#like I’m being so serious if tumblr turns into any of the other platforms I’ll be so sad

[wavesoutbeingtossed]

Besties in the wake of the internet being a Bad Time everywhere else we have to carry the torch here on tumblr dot com of being Bad but in the right way and keep our shitposting amusing and elite and just for the girls (gn) and keep it going k

[thoughts-on-bangtan]

Memories of 2020 - Initial asks and a small discussion

*cracks knuckles* Here we go.

If any of you have spent any amount of time today on any ARMY sns platform, I’m sure you’ve seen the mess which, as seasoned ARMY, I can tell you was the exact same mess we see...every single time. I can’t particularly say I’m surprised by any of it, especially when watching the entire process, as in the first clips hitting the TL and then the rest slowly following suit like a flood building steadily as the hours went by.

From anon: be ready for insecure vminies 😂

I’m pleased to report it wasn’t actually as bad as I expected, though now that I’m typing this I probably jinxed my own luck and the flood of asks will come soon enough, but maybe not. I’m holding on to the latter.

Based on the cycle in which these things happen every time, as in that the first clips that hit the ARMY spaces are Xkook ones, followed by vmin and other ships, and lastly more OT7 content, I expected our asks to go haywire after that clip, you know which one I mean. But we’ve only gotten two (?) about it, kind of, so I guess most people understood that it was just for laughs and nothing serious that anyone would have to get insecure over.

From anon: Sigh. This is my first memories of bts as army and i'm already tired of how all of twitter seems to be about 1 j*/k*ok moment now. There were so many j*n/kook m*ments and hugs and a sweet h*pe/k*ok backhug moment and a good number of vmin moments including slow dancing so why is the focus always on that one ship?

Here’s the thing, maybe my TLs are just well curated, I don’t know, but on mine no one really focused on that moment? Even non-shipper OT7s just briefly had a chuckle and then moved along to other things, awww’ed at vmin moments, there was lots and lots of talk about J*nk*ok being super cute and there being so much content when it comes to their interactions, there was a lot of chatter about basically every duo and OT7 moment. I know ship specific spaces went nuts, Xkookers butting heads like their lives depend on it, but outside of them?

“All of twt” is an exaggeration and I know, believe me I do, that Xkookers have the ability to make it seem like everyone just cares about their moments because they themselves (the shippers) are loud and seemingly everywhere, but when you look past them, that isn’t the case. Shippers have a tendency to generalize, especially those who follow a lot of their fellow shippers, but when you step outside of shipper spaces, things look very differently.

Like anon said, though I’d like to preface this by saying that I haven’t seen the entirety of Memories of 2020 so I can only go by what I have seen though I’d say I’ve seen nearly everything that was posted on twt or at least as much as I could find (including Xkook things), there were a lot, and I mean a lot, of amazing moments between basically all the members, regardless of who your favorite duo might be, I’m sure there was something for you there. Even those who are supposedly a rarity. And even as vminnies, this time around we had a feast with so many amazing vmin moments, some funny ones, some random ones, some super cute ones, whatever you want, there is something there for you to find. And the same can be said about so many other duos, we even got Yoongi and Hobi FaceTiming each other, and Yoongi saying they look like a couple while looking at the pictures Hobi chose for the coffee truck he sent to Yoongi’s Daechwita MV filming set.

There’s one discussion I’d like to get out of the way below the cut, but after that I will have another post very, very soon in which I want us to just have some fun and look at vmin, namjin and the other moments because there is just so much to find. And this is just day one of people having the DVDs, these discussion will continue for a while because, like I mentioned before, Memories are a treasure trove for OT7 content and fun stuff, and there’s more than eleven hours worth of it to be watched, discovered and discussed.

But, okay, let’s get into that moment since anons wanted to talk about it and know my thoughts on it, so let’s do just that. And yes, other anon from a while ago, I remember you once mentioning how I shouldn’t talk about other ships and shouldn’t “debunk” them and their moments, though I’d hardly call this debunking, but as I said many times since our first post, I’m ARMY before I am a vminnie and namjinist, and our blog is called thoughts on Bangtan and, as far as I’m aware, both JK and Jimin are part of Bangtan, so I don’t see a reason why I can’t show my perspective on it and also voice my grievances with shippers when it comes to that moment. And, before anyone comes into our asks to yell at me for being toxic/problematic or only doing this to make my ship look better or whatever, no, that isn’t the point, like at all. 

“Debunking” moments makes literally no difference whatsoever in the grand scheme of things and doesn’t affect reality, all I am doing is having a chat just like everyone else. I’m not even asking you to agree with me, you’re more than welcome not to, I can’t and won’t stop you. Also, just so you know, my initial reaction was just to laugh amused by it, no hard feelings, so I’m not the bad guy.

That being said...the Xkook moment.

Here’s the thing, when it first surfaced many hours ago, the moment itself was cut down to show just the moment of Jimin leaning close to JK and JK leaning back and turning his head away so his cheek faced Jimin...and cut, some even cutting off the video before JK turned his head. That’s it. People, as in shippers, freaked out, and everyone else had a good laugh and moved along to other things, even vminnies were joking about it and everything. I saw none of my fellow vminnies getting angry or insecure about it. Then, as time went by, someone else posted that scene but this time also showing the things leading up to it, so putting it into context instead of removing it. With the context suddenly the whole thing looked and felt completely differently since moments prior Jimin was pretending to stab JK with the pointy end of his mic and then acted as though to check if he was d*ad, as in the end of the scene. Turns out it was just for giggles and not some grand romantic moment in a room full of people and a camera close to their faces.

By that time, of course, those who cared most about that moment had long decided what meaning this holds and didn’t care once context was shown. Gifs and art had already been created, the yelling was loud, and the fights between Xkookers were reaching levels of toxicity I hadn’t seen in a while, which was disgusting and fucked up the say the least. But, the thing is, I don’t think the moment itself was the issue. In context and as rational ARMY you know it was just Jimin playing around with JK as they usually do, things we’ve also seen other members do in similar (though not quite like this) fashion, and after eight years since debut and nine of knowing each other, this isn’t shocking or new in any way. No, the issue were Xkookers and the way they treated this moment, some even going as far as taking screenshots and editing them to make it seem like they were about to kiss, as in they changed the placements of their heads to fit their narrative, as well as others making gifs where they play the moment backwards (leaving out the part where JK leans his head away and to the side) and thus they created their own version of the moment which was different from what had actually happened.

That is my biggest issue with this whole thing. The blatant manipulation of moments to create narratives that don’t match reality, twisting them and using them in stupid pointless fights. But imagine vminnies were to do any of that, all hell would break loose and we’d be attacked without mercy because how dare, and yet they don’t follow their own “logic” and “rules”. It’s more than okay to find any and all moments cute, we all do, to make jokes and whatnot, but twisting context, manipulating it and basically creating your own version of it goes too far. 

Take what we are given as what it is, instead of what you want it to be.

So, now that that’s done, please fellow vminnies and ARMYs, don’t be insecure or let people ruin your mood and fun over it. It’s not worth it. Instead let’s check out and have a talk about some of the fun vmin and OT7 moments we got, along with other ones, including my reply to another anon when it comes to namjin. Of course what I will mention in the post (HERE) is basically just the tip of the iceberg since tumblr has a limit on pictures and everything, so just know there is so much more still left to see than just that.

Before I’ll go, for those who still feel a little insecure/doubtful/whatever else, while I was working on this post and the other one, another anon sent in this well timed vmin ask:

From anon: I have to say this as a Vmin supporter. Whatever is going on with Vmin we can rest assure what they is special/untouchable. They graduated HS & college together, going for Bachelors together. Jimin-ah I like you the most. I want to live with my lovely Taehyung for the rest if my life. Their future is together, friends/soulmates or more they said it. I won’t tear down other members closeness (good for them) their bonds don’t erase Vmins. I’m just happy with the moments Vmin allow us to see.

[cotccotc]

✳︎  a gift to @sarangsungs​ for the @districtninewriters​ winter fic exchange !! ✳︎

✳︎  genre/s: fluff, jisung x gn reader, non-idol, second date au (i imagined it as a high school au but it doesn’t have to be!)

✳︎  warning/s: none!

✳︎  wc: ~1.2k

✳︎  a/n: LORRAINE !! i’m so sorry for being a terrible secret santa and only messaging you once but as soon as i saw your answers to the survey i knew exactly what to do! i tried mixing a few of the au types you mentioned and i hope it turned out well hehe :) i love you lots and i hope you have a happy holiday season! <333

✳︎ * . ✳︎ * . ✳︎ * . ✳︎

“wait for me! y/n, please-” jisung calls out from behind you, grabbing your gloved hand as you step onto the ice with one of your skates. you turn around and observe the trembling sight before you: jisung is currently wobbling on his skates at the edge of the rink, gripping tightly onto both your hand and the railing. the expression on his face says it all. he’s terrified, mixed with a bit of sheer excitement, and a state of endearing urgency that only you, his date, can rectify. you giggle, stepping back onto the ground in your skates and accepting his mitten-clad hand with both of yours.

“you can do it! i’ll help you,” you assure him. it’s only your second date, and the physical contact between you - though somewhat stifled by the dense fabric in between - sends a shock of warmth up your spine that even the piercing temperature inside the rink could never penetrate. you’ve been taking skating lessons for most of your life, so you’re pretty light on your feet when it comes to the sport, especially at the recreational level. jisung? not so much.

in fact, he may have fibbed just a tad when he agreed to let you take him skating for your second date, citing his “killer blade skills”. you probably should’ve taken his use of the word “blade” instead of “skate” as a warning that he might not have known as much of what he was talking about as he’d led on.

you lead him so that he’s standing in front of you and gently press on the back of his puffer coat to prop him up. “how are you balancing so well?” he asks with a nervous laugh, a little louder than you’d normally expect. his fear has clearly replaced his need for social cues.

you giggle again. “because i’ve done this a million times. come on, i’ll spot you.” you point to the ice ahead. “bend your knees a little and put one foot on the ice.”

“you’ve got me, right?” he asks, glancing back at you for a split second before tightening his grasp on the railing. he’s dead serious, which you wouldn’t expect from someone you’ve only ever gone out with one other time. he really does trust you. you suspect that it’s a reflection of his growing affections toward you, which makes you blush. thankfully, he can’t see your face, and even if he could you’d have used the frosty air as an excuse for your flushing cheeks… but you can’t deny it’s nice to know he trusts your advice and touch.

“of course,” you reply. “i’ve got you.”

from there, he uses the railing to balance himself as he follows your directions, gently bending his slightly shaking knees as he places his right foot onto the ice. once he does so, the blade of his skate swivels a bit, making his nerves come back in full force. “baby! baby, baby, baby-” he rattles off, reaching behind himself to grab onto one of your hands once again. you’re so focused on making him feel safe that you don’t even notice the pet name.

“okay! okay,” you respond, not wanting him to panic. you move so you’re beside him rather than behind him, and you keep his hand in yours with the other placed on his back just in case. “just ease into it. it’s easy getting on, but the hard part will be staying up.” he looks at you with widened eyes and parted lips, obviously distraught by your statement. “but don’t worry! i’ve got you, remember?” you add.

under his breath, he repeats, “you’ve got me. yes. right. you’ve got me. cool.”

you step onto the ice yourself, easily and gracefully turning to him and taking both of his hands in yours. he looks down at both of your feet and squeezes your hands. using your strength to balance himself, he’s able to step onto the ice with his other foot. the blades slide back and forth a bit as he adjusts to this new feeling, but while he finally regains his footing and stands upright, he looks into your eyes with a beaming smile. “you did it!” you exclaim.

he laughs again, still holding onto your hands for dear life. “so… i kinda lied about my-”

“killer blade skills?” you interject. he closes his eyes and laughs, exposing the genuine, heart shaped smile that you’ve always adored from afar. the chill-induced redness in his cheeks becomes even more prominent as you giggle along with him.

“i’m sorry,” he chuckles.

“it’s okay.”

“i just didn’t know how to tell you i’d never skated before. you were so excited about showing me the rink and stuff…”

“sung, don’t worry about it. i totally get it.”

“okay cool.” he lets out a bit of a sigh, his hands still connected with yours. “what now?” he asks with a laugh as you both watch the other skaters pass you buy.

you point to the railing on the right of you. “hold onto that. and… keep holding onto me.” that last bit was selfish. you’re perfectly aware that holding hands while ice skating is dangerous. but you’ll be careful. you’ve got him, after all.

after a little while, you’re able to teach him how to glide back and forth without slipping and sliding as much. the two of you, joint at the hip for the whole evening, talk about everything you never got to on your first date. this includes your history with ice skating, as well as the fears he had about it prior to your arrival at the rink.

“by the way,” he starts as you calm down from laughing at a joke he’d made. “i’m sorry for calling you baby earlier… it was my gut reaction and i didn’t realize i did it.”

“honestly, i didn’t think anything of it,” you reply, finally recalling the instance. “i actually, um…” you trail off, unsure of whether or not you want to continue the sentence. it is a date after all, but he still makes you just as flustered as you’d always been before he first asked you out. “...i liked it.”

his eyes immediately dart up into yours, his attention straying away from the ice below you. as a result, he loses his balance. after a few slips back and forth, he’s sent to the ground with a thud, landing on his back. 

and, of course, you go right down with him.

luckily, the plushiness of your coats prohibits any real injury, but both of you end up lying on the numbingly cold ice. you look at him and he looks at you. you both got the wind knocked out of you, but slowly, the two of you can’t help but crack up at what just happened. other skaters pass you, looking down at the two hysterical teenagers laying on the ground below them. but you couldn’t care less. the bright sound of his laughter is healing enough to fend off the harshest chill or most judgemental stares.

“come on,” you say to him as the laughter dies down. you carefully get onto your knees and lift yourself using the railing before helping jisung do the same. “one more lap, then we’ll get some hot cocoa from the snack stand.”

as he comes to his feet, he takes a comically deep breath, exhaling with wide eyes while furrowing his brow at the long path ahead. he takes your hand in his, aggressively grabbing onto the railing with determination. “let’s go, baby.” this earns a big laugh from you, making jisung smile to himself before you lead each other forward... slowly but surely.

✳︎ * . ✳︎ * . ✳︎ * . ✳︎

✳︎ tags: @magglesx, @crscendoforsung, @stayndays, @hanniiesuckle17, @leggomylino, @freckledberries, @pixielix, @skzctnightnight, @serenityswords-main​, @childofthecosmos​, @changbinniee​, @kpopscape​, @skzwriternet​ (send a 🍓 in my ask box to be added for skz !)

©️ cotccotc 2020 ~ all rights reserved. do not repost my work on tumblr or other platforms.

[severetimetravelnerd]

I Don’t Know (Ft. G Dragon and MINO) (1)

Part 1

When Jiyong goes for Mino’s party, he sees someone he never expected to see

Hiii! So, it’s been a while since I’ve posted and that’s because I’ve been working on a series:)) It’ll be updated once a week, every Friday! No specific time though lol. It’s something different for me, so I hope you really like it! It’s an AUish thing where Jiyong has a younger sister and you’re her best friend! Featuring my OC Mirae as the Best friend. Just saying, it’s not related to any of the scenarios I’ve written so far. Please do leave me some comments or asks! I love receiving them! It’s also a bit of a love triangle situation, so yeah :)) There will be eventual smut in this series. 

(I don’t own any of the images used. All credit goes to the original owners.)

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know immediately.

Taglist:

@kwonnansi​

@unabashedturkeytreeslime​

@happiestgirlontheeastcoast​

Please comment if you’d like to be added to the tag list:))

Word Count: 2131

 WARNINGS: Nothing in this part really. Rejection maybe?

-------------------------------------------

“Y/N, I think you’re just confused.”

You laughed, unable to keep the bitterness from it.

“Jiyong, I’ve liked you for years. Years. I’ve tried everything. I’ve tried getting over you. I’ve tried rebounds. I’ve tried denial. I’ve tried avoiding you. None of it works. I know I’m definitely not confused. Kwon Jiyong, I like you.”

He paused and looked at you with dead serious eyes.

“Well, I’m sorry, but I don’t feel the same way.”

You felt your heart break, little by little.

“Jiyong, I thought there was something here. Was it all me?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve never felt that way about you Y/N, and I’m never going to.”

He got up to leave, but you grabbed his hand.

“Why? What is it about me that makes you feel like you’ll never like me?”

He shot you a scathing and pitying look at the same time.

“Everything.”

And he got up and left you there, alone at the diner at 2 am, slightly tipsy.

Half an hour later, you got a text from him

“Y/N, I don’t think we should talk anymore.”

And god it hurt, it hurt so much. And you knew you still liked him, even after all that.

 You still liked him, but you knew he would never see you that way. He had made that abundantly clear. So, you stopped hanging out at places he would go to. He never asked you to, but you didn’t want to see him. It would make things a million times worse. You avoided him like the plague. You stopped going to parties he would be there for. You became a recluse and the only one allowed into your shell was Mirae. She didn’t know who the guy was. She just knew what happened and how that made you feel. And she was there for you every step of the way. She would have been supportive of you liking him. You just didn’t tell her because you didn’t want her to be caught in an awkward place if you were rejected by her brother, which you were. You avoided him so much that you didn’t see him for three years after that. Even though you live in the same city. Those three years, you dedicated to you. You still liked him, but you buried that at the back of your mind, forgetting that it existed. Out of sight, out of mind. You were your priority. Which is why, when you met Mino, things were different. You were determined not to let Jiyong ruin this aspect of your life as well.

 You met Mino when you were walking your dog and your dog got away from you only to attack Mino with cuddles. That’s when you offered to buy him coffee to make up for it. He laughed and said that there wasn’t much to make up for and he prefers tea anyway. The moment he said that, you knew you had to find out more, because you were a tea person too. You were just about to offer to buy him tea at this great place you knew when he interrupted your thoughts with a light cough and a small blush.

“Actually, I’m a little messy right now, so I have to go home and change. Do you want to come home with me? I make a great cup of tea. Of course, no pressure, but”

You cut him off. You didn’t usually like to go random places with strangers, but you decided, on a whim, that this guy was worth getting to know. And you were right.

“I’d like that. I’m Y/N. Please to meet you.”

With an adorably shy smile, he responded.

“I’m Minho.”

 Mino liked you, right from the start, but you were a lot more cautious when it came to liking people in general. And the thing is, Mino wasn’t like any of your rebounds. You cared about him. He was a really nice guy. So completely refreshingly different from Jiyong. Mino was sweet, adorably nervous and Jiyong just oozed cold confidence, the utmost surety in anything he did. You weren’t comparing. You didn’t even think about Jiyong anymore. Mino had given you the ability to forget him. For the first time in seven years, you stopped liking Jiyong. Which is why things with Mino were different.

 You were just friends with Mino. Close friends. But one day, things changed. It was his birthday. There was going to be a party in the night. You went over a little earlier to spend some time with him and give him his present. He knew you were going to. Which is why he was so nervous. Because he planned on asking you out that night. He knew it was a bad idea. If you rejected him, on his birthday, it would really suck. And he was having second thoughts about it until you walked through the front door. You were wearing an oversized t shirt and some shorts, and you had a gigantic bag with you. You would change into your clothes for the party later. You wanted to be comfortable around him. And you took his breath away. You always did. What you were wearing never mattered. He knew he had to tell you.

“Hey hon, I got you brownies. And that’s not even your birthday gift.” (You had a habit of calling people terms of endearment.)

Before you could turn around and tell him about his birthday gift, that you were super excited about, he grabbed you hand and turned you around, so that you were facing him. One look at him and you could tell that he was nervous.

“Hey, what’s wrong Minho?”

He took in a couple of deep breaths, telling himself that he should just get it over and done with.

“Y/N, I like you. Will you go out with me?”

You froze. You knew he liked you. And if he had asked you any earlier, you would have said no, because you didn’t want him to get hurt because of your unresolved issues. But you were sure now, Mino helped you get over Jiyong. Because without even thinking about it, Jiyong stopped being a suppressed part of you that you never thought about. The part of you that was toxic for yourself. And just left. It was gone. For the first time in years, you took out that old phone where Jiyong texted you about not talking anymore. Whenever you used to look it, it always used to hurt. But now, you felt nothing. You were taking a bit of time to answer without realising it, and suddenly, you looked up, realising that Minho had stopped holding your hand. His face had fallen. It was obvious what he thought you were going to say.

“No, it’s okay Y/N. Don’t worry. I get it.”

“What? Minho, no, listen to me.”

“I know what you’re going to say.”

You couldn’t stop the light smile from appearing on your face.

“Why do you look so sad if you know I’m saying yes?”

It took him a second to register what you were saying and when he did, he jumped up, eyes lit up and mouth wide open.

“Wait, Y/N, are you saying?”

“Yes, Song Minho. I like you. And I would love to go out with you.”

And before you knew what was happening, he lifted you up with one arm around your waist, the other cupping your cheek and kissing you.

 You got ready for the party after that. Minho was adorably hyped about introducing you as his girlfriend to all his friends. You put on your dress. It was a teal satin slip dress, with spaghetti straps and a cowl neck, with only two straps criss-crossing for a back. Yeah, you were planning on seducing Minho earlier but now you didn’t have to. It went down till the middle of your thighs, and you were wearing black thigh high net stockings with it with these gorgeously strappy black heels. You put on some minimal gold jewellery and you stepped out of the room, to show Minho, wanting to know what he thought. He was in the living room, in some ripped jeans, a black vest and a Burberry blazer. He looked great, especially since he brought out the lip piercing and his really nice Burberry tartan boots. Suddenly, you felt rather shy. Coughing softly to get his attention, you waited for him to turn around. Mino was on the phone with a friend, giving him directions to his apartment when he heard you cough and he turned out. He was mind blown. God, you looked so fucking beautiful. He was speechless.

“Yeah, I’ll have to call you back.”

And he cut the call, looking at you in awe. You felt a little shy.

“Is this a bit too much Minho? Should I change?”

“What?! No, Y/N, so look stunning. Change if you’re uncomfortable, of course, but I think you look amazing.”

You turned around, letting him see the backless part of the dress.

“You don’t think this is too much?”

He came up to you from behind and wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing a gentle kiss at the nape of your neck.

“I think it’s lovely.”

You blushed. You liked your outfit, but something didn’t seem right to you. you turned around and looked at Mino. Bingo. You knew what was missing. Sounding a little sheepish, you asked him,

“Minho, can I borrow a black leather jacket to go with this?”

His eyes lit up.

“Sure Y/N.”

He loved it when you wore his clothes.

  The party was going great and Mino was so excited and happy the whole night. He was so happy things worked out. He was busy introducing you to all his friends, and you were so busy trying to talk to them and remember their names that you didn’t realise that someone you knew has just walked in.

 Jiyong walked in a little late, because he had to go pick up a present for Mino. He knew it was a little lazy, but he just picked a good bottle of wine. Mino was like a brother to him. He could just pick up something nicer for him later. As he smiled at the people he knew and got himself settled with a drink, he tried searching for Mino, wanting to wish him in person. He smiled when he saw him. He had the brightest smile Jiyong had ever seen on his face. He was talking to a few of his friends, blushing a little at something one of them said. There was someone else there with them too. A girl. Jiyong could see her heels and a bit of her hair through the crowd. The crowd parted a little. Okay, wow. A really hot girl. He still couldn’t see her face because of Mino’s friends, but he could see that Mino was looking at the girl with pure adoration and had his arm wrapped around her waist. Jiyong smiled. Maybe Mino had finally gotten a girlfriend. Good. Jiyong was happy for him.

 Mino suddenly turned and saw Jiyong. His face lit up and he grabbed your hand and wove through the crowd.

“Hyung, I’m so glad you’re here!”

Jiyong raised his glass and leaned in for a hug.

“Happy Birthday Mino!”

Mino smiled and finally helped you through the crowd. He turned to Jiyong, beaming, and said,

“Hyung, meet my girlfriend Y/N.”

 Both of you were in shock.

You recovered pretty quickly and smiled, extending a hand to greet him. Did you want to see him? No. But did that change the way you felt? No.

You smiled and said,

“Hi. I’m Y/N,”

and you were about to introduce yourself when he turned to Mino, and said,

“Sorry, Mino. Give me a few minutes.”

Grabbed your hand, and yanked you away, onto the balcony.

He grabbed your hand so hard that it hurt.

“What the hell GD?”

His face twisted in confusion.

“GD? When have you ever called me that?”

“We’re practically strangers to each other. What else would I call you?”

His face darkened with an uninterpretable expression.

“Why’re you here? How did you meet him? Why did you disappear? I tried texting you and calling you, but you blocked me.”

“New number. And why did you call?”

“Why didn’t you come home?”

“I didn’t want to see you.”

“You hate me that much?”

“Yes.”

“This isn’t you.”

“You don’t know me.”

“Does Mirae know?”

“Yeah, she loves Minho.”

Minho walked out onto the balcony, for the first time being vaguely assertive. He was worried about you.

He wrapped his arms around you protectively and raised an eyebrow,

“What’s going on? You know Y/N, hyung?”

[angelicymp]

Perhaps a little coaxing is needed...

Good evening my literary friends,

I am hoping to find a suitable partner for specific cravings and ideas I have in mind.

My introduction will be brief and a bit more to the point than usual. I am quite thorough and detail-oriented when it comes to being a writer, including some of my rules and preferences. However, since I believe it to be quite a hassle to go through every point I’m making, my ad will be a bit more compact.

A brief recap: You can call me Imp; I am in my twenties and a student, striving to become a part-time freelancer as well. My main hobbies are photography, traveling, drawing and of course, the art of writing. Currently, I reside in Europe, so my timezone could differ from yours, unless you are also from a similar region.

Be sure to read through my ad to see if we’re compatible. Too many times I’ve encountered cases where the inquirers skimmed through all of the info and upon messaging me, were surprised to learn that we weren’t a match from the beginning. So if you haven’t properly read my ad, I’ll know. I’d like to urge everyone to stick with it so there won't be any misunderstandings and not waste everyone’s time.

————————


Me, myself and I

(art by: Ayami Kojima)

♦ Nickname: Imp

♦ Experience: 12 years and counting

♦ Style: 1:1 with the inclusion of doubling

♦ Rating: Mature

♦ Roleplaying Platform: Email and Google Docs

♦ Chatting Platform: Email, Google Hangouts or Discord

♦ Pet peeves: Slice of Life


After finishing the game of Resident Evil 8 Village, I was struck by yet another muse.




I am currently looking for either a pre-existing canon inspired roleplay, or, something completely original. Be sure you are above the age of eighteen, preferably 21 and upwards. I will not accept any inquires from minors - this is not negotiable.

What to expect

♢  Content: Mature. I am more interested in darker things like horror, occultism, the supernatural, you can maybe guess where I am going with this. My limits are few, safe for a couple of minor pet peeves that I have, I am pretty much open to some experimentation; such as violence, gore and sexual themes. When it comes to heavy scenes, I will not fade to black, unless it serves no purpose to the story. Not a huge fan of censorship. However, I will not force or push my partner into something they are not comfortable with. If you want to know the extent to how far I am willing to go, what sort of content, or how graphic my writing will be, you can ask me directly.



♢ Rating: I have little to no issues with delving into more sensitive topics. Since reality is often stranger than fiction, it is very interesting to explore all sides of human nature, including the less comfortable subjects such as psychology, crime, etc. But I also like to remind that this is a world of fiction and no one in their right mind would condone such things in real life. The world of adults is not easy to handle, but it sure is interesting to explore. So if you are a gentle soul and can’t take the heat of more serious moments within the roleplay, be it a character going through trying times, etc; this might not be ideal for you.

♢ Writing: My texts are considerably lengthy, detailed, and elaborate. Third-person is usually my preferred way of playing my character unless there’s a special case where an exception can be made. Word count usually fluctuates, though I have a standard form of 400-500+ words per reply. It also highly depends on the given situation.

♢ Romancing: I admit to being a hopeless romantic. There’s nothing more enjoyable than witnessing good and powerful chemistry between two characters. Preferably I go for the usual MxF pairing dynamic but I am also open to FxF and MxM, should it feel more fitting. While doubling, I can write the character/love interest to my partner’s desire, but I always aim to stay true to their personality and character. I hate nothing more than forcing characters into a relationship, especially if there’s no spark, so I won’t respond well to being pressured into letting characters act out of their personality. It’s just not realistic. As for smut, or what have you, I have no issues with adding a few spicy scenes, sometimes even drawing them out of our pleasure. When there is, however, a running theme where sexual themes are taking the focal point of the plot, it can become quite boring. It is never the center of any of my roleplays, so be warned.

♢ Plotting: I am fairly quick when it comes to building new characters, concepts, premises, storylines, backstories, etc. It allows me a certain latitude. Feel free to communicate your ideas and thoughts with me. I am happy to chat, even when it doesn’t involve the roleplay directly. Though this is a hobby, I am still extremely passionate about good storytelling and interesting character arcs. I hope to meet someone who is just as enthusiastic and willing to put in the same amount of effort. If it’s only me who’s pulling all the weight, I will lose interest and feel forced to end the correspondence.

No gos

♦ Won’t do: Pedophilia, Necrophilia, Bestiality, Scat, Vore, Toilet Play, etc. I am sure you can also think of many other strange fetishes that have developed over the years spent on the internet.

♦ Won’t write: The idea of supernatural beings trying to fit into human society. The typical bully x victim storyline. The run-of-the-mill vampires vs werewolf plot. BDSM centred stories. Slice of life. Flawless or excessively flawed characters.

What I expect

♢ Literacy: You should at least have a decent grasp of basic grammar and coherency in your spelling.

♢ Flexibility: Since we all have lives outside of the roleplay, we both need to be flexible. Sometimes our schedules may differ, and if life is currently intervening, we can take things a bit easier. Plus, I can’t always respond every second of every day, either. This should be considered a hobby and not a job. If a hiatus is on the rise, there is no problem with putting things on ice until things clear up.

♢ Experience: And by that, I don’t mean how many years you’ve roleplayed, rather the experience that comes with age and emotional maturity. Especially if you want to write stories with grit.

♢ Open to doubling: Quick explanation. Doubling is when we play two main characters each. The dynamic is as follows; I write your chosen love interest against your main character while you do the same for me.

♢ Long term: Only long-term partnerships.

♢ Sharing the spotlight: Don’t forget, this is all about you too! Let me know all your specific cravings, interests, or wants that you want to be included into the roleplay.

Cravings

♦ Urban fantasy: Supernaturals, demons, spirits, vampires, you name it. I’d be more interested in something original and unique, especially when it comes to vampirism and demonic entities.

♦ Dark Sci-Fi: So this is a bit inspired by Resident Evil. A world where monsters become a vicious reality, generating fear among the people they come in contact with. But as it turns out, these monsters are not supernatural, but rather infected or mutated by a virus that cannot be explained.

♦ History, mythology, and folklore: An interesting take on the historical timeline, where legends and myths were once a reality. However, their existence was greatly misrepresented in the storybooks, sometimes even completely distorted. Our characters could be accidental time travelers who have been sent from the future to see it with their own eyes. Inspirations are mostly Slavic, European, and ancient folklore from all over the world.

♦ Crime with a dark twist: Mafias, organized crime, and corrupted politicians run this town. All of them have one thing in common. A particular drug that grants humans superhuman abilities; but at a cost. The drug will turn force the users to reject their humanity to instead embrace their monstrosity.

Canon & Fandoms

♢ Castlevania: Rather the original games than the Netflix series. But I am also not opposed to tackling the Netflix universe.

♢ Devil May Cry: Every game is game. Except for the reboot. Never played that one.

♢ Invincible: Not so invincible.

♢ Resident Evil: Village is one of the best games I’ve ever played. Periodt.

♢ Harry Potter: Next gen anyone?

————————

If you made it this far, I am glad you managed to hold on, lol. If you found what I wrote, agreeable and have a similar interests to mine, feel free to message me on this email adress.

You can also contact me via DM on my Tumblr blog, though preferably, I would rather be more receptive on Email since I am more active there. And it’s a lot more personal as well.

Email: impish.and.angelic@gmail.com

Hope to see you there.

I wish you all a lovely day my fellow readers!

-Imp

[thecatladywife]

God Put A Smile Upon Your Face

Yangyang x Male Reader

Fluff

I’m weak.... I couldn’t resist writing about him in the end. Also there isn’t enough Yangyang fic on tumblr, so if you have any to recommend please think about me :(

Another refusal.

It was slowly getting to you even though you pretended that it was fine. That the next interview would be the one when it was the tenth where you heard that you were lacking experience for the position. At least this time they told you right away and you wouldn't have to wait several weeks to get you hope crushed...

You sighed as you stirred a cup of coffee and milk from the coffee stand in the station.

You had come a long way to Munich but for what use in the end? Maybe your mother was right when she said that the problem wasn't your qualifications but your style, on top of the recruiter’s usual discrimination.

You lifted your hand to touch the short dreadlocks on your head, thinking that it wasn't that bad. Lots of working men sported the same hairstyle nowadays and you even made the effort to dress for the occasion, willing to appear as serious and professional as possible.

To no avail though.

Wearing slacks with a green jumper and a white shirt under a long grey coat, you were standing next to the platform, another pitiful sigh leaving your lips before you took a sip of coffee and looked around you.

It was mid-afternoon and the station was full of people which wasn't unusual since Munich was one of Germany main hub with the international airport not so far.

You were absentmindedly watching people going on and off the trains on the platforms when you noticed from the corner of your eyes a ticket inspector walking towards your train.

Few moments later the sound of a whistle blowed took you out of your daydreaming, startling you as you only got an instant to realise that it was for your train about to leave.

 "Fuck me."

You dashed in the direction of the train, feeling hot drops of coffee drizzle on your fingers as you held your goblet securely with both hands. Today was really the kind of day where you wondered if you should’ve gotten out of your bed.

You finally rode on the train, out of breath and the face covered in sweat since your ran all the way to the front wagon so you could get to your designated seat.

The passengers in the wagon gave you either weird looks or mocking grins as you walked through the alley and you tried to ignore them long enough to get to your seat.

Relief washed over you when you finally found it in a four-seat area and let yourself fall down to sit, too exhausted to care and thus not noticing the young man already there.

On the phone when you appear out of nowhere, he opened wide eyes as you startled him.

He had a handsome face, some might even say pretty because of his soft features, a beanie on his head was covering part of the hair falling on his forehead and he wore casual clothes giving him even more boyish looks.

You mouthed some apologies while taking off your coat and putting down your coffee and your bag, the man carrying on with his conversation in a language you didn't understand.

He said a few more words before hanging up and putting his phone away

You instinctively apologized in French but immediately corrected yourself and switched to German.

 "Sorry I must be tired... I wanted to say sorry for my brutish manners, I didn't mean to bother."

"It's ok! You look like you almost missed the train so don't worry about that."

You gave him a small smile, half apologetic and embarrassed because of the situation. He really didn't seem to mind and only smile brightly at you, making you froze as it was the most beautiful smile you had ever seen.

God put a smile upon this face, you thought to yourself forgetting about all your hardships of the day, all your worries being washed away by this gorgeous being.

 “I’m Y/N.”

You blurted out, mouth slightly agape from shock as you wondered what got into you but you quickly understood when the guy gave you another dazzling smile as well as his name.

 "Yangyang. Nice to meet you!"

Yangyang... you had fallen hard for a guy you had just met on the train.

You didn't dare to talk to him as the ride went on but you kept taking glance at him, your heart almost jumping out of your chest each time he caught you and grinned in response.

You probably looked like a fool but you couldn't help yourself.

At one point you realise that you wanted to know more about him so you took your courage and looked up at him.

 "So... You're going to Dusseldorf?"

"Yes, hm... I'm going to visit some friends there for the holidays."

 You nodded, not knowing what to add to carry on the conversation. Luckily for you, Yangyang decided to talk before you could come up with something.

 "You ?"

"Hm ?"

"You go to Dusseldorf too ?"

"No, to Francfort. I live in Strasbourg so I'll change train there."

"Oh I see... you'll get off after the next station then..."

 You weren't sure if he sounded disappointed or if it was just you hoping. You fell back into silence, Yangyang busying himself with his phone when you were thinking about ways to see him again.

After all, if you didn't do anything this perfect smile and the man it belonged to would only be a souvenir that would slowly fade with time.

You couldn't let that happen.

You opened you bag, taking out a pencil then one of your resume in the folder you were transporting to draw on the back of it.

You started with the sun like smile you couldn't get out of your mind then stealing glances at him, you went on with Yangyang other features until you finally completed his portrait.

A loving smile appeared on your face as you admired the final result but the satisfaction you felt satisfied longed only for a moment and panic took you over.

What if he found you creepy for making his portrait when you don't even know each other ?

You looked hesitantly at Yangyang. He wasn't on his phone anymore but watching the landscape through the window pane. He was so peaceful, so perfect to your eyes that in the end the drawing you made wasn't worth it anymore.

It was him you wanted, for real.

The train was slowing down when you took the sheet of paper and shreded it into pieces.

Yangyang turned his head at the noise and stared at you with intrigued eyes after noticing the papers in your hands.

"Ah it's nothing. It's... too lacking to keep."

You made it so every single piece was turned on the side of your resume and he couldn't see any part of the drawing you made.

You put your things back in your bag and got ready to leave the train. And Yangyang. The thought made your heart ache harder than you expected.

"It's your station next ?"

"Francfort... yes."

"It was fast, I guess."

He nodded to himself and watched you as you put your coat back on then stood next to your seat. Even though you didn't say much during this two hours together and didn't know much about each other, you didn't want this moment with Yangyang to end now.

"I..."

"Yes ?!"

He lowered his face slightly, flustered after showing so much enthusiasm, red spreading on his cheeks.

"I.. hm.. goodbye..."

"Goodbye Y/N"

You hated yourself for the words wouldn't leave your mouth. You couldn't muster up the courage to ask him for his number or any way to keep in touch touch with him.

All you did was stare at Yangyang before turning your back and getting off the train with your heart already full of regrets.

You stood on the platform and looked as the train left, staying a little longer as all the things you could've said went through your mind.

You finally walked toward the embarking area of the station to take your connection when you heard your phone ringing in your pocket. Assuming that it was probably for another interview, you quickly took it out from your coat and answered.

"Y/N ?"

"Yangyang ??"

You almost dropped your phone on the floor when your heart jumped in your chest then started beating fast when you were sure that it was him.

"How... how did-...??"

"I didn't really think and... actually I got off the train after you."

You turned around and saw him standing further away on the platform in a long brown coat with his luggage by the hand. You jogged in his direction, the phone still on your ear until you realized that it was no longer necessary when you stood in front of him.

"How did you know my number?"

"I found this!"

He dug out a little piece of paper from his pocket and showed it proudly to you. On one side you notice a fragment of your drawing representing the corner of his mouth and on the other, it was the part of your resume where your phone number was written.

You had an astonished look on your face while Yangyang was giving you his brightest smile.

That was all you could see and think about as you took a couple of steps forward, crossing the distance between the two of you. His hands found the side of your coat, grabbing them lightly and he gaze at you softly, his voice turning into a whisper when he kept on talking.

"I didn't want to part with you Y/N... not so soon."

You nodded, never taking your eyes off his perfect smile, focusing on his thin lips as your hands found themselves on both sides of his face.

"Me neither."

You brought his face to yours, kissing him deeply.

[disenchantedfaerie]

So many things to say and so many things not to say.

Fandom: This fandom is toxic. There is no other way to put it. It’s toxic from top to bottom, left to right, diagonally. My partners and I discussed this today because we were bored. We whole heartedly believe it starts at the top and by top I mean her majesty of the written word. Of course, now that’s she’s dropped the self diagnosis of “somewhat autistic,” you really can’t say anything because then you’re a horrible person. But she uses that as an excuse for her snark and condescending attitude. Hey. Whatever lady. I don’t follow you, I don’t read your books and aside from the few things I see, you’re no better than the leads. The difference is you’ve been milking the fandom for 30 years; people are waiting for you to finish and you can’t even complete the one that was supposed to be done last year. Yet you continue to yak about this side thing or that side thing and really, I don’t need a JF origin story. We’ve gotten that enough in the 9 other flipping books. You see the pattern here tho folks?

The female lead: She has done her share of being flippant and rude to people on her SM. She becomes sweet as pecan pie on Thanksgiving when she wants to want to launch something though. She was the one who wanted to end the shipper rumors and so IFH happened but sadly when you skirt around a subject and don’t say your partner’s name or take photos of them/with them and only take photos with your male lead in what could be construed as compromising positions - yeah. People will continue to buy what you sell to them. I’ve said it time and again, they are the biggest trolls in the fandom and do more to fuel the ship, even now that she is married to another man who is not the male lead, than anyone else. That’s all I have to say about her. She doesn’t owe anyone anything, none of them do actually, but sometimes being kind goes out the window with the lot of them.

His highness: Where to begin? His “fans” come all the way over here to our little corner of tumblr to hide behind Anon Asks to spew their hate and vitriol to those of us who seem to have opinions that differ from theirs. Namely, he is not a god. He is not someone we worship. We simply come together over coffee and tea and trade stories of current events and talk about the what if’s. My opinion of him is based on his own actions. Maybe all these “fans” want to blur the timeline of events and take it as gospel from his highness that he went on his luxury vacation before the travel ban while the rest of us cancelled ours and many lost jobs and incomes. Well that’s simply untrue. When he was called out, knowing he was wrong, instead of being the sweet, humble, normal guy that everyone says he is, he doubled down, became rude, flippant, went on a blocking spree, posting articles about COVID being no worse than the flu. Did his traveling companion get serious threats. I believe so. I believe he has as well from the same kind of people that come here to our little corner of tumblr, keyboard warriors that hide behind their anonymity and spew hate and vitriol. I also believe that people have gone to Glasgow and stalked his flat, which, come on people. That’s wrong on so many levels. I lived in LA for many years. It never occurred to me to drive to Malibu, Hollywood Hills, Laurel Canyon to actually stalk the celebs. Why? What’s the point? So I can see them in their grungy clothes looking like real people? No thanks. I don’t have that kind of time or energy. Thus the 4 page rant. Hey good for you dude. It’s about time you grew a pair actually but what did it accomplish? Nothing really except people stopped talking about his covidiocy. Why? Not because he wasn’t a covidiot and quite frankly still is (remember, he’s the king of “it’s not worse than the flu”) but because he pulled the mental health card. I think he does have mental health issues. I still have high hopes that some day he will realize this himself and seek the help he needs.

Now these Anons come to our little corner of tumblr and drop their comments saying things like “I hope you get COVID and die. It’s because of you he did his 4 page rant. The people you call mommies are his real fans.” Mmmkay. I used to blindly defend him. I used to buy into his shilling and his ever so sweet exterior, I even bought into the “best fans ever” bullshit. You want to blame us who never name him, her or the one who “writes” in any blog, never hashtag him, her, or the other one or the show, never interact with any of them on other platforms of SM for his 4 page rant, his mental illness, all of his flaws and accuse us of not being fans - fine. He who is without sin, cast the first stone. Perhaps you need to sit back and take a long look at yourself in the mirror as well. Wishing a deadly disease on people, making threats, spewing hatred - isn’t this the exact same thing that was done to his highness and you were all up in arms about it, yet you come here and do it to others and think that’s okay. What makes it okay? Because you’re defending your favorite star? If this is what it means to part of this fandom, part of his fandom specifically, no thank you. When y’all can walk on water, then you can judge me. Until then, judge not lest ye be judged.

I walked away long ago but I’m still human and still have an opinion, everyone does. If he’s your favorite celeb then perhaps you should follow his advice the next time you see something you don’t agree with - suggest you ignore. He’s the one that started the entire “be kind” campaign right? Or does that only apply when it’s comvenient? If you think this is the sort of behavior that will get you on his Christmas card list or the top of his potential list of never ending “girlfriends” - well, good luck. At some point this man (again, he’s a man, he’s flawed, he makes mistakes and he’s not perfect) will fall from the pedestal his fandom have put him on and then where will you all be? He has been unapologetic for all the things he’s done. He continues to shill his swill and all his other crap when a lot people can’t make ends meet. He continues to ask for donations to HIS causes instead of asking people to take care of themselves or their own communities. I love Scotland as much as anyone but my money right now is better served in my community. I ignore most of what they all do, following his own suggestion of ignoring, but things cross my dash and I do not condone or appreciate threats. I didn’t condone it when the threats were directed at him, his traveling companion, or anyone else nor have I ever made a threat against anyone.

I wish to be treated the way I treat others and if you can’t do the same, if you can’t engage with me in a calm, adult manner, I don’t have time for you. You can have a differing opinion than me. It’s okay. We don’t have to agree but we can respectfully disagree and discuss, not argue, about who’s right and who’s wrong. It isn’t cut and dry, black and white. We can agree to disagree and still be civil and still be friends.

My Scotsman added this: When will the games end, when will the games stop? I had high hopes for his highness to lead by example and be better but he’s a follower and he followers her majesty’s lead. He follows his business partner’s lead. He sees her milk the fandom, so why can’t he and he does an excellent job of it. His fandom vote for meaningless awards until their fingers bleed, buy all of his merchandise, buy anything he sells up to and including the ship. Is there an ounce of him being a genuine person left? Yes. He gives us a glimpse now and again but make no mistake, he will take you for what you’re worth. Maybe one day he’ll change and we’ll follow him again. Until then, I’ll be watching like my partner. I’ll be around.

I guess at the end of the day my point is this, the fandom made itself toxic and I highly doubt at this point it can or will turn around. Why would it? All we can do is choose to be part of the toxicity and contribute to it and pass it forward like these precious anons have been doing or we can choose to walk away, scroll on by, try to make the world or at least our little corner of it better.

I’m still disenchanted. I hope one day my wings turn white again with the promise of a better time and place. Until then, take care my friends. I’ll be watching and I’ll be blogging.

[greenroseunderglass]

After Omega : Fanfic - Star Trek TOS (Gen)

@sicktember

Prompt #4 Headache

by: greenroseunderglass (1st post to tumblr, I know I'm messing up every way possible.)

Notes: The TOS episode "Omega Glory" is literally one long recipe for a headache for Kirk. Spock was caught in the nimbus of a phaser set to kill in this episode.

Numbly, Jim tried to orient himself among the crush and chaos that was the excited Yangs. Spock. He was trying to keep an eye on Spock, who had admitted to being weak, which probably meant he was barely keeping his feet under him through some feat of Vulcan endurance. Jim’s vision was swimming a bit in the torch-flashing darkness, and he was so damn tired, but he eventually homed in on the red-shirted security guards, and found McCoy, very unhappy, at Spock’s side.

The doctor was not supporting Spock, but he clearly wanted to be. Spock stood at-ease, clearly rebuffing any such attempt. So McCoy was scanning the crowd, and when his eyes hit Jim he lunged forward and grabbed his arm, dragging him forward to stand the appropriate distance from Spock for a beam up. The sudden jerk brought the taste of bile up behind Jim’s teeth. Bones was glaring hard enough that it made Jim a little more dizzy to try to meet his eyes, so he stopped trying to and looked at Spock. Whose at-ease was wavering in its own wind.

“I suppose we can beam up now?” McCoy demanded.

Unperturbed, Spock spoke into his communicator in a steady but very quiet voice, “Three to beam up, Mr. Scott.”

Jim was moving the second the transporter let go, and caught Spock, who went at the knees the moment the transporter beam released him. Kirk had him before his body could hit the ground -- he’d known the usually-inconsequential disorientation of the transporter was going to get Spock, he’d just been able to tell. McCoy was swearing, and his scanner was humming.

So Jim had him under the elbows, crushed against his side, and he only had a moment to dislike how limp Spock had gone before the awful realization hit him that his own balance and coordination was not sufficient to maintain the two of them until the waiting medical team swimming into focus in the too-bright lights of the room could climb on the platform.

Kirk clenched his teeth and swallowed. He had been up for two straight days and nights, but he was not going to drop Spock, and he was not going to throw up in the middle of the transporter room. He was trying to get the nausea forced back enough to tell the corpsmen to hurry up and get Spock when McCoy took Spock’s other side and more than half his weight, and gestured his subordinates forward.

They relieved Jim of the Vulcan’s weight, which he needed, and of the contact, which left a gnawing worry behind it, and put Spock on the anti-grav stretcher they had waiting. One of them handed McCoy a small med-kit which he instantly opened. He read off the hypos, and administered them directly to his patient.

Clearly McCoy had called ahead. Why had Spock waited that long for him to beam up?

It was a little worrying that Spock had let himself be handled by strange corpsmen -- these were new crew, on board less than a month -- and put on the stretcher without complaint, silent and pale and submitting to McCoy’s attentions with none of their usual argument. Jim blew out a slow breath and closed his eyes, then breathed in a deep one as he raised his head and eventually reopened them. Reset. He trusted Bones, and Bones had said authoritatively that Spock would live. There was a lot left to do with—

“Doctor,” Spock had rallied enough to come up on his elbows and look at Kirk, his gaze assessing. He interrupted the doctor in a quiet but very firm voice. Definitely coherent. “You are aware that the Captain has had several trauma-induced periods of unconsciousness during this mission, but you are unaware of the most severe. To my certain knowledge, he has been unconscious due to two severe traumatic blows for a cumulative nine hours and eighteen minutes since our beam down.”

Spock wasn’t announcing it to the room, just to McCoy, but it was bad enough because Bones stopped dead and raised his head. “Captain, you are required in Sickbay in twenty minutes.”

A biting reply wanted to come out – he was too tired to be bossed about by his CMO exercising his prerogatives – but Jim made himself stop. The truth was, his head was a pulsing raw pain he’d been able to manage only by lifting above it – literally dissociating from his own body a bit to cope. He had blood coming out of one ear, his vision was getting worse, and as his adrenaline dropped he was starting to get his own crosswind himself. He was stubborn, and he had a thousand things to do, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Yes, Doctor.”

McCoy, following the stretcher out, stopped to double-blink at him, then looked him over again. “Do you need transport?”

“No, Doctor.” The guards and Scotty and the transporter chief were all listening to them, now, so Jim walked to the door. Oh, yeah. He was getting his own wind and McCoy noticed, of course, caught Jim’s arm to balance the wavering, and started to demand Kirk come with him right then.

“I’ll be there in twenty minutes, on one condition,” Jim said quietly as he followed McCoy out into the hall. “I know you have some kind of anti-emetic in there, you always do when you’re treating Spock for anything serious. Give me.”

“Yeah?” McCoy asked, trying to catch his eyes, no doubt to evaluate his pupils, but Kirk wasn’t having it. Not quite yet. The doctor's voice was on the gentle side, though, which was immediately soothing, and he opened his med-kit. ”Migraine?”

Jim wished he could say yes, but it wasn’t a good day for blatant lies. “No. Spock’s right. I got my bell rung twice, hard-“

“As opposed to the half-dozen times it was lightly rung?” the doctor asked sharply. “I’m not blind, you know-“

Speaking slowly, Jim continued, “But I’ll be all right for a few more minutes, and then you can do whatever you want.”

“You’re just afraid you’ll get sick all over the Bridge? I’d bet on the turbolift, that upward and lateral motion at once—“

Kirk felt sweat on his upper lip, and he swallowed, hard. McCoy looked a bit abashed and gave him the shot in the arm, and within a few seconds Jim’s stomach had returned to the normal position. He coughed a little and swallowed, then tried out a smile. “You’d be amazed how much that helps. I –“

“Will be in Sickbay in twenty minutes, Captain,” McCoy growled, snapped his med-kit closed and took off after his patient. Instinct urged Kirk to go after them, but duty sent him in the other direction.

>

It was like water dripping away. Onto him. Away from him. A little more impairment. A little less adrenaline. Jim Kirk put one foot in front of the other, and he smiled when he needed to, and he was able to think well enough to handle what had to be handled and know when something had to be put off for a more coherent day. The lights got brighter, though. Drip. And blurrier. Drip. And god it hurt to focus his eyes. Drip. He prepared a bare bones report for the Admiralty, because that couldn’t wait, and every sound got louder. Drip, drip. The world got foggier, and his energy to navigate through it was lessened.

He finally turned, then waited as the Bridge kept turning for a moment before settling down before his eyes. “Mr. Sulu. You have the conn,” he said, and headed for the turbolift. His crosswind was getting more stormfront than gentle breeze – he knew he was swaying on his feet, didn’t that count for something? “If I’m needed you can reach me in Sickbay. Mr. Spock is also in Sickbay. Unless he is needed to keep the galaxy or the ship from blowing up, please forget you can reach him there.”

“Aye, Captain,” came from several people, but then quietly, from Uhura alone, “Could one of us escort you to Sickbay, sir?”

Kirk forced himself to stop swaying, forced a smile to his lips. “No, but thank you, Lieutenant.”

The drop of the turbolift had him laying back against the wall, and his hands over his eyes were trying to push the pain back away. Water dripping everywhere, he was in a rainstorm and it was washing away the world and his energy and his ability to control himself. His head had reached the white-out level, the pain hitting places his consciousness wasn't willing to go with it. One last thing, though.

He walked into Sickbay to see Dr. M’Benga arguing with Dr. McCoy, gentle to his irritation. “You’ve been up for two days, Leonard. Either go to your quarters or go sleep in your office, but you are not fit for regular duty right now.” They’d both worked under worse conditions for crisis duty.

“Just give me a few more minutes, Geoff. I’m not being stubborn. I want a shower and my bed, but—there he is!” He turned from his fellow doctor to glare at Kirk.

“Twenty minutes does not mean forty-five, Captain, sir.”

Kirk made one of his ‘yeah, yeah, whatever’ dismissive gestures and closed his eyes in a brief headshake. “How is Spock?”

McCoy frowned at him as he moved toward him with a scanner in one hand and a tricorder in the other. “In a healing trance. He’ll be fine in a few days, Jim. We were able to treat the radiation poisoning and the rest he can handle himself.”

Jim’s head went down with a huff of a sigh, but he batted at McCoy’s arm when the doctor raised it with the scanner, and McCoy started to growl at him, but Jim made his little dismissive-gesture-closed-eyes-headshake thing he did again. He spoke very evenly. “No. Bones. I think I could use that… transport now.”

He didn’t go at the knees, he just dropped, and it was all McCoy and a lunging M’Benga could do to keep his limp body from bouncing off the floor.

He got a bed beside Spock's for three days. McCoy's blood pressure was not very appreciative of their stay.

End

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 2: Connected

This is chapter 2 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

Thank you to @ r0w3n-1n-d0ugh for beta-reading this chapter.

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur, Technoblade

Word count: 3268

Cw: arguments, yelling, insults, miscommunications, recklessness, mentioned suicidal behavior, cursing, mentions of crying, mentions of food, jokes about drugs

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Wilbur had barely acknowledged his surroundings until they’d made it to the house, tucked in among the mountains and the snow. Once Phil opened the door, Wilbur groggily wandered inside, recognizing the smells, and the familiar furniture, that had changed quite a bit, but still held the same atmosphere somehow. Wilbur didn’t have a home, but this house with all the strained emotions and uncomfortable attachments related to it, was probably the closest he would get. For now, of course, because Wilbur had plans, even if he couldn’t think of them at that moment.

As they entered the home, Phil turned to Wilbur, with narrowed eyes, wrinkling his nose. “No offense, mate, but your eye bags are deeper than the hole of L'Manburg. When have you last slept?”

"Haha, good one," Wilbur said, absentmindedly taking his first steps up the stairs.

Phil had hesitated, his eyebrows furrowed. "Wil, please tell me you've had some kind of sleeping schedule since you've returned."

"And I wished I had a house when I returned back here, we don't always get what we want." Wilbur had responded with a shrug, because it didn’t matter, really. Wilbur was alive, and he didn’t have to count the days anymore. He stumbled, grabbing the nearest stationary object he could reach to prevent himself from falling on the stairs. Phil sent him a concerned look.

Before he knew it, Wilbur had found himself in a room with a little bed that he wished wasn’t as appealing as it was. The mattress was soft, accompanied by the sheets, and Wilbur was brutally reminded that he hadn’t truly seen a bed for thirteen and a half years. Soon, he was tucked underneath a duvet and felt himself drifting off into a dreamless slumber, which was far better than the nightmares he’d half-expected.

He woke up to a plate of food, sat up, and ate a few bites before he fell asleep again. He wasn’t certain how much time had passed whenever he dared open his eyes. He should get up! He should face the world he’d been denied for so long, but getting up meant so many things. He had so little time to finish his work, though the darkness called to him, like a friend he never wanted to leave.

And the voice was there too, unfortunately, whenever he woke up. The cries, the whines, and the words that became clearer and clearer. Wilbur held his eyes open for a long time, as if he was in a staring contest with the ceiling, as the cries refused to settle. “Ugh, would you shut up for one second.” he groaned.

When the cries immediately ceased, Wilbur tensed up.

“You can… You can hear me?” was all Wilbur heard now, and he stayed completely silent. “Please.” the voice added after a short while, “It’s so lonely here.”

Wilbur almost feared his heart had stopped once again before he whispered: “Ghostbur…” it wasn’t a question, nor a statement. He wasn’t certain what it was, but perhaps he shouldn’t have said it.

“Yes!” the voice said, giggling with more relief than Wilbur had ever heard from anyone else, “It’s me, Ghostbur! And you’re Alivebur, right?”

“Alivebur?” Wilbur chuckled to himself, “I’m certainly alive, but I typically go by Wilbur.” If Wilbur could hear someone smile, he would describe it as the sound of Ghostbur’s voice.

“Oh, I’m sorry! It’s been a while since I’ve talked with anyone… Gets quite lonely here. Hey, where are you?”

“Phil’s upstairs. Maybe you weren’t here often. He had to make a bit of room up here since he didn’t expect my arrival.”

Minutes went by without a response from Ghostbur. Just as Wilbur was about to ask if he was still there, he heard the friendly voice again, “But… I’m sorry but this doesn’t make much sense to me. I- I’ve been to Phil’s house, and this doesn’t look like a house of any kind.”

Wilbur made a confused noise. “I don’t know if ghosts are constantly on weed or some other shit, but it’s pretty live laugh and love in here. Spruce shelves with some nicknacks and those little windows halfway covered in snow. Hey- I just realized. The windows are made out of spruce fences because Dad can’t see glass! That’s sorta neat.” Wilbur felt proud of his realization, even if someone else probably realized it before him.

Ghostbur’s voice on the other hand held a slight amount of fear, “Nono, there’s… I’m not really sure what this whole place is. It’s this big cylinder tube. It’s… It’s gray and there’s some benches here, but there’s also this really long tunnel! I tried walking to the end, but I- I don’t think there is one.” Wilbur’s heart dropped when he heard that. “Ghostbur… brown benches with some shitty lights in the ceiling?”

“Yes!” Ghostbur let out a soft gasp, “Have you been here before? Are we on some long-distance phone line? I- I don’t see a phone here.”

Wilbur thought for a moment, “It’s… It’s more than a phone line.” He should’ve remembered already, but his head was groggy. The transparent version of him, tears streaming down his face, almost as if they were burning him. The one who took his place on the platform. Wilbur didn’t know how to break the news to his Ghost counterpart. “I think you’re in my limbo.”

Ghostbur giggled, “I love limbo! I’m not very good at it though, whenever I play the pole just goes through me.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes at Ghostbur’s train of thought, “Nono, it’s… a little more serious than that.” Wilbur’s words became more spaced out, trying his best to avoid the actual topic.

“Does the bar actually hit me now?”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “No, it’s-” he quietly groaned from frustration, he’d never been good at breaking bad news to someone. “There’s no limbo bar.”

“That’s silly. How are we going to play limbo, with no limbo bar?”

Wilbur sighed, Ghostbur deserved to know, “You’re-”

“I know,” Ghostbur’s words were covered in child-like excitement, “we can just pretend there’s a limbo bar! I’ll go under it first.” There was silence for a few moments. “I did it! Now it’s your turn.”

“Ghostbur, this isn’t some kind of game.”

“It is though! I can’t find a dictionary, but if you try lookin’ in one of those, you-” Ghostbur quietly gasped, “Do you not know how to play limbo? Oh, you poor thing.”

When Wilbur spoke, his voice was louder than he meant it, venom dripping off each syllable, “You’re in prison. You’re never getting out and you’re stuck there!”

The silence that extended between them was louder than Wilbur could ever yell. “Ghostbur, I’m-”

“Wilbur?”

Wilbur jumped from the sudden noise, looking over and seeing Technoblade at the other end of the room. He seemed confused, which Wilbur thought must’ve been from the thought of him being alive and well, but it didn’t take him long to realize it must’ve been from talking- and yelling- to himself. 

“Is Techno with you?! How is he?” Ghostbur excitedly squealed. Not now, Wilbur responded in his head, but Ghostbur must’ve not been able to hear it as he rambled off other questions. Through his babbling, he could hear mentions of Tubbo and Ranboo, but most of it was muddled together from Ghostbur’s cheerfulness. 

“Hi, Techno!” Wilbur said too loudly. “How are you? I uh- hope you’re- it’s all going well.”

Techno raised an eyebrow, “I, uh… I guess it is. You’re back and stuff.”

Wilbur nodded, “Yeah, yeah I am.” 

Ghostbur jumped in, “Techie, it’s been forever! What adventures have you been up to?”

A rough silence extended between the three, time feeling more present by the second.

Ghostbur chuckled and whispered, “I think Tech is ignoring me like you were.”

Wilbur rolled his eyes which only made Technoblade even more suspicious of the newly revived man in front of him. 

“You alright? Phil told me you nearly died from hypothermia. Probably not the best way to reunite with your father.” Techno snorted quietly.

Ghostbur’s voice turned sadder, “But, I- that didn’t happen. I saw it myself, Phil gave you an enchanted golden apple and you guys hugged. Nothin’ bad happened, you did look a little uncomfortable though.”

That caught Wilbur slightly off guard, though he couldn’t quite respond properly or ask for more information. He nodded bashfully, “Yeah… uncomfortable is a word to describe it.”

“Yeah… hey, Phil told me to show you to the portal and stuff. He doesn’t want you dying again.” Although Techno didn’t say ‘literally,’ Wilbur could hear it clearly.

“Oh, Don’t worry! I can show him where it is! I’ve followed Ranboo through those portals a few times. He’s really nice. He seemed a little worried last time I saw him though, but Tubbo was there and he was also worried. Maybe we could give him a visit. We can visit both of them!” Wilbur heard quick echo-y claps, presumably from Ghostbur’s enthusiasm.

“Mhm, sounds like a plan.”

“Great…” Techno said, and Wilbur started to notice that there was something hesitant in the other’s posture. Something awkward, and restricted, though Wilbur found it difficult to place why. “Let’s go,” he said, gesturing with his head towards the door, and that was when Wilbur had no choice but to leave the comforting darkness. Perhaps it wasn’t too appealing after all because Wilbur had been alone for so long, so maybe it was time he saw how much the world had changed without him. Wilbur stood up from the bed and followed Technoblade out the door.

“Oh! I guess Techno is taking us to the portal after all. That’s great! Aliv- I mean, Wilbur! Haven’t you missed this place too? Did you even see this place, while you were alive? Did they-”

“Shh,” Wilbur said quickly and harshly, closing his eyes.

“Heh?” Techno said questioningly.

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Oh, nothing! I was just thinking about something.”

“Thinking about something hush-able?” Techno said with a hesitant smile, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were hearing voices too.”

Wilbur chuckled awkwardly, though he didn’t say anything else on the matter.

He hardly had the time to consider what it was like to see Technoblade again because Ghostbur was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Wilbur had simply assumed that hearing the cries and the begging words had been a side-effect of the revival. One he would get rid of eventually.

Prime, he hoped he could still get rid of it. He wasn’t sure if he could handle all the questions in his own mind, let alone whatever it was Ghostbur was talking about. There had to be a way to break the connection because that was what Wilbur did best. It was getting rid of things once they were a lost cause, and Ghostbur’s situation was a lost cause, wasn’t it? Even if Ghostbur wasn’t quite bright enough to realize it himself.

Wilbur and Techno walked outside, the wind reaching Wilbur’s hair and face pleasantly, making him realize that it was before noon. He wondered for a moment, how long he had slept. Wilbur looked at the surroundings properly, now that he was no longer collapsing from exhaustion. “What’s that place over there?” he asked, pointing towards what looked like a solitary house, nearby Phil and Techno’s.

“Oh. That’s Ranboo’s place,” Techno said. He glanced at Wilbur. “You know Ranboo?”

“I met him briefly,” Wilbur simply said, remembering the moments after his revival. The way Tommy had stared at him with fear, Tubbo looking vaguely concerned, the new face that stood slightly behind all of them, and all the words that didn’t matter, because Wilbur was alive, and this was his sunrise. “What’s he like?”

“He’s good.” Techno said, “I don’t know how long he’s going to stay here though.” 

“What do you mean?” Wilbur asked.

Techno breathed deeply. “He just spends less time here is all.” He shrugged, “It’s not my problem. Plus I don’t think I’m the best choice for filling you in.”

“I’m pretty sure he’s with Tubbo now! I- I’m not very sure though, I just know they make each other very happy.”

Ghostbur had mentioned those names together before. The two stood next to each other, at the sight of Wilbur’s revival. Yet it was still odd to hear this stranger mentioned next to the man Wilbur remembered so clearly. The president of the fallen nation. Wilbur would almost say it was a failed nation, but that wouldn’t be true at all. A failed nation would leave him marked as a nobody. No, L’Manburg made everybody know his name. He even got power for a long while. It was all he could ever ask for.

“Soot?”

Wilbur slightly jumped, from the sudden noise, “Yes?” Techno let out a small laugh, but his eyes were tinted with concern that made it feel like it was supposed to comfort the two of them instead of being a genuine expression. “I’m not the best at conversations but I’m pretty sure that isn’t a yes or no question.”

Wilbur nodded, rubbing his eyes. “Sorry, ’m just a bit tired. Sleep works a bit differently when you’re alive. Well- I suppose everything is a bit different. What were you asking?”

“Just if you were gonna stay at Phil’s or if you want a house for yourself. I was uh… offering to help if you needed it.” 

“Awww, Techno is trying to be your friend. He seems all big and scary, but we were pretty close! Well- we never really talked or hung out much, but sometimes I saw him searching through some chests and he seems nice. I tried to offer him some blue, but Tommy said not to. Not sure why though.” Despite the topics he was discussing, Ghostbur’s voice stayed passively happy as Wilbur assumed would be a new norm. Yet, he’d never heard of this “blue” before. Maybe Ghostbur was on drugs after all.

“Actually, that might be pretty nice. I’ll admit L’Manburg was a flop, but my house won’t be! What should we call it? I’ve been thinking about what to call it if I started a new nation., or country, tomato potato, and- I think BimBom sounds neat.” 

Techno glanced back at Wilbur, “BimBom was the best you could do? Look, man- I don’t respect government. Y’know, that’s my main thing. But I wouldn’t even respect a girl-scout cookie organization named that.”

Wilbur pouted, “Hey, you try spending thirteen and a half years alone and come up with good ideas.” His words became sharper near the end, becoming defensive as he subconsciously thought Techno would be on his side.

However, Techno only gave him a confused look, “It wasn’t-” he bit his lip, gave Wilbur a quick contemplative look, and turned away, “Nevermind.”

“Oh no, he’s in a bad mood now. You should apologize,” Ghostbur’s voice whined in his head.

“I-” Wilbur was going to claim that he wasn’t going to apologize, but he realized he couldn’t say that without Techno hearing him.

“Don’t worry, everyone gets a bit tongue-tied. I’ll help you!” If only Wilbur could communicate silently with the ghost. “The first word is ‘I’m’ and the second is ‘sorry.’ Words can be a bit hard sometimes, but I’m sure Tech will accept your apology even if you’re a bit bad at it.”

Wilbur frustratedly sighed. He didn’t know if Techno heard it and was pretending not to, or if he genuinely didn’t hear the exhale, but Wilbur was grateful to not be called out about it. Once enough seconds had passed with what he felt was an expectant look from Ghostbur he mumbled a quick “‘M sorry.” just to get the ghost off his back. He caught a nod of acknowledgment from Techno, and let out another breath.

Simultaneously, Wilbur heard what sounded like a relieved sigh in his head. “There we go.” Ghostbur said, “Good job! You’re getting the hang of it, I think. I don’t like it when people are mad. It’s hard to tell sometimes, but it’s good to try to keep them happy.” there was something strained in the last words, as if they held a hint of something less joyful, that someone attempted to shove out.

“We’re here.” Techno stopped walking, only a few steps away from the nether portal. Wilbur instinctively ran his hand along the border of obsidian, it was cool to the touch, and vibrated with a low hum. “We were planning to make a path, but we always had other priorities too.” Techno explained. 

Wilbur nodded and walked towards the portal, only for Techno to grab his arm and pull him back. “For the love of subscribers, are you an idiot?” He heard Ghostbur mumble something, but he didn’t bother to pay attention.

Wilbur pulled his arm out of Technoblade’s grip, “Have nether portals changed since I was last here?”

Techno snorted, “No, but that’s exactly why you shouldn’t be going yet. I’ve got some armor back at my base, even some golden apples I can spare. Unless you’re-” realization spread across his face, “Oh that makes sense.”

“What makes sense?”

“This-” Techno sighed, “This is just a suicide mission, isn’t it?”

Wilbur made a small step away from Technoblade. “What are you even talking about?”

Techno rubbed his head, he looked like he was trying to relieve a headache of some kind. “Look, I know that it’s supposed to be ‘twice is a coincidence and three is a pattern,’ but…” Techno groaned, “I’m not gonna sugar-coat with you. You were reckless before you died, you thought you could walk into a freezin’ cold biome without anything on you, and I don’t need a third time to realize what you could be doin’.”

Wilbur nodded despite not necessarily agreeing with his claims. Wilbur didn’t want to die anymore, and Wilbur wasn’t going to die. That couldn’t possibly be that hard to understand. “L’Manburg was ages ago and I’m a grown man, I can handle myself.” It wasn’t his strongest argument, but he knew he was right in the end.

“You’re the same grown man that thought he could run a nation with one of your dumb protocols bein’ that you don’t wear armor. You might be able to ‘handle’ yourself, but I feel like you’re gonna do a poor job at it.”

Wilbur’s eyes burned with fire, because while he didn’t care deeply, not really, that didn’t mean it was something that could be brushed off so easily. “It- It wasn’t dumb. L’Manburg was my nation-”

“Surely you aren’t blind. It’s in ruins!”

“It doesn’t fucking matter if it’s in ruins! I’ve done more than you will ever achieve in your whole pathetic life.” He shouted harshly, “All you go on about is how you hate governments and orphans, and it’s because you’re nothing more than that. It’s not my fault that I actually make an impact in this world while you’re up in your stupid house because no one can stand being around you.” Wilbur’s chest was heaving at this point, both of his hands curled up into fists.

Technoblade spat out at Wilbur, “Oh my fucking Blood God, Soot. Fine- I promised Phil that I wasn’t going to let you kill yourself, but if you’re so passionate about blindly throwing yourself at whatever comes your way, then go at it.”

Wilbur practically screamed, “Fine, I will!” and with that, he threw himself into the nether portal and felt the purple wisps surround him so loudly that he couldn’t even hear Ghostbur’s pleas. 

[ynscrazylife]

Loki request (spoilers)

Reader is a variant who got captured by the tva, they're sent to trial and Loki saves them from getting killed bc he still owed them a favour. Morbius gets confused bc those two dangerous variants know each other, turns out they were best friends in their original time line. Now Morbius has to babysit two sarcastic assholes. Double trouble ensures.

Double Trouble | l.l fluff fic

Summary: The request. 

Authors Note: I fully acknowledge and support Loki being genderfluid. In this fic, I will be using he/him pronouns for Loki since those were the pronouns they’ve used for Loki in the show so far, indicating that at the time this fic is set, Loki’s genderfluid identity is of a man. Should those pronouns/identity change, so will the pronouns for my fics. I do not intend to be harmful in any way so if this is harmful to the genderfluid community, PLEASE let me know!

Request to be on a Taglist (or multiple) here! (Taglists are at the end of the fic)

MCU Masterlist #1 | MCU Masterlist #2 | Main Masterlist

PSA: Do NOT copy, steal, translate, plagiarize, republish, etc any of my works on Tumblr or any other platform. Also, do NOT claim any of my works as your own. All of these works are either requests I’ve gotten that people have wanted me to write or original ideas I’ve had for works. If you happen to take inspiration from anything I’ve written and want to write something inspired by that, please a) ask me first and b) IF I say yes, credit me as inspo in your post by tagging me and link whatever work of mine that inspired you. Thanks.

header c @dearcardan on twitter

Yeah, Loki was definitely not taking any of this seriously. At this point, he theorized that the Avengers were laughing their asses off on this elaborate prank they were playing on him, and he decided to just wait it out. It had to stop at some point, right? There was no way that this “TVA” bullshit was actually, in any way, real.

At least . . . He believed that until he saw a familiar face.

Mobius had just saved him from being reset to the original timeline and they were walking out of the courtroom just as the doors opened and two TVA agents were walking another “criminal” in. Loki still wasn't buying this elaborate scheme so he didn’t really pay this new person much attention, until he heard the judge speak. 

“Miss Y/N Y/L/N - am I correct?” 

Loki froze, eyes traveling to the “criminal” passing him. He first thought that Thor had set this part of the prank up, but he knew his brother didn’t really understand how mischief really worked. Plus, Loki could tell Y/N wasn’t an illusion. 

. . . So that meant she was actually here. 

“Hey, wait, can I see this trial?” Loki whispered to Mobius, who glanced back at the judge and raised his eyebrows skeptically at the brunette deity. Loki added, “I just want to see a little more of how this place works, okay?” 

Mobius was sure Loki was onto something and after a couple moments of thought, he agreed. At least this would give him a chance to get to know this troublemaker better, and they both shuffled into seats. 

“You are correct, madame,” Y/N answered mockingly, a big grin on her face as she walked up to the podium. She then looked around in an exaggerated manner. “Well, do I get a lawyer or what?” 

Loki smirked and the judge scoffed. “How do you plead?” The judge asked, dismissing her questions. 

“What ‘crimes’ have I supposedly committed?” 

“You have been accused of creating an alternate timeline that does not fit into the main continuum. You snuck into Odin’s vault using your Asgardian abilities  and when you used the fake Infinity Gauntlet and, in your attempt to enchant the Gauntlet to work like the actual one, you accidentally travelled forward in time and created a new timeline,” the judge summarized. 

Loki smiled, amused and proud. He only wondered what led her to this. 

“In my defense, I heard that my friend was in trouble and wanted to help out,” Y/N said with a shrug. 

“Well, the enchantments were not supposed fully work. They were meant to just backfire on you and knock you unconscious, where you’d be imprisoned in the dungeon. But then you tried to use another powerful object in Odin’s vault which created a Nexus event, messed with your enchantment on the fake Power and Time stone, and here you are,” the judge explained.

“If I wasn’t meant to do this - why didn’t these ‘Time Keepers’ control my actions and make me do something else?” Y/N asked, changing the subject.

“I am not going to entertain you any further. In your previous statement, quote: ‘In my defense, I heard that my friend was in trouble and wanted to help out’ You have admitted your guilt and will now be reset,” the judge declared sternly.

Immediately, two TVA agents grabbed Y/N harshly and began to drag her away from the podium. Loki, who at this point had connected the dots that he was the friend she had been trying to help, knew he owed her one. He couldn’t just let her be reset and then be imprisoned. So, thinking rather quickly, he leapt up from his seat and shouted, “No!”

All heads turned to him. Y/N’s eyes went wide, not having spotted him, and Mobius was beginning to regret his decision. Loki turned to Mobius. “You need me to help you with this ‘sacred timeline’ stuff. I’ll only do it if Y/N stays,” he said, panting.

Mobius caught an angry look from the judge but his gaze settled on Y/N. After a couple moments, he sighed and relented. “Fine.”

Y/N and Loki cheered and she broke out of the agents’ grips, running to Loki who picked her up and hugged her. “That’s my girl,” Loki said, proud of her for her prank.

Mobius internally groaned. This was going to be a long day.

———————————

“So how do you know each other?” Mobius asked as he walked in-between the Asgardians, leading them to his office.

“Y/N’s been my best friend, partner in time, ever since I was little,” Loki said, grinning.

“Got it,” Mobius said, frowning. He could only imagine the mischief they had conjured.

———————————

After reviewing both of their files, Mobius had to step out for a second, leaving Loki and Y/N alone. “Let’s try to break out,” was the first thing to leave Loki’s lips.

Y/N rolled her eyes. “And suppose we do, how the hell are you gonna get the Tesseract back? Plus, I won’t wanna be imprisoned on Asgard,” she reasoned, quickly shutting the idea down.

Loki huffed. He was bored. He wanted to do something.

And he had something to do when Y/N stood up and started walking around. With a smirk, he grabbed the remote controlling Y/N’s collar and clicked it, immediately sending her back to her seat.

She turned and glared at him, and he just smirked, innocently shrugging. “I wanna have fun,” he said.

Y/N rolled her eyes and cautiously stood up again. When nothing happened, she walked around a bit more, and Loki let her . . . Until he got bored again. With another click, she reappeared on the other side of the room, in mid-walk.

Before she could protest, Loki did it again. And again. And again. He finally stopped when she got out the words, “CUT IT OUT!” and laughed to himself.

“You asshole,” Y/N grunted, beginning to walk towards him, but skidded back when Loki clicked the button just one more time.

“Oops. My finger slipped,” Loki smirked.

Y/N glared, but being reset made her lose her footing, and she tumbled to the floor, causing her best friend to cackle. Annoyed, she ran at him and managed to push him off his chair, tackling him to the floor. They rolled around, neither one gaining the upper hand for too long, until Mobius re-entered, saw the chaos, pulled Loki to his feet, and grabbed the remote, resetting Y/N so she was back in her chair.

“Hey!” Loki exclaimed, pushing Mobius off him. “No one controls my best friend!”

Y/N couldn’t tell if he was being serious or not, but smiled nonetheless. Mobius glared and grabbed Loki’s remote, resetting him so he was back in his chair. He then turned to them both.

“I’m beginning to agree with my colleagues that this-” he gestured to Loki and Y/N, “-was a bad idea.”

Permanent Taglist: @natasharomanoffismywife @hehehehannahthings @paulawand @blackbat2020 @cerberus-spectre @marrymemcgrath @celestialbarnes @kathryndimitrescu @snipyloulou @big-galaxy-chaos @cc13723things

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[severetimetravelnerd]

Let’s Switch Things Up(ft. MINO) (4)

Part 4

Mino helps you learn something new.

 A/N: Heyy! So this is my new series, that I’ll be updating every Thursday. All images I’ve used in this moodboard that I’ve made are just representative of the emotions, not the way the reader looks :))  Please show this lots of love!

Comment if you’d like to be added to the taglist.

Taglist:   @herewecomeitsjekki​​  ; @kwonnansi​​ ; @happiestgirlontheeastcoast​​ ; @unabashedturkeytreeslime​​; @to-all-the-stories-i-love​​​

I only write on this blog on tumblr, so if you see my work on any other platform, please let me know!

Word Count: 1784

Warnings: Cursing, Mentions of cheating (honestly mostly fluff)

——————————————————————————————————-

You woke up again two hours later. Minho was still asleep and was holding you against his chest. You smiled as you pushed back some hair from his face. And then you froze. Why were you acting so familiar with him? You stared at him. Yeah, you definitely liked him. As someone who always had problems falling asleep, if sharing a bed with him didn’t make you uncomfortable, then there was definitely something there. But it was all for you. He was just a very friendly, very nice guy who most definitely did not see you the same way. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t even notice that he had opened his eyes. He watched you zone out for a while before grabbing your hand that was on his face and kissing it.

“What’re you thinking about?”

Your breath hitched and your heart started beating really hard. That sleepy smile coupled with the kiss to your wrist was too much for you.

“Ummm…”

That’s when reality came back to Minho. He felt so comfortable around you. He wanted to be closer to you. he wanted waking up with you to be a reality. When he woke up, he was so lost that he just acted on his impulses. That was not a very Minho thing to do. He always overthought things. Suddenly he jumped back and you tumbled out of bed.

“Uh, I’ll go wash up and take a shower Minho. We can go get some breakfast after? Or you can go ahead if you want.”

Blushing furiously, he shook his head.

“It’s okay, I’ll wait.”

---

Half an hour later, you were waiting for him to finish getting ready. When he walked out in an oversized white shirt and navy-blue shorts with his hair sticking out adorably, it took you actual effort to not aw out loud. You were in an oversized white t shirt and tiny blue shorts. You matched with each other, although neither of you realised it. Not able to meet his gaze, you smiled at the general area.

“Let’s go?”

“Yeah.”

---

You were waiting at your table. Minho had gone somewhere to take a call. You stared down at the menu. You were conflicted. You knew exactly what you wanted, but you weren’t sure whether you should order Minho something. You knew his order of waffles and coffee, but you didn’t want to mess it up. Sighing, you finally decided to order it for him anyway. You were both ravenous anyways.

Ten minutes later, when Minho returned with a shy smile on his face, he was surprised to see a cup of steaming hot coffee and waffles waiting for him.

“How did you know what to order for me?”

“You told me when you were worried about the turbulence.”

He felt warmth from the inside.

“You remembered?”

You just looked at him nonchalantly and shrugged.

“Of course I did. I pay attention to you.”

Without even meaning to, you said,

“It’s you.”

You didn’t realise what you said, but Minho turned red and his palms turned sweaty. He couldn’t believe what he heard. He looked at you again. You looked so absolutely adorable sipping on your tea, softly blowing on it to try and cool it. He opened his mouth to tell you about his plan but he was interrupted by Andy lightly slapping your back. You jumped and the burning hot tea fell on your thigh and you winced. Even as Minho passed you a tissue dipped in water, he was glaring at Andy, who hadn’t even bothered to apologise. This was off to a good start.

“Ah Y/N. How was last night’s party?”

One look at his gloating face and Minho, not a very violent person, wanted to punch him.

“Ah. The party. It was…very you.”

He broke into a grin.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it sweetheart.”

The way he physically cringed when he said it was it for Minho.

“Don’t call her that. And apologise for startling her so much that she hurt herself.”

Andy looked surprised and moved back a little before smiling again.

“Oh sorry. I think I called her that out of force of habit.”

Minho just stared at Andy with complete and utter disbelief but you had enough. How dare he?!

“You mean your habit of cheating? Yeah, I know. But call me that one more time, and you’re going to be getting married with a broken nose.”

Andy’s jaw dropped.

“You’ve changed Y/N.”

“And you haven’t Andy. What can I say? We’ve all got to suck it up and deal with stuff we don’t like sometimes.”

Minho actually burst out laughing at that. You were always so nice and sweet that seeing you like this was a change for him. He never realised that you might have been extra nice to him.

Andy’s embarrassment at being insulted turned into an ugly smile.

“Well, looks like it’s your turn for that today.”

Both you and Minho looked at him like he was speaking another language.

“What are you talking about?”

“Minho’s taking you on a surprise date after breakfast and it’s a cycling date.”

Minho’s heart sank when he heard that. Did you not like cycling? Fuck.

“Wait. Andy, you knew it was supposed to be a surprise and you still told me? Wow.”

His smile faltered.

“I thought you would want to know considering how you don’t like cycling.”

Minho dug his nails into his palm. Damn it.

“Andy, I never said I don’t like it. I just said I don’t know how to cycle. Which is why Minho promised to teach me.”

“Oh I”-

You interrupted him.

“Well, it was nice talking to you Andy. See you later today.”

And he had no choice but to walk off, continuing to look back at you in shock.

After glaring at him, you finally turned your attention back to a very embarrassed Minho. He refused to look up from his plate and had a slightest pout on his face. Your heart melted.

“Minho?”

His head fell even more.

“I’m sorry. I should have asked you about it. I just wanted to surprise you. I thought you might like a picnic.”

You reached out and grabbed his face.

“I would love a picnic Minho.”

His eyes widened.

“But what about the cycling?”

“That’s okay. I need to learn someday. Besides, I trust you to teach me.”

---

“Y/N, you can do this!”

“No, I can’t! Don’t you dare let go.”

“Y/N, I promise you’ll be fine.”

“Yeah, still not reassured.”

“Look, I promise you’ll be fine. I’ll be right behind you. I run pretty fast.”

“Even then Minho. WHAT. MINHO. NO. Don’t you dare let go. Nooooo.”

“See, you’re doing it!”

“I’m doing it.”

“Yes! You’re doing it!”

“Oh my god I’m doing it.”

You rode the cycle for a while before stopping and jumping off.

“Why? What happened?” His eyes looked you over. “Are you hurt?”

You threw yourself into his arms and wrapped your arms around his neck. You buried your head into his chest.

“Thank you, Minho. Thank you so much. I…I’ve been scared to do this after a bad fall as a child. Thank you for helping me learns something I’ve always wanted to.”

Minho’s body relaxed and he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you in silence for a minute. He pulled away and ruffled your hair.

“You’re welcome, but you’re not done yet. We’ve to eat lunch and keep practicing.”

---

“Minhoooooooo.”

He turned and grinned at you as you pouted at him.

“What is it?”

“My legs hurt.”

“Yes, that can happen if you spend four hours cycling after not working out for a month.”

You glared at him.

“Don’t get snarky with me!”

His grin grew wider. He threw an arm over your shoulder.

“No Minhooooo. I’m too tired to carry my own weight, let alone yours.”

He shook his head at you before crouching down in front of you.

“Here, get on my back. I can carry you back, no problem.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s not too far from here.”

He turned around to see you hesitating. You didn’t want to trouble him. He sighed and grabbed your head.

“Please?”

Even though you were tired as hell, you felt your cheeks heating up. You quickly nodded and climbed onto his back.

“Minho?”

“Yes Y/N?”

“Can we skip today’s party?”

Minho couldn’t keep the laughter out of his voice.

“You don’t want to attend Andy’s brilliant high school themed party?”

“Oh no, don’t get me wrong. I would absolutely love to go and see all those assholes get shitfaced and say a bunch of horrible stuff. Andy’s even planning on singing Whitney Houston’s “And I will always looooveeee you.” But I’m way too tired to fake smile my way through another evening.”

He snorted.

“Yeah, my cheeks still hurt from yesterday. It didn’t help Natasha was drunk and decided to take a fascination to my cheeks.”

You burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry…”

“You don’t sound sorry.”

“I’m not. I’m her usual victim.”

Both of you grinned at each other.

“We’re calling in sick, right, Y/N?”

“Yup.”

---

Mirae was in the hotel garden, taking a walk when she ran into Andy and his friends. She hated them, but she forced a polite smile on her face. Andy was harping on about something ‘great’ he did when suddenly, the proud smile on his face disappeared. Mirae’s eyebrows shot up and she turned around to see what made Andy that way.

He was watching you and Minho, your laugh echoing as Minho carried you back to the room.

“Looks like they’re serious, huh.”

Mirae’s tone turned icy.

“What did you think?”

Andy turned red.

“No, it’s just that when I met them, I thought he was just her friend who she brought along. I mean, he clearly likes her, but I thought she didn’t feel the same.”

“Why does that matter to you?”

Andy turned red again and had the decency to stay silent this time around.

---

Minho opened the door to the room, sighing out of relief.

“Y/N, we’re back.”

Silence.

“Y/N?”

He craned his neck only to see your fast asleep against his back, cheeks squished and snoring lightly. Immediately, his face softened. He switched off the lights he literally just switched on and put you down on the bed. He then slipped off your shoes for you and removed your make up. He tucked you in, held you in his arms and gave you a kiss on the forehead. Feeling the most at peace he had in a long time, he smiled.

“Goodnight Y/N. Thank you.”

---

Copyright © 2020-2021 @severetimetravelnerd All rights reserved.

Any unlawful and unauthorized sharing of these works will result in legal action.

(Reblogs are good :) )

[johnrossbowie]

LEAVING TWITTER

I wrote this earlier in the fall, before the election, after dissolving my Twitter account. I wasn’t sure where to put it (“try up your ass!” – someone, I’m sure) and then I remembered I have a tumblr I never use. Anyway, here tis.

How do you shame someone who thinks Trumps’ half-baked policies and quarter-baked messaging put him in the pantheon of great Presidents? How do you shame someone so lacking in introspection that they will call Obama arrogant while praising Trump’s decisiveness and yet at the same time vehemently deny that they’re racist? How do you shame someone for whom that racism is endearing and maybe long overdue?

You don’t. It’s silly to think otherwise.

Twitter is an addiction of mine, and true to form, my dependence on it grew more serious after I quit drinking in 2010. At first it was a chance to mouth off, make jokes both stupid and erudite and occasionally stick my foot in my mouth (I owe New Yorker writer Tad Friend an apology. He knows why, or (God willing) he’s forgotten. Either way. Sorry.) I blew off steam, steam that was accumulating without booze to dampen the flames. Not always constructive venting, but I also met new friends, and connected with people whose work I’ve admired for literal decades and ended up seeing plays with Lin-Manuel Miranda and hanging backstage with Jane Wiedlin after a Go-Go’s show and exchanging sober thoughts with Mike Doughty. When my mom passed in 2018, a lot of people reached out to tell me they were thinking of me. This was nice. For a while, Twitter was a huge help when I needed it.

I used to hate going to parties and really hated dancing and mingling, but a couple of drinks would fix that. Point is, for a while, booze was a huge help, too.

But my engagement with Twitter changed, and I started calling people my ‘friends’ even though I’d never once met them or even heard their voices. These weren’t even penpals, these were people whose jokes or stances I enjoyed, so with Arthurian benevolence I clicked on a little heart icon, liked their tweet, and assumed therefore that we had signed some sort of blood oath.

We had not. I got glib, and cheap, and a little lazy. And then to make matters much worse, Trump came along and extended his reach with the medium.

There was a while there where I thought I could be a sort of voice for the voiceless, and I thought I was doing that. I tried very hard to only contribute things that I felt were not being said – It wasn’t accomplishing anything to notice “Haha Trump looks like he’s bullshitting his way through an oral report” – such things were self-evident. I tried to point out very specific inconsistencies in his policies, like the Muslim ban meant to curb terrorism that still favored the country that brought forth 13 of the 9/11 hijackers. Like his full-throated cries against media bias performed while he suckled at Roger Ailes’ wrinkly teat.  Like his fondness for evangelical votes that coincided with a scriptural knowledge that lagged far behind mine, even though I’m a lapsed Episcopalian, and there is no one less religiously observant than a lapsed Episcopalian. But that eventually gave way to unleashing ad hominem attacks against his higher profile supporters, who I felt weren’t being questioned enough, who I felt were in turn being fawned over by theirdim supporters. If you’re one of these guys, and you think I’m talking about you, you’re probably right, but don’t mistake this for an apology. You suck, and you support someone who sucks, and your idolatry is hurting our country and its standing in the world. Fuck you entirely, but that’s not the point. The point is that me screaming into the toilet of Twitter helps no one – it doesn’t help a family stuck at the border because they’re trying to secure a better life for their kids. It doesn’t help a poor teenager who can’t get an abortion because the party of ‘small government’ has squeezed their tiny jurisdiction into her uterus. It doesn’t help the coal miner who’s staking all his hopes on a dying industry and a President’s empty promises to resurrect it. I was born in New York City, and I currently live in Los Angeles. Those are the only two places I’ve ever lived, if you don’t count the 4 years I spent in Ithaca[1]. So, yes, I live in a liberal bubble, and while I’ve driven across the country a couple of times and did a few weeks in a touring band and am as crushed as any heartlander about the demise of Waffle House, you have me dead to rights if you call me a coastal elitist. And with that in mind, I offer few surprises. A guy who grew up in the theater district and was vehemently opposed to same-sex marriage or felt you should own an AR-15? THAT would be newsworthy. I am not newsworthy. I can preach to the choir, I can confirm people’s biases, but I will likely not sway anyone who is eager to dismiss a Native New Yorker who lives in Hollywood. I grew up in the New York of the 1970s, and that part of my identity did shape my politics. My mom’s boss was gay and the Son of Sam posed a realistic threat. As such, gays are job creators[2] and guns are used for homicide much more often than they are used for self-defense[3]. I have found this to be generally true over the years, and there’s even data to back it up.

“But Mr. Bowie,” you might say, though I insist you call me John - “those studies are conducted by elitist institutions and those institutions suck!” And again, I am not going to reason with people who will dismiss anything that doesn’t fit their limited world view as elitist or, God Help Us, fake news. But the studies above are peer-reviewed, convincing, and there are more where those came from.

“But John,” you might say, and I am soothed that we’re one a first name basis - “Can’t you just stay on Twitter for the jokes?” Ugh. A) apparently not and B) the jokes are few and far between, and I am 100% part of that problem.

I have stuff to offer, but Twitter is not the place from which to offer it.

After years of academically understanding that Twitter is not the real world, Super Tuesday 2020 made the abstract pretty fucking concrete. If you had looked at my feed on the Monday beforehand – my feed which is admittedly curated towards the left, but not monolithic (Hi, Rich Lowry!) – you’d have felt that a solid Bernie surge was imminent, but also that your candidate was going surprise her more vocal critics. When the Biden sweep swept, when Bernie was diminished and when Warren was defeated, I realized that Twitter is not only not the real world, it’s almost some sort of Phillip K. Dickian alternate timeline, untethered to anything we’re actually experiencing in our day to day life. This is both good news and bad news – one, we’re not heading towards a utopia of single payer health care and the eradication of American medical debt any time soon, but two, we’re also not being increasingly governed by diaper-clad jungen like Charlie Kirk. Clouds and their linings. Leaving Twitter may look like ceding ground to the assclowns but get this – the ground. Is not. There.

It’s just air.

There are tangible things I can do with my time - volunteer with a local organization called Food On Foot, who provide food and job training for people experiencing homelessness here in my adopted Los Angeles. I can give money to candidates and causes I support, and I can occasionally even drop by social media to boost a project or an issue and then vanish, like a sort of Caucasian Zorro who doesn’t read his mentions. I can also model good behavior for my kids (ages 10 and 13) who don’t need to see their father glued to his phone, arguing about Trumps incompetence with Constitutional scholars who have a misspelled Bible verse in their bio (three s’ in Ecclesiastes, folks).

So farewell Twitter. I’ll miss a lot of you. Perhaps not as badly as I miss Simon Maloy and Roger Ebert and Harris Wittels and others whose deaths created an unfillable void on the platform. But I won’t miss the yelling, and the lionization of poor grammar, and anonymous trolls telling my Jewish friends that they were gonna leave the country “via chimney.” I will not miss people who think Trump is a stable genius calling me a “fucktard.” I will not miss transphobia or cancelling but I will miss hashtag games, particularly my stellar work during #mypunkmusical (Probably should have quit after that surge, I was on fire that night, real blaze of glory stuff I mean, Christ, Sunday in the Park with the Germs? Husker Du I Hear A Waltz? Fiddler on the Roof (keeping an eye out for the cops)? These are Pulitzer contenders.). Twitter makes me feel lousy, even when I’m right, and I’m often right. There’s just no point in barking bumperstickers at each other, and there are people who are speaking truth to power and doing a cleaner job of it – Aaron Rupar, Steven Pasquale, Louise Mensch, Imani Gandy and Ijeoma Oluo to name five solid mostly politically based accounts (Yes, Pasquale is a Broadway tenor. He’s also a tenacious lefty with good points and research and a dreamy voice. You think you’re straight and then you hear him sing anything from Bridges of Madison County and you want him to spoon you.). You’re probably already following those mentioned, but on the off chance you’re not, get to it. You’ll thank me, but you won’t be able to unless you actually have my email.

_______

[1] And Jesus, that’s worse – Ithaca is such a lefty enclave that they had an actual socialist mayor FOR WHOM I VOTED while I was there. And not socialist the way some people think all Democrats are socialist – I mean Ben Nichols actually ran on the socialist ticket and was re-elected twice for a total of six years.

[2] The National Gay and Lesbian Chamber of Commerce, “America’s LGBT Economy” Jan 20th, 2017

[3] The Violence Policy Institute, Firearm Justifiable Homicides and Non-Fatal Self Defense Gun Use, July 2019.

[adverb-slut]

Empty Wallets and Empty Stomachs (Fanfiction)

Hiiiii, another AO3 repost from me, mainly ‘cause I’m trying to spread out my stuff on both platforms.  This is a short four-chapter story that I’m going to post all in one go (that’s why it’s so long) since I think it’s hard to navigate between different chapters on Tumblr.  If you’d like to read this story on AO3, click here.  I apologize in advance for the really bad title; I just couldn’t think of anything better at the time.

Title: 

Empty Wallets and Empty Stomachs

Summary: 

No summary, really.  Just chilling with Mammon and Beel and MC  and being dumb.  Mostly just MC and Mammon go shoppin’ and you cook with Beel.  Other shenanigans ensue.

Genre: 

Humor/Fluff/Slice of Life

Rating:

T

Word Count:

6645

Additional Note: 

Sorry to take too much of your time up with the super long stores, but again, on AO3, this is formatted and was originally meant to be a four-chapter story! :)

-

Chapter 1

“ … and that, class, is the true nature of the Twin Paradox.  As you can see—” Your professor, a gangly demon with round glasses and a haircut that reminds you vaguely of the Backstreet Boys, is promptly interrupted by the low gong of the school bell, signaling that class is over.  

Upon hearing this, you whip out your D.D.D and make your way to the door as your teacher calls, “Don’t forget to read Chapter Seven, Section Nine through Twelve of your Physics IV: Mind Over Matter textbook for class on Wednesday!”  

You scroll through the messages on your Chat app, doing your best to keep one eye on your D.D.D and one eye on the sea of demons bustling to get to their next class.

Lucky for you, Physics is your last class of the day.  As you make your way to the House of Lamentation, you notice that you have a missed call dating back an hour ago from Mammon.

Feeling it’s too late to call back, you decide to send a text instead.

Mammon MC:  You called?

MC:  What’s up?

You see an ellipse bubble pop up immediately, indicating that Mammon is typing.

Mammon:  MC HOW DARE YOU MISS MY CALL

Mammon: You can miss everyone else’s calls, but not *mine*, got it?

Mammon:  I have important things to say, y’know!

You feel a smile grow on your face and shake your head.

MC:  Important things?  Like what?

Mammon:  WELL, it just so happens that I get paid today!

You stare at the message in confusion.  Paid?  Before you can question his statement, you remember that Mammon frequently did various modeling jobs to make cash.  It was supposed to be a way to earn a little spending money and pay off his debts, but unfortunately for his creditors, the latter very rarely happened.

However, you are still unsure as to why Mammon is telling you this.  You send a confused-looking sticker.

Mammon, surprisingly, doesn’t respond right away.  You close out of the Chat app and begin to put your D.D.D away.  As you fumble around for a pocket to put it in, you crash headfirst into someone.

Oh, crap, you think.  The demons at R.A.D normally don’t bother you, but that’s because you usually don’t headbutt them accidentally.

“I’m so sorry—” you start, but your apology is cut short as the demon turns around.  “Beel! I apologize; I didn’t see you there!”

Beelzebub pivots to face you.  “Oh, hi, MC,” he says, greeting you with a melancholy nod. 

You cock your head curiously.  The sixth-born demon’s face is set into a sorrowful frown, and the five-pound bag of Scummy Bears that he’s holding is only half empty.  “Is something wrong?”    

He looks down and shakes his head.  “Nothing you need to worry about.” Beel looks back at you.  “Are you going back to the House of Lamentation?”

You want to ask him some more questions, but at the same time, don’t want to pry.  “Yep!”

“Let’s walk together, then.”  He flashes you an unconvincing smile as the two of you begin to make your way down the R.A.D halls.  

Unsure of what to say, you keep silent, smiling internally as Beel walks slower than his usual long strides so that you can keep up with him.  By now, most students have either gone to their dorms or have made it to their last few classes; the only sounds that echo through the hallway are you and Beel’s footsteps.

You keep your silence until the two of you near a trash can in the hall, where Beel dumps what remains of his bag of Scummy Bears into the garbage.

You gasp and your eyes widen.  What in the Devildom just happened?

Beel puts a hand over his taut stomach in response to your astonished look.  He peers at his feet as he explains, “My stomach feels queasy. I can’t eat right now.”

In the few months that you have known Beel, you can hardly remember a time where he has turned down food, let alone thrown it in the trash.  Whatever problem Beel is facing, you wager it has to be serious.  

Beel turns away and continues to walk down the corridor.  You want to grab his hand and get him to stop, but knowing Beel’s strength, you know that there’s no way that you could physically do that.  Instead, you run in front of him and put your hands out, causing him to halt and tilt his head in confusion.

Furrowing your brow, you poke Beel in the chest.  “Tell me what’s bothering you, Beel.  It’s not good to keep things bottled up.”

Beelzebub still won’t meet your eyes.  “I know.” He sighs, as he glances up and notices that you still haven’t left his path.  “I’ll tell you later.”

You don’t want to push the soft-spoken demon and step to the side.  “I hope you do.”

As before, you and Beel continue to the House of Lamentation in silence.  Once you two arrive, Beel heads directly to him and Belphegor's room without his usual stop to the kitchen.  You shake your head and make your way over to your own room.

Dumping your backpack onto the floor, you head over to your downy bed, breathing in the floral scent of jasmine and roses.  Only Asmodeus uses that scent of detergent, so he must be on laundry duty this week. You mentally thank him for using such a pleasant scent, unlike the strange musk of the sandalwood and papyrus fabric softener that Satan had used two weeks earlier.  

Your laundry-related musings are interrupted by rapid, deafening knocking on your door.  You hope it is Beel, finally ready to talk about whatever is bothering him, but you know better than that.  Beel, for all his muscled glory, has a very quiet, almost timid knock. The only demon in the House of Lamentation that has a knock so boisterous, so cacophonous, so incessant is … 

“How come you’re not dressed yet?” Mammon demands, walking straight into your room as soon as you open the door.  “Didn’t you get my messages?”

“I haven’t checked my D.D.D in a bit,” you admit, pulling the device out of the pocket of your uniform.  You open the Chat app, noticing that you indeed have some message notifications from Mammon.

Mammon Mammon:  HUH?  How’re you confused by *that*?

Mammon:  Getting paid means I’m going shopping!  And you’re comin’ with me!

Mammon:  Be dressed by the time I get home from *barf* tutoring!

Mammon:  Curse Lucifer and Satan for making me go to that crap, by the way.

Mammon:  I mean, who *cares* if I have a D- in Statistics?

“I don’t think I can go shopping today, Mammon,” you sigh.  Grabbing your backpack from off the ground, you begin to rifle through it until you find your Physics IV textbook.  “I have a lot of homework due soon.”

“Homework, shmomework,” Mammon chides, yanking the book from your hands.  “There ain’ t nothing wrong with not doing it once in a while.”

You give him a look.  No wonder he has a D- in Statistics.  

Mammon grabs your hand, leads you off the bed, and pushes you over to the closet.  “Tell ya what, if you come with me, I’ll be super generous and buy you anything you want from the store—only something super cheap, though, but still!”

You want to protest, but figure Mammon won’t let this go.  Instead, you get dressed into something more casual than your uniform and step out of your closet.

The second-born, who was absentmindedly flipping through your Physics textbook as you changed, immediately sits erect once as you appear.  “I swear that I wasn’t going through your things,” he claims. “Much.”  He gives your outfit a once-over and two thumbs-up.  “I always forget how nice you clean up for a human, MC!  You’re officially fashionable enough to stand by my side!”

You blush ever so slightly, but before Mammon can notice, you busy yourself by emptying your backpack of any school-related content.  That way, you have an empty bag to carry as you go shopping.  “And if I don’t want to stand by your side, Mammon?” you tease.  

The demon’s face flushes with a blush even deeper than yours.  “O—of course, you want to be by my side! I’m the Great Mammon, don’t you forget that!”

You smile as you take out your last notebook from your bag.  “Okay, I’m ready to go shopping with you,” you say, putting your backpack on.  “Let’s go.”

“Say it with a little more enthusiasm, will ya?” Mammon complains as he opens the door to let you through. 

You shake your head, smile, and decide to tease him some more.  “Fine. Let's go!”

“That’s not the part I said to be more enthusiastic about!”

-

Chapter 2

“Are you serious, Mammon?” Leviathan growls. “I already checked ahead—the Ruri-chan figurine, if you buy it in the Majolish collectibles department, is only four hundred and fifty thousand Grimm. I’m not paying you a cent more.”

Mammon waves his hand nonchalantly. “And if I ain’t mistaken, Levi, ya want this figure today, right?”

Levi grinds his teeth. “Right.”

“Well, then! Ya want me to go buy it for you today, you pay me my two hundred and twenty-five thousand Grimm labor fee!”

“I’m not paying you that much Grimm extra.”

“Then go buy it yourself!”

“I can’t. I have to finish this gaming campaign today. I already put it off long enough, and it’s not my fault that the Ruri-chan neko maid figure releases today, too!  It's gonna sell out, fast!”

“Then pay me my damn labor fee!”

“You just made that up, and I already told you—I’m not paying you that much, you ass!”

And on they go.  

You’ve been listening to the two brothers argue for the past fifteen minutes. You had thought by now maybe Mammon and you would have gotten a start on his shopping, but no, he had insisted on barging into Levi’s room to see if he could make a little extra Grimm off of his younger brother before the two of you left.  

“You’re scum, Mammon, you know that?” Levi growls. He turns to you, pouting. “What about you, MC? Will you buy my precious Ruri-chan figurine for me?”

You sigh. “Give me the money, Levi. If I see the figure, I’ll buy it.”

The third-born demon grins. “Thanks! I knew I could count on you.”  

He rummages through the pocket of his coat and begins to count out the right amount of Grimm. Once he has enough bills, he hands the stack to you, but before you can grab it, the money is intercepted by Mammon.

“I’ll hold onto that for you, MC,” Mammon assures, a coy smile lighting his face. “You don’t have any pockets in that sweatshirt.”

You smile sardonically and pull Levi’s money back. You know better than to trust Mammon, the Avatar of Greed with money of all things. Secrets? Maybe. Schemes? Definitely. Being a tsundere idiot? There was no one more capable. But money? You’d be rivaling him in idiocy if you did that.  

“It’s fine; I got it,” you promise, sliding the money into the deepest pocket in your backpack.

Levi scowls at Mammon as you two leave. “Please die.”

-

“Here we are, MC!” Mammon grins, waving his hand for you to take in all the scenery. “The most expensive shopping district in all of the Devildom!”

You look around at your surroundings; it was a horribly gaudy site. There are huge building complexes, studded with stores selling items from the most famous brands in the world. What really brings out the garishness of the location is that every store seems to be covered in gold.

There’s a gilded Ralph Goren shop, a Chanhell showroom that sparkles with a yellow brighter than the sun, and even a Burbury emporium that glitters with a fine flaxen coating.  

“Why … why does everything look like this?” you can’t help but ask.

Mammon, who had been staring lovingly at the lurid buildings, looks over at you, pulled out of his reverie. “What? Oh, the gold? It’s just to show how expensive everything is.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, MC,” Mammon explains, suddenly grabbing your hand as he leads you further into the shining abyss. “All this stuff—” He gestures toward all the name-brand stores. “You can find in any of the regular couture shopping districts in the Devildom. However, the stuff sold here specifically—the very same stuff in all the other stores—is more expensive.  The buildings are all covered in gold to represent that.  It’s great, huh?”

You dig your heels in the ground. “Wait … you mean … you’re only shopping here … because it’s expensive?”

“Duh! Things that cost more make ya look cool.” He yanks your hand harder to get you moving again. “Not that I need help looking cool or anythin.’”

“Of course.”

Wow, you realize. He really lives up to his title of the Avatar of Greed.

“Oh! Look over there! Silver-plated spurs! Let’s go see if they have ‘em in bronze or somethin’—silver kinda clashes with my look, y’know? And holy crap, they’re selling diamond insoles for your slippers in that store! Can’t imagine they’d be comfortable, but still, why wouldn’t you want ‘em?”

Before you know it, you and Mammon are standing in line for the register at Versucky, with the second-born demon holding at least seven or eight different, high-end items, all of which you wonder if he has any use for.  

“I know what you’re thinking, MC,” Mammon says, looking at your confused expression. “How much money does the Great Mammon make from modeling if he can afford to buy this much stuff?”

You want to point out that that was not in fact, what you were wondering, but he barrels on ahead.

“Well, a lot, of course, ‘cause y’know, I got all this.” He gestures toward his body sensuously. “But still, even if it’s not enough, I got my beloved Goldie!” Mammon shuffles all his desired items to one hand, and with the other, whips out a shiny black credit card from his pocket.

Your eyes widen. “Didn’t Lucifer confiscate that from you two days ago?”

“Yeah,” Mammon admits. “But I found it. He left it in one of the oysters in Levi’s aquarium—don’t ask how I figured it out.”

You shake your head and can’t help but smile at his rebelliousness. You wonder how Lucifer is going to punish Mammon for his craftiness this time.

As you and he reach the front of the line, Mammon suddenly drops everything he’s holding. “Oh, crap.”

You reach to pick up all the items that had tumbled to the ground. “What?”

“Well … “ Mammon scratches the back of his neck, a slight blush coming over his tan skin. “I just realized that I promised I’d buy ya somethin’ if you came with me, and heh, here you are.”

“It’s okay, Mammon; you don't need to get me anything,” you reassure him. You hadn’t really expected him to keep his end of the bargain, and honestly, you didn’t really care. You hadn’t actually needed anything from the store, and in fact, the only reason you had tagged along was, well, for the company … and the fact that Mammon wouldn’t have shut up if you hadn’t.  

“No, it’s not,” he says. He grabs your wrist and leads you out of Versucky. “I said I’d buy ya somethin’ and that’s what I’m gonna do. Here, we’ll buy whatever you want first, so then I’ll know how much Grimm I have left to spend.”

“But you don’t have to worry about how much money you can spend,” you remind him. “You have Goldie.”

Mammon’s blush deepens. “W—well, yeah, I know!” He looks down, grinding his heel into the ground. “But I just remembered that Lucifer put a control lock on her that notifies him every time she’s being used, and then he’ll know I took her back.” His head whips up immediately. “And just so y’know, it ain’t like I’m afraid of him, or anythin;’ I just figured not using her would be the smarter thing to do, that’s all!” 

You smile at his display. “If you say so.”

“Wh—what! Ya don’t believe me?”

“No, no, of course, I do.” 

“You—you better!” He coughs and tries to regain his composure. “Now, where do you wanna go? Unless ya wanted to shop at Versucky, ‘cause I guess we could go back in there.” 

“I’m not really sure,” you admit. Even in the human world, you weren’t very familiar with couture brands, and you’re even more lost in the Devildom. Your eyes scan the apparently endless miles of gilded shops until you spot a strange blip of steel gray in the sea of gold. “What’s that?”

Mammon squints in the direction you point. “Never seen that store before in my life. Kinda gross, though. The whole ashy color scheme really clashes with the rest of the buildings here.”

To be honest, you find the dull color of the edifice somewhat soothing compared to the sheer gaudiness of its surroundings. You begin to make your way over to it, Mammon in tow.

“Thrifty’s Cheap Finds,” Mammon reads as you near the building. He dry heaves. “Cheap finds? What is this? Some kind of lame way to attract broke-ass degenerates like …” He trails off when he sees your raised eyebrow and blushes. “I wasn’t gonna end that sentence with ‘you,’ I swear! Calm down!”

You shake your head and don’t respond as you enter the store. As you begin to wander around the shop, not even Mammon can keep his jaw from falling open in wonder. Inside Thrifty’s Cheap Finds is everything from hairspray to mattresses to books to cookie sheets—all of them branded with human company labels.  

“No wonder everything here is so cheap,” Mammon realizes. “No one in the Devildom wants human stuff. Well, unless you’re Satan and Lucifer and like all that antique crap.”

You resist the desire to glare at him and instead pore through everything in the shop, your eyes never failing to examine each item. It’s been months since you’ve been home and seen any of these types of knickknacks.  

A wave of homesickness washes over you as you finger a timeless gingham tablecloth, as Mammon ambles off to the electronics section, which is filled with ancient-looking cellphones and computers. 

You swallow the feeling away before it can cause a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes. You wander farther down, realizing that all the mismatched pots and pans mean that this is the cooking aisle.  

You pause in the section of this aisle that displays cookbooks and remember the miserable look on Beelzebub’s face earlier today. Perhaps, you wonder, there is something in here that would cheer him up.

The cookbooks are all in disarray, and you shuffle through the many stacks of them several times before you find a book that you think Beel would like. You flip through the cookbook and nod in approval; the pictures are large and detailed and the human recipes are quick, simple and hearty—perfect for the always hungry Avatar of Gluttony.  

You flip the book over and read the price tag. “Nine thousand Grimm.”  

You worry that that’s too much, especially since you remember Satan once mentioning that books from the human world usually weren’t economical. You haven’t really gotten the idea of how much a single Grimm is worth yet, and you keep hearing Mammon’s voice in your head, insisting that whatever you buy today be cheap.  

“Hey, what’cha got there, MC?” Mammon asks, materializing as if on cue. “This what you want?” He grabs the book from your hands and gives it a mildly disgusted look. “A cookbook?”

“It’s for Beel,” you say, defensively.

Mammon raises an eyebrow. “The only demon ya should be buying stuff for is me, but I’ll let it slide this time.” He too flips the book over. You grimace nervously as his eyes widen when he sees the price.

“I’ll put it back if it’s too expens—” you begin, pulling it away.

Mammon blushes. “Ar—are you kidding, MC? When I said to buy something cheap earlier, I didn’t actually mean it! Hell, I’m willing to splurge on ya if you really want somethin!’ You didn’t actually have to go find something this dirt-cheap!”

Huh, so nine thousand Grimm is considered inexpensive, you note. You smile at Mammon’s uncharacteristic generosity. “It’s okay, I really do want this.”

He runs a hand through his hair and tries to regain his composure, but to no avail. “Y—you sure? I mean—if ya wanna get somethin’ from Ralph Goren or somethin,’ I’m cool with that!”

You hold the cookbook to your chest and nod. “I’m sure.” You grab his hand and lead him to the register.

As Mammon pays the nine thousand Grimm to the lanky demon clerk, he shakes his head and looks at you. “You really are something else, y’know that, MC?”

-

Chapter 3

As soon as you and Mammon return home, you walk over to Leviathan’s room and knock on his door.  Hung on your wrist is a bag from a store called, Look At Me, I’m a Stupid Otaku (or at least, that’s what Mammon had told you the building sign had said.  You don’t know how to read Japanese.), which held a Ruri-chan figurine. “Levi? It’s me, MC.”

“Come in,” the third-born demon calls. 

You open the door, only to see Levi slouched over on his computer.  You take the figurine out of the bag. “Where do you want this?”

“Oh, is that my darling Ruri-chan?” he asks, his eyes never leaving the screen.  “You can bring it here. Sorry, I’d come over and get it myself, but there are only two minutes left on this boss stage, and he still has half of his HP left.”

You bring the figure to his desk and leave it next to what looks like a box of granola bars.  “Super high-energy chocolate-covered cricket snacks,” you read. “Now with extra protein.” You blanch because despite living in the Devildom for a while, you still have yet to become accustomed to the food.  

“Yeah, sometimes when I’m really in the gaming zone, I don’t leave my room for days, not even to get meals and stuff lololol, so I keep those here if I get hungry.”

“Can I have one?”  You are planning to check in on Beel after making this stop to Levi’s room, and realize that it would be better to show up with food.

His eyes glued to his computer, Levi nods.  “Go for it.”  

As you reach into the box to take one, Levi suddenly turns toward you, even though you can see the timer counting down on his game.  “Better take the whole box. Beel’s not gonna be satisfied with just one.” He sighs. “Everyone’s been kinda worried about him, you know?  He’s been down all day, but he’s not saying anything to anyone, not even Belphie.” He perks up. “But! If there is someone who can make him feel better, it’s you, MC!”

You smile at his worry for his brother.  “Thanks, Leviathan.” You stuff the box into your backpack.

He nods, before turning back to his game, frowning when he realizes that the onscreen timer read 00:00 and he hadn’t been able to finish off the boss.  “He’s in the gym.”

“Of course,” you say, as you leave his room.

-

Just as Levi had said, you find Beel in the House of Lamentation’s fully-equipped gym. 

The sixth-born demon is sitting cross-legged in front of an elliptical, a towel slung across his shoulders.  Unsurprisingly, his twin—Belphegor—is with him, napping with his head resting on Beel’s lap.  

Beel frowns nervously when he sees you.  “Oh, hi, MC.” He sighs. “ I guess you’re not here to tell Belphie how cute he looks sleeping like this. ”

You cock your head curiously.  “I can if you want me to.”

Beel shakes his head.  “I was just checking to see if he's awake.”

“Ah,” you realize, sitting down next to him.  “Is there something that you don’t want Belphie to hear?”

Beel nods but doesn’t say anything more.  Instead, he fiddles with the hem of his rather tight-fitting tank top.  You try not to stare at the bulging silhouette of his abs that show through.  “It’s funny,” he begins. “When either of us is upset, I get less hungry, but Belphie becomes more sleepy.”  

You remember learning of the twins’ connection a few days earlier.  The two had a bond so strong that they sometimes shared each other’s feelings, and if one had an extreme emotion, the other would often experience it, too.  You put a hand on his arm. “What are you so upset about, Beel?”

He groans.  “It’s nothing, really.”

You decide to try a different tactic.  “You’re worrying your brothers,” you admit gently.

“I know.”  Beel takes a deep breath.  Twisting around, he pulls out his navy backpack from behind the elliptical.  After rummaging through it for a moment, he pulls out a telltale Physics IV: Mind Over Matter textbook.  He flips to the end of the book and releases a packet of paper, which he hands to you.

You examine it for a moment, surprised to see in obnoxious red ink, the phrase F - sprawled across the front.  Maybe stick to lifting weights, meathead is written underneath it.  Although the words cause your blood to boil, you swallow your anger and calmly move your hand up to Beel’s shoulder.  “You’re upset because you did bad on a test?”

Beel slouches, his back sliding down one of the supports of the elliptical.  He continues to fiddle with his shirt and doesn’t meet your eyes. “It’s not just that,” he confesses.  “If I fail another one, my professor is going to make me repeat the subject.” He sighs. “Belphie’s always helped me study in Physics; we almost always have the same class schedule—except I take Weights and he takes regular P.E—and he always made sure I knew the material.”

“But Belphie doesn’t go to R.A.D this year,” you realize.  “He’s supposed to be enrolled in a human school for the exchange program.”

“Yeah,” Beel sighs.  “I can’t ask him to learn the information at home with me—I know he would if I asked—he’s already been through so much this year.”  He gulps. “Lucifer is going to be so mad when he finds out I’m failing.”

“Why can’t you just get a tutor, like Mammon does?”

“You see how everyone makes fun of him because of that.”

You want to point out that Mammon usually brought the teasing upon himself  and justified it with his unrelenting moronness, but an idea strikes you instead.  “Hey, I 'm in Physics IV, too.  Why don’t we study together?”

Beel’s face lights up.  “Really, MC? You’d do that?” 

You laugh as you hear his stomach growl in excitement.  “Of course!” You remember the cricket snacks you took from Levi’s room and begin to take the box out of your backpack.  You see the cookbook you bought for him and take that out, too. “You’re hungry, now?”

He grins sheepishly.  “Yes, I’m famished!”

“Look here, I brought you snacks,” you say, handing the box to him.  “Thank Levi next time you see him.”

Beel immediately rips open a package and begins to eat.  “Hi wroh.” He swallows, and repeats, “I will. Thanks to you, too.”  He looks at the cookbook in your hand curiously. “What’s that?”

You place the book in his lap, balancing it precariously on Belphegor’s head.  “It’s a cookbook from the human world. I bet it has all kinds of recipes for foods you haven’t tried before.”

Beel grabs another cricket snack as his eyes widen.  “I haven’t eaten many human foods before.  Let’s look at it together.”

You nod, opening the book and flipping the page as Beel munches.  

“Haha,” he laughs.  “Angel Food Cake. Maybe we should make some for Simeon and Luke.”  

You smile and turn to the following page.  The next recipe is for Devil’s Food Cake. “Or maybe you can make this one for dessert someday.  Or this one—look—Deviled Eggs.”

“Those look good.”  Opening another snack, Beel suggests, “Hey, MC, I’m on dinner duty tomorrow.  Want to help me cook some of these foods? Or maybe, I can cook and you can help me study?”

“That sounds like a good idea, Beel,” you muse.  “What do you think we should make, then?”

“Well, Satan won’t eat animals, Leviathan refuses to eat seafood, and Belphie—” He pats his brother on the head.  “—doesn’t like to eat beef or veal. If we use any of those, we probably have to substitute the meat with other things.”

You and Beel pore through the cookbook for several hours, finally deciding on Deviled Eggs as appetizers, Garlic Parmesan Risotto and Savory Mashed Potatoes for the main course, and Black Forest Cake for dessert.  

“This will be fun,” Beel promised, yawning.  “I’ll pick up the ingredients after school tomorrow.”

You curse the contagiousness of yawns as you yawn, too, feeling your eyes grow heavy.  You can feel Beel’s head rest on your shoulder as he begins to snore lightly. Without thinking, you lean your head to the right, feeling Beel’s under you.  You promise yourself that you won’t fall asleep as you close your eyes and mutter, “Sounds … like a … plan.”

-

Chapter 4

“I’m gonna kill him,” Mammon whispers, his voice low and colder than ice as you, him, and Beel huddle over your D.D.D.  “I’m really gonna kill him.”

Beel frowns at his elder brother.  “Why are you so upset? You’re not even in the picture.”

“Yeah, if anyone should be mad, it’s me, Beel, or Belphie,” you comment, zooming in on the photo, which had been taken yesterday.  

It was from when you and Beel had fallen asleep together as you two pored over the cookbook you had bought for him.  Strangely enough, Asmodeus—who had both taken and posted the photo—was in the picture, as well; he was posing as if he had been napping sweetly on your shoulder the whole time.  To everyone’s surprise, the only one “awake” in the photo appeared to be Belphie, who had wriggled his way from lying in Beel’s lap to having his legs rest on his brother while his torso and head were sprawled all over your lap.  He was too deeply engrossed in reading Beel’s new cookbook to notice his brother taking the picture. Asmodeus captioned the photo, Just getting a bit of beauty sleep with my babes 😘. 

“Yes, you should!”  Mammon says. “ Why aren’t you, by the way?  This photo is a total invasion of your privacy!”  He whirls toward Beel, his eyebrows downturned in anger.  “And what’s the big idea, Beel? Sleepin’ on MC’s shoulder like that?”  He puts a hand on your head patronizingly. “You shouldn’t touch anyone like that without their permission!”

Beel smiles.  “Well, I think MC looks cute in this photo!  And it’s not my fault that we fell asleep like that.”

Mammon rolls his eyes.  “Well, I’m still gonna kill Asmo for postin’ it.”  He taps on your Devilgram feed to unlike the photo.  “Anyway, why’d ya call me here?” he asks, gesturing toward the Hall of Lamentation’s kitchen.  

“No one called you here,” you remind him, taking a seat at the kitchen table.  You reach down, grab your backpack and pull out the cookbook you had bought for Beel, as well as your copy of Physics IV: Mind Over Matter.

“Yeah,” Beel agrees, his mouth downturned in a frown.  “You just heard that MC was going to be in the kitchen helping me cook and decided to come along.”

Blushing, Mammon takes a seat next to you.  “Maybe I just wanted to help ya cook, Beel.”

“No way.”  Beel sticks out his arms, barring him from entering the kitchen.  “You’re not helping me cook. If you cook, I won’t eat it.”

“Okay, okay, fine, jeez.”

As you flip through the cookbook to find the recipes that you and Beel had decided to make yesterday, Mammon grabs your Physics textbook, whipping through it boredly.  “Why’d ya bring your textbook to the kitchen? You having trouble in Physics and want to study here or somethin’? ‘Cause if you are, never fear—The Mammon is here!”

You look at Beel—who glances at you nervously—from the corner of your eyes.  You yank the textbook away from Mammon. “You’re not even taking Physics.”

“Yeah, I’m taking Chemistry, and have a C in it, so I’m still passing—so what?”

“How are you supposed to teach me Physics when you’re not even in it?”

“MC!  Don’t doubt the Great Mammon’s abilities!”

“Oh yeah?  Does the Great Mammon know the formula for … angular acceleration?”

“The change in angular speed divided by the change in time,” Beel pipes up, as he hovers over the stove, checking for the water to boil for his Deviled Eggs.

Mammon laughs and waves his hand at his brother.  “Don’t be ridiculous, Beel.” He turns to you. “C’mon, MC, don’t mess around with me.  I know ‘angular acceleration’ isn’t even a real word.”  

You turn to the glossary in the back of your book and point to the term with the formula next to it, which Beel had recited.  “Seems like the Great Mammon’s abilities have failed him.” You watch Mammon blush furiously and smile. “And besides, Beel and I are having a Physics study session, since we’re both in the class.”

“And we’re not getting much studying done with you here,” Beel quips.  He retrieves four dozen eggs from the refrigerator and begins to carefully drop them into the boiling water on the stove with a ladle.

You do a double-take and glance at the cookbook.  “Beel, the serving information here says that to serve eight people you only need sixteen eggs, at the most.”

Mammon and Beel shake their heads.  

“If my brothers are going to get a chance to eat anything, we’re going to have to make this many,” Beel decides.  He hoists up a giant pot of potatoes that had been already boiling on the stove and plops it in front of Mammon, handing him a potato masher.  “Mash these.”

“I thought you said you didn’t want me to cook anything,” Mammon whines.  

“Yes, because whatever you make tastes gross.  Mashing the potatoes isn’t cooking anything, so you can do just that.”

Mammon grumbles something that sounds curse word-y, but stands up and begins to work the masher into the potatoes.  “Just for that, I’m making ‘em creamy. No lumps.” He whispers to you, “Beel loves lumpy potatoes.”

“Fine, Belphie will like it smooth, anyway,” Beel assures.  He walks over to the refrigerator and yanks out an entire wheel of parmesan cheese.  He sets it in front of you and hands you a cheese grater. “Can you shred this cheese, MC?  I’m about to start getting the arborio rice for the risotto ready and the whole process is going to take a while.”

Your eyes widen.  He wants me to grate the entire wheel of parmesan.  “Sure, but what about our … you know, study session?”  You had promised to help Beel with Physics, and you were by no means going to forget about it.

“Ask me questions as we go?  Sorry, I didn’t realize how much there was to do,” he says sheepishly.  

You nod, laying your Physics textbook flat open to Chapter Seven, which was your assigned reading for your next class.  

You cut off a block of cheese and begin to run it against the serrated surface of the cheese grater for several hours, asking Beel problem after problem from the book.  He stumbles on quite a few of them, but you correct him only if you know how to—after all, you yourself aren't a master in Physics. The ones you don’t are questions that you skip, mentally circling them to come back to later.  

Every so often, Beel grabs a scoop of the mound of grated parmesan that you have shredded and adds it to his pot of risotto.  Surprisingly, Mammon also throws several handfuls of cheese into his potatoes, as he mashes them until they are so smooth that you were sure that not even an ant would be able to find the tiniest lump.

Beel doesn’t notice that Mammon adds the rest of the ingredients in the recipe to the potatoes—copious amounts of cream, whole stalks of herbs, salt, and more butter than you have ever seen in your life, and stirs them together.  

“Beel says he won’t eat anythin’ I make ‘cause he’ll hate it,” Mammon explains to you when you stare at him for disobeying his brother’s explicit orders of doing nothing but mashing the potatoes.  He smirks. “But wait ‘till he gets a load of these.  They’re gonna be great.”

You roll your eyes at the mischievous demon, wondering how his little fling with deviancy is going to bite him this time. 

“Okay, time to assemble the cake,” Beel announces, plopping all forty-eight freshly-piped Deviled Eggs onto the table, along with a steaming casserole filled with Garlic Parmesan Risotto.  “MC, can you sprinkle the rest of the cheese on top?”  

As you begin to do just that, he brings over three round German chocolate cakes, a bowl of whipped cream, and a dish filled with cherries macerated in sugar.  One of the three cakes is already topped with a layer of cream and cherries.  

“I hate cherries,” Mammon grumbles.

As if on cue, Asmodeus walks by.  “That’s why you’ve never popped one.”

You stifle your laughter as Mammon’s face turns a very unbecoming shade of red.  “Asmo!”  He sprints after his brother, leaving you and Beel alone in the kitchen.  “I was already gonna kill you once, but now I’m gonna kill you twice! C’mere, you bastard!”

You turn towards Beel, who is putting the third layer of cake onto the growing tower and covering it with whipped cream.  

Putting his spatula down, Beel looks at you.  “MC, thanks so much for helping me today—with the food, with the studying, with everything.”  He looks down. “I don’t know what I would’ve done without you.”

You smile at him.  “It’s no problem, Beel!”

“No, really,” Beel insists, staring into your eyes with an intensity that sends shivers all the way down to your toes and causes you to flush pink.  “I feel so much more confident now in Physics. I think if I took a quiz today, I’d at least know enough to pass.”

“I’m just glad I could help,” you say honestly.  

Beel grins and carefully lifts the Black Forest Cake by its base and puts it on a cake pedestal.  “It’s time to put all this food in the dining room,” he says. He then notices Mammon’s mashed potatoes.  He frowns as he sees the green herb fragments, signifying that his brother had done something other to the potatoes than simply mash them as he had told him to.  He dips a spoon into the pot and tastes them.  Beel’s face becomes a blazing inferno. “I’m going to eat him.”

“What?” you ask, noticing the sudden shift in his mood.

“Sugar.”

“Sugar?”

“He put … sugar … in the Savory Mashed Potatoes.” 

THE END   

[pernatius]

Lost in Space Part 9: Ch 2

Previous

Summary: Syco and the unnamed Space Explorer question their choices

Lost in Space on Tumblr

Lost in Space on ao3

Lots of diagrams. Plenty of banter but no signs of Ashley, Mikrovos, or Skeema. In the end, though, I can’t say it was a complete waste of time. I know where they are, and I also know where Syco is in terms of his state of mind. 

“I’ll look more into it.” His projected image vanishes, and the symbols that were once circling Syco float back down to the platform. Once again, it's just the two of us. His back is facing me. A purple glow is facing him. The compass, what Commander Knox was referring to before leaving the meeting, is held in Syco’s hand. It's held in his other hand, the one not ranked with death. Its symbols have yet to be translated. The two are stuck, Syco especially as he remains standing on that platform, refusing to look at me. 

“I loved it. I loved the feeling. I loved the power I had. I took so many lives. I took too many lives. The Commander, he,” he sighs, and his grip loosens, “No. No, I can’t blame him. It was my fault. It was all my fault. I let my dark desires take over. That’s why I stopped. That’s why I took that oath, but I broke it.” 

He shakes his head. Briefly, I see a smirk. It’s not the villainous smirk I’ve grown ill towards. It’s the type of smirk that says: “I fucked up then, and I fucked up once again.” 

Continuing his monologue, “I’m trying to do what’s right. I’m trying to make up for what I’ve done. I'm trying to walk forward, but I keep walking backward. I’m trying to save lives, not end them. It’s times like these I question if this war is worth it. Have I become what I’ve grown to hate? I’m insane, but you already know that. 

“I can't trust my inner circle. I can’t even trust myself. I never could. Human, you’re the only one I trust. So, please tell me, have I become the villain in this story?” Finally, he turns to face me. For once, our height difference doesn't bother me.

“We’re the villains in our stories, but there’s no such thing as justice. There’s just us and our decisions. Make one that helps us, and it hurts others. Make one that helps them, and it hurts us.” 

“The universe isn’t infinite. It’s finite. It crushes, breaks. It kills life. The truth is ironic, but we’d rather believe lies. I don’t want to be like everyone else anymore. I don’t want to be me anymore. I hear and see things that aren’t really there. I don’t sleep. I can’t because they’re always nightmares. I’m restless. That’s why when we finally write ourselves in the last chapter in this story I want my story to end with you. 

“I disagree with your earlier statement, though I can see where you’re coming from. There is justice in this abyss we call the universe. It’s when I find myself meeting with and gasping underneath your blade.”

Instead of a set of glowing purple eyes glaring at me from afar, hunting me for my reaction, is two sets of eyes looking at each other. Both are stiff, serious. One of them switches from looking at someone I have to call my friend, as the only way of surviving is by having friends, to her screen. “It just looks like chicken scratch to me.”

The symbols on her screen are the same ones that were written on me. I touch my chest. They’re gone now, but I imagine the red paint had rubbed onto my hand. It feels like blood. It looks like blood. I get a chill thinking about seeing the reflection of that thing from the trial onto the imaginary stroke on my hand. 

It’s when I step inside the room the two finally take note of me. They look up, but Shiitakee returns to inspecting Saamuki’s screen. “Any news,” she asked.

“Yeah. How far away are we from Quadrant Forty?”

“It's about a two-hour trip, but that's a lot closer than I expected.”

“They’ll be there a while.”

“But I still can’t figure out how to access the code.”

I join Shiitakee. “What’s this about?”

“The symbols that were on you are the same ones that Sakhra painted on himself. I see the same ones whenever I glow. It’s the same one I heard The Speaker speak.”

“Are they the same as the ones on Syco’s compass? I haven’t gotten a good look at it yet.”

“Me too, but it wouldn’t surprise me if it is.”

Shiitakee cuts in, cutting out of his daze on Saamuki’e screen, “Fine, let’s say I believe you. Okay, this isn’t just some chicken scratch. Out of the millions of languages in the known universe, whoever first started this whole strange trend decided to use a language I haven’t heard about until just a few minutes ago. Why?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out, but maybe if I were to look around Quadrant Thirty-Nine’s library I could find something.”

“And how would you do that? We’re two hours away at the very least, remember? Besides, I hear it’s the most guarded place right now.”

“Also, I don’t think Syco is going to let us just get up and leave anytime soon. It’s not the best time right now,” I added. 

“That's fine I wasn't planning on leaving this room. I know of a way to set foot in that library without actually setting foot." Both Shiitakee and I look at each other. Following our shrugs is Saamuki continuing with, "It's a lot of explaining. But basically..." 

The way was by sending holograms of us first flying across the universe at unimaginable speeds, then swimming in miles of electric currents to eventually abruptly being smacked onto some dusty, browning tiles I pictured being cold. For the most guarded place in the universe, it sure looks abandoned. One of the lights above is flickering. It goes on and off for a minute before it completely dies. At least the other lights above, thousands of dim lights, can keep on. They shine across the jaw-dropping rows upon rows of books. Piles of them, rather than being properly organized by nuzzling against each other in bookshelves, are stacked high. Three nearly reach the roof, which I need to add this building is three stories high. All of the piles are taller than our three heights combined. Why must aliens not use bookshelves?

At the very center of the ceiling is a perfectly square window lying just behind a cage. On the other side of the window, squeezed between the nest of what I hope aren't bones, is a purpling sky. It’s twilight here. 

Gleefully Saamuki whispers, “It worked.” 

Footsteps are heard coming our way. I gulp. 

Saamuki reminds us, “No one can see us.”

The guard’s footsteps die down as they turn and move away from us.

“Although, we have to be careful with our voices." She raises her head and looks around the library. "Sounds bounce around here quite easily.” 

Shiitakee looks around before replying, “Curse me for not asking more but don’t tell me we’re actually going to look through this mess to look for a book or two we don’t even know the name of. Must I add, for a mere theory? Who knows maybe it’s just a coincidence, or maybe you’re overthinking. Maybe I was actually right for once.”

“I didn’t force you to come, Shiitakee. I asked you to come.”

“Yes, you did.”

“You can still go back.”

“That’s the thing I could. I will after a few minutes. Maybe when I can’t take this bore anymore, but it was really boring waiting for you two to come back last time.”

“Then, let’s get right into it.”

The three of us went our separate ways after promising to meet back there. Saamuki went straight, going deeper into the jungle of books. One minute she's waving bye to us. The next, she's been swallowed by the books. My other companion just turned away and flipped through the nearest book. I went right. The books here are smaller than the books Saamuki traveled into, but they’re much more portly. They’re almost five inches thick. I scan the titles. Many I find interest in, thinking they held the answers Saamuki is looking for. I find myself skimming through them, and in those brief moments, I try to figure out how to cope with how much time I wasted. I groan. Little blurry pictures. So few creative titles. Too many tiny printed words, most of which are long. I despise reading. It always makes me so sleepy, but I force myself to the next book and then to the next. I must’ve skimmed through a hundred, barely a tenth of the books around me, before my eyes become too watery to read. I reach around for another book, but I fall on my butt. Accepting my new predicament, mainly because I'm too tired to get up, I note the book is coated in just as much dust as the floor, if not more. I blow on it but soon regret it. I cough and try to hold in the noise. I try fanning away the fine particles. When they eventually blow away, I frown because I can’t read the title of this book. Maybe if I flip through the book I’ll find at least a word I can read. Nope. It’s all simply just lines, circles, and dashes to me. They have no meaning to me, but the stars above do. It’s well past midnight. We’ve been here for hours, but find ourselves no better than where we were before coming here. I sigh and lay back to look up at the ceiling. 

I hope Saamuki is close to finding something. I also hope I get to see the others soon. I reach my hand up, thinking I’m somehow able to reach out to them lightyears away from where I’m laying. Then, I hear static. With a guard swinging his flashlight across my clearing, I chalk the strange sound to his shuffles even though I knew that doesn't make sense. That’s why I’m not surprised when I get the real answer. I hear a voice I haven’t heard in some time. Hearing it has me get up, get watery-eyed, and look around for the unlikely. “Skeema,” I asked quietly. 

A moment. No reply. I was about to rethink my recent judgment until he finally replies, “It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”

“W-Where are you?” I look around again, thinking Skeema would pop out of nowhere with tea for us to share. Of course, that doesn’t happen. I remain alone in this crevasse in the sea of books listening to the guard walking away. 

“Light years away from your location.”

“How are you talking to me?” At first, I thought I'd truly gone insane like Syco. Then, I remembered what Syco did all those weeks ago before the tournament. Although, unlike then, I don’t get to see the face behind the voice. “Right. My chip.”

“Yes.” A cough rushes out of Skeema. It sounded painful. I felt it. It’s as if my chest is collapsing in on itself. 

“Are you alright, Skeema?”

“It’s nothing. Don't worry about it. I don’t have much time. Knox is planning something big. Don't come looking for us. For the time being, remain where you are.”

“What? Why?”

“I’m sorry. I don’t have the time to explain, but I’ll let you know when I can.” A blaster goes off on his side. It rings in my ears, and right after our call goes static. I try calling out his name. Nothing. 

Looking up at the window, I wonder what's coming. Then, instead of getting an answer, but it’s not like I would’ve gotten one, I see a black silhouette looming over me. I get out my sword, and they just tilt their head.

[maq-moon]

My mental illness & fandom

So this is a long time coming from me. Almost a year, really. I want to be clear up front: this isn’t a call-out post. It’s me explaining my (and possibly others’) behavior. It’s partially an apology, too. I know tumblr is like... the worst place to talk about mental health, but this is where the people I care for-- the people to whom this applies-- will see it. I’m so nervous that I’m actually shaking, but I think it has to be said. I won’t feel right until I’ve explained. So, off we go!

I’m crazy. I use that word because I have to laugh about my mental health or I’ll cry about it. There’s a laundry list of diagnoses (when I see a new doctor I ask, “Would you like them alphabetically or the order in which they were diagnosed?”), but right now we’re going to focus on two. I have PTSD (no, I won’t say why) and BPD. BPD is currently being bastardized in the media. Crime shows love to have their perp or unsub suffering from undiagnosed or unmedicated borderline. I won’t rant about how the mentally ill are far more likely to be the victims of violent crimes than to commit them.

The central thing with BPD is “black and white” or “all or nothing” thinking. Everything is one extreme or another; no middle ground exists. There are also attachment issues. We tend to get attached to people fast. Add the “all or nothing” to that. We could, hypothetically, meet a new person, have one or two good conversations, and think, “Wow, we’re great friends!” while the other person is thinking, “Meh, maybe I won’t answer their next text.” (This is where the media stereotype of stalkers/obsessed killers comes from).

I get this way. I’m very sociable and chatty and, if others are to be believed, downright charming *wink* I also attempt to cover my insecurities with humor. I’m incredibly insecure and want to avoid talking about a significant amount of my life, so I joke a lot. I’m generally positive with everyone I meet. Why shouldn’t this new person want to be my friend?

Because of me. Because of PTSD. As much as I get attached, as much as I want this new friend, I can’t trust them. As soon as a conversation turns serious, I get uncomfortable and push new people away. Sometimes friends will physically push the new people away for me if they see I’m in distress.

Which brings us to our title: fandom. Should be lots easier since it’s online, right? Nope! Have you ever heard of parasocial relationships? Most people haven’t. I learned about them when David Bowie died. A parasocial relationship is basically a one-sided relationship-- like why you’re sad when a celebrity dies. They didn’t know you, but you felt that you knew them in a way. That’s why the prefix is para. Here’s the connection. A person with borderline gets involved in fandom. Suddenly they’re surrounded by new people. Blogs, Twitter, the AO3 comment section, Discord servers-- they all serve as a way to interact with new people. And interaction means attachment.

In the interest of full disclosure, I have made actual friends in fandom. I go out of state a few times a year to visit someone from my Harry Potter roleplay days. I know it’s not impossible. But I don’t know when it’s a real relationship and when it’s parasocial.

You may be thinking that it’s like this for everyone. We’re all navigating the Internet and faceless kinda-friends. Well, yes. But I’m acutely aware of how having borderline makes me act and how it affects others. I don’t want to be that clingy weird lady. I don’t want to over-share and make people uncomfortable. So as soon as I feel a rapport building with someone online, I do what I do in real life: shut.it.down. I don’t ghost one person, I quit the Internet (all or nothing, remember?). I don’t want to give myself the opportunity to fuck up a friendship, so I stop myself from forming one. And I don’t think about how that affects the other person, because PTSD has me focused on my own well-being.

BPD and PTSD are one hell of a combo, right? Come closer, stay back! Ugh.

I asked my therapist once how to tell if the people online were my friends, if they liked me as much as I liked them. She said that a good indicator would be someone going out of their way to ask how you are or just saying “hi”. I realized my fandom friends weren’t my friends, and it was probably my fault. I quit the Internet for much of 2020 (when I wanted to come back, my computer broke. w e i r d). It’s hypocritical of me to make assumptions, though. After all, I don’t send random “hello how ya doin” messages. I keep quiet out of fear of my mental illness. I don’t know why others are quiet. I jump to the worst conclusion, though: none of them like me. And that’s me. That’s not a reflection of any community I’m in. All of my fandoms are full of lovely people. People I like, and who I wish I were brave enough to let like me.

I said way back in the first paragraph that this is a sort of apology. I’m not apologizing for having mental illnesses. Genetics and experiences did that and I stopped being ashamed a long time ago. I do want to apologize to a great group of people (while being vague enough that hopefully only they know who they are?).

Last year, I feel like I invited myself to your event. It was open, obviously, and I had a great vacation around it, but I still feel like I went somewhere I wasn’t supposed to. Zero blame on all of you; it was me assuming we were friends. The person I brought with me kept trying to get me to actively invite myself to things you were doing the next day. You weren’t talking to us, but she heard two of you discussing Indian food and kept pushing me to jump in; I’m not that rude. I talked to each of you for a few minutes, and then… Then I was afraid that the borderline would “kick in”. I was afraid that the only reason I had driven so far to meet you was because of borderline-induced parasocial relationships. A few weeks later, I did a fic swap but ignored everyone. I didn’t talk. I wrote, but I didn’t interact. I’m sorry for all of it. I won’t blame BPD; that’s a cop out (I have borderline, not “I’m borderline”). I was just very excited and very afraid and very insecure and even more very afraid.  

I’m used to not being liked. I’m what you would call “an odd duck” or “a special snowflake”. I’m weird, basically. But it’s one thing to be disliked for your weirdness and another to not know why you’re disliked, or even IF you’re disliked. That’s the beauty and the horror of the Internet, I guess. You can do you, but there are no boys asking you for tissues the day you’re wearing a Wonderbra. Er, an imperfect analogy. You don’t know what people really think! There’s no body language, no inflection. The only way I can think to tell if someone’s sort of my friend is if we’re mutuals. Some of my very favorite people aren’t, and I won’t pretend that doesn’t sting—but it’s me. It’s me and my idea of friendship, which is arbitrary and changeable, and it’s my brain playing tricks on me, and it’s me trying to outsmart a mental illness.

So… yeah. 1300 words on my brand of crazy. I hope maybe I cleared some things up (eleven months later). I guess if I had to tl;dr this thing, it would be that if I’m following you on a social media platform, if I go back-and-forth with you in comments, and so on, I probably want to be your friend and have been self-sabotaging. I’m not trying to put any onus on you. I’m just letting you know.

With love,

Mac        

[lawonderlandwriter]

So here is all that has happened and all that I know and all of my thoughts on this intra-ship-tag war. For anyone who cares to read.

I hadn't written a new fic in a while. Not since Season 8 was airing, so I was not really aware of what was going on until one fic in particular where Jon has an abusive past, started getting negative attention. Most people will know which fic I’m talking about (for the purposes of this post, I’ll refer to it as FIC1). 

I had come across the fic randomly and skimmed it, deciding it seemed interesting and I would read it fully when I had the chance. Then I saw the hate the fic was getting and I read it fully immediately. I thought the fic was incredibly well written and wasn’t in any way a Jon-hate fic. Some parts of the fic I even was a tiny bit uncomfortable for the way it portrayed Dany, but I was too interested to let those parts get to me and I have since kept up with it and plan to read it until it’s conclusion. 

When I saw the hate on FIC1, I posted about it. How I thought the fic didn’t deserve the hate it was getting and how I thought people were casting judgement without really reading it, just commenting based on what they had heard about it and the author. 

This got me some hate but I stood by my fellow author. 

This was when I first heard of the “Discord” group. 

Everything I knew about the discord was hearsay as I am not and have never been involved in it. I heard the discord was all men who stanned Jon Snow and hate-commented on any fic they didn't like and had been policing the tag since basically the S8 finale. As I had seen hate comments on fics with my own eyes, I had no reason to question this. 

Especially when fics began showing up in the tag of Dany getting raped in response to each time FIC1 would update. Comments on those fics were sarcastic and crude and supportive. I have never used A03 as a social media platform so I was not and still am not very familiar with usernames. 

More accusations flew around that those responsible for these fics and fics that plagairised FIC1 stemmed from the Discord. I had no reason to believe otherwise (but I also had no reason to believe it was all Discord people either which I should not have so readily believed).

More fics were posted by authors I read and respect and more hate was flung around. Again, the Discord was blamed, perhaps* wrongly. My prejudice against this supposed discord group grew.

Then I started writing “Queens Always Have the Last Word” (QAHTLW). At first, the response was positive - everyone seemingly hates Sansa. A few complained I wasn’t changing Jon’s general S8 demeanor which annoyed me. I had made it perfectly clear in the tags that the story would focus on Dany - and I had already written a fic for Jon where he was the star and got the last word. This was her turn. 

I did not and still do not consider it a Jon-hate fic or that the fic is an attack on Jon’s character in any way. I kept Jon essentially close to his S8 self but added a bit more to him - additions I thought were positive.

But my fic was somehow labeled “Jon Snow hate.”  

Some people in comments on my and other fics have said something about S8 fics being “serious” fics, hence why I guess my QAHTLW was labeled “Jon hate.”

For one, this to me this seemed an incredibly arbitrary rule and it still seems incredibly arbitrary. That S8 fics HAVE to be “serious”. Why is it just S8 fics?

For those wondering, my understanding of a “serious” fic is a fic that HAS to feature Jon and Dany as being 100% equal to each other and the narrative HAS to treat them as 100% equal and be kind to both of them. 

If a fic is not considered “serious”, it is okay for Jon and Dany to not be 100% equal or treated equal by the narrative - one example of “non-serious” fics in the Jonerys A03 tag were harem fics. 

At least, that’s what I’ve been told by commenters - harem fics are okay to be in the Jonerys tag on A03 (even though they are incredibly unequal in regards of who gets to sleep with who) because apparently “no one takes them seriously.”

This is what I have been told: “No one takes harem fics seriously.”

So, because of this new standard set forth by people who either had been policing the tag, or people trying to explain the motives behind people policing the tag, a line became drawn. 

Those of us who don’t write or read harem fics, we (I, rather, but others likely as well) began to see this line as “Jon Snow stans” and “Daenerys stans”. Because it’s highly unlikely many Dany fans would want to read fics where Jon just gets to smash everyone in ASOIAF.

So then I had a pretty damning encounter with someone in the comments of Chapter 4 of QAHTLW. The hate started off right out the gate:

This comment was a lot of things at once. 1) It cemented for me this weird divide between “Tumblr” (“Tumblrinas” as some call us) writers and “others” (I assumed all the “others” were Discord users). 2) It cemented for me that all the “others” were exclusively Jon fans, due to the accusation here that I don’t care about Jon, and 3) it was the first time I had been told to literally stop writing and leave to community. 

I reacted immediately. The encounter was petty (yes, I was petty too, fully admit it) and went on for several comments. Then my hate commenter responded with this:

I had seen that “reeeeeeee” before. Just a day before actually, here on Tumblr. It wasn't a post of mine, but a response to one of my mutual’s posts. The person who reblogged with the “reeeeeeeee” comment left a nasty note about Dany going crazy - it was clearly a comment meant to be offensive to Dany stans. I reblogged said post and blocked the user who had made the “reeeeee” comment.

So because my hate commenter on A03 used the same language as the Tumblr reblogger, I called him out on it, thinking I knew who he was. We went back and forth on that for another round of comments, and then he sent me this:

1) The user claims he is not the same person from Tumblr, 2) he admits to being in the “Discord” group, 3) He admits the Tumblr user I had blocked posts things from Tumblr to share with the Discord group for the purposes of making fun of us, and 4) he admits to using a “throwaway” account on A03 in order to avoid being banned by the site, should his comments get reported. 

Because of this encounter, I felt I had enough information to pass blanket judgement on the Discord group. To me, because of this person’s comments, the Discord was a place where male Jon Snow fans hung out and talked shit about Dany stans from Tumblr. 

And because this person had said things from Tumblr were shared (and laughed at) on the Discord, and because the very next day I posted a link on my Tumblr to QAHTLW, I felt I had made a connection. 

To me, it seemed like this hate comment stemmed from the Discord and was encouraged because of my reblogging of the Tumblr post. 

These comments on my fic felt like retaliation for something that had happened on Tumblr. 

It felt calculated. It felt systematic. It felt purposeful. It felt really fucking creepy. 

I reported it to A03.

A little while after the encounter, I got a final comment from this person. He had deleted his “throwaway” account and whatever other account he had been using, leaving me this on anon:

While I did think him a jerk for all the things he had said, I can respect this. Thank you whoever you are for realizing you were being a bully. My comments to you were rude as well, I know. 

But he admitted his fault in instigating the argument and said he would stop. So, I can only say, respect. 

Still, though one person had left this “tag policing” behind, it had opened a can of worms. Again, he had admitted to the discord sharing and laughing at shit from Tumblr. And so far as I knew, he only found my fic because of the Discord (may or may not be true, but that’s how it came across to me at the time).  

My view of the Discord was lowered further. 

Then, another "problematic” Jonerys fic was posted. We’ll call this FIC2. 

I didn’t think anything of it, honestly. I really, seriously didn’t. 

It was by an author I love to death so naturally, anything she writes, I excitedly reblog. Which I did. I didn't do so with any kind of snide remark, I wasn’t thinking about the fic’s treatment of Jon (because I didn’t think the fic would treat Jon badly...and it didn’t), I didn’t think about the other characters this fic involved. Nothing. 

I was seriously just fucking reblogging a fic from a friend, and then of course left a generic “loved it, this was hot!” comment on the fic on A03. 

And I got hate for that. Surprise Surprise:

This is two comments from, I’m assuming, two different users. Both were on anon. Once again, we were called “Tumblrinas”.

But a new level to this creepiness was added. 

Someone started using my name on A03 as their anon name. 

(The above comment thread has since been deleted but I screenshot it before the delete because I wanted to report to A03 - using someone else’s name and/or misrepresenting another user is very much in violation of A03s Terms of Service).

So that was the first fic this happened on but this person from FIC2 has since been going on all kinds of Jonerys fics on A03 leaving more comments, calling himself “LAStoryWriterAlex’s Rules and Regulations Enforcer.”

This was on another “problematic” fic (I won’t call it Jon hate because FFS it’s NOT Jon hate!):

Along with leaving a sarcastic remark about how I and my “crew of miscreants” apparently have now made a rule that “you can only leave praise in comments”, this person also called the fic he was commenting on “garbage”. So, rude. 

Then he left this on a RAPE fic:

He did not call the RAPE fic “garbage” and even used “please” and “thank you”.

Because this all seemed to stem from my reblog of FIC2 on Tumblr, I again assumed that this person, my “rules and regulations enforcer,” was from the Discord and had only seen my reblog of FIC2 because someone had snapshotted it and shown it to the Discord. 

I admit, it was wrong of me to assume this. I have no way of knowing if this person is from the Discord or not. But because of my last encounter, and as this was another thing that seemed to start from Tumblr, this is what I assumed. 

Then I posted my Dandry fic, Retrograde. 

You all know what happened with that.

In all honesty, I didn't write this to “piss off the incels”. (I also apologize for calling the entire Discord incels. I now know a few of you and realize this was a mistake). I wrote this fic because the idea came to me, it excited me, and once I started writing, I couldn’t stop. I was having fun with it. I’ve never shipped Dany/Gendry before, but since 8x04, this fic was always an idea in the back of my mind and I himhawed with writing it, mostly because I was busy with other things, but I worked on it. And when I got the first chapter done I posted.

And all hell broke loose. 

At first I had anon commenting enabled, but then disabled it because I just couldn’t fucking take it. It was exhausting. 

I got kind comments, I got neutral comments, I got rude comments, I got people arguing with each other in the comments, and then I got just fucked up comments -

Comments about me, my family, my weight:

In short, my parents should have aborted me brutally, my mother is a dirty whore, I’m cancer (not the zodiac sign I’m guessing), and I’m allegedly fat. 

I admit, the fat one got to me. I’m not fat, never have been overweight. But I do occasionally obsess about my weight, so that one got a reaction from me and I know, I know it shouldn’t have. But I made note anyway, of the fact that all my profiles are linked and there are pics of me in existence online that prove I’m not fat - I wanted to prove I’m not fat. My vanity got the better of me and so invited people to find pictures of me. Which had certain consequences I’ll discuss in a moment. 

I also got fucked up comments about Gendry and Dany - Dany in that apparently she’s a whore, and Gendry because he’s an uneducated bastard. Which, way to go elitist scum. I really don’t feel bad about saying that. These comments are elitist and misogynistic. Really makes me wonder what people would think of Jon if the show hadn’t made him legitimate. Would they all still stan him then? Do they only like him because he was heir to the throne??

Anyway, that as just the first two pages! (There were more supportive comments than not - I think) but there are now 8 pages of comments. So you can only guess what the rest of those 8 pages contain. 

I got all kinds of anons on Tumblr because of this. Some who supported my fic - thank you - and others who spewed the same kind of drivel from A03. I’m a whore, cunt, dumb bitch, awful writer, etc. 

Then, because I had exposed myself and made note of all my profiles being linked (which I had initially done so friendly A03 people could find my Tumblr if they didn’t already connect the two), I started getting anons commenting on, of all things, my fucking forehead, which apparently is larger than normal? Whatever, fuck you, I think I’m adorable, so there. 

I got an anon recently talking about the connection myself and others had made between the Discord and the revenge rape fics.

I agreed with anon in my response, that it was wrong for me to blame the Discord for fics like the beastiality fic in the tag. I pointed out however, that people were not attacking that writer the way they’ve been attacking me and others.

Again, it was wrong of me to assume all people in the Discord were leaving the hate comments. I admit that and I apologize for it. 

But I have proof (above) that at least one of the people policing the tag was from the Discord. And I have since had reason to believe some in the Discord still police the tag and do so quite hatefully. 

I was thinking about this most recent anon a lot since I got it and answered it. And then today when I was cursing the tag...

I came across one of the Modern Targcest fics. 

And I saw red. 

I clicked on the A03 “Collection” and skimmed through. Many of the fics were ones I had already seen/skimmed or read. But looking at the collection as a whole, I got an impression of the tag. 

And yes, I admit, my impression did not apply to all fics. And even the fics it did apply to, I should have never called out. 

I wanted to make a point, and I went about it the wrong way. 

The point I had wanted to make was that all the people policing the tag were hypocrites because these DubCon fics (some are less consensual than others) had relatively low engagement compared to my fic which was 100% consensual.

This still is something that bothers me, honestly, though it is through no fault of the authors of these DubCon fics. 

I just really hate that those fics are left relatively in peace and a fic like mine is not. Do I want those fics to get more hate? No. I just want the hate on mine and others like it to stop.

But I did go about it the wrong way. 

Certain people felt I misrepresented certain fics when I made THIS post. I roped all the fics into one category, and made an assumption about them all and that was wrong. 

Also, some people thought by making this post, I was saying that these authors “like” rape or are real life rape apologists, which was not my intention either. 

I still believe some of these fics are on a rape-spectrum. I’m sorry, that’s just what DubCon is. Not all of these DubCon fics are rapey, but some of them are. 

And it’s fine if that’s what you want to write and read. Really, it is. As I’ve stated, fanfic is a SAFE place for people to explore taboos, like rape and incest. Just because we read and write about it, doesn’t mean we would ever do it in real life. In fic, it’s fine though. 

And I apologize if my post came off as kink-shaming. Not my intention. 

Again, my intention was merely to point out the discrepancy in reaction to these fics because to me, a DubCon fic is more problematic than a cheating fic. My opinion. You may not share my opinion. 

Really my intention here was for people to realize that, if you can turn a blind eye to DubCon (something I find pretty problematic), then you should also be able to spare the same courtesy to other fics, like cheating, cuck, or “Jon Snow hate fics” - (and it’s always someone’s opinion whether or not the fic is truly Jon Snow hate).

If Dany fans can make it through the tag without commenting on some of the more extreme DubCon fics, and through the Harem fics, then Jon Snow fans should be able to make it through the tag without commenting on the cheating and the cuck fics. (and if Jon Snow fans can pass the harem fics and not think anything of them and not hate comment, they should be able to pass by the cuck fics too!!) - cuz I don’t want people to assume I’m accusing all Jon fans of liking those harem fics. Probably many of you don’t. But if you’ve left hate on a cuck fic, but not a harem fic, that’s hypocritical. It really is. 

If you’ve policed the tag and harassed an author for “punishing” Jon in their fic telling the author that they’re not really a Jon fan or not really a Jonerys fan, but you haven’t done the same in a harem (or similar) fic and stuck up for say, Dany, claiming the author isn’t a real Dany/Jonerys fan, you’re a hypocrite. 

Because as I’ve pointed out, Jon and Dany aren’t at all treated the same or equal in those kinds of fics. 

This isn't to say those fics are wrong, or shouldn’t be written, or don’t belong in the tag. It’s just to say if you give them a pass, you must also give a pass to everyone else. 

You can’t just pick and choose which “unequal” Jonerys fics are allowed and which aren’t. 

Which S8 fix-it-fics are allowed and which aren’t.

Which fics are “serious” and which are “non-serious”. (Many of the harem/breeding fics have Jon/Dany as the main pairing!)

Which are written by “real” Jonerys fans and which aren’t.

You don’t get to just make shit up. 

Yes, some Dany stans are angry at Jon and want to punish him in their fics for S8 and make him sit by and watch while Dany hooks up with Daario or resurrected Drogo or Gendry or whoever.

Some Jon stans want Jon to breed Missandei and Sansa while still being married to Dany because they want to make Dany barren in their narrative even though in actual ASOIAF canon, she’s probably not.

It’s called, Deal with it. 

Again, no one here is on the “right” side. No one should be policing the tag. Period. 

Also, side note, no one should be insulting authors looks or using the public photos authors use as a way to harass them. This isn’t only happening to me. If we post photos of our lives, it’s because we want to share with people. It’s not an invitation for you to use that against us. Don’t be fucking creepy. And if you know if someone being fucking creepy, tell them to stop!