#injustice has a cure

[clarejgold]

Stuff

Here are the Tests

I don’t want this to sound like a complaint, but people could not stop telling us about their stuff. Every lab tech and pharmacist. Every community and social worker. I am not a medical professional and half of these things were just words that I didn’t understand, but my goodness were they happy about the stuff they’ve got. 

One way to look at that is to assume it’s because people wanted to let me know that donor money is well spent. There are probably donors out there who need and want that reassurance, perhaps because they’ve had bad experiences in the past or their unconscious bias is telling them they need to check up on any resources shared with poor people.

There is however one form of stuff that I was and remain interested in and that’s the multidrug-resistant tuberculosis (MDRTB) tests and the machine that uses them. Some readers of this will be well aware of the #TimeFor5 campaign to get the cost of these tests reduced to $5 per test from $15 per test, which is, depending on whom you ask, somewhere between a 300%-500% profit . 

These tests are the difference between following a treatment plan that will cure your TB and one that can ravage your body while the TB you have is still killing you. Over a million and half people needlessly die from TB every year solely because of lack of access to the right tests and medication. By ‘access’ I don’t mean transportation or the ability of a medical facility to handle the tests nor do I mean that not enough tests exist. The resources physically exist. They simply aren’t available to everyone who needs them because a pharmaceutical company decided that the poor people of the world were the right folks to squeeze knowing they don't have many voices to fight for them.

If you don’t know about it, it’s because most of your exposure, no pun intended, to TB as an illness probably comes from historical fiction and you, like many, think of TB as a disease of the past and/or something that affects only a small handful of people in tiny, isolated places. Let me point out that a ‘population’ of 1.6 million dead is far from small and that the vast majority of cases occur within a day’s transport of an international airport. 

The most recent successes in getting test and drug prices reduced have come from social pressure in the form of tweets, letters to representatives, and direct contact with the companies themselves to let them know that gross profiteering off the lives of vulnerable people is unacceptable. See the TBFighters for more information or look to Doctors without Borders or PIH .

[hyperfixationstation1]

Enjoltaire is waaaayyyyyy too interesting a dynamic to be boiled down to one guy is politically determined and has autism and the other guy is sad, drunk, and has ADHD and then they kiss.

Like, Enjolras does not love Grantaire. Or, at least, no more than he loves Bahorel or Mabeuf or Claqesous.

And, hell, I’ll go further to say Grantaire doesn’t truly love Enjolras. No more than Cosette loved Catherine the doll she couldn’t have before she received her.

Because neither is a complex person to the other.

But I also think, that out of all of Les Amis, Grantaire best represents “the people,” those that Enjolras romanticizes in his pursuit to cure the illness that is injustice in his Patria.

Grantaire exemplifies the city of Paris. His winding prose mimic the narrow streets with back alleys and grotesque buildings, both beautiful and hideous. His dedication to his friends mimics s dedication to the Parisian identity, taking it as it is. He’s the ugliness, messiness, and drama of the city, but the jovial nature of a community of people who occupy a shared identity.

But Enjolras doesn’t love Paris. Or he doesn’t love Paris in its contemporary state. He loves an idea of France as an beacon of democracy. He loves the future and it’s untouched possibilities for equality that he vows to make unmanipulatable.

The two are inherently a battle between the present and the future. The beauty of them dying hand in hand is due, in part, to them never coexisting well while living.

[natjennie]

my favorite part of tlou so far has to be ellie's viciousness. her rage. her fury. a 14 year old girl with no one. with no future. with no prospects. except for the fact that the universe randomly decided to spare her instead of millions of others. the grief of that. the indignation of that. when you're born and raised and trained to kill infected that were once, are still ostensibly, people. to kill fireflies, who are wholly people. who are your best friend. your first love. when you expect to die again and again and have to live. are punished with living. "no one who's infected fights this hard to stay alive." she's stark raving bullshit mad from the beginning. fighting against her chains. count to ten slowly and clearly. flinging herself at joel with her knife raised at the slightest provocation. stab the guard in the neck before he can raise alarm. slice the cheek of an infected to watch the strands of fungus open the wound. shoot a boy not much older than you before you have to watch someone else you care about die. carve your own palm open because your blood is medicine. scream and destroy the room with a bat at the injustice. rip apart a kitchen for a cure. raise your rifle high and scowl down the barrel before they can reach for theirs. bite and claw and kick and break his finger and give them a cleaver to the neck, the face. burn the building down. refuse to let this be the best it gets. fight and rip and scream and howl at the audacity of the universe to fuck you like this. put your head down and keep walking because fuck no is this not gonna be how it ends.

[bringthekaos]

Alrighty, here we go. Act III.

Mostly Jayce and Viktor centric, but with some wider thoughts as a whole thrown in. As usual, this is all my opinion, you’re free to disagree with me. Just don’t be a dick.

I am torn. I’m appreciative of the visuals and the JayVik crumbs (even though Christian Linke’s comments post-show have soured it to queerbait for me). But mostly I am disappointed. And I so badly didn’t want to be. I had such high hopes (and that’s probably my fault. I expected too much). They completely massacred Viktor’s character. There was such beautiful setup in season one of his background as a Zaunite living in Piltover. So much of his lived experience came from that—the oppression, the inequality, the xenophobia, the inaccessibility. It formed his opinions and his values, and that’s why he was so adamantly anti-weapon making. That’s why his number one goal was always to help the people in need down in Zaun. They showed us that he was a tinkerer and a builder, that he valued the ingenuity in machinery. They gave us that cute little boat from his childhood and the fucking Hexclaw.

Viktor was supposed to be a Zaunite champion. He was supposed to embrace Techmaturgy as a direct opposition to magic/Hextech. He was supposed to undergo his transformation into the Machine Herald of his own volition, with his own agency and bodily autonomy (yes I know it also stemmed from severe depression and one could argue that it messed with his decision-making, but still… he did that shit on his own). And there were so many opportunities to go this route in Arcane, and it would have worked!! If Viktor augmented his hand and his leg, but it cost Sky her life, he could realize the cost of magic, and turn to Tech. He could have been exiled back to Zaun, where he was supposed to be, and then the shitshow really could have unfolded—having one of Hextech’s creators now working for the other side.

And I know they had to change it so that he could be a bigger part of the overall narrative, as his original lore was rather disconnected. But there were much cleaner ways to go about it than disrespecting his entire character arc by turning him into a grimdark edgelord ethereal magic Jesus who no longer notices or even seems to care about the oppression and class warfare going on in his birthplace. Like. I’m sorry, him “curing” Salo? OG Viktor would have taken one look at a representative of the very oppression he stood against and blown him to kingdom come. (And yes, I also realize that he did it in Arcane because he was “under the influence” of the Hexcore, which only wanted to “infect more people.” But that’s another problem I have. This was never really made all that clear. And watching him go from “we will not be building weapons, that’s not why we invented Hextech/there is always a choice/we were meant to improve lives, not to take them” to making him turn human beings into weapons?? I don’t care that they tried to salvage his character by suggesting he wasn’t in control, it still undermines everything about him. And GOD, original League Vik had so much DEPTH. He was a hypocrite, he was still partly human and so he retained pieces/parts of all the things he preached against, which made him a wonderful contradiction. And he had a sense of humor and whimsy too! He enjoyed sweet milk, he cracked dry jokes and was sarcastic as fuck. He had a personality! And now he’s just… empty space man blinded by forced apathy.

And I think all of this is part of a larger problem—they wanted to use Arcane as a stepping stone to future shows, and as such, the class warfare and systemic oppression plot from season one was completely abandoned. They tried to solve it with “well they have to band together to face a bigger enemy.” Which in my personal opinion is a cheap cop out. There are always bigger fish, that doesn’t change the fact that Zaun has been living in Piltover’s filth with Piltover’s boot on their neck for generations. They’ve suffered injustices most of us can’t even comprehend. And then suddenly we’re supposed to believe they all band together to face this threat, stand side by side with their oppressors because Jayce made one speech about it? With no proof? And then all they get from the deal is one Zaunite seat on the council? And they’re okay with that? I never expected the show to solve systemic oppression, but I also didn’t expect them to abandon it this spectacularly.

The Noxus/Black Rose plot was clearly thrown in to set up future shows, and to show Netflix/investors/whoever that this massive financial investment has a future. And it destroyed the Piltover/Zaun story. I think this could have been a totally isolated story just about Piltover and Zaun, and been completely successful. In fact, I would have definitely watched future projects despite them not taking place in the setting of Arcane. And I’m not at all saying I don’t like Ambessa and Mel. I was very intrigued by the story of a warmonger like Ambessa facing her comeuppance, not just for her warmongering but for her affair with a damn MAGE. And her daughter trying desperately to break the mold her mother has set for her, while also struggling with who she is and these new, incredible powers she has. That shit is juicy as hell, and honestly should have been its own show. But throwing it into Arcane in season 2 with absolutely no hint of the Black Rose or its impending approach (beyond “the people who killed your brother don’t think the score is settled”) in season one, it just felt like the aforementioned cop out to get Piltover and Zaun to get along. And in doing so, they steamrolled Viktor to make him a bigger player in the narrative.

Did I like the final astral plane scene with Jayce and Viktor? God, yes. Is it one of the most beautiful confessions of love and eternal devotion I think I’ve ever fucking seen? Also yes. But it kinda feels like a bandaid on a bullet wound. I got the love I always knew remained between Jayce and Viktor, but I paid for it with Viktor’s entire character. Not to mention Christian Linke keeps pouring salt in the fucking wound, denouncing JayVik and “bromancing” them, and then also suggesting in one interview that Jayce and Viktor are actually fucking dead, and in another that Viktor will be back in future projects (with no mention of Jayce, which suggests that they’re turning him into Sky 2.0 and that he’s dead but Viktor isn’t). And that completely undermines the entire ending of season 2’s “intrinsically entwined/always you/in every universe.” And I know, I shouldn’t listen to this dude’s opinion on the matter, he’s not the only one making this thing, and honestly it was the easiest unfollow/mute of my life. But how hard is it to just shut the fuck up and let people enjoy things? To not comment one way or the other, let people think what they want, and rake in your millions in the process? Haven’t you ever heard of rainbow capitalism, my guy?

Ugh. I’m very sorry for being so negative, I didn’t want to be. I still love the show, and I’d still like to keep writing JayVik, even though it’s just been made near-impossible (I’m actually really glad that I never finished Oasis now, cuz I can go back to that and expand it well beyond what I originally planned cuz… it’s all I have left). I’m just mourning my cyborg wife, and the fact that goddamn SMEECH had what Viktor was supposed to. Hopefully the more time goes on, I can reconcile these changes and embrace them, cuz I love this fandom, I love this ship, and I don’t wanna lose it.

Anyway, I will still be sharing art and memes and posting analyses, because you can like a piece of media and still be critical of it.

[greenyvertekins]

The JP script has Gerald state that these thoughts scare him and he even pleads for someone to stop him. I think personally that Gerald is the most tragic character in the series. He was given the go-ahead to research immortality even though initially it violated his ethics, yearned to cure his beloved grandaughter of her terminal illness, was persecuted by a military gone rogue and all of his work was for naught when she was murdered, his colleagues were killed en-masse and the prototype and ARK sealed. And he was the scapegoat for it all.

He goes from treating Shadow like his own son to ruthlessly manipulating him by altering his memories. He went from intending Shadow to be able to say no as a weapon to turning him into his own weapon, personal choice be damned. I'm still honestly still creeped-out to this day by his speech here. This was a great and talented man who wanted to use his genius for good and morphed into a bitter and hateful person who couldn't bear the imagined guilt that his research led to all of this, causing his descent. When you think about it, it's likely that Shadow was also immensely troubled by Gerald's downfall and fate. I wouldn't be surprised if that was a factor in his misanthropy, the way his father figure was subject to such injustices.

[asha-mage]

Okay I have about eighty billion things I want to say about Metaphor re: Fantazio, but what I most want to say is this-

The question the game keeps coming back to, again and again is 'What is the value of fantasy? Is it something can move hearts and minds, inspire people to make a better world? Or is it just a comforting escape, a way to make the anxieties and fears of our world bearable?'

And the answer it comes too is well, that depends on you. You the player, the reader, the listener, the person gazing at this piece of art. Every fantasy artist hopes deep down that they are creating something of meaning and value. But it's the viewer that decides, every day that value.

Do you take the lessons and the ideas and the questions of this piece of fiction with you into your day? Do you keep walking towards a better world because of that hope? Or do you cast it all aside to live in delusions?

That's the difference between Luis and Will ultimately. Luis has given up- he believes the world will never live up to his ideals, that he will never be able to prevent the injustices and cruelty he suffered from being repeated, that the only cure for the world is to tear it all down. The game doesn't dismiss that belief, and that pain. He's not a nihilist, he doesn't believe that nothing matters. If Luis didn't care, down to the marrow of his bones, he wouldn't have gone to the lengths he did. But despite all that care, despite all his strength and all his convictions, he can not believe in a better world. He can not believe in fantasy. And so with only cruel reality to behold and imprison him, and no hope of escape- he decides to destroy it all.

Will on the other hand, never gives up. He never stops believing in a better world. He lets the fantasy inspire him, drive him, motivate him. When Brigitta is sobbing with rage and sorrow on the floor of her shop it's More's book he reaches for, in an effort to comfort her. When the problems of the world seem insurmountable he retreats to read his book and refocus. And he shares that fantasy with others- almost like a right of passage in their party- in the hope it will do the same for them, and it does- providing inspiration or clarity or a moment's respite when his friends need it. More then that no matter who comes to him with what problem, he never turns them away- even though he has every reason to do so. And that's because he wants to help everyone, because like Luis he cares but unlike Luis he believes that things can get better, that the world can keep moving forward, and so their is a point to helping others, to making their lives better.

What is the value of fantasy? What we choose to make of it. It may seem silly or futile or naive in a world full of inequality and bitterness and injustice, but if we can not dream of a better world- no matter how much we might care, no matter what power we might have, or how smart we are, or what we might do- we will never be able to make one.

[scotianostra]

December 12th 1902 saw the birth of Nan Mackinnon or, to give her her Gaelic patronymic, Nan Eachainn Fhionnlaigh, at Kentangaval, Isle Of Barra.

Nan was a tradition-bearer, whose remarkable memory, enthusiasm, and love of the Gaelic oral tradition has ensured that her wealth of knowledge has been preserved and shared with future generations. She became known as Nan of Vatersay, or Nan of the songs.

Nan was the youngest of seven children. Her father, Hector (Eachann Fhionnlaigh), was also born and raised in Kentangaval, and was descended from the MacKinnons of Strath, Skye – the historic grazing constables to the MacNeils of Barra until the 19th century. Nan's mother Mary was from Mingulay, and had strong connections with the MacPhee family, who – according to local tradition – came to settle in Barra in the 14th century. Nan grew up in what was a politically tumultuous time in the Highlands, and this influenced her early life greatly. Despite having won security of tenure twenty years before Nan was born, there remained a strong sense of injustice at the uneven distribution of land in the Highlands. Having spent her early years in Barra, in 1907 Nan's father was part of the 'Vatersay Raiders' – landless cottars from Barra and Mingulay who carried out a land raid on Vatersay, establishing crofts on the neglected land. Despite the eventual failure of the Land Raid, Nan's family were eventually given a croft in Baile, Vatersay following the purchase of land on the island by the Congested Districts Board.

Nan's repertoire was among some of the most extensive and varied of her generation, and this is reflected in the recordings of her featured on the Tobar an Dualchais website. She came from a rich musical tradition, and was said to know around 400 songs by heart, most of which she learned from her mother. After receiving her schooling on the island, Nan left home when she was seventeen and – as was common for women of her age at the time – spent a number of years in service for a variety of people in Argyll. She also worked at the herring for a time, in both Shetland and Yarmouth before going to Glasgow. One of her sisters died suddenly in 1940, leaving four young children and a husband who was away at sea for long periods. Nan returned home to Vatersay to raise the children and remained there for the rest of her life.

Nan McKinnon had a great fondness for the stories and songs she knew, and she was convinced of the importance of the oral tradition to Gaelic communities. Growing up she would spend hours practising them until she knew them in their entirety. As Nan herself commented: "[Each story] tells the ways of the people that lived in those days. The waulking songs kept news alive from generation to generation. There were no newspapers, whereas today we read it in the papers and forget about it tomorrow. But the songs kept it alive. Those happenings that happened centuries ago are still to be told in song and story. It's wonderful." Over and above her repertoire of songs, Nan was also well known for her tales and legends – often of a supernatural nature – and her captivating story style. She also had a deep knowledge of the traditions of Uist and Barra, and was recording speaking about a variety of subjects from cures to feast days, to interpretations of omens and dreams. Her knowledge of the material culture of her native island was also extensive, and her recordings include discussions about traditional diet, including about what would be eaten when food was scarce.

There are almost 1,000 recordings of Nan on the Tobar an Dualchais website, the earliest dating back to 1953 when she was recorded by Donald MacPherson for the Canna Collection, several other visited her and recorded her over the years, she must have been quite the wee celebrity on Vatersay

James Ross summed up her significance as a tradition-bearer by saying: "Nan is the type of person that the folklore and folk-song collectors dream about. There is absolutely no trace of 'memory effect' as she responds to queries … Her answers are always a direct affirmative or negative, usually … the former. She never has to search her mind, and this, together with her unstinting co-operation, endless patience and subtle sense of humour, made the work of collecting a joy."

At the link below you can listen to Nan singing Griogal Cridhe, (literally "Gregor of the Heart", or "Beloved Gregor". It is a traditional Scottish lament and lullaby that was composed in Gaelic by Mór Chaimbeul ("Marion Campbell"), the widow of Griogair Ruadh Mac Griogair ("Gregor the Red MacGregor") (1541–1570), the chief of the Clan MacGregor of Glen Strae, who was executed at Taymouth Castle, Perthshire, on April 7th, 1570. There are many versions of the lyrics

Griogal Cridhe

Chorus;

Òbhan, òbhan, òbhan i ri

Òbhan i ri ò

Òbhan, òbhan, òbhan i ri

'S mòr, mo mhulad, 's mòr.

'S iomadh oidhche fhliuch is thioram,

Sìde nan seachd sian,

Gheibheadh Griogal dhomhsa creagan

Ris an gabhainn dìon.

Eudail mhòir, a shluagh an Domhain,

Dhòirt iad t'fhuil o'n dè,

'S chuir iad do cheann air stob daraich

Tacan beag bho d'chrè.

B' annsa bhi le Griogal cridhe

Teàrnadh chruidh le gleann,

Na le Baran mòr na Dalach,

Sìoda geal mu m' cheann.

Chan eil ùbhlan idir agam,

'S ùbhlan uil' aig càch,

'S ann tha m'ùbhlan-s' cùbhr' ri caineal

'S cùl a chinn ri làr.

'Nuair a bhios mnàthan òg a'bhaile,

'Nochd nan cadal sèimh,

'S ann bhios mis' air bruaich do lice,

'Bualadh mo dhà làimh.

Many a night, wet or dry

weather of the seven elements

Gregor would get me a rocky shelter

Against the storm

Greatest treasure in all the world

They spilt your blood yesterday

And they put your head on a post of oak

A little way from your body

Would that I were with beloved Gregor

Herding cattle in the glen

Than with the great Baron of the Dale

White silk around my head

I have no apples at all

Others have all the apples

My apple with the fragrance of cinnamon

The back of his head to the ground

When the young women of the village will be

Tonight sleeping soundly

I will be at your graveside

Beating my two hands

With the above being a lament I thought I would post another song from Nan, Haoi Ho Nach Dannsadh Sibh E is a much more upbeat song, according to the notes Nan’s mother heard this song from Lewis women at the fishing. Another source tells me that this is the only variant of that song, so without t the work of the likes of Donald MacPherson, and indeed Margaret Fay Shaw, some of these songs would have been lost to the world, they are an integral, very important part of our Gaelic roots. This song is a light vocal dance tune with a love theme. The song is of the type common among the women who worked as herring gutters.

https://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/track/108438?l=en

[evilbihan]

Bi-Han x former!Umgadi reader

Here are some headcanons for Bi-Han with a former!Umgadi reader because I thought it would be an interesting dynamic and because I'm sick and tired of how reader always has this "I can fix him" attitude towards Bi-Han in most headcanons/fics. He doesn't need fixing, he deserves a supportive partner.

(Be warned, I've never written reader insert headcanons before and English is not my first language. I'm new to this, so feedback is appreciated.)

ALL YOUR LIFE YOU HAVE LOYALLY SERVED Outworld's royal family as part of the UMGADI, the royal guard made up of warrior priestesses. You live for DUTY, it's the only life you know, the purpose Delia and Argus have bestowed upon you, and you never dared to question it. To be chosen to protect Outworld's Emperor and Empress is an honor. Your Umgadi sisters are your family. You don't know your parents, your grandparents or siblings. You've never met them. As the eldest daughter, you were separated from them the day you were born. No Umgadi ever speaks of her family, you're well aware that it's forbidden and yet there's nothing you want more than to one day be reunited with your birth family.

AS THE TARKAT OUTREAK starts claiming the lives of many Outworld citizens, your unwavering faith in the gods and the royal family slowly begins to crumble. You helplessly stand by and watch as more and more infected people are banished from Sun Do each day. Infuriated by the INJUSTICE you witness, you start to wonder if the royal family really deserves your loyatly.

AT THE RISK OF BEING CAST OUT of the order, you begin to secretly search for your family, despite knowing that it goes against everything the Umgadi believe in. It means betraying your order and the royal family. More than that, it means going against the will of the gods. Nonetheless, you're determined. With no cure for the desease in sight, you fear for the worst: that your search for your family will be cut short, should they be among those who have contracted the illness.

ONE DAY YOU DECIDE TO secretly follow Tanya, the head of your order, after noticing that she often disappears with no explanation. You find out about Mileena's infection with Tarkat and that a cure exists, but is only made available to the royal family. Although you keep what you've seen to yourself, your faith is shaken and you wish more than ever that you could leave your life as Umgadi behind. You continue your duties, but deep inside your frustrations grow more and more each day.

YOU MEET BI-HAN IN LEI CHEN, during his attempt to free Shao from captivity. At first, you try to stop him and the two of you fight. You're evenly matched in strength and skill and the fight ends without a winner. You don't know why, but as Bi-Han tries to reason with you, you decide to hear him out. You don't know who this mysterious man is, but there's something about him that intrigues you and you can tell he's equally impressed by you and your fighting skills.

AS YOU LEARN MORE ABOUT HIM, you begin to realize that you and Bi-Han are KINDRED SPIRITS. Looking at him is like looking at a reflection of yourself. Both of you are driven by the same FRUSTRATION, the same DESIRE for freedom and the wish to be the architect of your own destiny. Both of you were forced to sacrifice so much of yourselves to serve a bigger purpose, only to be disappointed by those you had put your faith into. Bi-Han shares his visions for the Lin Kuei's future with you and you admire his AMBITION, his COURAGE, the courage to stand up to a GOD and shape his own destiny, something you'd always dreamed of doing, but were too afraid to do. You admire Bi-Han's LOYALTY and DEVOTION to his clan, that he's not afraid to risk his own life to give the Lin Kuei a better future and you realize that he's nothing like the royal family of Outworld. He's a leader you would happily die for.

YOU HELP BI-HAN to free Shao. It's your own little act of vengeance against the royal family for all that was stolen from you and in return, Bi-Han offers you a place with the Lin Kuei. Finally, after all those years of wishing you could be free, you leave the Umgadi behind and follow Bi-Han to your new home, Arktica.

HAVING SPENT YOUR WHOLE LIFE in Outworld, you know very little about Earthrealm, but to your surprise, Bi-Han doesn't seem to mind answering your questions, nor does he mind bringing you fur coats to protect you from the harsh cold that your body isn't used to. When you somehow end up falling ill with a cold regardless, you stubbornly ignore it at first. You're a warrior and warriors don't get sick. However, Bi-Han insists that you're put on bedrest. He brings you medicine and makes you tea and you can't help but wonder why he, the grandmaster, is personally looking after you, instead of tasking some servant with it. Though he came off as cold and ruthless when you first met him, you're starting to see that there's a CARING, AFFECTIONATE side to Bi-Han, one that he rarely shows around anyone else but you.

THE MORE TIME YOU TWO SPEND TOGETHER, the more you feel drawn to each other. Your respect and admiration for Bi-Han grows into something much stronger. LOVE. In you, Bi-Han has finally found someone who understands him, and supports him, a SOULMATE to confide in. You two have made many enemies and you know that every day you spend together could be your last, so you make your time together count. Despite the constant danger, being a wanted woman in Outworld and being at war with the Shirai Ryu, you have never been HAPPIER, you have never felt more ALIVE and FREE. Bi-Han encourages you to be yourself, he supports you in every way he can, he aids you in your search for your family and he's doing everything he can to make Arktica feel like home for you.

AMIDST THE CHAOS, you and Bi-Han have found SAFETY and COMFORT in each other. He is your home and you are his family. He understands you like no one else ever did. You would follow him to the ends of the earth and he would do the same for you.

YOU'RE THE ONLY ONE who knows how much Bi-Han truly misses his brothers and how much their betrayal pains him. You wish that you could help them reconcil somehow, but you've met Kuai Liang on a few occasions and you know he can't be reasoned with. However, a part of you is still holding on to hope that at least Tomas will come around one day. All your life, you have missed the family you never had the chance to meet and you understand how much it hurt Bi-Han to lose his brothers. It makes you all the more determined to help the Lin Kuei in their fight against the Shirai Ryu.

DESPITE BOTH YOUR PAST and the lives of violence you both live, the moments you share with Bi-Han are peaceful, tender and sweet. An unbreakable bond has formed between the two of you and although you had to cut ties with former allies and friends, you never once regret your choice to join the Lin Kuei. Few can understand why you turned your back on the Umgadi and your old life, some call you a traitor, but their opinions matter little to you. It is you and Bi-Han against the world, against realms and gods and you don't mind that at all.

[maniacwatchestheworld]

Another DPxDC story idea/prompt sorta thing (#3)

I don't know that all you all DPxDC peeps fully realize what you've done with deciding to make ectoplasm basically the same material what's in Ra's Al Ghul's Lazarus Pits... Because basically, what you've all done is turn the Lazarus waters from a resource that is INCREDIBLY rare and limited, that a singular man controls and keeps a secret from the rest of the world, and made it accessible to anyone with the gumption and ability to attack and hunt ghosts. In other words... You've all made a CURE for ANY and ALL terminal conditions readily accessable via harassing any ghost and have therefore given everyone a very justifiable motivation to hunt ghosts and juice them for as much ectoplasm as possible!

Let me say it again. Lazarus Water is a cure for ANY terminal issue! Terminal brain cancer? Cured! Got shot and are bleeding out? Cured! Did a backflip off of a cliff and landed on your neck? There's no cure for stupid, but that whole dying thing can be CURED! And only at the cost of temporary insanity! (Or sanity if you were already insane. :p ) As long as you are about to die or were brought in just after dying, you can be cured of whatever would have killed you!

Of course Ra's would want to control this resource as much as possible once these properties are discovered, as I've discussed before. But after Ra's has been dealt with... Wouldn't it be quite callous and cruel to keep this a secret...? If you harvested a bit of ectoplasm from some ghosts... No child would ever have to die of a terminal illness ever again... Babies born in precarious situations could be healed with very little risk. Loving parents would never have to worry about dying and leaving their children behind with no one to care for them... Certainly Batman could not allow such injustices to continue when there could be such an easily replicable cure!

So here's a thought... After Ra's Great Ghost Juicening (tm), Jack and Maddie start an ethical ghost catch and release program. They capture invasive ghosts that are living in the human realm, capture, and release them back into the Ghost Zone, but before releasing them back into the ghost zone, they are given a health check-up, and are given the option of donating ectoplasm for terminally ill humans! (It would basically be the ghost equivalent of donating blood.) Maddie and Jack are more than happy to give the ghosts passing through fair compensation, of course! But since money largely doesn't mean anything to ghosts, it would have to come in the form of like... Objects they like or tasks that they want done for them. So Jack and Maddie might give the Box Ghost a palette of unbuilt boxes! Or they might give Technus whatever old technology is sitting around the house that isn't being used! Danny can be rewarded for donating with his favorite meal. If Vlad is behaving and donating, they can reward him with kisses.

[rachelbethhines]

10 Ways to Fix Cassandra's Arc

From Closest to Canon to Complete Re-Write

Cassandra Wants to be the Hero - It's literally all set up right there in the text. Cass doesn't think Rapunzel is mature enough to solve the problem of the rocks, and therefore she steals the moonstone in order to stop them herself. Only to find she can't control the rocks/moonstone either. Of course this route would require the rocks remaining an active threat throughout season two and the narrative being willing to call out both Rapunzel's and Cassandra's toxic traits.

Make Cassandra's Injury Relevant - In the original show Cassandra's burnt hand is all but forgotten by season three and barely has any real impact on her during season two. Just make the injury an actual problem that she can't overcome through simple training, or since it's magic, make it a curse that could slowly kill her over time. Now the moonstone becomes a 'cure' with a high price to pay for using it. Simple.

Have Zhan Tiri Actually Lie - Zhan Tiri's 'manipulation' in the series proper is a whole lot of nothing because she just tells the truth, which the audience is suppose to take at face value, and doesn't really offer anything to Cassandra that she would logically want. Have her lie about Gothel. Have her present half-truths about the royals. Have her promise something of actual worth to Cass, like fixing her hand or making her the hero.

Have Cassandra Agree with the Other Villains - Forget Zhan Tiri altogether and have Cassandra team up with Varian and/or Lady Caine. Have her come to realize that Corona's government is flawed and not the right and just system she was raised to believe in. Of course this requires criticizing King Frederic and Corona's class system.

Have Cassandra Save Rapunzel While Hiding Her Past - Keep the Gothel twist, but make Cassandra ashamed of it. She's not after mommy's love, but she is trying to prevent Rapunzel from dying by trying to fuse with the moonstone. So what if the world burns? Her sister is safe. Besides, she can keep the moonstone under control... right?

Possessed Cassandra - I think this was the original plan until the last minute re-writes with Varian. But have either the moonstone or Zhan Tiri brainwash Cass and force her to do their bidding. This does take agency away from her but makes her less culpable of her actions. That's why everyone is insistent on 'saving her'.

Make Cassandra and Rapunzel Actual Sisters - Instead of being adopted by Cap, have Cassandra be adopted by the royals. Have her be the child trained to be queen someday all her life, only to have Rapunzel thrust into that position due to birthright despite not really wanting it. Now suddenly all of their pissing contests with each other makes sense. Cassandra may or may not really want to be queen, but she feels she's being replaced by this sister shes never known. Now throw in the Gothel twist and things get even more complicated.

Cassandra is the True Heir to the Dark Kingdom - It's now Cass's duty to protect the moonstone from Rapunzel. It's her heritage and birthright to wear it. You can either keep Eugene as her brother, or drop that aspect of his arc altogether.

Saporian Cassandra - Somewhat playing into Cass's 'wants to be a hero' aspect, only her motives are now about calling out the injustice that Corona's royalty has inflicted on her people. Of course this requires criticizing King Frederic and Corona's class system.

Don't Make Cassandra the Villain At All - Don't have her steal the moonstone. Don't have her betray Rapunzel. Don't try to force them to be 'sisters'. Let her just be the cool best friend that remains by Raps side and finds her own self-worth through service to others instead of seeking glory and praise all the time.

[juliaswickcrs]

HOUSE BLACKWOOD :: THE DANCE OF DRAGONS ( insp )

The Blackwoods are an ancient house descended from the First Men who ruled the Wolfswood in the North before being driven south by the Kings of Winter from House Stark. House Blackwood is home to many greenseers, skinchangers, and woodswitches, with origins believed to date back to the Warg King and his alliance with the Children of the Forest.

Lord Samwell Blackwood became the Lord of Raventree Hall after the death of his father at the hands of Ser Jonnel Bracken. He avenged his father's death in the Year of the Red Spring, igniting the conflict between both houses once more. He was a shrewd and honorable man who refused to stand by when it came to injustice and was believed to have more north than Riverlands in him. A cunning military strategist, he was the mind behind the Battle of the Burning Mill, which saw the first blood drawn in the Dance. Lady Jocelyn Blackwood nee Stark is the only daughter of Bennard Stark of Winterfell and his second wife Lady Alyssa Strong of Harrenhal. She was sent to ward with her grandfather where she was courted by Samwell Blackwood. She is known as the Witch Wolf, a moniker mocking her relationship with her cousin, Alys Rivers. She was often in contact with her cousin and half-brothers in Winterfell, and convinced them to send men on behalf of Queen Rhaenyra. Cassana Blackwood is the eldest child and daughter of Lord and Lady Blackwood. An unusual and lonely child, her mother sent her to ward in King's Landing with House Strong, where she became fast friends with Jacaerys Velaryon and Daeron Targaryen. She was called home after the Bracken-Blackwood feud ignited again and was staying at Harrenhal when the fire broke out. Miraculously, she survived. She later studied healing and medicine under her mother and the Maester of Raventree Hall. Benjicot Blackwood is the eldest son and second child of Lord and Lady Blackwood. He spent the first three years of his life abed with a sickness none could cure. His lady mother prayed to the Old Gods at the dead weirwood every night for his health as the ravens gathered. When it did, he was left with a large splotch of red on his back and up towards his neck. Some say he fought with an insatiable bloodlust--a touch of the Old Gods within him--and gave him the name "Bloody Ben." Lady Alysanne Blackwood was known as "Black Aly" and is the younger sister of Samwell and Willem Blackwood. As fierce as any man, she was fearless and bawdy and the best archer aside from her bastard half-brother Robb Rivers. She was rumored to be fond of Lady Sabitha Frey, but married Cregan Stark by the end of the Dance. Alysanne was said to have a mind as sharp as her tongue, and often made political decisions for the House when her kin could not. She is credited with the temporary ending of the Bracken-Blackwood feud by marrying her nephew Benjicot to the Lady Catelyn Bracken. Ser Willem Blackwood is the younger brother of Samwell Blackwood and is the only member of House Blackwood in recent memory to follow the Faith of the Seven. He has often been quoted as the Black Sheep of the family due to his preference for his mother's Andal traditions. Later in life, he became known for eschewing honor in order to achieve victory, although this is widely believed to be slander as it came from Amos Bracken. He attempted to win the hand of Princess Rhaenyra and slew Jerrel Bracken, Ser Jonnel's eldest son, in a duel for her hand. Robb Rivers is the elder half-brother of Samwell, Alysanne, and Willem and the uncle of Cassana and Benjicot. He was known as "the Bowman of Raventree" due to his skill with a weirwood bow and "Red Robb Rivers" due to his bright red hair, which contrasted against his sibling's black locks. In contrast to the Blackwood sigil, Robb bore a white tree on a red escutcheon blazoned with a flock of white ravens on black. His mother was believed to be a stable hand at Raventree, although this has never been confirmed.

taglist: @bisexualterror @foxesandmagic @iron-parkr @camiemendess @a-song-of-quill-and-feather

@arrthurpendragon @starcrossedjedis @drbobbimorse @kingsmakers @noratilney

@stanshollaand @astarionbae @darth-caillic @mystic-scripture @aliverse

@misshiraethsworld @asirensrage @eddiemunscns

@princessmadelines @impales @waterloou @stelstellakidd

HOTD TAGLIST: @misskatiewrites (wanna be added? Lmk!)

[clarejgold]

Same - Giving Tuesday

My journey home to England began on an overnight flight to Paris and after a busy week, I went to sleep quickly if not for very long. When I woke up, various parts of my body had fallen asleep and were painfully reminding me to lean the other way in my seat. I shifted and let my mind drift. 

I’m one of those people who thinks a lot in images, like a movie running in my head. I wanted to remind myself of what I’d seen at the MCOE site so I could solidify it and be able to report to the wider Nerdfighter community as well as my friends and family who've become regular donors (and vocal supporters even if they lack the funds). I recalled walking into the South Ward and seeing the nearly complete nurses station in the center of the first room. At that moment, I gasped because I could see the virtual fly-through that Build Health International had shared two years ago lay itself over to blend with the reality in front of me. On the plane, in my semi-dreaming state, that image became more real. I could see the room complete with beds and those plastic sided baby cots. Then I could see Sierra Leonean people and babies in those beds with nurses moving around them. 

Suddenly, I started to cry, something I had not done all week during any facility visit despite thinking I would. I was crying because it looked the same as the ward my sons and I were on in America. It looked the same as the ones where I visited my sister-in-law in England. The same. It should look the same. The women of Kono, of greater Sierra Leone, of every place in the world regardless of poverty, deserve no less. 

Dr Barrie told us, and we heard it from others too, that Dr Paul Farmer wanted this same-ness. He wanted the hospitals serving the poor to be beautiful because why should the poor be in a stark, barren or ugly environment just because they are poor. He wanted the staff and the stuff, particularly the medicines and treatments, to be the same. Everyone at Partners in Health wants the systems and the social supports to be the same, and in some cases better when you compare them to a for-profit system. People in poverty do not deserve less because they are poor. No one deserves less than total access to the human right of full and complete medical care. 

I want to return to the MCOE at some point, either when it’s complete or not long thereafter, so I can see my vision from the plane in reality. They better have some tissues handy.

If you've made it this far, thanks. If you'd like to donate to PIH today, on Giving Tuesday, I'll match your donation of any amount. Just message me with a pic of your gift! If you want to give specifically to the MCOE/Maternal Centre of Excellence, here's the link to do that.

[ultrameganicolaokay]

JSA #4 by Jeff Lemire and Joey Vazquez. Variant covers by (1) Dale Eaglesham, (2) Riley Rossmo and (3) Ryan Benjamin. Out in February 2025.

"Beth Chapel has searched for answers on what is keeping Jakeem Thunder in his coma but has come up with only more questions. But will her quest for a cure lead her into the lion’s den of the Injustice Society itself?!"

[cheollollipop]

Fragments of Us - Chapter 3. | c.sc

pairing: choi seungcheol x f. reader

genre: angst, fluff, smut (MDNI)

warning(s): kissing😏 yn is dramatic af over a packet of chocolate powder. that’s pretty much it.

summary: two years after a messy breakup, seungcheol and yn reconnect unexpectedly.

word count: 5.4k

start date: nov. 20, 2024

end date: -

a/n: THIS IS SO LONG OVERDUE AND ITS NOT EVEN THE GOOD STUFF IM SO SORRY!!! this chapter is… a filler, yes. i’m sorry i know i just gotta develop subin and yn’s relationship but. i promise good stuff happens next chapter please don’t hurt me omfg.

Friday rolls around like clockwork, but this time it drags with it the unmistakable agony that I've come to dread. I wake up to a stabbing ache in my abdomen that feels like my insides are at war. My groan echoes through the quiet morning as I force myself out of bed, clutching my stomach for some semblance of relief. Every step to the bathroom feels heavier than it should, as if my body is actively working against me. Even the faint light slipping through the blinds feels cruel, adding to the overall sense of injustice.

When I finally reach the bathroom and flip on the light, I brace myself. Sure enough, the dreaded sight confirms my suspicion: my period has started. Of course, it couldn't wait for a more convenient day—it had to strike now, when I had a to-do list and absolutely no patience to deal with this.

"Are you kidding me right now?" I mutter. It's not like I was expecting sympathy from anyone—there's no one here but me—but voicing my frustration feels like a necessary release. The frustration bubbles up as I slump onto the toilet lid, head in my hands, cursing my uterus and whoever thought this monthly torture was necessary. I sit there for a few moments, letting the wave of annoyance and discomfort wash over me, trying to summon the will to move. The stabbing ache in my abdomen sharpens as if to remind me there's no escape, and I sigh.

Resigning myself to the inevitable, I force myself into the shower, hoping the warm water will work its magic. The second the hot stream hits my skin, I feel some of the tension in my body start to ease. It's not a cure—far from it—but at least the cramps relent just enough for me to stand upright without wincing. I close my eyes, letting the water wash over me as I mentally prepare for the day ahead. It's going to be a battle: heating pads, painkillers, stretchy clothes, and sheer willpower to push through the fatigue and discomfort. My mind drifts to the only comforting thought I can muster: a steaming cup of hot cocoa, piled high with big, fluffy marshmallows. The thought alone is enough to coax a small glimmer of hope through the haze of frustration.

After what feels like an eternity, I step out of the shower and dry off, the warmth already fading from my skin. The trek back to my room feels impossibly long. I throw on the comfiest pair of sweatpants I own and an oversized tee, both practically begging me to crawl back into bed. But the promise of hot cocoa propels me to the kitchen. My stomach churns, both from hunger and from the cramps twisting through me, as I open the cabinet where I keep my stash of cocoa mix.

And then I see it. Or rather, I don't. The shelf is empty. My mind refuses to process it at first, and I blink, hoping that somehow, in the haze of pain and exhaustion, I've simply overlooked it. But no—there's nothing there. My heart sinks.

"No. No, no, no!" I slam the cabinet shut and yank it open again, as though the act of closing and reopening it will somehow summon the cocoa mix into existence. My hands grip the edge of the counter as I stare into the empty shelf, frozen in disbelief.

A choked sob escapes me, and before I know it, I'm sliding to the floor in a dramatic heap. The tears come harder now, and I don't even try to stop them. It's ridiculous, I know that. I'm crying over cocoa mix. But in this moment, with the pain, the exhaustion, and the sheer unfairness of it all, it feels like the final straw. My body shakes with sobs as I sit there on the cold kitchen floor, and for a fleeting second, I want to laugh at how absurd this all is. A sick joke—surely, it has to be.

But there's no punchline, just me, a throbbing stomach, and the realization that today, like my uterus, is completely unforgiving.

From the corner of my room, I hear my phone buzz on the nightstand, and then the sharp ring pierces the air. I try to shush it as if the noise would magically stop if I willed it hard enough. But it doesn't. The ringing continues, relentless, until I drag myself up from the kitchen floor, feeling every ounce of effort it takes. My feet shuffle against the floor as I make my way to my room, throwing myself onto my bed with the weight of defeat.

The ringing stops, but a notification pops up on my screen. A text. I groan as I reach for my phone, not ready to deal with the world yet. The name on the screen catches my eye. Subin.

"Hey," I say, my voice dry and strained as I call back.

"Oh, uh... Did I wake you?" he asks, his tone hesitant but light.

"No. I'm out of hot cocoa," I reply flatly. My words hang in the air, and I can only imagine the expression on his face, a mix of confusion and amusement.

"I'm...sorry...?" he says, clearly unsure of how to respond.

"I would say it's fine, but it's not. I started my period, I am in excruciating pain, and the only thing that could make this day better is hot cocoa. But I'm out, and now I'm about to start crying again." The words spill out of me in a rush, each sentence rising in pitch as the tears threaten to make a second appearance.

"The only thing?" he teases, his voice tinged with a playful tone.

I sigh heavily, the weight of the day pressing on me. I know he's trying to make me laugh, to lighten the mood, but my world feels like it's ending in that moment. "I can't be mean to you. Please help me," I plead, my voice breaking slightly.

"Alright, I'm sorry," he chuckles softly, his tone shifting to something warmer, more comforting.

"How about this: we cancel tonight's date. I'll stop by after work and bring you some hot cocoa. You can rest and recover. How does that sound?"

"I suck. I'm sorry," I mumble, guilt creeping in for ruining our plans.

"You do not suck. Periods happen, it's no biggie. I'll stop by after I'm off, okay? Hang in there for me, champ," he says with a reassuring tone.

"Okay," I whisper, and we end the call.

For a moment, I stare at my phone, the screen dimming as I replay the conversation in my head. The promise of hot cocoa and his presence gives me something to look forward to, a small glimmer of light at the end of this particularly dreary day.

I lay back on the bed, pulling the covers over me as the cramps continue their assault. The heating pad I'd forgotten about sits abandoned on the chair, and I lazily stretch out to grab it, plugging it in and placing it on my abdomen. The warmth spreads slowly, soothing the sharp ache into a dull throb.

My mind drifts, and I let the quietness of the room envelop me. The ticking clock on the wall fills the silence, a rhythmic reminder that time is passing. I'll survive this day. I've done it before, and I'll do it again. But for now, I let myself sink into the comfort of knowing that help and hot cocoa—is on its way.

I spend the majority of my day drifting in and out of sleep, curled up in my blanket cocoon, trying to will away the cramps. The heating pad has become my closest ally, alternating between its usual position on my abdomen and being squished against my lower back. By mid-afternoon, hunger forces me out of my room, though every movement feels like a Herculean effort. My body protests with each step, reminding me that it's firmly in charge today.

As I shuffle toward the kitchen, my phone buzzes on the nightstand. I grab it on my way out of the room, glancing at the screen. It's Sonya. I answer with a weary voice as I open the pantry to check if there's anything I can stomach.

"Sonya," I say flatly, pressing the phone to my ear.

"Oh. Someone's on their period," she quips, her tone dripping with mock sympathy.

"You are correct," I sigh, setting the phone on speaker and placing it on the counter. I reach into the cabinet, eyeing the ramen packets stacked in the corner, mentally debating between spicy or mild.

"Poor babe. Have you had your 'cup of joe' yet?" she asks, her voice tinged with teasing. My heart sinks as her words remind me of my earlier heartbreak. Hope surges for a brief second, and I open the cabinet where I keep my hot cocoa mix, praying against all odds that it was just a bad dream.

But the shelf is still empty.

"Don't remind me. I'm out," I reply flatly, closing the cabinet door with a little more force than necessary.

"Out?! How are you alive right now?" she exclaims, her dramatic tone matching mine from earlier.

"I honestly don't even know if I am right now," I reply, grabbing a pot and filling it with water. "Subin is stopping by in a bit to bring some, though."

"Subin, huh?" she drawls, dragging out the name in a way that makes me roll my eyes. "Interesting development."

"Not the time, Sonya," I say firmly, dropping the ramen block into the boiling water. The sizzle and steam fill the kitchen as I rummage around for the seasoning packet.

"Fine, fine," she says with a chuckle. "Anywho, I called to see if you wanted to come out with us later, but I guess I got my answer, grumpy pants."

"Who's 'us'?" I ask, curiosity piqued despite myself.

"Wonwoo, Jeonghan, Joshua, Dino, and me," she says casually, as if this lineup isn't a bit random.

"Evil twins, the youngest, and the fiancé... What an interesting set of people," I say, smirking as I sprinkle the seasoning into the pot. The spicy aroma wafts up, making my stomach growl in response.

She laughs. "I know, right? It's like the start of a bad sitcom. But you should totally come! It'll be fun, I promise."

I shake my head even though she can't see me. "Besides," I start, lowering the heat on the stove, "Hannie hates me now, so there's that. You guys have fun, though. Tell everyone I say hello."

Sonya sighs, her voice softening. "He doesn't hate you, Y/N. You know that."

"Whatever you want to call it," I reply, brushing her comment off. I don't have the energy to argue about this right now. "Bye. I love you. Be safe!" I say quickly, not giving her a chance to linger on the topic.

"Love you too, grumpy pants. Tell Subin to hurry so you don't burn down your building," she says with a chuckle, and the call ends.

I stir the noodles idly, letting the quiet kitchen fill the void left by our conversation. The spicy scent of the ramen is comforting, a small reprieve from the otherwise miserable day. I ladle the steaming noodles into a bowl, settling myself at the table. As I take the first bite, my mind wanders back to Sonya's words.

Jeonghan doesn't hate me. At least, not technically. I push the thought aside, focusing on the warmth of the broth and the way it soothes my empty stomach.

For now, I let the world outside my apartment keep spinning without me. Subin will be here soon with hot cocoa, and maybe—just maybe—the day will start to feel a little less like a disaster.

A loud knock jolts me awake, and I blink groggily, disoriented by the sudden noise. My eyes dart to the clock on my nightstand, and I realize I must have dozed off without even meaning to. The knock sounds again, insistent but not harsh, and I force myself to sit up. My body protests, stiff from lying in one position too long, but curiosity leads me toward the door.

I peek through the peephole and feel a rush of warmth when I see Subin on the other side, a familiar, easy grin plastered across his face. His hands are full—two bags dangling from his arms, brimming with who-knows-what. I swing the door open, and his grin widens as soon as he sees me.

"There you are," he says, lifting the bags triumphantly. "Delivery for one very grumpy period warrior."

I step aside to let him in, my heart doing an involuntary flip at the sight of him. His smile is disarmingly bright, the kind that makes it hard to look away. "Sorry I took longer than expected," he continues, nudging the door shut with his foot. "Had to make a few stops."

"No worries," I reply, trying to ignore the way my heart flutters in his presence. "I slept most of the day anyway." I gesture to the bags he's carrying, chuckling softly. "So, what's all this? Did you bring the entire convenience store?"

"Ah, yes," he says dramatically, holding up the bags like some victorious knight. "I come bearing gifts." He hands them to me with a flourish, and I carry them to the living room, plopping them onto the couch.

Curiosity gets the better of me, and I dump the contents of the bags onto the cushions. My eyes widen as I take in the haul: my favorite snacks, a few random comfort foods, and as promised, not one, but two boxes of instant hot cocoa. "How did you—" I start, staring at the array of goodies.

Subin scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, a faint blush dusting his cheeks. "I may have overheard a conversation between you and Nayeon about your favorite snacks during this time of the month," he admits. "I promise I'm not a creep. Just blessed with the memory of an elephant." He offers a self-deprecating smile, his dark eyes watching me carefully, almost nervously.

I stand there, momentarily stunned, my brain struggling to process the thoughtfulness behind his gesture. He notices my silence, and his smile falters. "Is it too much?" he asks quickly. "I'm sorry. I just wanted you to feel—"

Before he can finish, I take two quick steps forward and press my lips against his, cutting him off mid-sentence. For a moment, he freezes, but then he melts into the kiss, his hands finding their way to my waist.

When we finally pull apart, his forehead leans against mine, and he grins. "I take it you're not creeped out?" he mumbles, his breath warm against my skin.

"Stop talking," I whisper, smiling despite myself. I tug his hand, pulling him toward the couch.

We collapse onto the cushions, surrounded by the chaotic mess of snacks, and I lean my head against Subin's shoulder. The day's pain and exhaustion feel like a distant memory, replaced by the warmth of his presence and the steady rhythm of his breathing beside me. As if on cue, he reaches for the box of hot cocoa sitting amid the pile of treats, holding it up like a trophy.

"Think you're up for some?" he asks, his voice soft and teasing.

"Always," I reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of my lips. In that moment, everything feels a little lighter, a little brighter, and I allow myself to sink into the comfort of it all.

"I've been told I make a mean cup of cocoa," he says with mock arrogance as he stands, offering me his hand to join him.

"Really now? Well, as an instant hot cocoa connoisseur, I guess I'll have to be the judge of that," I tease, letting him pull me off the couch and lead me to the kitchen.

"Be prepared to have your mind blown," he declares confidently, and I can't help but laugh.

He immediately gets to work, rummaging through my cabinets with a sense of purpose that's both endearing and hilarious. I settle onto a stool at the counter, chin propped in my hands, watching him in action. Subin narrates his every move, recounting his day in between steps—how his boss nearly ruined his lunch break, the traffic on the way over, and how he almost forgot the marshmallows until the last second.

I find myself smiling at the way he talks, so animated and unfiltered, like he's entirely at ease here. But then, he does something that nearly stops my heart.

"Subin..." I say slowly, eyeing the small jar in his hand. "Why are you putting cayenne pepper in my hot chocolate?"

He pauses mid-sprinkle, holding the jar up as if to admire it. "Just trust the process," he replies, completely unfazed.

"I'm not sure I want to," I say, narrowing my eyes.

He finally turns to look at me, his expression equal parts amused and serious. "Do you trust me?"

I hesitate, crossing my arms over my chest. "After seeing that? I'm not so sure," I say with a chuckle, and he laughs too, the sound warm and infectious.

"You'll love it," he insists, turning back to his concoction. "And if you don't...you're lying. It's the best, I promise."

I sigh dramatically, resting my head in my hands as I watch him skeptically. "Fine, Chef Subin. But if I don't like it, I'm making you drink the entire pot by yourself."

He grins over his shoulder. "Deal. But don't worry, that's not going to happen."

Minutes later, he sets a steaming mug in front of me with a flourish. The rich aroma of chocolate fills the air, mingling with a faint hint of something spicy that makes my nose twitch. He slides onto the stool beside me, his own mug in hand, and watches me expectantly.

"Go on," he urges. "First sip's yours."

I lift the mug cautiously, the warmth seeping into my hands. Taking a deep breath, I bring it to my lips and take a tentative sip. The flavors hit me all at once: the creamy sweetness of the chocolate, the marshmallows melting into soft clouds on top, and then, the unexpected kick of the cayenne pepper. It's bold, surprising, and oddly... perfect.

"Okay," I admit reluctantly, lowering the mug. "This is actually amazing."

"Told you!" he says triumphantly, nudging my shoulder with his own.

"Don't get cocky," I warn, though I'm already taking another sip, savoring the way the spicy warmth lingers on my tongue. "But seriously, how did you come up with this?"

He shrugs, leaning back casually. "Saw it in a movie once. Thought I'd try it out, and now it's my secret weapon. Figured you deserved the best tonight."

His words are casual, but they hit me in a way I wasn't prepared for. I glance at him, his face lit up with genuine satisfaction, and feel a flutter in my chest that has nothing to do with the cocoa.

"Thank you," I say softly, my voice almost drowned out by the hum of the fridge in the background.

He looks at me, his expression suddenly serious. "For what?"

"For this," I gesture to the mug, the snacks, and everything else he's done today. "For making me feel... better. I know I was being dramatic earlier but this really does mean a lot to me."

His smile softens, and he reaches out to brush a stray strand of hair from my face. "Anytime," he says simply, and I believe him.

We sit there for a while, sipping our cocoa in comfortable silence, the warmth of the moment wrapping around us like a cozy blanket. The rich scent of chocolate fills the air, mingling with the faint spice of cayenne lingering in my cup. For the first time all day, I feel like I can breathe. Subin shifts beside me, breaking the quiet with a question.

"So tell me," he starts as we make our way back to the living room, cups in hand.

"Hm?" I hum, settling back into the cushions.

"Why hot chocolate?" he asks, tilting his head curiously. "I mean, I'm no period expert, obviously, but that's a new one for me. Most people go for ice cream or, I don't know, heating pads or something." His lips quirk into a small grin, and I chuckle softly at his attempt to make light of the question.

I take a slow sip of my cocoa, gathering my thoughts before answering. "When I first got my period, I was terrified. I had no idea what was happening to me. My mom...she did everything she could to help me through it. One night, I remember being in the worst pain but also having these insane cravings for chocolate—like, I couldn't think about anything else. It was late, though, way too late to go to any stores. So, she did what she could and whipped up the finest cup of hot chocolate I'd ever had in my life. She even added whipped cream and marshmallows, the whole works." I pause, smiling faintly at the memory.

Subin's eyes stay locked on mine, his attention so unwavering that it almost makes me self-conscious. "That sounds...amazing," he says quietly, prompting me to continue.

"It was," I nod. "But what made it even more special was what came after. We sat there that night for hours, just the two of us. She explained to me what it meant to be a woman, how to navigate all of this—the pain, the mood swings, the unpredictability of it all. She shared stories about her first period, how she felt just as scared and confused as I did, and how she got through it."

I take another sip, letting the warmth of the cocoa soothe me before continuing. "After that, it kind of became our ritual. Whenever I was in pain or feeling down, she'd make hot chocolate, and we'd have these long talks. Sometimes it was about life, sometimes it was just silly stuff to make me laugh. It became this comfort thing for me, a little tradition that made everything feel less overwhelming." My voice softens as I add, "Even now, when she's not here, it still feels like a way to connect with her. Like she's still taking care of me, in a way."

Subin's expression shifts, a mix of admiration and something softer—empathy, maybe. "She sounds like a wonderful woman," he says, his voice low but sincere.

"She was," I whisper, the words catching slightly in my throat. I look down at my mug, tracing the rim with my finger. "Always there for me, no matter what. She just...knew how to make everything better."

The room falls silent for a moment, the weight of the memory settling between us. Subin leans back, his gaze never leaving mine. "You know," he says after a pause, "that explains a lot about you."

I frown slightly. "What do you mean?"

He shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. "The way you care about people. The way you notice the little things, like how someone's feeling or what they need, even when they don't say it. It's like...it's second nature for you. Now I see where you get it from."

The compliment catches me off guard, and I feel a faint warmth rise to my cheeks. "You're giving me too much credit," I mumble, looking away.

"I don't think I am," he counters, his tone firm but kind. "You probably don't even realize it, but you're the kind of person who makes people feel safe. Like, even when you're the one having a rough day, you still have this way of making everyone else feel better. That's rare, you know?"

I meet his gaze again, and the sincerity in his eyes makes my heart ache in the best way. "Thank you," I say softly, the words barely audible.

He smiles, "Anytime."

We sit there a while longer, the quiet between us feeling more like a warm embrace than a gap to fill. The chaos of snacks scattered across the coffee table remains untouched, a colorful testament to the spontaneity of the night. But neither of us seems to care. This moment—unpolished, imperfect, and entirely unplanned—feels just right.

After what feels like forever, Subin finally breaks the silence. His tone is teasing, his words laced with an exaggerated dramatic flair. "I'm going to say something," he begins, stretching out his legs and leaning back against the couch, "I just want to say that this is probably the best three-date streak I've ever had."

I tilt my head, raising an eyebrow. "You're definitely just saying that."

"No, I'm serious!" he protests, his grin widening. "Each time, I learn something new about you. Something interesting, something that makes me..." He pauses, as if searching for the right words. "I don't know. It's like you're making it very hard not to like you."

I scoff softly, shaking my head as I glance down at the mug in my hands. The rich scent of cocoa swirls around me, but the weight of his words lingers heavier. "My life is a mess, Subin," I admit quietly. "You don't even know the half of it."

"Hey." His voice softens, and when I look up, he's already leaning toward me. With a feather-light touch, he tilts my chin, guiding my gaze to meet his. His eyes are warm and steady, and for a moment, the chaos in my mind stills. "We all have our demons," he says gently. "It's how we handle them that matters. And whether or not you choose to share yours with me, what I've seen so far is someone who still finds a way to get through the day. Someone who treats people with kindness, respect, and compassion, no matter what."

His words hit me harder than I expect, and I blink, unsure how to respond. The sincerity in his gaze, the warmth in his tone—it's almost too much. So, instead of addressing it directly, I do what I do best. I deflect.

"Are you just trying to butter me up?" I ask, narrowing my eyes at him in mock suspicion.

"Yes," he admits without missing a beat, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. But then his expression softens again. "But I'm also telling the truth. I don't know what you've been through to make you see yourself this way, but that kindness you give to everyone else? Make sure you save a little for yourself too, okay?"

Before I can respond, he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of my nose. It's such a simple gesture, yet it makes my chest ache in the best way. As if sensing the emotions bubbling beneath the surface, he shifts, pulling me closer and tucking my head against his chest. His heartbeat is steady beneath my ear, grounding me in the moment.

"Now," he says after a moment, his tone brightening, "I don't know about you, but I could definitely use a good movie to lighten the mood. What do you say?"

I exhale, relieved at the shift in conversation. "You read my mind," I murmur, leaning into his warmth.

"How about Twilight?" I suggest, tilting my head up to gauge his reaction.

His eyes light up with amusement. "I can get down with that," he says with an exaggerated nod. But then he raises an eyebrow, his expression turning mock-serious. "But the real question is: Team Edward or Team Jacob?"

"Edward, duh," I answer immediately, giving him a look that says there's no other possible choice.

"Consensual king," he agrees with a dramatic nod of approval. Then, with a sly grin, he adds, "Although... he is very gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss, no?"

I whip my head toward him, staring in disbelief. "What?! Why do you even know what that means?"

"What?" he says innocently, holding up his hands in defense. "I know things. I, too, have access to the internet."

I burst out laughing, the sound filling the room. It's ridiculous—he's ridiculous—but it's exactly what I need. The heaviness that lingered earlier evaporates, replaced by the effortless lightness he always seems to bring with him.

"You're ridiculous," I say, shaking my head, though the smile tugging at my lips betrays me.

"And yet, you're still here," he points out, flashing me a smug grin.

"Well yes, this is my apartment," I retort, rolling my eyes as I reach for the remote.

"Admit it—you enjoy my company," he challenges, his grin widening.

"Let's just watch the movie," I say, pressing play before he can push me further. But as I lean back against the couch, his arm casually draping over my shoulders, I know he's right. I do.

"For a date that completely derailed, I'd still call this a win."

I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Oh? And what part of tonight screams 'win' to you?"

"Well," he said, counting on his fingers, "I was crowned 'Best Hot Cocoa Maker', I managed to save the day by making said hot cocoa, and I'm ending the night watching Twilight with you, so really, I'm thriving."

I roll my eyes but couldn't stop the laugh that bubbled out. "The bar is on the floor, Subin. Truly."

"Maybe," he teased, "but I think you like it there."

"Okay, fine," I shot back, leaning a little closer. "What if I told you my best friend Sonya is having an engagement party soon, and I'd like you to come with me? Think you'd still be thriving then?"

His grin falters for just a second before his eyes softened. "You want me to go with you?"

"As my date," I clarify, trying to sound casual, but my heart was practically sprinting. "You know, for moral support. Sonya and Wonwoo are...a lot. I mean you've met her, sort of. And I figured it'd be nice to have you there."

Subin leans back, a mock-serious expression on his face. "Hmm, let me think about it. Free food, free drinks, the chance to charm your best friend and annoy her fiancé... Yeah, I'm in."

I laugh, lightly shoving his shoulder. "You're impossible."

"I'm a catch," he corrects, his voice dripping with faux arrogance. "And let's be real, you just want me there because I'll make you look good."

"Right," I say dryly. "It has nothing to do with me liking your company or enjoying your terrible jokes."

"See?" he says, pointing a finger at me. "Admitting you like me is the first step."

I could feel my cheeks heating up, but I refuse to give him the satisfaction of an answer. Instead, I grab the remote and gesture toward the screen. "Let's just start the next movie before I regret inviting you anywhere."

"You could never regret me," he says smugly, but he settled down beside me without another word.

New Moon begins, and Subin immediately launches into commentary.

"Why does Jacob never wear a shirt? Like, I get it, he's ripped, but does he have an aversion to fabric?"

"Shh," I say, trying to stifle a giggle. "He's a werewolf; they run hot."

"Hot and allergic to decent pants, apparently."

"Subin!" I laugh, swatting his arm, but the smile didn't leave my face.

As the movie went on, our laughter gave way to comfortable silence. I lean into him without thinking, my head finding its way to his shoulder. He didn't pull away, instead adjusting slightly so I fit there better.

"I was serious by the way. Even if tonight didn't go how we wanted, I'm glad we had it."

"Me too," I say softly, my eyes feeling heavy.

Somewhere between the werewolf drama and the overly intense stares, my eyes drifted shut. I feel Subin's hand brush lightly against mine, and though neither of us moved to hold the other's, the touch lingered—like a quiet promise.

By the time the credits rolled, we were both asleep, the space between us closing as naturally as if it had always been meant to.

[javier-pena]

i didn't have as much time to read as i would've liked this past month but i finished my novel so that's something 😅 still, i read some really really wonderful fics and i'm so excited to share them with you all!!

as always, please check the warnings on the stories before reading them and please please let the authors know that you loved their work!!

i’m also always looking for fic recommendations, so feel free to send me your favorites!

dieter bravo (the bubble) + din djarin (the mandalorian)

this protector by @perotovar

dieter and his bodyguard, din, get the wrong hotel room. i wonder what happens…

ezra (prospect)

drabble by @danidrabbles

ezra has to shut up for once in his life

logan howlett (x-men)

cardinal by @danidrabbles

at the edge of the world, someone from another keeps you from stepping off.

i could play the doctor (i can cure your disease) by @sceletaflores

it’s been another six months, and logan needs your help…

oberyn martell (game of thrones)

strawberry sugar by @guiltyasdave

your boyfriend spoils you on your birthday morning. in some... unexpected ways. :)

joel miller (the last of us)

every breath you take by @freelancearsonist

your dad is getting married to his soulmate and you have every intention of making it the perfect day. the only kink in your plan is your unexpected feelings for your soon-to-be stepdad’s best man.

lost cause by @joelalorian

joel thinks you shouldn’t waste your time on him. you disagree.

nothing left to prove by @covetyou

some risks are worth taking.

sweet treat by @sanarsi

you came to your family home for a vacation. the obsession that is born in joel pushes him to do very bad things.

joel miller + tommy miller (the last of us)

he knows by @psychedelic-ink

joel knows you have a little thing for his younger brother so decides to indulge you for your birthday.

frankie morales (triple frontier)

drabble by @danidrabbles

based on the song dancing with our hands tied by taylor swift

javier peña (narcos)

west side by @gothcsz 

a lot of firsts with javi.

my own fic from november :)

the duel (din djarin)

when a grave injustice is done to you, there is only one man who will defend your honor.

[apostaterevolutionary]

As the local mage rights expert, what are your thoughts about the tranquil being MIA in Veilguard?

Honestly it's kinda funny that you ask lmao cause this is something I was thinking about pretty recently? I didn't mention it in my initial review cause I think in the face of everything else, I didn't even realize initially that they were completely absent. But I can forgive myself for that, given just how much else was also skipped over

I suppose it's probably because, once again, the question of who became divine and thus what happened to the circles is the issue. Because if the circles still exist in some form (under Cass or Viv), the tranquil are presumably mostly contained within the circles (especially as we also know that some bad things happened to them during the revolution, so there's probably fewer of them now and not for good reasons). Though if the circles have been disbanded, where the tranquil would've ended up is a good question. Because while they are still like, functioning adults, they are more vulnerable due to lacking any real self-defence skills or exposure to life outside the circles or even just. Basic fear, so you know when you need to be on guard. So-called negative emotions like fear are really vital for survival actually but that's also a different topic lmao

Anyway, I think the reason for them being absent is cause bioware was still dancing around that choice, which means they couldn't really show what happened to them. Mind you, tranquil merchants exist outside the circles (there was one in Denerim in origins) and also we know that tranquility is done in Tevinter too (though the Tevinter politics in general are super watered down, so of course that wouldn't come up). But given the games avoidance of all political topics, I'm not super surprised there was no mention of them. I don't even recall a codex, which is kind of odd, but I guess the concept isn't relevant enough to anything that happens in veilguard

As for my own thoughts as to what happened to them post-circles, I like to think that at least some cells of mages would've felt it important to care for the tranquil. I also really like to think that the cure for tranquility become more known and that maybe, just maybe, all the surviving tranquil (at least outside of Tevinter) may have been cured in the 10 years since. That's super wishful thinking lmao but I like to consider it. It could've been something mentioned when we went to Rivain, even, as that'd be the perfect place for it to happen

(I have also, of course, thought heavily about what my Hawke and Anders might have been up to post-circle dissolution and honestly, trying to help the tranquil would be a super fitting option in my opinion, maybe starting out just trying to protect them but later learning how to cure them and then doing that. Because yeah, the circles are gone, so they can finally relax at least a little, but while both of them could use a break, I don't think either of them would be able to sit idle forever. They're the kind of people that need to be doing things lmao. And this also is righting one of the fundamental injustices of the circles, one that has still not been corrected so long as tranquil mages still exist, and one that has affected Anders personally. And given Justice, they could actually do it if they only knew how and I'm sure Justice would be 100% down. So that may end up being my personal headcanon lmao. I'm still rolling things around in my brain, but I think it's a really good option regardless)