#like are you dense. this is how you kill a fandom. are you not here to experience some simple fun and entertainment?

[mishkakagehishka]

I'll be soooo honest but I really feel like it's beyond rude and even entirely counterproductive to spit on and demean new fanwriters in a fandom. Like, you can say, "Oh, if you're unsure about writing character X, these stories/chapters/episodes really delve into their psychology!" but to just criticise and not even offer a single way they could improve (and even then, concrit is something that the writer themself should ask for, it's a bit rude to give it unasked).... you do realise that all the fanwriters you hold to high esteem started off as new writers, yeah? They were new to the fandom, too. If you keep chasing off new fans, new fancreators, your fandom will die, simply put

[angelsworks]

Goldilocks and the Four Bears

I haven’t written for the cod fandom yet so all the 141 might be terribly out of character. In fact I haven’t written for a while. I appreciate all the people that still read my work and continue to support me. I hope you’re all doing well :)

Poly!141 x reader

Masterlist -> Here (will be made later :))

Warnings: 18+, mature themes, descriptions of torture, injuries and mistreatment, etc

Summary: After escaping from your last mission that had gone terribly wrong, your stumble through the woods leads you to a log cabin.

It was snowing. Fucking snowing.

Any belief in a deity had been long since crushed after the last few months. Well you thought it had been months. Your captors (a small but deadly terrorist group) had failed to provide you with your own calendar and clock. Much like how they had failed to provide you with new clothes to replace your own, that had been ripped and torn and become tattered to the eye.

It was stolen clothes you now wore as you made your escape. Trudging slowly through the already six inch snow, your thoughts trailed to the fresh snow adding to the existing six inches. The size 12 pair of boots were rubbing at your heels with increasing vigour. Leading you to contemplate if bruised skin could blister or not. The guard you’d killed as part of your escape had been good for one thing. Or three things actually. The ill-fitting boots, a loose pair of combat trousers and long sleeved compression shirt.

As you made your way through the terrain you felt a cold chill steadily working it’s way up your trouser leg. Slowly, spreading across the flesh, affecting any skin that wasn’t in direct contact with the trouser material. It made you wish you’d waited for a guard more similar to your stature. While the compression shirt was better than nothing, it was still thin. The flimsy seeming material now doing little to ward off the cold.

Maybe the sudden awareness of the less than ideal weather conditions wasn’t down to your stolen clothes, but the sudden loss of adrenaline. How long had you been running now? Well trudging desperately through the snow, making your way further and further into the thick forrest and fauna.

It was hard to try and map where you’d been, what direction you’d walked in and where you’d come from. It was all white. Every tree looked the same. Every incline became and decline and you’d become disoriented.

Months of abuse, of torture, ofpain. All ignored for a few short hours as you willed your aching body forward. Through trees and snow and stone. Through anything that would put you at a greater distance from them, from Miasma.

They hadn’t transported you. At least you were mostly sure. When you blacked out, you woke in the same dingy cell, on the same dingy floor. Only covered in more bruises or cuts. So you hoped you were where this all started. In Slovenia.

You’d done solo missions before. It was easier that way. One man in, one man out. No one to turn on you or leak information. With Gunner in your ear, nothing ever went wrong. Until it did.

Your objective was to gather intel. To stay under the radar before formulating the next attack. While sneaking around you’d learned just how large their operation was. In turn you’d also learned just how large their base was.

The small outpost hid underground levels. That became clear after your covert operation was blown and you were dragged down to the very heart of the multi-storey building.

Each day (if that’s what you could call them) gave you no indication of the time of day or how much time had passed. They made sure of that. In fact it was the first time in months you’d seen the light of day.

The light that you noticed was now fading apparently, as you looked desperately up into the sky. Grey clouds had rolled in, covering the majority of the sky. The sun was still peaking out from the dense overcast that was rolling further forward. Soon the sky would be covered and the snow fall would quicken.

A few miles back you were struck that no one from Miasma had followed you. You’d expected armed guards to be shooting at you and angry dogs to be tearing at your ankles. Yet you’d had no chase.

Maybe they knew you would get nowhere in the climate. That you’d be weakened by the terrain and from the violence you’d endured. They were right of course. But you didn’t let it stop you.

Even now as you’d gone further, you still felt the burning desire to survive. Granted it dwindled under the ache of your body and the never ending valley of white before you. But you wanted to live. You wanted your revenge.

The final rays of the sun had been clouded and the snow started to pick up. At least your footprints would be covered under the fresh snow. Not that it mattered if all your footprints lead to was a frozen corpse.

Flexing your fingers, you found yourself wishing for gloves. Your toes were long past numb and every injury you’d endured felt like it was waking up. Old cuts that had turned to scars felt fresh, bruises that had yellowed felt like they’d returned to their starting purple colour. Your felt heavy. You felt dense. You felt tired.

Your desire to drive on had dwindled now. The once raging fire was now only a candle. A candle that was down to its wick. The wax around it long since melted and now it was to its edge. Trying to burn the glue that chained it in place. The image made you crave warmth even more.

Was this it?

All the work you’d put in over the years. From a child you had trained for a mission you didn’t fully understand. A mission that belonged to someone else, to Gunner. He’d turned you into a soldier, his perfect soldier.

Is this how his perfect soldier died?

No it wasn’t.

So despite your blue fingers, numb toes and foggy mind, you push on. Just a little further, you tell yourself. Past these trees, past this stream, past more trees.

Your doubts evaporate when you come upon a clearing. You find a decent space boarded by snow dusted trees from all sides. They stand tall, seemingly acting as natural walls to protect those inside. The grass is covered in undisturbed snow. It’s thick and white and makes you smile.

None of it matter though because sitting in the middle of it all if your salvation.

A log cabin.

You consider the sight to be a mirage. Created from and low blood sugar, dehydration and desperation. But you trudge on, almost to a stumble speed, as you reach for the door handle.

It’s unlocked.

Despite any moral compass telling you that breaking and entering or trespassing is wrong, you ignore it. You’re hurt, aching and this is a last resort.

You close the thick wooden door behind you. Taking note of the copious locks it has. When you move inside the cabin you find that no one’s home. As quietly as you can on stiff legs, you sneak around the house. Trying to wake up the instincts you’d been trained on.

Enter a room, check your surroundings, check again. Don’t assume anywhere is empty. Threats could be hiding around any corner.

So for each room of the ground floor you do just that. Open door, check the rooms, move on. From your searching you’ve found a large living room, a kitchen, a dining room, a toilet some sort of office/drawing room. The decor gives you no clue as to who’s house you’ve invaded. There are no pictures of people, no personal possessions. It feels surreal. And wrong.

To start with you go back to the living room. Using the large fireplace, stockpile of logs and matches, you start a fire.

Again, better sense would tell you to avoid such an action. To avoid alerting anyone of your presence here. But you decide to put sense aside in a bid for survival. If you didn’t get warm soon you were sure you’d be frozen soon.

Next you go to the kitchen. You rifle through the cupboard in an attempt to find something edible. To your surprise you find the place to be well stocked. Even going as far as having fresh milk in the fridge. The sight confuses you. Send alarm bells ringing in your ears.

There are products in the fridge that are in date. Fresh products. Yet no one is home. It doesn’t make sense.

As you empty a can of soup into a pan you realise, it doesn’t need to. You’re happy to play stupid and see this as all some sort of blessing, some miracle.

While the soup cooks you fill a glass with clean, cold water. Relishing in the taste of something fresh. When you’ve downed the first glass you refill it again. This time with an intention to make it last longer.

After the first spoonful you find that you like vegetable soup very much. Almost burning your mouth as you devour it in a few minutes. Immediately it feels as though you’ve been recharged. The warmth from the fire has spread throughout the ground floor, your fingers have warmed around the bowl of soup and your body no longer feels related to a glacier.

The sky only darkens as you sit by the fire. Basking in the warmth and taking a moment to rest for the first time in months. You don’t imagine ever leaving your spot on the floor. But the promise of a bed upstairs has you moving your legs in that direction.

Before your ascent to the second floor, you strip your clothes and hang them on a drying rack you found to the side of the fire. Now left in the nude.

Upstairs you find multiple bedrooms. All almost identical, except for one at the end of the hall. You assume this is the Cabin’s master bedroom as it’s slightly larger than the others. Inside there’s a wardrobe full of clothes, a full length mirror, a TV, some sort of game station, and of course the larger than most bed.

In the mirror you catch sight of yourself. The cuts of course stand out first. From the slight turn you can muster in your neck, you can see large welts and thin cuts, bruises and scrapes, all littering the previously plain skin. From the front and behind, your legs look like a Jackson Pollock original piece.

Capturing various purple and blues surrounded by smaller splodges of green and brown. With the occasional black blob or two to really contrast the overall tone of the piece.

As a child you had a strange infatuation with your bruises. Likening them to a sticker or badge of achievement. They were easy to come by during training. A strange part of you liked the way they looked on your skin. They acted as a log book of the hits you’d taken, the falls you’d taken, any sort of impacts you’d had. They made you feel strong, maybe even proud too.

Staring into the mirror at your body again, it all seems worthless. You knew you were strong before. You didn’t need months as a prisoner to prove it.

You take a few steps forward to properly look at your face. Who stares back must be a stranger. You haven’t let your eyebrows be this out of shape since you were thirteen. You didn’t have that scar above under your chin before. Your eyes were always so bright and vivid. Not lifeless or hollow or so lost.

With newfound energy you take yourself to the nearest bathroom. That just so happens to be the en-suite in the bedroom. It doesn’t surprise you. Nothing about this abandoned, well stocked cabin does anymore.

Instead you shower in one of the nicest bathrooms you’ve been to in a long time.

At first the water has you freezing. Not due to the temperature but because of the fire it lights on your back. Every scrape, every cut, every burn now being cleaned. The cleanse sets your body alight. In a way you feel the heat is helping you to heal. Granted, all you have to show for it is a mixture of blood and grime, floating slowly down the drain. But it’s more than that.

It’s the last few months being scrubbed off your skin. Your wounds and ailments being shown that this is the end. They can heal in peace. You can heal in peace.

So you take your time. Using any products you can find; shampoos, conditioners, body wash, face wash. You’ve acquired a new razor, fresh from the packet. It’s amazing what a difference shaving your legs and various other places can do to your mood. You’ve always preferred removing the body hair. Afterwards the feeling of smooth legs under a thick duvet made all the work worth it.

The final step, bar drying yourself, was brushing tour yellowing and plaque ridden teeth. The minty taste in your mouth feels unfamiliar but it welcomed nonetheless. Wiping your tongue across the now almost pearly-whites you’re happy with how smooth they feel.

Now showered, shaved and dried, you make you way into the bedroom. Finding the wardrobe and drawers to be filled wit strictly masculine clothes. You pick out a pair of boxers and one of the large white t-shirts to sleep in. The shirt dwarfs you in size, looking more like a dress. Not one that you would wear outside though. Not with the black boxers showering through the material, or your hardened nipples making an appearance.

With your towel back in the bathroom and the lights off, you crawl into bed. Letting out the loudest sigh your sore throat could muster. Then quickly falling asleep on the linen.

It was snowing. In fact it was a fucking blizzard.

A barrage of white, dagger-like snowflakes pelted against the four men. The lack of light and the dense haze of the storm made it impossible to see where they were going. They were all thankful for the less than modern compass. Hidden away at the bottom of Jonny’s bag. When he acquired it was unknown. But the four were grateful nonetheless that the Scott had the dated equipment in is kit.

After their week long training they were ready to fall asleep on the nearest surface. The blizzard they now faced was an unexpected one. Nothing on Price’s radar Gad alerted them to such a storm.

They’d just finished their survival training in the mountains when the first snowflake formed. During the rest of their descent it had only worsened.

As the snow around them thickened they trudged on. Becoming more aware of the weight of their kit, ache of their muscles and chill in their bones. These men were tired, hungry and cold.

After more miles and more words of encouragement from Price, Gaz was sure they were close to the safe house now.

Laswell had been kind enough to let them use the safe house after a particularly gruelling training exercise. It would be the closest thing to a holiday the 141 would get this year. Before the worst of the storm it had the Scotsman joking that he would build a snowman outside. An idea quickly shot down by Ghost in the interest of remaining vigilant to an enemies surrounding the house.

While snowmen were out of the question, snowballs were not. Something Ghost found out, twice, in the back of the head. Turning to see an innocent looking Gaz and Soap.

“You’ll regret that when we’re back on base and you two are on shit duty” the balaclava wearing Brit grumbles.

Soap sighs dramatically, “Oh come on Lt. Dinnae be like that, it was only a joke”.

The threat prompts Kyle to add, “It was all Soaps idea, think he should get shit duties on his own.”

Soap gasps feigning offence, “You bleeding clipe, don’t come knocking on my door when you want someone to warm your bed tonight.”

The comment causes the younger man’s face to heat up and laughs to come from the others.

“That if we get there in this blizzard” the captain quips. Trying to keep morale, but refusing to ignore the sinking feeling that they’ve missed the safe house completely.

“How far now?” Gaz asks, determined not to start pestering like an insolent child. Yet equally determined to have a proper meal and get out of his cold clothes.

“Two klicks north, then we should be there.” Soap tells him, loud enough for the others to hear in the now whipping winds.

“It was two klicks north last time someone asked Soap, are you sure you’re reading that right lad?” Price finds himself asking. Despite his rank, his military expertise and all his training agains the elements, it doesn’t make him immune to the cold. Immune to looking forward to sitting by a fire with a cup of tea in his hands.

Laswell wasn’t one to be stingy with safe house stock. From previous safe houses he’d been to that she had set up, they’d been a home away from home. Proper bedrooms, running water, stocked shelves. Price found himself ready to welcome anything that had four walls, a roof and could shelter him and his men from the storm.

“Two klicks north Captain, I’m sure”. Jonny confirms.

Sure enough, through the dense curtain of blizzard, light emerges. A gentle glow against the black nights sky. The closer they get, the clearer the house becomes.

A log cabin.

A big one at that. The sight is inviting enough to bring a smile to the men’s faces.

“Laswell’s outdone herself this time, fuckin yaldy” soap practically exclaims. Pushing forward to the front of the pack, in an effort to get in first.

“Hold it Jonny,” Simons voice is quiet through the mask, but harsh enough that the others can hear.

Ghost points to the chimney, “someone’s here”.

Sure enough as the others look up, they too see the plumes of smoke, gently rising from the brick chimney.

“Another team captain?” Gaz finds himself asking, while reaching for the know hidden in his thigh holster.

Price finds himself doing the same, “No, we’re the only ones in the country.”

The tension in the air is thick, rivals the thick snow pelting down on them. The four of them stand motionless, a short distance from the front door. Covered head to toe in winter gear, a layer of the snowstorm attached to anything it can stick to.

“Right, there’s only one door. I’ll lead. We’ll secure the ground floor first. Stay silent, we do this quietly.” Price commands. The men nod, moving to grasp their various knives. Following their captain as he moves to the front of the cabin.

With an almost inaudible creek, Price turns the handle of the door. Pushing the oak forward, grateful that it seems to glide over the wooden floors. Allowing him and his men to breach the property without alerting its inhabitants.

Price enters the living room first, signalling for the others to spread out and search the rest of the floor. He does indeed find a crackling fire, yet no one man’s it. The warmth is welcomed, but for the time being he ignores any desire to sit near it and warm himself.

His attention moves to the drying rack set up beside the fire. Upon further inspection of the items he finds combat trousers, a compression t shirt and a pair of large boots, size 12 he gathers from the label on the tongue. The clothes are still damp to the touch, leading him to infer that the intruder arrived a short time ago.

The badge on the arm of the shirt catches his eye. He rips it off the Velcro and examines it up close. An unknown insignia, contractor perhaps? Some new found terrorist group? Price doesn’t know. It’s not one he’s come across before.

Simon searches the kitchen. The space is a decent size, dark too. He blends into the shadows as he checks the space for any sign of life. He finds a empty soup can on one of the worktops. Turning to the sink he notices a single glass and pan siting there.

Once finished in his search he creeps back to the living room. Finding his captain there, along with a stoic looking soap and serious looking Gaz.

Price raises his hand to Simon, showcasing the fabric insignia to him. With cold eyes Ghost runs over the stitchwork. Mind running through the possible groups it could be associated with.

“Any ideas?” Price asks in a hushed voice.

Ghosts silence is a loud enough answer for the group. No

“Whoever they are haven’t been here long. Their clothes are still damp. Large boots, size 12.” Price goes through the details he’s uncovered.

“Men’s?” Gaz asks.

“Most likely”.

“There’s a pan in the kitchen. They’ve had soup. Only one glass.” Ghost reels off.

“We don’t know who we’re dealing with, could be anyone. Stay vigilant. Be prepared for a fight. I’ll take the lead upstairs. Shout if you find anything.” Price commands.

The team follow him single file up the stairs. Weapons at the ready as the sneak up the steps. Footsteps light on the wooden floor.

Price takes the first door, Gaz the second, Ghost the third and Soap the last door at the end of the hallway.

While three of the 141 find their rooms to be empty, Soap stops in the doorway. After almost silently twisting the door handle and letting it slide open, he stands in silence. What he didn’t expect to find was a girl sleep in the master bed, a pretty girl to be exact.

The Scotsman finds himself lost for words. He expected to have to fight someone of his stature. Maybe larger. He expected to walk away with a bruise or two. He feels lost on what to do. Should he wake her? Should he leave her?

Meanwhile the others have gathered in the hallway. Sharing a concerned glance at their teammate.

“What is it soap?” Ghost asked quietly.

“It’s a lass. A bonnie lass at that.” He tells them. Wonder in his tone as he stares at the sleeping girl. Watching as her chest rises and falls at a steady rate. Completely unaware of the four men that have entered the house.

The men collectively frown, walking further to investigate themselves. Sure enough, after they pass the threshold of the master bedroom, they too stand frozen. A girl. Not a man, or group of men. A girl, sleeping in their bed, in their log cabin.

Completely unaware.

[jewish-vents]

Saw a post in the Jewish tag that starts with "You can dislike Hamas without..." "Dislike Hamas?" "Dislike"? We are not talking about a celebrity or TV show here. We're talking about a terrorist orgination that wants to wipe Jews of the face of the earth. You don't think it goes beyond a little more than "dislike"? Yes, don't be Islamophobic. I'm in agreement of that fully and always have been but ooooh... "You can dislike hamas" like this person is giving me fucking permission to not like the people who would kill me on site. How dense are people???

I fully agree with you. The thing is, for many people it is almost like they're talking about a TV show or a celebrity. I've seen many people say how the online discourse surrounding I/P sounds basically like fandom discourse, and it's true. Many people aren't directly affected by it so I guess they don't understand the full scale of it. Also they might be antisemitic or have antisemitic biases, which also doesn't help. So they view it as almost a show, where they're just spectators watching it from the outside. They talk about it like they'd talk about a piece of media. Because for many people that is just what this is.

[wolfiesmoon]

Dark chocolate

Reo x fem!reader

He could have anything he ever wanted, but the one thing he can't buy with money is your heart (can you tell this is yet another nerd girl x popular boy nuisances to mutual crush fic)

HAhah my blue lock debut🥳🥳🥳i'm making back to back fandom debuts

@noomon since you asked to be tagged (* ´ ▽ ` *)

It almost feels like he gets a new confession every day. It's safe to say he is very popular with the girls at this school. Even if it is for mostly shallow reasons.

Day after day, he receives a letter in his locker, asking him to meet behind the gym or something like that.

But the thing is, he isn't interested in any of these people. So he doesn't even give them the time of day.

The only one he's interested in is you, a girl in his class. But what is he to do when you never give him the time of day?

To you, Reo is a massive nuisance. You have no idea what made him like you and you don't care. Because the last thing you want is a stuck up rich boy as your boyfriend.

You came to this school to study and nothing more. You're not here to date or whatever else school isn't meant for.

(One exception is your singular friend.)

But no matter what, he never seems to give up on chasing after you. Even though there are far more beautiful and willing girls for him to date.

"Girl, just give him a chance. He's only got eyes for you." your friend nudged you as the two of you were eating lunch.

"And give in to him? Are you crazy?" you said with a straight face, continuing to eat.

"Oh, sorry. I only forgot that I'm friends with the most petty stubborn person in the world." your friend rolled her eyes, not understanding why you keep on rejecting Reo. He's rich, he's popular, so what's the hold up?

"Seriously, you're not 'giving in' to anything if you accept his confession."

"But I am losing my pride and my dignity. By the way, your food's getting cold." you replied simply, already getting a bit annoyed that your friend won't shut up about him.

"Girl, I lose hope in your romantic future every day."

"Good."

.

"Hi." he greets you at the school gate, as he does every day. And you ignore him, as you do every day.

"It's rude to ignore someone, you know that?" he joined you by your side and you just subtly rolled your eyes. You don't have time for this today, you have an early library study session to be getting to.

"My answer is no." you crossed your arms.

"I didn't even say anything, though." he gave you that stupid wide smile that you hate looking at so much. It's annoying how... uhh, above average his looks are.

"Would it kill you to stop bothering me?" you finally asked what you've been wanting to for the past few months. You have no idea how it took you so long to be harsh and honest about your feelings.

"What? I'm not bothering you." you had no idea if he was actually this dense or just pretending to be. You don't know him all too well, after all. But considering the fact that he's a student at this prestigious prep school, you think it's the second one. Unless his parents bribed the school to let him in.

"Seriously? Just leave me alone. I am not interested." it kind of felt good to admit that out loud. Directly, with no sweetened phrases to lessen the blow.

He looked away for a second. "Sorry, it's not that easy."

You looked puzzled. His tone didn't suggest arrogance or smugness. It was a quieter and thoughtful tone, something that doesn't seem fit for a stuck up rich boy.

How... strange. No, wait, what do you care?!

"You're... different. Unlike any other girl in this school." the strange tone still remained.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say." you sped up your steps, leaving him behind. You missed the worried look that crossed his face for a moment. To you, those words must have seemed like empty flirty comments.

But he meant it. You're a challenge to win over. To win over. Not take. You're the one girl in this school who won't just throw herself at him and somehow, that made him fall for you beyond belief.

Seeing as all you do is study and occasionally share a few words with your friend, he had a feeling boys weren't a priority for you from the very beginning.

But he'll make one boy a priority for you. Himself, of course. And he'll go through any means to achieve that goal.

.

"Girl, valentine's day is almost here!" your friend shook your shoulders, taking your attention from the notebook you were dutifully reading.

"So?"

"So, I am TOTALLY making chocolates for my crush and you should join me." she shook you again, making you furrow your brows in annoyance.

"Why? I have no one to give chocolate to."

Your friend smirked.

"No. No, absolutely not." you immediately shot her down, already knowing who she was talking about.

"Oh come on, you can still spend ungodly amounts of time studying while having a boyfriend. A hot rich boyfriend, at that." you weren't sure if she was doing this out of free will or if Reo was bribing her with copious amounts of money to get her to say this.

You sighed. You had a feeling your friend was going to be extra stubborn about this for the entire week leading up to valentine's day if you said no right now.

Your best choice was to resign to her and make chocolate for Reo.

And besides, you can just leave the chocolate on his desk anonymously if you come to school early. They don't mean anything to you, anyways.

"...Fine. But don't get any ideas, I'm only doing this because you would annoy me if I didn't." you raised the notebook back up, indicating the end of the conversation. You watched your friend jump with glee out of the corner of your eye.

.

"You should totally make dark chocolate for him." your friend suggested out of the blue as you were collecting the stuff you need to make chocolate.

"What does it matter?" you sighed, wondering what stupid reason your friend had this time.

"Dark chocolate seems more luxurious, don't you think? And besides, I heard that Reo isn't big into sweets. I'm sure he'd enjoy something healthier." she reasoned, seeming proud.

You pulled out your phone. "Hey, what are you looking at your phone for?!" your friend asked, offended that you aren't looking for the perfect meltable chocolate with her.

"Oh, nothing, just looking up the most sugary kind of chocolate." you shrugged.

"Damn, you're evil. Mikage-san's fallen for a baaaad one." your friend hit you lightly, feeling a little bad for Reo.

You looked at the meltable white chocolate on the store shelf, then at the meltable dark chocolate right next to it. You have no idea what possesed you in that moment, but your hand instantly reached for the dark chocolate.

You had to ignore your friend's smirking throughout the rest of the shopping trip.

.

"There! Ahh, these look so cute! All those tutorials helped out A LOT! My crush will totally fall for me after eating these!" your friend kept on gushing at the chocolates the two of you made.

"Mine are very sloppy." it was just a simple observation on your end, but to your friend it must have sounded like a discouraged comment.

"It's okay, girl! I'm sure he'll love them regardless of how they look!" she hugged you, patting your back encouragingly. Sadly, you don't have the heart to tell her that you'll just drop them off anonymously without a care in the world.

But, somehow... that seems wrong to you. Should you do that?

Dammit, this is all messing with your head. Who cares about Reo?! You're just doing this to appease your friend, nothing more.

.

"So, the day is finally here, huh?" your friend surprised you from behind just as you were about to leave the chocolate on Reo's desk.

"W-What are you doing here so early?" you quickly hid away the little box of chocolates, trying your best to act normally.

"Oooh, are we nervous?" your friend smirked.

"Speak for yourself. And answer my question while you're at it." you retorted, clearing your throat. That was far too close. But, how are you going to get rid of this chocolate without giving it to Reo directly and convincing your friend you did all at the same time?

Maybe you should just give up and do it. But your pride just won't let it happen. Not like this...

Later that day, you walked past Reo as he was receiving chocolates from two other girls. However, his eyes were on you the entire time. He seemed to be looking at you with expectation and you grit your teeth at the fact that he is, in fact, correct in expecting a valentine's gift from you.

As you turned the corner, your friend was waiting for you behind it. "What are you waiting for, girl? He's all alone now."

The girls that gave him the gifts seem to have already left. Oh no, this isn't good at all.

"Listen, I-"

"Oh hell no, you are not running away this time. Now go out there and make things happen!" your friend pushed you out from behind the corner, with you almost bumping into Reo.

"Hi!" he greeted you, a little more cheerfully than usual.

"Hello." you forced a smile. You silently took out the chocolate and handed it to him. You watched his eyes travel down to the chocolate and then widen.

"Wait... for me? Seriously?" He took the chocolate out of your hands, smiling happily. His cheeks seemed to be turning a pretty shade of pink, too.

His face isn't half bad when it looks like that, you must admit. Though, that doesn't mean anything. Reo's just handsome in general, that face is meaningless to you.

"Don't get any ideas. I'm only doing this out of obligation." you ignored the daggers being shot at you from behind. You can already imagine the earful you'll get from your friend.

"That just means I'll have to try harder, though." he gave you a big, wide smile. The kind that you've never seen on a guy in real life before. But to be fair, you don't look at guys all that much.

Still... Why is your heart beating so fast right now?

oh my god this turned into a whole essay LMAOOO

[theoddest1]

could you get your commenters to chill a bit? ive been getting death threats in my dms cause i disagreed with a single post

like i get your points and all, but people like that is why most fans dont listen to you guys, anti viv people have a habit of telling us to kill ourselves because we consume the cartoon :/

Death threats are a no-go no matter which side any of you are on, I DO NOT want to see that shit in my presence, have some fucking self control guys.

But let's not get things twisted either. Some antis being this way is NOT why fans ignore proof. I have seen this fandom grow for 4 years and have researched into Viv's fanbase prior to HH. They've all been very protective of the content because that's what Viv has harbored for a while now. The only contribution they've added in is spreading misinformation here and there by a few people. I don't think you realize how long Viv has had a fanbase and has weaponized them for years. One of her old closest friend was called an *IT* and told to kill themselves which they nearly succeeded in doing thanks to her rabid fans back in 2014-2015, to which she responded with saying "Karma is awesome". So ion wanna see this "they tell us to kill ourselves" angle, I have seen this fanbase throw the same shit if not more + racism.

Keep in mind, despite them having talked it out and resolving everything, Viv still refers to them as abusive/an abuser even though multiple people have said it was just them disagreeing and not meeting eye to eye. She not only ruined someone's reputation but also lied on someone due to a disagreement, having her fans be absolutely abysmal toward them till this day.

This fanbase, VIV'S FANBASE, is toxic as shit. Do not frame it as if they needed valid reasons to ignore the issues with the creator, that is not the main reason why they've acted shitty multiple times. I do NOT wanna hear that nonsense, you could have simply kept it at those idiots that were treating you like bullies. Don't spin nothing on anyone when her fanbase [stans] chooses to be fucking dense.

And to those sending death threats, unfollow me and gtfo off my page. I don't condone stupidity nor do I wish to have anyone who thinks telling people to kill themselves is at all a sane and sensible reaction to a fucking disagreement. You don't lower your morals and standards all cause someone either said something right or wrong, have some gat damn sense. Seek help. You can not be against Vivziepop but then do anything SIMILAR to her or the like, that's just insanity to me.

I may have disagreed with you remark on those against Viv, but I will still thank you for letting it be known that this happened to you. It shouldn't. And I am sorry you went through that.

[callmearcturus]

a bunch of Mission Impossible fic recs

hi, i'm sorry for conning so many people into this fandom. here's some reading material.

Easy Open, by helenish

“So you and Hunt are a package deal these days,” Bryson says. “Uh,” Benji says, jerking his head up from his computer, ballpoint in his mouth.

Ethan/Benji. Definitely the first thing you should read after watching the movies. This is my favorite kind of one-shot, the kind that manages to convey the weight of history like a 60k fic in such a compressed space. When I talk about using sex scenes to convey something about the characters, perfect example is the set dressing around the one here where the title drop happens. Way to say so fucking much about the characters through sheer implication.

in the details, by helenish

Ethan: We have an even bigger problem. Ilsa. Benji: Ilsa. Our Ilsa? —Mission: Impossible — Fallout (Paramount Pictures, 2018)

Ethan/Benji/Ilsa. This one is so fucking dense and amazing. I love the way Ethan is just so fucking in love with both of these people and keeps imagining them fucking and feels terrible about it, you just want Benji and Ilsa to put Ethan out of his misery, but ALSO this is hardcore physicality porn. The scene with Ilsa on Benji's shoulders is better than any sex scene I've read this year.

I'm With You, by fictionallemons

Luther's getting married again at a private resort on a tropical island. Only there's a mixup with the rooms and Benji and Ethan have to share. No big deal, right? One bed. Two friends. No problem. Ha.

Ethan/Benji. I keep rereading this one because it just has such intense longing and familiarity in it. The way it portrays Ethan and Benji as a unit, a foregone conclusion even they themselves haven't quite figured that out, is perfect. Also I love the way Ethan handles the bed situation, the low grade annoyance he has at the repeated question. Benji, get a clue, my man.

Someone New, by fictionallemons

After Fallout, Benji thinks Ethan and Ilsa are together and he only wants to be happy for them, even it kills him to see Ethan with someone else. He's got to try to get over Ethan. But some things are just impossible. Mutual jealousy, mutual pining, cute texting, and a happy ending, of course.

Ethan/Benji. LOOK, THE WAY TO MY HEART IS ETHAN BEING JEALOUS AND NOT HANDLING IT WELL. Also the fact this fic acknowledges Ethan's emotional growth from Fallout, chef's kiss. But really the moment when Ilsa's like "Seems we missed the show" and Ethan says "I wish we had" ETHAN OH MY GOD. Also the subtle way Benji is needling Ethan a little, subconsciously at least-- it's good!

it takes a lot (to know a man), by thistableforone

"So I just… want to remind myself that we're alright." He says it like that, with a general we that sounds more like a specific you. And because Ethan does know what it feels like, he doesn't question him any further. If Benji needs to spend time with him to feel better, he won't deny him. Takes place after Fallout. Ethan is recovering and Benji goes to live with him to help

Ethan/Benji. A longer one, hell yeah. This one truly wallows in the aftermath of Fallout, which is where my brain lives 90% of the time, so I appreciate it. Also Ilsa pointing out why the fuck did Luther give her that speech but not Benji-- finally someone said it. But really this fic is about Benji and it breaks my heart.

magnetic field being a little too strong, by oopshidaisy

“This is strictly recon,” Ethan says. It’s maybe the seventeenth time he’s said words to this effect since they arrived at the party. “We can’t do anything that’ll raise suspicion. Understand?” Post-Rogue Nation. Benji and Ethan go undercover and find themselves in one of those spy jams that only surprise kissing can solve.

Ethan/Benji. This is the one with the INCREDIBLE passage about Benji realizing why Ethan's never been slapped for pulling the fake kissing thing on missions. Also I love how... this feels like a date. To Ethan, this is a fun mission with his Benji, and it feels like it. Benji's voice here is pitch perfect, feels like its right out of Rogue Nation.

The Missionary Position, by matchsticks

Ethan and Benji have to pretend to be a married couple for a mission. Well, Ethan and Benji are already a married couple, but now they have to pretend to be pretending to be a married couple for a mission, and the rest of the team has to help them keep their secret. It'll definitely all work out fine. Probably. Hopefully.

Ethan/Benji. Listen. This one is hilarious.

THERE, there's some stuff to get you started, folks! and you can always hit up mine. I have periphery (in which everyone Benji works with is a little in love with him and Ethan just doesn't deal well), all i need is a certain trigger (in which Ilsa and Benji are in the Syndicate and Ethan trips into romancing them both), and the big AU you'll need a new name to survive this (in which Benji is Ethan's physical therapist and a lot of things start to change)

Looking over all this, it seems my favorite thing is when Ethan is just unhinged and Benji is unfortunately into that.

[thithesandofferings]

Title: The Be-comings of Ardor

Summary: You win the Demon Kure Raian as a prize. Now its up to you to get you to acknowledge him.

Pairing: Raian x Reader

AN: To be very honest, I just wanted something to write. Based of the excerpt from here . I wanted to write a slow burn Raian x Reader but...i didnt know the plot so uhm...you get him as a demon... Also this fandom isnt as big so really 8 people could read it and id be fine.

Tags: Descriptions of violence. Slow...slow burn. Eventual smut. Multi-chaptered. Nothing too crazy. I havent decided if I wanted to get any crazier lol. Honestly this is just an excuse to learn how to write descriptively so please bare with me.

Part 2

Part 3

You are drenched when you are told about your prize . You don't have time to dwell on past lives sticking and caving into your skin. Becoming an uninvited home in your nails. Teeth aching from the minute grinding of bone. Gums stained sticky with blood that isn't yours. Acrid air pours through your lashes as you try to blink through the chaos staining the marrow of your skull. There is an in-depth ignorance when you stand on your enemies. Your hunger docile only by the swaths of meat you have taken. Pealing and rotting underneath your tongue. You can taste their rage and despair. It feels like condemnation.

The Kure family is filled with demons. Gifting you a malevolent spirit for your victorious slaughter is an inconsequential choice. An ancestor long since passed. Has been alive since the world had begun to form. You do not dwell much on it. Empty... Distant and unsure of who you are at the present. Wondering if the sands at your feet have packed your soul away too.

They tell you with unsteady hands and sympathetic looks that "no one has ever been able to handle him properly." Glee tugs at simpered lips when they whisper that you will surely die if you cannot handle it.

It. Primordial. Eldritch almost in nature. The demon has ruthlessly taken countless. Sharpening its tongue with hollowed bones for the sake of good weather. They produce photos of him. The clans black eyes shimmer with thoughts of humiliation and desire to ruin when they show you their past relative. He's a God in their roving eyes. To finally ascend is a gift to them. You are driven by an instinctual tug to move when you do see the creature. He was a beast even in his former life. Hulking mass with a propensity to maim and kill.

Contempt licks up the path of your skin at the thought of fearing him. You are greeted immediately with an unbecoming emotion that impales you. Greed. A snarling voice unlike your own, claws through your numbing brain. He is yours. Your honor cannot be tampered when you think about the battles you fought and won to earn him. A cruel heat scatters your skin and you think briefly that it may be possession. You shrug it off as an afterthought.

You have always known that gluttony and greed ring soundly in your blood. Now is not the time to dwell on ideas and dreams.

The grim faces of men circle you in the centerfold to perform the ritual, bringing the archaic demon. You have killed enough men to honor its terms. The air is stale with apprehension and slighted fear. You have to prove that you're worthy, even after all the lives strayed across the sand. If you are not, then your life- and the men around you, will end.

You've never been much afraid of death.

The whispers bring forth laden wind. Wet and dense, petrichor aching to dig its teeth into your skin. There is an unnatural silence once the mutters of ancient tongue cease. Crickets noises snuffed out with the unease of the earth as it waits.

Your body knows the moment he is there. The heat almost searing at the back of your neck when he stands behind you. His massive frame slicing through the permeable silence as you hear the shuffling of the men almost forgotten. Your eyes are closed and yet you can still almost taste the ephemeral life that is behind you. The age weighs heavy on your bones. Ancient. Like they said. Inhuman in a way that makes you think that your future is just to be leftovers for him. His frame claws at you. Shadows peeling across your skin, scalding and feverish, beckoning you to turn around.

You are not one to back down from a challenge.

He takes the form of a human. Flinty, barely holding his power into the meat suit he prostrates himself in. He's the biggest thing you have ever seen in your life. Muscles fight for space, veins bulge and quake proudly. His strength carries him as he strides towards you in slow, decadents steps. Hulking in mass. He is a monster. Teeth sharpened with sharpened glee. Lips spread too wide for it to be comfortable. Skin peeling on the corners, blood tunneling to the front. There is madness in the poisoned whites of his eyes. Black ink devouring you, crumbling your resolve when you look at him. They're like nothing you've ever seen before. Archaic, unnatural- predatory when he accesses you. An ancestral look you know all too well, the look of suddenly finding prey. Gravity finds a way into the black holes that suffocates his gaze. It makes your knees tremble. You are not ready to discuss why it is not fear that echoes and tracks the shivers in your hands.

He is so close that you smell him. Ashen and bloodied earth clog your senses and you have to quickly blink away the tears from the strength of it. It mellows your brain, cleaning the abject cobwebs littered across.

You're distracted enough that you cant run from the grip he has on your wrist. Pinching and crunching the already bruised flesh, you know he is assessing you. His stare burning and muted, you feel like an insect.

His manic gaze suddenly cools, air becoming increasingly stale and scarce. He lets go off your wrist, throws it more like, and begins to walk toward the people you had briefly forgotten existed.

"Raian, we are so glad that-" There is a choked and horrid crack as you hear the mans body falls listlessly to the ground.

"Shut up and find me something to eat before I decide its going to be you." There is a stalled millisecond of silence before the group shuffles away with their ancestor in front.

The one who never looks back at you again.

Your so called prize no longer even acknowledges you.

The ache of death and fear permeates your bones. Muted until now, it is time for you to go home. A small smile cracking the edge of your lips.

[utilitycaster]

What ACOC fanon are people getting so upset over?

Come traveler. Let me tell you a tale. For I, too, was unaware of it until they went absolutely bugfuck all over Twitter. But if you don't want the whole long-winded epic: people shipped Belizabeth Brassica and Saint Citrina and while there has been no evidence indicating this will or not be confirmed or even mentioned they FREAKED OUT about how Matt would OBVIOUSLY destroy the "widespread" fanon (it is not widespread), specifically implying he'd do so in a bigoted way. Then some D20 guests noticed because the people saying this are not like, unknown fanartists (in fact one implied they had been asked to create art for the season but forgot to check their DMs) and were like "this is entitled and stupid and needlessly cruel to Matt, who is like, a guy we personally know and generally like." The people then, rather than saying "my B" and taking this to the DMs like a normal person who wants to talk shit, repeatedly doubled down. As of a few hours ago they were accusing Jasmine Bhullar of subtweeting them when she was in fact merely promoting an entirely unrelated show, it's sparked both a heartfelt discussion about how Matt's discussion of body dysmorphia has helped people and a conversation about how there's toxicity in all fandoms but the D20 community refuses to even acknowledge it; and also I think they've burned their chances of ever doing fan art for an actual play of any size in LA, Chicago, New York, London, or the centroid that represents an equidistant point from all the McElroys which is, I believe, hilariously for Amnesty fans, in the Monongahela National Forest.

Anyway POV we're around a campfire, I'm drinking something lightly alcoholic, and you wish to hear of The Drama At Length:

Do you remember Belizabeth Brassica, aka Broccoli Pope loosely based in appearance on Queen Elizabeth I (technically renaissance rather than high medieval but like...people constantly mix those up in D&D so it's fine)?

Great. Now do you remember the Rocks Sisters? Not the twins played by Siobhan and Emily; Amethar's four older sisters who died in the Ravening War, before the story started: Rococoa, Lazuli, Citrina, and Sapphria. Rococoa was a general; Lazuli an archmage (and Caramelinda's wife before she died; Caramelinda then married Amethar because while Lazuli had been a love match, this was a beneficial marriage for political purposes); Citrina a devotee of The Bulb; and Sapphria a spy and diplomat. They get talked about a lot, for sure, but their presence in the story is to be absent and to haunt the narrative.

Anyway the fanon is that Citrina and Belizabeth were in a relationship. In canon, I believe all we know is that both were devotees of the bulb; that Citrina held positions that might be considered heretical by some (she was a passionate believer in love matches and supported Amethar's marriage to a commoner in the Dairy Isles) and that Belizabeth ordered that she be killed.

Here's where this gets fun. So ACOC aired pretty much exactly three years ago, and while I think it's considered by many to be a high point in D20's oeuvre, a lot of fans have, you know, kept up with D20 on the whole and not dwelt on it in depth. But a small group of people have been consistently focused on this ship between an NPC who is vitally important to the narrative but shows up in fewer than a third of the total episodes; and a character dead before the story ever started. Which, I need to stress, is fine; the joy of headcanons is playing in the empty spaces.

Flash forward to 2023: a creative director who was generally opposed to revisiting past campaign settings and preferred standalone has just amicably parted ways. Neverafter has gotten mixed reviews (I have to see the last 8 episodes; this is anecdotal but some of the editing choices, plus the both dense yet meandering plot, brought the momentum of a truly fantastic TPK and resolution early on to a shuddering halt), and really nothing but A Court of Fey and Flowers has truly stuck for some time. The fandom has been clamoring for Fantasy High Junior Year for quite some time to no avail. The switch to 10-episode sidequests from 6 episode sidequests has met lukewarm reception. In short: D20 could use something flashy to revitalize their next sidequest. Enter: Matt Mercer as DM.

Now, a lot of D20 fans who are not part of the (significant) overlap with CR fans hate Matt Mercer. This is in part because a lot of people who got Big Mad about ships in Campaign 2 went to D20 and proceeded to badmouth Critical Role, a show they happily watched and made art for until roughly episode 107-ish of Campaign 2, proclaiming it homophobic (wrong two women kissed); racist (one of the women who kissed is a dark-skinned woman played by a white woman, which would have still been true if she kissed the other woman but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯); and probably problematic in other ways. To be clear I am not saying Critical Role is above criticism, and it has made its missteps, but like, the fact that these complaints showed up conveniently only when a ship didn't happen and mostly from like, white teenagers who proceeded to simultaneously call the cast transphobic and deliberately get their names wrong means this is not the criticism that is valid and worth considering, as is the fact that technically Matt had nothing to do with the ship not happening, but they've realized being an asshole to Marisha about her character's romantic choices will rightfully get you flayed alive. Also some D20 fans just hate Critical Role in the way that if you live in Boston you're supposed to hate New York and vice versa but if you say "why? what if I just want the baseball boys to have a good time together?" no one can answer.

Anyway here's a diagram to illustrate the group I'm talking about; they're the green dot:

So: a couple of them decided a smart thing to do on Twitter in front of God and everybody was to say that they were worried Matt would contradict this "widely established" fanlore because he is not plugged into the ACOC fandom. They then proceeded to specifically (jokingly, but like, in a shitty way, still where everyone could see it) say that Matt would probably introduce Belizabeth as being married to her husband because she is 100% straight.

Now there's a bunch of problems here, and people pointed them out. Namely:

This is a weird thing to assume Matt would do, ie, automatically make an arbitrary NPC definitely straight, even if you're joking about it; like, he has a pretty decent track record for making NPCs of varying genders and sexualities, especially by C2 and C3.

This is not even widely established fanlore; this is a tiny group of fans of ACOC. See below for more on that.

Even if it were widely established fanlore, it's unlikely Brennan would know either.

Even if it were widely established fanlore and Matt or Brennan were aware of it, they are under no obligation to adhere to fanlore, because it's fanlore, not the established canon of A Crown of Candy. This does not make fanlore bad! It just means that creators are allowed to ignore it in the same way that fan creators are allowed to ignore canon; this is a two-way street.

Therefore, because this is fanlore, even if Matt did say "here is Belizabeth and her husband, and she has only ever been involved with men" this would not be homophobic because the character's sexuality has never been established and straight is one of the possible sexualities she could have. Obviously if he went super hard on her straightness that could get weird but that's a fucking bonkers stretch.

When people pointed it out, this group and a few other people who just fucking hate Matt kept dismissing them as CR fans. Then it caught the attention of various D20 guest cast members or people in the broader TTRPG scene, who have pointed out that like...the actual play and TTRPG industry is a place where basically everyone in a particular region knows everyone else and they are all good friends and this is shitty. The D20 fans mad that Matt is DM-ing The Ravening War kept doubling down and started making outright ad-hominem attacks on Matt (notably his appearance and dress which is like, shitty and irrelevant to this fanon thing anyway even before you consider the body dysmorphia) and whining that because they've made some charity fanzines, a thing people have been doing since the dawn of Star Trek TOS, they deserve...something. People rightfully called them out as 1. entitled brats and 2. needlessly cruel. They keep whining that CR fans are dogpiling them when in fact like, the entire TTRPG community including, as far as I can tell, the D20 community who overlaps with CR fandom and even the D20 community that does not but is neutral on CR, is like "you suck, you started it, this fandom is not exempted from typical fandom toxicity, and you will look back on this in 5 years and vomit from embarrassment."

Anyway this is all kind of tiresome, but also pretty funny because literally I'm expecting a bunch of fanartists who are immensely high on their own farts to be 100% blacklisted from ever receiving a commission from like, any Actual Play of note and also a lot of fans; there's an outpouring of support for Matt that far outstrips what there would have been without a handful of idiots starting shit; and also the season is fully filmed anyway so if this ship was confirmed noncanon, it happened a few months ago anyway and there's nothing anyone can do.

Oh, and in case you're wondering, pretty much all these losers are still 100% going to watch The Ravening War anyway so like, this has all amounted to a net positive for everyone but them.

[regenderate-fic]

Let Me Spin and Excite You

Fandom: Doctor Who Ships: Fifteenth Doctor/Rose Tyler Characters: Fifteenth Doctor, Rose Tyler Rating: General Word Count: 1,932 Other Tags: Reunions, Immortal Rose, Bad Wolf as Disability

Read on AO3

Summary: After years of looking for the Doctor, Rose meets a strange-but-familiar man at the club.

NOTES: i happened to finish this on esther's birthday so it's for him now. everyone say happy birthday @nounpolycule

anyway i have a ton of long wips that are going super slowly because of how grad school owns my entire soul now so this is my attempt to remind myself that i can write things that are short sometimes.

title from may i have this dance by francis and the lights. which has some of my favorite lyrics of any song and i'm forever mad at spotify for not telling me the version of it i first discovered is a cover (by meadowlark)

Rose leaned against the bar, drink in hand. 

The glass was full. Half an hour, and she hadn't even taken a sip. She'd meant to try and relax a bit, let loose, but it just wasn't happening. Her head hurt, her bones ached, and she felt the ever-present exhaustion hovering over her, threatening to take her out at the knees. 

Not to mention—ten years.

She'd been back in this universe for ten years. And she still hadn’t found the Doctor. 

She'd tried, of course. She'd looked for unusual happenings, bumps in the timeline, anything that might indicate the presence of a haphazardly landed time ship and its ridiculous occupant. She'd chased a million leads, ironed out as many of time’s odd little wrinkles as she could manage, followed timelines across millennia—running into the Doctor should've been inevitable, after all that. And yet she still hadn’t seen them. 

And now here she was, slumped against the wall, trying to convince herself that this was still the sort of thing she enjoyed. 

She sighed. Maybe it was time to go. She tipped what was left of her drink into her mouth and turned to leave. 

But just as she started for the door, a flurry of motion caught her eye. 

She disregarded it at first. It was coming from the dance floor, for goodness sake. Surely there was enough movement there to turn anyone’s head. But—no, this was an unexpected movement. Something out of time. 

Rose turned to look. 

Immediately, she was transfixed. 

The densely-packed crowd of dancers all but faded away around the dancer who'd caught her eye. 

Beautiful was the only word for him. He practically gleamed in the club lights—the sheen of sweat on his skin somehow made him more entrancing. He moved with a fluid ease, even as the moves themselves were unlike anything anyone else was doing. And there was something about him… Rose couldn't tear her eyes away. He just looked so joyful. 

Tears startled her at the corners of her eyes, and she wiped them away with the back of her hand. She missed that sort of joy—that carefree movement, lost in a sea of people. 

To hell with it. One dance wouldn't kill her. Rose took a step towards the dance floor. 

Never mind. Maybe it would kill her, figuratively speaking. The bright lights and loud noises were doing nothing for her headache. Why had she come here again? She'd enjoyed nightclubs, once, but since then every cell in her body had surely changed, fallen away only to be wholly replaced. She could hardly expect to be the same person she was.

Still. It was nice to indulge the fantasy. 

The dancing man had his hands above his head, skirt fanning out as he twirled. As Rose watched, he came to a stop, and then—

Was he looking at her? 

Rose fiddled with the hem of her jacket. She probably looked out of place, in long pants and a full-on leather jacket, with barely any makeup. She hadn't minded, but now she'd been caught out, staring unabashedly at this man, and her usual armor wasn't quite right for the scenario.

The man stepped off the dance floor. He walked like he was still dancing, with graceful, deliberate steps. Rose forced her eyes to stay trained on the dance floor as he walked past her, presumably to the bar. 

She'd been standing for too long. If she wasn't going to leave the club, she needed to find a place to sit. She looked around. Most of the tables were completely full—but then she noticed a group of people getting up, and Rose hurried over to take their table before anyone else could claim it. She kept an idle eye on the dance floor. She wasn’t up for it now—but a hundred years ago, she would've been there, carefree and having the time of her life. 

There was movement in her periphery. She looked towards it only to see the man from earlier, now lowering himself into the chair next to her. He was holding two glasses. 

“This your drink?” he asked, offering one to her. 

Rose eyed him. “How’d you know?”

“Lucky guess.” He settled into the chair. “D’you come here a lot, then?”

Rose burst out laughing. “You're really opening with the oldest line in the book?”

“I didn't mean it like that.” He flashed a smile. “I'm not from around here. Don't know the scene.”

Rose hesitated. “It's not my usual haunt, no.” She raised her eyebrows at him. “Where are you from, then?”

He waved a hand. “Here and there.”

“How specific.” Rose felt herself start to smile. “And, I have to ask. Why are you here?”

“What?”

Rose nodded at the dance floor. “You've got a whole club to talk to. What are you doing here?”

He pointed at her. “You were looking at me.”

“Can't imagine I'm the only one,” Rose said, and then she blushed. She hadn't meant to be flirting—but, well, why shouldn't she? It would be ludicrous to pretend she wasn't attracted. “Why me?”

“Why not you?” He raised his eyebrows. “Got a big old skeleton in your closet, have you?”

“I've barely got a closet,” Rose said, truthfully. She kept a small flat, but it wasn't really home to her. No need for closet space, not when she hadn't bought new clothes in four years. “No room for skeletons.”

“That's a shame.” The man grinned. “There's always under the bed, I suppose.”

The space under Rose’s bed was full of random bits of alien tech she hadn't gotten around to investigating. “Not my bed,” she said. “No room, what with all the doodads I've got.”

“That's a technical term, is it?” He was smiling. 

Rose smiled back. “Oh, yeah, definitely. I'm great with doodads.”

“How about thingamajigs?”

“Absolutely. One hundred percent. I'm there.” 

He and Rose grinned at each other, and suddenly Rose was sitting in a chippy just off the Powell Estate, her feet knocking against the Doctor’s as they laughed. 

She blinked. 

That feeling—the fizzy joy of an easy back-and-forth—it had been at least ten years since she’d felt that way. It was nearly alien to her now.

But… it was nice. And there was no harm in it, was there? If this frankly gorgeous man wanted to buy her a drink and have a bit of flirty banter—well, she wasn't exactly going to say no. 

The man gestured towards the dance floor with a flourish. “Would you like to dance?” 

Rose weighed her options. There was a reason she’d held back, before. But… this was different. Unwise as dancing may be, this man was very quickly beginning to seem worth the sacrifice.

“Yeah, all right,” she said. She smiled. “Show me your moves.”

The man’s face lit up. He held out a hand to Rose, and she took it, allowing him to lead her to the dance floor. Before, when she was watching him, she’d felt like he reflected light outward, shining on the whole club, and now she shared in his glow, moving without care, lost in the light and sound, anchored entirely by this strange man’s hands at her waist. 

It was the most she’d been touched in years. She felt a bit intoxicated—or maybe that was the alcohol—a bit light-headed—or maybe she’d just been upright too long—a bit exhilarated—and there was no way to explain that away. 

The dance felt like it lasted forever, but both common sense and time sense told Rose it could've only been a few minutes before she started to feel out of breath. 

“You all right?” He had to yell in her ear to be heard. 

“Yeah, fine!” Rose hesitated. “D’you want to get out of here?”

“Thought you’d never ask.” His hand fit wonderfully around hers, and they stepped out onto the street together. The cool evening air was a welcome respite from the warm fervor of the club. Rose laughed to feel it on her face. 

“Where are we going?” she asked. 

The man gestured. “My place is just around the corner, if that's all right with you.”

Rose glanced at him. He was still grinning, still gorgeous, his face illuminated by the bright neon of the club’s sign. This night had been strange in the best way—she hardly objected to continuing it. “Lead the way, then.”

His grin grew, as if that was even possible, as if he had infinite capacity for joy. Together, they walked to the street corner—turned—

Rose felt it before she saw it. A rushing familiarity, a glorious sense of home, a giant weight lifted from her bones. She blinked. There it was: a wooden blue police box, innocently positioned in the center of a streetlight’s beam. 

The TARDIS. 

Her brain was short-circuiting. She'd stopped walking. She was staring. The TARDIS was here. The TARDIS was here, which meant the Doctor was here. The Doctor was—

She looked back at the man she was walking with. He was still grinning, his gaze fixed entirely, expectantly, on Rose. 

Rose gasped. Her body felt like it was on fire. She looked from him to the TARDIS—back to him—her lips parted—she breathed out—and on her breath there was a name. 

“Doctor?” 

The look in his eyes was so achingly tender she wanted to cry. When he said her name, it sounded the same as it always had—low, soft, with an echo of reverence. “Rose Tyler.”

She fell into him. Immediately, instinctively, his arms wrapped around her waist, and she closed her eyes. 

“Why didn’t you tell me it was you?”

She felt the vibrations in his chest when he laughed. 

“Thought it would be more fun if you figured it out for yourself. And I was right, if you were wondering.” 

He pulled back. His eyes met hers, and she stared, trying her hardest to take in the collection of features that made up this Doctor’s face. 

“Oh, I missed you,” he breathed. 

The words sank into Rose, settled into her bones.

“Not even going to ask how you got here,” he added. “Or how long it's been.”

“Dimension cannon,” Rose said. “And—hundred years?” 

“Oh! Because—”

“Bad wolf, yeah.” Rose grimaced. “Turns out looking into all of time has some side effects.”

“Oh, Rose, I'm so sorry. I should've known.”

Rose shook her head. “Water under the bridge. Don’t apologize for that.” She raised her eyebrows. “Apologize for being so bloody hard to find. Been looking for years, I have, and best I can manage is a chance encounter?”

“Ah, the TARDIS knew what she was doing, landing here.” 

“Typical. Blaming the TARDIS.” Rose scoffed. “Still haven’t forgotten about twelve months.”

“That was one time!” 

“Scotland? Queen Victoria? Where were we trying to go then?”

“Oi, I made it to Sheffield eventually—”

“Not with me you didn’t!”

Their eyes met, and suddenly they were both laughing, falling into each other, and the Doctor’s arm curled around Rose’s waist as he asked, “What do you say, then? Fancy a trip?”

Rose let her head fall against his side. “Fancy a good night’s sleep first.”

“Hey, I've got beds.”

Rose smiled. “I've missed that time machine of yours.”

“Just between you and me? I think she's missed you too.” The Doctor dropped his arm from Rose’s waist in favor of taking her hand, and as he entwined his fingers with hers, they stepped together in the direction of the TARDIS. 

[nuttytani]

When your boss and his "friend" are too lovey dovey

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Pairing: Tartaglia | Childe x Zhongli

Premise: In which, Ekaterina makes the mistake of posting about her boss and his "friend", and the entire Liyue goes crazy

A/N: This is a social media au fic cross posted from my ao3! which you can read here

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chapter 1

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Ekaterina . @ katyaaa  

My boss and his “friend” better hook up, or I’ll seriously kill someone. How is it possible to not notice the heart eyes your “friend” looks at you with, for like every time you talk??!?? 2 years. It’s been 2 years since both Master Childe and Mr. Zhongli have been dancing around each other. 2 YEARS!!!!

And just now… You literally won’t believe the level of PDA I had to witness. Mr. Zhongli lent his coat to Master Childe  because his official uniform is too “risque” and “insufficient” for Liyue’s winter.

It’s not even 9 am yet… I need coffee for this shit.

| Vlad . @ vladaddy

Replying to @ katyaaa

You’re not the only one. Sweet Tsaritsa, have mercy on us.

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Ekaterina . @ katyaaa

Update: He finally went out to have lunch with his “friend”. Thank archons. 

| Nadia . @ spynadia

Replying to @ katyaaa

You gotta admit, they’re pretty much couple goals, even without the dating. 

| Xiangling . @ cheflingling 

Replying to @ spynadia and @ katyaaa 

[Insert blurry image of two people, one with ginger hair and another with dark brown. The brunette looks like he’s feeding the ginger haired man. They’re both basically glue to each other’s side]

Awwe, look at them!! How cute! 

| Felix . @ felixis 

Replying to @ cheflingling 

Definitely did NOT need that image on my home feed and it definitely does NOT make me feel sour ass single pringle. 

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa  

Replying to @ cheflingling 

What happened to something called privacy ? 

| Yunjin . @ operagrandis 

Replying to @ katyaaa  

Privacy went out the window the moment you decided to post about your “boss” crushing on his “friend” and vice versa

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Signora . @ thefairestlady 

Hey. @ katyaaa , dig up some more pics and info on the two idiots in love. Tsaritsa’s orders 

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa         

Replying to @ thefairestlady 

What ? 

| Pantalone . @ theregrator

Replying to @ katyaaa and @ thefairestlady 

Don’t bother asking why, it’s strictly confidential. Oh and also, make it quick :)

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Ekaterina stares at her phone in horror as the notifications from her socials go blasting off every- freaking- second. Not to mention, the weird, suspicious and vague “mission” about digging more information on her boss and his “friend” 

Ugh. Why is she the one who has to suffer? 

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chapter 2

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First thing Ekaterina does is to mute her socials. The constant pinging of the notifications started to annoy her and it might overheat her phone too. 

“-terina” 

She shouldn’t have posted about her boss. Worst decision she ever made in her entire life- well… not exactly the worst but definitely ranks up high somewhere in the regrets list. 

“Ekaterina?”

But to be fair, it was getting on her nerves recently, since Mr. Zhongli got very bold with his affection towards Master Childe recently, and well… her boss being the oblivious and dense person he is, hasn’t even noticed the advances, and instead he just shoots his “friend” an extremely blushy smil-

Woah —

Something- no - a pair of hands grab Ekaterina’s shoulders and shake the living soul out of her body. “Oww.”

“Katya! Come on! I’ve been calling your name so many times now. Where is your mind at?” Nadia, one of her colleagues and friend, stares at her with concern.

“Sorry,” Ekaterina replies, pushing her hair back. “Was thinking…”

“Is it the new mission?”

“Yeah.” 

She shoots Ekaterina a pitiful look before handing her a cup of coffee. “Better start the hustle then. Call me or the others if you need help. And boy, we have a lot of work cut out for us.” Nadia ushers her away to her office, “Go, go, time is mora. Don’t waste it.”

With that, the door to her office closes. Ekaterina places her coffee on the table and pulls out her chair, before remembering to check her phone. 

__

Notifications 

Signora . @thefairestlady 

3 messages 

Pantalone . @theregrator 

1 message

__

Back to regretting my life choices, I guess. 

It took about a week to stalk gather intel on Master Childe and Mr. Zhongli’s time together. Stacks of brown envelopes and manila folders, labelled as “CONFIDENTIAL : FATUI ONLY” covered the entire top of Ekaterina’s dining table (scouring over reports about a harbinger’s rendezvous with a funeral consultant during working hours would have been too much on the nose)

The mission became a joint effort between her and other agents working at the Northland Bank. It was found out on their first day, that it wasn’t an easy task observing their extremely lovey dovey targets… The PDA displayed by them was too much (it was lethal to the agents’ health to watch them longer than an hour).

As the mission is classified to be confidential, and specially ordered by her majesty, Ekaterina and the agents couldn’t take any risks to get information leaked about whatever the heck they were doing. So, everyone opted for hard copy reports which could be destroyed once it fulfilled its use.

But no one expected it to be a massive headache as Ekaterina and her colleagues went through each one of them.

“When will this end?! There’s too many,” Felix breaks the silence with a groan, then slams his head down on the table.

“I feel like I’ve already read the same report a million times now, just worded differently.” Vlad rubs his eyes with a heavy sigh. “Every single day, they eat lunch together at Chef Mao’s, go to Yun Jin’s plays, or sometimes to Third-Round Knockout and finally crash at either one’s home for dinner, did I get that right?”

“You’re correct, except for one thing. Everything and everything is paid by Lord Tartaglia,” Felix responded, seemingly recovered from his exhaustion. 

Everyone hums in union. 

To be fair though, the mora used by Master Childe on his outings weren’t really his, but Lord Pantalone’s. Hell, even Ekaterina would exploit 9th Harbringer’s mora (if she had a higher standing in the fatui, of course)

“Lets not forget these.” With the most deadpan expression, Vlad tosses pictures of the “dates” their boss and his “friend” had, but many many cropped pictures of Master Childe’s chest framed perfectly by his leather harness, stood out from the stack.

“Who took these?” and “Why?” was left unsaid amongst them all. 

Nadia choked suspiciously on air just then. Nervously shifting her eyes around. 

Thinking to save her friend from embarrassment, Ekaterina tries to change the subject. “Ahem, anyway, since all the reports are basically the same, let’s just summarise it.” 

“Umm something along the lines of … Master Childe is a sugar daddy for Mr. Zhongli and they act like a married couple?” Felix says while rubbing his chin in deep thought. 

“Let's… At least try to rephrase our wording, not so straightforward.” Vlad smiles, or at least tries to. 

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chapter 3

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Childe . @ tartaglia

Why did I receive an emergency summon from her majesty? 

| Signora . @ thefairestlady

Replying to @ tartaglia 

Idk, you probably did something. Again. 

| Pantalone . @ theregrator

Replying to @ tartaglia and @ thefairestlady

Only one way to find out. 

| Lumine . @ thebettertraveller

Replying to @ tartaglia 

GL, I hope you don’t get your ass kicked. 

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Ekaterina . @ katyaaa

Phew! Mission successfully completed and with a generous reward too! I’m glad all that stalking of Master Childe paid off. 

| Childe . @ tartaglia

Replying to @ katyaaa

You were spying on me? Don’t tell me this is the reason why I’ve been summoned… 

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa 

Replying to @ tartaglia 

Spying ? hahaha what spying ? I don’t know what you’re talking about :DDD

| Felix . @ felixis 

Replying to @ katyaaa 

You’re so fired. Stupid ass. 

[ insert facepalm GIF ]

| Childe . @ tartaglia 

Replying to @ felixis and @ katyaaa 

Oh don’t worry, you’re both in trouble, and so is Nadia and Vlad ;)

| Ekaterina . @ katyaaa 

Replying to @ tartaglia 

Please have mercy, my lord! 

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Meanwhile, in the privacy of Zhongli’s home, an elegantly written note addressed not to Zhongli, but Morax, materialises right in front of him.

 “You shameless old dragon, get your broke ass to Snezhnaya now! We need to talk” 

Never in his life did Childe feel as nervous and scared until today. He was shaking in his boots as he looked back and forth between her majesty and Mr. Zhongli (alternatively Rex Lapis, as he just found out… but that can be discussed later). He didn’t think that he’d get summoned by The Tsaritsa nor did he expect Mr. Zhongli, who was supposed to be in Liyue doing his job, to be invited to her majesty’s garden for tea.

Tea? Nope this isn’t tea, this is basically an interrogation session! 

“Now, let me get this straight. You gave the boy a pair of marriage chopsticks and he accepted it?” Tsaritsa raised her teacup to her scowling lips slowly.

Hold on, wait a minute… Marriage chopsticks? 

“That is correct–”

“And you thought that my youngest, born and raised in Snezhnaya would understand the meaning behind this act? You didn’t think this through did you, Morax? How embarrassing, I suppose Barbatos is still right, you ARE a stone blockhead.”

Mr. Zhongli coughed discreetly to disguise his embarrassment, before taking a sip from his cup, “Now please, Tsaritsa, there’s no need to chastise me for it.” 

“I must, with how you shamelessly court my youngest Harbinger without my knowledge.” Tsaritsa’s eyes narrow down at Zhongli, like a mother ready to scold.

Childe watches the entire exchange in shock– courting ? Mr. Zhongli and courting ? Just what in Celestia is happening ? He must have looked like a dumbfounded monkey, staring at them, until her majesty’s words interrupt his inner turmoil.

“Well,” she says curtly “Has the wedding date been set? If not, I shall take care of it.”

Sputtering and hacking on his tea, Childe replied, “W-What!??”

.

Bonus scene 

“Lord Tartaglia! Congratulations, we heard you’re getting married–”

“My my! What good news! I can feel the tears of joy in my eyes already”

“How shocking… It feels as if just yesterday you were but a little boy running around the palace”

[happynowyo]

Reflection, part 4

Fandom: Six of Crows

Pairing: Kaz Brekker x Shadow summoner!OC

Warnings: Kaz Brekker and everything that goes with him

Word count: 2,1k

Tag list: @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy, @valkyrie05x, @parabatai-winchester, @footydais, @valeridarkness, @igakc , @winstonthecow22

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3

Her first week in the Slat was so quiet and nice that Jess had the deceptive impression that she had been living here for many months already. She managed to fit into the routine quite easily, though she kept a certain distance from everyone around her because of Kaz's unspoken request. To him, it was just a job. One of many others, though special enough. So he kept Jess out of any of the Club's activities, but generously allowed her to be there as an observer every night.

She was similar to Matthias in that role, and he was basically the first one who Jess encountered most often, in the deserted kitchen or the living room in the quiet afternoons, while the rest of the Crows and Dregs ran countless errands for Brekker. The day before, Nina had locked herself in the bedroom with Jess with the company of a fine bottle of wine and they had talked literally until morning, passionately recounting the things that had worried and troubled them in these past few years. When Nina talked about Matthias, her eyes lit up so obviously that Jess swallowed her surprise and all questions about how he had coped with his beliefs that all Grishas should be recognized as a mistake of nature and killed.

The stern Fjerdan intimidated her with grim evaluative glances and the silence with him was so dense and physically palpable that it reminded Jess of the rare moments when her father had punished her with such silence and she had become extremely uncomfortable even standing next to him. But Matthias brewed the best coffee in the Slat and proved to be contradictorily curious. Jess thought that was Nina's beneficial influence, though she didn't go into details about their complicated relationship.

— Kaz let slip that you escaped from the Little Palace. Were you a Grisha?

Matthias found her after breakfast, taking the clean plates from her without further question to wipe them dry. His voice sounded wary, but Jess appreciated the first steps taken toward her, so she tried to show reciprocal benevolence by shaking her head gently, though she was almost certain that Kaz had told Matthias such details on purpose.

— Grisha's abilities come from birth and remain with them until death, even if we don't use them for some reason.

— So it's true, isn't it? Can you do magic stuff like Nina, too? Trick someone else's mind and control their heartbeat?

Jess knew that hiding something from the Crows would be an extremely difficult task. She was going to be living with them for a while and she wanted to believe that they would be able to make some sort of connection. To be on good terms. The last thing she wanted was to be in isolation again, where she could trust no one and had to constantly look over her shoulder, drowning in the pitch blackness of anxiety. Matthias, with his crystal blue eyes, looked naïve and curious, but Jess remembered that he had dragged dozens and dozens people like her to execution before.

— I have certain powers, but no, I'm not like Nina.

— I've heard that Grishas get sick when they give up their powers and hide them. That it's a punishment from the gods for ignoring their gift. Is this true? — Matthias seemed genuinely positive, not about to reproach or condemn her for who she was born to be.

— My grandmother used to say the same thing. I haven't met Grishas like that personally, but it sounds likely. I know your culture raised you differently, but many people do perceive our powers as a miracle and a special gift. Which is funny, since Grishas have been training for centuries only to die in the Fold.

Sadness seeped into Jess, threatening to turn into regret over Aleksander's sins, so she chose to change the topic to how Matthias was adapting in Ketterdam and what exactly he was doing for Kaz while he was trying to convince himself that he didn't stay here because of Nina.

Her next personal encounter with one of the Crows came the next day, when Inej caught her on her way back from some shopping. The Wraith was given her nickname rightfully. Her footsteps were completely inaudible, and her appearance made Jess twitch reflexively for a moment .

— Kaz wanted me to keep an eye on you. Why did you go out to the city alone?

If Jess hadn't known they'd only met each other a few days, she would have thought that Inej was really worried about her. But she just shrugged her shoulders and nonchalantly shoved a large bag of groceries into Inej's hands, since she'd decided to stop hiding on the rooftops and keep her company for the walk.

— I didn't know that the Slat was supposed to be my prison with required permission to go in and out from Saint Brekker, — Jess' lips parted in an amused chuckle, though she knew she really should have been careful. — I haven't been gone more than twenty minutes. I thought you were on a mission. What did the boss have in mind for you today?

— Looking for some information, nothing new, — Inej answered vaguely, stepping first into the building that had become her true home in the last couple of years.

Inej held herself aloof and rather professionally, but Jess managed to melt the ice between them with lemon cakes and herbal tea brewed in the Suli tradition, as well as her own honesty about the terrifying things she had seen before in the Little Palace and while visiting military settlements with other Grishas. Experience had told her, correctly, that nothing brought people closer together as much and as quickly as shared traumas. Inej, tearfully talking about the Menagerie, earned Jess' respect almost instantly.

After she had left, Jess expectedly had another nightmare waiting for her. It started out so well that it looked like her real past. She was in her father's study, beside a huge elongated desk, drawing a map of Ravka according to Aleksander's instructions. Shadows stretched lazily along the walls to the ceiling and looked more like puffs of loose smoke, something her father had remembered to point out to her, reminding her to focus better on control. He said it so often that Jess heard his voice in her head many times, even after their classes.

Aleksander was there and she could feel the warmth of his smile, as well as the tangible touch on her shoulders in the form of an approving gesture. She had relaxed enough, and that's when the first terror shaked her. The nightmare crept into her memories as an ugly shadow, taking any light from the room and distorting Aleksander's facial features, bringing her back to that forest. To his screams, to his commands and to the massive pain. To his regret that she was too weak to really be his daughter. Even years later Jess didn't know what hurt her more — his cruel words or the searing, lingering pain by the darkness that had slipped inside her body and deprived her of air, ripping her skin through. Her father always calmed himself at the sight of the first blood, but now, in the midst of the nightmare, it wasn't meant to be.

The clammy fear didn't leave her even after she awoke. Her hands were shaking shamefully and Jess was suffocating in the stuffiness of her bedroom, so she stepped out onto the porch leading to the small backyard. Someone from the Dregs had dragged a nice white bench here, better suited to stand outside a fancy coffee shop, attracting tourists with full wallets. And that's where Wylan found her, unabashedly holding out a cup of tea. His outstanding and too readable facial expressions remained visible even in the night's semi-darkness, his eyes running across Jess' face and his lips pursed in dangerous anticipation, as if he thought she was bound to chase him away.

— Kaz said you had nightmares. You were screaming in your sleep. I guess it's silly to ask you how you're feeling, isn't it?

— If Kaz Brekker is so attentive, why doesn't he talk to me about it himself? I haven't seen him in a few days, — Jess managed to get her emotions back under control and softened the harsh phrase towards the end. She carefully took the cup and nodded appreciatively, dabbing her fingers on Wylan's arm to sit him invitingly on the bench beside her. — I'm fine. We all have reason for nightmares, don't we? No one in the Slat had a good life or we wouldn't be here otherwise.

— What do you usually see in your dreams? — Wylan's question sounded muffled, and his mind had already shifted, tossing up an image of his father. Goosebumps ran down his skin at the same second, giving away his former fear, and he wondered if he would ever be able to get rid of that terrifying reflex. No child should ever have to react like that to his own parent.

Jess knew very little about Wylan. Just some things Nina and Inej had told her. He was amazingly good with substances that could be detonated, had an eye for Jesper that was quite mutual, as was their endless flirting, and was excellent at music, judging by notes Jess had spotted in his room through the ajar door. Nina had mentioned that Wylan had run away from his family, and because of that Jess felt a special sympathy for him. Sometimes even life on the streets or being among ruthless cruel thieves and murderers was better than being under the family wing.

— My father, — the answer came out before Jess could even decide whether she should give away any details or it was better to keep her secrets from the Crows. If she had to run again soon, there was no point in making any friends here that she would have to leave behind.

The weight of the truth was really heavy for her more than ever, and she could feel in her gut how her hope for a peaceful future had crumbled. She could fool herself all she wanted with the rumors of the Darkling's death that were still circulating in Ketterdam, but there was a nagging sense of foreboding under her skin that she couldn't shake off. They really did have a connection.

Once, when she was eight, Aleksander had given her an enchanted pendant when she'd begrudgingly refused to let her father go back to the war. The Fabricator had worked on it so that the silver chain with its decoration in the shape of a small bird, remained completely black, as if it had been made of pure darkness. Her father had said that it would stay black as long as his pulse was beating, that he would always come back to her as birds flew back to their home nest. And she believed. She still believed and that's why she never had the courage to look at the chain kept in the silk pouch at the bottom of her suitcase. Jess still didn't know whether she wanted to see the black or the silver.

— I'm afraid that he'll come back for me. I'm afraid that part of me wants him to, because I'm still attached to him. No matter what - that's what he said, and now it seems like a real curse, — a sad smile flashed across Jess' face, but quickly disappeared behind her cup with another sip of tea. Her heart felt heavy at the admission of her weakness, but she was comforted by Wylan's presence in the moment. — Do you have something similar with your father or have you already managed to jump to the next stage and free yourself from his influence?

— Mine never took care of me. No breakfasts together, no walks, no affectionate words or hugs. He had no part in my upbringing, though he liked to punish me for something he alone saw some sense in. So, I didn't have anything to hold on to. Maybe I was a little luckier in that regard.

Jess had trouble being tactile, but at that point she could clearly feel someone else's pain, and she was sorry that it was her nightmares that indirectly caused Wylan to return to the troubled subject. Damn Kaz Brekker, had he sent Wylan to her? So, coping with the rush of anxiety, she took a deep breath and touched his knee fleetingly as a sign of mute support.

— We don't get to choose our parents, but we can surround ourselves with those who treat us much better. You're doing pretty good with Jesper, aren't you? That gives me hope.

[middleearthpixie]

Something in the Night ~ Chapter Nineteen

Summary: Following the Battle of the Five Armies, a seriously wounded Thorin Oakenshield returns to Erebor to recuperate and eventually ascend the throne as king. With the deaths of Azog the Defiler and his son, Bolg, Thorin no longer has to worry about the bounty the Defiler placed on his head and can instead concentrate on restoring Erebor to its former glory. 

Nina Carren of Esgaroth has one goal—to make Thorin Oakenshield pay for unleashing Smaug the dragon unto her home—where he destroyed the town and killed her family. The Defiler might be gone, but his bounty remains very much in place, and she fully intends to collect on it. 

Finally, the opportunity shows itself for her to do just that, only to have it go horribly awry. Wounded and now at his mercy, neither Nina nor Thorin stopped to think what might happen, should things not go quite according to plan…

Pairings: Thorin Oakenshield x ofc Nina Carren

Warnings: None

Rating: T

Word Count: 2.6k

Tag List: @mrsdurin @lathalea @legolasbadass @i-did-not-mean-to @fizzyxcustard

@xxbyimm @kibleedibleedoo @arrthurpendragon @exhausted-humxn-being @knittastically

@notlostgnome @myselfandfantasy @medusas-hairband @guardianofrivendell @jotink78

@ruthoakenshield @frosticenow @quiall321 @dianakc @msjava1972

@glassgulls @evenstaredits @heilith @asgardianhobbit98 @way-too-addicted-to-fandoms

@sazzlep @night-ace

If you’d like to be added (or removed) to the tag list, please just let me know!

Previous chapters can be found here. 

The corridor just outside the infirmary was narrow and quiet, the only light coming from the torches flickering overhead. Thorin leaned against the wall opposite the main doorway, scowling at how easily Narnerra pushed him out of her way and ordered him from the infirmary. 

“Thorin? What happened?” Dís hurried toward him, the beads in her beard and long braids clacking loudly. “Are you injured? You’e covered in blood!”

He looked down at the dark rust-colored marks streaking along the front of his henley. His hands were bloodstained as well, with those same rust-colored streaks along the backs of them. “I’m fine, Dís.”

That didn't stop his sister from grabbing his hands, one at a time, to examine them, then she leaned in toward him. “Are you certain? Whose blood is this, then?”

He jerked away from her. “Leave off. I have no injuries and the blood is not mine. It’s Nina’s and it’s because she once more jumped between me and a weapon.”

“Nina?” Dís’ forehead wrinkled as she stepped back. “Who is Nina?”

“She…” He didn't know quite how to explain Nina at all. Especially when Dís offered up that all-knowing looked he’d seen far too often from their mother when he was a boy. And like their mother, she had the ability to see through most, if not all, of any lies he might try to get away with. 

“Thorin? Your mystery mercenary?”

“We crossed paths on the road just outside Rivendell. She happened upon me and Dwalin just before an orc pack did and she traveled with us from Rivendell to Mirkwood, where we parted ways.”

Dís arched one delicate ebony brow. “Parted ways?”

He hesitated. He certainly couldn't very well tell her they harbored a possible assassin in Erebor. Although, if he was completely honest with himself, he felt no threat from Nina. He’d never felt a threat from her. As she’d pointed out back in Mirkwood, they’d been alone—and he’d been very vulnerable—more than once and yet, she never made move to harm him. 

“Parted ways,” he said with a resolute bob of his head. “I saw her last eve when I was in Dale. She works at a tavern there and she’d seen the orc pack—”

“A second orc pack?”

“A scouting party, actually.” He frowned at her. “Why the look?”

“Are you seriously that dense, Thorin?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“This girl—of Man, I assume— just happened to be near you when an orc pack attacked not once, but twice? You don't find that odd?”

“If it were anyone else, I might,” he admitted. “But, I’ve traveled with Nina and had no trouble.”

“Is that so?”

He thought back to the orc pack beyond Mirkwood’s borders, but still nodded. “It is, yes. Dís, Azog put a price on my head, back when I first began the quest to retake this mountain. His death did not cancel it. I’ve no doubt there will be other encounters with filth determined to collect on it.”

“A price—Thorin, do you mean to tell me that you left here last eve—in the dead of night, I’ll add—by yourself knowing you’ve a blasted price on your head? Have you gone completely mad?”

He narrowed his eyes at her. “I’ll pretend you did not just ask me that, little sister, for where I go and how I go is none of your concern.”

“Thorin, you are not simply Oakenshield any longer. Need I remind you that you are, in fact, the king, and as such, you really should not be traipsing about without at least one guard?”

“I need no guards.”

“You needed one last eve, didn't you?” Dís countered sharply, her eyes narrowing as well. “Or perhaps not, since your Nina just happened to be there once more.”

“You know nothing of her.”

“And what do you know?”

“That is also none of your concern.”

“Perhaps not mine, but I’ll wager Elisin would consider it her concern.”

His gut clenched at that, even as he growled, “She is not my wife.”

“Not yet, no. But soon, isn’t that right?”

He glowered at her. “And this is one more matter that does not concern you, Dís. And I’ll not remind you again to back off.”

“Take care, Thorin,” she told him, her voice low and stern. “You do not have the leeway to make many serious mistakes where women are concerned. Especially now. Do not do something that would jeopardize your relationship with Elisin. Especially where a woman of Man is concerned.”

Dís meant well, but he needed no keeper and so stepped back. “And you need to take care about overstepping, Dís. There is nothing to jeopardize and even if there was, it is not your decision to make or your place to order me about. Do I make myself clear?”

“Thorin—”

“Go mother Kíli and Fíli,” he growled as the infirmary door opened and Narnerra poked her head into the corridor, “for I need no mothering at the moment.”

“Your Majesty,” Narnerra called softly. “Miss Carren is asking for you.”

“Thank you.” He glanced down at Dís. “I mean it, Dís. Your concern is unwarranted.”

“I hope it is,” she told him softly. “For if you are wrong, the consequences could be dire.”

He didn’t answer her, but instead stepped around her to stride toward Narnerra. “How does she fare?”

“I think she will be all right in time,” the healer said, tucking a wayward blonde curl behind one ear. “She is resting now. I’ve given her something for pain, so she might drift off in a bit, but I thought it would put her mind at ease to know she is amongst friends and your mind at ease that she did in fact survive.”

“I thank you.”

“Is Lady Dís all right?”

He smiled as he fell into step alongside Narnerra and they made their way through the main room, to the door at the far end, where private quarters for Erebor’s royal family were located. “She will be fine. She does not like being told I need no mothering.”

“Oh, I’m not at all certain I’d agree with that,” she told him with a smile. “At times, you need all of the mothering you might get. With all due respect, of course.”

He took no offense. Narnerra, like the others, had been with him since they called Ered Luin their home and he felt no need to put on airs and in fact had to restrain himself from insisting they not be so formal with him. 

“I’ve put Miss Carren in your chambers, so to speak,” Narnerra told him. “I thought it would be best for everyone’s comfort. The others are not so keen on having a daughter of Man here.”

“They can trust her.”

Narnerra glanced up at him. “They do not know that. How do you?”

“Because I’ve known Miss Carren a while and vouch for her character. That should be enough for anyone within this mountain.”

“Well, that remains to be seen. But for now,” her hand hovered above the golden door handle, “you are free to sit with her, but take care. If her breathing worsens, come fetch me at once. The blade nicked her lung and we’ve had to re-inflate it. I do not relish the thought of having to do so again.”

“I’ll make certain nothing attacks her while I’m there.”

“Thorin.”

“Narnerra.”

She rolled her eyes at him, but then took herself off, and he stared down at that golden handle for a moment before pushing open the door to step inside the dark room. “Nina?”

“I’m awake.”

Her voice was soft, but not nearly as thready as it had been on the plains and as he came into the room, relief unlike any he’d ever felt before swept through him. A small lamp stood on the bedside table, with an equally small flame dancing within the globe of frosted glass, and he was thankful Narnerra had told him Nina was all right, for if she’d said nothing, he would have started at the sight of her. She lay on the narrow bed, pale and still, with a bit of narrow tubing running from beneath the linen sheet to an apparatus in the shadows alongside the bed, but his stomach lurched at the thought of looking, so instead he focused on her face. 

He sank into the chair Narnerra had left at Nina’s bedside. “How do you feel?”

She offered up a long look. “You did not just ask me that.”

“It was a foolish question and I apologize. But at the same time, how do you feel?”

“I’ve had better days.” She slowly turned her head toward him. “And you?”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.” More than anything, he wanted to reach down and stroke her hair, to gather her in his arms and assure her he’d not let anything else happen to her. In fact, he started to reach, but then paused. “Narnerra assured me that you will be as you were in but a few days.”

Nina nodded slowly. “She told me the same. But I am not so certain I believe her.” Her eyes glittered as they slid from right to left. “Where am I?”

“You are in the family chambers of Erebor’s infirmary.”

Another slow nod. “And this is acceptable?”

“Again, I’m the king. Who will argue it with me?” Now he did give into the urge, and let his fingers move lightly along the dark red hair spilled across her pillow. “You should just rest. You will be here for a bit still.”

“I’m tired.”

“So sleep. No one will disturb you unnecessarily.”

Her eyes closed. “Thank you.”

“No, it is I who should be thanking you. I would have died out on that road, had you not been watching over me.”

One eye opened. “Do you think I had anything to do with it?”

Heat sliced through him even as he shook his head. “No. I don’t.”

“I am sorry I didn't tell you sooner. I—I wanted to, but couldn’t figure out just how.”

“We will discuss this later, when you’re more up to it.”

“Thorin—”

He let his thumb graze along her cheek, over the fading bruise along the bone. “Later, mesmel.”

“Very well. Stubborn dwarf.”

He chuckled, sitting back in his chair. “Get some rest, Nina. I’ll come look in on you later.”

She nodded and her eyes closed once more. A few minutes later, her chest rose and fell with slow, even breaths. He watched her sleep a few minutes more, then with a soft groan, rose and bowed his back to stretch the tired muscles. 

Everything ached a bit more today than it had yesterday, everything felt a bit stiffer than it had as well. He had sent a scout to retrieve Nina’s weapons, and so decided to go to the main gate to see if the scout had returned yet. 

Dwalin waited for him just beyond the infirmary, one brow arched slightly. “We have an unexpected guest?”

“Not you, too, Dwalin,” Thorin warned, striding past him. “I am in no mood.”

“Ye brought her here? Why?”

“Because she is wounded and Erebor was closer than Dale. That’s why. And do not ask me to justify to you, for I refuse. I owe you nothing.”

“Thorin, just stop and—”

Thorin whirled back toward him. “Stop and what? Think? I have, Dwalin. And if you must know, and you can tell my sister this as well because she also probably needs hear it, I know why you all are so suspicious of Miss Carren and I understand it, but also know this, you needn’t worry for me. My safety is not in question with her.”

“We are but concerned, is all.”

“I know and I do appreciate it, but trust me, I need no keepers. Now, if you will excuse me, there are other things needing my attention.”

He resumed his pace, only to have Dwalin fall in alongside him. “Answer me one thing, how does she always know?”

Thorin sighed, stopping in his tracks once more. “I beg your pardon?”

“She knew outside of Rivendell. She knew between here and Dale. And why did we leave her behind in Mirkwood? Why did Thranduíl have her escorted from the palace? Thorin, don’t ye see? We are concerned because it is odd. It is all of it odd.”

“I know. Dís asked me the same thing.” Thorin reached up to rub his forehead with one hand, a headache taking root behind his eyeballs. On one hand, he wished he could just tell Dwalin the truth about Nina, about what had happened in Mirkwood, but he knew if he did, Dwalin would hold it against her for the rest of his days. “But, trust me. That’s all I can tell you. You simply have to trust me.”

Dwalin offered up a pointed look. “What happened in Mirkwood? I already know that the two of ye were—”

“I mean it. Drop the matter for now. Excuse me.” 

Thorin did not wait for him to reply or to argue, and he was relieved when Dwalin didn't follow him. He didn't know quite how to explain how Nina Carren came to be in their company because he knew exactly how his sister would react, how Dwalin would react, and he couldn’t fault them. 

But the truth of the matter was, if Nina still intended to collect the bounty on his head, she could have done so last evening. Or the night he spent in her chambers. Or the next morning, on the bridge. Yet, she didn’t. 

Instead, she had come to his aid, had in fact saved his skin. Twice. He had slept in her bed, and lived to tell the tale if he so wished. 

At the front gate, he retrieved Nina’s weapons and was on his way back to the infirmary when Elisin stepped out of the dining hall. “Ah, there you are. I was wondering where you’d gotten to.”

Her eyes narrowed at the sword and bow and arrow he held. “Whose are they?”

“We have an unexpected guest who came to my aid last evening.”

“An unexpected guest? Who?”

He shook his head. “No one you would know, I’m afraid.”

She looked from the weapons to him. “I’ve heard tell that guest is the woman. One you met in the dead of night? You never did say why you were on the road so late.”

Her voice remained light, but there was no mistaking the anger in her dark eyes. Still, he smiled and shook his head. “It was nothing sordid, Elisin. She is but an old friend and she came to my aid when I set upon by an orc scouting party.”

“Orcs?” Those eyes went wide. “Here?”

“Most likely. We dispatched with the scouting party but I’ve no doubt there are more in the hills.”

“And you say she is but a friend?”

“I did. And she is, yes.”

“Might I meet her?”

Although introducing her to Nina was the absolutely last thing he wished to do, Thorin couldn’t very well tell her that. So, he nodded slowly. “She was seriously wounded last eve and is in the infirmary but when she is up to visitors, I don't see why not.” 

“I look forward to seeing her,” Elisin slipped her arm through his and gave it a squeeze. “And  to thank her for aiding you.”

He managed a smile as she leaned her head against his shoulder, wondering just how much he was going to come to regret introducing Elisin to Nina.

[mindmeltonabun-blog]

My Demon: Theories and Analysis for Eps 1-6

Hi Readers!

Let me start this post by saying what I originally wrote was just deleted after I hit the "save draft" button on Tumblr. I'm so pissed because I had spent hours working on this post!! For those who have followed my blog for a very long time, you know I usually provide a very in-depth analysis of dramas. 

Given what just happened and time constraints, I will keep this post very short. I may make mini posts next week to further elaborate on some points discussed here, but it just depends on if I have the time.

If you have any questions, please feel free to hit the "ask me anything" button and I will try my best to answer them promptly. I hope "My Demon" fandom won't be as toxic as the "Alchemy of Souls" fandom and misuse the "ask me anything" button to send me death threats or insults. If you don't like what I write, you can simply scroll along. The end. Also, don't plagiarize my shit. This was a huge issue during AOS and I really didn't appreciate it at all. If you want to use my ideas, give me credit for them.

Ok, let’s put on our thinking caps. Time to analyze and theorize!

Demons

In the context of this show, “demons” are individuals who used to be human but are now forced to fulfill human wishes in order to keep on living forever. The terms are simple: humans get their deepest desires fulfilled but will die in 10 years and go to hell. For demons, as long as they sign new contracts and collect souls, they won’t combust and be wiped from existence. It remains unknown how often demons must sign contracts/collect souls before they start to combust. Before demons were loan sharks, they were guardians of humans. 

We start this drama with Jeong Gu Won, who has lived happily for the last 200 yrs as a demon. Gu Won has no recollection of his human life. We don’t know if this aspect of Gu Won is something present in all demons or just him. Gu Won’s perfect little world is turned upside down after he saves Do Do Hee from Rash Dude aka Jeffrey Dahmer. Now, we don’t know why his tattoo was transferred to Do Hee but it’s implied the full moon and water had something to do with it. If you have read other posts of mine, you will know that when there’s a full moon it usually means a transformation and a new start. The whole falling into the water could be viewed as a sort of baptism, symbolizing the end of an old life and the beginning of a new life. I feel like before this show ends, Gu Won and Do Hee will end up in the water under the full moon again to symbolize Gu Won’s full transformation into a human. Like right now he’s like a quasi-demon haha. His transformation into a full human is currently ongoing. I think that as he starts to develop more human emotions/remember his human memories, his powers as a demon will begin to decline. 

Gu Won’s Past Life…A Story of Crime and Punishment

One thing I’ve learned from analyzing many dramas over the years is when a writer shows us a book or mentions a movie, we should look into them if we want a glimpse into what will happen in a drama. Now in Ep 1, you see #2 Wild Dog reading, “Crime and Punishment” by Fyodor Dostoevsky which was hilarious because he didn’t strike me as the type to read such a dense piece of literature. Seeing this book took me back to my high school days when we had to read and analyze this book. For those who don’t know, Russian works tend to be very long and are usually about suffering haha.

For the sake of time, I’ll you a very brief overview of what happened in “Crime and Punishment”. The story begins with a law student, Rodion Raskolnikov, who quits school because he can’t afford it anymore. The guy then has a mental breakdown of sorts and decides to kill the elderly owner of the pawnshop and her half-sister. He justifies his actions by rationalizing that by killing the pawnshop owner, he could take the valuables within her pawn shop and use them to fund his education which would eventually earn him a well-paying job. In turn, he would use the money earned to benefit the greater good. 

Raskolnikov saw himself as an Ubermensch (if you don’t know that means, I had briefly talked about it in my DAYS posts). He believed that since he was above everyone else, he was allowed to cross all societal, ethical, and moral lines because his success would help the greatest amount of people. The rest of the novel is about Raskolnikov’s internal struggles with what he did. He goes back and forth between confessing or not confessing to the murders. Eventually, the love interest in the story, Sonia, a devout Christian and source of morality for Raskolnikov, convinces him to turn himself in and confess. Raskolnikov ends up only having to serve a total of 8 years in a labor camp for the murders. While there, he finally realizes the errors of his ways and feels guilt for his past actions. He then was like “Sonia’s love saved me and I feel bad for making her suffer so when I get out, I’m going to repay her with infinite love for all she has done for me”. And bam! That’s where the story ends…with the start of his journey toward redemption haha. 

Gu Won is Raskolnikov in the sense that he thinks he’s better than everyone else and can therefore cross any line he so chooses. Based on a flashback in Ep 6, it seemed Gu Won had this kind of mindset even before he became a demon. So, what crime did Gu Won commit that landed him in Hell in the first place? I wouldn’t label it so much as an actual crime like murder but Gu Won probably got Do Hee’s past self killed. The guilt he felt after her death is probably what led to him become essentially trapped in a mental Hell, much like Madam Ju. Eventually, this guilt prevented him from entering heaven after he died. God/Lady probably took pity on him and offered him salvation in the form of becoming a demon; alternatively, it could be that God/Lady offered him a "sweet" contract where he could work as a demon in exchange for a second chance and a happier life with Do Hee in the future. Regardless of whatever the case may be, the important thing is that Gu Won needs to remember what happened in his past so he can seek forgiveness from Do Hee in the present and start his path toward redemption much like Raskolnikov. The truth sets you free haha. Gu Won is taking a step in the right direction though by protecting Do Hee. He could be like Raskolnikov and choose to give Do Hee infinite love for the rest of his life to make up for the horrible things he did to her in the past haha. Oh, one more thing for this section, the tattoo being on Do Hee’s wrist could symbolize that she was the reason why he became a demon in the first place. 

Murders of Do Hee’s Parents and Madam Ju/Who Is Abraxas

In my original post, this section was long, but as I previously mentioned, the stuff I wrote was deleted. I’m just going to give you the overall gist of it. I still think the person who killed Madam Ju was Ju Seok Hun and that the person who killed Do Hee’s parents was Madam Ju’s little brother/Seok Hun’s father. I don’t think Madam Ju directly killed Do Hee’s parents, but she felt guilty for their deaths because she covered up the incident to protect her little brother. After which, she cut him off and exiled him to Peru to live a hippie life haha. This is completely speculative though. Like we have two choices for who murdered Do Hee’s parents and Madam Ju. Choice #1 is Noh Suk Min and Noh Do Gyeong and Choice #2 Seok Hun’s father and Seok Hun. One argument I made for choice #2 is that if Suk Min and Do Gyeong were the real killers, wouldn’t the actor who played Do Gyeong be a main lead instead of a supporting character? Another argument was that Seok Hun has too many conflicting qualities about him. For example, he is a hippie who works in the corporate world and despite portraying a goody-two-shoes image, he suggests Do Hee should engage in some ethically questionable business practices like letting Mirae Investments buy shares of Mirae F&B to offset the losses. 

It’s also important to remember what Do Hee said about “sweet” things and how they’re always fake (except for Gu Won haha). Seok Hun is faker than acrylic nails. He puts on an act that he cares about her well-being when in reality, he hopes she dies. He must continue with this nice guy act because he doesn’t want her death to lead back to him. Just think about some things for a moment, if Do Hee died, who would the police suspect killed her? Would it be the people who openly voiced their disdain for her or the person whom she had a loving relationship with? It would be the former. The scene with Do Gyeong at the lockers is essentially Seok Hun setting him up to take the fall for Do Hee’s murder. At the end of the day, human greed is what drove Seok Hun to do what he did. Who knows, maybe his greed stems from being subjected to a frugal lifestyle while growing up. 

Crosses, Numerology, and Tarot

Amen, we are nearing the end. Ok, let’s keep going at record speed. So, crosses and Catholicism/Christianity are heavily present in this show. The same goes for numbers and tarot. They’re all connected. Some religious crosses can look like an “X” which looks like the Roman numeral 10. The number 10 is everywhere in this show. For example, the little girl was celebrating her 10th birthday and the Wheel of Fortune is the 10th tarot card in the Rider Waite Tarot Deck. Connecting numerology with tarot, the wheel of fortune represents the end of one journey and the beginning of another…1 + 0 = 1, where 1 symbolizes completion.

The clock in the promotional poster has a hand pointing at 10, which is different than the clocks seen at Gu Won’s place that only go from 0-9. While we are on the subject of 9, “Gu” means nine. Every time Gu Won started a new life, he named himself the next number following his current one. For example, he was Il (1) Won, then I (2) Won, and so forth. Now in his 9th life, he is called Gu Won. Get it? Ok, cool. What comes after 9? 10. After Gu Won completes his transformation into a human, he will be called Sip (10) Won haha. Additionally, did anyone notice the number 91 on the cake Do Hee baked for him? What’s 9+1? 10. 

Pay attention to the numbers in this show people! Always ask yourself what each number means and what it's connected to haha. When God/the Lady said, "I’m betting on all the odd numbers", many were like what does that mean? She’s referring to the numbers on tarot cards (Rider Waite Deck), which represent Gu Won and Do Hee. For example, which cards represent them? For starters, the 15th card aka the devil. 1+5=6 which is the lovers card. Another odd-numbered tarot card that is representative of Do Hee and Gu Won is the 9th card which is “The Hermit” because let’s be real here, they both were hermits before they met each other. The last major arcana tarot card in the deck is #21…THE WORLD aka GUARANTEED SUCCESS. So this is what God/Lady meant when she said she’s betting on all the odd numbers. It’s the writer’s way of telling us we are going to get a happy ending after all the chaos that will occur. 

One more intriguing number is 17. If you sniff around, you’ll notice that 17 is the number of years that have passed since Do Hee’s parents died. 17 is also the number of the coin locker where Jeffrey and Seok Hun exchange stuff. Hilariously, Gu Won’s passcode to his safe is “666”, which is the number of the beast/devil haha. In the newspaper clipping about the Sunwol Foundation, it said the theater was completed on June 7, 1977 and Gu Won’s name during that time was Chil (7) Won haha. The number 7 is seen as lucky in Korean and many Western cultures. 

MISC

The cross necklace Gu Won wears probably belonged to Do Hee’s past self or was given to Gu Won by Do Hee…..OH I just made another connection…..In “Crime and Punishment”, Sonia gave Raskolnikov a cross necklace. Also, in Crime and Punishment, Sonia was a prostitute and Do Hee was essentially one during the Joseon dynasty…. Kisaeng and prostitutes are basically the same thing haha. It’s also interesting that both Gu Won and Do Hee wear two necklaces, one silver and one gold. I wonder if there’s any meaning behind that.

In the newspaper clipping about Sunwol Foundation, the term 'Sun/Seon' is written in hanja and translates to 'to return/come back.' This element was part of Gu Won's original name, Yi Sun/Seon. Additionally, 'wol' means moon. Therefore, I interpreted 'Sunwol' to mean 'Sun and Moon' or 'Moon That Returns.' In a broader sense, Sunwol can be likened to the Taj Mahal—a building or monument constructed in memory of a beloved. One could also view Sunwol as a place that narrates the love story of the Sun (Gu Won) and the Moon (Do Hee) or as a place built with the hope that Gu Won’s beloved moon would return one day.

Ok, folks, that concludes this very brief TA post. WOOHOO! Sorry if there were any grammatical mistakes or typos, and if this post seemed a bit disorganized. I really have to get to bed and didn't have time to edit this haha. See you all next week maybe!

[l0velylecter]

Bestie please I will beg for soap content of any variety I am starving out here

cod : mw ii men mbti breakdown, (vol.i)

scenario & imagine : how would the cod : mw ii men interact with a partner that supposedly is most compatible with them ? background : In personality typology, the Myers–Briggs Type Indicator (MBTI) is an introspective self-report questionnaire indicating differing psychological preferences in how people perceive the world and make decisions. mbti : esfp ( soap ) x reader ( istj ) rating : m for mature and suggestive themes pairing : john ‘soap’ mctavish / f!reader tags : kissing, making out, fluff, angst, smut goes as far as vague descriptions fandom : cod mwii warnings : cursing, suggestive themes, mdni (minors don’t interact)

Originally posted by judethejudas

01|

Imagine meeting Soap in the alps with the evergreens densely stretching down the ridge, the little cabin you were hiding in — nailed to the foot of the mountain. You aimed the gun at him with shaky hands, snow slowly falling all around, catching itself between your eyelashes. Time began to slow as he carefully approached you, one hand extended while the other dropped his weapon onto the ground. From the very beginning, Soap has always been open. He presents himself honestly, painfully optimistic — it scares you. He scares you. So you kept your aim steady, resisting, suspecting. Yet, your foot was bleeding, torn open by the thorn bush when you escaped from Makarov's men to dash into the forest.

‘Easy now. We won’t hurt you.’

Soap had sat next to you the entire helicopter ride back, trying to lighten the mood even after rescuing you from a violent hostage situation. He talked and talked and talked :

' Are you okay ?'

' What's your name ?'

'What do you want me to call you?'

' How are you holding up?'

' It’s fair jeelit ootside, aye ?'

Yet, you were glad he did not leave even after receiving nothing but silence in return. Because when Soap saw your hand: unmoving and limp against the clean cloth, he had asked permission to dab the blood away from your arms and cheek (— blood that belonged to the men he killed to rescue you.) It was difficult to believe, for each movement was gentle, reassuring, and nothing like what your captors had put you through. When Soap finally stood up to switch seats with another soldier, you had involuntarily reached out with your right hand — staring at him while pathetically gripping the strap of his vest.

It was the first time he grinned so widely.

02| 

Reserved, practical, and quiet: you were the perfect engineer to spearhead Makarov’s nuclear science. It never mattered to you that the team remains unconvinced by your change of consciousness; it would be stupid for them not to. Trying your best to conceal how unwelcomed and abandoned you felt, the only one who seemed to notice was Soap.

 Shattered at the horrifying fact that Makarov had weaponised your research, you blamed yourself for being so oblivious. You never understood how Soap was so willing to help you pick up the pieces.

 Cautious yet eager to get to know you: he followed you around, even going as far as to defend you when someone suggested throwing you back into the hands of terrorists. You tried everything to push him away: frowning, avoiding, and even telling Price to keep him away because he distracts your work, and if he keeps showing up unannounced, you will never make enough progress to catch Makarov.

 Yet, within the narrow walls of the base, you always run into him — ( and only an idiot will fail to notice that each unwanted meeting was planned by the soldier.) 

It was blinding how spontaneous, energetic, and bold he carried himself. Even if it was like looking directly at the sun, you find yourself missing his presence, his laughter. 

So when he placed a hand against your shoulder to greet you after a month-long recon mission, unable to pull away, you let yourself soak in the warmth of his touch; hoping Soap doesn't notice just how much you missed him.

03| 

On the nights when your thoughts run astray and your plans crumble under the tragically unforeseeable pattern of life, you find yourself outside his door. A fist hovering above the wooden surface. The moment you turn to leave the door swings open.

‘ I can’t sleep.’

‘ Me neither.’

The first night, he insisted that you take the bed.

‘ the chair will do lass, trust me.’

But when his back started hurting, you shot him an ‘ i told you so’, pulling the blanket upwards and scooting to the left. With your backs against each other, the rise and fall of his chest became a rhythm to sleep to. None of you spoke about how some mornings, you’ll wake up with his arm around your waist, chin tucked nicely above your head. 

You started letting yourself in his room, patiently waiting in the dark if he had yet to return from the field. He did the same when you were locked up in Price's office, drowning in papers and guiltily wishing you were in his bed. 

He never does anything suggestive, never crosses the line inappropriately, and makes you uncomfortable. But you can sense something was off: from how he tenses up, freezes, and goes completely still when your knees brush against his inner thigh. It wasn't hard to notice his breath hitching when your fingers had experimentally stretched across his midriff, nails scraping the skin: hot and taut.

You propped yourself up with an elbow, staring down into his eyes. The wind outside howled, rattling the windows during an otherwise silent night. He squirmed; you noticed how Soap gets uncomfortable when it’s too quiet. And this close, with his nose inches from yours he let out a small laugh.

‘ Not to ruin the mood, but you have to talk to me here. If all you want is just someone to warm the bed, then I’m startin’ to feel a little used here, hen.’ 

Your brows furrowed, and for the first time in a long time, you felt stupid.

‘ I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.’

He reached out to place a hand under your chin, his thumb gently caressing your cheek before guiding your hand flat against his bare chest, ‘Knowing how clever you are lass, I’m sure you’ve figured it out by now.’

You never had to read his expressions; lips parted and cheeks flushed, you dove down to kiss Soap, squealing in surprise when he returned it enthusiastically — “ Bloody hell, you don’t know how much I’ve fucking wanted this. Wanted you.”

Pulling away, you huffed, feigning annoyance even with your hands on both sides of his face. 

04| 

Soap is generous with his kisses, even more so with sex. Always eager to touch and feel you, he never shies away from putting your needs first: always trying to please. Even with his bulge — hard and heavy between your legs, Soap won’t fold until he can feel you dripping over his fingers. 

The man never waits for you to enter the room before crashing his lips into you. Impatient and jittery, he uses teeth and tongue to excitedly welcome you back — as if you did not start the day next to each other in bed. Once, he had you pressed up against the hallway, both knees over his shoulders. 

In communicating, Soap has always been more honest and direct, while you tend to be insensitive and highly critical. Always wanting to make up for your callousness, he brushes it off, knowing that most of the time, you were just frustrated and did not know how to let off some steam. Which is why Soap was always so encouraging with his words.

'  That's it bonny, use your words. Tell me what you want.'

' You're so good and needy for me, hen. Atta girl, that's it.'

' Fucking hell — you're something else, know that?'

You love how he squeezes your hips as you ride him. You love admiring his hickeys across your chest. You love waking up to his bear hugs and scrubbing his hair in the shower: playfully scolding him to focus and close his eyes or else the liquid gets in his eyes. You love him, and because of this, a small part of you aches. Because no matter how many times Soap said it, you still could not find the courage to say it back.

Yet every time he looks away as you cry because you're still embarrassed to do it in front of him or hugs you from behind to offer silent support, even if it physically pains him to let the air turn still, you pray he knows.

05|

Outside, the air was thick with frost, and the scent of pinewood and conifer bark was almost overwhelming. With the noise coming from the waterfall and river, Soap explained how this provided good cover. You wrapped the puffer tighter around yourself, fingers intertwined with his. 

‘ Why did the snowman look into the bag of carrots ?’

 ‘Why?’

‘He was picking his nose.’

You bit the inside of your cheek.

‘ That’s a good one.’

‘ You think so ?’

A gust of wind swept through the snow to signal that the helicopters were here. You squeezed Soap’s hand.

‘ I love you. I want you to know that.'

In the distance, Ghost signaled that they only had a few minutes left before takeoff. His eyes softened while yours started to water. Soap tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, leaning forward to talk over the noise.

‘ I know. I love you too.'

a/n : hello anon <3 I hope this lives up to your expectation and won't be too niche or specific, but thank you for giving me the opportunity to write about Soap, i hope i wrote him well. i had so much fun writing this because this was literally also just an excuse for me to squish a fic i know i will never have time to write so i had to be smart and find a way. ( you can tell i love the opposites attract trope.) If you enjoyed this then tell me in the inbox who I should add next into this series ! Suggestions are always welcome <3

This is the song I had on repeat while writing this by the way :

[necronatural]

So like. What’s the story/plot of limbus company in your own terms?

In a cartoonishly grimdark superdystopia made out of several different dystopias all stitched together using capitalism as sealant, a clock-headed flop comes down with a case of sudden onset Head Replacement Amnesia, just in time to be "rescued" by the Limbus Company Bus. They learn in very short order that they can resurrect the crew from the dead - inheriting their pain in the process - and also pull Identities from other timelines into this one in order to augment their skills. Using these two abilities, the bus is tasked with finding the "Golden Boughs", a byproduct from the collapsed energy company Lobotomy Corporation. They immediately begin learning what exactly it means to be in a Superdystopia.

Once you begin Limbus, everyone in the fandom will tell you to play the other games to understand it. This is not necessarily true, but think of it this way:

-Lobotomy Corporation introduces you to the core myth arc of the series. It's extremely useful to know who Carmen is. If you have questions about EGOs or distortions or LoboCorp it's like. All here. Sorry.

-Library of Ruina introduces you to how the City operates; it is functionally a Worldbuilding Game that tries to cram in as many aspects of the dystopia as is reasonable to support a linear plot. People will keep begging you to play it because it's so intensive. When you kill enemies they drop Worldbuilding Databook Entries. It's that dense.

-You do actually need to play Ruina to understand Leviathan. The whole thing.

-Limbus Company is a self-contained narrative about the industries of the City; you learn far more about how the City behaves with its tech, and start getting a picture of where it comes from. The lead is an amnesiac, so it reveals information as is useful. It expects you have not played the other games, but you understand everything so much easier if you know about the world.

[curiouscrux]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Spread the self-love ❤

Thank you for this, @irregularcollapse! (My notes here are mostly what prompted me to write what I did.)

"Bet Your Pain on that Lonely View" - Kiznaiver, Multi-Ship (Poly)

The show was a lot, so it felt necessary to give a bit of closure that was... Quiet. These are all characters who, by design, had big personalities. I wanted to write them trying to navigate their relationships post-canon, without the weight of the plot looming over them.

"The Weight of It" - FE:3H, Caspar/Linhardt

Previously titled "Protare (to carry)." The PoV character was very outside of my wheelhouse, but it always felt like he (and his relationships) had more depth than it first appeared. This whole fic also may have been an excuse to write about the effects that magic theoretically could have, especially scarring.

"soft, like a body" - Rain World, Gen

Rain World lore is dense, but the draw of writing this was the characters themselves; two gods of opposing temperament existing in a world that outgrew them both. Writing this came very naturally, if only because it is 2,000 words worth of existentialist musings by a supercomputer. In retrospect, I probably was just possessed by the spirit of Asimov.

"The Fatalist Circuitry of Veins" - MDZS (CQL), Mian-Mian/Wen Qing

To tell the truth, Mian-Mian had such a big presence in a small role—it felt a bit like a missed opportunity to me. Similarly, I disliked how sidelined the Wens were in so many fix-it fics for this fandom. This was just a case of writing what I wanted to see in the world, which is in part: More Women.

"Familiar Patterns to Absence" - MDZS (CQL), Wen Qing/Jiang Yanli

A modern + soulmate AU where the word "Soulmate" is never actually used. The concept, being tethered to someone by finding the objects they lose, was striking, and it kills me a bit that I cannot find the post which instigated it. This piece also ended up using tactility in a way that pleases me, at least in retrospect.