#I think i and quite a few other people have been operating off of the notion that PB could tell great complex stories

[yourqueenb]

You have no idea how happy I am to see that other people like you don't like blades 2 as well. Like yes it was decent, but on the same level as book 1 in the LEAST.

And I agree, book 3 seems like an excuse to get fans off of their back about the writing. The finale felt extremely disappointing, compared to the thrill you could feel in book 1 end

Yeah, I’m still gonna play book 3 and (foolishly) hope that it’ll be better. But those hopes aren’t too high because book 2 was not a good set up for book 3 at all in my opinion. There’s so much going on. I don’t like that Valax is a part of our friend group now. However, the group dynamics were off long before that if I’m being real. Mal’s route was ruined for me.

When I was going through and deleting my screenshots the other day, I reread the “You slept through it scene” and just felt a renewed sense of hurt and anger at him and really all of our friends. Mal caught a lot of heat from me specifically because he’s my LI and the one who said such an awful thing. But honestly, the rest of the group essentially agreed with him by expanding on what he said (Imtura and Nia) or not saying anything at all (Tyril) and only getting on one accord to exclude MC.

And then on top of all of that, there are quite a few holes that really should be patched up. The plot was a mess for the majority of the story. Tbh it was almost giving Endless Summer because they were locking important information behind diamond scenes and in the lore tablets.

So all this to say that at this point in time, I no longer have faith that PB can handle complex storytelling. Their parent company and higher ups (unsurprisingly) only care about money. And the writers themselves are too lazy and too biased. Does that mean they can no longer write enjoyable stories? No, of course not. But I do think they need to rein it in and be a bit more realistic about what they can handle right now because there’s nothing wrong with a simpler book/plot that’s aware of what it’s trying to accomplish. And it’s clear that they were far too ambitious with Blades 2

[ty-bayonet-betteridge]

your transfem friend recommended a clinic to get your bottom surgery done at. she says its cheap, not gatekeepery, and the results are good, even if the doctors a little skeevy. youre at the address she gave you and are wondering how exactly your murder will go down. the door is on a third floor landing accessible only from a fire escape out of a back alley in the worst part of town youve ever seen. you knock three times and the door is answered by a ratty-looking woman with a severe slouch smoking something that doesnt smell like nicotine and doesnt smell like marijuana. her wavy blonde hair is unkempt. shes wearing an oversized grey hoodie that hasnt been washed in some time. you can identify blood on the left sleeve and vomit across much of her side, as well as other, more mysterious stains. you cant tell if shes wearing anything underneath the hoodie. the inside of the apartment - because it is, very clearly, her apartment - has a smell that you cant place but, if pressed, would probably call sweat, though you know that description is lacking something.

dr davis, you ask. she smiles wide, and her teeth are shockingly good for the state the rest of her is in. just call me riley, she says. never did get a degree.

she ushers you inside and sits you down on a sofa almost as stained as her hoodie. can i get you a drink she asks. a drink, you repeat, dazed. she says yeah. she says she has diet coke, beer, vodka, and coffee. says she used to keep tea around for a friend of a friend but she hasnt come by in a few years and the leaves are probably losing flavor by now. you say just waters fine. she shrugs and says your funeral. she comes back from the kitchen and sweeps some stuff off the coffee table. you see a stray scalpel, a roll of gauze bandages, a soda cup from taco bell, and various crumpled papers amongst the rubbish that she knocks aside before setting down your glass of water. she has a beer in her own hand and pops the cap off with her teeth, though the motion isnt quite how youre used to seeing people do it. she takes a big gulp before she keeps talking.

so what do you want your pussy to look like, she asks. you splutter a bit. she says you are the one who needed their bits redone right. you flush and say yeah thats me. she nods and says right so what do you want. you struggle to give a good answer and she starts asking questions. depth? width? color? clit size? you give your answers falteringly. she starts asking about labia. oh, you dont want dentata, do you, she says. that costs extra. you say you dont know what that means. she says dont worry about it. hey do you wanna get pregnant? you splutter again. not now she clarifies. well i can get you pregnant now too if you want that. doesnt even have to be human i think i have some horse sperm around here if you want. i just meant like ever in the future. you say you dont know. she says okay shell leave it out for now but come back if you ever want her to put the womb in. youre too stunned to reply.

she says oh do you want to keep your dick, i can do that. you say you thought they needed the tissue from the penis in order to make the vaginal lining. she laughs and takes another gulp from her beer. she says so is that a no. you say you guess you hadnt thought about it. she says she can reschedule if you need to think, no rush. you say no i guess i dont want it anymore. she nods and says come back if you change your mind.

she says ok, i think i can start operating now if youre ready. you say okay and she tells you to lie on your back and strip naked. you follow her instructions. youre still not sure if youre going to die today or not. she pulls on a big pair of rubber gloves. not latex medical gloves, they're yellow dishwashing gloves. she grabs a small jar of what looks like petroleum jelly off a shelf nearby. you cant help but notice that theres also lube, condoms, saran wrap, and a bottle of honey on the same shelf. you dont ask. she starts vigorously rubbing the jelly into your skin from the belly button down. everywhere it touches you instantly go numb. she keeps talking while she works. a lot of it is her telling stories about "her amy." you cant tell if amy is a sister, wife, or pet. she might be all three.

she reaches up to grab an empty syringe off the top shelf. when she stretches you notice shes naked under the hoodie. you look away bashfully. she doesnt seem to notice.

she fills the syringe with liquid from a bucket in the closet. the liquid is neon green. she injects it into your inner upper thigh. you are now certain you're going to die today, but you cannot make a break for it with your legs numbed, so you wait.

she says okay this is the part where a lot of people get squeamish so look away if you think you might get sick. she pulls out a set of knives. some of them look like dentistry tools, some of them are medical scalpels, and some of them are kitchen knives. you look away. she starts humming to herself while she works. the tune is pop goes the weasel.

hey, she calls out to you from between your legs, how many nerves do you want in your clit? you say uh i dont know, whats a normal amount. she says about ten thousand give or take two thousand in either direction. you say ten thousand sounds fine. she doesnt respond, just goes back to humming. its a different tune. shes humming old macdonald now.

she gets up a couple times to grab new drinks. you say should you be drinking during an operation? she says dont worry i know what im doing. besides i never took the hippocratic oath. she laughs at that, the sound somewhere between a giggle and a cackle. you don't think its that funny. she resumes her work.

this time shes humming the alphabet song. you ask how old are you anyway? she says somewhere between 12 and 47. then she laughs again. you decide to stop asking questions.

four beers, two diet cokes, three unidentifiable cigarettes, and five hours later, she stands up and announces shes done. she wipes her brow without taking the glove off, smearing unidentifiable bodily fluids across her forehead. she jabs another syringe into your other thigh and the feeling returns to your lower body. you're a little sore but other than that you feel great. she wheels over a full length mirror and tells you to take a look. its perfect. youre everything youve ever dreamed you would be. you cant describe how euphoric it feels to see a vagina, your vagina, between your legs. you thank her tearfully. she smiles awkwardly. of course, shes saying.

how much do i owe you you ask. she shrugs. iunno, a hundred bucks? im not in it for the money. you pay her the hundred bucks and leave quickly. you barely remember to get dressed again before heading out. you have never seen Riley again.

[transmutationisms]

this is probably shaped by my limited frame of reference, but im really fascinated by witnessing the real-time development of adhd as a diagnosis. people attribute so many symptoms to it now or maybe they always did? i was wondering if you have any thoughts on what is the use of adhd specifically as a category within psychiatry. I'm esl so sorry for any confusing wording

no you're right imo; diagnostic categories are always somewhat in flux ofc but ADHD is one that has seen a particularly pronounced shift in the last couple decades. obviously this is multifactorial but my observation goes something along these lines:

'hyperactivity' has been dx'd in children since about the 1950s (also when Ritalin hit the market) but the ADHD dx doesn't really take off until the 90s (also when Adderall, a 2nd-gen reformulation of the 'obesity' drug Obetrol, hit the market). so, it's not all that surprising that 20 years later you see increased patient awareness of the diagnosis, increased popular interest in it, and shifting / expanding ideas of what it means and what ADHD 'is'. it's a relatively young dx.

part of the reason it's young is because it's basically a 'biopsychiatric' dx, meaning it diagnoses certain behaviours as being a 'brain problem' rather than having social causes or context. in practice this is complicated because psychs do use pharmacological approaches in conjunction with psychodynamic ones all the time; nevertheless, the central promise of DSM ADHD and its pharmaceutical treatments has consistently been that the ADHD subject has a physiological, neurological disorder / dysfunction / aberration, and that the drug treatments on the market fix it. that none of this is actually empirically supported is conceptually inconvenient and entrenched by the research process.

the biopsychiatric narrative is worth paying attention to because the context here is one in which it has become commonly accepted that behavioural 'disorders' and affective distress of various kinds can be, basically, either of pure biological origin, or else Your Fault. in the case of childhood hyperactivity, Your Fault historically also included Your Mother's Fault; part of the reason many mothers embraced Ritalin in the 50s and 60s was because the proffered pharmaceutical narrative explicitly challenged the idea that these mothers had done something 'wrong' to result in their (mostly) sons exhibiting disruptive and hyperactive behaviour.

this dichotomy of biology vs personal failing is very overtly present in quite a bit of discourse around ADHD today. if it's my brain being 'wrong' or different, then it's not something I've done wrong but a disease with a simple chemical fix. in this context I don't think it's surprising at all that a lot of popular and patient conceptions of ADHD have seen a considerable widening over the past few decades. often people like to blame this on pharmaceutical companies, and it's true that industry benefits from these discourses and frequently invests in them (eg, via instruments like ADDitude mag). however, that's a pretty simplistic explanation on its own and doesn't really account for the ways in which patients and potential patients also find this diagnostic category personally useful, for reasons ranging from identity-formation to the desire to access prescription amphetamines. ADHD increasingly shows up as a biologised explanation for behaviours ranging from 'eating too many sweets' to 'postural sway' and so on. you can see in such examples how invoking the idea of an aberrant ADHD brain is both reassuring to people who have been made to feel ashamed of certain behaviours, and provides a sense of shared identity and community with others.

all of this is to say: I don't find it surprising at all when I see a relative broadening of notions of ADHD, almost always expressed in biological terms (the 'ADHD brain' operates differently, 'seeks dopamine', causes this or that). ADHD is in some ways a particularly blatant distillation of this general trend in popular psychiatric discourses, for reasons relating to expectations about childhood and child behaviour, and the historical and present relationship between the ADHD label and the regulation of amphetamines. but much of what's happening with ADHD in terms of popular discourses about it can also be seen with many, many other psychiatric diagnoses, to varying extents and in various ways.

my experience writing about ADHD on this website leads me to close by explicitly stating the following: I do not think any ADHD behaviours / symptoms are people's 'fault' or an individual failing; I do not think using drugs for any reason is morally bad or needs to be justified; the fact that I do not think ADHD is a 'brain disease' does not mean I think people are 'making it up' or exaggerating wrt any difficulties they experience personally, professionally, emotionally, &c.

[bonny-kookoo]

Yoongi

𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄 | Business Decisions

He's not who people might think he is.

Tags/Warnings: Alien!Yoongi, Human!Reader, Unstable AU, set prior/during the Jungkook storyline, dystopian AU, space/Sci-fi/cyberpunk-esque, strangers to lovers, Angst, Violence, Drama, romance, adult, eventual smut

Length: 3k Words

-Masterlist

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Min Yoongi is, despite his looks and quiet nature, a very kind person. Or at least, that's what some very selected people will tell, if one was to ask them.  

His tail softly sways behind him as he keeps an eye on the main operational panel in front of him, while you watch. His cat-like ear snaps a bit irritated at something- when his eyes turn towards you, glaring. “can you.. stop staring?” He requests, and you nod, instead turning to look out the large window of the spaceship instead. You’re quiet, but not mute- having talked to him quite a bit before. Maybe you simply don’t speak much, or don’t put much value in.. smalltalk.  

That’s fine by him. He doesn’t either. 

He's found you- or rather, you found him- just hours earlier at an outpost, asking him to take you along to another location in exchange for a small amount of money. Where he went next you didn't care- you only needed a ride to get around, most likely used to this kind of life, since you'd obviously chosen him very specifically amongst all the other options at the bustling restaurant.

In hindsight, it made sense that you approached him despite his grim appearance- he was the shortest and least threatening looking species in that restaurant at the time, and was also one of the only one's there without any company at all. You're clearly smart about this whole process of finding a ride from one place to another-

otherwise, you wouldn't have lived like this for so long, having done this for years, according to you.

“There is.. Food over there. If you’re hungry.” He tells you, and you look over to spot the metal trunk in a corner, before you nod at him, not moving at all however. 

“I’m not.” You answer, though your stomach growls as if to disagree, making you clearly a bit ashamed of it, eyes widening at being betrayed by your own body like this. 

“Just eat. I wouldn’t offer it if I didn’t want to give it to you.” He mumbles to himself, resuming his task of checking the ship’s systems again while you stay seated where he’d last told you to sit. You still won’t move, and he’s unsure why not- but he’s also aware that he shouldn’t get too invested in you. You’re gonna be dropped off next stop, and that’s gonna be it- which is for the best, because getting involved with humans is never a very good idea.  

And he’s also still on a mission to get his revenge- and secure his place in the foodchain, to be no longer seen as nothing but a docile little pet. A mission that might as well kill him- and if he can avoid pulling anyone down with him, he surely will. 

When he notices your eyes blinking longer and longer, he walks to fetch a sleeping bag from one of the other metal trunk in the corner, to offer it to you. “Sleep. It’ll still be a few more hours until we’ve reached the next outpost.” He says, and you take the sleeping bag from him with a thankful nod, before you spread it out right on the floor where you sit, to crawl into it and lay down. He has a suspicion what your way of earning money had been until now, but with your behavior so obvious, it’s very clear to him now.  

It makes him upset. The fact that you’ve been driven so far just to somehow survive.  

Either way, he stays awake to both keep himself safe just incase he’s misjudged you and your intentions, and to make sure the old and very small spaceship keeps it’s course as it sometimes tends to deviate over time due to the old navigation system. And yeah, maybe he also can’t help his instincts as well- 

Unintentionally guarding you while you sleep, eyes always checking up on you any time you move in your sleep.  

⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅ ── ⋅ ⋅

Min Yoongi was born on Zoldos- a small, cold and relatively poor planet, which had been industrialized for ages. He remembers his father making toys out of junk he found while working at the metal factory each day, turning trash into small spaceships for Yoongi to play with.  

Most of his time however was spent with his mother, and the many children she’d foster over the years of his childhood- many of them he’d see as his sisters, as all of them would be girls given up by their families, since in his culture, they’re said to just be expensive and too much work to raise. Maybe this way of growing up, helping his mother with the young kids every day while she taught him everything he needed for his future, made him into the man he is today.  

His father had always been described as ‘unusually soft’ compared to what is usually expected and seen in his kind- Xaqal people tending to be combative, easily irritated, and quick to escalate situations into physical violence to defend themselves from others. But his father was already uninterested in any of the usual past-time activities his coworkers would indulge in, like underground fighting, or gambling- rather spending his free time home with his son, foster children and partner, which was unusual in itself. Usually, partners of his kind don’t stay together after their children learn how to walk- but Yoongi remembers that even when his mother passed, his father would continue to live at the same house, to find new homes for the remaining children, before he moved away as well once Yoongi decided to leave the planet.  

Yoongi is still in contact with his father, and doesn’t believe that he should’ve been raised any different than how he was. 

But his now rather soft and kind character comes with a price to pay- with most people on other planets not taking too kindly to him and his friendly nature at first. Friendships don’t pay your bills after all, so the first lesson the young man had to learn back then, was to toughen up, and start thinking of only yourself first and foremost. Getting attached to others was a risk to take, and would most likely end in a burden one might think of unnecessary.  

Even so, Yoongi has made friends along the way. From a very, very charismatic guy named Seokjin and his mother on Cryon, or the stoic and self-admitted younger ‘Asshole’ human-Bolku hybrid going by the name of Jungkook. But other than that, he keeps himself independent- away from others.  

However, for some reason, he’s now sitting with you on a bench on the outpost while his spaceship is being refueled, having bought you some warm food to eat, despite your active arguments against that. Maybe because you’re obviously in need of protection, or because you’re not a threat whatsoever- but he feels like he should at least make sure you’ll be okay on this outpost, before he’ll leave you here.  

Deep down, he knows it’s not the question if you end up getting into a situation where you’ll be killed- but more so, when.  

“What are... your capabilities?” Yoongi asks after a moment, watching your hands as they tear apart a piece of bread to dip it into your hot soup he bought. A warm and filling meal was a good idea to him, since it’ll keep you energized for longer than just a snack or fast food.  

You look up at him, caught off guard, as you swallow down, thinking.  

“Hm..” You hum as you think. “I.. Can read maps pretty well. And I’m good at cleaning.” You say. “But I could probably learn other things pretty quickly, if needed. It depends on the job I could get.” You explain, and Yoongi nods.  

“So if you had to learn about another species’ health and how to care for it, you could learn quickly?” He asks, and you nod.  

“If.. Given enough recourses to teach myself.” You mumble, continuing to eat. He’s getting the feeling you’ve not had a filling meal in a while with how eager you are to finish all of it.  

“I will not offer you monetary compensation.” He says, and at that, you look up again. “But instead a place to sleep, regular food, and.. Basic protection.” Yoongi explains to you, and at that, you instantly nod.  

“I can do anything!” You chirp, desperate- and he carefully pushes you back down by your shoulder, calming you down again. “Really-” 

“I believe you.” He nods. “But Be aware that I am not just some traveler.” He remarks, and you nod.  

“I understand.” You say. 

“Hm. If that’s the case-” He starts, looking over to a small shop that sells different electronics. “-I’ll get the necessary equipment to finalize our agreement. Stay here- and don’t talk to anyone.” He commands, and you nod, continuing to eat while he gets up to walk into the shop. 

Many of the people inside this shop are wearing the distinctive blinking tiny tracker around their necks- either from a simple leather collar, something more sleek like a silver hoop, or even one with a chain. It’s to be expected, as most of what is sold here is equipment for ‘personnel’, as it’s called across the galaxy, after the term ‘slave’ had been outlawed and categorized as a slur.  

Yoongi can feel the eyes on him, since the tall, green-skinned lady at the counter most likely waiting just like the rest of them for another person to follow him to buy equipment for him, as it’s normal for his kind- but the second he picks out a combination of a tracker, and EID tag, and a simple, silver collar that wouldn’t stain or sit too tight around your neck, people become interested.  

“Size is a bit small for you, kitty.” The alien woman giggles, scanning the items to add the price of everything together. “You know how to set the EID up?” She says, clicking at the end of her sentences a foreign tone, similar to an insect. 

“I know how it works.” He tells her, voice stable and monotone, something he taught himself to never give away any sign of his actual emotions. Because showing them will show weakness- and Yoongi needs to keep up an appearance of indifference at all times, just so people can never quite figure him out.  

People naturally fear the unknown, down the line, no matter the species.  

“Alright. Just out of curiosity though..” She says, clicking sounding again as she narrows her dark eyes at him while he pays. “...who the hell wants to be under the command of a Xaqal?” She says, some people in the small store giggling to themselves as if a joke had been told.  

“Someone who will live a fairly comfortable life from now on.” He simply answers, payment confirmed by her system, before he takes the bag of items, and leaves- gazes following him long after he exited the store.  

He’s relieved to still find you right where he left you, no one seemingly having tried to take you away, or worse yet- so he taps your shoulder to gain your attention, nodding towards his ship in the distance. “Let’s go. I need to set up your EID after we take off.” He says, and you nod, getting up to follow him.  

“Are- are you sure I’m a good choice?” You ask, walking after him like some lost pet, eager to keep up with his rather fast pace. For a Xaqal, he’s surprisingly tall- not quite as tall as some of the other human’s you’ve met, which normally are considered a shorter species, but also not as short as some of the Xaqals you’ve seen in the past.  

“Are you trying to sway my mind?” He wonders, opening the cargo door to his spaceship, before he climbs in- noticing how you don’t follow. So he walks back, and has to swallow down a laugh- because you clearly struggle to somehow pull yourself up on the iron steps, which are too high off the ground for you to properly reach with your legs. “...well, at least you won’t take up too much space on the ship.” He mumbles to himself, before he holds onto one of the metal handles on the sides, before he pulls you up by your arm so that you can make it onto the steps, able to finally climb inside.  

He’ll adjust the steps in the future. Maybe add one. Or rather three. 

Back in the main navigation center of the ship, where your sleeping bag is still laying in front of the front windows, you sit down right there, as if you’ve accepted this spot as your place to exist.  

The ship calms after it breaks orbit, softly flying through the empty space while Yoongi sets up the EID tag for you. The electronic identification device opens a new window on his control panel as he places it on the scanner he has, asking for him to input the necessary information- and he looks over at you, where you sit, looking out the window.  

“Once I set this up, it can’t just be undone.” He tells you, and you snap your head towards him, before you nod. “Alright.” He mumbles putting in his own information and ID number as your set ‘Employer’- scanning the chip placed onto the bone of his forearm, before he waves you over. “Put your arm here.” He tells you, and you do- though nothing is scanned at all, no matter how you twist or turn your arm. Yoongi’s brows furrow. “Where’s your ID-chip?” He asks, and you perk up, before you turn around, pointing somewhat to a spot on your back.  

“My spine- it should be between my shoulders.” You say.  

“Spine?” He mumbles, unsure. The spine is not a good spot to place an ID chip, no matter how small it is- it could still dislodge and get in between important nerves or even the vertabrae, causing damage that would be potentially fatal. “Why is it there?” He asks, picking up the scanner to run it over your back- a beep signalling that the chip had been found, and sucessfully read by the device.  

“As far as I know, most humans and Yon get it there, because its harder to get out.” You explain, having turned around to curiously watch Yoongi tap away all the info into your future identification. “Because, you know, Humans and Yon are popular Personnel. People would just chop their arms off and exchange it for a prosthetic later after they'd take them and put them up for sale. So to combat that, we get the chip on the spine instead.” You say, and Yoongi cringes to himself, realizing now why he sees so many humans and Yon people with a prosthetic.  

“I’ll research any risks to make sure you’re not doing any tasks that might end up immobilizing you.” He mumbles as he finishes up the settings, the red blinking light on the EID tag turning a steady green, signalling that it’s ready to be worn.  

“Oh, don’t worry. The chip is attached to the bone, so it doesn’t move.” You inform him, and that reassures him quite a bit, as he nods, and uses quite a lot of force to clip the tag onto the silver collar- metal snapping into place, making it hard to get it off again.  

“Alright. Come here.” He tells you, and you almost proudly stand straight, offering your neck to him as he clips the collar around you- electronic lock clicking shut, never to open again for anyone else but him. “Is that alright?” He asks, and you nod, while he tests- slipping two fingers between the metal and your neck, just to make sure it’s not too tight. “Alright.” 

“Alright.” You mirror, getting only a mild reaction from him.  

“I’ll order some books and electronic information devices for you to study. We’ll pick them up at the next outpost.” He informs you, and you nod, taking this as a signal that you’ve been dismissed- so you walk back to the sleeping bag, sitting down on it to look out the window again.  

“Can I.. sleep a bit?” You wonder, and Yoongi nods.  

“I don’t need you right now, so you can rest.” He accepts, and at that, you eagerly crawl into the sleeping bag again to sleep once more, giving him a moment to think about what he’d just done.  

He blames his instincts, the fact that his kind lives in groups and usually prefers company at all times. Maybe it’s the fact that he actually does need someone to be able to help take care of his health if a job went south. Or maybe, he just can’t shed the way he’s been raised, even though he’s not that kind person anymore. Even still, he feels odd, looking at you asleep in front of those large windows.  

Like he just got himself entangled into something a lot more complicated than he believes right now. 

[sitp-recs]

Hullo! I was wondering if you have any good recs for extremely magically inclined Draco or Harry? Or both? Like they exude badass, and they are in awe of each other. Maybe with a hint of morally grayness? I've ran through quite a few tags of the like and have deeply enjoyed them and was wondering if you had a few goodies.

Hi anon! I definitely got a few recs for you, some with morally gray characters as a treat 🙌

Powerful Harry:

Under Pressure by VivacissimoVoce (M, 21k)

Harry Potter has quit magic and left the wizarding world. Draco, a top-notch Tracker, has been hired to find him and save his life.

And One To Play by @tackytigerfic (E, 21k)

Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter are the best team in the Auror Department, even when they're driving Gawain Robards up the wall. When Malfoy is injured on a mission, it causes Harry's magic to go haywire. Meanwhile, a mysterious criminal is draining people's magical cores and turning them into Squibs.

If an Injury Is to Be Inflicted by @shealwaysreads (E, 45k)

Harry Potter disappeared a year after the Battle of Hogwarts, and with him went all hope for true change in magical Britain. Three years later, Draco indulges himself and attends his first Dog Fight—the infamous underground fights with no rules, no referee, and no points system bar blood on the floor. The game was simple: you win, or you die.

REVOLVEVLOVER by @firethesound and @lol-zeitgeistic (E, 46k)

The work Harry does is justifiable. It’s justice. He works for his country, and his country is a republic—the magical side, anyway. It’s not laudable work, it’s not work he’s proud of, but it’s necessary work. Harry has always taken the necessary jobs that no one else has the stomach for. It’s just that he’s never deciphered a kill sheet and seen Draco Malfoy’s name on it.

I Am Not Who I Became by mab_di (E, 93k)

Draco left England after the trials and has travelled the world meeting wizards and Muggles from different cultures and with vastly different relationships to magic, each other, and the natural world. Now he's a fisherman in Finland on commercial vessels. Harry has been struggling since the war and has become a recluse while trying to write his autobiography.

A Sword Laid Aside by @korlaena (E, 128k)

When Draco’s cover is blown during a deep undercover operation and the Ministry is compromised, Ron takes Draco to the only safe place he can think of—Potter. Hiding out with a taciturn Harry Potter, who has been missing from the Wizarding World for almost two decades after a shocking fall from grace, is nothing like Draco thought it would be.

Powerful Draco:

check this hand 'cause I'm marvelous by @lqtraintracks (E, 8k)

Harry's had a crush on Malfoy for months now. But it will take a bar full of his friends, some Firewhisky, wagers made on his behalf, and Malfoy himself to get him to act on it.

you look so fine by michi_thekiller (E, 16k)

In which Draco is a Veela and Harry is his mate. Dark!Humor or Crack!Horror, you decide.

The Foxing Ring by @vukovich (E, 24k)

Harry's got no magic, one good ear, no great dating prospects, and a nice little wand workshop. Draco's got too much magic, a history of biting off ears, no great dating prospects, and a growing fondness for wandmakers. And a very fetching tail.

A Pocket Full of Stones by @amywaterwings (E, 68k)

A curse is spreading through the wizarding world, erasing memories of the war. Harry Potter is on the case! Where Draco is the DMLE’s most wanted dark wizard and Harry is the private investigator tasked with bringing him in. It goes as well as one might expect.

Threshold by @kbrick (E, 126k)

Unspeakable Draco Malfoy finally gets his chance to consult with the Auror Department when a series of mysterious doors covered in runic symbols appear all across the country, only to fade away minutes later. Draco’s eager to help solve the mystery of the doors until he’s partnered with Harry Potter, who still treats him like an enemy.

All Our Secrets Laid Bare by firethesound (E, 150k)

Over the six years Draco Malfoy has been an Auror, four of his partners have turned up dead. Harry Potter is assigned as his newest partner to investigate just what is going on.

[sophistopheles]

hey!! ty for posting about the article talking about continuation of aa. I don’t know as much about the production of aa5 and 6 but you mentioned a person names Eshiro being responsible for the “no spoilers” rule being replaced. what/who is that? just in general giving u the floor to rant about aa5 and 6 beyond what u were able to say in that post and ur hopes for the future 💙✨ ok bye! :)

hiya!! (post here)

So, the story of why aa5 and aa6 are so different to aa4 basically boils down to a change in the team making it (and Eshiro was part of this).

Most people know Shu Takumi wrote and directed the original trilogy of Phoenix Wright games and then worked on Apollo Justice (although the director was technically Mitsuru Endo, people tend to think of AJ as the last "Takumi" mainline game). After that, he left the Ace Attorney team to complete and release Ghost Trick in 2010, and then he became involved in the development of Professor Layton vs Phoenix Wright, which released in 2012.

While he was doing all of this, a "secondary" Ace Attorney team had arisen to keep working on the franchise - they had almost all worked on previous AA games and in 2009 and 2011 they were able to release the two Ace Attorney Investigations games.

The two most well-known members of this "team" are the producer Motohide Eshiro and the director Takeshi Yamazaki, and the fact that AAI2 is so beloved shows that they are by no means unable to make really, really good Ace Attorney games. But, with Takumi still busy with his other projects, and a good few years having passed since AA4, this team was asked to create a fifth Ace Attorney game in his absence.

This was, obviously, a challenge, and Capcom were likely in quite a rush to get a new mainline game out soon. Additionally, initial fan reception of AA4 was really not that good - many people hated the decision to disbar Phoenix in particular - and the game itself had many loose ends.

Eshiro, as the producer, decided that for AA5 it was better for the writers to not be held back by previous games, which manifested in what people think of now as the "no spoilers rule". This is why AA5 does not follow up on AA4, and likewise for AA6. Nowadays this decision is widely regarded as a very bad move, but on some level I empathise with it - AA has always been kind of reluctant to spoil past games, and you were always operating with the presumption that the player might be new to the series and wanted to go back to the previous games. Writing a follow-up that addressed AA4, while being acceptable to newcomers and not spoiling almost all of AA4's biggest twists, without the guy who originally came up with the story, would prove really difficult.

So they wrote Dual Destinies as a new story which followed AA4 but didn't really address it, and indulged in fanservice to try and restore the series status quo. It seems like the scenario changed a lot during development and they were pretty crunched for time, too - the final villain's models are apparently called FINALBOSS in the game files and completely broken if you look at them from any other angle.

After working on AA5, Yamazaki was apparently exhausted and didn't really want to make another Ace Attorney. Unfortunately for him, Shu Takumi was still off on his Sherlock & Souseki Victorian-Meiji Adventure, writing the Great Ace Attorney duology, and he wouldn't get done until 2017 when DGS2 came out.

Eshiro managed to persuade Yamazaki to work on AA6 by bringing him to conventions, and having seen the passion and overjoyed reactions from fans after AA5 came out, Yamazaki agreed to direct the sixth game, with Takuro Fuse (AA5 and 6's main artist) acting as co-director to ease the load. Some of AA6's cases were also created by guest writers; the SOJ artbook mentions a struggle for ideas, which explains the outlandish setting of Khura'in.

To the best of my knowledge (and I'm not sure this account is 100% accurate so anyone please feel free to correct me) this is why AA5 and AA6 are the way they are. Nobody is particularly to blame for how things turned out; there were just a couple of bad decisions along the way which has resulted in the games being looked back on by a lot of people with some contempt. Given the circumstances, I'm actually pretty impressed with how enjoyable Dual Destinies and Spirit of Justice are, even if they don't reach the heights of the trilogy.

Yamazaki left Capcom in 2019. Eshiro went on to produce Dai Gyakuten Saiban 2, and I'm pretty sure he's still at Capcom.

What all of this means for the next Ace Attorney title is completely speculation, but the short version of the story is that Shu Takumi has finally come back from getting milk Herlock Sholmes Jail writing other games, and seems to be getting hyped up by capcom as the "Director of the Ace Attorney Series". This makes it very likely he will direct and write the next Ace Attorney game. At present we have no idea what this means - he could follow up on AA4's story as well as he's able, he could write another Phoenix game, he might go rogue and write an Athena game, he might do something completely different. But the next AA game will likely be around the quality of AA1-2-3-4 and DGS, not another AA5/6 situation.

As for the producer, this comes from the November 2020 leaks (which was very real - it's where we first got the TGAA localisation confirmed), but the only thing we heard about their projected AA7 was that it would be produced by a guy called Yasayuki Makino. He also produced The Great Ace Attorney collection, and if you read his dev blogs from that release, he credits AA4 for getting him into the series initially, and generally seems to be a huge Ace Attorney fan himself, pushing hard for TGAA to get a worldwide re-release after its unimpressive initial sales (and look how well that's worked out...!)

That's basically the story. I think AA7 will be great, actually, but at this point I will literally take anything, Capcom please my family is starving

[feybarn]

And I return with some ghost Obi. Thanks @queenaelinwildfire!

Spinning off of Sparky, ghost Obi haunting Jango Ooo bonus points if it’s smol obi wan

When the boy first appeared, Jango had been sure it’d been the spice. Hallucinations were hardly new and the young boy who stared at him with frightened eyes was hardly the strangest thing he saw. In fact, the boy who whispered warnings about when the slavers were coming, and told him that Neeva—the young togruta girl a few slaves down—was dying, and told him stories about men in white armor who died forgotten heroes, was perhaps the kindest hallucination that Jango experienced.

Except the boy didn’t go away. Not when Jango killed the slavers. Not when Jango detoxed. Not when Jango left behind all but the scars of his time with the slavers.

Jango hadn’t quite believed in ghosts before, but he had no other explanation for the boy that followed him unerringly from the slavers’ ship to Concord Dawn to the ugly, worn down ship he eventually acquired.

“You have a reason for haunting me, kid?” he asked.

The boy frowned. His hand came to his neck where a collar rested.

Jango had tried not to think about that particular accessory too much.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “I… I don’t remember how I got here.”

Jango was going to guess that the answer included ‘dying’. “You need help moving on?” Jango asked. Though he had no idea how he would help some ghost move on. Jaster would have, though.

Jango blocked out the thought.

“I don’t know,” the boy admitted. “I don’t think so. I think I’m here for a reason.”

Great. A reason. That explained so much. “What’s your name?”

The boy’s brow furrowed. “I… I don’t know.” The boy sounded alarmed, as though he’d just realized he didn’t have a name.

Well, there went trying to track down where the boy had come from. All Jango had to go on was the rough mining clothes the boy was wearing, several sizes too large for him, and the collar around his neck.

Mining colonies weren’t exactly sparse in this galaxy. Even narrowing it down to mining colonies that used slavery didn’t help.

The Republic might claim that slavery was outlawed, but that didn’t mean much, Jango had discovered.

“Do you have a name you want me to call you?” Jango asked, because while Jango could keep calling him ‘the boy’ it seemed…

Wrong.

If Myles were here, Myles would have already named the kid. It’d probably have been something meaningful and well thought out.

If Silas were here, he’d have helped the kid come up with a name on his own. He’d have turned it into a game, until the kid didn’t even remember he was upset.

If Jaster were here…

Jango tried not to think about what Jaster would have done.

The boy frowned and Jango could tell he was thinking. “Obi,” the boy said finally. “I think… I think I like Obi.” 

“Obi,” Jango agreed. He wondered if it was the kid’s actual name, hidden in the depths of his mind. “You going to keep following me around?”

Obi tilted his head. “I think so. I don’t want you to be alone.” Obi’s gaze was piercing. “Are you going to go home?” he asked. “Now that you’re free?”

Jango swallowed. “I don’t have a home to go to.”

Obi’s eyes echoed with a terrible sadness. “You’re afraid.”

Jango closed his eyes. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said, words coming out short. 

“Sometimes I dream I can’t go home either,” Obi whispered. “In the dream, I want the desert sands to strip me to my bones.”

Jango flinched, but added the piece of information to the possibility of where Obi had come from. Though, there were a spare few mining colonies on desert planets. The combination was rarely conducive to the most valuable of mining operations.

“It’s not the same kid.”

Obi stared at him. “I think they’d want you to come back.” His hand rubbed at the metal collar around his neck again. “Wherever home is. They… they probably miss you.”

Jango scoffed. He’d gotten so many of their people killed, the ones that remained could hardly want him back. “Not likely, kid.”

“In my dreams, they died because of me,” Obi whispered.

Apparently being a ghost made the kid telepathic. Jango was not a fan. But it was… it was a kid, a dead kid. Jango didn’t have the heart to try to get rid of him, unless it was to bring him home.

“Just a dream, kid.”

Obi looked away. “What if it’s not? Do… do we never get to go home?”

Jango sighed. “Come on, let me teach you how to navigate in and out of hyperspace.” He’d noticed that the kid looked like he enjoyed watching Jango in the cockpit. Sure, the kid would never need the skills himself, being dead and all, but Jango didn’t know what else to do with the dead kid that was stuck with Jango.

Obi nodded, following Jango back to the cockpit. It was the end of the conversation.

Or it should have been. 

The question haunted Jango as the months passed. Would he ever get to go home? With the sins that weighed so heavy on his shoulders? It’d been years. Years as a slave and now nearly a year free.

He looked at Obi, who hadn’t aged since the day he’d found Jango in the hull of the slave ship. Just a kid. Always a kid. A dead kid that couldn’t go home. Whose closest thing to home was Jango and Jango’s ship.

Jango had been determined not to think of it, of what he’d lost, of what was gone, of what he could never allow himself to have again.

Do we never get to go home?

Was that why the kid was stuck as a ghost? Had he told himself he was never allowed to go home? Had he trapped himself in some sort of eternal punishment.

Jango had never heard of it happening before, but he wasn’t a scholar, and this universe was full of things stranger than Jango could believe.

Do we never get to go home?

Was that why the kid had found him? Because he saw Jango’s punishment as his own?

Because this life Jango lived now, constantly chasing the next bounty, with nothing but a ghost at his side… was it a life? Was Jango just as much a ghost as the dead kid that haunted him.

“Where are we going next?” Obi asked when the next hunt finished.

Jango stared at the controls on the cockpit’s dashboard.

Do we never get to go home?

Did he? 

The kid needed a home. Jango… Jango couldn’t give him the one he’d been taken from. But…

“Concord Dawn,” he said.

“Where’s that?” Obi asked. “Is there a hunt there?”

Jango shook his head. “No, kid. We’re going home.”

[here2bbtstrash]

as promised, here it is: The Big Life Update Post (aka m where the hell have u been and what the hell is going on with this blog)

TLDR: went thru it, came out better for it, i love y'all. and we're getting back into this writing thing as i have the time and capacity 🥳

2023 has been a bit of a whirlwind, to put it very mildly. while the first three months started off relatively smoothly, my saturn return began in the middle of march. only a few short weeks after that... well, i'd basically say everything went off the fucking rails.

content warning: drama talk incoming ft. extremely brief mentions of racism and racist hate mail (no specific details shared).

i haven't spoken on this yet since everything happened, and i want to be explicitly clear that i won't be speaking on it further after this post. but i just want you to understand where i've been at since april.

i will own it entirely and say: i fucked up. i put content in a story that i shouldn't have, that i had no business speaking on, and i think people were well within their right to call me out on it, one hundred percent. however, after i went offline at the end of april, my friends ended up learning that the person who initially stirred up all of the "tea", and submitted the first several anonymous posts about me to a hate blog, was actually someone i knew well and considered a friend.

this was someone whose stories i gladly beta'd, someone i consoled through multiple hard moments in their life, someone i actually even met in person. yep. this was also someone who had read the chapter of my story that featured the problematic content when it was released, and proceeded to send me paragraphs upon paragraphs of how much they enjoyed it, and the story as a whole. this is not to say that people can't change their minds on content after sitting with it, not at all. but to think that i had been through so much with this person, done so much to be there for them, and that they never once gave me any reason to think we were anything other than close friends. yet ultimately, they didn't feel they could come directly to me... or find quite literally any other way of dealing with the issue?

instead, they chose to send multiple messages about me to a hate blog, as well as hateful anons to several of my friends, thinking that we wouldn't know it was them (we did). not only that, but their actions encouraged an actual torrent of racist hate mail to be sent to all of my non-white friends who publicly chose to support me. ultimately, they ended up admitting all of this, and still, they never once apologized or showed even a single iota of remorsefulness or responsibility for the onslaught of vitriol they incited. (even though, you know, this whole thing was supposedly about how racism is bad.)

and this user is still on the platform, operating under a new blog name and pseudonym. so. that's fun. 💀

i don't say this to beat a dead horse, or to drum up sympathy, because i promise i don't want it. it's been long enough, i understand the mistakes i made, and i've done my part to take accountability for my actions. but i needed to start this post here to have you all understand where i was at the end of april - just in time for yoongi's tour 🤪 - in many ways, i felt like i had no friends, at least none that i could really trust. i felt unsure who might have been acting one way to my face, perhaps even praising me, but talking different about me behind my back. and it was beyond fucking nervewracking to think that i would be meeting so many friends IRL for the first time, quite literally days after what essentially felt like a public execution.

i wasn't doing well, to say the least.

and then... the funniest thing happened.

y'all showed the fuck up for me. in droves. in a way that i have quite literally never experienced in my lifetime and doubt i ever will again. even recounting it now is lowkey giving me chills. i received, literally, yes i counted, hundreds of DMs from the most incredibly kind people- on tumblr, on twitter, on discord, in AO3 comments. the vast majority of you wrote paragraphs: about what my stories have meant to you, about how you found my blog to be a safe space in the noise of the world, about how much you'd enjoyed our time together here. so many of you said something along the lines of "even if you never come back here again, please keep writing". honestly, for like a week straight all i could do was read my DMs and cry and cry and cry.

i didn't receive a single hateful DM. not one.

as if that alone isn't more blessings than i deserve in an entire lifetime, i also, you know. saw five shows of agust d on tour. (my credit card is still recovering.) spent two of the best nights of my life in pit getting a water bottle baptism and screaming myself hoarse. and met dozens of incredible moots, who held me when i cried, scream-laughed with me, and of course, drank plenty of booze with me.

at a time where i wondered to myself if i even had a single true friend in this fandom (or, like, in the world), you all showed me that i had so much more. that we had so much more-- we had a community. and i believe we still do. and i am more than ready to block out all the shit that doesn't matter and get back to having some fun around here.

in short: thank you thank you thank you thank you thank you. if you sent me a sweet word, i promise you, i read it (and probably cried lmao). i wouldn't be doing any of this without you. i will never ever deserve all the love that you have shown me. but for as long as you'll have me, i'd love to have a fun stupid horny time in this little corner of the internet. as a part of our community. what a fucking gift it is. 🫶

phew. okay, so- that was april and may. it's november. what the fuck happened?

i knew i wanted to properly take time to get my head on straight before i found my way back to writing. what i wasn't expecting was to 1. fall in love, 2. get a new job, and 3. move myself and my cat approximately 800 miles across the country... but yeah, since the end of may, those 3 things are exactly what i've been doing!

i won't talk too much about my partner here, because our relationship is important enough to me that i want to keep it largely private, but my god. he is the most incredible human. i can't tell you how much of what i wrote out as silly little daydreams in my fanfiction has somehow manifested itself into this very real human being (like, it's kinda crazy lmao 🙈). i'm grateful for him every single day. and what makes it even more special is that we met for the first time in person while i was traveling for yoongi's tour - yep! he saw me going through so much upheaval, and fell for me all the same. just another thing i will never fully believe i deserve. but goddamn do i feel luckyyyyy 🥰

and in addition to my amazing partner (and in part because of him but honestly i had plans to move before i had even met this man it just happened to work out okay 🙄) i have also finally managed to do what i've been planning for the last year and a half, which is move my ass out of the southern suburbs where i'd been for nearly a decade, and to a ✨walkable city that actually has public transit✨ - what a fucking dream. i may have only been here 8 days, and i may not have much more to my name than my cat, my TV, and my mattress, but i swear to god, i've never been this happy in my entire life.

so yeah. exhale. like i said, it's been quite the year.

now i do want to end this with a small caveat, which is to say, i can't make a promise as to how much i can *be* here (particularly not compared to how terminally online i used to be lmao). i spent a lot of time online because i was unhappy and feeling very stuck with where i was in life, and i needed escapism, bad. now, i've finally gotten to a place where i'm excited to go out of my house and do things, but i still want to make intentional time for tumblr as a form of connection and community, and writing as a form of creative expression. these things are really important to me!!! i just ask that you give me some grace if i'm a little slow on the uptake. i promise i'm still here 🥰

and writing is gonna happen!!! i can't say much more than that, because tbh i haven't so much as opened a google doc since april, but i've been itching to get back to it. maybe.... we might start off....... with some........... drabble requests??? 👀 we'll see we'll see we'll see hehe.

in any case, i think that's more than enough for now 🤪 oh how i've missed babbling to you all, the gay people in my phone. i hope you're well, and if ya feel so inclined, i'd love it if you'd send me a comment or a DM on what you've been up to in the many months it's been since we've spoke! what's new in your life? what are we manifesting??

talk so so soon, eeeeee~ i'm so happy to be back~ love you babes!!! 🤍

[amywritesthings]

silver underground. / chapter 15.

( Read on AO3 )

Pairing: levi ackerman x f!reader (attack on titan / shingeki no kyojin)

Word Count: 4.6K

Summary: flashback five - also known as the start of the heist that may grant you a chance at living in the sun

Warnings: verbal arguments, miscommunications, self harm language, mentions of injury, death, and illness

Previous Chapter. / Next Chapter. | Masterlist.

CHAPTER 15 - FLASHBACK: FIVE

note: the next couple of chapters will be heavily influenced by the ova 'no regrets'. they are my interpretations of the material. please watch those episode first, otherwise you will get spoiled on elements revolving around levi's backstory.

“This is suicide.”

Furlan winces at your strong reaction. Isabel pales.

They’re both sitting on the edges of the love seat couch, equal parts surprised yet expectant of your reluctance.

Of course they had Levi break the news first.

Neither of them wanted the blow back of your rage at the mere entertainment of such a problem.

Levi, however, can take your anger and neatly fold it with the rest of the clothes you’ve shared since you were kids. He knows how to dismantle your rage in ways the other two have never quite mastered.

At the kitchenette table, the raven-haired man doesn’t move from his chair. Leisurely his arm drapes along its back, legs crossed in front of him. You wait a full table-length away from him, hunched with your hands pressed into the wooden surface separating you.

A stand off.

The other two watch like hawks, awaiting a response from Levi that never arrives. You feel the worry rolling off of Furlan and Isabel in waves, a concern they can’t quite voice, but all you can do is stare at him.  

Dead eyes, unwilling to express anger or excitement, meet you.

Right now, you hate him.

You hate Levi’s neutrality.

You hate this godforsaken city. 

Most importantly, you hate how easy a few pretty words can upend your entire operation.

After a long stretch of silence Isabel clears her throat, fidgeting with her fingers. “We would be careful, sis. We’re always so careful. The old man said—”

“I know what he told you, Isa,” you snap, and Isabel whimpers with uncertainty. “I think I heard it loud and clear — unless there’s a part of the proposal I missed. Levi?”

His eyes flinch to a narrowed state.

You’re angry.

You’re angry because a devil made an offer.

Not just any devil — a devil from the surface, one that lives within the walls and takes the sunlight for granted. A demon willing to dangle the one thing everyone in the Underground City district desires most on a flimsy little stick: 

Salvation.

More specifically, documentation that’s as precious as rare rubies. Papers that bypass the thugs bleeding funds dry at the top of the stairs. A ticket to a better life, one where a person like you can walk among the living rather than fight with the dead for scraps.

The offer sounds too good to be true.

It sounds too good to be true because it is.

(We were offered a job by someone from the surface, someone with the reputable means to back up his payment, and we accepted the terms and conditions in exchange for money and a one-way ticket to the surface.)

Ever since you were seventeen, finding a way for the four of you to live on the surface is all Furlan has wanted. Now you're twenty-one with an opportunity for a way out. You cannot take an entire gang there — the transport of underlings cannot work like that, the logistics are not feasible, but this?

For the people he’s grown up with, laughed with, cried with?

(His family — Furlan has said the doomed word more than once to your face, to Isabel’s, to Levi’s. None of you have ever corrected him.)

What was once a fruitless idea has been fertilized and harvested, corrupted by grubby hands who can make a pipe dream happen.

It’s poisonous to a dreamer like him — like Isabel, who has never lost her knack for dreaming no matter how dire things get, so you focus your efforts on the only other person in this apartment who may see the reality for what it is.

A lost cause.

(A trap.)

“Doesn’t it seem wildly convenient,” you begin with a bite, “that some rich asshole found the three of you wandering the streets with little to no trouble? We’re supposed to have eyes everywhere. We’re virtually untouchable, even on the main roads.”

“The Military Police have been after us for years, James,” Furlan argues, but his words falter closer to a plea. “Pretty sure everyone down here knows our names. And it’s not like the Military Police have no idea where we live, so it stands to reason this guy—”

“That isn’t the point, Furlan,” you tell him. “You’re talking about the MPs. This guy is not an MP. He’s an outsider.”

Furlan’s frown deepens. “So?”

“So?" you repeat. "So you don’t think it’s suspicious, at all, that this shithead is offering us a job—” The humorless laugh bubbling on your lips stops your train of thought. “Actually, calling this a job is an insult to what we’ve built.”

“James—”

“Blackmail, Furlan. It’s fucking blackmail.” You pause, allowing the word to permeate through the room. “He is blackmailing us with the promise of money and the one thing everyone down here wants.”

A right to the surface.

A chance to live a life in the sun.

“Because we’re the only ones who can pull off a heist like this!”

Isabel urges with a naivety you typically adore. Right now? You loathe it. 

“How many other people, what other gangs, have what we have? The numbers. The ODM stuff. The old man believes in us.”

On instinct, you sneer.

Belief, like it’s stronger than money.

Instead of taking your anger out on her — she doesn’t deserve it, not when you know her bleeding heart would pour itself dry without hesitation for a chance to bring this found family to surface safely — you snap your attention back to the quiet, contemplative man across from you.

He’s too calm about this; Levi trusts people from the surface as far as he can throw them.

Granted, it’s probably further than the distance you can toss, but still — it isn't far.

So you ask.

“Why?”

Levi's eyes narrow further, thinning to a sliver.

You lean in closer, gritting your teeth. Your necklace dangles off of your neck like a noose.

“Why are you okay with this?”

Curving your steps around the table, you walk towards him. Levi stays seated, eyes stalking your movements with practiced memorization.

“Why aren’t you telling them this is a terrible idea?”

Furlan holds out a noncommittal hand to stop you. “James—”

“Because we don’t have a choice,” Levi interrupts, finally standing from his chair. He doesn’t sound angry, but you know Levi sometimes better than you know yourself. Something is there, just under the layer of nonchalance. “It’s complicated.”

A storm flickers in his eyes when they meet yours.

“There’s nothing complicated about it,” you tell him, your words rushed under your breath. “We make the rules. From the very beginning until now, we make the rules. We don’t let surface scum tell us how to live our lives. We always have a choice.”

His chin tilts to the left. “Not this time.”

“Why?”

“We just don’t.”

“We do, Levi.”

“No, James, we don’t.”

He firmly emphasizes each syllable. 

Then, finally, he places the caveat on the table: 

“They have Yan.”

The warmth in your body pools at your feet, like the blood has seeped through the soles of your shoes and into the wooden blanks beneath.

It’s no secret that Yan, one of the long-time underlings of the gang, hasn’t been doing well.

Over the last few months, his legs have gone from bad to catastrophically worse. He’s barely managed on jobs, causing him to fall behind on earnings.

From the corner of your eye, you see it: Furlan’s head tilts back, eyes closed. He deflates, shoulders first, until his whole body shrinks.

It reeks of guilt.

(Why the hell would Furlan be guilty?)

Isabel is the opposite; her body tenses as her wild ginger hair flings side-to-side to look at Furlan, then Levi, then back to Furlan, waiting for an explanation.

Then you realize: she isn’t waiting for anything, not like you.

Because Isabel already knows that Yan’s being held hostage; she’s just waiting to see who will say it first — or if she’ll be forced to be the one to bring you into the loop.

Suddenly the world feels smaller, like you’re back in that little makeshift ring by an abandoned street stop.

Alone and fending for yourself.

“The hell do you mean, they have Yan?” You hate how shaken your voice sounds.

“Saw it with my own two eyes,” Levi tells you in a monotone manner. “There wasn’t anything we could do. So, no, we don’t have a choice — unless we want him to die.”

“Which means you all saw it.”

The words of doubt tumble from your tongue. Levi’s eyes tick in a squint to decipher what you mean, but you create physical space with a step backwards.

“All of you knew this wasn’t just about the money from some rich fuck, but you didn’t tell me the second you came back. Why didn’t—”

“I didn’t tell you right away because Furlan has been skimming money for Yan under the table,” Levi blurts, effectively stopping you from crawling into yourself. 

The ball of yarn halts in its unravel. An uncomfortable silence fogs the room.

“...what?”

But that isn’t your voice.

Isabel speaks now with the same confusion in your gut. Her fiery hair whips to Furlan for an explanation.

Furlan doesn’t move a muscle.

You blink back into your body, and soon you find Levi standing right in front of you. He urges you with just a look, a nonverbal reassurance:

Breathe.

You’re not alone.

(You aren’t fighting three against one again.)

“It’s no secret that his legs went to shit,” Levi explains, level yet earnest. “First it was his ankle. Then it was his knee. Then it became both knees. Whatever disease he has, it’s spreading and it’s spreading fast. All of us have seen it coming: he can barely keep up with his team. No jobs means no earnings. Those are our rules. Furlan chose to skim off the top to help with treatments.”

Levi tenses under your widening stare. 

“I knew," he finishes. "Furlan didn’t know I knew, but I did. Not Isabel, not anyone else — just me.”

Blame me, he’s telling you without saying so. Don’t punish everyone else for this.

(Levi Ackerman, always ready to shoulder your burdens without hesitation.)

Only one question numbly exits your lips: “For how long?” 

Levi studies your eyes.

“Since the Nightshade job.”

Piece by piece, the gravity of your situation comes together.

You can feel it weighing down your shoulders when your attention flickers to Furlan.

Furlan trembles as he continues to stare at the ceiling. His complexion is tinged with a mortified, red-handed glaze.

The corner of your lips pull to a sympathetic frown. “Why didn’t you tell us?”

“It wasn’t anyone else’s business but Yan’s and Furlan’s,” Levi answers for the other man.

“But we could have helped,” you protest, turning your attention back to Levi. "Me, Isabel, all four of us — we could have helped."

“It’s a gang, James, not a church,” Levi bitterly argues. “If we help one person’s problems, then everyone looks for handouts. That isn’t how we operate.”

A hefty glare settles on your brow. “And now these people have Yan, who — by all intents and purposes — we could leave to die. Right?”

A squeak bubbles in Isabel's throat.

Levi tilts his chin with a knowing sharpness.

“Sure, if we want those bastards to torture him for information about us.”

There: the spark, the swift kick in your ass, to ignite the fire in your belly once again.

You’re mad, you’re furious — but not at any of them.

“So I was right,” you chide, chin dropping to your chest. “This is just blackmail—”

“His legs are shit out of luck if he doesn’t receive treatment at a surface clinic.”

A fingertip lifts the tip of your chin back up.

It’s enough of a shock to your system to get you to listen — Levi rarely, if ever, shows blatant affection in front of the other two, yet here he is: blurring the lines for the sake of keeping your focus.

“Bottom line is that I want to work with these pieces of shit just as much as you do, but without the proper medical treatment, Yan’s as good as dead," Levi explains. "Even if we left him to fend for himself, it could still destroy not only our reputation, but he could give them access to everything we have. Bringing Yan back is the best option for business. Furlan, Isabel, and I will do the job—”

Furlan, Isabel, and I?

“Wait.”

“—get him what he needs, bring him home—”

“Wait, what do you mean by—”

“—and we’ll figure it out from there.”

“—just the three of you?” you finally finish, voice smaller with each word. “But what about…”

“The bastard didn’t intercept you,” Levi says, and you push his hand from your chin.

“We need someone to take care of everyone else,” Isabel chimes in softly, shrugging a noncommittal shoulder.

You blink towards the younger girl with her shining eyes, seeking your approval; a cease fire to an awkward evening.

“If it’s a trap created by MPs, then at least we know our gang can get away if they come knocking on our door, right?” she adds. “James is fast. She’s a fighter. She can take them on, no problem.”

“No, Isabel,” you start, “what you need is a B-Team.”

“Hate to say it, but Isabel is right.” Furlan finally speaks, exhaling in a short huff. “He didn’t see your face or ask for you by name, so you’re kind of off the hook.”

In a shocking turn of events, Levi agrees in a matter-of-fact finality. “The less people involved, the better.”

That overwhelming sense of dread rears its ugly head once again, creeping up the veins of your neck.

“Don’t be stupid. Every job needs a B-Team,” you argue right back. “The three of you cannot just go on this job without eyes on—”

“Maybe not this one,” Levi shuts down your offer with little remorse. “This shit’s already two people too many.”

Your eyes grow, appalled.

“You’re serious?”

He doesn’t budge.

“I’m sorry, but are you fucking insane? What the hell happens, then, if any of you get caught?”

“James,” Furlan begins, holding both palms up. Your hair falls into your line of deadly sight when your attention whips to the lanky man with shaggy, ash-blonde hair. “We were doing this way before you came into the picture, okay? Levi and me, I mean."

You scowl. “You two were beating people up for money in fucking alleyways before me, not taking sacrificial bribes from surface pigs.”

Furlan frowns deeply, and you decide you hate him just as much as you hate Levi right now — because Furlan responds quietly and full of respect. Adoration.

“We’ll come home. We’ll make it to the surface, together. Please, you have to trust us.”

Your nostrils flare and the fire in your belly quells as you lock eyes with your friend.

“It isn’t you I don’t trust.”

Never. 

You trust the people in this little apartment more than anyone in the Underground City.

You would go to war with them, die for them, if it meant they could be happy.

Surely by now, after all these years, the three of them knew implicitly where you stood.

The problem, however, no longer lies below: it’s the people above you in more ways than one.

(What lies on the surface is the enemy.)

One false move and the four of you stand a chance to lose everything —

Including each other.

Sickened by the absolutes you face, your hands push off the table.

"Fuck this. If you want to kill yourselves, then be my guest. Throw it all away. We’re not making it to the surface.”

Isabel stands from the couch as you turn on a heel, spinning towards the front door. “Wait!”

“I’m not sticking around to watch you die, Isa,” you bite at the young girl. She flinches from your venom. “Same goes for you, Church, and Ackerman.”

You don’t wait any longer.

Can’t; you feel sick to your stomach and don’t want to make a mess of the apartment.

Without another word, you step past the threshold of the apartment and into the damp outdoor air. Your boots shuffle down the narrow staircase, quick and panicked.

Isabel calls out your name — your first name, a cheap trick that usually gets you to listen.

You don’t.

Passing the corner is as far as you get when you hear a second set of shoes following in tandem, hitting solid ground and turning a similar edge.

Let them.

You’re too upset to confront, to ward them off, especially when you have a pretty good feeling as to who may have run after you.

You continue your trek, head bowed to avoid the watchful eye of your gang runts guarding the apartment premises. Through a main street and into an alleyway you’ve grown so familiar with.

Twenty-one; it only took a few years to finally get here, where the dream dries to a mirage.

A warm hand grabs your bicep, anchoring you in place. “Hey.”

You stop.

You don’t fight.

“Hey,” you greet in return without turning, allowing your arm to float in the finite space between bodies.

“Want me to let you go so you can continue your dramatic nature walk?”

Lessening his grip for emphasis, Levi waits.

(I won't keep you prisoner.)

The baritone of his voice, neutral with an edge of care, vibrates through your body like a soothing aloe. 

“Depends,” you answer, craning your chin to watch him over your shoulder. “Are you going to run after me?”

“Kind of already did.”

The anger evaporates from the crown of your head to your toes with each passing second. Eventually you drop the heel of your boot to the ground, lessening the strain on your raised arm.

Then the tension between his brows dissolves, too, when it’s only the two of you here.

“Talk to me.” The request is barely above a whisper. “Don’t shut me out.”

His choice of words — your words, thrown back at your face — almost steals your breath.

“You shut me out about Yan,” you argue childishly. “About Furlan.”

“Like I told you, it wasn’t any of our business.”

“And you’re shutting me out of the job.”

“I’m not trying to—”

“It’s our home, Levi.”

You blink away, embarrassed by your sentiment. His hand flexes to let go of your arm. It unceremoniously drops to your side.

“We’re supposed to be… We’re supposed to watch out for each other. All four of us. That’s what we do. We don’t leave each other behind.”

“I know,” he says, somber, as if to apologize in his own way.

“If this is your half-baked attempt to protect me…”

You trail off when something flickers in his eyes. His expression shifts, and your shoulders drop.

“I could be a part of the heist,” you surmise, “but you’re leaving me out on purpose.”

His jaw clenches. “If I could leave Isabel out, too, then I would. Same with Furlan.”

“So it—”

“You’re the only one.”

Levi pauses, fighting to find the right words.

“You were the only one who wasn’t forced into that carriage. Chances are we’ll be flanked on all sides by Military Police. If things go to shit, then I know you’ll be safe back here.”

“Who can really guarantee that I’ll be safe?” You shake your head. “Isabel said it herself: it could be a trap. They could be trying to attack the rest of the gang while the three of you aren’t here.”

“Yeah, and there’s no one I trust more to make sure we’re still in operation. No one.”

He speaks with such conviction that you almost believe him.

(It’s not about trust in protecting assets, but something more basic than that.)

“And if you get arrested, then you don’t want me there,” you finally say what he won’t, and Levi’s eyes dart to the left to avoid yours. “You want me to be the last person standing.”

“We won’t get arrested.” His wispy black hair jostles when he shakes his head. “We’re too fast on ODM gear. The MPs won’t stand a chance.”

Silence engulfs the space. Your brain continues to run the numbers, the logistics, of the proposed heist plan given by this mysterious buyer. 

Every scenario, every issue, every failsafe — you can’t shake the foreboding chill in your blood.

“And who’s to say they haven’t already killed Yan?” you decide to ask, running through your list of concerns.

“Yan contacted Furlan two hours ago,” he answers. “He’s already at a first-rate clinic.”

“What if it’s bullshit? A set up, where they’re pretending to be Yan?”

“Do you think I’d fall for a fake report?” Levi scowls, insulted.

“No, but Furlan would.”

“I checked, twice.”

Which means it’s true.

Your doubt never creeps up to Levi, not once. 

Dejected in what little choice remains on the table, your attention subconsciously lands on his parted lips.

“...how do we receive the surface papers?”

“He already paid half of what he’s promised. I checked: it’s not bullshit. The money’s real,” Levi explains slowly. “Furlan, Isabel, and I will take the ODM gear and finish the job. Then we’ll get Yan back safely, give the money to the gang, and take you with us.”

“So I just… sit around like an old maid and hope everyone makes it back in one piece? Then we all get to hold hands, walk up the staircase, and strut straight through Wall Sina like we belong there?” You sigh heavily. “It sounds too good to be real.”

“I know,” he murmurs. “But Isabel’s right: we have to make sure our people don’t get stuck in the crossfires with the MPs.”

“Then agree to a B-Team.”

You slide a boot forward, lifting your attention to his eyes. His attention, however, slides opposite of yours — further south, staring at your lips as you propose.

“Let me lead a small group of us to watch your back.”

“James.”

“Levi,” you murmur his name, “look at me.” Surprisingly, he obeys. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m going to butt out of the one job that might change our lives. You protect me, sure, but I protect you, too. We’ll maintain our distance and have units set up to guard the apartment, but I want to be on the streets making sure you’re clear.”

His brows knit together briefly. “...I need you to be safe.”

“I will.”

“Because if I’m out there thinking for one second that you’re not—”

Reaching for the collar of his shirt, you pull him in to press a chaste yet firm kiss to his lips.

He tenses, seemingly expecting a wild punch, but he melts on contact and wraps his arms around you with a fierceness only a dead man can possess.

Because that’s all anyone can be down here: dead lives, dead faces, waiting for the final nail in the coffin. The world doesn’t scare people like Levi.

(What he’s terrified of, however, is trapped against his chest. Two hearts wildly beating in tandem. Unspoken confessions. The light.)

You nip at his lower lip, causing a tiny, needy noise to exit his throat. His arms tighten, and his feet drag the two of you towards a nearby wall.

Out of view.

His tongue searches for yours and you relent, pressing your hips into his. He makes another short, broken noise, and bunches your shirt into his fist.

Running your fingers through his hair, you drag your nails against his scalp and try to convey your urgency: please don’t leave me behind, please don’t get caught, please don’t disappear.

After a minute he rips his lips away, face tinged with a pink, bashful hue. 

You open your eyes, drunk on the sight of his blush.

“...dirty trick,” he huffs without an ounce of anger in his voice.

“I got a couple of those up my sleeve,” you murmur in jest, smiling despite yourself.

He exhales again, sounding close to a laugh, and drops his forehead to yours. You press back, closing your eyes and allowing the moment to pass.

Peace.

(How much time do either of you have left?)

“Take a B-Team to the streets,” he finally relents. “Monitor our movements. Follow any MPs that might turn their attention to our employees. The client stated our target objectives will be making contact regardless of our consent, so as far as I’m concerned, the job’s already started.”

“I’ll keep our people safe, I promise.”

“I know you will,” he reassures, taking a rare moment of affection to lift his chin. His lips kiss the tip of your nose, warming your once frozen insides. “I trust you.”

You nod. “And when you finish the job, I’ll go where you go.”

He hums. “Is that right?”

“I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“Like a dumbass,” he jokes in that deadpan humor of his, and you can’t help but finally smile.

“But I’m your dumbass.”

“What an aspiration,” he groans, feigning annoyance. “My very own dumbass who’s gonna spend too much of her fucking time decorating our very dumbass house—”

“A house?”

Not just a house — our.

You abruptly pull your forehead from his to look him in the eye. Levi mentally backtracks, realizing his grave mistake from the way the whites of his eyes grow, but you press your hands into either side of his face to trap him in.

“Levi Ackerman, are you gonna get us a house?”

He sneers. “Where else are we going to fucking live?” 

“Are you kicking out Furlan and Isabel?” you ask, unable to stop the grin from growing on your face.

Levi, knowing damn well he’s been caught red handed, groans and drops his head back.

“With the amount of money we’re making from this heist, Furlan damn well better be able to afford his own house. I’m sick of cleaning up after his shit. Isabel can go with him.”

You bite your lower lip. “They could always be our neighbors.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth.”

The sarcasm bleeds right through, and you can’t help it: the giggle bursts from your throat, and Levi leans in to pepper gentle kisses against the base of your throat.

“Can I get a pet?” you ask, lifting your chin to the sky.

“A furball?” His teeth nip playfully at your skin. You jolt. “The little shit’s hair will get everywhere.”

“It’s your consolation prize for demoting me to B-Team.”

He tsk’s under his breath, allowing a beat to pass.

“Maybe one.”

“A cat?”

“Yeah.”

“Or two.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“I’m negotiating, Ackerman.”

“You can negotiate once we have a key, alright?”

You giggle in response, tugging his chin up to stare into his eyes. Levi settles against you, arms still looped around your waist, and sighs through his nose.

He admires the view, clearly taking the moment to memorize every inch of your face.

It feels too final.

“Come back to me, Levi,” you murmur, pouring all of your emotions into five small words.

At first he nods, small and earnest, before sealing your words with a gentle kiss.

“I won't go far from you."

.

author's note: I'm glad we collectively giggled and screamed and kicked our feet in the last few chapters. It was a marvelous time. Now I'm out here ruining everything.

Thank you to all of your wonderful feedback, asks, reblogs, etc. I can't believe my draft doc is over 60K words! I want to say we're about halfway through the story I want to tell, if not further in. We're definitely halfway through the flashbacks, so I promise those who have been asking about the CH10 cliffhanger… just hang tight (like James - ha.)

Please note that there will not be an update on August 11, as I have a bachelorette weekend to attend for a friend, so I'm hoping to write through the week and maybe post the next update on August 18.

tag list: @lazylizzy3 @notgoodforlife @sad-darksoul @dailydoseof-love @maliakealoha @nube55 @kateastrophies @blinkingsuns @gomigami @voidszoro @tanyeonn @chishiyasan @im-just-a-simp-le-whore @vigilancio @nomi98 @urfavcelestialangel @milkersonmac

[aplarently]

Meeting Ramattra

// Literally put a nonbiological being in front of me and I am RAVENOUS. 

# I love everything about this new hero already. I am the MOST hype. I have seen that others are going off about him as well. Couldn’t help myself. 

   Realistically, omnics aren’t very different from humans at all. We both ponder our own existence and share free will, clearly. We also similarly might be faithful to a creator or divine entity of some kind. (Ugh, I have been so existential lately so don’t get me started.) Like others here, I find Ramattra fascinating because of this sort of antagonistic ideology that all humans are horrible and nothing good could come of working with them. Which is fair. 

Have you seen the state of the world?

   Ramattra is rough around the edges, for sure. I don’t believe you can just fix a person who has experienced potential trauma and I’m not a fan of that way of thinking. However, I do think that time and some nurturing can soothe the hurt in others. 

(S/N): This took me a while. I was scraping up all the info I could before going in. IT IS MIDNIGHT WHAT. I cannot proof read this right now. Forgive me.

   Being on opposite sides is a good place to start. Surrounding yourself with beings that hold different world views is insightful and important to building strong relationships. No one is going to agree on everything and that isn’t always so bad as it can bring people closer in a strange way. 

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

- You work as a behind-the-scenes operative at Overwatch; mostly as a radar systems engineer. Simply put, you check for any interference whether that be from above, below, or all around the surrounding base.

- Sojourn decided she liked you enough to put you to work in the east to work under some notable tech specialists.

- Despite that, a lot of this job involved a lot of late, dull nights by your lonesome staring at your monitors and just making sure nothing peculiar was happening on point. Of course the pay was phenomenal but your career really made you question what all the math was about in order to put yourself in this dimly lit cell of an operating room, twiddling your thumbs.

- One night on the job, you find yourself drifting off when suddenly you get a notification from your radar systems and jolt forward to confront an odd reading. There’s a feint red dot signaling an unknown entity in the surrounding area.

- This wasn’t that surprising as you would occasionally encounter one small dot and it would end up being an airdrop for supplies or something nonthreatening. However, that was in the early day usually and you would have your other coworkers with you to handle it as you were technically still a newbie on base.

- So to be honest, you’ve never actually gotten to this point in the job before and didn’t know how to handle this situation professionally. “Well.. fuck,” you mutter to yourself and decide that you should investigate regardless.

- Grabbing your jacket, you put on your ‘I know what I’m doing face’ and hop out of the operation deck to see what this potential intruder wants.

- This base in particular is a bit odd in it’s placement. It is a bit out in the middle of nowhere in Europe where it is typically raining which normally makes the radar quite hard to catch correctly anyway. 

- You secretly hope that that’s the problem this time.

- Upon exiting the base, the doors seal behind you and you pull out your handheld monitor from your jacket where it had been waiting before. With a few clicks, your small radar starts scanning the area as best it can in this windy atmosphere.

- You pull your hood up and pull out your flashlight to light your way through the darkness. Pressing forward, you squint to protect your eyes from the raindrops that threaten to impact them. 

- In the distance you see a low red glow where your radar is navigating towards and decide that this must be the interference. You raise your flashlight in the direction of the glow. 

- “Hello?” you try to project but the combination of the cold wind and pure nervousness made it difficult to do so. Your throat felt dry. “State your name,” you hear in response as you finally come face to face with an omnic kneeling on the ground. 

- You are taken aback first by how firm he was in speech but quickly realize there is another metal form lying lifeless before him. Disregarding his request from before, your initial feelings of fear turn to concern and it is evident in your tone “,What happened here?”

- He collects the body from the Earth and turns away from you in silence but doesn’t walk away. 

- “Unless this was your doing, this matter does not concern you, human.”

- He remains still as if expecting a confession or otherwise. You get a hint of an accusing tone in his statement and feel the desire to get defensive. 

- “I can assure you that I had no hand in this. I’m an engineer at Overwatch; I’m just trying to assist anywhere that I can,” you say as you put your device back into your pocket. You feel your stomach drop when you realize that you mentioned Overwatch at all. They didn’t exactly have the best reputation right now so it’s not a great idea to go throwing that around.

- You may have just signed your death warrant.

- He scoffs “, I’m not at all surprised at that. Of all the people to go around playing hero for the public, Overwatch holds the worst of them.”

- Trying to divert the conversation back to the matter at hand you shake your head “,I-I’m sorry, I really am just here to help. What are you doing with the body?” He holds pause for a moment. You notice his shoulders fall a bit as he sighs. “I’m collecting them to properly lay them to rest as well as all the others that your kind mercilessly slaughters,” he finishes as he starts to walk ahead.

- You feel your heart pang with a guilt as your expression grows softer. “I know this isn’t much but I know a peaceful, nice area we could bury them,” you say, half expecting him to just keep walking off in annoyance.

- He stops and pauses again but this time he hesitantly turns to you. It is hard to navigate at this hour and in this weather as it is. He hadn’t exactly thought that far ahead it seemed.

- “I... okay,” he finally says.

- You smile gently as he turns to follow your lead. “It’s (y/n), by the way,” you turn back towards him as you guide the two.

- “Ramattra,” he responds, but it sounds familiar to you. He spoke one last time and you almost barely heard it “,Thank you.” 

- The two of you continued to march on in silence.

[simlit]

Chosen of the Sun | | dawn // thirty-one

| @maladi777 | @izayoichan

INTERACTIVE POLL | Should Indryr use his [TRUTH SCROLL] on Duke Eldewyn? Voting to use the scroll will provide more information about the past history of the trials and those involved, however, there may be consequences from using such magic. Choose wisely. Vote now!

next / previous / beginning

INDRYR: A fascinating idea. There is a great deal of faith placed in lunar priests. Suppose if they should misdirect and say they have received visions they have not… No one would be any the wiser. ASTER: Now that I think of it, how does that whole heaven-to-earth pipeline work, anyhow? KYRIE: Quite ambiguously. Around the time of the Selenehelion, we begin receiving hazy visions. For my sister and I, it was always somewhat complicated. In general, there is only ever one lunar priest of age at any given time. However, because Alphanei and I were twins, our visions were often shared. It was suggested, once, that we conduct together, but I declined. Alphanei’s emotional investment in leading the ceremony seemed to strengthen her ties with the moon. My visions lessened, and hers became stronger. Only now that I’m leading myself do I feel an innate sense of connection to the Chosen. You were all strangers when I brought you here— I’d never heard nor met any of you before. But even before seeing you in the flesh, I felt as if we had known each other for years. INDRYR: And is there some consequence to you for not following the Moon’s vague instruction? KYRIE: I admit, I don’t know. A great part of me feels compelled. It’s hard to explain. Even when I sat aside and let my sister operate on her own, I felt overwhelmingly as if I was doing something wrong. I guess this connection we have, it’s something we’re born with, and impossible to eradicate. That being said, if we should act against that feeling… By that I mean, could a lunar priest have lied about the selected Ten? Yes. I think he could. LUCIEN: But wouldn’t that upset the goddess? KYRIE: Maybe. The truth is, I don’t hear her anymore than you. Divine sensation is just that: Sensation. If she were to punish me for going against her wishes, I can’t imagine what that might look like. Only, in our hearts, I suppose it would feel a bit like betraying someone… something… we love deeply. It would feel immoral. But… there’s nothing impossible about sinning. ELDEWYN: Fascinating, indeed. I never thought about it… Interesting creatures lunar priests! KYRIE: We’re not animals— ASTER: Well! How about that specialty brew you’ve been saving? ELDEWYN: Ah, yes! Let us retire to the parlor. We’ll be more comfortable there. KYRIE: If you don’t mind, I just need to step out a moment… ELDEWYN: Oh, of course, Your Grace. INDRYR: Are you feeling well, Your Grace? KYRIE: Yeah, it’s… I’m fine. INDRYR: Forgive my saying so, but you seem somewhat put-off. KYRIE: It’s alright. I don’t… mind. KYRIE: I think sometimes I feel a bit like a circus act… Maybe I am. INDRYR: Your gifts are unique. And specialness is strange, but not all of us think so shallowly. I understand perfectly well how it feels to be the odd piece out, but you’re no less part of the puzzle. You’ll find your place to fit, and it won’t be here with people like that. KYRIE: Thank you, Indryr, for saying so. INDRYR: No need to thank me. It’s simply what’s true. The Duke has a very… interesting perception. I wondered what sort of society might support the trials in their former iteration. Meeting him, well, it becomes clearer to me. KYRIE: I think there’d be more than a few happy to see the tradition return to the way it was. A sick sense of excitement… It doesn’t matter. I guess I’m more bothered by the idea that my predecessor might have been involved in what happened twenty years ago. You were right. If this was a cover up, the priest heading the ceremony must have allowed for it. INDRYR: I don’t think we can deny it anymore, Your Grace. KYRIE: No, but I do think there’s more to the story. Whether or not the Duke knows, is another question entirely. INDRYR: We could use the scroll? KYRIE: Yes, but it’s not without its risks. I suppose then we must decide… is it worth trying, regardless of the consequences?

[mister-ious]

i was watching the russian terminator channel and it got me thinking.. What if Ghost did this?

He doesn’t even know how this happened. Filming a YouTube video about how to use a tourniquet? How to manoeuvre an assault rifle? What type of knobhead would even be curious about this?

... Well, if they're curious about it they would've gone and signed up to the military, no? Why would they watch a video online?

Price waffled on. Something about 'getting people to join the military', something about 'sharing experiences', whatever bullshit reason he listened to during whatever meeting he had about this.. YouTube channel..

Ghost was even more perturbed that he had to be in the first few videos. Out of everyone else, it was him. Why and how has this been allowed? Couldn't Soap have done this? Gaz? No—they were informed about this channel before Ghost and they've decided to concoct a plan. A plan to make their lieutenant teach and tell a bunch of internet rando's about the military.

Soap and Gaz were nowhere to be found when Price were looking for them to film, hiding in the dark corners of base (literally just ducking, looking away, and running whenever they spot Price).

Ghost was absolutely miffed when they didn’t get to find other volunteers to replace him. In front of the camera on a tripod he quietly sighs and grunts, psyching himself up to be the introduction of the video, adjusting his clip-on mic. He claps, the noise muffled slightly by his gloves.

“Okay..” He starts gruffly, spotting Soap’s head sticking out of a bush from his peripherals, glaring at the mohawk. “Welcome to this video. I’m here to show you we operate..” he turns around to point at the guns behind him, “Our weapons.”

It was a lineup of the usual rifles . Some pistols and shotguns—snipers are for the next video they said.

Anyway, Ghost continued on with the video, explaining and presenting apathetically, with some of the rookies holding the guns the way that he told them to. He further glosses over the routine protocols that come with handling guns.

The video ends quite abruptly. Immediately cutting the camera recording after he’d shown the last gun. Ghost doesn’t say the ‘goodbyeandthanksforwatchingthevideolikeandsubscribe!’ farewell. Maybe it was for the best.

A week passes. Six hundred thousand views. Thirty thousand likes.

@celebrityslefttoe: this video has awakened something inside of me

@sochi_22: I’m no better than a man ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

@rarecursor: 8:07 (a clip of him adjusting one of the soldiers’ hold on the gun) I VOLUNTEER. I VOLUNTEER AS TRIBUTE.

@matsurijun: yall need to Go Outside

@prickly9685: where do i sign up 😋?

@WilliamHughes787: Great video! Very interesting!

@amiable4744: sir yes sirr.. enlisting now..

“Ghost. Look at this.” Soap grins, handing Ghost the iPad.

“… Jesus Christ.” Ghost pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes as he furrows his brows, groaning.

Soap lets out a deep and full cackle, nudging Ghost’s shoulder. “See? T’was a great idea to let ye do the video!”

To be fair, he looked absolutely delectable in the video. He wore a fitted long sleeve camo shirt, hugging his muscles very nicely, paired with camo cargo pants that he made look like skinny jeans. He wore a normal black balaclava, showing off his hazel eyes and his eyebrows were always creased downwards, with this slightly pissed off look.

Because of this positive reaction from the algorithm, Ghost kept appearing in future videos and even filmed a Q&A!

Continuation

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

james bond and first kisses 🥺👉👈

Kiss Prompts!

Can do!

"You're going to need to get the target on your side," You comment.

"That won't be a problem."

He says it so simply, as if he doesn't have a doubt in the world. Maybe he doesn't—but it still makes you scoff a laugh and shake your head. You keep your eyes carefully set on the kit that Q's given to you to pass him over to Bond. It's a gizmo that was meant to leave London when Bond did, but it hadn't been quite right, and you've been sent along to hand it off. You've just got a couple of screws left to fit.

"You don't think I can do my job?" He asks. You can hear a hint of amused intrigue in his tone.

"I never said that."

"You laughed."

"Ignore me."

"I've always found that rather impossible."

You shoot Bond a disbelieving gaze from beneath your lashes before you refocus on your work.

"You know what you're doing."

"Thank you for that vote of confidence."

You roll your eyes as you hear him walk closer to you and your kit where it's laid out on the table of the rented home. He leans against the table beside you, his hands tucked into the pockets of his suit pants.

"You could always stay," He offers, "See how I operate, my methods."

"I've heard plenty about your methods."

"Mm, but you've never seen them in action."

"I'm not sure that's necessary."

He doesn't speak for a few moments, and you feel your stomach twisting as he watches you.

"If you don't stay," He adds, "I could always show you now."

"Show me? Your methods?" You can't keep the disdain out of your voice as your fingers fit a cap over a newly fitted screw. You go still as James' hand rests on your wrist, murmuring,

"It's far more scientific than you may think."

Your heart ticks up in your chest, your gaze fitted on your hands. His fingers smooth along your forearm, thumb sweeping gently over the soft of your wrist. He shifts, straightening from the table and watching you closely as he goes on:

"You have to know your target, or feel them out quickly—their weak points, their wants. Weak points can be a little more difficult, but wants are typically a bit easier. We're all human. Most of us want the same things."

"Such as?"

"Connection." James' breath brushes your cheek. You shiver as his hand lifts, fingers curling around your jaw to turn your head toward his. His typically cool blue gaze seems warmer, far more sincere than you're used to seeing from him. When his lips lift with a small smile, it's a tender look. You can't find a hint of a tease in it. You swallow thickly as his eyes travel your face.

"Far more people want connection than you may think," He adds. "So many of us are lonely, drifting. We can be surrounded by people and still feel by alone."

"Even you?"

"Even me." Bond tips his head to the side just a touch, chasing your gaze. "And you may knock the physical tactics that I employ to get my information, but you can't deny that there's some..." The tip of his nose brushes yours, "Merit to my methods."

Your chest flutters as his breath pushes across your lips.

"I never said that I disagreed with them," You mumble. James hums, fingers smoothing over the side of your neck.

"It's easy to belittle them on the other side of a screen."

"I suppose."

Your gaze drops to his lips as he leans closer, lips ghosting against yours.

"Have we finished?" He murmurs.

"Yes," You breathe.

As if a switch has been flipped, Bond steps away, plucking the device from your fingers as he strides away.

"Excellent. Send Q my thanks."

You blink dumbly, face going hot with shock and embarrassment, finally allowing yourself to drop into an empty chair as you hear the door shut behind Bond.

[captainsophiestark]

Type A

Caroline Forbes x Reader

Masterlist - Join My Taglist!

Written for Fictober 2023!

Fandom: The Vampire Diaries

Day 29 Prompt: "That's all? Easy."

Summary: Caroline is a little overwhelmed by the amount of things that need to happen to open the Salvatore Boarding School for its first year of operation, but her SO is there to help her through.

Word Count: 1,056

Category: Fluff

A/N: Disclaimer, I haven't seen Legacies

Putting work into an AI program without permission is illegal. You do not have my permission. Do not do it.

"Oh. My. God."

I poked my head into the living room cautiously at the sound of my girlfriend's voice. I recognized her tone as the 'something has gone disastrously wrong and I'm about to have a meltdown' tone. I'd run to the kitchen to get coffee for both of us, and apparently in that short amount of time we'd encountered a new problem. To be fair, worse things had definitely happened in less time to us before.

"Babe?" I asked, taking a few more steps into the room. Caroline Forbes, my girlfriend and the love of my life, looked up at me, clipboard in hand and distress written all over her face. "What happened?"

"Ugh, the Salvatores happened!" she cried, throwing her hands up in the air. "I'm pretty sure they spent the past hundred years compelling anybody involved with this house, and now that new people are responsible for billing things like electric, water, gas, and whatever else you can think of, I have to deal with them all at once! And that's not even mentioning the home inspectors. And I still have to organize all the heirlooms they left laying around, just waiting to be broken. Or the fact that not a single bedroom in this place looks remotely like something a kid would enjoy living in-"

"Caroline." I'd set down our coffee mugs and now held up my hands as I slowly approached my girlfriend, stopping her spiral before it could go any further. "Take a breath, babe."

"Take a breath?" she cried, her voice actually going up an octave. "I still have to make decisions about our first class, find teachers, figure out curriculum, make sure the house is actually safe, and a thousand other things before we can open our doors, which we're supposed to be doing at the end of the summer?"

"Pft. That's all? Easy."

Caroline scoffed, her eyes practically glowing as a murderous expression spread across her face. If I didn't know her so well, I might've been worried for my safety. Instead, I closed the rest of the remaining distance between us, putting my hands on her shoulders and looking her right in the eye.

"Listen to me, right now. You are Caroline Motherfucking Forbes. You do event planning in your sleep, and I know that's a true statement, because I've heard it. This shit is right up your alley! Yeah, it's gonna be a challenge, and a lot of vampires with lazy habits are going to make it harder. But you love challenges! I've quite literally never seen you happier than when you're taking charge in the middle of chaos and pulling it all together. And we went to Paris for your birthday."

Caroline huffed and rolled her eyes, but I caught her smiling anyway. I grinned back at her, giving her shoulders a gentle shake.

"You are a force of nature, and there is literally no future where you don't pull this off. I'm not a witch, but I know it doesn't exist. Besides, you're not doing any of it alone. I'm here with you, and so are our friends. We're gonna help you every step of the way to get this school up and running. And we're gonna help you when a kid inevitably breaks some precious historic heirloom, and one of them brings home a curse from touching something they should've left alone, and every other situation you can possibly think of. We'll be here for you to lean on."

Caroline smiled. She took a deep breath, then pursed her lips and nodded, more determined than frazzled now.

"You're right. I am Caroline Forbes, and no centuries-long problem the Salvatores refused to deal with is going to get the best of me."

"Damn right."

She laughed a little, then leaned in to kiss me. We broke apart fairly quickly, since we did have quite a few things left to do, but it was enough to have a warm glow working its way through my chest.

I turned to retrieve our coffee mugs, offering Caroline's to her. Thankfully, they were still warm, and she took hers with one hand, picking up a clipboard with the other. Her eyes scanned the page for a few minutes with a critical eye. I just sipped my coffee and waited, knowing I'd need all the energy I could muster for whatever was about to come next.

"Okay... the bills are easy enough to deal with, so I'll get online and set up autopay for that. In the mean time, you're on heirloom duty. Find anything we don't want in the line of fire for kids practicing their supernatural abilities and put it in the attic."

"Yes ma'am," I said, saluting. Caroline rolled her eyes with a smile.

We started off to do our tasks, but I stopped short before leaving the room. Caroline was already buried in a task, but I took the risk of interrupting her.

"Care?"

"Hm?"

"If we get this done today... any chance we can play interior decorator for our task tomorrow?"

"Sure!" She turned around with a bright smile, a slight edge to it that I recognized and that made me immediately nervous. "And then we can deep clean all the other parts of this house that haven't been touched in years."

I groaned. "Do we have to? Can't we hire a cleaning company to deal with that?"

"Not when vampire speed will get it done at least twice as fast."

"But Caroline, there might be spiders." She crossed her arms, and I realized I was not going to win this fight. I sighed dramatically, turning to go back to the task I'd originally been on my way to do. "Fine, but if I see a spider, I'm screaming and I'm making you deal with it."

"You're an immortal vampire with super speed and super strength!"

"Yeah, and I still hate spiders!"

Her laughter echoed in the room and hallway behind me, and I smiled to myself. I loved that crazy blonde tornado of a girl, and although I complained sometimes and would continue to do so, I'd also follow her to the ends of the earth with a smile.

****************

Everything Taglist: @rosecentury

TVD/TO Taglist: @elenavampire21

[qiwoomi]

iii. care for you

series masterlist main masterlist prev next

The office is filled with silence, except for the constant clattering sound from the keyboard. Though, Alhaitham's peaceful ambience is ruined when a blonde haired man with a half updo hairstyle barged into his office without notice.

"Here's your coffee. You should really hire an assistant soon, I'm tired of having to buy you drinks all the time." Kaveh intervened, placing the cup on his desk.

The Chief Operating Officer's eyes are still glued to his computer, subconsciously ignoring his friend. He reached for the cup to take a sip, as Kaveh slammed his hand on the mahogany desk. "Ugh, can't you see that I'm busy right now?" Alhaitham grimaced.

"I won't leave unless I hear a thank you."

"Fine, thank you for the coffee Kaveh."

"It's insincere," Alhaitham immediately turned his gaze towards him, his eyes narrowing, "...fine I'll leave, geez. What got you so worked up this morning."

Kaveh left instantly, as Alhaitham facepalmed.

Truth is, you have been in his mind ever since last night. For the past few days, he has been quite observant of you.

It piqued his curiosity, because every time he came back from work and you're fast asleep, he would always hear you screaming. He ignored it however, thinking that maybe you're suddenly awake and decide to watch a horror movie. Which is... quite illogical for a man who always use logic above anything else.

It is until, he heard your scream for three times in a row every night that he decided to check on you. Even though he made a rule himself to not enter each other's room, he's still concerned.

The sight of you crying is still as clear as day, as well as the fact that you both hugged that night- it feels illegal to be that close to you.

Alhaitham is usually not the type to care about what other people thinks, but it's otherwise when it comes to you. Most of the time, he's more self-conscious around you.

As for now, he's only hoping that you don't remember what he did last night.

When the clock strikes five, Alhaitham didn't waste a minute to pack his things up and heads out of the door of his workplace, actively avoiding any coworkers who dare to approach him with more works. He can deal with them tomorrow.

He languidly walks to the parking lot, quickly entering his car. He sits for a moment, while loosening his tie.

Alhaitham decided to pick you up today. Entering his keys, he immediately drive to your college.

Last night's predicament never once left his mind. But, as embarrassing as it is for him to enter your room without your consent, his goal is to at least know what had been bothering you.

You might not notice however, the man had always been watching out for you.He had noticed it all. He noticed every little thing that you do. From head to toe, even.

When you brought up about divorce to him, he's surprised.

To his dismay, even the most intelligent and prominent figure of the Akademiya University that is known to have mastered several languages can't even describe what he feels.

Though, he would rather hide it than letting the world know. He feels a surge of responsibility through his body, which is stronger than before— which is why he ends up pulling up in front of your school. While mindlessly tapping the steering wheel with the car windows rolled down.

He's looking out for any possible friends of yours, to ask where have you been.

Unbeknownst to him, you had taken a day off. Alhaitham didn't even realise the slight furrow on his brows, as he drove away and went straight to home.

Since it's your grandma's birthday, you decided to visit her grave. You placed down the bouquet of red tulips, as you sit down. The atmosphere was quite, the thoughts inside you the only thing that is keeping you company.

It was only after a short while before you decided to go back.

Entering the passwords, the door opened as you stepped in.

You are suddenly greeted by a smell, the apartment being engulfed by an aromatic and pleasant smell— which of course comes from the kitchen.

"Oh, you're finally home. Where have you been?" Alhaitham turned to see you clad in all black attire.

"...Ah, I went to the graveyard then I stopped by a convenience store." You replied awkwardly. His eyebrows slightly raised. "You didn't tell me you took a day off. I stopped by the school to pick you up." He finished, as he returns to cooking.

"Sorry, I turned my phone off for today," You paused for a while, waiting to see his reaction before continuing, "Um, anyway... about last night I'm sorry. I guess I just watch too much movie that they started appearing in my dreams..."

Silence. Is he ignoring me?

Alhaitham turned off the stove, lifting the pan with fried chicken rice before dividing them into two ceramic plates.

"Come sit. I made dinner."

You hesitantly make your way towards the dinner table, slowly sliding the chair (you don't even know why you did that) as you sit across of Alhaitham. Not before placing the plastic bags filled with snacks inside for you to munch on when you're studying. The man before you then hands you a set of cutlery, a glass of water and not forgetting to put a box of tissue between you both.

You muttered a small thanks to him, to which he only nodded as you start eating.

Your eyes widened at the taste, absentmindedly nodding to yourself as an approval. His lips quirked up for a moment, which you failed to notice.

"Ahem. I noticed that you look unhealthy than usual. Do you want me to arrange an appointment to a doctor? I know someone you can trust."

"Oh..! Aha, no need. I already had contacted Dr. Baizhu... I have an appointment with him tomorrow."

He paused for a while, as if contemplating if he should tell you to cancel the meeting and choose another doctor instead.

"...I'll go with you. Just incase." You look up at him, taken aback at the offer, "I don't have any work tomorrow so you shouldn't worry." He lied.

Alhaitham then stands up, collecting your finished plate and his as he put them in the sink. Leaving no room for you to object his advances.

taglist: @odevote118 @levisbebe @hitomi-inaru @no3hg3nshin @thetwinkims @tanspostsblog @kaoyamamegami @iamfakeu @starlightauralis @mmm-alhaitham @klementime @makimakimi @itonashi @crowbird @changgchangg25 @haengezoe @0r093hf74hf8460 @catjsjs @ezraiix @hakunonn @lady-makima @ninjakuko @fluidfandoms @ragnvdnr @chishiyawifesworld

author's note: finally an alhaitham pov and slightly jealous alhaitham (tho he won't realize it) 🤭 just a heads up, but I can't reply to comments at all :( i owe you guys a double update tho since i can't post yesterday

© @qiwoomi

est. 070323

do not copy, translate and repost my work.

[transcendence-au]

I don't know if this is already a thing, but I think it's really funny to imagine Alcor over the years just going "fuck it" and at various points in time just trying out various random careers because he got bored, wanted to fuck with people, and had nothing else to do. Every attempt is equally bizarre for everyone involved.

At some point, there's a hospital somewhere that has this doctor, "Dr. Oaks", who the rest of the staff are all vaguely terrified of. No one knows quite what his deal is. Several members of staff swear to have seen him licking the blood off of scalpels after a procedure when he thought no one else was looking, and one other that swears on her life that he then went on to *eat* the scalpel.

Now, this would normally be a massive heath violation... however... Dr. Oaks is the most successful Doctor in the entire hospital. Like, weirdly successful. Like, unnaturally, magically, successful. The other day they had a patient come in for a heart operation. Afterwards, they found out that he had somehow been cured of his cancer. Another patient had a few of their adult teeth knocked out, but when they did an X-ray, they found that they had *another* set of teeth growing in to replace them. All the cases are absolutely bizarre and defy all logic, but the one thing that connects them is that they are all under Dr. Oaks.

The hospital can't fire him. He's the only doctor they have with a 500% success rate: curing you of your ailment and 4 others you didn't know you had. Nobody believes he's human anymore. But they don't ask. They have the best hospital in their entire state and they intend to have Dr. Oaks around to keep it that way.

this is absolutely amazing