#when central casting attacks

[bywons]

⋆ DOUBLE SHOT ESPRESSO — YJW

╰—— “ say you can't sleep? baby, i know, that's that me espresso ” — where jungwon still remembers the way to your heart

🪽 𝖾𝗑-𝖻𝖿! 𝗒𝖺𝗇𝗀 𝗃𝗎𝗇𝗀𝗐𝗈𝗇 x 𝖿! 𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 g . 𝖿𝗅𝗎𝖿𝖿, 𝗈𝖿𝖿𝗂𝖼𝖾 𝗋𝗈𝗆𝖺𝗇𝖼𝖾, 𝖾𝗑𝖾𝗌𝟤𝗅𝗈𝗏𝖾𝗋𝗌 1855 𝒘𝗈𝗋𝖽𝗌 𝖼𝗈𝗇𝗍𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗌 ! 𝗌𝗄𝗂𝗇𝗌𝗁𝗂𝗉, 𝗄𝗂𝗌𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀, 𝖼𝗎𝗋𝗌𝗂𝗇𝗀 ✦ ◞ CATALOGUE

๑´ ³`) ﾉ pls leave feedbacks if u liked it ♡ REBLOG !!

ib — espresso by sabrina carpenter ♡ for @okwonyo ’s celestial ballet event!

“jay?”, you pause your typing on the desktop, groaning as you massage your temples. “can you grab my usual drink from the cafeteria?”

“double shot espresso”, a mellow voice floats to you from the cubicle to your left, “am i right?”

“yeah, you're righ—”, wait. this doesn't sound like park jongseong. his voice is more serious, and besides you never had to repeat your order for jay. then whose voice is this? it sounds so familiar, so close. almost as if you know the face behind it.

you push your heels against the cold office floor, propelling yourself backward in your swivel chair, rolling away from your cubicle. it's dull, the atmosphere inside the office. the central AC cranked to the coolest setting, contributing to the dim lighting to make you squirm on your seat. outside, the sky is overcast, heavy with the promise of rain.

the wall separating you from the unknown man's cubicle, is now visible. behind it you can only see the outline of his black shirt, sleeves rolled up, fingers pretending to type.

“uhm”, you clear your throat, now just behind him, “you new here?”

“new to the office,” he finally spoke again, this time turning around in his chair, only to give you a heart attack, “but definitely not new to you.”

yang fucking jungwon. this cheeky bastard. you wish you could punch that sly smirk out of his face. the way his arms are crossed together with his head held high, eyes glinting with a mischievous hint while he holds his smirk on his lips.

is he trying to challenge you? but the last time you saw him was 5 months ago, in a desperate cry of getting you back in front of your apartment doorstep, with a bouquet of roses and baby's breath he bought in a rush. you had a hard time shooing him away that night. but then again jungwon is a fishy player, always at the node of your suspicion.

he has you banging your head against the wall, internally of course, yet again after 6 whole months.

jungwon leans back in his chair, head resting back, that teasing smile never leaving. this nonchalant asshole. "new job, same floor. didn't expect to see me, did you?”

“what do you want, jungwon?”, you try to keep your cool, arms crossed with a bored expression.

“ouch!”, he places a hand over his heart, pretending to be in pain— all the while having a smile attached, “jungwon? where's won? wonnie, my love? can we not do that?” what a drama queen.

you furrow your brows, a suspicious look casting over your face, “are you stalking me now?”

jungwon chuckles, sitting up straight in his chair, “stalking? no, i just happened to get a job here. pure coincidence.”

you narrow your eyes, not buying it for a second. “really? pure coincidence?”

“okay, maybe i pulled a few strings,” he admits, raising his hands in mock surrender. “but can you blame me? i missed you.”

“seriously, get out”, you whisper-scoff, loud enough for him to hear and frown. pushing your heels against the floor again, you return to your cubicle.

you cannot believe this man right now, did he actually stalk you enough to know your workplace? is he that desperate? heck, you can't even remember why you broke up with him in the first place. not with that pretty face of his following you to your cubicle, on his own swivel chair. and oh you can already predict his whines and horrific shenanigans to impress you back.

not to say, you do enjoy his company. he's a charming devil, always knowing how to make you laugh even when you don't want to. but you refuse to let him think he can just waltz back into your life without any consequences.

jungwon rolls his chair up beside yours, the wheels squeaking slightly. “ever since we've broken up, i can't sleep y/n. you're there in my dreams.”

you let out a chortle, loud enough to echo back to you, as you turn your head to jungwon— still laughing sarcastically. “i know, that's me, espresso. it's my kinda effect.”

“c’mon babe, let me have a chance to prove myself—”

“...i need to check this paperwork”, you stand up abruptly, collecting the messy papers filled with sticky notes all in a bunch and hurrying to the desk at the corner of the office.

before even putting the paperwork down on the desk, you feel his presence again beside you. he is speed, didn't waste a second of his time right after you broke up to show up at your door with your favourite plush toy he won at the claw machine in 5 minutes paired with his horrible guitar skills. to be very honest, you enjoy jungwon's antics. maybe even love it, he is an incredible person to be around. but he just can't be your hype boy, and you crave hype in your life.

you sigh, rummaging through the paperwork.

“remember our dance nights?”, you gasp at his sudden proximity, his lips nearly grazing the tip of your ears, the strong smell of his perfume ghosting all over. he moved a tad bit closer, the soft outline of his abs pressing gently against your back, “or the karaoke ones? or our late night swimming session? when have i ever bored you out, baby?”, his voice drops to a whisper.

thank god the office was empty, you don't how you would've explained your flustered face. you try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, let them fly around, yang jungwon's going to mess up anyway. find some absurd antic of his to give you the ick and then you're gonna shoo him away again.

no more yang jungwon, no more headache, no more drama.

but what is life without a little drama? you've given the poor guy a fair chase of 6 months. he loves to chase hard to get, you love to play hard to get. it's a simple equation really, a match made in heaven. you can't deny the void you felt in your heart all these months when jungwon was away too. you were eager, longing, almost manifesting for his touch, for him to come back in your life.

and the universe listened, so you shouldn't complain now.

“i've been thinking of you, every day, every night”, his voice becoming huskier, now standing just behind. his fingers threaten to close in your waist; he plays with the fabric of your shirt.

“isn't that sweet?”, you reply, unable to move a muscle— you're under his spell, or is he under yours?

“i guess so,” he scoffs, “everything about you is sweet.” his hands finally close in around your waist, chin resting on top of your shoulder.

god, why aren't there any people in this office! it's only giving yang jungwon more courage to pull you closer, until your back pressed against his broad chest. a wave of nostalgia, dangerous for both of yet more for him. he has missed you, your touch, your voice, your daily espresso. god knows how bad he waited for this, again.

feathery lips brushing against the tip of your ears, a shiver down your spine. are you in for it again?

“why now?” you ask, exasperation creeping into your voice. “why after all these months?”

he takes a deep breath, his expression turning serious, arms tightening around you. “because i’ve had time to think. time to realise how much i screwed up and how much i miss you. i know it won’t be easy, but i'm willing to do whatever it takes.”

you shake your head, feeling the weight of his words but unwilling to give in just yet. “jungwon, we broke up for a reason. we both needed space and time to figure things out.”

“i know,” he says softly, turning you around. “and i've used that time to work on myself. i’ve changed, love. let me show you.”

you look into his eyes, searching for any hint of deception. but all you see is sincerity and determination. it’s the same look he had when you first fell for him.

a moment of bliss, before jungwon makes it even more euphoric. he pulls you in, in a long awaited kiss, lips desperately in search of the lost taste of espresso in yours. the bitter sweetness that he misses so hard. his hands grasp around your waist and pull you in closer, tongue running past your lips.

a bold move. all of this. a serious kiss with your ex on the first day of your new job? jungwon knows you like this type of bold.

“so..”, you pull away from the kiss, hands resting behind his neck, “...what now?”

“you still taste sweet,” jungwon lets out a breathy laugh, brushing his thumb against your lower lip, “just like i remember, like your double shot espresso.”

you can’t help but roll your eyes, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “you and your cheesy lines, won. some things never change.”

“some things shouldn’t,” he retorts, his gaze softening. “like us.”

you open your mouth to respond, but the moment is interrupted by the sound of a familiar melody playing from his phone. jungwon grins, pulling back just enough to fish his phone out of his pocket.

“speaking of espresso,” he says with a playful glint in his eyes, “remember our dance nights?”

before you can protest, he’s already hit play, the catchy beat filling the otherwise quiet office. he holds out a hand, eyes twinkling with bliss. “may i have this dance?”

you glance around, ensuring the office is still empty, then take his hand with a resigned sigh. “you're impossible, jungwon. impresaing with dance steps now?”

he pulls you close, swaying to the music. “impossible to resist, you mean.”

you laugh despite yourself, letting him twirl you around the small space. jungwon’s dance moves are as ridiculous yet fabulous as ever, over-exaggerated and comically dramatic, but it’s exactly what you needed. he spins you out and back into his arms, dipping you low as the chorus hits.

“you always did love this song,” you say breathlessly as he pulls you back up.

“because it reminds me of you,” he replies, his expression softening. “strong, bold, unforgettable.”

your heart flutters at his words, and you find yourself leaning into him, the familiar comfort of his presence washing over you. maybe, just maybe, giving him another chance wouldn’t be the worst idea.

as the song ends, jungwon holds you close, his forehead resting against yours once more. “so, what now?”

you smile, feeling a warmth in your chest that you haven’t felt in months. “now, we take it one step at a time.”

“deal,” he agrees, his smile matching yours. “but can we start with that double shot espresso?”

“i'm more of a one shot espresso girl now.”

“one shot, double shot, triple shot, anything to get you back now”, jungwon presses a soft kiss against your lips.

espresso and jungwon will definitely be your favourites in the world, for a long long time.

a/n — omg i had so much fun writing this, i hope i brought out the best meaning of that song through this writing ^^ once again, happy 3k jiah pie,, love ya loads always mwah mwah ><

© bywons, 2024. do not copy, translate or upload any of my works without my permission.

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[tobiasdrake]

Fun Fact: Even in space, ACAB.

Let's talk about Jaco: The Galactic Patrolman, a somewhat more obscure manga compared to Dragon Ball that Akira Toriyama wrote in its setting.

For the most part, this is a short and fairly simple story. It's primarily a character drama, with the developing relationship between Jaco and the scientist Omori as its central focus.

The manga is surprisingly vague about its connections to Dragon Ball for nearly all of its length, until its final chapter. Jaco is here on Earth to thwart some vague threat sent to the planet from a world of hostile aliens. It's only at the end of the manga that we learn he's talking about Goku.

Galactic Patrol detected an Attack Ball leaving Planet Vegeta and making its way to Earth, so they sent Jaco to... assess the situation and then make a decision about whether or not to do anything.

In his defense, the Saiyans are the most powerful race in the universe. I can understand why he doesn't want to fuck with a full-grown Saiyan warrior. Nobody wants to fuck with a full-grown Saiyan warrior. The most that the finest police force in the universe can do against Saiyans is to try and nip them in the bud when they're babies.

It's interesting that Galactic Patrol doesn't have Scouter technology. I wonder if that proprietary? Frieza might have a patent.

But at the same time, I don't want to be too sympathetic to Jaco because. Well. He sucks.

Galactic Patrol sucks. That's kind of the bit. Jaco is a self-absorbed little shit, utterly devoid of empathy or compassion for the people he polices. He's stranded on Earth right now because he wasn't watching the road while driving.

Jaco's a prick, but what little we learn about Galactic Patrol as a whole doesn't make them sound much better.

This one time Jaco accidentally pressed the Extinction Bomb when he wasn't supposed to and wiped out a planet. Hoo boy, was his boss mad! Gave him a real talking to before giving him another Extinction Bomb and putting him back on patrol.

Universe isn't going to police itself, y'know. Someone's gotta be out there very occasionally trying to stop those real estate genocides.

For his part, Jaco's in it for the aesthetic. He likes the image of being a cop, and he spends his time practicing looking cool for when he presumably dispenses justice upon the criminal element.

But his interactions with the common people are filled with condescension and menace.

Like I said, this is the bit. Jaco is a self-important thug with a badge, with the initial conflict stemming as much from trying to keep him from doing something awful to the community under his jurisdiction as from trying to solve his problem.

Ostensibly here to protect Earth from the impending arrival of a Saiyan threat, he is as much a threat to this community as the invader he's here to assess. Without Omori there to guide him, he'd be killing people left and right.

He fits in pretty well with the cast of Dragon Ball, many of whom at least begin their tenure with a degree of amorality to them. Omori himself is a bitter misanthrope ironically thrust into the position of having to convince Jaco not to kill people.

And then there's the manga's biggest Dragon Ball connection: The introduction of Tights.

Any reader who's been picking up on the Dragon Ball-ness of this universe will know immediately where Tights came from. Her name pun gives the game away. Just like how the final chapter clarifies Jaco's target as the young Goku, we get to see the familiar faces of Tights's family as well.

Bulma basically solves the entire plot singlehandedly.

Even as a little kid, the universe's greatest heretic remains unparalleled in the field of game-breaking super-intelligence. Bulma OP do not nerf.

Again, this speaks to how little of the manga is actually about the plot. If this were a story-driven manga, having a character from another manga show up in the final issue and solve the plot in the span of two pages would be pretty disappointing. But since the plot is just an excuse to make these characters interact with one another, it doesn't really matter.

We aren't here for the story; We're here for the relationship between Jaco, Omori, and Tights. With that in mind, Baby Bulma waddling up and going "I fixed the spaceship; Are you stupid or something?" is hysterical.

For her part, Tights lives up to her family legacy of being super-brilliant.

She graduated from college at 16. She's a genius like the rest of the family. What she's not is interested in science and technology. Possibly as a justification for why we've never heard of her before, Tights goes against the mold for her family.

She honestly seems like something of a free spirit. She lives in East City when we meet her, famously the city that Nappa wiped off the map, while Capsule Corp and Bulma's family are out in West City. Rather than a scientist, she works as a body double for a famous pop idol.

As a publicity stunt, they're going to launch an idol into space. Tights's job is to impersonate the idol so she can die in the inevitable disaster instead. She is bizarrely chill with being paid a huge sum of money to get stupidly killed. Much like Bulma, Tights has a terrible sense of self-preservation and is willing to take on incredible risk for the sake of achieving a personal goal.

Tights is the best character in the manga. An aspiring sci-fi novelist who agreed to probably die in space for the sake of the experience. This family gives zero fucks.

And then there's Omori himself.

Despite its title, Omori is basically the main character of this manga. He's the one whose life situation is most heavily scrutinized. This is his status quo that Jaco and Tights enter. Similarly, Omori is the character who undergoes personal transformation as his experiences with Jaco and Tights help him find hope in connections with other people again.

The three characters click really well together. So well, in fact, that Dragon Ball would end up recycling the setup of Super Alien/Crotchety Old Man/Spunky Young Woman for one of the best dynamics they ever wrote.

This is not a copy/paste; Cheelai, Leemo, and Broly are all distinctly separate characters. but you can still feel the barebones aesthetic of Tights, Omori, and Jaco in their dynamic.

So. Yeah. Overall, for what it is, it's a cute little short story about a group of characters just living lives in the world of Dragon Ball. It's the kind of thing that the franchise needs more of, and still does to this day: An opportunity to flesh out the universe a little but also just to let us live in it through the eyes of someone else.

[fanaticsnail]

I Like Matching

Masterlist Here

Word Count: 1,600+

Synopsis: Returning home from an away mission for your boss, you are immediately spirited away to the nearest unoccupied space and met with the lips, hands and grasp of Corazon. He missed you, and it was showcased in his neediness in every kiss and motion planted against you.

Warnings: Corazon x gn!reader, MDNI, 18+, Smut, NSFW, lap riding, grinding, premature ejaculation, Corazon whining, Corazon whimpering, neediness, kissing, little bit of angst if you squint, almost confessions, secrecy, wordless communication.

Notes: Just warming up with some Rosinante to write some more Rosinante. This is him being a little Subby, in comparison to the Dommy fic incoming.

Tag List: @since-im-already-here @writingmysanity @sordidmusings @gingernut1314 @i-am-vita @feral-artistry @indydonuts @skullfacedlady @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training

Hands curling over your ass, you sit flush over his lap as tongues and teeth clash against one another's. Lips mouthing and gnawing on each other like animals starved and fighting for dominion over a kill, he bucked his hips up to meet with your own as you grind down against him. Huffing and panting, you collect his soft whimpers and whines in your mouth as his clothed cock meets with your pelvis. 

Unsure of when it exactly happened, and perplexed as to why it even started, Donquixote Rosinante had a way of summoning you to him with a single look spared your way. His hazelnut eyes had a playfulness in that golden band interweaving around his pupils, something incredibly rare to find in amongst the Donquixote Pirates. His smile would curl at the corner, a hidden intent weaving within the small indent where his lips met. 

Returning from an away mission at the bequest of Doflamingo, you began readying yourself for the evening communal meal. Refreshing yourself and donning clean clothes, you exit your room and click the door shut behind you. Making your way down the hall, you were harshly tugged into the small corner of the library by a large hand clasping around your wrist. Your eyes had little time to adjust to the darkness, the towering silhouette lingering in the shadows was the only clue you found yourself with before the attack was mounted against you. 

Before you even had a chance to speak, his lips were on you, marking your face and staining your skin beneath the red tint of his painted smile. His broad fingers lifted you by your ass as he attempted to wrap your legs around his larger frame, only to knock his knees with the plush surface of a velvet lounge chair and fall immediately backwards onto it.  

That is where you found yourself, your kisses pouring from your lips like cooled honey and hungrily consumed with an unbridled neediness from the man beneath your thighs. Corazon tilted his chin, his brows meeting in a raised peak central to his forehead as he non-verbally whimpered into your mouth. While no sounds fled from his lips, your hands planted on his chest felt the vibrations indicating his small whines alongside his elevated heartbeat. 

Corazon was so patient, waiting for you to return from your covert operation assigned by his older brother. Although he initially desired to become closer to you to gain information to sabotage his brother’s maniacal plans, he found a great comfort in you. You were like the warmth of the sun to cast aside the chill of winter, a small kindness he found amongst the brutality and chaos. He had become reliant on you, seeking out your touch, and stealing your kisses in the shroud of secrecy between meeting spaces. 

Kisses were simply not enough this time. Each time you rose to reposition yourself on his lap, deepening the kiss and pinning him back against the frame, the need deepened in his abdomen and propelled him to grind you harder against his steely cock. His breath flew past his lips in huffed pants, his hands anchoring you to his pelvis as he rocked you on his lap. 

Smiling against him, you matched his movements and allowed muscle memory to take the reigns of passion between your bodies. Cracking your eyes partially open, your gaze darkened as you noticed the rising blush on his cheeks and ears. His tongue enthusiastically lapped at your lips, pleading with you to give him more. Obliging, you parted your lips and stole a soundless moan from deep within the chasms of his chest. 

Seeking out dominion of one another's kiss, you placed your hand at the base of his trachea. The hum of his larynx vibrated against the pad of your thumb, his voiceless whimpers growing needy and desperate as he pawed at your hips and ass while you bore down against him. 

Elevating your hips from his clothed cock for a brief reprieve, he sucked in a shaky breath and allowed you to grasp a fistful of his golden hair to deepen your claim on complete control over him. Finally planting your pelvis back down over his cock, his eyes snapped open and his body stilled in petrification beneath your medusa's gaze. 

A dark patch of staining fluids pooled beneath you as his trembling breath attempted to gulp air between the onslaught of perpetual kisses. Feeling his body freeze beneath you, you ceased your rapid kisses and halted your rocking as he rose out the final waves of blissful ecstasy. 

His thighs shook, his abdomen tightened and the coil whipped like the crack of lightning as ropes of his cum flooded his pants. Trembling while his toes curled, his eyes glazed over as the unexpected release spilled from the slit of his cock and sprayed against the material beneath you.

The soft choke of a shocked moan flew through his lips as he gazed up at you with blown pupils, overcome by the deep lustful release of neglected need shooting hot spurts over his knob and down his shaft. Each twitch and bob of his release expelling was matched by a soft silent whine sobbing and keening for you. 

“Did you-...?” you started, looking down at your lap and noticing the soft twitches of aftershock tensing and releasing in a tantric bob. He softly nodded, a bashfulness overcoming him as he curled his face away from you in a bid to hide his shame. 

“Corazon,” you whisper softly, calling to him with an arch of your back and a smile on your lips, “Corazon, look at me, honey.” His lips pouted as he acquiesced to your demands, gazing up through his eyelashes at you. You smiled down at him, noticing the smear of his paint over his lips that you were likely mirroring on your own face. 

He hooked one of his arms between your shoulders, while his other sought out the fingers placed on his chest, and drew them up to his lips. Tightly shutting his eyes and furrowing his brows, he held your fingertips over his bruised and swollen lips, pressing a warm kiss against your digits. Your brows rose as you felt his lips move against your skin. 

“Missed you,” his lips depicted, no voice following his soft confession. His lips returned to their prior engagement, trailing a kiss down to your palm and the ball of your wrist in slow and intentional kisses. Climbing down your arm, his lips mapped your skin as if holding you for the first time: testing, exploring and hesitant, but always meeting the target. 

“We're going to be late for dinner, Corazon,” you warn him, your tone holding a playfulness within your scold. He smiled against your skin, raising your arm and placing his lips on the bone of your elbow. Shaking your head, you attempt to pull away from his kiss, his lips tracking you and chasing your withdrawal with a smile. 

“We have to fix up this mess,” you whine at him, gesturing with your unoccupied hand between your clothed bodies before pointing between your faces, “I'm likely matching your smile.” He grinned playfully at you, his lips meeting with your cheek and mouthing words against your skin. 

“I like matching,” you felt the puff of breath and curl of his tongue darting out to taste you with each word. Gently reaching beside you on the table, he scribbled against his drawing pad and held it to you. Finding his lighter, he flicked the flint to light the soft flame. 

“You're right. Let's go to my room for a bit before dinner,” you read his words, gently thumbing over the corners of the tanned paper, “I'll repay you for my hastiness a few times. I'll make it quick, I promise.” You rolled your eyes, handing him back the paper and gently leaning down and blowing out his flintlock light. 

“You're being exceptionally needy today,” you nudge the tip of his nose with your own. He cupped your ass and molded the muscle within his broad hands and fingers, collecting a whine from you in response. He smiled, pressing his lips to your chin before picking you up and walking you away from the library chair towards his quarters. 

Soft laughter was shared between you as he carried you in his larger frame towards his quarters. Nuzzling softly against your neck, you acted as his guide as you steered him towards the correct direction. Corazon ignored the squelch oozing down his legs, instead focusing on how good it finally felt to hold you in his arms once again. 

He wanted nothing more than to form his own little world with you, remaining within the armorment he sought to cloak the two of you in. His need to talk with you, reveal his voice to you, and expel your name as the source for his bliss was growing ever stronger the more attached he became to you. 

Kicking open his door and stepping the both of you within, he made a pact to himself that the day would come. When his trust and security was finally enough to live with, when his assignment was finished, when his brother was sabotaged and cut back from any chance of rising to power: he could finally relax into you completely. All he continued to chant like a prayer was the penance of his confession, hoping and pleading you could forgive him for his secrecy once it was all over. 

He reassured himself as he placed you on his mattress, crawling over you and pinning you beneath his thighs, was with a soft repetition of his unspoken promise. Meeting your lips and rolling his hips against you, he claimed a soft whimper that spilled from you to him. 

Soon.

He will tell you soon. His past, his mission, his love and devotion to you and you alone. All of it, soon. 

[raz-writes-the-thing]

Devoid of Attention (Doctor Who Drabble)

Tenth Doctor x GN!Reader / requests are open

Summary: The Doctor is oblivious as per usual

DW: @nyxiethesimp @quickslvxrr @midnight--raine @blueberry-sunshines @stevekempscocktails @go-bonkers-go-foolish @peytonpenguin37 (send an ask to be added to a tag list!)

___ ___ ___ ___ ___

Main Street in the London Central Business District in the eighteen hundreds was quite a sight to behold. Between the stunning architecture, the horrible smells, the carriages being pulled by gorgeous horses and the frilly clothes- oh, you were in heaven. Truly, you thought, nothing could get better than this. 

The Doctor had been explaining how he had a theory that the gargoyles found on the top of buildings in London were possibly real, flying stone aliens from some planet out yonder and that they may be responsible for a spate of disappearances along Main Street. It was interesting, but he was more talking to himself, really. 

You’d been listening, but had stepped away for just a moment when a paper boy had wandered by shouting about getting a copy of the latest release of the Times. It was a weird thing to collect, you understood, but who else could say they had a mint condition genuine London Times paper from… you checked the date- the twenty-fourth of November eighteen-eighty seven? Not very many, you would have thought. 

When you turned around, there was a dog sitting in the same spot you were just standing in a minute ago. You blinked, folding the paper under your arm and taking a couple steps towards him and the Doctor, who was having a rather lively conversation with the canine in question. 

“See nowaaah!- You’re a dog,” he said, sounding rather dumbfounded. “How- how did that happen?” He leaned forward and threw his glasses on to get a closer look at the pooch. You blinked again, not sure what to make of this situation before you. 

“Oh, but look at that transmogrification work,” he gasped, rubbing the dog’s ears and petting its head. “Oh, it’s gorgeous- you’re gorgeous! Undoing it might be a bit of work, but blimey- this is impressive!”

You weren’t sure how to approach this. Did you wait for him to notice? Did you break him out of his thoughts now? You weren’t sure. The only thing you were sure of was the fact that this was hilarious and also incredibly ridiculous.

The Doctor pulled his sonic out and scanned the dog, flicking the screwdriver back up to his ear to read the results. Hear the results? You weren’t really sure how it worked. 

“Hmm, that’s odd,” the Doctor said, and even from behind him you could see clear as day the expression on his face. That special expression with his mouth slightly ajar, eyebrows cast inwards and eyes darting off to the side as he tried to process the information he was receiving. “Sonic’s saying one hundred per cent dog. Not a sliver of human in there. Blimey, this might take a bit more effort than I thought.” 

You sighed, walking up behind him and whacking him over the head with the newspaper softly. 

“Oi,” the Doctor yelled, raising his hands to protect himself from this ruthless and unprovoked attack. “Wotchit!” 

The Doctor turned around to see you, hands on your hips and exasperated expression on your face. The irritation bled from his face in a second. 

“Ah, wait-” the Doctor looked to his left down at the rather mangy dog. “You’re not- oh, I see. I stopped paying attention again, didn’t I?” 

You snorted with laughter, not even caring how unattractive it sounded. 

“You think?!”

It did make for a good laugh, though. You’d never let him live this down. And every time you brought it up, the way his cheeks flushed and he grew just a touch embarrassed only made your bond stronger. 

[colormepurplex2]

Now I'm Yours | Feel It In Your Soul

↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ A/B/O, Established Relationship/Mates ⤜ Rating: MA 🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,697 ⚠️ Vulgar language, fingering, knotting, creampie, discussion of violent acts, fighting/physical altercation, alpha challenge, knife violence/attack, blood, injury, bond sex, dick licking/oral, slick eating, biting/marking, blood/wound licking, surprise pregnancy

A/N: Read Make You Mine, the first installment of this series, here!

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

When you meet Jungkook’s family in the garage the next morning, the sun isn't even up yet. His parents are waiting next to the large SUV that’s idling by the open door when you enter through the side entrance from the laundry room.

After a hasty shower, you threw on jeans and a t-shirt and are now helping Junghyun load the back of the vehicle with a few boxes from the storage room. The tops of the boxes are labeled with various things, mostly boasting medical supplies or nonperishable foodstuffs.

“Did Jungkook say why he wanted us to bring all of this stuff?"

Junghyun looks up at you from under his brow as he bends over to retrieve the next box, his glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. “Donations. We’re going to be close to The Sanctuary, and we try to donate once a quarter if we’re able.”

This is the first you’ve heard of the Jeons donating to The Sanctuary. You’re intimately familiar with the place. It’s exactly what it sounds like: a sanctuary for abused or neglected omegas and their children. Mari was one such omega, cast aside by her original pack when she didn’t match with any of the alphas within it. It wasn’t until Roland, having just taken over as pack Alpha of your old pack, started up his own annual donations to The Sanctuary that he met Mari. Your old pack made at least a donation every six months after that, helping as many omegas and children as possible.

It’s not that you wouldn’t think the Jeons are a pack that would help those less fortunate; you’d just not given it much thought, considering you grew up thinking they were run by power-hunger alphaholes. Not that Jungkook isn’t an alphahole, he’s just…maybe not as bad as you once thought—even without the rose-tinged view you have of him now from being your mate.

The duel is taking place on neutral territory, which happens to be an old warehouse that’s been converted into a performance theatre in the entertainment district of the central city. The warehouse was renovated a few decades ago by the council when enough of the surrounding packs hounded them for a space to meet en masse.

It’s about three hour's drive, the view filled with the sun peeking over the mountains and trees with their leaves changing in preparation for winter. You sit in the passenger seat, head resting against the window while you try not to stress too much over the events of the next twenty-four hours.

“Come on, dear,” the soft voice of Jungkook’s mother drags you from your rumination. She’s leaning through the gap between the front seats, her hand lightly squeezing your shoulder. “We’re here.”

You hadn’t even realized the vehicle had stopped and that Junghyun and Jungkook’s father had gotten out already. 

“Sorry,” you mutter, popping open the door and sliding out.

She meets you along the side of the SUV, a concerned look pinching her brow. “Are you feeling okay?”

Now that she mentions it, you are feeling a bit off-kilter. Though, it’s probably just the nerves. “Just worried, that’s all,” you explain, pressing a hand against your stomach.

“Did you skip breakfast?” she asks, hooking her arm around your other one and slowly leading you to where Junghyun and his father stand near the elevator of the parking garage.

Breakfast was the last thing on your mind this morning. “Yeah. I’ll be okay, though.”

“Nonsense,” she tuts, producing a whole-grain protein bar from the bag slung over her other shoulder. “You’ll feel better with something in your stomach. Now, let’s go find my son. Being near your alpha will do you a dose of good, as well.”

You nibble on the protein bar, looking to simply placate her, but find yourself suddenly ravenous and consume the whole thing in three bites. It sits like lead in your belly, and you immediately regret wolfing it down so quickly.

“This foolish display will start at precisely noon, not long now,” Jungkook’s father states, the clip of his cane hitting the linoleum flooring of the elevator echoing the disapproval that’s evident in his voice.

Junghyun presses the button that’s labeled ‘theatre hall’ on the control panel and the cabled car begins a swift ascent up to the fifth floor. You caught sight of Jungkook's motorcycle in the parking garage, sitting next to Jimin’s red sports car. A few other familiar vehicles lined the rows, but there were dozens more you didn’t recognize.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you feel a familiar humming warmth bloom in the center of your chest. It’s the same feeling you’ve learned to associate with being nearer to Jungkook. Peeking at your phone, you see it’s a message from the alpha, letting you know he’s waiting for you just on the other side of the elevator doors.

“There you are,” Jungkook exhales, not even waiting for you to get off the elevator before he’s gathering you into his arms. His scent engulfs you, immediately putting you at ease. Jungkook is all alpha, and as much as you hate to admit it, he’s exactly what you need; your stomach and nerves are instantly soothed.

Jungkook’s father clears his throat, drawing Jungkook’s attention. “What news do you have?”

Jungkook sighs, releasing most of his hold on you, but keeps an arm over your shoulders and ushers you out of the elevator and into the hall. “Most all the other families have arrived. Jimin is with Daehyun now. I haven’t managed to lay my eyes on either Raiden or Demetrius. According to the council, they’re supposed to be in the eastern dressing rooms. I have seen Kiel skulking around the halls, though, creepy bastard.”

“Have you seen Hyunsoo?” Jungkook nods in answer to his father’s question. “I’d like to have a word with him.”

“Last I saw him, he was inside speaking with the council.”

“Perfect, I could do with a word for them, too,” Jungkook’s father grumbles before starting toward the entrance to the performance hall proper. Junghyun follows closely behind, after dipping his chin at Jungkook. You’ve never seen Jungkook get bent out of shape over designation deference, as some alphas do. He doesn’t force those below him to bow and scrape; he just asks for as much respect as he affords them in exchange. It’s just another tick you’ve had to add to your ‘Jungkook isn’t as bad as I once thought’ list.

“Are you feeling okay?” Jungkook asks softly, his eyes flicking between yours.

You do feel much better now that you’re with him, which would normally grate on you, but you can’t seem to muster up the typical ire for some reason. “I’ll be fine,” you assure him. “Just nerves.” That seems to satisfy him.

“Come on, let’s go before Dad causes too much of a scene.”

“Umm, I’ll be right there. I’m just going to go to the restroom real quick.”

He continues to stare at you for a moment longer before slowly nodding. “Okay. Mom, we’ll be right back—”

“No, no. It’s okay, you don’t have to come with—”

“Jungkook,” his mom interrupts you both, giving her son an amused smile. “She might be your omega, but I promise she doesn’t need you to hold her hand while she uses the restroom. I’ll wait here for her. You go on ahead with your father and Junghyun.”

Pink creeps up Jungkook’s neck and kisses his ears. “Right. Okay. I’ll see you inside,” he mumbles, pressing a quick kiss to your temple before reluctantly taking his arm from across your shoulders and heading toward the door his father and brother disappeared through.

“Thank you,” you say to his mom. “I’ll be right back.”

You’ve only been here a handful of times over the years for various events, but you’re able to follow the signs well enough to the restrooms located on this side of the venue. However, when you get there, the door is locked, and there is a janitorial wet-floor sign posted right outside.

It’s just your luck, right as you’re starting to feel a light wave of nausea wash over you. Taking a few deep breaths to try and calm your inner omega, who isn’t helping the situation at all, you turn to retreat back to where Jungkook’s mom is waiting for you a few halls over. Maybe she’ll have something that can calm your warring stomach and nerves.

“I can break the lock if you need to get in there,” a voice calls out from further down the hall just as you take a step to go back. “You look like you need it.”

You swivel toward the voice but can only make out the silhouette of someone standing in a darkened doorway a few doors down. They pull out a phone, and the blue light illuminates the ceiling for a moment before it’s plunged back into darkness. “I’m fine, thanks.”

“You don’t look fine to me.” The words come with a chuckle that slithers over your senses and sets you on high alert. You’ve heard that voice before. “If fact, you look like a helpless little omega that’s about to sick up all over the floor.”

That’s a thought. You might just do that, considering who steps out from that doorway, the face fitting with the name screaming inside your head. Kiel Barton. He’s every inch the viperous bastard he’s known to be. Despite being not much taller than you, he’s thicker through each arm and leg than both of yours combined. His bald head glints in the overhead light, and the jagged scar on his right cheek is bright white against his red-flushed face. He swaggers into the hallway, just a few feet away, twirling a switchblade through his thick fingers.

“I’m not helpless,” you seethe through your teeth. You don’t necessarily mean for the words to come out so aggressively, but they do. Years of not taking shit from anyone don’t seem to have worn off too much from your time of being mated with Jungkook. And if it’s one thing you’ve always hated, it’s how everyone thinks omegas are weak and soft—helpless without an alpha.

Kiel grins, and it reminds you of something you might see in a horror film right before the psycho killer attacks. “Oh, sweet, sweet omega,” he crows before sucking in a deep lungful of air, “I don’t think you realize just how helpless you are right now.”

You’re about to turn on your heel and run when he leaps. It’s like a strike of lightning; he moves so fast—faster than your reflexes can keep up with. Pain thunders through you as his burly form knocks into you and sends you hurtling a few feet down the hall to land in a heap on the floor.

He’s back on you in an instant, cold steel pressed against your neck. “Get off me!” you scream, trying your best to buck him off despite the disorienting feeling still reeling inside your head.

“I promised my brother as long as he did his part, I would do mine,” Kiel sing-songs in a demented tone, his words trailing off into another one of those spine-chilling chuckles. 

“Fuck you!” You struggle under his weight, your knees and elbows trying to get any purchase along his thick-muscled body that they can. You manage to catch him along the neck with your hand, nails scoring bloody lines through the devil tattoo he has there.

An ear-splitting roar, the sound of loud banging, and running feet sound from somewhere down the hall, making Kiel’s laughter trail off. “Looks like my time to play is—” A small, sneakered foot meets the side of his ribs, turning his words into a grunt. The hit barely rocks him, but you can’t be sure of who it is, though, around his bulk.

“Get off of her, you snake!” snarls a familiar feminine voice, only it’s dripping with far more acid than you’ve ever heard before.

“FUCK! I don’t have time for this!” Kiel thunders, rearing back and bringing a fist around right into your temple, sending you careening into hazy darkness.

There is so much noise and movement that when you first come to, you think you’re dreaming. But then the very real pain lights up along your side, and you’re reminded that this is very much not a dream. You’re laying on the floor in the hallway outside the bathroom, side smarting hard from the impact of hitting the floor and the memory of a meaty fist stark in your mind.

You go to sit up, only to have your hand slip through a puddle of warm, sticky liquid. The scent hits you a second later, thick and metallic. “Oh gods,” you whimper softly. Your hand is bright red when you bring it up in front of your face.

“Please,” comes an even more pitiful whimper from beside you. Adrenaline kicks in, and you flip onto your hands and knees, letting your eyes swing over the scene around you.

A dozen bodies are packed in the hall, fists flying and mouths opened in concussive bellows. It’s pandemonium. Everyone is fighting, familiar faces and those of strangers alike. All the sounds combined make you want to crawl into a corner and cover your ears, but the form lying beside you keeps you right where you are.

Jungkook’s mom lies on the floor. Her body turned at an odd angle, with her hips going one way and her torso the other as if she was flung around like a ragdoll. You realize the whimpering is coming from her. She lifts a trembling hand toward you, and you grab onto it, crawling closer to kneel beside her.

The blood covering your hand, now seeping through the knees of your jeans, is coming from her. A familiar-looking switchblade is protruding from the upper right area of her chest, between her clavicle and shoulder, and there is a cut over her left eyebrow that blood is steadily oozing from.

“No, no, no!” You quickly rip off a strip from the bottom of your t-shirt and press it around the blade, trying to staunch the wound. The cut above her brow doesn’t look deep; all the blood is a bit alarming, but you know headwounds are the worst in being deceptive; they bleed so much. You’re also scared to take your hands away from her chest. “What did you do?”

Her eyes flicker open, rolling wide until they land on you. “Had to”—she pauses, whimpering in pain as someone stumbles backward and knocks into her splayed legs—”pr-protect the baby.”

“Protect the–protect the wh—”

“NO!” The alpha roar echoes through the hall, as loud as a thunderclap.

In the same instant that your hands are moved aside and replaced by the older, more gnarled ones of her mate, arms come around you from behind and you’re lifted up off the floor. Fear grips your throat, and you flail, aiming your elbow backward at whoever grabbed you.

“Stop, calm down!” Jungkook’s voice snaps you out of your fight instinct, and you sag in his arms. The fighting around you has turned into pockets of isolated struggle.

You blink a few times, clearing the panicked haze from your eyes, finally able to piece everything together. There are a few busted lips and some already swelling eyes, but there are at least a handful of familiar faces around you. Each one is executing some form of hold over individuals with less familiar faces; headlocks, arm bars, and others that look just as effective, if maybe more painful.

Then there is the scene at your feet, right out of a horror movie. Jungkook’s dad and brother are kneeling beside his mom, the knife still sticking out of her chest. It looks like the blood has stopped pooling around the blade, but you can’t seem to remember if that’s a good or a bad sign.

“Jungkook! Your mom, we need a medic!” you urge, struggling in his arms again.

A sinister, wet, cackling laugh cuts through the hushed din of the hallway before it turns into a hacking cough. You can hear the distinct sound of flesh hitting flesh and pained grunts.

”Shut up, you sick bastard!” The ragged cry comes from further down the hallway, where you see Seokjin with his arms wrapped around Kiel’s upper torso and Yoongi throwing fists into his stomach. “How dare you!?”

“Yoongi.” Jungkook doesn’t have to raise his voice at all. The other alpha stops, fist poised mid-punch, his shoulders heaving. “That’s enough.” The coldness in Jungkook’s tone has the hairs on the back of your neck prickling. You’ve never heard him sound so utterly emotionless. “For now.”

Pounding footsteps sound from the other end of the hall, and a few betas come skidding into view, medical bags in hand. “Out of the way!” one of the betas shouts, shouldering his way down the hall before dropping down beside Junghyun and beginning to work. “I need to get her stabilized before we can move her.”

Everything is still a bit cloudy for you; all you have are flits and flashes of memory, but it’s not hard to piece it together. Kiel came after you outside the bathroom, and then Jungkook’s mom tried to interfere. “Is she, is she going to be okay?” you ask, voice soft, your lips trembling around the question.

Jungkook hooks an arm under the backs of your legs and hoists you up against his chest, and you get your first good look at his face. There is a dribble of blood coming from the corner of his mouth and mild swelling coming up around his left eye.

He’s about to open his mouth to say something when a group of grey-haired alphas cut around the corner at the end of the hall, and the one in the front gasps dramatically, “Good gods! What has happened?” You groan at the loud sound, burying your face into Jungkook’s chest.

“This is what happens when you entertain absurd demands from a known trouble-making pack,” Jungkook’s father states with barely veiled malice.

“This is your mess,” Jungkook says, directing attention to the elders shuffling their feet at the end of the hall. His words are acerbic despite him speaking at a normal volume. It’s an alpha statement, carrying the cutting edge of an unspoken command. The entire hallway stills, the air thick with tension.

“Our mess?”

“If you had listened to me from the start about how utterly ridiculous this whole duel bullshit was, this”—he nods down at his mother, who is still being worked on by the betas—”wouldn’t have happened. I’ll have all of you off the council before the week is over, mark my words,” he seethes. “And, if she doesn’t recover fully, I’ll have more than just your titles. Yoongi, Seokjin, you know what to do.” With that, Jungkook turns and stalks down the hall, carrying you with him.

🌙🌙🌙

Jungkook

There is so much rage simmering beneath Jungkook’s skin that he thinks he might explode if he doesn’t let it out somehow. However, the only outlet he wants right now is you—to get lost in your body and your soul—but you’re in no state to take the brunt of his emotions.

“Jungkook.” Your soft voice draws his gaze down to your face. Seeing the swelling around your eye makes him want to turn around and finish what Yoongi was starting. Jungkook isn’t violent, but he could level the entire city right now if he weren’t so focused on getting you checked out. You bring a hand up and lightly trace the break in his lip. “What happened?”

“Raiden and Demetrius. I think this was their plan all along. One minute, Father and I were talking to the council while we waited, and the next, Raiden and Demetrius, along with a half dozen of their pack, came bursting into the theatre and attacked us.” Jungkook sighs, shaking his head. “I felt you, I felt the…” the trails off, not wanting to voice those feelings aloud. The pure terror he felt through his mate connection to you. The tie between the two of you has never really been an open street, he’s never been able to feel your emotions so viscerally before. It was almost enough to take him to his knees. If he didn’t need to fight off a pack of rabid alphas, it nearly might have. “I’m sorry,” Jungkook rasps.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. We knew they were up to no good. I should have been more vigilant or, at least, taken you up on your offer to escort me to the restroom.” You try to laugh, but it turns into a groan as your head pounds.

“Let’s get you to the hospital so they can check you over.”

No amount of protests from you will deter Jungkook from getting you to a doctor. Junghyun texts him shortly after he places you in the backseat of the SUV, letting Jungkook know that everyone else is on their way to the hospital and an ambulance is en route to get their mother but that the betas are hopeful.

Several hours later, you’ve been released from the hospital with confirmation of no lasting damage, just a recommendation to get some rest. Jungkook’s lip is patched with a butterfly stitch, per your insistence, and it itches as he sits on the edge of the bed in the hotel room he booked before leaving the hospital. Even though you aren’t concussed or anything, Jungkook didn’t want to risk taking you all the way back to pack lands.

Besides, his mother was admitted and is still there for observation, and he doesn’t feel comfortable being too far away while she’s in recovery. She went in for surgery immediately upon arrival and woke up not too long ago. Junghyun and their father are staying at the hospital with her until she’s cleared to go home, which will hopefully not be more than a few days. Apparently, her wounds looked worse than they were, and she was fortunate Kiel didn’t get her an inch further to either side. Otherwise, it might be a very different outcome.

Jimin texted him a bit ago, letting him know the entire Barton pack is being detained at the local precinct, and the authorities are awaiting word from Jungkook about charges. The council sequestered themselves behind closed doors, but the duel was considered null due to the circumstances. Jimin feels bad about being part of the ruse, even if he was just being used as a means to get close to the Jeon pack.

It’s come to light that the Bartons decided to use their feud with the Parks because they knew the Jeons wouldn’t sit idly by. One big, elaborate plan, all to get close to Jungkook’s Luna and try to tear down the hierarchy. If Jungkook lost his Soulmate, he’d lose his foundation of power as well. Or so, that’s what the buzz was when some of the Barton betas were interrogated, according to Jimin.

Jungkook knows everything is going to be okay, that you’re going to be okay; the doctor told him as much. But, despite that assurance, he can’t seem to relax. You’re curled up in the bed, facing him, and you look so peaceful, even with the swelling on the side of your face, but all he can feel is rage when he sees that…rage and so much guilt.

He never should have let you go to the restroom on your own. If he has his way, he’s never going to let you out of his sight again. It’s such an alarming realization, going from one polar sensation to the next. The fact he could give two shits less about you just a few months ago, and now here he is wanting to murder someone for touching you, is hard to wrap his head around.

Yet, here he is, fisting the edge of one of the blankets as he battles this feeling inside himself. The fact his alpha has been mostly silent since Jungkook laid eyes on you in that hallway is just as alarming. It’s almost like his alpha is giving him space. For the first time since coming into his designation, he feels like a giant void separates him from his alpha; he doesn’t like it.

There’s also the pile of papers sitting on the desk, a few feet away, that hold another key bit of information that won’t let him relax. It was standard testing, just something to help rule other things out and see what kinds of tests they could and could not perform to assess your head.

You’re pregnant.

Now that he knows, Jungkook can tell. There is a distinct, underlying change to your scent. It’s sweeter somehow, more alluring in the sense that you now smell partly like him. He should have known before. He knows that if he hadn’t spent so much time away from you, he would have realized it sooner.

You were surprised, but your shock seemed more subdued. When questioned, you told Jungkook what his mother had said to you. Somehow, even his mother knew before he did. Jungkook feels like a failure, like he’s done nothing right by you. It had to have happened the night of your designation celebration. Neither of you had bothered with any preventative measures that night, too lost in the touch and feel of each other to care.

And now, here you are, pregnant without a bite on your neck and a knot on the side of your head. If anything were to have happened to the baby…Jungkook isn’t sure he can even think about that right now. Not without wanting to put his fist through the wall.

He’s spent weeks worried about staying away from you when all along, he was clearly concerned about all the wrong things. The doctor assured him that even the most attentive of alphas take several weeks before they can smell their own child in the womb. But that doesn’t make Jungkook feel any better.

He thinks back on all the curt and what he thought were nagging messages he had gotten from his mother the last few weeks and can see them in a different light now. She wasn’t just trying to chastise him about his duty; she was trying to coax him home so he could be there for his mate in a way he should have from the start.

Jungkook knows what he needs to do now. There is no question about it. Though, it’s not because he feels obligated…no, he truly wants to solidify that bond with you. As soon as you’re ready, he’s going to offer himself to you, finally and fully.

“Jungkook, are you okay?” your sweet voice breaks him out of his thoughts and makes him release his tight hold on the sheets.

Your eyes look so big and bright even in the dim light of the hotel room as you sleepily blink up at him. How he never wanted to give himself over to you so completely before now marks him as a sure fool.

He sighs, exhaling a slow breath. “Yeah. How are you feeling?”

You stretch, wincing only slightly as your arm brushes along the side of your face. “Better, I think.”

“Can we talk?” he asks after a pause of silence.

You give him a guarded look as you slowly sit up and gather some of the blankets in your lap. The doctor told him you might start feeling the need to nest and gather comfort items, so he had specifically requested the Omega suite, which comes with complimentary brand-new fuzzy blankets and extra pillows that guests are allowed to take home when checking out.

“Sure,” you finally say.

Jungkook watches as emotions cross your face, echoing the pulse he can feel emanating from his chest. His alpha perks up, rousing for the first time in hours it feels like.

“Okay.” Now that he’s been given the go-ahead to talk, he’s suddenly feeling very self-conscious and uncertain. “I know you told me I don’t need to apologize, but I’m going to anyway.” Your lips form a thin line when he says that, so he hurries to continue, “Not for”—he gestures vaguely in your direction—”but for everything else. I want to apologize for everything before this. The way I’ve treated you and how I’ve acted. You’ve deserved better than what I’ve offered you these last few weeks—for being an asshole and a fucking dick,” Jungkook uses your own choice of words for him, and that earns him a small smile from you.

“I want to apologize, too, then. And before you can protest”—Jungkook was 100% about to—”just let me finish. Sure, you’ve not been the greatest the last few weeks, but I know I haven’t either. I should have tried harder, fought you on you being gone all the time, stood up for what I wan–er, needed, and been honest with how it was making me feel.”

Jungkook shakes his head, unable to believe how you’ve yet again turned the tables on him. “I, uh, there’s something that…there’s something I want to do,” Jungkook barely manages to get the words out as anxiety spikes at the prospect of you refusing.

“What is it?”

The look of intrigue on your face turns into pure shock as Jungkook prostrates himself on the bed in front of you, deliberately turning his head to expose the side of his neck to you, an act of submission. “I’m giving myself to you, wholly and completely. All those weeks ago, I claimed you and made you mine, and…now I’m yours.”

🌙🌙🌙

You stare at Jungkook, not sure what to say. “I-I don’t need,” you begin, reaching for Jungkook and encouraging him to sit up, “you to do that. You don’t have to bend to me…as long as you promise never to make me bend to you either.”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I can’t promise I’ll be perfect, but I’ll never force you to be something that you’re not ever again. I’m sorry I didn’t realize this sooner, I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you asked to come with me to Jimin’s. From now on, I’ll listen to you, and I’ll not dismiss your concerns or voice. I don’t want you to feel like you’re beneath me simply because you’re my mate. I want you as my equal instead.”

The truth behind Jungkook’s words is evident in the fervent way he delivers them but also in the way your omega mews in satisfaction. A bite for a bite, an equal. Even though you wouldn’t be leaving a permanent mark on his neck like he will on yours, it’s still the intention, and it’s completely unheard of in your world. There are stories, myths, really…but nothing wholly substantial.

You shift on the bed, gathering your knees underneath you. Your jeans went into the trash, and all the hospital had was a thin pair of shorts and a t-shirt for you to wear. You fluff out the blankets absently as you mull over his words. “Your equal?”

“Yes,” Jungkook resolutely declares.

“I think I would like that,” you whisper, eyeing Jungkook’s mouth with a quickly burning hunger.

“Are you sure?” Jungkook asks, swallowing hard as you lean in closer to him. “If you need more time to think, that’s okay.”

“Are you sure?” you counter, raising a questioning eyebrow.

Jungkook responds by kissing you hard on the mouth, wrapping his arms around you, and dragging you against his chest. He tastes like home; his tongue is warm and wet against yours, and you’re certain you could drown in the sensation if he let you. But, he comes up for air, breaking the kiss for a moment before pressing open-mouthed kisses along your jaw.

Even with the aches in your face and body, you respond to him. With every teasing nip of his mouth, you feel yourself growing wet. The fragrant cream of your slick blooms in the air, melding with his masculine and spicy scent to create the perfect, heady bouquet.

“I’ve never been more sure about something,” Jungkook whispers the affirmation between kisses until his warm breath ghosts over the scent mark on your neck. “You smell so damn good,” he groans.

You can feel his lips part over the skin there; his tongue laves out and swipes up the side of your neck, sending shivers down your spine. With trembling hands, you help each other discard your clothing, finally coming back together skin to skin. Jungkook pulls you into his lap, his thick cock sitting snugly against your ass. You can feel the bulge of his knot already as if his body is automatically responding to just your closeness.

“You can say stop at any time,” you tell him, earning a surprised grunt when you shove him back against the pillows and deliberately slide your ass slowly over his cock as you move backward.

There is a challenge in his eyes as you meet them. You move until you’re kneeling between his knees, cock sitting prettily before you. “Where, ah,” Jungkook sucks in a stilted breath when you take the head of his cock into your mouth, swirling your tongue around it, “did you want to?” Pink tinges Jungkook’s ears as he looks down at you, mouth full of him. You tap the inside of his thigh and raise your brows in silent question. “O-okay, just…just be gentle.”

That makes you chuckle, the vibration coming up your throat, and you can tell it sends a shock through Jungkook; his head drops back, and his mouth opens with a loud moan. “Gentle says the man about to put a permanent bite on my neck. An act that is none too gentle, I might add,” you say, letting his cock slip out from between your lips.

“Okay, that’s fair,” he relents, his words breathy as you trace along the underside of his dick with your tongue. “Be as aggressive as you want, then.”

Feeling egged on just a little by that declaration, you plant your teeth firmly into the meat of his inner thigh and bite as hard as you dare. Your teeth pinprick his skin, and the metallic tang of blood leeches onto your tongue. Jungkook grunts; his whole body shivers against your mouth.

“Was that okay?” you ask tentatively once you’ve pulled back to admire the twin crescent impressions you left behind. There isn’t that much blood. The two small wounds from your teeth are already clotted.

Jungkook lets out a heavy exhale as his body finally relaxes back against the bed. His cock twitches beside your face, producing a thick string of pre-cum that has your mouth watering for a taste.

“That was,” he pants, “hot as fuck.”

Pride fills you, and your body kindly reminds you with an intense throb in your clit, how much it turns you on when Jungkook talks like that. “Your turn,” you urge, desperate to get his teeth on your skin and his cock in your pussy.

Jungkook growls his approval, letting his alpha strength take over, and maneuvers you easily into a kneeling position in front of him. Using a gentle hand in your hair, he pulls you up until your back is pressed against his chest, giving him unfettered access to the front of your body while being able to tease your clit with the tip of his length.

“Are you ready for me?” he asks, using the hand in your hair to angle your head sideways so he can lick along the side of your neck. “Let’s see.” His other hand slides down the front of your body, tweaking your nipples on the way, until his middle finger grazes over your swollen, aching clit.

“Don’t tease me,” you say between clenched teeth. Your omega adds her indignation to your own, making your words come out laced with additional grit.

“I just want a little taste,” Jungkook whispers as he hooks his finger lower and massages it along your slit, collecting a generous amount of slick as he does so. You watch as his finger comes up and disappears beside your face.

The wet laving sound of Jungkook sucking his finger sends a shudder through you. You reach down with your hands, cupping Jungkook’s cock in one and using the other to part the lips of your pussy so you can fit him against your entrance. “Fuuuck,” you drawl out as the broad head of his cock slides in.

“I love the way your pussy tastes,” Jungkook moans, dropping his hand to your hip and using it to guide your ass back against him, forcing him deeper. “It’s almost as good as how it feels.”

His fingers prod along your hip, sliding until his palm rests over your lower belly. You whimper, rocking your hips the best you can, and place your hand over his. “How do I look?” you ask. “You once told me I’d look so pretty once I was pregnant with your pup. Do you still think that?”

“You are,” he starts, “the single most”—he emphasizes the words with long, rolling strokes of his cock that have his knot kissing your lower lips with every forward motion—”beautiful woman I have ever laid eyes on. Even before I fucked you raw and knocked you up.” The beautiful, endearing words contrast so wildly with the dirty confession he tacks on at the end. Proving once again that Jungkook knows exactly how to wind you up and have you begging for more.

“Prove it,” you goade, intentionally dipping your head to the side to expose your neck further to him.

The moment his teeth touch your skin, you both freeze. It lasts only a second, the time it takes for them to sink into the tender expanse of your scent gland. It’s like a double punch to the gut; you can feel it all the way in your soul. The bond snaps into place the same instant Jungkook fits his knot inside you, and you explode, disintegrating into a million tiny little points of pleasure.

Your body opens for him, both physically and mentally. What was once a small trickle of feeling now becomes a deluge of intensity. You’re vaguely aware of Jungkook groaning as he meets his own release, throbbing heavily within your walls. You can feel him beneath your skin, feel the way your own body is wrapped so tightly around his knot, and the infinite pleasure that’s flooding through both of your systems.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Jungkook mumbles against your neck, his teeth finally pulling free from your skin. “I can feel everything.”

It’s hard to tell where he begins, and you end. There is a sense of middling permanence, the perfect balance between alpha and omega. You once feared that submitting to him completely would change you in some cataclysmic way. And, it has…only, you don’t feel damned. In fact, it’s far more empowering than you ever thought possible.

Jungkook brushes his tongue along the fresh bite, tending to your wound in a tender way that has you slumping over. He follows you down, gently rutting his hips, which forces his knot to rub and grate inside of you, flooding you with another luscious rush of dopamine, like a second orgasm.

“Jungkook?” you ask, trying not to fall asleep as he continues to nuzzle your neck, and his knot keeps you secured so close to his warm body.

“Hmm?” he hums. Jungkook settles you both on your side, holding you against his chest with one hand and stroking and petting with soft, sensual strokes along every inch of your body that he can reach with the other.

“Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I promise never to make you doubt me ever again. You are my soulmate, my Luna…the mother of my child. You are my everything.”

And just as Jungkook said, he made you his, and now he’s yours. Forever.

⇽Previous Chapter ◅ Back to story masterlist

◅ Back to Master List ©️    2024-02-14    ColorMePurplex2  

[bbcphile]

The Yin Leaves Threat Is a Bluff (MLC Meta)

Mysterious Lotus Casebook fans: Are we ready to talk about how the yin leaves threat was a bluff?

So many people seem to be taking Di Feisheng at his word that he wanted to make Li Xiangyi eat the yin leaves of the Wangchuan flower to regain his martial arts for one last glorious fight and that he was fine with Li Xiangyi dying very painfully from their poison after. And I see why: after all, LLH took him at his word, too, and LLH is famously smart and a good detective.

However, LLH has a history of jumping to false conclusions about DFS and, like the rest of the jianghu, assuming the worst of him: in fact, his mistaken belief that DFS broke the peace treaty and had his shixiong killed is the central misunderstanding that nearly destroyed both their respective sects and each other. So, since LLH is canonically very bad at telling who actually wants him dead and who loves him, it’s worth investigating this further. And looking at DFS’ history of bluffing is a good place to start.

DFS and Bluffing

Di Feisheng has a history of bluffing and/or threatening to kill or torture people when he doesn’t mean it. Here are some of his most notable examples (but click here for a much longer list of things he’s lied about or withheld info about):

Threatening to kill Qiao Wanmian to convince LLH to let him find a cure for Bicha (he doesn’t kill women)

Threatening to torture Gao Qian for information (he searches rooms instead)

Threatening to kill FDB when LLH says he’s trouble (the smirk after shows he was joking)

Threatening to kill Xiao Zijin at the wedding if LLH doesn’t help him get into 188 prisons (LLH walks him into a trap and yet DFS doesn’t even try to hurt XZJ in the fight)

Lying about poisoning and curing QWM to protect LLH’s identity and pretending to kidnap her

In all of those examples, DFS is trying to help or protect LLH, albeit in a very dysfunctional way. In the first example, he’s trying to blackmail LLH into living; the second example is to solve the case to find Shi Hun to expel the Asura Grass so he can find a cure for Bicha; the third is a joke, but also one designed to make LLH admit he does care about FDB because LLH is pretending he doesn’t care about anything as a prelude to giving up once he finds SGD’s body; the fourth is to get evidence that someone framed the Jinyuanmeng so LLH will trust him again and want to live to figure out who really killed his shixiong; and the last is to protect LLH’s identity (even though he only agreed to protect it until the Asura Grass was expelled. He’s trying to prove to LLH that LLH can trust him and he wants to help him, not harm him.)

All that to say: DFS has a history of bluffing about threatening to kill people if he thinks it will help Xiangyi live, and will take on the role of the villain—role the jianghu regularly casts him in—if he thinks it will help. And as some of those examples show, he also doesn’t share his plans with LLH until after the plan has been completed. And just look at all the things DFS withheld from LXY at their first donghai battle if you need more examples: he doesn’t mention that he knows it’s a frame job or why he stole SGD’s body. In all these examples, it’s not just that DFS has control issues and doesn’t want to share theories until he has proof: it seems likely that he knows/assumes LXY wouldn’t have believed him, because LLH already proved he didn’t trust him when he fell for the frame job, broke the peace treaty, and attacked the Jinyuanmeng. DFS assumes that there’s no point in presenting information to someone who won’t listen to it; he’d think it’s a waste of time and energy that could be better spent actively solving the problem.

But Why Bluff About the Yin Leaves?

Yao Mo’s Questionable Loyalty:

When DFS says he just needs LLH to live long enough to compete with him, he’s not talking to LLH himself: he’s talking to Yao Mo. In fact, the entire yin leaves plan was Yao Mo’s idea. And that changes everything.

Why? Well, for starters, Yao Mo is the one who invented the Bicha poison and gave it to JLQ to use on LXY (without DFS’ knowledge or permission). That alone is reason enough for DFS to not know if he can trust him, and this lack of trust explains why DFS never told Yao Mo that the mystery patient was LXY/LLH or that he was poisoned by Bicha. Since JLQ poisoned LXY because DFS paid so much attention to him and to fighting with him, it makes sense that DFS would try to protect LLH by hiding his identity and not drawing attention to him. 

But of course, as soon as Yao Mo figures out the mystery patient was poisoned with Bicha, that secret is blown. The pained face (and Throat Bob of Emotion) DFS makes while Yao Mo is having this realization shows not only how upset he is that they don’t yet have a cure, but also how worried he is that Yao Mo now knows it’s LLH, which makes everything more complicated.

DFS was right that Yao Mo would figure it out, since the first thing Yao Mo does after this realization is tell DFS he’s thought of a way “to heal him so he can compete with you.” DFS had pointedly NOT mentioned competing with him in front of Yao Mo yet (to hide LLH’s identity), so this is definitive proof that his cover is blown and that DFS needs to find a new way to keep LLH safe. 

This new plan is to downplay how much LLH means to him, and that motive explains so much about this scene. We know from watching him grieve and tear up while mourning LLH at his personal waterfall after his enthronement ceremony that DFS is miserable because of LXY’s supposed death and that he doesn’t see the point in fighting anymore without him, so we know that one last fight with LXY wouldn’t fix that: he’d still be dead and DFS would still be devastated. 

(Here are some screenshots of him mourning at the waterfall.)

But this isn’t common knowledge. In fact, it seems to be a closely guarded secret; he’s mourning in private, with only Wuyan as a witness. In public and to the rest of his subordinates, he’s trying to project the attitude of the unemotional, unflappable, heartless demon of the jianghu because his reputation is part of his armor that keeps him safe. It lets him seem like he doesn’t have any weaknesses (since “a swordsman shouldn’t have weaknesses”), and it keeps people from knowing that his primary weakness (other than the mind control bug) is LXY/LLH. 

(NOTE: He’s not even comfortable with anyone other than Wuyan and the three kings knowing he cares more about reaching the pinnacle of martial arts than he does about the Jinyuanmeng itself, and it’s not clear if any of them know that he mainly wants to increase his strength and power to free himself from the mind control bug. That’s how closely he guards his vulnerabilities.) 

With that in mind, if he wants to keep Yao Mo (and therefore JLQ) from knowing how important LXY is to him, there’s only one possible answer to Yao Mo’s question about whether he’d mind if LLH dies from the yin leaves after the fight: pretending he wouldn’t object. If he said he’d give up a fight rather than let LLH die from the yin leaves, then Yao Mo would know LLH matters to him more than fighting, which would be revealing a weakness. If DFS said he would give the entire Wangchuan flower to LLH to cure him and would therefore be sacrificing his chance of getting stronger, it would be painting an even larger target on LLH’s back and showing Yao Mo that endangering LLH would be the key to controlling him. The only safe option for both LLH and DFS is for DFS to claim he doesn’t care if LLH dies after they fight and to give orders to find the flower.

Here’s a gif of his command about the Wangchuan flower:

Notice his furrowed brow, the tightness around his eyes and mouth, the way he’s almost wincing as he gives the order? He is miserable about having to play this game and his incredible poker face is barely up to the task.

Here’s a still image of right after the pronouncement; you can still see the barely suppressed wince.

After this command, he dismisses Yao Mo from the cave immediately so he doesn’t have to keep pretending he’s going to sacrifice LLH. The entire time Yao Mo is present, even while he’s walking away, DFS holds himself completely motionless, staying in character from the bluff and desperately waiting to be alone with LLH. The instant Yao Mo is gone, DFS slumps in relief, or at least, does his version of a slump: he bows/droops his head as though the weight of what just happened was too much to shoulder. 

Here’s a close-up of his reaction:

DFS’s relief at being alone with LLH shows that he believed LLH knew him well enough to know when he was bluffing.

He was wrong. 

LLH: Believing the Worst of DFS (again)

LLH’s belief that DFS wants to kill him for a duel makes sense, since at this point, he still thinks DFS did in fact have SGD killed and broke the peace treaty, and he’s pissed off, feeling betrayed, and also in pain (from the medicine and the Beifeng Baiyang transfer that made him cough up blood, and from all the snake bites–he’s primed to read those as exclusively aggressive and cruel attempts to heal him at all costs for the fight, and not to realize that DFS would absolutely do all these things to himself to heal his own martial arts without batting an eye. And he’s in too much pain to see the horrified look on DFS’s face when LLH coughs up blood and DFS realized he almost killed LLH while trying to cure him.) 

But that doesn’t mean LLH is right. 

DFS, upon seeing that LLH has again cast him as the heartless villain, doesn’t try to dispute it. In the same way that he didn’t explain about why he took SGD’s body at the donghai battle, he doesn’t explain himself about the flower, possibly because he thinks he doesn’t have time to waste arguing. His goal is to get LLH to live–he grieved him for a decade, after all, and doesn’t want to have to do it again–and he is painfully aware that he is running out of time. LLH hasn’t exactly been subtle about only staying alive to find and bury SGD’s body, and now that they’ve accomplished that, he wants to make sure LLH doesn’t give up. Growing up in Di Fortress, DFS probably learned how to recognize what it looks like when people give up on life, and seeing those signs in LLH would explain some of the desperation behind his actions.

So, what does he do instead of trying to convince LLH the threat was a bluff? Here’s a gif of his response:

He swallows his disappointment at being thought a heartless killer–bowing his head again and shaking it, then looking up at the cave roof in exasperation–and takes a long, long inhale to collect himself and to quickly brainstorm a new plan. Once he’s figured it out, he says LXY’s name and launches into stage 2 of his plan to convince LLH to live: correcting the initial misunderstanding that first led LLH to not trust him anymore. 

DFS tries to convince LLH that someone conspired against both of them a decade ago–the truth he thought LXY wouldn’t believe him about on the ship–because if that worked, then it would solve two problems: 1.  LLH might believe him that he doesn’t want to kill him for the rematch if he knew he hadn’t had SGD killed, and 2. LLH would choose to stay alive to find SGD’s real killer and get revenge. 

And when LLH doesn’t believe his initial attempt, he gives what is possibly his longest speech in the entire show detailing the evidence supporting his claim that they were both set up and offers to help him find the truth in exchange for their rematch. While he definitely does want a rematch, DFS mentions it here in part because LLH thinks it’s all he cares about; if he were to offer to help without requiring the fight, LLH would be less likely to believe him and even more suspicious of his claims, especially since LLH currently thinks DFS would kill him for said rematch.

But unfortunately, his plan for them to team up fails as he thought it would all those years ago, so he decides to play along with being the heartless villain LLH thinks he is, and it’s only then that he threatens to kill FDB (revealing FDB’s parentage in the process), because he knows that LLH would stay alive to protect FDB. 

I have another 2000+ words worth of thoughts about his talk and fight with FDB–the way he tries to “kidnap” him first instead of fighting him, the way he looks miserable during the fight instead of enjoying it the way he did during the fight at QWM and XZJ’s wedding–but it will have to wait for another meta because this is already way too long as it is. The point, though, is that he’s not fighting FDB because he wants to or is enjoying hurting him: he actually hates every second of it and of performing the role of jianghu villain LLH has once again cast him in. But he’s doing it because he thinks it’s the only way to keep LLH alive. 

These aren’t the actions of someone who just wants to sacrifice his old rival for a fight; they’re the actions of someone trying everything he can think of to keep the person he loves alive. It’s an incredibly convoluted way to show his care, but given that he’s desperate, out of time, and can’t get LLH to trust or believe him, it makes sense that he’d fall back on a reliable skillset that’s kept himself alive despite all the odds: bluffing, keeping his true goals a secret, adopting the mantle of villain, and letting himself be hated for things he hasn’t done.

With both the fight with FDB and with the yin leaves threat, DFS plays the villain to try to force LLH to live, because he’d rather LLH hate him and live than love him and die. 

Because Di Feisheng has never wanted Li Xiangyi–or Li Lianhua–dead.

[bluegiragi]

hello! i'm gira, i go by she/her, and i've been making fanart for the cod fandom for about four months now :) the majority of that time's been spent on the soapbox saga, which is sort of just what i call the very plot-ridden porn comic featuring ghost, soap and konig. and recently i've been working on the monster 141 au!

i'm here to address the reasoning behind how i assigned certain monsters to certain characters, particularly the POC characters as well as accusations of racism regarding me neglecting gaz in all my art :) whoever you are, if you're reading this in good faith, i thank you! i earnestly never intended to make anyone feel uncomfortable from my work.

The Monster AU

i won't post the blog who brought this issue up mainly because, (realistically speaking) i think people might go after them and spam them with hate so I'm paraphrasing here. but basically..."how come all the POC in the Monster AU are assigned animal-associated monsters? Comparisons to animals can be incredibly demeaning when it comes to minorities".

I completely agree! But earnestly, I think my desire to assign every character a 'monster' that was relevant to their culture overshadowed the part of my brain that would've raised red flags about this sort of thing. There's the argument here that I could've assigned these characters cooler monsters such as Price who is a dragon, and Ghost who is a wraith, but I wanted to be respectful of all the minorities in the COD cast by giving them creatures that reflected their culture and personality.

ALEJANDRO - NAGUAL

In the Monster AU, Alejandro is a nagual, which is considered a guardian spirit in Mesoamerican culture. Typically, it's said that the nagual is the shapeshifted form that powerful men can transform into in order to do evil (although that doesn't apply in this case, Ale's a heroic lad), and can come in the forms of a jaguar, deer, dog or bird. I chose a jaguar, since it seemed to be the most common form of nagual depiction in the resources I was looking at. The 'panther mode' isn't pre-established as part of nagual mythology, but since most panthers are just black jaguars, i thought the association wouldn't be unreasonable.

I chose Alejandro to be a nagual because it's so in character for him to be protective of his home. The idea of him being a literal guardian spirit for all he considers his just made sense to me :)

--

RODOLFO (RUDY) - CADEJOS

In this AU, Rudy is the vessel for two cadejos, which are legendary dog spirits popular in the mythology of Central America, parts of South America and Mexico. Historically, they've been known as psychopomps (guides to help humans into the afterlife following their death) but modern interpretation has shifted to depict them as the good guardian dog and the evil attacking dog respectively.

A lot of the minute information about the cadejos tends to differ depending on the source. Like whether they're actually two separate dogs, or they're the same dog just in different 'modes', or how big they are. My personal depiction of them has them sized as normal dogs (although their spirit nature means they can move into small spaces pretty easily by just becoming immaterial temporarily) and as separate spirits that have been passed down through Rudy's family generationally.

I chose the cadejo for Rudy because although I wanted to include him in the Monster AU, i still liked keeping him as a character who was a bit more 'human' than Alejandro. I think Ale needs Rudy to hold him back sometimes, and having the two cadejo definitely helps with that. Sort of like how cheetahs in zoos have therapy dogs growing up because they're so anxious all the time! I think it also does a good job of showing Rudy's two sides as well, like he's a softie who just wants to protect those he loves, but he's capable of a lot of violence too.

--

VALERIA - GORGON

Valeria is a gorgon which, admittedly, is not part of Mexican mythology. However, I was put in a bit of a bind here, since my research didn't really reveal to me a monster in Mexican culture that I thought would suit Valeria's vibe (manipulative, elulsive) and I just felt like a gorgon would be perfect for her. Medusa's myth has her being continuously demeaned by the men in her life and is a symbol of female empowerment, which I thought was a great reflection of the implied reason that Valeria left the army was due to internal sexism. There's also the perfect parallel of how anyone who sees El Sin Nombre's face dies, and Medusa's whole 'turn you to stone' thing.

I thought i could compromise by making Valeria a gorgon but her hair would be Mexican black kingsnakes but...turns out they're actually not that dangerous. Some people even keep them as pets! So I decided to keep the visual, but make her a pit viper, a subfamily of vipers found in the Americas as well as Eurasia.

--

HORANGI - HAETAE

Horangi is a haetae (해태) which is a beast in Korean mythology that typically comes in the form of a horned lion or dog. It's prevalent in a lot of cultures in East Asia actually, although it goes under different names depending on the region - kaichi for Japan, xiezhi for China. I made Horangi a tiger variant on the creature because...well...'horangi' means 'tiger' in korean. It just made sense to me to put that little twist on it.

Typically, haetae are seen as spirits of judgement, that decide on innocent and guilty parties in disputes and punish the latter. It's also considered a guardian against fire (hence the fire immunity and cloud manipulation powers I gave him).

GAZ - HARPY

Gaz is a harpy which, I won't lie, was purely inspired by the fact that he seems to keep falling out of helicopters. But it's also because...yeah, I did neglect Gaz in the soapbox saga. But I think I neglected...everyone in the soapbox saga who weren't directly involved in the main ship. I sort of just tunnel visioned on the main three, so my exclusion of characters isn't just limited to Gaz, it was included Price, Laswell, Alejandro, Rudy, Graves etc.

I just want to make clear that my treatment of Gaz in particular isn't reflective of any inner preference against him. And to make good on that, me assigning Gaz wings of all things was to help me spend more time on him in the Monster AU! I think the contrast between Gaz being an upstart harpy, and Price being a one-winged dragon has a lot of potential as a mentor/protege relationship (and perhaps even something more) and it's why I assigned this monster to him. I really wanted to establish a connection upfront, but just making Gaz another dragon felt cheap - the harpy thing felt a little more in turn with his character :)

--

I really hope this cleared up any remaining frustrations with my designs for the Monster AU. I hope you can see that I never meant anything demeaning by assigning these monsters to their respective characters - in fact, I earnestly tried to go out of my way and be respectful to their backgrounds.

In any case, if you have any more questions I'd be happy to answer them - I'd just ask you to please ask politely :)

[tallfroggieart]

The World

A secret santa gift I made for the lovely, wonderful @liesmyth ! So excited to get to finally share it!!! :D

(Tarot meanings for the World card and some extra ramblings beneath the cut for those who are interested)

The World

Upright: Success, achievement, accomplishment, travel, completion, fulfilment, sense of belonging, wholeness

Reversed: Shortcuts, delays, seeking closure, incompletion, emptiness

"To encounter the World in your cards is to encounter a great unity and wholeness. It symbolizes the moment when the inner and the outer worlds - self and other - become a single entity. In some traditions, this state is described as enlightenment, or nirvana. There is a recognition that the individual self is profoundly linked with all other things, and that we all dance and sway along the flow of life to one rhythm. Not only do you hear this rhythm, but you participate in it - following the dips and the rises, the joys and the sorrows.

The meaning of the World card is fulfillment, achievement, and completion. This shows that all the efforts that you have been putting in place are starting to pay off. It reflects that you have completed a major milestone in your life and you have built the resilience to withstand challenges. The World may indicate completion of a long-term project, study or any other major event in your life. It may also mean the birth of a child, marriage, graduation or any other thing that you have accomplished.

The World card shows that you have a desire to give back to the community in various ways. You have a commitment to make the world a better place because you understand that everything is connected."

- Labyrinthos, The World

Ok and now for my unhinged rambling about Jamie motherfucking Tartt. Ahem.

Like. GUYS HES LITERALLY THIS CARD IN HIS S3 ERA AND IM NOT KIDDING. he’s the central cog!!! He’s the fulcrum of the triangle!! He’s total football! He’s the world’s most specialest puppydog-coded central attacking midfielder!! He’s the conductor, the playmaker, the literal heart and soul of AFC Richmond’s whole tactic!!!!! He means soooo fucking much to me you don’t even understand.

Yes I did take the bisexual Fibonacci spiral from Sunflowers and make it a key part of this card. If the universe didn’t want me to do that then it would have killed Jason Sudeikis before he could make that scene because my molecules have been forever altered.

(ps: ahem. stay tuned for some more AFC Richmond tarot! I’ve got a Roy in the works and plans for the rest of the main cast, though idk how far I’d follow it through. you could follow me and see what happens if you want 👉👈)

[daichiduskdrop]

˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚⋆·˚ ༘ *𝙎𝙣𝙤𝙬 𝙖𝙣𝙜𝙚𝙡 ⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚

Chapter 03

Pairing: BTS Ot7 X fem! reader

Genre: A/B/O AU, Fluff, Angst, Strangers to lovers,

Warnings: none for this chapter

Words: 3307

Taglist: @thelilbutifulthings @ilovemoneymorethenmen @singukieee @cherrysainttt @felicityroth

Previous:

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„I want to come too!” Whipping his head around, Jimin was suddenly wide awake. The chance of seeing the sleepy state the girl was most likely in sounded just too good to pass up.

Shooting up from his seat, he rushed after his eldest hyung, taking the stairs two at a time. Hearing light snickers in the background. Meanwhile, Yoongi went back to the kitchen.

While waking up the omega did sound pleasing to his ears just as much as anyone else's, he knew that the girl could potentially be very grumpy and just want to go back to bed right away. A sure way to keep her up was a nice, filling meal that would warm her right back up.

He knew how annoying it was to leave the warm sheets on in the cold winter mornings. So he turned on the stove and started heating up the vegetable broth, stirring it occasionally while he prepared her a bit of kimchi fried rice.

He wasn't sure just how sensitive her belly was, and he hoped that the spice wouldn't be too much and wouldn't upset it. Listening to the TV play a documentary about the history of Egypt, he hummed softly to himself.

„I didn't know anyone sleeping for longer than hyung existed.” Teased the youngest, making Hobi burst out in loud laughter. The others chuckled too, agreeing.

„It's normal for omegas to sleep in if they feel safe. It's like a compliment; she feels settled here. That's a really good thing.” answered Namjoon, still typing on his MacBook, smiling at the thought, happy that they finally managed to calm you down a bit.

Standing near the guest room door, the two alphas quieted down. Slowly opening it, they calmly stepped into the dark room. The heater was on, so it felt cosy and warm inside. The guest room was pretty plain but still nicely put together.

The big window has rectangular glass panes with a black metal grid in between with long, heavy fabric curtains that stopped just about five centimetres above the parquet floors. There was a wooden dresser with dark knobs in the left corner of the room, and a big, spacy bed pushed up against the wall with the window. A bedside table had a cream-coloured lamp on it and a glass of water Hobi carried there yesterday evening.

A few plants were littered across the room too, some placed on the ground and others hung up above the window. The pack alpha loved gardening, even if he didn't get around to it too much with how hectic their idol's life often got.

They had a large garden behind the house with a terrace facing it, so they sometimes had a barbecue there too, when the weather allowed it. Namjoon took good care of all the plants there. During the spring to early autumn, he made sure to water them all, and once it got colder, he covered all the plants that were too fragile for the first frost bite.

A short flower placed next to the lamp that grew only to about 11 cm tall, with solid azure petals decorated with azure dots and a light grey central disc. Five small flower blooms grew on alternate sides along the length of the stem. It carried a faint scent that smells like rainy days, cleverly placed to bring peaceful sleep.

It must have worked at least slightly, given that the girl was still long asleep and breathing calmly and slowly. Cuddled up in the heavy duvet,covered with dark grey sheets that Jungkook recently bought, Your face was facing their way, your cheeks rosy with sleep, and your long lashes casting shadows.

Cooing softly, Jin stepped closer to your curled-up body. Just next to your face was the soft, brown hoodie, held close by you. Lightly shaking your shoulder, the older alpha started waking you up, not wanting to startle you.

„Cub.., baby, wake up, come on..” mumbling the words softly, he squatted down so he didn't have to bend so much anymore. Pretty much face-to-face with you, he watched carefully how your eyes fluttered open before closing back up again. Light shone in the room suddenly, the curtains pulled wide apart by Jimin, who stood looking outside for a minute. It was still snowing heavily, and the garden in view was completely covered in the soft, pattering snowflakes that had fallen long before.

Turning to also gaze at the small omega, he smiled, his eyes almost closing up. Giggling softly at how you whined at the sunlight, you curled up into yourself more. Walking back around the bed, he took a seat at the bottom of the mattress, caressing your legs.

When you made no move to wake up fully, the eldest once again softly rubbed your shoulder, cooing at how you hid your face in the jumper instead, softly protesting. You weren't ready to get up yet; why did they keep on bothering you? After so many years of not resting properly, you decided to take back all the time you could have rested but lost due to insomnia.

Pulling the sheets off of your shoulders, you weren't quick enough to roll out of the way before strong hands took a hold of your underarms, pulling you up against wide shoulders. Whining about the lost comfort, your fingers hung up on the shirt the alpha was wearing, your bleary eyes hardly even open. Too tired to kick up a bigger fuss, you just lightly kicked at your legs, earning a soft chuckle in return.

Brushing your fluffy bed hair, the younger alpha sighed out in relief. They were slightly worried that you would start to cry at the loss of the warmth, but you seemed to be just mildly annoyed. Your chin rested up against Jin's collarbone, and you gazed at Jimin while the eldest stood back up with you in his arms. Softly holding your tired body up, he walked with you out of the room, the other alpha following closely, keeping his eyes set on you. He knew the man holding you up would never allow you to drop, so he wasn't too worried, but with how cute and sleepy you looked, he couldn't help but stare.

The calm morning carried on after you were placed on the chair at the kitchen table. Rubbing your eyes with a fist, only to have it pulled away suddenly, you looked up just to meet Yoongi's cat-like eyes.

„Don't do that, kitty; it's not good for you. Here, I've warmed up some soup for you; come on, have some. It's hot still; you need to blow lots and lots, okay? Don't burn yourself, kitten.” handing you a large wooden spoon and a steaming bowl, you nodded slightly before slurping up a bit. Being careful with the heat, you made sure to blow before taking another spoonful.

With the warm broth in your belly and Yoongi watching closely over you, you were soon handed another glass of juice, this time made with oranges. Taking your bowl away for you, your feet brushed up against the floors, only now realising you didn't have any socks on. The rest of your clothes were the same as yesterday; you were glad they didn't change you, letting you be. It would definitely be more uncomfortable.

While you felt a bit awkward, suddenly realising your situation, it felt easy to let up and go with how the pack reacted to you, fully slipping into the dominant second gender they were assigned. Your soft nature just easily fitted right in.

Even though the pack was formed a few years ago and the boys did have a strong bond, that didn't mean they didn't sometimes argue here and there. It was mostly small stuff that resulted in them making up quickly. Still, with how touch starved they were and with how few occasions they actually had to talk with lower-ranking second genders, it was a relief to finally have someone to take care of and be responsible for.

Namjoon was used to taking on all their worries and troubles, but this still felt a lot different, like filling up a hole in their body they didn't know really existed until it was gone.

Omegas were highly appreciated and precious in most packs, with the rarity they brought making them considered even more special. Not all packs could have an omega, and it was common that even when a possible one was found, they just didn't settle in well with the packmates and had to leave.

Placing a small plate before you, the kimchi fried rice smelled delicious. A fried egg placed on top that was already cut up in bite-sized pieces for you, you dug right in. You weren't too hungry anymore, but you still wanted to eat it because of how delicious it seemed.

„Be careful, pup, it could be a bit too spicy for you. Slow down, don't choke." Said Taehyung, who just passed by to fill himself a cup of water. Your eyes didn't stay on him for too long. You were occupied with the food before you, and you intended to keep your focus fully.

The enoki mushrooms made a soft, crunchy sound, and while the food was made with only a small amount of spices, it really did feel just a little too hot for you. Biting into the egg that was salted just enough, you nodded with satisfaction. You only had a few bites before you pushed the plate away from yourself; not only were you full, but it really did burn your tongue quite a bit.

„Are you full already?” Looking at the alpha's face while he crouched down next to you, rubbing your knee in light circles. Meekly nodding, you felt a bit bad leaving so much of leftovers.

„That's okay. You can say anything anytime if anything isn't okay, yea? Do you understand my kitty?" Softly voicing his concerns, you looked into his eyes shortly before you mumbled a yes.

Being met with a gummy smile wasn't really what you were expecting for not finishing a meal, but it felt nice. You never met a pack that was so compliant with your needs and wants and patient like they were.

Pulling the chair out next to you, he slid the plate to himself, starting to eat your leftovers. He didn't bother to change the cutlery either; already used to sharing pretty much everything with his packmates.

You sat next to him still, your eyes occasionally closing in tiredness. The kitchen was to your left; your back turned to the living room, where some of the alphas were. Sometimes when they walked by, they left an occasional rub and pat on your head, greeting you sweetly and asking about your sleep.

Yoongi picked up a piece of egg, the part he considered the tastiest—the fried-up corners dipped in the still runny egg yolk—and with a hand underneath, careful not to burn you, he blew on it softly before encouraging you to eat it yourself. Quickly convinced, you chewed calmly.

„There you go, baby, it's tasty right? You want some more?” Cooing at how your eyes watched him closely, he took another bite-sized piece and held it up for you. „Of course you can, here kitty, slowly."

Watching your reaction, the alpha in him felt good about providing for you. It was something greatly satisfying for him—for all of them, to see you trust them enough to let them feed you, hold you, and keep you around. They valued the trust you allowed them greatly, keeping you close and safe at all times.

Once he finished your leftovers and fed you the last bite, he stood up to clean up, taking your now empty juice glass to put in the dishwasher for you. Getting up, you pattered towards the others, hesitating a little, not sure where to sit or even if you should sit with them. You had no idea what was going to happen in the future.

It was the pack alpha who noticed you the earliest, turning in his seat and smiling widely with his dimples showing. He had a pair of glasses on that were yellow-tinted with black top framing and bare wires at the bottom. His longer black hair styled into a shorter mullet-like hairstyle, with a few hair strands touching his forehead, made him look put together. The pyjamas he kept on earlier in the day were also exchanged for an earth-green crew neck and baggy jeans.

„Come here, pup, sit here. Come on, the movie is starting soon; hurry!” lightly ushering you along, your feet moved before you knew it, and soon you were resting on the couch between him and Jin.

The eldest ran his fingers through your hair, taming it down further. Sitting with your knees pulled up to your chest, you watched the screen before you. Some of the alphas weren't there at the moment, but they did walk by from time to time. When Jimin took a seat next to the eldest man, he gave you the brown jumper again; you must have left it back upstairs in your room, and he came to carry it downstairs for you.

Understanding that you still weren't truly out of your anxious and worried headspace, they were still trying to keep you as calm as possible. Having you cry like you did yesterday felt like torture to them, making them want to prevent it from ever happening again.

„Here sweetheart. Keep it close now.” He muttered while you held it to your nose, breathing in. It still smelled really clean, with only the slightest hint of vanilla and citrus. It felt calming.

The movie captivated your attention eventually, only slightly boring in the beginning. Whenever you started to fidget and move around more, they were quick to soothe you. Joon always easily pointed out something interesting in the movie, like the cleverly done product placement, a book he knew the author of, or the paintings hung up in the background of the shot.

„It's Cézanne; he painted that one.” You pointed your finger at the screen where a main character was currently talking about the prodigy he held. There, behind him in a simple brown frame, was a painting of tulips on a vase, their bright red blossoms contrasting with the forest green of the glass jar. While the movie had an interesting story, you were more focused on the small details regarding his so-called prodigy.

„Really? Wah,” said Jin from next to you. The four alphas sitting with you focused on the screen just until the painting was cut off from the screen.

 „What a smart cub you are, baby. It is his; you are right.” I approved the pack alpha, smiling proudly at you. You felt your cheeks heating up slightly, so you were quick to look away. Mumbling about how it's not that big of a deal, you squeezed your palms around the fabric you held.

In the corner of your eye, Taehyung typed the artist's name into Google, quickly finding the tulip painting he made.

„Oh, he was good; look, Hyung." Showing the screen to the alpha next to him, Jimin leaned in as the other man scrolled through the photos of his other art.

„He was a French, a postimpressionist artist, so the photos don't really show what he made well. The brush strokes are what you are meant to focus on, and with how flat it looks on the screen, it doesn't really work. He was a big inspiration for the cubism movement later on too,” you said, while looking over Jin at Tae's phone.

„You know a lot; do you like art?” asks Jin while softly petting your hair. You smiled, almost laughing at the question; it felt a bit silly to you.

„Yea, I study at an art school. I've been making art since I was really young.”

That caught their attention for sure, with how quickly their eyes turned to your face. In the morning, they collectively decided that it would be best for them not to ask why there was no pack alpha huffing at their entrance doors yet; after all, if you had a pack and didn't spend the night there, especially without discussing it before hand, it was going to make them worry for sure.

At least they knew that they would worry for sure.

But still, nobody knocked. They didn't see you pull out your phone even once, and they weren't sure if you even had it on you. You didn't smell like any other alpha or beta thought, so they were left in questions.

Whatever caused you to get so unsettled yesterday concerned them, but they didn't want to push you to tell them. If you wanted to open up to them, you would.

„Really? Which college?”

„Korea National University of Arts.” You answered the pack alpha quietly.

„Oh, I heard of that one; do you like it there, cub?” Tae shot up, looking at your face closely. Nodding hesitantly, you thought about your answer for a few seconds.

„Yea, it's okay.” You smiled softly. You were glad you could pursue the arts, and while not all your classmates were nice and some teachers gave you a hard time sometimes, you were able to learn a lot. And that was what mattered.

„What's your major?”

„I study fine arts.” You said, looking up at Jimin. Holding the jumper closer, they sensed you had enough questions for now and focused back on the movie. Even when it finished, the five of you stayed huddled close together on the couch, only getting up a few times and coming back again soon.

With a nagging question on your mind, it was complicated for you to focus on the cooking competition, and so you carefully leaned closer to Namjoon, lightly touching his forearm. Looking over at you quickly, he didn't take long to notice something was on your mind that made you anxious, and so without little to no hesitance, he pulled you to his side.

Leaning over slightly so he was face-to-face with you, the soft smell of flowers blooming covered the air around you. Calming you just the slightest bit, his hands held your shoulder and side, rubbing faint circles with his palm.

„What is it, pup? You can tell Alpha; don't worry, okay? What's wrong, little baby?” With the sweet words, you almost burst into tears once again, surprised at how sensitive you still were after yesterday. You felt startled.

Looking down, and when you didn't answer for a few seconds, the pack alpha pulled you to his chest once again. With your hip resting against his thigh, he held your other one, softly patting it in a rhythmic pattern. His other hand pulled your face close to his chest, where it was easy to listen to his heartbeat.

„Hm? Poor cub, you keep on getting stressed out over and over again; there isn't much time to rest up, is there? It's okay, I got you now." Cradling you up against his chest, he allowed you to sniffle for a few minutes and didn't push you to talk. With your legs getting carresed and placed over the eldest's lap, you eventually asked the thing that had worried you since yesterday dinner.

„When do I have to leave?” You mumbled, a whimper leaving your throat. It was quiet for a beat or two, the pack alpha just holding you close.

„That's up to you, cub. You are free to leave whenever you feel like it. You can stay too if that's what you want; we wouldn't mind.” answered Namjoon calmly, but you weren't fooled. His heartbeat fastened up for a bit there, and you noticed.

„I would like to stay please..”

⋆·˚ ༘ *ੈ✩‧₊˚˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚˚ ✩‧₊˚⋆·˚ ༘ *

Next:

[waffowo]

I cannot stop thinking about how Metal Gear Solid V: The Phantom Pain ironically fits as the missing link of the Metal Gear Solid franchise by being this ambivalent and spiteful text that could only be possible because it exists after Metal Gear Solid 4: Guns Of The Patriots.

Like think about it. MGS4 is Kojima’s perfect farewell in how it encapsulates his complex relationship towards his own series, his own cynical but still very much hopeful take on The Irishman (2019) if you will. The game simultaneously reveals Kojima’s hope and affection by pulling every known idiosyncracy to a hyperbolic degree but also his exhaustion and suspicion through Snake being not a hero but an old killer and his reflections on his role as a pioneer of the military-stealth genre within the gaming industry. It even seeks to tackle the behemoth of closing at least the majority of the loose narrative threads. As a consequence, any future game is attacked with the question of purpose since Kojima has already said what he needed to say. 

Through this question is how MGSV can even be allowed to exist because it affirms that the question is rhetorical. The game chronologically exists in a liminal space in the middle, neither here nor there. It even narratively exists as a structural ouroboros, a almost completely closed system which begins and ends on a mirror. Kojima elevates this sentiment to an extreme level by denying any kind of player satisfaction (or nostalgia) by still being an encapsulation of a lot of overarching themes now filtered through a lens of condemnation. 

 There is at least this sense of valour found in the main cast of MGS4. There might not be any heroes but you can tell that at the end of the game, there is a sense of dignity. MGSV works completely opposite to that. The central cast of MGSV is so pathetic that the game plays like a tragicomedy as they aimlessly wander about, overdosing on some serious fucking copium that taking revenge will bring peace. A particular venture you know that’s doomed but can’t help but watch. Phantom Paz expresses this so unsubtly yet so perfectly in her final cassette tape. Peace Day is always going to be a mirage and has been even since the Peace Walker days, it’s just that Kojima doesn’t always focus on the other reality that these people are all still terrorists and war criminals. 

People who expected Big Boss instead got a confused, empty and depressed war criminal who can be found roleplaying as a cowboy. His other hobbies include non-stop vaping and managing war criminal spreadsheets. Mission 43 doesn’t feel like a descent into evil because Venom is already kind of evil but instead works by acting in perfect opposition to Chapter 1 where you sort through your digital files to identify patterns and promptly send them to death in the quarantine ward. He’s so high up the military hierarchy that of course he can’t help but have a crisis when he is directly confronted with the physical reality he used to be able to meet with mechanical detachment. 

Venom Snake also serves as a perfect way to comment on the overarching theme of agency. However, there’s no final monologue to tell you to think for yourself, no Raiden throwing away the dog tags, no Naked Snake refusing to shake an official’s hand. Instead all these typical moments are denied in every way possible to the point it’s very funny. Venom is not only a castrated protagonist but is also basically a preprogrammed AI with no hope to break free because he’s narratively doomed. Your actions don’t really matter. Even funnier, the ending is perfect by hitting you with the “you, the player, were the war criminal all along” that heightens the tragicomic beats through recontextualisation. What is more mortifyingly funny than realising that you’ve just been playing as Raiden AGAIN but instead of someone that exists beyond the player you have become canonised as an in-world character complicit in perpetuating imperialism. This works so well with how if you listen to the tapes and mission briefings closely, you realise that there are so many contradictions that no one are bringing up. Everyone is lying to you and everyone is telling the truth but it doesn’t matter. Venom just captures the disorientated position of the player, caught in this Pynchonesque paranoid labyrinth that it leaves you confused and speechless. What other choice do you have but to smoke a fat one, it’s not like you can actually resist the game if you’re completely out of the loop. 

Aside from Venom, there is of course Huey who has descended into full on pathological lying and delusion. Even if he didn’t cause the second outbreak, he’s so overwhelmed by guilt and paranoia by his other crimes he’s most likely guilty of that he’s able to beat the truth serum. When you’re rescuing Huey, he literally blames you for the destruction of the MSF. Like literally as you’re hauling ass to get him out. Even more pathetic is Kaz who makes these grand statements alongside Venom about taking revenge that you know doesn’t mean shit. His monologues are so passionate and are so depressing and yet he is met with awkward silence constantly that it’s depressingly funny. 

There’s this amazing usage of comedic timing, after you rescue Kaz and bring him back to Mother Base, where he monologues and says, “Dogs of war for nine whole years…that ends today. Now you’re not sleeping, and we’re not junkyard hounds. We’re Diamond Dogs.” The swelling of the music at the last moment is instantly followed by Kaz being shut the fuck up by a medic who puts an oxygen mask on him and lies him down. No one responds to the speech. Ocelot merely only talks to stop the medic and allow Kaz to get a few more words in out of pure pity. Likewise, Kaz’s extreme cognitive dissonance as he believes he can return to the good old days is so pitiful and poignant you can’t help but to stare with sympathy. 

The end of Chapter 1 shows how far gone he is with a very clever cut as Venom turns away from a vision of Skullface where Skullface is replaced by Kaz himself. Chapter 2 then logically shows him becoming full on paranoid, going full on 1984 Minister of Truth because what else does he have left if he doesn’t have an object of revenge anymore? I remember a moment, where he’s calling you, with this sense of manic fanaticism as he rambles to Venom that it’s time to dig up dirt on Huey and finally get him out for good. It becomes so absurd that even OCELOT tells him to shut the hell up. 

Ocelot is maybe the only normal person on board but that title means nothing in-universe. He’s thriving because he’s happily going along with War On Terror 2. He’s normal because he flat out embraces this and even goes out with his crush dressed as a cowboy. Of course there won’t be those moments where he’s of central dramatic focus here, he is simply here for the ride, his true goal to win the game of 8D chess for the man he’s down bad for. 

This band of losers are completely devoid of real purpose and are so…beta and it works because of how it both confronts an equally important reality of the characters not usually as overt and how MGS4 already closing off the franchise sets up how MGSV’s narrative and characters are already and should be dead. Peace is only possible in the case of war criminals when they’ve been buried. Evoking dissatisfaction might not always be intentional and is sometimes accidental but it works because there is no real satisfaction in beating a dead horse just to see your faves perform one more song. Especially if they already aren’t good people.

[bayleavesfromthevine]

some kn8 ramblings (with a side order of manga spoilers)

i love that (as far as we know) kafka and mina's tragic backstory is "dead cat." we know nothing of their parents, homes, or friends from after the kaiju attack, only that mina's cat died. (obviously, the series isn't over yet, so this could be totally disproven at any point, but bear with me lol.)

i actually find that really refreshing. yes, it's so heartbreaking to lose a pet, but it's not the typical trope of a character's power level correlating to how traumatized they are (ex: family massacres, everyone they've ever loved ending up dead, backstabbing, torture, etc etc). their traumas are grounded in very realistic and relatable circumstances, and i think that goes to show that a character doesn't need these extreme reasons to want to do good and fight the scary monster. mina's cat died in a kaiju attack and she wants to make sure that no one else has to lose their best friend/ball of floof to a kaiju ever again. that is enough of a reason and a noble one at that.

soshiro, as another example, has a complicated relationship with his family, but they aren't dead or rogue. he's not seeking revenge on them, but rather they did not support him when it mattered and made him feel inferior - that is a traumatizing environment to grow up in, and unsupportive parents & sibling favoritism are also SO grounded in reality.

it really makes these characters feel real, and i think it's a powerful thing for a reader who maybe doesn't have the best relationship with their parents/siblings like soshiro, or who has lost a beloved pet like mina, or who doesn't have natural-born talent in a specific field like kafka, to see these characters take those experiences, work through them, find a support system, and overcome them.

(side note: i LOVE to see that soshiro actually went no contact with his brother for past behaviors! that sets such a powerful example to readers that it's okay to cut out people who have made you feel like shit!!)

of course, there are other characters like narumi and reno who have heavier backstories, but i love that their experiences don't automatically turn them into the brooding emo characters who think only of killing kaiju and seeking revenge with zero intentions to form friendships with the people around them.

it's just really nice to see. i feel like in stories that have a large cast, it's easy for a character's backstory to completely shape their personality, rather than being shaped by a multitude of experiences - good and bad - gained throughout life. (in cases like reno and kikoru, we see them grow as people & change their outlooks due to their positive experiences with kafka and the rest of the defense force. that doesn't override their past experiences, but adds layers to who they are overall.)

i see kn8 getting criticized a lot for lacking in depth or themes - and i do think there is a conversation to be had about locating the series' central theme and whether or not it's been clearly communicated (and whether or not that even matters) - but i also think part of that criticism stems from having a fantastical premise (that maybe SHOULD have a little more death, but that's another conversation entirely lol) with deeply grounded characters, a contrast we don't see too much of - especially from series in the battle shonen & shonen-adjacent genres (thinking about shows like naruto, aot, jjk, demon slayer, hell's paradise, etc).

basically, i find it refreshing that kn8 isn't over-traumatizing its characters despite the fact that the premise would allow it lol

[justinspoliticalcorner]

Dean Obeidallah at The Dean's Report:

It’s a “coup!” declared hysterical Republicans.  Were they talking about Donald Trump’s efforts after the 2020 election to overturn the election for which he’s currently facing criminal charges in both federal court and Fulton County, Ga?! Nope! What Republicans from JD Vance down were calling a “coup” was President Biden dropping out of the 2024 race. (I’m serious!)  Arkansas US Senator Tom Cotton wrote on X shortly after the news broke, “Joe Biden succumbed to a coup by Nancy Pelosi, Barack Obama, and Hollywood donors, ignoring millions of Democratic primary votes.”  “The coup is complete,” wrote Trump loving Representative Paul Gosar from Arizona. That was followed by Rep. Marjorie Taylor Greene who also echoed the claim we witnessed a “coup” with Biden dropping out.

Talk of a coup even made it all the way to the top of the 2024 GOP presidential ticket when—in an interview that aired Monday--Fox News host Jesse Watters asked Trump and his running mate JD Vance, “Is it a coup against Joe Biden?” Vance responded point blank, “Yeah, I think it is.” Trump though—perhaps reflecting on what he did after the 2020 election—was uncharacteristically sheepish, offering Watters only this two word answer: “Sort of.”

Back on planet earth, we know that Biden made the decision to drop out for the same reason politicians have chosen to end their campaigns since time immemorial. As NBC News reported, in reaching his decision, Biden reviewed along with his family and top aides extensive polling data, including how Vice President Kamala Harris would fare in a potential matchup against Trump. It’s true Biden was not happy with the growing calls to drop out after his deeply troubling debate performance three weeks before. However, as NBC News noted At the end of it all, “Biden came grudgingly to accept that he could not sustain his campaign with poll numbers slipping, donors fleeing and party luminaries pushing him to exit.”

That led us to Sunday afternoon when Biden released a letter that informed the nation, “While it has been my intention to seek reelection, I believe it is in the best interest of my party and the country for me to stand down and to focus solely on fulfilling my duties as President for the remainder of my term.” (President Biden is addressing the nation on Wednesday night where we will find out even more of the details.) That’s not a coup. That is what American politics and democracy have long looked like. True, given it was a president dropping out only a little more than a hundred days from the election, it was both jarring and history making. But at the end, Biden made what he believed was the best choice for himself, his family, his party and his country.

[...] Trump attempted a coup in every sense of the word. Despite losing the 2020 election, he attempted to overturn the results to remain in power. That is why the federal indictment against Trump charging him with four felonies states, “Despite having lost, the Defendant [Trump] was determined to remain in power.”   To that end as the indictment continues, Trump “pursued unlawful means of discounting legitimate votes and subverting the election results.” Trump’s “criminal scheme”--as the indictment describes--included replacing legally elected electors to the Electoral college with fake ones chosen by his campaign to deliver Trump the victory he didn’t actually win. Trump’s illegal plan also included preventing Congress on Jan 6 from certifying the legitimate votes cast for Joe Biden--despite Trump losing every court battle to invalidate these very votes. Then there was the brutal Jan 6 attack on our Capitol, which FBI Director Christopher Wray testified before Congress was an act of “domestic terrorism.” As the Jan 6 House committee’s final report put it: “The central cause of January 6th was one man, former President Donald Trump, whom many others followed,” adding, “None of the events of January 6th would have happened without him.”

Dean Obeidallah debunks the right-wing bad faith “coup” attacks against Joe Biden, and rightly points out that replacing Biden with Kamala Harris as the Democratic nominee (before the nomination was formalized) is NOT a coup, but the Capitol Insurrection on January 6th, 2021 and Donald Trump’s efforts to overturn the 2020 election results were most definitely one.

See Also:

The UnPopulist: Republicans' Bogus Claims that Democrats Acted Illicitly in Replacing Biden

[youhideastar]

WujiWatch: CQL Rewatch Episode 22

The first few times you watch the soup scene in this episode, it’s hard to look past the disaster-het-ness of it all (plus the sexy-mad Wei Wuxian, obvs). But this scene also has a lot to say about my beloved Luo Qingyang a.k.a. Mianmian. Maybe you remember the central misunderstanding arising from Jiang Yanli asking a Jin servant named A-Yuan to deliver her soup to Jin Zixuan. If so, you’re remembering it wrong: Mianmian came up with that scheme, after Jiang Yanli originally tried to deliver the soup herself. Like in Mianmian’s first appearance, at the Caiyi inn, she feels bad for one of the Jiangs and so tries to go around Jin Zixuan to help out, hoping he won’t find out about it. In both instances, unfortunately, he does. (But you gotta wonder how many times she does get away with it…)

She also appears—or her shadow does—in the flashback to the confrontation between Jin Zixuan and Jiang Yanli, when Jin Zixuan accuses Jiang Yanli of disrespecting A-Yuan because she’s common-born. I don’t mean Mianmian’s literal shadow. I mean the shadow cast by the question: “Who taught highborn snob Jin Zixuan to recognize and call out classism?” It sure as shit wasn’t his parents. (Yes, yes, I know he was wrong about the classism in this instance, but his heart was in the right place.) I suppose he could have multiple outspoken common-born friends with a keen eye for injustice. But I doubt it. Those folks seem pretty hard to find in the cultivation world.

And Mianmian is Jin Zixuan’s friend, not just his subordinate – albeit a friend who has to curtsy every time she greets him. All of this soup backstory is only aired in the first place because Mianmian marches right into Jin Zixuan’s tent for the express purpose of explaining to him—in front of a bunch of other people—exactly how he’s made an ass of himself. And he lets her! Then—in an act of incredible bravery—she shields him with her body when Wei Wuxian attacks, even after seeing Wei Wuxian wipe the floor with six other Jin disciples just a second before. I guess you could say she does it because he’s the sect heir and she’s his subordinate (possibly head disciple? unclear. I think we all know Jin Zixun is a nepo baby). But nobody else—not even Jiang Yanli—is rushing to place their body between Jin Zixuan’s dumb ass and the terrifying weapon that is Wei Wuxian.

One last thing to love about Mianmian from the soup scene and then I promise I’m done. When Mianmian is describing Jiang Yanli’s soup gifts, she notes that the first two bowls of soup Yanli makes are for her little brothers—and when Mianmian says this, she uses the word “didi” (brother) for both Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian, as opposed to using “didi” for Jiang Cheng and “shidi” (sect brother) for Wei Wuxian. That makes Mianmian, as far as I know, the first (and maybe only) person, other than Jiang Yanli herself, to call Wei Wuxian Jiang Yanli’s brother – in other words, the first and only outsider to acknowledge that Wei Wuxian and Jiang Yanli are truly family to one another, not just co-disciples of the same sect. In short: she’s the best.

[kadextra]

The Eggs

A lore overview & theory longpost :]

Let's start with a recap. The eggs were given by the Federation to the island residents to care for. A backstory was also given by Pato, saying the eggs were left behind by a dragon mother who flew off after the wall explosion. An egg has 2 lives, if it dies you get punished, if it's alive and happy you get a prize. But nobody really cares about a prize anymore, all the parents love their eggs sooo much that just being together with them is a prize. The eggs have developed unique, endearing personalities and have become a central part of the narrative in such a massive way that it'd take hours to describe. Some sadly passed on, and more eggs have joined the cast as new players arrived.

The Code Entity

A strange entity made of binary code began to hunt down the eggs, viciously attacking and bringing them all down to one life. The reason why is still unknown, but it seems to want the residents to leave the island. I'll make a separate lore post about this guy eventually, there's a lot to say theory-wise and a lot we still don't know about it.

The Strange Cracks

At one point, all the eggs were kidnapped from their homes in the night. The announcement of their return said they would be given back "unharmed" but they returned with odd cracks in them, as if they were injured. The eggs all acted unusually scared and extra fragile after the incident, and couldn't wear armor without pain. They slowly regained their confidence after a few days and went back to normal, along with a eggstatistics change saying they've "matured."

The Heaven Meetings

When an egg dies, the Federation gives the parents 5-10 minutes to say farewells in a white room. It's always really wholesome and emotional to watch. But lots of questions can be raised about how the Federation seem to have the power to revive an egg from the dead in the first place. If they can do it for 10 minutes, why can't they just... revive them permanently? q!Max asked his egg son Trump why he couldn't just leave during his meeting, and got answers alluding that the egg was trapped there. That "they" are too powerful, so he can't leave. What's really going on here? Are the dead eggs even dead?

Case of Richarlyson

The Brazilians noticed that their egg, Richarlyson had one smaller leg compared to the rest, as if he was underdeveloped. And strangely, he also had a weird substance left on him (visually shown as a slimeball) which they thought could be part of the mother dragon's placenta. q!Cellbit gave the sample to supercomputer SOFIA to analyze, the results being given a few days later. Turns out, the substance's composition had zero traces of DNA, it wasn't even biological. Instead, it was found to be some type of chemical preservation fluid... meaning Richarlyson was in some kind of stasis/storage before being given to the Brazilians, and rushed out at such short notice he couldn't even be cleaned off in time.

The Pomme DNA Test

A sample of the newest & youngest egg's DNA, Pomme, was given to SOFIA to analyze. The genetic results were:

65% Oxygen, 18% Carbon, 10% Hydrogen, 3% Nitrogen, 1.5% Calcium, 1% Phosphorus, Potassium, Sulfur, Sodium, Chlorine, Magnesium. These results are normal for a biological composition of a living creature. However, there were also traces of "unusual elements" in the DNA....

Silicon, Gold, Cobalt, Copper, Palladium, Cadmium, Bismuth, Uranium.

Silicon is used for making alloys.

Gold is a valuable metal.

Copper is a metal used as an electric conductor.

Palladium is a rare metal, also used for electronics.

Cadmium is a heavy metal used to make batteries and it's also toxic.

Bismuth is a crystalline metal again used for electronic appliances.

Uranium is literally radioactive and used for nuclear power.

HUH? These elements and metals are totally unnatural to find traces of in a living creature. edit: this is wrong, these elements and metals are common to find traces of in a living creature. However, SOFIA said they are unusual in the eggs. What does this mean..?

Connections

What if I told you there is a certain type of egg where it's normal to find metals all over?

Fabergé eggs.

Fabergé eggs are valuable decorative eggs made with crystals and rare metals like gold. And it just so happens that as a lead-up to the QSMP, Quackity Studios released a teaser image, with morse code inside leading to a document where many suspicious letters, including this one was found:

This potential connection can't be ignored. Real Fabergé eggs obviously aren't alive like our little eggs, but it's entirely possible that thanks to the traces of metals in their composition, the name is being used as a codeword to refer to them.

All of these things considered, don't forget that the eggs are still living creatures. The "unusual" parts in the genetic makeup are very few compared to oxygen, carbon, calcium, etc. Most of the weird ones do happen to relate to electronics and machines, but if anything, it's likely that the eggs could be cyborgs - a biological organism that's just enhanced with technological parts.

It's becoming more and more evident that the "dragon mother" story is a load of hogwash. The eggs might've been developed in a lab, and transported to the island by the Federation. Whatever intentions or experiment they have running, we don't know... but these poor eggs have no idea about any of this. They are innocent and being used.

They just existed one day, got adopted and began to know love. And no matter what happens, no matter what they really are, dragons or not, we and the parents will continue to love them <3

[wkemeup]

I Am Not My Own

summary: Following the Battle of New York, Steve begins to lose himself to the mantle of Captain America. Torn with guilt over the loss of his friend and struggling in a time that does not belong to him, Steve takes comfort in his only solace. 

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 3.8k

warnings: descriptions of a panic attack, sad boy angsty steve 

a/n: This takes place between Avengers 1 and TWS. Based on an anon request from ages ago along the lines of exploring “the impact of traumas like seeing Bucky falling from the train and the guilt over Bucky's capture, the feeling of displacement which he kept quiet while carrying the mantle of Captain America.” Title inspired by a lyric in Party of One by Brandi Carlile. 

Steve Rogers looks upon the crowd gathered below the podium – a sea of star-spangled commercialized t-shirts and homemade costumes. Adoring fans scream as they hold posters raised above their heads professing their love and allegiance. Even as he stands in the back corner of the stage attempting to fade into the shadow cast by the American flag beside him, it does not sway the attention of the crowd.  

He can still feel them watching him. Waiting for him. Bouncing on the balls of their feet in anticipation of his slightest movement.  

The mayor nears the end of her well-rehearsed speech, and the crowd begins to grow antsier with every second. They’re not here for the mayor’s latest initiative to rebuild the subway following yet another otherworldly attack defended by the Avengers. No – they're here for him.  

He almost misses his cue when the mayor steps back from the podium and gestures for him to come forward. The crowd alights with excitement; applause echoing through the treetops of Central Park and casting birds from their homes on the branches.  

Steve settles the racing tempo in his chest and presses a tight smile onto his face before he steps from the shadow. It’s what he was trained to do, after all. He shakes the mayor’s hand as he’s done for the last four mayoral projects – none of which have held up to their promises to help the people of this city, but they’ve increased the mayor’s polling averages and the eased public tension toward SHEILD, and he supposes that was all it was ever meant for anyway. 

So, Steve waves a hand to the crowd and throws on the charming grin he practiced in the mirror earlier that morning. He poses for pictures in the stance shown to him by the rather uptight woman in PR and he pretends for a moment that this is all there is.  

No nightmares that chase him through the cold dark of his dreams until he wakes in blinding terror. No aliens slipping through a hole in space above New York. No memories of a hand he was inches from reaching; of the cold, blistering wind through the snowcapped mountains. No echoing of a scream he’ll never be able to erase as his best friend falls to the ravine.  

It’s only the flashing lights. The tight grip of the mayor’s hand in his. The endless chanting of his name through the crowd. 

A strange feeling comes over him as the sea of voices begins to fade, as he listens to a chorus of strangers call his name – praising a hero he does not recognize in the mirror. He hears his name and realizes it does not belong to him anymore.  

Steve Rogers. Captain America. His name, his title, stripped from his grasp and given to a podium he never asked for. The mantle of the hero Steve can hardly live up to – painted only in light acceptable to the public relations department on level seven.  

They erased the dark lingering under his bones and pretended like there is little more to their prized trophy than the glory of red, white, and blue. Because what use is he to them if they discover he is just as broken and battered as the rest of the soldiers left to rot on their own after they’re returned to US soil? What good is Captain America if he can hardly sleep through the night? If he’s constantly looking over his shoulder for the next threat? If he’s got a boulder on his back crippling his spine, burdened with such guilt and shame, he’s certain he’ll drown under the weight of it? 

Pieces of him were torn away in the wreckage of the Atlantic, shredded remains left behind in the forties, lost to the battlefields in the city he grew up in. Fragments ripped from his clutches under bleeding nails and given to the people chanting his name, to the lawmakers in their ivory towers, to the only sense of purpose he could find within the walls of the Avengers Tower. 

He realizes it then. Steve Rogers is not his own.  

*** 

“Captain Rogers!” a shrill voice calls behind him as he trudges through the main lobby of the tower. Heels click behind his PR agent, Linda, as she struggles to keep up with his long strides. She means well. He knows she does. But he also knows she’s more of a babysitter than anything else – hired to make sure Steve doesn’t stray too far from the picture-perfect image they have set up for him.  

His escape plan is thwarted by the elevator when it refuses to open its door before she catches up.  

“You’re a fast one, aren’t you?” Linda huffs, trying to catch her breath. She's laughing as if she’s in on the joke, but Steve can barely muster a smile.  

All he wants is to get this damn uniform off – to rid himself of the mockery it’s become and the outright lie of heroism attached to it. He feels like he might suffocate under it, like the fabric might burst into flame and devour him whole if he doesn’t peal it from his skin in time. He can already feel the singing burn against his forearms, against his chest, against his back. It’s boiling hot. It’s agonizing. It’s– 

“Don’t forget about the auction this Saturday! You’re our top earner!” Linda chimes, scribbling something down in her notebook just as the elevator doors open. Steve exhales a sigh of relief when she does not follow him inside. She doesn’t even look up at him as she rattles off the rest of his upcoming schedule. He lets the doors close before she finishes. He wonders if she will even notice.  

The sudden silence in the elevator might have been a relief if not for the constant ringing in his ears. Steve lifts a shaking hand to the strap of his helmet and unlatches it. Slowly, as the elevator begins to climb, he pulls it off. Weight slips from his body but it’s not enough. It’s like removing a stone from the back of a boulder – insufficient and pathetic.  

He doesn’t have to look at his reflection in the silver doors to know there are red marks lining his face around where the mask meets his skin. They’ll fade in a few minutes, but they’re deep now. They look like mutilations upon the bone itself. He had asked once to adjust the framing of the helmet to avoid the painful marks, but he was told the alterative designs didn’t poll well in focus groups.  

Though he tries to avoid it, Steve catches a glimpse of his reflection in the dull shimmer of the sliver doors. His hair is unkept, messy from the helmet and a rough night of sleep. The bright reflection of red, white, and blue stares back as if to mock him. But what startles him the most is the weight in his own eyes. He looks tired, he realizes. Dark circles under his eyes that never learned to fade after he took his first sip of bourbon alone in an empty bar the night he lost his best friend.  

And that crowd dared to call him a hero.  

Steve can’t help the shiver that sweeps up his spine. It isn’t a pleasant one. No – it's dark and cold and leaves his fingertips shaking enough that only the sharp curl of his fist is all that eases him. And even then, it’s not enough. The tremors retreat up his arms, past his shoulders, and burrow into his chest around his heart where he’s certain the muscle will twist in on itself until it gives out entirely. 

He doesn’t notice the elevator doors have parted until they begin to close again. Steve quickly slips through the small opening before they can trap him inside. 

He’s sweating by the time he reaches his room, though he knows the air conditioning is blowing full blast. It’s not the heat of the tower, but his own heart pulsing into overdrive. It’s the kind of panic he endured as a scrawny kid in Brooklyn, so he recognizes the feeling as it settles in.  

He might have thought the serum would have taken care of the panic attacks for him, but as it turns out, even superheroes aren’t immune to the consequences of guilt and shame.  

Steve digs a hand under the collar of his suit, trying to peel away the fabric from his chest but there are too many zippers. Too many straps and hooks. His hands fumble desperately with the latches but it’s taking too long to rid himself of the material. It's as if the walls are closing in on him – suffocating him, burying him.  

He can’t stand the uniform. It doesn't matter how many focus groups the design has undergone or how much cutting-edge technology they sew into the fabric. It’s still the same lie. The same goddamn lie.  

He’s not a hero.  

He's a propaganda poster.  

He watched his best friend fall to death. He laid waste to his own city in an attempt to save it. He aligned himself with politicians and intelligence agencies that puppet him around like he’s little more than a poster boy. He’s not saving anyone. He can’t save anyone.  

He’s nothing.  

He’s weak. He’s pathetic. He’s — 

“Steve?” 

He freezes at the sound of your voice. The top of his suit is half hanging off his chest, still stuck to his left arm from all the damn sweat. He keeps his back to the door where he knows you’re standing, where he knows you’re looking at him with devastating pity in your eyes. He can hear the confusion in your voice, the concern. He knows what you must think of him.  

Your footsteps carry you into the room though he refuses to turn around. He can feel your gaze trailing over him, observing every ounce of the high, rapid rising of his chest, of the flush on his skin, and the sweat beading into his hair. You set your hand against his forearm as you step in front of him and slowly, Steve dares to meet your eyes.  

Whatever pity he was preparing for is absent. Instead, he finds only a kind understanding that nearly knocks him off his feet. It’s too much. It’s more than he deserves. And yet, there you are.  

Without saying a word, your hand slides up along his arms to begin working the suit from his tired body. He barely moves a muscle as he allows you to peel away the fabric, gentle hands coaxing over his tense muscle. Your lip tugs between your teeth in the effort and Steve can’t help but watch the sharp indent you make, how red it is when you finally release it from your bite.  

A chill sweeps over him as you remove the jacket and set it carefully on the bed. He takes in as much of a breath as his lungs will allow – finally able to breathe now that the suit is no longer suffocating him.  

You glance at him cautiously before your eyes dip to his belt. 

“I’ve got it,” he tells you then, his voice a little rough at its edges, but at least he’s not gasping for air anymore.  

You nod and step back, though you do not leave his room. Steve picks up a pair of sweatpants he discarded the evening before and takes them to the bathroom with him. He doesn’t dare a glance at the mirror, doesn’t want to know how flushed his skin has become under the rapid mixture of shame and panic. He doesn’t want to know what you must see when you look at him – this pathetic, hollow shell of the patriotic symbol plastered upon t-shirts and billboards and recruitment posters.  

He steps out of his boots, discards the navy-blue pants to the corner tiles, and pulls on the soft fabric of old, familiar sweats. It’s soft against his skin. Loose. Discolored with age with fraying drawstrings and a rip at the hem under his heel. It’s everything the suit isn’t and Steve can finally breathe again.  

By the time he gathers himself, he expects you to have left his room. You were dressed in your gym clothes as if you were on your way to the weekly sparring match with Natasha the rookies couldn’t stop gossiping about. You have places to be, clearly. You don’t need to be wasting your time tending to... whatever just happened with him. You’re not his babysitter.  

Hell – Steve isn’t sure what you are to him, but he knows he doesn’t want you to see him like this and he’s grateful all the same. Conflict wars within him; this urge to push you away so you never witness his failings again and his desperation to sink into your arms until he finally believes the gentle encouragements you whisper.  

But, of course, Steve finds you sitting patiently on his bed when he emerges from the bathroom. You stand as soon as you hear the door open, hands fidgeting in your lap. Your gaze drags over him, noticing every bare inch of his chest and the discarded remains of his suit on the floor behind him.  

Your lips part, but Steve is the first to speak.  

“You don’t have to be here.” 

You furrow your brow, confused. “If you're about to tell me you're fine, don’t.” 

Steve doesn’t look at you because he knows you’ll be able to read right through him. “It’s nothing you need to concern yourself with. I can manage.” 

Something akin to anger flashes over your features, which surprises him. “You’ve been managing for years, Steve. You can’t keep going on like this.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Steve hisses back, surprising himself.  

You don’t flinch at his bite, but he notices the sharp intake of your breath, the surprise that alters your balance just a fraction. Subtle expressions and movements he should not be able to recognize. Another gift of the serum he has come to resent. 

You swallow, but you do not cower from him. “I know you’re hurting. I know the weight of the world is sitting on your shoulders. Let me help you. Let me carry some of that weight, Steve. Please.” 

He hears the ache in your voice, the desperation, and it nearly brings him to his knees. But he locks the joints and refuses to give in. He can’t show weakness now. He can’t. Because he knows he’ll crumble under it. And you’ve been too good to him – too kind, too generous with your time, too willing to offer him warm smiles he didn’t deserve.  

The air conditioner hums over his head as a tunnel of cold air pushes into the room. It’s not enough to quell the sweat on his hair line, and still, he starts to shiver. For a moment, he feels ice under his palms. He feels the wind whipping against his face as he clings to the cold metal of a moving train. He feels Bucky’s fingertips slipping out of reach. He hears— He hears the rusted screws give out under his friend’s weight. The short, sharp snap.  

He braces himself for what he knows comes next. The frightened look in Bucky’s eyes as a weightlessness takes him for a fraction of a second. The air suddenly ripped from his own lungs as the realization sets in. And then – the scream.  

It follows him to his dreams. It haunts every waking silence. Bucky’s scream as he fell into the ravine. 

It happened so quickly and still, Steve remembers every second if he’d drawn each frame himself. Every line upon Bucky’s face. The feel of the ice under his palms. The sting of the wind against his cheeks. The shame burning holes into his chest as he watched Bucky fall until he couldn’t stomach it anymore and he turned away.  

“They keep telling me I’m a hero,” Steve says, though his voice is little more than a whimper. “But I’m not. I’m... I’m nothing. I’m no one. I’m an experiment designed to be the perfect soldier and I... I still couldn’t save him.” 

He risks a glance at you to find your eyes are wet with tears. He knows then that he doesn’t need to specify. You were with him at the Smithsonian when he first saw the exhibit dedicated to Captain America and the Howling Commandos. You saw Bucky’s face carved into glass and the footage of his youth. You held his hand when he felt like he might collapse under the weight of those memories. 

So perhaps he shouldn’t be surprised by how easily you move towards him, how effortlessly you take his hand in yours and gently guide him towards the bed. His legs feel weak, his body aching and tired, so he does as you silently ask and sits on the edge of the bed. You crawl up beside him, kicking off your sneakers, and you tug him until he lays his full body across the mattress with you beside him.  

You don’t say a word as you maneuver his arm to lay across your waist and guide his head to lay over your chest. It’s no small task given his size, but he uses what is left of his strength to follow your lead. When you're finished and his right leg is hooked between yours, his right arm curled around you, his ear resting over your heartbeat, Steve feels the weight ease a little from his back. The dizziness begins to fade, the fog over his mind dissipating. He concentrates on the steady thump of your heart until it drowns out the memories threatening to pull him under.  

“You’re a good man, Steve,” you tell him softly. He feels the vibration of it in your chest and clings to it. Your hand slips into his hair, fingertips running gently against his scalp, and he sighs at the sensation. “The world sees you as Captain America. To them, you will always be a hero.”  

He tenses at the word, but you don’t back down.  

“Don’t mistake me,” you continue, “you are, but you are so much more than what they expect you to be.” 

Steve shifts against you, but your hold on him doesn’t relent. You don’t shy away from his discomfort or his shame. You don’t wipe your hands of his fears. Instead – you hold him through it.  

“You are the man who makes a fresh pot of coffee every morning after the team downs the first batch because you know it takes me longer to drag myself out of bed.” You only smile as surprise jolts in Steve’s chest. He doesn’t lift his head to look at you, but he can feel the soft brush of your fingers trail from his scalp down along his neck, brushing against his jawline in ginger strokes as if to soothe away his worries.  

“I know you think I haven’t noticed, but it’s kind of hard to miss how wonderful you are.” There’s a breath of laughter in your voice – as if relief hangs on the end of every syllable. “You are the man who volunteered to teach basic combat after hours to the rookies who are falling below their benchmarks. You entertain all of Sam’s ridiculous attempts to outrace you and you have this uncanny ability to make Natasha laugh even when she’s veering on the edge of darkness. You are kind and sweet and thoughtful and a good, decent man.” 

Steve wonders then if you can feel how frantic his heart is beating. Not from adrenaline, not from panic or fear, but born of something else entirely. Something that had to do with the way your hands soothed over his tense muscles, how you touched him so easily and so gently it was if you drew new strength back to his bones.  

“And I know,” you begin, taking in a long breath, “I know you would have given your life in a second if it meant saving Bucky’s.” 

Steve anticipates his stomach to bottom out, to feel the floor collapse under him. He’s certain the walls will cave around him and suffocate the last ounce of air from his lungs, but he only feels you. He feels every stroke of your touch, every steady pulse of your heart under his ear. He feels you against him and around him and holding him and somehow – that paralyzing dread he expects never comes. Instead, all that remains is a hollow, painful ache – a memory, a grief.  

“I see you,” your voice comes as a gentle murmur against the tension surrounding his heart. “I see the man behind the uniform. I see you, Steve Rogers.” 

Something breaks in him at the sound of his name on your lips. He has spent too many years giving himself over to the mantle of Captain America; erasing any trace of the vulnerable, grieving man under the surface. He allowed himself to be made into a symbol, a puppet, a caricature for SHIED, that he’d begun to drown under the weight of it.  

But you –  

You saw him gasping for air. You saw him struggling to stay afloat as salt water spilled into his lungs. You saw him and dragged his broken, aching body to shore.  

Steve curls his arm a little tighter around you and he feels you sigh relief against his crown. Pieces of himself mend together by glue and tape the longer he spends in your embrace, with every reminder you offer of the man behind the mask.  

“It’s easy to lose myself sometimes,” he murmurs against your chest.  

You sigh, your chest lifting his resting head with a long inhale. “I know, darling. And I will always be here to guide you back.” 

It doesn’t matter then what you are to him, he realizes, because he knows he loves you regardless. He must, because nothing has ever calmed him as easily as you do. He’s never found a safer solace than when he caves into the security of your arms. You are his anchor, his grounding upon uneven waters.  

And you gave him back his name.  

---

Thank you so much for reading! ❤️ If you enjoyed this fic, please consider supporting me at my ko-fi account ✨

[sprintingowl]

THACO

Over War is a big love letter to classic console strategy rpgs.

It's also a tabletop roleplaying game, which meant some adjustments needed to be made during the design process.

A computer can juggle weird and complex calculations at a rate faster than a human GM, so you can make a computer do Fire Emblem's Hit Rate + Weapon triangle bonus + Support bonus – Enemy’s (Avoid + Terrain bonus + Support bonus) [%] pretty easily. But a human GM is going to leave if you try to inflict that on them.

So the first thing I did with Over War was decide that there would be no hit calculations. If you're going to be running around with a blob of 6+ characters per player, you do *not* need to also be worrying about accuracy and equipped weapon and armor class and whatnot.

Attacks in Over War just hit, and they just deal their damage to their target. Where things get complicated is in what type of damage they do and who they target.

Default targeting is just whoever is in front of the attacker. But archers can shoot into the back row. Mages can fireball everyone. And healers can (out of necessity) target their own unit. Better, broader types of targeting are more expensive, and there are even ways to change your enemy's targeting. With the right choices, you can turn their big blast-casting aoe archmage into a less impressive single-target poke.

In a game where everyone controls only one character, you might not want to design things this way. Over War's simple targeting and damage works because a player can have five of their characters knocked out and still limp away to heal---and because players can reshuffle their formation and change out the types of characters in their unit when they do.

This keeps players in control and lets them keep making decisions, even when they're in a bad spot.

You *can* still drop the Attacks Just Hit mechanic into a more traditional system, and there are osr titles that do, but this changes the central question of combat from "can I roll well?" to something else. Think about what you want that something to be, and pick something interesting.