#of course i am open to evidence to the contrary

[tanoraqui]

[some time in the Fifth Age, in Aman...]

"A living language changes, you blithering idiot." A familiar, heated voice rose unprompted from across the room, over the genial hubbub and burble of the fountain show gala. "If it does not, then it must be dead indeed, for it cannot be being sustained by the breath of speakers! The only 'uncertainty' in this 'debate' is how you can call yourself a linguist if you do not understand this basic principle!"

Fingolfin barely processed the words, not in that voice. If he had, he would not have believed his own ears. If he had somehow believed his own ears, he would have suspected mockery, or a ploy, or perhaps necromantic possession.

Fortunately, his reflexes for winning arguments were faster than any other working of his mind.

"I knew it!" he shouted, rounding on his brother from across the wide hall. He abandoned his conversation partner entirely in order to advance on Fëanor, alight with righteous victory. "I knew you agreed with the basic principle! You stubborn, contrary, illogical—"

"Oh, shut up, Nolofinwë." Fëanor likewise dismissed entirely the upstart linguistics professor he'd been haranguing, in favor of his older foe. A corridor had opened between them, as party-goers scrambled out of the crossfire or backed up to get a better view. "You've never met a principle of study nor logic that you didn't wish to twist to suit—"

"'A living language changes!'" Fingolfin quoted back over him, too elated to rise to any other bait. He drained his entire wine glass, slapped it down on the lip of a fountain in passing, and advanced enough to jab Fëanor in the chest with one finger. He grinned. "I knew it. You knew it. I was right."

Fëanor's face had, over the course of this exchange, made a very rapid shift from his original proud irritation to the embarrassment of being caught out to a familiar fiery sneer. It now settled into an even more familiar murderous glower.

"I have reconsidered my past positions in the face of new evidence and argument," he hissed. "It is the sign of an intelligent, ever-developing mind at work. I only wish you could say the same—"

Hands pushed them apart, followed by arms, followed by an entire Lalwen, aided by the stylish circumference of her skirts.

"Sweet Erudition, neither of you has changed a whit," she muttered.

Gripping the front of both their robes in a way that suggested that she could be choking them if she wanted to, she said more loudly, "My dear brothers! Joyous though I am at our collective ongoing reconciliation—" (she discreetly twisted Fëanor's robe in an ever so slightly choking manner, to remind him that she, too, had been entirely correct the entire time about the stupid thorn) —"perhaps we should take any further discussion outside? This is, after all, a debut of liquid forms, not a forum of linguistic debate!"

[aceredshirt13]

gang i have to share this P. G. Wodehouse quote with you all because ever since I found it I can't stop thinking about it. it's from a letter he wrote when he was 78 years old to his friend Guy Bolton (many thanks to P. G. Wodehouse: A Life in Letters)

I have been on the sick list myself, but am better now. Inflamed bladder or chill on the bladder or something, the symptoms being agony when I passed water, as the expression is. It brought back the brave old days when I used to get clap.

he really said "yeah the pain from my bladder issue reminds of the days when I used to have so much sex I repeatedly got venereal disease"

[gghostwriter]

Hi. I am the anon that asked for the Spencer x Reader, where he hallucinate that reader as his wife, and I love it so much. Thank you 😊 ❤️

Also, if it is not too much to ask... what if it was on the contrary. Fem!Reader gets hurt and belives Spencer is her husband, but they are friends. So cute, you know? (Happy ending again, pretty, please 🙏🏻 🥺)

Spencer Reid x BAU!Fem!Reader Trope: Friends to Lovers; Fluff! Just fluff Warning: Medical inaccuracies A/N: Anon, i’m glad you loved it enough to request another!! It’s a bit shorter than your first request, really tried to not have the same plot line as the other but I hope you enjoy! Main masterlist

Phantasmagoria. // Spencer Reid

The team was split into two after the takedown of the unsub—Hotch, Rossi, and JJ were back at the station, wrapping up the case while Spencer, Emily, and Derek were stationed outside of the hospital room, waiting for permission to be let in. You and Spencer were partnered up, as always, going around town and asking the locals for any additional information regarding the last sighting of the unsub at a gas station. Completely unaware that the unsub, riding a motorcycle, was steps away from the duo. He opened fire, causing the agents to take cover but not before you were hit by near shoulder. As you were rushed to the hospital, the remaining members quickly convened, located, and captured the serial killer. 

The nurse in charge stepped out of the room to face a set of three federal agents, eagerly asking for an update. 

“Surgery went fine. The doctor was able to remove the bullet fragment, intact,” she droned on. “We need one of you agents to collect and sign a form for the release of the bullet as evidence—”

“I’ll do it,” Emily volunteered. 

“Great. The patient is awake but she’s still a little loopy from the local anesthesia. We suggest not crowding her so we will only allow one visitor at a time—” she clapped her hands together. “Now which one of you two fine gentlemen—” she gestured at Spencer and Derek. “—is Dr. Spencer Reid, her husband?” 

Emily and Derek both swiveled to Spencer, eyes dancing with glee as they tucked that information for teasing ammo in the future. 

“I—I am,” he stuttered out. Unsure if he should correct the nurse but if it gave him special privileges to see you first, he’d let it pass. After all, he was there when you got shot. He wants to see you alive and well. 

The nurse smiled at him and nodded her head. “Your wife’s been looking for you.”

Face going crimson red, he thanked her and entered the room, avoiding all eye contact from the remaining two agents outside. 

Your relaxed smile was the first thing he registered—that and how tiny you looked tucked in your bed.

“Spence! Love—where were you?” 

He approached your bedside, noting your glassy eyes ad slurred speech, effects of the anesthesia. 

“I-Y/N, you’re body is still processing out the anesthesia. You’re exhibiting disinhibition—a temporary loss of inhibitions caused by outside stimuli and I-I’m not your husband.” Not that he didn’t want to, he added to himself.

You giggled. “You silly nerdy agent, of course you are. We got married recently and my beautiful—” you gasped as you inspected your hands. “—my ring. Where’s my ring?” 

The monitor picked up your distress. Your eyes going watery and a pout was beginning to form, breaking Spencer’s heart. you looked at him like he had all the answers in the universe and that caused him to fumble out an answer, anything to stop those pretty eyes from crying.

“I’ll ask the nurse okay, no need to worry,” he stroked soothing circles at the back of your hand.

You smiled at him adoringly. “I—can’t believe you said yes.”

He furrowed his brows. “Say yes to what?”

“To our first date.”

He smiled, wanting to see how your imagination got you and him together. “And—and what was our first date?”

“Uh—phanta—during Halloween,” the medicine was starting to pull you under. “I got us tickets and Penelope—” your voice trailing off as you fell back to sleep.

Halloween was this weekend, his neurons actively fired up at that information. Could it be—is it? He grabbed his phone out of the pocket and dialed BAU’s very own tech analyst.

“Go, from Penelope Garcia,” she greeted out.

Spencer cleared his throat. “Uh-hey Garcia. I-I need to ask you something.”

“Ah yes boy genius, tell me your wish and I shall grant it—wait, how’s my baby girl over there?”

“A-actually that’s why I’m calling,” his voice going up an octave. He wanted to ask as normal as possible but the words normal and Dr. Spencer Reid are never linked. “Did she by any chance—have Phantasmagoria tickets this weekend?”

Silence. That was a first from Penelope Garcia.

“Why’d you ask?” she tried to nonchalantly ask.

Spencer bit his lip, unsure on how to explain this whole situation. “I-well-I actually got two tickets and was planning on—” he paused. “—asking her out?”

He quickly moved the phone away from his ear to save his hearing from the high pitched squeals coming from the analyst. 

“Ohemgee, yes!! Finally, my couple!! Please ask her out, please!!”

He awkwardly laughed. “She’ll say yes?”

“I can’t spill any details ‘cause of girl code but yes!! Yes she will!” Penelope gushed out.

“Thanks, Garcia. I’ll—i’ll ask her out,” he hurriedly ended the call as a knock on the door echoed inside the room. It was Morgan and Emily.

With an eyebrow raised, Morgan appraised the giddy smile on Spencer’s face. “What’s got you so happy, pretty boy or should I say Mr. husband?”

Emily laughed. “Yeah, Reid. How is Mrs. Reid?”

He dropped his face to his hands but not before squeaking out a ‘shut up’ to both agents. If the jokes was a by-product of getting to ask you for a date, he’d take it. He just hoped he’d get to ask you first before the duo corners you with their teasing.

My inbox is currently open for any more fluff requests! Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[maluuustrawberry]

Undesirable encounter

(Claude Frollo X Female reader)

Synopsis: You were the new seamstress in Paris and Frollo suspects that you were harboring Romani in your shop. It looks like your first start was more tense than you expected...

A/n: I confess that I am in love with the Hunchback of Notre-Dame and I especially love the book. I hope you readers like it, and if you want to give me tips I accept (you can correct me too) If you want other Disney characters, you can ask me💕.

Part.2 (Final)

(Guys, I don't know if you know, but the word "gypsy" is a slur and should not be used, the correct one is "Roma" Or "Romani people" I put "Gypsy" only in Frollo's lines since you know the type of person he is.)

It was just another ordinary day in Paris, you had arrived in the city a few months ago and worked as a dressmaker. You immediately became known for the beautiful dresses you produced for the girls and the beautiful clothes for the boys too. You had an excellent aesthetic sense.

But what you had in the way of talent, you also had in the way of kindness. When you heard about the persecution of the Romani people, you felt touched by the situation and decided to help them. It was very risky, but you weren't going to stand by and let it happen like the other citizens of Paris were doing, letting themselves be manipulated by Frollo and his hate speeches. There was a basement in your house that you used to store fabric and sewing materials. You took advantage of that room to help some Romani hide in case of emergency if they were being chased by the guards and if there was no time to run to the court of miracles.

And so it went on, you were extremely careful not to leave any traces, until one day or another these "rumors" ended up reaching the judge.

You were sewing up the sleeves of a client's dress, which had been placed in the moulage to make it easier for you to work, and your attention now turned to the bell that rang as soon as the door was opened. Immediately, the atmosphere of the place changed when you saw who had entered. You knew those clothes, the face worn by age and you couldn't forget that look of superiority and pride, because himself thought he was important and better than everyone because of his opposition and faith. Looking behind those glass windows, you could also see some of his men at the front of the store:

“Bonjour, madame.” Frollo said sternly, snapping you out of your thoughts. That thick, authoritative voice gave you the creeps. “I'd like to know who owns this establishment. Your husband is here?”

“A-Ah! Good morning...” You forced a smile and stuck the needle into the moulage so you wouldn't lose it. “Your Honor, I'm the owner, and no, I don't have a husband.”

As you said this, the judge looked you up and down with contempt. Of course, in the 16th century, a young woman like you not being married was a disgrace to society, and on top of that, being able to read and owning your own business was even worse. You weren't tense or nervous with him in your store, on the contrary, you were so calm... After all, you cleaned out the basement and removed any evidence as soon as a family of Romani's moved out recently:

“I've received information that you've been harboring gypsies in your house and I'm here to find out the facts, have you been harboring gypsies?” He got straight to the point.

“No, sir.” You pretended to be as honest as possible, fortunately you were good at lying.

“You know that if you lie, the sentence for insubordination is death...” He moved closer in an attempt to intimidate her.

“My conscience is clear. You have permission to investigate my store, since my words don't apply to you.”

“If I wasn't allowed to, seamstress, I'd still make a point of searching this place from top to bottom, whether you agree or not.”

The older man signaled for some of his men to enter the store before you could protest or complain. Since you were the only one who seemed to have enough courage to go against the judge's ideas when you were right. They went in and started rummaging around for clues, looking everywhere, even under the skirts of the dresses on the mannequins.

Frollo looked you up and down in an nothing unobtrusive way, you didn't notice the glances, but as soon as you did, it gave you the creeps and you avoided looking back at him. He had never noticed you in the city before and he noticed your accent, deducing that you might be a foreigner. The judge couldn't take his eyes off you, you were a very beautiful woman and seemed so delicate, and it seems that some feeling awakened in him when he saw that you were without gloves and your dress showed your shoulders. He came out of his thoughts when a guard approached:

"Sir, we've looked everywhere and found nothing..." Being a clever woman, an idea came to your mind: perhaps it would be better if they looked at everything to leave you alone.

"Have you looked in my basement, gentlemen?" you asked, kicking the rug that hid the small door in the wooden floor of your store.

Frollo was suspicious, but sent his men in to search every corner of the small cellar. Fortunately, they didn't find anything either, just sewing materials and expensive fabrics. After looking around in vain, the men left the store, leaving you and the judge alone:

“I apologize for this inconvenience.” He said as you went to the moulage to finish the dress.

“You shouldn't believe every rumor out there, Your Honor, not all of them can be true.” You said politely. “but apologies accepted, I know it was for the good of Paris and you care a lot about the city.”

Returning to work, you thought he would leave after all that had happened and notice you "busy" sewing, but no, he stayed in the store while walking slowly around analyzing his surroundings:

“This basement...” He pointed to the carpet above the small door. “Why was it hidden?”

“I don't see the need to show everyone that I have a basement here.” You replied nonchalantly. “and besides, I think that old door would spoil the pretty look of my store.”

Frollo didn't seem to believe in that very much, but you shrugged and continued sewing. There were a few seconds of silence, you could only hear his footsteps coming towards you and could feel that man's gaze on you all the time, causing you a certain nervousness or fear. What did he want anyway?

“Do you want anything else?” you asked in an attempt to break the silence and take your mind off the discomfort of feeling his gaze on you, stopping your sewing and looking at him now.

“I just want you to know.” He said, standing close and looking at her with disgust. “I'll keep an eye on you, I won't trust a literate, single woman so easily... I know women of your kind.”

“I don't think who I am or what I do has anything to do with helping... Ouch!” You interrupted yourself with pain when you felt the needle pierce your finger. It was normal for this to happen when were working with sewing, but it had never been this deep, Maybe it happened because of the anger you was feeling at that moment.

Immediately you dropped the needle out of sheer instinct, and in a quick and daring moment Frollo grabbed your hand with a certain amount of force, bringing it in front of his face, which had a small smile of satisfaction on it. The judge was a sadomasochist, he enjoyed seeing someone in pain, especially when it was someone he thought deserved such a punishment. You were shocked by his attitude, you weren't expecting it and didn't know how to react. What was he doing? Frollo continued to hold your hand, watching the small drop of blood ooze from your pricked finger, but his attention wasn't just there, it was on your fingers, your soft skin and the sensation it brought when you touched it with the contact of the warm hand and his, which was a little cold:

“What are you doing?” You asked, with a bit of hatred for such a vulgar and daring attitude, and he laughed a little.

“What would the church think of a woman exposing her bare hands in front of a high-ranking man like me?” You had no reaction for fear. Gradually his fingers entwined in yours and you saw that his eyes went to your small cleavage and your bare shoulders. “And it's not just your hands that are exposed...”

You quickly pulled your hand free and he looked at you incredulously:

“My hands are only exposed because I can't wear gloves when I sew, and you still don't have the right to do that. It's in the Bible; If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, throw it away!” A small smile came to Frollo's face when he heard that.

“So bold... It's typical of women like you to turn away from guilt in order to confuse men's minds with pagan thoughts, but that doesn't matter any more...”

He walked away, heading for the door to leave, but first his attention turned to you:

“It was a nice chat, seamstress... I want you to make me a cloak and sew me a pair of gloves, I'll be expecting you to deliver them tomorrow night.”

After saying that, he left, leaving you with no reaction to what had just happened. You were angry, but at the same time relieved that he hadn't found out. As soon as he left, you stared at your hand, which he touched and intertwined with his large, thin fingers. You'd have to be more careful now, he'd be stalking you and the reason wouldn't just be because he suspected you of helping the Romani people, it would be because of something else and you know exactly what it was and what his intentions were...

End...

[usedtobethelegendcreator]

Why do I like Alastor?

Listen. When your therapist starts psychoanalyzing you and it sounds like an Alastor analysis, you gotta do some soul searching. So, I’m going to list off all of our similarities. This is going to be more unorganized than usual.

1. We like being in control:

We’re both puppeteers! We like having people obey us, not the other way around. We’re very anti-submission (my therapist’s word) and don’t like being told what to do. We don’t like having people more powerful than us in the room or even in the area, because something more powerful than us is something that can override our will—and, by extension, our comfort zone and boundaries.

When it comes to romantic relationships, the healthiest solution is to find someone who’s into being dominated. (Cough cough, Vox. I told you guys I write my own kinks.)

2. We have trouble feeling sympathy and empathy:

It’s something I had to practice, but I get the feeling Alastor never bothered. I’m not very good at it, either. Then again, I’m not killing people.

3. We have violent urges:

Yeah, that is very much a thing for me. The difference is that Alastor carries them out without remorse. I usually just ignore those thoughts, or try to think of something else.

4. We mostly stick to one era of music:

Alastor has the Jazz Age, I have the 2010s. Pretty much nothing after 2020 appeals to me, outside of fan songs.

5. We don’t have breakdowns often, but when we do, it’s wild:

Alastor monologued during his. I hyperventilate during mine and feel like I’m not inside my body. Like I said, it’s wild.

6. We pull our hair:

If my hands aren’t occupied, I’ll end up with a hairball in them. But the way Alastor was tugging? With those claws? Yeesh.

7. People see our rage as impotent:

Yes, this is about the people that think Alastor’s frustration with Lucifer was “pathetic”. Yes, that did hit a powerful nerve in me. If you yell right in my ear the moment you open the door, even if I don’t already know you’re the reason there are yearly mass murders, I will immediately hate you. And contrary to a lot of bad-faith fanfiction, buttering up our ego or something is not the solution. The best way to calm us down is to be taken seriously. With Alastor, of course, the ego thing will certainly help, but it’s not the root.

8. We feel impotent when we’re enraged:

This ties in with the last one. Alastor literally grows several hundred times in size when he’s truly angry, that’s pretty obviously a self-comforting action. If I’m bigger than them, they can’t hurt me. If I’m bigger than them, nothing at all can hurt me. That kind of thing.

9. We don’t like constant change:

Alastor’s outfit (which isn’t era-accurate, according to someone much more knowledgeable than I am) is evidence that he isn’t adverse to change as a whole, but someone like Vox is a constant source of anxiety for us. It’s very hard to keep up with something that’s always changing, and we can’t get our feet on the ground and a moment to breathe. I can change which jacket I wear, but never wearing the same jacket twice? Kill me now.

10. We put on a facade around people we want to be in the good graces of:

Alastor with the hotel residents, and me with pretty much everyone. This ‘facade’ I’m talking about isn’t necessarily a fake personality, it’s a facet of our real personalities that will best appeal to the people we’re talking to. That’s another thing my therapist brought up: I’m always putting on a mask, and there’s so many that no one knows who I really am. Hell, even I don’t know at this point. Alastor’s been putting on masks for over a century. I don’t think he knows anymore, either.

I think he thinks he knows who he is, but if someone poked a hole in that image of himself as the Radio Demon, he’d shatter as easily as glass. Because he’s not 100% evil, as much as he wants to be.

11. People think we’re a danger to others, even when we’re not:

*gestures to Vaggie* *gestures to the entire fucking fandom* *gestures to my mother* *gestures to unnamed family members that didn’t even have the guts to say it to my face* It sucks. Like, thank you for taking me seriously for once??? But also no.

12. We have dramatic body language to make up for stunted facial expressions:

Alastor has his eternal smile, and I have my eternal frown. The facial expressions thing was actually brought up by a previous therapist. I’ve had to throw my arms out like a theatre kid to make sure a family member knew I wasn’t being sarcastic…I’m not a theatre kid.

13. We switch between being extreme extroverts and extreme introverts:

I’ve said before that I’m low functioning in almost everything except social interaction. I can keep up with the fastest mouths and the longest-winded, but I’ll disappear for a week and only emerge for water. Meanwhile, Alastor keeps up his overly-cheerful facade up for the whole series and disappears for two episodes. And for seven years before that.

14. When people talk shit to us, we fly off the handle at the speed of light:

Husk in the hallway scene. Lucifer, period. Vox at the end of episode two. Everyone on Tumblr and Wattpad that’s ever picked a fight with me. That one anon in particular. The list goes on.

15. We have very stunted emotions, except for anger:

I don’t know why anger is an exception, either. But we don’t see any strong emotions from Alastor besides rage (and maybe amusement), so it’s clearly a thing for him too.

16. We enjoy the smell of death:

Death smells pretty nice, actually. There’s nothing quite like it. Alastor gets it. If anyone wants the full story of Larry the Rotting Deer Carcass, let me know. I’d love to tell it.

And that’s all I can think of right now. This definitely veered into a bit of character analysis for Alastor, but then again, I was analyzing myself, so that just proves my point.

[criminalmindswhore]

You or Me

You and Emily are best friends and Andrew thinks you're more than that.

Emily slammed her hands on the kitchen counter, dinner long forgotten about, "Andrew I don't know what to tell you. We have never slept together, let alone kissed. I have no idea where this is coming from." She licked her bottom lip and bit it. Andrew stood across the kitchen from her, arms crossed leaning on the counter. "Emily you either fire her and be with me, or I'll get you fired. I know it happened." She scoffed at him, "Get me fired? How?" She laughed at him, she was pissed and he knew it. Emily never laughs from anger unless she's at her peak anger. He threw his hands up, "I'm sure there's something you've done I can use. I'll say I caught you two here at home." He pointed to the couch. Emily looked him dead in the eyes, "We're done Andrew, get out." He laughed, "You're gonna regret this." He took off his apron and threw it on the ground, slamming the door behind him. Emily took a deep breath and gulped down her glass of wine.

Y/N's POV:

I walked into the office and felt excited for the new day, I sat down at your desk and jumped when a very angry Emily Prentiss slammed her office door as she headed into it. I was heavily concerned so I walked up the steps and softly knocked, "Come in." Anger was still dripping from her words. I opened the door and shut it behind me, "Are you okay? What's going on?" She was pacing behind her desk, "Andrew is convinced I'm sleeping with you and made me choose between never seeing you again or losing my job. What kind of dick move?" I felt a pang in my chest and my lip wobbled, "It's me and my job, or you and your job?" She nodded and finally looked at how my hands were shaking and my eyes were full of fear. Her heart sank at how scared you were. "Hey, Y/n, neither of us are going anywhere. He has no evidence of us sleeping together, we haven't slept together, and he is zero threat to my job." I took a deep breath and controlled my thoughts. "So you broke up?" She sighed deeply and stopped picking at her nails, "Yeah, no one should ever threaten their partner's job. Ever." Relieved to know my best friend ended it, I nodded and sat down on the couch in her office. "Do you need a hug? You were about to move to Denver with him." She sat beside me and put her head on my shoulder. I wrapped my arms around her and chuckled, "What's so funny?" I smiled, "I get him though. We do shit like this, we're best friends, I'm openly gay, you're questionable. It makes sense." She chuckled too. It did make sense to her, and she decided to tell you the truth, "Y/n, I believe Reid owes you $40. I am gay, I'm bi." I shot up from my seat, "I knew it! I knew it! Holy shit, I beat Reid at something!" I clapped and opened the door, "40 bucks Spencer!" I turned back around to see Emily laughing, "You're a dork." I nodded, "That's why you hired me." She stood up and hugged me, taking a calming breath, "Thank you for being my best friend." I hugged her back and smiled, "Of course Em." You two had the perfect friendship and contrary to everyone's beliefs, you both never wanted more than to be friends.

[thatseventiesbitch]

Do you think any of the Donna criticisms is valid? Or do you think fans are being to harsh. Also I find it cringy that some fans bleep out letters in the characters names. Like grow up

Thanks for the ask!

I think Donna, like every other character, has her flaws but I have not seen any recent discussion in the fandom about them. The "criticisms" I have seen recently are not ones I believe the show/canon supports. I don't think the newer fans are being too harsh, just inaccurate. They are coming to conclusions not based on canon, but on their own interpretation. Which is fine. It's just not my thing.

The greatest hits:

Donna thinks she's better than Eric.

No, she doesn't. There's little to no evidence of this in the series. On the contrary, Donna is one of the people in Eric's life who builds him up and helps him develop his self-confidence. She tells Eric - and others - constantly what she likes so much about him and their relationship. She doesn't take him for granted - she is obsessed with that boy! People who say otherwise are just cherry-picking (or they truly don't understand the show).

In her own words:

"You wanna know how I feel? Fine, I'll tell ya how I feel. [Opens to random page of her diary] Today at lunch I was looking at Eric when he didn't know it and I just couldn't believe how much I love him and how lucky I am to be with him." -S3E22

Donna never apologizes/the show puts her on a pedestal and acts like she never does anything wrong.

Simply not true. Donna is actually shown to be very reflective and can own her part in conflict (especially with Eric). Just off the top of my head:

S2E20 "Kiss of Death", she and Eric have a conversation where she admits she overreacted and explains why she thinks she did

S2xE6 "Vanstock", she admits she overreacted and tells Eric he's a really great boyfriend

S4xE7 "Uncomfortable Ball Stuff", she apologizes to Eric at the end of the episode and they both agree to figure out their new normal

S4xE27 and S5xE1, she apologizes to Eric for Casey and her role in their conflict all season

S6xE21 "5:15", she admits Eric was right about Mitch and goes to support him in fighting him

S6xE18 "Do You Think It's Alright?", at the end of the episode she admits Eric was right and forks don't matter, she just got all caught up in the wedding stuff and trying to follow the book but she's just doing that because she feels lost and overwhelmed

I could literally just keep going on and on and on! (One thing about me, is I'm gonna bring receipts 😂)

Donna's a bad friend to Jackie.

I do think Donna misstepped at points throughout her friendship with Jackie, but I also take into account how difficult it can be to be Jackie's friend and the kind of friendship Jackie returned to her.

For instance, Donna did tell Jackie that her relationship with Kelso was unhealthy and that she deserved better. Jackie straight up did not want to hear it, and insulted Donna for telling her the truth. Donna didn't initially want Jackie to move in during season 6 but look at why that might be. Jackie moved in and insisted Donna accommodate her (loud ABBA music to feel the vibration on the bed, anyone? 😂), read her diary and left mean comments in the margins, painted her own name on the bedroom wall, etc. Is that all for humor? Of course. Does it help me understand why Donna wouldn't want Jackie to move in with her? Yes. And in the end what happens? Hyde confronts Donna about the situation Jackie is going through and why Donna made her feel small by asking her to move in the way that she did, and Donna reflected upon the situation and changed her mind, did the right thing to help her friend.

I also think far too much is made of her being impulsive and/or destructive when she's under stress.

Yes, she responded to one isolated stressor (the disintegration of her parents' marriage) with those traits - the skipping school and failing classes for attention, making risk choices with Casey, etc. But I would argue that's not Donna's MO, it's not how she always or even usually responds to stress - by blowing up her whole life and making risky choices. For instance, when Eric didn't show up to the wedding. She was pissed and sad, but she sought comfort from her mom - she didn't go on a bender, run away from town, sleep with someone random, marry a stripper *cough, cough*. That's not how we see her respond when she briefly thinks she's pregnant. It's not how we see her respond when Eric decides to go to Africa. Etc.

Anyway.

In the case of Ms. Pinciotti, there's also a small but persistent faction of fans who think Eric can do no wrong and is some tragic victim, and Donna, of course, perpetuates poor Eric's persecution. I've always suspected that kind of attitude is rooted in internalized misogyny. But I don't think we need to open that big ol' can of worms on a lovely Friday afternoon. 😆

*I don't think I've seen the bleeping out of characters' names. I am not sure why one would do that?

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Man-Sized

6/9 We Appreciate Power

Pairing: Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x F!OC

Tags: Explicit content, +18 audiences only. Smut, romantic angst, fluff. An unapologetic LOVE STORY. Sexual tension, mutual pining, banter, flirting, developing relationship, strangers to lovers. Simon Riley has a dark past (partly inspired by Modern Warfare 2: Ghost comics).

CW/TW: References to PTSD, depression, past torture and abuse in later chapters.

Summary: A uni student who pole dances at a strip club to pay her rent encounters a mysterious giant of a soldier seemingly incapable of falling in love.

If one thing was sure with Simon, it was that he was never quite what he seemed.

It turned out that he was in a relationship for the first time since his twenties. He had a whole bunch of protocols, one of them being that he didn't date, didn't do relationships, didn't get attached. He said it was the usual approach in his line of work, but she didn't quite buy it. Other personnel and some of his teammates had partners, even children. She dared to believe that Simon was breaking his rules for her.

Simon was far more invested in people's lives than he would ever have cared to admit. But even if he appeared to harbor a tendency to protect those who could not do it for themselves, he didn't treat her like she was a helpless damsel. She was sure he would, after The Incident and especially after The Revelation, aka trauma dump. But it only felt like he had gotten more evidence of her toughness, her survival skills.

The more she learned about his past, the more she began to realize that he had a soft spot for the weak and suffering. He made no big deal out of it, but in her eyes, he was a hero for having saved his brother from drug addiction and beating his father close to death for everything he had done. Even the Puranic stories knew that demons needed to be punished, not forgiven; it was their only chance for redemption. To her, Simon was Krishna wrestling down Asuras who tormented innocents. He used his father's curse of anger for good.

And he didn't make her decisions for her. She wondered if things with her were much like with Soap: Simon let them both fuck around while he did the backup from a distance.

And another thing was that you never had a dull moment with Simon. Because one lazy Saturday morning, a week before Christmas, a ghost appeared in her hallway.

"Jesus Christ…!"

She had just brushed her teeth, but when she opened the bathroom door she was met with a huge masked man standing only a few feet away, just in front of her front door.

All the remnants of sleep vanished instantly. Her heart stopped beating for a moment, then slammed against her ribs as she saw the faded skull print on the black balaclava.

"Fuck." Her hand had shot to her chest, and she was sure every hair in her body was standing on end. But of course Simon only found the whole situation entertaining.

"Haven't heard that in a while."

He was dressed differently this time, introducing her to the professional soldier who was, even without the load of war gear, intimidating. She knew that he was a tall man, tall and broad, but now he seemed to shrink the entire hallway. The black cargo pants, waterproof jacket, padded, fingerless gloves and military boots could only be described as tactical — he was drenched in black on black on black, but it didn't make him look any smaller, quite the contrary. The dark brown eyes stared at her from under the skull balaclava with brazen mischief. When she finally caught up with her breath, she began to wonder how on earth Simon had even got here.

"Someone might think you're breaking in."

"Technically, I am."

She peeked at the front door behind him and was ready to scold him for breaking the lock, but there was no sign of any vandalism on it whatsoever. How the hell did this man do all this shit?

"Did someone see you?"

He crossed his hands over his chest like he had just been insulted.

"What do you think."

In a normal situation – if there was a thing called normal with Simon – she would be dangling from his neck by now. But he looked so impressive, so imposing and foreign, that she was suddenly shy.

"Ugh… Why do you have to be so, so…"

His eyes narrowed into a smile as she tried to search for the words.

"So you."

"You wanted to learn how to shoot."

Well, the last time they had spoken on the phone, she had asked him to teach her, but he had refused, saying that she would have to go to a range and receive tuition there like the rest of the folk. But it appeared his ego had gotten the best of him.

Because why else would he appear here like this, looking like a kidnapper, burglar and a commando guy, if it weren't to show off and get another reaction out of her?

"Now? It's raining."

The weather outside wasn't exactly inhibiting. It was just another London day where you couldn't tell if it was misty or rainy. And as if he had heard her thoughts, Simon raised his eyebrow and gave her a look that said Are you fucking kidding me?

"You got two minutes to get changed."

It was a command, and her eyes widened from him just ordering her around. Then she got back to her senses and simply obeyed. While combing through her bedroom closets, she figured Simon was being generous for her sake. Two whole minutes…

December this year was far from a winter wonderland: the weeks had been warm, rainy, and grey. But it was still wintertime, the kind of cold and wet that pushed through layers of clothing. She picked the most durable outdoor clothing she owned, paired it with her only merino base layer, then decided to change her underwear too. Into something more lush, something she had bought just for his sake. Just in case things got heated on the way back home or before they went to have a shower together...

As soon as she rushed back and had gotten her shoes on, he picked her up in a fireman's carry and headed to the door.

"Someone might get the wrong idea," she laughed at the pure audacity of this man as she watched his feet swallow the tiled path that led to the street.

"I can live with that."

"Simon, seriously. Someone might call the police."

"That would certainly be interesting."

She was hauled to a colossal car with darkened windows and tires the size of a mini horse — some kind of a preposterous off-road land cruiser she could never in her life afford. If this was his own car or if it was leased through work, she couldn't tell, but it was precisely like Simon: dark, robust and fierce.

He drove safely enough though; calm and collected, like he was driving a family car to a shopping mall. It was such a delightful little detail that she briefly thought that Simon would make a good father.

After about a 40-minute drive off the city, they reached some abandoned gravel pit in the middle of nowhere. The weather had stayed much the same, but the cold she felt came from finding herself in a completely unfamiliar setting.

She waited demurely as he opened the trunk, unloaded a few gun cases, and then picked up a black tactical vest with pouches filled with ammo. She watched with her mouth dry as he swung it on, adjusted the straps, and looked even more massive with that thing. She was given a set of eye and hearing protection, and then the first case was clicked open. It held some sort of rifle.

"I thought we would use a handgun?"

"Not before you've practiced with long barrels."

Practiced…? Just how hard could pistol shooting be?

He gave the gun to her and told her to get used to its weight. She didn't know whether the safety was on or off or if the gun was even loaded, but she pointed it to the ground as Simon went to set up targets a rather long distance away. She ended up strolling around with her shoulders tense, holding the gun like it was an explosive that could go off any minute.

This was just fucking crazy and she felt like a fool… and Simon was marching back, looking like a whole goddamn war movie.

He took the gun from her, adjusted the sight, and showed her how the bolt action worked. She only now saw that the chamber was empty – of course he wouldn't leave her unattended with a loaded firearm – then watched how he grabbed a magazine that looked like a little box and pushed it in the stock with seasoned motions.

"This is a Browning X-Bolt rifle. Good for hunting both deer and people."

She fought the urge to roll her eyes at such hillbilly talk. Simon put the hearing protection on, which was a sign for her to cover her ears as well. He fired only one round to see if everything worked correctly, then gave the gun back to her.

"Remember to squeeze the trigger. Don't yank or pull it."

He then adjusted her stance, which she had briefly tried to imitate from him. He came behind her, and the gun was raised and tucked against her shoulder like she was a child who had to be shown everything by hand. And she guessed she could be compared to an infant when it came to these things.

It was a whole other ordeal to try and memorize everything he said when the hard ridges of his gear pressed against her as he showed her how to hold the rifle. And it certainly wasn't an accident for him to pack his crotch against her too. They hadn't even kissed yet, let alone reveled in the usual, steamy sex that occurred the moment they met after weeks of pining on the phone. He was like the devil himself, pouring that dark, raspy velvet in her ear and knowing perfectly well that he left her aching after every single call. Long distance relationship was a sweet, sweet hell.

"Is that a knife in your pocket?"

She could barely detect the slight tensing of his core as she said it. The shoulders caved in just a little, the hand that was snaked over hers tightened its grip only marginally… So she raised the stakes.

"Or another long barrel?"

"Concentrate."

"It's pretty hard to concentrate with a barrel up my arse."

There was a short silence, and she bit her lip — Simon never let her have the last word, not to talk of teasing him like this without being punished. The hearing protection was lifted just enough for her to catch what he whispered in her ear.

"Should've fucked you before we came 'ere."

Her pussy clenched at that, quite involuntarily, but the dark honey combined with that gruff purr while he was pressed against her was simply too much.

"You would've been all nice 'n' quiet."

Well, it was now obvious that further punishment would ensue after the shooting lesson. Her nipples grew taut, and not from the cold. He gently put the hearing protection back on before taking a few steps back, his warmth leaving her like a cloak she had been deprived of.

She took a deep breath to level her head, then slid her finger on the trigger and braced herself for the kick. It was enough to mess up her aim, but the second time was easier now that she knew what was coming. After the third round, Simon came to show her how to change the empty mag.

"That's it. Good girl."

"For God's sake, Simon, you're not helping."

The third magazine she changed herself, with shaky hands, because shooting had turned out to be both thrilling and nerveracking.

Next up was a submachine gun, during which point she was literally sweating. Everything looked nasty and technical, and she felt like she didn't know shit about anything.

"Ok, now this one you gotta keep steady, or else you'll find yourself shooting at the sky."

He adjusted the grip of her left hand so that instead of cradling the gun in her palm, she bore her thumb over the rail for better control.

"How do I keep it steady?"

"With muscles. I know you got some."

The first few spurts were full of shy stress, but she got used to the feel of it after a while. The first magazine was empty just when she started to have fun. He came to change it, and she did another round, during which Simon gave her curt advice — "don't let the gun control you," "lean into it a bit," "elbows in line," and so on. It was absolutely ridiculous how the clink of bullets on the ground could make her feel like she was Rambo or something. After the third mag, Simon deemed it done, and she almost felt sad to be departed from the gun.

"That went well."

"Yeah. I like this one," she agreed while looking at the black steel like she had just made a new friend.

"You little maniac," he said while giving her an approving once-over. The sexual tension was electrifying, the smell of acrid gunsmoke made her feel exceptionally wild, and she started to understand why people were attracted to these things. She had thought that anyone could fire a gun, but she was wrong. It required practice like any other activity, it demanded both patience and strength.

Some of the expended cartridges had melted the polyester of her jacket in a few spots, one had even burned a tiny hole in the fabric. Simon noticed her surprise as he took the gun to return it to the car.

"Yeah… Burns real nice when they catch some skin. We call them brass kisses."

After the SMG was back in the case, Simon lit a cigarette, and she felt even more timid. Seeing him in this kind of setting, hauling guns around, lifting that mask to have a smoke, dressed like he was going to some special operation, suddenly reversed months of acquaintance. She was out of her element while he was 100 % in it, and the aspects that had made her fall for him were turned up not by a notch but by a stretch.

"Now we get to the pistol. And this ain't no toy. You really gotta pay attention to your form." The cigarette hung from his lips while he emptied the gun, then took a drag like it was just his second nature to fire some shots while having a smoke. The magazine was changed by the same hand that held the empty one like he had done this a thousand times before. Probably because he had.

She would never have thought that this was what she was really into. She had spent years searching for a soulmate in future professors or decent guys who were safe and dull. All of that evaporated into thin air like the smoke from his tobacco.

It felt almost shameful that she found such a stereotypically masculine man not only intriguing but so attractive that she felt weak in the knees. To gawk at the display of muscle and war and dirt and get wet from the smell of gunpowder and his sweat as he came close to show her how the guns worked… It felt like a betrayal. She had always looked down on these people because she had simply thought that wars were stupid and anyone who wanted to be part of such violence was stupid.

But Simon wasn't stupid or simple; he wasn't a jackass with distorted views of honor and ethics. In fact, he was one of the most intelligent, morally sound people she had met. Perhaps a little gloomy and with a twisted sense of humour, but those things only added to his depth. Simon wasn't cannon fodder, nor was he a gun-crazy, trigger-happy recruit who had made reality of most boys' fantasy life. He was a relic of something essentially, fiercely masculine, a man in a world full of boys.

He came to give her another crash course on how to line the sights, take off the slack from the trigger before firing, how to square her stance toward the target. It also seemed that she was gripping every weapon wrong. Whether it was a limp wrist or the wrong spot for grip, he saw it and corrected her on it.

And after firing a few rounds, she understood why they had started with rifles. The pistol shooting was an absolute shitshow. Aiming that small but feisty piece required an extremely delicate yet stern hand.

"See what I mean?" Simon changed another mag for her, and she tried to hide her sulking.

"Yeah. Why would anyone want to use these things?"

"Easier to carry and disguise."

After the second mag was empty, he told her he had been mean and that beginners usually started pistol shooting from 7 yards away. The target she had hit only a handful of times was more than 20 yards away.

"Got one more beauty," he said, went to the car, and came back with a monster. It looked heavy, even in his hands, and for a moment she thought they were about to shoot with a machine gun in the middle of serene countryside.

"What the hell is that…"

"I saved the best for last."

It turned out to be a large caliber rifle with a scope, typically used by snipers — only, this one was larger and more powerful from the usual military use. The silencer at the end of the barrel only increased the outrageous appearance of the weapon.

"Don't look so glum. This should be easy."

She got a nice little setup that included a poly tarp and a tripod for the gun. Shooting prone with a mounted gun gave her the much-needed support, and the scope made her feel that even a person with a Bachelor's degree could do this shit. The recoil didn't scare her this time; she even liked the feel of it when it got absorbed into her body.

"Lookin' good."

And the commentary from the back made her realize that the absorbing thing no doubt meant that more than just her accuracy was on point.

"I'm sure it does," she said mainly to herself while silently happy about Simon unmistakably checking her ass out. The sniper setup was so much fun overall that she asked for extra mags. He only had two, and the session was soon over, and her cheeks were red from both joy and the brisk morning air.

Simon came to crouch beside her, and she turned on the tarpaulin to give him a smile that must've told him just how happy she was. He smiled back with his eyes, which now held a hungry glimmer in them. Yup, he had definitely checked that ass out.

"That's it," he said while removing the protective gear for her.

"Can I join your team now?"

"Sure. You'll make a great mascot."

She fake punched him for that, and he caught her wrist while laughing at her sad tries to pose a threat to someone like him while lying on her back. The next punch was not that playful, even if she was laughing too. It soon turned into a whole wrestling contest until he finally climbed to mount her.

She figured he had bested her and relaxed under the straddle of his thighs, but the greedy look in his eyes only increased.

"C'mon. Fight back a little."

She guessed this was just another need to show off, but she felt reckless enough to indulge him. She caught him slightly off guard by diving an arm around his neck while doing a hip bridge that almost bucked him off to the side, but he quickly drove his other foot to the ground to prevent himself from being toppled.

"You've done Jiu Jitsu?"

"Beginners course, 5 years ago," she answered to the mild surprise in his voice, then tried to push herself out from under him with an escape from the mount that usually worked… at least in a training situation with other beginners. But Simon countered it easily, and she soon found herself being seized in a chokehold from behind while trying to break.

He took her back down with him, even wrapped his legs around hers, performing a perfect rear naked choke on her. She should've known that Simon was adept in martial arts as well.

She was staring at the sky while clutching the steel muscle that forced her to lay her head beside his. It was a pure instinct to reach for his forearm to pull it off, even if he was holding her in place rather than doing an actual choke.

"You're always far more fun than you let on," he whispered in her ear, so close that the fabric pressed on her skin and sent tingles down her spine.

"Glad to be of entertainment even here," she said while trying to maneuver herself out of the choke, to no avail. That bastard even let go with his other hand, quite capable of holding her in place with just one arm while the other began to travel down.

She froze from the heady realization that Simon hadn't spread the tarp just for shooting purposes. It had been laid there for some other action entirely.

The hand forced its way under the waistband of her pants and swept over her underwear, cupped her with no fanfare, just to inspect the state she was in.

"Of course you're wet." The voice was dark, amused, and slightly out of breath as his legs forced her thighs further apart still.

"Of course you're a cock," she said while trying to suppress a moan. Her muscles were already sore, but she didn't want to go back to a warm house, a hot shower, and a soft bed afterward. She wanted him to continue whatever this… exploration was developing into.

He stroked her through the thin fabric she had deliberately chosen to wear today under the all but erotic outdoor apparel, and knew he could feel just how wet she was. All the fight left her, her legs relaxed into the spread they were forced into, and her hips ground against that hand, utterly wanton and shameless. She assumed it was her way of tapping out.

"Fuck…" she cussed the second time today as her head laid back to rest on his shoulder.

"Just say the words and I will."

"I already did."

"Nah… you gotta say it." The grip on her throat tightened a little while he swept a thumb right over the spot that was crying for attention, and her eyes squeezed shut just from the sheer frustration this man aroused in her.

"Please. Just..."

"Yes luv?"

God, he was annoying...

"Fuck me," she submitted like she always did.

"With pleasure." He rolled them both to the side, and she was quite literally manhandled to lie down on her back. She dutifully helped him remove her pants and noticed she wasn't the only one having trouble with restraint. She had never seen a man so enthusiastic about getting her clothes off.

But when he was met with the high-waisted lingerie composed of strings and sheer black lace instead of the plain black knickers she usually wore, there was a pause.

"Fuckin' hell…"

And she could understand the allure of it now: there was something enticing, dizzying, about pale skin covered in nothing but a few thin threads and see-through mesh. Especially when contrasted with a giant male encumbered with magazines of cold metal and dressed in black, rough ripstop. She knew he carried not one, but two knives this time: one on the back of his vest and another strapped to his thigh.

"Don't destroy them, ok?"

He was still looking at the dainty little thing like it was the most fascinating sight he had ever seen. And to think that she had almost left them at the store because it felt foolish and corny to wear something like this just for him to take off.

"Simon? Please."

The dark stare flew briefly to her eyes before darting back to the ridiculous thing that, in her opinion, didn't deserve to be called clothing.

"Since you asked so nicely."

The lace looked even more pitiful in contrast to those reinforced half finger shooting gloves as he reached to take the garment off. The whole scene must've looked like a threatening situation rather than the passionate encounter of two lovers: a giant soldier opening his pants to get his cock out and adjust himself between the legs of a half-naked woman. If anyone from school saw what she was up to this weekend, they would've probably fainted.

And how on earth could it only feel better every single time he slid in?

He did it sluggishly — it was his bravura: to torture her and watch how she gasped and tightened around him. He turned the most basic things into a fantasy, made a simple missionary feel like a holy event.

"Now that's a hungry cunt," he commented with a barely restrained groan. She nearly told him to just shut up for once…but didn't because as always, that talk only made her clamp around him more fiercely.

"Try concentrating on missions with this tight lil' fit on your mind…"

At that, she was speechless, but her fingers curled around the shoulder straps of that stupid tactical vest he wore, the contents of it pressing against her uncomfortably as he slowly filled her. He so rarely rushed, even when the air was filled with so much intensity that there could've been sparks flying from their contact. It was aggravating how patiently he could slide in and out while they were both trembling, while whole worlds were shattering from the insane passion at work here.

Her thighs were already quivering from the stretch and mutual tension and the knowledge that they were doing this in broad daylight under a dull, gray sky, on a tarp that smelled of storage room, gasoline, and lifeless plastic. But even that was nothing compared to the masked man above her. She couldn't feel skin except for the part inside her and the pelvis that brushed her as she so willingly opened up for him after they had fired guns like they were some bloodthirsty, lunatic couple.

And Simon was breaking records every time they met. She felt cold, alive, and so happy that those three words were so close to slipping out this time that it brought her to tears. And he just kept making love to her in this disturbed setting where the sniper rifle was still lying beside them with the safety off, wearing that unbelievable skull print mask that made her want to scream because it was so cringey and hot at the same time.

"Simon," she started, not knowing what she wanted when she already had everything she could ever wish for.

"What can I get ya?" He murmured to her neck, the warm breath hitting her skin through the mask and providing some alleviation to the December cold. The plastic sheet made scrunchy sounds beneath them as he continued to shag her while she was having another breakdown from the love she felt for this man.

"I- Just… a little faster," her whisper rose as a mist in the air as she tried to come up with something other than I love you. He chuffed against her neck in amusement but granted her request, and a few tears escaped.

She was crying while everything was already soaked. The foggy morning and her pussy were equally as wet for Simon to have a nice, refreshing Saturday filled with all the things he enjoyed the most. Her whole body ached, both from the cold and the love.

She nuzzled her way under that mask and finally met precious skin, salty and heavy with the scent she now associated with all things Simon and safety. She kissed his neck like an idol at first, then with more passion, like she was starving for the whole essence of him. He messed up the rhythm of his thrusts for a brief moment, just from that subtle touch of hot breath and wet tongue. And then there came a swallow and a pained sound — almost like a hushed, uneasy sob.

He was suddenly speechless too, there were no commentaries on how good she felt or how well she took him or even that good girl talk. Simon was fucking her on mute for the first time ever, only sighing and grunting as he went. He wouldn't even look at her. But it felt even more sensual, their most sensual fuck yet – that everything just trembled and shuddered and shifted like continental plates.

The build-up was far from hasty and desperate. It grew inside her, layer upon layer of swelling heat and devotion until her whole body went tense. The shaking stopped — but he wouldn't; he completed the job the same way he did everything in life. Confident, meticulous, unwavering.

When she came, he still wouldn't say anything, only hummed against her with a satisfied rumble. It was stupid, how she felt more like a goddess on that tarp than on the bed they usually did this. It felt idiotic how she felt like a goddess at all... But there was no other word really, to describe the sensation of total elevation and surrender that followed from being filled with a man like him. He was supposed to be a simple grunt and turned out to be everything but. He was full of magic, an embodiment of otherworldly power. It made her cry and left her legs shaking.

He allowed himself some mercy only after she had had her pleasure, and the sex became feverish. She dared to roll the mask up just enough to find his lips, and he allowed it, answering her kiss almost violently.

"Fuck I've missed you," he panted in her mouth like it was a confession torn from him by torture, and before she could say anything, he crammed his mouth on hers again. He never showed affection straightforward, and the sudden frankness pierced her heart like a javelin, far heavier than his actual mass bearing down on her.

The love fluttered inside her chest like a painful secret as he prevented her from returning the closeness that bordered on unbearable. He eventually came with a few hearty thrusts and broke the kiss, and the liquified stare behind those half-lidded eyes was a whole nebula of sore adoration. If this was anyone else, she would've deemed that look vulnerable.

He was perfect, and this day was perfect, and she felt a sinking, sweet fear in her stomach from getting everything she wanted and then some more – because it could never, ever last, not in her world of experience. This was simply too good to be true.

His head hung heavy beside hers, then came to rest on the crook between her shoulder and neck like he was in need of a short, cuddly moment. While valiantly supporting himself on his elbows even after the climax, his weight still managed to steal most of the air from her lungs. The magazines, albeit softened by the pouches of that vest, dug into her skin even more painfully. But she didn't care — she even wrapped her legs around him, as far as they would go, to prevent him from ever leaving her. And he didn't withdraw for a good long while. Lately, he wanted to stay inside her for as long as possible, and it was another thing that sent her to the brink of tears.

"That was…" she broke the mist of silence with words and felt him sigh.

"Yeah."

Her hand was halfway under that mask, and she could feel his hot sweat under her palm, the cold British fog licking her fingers. If she would ever catch Alzheimer's when she grew old, this was the memory she would fear losing the most.

"You're one hell of a man, Simon."

"I like you too, Sarah," he chuckled, but she could hear it… The word 'like' had started out as something else, and he corrected it just before it curved to love. The heavy accent made it roll off his tongue like it was just his usual manner of speaking, but it was there.

And if that wasn't evidence enough, he was abruptly tense, having realized he had almost made a mistake. And why would it be a mistake? Because it would've been mortifying to be the first to say it?

She looked at the heavy sky above them and smiled. Insufferable man… he was bold and fearless and hardy but turned into a stubbornly proud man with these kinds of things.

She opened her mouth to be the one with more balls, but he got off her, and the moment was lost somewhere in the folds of that tarp. Her cowboy looked at her with warm, sleepy eyes.

"You look like shit."

In his language, and said with such overly puffed up affection, it meant gorgeous, or magnificent, or beautiful. She could hear in his voice that he was inwardly beaming — like he was looking at a mess he was proud to have wrecked.

"Gotta clean you up when we get back," he chimed, no doubt eager about getting to run his hands all over her slick soapy body after first making a dirty mess of her.

"Enjoying this a little too much, don't you think?"

"Not nearly enough. Put some clothes on before I attack you again."

He was gentleman enough to help her back into her clothed and shoes, laughing when dressing her turned into yet another contest and they nearly stumbled on the tarp all over again. The elegant material of her freshly bought underwear didn't stand a chance against the cum that seeped out of her in a sudden rush. She was definitely in need of a shower.

The trip back was mostly filled with a satisfied silence as a few rays of sun broke from the clouds to shine through the windscreen. It was still early, the day had just begun. They would probably spend the rest of it, hopefully, the whole weekend, at her place — doing good food and sharing silly stories from work and school, sleeping late and misbehaving like two hormone driven teenagers.

"I got you something," Simon spoke when they were nearing the city, offering some sort of a short bladed knife. It had a t-shaped handle, and she intuitively wrapped her fingers around it so that the blade was protruding from between her knuckles as she drew it from the hard nylon fiber sheath.

"Looks… vile," she said while apparently holding it right since Simon didn't correct her on it.

"Push dagger. Very handy in close combat. Would ease my nerves to know you have it when you're, ah…"

"At work?"

"Especially there."

She felt like a psycho when a smile crept up her face from handling such a cruel-looking knife supposedly meant for punching people in the gut or neck.

"Is this legal?"

"Not in the UK."

"Right." Her nerves would not be eased by the knowledge that she was carrying an illegal weapon with her. But she already knew there was no two ways about it. How many times had she walked home from the club in an anxious sweat? And when did all that dread become normal? His gift was actually delightful.

"I can leave you that Glock too. Just keep it somewhere out of sight until we get you a license. It's for emergencies."

She thought about commenting on using it accidentally on a certain guy who had broken into her house this very morning, but then again, she knew she couldn't kill a man like Simon in a million years.

"Sure. Thanks."

Other guys had bought her books and manicures as a gift, taken her to the movies. Someone had even bought her a large TV as a birthday present. Mainly to watch football from it himself.

But Simon… Simon gave her a vicious looking knife and a pistol to protect herself with and fucked her under the sky after teaching her how to shoot with different firearms.

"Look at you all smiles," he observed her with remnants of sultry smoke still coating his voice. She realized she was watching the road with a silly grin on her face.

"You had fun today?"

He tried to appear distant and thick-skinned, but ended up taking care of her safety, went to great lengths to find out what she liked, and always made sure she was pleased. If she had known who she was dealing with from the start, she would've been more polite. But then again, it appeared her nerve was what had caught his interest in the first place.

"Yeah. And I got a lot of presents... Guess I have been a good girl after all."

"Hm. That you have."

The sun shone so brightly that she had to squint her eyes. It was the perfect moment for giving him a gift as well.

"I got something for you too." She reached for the gift that wasn't even wrapped, because she hadn't planned it to go this way, but it was of no importance right now.

Simon remained as solid as always, but the pale eyelashes fluttered in the bright morning light when he saw that she was holding the key to her apartment between them.

"So you don't have to break in."

It wasn't much, it wasn't a massage or a gift card or anything like that. He didn't exactly need it. But it was symbolic, and he accepted it with a solemn, courteous nod that meant more to her than any appreciative words or overly expressed gratitude. He was speechless for the second time today, meaning that his feelings had gotten the best of him.

[the-story-dragon]

How To Train Your Dragon (2010)

I haven't watched this movie in 9 years and in that time I'd forgotten just how epic the movie actually is! 9 years ago, a friend of mine (Anushka) who was obsessed with the movie was hell-bent on getting me to watch the movie series and downloaded the movies onto a USB and forced it into my hands. I ended up watching only the first two movies and I vaguely remember details of them. I've been meaning to watch the third one, but never really got around to doing so. Nine years later a reel on instagram reminded me of the existence of these movies and well, here I am, 21 years old, and watching an animated film about dragons. And I am extremely proud to report that I enjoyed every single second of the movie.

Right from the opening of the movie, to the very end, how the narration ties it all up in a beautiful circle, is absolutely spectacular. The story is solid, with a really good plotline and rare tropes (well, at least during the time of the movie's release). I absolutely love how starkly different Hiccup is from the rest of the Vikings and how the movie shows his identity crisis. It was absolutely breathtaking to see the bond and trust between Toothless and Hiccup develop. Hiccup was finally being seen for who he really was and for the first time in his life, he was not being scorned for it. He was receiving love and acceptance and understanding, unconditionally, for the first time in his life, and all that came from this supposedly dangerous creature that his entire clan had vowed to kill. Hiccup finally has the chance to grow into himself and he does. Whereas he was awkward and wrong-footed when handling weapons, he was confident and sure of himself on the back of a dragon. Where he could get neither his clan nor his own father to trust him or take him seriously, his demeanor assured Toothless enough to give him his trust and respect. Yes, the journey was not easy. But it was really beautiful to watch the two hurt individuals find companionship in the other.

The rest of the characters were also built really well. Despite their obvious flaws, the fact that they were not too stringent upon their beliefs after seeing evidence contrary to said beliefs was a redeeming factor. There were no characters that were detestable. Each had their own strengths and their own flaws. Of course, there were times when I was mad at certain characters for being unreasonable (read, Stoick), but I was able to understand that they were just blinded by their experiences and what they have believed their entire lives. That being said, I don't know if Stoick was a good parent to Hiccup. He did redeem himself towards the end of the movie, but there are two entire movies left for him to screw up. I guess, I'll just have to wait and see.

Hiccup's own brand of sass and humor truly made the even more enjoyable to watch. I can't believe that the target audience for this was kids. I will fight anyone who says that httyd is not for adults.

Overall, 10/10.

100% would recommend. Will definitely re-watch. Adding this to my list of comfort movies.

[edupunkn00b]

All Due Care and Caution

Photo by Taylor Fiehl on Unsplash

Virgil and Janus began their legal careers together, fighting on the side of justice.

Now they're on opposite sides of the court room.

WC: 2195 - Rated: G - CW: non-graphic mentions of a car crash, politics, divorce, swearing Written for @tsspromptmonth's Rare Gifts Event. ---

“Virgil Knight for the plaintiff, Your Honor, and—”

The gallery doors slammed open, jolting Virgil in his spot next to his client. “It’s alright, Thomas,” he whispered, ghosting a hand over the man’s uninjured shoulder. The sharp clack of heeled loafers was deafening in the otherwise hushed courtroom and he cast a quick glance back to see if the defendant’s attorney had finally deigned to show his face.

“Fuck,” he muttered, even quieter this time. The slimeball who’d plowed into his client with a four-ton Hummer was being defended by something even slimier.

“Your Honor, Janus Knight, defense,” he purred with a little bow of his head, the supposed show of deference somehow condescending. Only Jay could manage shit like that. “I wish to extend my apologies to the Court,” he continued in a saccharine sweet voice that made Virgil wish he could take a bleach bath. To think he’d ever let that man—

“This case was reassigned to me only moments ago when the previous attorney, well…” Janus made a broad gesture toward the reporters in the back row. “We all have Twitter, don’t we?”

Of course Jay worked for the same firm as Sadow.

“Is that good or bad?” Thomas whispered as the gallery buzzed with similarly murmured questions. It wasn’t every day an attorney was removed from civil court in handcuffs, but it had been the third time for that particular politician’s case. Even those who avoided the news had seen it.

Virgil shook his head, eyes locked on the judge. She seemed to be wondering the same. “And I suppose you are here to motion the court for a continuance in order to confer with your new client?”

“Oh, on the contrary.” With a sleight of hand better suited to a street magician, a sheaf of bluebacks appeared in Jay’s hand. “I am prepared to present my motion to dismiss the case for failure to state a claim—”

“Your Honor,” Virgil interrupted. “Perhaps the defendant does require some time to review the three-hundred and ninety-two exhibits establishing my client’s injuries and the video of the incident taken from four different vantage points.”

He felt more than saw Jay’s eyes finally turn to him, bright sparks of gold boring into his skull. 

“Counsel, approach the bench.” 

Jay glided forward and Virgil followed, quickly overtaking him with his longer and faster stride. He’d be damned if he was going to follow Jay anywhere.

~

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck. Janus was going to slaughter Sadow. Along with whoever else at the firm who thought it would be simply hilarious to foist this case onto him.

For the past year, it had been an open secret in the surprisingly close-knit community of civil attorneys that he and Vee had divorced—quite in-amicably. Each of the circuit’s judge’s clerks had gone out of their way to ensure their cases were never scheduled on the same day. And Janus’ firm had been careful not to assign him cases in which the Avenging Angel himself represented the plaintiff.

It seemed that courtesy had ended.

Flexing his fingers to hide their tremor, he managed to keep his voice steady and his eyes away from his ex-husband while he announced his motion to dismiss. It was unlikely to prevail on its merits, but if delivered with enough panache and confidence, he could sow the seeds of doubt in the judge’s—and the jury’s—minds.

To be honest, he hadn’t had time to review the evidence in this case, and he bit back an epithet at his firm’s attorney-in-charge.

“Your hubby’s losing his touch.” Chad hadn’t even looked up from his computer when Janus had protested the assignment. “Ex, whatever. The evidence is shabby. He’s turning into an ambulance chaser.” He barked out a laugh. “You must’ve really bled him dry in the divorce.”

In truth, he hadn’t contested Vee’s attorney’s opening offer and had let him keep everything but Janus’ clothes. The custom suits wouldn’t’ve fit his lanky frame anyway. And the suits were really all that mattered for Janus to keep up his appearance. No-one needed to know that, after alimony, he couldn’t afford much more than a shoebox studio downtown and, when he wasn't entertaining clients on the firm's expense account, survived on beans and rice most nights.

He smoothed down his silk waistcoat and inhaled slowly before approaching the judge. Vee moved more quickly than he did, always faster, always in a hurry. He would only slow down under Janus’ lead, with gentle reminders to rest, to care for himself at least as much as he cared for his clients. To recharge. To sleep. The case would be there in the morning.

The soft days of Vee following his lead, though, were long gone. Glancing back at the defendant’s table where his client sat twirling the keys to her near-murderous Hummer, Janus really couldn’t blame him.

~

“Your honor—” Virgil began, but the judge raised a hand to cut him off, then shoved aside Jay’s proffered motions. Her clerk silently collected the stack and began to peruse them.

“No, you will both listen first. Mr. Knight,” she turned to Jay. “Your client pled guilty to reckless endangerment and failure to operate a vehicle with all due care and caution. Are you disputing those findings?”

“Of course not, Your Honor.” The judge might have missed the tic in Jay’s jaw, but Virgil didn’t. He really got hosed with this case, didn’t he?

“Then why are you wasting the Court’s time with a motion to dismiss? Have you actually reviewed the evidence?”

“No, Your Honor,” he admitted, voice steady and chin held high. To the outside world, Jay looked just as confident as ever. But his right foot pointed toe-in and his thumb rubbed the inside of his ring finger. “With the Court’s permission, I would like to retract the motion.”

“Granted. Mr. Knight,” she said before turning to Virgil. “You were saying?”

“Not confusing at all,” Jay muttered just under his breath. “You really had to keep my name?”

“We both chose Knight," Virgil snapped, turning to face him. Was Jay… smiling? With effort, Virgil returned his full attention to the judge. “My client is ready to proceed, Your Honor.”

“Very well,” she nodded. “Let’s begin.”

“Thank you, your Honor.” Virgil returned to his client’s side, steadfastly avoiding Jay’s gaze. He would not allow his ex to pull those pouty little faces and distract him. He hadn't forced Jay to turn his back on everything they'd studied and struggled and fought for. If Jay had to now lie in the bed he’d made with that evil little defense firm, then so be it.

Yes, so be it, he nodded to himself even as his heart clenched at the flash of yellow in Jay’s palm. If he’d brought out a fidget in court, he was only a few steps from a full-on panic attack.

Jay’s first case had ended in a mistrial with prejudice. He’d fled the courtroom, leaving Virgil to explain to his sobbing client that her attacker would walk free. After searching each floor, Virgil had finally found him in a broken bathroom stall, hyperventilating and clawing at his own hair. It hadn't been the first time he’d seen his outwardly suave new husband break down.

But it had been the last.

“I can’t fail another client like that, Vee,” he’d whispered after Virgil had helped him through one of his own breathing exercises. “The stakes are just too high.”

He’d begun job searching shortly after his next case, jumping from office to office before finally joining his uncle’s boutique defense firm. They'd started small, but eventually made name when they began to pick up famous clients, nepo kid DUIs, movie stars fighting murder charges. Politicians accused of bribery—or far worse.

Neither had known it at the time, but it was the beginning of the death of their relationship. Even when they didn’t find themselves on opposing sides of the courtroom, neither Virgil nor Jay was good at compartmentalizing their work. Wars over briefs soon turned their bedroom into a battlefield.

The writing was on the wall. An assistant district attorney who worked pro bono on civil claims and a flashy—and pricey—private defense attorney were doomed. This was their first case together—together as combatants—since the divorce. If it meant finally being free from lingering worry for his ex, Virgil would happily drive the final nail into that coffin.

Shaking away the butter-smooth laughter in his head about mixed metaphors, he swallowed back the nervousness thrumming against his ribs. Finding that calm that now only came in court, Virgil addressed the jury. “Ladies and gentlemen, today you will see and hear how Ms. Karen Dars ignored a flashing pedestrian signal then roared through that crosswalk, striking my client, Thomas Sanders. He suffered three fractures to his…

~

Vee’s opening statement was… flawless. It never failed. Vee would clam up and refuse to send back a meal, would mutely let a stranger steal his place in line. He was too anxious to call the doctor’s office and reschedule an appointment. But in court?

In court, Vee bloomed. He stood tall and proud and certain, the weight of his client’s future bolstering him against any attack. It was the first thing Janus had noticed all the way back in law school. It was the first thing that had made him fall in love.

And in the privacy of his own mind, Janus could admit at least to himself that he’d never really stopped.

His heart pounded in his chest, a syncopated, thudding staccato that threatened to drown out his client’s hissed whisper. He wished it had. “Why don’t you say something? He’s making me sound like some kind of villain!”

The judge shot her a warning glare but his client continued. “What am I paying you for? Am I supposed to just sit here and listen while he says all those awful things about me?” Big, crocodile tears welled in her eyes and Janus barely fought the impulse to roll his eyes.

“Yes, Ms. Dars,” he whispered close to her ear. “That’s exactly what we do during his opening statement.”

With a petulant huff, she sat back in her seat, arms crossed as Vee finished his argument. She remained nearly silent during his own opening statement. It wasn’t until the first paramedic took the stand that she raised her voice.

“How dare you!” she shouted from the defense table.

“Mr. Knight, control your client!”

Janus stood and pressed one hand firmly on her shoulder. “Ms. Dars, a contempt court charge will not—”

But she wouldn't stop. Pointing at the paramedic, she demanded, “Why do you think I gave you a tip? For good driving?”

Vee had prepared the witness well. The paramedic clamped his mouth shut and turned to Vee, waiting to be asked.

And Vee did not disappoint.

“Mr. Selnick, did the defendant attempt to bribe you while you were rendering aid to my client?”

Ms. Dars' voice rang out, interrupting any response he might have given. “Yeah, and the dumb fuck wouldn’t even take it!”

~

The courtroom exploded in a flurry of shouts and laughter. The tumult was short-lived, snuffed nearly as quickly as it’d begun by the judge’s gavel and Ms. Dars' first swearing at, then biting the bailiff as he ratcheted on her handcuffs. He took his time and summoned another bailiff to chain her waist and ankles.

“Oh, and you’re so fired!” she snarled at Janus through clenched teeth.

“You cannot fire me, Ms. Dars,” he replied, setting down his phone, a prickly squish fidget hidden in his other hand. “I just quit the firm.”

“Is that true?” Vee asked, nearer than Janus had expected him to be.

He looked up, anticipating a sneer but instead, Vee looked… worried? Janus swallowed and nodded once before packing in the files spread across the defendant’s table. “Yes,” he muttered, bracing himself. Vee could be vindictive and a bit of a bitch.

It was another thing he’d always appreciated. Until it had been turned toward him.

But Vee remained quiet, feet shuffling next to him. Janus kept his gaze low. He didn’t want to watch his former husband walk away from him one more time. His breath caught in his throat when, instead of leaving, Vee hugged him.

“I’m proud of you, Jay,” he whispered. The hug was over quickly, the heat from his always-warm hands evaporating into the climate-controlled air. “I—”

Janus looked up again and there were tears in Vee’s eyes. “Why don’t you…" He smiled. "Why don't you swing by the house tonight? We can talk about job openings down at the DA’s office.” When Janus remained silent, Vee scoffed and started to turn back, shaking his head. “Whatever, Janus, if you’d rather—”

“No!” He stood and grabbed his sleeve. The courtroom, the whole world narrowed down to the bright flash of hope in Vee’s eyes. “I mean, yes… Yes, I’d like that. I’ll be there at seven.”

Vee’s lips curled up into a crooked little smile. “Be there at five thirty and you can cook.”

[dykesynthezoid]

hi!! 🥤🔪🍬🍄 for the writer's ask game?

Ah ty!! Sorry this took me a few days lol. Finals are over at last

🥤-> recommend an author or fanfic you love

… is it cheating if I say you, lol? I still want to catch up on the ds9 stuff you’ve been writing. I also am always going 👁️ 👁️ at @landslided ’s lesbian lawrusso fic bc the Gender Issues of getting to see Daniel and Johnny as butch adult women who do karate is so Juicy

🔪-> what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

What haven’t I researched tbh. Like it’s concerning how far down some rabbit holes I can get. There is no such thing as “too niche.” I found evidence of men’s ponytails in 12th century Norman illuminated manuscripts. That’s for sure. That happened

🍬 -> post an unpopular opinion about a popular fandom character

I’m trying to think of opinions I might have that are actually unpopular… Oh, I think people were shitty about Amanda getting frustrated with Daniel in season 5 (and also, by extension every time she’s gotten frustrated with him). Idk you can yell “she should’ve trusted him!!!” all you want but like. She’s just a human being who’s been deeply overwhelmed by karate bullshit she didn’t ask for for two years now.

And it’s tough bc people are often also stupid about acknowledging that Daniel is Traumatized. And it’s bc of that trauma that the Terry stuff came so far out of left field. It’s bc of that trauma that Daniel almost physically couldn’t figure out how to open up to her about it. But like also… how is Amanda supposed to trust someone who can’t even communicate with her? Of course she feels destabilized.

And yeah, the reason Daniel can’t communicate is again, the trauma. And like, god, have I been there. But just because it’s not his fault he’s struggling to communicate doesn’t mean it’s not going to impact the people around him. Quite the contrary, I’d argue.

But yeah, a lot of people reacted to that with an attitude that was like… Amanda owed Daniel complete and total allegiance, owed him her complete and total support without question, just because ~he’s her husband~ or whatever. Like the fact that he’s having a bad time somehow means she can’t react like a human being; she has to be a wife first, before anything else. Definitely not a novel concept, unfortunately.

🍄 -> share a head canon for one of your favourite ships or pairings

Idk if this counts as a headcanon but if we don’t get Sam and Tory doing the balance wheel in season 6 I might actually kill one of the showrunners

[acorrespondence]

@freekicks Oh man I have lots; so many that I’m making this a new post so I don’t clog up that poor person’s replies with 50 messages, haha! Basically, it’s an expansion on the idea that everyone has headcanons/canon details that are absolutely integral to their enjoyment of the story and any transformative works based on it (hard), and headcanons/canon details that they’re fond of but could still get pretty much unaltered enjoyment out of a fic that contradicts them (soft). Obviously all these are just opinions and what I get out of the story isn’t and shouldn’t have to be the same as what anyone else gets out of it.

One thing that sort of falls in the middle of the headcanon/canon divide is Raylan’s age when his mother died. The show contradicts itself on this point several times, and so it’s sort of fungible. I personally find the idea that Raylan’s mother died when he was very young, like younger than Loretta, while it may serve the parallels between them, to be much less compelling than the idea that she died later. It’s just so much more… boring for a character whose mother died when he was ten or so to have a gross misrepresentation of who she was as a person in his mental image of her. It’s much more compelling to me if he held onto that despite direct evidence to the contrary that he was old enough to understand. Of course he’d forget the hatchet story if it happened when he was eight. If it happened when he was eighteen, that opens up a much realer possibility that he just straight up repressed it, which is fascinating. Also, I don’t think it makes sense if he grew up with Helen in the house for the second half of his life there. To me that doesn’t really jive with their current relationship. (And on a less story-driven note, I am fascinated by the idea that, if Raylan’s mother died when he was thirty, he might not have attended her funeral. Because part of him knew it would challenge the version of her he had to remember in order to maintain his black and white perception of the world.)

Obviously, the mine and what it represents is a necessary component (though the time and place less so—my Old Guard au places them in the miners’ strikes of the 30s, and I’ve read a wonderful fic where the mine in question was on a different planet entirely. However, it does have to be placed in Harlan, or whatever approximation of Harlan fits the broader setting). The boys and their relationships with their daddies is another nonnegotiable for me. Specifically, the way they grew up; different times and causes of death for Bo and Arlo can work just as well. If Raylan and Boyd don’t meet until they’re established adults, that immediately kills my interest. Their rich history is so integral to why I’m drawn to the ship in the first place. It’s a hard sell for me to have Boyd leave or Raylan stay directly after the mine, but I’ve been known to make an exception if the story is compelling enough and doesn’t sacrifice characterization.

I think Boyd’s criminal history is important, though the nature of it less so. And even more important is the fact that Boyd never really makes it big as a criminal—making him some kind of fief lord of crime makes him much less interesting to me. His plans only succeed inasmuch as he always manages to survive their unraveling. I think it’s important that he’s spent time incarcerated. I’m not a huge fan of stories where they meet again outside of Harlan and never go back, it takes away the central tension between them and the place that made them that Raylan so struggles with and Boyd embraces so wholly, which for me is a really interesting part of their relationship, this dichotomy. I also don’t care for stories that give them a ton of good friends outside each other, or casual friends who actually know them and hang out with them—they’re too big of assholes for that. Of course, this doesn’t include the characters they’re close with in canon; I love Raylan and Rachel’s friendship, in particular, and their understanding of each other despite their vast superficial differences is fascinating. I guess I should say instead that I don’t buy either of them having typical friendships, period. They’re just too weird and fucked up for that. They trauma bonded at nineteen and it continues to be one of the most important relationships in either of their lives. Winona puts up with Raylan’s relational weirdness for love; no one is doing that for their drinking buddy. So they may have close friendships, but they don’t look the way you’d expect.

I’d never make their relationship uncomplicatedly sweet and unfraught, or sand down the kind of feral edges of it, and I don’t think they’d be much for traditional PDA—I just love the way in canon the physical (and otherwise) manifestations of their intimacy are so outside of what’s expected from buddies OR lovers. In the same vein, I don’t love it when Raylan goes crazy with the terms of endearment, because he doesn’t use them much with his love interests in canon. I have him use them with the girls in heavy heart more as verbal tics he picked up after spending too much time around Boyd, who LOVES to use them, plus I think he models at least some of his displays of parental affection after Helen, who canonically calls him “honey”. I’m fine with Boyd throwing endearments around liberally; I just don’t do it in my own fics because I love the way in canon he twists Raylan’s name itself into almost an endearment. He just can’t stop saying it every other sentence, so why would he give up the chance to say it by replacing it with another word? Plus, it fits in with how weird they are about each other in general.

More broadly, I have never really enjoyed full aus (based on any story) that don’t try to approximate at least the broader beats of place and history from canon, but I really really love stories that manage it. I respect authors who can sort of map canon onto a completely different stage, like the space au mentioned above, so much. I hope that I manage that at least somewhat with catching bullets.

That’s all the big ones I can think of at the moment, though I’m sure there’s more I’ve forgotten (most of the rest fall more under ic-ness vs ooc-ness, which is harder to articulate; “what makes them themselves?” is a much more difficult question). Ultimately, I think probably a lot of these come across through cross-referencing both of my WIPs—basically, if it shows up in both, there’s a very good chance it’s a nonnegotiable for me, and if it changes between the two, then I can obviously live without it.

[kendrixtermina]

Hello.

I stumbled across your blog whilst trying to ease my mind about the whole Rammstein situation. I really have given up trying to reason with it by myself, so I'm not here for that. What I do want is to perhaps share some feelings as someone who was also inspired by Rammstein.

You suggested that you felt embarrassed for having advocated for their work, and I feel the same. I spoke at length at their amazing word choice, the well-considered framing, and just the storytelling in general, and now it all feels very hollow. I feel like I was an idiot. I tell myself the works still stand on their own. That there is too much evidence and consistency across their catalogue to suggest this wasn't done with forethought. You are not foolish. You read it correctly. They did not approve of these things.

I like to think one can find the truth of another's values by looking through their words, but now I wonder if that was the belief used to fool me.

This whole situation is a mess. I don't know what I really came here for other than to level with someone who I believe understands what I feel. I guess, what I am asking is: how do you feel?

Well, I wrote that initial thing when I was still in shock & very much trying to err on the side of caution cause it's serious stuff that you don't want to take lightly. I wanted to honestly consider that it might be true and what that would mean.

Having looked into it & read a bunch of accounts by ppl who were actually at the parties on reddit & just trying to dig up what information is there from newspaper interviews etc, I do not, at present, think that anything worse transpired than Till consensually boinking a bunch of groupies & some other people being uncomfortable with that & filtering everything they saw through Fear Brain.

The accounts consistently portray him as asking before doing anything, backing away when someone says no, and even the ppl who had genuinely shitty experiences say they agreed to everything & that there was continuous communication.

I think at very least the spiking stuff is definitely not true. There was a rule of opening drinks in front of the guests for the entire backstage area so exceptions would have been noticed (unless the crew & the other band members were all in on it - not impossible but unlikely.)

Apparently it's pretty common for ppl to fear they've been spiked when they just had too much booze but the symptoms are actually pretty different - from what I've heard of ppl who were actually spiked you would feel super groggy/sick within 30 minutes and be completely unconscious or nearly so soon after, out like a light. You aren't continuing to sit there let alone walking home on your own - the perps often offer to drive you home or have some nearby room ready to do the deed in.

Part of me wonders how much of this is Neo-Puritans getting up in arms over adult women wanting to screw a creative, intelligent & charismatic person of their own free will even though he's got a few wrinkles. (which is why I'm grateful that Schneider's statement adressed the paternalism issue) But of course some people having positive experiences doesn't mean that everyone did.

So another part of me is still reserving judgement in that if the prosecutors turn up something to the contrary of that, I want to be ready to accept that I was mistaken. Would be deluded to claim that it cannot be because my 1337 hipster art interpretation skills say otherwise or fancy myself some great detective when I'm just an internet rando who despite my best attempts probably cannot be unbiased.

If the spiking thing had been true or is proven to be true in the future, (or anything about people being unable to leave) that's Burn In Hell territory because of the sheer disregard for other human beings that such an act implies, but at present I just don't think the fact pattern suggests it to be true.

[a-tale-never-told]

The Twilight Syndrome Gang

[Part 1]

*Hope's Peak Academy, September 11th, 2012, 9:03am*

*As the morning sun begins to rise on yet another day in the city of Kyoto, six young girls sit in a picnic-like area located inside the currently closed Hope's Peak. Ever since the murder of Mr Simmons, Hope's Peak has been temporarily shut down as a response to the murder, and while the official manhunt for the killer is still going on as of late, the girls take this amount of time to make up for lost time*

So, Honami? May I ask why exactly are we here? Especially given that the school isn't even open untill next week.

*Currently, Mahiru is sitting next to her best friend and neighbor, Honami Sato, as the rest of the group is positioned to form a circle, with Ibuki and Mikan sitting next to each other, and Mikan also bordering Chiaki, who is currently on her video game console. Rounding out the rest of the group is a blond-haired, blue-eyed, girl with a dark teal dress with puffed sleeves and a red ribbon on her chest, sitting next to Chiaki and Mahiru.*

Yes, I am quite intrigued as to why you brought all of us here, given the current status of the academy?

You heard the woman, Santos! It's time to talk, talk, talk! So? What did ya get for us!?

...

First off, it's Sato, Ibuki. And second, the reason I brought you all here is for all of us to spend well-needed quality time, and for you guys to give me some well-needed input on the current situation that's been unfolding as of late.

Oh? Do tell, please?

Gladly, so you guys know what's been going on at Hope's Peak lately right? About the murder of one of the Reserve Course Teachers a few weeks ago?

Who hasn't heard of it at this point? It's all over the rest of the news around the city! Newspapers, television, radio, and other means of communication have covered this event, and the police are still continuing the investigation as far as I'm concerned.

Yes, but that's the point. I don't think the police are seeing the brighter picture here, is that I don't think it's just one person. According to what I got from my dad, they believe that the suspect impersonated one of the police officers while they were removing the body from the car. Hence the body must've been taken away before the autopsy.

But it doesn't make that much sense to me, because there's absolutely no way one guy pulled it all off by himself! He had to have some help or backup with him, I'm sure of it! It just simply isn't possible with the level of security in that station.

Is there any evidence to prove that someone inside the police force was actually working with the culprit? If so, what exactly was the motivation to do all of this? Could the insider be an old friend of the culprit and feel like he wanted to repay a favor? Or were the two working together from the beginning, and he just waited untill he received the signal to act?

I have no exact clue as to what went on in there, but I'm 100% sure that there was a mole in the police force that actively worked together with the culprit to kill Simmons and dispose of the body before anyone found who killed him. At least that's my theory anyway. I don't have enough evidence to prove that yet, but I've been trying to read several articles related to that.

Hmm?

I-Is there S-Something wrong, Sonia?

Do not fret, Tsumiki, I am simply more concerned about who on the contrary is the culprit because we have not the slightest clue as to who it is. All we can do is point out hypotheticals and try to guess who truly is the imposter in the city.

I dunno, dude. Probably some kind of street punks? There's a lot of them in this city, ya know?

I have to disagree with that, this is far too clean and well-thought-out for some street gang to pull off something like this. Perhaps a serial killer?

I'm afraid not, as this is simply less bloody and savage for a serial killer to do. They usually have some kind of calling card or modus operandi to commit their murders, but this is simply far too complicated to identify the clear motive behind all of this.

M-Maybe Y-Yakuza!?

!

Honestly? I wouldn't even be surprised at this point. But as much as my gut instinct is telling me that it is the case, I don't believe that the Kuzuryus did all of this, but It's a guarantee at this point...

[fowleyes]

headcanon 02 .

hi . im back with more itachi posting . :) anyways im horrid at introductions so im just gonna get to the meat .

content warning : mental health diagnoses , family death , psychosis , delusions , hallucinations mentions of schizophrenia , PTSD

ok we're digging in now . lemme just go ahead and state : my portrayal of itachi will feature him coping / dealing with a number of illnesses ( physical + mental , but in this post we'll be talkin' about his mental health ) . two of his disorders include schizophrenia & PTSD (though i feel ptsd is kind of a given if you've watched/read naruto, i'd still like to write a bit about it) i will be careful with how these subjects are handled and would like to state that i have been clinically diagnosed with both of these , so while i am no expert and am open to criticism (for the most part) , i'm not coming at this blindly .

first , i'll delve into schizophrenia and what it is and how it affects itachi in particular .

Schizophrenia is a severe, chronic brain disorder that causes people to interpret reality abnormally—they don’t know what sights, sounds, and experiences are real or what they are imagining.

Schizophrenia usually involves delusions (false beliefs), hallucinations (seeing or hearing things that don’t exist), unusual physical behavior, and disorganized thinking and speech. It is common for people with schizophrenia to have paranoid thoughts or hear voices. For example, they may believe that someone is controlling their mind or going to cause them harm. These psychotic episodes are often frightening, confusing, and isolating. (source)

there's your basic run-down of what you get when you google schizophrenia, for those who aren't too familiar with the disorder . however, schizophrenia affects everyone differently , and the symptoms & their severity differ from person to person, & can even differ in the same person over time (though do not mistake me here, it does often require lifelong treatment).

here are itachi's symptoms and how they manifest :

Delusions : "A belief or altered reality that is persistently held despite evidence or agreement to the contrary, generally in reference to a mental disorder." (x) so ! in my specific portrayal , itachi does experience psychotic episodes in which he can become delusional ( though i hc that they do subside time to time , but can come on as a result of various triggers or when solitude becomes too much to handle) . that being said , i'd like to reference this scene as one of his episodes . during his episodes , he begins to believe that he truly is the person that his trauma created . he gets carried away in the part he plays & adopts it as his true self . he cannot differentiate the difference between the reality that was forced upon him & the decision he had to make . he believes that what he tells sasuke is true ( though, this isn't the case for EVERY moment he sees sasuke of course. in some moments, he truly is simply playing a part, while being in tune with the reality of what has been done to him ) & he believes that he is the villain that purposefully seeks to destroy .

Hallucinations : "seeing or hearing things that do not exist, such as a voice making commands." (x) Now, this one is purely headcanon-centric, as we don't really get to see itachi experience any hallucinations. however, i headcanon that they most often occur while he tries to go to sleep & during sleep paralysis , & that he bases a lot of genjutsu off of them . that being said, a lot of his hallucinations revolve around torture, crows , and paralysis, all of which are often accompanied by an onset of red and black tinted vision & an altered sense of reality . at times, his hallucinations feel very real to him, and during others, he can be entirely aware of their false reality.

Disorganized or abnormal physical behavior : "inappropriate or strange actions, a complete lack of movement or talking, acting with a childlike silliness, unpredictable agitation, repetitive or excessive movements." (x) Out of what's listed , itachi experiences the lack of movement / talking , sometimes going into a dissociative state, but other times just feeling so far removed from everyone else or utterly apathetic that speaking / moving much seems unreasonable, and other times, nigh impossible. he also experiences unpredictable agitation, as referenced in the last scene i linked, as well as here, when he attacks the police force for making the assumption that he killed shisui & scares sasuke because the scene seems very unlike his usual, pacifist, self. i think that if sasuke hadn't called to him, things would have escalated far beyond what was shown. i also headcanon that itachi repeats many of his movements , though aren't exactly excessive in nature. he experiences a lack of movement more often than anything else, which at times, could also stem from his purely physical ailment(s) as well.

Negative symptoms : (negative here is not used as a synonym for "bad", but rather as a descriptor for the type of symptom.**) "a reduced or lack of the ability to function normally, such as ignoring personal hygiene or not showing emotion." (x) Check & check, he does both of these things. i don't feel the need to elaborate much on these, since they're pretty self explanatory, but if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask<3 here is a cap where fugaku mentions his lack of understanding of itachi's emotions .

** The symptoms of schizophrenia are usually classified into:

positive symptoms – any change in behavior or thoughts, such as hallucinations or delusions negative symptoms – where people appear to withdraw from the world around then, take no interest in everyday social interactions, and often appear emotionless and flat (source)

ANNND i will develop on this further , no doubt, just wanted to toss that into the open.

onto his PTSD. (this will be shorter because a lot of it is already referenced by knowing itachi as a character)

now, itachi developed PTSD at the young age of four years old, when fugaku took him to experience the consequence of war. i want to note that the stress lines on his face are a direct result of his PTSD and how much trauma and stress he undergoes as his life proceeds. before he experienced this trauma, his complexion was more smooth, soft, round.

here is a chronological example of how his face sunk more & more over time. again, in his later years, it could also be exacerbated by his physical illness as well.

anyways, his PTSD developed in a way that shied him away from people, making him avoidant, reclusive, & scared . he become detached from people as a result of watching his best friend die before him, murdering everyone he's ever loved (with the exception of sasuke ofc) and being used again & again for his prowess as a shinobi and his striking knowledge in most regards.

and anyways i have a lot more to say on this but i'm exhausted and need to stop going on, so this will be enough for now...

[lutiaslayton]

Hey guys, you know what

Given the news about New World of Steam, a lot of us are going to replay the games for old time’s sake. With or without this news, I would have done so anyway, but while we’re at it… It just occurred to me.

Why don’t I just share my notes with you as I go through them? Aka, I suppose, go back to that series past me had started years ago where I had intended to study the plot in more depth, see how the puzzles could work in-universe, and just overall try to expand on the lore.

Here is the series in question, in case you don’t know what I am talking about.

I was once again desperately trying to sort my notes through the puzzle theory post I have been trying to make for practically a month, and I just thought that it was simply too big a monster to tackle in only one post. So why not expand on it as we play through the games directly, I guess?

I will make zero promises regarding a schedule, and I am very likely to not make any shitpost-y comics every episode. But what I can offer, however, is a thorough comparison between the Japanese version and the English languages we know (either US or UK, depending). If schedule there is, I will most likely make some sort of queue (past me had planned to separate the episodes in terms of “one puzzle per post”, and this seems to me like a good habit to keep), so I can write multiple posts in a row and then have them post weekly, or bi-weekly, or something like that.

If I ever get to it, I will tag these posts as #pl puzzle theory, since it is a tag I was already using. Feel free to blacklist it if you don’t want to see it! And for those who do, I hope I will manage to make something that is entertaining, thorough, and informative. And not too shitpost-y lol, at least not when it comes to analysing the raw evidence.

(PS: Of course, as always, the priority will always be the fanfic Stable Like Sand. I am merely saying that this playthrough marathon has been on my to-do list for fanfic research purposes for a very long time already, and that I suppose that making it a public mini-series instead of something I would have otherwise kept to myself for the most part will motivate me to get back into it, and make it open to discussion with you all! I am absolutely expecting to get some of my hypotheses contradicted and such, so don’t be shy, that will on the contrary be extremely helpful :D)