#let's see how many boxes we can tick off:

[yeliuxi]

If I had a nickel for every time Priest did a racism in Qi Ye. Well. I would be rich 🙃

[papasbaseball]

The Wizard x Reader (Wonderful Wonderful Girl) | Chapter 2

Pairing: Wizard x F!Reader

Rating: Teen (Rating to Increase)

Warnings: Power Imbalance, Boss/Employee Relationship

Summary: Being a maid in the Royal Palace of Oz is not half so bad. Despite the meager wages, everything else is provided for you for an honest day's work. It can be unnerving working for the most powerful man in Oz, but you are able to avoid him most of the time. This changes during Lurlinemas, your paths soon becoming inextricably intertwined.

Word Count: 2,899 of 5,084 Prev | Next

AO3 Link

The Markets of Oz are normally packed during the daytime, ladies coming and going to get groceries and maybe a new dress or two, but they are flooded during the night markets of Lurlinemas. If you have the chance to look without getting swallowed in the waves of the crowd, you can see green lights strung from brick building to brick building (the bricks painted green for lack of renovation funds), newly built stalls in the main square that sold roasted quail for a quarter, and a great Spruce that had been brought in from Winkie Country, its top cresting just past the meager buildings that boxed in the square. Emily tugs me along as I admire the great golden star that was perched atop it, emeralds chiseled into the shape of snowflakes adorning each tip.

"If we move any slower they're going to run out of hot chocolate," she says, pulling me by my elbow.

The hot chocolate in the night market is one of a kind, spiced with warm cinnamon and sweetened to the point that it hurts your teeth. If I could have it year-round, I think I would like that very much, even if I did eventually get sick of it. I follow after her in our immediate quest, trying to shoulder oblivious men and women out of the way.

"How many presents do you need to get?" I ask as we get in line for the cocoa.

Emily pulls her green-gloved hands out of her pocket, silently ticking off her checklist on her fingers. "Six," she says.

I try not to drop my jaw at the idea of such wastefulness. I'm not sure there are six people that I could call friends, much less that I would be willing to spend my wages on for silly presents. In truth, there was one, but she would chastise me if I tried to get her anything. Still, I couldn't help but wish for something to get her.

We order our hot chocolate and sip it as we stroll through the sea, dipping and dodging any particularly rude costume choices. We had stuck to our uniforms, hiding them under the woolen pine-colored peacoats that were standard issue for when we had to lend an extra hand in shoveling off any balconies that got covered in snow during the wintertime. There was no option for us to have extra extra wide-brimmed hats or wired puffy sleeves that were the size of small dogs. Even if we had the option, I don't think that I would have done it on a regular market day, much less in the nights leading up to Lurlinemas.

Emily stops at an ornament seller and takes her time browsing the brilliant sun catchers and rhinestone-encrusted baubles. The glass and “sodering” (I’m sure it’s silver-colored glue) look far too flimsy, so I tell her I'm going to the next booth to look at ribbons and laces. The price of laces haven't gotten any better (in fact they had gone up by 6 cents) but I look at them anyway.

Most clothing could be mended, but there was only so much to be done about laces as they became more and more unraveled. If you had a friend in the mailroom, you could persuade them to let you borrow some rubber cement to stick the frays back together. If you didn't, you had to dip the tips of your laces in the wax of your candle at night. The wax didn't last nearly as long as the cement, usually cracking off within a day or two. I wasn’t friendly with anyone in the mail room, so I had slowly been shortening and dipping my laces until they just barely tied in a regular knot.

My eyes flicked over the shades of olive and forest and moss, until they had reached the box of ribbons. There is a skip in my heart as I remember how the Wizard had tied the ribbon in my hair just days ago. If I close my eyes, I can feel his hands guiding the ribbon up from the nape of my neck and the warmth that radiated from them as he tied the bow in place. If it is true or not, in my mind he has a smile when he looks at me after. I wonder if these ribbons would make him smile like the one I still have in my hair, if they would make him...

I have to look away from the ribbons for a brief moment. The thoughts I had of him since that day have not been pure and kind. They are selfish. I know that they will lead me down a path of trouble if I linger on them. I have my sister to think about and it would not do if I were to lose my job at the palace. I could not save her from the children's home, but they still let me visit her and send her things. I don't send her much, most of it disappears within a few days, but I bring her sweets if I have time to swing by the bakery after I am no longer needed for the day.

Looking back at the ribbons, I can't help but wish I could get one for her. I want her to feel as pretty as I did that day in the Wizard's bedroom. The kids would have a harder time taking the ribbon from her if I braided it into her hair, away from their jealous hands. My eyes flick up to the price card that is held in a coily golden wire stand. 200 cents! It's more than double the price of the laces.

I bite my lip, but my mind is already made up. I look at the shop lady, but she has her back turned attending to the till and adding pennies to it from a green paper sleeve. I snatch a pistachio-colored satin ribbon and shove it into the pocket of my peacoat. Quickly, I slip back out into the crowd of people, heading back to Emily in the ornament booth.

I'm jerked back, my forearm locked in an iron grip as it is hoisted high, so high above my head that I'm afraid my shoulder will dislocate.

"Hey!" I shout.

"There is zero tolerance for stealing in the Emerald City," The man says. I scrape my tiptoes against the ground to get a better look at him and realize that I've been detained by one of the Emerald City's Royal Guards. The green coat with gold trim and accents is unmistakable, accompanied by a sharp green officer's cap.

"I didn't steal," I lie.

He fishes into my coat pocket and pulls out the ribbon that I had stashed in there. "Is that so?" he says. My shoulder burns as he drags me back to the lace and ribbon booth, chucking the spooled-up ribbon back to the shop lady. "Sorry about that, Hazel. Street rat."

I can't help it as the words come flying out of my mouth, “I am not a street rat! I work at the palace!"

"Good," he says. "Then I know where to take you. Lets me get off my shift earlier at least."

He lowers my arm, only to twist it up behind my back, his other gloved hand grabbing hold of the collar of my coat. I shout at Emily, trying to fight against him as he marches us past the ornament booth, but I'm not sure she heard me. She has a confused look on her face as I'm dragged off, but she doesn't do anything to interfere. We may share a bed in this cold weather, but she's never been the type to stick her neck out for anyone, no matter how big or small the injustice. I wouldn't expect her to start with me.

By the time we get to the palace the hand behind my back is numb from the position and the cold air. The shame and fight has long since left my body, my mind trying to focus on how I will provide for my sister and me, or even if I will be allowed to see her again. Do they let criminals into the children's home? Would they even let me stay in the Emerald City? I try to remember what happened to criminals that were detained in the palace. There had been a boy in the kitchen who had been caught with a whole ham hock in his bag when the kitchen staff was closing up one night this past summer. It had been such a scandal -- it was all the staff could talk about for two whole weeks straight -- but in the end, I could not remember what had become of him, only his original crime that had been passed on by those who had been in the kitchen when the joint had been discovered.

We don't go through the main doors, neither the servant's entrance, but rather a side door that I had never seen before. It must have been for guard use only. They crawl the castle like an infestation of ants, so it only seems natural that they, like ants, would have cracks and crevices to aid their coming and going. It's dark, but soon I see that we are in the main entryway. If I can remember correctly, the guards' barracks and offices occupy the left wing from the audience room (convenience for removing unruly guests from the days of King Pastoria, I suppose). Most in the Wizard's personal service have no reason to go there.

The Wizard. There's a sort of heavy disappointment that sits like an oversized and cold jewel on my chest, deep beneath the layers of wool and scarves and uniform. It's not the disappointment that a child might feel under the disapproving eye of a parent, no. It is something entirely unfamiliar: an anger at myself that I might never see him again, that my last impression on him will be one of a thief. But wasn't that what I was? I had stolen the ribbon, no intention of paying.

The guard marches me up through the darkened emerald halls, passing the large pillars, the walls carved with their sharp geometric designs. I take in the sight of all of it knowing that it will be my last time seeing any of it. We're crossing the audience room, the heart of the entire palace, and nearly to the other side when I see him.

He's in a deep green almost black suit. The lapels of the jacket are peaked giving him the appearance of being even taller than he already is. He's talking to a stocky man, at least two heads shorter than him and twice as wide, wearing the uniform of the palace guards with a few additional golden cords strung over his chest that my jailer doesn't have.

I try walking faster, dragging the guard who had my arm pinned behind my back. I don't want him to see me like this. Better to just have all of my stuff gathered and thrown out the back door with me than to disgrace myself even further.

"Uh…Guard," a voice calls. I know it's his. I hate that I know that it's his.

My captor stops in his tracks, spinning us around to address the two men. "Captain," he says, giving a nod to the shorter man.

The Wizard has a confused if not irritated look on his face. I can tell that I've made him upset. How poorly must this reflect on the palace if members of his staff are getting arrested in the street? He says, "Are you going somewhere?"

The guard looks to the stocky man who gives him a subtle nod of the head. "Street rat," my captor says. "I caught her stealing in the market. I'm taking her to booking and calling the head of staff for the palace. She said she works here."

"Well, yeah," the Wizard says. "I can see that. Anyone can see that." He approaches me and pinches the thick wool of one of my coat lapels in between his thumb and forefinger. I try not to look too hard at the gold ring on his thumb as he drags it back and forth lazily against the material, stroking it as if to assess the warmth of the garment. "She's wearing a palace coat. Initials on it and everything."

My captor seems tongue-tied by this, I can hear his mouth open, a gasp for air as if to say something but nothing comes out. I dare to look up and see that the Wizard has his eyes locked on him. The way he's looking at him with those amber eyes reminds me of grade school, when we learned about the flora and fauna of Oz in biology. When talking of tigers, our teacher had told us that if you could see their eyes through the grass it was already too late. You had been stalked for hours before even noticing and they never got close enough for you to notice until you couldn't get away even if you tried. Foolishly, he tries, saying, "I need to take her to booking. She is a stain on the image of the palace."

The wizard drops my lapel and walks back to the officer that is now resting his hand on the pommel of his sword. It makes me nervous, but I'm not sure for who. Would they execute me right here in the audience chamber? I wouldn't be the first. The Wizard bends down and whispers something to the officer. I watch his eyes tick back and forth as he processes the secret.

"Guard," the officer says, "Leave her to me. I am sure you are wanted back in the square. Where there is one thief there is sure to be more."

I can't see his face, but I know that my captor is annoyed. He'd been hoping to clock out early and now he had to walk all the way back down to the market square. That brings a smile to my face as I hear the hesitant click of his boots and feel all the blood start rushing back into my arm as he lets me go.

We stand there, the three of us, until we hear the loud echo of the door shutting. The short man salutes the Wizard and makes his exit. The smile drops from my face as I realize what little law and witnesses there were had just walked out of the room, leaving me alone with the tiger.

"Stealing?" he says, cocking his head to the side. Immediately, he sets to pacing around me.

"It was just a ribbon, Your Wonderfulness," I say. My shoes have become infinitely more interesting to me, noticing the way even the stitching of the leather to the soles was starting to fray near the toes.

He laughs and it is quiet and deep, sending a prickling from my shoulders down my spine. "Did you like the first one that much? You could have asked for another."

"It wasn't for me," I say.

I can feel him tug on the braids that wrap my head. I had woven the ribbon into them earlier today. There hadn't been a day where I hadn't worn his ribbon since I got it. It was risky, and eventually Emily or someone else would catch on, but I didn't want to leave it in my nightstand and come back to find it missing, pilfered by someone's sticky fingers. So I had woven it into my hair where no one could take it, where the Wizard was now tracing its crooked and dashed path against my scalp.

"You are a terrible liar, missy" he says. "What are we going to do with you?"

Let me go? Kick me out of the palace? In truth, I wanted things to just go back to the way they were, no ribbon, no staff suspicions, just me and my chores and the shared bed with Emily. My voice quavers as I feel his finger stray from the twisted path of the ribbon, wandering onto the pulse of my bare neck, stopping underneath the corner of my jaw. "I won't do it again," I choke out.

"Oh, I have no doubt of that," he says. "But you can't be trusted. To have a thief in my staff... well, it would just cause too many problems. First ribbons, next other things..." He completes his circle around me and I find myself facing him again.

"Are you going to kill me?" I ask.

He smiles, revealing to me a flash of hungry white teeth. Too late. He says, "Do you want me to?"

I shake my head, my lips stitched together in case any wrong words should fall from them.

"Such a fascinating creature," he says, perhaps to me or perhaps to himself. "I'll deal with you tomorrow. Why don't you go upstairs and get some rest? I have... things to arrange."

He leaves me there in the audience chamber, shaking. If you see them, it is too late. I am standing there, head still on my shoulders, and yet I know that I haven't escaped. If you see them, it is too late.

[literaticat]

I'm at my wit's end. I've spent a decade trying to break through - 10 years with 5 novels coming super close with a variety of big publishers, who rave about my writing, ideas, etc. Feedback has been mostly positive. One even rejected saying "I don't know why we're rejecting this, it's EXACTLY what we're looking for and ticks all our boxes, but we feel compelled to reject it anyway." Is there just a "Do Not Publish" sign on my head? How to keep pushing ahead after so long and so much rejection?

(OP continues...) "Sorry about the rant, Jenn, and I know there's not much you can say as you don't know my specific situation. But it's just maddening. 10+ years of my life! I know everyone faces rejection, but I seem to mostly get positive feedback and so many "close calls" of almost getting a deal - a lot of interest, but then it just peters out. That "compelled to reject anyway" just made me start feeling like I'm just fated to never be published, no matter what? I'm unagented now, starting from scratch..."

OK first of all -- that rejection, if that is literally what they said, is utterly insane. I have to presume (HOPE? PRAY?) that you are paraphrasing, that that is what it *felt* like to you, but that's not LITERALLY what they said??? Because there are certainly things where, on the surface, yes, this is what a publisher is looking for and it "ticks the boxes", but ultimately, it doesn't have that X-factor, je ne sais quois, or whatever -- so I can see a publisher saying something like, "while the writing is admirable and the premise is interesting, ultimately, we weren't compelled enough to make an offer for publication" -- which is ALMOST what you said, but there's a key difference that makes it actually normal and not insane. Because in YOUR version, it sounds like they are under an imperius curse or something, where they don't know what they are doing or why they are doing it, they just have to do it, even though it is against what WOULD be their better judgment if they weren't cursed. And... it's wild to think that a publisher would make a statement like that. (Maybe they were having a very OFF DAY???) -- BUT ANYWAY, on to the crux of your question/rant:

I understand your frustration. If it makes you feel any better (??), you're not alone. I know many -- MANY -- MANY career authors, who spent 10 years honing their craft, trying and failing, getting rejections, getting close-but-no-cigars, etc. I was chatting with a wise (and now famous) author I know, who spent 10 years or so in the query/wrong-agent/rejection/close-call trenches. She told me a theory that I feel pretty sure is right, though I don't have proof per se, it does track with my observations. She said:

Just about everyone who sticks with writing or the arts in general as a career has about a ten-year rough patch. That doesn't mean it takes everyone ten years to get published! (Though it does take LOTS of people 10+ years) -- Some lucky people get their break a lot sooner than that. BUT. Everyone has to pay the piper that ten year fee, either all at once, or in installments. So let's say you sell your book right away and start raking in the accolades etc -- fab! Just know that nobody stays popular and beloved forever, and at some point, the ten year slump is coming for you. Aren't you lucky that you're getting yours out of the way now?

OK, if that didn't work for you, how about this:

How to keep pushing ahead after so long and so much rejection?

You know you don't have to, right?

Like, if writing and seeking traditional publication is making you miserable -- you can stop. In fact, stopping may be a great idea.

I say this not to be discouraging, but rather, encouraging, actually. I encourage you to give yourself permission to prioritize your own mental and emotional well-being.

If you realize you miss writing and can't live without it -- go back to it! But maybe instead of having "publication" as your goal, your goal can be writing for the pure joy of it, without worrying about future queries or would-be agents or anyone else's expectations. What freedom! Embrace that!

Then when you do have a brand-new shiny manuscript, you can decide your next steps. Maybe it's trying again for traditional publishing, and this is the turn around the track that changes everything. (It should be close, if the 10 year theory is correct!)

OR, maybe it's self-publishing. (Lots of people have a lot of success there -- maybe you're one of them!) --

OR, maybe it's just chilling out and writing some more for your own pleasure -- creating art for the sake of creating it, for fun, for self-fulfillment, etc. Like, you know, a normal hobby, that nobody is expecting you to monetize or make into a "gig".

[let-us-cultivate-our-garden]

What do you think of season 2 of arcane? i've seen quite... a contrasting reaction from the public when compared to the reaction that s1 got

[cracks knuckles] ok, first some context: I was, and still am, largely unfamiliar with the League of Legends video games, which probably colors my perception of Arcane as a whole. The first season was incredible. 10/10 no notes. It's a masterpiece of animation hands down. One of its many strengths is that it sticks to a self-contained story that does not require lore knowledge or even knowledge of who the characters from the games are. It's a character drama wrapped in a steampunk/sci-fi/fantasy aesthetic. It tells a grounded story that follows its characters as their arcs play out all the way through to the end. I love it and habitually rewatched it while waiting for season 2.

...And then season 2 came and it kinda went. I enjoyed the season. The animation, music, voice acting, all incredible and it's what makes the season a joyride. But that's pretty much what it is. A joyride. That grounded story and character drama was largely dropped for bigger stakes and it feels like the season lost the plot. You were invested in the Zaun/Piltover conflict? Let's have Jayce give a half-assed speech about working together to defeat a common enemy and give Sevika a token seat at the councillors' table. You wanted to see how Jinx and Vi's relationship developed after the bombing? Well, Vi says "my sister is gone." Until Vander/Warwick shows up. But they don't really talk about their relationship or how much they've both changed. They're just cool with each other know.

Did you want to see how Jinx deals with the fallout of killing her father figure and embracing the role of the Mad Bomber? Well, she kinda mopes for a bit. Finds a street urchin that magically cures her of her mental instability. oops, street urchin is dead. Jinx is depressed now. fun. It's not like the marketing lead us to believe that Jinx was going to be an actual antagonist, right?

right?

Now, I know trailers and posters can be misleading but come on. Season 1 ended with her fully becoming Jinx and I feel like she was more Jinx-like there than in season 2.

We got less of the sisters than in the first season despite being the emotional core of the story. Part of that is the escalating conflict and having far too many antagonists. We have Ambessa, Viktor, and the Black Rose and they all take up too much screen time (this last one was a huge ??? for me as a noob to the games. Actually, Mel's whole arc in season 2 was so divorced from season 1 that it feels like they just gave her magic powers just so she could participate in the fight). The other part is that when the sisters are together, they don't really say or do anything meaningful. The dialogue is rather boilerplate and there's no emotional weight to their scenes. It's just there.

That's really my problem with season 2 as a whole, it just feels like it's ticking off boxes to get to the big action sequences, and even some of those felt superfluous (did we really need a fight scene with Smeech? Smeech? Who the fuck is he and why should we care?). The funny thing is that, there are a lot of good ideas here. Jinx feeling conflicted about suddenly being seen as a symbol of the people? Awesome! Caitlyn falling under the sway of Ambessa as she mourns her mother and gasses innocent civilians in her mad pursuit of Jinx? Great! Viktor slowly losing his humanity and becoming the Machine Herald while Jayce struggles to right what they have wronged and get his friend back? Excellent! The problem is that they're all crammed together and don't get room to breathe, so everything is rushed and unsatisfactory.

When your first season ends with four people at a dinner table that explores their character dynamics and your second season's climax looks like a Marvel movie, there's a problem.

(also, side tangent: Silco and Vander's backstory was shoddy and contradictory. Making them BFFs with Vi and Jinx's mom was a bad idea. It cheapens Vander's decision to leave behind a life of violence and adopt two orphans. It introduces a plot hole that Silco wasn't around for the kids' childhood and makes that moment when he tries to kill Powder extra weird. PLUS, we have the ever lovely trope of fridging a woman and making her the catalyst of conflict between two male characters 😒

although this season did make me ship these two, so there's that👍)

(another mini tangent: I'm not fond of making a time traveling Viktor the one who gave baby Jayce the rune stone. That scene was one of my favorites from season 1 and the mage actually being Viktor just makes the world feel smaller and less enigmatic YMMV).

So there you have it. An overall okay season but one that pales in comparison to its predecessor.

[jolapeno]

MY LOVE I AM SO SORRY YOU'RE HAVING A DAY. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH.

okay, let's talk about javier when you're having a bad day.

if you are sick or having a cry-on-the-couch kind of day, he stumbles awkwardly over a "uh, that, uh, sucks?" not really sure what to say, then bolts out of your apartment. you sit there totally lost, maybe thinking you've scared him off, but he's actually driving at break-neck speed to the store to get you things. except, you know, he's a little lost there? and doesn't really know what you need, or is worried he doesn't know what you like, and so ends up coming back with a mountain of supplies. if sick: every kind of cold medicine (and some allergy meds? like... javi... you ok?). three different flavors of gatorade/lucozade/similar electrolyte drink. a 10 pack of tissue boxes because IT WAS A GOOD DEAL, OK? THEY WERE ON SALE. a random box of crackers that raises an eyebrow but they were the ones his ma used to get him when he was sick as a kid. (not that he explains that to you). or if sad: four different ice cream pints. so many snacks. magazines from the drug store (probably none of them make any sense, but maybe you wanted something to read? he doesn't know.). this little plushy that's definitely for kids. he doesn't know why. he panicked.

and frankie?

LISTEN. before he had a kid, that man was a microwave meal or leftovers king. he could make the basics, definitely a fan of the grill or easy cooking on the camp stove when off camping, but he wasn't a cook. then his kid was born, and that just won't do. so all the time the kid spends off at their mom's, frankie spends his free time teaching himself to cook. he's got his mom on the phone (crushed between his shoulder and ear while he works over the stove) walking him through all the recipes of hers that he loved most when he was a kid. it's a disaster. for a long time. he burns so much shit, or everything's undercooked. but by the time the kids waddling around and a little older, he's good. comfort food for days. has that slow cooker going all day. so when you're having a shit day, he tells you to come over and when you do the house smells incredible. he's got this goofy apron on that the guys bought him in jest when he started cooking that says KISS THE COOK and it absolutely makes him blush every time someone catches him in it, but he's so focused on ushering you in and settling you on the couch that he doesn't remember to take it off. you bundle up in the throw blanket and throw on whatever TV looks good and/or trashy, and he brings you over the best homecooked meal you've had in... who knows how long. he sits on the other side of the couch with his brow all low and frowny as he watches you eat, trying to decide if it's good or terrible based on your expression, and when you roll your eyes it's so good he gets that boyish half-smile that drives you crazy and only then digs into his own plate. thank you and goodnight.

ily pal <3

BABE, how did I never see this! I love all of this so much. I love the idea of kiss the cook btw, like so much, and both of them would let me watch so much trashy tv that it’s astounding 😏 we love men who just get it.

also javi basically taking one of everything is such a mood to me. but also a gift for you:

I also like to think that javi would take you on a drive, no goal in sight just letting the road sorta take the two of you with the volume on low, so it’s just background noise, watching as you stare off into the unknown, brain ticking away until you announce that you’ve just seen a cow or do you think that cloud looks like a penis? and while it doesn’t, he can see how you got there, and it makes him smirk, head resting on a hand as the other holds the wheel, and god, he can’t believe how lucky he is to have you, even when you’re feeling a bit blue.

[germiyahu]

Not too thrilled that my other post is getting so many notes when I'm not satisfied with it for a multitude of reasons. Let's have a do-over, hopefully much more succinct and to the original point.

When Palestinians, actually basically all Arabs, or all Muslims, say "Jerusalem is holy to us it is the 3rd holiest city in our religion." The White Western Leftist (WWL) will say "That's so valid your religion is so interesting and beautiful Hamas did nothing wrong I love the Houthis!"

But if a Jew ever rebuts "Jerusalem is holy to us as well, it's our holiest city, basically the only one we have," the WWL will probably roll their eyes, scoff, probably say something like "Okay but like why are you still using your outdated Zionist death cult to justify colonialism? You really think the Bible justifies killing millions of Palestinians?" and start going on and on about how Judaism invented everything bad about Christianity.

My hypothesis: These people are not allies to Muslims (Palestinians). They are condescending to them. They are throwing them a bone because they feel bad about how the Muslim world has been treated, well ever since Sykes-Picot, but especially post 9/11, the Patriot Act, The War on Terror, Iraq, Afghanistan, the Drone War, Libya, Nato, The Arab Spring, the list goes on. They don't think Muslims are capable of building the kind of societies they want, not without their gracious help. They don't think Muslims should have the same ideals of democracy and human rights, because they don't expect that from the Brown People. They won't ever hold them to such a standard because "Ugh where do we get off lecturing them?" even though they would never think this of Jews.

These people are not equals to Jews, something something Sartre they think they are both superior and inferior (which makes them superior). They are not just trying to hold their fellow citizens of the world to account. They are trying to put Jews in their place. They are projecting their religious trauma onto Jews because they do not understand Judaism. They see Judaism as Power. They are trying to delegitimize Judaism as a religion (and it is a religion, including the parts of religions that give atheists the "ick," including a lot of mysticism). They are trying to caterwaul about Jews being responsible for the world's ills and that they expect Jewish People to be better than this. To evolve beyond religion and community and affiliation and identity. They want Jewish to be nothing more than a box ticked off on a census. A neat little factoid about yourself, like how your neighbor Cheryl has Norwegian ancestry.

My only conclusion is that these people find Jews and Judaism repulsive, and they find Muslims and Islam primitive. Unlike their parents' generation, they appreciate the primitive. It is noble savagery to them. Unlike their parents' generation, the comparatively cosmopolitan modern secular Western sheen of Jewry (applied to Jews against their will) is not something that we almost lost from the world, but an annoying holdover of what we almost successfully purged from the world.

Because remember, while they hate their parents and everything they stand for, they still deep down want Daddy's approval. So it makes perfect sense why the psyche would displace anger and trauma and all that caused by Christianity, and look elsewhere to place blame. It falls at the feet of Jews and Judaism. Because my culture could never, there has to be a missing puzzle piece that could explain- oh there it is. The Jews did it. And wow look how easily this can slot in with every other antisemitism conspiracy theory.

The audacity to think I could make a shorter version of that post 😂 But basically it's this: The WWL, the Zoomer Left, the Tankies, whatever name you call them... they think that they can "save" Muslims by offering up Jews, and the terrorist fascist fundamentalists like Hamas, Hezbollah, the Houthis, they're on board. They're all in. Normal ass every day Muslims/Palestinians? They just want peace, they just want rights, they just want sovereignty. The WWL is not interested in that perspective.

They have not once in their lives thought of what they could possibly do in terms of reparations. No no, tweeting and marching for a weekend are quite enough. They have not once in their lives turned inward and self reflected on the ways they benefit from and their own role in these systems of supremacy, that have harmed Muslims around the world. Jewish blood is more than enough to pay for operation Iraqi Freedom. Jewish lives are a fetching price to assuage the Westerner's guilt. You know since they have so much trouble turning inward and reflecting on their own contribution to Islamophobia, it might do them good to practice a little תשובה... but I don't know 😌

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 11: The art of pursuit

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 11: The Art Of Pursuit

Wordcount: 5,3k

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for full series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Anxiety, cult themes, very slightly suggestive(?), technically stalking but in the name of military or something like that, Johnny pov wohooo

Description: Johnny and spider go looking for the girl and find more than what they expected.

A/N: So…this also took a long time. This time I do have an explanation however! This chapter was originally done about a month ago, but the program I use to write on had a sync conflict and deleted the whole thing :,( Had to rewrite all of it, so it took a lot longer than I wanted it to take. Despite it, I'm proud of this chapter as well, everything is progressing just as it should.

My lovely beta reader had to sit this one out again. She's working on the biggest writing assignment project thing of her year before she graduates, so she is understandably busy.

Goodluck lovely beta reader we all say in unison while she cries in the corner :3

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"Smoking Johnny?"

Johnny lets out a quiet scoff, his lips quivering up into a smirk as he holds the unlit cigarette between his fingers. He scans the street down both sides, towards the alleys in view and even the rooftops.

"Where are ye?"

He pushes himself off the wall, taking a slow stride down the street as he pockets the  unlit cigarette again. Not many were out at this hour, a few people doing some Christmas shopping for the coming days. His hand clutches around the little gift box stuffed in his pocket.

"Where I'm supposed to be...unlike you." Simon's voice crackles in his earpiece.

His hand goes up to it and adjusts it, making Simon's voice a little clearer. Similarly coming down to adjust the mic around his throat, a nervous tick to make sure it's still there.

"If ye can see me here that means ye're not where ye're supposed to be ey?" Johnny smirks taking another glance around to see if he could spot the hunk of man. He was good at going invisible when he needed to be, much like his name had always suggested.

"Keeping an eye on your ass is where I'm supposed to be."

Johnny lets out a breathy huff, seeing the opportunity laid out for him on a silver platter and being too tempted not to take it.

"Oh? And does it look good from there."

"Focus Mactavish."

Worth it.

Johnny's breath clouds the air in front of him. It's too cold for anyone to be out, his ears have been hurting for the last ten minutes. Still the girl they were supposed to track should be out. Spider had assured him of that.

They didn't know much about the girl, none of them did. Laswell had been informed, promised information by the end of the day but then again how much is there to know about a teen good girl in small town such as this.

It was a closely knit community, hard to get to, and if Spider was right about the girls’ involvement with the cult, she could be potentially dangerous. Johnny wasn't one to underestimate someone like that, but he still kept his doubts.

"Mh and what about Spider?"

"They're in position."

He didn't need Simon to tell him that for him to know. You were punctual to a fault. He needed to get moving himself if he were to get to his location on time, he could already imagine your fidgety little stance if he wasn't.

Johnny moves his hand up to the choker around his neck, tugging at it and by accident brushing against the mic attached.

"Without supervision? Courageous." He quickly added after the little fuck up earning him a displeased grunt from Simon.

"They're a grown adult."

Johnny would laugh at that. Sure, you were, you could handle yourself in a twisted sort of way. Though that didn't mean you always made the smartest decisions in his own humble opinion. He had always wondered what your home would look like, somehow, he doesn't picture you as the homey type.

"Ye're still worried for 'em." Johnny states as he takes a slow stroll down the street. Just down to the end, around the corner then take another left onto the market near the church. The girl would be done with choir practice soon.

"I can see them from here too."

"Of course."

There's something different about the air here. The tight knit community leaves an enclosed box around the town. They look out for each other in an insidious way, every single of them here would turn on each other for the favour of a power greater than themselves.

The way the girl had been eyeing them at that dinner told him as much. She was a teenager, moody perhaps but that wasn't the only thing. He only really took notice after you pointed it out, but it was there beneath the cracks of her exterior. Seeping out through every little crevice showing him just the type of person she would be, would become if she continued down the path set before her.

Sitting in that church, at that dinner, folding his hands beneath the table as they spoke the prayer before getting to eat, it was all second nature to him. Old habits buried beneath chains he broke free of long ago. The chains he fought against his whole life. He muscles miss the action. Always eager to get back to it. He still remembers the hypocrisy clear as day, the words still etched into his mind about right and fair.

As he comes around to his assigned position, he's pulled out of his own thoughts at the market’s festivities. His mind went back to the night of the dinner, the way your hand had felt in his, the way you looked at him. A chill went down his spine.

A moment he'd eagerly shared with Simon as soon as he got home, and only felt all the prouder when the man gave him that approving smile and teasing shake of his head.

The sound of a sneeze comes through his earpiece and he looks around thinking it was someone close by. Then a smug smile settling on his lips as he speaks a tad quieter. So only he would hear it through the mic.

"Ye're getting sick on me Si?"

"No, I don't get sick."

Johnny let out a quiet chuckle, nodding to himself. Stubborn man. He'd take his word for it even if he knew what would happen.

Two days later, Simon did in fact get sick.

"Hands off I got it..." Simon wafts Johnny's hand away with grumbled annoyance. The Scot lets out a soft chuckle and shakes his head disapprovingly. Simon is stubborn as ever. One quality he thinks will never change no matter how close the two really get.

It's the one thing Johnny has never really been able to change about him. A thing he's resigned to combatting whenever necessary and loving just as much instead. He watches as Simon does his best to dry his own sweaty brow. Not with much success. The man was delirious, fever taking him on fast and not seeming intent on leaving anytime soon.

Of course, in true Ghost fashion he denies this all the way through. Claims he just needs a night’s rest and everything will be right as rain again. He'd give him that. Simon rarely got sick, and this was a once in a long-time kind of thing. Though he still doubted the fever would go down that easy.

"Ye sure?" he quirks an amused smile.

Simon grumbles and lets the cloth fall back down into his lap. Johnny catches it before it can wet anything, then raises it back to his face wiping down his brow and collecting the warm beads of sweat.

"Been awhile ey...forgot to take a thick enough jacket?"

Simon gives him a sharp glare. He pushes himself backwards again to lay down properly on the bed. "It's just a blip...will be gone soon," Simon assures him. Yet Johnny can't quite find it in himself to believe him. This would take more than an afternoon to nurse back to health, he likely caught whatever Garrick was carrying. Less than a week if he was lucky, if all of them were. It wasn't great to have Simon out of commission for that long, it wasn't good to have any of them out of it for that long.

Price didn't seem too worried, they had yet to discover anything substantial. Most of their work was covert to avoid any suspicion about their real occupation. They could put a target on the girl, figure out more about her, but until Laswell came back with anything or they caught her in the act, there wasn't much to do except what they'd already been doing since coming here.

Johnny gently puts a hand over Simon's temple, feeling the heat pulsing there. "Headache?" he gets a nod from the man. "Did ye take a couple painkillers yet?" He pulls back again checking the bedside stand for anything.

Simon grunts and shakes his head. "Don’t got any left...Gaz ate all of 'em."

Johnny lets out a snort. "Aye ah can imagine, well in that case I'll snatch spider and we can go get ye some."

"Aren't they busy bothering Laswell for results every hour of the day." He puts his own gruff hands over his head, trying to put pressure on the throbbing in his skull.

"Aye, that's why, they need some fresh air anyway, bet Laswell will even thank me," Johnny chuckles as he stands up from the bed, causing it to even out a little more.

"Mh...just be careful out there," Simon grumbles reaching for his hand to squeeze it.

"Ah will don't ye worry...rest up Si...get yer strength back," he squeezes his hand back before leaving him to sleep in that quiet room.

Through Johnny's short walk down the hallway to the main room, he can hear Kyle and Price's raised voices. They're likely still at the game they started shortly after the rest of them came back to the cabin. Anything to pass the downtime around here.

The trip out hadn't been all that successful either. The kid they were looking for hadn't been out like they suspected, remaining holed up in her house. It was hard to say whether she was already suspicious of them or she always did that, but it was something they needed to keep an eye out for.

You had already emphasized many things about the cult, dangerous elusive things. They worked carefully, in the dark of society, spreading quietly through the cracks. Or at least that's how you had put it.

"Oh bloody hell...I am too old for this Kyle," Price groans as he throws down his cards. Every last one of them a haunting green, against Kyle's last plus 4 thrown on the pile.

"Sound like a sore loser Cap... not my fault I can outsmart you," he chuckles leaning back in his chair with a smug look on his face.

Johnny isn't sure how many rounds the two have gone through, but by the look on the captain’s face, he's lost more than just a few. The two look up at him as he enters the kitchen, he stops in the doorway to lean against it.

"Destroying our captain in uno, what a feat" he teases.

"I know, I should get a prize right cap?" Kyle leans forward again resting his elbows on the table to match his playful mood.

"Easy Sergeant, I can still outsmart you in every other area of life, this is a small victory" Price grumbles shaking his head. He reaches for his hat, placed at the end of the table to put it back on and stand up.

"Well, I'm getting there," Kyle shrugs settling for the compromise with a smile.

"Where's Spider hiding?" Johnny interrupts their quip to get to his point.

Price glances towards the hatch in the floor through the kitchen door, gesturing to it. He reaches up his hands to crack his neck, groaning at the snapping feeling. It causes Kyle to grimace from the sound, but he couldn't say much with the way his spine cracks these days.

"Haven't been up since this morning, might've fallen asleep" Price huffs.

Even though Johnny isn't necessarily happy about those news, they're consistent. Even if he isn't agreeing with your nonstop work ethic, it at the very least makes you predictable.

"Great, ah'll snatch 'em up and head to town for some medicine while we're out." Johnny turns on his heel to head over to the hatch. There's a skip in his step, his mind remaining optimistic for your sake.

"I doubt they're going to want to go with you Soap" Price speaks up after him, but it doesn't seem to deter him at all.

He turns his head back, flashing him a bright smile.

"Ye kidding? They adore me of course they'll want to!"

You struggle with him the whole way, but as he had suspected you follow along. Sure, you make your displeasure very known, but he doesn't get further away from you than a few meters before you're rushing to catch up to him.

He can't pinpoint what it is about you, but he has a feeling you're growing attached in your own reluctant way. You had a nature of desperation. It wasn't one he had any plans of taking advantage of, but he couldn't deny he liked digging deeper into the hidden layers of your costumed persona.

"It's just the pharmacy..."

"It is."

You've been mulling over it the entire way. Part of him is convinced you haven't even fully decided to come with him as your steps move in sync with his. He didn't pay it any mind, as long as you followed along either way it didn't matter much whether you had come to terms with yourself.

"We'll be going home after..."

"We will."

You never frame it like a question to him. He answers regardless.

"Ye don't need to come inside," he mentions as you both come to a stop in front of the little pharmacy. There were quite a few people inside, and with the way you looked warily at them he thought he'd give you the option.

"Yeah...just be quick." You go to stand to the side of the door, leaning against the window and watching the people that go by. Johnny chuckles to himself as he goes in, you'd likely scare off anyone else that wanted to come here today.

There's a pleasant little ding from a bell announcing his arrival, and the owner looks towards him with a smile. An elderly man, who clearly should be resting in bed instead of sitting behind the counter greets him.

"Welcome young man! Please do let me know if you need any help," he speaks in a chipper voice.

"Thank ye, ah will."

There wasn't a lot of space, but people seemed to keep to themselves as they browsed the few shelves put up against the walls. He went off to the side browsing the different medications, plasters, creams. They were surprisingly well stocked for such a small town. He didn't spend too long browsing the different things, painkillers and nasal spray would work this time around.

"Someone sick in the family son?" the old man asks as he types in his items to his machine. He didn't sound particularly concerned.

"Yeah just a... friend of mine," he nods to the old man as he rings up the total. As the old man works, Johnny lets his eyes wander over the shelves behind the counter. Prescription medicine possibly. A lot of it he recognizes, but his eye does catch on a peculiar bottle. At first glance there's nothing unusual about it, it mimics the mundane look of the others next to it, but there was a distinctive golden cross next to the name.

"Hey what’s the medicine back there...don't think a've seen it before?" Johnny takes his chances, asking the elderly man with a curious tone.

"Elation?" he looks back at it, his eyes squinting despite the glasses he wears. "I don't rightly know son, some new prescription that came in not long ago by request of the doctors around here. Supposed to be some new type of anti depressant I was told."

"Right..." Johnny leans a little trying to get a closer look while remaining as normal as possible. It could be pure coincidence, but perhaps you'd know more being the expert. As the thought passes, he glances towards the window you're supposed to be at, finding the space empty.

Panic sets in quick, and with a lot more urgency he grabs the bag, pays and thanks the old man before almost running out of the shop. He barely hears the parting words from the man.

"Go with god..."

His heart leaps up in his throat, a million thoughts going through his mind of where you could be, what you could've done, if something had happened to you. His nerves and possibly one of the worse reprimands he'd received when he got back are relieved when he sees you haven't gotten very far in your little escape. You're hastily walking down the street narrowing down to the corner. He's quicker to follow, running up to you before you can get too far.

"Hey! Where ye going," he huffs out putting a hand on your shoulder to stop you. You remove it as quick as he settled it.

"Quick, she's here" you peek around the corner, directing him to do the same.

He was quickly alerted to who you were talking about, the same girl from the family you'd visited. The one you were all supposed to be tracking. She was out. Right now.

"Shit..." he knew what you wanted. "Spider we can't...we're not equipped for this."

You give him a stubborn look. Your brows furrowed, your lips getting just the slightest pout. "We have to," you insist.

"If she goes anywhere, we can't reach we're turning back," he counters.

You scoff mulling it over, though quickly nod as you realize you don't have much time. "Yeah fine, whatever lets just go before she disappears."

Johnny's hand tightens on the crinkly bag. "Gonna get us killed ah swear..." he sighs speeding up a little to follow you. You're all too determined when you've finally got a goal in mind. It's hard to keep up with.

The girl follows a natural route into the daily market. There's nothing odd about her inherent presence, she goes around browsing the different stands, buys herself a few sweet treats from the vendors. She even strikes up conversation with a few of them, forcing Johnny and you to stop up a few times pretending to browse as well.

She leads you on, takes you through the main attractions of the town, all up until she gets to the edge. Her routes become more unusual than what's expected, and following her starts to require a lot more discretion.

And the location she ends up in, is a little more than just concerning. Well, you wanted to get deeper into what's going on in this town, you got what you asked for. The girl enters a much bigger building just at the edge of town, some sort of warehouse that Johnny hadn't previously known about, and one that definitely wasn't there just last year.

"Now how in the world are we going to get in there..." Johnny sighs exasperated.

"Not through the front door that’s for sure..." you respond with knowledge he already knows. He isn't sure the two of you really should follow her longer, you didn't have backup, you didn't have eyes on the scene or any intel on what could even be in there.

"Spider..."

"I know," your tone is apprehensive but the way you glance around for other entrances doesn't put him at ease. "We won't get spotted...we're just gathering intel...like we're supposed to do," you've already decided, he can see it on you. Yet you still look to him for approval, permission, as if anything he says is going to influence you in the greater scheme of things.

He looks over the warehouse once again, spotting a set of open windows on the side. "There...the windows..." Johnny gestures towards them, starting to inch over there ever so quietly.

You cover his back, keeping both your eyes and ears sharp for any movement. It reminded him a bit of the usual missions, yet this was anything usual. He crouches beneath the window, listening for anyone inside before glancing just at the edge. It seems to be some kind of storage room, no one in sight but it's far from empty. Boxes, shelves, cabinets. All of them filled with random crap. From what he can see it seems to be a mix of medical equipment, gardening tools, a few boxes of spare clothes.

"We need to go in."

His brows furrow, his mouth opening to say something but you're already crawling into the room. "What...bloody hell giving me a head ache spider," he crawls in afterwards, landing a bit less gracefully than you did.

He carefully inches closer to where you've situated yourself next to the window looking into the warehouse itself. It was huge. Though rather stereotypical for one. He hadn't been in many, but this one seemed be partly used for storage, and some sort of plant production. Possibly food, or ingredients, herbs.

People walk from post to post routinely, most of them seeming to be focused on their own assignment. Not a single one of them idle. All of them wearing white flimsy suits, scrubs almost. Gloves and masks to accompany it as well. Concealing their identities, while keeping them as sterile as possible.

Something about this place gave him the creeps. Not something meant to be in a town like this. As he has suspected as well, the girl was nowhere to be seen. Either she was somewhere else entirely, or she had already blended in with the rest.

Johnny takes notice of the routines, of the people moving around boxes from place to place. They're coming this way too. They're going to pass the window. His reflexes kick in and he flinches backwards away from the window so they wouldn't spot him. He glances at you and see you're still there. You're still looking instead of retreating back. Why aren't you moving. They're going to spot you.

You need to move now.

He pulls you back before you can get noticed. Whatever happened to your reaction time got fixed in an instant as you turn the tables on him in a matter of seconds. He's on his back before he can react, a knife pressed to his jugular before he can even utter his word of warning.

There's something different in your eye. Something dangerous and dormant. For a moment it's like you're not even there, looking through him like he's just a piece of meat for you to exterminate, just another body or target that you've set your sights on. The wrong second, the wrong reaction and he could've lost his life to the person whos' meant to be on his side.

"Easy..." his voice is breathless, a quiet whisper in the quiet warehouse. "You're okay."

He doesn't even know what he's saying. What he's trying to accomplish, but what he sees in you he doesn't like. It makes chills run down his spine. His nerves trying to convince his brain that he should act and push you away with a harsh force, turn you around so you don't make a flimsy movement and end his life now.

You blink once, twice, then pull away as if it hadn't happened at all.

"Don't do that."

It's all you have to say. You turn around without so much of a flicker of remorse.

He'd find it almost admirable if the knife hadn't been directed at him. "Is it them?" he keeps his voice low, lets the incident go for favour of refocusing back on the original goal. His hand rubbing at the skin of his throat. He swallows thickly, trying to get the horrid thoughts out of his mind. The layer of anxiety he has about you is here to stay.

"Yeah...it's them."

You sound more detached than normal, your eyes following every body moving behind the glass. Every person's task, their twitches and expressions. He takes notice of it himself, mimics that focus he sees in you.

"What in the world..."

"It's an Elation production..."

More people in the white attire walks past the window. This time both of you pull back. It's sure did look it. The drug the cult was notorious for and spread far and wide. It originally died out with the cult itself, from what he can remember there were few remnants after it, but they were the only ones holding the key to its production. Back then it didn't have a name either. It wasn't prescription medicine you could get over the counter. It was never this developed.

If any higher ups didn't believe that the cult was on the rise again, this would be proof enough for greater action, a bigger military presence. It wasn't the wisest choice, not yet, not with the progress they could make.

"We need to get out of here," Johnny's words are rushed as he reaches for you but stops himself thinking better of it. "If they find us, we're in deep shit...and captain needs to know about this." He inches away to get back out the same way you came in.

You stop him. You leave him shellshocked so many times today and it seems you're not done doing it. Your hand closed around his wrist as you look at him with a desperation that concerns him more than your previous display of violence. You want something. He has an idea you're also not going to take no for an answer.

"We can't go yet." Your tone is just as rushed to get him to pause. "There's going to be identifying documents here...they don't do anything without logging it...we can use it to our advantage."

He can't help the reluctance on his face. You were right those documents could speed up the process, give the whole operation an inside look and an advantage against them, but it was risky too. He had no idea where it would be nor the dangers that lurked in these rooms.

"Look...I can do it alone-"

"No, you can't." Johnny stops you before you can even begin with that. "I'm coming with you."

He knew Price would be furious later, Simon as well, but he knew he couldn't stop you with that look on your face and he wasn't about to leave you to the danger all on your own. Least he could do was watch your back in here, and hope it wouldn't be long.

You don't move at first, keep staring him down as if waiting for him to change his mind. He isn't going to. "Okay...I'd bet that door up there leads to an office of some kind, we need to get there." You gesture to it. It would make sense, the windows into that room signifies some sort of office or storage and there aren’t any other places he can see. Only problem is, it meant going through the main area.

Having the same thought as him you move to rummaged through the cabinets and boxes around until you find two sets of the matching white suit. "Should be your size..." you hand it to him after making your estimated guess.

The suits didn't quite fit as they should but with the accompanying Masks, it made the two of you almost unidentifiable. You guided him through it, every step outside of that room was calculated, every look, every breath. A single step out of line and someone could see.

He felt more exposed than he ever had, like every one of those eyes were on him. Like they could see beneath the flimsy fabric to clothes that didn't belong, a face that shouldn't be here.

Johnny couldn't understand how you looked so calm, so at ease. You looked right at home here, and perhaps that thought was what made him the most nervous. You didn't blink an eye at the loud noises in here, or the sensitive smells, you didn't flinch as someone brushed past you and you didn't even give the low murmurs a second glance.

You grabbed a box like the others, and he followed suit. You fell into step behind two others, making it the normal group of four that walked these paths. All the way up the stairs, to the end of the hall where you could break off the path, walk closely to the wall and inside the destined room.

By a stroke of lucky brilliance, he had not only made it, nobody was in here either to boot. He took the mask off letting it dangle around his neck. He took in a well-deserved breath, a sigh of relief. You follow his movements to do the same.

"Fuck ah thought we were as good as dead out there," Johnny huffed a little out of breath.

"We'll make it yet..." you nod to him before looking around the room. Standard surveillance, and an overlook over the entirety of the facility. "Emergency exit," you hum as you see the door on the other side of the room.

He nods after looking towards it too. Easy exit. Supposedly anyway. "Yeah good...alright just get what we need and then we're out-" he doesn't get to finish his sentence as the emergency exit opens up. A man dressed like the two of you stepping in with a clipboard in his hands.

You both freeze up. There's a second where the man doesn't look a up and remains unaware but when his eyes land on you, they widen in shock. Another second passes before he goes to speak.

"Jugd-" his tone frames it like a question but he doesn't nearly get to finish before he's tackled to the ground by you. He doesn't get to make a sound. You smash his face into the concrete, hard enough that there's a crack, hard enough that he's knocked completely out.

"What-"

"We need to move now," you hiss out at him moving quickly off the body to rifle through the cabinets stacked against the wall.

Johnny's quick to snap into work, trying to put his thoughts aside and focus on the objective at hand. He takes the desk, moving around the papers stacked on top to see if there's anything of interest, the same with the screens displayed on the wall with live surveillance.

He flicks through the feed, unmuting a few of them to listen to the conversations, the rustle of bags, and a weird fizzling sound. He stops when he comes to a feed of the space near the entrance.

Two men are standing there, one holding a book to his side. They're watching two others drag someone forth, forcing them down on their knees in front of the man with the book. The man on his knees is injured and stripped practically naked, markings have been carved into his body like intricate ritualistic drawings, deliberate words too. GREED. LUST. A few more covered in scars that go over them as if to cover it.

Something about the scene makes his skin crawl, and against his better judgement he turns the volume up on it. There's static, the sound of wind, the voices are muffled but audible.

"Welcome home son, it took awhile to find you."

You're at Johnny's side in an instant. Quickly enough to startle him, but he doesn't ask as he sees the way you look at the screen transfixed. "Is it?"

"Graham...he's here."

Graham walks closer to the injured one. He places a hand on his shoulder and he doesn't even react. "You still know how to respond to the call...that's good...not all is lost."

He cranes the man's neck to look up at him.

"We'll have you back in shape in no time at all."

He starts humming a quiet tune that barely makes it through the speakers. A tune Johnny doesn't react to, but you quickly go to turn the volume down.

"I've got the papers, we've got visual confirmation...we need to go before someone spots us." You insist not even checking for his confirmation before you walk towards the emergency exit with quick steps.

He couldn't do anything but agree. This was getting too dangerous to do without a deliberate plan, but you'd all be back, and he had an itching feeling that next time wouldn't go as smoothly as today.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @haipasa @woodlandgirl22-blog-blog @kaoyamamegami @ellabellabunny123 @chickennn-soupp @spicyspicyliving @lilynotdilly @heeknow

[djarinova]

dinem miscommunication you say... 👀🎤

(my unpopular opinion is miscommunication is actually be a very good and realistic trope and it's the realism that frustrates people hehe but it can be so good for plot and tension !!)

i do indeed say miscommunication with din 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️ (although this is probably a more general x reader miscomm than anything selfship related)

AND @stevebabey and i have been yelling about this for days in the dms so everybody say thank you ruby for having such a huge brain and for screaming about this entire concept w me <3 divider by @/saradika

i just think miscommunication goes hand and hand with who din is as a character—he's stoic, almost unreadable at times (and the helmet certainly does not help with that), he doesn't say anything more than is necessary and he has such a complex and interesting childhood and backstory and many of his romantic... viewpoints, shall we say, are deeply traditional and seem very old school to an outsider.

the miscommunication itself will come when he's finally ready to confess his feelings for you (if i was to write everything that came in-between the first meet and this moment then this would become a fully fledged fic but let me just say this: he grappled with his feelings for a l o n g time, im talking years of knowing you, and i know it's implicitly implied but he trusts you more than anyone else in the galaxy and there have been afew moments were he's almost slipped up and spilled his feelings for you—or so he thinks—and he's agonised himself over how best to approach the subject with you) and you completely misread his intention.

he offers you something—an object of great value to him, something that he feels will bring you security and safety or something that he wants you to keep close to you whenever he is far away (a weapon with an engraving, a compass with a glimmering star along the rim, a small piece of cloth embroidered with a word that you can't read in a language you don't understand)—and you reject it. it looks too clean, too fancy, too nice. and so you politely say "Oh. Din, no... I-I can't take this from you..." and you can actually visibly see his disappointment, it's only for a split second, but his head tilts and his shoulders deflate just ever so slightly, but it's there and it makes you a little confused, it's just a gift, there have been plenty of times when I've offered him something and he's said no, why is it only a problem when I do it??

it ticks you off, just a little, but you let it go. turning and stalking back into the hull of the ship as din watched you disappear feeling crestfallen and embarrassed. because he really thought you would accept it.

and here's the thing, this object, this gift that din was trying to give you, it isn't just an ordinary gift. with it came the question of a relationship, it was customary for a man to offer an heirloom to the person he wishes to court—and considering everything he's been through, it was lucky that he had kept that tiny slither of his past with him all this time, after everything he's lost he wasn't even sure he would ever get to offer it to anyone but he had kept it anyway, locked in a box underneath his bed, just waiting, gathering dust... until you came along.

and then comes the angst. he starts acting differently towards you, it's reminiscent of how he acted when he first met you and it makes you sick to your stomach. you constantly worry that youve done something to upset him (which in a way, you have). he barely speaks more than 5 words to you a day and it is enough to make you feel completely guilty over something that you dont even remember doing! and that realisation makes you angry, you dont even remember upsetting him! you havent said anything odd or screwed up a bounty or messed up something with the child and he's acting totally irrationally, ignoring you and treating you like you dont even exist.

the resolution comes after almost 3-4 months of this. youve grown used to your new dynamic now, and even though you wish you knew the reason for his behaviour, and you wish it wasnt like this, you accept how things are. your anger has slowly dissipated and now you mostly feel fine, still hurt and confused, but din has given you plenty of opportunities to leave over the last few months and you have yet to even consider it—you don't want to leave and despite his best efforts, you still care for him.

perhaps you overhear a conversation in a market between two people who are discussing The Mandalorian, or perhaps you hear din talking to a friend or maybe you read something in a book, but whatever it is, something happens and it clicks for you. the reason din has been so distant is not because he doesnt like you, or because he wants you to leave the ship... it's because he felt embarrassed when you rejected his gift, it's because he has been trying to give you space so you dont feel suffocated by his feelings. he's been doing this for you.

and so you storm up to him, wind beneath your sails now, and demand to know what the hell is wrong with him. if he had just been clear about his feelings then neither of you would've had to be so miserable these past few months. and why didnt he just TELL YOU about the meaning behind the gift.

and he's like would that have changed anything?

and you swallow hard, making eye contact with where you assume his eyes sit behind his visor and you say yes, din, in a whispered voice, it wouldve changed everything.

anyways .......

[greenqueenhightower]

Welcome to yet another episode of DISTURBING Things I Notice in HOTD:

Today’s installment is on bloodlust and dermatillomania (tw!) as expressed by our two key figures of the Dance, Rhaenyra and Alicent, and their similarities between Daemon and Criston respectively (pls bear with me on this).

First up, even though we have seen many scenes of bloodshed in the show, I want to mainly talk about the two scenes of bloodlust we have seen with Rhaenyra in episode 3 where she kills a boar, and with Alicent when she cuts Rhaenyra's arm at Driftmark.

Why, though, do I say bloodlust? Because it describes a desire for bloodshed and carnage, often aroused in the heat of battle or the moment, leading to uncontrolled slaughter and torture. The perfect example of this description is Criston's killing of Joffrey at Leanor's & Rhaenyra's wedding because it was moved by a desire for bloodshed further motivated by Criston's emotional turmoil, it was aroused in the heat of the moment because Joffrey provoked him, and, most importantly, he had lost control. This means that Criston is not generally like that; had he not lost control, he would not have performed the act.

The exact OPPOSITE is Daemon's cold-hearted killing of Vaemond: there was no underlying desire, the moment was not heated, nor was he personally attacked, and he did not display any loss of control. This means that he did not need any provocation to perform the act. In other words, bloodlust and bloodshed are in general part of Daemon's character.

I think that the analysis of these two extremes helps in understanding where Alicent and Rhaenyra lay in the spectrum of bloodlust.

Starting off with the scene at the hunt where she slays the boar, Rhaenyra ticks all the boxes for bloodlust: a desire for bloodshed because of the hunt, arousal in the heat of the moment because she was attacked by the beast, which then results in uncontrolled slaughter. Yet, that doesn’t seem to have any effect on Rhaenyra, as we see her walking back to the camp, completely drenched in blood. Her sight stuns and terrifies spectators, Alicent included, but Rhaenyra's detached attitude toward carnage resembles that of Daemon's. I am not saying that bloodshed and carnage are part of her character to the extent that they are a part of Daemon’s, but she and he both display a higher tolerance to the sight, thought and feel of the act.

Let's get now to the scene at Driftmark and the confrontation between Alicent and Rhaenyra. Alicent, too, ticks all three of the boxes for bloodlust at that moment: a desire for bloodshed because of the maiming of her son, arousal in the heat of the moment because her concerns are not taken seriously, and loss of control that results in obtaining the Valyrian steel dagger and cutting Rhaenyra's arm. However, Alicent shows how horrified she is that the situation has gotten out of control, and she drops the dagger. Later on, we see her remorse which mirrors Criston's, who wanted to commit suicide. They both understood the lengths of their actions and were devastated.

And what about Rhaenyra when she gets cut in that scene? She is once again oblivious to the pain, staring Alicent dead in the eyes which terrifies Alicent even more. I have a few reasons as to why.

First of all, Alicent suffered from dermatillomania growing up, which is a mental health condition where a person compulsively picks or scratches their skin, causing injuries or scarring. Also known as excoriation disorder or skin-picking disorder, this condition falls under the category of obsessive-compulsive disorders (OCDs) and can be triggered by anxiety. There are several scenes where we see that same anxiety permeate Alicent and her resort to dermatillomania, as early as episode 1 (this is where her brother Gwayne is fighting with Daemon):

What science says is that such behavior is anxiety-induced, a clinical condition, and even though she could stop it if she chose to, it is not that easy or simple. Alicent was addicted to the numbing pain as a relief from her anxiety but she loathed herself for its destructive nature. She was often made fun of it by her father who told her that she was "destroying herself." We see that as her confidence grew in the later episodes, and when she was released from the strenuous puppeteering of Otto, she was able to overcome the habit.

To my eyes, this is why it is shocking for Alicent to a) cause pain to Rhaenyra and b) to see Rhaenyra oblivious to such pain. The fact that Rhaenyra doesn’t even flinch, when Alicent hated herself for causing harm to her own body for years and when she already hates herself for losing her temper, confirms to her Rhaenyra’s absolute callousness. Yes, she, who lusts after what she wants and knows no limits, and whose ambition runs thicker than blood, does feel entitled to Aemond’s eye.

In fact, Alicent barely recognizes Rhaenyra at this moment. Alicent has just become afraid of herself, and of the newly discovered bloodlust she didn’t know she had, and seeing Rhaenyra show no reaction to the pain, Alicent becomes doubly afraid of Rhaenyra. The one who stares deeply into her eyes and shows her that she cannot hurt her. Who tells her that she can take in much more. Who is not like Alicent, to become consumed by pain. Rhaenyra is a warrior, and she is capable of showing her heartlessness when necessary. And that’s when Alicent understands that she doesn’t know Rhaenyra anymore. Alicent becomes even more afraid of her, and the person she has become. The person she could potentially turn into when provoked.

This is what absolutely terrifies yet humanizes Alicent, who already hated herself for causing injury to herself, and who hates herself now for causing injury to Rhaenyra. Yet Rhaenyra won't let her hurt or pain show like Alicent does, and she is used to causing injury without feeling anything; just like Daemon.

*added the coloring to keep track of the many lines of thought happening here

[according2thelore]

literally love your ls/es verse like nothing else. 💖 “ES!Sam sees LS!Sam as a brow-beaten, pathetic man who won't stand up for himself,” <- !!!!!!! would kill to see ES sam call his older self pathetic to his face!!!! LS dean momentarily awoken out of his tongue-panting love for ES sam to be like- now wait just a second-

eeee hello beth!!!!!

yes yes yes omg let's discuss

"what's your problem?"

sammy looks up, surprised. he's in the middle of trying to scrub a stubborn ring of coffee from the bottom of his favourite mug, and turns around at the familiar voice.

it's still weird hearing it in the second person, but his younger self stands in the doorway. he looks angry.

older dean went to get some extra dishtowels from the laundry room because they've been disappearing for a week. he likes to help sam dry, and comes to loom ominously over his shoulder when he tries to do the dishes by himself if dean's home.

it's cute. kind of. weird, mostly.

"you're washing the dishes." sam says. sammy looks down at the dishes in the sink.

"yes?" sammy says, slowly.

this seems to make sam angrier.

"did you just...completely give up?" sam spits.

sammy looks down at the mug again. no, he's really trying to get this stain out. sam is still framed in the doorway, and takes a step forward. he seems acutely aware of sammy's ineptitude.

"you're washing the dishes like this is a home. like anything here belongs to you, instead of to the fifty dead guys whose beds you sleep in." sam says. his jaw ticks. sammy sees younger dean's head poke around the corner, and slide in to the kitchen behind him.

sammy sighs.

this must be part two. he and sam had gotten into it this morning about the bunker. sam had cut his hand on an old metal door jamb and got not one, but two, deans fussing over him for hours.

how the fuck is this our life? sam had hissed, pulling sam aside after. we swore we wanted out. wanted normal. i just sliced my palm open on a fallout shelter door.

sammy didn't have anything to give. this was his life. and for the most part, sammy liked it. having dean was worth all the rest of it pulled together. a house couldn't protect them like the bunker could. it couldn't allow them to help as many people as they did.

but sam clearly hasn't let it go. he's been building this for hours.

sammy doesn't have the energy to give him the fight he wants, but he's still pissed.

"i know it's not what we planned." sammy says, looking at his younger self sharply. "plans change. and i'm happy."

"are you?" sam spits, and it sounds like a challenge. "you're miserable. you flinch at every sound, you can barely look me in my eye, your dean threw your amulet away--"

sam flinches. hard. it feels like getting punched in the gut. a part of him--the pack rat part he's never been able to kill--wants to run back to his room and make sure the amulet is still there, hidden in his box.

"woah," younger dean says, "sammy."

he takes a step forward, wide eyes on the side of his face.

"what the fuck are we doing here?" sam says, his voice rising. he's gesturing wildly at the concrete walls, the canned lighting, the industrial steel counters.

sammy knows that logically, he's hurting. but fuck. he feels like he's just been gutted and unspooled all over the kitchen.

you can't even keep dean. how hard is it to lose the only thing we've ever had?

"well," older dean walks back in, a dishtowel over each shoulder. "i'm drying dishes." he nods at his younger self. "he's shitting his pants." he nods at sammy, but doesn't take his eyes off younger sam. "he's washing, and you're...yelling."

sam looks a little abashed, but his jaw doesn't lose its set.

"why won't you answer me?" younger sam asks, all venom and vitriol. he takes a step forward, trying to meet sammy's eyes, but sammy won't let him.

he threw yours away. he threw yours away.

"what?" dean says, and his voice is weird. it's tight, rough, and the deans look back and forth between the sams like stuck in factory reset.

a sam needs defending and a sam needs backup on offense.

which one, which one, which one?

"i'm sorry that i'm not what you want, sam." sammy says, weary.

sammy knows it's not sam's fault. he's been told for months and months now that he is going to change, he is going to warp, and there is something innate in him that will make him not himself anymore.

and here sammy is, looking weary and acting differently and beaten down by years and years of "something" that no one will tell him about.

it's terrifying.

but sammy can't keep being his punching bag anymore. he's exhausted, and it's not fair. sam can put his adult pants on and fucking deal.

"not what i want?" sam scoffs, drawing up to his full height. it's the same as sammy's, but he doesn't meet his rage. it probably looks ridiculous that sam has over 10 years of age and close to 60 pounds in muscle on this kid, and he's trying to get in sam's face.

"what i want is a functioning adult. what i want is to be as far away from this grave as possible." sam says, tone implacable and hard and sharp. "what i want is a life. that's what we wanted. you gave up. you became dad! you're pathetic!"

pathetic. you're pathetic. sam blinks. you're pathetic.

yes.

yes, he is, isn't he?

"hey." dean snaps, sharp, and older sam can't stop his flinch. but dean has stepped slightly in front of him, shoulders squared. "knock it off, sam. i mean it."

"let me guess--he can't stand up for himself?" sam snaps, and sammy can't even meet his gaze because he's right. to his younger self, he must look like a child. a cardboard cut out. "say something!"

"i don't want to hear you open your fucking mouth about this again." dean says, and the room falls silent. sam gapes at him. sammy gapes at him. younger dean has fallen silent, but he takes a step back to stand next to his own sam. "sammy could rip your arms off, kid. i don't care what you think about him. he doesn't have to prove himself to you."

"i didn't say he had to!" sam protests, and sammy almost smiles. what a little hypocrite. sam misses being that righteous. that self-assured.

"dean, it's okay," sammy says quietly, feeling like he did when he was six and dean would break out of the fourth grade to come intimidate sam's bullies on the playground.

younger sam just wants reassurance. his entire life up to this point had been pushing as many boundaries as possible.

in a way--and it almost makes sam sick to think of it--he's treating him like dad. sometimes, the only way to get dad to look at him was to make him angry. dad hated to be contradicted, to be challenged, and the full force of his attention--even bad attention--was addicting when he spent most of their childhood gutting monsters just slightly off stage left.

sam's scared. he wants attention. he needs comfort.

sammy doesn't want to give him either.

but he settles for both.

"can we talk about this--"

"no." older dean says, sharply, cutting sammy off. sammy blinks, surprised. dean doesn't turn to look at him, still glaring at sam in the way a knife cuts.

"i'm really fucking disappointed." dean says. it sounds like he's going to say something else, but he's quiet.

he might as well have kicked sam. he deflates, wide eyes blinking hard.

"it's okay," sammy is quick to reassure, but dean cuts him off again.

"no. it's not." dean still doesn't look at him. "nobody gets to talk to you like that, sammy." dean's tone softens a little bit. "not even you, kid."

"everybody knock it off," younger dean says, his experience peacemaking bubbling right at the surface. "sammy let's take a lap, okay? c'mon."

"i'm..." sam starts to say. but he changes his mind, and lets himself be corralled by younger dean. his steps shake. sammy feels a little pity for him.

he knows what it feels like for dean to be angry with him. to be disappointed in him. to choose someone else over him. it's the worst feeling in the world.

suddenly, dean's pulling sammy down for a kiss. sam almost pulls back, but realizes they're now technically alone in the room. he melts into it briefly, letting dean pet through his hair and bite at his bottom lip.

when dean pulls away, he makes a humph sound.

"if you don't want me to suck your dick in here, you've got thirty seconds to get that coffee ring out." dean says, sliding the dishrags off his hands and crouching like an umpire.

"shit." sam says, and starts scrubbing.

he doesn't have everything. and later, he knows sam's words will ring in his ears and prevent him from sleeping. but dean knows exactly how to make him laugh, how to distract him, what he needs.

dean always does.

~~~

do not worry i did not forget @secondhandroad !! as you can see i have been cooking just a little bit. kisses and love to beth for this ask!!!!!!! i love gabbing about these fellas so much lol <3

-lizzy

[http-drabbles]

soulmate, soulmate where are you? 2

1.3k words of absolute crushing angst, it's 7am and i woke up to write. shall i be evil and let this be the final part? mayhaps.

warnings: s/h and making jungkook sad (:W)

fuck fuck fuck.

skimming every question and typing out my answer feels a lot like betrayal. name, age, country of residence, when my soulmate mark appeared, contact details, translator needed, agreeing to a declaration that if my soulmate mark was found to be fraudulent i could face a fine or jail time. i tick the box by his name, attach a photo of my mark and send the form off. the confirmation email is too cheery it makes my jaw ache at how i grind my teeth.

i don't want to talk about the circumstances that lead me to fill out that form, to apply for a loan that covers travel cost and a hotel for this. the woman who helped me fill out the form was again all too cheery, wishing me a good luck and all i could do was smile so fucking limply back at her while noticing lipstick smudged against her teeth.

a month passes and i'm gleeful, maybe it's a network error and my form never submitted. i'm free and can tell the loan company to cancel my plan, i don't go on social media to see what jungkook is up to and in those weeks the nightmare is over and i embrace my loneliness.

the email arrives at 16:21. heathrow to seoul, a contact at hybe will meet me at the airport. id needed. date of when i'm expected to actually meet jungkook, with a disclaimer that it may change due to fluctuating schedule. the tiger lily tingles, and i almost see the petals opening ready to accept him.

"don't get your hopes up, i can always email them back to get out of this."

i don't. of course i don't because i'm standing in a Costa in London Fucking Heathrow next to the hybe contact who is analysing their croissants like it's the key to end all misery. i wished i could look at croissants with that much intensity.

she asked once to see my soulmate mark, gave it a one second glance over and then typed something down in her phone, i wondered how many people she's flown with to Korea. more than ten i would bet. i don't ask, i'm not conversational but when we're waiting in the queue holding out boarding passes i blurt to her.

"i haven't flown before. i've got a fear of it i think."

she passes me a sleeping tablet and i bump her number from ten to a solid fifteen.

korea is pretty, face practically smushed against the taxi window i take in every single detail i can. there's an over-abundance of signs, low hanging wires and roads so tiny it's a miracle a car can pass through them. i don't take photos, i rely on my brain to remember and then forget.

hybe is anything but pretty, more like a grey lump of concrete and glass. i sign two more documents and the translator informs me that in two days time i will be meeting jungkook, but not officially meeting. more like my arm will be stuck through a gap and our soulmate marks will touch, i will have to wear a mitt because some people had become a little too excited and scratchy. my mark is thoroughly inspected this time, deemed official and not a tattoo i'm driven over to my hotel.

i don't unpack, staring at the forms in my hand which are a mix of korean and english i almost laugh. traitor. stupid traitor.

over the next two days i come to two big conclusions, one kimchi is too sour but the rice cakes should be considered a universal delicacy and two, is it too late to back out?

is it too late to back out? i'm in the taxi, i consider clawing the windows for escape but i decide that digging my fingers into my belly helps ease my nerves. can i back out? hybe is cold, the ac is too strong and there's other girls in the room i'm lead into. shy smiles as i plop myself in the back. we are called alphabetically. is it possible to back out? there's four of us left now, i didn't bother counting us as a whole. i can't stop digging my nails into my stomach.

i can't back out. my name is called and somehow my body removes the hand from my belly and i walk myself over to the room. there's a row of grey screen partitions that divide the room, a small slither in the middle presumably where my arm will go. it hits me jungkook is on the other side and i bite my bottom lip hard to avoid laughing. tugging my sleeve up a staff member puts the mitt on securely, another verbal warning to not do anything harmful to the artist.

artist and not his name.

i sit down on the chair, staring into that small space to catch a sight of him but there's nothing. i don't mind a fine, or jail time. i hope it's not real. deliberately slowly i raise my arm, putting it through the gap with my tiger lily facing upwards. the air shifts around my arm and i feel him. warm as his tiger lily presses against mine.

at first nothing, and i almost let out the loudest sigh of relief and then it is everything. in the mitt my fingers jerk, i pull away like i've been electrocuted clutching my arm but it's energy, pure energy. thrum. drum. drum.

he's tearing the partitions apart and i stagger back, nearly falling over the chair to get away from him. frantic korean, something more reassuring from a staff member and then he pokes his head through. beaming smile, he's so happy to see me and i guess i'm somewhere between absolutely mortified and in complete shock. his sleeve is rolled up and i notice his tiger lily has fully blossomed, a quick glance down at mine and i realise mine is the same.

he speaks again, approaching me like he wants to hug me but seeing that i'm backing away like a rabid animal he slows, contains himself and glances at the translator and back at me.

"hello. i'm jungkook. it's nice to meet you finally." oh god. too much. he's too kind and his cologne has infiltrated my nostrils and i'm so glad the mitt is still on because i'd be clawing at my nose to stop smelling it.

"s-sorry.. can't." i give the staff member who brought me in here the universal look of, 'get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here-now.' i am ignored.

"sorry?" he tilts his head in pure confusion, he looks worried. i hate him for it. "don't be sorry. it's okay. i'm happy."

i glance around the room and notice i'm being recorded, i don't know what sets me off more. he's too close, the camera, him, why is he so close? he touches my shoulder to comfort me and i jerk away, i can't stop looking at the camera and the other staff members who are beaming at us.

"i'm sorry," my eyes lock with his, "i don't want you." he doesn't understand and i glance at the translator.

she looks sad and very softly tells him what i've said, he doesn't seem to believe her because he presses his fingers against the tiger lily and shakes his head.

"us. this is us." he's struggling to speak himself and i can see him remembering. he's really looking at my arm now, clearer. the burns, the cuts. all the times i've tried to prune that cancerous flower from my arm. almost physically wounded he takes a step back.

"i'm sorry, i don't want this." the translator repeats my words and all he does is nod.

he nods and i leave.

[holybibly]

hi!! i’m a writer myself and despite having mdni on my blog, i still get a lot of minors trying to with my work. i regularly have to check my followers for ages in their bio and i’ve even had minors come in my inbox telling me that i’m ’overreacting’ for not wanting them to read my writing. it’s gotten to the point where i’ve just turned off anon altogether, partially because of the weird people in my inbox and partially so i know i can be safe and not respond to minors by accident.

i guess what i’m trying to get at here is even though you have mdni on your blog, how can you be sure that the people in your inbox aren’t minors. there’s nothing physically stopping them from coming on your blog and sending sexual asks and you seem to facilitate these asks by responding in an equally sexual manner. i hope i’m not coming across as rude, but i just don’t see how you can be sure that you’re not engaging with minors when you respond to anons in a flirtatious and sexual way. if you somehow do check their ages, great! but since they’re anon, i don’t really see how that’s possible…

So, hello. Well, the wording of the question is rather crude to begin with, don't you think? And frankly, I'd prefer to take such questions to DM posts, but if you want to talk, you're welcome. 

First of all, don't you think it's a bit unfair? Accusing anonymous people and then asking a question anonymously? I don't think it's very nice, or do you think I'm going to declare a witch hunt and go on a bashing spree? That's so stupid. Or do you just not like me? Because that's what it sounds like. In general, I don't mind you having an opinion, but by sending a message like that, you knew I'd respond to it. 

Secondly, I know this is going to sound awful and you can totally throw a bunch of shitty comments and posts at me, but let's be honest, even if we check the age of our subscribers and readers every time they subscribe to us, when they ask us questions, comment, reblog, etc., where is the 100% guarantee that those people didn't lie about their age when they created their blog on Tumblr? 

Go to any porn site; age verification is just a tick in the box. These are the horrible realities we face every day. The internet is a place where it is very difficult to verify anything, and unfortunately, there are consequences.

I am in no way supporting the sexualization of minors, and I am certainly not engaging in depravity, although you make it sound that way. 

But I do know that there are many people who can't talk openly about their desires, sexual or otherwise; people who doubt their sexuality and self-acceptance; people who are judged for being different; people who are shamed for being too feminine or masculine; for having problems with daddy or mommy; or simply for being too quiet and shy. Not all of us are going to come out for manifestos and parades. 

And in this case, the only option for them is anonymity. I repeat, I do not support the sexualization of minors in any way, and if you want to accuse me of encouraging such things, I suggest you look at some of the profiles of authors on AO3 who openly use sex scenes with minors and even children in the text of their work. 

I don't know your social circle as a writer, and since you're asking this anonymously, I can't even check your work, but I think the problem is not whether I answer anonymous questions or not, but whether I talk to my bunnies at all. Every time I get messages like this, I think about it. You call me weird, angry, triggering, and now a lecher. Not directly, but the context is clear. 

I've never written messages like that to anyone; you know, it's not nice. I've never intended to offend or hurt anyone with my replies or FFs. But apparently everyone around me, for some strange reason, thinks I'm some source of universal evil while trying to retrain me and change my character and disposition. 

I really hope you are happy with what you are doing. 

Bunnies, I'm sorry. There will be no updates for a while. 

[fashionteahouse]

Literally give me anything Leah x fem reader pls. The fandom has dried up and I am THIRSTY

okay honey :> hope you enjoy :)

runaway with me - leah x fem reader

It was unknown. But, you two didn’t act like it. Affection was normal and known with you two as you both sat in a criss cross position. You two burst out laughing.

“Stop acting stupid. Be serious.” Leah says.

“Okay.” you say, stifling your remaining laughter.

She placed two hands on your shoulders and press her lips sloppily on yours and you laugh again. Pushing her gently away.

“Gross.” you say.

“He was definitely gross. What a loser.”

“Poor Leah.” you laugh again.

She came back from a date. A date that was horrible. He was cute, but a horrible kisser. She liked the art of kissing and he was too sloppy to teach, not letting her have a piece of control. He was confident in his abilities.

“I’m staying the night, right?” you ask her.

“No.” she says sarcastically and you chuckle.

The next morning, she was still asleep. Seth wasn’t. He was your early bird partner. Always suggesting something to do.

You both ate cereal. Crunching on the flavored cereal, the clinks of spoons hitting the bowl filled the table in the early morning. Birds chirped outside of your window as the time ticked by the second. You both point out the silly stuff on the cereal boxes.

After he drank his milk and wiped his milk mustache, you slide on shoes and follow him outside before taking them off again in the backyard.

You climb into the trampoline.

He laughs at your frown.

“Quit jumping!” you say to him as you try to stand up.

He quits jumping but his laughter doesn’t stop.

You both jump, mostly of him trying out new tricks. He’s been doing that a lot lately. You noticed his toned body and became jealous of the male species. They seem to have a toned look to their body much faster than girls.

You always begged him to teach you.

“You looked like Kermit the frog when you did that.”

You turn to see Leah.

Seth laughs.

You tried to do a backflip. Leah mimicked what you did.

Seth laughs harder with his hands on his knees, even falling on the rubber of the trampoline while still laughing, “She did look like that.”

“Shut up.” you hiss to a laughing Leah.

“It’s not that funny.” you say to a laughing Seth.

She’s in the trampoline now and starts jumping. Seth’s body flies up and he frowned just like you were frowning earlier.

“Not so funny now.” you say, joining Leah in her jumps before stopping.

“Whatever. I’m still cooler than you.” Seth muttered and you chuckle before you ruffled his hair before playfully pushing him.

You all raided the kitchen after.

Your eyes were wide as you counted how many sandwiches they ate.

Without stopping.

You became even more jealous because Leah still looked amazing.

“I want to steal your body.”

She only rolled her eyes but still chuckled.

You didn’t want to go home. Leah knew why.

“Ugh, can you please walk me home?” you say. She agreed.

“Why don’t you just move out?”

“And go where?”

“I can ask my mom if you can stay with us. We’re almost done with high school, you know.”

You sigh deeply, “I’ll think about it.”

She hugged you and watched you enter the home where you felt like it didn’t feel like a home. It was cold. Just like the people in it.

Graduation came and went. Sue and Harry were supportive of you and Leah.

As you two ate celebratory cake, you invite her over.

She stood in the dark with her arms crossed.

“You’re really leaving?”

“Yeah.” you say as you lift your duffle bag off of your bed.

She doesn’t say anything.

“Leah. We graduated. Just runaway with me.”

“But….”

“You’re so chicken.” you say and she nudged you. Truth was, it was true. La Push was all that she knew.

“It’s up to you.”

“Can you wait until the morning…At least?”

You sigh.

“Fine. You better make your mind up.” you say with one finger up.

“Whatever.” she muttered but she already did. She was sick of this place as well.

Before the sun came up, you waited at the train station. People were trailing by. You thought she wouldn’t come. You tapped your foot as you paced back and forth subtly.

“So, where are we going?”

You look up once you hear the warm voice that you like so much and see the warm smile that you like so much.

You take her hand. You both sat together as you two watched the past being left behind. Leah opened her hand as she turned to look at you. You put your hand in hers. You both held each other’s hand very tight.

You both didn’t know what the future held. She wasn’t supposed to leave, but she didn’t care. She just refused to be stuck there by herself. She wanted to be wherever you went. A safe haven for both of you, were each other.

[scribblewriting65]

Why the Edge?

First off, Hi Tumblr, it's been years. 2nd, I'm gonna go on a bit of a tirade, since the subject won't leave my mind.

When you first hear of terms like "Angsty" or "Edgy" characters, most people immediately think of characters with dark clothes, gruff voices and tough exteriors/outlooks on the world. Things that would mostly be either ignored or not liked as much as, say, kindness or fun in an ideal world. And yet, a lot of edgy characters are often fan favorites in their franchises. Why? I'd like to offer my thoughts using 3 characters from different franchises, and see if my thoughts hold any ground.

TL;DR: Dark characters bring realism to the world, but still push us to move forward. To be better and to hope for a better future. They show that we aren't alone in our struggles, as exaggerated as they may be.

First up is the Ultimate Lifeform himself: Shadow the Hedgehog from Sonic the Hedgehog. Someone who many would argue is one of the poster boys for an edgy character, he ticks pretty much all the boxes possible: Dark design, gruff personality and voice (often being more reserved and deeper with his tone and words), and a story largely covered in tragedy and concepts like manipulation, purpose, and identity, things not seen all that much in the franchise as a whole. And yet, these seemingly (at least in real life) less than attractive traits also help him stand out to rival or even surpass Sonic himself in popularity.

I'd like to think this is for two things he brings to he table: Reality and relatability. When I say reality, I obviously don't mean that Sonic's world is real (as cool as that would be), what I mean is that Shadow helps keep the world grounded. Sonic, Eggman and company can often come across as childish or ignorant with their constant joking, exaggerated performances or the ridiculousness of their actions (and yes, this partially applies to Shadow, but not as much). Sonic, for all intents and purposes, should be a mess with how much he's been through and how much he's had to fight (Frontiers, Forces, and Unleashed are just a few examples), and yet he's just about always got a smile on his face, ready to crack a joke or run headlong into danger or adventure. And Eggman, with his insanity and ambitions, should be almost completely malicious, and yet his behavior can have a performative quality to it at times (just look at his famous Ho-Ho-Ho laugh), when he isn't providing comedy with his mistakes.

Now look at Shadow: Carries heavy trauma from both his time on the Ark and the games he's been in (Being manipulated, lied to, literally having his memories reprogrammed in Adventure 2), but those scars are also visible. Especially in the most recent entry, Shadow Generations, he isn't the what you could call Walk it Off type, ready for a new adventure immediately after the old one; nor is he (generally) performative with his darker parts. He gets straight to the point and won't let anything get in his way (He's known to keep just about any promise/threat he makes), but he also does have legitimate friends in Rouge, Omega, Maria and Gerald, and a (decently) healthy rivalry with Sonic, almost like siblings at times with how they annoy each other. These traits and backgrounds are common in real life; we all need support systems, and we all have great potential and baggage (and if you don't, you either haven't experienced it or are lying); things that stay with us no matter how hard we try to be rid of them. I believe that's part of what makes Shadow a fan favorite in terms of literary purpose: to show that we can still do good and make a difference with who we are even with parts of us that we don't like, or consequences that we didn't ask for. We can still be ourselves, it's all about the choices we make and how we define ourselves.

And what about someone who struggles with making good choices? Not just the darkly heroic choices like Shadow would (killing someone when the rest of the Sonic cast wouldn't), but someone who has consistently done evil things?

Like Shadow, Venom has baggage with them, even outside of whatever host they're currently bonded with. Constantly grappling with identity and their beastial nature, and the consequences of said nature, Venom can be considered an epitome of the character who won't stay down. They've done horrible things, like the brutality of their kills or eating both innocent and guilty beings, but they've also been heroic more and more, especially in the last decade with relationships like Eddie Brock and their son Dylan. They've even largely made amends with Spider-Man, their once most hated enemy.

And yet, despite that progress, the past still weighs heavily on Venom, often reflecting on the harsh nature of its first breakup with Spider-Man or even initially refusing to bond with someone in the recent Venom War storyline (essentially willing to kill itself) so that no one has to suffer those same urges and consequences, especially Dylan; who Venom strives to be better for.

I'd like to think that, while the design and powers are definitely part of why Venom is so beloved, their main staying power has been in their evolution, and the realism and hope that it brings. If a likely ancient alien symbiote can change from monster to hero, then who's to say we can't? It's not easy, and will include multiple ups and downs, but there's always another chance, no matter what comes our way.

Last up is the character with arguably the greatest change of the 3: Kratos, the God (or Dad) of War. What makes him stand out from other characters is the sheer scope of his changes, and what those arcs and changes mean.

As the name implies, if there's one thing Kratos is an utter master of, it's violence. A tame kill from him involves ripping his target in half with his bare hands, or ripping someone's head off like it's a ball being shot from a toy gun. A warrior his whole life, with little to no compassion for most of his centuries of living, Kratos for all intents and purposes, was made both IRL and in-story to be a killing machine, and that's it.

And yet, his humanity, while starting out small, has always been a part of him, one that has only grown larger and more important over time. From no friends to having a both blood and found family, from reveling in violence to seeking peace, Kratos has been to the Underworld and back in terms of the depths of edginess, and yet his future is more hopeful than anyone expected even 10 years ago. And yet he still struggles with hope for said future, even with all the good he's done.

He's raised a good person in Atreus, but still mourns how he killed his first wife and daughter. He's still very gruff and blunt, to the point of being mean to many people he first meets, but those who earn his trust see that he has valuable insight and wisdom about life, and he in turn opens himself up to things like joy, embracing the idea of being a prominent and benevolent god and even laughing at a story when those sorts of things were inconceivable in his early days.

Like the other characters, he isn't a happy go lucky character, not by a longshot, but he never stops trying to be better for his friends and family. And the best part for both him and us is that those efforts have paid off and will continue to pay off, even when you could make the argument that he still has work to do for a 'fully happy ending'.

So what's the point of all this? Why do these themes repeat, and why do we love characters like this? I like to think it's because these characters, and those like them, reflect all of us, not just the parts that we like. They show the dangers of our worst faults, but also the possibilities of our triumphs in working through those faults. We laugh and poke fun at the edginess, but characters like these show us that it's okay for things to not be totally okay. Life isn't sunshine and rainbows (as much as we'd like it to be), but even those of us with burdens can contribute to the world. But it's also up to us to make those better choices.

"Who I was, is not who you will be. We must be better." -Kratos, God of War 2018.

Hope you enjoyed my rambling!

[helpitsaskingmequestions]

Continuing the process of niche petty nitpicks of Wheel of TIme  there were some narrative choices for the  7 Ajah that make them (imo) uncertain in a way that I think could have been smoothed out in a way to make more narrative sense in terms of motivation, size and narrative framing. 

Reds - 

The Reds at least have a clear purpose in and out of the narrative as Aes Sedai that hunt male channelers & an antagonistic force against Moraine (Blue) and Rand (Male channeler). They’re problems largely come in how the text largely frames them as Narrative Heels but for Pevara & to some extent Teslyn and Silviana, all of whom are introduced fairly late. Even then, the Reds are largely characterised as 90s misandrists,n keeping with Alanna’s framing of the Reds as ‘hating men’ because that's what should define a group of women, how they relate to men. Then comes the size of the Reds - it’s been noted that there are less people who can channel being discovered, in part due to the Vileness and the culling of men who can channel by the Reds (and also Cansaune) yet the Reds are the largest Ajah. That the Reds have the strongest numbers is imo a very blunt object solution to 1) making the Blue’s more like an underdog and 2) have a large ground for Black Ajah. 

Changes that I think would have made the Reds more palatable from a worldbuild perspective 

Expand the purpose - the show did this, effectively making the Reds magic cops, which provides a more concrete cause for Reds to devote themselves to - hunting wayward Aes Sedai, men who can channel and Dark Friends. It would also help explain why there are so many Black Ajah in the Red - what better way to hide from the cops than to Be the cops?

Let them have Warders - there was no reason for them not to have warders, female or male or otherwise. 

Shrink their size - have the Reds be in the middle of the pack in terms of numbers, or else have them have a high casualty/fail rate that can be explained by difficult weaves & Black Ajah sisters etc. There is no logical reason for them to be that big. 

I mean ⅕ of all Aes Sedai Robert?

Don’t define them by ‘hating men’. Robert I am in your walls

Non-antagonist Reds early on - whether Pevara or Teslyn, just some calmer Reds, who do genuinely want to Hunt Dark-friends. Use the Wonder Girls time in the White Tower not just as a box tick, explore the Ajahs more.  

Show - on page - what a male channel who succumbed to the Taint looks like. The books give (imo) hints describing the Breaking but its not seen on page & I feel that this concrete example of why male channellers are cut off from the Source, why the Reds hunt them, and why people fear Rand/male channelers would be important considering we get a lot of on page stuff (Logain, Thom re his nephew) about the pain of gentling male channelers

Browns 

Ah the Browns. Clean direct purpose. Narrative letting them fulfil that function. Ajah of Verin, the Best Character in Wheel of Time (no arguments to be taken on this point. I am simply Correct). I find very little to be changed with the Browns, though I do think that there should have been an exploratory division if this is the Ajah of knowledge. 

Also not entirely certain why the White/Grey/see Ajah colours post is separate from the Brown beyond the fact RJ was a physics major 

Best Ajah - should have had an Indiana Jones Brown/Orange sister finding Age of Legends stuff

That the Browns get warders makes the fact the Reds, a physical division actively fighting people, not having Warders more insane. Robert WHY

Should have schools/ travelling schools as well 

Why no Browns in Rand’s nerd school Robert?

Yellow

Much like the Brown, a wonderfully defined Ajah, with a clear purpose in and out of universe.

Let them be nicer to Nynaeve

Black Yellows should have been allowed to go full Dr Moreau

Imagine fresh monsters

Green

The Green Ajah - the Battle Ajah. imo Robert Jordan’s favourite Ajah considering 2 out of 3 of the Wondergirls chose the Green (even though Egg should have been Ajahless its fine I’m calm so Calm) and the Green get to ‘love men’ because as the narrative has made clear, how these groups of women from this administrative magical institution feel about Men is what is important. Also a fun experiment - check to see what colours get positive associations in the books - generally it’s blue, green and white (listed as Lan’s favourite colours for instance). The Greens are also an unfortunate victim of the Gender Stuff in WoT- the Battle Ajah don’t get weapons, but they can have lots of Men who can have weapons. Because they Love Men. 

Changes

Let them have weapons Robert ffs 

Active preparation for the Last Battle; should have the third most number of advisors/relationships in nations as Greys(Purples) and Blues. 

Why are they ignoring the Borderlands? This is their Job 

I think the show made a good case for the Greens and the Reds going to nab Logain

So why are the Greens more allied with the Blues than the Reds - other than Author Caveat

Elayne and Egwene shouldn’t have been Green. Neither should Cadsuane.

More Black sisters in the Green - if the Green are going to be fighting in the last battle it should be chock full of enemy agents  

Blue

What do the Blue do? They Hunt After Causes - but what does the Mean? No Really what does it mean, apart from being Vague and because RJ couldn’t say ‘they’re the Good ajah’ even though they only ‘like men’. Other than their complete lack of purpose, the Blues get a good history, a good selection of the Good/Great (Moraine) to the bad (Sheriam). The Show made a good change in making the Blue’s the spies of the White Tower, giving them a quasi opposing ideological approach to the head-first reds, and making the Alliance of Greens and Blues make more sense considering how much they would need to work together. 

If Egg must have an Ajah she should have been Blue 

The fact that blues removed the 2 Red Amyrlin’s, there should have been more arguments amongst the Ajah’s about how justified they were/the justice of that 

Lean into the Reds being Cops and Blues being spies/activist/journalists/internal affairs with a habit of exposing/attempting to expose other sister’s misbehaviour 

Have Blue sisters attempting to uncover the Vileness in a way that actually sets it up as a mystery to be solved, not another plot thread among thousands

I have a Bee in my Bonnet about the Vileness  if you couldn’t tell 

Make the Blues less of an protagonist situation - oh they have the second smallest numbers But the Most Amyrlins and a lot of influence because they’re the opposite of the Reds 

Grey/Purple Ajah 

They have purpose If only the narrative would let them fulfil that purpose. Instead Elaida is a Red so political advisors can be any colour so why?

Also why are they always bad at their jobs

Should have been the largest Ajah change my mind 

White/Grey Ajah 

SO

I understand they have a purpose 

I just don’t understand why/how it is different to the Brown’s search for knowledge 

They’re apparently philosophers as well so it's not a STE(M) v Arts situation

Why Robert 

You didn’t have the Seven Ajahs have the Seven colours why are they Here? 

Because Alviarin being White and the Head Black was a fun twist? 

You did that colour twist with Lanfear already 

What this Ajah needed was a major character who wasn’t Black

Like Give Rand an advisor who is this Ajah during his spiral 

Or Give Egg some prominent sisters of this Ajah? 

Have their theoretical magic that they do have an impact

Or give them the prophecies / religious theorisation - aka a reason for them to be in this story at all 

Black Ajah

There is no Black Ajah what are you talking about 

[vampirecatsw]

*CLAPS HANDS AND RUBS THEM TOGETHER* NOW THAT I'M FINISHED ANSWERING YOUR ASK, CYN. (BLESS YOU, BLESS YOU!) PLEASE DO THE CHARACTER OPINION BINGO FOR KAITO, AOKO, SHINICHI, AND RAN. PRETTY PLEASE. MAY YOUR DAY BE SPECTACULAR!

Hi! Here's my ask with drawings (of various quality, you can see as I drew more I got more into the swing HAAHHAH. That's what I get for being so rusty - I don't actually draw that often.) The colours I used are ones I associate with the characters!

ft. my very informal writing style, probably like a thousand typos because I'm typing this at 1am, and many shoutouts to amazing dcmk creators 🥰

Also, please check out Anna's ask! https://akai-anna.tumblr.com/post/739521989281234944/hey-there-my-lovely-mutual-3-3-i-love-when-you

Anna, you're so lovely, fr. I hope this makes you giggle and swing your feet, I had such a fun time thinking about them! I added my own flair with my drawings <3

Feel free to ask me to decipher any handwriting

P.s. That character with the hat you'll see is my sona! I'm calling him Sol because that's another online name I seem to take up often. Feel free to call me Sol as well!

(Shameless plug: Check out my art blog - cyndraws - if you like my art! Also, it has some au ramblings too ^v^. https://cyndraws.tumblr.com/)

KAITO

Bingo count: 4 (well, If I ticked only more more box, I could have extra bingos for almost every extra box I ticked haha...)

The art: I gave up at first and just drew him as a stick figure. Then I added clothes to him, that's why he's so proportionally off,,, My beloved blorbo, I feel like I did you so dirty 😭

Fun challenge: Guess what I was inspired by when I drew Kaito's and Aoko's outfits.

I'm literally in love with him no joke. The love is too intense aughhdfk. What kind of love? Yes. I would do anything for him. I'd be so clingy fr.

Headcanons? Sooo many. Not even a joke. They're too integrated into my brain at this point so yeah haha

His HANDS. Slim and very fast and flexible. They have callouses - screw smooth hands. Callouses as a sign of his hard work throughout his entire life.

Fox? He's a fox. So silly, little trickster. https://www.tumblr.com/cyndraws/739418480470851584/look-me-in-the-eyes-and-tell-me-kaito-isnt-a-fox

Let's just link my simping art here too: https://www.tumblr.com/cyndraws/739224275061456896/im-such-a-simp-help-me-kaito-simps-unite-pls Please let me squish his cheeks please...PLEASE

Bonus: Old character opinion bingo for Kaito: https://cyndraws.tumblr.com/post/739190201679757312/everyone-if-im-going-to-expose-myself-as-a-kaito I got over the fear 👍 It's from a while back, like maybe... 2022? idk

I love unhinged Kaito

Gender? Please. I'll take any masc at this point HAHAH

Canon isn't real - Like it's amazing but also like... underwhelming. *Shakes it vigorously* GIVE ME MORE. MORE EKODA GANG. MORE SUPPORT FOR KAITO. LET KAITO CRY. I WANT MORE WORLD BUILDING ON AKAKO AND TO SEE THE KUROBA FAMILY MORE (+ a billion more requests.) PLEASE GOSHO IM BEGGING

(It's ok, I got the fics for these cravings 👍)

~

2. AOKO

Bingo count: 0

Wow. I realised just how little brain space I dedicate to her... but she's also so silly. I love her so much. She's a great character to pair up with Kaito (for any relationships, I love when they're having fun together.) She doesn't need more suffering <3

I love sm how in MK1412 they added extra scenes of the Ekoda gang! And Aoko looks so cute in it! (everyone else? ... it varies)

Snowball fight! ^

Now this is a hella hot take but I personally think KaiAo is much more interesting than ShinRan (for me). And fun too, because I've always been drawn to fun and teasing dynamics like these over the more romantic ones (if you get what I mean by more romantic). KaiAo and Shinran both are such wonderful couples though. *Bangs fists on table* THEY'RE BOTH SO UNBEARABLE CUTEEE

Someone told me I have very similar vibes to Aoko and I've been reevaluating myself XDD. No but I can see it. I think we have a similar energy (in my brain at least, I'm much more tired when I go out) and even preferred fashion.

Would give her a kiss anytime. Definitely. Let's go out on a picnic and have a fun hangout. We would be good friends.

Aolele theory by alizardjae: Please check it out!!! https://alizardjae.tumblr.com/post/134111960564/alright-finally-got-around-to-writing-this-thing Basically it's the summary I wrote up there. I whole heartedly believe in it, because it's a fun theory and I've done it before myself (...ehem annoying relatives) - so it's definitely believable. And I love the idea of Aoko Holmes being carried over from Nonchalant Lupin (<- Prototype of Magic Kaito. It's a fun read!)

~

3. SHINICHI/CONAN

Bingo count: 4

Drawing was inspired by that scene where Conan gets suspicious of Hanzawa-san (from The Culprit Hanzawa, a spinoff of dcmk.)

Ok, so the thing is, I have a very strange relationship with him.

He's so silly, right? He so fun, he's adorable, so caring and well meaning, but I'm scared of him. I wouldn't want to meet him. I'm terrified even though he's so nice 😭. So I'd rather observe from a distance (hence the drawing ^ but I'd definitely set off his senses a lot.)

(What does it say about me that I'm scared of Shin/Cone but not Kaito? I'm working on overcoming my fear of Conan/Shin, I promise *on my hands and knees* I REALLY AM)

(My irl friend understands why I'm so terrified, I've explained the crazy stunts he's done and his very illegal spy equipment to them... they actually got a nightmare about Conan that night. He's such a law breaking little gremlin (affectionate)) So...no kisses for you, detective... only because I'm too intimidated 😭 But I'll gladly make content dedicated to you and fawn over you <3

If it's not already obvious, Kai > Shin/Cone for me. But he's definitely a close second.

Shin's/Cone's aesthetic? So peak. His detective work and general vibes with the series is so banging. That clean formal attire - I love wearing more formal stuff out. Being judged for it? At this point I don't really care hahaha. His mismatching outfits are so endearing, but I don't really vibe with them.

Canon is kinda frustrating for me. Well, as usual, I love to pick out the pieces I love and keep them dear to my heart. Ugh I want more identity issues and character relationship focuses. And more Shinran, this is literally ridiculous for slowburn lol.

~

4. RAN

Bingo count: 0

I drew a masterpiece for her. As she deserves 🥰. (Fun fact, this is the first time I've drawn her properly.)

Drawing inspirations:

Sakura Class! It was so adorable. I loved seeing the povs of both Shin and Ran. The Sakura couple,,, 🥺🥺 why are they so cute

LavenderTowne! Her art is amazing and her art tips are always so helpful: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCD4XIm3ZFhT72WjqhIXMN9w

In particular, I used these two tutorials: Easy Background: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/Zw5oB-ir5R0 Easy Lighting: https://www.youtube.com/shorts/shWoTarp_Vk

*ehem* Back to our ask now

Ran is so lovely! Such a queen, so adorable, such an icon! Have you seen her puff out her cheeks in chapter 1120? (+ many other instances of her being cute of course.)

(^ well, now you've seen it)

I love her with sass! It's so funny and fitting for her. And paired with her badassness? Wow. She's amazing. She has such a big heart too <3

I can see how Shinichi fell for her at first sight, she really is so pretty and cute. Her smile was such a direct hit to his heart XD

Obligatory shoutouts!:

Amazing Shinran analysis by rabbitsrants: https://www.tumblr.com/rabbitsrants/737479648281329664?source=share

Really REALLY cute Shinran art by detshin: https://www.tumblr.com/detshin/734222664310358016?source=share https://www.tumblr.com/detshin/734913462286909440?source=share Their blog also has really cute Shinran content!

For some reason, I associate the english localised names to the more sarcastic and witty characterisations in the funimation dub. That's why I wrote Rachel.

Maybe it's because of halfpenny_jones's amazing characterisation: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halfpenny_jones/pseuds/halfpenny_jones/works?fandom_id=964594 Please check out their works too!

~

That's the end~ Thanks so much for asking! It was so enjoyable to ponder and draw. And I'll always take opportunities to talk about them.

Feel free to chat again whenever you feel like it <3 And also, feel free to ask about many other things too, like more character bingos or aus if you find them interesting. I hope you also enjoy them if you go through them.

See you next illusion~