#just really fun and brilliant vibes all around

[lilysugarplum]

just met a girl today who's pretty much exactly my type.

she rocked my world. i'm enamoured. i'm going to be thinking about this night for WEEKS

[jungkoode]

死 KKANGPAE | #11 死

† embers in the night †

"Camping trips are not your favorite thing in the world, but if Moon made it a thing, then you might as well swallow it up. Just like you swallow up Jeon's glances across the fire during the truth or dare game, or the way the flame of his cigarette glows amber in the distance and you somehow manage to know it's him.

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⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6.5k

rating: mature

content: camping trip stuff, grab the flag game, jessi and V bantering, jessi being a queen, friendship, truth or dare, sexual tension, hidden cig encounters, lowkey innuedo

☠ author's note ☠

You bitches. You unhinged little chaos goblins. DID YOU miss you trees, tension, and team-building trauma? Well, here's more of that.

Who would've thought? Not Moon. He just wanted to force the criminal girlies into the woods like it was a corporate retreat gone feral.

This chapter was so much fun to write. Like. The sheer range. One second we’re all sunburnt and pissed, and the next we’re watching Jessi roundhouse-kick a flagpole while V monologues like he’s in Phantom of the Opera (Violent Remix).

I really loved exploring the absolute clownery of this “team bonding” mission while sneaking in all these little character moments. Jessi and V’s rivalry? I LOVE THEM. SIBLING VIBES BUT MAKE IT DEADLY. ALSOOOO JM’s cardigan diplomacy? Flawless. Takama being a soft deadly kiwi?? I weep.

And then there’s Jeon.

Brooding. Smoking. Being allergic to feelings like it’s his job. (Which, to be fair, it kind of is.)

That last scene?? Baby girl. Baby DARLING. If you didn’t feel that in your knees, go reread.

Also. Also. Can we take a moment to appreciate the absolute tomfoolery of “Never Have I Ever” in a group full of criminals?? Like—everyone’s drinking. Everyone’s unwell. AD’s collecting blackmail. JM’s watching V with that “I’m not touching you but I’m thinking about it” gaze.

And Y/N?? Dropping that bomb about attraction like the menace she is. Girlie took a sip of that chaos juice and said “bet.” Queen behavior.

Anyway. All I’m saying is... get ready for next chapter. Hihihi.

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tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

The sun is being a real bitch today.

You wipe the sweat off your forehead for what feels like the millionth time, cursing whoever decided winter should feel like summer.

Moon, that conniving bastard.

His brilliant idea of "team bonding" in the mountains somehow got RM's stamp of approval, and now here you are, hiking up this godforsaken trail with the rest of Kkangpae's finest.

The gravel crunches under your boots as you trudge along. Something about seeing each other's "true colors" and "building trust," Moon had said. You snort. Leave it to him to turn a camping trip into some deep psychological experiment.

Up ahead, Jeon's leading the pack like the brooding commander he is. You watch him navigate the path with that focused intensity of his, all broad shoulders and purposeful strides. Everyone else keeps their distance—smart of them, really. His storm-cloud aura is doing that thing again, the one that makes the air feel electric and h̶o̶t̶ dangerous.

V bounces around near him like some deranged mountain sprite, which would be funny if it wasn't so unnerving. One second he's scaling rocks like some kind of professional climber, the next he's pelting people with pine cones, cackling like a kid on a sugar rush.

The contrast between him and Jeon is almost comical—darkness and chaos, wrapped up in two very different packages.

"Watch your step here," Flower calls out from behind you, her voice steady and sure.

You glance back to see her expertly maneuvering around a particularly treacherous patch of loose rocks. She makes everything look effortless, even hiking in this heat.

God, teach you her ways.

Jessi's voice cuts through suddenly: "Keep up the pace, we're not here for sightseeing!"

You can't help but grin as you watch her march ahead, red ponytail swinging like a battle flag. Even in hiking gear, she manages to look fierce as hell. Her division members trail behind her like ducklings, trying (and failing) to match her energy.

Something about seeing everyone out here, away from the castle's shadows and politics, feels weirdly raw. Real. You're all still the same dangerous people, just... dustier. Sweatier.

Maybe that was Moon's point all along.

Sneaky bastard.

The late afternoon sun bathes everything in gold, and you can't help but snort at the sight before you. It's absurdly funny seeing Kkangpae's finest trudging through nature like some twisted corporate retreat.

AD looks particularly out of place, blonde hair catching the light like a beacon as he leads his team of tech nerds through the wilderness. They're all following him like lost puppies, probably experiencing their first dose of vitamin D in months. You notice how his casual slouch doesn't quite mask the way his eyes keep scanning the treeline. Old habits die hard, huh?

"For fuck's sake, watch where you're stepping!" J-Hope's voice cuts through the air, his usual crankiness making a brief appearance as one of his medics nearly trips over a root.

Still, there's something different about him out here.

Less Dr. Jekyll, more... well, still Dr. Jekyll, but maybe after a cup of chamomile tea.

His team's got enough medical supplies to handle a small apocalypse, which is probably smart given this crowd.

And then there's JM, floating through it all like some ethereal woodland creature in his oversized cardigan. His financial team looks hilariously out of their element, but they're managing to keep up, probably because JM's presence is as calming as ever.

Though you'd bet good money those designer shoes aren't going to survive this trip.

The path finally opens up to a view that actually makes you pause.

Damn.

The valley stretches out below, all misty blues and greens, and for a moment, you forget you're part of a criminal organization of sorts. Everyone else seems to feel it too—this weird, peaceful vibe that has no business existing among a bunch of gang members.

"Alright, let's set up camp here." Moon's voice breaks the spell, all business as usual. But even his sunglasses can't hide the fact that he's actually enjoying this ridiculous situation.

You watch as everyone scrambles to follow his orders, divisions mixing like some bizarre summer camp activity—and it's kinda funny, seeing assassins and hackers arguing over how to pitch a tent.

Moon clears his voice like a professor about to announce a pop quiz. "Alright, everyone!"

You fight back an eye roll. Of course. The camping trip is not but some structured learning experience.

"Before we set up for the night, we have an activity." There's something almost gleeful in his tone that makes you nervous. "It's a team-building exercise, but with a Kkangpae twist."

Oh great. You watch as everyone exchanges looks, probably sharing your thought that nothing good ever comes from the words "team-building" and "twist" in the same sentence.

"We're going to split into mixed teams," Moon explains, pushing his round glasses up his nose. "Your task is to find and retrieve a flag hidden somewhere in this area. First team back wins."

You catch Jeon's subtle shift in posture—that slight straightening of his shoulders that means his competitive side just woke up. Meanwhile, V's grinning like someone told him there's cookies, which is honestly terrifying given his track record with "games."

"You'll need to use your skills cooperatively," Moon adds, like he's reading from some corporate manual. "This exercise is about strategy, teamwork, and understanding each other's strengths."

"Sounds like fun," Jessi cuts in, hands on her hips. "But what's the catch, Moon?"

Moon's lips curl into what might actually be a grin—holy shit, someone document this rare occurrence—before he drops the bomb: "You must stick together at all times, no one can be left behind. And remember, the forest can be deceptive. Stay alert." He pauses for dramatic effect. "Whoever wins gets to choose sleeping tent and partner."

Well, fuck.

The clearing erupts into motion as people start grouping up, and suddenly you're caught in the middle of what feels like the world's most dangerous game of musical chairs.

Your team's a weird mix, but maybe that's the point.

There's Jessi, JM, and Takama—the powerhouse trio you actually know—plus a handful of faces you usually just pass in the castle hallways.

There's Hyun from Medical, who looks like he'd rather be anywhere else but manages to radiate competence anyway. Seojoon from Cyber's got that twitchy energy all AD's people seem to share, like he's searching for a WiFi signal in this godforsaken forest. And then there's Minji from Stealth, who moves like she's made of smoke—seriously, how does she make hiking look graceful?

"Okay, team." Jessi's already taking charge, because of course she is. Her ponytail swings as she surveys your group like a general reviewing troops. "We've got a diverse set of skills here, and we're going to use them to win this."

JM hums in agreement, somehow making his oversized cardigan look appropriate for a hike. "Let's keep communication open and clear."

"The flag's probably hidden somewhere difficult," Takama cuts in. You've seen him around Jeon enough to recognize that tactical mind at work. "We should start in the denser areas."

The others chime in with their two cents—Hyun promising to play medic (thanks, but let's not need that), Seojoon muttering about search grids like this is some kind of programming problem, and Minji suggesting stealth like she's on an actual mission.

You nod along, trying not to roll your eyes at how seriously everyone's taking this glorified scavenger hunt. "Alright, we've got a plan. Let's just... not die in the process?"

Your ragtag team heads into the forest, and wow, Moon really picked the worst terrain possible. The ground's basically trying to trip you with every step, and these bushes are definitely winning the war against your clothes. But between Seojoon's weirdly effective grid system and Minji's silent-assassin routine, you're actually making decent progress.

Maybe this won't be a total disaster after all.

You can't help but grin as you listen to Jessi and JM's back-and-forth.

"You know," Jessi starts, that trademark smirk of hers making an appearance, "I'm not one for all this sneaking around. If it were up to me, I'd charge through these woods, make a beeline for that flag, and dare anyone to try and stop me."

JM chuckles, and you swear you can feel the calming effect it has on everyone. "That's exactly why we're here, Jessi. To learn different approaches. Besides, subtlety can be just as powerful as brute force, don't you think?"

"Maybe there's some strength in silence," Jessi admits, nodding at Minji. "But come on, it's hard to deny the rush of a good brawl."

"I get that," JM says, his eyes scanning the trees like he's trying to find a hidden Excel spreadsheet or something. "But we're a team. This is about more than just strength. It's about using our heads, too."

Jessi lets out a laugh that probably scares off half the wildlife in a five-mile radius. She claps JM on the back, and you wince, half-expecting him to topple over. But nope, he doesn't even flinch.

Guess that cardigan's hiding some muscle.

"That's why you're here, Jimin," Jessi grins. "You keep us grounded and thinking. But if we do come across another team, I'm not holding back!"

"You wouldn't be Jessi if you did," JM responds with a smile that's way too sweet for a guy who probably knows twenty-five ways to launder money through a lemonade stand. "Just make sure to keep that energy until we find the flag. We'll need it."

You watch as they fall into step together, and it's kind of... nice? In a weird, 'we're-all-criminals-but-hey-found-family' kind of way.

"You're the calm to my storm, Chimchim," Jessi says, and oh, this is the first time you're seeing her softer side. "But let's not forget, we've got Chaewon in another team and there's no way I'm letting her beat us."

JM grins, and you swear you can see the gears turning in that big brain of his. "Not a chance. We've got this." His eyes flick to Jessi's feet. "Just watch your step, though. Can't have you charging off and spraining an ankle. We need you in top form, Jessi."

You bite back a snort. Leave it to JM to be all caring while also low-key telling Jessi to chill the fuck out.

As you trudge along behind them, you can't help but wonder what the other teams are up to. E̶s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶a̶l̶l̶y̶ ̶J̶e̶o̶n̶'s.

Not that you care. Nope. Not at all.

Your throat feels like sandpaper, and you realize with growing irritation that your water bottle is probably sitting pretty back at camp, completely useless to you right now. Great going, genius.

You're in the middle of cursing your own stupidity when Takama falls into step beside you. For Jeon's second-in-command, he's surprisingly... not terrifying?

"You look like you could use this," he says, offering his canteen with a smile that actually reaches his eyes. It's weird seeing such a genuine expression on someone from the Assassination Division.

"Thanks, Takama." You accept the water, trying not to look as desperately thirsty as you feel. "I can't believe I left mine back at camp."

The water hits different when you're this thirsty. You try not to chug it like some dehydrated gremlin, but it's a close call.

"It happens to the best of us," he says, and there's something almost kind in his voice. "Just remember to stay hydrated. We've got a long day ahead of us."

You hand back his canteen, feeling weirdly touched by the gesture. "I owe you one."

"No worries. We're all here to look out for each other, right?"

He says it so easily, like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like we're not all part of a criminal organization where trust usually comes with a price tag.

It hits you then—Takama's actually nice. Not in that fake, calculated way some gang members are, but genuinely considerate. The kind of person who notices when someone's struggling and helps without making a big deal out of it.

You watch him scan the forest ahead, radiating both competence and awareness at the same time. You can't help but think it's almost funny how he ended up as Jeon's right hand—they're like night and day. Where Jeon's all storm clouds and sharp edges, Takama's more like... well, a really deadly teddy bear with a shaved head?

A soft kiwi, maybe?

What even is this gang anymore?

Hyun's voice interrupts your inner chatter. "Eyes peeled, everyone. We're approaching a likely area."

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. No shit, Sherlock.

And then the trees loom overhead, casting weird shadows that make every bush look like a potential hiding spot. You're starting to think Moon's got a sadistic streak, making you play hide and seek in this green maze.

Minji glides forward like some forest nymph, graceful and silent. It's almost annoying how effortlessly she moves. You, on the other hand, feel about as stealthy as a drunk elephant.

"We're making good progress," Seojoon mutters, probably to his imaginary friend.

The guy's been muttering to himself this whole time. You're half convinced he's got a spreadsheet running in his head.

The sun's starting to dip, painting everything in that Instagram-worthy golden hour light. It'd be pretty if it didn't also mean you're running out of time, because where the fuck is the goddamn flag?

You all keep moving together until Jessi throws up her hand like she's hailing a taxi in the middle of the woods.

"You hear that?" she whispers, and there's this glint in her eye that screams 'trouble'.

You strain your ears and—oh. Oh shit. That's definitely the sound of people nearby. Your heart does this weird little skip, part 'fuck yeah' and part 'oh fuck'.

"We move quiet, we move fast," Jessi hisses. "Remember, they're not expecting us. We've got the element of surprise. Let's use it."

You all nod like a bunch of bobbleheads and spread out. You try your best to channel your inner Minji, but you're pretty sure you look more like a constipated ninja.

Jessi peeks over some bushes, and bam—there it is.

The flag.

Your golden ticket to a decent night's sleep and maybe, just maybe, a chance to stick it to Jeon.

Your heart's pounding so hard you're surprised it hasn't alerted the other team.

This is it.

You watch as Jessi's eyes narrow, and you know that look. She's not just seeing what's there—she's looking for all the ways this could go wrong.

Then it happens. A rustle in the trees that's definitely not the wind, and before you can process it, you spot him. V, looking like some demented forest creature, perched in a tree like he's auditioning for a horror movie.

The moment Jessi and V lock eyes, the whole atmosphere shifts. Because fuck. You've seen enough of the chiefs' competitive bullshit to know this is about to get wild.

They both move at once, like someone fired a starting gun. V launches himself from the tree with that unnatural grace of his—so that's where Minji's gotten it from huh?—while Jessi... well, Jessi does what Jessi does best: something absolutely batshit crazy.

Instead of going for the flag like a normal person, she fucking roundhouse kicks the pole. The flag goes flying through the air like some patriotic frisbee, and you have to bite back a laugh because of course she'd pull something like this.

The look V and Jessi share is almost funny—like two cats who just realized they're both after the same mouse. Although it seems to be accompanied by this weird respect, probably buried under layers of competitive spite.

They both land, and V's got that smile on his face. You know the one—that 'I'm about to be an absolute shit' smile that you're really starting to associate with him.

"Well, well," he drawls, brushing off his hands like he didn't just parkour through the forest. "I must say, Jessi, you still know how to make a man's heart race."

Jessi straightens up, and you can practically feel the eye roll coming. "Please, V. The day you can outmaneuver me is the day the Council of Nine turns into a knitting circle."

V's chuckle is low and lazy, like he has all the time in the world. His grin stretches wide, equal parts mischief and provocation.

"But isn't that what makes it so fun?" He gestures between himself and Jessi with a flourish. "You, all brute force and chaos. Me, dripping with finesse. A perfect match, don't you think?"

Jessi crosses her arms, utterly unimpressed. Her gaze could cut steel, but V? He's eating it up.

"Finesse? Is that what we're calling your sneaky little stunts now? Sounds like bullshit with extra steps to me."

The air suddenly turns... weird. Like it's cracking with adrenaline and... whatever the hell their dynamic is. Though it's clear neither is willing to flinch, and the rest of you might as well not exist.

"Ah, but—" V bows theatrically, one arm sweeping out like he's on a stage instead of about to throw hands. "Subtlety is an art form. And me? I'm nothing short of a masterpiece. You know, not everyone gets the honor of sparring with the Stealth Chief."

Jessi barks out a laugh so sharp it echoes through the trees, momentarily silencing the usual rustle of leaves.

"Stealth Chief? Is that what you call scurrying around like some feral house cat? Hate to break it to you, sweetheart, but sneaking isn't exactly fighting. It's just running away in slow motion."

Her stance shifts slightly, weight rolling to the balls of her feet. It's the kind of posture that makes you take a cautious step back, because you've heard of Jessi when she's motivated, and it's not pretty—for the idiot on the receiving end.

V doesn't even blink. Instead, his smirk deepens, resilient as ever.

"Coward, hmm? That's what sore losers say when they can't keep up." He tuts softly, shaking his head as if she's the one being unreasonable.

Oh, boy.

You can almost feel Jessi's hackles rise. Her eyes narrow into slits, a dangerous glint stealing across her face.

"The only finesse you're gonna have is figuring out how to pick your teeth out of the dirt, pretty boy."

It's like the temperature drops a few degrees—or maybe it's just the shadow of their looming chaos. Everyone else stays frozen, like one wrong move will get them caught in the crossfire, and honestly? You wouldn't blame them.

V circles her slowly, scornful expression still intact, obviously. But there's an edge to it now, playful but keen, like the blade of a knife.

"Oh, Jess," his voice turns mocking, "I'd consider you competition... if we were in the same league."

And that's it. That's the match to her gasoline fire.

Jessi lunges first—of course she does. She's all instinct, fast and explosive, and it's honestly terrifying how much energy she has left even after the trek through the forest. Her feint is quick, purposeful, a snap to the left designed to bait him.

But V's not a rookie. He doesn't take the bait. Instead, he stays planted, watching her with that maddening patience of his, tracking her every move like she's easy to figure out.

"Come on, V," Jessi taunts, her voice bright. "What's the matter? Scared I'll knock that smirk off your face?"

V leans back slightly, just enough to dodge her next swipe. He looks far too calm, that smirk of his like a permanent fixture.

"Oh, Jessi, Jessi, Jessi." His voice is mockingly soothing, like he's trying to calm a rabid dog. "I'd actually have to notice you to be scared."

You don't know whether to laugh or take cover. Probably both.

V springs into action like some unholy mixture of a cat and a ninja. This is the first time you've seen him fight, and honestly you're not entirely sure he's actually trying.

Maybe it's just the pure glee radiating off him as he dances around Jessi's attacks.

Jessi's not making it easy for him. She's fierce, determined��and girl's got stamina for days. But V? The bastard's treating this like his own personal performance art, ducking and weaving like he does this while eating a bagel for breakfast.

"Come on, Joo," V taunts, narrowly avoiding Jessi's grab. "Getting slow in your old age?"

"I'll show you slow, you little shit!"

Suddenly V feints left and Jessi takes the bait, lunging forward with enough force to probably knock out a bear. But V's already spinning away, cackling as he dives for the flag.

His fingers brush the fabric, and for a second, you think he's got it. But Jessi? She's not Logistics Chief for nothing. She hooks her foot around his ankle—dirty move, you love it—sending him slightly off balance. It's not much, but it's enough.

They both grab the flag at almost the same moment, and suddenly it's a weird game of tug-of-war mixed with what looks like interpretive dance. V's got the advantage of height, but Jessi's got pure stubborn determination on her side.

"Let go, you overgrown weed!" Jessi grunts, yanking hard.

"Ladies first," V purrs, and you see the exact moment Jessi's eye twitches.

She does something then—some crazy mix of a twist and a roll that makes you dizzy just watching—and suddenly V's grip slips. The flag comes free, and Jessi stumbles back, barely keeping her balance but clutching her prize like it's made of gold.

V's jaw falls, and it's like he's about to curse her out.

But then, he simply straightens up, brushing dirt from his clothes with exaggerated care. His hair's a mess and there's a leaf stuck to his shoulder, but he's still grinning.

"Well played, Jessi." The words come out warm, genuine. "You've still got the moves."

Jessi's victory dance consists mainly of waving the flag in V's face. "Not too shabby yourself, pretty boy. But let's not forget who the winner is here."

You watch them, these two ridiculous powerhouses of Kkangpae, playfully shoving each other like actual siblings.

Maybe this is exactly what Moon wanted you to see.

The walk back to camp feels like a victory parade.

If... victory parades involved a bunch of criminals trampling through the woods.

Jessi's leading the charge, waving that flag like she just conquered a small country.

The clearing comes into view, and suddenly you're all celebrities. The other teams are gathered around, some actually cheering, others looking like they just bit into a lemon. You catch a few eye rolls—sore losers much?

"And then—" Jessi's voice booms across as she launches into her dramatic retelling. She demonstrates her kick, nearly taking out a poor sapling in the process. "—the flag was mine!"

"Ours." JM corrects.

You bite back a laugh. Trust Jessi to turn a game of capture the flag into an epic saga.

"That's my girl!" Chaewon hollers from the sidelines, looking like a proud mom at a soccer game. She bounces over to Jessi, and they fall into their usual rhythm of playful jabs and inside jokes.

The attention shifts to JM, who's scanning the crowd intently—but before he can even open his mouth, V materializes next to him like some kind of demented jack-in-the-box.

"Come on, JM," V purrs, draping himself over JM's shoulders. "You know you want to bunk with me. I'll keep the monsters away."

JM sighs, but you catch that little smile he's trying to hide.

"I suppose someone needs to make sure you don't terrorize the entire camp." He shakes his head, fond exasperation written all over his face. "Fine, you win."

Now it's your turn. You glance around the clearing, weighing your options. Your eyes land on Yunjin, and something in your chest settles.

After all this chaos, her gentle presence feels like finding a quiet corner in a noisy room.

"I choose Yunjin," you say, and watch her face light up like a sunrise. "We'll take a two-person tent."

"I'd like that," she replies softly, and you know you made the right choice.

At least someone in this camp won't try to murder you in your sleep.

Hopefully.

The sun finally gives up its assault as evening rolls in.

Everyone's hustling around, pitching tents like they actually know what they're doing (spoiler: most don't), while someone gets a bonfire going. You find yourself plopped down next to Yunjin, watching the flames dance.

The clearing's alive with chatter and laughter—gang members discussing random stuff like normal citizens.

You notice from your periphery that Chaewon and Jessi are cackling about something, probably roasting someone (metaphorically, for once).

Their friendship hits different when you see them like this, all guard down and genuine.

Not far from them, V's got JM trapped in what looks like the world's most animated conversation. He's all dramatic hand gestures and shit-eating grins while JM just sits there, dropping these little zingers that have V practically bouncing.

The fire crackles, bottles clink, and for a moment it's like... you're at some normal camping trip.

If normal meant with your dysfunctional criminal found family thing.

"Alright, folks!" V slaps his thigh like some demented camp counselor, grinning like he just thought of the best worst idea ever. "How about we spice things up a bit? Never Have I Ever—you drink if you've done it."

The response is a mix of "hell yeah" and "oh god no," but you know everyone's going to play anyway. That's just how V's chaos works—it's like a black hole, sucking everyone into its orbit.

AD shifts against his log, looking way too comfortable for someone sitting on literal dirt.

"This should be good," he drawls, and you can practically see the blackmail material forming in his brain.

"Just remember," J-Hope cuts in, trying (and failing) to sound responsible, "I'm not drinking tonight."

You notice how AD's eyes flick to him for just a second, unspoken words being thrown into the space between them.

You don't have enough time to decipher it though, because soon enough everyone is grabbing their drink (or in J-Hope's case, what looks suspiciously like apple juice).

This is either going to be the best team-building exercise ever or the start of World War III.

"Never have I ever..." V drawls, and you just know he's about to say something stupid. "Gotten a tattoo I regretted the next day."

A few drinks go up, and AD mutters something about a phoenix that sounds suspiciously like a drunk decision gone wrong. You catch J-Hope trying not to laugh at that—probably because he's the one who had to deal with the infection afterward.

The game picks up speed, stories getting bolder with each round. Your brain's starting to feel fuzzy around the edges when it's your turn.

"Never have I ever..." You tap your bottle against your chin, grinning. "Bailed someone out of jail before sunrise."

The response is instant—bottles going up everywhere like some weird criminal toast. Jeon takes a particularly long drink, and you can't help but wonder how many times he's had to rescue his disaster squad from lockup.

"Never have I ever," AD announces, shooting J-Hope that shit-eating grin of his, "been caught in a ridiculous, bright yellow suit that could be seen from space.

J-Hope doesn't miss a beat. "Never have I ever walked into a glass door because I was too busy admiring my own reflection."

The clearing erupts with laughter, and AD shoves him like he wants to murder him. You swear these two are one bickering session away from either killing each other or adopting each other.

Then it's your leader's turn, and she confesses to some wild midnight adventure that has Jessi cackling, and then Jessi drops the bomb about her secret karaoke obsession—which weirdly, surprises nobody.

The alcohol's doing its job, making everything feel warm and loose, when V suddenly turns to you. His eyes are glinting with mischief in the firelight, and you know you're about to be targeted.

"Your turn," he purrs, and everyone's eyes swing your way. "Let's hear something juicy."

Oh, it's on.

Maybe it's the alcohol, or maybe it's the fire's dancing in your vision, making faces blur like some abstract painting—but suddenly you've got what might be either the best or worst idea ever.

You lean forward, propping your elbows on your knees, and oh—maybe sitting up so fast wasn't the smartest move. Still, you've committed now.

"Never have I ever," you drawl, feeling particularly bold (or stupid), "found someone in this circle attractive."

The silence that follows is delicious.

Then, the clearing erupts in laughter and the telling clink of bottles.

Your eyes scan the circle, catching all those little tells—the shifted gazes, the not-so-subtle glances. And then—

Oh.

Across the fire, Jeon moves. It's subtle—barely anything at all. But you see it. The way his dark eyes find yours, steady and unwavering, even as he lifts his bottle to his lips.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Your breath catches, just for a moment, before you collect yourself. The fire crackles as if mocking the heat suddenly pooling in your chest. Goddamn him.

Yunjin's trying (and failing) to be subtle about her giggles, taking the tiniest sip from her bottle. Next to her, Eunchae's practically glowing, her laugh carrying across the fire as she drinks.

Kazuha makes drinking look like some fancy tea ceremony, all grace and poise, while Sakura's grinning like she's got secrets to spare. They share this look that makes you wonder if there's a story there.

And then; there's Takama. His face does this thing where it's completely blank before he drinks, but there's this little smirk playing at the corner of his mouth that says he's in on some joke the rest of you aren't.

V, though? He doesn't even hesitate. "Looks like we've got a crowd full of admirers," he says dramatically, raising his bottle like he's toasting to a room full of fans.

Your eyes catch how they flick toward JM for just a split second, and well—that's interesting.

Laughter ripples through the group again, and the tension eases, though your heart hasn't quite caught up yet.

It's still hammering in your chest, louder than it has any right to be, especially with Jeon sitting there, calm as a fucking statue.

You dare another glance at him, only to find his eyes still on you, half-lidded but watching.

Always watching.

The firelight dances across his face, catching on the silver of his lip ring, the sharp line of his jaw. You can't read him, and that pisses you off more than it probably should.

"Think you're clever, huh?" V says, pulling you back to the moment. His voice is teasing, but there's that signature chaos behind it, something wild and unapologetic. "Careful, sweetheart. Questions like that just set the wolves loose."

You smirk, forcing your gaze away from Jeon. "Good thing I don't mind wolves."

V laughs, throwing his head back dramatically as if you've just made his entire night. Meanwhile, Jeon hasn't moved, hasn't said a word. But you swear you can feel the weight of his presence pressing against you.

Like the goddamn hurricane he is.

You don't miss how JM takes a slow, deliberate sip from his bottle, and that little smirk playing on his lips. His eyes flick briefly toward V before darting away.

Huh.

"Guess we're all a bit fucked up, huh?" Jessi announces with 0 subtlety, taking a long drink and throwing a wink across the fire.

J-Hope leans back against his log, grinning despite his apple juice. "What can we say? We're a good-looking bunch."

Coming from anyone else, it might sound conceited. But J-Hope manages to make it sound like he's sharing some universal truth.

AD just sits there with that infuriating eyebrow raised, looking like he's cataloging every reaction for future reference—and the way his lips curve up at the corners... Yeah, he's probably acquiring blackmail material.

The game keeps going, and you all keep drinking. Everyone redoubles on the alcohol, guards slip a little bit and then the fire's dying down, but the energy around the circle is still very much present.

You blame the booze for the way your skin prickles every time you feel Jeon's gaze slide over to you.

Not that you're keeping track.

The crowd around the fire thins out as the night deepens.

A few stragglers remain—Yunjin and Eunchae huddled together like gossiping schoolgirls, while Kazuha and Sakura stare into the flames like they're trying to divine their futures or something.

You sit there, watching the fire die down, feeling that pleasant buzz from earlier starting to fade.

Then you spot it—a tiny orange glow in the darkness, like a misplaced star.

Cigarette.

And there's only one brooding asshole who'd be lurking in the shadows at this hour.

You get up, picking your way through what feels like a minefield of sleeping bags and empty bottles. You make it through some trees and bushes, and an owl hoots somewhere in the distance, probably judging your life choices.

Then he's there.

Jeon.

Standing there like some noir film character, all broad shoulders and moody silence.

The cigarette between his lips is the only thing giving him away in the darkness.

Dramatic bastard.

"Smoking again?" You try to keep your voice casual, but it comes out softer than intended. Maybe it's the lingering alcohol, or maybe it's just... him.

He doesn't even flinch—of course he doesn't. Mr. Perfect Assassin probably knew you were coming before you did.

He takes a long drag before answering, smoke curling from his lips.

"Yeah." His voice is rough, low. "Had to hide from J-Hope. He'd have my ass for this."

"And here I thought you quit." You lean against his tree, close enough to smell that addictive mix of tobacco and him.

Pine and wood and petrichor.

He finally turns to look at you, and fuck—the way the cigarette's glow catches his features should be illegal.

That smirk doesn't help either.

"Old habits die hard."

"Bad for your health, you know." You're not sure why you're still talking, but something about this moment feels... different. Significant.

His laugh is dark, barely there. "Ain't much about our lives that's good for health, is there?"

Silence falls between you, like tiny droplets of water during a sizzle.

You both know what this is—what it isn't.

You watch him take another drag, mesmerized by the way his lips wrap around the filter. The only sounds are some distant snoring and the occasional hoot of that judgmental owl from earlier.

"You ever think about quitting? For real, I mean?" The question slips out before you can stop it. Blame it on the lingering alcohol, or maybe just the way the moonlight catches on his lip ring.

Jeon rolls the cigarette between his fingers, and you try not to stare at the way they move.

Really try.

"Sometimes," he murmurs.

And god, his voice shouldn't sound like that—all gravely and burnt at the edges from the nicotine dragging down his throat.

"But it's like this—" He gestures vaguely at the darkness around you, at your whole fucked-up world. "It's a part of me. Even if it's not the best part."

Your eyes drift to his face, tracing the sharp line of his jaw, lingering maybe a second too long on his lips as they part to release another cloud of smoke. There's something dangerous about the way he looks right now, something that has you holding yourself back from doing something stupid.

Something really stupid.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you reach out and snatch the cigarette right from between his lips. His expression shifts from surprise to something else, something you can't quite grasp. His mouth stays slightly parted, just for a moment, before he catches himself.

You bring the cigarette to your own lips, taking a slow drag. The filter's still warm from his mouth. You hold his gaze as you inhale, watching the way his eyes track the movement.

"Look at you," he finally says, voice rough and low, "preaching about bad habits."

You exhale, letting the smoke curl between you like a secret. "Consider it a public service. Just looking out for you."

You can't help the smirk that tugs at your lips.

He leans in—fuck—close enough that you can smell pine and rain and tobacco.

"By taking on the bad habits yourself?" His tone is teasing, but his eyes... his eyes are something else entirely.

Another drag, slower this time.

You're playing with fire and you know it.

"Someone's got to make sure you don't fall off the wagon." Your voice comes out lower than intended, smoke dancing around your words. "Might as well be me."

Your chest burns, and you wonder if it's really just the nicotine. 

Dangerous territory, babe.

You watch as Jeon's eyes track the cigarette between your fingers. He doesn't ask for it back, and somehow that feels more intimate than if he had.

"You're a hell of a contradiction, you know that?" His voice is soft, barely there, but it hits you like a punch to the gut.

You can't help the wry grin that tugs at your lips.

"Aren't we all, in this game?"

The question hovers between you like the smoke curling up from the cigarette still nestled between your lips.

Loaded.

With all the things you're not supposed to say, not supposed to want.

His laugh, when it comes, is low, obscure. Utterly dangerous. It does things to your chest that you refuse to examine too closely.

"We are," he admits, and fuck, the way he's looking at you makes your skin feel too tight. "But some of us are better at playing the part than others."

You pull the cig out of your mouth, roll it between your fingers, watching the smoke curl up toward the stars.

Anything to avoid drowning in those hurricane eyes of his.

"And which one of us isn't playing their part right now?"

You catch the way his jaw tenses, the slight shift as he leans back. It's subtle, but you think you're starting to learn to read these tiny tells of his. The way he holds himself, like he's physically stopping from moving closer.

"We're both walking a thin line here," he murmurs, and there's something in his voice—exhaustion maybe, or resignation. "You know the rules as well as I do."

"I do." The words taste bitter on your tongue. "Doesn't mean I have to like them."

Doesn't mean you have to like the way he makes you want to break them. Squash them. Fuck them.

F̶u̶c̶k̶ h̶i̶m̶.̶

He watches you like he's trying to memorize every detail, and you hate how it makes you feel exposed.

Like you're simply made of glass and he can see right through to the mess underneath.

"We don't get to pick and choose which rules to follow." His voice drops so low you almost miss it. "Not without consequences."

Consequences. It's a horrible word and you suddenly can't help hating it. Fucking stupid consequences.

You take one last drag from the cigarette, letting the burn ground you. It's almost funny how that tiny ember matches the heat that floods your system whenever he looks at you like that.

With a flick of your wrist, you send it spinning into the darkness, watching it burst into sparks before fading to nothing.

"Then I guess we're good at playing by the rules, aren't we?" Your voice stays steady, even if your pulse is doing gymnastics in your throat.

His eyes follow the dead cigarette's arc before landing back on you, and fuck—there's something in that look that makes your chest ache.

"Yeah," he says, and you catch that hint of... something in his voice. Like regret, maybe. Or defeat. "We're the best."

It's almost funny how these stolen moments have become your new normal—these little pockets of time where you both pretend you're not thinking about breaking every single atom of space between both of you.

But rules are rules, and Jeon... well, Jeon follows them like his life depends on it.

And maybe, it does.

Too bad his dedication to the rules doesn't make him any less fucking attractive.

goal: 160 notes. If we don’t hit it, I’m putting you all in Moon’s next trust fall workshop. With V as your partner. Good luck.

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex

© jungkoode 2025

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[kathlare]

short n' sweet

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: Amelie’s new album Short n’ Sweet drops, and the buzz around it is palpable, from a lively listening party in New York to the playful teasing of Lando and his F1 teammates.

Wordcount: 2.1 k

Warnings: fluff, smau

full masterlist // request over here!

August 23rd - Manhattan, NY

liked by elysiadayman, alexwolffofficial,and others

ameliedayman: Short n' Sweet is officially yours now!!! i feel extremely lucky that each time i write a new record i learn a little bit more about myself, and can create from that place. the making of short n' sweet was one of the most special, honest, up and down, stupid and fun experiences of my life. I thought if something was funny enough to make me laugh then maybe it belonged in a song. happy or sad!

thank you to my brilliant talented friends, writers, producers, mixers, engineers, and creative minds that helped me bring this world and these songs to life. not a serious thought was thunk yet somehow they were.. lol i love you all and am so grateful.

I will keep this short n sweet buuuut more soon. go listen now and i hope you love it

View all 54,782 comments

landonorris: FIRST

landonorris: you absolutely killed it, babe. this album is EVERYTHING. 🔥💯🔥 → ameliedayman: @landonorris You better be ready to hear these songs 24/7 now 😉😏

landonorris: BED CHEM my fave, just sayin m'darlin.

tatemcrae: Okay, but HOW do you make “funny and sad” sound THIS good?! I’m obsessed. 😩✨ → ameliedayman: @tatemcrae It’s just a gift, babe. I do it for the fun and feels 🖤

f1gossiper69: Is this album supposed to be a “mood,” or is she just THAT talented? 😵💀 → f1fanatic25: @f1gossiper69 It’s a vibe AND a masterpiece. Don’t even try to hate. 🤷‍♀️

mclarenfan_88: Short n' Sweet? More like tune of the year. You’re really THAT girl. 💅🔥

landosgirl_69: Lando better be streaming this on repeat, it’s a whole vibe. 🥵🔥

pietrapilao: You really did THAT. Every song’s a whole vibe. 🔥💃🏽 → ameliedayman: @pietrapilao Haha, glad you’re vibing queen!

jennaortega: YOU DID IT!!! This album is insane. You’re next level, queen. 👑🔥 → ameliedayman: @jennaortega Omg, thank you so much!!

gracieabrams: You seriously killed it with this. It’s giving everything 🤩🔥 → ameliedayman: @gracieabrams Love you, girl!!

taylorswift: Love the rawness in this album. So proud of you! 💖 → ameliedayman: @taylorswift You’re the blueprint, always. Can’t wait to tell you all about it when I see you! 💫

f1fanatic55: Not gonna lie, "Taste" made me wanna punch Shawn. What a clown 😒

f1fanatic77: Bro, Lando’s gotta be blushing reading those lyrics...

--------------

The energy in the small New York studio was electric. Amelie’s Short n Sweet album had officially dropped at midnight, and the buzz was palpable. A select group of fans had gathered for an intimate listening party, the kind of event where her connection with them felt unfiltered and raw. Amelie sat on a sofa, dressed in a chic black jumpsuit, her curls cascading over her shoulders. Her smile was bright but tinged with nerves as her fans hung on every word, every beat of her new songs.

—Alright, so, this next one’s Bed Chem,— she said with a sly grin, her cheeks flushing slightly. The crowd giggled knowingly. —Let’s just say... it’s about someone who knows how to keep things exciting.

The studio filled with laughter and excited whispers. Fans already knew she was talking about Lando; it wasn’t exactly a secret anymore. As the sultry beat of the song played, Amelie tapped her foot, watching her fans’ reactions. The cheeky lyrics and playful tone had them swaying and smiling, and she felt a wave of relief wash over her. They got it—they got her.

When the track ended, one fan raised their hand.

—Amelie, how did Lando react when he heard this song?

She laughed, tucking a curl behind her ear.

—Oh, he was so cocky about it. He texted me, like, “See? I knew I was your muse.” But... well, you’ve heard the song. It’s all true.

The room erupted in laughter and applause, and Amelie felt a swell of gratitude for the love and support in the room. These fans had been with her through every heartbreak, every triumph, and now, through this wild and unexpected love story.

Meanwhile, in Zandvoort, the paddock was abuzz with talk of Amelie’s new album. Lando sat in the McLaren hospitality area with a pair of headphones, scrolling through social media as clips from Short n Sweet flooded his feed. He couldn’t wipe the grin off his face, especially when he saw a video of Amelie talking about Bed Chem.

Max Verstappen strolled by and plopped down across from him, a sly smirk already forming.

—So, I hear you’ve got some songs written about you, lover boy,— Max teased, leaning back in his chair.

Lando rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide his grin.

—Yeah, yeah. It’s not like I begged her to write them or anything. She just couldn’t resist, obviously.

Charles Leclerc walked in next, holding his phone with Espresso blasting through the speakers.

—Mate, you’re so screwed,— Charles said, laughing. —I mean, Bed Chem? Juno? She’s practically exposing you to the world.

—Hey!— Lando shot back, cheeks burning. —It’s art, alright? Not my fault I’m inspiring.

The teasing didn’t let up, but amidst the jokes, there was genuine admiration in the drivers’ voices. George Russell chimed in as he passed by, clapping Lando on the shoulder.

—You’ve got yourself a talented one there. Better send her a congratulations text before she thinks you don’t care.

Lando smirked, pulling out his phone.

Lan🧡: Album’s fire, love. You really had to put Juno out there, huh? My mum’s gonna hear that!Ames💛: She’ll love it, trust me. It’s a compliment. 😉Lan🧡: Congrats, babe. Proud of you. Let’s celebrate properly after the race.Ames💛: Deal. Go win, Norris. 😘

As he hit send, Lando looked up to see his teammates giving him knowing smirks.

—What?— he asked, feigning innocence.

—Nothing,— Max said with a shrug. —Just... make sure you don’t mess this one up. She’s a keeper.

Lando smiled, the teasing sliding off him like water. Because deep down, he knew Max was right.

The rest of the day in Zandvoort felt lighter for Lando, even with the usual pre-race pressures. The other drivers’ teasing about Short n Sweet didn’t faze him anymore; if anything, it added to his pride. Amelie’s songs weren’t just about him—they were a reflection of her artistry, her wit, and the depth of their connection.

By the time the afternoon rolled around, the paddock buzz had settled. Lando took a break in the motorhome, scrolling through clips from Amelie’s listening party. The grin on her face as she interacted with her fans made his chest tighten with affection. Then, a video popped up of her introducing Juno.

The clip began with Amelie holding a mic, her signature mischievous smile lighting up the room.

—Okay, so, this one’s Juno. It’s... well, let’s just say it’s a little more personal. Very direct. If you’re squeamish about hearing me talk about... wanting babies, maybe skip this one,— she laughed, her cheeks going pink. —But, uh, yeah. It’s about Lando. Obviously.

The fans erupted in laughter and cheers, and Amelie covered her face briefly before saying, —Look, I’m just being honest. The man’s got... attributes. And, uh, baby fever is real, okay?

Lando groaned but couldn’t stop laughing, running a hand down his face. His phone buzzed with a new message.

Max Fewtrell: Mate, just heard Juno. She’s calling you daddy material. Good luck with that one. 😂 Lando Norris: Shut up. You’re just jealous you don’t have an album. 😏

Lando leaned back in his seat, trying to suppress the chuckle bubbling up as he reread Max’s message. He tapped out a quick response before tossing his phone aside.

—Okay, but seriously,— he muttered to himself, rubbing his face. —She’s so bloody direct. And so... damn hot.

The playful teasing from his fellow drivers continued to roll in. He had barely managed to get through the day without being hit with another jab about his girlfriend’s "talent" for turning their private moments into music. But, deep down, he didn’t mind. He wasn’t just proud of her because she was talented—though, God, she was—he was proud of her because she was unapologetically herself. And, despite all the playful teasing, he knew her music was a reflection of that confidence.

Later that night, after the long day of practice, Lando laid in his hotel bed, scrolling through more clips of Amelie’s album launch. As he listened to Espresso for the third time today, he smiled to himself. Amelie had always been full of surprises, but this album? This album was something else. The love, the passion, the raw honesty—it was all there, and it was all for him.

--------------

[diodellet]

decompressing (scarabia x gn!reader)

summary: you and kalim go clubbing, but only one of you returns drunk. kalim tries his best at playing caretaker, for once. jamil gets pleasantly surprised by kalim, but finds the novelty of the situation weird, as a person of habit would. content warnings: -aged-up characters, NRC as a university since there's drinking referenced -pre-relationship poly shenanigans (as in there are kalim x reader, jamil x reader, and jamikali moments. all platonic) -loosely set after the developments in book 4, but no heavy spoilage of events -gender-neutral reader (reader referred to with they/them pronouns) ++reader gets drunk and suffers the consequences, more doting and banter, and kinda-cute moments than character study i hope, the vibe i'm hoping for is in vino veritas but make it silly word count: 1.8k

“What happened? Why are the both of you back so early?”

Kalim only gives Jamil a weary, sheepish smile. He opens his mouth to respond, but is interrupted by you loudly replying, “I deserve compen—ugh—compensation!”

“Careful, you’re gonna get nauseous again…”

“I can walk fine!” Your arm tightens around Kalim’s elbow.  “…Just not too fast.”

Say less. Jamil steps aside to let the both of you into Kalim’s dorm room. Judging by the state you’re in, you’re probably going to have to stay the night.

(Unless you get the brilliant idea to walk back to your own dorm. And he knows that both he and Kalim would shut that decision down.)

Four hours ago, you were confidently promising Jamil that he’d finally have a quiet weekend night to himself, that Kalim would have a fun and safe night out at the same time. And to some extent—if he ignored your mussed-up hair and makeup—you did deliver on that, seeing how Kalim, completely sober, fussed over you. You were drunk enough for two.

The scene in front of Jamil feels like something straight out of fiction.

After setting you down on the bed, Kalim says, “I’ll just get you some water—No, no, no, don’t lie down yet!”

“But I feel better like this…!” One of your shoes lands on the floor with a clatter as you kick your feet indignantly.

Just before Jamil can step out of the room to get water for the both of you, Kalim turns and shoots him a look pleading for a bit of help. All right, guess he was going to wrangle you instead. As Kalim leaves the room he mouths a silent ‘thank you’ to Jamil.

“...Kalim’s right, you know.”

“Ugh…fine. Help me up,” you grumble. Despite your words, you lean heavily against Jamil’s side. “You better be thankful I kept him from getting drunk.” 

“I think I can figure out what happened.”

Still, you continue without losing a beat, talking about the different drinks and snacks you taste-tested for Kalim, the songs that you danced to, the people you talked to. He did not expect you to be able to remember that much in your intoxicated state. Turns out, you were a lot more talkative when plastered. It felt like Jamil was looking at a different version of you. A more brusque and honest one, completely unlike the mediator that you usually liked to play between the both of them.

(A part of Jamil is deeply relieved that Kalim didn’t have to use any of the antidotes he brought with him.)

“—hm, I think you’re a bit hot, Jamil.”

He can’t help the sly smile tugging at his lips, much less the reflex to poke a little fun at you. “Really? Why, thanks.” On the contrary, you’re warm, still buzzing from the high of partying.

“Not like that. Scoot over, I’m sweating again!” You shove at his shoulder a little harder. The suddenness of the motion makes you pause and clap a hand over your mouth. “Ugh…shouldn't have done that.”

“What are you doing?” Jamil’s hand closes around your arm, keeping you mostly upright.

“...’m thinking of lying on the floor…Somewhere with tiles…”

“No, you need water.” Exasperation slips into his voice.

“I was having water in between drinks, but at some point, I was just plain drinking alcohol,” you retort.

“Didn’t it occur to you that you could have just—” He sighs, stopping himself from that oncoming tirade. “Never mind. Let me help take those off.” And his hands take care not to tug at your scalp as he undos the clips and hair ties.

Could Kalim move any slower in getting those glasses of water?

“I really tried, you know,” you say, “to keep Kalim—I mean—the both of us safe…I just figured that it’d be easier if it was…” Your hand gestures to yourself. “Just me.”

At that admission, Jamil’s hands still. “You…” Idiot. He mulls over his words as he removes your earrings. “Self-sacrifice may be admirable, but it is foolish.”

(Neither him nor Kalim would be able to forgive themselves if something worse than inebriation happened.)

“I’m back! And I’ve got a plastic bag for you to throw up in, just in case!”

“No! Don’t mention throwing up, I’m doing really well right now!”

Truly, it is a wonder watching the two of you communicate, Jamil thinks to himself. 

The jewelry that Kalim lent you is gathered into a gleaming pile on his nightstand. Jamil busies himself with returning them to their proper containers as you take sips from the glass in Kalim’s hand. 

He even had the consideration to put in a straw.

“Better?” Kalim asks, setting the glass aside.

You don’t respond immediately, planting a hand on his shoulder and the other cupping his cheek before sliding it up to aggressively ruffle his hair. “I already told you I was doing fine! Can I sleep now?” 

So you were a happy, affectionate drunk. Not unlike Kalim when he’d get intoxicated, at least one of you was sober. 

Kalim catches your wrists. “Not yet! You need to get cleaned up first.” He’s smiling, but his brows are slightly furrowed in a mix of concern and exasperation.

“Ugh.” 

“I’ll help you out. Come on, please?” 

Despite the part of him that’s internally cringing, Jamil could almost revel in seeing Kalim fumble at being the caretaker for once. Oh, but the sermon he’d be subjected to if he vocalized any of that aloud. Before shutting the drawer, Jamil takes out a bottle of makeup remover and an opened bag of cotton pads. “Here.”

“Thanks, Jamil.” And he soaks the pad in a generous amount of the liquid.

“I hate those. They always hurt my eyes…”

“Don’t worry, it’s safe for sensitive skin.” Jamil suspects you’d complain less if you heard how much a single bottle of the thing cost. Kalim presses the cotton pad against your face, giving a tentative swipe against your cheek, glitter and foundation coming off with the motion. “Sorry, is that too rough?”

“’s too gentle.”

“...How about now?”

“Okay. We’re good.” And you make sure to tilt your head, to stay still as Kalim removes your makeup. “Sorry for getting drunk. And making you both take care of me.”

“No need to apologize for that.” Kalim is quick to reassure you. “I probably should’ve said no to those drinks, huh?”

Without missing a beat, you agree, “yes. You’re really cute and nice. But you’re too nice to strangers.”

An unreadable expression passes over Kalim’s features. “...Jamil says the same thing.” He punctuates that reply with a short empty laugh. Though his voice is pitched quieter than its usual volume, Jamil’s ears are sharp enough to pick up on it. Their gazes meet—between them, it’s a tiring song-and-dance, but it’s another thing to have an outsider like yourself commenting on it so brazenly—and Kalim breaks eye contact to focus on wiping away your eyeliner.

He changes the conversation after gathering the used cotton pads with one hand. “Are you hungry? I can try to make you something—” Jamil interrupts Kalim’s offer with a discreet ‘ahem.’ “—I mean, we could get you flatbread to snack on while you wash up…”

You reach a hand up to scrub at your cheek. “...wanna be compensated.”

“Compensated how?” Jamil folds his arms across his chest.

Your muffled grumbling is indiscernible. Kalim leans a bit closer to you. “Could you say that again?”

“...stay with me so I don’t choke on my puke.”

“Of course.” Kalim’s hand squeezes yours. It’s a silver lining to his shamelessness, being able to reciprocate out-of-pocket moments of vulnerability without an ounce of hesitation. “You don’t have to worry about that. We’ll stay with you.”

At those magic words, exhaustion finally seeps into your frame. “I was being so brave tonight…” you mumble.

“Yes, yes you were.”

(Just this once, Jamil lets Kalim speaking for the both of them slide.)

“Go ahead and wash up, okay? I’ll go after you.”

Your frown doesn’t let up. But you do oblige Kalim’s request and amble to the bathroom, holding onto the door frame for support. Jamil hears the sound of running water and decides to turn his attention to Kalim. Muscle memory takes over as Jamil undoes Kalim’s headscarf.

“Wait, wait, I can do it myself…” In spite of his protests, he doesn’t pull away, just lets Jamil gather the elaborate fabric and fold it into a neat square. It’s a nasty habit, Jamil thinks, but habit is comforting to lean into. Or sometimes, it just nagged at him like an itch to scratch.

“Give me your rings and bracelets too, I’ll put them away.” He’s used to the sight of exhaustion hitting Kalim at the end of a party, but there’s something different about this weariness.

 “...Sorry, thank you, Jamil.” Ah, the undercurrent of guilt is new. Kalim heads to his cabinet.

The both of them stand in uncomfortable silence for a bit. Jamil can feel the back of his neck prickling, but he keeps his head down, focused on arranging the last of Kalim’s jewelry. It’s a meditative task, but that leaves his mind thrumming with the vestiges of the exchanges that he just witnessed.

This kind of scenario—having to stand aside and do basically nothing while watching Kalim’s clumsy yet successful attempts to take care of you—is an unwelcome sensation, makes his hands itch to do something, however menial. But at the same time, isn’t that what he’d been hoping for his entire life?

Click! The lights in the bathroom come on. Followed by the sound of you retching—hopefully into the toilet bowl. Welp, they tried to alleviate it. 

“I already told them I could handle a few drinks.” Frustration is also a foreign emotion on Kalim’s features. 

And he wasn’t lying. He has a higher alcohol tolerance than Jamil. Jamil can’t help himself from the little amused huff at the irony. “Well, they’re pretty stubborn.”

“Kind of like you.”

Jamil rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

“You know that you don’t have to stay in my room tonight, right? I’m not…forcing you to do any more work tonight.”

(It’s truly unfair how blindingly honest Kalim can be.)

The irritation that cuts through Jamil isn’t like the long-festering resentment he held. It makes a sarcastic smile pull at the corner of his lip. “Who said that I was being forced?” If he retires to his dorm room, he just knows that he’ll be woken up again.

It’d be easier to keep an eye on the both of you if he stayed over, and it would bring a hell of a lot more ease to his mind, but he doesn’t need to say that last part.

Knocked off-kilter at his response, Kalim can only blink confusedly at him. “Eh?”

“I’ll bring over an extra mattress after I finish freshening up,” Jamil explains.

“Oh…oh! Would you need any—”

“Keep an eye on our drunk friend, will you? They might fall in.”

“Jamil, you asshole, I heard that.”

He ignores the weight of Kalim’s gaze on his back as he walks back to his room, laughing to himself.

A/N: lowkey hate the title, but the gdocs file is named "jamil and his 2 dumbasses" i had to pick smth more presentable than that 🤧 here are a bunch of scenes and ideas i wanted to throw in here that didn't make it into the fic: -reader getting extra nauseous and throwing up in the laundry hamper, mistaking it for a trash can -reader pointing out that kalim purses his lips when focusing on a task (i hc this as a sort of hereditary habit of jamil's. tbh this fic couldve been about habits and how they tend to get passed around as you grow closer to each other) -reader demanding goodnight kissies on the forehead (HAIST this is the second time i've lost pre-planned kisses, truly writing is a process /derogatory AUGHHH) -kalim offering to braid jamil's hair before they go to bed, i firmly believe that he puts his hair in a protective hair style bcs no way in hell he goes to sleep with his hair loose like that without suffering (me im a long hair haver and the hairfall carnage i wake up to every morning 🗿) i wrote this out to figure out kalim’s character more (and i couldn't stop my jamil bias from slipping in oops) fingers crossed 🤞 this insomnia draft will delve into that better than this aah 🤧 smtimes i feel like he’s ooc bcs i’m not putting enough exclamation points in his dialogue, but hnggg its obviously gonna turn out ooc if i do put !!! in everything he says, but i don't hate how this turned out so thats gucci! thank you @jessamine-rose for beta'ing this spontaneous wip ur truly a lifesaver 🥺💕 anyways, i hope this was a fun and enjoyable read, dont be afraid to rb and holler in the tags, i treasure each and every interaction 💕💕

[facewithoutheart]

Five plus One, fic recs

A post is going around about fics you consider classics in the Snowbaz fandom. I’d like to take it a step further by asking …

What are five fics you consider your inspiration/influences for writing, plus one of your fics which you think best represents what you want to bring to the fandom?

5. Hang the Moon by @captain-aralias

@captain-aralias is, to me, the snowbaz fandom fic writer of our time. Her commitment to detail, to nailing Rainbow’s voice, while infusing every fic with a heart and purpose that will leave you changed. Every fic of hers is chef’s-kiss-perfection but I’m highlighting Hang the Moon specifically as a fic I often think about (Baz, wet tennis clothes, helping Simon fight the merwolves), and a fic that was my introduction to what fanfics could be/do. I think I finished this fic and just stared at the wall for an hour because I was just like, oh. Oh.

4. The Pitch by basic-bathsheba

Local Hero is one of my favorite fanfics but I wanted to highlight this fic because it’s just such a powerful and understated story. It’s love in the details. This Simon is the model for all of my Simon’s, just a complete simp for Baz haha but also a man who is comfortable and confident being the man who loves Baz even if he doesn’t get to claim it publicly.

3. Stay Up With Me by @sharkmartini

Not sure what to say about this that hasn’t been said a million times. It’ll break your heart; it’ll put you back together. The concept is brilliant and the exploration of two Simon’s will definitely put your emotions through a wringer. Time travel/what-if fics will always grab my attention but this one in particular makes the same case Rainbow posed in Carry On: what if the villain isn’t the villain? And takes it a step further, because Simon realizes he could be the villain, too. Absolutely beautiful.

2. Can’t Find My Way Home by @carryonsimoncarryonbaz

This is one of those fics that just has so much heart and sweetness. I love a good second chance AU, and this one has such Hallmark vibes in the best way. I just love the slow burn of it, and the amazing ending. A perfect holiday fic to snuggle up with. Reading this feels like being cozy up by the fire with someone you love. Actually writing this makes me wanna reread this so much; now that I live with actual Fall I wanna feel cozy like this again.

1. Basil Pitch’s Diary by @bookish-bogwitch

I know it’s a bit weird to rec a WIP as an influence, especially one that’s being written as we speak, but working with/beta-ing Em’s works have made me a sharper, smarter writer. I know this fic is a classic in the works and it’s something I think about on a weekly basis. The Baz Em gives us, to me, feels like canon Baz taken to the next level. What if Baz was the villain … but only to himself? Em’s writing really is just economical in the best way; every line hits, every paragraph teaches me something. And then the heart. It’s genuinely so hard to do what she does and I’m so lucky to get to see her work in realtime.

+1 This Will All Go Down In Flames

I think, at the end of my fandom career, I want this to be the snowbaz fic people associate with me (Spadey being a close second hahaha). But I do feel like it’s got a lot of fandom in-jokes, humor, and sweetness, plus the fun high-stakes of them being in the spotlight. I got to celebrate the Austin I love and miss, as well as poke fun at my own hipster upbringing. I put a lot of Me™ in this fic and it always feels so lovely when people like it. Besides, I got to work with the amazing @tea-brigade and their art just takes this fic to the next level. A dream collab.

(Throwing in the caveat that I started reading long before I got an ao3 account so it’s very likely I’ve missed some amazing fics from before 2021; I’m so sorry!)

Tagging everyone listed above and six more peeps to start: @cutestkilla, @you-remind-me-of-the-babe, @larkral, @ileadacharmedlife, @thewholelemon & @aristocratic-otter

[whinlatter]

author’s note | chapter 15: beasts (i) 🗡️

now the dust has settled somewhat… it’s about time we talked about chapter 15, a chapter that sure did take its sweet time coming. at long (long) last, we are back and kicking off our flashback chapters, where we find out what went down in crookshanks’ ginny weasley’s war. a picnic it was not! let’s get into it - it being these indulgent author’s notes i love to subject you to and that you love to humour.

✨ spoilers for this chapter below the cut  ✨

writing notes and headcanons

chapter titles: these flashback chapters are called beasts because baby it’s all been building up to this! this chapter and the ones to follow are really the heart of this story - the title track, if you will. at last, ginny is talking, plunged back into last year as she testifies at the inquiry. the beasts of the chapter title, and the fic at large, are people - or, at least, the parts of a self that lies within all people; the beasts within  - but the beasts are also the memories of the war themselves, unwieldy and untameable, memories which expose all the savagery, brutality and hypocrisy on which the wizarding world is built. (these chapters have been my personal beasts to wrangle with for far, far too long.) pls be reassured, askbox anons, that calling these chapters beasts does not mean they are the final chapters! the final chapter has had a name for a very long time and is in fact something different. i suspect we have a good 6+ chapters to go yet. (and if experience has taught me anything, it’s that i will probably split some of those in two. chapter plans! who needs em! not this clown!)

writing ginny’s war: there have been many many brilliant attempts to write ginny’s war in fic over the years, and i feel very aware of the danger of reinventing the wheel. i’m also aware that there are tropes that abound (for good reason) in such fics and that are hard to avoid. nevertheless, any hinny writer worth their salt tends to want to take a run-up at writing DH from ginny’s POV, a book she spends largely off stage, glimpsed only in passing mentions of her that harry witnesses or in memories that haunt harry as he embarks on the horcrux hunt, and gosh darn it i want my turn! the trouble with writing nny’s war, though, is that you have to write chapters that are strongly anchored in plot rather than vibe, except you’re not working with your own plot, but much more tightly confined by canonical timelines and major narrative landmarks, which demands a lot more scrambling around on potter search if - like me - half the fun of writing fic is playing around with trying to write a story that is more strictly canon coherent. still, we love a challenge, and it’s just as much fun to subvert harry’s narration/assumptions of what is happening elsewhere in the wizarding world during DH (and especially what is going on at hogwarts) as it is to get stuck into the text. i set myself a series of rules, one of which is that whenever harry thinks ginny is somewhere or doing something, she has to be doing the opposite of that. he’s terrified she’s in danger at the wedding? she’s sat on the sofa with gabrielle snotting veela snot down her arm. he’s sure she, neville and luna are sat together on hogwart’s express plotting snape’s demise? she’s obviously too smart for that. yung hazza has fucked around long enough and now that young man is about to find out. more of this in future author’s notes once we’re back at school proper - let these serve as little light hints about how things might go down…  but for now:

the order and resistance: in deathly hallows, harry and co crash out of the wedding the night the wizarding state is seized in a coup by voldemort, ejecting ginny from the centre-stage narrative but also detaching the trio from the trajectory of most of the wizarding world for august 1997 - at least, until they go to the ministry to get the horcrux from umbridge - and from the workings and wartime activities of the order of the phoenix. this happens, ofc, just as the order becomes the official underground resistance. of course we know, as readers, that the plot and the outcome of the war will hinge on the trio succeeding on their quest: this is harry’s series after all. but to imagine the perspective of the order off-stage, the trio - three teenagers who have needed order fighters to rescue them from battles with death eaters two years running - are just off doing a weird dumbledore sidequest while the real business of fighting this war and actively resisting voldemort’s regime must surely fall to the order. nevertheless, the order lack an obvious general post mad-eye’s death and clear direction beyond low level sabotage and surveillance. we are told the burrow is now official headquarters and that the weasleys remain in their home and resume going about their daily business as a fig leaf for their resistance activities. 

the order and the traitor: crucial context that harry largely dismisses but that is clearly on the older order members’ minds in the summer of 1997 is mundungus’ betrayal and the idea that there might be a rat. harry is so convinced he would not be betrayed: remus calls him naive for it, which harry bristles at but ultimately decides to disregard. would the others, though? the order are still smarting from the wounds inflicting by the apparent treachery the night of the seven potters (a betrayal that cost their most seasoned fighter his life); fleur, for her part, spends the run-up to the happiest day of her life convincing hagrid is going to get binned, hop on mic and reveal harry’s whereabouts half-way through the cutting of the cake. kingsley and remus were livid at the idea of a traitor the night of the rescue; remus, of course, for obvious and deeply personal reasons, though he also makes himself suspicious by vanishing (to run out on his preggo wife), no doubt raising some eyebrows among his fellow fighters. all this adds an extra layer of tension to the summer of ’97 at order hq, especially when there are yung women wandering about who are about to go back to the den of vipers that is hogwarts under death eater control. and speaking of…

what about ginny? one can only assume, then, that under these circumstances ginny must have gone back to much the same unglamorous infantilising existence she endured in the holidays during ootp: living at order hq, barred by virtue of her age and mother’s protectiveness from order activities, only without harry, ron and hermione to keep her company as kindred spirits, underrage and overlooked. for this reason, i have ginny spend this chapter confined to the claustrophobic house, becoming much closer to a grimmauld-like space than the burrow has ever been so far in canon, and almost entirely alone: protected as is possible, but shut out, left to her own devices. it is at once a very safe position to be in but also a vulnerable one - too much time to think and stew, a lonely character whose loneliness has previously driven her to ruin, back to being lonely again. i wanted there to be shades of sirius and ootp harry in it - restless, cooped up, prowling around, growing bitter and isolated - and also (as the echoes to chapter 2 suggest) echoes of an earlier time in ginny’s life when she was lonely, and vulnerable, and ripe for the picking. too much time to think, especially to think about…

those pesky horcruxes: in revisiting late HBP/DH and preparing to write these chapters one of the things that i found most baffling was how astonishingly cavalier and clumsy the trio seem to be discussing crucial information about horcruxes around ginny or within her plausible earshot. ginny of course knows harry has gone with dumbledore the night the tower is struck. after dumbledore dies, the four of them spend ‘all of their time together’, harry carries the locket everywhere with him in his pocket (‘not as a talisman, but as a reminder of what it had cost and what remained still to do’). hermione may wait until the door up the dormitories closes behind ginny to talk about RAB, butt it’s not exactly a watertight way of remaining out of earshot (especially given ginny’s canonical curiosity and expertise at listening at doors). while at the burrow, hermione still stays in ginny’s room, presumably packing up all manner of clue-like items around her: molly may try her best to use ginny as a barrier to the trio getting together to plot next steps, hermione still manages to slip away and leave ginny in order to seek out harry and ron to plot next steps elsewhere in the house (‘Oh, Ron’s mum forgot that she asked me and Ginny to change the sheets yesterday’). what’s more, the trio openly invite order members’ views on the items in dumbledore’s will, and we know that this encounter had such a lasting impression on ginny that she commits to stealing back harry’s rightful property (the sword of gryffindor) at great personal risk having presumably stewed on it for quite some time. the most fun i had in this chapter was adding in the little hints that, had the trio invited ginny into their confidence, they might have found someone quicker on the uptake on some of their trickiest mysteries than the three of them ever were. wouldn’t ginny the quidditch enthusiast and former seeker know that snitches have flesh memories? doesn’t it seem possible - even probable - that ginny explored grimmauld place thoroughly and found the little sign on regulus’ room long before harry even set foot in grimmauld place? wouldn’t ginny, of all people, remember exactly what gryffindor’s sword was used for last time and start to wonder why it need be used again? she is so close - and yet! so far. but isn’t that always ginny weasley’s way?

the weasleys’ dilemma: i have had a fair few very compelling messages in the askbox criticising harry for leaving ginny to it, assuming she would be safe (how could she be!) and taking insufficient interest in her wellbeing beyond pining for as a comfort for himself on lonely tent-watch nights. i have also had a few criticising the weasleys for much the same thing. i think these are very very reasonable and understandable takes with a lot of truth to them. what i will say though is that this is a period of the narrative where nobody had good choices to make, including harry, but also including ginny’s whole family. the weasleys deciding to send ginny weasley back into hogwarts when she is very obviously and publicly close to both harry potter and to the order is, on the one hand, a completely mental proposition. but the other thing to remember, and that is consistently and widely overlooked about the weasleys, is that they are a family of soldiers. they are generations of committed resistors and agents of conscience, ideologically-committed and devoted to an extremely morally worthy cause that actually really, really matters. the new state is carrying out an attempted genocide: if ever there were a time to bang on about the greater good, to not put your own family’s safety over the safety of hundreds of others of innocent victims, wouldn’t it be this one? i care a lot in this fic about making clear that although there are malicious bad actors in this narrative whose actions cause harm and pain, there’s also lots of proper goodies trying to do their best and make the best moral choice under exceptionally difficult circumstances - whose actions also cause harm and pain. often they have to make very tough utilitarian choices about what the right course of action should be: they have to live with some amount of pain being the direct result, often pain for the people they love most in the world. and so the weasleys send ginny back to hogwarts, telling themselves she will be safe as a pureblood, as their family (and the trio’s) cover: business as usual, nothing to see here. 

voices of dissent: it was important to me to have two voices in this chapter who raise doubts about sending ginny back. one i’ll come back to in a later author’s note, but is charlie, although he does not fight for ginny to stay at home, and stays silent as her family sees her off. the other one is molly weasley, the consistent voice in canon for children being allowed to have a childhood, overly protective and patronising but fundamentally trying to do something powerful and good: letting kids be kids. of course, as soon as ginny has set herself the sword quest, she is a one-track mind: she is going back to school, she is getting the trio the sword, she is helping fight voldemort, and she is not listening to her mother. would ginny weasley want to be protected, really?

reading list

not fics but real books can you believe!

the feast by margaret kennedy (fabulous devastating postwar ensemble novel, sank it in one sitting, claustrophobic and wry and searing and o the doom is building, vibes are very very very good)

silence of the girls by pat barker (silence becomes a woman)

testament of youth by vera brittain 

"I am writing this in front of an open casement window overlooking the sea. The sky is cloudless, and the russet sails of the fishing smacks flame in the sun. It is summer but it is not war; and I dare not look at it. It only makes me angry with myself for being here — and with the others for being content to be here. When men whom I have once despised as effeminate are being sent back wounded from the front, when nearly everyone I know is either going or has gone, can I think of this with anything but rage and shame?"

songs from the playlist for this chapter 

one properly stand-out song that i considered just having standalone is king creosote’s please come back, i will listen, i will behave, i will toe the line. the opening is so chilling, and the song proper is so rousing, the lyrics childlike, the protagonist pleading their way through grief (please come back, and take me with you next time). that whole album absolutely fucking slaps. but these other songs are good too! 

which side are you on by pete seeger | please come back… by king creosote | come back to us by thomas newman | tomorrow is a long time by bob dylan | oceans apart by ben crosland | precipice by jack simpson | mìorbhail nam beann by duncan chisholm 

…and a sneak peek from chapter 16, including the return of fan favourite/everyone’s favourite grouchy stoner king: 

‘What the fuck are you doing here?’  A rough hand grabs by the wrist. Two years without a word uttered to Michael Corner and now he’s dragging her by the arm down an empty corridor, iron grip as she tries to pull away. Once out of sight, around the corner, he rounds on her. ‘You shouldn’t be here,’ he hisses. ‘It’s insane that you’re here.’

[ghost-of-a-dream-girl]

as a doctor, where in the hospital staff would you place each of the bg3 companions? what would fit their characters the most?

Hahah oh this is great

Gonna keep this to doctors but let’s do different specialties

Ok so starting off strong: I think Karlach has big emergency medicine energy. She’s running the ED with an energy that nobody else can match, but especially that resus/trauma bay! Doesn’t shy away from the scary, gets stuck in. You know they don’t need security there to restrain the agitated when she’s on shift- all you need is Karlach and some ket.

Next I think Gale has the same aura as a senior ICM registrar (intensive care medicine resident). Probably dual training in renal or respiratory, likely has a PhD on the side. He has intensity when it matters but is an utter nerd. Likely the type who doesn’t like odd numbers on the vent settings. Precise, a little OCD, but fucking magical.

Wyll has to be a medical registrar (internal medicine senior resident). Probs in something acute like acute medicine or resp/gastro. Able to deal with vast quantities of shit and still put on a smile, graceful, caring, and properly holistic in the way he views patients. Quietly competent as the hells. Sacrifices himself for the good of the hospital.

Shadowheart is a tricky one. It would be too obvious to lean into the goth girl vibes and say pathology or whatever but actually I don’t think that fits. I think Shadowheart is an anaesthetist (anaesthesiologist to u Americans). Very very competent and always there exactly when you need her to save everyone else’s asses, but keen to retire to theatres after the fun is over and just crack on with a case by herself. Able to gossip like a pro. Likes taking the lead with her own problem solving. Would be catty as hell about her list overrunning or the surgeons doing something silly. probably overly reliant on caffeine.

Astarion. Cardiothoracics. Probably specifically cardiac surgery. No mortal human can stand for 12 hrs and perform like that. Also the most (justifiably) egotistical surgeons around. Would be bitching about his colleagues across the drapes with Shadowheart. Has had 200yrs to practice his techniques so the ego is probably really well placed. Those rogue hands were meant for complex cardiac surgery but that hair was made for the drama of it too. Easy access to blood products. Would do 30% NHS lists and 70% private practice to fund his lifestyle. Best dressed in the hospital.

Lae’zel is that really strange surgical registrar (general surgical senior resident) that you’re never quite sure if she’s joking or not when she makes threats toward you. Obviously very competent. Makes other surgeons cry but particularly the men. Has > 300 publications in major medical journals. Probably pioneered a revolutionary new technique that she came up with one rainy Saturday. Can get an appendix out in 5 mins max.

There is only one woman for trauma and orthopaedics and that is of course Minthara. A woman who dominates what is well known to be the most male dominated field in medicine. Lowest complication rate in the country. Every single one of her male juniors is terrified of her and for good reason. Will operate on things other surgeons would be too scared to touch. Complex poly-trauma patient with ‘unsurvivable’ injuries? Watch them walk out of hospital 3 months later.

Honourable mentions:

Durge- you know what, it’s so tempting to put Durge as a surgeon or even a pathologist (people who do autopsies), but that’s just too obvious. I think the murdering would be kept on the side. One thing Durge would love though is blood and carnage, maybe even a little high octane drama. For that reason- obstetrics. A little poetry to a killer bringing new life into the world too.

Jaheira - that incredible Professor who only works part time clinically now but when she does everyone is reminded of how brilliant she is. Gives me the energy of a ‘seen it all’ medical consultant (internal medicine attending).

Minsc- he should be ortho. Everyone thinks it- he has big Ortho lad energy. But he’s not. Minsc is a paediatrician!!!! It shocks everyone when they first meet him, this massive guy with a hamster on his shoulder. The kids love Boo. He’d be obsessed with Prof Jaheira too.

Halsin- can see him as a psychiatry professor actually. Probs does dabble in a little of the cooler types of therapies on the side (and tries them for himself) eg LSD for PTSD. Mixes medicine with non medical therapies. Very soothing to listen to.

Withers- palliative care consultant that should have retired millennia ago.

Volo- ophthalmology. 👁️

—

[leithillustration]

TRC reread post 4

TRB chapters 6-8

NINOS!!

Gansey crashing and burning in front of Blue is brilliant every time. They are communicating on completely different levels and I feel Adam cringing so viscerally, while also crying over how much Gansey loves him and is trying to do a nice thing for him (albeit in the most inept way possible)

Adam’s embarrassment is so endearing. His blushing ears! Holding his face in his hands! I love that Blue is immediately flummoxed by feeling drawn to this boy.

In the queue to pay for their pizza, Adam looking around for Blue while discussing the need for an amplifier with Gansey is brilliant. Darn you Maggie, I see what you're doing there!!!

The Brothers Lynch

I’d forgotten how raw Ronan and Declan are. Makes my heart hurt for them. Declan being dumb and angry enough to fight his little bro in the car park is a reminder he’s not really that much older than Ronan is.

And he's so alone. Ronan has such a strong friendship group, and Declan has a string of short term relationships, including a number of Ashleys who may or may not be using him 😭

Declan sucking his bloody bottom lip probably shouldn’t be sexy but it is.

Adam Adam Adam

Adam was 'good at making things quiet.' I love this line. It works on so many levels. You know those people who you love so much when you're around them you feel totally at peace? Yeah, that. Also the fantastic contrast between him making things quiet while Blue makes things loud. AND of course Adam wants to make things quiet, he has been trained to be small and unobserved to keep himself safe, and yet he is surrounded by passionate idiots who have no chill. Blue is loud, spiritually. Ronan is loud in like every way possible. They pull each other around on dolly carts and how does Adam feel picking off a scab he got from messing around with his friend having fun rather than one he got from his dad beating the shit out of him???

Also Adam has a bouncy ball..? This immediately gave me strong Simon Snow vibes- or the Humdrum. Which is such a fun parallel.

Adam feels 'observed' and Gansey agrees. Adam is so fricking perceptive. And isn't that just the most eery sensation.

Blue looks at the stars and tries to find meaning in everything. She's yearning for it. Meanwhile Adam is finding meanings without looking at all, like the significance of everything just keeps throwing itself at him. They are such good counterparts!!

Blue described Adam’s accent as a Henrietta sunset and thats needs to be talked about more imo.

Gansey's Diary Journal

'Longing burst from the pages.'

These guys are all yearning for something so much. And isn't that such a human commonality? I think this is what immediately tied me to this series. They all want, even when they can't verbalise what that want it. And its not a greed thing, but a bone deep longing- for love, for answers, for meaning, for more.

Imagine Gansey's journal.. and then think about what he'd do if he discovered pinterest. Just saying.

I love that Blue recognises the passion that has gone into the journal. Its about the journey, not the destination, etc, which is such a maddeningly accurate summary for the entire series.

[itficlibrary]

mod levee’s top 10 fave fics…

In Fact, Everything’s Got That Big Reverb Sound by Dystopiary (46.4K words)

This is the definitive teen richie character study to me. If you really dug that chapter of the novel where you just hang out with richie mowing his lawn, calling his friends and bugging his parents, get on this fic! It’s packed with 80s nostalgia, growing up & growing apart, innocence and the misery of wisdom teeth removal.

Recovery Position by Fluorescentgrey (7k words)

Wherein 17 year old Richie drops acid, hurts himself in the process and Eddie is his reluctant trip-sitter. So surreal and strange in the most affectionate sense of the word. Think excellent music, weird late night conversations, and bone-aching tenderness.

It’ll All Work Out by Tozierlvr (102k words)

A classic, slowburn college reddie study with all the trimmings. It’s so understated and grounded but somehow feels like an epic at the same time. Think realistic (and often delightfully awkward) sex scenes, hope in spite of it all, and razor sharp eddie characterisation.

Ready To Grow Young Again by Moichi (7.2k words)

The teenage losers club broach the question of ‘who do you wanna marry when you grow up’ with disastrous ramifications for repressionfest Richie and Eddie. Cut to 27 years later in chapter 2, where they circle back to the same question. The vibes are summertime, tiptoeing around each other, and gentleness. (bonus: eddie has adhd in this.)

Dinner At The Kaspbraks by KnightNight7203 (11.9k words)

Wherein Richie comes to Eddie’s for dinner and Sonia, having caught sight of one of his late night window visits, ambushes them. It’s got such a distinctive and FUN writing style, just the right little prick:open wound richie tozier ratio, so much tension and a perfect ending.

I killed a clown! AMA by Liesmyth (10k words)

An oldie but a goodie! The events of IT Chapter 2 (and a little before and after) as told through eddie’s (and a little through Myra’s) Reddit account. Featuring masterful (and I’d say my favourite ever) adult eddie characterisation, super immersive attention to detail and a format that makes that 10k whip by!

Before Pennywise by David_ginsberg (7k words)

This underrated fave is a really nice quick read that packs a punch, taking the form of several vignettes from Richie’s, Eddie’s, Stan’s and Bill’s childhoods before the events of IT 2017. It’s got brilliant outsider povs from various minor characters (i especially love this fic’s take on the toziers), super believable little anecdotes and a Doomed Yet Nostalgic vibe.

Coke Bottle Glasses by Theliteraltrash (6.5k words)

A study on blind!richie throughout his life & relationship with eddie, as he gradually loses his eyesight. It’s written with so much care & realism, focuses on self-acceptance rather than suffering, and portrays such a sweet and supportive dynamic between the losers club.

There’s Another Dance by Moichi (2.2k words)

A simple yet effective teen reddie oneshot, wherein Richie and Eddie are shopping for (or rather gearing up to shoplift) movies. Teasing re Eddie’s movie preferences ensues in classic drawn-out-cat-and-mouse reddie fashion. For anyone looking for: a chance to fly-on-the-wall over these guys’ stupid conversations, 80s movie references, and characterisation so brilliant it feels like a novel outtake.

Sensi scripsi scivi by Nbfutureboy (3.4k words)

an extremely fun and sweet take on the truth serum trope, in which richie has seemingly lost the ability to lie and eddie’s been assigned damage control. packed with realistic + funny dialogue, wonderful teen loser friendship dynamics and a charmingly bizarre love confession.

[nyarlathotep-thecrawlingchaos]

Woooo chapter 3 finally

Probably going to at least start the next chapter tonight because I’m so looking forward to writing Mihawk again. He is in this chapter as I promised, but...we do not wake him from his nap. We know better.

But Bogard and Garp have been so much fun honestly. Especially Garp giving Luffy vibes because the brainless dumbassery for sure runs in the family.

Not sure if that applies to Dragon but…look it’d be hilarious if it did—

Anyway, chapter threeeeeeeee

Flight Risk

Young!Mihawk x Marine!AFAB!Reader

Ch. 3 of like four or something maybe six at most idk, I have a clear ending in sight but I’m not sure how long it’ll take to get there

Brief summary of The Story So Far: So Garp, in his infinite wisdom, had this brilliant idea about how the Marines could use reader's devil fruit ability (zoan type, gray parrot) to spy on this particularly dangerous and elusive pirate up close, and now reader is stuck scoping out Kuraigana Island to see if there are any signs of him there. Bogard may have a coronary before this nonsense is said and done.

First Chapter link, Next Chapter link

SFW for now, but not in later chapters

Possible trigger warning for blood. Possible future trigger warnings for imprisonment, mild torture (definitely psychological, maybe physical)

Tags: Enemies to lovers, eventually NSFW, idk maybe more later

Word Count: 3,057

Haven't really proofread this much but I will in a minute I promise

No tag list yet, I do not expect one but if you're interested in seeing where this bullshit goes just lemme know

♫♬I’m Gonna Be Your Elvis — The Fratellis♬♫

I could not pretend that I was even half amused

When all they ever told me left me shaken and confused

It would have been a beautiful night for a flight, if not for the destination ahead of you.

Kuraigana Island loomed closer as your wings cut through the soft breeze in your transformed state, and catching the wind would ensure that you could simply glide most of the way there without expending too much energy. The chilly night air barely cut through your thick coat of gray feathers, and your dull coloration and the dim light of the crescent moon gave you some reassurance that you would be able to see any potential threat before it could notice you.

Something near the shore by the forest caught your eye, and you swooped in a bit closer to be positive of what you were looking at—and your stomach did a backflip as you confirmed it.

A small vessel was moored there, a boat in the shape of a coffin.

That was confirmation enough that he was here. Part of you considered circling back around the battleship cutting silently through the water a mile or so behind you and reporting this alone to Garp.

But…no. You had been told to fly over, to see what you could from a high enough elevation to avoid detection, and you intended to do just that. This was your first real chance to show your value as a Marine. You couldn’t blow it by turning tail and running the moment you felt the slightest pang of fear. Hardening your resolve, you regained your elevation with a few flaps of your wings, circling the island until you were at a height where you felt safe.

As safe as you could, at least.

The forest was quiet enough—there were no signs of the population of primates Garp had mentioned to you, perhaps all asleep for the evening. Save for the sound of nocturnal birds and insects cutting through the night air, nothing seemed out of the ordinary in the dense forest, or the narrow path that cut through it from the shore. You flew a bit lower, squinting down across the path.

His boat was there. You knew he had to be there somewhere. He never worked with anyone else, so chances were slim to none that he could possibly be anywhere else.

The clearing around the castle was half overgrown itself, littered with ruins and evidence of battles long since ended beneath a thin veil of fog, but the castle itself seemed mostly intact from your vantage point.

Intact, with a dim orange glow glimmering from one of the windows that made you briefly halt in midair, flapping your wings lightly to keep yourself aloft. Fire light. It had to be, there was no other explanation, perhaps the dim glow of a candle or a lantern. There was someone there, someone in a high room of the tower straight ahead of you. That would be enough for you to go back with, more than enough information to all but confirm the reports.

But…if you could get just a little closer, if you could confirm it with your own eyes…

This was a bad idea. It had to be a bad idea. Garp had told you to keep your distance, but you were already swooping down, stopping just beside the window and gripping your talons against the grooves between the stones that comprised the solid wall.

Folding your wings back behind you, slowly and quietly creeping closer to the window.

Closer, just a bit closer, craning your neck the slightest bit to the side to glimpse inside…

The light, as you had thought, came from an oil lantern situated on a small end table, illuminating what appeared to be a sizable den. Most of the visible surfaces in the room were covered with a fine coating of dust that glinted eerily in the flickering glow, from the bookshelves lining one wall to the adjacent hearth. It was quiet at the moment, still, but there was one sign of life that made your heart skip a beat and your breath catch.

Leaning alongside the hearth, unmarred by a single speck of dust, stood a massive sword with a jet-black blade and hilt in the shape of a cross, a glimmering blue gem set into the base of the hilt that seemed to glow in the firelight. Holding your breath as you stared at the weapon, unable to take your eyes off of it, you realized that the room wasn’t quite as silent as you had thought.

The faint whisper of slow, even breathing met your ears.

He was there. He was really there. You considered the likelihood that you were the first Marine to ever get this close without being killed within seconds, considered the idea of taking off back for your ship right that instant.

And then you slowly shifted a little closer to the window, looking around the edge of the windowsill to the other side of the room.

You barely stopped yourself from letting out a gasp.

Reclined back in an old armchair, a book open across his lap, his boots propped up on the table in front of him, arms crossed over his chest and head tilted down slightly—it was him. There was no question about it. Even with the small difference from his most recent bounty poster of the angular moustache and goatee, there was no question. You were barely ten feet away from the Marine Killer himself, Dracule Mihawk.

And he was fast asleep.

His chest rose and fell slowly with his deep, even breaths, his eyes closed. His plumed hat sat to the side on an end table, his signature trench coat draped across the back of his chair. You had done it—more than simply scouting for activity, more getting the lay of the land, you had found the man himself.

You jolted in alarm when he shifted in his sleep, quickly pulling your head out of the window, your heart racing.

That, you decided, was more than enough for you to report back. You shifted a careful distance across the wall of the tower, taking care to ensure that your talons didn’t so much as scratch against the stone surface, and took flight back toward the shore, toward the battleship barely visible against the dark water and midnight sky. Gliding just above the treetops, buzzing with adrenaline, you were already swelling with pride. You, a cadet that had spent weeks being taunted and treated like a joke, had managed to use the very ability that had made you a laughingstock to do what no other Marine had yet managed.

For the first time, you had more than just a glimmer of hope that this plan, however ridiculous it sounded on the surface, could actually work.

And then something whizzed past your left wing.

You faltered in your flight, looking around as you flapped your wings a few times to regain your equilibrium. Whatever it was had passed by so fast that you had registered no more than the whistle of wind around it. Maybe a smaller bird or a large bug—

And then it happened again.

And again.

And, as you realized that the objects were coming from below you and looked down, you let out an audible gasp that left you like a strangled squawk.

You were too close to the trees, you realized disjointedly, as you took in the sight of several enormous, ape-like creatures below you. You were also the only bird in the air, which you guessed had a great deal to with the fact that these particular apes were wearing what appeared to be some sort of armor and wielding very human weapons. Swords, spears, axes, and—to your stunned realization—bows.

Another arrow zipped past your right wing, close enough to brush across your feathers.

What the hell what the hell what the hell—

Soaring higher into the air did you little good. The beasts had already spotted you and were following your flight path with ease, still firing arrows, throwing spears (though these, thankfully, didn’t manage to come nearly high enough to pose any threat). You were more than halfway across the expanse of the forest, you could make it, you knew you could.

Nearly to the end of it, dipping higher and lower, zig-zagging through the air to throw off the aim of the strange primates.

Right there, right at the edge of the trees, when a searing pain tore through your right wing, causing you to screech out a swear, glancing down to watch the offending arrow fall and land on the shore below you.

You didn’t even dare glance toward your wing to see how bad the injury was. As long as you didn’t look, it might have only been a scratch. It might have just been a light graze. You tried to ignore how unsteady your flying was, to ignore the fact that you were slowly losing elevation and seemed unable to regain it, that you were swerving to the left no matter how hard you tried not to.

You did focus on the fact that if you fell now, you wouldn’t ever make it back. You’d fall into the nearly black waves below you and sink down into the ocean like a sack of stones, and that would be the end.

Your ship drew closer and closer, growing larger and larger in your line of sight, and you focused on that.

Until you were close enough to glide awkwardly onto the quarterdeck, where Garp and Bogard seemed to be arguing quietly in front of the doors of the Vice Admiral’s cabin, and skid past them across the floorboards, hitting the railing on the starboard side.

Whatever argument your superior officers had been engaged in ceased the moment you transformed, pulling yourself up to sit against the railing, already half-shouting at the older man, “You could have told me they knew how to use weapons!”

You didn’t like the way they stared at you for a long moment, both of their gazes flickering to your right arm, no more than you liked how limp the appendage felt at your side as you gripped at the railing with your left hand.

Garp mumbled something to Bogard, who gave a short nod before disappearing into the cabin.

Garp tilted his head the slightest bit to the side, lifting his eyebrows as he slowly approached you. “That—exactly who knows how to use weapons?” he asked slowly.

“The goddamned apes, that’s who,” you said through your teeth, briefly forgetting every ounce of formality that your time as a Marine had instilled in you. “They had swords! And bows! And armor and spears and—”

“The ap—never mind that for now,” he said slowly, holding up a hand. “You need to calm down, cadet. And we need to get you patched up.”

“Patched up—I could have been killed!”

You still hadn’t looked at your arm. The adrenaline still coursing through your veins made the sharp, throbbing pain seem like an afterthought, like a distant reality as you pulled yourself to your feet. “By a bunch of damned monkeys that evidently—”

“Enough.” You jumped at the harsh command, straightening yourself out completely and snapping to attention in an instant. Your eyes briefly darted to the cabin doors as Bogard emerged, unwinding a belt as he strode over quickly, tossing a quick glare at Garp before lifting your arm and wrapping it around a couple inches below your shoulder. “We can discuss it in a few minutes. We need to get you down to the sick bay first.”

You still didn’t look down, shaking your head at Garp as you stared at him in alarm.

“It was just a scratch, I’m fine—ow—” you added as Bogard abruptly tightened the belt around your arm, glancing over.

Your eyes widened at the sight of the large, deep gash extending nearly from your right elbow to your shoulder.

At the blood steadily spurting out from what was no doubt a pretty important vein or artery.

“O…oh,” was all you could force out, your eyes lowering to the puddle of blood at your feet, the adrenaline rush fading in nearly an instant, leaving you more than a little light-headed. “That’s…”

The makeshift tourniquet around your arm did gradually slow the bleeding by the time you sat down at the edge of one of the cots in the infirmary, but you were still woozy from the blood loss, still lightheaded from everything you had witnessed during your flyover of Kuraigana Island, only catching the vaguest gist of Garp and Bogard’s continued bickering.

“And you didn’t think to inform me of this hare-brained mission beforehand?” Bogard was saying, and while his face was shadowed by the brim of his hat you were sure his expression matched his sour tone.

“It was just recon,” said Garp, sitting at the edge of a cot a few feet away, striking a match and holding it to the end of a cigar clamped between his teeth. “In and out, ten minutes. Didn’t seem like a big deal.”

“And yet here we are,” he said through his teeth, not bothering to glance up at your flinching as he cleaned the gash with an alcohol drenched cloth.

“How the hell was I supposed to know a bunch of goddamned apes would know how to use weapons?” he said, slouching over against the wall. “Wonder if the psychopath trained them…”

“Seeing as we know next to nothing about him aside from the fact that he seems to derive joy from committing mass murder, I don’t suppose anyone knows,” said Bogard, tossing a sidelong glare at the vice admiral, who gave a noncommittal shrug. Bogard tossed the cloth aside with an irritated growl and shoved a clean one into your hands. “Put pressure on that.”

“Yessir,” you said automatically, wincing as you pushed the rag against the wound.

“With all due respect, Garp, this entire farce was your idea,” said Borgard, straightening out from where he had been kneeling next to your cot to cross the room and begin rifling through drawers and cabinets. “I’m sure you can imagine what we’d have to deal with were we to return to headquarters and have to inform Sengoku that our operative was killed en route by a bow-wielding monkey.”

“Eh…” Garp shrugged a shoulder, his own expression souring at the thought. “But hell, at least we know why no one’s made it out of the place now. So we did get some information.”

“And suppose the target had been there?”

“He was.”

Both men froze when you spoke up—Garp halfway through pulling his cigar from his mouth to flick the ashes from the end, Bogard with a drawer halfway shut, both of them slowly turning their heads to look toward you.

“You should probably tell someone at headquarters to update his bounty poster,” you added, tapping at your chin. “He, ah, has a goatee now.”

Both men continued to regard you in stunned silence for several long, tense seconds, glancing at each other as your words slowly sunk in.

Garp’s face split into a grin, and his hearty laughter a moment later completely drowned out his partner’s weary sigh. Bogard slowly closed the drawer, turning around to lean back against the counter behind him, rubbing at the bridge of his nose.

“Were you not instructed to keep your distance?” he said loudly, glowering over at Garp as the older man threw his head back in laughter. You sat up a bit straighter when Bogard turned his glare on you, crossing his arms, frowning at you with the same measure of exasperation. “Had you been seen—”

“I was careful,” you said quickly. “I noticed a light in one of the castle windows. Most of the place is in ruins but the castle is still standing. I only peeked through the corner of the window, he was asleep.”

You decided as his frowned deepened that it was best not to mention how long you had lingered in the windowsill.

“Sounds to me like the kid passed her test with flying colors,” said Garp, still chuckling to himself. He gave you a nod of approval, pointing toward you with the smoldering end of his cigar. “Good work, cadet.”

“It sounds,” said Bogard, pulling the drawer next to him open sharply, “as if our cadet was taking wholly unnecessary risks for the sake of an unnecessarily dangerous and unauthorized ‘test’ of her abilities.” Garp rolled his eyes at the indirect scolding, leaning against the wall of the infirmary again. “Needless to say,” he went on, fishing through the drawer and retrieving a suture kit before shoving it closed, “the next time any of your commanding officers sees fit to pose you with such a mission again…”

He grabbed a clipboard off of the counter, flipped over an empty medical report to its blank side, and tossed it onto the cot next to Garp, before heading back over to sit at the cot across from yours. You watched as he retrieved a large, curved needle and set to threading it, tossing a sharp look at you.

“…you are both advised and encouraged to run it by me first. Understood?” You nodded quickly as he pulled the cloth out of your hands and away from the expansive gash across your arm. “Good. Then you’ll relay what you witnessed during your reconnaissance, and our esteemed vice admiral will take down the report—”

“Why the hell do I have to—”

“Because you’re terrible at applying stitches,” Bogard snapped before Garp could finish his protest. The older man rolled his eyes, snatching up the clipboard and digging a pen out of his pocket. Bogard leaned over with the threaded needle in his hand and added, “This is going to hurt.”

“Probably not much more than nearly having my wing shot off,” you reasoned.

Garp snorted.

Bogard sighed, muttering something under his breath about being surrounded by idiots, before grabbing your wrist and pulling your arm straight, not bothering to give you any warning before jabbing the needle through your skin.

“Just stay still,” he said over the sharp hiss of air your drew in through your teeth at the pain, “and relay your report, cadet."

Next chapter link again, for your convenience

First Chapter Link again, for your convenience

[lynn-tged-posting]

tged webtoon ep 161 spoilers with thoughts below the cut u know the drill

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THIS IS MY FAVORITE PANEL OF JAVIER EVER. IN THE ENTIRE MANHWA IM LOSING MY MIND HAHAHAHAHAHA

HE JUST LOOKS SO FUCKING UNHINGED I DIDNT EXPECT IT AT ALL HHAHAHAHAHAAAA

anywayy back to the top

honestly maybe i shouldve seen the fact that his own singing would fuck him up coming LMAO

their matching dazed expressions when they both realize PLEASSEE LOL

raphael also calls the start of his singing demonic sounding lmao

and then they start fighting again and JESUS holy shit they're so overpowered this is so cool to watch and also as i was reading i was VERY scared for javier

genuinely i really really love whenever they draw action scenes they look very cool while also not being terribly hard to follow i like that

like oh my god?? he's swinging that hammer around like its nothing its very very terrifying, esp cause its been a while since javier has fought something thats his match yknow, or at least it feels that way

AND THEN. THE LEADUP INTO THE NEXT SCENE IM LOSING MY MIND JAVIER YOU SCHEMER

the feigning being down and then the peek and the slow getting up im giggling so so bad AND THEN

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHA JAVIER YOU CLEVER ASSHOLE I LOVE YOU SO FUCKING MUCH

like i knew that line raphael said about how the halo would continue protecting him so long as he's pure and just or whatever would come into play BUT I DIDNT THINK JAVIER WOULD BE THE ONE TO DO IT SO DIRECTLY TOO HAHAHAHAAA he's learned so much from lloyd <3 LOL

i also think its interesting that the halo keeps track of this with like points or smth, not much to say about it i just think its an interesting gear; the ultimate defensive tech but it's based on how "good" you are thats just really interesting to me hehe

ALSO ALSO i think it's really really silly funny that raphael was this very intimidating and menacing figure that was super scary right up until the moment javier played dirty and then the moment that happened that image/vibe immediately crumbled WAHHAHA he's just a silly guy and the halo does the work i like him a lot

i really like these panels of them being evenly matched, raphael is still holding his own even with a penalty like that, their expressions here are really good too its so tense,,,

AND THEN LLOYD BEGGING THEM TO STOPP AAHHH

AGHHGHGHHGHGH AAAHH JAVIER STARING WIDE-EYED AT LLOYD IM CURLING AND SHRIVELED ON THE FLOOR

like okay i know lloyd is scheming or whatever. but my heart wants to believe that some part of this was very real okay . let me cope let me believe this . one cannot act/lie effectively without some of it being real. RIGHT???

AND THEN WHEN THE POPUPS APPEARED I STARTED SHOUTING OH MY GOD I FORGOT ABT THE RP SYSTEM IM SO. LLOYD YOU BRILLIANT MOTHERFUCKER YOUUU

HE CAN JUST SKIP THE PROCESS AND THEN BECOME A SWORDMASTER HE HASNT DONE THAT IN A LONG TIME OHHHH MY GOD

also. everyone else's bonus RP was +10. but only javier's bonus RP was +45. which could mean nothing.

WHAT DO I EVEN SAY ABOUT THAT LIKE. JAVIER WHAT YOU. WHAT. YOUUU im gonna lose it im gonna LOSE IT

top ten photos taken moments before disaster HE LOOKS SO EVIL THE ART HERE IS SO GOOD HAHAHAHA OHH MY GOD

and how he says "YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSS" ohhh lloyd you asshole you i love you so much

THIS PANEL TOO LIKE WOW THE FUCKING EFFECTS THIS IS INSANE HE LOOKS SO FUCKING MENACING THE VIOLENT LINEART HES POWERING UP HIS SINGING OH MY GODDD HAHAHA

when i saw these panels i immediately thought of that one song from princess and the frog god i wish i could like tween or something itd be so cool to see This drawn to That

thats all i LOVED this ep i had so much fun RAPHAEL JAVIER LLOYD FIGHT PART THREE NEXT WEEK HERE WE GO

[tinknevertalks]

"Oh my God, I'm back again!" *coughs* to ask you:

Do you wanna write a fanfic? As they say in the film, "The sky's awake, so I'm awake, so we have to play!" It's that brilliant time of year again where we all feel festive (or have festive feelings foist upon us). Fairy lights, foil decorations, foliage inside the house; it's all there waiting for us.

So, do you like writing fic? Do you like reading fic? Do you like going to various places and saying to other fandom peeps, "Omg I love your work!"*

Then this is the fic exchange for you! Today's post is the sign up post. Under the cut will be a list of questions. All you have to do is send me either a DM or an ask with your completed questionnaire then wait for your match!

Last year was a really good laugh. We all had fun, and there was a lovely bunch of new fics available to read (which is always a good thing in that dead time between Christmas and New Year's).

Schedule!

Sign up: 26th Nov - 5th Dec

Matches sent out by 7th Dec

Touching base post: 20th Dec**

Collection open for posting: 26th Dec

Collection reveal: 31st Dec

This is open to anyone in the Sanctuary fandom, regardless of character/shipping preferences. When it comes to fic length, the minimum is 300 words. I don't really wanna give a max (because I know how the muse can get sometimes), but if we cap it around the 2k words mark that should be cool.***

I'll be posting a link to this around the place (and reblogging again this evening for the later crew), and you are more than welcome to message/contact me with any questions, queries or concerns.

Under the cut: the questions!

Username on Tumblr/AO3: (I need a method of contacting you 😊. If you have neither, pop me your email or something? We'll figure it out.)

Things I am comfortable writing: (gen or shippy? Fluff writer or angst? Family feels?)

Things I would not want to write about: (all the things you don't wanna write - characters you dislike, pairings you don't vibe with etc. Also heads up on any triggers you might have - you don't need to explain the whys.)

What I'd like to receive: (go for gold! The more info you can give, the more tailored to you the fic will be.)

What I would not like to receive: (All the things that you do not vibe with, or squick you. Please please please again with any trigger warnings - I don't want a gift to upset you. 😊)

Any other info that doesn't fit in the other questions: (General vibes, could you be a pinch hitter, any thoughts, questions, etc)

--

And that's that. 😊 Thank you for joining in, and see you December 7th with your matches!

*I love when this happens. If this is something you do, keep doing it you sparkling diamond!

**If you find you can't finish, or something comes up that means you have to pull out, please let me know so I can arrange a pinch hitter. I won't be angry or disappointed or anything because this is for fun, and your health (mental and/or physical) is more important.

**Obviously, if you find you go over a bit, don't freak out or anything. This is just for fun, after all.

And that's it! I hope you'll message and join the fun, cause just think - more Sanctuary fanfic is never ever a bad thing!

[pedrocomicreviews]

Absolute Martian Manhunter #2

“LET’S RIDE, PARTNER! Spooky action-heroes at a distance!”

This review is probably better experienced while high and immersed in deep, emotional human connection. Spoilers for the issue, I’m not talking around this one, there's a lot I wanna cover.

It’s tough to even talk about Absolute Martian Manhunter. It’s one of the most unique books Big Two comics is publishing right now, both in approach to the character and in approach to being a comic book. It’s drenched in rich themes and social commentary the likes of which I used to be able to go to X-Men for, while also reinventing a lot of what I’ve come to expect from superhero comics and making it feel almost effortless.

The actual plot of the book, so far, has been pretty simple and trivial to follow. A police detective merges with an entity calling itself The Martian and is now able to perceive thought and emotion all around himself. By the end of issue two, we discover there is another entity, a White Martian, who is infecting humans with essentially weaponized bad ideas. One of those infected people causes a mass shooting in a neighborhood full of immigrants, and the Martian mentions the world is corralling toward total “psycho-collapse”.

What isn’t simple to explain and convey is how it feels like even the fucking colors of this book are characters. Every page feels like it’s trying to win a different kind of award for storytelling through show-don’t-tell; every clever use of lettering and composition feels like it adds to whatever words are telling a straightforward story. Every shape, every blob, every geometrical depiction of intangible, invisible concepts like thought or memory keeps hammering home that this isn’t the typical “detective who reads minds” story you’ve seen a hundred times.

The Martian himself is a naive, brilliant little guy. He keeps constantly shape-shifting almost every panel, showing up in different places both for John and for the audience. It’s a playful take on a usually very somber, very tragic character that came from another type of narrative entirely. J’onn J’onzz is one of my favorite DC characters, but the Martian in Absolute Martian Manhunter is almost a vibe, a narrator that happens to be on the page and talking to the main character. He’s less a fully-fledged person and more a child learning how he himself works, and what the world is all about.

John, in contrast, is jaded and tired. This is less Good Cop-Bad Cop and more Very Burned Out Cop and Childlike Wonder and Glee, Come To Help You Deal With Your Trauma. Every human in this story is defined by their actions and by the actions done to them; by their inner and outer lives. The Martian peels away layers of years of memories, of traumas, of the misunderstood effects life has on people like we lift pages from the book. It’s genuinely hard to describe, is that clear? I’m like, spinning a wheel here. 

Then there’s the book’s fun meta-narrative. This is actually a retelling of the second appearance of the original Martian Manhunter character, back in 1955’s Detective Comics #226. Camp is essentially retelling the story, with John facing a gunman named Trigger. Albeit, with the name a bit changed, because the guy was named “Tom Taylor” in the original, and that’s just really funny, isn’t it.

But there are very specific differences, and I think they perfectly encapsulate this book’s mission statement– in the original story, John Jones actually surrenders Trigger Taylor using his powers, a classic hard-boiled detective story that rapidly unfolds. We move on quickly and it is more of an opportunity to showcase the possibilities of this character’s powers.

Meanwhile, in Absolute Martian Manhunter, John and the Martian approach Trigger as a human being first. The Martian goes inside Trigger’s head and he’s just like everyone else; a man saturated by his past and shining with all the colors of his present. The Martian and John try to appeal to his humanity, his shared connections and better nature– and this is a mass shooter we’re talking about, this is the kind of madman who has become commonplace in the country this story comes from. 

And when the Martian finds the problem– a Bad Idea, the crystalized concept of Us vs Them, something implanted into this man’s mind by an external force, something that can be destroyed, the man actually snaps out of it. For a second he realizes the damage he’s done, the lives he’s taken, the connections he’s destroyed, and sees that he does need help. That there is something wrong with him that made him this way, but that it doesn’t have to be the rest of his life. That who he is doesn’t have to be the worst thing he’s ever done.

And then a police officer shoots him through the head.

Look, let me be clear– this is not a rallying cry for you to feel bad about mass murderers. I am not saying it is, and I don’t think Deniz Camp is saying so, either. But I think it’s undeniable that stories about hard-boiled detectives and police work in general have changed in execution over the past decades, and this book is a conversation about those differences. 

70 years ago, bringing in the bad guy was a happy ending. It was understood they’d never see the light of day again and that their actions, wholly evil, were caused by their own problems. It was their fault in a very simple, uncomplicated way. 

Nowadays, most of our media is ready for conversations about systems. About indoctrination, about brainwashing, about regular, intelligent, heartful people growing mind tumors in their heads that eventually metastasize into massacres. About the roots of violence, both in the house and in the streets, and about who’s to actually blame for problems that keep happening.

It used to be enough that we could just lock up criminals and treat them as degenerates who simply did not want to be in society. Our stories were black and white portrayals of heroes of justice defeating foolish villains who did not fit in, and whose faults were entirely personal. And especially when the heroes were associated with the police, there was usually no real mainstream push to question that kind of authority. The idea that a few years in a police academy gave you strict permission to cull the streets was simply the way things were, especially in fiction.

And now here we are. A comic book for teens and young adults, featuring a character who is in a bunch of cartoons and lunchboxes, with trippy, LSD-related-synesthesia-coded visuals, portrays the state-sanctioned killing of a mass shooter by a nameless cop as not exactly a tragedy, but something that should be avoided. Something that doesn’t solve the problem, something that we know won’t solve the problem, and may in fact just lead to more problems. 

And that’s fucking crazy, man. That’s a level of earnest seriousness and respect for one’s audience I never really expected out of anything DC pushes as its next big thing. These are conversations I expect to have about a lot of other media, but comic books have genuinely struggled for decades to connect to the news at this level. They told me this shit was woke and that people didn’t want it. 

What I’m trying to say is Absolute Martian Manhunter #2 is a very good comic book, and I’m glad the book is selling very well. I hope you’re enjoying it with me.

[ursafootprints]

...can you elaborate more on doctrine of labyrinths bc what you mentioned abt it in your last post sounds 🥵

oh BOY you don't know what you've done

I would love to talk about DOL; it is one of my BIG BIG favorites and now you've unleashed me. I'm unleashed. SO: Doctrine of Labyrinths is a 4-book series by Sarah Monette/Katherine Addison, who folks might know from some of her other work like The Goblin Emperor. (Which is also very good!)

It's queer historical fantasy set in roughly ~~~Industrial Revolutionish Fantasy France, where there are harsh class divisions between the Upper City and Lower City, and some people are naturally born with the gift of magic and others are not. The A-plot of each individual book typically revolves around some kind of magical- or court intrigue-based mystery, but the through-line of the whole series is the very devoted but extremely fraught (platonic…ish) relationship between our two leads, Felix and Mildmay.

Felix is my beautiful princess with a disorder. He's a wizard within the ranks of the Upper City's fancy magic court, and other characters either love him or hate him because he's charming and witty and brilliant but also a huge bitch who is sososo fucked up from The World's Most Ghoulish Backstory and he's never met a situation that he didn't want to make worse. He will cause problems on purpose and then hate himself for it. He's terrible and I love him.

Mildmay is one of my favorite characters of all time! His full name is Mild-may-your-sufferings-be-at-the-hands-of-the-wicked because his mom made some Decisions before she left him orphaned, and let me tell you: the sufferings? Not mild. He was raised from childhood in a gang of thieves, and as a result he's very rough around the edges and he ain't saying shit about nothin', ever, including all of the sufferings, oh god Mildmay please say something about the sufferings to someone, please. Other characters tend to write him off as a brainless-but-scary thug despite the fact that he is incredibly street-smart and, beneath the stony exterior, very kind.

So when we zoom out to what gets examined within that relationship, DOL is ultimately an exploration of different patterns people might find themselves in following abuse from multiple angles (Felix is primarily an externalizer who struggles with curbing his own abusive tendencies; Mildmay is primarily an internalizer who struggles with repeatedly falling into emotionally-unfulfilling or outright exploitative relationships) and what it means to heal and who deserves to do that, in the context of some really excellent mysteries and intriguing worldbuilding and a very fun magic system that runs mostly on symbolism. It is MESSY and NUANCED and very dark but ultimately hopeful, which is like, everything I want in a narrative.

But speaking of: yeah, it's Very dark. There is on-screen sexual assault, damn near every POV character has CSA in their backstory (including some at single-digit ages) and this is discussed unflinchingly and with some brief on-screen flashbacks, there is medical abuse/forced medical institutionalization and graphic deaths and depictions of the aftermath of torture and so much in-universe victim-blaming/queerphobia/ableism/general horrible ethics and physical/emotional child abuse including child death and it's a LOT. It is a lot.

But as I said, it is ultimately a hopeful story and I found it very affirming and cathartic and just, such a breath of fresh air in terms of presenting such an array of non-perfect-victim reactions to trauma and letting characters be messy and fucked up and nigh-unforgivable and then gently taking their hands and asking "do you want to be better? because you still can." Definitely, definitely, definitely recommend, but just, um, mind the trigger warnings for Everything.

(And as for the 🥵: yeah lmao there are Vibes all over the place. Most of the actual sex in these books is not horny at all but hoo boy are there some Vibes.)

…and thank you for the ask lmao 💖💖💖

[o-sunny-day]

THIS ONE GOT POSTED WAAAAY EARLIER THAN USUAL, BUT EY- IM NOT COMPLAINING!!! Just was completely bamboozled

SPANISH CLASS VERY QUICKLY BECAME A CHALLENGE OF TRYING NOT TO REACT TO STRONGLY TO THIS INFORMATION 😭😭

( @forgettable-au , go read it 🫵/th)

AAAUUUGH AHA!!! I KNEW IT IT WAS THE RIVER PERSON MWAHAHA all the evidence towards them being friends makes me actually giggle so much- cause why does it make so much sense AND WHY DIDN’T I NOTICE THAT

New head canon acquired… I love how Sans is outwardly mysterious, while Papyrus is just friends with a shitton of mysterious people

(ofc hes also weird- but you get me- VIBES WISE. He is not mysterious vibes wise.)

ANYWHO I really like seeing Papyrus in the judgment hall for fun reasons, and briefly MORE NEW HOME! Thats gotta be CREEEPPYY I feel like its the equivalent of walking around NYC and having it be completely silent and empty, the only sound being your own footsteps. I rock w it tho

lil bitch

HIS REACTION TO NOT KNOWING ABOUT THE RIVER PERSON IS SO FUNNYNFDHEDH hes so pissed…BAMBOOZLED, even

crack head theory coming from nothing but my own dwindling sanity: River Person is a rogue Gaster Follower, following Papyrus instead of Gaster and being silly. NO, NO. NO NEED TO CLAP! I KNOW IM BRILLIANT ALREADY!

I love em though theyre an underrated side character/NPC, and I love that they’re gonna be coming back cause YESSS. augh the way theyre draawwwnn. AAUGH. Fabric…Pretty…

Also obsessed with Flowey being surprised at the boat turning into a dog while Papyrus and River Person are just chilling

GAAAAHHH AND THEM TELLING PAPYRUS A GAME YOU CAN PLAY WITH A DOG, AND THAT THEY “ASKED AROUND” IT MAKES ME GIGGLE SM THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS BEAUTIFUL!!!!

Wait until bro hears about Fun Events

*bursts into tears*

THEN THIS LAST PAGE- AUGH THERES SO MUCH TO DIGEST BUT FIRST OF ALL I WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS

the fact that its framed but in a drawer, its with Sans’ things, PAPYRUS’ REACTION. THE FACT THAT SANS DOESNT BOTHER CAUSE HE FEELS LIKE THIS WONT LAST. “””””IM SURE HES GOING TO WANT SOME OF THESE BACK EVENTUALLY””””

idk gang it all just hits a part of my brain that makes me go

also….in the corner…..”ph”….photo album……maybe…?…..perchance….?????

…FLOWEY GET YOUR VINE OUT OF THE GODAMN WAY

That vine being there + there being such a focus on the picture with Papyrus’ reaction/ how the frame its in is drawn… It makes me think its gonna transition into Flowey grabbing it or something like that “OO! A CLUE!!!” But that might just be me

sorta unrelated…idk why im thinking of this just now, but IM JUMPIN FOR JOY imagining Floweys reaction to the holes in Papyrus’ hands like “OH GOD??? doesnt that…hurt?”

“…Good question!

IN GENERAL…Im just enjoying this so much. In your typical AU comic, itd be the other way around! Papyrus would get some good scenes, sure. But Sans is the one doing all the exploring, doing all the mysterying. BUT THIS AINT YOUR TYPICAL AU COMIC CAUSE of a bunch of reasons- BUT ALSO PAPYRUS!!!!!!!!!!!!

Hes sooo much fun, so well written, so well DRAWN in this im freaking out about it but attempting to be calm(er)

[modoreadsttrpgs]

Game Reactions: Transgender Deathmatch Legend II

Link: https://ratwavegamehouse.itch.io/transgender-deathmatch-legend-ii

Bear with me, but I’m still on the motorsports idea, it will make sense soon maybe. I’m also kinda cheating as I read this in late Feb pretty much as soon as my copy arrived (ironically, on the day I was out watching The People’s Joker). I’ve gone back to it though, as I was riding the ADHD brain-train through ideas for this motorsports game, and I remembered playing Top Trumps as a kid, with a pack focused on cars of course. Of course I thought wow, what if you could base the game around a Top Trumps deck?! I have no idea how that would work, but also I looked at modern Top Trumps and they’re just about the ugliest things I’ve ever seen, and not even in a fun way. Look at this thing:

Terrible photo, cropped onto a horrible background, with nasty colours and just about the worst design for usability you could ever imagine. So this was definitely a bad idea. Anyway, it did remind me of TDLII, which uses a trick-taking card game as its core mechanic. In short, I’ve wondered whether a hack of this would work well. I’ll come back to that at the end.

The game itself is fantastic. In contrast to Top Trumps, it looks great - it’s a spiral-bound A4 book in landscape format, so it looks different to anything else I own. Most of the art is photography of Kayla Dice (the creator of the game) and Forest Jones. They’re caked in blood, holding weapons, grappling etc. It’s violent, in your face, and sets the scene perfectly.

I should probably say it’s a game about pro-wrestling, primarily designed for 2 players, one Promoter (GM) and one Face (player). There are rules for more players too though. As mentioned, the core mechanic is a trick-taking card game, which determines the outcome of each fight. The fights take place as part of a hexcrawl, and the game includes seven distinct hexcrawls as well as rules for designing your own. It’s about pro-wrestling, but it isn’t just a series of organised matches. Each hexcrawl is a scenario playing out that has you fighting in and out of the ring. A booker hasn’t paid you and you need to fight through his goons to get your cash, a trans healthcare provider is denying access and you’re going to beat some sense into them, and so on. The hexcrawls give it vibes of 90s beat ‘em ups like Streets of Rage, or movies like The Warriors. Kayla in fact lists both of these, among many others, in the bibliography, as I just remembered!

Basically that’s the core of it. The framework is pretty straightforward, in that you crawl through the hexes, and play the card game when there’s a fight. Some hex variations can give you weapons (a bonus card to play at an opportune moment), story beats, or other events. The flavour all comes from the hexcrawls themselves, which are really strong individually, and come together to build a collection with both variety and a consistent theme and voice. It makes me not want to hack it for the motorsports idea because it would pale in comparison :D

Before I get back to that, one last word on the book. In addition to everything mentioned so far, there are three essays included. One about Kayla’s relationship to wrestling, one about the history of wrestling (that is only a single page but would legit be a great thing to share with anyone who knew nothing and wanted to start learning), and one about blading (or more specifically, about pain in art, contrasting pro-wrestling with stand-up comedy). All three are brilliant. The first in particular comes along on page 2, and immediately had me reeling. I don’t know how old Kayla is, but we must be vaguely similar ages. My family couldn’t afford Sky Sports, and yes I’m also autistic so I watched the shitty Sunday morning highlights show as well, and checked the WWE website (and then other websites, like Rajah was specifically my main go-to for a long time) religiously. I never got a bloody nose from taking a pedigree, but I had a bad back for a while from taking a chokeslam (onto a small rock I hadn’t seen before landing on it spine-first). I related quite a bit already, so when Kayla describes Eddie Guerrero’s passing as “the first time I became aware of death” I think I paused and had to interrupt whatever my partner was doing to animatedly point all of this out. Other than my childhood dog, Eddie was the first death I was actually sad about, and I could never process that the week before I was watching him wrestle, then he was gone. To this day I will just randomly think about Eddie sometimes, and it will still make me sad. He will forever be my favourite wrestler, not just because his untimely passing adds weight to the memories of him, but because he was genuinely the best to ever do it. I had no idea we’d lose him early when he won the title and I screamed in joy at the TV, jumping up and down. Nor when he unlaced his boot to cheat Kurt Angle out of a win and I cackled with glee. Eddie was the fucking greatest.

That was a bit of a tangent, but I will never feel bad about giving props to Eddie Guerrero. Getting back to the notion of hacking this for the motorsports idea, I really like that it has a simple card game to play out the fights. As I’ve gone through a couple of explicitly motorsports-themed games, I’ve honed in on the exact dynamics I’m aiming for. I want it to be about a driver’s career, revolving around the racing, but zoomed out enough that a race is a few minutes, not an entire play session. You should be working through a full career over a game (that could be multiple sessions), and have the opportunity to play through multiple careers. I loved the dice mechanics for the racing in Grid Beef, but there isn’t the space for something so detailed. The subject of the game is the driver’s career, not the racing itself, but equally there needs to be an element of uncertainty in the race and championship outcomes. TDLII has respawn checkpoints if you lose a fight, but I’d like to let the cards determine whether your driver wins the race, and the championship, or not, and you play through the consequences. Sometimes a really talented driver just misses out on a win, and it sends their whole career down a different path.

I’m less certain right now how the hexcrawls play out. Each could be a championship, which would be very clean, though perhaps more zoomed in than I’d expected. They could also be shorter though, and then feed into a meta-structure where the results of each championship determine what options you have as a drive in the following year. Each crawl could also be a whole career, but that could get unwieldy, or too zoomed out. It all feels like it fits very well though, so well that I’m struggling to escape the gravity of the idea, and have already written a load of notes about how to reconfigure the fighting styles, the hex types etc. I don’t think I can get my brain away from building it in this way. It’s also notably a 2 player game, when I’ve had this idea as a solo game - either I figure out how to make the card game solo-able, or I turn the idea into a 2 player one. I honestly wouldn’t mind the latter, I’d love more 2 player games in the world.

To come back to the actual game at hand though, it’s easily the best thing I’ve posted about so far. If you’re interested in wrestling, 2 player games, or just good TTRPGs, I’d highly recommend checking it out.