#at least it has the guts to be halfway honest

[johannestevans]

the time when i actually find royalty and monarchy sexy and most interesting is when like...

so historically a monarch was treated as a public body. 0 privacy. servants would be in their bedroom to ensure they were chaste or that they were fucking who they were supposed to

like. they'd have attendants that went with them to the bathroom. they MIGHT be permitted to pray alone, and they'd have some trusted attendants and/or their spouses they might be permitted to be alone with but like

they were constantly observed. scrutinised. surveilled.

and i don't mean in public like, on the city streets, i mean IN their castles, their palaces, their homes. a parade of doctors would examine their bodies in DETAIL, sometimes every day! their portraits were done to a political standard, not to reflect their bodies!

no personhood. no identity. your power was EXTREMELY limited by the interests and plays of your attendants, by members of your court, and by the public

now THAT shit is interesting. stop pretending monarchs were interesting heroes

like every english monarch has been a freak figurehead, they're all extremely traumatised by the weird gold cages they live in, they have no identity, they don't even know what they don't know. they're strange, twisted experiments of tug-of-war between political attendants

and if ppl played w that in fiction, ESP w like. how does a person like that even consent? how do they know what consent is, what it means? their body is not their own, and it never has been. what is and what isn't a violation to a person like that? how can they voice it?

don't get me wrong, the only good monarch is a dead one, and i'm in favour of dismantling all forms of monarchy as brutally as possible, BUT

if we're going to do monarchy shit, stop pretending these ppl can pretend to be normal. make them as weird as they are

[tottentz]

HE'S COMPLICATED, HE'S IRRATIONAL ── alhaitam ◟1.2k w.c ◟sfw, hurt + comfort.

"so, tell us the secret, why him?" 

alhaitam freezes, hand on the handle halfway to open the door. they're talking about him again.

he doesn't understand many of the words, but he knows the tone. talking more in breath than sound, trying to sound quieter than they really are. the same fake concern they take on the moment they turn away from your table, like you aren't still in the room.

but he doesn't care, except maybe, for you. 

you smile, a little too wide, and tilt your head. uselessly. doesn't matter either way. "him who?," you repeat in a high pitch.

"alhaitam, duh." your coworker has a tendency to talk a little too much when she's lonely and just a little bit tipsy. and given the way that things seem to be going, she's very lonely and probably drinking a little more than she should. and it's your job to be likeable and trustworthy.

"because i love him." you bit out, and you weren't sure whether a smile or a wince tugged at the corner of your mouth, wondering why you were having some sort of revelation.

"but, i mean, why?" she also calmly contradicted, though discussing an entirely different topic than the one you were stuck on, without a tremor in her voice. "'isn't he a little, uh..."

"complicated?" another of your friends ( friends? ) say.

the words are mostly unfamiliar, but alhaitam thinks you know the meaning by the way you grudgingly kick at the tiles under your feet, chewing the inside of your mouth as if musing her previous claim.

"oh" it is all you say, and alhaitam feels the acid crawl up his throat and die in his mouth. then there was anger, mostly directed at himself, hatred so obsessive it seeped into his skin, a punch to his gut of desperation, and last but not least honest, helpless. "is that so?"

alhaitam knows he is not good at expressing his affection.

and then you think of alhaitam draped over the edge of the couch when you walk in, his nose smothered deep in a book. he only notices you when you plop before him and don't say anything; he doesn't have to. he already knows you had a long day when you crawl between his legs and wraps around his waist, clinging, waiting.

 you think of alhaitam reading aloud then. even if he doesn't know what's going on half the time, he lets you hear his voice. his free fingers finding your nape, your skin dance; tingles in the wake of goosebumps, you feel his abdomen houses clutters of butterflies who fly to the tempo of his palpitating heart, and his cranium is a ground of play for rampant imagery

and things stay like this. he reads. you listen for each syllable as they glide off his tongue, lulling your muscles to unravel, your lashes to flutter shut.

"yeah, i have never seen him either, does he at least have time for you?"

alhaitam always wakes much too early for your liking, but he always humours you when you pull him back into an even warmer chest each time he scoots away. your voice mumbling just five more minutes. and he stays.

even when the day is long and you can only see him before going to sleep, you rambled. spilling whatever random scene were to display beneath your eyelids, conveying a multitude of senseless thoughts with a voice low of pitch and groggily muddled with a recognizable desire to fall into the hands of sleep, and he always listens.

doesn't matter if the curls of his dark lashes fluttered to a close, daring him to befall subject to the will of his physical need, but whenever you would stir within his arms, trembling and cutely shrinking in response, he would promptly press you flush to his nude chest and allow the slow thump of his heart to alleviate any previous distress that had startled you from your state of dozing, ceasing your teeter towards unconsciousness.

and when you fall asleep on the couch, he bundles you up in his arms, carries you to bed. you can't see it, but he’s smiling, feeling proud, feeling warm. it nearly bursts when he sets you down, folds you beneath the covers, tucks you in like always. then he crouches down to your level, and he kisses the shallow dip your temple gives. and he can't he it, but you smile too.

"sure you are okay? he just doesn't seem like the kind of, you know, to be able to love somebody."

you freeze, and alhaitam feels like everything suddenly stops.

alhatiman? the same alhaitam who cannot help himself when it comes to you? the man whose stare descends with a determined will, falling over every rounding and arched feature your facial adorns; he has to etch any blemishes and discoloration into memory. every asset is an additional detail solely unique to your character. alhaitam, who is compelled, driven, to stall for a moment more and appreciate the mere sight of you.

whose kisses are commonly renown as esteemed rarities and seldom acquaint with your supple skin. alhaitam, whose faint brushing of his lips remains long after he has finished as a bitter tinge of coffee sour on his tongue. the weight of his doughy lips coat yours in a sugarless tart.

alhaitmamwho struggles when conveying his harbored ardor, submitting to the intensity of heat that blossomed from the kindled fire of his heart; who yearns for an affinity but is terrified of the eternal menaces that endanger you and himself alike, scared to lose the last entity with possession of his fancy.

you know the way alhaitam paints his uneasy expression over with feigned confidence. his shoulders are square, but his stomach is a festering tsunami, rough waves lapping at his insides and battering his abdomen until nausea settled somewhere deep; who is ceaselessly tranced and subject to enchantment is perpetually perceived as infatuated; bewitched. unwavering gape fixated and motionless, his adherence is akin to devout. subject to time, he is spellbound; consumed with imagery that fuels his crave for a singular desire: you.

"oh, and when he—"

"because that's my choice" you interrupt her, your mind is running a mile a minute, but the smile hung from your lips doesn't falter. you stride as if already victorious, poised; daunt. "i love him with all that, because of all that."

you twist instinctively to look at him at the door. and your face – archons, the sight of you– it's like unfettered sunlight, like the first sip of coffee in the morning, like a hot shower after a long, long day.

"anyways, i have to go now," you head for the door, and you can hear a startled squeal in the distance. "nice meeting, thank you for inviting me." and you can see the pale faces of your coworkers when they notice alhaitam waiting for you.

he just nods his head in greeting, before following you.

"you are quiet, penny for your thoughts?." you ask.

he opens his mouth, floundering for words, any words, to fill the blooming silence between you. instead he just stands there, hand around your hand. just stands there. holding onto you.

"it's nothing. let's go home" he reiterates his abiding purpose with a heavy hand cupping your cheek. he has you, he affirms, right here. alhaitam has no desire to abandon his home in your arms. he faithfully persists as a knight at your side.

. ࣪✦ ៸៸ tottentz ▐ © 2024 ､ ? 𓄹 ܵ ۪

[philtstone]

title: check yes, juliet

Summary:

It doesn't matter that Juliet is a freshly-minted, top-of-her-class field agent (alright, so she hasn't actually been in the field yet) or one of the few women working for the Federal Bureau of Investigation's cutting edge check fraud department (just last week, their 20-year-old coffee maker broke and they ran out of number two pencils to mark up their overhead projector notes with): every time her mother calls, all she does is lament that her beautiful, intelligent daughter isn't meeting any eligible bachelors.

“Maybe that’s for the best,” Maryanne sighs eventually. “All O’Hara women fall for liars, Julie. It’s our curse.”

Juliet has to wonder if she didn't scoff at her mother's claim a little bit too soon.

my brother & i had the earth shattering realization a month ago that the plot of "catch me if you can" (2002) is almost to a tee just a mildly alternate psych timeline and that thought has lived in my head rent free to such an insane degree that eventually 14 thousand words poured out of me in au fic form. im posting it so as many other people as possible can see the vision. and also because im sure theres one person other than me who revels in early seasons shawnjuliet's frankly insane levels of chemistry, lol. enjoy!

READ FULL FIC ON AO3

Excerpt:

“Your average bounced check would be routed to the bank it originates from, so you’d only really have a few days in one place before you were discovered. This guy’s been filing off the routing numbers, changing ‘em somehow – so cleanly and neatly that it’ll take a real sharp eye to notice. It’s all about the branch you’re cashing it in. A check cashed in at Chase Manhattan with the one changed to ten’s gonna bounce halfway around the country before anyone figures out it’s rotten, and by that point this asshole is long gone. The numbers go East, Central, West – you see how they cover 0-60, 70-80, and of course they require a special kind of ink to be recognized as real checks, which you’d all know if you’d read the report I circulated …”

Juliet doesn’t notice the full cup of orange juice in front of her until it’s too late. 

Her head’s still full of Carlton’s two hour long briefing this morning, during which she learned more about check fraud than she’d have ever thought a single person could in one lifespan. Certainly not Juliet, who’d originally studied literature at Florida State. Then again, back then she’d have never expected to end up an FBI agent, either.

Then there’s the wired, tense feeling in her gut that probably won’t go away ‘til this sting is over and they bring in the pathetic local guy Carlton’s been tracking for the last week. His MO is pretty girls in pastel dresses, which made Juliet the right man – woman – for the job. At least maybe doing this’ll help the guys in the office take her seriously as a field agent. And, well … she does love a nice peachy pink cardigan. The color goes well with her complexion.

“This idiot’s no real con man, he’s just a clown who can’t be bothered to work an honest job. Child’s play compared to the real thing. ” Carlton tends to pause here, angry that he’s got to acknowledge it like that – the real thin g. “ You know what they’ve been calling him in the papers these days?”  

Him . Always him. They don’t have a name on the subject yet, despite over a million cashed in fraudulent checks. Juliet hums and nods so her partner feels acknowledged. 

“ The skywayman . Pathetic. Like he’s some magician or something, instead of a two-bit liar who thinks he’s smarter than me. ”

“This isn’t personal, Carlton ,” Juliet says tiredly. “ It’s not like he knows who you are to be deliberately toying with you.”  

“Oh yes he is. I know he is. I know him .”

Her hands aren’t quite shaking, because that would be stupid; this guy, their local guy, shouldn’t have a gun on him, and if he does he’s not the type to shoot a woman. Juliet focuses on the paper in front of her and tucks a lock of her hair behind one ear. A window of ten minutes – that’s what Carlton said. Unlike Carlton’s unsub nemesis, they know plenty about this one. He’ll come in, dressed like the middle-aged schlub he is, loose tie probably, gray slacks, thinning hair. He’ll notice her, buy her a soda she’ll accept with a faulty check and then pick her pocket for the cash. The string of pearls at her neck makes her a sweet college girl whose parents have money. She mentally forces herself to stop chewing her lip and instead moves her right hand down to her lap, where she can pick at her nail polish without anyone seeing. 

“Well, obviously we wanna catch him,” Agent Dobson says, when they’re a third of the way through the morning briefing and half the room is asleep or dreaming of lunch. Juliet, of course, has been furiously taking notes. He means the Skywayman; he means the real thing. “But you gotta admit, Lassiter, there is a bit of a magic show to a good con, isn’t there? The press has that one thing right.”

“It’s not magic. It’s lies and deceit and a healthy helping of audacity, and a damn good typewriter. O’Hara, write that down. We’re gonna go through that list of makes and models again, see what we can come up with.”

Deep breath. Her purse, orange to match the cardigan, is in her lap. The gun’s in the purse. She’ll draw it, but not to shoot. This is the kind of work she’s begged the Chief for, and she’ll be just fine.

Maybe Juliet would feel less desperate to prove herself if this diner wasn’t in Miami, and her father didn’t gift her the only string of pearls she owns.

A voice clears itself quietly above her.

“Uh, excuse me? Hi, yeah, hi. That’s my seat.”

READ MORE

[allthingsfangirl101]

Extremely Long-Distance – Timothy McGee

Every morning, I wake up and instantly look at the picture of my husband and I on our wedding day. Whenever I look at that picture, the rock in my stomach makes it so I can't get out of bed for at least an hour.

My husband, Special Agent Timothy McGee, and his supervisor, Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs, were in Afghanistan working on the suspicious death of a marine. Apparently, his head was shipped to his wife.

Tim isn't supposed to tell me about his cases but he knows my mind will come up with a worse case than he ever could. My cases usually ended in a shoot-out between the suspect and NCIS.

I try to busy myself during the day, but nothing kept my mind off my husband in the middle of a war. The nights were the worst. I haven't slept since Tim went overseas three days ago. To be honest, it took me a month to get used to sleeping next to him. Now that I have, I can't sleep without him.

Abby has called every day to check on me, but her phone calls have only made my anxiety worse. Every time the phone rings, I'm terrified they're calling to tell me something has happened to Tim.

I got back from grocery shopping for the third time this week. I walked aimlessly through the aisles, not really needing anything but not wanting to go home either. When I finally forced myself to go home, I slowly unpacked the random groceries.

I jumped when my phone rang. I couldn't help but hold my breath as I looked at the caller ID.

"Hi, Mom."

"You sound relieved," she said trying to sound happy but you could tell she was sad.

"Guess I am," I shrugged. I put my phone on speaker and kept putting away groceries.

"You went grocery shopping," she sighed. "Again? Honey, isn't that like your third time this week."

"It gets me out of the house," I said simply.

"Tim's still in Afghanistan," Mom said like a statement instead of a question.

"Yes," I said that word getting caught in my throat. "He is."

"Have you called him?"

"He's in Afghanistan, Mom," I sighed. "I can't call him. I don't even know where he is in Afghanistan. I have no idea where the camp is. I have no idea how long he's going to be gone. I don't know."

My voice broke as tears filled my eyes. I took a shaky breath and spoke up before she could try to comfort me. "I got to go, Mom. I'll call you later."

I quickly hung up the phone as the sob escaped. I sat at our kitchen table, put my face in my hands, and sobbed.

I love my husband more than anything in this world, but moments like this made me hate his job.

When I finally calmed down, I stood up and made myself a small dinner. I spent the night, slowly drinking a glass of wine as I watched a random movie. Halfway through the movie, my phone started ringing. I looked at the phone number, extremely confused. Something in my gut told me to answer the call though.

"Hello?"

"Y/N? Can you hear me?"

"Tim!" I gasped. "You're calling. . . I can't believe. . . Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Tim chuckled.

"How's the case?" I asked, just to keep him talking.

"It's over," he said. "We should be shipping out in a few hours."

I let out a shaky breath at this news. My eyes filled with tears as I tried to think of what to say to him.

"That's good," I said, my voice soft. "Will Gibbs let you come home before going back to work?"

"I think so," Tim chuckled. "But you know Gibbs."

"I do," I nodded. "But I also know that he loves you and will let you come home to your wife who hasn't slept since you left."

There was silence on the line. I would've thought he had hung up, but I could hear him breathing. "I'm sorry, sweetheart," he finally said. "I'll be home as soon as I can. I promise."

"I know," I said softly. I took a shaky breath before saying, "I love you."

Tim let out a small chuckle. "I love you too, Y/N. I promise to get home as soon as I can. And maybe we can both get a good night's sleep."

* * * * *

Eighteen hours later, I was sitting on the couch with a glass of wine and a book that was taking me longer than it should to finish. I gasped, almost spilling my wine when the door opened. I threw my book down and ran toward the door. Tim laughed when I jumped into his arms. He instantly caught me and held me tightly.

"I missed you," I sobbed into his shoulder.

"I missed you too, baby."

Masterlist

[my-writings-and-musings]

I had intended to post some more self indulgent Earthspark stuff for my birthday on the 28th but better late than never, yeah?

I adore that Alex and Dot wholeheartedly adopted two towering robotic children without hesitation and were just like "yup these are our babies now we love them" and felt like writing something soft from that. Please enjoy a little fic of Dot comforting Thrash when the latter gets sick for the first time, because hurt/comfort is my absolute jam and he's baby.

Dorothy Malto didn't make a sound as she entered the barn, something that was easier for her than most thanks to her training as a soldier and experience as a mother. There wasn't even a creak from the old rusty hinges as she squeezed through the doors, though she still held her breath as she shut them behind herself, listening for any sign of movement from within. Hearing nothing, she allowed herself to move with a bit more swiftness.

She couldn't quiet the worry gnawing at her gut as she approached the ladder to the second level, but she pushed it down as she pulled herself up the rungs, reminding herself what she was here for. Someone else needed comfort far more than she did.

For all of her strength, there was no stopping the hurt that cut right through her heart as she beheld the familiar white, brass and blue curled miserably atop a makeshift Cybertronian bed. Thrash hadn't moved much since her last visit that morning, and while the sizable blanket she'd placed on him was fluttering with each ventilation, they were slow and haggard enough for her to tell his condition hadn't improved. Though she'd expected it, the sight still made her ache with sympathy. At least his siblings were being kept from their own worry thanks to the "special training" Bumblebee had cooked up to keep them busy, meaning she could focus all of her attention on the child that needed her most. 

As soon as her foot met the floor, the young Terran cracked his optics open, and their dimness deepened her concern. In record time she repeated to herself what Optimus had told her; this would pass, illness was a normal but unpleasant part of Cybertronian development, his immune system was just calibrating itself to the environment he'd been born in…

Smiling softly, she got to her knees beside his bed of straw overlaid with blankets, speaking with as much comfort as could be conveyed through tone. A tender hand on his shoulder allowed her to feel his still unbroken fever, but she didn't let a trace of her worry creep into her voice. "Hey Thrash, how do you feel?"

He looked at her a moment longer before he winced and pushed his helm deeper into the stack of pillows she'd personally arranged for him, looking ready to be sick but soldiering on with a strained murmur. "I'm okay."

Having expected such mock bravado, she moved her hand from his shoulder to the side of his helm, encouraging him to look at her with a tender stroke of his cheek plating. Dim optics flicked in her direction, looking up at her as she tried to encourage him to be honest in the most gentle way possible. "You don't look okay." she said softly, adjusting her hand and sliding her thumb back and forth along his temple. Memories of doing the same for Mo and Robby brought her back to their first times being sick. They'd been a great deal smaller than Thrash, but somehow he still stirred the same protective instinct within her, and she halfway wished for the ability to cradle him as she had them. 

The weight of his helm pressed into her palm as he closed his optics with a weak shudder, expression tightening in pain and discomfort before he spoke up just loudly enough for her to hear. "Head hurts…" he confessed, walls slowly coming down as he allowed himself to admit some of his struggle. That was something they'd been told to expect, but hearing it didn't make her feel any better.

"I can call Optimus and see if their medic has anything for that." she offered, speaking somewhat quickly as her concern briefly got the better of her. It didn't matter that he was nearly twice her height; as far as she was concerned Thrash was her baby, and seeing him like this made her feel an indescribable need to provide some kind of relief. With her first two she'd at least had human doctors and a competitive wealth of resources… The ailing bot made a soft sound of discomfort and leaned even more heavily into her touch, his trembling compelling her to speak again, albeit with much more control of her tone. "Can I get you anything for now?"

Thrash was silent, his brows briefly furrowing as he once again fought to be strong and hide all the discomforts she knew was making him miserable. For a moment it seemed like he would succeed, and that he would mutter something about just wanting rest as he had that morning, but Dot felt something falter within him. A wave of exhaustion passed through the young mech, and he let his helm go limp in her grasp.

"Mom…" he said in the weakest whisper she'd ever heard, voice breaking as his dim optics turned back to her before going foggy. She couldn't keep the heartbreak off her face as she heard him speak, especially as his shoulders trembled with a weak sob and her usually upbeat and happy boy confessed his true feelings in a single, pained sentence.

"I don't feel good…"

"Shhh…" she soothed without delay, adjusting herself to gently guide his helm into her lap. Forcing her voice to stay steady and her heart to remain strong, she held him close, hoping he could feel her love and support while he needed it most. She'd seen the same reaction from her older two many times, and remembered the feeling well from her own youth; the helpless misery of being sick and young and just wanting the pain to stop. "I know baby, I know…"

Thrash whimpered again, and though her leg began to go numb she didn't even think of moving him from her lap as she cradled him as well as her smaller form allowed. It brought a small measure of relief to her son, who quieted and closed his optics after a few minutes of her soothing touch, his ventilations slowing as he finally relaxed enough to drift off in her grasp. After a solid twenty minutes he was powered down and her leg was buzzing with pins and needles. Despite all of that, the sight of him recharging peacefully brought a soft smile to her face. 

"Mom's here." she whispered with a tender kiss on his helm, intending to stay as long as necessary if it brought him the smallest amount of comfort. 

[hellomynameisghostface]

TATUM RILEY AND ANIKA KAYOKO ARE SUPER UNDERRATED AND UNDERAPPRECIATED!! Excuse me while I go on another little rant but something that's always bothered me in the "Scream" franchise is how Tatum was Sidney's best and only real friend. 2/4 of her friends actually wanted to kill her and Randy didn't seem to be all that close to her until the second movie after they'd gone to hell and back together. Tatum was a real one. She was by Sidney's side through thick and thin and really, truly had her back. She was so protective of her. So for Sidney to just forget about so easily after the first movie is crazy. Especially because she was Dewey's sister and neither of them mourned or mentioned her. It would've been nice to just get a scene where she maybe had a picture of her and Tatum together and she has a little moment looking at it or just her being sad and missing her. Just one little moment to truly mourn and reminisce her would've been nice. Instead all we get is Gale mentioning she was one of the victims from the first killings as Dewey just kind of looks away and Steven mentioning her death to who he thought was Dewey but really it was just Roman. We did get to see that Dewey had her ashes which was nice but she deserved better, to be honest.

Anika was basically the Tatum of "Scream VI." We're introduced to her by her literally saving Tara from someone who was going to take advantage of her. Mindy, who's known Tara longer, didn't even get up from the couch...some friend. When they get attacked by Ghostface in the apartment and when Mindy gets her arm slashed Anika, the second tiniest of them all, has the guts to start throwing hands for her girlfriend...to save her fucking girlfriend she goes up against a killer who she clearly doesn't stand a chance against resulting in her getting gutted! What does Mindy do with that tiny little slash in her arm compared to the gapping gash in Anika's stomach? She sits and watches like the shitty girlfriend she is (I'm sorry to the Mindy fans, I don't hate her but she really pissed me off in this scene.) She then listens to Anika when she tells her to go across the ladder first. If I truly loved someone, I'm not leaving them. She's either going across that ladder first or I'm staying to fight for them. We're either living or dying together. Shitty girlfriend behavior if you ask me. After she dies it's very much so like Tatum but worse. Tatum dies near the end of the movie and Sidney doesn't find her body until a little while later when she running from Ghostface. She doesn't have time to be sad or mourn her. Anika dies halfway through the movie and they have SO much time to be sad and show how her death affected them. Mindy was over it by the time they got to the theater. Tara, who Anika clearly cared for enough to save her at the party, seemed more concerned about Quinn and her father who turned out to be murderers and Chad was more concerned about Mindy which is fair since she didn't really seem to be friends with Chad. The only one who seemed to care at all about her death was Sam which is shocking. On top of all that, she’s the only important person (excluding the killers) that died in the sixth movie. She died so The Core Four could live. 😞 Which isn’t fair…at least one of them should have died. She. Deserved. Better.

However, besides being the bestest friends anyone could have in this franchise, Tatum and Anika have the most iconic death scenes in the whole franchise so at least they got that.

I'm not a huge fan of her but another character I actually want to mention who got disrespected was Liv Mckenzie. Liv was obviously friends with Tara before Liv and Chad started dating so for Tara and Chad to start dating when their friend/girlfriend died under a year ago and don't even seem to be affected over it in the slightest is honestly so crazy. Chad claimed to have loved her and now he doesn't even care she's dead? No mention? Just move on and date her friend? I get Tara and Chad have known each other longer but that's still fucking crazy to me and even thought I wasn't crazy about this character, she still deserved better.

[gamegem92]

(VamPaper AU) Stranger in the Mirror

(VamPaper AU Chapter Two)

Dawn came as quick as dusk, and yet, only two of our Rocham-bros were awake at the time. Paper just couldn’t sleep soundly at all that night- who WAS that? What did Scarlett want with him? What would have happened if his friends were in his place?

“PAPER WAKE UP! IT’S TIME FOR BREAKFAST AND SCISSORS REFUSES TO MAKE HIS OWN!”

“YOU KNOW THE TOASTER HATES MY GUTS!”

“At least THEY got a decent sleep last night,” he told himself. As he trekked to the bathroom, he was genuinely nervous. Scarlett almost resembled one of the vampires from the movie… but that was ridiculous! Vampires don’t slap magic stickers onto people, they bite them! …right? But vampires do need lots of sleep…

“Stay calm, Paper, you are NOT a… hmph. I’m not even going to SAY that word. Because I’m NOT… that word.” He headed for the mirror to check. Vampires have no reflection! So if I have one, I’m fine! NOT a vampire! He looked into the mirror, and…

He was right there.

“I can see myself just fine. I’m fine. I’m not a-aaaaAAAAAAH!” Right there, in the mirror, he saw himself… with fangs. TWO. GLITTERING. FANGS. “Okaythisisprobablyjustaprank…” he looked at the fangs again, dragging his tongue against one… no plastic, no glue… they were real. He stared at the mirror, still trying to process what was going on. Was he a vampire? He had fangs, but he had a reflection, too! It just didn’t make sense! How-

…how long has he been standing there?

“Paper! hurry up in there! Rock’s starting to worry about you!” Almost as soon as the pounding on the door stopped, he looked back at his roommates.

“I’m fine. I’m perfectly fine! I’ll be out momentarily!” Nervously, he tried to find something to hide the fangs, but there was nothing. Even filing their down would have hurt! As he just got out of the bathroom, he tried to avoid eye contact. “Here I am, perfectly fine!”

As Rock hugged him, Scissors immediately glared over, and asked, “then what were you screaming about?”

“…I slipped.”

~~~~~~~

By the time Paper finally started making breakfast for himself- and Scissors, because he didn’t want to burn his hand in the toaster again- he was genuinely nervous. WAS Scarlett a vampire? WOULD his friends notice? Rock asked something- he could barely hear it. Probably how he slept. He made a promise to be honest, though…

“Did I… sleep better? No, I slept way worse! I don’t know how either.”

“Actually, I was asking for some butter…” Paper heard THAT correctly, and calmly slid the butter across the table, and Rock applied it to his toast. “Anyway, did you have any bad dreams? Would you like to discuss?” Paper didn’t know what to say. No dreams, just a lingering headache and a genuine feeling of fear. There was something about him that seemed off, but nobody could place it.

“I didn’t ask for Paper’s life story, I asked for salt!” Of course Scissors was being bossy again… Paper was still dazed, so he could barely tell which shaker was salt from the label alone, so he just reached for whichever one looked more likely, and threw it directly at Scissors. “…close enough.”

Paper was still in a haze, and he could barely understand anyth- SNIFF SNIFF. What was that? The scent was… citrusy, like sunshine, almost welcoming. It almost smelled… helpful. What was it? By the time Paper opened his eyes, he saw… a cup of orange juice?

“Can I, uh… I’d like some juice,” he added, as his roommates looked in awe. “Um… please.”

“You sure? It’s got pulp.” Paper said nothing, and just looked over at the pitcher curiously. It’s just orange juice! It can’t be that satisfying! Right? As he reached over, he stopped halfway, and then tried again, pouring himself a glass. As he stared into the beverage, he just couldn’t seem to understand what happened last night.

“Maybe I should just try to forget about that night and focus on now,” he told himself, almost at a frequency he didn’t think could be heard by his friends, and just took a sip… and enjoyed it. “Just one more sip,” he told himself. He repeated this in his mind after each sip, and before he knew it, he was… already satisfied? HOW? Did he get any on his face? Hopefully not, the lingering scent would have drove him NUTS.

“Haha! You kinda look like a vampire!” Paper turned to face Scissors, who was clearly laughing at the slight patches of juice still on his face. That combined with the sleepless look DID make him resemble a vampire. But he wasn’t! …was he? What if he WAS?

“Well, good thing I’m NOT a vampire. Because they aren’t real. And I’m not.“

“Calm down, Paper, he was joking!” Almost immediately, he calmed down and stopped himself. What was HE so nervous about? He wasn’t a vampire! Neither was that person at the movie! Scarlett was probably just insane… wait, that’s almost as bad as being a vampire… “Actually, he kinda does look the part… would explain a lot, right?” Paper had to think fast- almost immediately, it occurred to him… maybe he was a- no! NO! Vampires don’t exist! The red eyes were probably from a lack of sleep, and the fangs could’ve been surgically added!

“Why do you keep insisting that I’m a vampire? I’m not going to tell you this AGAIN.” He stood up and headed for the couch, his stomping barely making a sound. “Vampires are NOT real, and I am NOT A VAMPIRE!”

“This just in…” The trio all looked over at the TV, and noticed a strange winged silhouette upon the night sky. The red glow in its eyes almost reminded them of a… “vampires ARE, in fact, real.” As our Rocham-Bros kept listening to the witnesses explaining their encounters, it cut to someone that one of them recognized. Almost. Immediately. “We now go to our lead vampirologist, Professor Scarlett Moore.” All Paper could do was stare at the screen. It was HER. This was HER doing. SHE was the reason for his pain.

“Thank you. Now, what is the ONE thing we know vampires are capable of? TRANSMISSION.” On the screen appeared a PSA detailing everything Scarlett was saying. “The traditional method involves vampire biting an individual and possibly drinking their blood, while a different method discovered in Ancient Greece was to find and consume a wolf-killed lamb.”

“That’s not how SHE did it,” mumbled Paper.

“But vampires have adapted to the modern day and devised new methods to convert people to their side. To keep them at bay, remember this acronym: WORMS.” The acronym WORMS showed up on screen. Now, to state the verbatim of the instructions would be too long, so the shortened version… Windows, Oils, Restrictions, Metal, Sunlight. At the end, the three of them looked at each other.

“…you were saying?”

~~~~~~~

After finally getting back home with a few library books he checked out, Paper tried to focus on them to the best of his ability. He probably wasn’t a vampire! Yet! As long as he could keep himself and his roommates safe, he could easily keep them from… from… no! Don’t even think about that! Everything will be okay!

“Chapter One: vampires, an overview. Immortal hemisphere- uh… h-hemo…” he had trouble understanding the word hemophiliacs, so he had to skip that word. He assumed that it meant the same as blood drinkers, and moved on. After reading a little about them, he tried to skip to the section regarding cures. “Pleasebepainlesspleasebepainless-“

Right on that page, he found an answer that he didn’t want.

“Cure unknown.”

Looking over illustrations with diagrams, he saw many “cures” that seemed more like mercy killings than a cure. Stake through the heart, holy symbols, holy water, silver, even just the harmless weakness of obsessively counting small items like beans that got spilled on the ground… “not sure how THAT’S exclusive to vampires…”

Okay, so there’s no cure that involved the vampire actually LIVING! Was it because it wasn’t a sickness? Curing something that wasn’t even a disease was against all science that he knew, but- …science.

~~~~~~~

After several attempts, Paper had to give up for the night. He was still not ready to give up, but more than anything, he needed sleep. He placed his toolkit (which Pencil helped him buy a month ago) on his desk and carefully hid his blueprints (if you could call them that) so that his roommates wouldn’t find out anything suspicious about his current or future state.

“And I was SO CLOSE TOO…” Look, you definitely have work tomorrow, and your sleep deprivation will make things worse if left unchecked, so for the sake of you AND YOUR FRIENDS, just go to bed! At this point, he had no choice. He NEEDED sleep. Warily, Paper finally completed his nightly rituals to the best of his ability and climbed into bed. Right away, he tried to dream of something to distract himself from his condition, but to no avail.

Daylight came sooner than he thought, but he didn’t feel tired at all. Rock and Scissors appeared to be preparing to go somewhere, but they didn’t look happy… or sad… or any emotion that he could recognize.

“Where are you going?”

“To a funeral,” Rock answered without expression, “remember?” While his face didn’t show any emotion, his voice was quizzical, as if he knew exactly what was happening even though Paper didn’t.

“We told you eleven times,” Scissors added, expression unchanged except for a lift of one eyebrow. Once again, Paper was unsure about this. What funeral? As they walked outside and got into the Susan, he started to wonder what was happening. Everyone he knew and cared about was fine, so who was it for? Almost right after they got in, they got out about a minute later.

“Short trip,” Paper thought. As soon as they got out, they started to walk towards the exact center of the cemetery and stopped. Rock and Scissors still showed no emotion. Paper couldn’t see any name on the epitaph, and he was starting to become extremely paranoid. “I know this is a funeral, but WHY are you two showing such little emotion? And why are we the only ones? Wh-whose funeral is this ANYWAY?”

“Oh, Paper, don’t you remember?” His roommates turned to face him, but they looked… blank. Hollow. GHOSTLY. He could see right through them, and they were looking right through HIM. “It’s ours.”

~~~~~~~

Almost immediately, Paper woke up with a start.

“It… it was a dream?!” He looked at the clock. 5:00 AM. He was awake much earlier than he needed to be, but he didn’t feel tired anymore? How? Either way, he probably had to get up and get ready, so with one wing, he reached for- …WING?!

“WHAT THE HECK?!” He immediately tried to run to the nearest mirror, but that was kinda difficult because he was kind of… bat-sized at the time. He was stuck in his own room, physically a small bat. “This is bad. This is really bad! I’m… probably still dreaming! Wake up! Wake up!” Desperately, he kept looking to whatever reflective surface he had at the time and tried to get himself to look at it.

“Okay. Not dreaming anymore. Actually a bat.” His new form, about the exact height of the toolbox that Pencil helped him buy, wasn’t as intimidating as he was expecting, but it still scared him! None of the adventures that he’s been on with Rock or Scissors involved vampires, or bats, OR vampire bats.

The little bat in his reflection had messy eggshell fur and a puppylike snout with the nose extended into a leaf shape, and the triangular ears were folded down from the genuine fear in his expression, but as he looked in curiosity, they perked up. There was still a glint of red in his eyes, even behind his (non-prescription) glasses, and his newfound fangs were still prominent, but what caught him off guard was the markings on his wings.

Upon his wings, the dark gray membranes were contrasted by the reddish markings. The markings consisted of a stripe just above the bottom of the wings, with sparse dots surrounding eye-shaped ruby red markings, a gradient to black right where membrane met bone. There was no denying it anymore.

“Maybe I am a-“

“Paper, it’s five in the morning! Be QUIET!”

“Shoot! I forgot about my roommates!” Paper had to think fast. If his friends saw a bat in his bedroom, they’d more than likely suspect something. He had to hide, or at least try to convince them to leave him be. “I’m fine, everything is fine! Please don’t come into my room!” But these warnings were either ignored or misunderstood, because Scissors opened the door right away, as Rock started to look into the room as well.

“Is that…” Rock looked at the little bat in confusion, and gasped once he realized that it was in Paper’s room. Don’t find out, don’t find out… “…that bat is…” no no no no no! “…SO CUTE AND FLUFFY!” Huh? Paper was confused, but at least his friends didn’t suspect him to be the fluffy little bat. “Oh, Paper’s gotta see this little cutie pie!”

“Wh-no! I’M Paper! It’s me! I’m the bat! Listen! You need to-“ as Paper kept ranting and raving to his roommates, they couldn’t understand a thing he was saying. As far as they could tell, the little bat was just squeaking and squeaking. “…and you can’t understand a word I’m saying, can you?”

“Oh man, Paper has GOT to see this.” The little bat put his face in his wings and squeaked-screamed again. Scissors finally turned off the camera on his phone (he was recording the bat the whole time) and looked towards Paper’s bed… which was empty? “Wait, where IS Paper? Paper, you gotta see this! There’s a weird bat in your room!”

This was his chance. He desperately tried to get off the ground with his own leathery wings, but needless to say, he didn’t cover any distance at the time. Then he remembered: the movie was scientifically accurate, and he noticed that the bats had to drop down before flying rather than taking off the ground.

That was why they hung from the ceiling.

“If I could just…” as soon as he got to the windowsill, he desperately climbed up and tried to jump out. At last, he was right at the edge, and all that was left was a leap of faith. Calmly, he remembered everything he’s been through with his friends, and tried to remember what he could do.

Skydiving… that was familiar to him, and at the size of a small bat, it felt exactly like he was hundreds of miles from the ground rather than three stories. Still, he remembered the confidence Scissors had in that context when he was trying to come up with a good story for the weekend. Gracefully, every wingbeat became faster, and soon, the ground was in sight.

“Now to become me again…” Easier said than done, as he soon found out. He frantically tried to get into the right mindset, hoping that he would feel more like himself, but the tension was almost too much for him. Desperately, he tried to relay ideas to himself, but he couldn’t focus! He needed to-

…he needed to calm down.

“Alright…” as he relaxed himself, he remembered everything positive in his life… okay, not a lot of positives, but the one thing that made it all okay was… his friends. “I am calm. I am cool. Everything… is…” all in an instance, he poofed back into himself. “…okay, I didn’t actually think that would work.”

~~~~~~~

“Paper! There you are!”

As Paper walked back upstairs and straight into his apartment, he adjusted his glasses to keep them from knowing that he almost lost them as a bat. But how DID he become a bat? Was he actually a vampire now? He didn’t feel like one…

“Where WERE you? There was a bat in your room!”

“Oh, was there? That’s… interesting.” He didn’t think he would be in the form of the only flying mammal species at any point in his life… well, there was the lizard-bison incident during the prank war, but that didn’t count!

“It was SOOOOOO CUTE AND FLUFFY!” Rock seemed enamored at the thought of the little bat… I guess I did look kinda cute like that… what am I saying? “Too bad it left. But I got it on video!”

“You did what now?” And as Rock said, the video of the tiny ivory bat was shown to Paper. He heard everything that he said, but from his experience, his roommates couldn’t. Why? How? “Oh, my gosh! What was THAT doing in my room?” The potential vampire just hoped that the two friends he trusted his entire life would not catch on…

“Welp, I’m going back to bed,” added Scissors, who was already headed to his room.

“Scissors is right, don’t you have work tomorrow?” Rock was already helping Paper remake his bed. “You should get sleep…” Paper thought to himself. If he was a vampire, he was not a very good one- his best friends were already noticing his new little quirks! Either way, he did need sleep.

“G’night, guys…”

[sugarpopss]

Lee Bodecker Blurb (2)

This one has actual masturbation in it yay!!! I watched an entire episode of 'I've got a secret' for this and honestly it's not a bad show.

ummm warning for tugging the dick and shame and feedism and me being too into the research

“Is it an element of some kind? Heat? Fire?” 

Bess Meyerson was asking the questions, but would probably get buzzed out soon. Regardless, her melodic voice drowned out the creaks and groans of the old cabin quite nicely. What Miss America 1945 couldn’t drown out were Lee’s sounds, the grunts and huffs he couldn’t help but let out as he shoved his boxers down and grasped his cock in a spit slick hand. 

He focused on Bess’s dark eyes, the way her lips formed the next question (“You have to skate over it, around it, near it?”) the sweep of her neck and the shape of her bust, enthralling even on a 16-inch screen. Equally as enthralling, though not nearly as pretty as a game show panelist, was the weight of Lee’s gut, packed full and warm, weighing him down into the couch cushions. He could feel the ache of food shifting, his stomach trying its very hardest to digest everything inside of it. If he was honest with himself, that feeling alone could’ve gotten him at least half hard. 

Hell, he’d been half hard when he’d torn the cellophane wrapping off a package of waffle creams, cock swelling in anticipation of the feeling of the cookies settling heavy in his gut on top of the TV dinner he’d already had. A strange sort of self-disgust had settled over Lee about halfway through the cookies, a feeling not unfamiliar nor unwelcome. 

Sure, he was disgusted with himself for such behavior-bingeing on junk, every lonely divorcee and slovenly cop joke come to life. It was pathetic and unseemly. 

But by God, it felt so fucking good. The warm weight of fullness helped in every way-helped him get to sleep and filled the cavernous loneliness inside of him for a little bit. And it made him so, so painfully hard. 

Really, he just needed Bess (or Betsy Palmer or Nancy Walters or Beverly Bentley) to get him past the finish line. 

Lee tightened his grip on his cock, sped up the movement of his hand. Bess’s voice had faded and been replaced with a commercial, but he was so close to the edge that it didn’t matter. In his minds eye, her face blended with his ex-wifes; less a whole, solid picture and more an association of vague images, Bess’s hair and Flos perfume and hands and skin and sweat, the warmth of his stuffed gut and the shame and disgust and arousal all mingling and mixing to form the electric shock that made him tip his head back and groan like a bull bellowing in rut. 

By the time Lee was able to shake the post-orgasm haze from his brain, ‘I’ve Got a Secret’ was over and his cum was drying tacky on his hand. He shifted, stripped his undershirt-also spattered with cum-off and tossed it somewhere out of sight. He’d wash it later, along with the rest of his clothes. The automatic washing machine was the one thing he’d invested in when he’d moved from he and Flos house (former house-Flo had sold it and moved down to Virginia less than three months after their divorce was finalized) to the dusty old cabin. Nobody would want to re-elect a sheriff who went around looking like an unkempt sack of shit with a dirty, wrinkled uniform, or who smelled like his own jizz and sweat all day. 

He felt like a sack of shit, though, in uniform or out of it-lonely, melancholic, getting fat and jerking off to women playing rigged guessing games.

[bloody-bee-tea]

Kissuary 2023 Day 8 + 22 ~ Shy - Up the arm

Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what he has to expect as he follows Nie Mingjue through their camp. Jiang Cheng has made it out of the most recent battle mostly unscathed–apart from a few scratches here and there–so he doesn’t think Nie Mingjue is going to yell at him, like he sometimes does when Jiang Cheng’s recklessness leaves him hurt and injured.

Still, Nie Mingjue seems very determined; determined enough that no soldier dares to step into his way, even though it’s highly unusual that Nie Mingjue can go anywhere without being stopped every second step.

Jiang Cheng fears there’s still some scolding in his future for him and the uncertainty makes his gut churn, even though Nie Mingjue is never mean with his words.

With him, Jiang Cheng can read concern and worry out of everything he says, despite the fact that he sometimes yells at him like his mother did.

Jiang Cheng has never been that certain with her.

Nie Mingjue continues his track through the camp and around halfway through Jiang Cheng notices that they are walking towards his tent. Usually the scoldings either happen in the healer’s tent or in Jiang Cheng’s own, because he’s been advised to rest and Nie Mingjue might keep him up for longer just to scold him but he would never make him walk all across the camp. So there haven’t been many opportunities for Jiang Cheng to step into Nie Mingjue’s tent, despite their–relationship, for the lack of a better word. 

Jiang Cheng wants to ask what is going on, but he’s acutely aware of all the eyes on them, so he stays quiet. There is going to be talk about this anyway–the soldiers love to gossip and it’s not as if there is anything else to do for them–and he doesn’t actually want to give more fuel to the rumors by revealing something neither of them are ready to reveal yet.

If there even is something to reveal, Jiang Cheng reminds himself. It’s not as if anything ever happened between them; sure, they gravitate towards each other in a way neither of them do with anyone else, but that’s about it. 

If Jiang Cheng is honest, he’s afraid to even admit to himself that he might have feelings for Nie Mingjue because he’s convinced whatever it is they have won’t survive off the battlefield and Jiang Cheng’s life has been horrible enough lately. He doesn’t need some hope only to have it all crushed later on.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts when Nie Mingjue looks over his shoulder at him.

“Did I lose you somewhere?” he wants to know and Jiang Cheng huffs.

“I’m right here, what do you even mean?”

“Physically, yes. But not here,” Nie Mingjue says and flicks Jiang Cheng’s forehead.

“How would you even know, you weren’t even talking,” Jiang Cheng grumbles, and tries to ignore the warmth that unfurls in his chest at Nie Mingjue’s words.

It’s been a while since anyone has known him so well.

“I just know,” Nie Mingjue easily gives back as if that isn’t entirely mind-boggling to Jiang Cheng and then he continues on towards his tent as if nothing ever happened.

Jiang Cheng has to scramble to keep up with him and Nie Mingjue definitely knows it, going by the amused chuckle he lets out. It should rankle, being laughed at like that, but Jiang Cheng finds that somehow, with Nie Mingjue it’s okay. At least here they are both in on the joke and Jiang Cheng is certain that Nie Mingjue would never laugh at his expense.

That knowledge doesn’t help at all with his feelings but he ruthlessly squashes them down. There will be time to worry about this after the war. If they even both make it that far.

Jiang Cheng ducks into Nie Mingjue’s tent with a huff once they reach it, Nie Mingjue patiently holding the flap open for him and it suddenly seems a lot more intimate once it closes behind them. 

“Sit,” Nie Mingjue says, pointing at a chair and Jiang Cheng flops down without complaint. He did just come from the battlefield after all and while it had been a minor fight, the adrenaline still leaves him tired now. 

“And now what?” he asks when Nie Mingjue turns away from him but he has his answer a moment later, when Nie Mingjue turns back around, some supplies for wound dressing in his hands. 

“I’m not even hurt,” Jiang Cheng huffs out, because the healer had cleared him. 

Nie Mingjue should know. He was there.

“Yes, you are,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod towards Jiang Cheng’s hands and then he kneels in front of Jiang Cheng, leaving him spluttering.

“What are you doing?” he hisses but Nie Mingjue is undeterred. 

“Tending to your wounds,” Nie Mingjue easily says, reaching for Jiang Cheng’s hand carefully, as if he’s afraid he could hurt him.

“Mingjue, these are just scratches,” Jiang Cheng somehow gets out because the sight of Nie Mingjue kneeling in front of him with such a tender look is getting to him.

“They can get infected, too,” Nie Mingjue seriously tells him as he cleans the scratches and small cuts on his hand.

Jiang Cheng is ashamed to admit that most of them are from Zidian, because he is not quite as skilled as his mother with wielding it, but thankfully Nie Mingjue neither asks nor comments on them. He seems completely concentrated, diligently checking every cut and scrape on Jiang Cheng’s hands and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to do with that kind of attention at all.

“No one ever did something like that for me,” he finds himself saying, immediately mortified by what came out of his mouth, but Nie Mingjue only makes a thoughtful hum and strangely enough it invites Jiang Cheng to keep on talking.

“The few times I was allowed to practice with Zidian, my mother always scoffed at my injuries, saying I simply had to get better at wielding it. She never once–” He cuts himself off, suddenly acutely aware that he’s speaking ill of the dead, but Nie Mingjue doesn’t seem to mind.

“She should have taught you better,” he mutters, not taking his eyes off Jiang Cheng’s hands. “She should have prevented you from ever getting hurt. And failing that, she should have at least cared for you afterwards.”

At that, Jiang Cheng scoffs. Clearly Nie Mingjue has never met his mother, if he talks like this about her.

“What? You think you don’t deserve to be taken care of?” Nie Mingjue asks, peering up at Jiang Cheng who immediately falls quiet. 

It’s–a pretty accurate assumption, if Jiang Cheng is honest, and the fact that Nie Mingjue even suggested it means that Jiang Cheng has been more honest with him than he even thought.

But for once in his life his low self-esteem is not actually the problem.

“No, it’s not that. My mother–was a very harsh woman. I don’t think she even knew how to take care of any kind of injuries.”

Come to think of it, it’s kind of surprising that Nie Mingjue not only knows how to take care of injuries but also doesn’t feel like he is above doing this.

“Huaisang loves to read and draw and fiddle with his fans. I have tended to more paper cuts on him than any wounds he ever got from training,” Nie Mingjue sighs out, clearly knowing where Jiang Cheng’s thoughts have gone to. “And every good Sect Leader should at least know the most basic field medicines. What if the Sect Leader is the only one left standing because everyone got hurt? Leaving everyone else wounded and untreated is simply unacceptable.”

“I–see,” Jiang Cheng whispers and wonders if his own lack of knowledge in that regard immediately puts him down in Nie Mingjue’s eyes.

Though he does have to admit that he picked up quite a lot in the last few weeks.

“There, now you’re all set,” Nie Mingjue eventually says, squeezing Jiang Cheng’s hand carefully and Jiang Cheng notices that all of his cuts have been cleaned applied with a salve.

“Really, this was completely unnecessary,” Jiang Cheng can’t help but to say because he still feels ridiculous that Nie Mingjue even thought this to be necessary.

“Well, thank you for humoring me, then,” Nie Mingjue tells him with a smile, still looking up at him from his kneeling position and Jiang Cheng’s stomach swoops dangerously and his mind goes a mile a minute.

Until Nie Mingjue slightly leans forwards and presses kiss after kiss up his arm. That not only renders Jiang Cheng speechless but also brings all of his thoughts to a screeching halt.

“What are you doing?” Jiang Cheng whispers when Nie Mingjue stops at his elbow, not for a lack of trying but more for a lack of practicality it seems.

“I’m–” Nie Mingjue can’t seem to finish his sentence and Jiang Cheng is startled to see a slight blush on his face. 

“Are you nervous?” he blurts out, completely overwhelmed with this entire situation and Nie Mingjue huffs out a clearly frustrated breath.

“Yes, Wanyin, I’m nervous,” Nie Mingjue tells him, but he seems to come to a resolution, because his jaw does that little ticking thing it always does when he’s determined and Jiang Cheng goes warm with the fact that he knows this about him.

“Why?” Jiang Cheng wants to know, keeping his voice soft as he turns his hand around to take Nie Mingjue’s hand in his.

“Because it’s not quite that easy to make a move on you,” Nie Mingjue says. “And I haven’t actually asked anyone to allow me to court them before so I’m not quite sure if I’m going about this the right way.”

“A courtship?” Jiang Cheng breathes out, a small smile already starting to form. “With me?”

“No, Wanyin, I wanted to ask your second in command and I am only asking for your permission,” Nie Mingjue gives back with an eye roll, letting Jiang Cheng know exactly how serious he is about this. “Yes, with you, of course. I want a courtship with you. Will you allow me?”

Jiang Cheng wants to do nothing more than say yes, but the situation they find themselves in makes it hard.

“What about–we don’t know how long this war will last. What’s going to happen.”

“And it doesn’t matter, not to me. Regardless of the outcome of this, no matter what happens during or after the war, I want this. I want to court you and I want to be courted and I want us to be husbands.”

“Thinking very far ahead, huh?” Jiang Cheng teasingly asks though he can no longer keep the smile at bay. 

This is everything he wants as well, after all.

“It’s important to keep your long-term goals in sight,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod, sounding very confident, but Jiang Cheng can still feel the minute shake in his fingers.

He’s not half as confident as he wants to make Jiang Cheng believe right now.

“I like that long-term goal,” Jiang Cheng finally says, feeling as if he avoided answering for long enough now. “I might have the same one,” he admits, because if Nie Mingjue can be shy and nervous but still bravely soldier on then Jiang Cheng can do the same.

“Yeah?” Nie Mingjue asks, smiling up at Jiang Cheng in a way that makes butterflies erupt in his stomach.

“Yes.”

“Thank the gods,” Nie Mingjue mutters and raises their clasped hands towards his face so he can press kisses over kisses to Jiang Cheng’s knuckles.

“You’re ruining all of your hard work,” Jiang Cheng chides him and to stop him from continuing with this, he cups Nie Mingjue’s cheek in his hand. 

“I can redo it,” Nie Mingjue easily says as if it doesn’t even matter to him and Jiang Cheng starts to believe that it honestly might be the case.

And JIang Cheng very much hopes that it never starts to matter and that Nie Mingjue will take care of him for the rest of their lives, just like Jiang Cheng will do the same.

Buy me a ko-fi

[itsthegameilike]

Best Books of 2022

And I’m back again with another list of books that I think everyone should read. Or, at least, books I think are halfway decent given the other books I’ve read this year. To be fair, it was a better year than I thought. Anyway, without further ado, the best ten books I read, plus some honorable mentions:

Nona the Ninth - Tamsyn Muir In full disclosure, I knew this book would be on my list before I even read it and I was not disproven in that assumption by the time I finished. Hands down, the best book I read this year and it’s not even that close. Books tend to take me a lot longer to finish as I get older, but this one took me two days. Obviously, if you haven’t read Gideon the Ninth or Harrow the Ninth, you should, but this odd little sequel was probably my favorite one yet. Nona is such a refreshing character--a bombshell of light and love and curiosity--and it is as queer as ever. Bonus, if you have a soft spot for Camilla or Palamedes, as I do, you got blessed this book.

In the Dream House - Carmen Maria Machado I actually read far more nonfiction this year than I usually do, thanks to getting burnt out on fantasy, my staple. This book is the best of the bunch and absolutely incredible. The writing is poignant and lovely and careful and the topic of domestic abuse is tackled by an author who is invested in making you understand what they went through. It’s personal, it’s internal, and it broke me more than once. Definitely worth looking up trigger warnings, but also definitely worth reading.

The Half Life of Valery K - Natasha Pulley If Natasha Pulley publishes a book, it goes on this list. I have an unending love and devotion for the romances and relationships she crafts. There is such a tenderness and solitude and loneliness to all of them that always punches me straight in the gut. I love her and I am very biased, but this book was as incredible as always. Bonus points, you learn quite a bit about nuclear reactors and nuclear poisoning, too. Not her most realistic and probably not her best, but I still love it to bits.

The Master and Margarita - Mikhail Bulgakov This is a Russian novel from the 1940s that I think is best described by saying that the devil shows up in Moscow and wreaks absolute havoc. It is bizarre and mythic and surrealist, but it is also heartfelt and an utter joy to read. I was never bored, the characters were five parts humorous and five parts relatable, and I still regularly think about the magician show scene on a daily basis.

Clear Light of Day - Anita Desai This book is in many ways indescribable for me. I read it in August, when the days were hot, and the book felt exactly like those long summer afternoons. It cast a sort of spell over me and I would often sit and read twenty pages, then sit and think about them for forty-five minutes. It’s a deep dive into the decay of a country and the decay of a family and their relationships and an exploration of the choices we make in life, how they alter it, and how often we sit and imagine what would’ve happened if we chose differently.

Time is a Mother - Ocean Vuong My one book of a poetry and another that I was positive would end up on this list. Ocean has been a wordsmith rock of mine since college and he did not disappoint in this collection. I highly recommend “The Last Dinosaur” and “Almost Human”. If you read nothing else, read those.

Breaking Bread with the Dead: A Reader’s Guide to a More Tranquil Mind - Alan Jacobs If there was a required reading list for anyone who would like to approach what they read with critical thinking skills, this would be on it. This book is a manifesto to the grays of the world, a sort of rejoicing in how nothing is black and white, and I felt so refreshed reading it. There are also so many great book recommendations in here, including Clear Light of Day already on this list, so it has alternate functions, as well. This book gave me hope, to be honest, so if you need that, look no further.

Iron Widow - Xiran Jay Zhao Man, this book. It is like an electric shock to the system. There is so much good here that even the occasionally clunky dialogue means nothing to me. The characters are stunning, there is really excellent polyamory the way I wish more media would display it, there’s Chinese myth, and big metal monsters smashing the patriarchy. The end had a twist that was actually shocking and I cannot wait for the second book. I’ve mostly outgrown young adult at this point, but please read this one, even if you feel the same.

Daughter of the Moon Goddess - Sue Lynn Tan This book was breathtaking. It feels lush when you’re reading it, the descriptions so well done, and I was so swept up in the setting, in the plot, in the pleasant, warm reminders of other Chinese dramas it gave me, that I hardly minded the naivete of the main character, Xingyin. The love triangle isn’t unbearable, as there are clear, obvious breaks with the love interests when she is romantically interested in the other, and Xingyin grows into something just as bold and beautiful as the book. One caveat, I also read the sequel this year and I kind of wish I hadn’t. It’s not nearly as good and I sort of wish this had been a standalone experience for me.

Crying in H Mart - Michelle Zauner I read this at the very start of the year, so I don’t remember everything, but I do remember that this book was profoundly sad, deeply meaningful, and heartbreakingly lovely. Nothing is held back by the author as she explores her relationship with her mother and the grief that came with her death. I would recommend this to anyone at any time for any reason. It’s that good.

Honorable Mentions: The Charm Offensive by Allison Cochrun, The Goblin Emperor by Katherine Addison, Deathless by Catherynne M Valente, Nettle and Bone by T. Kingfisher, H is for Hawk by Helen Macdonald, and The Golden Enclaves by Naomi Novak

[drk-brain]

Don't know if you wanted prompts but 4. Rainy for the prompts list!

oh hell yeah, hadn't considered it but I am SO open to prompts let's fucking go, time to christen this place with my bullshit. Just know if you prompt me you're gambling with like a 90% chance it'll come back sid/anora

(fair warning I maybe went overboard I am not good at Short Things)

------

It never rains in Coerthas anymore. Not since the calamity. If Sidurgu were honest with himself (he isn't), he would perhaps admit he's missed it (he won't).

But as they near the base of the mountain, fog and mist turn to a drizzle, and that turns quickly to a downpour. It's cold rain, each drop heavy with the dream of being ice, and it's not so long before they are forced to duck into an alcove too small to call a cave seeking shelter.

He'd nearly forgotten it rains in Dravania. He knew before—had traveled some of these lands before, in days he no longer wished to remember—given the low elevation and the humidity, but it had been so long since he'd thought of any weather but snow...

Sidurgu is no longer well-traveled, despite what most in Ishgard might think upon uneasy first impressions. He could go anywhere now if he wanted, of course. But where would he go? Home? Home was never a place; it was always people. So, knowing there is no home to return to, he finds himself only treading the same paths day to day, counting cobblestones worn by his own feet.

Sohm Al is the furthest he's been from the city in two years, and had it not been for Anora, he would never have bothered. But he did, and now she is gone again, leaving him to walk the long road back. Again.

He allows a familiar scowl to cross his face as he settles onto the ground beside the wall of the alcove and picks through his bag. He finds the flint and hands it to Rielle without a word, and she crouches to clumsily light a fire for them.

"You miss her," Rielle says as she works, and somehow those words carry loud and clear over the sound of the rain in a way his own thoughts did not.

"Hmph," he only grunts, instinctively crossing his arms and leaning back against the stone. It's a habit he wears like a shield—petulant, perhaps, but effective.

But halfway through the motion he's reminded not so gently of his injury and, with gritted teeth, drops them back to his sides instead, open and vulnerable.

"More than before," she says pointedly.

"Nothing's different," he snaps, though his frustration gives up the lie. He's stopped trying to lie to Rielle anymore, anyway. But something about Anora being in his life again... It's brought out the self-destructive side he'd hoped he'd quelled forever.

"It's plenty different," Rielle says as a spark hits the tinder and finally catches. Satisfied, she sits back beside him. "And it's obvious to anyone with half a brain and at least one eye that you care."

He scowls at her, but she isn't looking, eyes cast out of their makeshift camp toward the skies, gray and stormy and an undeniable sort of beautiful.

"I know you're not going to say anything about it," she says, "but it's okay to feel like that. She just left. You miss her. It happens. And you know she'll be back this time."

As if it were that simple, he thinks. But Rielle is fifteen, sixteen at most, and he doesn't have the stomach to kill her spark of optimism.

So he only shrugs instead, ignoring the dread that's been stewing in his gut in the days since they'd parted ways again. The familiar one that always whispered to him in the dead of every night, asking if he felt ready for each goodbye to be the last.

He has no right to feel this, he knows. She needs no protecting, and even if she did, he would not be the one to give it. But still it aches, watching her go. He lets it tear new holes in his psyche, because that, he thinks, is easier than feeling helpless.

She’d crashed into his life like a thunderstorm, after all. It only makes sense, then, that she would leave wreckage behind her. But he’d always loved the smell of rain; the gray and gloomy skies; the electricity that hung in the air when it passed.

Perhaps it means he could learn to love this, too. The way she fashions new cracks in the iron mask each time she looks at him. The way he crumbles into sharp and aching splinters every time he watches her disappear again.

[zeawesomebirdie]

Could we know more about

-> please God, not like this (MASH)

that sounds sooo angstty 👀

[WIP Tag Game]

Thank you so much for the ask Astro!!!

Ahhhhhh okay okay, I was going to say it's not actually as angsty as it sounds, but it definitely has a lot of angst! It's for the Bad Things Happen Bingo prompt "Over the Shoulder Carry," and I decided to step out of my usual blood and guts and write a sickfic!!

It takes place during season 1 of MASH, and it starts out with Hawkeye, Trapper, Oliver, and Radar playing poker and drinking way too much after far too long a day of meatball surgery. Hawkeye isn't drinking nearly as much as everyone else; he wanted to take advantage of the other Swamprats being drunk to really appreciate Radar being beautiful (plus, someone has to take care of the others when they all start hurling, it's not like the others are showing any signs of stopping any time soon and it may as well be him and not Frank)

The angst comes in when Radar just vomits all over their cards, and then there's the pining from Hawkeye and his trying to be discrete about his affections while he carries Radar to the showers and helps him get cleaned up. And then Hawkeye has to figure out how to keep him from choking to death on his own vomit before morning, so the obvious solution is to take Radar back to the Swamp and let him sleep in his bed, regardless of what Frank has to say about that!

This fic is actually almost almost finished, I'm a good quarter into the second draft at this point

And so, may I present a snippet below the cut!! The only content warning for this is that I have no idea how much money was worth during the Korean War and it's something I will be fixing before I post it, so for now just uhh ignore the fact that that's a lot of money for the stakes

“Five,” Trapper said, a chuckle in his voice and a dopey grin playing across his lips.

Oliver snorted and threw his cards face down on the table. “I’m out.”

Radar groaned, his brow lowering further as his fingers tightened on his cards. Now held captive by the beauty across from him, Hawkeye could only stare as Radar drew his bottom lip between his teeth, and oh, what he wouldn’t give to be the one biting that lip! The spell broke only a moment later when Radar huffed and tossed his hand down as well.

“Well, Hawk?” Trapper asked, inclining his head even as he raised his glass for a sip.

“You can’t rush greatness,” Hawkeye shot back.

He raised his cards to give the impression of deep thought, training his eyes on them as though that would somehow release his very soul from wanting nothing more than to be on the other side of the table himself. Just past his cards, Radar began to tilt to one side, and Hawkeye glanced up just long enough to see the kid collapse in  his arms on the table. Well then. At least his temptress would be out of commission long enough to let him play this hand.

And with that, he fixed Trapper with his own shit-eating grin and threw his own scrip into the pot.

“Five more,” he said, relishing in the teasing glare Trapper shot back at him, “you got anything better?”

“Oh honey, you know I do,” Trapper taunted, that smile never leaving his face.

But naturally the man had to take his sweet time considering his hand oh so carefully before anteing up any further, and Hawkeye allowed himself the pleasure of turning back to Radar. The poor kid was drunk as a skunk—his head buried in the crook of his elbow, his shoulders slumped up to his ears, his hat halfway off his head. If Hawkeye was honest with himself—and he did, truly try to be—he would give up this entire poker game if it meant he could go take care of Radar just then. That was out of the question, of course. One does not make a single, solitary move away from the poker table in the middle of a hand, not when one has a reputation on the line, even if those he’s playing with have had so much to drink they won’t remember this in the morning.

“Five more,” Trapper announced to the table at large, tossing his scrip onto the table.

Hawkeye couldn’t resist fixing Trapper with a look of mock surprise as he asked, “five more?”

Trapper, to his credit, just rolled his eyes, not without a smile, and gestured at the pot with his fan of cards. “Unless you can do better.”

“Hurry it up ladies,” Oliver interrupted, not even giving Hawkeye the opportunity to respond himself, “this ain’t bridge. We ain’t got all night.”

[familyvideostevie]

Hi!! I love your writing and thought I would make a lil request <3 how about Eddie and reader giggly first time smoking together to chill out after everything happening?

thank you for your request, i love writing eddie, in this fic let's pretend everything went perfectly and they saved the world! i'll be honest, i don't smoke, so i had to phone a friend for some of these details, hope they satisfy! (thanks sabrina <3) | 0.9k, fem!reader, fluff, cw: smoking weed

The sun has just gone down and the spring chill is settling in, but you hardly feel it. Eddie's front steps are firm beneath you as you both wait for Steve to pick you up for "Big Kid Movie Night," as Robin has dubbed it. It sounds much better than "none of us want to spend too much time alone after almost dying so we're having a sleepover," but, whatever. Steve provides his house, Robin brings the movies, Nancy makes the snacks, and you and Eddie bring the substances. Beer, usually, but tonight you've got weed, too. You might be a bit of a mess, all of you, but at least you have each other.

"Harrington's gonna be so pissed we started already," Eddie murmurs, the lit joint loose in his fingers. You're about halfway through it, feeling relaxed and calm, though that's always how you feel around Eddie. You don't know how you'd have gotten through all of this without him.

"That's what he gets for being late!" Eddie is warm next to you, sitting a step or two lower with his arm slung over your thigh, hand wrapped gently around your calf.

It's new, this thing between you, forged in the intensity of the last week, but it's warm and bright in your chest. The truth is that you've loved him forever, since he first smiled at you. How could you not? But the threat of the end of the world and multiple near death experiences finally made you fess up. And now that you're on the other side of it you can look at him openly with the tenderness you've that's been brewing in your chest for years.

Eddie blows a smoke ring and something in your gut shifts. He grins at you before passing you the joint. It's the first time you've smoked together, and while his mouth has been on yours many, many times already, the action feels like a new kind of kiss, a new kind of intimacy, placing your lips on the imprint of where his have just been.

"How's your neck, baby?" he asks quietly, long fingers tracing patterns over your jeans. The Upside Down had left its marks on all of you, surface and otherwise. You take an inhale before using your free hand to pull down the collar of your shirt -- Eddie's shirt, actually -- even though he asked you the same question mere hours ago. You and Steve have matching circles, both having been caught by demobat tails. The ring has faded from an angry red to purple and hasn't bled in days, but it still aches a little.

"It's kinda crusty," you say, wrinkling your nose. The memory of writhing on the ground and gasping for breath as Eddie ran towards you isn't a nice one. "Fading, though. I'm hoping it won't scar."

Eddie looks so forlorn you can't take it. He reaches for you slowly, hovering his hand over the bruising as he parts his lips to say something, most likely an apology, but as soon as his warm thumb touches the base of your throat the joint slips through your fingers onto the steps. Eddie looks at you for a second, more confused than sad now, before you collapse into giggles.

He laughs with you, soft, happy again, before picking up what you've dropped and handing it back to you. He reaches up to brush his fingers along the bruises, soft and quick as if he could heal them right then and there, before grabbing your empty hand and bringing it to his lips to kiss the back of it.

"You laugh a lot when you're high," he says. "And you're a little more... affected by me than usual."

You scoff at him and take another inhale. Your smoke ring attempt fails miserably but Eddie just smiles and takes his turn before putting out the joint. The sheer adoration on his face sends you into another fit of giggles, and you smack your hand over your mouth to smother them. He's right, though. Of course he's noticed that your blush isn't just from the chill. Eddie knows every inch of you. The longer you look at him the more your stomach clenches. He's just so pretty.

"Maybe you're just...really funny...looking," you say, serious as you can.

"Nice try, sweet thing. I know I'm hot shit." He scoots up to the same step as you and cradles your face.

"You sure are, Eddie Munson," you whisper. No use in denying it. But as much as Eddie has you wrapped around his finger, you've got him wrapped around yours. You feel it in the tenderness with which he touches you, the intensity of his gaze, the soft way he says your name before he leans in and kisses you. He nibbles on your bottom lip before licking into your mouth. You gasp, and that's when a car honks. Both of you jump a little, but Eddie doesn't let go of you.

"Fucking Steve," you mutter. Eddie laughs.

"Hey!" Steve himself yells from his car, now in front of the trailer, his headlights bright on both of you. "Are you two bozos high already?"

"Yes!" you shout as Eddie groans, "No!" Eddie gives you another kiss, this one quicker but still a little filthy, before standing and offering you a hand.

"C'mon baby, let's go mess around in Harrington's back seat." He winks at you and you feel a swell of fondness for him, for everything that's happened, since it means you get to love Eddie for the rest of your life.

"I heard that!" Steve yells.

want to be added to my tag list for full-length (non-ask) fics? send me a message and specify for steve, eddie, or both! reblog, send feedback, requests open, masterlist here!

[theoptimisticdaydreamer]

Episode 8 marks the halfway point of the drama and a lot of things happened. Primarily, a deeper dive into Joong Gil’s story and I am here for it. Also, you understand how his serious threatening aura is actually advantageous for more than one type of soul.

I AM OVER THE MOON WITH HOW MUCH SCREEN TIME JOONG GIL GOT THIS EPISODE. Could it have been more? Definitely. However, it was longer than the 60 seconds he has gotten in the past and I am thrilled. Hopefully, he has more of a main character presence in the future because it is about time.

We open the episode with Joong Gil and Ryeon 10 years ago. 10 years is interesting to me because I wonder if we can use this same year as the year she took over the Risk Management Team or if she was with him for a little bit longer before she switched. You also get the tidbit that they worked together for TWO HUNDRED years. What blew my mind is that he smiled at her and he gave honest and personal details. When she asked him why he doesn’t sleep he could have been succinct with it and simply say its hard or it is difficult for me. But he goes into detail! Which means he trusts her enough to tell her things he probably hasn’t told to anyone else. Before getting into the details of what he said, this alone makes his attitude towards her make more sense. He probably has never gotten close to anyone in the entirety of the time he was a Grim Reaper and he finds someone that he gets close to over the period of two hundred years (unbeknownst to him that is his wife) and finally gets comfortable enough to confide in her and then she leaves him to join another team that he doesn’t agree should exist. Less than a decade compared to two centuries is but a blip-- the hurt is still raw and he has not attempted to mend the bridges.

Why he can’t sleep is itself eye opening. He is haunted by nightmares. The fact that he can be haunted already breaks his self-imposed icicle facade. I’m afraid of falling asleep. When I sleep, that horrible moment keeps repeating itself. Sadness and rage. Distrust and despair. And lethargy. That person looks exactly like me but that’s not me. So I hate seeing that nightmare every time I fall asleep. The way she stood still and looked at him as he walked away speaks volumes. I have a strong inkling that his recollection of that memory varies with her recollection of that memory.

You get a little bit more detail about the single scene that replays over and over in his mind. The fact that this is the only scene is in itself interesting considering how long he has lived (because he looks to at least be in his mid 20s in the memory) and how long he has been a Grim Reaper. It seems like the people he killed knew him. He was not their enemy and it surprised them the calculatedness with which he killed them. This means that up until this point he was not this type of person and something drove him to do this. His words are also very telling because he says that he will take down anyone who dares to utter such insults no matter how many of them there are. I think the insults were not directed at him but someone who is important to him...he is acting out of protectiveness and defensiveness. Considering at this point, he was married, my gut says that it was Ryeon who he is protecting. You also learn that he runs into Ryeon after killing those men and she says is that how you were taught to wield a sword. Through those words, it seems like she does not think that he should be killing people. I am not sure if she knows what provoked him, that the reason he drew his sword was because of insults. Furthermore, he implied that there were many people who insulted them so even if she knew of the insults I don’t think he let her know the scope of how far it stretched. What she does know, I think she just lets it roll off of her shoulders but in contrast, he takes great issue with. I also have a feeling that the insults were more than merely surface level and probably included jeopardizing their safety. 

This memory does not warrant becoming a nightmare for someone who has lived for over four hundred years. The memory also cuts off right when she confronted him. Possibly this timing is what lead it to become a nightmare because there was no resolution. She clearly does not hate him for what happened that night. You know this because she retained her memories even in death and chose to work with him. I am sure because of the little deal that she had with the Director she could have chosen anywhere else to put in her hours. At the point of the flashback they had been working together for two hundred years... you do not work two centuries with someone you hate and resent and hold a grudge against. I think only in getting her memory of these events and completing this sequence will he be free of this nightmare. My theory is that since he is currently a emotionally stunted statue, he probably became emotionally awkward after becoming a soldier and being sent to the border. He lost the ability to read basic cues and effectively communicate. I don’t think he explained to her why he did what he did (which is probably all she needed to not be upset at him), instead chosing to clam up. He probably died soon after and his regret was tackling the problem solo instead of letting her in and doing it together and as a result leaving her with such a bad impression of him. Letting his crueler tendencies get the best of him and letting her down. Sort of the same vibes of I didn’t want my last words to you to be an argument. I do not think his recollection is 100% accurate to what happened in reality since dreams take a form different to reality but there is something about that moment, a wrong choice that he made, that he regrets and has been haunted by ever since. I hope that he can sleep peacefully by the end of the drama (if this happens with his head on Ryeon’s shoulder I will not complainnn). 

Even after the red thread between them was cut, I think there is still a pull between Joong Gil and Ryeon. His nightmare does not feature her when he suddenly becomes worried and goes to the Risk Management Office to find her. I don’t think a Grim Reaper’s powers extend to target location transportation which means before we see him join the Risk Management Team, he had to find them. Which speaks to his perserverance and his worry. 

I am moreso surprised by the subtle Joong Gil and Jun Woong interaction we got this episode. I bet that he intimidated the creepy psycho by promised him that death will be extremely torturous for him and showing him the fires of Hell to aid and reassure Jun Woong. That he will pay the price of his actions in death. So that, even in Jun Woong does not kill him, it does not mean that he won’t suffer the way he deserves. He helped him in making his final decision in an implicit way. All I can say is give me more. By the end of this drama I want everyone melting in the face of the giant sunshine puppy. 

Joong Gil and the Director meeting in her garden definitely makes me feel like she is everyone’s grandmother. When she compliments Jun Woong and says that he is an interesting fellow, sprightly like a budding leaf possibly because he is so young and not set in his ways (like they were with so many years behind them). When she told him that she thought Jun Woong would let the creep die but he has good instincts, Joong Gil did not disagree with the characteristic coldness he had in the beginning but was just softer and almost awkardly agreeing with her by saying that he didn’t know. I am here for Joong Gil seeing the value in Jun Woong! Can’t wait for Joong Gil to be more open-minded and generous because I think that is the core of his character development. The grandmother aura came back in full force when she worried about how he was sleeping. It definitely feels like she is trying to gently nudge him in a given direction and that she only wants what is best for him. I am glad that he has this grandmother figure in Jumadeung because he really needs it.  

The case itself I have very mixed feelings about. It was my least favorite part of the episode. Learning that the psycho who was profitting off of so many people who desired to take their own lives was not in fact the big burly man but the shrimp in a coat was a surprise and was not a surprise at the same time. He was the only one who never offered up his story and he radiated this aura of malice. Jun Woong definitely shines through even in this dark environment. It was with his encouragement and his words of support that he was able to save the two other people there and got them to escape before they would lose their lives. His story that he offered up was not a lie and it would make complete sense that anyone with his backstory would be on the fence and pushed to the brink to consider this group s**cide scam as a viable option. However, he immediately was offering words of support to everyone else and never gave up trying to escape even when the situation looked dire. While the capture scene was one of the most unhinged things I have watched in recent memory, Rowoon delivered that scene immaculately. You really felt the despiration and the panic that Jun Woong was experiencing in that moment. It truly did feel like a kick to the face when after all the suffering Jun Woong experienced at the hands of this creep that he would be the life they had to save. I am glad that the creep’s life is not easy in the aftermath since he cannot hear nor talk and will be confined to a bed for the rest of his life. However, part of me feels like that still can’t compare to what he put so many people through. Would have loved to see a second epilogue featuring all of the ways he will be tortured and miserable in Hell.

I think the case caused something in Jun Woong to break. Like there is an innocence and an energy that is now forever lost. Not only the case itself but Ryung Gu and Ryeon’s reactions. When they told him that the situation only existed because of him and to stop doing “reckless” things,  it really felt like a dagger to the chest because he intervened because he cared, because he thought that what was happening was wrong, because he wanted to save lives. There was never really any recognition that his motives were valid. His intentions were good and his heart was in the right place and it felt like they were putting him down. He is the missing piece of Jumadeung and the heart of the Risk Management Team because he cares. He cares about people leading up to that choice and in the aftermath. Ryeon and Ryung Gu still mainly care about the people in the moment they are making the choice and still not at an honest and emotionally warm level like Jun Woong does. You remove that and you remove the light in the lightbulb. It is a fundamental part of who he is and the value he brings to the team. I really feel like they could have handled that better. 

I do appreciate that at least Ryung Gu and Ryeon went after him and saved him. They are slightly redeemed by the aftermath of the case. How Ryeon followed through on getting justice while in the Land of the Living with the thumbdrive of footage. Saving them so that they can receive the punishment they deserve in the Land of the Living. This is one of the powers the Director has authorized to the team manager of the Risk Management Team. YESSSS.  Ryung Gu shared a beer with Jun Woong and smiled at him. He spent time with him when he was not required to. He shared with Jun Woong that Ryeon was also very impulsive and hot headed when she was starting out as a Grim Reaper. Ryung Gu put his hand on his shoulder on his way out. Ryeon put her hand on Jun Woong’s shoulder in Episode 6 and now we get another hand on the shoulder. I feel like the way that the Grim Reapers show affection is through the shoulder pat of support and I love it. Cannot wait for Joong Gil’s shoulder pat of support to complete the trifecta of shoulder pats. I hope that the barriers between the three members of the Risk Management Team have relaxed and they become a stronger team from here on out. The Epilogue really highlights the growing playful energy that exists between the three of them and I love it so much.

It did feel like everything was a giant test for Jun Woong and I am not sure what the overall goal and outcome will be but I am praying for a happy ending. 

The confrontation between Joong Gil and Ryeon was perfection. You could almost see the lightning coming out of each other’s eyes. I laughed when she called him out on the fact that he should not have been there because there was no soul. I do wonder, if he is this bad at lying, how she has not noticed this entire time that he cares for her in his own way? I don’t think she was prepared for him to start remembering their past. Ohhh it is likely to get angsty but I also want more fluff. I would love to see more happy moments between them while they were alive (and for him to remember that he loved (loves) her and he was happily married to her). I also want him to see her life in the aftermath of his death because I think that will be the most important element in being more open-minded and finally understanding her stance on s**cide. I really do hope for their reconcilliation. 

There is a theory that Jun Woong could be a reincarnation of Joong Gil and Ryeon’s child. It has not been revealed that they had a family together but it would make sense chronologically. They married quite young and in the flashbacks (especially for ancient times) were old enough to have children. Possibly, their child passed away before Ryeon passed away because she entered into Hell with no regret or resentment. There would be regrets if you died and left you child all alone in the world without their parents, if you left behind someone you loved. However, if they were taken from her and it was not a natural death and she got justice and revenge for this, she would not have any regret or resentment because she avenged her loved ones. You can also see that Jun Woong shares similar traits to both of them: with his passionate hot-headedness at times (which comes from Ryeon) and his protectiveness of his loved ones (from the both of them). Both Joong Gil and Jun Woong got duped by the shaman in one of the earlier episodes. They both also have the same dynamic with the Director (caring but also testing her patience). Ryeon also sees something in Jun Woong and is relatively soft towards him to the point where she bends rules that she has never done before. She perhaps feels that subconscious pull and affection towards him. Joong Gil is softening towards Jun Woong and he is only really soft towards two other people- the Director and Ryeon. However, if he is truly their son, I don’t think she knows yet. I think that could be a big reveal later (possibly made by the Director) at a pivotal moment. If this is the direction we are heading in, I want to see more signs of how they are similar! Like mother like son, like father like son, like parents like child--- give it all to me!

On the other hand, I am nervous if they all are tied together in the past. The Director’s assignment for Ryeon is that she will need to save someone’s life and she will not know who that person is. Her entire team’s mission is to save someone’s life when they are considering s**cide. So, whoever this person is to be in the scope of the Risk Management Team will need to be considering s**cide. With the amount of observation that is being made towards Jun Woong, Jun Woong could be that person and Ryeon just does not know it yet. I do not want Jun Woong to be seriously considering taking his own life. I cannot imagine him being on this precipice because he would have to be significantly pushed to the brink and I also do not want to imagine what would entail. Please do not destroy me emotionally like that. 

The next episode relates to animals and I am sure is going to tug on all of my heartstrings like all of the episodes that preceeded it. That being said, I hope that the show balance the cases well and each of them serves a purpose that warrants not focusing on the individual stories of the Grim Reapers. I get increasingly worried that the main characters (of which there are four.. not three.. four) will be pushed to the sidelines until the very end of the drama. Please focus more on the Grim Reapers instead of leaving their arcs to be a footnote at the end of each episode. I am interested in seeing and learning more about them as soon as possible. 

[maddenleftchat]

hi, can please request what would happen if DreamXd and God! Dream falling in love with the same darling?

Oh fun!

Triggers: obsessive behavior, possessive behavior, toxic relationship, unhealthy relationship, unhealthy control, codependent behaviors, mentions of mass murder, mentions of war, heavy manipulation, God complex, superiority complex, heavy guilt tripping, and yandere like behaviors. PLEASE BE CAREFUL WHEN READING!

Enjoy.

DreamXD

&

God!Dream

Well...the likelihood of this really ever happening is very low.

These two gods have a VERY different taste and lovers.

Along with the way that they treat their lovers.

XD is cruel and really only wants to play mind games.

He tries his best to be nice but he can't... It's not really in his nature.

He sees you as more of a pet than a person, something to sit and look pretty.

While GD (god dream) is gentle and really only wants to spoil you.

He simply wants to hold you and know that you're loved, you're safe.

So least to say, you would have to have a very... interesting personality to catch both of their attention.

But it is possible, just very unlikely.

~

Now, one thing to note about these two is they do NOT get along.

They hate each other's guts.

It's impossible to make these two see eye-to-eye.

XD can't understand how or why GD can be so gentle and careful with the humans?

XD believes GD's ways to be too boring and mellow.

Meanwhile GD hates how reckless XD can be.

GD refers to XD's behaviors to be the same as a toddler's behaviors.

And to be honest, they are both right in their own ways.

GD is very gentle and simply finds curiosity among the humans.

He is so entranced by the species, that he believes that all of his questions will never be answered.

While XD thinks that the humans are so boring.

He wants to create chaos among them.

It amuses him when humans fight against their own kind.

How stupid do the humans have to be?

Do they not understand their only killing off themselves?

To XD the humans are just stupid little ants for entertainment.

But to GD humans are their own people with their own complex lives and minds.

~

But when they saw you, they had no idea what to think.

You were not some dumb little rat like the other humans.

But You did not exactly have your own personality or mind either.

It's like you shifted yourself every time you saw somebody different.

It was a different personality for every different person or friend group you were around.

And this caught the eye of both gods.

And this you realize soon will be your greatest downfall…

~

GD is likely to make the first move, he'll come down in the form of a human and try to befriend you.

What can you say?

His curiosity got the best of him.

He wanted to take a look inside your mind and see your real personality.

To see your true intentions.

This risky move however would anger XD.

How dare GD even think about touching you!

XD saw you as a very interesting play thing.

You could play people like puppets and they would never even know.

He could use you to cause so many wars.

And then he would make you watch the wars, and make sure you slowly fall apart losing every little bit of your sanity…

But…

That won't be able to happen with GD with you!

~

Honestly it's a huge war between the two.

They tear the Earth apart to see who is strong enough to take care of you.

Whether this breaks you or makes you laugh they don't care.

Around the halfway mark it's no longer about what you want or what you need, It's about what they think you want and what they think you need.

There is no sharing with these two.

There never has been.

And there never will be.

So having the option of them "sharing you" isn't going to happen.

Eventually one of them will end up living.

~

If GD ends up living, you will be in a utopia.

You will be given the finest jewelries in the finest soaks that he can find.

You will be draped with the finest fabrics around your fabulous figure.

It will be gifted with a room full of jewels and gold.

You will be given an empire in an army to rule, if you wish.

Anything you want will be given.

All you have to do is love him back.

He won't pressure you into anything that you don't want to do, after all he does realize humans have boundaries.

He may not understand the reason for boundaries, but he does acknowledge their existence.

Honestly you'll be off pretty well if he lives.

But he might be a little clingy..

~

If XD lives, you're in for a world of chaos and complete hurt.

You won't be able to run freely or do as you please.

A minute this man claims his victory is the minute you lose.

Your freedom is gone.

You don't speak unless spoken to.

You don't move unless told to.

You don't look at anything else unless told to.

XD is an insatiable glutton for power.

He wants control over everything...and I mean EVERYTHING.

Most of your days will likely be spent next to him or on his lap while he works.

You will be gifted and given things, but they are things he thinks you want.

XD will inquire you a lot about humans and their traditions.

XD won't necessarily physically hurt you unless absolutely needed.

And if you're a good little darling, you might just get your own country to rule…

Other than that that's the only good thing that will come out of it.

He'll make you watch wars, hammer it into your head that this is all your fault.

He'll make you walk amongst the rebel that was caused by him in his rival.

He'll describe the fight in vivid detail, and he won't forget to leave out the line then this was all caused by you.

~

In short: Better hope of GD...

Word count: 970

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Thanks for reading!

[ghostbustermelanieking]

For the AU-Jon wakes up from his coma before Martin accepts Peter's offer?

1. Oliver Banks comes sooner. No one knows why it happens this way, but this is the way it happens, and it mostly goes the same. Georgie shows up, Oliver leaves, and Jon starts to breathe again. It all just happens earlier.

Basira doesn’t tell Martin right away, when Georgie shows up. He’s taken this whole thing so hard, and it might be nothing, it might be nothing at all. She resolves to call him as soon as they have more details—when she has a hold on the whole situation.

2. This happens only two days after Peter has made his offer. He gave Martin a few days to “think it over,” and Martin still hasn’t come to a clear decision. (He thinks that the decision should be obvious—should be—but he isn’t that brave, and he’s never been the hero, and the decision seems impossibly stupid at times, and what if—what if Jon wakes up?)

Peter’s offer is still sitting like a stone in his mind, and he’s halfway considering visiting Jon, for some grasp at clarity—or maybe an attempt to say goodbye—when Basira texts, tells him to come to the hospital. She doesn’t offer many more details besides that, and Martin is out of the Institute and in a cab before there is even time to consider what this might mean. He halfway wants to call Basira up and press for information. The thing that sticks in his mind—the thing he thinks it must be—is that Jon is dead. Jon has finally died, and Basira’s called him there to say goodbye—and that just makes him want to press Basira even more, to demand answers, because what if he’s heading to the hospital with even a glimmer of hope and it turns out to be the exact opposite…

(Or what if—what if he’s awake? What if he’s alive?)

Martin doesn’t let himself hope. Doesn’t know how to. He keeps going over the possibilities—He’s probably dead, or worse—keeps reapproaching Peter’s plan—If Jon’s dead, I’ll have to take it, it’s the least I can do for the others, what will I have keeping me here then… He goes straight to the hospital, and up to Jon’s floor—the nurses know him, and wave him on through—down the halls to Jon’s familiar room, to Jon’s door, all the while bracing himself for bad news.

3. Basira is waiting by the door, and she looks up when Martin comes down the hall. “What’s happened?” Martin snaps, immediately. “What’s going on? Is he—” His throat closes at the prospect of finishing that sentence; he can’t do it, can’t say it…

Basira’s expression is closed off enough that Martin can’t read it, can’t tell if it’s bad news. But then she says, “He’s awake,” and the force of it is like a gut punch, nearly bending Martin in half. His hand immediately shoots for the door, and Basira puts an arm out as if to stop him. “Martin. It isn’t what you think.”

“What is it, then?” Martin snaps, and he yanks the door open, the word pushing out of his mouth entirely of his own accord—”Jon…”

Jon is awake. Jon is sitting up in bed, with a crumpled statement in his lap, and a tape recorder running on the side table, and Martin can’t breathe. Jon looks almost exactly the same as he has for months now, except that he’s awake and alive and looking at Martin. “Martin?” he says—a lot of emotions crammed into this one word—and Martin doesn’t know what to say, can’t get past the reality of Jon actually saying his name.

“Martin, you’re… here,” Jon says, quietly, the statement crumpling in his hand. “I-I didn’t know if… you’re all right?”

Martin starts to cross the room slowly, to the chair he’s more or less grown accustomed to sitting in when he’s visited. He hasn’t said anything yet—hasn’t found the words—and Jon is still talking. “I wasn’t sure if… y-your plan, Elias, Basira hasn’t… hasn’t filled me in, and I… you’re all right? You aren’t hurt, are you? Martin?”

Martin shakes his head numbly as he sits. Looks down at the bed and almost reaches for Jon’s hand—a long running habit, this isn’t his first visit, they’ve become as routine as anything—but he stops himself. He doesn’t know if Jon would want that. Maybe Jon never would have wanted that.

“You, er,” Jon begins, stops. He takes a slow breath, and his voice sounds remarkably well put-together, even after months of disuse. “It’s, uh. It’s good to see you here, Martin.”

Martin chokes a little. “Jon?” he says—he isn’t sure he has the words for anything else—and he looks up, and Jon is looking back at him—something unreadable in his eyes, something almost like affection, maybe—and one of them, or maybe both of them, move before Martin even knows what is happening. Martin jerks forward, and so does Jon, and then they’re embracing, leaning over the bed, Jon’s fingers digging into Martin’s shoulders, Jon’s heart thudding in his chest—Martin can feel it now. And he doesn’t bother to stop himself from crying anymore. He just holds onto Jon—Jon, awake, Jon, alive, Jon's head on his shoulder—and keeps telling himself, over and over again, that it’s all okay, it can all be okay now.

4. Jon ends up staying with Martin. It makes sense—Jon doesn’t have a flat, and neither do the others—Basira and Melanie have been living in the Archives, and Georgie hasn’t said anything to either of them since the hospital (Martin has still never met her). But Martin still has a flat. And Jon deserves better than a cot, after months of hospital beds, so Martin offers to let him stay, and Jon agrees.

The marvel of it is too much—after months of quiet in the Archives, months of growing apart from Melanie and Basira, months of isolation and feeling lost, months of Jon being asleep… the reality of Jon standing in his kitchen, Jon drinking tea at his dining room table, is genuinely overwhelming. There’s a dozen things Martin wants to say without knowing if he should, a dozen things he wants to explain. Basira filled him in on most of the important things, but they haven’t gotten a chance to talk about any of them, and there’s even more things Martin wants to say, if he knew how to say them. He wants to talk to Jon about how much he’s missed Tim—how much of his mind has been stuck in the reality of that first year, when Tim was alive and Sasha was alive, and aside from Jon sort of hating him, everything mostly being all right. He wants to tell Jon about how much he’s missed him, when he was asleep—wants to say all the things he’s been able to say to Elias and a goddamn tape recorder, but not to Jon himself. He wants to tell Jon about his mum. He wants to tell Jon he visited every single week, sometimes two or three times. He wants to talk about how horrible this all has been, and what they do next, how they move on from this, because he genuinely does not know. He wants to talk about all of it.

He wants to tell Jon about Peter’s offer, and he wants Jon to tell him not to take it. Because a part of him still thinks he needs to take it. He thinks about Peter’s warnings, and his promises to keep them all safe. And yes, Jon is awake now, but shouldn’t that be even more reason to take it? To keep Jon safe, too, now that he’s awake and can be put in danger? And there’s still the others, in the same danger they would’ve been before, and they deserve to be safe, too—and Martin isn’t the hero by a long shot, but he wants to be, wants to do something more to make a difference besides lighting some fires while Tim and Jon went off to die. He wants to make the noble decision, even if it will be a thousand times harder with Jon here in front of him. But he also wants Jon to talk him out of it.

Martin doesn’t say any of this to Jon, because he can’t. Not with everything Jon’s been through—in a coma for months, how selfish can Martin be? He makes tea, and he sits at the kitchen table with Jon, and he answers Jon’s questions about what he’s missed, and he tries not to think about Peter’s offer. The urgency in his voice that was probably a lie. He keeps getting paranoid that Peter will see him sitting here with Jon (Peter is not Elias), and that Peter will insist that he can’t be doing this, that he’s breaking their agreement (except Martin never agreed), and then try to tell Martin that the deal is forfeit now, and it’s too late. And it’s absurd, because Martin doesn’t want to take the deal—except he’s scared about what not taking it might mean. Scared about how this will all end, scared that if he doesn’t take the deal that something will happen—and what if Jon (or Melanie, or Basira) die and it’s because of him, because he turned down this chance? Except that he was only going to take it because Jon wasn’t ever going to wake up, and now he’s here, and how can Martin leave now, after everything?

There is simultaneously too much and not enough to talk about, and Jon doesn’t seem to know how to initiate it either, so they talk about nothing. They end up on the couch, flipping through the television channels, and Jon asks some lighthearted questions about what he’s missed on TV shows Martin didn’t even know he watched. It’s easy enough to make that kind of small talk, over other kinds, and it’s enough to get them both laughing a little. They stay on the couch for a long time. (Martin halfway expects Jon to be tired, to need to get more sleep—and halfway decides to leave a couple of times, an attempt to give Jon space, before deciding in the other direction—but Jon never mentions needing sleep, and Martin guesses if he was sleeping for months on end, he probably wouldn’t be tired, either. So he stays on the couch with Jon.)

At some point, they do start talking: about Tim, about the missing months, about how hard everything has been. Martin doesn’t bring up the thing with Peter, not yet, but he talks about all the rest. (The tremor in Jon’s voice when he tells Martin he’s sorry about his mother is almost too much to take. There’s still a lot Martin hasn’t talked about yet.) Martin tries to find the balance—he doesn’t want to put too much onto Jon, with everything Jon’s been through, he can’t do that—but he’s honest, too. He says, I… I missed you, Jon. We all did—but I… He says, It’s been… bad. Hard. While you’ve been gone, and he tries not to think about how often Jon was gone, before the Unknowing; how far Jon pulled away after Prentiss. They had time—limited time—between America and the Unknowing, but then Jon was asleep, and now—if Martin takes Peter’s deal; if Jon has to leave again…

Jon takes a sharp breath. The room is dark, and Martin isn’t looking at him, but he feels it when Jon, tentatively, takes his hand. (Like a dozen nights in his hospital room except Jon’s awake and his hand is warm, his pulse beating against Martin’s thumb, and Jon initiated it, and it’s all okay now.) “Well,” says Jon, uncertain and reassuring all at once, somehow. “I’m… I’m here now. And I don’t know how much help I’ll really be, with… everything. But Martin, I promise… I-I’m not going anywhere. Not anytime soon.”

5. And Martin decides, in that moment, and in the moments after, and in the email he writes out the next morning, in frank, firm language. He decides then. Jon is back, and there has to be another way out, a way that they can figure it out together. So Martin doesn’t take Peter’s deal.

(send me an au and i'll give you 5+ headcanons)