#BUT WHAT ABOUT US... THE PEOPLE THAT STRUGGLED AND MADE IT

[fandomflux33]

Friends, friends, friends, ALL work will be replaced by technology someday, this is the end goal of technology. If this goal is used for capitalism, it means employers are almost never going to hire humans again, jobs will dwindle, and the majority of humanity will have to find some way to feed itself that doesn’t involve wage labor. In fact! Feeding ourselves would be easy with technology! (If the wealthy didn’t own everything we needed to live…)

I think you can both agree that meaningful work helps humans develop important skills, stay healthy, grow, and find purpose in life.

Technology is supposed to help us eliminate work that is not meaningful to us, but because of unchecked capitalism, it’s merely moving towards eliminating all work in the name of hoarding capital. Which can make some people’s very meaningful work, appear meaningless, especially if it’s called meaningless by others.

For example, I like knitting socks. Sometimes I get sad because a knitting machine can make a sock so so so much more quickly, with cooler patterns, finer thread, and less mistakes. But I like knitting socks. And my friends and family enjoy receiving handmade socks. Because shortcuts are taken in the garment industry, too, my handmade socks tend to be more durable and personalized to fit than factory-made socks. Note: factory socks COULD be made much better than my socks, but they are designed to be cheap and accessible more than durable and personalized.

AI is not at this point yet, but it eventually could be, given a couple decades.

There are obviously some aspects of human labor that machines can’t replace. Crochet can’t be produced by machines despite it’s repetitiveness, and things like caregiving, therapy, all art forms, tattooing, nail surgery, community organizing, and all general oversight would run into serious issues if handled only by machines.

But most things will become like handmade socks- if you want something with intention, meaning, quality, maybe some mistakes, and personalization have it made by a human. If you want something done and done cheap, have it made by machine.

Even though the choice seems obvious, a human made thing is infinitely better, right? But people are constantly forced to choose the cheapest option by the false time and material constraints of today.

The problem with university is that the job market currently treats humans as objects made by machines. Unless a company is looking for a job requiring particularly high quality, it does not care what university you came from, your grades, or the quality of your degree —it cares that you are a cheap body that can do the task that needs to be done. It does not care about your education, just that you have enough money to get one.

University, for many people, is not an exercise in personal growth, it’s a stepping stone towards a stable source of income.

That’s sad, yeah. Because a chat-GPT using, university mass-produced human is not of the same quality or personalization as a handmade human; but they’re also a more cheap and accessible human.

If you’re struggling, need a degree to have any sort of stable future, and you’re working three part-time jobs, you’re probably gonna use chat-GPT to make it through the day. If you need socks, you’re probably not going to learn how to knit.

But if you want to understand how things work, challenge yourself, grow as a person, do high quality work, and find meaning in your work, you need a comprehensive education. Ditch chat GPT for the essay writing.

If we focus only on production, humans’ productivity will eventually (and in many fields -has) become obsolete to technology.

But living isn’t about productivity, it’s about making meanings for ourselves and then living out our meanings fully. If your meaning in life is productivity, your life’s probably gonna suck.

Problem is, our jobs tell us that our meaning in life is productivity, because it’s the only thing they want from us.

So I’m not mad at the people who use Chat-GPT to expedite meaningful work. I’m just kinda sad for them?

Why are you using chatgpt to get through college. Why are you spending so much time and money on something just to be functionally illiterate and have zero new skills at the end of it all. Literally shooting yourself in the foot. If you want to waste thirty grand you can always just buy a sportscar.

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

Designing the main villains!

I was a bit stumped on what to do with Gunmar and Bular, but some lovely people over on TikTok suggested that Drago and his Bewilderbeast swap places with Gunmar, so I decided to combine the two of them for his design :)

I assigned Bular to switch places with the Red Death since she’s a first movie exclusive character, and Bular is also pretty much a first season exclusive villain (if I’m remembering things correctly ?) Overall the designs actually translated very well into trolls which is awesome. It’s with Bular/RedDeath that Hiccup loses his leg in this AU.

I also worked a bit more on Hiccup’s armour since my previous attempt was a little too bland for my liking. It was a bit of a juggle of trying to make it look more ‘Hiccup’ and Viking-ish, while also trying to maintain that classic sleek clean look of Trollhunter armour.

It was especially hard considering that the Daylight armour is magically summoned, so it wouldn’t really make sense for it to have things like belts or clothing underneath. I made do by just mish mashing a bit of both worlds. The trick was just to add more leather into the design. I’m still not super satisfied with his prosthetic leg though, so I’ll also have to redesign that.

+ And finally a bunch of miscellaneous sketches, ideas, and WIPS on the crossover :

As established before, Fishlegs is taking over the role of both Eli and Toby :) I’d imagine that he hangs out a lot with Blinky at Trollmarket needing out together. He’s taken a strong interest in wanting ALL about Troll culture ever since Hiccup becomes Trollhunter.

I’m not too sure how I want the twins’ backstories should be as Akiridians, since they barely really have one in canon. But so far I got three options :

I do think that when the twins are in their human disguises at school, they immediately latch onto the most interesting person they find, that being Snotlout. They cause him so much grief by annoying him half to death and dragging him into weird situations.

The Zippleback twins are notoriously known for being tricksters who keep stealing jewelry and bedazzling themselves with it. They’re technically banned from Trollmarket but keep somehow appearing anyway, and Vendel has long since given up on trying to find out how and keeping them out

Very random headcanon, but Barf’s real name is Bartholomew, and that’s why people call him Barf. That’s all I had to say.

Someone else on TikTok also just opened my eyes to Wizard Heather. I was initially going to make Dagur a changeling, but I thought it would be infinitely funnier if he was actually just some regular ass guy who EVERYONE thinks is a changeling purely based off his behaviour.

Snotlout is probably going to be an antagonist for a short bit after he finds out about both his and his father’s true nature, because Spitelout convinces him that the Trollhunters are their enemy and Snotlout doesn’t know anything and just assumes he’s telling the truth.

Potential backstory for Hookfang which might end up being too outlandish to use hut whatever : one of the reasons Hookfang is one of the only ones to not care Snotlout is half changeling is because he also used to be part of a Gumm Gumm experiment to combine Stalkling biology with regular Troll biology, which earns him a bit of a bad reputation in Trollmarket. Because of this he lives pretty much on the very outskirts of the market, and understands Snotlout’s struggles.

Anyways! If you read this far congratulations. This is a BIG post and I talk a lot, so thank you for dealing with my crazy ramblings. I’m so happy people actually like my ideas :)

[cosmotellurias]

I went out to my local library today and found out that the new batch print of the HOO series includes an original passage narrated by The Seven themselves in the back cover instead of a summary or review. Jason was the narrator for BOO and–

translation:

Have you ever felt burdened by your parent's identity? People only see the beauty on the outside. Fame, glamor, glory, that's what you get for being a child of Jupiter, the King of the Gods. No one ever thinks about the struggle behind it. Always placed with responsibility, always made the leader of the army, always burdened with the hope of achieving victory. Not allowed to make any mistakes. Not allowed to give up. I, Jason, only wanted to be an ordinary young man. Who is allowed to complain, allowed to look weak, allowed to despair. Who wanted to share duties to lessen the burden. It is not that I mind sacrificing myself for my friends or jumping into dangerous quests to save the world. After all, the prophecy has stated it: To storm or fire, the world must fall. The choice is me or Leo. To defeat Gaea, one of us will die. It would be better if that person was me. — Jason Grace, After being stabbed by Imperial Gold sword, Gravely injured and nearly met Death.

I'm just. My heart is being beaten black and blue again. When Jason found out someone had to die for the prophecy, he resigned himself to it. There's no contest there. 【Someone had to die, it better be me】. I've said before here, but Jason has always been raised as a Hero. His sacrifice was expected, that's his fate, that's all he had ever known. It's easy for him to throw his life (he has to be at least a little bit suicidal under all that conviction of self-sacrifice for the greater good honestly)

in the end, he never got out of his duty as a hero. He ended up shouldering a prophecy all by himself (a burden he always wanted to get out of), and died as the result. Died as a Roman, a son of Jupiter, a Hero (but who was Jason Grace outside of these grand titles? Not even he knew)

Rest in peace, Jason Grace. I hope you get the freedom you wanted in the end :(

[band--psycho]

Poly!141 x Reader - Stop The Wedding (Part 11)

I'm just gonna say that I'm sorry in advance for this part 💛

Please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated! Thank you for all the continued support 💛

Requests are open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Catch up on the previous part here: Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 /Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8 / Part 9 / Part 10

Warnings: Crying with your best friend, conflicting feelings about love/who to love, car chase, car crash

COD Modern Warfare Masterlist /Taskforce 141 Masterlist /Join My Taglist

“Y/n/n!” You heard Y/f/n shout again, knocking harder on the door this time. 

“Sounds like she’s gonna break the bloody door down,” Kyle said, he, similarly to the other men around you, were staring at you as you pulled your phone out of your jacket pocket. 

Y/f/n had messaged you at least twenty times and called you another ten.

You were scrolling through all the messages quickly reading them; your eyes lingering on the last message she’d sent. 

‘Phillips just messaged me??? What the fuck is going on?’

“You okay?” John asked softly, still holding your hand. 

You gave him a quick nod,pulling your hands away from John and Johnny before standing up and walking out of the kitchen towards the front door. 

You felt a pair of hands wrap around your wrist and pull you back a little, shaking his head.

“Y/f/n is my best friend, I trust them,” 

That was exactly what he was afraid of; knowing all too well that betrayal always came from the people you would least expect.

You understood why he struggled to trust anyone: 

Especially now. 

But you’d been fringe with Y/f/n for so long; you trusted them with everything, and this current situation was no different. 

“Trust me,” you whispered reassuringly; feeling his grip around your wrist soften. 

“Call us if somethin’ happens,” Simon instructed you before letting go of your wrist completely. 

“I will,” you promised, giving him a small smile before walking down the hallway with Simon following closely behind you.

The second you opened the door and Y/f/n saw you they started bombarding you with questions. 

“Y/n! What the hell is going on?” They began, their f/e/c eyes scanning over you with concern, confusion and slight shock. 

“Why are you here?” They continued as you stepped out of the front door; their eyes snapping to Simon who was standing in the doorway the minute they saw the sadness in your eyes, “What the hell have you done to her?!”

You had to admit, in different circumstances, you may have found it quite funny, watching your friend size up to Simon. 

But right now, you couldn’t muster out a laugh. 

The only thing you wanted to do right now, was talk to Y/f/n about everything that had happened over the last few days. 

“I swear to god-” you heard them shout at an unflinching Simon.

“Y/f/n, it’s fine,” you assured them, grabbing their hand lightly and leading them back to their car, “let’s just go,”

Thankfully they didn’t argue with you; they just shot a death glare at Simon a few more times as you walked down the driveway, but that was it. 

“How did you know I was there?”you asked once you were finally in their car. 

“I tried everywhere else other than the base,” they explained simply, beginning to drive away from your exes house,

“What’s going on?” They questioned, glancing at you before focusing back on the road in front of them. 

They were confused. 

Of course they were. 

You let out a long sigh; trying to work out how to word it in a way that made sense. 

Your fiance betrayed and tried to kill your exes whilst you were dating them, and your exes boss, who was also your fiancés boss, betrayed your exes and is now in hiding. But he managed to send you and your fiance a card to congratulate you on your engagement. Oh and your now not sure if said boss if the reason for your relationship with your fiance.

God it sounded like a reality show the more and more you thought about. 

A simple life. 

That’s all you’d ever wanted. 

Fall in love, buy a house, maybe have some kids….that was the dream. 

And now that dream seemed to be further from you than ever. 

It soon became apparent to you, that there was no way to make this situation sound normal. 

It wasn’t normal. 

So you just started talking, explaining everything that had happened from the moment they’d seen Johnny and informed him of your upcoming marriage, to now. 

You got about halfway through your explanation before Y/f/n pulled over onto the side of the road, continuing to listen intently to what you were saying. 

You felt like you were word vomit but eventually you finished, taking a very deep breath in an attempt to ground yourself so your mind didn’t spiral like it had done earlier.

They were quiet for a few minutes, the mouth opening and closing a few times, trying to work out what to say to you as they processed all the information you’d just told them. 

“Right,” they finally said; grabbing your hands and looking directly at you, “We’re gonna go to yours and you’re gonna pack a bag and come stay with me for a bit.”

You felt instant relief in your heart at their words; knowing that what you needed right now was some space. 

Space from Phillip. 

Space from John, Simon, Johnny and Kyle. 

Space to comprehend everything you’d been told…

“Then we’re gonna work out what the fuck to do and who to believe,”

You nodded, trying to blink away the tears that were trying to form in your eyes. 

Without hesitation, Y/f/n reached over and wrapped their arms around you.

“You can cry if you need to,” they assured you; and for some reason having that type of permission made the tears fall from your eyes before you could stop them. 

You didn’t really know how long you were crying into Y/f/n's arms, but it was long enough that you were pretty sure your eyes were already swollen from the tears you’d shed. 

“Here,” they said softly, pulling a pack of tissues from the centre console.

“Thanks,” you replied back with a small smile, taking the tissues from her and pulling one out of the packet, as they began driving again. 

“Do you love them?” Y/f/n asked, breaking the small comfortable silence the two of you had found yourself in for the last few minutes.

You didn’t know how to answer the question. 

You truly didn’t. 

Because part of you did love them.

If you didn’t you wouldn’t have let Simon kiss your cheek. You would’ve have let Johnny hug you and hold your hand along with John. 

You didn’t choose to end things with them; and the fact that you knew the real reason why now, changed things for you. 

But that didn’t remove the pain they put you through. 

Didn’t take away the countless nights you spent crying instead of sleeping; thinking they’d fallen out of love with you, wondering what you’d done wrong… 

“I don’t know,” you answered honestly. 

“Do you love Phillip?”

That was another loaded question. 

Because you automatically went to say yes. 

But you couldn’t ignore what you’d found out; nor could you deny the questions that new information created. 

Does Phillip love you, or is it simply all just part of a scheme to hurt your exes. 

“I don’t know,” you repeated again; knowing that the person you were in the car with was never going to judge you for your conflicting feelings. 

“We could just drive away from here, go and find a nice cottage in the countryside, just live out our lives running a bookshop cafe,”

Although the offer sounded like they were joking, you knew they weren’t. 

It was an idea the two of you had spoken about often, more so in the most recent years of your lives. 

You knew that if you told them that’s what you needed; then that’s what the two of you would do. 

You wanted to take them up on that offer.

But you wanted to know the truth about Phillip and the potential plan he’d made with Shepherd… 

“Maybe one day,” you replied back with a smile, knowing that depending on what Phillip told you, that day might come sooner rather than later. 

“Gotta say Y/n, your taste is men is absolutely fucking shocking,”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the truthfulness of their words; making them in turn laugh too.

Y/f/n's laughter quickly faded though; as they began driving faster down the road.

You sent them a confused look; wondering why the sudden change in speed was occuring.

They glanced at you briefly, a worried look in their eyes, “I think the car behind us is following us,”

You looked into the side mirror; noticing a black suv driving behind them with tinted windows, trying to recall how long they could’ve been following them for. 

You knew your friend must’ve been right, because as they continued to speed up, so did the car behind. 

“Shit,” you whispered, quickly grabbing your phone and calling the number you’d called a night prior. 

“Hello,”

“Si, there’s a car following us,”

You tried to keep your voice calm; collected...but you were sure Simon could sense the real emotions lingering in your voice...

“What?” He asked, his voice low through the phone. 

“There’s a black SUV following us,”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah were pretty fucking sure!” Y/f/n shouted through the phone, obviously hearing Simon’s question through your phone, just before you put it on loud speaker.

“Turn the car around and drive back here,” Simon instructed clearly; you couldn’t help but be somewhat surprised when Y/f/n did just as Simon said when they had the opportunity to. 

But you had to admit you were relieved that they did so. 

Unfortunately; the black SUV continued following you; driving faster and faster until it was ramming into the back of Y/f/n's car. 

“Shit!” They shouted, the force of the SUV making their car begin to swerve a little. 

“What’s happening?” 

It wasn’t Simon’s voice you heard through the phone now, it was Johns. 

You went to answer but as you did; you felt the SUV smash into the back of the car again; this time though it made Y/f/n lose control of the car. 

The last sight you saw wasn’t the tree that lined the road that the car was crashing into, it was the panicked look in Y/f/n's eyes as the crash seemed to happen in slow motion.

You attempted to grab their hand; but before you could, you felt the impact of the car crashing against the tree....

Taglist:

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[calypsocolada]

WINNER TAKES IT ALL | hero x

synopsis: turns out the most enigmatic and mysterious man is terrible at flirting. authors note: there's nothing more inspiring than being consumed by a new fandom. also not entirely sure what this is but if you guys like it I'll write a part two... wc: 3.1k cw: spoilers for ep 11, hero x hero, angst, parental abuse, possibly ooc x (considering he hasn't even spoken a word in the show I did a bit of guessing on his personailty), fem reader, use of y/n click here for my masterlist!

When you were just a kid your father took you to a competition for junior league heroes. It was a three day hell, or so you remembered.

You were excited about it at first but your excitement was trumped by your father’s need for you to win. Winning to him was more important than anything. A winner gets to eat. A winner gets to have fun. A winner gets things. A winner is a winner. Your father raised a winner. 

You won the junior league heroes competition. You were handed the trophy and in your hands it felt light. Flashes of cameras blinded you as you held the trophy over your head, your arms sore, ribs bruised from the countless rounds of fights you endured. Just a kid. Kids shouldn’t know what the weight of a punch feels like. But you did. You knew the weight of a lot of things at a young age. And standing on this stage, the blows you endured weren’t worth the trophy you held. When you were ushered off stage countless grown ups congratulated you, patting your head and rustling your hair. 

“Great job, kiddo!”

“You were great out there!”

“You’ll grow up to be a hero one day!”

“Did you forget how to smile?” Your father asked as he looked down at you frowning. “All my hard work training you got you that trophy and you can’t smile for the cameras?”

“I didn’t?” You asked as he reached and grabbed the trophy from your hands, looking it over. He ignored your question.

“Next year let's not struggle in the last match, I could tell you were tiring out.” He said, turning and fixing your hair, extending his hand for you to take. You took it. 

~

You won every competition after that. Year after year. But with every trophy there was a small part of you gone. The part that liked to read on free days away from training. That part that liked sweets and music and hanging with friends. You didn’t have time. You woke up, you trained, you strategized, you ate, you trained, you showered, you slept. And rinse and repeat. There was no you anymore. Just the public persona your father curated. 

He started his own Hero association when you were only sixteen and your birthday present was the honor of being his first client. He marketed you to perfection. Everyone loved a winner. Which was precisely the name he chose for you. Winner. You tried to fight back, tried to at least have the autonomy of your own hero name but you were sorely reminded that he made you. He trained you. And for that… you owed him. That you were being a self brat and he didn’t have to provide you with any sort of help. That he could turn you out of his association, that no one would sign a spoiled brat like you. After he wore you down you didn’t care about the name anymore. Nor did you care about anything else. Winner it was. 

A lot of decisions were out of your hands. You guest appearances on talk shows, and various commercials. Staged villain fights and the occasional crisis actor in need of help. 

Well here’s Winner! She takes it all!

A stupid slogan you’d come to hate. On countless t-shirts. Your hand cramped as you signed countless posters. Your father spoke angrily into his phone, he’d been talking to another agency for the past hour, trying to strike a deal. Or a partnership. Winner works with Queen, Bot you and Queen had been duking it out on the leaderboards for some time and although you had never met her in person most of the public would rather see you two working together. There was a campaign with over fifty thousand signatures. Fifty thousand people wanted you two to simply interview each other. Your father had thought it was a waste of time and decided fifty thousand signatures weren’t enough. He wanted as much money as Queen’s agency could offer. In the end your father turned them down, stating you needed to be practicing for the upcoming tournament and not playing interviewer.

So that’s what you did. You worked yourself half to death.

~

The day of the hero tournament came like it did every two years. You weren’t able to compete in the last tournament seeing as you sent yourself to the hospital hours before. Your father had pushed you past your limits and you almost died of exhaustion mingled with dehydration. You’d never forget how pale your skin was when you woke up in that bright hospital room. Your dad had never been more disappointed in you. This time around you made sure to drink a lot before exhausting yourself.

The first couple rounds were a breeze. The top hero this year was a woman named Bowa. The top hero. You and Queen had both been vying for that position.

“Winner… you listening?” Your father asked as your eyes fixed on the tv screen. Queen was walking out to challenge her next opponent. You wondered if she watched you like you watched her.  

“Hm?” You hummed as the camera panned to a man you didn’t recognize, white slicked back hair. The tv flickered off. You sucked in a breath, turning. Your father stood with the remote, then calmly placed it on the table. But you could tell he was anything but calm, you’d never known a day in your life where he wasn’t angry. You straightened in your seat, your costume uncomfortably crinkling. 

“Do you need some motivation?” He asked, sitting on the couch across from you. You swallowed, unsure of what to say. “Winning this tournament is the highest of priorities, Winner.” He hadn’t called you by your actual name in… well… years. Maybe ever since he’d thought of your hero name. A part of you longed to hear it. Longed to hear who you were and not who you were made to be. Manufactured to be. You always introduced yourself by your real name but rarely anyone actually called you by it. Kids excited to meet Winner didn’t care about Y/N. Teenagers waiting in three hour long lines just for your attention didn’t care about Y/N. There was a man at the vending machine that you offered your last quarter to that smiled when you introduced yourself, then said, I know who you are, Winner. Sometimes it felt as if that side of you died. That you really were just…Winner now. 

“Yes… I know.” You said, your voice small. Your father closed his eyes. 

“Sometimes I don’t think you truly… truly understand.” He said slowly, steeping his eyes with his fingers. As though you were exhausting him. “There’s only so much coaching I can do. Only so much help I can provide you. Without me… you’d be useless. You know this.”

“I know.” You responded soullessly. He opened his eyes back up, his eyes scanned your face. He didn’t like your tone. He sat up, eyes peering into yours. 

“This is your last chance to prove to me you are what I made you to be.” There was a beat of silence before the door to your dressing room was knocked on. 

“Miss? You’re on in five.” The voice called from beyond. You furrowed your brows. You were on? But didn’t Queen’s match just start? You grabbed at the remote, flicking the tv back on. Queen was on her back, her crown askew on her head as the text at the bottom reads; A Hero Ranking Dark Horse Appears! Queen had lost? In mere seconds? “Miss?” The PA called from outside the door. You startled, blankly staring at the screen as a picture of your face flashed onto the screen side by side with the newcomer who’s name apparently hadn’t even been registered. 

“What’re you waiting for?” Your father growled as you swallowed dryly, turning and heading towards the door. “Winner,” He called after you. You stopped, hand paused on the knob.

“Hm?” You hoped for good luck. You wished for him to say something nice, something encouraging. 

“Don’t bother coming home if you lose.” 

“But Mom-’

“Mom agrees. You know she does.” He says, turning away, facing the tv. And you knew he was right. Knew as you numbly followed you PA to the main stadium, passing a lethargic Queen on the way. You tried to meet her eyes but they were glued to the floor. She didn’t look roughed up but you supposed that wasn’t exactly a good thing.

~

The platform rose as sunlight blinded you, fresh air filling your lungs. You stepped off the platform, dirt dusting up around you as the stadium filled with the cheers of hundreds of thousands of voices. Practically deafening if it wasn’t for the forcefield lining the entirety of the battleground. This was the second to last match. Whoever won here went on to face Bowa but for some reason… you had no hope.

“And here’s Winner! She takes the stage, the spotlight loves her!” The announcer's voice boomed through the stadium, practically shaking the walls. At the mention of your name your fans sounded off, you almost shielded your ears at the sound of their screams. They set you on edge. “And her opponent who barely made it into the top ten before the ranking matches, a dark horse passerby. His name has yet to be registered into the HAC Hero roster. X!” Out walked a man, the same one from before. His white hair was slicked back, he wore a tailor suit and gold glasses. His left hand was comfortably in his pocket as he stepped off the platform, his right hand flicking a coin into the air. You stared. Queen lost to this man? In mere seconds… You swallowed. 

Don’t bother coming home if you lose.

You weren’t going to lose. You couldn’t. You were a winner afterall. X walked lackadaisical across the dirt. The closer he got the better you could see the grin in his lips. All your other opponents had kept their distance but this man continued across the field and once close enough, offered his hand to you. He was tall, at least a head taller than you. His eyes are dark brown and sharp like a cats behind his gold glasses. You stared, eyes on his before they fluttered down to his hand. The crowd erupts.

“X has offered his hand to Winner in a show of good sportsmanship!” The announcer croons. You have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. It’s a show alright. This man didn’t look battle ready, he didn’t look bloodthirsty nor nervous like every other opponent. He seemed entirely at ease. Not wanting to seem like a poor sport you reached out and grasped his hand, it enveloped yours completely, warm and large as a smirk fit to his lips. Suddenly he pulled you by the hand a step closer, leaning down to speak into your ear. Not for the camera’s to see, just for you.

“My money’s on you.” He says, voice resonant and fox-like. You pulled away, your hand still grasped in his. His eyes devoured your reaction. Your heart stuttered behind your ribcage as you slid your hand from his grasp and stepped back. That smirk didn’t leave his lips, in fact it only grew bolder under your gaze. As though your attention was his sustenance. You outstretched your hand and your weapon materialized in your palm, growing to the same height as you, the blade curling like a reaper's scythe. X watched all of this with a sort of rapt fascination and you had this strange feeling that he was enjoying this. Enjoying which part exactly you weren’t entirely sure. “You know,” He started, his coin almost materializing in his right hand as he flipped it around his fingers with ease, it looked like magic the way it slid around his knuckles. “I always wondered who named you?” You couldn’t help your reaction as your eyes cut to his. “Your hero name.” He supplied. You swallowed, forcing yourself into a poker face.

“Not to your liking?” You asked, slowly twirling your weapon. He watched you closely, eyes lingering on your hands for a moment. 

“I like it well enough. Just curious if you do too.”

“It’s my hero name.” You said dryly. A tone you knew would get you in trouble if you were speaking to your father. But X only smirked a little larger.

“That’s not an answer.” 

“I don’t owe you an answer.” You took a swing at him but he sidestepped it with ease, the whoosh of your scythe slicing through the air. 

“Winner takes a swing at opponent X, a swing and a miss!” The announcer boomed, the crowd’s collective gasps filled the air. You turned, maneuvering your weapon back towards the back of his head but he just stepped out of the way again.

“I get this feeling you aren’t much of a talker.” X goaded as your blood pressure spikes and you take another swing. A swing and a miss as the announcer had said before. 

“I don’t usually talk during fights!” You hissed, jutting out the butt of your weapon in hopes of catching him off guard but he’s not where he was a second ago. 

“Why not? It keeps things interesting.” He says from behind you, startling you. You gasp, stumbling forwards a step, yanking your weapon up and swinging sideways. He turns his head and the blade slices off a single hair. The white strand turns black as it flutters to the dirt below. He looks at you and cocks his head as though maybe you had surprised him, that same smirk he was wearing before comes back in fullforce. He liked this back and forth. That much was apparent. He’d beaten Queen in mere seconds but you two had been dancing around on another for at least a couple of minutes. Well it was more along the lines of him stepping aside as your blows kissed the air around him. Frustratingly so. You got the feeling that he was just playing around with you. Like a lion watching a mouse bite at its paw. What damage could the mouse even cause? 

“Another swing and a miss from Winner!” The announcer crooned. His voice cuts through your calm as you send your scythe careening towards the speaker. It splintered the metal piece, awarding you with just the slightest bit of satisfaction as you stuck your hand out and your weapon came spinning back to your palm like two attracting magnets. X had watched all of this with a sort of glint in his eyes. You sucked in a breath, slowly breathing it out before unleashing as many blows as you could. X ducked and bobbed and weaved and side stepped as many as he could, which happened to be them all. It drove you up a wall, all this effort and you couldn’t even touch him. The closest you had gotten was a single strand of his hair. You turned it up, your blows faster and heavier. X noticed the shirt and when you thought you had caught him by surprise his hand reached up and stopped your weapon mid air. The air in the stadium seemed to stand still, every single pair of eyes and lips held in rapture. Your weapon was easily over a hundred pounds. No mere man could just stop it with one hand… and make it look all that easy. The blade stood mere centimeters from his face, close enough to kiss his cheek and bloom blood to the surface. 

“Do you really… truly want to be top hero?” He asked suddenly. You didn’t notice your breath being held in your chest. You shoved him back, pulling down your scythe, kissing the side of his face, a small thin line of blood forming on his cheek. He smiled at that, stepping back. “Cause I think someone wants it more than you.” 

“You?” You growled, and X just smiled, he dodged your blow and moved in close. Close enough to kiss. 

“Whoever forced you to be a hero.” His breath ghosted on your cheek. Your eyes sparked, lips parting in surprise. Who did he… You lost your footing as X forced you to the ground with ease. It was clear to you right then and there that he’d only been playing around. Letting you attack him. He pinned you beneath his weight, your hand pinned beneath his knee.

“You could’ve won if your heart was in it.” You pushed at him but he was like a boulder of strength atop you. He looked over your face once more. Drinking in your anger. You had stopped struggling at this point. It was pointless. He let go and everyone in the stadium cheered as he was declared the victor. He extended a hand to you and watched as you spitefully turned away and rose to your own feet. It was over. Everything is over now. 

“Announcing your winner, the new top hero… X!” The voice was louder than ever, ringing through your bones, boiling your blood. Your weapon dematerialized as the platform you rode in on lowers. You step towards it to leave.

“Come to dinner with me.” X called out the almost deafening chants in the crowd. You were shocked enough into stopping, turning again back towards him. Your eyes narrowed. He just grinned at you. “I know a good place.” You couldn’t even conceive this moment. Nothing felt real. You were the best... He mocked you and now he was asking to go out for dinner?

“Was this your strategy?” You called back, eyes full of malice and annoyance. He didn’t mind. 

“Which part?”

“The talking.” You hissed. X shook his head.

“On the contrary, you’re the only hero I wanted to talk to, Y/n.” X smirked, flipping the quarter around his fingers. “I’m a big fan.”

[nellasbookplanet]

Book recs: aro and ace sff, vibes edition

While I'm working on my canonical in-text-only aroace rec list, have this more vibes based edition! These are books which center platonic and/or hard to define relationships over romantic and/or sexual ones. Basically they are books that made me, a certified romance disliker, especially connect with the way they portrayed and prioritized non-romantic relationships, whether or not they are canonically aro/ace or not.

For more details on the books, check under the readmore! My personal favorites are marked with an *. For more rec lists, take a look at my masterpost!

Canonical aro and/or ace

Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger

Young adult. Elatsoe's America is slightly different from the one we know. Magics and monsters both everyday and dangerous inhabit her world. Elatsoe herself can raise the ghosts of dead animals, a skill passed down through generations of her Lipan Apache family. When her cousin is murdered, Elatsoe decides to find out just what happened, even as his home town does everything it can to bury a truth older and larger than she could've imagined.

Not Even Bones by Rebecca Schaeffer*

Young adult. Nita isn’t a murderer - technically. She just dissects the bodies of supernatural beings her mother brings home and sells for parts on the black market. But when her mother brings home a still living victim, Nita has had enough and frees him. As it turns out, no good deed goes unpunished as Nita is betrayed, her own nature as a supernatural entity outed as she’s kidnapped and placed behind bars. Now she must find a way to escape before she’s sold for parts.

Winter Tide by Ruthanna Emrys*

Aphra and her brother are the only survivors after the government raided their home, Innsmouth. Their only living family are the amphibian people of the deep, whom they will one day join, but until then they are bound to land where they struggle to build new lives for themselves after the great loss of their home and loved ones. Then rumors start to spread of a Russian agent seeking dangerous and ancient magic, forcing Aphra to involve herself as they try to stop it.

All Systems Red by Martha Wells*

After having hacked its own governor module, SecUnit uses its small amount of new freedom to secretly download and watch as much media as it can between doing its job guarding humans. But when the scientists it’s been charged with keeping safe come under attack, it must make a choice about whether to continue keeping its freedom secret or risk it all to save them. I leave up to individual judgment whether SecUnit counts as agender, asexual and aromantic, as it is a robot.

The Angel of the Crows by Katherine Addison*

Sherlock Holmes retelling. After having been injured fighting a war against fallen angels, Doyle returns to London to survive on only a veteran’s pension. To afford a place to live in the city, Doyle finds a housemate in Crow, an eccentric angel with a great curiosity for humans and a knack for solving crime. And London needs its protector - supernatural beings walk the streets, and someone going by the name Jack the Ripper terrifies the citizens at night.

Vicious by V.E. Schwab

While studying near-death experiences as college roommates, Victor and Eli discovered something incredible: under the right circumstances, someone can develop seemingly supernatural abilities. When they moved their research to the experimental stage, things went horribly wrong. Ten years later, Victor has broken out of jail and sets out to hunt his former friend, who is on a mission to eradicate all other superpowered people in existence.

Word of god aro and/or ace

Vespertine by Margaret Rogerson

Young adult fantasy. Artemisia prefers the dead to the living, and is training to become a Gray Sister, a nun who helps the souls of the deceased pass on to the afterlife rather than remain as dangerous spirits. To defend her convent, Artemisia accepts the help of a dangerous revenant, a powerful spirit which grants her great power but also could possess her the moment her guard is lowered. As evil threatens her homeland, Artemisia and the revenant must find a way to work together.

Archivist Wasp by Nicole Kornher-Stace

Wasp is the chosen Archivist in a post-apocalyptic world haunted by the dead. Her job is to hunt the ghosts that still linger, a dangerous and lonely position where she every year is made to fight others to not be replaced. When she meets the ghost of a super soldier, Wasp strikes a deal with him to help him find a long lost friend in exchange for learning more about the world that once was.

The Spider and her Demons by sydney khoo*

Young adult fantasy. All teenager Zhi wants is a normal life (and possibly for her harsh aunt to be a bit nicer), but it’s hard when she’s half spider demon. Every day she must conceal her true nature and hide in human guise. When she slips up and eats a man in front of her rich, aloof classmate Dior, Zhi thinks her life is over. But Dior has secrets of her own, and she is dead set on making herself part of Zhi’s life.

Not canonically aro and/or ace but have The Vibes

Lycanthropy and Other Chronic Illnesses by Kristen O'Neal*

Priya had plans to go to Stanford, but is derailed by the fallout of lyme disease, making her question if she’ll ever get back to normal. Luckily she has her discord support group with whom she can chat and vent about her illness. Even more - she has Brigid, online fandom friend and fellow chronic illness sufferer. But when Brigid disappears from the web without warning, Priya must drive to Pennsylvania to make sure her friend is okay - and finds that Brigid’s condition is a bit hairier than expected.

Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir*

Ryland Grace just woke up from a coma, unable to remember anything. He finds himself alone on a space ship, and as his memories slowly trickle back, he realizes he’s been sent on a mission: to find a solution to the impending doom of planet earth. Still struggling with holes in his memories, Ryland tries to fulfill his mission, but as he gets closer to his goal, he discovers someone else got there first. And they aren’t anything close to human. Funny, heartfelt, and heavy on the science.

Malevolent by Harlan Guthrie*

Lovecraftian horror mystery. Private detective Arthur Lester wakes up in his office, his partner dead, memories fuzzy, vision gone, and the voice of a malevolent entity in his mind. Unable to see, Arthur is forced to rely on guidance from the entity as they attempt to solve the mystery of what it is and where it came from. Is this a book? No. But as someone who reads mostly audiobooks, the difference between a book and a fiction podcast is negligible, and also I love this story and its characters and want all of you to do so too.

The Girl from the Well by Rin Chupeco

Young adult horror. Okiku died three hundred years ago, her body thrown down a well. Now she spends her days hunting for and punishing murderers like the one who once killed her. When a strange boy bearing odd tattoos appears in her area, he catches Okiku’s attention - as does something that follows after him. To save the boy, Okiku will be drawn into a journey taking both of them from American suburbia to a faraway shrine in Japan.

Radiant by Karina Sumner-Smith*

In a world where magic is currency, Xhea, wholly devoid of magic, is the lowest of the low. She does have one special ability, though: she can see ghosts. This ability proves useful when she meets Shai, the ghost of a girl from the higher echelons of society who isn't actually dead yet. Her body stolen and her ghost on the run, Shai needs Xhea's help.

A Closed and Common Orbit by Becky Chambers*

Technically part two of a series, but stands well on its own as the installments are only loosely connected (though I recommend reading the first book as well, it’s very good). A former ship’s AI recently moved into an illegal android body tries to make sense of life as she navigates her way through humans and aliens alike, paralleled with the story of a young girl working alongside and AI to flee a dystopian planet.

A Psalm for the Wild-Built by Becky Chambers

Novella. Long ago, robots, upon gaining sentience, simply laid down their work and walked into the wilderness. Long after, a tea monk looking for purpose follows after them into the wilds, where they come across one of the robots seeking its own sort of answers. While not plotless, this story focuses more on character and vibes over plot. Also has a nonbinary main character and features conversations on gender between human and robot.

Zero Sum Game by S.L. Huang*

Cas Russel is more than just good at math - she can calculate accurately and quickly enough to dodge bullets and fight those twice her size with ease. She thought she was the only one with an ability like this, until she discovers someone with a power even more dangerous than hers, able to reach into and twist the minds of others. Suddenly too involved to simply run away, Cas must not only save the day, but do so while she can't trust her own thoughts.

Skulduggery Pleasant by Derek Landy*

Young adult. Twelve-year-old Stephanie Edgley’s uncle, famed horror writer, just died mysteriously and left her his entire fortune. As it turns out, the stories he wrote weren’t entirely made up, and that which killed him wasn’t entirely human. In trying to avenge his death, Stephanie joins forces with Skulduggery Pleasant, sorcerer, detective, and living, walking skeleton. Including this one is kinda cheating because (part of) the series has romance, but the central relationship is always the codependent nonsense (affectionate) between the lead and her mentor/detective partner.

When the Angels Left the Old Country by Sacha Lamb*

The angel Uriel and the demon Little Ash have been friends for centuries, living and studying together in a small Jewish community in Europe. But times are changing, and many of the community have left for a new life across the sea. When one of these emigrants go missing, Uriel and Little Ash decide to leave their peaceful life to go find and, if needed, save her.

Ancillary Justice by Ann Leckie

A space opera in which sentient spaceships can walk the ground in stolen human bodies, so called ancillaries. One of these ancillaries, the sole survivor after the complete destruction of her ship and crew, is one the hunt for revenge against the most powerful woman in the empire. This series also does very cool things with gender!

Translation State by Ann Leckie*

An exploration of the alien as filtered through the human. At what point does the human become something else? When does something else become human? Is it a question of biology or culture, nature or nurture? Can we choose it? Can it be forced upon us? Set in the Imperial Radch universe, Translation State follows three different characters embroiled in the question of what makes a human. The alien Presger can only communicate with humans using their translators - people they’ve created that are not quite human and not quite alien. But as news of a translator fugitive arises, conflict brews regarding what right they have to choose their own identity and home.

[brattysx]

#O1 — “Some Monsters Don’t Hide in The Dark”

Han Su Gang x reader | Brave Citizen Universe | +18 mdni!

Tags: psychological thriller, dark themes, obsession, toxic dynamics, slow burn, fear, emotional manipulation, stalking, unsettling tension…

O1

That chair next to me had always been deliberately ignored. I never had to explain it to anyone, never needed to say it aloud. People just instinctively understood. It was as if there was something invisible but undeniably heavy occupying that space, something that carried an unspoken warning: “Do not come closer.”

But then, one day, he did.

That morning, the sunlight crawled lazily through the fogged glass of the classroom windows. A sticky warmth had settled between the desks, clinging to the walls. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old paper, stale in a way that made everything feel older than it should. The sound of the other students — the usual background chatter and whispered jokes — felt distant and dulled, as if the entire room was being compressed inward from all sides.

It was exactly at that moment the door opened.

He walked in.

Han Su Gang.

The metallic click of the doorknob, the slow groan of the hinges, the methodical scrape of his shoes on the polished floor — everything about him felt rehearsed. Nothing he did ever seemed accidental. There was no urgency in his steps, no hesitation in his posture. He moved like someone who held the entire world beneath his feet and had all the time in the world to crush it slowly, without mercy.

He didn’t look anyone in the eyes. He didn’t need to.

One by one, the other students stopped speaking. Their voices died out gradually, as if a collective memory had resurfaced in the room. A silent rule, long understood: when he is around, you don’t speak. You don’t stand. You don’t even breathe too deeply.

He walked past them, straight to the back row. My row.

Without pausing, he stopped beside my desk. Without glancing at me, he let his backpack drop onto the empty chair beside mine. The sound was final. He dragged the chair out calmly, like he had every right to be there. Then he sat down.

I wasn’t sure if what was happening was real. My brain struggled to catch up with what my body already knew. This had never happened before. He had never sat there. Not once.

My heart started pounding so fast and so hard that it felt like it might sprint out of my chest. Heat rushed through me, a spike of adrenaline that made everything else blur. The sounds in the room faded, as if I’d been suddenly submerged underwater.

I didn’t move. I couldn’t. Only my eyes shifted, slowly turning to look at him from the corner. He was close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. I could hear his steady breathing, slow and quiet, like someone entirely comfortable with their own cruelty.

He opened his notebook with quiet ease, began spinning his pen between his fingers in a way that seemed habitual, casual, detached. Then he rested his elbow on the desk and settled in.

He didn’t look at me.

He didn’t have to.

Just the fact that he was sitting there, next to me, was enough to make me feel small. Smaller than I had in a long time.

The teacher’s voice barely registered. It faded into the background like the hum of an old appliance. My entire body was rigid, locked in place by something I couldn’t name. I could feel the tension deep in my shoulders, the pulse in my wrists, and a subtle trembling in my knees hidden beneath the desk.

I tried to control my breathing, slowing it as much as I could, hoping maybe — just maybe — if I was quiet enough, still enough, he wouldn’t notice me. But I should have known better. He always noticed.

I thought, briefly, about moving my desk just a few inches away, about creating a sliver of space between us — a buffer. But I didn’t dare. Even the idea of shifting an inch felt like I would be doing something wrong. Dangerous.

Then, slowly, he turned his head.

His eyes met mine with such unsettling precision that it felt like he had known my exact location the entire time. He hadn’t been searching for me. He had simply chosen the moment to look. His eyes were dark, void of light, cold in a way that didn’t reflect anything back. Staring into them felt like peering into a dry, bottomless well.

And then, he smiled.

Not a full smile. Just a slight lift at the corner of his lips — enough to say, “I know.”

“You move too much,” he said quietly. His voice dragged in a slow, bored tone, as if everything around him failed to interest him anymore.

The words sliced through me, colder than the air in the room. I froze. I hadn’t even realized I had been bouncing my foot under the desk. It was a small, unconscious motion — a nervous habit I didn’t even notice until he called it out.

I swallowed hard. Turned my eyes back to the front of the room. Pretended I hadn’t heard anything. But the truth burned through me. My neck flushed with heat, and my skin prickled like it had been sunburned after hours beneath an unforgiving sun.

“Nervous?”

His voice came again, quieter this time. Closer.

I wanted to say no. I wanted to tell him that he meant nothing, that he didn’t affect me. But the words stayed lodged in my throat. My body knew better than to let me speak. It knew what silence was worth.

So I said nothing.

Still, he watched me. For a few long seconds, his gaze wandered over my face, then drifted slowly down my shoulder and chest, following the restrained rhythm of my breath. I could feel him mapping me, memorizing the details of my silence.

Then, he turned away. Looked back at the board like nothing had happened.

But something had.

He had crossed an invisible line. One that, once broken, could never be repaired.

Han Su Gang was sitting next to me now.

And it didn’t seem like he had any intention of moving any time soon.

—

When the bell rang, my body stood up before my mind could even catch up. It was as if my muscles had made the decision on their own, acting out of survival, out of instinct, because my thoughts were still frozen. I moved automatically, gathering my notebook with hurried hands, trying to keep my face blank, unreadable. Trying to remain neutral in front of Han Su Gang had become my only line of defense. It was all I had.

I didn’t dare look at him. Not directly. Not to the side either. But I could feel him. I sensed the shift in his weight. The movement of his body beside mine. The way his backpack slid onto his shoulder with calculated ease. I heard the scraping sound of his chair being pushed back, quiet but deliberate, as if even his silence demanded attention.

He stood up at the exact same time I did. A mirror. A shadow.

As I stepped into the hallway, it felt like stepping onto a frozen lake. Every inch forward felt dangerous. My eyes scanned the corridor, searching for an escape that was already gone. Too late.

He was behind me. Again.

His footsteps were nearly soundless, but I felt them. Heavy. Present. A weight in the air that made it feel thicker, more suffocating. Every breath I took seemed harder to pull in. Every step forward felt like it was being watched, measured.

This wasn’t new. It wasn’t the first time this happened. I was used to it — or at least I had learned to pretend I was. But something about that day was different. Something about the way he moved, the way he followed, made everything feel closer, more constricting. It was like he had stopped pretending to stay in the shadows.

The game had changed. The rules had shifted.

Now, he walked behind me without hiding.

This was never a coincidence. It never had been.

That school, for example. I hadn’t chosen it. Not really. It was the fourth school I had been enrolled in over the past two years. Each time, my parents gave the same excuse — “better opportunities,” “a fresh start,” “new environments.” But I knew the truth, even if they refused to say it out loud. Even if they refused to see it.

Every time we moved to a new place, the same pattern repeated itself.

I arrived first. I settled in. I tried to find a rhythm. I started to breathe again.

And then he would show up.

Out of nowhere.

Same class. Same schedule. Same stare that pinned me to my seat.

It was like he had some invisible GPS attached to me. Like he carried a map only he could read, and every street I took to run away had already been memorized by him long before I stepped foot on it.

My mother used to laugh nervously and call it “a terrible coincidence.” She never believed me. Not really. She said I was being dramatic. That I was paranoid. That I needed to stop feeding “those dark thoughts.”

But how do you explain that in four different schools, across different cities, the same boy always enrolled after me?

Always him.

Han Su Gang.

And what was worse — with every new move, he grew more confident. More daring. He got closer each time, more certain that no one would ever help me. Because no one ever did.

In the first school, I tried telling a teacher. He listened for a moment, scratched his head awkwardly, then brushed it off like I was just imagining things. The very next day, I was called into the office. They said I was exaggerating. That I was accusing a “model student.”

At the second school, I spoke to the principal. She looked at me like I had just confessed to a crime. Her face turned pale. Her hands trembled. She muttered something about his parents being important donors to the school. That he was a “good boy,” just a little quiet, maybe socially awkward, maybe just trying to connect.

By the third school, I stopped trying altogether. There was no point. When the staff saw me avoiding him in the hallways, some responded by changing my seat. Others just began pretending I didn’t exist. As if I was the one disrupting the peace. As if his presence wasn’t the one poisoning the air.

Now, here, in this new school, I already knew how it would go.

There was no use speaking.

The school feared him.

The town feared him.

Maybe the whole world did.

He was the son of powerful business figures. Wealthy. Handsome. Intelligent. Charismatic when it served him. People saw whatever version of him they wanted to see — and he was always careful to let them see only what suited him.

The monster I knew was not the one the others admired.

And that was why no one would ever believe me.

In that hallway, his steps still echoed behind mine.

I turned corners quickly, climbed the stairs two at a time, eyes fixed ahead. But the rhythm of his feet never faltered. He always kept the same distance. Not close enough to be called harassment. Not far enough to be ignored.

He followed with perfect precision.

I veered toward the outer part of the school, where the concrete benches leaned against a low wall. The air was warm and unmoving. The sky hung low, heavy with clouds, and I felt that weight pressing against my shoulders as I sat down. I pretended to wait for someone. Of course, it was a lie. But any excuse to create space, to insert something between me and that suffocating presence, was worth holding onto.

Minutes passed. Not many. Just enough to make me wonder if he’d moved on.

But he hadn’t.

He appeared.

He leaned against the wall a few feet away, arms folded, head lowered. His eyes were fixed on the ground. But I knew. He wasn’t there for the scenery. He was there for me.

At first, he pretended not to see me. But then, like he had grown bored of the act, he turned his face in my direction.

And stared.

For a long time.

My stomach turned over itself.

“Tired of running?”

The words landed like a blade. Not sharp, not loud — but cold. They weren’t said in anger. They weren’t a threat. They were a reminder.

He stepped closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like a predator that knows the prey has nowhere left to run. Because I didn’t.

I gripped the fabric of my skirt tightly in my fists, drawing strength from the tension in my fingers. I forced myself to look up. To breathe evenly. To hold on to what little dignity I still had.

“What do you want?” I asked, my voice tighter than I intended.

“Nothing,” he said, voice low and casual, almost lazy. “I just like knowing where you are. Always.”

A chill ran the entire length of my spine.

“That’s sick,” I said, barely above a whisper.

He let out a soft laugh. It wasn’t joyful. It didn’t carry shame or guilt. It was the sound of someone who had heard that line before and stopped caring a long time ago.

“Maybe,” he said. “But it’s honest.”

I stood up slowly, carefully. Each step was grounded and steady, even though everything inside me trembled. I moved like someone trying to reclaim control of their body — one breath at a time.

“You need to stop.”

His response was instant. Calm. And final.

“I don’t need anything.”

That one sentence carried the full weight of my fear. All the dread that had clung to me since I was thirteen lived in those words.

Han Su Gang never asked for permission.

He didn’t recognize boundaries.

He never had to hide.

He was the kind of threat that didn’t need to touch to leave a scar.

Didn’t need to raise his voice to cause pain.

His presence alone was the wound.

And now I understood, fully and deeply, that running was useless.

Because he would always find me.

Always.

—

I walked home in the late afternoon carrying the feeling that something inside me had been soiled. It wasn’t just emotional. It felt physical, like his presence had clung to my skin, sinking into my pores, leaving behind a scent that couldn’t be scrubbed off with soap. Like wet dust embedded itself in my bones, impossible to wash out no matter how hard I tried.

My footsteps echoed softly along the narrow dirt path that led to the gray, lifeless two-story house. But it didn’t feel like I was returning home. It felt more like I was retreating into a hiding place — a shelter, maybe, but not a sanctuary. That building had never truly been a home. It was just a roof, just a cold box of concrete that kept my body safe from the elements while my mind remained trapped inside it, locked away, still running.

The doorknob, as always, was loose. The chipped paint on the door was worsening with time, flaking more and more each week. But no one cared. No one noticed. Neither of them ever lifted a finger to fix it. And I had stopped expecting anything else.

“Parents.” Calling them that had become a joke I told myself in private, an ironic punchline I repeated to make the emptiness sting a little less. It never worked.

Because they were not my parents.

They had taken me in when I was seven, after my mother — the only real person I’d ever truly known — died. As for my father, he didn’t exist. Not on paper. Not in memory. Not for me. He had never been part of the picture.

So I was dropped into the house of her brother — a man who barely spoke, who rarely looked me in the eye, and who treated my presence as if I were just another unused piece of furniture tucked away in a dusty corner. His wife, if anything, was even colder. If she spoke five words to me in a day, it was a lot. And all of them sounded like complaints or commands. Impatience was the only tone she knew.

They didn’t hit me.

But they never touched me with care either.

I grew up invisible in that house. I had been washing my own clothes since I was ten. Occasionally, I cooked meals when no one else felt like getting off the couch. I bought my own school supplies with whatever money I scraped together — selling old things, running errands for neighbors, doing small jobs that kids weren’t usually expected to do.

I never had a birthday celebration.

I was never called “daughter.”

Sometimes, I pretended not to care. On other days, I hated everything about the place — even the air I breathed inside those walls. But the worst part wasn’t the coldness or the neglect. What truly ate away at me was the silence. Not their silence — but the silence of the entire world regarding my existence.

No one ever asked if I was okay.

No one ever noticed I was quietly falling apart.

And when Han Su Gang first appeared, I convinced myself it was a coincidence.

But the coincidences kept happening.

City after city.

School after school.

Until I realized something horrifying — the only person in the world who made an effort to see me was the one destroying me from the inside.

When I got to my room, I let my backpack drop to the floor. It hit with a dull, heavy thud, like the sound of something giving up. I collapsed sideways on the thin mattress, not bothering to pull the covers. My cheek pressed against the cold wall, and I stayed like that, unmoving. The chill against my skin was grounding, as if the cold was the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. It reminded me that I was still here. Still real.

But real for whom?

From the living room, their muffled voices reached me. The TV was on. They were probably watching some awful soap opera, throwing passive-aggressive comments at each other, lost in their petty world where I did not exist. I had long stopped being part of the conversation — if I ever was to begin with.

It was always like that.

Each time we moved to a new city, they complained. Complained about the boxes, the expenses, the inconvenience. They told everyone they were “making sacrifices for me,” wearing the mask of parental devotion. But they never once questioned why someone like Han Su Gang appeared shortly after every move. They didn’t see the pattern. Or worse — they chose not to.

They didn’t try to connect the dots.

They simply accepted it all, passively. As if my fate had been written in stone and any effort to change it was nothing but a childish whim. A burden.

I did try to speak up once.

It was early on, one of the first incidents. We were eating dinner in silence, and I broke it — I said I didn’t want to go to school anymore. That there was someone following me. That something was seriously wrong.

He didn’t even lift his eyes from the plate.

And she simply said, without even pausing to think:

“Stop making things up. You’re just going to get us forced to move again.”

And that was the end of it.

I went quiet for years after that.

That night, the sky was too dark. No stars. Just a thick curtain of clouds hanging low, pressing down on the world like it wanted to bury it. The house’s thin walls let in every sound from outside — barking dogs, footsteps on gravel, distant voices. Each sound was sharper than usual. Every little noise set my nerves on edge.

I couldn’t sleep.

My body was exhausted, aching from the stress, but my mind kept running as if it were under attack. Every time a branch scraped against the window, I curled tighter into myself. Every time the wind made the front gate creak, my heart skipped a beat, freezing mid-pulse.

Because even though it was irrational, part of me truly believed he might be out there.

Han Su Gang.

Waiting.

Watching.

Planning his next move.

At this point, I couldn’t even tell where he ended and where my fear began. The boundary had been erased.

I woke to the blare of my phone alarm. Six in the morning. Same bitterness in my mouth, same heaviness in my eyelids. I put on the uniform, tied back my hair, and left the house before anyone had a chance to speak to me.

On the way to school, every step felt like a burden. My legs were heavy, but I kept moving. At every corner, I glanced over my shoulder. I didn’t see him. But that meant nothing. His absence was just another part of the illusion. A calculated silence.

When I reached the school gate, he was already there.

Leaning against the courtyard wall, arms folded, eyes cast downward. Always the same. As if he lived there. As if he were carved into the very foundation of the building itself.

And then he looked at me.

Not with surprise.

Not with confusion.

But with the quiet certainty of someone who already knew the exact second I’d arrive.

He always knew.

The smile came slowly, almost invisible, like a shadow moving across his lips.

And I kept walking.

As if he wasn’t there.

As if ignoring him could erase him from my world.

But he never disappears.

Han Su Gang wasn’t just a person.

He was a curse stitched into the fabric of my life.

He didn’t appear.

He lingered.

He persisted.

a/n: what you think about that? i really needed that shit

[quaintobsessions]

The wonderful @reinventing-wednesday began a delightful round of Getting to know the poet (do read hers and those of the others who’ve done it so far, they’re lovely), so here are ten things about me.

I’ve been rereading my once-vast collection and releasing books into little free libraries for years now. It's rewarding, especially when they're clutched and run off with before I can put them on the shelf.

My whole life is creativity. I’ve struggled with the fatigue from chronic illness since childhood, but I try to make good use of any energy I have. In addition to photography and writing, I make pottery and collages. In all honesty, creativity is how I survive.

I enjoy making my surroundings inspiring. Even the big cat tree in my sunroom is pleasing. Home is my colourful, comfortable place to dream and I am most myself there with my beloved cats and plants sprawling.

Next to music, scent from nature is one of my main pleasures in life. I burn resin incense while writing. I’ve planted a dozen heirloom roses in my garden. They each have different tonalities of fragrance. Some gently climb trees.

I am fascinated by linguistics, literature, history, religion, mythology, and mysticism, but even though I still like to study all of these in conjunction, I left academia. Now I help out others with their work, and I write novels. I’m a recovering perfectionist and gearing up to do more publishing as I’m getting over it. A bit. Slowly. Very slowly.

Though I am good at reading cards, I only read for free, for friends. To me, oracles are languages of symbols to help you think about who you are and what you need in life. Sometimes, that’s a swift kick in the butt, more often, it’s just someone to listen and truly see you. Basically, I conduct therapy sessions with cards, but shhh, don’t tell anyone.

Being finally diagnosed with celiac disease at thirty (I’d had it since I was five) has made me a keen experimenter in the kitchen. I can’t follow a recipe to save my life, but I can tell you that if you make a good simple pizza dough, if you fold some sauce and cheese in it, even if it looks like an unholy mess, when it comes out of the oven it will taste amazing.

When I travel, I pretty much always go alone. I enjoy blending with the life of a different place for a while. It always leaves me recharged, except for that one time when Mira decided to make a break for it and camp out in a neighbour’s basement, and I had to organise the search effort from afar while frantically trying to get home. She bounded back in as I was waiting to board my flight, of course.

There is immense beauty in the world, and care that humans show, despite fear and destruction. It pains me that people with too much money and power and too little empathy show humanity's worst side. If you’ve been feeling like it’s all too much, I just want to say, don’t give up. You have a right to rest and joy. You belong and your voice deserves to be heard.

With no obligation attached whatsoever, even the threat of coolness, I'm passing this on to: @doebrain, @bluesandbarebones, @cherokeeghostwriter, @serandori, @picklemafia and anyone who feels inspired.

[soursugxr]

Y’all ever see a post you made a while ago and go “who wrote this?” Bc that’s what I’m doing with this one.

To be perfectly transparent, I still agree with MOST of these points. The disaster twins ARE more popular in the fandom, and therefore fics and art featuring them will sometimes be more watered down and less interesting just because of the sheer volume of them, but this is obviously not always the case.

There is one part of this post that I genuinely dislike.

“The reason a lot of (specifically Donnie-centric) fics/headcanons/art feel unoriginal or flat is because some of the people who start making them just want to get popular, and don’t actually genuinely care about the character. So they jump on every new Internet favorite, try to throw in every trope that they know will get likes, and the people who do actually love the character get overshadowed.”

This is fucking stupid. Do people like this exist? Maybe! The internet is massive, who the fuck knows! But it isn’t a significant problem in the fandom, I’m just biased.

Looking at it now, I think it’s just a matter of the kind of person that the character appeals to. I honestly think it comes down to the twins’ personalities, tropes, and body type.

Leo is quick-witted, sassy, and plays into the “confident smug character who puts on a self-centered facade is actually kind and insecure” trope almost to a T. This isn’t to say he’s a bad character, though. He’s very well written and enjoyable, and even though he’s my least favorite Rise turtle, I still love him as a character.

Donnie is sarcastic, intelligent, and a well-written “autistic genius” character, which is incredibly rare to see done well in media. He has a soft shell, making him more vulnerable than his brothers, he’s touch-averse, he’s hilarious. He’s my second favorite turtle.

These are both character models that fandoms love. They’re digestible. They get a lot of screen time.

And they’re both relatively thin, fit, and angular. I know some people are going to see this post and go “oh, wowwww, you’re saying people only like them because they’re skinny, you’re ridiculous.” And I understand that view. But hear me out here.

Mikey, and I’m guilty of this as well, is sidelined a LOT. He’s seen by a lot of people as “cinnamon roll who can kill you.” I see him this way as well, I’m not free of criticism here. He’s built similarly to the twins, but he’s round, shorter, and has more childlike features. Donnie and Leo have similar body types to him, but they’re edgier.

Raph is “big scary guy is a cutie patootie” to a T. That’s the trope that he fits into. His proportions are vastly different than his brothers’. He’s spikier, bigger, muscular, a body type that people in fandom spaces similar to Rise aren’t accustomed to, especially people coming from anime fandoms.

Anime has a problem with generic body types, especially with female characters, it’s been a problem for years, people know about it.

Anime fans who get into Rise will be used to those body types and might struggle with making art of Raph, Splinter, and many other characters in the series, and due to this and character traits they’re used to, will gravitate to the other three.

TMNT fans who get into Rise are used to all the turtles having the same exact body type. Raph being so vastly different is bound to put people off. Hell, his body type was one of the main reasons people were put off by Rise when it was first announced.

You see what I’m getting at here, right? I’m not rambling in circles? Right? Y’all get it.

My point here is that people are more likely to gravitate towards Leo and Donnie because their character traits, both personality and design wise, are more digestible to people entering the fandom, which leads to fics, art, and headcanons of them becoming “generic and flat” because tropes are applied to them more often, especially by people who have been in anime fandoms most of the time.

Raph doesn’t fit into body types that people are used to drawing. People struggle to write Mikey past tropes that mischaracterize him as either “sweet and cute” or “tragic and sad.”

I can’t fucking find the post and it’s pissing me off bc I wanna talk abt it so much but. It was like “why is Raph the only one allowed to be sweet and nuanced in fics? Why are the others so generic?” And honestly it’s straight up because he’s less popular when it comes to the fandom.

Donnie is two steps away from becoming The Onceler 2: Purple Edition. Leo is everyone’s favorite sassy bitch. Mikey is a sweetheart that people only see as A) a baby who does art or B) a “cinnamon roll who could kill you LOL”

I don’t know if it’s just my bias, but from what I’ve seen, Raph gets sidelined CONSTANTLY.

In my experience, new fanworks start to get stale once the character they’re about gets super popular. This isn’t me trying to shit on people who like said characters, or those characters themselves. This is me trying to point out something that I think a lot of people overlook.

The reason a lot of (specifically Donnie-centric) fics/headcanons/art feel unoriginal or flat is because some of the people who start making them just want to get popular, and don’t actually genuinely care about the character. So they jump on every new Internet favorite, try to throw in every trope that they know will get likes, and the people who do actually love the character get overshadowed.

The reason that a lot of Raph-centric stuff is more nuanced and thought-out is because the people making it are making it out of genuine love for the character, whereas a lot of specifically Disaster Twins stuff is made because people know it’s gonna get attention.

Mikey is a mixed bag. I think the main reason Mikey-centric fics aren’t as nuanced is because people just straight up don’t know how to write him. I know I tend to think of him as “just a little guy” but honestly, he’s got a lot going on, and people (myself included) don’t know how to focus on that. They don’t know what to do to make him original and not just a cut-out of “sweet guy who loves you” trope.

I’m not very good at communicating my points, but I hope I got something across here.

[until-the-house-shakes]

Bullies

Wolfstar raising werewolf Regulus

Microfic

Ages: Regulus, Barty, Evan, and Pandora - 14

Remus and Sirius: 24

-

Being fifteen sucked.

Being a werewolf sucked.

Being a fifteen year old werewolf was a fucking death sentence.

At least that’s what it felt like to Regulus Lupin. Each morning he woke up in pain, which only worsened as the day went on, and had to deal with stupid and ignorant people all the time! One would think that an intelligent based house such as Ravenclaw would have more open minded members. But it seemed those house members were few and far between.

Many of Regulus’ fellow Ravenclaws had not one ounce of empathy, common sense, or basic human decency. Meaning he had to deal with a lot of ‘know-it-all’s ridiculing him for having gay guardians, being disowned by his extremely powerful parents, having scars all over his skin, being kicked off the quidditch team because of his ‘chronic illness’, for using a cane, and of course for associating with Pandora, Evan, and Barty.

Thankfully other houses weren’t as awful to Regulus, Hufflepuffs were actually pretty nice to him, but having to live so closely to the people who find fault in every single thing the werewolf did, made no amount of kindness enough. Regulus could not go a day without crying about some rude comment or awful prank that was thrown at him.

His only saving grace at this godforsaken school are his best friends Pandora and Evan, his boyfriend Barty, and his dad (and DADA professor) Remus.

Regulus always felt so lucky to have them, and did everything in his power to not take them for granted or do anything to hurt them.

But damn. Was being a fifteen year old werewolf hard.

-

“Reggie… are you sure you should be going this long without using your cane? You’re shaking.” Pandora said, cautiously eyeing her friend as she followed him through the castle. The younger was speeding through the halls, trying to get to class as quickly as he could, to avoid his normal tormentors. “And maybe you should slow down? Walking this fast isn’t go-“

“I know what’s good for me Panda. Now drop it.” Regulus snapped, not in the mood for her persistent questioning. He knew better than anyone what was good for him. And in this moment, the best thing for him was to get to class and avoid every and all other people.

“Reggie I’m just looking out for you.”

“I know but I’m not some charity case! I can look after myself. I’m fine. I’m not hurting today so there’s no need for a cane.” Regulus assured the other as they both entered the empty classroom. Looking around to spot no one, not even his own dad who was the professor of this class, made Regulus feel calm for the first time that day.

An empty classroom meant he got to choose the chair all the way in the corner, which made him basically invisible for the entire class period.

“You winced once you sat down.” Pandora stated, sitting in the chair next to Regulus.

That was the other reason why Regulus liked coming to class early. No one had to see him struggle. If anyone else saw him wince as he sat down, he would have never heard the end of it.

“I didn’t wi-“

“Don’t lie to me. You need your cane. Where even is it? I can run and grab it or sent the boys to get it for you!”

“My dorm. I’m fine. I really don’t need it. Now drop it.” Regulus sighed, pulling out his feather, ink, and parchment needed for the coming lecture. He wanted this conversation to end before he managed to say anything stupid.

Such as ‘he left his cane in his dorm.’

The same cane Avery and Mulicber took from him and broke into pieces as a ‘prank’ a few days prior.

The same cane he always resented as it made him have to quit Quidditch and become an even bigger laughing stock.

The same cane he in fact did need and really want in this moment.

Yeah.

That cane.

“Fine. But only because the boys are here and they will do the bothering for me.” Pandora smirked as she got up from her seat to allow Barty and Evan to sit next to the werewolf.

“What’s going on? Baby are you still not using your cane?” Barty asked, looking around for the mobility aid Regulus knew he would not find.

“He said it was in his dorm. That he didn’t need it.” Panda smirked as both Evan and Barty shared the same confused look.

“His cane isn’t in the dorm.” Said Evan.

“No?” Pandora had the audacity to act surprise.

“No. Reggie said it was in Professor Lupin’s room for maintenance.” Barty wasn’t too confident in his answer, however.

“What type of maintenance?” Panda asked. Knowing the answer. None.

Everyone else seemed to realized that too.

“Reggie. Where is your cane?” Barty asked, tightening his grip on his boyfriend’s hand, trying to offer as much soothing comfort as he can.

“… Av-“ “Good afternoon class. Today we will be discussing Boggarts!”

Saved by the bell.

Well.

Saved by his dad.

-

Regulus realized far too late into the lesson that he was not being saved by his father’s interruption, but instead was doomed to die of public humiliation.

The young teen knew his father loved a hands on approach when it came to defense again the dark arts, but he did not think his dad would go as far as to make each and every one of his students face their own boggart.

What type of cruel joke was this?

“Dad I don’t feel well can I please sit out of this?” Regulus whispered to Remus, hoping the older werewolf would take some pity on him.

“Cub I know this might be scary, but you have to do it. This is an important skill to have.” Remus said, not even batting an eye at his son as he watched other students face their biggest fears.

Fucking traitor.

“Here you go next. I’ll be right here the entire time. Nothing to be afraid of.” Remus encouraged Regulus to stand in front of the closet door, awaiting his own boggart.

Correction. Remus was not a fucking traitor. He was a fucking heartless traitor that clearly wanted his one and only son dead.

“Alright. Here it goes.” Remus warned the Ravenclaw as he released the Boggart. The monster took a few seconds staring at Regulus before turning into two beings.

Two very similar beings.

Who were in the room with him right now.

“Bloody hell. Is that us?” Avery snickered behind him.

“Are you really afraid of us Regulus?” Mulciber sneered.

This is not happening.

“Aww poor baby can’t handle some light teasing?” Boggart Avery snickered, just like the real one.

“Maybe we should do to him like we did to his cane.” Boggart Mulciber sneered. Just like the real one.

This cannot be happening.

“Regulus… honey are you okay?” Pandora asked, looking at her friend who stood between identical pairs of his worst nightmare.

“Regulus. Say the spell.” Remus whispered at his son, feeling guilty for putting him in this situation and wanting nothing more but to right his major wrong.

But all Regulus did was stand there in shock.

This was happening.

And he had to get out of there.

“Darling?” Barty wrapping his hand around Regulus’ wrist was all the young teen needed to shake out of his shock and run as fast as he could out of the classroom.

That really just happened.

-

Hours passed from the boggart incident and Regulus still refused to come out of hiding. Both Evan and Barty tried begging the youngest to come out from his bed curtains and talk to them, even threatening to get Remus, but he did not budge.

Thankfully the pair decided to drop it, and leave the dorm for dinner.

“Cubby? I heard you were hiding in here?” Remus spoke softly as he entered the boys’ dorm.

Those traitors!! The only safe person in Regulus’ life seemed to be Pandora. The only angel among traitors.

“Let me try something.” Came the voice of said angel. Maybe Regulus would let her in. Not to talk but to cuddle. He really needed cuddles right now.

After a few silent moments, the sound of a soft purr could be heard from the outside of his bed curtains.

Okay he takes it back.

Pandora is not an angel. She’s a traitor like the rest of them.

A traitor who knew Regulus’ biggest weakness.

“I’m opening my curtain only for Moose.” Regulus mumbled, pulling his curtains back so Snowy could jump onto his bed.

Moose was Pandora’s Maine Coone animagus that Regulus absolutely adored. While Barty and Evan were also animagus, their Coyote and Arctic Fox forms were no where as cuddly or precious as Pandora’s.

“Cubby… what’s going on? You’ve been avoiding me and pa for days now, and I heard from Pandora that you haven’t been using your cane and lying about why. Please talk to us. We’re all worried.” Remus sat next to his son, who already had a gigantic cat curled up on his lap.

The older werewolf was no stranger to bullies. He had plenty back in school and is now working with a few himself. People are mean, especially to people who are different, and his poor cub was not only different but also non confrontational which made him an easy target for all the worst treatment.

“Avery and Mulciber broke my cane and I was too embarrassed to tell anyone. I also have been getting made fun of more. Ever since I had to quit quidditch it’s like everyone hates my guts. I didn’t know what to do. So i just took it. I took all the insults. The teasing. The pushes. My cane being fucking snapped in half. I took it all.” Regulus ranted as he raked his fingers through Moose’s long fur. He was too embarrassed to look any of the other’s in the eyes, so he kept his eyes glued on Moose’s flicking tail.

“Why didn’t you tell any of us?” Remus wrapped his arms around his boy’s shoulders, and smiled when Regulus relaxed into his side.

“Because it was embarrassing.” Regulus mumbled, expecting someone to jump in and explain that he shouldn’t be embarrassed asking for help. But the correction never came.

And they all knew why.

“And because I deserve it. I was the reason Ravenclaw won the house cup last year. Because of how good I was on the quidditch team. And then I quit. Now there’s a chance we may not win two years in a row and it will be all my fault.”

Regulus never wanted to quit quidditch. While he knew how awful and taxing it was for his weak body, he never dreamt about leaving the sport. In fact he dreamt about being a professional player and winning the World Cup.

Sadly the moon had other plans for him.

And now he walks with a cane and has no aspirations to look forward to.

“Oh cubby. That isn’t true. It’s not your fault that you got injured during a full moon.” Remus knew first hand how awful Regulus felt. The pain of losing the ability to do what you loved hurt worst than any scratch or bite he received during the Full.

But the pain of watching that happen to his son? The same son he couldn’t protect from the mountain lion that attacked him and damaged his knee with a nasty bite.

That pain hurt the most. It was debilitating.

“I’m so sorry cub.”

How could he let this happen to his sweet pup?

“Hey, don’t listen to those fucking pricks. This is not your fault. No one’s fault. Now let’s think of a way to get back at those prats and then go to Hogsmeade to get our boy a new cane.” Barty smirked, sitting next to remus’s other side with a fluffy Arctic Fox perched around his shoulders.

Being a werewolf sucked.

Being fifteen sucked.

Being a fifteen year old werewolf really fucking sucked.

But at least he had friends, boyfriend, and dad with him.

“We’re not telling pa about this right? He will be so annoying about this.”

“Deal.”

At least he had them.

[enmauchimaki]

I'm completely in love with this ship, I'm drowning in it and I decided to share what my head created right now

They were far from Santa Barbara — they had left the beach and its fading memories behind, much like a painting left too long in the sun.

They walked along the trails of a valley, through the ruins of a world that had fallen, while the wind tugged at the tops of the trees.

They made up a strange group, almost a dysfunctional family: the boy who had lost everything, the woman who had made unimaginable sacrifices, and the one still wrestling with her own wounds.

Lev was the thread tying them together. He was the one who slowly broke down the walls around Ellie — the one who kept her from pulling the trigger in a moment of rage — and the person who forced them to see each other differently.

They had a new dynamic — sharing food, setting up camp together, keeping watch during the nights.

They were not quite a family, but something more than just companions.

One morning, while searching a nearby cabin for supplies, a yelp pierced the air.

“Stay back,” Abby said quietly, already drawing her knife.

“Abby! Be careful.” Ellie’s grip tightened on her holster.

But Abby stepped forward anyway, toward the edge of the clearing, down to the icy bank of the river.

There, they saw a small dog, its fur heavy with water, struggling against the current.

The creature was barely keeping its snout above the surface.

Abby, without a moment’s hesitation, let her bag drop to the ground and dove into the freezing water.

With strong, deliberate strokes, she reached the dog, tugged it toward her, and fought back toward the bank.

Using careful pressure on its ribs, she forced it to expel the water it had swallowed.

Then she wraped the shivering creature in a piece of cloth from her bag, along with a few healing herbs.

Softly, quietly, in a voice filled with warmth, Abby whispered, “Shh… it’s okay… you’re going to be fine.”

Lev stepped forward, his eyes full of awe. “You saved her,” he said quietly, almost as if he were saving himself alongside.

Abby pressed a small, maternal kiss to his cheek — a moment of tenderness that contrasted sharply with the violence that had marked her past.

For a moment, there were just the woman, the boy, and the small creature, together in a world slowly healing.

Higher up on a cliff, a short distance away, Ellie stood, her muscles tense, her heart racing.

That woman — the one who had taken everything from her, who had killed the people she cared most about — was also capaz of pure kindness and compassion.

They were building something nobody expected: a family forged from ashes.

And for the first time in a long time, Ellie felt something tremble in her heart — a small renewal, a chance to heal.

[marcuspikegf]

THE ART OF BEING INFALLIBLE -1/4

Harry Castillo x f!bodyguard reader 

rating: general audiences

wk: 1.3k

reader is an ex army bodyguard working for harry for the past 6 months, this is set a year post the movie. i would assume harry has a bodyguard for some reason unspecified, and just fell for her DAY ONE. reader is struggling to keep work and feelings separate.

You appreciated your early starts, appreciated the way you could hear the birds chirp softly in the early morning sun. New York famously never slept, yet in your apartment, you could always hear the birdsong weaving in between the sparse honks and skids of the traffic below.

Coming from an army family, you were used to the early starts – having appreciated them in the early morning runs your father had you do. Your father was an ex-marine, and he raised four girls, but trained them well. A lap around the large garden of the farmhouse, past the barn and the far fence, around the stables and the plum trees.

Your sisters would grumble, sometimes loudly, sometimes under their breath. But no one dared skip. Not with your father standing at the porch, stopwatch in hand, nodding silently as each of you passed. He never yelled. He didn’t have to. The weight of his expectations was enough.

You were the third, somehow the runt of the pack, a little shorter than your sisters, but expected to follow in their footsteps. Maya had gone infantry – the kind of stoicness stories are told of. Jen had followed your father into the marines, half in time with the sea as you four joked. The youngest, Bella was cool under pressure, slipping easily into tactical communications.

You on the other hand, your father had given you a rifle on your tenth birthday, and you had been shooting cans and bottles off the fencepost ever since. A sharpshooter, you liked the silence before the shot – the single breath before the trigger, the focus in the scope that let you be five steps ahead of your unit.

Yet these days you couldn’t run as fast as you once did, the scar on your hip an ugly reminder of the early discharge from the military, and you did what the rest of your colleagues recommended you do, go private.

It wasn’t glamorous, not like people imagined. You weren’t diving through windows or dodging bullets daily. It was more like standing still for hours, watching, listening, assessing.

Your current client was a banker, one of the finance bros you had often scoffed at – a Harry Castillo.

The one who had been on the cover of Forbes two years ago, the one with the quiet money and the loud ring. A measured smile, custom tailored suits – you were unsure if he even knew your name, you had been his personal detail during the daytime for the past six months, and he had said nothing but his plans for the day, and sharp nods towards you.

You threw on the uniform you often wore, a black bodysuit with black trousers to match. It was practical and sleek, the material hugged your frame, unassuming enough but built to move faster. You made it clear in your contract that you weren’t wearing a ridiculous suit that made you look like you protected some sort of mob boss. You ran a hand down the sidearm strapped to your thigh, the familiar weight settling your nerves. This was no longer about running laps or sparring in the barn – you were here to watch, to guard, to be the last line between a man like Harry Castillo and whatever threats a man like that would have…

You weren’t really sure.

Perhaps he was just paranoid?

You took a cab to his luxurious building in manhattan, your ford fiesta was just a little too embarrassing to drive through those gates.

The doorman barely glanced at you as you stepped out, the city’s noise muffled behind the marble walls and polished brass fixtures. Inside, the elevator took you up to the penthouse floor, the kind of place where the air smelled faintly of expensive leather and rare cologne.

You slid into your role without hesitation – alert, silent, watchful.

Castillo was already in his living room, staring out at the waking city, by his floor-to-ceiling windows. His gaze was fixed on the skyline, as if he were calculating something, lord knows. He saw your reflection in the window, stepping in and then standing rigidly by him, used to standing like that.

Your hands pressed against your lower back, and a thought crossed your mind: maybe this was your undoing. Six months in, and you had realised that you were dangerously attached. His quiet kindness, the fleeting warmth in his smile – you’d taken the bait, hook, line, and sinker.

You weren’t supposed to fall for him like this. A traitorous heart, betraying every rule you’d ever lived by. But what could you do? He barely knew you, but you tailed him for days. You knew what foods he ate, how gently he spoke in business meetings, how desperate he was for love.

You were the bodyguard of course, stoic and calm as you looked out somewhere into the mid distance, the facade of unbothered, the mask of professionalism. Yet inside, the walls you’d built around your heart were crumbling, and with every calculated step he took, every calculated word he said – perhaps not directed towards you – you felt yourself slipping further away from the detachment you once prided yourself on

He caught your gaze in the glass, for a moment the wall between client and protector thinned. Your gaze would be your undoing, you were sure of it, the way it wandered when it was not supposed to.

There was something in his expression then, something almost vulnerable, before he masked it with that familiar measured smile. It was a glimpse behind the carefully constructed persona, and it stirred something deep inside you, something you had sworn to keep buried deep inside.

You quickly averted your eyes, tightening the invisible boundary between the two of you once more.

But the truth was clear: the more time you spent by his side, the harder it became to remember who you were supposed to be – and who you were becoming.

“Coffee?” He asked quietly, almost as if he was saying it to himself. Of course you picked it up – your hearing as good as any of your other senses, always alert.

You nodded, and he saw your reflection in the mirror again, quiet and steady, yet your fingers twitched, betraying you as you clasped your hands in front of you.

“I can do it,” you said, steadying your voice. A simple statement, still weighted…with everything.

You moved to the kitchen, the polished surfaces gleaming under the soft light. As you prepared the coffee, the silence between you stretched – comfortable. His coffee machine was new, out of your price range, and you were fascinated by it, playing around with it when you waited for the night guard to pack up.

A soft hiss filled the room as the machine steamed the milk, and the rich aroma of coffee began to fill the air, almost heaven for a starved soul like yours. Sleep deprived, hungry.

When you handed him the cup, your fingers brushed, and a jolt shot through you. You pulled your hand back quickly, clearing your throat.

He took a slow sip, brown eyes never leaving yours, and you could swear you imagined his eyes ghosting over your figure in the bodysuit. A cruel trick of the mind.

“I have a favour to ask of you,” He said, voice low and smooth like chocolate.

“Anything.” You found yourself saying, even before you realised it, your heart quickening.

He set the cup down gently and stepped closer, the space between you charged with unspoken tension. “There’s a function tomorrow night. High-profile, lots of investors, press – I need…” He paused, looking at you again with those wide eyes, disarming, full of kindness. “Someone to stand beside me…ground me. I need you to be more than just my bodyguard – for a few hours, I need you to be my date.”

likes + comments + reblogs are love!

[gomzdrawfr]

I'm curious, what made you fall out of love with Ghoap?

multiple reasons that all stacked up in the end, the short answer is burntout

Drew this ship for 2 years+, while I adore and love their dynamic, it got tiring at some point since most of the time I drew ghoap for the sake of engagement back then

When mw3 happened, a lot of things happened on codtwt (as per usual) that sort of rubbed me the wrong way. There were many artists (some of which are friends are people I looked up too) that started dragging other artist for drawing other ships, like ghost x [character] or soap x [character]. There's just a sudden influx and rise of believing ghoap is the only acceptable or superior ship in general from COD. I understand at the moment we were all grieving for Soap and was angry with the devs and with everything, but this really put into spotlight on a few people that I was close with and I really didn't want to continue this any more

Continuing on that ghoap only superiority complex, there were also just threads and posts that openly talks about topics that I really wasn't comfortable with. You'll see posts like "you knowwww...Im so in awe when people can ship ghost/soap with others, like it is not it for me, honestly it's also kind of annoying to see it on my tl? I dont understand how people can do that when they're clearly made for each other. But you do you though <3". Like. Be so fr. There were so many people who agreed and that really just sours the mood for me, as someone who's a multishipper

You might be thinking, it's the fandom, not the characters, which yeah you're right but when you're surrounded by a community who talks about ghoap like that, it just no longer feel nice

I received a lot of harassment and threats for doing a lot of ghoap angst/mcd arts, while these really didn't affect me cuz idgaf (and was more busy trying to survive irl lmao), I think it could have contributed to the issue. Not exactly nice to doodle and know you'll get drag in the comments when you share it. The entitlement of ghoap fans can get pretty far and ridiculous

Got a few nitpicking comments on the way I draw Soap that yes, did greatly affected me. Didn't want to draw him since because of it (examples: you draw him too young, isn't Soap's mohawk more like a flat shorter look? why did you alter his design so much, they would not do this or that etc) I was still new with being an artist online, and at the time was struggling irl too so I was quite sensitive to all these

My friend was also falling out of the ship, she was my closest friend and we do a lot of brainstorming, discussion and doodling together, so when that fell off naturally my interest dropped too

I don't hate ghoap, I still love this ship, but I just can't enjoy it the way I used to anymore

[lmaowhatt]

MEET. . . NERD!JJ

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . is extremely smart, just a smidge less than the "brains of the operation," to the point where he has the opportunity to go to college on an academic scholarship.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . learned from a very young age what and where being smart can get you, but was constantly made to think his brains made him weak, mainly through luke.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . holds himself back from advancing academically in life because he doesn't feel deserving of anything that will catapult him into something more, purely because of where he's from.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . hides his brains behind his tough guy facade so he's not seen as weaker by those around him—especially kooks, who'd use his brains against him if they ever got the chance.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . still holds the energy, confidence, and bravado that makes him who he is, mainly because it was how he was raised to be. his dad, even before the abuse, would tell him, "y'gotta toughen up, j. people on this side o'the island only give a shit about these," as he pointed to his sons fists.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . if he's ever sitting next to pope, he'll sneak glances at the page of whatever book he's reading, will even look for the title on the occasion that he wants to read it online when he's alone.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . .keeps his prescribed reading glasses deep in his drawer because he claims he doesn't need them, even as he's squinting at the writing five feet in front of him.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . .rarely ever has a messy room and has adopted the habit of keeping things organized because he gets so easily frustrated when he can't find something he was so sure he left in plain sight.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . because of your reassurance, slowly starts to show how smart he is through simple tasks like fixing things aroudn the chateau when the guys struggle or counting up the total for someone at the surf shop, which makes even pope skeptical, asking him how that was even possible.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . shocks everyone when he's caught taking a peek at some of pope's calculus work from community college, and he's actually writing down steps to solve it on a separate piece of paper.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . still sometimes hides how smart he is, even as it becomes more known with the pogues, simply because he doesn't want them to treat him differently or see him as anything other than what he's always been to them.

˗ˏˋ ❥・✎ nerd!jj who. . . is content with where he is in life because he has those around him to lean on, but the 'what if..?' lingers in the back of his head no matter how much he wills it to go away.

↓ NERD!JJ WORKS HERE ↓

✎

a/n: ive been holding onto this since may☹️ pls request! (also loveeee the brown theme🤎)

[the-eeveekins]

The "Wasted Potential" of The Witch From Mercury

Spend enough time in Gundam spaces on the internet and you will inevitably see people talk about the "wasted potential" of The Witch From Mercury. But what does this even mean? Following a discussion on Discord, I wanted to take a look at some of the common criticisms of The Witch From Mercury when it comes to this topic, and how a lot of the "wasted potential" would have never been.

The War That Never Was

A lot of the wasted potential criticism is about how it handled the conflict between Earth/Earthians and Space/Spacian Corporations. That it was a background element rather than the major focus, that the show abruptly cut these elements short and that the show didn't resolve these issues.*

I've talked about this a lot, but it bears repeating: the staff made this show for a new generation of fans, and found that younger anime fans struggled to connect with Gundam. They wanted to appeal to younger people and bring in new fans, and early interviews make it pretty clear: they wanted to avoid a story that focused on a major conflict between Earth & Space or between nations. The simmering conflict between Earth and Space in the background was never intended to be a main focus of the story, and only briefly comes into the foreground in one episode (arguably the biggest mistake in the show, IMO). It was never cut short because it was never meant to be.

* By the way, G-Witch does largely resolve this conflict, at least for in short-term! But because the epilogue (and the show in general) engages in "show, don't tell" and it requires piecing things together from brief scenes in the Prologue AND Epilogue, I think a lot of people miss it because it doesn't outright tell you that the tensions have been diffused. Witch doesn't offer a magical solution to the problems of the world, but it does make it better in the short term and offers hope that things may improve if people strive and work towards it.

They Got The Ending They Wanted

One common criticism is that they had to wrap up the ending in a rushed way because the show was cut short and rushed. And to be fair, the ending of the show is somewhat abrupt, because the show is ultimately based on The Tempest, which ends in much the same way.

The thing is: this was the plan. They knew they only had two seasons and many of their early plans simply wouldn't fit in that format. But once they decided to use The Tempest as the framework of the story, they had their ending: Suletta & Miorine would marry, and Prospera would abandon her plans to bless them. The show was not cut short during production that necessitated them suddenly wrapping up the ending the way they did, that finale was the goal.

And the director knew that it would have mixed reactions. They knew the sudden ending and the choice to reject karmic punishment for the wrongs of it's cast would be controversial. It may not be the choice for everyone (I personally love it), but it wasn't like they suddenly forgot to kill/jail multiple antagonists because they had to wrap the story up; it was a very deliberate story choice.

More G-Witch Probably Wasn't Going to be What They Wanted

A lot of people talk about what they think a longer version of G-Witch would have been, or things they would change about the show to make it better. And I almost always see the same two things pop up: more war, less school.

I already addressed the war part of this argument at the start of this post and it's something I talk about frequently: A longer version of G-Witch would not have turned it's focus to the conflict between Earth and Space. But we do actually have some idea of what a longer G-Witch might have looked like, and the signs point to one thing: more school! Multiple interviews point to the fact the the school setting was incredibly important to the story, and by all accounts was maybe the most important aspect of the story.

Interviews that talk about different versions of Witch that existed in pre-production are somewhat common knowledge by this point. But an interview with Setting Researcher Seiichi Shirato in the Commemorative Book actually talks about ideas scrapped from the planning stages of the version we got. And it's all about exploring the school setting further: more duels, a rival academy, a transfer student! It all points to the school setting being the something the staff were passionate about exploring more, not less.

Closing

Its is completely valid to have wished G-Witch had got to explore it's background elements more throughly. And you can definitely argue that the staff shouldn't have focused as much on the background elements of the story as they did with the episode count they had (Hello, episode 15). And perhaps a longer version of G-Witch would add more depth to those background aspects that people liked to satisfy those who really wanted to chew on them more.

But a lot of the time, the "wasted potential" criticism is coming from people imagining a version of G-Witch in their head that would have never existed. A longer version of G-Witch would have had the exact same ending (because that's the ending they wanted), would have spent more time at Asticassia (because that was an important element to the show they were trying to make) and would not have turned it's focus to an Earth vs. Space conflict (because the idea was to avoid telling that story this time). A longer version of G-Witch likely ends with the exact same complaints from the exact same people.

Sources

[thinkin-bout-milgram]

Life: Initial Thoughts

What's up gang! I'm here to talk about Yuno's third and final MV, Life! I'll preface this by saying that I have a lot fewer thoughts about this than usual, but, whatever! I'll still say what thoughts I do have. Spoilers for the new MV before the cut!

I'll be using @moussekoto's translation of Yuno's third audio drama for the sake of this post. As usual, I'll be bolding headings where I talk about various topics throughout the post!

T/W: Abortion, loss of a child, paid dating, depression, suicide

Life mostly showcases current Yuno reflecting on her past self and caring about her in a way she didn't at the time.

Yuno's trial 3 design appears ghost like in a lot of the shots, a silent bystander. She directly interacts with the Yuno we see moving through her daily life, and most of the time seems to be deeply sad for her and sympathetic to her struggles.

Because of this bystander perspective, I think I'd feel comfortable saying that the lyrics of this song are meant to be from current Yuno's perspective. She's basically entrusting us with the whole story (as she now remembers it) and is reliving the experiences of her realizing she was pregnant to her losing her child along with us.

While this ghost of current Yuno obviously didn't impact anything as it happened in the real world, her catching past Yuno several times can probably be interpreted as her holding onto her past self and trying to comfort her, as well as sort of symbolically showing Yuno looking out for herself, as she seems to believe she did. Yuno believes she was too self centered with her baby's death; herself catching herself and therefore preventing her from dying alongside her baby is a good way to visually represent that.

Yuno either wishes or wished she died alongside her baby.

This is basically entirely a lyrical and vibe check, given that Yuno is like, "how am I the only one who survived?" That could obviously be portrayed as her being upset her baby died, but I definitely think some of it is being upset to an extent that she's still alive without anyone else, alone and cold again.

The lyrics about being the lone survivor also reflect both her dead baby and Mahiru; the audio drama especially takes time to parallel these two as situations where she loses a life she didn't want to lose and couldn't/didn't do anything about it. Both times, the harm came to the person through no intention of her own, and once the damage was done, Yuno could only wait for the grim results. I definitely think Yuno is dealing with some survivor's guilt among other things, which is totally understandable given everything she's gone through. Especially now, after going through the hell that is Milgram.

I definitely also think that there's a reading to be made about her feelings of coldness and apathy towards life in her past just being, like... depression. If she feels she can't make actual connections/self-isolates, doesn't have goals and can't find enjoyment in anything, that's just genuinely depression. Being a sugar baby and finding connection/emotion that way was just her way of coping with that. It makes a lot of sense, although it does make me even more sad for her. I hope she figures things out :(

Yuno is, like, 16.

This is a small note, but it says Yuno was born in 2004. I'm pretty sure Milgram is set to start in 2020? She said she was 18 at the beginning, but I think that was more her trying to be like "I'm 18+ :)" and concealing her age. So, she's doing all of this at an even younger age than we thought. I wonder if she also lied and said she was 18 on her dating apps and such?

Milgram does not have dead people as prisoners.

This is, in my opinion, confirmed by Yuno's files. As of right now, I don't think we have any reason to doubt the contents of the case files, and Yuno's directly state that while her baby was lost in the fall, she (the mother) survived. That means she isn't dead. In fact, we even learn that Yuno woke up later in the hospital and started recovery, returning to school.

While that cancels out that possibility, we unlock whatever is cooking with this thing:

"Save data from the point where the subject resumes normal life post regaining consciousness to MILGRAM." This sentence is really bothering me-- because it's missing a verb.

What is happening with this save data. What are we doing to MILGRAM. We are losing context by the word and I want to KNOW!!

I think there are two main options here. They are:

This sentence is indicating that Yuno's consciousness from post-waking up has now been uploaded to MILGRAM, which is why Yuno now remembers what happened after she woke up.

The Yuno that was uploaded to MILGRAM was taken from her unconscious state after falling down the stairs.

These could also both be true, for the record.

I don't really know what this means! I'll see if there are more clues next MV that I can piece together to make it make more sense.

The devs are trying to give us the most conclusive/satisfactory end to the mysteries possible this trial.

I say this not only because of the file-- which clearly indicates the base premise of the character as well as their crime, which puts an end to the majority of the theorizing-- and because, in the audio drama, Es literally asks Yuno "what were we supposed to do to succeed on your route?" She basically says she'd be mad no matter what we voted, which... yeah, checks out.

Still, I think the fact that the devs are trying to address the "we want to know what happened" as well as catering to some of the "what-ifs" shows that the third trial is, narratively, a wrap-up trial to them, and they want the audience to feel they have all the information in hand when going to click the vote buttons for the last time. Speaking of...

VOTE: INNOCENT

Duh. Why would I vote her guilty. Es and Yuno are being besties towards the end of the audio drama and Es takes off the warden hat because why would we even pretend like we're policing Yuno here. She is a girl who has gone through it and is still struggling with the mental consequences of both her actions and life itself, but that in no way makes her guilty of murder.

Anyways, what a start to the third trial! Since I was in theory mode, I didn't mention it much, but I thought the song and MV were really cool and wistful in a way that wrapped up Yuno's character really nicely. I'll be excited to see what comes next :)