#recurrent rule

[jimin-updates]

We have work to do 💪🏻💪🏻

Remember, we need Who to stay in the top 50 in week 20 or it will leave the Hot 100 no matter where it is charting because of the “recurrent” rule

We have a little over 12 hours left to change this prediction; we can do it by maximizing premium streams and sales.

If you need funding reach out to the accounts below:

Let’s do this for Jimin!

[coreagroup]

Transformations in Machine Translation

The field of machine translation has undergone remarkable transformations since its inception, evolving from basic rule-based systems to today’s cutting-edge neural networks. Early machine translation faced significant challenges in handling the complex nature of language, particularly the absence of perfect word-to-word equivalence between different languages and the vast variations in sentence…

[cleopheanne]

Vedic/ Sidereal observations

- If you have any proeminent Jyestha placement please go buy an evil eye protection, it can be any jewelry with eye imagerie on it not only the classic cristal one that we often see but make sure that it is very visible on you.

The evil eye that is often projected on jyestha is basically a curse, people see your potential even though you crawl in dirt like a scorpio you see. They observe your resilience evolving in a state without resources and fear what you may become once you acquire this abundance, so they manifest your failure DON'T EVER TELL ANYONE YOUR PLANS even if they are family idc

- If you are one of those that went through rahu/ketu antardasha as an adolescent/young adult saturn mahadasa don't got nothing on you , I would say that first the energy of Saturn is difficult because it requires you to actually put in the work: you can not escape it, however when you finally submit and accept it you will often harvest the fruits of your efforts.

Ketu does not work like that at all, your current actions don't actually matter in a ketu ruled period it is your past karma that is resurging, Ketu will take away everything that you actually have not only material possessions but also intellectual ones: opinions, your self-image relationships, everything that makes you appreciate the material world, you cannot truly try to girlboss your way out of a ketu dasa the best thing that you can do is SURRENDER, meditate, be introspective, journal, practice yoga and pick a solitary sport and allow yourself to contemplate life

- Saturn in the 4th house, conjunct moon, or in cancer will destroy the health of the mother

- Mercurials and Martians shouldn't expect empathy from anybody sadly, I don't know why but society seems to agree on the fact that they do not deserve to be understood, taken with softness and respect one thing I think it is due to is the fact that they often appear as very stoic, they keep their emotions often to themselves conserving a very cold even bitchy appearance so people often treat them badly based on this impression, they are often met with the 'you think you are better than us ?' anyway

-I've seen many western astrology post saying how many celebrities have scorpio moons right and it make so much more sense when you see that most of them have their moon in sidereal libra rashi, since saturn is exalted in libra, and saturn is the one who grant tangible material abundance, libras have a natural understanding of how to manifest that abundance: they know how to manipulate the material world, using Māyā.

- Ketuvians how about stoping to hide under the guise of disgust and admit that all you really want is to be included and cared about ?

-Purva Ashada men will have the most long, luscious hair ever beyond that they are often stunning and they conserve a kind of androgynous appearance if often they physique is very masculine with hard features they will have the softest voices, most delicate manners ever, it would be so cool to see them take care of a pet. On a darker side this nakshatra is very recurrent in cult leaders even fictional ones lol

-Dhanista and Revati would do great in bellydancing since both of these nakshatras have instruments associated with them, rhythm is innate to their functioning.

- Rohini women are so funny to be around when they get over their insecurities, they are sometimes so insecure it's just hurtful for me to see that, they will break off their bonds with people especially other women over jealousy and not realize that they are the problem, acting like pick mes, making subtle diss and wonder why they are left alone at the end ! If everybody as a problem (as in you are in an argument ) with you and you are not nodal (ketuvian or rahuvian) you are probably the problem 🤷🏾‍♀️. A little introspection shouldn't scare you 😙 that's how you grow as a person

- I strongly admire Anuradha people, their resilience is unmatched like their bone structure, the most gorgeous faces like they were sculpted by Michael Angelo himself

- Mars and Jupiter are bestfriends so you will notice that in real life most bestfriends have this combination of placements or they can have Venus/Saturn too as these two planets are also best friends

- Purva Phalguni/ leo men are so vulgar lol, they scare the hell out of me, Venusian men in general they act like they will eat you alive 🥲

- Rahuvians deal with a lot of mental issues I've seen mostly chronic depression that can lead to suicide in some cases 😕 if you have proeminent rahu placement, try get more in touch with you ketu placement it has helped me a lot, for example ketu in the first house: self-care, protect your energy and your space do not allow anybody to enter it, take extra care of your body exercise, meditate. Ketu in the 6th house: put yourself at the service of other people, in the 11th house: force yourself to join a community, an organization etc

- I've recently saw an interview of Mia Khalifa and she talked about her childhood and her struggles with her weight and turns out she has a Virgo moon in hasta, it made realize how much Virgo women often struggles with their alimentation in general, they have many toxic behaviors regarding the consumption of food and many many of them have had ED or still have it. It's crazy to see that when the constellation of Virgo symbol is an ear of wheat so it associated with bread and eating in general and the natives of this sign have abnormal behaviors towards food.

[diejager]

Hallo! Truly loved the MonsterAU stories! Wonderful, amazing writing!

Would it be possible for you to write: what if human!reader was turned into a chimera?

Akin to this:

Feel free to ignore!

Chimæra

Pairing: Monster 141 x Chimera!reader

Cw: science experiment, human torture, human testing, gore?, blood, canon-typical violence, unethical human experiments, kidnapping, child abuse, malnutrition, child neglect, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 3.6k (A/N): credit to @bluegiragi’s monster 141 designs.

They were tipped off by an anonymous source that some shady and highly illegal things were being done in a small and remote town near the border of Belarus, their ongoings unknown to both the government and public of their country, but someone had given Laswell a file containing all the horrific tests conducted within the closed walls of the innocuous-looking compound —a laboratory dressed as a simple military base. The folder held snapshots of emails and files sent between scientists and researchers, small indications of what was being done to both humans and monsters, yet withholding important intel about certain things. It disclosed the location, the names and faces of every worker and leading figure in the compound, the number of security and their schedules, and what was done, but not what was truly happening, it left small clues, sublet words here and there with hidden meanings —never clear images, blurry ones as if the person was in a rush.

Despite not having clear indications of the illegal activities, Laswell had enough to have 141 sent to take it down, to bring the dehumanising lab to its ground and burn it down. She didn’t have trouble convincing them, it was telling enough to let them read the condensed files for them to read, to see themselves the monstrosity being done to children and monsters they took, kidnapped from around the world to be left at the deceitful hands of crazed scientists. There wasn’t much to be found outside it, the base wore the facade of a benevolent patron, bearing the crest of kindhearted investors wanting to rebuild rundown houses and reconstruct rough and broken roads and paved streets in the town they took to hide. It worked for the most part, they profited from this by acting without raising any suspicion from anyone, neither the authorities nor the people. 

“Christ,” Gaz swore, looking down at the words in the file he received, the teased truth and the dreadful treatments through a thick layer of secrets and subtle wording, the only clear intel was from the straightforward emails sent to and from researchers and the heads of the facility, unabashed and shameless bragging of their success and the narrative to which these subjects could be used. “Why did it take so long?”

A recurrent theme of these was about a certain subject, it was about C34, spoken with such pride and joy about their creation, the work of the new world and the future made within these walls. Most emails were the exchanges between them about C34’s training, the ongoing treatments and every successful mission and exercises, they spoke of C34 as if they were a dog, a rabid mutt they captured and took on the task of domesticating it. It was demeaning, degrading and cruel, to look at another being as something lower, something needing domestication —it went against every rule and law put in place to protect humanity, the many conventions sworn to protect the goodwill and security of the innocents.

“We’ve had our suspicions before,” Laswell sighed, the images of the screen switching with the small click of her control, laser pointing at the images of various weapons cache and illegally procured weapons. “There was a slip up in the shipping, it was dropped here-” she motioned to a circled area in the map, a closeup of a secluded road near the town, “and we were able to retrace it to the facility. We needed more intel about the facility before acting and we needed to know what we're facing here, if we should send a team or send you.”

“What now?” Price tilted his head back, smoke leaving the sides of his frown, a deep and unpleasant one. He couldn’t even look at the intel given with a straight face, the shadowed truth of cruelty and dehumanising acts done by humans. “Figured you send us after seeing this, Laswell?”

Laswell nodded, jumping to another slide, showing blurred images of subject C34, a blurry figure, tall and imposing in every way possible. They stood high, stature seemingly one belonging to a monster or hybrid: on four legs and the wide, familiar shape of wings, everything about C34 cried monster. Perhaps one they captured as a child, taken from their mother and kept in this cell. There were many pictures of this one, blurry and disfigured, but others had smaller shapes, the size of children with various characteristics. 

“Steamin’ bloody Jesus!” Soap spat, disgust dripping from his tone in waves, unending as were the other’s curses, each holding their level of horror and repugnance. His face was wound tight, brows dipped lowly and lips pursed, he balled his fists, anger rising within him with every image he saw, the deplorable conditions and the care given to the monsters —what could they even expect from this shady company engineering monster and human DNA to fit their preferred narrative, for money, for reputation, for strength. “We ‘ave tae do somethin’ about this, Price!”

Soap - Johnny - had always been the more emotional one, letting his good heart lead his decisions when the situation seemed to fit it. His wolf made him more susceptible to emotional attachment, a pack mentality driven deeply into his mind and heart, he was viciously loyal and wore his heart on his sleeve, uncaring of how he’d be hurt by a betrayal, he simply saw the best in the world, something many couldn’t after a while, but Soap could, Johnny was a good man at heart. That’s why he reacted the most out of everyone, voicing his distaste and hate, his need for revenge and the sanctity of the lives being stolen in the facility. 

Soap pushed Price to agree, seeing no reason not to lead the breach, to uncover everything done to innocent lives. His eyes connected to the man hidden in the darkness, his blue eyes gleaming with fierce justice, a contrast to the wraith who lay in silence, abhorrent and seething quietness. Ghost peered at him, head tilted up with white pupils darkened by black eyes, death layering off him with calmness. He gave Soap a curt nod, affirmation for him to continue to voice his mind, to help those in need. 

“Seems like it’s been decided, Kate,” Price gave her a lopsided smirk, amber eyes narrowed with what could be read as anger, teeth sinking into the girth of his cigar, ash falling. “When are we going?”

Her lips parted in a proud grin, eyes gleaming with something dark and wrathful. She leaned on the table, head held high and shoulder broad while she flicked off the projector:

“Wheels up at 1500 tomorrow.”

You stared down the man before you, watching him tremble under your cold gaze, steps hesitant to approach you despite being seated, body prone on the hard floor you called a bed. He was new, possibly recently employed and his boss - or his direct manager - played a dirty game with him. It was some kind of rite of passage for every new employee courageous enough to accept their recruitment, all bright-eyed geniuses wanting to build their place on earth with forthgoing discovery, desperate and narcissistic; yet they were so easily tricked into you cage, locked in by cackling and grinning guards and coworkers. 

He smelled young, fresh-faced and a bit nervous, most were when they first saw you. You remembered everyone who walked in, the smell of fear and anxiety, the disgusting scent oozing off their bodies, rotten and putrid like a rotting corpse. You would’ve gagged and choked if you weren’t used to it, having grown close to the smell of death, calling the reaper your friend. You weren’t bothered by him, only the cart he was wheeling over, a big and heavy cooler that smelled fresh. He was made to bring you food by his boss, a cruel joke played on every new scientist who was always so eager to meet you before cowering in terror once the lock clicked. 

Standing before your third cage, he unlocked the small hatch and, with effort and a loud grunt, pushed the cooler into the hole, big enough for a big cooler but small enough to fit your arm through it. You waited until he stumbled away, distancing him from you before reaching for the container, it was light, weighing little in your palm. They fed you raw meat, sometimes buying the fresh catch of a Belarus hunter, usually an elk or a wild boar, but if they were lucky, a bison or a bear, other times they would have conserved meat shipped from outside the town, bigger cities or outside the border. 

Today was an elk, the meat cold and free of rot, it smelled as good as a fresh kill did, bloody and heady. You ripped into it without care, tuning out the loud retch from the scientist as you gorged on your meal, claws tearing it in half and biting into the bloody meat. Blood rolled down your lip, painting your cheeks crimson and staining the cream-coloured rag they considered a shirt. It would be changed after your meal, as it always was. Despite the elk weighing around six hundred kilograms, you finished it quickly, with pointed teeth cutting and pulling flaps of meat and ligament, blood spraying and dirtying the metal ground near the hatch. 

It was filling, albeit cold. You cleaned your hands of blood, licking it off like a grooming cat, tongue laving over the sharp edge of your claw and under your blunt fingernails. You peered at him from under your lashes, eyes gleaming in the darkness. You watched - pleased with yourself - him shudder, face growing green with unnerve at your show. You knew he was desperate to leave, to get a breath of fresh air outside of your cell, you understood his fear and wanted him to suffer for helping your owner, the man watching over your training, but you wanted him gone before he emptied his stomach on your floor. So you pushed the cooler out, clawed arm breaching past the hatch to leave it farther from your cage. 

He left hastily, legs shaky and face pale. 

“I want a bison next time,” you growled, words rolling off your tongue huskily from its rare use. 

It looked as inconspicuous through the NVGs as it did in the pictures, a few grey buildings built lowly to hide an immense labyrinth dug into the ground, secret passages crossing unending halls with locked doors and tipped with surveillance cameras to watch over the whole facility. They studied the very walls that made this place a secret fortress, from the body to its heart, like mounting a brigade against a castle, Laswell’s team found the few hidden entrances that connected to the lesser-used passages, winding through many hallways and wide vents, big enough for humans but too tight for monsters the size of C34. Task Force 141 led the mission, infiltrating the base under the darkness of night where they could crawl and slink through shadows to catch what they hunted. They were joined by Marines, all experienced and skillful, wearing scars like a badge of honour. It would either be a quick in and out, or a long and strenuous infiltration. 

Price took Gaz and led half of the Marines through the west, breaching the lab from above. They pushed in steadily, relaying information and physical cues to Watcher - Laswell - with a body cam recording everything they saw, the facade they wore above ground, hiding their dark enterprise. Ghost, as usual, has Soap watch his six, following closely behind him with puppy-like loyalty and the other half of the Marines. Team Two’s - Delta - mission started through the underground passage they sniffed out, a long and unwinding hall that went straight through the heart of the facility. Ghost’s team went dark, needing the cover of silence to stay hidden in a highly protected area of the base to run this clandestine mission. They spoke only when needing to, to make calls, to reaffirm intel or to let both Bravo and Watcher know a change, the tech team in the temporary safe house a few miles away from the compound watched through the cams, from the subtle change in the air to a jarring lead to what was happening. 

While Price and Gaz worked on creating a distraction, taking a load off team Delta’s shoulders, they could work through the system faster and more efficiently with the fire taken off their backs and front. It was controlled chaos for both teams, creating a mass discordance within the enemy lines: panicked higher-ups at the sudden attack, while they had a small squad of personal soldiers, they were unprepared, taken by surprise by both teams attacking on two fronts; and confused mercenaries, their quiet and boring schedules made them lose the edge of suspicion, of wariness towards what awaited them and the sheltered job with little to no action apart from a few failed escape attempts by the subjects.

“Delta 0-1 moving in,” Ghost mumbled into the coms, his team following him closely, rifle held tightly with the muzzle pointed forward as they crossed the threshold of section C, heading towards the one holding the monster subjects. 

They left behind them groups of bodies, slumped over the walls or limp on the ground, blood painting the sterilised and glossy walls, turning the once white hall into a grotesque place, dead bodies covering the length of the corridor like the ones they walked through before, leaving the stench of death that even the Marines could sniff out. It wasn’t clean - they weren’t aiming for it to be clean - but they wouldn’t need it to be clean when the Laswell would send a clean-up team to deal with this, Ghost would steal a bite before they arrived, quenching his hunger for revenge with them. 

A few guards stayed to watch over the cells, doors unlocked by a keycard that most guards kept in their back pocket, Ghost would have to take one off a dead body. Under Ghost’s cover, Soap dashed to the other side of the hall, taking a few with him to corner the mercenaries, boxing them into a closed hallway until they all died. Despite a few of the Marines taking shots, bruising the skin under their plate, black and blue blossoming like a bloody flower under the thin layer of skin, they kept their heads high and minds clear, moving forward without a misstep or hesitation. Soap swiped a few cards from the bodies, throwing one to Ghost. 

“Delta 0-1 to Watcher, can you hear me?”

“Solid copy, Ghost,” Laswell voice rang out clearly, reaching his ears in seconds.

“We found the cells,” his eyes roved over them, white paint over thick, cement walls to hold whatever they locked into the cells, perhaps the children the saw or the big one, C34.

“Do you have the keycards?”

“Affirm,” Ghost growled slowly, hearing Laswell's confirmation to continue. “Going in.”

He tapped the pad, a loud beep ringing in their ears as the lock’s mechanism creaked to life, unlatching from its metal hold to let them in. Both he and Soap walked in, leaving the others to watch their backs while they surveyed the first room. It was dimly lit as it was bare of any decorations apart from a visible toilet, a small sink and a few metal beds. It looked like any usual cells they came across, made barren and empty of anything useful to prevent the prisoners from escaping or causing a ruckus, but the people they kept in these cells were children. Soap swore under his breath at the sight of children huddled together, seemingly no older than 12, he lowered his rifle. They were backed into a corner, three older kids holding a younger one in their arms, protecting her from them, from whoever meant to harm these children. 

They looked malnourished, left to slowly rot in these cement boxes until the scientist found something worthwhile in them, their cheeks sunken in, eyes droopy and swollen with bruises - they were beaten, it made something ugly rear its head inside Ghost dead heart - and lips dried. One was armless, having wings that they used to cover both of their cellmates, naked with only feathers covering their body, this one looked more like a harpy than it did human. The two others had arms, both having the lower half of a mammal, neither of them was sure which four-legged mammal it was, but one had a pair of wings, while the other’s back was bare of anything. 

“We’ve found the children.”

You could hear the chaos from your cell, the blaring alarm and the smell of death. The building shook from its foundation, vibration emanating from both the ground floor and the basement, just farther from your hall, the closed and sectioned-off area. They separated you from the defective ones, all your young mistakes they made after achieving success —you. They tried to recreate it, but it never came out how they wanted it. Maybe it was a mistake on their part or maybe it was the lack of a certain gene in their DNA, a subtle difference that you and the rest had. You didn’t want to know and you didn’t want them to succeed a second time, it was painful, the shift, the tests and the change, the storm of pain, terror and confusion weren’t worth this power. 

You could hear the booming sound of gunfire, a loud ricochet of the bullet when the nitrocellulose sparked and sent the bullet outwards, finding its destination in the warm flesh of human guards. You usually enjoyed this kind of chaos if you knew what started it, and laughed when something caused trouble for your captors, but you were cautious of this one. You neither knew who thought to disturb the peace nor did you know who was behind this, their scents strange and the sound of steps unknown. All you knew was that their steps were heavy, out of breath but pushing their way into - what you thought to be - section C. The place they kept the young and willful. 

You might be blinded by your cell, but the guards outside your confinement knew how to talk, their chatter and barking orders loud enough for you to hear through the thick walls. From them, you knew they were strangers, unknown players on your board of pawns. You didn’t know their goal, whether they were here to let you out or keep you in a cage of their making, but you knew they were a gamble on your fate. As the noise got closer, you sat down, crossed your paws and waited, cautiously awaiting to see what your verdict would be.

Strangely enough, there was a different section, separated from the other one by many gates and stricter security, but they were able to break through it. Security was concentrated in one hall as if the monster they locked at the end of this hallway was of big importance. It had higher security, stronger and thicker. Ghost wondered if it was to keep the monster in or keep people out, either way, this meant that they found the thing they first came here for: the trained and dangerous subject C34. 

Ghost was apprehensive about opening this metal door, built taller than any doors he’d seen, it was as wide as it was tall, metres over what would be considered normal for a human or monster, similar to the wide gates that protected British castles, tall and imposing, but the most worrying was it’s vast amount of security measures. He thought back to the blurrier giant he saw in the picture, their shape indescribable and otherworldly, almost alien-like. His eyes met Soap’s reassuring ones, standing steadfast and unyielding to do good in the world. So with a nod, Ghost worked through the locks and scans of the heavy, metal door made to keep this cement cage closed. This door clicked loudly, echoing down the hall with ominous intent, foreseeing something damming and destructive. 

Yet they hadn’t expected to see another cage within the cage, a box made of reinforced glass, large and robust and inside of it was another cage, a rough metal one with bars for walls, a sick joke of a bird’s gilded cage. It would’ve seemed almost exaggerated to have three layers - three different cages - to keep one subject safely locked up until he caught sight of the monster. Lying on the cold, metal ground with legs folded in, tail curled around them and staring at both him and Soap with cautious curiosity. It looked like a gryphon if it were more reptilian than a mammal, this monster had a human torso, a head wearing a stoic expression, dressed in rags. Where there would normally be legs was the body of a bird, an eagle perhaps from the golden-brown plumage and reptilian legs from the knee down, followed by a fully scaled back, hind legs and a strong tail. Each toe was tipped with a sharp claw, big and deadly if it got its hands on someone, it could easily rip into anyone without putting in much effort. The biggest thing about it was the folded wings, feathered and equipped with a talon. If it could fly, these wings would be powerful. 

He understood why they kept it locked, it was neither man, monster or hybrid. It was a beast of human creation, a creature made to be at the peak of its condition. It was smart, he could see it, the glint in its eyes and the pursed lips, mien kept monotone and calm —observant. 

What did Laswell sign them into? 

Taglist: @craxy-person @crowbird @dead-cipher @iwannabealocalcryptid @iizx7y @mxtokko @yeetusspagheetus @capricorn-anon @perfectus-in-morte @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @tallmanlover @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @vxnilla-hxrddrugs @havoc973 @angelcakes-22 @cassiecasluciluce @ramadiiiisme @ramblingsofachaoticthinker @ki-cant-spel @im-making-an-effort @love-dove-noora @jinxxangel13 @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @mul-pi @danielle143 @dont-mind-me-just-existing-sadly

[wonton4rang]

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

pairing: bnd legal line x reader.

warnings: +18, smut, rough sex, spitting, and idk lmk if i missed something.

summary: bnd legal line mtl (most to least) to rough sex.

note: this had to be discussed and i can't go to sleep without doing so !!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

sungho; even though it wouldn't be his go to type of sex, he would do it more often than you'd think, taking you from behind while he held your neck with one hand and held your arms in your back with the other, he would moan in your ear, pressing his body more onto yours and making you feel so full while your cheek pressed against the cold wall. he would tell you how good you feel and his hips would be accelerating their pace before he came inside of you, showing some possessiveness he usually didn't have. i also strongly believe he would have a small/ recurrent strength kink.

riwoo; he's a wild card tbh, i can't seem to read him that well when it comes to sex or maybe i am not paying attention, but i do think he could have his days, switching from cowgirl to doggy style, his hand having a grip in your hair and you almost crying out on how hard he was fucking you. it felt good, specially because it was a weird thing to happen during sex w u two, it made you excited and it made him feel bigger when he handled you like that. pulling out to come in your ass is the ultimate thing he would do to show his "dominant" side. and btw, you know about dancer stamina right? cause if you always did two rounds, you'll do at least four of five before he lets you go today.

jaehyun; myungjae has such a whiny voice and a hyper and sweet personality that we all the time see him as a mere sub but oh, let me tell you that he can also be very rough when it comes to fucking you. i feel like he would be drinking with you or just very happy and horny when he tells you about this thing he wants to try, it was basically him overpowering you and yes please!! he would hold your legs open with his hands on your thighs, pressing them down and watching how his dick gets lost each time he pounds into your soaked pussy, i can definitely see him lowering one of his hands so he could play with your clit and maybe even insert his thumb with his cock in your pussy. telling you how dirty you looked taking his dick and finger into your pussy like a slut, dirty talk would be his thing 100%

taesan; i just know he is messy and i don't make the rules!!! he would grab your hair, spit in your mouth with a grin on his lips and fuck you so fast and rough you can barely think straight. he would fuck you in missionary because he needs to see your face, he needs to feel you close and he certainly needs to be able to spit in your mouth after slapping your face once or twice. he ain't much of a talker but he would let smalls "so pretty, so hot" that would give you a hint on how good he is feeling, as if his moans and the way his dick twitched inside of you were not enough. i don't think it'll be a reccurent thing tho, he is probably more into regular sex rather than rough but he has a HUGE size kink that takes over every once in a while.

leehan; and the prize to the messiest mf goes toooooo, hear me ouuuuut. every time he went up to you and told you he was horny and needed to fuck you, you just knew what was coming (asides from u two yk) you regularly got on top of him and ride his dick but when his hands gripped your hips and he dropped you on the bed just so he could straddle in the back of your thighs and fuck you in prone bone??? you were quite literally fucked, he wouldn't show mercy on you, fucking you fast and hard, so deep that it even made you shake each time the tip of his cock hit your cervix. that until he layed you on your back, slapping your pussy after spitting on it, he is so dirty and you can tell he is enjoying it way too much when he smiled at you before slamming his hips against yours once again.

overall, taking into consideration the frequency with the one i think it'd happen, for this one i think I'll go:

MOST.

leehan. not a surprise.

sungho. he is actually really close to leehan's place tbh. not because he would like rough sex itself but he just likes the dominant part of it, how strong he feels during it.

jaehyun. iykyk, he can be cute but he is a man after all, and he is also a very energetic person so he would fold you a thousand times and come back for more.

taesan. i personally think he would enjoy it A LOT but it's just that his personality doesn't show this eager desire of rough sex :') i've said it before but i don't think he is really into sex in general and he does gives off vibes of being more in a "calm" side so yeah.

riwoo. almost same as taesan's, but i also think it's because he is a submissive person so it wouldn't be something very reccurent.

LEAST.

what do y'all think?

[spnbabe67]

Come and Go Between My Bedsheets

Kinktober Day 16: Cunnilingus (Jake Seresin)

Pairing: Jake Seresin x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Oral (F. Rec.), Fingering, PiV, Sex as a distraction, Angst

Summary: Keep your friends close and your enemies closer right? What happens when Tatum decides she has kept Jake too close?

Word Count: 2097

Authors Note: Title based on the song Into It by Chase Atlantic

Tatum knew that this thing between her and Jake was slowly migrating away from casual to something more involved. And for the most part, she didn’t really mind it. She knew she had the infamous Jake ‘Hangman’ Seresin wrapped around her finger. Most of their escapades started with him seeking her out, which in and of itself wasn’t a big deal. But what was, was the fact that Javy, along with a couple of their mutual friends had noticed the change. 

They’d all been drinking in the common area a couple nights before when Javy offhandedly mentioned how Jake had changed, that Jake hadn’t mentioned a girl since they’d all arrived on base. Javy had playfully smacked Jake on the arm, teasing him about his friend holding out on him. Jake had expertly avoided the line of questioning, directing their friends, already half drunk, to another topic all together. He’d caught Tatum’s eye when the others weren’t looking, winking at her with that smug look on his handsome face. Tatum had glanced around, flipping him off, but ultimately returning his grin. 

But despite the easy-going nature of their relationship, that little voice in the back of her head nagged at her to ‘Be careful’. Tatum knew that this casual, secret, friends with benefits type dynamic ultimately had an expiration date. She had laid down ground rules when they both decided that this dynamic was going to be recurrent. They’d agreed not to see anyone else and that either one of them could back out at any time. She tried not to think about it too much, instead distracting herself with her work, and after that going for long runs to the point where she collapsed into bed afterwards. But tonight, not even her normal run and workout could drown out that insecure feeling. So after her shower, still wrapped in her towel, Tatum had shot off a message to Jake, asking him if he was busy. She toweled off, pulling on a pair of shorts and a sweatshirt, trying not to listen too closely for the buzzing of her cell. Tatum wasn’t so sure she liked the way she was waiting with bated breath for Jake to answer her, it only cemented the fact that she knew what she had to do. So when Jake texted her back, telling her he wasn’t doing anything, Tatum took a shaky breath, steeling herself before heading over to Jake’s room.

Jake was sitting at his desk, reading over some paperwork when Tatum slunk into his room, locking the door behind her. He looked up, eyes roaming her form as she walked over to him.

“Surprised to get a message from you. I-” Jake was cut off as Tatum dipped down, crashing her lips to his. 

Jake let out a surprised grunt at the forwardness of Tatums affection. He placed his hands on her hips, making to pull her onto his lap but she pulled away, tugging her sweatshirt off, tossing it to the floor. Her dark hair fell over her face, making a curtain between their gazes. Jake itched to reach up and brush the locks away from her features but she stepped back out of his reach before he could.

He sat back, watching her shove the clothes off her body. “What brought this on? Not that I’m complaining.” A kind of uneasiness slowly creeped in, whispering cautions to him. He reached out, grabbing her arm, thumb brushing the inside of her wrist. “Hayes, slow down. No need to rush.”

Tatum sighed, pulling her arm from his grasp. “I’m here, naked, and saying yes.” She shimmied her shorts down her legs before walking over to sit on the bed. “So are you gonna come over here and fuck me, or not?” 

Jake shrugged mentally, pushing away that nagging feeling in favor of pulling his own t-shirt over his head as he walked over, dipping down to recapture her lips. Tatum’s hands slid over his waist, her fingertips trailing across the muscles of his back. Jake reached down, grabbing her thighs to move her up the bed, placing her down gently. Tatum pulled him in, her thighs wrapping around his waist to keep his body hovered over her own. Jake planted a hand by her head to steady himself. He knew she was strong, you’d have to be a fool to miss her carefully toned muscles, but man did her legs hold fast around him. Her panting breaths and wandering hands encouraged him, trailing open mouthed kisses down her jaw to her neck. His other hand caressed up and down her side, sliding up to cup one of her breasts. 

Jake kissed and sucked his way to her chest, wrapping his lips around one of her peaked nipples. He groaned as her hand shot to his hair, tangling in the strands to hold him against her chest. She arched up towards him as his tongue swirled around the bud, teeth grazing it. Tatum’s breathy moans had all his blood rushing south, his cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans. Her body was warm, her skin soft, under him. He could never get tired of her, how gorgeous she was, how easily they went back and forth. Aside from Natasha, no one else had been able to keep him on his toes as well as Tatum. 

He pulled off of her breast, a string of saliva connecting his lips to her. Jake moved to the other one kept pliant by his hand. He nipped at the erect tissue, earning him a loud moan falling from Tatum’s plump lips.

“Stop teasing.” Tatum gritted out, tugging harshly on his hair as if in emphasis.

Jake pulled off her breast, placing a kiss to the valley between them. “Patience isn’t your virtue, is it?”

Tatum muttered something that sounded like ‘shut up’ and Jake chuckled against her belly as he kissed his way along her stomach, teeth nipping her skin. He rearranged her legs so that her thighs were thrown over his shoulders, her soaked core in his face, right where he wanted to be. He’d never admit it to Javy or his other friends, not in a thousand years or facing the worst torture, but he enjoyed eating a woman out, eating her out. Tatum’s thighs immediately wrapped around his head as he laved his tongue along her core from her entrance all the way up to her clit. He laughed lowly against her, wrapping an arm around her thigh and across her hips. Jake licked and sucked at her clit, letting his teeth graze it every so often just to hear her beautiful moans muffled by her legs against his ears.

Jake swirled his tongue around her clit as he brought his other hand up, slipping his index finger inside her, feeling her walls squeeze around it. He had to hold fast to her hips as she bucked up, chasing his mouth. He gave Tatum a reassuring squeeze to her thigh, enthusiastically mouthing at her core. He curled his fingers up, searching for that spongy spot within her, smiling against her pussy as she moaned his name. Found it. That’s why he loved this, hearing her moan, feeling the way her thighs clenched around his head, knowing he was making her feel good. Jake slipped in his middle finger alongside his pointer, scissoring them inside her. Soon enough he felt her inner walls throb around his digits, her thighs pressing against his head even tighter. Then he felt her shudder under his arm, felt her clamp down hard on his fingers. Tatum moaned his name loud enough for him to hear it despite her legs acting like earmuffs.

Jake licked his lips, savoring the taste of her as he gently removed her legs from his shoulders, crawling up her body to kiss her deeply, letting her taste herself on his tongue. Tatum responded in kind, fervently moving her lips against his, her hands finding the button on his jeans. Jake assisted her, shucking his pants off and tossing them to the side, nearly moaning as his cock was freed from the tight confines of his boxers and pants. He trailed his hand up her leg, positioning her thigh high up on his waist as he rutted against her. Jake sucked in a breath as Tatum reached a hand between them to grasp his painfully hard cock. She slid her hand along the underside of him, guiding him to nudge against her entrance. 

Jake moaned as her warmth enveloped him, her walls fluttering around him as he worked his cock into her in short thrusts. The sting of her nails digging into his back and shoulders was nearly drowned out by the heavenly feeling of her pussy. Jake dipped his head back down to kiss her, sweeping his tongue into her mouth, dragging it across the roof of it. He ground his hips into hers, setting a long and slow but hard rhythm. Tatum moaned into his mouth and he could feel her body wind under him, her chest pressed against his. Jake slipped a hand down her body, feeling every devine curve and dip until he found where they were joined, brushing his fingers against her clit. Tatum moaned his name, pressing her forehead to his as his hips pistoned into her. 

He could feel the telltale shaking of her legs against his waist, her nails scratching his back. Jake kissed her hard, trying in vain to channel all the feelings that had built up in his chest through that kiss as she came around him. Jake moaned her name, his own hips stuttering as her orgasm triggered his own. He spilled himself inside her, rocking his hips through both their orgasms. Jake carefully pulled out, already missing her warmth as he stretched out beside her. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder, but he knew something wasn’t right as Tatum didn’t return his attempt at aftercare like she normally did. 

Tatum sighed through her nose, clenching her teeth. It was like her heart was splintering in slow motion. Jake was being so sweet, kissing her shoulder, hand brushing up and down her arm. She swallowed hard, rolling out of bed. 

“Hayes.” Jake called after her. “Tatum. Where you goin’?” 

Tatum was glad her back was to him as she blinked away tears that had started to well up in her eyes. She bent down, pulling her clothes on. “We can’t do this anymore.”

“What are you talking about?” 

Tatum could hear the confusion in his voice and it damn near made her lose the already slipping hold she had on her emotions. “This. Us. Whatever we are.” She rasped, pulling her sweatshirt over her head. “We agreed at the beginning that either of us could pull the plug. This is me pulling the plug.”

“Why?” Tatum turned to see Jake scrambling to get off the bed. “Did I do something wrong?”

“Jake,” Tatum breathed, backing up towards the door. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be.” 

“Don’t make- how else am I supposed to react?” Jake pleaded. “Tatum, I-”

“Don’t say it.” Tatum cut him off, unable to stop the single tear from escaping, rolling down her cheek.“Don’t, just don’t.”

Tatum walked over to the door, twisting the knob, ready to walk out. She was seconds from breaking down, the raw pain clawing at the back of her throat.

“Tatum please.”

“Goodnight, Jake.”

Tatum swallowed her tears the best she could as she shut the door behind her. She wasn’t totally conscious of where he feet were taking her before she ended up at a door that wasn’t her own. Natasha had just shut off her lamp when Tatum knocked at her door. She took one look at her friend, at the way Tatum’s eyes were red rimmed, glossy with tears, and pulled her into a hug. That was when Tatum allowed herself to cry, allowed for the hairline fractures on her heart that developed from the moment she stepped foot in Jake’s room to explode her heart into a million little pieces. She sobbed into Natashes shoulder, letting her friend guide her to the bed, holding her tightly. 

“I fucked up, Nat.” she sobbed.

Natasha stroked her friends hair, pressing a kiss to her hairline. “It’s gonna be alright, Tatum. It’ll be alright.”

When Tatum decided what to do about her and Jake, she felt so damn confident this was the right choice. But now? After seeing how Jake reacted. Now, Tatum wasn’t so sure. 

[koenigami]

swimming lesson gone wrong with wriothesley. tags : fem!reader, fluff, pining, reader cannot swim wc : 1,4k

-

Rays of sunshine glimmer in the reflection of the sea while its distinct salty odour invades your nostrils, a light breeze sweeping through your hair. And while desperately trying to tame the wild locks, you realise that this could be such a wonderful scenery to enjoy if it weren’t for your clammy hands and the gigantic ball of doom resting in the pit of your stomach.

“Can’t we just sunbathe?” You sound rather sheepish as you let your naked toes wiggle in the sand, feeling the tiny corns slip through their crevices while you unconsciously dig yourself deeper into the ground beneath you. 

“We can.” Wriothesely states throwing a lazy grin at you over his shoulders before shedding each layer of fabric off his body, revealing scarred, bare skin and muscles that would make any other woman let herself drown in the sea just to get rescued by this adonis of a man. However right now, it’s not his astonishing looks that make your pulse ricochet but rather the sight of the recurrent waves that wash up on the shore and retreat back to the sea. Others consider it a pleasant, even relaxing movement while your body reacts as if it were the most vile thing you had ever laid your eyes upon, leaving you with nausea and dizziness. “But not now. Ever heard of work first, play later?” 

The lighthearted chuckle that he lets out when you mockingly repeat his words is enough to ease your mind for at least a little bit. Though in lieu of being in need of his comfort, you would much rather appreciate it if you could just stay on dry land, sprawled on your dry towel in a dry bikini. Instead, you feel the tight, stretchy fabric of the one piece swimsuit that you’re wearing cling to your body in a way that seems like it is restricting and suffocating you more and more with each passing second. 

Your fear is evident, Wriothesely can tell by the way you’re unintentionally making yourself look smaller, arms folded over your chest, and gaze not going any further than five feet in front of you. The view of the vast ocean obviously intimidates you now that you know that you’ll soon be inside of it. 

With tentative steps, he pads through the hot sand and approaches you. “You know that you have the last say in this, right?” What the sun does to you on the outside, is what his deep, steady voice does to you on the inside. You redirect your stare when you feel a reassuring hand of his settle on your shoulder, forcing you to look into another deep pool of blue. “We don’t have to do this today. Or at all.” 

Even though he’s speaking his words truthfully, Wriothesely has to admit that it would appease him a lot if he knew that you would not sink like a rock as soon as you stepped into water. 

“Is there anything that you can’t do?” He had uttered his rhetorical question earlier this week after you brought him a freshly brewed cup of tea and the exact documents of a newly admitted inmate. Getting his hands on them had turned out to be not quite as easy as he had initially thought, though with you being a renowned lawyer at the Palais Mermonia and having more than a handful of connections, you had managed to get access to all the official papers that Wriothesley needed. Leaning your hip against his desk, you lightly tapped your chin in thought with that sweet smile of yours that could brighten even the darkest corner of his office. 

“I can’t swim.” You confessed simply as if telling him that the sky was blue. “P-Pardon?” 

Wriothesley’s reaction was one that you were used to, especially because most Fontanians reacted similarly after telling them that you were a non-swimmer. Being afraid of water while living in a region that was surrounded by nothing but water and even ruled by the hydro archon; yes, a little ironic. 

You don’t remember what part of your conversation had deviated into Wriothesley offering you swimming lessons on your free days, and what part of your brain deemed it smart to accept said offer, but what you know was that there is no going back. 

So with a deep sigh and lopsided smile, you reassure him that you want to do this. That you can do this. 

-

In fact, you cannot do this, you realise once you feel the waves slosh around your waist.

Their weight pulls and pushes you back and forth, and even though you’re aware that it’s not some incredible strength, you and your fear stricken mind can’t help but imagine scenarios of you helplessly being carried through the depths of the ocean like a weightless leaf being thrown around by the winds. 

“You’re too tense.” Your lips part in a silent gasp when warm air tickles your ear, and Wriothesley’s hands settle on your upper arms. The light, barely tangible circles that his thumbs draw along your skin are something that he does unintentionally, though they make your stiff shoulders drop the slightest bit and let the air flow easier into your lungs. 

You’re safe; a constant reminder to yourself once you become aware of his proximity as the steady rhythm of his breaths lulls you into a trance.

For a short moment, you’re at peace. You let your fingers dance along the surface of the sea, dipping your hands inside and pushing the water back and forth as if being able to wield the power of hydro. Yes, you’re in control. You’re safe. You’re in control. You’re safe. You’re-

“Wriothesley-” There’s a sudden splash in the distance. Loud noise. Children screaming and laughing all of a sudden and ducks frantically quacking and flapping their wings as they flee the scene, flying away above your heads into the far distance of the horizon. 

You don’t realise how fast everything happened until you find yourself in the Duke’s arms, his sturdy chest against your soft breasts, so close that you swear he can feel the fast beat of your heart. He caught you. Of course he did. “Seems like we got some company.”

Looking past his shoulder, you see a group of people not too far away from you. Two adults and two children…a family. You watch the young girl and boy look up the cliff with wide sparkling eyes, amazed by their father as he jumps and dives into the water. Applause and more happy giggles and laughter follow, though all you can feel right now is the heat in your face as you unintentionally bury it back into Wriothesley’s neck. 

So that is what scared you. 

“Hey.” You feel his body vibrate against yours as he laughs, and you witness yourself refusing to look at him. “It’s alright. I should have expected that other swimmers might make you feel uncomfortable.”

“This is so embarrassing.” You miss his toothy grin as you mumble against his skin, pressing your face further into him as if he were a portal through which you could make yourself disappear forever. 

“It’s not.” And he laughs again when you smack his chest, a response to the hidden sarcasm behind his words. “Alright, maybe a little.” But he truly could not care less. You’re always so pulled together, so determined, so placid, so… you. Countless times, he has tried to get under your skin, be it with overly exaggerated sweet talk that would make you roll your pretty eyes in faux annoyance, or certain gestures just to get a reaction out of you. It never happened. You take everything he gives you with a certain naturalness that would make it seem as if his casual compliments are a matter of course, as if the gentle brush of his hand to get your hair out of your face while you work on a report is normal between people like you and him. Whether it is because you’re overly comfortable in his presence or because you’ve decided for yourself that you’re too far out of his reach to give his moves any mind, Wriothesley tries not to think too much about it. And if this current side of you might be one that not many people get to see, then he’ll absolutely make sure to treasure it like a precious, fragile gem. Just like he does with every other interaction that he has with you.  

[prokaryotics]

started until i find you. penis by page 36. what’s your deal mr. irving. additionally concerning, why did hot professor suggest his novels to me

i don’t know if any of y’all have read john irving but i’m on my third book and he is soooo freudian. there’s something going on there. why do all of your books have so much penis mr. irving

[long-live-astronerd-ghost-king]

Ectoberhaunt 2023. Day 17. Blood and Flesh.

CW: TW! Recurrent pregnancy loss. TW!Abortion. TW!Bleeding

Maddie: Jack, we need to talk. I know this is gonna sound crazy but I think Phantom, the ghost boy, is actually our son. And I’m sure Danny and Jazz know about it too.

What if we bring down on the Fentons the knowledge that they have ghost children without revealing Phantom’s identity?

Text+Chat+Memes=Prompt:

Of course Maddie wanted to have children. But…Not in college. She felt it was too soon. The lack of stable earnings and time were not conditions for growing a new person. She had nothing to give this potential child. Maddie did not hesitate long before deciding to have an abortion.

And for years, neither Jack nor Maddie have thought about this unplanned pregnancy.

Ectoplasm is toxic, obviously. But since ectology was only recently recognized by the scientific community, no one has ever fully analysed the effects of ectoplasm on the body.

When Maddie and Jack had the misfortune to become one of those couples experiencing recurrent pregnancy loss, they immediately suspected that the ectoplasm in their lab contributed to their reproductive difficulty. Put simply, death didn’t go with life.

They may not always have followed the lab’s safety rules perfectly, but is that why one of their first works will be exposing a teratogenic effect of ectoplasm? What if they’ve lost their only chance to be biological parents?

What a cruel price to pay for the work of life. Jack and Maddie so dreamed of their little happiness. Do they have to forget about it?

No, the Fentons don’t give up that easily!

They may have to spend a few years doing only theoretical work, but they’ll try again.

~~~~~

Ectoplasm is toxic. Tests, hopes…and a few miscarriages too.

Jazz was a miracle. Fenton family literally didn’t get out of hospitals to look after her health.

Danny was an even bigger miracle, because they didn’t have any hope of having a second child. Maddie and Jack didn’t even plan this pregnancy. Danny was born premature, with signs of hypoxia... but alive. His potential twin was not so lucky. Single intrauterine fetal death (sIUFD).

Right. Death still followed them. Of course, parents didn’t tell Jazz and Danny that they might have had another brother. It was their grief. Children had no reason to know about it.

~~~~~

"You filthy ghost!" Maddie stopped to rest after a chase for elder Phantom.

"Exhausted?" Dan was flying at a safe distance from her. "Maybe it’s time to retire, Maddie? A little exercise never stopped you before." The ghost was clearly making fun of her.

"Not going to happen, I’ll do it until I die if Amity Park need it. And my son will be here to stop you instead of me after me or Jack."

The smile on Ghost’s face faded immediately. "I hope he die first." The ghost whispered in a hoarse voice."It's best for everyone."

"What did you say?" Maddie rose up in anger, pointing her weapon at it.

"Has any thought crossed your mind about what happens to your children if anything happens to you? Go out every day and yell like idiots, attracting all the ghosts around." An ectoblast is blowing right up against her temple and crashing into the wall. The ghost frowned and turned away. "Did you ever think that Danny wouldn’t want to live without you? Did you think that he would be hurt if he had to lose you? No! Is it always about your stupid desires and ambitions, Mom."

For a moment Maddie thought he it was looking at her like it had seen a ghost, which was obviously just ridiculous. Maddie wanted to laugh about it, but somehow she couldn’t. Why would the ghost trying to fake human emotion care to hide the tears that gather in the corners of its eyes?

Maddie tried to get it out of her head. Anyway, it’s not that important. Phantoms have always been atypical. She’ll come home, take a warm shower, and tell Danny how much she loves him.

~~~~~

Maddie: My son is a strong boy and Dan: He’s weak! He’s a freak! He can’t handle it, Mom!

Maddie had long pondered this theory since the day Jack admitted that Phantom had misspoke during the fight and called him his father but she had never experienced it before. Or maybe she wasn’t paying attention.

Maddie: Hey, Phantom, just a question, how old are you? Dan: Why are you changing the subject? Twenty-four, twenty-five… Hell, I don’t remember. Stopped counting after 17, nobody cares anyway. And her first months dating Jack were 24 years ago. Right. The eyebrows, the shape of eyes and the height is all from Jack. The waist and the side eye from her. Theoretically. Still need more proof.

~~~~~~

Dan: Is this all your frail human form can do?

Maddie walked past the Casper High playground when she saw a ghost flying around. It was one of the new ones. The Phantom’s full-grown specimen. More dangerous. And totally unpredictable. Maddie squeezed the gun harder. Her theories are just theories and she can’t have such a dangerous spirit near the school, near her children.

Danny: Shut up and give me my bottle of water, asshole.

This voice. Maddie stopped in shock. What’s her boy doing so close to a ghost? He’s always so terrified of them.

Dan: No pull-ups, no water. You need muscles. Without them you’re gonna look like a worm if you’re gonna grow up to be taller than Jack as I am.

Danny: Just so you know, you’re a terrible big brother and I hate you.

Dan: Well, that just means I’m doing a good job.

Danny: When Mom asks who destroyed the furniture in Vlad’s house I’m pointing at you. A little run around town will be good for you. And as they say, Older siblings are like your parents' personal science fair. They're a bunch of experiments.

Dan: ...Just so you know, it sounded completely insane. Terrible. Good job, but don’t go near Dani with those jokes. Jazz will kill us both for setting a bad example. Danny: Bad example? Since when has a good sense of humor become a bad example? Dan: Shut up. Drink water and go to the shower. Jazz is gonna kick my ass if you die of overheating.

Danny: Huh, afraid of one know-it-all? When dad chased you with a bazooka, you didn’t seem scared.

Dan: Сome on, dad has a lot of strengths, yeah, but the ability to aim isn't one of them. And not

Dani: driving a car?

Danny: Right. Wait, how long have you been eavesdropping? Dani: Long enough to blackmail you both. Сomputer’s mine for the rest of the week. Dan and Danny: Shit.

~~~~~

The Invisobill. or Phantom. Ha. Danny Fenton…Danny Phantom. Weston boy said crazy things. Yeah. But what if he was only partially wrong? Everything except the color of its eyes and hair is so much like Danny's. If this were typical manipulation from a ghost hoping to shake the desire of ghost hunters to chase a creature similar to their child, he would have had to give it up months ago. But phantom did not change his disguise. This is his true form. What about ghost girl and older ghost? They are also so young.

Maddie could not sleep. In her head struggled scientist and woman weighed down by feelings of guilt and shame. She was tormented by philosophical problems and religious issues. No, Maddie, not even a neural tube is formed at that time. It was just a collection of cells. It’s not a person. It doesn’t feel pain. And ghosts do not too. Right? Is it even acceptable to compare such things? Is it possible that a ghost is not the remnant of negative human emotions and memories? What is responsible for its formation then? What is the purpose of such a ghost? And more importantly, how long have these ghosts been near and they did not notice? Has the portal become a source of energy necessary for their existence in the physical plane? Or is it only they who have not seen them?

So painful. It’s so unpleasant to think about what monsters they look like to their dear Danny and Jazz. Ghosts or not, she threatened creatures who might have been part of their family in front of her babies. God, naive teens must think that three Phantoms are their siblings or something. Of course! That explains the disappearance of fenton thermos and the way the Phantoms sneak into the portal and Danny’s always somewhere in trouble and…Oh my God, they could be in so much danger! How long has this been going on? No, the real question is..Hm, if this is going on for so long, why haven’t the ghosts done anything…evil? If their nature is in the destruction then why didn’t anything happen? Jack and she would never have missed something that would hurt their children.

~~~~~~

The fight between the Skulker and Invisobill was particularly fierce this time. Maddie was unlucky to be in one of the damaged buildings. But who is she if not a scientist? She will find a way to benefit in such a situation.

Unnecessary risk, completely unprofessional. But… The debris of the wall does not lie on her very tightly and the weapon still with Maddie. Yeah. She has to test her theory. She has to. She can get up and leave if she needs to. Right? A little dizziness never killed anyone. She just feels cold and sounds are strange. Maddie: Help. Help! Someone! M-Maddie? An insecure voice with an echo sounds. Yes, it's near. Maddie: Help! I can’t.. I can’t get up. T-Hard to breathe. Danny: Mum! Mama, hold on, I’m coming.

Phantom checks her pupillary reflex. Who taught him that? Jazz? The touch of his hand, so cold and shaky. Now Maddie really doesn't feel so good. It’s good that the ghost is her boy. She doesn’t have to worry about anything happening to people around. Neither he nor Danny know how to lie. She can breathe. Just cover her eyes for a moment and… Just a few seconds. Phantom:Jazz, Jazz! Call an ambulance. I don’t know what to do. I..I can’t just make mum intangible. What if she has a crush syndrome and I make it worse or… Her boy. Why is Danny so scared? Danny: Tucker, she is bleeding and she’s not responding to me and… Sshh, my little star, is all right. Mom just needs to lie down and rest a little.

~~~~~~

Maddie could not believe that she had actually passed out. But the time spent in the hospital gave her enough time to think about everything.

Maddie: Jack, we need to talk. I know this is gonna sound crazy but I think Phantom, the ghost boy, is actually our son. And I’m sure Danny and Jazz know about it too.

Jack: Honey, are you sure we don’t need to double-check if you have a concussion?

~~~~~~

Maddie and Jack decide to watch surveillance videos for the first time. After all, it concerns the safety of their children, they have the right to know what happens in the house in their absence. Especially when the ghosts are nearby. Children *live in their own sitcom*:

They have seen enough. Maddie decides to check chats on Jazz’s phone. It’s for their safety, only. She’s a good mother but what if the ghosts are up to something?

The chat was so..Teenage? And Chaotic. Normal? No, definitely not. How many times have they punished Danny unfairly? Did Jazz learn to lie and they didn’t even notice? And what the hell, why were they joking about dissection. It’s just awful. They need to talk immediately. No, it will look suspicious. They need to try to make contact with ghosts. And then they’ll all be grounded. All five.

Oh, and she thought two kids were a lot of work. How are they gonna handle three more with the bizarre biology ectology? Do they have hobbies, interests? They are definitely more complicated than theblob-ghosts. Was she wrong? Do they have emotions, a need for socialization? Can she trust her emotions in this matter?

~~~~Bonus~~~~

"What the hell happened to freak’s neck?!"

Danny: Um, excuse me, ma'am, he’s been doing Hatha yoga in India for years. Practice opens up amazing flexibility in the joints! Right, brother?

Dan: Fuck off.

Ma'am: Don’t take me for an idiot! What about his skin color then? Jack: You have something against my son’s tan? Dan: I told you going shopping with me was a bad idea. Dani: If you didn’t scare everyone around, it wouldn’t be so bad.

Dan:...I didn’t even try to do it this time. Why is she meddling?!

~~~Bonus~~~~

Dan: Why am I only third? Dani: Because I have successfully stabbed Danny in the back when he did not expect it. With you he is always waiting for a trick. This makes me much more successful than you :)

[sleepyspots-wc-designs]

Hey pal, could we possibly get a Nightstar/Runningnose kit? I’m imagining they find an abandoned kit that looks JUST like them, and no one believes the kit ISNT theirs lol

Local heavily stressed-out gay doctor and mayor duo “”“find”“” abandoned baby gorl.…

MEET: Ruesneeze

Found abandoned in a patch of bright yellow flowers, sneezing, by Nightstar during the exile of ShadowClan’s elders, little Ruesneeze was raised on stories of a great Clan who tamed the darkness and drove all the monsters within firmly out. The easily-anxious little molly found comfort in these tales, and was quietly thrilled when she was brought to ShadowClan upon the reported “banishment of the baddest bad guy”… She later, much later, learned the truth of this.

Due to her sickly nature and recurrent allergies, Ruesneeze was often found in the medicine den, and as such spent a lot of time in Runningnose’s company — and saw firsthand many of the interactions between ShadowClan’s priest and her adoptive father, and overheard many of their private conversations… Though, with Ruesneeze’s compassion and gentle nature, and her love for both Nightstar and Runningnose, she quietly vowed to herself to keep their secrets… All of them.

It was of no surprise to her when, come time for her early naming ceremony to supply a desperate ShadowClan with new warriors and hope, Nightstar named her after Runningnose.

Nightstar’s sudden death drove Ruesneeze into a deep grief, and back into Runningnose’s presence. The two derived comfort from one another, and often talked softly about what could have been… Until Ruesneeze, too, caught the same bout of greencough that stole her father’s life, and Runningnose promised to decorate her grave with the same flowers she was found in — despite never having been told of where the young molly had been left.

Please read the rules when requesting future hypokits!

This character may be up for grabs, for their design, storytelling, or any other personal use!Keep an eye on the status below if you're interested! :)

Status: CLAIMED! By @doritopaw101

[sam-keeper]

Susan Twist: Word Lord?

Many* people** are wondering about the theory held by certain Doctor Who fans*** online that the actress Susan Twist in the new season of the long running franchise is playing what's known as a "Word Lord".

Now, granted, many more are wondering whether she might, in fact, be Susan, the Doctor's granddaughter. That, my friends, is exactly the kind of question a Word Lord would want you to be asking.

Lemme break this theory down for you.

Throughout this whole new season of Doctor Who, the protagonists have been haunted by the recurrence, in different roles, of a stage and character actor who happens to have the delightful name Susan Twist. Like, not in the show, in real life. According to Russel T Davies, she was the only actor they could get due to an "actor shortage", which seems like a pretty terrible and even implausible dilemma, but luckily Davies has made lemonade out of this very real production constraint! Twist popped up in every episode this season, in some form or other. That's versatile writing! No wonder they brought Rusty back as showrunner.

But perhaps there's more to the story than just the unfortunate realities of filming in a country ruled by a failed regime...

The Doctor and his companion Ruby started noticing Twist's recurring roles over the past few episodes, though the plot of each episode intervened before they could put anything definitive together. It's one of a number of nods to the metatextual content of the show--literal winks to the audience, another character (Mrs Flood) directly addressing the viewers, a whole musical number about how there's "always a twist at the end"--that suggested maybe some authorial tomfoolery was afoot, that maybe something a little tricky or tongue in cheek was happening.

But what could the explanation be? Could Susan Twist really be playing THE Susan, a relative of the Doctor's that hasn't been seen in the franchise since the 60s? That seems a little silly, surely! Or could she be playing another character, like... the Rani? or the Monk? Both of them got namedropped alongside Susan at one point. Or maybe she's the portended head of Maestro and the Toymaker's extracosmic family. I guess there's a theory this is Sutekh, the evil alien god from Pyramids of Mars? Sure, seems fun.

But no. Fuck all that noise. I know what's really going on here and it just coincidentally involves a character that I'm feral about, and that no one else has even heard of, a guy called, somewhat fittingly, Nobody No-one.

No-one shows up in just one and a quarter stories by Steven Hall for Big Finish's series of audio dramas, first as a minor opponent (in 45) and then as a much more motivated and fearsome one (in A Death in the Family). In the latter story, he manages to--no points if you worked this out from the title--kill the Seventh Doctor. How did a character with such a low profile manage such a feat? Well, Nobody No-one has powers comparable to a Time Lord: he is a Word Lord.

Word Lords are one of the most delightfully bonkers concepts to come out of the early exciting and experimental period in Big Finish's line of audio dramas. Hailing from another universe, they're the equivalent of Time Lords for a reality where narrative rather than chronology drives all existence. It's like if the Anchoring of the Thread established not linear time but, I guess, TV Tropes instead. Nobody No-one regenerates like the Doctor, and has his own equivalent to the TARDIS: the CORDIS, or Conveyance Of Repeating Dialogue In Space-time, which is a memetic construct transporting the Word Lord through repeated phrases, jokes, coincidental number recurrences, and so on. The CORDIS is heralded by the number 45 popping up, and you'd better believe I sat up and noticed how many times that number recurred in the code pattern in Dot and Bubble! In Death in the Family there's a whole military organization the Doctor's mucking around with--No, not UNIT. No, not Torchwood. A different thing, one run by a human supremacist vampire hold on we're getting off topic--and Nobody casually reveals at one point that his CORDIS was bouncing around inside their "For King And Country" mantra for years.

Nobody No-one's real fun as a villain comes from his special Bullshit Powers. He's a Word Lord, so he's basically a memetic being, right? He IS language in some sense. Like, apparently his CORDIS crashed into the alphabet after his first encounter with the Doctor, annihilating the 27th letter of the alphabet and causing the English Great Vowel Shift. This story does a ton with the concept of "what if a guy was words".

But what makes him so dangerous is a quirk of his own identity. To grasp what a Word Lord can do, you have to think linguistically, dialogically. Imagine someone haplessly says: "but, nobody could have gotten into that locked room to kill the ambassador!" What would that allow a Word Lord to do? And imagine further:

"No-one tells the sun whether or not to shine." "Nobody could survive that!" "Nobody could just kill the Doctor!"

One slip of the tongue, that's all it takes for Nobody No-one to gleefully command godlike power.

That's Nobody, though. I don't think Susan Twist is just Nobody. I mean, No-one could seriously ask you to believe that this character who appeared in an (unfairly, given its quality) obscure audio adventure, written by an author who only ever wrote those two stories for Doctor Who, with a bunch of wild over the top and no doubt difficult to write around powers, is going to suddenly come back as a major character in the third tv revival of this 60 year old franchise. Like, Nobody would expect Davies to start referencing, I don't know, the Shalka Doctor either, surely. And I wouldn't ask you to make that kind of totally absurd leap, not even if I happened to be writing some sort of tongue in cheek article.

No, what I'm--I mean, what the fans are suggesting is that this concept of a Time Lord but for stories, who comes from a Borgesian narrative dimension, appearing in one and one quarter obscure audio dramas by an author who never wrote anything else for Doctor Who... what the theory proposes is that there's a SECOND one of those guys.

Just think about it, think about it like a Word Lord. What has the fandom asked itself about this season? Surely, one of the foremost questions is simply: what about Susan, the Doctor's granddaughter? She's been name dropped a few times, the Doctor doesn't say she's definitively dead... could there be some reveal here that Susan is alive? There's got to be, right? That's what they're leading up to!

There's just got to be a Susan Twist.

That, my friends, is exactly how she snuck into this reality.

Now, maybe the "Susan Triad" slated to appear next episode isn't this Word Lord proper but a kind of, I don't know, fictionsuit or vessel or entry point. I'm also not sure what a "Susan Twist" would even want, what the grand scheme would be. Unlike Nobody No-one, there's not a lot of word games you can play with "Susan Twist" beyond the obvious. But, maybe that's part of the point. Nobody No-one was a megalomaniac, a guy who really did just want to watch the world burn. The Doctor's companion Hex accuses him of being "proper mad", and he responds, "Mad? I'm FUUURIOUS!" followed by an explosion from the grenade he had tossed into the duck pond. Nobody is a brash, arrogant, chaotic, and... probably not that bright guy, who has the advantage of his CORDIS's many tricks and his incredibly versatile name. Perhaps this new Word Lord wants something other than chaos and destruction. Maybe she simply wants what we've already seen her achieve in the show: universal ubiquity. There's always a Twist at the end.

Actually, this would weirdly parallel another beat from Death in the Family. In order to trap Nobody, the Doctor weaponizes his own narrative against the Word Lord, tapping into the universal internet and googling himself in order to build a whole proxy universe based on his own life. From another perspective, he basically uses the entire narrative of Doctor Who--all the episodes, all the Big Finish audios, all the Doctor Who Monthly comics, all the Virgin New Adventures--as an ideatic missile. This is such a cool concept I'd feel guilty about giving it away, only it happens about a fifth of the way through Death in the Family. Seriously, this audio GOES places. Anyway, the suggestion is that the Doctor is so entangled with the history of the universe, so threaded throughout all these other narratives, that his history effectively is a world unto itself that a being of narrative like Nobody might get completely lost in.

That's a kind of narrative ubiquity if there ever was one. If I was a Word Lord I'd be sorely tempted by that. Nobody is: he appears a perverse counterpart to the Doctor (and personally I think David Tennant would do a GREAT job playing him if he ever appeared in the show). I can't help but notice, incidentally, that we just got an episode where the shapeshifting Chuldur quickly became obsessed with cosplaying as the Doctor, and Wild Blue Yonder also introduced a couple of not-things trying to copy him. Could this Word Lord be seeking to build a narrative as strong and inescapable as the Doctor's?

It would be an interesting way of incorporating some of these meta elements without slipping too far into a kind of self-referential morass. It feels like Davies has been dancing right up on that line this entire season in a way that's exhilarating, but that also has been a bit nerve wracking for me. The more metatextual storytelling has exited the realm of weird independent art and entered the mainstream, the more cloying it's started to feel. Like, when you engage the audience, entreat them directly to care about the characters or write tearful paeans to the necessity of the Hero as a Symbol, the more it can start to feel like a bit of a desperate exercise in brand management. Clap if you DO believe in fairies, and all that. Doctor Who certainly has some history of guilt here--sorry, Steven Moffat, but sometimes it does get to be a bit much. And it does risk standing the purpose of literature on its head, where ironically through characters lauding the virtues of storytelling within society, the virtue of having participated in a transaction consuming art becomes the foundation of fandom, and the actual literary content is assumed, but treated as an afterthought.

Davies has thus far instead treated the meta content in two ways: as a unique physics to be solved, and as a way of exploring a particular bit of social commentary (sometimes more than one at once). Goblins use a "language of luck" and a physics of rope and knots, the Toymaker brings the world into a State of Play, and Maestro introduces a State of Musicals. To challenge these beings, the Doctor must understand their particular ontology and exploit it. As soon as the Bogeyman in Space Babies faces real peril, all the children who were afraid of it rally to its defense, which doubles as both a commentary on the "Teatime Terror for Tots" charge thrown at children's media like Doctor Who--children LIKE scary stories and creepy, gross monsters!--and reinforces Davies's acidic anger at social and political abandonment of people who are inconvenient to the bottom line. Rogue plays gleefully with fanfiction tropes, and its positioning of the Chuldur as "cosplayers" would riiight up to the edge of being a little too navel gazing about toxic fans... if not for the fact that the Doctor and Ruby are also explicitly cosplaying as Bridgerton characters, and the episode is still giving fans exactly what they want in the form of a whirlwind gay Doctor/Rogue romance. This season is concerned with these sorts of metatextual games, without being subsumed by them and becoming entirely about self-referential brand building.

A Death in the Family is also, notably, only partly about Nobody No-one and his machinations and the counter-machinations required to stop him, set into motion by the Seventh Doctor and carried out beyond his death by companions Ace and Hex. Like I said, a lot of the seismic action of the story is over within the first 25 minutes. The Word Lord is really just used as a jumping off point to talk about a bunch of other stuff: truth, lies, choices made for ourselves or made for us by others... we see multiple information-worlds built in the story, some of them more subtle than others. At one point Ace tearfully proclaims that traveling on the TARDIS with the Doctor "is the only life I've ever wanted!" The Seventh Doctor retorts, with some audible guilt and distress, "No, it's the only life you've ever HAD!" In a very real sense, the Doctor has created the notional worlds that Ace and Hex inhabit, defining the contours of Ace's life since she was a teenager, and deliberately staying silent about Hex's traumatic family history, deciding for both of them "what's best". Nobody No-one in that sense is a pretext, in the best tradition of Doctor Who, to dig into questions about power.

The metafictional is risky, but it's a narrative tool like any other, and it fits with a long history of Doctor Who as a franchise reflecting on itself and its place in culture, with everything from the Mind Robber's suggestion that the Doctor himself might be an escapee from fiction, to Vengeance on Varos and Trial of a Time Lord's dramatization of Doctor Who's conservative culture war critics, to the Last Great Time War as metaphor for the show's cancellation. In a sense, behaving as though cosplay or fandom or whatever don't exist and couldn't possibly be the idiom through which characters--even weird alien characters--interpret their reality and act upon it might equally alienate the show from being about any wider culture beyond itself, endlessly, the same dalek and cybermen and Master stories recycling forever. My hope is just that as Davies barrels into the finale at full speed, it's this sense of a meaning for Doctor Who beyond its own lore driving him. The anger we've seen from him about social issues, the commitment to changing the show where it needs to grow, and the willingness to take big swings at continuity all give me some reason to feel confident.

Confident, of course, that he has seen the wisdom and logic of building his arc around Susan Twist being a Word Lord. What? That's what this article is about, remember? That didn't stop being a thing. Anyway, I'm excited for friday, when all of us pulling for this theory will be proven indisputably right, and you will all, in deference, subscribe to my Patreon.

* alleged ** hypothetical *** me, specifically

[jimin-updates]

A little over 24 hours to go to make a difference for week 21!

Remember, if Who leaves the top 50 it will leave the Billboard Hot 100, so we need to work as hard as we can to keep Who competitive with the new releasees and holiday music 💪🏻

If you’re US/PR based funds are available for the ongoing buying party to boost digital sales and premium streams:

All we can do is our best, so let’s give it our all!

[thelosers-club]

HELLO so I heard people talkimg about Stan having OCD and I just really really needed to clear up misconceptions about OCD and Stans character so if you like stan uris or mental health studies at all this might be fun to read for you

none of this is like drama relatef at all it was just a fun little thing i wanted to do so i could learn about mental health and my favorite characters at the same time

sorry if none of this makes sense i wrote it all in one go at 2am (feel free to add any info you want or clear up anything i might've explained poorly)

This started because I was sick anf tired of people saying stan has ocd because that just doesnt make sense towards any canon material (If you want to headcanon him as it, that’s fine, but please read through this so you can do it more accurately) and it seemed to be just a dramatic stereotyping of what OCD is.

After doing research, reading the literal DSM’s sections on OCD, I’ve come to the conclusion that: I was right, Stan very very much does NOT have OCD.

People said he has it because in IT 2017, he makes sure to clean the windows properly, and in the book he has germaphobia. That’s about it. I looked at other things I tried to find as evidence for him having OCD, but I couldn’t find anything else that fit. And this is not a case of opinion because I like to be as absolutely objective as possible in these types of things and see no point in anything otherwise

So anyway, I’ll try to put this all simply because if I get too complicated I’m gonna get lost and this will turn into a rant on literally anything because currently I’m unmedicated for my adhd

Why does Stan not have OCD? To put it simply, he does not fit any of the criteria. I do think he has germaphobia, but I believe that to be part of his autism (as it’s very, very common in autism) and/or anxiety.

To delve into that a liittle bit more, the OCD criteria is this:

A. obsessions or compulsions, such as recurrent and persistent thoughts, impulses, images, that are, at some point, intrusive and inappropriate and cause distress. the thoughts, impulses, or images are not simply excessive worries about real life problems. the person attempts to ignore/suppress such thoughts as to neutralize them with some other thought or action.

Thinking back on the book, which is what I like to adhere to as much as possible, Stan does not have these thoughts recurrently enough that it is affecting his life. I can see that he has a fear of dirt and ick which sometimes spikes when he’s stressed, but otherwise he is able to go through his day to day life easily enough with these thoughts.

Other diagnostic criteria to fill up the cracks in this is that the obsessions or compulsions must be time consuming (taking up more than 1 hour a day) or significantly interfere with the person’s normal routine and functioning, or social activities or relationships. Stan is not shown doing things like this repeatedly and, in my mind when I try to follow stephen king’s writing and ideas as much as I possibly can, I do not think he would if the book were longer either.

But, I very much think these traits are there; And they fit perfectly into autism traits. I think right now is a good time to note that autism gets mixed up as OCD quite a bit because they have overlapping traits.

Now to defend my case for why he might have Autism;

He acts to put it quite simply, insanely fucking autistic. Alllll the fucking time. That man is incredibly autistic there is no denying this

His whole character is set on the fact that he is a very black and white person, very very rigid, and you can’t deny it because he literally killed himself over finding out he was wrong about the guidelines and rules he made up for the world. he is so autistic

A common trait of autism is having an abnormal way of speaking, like a weird rhythm, and Stan’s tone WAS described as pleasant but it was also described as abnormal and such..

Look at how much he likes birds. it feels a little obvious to me here lol

the meltdowns he’s had because, again, his routine and rules were interrupted

He was insanely good at math/accounting which I think also has to do with the need for rules he has, math is ruled and never changes 4+4 will always be 8 yada yada

Also stan just in my headcanon world has very very limited romantic and platonic feelings and I think thats common in autistic folks because we’re so different from other people

anyways im tired and i think you all get it by now if youve watched any of the movies or read the book Stan acts quite autistic. i swear im not self projecting pleas

[aurelim]

Master Post

As I have a lot of posts and am likely to add more, I figured I should create a master post for the entire blog.

Last updated: 12/1/24

DEMO 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 INTRO POST 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 FAQ 𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 RO INFO

As the Ocean Lures is a 16+ interactive novel about being a Merfolk. Currently, the demo has the entirety of the prologue, chapter one, and chapter two, as well as a sneak peek into chapter three!

You can find discussions of the game in general under the following tags: #As the Ocean Lures, #atol, #atol ros, #atol ro info, #atol faq and #atol prompts

DEMO ★ INTRO POST ★ FAQ ★ CHARACTER INFO

ST4RDOM is a 17+ game about going on your first world tour with your k-pop group ST4RDOM. MC is genderlocked female. Currently, the demo has the entire prologue out.

DEMO ➤ INTRO POST ➤ FAQ

Swapped is a 15+ game about swapping identities with a famous actor. Currently the outline is written, with the first episode already published as of 11/30/24!

You can find discussions of the game in general under the following tags: #swapped-if and #qna

GAME 🕸️ INTRO POST

Among the Haunted is a game created for Halloween 2023! A collaboration between Aurelia Lim and Alby Writes Fiction, the game is centered on you, a single parent, raising two kids while celebrating the spooky day your own way. The game is currently released, but may go through updates once the jams are finished!

Interactive fiction games you can expect to see in the future:

A Greek mythology IF about being a deity who has fallen out of grace with the gods. The only way they can redeem themselves is by collecting twelve items throughout Greece to prove themself worthy. Also, they have to do it all as a mortal. More updates coming soon.

A slice-of-life summer break about going to the seaside and discovering one's self. There will be six characters who will appear recurrently in the sleepy town of Seaside Point, all of whom the main character will have to leave once vacation is over. More updates soon.

A dark academia-inspired murder mystery about attending a boarding school with its secrets. There will be murder (of course) and three classmates who will assist the main character in solving the crimes. More updates soon.

A slice-of-life about letting go of a loved one when it hurts. It follows the main character and their significant other as they take one final journey across the country. Their loved one is dying and there is no cure. Experience heartache along the way, cherish the sweet moments, and perhaps learn to let go. More updates soon.

A mystery IF about discovering a message in a bottle leading to a time capsule from the Roaring '20s. With the assistance of friends, finding it will never be easier. More updates coming soon.

About Me

Asks: Feel free to ask me any questions about the games! Or if you just want to rant about the characters, that’s fine as well :)

Prompts: You can send prompts for any characters! My only rule is that there is no kinks or NSFW...for now. Speaking of...

NSFW: I hesitate on adding NSFW as I am unsure whether or not there will be explicit content. I just don’t know how to write it properly. If I have a change of heart I will update the warnings and announce it. But for now, I will keep it off-limits.

Submits: You can submit a post to this blog. If you do, I ask that it is not inappropriate!

Messages: You can submit a message to me if you think there should be x content in the game or ways to improve. Please no toxicity, however—I am a real human being after all. Please know that I will not be afraid to block and report you if it is inappropriate.

[eksvaized]

Part Eight König / Ghost / Reader [ Previous 〡 Next ] ︱AO3 ︱Wattpad ︱ taglist (if you want to be added - let me know!): @strawberrygato, @ghostslittlegf, @eskalotte, @abcdbleh, @yawning-grave81, @liamwholover, @valira-demaur, @idek101-01, @mizu-bozu, @pinkslaystation

Each time you find yourself wrapped in the comforting embrace of Simon’s arms, you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. It’s as if you’ve broken a solemn promise you’ve made to yourself—a vow, a pledge, a commitment to stay away from him. This whirlwind of emotions, this cycle, has become a repeated pattern, a recurrent loop that seems to have no end.

After every night spent tangled in the sheets of Simon’s bed, you sternly tell yourself, and him, that this was indeed the last time. You assert, with a firmness that lacks any genuine conviction, that you won’t be crossing the threshold of his doorstep again.

However, this proclamation, this denial has turned into a part of a routine, too. It’s just like the part when Simon, with that irresistible charm of his, teases you. A mischievous glint twinkles in his dark eyes as you hurriedly gather your scattered clothes from the floor, peeking under the bed to look for your missing panties, only to stand up and see Simon twist the thin, soft fabric around his fingers.

His voice dances around you, a teasing melody of amusement, challenging your resolve. He doesn’t believe you can resist him, and his assertion fills the room. A knowing smirk slowly, almost lazily, creeps onto his face. Then, he always adds, with a hint of anticipation in his voice, “I won’t lock the door—in case your bed gets too cold. Again.”

You dismiss his words with a casual flick of your hand, a facade of indifference masking the turmoil within. You declare that you plan on spending the night at your own house, in your own bed, under your own roof. Yet, no matter how hard you push Simon away, how intently you try to maintain the distance, how determinedly you try to build walls around yourself, an invisible, magnetic force always lures you back to him. It pulls you back into the warmth of his arms, back into his bed, back into a world where nothing else seems to matter…

These days, it seems to be more of a rule than an exception that you find yourself spending the night at Simon’s place. This is particularly the case when König isn’t around to notice your absence. However, even when König is present, his attention is far from you. He’s usually engrossed in his phone, busily dealing with work politics, rumours, and gossip. This scenario provides you with ample opportunity to sneak away, and you seize it on numerous occasions.

Every time you cross the street, leaving your house behind and heading towards Simon’s, a heavy cloak of guilt wraps itself around your shoulders. It’s like a shadow, constantly trailing behind you, tracing your every step. Yet, the adrenaline rush you experience from the risk of being caught in the act at any moment works like a balm. It momentarily drowns out the shame and guilt, providing a temporary respite from your inner conflict.

There were one or two close encounters with König, where you almost got caught red-handed. But each time, you managed to think on your feet and concoct a believable excuse. And each time, König, in his naivety, accepted your hastily made up excuse without suspicion.

Simon has grown into an obsession, more than just a fleeting thought. He’s an insatiable fire consuming your every waking moment, infiltrating your thoughts, spreading tendrils of longing and desire through your day and night. No matter what you’re doing or where you are, he’s always there, at the back of your mind. And the mere thought of him - his presence, his voice, even his laughter - is enough to send a giddy rush of excitement coursing through your veins. Everything about him, from his gaze to his infectious smile, makes your heart flutter in a way that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s as if you’re a schoolgirl with her first crush again, blushing uncontrollably and giggling at the slightest provocation. And after what seems like an eternity of waiting and wanting, of yearning for something more, you’re finally receiving the attention you’ve been desperately craving.

However, you’re well aware that you need to end things with König. It’s a task that’s easier said than done, especially given the circumstances. You haven’t been able to muster the courage to break things off yet, knowing all too well that König will demand to know why. He will want answers, and you’re not yet ready to confess that you’ve been having an affair.

It all reminds you of the time when you wanted to confront König about his own infidelity. You kept telling yourself that you’ll do it tomorrow, but when tomorrow came, you found another excuse to delay the confrontation. It’s the same with your confession now — each night before sleep, you promise yourself that you will talk with König in the morning. But when the morning comes, fear and guilt make you push that conversation further and further into the future.

* * *

It’s one of those long, seemingly endless nights where you are lying wide awake in bed, enveloped by the frigid sheets. The evening’s chill seems to seep into your bones, making the bed feel colder than it is. The day has been a marathon, filled to the brim with copious amounts of coffee—a decision you’re now regretting as the caffeine courses through your veins, denying you the sleep.

Your mind aimlessly wanders, drifting to thoughts of König, who’s been dispatched on yet another mission, leaving you alone to endure the deafening silence of your home for the next few long days.

Drained yet restless, sleep eluding your desperate grasp, you reach out for your phone. You scroll through your contacts until you land on Simon’s name and decide to send him a text.

Minutes that feel like hours pass as you wait anxiously for his reply. The oppressive silence of the room is punctuated only by the faint, rhythmic ticking of the clock in the hallway. When a response doesn’t come, a pang of disappointment courses through you, but you decide to send another message. A more direct invitation this time. “Come over?” you type, hoping he’s awake and willing to offer you a much-needed distraction from the loneliness.

Not too long after, the front door groans as it swings open. You had hidden a spare key outside, tucked away beneath an unassuming rock, specifically for Simon. You lock your phone, its screen dimming before you toss it onto the plush mattress without a second thought. Your fingers weave through your unkempt hair, soothing your excited nerves as you sit up in anticipation.

Simon has been in your house before and is familiar with the layout, so you don’t bother leaving the comfort of your bed to greet him.

The sound of heavy, determined footsteps reverberates through the house, growing louder and closer with each passing second. Each footfall stirs a flutter of excitement within the depths of your heart. However, the rhythmic footfall abruptly ceases. An unsettling, eerie silence envelops the house. As you look at the gap under the bedroom door, a flickering shadow catches your eye.

“Simon?” You call out, your brows furrowing in confusion.

Though you’re aware, he’s likely just pranking you, attempting to scare you, you find it more irritating than entertaining and wish he would just drop the act. Reaching over, you flick on the lamp. Its warm, comforting glow bathing the space in a soft light. “Stop playing around,” you demand again. This time, there’s a hint of irritation in your tone, laced with an undercurrent of budding anxiety.

No answer. Your patience, already worn thin, finally snaps, and you rise from the bed, determined to confront Simon and put an end to his childish game.

As you tiptoe, each step taken with extreme caution, you inch closer towards the closed door, pressing your ear against it. The faint sound of Simon’s breathing reaches your ears, and you can’t help but smirk at the realisation that he probably didn’t hear your soft footsteps. You decide to scare him.

“Boo!” With a sudden burst of energy, you swing the door open in one fluid, swift motion, your fingers slipping off the cool metal handle because of the abrupt movement.

However, the smirk that was plastered across your face fades away almost instantly when you see he isn’t here. The hallway is dark and empty. It’s as though he has dissolved into the very shadows, leaving behind only a frigid silence that gnaws at your courage.

“Simon? This isn’t funny anymore,” you call out, your voice echoing through the silence. You wonder how he was able to move so quickly and silently — you should have heard him walking away.

Yet again, your words are met with no response.

An icy shiver runs down your spine, like cold fingers tracing your back, sending a wave of unease rippling through your entire body. Like a creeping fog, fear seeps into every inch of you, its grip paralysing you, forcing you to stand still. With wide, frantic eyes, you scan the eerie surroundings, your gaze flitting from one corner to another, desperately searching for any trace of Simon.

A terrifying thought crosses your mind, causing your heart to beat faster. But... what if it’s not Simon messing with you? After all, he didn’t respond to your text. He may still be asleep in his house, and instead, you are now playing hide and seek with a stranger who has broken into your home.

A sudden noise—the sound of shattering glass—from the kitchen breaks your train of thought. Your heart plummets and, in a state of panic, you dart back into the room, slamming the door shut louder than you intended.

You’re now certain that it’s not Simon who’s lurking in the shadows, and you realise that you’re left with two choices. The first option is to gather your courage and try to escape, but the overwhelming fear glues you to the spot. So, you stumble towards the bed instead—your second option is to call for help and hope that it arrives in time.

As you frantically search for your phone, your hands glide across the lumpy mattress, tossing pillows and other items onto the floor in your haste. You mentally chide yourself for carelessly throwing your phone onto the bed instead of placing it on the nightstand. But finally, your fingers wrap around it, and you let out a shaky breath of relief. Yet, just as you unlock the phone, a hand clamps over your mouth. A body presses against yours.

“Caught you,” a low voice whispers into your ear, and an arm slinks around your waist, effectively immobilising you and preventing any chance of escape.

Simon. Your heart slows down when you realise it’s him. The phone slips out of your trembling hand and falls back onto the mattress. As you swallow the scream that had been building in your throat, a faint smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

You attempt to turn around because you want him to push him away and curse him for scaring you. But as soon as your body moves, his grip around you tightens. Like a python ensnaring its prey, his arms pull you deeper into his embrace, binding you closer to the heat of his body.

“You shouldn’t have been so desperate, you know,” he murmurs, his voice a low whisper that sends a shiver down your spine. “... your neediness for attention made it easy for me to manipulate you.”

You are not sure what he is talking about, but you don’t want to listen anymore. Whatever twisted game he’s playing, you want him to end it now. You want him to leave your house—leave you alone. Yet his hand remains firmly clamped over your mouth, his arm still wrapped tightly around your waist. His fingers dig into your side with such force that you know it will leave a bruise.

In a fit of desperation, you sink your teeth into the soft flesh of his palm. He responds with a hiss—a sharp exhale of pain that sounds like steam escaping from a pressure valve. His hold on you slackens momentarily. That brief second is all you need, and you push him away with all the strength you can muster.

Before you can whirl around and deliver an ultimatum, your vision starts to distort. A wave of darkness washes over you, pulling you down into its inky depths. Your eyes roll to the back of your head and you stumble, struggling to stay upright. But it’s no use. Your body gives up the fight and you crumple to the ground.

As you regain consciousness, a harsh, persistent ringing fills your ears, drowning out the silence of the room. A throbbing, pounding pain pulses rhythmically at the back of your skull. It takes several agonizing, disorienting seconds for your memory to return, filtering through the fog of confusion that clouds your mind. When it does, your eyes widen in terror and scan the room.

Simon is gone and you are… tied to the bed; your hands are fastened tightly above your head to the headboard, your mouth sealed with a piece of tape, the distinct aroma of the glue filling your nostrils and making you nauseous.

A wave of panic engulfs you, washing over you like a chilling tide. You begin to thrash around in desperate, futile attempts to free yourself, to escape the bindings that hold you captive. However, the unyielding restraints only seem to gnaw into your skin even deeper, tightening their grip on you, etching themselves into your flesh.

Simon’s chilling voice reverberates reaches your ears. It paralyzes you, causing your body to turn rigid, as if encased in a tomb of ice. Your breathing becomes shallow, each intake of air a struggle as you try to muffle your whimpering cries. Your vision blurs as tears well up in your eyes; hot tears sting, like a thousand tiny needles pricking at your pupils, causing you to blink rapidly in a frenzied attempt to clear your sight.

Despite the bedroom door being firmly shut, you can hear the distinct sound of Simon pacing anxiously in the hallway. You can’t physically see him, but you’re certain he’s talking with someone on the phone conversation with someone.

“...Hurry up. I have her—there’s not much time,” he commands, the authoritative tone in his voice chilling you to your very core. His voice gradually recedes as he moves away, the sound of his footsteps growing fainter. Only to become audible again, a haunting echo, as he draws closer to the door. “No, but what other choice did I have? She would never have willingly gone me...”

Wrestling against your restraints, you make a vain attempt to sit upright. Like a captured bird flutters against the bars of its cage, you tug and twist at your bindings, shifting them in an effort to loosen them. The rough texture, like sandpaper against your skin, grates, and rubs, and the constant friction only serves to magnify the uncomfortable pressure on your already raw and chafed wrists.

The low murmur of Simon’s voice is a constant in the background, his words washing over you in a disjointed rhythm. “... I would, but I can’t just toss her over my shoulder and carry her to...” His voice, muffled and distant, keeps fading in and out, like a radio struggling to find the right frequency.

While you’re unable to grasp the entire conversation, the fragments you do catch are enough to elicit dread, making it clear that it isn’t going to end well for you.

“... I doubt Sarah will keep König distracted for much longer—he puts up with her because he knows he has to,” Simon says in a matter-of-fact tone. The mere mention of König’s name sends a shiver down your spine, causing you to freeze in place. And… and Sarah? Why would she be involved in all of this? “And unless you want König to cut your head off for touching his girl, I suggest you move your ass....”

[actual-changeling]

Aziraphale Does NOT Have Depression

or: Please Have a Look at the ICD

or: This Word Does Not Mean What You Think It Does

I cannot believe I even have to make this post, but here we are. Hi. Hello guys. Maybe I should start a series called "Alex fact-checks meta posts" because I have seen things that should have never been written.

A small excursion before we start: The way things usually work in academic circles is that the person making the claim needs to provide proof for said claim, which is then peer-reviewed by unrelated academic parties. That involves not only making sure that the results they are basing their claim on are replicable—meaning that if someone else were to do the same work, they would receive the same result—but also that their methods were ethical and functional.

If it turns out that their methods or any other part of the process are not replicable, functional, or otherwise waterproof, then the paper is marked as not being correct and that it should be disregarded.

While this is far from academic circles, these rules still apply to any kind of conversation or discussion, especially that last part:

If you make a claim, back it up, or it should be disregarded.

With that, welcome to the peer-review of "Aziraphale has depression" claims. Obligatory note that this is not about fanfiction or headcanons but people claiming that Aziraphale canonically has depression.

You may sit in front of your screen and think Alex, why do you think you can write this post? To which I happily respond that not only am I professionally diagnosed with both Dysthymia and Recurrent Depressive Disorder, I have also a) done my research offline with psychiatrists and psychologists and b) know how to read academic literature because my degree very much requires me to be able to do so.

If you want to go and fact-check what I am about to present—which you are explicitly invited to do in case you want to publicly disagree with me—you can find the entirety of the ICD 11 right here.

No paywall, completely free access.

For those who have never heard of it, ICD stands for "International Classification of Diseases", which is by now on its 11th version and written and maintained by the WHO/World Health Organization. It contains all kinds of relevant information, like diagnostic criteria, about all diseases. As you can see, this includes mental disorders and illnesses:

Let's get into it!

First things first, there is no such thing as "depression", that term is a colloquial reduction of a number of different disorders categorized under Mood Disorders -> Depressive Disorders. Said category also contains any and all diagnoses related to Bipolar Disorders.

"Depression" is nondescript, loose, and can mean a long list of things, and social media has diluted and romanticized its meaning. For the purpose of this post, we will have a look at the criteria for three diagnoses:

Dysthymic disorder (shortened here to dysthymia)

Single episode depressive disorder, mild ( // to single episode)

Recurrent depressive disorder, current episode mild ( // recurrent)

I assume people mean a crude mix of these when they say "depression". Both recurrent and single episode can be diagnosed with dysthymia, but they cannot be diagnosed with each other. Recurrent automatically excludes single episode as a diagnosis, which I think is obvious if you think about it.

Before we look at the symptoms themselves, here is something very important to keep in mind about diagnoses: There are two requirements that pretty much every listed disorder and illness in the ICD has.

The first is that the symptoms are not related to something else—whether that's another mental disorder, a physical illness, or simply a cultural influence. It needs to be clear that they are due to something outside of what is already known and not circumstantial.

The second one is that the present symptoms are causing significant distress and impair a person's functioning in at least two different areas of life.

Or, to put it bluntly, a disorder needs to be disordering or it isn't one.

Additionally, the severity of the displayed symptoms needs to be taken into account. If several of them are not causing any negative impact on someone's life, they are not symptoms and cannot be counted.

Now, I will very much reduce the information the ICD provides us with or we will be here forever, but it is all correct and not partial in its meaning. To keep everything neat and tidy, I created a nice, colour-coded table:

If you disagree with what I marked for Aziraphale, great, please provide me with textual evidence of where exactly he exhibits each criteria, that it is not related to periodical stress or something else, and cannot be attributed to exceptional circumstances (like the end of the world).

The ONLY symptom we ever see Aziraphale consistently show throughout all six thousand thousand years is the one marked in yellow: low self-worth or excessive or inappropriate guilt.

However, if you paid attention to what I explained above, you will notice why this is in no way indicative of a depressive disorder.

Not only is it one symptom out of several required ones, it can also be explained by something else, which is the emotional neglect and abuse heaven subjected and subjects every (former) angel to. The same can be said for any anxious symptoms he exhibits sometimes, emphasis on sometimes.

In conclusion, Aziraphale does not have depression, and I think making a case that he does will be almost entirely built on assumptions and subjective interpretations, not anything that is in any shape or form supported by text or subtext.

Does that mean all of his struggles are somehow invalid? No, of course not. They are simply not due to a disorder but something else, that's literally all this post proves. It makes no moral judgement.