#i have a new support system that i can go to should i ever have a problem.

[paparoach]

I've said before but like despite being gone 6 months, after coming back, it felt like I never left. I mean this positively.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

I think the reader's response to this post is probably going to either be "That's incredibly minor" or "Holy shit YES I'M ALSO PROUD", depending on people's personal experiences with academia, but:

Today I am incredibly proud of one of my students.

In the interests of disguising identities, let's call them Ceri. Ceri is one of my third year undergrads (meaning their final year, for anyone unfamiliar with UK uni systems.) They transferred to us last year, and within two weeks I was giving them the contact info to get to Student Services and get themself screened for ADHD; they have some mental health struggles, but I clocked pretty quickly that they STRUGGLE with procrastination, and punctuality, and attending 9am lectures in particular. Naturally, as is the way of my people, it took them a further four months to remember to go to the screening. Lol. Lmao. Rofl, in fact.

But, they did it eventually! Their screening lit up like a Christmas tree at the ADHD section, and they got a free laptop and optional one week extensions and a study support worker named Claire. This has helped tremendously, and although mental health + until-then-unsupported ADHD meant their academic profile had slid sideways somewhat, with the new tools available and a couple of resits they passed the year and hit this year running.

Until, that is, the last fortnight.

Now, I take them for a Habitat Management module that has two assessments: an academic poster presentation before Christmas, and a site-specific management plan in May. Naturally this means we are at that happy point in the year for the poster presentations. I give out the briefs at the start of the year, so they've had them since October; I've also been periodically checking in with them all for weeks, to make sure they don't have any major burning questions. The poster presentation was to pick a species reintroduction project, pull the habitat feasibility study out of it, and then critique that study; Ceri chose to look at the hen harrier reintroductions proposed for the southern UK. All good.

Which brings us nicely to today! Ceri's presentation is scheduled for 2.30. At 11am-1pm, I am lecturing the first years on Biodiversity, while Ceri is learning about environmental impact assessment with a colleague I shall call Aeron. This means we are separately occupied during those same hours.

Nevertheless, Aeron messages me at about 12.

"I think Ceri needs to see you after your lecture," he writes. "They're panicking, I genuinely think they might cry. I'm worried. Are you free at 1?"

I say I am. At 1, I get lunch and sit in the common area; Ceri comes to see me. To my personal shame, imagine all of the following takes place while I stuff my face with potato.

Now: this part is going to be uncomfortably familiar to anyone who has ever tried higher education with ADHD, especially unmedicated. It certainly was for me. All I can say is, I never had the courage to take the step here that Ceri did.

"I have to confess," they said quietly, and Aeron was right, they were fighting back tears. "My mental health has been so, so bad for the last fortnight. I've left it way, way too late. I don't have anything to present."

"Nothing at all?" I asked.

"I've been researching," they said helplessly. "I found loads on the decline of the hen harrier. But it wasn't until last night that I finally found a habitat feasibility study to critique. Generally... I've been burying my head about it, and it just got later and later. I thought I should come in for Aeron's lecture, and I should at least tell you."

This part is a minor thing, right? But honestly, I remember being in the grip of that particular shame spiral. I never did manage to tell my lecturers to their faces. I just avoided. I honestly can't imagine having the courage it took them to come in and tell me this, rather than just staying home and avoiding me.

"I think..." they said hesitantly, "I know I can submit up to a week late, for a capped mark. I think I need to do that, and apply for extenuating circumstances. But then I'll have both Aeron's assignment and yours due at the same time."

Which meant they would crumble under the pressure and likely struggle to pass both; so me, being as noble and heroic as I unarguably am, stopped eating potato and said, "Let's make that plan B."

(It was good potato. I am a hero.)

So, we made plan A: I moved their timeslot to 4.30, giving them three and a half hours. The shining piece of luck in this whole thing was that this was the crunch time assignment - if it had been Aeron's, they'd have had to try and write a 3000 report in that time. But for me, all they had to write was an academic poster, and those things are light on words by design. We found them a Canva template, and then we quickly sketched out a recommended structure based on the brief: if it's habitat feasibility, look at food availability, nesting site availability, and mortality risks in the target release site. Bullet point each. Bullet point how well the study assessed each. Write a quick intro and conclusion. Take notes as you go, and present the poster itself at 4.30.

"You think I should try?" they asked doubtfully, looking like I'd just asked them to go mano-a-mano with a feral badger.

"If you run out of time, so be it," I said. "But your brain is trying to protect you from a non-existent tiger. That's why you've procrastinated - it's been horrible, and you've been shame spiralling, and your brain is trying to shield you from the negative experience; but it's the wrong type of help for this situation! So while you're sitting there working on it, hating life, every time your brain goes 'This is hopeless, I can't do it', you think right back 'Yes I can, it just sucks.' And you carry on. Good?"

"Good," they said. "I'm going to mainline coffee and hole up in the library. Enjoy your potato."

And then, of course, I had to go and watch the other students' presentations, so that was the end of me being any help at all. I spent all afternoon wondering if they were going to manage it, or if I would be getting a message at 4.25 telling me they'd failed, and would have to submit late and hope for an EC.

And Tumblrs

Tumblrs

Let me FUCKING tell you

They turned up at 4.15, fifteen minutes early, wearing a mask of grim, harrowed determination and fuelled by spite and coffee, and they pulled up that poster and started presenting and yes, okay, I'll admit their actual delivery was dramatically unpolished and yes, they forgot to include the taxanomic name for the hen harrier on the poster and yes, fine, I admit that there were more than a few awkward moments where they lost their place in their hastily scribbled notebook but LET ME FUCKING TELL YOU -

They smashed it. It was well-critiqued, it had a map, it had full citations, it had a section on the hen harrier's specific ecology and role in the ecosystem, it had notes on their specific conservation measures. They described case studies they'd read about elsewhere. They answered the questions we threw at them with competence and depth. There was analysis. All that background research they'd done came right to the fore. They were even within the time limit by 15 seconds.

You would never have known they'd produced it in three hours, from a quivering and terrified mess fighting the bodily urge to dehydrate via tear ducts. After they left, the second marker and I looked at each other and went "So that was a 2:1, right?"

I caught up with Aeron downstairs and he was beaming. Apparently Ceri had seen him on their way out, and had gone over to talk to him. Aeron said the difference between the Ceri of this morning and the Ceri of then was like two different people; in four hours, they'd gone from their voice literally breaking as they admitted the problem, ashamed and broken, to being relaxed and happy and smiling.

"I reckon I've passed," they apparently told Aeron, pleased. "Maybe even a 2:2. There's things I wish I'd had the time to do better, but I'll be happy if I passed."

They won't know until late January what they got, because we're not allowed to release marks until 20 term days after hand-in, and the Christmas holidays are about to hit. But I'm really hoping I can be there when they're released.

But mostly, I'm just... insanely proud of them. I cannot tell you how happy I am. And I know, I know, obviously this is not a practice I would want to see them do regularly, or indeed ever again, and it only worked because they were fucking lucky with the assignment format, but like... when life is just punching you in the face, and you hit a breaking point... isn't it nice? That just this once, you pull off a miracle, and it's fixed? The disaster you thought was about to ruin you is gone? To get that relief?

Anyway. Super super proud today.

[racingghost]

The FIA Prize Giving 2018 gala was an insane night for Simi, and I want to share all of it!

First, the elephant in the room:

Kimi was absolutely hammered! He caught everyone's eye because he was tumbling around the place, and generally having a blast yapping his mouth off to anyone who would listen to him. Legends said he would do this when drunk, but never had a live audience been witness to it.

Meanwhile, Seb...

Seb had finished second to Lewis in 2018's title battle, and was also seeing the end of his partnership with Kimi at Ferrari.

Kimi's renewal for Ferrari was always rumored to be something Seb pushed for when negotiating his own contracts, so the news the Scuderia wasn't interested in keeping Kimi past 2018 were a sign that Sebastian's wants weren't of huge importance to them anymore, and they were making way for a promising young talent (Leclerc) to take the lead driver role in Ferrari in the years to come.

Sounds like a bad end of the year for a guy with title aspirations, but guess what?

Kimi was there, with so much booze in his system that he wasn't at all worried with maintaining his quiet and taciturn act. And you know how they say alcohol lowers your inhibitions and makes your deepest thoughts come out freely?

That night, Kimi had one mission, and it was to keep Seb happy.

When he caught cameras filming Seb, knowing his friend was a private guy, he jumped in and tried to stop them. Look at his face. He doesn't know what he's doing. He's driven only by protective instinct.

When Seb talked, you could tell he wasn't hearing a word (and at times it seemed mutual)

For a bit there, the cameras even caught Kimi deciding to go for a smoke, and Seb trying to impinge a sense of responsibility on him, only to end up being dragged along.

When they were called on stage to receive the 2nd and 3rd place trophies, it was the funniest shit. There were designated spots on the stage where each driver should stand, but they were quite apart from each other.

You can see an official trying to stop Kimi and take him to his marked spot, but Kimi strode straight towards Seb and stuck decisively by his side. In fact he gestures at Seb, as if telling the crowd to give him his accolades!

His arm was around his shoulders, half offering companionship in what would be their last official act together as teammates, and half supporting himself so he wouldn't fall on his ass on stage.

And of course, we even had a classic Seb moment, where Kimi offered one of the men delivering the awards a handshake, and Seb took it instead. Kimi didn't even care, he rolled with it, because if Seb wants to hold his hand, god damn it he will.

Even when they had to part to grab the awards, Kimi made sure to return to his original favored position of keeping one friendly arm around Sebastian's shoulders asap.

You see Seb turn to him and say something...

It's impossible to tell what, but it looked an awful lot like a "thank you" that carried years of friendship and support behind it. Kimi's eyes transformed at whatever Seb said. his eyebrows lifted and his expression softened.

He told him something to his ear in return, and it made Seb smile again, whatever it was.

Eventually it was Lewis' time to get on stage. He was the 2018 champion, the guy Seb didn't manage to beat, and as such had the right to make a victory speech.

As he does so, the camera caught the losers, Seb and Kimi.

In that moment, that could have hurt a little harder than usual, Kimi put his arm around Seb's shoulders one more time, downed another drink, and swung him closer.

This was it.

This was the end of their partnership.

Simi, nobody will ever do it like you.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

Speaking of how the heroes are chosen, the temp system might be one of the worst writing choices the writers ever made. I mean I get it, permanent heroes would require the show to have continuity and it makes for yet another parallel with Gabriel, but it just ends up being another one of those instances of the show trying to have its cake and eat it too, like. The new heroes eat up screen time that could've gone to the OG duo, but they also don't get to be heroes in their own right and are essentially Ladybug's Pokemon. It makes both people who liked the duo and people who like team-based shows unhappy for no real benefit.

It's also just a massive security risk. Fu says that it's dangerous for the Miraculous to be out in the open, but it's actually way less risky to put the Miraculous in circulation, because then Hawk Moth has to retrieve them by defeating every hero individually, which is a lot more effort. Keeping them all in one place and distributing them one at a time like this means Hawk Moth only has to figure out who's in charge of the distributing and follow that person right to the Miracle Box. Ferrying the Miraculous for every battle also creates more opportunities to lose them, which is how Queen Bee ended up happening.

Looking back, the problems of just about every season finale past S1 can be traced back to this system. It's almost like the writers are trying to set Marinette up to fail.

Ladybug's Pokemon

I love that phrasing! I've just called them her powerups, but this paints a much clearer picture of what I mean. They're not her autonomous teammates who feel vital to the story. They're her cute little friends who do whatever she says. All she has to do is pick which ones she wants for today's battle.

Fu says that it's dangerous for the Miraculous to be out in the open, but it's actually way less risky to put the Miraculous in circulation, because then Hawk Moth has to retrieve them by defeating every hero individually, which is a lot more effort.

Ferrying the Miraculous for every battle... creates more opportunities to lose them, which is how Queen Bee ended up happening.

These are two of my biggest issue with the temp heroes as a general concept. Fetching them every battle gives Gabriel endless chances to find out the temp heroes identities and/or where the guardian is hiding. I don't know why the show acts like the problem was Ladybug forgetting to detransform in Heart Hunter:

Ladybug: Master Fu, I need your help! Master Fu: (sees Ladybug, gasps) This costume is very cute, miss, but is it really fitting in this place? Ladybug: (gasps) I forgot to transform back. (Looks arounds enters the center of the merry-go-round trying to remain unseen) I haven't been followed Master, I'm sure of it.

Nathalie would have been able to track Ladybug either way. At least this way Marinette's identity stayed a secret!

It would make infinitely more sense for Fu to be the one to hand out the miraculous to the temp heroes for two reasons. The first one was laid out above. Having him or some other support character do it is the best way to keep his identity a secret. You should not have Ladybug leaving battles to do it. That's too easy to track because the villains know where she's going to be when she goes running off for help.

The other reason is because it's asinine to have Ladybug run off every time they face a major threat. Think about that logic for a second.

Ladybug: This akuma is too hard for us to fight as a duo! Chat Noir, you stay here and fight this super hard akuma alone while I go get reinforcements. I'll be back in half an hour or so. Chat Noir: Wait, what? How am I supposed to- Ladybug: Have fun! Don't die! Bye!

How did that never backfire on them? I get temp heroes being temp for a few fights, but they should have all been given their miraculous full time ages ago.

[savanir]

Danyal- or well, Daniel now he supposes, seeing as none of these “kind” strangers can pronounce his name right. Has found himself a golden opportunity to hopefully get back to where he actually belongs.

His current predicament was anything but what he could have ever imagined happening to him. He remembers an attack, an assassination attempt on him and his twin. He remembers taking a hit meant for Dami, he remembers the electricity coursing through his body from the weapon the assassin used and so graciously left in his abdomen, meant to make his body seize which would make attempts to keep him from dying just a little bit harder, and his death just that little bit more painful.

After that he vaguely remembers falling, and then burning green.

Next thing he knows he’s in a foreign place with foreign people trying to “help”.

Wherever he is he’s certainly not anywhere near Nanda Parbat.

But he’ll get back, and the easiest way to do so is to secure transportation and funding.

Which shouldn’t be hard as soon as he’s “convinced” this random rich guy to adopt him.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Oliver is starting to regret the brilliant PR idea of sponsoring and supporting the new improved Star City foster care system.

In and of itself that’s of course a very good thing, and absolutely something he cares about and is happy to spend his money on, but these things should just be a given, just a thing that’s done because it’s the right thing to do.

Can’t just do that of course… we have to make a huge spectacle about it, showcase some poor but very adorable kids in need of a loving family. make a big party about it.

Oliver is vaguely reminded of pet adoption days that some animal shelters do. Also a good thing he’s in full support of, but that’s animals, and these are actual children.

The thought is making it rather hard to keep a pleasant smile on his face. Thankfully he’s very effectively being distracted by the little guy who somehow managed to attach himself to his leg and refuses to let go.

Oliver looks down.

The boy with the biggest most blue eyes looks up.

There are cameras and reporters and Oliver can feel the bad decision creeping up and the voice in the back of his head screaming, “don’t do it. DON’T DO IT”

Oliver lifts the boy up, “hey there little man, what is your name?”

He gets a big smile in return and the bad decision suddenly doesn’t seem so bad anymore, weird.

—✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*---*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧—

Roy had been talking, or well, it was more like venting to Dinah about something Oliver had done, or said, maybe both, probably both… When they heard the front door open and was quickly followed by a “Dinah I have a surprise but first you have to promise you won’t get mad”

Which… bad sign, very bad sign, terrible sign.

“Oliver what have you done”

The man walks into the room and proudly shows off his latest impulsive decision, “Congratulations, it’s a boy!”

…That’s a whole ass kid.

“Oliver Jonas Queen! you did not!”

But he did and that choice changes everything.

[charmwasjess]

That One About the Temple Clones AU

Here's an underexplored and juicy plot point in the prequels that I can't stop thinking about! Because Sifo-Dyas was killed so early in the new canon timeline of the creation of the clones, with Dooku impersonating him to handle the subsequent details, we don’t even know exactly what he intended the clone army to be.

I think there’s even an argument to be made that Sifo-Dyas intended the clones to be culturally Jedi. Raised and trained in the Jedi Temple(s), learning Jedi skills and ways of life, growing up in a shared community alongside the Jedi. The clones serving not as an emergency button to hit in case of war, but as a support to the overstretched, under resourced Jedi Order in an increasingly violent, chaotic galaxy, one that might prevent the war he foresaw from ever even happening.

To begin, I’ll briefly touch on the galactic situation immediately before The Phantom Menace. Time and time again, we’re given a picture of the Jedi Order that is being stretched to its limit. All across the galaxy, Jedi temples such as the ones we see operating in the High Republic era in the Acolyte, are being shut down because the Jedi just can’t staff them. The novel The Living Force, set immediately before TPM, deals with the repercussions of these shut downs for the people living in those sectors - destabilization, a vacuum where the power hungry and corrupt can come into the space left and make life awful for the people. Problems arise, these systems go to the Republic for help, the Republic can't help due to bureaucratic red tape and lack of Jedi resources, and this creates more bad feelings about the Jedi and a great environment to grow the Separatist cause.

"I always heard so much about the Jedi. I never saw one, but they told me that was because you saved people -- and then you left!" - The Living Force

Enter Sifo-Dyas. As a member of the Jedi Council in this era, he would have overseen dozens of these painful but unavoidable closures. More, he was trained by Lene Kostana, a High Republic era Jedi, who remembered the golden age of the Jedi, all of these Jedi outposts, temples, and cultural centers being open and thriving, and surely filled her Padawan’s head with these stories. When Sifo-Dyas foresaw a coming cataclysmic war that would destroy the Jedi Order, it's not hard to see where he might have made a connection between the pervasive problem that was a lack of Jedi resources, and the galaxy falling further into darkness. In fact, it's exactly what happens in the prequels with a little push from the Sith.

The Living Force novel tells us outright that Sifo-Dyas’s original plan before deciding on the clones was to use his role as a Jedi Seeker to fill the Jedi Order with as many new Jedi as possible to counter the coming threats:

“(Sifo-Dyas) was always in a big damn hurry. Like the Republic would end if he didn’t swell the ranks.” - The Living Force 

Wow, Even Piell, that line aged like milk, buddy!

 Ki-Adi Mundi frowned. “Indeed, sometimes those he brought to us were not even viable candidates.”  - The Living Force 

So, Sifo-Dyas was originally trying to bring as many kids into the Order as possible, and didn’t particularly care if they were very Force sensitive. An intriguing detail, when considering how closely he might have imagined the non-Force-sensitive clones to work in Jedi roles.

Interestingly, he didn’t actually abandon that “swell the ranks” plan - he got his ass fired, so he couldn’t bring any more Jedi in the conventional way. Sifo-Dyas is in a desperate situation here, he feels he's running out of time, and he needs to get as many people into the Jedi Order as quickly as possible. I think you might see where I'm going with this.

“The future should remain unseen, but unfortunately, Sifo-Dyas has little choice in the matter.”  -Lene Kostana, Dooku Jedi Lost

We know he arranged the initial order for the clones, but not how he intended to use them, or saw their role, or even if he would have agreed with Jango as the DNA donor, since that part came in from Dooku.  If Sifo-Dyas, lifelong Jedi and true believer in the Order, was creating something to help defend his people in their darkest hour, it stands to reason that he might look within his own culture for their training, instead of outside of it.

Did he see them as a secret weapon, a surprise help in the hour of greatest need, as they would ultimately function as on Geonosis? Or did he envision the clones being raised with Jedi involvement on every level of their development, growing into keepers of the peace to fill those hundreds of empty temples and outposts and restabilize a galaxy sliding toward darkness?

I think an important clue that supports the latter argument is that as Sifo-Dyas is literally falling out of the sky to his death, he is busy trying to get a message to the Council that he ordered the clones via a recording: 

I've seen a vision of the future that I feel warrants an army. You've disagreed with me, but I felt I had no choice. Therefore I have ordered one: a clone army from the Kaminoans. Something must be done, and I made that decision. - Sifo-Dyas, Force Collector

He's hardly trying to keep the (currently embryonic!) clones a secret here. He seems to think he's done his part and the Council has no choice but to take it from there, and follow through with his unmentioned plan. He has delivered the needed personnel. And bear in mind, Sifo-Dyas did not expect his death to be a 10 year old mystery. He seems to have spent his very last breaths protecting Sillman and therefore leaving a witness to everything that happened. His last words are literally “Come find me!” 

These are not the actions of a man who has set his plan into perfect motion and a magic army will appear just at the right time in ten years. This is a man who is facing his unexpected death and realizing that he needs to tell the Council, who disagreed with him but he clearly still trusts, what he did because he won't be there to handle the details himself. It's almost poignant.

-

I worried about making this post at all because I’m not actually interested in blorbo apologism. Sifo-Dyas’s story is much more interesting if he is a good man forced to go to desperate, awful lengths to keep the apocalypse from happening. Whatever he intended the clones to be, it ended in Order 66; in a way, it doesn't even matter.  And yet, I think there’s something compelling there too, and I think canon gives us just enough - at least make an argument for a culturally-Jedi clone army what-if.

[paperbodiesamongthestars]

Halfway out the door, but it won't close

Yeah, I'm still mad. The show flatly refuses to address the emotional fallout of the events that take place on it, so I guess I'll do it myself.

Title from Say Don't Go by Taylor Swift, because I love a T Swift lyric as a fic title.

Read the whole thing below, or on AO3.

For the first time in a long time, Buck wants to run. 

The roots he spent so many years putting down washed away more easily than he ever could have imagined, and that hurts. He’s always known Bobby was important—the linchpin of the 118, in addition to being the father Buck always wanted—but Buck was somehow still surprised when things spiraled apart so quickly and so completely without him. 

And Buck gets it. He does. Everyone is retreating into their own corners, taking comfort from their families, and that’s good. He’s glad everyone has that kind of support system. He’s glad they have families to lean on, and to grieve with. 

He just wishes he had someone in his corner too. 

And Maddie’s got him—he knows she does. If he called, she’d be there in a heartbeat, no questions asked. But she’s pregnant. And Chimney almost died. And Bobby did die, making sure Chimney got out. They have a lot going on, and Buck doesn’t want to be selfish. 

Besides, he’s managing. Sure, he wishes he didn’t feel quite so alone all the time, and he wishes that all of the ways he’s trying to help weren’t fundamentally selfish, like they apparently are, but he’s dealing. The hardest part is that he’s been doing his best to be what everyone else needs—to live up to Bobby’s last words—and he’s falling short. He doesn’t—he’s really not sure what else to try, at this point. 

It really doesn’t feel like anyone wants him to keep trying. 

The temptation to pack up his jeep and just choose a direction is intense. He doesn’t, because he promised to take over Eddie’s lease, and Maddie’s baby is coming, and maybe there’s something Athena will need from him at some point, but he looks at the horizon on his way to work and all he sees is freedom.  

He compromises, and requests a transfer. The 118 doesn’t mean what it used to, to him, and maybe at another house he can get up for work without feeling like the grief is going to pull him under. Maybe at another house he’ll stop wanting to take a hard turn onto the freeway, and drive until he loses track of where he is. The 118 is already changing anyway. Eddie will head back to Texas, and the team will get a new captain at some point, and Buck isn’t at all sure that he can see someone else in that seat. Maybe this way he can keep his love of the job, even if it feels like he’s lost just about everything else he cares about. 

And then the building goes down, and the 118 pulls together to help. 

Buck withdraws the transfer paperwork. He doesn’t want to feel disloyal to Bobby’s memory. Going to work every day at that station, like things can ever go back to the way they were before, still makes him feel like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin, but he doesn’t know what else to do. He’s paralyzed; every decision he wants to make feels like the wrong one. 

What he really needs to do is start looking for an apartment. Eddie and Chris are coming back to LA, and of course Buck is going to give him them their house back. He’s happy they’re returning—obviously he is. And the house never really felt like home anyway, aside from—well. It’s never felt like his, is all, aside from one bright, hopeful morning in the kitchen. 

He tries not to think about that too much. The warm light, and the billowing hope in his chest, and Tommy’s familiar scrunchy smile before everything went sideways. It’s too bright to look at for long, so he’s gotten used to locking it away again. 

He should call Tommy, probably, but it feels like it’s been too long. Tommy took a lot of risks to help them, and came to the funeral when Athena asked, to round out Bobby’s first team at the 118, and Buck didn’t even call him after. Never really thanked him. He’s got some texts on his phone—how are you really doing?—that he never responded to, and a couple of voicemails he hasn’t listened to. So yeah, he assumes that window is closed, no matter how much Tommy put on the line for him—for them. 

It’s one more thing that Buck used to have and doesn’t anymore. 

Buck is quiet at work, and the team thinks he doesn’t see the worried glances and the wordless conversations. No one asks him about anything, so he doesn’t share. He spends a lot of time thinking about how he used to picture his life, where he thought he’d end up. 

It should be enough, to have what he has now. He has his sister and the 118. He’s loved, certainly.  He matters to people—he knows he does. But it doesn’t feel like quite enough anymore. He knows everyone lost Bobby, and everyone is dealing with it in their own way, but he doesn’t think he should have to feel like an afterthought, or an inconvenience. He has the vague sense that he shouldn’t have to keep making his grief smaller, but he does it anyway. What else can he do?  

Eddie sets a firm date for his return, and he keeps telling Buck that he doesn’t have to move out, but Buck does. He does have to move out. It’s just—it’s the right thing to do. He thinks it is, anyway, but maybe he’s making it all about him again. He can’t tell anymore. 

Buck goes on calls, and he gradually packs his life back into boxes and labels them, and he goes to look at apartments. He doesn’t find any that he likes. They’re too small, or too dark, or in the wrong neighborhood, or they just don’t feel right. Big shock there—nothing feels right to him. 

Buck knows his realtor is frustrated when he tells her the kitchen in one of the units faces the wrong direction, and he gets it; he’s frustrated with himself. 

Buck goes back to his—to Eddie’s—to the mostly packed house, and he finally admits to himself that he’s not really looking for an apartment. 

He goes to see Gerrard, with a request for vacation this time. 

“It’s a good chunk of time,” Gerrard says slowly, from behind the desk where Bobby should still be sitting. 

“It is,” Buck agrees.

“Sometimes staying busy is better, in these situations,” Gerrard says. Buck can tell he’s trying to be gentle about it, but all he can see is Tommy’s shoulders hunching when Gerrard all but called him a fairy at the medal ceremony. He doesn’t waver. He holds Gerrard’s gaze until the man looks away, clears his throat, and signs the request. 

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Buckley.” He sounds irritated, and Buck feels a little better. He also hopes he knows what he’s doing, but he has a good feeling about it. He’s optimistic, maybe, for the first time in a while. 

Buck shows up to his next shift with a countdown clock in his head, and the rush of relief he feels almost makes him dizzy. He’s got another ten days before his time off starts, but it’s sitting there on the horizon now, an emergency exit, an escape hatch from his life.

He feels steadier now that he can see it up ahead. He’s a little more settled in himself, and he knows everyone sees it. His friends exchange relieved glances when they think he isn’t looking, and some part of him wonders why they can’t just talk to him. He wonders why they couldn’t just sit him down and tell him they were worried, but maybe that’s unfair. Maybe everyone is doing their best, and Bobby’s loss is just insurmountable. It feels that way sometimes, like Buck won’t survive this. It feels like all the bonds tethering him to his life snapped at once, and they’re just dangling now, the severed edges fraying by the day. 

Buck doesn’t say anything about the time off. He works and he smiles at his friends, and no one eats together or makes plans to hang out after work. He tries not to be too hard on himself for giving up—for betraying the last thing Bobby asked him to do. He tried—he really did—but he just can’t anymore. He can’t throw himself into holding everything together when no one seems to want to be held. 

He hopes Bobby would understand, but he can’t be sure.  

The day finally comes. Buck’s stuff is packed into his jeep or his new storage unit. He works his last shift and still doesn’t say anything. He thinks about it, but he’s not sure what he would even say. He figures his friends will have questions when he doesn’t show up for the next shift, but that’s a couple of days from now. Maybe by then, he’ll be far enough away to have found some answers. 

Buck makes it a little over an hour into his drive, heading north, before he has to pull over; he’s crying so hard he’s afraid he’s going to hit something. He takes the next exit, doesn’t see the number through his tears, and parks in the first parking lot he finds. He turns the car off, leans over the steering wheel, and gives in to his sobs. 

He’s not sure how much time has passed when he takes one deep breath, and then another. He feels calm for the first time in a while, emptied—for the moment—of the deep, terrible sorrow that’s been suffocating him for so long. He cleans off his face and then sits up straighter and looks around. He’s parked near a Jack-in-the-Box and he’s suddenly starving, so he goes inside and orders about half the menu. He goes back to his car to eat, windows down, staring unseeing at his surroundings as he thinks. 

Getting even this far out of LA, he feels like his brain has rebooted itself, like he’s stepped out of a fog and can suddenly see clearly again. He considers what he wants to do next. 

He could turn around. He could drive back into the city, and find a place to stay for a couple of weeks while he keeps looking at apartments, and he could use the time off to get settled into a new place. He could rebuild his routine. The thought of it makes a pit of dread open up in his stomach, so that’s a no. 

He could keep going. He could get back on the road, head north the way he planned, drive until he feels like stopping and find a place to stay the night. He could do that for weeks—he’s got six of them before he has to be back at work. It’s what he should do, probably. He could rely on himself, learn how to be alone. Only he feels like he’s already pretty good at that. He’s been alone a lot in his life, and he knows he could do it. But six weeks on his own suddenly feels a lot more like loneliness than freedom. 

Buck tilts his head back against the headrest and closes his eyes. With this unexpected—and almost certainly temporary—feeling of calm and clarity, he’s suddenly confronting some uncomfortable revelations. 

Underneath the grief and the helplessness he’s been feeling for weeks, he’s angry. He’s angry at Eddie for getting in his face, and for implying that he didn’t do everything he could to save Bobby. It felt like shit to hear it, and Eddie was a dick for saying it. He’s angry at the rest of the team, too. For not taking him seriously. For assuming he was as fine as he seemed, even after losing someone who was more of a father to him than his own father ever was. For not even asking where he was moving to when he left Eddie’s house. He loves Chim, but maybe he was wrong; maybe Buck doesn’t owe it to Bobby’s memory to stay in a place where he doesn’t really feel seen anymore.

Buck knows he’s a lot—he can be a lot. But he also knows that he’s grown up in the last few years. He’s loyal, and will do anything for the people he loves. And even before Bobby died, he wasn’t getting that back from his friends. He understands why—they all have lives, and kids, and it’s been a crazy year for everyone. But he consistently made the effort to be there for them, and it doesn’t feel great that no one could find the time to do that for him. 

Well. One person did. One person always showed up for him.  

Maybe Buck doesn’t actually need to get out of LA for six weeks. Maybe he needs some space from his friends and family until he’s got a better handle on his anger with them. But maybe he doesn’t have to spend the next six weeks alone. 

It’s entirely possible that Buck’s silence the past few weeks closed that door for good. But Tommy’s been texting and calling, even though he’s not getting anything back, so maybe it didn’t. There’s only one way to find out. 

It’s early afternoon by the time Buck parks in front of Tommy’s house. He doesn’t know Tommy’s schedule anymore, but he gets lucky—Tommy’s truck is parked in the driveway. Buck’s hands are sweaty all of a sudden, and some of the conviction he felt earlier has drained away. There’s enough left to propel him out of the jeep, though, and up the steps onto Tommy’s porch. 

He rings the doorbell and waits. It’s only a few seconds before Tommy opens the door. His face creases with surprise when he sees Buck, but his eyes are warm. 

“Hi,” Buck says a little awkwardly, and then he barrels on before Tommy can say anything in return. “I want to be friends,” he blurts, without really meaning to. Tommy’s eyebrows shoot up and then furrow as he frowns, and Buck watches his eyes shutter, the way they did in the kitchen that morning. “For now!” he adds hastily. “I’d like to be friends for now.” 

Tommy’s expression does something decidedly judgmental before he gets a handle on it. He’s such a bitch sometimes, and Buck likes him so goddamn much. Loves him, in fact, but he thought about it the whole drive here, and he’s a mess right now; if he says it for the first time today, neither one of them will ever trust it.

“Maybe you should come in,” Tommy says slowly, and his tone is so neutral that Buck winces. It’s fine. He can fix this. Tommy’s willing to at least hear him out. 

He follows Tommy into the kitchen, and sits on one of the barstools at the island while Tommy makes two cups of coffee. He slides one over to Buck and sits at one of the other stools. He’s got his expression under control now, and Buck hates it. Tommy’s so expressive when he’s comfortable that this carefully polite mask feels like a slap. 

Still, Buck feels more relaxed right now than he has in weeks, just because Tommy is sitting across from him, watching him, and yeah, he should probably start explaining. 

“I put in for a transfer,” he says, and there go the eyebrows again. Buck smiles despite himself. “I withdrew the request, later, but then I took some time off. Kind of a lot of time off, actually.” He has a thought, and he looks up. “S-sorry I didn’t get back to you.” 

Tommy shakes his head. “It’s fine, Evan. I figured you were busy with your family.”

“Not, uh. Not so much,” he says, feeling tears pricking at the backs of his eyes. “It’s”—he waves a hand—“everyone has their own families, you know?”

Tommy’s frowning at him now. “You’re their family too,” he says slowly, like it’s an obvious truth, and that does it. The tears come, and so does the whole of the last few weeks, words spilling out and over each other as Buck tries to convey his loneliness, and helplessness, and what Bobby said, and how hard he tried, and how no one seemed to want that, and then Eddie—

He loses the thread a little bit, and he’s not sure what he’s saying. He’s trying to get the important parts out through the tears, but he’s not sure he’s even making sense anymore. And then Tommy’s arms are around him, big and warm and grounding, and he stops talking at all and just cries for a little while. 

When Buck is composed again, Tommy takes a step back. Buck wishes he wouldn’t, but he holds out his hand and Tommy takes it, and that’s something. There are some things Buck still needs to say. 

“It got a little jumbled earlier, so I’m not sure if I mentioned it, but I, uh. I gave Eddie his house back.”

“You said,” Tommy says, and squeezes his hand. 

“I didn’t find a new apartment,” Buck admits. “I was going to go on a road trip, just drive for the next few weeks, stay wherever I felt like staying.”

“That sounds nice,” Tommy says. 

“It did at first,” Buck says. “Then it sounded really lonely.” Tommy makes a soft noise in his throat. “So I—I turned around and came here instead.”

“Because you want to be friends,” Tommy says slowly. 

“Because I want to be friends right now,” Buck corrects. “I absolutely want to try again. I wanted to try again last time, before—but I screwed it up.”

“Pretty sure I screwed it up,” Tommy says. 

Buck shrugs. “Maybe we both did. I want to do it right. But I’m a mess right now, and I don’t want you to think that I’m only here because…because everything else in my life is falling apart. I want to choose to try again when we’re both solid.”

Tommy nods, but his gaze stays on the countertop in front of him. “What if”—he clears his throat—“what if you get your feet under you, and realize this isn’t what you want?”

“I won’t,” Buck says, calm and sure. He tugs on Tommy’s hand to get him to look up. “Tommy, I won’t. I’ve been missing you for months. The only reason I want to wait is because I want both of us to know for sure that we’re building on a solid foundation, okay?”

Tommy stares for a long moment, searching his face, and then he gives one short nod. “Yeah,” he says. “Yeah, okay.”

Buck can feel the smile stretching over his face. “Yeah?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” Tommy says, and smiles back. 

“I thought you weren’t ready to move in together yet,” Buck says without thinking, when Tommy shows him the spare room. 

Tommy rolls his eyes. “This doesn’t count. This is me helping out a friend, like everyone should do.” His tone is pointed, and Buck tries to ignore the little burst of pleasure he gets from knowing Tommy is mad on his behalf. He can work on being less petty about it later. 

“Yeah?” Buck asks. 

“Evan,” Tommy says, leaning in. His voice is low and intimate. “When I actually ask you to move in with me, you’ll know it.”

“Yeah?” Buck asks again, and it’s a lot breathier this time. 

“Yes,” Tommy says with a smirk, and Buck briefly wonders how committed he has to be to the friends thing. He watches Tommy saunter out the door, heading for the kitchen, and he firmly reminds himself that waiting is the responsible choice, and will absolutely be worth it.  

He’s by himself for the moment, but he doesn’t feel alone at all. He looks around the spare room, at his clothes hanging in the closet, and the soft blue comforter on the bed. Tommy put fresh sheets on it earlier, and they smell faintly of lavender. He sits on the edge of the bed, closes his eyes, and breathes. He feels good here, safe and comfortable and wanted. 

He knows his grief will be back, and the real world will intrude sooner rather than later. He’ll have decisions to make, and explanations to give when the team realizes he’s gone. He and Tommy still have a lot of talking to do. 

For right now, though, he can smell the faint scent of lavender, and Tommy’s body wash underneath that. He can hear the sound of Tommy moving around in the kitchen, and birds chirping at each other outside the window. His hand moves over the comforter, and he feels the echo of Tommy’s palm against his. 

Buck blinks his eyes open and smiles to himself. He’s not okay yet—not by a long shot—but for the first time since Bobby died, he knows that he’s going to be.  

[pedropascallme]

☆Kinktober 2024☆

Day 22: Jealous sex

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!Reader

Warnings: SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI!!!!) jealous!possessive!Din, degradation (Din calls reader a whore), fingering, dirty talk, lowkey a lot of fluff, if I missed anything please let me know!

In the Cantina, he seemed tense. If you could even call it that.

Really, was there ever a waking moment where Din didn’t look at least a little robotic beneath his armor? Holding himself up with rigid muscles to support the way he already towered over contacts and passersby?

Greef didn’t seem to notice, or maybe he didn’t care. Most of his focus was on you, anyway.

“Always happy to have you around for a visit, little lady.” He’d said, the warm smile he always wore shining a little brighter when he’d seen you accompanying Din.

You tried to tune out their conversation. Per usual, it didn’t pertain to you—not in the way it did to Din, anyway; you’d know dates and times, but you didn’t much care to know whether a bounty would be brought in cold or not.

All that mattered to you was what system you’d be in and how long Din would be gone, and when that part of the conversation ended, so, too, did your interest.

But Karga always kept it interesting. Trying to include you, trying to include the kid; he cooed over the baby’s cradle, buying you a drink and offering to “buy Mando one just so you can have a little extra for coming all this way for business.”

Din’s hand never left your thigh, perched just under the hem of your dress.

And it didn’t really come off as anything out of the ordinary; on the contrary, it was one of the few subtle gestures of affection he allowed himself when outside the comfort of the ship.

But when you laughed at Greef’s jokes, Din’s fingers tightened; when you leaned in to listen to the hushed words Greef spoke over the table, Din’s hand moved upwards beneath the hem of your dress.

And that was new.

When you’d offered Greef a pat on the back that turned into a friendly hug goodbye as you prepared to leave, Din grunted out a low “Alright.”

And that was new, too.

When you began the trek back to the Crest, he was typically silent. There was no mention of what had happened at the cantina on Din’s part, and you followed suit, unsure if it was even worthy of bringing up.

He was certainly walking faster, though, as if the weight of the beskar suddenly disappeared. He seemed eager to get to the ship—which was understandable, meetings with Greef were always somewhat bleak, even when they were friendly.

After a drawn-out walk riddled with silence, the Crest was a welcome respite to your uncertainty.

You put the kid to bed, closing the top of his bassinet and letting it float idly in the kitchenette. You stood in your room, internally debating whether or not you wanted to find Din, wherever he had tucked himself away, or if you should give into the urge to fall asleep.

Your questions were answered when he walked in behind you, door closing after him.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you.” It was sudden and terse, spoken like a true Mandalorian.

“Who?” You turned yourself to look up at him, furrowing your brow and pairing it with a soft smile. “Greef?”

Silence. Then; “It’s unprofessional.”

“It’s unprofessional to bring your partner to a business meeting.” You countered with a smirk.

“It isn’t funny,” Din wasn’t going to let this go. “I think it’s…negligent.”

“On your part or his?” You continued to make light of his comments. “Din—it’s just Greef.”

“He’s not the only one.”

“Only one I’ve noticed,” you sighed, “And he’s old, Din, he’s being nice.”

“I’m old, cyare,” Din took a step forward and you smiled. “And I’ve noticed. Can’t go anywhere without people trying to break their neck to get a good look at you.”

“He’s older than you,” you clarified, “And they’re staring at the kid and his funny ears. Even if they were looking at me—I don’t care.”  

Din huffed beneath his helmet, and you could only imagine that he was rolling his eyes, frustrated by your lack of regard to his worry.

“Din…” now you took a step closer to him, “Are you jealous of the attention I get?” Your lip curled into a coy smile, pressing a hand to his armor-clad chest.

“No,” he let you touch him, “Irritated that people try to make a display of what’s mine.” He placed his hand over yours where it sat on his chest.

“Then do something about it.” You looked at his gloved hand engulfing your own.

There was another pause, longer this time, and it made you shift on your feet in anticipation. But Din didn’t keep you waiting, grabbing you by the waist and maneuvering you onto your back on the cot. Your legs hung over the edge, and you propped yourself up on your elbows to get a good look of him where he stood before you.

“Do something about it?” He asked, but not for an answer. “Do you need a reminder, mesh’la?”

“A reminder of what?” You played dumb.

“Need me to remind you whose you are?” He leaned forward, pushing your legs open with his knee and slotting his thigh between your legs. “Who you belong to…”

“I could—I could use a memory aid.” Your breath hitched when he pressed his thigh firmly against your clothed cunt.

Din’s head tilted down to look at you. “Figured.”

He finally put his hands on you after what felt like forever; undoing the buttons that lined the front of your dress with haste, rather than ease. He fumbled over some of them, opting to stop when he’d exposed your chest.

“Just—” he took a step back, hands finding your thighs and pulling. “Lift your hips.”

You obliged, moving your hips to give him the space to hike up your dress and strip you of your underwear. He threw it onto the bed, not focused on where it would land, without removing his gaze from you.

“What do you want? My mouth? Huh?” He reached under the hem of your half-buttoned dress and pressed his hand onto your stomach, just above where you needed him. “Tell me. Tell me so I can remind you how good I make you feel.”

“Anything,” you mumbled up at him. “You can do anything.” You rested your hand on top of his over your rumpled dress.

“You’re a whore,” he huffed a quick laugh. His hand slipped from under your dress, moving to join his other in removing his helmet. “You’re a greedy whore.” Unmodulated, the words still packed no bite—he was jealous, yes, but he didn’t mean what he said; he just knew they’d turn you into putty in his hands and get you to say what he wanted to hear.

“I’m your whore.” You smiled when the weight of the helmet fell onto the cot, gazing at him in admiration and lust. His eyes were just as blown out as yours, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead.

Din, in all his glory. Riled up and needy and yours.

He didn’t grace you with a response, kneeling in front of you and bringing his face to your cunt. His hands pushed against the skin of your inner thighs, encouraging you to keep your legs open for him as he licked a stripe up your slit.

“Would you let them taste you?” He mumbled, his tongue reaching your clit and flicking at it gently.

You whimpered a response. It wasn’t as if Din never went down on you—in fact, when he’d first taken his helmet off in front of you, it’s all he wanted to do for about a week—but in this state, the way he teased and the need in his words made you feel a hot ache in your core.

“Would you?” He pushed, moving his hand to graze gloved fingers over your cunt.

“No!” You gasped when he pushed a finger inside of you; the leather of his glove was warm and struggled against your walls, even dripping as you were.

But your gratification of being filled countered any discomfort, and a brief glance down at Din proved that he was just as entranced by the look as you were by the feeling.

“Only me,” he looked up at you through lidded eyes, lips parted to allow the words to come out in a gruff whisper. “Tell me.”

“Only you, Din,” you reached for him, trying to find his free hand to ground you to him. He allowed you to grab at his fingers, lacing them with yours. “I only ever want you.”

“Yes,” he breathed, clearly satisfied. Part of him, though, still wanted more, and he pushed another finger into you to watch your back arch. “Mine.”

“Yours,” you reassured, “I’m yours. Always.”

He growled then, no longer interested in drawing this out and staking his claim—he knew his jealousy was unwarranted, knew that you would always be his and he, in turn, would always be yours.

He just disliked the idea of anybody looking at you with malintent; hated the voice that crept into his head that perhaps someday it would be someone that could give you more, and that you’d see him for the washout he thought he was.

But you didn’t. You wouldn’t. You were his, always.

You said as much.

He sucked your clit between his lips, flicking his tongue over the swollen bud as he increased the pressure of the suction, curling his fingers into you.

You hooked a knee behind him, overwhelmed by the pleasure but still bent on feeling more of him. He grunted, increasing the pace at which he thrusted his fingers in and out of you, and your back arched off the cot in excitement.

“Cum,” he was practically begging, so eager to feel you clench his fingers and shake for him. “Cum for me. Show me you’re mine, cyar’ika.”

He pressed the pads of his fingers up and into the spongy spot he knew so well, watching you come undone for him.

“Din it’s—I—yes, yes…!” Your moans were breathy and barely coherent, focused only on the pleasure he provided. Your legs spasmed around him, walls squeezing his fingers, and he continued to lap at you through your high.

You tugged on his hair, overstimulated and exhausted. He took the hint, rising to sit on the edge of the bed and look over you.

“Would you let them make you cum like that?” He pressed a kiss to the exposed skin of your chest, licking over your nipple.

You shivered, cupping the back of his head.

“Couldn’t let them,” you sighed happily, “Nobody but you could ever make me cum like that.”

That earned you a soft growl, and he removed himself from your chest to kiss your jaw, stubble tickling your skin.

“That’s right.” He breathed against you, leaning back to lie down next to you sideways in the cot.

“Never have to worry,” you curled into him, “I’m yours, Din. There’s nobody else but you. There never will be.”

“I know, cyare,” he wrapped an arm around you, tugging you into him and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m yours.”

[namelessgakusei]

EP 3.2 Take aim

Devil May Cry x Reader Insert

Warnings: It's DMC. Based on the New Netflix Series. Spoiler warnings for the actual show. Not proofread. Slightly canon divergent.

EP 3.1 This is how you shoot (prev.)

EP 3.3 And pull the trigger (cont.)

Synopsis: The lady reveals a bit of your past and the Vice President reveals Dante's. You get ambushed by the White Rabbit.

"Is that how you treat someone who graciously offered their lap for you to sleep on?"

"Did you graciously have to make the joke?" You snapped back with huff, with the crown of your head throbbing from the impact on Dante's chin. He only smirked and shrugged through his binds, "Hey, I can't pass off the opportunity served to me on a silver platter."

"Will you two please stop flirting and get us out of here already?" A familiar voice cuts in before you could maul Dante despite the situation.

"Enzo?" You turned to the other bound person in the room, although the broker only has a normal set of ropes tied around him, unlike the heavy, steel-like cuffs tied to the wall, around you two and Dante. Now that you noticed it, only you got your feet bound too. "Why are you here—?" You squinted in confusion.

You remember being caught in a trap last night, due to emotions getting the best out of the both of you, resulting in the current predicament. You got to say, that lady has a knack for riling people up. What you don't understand is the use of your adoptive father in this situation. Besides his connections, he's pretty useless in the fighting side of things.

Since you're also on the same boat, you might as well try to get the most out of things. You can't hear the engine but you can feel the movement, this vehicle's going fast, are you in a highway? There's a glass window across from where you three are being kept, if you could keep your balance, you might be able to get a decent view of the road.

"I see that you're awake." The lady speaks on the other side of the barrier, without even looking at you, busy trying on a new weapon. You nearly toppled from the gas still being in your system, but your back was supported by Dante's head before you could fall. "Yo, lady!"

"Not to be a backseat driver, but I'm pretty sure this violates the Geneva Convention of something." Dante barks after peeking his head from behind you. The walls are enforced, but with how there are spaces between the tiles, you don't reckon that it's for design purposes, there's something behind it. The rope connecting both you and Dante to the wall is heavy when you try to move, you can't escape this one from bending your limbs. Only Dante might be able to force these open. There's also an unidentified clump of metal at the far corner of the room, but it looked more like trash than something important.

The lady's voice made you glance at the front seat. "The Geneva Convention only applies to humans." She glares. You're on an unfamiliar road. There are only two of DARKCOM'S forces present, one as a driver including the lady. Her new weapons seem to be reacting to her wrist bands, you should probably aim for it once you're free. The driver is quiet, but you remember meeting eyes with him last night, he's the only one who wasn't grinning down at you two.

He looked remorseful.

At her words, Enzo enthusiastically crawled forwards with a hopeful smile, brandishing the ropes around his body in hopes of being freed. "I'm a human!"

You might be able to use him.

"In your case, I think the UN would understand." He faltered at that, and you slumped back to the floor with a sigh. Where are the others? You don't see Dante's amulet from the lady. Were you being transported separately? Where? Why? Why is DARKCOM here? Why now?

"This has gotta be the second-worst job you ever gave me." You yawned when Dante snapped at Enzo, not wanting to deal with whatever ruckus they'll get into again. You're still tired... This sucks. "Oh, you mean after the Raccoon City job?"

Ah, Raccoon City. That was fucked up if not for who you met along the way.

"Third-worst."

"God, I should've ran away with Leon when he offered." You groaned loudly.

Dante sounded scandalized at that, gasping loudly and scooting beside you with an offended expression. "Wha- hey!"

You smiled and turned to the DARKCOM members, cutting him off. "I think we started on the wrong foot, miss. Of course, we'll get angry when you suddenly barge in like that. You should've just told us what you want and we might've agreed on a resolution." Your change in attitude confuses the men behind you, shrugging to themselves over your action.

"Oh, right! I didn't see you yesterday night, sir. Only the lady came to get us after all. Are you perhaps the back-up?"

He twitched at that, focus momentarily taken away from the wheel. He looks jittery. His silence and small acknowledgement from the way he turned at you egged you on to continue.

"Or a newcomer?"

He glanced at the rearview mirror. He's fresh meat. Maybe that's why he looked guilty.

Having empathy is nice and all, but not in a job such as in DARKCOM. How did this guy got accepted? That is the elite force that deals with supernatural shit, not where you sympathize with your targets. But if you appeal to him, he's more likely to slip up than the lady. "I see! I hope you'll be gentler than her, we've been beaten up quite hard..." You sighed. "It really hurt. On top of that, we're called demons despite proving otherwise. Isn't it unfair? Don't you think so?" You put on the most pitiful voice and face you could, looking up at the mirror where the driver's also observing you, this time looking extremely conflicted. Does he have kids? You're fairly confident about how young you look. If you could sow discord—

You got pulled to the wall before you knew it, back slamming at the metal and nearly knocking you out from the force. Enzo gaped while Dante screamed at the sight, charging towards the lady, who also activated his restraints for him to be pulled back alongside you. Fuck that hurt.

"There's a reason why you're bound like that. We put on a helmet just in case you tried any more tricks. But, clearly the Hellblood's under your control." She sneered back at Dante. "Fucker kept removing it to the point of unrecognizable." Is that what that thing at the corner is?

"I know your games, (Y/N)." She narrowed her eyes on you. "Those questions weren't harmless, I know you're already plotting to escape."

"No shit, who wouldn't." You snarked back with a groan, the pain waking you up completely.

The lady frowned and crossed her arms, fully facing the three of you behind the glass. "It's a shame. I've read about you. Child of a former DARKCOM officer who had their whole family killed by demons. Logically, you should be on our side, fighting against the vermin who hurt you, and yet you're fraternizing with one." Tsk. What a way to dig up old memories. You're not that surprised that neither Enzo nor Dante knew, as the former only thought of you as a lost child and you already met the latter while living with your adoptive father. "You're one of them?!"

"I wouldn't be here with you if I was." You replied with an annoyed sigh.

Yet the lady kept babbling about setting you on the right path once you arrived at the headquarters. You bite a joke about getting brainwashed like her to avoid any more repercussions. While you appreciate a job offer, not at the expense of Dante. Though, he seems unphased at the situation, just struggling to get out of his binds. What kind of material are these made of? To think he can't brute force his way with this...

"I thought you're supposed to be the strongest demon hunter alive." You chuckled at his strained expression. He insists that the lady put something in him on that injection, that's why he's weaker than usual, but quickly adds up that he's already recovering with a huff. "I bet you wish that your Leon's here with you instead, huh?" Dante looked away with another huff, lightly tapping your thigh with his, but before you could complain about his sulking, you got the message.

You glanced up to see those two occupied, and turned to your side to signal him to get his boot closer. Upon getting both the buckles out, you two worked quietly to dismantle the cuffs from behind. The hope for escape was suddenly cut short when a voice boomed from a speaker. It's the Vice President, William Baines.

He praised Dante's abilities, not acknowledging either you or Enzo. Good, you could use that to focus on breaking free. Baines quotes that Lieutenant Arkham claims him to be part demon, which is something Dante immediately refutes, claiming that while he has abilities, it's just some weird mutation.

Arkham? Is that the lady's last name?

"Your mother and your brother, they're both killed by demons, is that right?" His statement made both you and Dante stop to look up at the speaker in apprehension. How do they know that? How much do they already know?

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. We all have dead families and traumatic childhoods." Arkham mutters under her breath.

Both of you turned to your adoptive father, silently judging him for how much he revealed despite trying to convince you that he didn't talk. He eventually confessed that he did, but insisted that he's also a victim in this. Baines continued with a question about Dante's father, to which the young man replied that he hadn't met him with a conflicted expression. This is getting on your nerves, that man kept speaking about how he can still be saved if he proves his worth to God. You scoffed. Is he one of those crazy religious type of guys? Did DARKCOM turn into a cult?! Maybe you dodged the bullet with how you didn't end up with them instead.

Arkham cuts in and insisted that it's a waste of time to try and "save" Dante, suggesting that you're enough to take back with them, insisting that no matter what, Dante is a demon and an enemy. Baines corrects her, saying that while her passion is her strength, she needs to see the whole picture. Dante is an asset to fight off other demons. What?!

They plan to use Dante?! You swivel to his direction, worry crossing your features, but he only grinned in response, silently urging you to break free from your binds too. You expected this. Of course you'll consider using him if you're in their shoes too. Someone with supernatural abilities that's strong enough to fight off demons? Forget using unorthodox methods, he's a living one man army. But that's different. You're not one of them. And Dante's...

The vehicle comes to a stop, and when you looked up, it seems like there's traffic in front. The driver's comment about checking it out confirmed your suspicions, making you two hurry with jamming the buckles in the cuffs. "I've figured you out, Hellblood." What now?? Arkham's voice echoes from beyond the glass, her expression shooting daggers from the mirror. "I don't know what kind of pact you made with (Y/N) for you to come to their beck and call, but do you really think this whole jabbering moron act was going to work?"

Dante tilted his head to the side and shrugged. "Uh, maybe. What act are you talking about?"

"The one where you don't know you're a demon? You just happen to be walking around with half the key to Hell around your neck?" Key to what?!

"Key to hell?" Both you and Dante looked at her incredulously. "Whoa, woah, woah." He chuckles, "I think you've all got the wrong necklace, seriously."

"It's just some old family heirloom my mom gave me."

The moment he said that, a shockwave violently shook the vehicle, throwing you three against each other. Soon, more quakes appeared, and over the small window you can see from where you're at, debris from a destroyed building is falling straight to the road, damaging the cars around. The lady frantically contacted her squad, yelling over the speaker while looking around for the source of the bombings. She locked eyes at the perpetrator from above, one beyond your line of sight, but judging from her horrified expression, it ain't human.

Your car toppled over from an explosion after that.

taglist!: @mischiefmanaged71 @tamashithe2nd @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @96jnie @flwerie @deathrye @that-dumb-bitch @sleepykittycx @sidewalkenforcer

[crow-quilll]

'Nobody's Soldier' Chapter 14 teaser

Hello all. Miss me? :)

New chapter should be out in the next day or two - hard to tell. Im working a couple jobs, which is annoying, so my time to write is lessened. But I'm almost done: 4,000 words to go! Until then, enjoy this little taste tester:

------

“What did you expect me to do? Let you run this place into the ground with your obsession for that self-righteous fool?”

“Funny, you think you’re in control,” In-ho retaliates instantly into his Officer's mask, lips curling back, “but I made this place what it is. You are a cog in the machine I built. You are a nobody, and if you think I’m going to –”

A sharp and sudden crack splits through the air. For a moment, In-ho doesn’t even realize it’s for him.

And then he feels the bullet hit.

A brutal, piercing punch to the shoulder as lead suddenly rips through his muscle and tendon. In-ho lets out a bark of pain and staggers back, one hand immediately going to his left shoulder as he doubles over. A pain - a pain he’s felt before - swells in his shoulder like a rod of hot steel was impaled through his flesh. Hot blood seeps between his fingers faster than he can stop it, just like it had before in the same exact spot.

In-ho looks up, blinking through the blur of it all to look at his officer. The sour stench of gunpowder burns in his nostrils from the smoking gun in his underling’s hand.

“You don’t get to talk like you still run this place,” The Officer says with an admittedly frightening amount of calm in his tone, “It’s over. The only reason you’re still around is because the VIPs liked your … performance with 456."

In-ho’s glare deepens, and a ragged snarl comes from him as his lips twitch into a furious smile, “Struck a nerve, did I?”

“Say another word and the next one will go through your skull.” 

“You won’t,” In-ho hisses through a growl of pain, pressing his hand against the bullet wound harder, “the VIPs have given you orders to keep me alive, and we both know that the only thing you’re good for is following orders.”

The Officer clicks his tongue, visibly pausing to bite back his anger before he says, “The VIPs told me to keep Number 001 alive. They didn’t tell me to make sure he was unharmed.”

The threat prickles in In-ho’s ears uncomfortably. In the Officer’s voice, In-ho can hear the deliberate ring of rage that has been repressed for far too long. His underling can finally say what he’s always wanted to say.

“So, get fucking moving before I shoot your fingers off one by one.”

In-ho stays frozen in place, every cell in his body aching to rip the man across from him into dozens of bloody pieces. His silence is bristling with dangerous contempt. He’s not supposed to be helpless, he made a vow to never be helpless again. 

This is what Gi-hun must feel when In-ho orders him to do something. He must feel this itch to disobey, this unnamed and foolish need to prove that he has the freedom to make a decision.

None of this should ever have happened. How the hell did this happen? How did he let this happen?

It’s not fair. He’s given years of his life to this facility and its games. He’s bled himself dry to keep this place afloat in Oh Il-nam’s absence. He made sure Il-nam’s legacy lived on. He made sure these games would continue.

And - what, the VIPs want him gone? They’d rather watch ‘Young-il’ scramble to treat Gi-hun, to care for him, to kiss him? Is that it? Did they find that more entertaining?

Why do they want him gone? Why do they want ‘Young-il’ instead?

Why?

In-ho, unlike Gi-hun, knows when the game is stacked against him. He knows when to keep the cards close to his chest, but also when to show his hand and make a big move.

And now is not the time for small, futile resistance. 

In-ho swallows back the wrath that bites at his insides and rings in his bones. He finally feels his stubborn hold on the system he perfected relent, knowing that he’s got nothing to hold on with. No support, no army, nothing. The VIPs think he’s either off of the island, or just another soldier to play with. 

Funnily enough, his only ally now is Gi-hun.

This entire situation has only added to the long list of reasons why he needs Gi-hun. Now he needs his little soldier to get back on his feet and stage another revolt - only this time, In-ho will be working with him completely. At least up until the point where they take back control, just so he can turn around and re-establish power over the games and Gi-hun himself. 

He’s not sure how or when it happened. But all of a sudden, Gi-hun was everything to him: he is the air that In-ho breathes, the hunger in his gut, the thirst on his tongue, the fever that festers beneath his skin, the story he can’t stop reading, the prayer he can’t stop whispering.

Oh, In-ho needs Gi-hun more than anything. And if the Officer wants to take that away from him, there will be hell to pay. Hell..

After what feels like minutes of tense silence, a low, enraged snicker comes from In-ho. His eyes meet the mask that his Officer wears, imagining the expression of the other man despite the fact that he cannot see it.

“You want to play ringleader for a little while?” In-ho spits, refusing to mask the hatred in his face, “Fine, let’s play.”

The Officer lets out another sigh of irritation. He loads a live round into the handgun, finger resting on the trigger.

“Let’s go,” The Officer urges his former boss, “I’ve got orders to put on a show, and you are not wasting anymore of my goddamn time.”

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- The Late Late Show Clips

Part 52

2015

The video starts with James Corden in front of the camera at a basketball court. His hand on his hips with a sweatband on his head

“Today is the combination of a life’s dream”

The clip then cuts to Harry

“It definitely feels like the last erm five years being in this band was preparation for this game”

“The best way to practice dodgeball” James is stood talking with the boys and YN around him with a pile of dodgeball balls in the middle of them “is to practice without a dodgeball” Niall passes a pretend ball to James while Louis and Liam get ready for the imaginary ball to go to them. Harry and YN stand off to the side with arms crossed with raised eyebrows.

The next clip shows Niall

“The singing thing just happened I never planned a career in singing. It was always about dodgeball for me”

“We got a great coach and great team captain and an amazing support system” the camera shows YN holding pom-poms jumping up and down “we wouldn’t be here without her”

“When I was asked to join the team I was a little shocked, but then I was just told to stand on the side and cheer I thought why not. Singing was never really a passion of mine, it’s not my long term goal. I’ve always wanted to cheer on a dodgeball team”

The next clip shows the boys doing sit ups and YN running over to Harry to put his hair in a bobble

“I’m absolutely dodgeball obsessed and yeah I’ve always lived and breathed dodgeball it’s just such a big part of me” Louis says to the camera

“Have you ever played dodgeball before?”

“No never”

The rest of the video shows the boys playing dodgeball against a group of girls and YN having an issue with their male cheerleader. Unfortunately Cordens Angels loose the game, and the boys and YN looks devastated.

Comments:

YN just cheering the boys is priceless!

I love how serious they took this

I love how YN and the other cheerleader had beef

“Now we’re about to play what is probably the craziest game we’ve ever had on our show. It’s a game that I’m already regretting thinking of. It’s time for tattoo roulette with One Direction. Ok here’s how it works. On this table we have 6 boxes. In 5 of them is the word safe. Inside one of them is the word tattoo. Each of us will chose a box and if the box says tattoo in it they will get a tattoo right here right now live on the show. If it’s one of the boys or YN they will get Late Late tattooed on them and if it’s me I will have 1D tattooed on me” YNs face lights looking giddy with excitement

“I think we should go ladies first” Louis says looking at YN who’s stood next to Niall

“Me to. Niall” YN presents the boxes making everyone laugh

“Niall your the only member who doesn’t have any tattoos so are you going first?”

“Yeah”

“Oh my god he’s shaking” YN gasps

“Niall off you go” Niall goes to the boxes and chooses a box “ok YN your next” Harry goes to help YN down the stairs in her heals, but she effortlessly walks down without any help. Many years of practice under her belt

“I’m just going to pick this one” she shrugs taking a box

“I hate how calm you are” Niall says to YN who brings the box over to where he’s standing

“It’s fine I’ve been meaning to book a new tattoo in”

“Harold. How are you feeling about this?”

“I’m fine” Harry is next to chose a box, then Louis and finally Liam.

YN and the boys are stood in a line with their boxes

“I feel like I’m on deal or no deal” YN comments

“Now you’re a professional tattoo artist. Your good at this”

“I’m alright” the tattoo artist shrugs

“Can you do removals?” James says

“I’m a bit hurt James that you don’t want 1D permanently on your body. Plus removals hurt more than the tattoo so I’d just keep with the tattoo”

“Not helping YN” Niall nudges his friend

“Alright Liam you go first” Liam lifts up the lid which says safe. Louis is also safe. James is next and he’s safe. Harry quickly swaps his box and YNs box around

“Oi”

“I just have a feeling YN” Harry says

“Ok will YN you go next” she lets out a big sigh, then opens the lid revealing the words safe. All that’s left is Harry and Niall. Niall looks like he’s about to throw up Harry opens the his box and it says tattoo causing Niall to jump up and down with glee

“Harry styles is getting a tattoo!” James smiles

Comments:

The fact Harry swapped his and YNs box because he had a feeling

Niall just thinking thank god it’s not him!

I’m going to miss them!

“Hey mate it’s me. I’m in a real bind traffic wise I know your in town is there anyway you can help me?” James starts the video clip with him on the phone sat behind the drivers wheel of the car. Niall then opens the door and sits in the passenger seat “hey man thanks for this” Louis Harry and Liam then join in the back “well since your all here where’s YN?”

“Here” YN pops her head up from the floor

“Where did you come from. No scratch that how did you get in here?”

“I have my ways. Now where am I sitting?”

“Here” Harry pats his and Liams knees. YN gets up and sits half on Harry and half on Liam

“Ok fair enough. If anyone needs a wee”

“I need a wee” Harry raises his hand

“Hold it. Now are you ok if we listen to some music?”

“Yeah course” what makes you beautiful starts playing. They all sing the song, Harry every now and then singing to YN.

“Blimey you’ve got a boney ass YN” Harry laughs with an arm around her waist making sure she’s safe

“Is it scary having people find out where you are, where you live”

“It can do when they are outside your house. I’m living alone at the moment so it’s scary when people are ringing your doorbell”

“That’s why she’s got Cookie. Scare them off” Niall jokes

“Worst she will do is lick someone to death” YN laughs. Story of my life then plays. YN tries her best to sing but her part of the song is sung by Harry

“Let’s do a band harmony. I’ll kick it off and you follow”

“I’ll do the highest note” YN says goes into a whistle tone as they all harmonise. The next song plays, the best song ever, Harry and YN sing the adlibs. When James does a high note after YN everyone looks shocked

“Ok YN how do I like keep that high note for long”

“Lots of practice and drinking hot Lemmon and honey water”

“I think you need to rethink the hiatus. This just feels right. So YN don’t go on tour with Justin. Just release more music. I just think this is whats best”

“Oh James” YN pats James on the shoulder

“Do you know the game sleep marry cruise”

“I love this game” YN claps

“YN. Your three are. Justin, Harry and Chris Hemsworth”

“Oh god errrm” YN awkwardly laughs “I think if I sleep with Chris things would be awkward so cruise Chris. Sleep Justin and marry Harry, he’s a good cook”

“Thanks for helping me get to work guys. I love you all”

Comments:

Harry singing ‘don’t need makeup to cover up’ to YN just makes me sad they aren’t actually dating!

Haha YN stealing Harry’s drink and him just letting her as if this is just normal!

YN actually looked so sad during story of my life. Liam and Louis just holding her hands breaks my heart

“marry Harry, he’s a good cook” hmmm sure…

[yourheart-inmyhands]

Hellow hellow (⁠☆⁠▽⁠☆⁠)

May I request yandere zhongli, diluc and possibly neuvilette with reader who's a talented musician that often like to play alone and doesn't want anyone finding about their hobby?

ah this was such a cute ask! i've never played an instrument aside from the recorder i was forced to learn in 4th grade so i apologize if this isn't super accurate :D

Warning: this post contains yandere-themes, including delusional behaviors, honestly the guys are pretty sweet here, and other potential topics. Please read at your own risk!

Diluc:

Being a bit of a musician himself, Diluc can understand the desire to be alone. He won’t ever intrude on your alone time, allowing you a room to yourself with whatever instruments and setup you’d like. He makes sure to let all the staff know to not bother you while you are there. If you’d like he’d even be willing to set up a lock on the door so that no one can enter, so long as he is allowed a key.

If you should ever change your mind and ask Diluc to join you for some music, he’d be more than happy to comply. He knows quite a few different instruments so he’s happy to partner up as whatever you ask of him as well.

A soft smile graces Diluc’s face as he hears the music start-up in another room. You were back to practicing again, working away at a particular piece that had been troubling you lately. Normally he wouldn’t seem so happy about your mess-ups, but he thought your dedication to the instruments to be endearing. It reminded him a bit of himself when he was young, before he had taken over the winery business unexpectedly. He had offered to play the piece with you a handful of times over dinner, but your polite refusal each time was enough to keep him from simply forcing his way in. He didn’t want to disturb the one thing you seemed to enjoy so thoroughly. 

Zhongli:

Zhongli was never much of a musician, he preferred books and literature over the finer arts. That doesn’t mean he doesn’t appreciate them though. He does dampen a bit when you deny him the access of watching you play, insisting that you prefer to be alone, but he relents regardless. His keen hearing from across the home-like cave was enough for now.

Instead, Zhongli offers his support in the form of sheet music, going out of his way to obtain obscure or new sheet music for you in the style that you like so that you never run out of new melodies. It’s a simple act of appreciation for your gifts, if he could write any himself he’d have done so as well, but his ear for music wasn’t as fine-tuned as yours. 

Zhongli pauses in his reading for a moment, his ears adjusting to the slightest tune echoing through the cave. It was barely there, but enough for him to hear. It seemed as though you were playing quietly today. It’s another moment that passes before he places a marker into his book, setting it aside before rising from his chair. He couldn’t explain it but your music always seemed to inspire him to get up and do something. Typically it was cooking, with him making a light meal or snack to bring to you when it sounded like you were taking a break. It helped to hear that you were playing the newest sheet music he had brought you. He didn’t know much about music aside from how to read notes on a paper, but there was something about that one specifically that just reminded him so dearly of you.

Neuvillette:

Neuvillette has always admired music, but his mind was more focused on the law and justice system, he had never really had time to explore that interest. When he finds out about your talent in that field, he at first is hesitant to ask you to teach him. He doesn’t want to bother you especially after you confessed that you prefer to play alone. So instead he listens silently from the next room over, replaying the melodies over and over in his head as he tries to teach himself an instrument.

It’s sweet, the way Neuvillette is always keeping you up to date with things. Always making sure your instruments are in proper working order and that anything you need for them is easily available. He had learned about instrument care as soon as he started trying to learn, and because you don’t leave the house often he makes sure to pick things up that he thinks you might need while he’s out. 

He doesn’t say anything to you as he silently enters the room, noticing how you paused mid-line, turning to look at him. He just offers a warm smile, walking over to you quietly before sliding your music stand away. It takes a moment to realize what he’s doing as he slides a brand new one into place, carefully moving your sheet music from the old one to the new one. “I apologize for disrupting, please continue.” He gives a polite bow of his head before turning to leave, taking the old music stand with him. You weren’t sure how he knew that you needed a new one, since the old one had a problem with staying extended to the height you wanted it, but silently, you were thankful. 

[jungkoode]

IMPORTANT PSA.

Hi, my loves.

I don’t know if anyone really noticed, but I’ve been a little quiet these past few days, taking a moment to breathe and reset after a pretty heavy wave of hostility and willful misinterpretations hit Kiki Nation.

I’ll admit it—I tried to explain myself, to clarify, to fix it. But all I really did was give more attention to people who were never here in good faith to begin with. And that’s on me. I won’t be doing that again.

So, moving forward, I won’t be overexplaining or oversharing anymore. The post about how the goal system works has been removed, and from now on, goals and updates are explained briefly in my FAQ. That’s where you can find the info anytime you need it.

I also want to take this chance to make something very clear, louder than ever:

Anyone who engages in cruelty, mocking, pettiness, manipulation, harassment, ableism, or bullying behavior has never been part of Kiki Nation, and they never will be.

Let’s remind ourselves—there was never ‘leaving’ this space for them, because they were never part of it in the first place.

Kiki Nation has never stood for that kind of behavior, and it never will. We are built on kindness, respect, and showing up for each other with love—not drama. Not control. Not cruelty.

And that’s why I’m trusting the real Kiki Nation right now.

I want to briefly address something that’s still lingering—the engagement on FMU Chapter 21 in Wattpad specifically.

As you might have noticed, there was a pretty obvious wave of petty mass unvoting on that chapter after the backlash. It dropped below its original goal, and now it looks like Chapter 22 was posted without ever reaching the milestone we all celebrated together. And it’s sadly misleading a lot of readers.

That’s not what Kiki Nation is about.

We’ve never been the kind of space that lets a few bad-faith players rewrite the narrative or take away from what we built together.

So, I’m asking—if you’re here, if you care, if you still stand with this space—go back to Chapter 21 on Wattpad and re-vote to restore what we actually achieved together.

Why? Because it protects the visibility of the story.

Because it keeps Kiki Nation’s credibility clean.

Because it clarifies Chapter 22 was posted because Chapter 21 did reach 200 votes (under 48h I should say), and it’s at 130 because 70 people unvoted AFTER the new chapter was posted.

And mostly—because it shows that we decide what this space stands for—not the ones who tried to tear it down.

I’ve taken a step back these past few days and had some time to reflect. And honestly? While I’m still disappointed, I also know this was never a loss. It was a cleansing. They were never really part of this space, and now they’re gone. That’s something I’m learning to see as a positive, not a setback.

I also want to admit that I blurred the line a little too much between author and readers, and in doing that, I might have given certain people the wrong idea—that they had the right to lash out, to push expectations, or to control what happens here. That stops now. This space has always been built on mutual respect and appreciation, and that’s exactly how it’s going to stay.

As always, I’ll be updating at my own pace—after goals are met and support is steady across the story. That’s how it’s always worked, and it’s exactly how Kikizens have appreciated it. I’m not changing it to accommodate the few trolls who were never part of Kiki Nation to begin with and are only here in bad faith. FMU 23 will be posted when FMU 21’s goals are restored and FMU 22 reaches its own. (Holding myself back from over explaining/justifying myself here again, so I won’t. That’s all there is to it.)

To protect my mental health, I’ll also be slowing down a bit more until the end of the year. I need to take care of myself and prioritize my life offline, and I trust you’ll understand that pace.

Thank you again, truly, for being here. For sticking around. For showing me what the real Kiki Nation is made of.

We move.

—Kiki

Edit: I have received a bunch of loving anons after this announcement. Just know I have read every single one of them and would love to reply in private but the option is not available, so I’m keeping them in my heart. I’m closing this chapter with a warm fuzzy feeling. Thank you.🩷

[deikshen]

I constantly think that The Good Place universe is absolutely brilliant for creating a SVSSS AU

(Warning: major spoilers for The Good Place. Seriously, watch it if you haven't, it's a GREAT show.)

Then Shen Yuan dies. Okay, he wasn't like, the best of people, just a geeky hikikomori neet— He wasn't hurting anyone, but he wasn't contributing to society either, and he spent more time reading porn than he'd like to admit.

Then Shen Yuan wakes up after dying, and there is a system telling him [ Hello! Welcome to the Good Place! :D ], which is, wow, amazing, cool, wonderful, a kind of xianxia heaven for immortal heroes? Except the person everyone thinks is him... isn't him. For some reason, he is registered as, Shen Qingqiu???, and no, he is definitely not the person who should be there.

Oh, by the way, The System introduces him to his new and true soulmate, Luo Binghe, who is the closest thing to a holy and heavenly being that Shen Yuan-Qingqiu???, has ever met. Luo Binghe, who suffered tragically every moment of his childhood and survived through his own efforts as an orphan and without anyone's support. Shen Qingqiu, quite terrified of what might happen, he needs to trust Binghe: he tells him that he is not Shen Qingqiu, that he does not belong there, that he is not an immortal hero and that he has NO IDEA what is going on.

In parallel to this, absolutely weird and chaotic things start happening all the time, demonstrating that there is clearly a cog in this Good Place that is not working as it should.

A gear that can be like the "Mute Monk" who is actually Shang Qinghua another damn impostor like Shen Yuan (who ends up having a very strange but romantic relationship with the artificial intelligence "Mobei Jun"), or Shang Qinghua's "soulmate" Liu Qingge (in a horrendous miscalculation) finding out everything, and deciding to help Shen Yuan not be discovered because... Well, he's learned to like him.

When they finally discover they're actually in the Bad Place, one built specifically and punctually so that they torture each other, well, it's not so much a surprise as chaos.

And after hundreds of restarts and Shen Yuan discovering everything again, and again, and again... Okay. Okay. The System itself might also need to ask these damn humans for help figuring out why the hell this hell it's not working.

[xiaq]

I got another raise today. Praise for my contributions to my team, validation for my hard work, and a clear overview of what my continued progression in my company could look like. I celebrated by taking the afternoon off to nap and read in bed with my husband. I painted some swatches in the space that will soon be my library in the basement of our new home. I talked to my publisher about the process of turning my 3 published books into audio books. And now I'm in the living room, writing and watching my dog attempt to entice pedestrians on the sidewalk to pet him over the front yard fence.

Next month it'll be two years since I left academia.

It was the hardest and the best thing I ever did.

Three years ago, I was having an existential crisis about my career. I was working 60+ hours a week for embarrassingly little pay as lecturer. I loved my job, but I knew that continuing to work in academia wasn't a sustainable option for me. The thought of buying a house some day was laughable. I'd sworn off relationships. I looked at my writing and I thought there was no chance I'd ever publish anything. I was nearly thirty and I felt like I'd wasted the last decade of my life and I was fighting hard against the sunk cost fallacy that whispered I should just stay. Continue as I was. Let no one know I was drowning in the life I'd always said I wanted.

See, people like to say "it gets better" when people are feeling lost or hopeless. But what they don't tell you is that in order for things to get better you often have to do big scary shit that sometimes feels like walking backward. Sometimes you have to tear things down to the studs before you can rebuild. Sometimes the path to "better" looks a lot like "worse" at first.

I was lucky that my family and friends supported my "worse" phase while I was trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with my life, interviewing for tech companies and taking fire fighting exams and querying agents/publishers and basically just saying "fuck it, I'll give it a try" to every available opportunity, including dating the guy who is now the love of my life. But "it gets better" requires hard work and bravery and putting yourself out there and bitter disappointment and rallying and leaning on that support system, and trying again.

So, I'm not sure where I'm going with this other than to say, for anyone else who was where I was 3 years back, anyone who feels stuck or hopeless or like they've wasted years of their life on a career or relationship that doesn't love them back: it gets better, but you have to fucking fight for it. So rally your troops. Get your support system in place. Give sunk cost fallacy the finger. And go figure out what will serve you better.

I'm so happy, now. My life is amazing. But it might have been amazing even faster if I'd dropped out of grad school after my first year when I realized that maybe it wasn't what I wanted after all. I wish I'd been brave then. Be brave now.

[sugar-petals]

since hybe keeps on mumbling how they don’t exactly know when to bring back bangtan because quote “BTS' share of overall revenue is not likely to be as high as in the past” and they will significantly deprioritze them (silly, delusional, eyeroll-worthy, oblivious, rude, greedy, foolish, the audacity: a damn rennaissance is about to happen! the whole fandom is emerging from the woodwork ffs), we need to take matters in our own hands getting everyone on board, enjoying what’s about to happen, and hype this calm before the very exciting storm up. in other words: silence, corporation! 

the ones that give and gave you all that money are talking now. we’re all still here! it doesn’t matter how much BTS will make because it would always suffice to keep them going (otherwise, they’d be long disbanded), nor is it of concern how old they are, what the trends may be, anything. it matters that they are back. full stop! as the phenomenon they are, and as friends, artists, cultural forces, support systems, as people. military is hard! plus, and that seems to be the good ole main concern: it even doesn’t matter how popular anyone else is by that time in 2025. or later because companies can mess anything up. man... we gotta stick together.

good for that other group or artist if things are happening for them. most idols barely make a living and have to repay huge debts. and besides: if, for instance, chungha drops a viral quality banger one week before BTS returns like it’s her fantastic baby i will do what? rejoice! because holy shit, two cool new songs! and hybe will still make cash anyway, as even more eyes are on the industry. and more old and new fans gather. who would have thought! even if BTS’ main market rivals perform amazingly: imagine how huge and buzzing the award shows and charts and switching on the speakers will be. this will be like spring. 

if bts not being on top is the worry — uh, how unrealistic — i guess hybe wants to insult everyone in this equation (and rage bait?!), even themselves: hilariously weak stuff right there. the golden eras of k-pop and music generally were marked by several great, bustling groups being excellent parallel to another anyway, with several contrasting trends emerging simultaneously. the bland eras had monopolies, a uniform look, meh production vibes, and nothing major happening 90% of the time, and the overall quality dragging everyone down, down, down. that’s not what we want! 

i want this thing blowing up like every group releases their gangnam style on crack all at once. my feed spammed with shiny thumbnails, fan cams, announcements, shows, reactions, like an LSD trip. any groups and solo artists dropping and bumping their hits nonstop ring ding dong style until the fans collapse from excitement and not keeping up. i want mutuals on my dash yelling “WHAT... I MISSED /THIS/ WHILE I SLEPT?!!” constantly again! period! i want my brain melting from all the viral dance breaks and catchy rap parts and insane choreography and new hair colors and the wildest ever beats. come at me! i think that fans can handle being blasted with fun music and novelty from all directions 😉 

cause, pay attention hybe honey, that’s what liking music is all about. even if fans prefer one artist/group over the other. yep, it is possible. who wouldn’t have a good time if all the big groups went off: there’s something furiously cool happening for everyone! a good kpop generation has a firework of big, BIG releases in a short(er) period of time, without overworking idols of course. and that’s what we need now, awakening from the slumber. bts’ military discharge is the starting signal for exactly that. hybe doesn’t know who they’re handling. they should be screaming “omg let’s gooo, look at them” the loudest! this shit is like the one piece time skip, hello? 

i can’t believe penny pinching is still supposed to be the problem. do they even know which group they’re talking about? just ludicrous. these 7 guys had and always have the midas touch. even yoongi who couldn’t even afford a single proper meal or the bus home from bighit is now worth a heavy 50 million bucks. there is no sense in fearing they’ll tank financially. hybe has zero trust and doesn’t know the fandom dynamics at all. as soon as jungkook even does as much as tie his hair back we are activated like purple sleeper agents.

even if bts totally fumbles and disappoints with the most awful regressive slop in history, a boring album, lost their spark, go through media turmoil, whatever, unless some producer totally goes off the rails and copies someone else word by word and note by note, it would be impossible not to pay attention to them anyway. i repeat. popularity and increasing revenue are never an issue with them. raise your hand, who thinks RM will greenlight a song that only two people enjoy and click on? hybe acts like the stadiums will be empty. does their CFO have amnesia? if the oasis reunion sells out in one hour, can you imagine what’s going to happen here?

i also don’t buy that they need a year’s prep time. far 2026 comeback?! many idols only took 2-3 months after military discharge. both sides are full of happy anticipation, idols and fans. yes — coordination, rehearsing, plans, tour, getting used to it all again, hair growing back, not rushing, subunits, hyyh anniversary, rest, military is an abrasive 24/7 job, other things also need organizing, i get it. but hell, yoongi once said he comes up with one or two songs each day. his head must be brewing with stuff that bts can drop in some considerable time, and i’m not being avaricious here. not to mention that namjoon probably has 10 poetry books worth of lyrics written in the meantime and will not hesitate to bring his writings to the table. 

if i was jimin my dancing feet would be dying to move in sync with everyone else sooner or later. i’d drop whatever content i wanted and enjoy being back. the audience reaction boost alone will accelerate everything, it might even be scary how much of a deal this will be. but basking in the early joy is the topic now! i want people theorizing like mad what’s gonna happen lmao, that’s the most fun! so let’s get this party started. we’re gearing up, there’s no stopping army anyway once it all gets going. and we’re cooking with imagination, too.

imagine a lead song that’s catchy like butter, lyrically hyped-up like the cyphers, dynamite-level impactful, a full-on banger like not today, adrenaline-laden like fire, and colorful like DNA. i’m not asking for too much, they’ve done it before. they are bts. it all comes down to who’s (co-)producing. that’s what i’m worried about. so my wish producer or force behind the scenes if hybe goes the american way (of course they will) would be someone pharell-esque. upbeat, refreshing, it has to match bts’ golden theme thread throughout their career. i wouldn’t mind the weeknd for a more melancholic B-side. 

it doesn’t have to be completely ice cream bubble gum at all, it could be anything in fact, and the new artistic direction remains to be seen later. the curiosity is one of the best parts. let’s focus on that! my feeling is that they slightly pick up where they left off, tie loose ends together, reprise their best elements as a tangent, and then present a whole new thing immediately. they’ve always been referencing with their work while innovating, this will be no different. yeah, the task of a whole new song/album carrying on the story is pretty difficult. settling in, too. i see why hybe thinks its risky, sure. i’d feel the pressure and required effort, too. but it’s bts! whatever they are cooking up will be of interest. i rest my case, this is going to be huge.