#i swear this is a real thing that occurred in the books.

[cowlovely]

sometimes i think about the absolutely batshit insane things that happened in warrior cats that have somehow managed to remain largely unknown by people outside the fanbase and i start to lose it

[ryozakidesu]

diary of the heartbreakers;

00z series

╰┈➤ Diary of the Heartbreakers; 00z series

➸ ♡ They used to be the ones breaking hearts, but when karma comes around, suddenly the don't know what to do. Navigate through college life with your favorite idiots, and read through the Diary of the Heartbreakers.

GENRES: College AU, Smut, Fluff, Angst, Humour

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit sexual content, drug abuse, Infidelity, Toxic relationships/characters, Heavy topics discussed, player!00z, Language and Violence.

AUTHOR's NOTE: I thought long and hard about making this a series, because of my commitment issues and I don't trust myself to commit to a writing project like this TT, But since I have story ideas for these characters, (00z) I just linked all of them together. SLOW UPDATE. Also my first time doing a series, how about that?!? I hope you guys like it!

DISCLAIMER: This story is purely fanfiction. Only the names of the Idols are used, and does not reflect on them in real life. There's no way in any shape of form that they are like this in person, because I MADE IT UP. I don't personally know them. DO NOT STEAL / TRANSLATE / MODIFY. This is my work and I don't appreciate people stealing it. Thank you.

╰┈➤ After You

➸ ♡ Na Jaemin had it easy. Loved by everybody, the man of everyone's dream. He's a perfect mix of a charmer and a player. Girls begged to be his, and he loved every part of it. Life used to be so fucking perfect for him. Then comes you. You're like an old book, ink fading, cover tearing, but he swears you're worth the read. Before you, life was easy. After you? He wasn't so sure.

"Break my heart, and you'll find yourself inside."

GENRE: Angst, Fluff, Smut, Mature themes

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit sexual content, Language, Mental Illness, Drugs/Alcohol usage, toxic!reader, fuckboy!Jaemin (but still a sweetheart)

AUTHOR's NOTE: Oh, this one's heavy. Much serious than the other stories and quite one that's holds some sensitive topics. If I get some things wrong about certain topics, please do tell me and I'll quickly correct it. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 15k

STATUS: published

╰┈➤ Yours, Inevitably

➸ ♡ To say that Lee Jeno is pretty would be an understatement. The man's gorgeous. One thing he uses to his advantage, going through college getting girls he spots his eyes on. But there's one he just couldn't get. His brother's bestfriend. You can continue and avoid your feelings for each other, but eventually, it'll happen. You were someone that stayed, a constant in his life. You might not know it, but for the years you've known Lee Jeno, he slowly became yours, inevitably.

"I should've known that it was you, because no one else made sense."

GENRE: Fluff, Angst, Humour, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Explicit sexual content, Language, Alcohol usage, Mentions of Drugs, fuckboy!Jeno, brothersbsf!reader

AUTHOR's NOTE: This story was collecting dust on my drafts for so longg! Originally I was gonna post it as a stand-alone but figured it made sense to be a part of this series. One of my faves. Also lots of other members of nct mentioned. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 8k-10k

STATUS: published

╰┈➤ The Fine Art of Rejection

➸ ♡ Huang Renjun, the sweetie of the year, is one hard star to catch. Not as easy as his other friends, he's quite difficult to have. Although he has a fair share of affairs with girls, it is considered to be a rare occurence. But you? Oh boy were you something. You were quite head over heels over him. His friends could never understand, but you were persistent to get the boy. No matter how much he refuses your advances, Its like you found art in rejection. But to what degree can you hold it out?

"I can be everything I want, but fuck, I only wanted to be yours. Even though you couldn't be mine."

GENRE: Unrequited love, Humour, Fluff, Angst, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Language, Explicit sexual content, Alcohol Usage, cheerleader!reader, Renjun is sometimes rude lol

AUTHOR's NOTE: Actually, I wanted to write something pure fluffy for Renjun, but I figured I need to put a sprinkle (more than that actually lmao) of angst. Also my favorite plot to write. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 8k-10k

STATUS: published

╰┈➤ Illicit Affairs

➸ ♡ Infamous for being every girl's guilty pleasure, Lee Haechan strutted through his life shamelessly. But recently, the new girl caught his eye. Im Hayeon, who he believes that would finally tame his wreckless heart. He was confident he could get the girl. And when he did, he never expected her to have baggages. For example, you, Im Hayeon's best friend. Who suddenly, sparked an idea on his pretty little head. You're trouble-- and you're making Haechan commit Illicit Affairs.

"You're making me do bad things, very, bad things. But then again, I'm no stranger in being the bad guy."

GENRE: Fluff, Angst, Humour, Smut

WARNINGS: Minors DNI, Language, Explicit sexual content, Alcohol Usage, Infidelity, Haechan and reader is kind of an asshole

AUTHOR's NOTE: okay, for one, i don't condone cheating. its just for the story! also i won't tackle on it too much-- literally just for the plot. Enjoy reading!

Expected WC: 8k-10k

STATUS: published

«────── « ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ » ──────»

© ryozaki21 2023

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

DO YOU THINK TIM IN THE TIMOTHY “TRASH” DRAKE AU MADE A GRAVE FOR THE YOUNG TIM HE REPLACED?!?!

I’m literally so sorry that I’m bothering you but I just thought of the batfam finding younger tim’s grave that Timothy made and thinking that that was why he went from a “good kid” to the horrible person he is now. Cuz he was replaced with an imposter

Pls feel free to ignore me

Bold of you to assume I would ever consider ignoring you (I swear ily <33 you are the furthest thing from bothersome I adore seeing notifs from you!!)

To start- no he wouldn't have a Grave, BUT not for like the "he didn't think of that/didn't care" Theres a long of secret shenanigans going on behind scenes but ill go ahead and clarify.

What happened was when Red Robin died and magic voodoo whatever (that i'm keeping secret for now ;)) and what I call a "Time slip" When the Time slip occured- he did not change dimensions, switch conciousness, or even "break the timestream" He is tiny Tim- Tim maintained his memories from his Red Robin life- BUT the moment he went back in time and changed something (as minimal as what he ate for breakfast) that time ceased to exist.

To explain it let's use a writing metaphor. Tims original time was an entire book of its own.

But then the "author" changed a major event, suddenly everything that happened past that event was no longer considered canon. Yes it happened, but its no longer reality. It is a whole seperate draft from the now "published work"

The draft still exists- but it cannot and will not ever be published exactly the same as it once was. It is forever different. Sure some things are salvaged and remain, but others have been edited out by sheer happenstance or on purpose (aka Tim intervention)

SO instead of Tim replacing a younger version of him, its Tim who suddenly woke up and the past 12 years of his life had ceased to exist entierly and were now as real as a pretty vivid dream.

Equally horrifying yes- but no Tiny Tims were replaced/harmed in timeline shenanigans!!

(though funnily enough there will be some batfam shenanigans that might ring fairly similar to that scenerio)

[topherwrites]

SNOWFLAKES IN MY STOMACH WHEN WE'RE KISSING

summary - spending the holidays with jake's family isn't always smooth sailing, but little else matters when you're grossly in love. (also - jake dresses up as santa for his nieces and nephews, you're real into it.) pairing - jake seresin x (fem!)reader word count - 2.7k rating - nsfw content, 18+, mdni! content warnings & tags - no use of (y/n) / mostly fluff / jake being super in love / jake's family celebrates christmas / very brief angst / me being incapable of giving jake a good childhood / brief mention of childhood abuse / swearing / alcohol consumption / dash of smut / fingering / lmk if i missed anything! a/n: a little belated christmas one shot for you all. reblogs, comments, and likes super appreciated! TOP GUN MASTERLIST / LIBRARY BLOG

Heat audibly blasts through the vents, the entire house sweltering. A solid summer day indoors. His mother won’t even let anyone touch the thermostat. In her defense, she grew up without a lick of snow on the ground and now it’s fifteen degrees in December, a real white Christmas.

Which isn’t exactly ideal for Jake considering he’s been roped into wearing a Santa suit for his young nieces and nephews. The suit is all red polyester—the least breathable material known to man—and thick faux fur cuffs. It’s causing him to start perspiring where sweat simply shouldn't be, his white undershirt clinging to his back and his crack.

“It’s too goddamn hot in this thing.”

Unbuttoning the jacket, he airs it out, the relief near immediate. 

Over his shoulder, he catches sight of you lounging on the guest bed—the one his mother oddly insisted that you could share—odd because that’s been a hard and fast rule for all the non-married seresin kids since his older sister began dating.

When she’d pointed him to the room, he’d paused, waiting for her to tell him which room would be yours, separately. Exactly like the sole previous time a girlfriend had stayed the night, way back in college, he figured you’d be placed in the room past his parents so no premarital shenanigans would occur. When that moment didn’t come, he’d stood there stupefied till you bumped his hip, nodding in the direction of the room.

Then he found out that with his brother and sister, their spouses and kids, and a few stray cousins and aunts staying, every other room was already occupied tenfold when he showed up with you in tow. 

He wasn’t sure if he would actually come down until a few days before, on the fence about spending so much time packed together with his family. But you’d volunteered to go along with him, meeting everyone besides his mother for the first time. Offering yourself up as a buffer.

It gives him pause less and less, just how much you care about him. Warmth spreads through him at the memory.

He was thankful that you had a bunch of airline credit banked, otherwise booking so late during the peak holiday season flights would’ve cost an arm and a leg.

Your feet kick back and forth as your eyes drag up his back, not put off in the slightest by his melting-like-frosty-the-snowman state, meeting his gaze with a heat you don’t attempt to hide. His irritation at the outfit dispels at your attention, melting away into something far sweeter.

“Is this doing it for you?”

“Oh,” your voice strained, “yeah, absolutely.”

And while there’s a bit of humor to the whole situation, what with the whole ‘being dressed as Old Saint Nick’ thing, your attraction to him isn’t a joke in the slightest. Sweaty, sunburned, exhausted. You seem to take a liking to any form Jake comes in. 

You continue, twirling your finger in a slow, instructive circle, humor alighting in your eyes, “Do a little twirl for me, baby.”

He laughs but gives in to your borderline indecent direction, turning steadily on his heel. He does a slow three-sixty, letting the jacket fall to his waist so your eyes can freely roam. Turning back to you, he takes you in the sight of you before he closes the gap, crawling over you to give you a kiss.

Things are so simple with you, you never make him work for your affection, it’s always present, even in your teasing. He doesn’t feel that pang of being inadequate that his father instilled in him when he was young—the pang that he let drive him for far too long into his adulthood. He can breathe right around you, loosen his tongue, soften his words. He can be a good man, not just a good pilot.

He loves you. You love him. Everything is right in the world.

────────────────────────

The kids love the whole theatrics of him dressing up like Santa, faux beard, and all. He answers their inquiries into whether or not he’s their uncle Jake with a falsely grandiose tone, handing them their presents—you’re not sure if they fully buy into it, but they all seem to be having fun.

Sipping on a mug of coffee, warm in your palms, you watch him from afar as he juggles holding two of his nieces, one dangling off of his arm like it's a monkey bar and the other calmly being held on his hip.

Ainsley and Avery—without judgment, you wonder what the reasoning is to name all your kids with the same first letter, like Pokemon evolutions.

“He’s always been good with them. Kids.��

Ah, the dreaded (potential) future mother-in-law ambushing you about kids part of the day. You had that penciled in for sometime around… now, generally. You look over at her. She looks back at you with a familiar glint in her eye. God, Jake looks just like her, same straight nose and dimpled smile and hooded eyes.

Mae doesn’t mean any ill will. You’re aware. But it all still settles ominously on your shoulders. The breadth of the unknown, what the future could hold, kids or not—whether or not you and Jake will even get that far, you hope so.

You nod slowly, calmly noting, “That’s not surprising.”

You see the way he is with them, how much they adore him. It’s a nice picture. But you're both still undecided on whether that’s one that you want of your own.

She seems to detect that you’re not going to humor her about the subject, dropping it. She looks at your empty mug, “Do you want a refill?”

────────────────────────

You casually gesture to the sprig taped to the doorjamb above you, “Is that what you were up to earlier?”

You note the little red berries, the toothed leaves, and the bush-like appearance.

“Maybe.” With a self-satisfied smile, he shrugs. His large palms grip at your waist, gently pushing you against the doorway.

You scratch at your cheek. “You know that’s not mistletoe, right?”

Holly. It's a frequent mistake, mostly from movies that wanted something to hang with a little more visual pop than actual mistletoe. He sighs, head falling back as he glares up at the traitorous plant. You’d never pass up the chance to poke a little fun at him, but now you want to bring the smile back to his face.

You poke at his side, bringing those pretty green eyes back to you, “But I suppose I can spare a kiss regardless.”

A smile creeps onto his face, warmth clear in his gaze. He leans his weight into you, not enough to crush but enough to let you feel all of him. Tilting his head, his voice drops as he questions, “Oh, will you make an exception? Bend the rules? For little ‘ol me?”

Breathing the same air, his nose nearly brushes yours. Everything but him, every sound and sight is extraneous—it all just turns to static.

You hum in agreement, “For you.” You brush the pads of your fingers along his cheekbone,  intentionally gentle, enjoying the way his lashes flutter at the gesture. “Now give me a kiss.”

Like the ever-dutiful soldier he is, he dips his head in assent, “Yes, ma’am.”

He takes the green light, gently molding his mouth to yours.

────────────────────────

His sixteen-year-old nephew, Sam, heckles him across the dinner table, quietly calling him a “fucking simp” as he hands you a refill of eggnog with a quick peck—that becomes two or three at his insistence, his lips chasing yours. His tone isn’t cruel, just an attempt at embarrassing his uncle.

He gets a smack upside the head from his dad—Jake’s older brother, Matt—for the language at the table, quick and sharp. Recycled material from their own childhoods. He tries to suppress the instinctual flinch, annoyance burning in his chest at how years later his heart is still sent racing. Jake wonders if he too, will become like their father. If it’s unavoidable. Something built into him. The apple didn’t fall far from the tree with his brother.

He knows that he has the capacity for cruelty in him and though it doesn't come as quickly these days, he still has to make an active effort to not be a dick sometimes, especially with Bradshaw.

And then, a hand, warm and stabilizing, slides across his thigh, squeezing tenderly. His eyes bounce around the table, everyone pointedly looking at their plates, just like when they were young and his father thought that one of them needed corporal punishment for acting like a kid. 

Except for you, whose eyes are focused on Jake with so much understanding that he can’t help but knock his boot into his brothers.

“Don't do that shit.”

A tense moment follows. The clatter of forks stop, drinks pause at lips, and everyone’s eyes plant on him, perplexed that it’s been acknowledged in the slightest. Matt levels a stare back at him, and he wonders if he’s going to hear their dad’s signature line come out of his brother’s mouth—don’t tell me how to discipline my kids—leveled at anyone who ever expressed concern for the way their father treated them, teachers, other parents, their own mom.

His brother is the one to blink first, dropping his eyes down to his plate as he stabs at a piece of asparagus. The festivities resume around them. Quieter. 

It’s not a real acknowledgment. But he’s drawn a line in the sand.

Sam continues looking at him for a few more moments. He wonders if his nephew knows just how similar their childhoods were, why his father is the way that he is. Not that it would make it better, but it might help him to know that it’s not him, some fault of his own. 

Jake always thought that it was him. He knows a little better now.

────────────────────────

After all the kids have been bundled up in beds and the adults break out the liquor, it doesn't take long for Jake to crash. Sprawled on the couch next to you, his arm draped around your shoulder becomes less of a pleasant weight and more of a log hanging around your neck. 

You tap his stomach, softer and less-toned after the holidays—at your insistence that he actually eats some sugar for once and doesn’t, under any circumstances, wake you up at five am during your vacation so he can go for a run. You’re glad that he’s taken the threat seriously, that he’s taking it easy and actually relaxing while you’re here. He grumbles at your touch but barely stirs, about eighty percent tired, twenty-percent drunk.

“Christ, when did he become such a lightweight?” His brother directs his jibe disguised as a question to you.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh, standing up. You pat his thigh, holding your hands out. “Up and at ‘em, lieutenant.”

His eyes peel open at the use of his rank. Blinking awake, he flops his hands into yours, not taking a strong grip. You're thankful for the fact that he barely relies on you to help himself stand, swaying minorly as he does so. You’re not particularly eager to see what’d happen if you had to haul all two hundred pounds of Jake upright on your own.

You both trod up the stairs. His hand caressing the silver tinsel wrapped around the banister as you go, the Christmas lights hung from it setting the staircase in a warm glow. With your arm looped around his waist and his looped around yours, you make slow progress towards the room at the end of the hall.

He toes off his boots as you shut the door to the bedroom, flopping backward onto the bed. Eyes fluttering sleepily, a hint of a smile on his face, he sighs out a breath. Voicing his inner thoughts aloud, his voice is gentle, “I'm so happy.”

The statement settles sweetly in the air.

Taking hold of your hand, he pulls you on top of him. His eyes heavy, he isn’t particularly conscientious about where you’re going to land, so you have to catch yourself before you knee him in the dick. Straddling him, you find your place in his lap. Affection, as it always does, blooms in your chest at the sight of him.

“Are you as happy as I am?” His question is gently curious, none of his old insecurity laced through.

You slowly nod, hands smoothing over his chest as you lean over him. “Yeah, I really am.”

Under your palms, you can feel him huff a pleased sigh.

Large hands land on your thighs, smoothing up and down the bare skin under the hem of your skirt. His eyes roam over your figure, from your legs, your waist, your chest, finally landing on your face, “You look so pretty. Have I told you that?”

Suppressing your smile, you squint as you tilt your head, imitating deep thought. You hum, “Mm, about twenty times today.”

“I think you could stand to hear it one more time.” He sits up on his elbows with surprising swiftness, his nose brushing along your cheek before his lips settle next to your ear, “You are so pretty.”

He pulls back just enough to kiss you, lips gliding softly over yours. He tastes like rum and vanilla. Under you, you feel him grow half hard. It’s one of the things that you never really expected from him, just how needy of a drunk he is.

He slips his tongue into your mouth, large palms squeezing at your hips as he guides you to rock over him. His breaths mingle with your own as he pulls back, panting, “You wet for me?”

Rucking up your skirt past your hips, his hand slips into your underwear and he swipes two fingers through the wetness collected there before you can—for the sake of his sleep schedule—gently turn him down. You fold over him, smothering your moan into his shoulder as he pushes in, his palm immediately harshly grinding against your clit. With your own buzz sliding through your body, you melt into the pleasure, task entirely forgotten. 

Burning heat spreads through your core, your cunt clamping down around his fingers. It’s so good—it’s always this way, like he’s read the manual on your body.  Slick sounds echo in the otherwise quiet room; your gut twists, high building.

Just as you're about to fall over the edge his movements slow, and the peak he was working you to begins to dissipate. But you're left on the edge as his brain seems to intermittently connect to its previous task, working over your pulsing clit. Your hips kick into his palm, the not quite enough stimulation tortuous. You try to roll off of him, but the arm around your back stays put. He grumbles for a moment. You nearly yelp at a shift of his palm shoots electricity up your spine.

You shake his shoulder, “Jake, Jake.”

“Mm,” he hums, “no, no.” He blinks himself only half-awake, eyes still drooping, “Second wind.”

You reach behind your back, sliding his arm from around you, pressing it to his chest. You draw his hand out from under you, the drag of his fingers sending waves of heat through you. Pressing a kiss under his jaw, you whisper, “Go to sleep.”

Eyes still closed he slides the fingers that were just inside you past his lips, casually cleaning your arousal off them. You have to pretend like that doesn't make your cunt pulse with need. He rolls onto his side, then mumbles into the pillow, “Fine, but I’m going to rock your world in the morning.”

You pat his stomach, placating him—sure that in the morning he’ll remember that he’s surrounded by his parents, siblings, and their offspring, that the walls are a little too thin for what he wants to do to you.

You collapse on the bed beside him, already nodding off.

You're proven wrong in the morning. He sends you over the edge twice with his head trapped between your thighs and his palm sealed over your mouth. And at breakfast, you have to play off the flush he carries as the AC putting out too much heat, smiles barely suppressed.

e/n: thank you for reading!

tagging those who liked the teaser: @mamachasesmayhem @pricelessemotion @sorchathered @dizzybee03 @always-and-forever-at @ofstoriesandstardust @sunlightmurdock @withahappyrefrain @aworldwideapart @shamelessghostwagonwobbler

[intuitive-revelations]

As I've mentioned in a previous post, I've been thinking a lot about the exact chronology of ancient Gallifrey, and specifically I've put a lot of attention on the Caldera and the Citadel, plus related things like the Eye of Harmony, the Crevasse of Memories That Will Be, the Untempered Schism etc.

All these things seem to be located in the same place on Gallifrey, albeit some at different times, and often overlap in nature. After some thinking, I think I've worked how everything goes together, as well as the order of events. At some point I want to create a fully history, but for the sake of this we'll focus primarily on the subjects above, with some other major events sprinkled in for context.

A Very Brief History of the Capitol

[ID: Surviving parts of the old Capitol, in an illustration from Lungbarrow. Crystal-like towers and walkways stand over a waterfall. The TARDIS, in pyramid form, dematerialises.]

Pythian Era - The capital city is built near the Mountains of Solace and Solitude (likely, in antiquity, a stronghold against the Gin-Seng cats to the south). Beneath the Pythia's temple, in the centre of the city, is the Cavern of Prophecy. Within the cave is a deep, deep opening known as the Crevasse of Memories That Will Be, which holds, in the astral plane, something known as the Gate of the Future, a tear into the time vortex far greater than the similar natural rifts that occur elsewhere on Gallifrey. Time flows out from it, from the future, to the past Gallifrey. In times of meditation, the Pythia sits in a hanging cage above the Crevasse, breathing in the rising vapours, which aid her in her clairvoyance.

[ID: Gif edit made by me, featuring the last Pythia sat in a small cage slowly swinging in a chasm as a mist slowly rises around her.]

The Intuitive Revelation - The Neotechnologists, led by Rassilon, bring a revolution. The Pythia curses Gallifrey with sterility and cuts the ropes holding her cage, falling into the abyss. The Gate of the Future inverts, forming the Gate of the Past. Visibly, the Doppler-effect like colouring of the vortex changes - no longer red, flowing towards the viewer, but blue and flowing away (ironically directionally the reverse of the real Doppler effect). Time from the new future flowing into the chaotic past.

The new government take control of the Capitol. A new age of space exploration arises, with the Shobogans taking on the name, for now, of "Space Lords". One of these first individual explorers, semi-authorised predecessors to future Time Lord renegades, is a woman named Tecteun.

The First Attempt - The stellar engineers, including Rassilon and Omega, make their first attempt at capturing the energy of a collapsing star, recieving the energy on Gallifrey using an obelisk, like that later used to channel energy from the Eye of Harmony, in the middle of the city, using the nature of the Crevasse.

The experiment is a catastrophic failure. A hole is punctured into the Spiral Yssgaroth, unleashing Vampires through openings throughout the universe, fracturing out from the experiment.

[ID: From The Book of the War, an illustration of the "Eyes of the Yssgaroth", human-like eyeballs looking through holes punctured into spacetime.]

Part of the Old Capitol is destroyed in a great blast, destroying the Cavern of Prophecy and opening up the Crevasse, leaving a giant crater: the Caldera. It is likely that many are killed. Left behind in the middle of the crater, is the Gate of the Past, now manifest in the physical world: an open gap in reality. In this form, it becomes known as the Untempered Schism.

(I also suspect this is when Rassilon is forced to regenerate for the first time, to the shock of on-lookers, having secretly previously recieved Tecteun's genetic modifications - I plan to expand on this theory in a future post.)

The Vampire War / Rebuilding of the Capitol - The exact circumstances of the experiment are covered up. Rassilon, leaving to fight the Vampire hoard, swears Omega to secrecy regarding the project during the Arcalian High Council's investigation.

[ID: A gif, rotating around the Citadel is constructed over the Caldera, from part of the (likely partially-symbolic) time-lapse in The Timeless Children.]

Though some of the city survives, including parts of the Pythian temple, a new colossal city-complex begins construction in the place of the old one, suspended over the Caldera, the centrepiece of the new Capitol: the Citadel. It is built as a defensive structure, both for the war, and to protect the new, growing elite, surrounded by a great circular wall named "Rassilon's Rampart". The "core" of the structure, on which the towers rest, reaches down deep into Caldera and the deeper Crevasse.

Meanwhile the Untempered Schism is taken out of the city by those fearing further destruction, to a place in the nearby hills that will one day be known as the Weeping Field, where prospective Time Academy students are initiated.

[ID: The Untempered Schism in the Doctor's time, as seen in The Sound of Drums. It sits in a stone frame on red grass, with the Seal of Rassilon in front of it, and flames on either side. Within it, the blue "past" variant of the RTD1-era time vortex flows away from the viewer. The Citadel's lights are visible in the background.]

(Side note: it's possible the Untempered Schism's 'ring' is deliberately designed to evoke the Caldera. Note how it's lined with pieces sticking out. Look a bit like the battlements on Rassilon's Rampart, don't they? Surrounding the hole into the vortex just as they surround the crater.)

The Anchoring of the Thread - Several centuries later, once the Vampires are more or less defeated, Rassilon returns home. He coups Pandak I, forcing him to resign, and takes the Presidency.

By now the Citadel is more or less completed, though for the next few centuries it still lacks its characteristic dome, likely added during a later founding conflict.

[ID: Gallifrey, around the time the first TARDISes are grown, from The Lost Dimension. In the background past a small outsider village is the Citadel, new and gleaming, but undomed.]

The Triumvirate retry their experiment at Qqaba / Polyphilos, attempting to capture the collapsed star. When the experiment goes wrong once more, Omega's ship falls inside, as spacetime threatens to crack open again. With temporal energy flowing though him (a la the Bad Wolf), Rassilon reshapes the laws of physics, forming an event horizon, and black holes as we know them.

The black hole is dimensionally captured and suspended in the moment it collapses and the event horizon is formed, creating the Eye of Harmony, controlled using the Obelisk of Rassilon storied in the Panopticon Vaults. Meanwhile, the black hole itself is suspended within the temporal singularity of the Caldera, deep below the Citadel.

Harnessing the power of the Eye and the Caldera rift, Rassilon "anchors" chronology around Gallifrey, creating the Web of Time and placing it under the control of the Gallifreyans, now Time Lords.

Future Developments - Over the years, many changes come to Rassilon's Gallifrey.

Over the years, the more and more of the old city is replaced with new towers, forming the new Capitol around a now domed Citadel. Interweaved with these buildings over 28 square miles is much of the new Time Academy, such that the Academy is sometimes considered a whole city itself annexed to the Citadel.

While the remnants of the Pythian Temple are eventually torched by Rassilon, hunting down dissenters, many old buildings remain intact. These continue to be inhabited far into the future, in a community known as "Low Town" or the "Lower Len", as opposed to the "upper" city above. Shanties surround the surviving buildings, some climbing up Rassilon's Rampart.

Another such community is based around the "Old Harbour", whcih once sat on the coast of the now recessed Sea of Time. Nowadays, it likely sits on the shore of the small (possibly designed) lakes near the Capitol, where streams from the mountains presumably once drained directly into the sea.

[ID: From Hell Bent: a screencap as Rassilon turns from looking out the window from an Inner Council chamber high above the Capitol. In the background can be seen some lakes between the mountains, with some signs of what might be buildings on their shores.]

(Side note: I reckon this shot above might actually give us a glimpse of Old Harbour. I might just be imagining things, but there's some small features around and on the lakes I reckon could be docks or buildings? Interestingly, this also comes as Rassilon asks about the Cloister Bells ringing, and Old Habour is well known for the bells in its clocktower, which might explain why Rassilon was looking out at it from the window.)

In the space around the Eye in the Caldera, the Cloisters, the core of the APC net and later the Matrix, are constructed. The structure itself is, externally at least, relatively small, but it generates an entire 'micro-universe' on the Astral plane once accessed by the Pythia. Indeed, just as the Crevasse once allowed the meditating Pythia to see the future, so does the Matrix create its own prophecies.

[ID: From Hell Bent, the Doctor and Ohila converse in the entranceway to the Cloisters, a dark space with glowing optic fibres running across cobwebbed columns.]

In the Matrix is a "womb-like" null-space is where most TARDISes are grown, taking advantages of the Caldera's spatio-temporal properties. Budding within the Citadel Cloisters, a TARDIS's "Cloister Room" is one of the first parts to grow.

By the time of the Time War, though possibly earlier, the sealed Caldera also forms the resting site for many dying Battle TARDISes, the Under Croft, where they presumably decay and fertilise the growth of new time ships.

[rivalry-trope-enjoyer]

In this life... (Pt. 1 ?)

Summary: Getting married and married life with Welt Yang, domestic, fluffy and wholesome hcs <3

The Proposal:

It took him a while to propose! Taking into consideration how much he's seen within his lifetime, he was very patient and methodical as to when he would be able to pop the question. It kept you on edge, but when time came down to it, it was more than worth it.

It was a private proposal, but extremely personalized and thoughtful gesture. He snuck in an extra scene in a preview of his new Arahato animation with just the two of you at the screening where the mechs shoot fireworks instead of rockets that spelled out the question into the stars.

Welt was so nervous about it the entire time on what you would say. While drafting out a plan, March and Himeko definitely teased him a little bit about the unique idea, but neither could contain their excitement for when it would happen.

When you said yes Welt couldn't believe what he was hearing, smiling fondly at you and barely able to contain his excitement. He holds your hand gently and presses soft kisses against your knuckles, swearing to you that you won't regret this as well as several other sweet promises to be the best husband he could be for you (and boy does he fulfill that promise).

Once word got out that you've said yes, March gave the idea to celebrate accompanied with a commemorative photo.

The Wedding:

Everything runs smoothly thanks to him.

It was a collective effort for the both of you to plan it, fulfilling as many wishes as you had on any possible wedding dreams you’ve had, while also combining it with some of his own!

He volunteers to do lots of the nitty gritty as to how those dreams were to be fulfilled, making the calls and scheduling, it takes off lots of pressures off your shoulder (bless him).

The venue would be on the space station, a beautiful display of the galaxy and well-decorated area. There would be ships that would help get various friends across the galaxy to arrive and watch you two get married and to celebrate!

His vows are very sweet, the kind that’ll pull not only your heart strings but the audience’s as well, every word carrying it’s weight in gold.

March is wailing at this point.

The reception to the two of you was such a blur. Both of you were in a collective daze over the fact you were married, and your dreams made you question if what just occurred was a mere dream, too.

Yet waking up to a peacefully slumbering Welt, your now husband, was an indication that this was as real as it gets.

The Life:

Welt is such husband material;;

Even before you two were married, he already starts calling you his spouse, his lovely wife/husband before the day even comes <3.

Lays awake at night talking about all the sweet and domestic things to happen in the future, adopting any pets, possibilities of children to raise together.

Welt wakes up earlier than you without fail, and you wake up every morning to the smell of freshly brewed coffee/tea wafting in the bedroom that he prepares for you, ready for the second you wake up.

It’s his way of waking you up gently if you have places to be <3

Some days he’ll wait for you in the kitchen reading up on some past history studies or comic books just so he can share a nice morning with you before he has to do any sort of work.

“How did you sleep last night, honey?” “I hope it’s not too early for you” “Any thoughts for dinner later tonight? I was thinking of going on a grocery run later in the day” “We could go and see a new movie together. It’s about…”

Welt wants to spend as much time with you as possible as your husband. He wants to make sure you’re feeling loved and cared for every second you’re together <33. Now that he doesn’t do as much of the adventuring as he did years prior, all he has is time, and is intent on spending it all with you.

There was one time where Welt was running late for a task at hand and he was rushing to get out of the house. He managed to do everything he needed for you but forgot to dress for the bad weather he had to greet him.

“Wait, dear, you forgot your scarf!” once you manage to stop him by tugging at his coat sleeve, you quickly wrap his token scarf loosely around his neck and messily draping over his shoulders.

Such a simple act of kindness and Welt was absolutely smitten. He gives you a small peck on the lips, not having much time to thank you before bolting off to work.

Welt started leaving behind his scarf on purpose so you could help him with it. It felt like an act of endearment, although he’d never admit it he forgot on purpose until you just wordlessly figure it out on your own.

“Oh, honey… you could easily do this yourself, you know.”

“But like all things in my life, my love, it’s much more fun with you.”

[florent1s]

Saccharine Hearts ( ii )

Pairing: Aemond x Reader

Summary: To fall in love with Aemond is one thing. But to question if he truly existed is another.

Warnings: angst? mentions of death, questioning of reality

A/N: Hello! For those who have been waiting I’m sorry for such a late update. I have been busy with school, life, work.. agh! I’ve finally been able to write even if it’s just a little bit. I use this as a little creative outlet whenever I can so I don’t feel burnt out (bear with me y’all 😅) . All writing is just for fun and I hope you all enjoy. (Text written in bold are flashbacks) 🫶🏼.

P.S. if there’s any errors I forgot to proofread 😵‍💫

Song inspo:

“To love what is no longer there, that is what pains me the most.”

Perhaps you would have seen the signs had you listened to Septa Arsa. They say you’ve gone mad. That your delusions have clouded your judgement. But no, you know that it is real. He is real. The love that has blossomed in your heart is not a fantasy. To be held in his arms that was no dream. Yet you can’t help but lie awake at night, haunted by the fact that he is no longer here.

It was as if the god’s had prevented you from leaving. The night sky was filled with the shattering sound of thunder. Lightening littered the sky like veins, a blaring sign to stay home. A sign you chose to turn a blind eye to. You loved him and he loved you. Nothing could possibly prevent you from seeing him. Until you rounded the corner and there she was. Another crack of lightening pierced through the shadows and there right in front of you was Septa Arsa. The look on her face was one you could never forget.

“My child you’ve gone absolutely mad! If your mother were to hear of this, imagine the outrage that would occur.”

Septa Arsa clings to you, her face glazed over with an expression of horror.

“He is real! I swear to you he is. He loves me dearly. Come with me, we can see him together.”

The smile that graces your lips never falters. Surely if mother knew of our love she would support it. She must.

“Yes, the man you describe is real, but he is dead. For years he has been dead, my darling girl why won’t you listen to me?”

The last time you saw him was many moons ago. Septa Arsa begged you to stay home. She feared that the countless daydreams have blended in with reality.

“Aemond Targaryen: born in 110 AC, deceased 130 AC”

Septa Arsa practically forced you to read the text yourself. Your blood ran cold that night, for how could the man you love, the man you met as a child, actually be dead for years? Perhaps she was right and you have gone mad. Your cries could be heard throughout the halls. For the first time in years Septa Arsa was scared. Seeing the little girl she practically raised change overnight.

Once your mother and father knew of the situation they were ashamed. They needed their daughter to be perfect, the proper lady. Not one who believes her outlandish fantasies were true. The entirety of the keep was walking on eggshells. No one is to utter a word of what has occurred. Fearing that the lord who asked for your hand would no longer desire you.

You were to be kept in your quarters at all times, though you lost the motivation to ever leave them. You didn’t know what to make of your feelings. That numb feeling that seeps deep into your bones, that makes your heart feel as if it has been ripped apart. Septa Arsa enters your chambers but you pay her no mind.

“Perhaps a walk through the gardens? Your father would never know. Or we could read that book you love?”

She’s met with silence.

In all the years she has cared for you she has never seen you in such a state. The headstrong little girl she took care of is now a shell of what she once used to be.

Arsa sighs and moves to sit on the edge of your bed.

“My child what will it take for you to speak once more? Tell me what it is you desire and I’ll do my best to grant it.”

There was only one thing you wanted at the moment.

Him.

But perhaps he was truly not there at all and merely an escape from the life you yearned to get away from. And yet you refused to believe that notion. Ultimately, both you and Septa Arsa decided a nice walk would ease your mind. Being cooped up within four walls did no good for you, especially in your current state. Unbeknownst to Arsa, you made sure you left at the same time you used to meet him. She was skeptical at first but you reassured her it was because both mother and father would be too occupied to notice their brief disappearance. This would be your chance to discover if the love in your heart was from the delusions of your mind or not.

“We’ve walked far enough. Come now before they discover you are missing.”

Arsa was weary of the consequences of her actions. She knew taking you out here could result in your father tossing her out. But she cared for you dearly. This was the first time in a while she’s seen you this determined. You ignore her comment and continue walking until you see that very tree. Arsa grabs your wrist and tugs you towards her.

“Enough. We must go now before-”

“Put your trust in me as I have with you.”

You swiftly cut her off, you did not want to be ignored. Not this time.

“I have not been the best towards you. Perhaps I have been the most stubborn lady you have ever met. But at this moment I need you to trust me.”

You realize Septa Arsa is clutching her necklace of the seven pointed star tightly. Her grip on your wrist never waivers. Tightening to the point where it hurt. That look in her eyes, that look of fear was one you’ve never seen in her before.

“What is it?”

You spoke in a hushed tone as she brought you to her chest with a protective arm. Slowly, you turn your head and it was as if the air had left your lungs. There he was, sitting beneath the tree. The fog from the ground billowed and swirled around his form. His eye patch was gone and his sapphire eye glowed a vibrant blue from the moonlight. Both you and Arsa stare at him with trepidation. The gaze he held was solely on you as his lips curled into a grin.

“… you’re late.”

[dpr-stay]

Mandated Reporter Pt.1 | Y.T

All Might | Yagi Toshinori X Reader

Heyyy, guys remember me...? It's not like I haven't posted a fic since *checks history* January or anythign haha lol right? Anyways this was kinda a distraction from my magnum opus but it started getting too long to publish as a one-shot in good faith. So parts LOL. already on ao3, so yeh. sorry if you followed me for F1

WC: ~2700

Warnings: Swears probs, just fluff, soulmate au hehehheheh, idiots in love *sighs dreamily*

Charles Darwin, way back in the year 1859, published his book On the Origin of Species. He was laughed and jeered at when he presented his book, as the theory he had written on the pages differed significantly from the common ideas at the time. No one really wanted to look at the apes that they kept in zoos and find themselves reflected in their eyes. 

He presented many ideas in his writing, natural selection being one you may have heard. However, one you may not be so familiar with if you didn’t take biology in highschool would be the idea of variation (or speciation for you nerds) when faced with an extinction event. 

The two main types of variation that occurred in human beings as we know them in the modern day are the development of quirks and the recognition of soulmates. The extinction events that preceded these variations are still not known, perhaps Mr Darwin was wrong in these specific cases, but the reaches of these variations stretched across the world and revamped the meaning of normal.

In modern Japan, soulmates were almost a taboo topic. Not only did some people not have soulmate’s but the way that people found their soulmates varied, from timers to marks, or even visions. Asking a person how they would meet their soulmate, soon came to be seen as a flirting tactic instead of just genuine curiosity. Because asking if someone has a destined partner can easily be interpreted as wishing that the partner was yourself.

You, personally, had never asked anyone how they were going to meet their soulmate. You found no need to. You would 100% know who they were when you would meet your soulmate. You didn’t mean to sound egotistical or presumptuous, but you would definitely know.Your soulmate ‘marker’ came in the form of words inscribed upon your wrist, written out in mildly scratchy handwriting which was thankfully legible. 

And if you see this criminal or know anything about him, call 1800-XXX-XXX-XXX to give information into the anonymous tipline!

At first, when you read it, you were a bit confused. You knew to some degree it was your soulmate marking, but you didn’t know how it applied to a real life situation. Was it the first thing they heard on the radio? Would it be in the background the first time you’d meet?

Your parents were also confused. They first tried the number, but it hadn’t been registered to any tipline at the time they tried. So they took little 5-year-old you to a so-called ‘Soulmate Specialist.’

At first you had thought it would be like a stereotypical curtained tent, with a lady perched over a crystal ball. But when you arrived, it just looked like a normal hospital clinic. Your mother held your hand as you trailed behind her. 

In a small room down a hallway, you sat on a cushioned bench as a nice-looking lady walked in, exchanged a few words with your mother, and then touched your knee. You watched as she leaned back, her facial expression only able to be described as puzzled, before saying,

“First Words.” You had immediately looked at your wrist. You had read the words again and a slight feeling of disappointment panged in your heart. 

Later, sitting at a table in a small ice-cream store, licking lemon sorbet till you got a brain freeze, your parents tried to come up with scenarios where you would meet your soulmate. Your dad suggested you would meet him during a town meeting (which caused both you and your mum to look at him funny, because who went to town meetings?), whilst your mum suggested that maybe he would be a police officer on the street chasing down a baddie and yelling it out as he went (You giggled at that).

As you grew up, everyone else who you showed it to grew confused as well. It wasn’t exactly something that you’d expect to be the thing bonding two soulmates together. It wasn’t romantic, it didn’t imply any sort of attraction, and you began to get disheartened as you saw the ways your friends met their soulmates.

It seemed each time your friend group got together, another friend would bring in their soulmate, talking about shared marks, oh so lovingly placing the marks against each other right in your eye-line, or finally seeing colour, saying while staring directly at their pair. It started to get at you, the instant connection the pairs would feel, while you were left with a phone number, which only started to work when you turned 18.

(When you first rang the number and it went through, elation took over your body. You stood up and did a little dance as you immediately started speaking into the phone, hoping to find anybody that could help you in your search for your soulmate. You only stopped talking, and dancing, when you noticed that the call was automatic and that you were talking to a robot. The call ended when you realised that they had also recorded it.)

Whenever you felt yourself feeling particularly down, you’d look back to your arm, and see the words engraved. At least you did have a soulmate, you consoled yourself, and at least the words seemed neutral instead of belligerent.

One thing, though, your friends all seemed to agree on was that your mum was right: your soulmate was a police officer. Why else would the number send you to a police tip-line, and why else would he be promoting a tip-line. It made the most sense to you as well. When this solidified properly in your mind, you decided to do everything you possibly could to meet your soulmate. 

It seemed as though they were speaking out as a plea, perhaps outside a police station or on the news to spread awareness of whatever crime this criminal had perpetrated. And so, you began to become a news fanatic.

You’d always tune into the six o’clock news, holding out hope that maybe some sort of crime had been committed that warranted some sort of appeal to the public. It wasn’t that you wanted someone to suffer, you had to reason with yourself, it was just that you wanted to know who your pair was. 

Whenever a crime was committed, you always kept your eyes peeled to the news report, hoping for some sort of plea to the public. Alas, the words were always similar but never quite right. News anchors and police officers always recited from a consistent script about each different offender, never varying no matter how much you wanted to.

Soon, whenever you had a free day, sometimes you’d head to police press conferences. You had a nice camera, that your mum had given you under the pretense of photography and wanting you to expand on hobbies, that you used to justify being a member of the press in order to sneak into the conferences. You’d occasionally take photos while waiting for the police to discuss the details of whatever case they were dealing with, and you always looked right at the speaker whenever they’d come close to saying the lines, before leaving disappointed.

After asserting that your soulmate was most likely a police officer, you also took to walking past the station on your way back home from work every night. Not only was it safer, but it also gave you a chance to listen to the officers standing outside of the station, chatting amongst themselves. You’d often overhear some of their discussions about criminals, but there was never anyone out the front advocating for people to ring their tipline.

Tonight was almost the same as every other night. You’d gotten off work particularly late, rushing from the elevator of your office to the entrance. You pushed through the glass doors, turning to wave to the receptionist. The night air was chilly, but the streets were alive with office workers such as yourself. 

You eyed the takoyaki stall across the street, and reasoned that you were already late to go home, but you then saw the line of half-dead employees stretching from the stall down the corner of the block and quickly shrugged the notion off. You still wanted to try and catch the 9 o’clock news after all.

You weren’t allowed to check any sort of non-work related device or website during the day, so you had no way to see if any criminals were being searched for or if any press conferences were being held. As such you always tried to catch some iteration of the news on the TV at home, if only to remain informed. 

As soon as you turned, you started speed walking home. Living only a couple minutes from your job sometimes had its advantages, as it meant you didn’t have to walk a long way in the dark, only like a kilometer. If you kept up with your fast pace, you’d pass the police station in two minutes and reach your home in five.

You reached the station and slowed down a little, trying to peak inside. The place seemed relatively dead when you glanced at it, only seeing the glowing reflections of the lights within. Only a couple officers were in and you breathed in sympathy as you saw the stacks of paperwork they had before turning and continuing on.

In five minutes (you were right), you arrived at your apartment building. You quickly scampered up the stairs, taking almost three at a time, before jetting to your door and unlocking it. You had the TV on in twenty seconds, just in time for the evening reporter to begin rambling on about the events of the day.

As she spoke, you began to unwind. You changed into pyjamas from your business attire as she told a story about a bank robbery, you were cooking instant ramen as she recounted an announcement the governmental opposition made, and you had just sat down on the couch as she began a report about the newest criminal who was taken down by a team of pro-heros and All Might.

You slurped your noodles as you watched intently. Despite being quirkless yourself, you were not immune to the charms and draws of the luxurious pro-hero life. You weren’t stupid, you knew it wasn’t all glitz and glam, you’d seen plenty of videos surrounding the harsh conditions that heroes had to go through and the mental tax that it took on them. Even now, watching All Might beat the shit out of a guy while yelling “SMASH” and random US state names, you cringed whenever the other guy got a punch in. But still, the galas and large amounts of money coming in sure sweetened the deal a fair lot.

You looked around your meager apartment and snorted. If only you had a quirk as flashy as All Might’s, that way you might’ve been able to live a life that wasn’t just above the Japanese poverty line.

The TV flashed pictures of the guy the heroes had fought and you whistled under your breath. He looked tough, almost like a shark with the way his teeth were pointed but scarier with the way his hands were literal chainsaws. As you listened more, you realised that they hadn’t actually ‘taken him down’, they’d just secured the people he was holding hostage and All Might had beaten him so badly he wasn’t able to walk (yeesh). But apparently they’d put the cuffs on him but then he just faded away, which definitely didn’t seem like something a guy with chainsaws for hands could have attributed to his own quirk.

That was definitely something you’d be thinking about tomorrow as you walked home from work, the fact that chainsaw hands could pop out and saw any of your limbs off and then be teleported away before you could even see him. You shuddered at the thought.

The TV quickly changed to show a live news conference and you perked up in your seat, leaning forward to see who was in the line-up of speakers and see if you could identify any of them. The news channel had joined in towards the end of the conference, one police officer speaking about the dangers of the man and the crimes he had committed. 

He went on for a while, so you sort of zoned out, but your attention was quickly caught again when All Might stepped up to the podium to speak into the microphone, which was strange as you’d never seen him stick around for a conference.

In your attempts to be up-to-date and to make sure that you’d never miss a call-to-action anywhere, you’d encountered plenty of news stories about All Might. He was the symbol of peace, so it was only normal that he often was the one to round up the villains that the numerous press conferences were about.

You’d always admired him, it was hard not to, but you never really thought all too much about him. I mean yeah, he was always there to save the day, but you’d never been in a spot where you’d needed him. You knew he was exceptionally popular amongst, well, everyone, but honestly he was kind of just another hero to you. 

One thing that did make him stand out, and justified to you the cult-following he had, was his attitude. He took the symbol of peace schtick seriously, and was always smiling and ready to help people no matter the personal sacrifice he endured. He earned your respect through that. 

He was also kind of hot. He was definitely conventionally attractive, but you’d always kind of thought he was hot in the way that he was always someone to rely on. You don’t know, you’d always kind of liked the scrawny boys better, blame it on your issues.

When All Might finally spoke into the microphone, he essentially repeated what the police officer before him had. You sort of rolled your eyes in a ‘get on with it’ way. You could tell the news was about to cut back to their broadcasting from the live conference so you waited for him to finish his statement while mentally scrolling through your shopping list.

Leaning back into your sofa, you watched as he paused for a second before shooting his eyes up to the camera and lifting one commanding finger to point at the lens before speaking.

“And if you see this criminal or know anything about him, call 1800-XXX-XXX-XXX to give information into the anonymous tipline!”

You blinked. Then you promptly spilled your boiling ramen over your lap as you dropped the bowl. Pain immediately shot through your senses, causing you to curse and look down to your lap.

All Might released some sort of pained noise, causing you to look up and see him grab his wrist on the TV. Your jaw dropped. A female anchor’s face appeared on the screen and you cursed again, quickly looking back to the inflamed skin on your lap. You rushed to the shower, turning the tap onto cold water and sitting down as it rained onto your pyjama bottoms.

You titled your head back before it banged against the glass of your shower door. Had you just hallucinated that? No fucking way right? There was no literal way your soulmate was All Might? Like the actual All Might. Like always smiling, strong as fuck, number one hero All Might.

What the fuck. You had to have been wrong.

You looked down to your wrist, raising your sleeve up to read the words again. Something had changed. Instead of the words being outlined in a sort of dark purple that complimented your skin tone, they had changed to a light lilac. Your jaw dropped again.

What the hell? One of your fingers traced the writing as you groaned. There was no literal way your soulmate was All Might. It was impossible.

You opened your eyes to look up at the shower head, watching as the water poured down.

There was no literal way that he could be your soulmate because All Might, even since the early days of his career before he was known for being the number one hero, had been known to be one of the few public figures who was incredibly vocal about being soulmate-less. 

so how'd we feel? I do like a bit of crack, if you hadn't picked it up yet.

also she's unedited, but it's me, so it's no surprise.

[whorejolras]

this has been sitting in my drafts for months and i'm finally posting it.

it's adding on from this post about Fantine and sex work in les mis. this post ended up being long and more about sex work than Fantine but it does come around i swear.

the way we discuss Fantine is very important, but why?

the way that we talk about Fantine and sex work in les mis - on tumblr, with our friends, in the brick club chat, in articles and in scholarly analysis - directly correlates with the way we treat modern day sex workers and the struggles we face today. notably, the fight for decriminalisation.

i'd argue that Fantine is the most famous of the "dead sex worker" trope. i'd argue she's one of the most famous fictional sex workers. she was just name dropped in the new mean girls movie. everyone knows the story of Fantine the "Miserable Dead Prostitute".

to many people, the book or musical is their first and often only point of reference for sex work, and informs how they treat real life sex workers. many of us interacting in fandom are or will soon be adults with jobs, you could be a childcare worker or a doctor or therapist or any role that makes you a mandatory reporter. and if you hold biases towards sex workers and your patient or the parent of the kid in your class is one, then what.

(you know i had a therapist tell me once that if i had any kids she would "be forced" to report me to the police for "child abuse" on the grounds of my job. that was discrimination and was illegal as i live in one of the four locations in the world with sex work both decriminalised and a protected attribute under discrimination law, but it still happened.)

how people think informs how they vote, and public opinion in turn impacts legislation that actively damages sex workers and puts them in real danger. (criminalisation, the nordic model, "legalisation" also known as licensing, instead of full decriminalisation).

here is a resource put together by NSWP, the Global Network of Sex Work Projects that covers terminology and legal frameworks. I recommend giving the whole thing a read, but if you just want to learn about the difference between the different legal models I'm talking about read from pages 12-14.

full decriminalisation is the safest best practice option for all sex workers. not the nordic model, not select legalisation, full decriminalisation for all workers including those who aren't "legal" citizens.

bringing this back to Fantine. when i search analysis of sex work/"prostitution" in les mis, this is the shit i find.

link 1 | link 2

i don't even know where to start on rebranding "oldest profession" to "oldest form of oppression" and "trafficked and forced into the industry" - the trafficking conflation is a common one. the majority of labour trafficking occurs in industries completely unrelated to sex work, with sex trafficking numbers being grossly overestimated. there are no true numbers because under criminalisation victim/survivors of sex trafficking can't safely seek help for fear of being criminalised. decriminalisation helps everyone.

I will also say that the trafficking narrative is a racist xenophobic one used to target migrant workers, making them more vulnerable to higher rates of police violence, detention and deportation. if you want to get deeper into this I recommend reading Migrant sex workers and trafficking - Insider research for and by migrant sex workers.

yet here we see the idea that most of (if not all) sex workers are trafficked or forced, a narrative that removes the agency of sex workers and obscures the reality of labour trafficking. in short, lies which serve to sensationalise and erase real lived experiences, provide publicly-sanctioned excuses for the heavy policing of marginalised communities, and helping no one.

i will quickly say here that you'll never meet anyone who fights as hard for sex trafficking survivors than sex workers and sex worker peer led organisations.

and in the second example, you see how even though they're saying sex work, (so they listened enough to know not to say "prostitute" anymore), but they're still sharing anti-sw beliefs like "selling the body/selling yourself", violent phrasing that denies us not only agency but connection to our bodies, autonomy, and consent.

this is something i'll talk about a lot more in the chapter analysis that i'll get around to finishing and posting one day: but fantine doesn't sell her body to sex work any more than she sells it to the textile factory. how is one form of physical labour "selling your body/yourself" and another isn't? at the end of the day, she still owns her body, just like when i leave a booking i still own my body, just like when i clocked out of my past civilian jobs i still owned my body. we sell labour, we sell services. not ourselves.

noting here that even when discussing exploitation and trafficking, phrasing it as "selling your body" is also gross, still removes the survivors agency and connection to their body, and shows that you're not really a safe ally to survivors at all.

these ideas, that i pulled from the first paragraphs of two of the first analyses of fantine i stumbled across, are the same ones that sex workers around the world argue against when lobbying for full decriminalisation. it's the arguments we have with law makers and councils and saviour organisations and our own families and friends.

i'll talk about this more later but look at how anne hathaway finished playing Fantine and then signed off on a letter and petition against full decriminalisation of sex work and advocated for the nordic model - ensuring that sex workers and trafficking victims alike would be more vulnerable to violent clients and policing.

ironically, the same thing Fantine faces.

so my whole roundabout point is it matters. the way we talk about characters like Fantine matter. this directly impacts how real people treat real sex workers. this directly impacts legislation that directly impacts the lives and safety of sex workers AND survivors of sex trafficking.

just in case i haven't said it enough the safest option for both parties is always complete and full decriminalisation btw 🫶🏻

all links in case they break (sorry for making it longer but i don't trust tumblr with links lol)

tumblr post:

NSWP terminology and legal models source:

screenshot 1:

screenshot 2:

Migrant sex workers and trafficking - Insider research for and by migrant sex workers:

anne hathaway article:

[destinyc1020]

I think you are the first person to bring up lookism because the amount of black men I’ve seen just flat out discuss Fran’s looks added to it. There was even one guy moderating a TikTok live about wether they thought she was attractive…he was a black man. It had like 30,000 people on it. I tried to report it to no avail

Smh 🤦🏾‍♀️

Sometimes, it will be your own people, I swear. 😔

I'll never forget reading a book by Zora Neale Hurston, where she states: "Black women are the mules of the earth..." 😔

It's so very true.

But yea, very few people want to bring this up in conversation, but lookism is a real thing. We talk about racism, colorism, ageism, etc. all the time, but very few will admit that lookism also plays a role. If someone doesn't fit the idea or "standard of beauty" that they had in mind for a particular role, that person will get slammed....especially if they are a poc. 😔

And what's sad is that lookism usually automatically occurs for poc, because for a lot of people, a poc is typically NOT who they envisioned in the role in this racist society that we live in. 🥴

[farewelln3verland]

Never letting go

pairing: beomgyu x cici

description: when cici without, meaning to, falls into a fic, she's met with an ice prince named beomgyu, who swears to never let them go.

a/n: HAPPY BIRTHDAY,@wolfytae-exe CICI! you're such a light, and i'm so excited to call you a moot <3

cici was known for writing wonderful stories of her own, but she always wondered when she'd get her own fairytale. the smut, the fluff, the boys...none of that occurred in real life, and cici was sick of it.

one night, cici was eating chipotle alone, casually scrolling through tumblr, when a fic about beomgyu caught her attention. not that they all don't, because it had beomgyu in it, but this one seemed special.

it featured an ethereal picture of her bias, him, lips parted, looking on into her soul. so of course, cici clicked on read more.

"hello, princess."

cici startles, falling off her bed with a sharp 'ow.' coming from the floor.

"are you okay?" the voice comes into view: a boy with a handsome brown haircut, beautiful skin, and deep eyes. beomgyu.

cici blinks. "not again-" she groans. this was not the first time cici had hallucinated after no sleep and a particularly good fic.

"do you normally call princes into your room, angel?" he asks, his voice smooth, calm, and just a tiny bit amused. he reaches out a hand in an offer to help her off the floor.

"i-no..." cici mumbles, unsure if she should be talking to this ethereal mirage. then she might really be crazy.

"what's this...toombeller?" he tries to pronounce, holding up the phone, gesturing at the app.

so her hallucination knew phones, but not tumblr? interesting. one would assume it would be the other way around.

"that's tumblr, and you can read on it." cici decides to eventually tell him, sitting on the bed.

"huh." he mumbles, lips parting slightly, as he begins looking. "wait a minute- doll. this is me. why do i have books about me? WHY IS THERE SEXUAL CONTENT ABOUT ME?" he progressively gets more bothered and disturbed, waving the phone in cici's face.

"uh, well..." well, what, cici? spit it out! it cant be that hard, defend yourself!!

it had been two days since beomgyu appeared. sorry, prince beomgyu. cici had thrown away her ideas of him being a hallucination, as firstly, other people could see him, and second.....oh second.

cici felt as if she was in a whirlwhind romance. he'd charmed her just as much as idol beomgyu had.

turns out, he wasn't as silly as the beomgyu she knew, but he was just as sweet and kind. and just as good as all the tumblr writers had imagined.

he felt the same way that cici did. he was in love for the first time in his life.

he knew he should try a way to get home, but he knew his kingdom would be in good hands with his younger brother taehyun.

and so, with that thought in mind, beomgyu offered to stay.

and cici accepted.

they lived happily ever after.

the end.

extra: "HEY CICI!" beomgyu waves excitedly into the camera, and his eyes seem to meet yours through the device. "i'm so excited it's your birthday, and i know you'll do wonderful things this year, even if it is just biasing me." he winks.

"move-" a strong hand shoves beomgyu out of camera, and a pink haired taehyun appears in a simple black shirt and sweatpants, offering a sweet smile. "hi cici! happy birthday. i wish you all the best, and all the knowledge you need for this year." he waves, then leans in closer. "but i swear. this year, you are mine." he mouths, reaching up, and turning off the video message.

[utterdisaster1]

It's going to be a series of one-shots, going through the years at Hogwarts and beyond. This chapter is a sort of introduction, next one will be just for the relationships to establish etc. Later I'll advance to fluff and smut, and there's the war so angst as well. Of course, you can send in some requests, preferably to do with the story, but I guess some independent things will be ok as well (though I will rather stick with the marauders era characters only as the MC), that is if anyone reads this in the first place lol. And most importantly, it is an x MALE READER story. Anything I write will be x male reader/gn. Sorry to all Fem ones, but, being fully honest, you already have more than enough on here. I'm sure you'll be fine lol. NB/GenderFluid ones, I will be honest, I would be a little anxious to write, because I don't know if I would be able to depict it well.

The Beginning

Peculiar things always seemed to happen around you as a kid. The animals from the forest next to your town would flock to you and act tame. Sometimes, you could swear, you heard people's thoughts or made objects you were looking for just appear where they hadn't been a moment before. Whenever you told your parents about those occurences, they usually laughed, sometimes with concern laced beneath the chuckles.

But you knew you were right. And you got your proof one day when you were tending to a doe with her little fawn. An owl swooped and perched on your shoulder. Not that this hadn't happened before, but this time, it had a letter in its beak.

The barn owl didn't resist when you took the letter from her, and you started to inspect it with utmost scrutiny.

The envelope adressed to you had your very specific address on one side, and a crest with a wax seal on the other. It felt heavier and rougher than a normal letter, perhaps due to humidity in the air or some other factor, the paper shrivelled as the owl flew. You had no idea.

The crest had big word reading "HOGWARTS" above and some latin motto beneath it. From your very basic knowledge of French, you recognised "dormiens", meaning sleeping, or something similiar. As for the rest you came up blank. The animals weren't of much help either. A lion, a snake, an eagle and a badger. To your knowledge, none hibernated, and you doubted that someone would make a crest just to say "o yeah, that one likes to sleep in the winter".

The wax seal had the same crest on it, and after a second, you broke it, revealing the contents inside.

You pulled out two pieces of paper (though now that you thought of it, maybe it was parchment. You'd never held one before), and on the first page it read:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore (Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc.) Dear Mr. L/N We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. You will receive a visit from the Deputy Headmistress on 13th July at 10 a.m. where all the questions you may have will be answered. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment. Term begins on 1 September. We await your owl by no later than 31 July.

Yours sincerely, Minerva McGonagall Deputy Headmistress

On the other page you found a list of required items.

"Bewildered" did not quite capture your feeling. There was some vindication in knowing that you couldn't just imagine reading and holding this letter. It was real. Palpable. Physical.

There was also apprehension. After all, you'd never received any post before, let alone from an animal, no matter how friendly you were with them. But most of all, you felt excitement.

There were people like you. You weren't some freak of nature after all. You weren't mentally impaired, as you had some individuals imply or tell you straight to the face.

You quickly said goodbye to Beatrice the doe and her fawn and ran back to your house.

Your parents, unsurprisingly, did not take you seriously. After you insisted, that you were, in fact, serious, they told you they didn't have time for your games and that you could practice your penmanship without bothering them. They thought it was a joke, of course. You wanted to argue, but it wasn't like you hadn't gone through similiar scenario before. This time, however, you knew someone would validate your claim, confirm what you've spent so long trying to convince them of. The letter hadn't given any implication that the visit could be rejected or even postponed, so you simply had to wait.

Patience had never been a problem for you. It was just a week. It would fly by.

______________________________________________________________

You were wrong. Each day that wasn't the day felt like a slap in the face, like the universe itself was mocking you.

You heard your parents rely to their friends how you took up caligraphy somehow, and tried to use it for a practical joke on them. You also overheard a hushed discussion from their bedroom about reconsidering a visit with a medical specialist. Nothing new.

But finally, the 13th of July arrived.

You could barely sleep, because who would be able to really. You gave up trying at 4 a.m., watching the sunrise from your garden and taking a really long walk. Suddenly, there was only an hour to go.

Your mum liked to keep the house clean, so you weren't afraid of making a bad impression in that regard. Your parents' reaction was another matter. You'd tried to remind them of the letter the day prior, but they quickly dismissed you. Maybe out of spite, you wanted them to feel foolish when the Headmistress arrived.

By 9:45 you were asked if you had some parasites in your bowels, seeing how much you could not sit still. Every second felt like an eternity.

But finally, after the most excruciating quarter of an hour of your life, the clock chimed 10 times. You waited in trepidation. Any second now...

And there it was, the doorbell. At that moment, it was the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your mum, clearly unsuspecting opened the door. She hadn't expected any guests, and the postman had arrived earlier already.

In the porch stood a tall, dignified woman in an old-fashioned, forest-green dress. Her facial expression was probably supposed to be friendly, but there was some inherent sternness to it, that commanded respect. Your mother invited her in without a second thought.

Soon enough, both of your parents, you and the Professor were sitting in the living room, each with a cup of tea quickly prepared by your mum, and a tray of biscuits on the coffee table.

"I assume you are aware of the reason for my arrival today" said the Professor.

You immediately tried to affirm but were quickly interrupted by your father.

"I'm afraid not. I'm not entirely sure why my wife even let you in. You're not from my son's school, and it's summer holidays nevertheless. If you're here to sell encyclopedias or whatever else that we have no need for, you might as well leave now."

The Professor remained unperturbed "I am from your son's school, the one he's going to attend come September 1st. You have received the letter, after all."

At that, both of your parents went rigid. "This is- How dare- Hiring a woman to ridicule your parents, that's a new low for you!" said your father to you and turned to the Professor "I don't know who you are or why you agreed to indulge my son in his shenanigans, but let me make it abundantly clear: Get. Out. Of. My. House. Or I will call the police. I have a son to set straight."

You were surprised. Your father was a man of few words usually, a monument to stoicism. But he did say the last week had been exceptionally draining, so perhaps fatigue and pent-up stress and frustration were causing him to lash out on you and a total stranger.

The Professor's expression became much more severe. "What the letter stated was no fallacy or deception, sir. Your son is a wizard He was accepted to Hogwarts the day he was born. If you have not noticed signs of it so far, let me prove it to you now."

At that she took out a stick, a wand, from her sleeve, and waved it above the coffe table in a circular motion.

What was once furniture turned into a big lion. A lion. In your house. Your first instinct, as with all animals, was to pet it. Unfortunatelly, your mum, aware of your enthusiasm for all fauna, gripped your wrist tightly and said through her teeth "Do. Not. Move. Please".

The Professor seemed sattisfied with the reaction of the family -terror, awe, amazement and shock, all mixed together - and turned the docile, giant, adorable, cat back into a table.

"Now," she said pointedly, "will you listen to me, or should I transfigure more of your house into living beings to make you certain of my sincerity?"

At a nod from your parents, she continued "I can understand the shock and confusion you are experiencing, but we do not have all day. My name is Minerva McGonagall, and I'm the Deputy Headmistress as well as the Transfiguration Professor of the school your son has been admitted to. On September 1st, a train will depart for Hogwarts from King's Cross Station. Before that, your son must acquire all the necessary supplies from the magical neighbourhood in London. His attendance on the trip there with me is mandatory, yours," she looked at your parents "is optional. You are responsible for the funding of Mr. L/N's supplies. However, there is no tuition fee. The wizarding world uses different currency that the non-magical population of Britain, but the exchange at the wizarding bank will be swift and simple. The total cost of supplies varies from the equivalent of 500 to a 1000 pounds. If you are unable to cover such financial figure, there is a stipend option."

Your father, in a calmer tone, responded, "Does this house seem like it belongs to beggars and tramps? The financial sum is trivial. However, I am not sure why you are assuming my son will be attending that school in the first place".

You didn't give the Professor a chance to respond and burst out "What do you mean I won't be attending!? This is clearly where I'm supposed to go! All my life I've been different, alienated and alone. And now it's clear why! I don't belong here, but I belong somewhere." After a short pause, you added with a smirk "And if you think I'm not going to try to turn all our furniture into kittens if you don't let me go, you're surely mistaken."

Your father huffed at that, and your mum squized your hand. "Honey, of course you belong with us." she said, turning to your dad. "But maybe that school wouldn't be such a bad option. I know I don't want to live in a house made of felines, do you?"

Your dad, ever proud, simply huffed "No" and then turned to you. "So, I suppose you weren't lying about other things earlier". He seemed to think for a moment. "Fine, you may go, but you will not use anything you learn there here. You will at least try to act approprietly. I'm not going to be the father of a son who flies on a broom instead of riding a car."

"I think that's just from the children's stories, Da."

"Actually, we do use brooms for flying and sports," said the professor with her lips slightly curving upwards "But the use of magic outside of school before becoming of age is strictly forbidden unless under the most dire circumstances. It is absolutely essential for you to understand that, Mr. L/N. If you neglect to follow the wizarding laws, you may face most extreme of consequences".

You gulped and nodded, quickly wanting to change the subject. "So, about the shopping..."

"First of all, will your parents want to accompany you?"

Your parents seemed to have a silent conversation with each other before your mum asked "Will Y/N be safe while under your watch?"

"Absolutely"

Then your father said "In that case, I think Y/N can go there alone with you". You were a little dissappointed at that response, but not truly surprised. The fact that they at least seem to believe you now will have to be enough.

"Well, my Dad already said that the holidays have begun, so I'm free to go whenever you are" you said, quickly adding "Professor".

"I think the same time next week would be most plausible." she replied.

[hexagonspress]

you are (not) becket by @gyzym

Here, it's simple: you and me and your dead brother are all swimming in the sick stillness of the water after the storm.

Titles: Mrs. Eaves Body text: Garamond Case title: OCR A Extended

3,079 words | 108 pages

Binderary book 2 (these are absolutely not in order of when I finished them. This was a frantic ten-minute case-in on the morning of the 27th before being three minutes late to work because I was washing my glue brush.): Pacific Rim is a story that went inside my ribcage and my brainstem and won't ever leave. It was my first exposure to a character who's dead from the beginning and who haunts the story for the rest of it and I think about Yancy Becket every two days and I will for the rest of my life. And thus, from there, I get here, where "my name is Becket and I didn't ask to be your gravestone. Like I wanted this, Becket, I swear to fucking god" is just a line that is tattooed on my brain. I've cried over this fic a bunch of times. It makes me feel ice-cream-scooped out in the middle of my chest. I love it and it needed to be in printed form.

More pictures/design/process under the cut.

Design and Construction Case and covers: Flat-back case binding with bradel board covers and spine. This was my first time experimenting with layered materials for the case, because I wanted to mirror the missing pieces that are such a prominent part of the vibes of the fic to me, and oh boy. Layer 1 was on the front board, Hollander's Mango Leaf tissue in blue. Layer 2 was a full-cloth binding with Hollander's pearl linen cloth in charcoal grey, with the upper left half of the title text cut out using a Cricut. Layer 3 was again on the front board, Hollander's Lokta paper in natural. All of the title text was cut out with a Cricut and then I ripped the paper in half (an ordeal) and glued it down with a glue stick. I chose to tear the front because there's a lot of imagery of being torn free versus letting go in Pacific Rim in general, and this fic specifically, and yknow, it felt right.

Insides: No endbands; the book was too small for the pre-sewn ones to work. Endpapers are black cardstock and torn Lokta paper. The casing in was done with PVA, gluing a small tongue of the black cardstock to the case, and then I glued the torn Lokta paper over the rest of the bare board to create a faux endpaper. The torn papers are the same idea that I mentioned with the cover. The front paper is a torn piece of a whole - Raleigh, after Yancy. Mako, after her parents, after Stacker. Yancy. The back is a set of torn pieces pasted back together - Raleigh-and-Mako, without the people they've lost. Yancy, after. I don't know. I think about this a lot. (Also, I'll come clean. The black ink on the back endpaper is eyeliner. My deepest most sincere apologies to any archivists. I don't own black ink and it was three in the morning.)

Typesetting Typeset was done in InDesign. It's nothing fancy. Grief, in real life, and in the way that it is in Pacific Rim too, is a stark thing, and I wanted to reflect that. So, no headers, no page numbers even, and just plain black page breaks for each of the numbered sections. Garamond, my beloved.

We All Do It, or, the Mistakes Section Honestly, this was one enormous oops after another. Since the book's so small each page had to be cut out individually and I won't even get started on the number of mistakes I made doing that. Then I utility knife trimmed and sanded down the edges maybe six times because I couldn't achieve a straight line (I had to change my knife blade. This did not occur to me). The top margin is like 1.3 times bigger than the bottom margin. The Lokta paper faux endpapers were because I cut the original cardstock papers an inch too short and didn't feel like cutting them again. And then the big one...I measured for the case and then didn't write down which measurement was width and which was height. The case is literally the wrong orientation and I didn't realize until I put the block in and the top/bottom margins were wrong. I'm so fucking lucky that the margins were already so small that the block covered all the exposed board so I just cased in anyway but I did have to sit on my floor in despair for a good ten minutes.

Here's the French link in progress because I didn't want to end on my series of fuck-ups. This was incredibly fun but I never want to make a book this small again. That's a lie. It's going to happen again but better. <3

[annaloveshjp]

dream girl•♡

muggle!au

post-war (19yr)

pairing: Harry potter x fem!reader

word count: 3k

!warnings!: a few cuss words, emo Harry.

a/n: this is a little story I thought of a while ago. if you listen to any cigarettes after sex song, that’s basically what the vibe of this story is.

(This is kinda short, let me know if you’d like a part two <3)

summary: harry, the boy who works at the local cafe has been having one recurring dream of this mysterious girl, until one day he finally meets her.

————————

Opening his eyes, he sits up, groans, and drags his hand down his face, questioning if he’ll ever get a new dream.

Harry has been having the same recurring dream for the past 2 weeks: a girl with Y/H/C hair who is always lost in her books comes up to him and asks his name, but he never gets the chance to answer before he wakes up yet again.

At first he thought nothing of it. Just a dream, no special meaning. until he continued getting it for 4 more days, then he became confused. Does this mean something? Should he research recurring dreams?

•~

Many theories agree that recurring dreams are related to unresolved difficulties or conflicts in the dreamer's life. The presence of recurrent dreams has also been associated with lower levels of psychological wellbeing and the presence of symptoms of anxiety and depression.

•~

Great. Harry thinks to himself. Just what I wanted to hear.

He wondered if he had seen this girl before, but anytime he racked his brain for a familiar face, he could never find her.

Harry has never been the type to believe in soulmates- Well, he used to be. love is stupid. he thinks to himself when he sees happy couples enjoying eachothers company.

He had one relationship in the past. Ginny Weasley was a kind, fierce, confident girl, Harry loved her and truly believed they belonged together. That was until she unexpectedly decided they didn’t.

“Harry, there isn't any easy way to say this, but i think we should stop seeing each other,” She said, avoiding eye contact with the 17 year old boy.

“I- What?” He stuttered, “Why? Did I do something wrong? Tell me how to fix it i swear i will—“

“You did nothing wrong Harry,” She reassured him “It's not you, it's me. I Promise, It's just—My feelings have changed, I Don’t know how to explain. I’m Sorry.”

With that said, and nothing more to say, she walked away, leaving him sitting in the Coffee shop alone.

And since then, he decided that love wasn’t his thing anymore. Not worth wasting years on something for it to just fall apart so easily. He truly didn’t want a repeat of his last relationship.

But deep inside, he wishes to have the kind of love that puts you at ease, the love that makes your breaths easier each time you hold your lover in your arms, the love that he almost had.

Each of his days are the same: Wake up, go to work, go home, question life, is any of this worth anything in the end? Will I just be stuck in this loop of nothing forever? go to sleep, and dream of that girl.

These dreams tend to annoy him when they occur several nights in a row, he always feels her right at his fingertips, his name on the tip of his tongue, waiting for its escape into her ears so she can finally find him, but he always has to wake up.

Little did he know, the girl in his dreams is real, living in the same city, having the same dreams, about a boy her age with raven hair and beautiful jade eyes, from her point of view, waiting to hear his name, never succeeding.

Unlike Harry, she believes in soulmates. She believes that the boy in her dreams is the one for her, waiting somewhere for her out there, longing to meet his one just as much as she is.

And also Unlike Harry, she has never been in a relationship before. But instead, reads about love… And Heartbreak, but mostly love.

Every time she has this dream of this mysterious boy, she wonders. Will I ever meet him? Have I already met him?

She sighs, lying on her bed shortly after waking up from that dream.

Getting up, she walks over to her bathroom to start her day, shower, get dressed, brush teeth.

Looking up from her bathroom sink, she looks into her mirror examining her appearance.

Calm but energetic resting face, ghost of a smile always lingering on her lips. When upset, her frown is prominent, but Beautiful. light freckles scattered across the bridge of her nose and cheeks, which are dusted with a dark rose color.

Her makeup, light but noticeable, consists of dark mascara, lipgloss and concealer.

Lately she has found concealer very helpful, as she has been waking up in the middle of the night to write about anything slightly different that happens in her dream.

For example; the first night she had this dream, it was sort of a blur, just a boy and a girl —the girl being her— sitting next to each other on a bench, a simple wooden bench. You might expect this bench to be somewhere like a park, or a sidewalk, but this bench was nowhere.

A bench sitting in void, the ground, walls and ceiling all white, no emotions radiating from the room except from the boy and girl. The girl calmly reading another one of her romance books, the boy, with headphones in, occasionally glancing at the girl and her pages.. Until she looks over at him and taps his shoulder. When he gives her a questioning look while taking one headphone out, she asks his name, then it ends.

The next few nights of having this dream were the same, except she started to notice some of the boys features more, like his eyes, which were an enchanting shade of green. Or his lips, pink, soft and slightly chapped; he was beautiful.

She wished everyday that she would see him soon, or even at all. He was the one. She could feel it.

She grabbed her bag then left her bedroom to have breakfast. She opened the fridge and got some strawberries, washed a few and threw them in a plastic bag, then made her way outside to walk to her bus stop.

I wonder if he likes strawberries. she thinks of him. if he doesn’t, then we definitely aren’t for each other. She thought, plopping a strawberry into her mouth as she waited for her bus.

The bus pulled around the corner, and made a loud hiss sound when it stopped. She entered once the doors opened, and found a seat by the window.

She pulled out the book she was currently reading, put her headphones in and began to read.

She liked the bus, it was a nice way of traveling. She sometimes just has her whole day consisting of riding the bus. She sees so many interesting people.

——-

I hate this job, why do I still work here? Harry thought to himself as he handed a warm latte to one of his customers. “Have a nice day,” he told her.

Right, it’s the only job that would take me. He remembered. “Hey, Harry,” one of his coworkers called to him.

He whipped his head around. “Hm?” He questioned.

“Could you work the register for a bit? I have to go do something,” his coworker said hurriedly.

“Yeah sure, whatever,” Harry replied, walking over to the cash register and straightening his name tag.

His coworker left for the bathroom. Harry watched as he saw another person follow them into the bathroom.

Ah, that’s what they meant by ‘go do something’ he rolled his eyes, turning his head back to the register to find a customer looking curiously to where he was previously looking.

“Sneaky little guy, eh?” She joked, turning back to order.

When Harry got a good look at her face, he swore he almost pissed himself. Is that actually her? No way no way no way-

Her eyes went a bit wide too, but Harry assumed it was because of the look of shock on his face.

“Uhm-“ she cleared her throat, “could I have a pumpkin latte with oat milk?” She ordered quickly.

“I uhm- yeah sure,” Harry stuttered, tabbing in her order, his hands shaking slightly.

That definitely looks like her. Her hair is the same, her eyes, she even has the same bag.

Harry saw out of the corner of his eye that she was examining his face for a second, only to stop when he turned back to her.

“2.13 is your total today, ma’am,” he said, watching her search her purse for her wallet.

“Here,” she handed him the money.

Just as she was about to walk away, he quickly said, “Oh and- sorry but, could I get a name for that order?”

“Oh, yeah sure,” she was a bit confused since this cafe didn’t usually take names for orders, but told him anyway. “Y/N,”

“Thanks,” he said, giving her a nod and a smile.

She smiled back and walked over by a window to wait for her order.

That’s a nice name. he massaged his temples. If that’s actually her, I don’t know what I’ll do.

After a few minutes, Harry saw her drink was done. He quickly rushed over to another coworker of his—who had the drink—and said “Hey, I’ll do this one,”

“Okay…?” He responded, before handing Harry the drink and starting to make the next one.

Harry quickly took the drink and walked over to the counter. “Pumpkin latte with oat milk for Y/N?”

She looked up from her phone and walked over to the counter. “Thank you, Harry,” she said, grabbing her drink.

He gaped at her with his lips slightly parted, wondering how she knew his name. She seemed to have noticed his shock, and said, “Your name tag,” she pointed to his chest.

He looked down at it. “Right, yeah,” he laughed awkwardly.

“I’ll see you around, Harry.” She said, giving him a smile and walking away.

“Yeah, you will,” he said faintly.

He stood there for a good minute, taken aback by the whole situation before he heard someone clearing their throat. Harry looked over and saw his coworker nodding his head toward the register where a customer was waiting.

Oops. he thought to himself.

After his shift was over, he started to clean up the store. While he was wiping down tables, he noticed a book was left on one of them.

Hm, I wonder who forgot their book. He thought, picking up the book and examining it.

Romance, ew.

He decided he would store the book in his bag for now, just if the person who lost their book came looking for it some day, he’d return it.

He went home that night thinking about Y/N more than usual. She’s fucking real? He thought while he brushed his teeth. or I’m going insane.

I’m probably going insane, how could I dream about her for months when I only just met her today? He thinks as he lay in bed, biting his nails out of habit.

What the fuck just happened. She thought, walking out of the cafe with her pumpkin latte.

Universe, when I said I wanted to see him soon, I didn't mean today!

I could be going crazy… but his hair was the same! Even his eye colour!

She was so deep in thought for so long, by the time she was back on the bus to go home, she didn’t realize she had forgotten her book at the cafe.

Shit. she thinks, searching her bag for her book. I forgot it at the cafe.

She decided she would just go looking for it the next time she went back to the cafe.

Finally, she was home. She kicked her shoes off, put her bag away, then headed to her room.

Walking to her dresser, she picked out a pair of pajamas, then brushed her teeth, then got into bed.

See you in a minute, Harry. She thought to herself. If it’s even you.

——

“Hey, what’s your name?”

“Oh uhm- it’s Harry. What’s yours?”

“Y/N,”

——-

“HOLY FUCK!”

Both of the teenagers shot up from their beds right when they woke up.

It’s him

It’s her

Y/N didn’t know what to do now. She knows where he works, his name, and what he looks like. But she didn’t feel ready to get to know him yet.

I’m just going to avoid the cafe for a few days. Maybe I’ll cool down and he’ll forget my face. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

I have to see her. Harry thinks, pacing around his room. I have an idea. I’ll just ask her if it’s her book today and then we’ll talk about something. Easy.

He started his day happier than usual. He decided he would have a healthy breakfast. Some oatmeal with fruit.

Ugh, I hate fruit. Why do I have to hate fruit? He thinks, looking at his empty fruit drawer in his fridge. He looked closer and spotted some blueberries. Jackpot.

After he ate his oatmeal—which wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be—he took his bag, which contained the romance novel, and made his way to work.

The whole ride there, he tapped his fingers anxiously on his steering wheel, and glanced at his bag every few minutes.

It’ll be fine, she came in late last time, it’ll be a while before she comes in again.

His day went by as normal. Making drinks all day, occasionally stealing a cookie from the dessert case, and becoming extremely bored. Except today, all he could think about was her.

By the time eight o’clock came around (closing time) he hadn’t seen her come in.

Maybe she’s busy today. He thought to himself as he finished washing the dishes, and closed the store.

He took his bag and got into his car, sighing as he turned on the radio. Maybe tomorrow.

The next few days were the same. No sign of her whatsoever. Harry wondered if she was scared of him. No, that would be weird… right?

He began to lose hope, slowly, but surely. His routine cycled back to normal. Wake up, go to work, go home, question life, is any of this worth anything in the end? Will I just be stuck in this loop of nothing forever? go to sleep, and dream of that girl.

Only his dreams had stopped since that night. I finally told her my name. He thought. I wonder if she’s having the same dreams, maybe that’s why she’s avoiding the cafe.

A week later

Maybe it’s safe to go back now. Y/N thought to herself one morning as she showered. I’ve been wanting my book back…

After arguing back and forth with herself for maybe ten minutes, she finally decided she would go back to the cafe.

It’s fine, it’ll be fine. You were the one who wanted to meet him so badly anyway! Y/N argued with herself again as she rode the bus to the cafe.

He might not even be at the register this time. She took a deep breath. Just get your coffee and go.

She walked into the cafe and got in line. She didn’t see Harry at first glance towards the counter, but she played it safe still and kept herself distracted with her phone until it was her turn to order.

Her turn soon arrived, and she shut her phone off and looked up at the worker who was taking orders.

Phew. She breathed out. “How are you today?” The worker asked.

“I’m good, thank you.” Y/N replied.

“What can I get for you?”

“I’ll just have a pumpkin latte with oat milk, please.” Y/N said politely.

The worker tabbed her order in. “Pumpkin latte with oat milk? Is that all for today?”

“Yes, please. Thank you.” Y/N thanked the worker, then walked over to an empty table to wait for her drink.

See? It wasn’t so bad, you didn’t even see him. She thought, cracking her knuckles. And even if you do see him, he probably won’t even see you, he’ll be working. It’s fine—

“Pumpkin latte with oat milk for Y/N?” A voice interrupted her thoughts.

I- I didn’t give them my name—? She thought before she looked up and saw Harry holding her drink for her behind the counter.

He had a nervous grin plastered on his face, looking at Y/N. Her eyes widened, then she walked up to the counter to collect her drink.

“Hi again, Harry.” Y/N smiled at him, trying to suppress her shaking as she reached for her latte.

“Hi. I noticed you hadn’t come in for a while,” Harry said, “something happen?”

“Oh- no,” she waved him off, “nothing happened, just busy is all.” She lied.

“Hm, Alright,” he said.

“Oh and by the way,” she suddenly remembered her book, “have you stumbled across a book that might’ve been left here a bit ago? I left mine here,”

His eyes brightened, “actually, yes I have,” he grabbed his bag and pulled out the romance novel.

“That’s it!” She smiled wide, “thank you, Harry.”

“No problem,” he handed her the book and grinned. “enjoy your latte, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” she smiled, then began to walk out.

“Sweet dreams,” Harry called to her when she was ten feet away from the counter.

She froze. Oh my god. With a sudden burst of confidence, she turned around and replied, “you too,” with a wink.

Harry’s face flushed with colour as he watched her walk out of the cafe. It's definitely her. Maybe this job isn’t so bad after all…

It’s him. She thought, grinning as she walked outside. Maybe I’ll visit here more often.

———————

[thelooniemoonie]

So I just finished reading House of Leaves...

Here are my thoughts. I will do my best to avoid spoilers, but will mention a thing or two.

Oh man, that was one hell of a ride. While I myself am a huge fan of horror, this was the first horror book I have read, and what a great experience it was!

Going into the book I already somewhat knew of the madness that lurks inside (that being the quarter inch, and the impossibly long hallway) and was surprised that the madness started on very early. Being the book is over 700 pages long, I sure as hell didn't expect it to start about 60 pages in.

What you don't expect however, is the madness that takes it's toll the longer the book goes on. Multiple storylines, narrators and themes start converging together to the point where everything starts falling into place, to the point it becomes nauseating as exploring the house itself. What I can say however, is that the house is only barely scratching the surface of what is truly going on within these pages.

For context the book is cleverly written as a meta-narrative, as an essay analyzing the film The Navidson Record, a fictional film that does not exist in the real world. What the book strangely does however, is reference actual real life sources when dissecting its premise, to the point where reality and fiction start blurring. The book feels as if it's having a conversation with itself, covering countless of different themes and metaphors that overlap with one another. Given this thing has been analyzed and picked apart for decades since its release, I'm gonna leave it to the experts about the secrets within its pages. (Although I will say this: pay attention. The longer the book goes on the more the different puzzle pieces will start clicking together.)

I was curious as to how a book may scare a reader since I'm unfamiliar with the experience of reading horror, but I will say the longer the book went on the worse it got. If I had to make a comparison, it would be the same feeling I experienced when watching Skinamarink: Dread. A long, droning kind of dread that one experiences when you are alone in your house and all the lights are off and everything is black. And you know no one is coming for you. But you swear you saw something from the corner of your eye. It's the feeling of running up the stairs after turning the lights off and praying something isn't running after you. Dread.

Very quickly things will become nauseating. At first I wasn't scared of the premise of the house: it's a haunted house that defies reality. So? But I found myself not dreading the events that unfolded or the "interesting" formatting of the book, but that the reality of the book itself seemed to be imploding on itself. Spoilers, but the one moment I think where I specifically started spiralling was when Exploration #5 was occurring, and Navidson had to stop and rest with only his matches, he pulls out a book to read and it's....the House of Leaves? The book you're reading right now? But how is that possible? How is Navidson reading the real life book that you're reading, when the fictional events that are pertaining to him are happening right now to him?? What are even the Johnny segments?? (Note: don't read them at work like I did) Why does nobody cited in this book know who the Navidsons are, even though they're quoted directly in reviewing the film?? What the hell is going on???

.

I made a joke in an earlier post that Navidson wants to fuck the house. I meant this as a joke. What I soon horrifically realized was that others were correcting me in that it wasn't a joke. Navidson wants to fuck the house. But he also doesn't want to fuck the house. But it is also a secret third thing that's literal to the foundation of this story. (No pun intended.) But oh god it gets so much worse.

At the time of writing this, I just finished the book 1 hour ago. I feel like I just stepped off the worst rollercoaster. And I loved it.

10/10 very spooks

On a less serious note I think the funniest moment in the book was when the Chad's and Daisy's teacher, after noticing their strange behaviour at school due to the effects of the house, reasonably decides to pay their parents a visit to talk about it. What the poor lady doesn't expect however, is that she arrives right after the events of the house unfold and the Navidsons are having the worst week of their life, coming to the screaming and crying family while there is a dead body on the floor.

In essence it can be summed up by this gif, which frankly sums up the vibe of the story overall:

So yeah it's a good book. I recommend it.

[sunny6677]

Cicadas: When October Sings. - BOOK 1

Summary:

Mysterious events begin to occur in a small suburban town Kevin lives in.

CHAPTER 3: The Picnic.

————

..after a few more long minutes of driving along the stretch of the gray road, the vehicle slowed, and we came to a stop.

The air outside was warm. Unbelievably warm, in fact. I felt it practically frown me the moment I stepped outside onto the sidewalk. The car had parked in front of a large bright green patch of field with a single tree in the middle.

Nearby was a small wooden building in the distance—which appeared to have no on inside judging by the fact that there were no cars parked in front of it. The sun beamed down onto its wood, causing the brown shade to shine brightly in the sunlight. And before the small, peculiar building that looked like it was gonna fall apart any second now—there was a strange statue of..

...

I glanced away, swallowing nervously. It was probably my imagination. That thing wasn't real anyway.

"Wooh.." Streber let out a sigh, wiping his knuckles against his forehead and sweeping off the sweat. He hoisted the basket into his arms as Ethan walked calmly around the vehicle, a smile curled on his face.

I saw Ethans gaze flicker toward me, and a melting hue of worry formed in them as he chuckled. "You alright?" He grinned, noticing a look on my face that I couldn't.

"..yeah. I'm okay." I huffed.

I tilted my head again, my eyes trailing over the gigantic statue faintly painted with shades of cyan and dark red.

Blinking, I asked, "..what's that for?"

Ethan tilted his head to the side a bit in return, glancing in the direction of the statue before letting a small laugh escape his mouth. "Oh.. I.. I don't really know. I know it's important to the people who really like that Stars Festival thing though."

"..stars festival?"

"..well.. it's actually called The Festival of The Stars. But it's not really that important." He shrugged, "It's just some little village thing that they do every year."

"Oh."

Come to think of it, I had heard about it. Some sort of festival that would always take place on one of the last weeks of October—it's dates would always kinda change though. I didn't know much about it aside from some of the dandelion blowing stuff and what not.

..either way, it wasn't really that important.

————

"..aaalllright.. just put these here.."

Streber mumbled aloud to himself—the warm air was somewhat overwhelming. The soft blanket he had laid out for us on the hill made it feel a little less bad though. Or at least like I wasn't gonna combust from sweating any second now. I was starting to swear I could see little ants crawling onto the blanket already, but I couldn't tell if it was that, or if it was little pieces of dirt.

Ethan watched from beside me, his slim phone in his hands as he looked up from the screen. And I couldn't really do much other than just observe as he laid out.. several items of food.

He laid out three wrapped, greasy looking sandwiches in rows—the ingredients within them slightly visible despite the fabric of the wrapper. I felt it's warm scent flow into my nostrils. My stomach nearly rumbled just from the sensation.

From beside them, he set down a yellow mustard bottle, along with a red ketchup bottle. Then from beside that, he placed a small box of watermelons and several other fruits. Meatballs. And.. good god, how much did he pack?

Either way, I knew I defintely didn't have to worry about starving. A part of me felt like he only packed this much just because I'm here. And I knew I was probably right about that. I knew him well enough to know he wouldn't pack so many things without any reason.

...mmh.. he really was a good friend.

Streber finally let out a sigh, grinning from ear to ear—"Alright.. there you go! Now we can eat."

————

..as expected, the food was good. Really good, to be honest. The grilled cheese he had packed for me was crisp on the bread, and just the right amount of flavor in the yellow melted piece of cheese in the middle. My stomach felt completely relieved of all it's hunger from before, and I let out a sigh nearly each time I took a bite. I really never had enough energy to eat stuff, but I couldn't really say no when it was him who made it.

Ethan on the other hand ate his sandwich in small bites. While Streber was chattering on loudly about.. something I wasn't really listening to, if I was being honest. It wasn't that what he was talking about wasn't interesting. I was just.. really hungry. I dunno.

A cool breeze was slightly streamj g through now. I felt the winds brush against me, making the beads of sweat on my face feel as if they weren't there.

It was about when I was nearly done with my sandwich that I heard a weird voice calling out.

"Heyyyyy! Streber!"

Streber blinked for a few seconds, snapping his round head in the direction of the sound. Seemingly, it came from somewhere beside me. So, I... just looked to see where it was. And when I did, I almost immediately got my answer.

It was a younger looking girl with orange-reddish hair tied into low pigtails, her face round and a grin made perfectly on her face. She wore a pastel yellow sweater around her skinny body. Alongside her was a woman with long dark blue hair, another girl with short black hair that went to her neck, and..

Well, I didn't need to describe them. I already knew them anyway. But I wasn't sure what exactly they were doing here.

That girl was Liv. I didn't know how Streber and Ethan had met her exactly, but she was a young girl who was currently living with them—about the age of eighteen to be exact. She was pretty chaotic and energetic from what I remembered of her. And anytime I saw her, she.. strangely smelt of mandarin? I didn't know why, but she did.

The woman with the dark blue hair was Aria, who was always really soft-spoken and somewhat awkward. And Confi, who.. well, honestly, I didn't talk to her that much. So I didn't really know what she was like.

There was a small orange vehicle parked behind the one Streber drove her, seemingly the one they must have driven in. After all, they.. were coming up the hill from in that direction. As Liv smiled rather eagerly while marching up the hill toward us, I couldn't help but wonder..

"..Uh.." Uttered Streber, a bit puzzled by their presence as well. "Hi? What are you guys doing here?"

"..yeah." Ethan arched a brow as well, a twitch of a puzzled smile worn on his slim face. "Didn't you say you were busy?"

"Well, we were." Liv huffed as she finally stopped on top of the hill, with Confi shuffling beside her, and Aria quietly walking up with a slight smile on the right side of her. Liv pouted, "But that mall we went to ended up being a little more crowded than we thought it'd be. Hmph."

"..eheheh.." Aria laughed gently, "It's—it's fine though. We decided we'd come here to visit with you guys since we didn't have anything else to do. You alright with that?"

Streber paused. His eyes trailed over them for a moment as the warm silence filled the air, and after a second, he finally gave a simple nod. "Uh.. well, alright! I'm okay with that. Just try not to eat too much, alright? I don't know if I packed enough for three more people."

"..might as well have.." I found myself mumbling with a slightly low tone. He didn't respond, not seeming to hear.

"Hah—yes!" Liv laughed rather loudly from where she stood, practically hopping foward toward the blanket. She shuffled onto an empty space next to me, giggling while moving up and down at a rather rapid rate.

Confi swiftly moved in silence, shuffling next to the last empty space near Liv. Streber moved a bit more closer to Ethan, leaving room for Aria to join in.

Aria let out a sigh. "Oh.. thank you. Eheh.."

Chuckling, she lowered herself near the space Streber had left empty, and made herself comfy as she shifted onto it. Streber flashed her a simple grin, beaming, "Yeah—no problem, Aria. Heh.. sorry if you don't get to eat much."

"It's okay." Aria denied reassuringly, "I.. kind of ate already anyway."

..I sat in slight quietness, holding the sandwich near my mouth still. The breeze blew against my hair, making me feel the trickles of my sweat down my neck, along with something that slightly brushed and brushed against my shoulder. I thought it might have been the wind, but even after a few seconds, it didn't go away.

I looked to the side. And... Livs face was practically right next to my shoulder. In response to seeing her round eyes, I slightly flinched. She gave a wide grin, tilting her head to the side.

"..can I have some of that?"

I stared. And slowly frowned.

"..no."

Bringing it closer to my mouth, I took a small bite out of it, seeing her only scowl in the corner of my eye from pettiness.

Well.. looks like we had three more people at the picnic now.