sherlock didn’t give John’s stunned expression any thought as the machine next to him beeped. “Ah! He exclaimed. 

Suddenly a young brunette entered the room with an adoring smile on her face. “Any luck?” Molly asked. John felt relieved at her presence. 

“Oh, yes!” Sherlock replied, his mouth still hung open waiting to say more until the door opened once more. 

It was a young man. “Oh, sorry. I didn't…” He nervously glanced around the room.

“Jim! Hi!” Molly beamed at the man. “Come in! Come in!” She waved him in and lovingly placed a hand on his shoulder. “Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes.” She introduced. Sherlock barely spared a glance at the man. “And this is John. And thi…where’s Y/N?” Molly wondered. 

“Bathroom,” John replied before sticking out his hand for Jim to shake. “John Watson. Hi. Funny, Y/N’s boyfriend has the same name,” He commented looking between Molly and Jim. John had actually never met Jim yet, he was always too busy with work or Y/N. Not that John really minded. However, he noticed a flinch in Jim’s expression at the mention of Y/N, but it was gone before he could read further into it. 

Jim chuckled and ran his hand along the back of his neck. His dark brown eyes scanned the consulting detective who was still staring at the screen of the computer next to him. “Jim’s a common name…,” he said to John. Then Jim turned to Sherlock. “Uh Hi. So, you're Sherlock Holmes. Molly told me all about you. You on one of your cases?” He pointed a shaking hand to the objects captivating Sherlock’s attention. 

“Jim works in I.T. upstairs. That's how we met. Office romance,” Molly proudly grinned as she adored her boyfriend. Her cheeks flushed a light pink. John smiled at the sight.  

“Gay,” Sherlock coughed. 

The smile on Molly’s face flattered. “Sorry, what?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock shook his head. He removed his eyes from the microscope. “Um, hey.”

“Hi.” Jim’s face flushed even redder than Molly’s. He stuck out his hand for Sherlock to shake, only knocking over one of the tools off the counter. “Sorry. Sorry!” He apologized. He twirled around placing the object back on the counter. “Well, I'd better be off. I'll see you at the Fox, 'bout six-ish?” He told Molly.  

“Yeah!” Molly smiled. Her eyes trailed as Jim's figure turned to leave the room. 

“'Bye.” He said to her, giving her a swift kiss on the cheek. 

“Bye,” Molly whispered back.

“It was nice to meet you,” Jim said to Sherlock and John. 

John replied for both of them. “You too.” And then Jim was gone. 

The door clicked shut “What d'you mean, gay? We're together,” Molly growled. 

“And domestic bliss must suit you, Molly.” Sherlock sarcastically said. “You've put on three pounds since I last saw you.” There was a bitterness in his voice. He hated it. He hated how Molly was happy. He hated how his name was Jim. It all reminded Sherlock of her. Y/N. He couldn’t have her because of her damned boyfriend. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. Sherlock wanted to scream. 

“Two and a half,” Molly corrected. 

“No, three,” Sherlock stated. Molly’s jaw clenched and her eyes grew watery. 

“Sherlock…,” John warned. 

“He's not gay. Why d'you have to spoil...? He's not,’ Molly denied. All joy in her face was replaced with sadness. 

“With that level of personal grooming?” Sherlock scoffed.  

“Because he puts a bit of product in his hair? I put product in my hair,” John said. His tone was protective as he stood up for Molly. 

“You wash your hair. There's a difference,” Sherlock noted. “No-no – tinted eyelashes, clear signs of taurine cream around the frown lines. Those tired clubber's eyes. Then there's his underwear.”

“His underwear?” Molly’s voice broke. 

“Visible above the waistline – very visible; very particular brand. That, plus the extremely suggestive fact that he just left his number under this dish here…” Sherlock lifted up the bowl Jim had knocked over and there sat a small slip of paper. Jim’s number.  “...and I'd say you'd better break it off now and save yourself the pain.”  Sherlock tossed her the paper as a waterfall of tears fell from Molly’s face. She ran out of the room not a moment later. 

_____

Bathroom. Y/N and Molly

Women building women up. 

Cultural differences. Y/N loved discovering them as she progressed through her new life in London. But now, as she stands in front of one of the mirrors in the public bathrooms, she can say she found a cultural similarity, crying alone in the women’s bathroom. 

Y/N found herself to be releasing tears more often than she thought. It was both a terrific and terrible thing; Terrific because she could express herself without any judgment, horrible because she was doing it more. However, what was worse was because all the tears came from a single source, Sherlock. 

Sniffling, Y/N wiped the latest of tears falling down her cheeks. The tiny droplets were leaving noticeable streaks down her face and her hand eagerly erased them. Less evidence for Sherlock to notice. 

Suddenly the door swung open, startling Y/N. She jumped back and instinctively turned her face away from the door. Her cheeks flushed red as she hoped her eyes weren’t as red as she thought they were. However, all signs of embarrassment fled when she heard a muffled whimper beside her. 

Correction. Bathrooms were the perfect place for women to cry together. 

Turning her head to view the addition to the bathroom, Y/N saw Molly. It took the young woman to remember her, but Y/N could recall the few times they had met before. Each time dealing with a case.  More tears crept into Y/N’s eyes as she saw Molly hunched over hiding her face with her shoulders. 

“Molly?” Y/N whispered. She stepped towards the other woman wondering if she should put her hand on Molly’s back to comfort her. She decided against it. 

Molly jolted up at the sound of her name. Her fist clenched tightly around a small sheet of paper in her hand. “Huh? Oh, Y/N. Um, sorry about…” Molly wiped her tears feeling embarrassed until she saw Y/N’s. “You too?”

Y/N nodded, wiping a few more tears away. “Are you alright,” Y/N found herself asking. 

Shaking her head, Molly glanced down. “My boyfriend is gay. He just–” A sob broke her train of thought and Molly almost collapsed to the floor if it weren’t for Y/N’s gentle hold. 

“Men suck,” Y/N muttered as she held Molly helping stand up once more. 

A light chuckle left Molly’s mouth at Y/N’s words. “They really do. Here I thought he might be nice, but he just used me to get his number to Sherlock and then he went and did his thing, you know,” Molly motioned with her hands when words no longer seemed to find her.

“When he deducted you?” Y/N finished. Molly could only nod before breaking down again. Y/N frowned. She had seen firsthand Sherlock’s deducting abilities. He never held anything back for the sake of accuracy. Oftentimes he’d forget one key factor, feelings. Y/N had yet to be on the other end of Sherlock’s observations. She was sure John had something to do with it; he was always protective of her when it came to Sherlock’s judgment. However, Molly was never spared. “I’m sorry,” Y/N whispered. 

“It’s not your fault…” Molly began but Y/N cut her off. She stood Molly up right and looked into her watery eyes. 

“No, I know it’s not, but sometimes it's nice to know you’re not alone when it comes to Sherlock.” Y/N smiled, and Molly’s eyes widened. 

“He’s made you cry?” She asked.

Y/N somberly nodded. “A lot actually.” Saying those words made more tears appear. 

Molly looked at Y/N with confusion. “But he’s…I thought he…well, he always looks like he’s…” she mumbled nervously. Raising a brow, Y/N urged Molly to continue. “Why would he make you cry when…I thought he was in love with you.”

Y/N froze. “What?” 

“It’s obvious. At least it is to everyone. Sherlock really likes you,” Molly said. Tears no longer fell from her eyes. 

Her heart jumped at Molly’s words. Sherlock. Love. Obvious. “Really? Because it doesn’t feel like that.” If anything, Y/N thought Sherlock hated her now. It was as if she could never do anything right anymore after that night in the hotel. Even her need to breath made Sherlock tense. If he was in love, he sure had a strange way of showing it. But just the idea of Sherlock being in love with her washed away all sadness. It filled Y/N with hope. 

That was the other great thing about women crying together in bathrooms, they built hope together. You never left the bathroom sadder than when you entered it. You always emerged revived. It was the power of women. Something that was the same all over the world. 

“I’m sorry,” Molly whispered, and Y/N knew Molly was saying it for the same reasons she had said it to her. They weren’t alone. 

They stood in the bathroom chatting with each other for minutes longer. Each word only gave the women back strength they thought that they had lost. Soon, they could stand on their own. Their cheeks were no longer wet, and their eyes were no longer puffy and red. They were ready to face the world once more. 

_____

“Sherlock. What did you do?” Y/N hissed as she entered the lab. Her talk to Molly only made her even more infuriated with Sherlock. 

Sherlock immediately knew what Y/N was talking about. “Just saving her time. Isn't that kinder?” He smiled. 

Y/N’s eyes ticked. 

"Kinder? No, no, Sherlock. That wasn't kind,” John said. “He announced rudely to Molly her boyfriend was gay,” he explained to Y/N. 

“I know, I heard all about it in the bathroom as she was crying. Sherl–” Y/N scolded. 

“Go on, then,” Sherlock interrupted. His gaze was on John as he raised his hand to the shoes on the counter. 

“Mm?” John stared back at Sherlock confused. Y/N’s mouth hung wide open. A fly could have flown in and out and she wouldn’t have noticed. 

“You know what I do. Off you go,” Sherlock clarified now looking at the shoes. 

“No,” John shook his head. “You hurt Molly, and then interrupted Y/N. I’m not–”

“Go on,” Sherlock insisted. Y/N began to curse in the background. 

John angrily placed his hands on his hips. “I'm not gonna stand here so you can humiliate me while I try to disseminate…”

“An outside eye, a second opinion. It's very useful to me,” Sherlock sarcastically smiled. 

“Yeah, right!”  Y/N huffed. 

“Really,” Sherlock repeated. His tone was calm and serious. 

John bit his tongue as he stared at Sherlock. “Fine,” he grumbled before moving onto the shoes. “I dunno, they're just a pair of shoes. Trainers.”

Sherlock nodded. “Good.” 

“Umm... they're in good condition. I'd say they were pretty new... except the sole has been well-worn, so the owner must have had them for a while,” John continued. “Uh, they're very eighties – probably one of those retro designs.”

“You're in sparkling form,” Sherlock praised. It struck John’s pride just right to keep him talking and the focus off of him and Y/N. “What else?” 

“Well, they're quite big, so a man's,” John noted. His eyes glanced at Sherlock and then to Y/N as they watched him. 

“But...?”

“But there's traces of a name inside in felt-tip,” John said. “Adults don't write their names inside their shoes, so these belonged to a kid.”

Sherlock was beaming now. “Excellent. What else?”

“Uh... that's it," John muttered. His hand flopped to his sides as if to further express the point. 

“That's it?” Sherlock was disappointed. 

“How did I do?” John asked like he was a child being tested on the colors of the rainbow. 

“Well, John; really well,” Sherlock began. John softly smiled. “I mean, you missed almost everything of importance, but, um, you know…”

Y/N saw red. “If you’re so wise then Sherlock, show us what you’ve got.”

“Gladly,” Sherlock smiled at her, taking a bow with his head. “The owner loved these. Scrubbed them clean, whitened them where they got discolored. Changed the laces three... no, four times.  Even so, there are traces of his flaky skin where his fingers have come into contact with them, so he suffered from eczema. Shoes are well-worn, more so on the inside, which means the owner had weak arches. British-made, twenty years old.” 

“Twenty years?” John questioned. 

“They're not retro, they're original. Limited edition - two blue stripes, nineteen eighty-nine,” Sherlock explained. 

John shook his head. “But there's still mud on them. They look new.”

“Someone's kept them that way. Quite a bit of mud caked on the soles. Analysis shows it's from Sussex, with London mud overlaying it.” Sherlock peered at the shoes. 

“And how do you know that?” Y/N asked, stepping closer to the counter with the shoes. 

“Pollen,” Sherlock smirked. “Clear as a map reference to me. South of the river, too. So, the kid who owned these trainers came to London from Sussex twenty years ago and left them behind.”

“So what happened to him?” John wondered. 

“Something bad. He loved those shoes, remember. He'd never leave them filthy. Wouldn't leave them go unless he had to. So, a child with big feet gets…” Sherlock trailed off and his eyes bulged. “Oh.”

“What?” Y/N and John eagerly asked. 

“Carl Powers,” Sherlock whispered. 

John and Y/N looked at each other as if they had missed something. “Sorry, who?”

“Carl Powers, John,” Sherlock said. The annoyance in his voice was noticeable. 

“What is it?” Y/N found herself asking. 

“It's where I began,” Sherlock muttered. “Nineteen eighty-nine, a young kid – champion swimmer – came up from Brighton for a school sports tournament; drowned in the pool. Tragic accident. You wouldn't remember it. Why should you?”

As Sherlock relayed the story, something deep within Y/N had risen. “Carl Powers…huh.” She whispered to herself. The name felt familiar in her mouth. She couldn’t place why. 

“But you remember,” John noted. 

“Yes,” Sherlock replied. 

“Something fishy about it?” John asked. 

“Nobody thought so – nobody except me,” Sherlock explained. “I was only a kid myself. I read about it in the papers.” 

“Started young, didn't you?” John jokingly said. Sherlock ignored it. 

“The boy, Carl Powers, had some kind of fit in the water, but by the time they got him out it was too late. But there was something wrong; something I couldn't get out of my head.”

“What?” Y/N wondered.  

“His shoes,” Sherlock said. 

“What about them?” John looked at Sherlock stare off into the distance. 

“They weren't there,” Sherlock pushed himself out of the chair and stood up. “I made a fuss; I tried to get the police interested, but nobody seemed to think it was important. He'd left all the rest of his clothes in his locker, but there was no sign of his shoes...until now.” 

Sherlock had put on his coat in an instant before moving towards Y/N. With each step he took toward her, the ache in his chest lessened. “Right. Y/N with me.” His hand reached for hers wrapping around them so tightly she wouldn’t be able to escape. He didn’t care if she was pissed at him. All he cared about was keeping her safe. She could only be safe when he was with her. His observant eyes would keep danger away. He would keep the monster from twenty-years ago far away from her. The very one who broke into her apartment. The very monster who was warning and taunting him. “John, go deal with my brother.”

John stood dazed as he watched Sherlock drag Y/N behind him. They were gone before he could give Sherlock his reply. “Uh…fine.”

_____

It wasn’t often Mycroft got visitors. Although, to be fair, all his visitors were invited, so they weren’t technically visitors. “John. How nice,” Mycroft said. It said more to be socially acceptable than from joy that John had visited. “I was hoping you wouldn't be long. How can I help you?” Again, another trivial social phrase. Mycroft knew exactly why John was here, however being the British government required such pleasantries that his brother could afford not to have. 

“Thank you. Um, well,” John looked around Mycroft’s office. It was exactly as he expected. The office was practically decorated. The walls only had two paintings, each on opposite sides to create a sense of symmetry. There were a few chairs and of course a desk. Everything else was empty space. Mycroft was a practical person, a trait sometimes shared by Sherlock (barely).  “I was wanting to... um, your brother sent me to collect more facts about the stolen plans - the missile plans.”

Mycroft raised a brow up skeptically. “Did he?” 

“Yes.” John nodded before moving his eyes to look at a small notebook with questions and notes about the case. “He's investigating now. He's, er, investigating away,” John corrected. “Um, I just wondered what else you can tell me about the dead man.”

Leaning back into his chair, Mycroft began to answer John’s questions. “Uh, twenty-seven; a clerk at Vauxhall Cross – er, MI6. He was involved in the Bruce-Partington programmed in a minor capacity. Security checks A-OK; no known terrorist affiliations or sympathies... Last seen by his fiancée at ten thirty yesterday evening.” 

“Right. He was found at Battersea, yes?” John noted, “So he got on the train.” 

“No,” Mycroft replied. 

John looked up from his notes. The scribbling with his pen stopped. “What?” 

“He had an Oyster card…” Mycroft said. “...but it hadn't been used.” 

“Must have bought a ticket,” was John’s response and he went back to jotting down some notes. 

“There was no ticket on the body,” Mycroft corrected. 

John stopped again. “Then…”

Mycroft had grown a bit impatient. His back straightened and he leaned in the direction of where John stood. “Then how did he end up with a bashed-in brain on the tracks at Battersea? That is the question – the one I was rather hoping Sherlock would provide an answer to. How's he getting on?” He smiled letting John know he knew what his brother was actually doing. 

“He-he's fine, yes. Oh, and-and it is going…” John hesitantly gulped. Despite it all he hid his nervousness well. “...very well. It's, um, you know – he's completely focused on it.”

_____

Sherlock was, in fact, not focused on it. With his thumb tucked under his chin and his pointer fingers in front of his lips, Sherlock focused on Y/N. Well, he was thinking of the case, but each thought about the case was broken up with thought of her. 

The woman in question was making tea. She had to keep her hands busy so she wouldn’t accidentally strangle Sherlock for dragging her along and giving her no explanation. Even so, she had tried talking to him about everything: the kiss, the case, their relationship, Carl Powers, and the shoes found in her apartment. Each attempt was met with silence. All Sherlock seemed to do was stare at her. She found it unnerving as his careful eyes trailed across her face and body. 

“Poison,” Sherlock muttered. 

“What?” Y/N placed the teapot on the stove. Her eyes flitted over to Sherlock who was still gazing at her. 

“Clostridium botulinum!” He exclaimed before jumping out of his seat and pranced over to her. He had begun his dance. The one Y/N hated to admit she enjoyed watching. It really was beautiful how Sherlock twirled around the room as the ideas came to him. Each step entangled with new observations from the case. “It's one of the deadliest poisons on the planet! Carl Powers!” 

“Wait, are you saying he was murdered?” Y/N asked for clarification. Her eyes floated around the room finding Sherlock’s figure as he approached her. 

“Remember the shoelaces?” he smiled and she thought that this was her Sherlock. The intelligent, lively, and caring man was back. She could see it in his eyes as he looked at her. She had missed that look. She had missed his eyes on her. Once her Sherlock had returned, Y/N also felt herself return. 

“Mmm,” she nodded letting Sherlock know she was following. He was close now. Just as close as he had been when he held her after the explosion. 

“The boy suffered from eczema,” Sherlock beamed. “It'd be the easiest thing in the world to introduce the poison into his medication. Two hours later he comes up to London, the poison takes effect, paralyzes the muscles and he drowns.”

Her stomach jolted at the proximity, but she longed to be closer. “What – how-how come the autopsy didn't pick that up?” 

Instinctively Sherlock’s hands found the sides of her face. His cold fingers were warmed by the heat in her cheeks. “It's virtually undetectable. Nobody would have been looking for it. But there were still tiny traces of it left inside the trainers from where he put the cream on his feet. That's why they had to go,” Sherlock whispered. His nose brushed against hers. They were so close. He could just–

“So how do we let the bomber know…” Y/N wondered. 

Sherlock licked his lips and then let his hands grow cold once more. “Get his attention…”

“Mmm-hmm,” Y/N stepped in closer just as he stepped away. The distance remained the same.

“...stop the clock,” Sherlock said. His blue eyes trailed over hers before coming to rest on her lips. The very lips he had kissed so fervently not so long ago. He could still taste her on his tongue, but it was faint. The sweet intoxicating flavor plagued his mind and he knew he was addicted. He had to have more or else he’d waste away in withdrawal for the rest of his life. 

“The killer kept the shoes all these years,” Y/N said. Her breath was heavy weighing down her lungs. The air she exhaled was exhilarating. 

“Yes. Meaning…,” Sherlock muttered. 

“He's our bomber,” she finished. 

Before they could lean in closer and ease the ache in their souls, the pink phone buzzed. 

“Well done, you,” the woman cried. “Come and get me.”

When Sherlock stepped away from Y/N, the pain in his chest grew a million times worse. “Where are you? Tell us where you are.”

_____

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_____

[kanmom51]

JK's Weverse live 2 Feb 2023

OMG OMG OMG.

JK man, what did you do to us?

4 hours of JK. 4 friggin' hours.

Before I dive into the abyss I will say that this post is based on multiple trustworthy translation accounts, seeing there is no official translation nor will there be for quite some time now (4 hr. live, lol). I will update if any changes need to be made (after the official translation comes out).

Also, This is a long ass post, so breach yourselves, get yourselves your favourite snacks sit down and enjoy the ride. So so much to come.

Starting with his:

Knock knock, cheeky JK.

Let's sum up the 4 hours of the live shall we:

JK did the live in Brunnan.

JK's hair is long.

JK loves Bammi.

JK talked about his tattoos.

JK drank more beer than I could ever in one seating. Or maybe even 2 or 3 or 4...(I am a lightweight though).

JK was tired and still continued the live.

JK isn't working on his album at the moment, he's at home not doing much, well not working in any case.

RM commented a lot.

Tae commented a lot and got JK to do a live on IG that turned out to be pretty short, just surpassing his 7 min. live a few days back.

JK sang. A LOT.

JK sang Vibe. Twice. After calling JM cool, then adding Taeyang is cool too. He also gave us a little dance move.

Ooh, and we got JK singing Sam Smith's Unholy.

That's 4 hours in a nut shell I guess.

End of post.

Nah, gotcha.

We have tons to cover, so let's get it:

JK starts the live telling us he's not really supposed to be doing a live, I told you, cheeky boy.

Lol.

JK moves on to tell us he's not working on his album at the moment, and actually not doing much of anything at the moment.

I'm all for it. After 10 years of working practically non stop, throughout his youth, he deserves this time off.

JK does say he's spending time alone, at times hasn't left the house for 6 days in a row.

And as the introvert that he is, and as the introvert that I am, I get him. Totally. I could stay at home for days and feel totally content.

Doesn't mean he's not doing anything though. He's doing what he wants to do as opposed as living by a schedule. Taking the time to watch shows, videos, clips he wants to watch is one of those things he told us he does. I just do hope he's in a good mind space. The past couple of years were not easy. The not knowing not easy. Knowing MS is around the corner not easy. Jikook having to adjust to the new reality not easy. He needs this rest and I'm happy he's getting it.

Makes me think though about those stories told of him going out on the town like going skiing or snowboarding or spending time with Tae all the time (I literally have an ask in my inbox telling me just that). Dunno, perhaps it's time for many to finally start questioning these unsubstantiated stories?

Now don't come at me. Not saying JK and Tae aren't close friends. They might be both meeting up occasionally and/or playing online games together all day everyday. What I'm saying is that I'm sick of unsubstantiated stories someone sprouts on Twitter turned into facts without any actual proof.

And it's always the TKK side of things - believing until proven wrong. Because when the shoe is on the other foot, aka JKK, the knee jerk reaction is to not believe until proven true.

Just a thought...

After JK talks about how long his hair has grown, and damn, it has grown so long, Bam makes an appearance. Bammi. How we missed him so.

I truly think Bam deserves a whole post of his own, and I will give you one. I promise. Cause so many cute Bamkook moments, including a lethal Bam kiss.

JK's asked about Jin and says he thinks he's doing well and that he's in touch with them occasionally in their group chat. That same group chat many fans forget they actually have to communicate amongst themselves and not via their public IG accounts. That is when they don't communicate personally with each other privately.

JK brings up not seeing "Yoongi marry me".

Vibe.

Next JK started with the karaoke. We got to enjoy JK's flawless voice throughout his live. But he started us off with Vibe.

JK singing and dancing vibe on his live - all I've been living for the past couple of weeks, lol - singing it TWICE.

This too deserves a whole separate post, and it probably will get one.

Saying that, JK with singing Vibe (do I have to remind he did it twice?) has now performed 7 of JM's songs while live or recording content.

JK continues to sing several songs by TXT, New Jeans, Seventeen, RM, etc. Like I said, karaoke night full blow (filling up the 4 hour live).

A list of his songs throughout the live can be found here:

JK was asked if he has a tattoo on his back, to which he said he doesn't, only on his right arm.

We had a little JK-Army flirtation going on, as per usual, lol.

Mr. Jeon Jungkook also thinks maybe he's the next to get appendicitis. I sure hope he's wrong.

And that at 25 yo he's getting old.- everything hurts. Why am I not surprised (man cannot do anything half way).

RM popped in to visit JK's live, a little drunk perhaps, lol.

And JK...

Next comes the thing everyone has been literally waiting for...

The tattoos.

I know this will be twisted and turned and I feel sorry for the accounts with their anons open, cause this, not surprisingly, is turning into to a shit storm...

There are a few translations out there, most not full ones, and others pretty unreliable.

So, I'm still on the lookout for a reliable full translation for these. I've found a couple that feel like they have an agenda.

I did find this one, a full translation that seems to be more or less on the up and up - lines up with all the bits and pieces I've found in the accounts I do trust.

One specific tattoo JK neglects to talk about is the eclipse tattoo. Unintentional you think? I think not.

So, let's get down to what we really came for, eh? His hand tattoo. The talk of the town.

I know JK said the J is for JK. JK and Army.

Loud and clear, right?

But is it?

Is JK sharing the whole story with us?

Why then on the ring finger?

Why over the M?

Why not allow anything come between the two?

Also funny, as @jaksal pointed out, how for JM's birthday in 2021 for some reason the J and M were kept apart, distanced, quite like the J and M on JK's finger. Apart but not parted (mostly).

Another question I can't help but ask is since when does J stand for JK? Really. Please tell me when was the first or last time JK ever referred to himself as J.

Jungkook calls himself JK. He is referred to by others as JK. When he writes his name in Roman letters he writes JK. Never J.

On top of that, why not put the J over the A? Would make more sense, J + Army from the start...

And if he decided to put the crown over the A, which he did, then why not put the J over any other finger other than the actual ring finger that happened to make a lovely clear and constantly touched up and darkened JM?

Could JK share the whole story with us even if he really wanted to?

JK in essence debunked the story that Army were living for since 2019 - that Army with the J stood for all the 7 members of BTS. The A inverted standing for V.

Yes, he said the J is for JK, but could he say he added the J on his ring finger over the M to make JM? The only one out of all of the members he decided to tattoo onto his skin, have on his hand for all to see?

Telling us J over the M on his ring finger stood for JM would be literally outing the two as a queer couple. No ifs ands or buts.

And you can't say the same about him telling us army is army. Because admitting army was for all the members wouldn't put him in a queer relationship with one of the members, all while having JM on his ring finger would seal the deal on that.

So what did JK do talking about his tattoos? He omitted the JM, and the eclipse - the two specific known tattoos that can link him directly to JM (and if the eclipse had nothing to do with JM why not talk about it too?).

Oh, and I know what comes next -

Being asked "are you calling him a liar?"

Heck no.

But telling a necessary untruth, or embellishing the truth, or omitting some facts, or perhaps the right way of seeing it is giving us the acceptable excuse.

Nope. Not lying. But all the above... yeah, that.

Seriously, take a second to think clearly. What was he supposed to do? Really? Admit that the J and M are connected and mean JM?

I've been seeing people talking about how JK didn't realise what he was doing. That he didn't see the placement came out like JM. Please give me a break. Do they really have such low regard for JK?

The man that came up with this:

Wouldn't realise the J placed over the M makes JM - Jimin. Ha-ha-ha.

With or without the next paragraph, JK knew what he was doing.

But if we do trust this specific translation, JK points out that he placed the crown over the A. Thoughtfully. Intentionally. Do we really think he wouldn't have had the same thought process with the J?

Please don't insult JK's intelligence.

And if you wonder what K-JKKs are thinking:

And being harassed and bullied and bad mouthed for speaking their minds. How familiar...

Oh, and just in case we forgot, during the live JK made sure we'll remember how he refers to Jimin... starting to actually say the actual name and then intentionally changing it up to JM. See for yourselves.

And if you are even interested to know what my 21 yo army non Jikooker daughter's reaction was to the whole Army and J tattoo explanation (you're getting either way)...same daughter that told me the army stood for all members and we argued about it many a times.

You know what she said to me?

"Well, what do you expect him to say? That it's JM? Of course he can't say that".

EXACTLY!!

He can't say it.

So, if I haven't made myself clear by now I'll say it once more with feeling:

The combination of the J and the M on JK's ring finger stands for JM.

Again, I don't think JK is lying. But he's omitting.

The J could definitley be there to not only mean JM but him as well, which would make it even more romantic, if you will. The J and the M, JK and JM marked on his ring finger. If that's not commitment idk what is.

Then Tae joined the fun.

So, JK started the live.

Full untranslated live here (couldn't find a reliable translated one on YT just yet):

JK getting up mid live, to get something?

comes back and still talk for a few minutes, to each other (?) and that's it.

Not much was going on there.

Not gonna say the D (disconnected) word, cause y'all gonna come down my throat.

What was kind of obvious is that no, they no bumping knees. Two mates talking. To each other, next to each other, sometimes the first, sometimes the other.

When you are asking to have a live but then reduced to play with the filters cause the convo, it just ain't flowing, all to end the live after around 10 minutes (I think only around half of that was them talking to each other)...

I'd say reach your own conclusions.

The apartment

Before moving on let's talk a little about the apartment shall we?

We know who is on the lease of Brunnan.

We know it's furnished with some of the dorm's furniture (I'm not 100% sure, but that lounge sure looked like the dorm lounge).

Walls bare.

Clothes rack empty.

What looked like his coat maybe lying on the lounge next to him.

This time he was prepared with a chilled beer glass (after the tea cup wine drinking debacle, lol).

Let's get real here.

Could he be living there? Sure he could. Spending days on end in a bare, cold, lifeless apartment with zero character.

Could he be living elsewhere, let's say somewhere where we aren't even shown anything other than the tv screen? Sure he could. But not on paper. Not officially.

Could two grown men that literally aren't allowed to be in a queer relationship starting the second they enlist need to have official/public known separate addresses, and perhaps there is another place, kept secret, where they can spend most of their time together their privacy guaranteed? Knowing there are still queer couples in SK that live that way, my answer to that will be yes.

Do we know for sure? Heck no. And that, my friends, is the whole idea. We're not supposed to know, as much as our curiosity kills us.

Just a couple of more things and we're done. Phew...

We had this:

JK likes cute

Just in case we weren't aware of it, once again JK confirms that his type is cute. Since forever.

Cute has JK giggling.

Cute has JK drooling.

Another one that deserves it's very own post. So much to do...

Note to self: you asked for Jikook content, don't complain now that you got some.

Sam Smith's Unholy

I'm going to end this long ass post with some JK singing and dancing to Sam Smith's Unholy.

Because how better to end this with a diva JK?

Of course he'll know the choreo.

[em-mermaid]

my heart is wherever you are

Ren’s hand is warm between his own.

“You’re here.” Ren whispers, as they meet each other’s gaze. His eyes seem to search, drinking in Martyn’s face with a look that feels like he’s afraid he will disappear. “How?”

or: Ren finally gives up his role as king.

(also on AO3)

——————

Martyn is falling.

Falling.

Down. Always down.

A never ending plummet, tumbling towards an unknown destination. Sometimes, he wonders how he knows he’s moving downwards instead of any other direction through this liminal space, through this in between. He supposes he has to trust his gut on that one. No other choice really.

So he falls, ever downwards through the endless stream. A sort of stasis.

Usually, it ends with a phone call. Sometimes it’s Scott calling to say hello or one of the Noxcrew pulling him into another MCC. Other times it’s Grian on the other end, extending an offer to join yet another one of his experimental servers. An offer to join a game that he would accept without an ounce of hesitation, but boy is he getting tired.

Well, maybe tired is the wrong word.

He still enjoys them quite a lot. It’s a chance to see some old friends and make some new ones. A chance to strategize and have fun. But maybe, he thinks, after this last game the taste of victory didn’t sit on his tongue in quite the way he wanted it to.

And there are always the whispers. The taunts and bloodlust that he can’t quite shake. The voices calling for a rematch, for a victory, for a reunion with a king that is no longer his. A king he failed.

A king he lost.

A king he loves.

And still, he falls.

The shrill sound of his communicator startles him from the monotony of air rushing past his ears. He looks down at his watch to see… Cleo? Why is Cleo calling? Cleo never calls.

“Hello?” he answers, feeling a tug from his sternum. Well, that’s definitely her on the other end.

“Oh Martyn, hi!” Their voice crackles through the speakers. “I wasn’t sure this would work, I’m glad you answered. Do you have a minute?”

“I’ve got all the time in the world,” he replies. “Although, would you say this is out of the world? How would you classify the datastream?”

He hears her chuckle through the line. “I dunno Martyn, you’re the one who spends all their time there.

“You make a good point.”

“Yeah I do. Anyway, I have, well, a bit of a large request.”

Martyn hums inquisitively, unsure. What would Cleo need from him of all people?

“I know this is a touchy subject for you, but it’s important, alright? I was giving Ren a tour of–”

He cuts them off, talking over them, words tumbling from his mouth before he can think twice. “Whoa whoa whoa wait what? This is about Ren?”

Cleo scoffs. “Yes Martyn, it is. If you could give me just a minute to explain before interrupting that would be grand.” And oh, of course the sharp sting of her words is something reliable in every life.

He rubs a hand down his face with a groan. It’s not worth the argument now. He knows she would just hang up and leave him wondering, and he is far too curious to risk that at the moment. “Right, right okay. What’s this about Ren, then?”

“So, I was giving Ren a tour of my museum earlier and— you remember that he became king of the server for a while, yeah?”

Martyn makes a noise of acknowledgement. He remembers overhearing something about it in passing but never had the chance to ask about it.

“Well,” Cleo continues. “My museum has a lot of artifacts from then and he sorta had a bit of a breakdown after seeing them? And now he’s asking for you.”

“He–” Martyn hesitates. Surely that’s not true. It’s been so long since he’s heard from Ren. Why was he only reaching out now? Why through Cleo? After they had been allies at the end of last life, Ren had seemed distant. There was the sting of double life, where BigB had taken his place at Ren’s side, followed by Ren’s complete absence in limited life. Martyn had finally been starting to accept that maybe Ren was avoiding him, that maybe he had pushed Ren too far, gotten too close.

When Martyn finally speaks his voice is softer, with a quiver he didn’t intend to let through. “He wants to see me?”

She lets out a soft sigh, a noise far more genuine than he’s heard in a while. “Yes, Martyn, he does.”

“Oh.”

“X has already agreed, you’re whitelisted if you want to join us. Quite honestly, I think Ren would really appreciate seeing your face right now.”

This is his chance. Ren wants to talk. To see him. It’s almost bittersweet, but also too good to be true. After all this time. After all these months, nearly years of waiting for him. All those unanswered calls and messages and finally the chance at some answers.

“Yeah,” he says, and it feels like the right decision. “Yeah, I’ll join.”

“Perfect. Give me a minute to message X and I will see you soon.”

“Aye aye captain, see ya.”

And, with that, the phone call ends as quick as it started, leaving him in stunned silence. He’s going to see Ren. He’s going to see Ren today. It’s finally time to be reunited with his love. With his King.

His phone beeps.

[Join Hermitcraft Season 9?]

He clicks.

——————

The world spins when his feet touch down, the air squeezing on his chest as he struggles to adapt to the new environment. He can feel the busyness, how the air seems to almost vibrate with life. Redstone lag pulses from somewhere to his left and a drowned gurgles from below the soft waves to his right.

He feels a hand come to rest his shoulder, holding him steady as he finds his balance and blinks in the bright sunlight.

“Ah, are you quite alright, my friend?” A voice asks, and he finally regains his senses enough to see a helmeted face in front of him.

“Peachy,” he manages as Cleo touches down on the ground nearby. She stumbles slightly with the speed of the landing, but before he can say anything to her, she tosses him an elytra. It nearly knocks the breath from his lungs as he scrambles to catch the wings.

“What, not even a hug?”

“Not if you ask like that!” She quips back. Despite the sharp words, she squeezes his arm in greeting.

“Thanks X, I got him from here.”

“No worries. Let me know if you need anything else. And keep me updated on Ren, yeah?”

“Will do.”

Xisuma flies away, leaving the two of them alone at spawn. It’s quiet for a moment while Cleo watches Martyn put on the elytra. He takes a breath and Cleo fishes out some rockets, passing a handful to him. He feels unsteady, uncertain. Now that he’s here, he begins to wonder what he’s gotten himself into.

“It’s nice to see you,” Cleo says and they give him a small smile. It doesn’t fully reach their eyes.

“Right back at you. Are you alright?”

Her eyebrows pinch together and he sees a flash of pursed lips before she’s leaning in and wrapping him in a hug. It’s nice, he thinks as he returns the gesture. Her hair tickles his nose, but her arms are warm where they rest around his shoulders.

She steps back after a moment. “Ren’s at my base. We should really go.”

“Yeah ok,” he nods, holding out his rockets. “I’m ready.”

They take off together, the twin bursts of rockets leaving behind a trail of dust as they lift up into the air and steady out over the landscape. Buildings pass below, connected by paved roads and dark oak forests. He sees a few distant people walking below and some even flying around.

Cleo veers right, passing a towering bone hand and two large buildings before the ocean and a floating island comes into view.

It truly is a stunning base.

The dark towers and prismarine roofs are bold and powerful, but the whole area is softened by lush gardens and crawling vines. Sculptures of various people appear in windows and through doorways and hint at the life and love hiding just inside.

Cleo leads them inside, through a grand throne room and past a room of cards. When they reach a secluded door, she finally pauses.

“You can leave your elytra in here if you want,” she offers, opening a nearby barrel and placing her own inside.

He fumbles with his for a moment before placing it on top of hers. She nods and closes the barrel softly, turning towards the door.

“He’s in here.” She pushes open the door and gestures for him to go in first.

It takes a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dark room, but when they do, they are drawn to the man on the bed. He’s curled in on himself, tucked under a red cloak. His eyes are distant, unseeing, and even in the half light Martyn can see tears gleaming behind them, threatening to spill over.

“Ren?” he whispers, voice cracking over the word as he reaches out his hand, unsure.

Ren blinks, eyes struggling to focus towards the voice and a silence stretches over them. It’s suffocating and threatens to take over his already tight chest. For a long moment, the only thing he hears is the soft wheezing breath of Cleo in the doorway and the distant waves against the island below. And Ren just blinks. Blinks into the darkness. Blinks as a single tear trails down his cheek.

Martyn hesitates in the silence, looking on as Ren gathers his senses. It stretches long enough that he begins to believe that Ren hadn’t heard him. He wouldn’t ignore a direct call of his name, right? Martyn withdraws his hand, moving to tap his fingers on his thigh, anxious, unsure. Surely Ren just didn’t hear. Maybe he should ask again? He takes a breath in the stillness, opening his mouth, ready to speak again when a soft, broken voice burrows its way through the silence.

“Me Hand?”

At that, Martyn rushes forward, all hesitations thrown to the side as he falls to his knees by the bed, taking Ren’s hand in his own. “I’m here, My Liege.”

This close, he can see the tear tracks along Ren’s face, the way his laugh lines look so jarring against the furrow of his brow. His eyes are red, but not in the way they had been during The Games. Now, instead of irises shining with an unnatural color, they are a gray-blue surrounded with a redness only found in a man who is holding back far too many tears.

Ren’s hand is warm between his own.

“You’re here.” Ren whispers, as they meet each other’s gaze. His eyes seem to search, drinking in Martyn’s face with a look that feels like he’s afraid he will disappear. “How?”

There is a quiet chuckle from behind him and Cleo’s voice melds into their shared bubble of silence and not silence. “I might have called in a favor from Xisuma after you asked for him back at the museum.”

Ren gives them a shaky smile, something much closer to a grimace than Martyn prefers to see on his face. “Yeah, sorry about that my dudes.”

“It’s fine, Ren.” Cleo says, moving into his periphery to sit on the edge of the bed. She places a hand on Ren’s knee comfortingly. “Although, you did kinda space out there for a while after the tour. You kept asking for your Hand and I thought you meant Bdubs at first, but–”

Martyn whips his head around to look at her, a sudden fury rushing through him. “Bdubs?” he exclaims, something far louder than anything else being said. Cleo only rolls their eyes at him.

“Yes, Martyn. Bdubs. I thought I told you about Ren being king of Hermitcraft.” The words aren’t exactly unkind, but he can feel his hackles rise at the thought, the implication that anyone except himself could ever be Ren’s Hand.

And sure, she had mentioned to him that Bdubs had given him the crown and played that role, but that didn’t mean Bdubs could just take that from him during some silly copycat event. Martyn is Ren’s Hand. Ren is his King.

He feels a gentle squeeze of his hand, drawing his attention back to Ren. His King, who is now smiling so softly up at him, despite the tears still lingering just behind his eyes. “I missed you, Me Hand. But surely you must know that Bdubs could never replace you.”

How, Martyn wonders, is Ren able to make him crumble at just a small handful of words? To take such an outburst of emotions and cradle them so gently when he is so clearly fighting an emotional outburst of his own. Had it really been long enough for him to forget how Ren cares so deeply for those around him? How he dismisses fears of his own when someone else needs guidance?

Or, a voice in the back of his head whispers, is it that he had thought Ren had moved on? It has been so long since they last spoke, last touched hands, and even when they did it had been fleeting. Watcher assigned soulmates tugging them away from the possibility of rekindling what they once had.

But the hand in his own is warm and real and he’s certain Ren can see the war in his eyes as much as he can see one reflected back from his King’s.

“Do you really mean that?” Martyn asks, his voice now barely audible in the quiet room.

“Of course I do,” Ren whispers back, lifting their hands to press a soft kiss onto Martyn’s knuckles.

The surprised noise Martyn lets out lands somewhere between a laugh and a sob as he falls forward to tuck his head into Ren’s neck. “I missed you so much, my Liege.”

For a moment they sit in the quiet, breathing in each other’s presence. It’s nice, relieving, like releasing a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. He already feels lighter, more at home than he’s felt in years. Ren is here. Ren is safe. Ren missed him too.

Martyn starts to become aware of an ache in his knees where they are pressed against the hardwood floors. He shifts minutely and leans up to press more weight onto his arms.

“Oh, it’s been a while since I’ve been on my knees for you, my Liege. These joints aren’t as young as they used to be.”

Cleo snorts while Ren, his lovely Ren, lets out the loudest laugh. It’s still tinted with tears, but it’s real and genuine and it’s music to his ears.

“Get up here, you old man,” Cleo says fondly, nudging Ren’s legs out of the way so she can slide across the bed. Ren shifts with her, sitting up to make space for him.

I’m younger than you!” Martyn deflects as he pulls himself up off the ground and onto the bed, earning himself a threatening glare and a pillow to the face. “Alright, ok, I earned that one.”

He delights in the way Cleo’s eyebrows scrunch together in a scowl and how Ren tilts his head back as he continues to laugh at their antics.

“Ok Ren,” Cleo prompts once the laughter dies down. Her words are direct, yet laced with concern. “What happened back there?”

And Martyn sees the way Ren hunches as he pulls the red robe tighter around his shoulders, how his eyebrows pull together and a frown takes over his features. There’s a hesitancy in his actions, like he is holding back. Making himself smaller despite the joy he usually finds in being at the center of a conversation.

“I don’t know,” he mumbles, and Martyn’s not sure he’s ever heard him that subdued.

Cleo reaches out to place a hand on his knee. Something about the touch seems to relax him slightly. “Then what can we do to help?

Martyn, for all his love of words and jumping into action, sits in stunned silence watching the pair. Sure, he had seen Ren in the quiet, tense moments between battles, seen the way he would analyze their previous moves and strategy before marching on to the next task. He had seen the way he sometimes doubted if he was making the right choices, but still managed to talk through a solution.

And even in the calmer moments, curled up together to ward off the chill and loneliness of the night, never had he seen Ren unsure of his actions to this degree. Unsure enough to fold in on himself and hide away like he would be shamed for even admitting to his thoughts or actions.

For a moment the three of them just sit, waiting for Ren to collect his thoughts, watching how his face twitches with hints of fleeting expressions as he works out what to say next. He opens and closes his mouth a handful of times before settling on a statement that feels like a punch to the gut.

“I was never worthy of the crown.”

“What?” Martyn can’t help but exclaim, the words finally spilling from him without thought to the delicacy of the situation. “Of course you are! I mean just look at all you’ve done. I’ve never met anyone else who cares about his friends and subjects as much as you. You put so much time and attention into every detail, every plan, just to make sure no one is excluded or left behind. And you give so much of your time and resources and energy to everyone regardless of their rank. It’s so obvious to anyone that sees you, that you are a natural leader and anyone would be lucky to have you as their king!”

Martyn sees how Ren’s eyes widen at the outburst, how tears gather in the corners as he stares back.

“But, me Hand, you weren’t here when the shopping district fell to ruin. They hunted me down, I was slain in mine own labyrinth.” His hands rest in his lap, fingers fidgeting with the diamonds in his cloak. “I let them down. They needed a king who could improve the server and all I did was make it worse.”

“Ren, Martyn’s right.” Cleo says, lightly squeezing his knee.

“Of course I am!” Martyn interjects

“He’s right sometimes,” she jabs lightly before continuing. “You were an amazing king. Yeah you made mistakes, but who doesn’t, y’know? No one is holding that against you.”

“But the people grew tired of me. They hate these robes and everything I did.” His voice wilts. “I see the looks they give me. I barely see anyone in the shopping district anymore. It’s like they are avoiding me.” He takes a shaky breath. “I never wanted them to hate me.”

“Oh, is that what this is all about?” Cleo asks softly, leaning over to cup his face with her palm and guiding him to meet her eyes. “Listen to me, Ren. No one hates you. Not for what you did as king and not for any other reason.”

A tear finally breaks free and rolls down Ren’s face. His voice cracks when he speaks. “Thank you, Lady Cleo.”

She smiles fondly at him, soft in a way that Martyn has never seen. “Anything for you, Ren.”

They sit for a moment, quiet and still, before Ren takes a steadying breath, squares his shoulders and slides off the bed.

“Me Hand,” he announces, with a dramatic twirl to face them. The pose he strikes is tall, powerful, and authoritative, despite the tear tracks on his face and Martyn finds himself moving closer on the edge bed, sitting on his knees before him. “I think it is time for me to pass on my crown to the next in line.”

“What? Really?” Martyn exclaims, and Ren nods slowly at his incredulous question. Ren lifts an eyebrow at him and it’s then Martyn realizes what is happening.

Ren is offering them both closure. He is, in his own way, reaching out for this one final scene, one final moment, for them to truly be a King and his Hand. They’ve both been hurting, longing for a past that will never return. For a reign that was far too short and ended far too bloody. He’s offering this chance to wrap up this chapter of their lives by passing on the title, passing on the crown. To finally move on, to have this moment together.

An unguided Hand, now guided to freedom.

Martyn takes a breath, bowing his head in respect and allowing himself to slip back into his role as Ren’s Hand. “Who will it be, my Liege?”

And his King flashes him the brightest smile. “Why, it is Lady Cleo, of course!”

“Cleo?”

Cleo huffs, but joins the pair at the edge of the bed, her thigh brushing against Martyn’s own. With a small smirk, she joins their scene. “It would be an honor to wear the tiniest of crowns.”

“Then shall we starteth the ceremony?”

“Yes, my Liege.” Martyn agrees with a bow of his head.

His King stands tall and begins his speech to a crowd of two. “Hello, citizens of Hermitcraft! We have gathered today on this most glorious of occasions–”

Martyn snorts. “You make it sound like someone is getting married.”

“Hush,” Cleo retorts, elbowing his side. “I wanna hear where this is going.”

Ren, for his part, only gives them a small smile before continuing. “We are here today, because I have decided to step down as King of the Server. I know this might be a shock for some of you, but please hear me out, friends, and know that this is not a choice I make lightly.”

“As some of you must know by now, my popularity as King is dwindling. I’ve heard the rumblings of rebellion, I know the people want me gone. I know you are unhappy with the economy, with my Royal Emeralds. With me.”

It’s at this point, another tear pools out and makes its way down his King’s cheek. “This is why I have decided to pass on my crown.” His voice warbles. “Lady Cleo, would you please stand.”

“Yes, my King,” she says. They step into his space, brushing the stray tears from his face. When she whispers near his ear, it is almost too quiet for Martyn to hear, even in the otherwise silent room. “I’m proud of you.”

After moving to face him, she nods her head. She looks good there, next to Ren. She stands tall, red hair curling around her shoulders and her majestic blue dress already looks like it is worthy of royalty.

“Now presenting, Lady Cleo of Atlantis!” He speaks towards Cleo, towards the otherwise empty room. “As most of you already know, Lady Cleo is one of the knights of the square table and one of my most trusted advisors. She has put up with much of mine shenanigans. She is always around to tell me when I am being ridiculous, even if I choose not to heed her advice. They are smart and logical, and I know in my heart that the kingdom will be well taken care of in their hands!”

Cleo smiles. “Aw thank you, Ren.”

“Me Hand,” Ren addresses him, voice quieting. “It is time.”

Martyn stands, a tight feeling in his chest making itself known as he does. “Of course, my Liege.”

Ren takes his hands and pulls him close. His eyes are somber, yet determined. “Thank you, for all you have done for me. Your support, loyalty, and kindness have not gone unnoticed. Even in our years apart, I have wished only the best for you. But now, it is time for our reign to come to an end.” He lets out a shaky breath.

“Martyn,” says the voice of his King, of his love, his Ren, who presses their foreheads together as he speaks Martyn’s name for the first time in far too long. “Would you please do me the honor of crowning the new king?”

Martyn breathes in. The smell of Ren’s shampoo surrounds him and he remembers all the nights spent in the snow fort, all the days spent crafting and trading and planning. The way Ren would brush kisses across his forehead in passing or jump into his arms in excitement. And now he breathes out into the dimly lit room, on a server that is not their own, in a castle that isn’t theirs. But still, in front of him is the same set of bright blue eyes. “As you wish, my love.”

Ren kneels.

And Martyn knows it is a final bow.

This is his last moment as King. Martyn’s final moment as his Hand. All they have done is through, and it’s time.

Martyn brushes Ren’s hair from his face, tucking a strand behind his ear. “It has been an honor serving you, my Lord.”

“And I you.” Ren whispers.

The crown is small, but Martyn holds it between his fingers with overwhelming care. The jewels shimmer in the soft light of the room. It’s different from the original crown of iron Ren had designed in secret back in their other world. Back when resources and tools were limited. That one had been rough, uneven, with dents along the edges and a single rare diamond held firmly in place. This new one is smooth, golden, and the numerous jewels around it display the wealth and prosperity of his kingdom. Oh how far he has come.

Martyn lifts the crown, and with it, the burden of being King. The weight of countless difficult decisions. The need for perfection and protection and poise.

The crown feels heavier than it has any right to be and yet there is a lightness in the air.

Cleo smiles when he turns to her. Her hand finds its way to rest comfortingly in Ren’s hair.

He places the crown on her head. Her red curls wrap around it like snakes who have just found their new treasure. It looks stunning, like it was made to fit her.

“Now introducing, King Cleo of Hermitcraft. Long live the king.”

Martyn joins Ren, kneeling before their new King and sighs, taking Ren’s hand in his own.

It’s over.

A new chapter has begun.

Cleo is the one who finally breaks their shared silence, extending her hands to help them up. “Oh come here, you two. You’re being far too serious for such a joyous day.”

Ren grunts as he stands. “You’re one to talk, King Cleo. How do you think the dead king feels?”

“I think being dead is a wonderful thing and I’m glad you’re giving it a go!”

Ren laughs. It’s light and magical and so very him. “Ah, I should have realized you had nefarious undead intentions!”

Cleo takes Ren’s jaw in her hands and guides him closer. Martyn watches as he turns to putty under her gaze. “If I had truly nefarious intentions, you would have known a long time ago.”

Ren licks his lips, glancing down at Cleo’s, which are now just a breath away from his own. “But, you are known to play the long game.”

“Hmm, I suppose I am. Time will tell then, won’t it?”

He hums an acknowledgment before she pulls him the final stretch, kissing him firmly.

The kiss is fairly short, but undoubtedly full of love. Martyn can’t help but watch, taking in the way Ren leans into her, his hands wrapping around her waist as her’s continue to cradle his jaw.

It’s nice, he thinks as they part, to be privileged enough to be privy to this moment of softness from Cleo. To see that Ren has been treated well in his time between the Games. It soothes a tightness in his chest that he hadn’t realized was there.

“I love you,” Ren says to her, voice gentle.

They stroke a thumb along his cheek. “Love you too. You did good today.” She glances over at Martyn. “You both did.”

He startles slightly at the genuine tone of the compliment. It’s few and far between when he is on the receiving end of their kind words. Not unlikely, but still, he wasn’t expecting to be included in their little moment.

Despite this, the words settle themselves across his shoulders like a warm blanket, and he can feel a light blush begin to color his cheeks. “Aw, thanks Cleo.”

She reaches out, offering Martyn a hand and a smile, guiding him into their space.

How very fitting it is.

A Hand and his Kings. Guided by them, towards them, to them. Pulled into their gravity, always finding his way into their orbit.

But maybe, just maybe, they were always meant to collide.

So when he falls into their space, Cleo’s hand is warm where it squeezes his own.

And Ren’s lips taste like coming home.

[caffeine-clouds]

What Your Favourite Sonic Ship Says About You! (Part 1)

(Sonamy, Sonadow, Sonally) FULL DISCLAIMER: Shipping is a hot topic of debate, but this post is lighthearted fun! I'm a multi-shipper, I love most of these ships - and I can see why some people like the dynamics that I might not. This is not a bashing post, this is fun time. So, without further ado- Sonamy

You appreciate the simpler things in life. You decided to ship the protagonist with the main girl character just like 90% of all media writers, it's just what you're comfortable with. In terms of fanfiction tropes, do you happen to enjoy childhood sweethearts, meet-cutes, soulmates - that type of thing? I just had a feeling... Either way, you're just here for the cute vibes and the pining - and who can blame you? You probably really liked the fact that when you first came across the ship that it was the girl of the pair being the one so forward with her romantic feelings. But as time has gone on - you're either one of those people that really miss that side of Amy, or you're one of those that are so dang grateful they've toned her down. Either way, it's safe to say that this is one of the most vanilla of Sonic ships - and that's not an insult, vanilla is a good ice cream flavour. But no one is really going to fight you on your opinion other than the 5% of remaining toxic Sonally shippers, and those people that are somehow still living in the Sonic Heroes era. Sonadow

You saw that Sonic and Shadow's rivalry has been going on for far longer than 7 years, so it must be gay - and honestly, I can't fault your logic. You're a sucker for two disasters who can't express their feelings, and you have just determined that fighting is simply their love language. Even with Shadow's limited screen time in Prime, you suck every single dang crumb you're given like a vacuum. And by the way, you definitely have an Ao3 account - don't try and hide it. We already know you're a sucker for enemies/rivals to lovers... and I'd also wager you enjoy just-one-bed. Also you like that thing where characters constantly call each other by a nickname, and only end up calling them by their actual name during a confession scene or when one of the characters is seriously injured. I dunno, just had a hunch you'd like that sort of thing. You are debating between two sides of yourself - part of you wants Shadow's old characterization back where he was a more in-depth character and showed Sonic more respect, but part of you also loves how so damn obsessive Shadow is in modern games over Sonic and how much he wants to fight him - because that at least implies that Sonic is on Shadow's mind literally most of the time. But when all is said and done, this is vanilla when it comes to gay ships in the Sonic community. It's too damn easy, it's why it's the most popular Sonic ship on Tumblr. This ship was made for the LGBTQ+ community. Sonally

Opposites attract is your go-to, and it's been tried and tested - the formula works, I see it. You strike me as the person who really cares about canon material, and you tend to steer away from a lot of fanon. I also have a strong feeling you're a Sonic fan that's on the older side, back when SatAM and Archie were at their peak and considerably more popular. It's a ship with all the things you need to be happy - the characters have a deep, long-lasting bond, it's a sweet ship, and the two have constrasting personalities - so it doesn't get stale for you. You're probably into similar tropes as the Sonamy shippers - but you enjoy more drama and spice to your fanfics, and you won't shy away from angst - Archie loved its angst, I know you enjoyed that shit. You're either content with all the Sonally content you've gotten over the years, and will occassionally look at fanarts. Or you're one of those people who will not let the Archie comics go, you are still in denial - you are begging for Sally's return into the series and you're hoping now that Ian Flynn is writing for the games, that your dreams might just become a reality.

[umi-adxhira]

𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐈𝐀𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐗 | 𝐍𝐒𝐅𝐖 𝐀𝐋𝐏𝐇𝐀𝐁𝐄𝐓

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒: ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍ ʀᴇx

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄: Rawr (I have nothing to say)

𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐀 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐊

➵ A = Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

William is very attentive after sex. He makes sure that you're cleaned up and you both cuddle. If anything hurts, he'll massage it for you

➵ B = Body Part (Their favourite body part of theirs and also their partners)

His favourite body part of himself is probably his chest (so is mine). He never really paid much attention to it until he found you almost drooling at his shirtless form. So he tries to be shirtless to rile you up

His favourite part of you is probably your neck. He likes to hickey it up and loves seeing it uncovered during the day

➵ C = Cum (Anything to do with cum, basically)

Likes to cum on your boobs/chest, and also inside you. He likes to see the cum ooze out of your soppy cunt and use his fingers to push it back in

➵ D = Dirty Secret (Pretty self-explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

Steals your undies and masturbate when he's stressed. Cums on them too

➵ E = Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

I think he would have a bit of experience if he needed to bed a woman for a mission. But they were all loveless, totally for his gain. You're the first person he fucked with love

➵ F = Favourite Position (This goes without saying)

Missionary. He's old-school. He likes to bury his face in your neck while you're screaming his name

➵ G = Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment? Are they humorous? etc.)

He teases you, definitely. Maybe after sex he'll crack out a joke or two

➵ H = Hair (How well-groomed are they? Does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

Shaves pretty often. There will be a few hairs, and then the next day, they've been fully groomed

➵ I = Intimacy (How are they during the moment? The romantic aspect.)

Holds your hand while he fucks you into the matress. So pretty romantic I guess

➵ J = Jack off (Masturbation Headcanon)

I've already said he jacks off to your undies, but also when he misses you too much and he needs a release

➵ K = Kink (One or more of their kinks)

Praise kink. Baby boy wants to be praised. Also degregation, corruption kink and edging just so he can tease you

➵ L = Location (Favorite places to do the do)

Likes to do it in the bedroom and also his office

M = Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

He deadass gets turned on when you lick ice-cream 💀. He wishes it was his cum and makes you drink it later in his room <3

➵ N = No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

I dunno man. He seems like the type to do it all. Maybe gunplay, he doesn't want to accidentally shoot you

➵ O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Master at giving. Especially likes it when yoy pull on his hair. But likes recieving equally

➵ P = Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual? etc.)

Fast and sensual. He goes really fast but takes the time to shower you in kisses and hold your hand

➵ Q = Quickie (Their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Enjoys it to some extent. He likes the actual sex more because he can take his time. But quickies are alright for him

➵ R = Risk (Are they game to experiment? Do they take risks? etc.)

He doesn't mind, it's all up to you pookie

➵ S = Stamina (How many rounds can they go for? How long do they last?)

He can last until morning if he wanted to. But only lasts until you get tired or straight-up pass out

➵ T = Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

Likes to put a vibrator in one hole and his cock in the other hole. Puts it on max all the way until you get close

➵ U = Unfair (How much they like to tease)

He lives on teasing. It's second nature to him

➵ V = Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Groans a lot when he's close. But you probably can't hear him due to you being so loud when he's pounding into you

➵ W = Wild Card (A random headcanon for the character)

Likes to be spanked for some reason. It's random as hell and not like him but I can see him like getting spanked

➵ X = X-ray (Let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

7 inches, not so heavy balls but they can make an impact based on how fast he's going

➵ Y = Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

Normal, I would say

➵ Z = Zzz (How quickly they fall asleep afterward)

Always makes sure you're alseep before him . He likes to watch you curl up against him in adoration

©️umi-adxhira [26/08/2023]

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | @nightghoul381 , @serynhe , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @cy-inky , @aquagirl1978 , @abundance-pathchooser, @lapis-da-lazuli , @ellisgivesmelife013

[queenlua]

Writer interview game

tagged by @ultrakatua , hello thank you i’m a slut for attention

(if you're reading this you should feel free to consider yourself tagged, even/especially if you feel like you don't know me that well!)

When did you start writing?

Since I was pretty little… my 1st/2nd grade teacher had this thing where everyone had to write something in their journal every morning and I was SUPER tryhard about it, and when she told us we didn’t have to write about our lives, we could write about ANYTHING, I definitely started making up wild stories n shit

Are there different themes or genres you enjoy reading than what you write?

I read anything and everything. I guess I wouldn’t be a very good writer of big nonfiction history tomes, but that’s mostly because it requires, y’know, knowing a lot of history first; if I had that knowledge it seems like it’d be fun to try!

I used to say “I could never write a mystery” but then I read Tana French and was like ooooh maybe mysteries are cool actually so. huh. i guess i can imagine myself trying to write just about anything once. (in practice i mostly end up writing a combination of moody litfic and shlocky scifi/fantasy)

Is there a writer you want to emulate or get compared to often?

I’ve occasionally tried to actively emulate a specific author’s style, but that kind of thing feels kind of hard to sustain for more than the length of a writing exercise. it's kind of like trying to talk with a different accent. like, sure, you CAN train yourself to talk a different way… but i like how i talk fine, i’m too lazy to change :P

i dunno if i’ve heard many ppl comparing my writing to Actual Authors! and i lack the objectivity to figure it out myself haha

Can you tell me a bit about your writing space?

i do the Truman Capote thing where i mostly write lying down (but on a couch instead of in bed b/c partner is an extremely light sleeper and i do most my writing between midnight and 4am lol)

What’s your most effective way to muster up a muse?

god i wish i knew!!! then maybe i’d be able to muster it up on demand!!!

(in fanficland i seem to tend to glom onto a specific character and then just write ten fics Examining That Character From Every Angle. in origficland it’s that but usually with some sort of archetype or folktale or something that i’ve become briefly obsessed with)

Are there any recurring themes in your writing? Do they surprise you?

…I did have a moment earlier this month where I typed a line of dialogue, thought to myself “that sounds faintly familiar hm,” did a ctrl+f on my computer, and discovered I’d used a very similar line of dialogue in an abandoned WIP from seven years ago, in a scenario VERY THEMATICALLY/SITUATIONALLY familiar to the WIP i was working on, and i was like. oh my god. i so have a Type why am i like this

(in this particular situation the Theme & Variation was along the lines of “doing a Horrible Thing under duress but also none of these other fucks are willing or able to do it so i guess i gotta, jfc.” skimming over my past few pieces, inasmuch as there’s any commonality between them, i think i can point at, like… “feeling trapped by a mostly-internal sense of obligation that is nonetheless *experienced* as though it were external,” “people talking past each other for very good yet nonetheless tragic reasons,” “clueless rich guys,” “angry women contemplating murder”)

((wait, also: awful dinner parties and awful sex. fuck, why didn’t i lead with that one. i want to write awful dinner parties and bad sex for the entire rest of my life))

What is your reason for writing?

passes time between now and the grave

(less glibly: i get pretty unhappy if i go a long time without Making something, and of all my creative-ish abilities, writing is the one i find most satisfying)

Is there any specific comment or type of comment you find particularly motivating?

Once I finished playing a game, thought to myself “that was good but I really want backstory for [character] and actually I’m pretty sure I have the only correct take on said backstory,” and then proceeded to write that fic. A commenter came in saying “hey I came here because I was really craving backstory for [character] and now I can stop reading because yours is clearly The One that I was looking for, thanks." That felt really good! how often have i had to write a fic, not because I wanted to, but because NO ONE ELSE had written the one I wanted to read??? Glad to spare you some trouble, random internet person.

How do you want to be thought about by your readers?

for origfic: the author is dead babey. do not perceive me. i am not here

for fanfic: i still don’t mind if the reader simply Does Not Perceive Me; the work itself is the thing i care most about. but, y’know. if someone reads my fic & is like “i’m insane about this character in the exact same way Lua is, i’m-a slide into her DMs,” i’m very down for that, lol. it’s like whale songs. i’m out here singing my goofy tune and maybe i never hear anything back but if i do that’d be a sweet bonus

What do you feel is your greatest strength as a writer?

hmmmm. i’m never quite sure how to think about this sort of question… people often answer with something like “dialogue” or “descriptive imagery” or whatever, but that started to feel kind of weird to me at some point? like pointing at a symphony piece and being like “the low winds were especially good at staying in tune,” like it may be a correct observation, but also the whole orchestra has to be in tune to *some* extent for the piece as a whole to work, and when it *is* working the thing you point out as a strength isn’t gonna be something ticky-tack like that

…but i’m not sure what i’d specifically point to as a higher-order thing haha. i guess, last time i reread some of my own stuff, i was pretty pleased with how much interpersonal *tension* there was in various “ppl talking in rooms” scenes (see: awful dinner parties), so maybe something along those lines

How do you feel about your own writing?

arguably the main reason to write fanfic is so I can go back and reread it 2+ years later and be like “damn this shit rules, bitch was really onto something there”

(i like it! it’s pretty fun good stuff! a pleasing mix of action/plottiness/gratuitousness and, like, actual character and narrative work)

[frostbite-the-bat]

talked w/ a friend about this and wanted to post something similar yesterday after a convo i saw also

about people criticizing ttcc / ttcc fans for just... being cog fans? being cog centric? usually coming from people who only like the toons.

and everyone likes what they like! it's okay! but saying that people who like the cogs are horrible and support the bad things they do, is just blatantly wrong. i thought we knew that enjoying villainous and morally Bad / grey characters is... okay? it doesn't mean you support what they do. it's interesting to explore these topics.

i've seen many people just... paint anyone who likes the cogs as horrible because they're "apologists of x and y" and... i dunno. rubs me the wrong way! you do have a point and recognize the cogs do bad things, but liking them as characters means nothing about who you are as a person.

and this is not to say that people who are in toontown for the toons are bad. hell! they are right this IS toontown. i may be on the cog liker side but i like the toons! maybe ocs more than the npcs - mostly because i like my friends and the sheer creativity the toons can bring out!!

SO what i wanna say... i dunno. let's not point fingers...? let's have fun in a goofy cartoon game together??? also complaining about people liking VILLAIN ROBOTS on TUMBLR is kind of funny to me. do you realize where you are. but then again a lot of this i see on discord and in-game as well since i avoid things on tumblr... i am a sensitive little fella i avoid misty fight bc of One Really mean "Critic" guy i saw there and i have been shivering in my bootsies since. so you get me

but like yes ttcc is more cog centric but... that's okay? things could be written better and i still wanna speak on it, and i do thing the toons deserve attention and better writing... but the fact it focuses on the cogs isn't... bad? if you don't like how con centric it is you can go play ttr...? god forbid people have fun and explore the villain's side of things...? i'm not saying either toontown server is better or worse than the other... and everyone can like their own things!!

but like... people will just like the cogs and that's okay and it doesn't make you bad. let's all be friends okay? both sides may be going at each other's necks in-game and the cogs in fact do horrible things - but it's what makes them fun, and it gives the toons things to do in the game!! but we don't gotta !!!!!!!! i may be really sarcastic and sometimes mean in private but like that's me just privately sassing, deep down i think people should just... y'know..? enjoy things.

so yea that's the guzma / cathal thought of today. toon people cog people both people are all awesome as fuck and you keep doing what you're doing i love you toontown isn't toontown without you

[kachikirby]

Amusing Excursion

I forgot Metaccine Week started on Mother's Day, so you all are getting a bonus Metaccine thing.

-

It was the night before Mother’s Day and Fettuccine already seemed excited as they were eating dinner that night.

“So, what are you planning for tomorrow?” She asked, causing the rest of the family to look up. The twins looked at each other nervously, but then their father spoke up, clearly knowing that there would be no point in hiding whatever was planned, especially since Kirby had just delivered a gift for the occasion earlier.

“We’re going to take you to an amusement park. I’m sure you rarely got to go to one during your time with Task Force Zetta.”

The woman hesitated for a moment to smile. "It's not Magolor's, right?"

"No. Not after last time."

Those words seemed to change her attitude instantly. There was no way either of them would trust that egg around their children after last time.

“So, what kind of amusement park are we going to?” She then asked.

“It’s one on the other side of the planet. Admission and parking are free, you just have to buy food if you want it and tickets to go on rides.” He then looked up at her. “No, this is unrelated to that tacky resort of Dedede’s.”

“But I didn’t say anything.”

“I knew you were about to ask that.”

His wife giggled. “Well, I’ll look forward to it then!”

The trip getting there was short and simple. The park was called Sorprendente Park, and this seemed to be Fettuccine’s first time hearing about it, since she already seemed to be excited.

“Well, what do you want to do first, Fetty?” Meta asked.

“Oh, I dunno! There seems to be a lot of things to do…” She uttered looking at the map. “Oh, Sieg, Freya, why don’t you two pick?”

“We’re fine with whatever you want mom.”

“This is your gift, you should enjoy it.”

Admittedly, she was blown away by such a mature response, but she didn’t say it. She only looked harder at the map.

“How about a roller coaster? I haven’t been on that in a while!” She asked.

“If that’s what you want, then let’s go.”

“Oh, but Sieg, Freya, maybe you want to wait with your father?”

Both children shook their heads.

“We wanna try it! Right, Freya?” The quiet sister nodded to her brother. Seeing how the twins were fine with it, Fettuccine relaxed.

“Ok, since there’s a height limit to ride without a parent, Sieg, you’ll ride with me, and Freya, you can ride with your father!”

Both children seemed to be excited at the prospect of riding with their parents and quickly agreed to it.

“Okay! Let’s go then!”

The moment she said that was when they finally noticed the roller coaster she was talking about. It was a monstrous wooden beast of a roller coaster.

-

The roller coaster ride was amusing to say the least. The mother-son pair had practically screamed their lungs out while the father-daughter pair were completely silent. Not only that, but it took Fettuccine a moment to catch her balance as she walked off, being slightly shaken by the ride.

“You doing alright, Fetty?” Her husband asked.

“Y-yes, Metty, I’m fine…” She uttered, pulling herself up.

“Maybe we should do something not as extreme…” He then said, getting a nod in response.

“Oh, how about we play one of the games?” Sieg asked, pointing over to a target shooting game.

“Sounds like a good idea, come on, Metty!” Fettuccine grabbed Meta and began to drag him along. Admittedly, it wasn’t until they got to the stand that they noticed something… odd. Specifically, who was behind the stand. Meta Knight himself seemed to groan, realizing who the egg-like person in a standard boardwalk host outfit and moustache was.

“…I already know it’s you, Magolor.” He said, causing the man to sweat.

“Who is this Magolor you speak of? I am Rolo!”

“You think you’d know not to say things like that in front of a living lie detector.” Fettuccine then added, making him sweat even more.

“I’m telling you, I don’t know who this Magolor guy is! But he sounds like a really smart and handsome guy!”

“You better not be doing anything suspicious.”

“I’M NOT!! Now are you going to play or what!?”

“Yeah! I wanna play!” Sieg excitedly proclaimed, seemingly making his father groan internally.

Magolor, or rather “Rolo”, seemed to grin at this. “It’ll be four tickets for one try!”

Not willing to argue, Meta Knight handed them over and three balls were placed in front of the child.

“Ok, so the rules are simple. You have three chances to hit a target. The higher the target, the bigger the prize.”

The parents examined the plates. There were three rows of plates with four plates each. There was no doubt that Magolor had planned something as a way to cheat. With a hard throw, Sieg missed one of the top plates.

“I’m just warming up!” He said and then he threw another one, only to miss once more.

“Ooohhh, gotta try harder!!” Magolor said.

The child pouted. “Freya, throw me now!”

“What?”

“Throw me now!!”

Quickly thinking, Fettuccine picked him up and motioned for Freya to follow her, being quickly obeyed.

“MOM WHERE ARE WE GOING?!”

Before Magolor could say anything, Meta stepped up.

“Would you allow me to try?”

The egg scoffed. “Sure, go ahead. Don’t see why you would-”

Before he could finish that sentence, he felt something zip by and then noticed that there was a familiar golden sword embedded in the stand, causing all the plates standing to break immediately.

“Will this suffice?” was all Meta said.

“J-just take your prize and get out of here!!” Magolor shouted.

Satisfied, the warrior pulled out Galaxia from the stand and took one of the giant prizes, a massive star plush, and went to go catch up with his wife and children. Meanwhile, Magolor stared at the damage that was caused by the impact of the sword.

“…this is so coming out of my paycheck…”

-

While that had been going on, Fettuccine had gone to pick up some ice cream with the kids to distract from the apparent failure of the carnival game. Somewhat worried about Meta not catching up to them, they made their way back in his direction. To their surprise, they saw him sitting on a bench, holding a massive star plush, but at the same time having an expression that looked like he was being lectured.

Seemingly knowing what was going on, Fettuccine walked over and sat next to him, handing him a chocolate ice cream cone.

“Galaxia?”

Meta didn’t respond verbally, but he did with his eyes. Immediately, Sieg and Freya ran over to him, excited.

“WOW! DAD, DID YOU WIN THAT!?”

“Yes, I did.”

“COOOLLLL!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!!”

Both children hugged the plush in excitement, making their father chuckle. Fettuccine smiled at this.

-

They had gone on one more ride before leaving, and that was a boat ride about Kirby’s exploits through the years. Sieg and Freya were amazed by it, but Meta Knight admittedly felt somewhat embarrassed by it due to the idea of seeing himself at some points. It was after that that they decided to head home, feeling that it was a long day and exhaustion was starting to hit.

The family sat, relaxing in the master bedroom.

“So did you have fun today, Fetty?” Meta asked.

She smiled. “Of course, I did! I always have fun with you, Metty!” She then gave him a quick kiss, which he returned. It was then that she felt herself being hugged by their two children.

“Happy Mother’s Day, mom!!” Both of them exclaimed.

The woman gave a laugh and hugged them tightly.

Today was a wonderful day.

[barbwritesstuff]

i loooove blood moon and cant wait for your future ifs. i know you mentioned that you were planning on a mermaid/siren if (pls correct me if im wrong) but i was wondering if you plan on a sequel for blood moon?

Okay. I'm glad you asked this anon, because it's all a bit messy, and I think it would be good for me to explain this. Bear with me, as my brain is a bit disordered right now, so this may or may not make sense.

Will there be a sequel to Blood Moon?

I dunno. Maybe. I want there to be. But I don't know, which is frustrating (for me, as well as you).

See, it's not that I don't have ideas or anything.

I have this idea for a Blood Moon sequel that I really like. It's titled 'Thicker Than' and focuses on the vampires of the city, rather than werewolves. The MC would be a new vampire with a mission from the Night King: solve a series of murders targeting members of the Night Court.

Here's the problem:

I haven't been paid or seen any sales data from Blood Moon, in part because the Australian Tax Office is taking months to organise a document that they said would only take two weeks.

So... without any data, and with everything in life just getting more and more expensive, I literally just can't financially commit to another large project set in this world. I don't mean to be dramatic, but that's the honest truth.

I need to know how many people bought Blood Moon before I can consider writing a sequel (because a sequel is probably not going to sell better than an original). And I just don't have those numbers. I don't know when I'll get them either.

I'm really sorry about that.

Will there be a dark mermaid thing?

Again. I don't know.

I have this really cool idea for a dark mermaid thing that I think people would really enjoy. It involves pirates and ancient sea gods and cannibalism.

It'd also be another full length thing. Eg, around the same size as Blood Moon.

However, I'm holding off on using Choicescript for the reasons above (I need to have sales data).

I've been experimenting with some shorter Renpy games, the first of which I'll release next month on itch.io. If people like the style of those, I'll consider using Renpy as a tool to make the dark mermaid game... if no one buys the short games, then I'll reconfigure and try to come up with a new plan.

*

I'm sorry if all that was a bit blunt. I'm really trying to be forthright and honest about all this. I want people who read my stuff to know what's going on, and I wish there was more to say, but everything has a lot of 'hurry up and wait' energy, which is all a bit stressful.

I'm also querying a prose novel right now (asking literary agents if they want to help me sell it) which also has a lot of 'hurry up and wait' energy, which isn't helping. 😅

Despite all this admin-y stuff, I am still drafting and writing, but it might not be stuff that you get to see for a little while.

I really hope that all makes sense.

[bleachbleachbleach]

8/19-8/25/2024

ToT I know I said I was hoping to finish Renji 11 this week, but I ended up not having much writing time. Of the 3.5 scenes remaining, I did not finish any scenes at all--not even the 0.5, because that 0.5 scene is exactly as difficult as I thought it was going to be.

Kensei wants something from Renji, but wants it without having to explain to Renji why he wants it, what it is, or why he wants it from Renji, specifically. Which is a tall order, exacerbated by the fact that Renji does not actually care about any of this, so has absolutely zero skin in the game re: the great Muguruma Mystery. He's narrating POV, but he has no incentive to investigate/try to pry any of this information out of Kensei!

I’ve managed to get Renji to realize that Kensei EXPECTS him to care about something, but his reaction was just “lol I don’t tho??” so I dunno that that’s the in I was hoping for, especially since I still don’t think the scene/realization actually makes much sense to begin with.

I think maybe my way out of this is finding a way to convey that Kensei doesn't know who Renji is, so is just throwing out ways of interacting with him based on various typecasts of Renji until he finds something that gets him what he wants. And Renji, at some point, Yes Ands him because it is easier than being responsible, which he's had to be altogether too much of recently.

Because god hates me, I got to have a Round 2 with gift fanworks this week, too. We had a participant who missed the deadline and wasn’t great at communication. And yes, we should have just stopped it then and gotten a pinchhitter set up right off, a month ago. But they had extenuating personal circumstances and promised they were almost done, they were gonna finish! So we kept trusting them up until we needed a pinchhit within 24 hours. 🙃

Which had to be me, because despite having a lot of pinchhit volunteers, 24 hours is a rude amount of time to ask for as a turnaround—but more importantly, our pinchhitters were either all writers or in the process of selling their parents’ house, and the prompter asked for art. (Another rules adjustment for next year is going to be requiring at least one fanfic prompt! Because the writer:artist ratio in that fandom is veryyyy writing-skewed!) So I was like, great, great, I guess it is already time to make another gift for someone, but this time in a medium I do not identify with! Even greater opportunity to make something the giftee really loves, as they always do!!!

I enjoyed the creative process (which involved modgepodge and acrylics and tearing up paper and actual halftone—so many textures!) and my take on the prompt. At the same time, I know for sure it’s not the style the giftee really wanted. Which, like, yeah, you can’t and shouldn’t expect to choose someone’s art style, unless you’re paying to commission a specific artist! But also I happen to already know that this specific person is kind of…. hahahaha, yeah. So I’ve really set myself up for success and feelgood here.

MY HEAD, IT IS IN MY HANDS

[jordosprout]

Howdy! It's @stars-n-spice with asks for the Bad Batch Ask Game :D 1, 12, 22, 24, and 40! 🩵💫

Hii! Thanks for sending asks I've been needing to explode about Bad Batch all day

Favorite thing about the show?

I am super indicvisive so there's a few-

I really love the familial dynamic with the Batch it's very comforting

I enjoyed seeing how they changed their armor throughout the seasons

I loved researching the armor modifications they have

The community is very creative and skilled

The humor was well written and so was Crosshairs growth!!!

12. Which Batcher do you think would be your best friend?

Best friend would probably be Tech (not just cause he's my favorite) because I love listening to people ramble. Also because he is blunt and direct which would make interacting with him easy for me. I'm relatively quiet and enjoy calm people and parallel play. But on that note I can see Wrecker being up there too. Physical touch is a huge part of my love language and he definitely shows it's his as well. I can imagine him giving big hugs after rough missions. Honestly I'd love to play games with Wrecker, he has amazing reactions and such a sweet personality.

22. Which Batcher inspires you the most?

Crosshair absolutely. He shows that people can change for the better, and that if given the opportunity, you can heal. I hope someday we get some sort of media showing his healing process/journey.

And Tech (lotta these answers are going to be Tech I'm so sorry). He shows that autism isn't evil. That someone can be successful, strong, and smart while being autistic. That someone can be loving, and that expressing emotions differently doesn't mean they aren't felt. I love hearing his point of view on Crosshair joining the Empire, how you can understand why someone does something without agreeing with it.

24. Do you have any hot controversial takes?

I personally don't think Tech being brought back would lessen his sacrifice. I dunno if that means he simply finds his way back to the others or something else. But I don't think someone needs to die in order for their sacrifice to mean something. Hell doing something knowing you could die is already enough. I will always always believe he's alive, even if he canonically isn't. Personally as mentioned in other posts, I am not diagnosed with autism, but online screenings and outside opinions lead me to believe that I am autistic. And with that said, I related to Tech. Him being shutdown when he was excited or wanting to say something, him not displaying emotions in a way that others understood, and so much more. Him 'dying' was a huge betrayal to me. I finally found a character I could relate to in Star Wars, and he was taken away so quickly. And it felt like there was not enough talked about on that part. It could just be me feeling hurt by it and wishful thinking. But losing Tech was awful.

40. Favorite scenes?

TAY-0 getting obliterated

Tech's little head tilt when TAY-0 says he repairing him wrong

Tech and Omega's cave scene

Crosshair meditating

Big hug with Cross, Wrecker, & Hunter

Wrecker showing Omega her own place on the Marauder

Cross, Hunter, & Omega's hug

"You're as bad as Hunter" "Oh, I'm much worse"

"That's not her ugly side?"

Tech getting excited while a zillo about to kill him

"It is an unscheduled study break"

"My left femur has been fractured by approximately 150 kilograms of pressure... so no"

Most of it is Tech and all of the soft sides of Bad Batch, and there is a lot. But at the end of the day, this show has made me so happy (and sad) on so many different occasions.

Sorry for all the extra yapping