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[aureatelys]

like cherries in the spring

pairing: aaron hotchner/fem!bau!reader rating: explicit w.c.: 4k bc i cant stop myself

content warnings: 18+ PLEASE MDNI, porn without plot, consensual somnophilia (mentions of discussing it beforehand), intercrural sex sorta, thigh fucking sorta, brief v fingering, eventual p in v, light dom/sub undertones, light bondage (being held down), light choking (just a hand on your throat), unprotected sex, no y/n, established relationship, employee/boss relationship duh, self indulgent <3

summary:

You were barely conscious when you felt something poking your butt.

read on ao3 here or below <3333

You were barely conscious when you felt something poking your butt.

You try to blink awake, immediately blinded by the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. For a second, you think you’re still in Los Angeles with the California heat making your clothes stick to your back, working on a kidnapping case, which means you need to get up and get ready fast.

However, someone stirs behind you, and you realize you’re not in California. You’re home, in your bed, and being spooned by Aaron.

You try not to sigh in relief so as not to disturb him. He needs the rest, obviously, based on the fact that Aaron tends to get up like clockwork at 8 in the morning, even on his days off. You crane your neck to check the clock on your bedside table. Nearly 9:30 in the morning.

You’re almost tempted to wake him up, knowing that Aaron will be secretly annoyed and feeling like he slept the day away, but then you remember how late it was when you got in last night. The team just got done with a case in a Los Angeles suburb and decided to fly back home despite how late it was, which meant that it was really late when you finally made it back home. You distantly remember leaning on Aaron’s shoulder, trying not to fall asleep standing up, and him grunting for everyone to take the following day off and hearing everyone let out a tired cheer. You weren’t able to sleep on the jet, envious at everyone else’s ability to take a nap as soon as they closed their eyes, and kept Aaron company while he finished his notes.

You remember sitting across from him, the glow of the reading light shining on him with his head ducked over his files. He was clearly exhausted just like everyone else, evident by the bags underneath his eyes and the way he attempted to hide his yawn every couple of minutes, but you know that he always makes an effort to try and finish the paperwork the same day while the case was still fresh on his mind.

You had a book open in front of you, long forgotten, as you rested your chin in your palm and stared at your boyfriend.

He glances up at you every now and then and shakes his head to himself, smile on his face, when you make no move to stop staring almost dreamily. It’s not your fault he’s so handsome, even when he’s running on 4 hours of sleep.

“Ridiculous,” he had muttered, feigning annoyance, however you felt him knock his feet against yours underneath the table. Something warm settles in your chest at that.

You remember stumbling into Aaron’s apartment, through the living room, and falling face first into the bed. You hadn’t even bothered to change into your pajamas, but you were just too tired to care, evident by passing out as soon as your face hit the pillow.

It didn’t matter now, however, as you felt Aaron’s body pressed up against yours, so warm it was nearing unbearable. You felt his soft exhales against the nape of your neck, sending shivers down your spine, and the beginning line of his morning wood poking your ass. You felt the soft comforter brush against your bare legs and realize that Aaron must have changed you in your sleep, leaving you in your panties and a tank top.

You swallowed, suddenly feeling utter want tugging at the bottom of your stomach. It had been a couple of days since you guys had done anything, even with the shared hotel room. Working on a kidnapping case in a shitty hotel with thin walls didn’t really set the mood, no matter what anyone said. Sure, you and Aaron were able to sneak in some heated kisses and touches, but never more than that before both of you were falling asleep with case files and medical reports at the foot of the bed.

You carefully pushed your hips back against him, feeling his cock twitch against you. Aaron shifted, throwing his arm over your waist, however his breathing was still deep and heavy. He was usually a light sleeper, a result of the job, so him not waking up from that must mean he was more tired than he let on.

You’re still groggy, but an idea slowly forms in your head. Of course, you two didn’t get the chance to discuss this last night, but you distantly remember a conversation several weeks ago where you told Aaron you wouldn’t mind too much if he woke you up by touching you or going down on you and whether he would be interested in you doing the same to him.

He had given you a look so dark, pupils blown and a smirk slowly forming on his mouth, that you wanted to drop to your knees right there in the kitchen.

Instead, he leaned forward to press a kiss to the side of your head and mutter a “Some other time, dirty girl.”

Now seems like the perfect time.

You move your hips back again, relishing in the way you can feel Aaron’s cock grow bigger, harder. You wiggle and let out a breathy sigh when you feel him migrate to between your ass cheeks. It’s not enough and definitely not close enough to where you really want him, but it feels good. Dirty, just like Aaron had said.

You move up on the bed a little more, careful not to stir too much, lifting your hips from the bed a bit until his clothed cock was between your thighs and pressed right against your pussy.

You moan at that, clenching your thighs when you feel that familiar throbbing in your cunt, wishing he was already inside of you.

But this feels good too. Two layers of clothes between Aaron’s thick cock and your wet pussy. You start to move your hips against him, breathless at the way the head of his cock barely grazes your clit. You can feel the wet spot undoubtedly forming on your panties, your wetness helping his cock glide against you.

You feel yourself get carried away, chasing the small sparks of pleasure running up your spine just from feeling the girth of his cock against your hole, when you feel Aaron’s arm that’s draped over you move.

You freeze, though you’re not sure why, it’s not like you’re doing anything wrong, when you feel his hand come up to grope at your breast over your top.

You hear him hum, still breathing warm air against your neck, and feel him somehow press closer against you. You wait for him to say something, either teasing you for being so horny and rubbing up against him or wordlessly tugging his briefs down to press his cock against where you need him, but there’s nothing.

He’s still asleep.

You exhale in relief, ignoring the nagging thought in your brain saying why are you into this, you freak, but then Aaron’s hand on your breast starts moving, just barely groping.

You’ve known that Aaron has always been a touchy guy behind closed doors, always hungry and wanting to be close to you wherever he got a chance. He’s said it’s because he loves your body and not being able to touch you at work drives him crazy, and you can tell he’s telling the truth from the way his jaw clenches when you lean over his desk to hand him a file or the look he gives you when you cross your legs sitting across from him on the jet and your skirt rides up.

At home, you let him have his fill. He’s constantly groping your tits, pinching at your nipples. He’s grabbing a handful of your ass, squeezing, and grabbing your hips so hard he leaves bruises. He has a hand on the back of your neck and pushing your face into the mattress or wrapping his large hand at the base of your throat, putting light pressure as if a reminder of who you belong to. He loves touching you and you clearly don’t mind, however you’re seriously wondering how obsessed he is with your body if he can touch and grope you in his sleep.

He's squeezing your breast and canting his own hips against you. You feel his cock twitch again and the wet spot he must be leaving through his briefs drags against you and your thigh. You bite your lip at that, unsure whether Aaron was about to wake up or not.

You feel his hand move from your breast to your abdomen, fingers just barely brushing over your nipple, making you almost jump, and wrap his arm around your middle. You hear him grunt, something masculine and deep that makes you want to lose your mind, and feel him thrust into you, rutting into you like he can’t control himself.

You whimper at the feeling of being constricted, imagining Aaron’s veins popping out of his forearms. Not caring whether he’ll wake up, you reach down to pull at his briefs just enough so his cock pops free. You sigh at the feeling of hot flesh against your thigh and your mouth waters when you feel precum leaking down the head of his cock, smearing on your panties and thighs.

You wait and strain your ears to listen to Aaron’s breathing. Somehow, it’s still steady.

You’re starting to get impatient, just about to throw this all away and wake him up to sink down on him, but then you feel his bare cock press against your hole through your panties and it just feels so good. You know that if Aaron wakes up, he’s going to want to fuck you fast and hard and honestly, you’re having a lot of fun teasing yourself.

He stops humping into you, the arm around your middle relaxing, and he grumbles a bit and presses his face against the nape of your neck. His breath tickles you.

You start moving your own hips again, just barely, enough to feel the slow drag of his cock against your clit through your panties. They must be absolutely soaked through right now and you desperately wish you could just take them off without waking Aaron up and press the head of him into you, stretching you out. A sweat starts to break out on your back and on your neck and Aaron’s body heat, naturally running warmer than you, isn’t helping but you don’t care.

You hear a sharp inhale, a particular deep thrust against your pussy, and then a “What do you think you’re doing?”

You freeze, feeling like you got caught with your hand in the cookie jar and not like you were humping desperately against your boyfriend like a teenager. “Uhm.”

His left arm moves up from where he was still wrapped around you, brushing purposefully against your nipples and making you whine, to wrap his hand around the base of your throat. He doesn’t put any pressure, but just the weight of his hand is enough to make your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“I said,” he whispers, exhaling against your ear. He thrusts his hips once against you, making his cock slide against you better in a way you could never replicate. “What are you doing?”

You swallow, unsure on how you want to play this. The low deep rasp of his voice this early in the morning always sends you reeling. “Nothing.”

Aaron hums and the grip he has on you tightens just a bit before he’s trailing down your chest. This time, he flicks your left nipple, making you jump and bite your lip at the same time, and moving down past your stomach and to your pussy. “This doesn’t feel like nothing, honey.”

His hand traces the waistband of your panties and the curve of your hips. The callouses on his fingers are rough, but familiar, making you squirm against him. Aaron hisses at that and it’s like he finally snaps as he reaches between your legs and roughly pulls your panties to the side to thrust his cock against your bare cunt, hips slamming into yours.

“In fact, it feels like you’re being a dirty girl, rubbing up on me like you can’t help yourself.”

Your gasp morphs into a moan when you feel the head of his cock finally brushing your swollen clit, no clothes in the way. Now you can feel how sopping wet you are, making the glide of his throbbing cock against your pussy smooth and perfect. This whole thing feels dirty, like you’re trying to take what you can get before you can get caught even though there’s no one else home with Jack being at a sleepover. The thrusting of his hips against yours to rub against your wet folds just makes you think about him fucking you into the mattress until you’re a whining mess. “Aaron…”

 “What do you want, baby?” Aaron murmurs, starting to press soft kisses behind your ear. Hearing his early morning voice again makes your insides turn into a puddle. The warmth of his body and his cologne from yesterday still barely detectable is intoxicating, making you spread your legs a little so his cock nestles deeper against your wetness. You start to move your own hips to meet his and the lewd sound of your pussy and his hips slamming into yours is so so hot.

“Please…” you whine, the words dying in your throat because your head is swimming, and you don’t know exactly what to say. You secretly hope he knows what you want—what you need.

Aaron suddenly gets up to sit on his knees and moves you with a hand on your hip so you’re laying flat on your front, face pressed into your pillow. You nearly cry at the loss of pressure against your clit, but he quickly puts a hand on the back of your head to shove your face into the pillow. He straddles your thighs, roughly moves your panties aside again to insert a thick finger inside of you.

You moan wantonly at the feeling of finally being filled, the sound muffled against the pillow. His finger goes in easily due to how wet you were, but the feeling of being stretched even just a little bit make you feel drunk.

“Is this what you want, pretty girl?” He moves his finger in and out of you fast, almost rough, but it’s still something and it can still make you come if you try really hard since you’ve been playing with yourself for what feels like hours.

You already start to feel the beginning pressure at the pit of your stomach, clenching and unclenching around just one finger. Your clit is barely getting anything out rubbing against the sheets, but you don’t even care, having been on edge for days. “Yes, yes—Aaron…”

Aaron hums casually from behind you, as if you guys were talking about the weather. “Are you going to come for me?”

You nod furiously into the pillow, moving your face to the side so you can breathe more easily. “Yes, yes, please—”

Suddenly he takes his finger out of you with a loud and vulgar noise, nearly making you scream in frustration. You’re about to yell at him, maybe even turn around and smack him on the shoulder, until you feel your panties being quickly tugged down your legs, the head of his cock up against your hole, and then pressing in.

“Oh…,” you moan, nearly sighing in the familiar feeling of being properly filled. There’s a slight burn from that stretch you secretly love. The hand he had pressed against the back of your head migrates to the back of your neck, grabbing a hold of you so possessively it makes you squirm.

Aaron leans over you until his face is next to yours, his soft moans like music to your ears as he bottoms out. “Fuck, baby, you’re still so tight…”

You try to crane your neck to look at him, desperate to see his face. He has his eyes closed, brows furrowed in concentration, most likely trying to resist immediately fucking into you. His hair is almost artfully mussed, fluffy and falling into his face. Yesterday’s stress is gone and instead is replaced with absolute desire. His other arm is pressing into the mattress so he can hold himself over you and you nearly start to drool at his bicep bulging out, the veins in his thick forearms prominent.

And as if he can feel your eyes on him, his eyes open. They’re dark and piercing, pupils nearly blown out. There’s a hint of that damn smugness in the corner of his mouth, but it smooths out into something softer around the edges when he leans in to press a closed-mouthed kiss against yours. He knows how much you hate morning breath.

The tender action makes something clench in your chest and you wonder again how you got so lucky.

All sweet thoughts fly out the window when Aaron pulls out slowly until just the head of his cock is in you. You moan at the sudden loss and squirm, knowing how much he likes seeing your hips move.

Just like you predicted, he growls and slams back into you, pressing his hips against the flesh of your ass. “So needy.”

“Aaron, please…” you beg, moving your arms from underneath you to behind you in an attempt to touch him, feel him, something.

Because Aaron is Aaron and somehow can read your mind, you feel him grab both of your wrists together in one hand to press against your back. You have no leverage now and can breathe a little easier now that he’s not pressing down on your neck, instead his other hand gripping onto your hip.

“Don’t worry, I’ll give what my dirty girl needs,” Aaron coos, almost mockingly in the way that makes your heart stutter, and then he starts fucking you so hard the breath gets knocked out of you.

He’s relentless, no more teasing and rubbing up against his cock. The grip of his fingers on your hip and wrists are tight, hopefully enough to leave bruises, as he essentially pulls you on and off his cock. He fills you out so good, hitting that spot inside of your pussy that sends sparks up your spine, making you feel like your brain is short circuiting. It’s like you can’t even think anymore, which is a normal occurrence when Aaron fucks you like this, and all you can hear is the wet sounds of your pussy, his hips slamming against yours, and moans that he’s not bothering to hide anymore.

You distantly can hear yourself begging to come, nearly screaming yourself hoarse. You’re sensitive, nearly overstimulated with the way Aaron is pounding into you, and you just want to come already. The sheets are wrapped around your thighs, barely rubbing against your clit, and it’s not enough and you arch your back the way he likes, move your hips in an effort to tell him to touch you. “Fuck, oh my God, Aaron.”

“You need me to touch you, baby?” Aaron says, breathlessly, and you know he’s close too, probably holding off until you come first because you know that’s something he likes.

He must be just as impatient as you are because he’s immediately releasing his hold on your wrists to wriggle a hand underneath you and rub your clit in a way that was delicious but almost rough, almost painful enough that it sends you over the edge.

You choke on your moan as you feel your pussy clench on his hard cock, squeezing your thighs together. Your hands find purchase clawing at the sheets underneath you, wrists tingling from where he held onto you. Your mind blanks out, empty besides the sheer bliss wracking your body. Aaron keeps fucking you, keeps flicking your clit, groaning your name and it just adds to your orgasm, nearly making you roll your eyes back into your head.

You feel him fuck you faster, harder, and you had just begun floating down from your orgasm when Aaron comes inside you with a deep and guttural moan. You’ve always loved hearing the noises he makes; how manly he sounds, how deep his voice can get, and the way he whispers your name like a prayer. The noise he makes when he comes, however, is definitely in your top 3.

“Fuck, you take my cock so well,” Aaron grunts, thrusting into you one last time. The hold he has on your hip is nearly painful, definitely bruising. You moan unabashedly at that and the feeling of his warm come inside of you, filling you up. You clench down on him one last time, milking him for all he’s worth, and you hear Aaron’s choked laugh behind you.

He slips out of you, and you feel his eyes on your pussy; probably swollen and absolutely a soaking mess with your wetness smeared all over your inner thighs. He hums, finally satisfied, at the sight of his come dripping out of your cunt, dripping down your slit and onto the sheets. You feel his thumb come and trace your hole, gentle, but making you squirm nonetheless at how sensitive you are and sending a shock through you. His hand is on your hip again, squeezing in a warning, silently telling you to take it.

And you do, keening softly when you feel the rough pad on his thumb brush your clit, smearing his come around. You always had an inkling that Aaron was dirty, with his domineering voice and the way he so easily takes control of a room when he walks in, but you were in for a rude awakening when you both finally stopped dancing around each other.

You hear Aaron inhale sharply when you clench and unclench, probably pushing more wetness out onto the sheets, and you almost brace yourself for his cock to press against your hole again when you feel the bed dip and Aaron getting up to the bathroom to help clean you up. You’re only slightly disappointed, but then remember it’s not even noon and you got the rest of the day left. You bring your arms to cross and rest your head on them while you wait, smiling to yourself as the languid relaxation seeps into your bones the way only getting fucked out of your mind does.

Aaron is tender and gentle while he cleans you up. Underneath all the stoic and cold demeanor, Aaron has always been a huge softie and loves taking care of you, no matter the occurrence. You feel that care when there’s large hands and a towel, warm on your thighs, your hips, your ass as he presses his lips to the bottom of your spine. You feel the barely there scratch of his stubble and hum.

When he’s done, he crawls up the mattress to his spot and settles down with a huff. He immediately is wrapping around you, flinging his arm and leg over you to pull you in closer as you laugh. Your face is pressed against his chest, flushed pink, and you impulsively press a kiss there against the wiry hair. You feel him kiss the top of your head, no doubt smiling because he secretly loves the attention you give him.

“You okay?” Aaron asks, so soft in a way that makes you want to wiggle further into him.

Instead, you push back a bit to look up at him where he’s already watching you, eyes affectionate. Your legs are tangled with his, hips pressed against each other’s despite knowing how sweaty he is. His mouth, usually in that straight line, has softened, and the sight of his bedhead and relaxed brow makes you want to spend the next week touching him all over. His cock pressed against your thigh, half-hard, tells you that may be possible.

“Perfect,” you say, and then you push at his shoulder until he flops on his back, gazing up at you almost reverently as you climb on top of him to straddle his hips.

One of his hands wander up your thighs until he settles on your hip. His hair falls into his face, his eyes still drowsy but the hunger plain as day. He brings his other arm to rest above his head, against the pillows, in a clear show of his muscles that makes your mouth water. He looks devastatingly handsome and just so hot, it’s really not fair.

“Good morning,” he says, casually, as if you’re not quietly losing your mind.

You give him a devilish grin and push your hips back until you can feel the head of his cock against you, already hard and leaking precum against your ass. Satisfaction curls up your spine when his small smile falters and his jaw clenches. You lean down, knowing that he loves the feeling of your breasts pushing against his chest and nipples dragging, until you’re hanging your lips right above his.

“A very good morning, it is.”

[speakofshinee]

Still Shining - Taemin

[mulders-too-large-shirt]

s4 episode 4 thoughts

woohoo!! it feels, again, like our separation has been so long, but it has been about… 3 whole days. oh, how i miss the earlier months in which i had time to post episode thoughts every day… 

this episode sounds interesting!!! no idea how someone’s thoughts could be captured on film, but we do a lot of disbelief suspension around these parts, with varying levels of success.

wait. hold on. i just saw the description for the episode after this one. what the hell is mulder getting himself into with that. do we need more mulder ex lore? i don’t need that. it doesn’t make me feel warm and fuzzy inside. 

putting aside my many questions on that matter to focus on what is here in front of us.

(author’s note post-episode: …. woaghhh. scully…)

in all honesty, having processed my thoughts, i think this one was just a LITTLE bit too intense for me. which i recognize is okay, and to each their own. but i need to speak my Truth.

liveblogging commences below 

we begin with this sketchy looking dude, who is being rude as hell to a woman putting on lipstick before getting a passport photo taken. god forbid a woman want to serve… then he says to act natural while not acting natural himself. HYPOCRITE!

she goes in for a passport photo and…. she left her money in the car! she must return to this unfortunate man and go get it. but someone is following her…. 

he did something to her… and she gets back to the car to “billy”, but someone did something to him, too!! he appears to be dead and bleeding from the ear!! then she falls to the ground and tries to crawl to safety, but the mystery man in the yellow rain jacket comes back for her…. 

and the man in the photo store looks at the passport photos, but despite taking just a standard headshot, he sees the woman’s dying face in the images!!

oh. that is an unpleasant day on the job for such a nice seeming man.

this intro always makes me laugh... i’m sorrrrryyy the ufo pictures just remind me that this show is fundamentally unserious 

scully and mulder are rolling up to a town in michigan, while he asks her for any thoughts on the case. it appears this woman was abducted three days ago. and billy was punctured in the brain. yuck.

okay, so her name is mary. and this poor pharmacist…. he has to take people’s pictures, and give them drugs, AND deal with this nonsense 

they are at the pharmacy where the “druggist” (they keep using that term which i have never heard before) is showing them his camera, which he keeps under lock and key, and i notice he has some fun candy in the background. but i assume things are not fun at this time for him. 

scully wants to see the camera, and mulder takes a step back to let her pass. it kinda looks like he does that thing where he touches her back, but it’s hard to tell. and once again for all readers, that thing where men touch your back is only attractive when it’s mulder to scully and not between some randos!

scully notices something on the pharmacist’s foot, and also that the film is out of date. she is always noticing things. one of her many lovely qualities. 

mulder calls the pharmacist “bruno hauptman” and i don’t get that reference so i do what i do best: go to wikipedia. oh! bruno is the guy that was executed for kidnapping the lindbergh baby. i don’t know why i thought that mystery was unsolved. i guess it’s because the article is saying it was a heavily criticized and debated case. huh, a mystery for another time.

anyway, mulder is saying this all tauntingly with his stupid beautiful mulder smile, but scully is saying yeah, this nice old pharmacist doesn’t look like a usual suspect.

but she does point out that the film has heat damage, and a heater is right there… “so you think that would make it look like she posed screaming for a passport photo?” <- LMAO MAN LET HER FINISH

BAHAHA she is onto nothing 🔥🔥 

“plus, the film is two years out of date” “oh” the- the photographic chemistry could have changed” (mulder nodding) “uh-huh” “the- the dyes fade… they… alright, what’s your theory?” <- BAHAHA love that… you have to admit when you don’t know wtf is going on! i had full confidence she would pull something out of her science-y brain, but sometimes you just don’t know!

(this stupid scene had me giggling, as did her face of resignation)

mulder seems to ALSO have no idea wtf is going on, but as they discuss this, a police officer walks in and says they might have wasted the agents’ time…. what does that mean? did they figure it out that quick?

back at the house of the victims, they meet a postal inspector. okay!!! that’s fun and different. and i pause to write this down, and scully is SO beautiful, i actually might blow up. a full on explosion where once stood me is liable to go down. oh my gooooood.

okay: postal inspector is investigating a mail theft. mary had been working at the postal office, stealing people’s credit cards, and her boyfriend was signing them! oh! very illegal. inspector seems to think she faked her disappearance, but mulder points out that would not explain the stabbing of the boyfriend. also, they have this creepy ass broccoli magnet on their fridge which. bleugh. it did not spark joy.

mulder wants a camera from their house, and he finds one! did he just. take a picture of scully…? oh my god. he said “stand back, scully, it’s loaded” and took one… he didn’t even let her pose or anything… that's so cute... even if it's a little weird to use a dead person's camera from a crime scene... he wanted to take her picture

no, i am all wrong, for it appears he is just… taking random photos. because someone in the 60’s once claimed that he could concentrate really hard on undeveloped film and show his thoughts. uh. press f to doubt.

(man, i want to live in that very brief and exciting moment where i thought he was taking a cute little candid of her again… it was so blissful there)

wait. what da hell. he just clicked the camera a bunch of times and it comes up with the screaming mary photo again and again.

oh… he thinks that someone was stalking mary, and the stalker’s psychic energy altered the film by him coming in its proximity. i didn't realize that was how psychic powers worked but i am listening and learning

scully says that these images had to be doctored, which is, again, a reasonable conclusion, but he asks her to “what if” the situation and just think about it!!! just imagine!!!

cutscene to… someone crawling on the side of the road. it’s mary!!! she’s bleeding from her eyes (?) and not responding at all to the police car arriving behind her.

now she is in a stretcher at the hospital that our agents are helping to steer. they are kind like that. she had a “painkiller cocktail” in her system, but that wouldn’t account for her condition. scully orders a PET scan for her, a term i have never heard before. i love when she uses terms i have never heard before.

they’re putting mary in what looks like an MRI sort of thing to look at her brain. whatever it is, it is clearly very bad, as told by scully’s visible reaction and audible declaration of “oh my god”, while mulder looks at her and asks “what is it”? 

(and while i appreciate that this is a sensitive moment for our story, mulder not knowing wtf is going on with these medical things always is a favorite trope of mine, 1. because me too, and 2. he is usually such an insufferable know-it-all i love watching him admit when he knows nothing. humility!)

oh my god… “she has been given what’s called a transorbital lobotomy” <- oh that does NOT sound good… it used to be known as an ice pick lobotomy!!! oh my gosh i’ve heard of that one!! ice pick… eye sockets… i can feel myself growing faint…

but whoever did it, did it wrong… who would do a lobotomy without knowing how to do it the right way???

in the machine, mary is mumbling!! she is saying “unruhe” according to the closed captioning, but it just sounds like faint groaning to me. however, given that this phrase is the title of the episode, i venture to guess that it IS in fact relevant.

a policeman bursts in and says there has been a second abduction, and our agents look deeply sorrowful at this news, seeming to know what will happen next if they cannot crack the case.

oh! now we are seeing the new victim, and whoever took her is in fact saying “unruhe”, and other stuff in german! NO! he pulls out a pick…. fade to black. 

WHO in this small seeming town speaks german and has a psychic effect on cameras… ?? i hope this can be narrowed down to a slim pool of candidates!!

scully is going into the next crime scene, where mulder reports that a man has been murdered, and his secretary alice taken. this is not good.

mulder has been looking into what that word alice was mumbling means- first in a phone book, but then as a translation, i guess, because it means “trouble” in german.

WOAH, WHAT?

! SCULLY LORE REVEAL ! she took german in college!!! and knows that the word is more accurately translated as “unrest”! 

(oh my gosh, i need to get back into compiling lore reveals at the end of each season like i did for s1…. good thing i take such detailed notes so i can go back and do them for s2 and s3)

((we didn’t get a ton in the last 2 seasons, so i thought of doing one post for both seasons- but the organization freak in me wants to do 1 per season, so i’ll go through them again and see what i can find when i get bored someday))

scully hands him a photo from the first crime scene, but mulder says the criminal wasn’t there, because if he was, he would have altered the photos. scully seems annoyed that he’s looking for psychic photos and not crime scene evidence, but he explains that whoever did this has to be very good, and photos may be their only lead since he doesn’t seem to know he is doing it. but then scully sees something and her eyes go SUPER wide… and she says she wants to show him something. 

oh! they find a construction company’s logo at both sites. so maybe the criminal worked at places under construction and was able to kidnap the women…? this theory is brought to you by scully.

he says she might be right, but he is going back to DC to get analysis on the photo. she still is skeptical, but he says that since the woman’s time is running out, that’s all the more reason to analyze the one piece of hard evidence they do have, and that he’ll be in touch. 

he must have really cared if he said he’ll be in touch, because usually he just runs off to god knows where to do god knows what. 

(and how much time would they even HAVE if he has to drive all the way back??? that isn’t a quick trip, is it???)

the same criminal dude from before is now saying stuff in german and taping alice’s mouth shut, while mulder is back in the photo lab sitting practically on top of this nerdy yet attractive fellow, asking for the blurriness in the image to be reduced. and it reveals very scary looking demon things! 

mulder sees someone in the back of the photo… and they get a more enhanced image on the face, but it isn’t clear to me who it is. i felt like i was supposed to know who it was, but luckily i wasn't!

scully is ordering people out to canvas and investigate the employees who may have been working at both construction sites. i like when she does that.

mulder and the lab guy figure out that there is a shadow in the background of the photo from the kidnapper. “he’s standing over her, he means to pass judgement on her, like a god” <- an unsettling thing to say, mr. spooky

scully rolls up to one of the construction sites and i’m thinking, oh please, do not get kidnapped, please please, it’s not something we need today. she’s yelling “hello” and no one is answering... but she hears something….. 

it’s a… guy on stilts? it’s the foreman named gerry. oh… could he have made the big shadow in the picture his stilts? but he doesn’t sound german…

mulder calls and says the kidnapper’s legs are unusual, either he’s very tall or he wants to be. stilts man?!?! is it you?!

instead of playing it chill upon hearing this news, she hangs up on mulder, and turns to gerry and says “unruhe”, pulling out her gun. but he uses his stilts to jump across the building! only to collapse and fall. his getaway is thwarted as scully tells him to stop or she’ll shoot, and to prove her seriousness, she does so. but i’m not buying he’s the guy!! sorry my queen!!

NO!! I WAS FOOLED, WASN’T I??? she reaches into his pocket and pricks her finger!!! NOOO! it’s a huge pick in there! like we saw before at the kidnapping!!

is she gonna be drugged from that….

(thankfully, the pick itself did not contain the drugs)

they’re interrogating the dude, and he denies everything. i mean, i guess a lot of people could have stilts and a pick at construction sites. maybe they didn't grab the right fellow.

he says that tool is used to start keyholes in the sheetrock and all fixtures. a good excuse…

but he really does seem confused. 

however, mulder brings up that gerry was arrested before, for attacking his father with an axe handle until he spent the rest of his life in a wheelchair. OH! this is not promising.

gerry says that he was institutionalized, which mulder reveals was for a schizophrenic disorder. gerry claims that since his release, he had been taking care of his father 24/7, until he passed away in january. well i’m not entirely sure if that makes amends, but i guess it’s better than nothing?

“and how did you feel about that?” asks mulder about gerry's father's death, sounding very much like the psychology expert i sometimes forget that he is. then he reveals that the same year gerry attacked his father, gerry’s sister passed. connected….?

gerry is staring intently back at scully, saying that she looks troubled. oh! do not talk to her that way.

then mulder comes in with the enhanced photo from earlier, and asks if it shows gerry’s father. he seems taken aback, like it really is his father, and then further taken aback when he pulls out the full photo and asks if those demons figures are what he sees when he closes his eyes. this finally gets gerry to crack and say that he knows where alice is, and that she is safe, “from the howlers”. HUH? 

(is it bad my thoughts went straight to a howler monkey when he said that? i was thinking man, monkeys do not look like that at all. you and i have seen some different monkeys, gerry. but no, he does not refer to those types of howlers)

a ton of cop cars are arriving in the woods, to find alice, who is bleeding from the eyes, which can only mean one thing in this context. oh noooo. scully seems horrified and as if she is blaming herself 

oh, we get a very charged exchange here. she says it doesn’t matter what is in the photos, or if it shows gerry’s dreams or nightmares, because it’s over, and they couldn’t save alice. she starts the engine, and when i think she’s gonna drive off without mulder, he hops in. i bet that guilt that doctors feel when that cannot save a patient is even worse in her than in usual doctors, because she also has to deal with trying to rescue people from crime. :(

gerry is being taken in and photographed by the cops. but instead of a mugshot, when we see the picture, it’s the guy who was taking him in with a bullet hole in his head. oh! so that seems to confirm earlier suspicions on behalf of mulder. 

OH NO!! gerry reaches out and grabs the gun from the cop! NOOO! 

mulder points out that the image from that interaction showed the man shot in the head, but in reality, he was shot in his throat. so i guess it’s not based on reality as much as his intentions? sure, why not. and scully says there was a robbery at the pharmacy back where the very first photo was taken. no! our druggist friend!

gerry took all of the film in the store and a ton of drugs for more “twilight sleep”, which is a bad sign. i think i’ve seen this film before…

scully thinks that perhaps he was stalking his next victim at the construction site, and i’m thinking, girl i think he picked out his victim alright, but i don’t think she’s in the apartments.

mulder wants to wait a bit for his photo to come out. so he sends her to pull the car around and i’m screaming NO, NO, DON’T SEPARATE, NOT WITH A GUY ON THE LOOSE WHO LOOKED AT HER AND SAID “YOU LOOK TROUBLED” AFTER DOING 2 DIY LOBOTOMIES ON OTHER WOMEN AND KILLING 2 OTHER MEN! JUST WAIT A MINUTE AND WALK TO THE CAR TOGETHER!!!

but she cannot hear me….

NO! as she unlocks the car, a hand from beneath reaches out and pierces her foot with a needle NOOOO… and it’s gerry and she’s going down and NOOOOOO!!!!

AND MULDER PULLS THE PHOTO OUT TO FIND GERRY WAS THINKING OF SCULLY WHEN IT WAS TAKEN!

he is RUNNING after that car. despite his best efforts, even trackstar mulder is not as fast as a car, yet he follows her and screams her name regardless. until he realizes he will not win this race.

back at the police office, mulder is STARING at that photograph, the one showing scully being taken by these horrific creatures known as “the howlers”. he’s asking for any leads, including “does he have a summer house? a winter house?” which could be seen as desperation for answers or mulder being out of touch with how many people grew up with summer houses, take your pick.

OH! in gerry’s wallet was his father’s obituary. and his father was a dentist… and the name sounds german… 

so they go to his old dentist’s office, where they did an ad for the pain medicine cocktail he’s been cooking up. and mulder finds a footprint and a missing dentist’s chair. 

NO!! scully is in the dentist’s chair at some undisclosed location. waking up to find her arms and legs bound with a pick on the table and gerry in the distance. she’s watching him…. and she says to let her go. 

he begins his german ranting that has happened before the other lobotomies, and she… RESPONDS???? in clumsy german??? she says she has no unrest and doesn’t need saving, but he insists she does??? WHAT!!!

good on her for remembering some words after all those years :,)

he says everyone has some unrest, but especially her. she thinks she must remind him of his sister, and they talk about “the howlers”, who live inside your head, and make you say and do things you don’t mean.

so she turns the tables on this, and says maybe there are no such thing as howlers, and maybe he made them up to justify what his father did to his sister, which sets him off further. OH… so she thinks gerry attacking his father and his sister’s death were related. damn… that’s heavy

she tries to convince him that the “howlers” are just in HIS head, and no one else’s, as he approaches with a camera to try and prove they do exist. because cameras cannot lie!!

back at the dentist’s office, mulder appears to be losing it. mumbling about the 6 fingers the howler had in the photos, and yelling “WHY are there 6?” to no one in particular, as if he can find an answer through sheer willpower. one of the cops is asking him what to do while he looks at the obituary and counts five headstones…. and the father makes 6? sure, if that makes sense to you king!

they’re off to the graveyard while scully is still in a mystery location, with tears in her eyes as gerry shows her the photos he took. he takes the photos to mean he doesn’t have much time left, and tapes her mouth… and oh my gosh, i think of what would go down here if i knew she wasn’t gonna pull through… until gerry hears a tapping and MULDER IS LOOKING IN!! YES!!!

gerry is doing this in a camper van! by the graveyard!!! mulder is peeking in, sees a tooth keychain, and realizes she’s in there!!!! he’s yelling her name, and she’s yelling that she’s in here, while gerry tries to hold her down!!!

mulder’s BEATING on the window of the camper with his hands, and when that doesn’t work, he finds a giant metal pipe and SLAMS it into the window, goes in, and shoots gerry. this escalated quickly, but it was almost not quick enough.

mulder asks if she’s hurt, and neither of them say anything as she walks out, with mulder kneeling down to see that the last photos gerry had taken were of himself dead on the floor. it’s a terribly thick tension that reminds me of the ending to irresistible, but without the tension bursting like it did in that episode with her finally revealing her fear to him. i wish that she did it again this time. 

scully is doing the episode wrap up, sounding terribly solemn. she is reporting that gerry had written a diary intended as a letter for his father, including the list of the women he hoped to “save”. and her name is the last entry. she has no explanation for the photographs. but she empathized with him, which her survival depended upon.

“i see now the value of such insight. for truly to pursue monsters, we must understand them. we must venture into their minds. only in doing so, do we risk letting them venture into ours?” (said while there are tears in her eyes, as she looks at the photograph of her being pulled by the howlers)

WHAT THE HELL.

okay, so chris carter… you and i need to have some words. 

i have a lot of thoughts. perhaps number one: what if mulder had been 5 minutes later… can you imagine him never being able to cope with that….? oh my gosh. oh my gosh. no, i shan’t imagine. but i’m sure they both were imagining it. and that is probably why she couldn’t say anything as she walked out of the camper van. it was too horrific.

second. this was a dark one. i was giggling at first and then it got really dark. lobotomies… are a hard subject.

third. when the writers make the bad guy have a mental illness, i do feel it to be insulting, because we don’t often get a character where a guy with schizophrenia is just a guy doing normal things like working at the store or going to get his oil changed. no, he’s gotta be up to something nefarious. i wish that wasn’t the case and that these episodes didn’t use mental illness in that way, and i understand that things were kind of Like That in the 90’s and arguably still are in media, but it has been observed with distaste. 

okay, final thoughts? like i’ve said before, i believe in gender equality when it comes to kidnapping and rescuing, and i hope that will be evened out at some point. i understand that gerry had a fixation on women for his own personal reasons, but that’s the doyleist vs watsonian debate thing. and i want a 1:1 ratio on who goes about saving the day. although the ratio was uneven in s2, i’m not recalling the ratio from s3, and we’re 4 episodes into s4 with a 1:1 ratio. so i hope that overall, the entire series ratio evens out eventually. damsel in distress is gender neutral

i was actually really invested in this episode, probably because it let us look into scully deeper, and also because the stakes were high, the pacing fast, and the horror a new kind rather than a standard serial killer we get in a lot of episodes. 

but… while i appreciate that, i’m not sure i can say i enjoyed it, you know? because even a “scully speaks german” lore reveal cannot save me from the feeling of… something adjacent to fear? not horror as in “ahhh i’m so scared” but maybe a sort of horror as in “stop putting her into these fuckass situations, let my girl have a day off” and also a bit of terrible grief in knowing that lobotomies were a very real thing and did untold harm. and to be clear, i’m not saying that fact shouldn’t be explored and discussed, i just think that for me it seems to provoke some intense feelings that make me want some fluff. now. 

deliver it. to my door. as we speak. in fact, here is an incomplete list of things i want to read our agents doing in fanfiction form:

apple picking and apple cider sipping, hiking and sharing weird facts they know about the things they encounter (scully will be all “this type of spider has a unique silk production gland” and he’ll be all “this type of wildflower is used to induce hallucinogenic states” while they look at a pretty view), ice skating (can they ice skate? need to explore that), getting ice cream cones, a visit to the beach, decorating for various holidays, a very serious game night- perhaps uno or some sort of trivia where it turns into a real nerd-off, arguing over unsolved mysteries, more implications of them starting a family together if you feel bold and brave, even, but for those who like it more reserved we can just have an aquarium date, watching a meteor shower, scully attempting to understand his fascination with the various sports of the world by tagging along on an anthropological expedition to a knicks game with him, baking, movie theater trip, etc

well! i have gotten myself so enthused at the idea of them doing silly stuff like handing out halloween candy that i have forgotten all about my initial feelings, which shall surely resurface soon when i go through and edit my notes, but you’re gonna sit there and tell me you don’t want to play dolls in your head of them getting hot chocolate together? 

canon? what is canon? c’mere, kid. let’s daydream about them eloping without ever having the “what are we” conversation and ignore the suffering 

[poepill]

happy belated valentines day quodo upon thee! originally posted on ao3 for the quodo minifest, this was my valentines for @chacusha, who organized the event! i had a ton of fun drawing them and im definitely looking forward to next year <333

+ bonus art based on the comic by Kate Beaton, Javert is in Slash Fiction:

[didhewinkback]

chug

a something old blurb about the beer whale (whale beer?) (wheer?) (bhale?)

warning: slight smut at the end bc i know thats what the people come to see

---

“Just stand where I can see yeh’” was the request he mumbled into your hair before kissing you on the cheek and heading to the huddle, leaving you free to roam, beers in hand, determined to enjoy the show from a new vantage point, surrounded by the crew members you’ve gotten to know and love over the years. 

You spent the first half with Sandy and Sarah and the catering legends, giggling and dancing to the songs you all knew like the back of your hand at this point, locking eyes with him when he brought out Wet Leg, big smirk on his face as he sauntered up to the mic, eyes burning into yours while he sang one line of the chorus over and over, fire in his eyes when you sang it right back to him. 

You duck down to the front of the stage for the second half, ensuring the lads were well hydrated with water and beer alike, feeling like your heart was going to burst watching him have the time of his life on that stage. In utter disbelief at what the past two and half years have been for him and you both, watching him soar to new heights you always knew were possible but couldn’t imagine seeing play out in real time, the boy whose school band played at your 15th birthday party now singing to stadiums across the world, loving every second and being loved in return. 

He’s at his best when he’s up there, his big, open heart ripe for the taking, making the crowd of thousands feel like a small room of his closest friends, relishing in the attention, the screams, the insatiable energy, gratitude radiating out of every fiber of his being. It’s enough to make you weep when you think about it for too long, an impossible to articulate experience of watching the person you love most in this world achieve their dreams over and over again. 

It’s overwhelming, mind-blowing and also really fucking fun, you think, cheers-ing with the lads as you started another round of beer (it is the end of tour after all), watching as Harry runs across the stage, picking up his water bottle, poised for the classic whale, almost like clockwork. But this time, he pauses, doing a quick double take when he sees you down front with the crew. 

He gestures to your half drunk cup, ushering it towards him as you hold it up to the cheers of your group, Brad’s long arms aiding the transfer as Harry takes it from him and after smiling back at the band, downs it in one go, much to the delight of the lads. They’re goading him on, chanting his name, but everything whites out around you as all you can focus on is the way his throat moves, the beer that misses his mouth falling onto his naked chest, dripping down in a way that makes you feel warm all over. Never one to mind a messy face.

It’s over in seconds but feels like it went on for ages, a time bending effect he always seems to have on you. He winks at you before placing the cup down, facing the crowd fully as he spits it into the air, wide grin on his face as you all cheer before he runs to the other side of the stage.

It’s much later, after the final songs, the emotional thank yous, the celebratory post-show drinks on the beach with the whole crew, that you stumble into bed together, both a bit drunk off the booze and each other, burning up from one too many lingering stares across the party, whispered conversations about how good he looked up there, your beer all over him, his ripped chest gleaming in the spotlight. He’s pressing you into the mattress in record time, hands sliding all over your body as his lips leave their mark on your skin, breath catching at the never-ending stream of praise leaving your mouth as you get lost in each other, in this night, consumed by overwhelming pride and love and the carnal need to have each other close. 

“You’re proud of me, huh?” he grunts into your ear, hand sliding down your thigh to hike it up around his hip, the new angle making the both of you moan out loud. “Y’ love me?”

“Yes, H. Fuck. So much, I -”

“Want y’ to show me,” he says, voice deep in your ear as he smacks a kiss to your cheek, your temple, biting at your lips while his hands slide up your body, interlacing your fingers to hold your hands over your head, his chest sliding against yours. “Be my good girl and show me how proud y’ are, how much y’love me. Want to see it. Want to feel it. C’mon baby, show me -”

So you do. 

Again.

And again.

And again.

---

taglist:@tobesolovelysstuff, @louyoursins, @daydreamingofmatilda, @jojo-blog53, @marzhshaim, @devilsqueen722, @just-happiness-only,@lomlhstyles, @feestyles, @spock4presidnet, @sunshinemoonsposts, @indierockgirrl, @jerseygirlinca, @kissitnhekitchen, @goldnrry,

[harrytheehottie]

LOOKING BACK (a snapshot of moments in harry’s pov)

Harry woke up from a nightmare. Or maybe it wasn’t a nightmare, just a really vivid dream. Whatever it was. He was now up in the middle of the night. The private plane was still above the Atlantic Ocean. Harry tapped on the screen on the seat in front of him. The map of the plane's journey, only three and a half hours left until he’s back home. He couldn’t wait.

The last few months, honestly years of his life have felt out of his control. He spent a year working on an album that he was only able to promote for three months before the entire world shut down and he was unable to leave Los Angeles for months although it felt like years after day 14 of living in the same house as his friends. He loved them but he was going crazy. So, he did what he always does in moments of crazy, he called up his friends Tom and Tyler, booked the studio in Malibu for a month and got all his emotions out for his next album.

And then. His life went a little like this.

Album. Movie. Relationship. Grammy. Another Movie. Tour. Album. More Tours. More Tours. Another Tour. Breakup. More Tours. Final Round? Yes. Done.

And now, he was three and a half hours from the one place he wanted to be most.

With you.

Harry has always thought the ‘you’ll find love where you least expect it’ was a cliche. He was always set up somehow or just happened to be in an environment where a relationship may naturally occur for most. He was single for the first time in a long time and didn’t want anything serious. His focus was finishing up the tour - the only date in his mind was July 22, 2023. The last time he would be on stage for at least a full year.

And then, one late night when he was in bed somewhere in Asia he found himself tapping through Instagram stories. He was on a strict schedule and wasn’t one to party during tour - unless it was a very special occasion. And he was letting himself have a few more of those doing his days off. But tonight, he was in bed with some music documentary in the background as he tapped through Instagram.

A picture of his old classmates' new child. A selfie. A picture of the sunset on the beach. A repost about the ‘Sunday Scaries’. And then a video of one of his friends from back home in London at a party of some sort. Something was telling him to linger on these next few slides. He recognized some faces. London was a fairly small city and when you’ve lived there for a little over a decade - it gets smaller and smaller. He hasn’t seen you around. He replayed the same 15 second video over and over again. He was mesmerized by the way your bright smile and shy laugh cut through the video even though you weren’t the center of attention. Your presence is what got him to go back to the story over and over again.

He thought about messaging the mutual friend. His thumb hovering over the ‘send a message’ button at the bottom of the screen. Would it be too full on? Too desperate? What would you think? It’s the tricky part about being himself. He doesn’t want to come off too full on and confident. Maybe he thinks he should try to sleep on it. But something keeps making him go back to that story, over and over and over again. So, he does the second best thing. He sends a text to the friend who posted the story - asking them to hangout when he’s back home and introduce you to him.

&&

When Harry first met you, he swore it felt straight out of a movie. He was a romantic. He always has been that way. His therapist thinks it comes from growing up solely around women and watching his parents separate. You long for the things you didn’t have or something like that. But he knows that this, whatever he is feeling is different. His friend did him a favor and instead of just inviting solely you to hangout, he had a game night at his house. Harry was nervous the entire day, unable to figure out what to wear, how to style his hair, if he should arrive on time or a little late. He was working himself up so much he almost had to call his older sister, Gemma to help him get ready but decided not to. He didn’t want to involve anyone just yet. So, he put on an outfit he’s worn dozens of times before. A blue button down and some black trousers, ran his hands through his hair a few times and headed out the door.

The minute he made it to his friend's apartment. He swore he heard your voice. The laugh that was replaying from that same fifteen second clip. He felt his desire to be near you grow stronger throughout the night. It was almost embarrassing. The way he was so desperate for your attention. Every smile and laugh you shared felt like another success under his belt. He really liked you and needed you to know that. So, when you finally sat next to him during a game of charades, Harry decided to do something. You were both engaged in the game happening right in front of you. Everyone was. Which gave Harry an opportune time to lay back on the couch and move his right hand from his own leg to yours. He had his hand on your thigh right above the knee. He could almost feel his body tensing up and getting red as seconds went by without a reaction from you.

He felt like he was holding his breath in. Until, you also began to slowly lean back on the couch. Smiling at Harry the same way he knew he was looking at you. A shy laugh between the two of you and you stayed like that through the majority of the night. The game night was useless because he got what he initially came for.

And damn did he feel very lucky.

&&

Your first date started off not well. Harry planned to take you to one of his favorite restaurants which ended up being closed for maintenance. He was scrambling for another location and settled on a picnic in the park. You talked for hours about everything. Where you’ve from, what brought you to London, your favorite things to do. And Harry was intently listening to every detail asking questions he never did before. He really wanted this to work out. The feeling of that pull towards you growing the more you spoke.

By date number four, he was already thinking of asking you to be his girlfriend. You were walking back to the car after a nice meal at your favorite hole in the way Chinese restaurant. To some it would be too soon, honestly, to himself a few months ago it would feel too soon. But right now, on this walk back to the car, after sharing endless amounts of dumplings and feeling like your conversation was effortless, he knew he wanted to bottle this feeling up and experience it every single day for as long as you’d allow him.

So, he did something that the two of you laugh about now.

You were a couple feet from the car when Harry stopped dead in his tracks. And as soon as you realized he wasn’t still walking beside you and you turned around to see what he was up to. He was about to kneel down on one knee.

“What are you doing?” You asked immediately, laughing at the situation he put you in. He didn't know it at the time but there was a tiny part of you that thought this was something he always did.

“I know this is crazy.” Harry began to speak, “and we’ve only been seeing each other for a couple of months…”

“Are you going to propose to me because I’ve not run away after date number two?” Harry loved how much shit you gave him. “But seriously you need to stand up before people think you’re being serious.”

“Okay okay,” he slowly got up, “I was going to say that… you can tell me if it’s too soon or too early but if I could’ve asked you this back when we first met I would’ve…”

You had a puzzled look on your face. He knows the face now, you pull it when you’re unsure, hesitant.

“Will you be my girlfriend?”

[napping-sapphic]

Love is so freaky and messed up to the point that sometimes i do wish and hope SO badly that no one ever has to suffer being in love with me specifically because it honestly sounds absolutely unbearable

[hauntingblue]

making a collection

making another collection with a threatening aura

[friendlyneighbourhoodelf]

(reposting this bc i changed the title and it’s annoying me)

anyways, tragic codywan !!! (im very excited about this <3)

summary -

When he’d mentioned his observation to Obi-Wan, the Jedi had flushed, his eyes darting away from Cody’s. Eventually, with composure that Cody knew was desperately maintained, he’d said, “How could I not stare, my dear? You’re so incredibly beautiful.”

He’d struggled for words for some time after, wanting desperately to repay the compliment, to give shape to his own adoration. In the end, he’d only managed to smile, to press Obi-Wan’s fingers against his lips in a gentle kiss.

Obi-Wan had smiled though, a wonderful thing that warmed Cody’s very heart as he gazed upon it. He’d known, in that moment, that he was understood.

They had remained there for some time, caught in the lull of peace and soft emotion. It did not last, of course. The war continued.

Cody and Obi-Wan fall in love during the war. They hope for a time afterwards that they can truly explore their feelings, yet this time never arrives. They're in love, it's not enough to save them.

[genius2mania]

Finally complete! Years ago, this idea started from a tumblr post and discord convo. I've been stuck on this story months on end, but it never let me go - and somehow turned into this: J/7 with a twist.

What if Seven gets sent back in time just after she's killed Narissa - disrupting the events leading up to the Admiral's arrival? What will her younger counterpart do in the face of her future self? And how will the Captain react?

[okalanissolis]

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ

ᴀ ᴄᴇʟᴇꜱᴛɪᴀʟ ᴍᴀꜰɪᴀ ᴀ.ᴜ.

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

ʙᴇꜰᴏʀᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴘᴀꜱᴛ ɪꜱ ᴄᴏɴꜱɪᴅᴇʀᴇᴅ ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ . . .

pt. ii | | series masterlist

focus on: muni sarang (diane meunier), choi san, & song deokhee word count: ~4.6k warnings: language, intermittent Lore Dumping™, mentions of violence, occasional graphic imagery, mentions of semi-main character death, Even More Gods Are Introduced and i think that is lovely

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) ɪꜱ ɪɴᴄʟᴜᴅᴇᴅ ᴀᴛ ᴛʜᴇ ᴇɴᴅ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

lilo's mic: still knee deep in history but with more character introductions! i think at some point i might do a character recap page where i can offer some quick stats about the character's strengths and role, but idk if it would be helpful or just another way that i Procrastinate™ — let me know your thoughts !

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭

⌜ my girl pinched my hips to see if i still exist / i think not ⌟

ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖

— ʜᴀᴇᴍᴏ ᴘᴏʀᴛ was the main harbour of hoku city. home to the oldest and most robust working port on the island, the leeward side of the city was often referred to as haemopu side — an amalgamation of the names ʜᴀᴇᴍᴏꜱᴜ, the god of light and namesake of haemo port; and ᴋᴀᴘᴜ: sacred, taboo, forbidden. it was an unspoken rule that the shadows that danced on haemopu side were all puppets of that power known as serpens, and if you saw their strings or witnessed their plays, you would keep quiet, or your days were numbered — your gift from samgong through.

— still, haemo port was vast and wide, and business had to keep. it wasn't particularly bad luck to be a shop stationed near haemo port: there was so much foot traffic there, so many lives crossing back and forth, still hungry to survive; the best of money could be found for those who dared haemopu and kept their sight where it belonged — out of their eyes and in the open hands of hoku — or so the urban prayer went.

to the untrained eye, haemo port and ʜᴀᴇꜱᴜ ꜱᴛʀᴇᴇᴛ (the road that led to the devouring mouth of it) were the same as any other harbour on the island: only slightly more complicated than the sum of their intricately stacked, labyrinthine parts; bathed in light by enormous streetlamps so that when the sun went down, the majesty of ʀᴀᴋᴇᴛᴜ, night, couldn't be the refuge with which spirits attempted to thwart demons. but the fangs of some serpents still found their venomous purchase, and the storefronts along haesu street were often just that — fronts. legitimate stores, but facades for things still sinister, sliding their way through the waters, encircling your world, whole.

— on the furthest place inland haesu street ever went, there was an old business complex that had stood so long the original signage was lost and along with it, the precedent name. haemo complex, haesu park, haemo plaza, haemopu ether — old things have many names, and in legend, the many named becomes gods. inside the six story building, shops and establishments checked in and out like aimless souls in a graveyard: some lingered, some faded, some lasted the test of time.

on the first floor of haesu complex stood a taekwondo studio.

next to it, an indoor shooting range.

— we start this story with the taekwondo studio — the dojang, where mountains go to be edified and pupils to be fortified. eventually, we will open the door to see what is made with bullets and loose gunpowder, but for now, we take an abrupt turn right, through the third set of doors on the ground floor.

ᴄʜᴏɪ ᴊᴇᴏɴɢᴄʜᴇᴏʟ, father of one, was the owner of the modest studio: a stern man with a compassionate underbelly, a fourth dan black belt and the first sabeom — teacher — to enter the business complex. in the early days, when he was newly teaching and the world was more cruel and wanton than it ought, he orchestrated and ran illegal fights in the backmost part of his dojang. necessity begged it; life forced his unwavering hand. he'd never been proud, but he stood in his choices steadfast, and if you only saw the whole of him from an angle upturned and below, it seemed the might of him was his honor, unmarred.

dealing in entertainment and prestige, jeongcheol made ends meet in the evening to bring necessities and opportunity to his wife and newborn son at dawn, and by noon, instill dreams in the children that called him sabeom, center of their budding confidence.

when the serpens found out about his midnight habits, they paid a prompt price for front row tickets. by the end of the evening, jeongcheol's rental payments were moved to an account more reliable, and his small family moved out of the back office space and into one of the apartments that sat on the fifth and sixth floors. in exchange, the fights would persist on a grander scale at a more regular schedule ad infinitum, and the serpens would get their due cut.

jeongcheol always knew that this favor would amount to more debt, in the future, but for the security he was promised, in this blood oath? for the advantage and chance he could bestow upon his son? if it were shortsighted and misguided — this business deal with the serpent of the sky — then forgive him, but omniscience was simply the name of his city, not the power in his mind.

— and as san, his darling boy, grew from jeja to seonbae and in the course of time, sabeom all his own — a 3rd dan black belt and the pride of jeongcheol's world — the price of a demon's mercy became ever clearer, crystalizing into the certainty of future: law.

— it was in that very dojang, after all, that jeongcheol added to his myriad of students two young girls: diane and soyeon, dawn and dusk. jeja diane, a student named wisdom, took early to sparring with san, never minding that the younger always won, ever scheming to learn from a protégé's skill.

when san was chosen to be the demon heir's protector, it wasn't a matter of surprise or honor, simply that of providence.

and san was dignified by it, at any rate.

— only ever envisioning an inherited taekwondo studio for himself, a modest future but fulfilling dream, san's world expanded at the hands of diane — and his dojang, while still being the center of all his tethered existence, was a future now shared. ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ, a pupil and friend, would aid him in handling the fights in the backmost part all of his father's hope and shame, an eternal rite, the sisyphean promise the choi family would never complete.

— jeongcheol had slowly backed away from the uglier side of his business as he aged into complacency and fatigue, and san had taken up the mantle in his place. now, sin would beget sin and shackled to the serpens would be yet another soul.

yeo was clear that he didn't mind.

already one foot into corruption, what was one more leg?

— he'd been cleaning up bruises from betting fights and broken limbs from shadow duels for years. he'd sewn flesh together the way others might knit tenderness and virtue, goodness and love.

every dojang needed it's medic. and every medic needed his charge.

— this was merit enough, for the both of them. respect for san in being trusted with something on which the whole of the underworld revolved; prestige for yeosang in the power inherent of a ruling head of a domain long standing, and in it's ancience, revered.

and watching them both, once the hand that led them deep into the mouth of something ravenous, still, stood choi jeongcheol, left wondering when security was no longer security — a promise no longer words of honor.

ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— diane had asked him to disappear, again.

— it was never an explicit demand, not since the first time, when she'd been following the tail of a banker and realized it would be so much easier to approach him if she were just a woman and not a daughter, held.

the nameless banker had decided he no longer wished to be a pigeon fed from an opened hand but a raven shot out of the sky, the shiny things he stole slipping from his traitor beak and landing back into the hand of the power that wielded the shotgun evermore.

— "you're intimidating, san." and it hadn't been her words or the command in her eye so much as it was a shift in her being — sarang to diane, veracity to something mutable and ever brewing. "i need to ensnare him..."

and he'd slipped away, taken her half-cue and was already gone.

— if the demon of hoku knew how often diane asked him to slip away, san was sure the mythic ernest would be none too pleased. it takes half a second for malignance to seize you in hoku city, and only a fraction of that if you're particularly inclined. of course, san was never far, and sarang more competent than what the wills of well meaning fathers offered her, but it would be more than just san's immortal soul on the line if something befell her and he were at all still breathing.

but it was always sarang's eyes that sought for the mercy of him, in the hairbreadth turn of her infinitesimal micro-expression, the graceful warp into something so unseen it were all but hidden to eyes that were any less devoted than his. and it was never a question because she would never need to ask; he'd learned to read the depths of her during sparring sessions in a dojang made of his youth and all his tomorrow. once, he'd crafted alongside her the armor that was so much a second skin, there were barely any joints or seams that one could rub the pad of their thumb along.

he'd seen her, then, and so he always knew.

— and that's how he found himself here, again. vanished from a spot he said he'd always defend: dematerialized, because bang chan had come to call.

— or so diane let the boy think. she'd found chan first, weeks before this encounter he'd name 'chance' or 'fate'. it had been simple to learn his routine and easier to insert herself in it. a coffee shop he always walked past. her new favorite window seat. a position so comfortable it looked as though it had always been.

and so they talked; this woman neither diane nor sarang, crafting a life by degrees of admission, chan warming to the gentle flame of her lies so that eventually, perhaps, knowledge of him would melt, secrets in him slip between them, in this place behind glass, warm between cups of untouched coffee.

not even san would hear the things chan would reveal in his adventurous, half-flirtatious speech. the thought often made the black belt's heart skid — his resolve stutter — but the bulk of him never wavered. he was a mountain and summits never crumbled; their might certainly never moved.

and that simple conflict of interest was something his friends never failed to entertain, and in mocking, enjoy.

— ᴅᴇᴏᴋʜᴇᴇ, twin sister of ᴡᴏᴏʏᴏᴜɴɢ and the one-minute younger half of their expert gunman team, was the one to first discover san's internal battle, having joked about his affection for diane from his sabeom days at the dojang. first, a true baseless joke, then overtime, a comfortable uncomfortability for san as it grew in truth and size.

san and his diane; no one loved their work the way san did; if san could marry duty he would.

— if he wasn't always looking at deokhee down the barrel of her sniper rifle, he just might knock some humility into her near prophetic teasing and her twin's identical shit eating grin.

but what was he to do when she was, in part, always right?

— sarang laughed at something chan said, and diane reached out to touch his shoulder with the soft of her hand. san turned his gaze, somehow half guilty, and that's when he saw the ephemera of a shadow he should not have.

what was kim hongjoong doing all the way here?

— first order of business would be to pull sarang from the place at which she stood. second would be to see just who the informant whisperer was that hongjoong strove to meet. third would be to evaluate just where that placed this puppet-master of secrets in the ever turbulent waters of organization and fealty — obeisance and axis.

— san was standing in front of her in the coffee shop before the shadow had ever truly dissipated — before any of the prior thoughts had fully formed in his mind.

sarang was good at smoothing her own confusion and concern, and playing the part of the innocent and sheltered. she huffed a convincing sigh and muttered something about a father that, overprotective, cut her time with this young officer short, and san caught the thrown word of 'cousin' like a fire-hot, thousand pound and ever-burning coal.

so that's how she'd explained his presence to chan.

— when she knew she'd almost been caught in the act by hongjoong, sarang swore.

— ʜᴏɴɢᴊᴏᴏɴɢ was a member of the serpens syndicate, and had, since the death of byeonghwa, been the watchful eye that extended past the confines of hoku city. loyal to the demon — a horkos made potent in the poignance of a blood debt — hongjoong was trusted... so far as anyone could be reliable, in this city that ate you whole, in these times that twisted the sinew of your very heart. at any rate, he was an informant of ernest, and while not one nearly as volatile as soyeon, still convoluted in intent.

he would be interested — perhaps even moreso curious than san, who daily burned all of his inquisition and steadfast resolve near through — as to what the demon heir was doing out here, in the pristine half of hoku city, talking with an officer that would just as soon as imprison her, if he knew even a fraction of the atrocities and moral impurities she ordered and aided, abetted and carried out.

— of course, even if hongjoong were to ask, sarang would never tell.

— not even with san, himself, did sarang reveal her true intentions in this business involving newly minted officer bang chan, a rookie at some few years post-graduation, an acquaintance turned friend from their first windfall encounter. not even with san, who knew the verity of sarang and had cherished her humanity from it's first appearance, did she let any information slip, a single hint pass.

he'd look into her eyes and unexpectedly, a wall was there — a guardedness of which he'd never known. she was no longer forthright about all possibilities with him. her thoughts were not so easily read, her want not so readily known.

— but that was not the worry that had the jaw with which to gnaw at san. not yet, anyway. not when hongjoong was surreptitiously on the same path as them, in a place where neither was colloquially seen (his informant hadn't been anyone of note, and so the consequence of his gained knowledge that day couldn't have been much, but one could never be complacent, if they wished to thrive).

— not when soyeon was unhappy, and sarang was the fool to not believe it.

— not when ernest, kingpin of terror, chessmaster of the underworld and ruler of hoku city, was mired in that slow changing-of-hands and place of gentle retreat where all of his speech was about the hand of iku, that terrify in the weight of dying.

the death of a demon was always a wounded threat that demanded first redress.

— it had started, in part, with the death of byeong-hwa. what was a king, after all, when his sworn shield had fallen? what menace was left in a monster, when his right hand was rotting, 6 feet below? the monsoon season would come, and a sickness would plague ernest along with the rain. jangma was the will of bada — the monsoon season the cursing volition of the sea. it was divine law, in some ways, that bada would claim her vengeance on hoku by taking it's epicenter and sweeping it's fortune and prosperity into her tumultuous seas, but it was still too soon, and thus, a secret well hidden.

no one in the serpens outside of the few remaining elders that sat at the demon's table, byeong-hwa's only daughter, his heir, and his warded nephew knew of the state of ernest's true mind.

the tides were swelling, the ground was saturating; bada was clambering toward the city, and at the time least affordable, the cracks between sarang and soyeon's friendship and intertwined lives deepened to a schism, with roots on either side, blooms torn apart, thorns tearing stem like gnashing teeth devouring flesh.

— when it rains, it pours, and in jangma, the storms were violent and unending; when bada raged, all the gods hovered close to witness her torrential price.

— "i'll tell ʏᴜɴʜᴏ." when they were haemopu side, diane turned to san, the silence between them broken, the confidence that always held in it's place perhaps worse for wear, if either of them had the resolve to mention it. "he'll have some clever way to spin hongjoong off our track - if he even saw anything in the first place."

— san nodded: just once, a jerky motion that left this world still buzzing, a dull, low whine.

yunho, sarang's cousin, was a close confidant of theirs. he moved into the serpens complex when he was 17. some commonplace tragedy left him with a want in the pit of his belly, and ever since the breaking down of all that tied sarang to soyeon and night to the dawining day, he had played the role of strategist and pragmatic advisor to his cousin — a safer, less volatile option for diane to pick, considering soyeon had always been her council, former.

— diplomats need their advisors; conmen require their marks. diane had a necessity for yunho and a plan for bang chan, and of course, they would be dealt with first. san was just a bodyguard, and in this way, he'd always known his place. but favor had a way of lead to want, and if he tended to that fire, it could always lick its way past his defenses and consume him whole.

— sarang blinked, and the change pulled san from his thoughts the way it always would. born to serve, her movements were what he'd been shaped to read. "i guess i'll tell hermes that you stood him up for yunho again, when it's time for your 13:00 date and you don't show."

— sarang laughed at that, warm and clear, almost chasing away the mist that had gathered all through the day, at choice intervals and expected alleyways, thickening to the obscurity of fog. hermes was sarang's greyhound — the puppy she'd once found when younger but crowned wise. she never had taken him to the serpens complex, where he could be socialized with the dobermans she'd cared for most her life. instead, san took him in — an act of kindness she never stopped praising him for, never quite forthright about her reasoning but offering just enough to where he was satisfied.

"tell the twins when you see them i need to have a word."

ꜱᴇᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ꜱᴛɪʟʟ ᴇxɪꜱᴛ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ ᴄᴏɴᴛ.

— the shop never had a name: just a wordless sign in the shape of a generic gun scope: the focus for an eye you'd never look into as you took your final, heaving breath.

the shooting range, the eye, akita's place, the final shop on the ground floor of haemo plaza.

— every child who'd ever touched a gun — any soul who had enough of some small mercy they had the fire to protect it in this heaving city — had, at some point, entered the shooting range that sat haemopu side. established longer than jeongcheol's dojang, but having changed hands at around the same time, the shooting range was owned by a woman named ᴀᴋɪᴛᴀ — ex-military but dishonorably discharged, a mother of twins, and simultaneously warm yet cold: distant, but always manning her station.

it was only natural that, sharpshooter of her squad, akita had taught her children to shoot from the moment their hands had the strength to thumb a trigger.

eyes bred to look at you through the barrel of a firearm, hearts trained to see the liberation at the end of a mission and none of the causalities between. akita took her twins, cradle of her future, and gave them all the skills she broke skin and bruised knuckle to hone. they would never have to struggle, because they would be born with skilled gift. they would have the freedom of honor, because no training would mar their resolve.

— at first, the shooting range was only that which sat within the four walls in the ground floor of that complex. but slowly it expanded: the back property, accessed through the side entrance, narrow but deep, for single sessions with moving targets; the abandoned lot near the docks that akita had come into possession of by chance and was appraising for sale until her daughter showed an aptitude for long range and a spark to pursue it.

before long, what was modest expanded, and with an open mouth, devoured until engorged. the shooting range was well known. beloved. conspicuous. exactly the sort of place one would expect to find a doorway into the depths of a now illegal, though still legitimate syndicate, and therefore, a place where they could never be found. in reverence and renown, akita secured a safe haven for her children, a place where they could rest without the fear of being poached.

two doors down, the serpens paid a lease, but here, in the four walls she maintained, they could never sink in their teeth.

but fate was the domain of samgong, and mischief the trait of hoku, and here, in a city where the presence of gods were only so strong because they were so ceaselessly revered, the two powers often conspired to thwart the dreams of those who dared trying, and those whose complacency masqueraded as crown.

— wooyoung, the older of the twins, was the impulsive to deokhee's passion. touched by caprice, drowning in compulsion — akita whispered into his ear as he grew up, tickling the soft skin hidden there, that he was born the same star sprite as hoku: before he became the omniscient eye, back when he was nameless, and his fervency was tried by the test of his father's tedium. in constant motion, neverending activity: "make no deals with iku, listen not to the obligation of horkos. you are a star, you belong to nothing but your own burn."

— deokhee, of course, was the fire burning her older brother brighter, still, the combustion in his path that kept him from apathy, that saw all his visions through. ᴇɴᴊɪ, her mother would call her, the fire god born into flesh. the ardor, the devotion, the commitment deepening to obsession, the dedication to wooyoung's whims, the conviction in her twin brother's mania. akita adored her daughter's fervency, fanned the flames of her exuberance never quenched. "shackle yourself to no one, my enji, you are not meant to be contained. never turn in on yourself; find a direction to incinerate: you are meant to set this world ablaze."

— avoiding flirtation with the fetters of the serpens was an unspoken request from akita, a desire never plainly raised. if she had been wiser (if she saw all too clearly the way serpents rise to challenge and adaptable, warp their venom to something honey-sweet) perhaps akita would have been more explicit in her demands, exact in all she envisioned and prayed to conspire. but it seemed an evident requirement, a moral anchored deep and in it's inevitability, made potent and strange.

"you are made for more," she had always told them.

but what can be done when your only framework of 'more' and 'greater' is the gunpowder residue of a superior weapon?

— once, akita built her children into crook of a firearm. ever after, they would know mostly it's bitter taste.

— none of this is to say, however, that the twins were a tragedy and their penchant something acrid, lead.

— deokhee was bottled excitement and effervescent joy in every task, and wooyoung the kind of gregarious that surrounded him with enthusiastic friendship and kindred brotherhood in every space he ventured to grace.

— and ᴛʜᴇ ʟᴜᴍɪɴᴀʀʏ was one of those third spaces that wooyoung and deokhee frequented most.

a serpens owned establishment: an electricity plant on the edge of town, with hidden rooms that opened into dark things that could only hide in the shadow of a generator as massive as that which fueled a never-blinking city. the luminary was one of the largest holes in the wall that the serpens ran. there, you could order any sin you could pay the ferryman to usher you to.

(so long as you were in the right room, of course. the serpens liked to keep their messes orderly.)

— the twins mostly frequented the rooms with standard bar fare. alcohol, dance, betting and games of chance, fisticuffs when more than just spirits hit you square in the jaw after one freedom too many. a common enough vice with a burgeoning sea of acquaintances and a militia of contacts and friends. it was here, in the pale of haemosu's light — all the glare they could harness but never reach — that the twin's sociability spun a web that was never meant to entrap them, but still made them the perfect players for a serpent game.

after all, it was in the luminary that the twins aligned themselves with the ꜱᴘɪɴᴇ ʙʀᴇᴀᴋᴇʀ ʙɪᴋᴇʀꜱ.

a group of criminals and delinquents that rode through ꜱᴋɪᴛ — the next door neighbor of hoku city, and the border at which the serpens let their needles halt. the serpens owned hoku, and every gang and group of would-be hopefuls that they'd long run out had taken up station in skit and brawled it out, there. a neighboring city was of no consequence to the serpens as long as they spilled blood on their rightful side of the fault line, and the spine breakers were a fairly established group that worked their own city and only occasionally crossed the borders of hoku — careful to always show their deference and pay their dues. they were a infrequent though to some familiar face in the luminary on nights when the moon hung low, mostly to work deals with the mercenaries for hire in the back, and always to chase a drink alongside the twins.

ᴊᴜɴɢᴋᴏᴏᴋ was their closest companion of the lot, and if his drink of choice was an expected usual, and his uninspired flirtation with deokhee an affectionate and comfortable aside, then the night would be warm and the luminary waitstaff would make better money in tips than they had all month.

— and it was precisely that friendship with jungkook (and perhaps their closeness with san, though why make complicated something already written by fate?), that brought the twins to the serpens those aging years ago.

it had been hongjoong, newly syndicate minted, that noticed these two sparrows who somehow seemed to know everyone he had been keeping his thousand eyes on, and dared to ask himself what use could come with knowing their names.

it had been simple, after, for seonghwa to convince him that wooyoung was the easier approach, and for soyeon to cast the die on his fate.

(but that had been years ago: before the breaking down of factions, before suspicion and envy cast shadows that demons new not how to play, before ties were cut like marionette strings, and seonghwa and soyeon became a duo, and hongjoong, far enough from the barrel to not yet choose how to align, had to keep his ideas in his breast pocket and his lies tucked beneath his tie.)

— in the end, the twins were brought into the serpens because their connections would open doors that had no keys. it was through wooyoung and deokhee that the serpens greedy left hand reached into the heart of skit and, with an emboldened and wanting jungkook, staged a coup and installed this friend as the spine breaker's acting head.

ever after, the bikers would be in debt of the might of hoku, and in perpetuity, there would be scouts and reinforcements should there be need of aid from a distance.

— it was simply providence that the twins would have use beyond their sociability and want. it was the work of that ever mischievous hoku that in a chance encounter and a single ploy, diane was gifted with the two best marksman the city could afford.

danger, of course, in the single-minded passion of deokhee and the brilliant, aimless apathy of wooyoung, but when combined together (and wooyoung under the threat of the only one he swore obeisance to: san), they were a power more than their arsenal, a weapon greater than their might and distant reach.

— when san found the two of them sitting on his couch, deokhee knuckle deep in affectionate rubs for hermes, wooyoung eating noodles out of the pot, on his pinky swinging the apartment's spare key ("for emergencies," san had said, and pointedly handed it to deokhee), there was less a reaction of disappointment or surprise, and more an acceptance that at least this way, the message would be easily delivered, in brevity, made sweet.

"diane's calling."

⌖ ๋࣭ ⭑♚₊🗡 ๋࣭ ᴏɴʟʏ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ ᴋɪɴɢ ᴀɢᴀɪɴ ๋࣭🗡₊♚⭑ ๋࣭⌖ pt. ii | | series masterlist

ᴛᴄᴅᴜ (ᴛᴏᴏ ᴄᴏɴᴠᴏʟᴜᴛᴇᴅ, ᴅɪᴅɴ'ᴛ ᴜɴᴅᴇʀꜱᴛᴀɴᴅ) :

1 - jeongcheol, san's father, used to run a taekwondo studio. because times were hard, he ran illegal fights in the back of his dojang, and when the serpen's found out, they co-opted his business and expanded it. as he got older, he passed down his dojang to san, who now works as the bodyguard of diane. because of his busy schedule, he co-manages the dojang with yeosang, the medic of the taekwondo studio.

2 - the taekwondo studio is situated on haesu street in an unnamed work-live complex often referred to as haemo plaza. on the same floor as the dojang there is an unnamed shooting range, owned by akita, the mother of twin gunman for the serpens deokhee and wooyoung. akita does not know of her children's affiliation with the syndicate and would disapprove if she knew.

3 - san, deokhee, and wooyoung are all friends are are closely allied with diane. diane is also close allies with yunho, her cousin and strategist council after her falling out with soyeon has deepened in the past few years (there has been a vague multi-year time skip from pt. i to pt. ii).

4 - ernest, kingpin of the serpens, is currently dying. it is a well kept secret - but not from soyeon, who diane fears will use this knowledge opportunistically. recently, diane has been keeping many secrets from even her closest confidant, san, especially regarding her consistently visiting officer bang chan, trying to weasel from him secrets... but about what?

5 - hongjoong is a member of the serpens with many secrets and many informants. diane is unsure if, in the power vacuum created after ernest's death, if he will show loyalty towards her or soyeon, and so she is wary of what he knows, when he was in the area as she was meeting up with bang chan.

6 - hongjoong was the one to originally recruit twins deokhee and wooyoung, because they have many contacts in hoku and neighboring cities - notably jungkook, now leader of a biker gang in the neighboring city named skit.

7 - diane has a mission for deokhee and wooyoung heretofore lacking details or rhyme.

now onto pt. iii . . .

[spinogreen0iq]

challenge: treat your/a human child like a person

Difficulty: Impossible

[thisismeracing]

hi friend, you still have the potential to be sued here in the US, even if you’re not using images. That’s a big part of why authors likes Anna Todd, scrubbed After (with all references to Harry’s name) from the internet when she started charging for it and before any publication would take an interest. (Before anyone comes for me, I’m sure the original has been saved by some third part somewhere. This is the internet after all. But the point remains if she were to be sued, she is able to claim that she did her due diligence by removing any and all content with any reference to Harry Styles from the internet BEFORE she received any payment.) The US is currently starting to crack down on copyright and intellectual property infringement. In large part due to the fact that so many people have received huge payouts over the last ten years. Unfortunately they’re not choosing to go after the ones that have actually gotten rich from the issue. And while the drivers might not care. Their management most certainly will. If you’re choosing to charge for your fiction it might be best to at the very least change names so you might have some form of deniability.

this was an interesting ask, thanks for the heads up again!

I'm not trying to go against your word, but rather wondering about the topic myself because it seems to me it's a huge gray area, so feel free to reach me on my private messages or on anon again if you want. But speaking about Anna Todd, technically she could still be sued even after scrubbing Harry's name from the story because there was still proof on the internet that it was a story about him, if we're talking about defamation it doesn't need to involve the monetization aspect, it's still defamation without it. This would mean that ANY RPF fanfiction is illegal and could be sued (which is not necessarly the case because theres the whole fair use thing).

We're talking about huge payouts, but I'm getting less than fifty dollars a month with Patreon lol would their team really come for me (a poor grad student) on behalf of a billionaire for getting less than fifty dollars a month to help pay school and medical bills? this would need a huge pr work too to make them seem good after doing something so crazy like this.

Talking about defamation, let's say I change names, but this Tumblr would still be up and everything else would easily show that it's about pilot X, this could still be considered illegal because you can tell who it is about. The reason why nobody comes for rpf is because 1) the money people are talking about is just a few bucks most of the time, and 2) it's exactly this real people's FICTION, there's not much to talk about defamation of a worldwide artist when the content you're sharing is for a nich of less than one hundred people, it's not reasonable. I haven't found a past decision about something similar in the US court, if there is, please send it in, but other than that it's a huge speculation thing in my head, which only a judge could clarify.

Patreon and monetizing fanfiction is quite common in fandoms like Chris Evans', for example, and I haven't seen anything legal come from it yet. again because it's unreasonable for those artists to go after their own fans for taking less than a hundred dollars in content that clearly sets a fictional character that just happens to look and have the same name as them because more often than not it's set in an alternative universe.

[angeart]

What's your favorite trope to read in fanfic?

hi! i thinkkk my favourites would be hurt/comfort (shocking, i know), slow burn, found family, and anything that kind of deals with trauma.

[hollandsangel]

i haven’t written any stories in so long, but it’s still my favourite way to digest my emotions!! so here have this thing!!

- - -

he had her pressed up against the brick wall. the stone was cold and the air was colder, but there was something comforting about it. the familiarity of the bar, of his hands climbing up underneath her cable knit sweater, the one she wore the night he walked her home from this same pub. his breath was warm against her mouth and his hair slipped easily under the tips of her frigid fingers.

his thumb pressed up against the underwire of her bra. he’d taken it off of her so many times, slid it down her shoulders and arms until she was on display for him, flooded by lamp light in his bedroom.

it was then when her breath hitched and she dipped her head, pulling away from the warm cradle of his mouth.

he looked at, her downward cast gaze.

“we can’t” she said it so softly, so unsure.

he waited for her, for an explanation.

“i never stopped wanting you,” she admitted, her words slow and controlled, as if she was trying to stop her voice from breaking. “it would be so unfair, b-because it wouldn’t be just sex to me,” she sniffled. he hadn’t dropped his hands.

“i’m—i’m sure you’ve moved on, but it would just be so unfair,” he caught it this time, the dip in her voice, the vulnerability, the crack. “i can’t let you do that to me,”

he stared at her, searched her face with his frantic green eyes.

she was desperate for him to say anything, to let her go, to walk back inside to their friends, to leave her alone in the cold surrounded by street light and cigarette smoke, but he didn’t.

“i haven’t thought of anyone but you since you left, since before then.”

her mouth fell agape, and he kissed her again.

[masonscig]

RE: your post about Rebecca.

To add onto this mess,lets not forget that she is the reason why that teenage boy died in the fist book. Like she knew the entire time who the murderer was and didn't do anything to stop him to "keep the detective safe 🥺" . But that boy is literally dead because of her and it's never brought up.

YOU'RE SO RIGHT !!!! like oh my god, if you wanted to repair/maintain your relationship with your child, why would you? keep secrets that are getting OTHER people killed on the detective's watch?

like it clearly was backfiring on the detective bc both the captain and bobby were pressuring them from either side – there was a limit to what the det. could actually even do because of the little knowledge they had of the whole situation !!! so for rebecca to just. *know* that this was going to happen. UGH. it frustrates me to no end because whether or not the det. is worried more about themselves or the townspeople, why should rebecca get to decide that her child's life is more important than someone else's?