#in that case it was obvious it was the same person pretending to be another guest anon

[transmutationisms]

Feel free not to answer this ask so you dont have to step into this particular hornet's nest but do you have any thoughts about people sharing inaccurate science about COVID in order to push for more COVID regulations? I agree that COVID is being neglected and we need better policies but I'm also a biochemist so it pisses me off to see people cite research in a way that makes exaggerated and terrifying claims. Two years ago, I was warning my colleagues against this condescending "just trust the science" approach but now the same crowd pushing that has shifted to pushing "don't trust any of the positive science, only my catastrophic interpretations of it". Can't we mask without also trying to convince each other that COVID is a guaranteed one way ticket to death and permanent disability?

you must be new here haha i swing bats at this hornet's nest like once a month. yeah i think the current state of covid communication sucks a lot. i mean the truth is that "follow the science" is always a disingenuous sentiment; Science doesn't speak, and scientists disagree with one another. and it's naïve to pretend majority consensus is a reliable mechanism to identify truth—anyone who has followed the covid aerosolisation about-face will recall that although linsey marr was not the first researcher to challenge medical orthodoxy on airborne disease transmission, even well into the covid pandemic the idea of aerosol transmission was marginalised by global health authorities because it was politically inconvenient, out of favour with powerful established academics, and reminiscent to some of pre-pasteurian miasma theories of disease. those who would "follow the science" were not presented with a convenient dichotomy between reasonable evidence-backed expert consensus and fringe peddlers of heterodoxy; to evaluate these positions required actually, yknow, reading and evaluating the arguments and evidence from multiple competing positions, and deciding which had the greater explanatory power. which is good epistemological advice only insofar as it's so obvious as to be trite.

fundamentally a huge driving force of this situation is the social, political, and institutional forces that make expert knowledge (a generally good thing) all too often synonymous with inaccessible knowledge. i don't mean inaccessibility caused by knowledge being specialised; obviously this is inevitable to some extent simply as a result of the fact that no one person will grasp the entirety of human knowledge. but the fact that knowledge is specialised, specific, highly technical, and so forth doesn't automatically mean, for example, that it has to be monetarily gatekept from all but a select few with the resources to persevere through a highly punishing, nepotistic, hegemonic university system; this is a political problem, and one that additionally has the effect of enabling and sheltering low-quality work (see: replication crisis) behind the opaque walls of university bureaucracy and the imprimateur of the credentials it grants. in lieu of an ability to actually engage with, read, or challenge much of the academic research being generated on any given topic, the lay public is supposed to rely on signs of reliability like possession of a degree, or institutional reputation. what we in fact see again and again, and with particularly high stakes in the case of something like a pandemic, is that these measures are instruments of class stratification and professional jockeying that don't inherently ensure quality information: MDs can and do peddle anti-vaxx lies and covid / long-covid denialism; the CDC and WHO can and do perpetrate bad and outdated scientific advice, like that masks are unnecessary and isolation periods can be shortened for convenience. many of these are just blatant cases of kowtowing to political pressure, which arises from the capitalist logic that counterposes disease prevention to economic growth.

this all leaves us in a position where it is, in fact, smart and correct to evaluate the information coming from 'official' and credentialled sources with scepticism. the problem is that in its place, we get information coming out of the same capitalist state-sponsored scientific institutions, and the same colonialist universities; the idea that some chucklefuck on twitter is telling you the secret truth just because they correctly identified that the government sucks is plainly absurd. where covid specifically is concerned, the liberalism of academic and scientific institutions is on display in numerous ways, including the idealist assumption, which many 'covid communicators' make, that public health policy is primarily a matter of swaying public opinion, and therefore that it is always morally imperative to form and propagate the most alarmist possible interpretation of any study or empirical observation. this is not an attitude that encourages thoughtful or measured evaluation of The Science (eg, study methodology), nor is it one that actually produces the kind of political change that would be required to protect the populace writ large from what is, indeed, a dangerous and still rampant virus. instead, this form of communication mostly winds up generating social media Engagement and screenshots of headlines of summaries of studies.

meanwhile, actual public health policy (which is by and large determined at the mercy of capitalist state interests, and which by and large shapes public opinion of what mitigation measures are 'reasonable', despite the CDC repeatedly pretending this works the other way round), remains on its trajectory toward lax, open exposure of anyone and everyone to each new strain of covid, perpetuating a society that is profoundly hostile to disabled people and careless with everyone's life and health. this fucking sucks. it sucked that we have treated the flu like this for years, and it sucks that we are now doing it with a virus that we are still relatively immunologically naïve to, and that produces, statistically, even more death and disability than the flu. and it sucks that the predominating explanations of this state of affairs from the 'cautious' emphasise not the structural forces that shape knowledge production under capitalism, but instead invoke a psychological narrative whereby individuals simply need to be sufficiently terrified into producing mass action.

[icallhimjoey]

idk why but I think it would be funny reader stuck in the elevator with joe and reader freaking out bc the elevator stopped while joe is all soft and trying to calm her down

YES excellent – i merged this idea with another request from anon who asked for a story that starts on the tube, so, here we go... a new five-part series! here's part one! thanks for the request, you're well sexy and the best, love ya for life xo Wordcount: 2.6K

---

Between Floors and Feelings

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five

“Rough night?”

You knew what this looked like.

You understood why the person who you'd sat down next to immediately got up and moved a few seats down. Why they avoided the drama of it all.

You understood why the lady opposite you stared at the floor and nothing but the floor, pretending that she hadn't seen you, probably because that would just be easiest for everyone involved, the politest thing to do.

You understood why the handsome stranger at the end of the carriage kept looking over, his big round eyes overflowing with pity for the runaway bride in the dirty dress, mascara stains all down her face and her hair a tangled up mess.

You got it.

You probably would’ve felt the same had you witnessed a girl in a wedding dress sit down in an empty seat, sort of dazed and empty-looking, numb to the stares and whispers – if people even whispered at all; the tube was notoriously quiet, always and forever.

“Rough night?” a boy from a group of four, maybe five, called over, and the rest of them all tried to hide their laughs.

Badly.

It was obvious they’d been drinking and you guessed they were on their way to the next party. Off to find another bar or a club that still let people in after the last tube had gone.

You made direct eye-contact with the kid, and you looked exhausted the way people can only look exhausted after they’ve cried for a good while.

Made sense, since, you know, you’d cried for a good while.

You just looked at this boy, who thought maybe he’d get a reaction out of you, but your lack of expression and unwavering stare quickly made him grow uncomfortable. Made his buddies shove his shoulders as they told him to leave her alone man, suddenly all respectful and well-mannered.

They felt the vibe. None of this was fucking funny.

It was enough to get him to back off, and thank fuck they all got off at Leicester Square – of course they did – and when the doors closed again, you noticed the carriage was mostly empty now.

A glance sideways told you the handsome stranger who’d been sneaking looks at you was still there.

Watching you.

What an outfit to be seen in by someone who had looks that would usually make you sit up a little straighter. Would make you faff with your hair a bit. Would make you stick your chin out and push your shoulders back, just in case he looked at you again.

You absolutely didn’t give a single shit about it now.

Couldn't care less about what you currently looked like.

You knew your face was a mess of streaky foundation with black mascara marks all the way down to your chin and, fuck it, you weren’t even planning on washing it off tonight. You’d wallow in bed and probably would cry some more before you’d fall asleep.

Tomorrow could be the day on which you’d care.

Maybe.

Right now all you’d wanted to do was murder someone, then sleep, and also, empty the rest of your bladder.

Perhaps that was the only thing about tonight that brought you secret joy; the memory of squatting over your boss’s handbag to piss right into it. You had to stop in a scurry when you heard footsteps coming up the stairs and didn’t want to be caught, but, if you had been, ultimately, it wouldn't have mattered.

You had resigned with immediate effect when you'd seen them.

Finding her unguarded handbag on your way out was exactly what she fucking deserved. You knew you'd probably regret it later, but for right now, it was all you fucking had.

The train stopped at Covent Garden, and it took a second for your body to get up to get out. Like the signals your eyes and ears picked up took longer to travel to the right parts of your brain, that then following signals took longer to travel from your brain to the right parts of your body.

You had to lift up your skirt, two fists grabbing at the tulle, to make sure your feet didn't get caught up as you stepped onto the platform.

With the increasingly annoying See It, Say It, Sorted repeating itself for the millionth time within the fourteen minutes you'd been on the tube, the doors beeped behind you before you heard them roll shut.

The platform felt empty, just a couple other people making their way towards the exit, and with your zest for life currently non-existent, the sensation of the wind from the tube leaving felt nice. So, you took a second, just stood there and thought to yourself how long it would take for it to become weird that you weren't moving.

There were just too many things to freak out over, far too much to completely overwhelm you, but it was almost like none of it was real. As if every single survival mechanism your body held within itself had switched on. They all made sure that the only thing you had going inside your brain was a low, constant hum. Nothing else.

It was almost like you weren't even there.

Like the whole evening had been a dream.

Like you didn't even really exist in this moment right now.

Yea. You were definitely dissociating.

You felt like a ghost a little.

One that had to pee, still. That motivated you enough to turn your head, tired heavy-lidded eyes reading the signs to follow them out.

Exit. To the lifts and stairs.

You were nearly home.

Home, where you were definitely 100 per cent going to beeline it straight from your front door right into bed.

Just that thought alone brought you back into yourself a little more, but it was just so you could tear up again. You felt the hot pinpricks behind your eyes and quickly shoved yourself out again.

No more crying, please.

You could just... float down the underground tunnels behind yourself. Follow your own footsteps out of the station. You knew were you lived. You would find yourself there later.

It was fine.

It was after the last theater rush, so for Covent Garden standards, it felt eerily quiet. Not that you were complaining. Waiting for the lifts whilst crushed between a bunch of tourists was the last thing you wanted right now.

But stepping into an empty lift with just one other person stepping in behind you, seeing just a few people step out on the other side, felt weird too.

Especially when you looked, and you saw that the one other person was the handsome stranger from your carriage. He'd apparently gotten off too, and suddenly, you felt embarrassed.

You were wearing a dirty wedding dress. Had black marks all over your face, all over your hands.

He looked fucking stunning. All prim and proper. Vintage-looking tweed green suit. Olive-y green. Gorgeous and well put together, the literal exact opposite from you in your current state. Like, sure, his curls were a little messy, but it seemed part of his look.

As the lift doors closed behind you, the stranger gave you a polite nod accompanied by a tight lipped smile. And you would have returned it, would've made it a kind, well-mannered exchange of acknowledgement, but, you weren't really inside of your body, remember?

All you did was look at him a second, face all blank, and you only slightly noticed that the empathy in his eyes doubled right in front of you before you turned away. You turned and slumped against the side, head resting back, eyes scanning the ads but not really reading anything, and you wondered if these lifts ever got cleaned. If someone ever took a rag and some cleaning solution and wiped down all the panels. By the look of things, probably not.

What if that was your job?

Clean the Covent Garden tube station lifts every day. There were four of them, and you imagined they all could use a good scrub.

You honestly wouldn't mind a job like it. You needed a new job anyway, 't was close to home and you liked the sense of accomplishment cleaning something incredibly dirty gave you. Where you could really see the difference.

You were doing a stellar job at distracting yourself from the current situation you were in. Made sure to stay all the way out of your body. Made sure that this veil that separated you from the real world, that blurred the boundaries between what was real and what was not, made sure that it stayed in place.

You were so close to home.

Wanted to be there right this second.

Fuck, you were so tired.

Maybe your new job could be figuring out this whole teleportation thing. See if you could make that work for yourself.

You didn't realise that your eyes were staring at the man who stood near where the doors were meant to open when you reached ground floor. Just, comfortably locked at the shoulder seam of his jacket.

Even when he turned his head a little for a quick look before he took a small sip from a half empty water bottle, surely because he could sense your two bulging wet eyeballs burn into his back, you didn't move your eyes.

Felt too nice to keep them there.

But then, without warning, there was a sudden jolt. It shocked you right back into your body and you couldn't help the small gasp that escaped you. The lift had come to an abrupt halt, and the lights flickered for a moment before they settled into a dim glow.

Oh no.

“Oh no,” the barely audible sound of your voice surprised you. Your throat still felt thick from crying, and hearing it out loud just reminded you of it more.

“Is it stuck?”

For a second, you thought that maybe, you were wrong.

You made a mistake.

Clearly you weren't really with it right now, so you didn't really trust your senses currently. You didn't really know what was real and what wasn't and found it difficult to differentiate.

But then the guy who was in there with you looked around, and then lowered his head. By the way his eyes moved, you could tell he was trying to listen for something.

“Are we stuck?” you tried again, and his eyes shot up to look at you.

No answer.

Fuck.

A mix of emotions washed over you; disbelief, annoyance, a new good dose of self-pity along with a strong healthy pang of sheer panic.

Cute.

It was kind of exactly how you felt about an hour ago.

If only there was a handbag of someone you really hated to piss into to elevate the situation a little. It helped a lot before.

“I think we're stuck.”

That was exactly the wrong thing to hear and it immediately threw you for a loop.

A panic attack.

The whole ordeal.

Your heart quickened its pace, an unsettling sensation tightened your whole chest and your breathing picked up, became all shallow at a rapid rate. Before you knew it, the box you were now trapped in felt like it was shrinking around you and suddenly you were in a place of imminent danger.

You were inside a mortal trap, a tragedy waiting to happen.

You had to sit down.

But your knees were locked.

You didn't know if the moisture you felt on your face were tears or sweat.

Oh man, it was hot in there. Did this guy feel hot in there too? Jesus Christ, why were wedding gowns so fucking restricting?

You saw how the emergency button was pressed, just once. Sensible. And then this guy waited patiently as he listened to static coming from the little intercom below it.

Well, fuck that.

In your panic you kind of threw yourself at this emergency button and with frantic hands and shaking fingers, you pressed it over and over and over, until two big hands took hold of you and guided your arms down.

“It's OK, don't worry. Help will come,”

Those words meant nothing to you, no matter how kindly they were said.

“Hello?!” you shouted like anyone would hear you, eyes big and darting, and you scanned the rest of the lift for more buttons.

Your phone!

Of course.

You fished your phone out, panicked movements making you nearly drop it.

No service.

Why?!

“Hey, breathe,” the far-too-good-looking-for-his-own-good stranger tried, but you had already slung both arms over your head and got the jitters in your legs, desperately needing to move and so you started pacing.

Two small steps towards the back, two small steps back to where this guy was stood.

“This is just perfect, what the fuck, this is just–” the loud and sudden sob that escaped you made you slap a hand over your mouth.

“Calm down, we're safe, you need to–” he huffed a humourless laugh through his nostrils, all obvious nerves and tense uncomfortability. “You need to breathe,”

And he was right. You did need to breathe. You started feeling light-headed a little, felt your cheeks start to tingle, so you covered your face with both hands and squatted down, making the tulle skirt of your dress take up half the floorspace.

He joined you down there and held out his opened water bottle to you.

“Do you need some water?”

You didn't move your hands as you shook your head no.

“Okay, let me try that again. My name's Joe, I think you're having an anxiety attack, and I think you need some water. Here, have some water,”

“I don't want water.”

It was definitely sweat and tears. You felt clammy and cold but somehow uncomfortably hot at the same time.

“Breathe in, hey,” a finger got snapped in front of your face several times. That didn't do shit. “You're just breathing out, you've got to let air in too.”

And just for a second, the smallest fraction of a teeny tiny moment, everything suddenly cleared up in your mind. Comfort and ease took over and you felt... well, nothing.

Felt like drifting.

You felt everything flush down your body, all the way from your face right into your toes until it was all gone.

Just for a mere second, though.

“I'm fine,” you croaked before everything went slack. You lost your balance, your eyes rolled back and just like that, everything went dark.

“Oh, shit, oh shit,” Joe muttered, moving forward from sitting on his haunches to pressing his knees into the fabric of your dress as he tried to reach for you in a flash.

He got you by the arm, his open water bottle terribly in the way, and his other hand managed to reach around your neck. He got to slowly lower you down, ease you towards the floor entirely unsure of what to do next.

What did he need to do next?!

He was trapped in a tube station lift, on a stop he didn't even need to get out of, with an unconscious runaway bride who'd quite clearly was having the absolutely worst day of her life ever.

What the fuck was he going to do?

Then, behind him, from the corner of the elevator, the intercom static picked up again and was followed by a crackly voice.

“Emergency services, how can we assist you?”

---

The Taglisted: 

@ghostinthebackofyourhead @dirtyeddietini @jasminearondottir @freckledjoes @cancankiki @sidthedollface2 @dylanmunson @munsonsgirl71 @thefemininemystiquee @alana4610 @emmamooney @thatonefan-girl @paola-carter @figmentofquinn @haylaansmi @thewondernanazombie @munsonmunster @kellyxo1 @chaoticgood-munson @sherrylyn628 @ohmeg @05secondsofsexgods @lovelyblueness @adoreyouusugar @nadixq @prozacandnicotine @roosterisdaddy36 @alwayslindie @breddiemunson @eddie-joe-munson @ali-in-w0nderland @pepperstories @phyllosilicate-s @thebellenouvelle @luvrsbian @joesquinns @choke-me-eddie @alizztor @jnnyrd @did-it-work @capricornrisingsstuff @quinnsmunson @frogers @kennedy-brooke @daleyeahson @eddielives1986 @harringtonfan4 @sadbitchfangirl @emma77645 @tlclick73

(taglist currently full, sorry)

[bothoutsiders]

Jason had seen it happen multiple times in the past. He would see how people pretended to be friends with Tim, telling him how funny he was, or flattering him some way or another, only for them to later stay quiet, pull away and ‘turn’ into him.

It was almost at a cosmic level. It didn’t matter where they were, or who he was pretending to be. It would happen.

It wasn’t that Jason was always watching, but … it was pretty obvious to him.

This time it wasn’t any different. Although, if he were to be honest, it was kind of a funny scene.

Tim had been working on a case for a while at Gotham’s hospital and Caroline Hill had been back for months now. Working hard to help around, and collecting valuable information while playing the role perfectly. She even got some weird, flirty comments from male nurses and doctors.

Of course Caroline had made new friends. Connections are a must when they are working undercover. Pretending to be another pawn, to not know what is going on and go to a new friend for some gossip. A very common and normal behavior between humans. Between those people who have nothing to do with the event, but want to know what is going on anyway.

Between those new friendships though, Caroline had met a particular person. They got along immediately and seemed to have the same taste in video games. While Tim was conscious that their friendship was fake and it applied only to Caroline, it was still nice. It made the role more believable and easy to play.

Jason had heard everything about it. It made Tim wonder if he could keep the friendship after the case. Yes, it meant he would have to hang out with them as Caroline, but he was down for dressing in different clothes other than the blue scrubs with the white nurse coat. Because of Tim’s consideration of this new friendship, his boyfriend had even offered himself to go buy clothes together for that occasion. 

And after Tim had already decided to keep the friendship– it began to happen.

That said friend suddenly stopped talking to Caroline. They didn’t eat together, they didn’t share gossip or spoke about video games anymore. Everything was gone as soon as it had come.

Even if Caroline tried to start the conversation, it wasn’t working. There was a moment where Tim wondered if he had done something wrong.

But tonight, everything made sense, and Jason couldn’t help but snort when he saw it.

The hospital charity ball wasn’t that big, and he already knew the face of Caroline’s friend. And they were there, with the same hair color as Caronline, a very similar tone of voice.

“If you were to buy any of these pieces, which one would you get?” Jason– Elias asked.

“Mmm… I would go with this one.” Caroline’s friend pointed at one particular painting. “The back story is rich and the colors are nice. The artist knows how to utilise shading interestingly, too.”

Elias nodded. That was definitely Caroline’s tone of voice. And some nerdy comments, too.

“I like it. You definitely have good taste.”

“Thank you,” the friend smiled.

Elias looked back at the painting. While this was only Tim’s mission, he also knew about the case. He knew the real name of the staff in the hospital, the target and anyone involved.

“What’s your name? If you don’t mind me asking. I would like to know the name of the only person here who has good taste– other than me, of course.” 

“Madeline.” 

Elias couldn’t help but grin. 

Of course it was Madeline.

--

based on some stuff i've seen in fandoms i follow. including this fandom. people getting close to others and then stealing their personality blatantly. wow wow wow.

[hothothotch]

𝒂𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒓 𝒙 𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

since i'm getting lost between my own stories, i decided to organize them in a masterlist that will be fixed on my profile.

so, behold: the aaron hotchner x reader multiverse!

requests:

'Til I See You Again: Reader was a part of Aaron's first case, and they meet again after years. TW: they flirt.

Breaking Hearts: Set on S03E20/S04E01. Reader is a BAU Agent and is mistreated by Hotch on behalf of Kate Joyner. TW: angst, fluff, 5.3 k words.

Midnight Snacks: Aaron catches you and Jack having midnight snacks! TW: fluff.

Don't You Say You're in Love: Your and Aaron's daughter pretends she's not dating someone... until Aaron meets the guy. TW: Hotch being a Dad.

Friends In The Corner: When Jack is bullied for having pink polish on, Aaron decides to help boost his confidence... by doing the same. TW: Hotch being the cutest Dad in the world.

Courage: When your father discovers about your and Aaron's situationship, Aaron stands by you. TW: protective Aaron, swearing.

series:

(𝑰 𝑷𝒖𝒕 𝒂) 𝑺𝒑𝒆𝒍𝒍 𝑶𝒏 𝒀𝒐𝒖 | 𝑨𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝑯𝒐𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒓 (coming soon)

SUMMARY: in which a witch hoping to fulfill a promise ends up falling in love with the absolute man she wasn’t supposed to

PAIRING: beast! Aaron Hotchner x witch!Fem Reader

WARNINGS: story loosely based on Beauty and The Beast’s plot, but with a few (read: a lot) changes. Magic. Grief. I think that’s it.

LOVE IS ON THE RADIO! (coming soon)

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Famous Fem! Reader

SUMMARY: it’s common knowledge that the closest Aaron Hotchner always got from listening songs was his old Beatles’ album that played on repeat in his car — that is, until you stumble over him during one of his workouts.

T/W: fluff in its purest form; reader is a singer; fluff again; talks about cases; a lot of McFly songs being mentioned for no apparent reasons; fluff; reader pretends to be a normal girl (but that obviously doesn’t work — oh look, another McFly song); fluff; potential angst; media harassment; fluff; age gap (reader is 30 and Aaron’s 41, but the age is not so important, so feel free to change it as you want); fluff.

𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚍 | 𝚊𝚊𝚛𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚘𝚝𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚎𝚛 (ongoing)

SUMMARY: after ten years dormant, The Boston Reaper attacks again in the dead of night, one day after Tom Shaunessy's — the officer to whom the case was initially given — passing. having inherited the case from Shaunessy (read: having stolen the case from the Boston PD), the only thing Aaron Hotchner wants is to get the killer and finally put an end to his history of endless murders. but when he unexpectedly bonds with a surviving victim, it's not only Aaron's desire to do the job that drives him but the urge to protect the only person that saw in him something he couldn't see anymore.

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Fem!Latin American Reader

TW: talks about stabbing (it's Foyet, after all); actual stabbing. Specific triggers written on the chapters.

𝓲𝓽'𝓼 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓾𝓷𝓾𝓼𝓾𝓪𝓵 | 𝓪𝓪𝓻𝓸𝓷 𝓱𝓸𝓽𝓬𝓱𝓷𝓮𝓻 𝔁 𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻 (ongoing)

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x BAU!Fem Reader

SUMMARY: aaron hotchner knows that when you’re not in a relationship with someone, it’s not unusual to see the person you’re smitten with (but won’t admit) falling in love again and again and again… for someone else. but when his feelings start to grow too much and become a bit too obvious, maybe he should start marveling the idea of making it known.

TW: fluff, a lot of fluff. comments about cases (possible spoilers). aaron being jealous, a lot. reader has a brief (like, one chapter) relationship with derek. cannon typical cm content. other warnings on its respective chapters :D

one-shots:

𝒔𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒕 𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒆 | 𝒂𝒂𝒓𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒄𝒉𝒏𝒆𝒓

SUMMARY: you’ve been working as Jack Hotchner’s babysitter for the past two years, but as your wedding day gets closer and closer, you start questioning if you’re taking the right step — or if you should jump into the abyss of feelings you developed for you boss, Aaron Hotchner.

PAIRING: Aaron Hotchner x Female Babysitter Reader

TW: fluff, really, a lot of fluff. except for the beginning, that’s is pretty much angst (i think?). there’s a small suggestive comment towards the middle of it, but i don’t think it can be considered NSFW (let me know if it does).

[gaslightgatekeepgirlbosscombat]

Group F, Round 3, Poll 4:

Propaganda under the cut

Tsurumi Tokushirou

in two words: "it's love". I was already insane about this guy but this line. just wow. the context is a flashback in which Tsurumi has been away fighting in the Sino-Japanese war and is now telling his dojo master that even trained soldiers are typically reluctant to kill another person and many will only pretend to fire their weapons. he spent a long time considering how you convince them to overcome that before figuring it out. "the motivating force that can bring out the aggressiveness in your soldiers... it isn't hatred of the enemy troops, nor is it fear... it isn't even a difference in political ideals. [what is it then?] it's love". this man is *surrounded* by soldiers who will do anything for him and you slowly see through multiple flashbacks just how much he has been pulling strings for *years* to make them love him. this particular flashback involves two fourteen year olds fighting over his attention until one of them kills the other and tsurumi helps cover up the murder and tells the murderer how *of course you have always been my favourite*. that kid goes on to work under him and when tsurumi draws on his face as a punishment he gets the drawings tattooed on so they stay forever. in another case he orchestrates the kidnapping of a different 14yo son of a navy commander by "Russians" (his loyal subordinates) and then pulls off a dashing rescue, earning the livelong military support of the dad and a major crush from the son. this kid chooses to go to army route rather than follow his dad into the navy, specifically because of tsurumi who he also ends up working for. he can't speak comprehensibly to tsurumi and edits himself into photos of him. case 3: while a soldier is away at war he crush appears to commit suicide by drowning in the sea. upon finding out that his dad told her he wasn't coming back, he beats him to death and ends up on death row. I forget exactly what info is revealed when but a) the woman is alive and tsurumi helped her move to Tokyo and get married, b) tsurumi planted fake bones under tsukishima's father's house to frame him for her murder, c) this then allowed tsukishima to be freed from jail, as long as he agreed to work for tsurumi as a Russian translator (he doesn't speak Russian at the time), d) tsukishima doesn't know all of this initially but tsurumi sets things up so he overhears a convo that reveals some of it so that he can know exactly what lengths tsurumi went to and feel even more in his debt, e) tsukishima later realises that conversation was set up and its purpose but *even with that knowledge* and being probably the character most aware of Tsurumi's manipulations, the pull is too strong and he will follow him to the ends of the earth. literally his only goal in life now is to have front row seats to the Tsurumi Theatre, which btw involves chasing convicts around to obtain their skins, wiping out entire prison populations and invading parts of Russia. he sometimes blames his erratic actions on the brain damage caused by a mortar shell to the forehead but he was doing all the same things before that, just more quietly. he knows *exactly* what he's doing and has everything planned out in detail

that post by @temp-propaganda because no way I can fit that all in propaganda section

Goncharov

He spends the entire film lying to and manipulating as many people as possible to achieve his ultimate goal (Katya is an obvious example; her having enough of that is a driving force behind their breaking relationship), and also including himself (insisting that he doesn't like Andrey when they're basically about to kiss anytime they're on screen). Also Gaslight Gatekeep Goncharov amiright

[useless-catalanfacts]

By the way, these days that (thanks to hbomberguy's new video) many people are talking about plagiarism and stealing material without sources or obfuscating the sources, I'd like to point out how blatantly that happens here on Tumblr with images.

I follow various tags related to the contents of this blog, mostly the names of places in our country, and you wouldn't believe how many posts I get on my dash with "because you follow #[name of place]" and it's a photo of some completely different place, with no link to source nor name of the photographer, misattributed to a different location, even to a completely different country, or very often that is simply using that tag for ~aesthetics~. And I've also seen it the other way around, photos of our country and it says it's Italy, and the same happening with other pairs of countries. These posts also tend to come from the same few blogs: blogs completely dedicated to stealing photographers' and/or other artists' work, where post after post it's all they never say where they got them from. And, like in the case of some tags, it seems to me that often they're using these place names just to add on to the "exotic factor".

In the last months, I've also seen this happen increasingly more with AI-generated images. By not including the source and saying it's X place, they pretend it's not an AI but a photo. Some of them are very realistic (until you zoom in into the details) but some of them it seems to me like they shouldn't be believed, for example this one I got on my dash because I follow #Mallorca:

First of all, that's obvious AI (look at the flowerpots, the supposed hieroglyphics, and there is another bathtub in the next room, so this person has 2 bathrooms but neither of them has a door?). I had seen this same image as part of an image set being shared some time ago titled something like "Ancient Egypt-inspired interior design", which makes much more sense and was in fact the prompt for the AI to create it. This AI created a bathroom (bath-courtyard?) inspired by the aesthetic of Ancient Egypt, but somewhere down the chain of people sharing the images someone decided to say this is in Mallorca, for some unknown reason.

The thing is, this aesthetic has nothing to do with Mallorca. Mallorcan architecture doesn't look anything like this, but many people are reblogging it and still tagging it #mallorca, which I assume means they believe this is a real place in Mallorca or at least has something to do with Mallorca.

Most people around the world won't know what Mallorca looks like, what its architecture looks like, they probably don't even know what language is spoken there or maybe even where it is on a map. And that's normal, because we can't know about every far-away place in the world! I don't mean to shame anyone who fell for this. But if they don't know anything about it, from now on, will this Ancient Egyptian style be what they associate with Mallorca? Is this the kind of image that they will associate with the island?

I don't have any point to make with this post, I only wanted to share this situation as a reminder not to believe everything you see on the internet, and especially when they're not telling you where it came from.

[after-witch]

Horrorfest: The Dead Speak [Smiling Man x Reader]

Title: The Dead Speak [Smiling Man x Reader]

Synopsis: Your mom always told you not to play with Ouija boards. Maybe you should have listened.

For Horrorfest request: A party game seance of ouija board. Nothing seems to happen, maybe the vibes change a little, but not much else. Until they are walking home and encounter a very friendly lost young gentleman.

Word count: 2210

notes: references to dead people and ghosts, reader is drinking/tipsy

You were the only one who didn’t want to play with the Ouija board. Not because you had some deep-rooted belief in them, not really; you’d never encountered spirits or accidentally summoned a demon or anything like that after pulling out the Hasbro mass market produced party game.

But your mom had believed in them. She refused to let you bring one in the house, had adamantly reminded you before every childhood sleepover--”Absolutely no Ouija boards, my sweetness--and had even told one of your friends that they had to leave their mall-bought Ouija board hair bow in the car before they came inside for dinner.

No one else here seemed to have the same qualms, parent-induced or not, so you shrugged at being the odd one out and didn’t raise a fuss. Especially since the party was almost over, and all that remained were you, the host, and a few stragglers. 

It was Halloween night, after all--people just wanted to have fun. 

Which in this case meant the party host running around the house and shutting off all the lights while someone else dug out a bag of unused tea candles and began to light them. It wasn’t the brightest--no pun intended--idea. A fire hazard, for sure. Especially since most of the guests had already tackled the spiked apple cider and ghost-shaped jello shots, which were currently warming up your belly.

But you’d be damned if the candles didn’t make everything look dim and spooky. Your mind felt fuzzy from the darkness and the booze as you settled down with the group in the living room, scooting on your butt up to the coffee table where the board had been set up.

“Everyone knows how it works, right?” The host asked. Her deep red lipstick was smeared--from drinking or kissing--and she’d tossed aside her witch hat a while back. 

Of course you knew. Everyone knew. You put your fingers on the planchette and pretended that you weren’t moving it around while people asked questions. Inevitably someone would accuse another person of moving it and the fun would eventually dissipate. Or so you’d seen at slumber parties, while you dutifully sat on the bed and finished painting your nails or simply watched, hugging a pillow, wondering if it was betraying your mom to play with Ouija outside the house.

That was when  you were a kid, though. There was no deep-rooted feeling of betrayal now as you rested two fingers on the planchette. Only a vague sense of giddiness, spurned on by the alcohol, by the very existence of Halloween night. 

“Is there a spirit in the room with us?” The host asked softly. 

Was it your imagination, or did the candles flicker? They seemed dimmer, somehow. Probably because they were cheap tea lights. 

And then the planchette moved--probably the host, you thought--towards the most obvious (and fun) option: 

YES.

Someone giggled. You snorted, and wondered how many jello shots were left on the counter. You were going to walk home, anyway.

“Who are you?” 

“What if it’s a demon?” Someone asked. You couldn’t quite tell whose voice was coming from where in the dark. And you didn’t know everyone at the party, anyway, aside from the host and a few people who’d already left.

“Then we’ll ask him politely yet firmly to leave,” you said, giving your best Hank HIll impression. One person laughed, so at least someone here appreciated your ability to reference an unholy amount of TV shows or movies at the drop of a hat.

But the planchette didn’t slide across the letters DEMON. Instead, it shifted towards three letters in slow succession. 

M...O…M.

Something queasy turned over in your gut. The spiked cider and sub sandwich that had been sitting out too long, probably.

“Is anyone’s mom dead?” The host asked, then immediately gasped. “Oh fuck, sorry, that was shitty to say.” She glanced at you sheepishly. Your cheeks heated up and your stomach turned sour again.

Your mom was dead. But you probably weren’t alone, even in a small group. Cancer was a bitch and it took a lot of people, didn’t it? Ah well. You brushed aside that sour feeling and reminded yourself that your friend was drunk.

She cleared her throat. “Whose mom are you?”

The planchette started to move. The sound of the plastic moving over the cardboard was thin and dragging, like someone scraping their nails down a box.

Letter by letter, the planchette spelled your name.

You took your hands off the planchette and felt words fly freely out of your loose, alcohol-tinged lips.

“That’s really fucked up. Are you kidding me? What the fuck is wrong with you?”

The host--your friend, if you would even call her that anymore--put her own hands up in defense. Everyone else slowly let their fingers fall away from the planchette, watching the exchange between you two in awkward silence. 

Party over. 

“I swear to God I’m not moving it. I’m sorry, fuck, you know I wouldn’t do that. I swear to God I didn’t.”

You scooted back from the table and stood up. You felt sober, suddenly, even though your spinning head from getting up too quickly said otherwise.

“Whatever. I’m out. This is just mean.” You shook your head, ignoring your friend’s protests--

And that’s when the planchette started moving again. 

Slowly. Letter by letter. With no one’s hands on the damn thing.

“What the hell?” Someone asked. 

You didn’t want to look. You wanted to get out of here. It was a sick prank, that’s what it was. But the planchette kept moving, and finally someone leaned over and began to sound out the letters, until they formed a sentence.

A sentence that made your bowels clench so hard you thought you would piss yourself. 

I TOLD U NEVER TO PLAY WITH OUIJA BOARDS

It couldn’t be. This was sick. This was wrong. 

This was…

“Mom?”

The words left your lips soft and shaky.  You weren’t sure anyone else heard them.

But then the awful planchette slid across the board again, and someone read the letters until they made sense; terrible, horrifying sense.

ABSOLUTELY NO OUIJA BOARDS, MY SWEETNESS

My sweetness. A nickname only your mom had called you growing up. She called you that to her last breath, wheezing and agonized. 

You leaned over and immediately retched onto the carpet, blobs of bright green jello mingling with chewed up pieces of Italian sub. Before anything else could be said, by the board or the guests, you ran, barely stopping to snatch your purse from the entryway, leaving as fast as your shaking legs could carry you.

--

The streets were dark and mostly empty. It was long past time for kids to be in bed, stomachs filled with chocolate and piles of Skittles, parents picking out their favorite candies to hide in the cupboard. All that was left were the late night party-goers walking home in varying states of disarray, carrying heels in their hands or making jokes too loudly in the startling darkness of the night.

And then there was you, head buzzing, stomach reeling, walking home after a Ouija board apparently contacted the spirit of your dead mother.

“Excuse me?” A man called out behind you.

You jumped, and slid your hands into your purse to wrap your fingers around your keys.  You knew it wasn’t going to do much, but it would do something, if it came to that.

You slowly turned around, grip on your keys tighter than ever, and saw a young man wearing a skeleton hoodie and sweatpants. 

He looked befuddled. He looked, more specifically, lost.

And he also looked… familiar. Was he at the party? You squinted, trying to clear your head. He might have been. Did he follow you to see if you were okay?

You definitely knew him from somewhere, but you couldn’t quite place him. 

Still, your fingers reflexively gripped your keys. He glanced down at your hands, then took a step back and put his own hands up where you could see they were empty. 

“Oh, sorry! I didn’t mean to scare you.” He grinned a little, and shook his head. “I’m just completely lost and was wondering if you could help me. I didn’t bring my phone out tonight. Trying to live in the moment, you know?”

You swallowed, tasting the remnants of bile. Something about him, really--it was itching at the back of your scalp. Did he go to the same college? Maybe you saw him on campus. Or maybe he really had been at your friend’s house and you just didn’t remember. 

“Um,” you said. “Were you at the party?” 

He tilted his head a little, and smiled boyishly.

“Not quite.” 

Well, that wasn’t an answer. Your fingers loosened on the keys, though, as your heart rate returned to something like normal and you figured if he was going to try something, he’d have done it already. 

You blinked at him for a moment and then remembered what he said. “Oh! Uh, where were you trying to go? I can use my Google Maps if you want.”

It was hard to see from the streetlights, but you could swear there was a twinkle in his eye when you said that. Shit, maybe you were drunker than you thought. 

You fished your phone from your purse and after a few unsuccessful swipe attempts, brought up Google Maps. 

But… it wouldn’t load. That was weird. You didn’t have any bars--also weird--but you downloaded the local map just in case your 5G ever shit the bed. But the map wouldn’t load. It simply displayed a blank black and gray space in night time mode, refusing to let you bring up directions.

“Uhh,” you mumbled. “My phone is absolutely not working.” 

He didn’t look phased. He simply shrugged. “That’s okay. I actually live off Main Street, it’s one of those split houses… yellow and red and--”

“I know where that is!” You blurted. Then covered your mouth, messy lipstick and all. “I mean. If you want, I can walk you there. Unless you’d rather go alone, and I can just give you directions.” 

“You seem pleasant enough company,” is all he said. And you ought to have thought about that more, because it was a really strange way to phrase things, wasn’t it? But all you thought about was how creepily your night ended and how he looked pretty cute and maybe you could exchange phone numbers when you got to his place.

You walked, side by side, making idle conversation. He told you his name. You gave him yours. He said he liked your costume. You said you really liked his sweater, totally Halloweeny, and he seemed to genuinely appreciate the compliment. 

The streets felt more familiar the closer you got to Main Street, although there was still only the odd stray person or car slowly idling down the road. 

Anxiety still slept in the bottom of your stomach but you tried to ignore it. It wasn’t so bad, to talk to a good looking stranger now and then. Especially after what happened at the party. 

(Was it really your mom?)

You didn’t want to think about that. About mom. About whether or not her spirit was hanging around in some ghastly limbo, chastising you for finally playing with a Ouija board like everyone else had done for decades. 

Eventually, you were there, at the driveway of the old house that had been split into apartments like so many others a few years ago. You fumbled with your phone and were able to ask for his phone number, lips curled into a smile, when he spoke.

“Did something happen? At the party? Something unusual?” 

Your awkward smile fell. 

“Um.” It would be weird to tell him, right? Especially after seemingly hitting it off on the way home. You didn’t just tell strangers that you maybe encountered a real ghost while using a Ouija board after doing a few shots and drinking questionably spiked apple cider at a friend’s house. Did you? 

“No,” you lied. “Just a boring ol’ Halloween party, I guess.” 

“Ah,” he said slowly. “That’s a shame. I thought it might have been an interesting story.”

You suddenly felt stupid and lame and why would this cute guy want to give you his number, anyway? You were some drunk weirdo who walked him home and that was that. You mumbled some sort of farewell and began to walk off, eager to get home and get into your pajamas. 

“You know,” he said, and you stopped and turned to listen to him. Maybe he was going to give you his contact information, after all.  “You should be careful with Ouija boards, my sweetness. You don’t know what you might invite in.” 

Oh. For the second time that night, you felt like you were going to vomit.

“Why did you call me that?  How did you--you said you weren’t at the party.” 

“I wasn’t,” he said simply. “Not quite.” 

How did he know, how did he know, how did he know?

And this mystery man in his Halloween sweatshirt, with his blonde cornfield hair and some awful, unknowable answers in his expression, simply looked at you.

And smiled. 

[majorbaby]

let's talk about trapper's flaws then:

in s02e03 radar's report he contemplates how easy it would be to kill a patient who he perceives has caused the death of another patient. this is commentary on how state propaganda affects civilians because in the opening scene, trapper states "they're all brainwashed to see any american as the enemy", in reference to the same patient, a chinese soldier - his single most plot-relevant lapse imo.

he's stepping out on his wife and she's probably not cool with it but it's hard to link to an obvious overarching flaw because he's shown to be otherwise honest, loyal and selfless, just not towards louise. the flaw here for me is marrying her in the first place instead of living by his values, so maybe even connected to the previous bullet point - dishonesty to oneself as a result of outward influence

misogyny. no two ways about it, but kind of boring because it's not unique to him.

he shares a personality with hawkeye - but this is a concern that the audience might have, not a concern other characters might have. unless you're frank burns i guess, in which case, the flaw is being a bleeding heart liberal (which would make for an interesting fic imo)

he's not quite passive, but he's less active than Hawkeye, so maybe he could fall into apathy without a spark to set him off - but again, this is me trying to find a watsonian explanation for the Trapper character being the follower half of the HawkTrap duo

there's a handful of other instances where he does some unsavory stuff, but they're almost always one-offs that are contradicted by other consistent behaviours:

stealing hawkeye's watch in s03e22 - I mean, he steals hawkeye's watch to bet in a poker game, but it's a good thing he does because hawkeye uses the winnings to get the army off his back. also like, hawkeye bet Trapper's face for a chance to fuck Margie so shrug

i feel obliged to mention the note thing but again, it's a one-off, and what's the flaw here? avoidant? nope, he waited around as long as could. not anticipating a need that even the audience couldn't have anticipated at this point because there's never a mention of it up until s04e01? but he's steadfastly stood by hawkeye at every turn up until this point, it's hard to imagine what could have led the writers to write such an exit except for the fact that wayne rogers unexpectedly left the show. in this way, trapper's exit is not unlike henry's death: bad luck, bad timing

he's dismissive of hawkeye at first in pierce/hyde instead of, idk, playing along with the delusion or whatever the good option was here. the epilogue kind of negates this though because it implies he knew what was "wrong" with hawkeye the whole time... but i suppose we can pretend it only occurred to him when he saw hawkeye drive off hauling the general in the latrine

[1-800-c0sm1c]

꒰snooze !꒱

after an intense match in the apex games, there's only one legend crypto would even dare let his guard down around.

character x legend!reader

includes crypto !

warnings : none.

word count : 1268

a/n : can you tell i've been streaming lovejoy's music recently with the cmwyl lyric i shoved in there ? yeah i'm obsessed sorry not sorry 🫶

crypto was not one to let his guard down, ever. on the dropship, he was notorious for his silent and cold personality. how you managed to get him to warm up to you, let alone have an actual friendship with him was a mystery to your fellow legends.

after finishing a particularly rough match, you had offered crypto to come back with you to your apartment for a celebratory evening. he usually would be quick to decline, after all he always had work outside of the apex games that needed his attention. however, he's noticed he has a hard time saying no to you, especially when you look up at him with excitement in your eyes. crypto is sure he'd bang his head on any doorframe you seemed suitable for you two to go through if you looked at him the same way you always do.

he pretends to seem annoyed when agreeing, attempting to make the other legends around you on the dropship assume that he wasn't actually this quick to give in. although he highly doubts that anyone else's doe eyes would have the same effect on him that yours do, and he's not sure whether that's a blessing or a curse.

crypto's now relaxing on your couch, or at least, what he would consider relaxing. it's rare he gets a chance away from his work outside of when participating in the apex games, but he always can't help but feel a sense of guilt rush over him whenever he neglects it. so, even though it may not look like it, him sitting with his muscles tensed and brows furrowed, is his idea of taking a break.

you try your best not to laugh at him, the last thing you'd want to do is make him uncomfortable. but sometimes his awkwardness is amusing, and you choose to enjoy it while it lasts. "you look like you have a lot on your mind." you state, jumping up onto the couch next to him. "i always do." he replies, nonchalantly. you shrug in response, "yeah, i guess that's true. i just meant, you know, like you need a break." crypto pauses for a moment. he can't think straight when you're staring at him like that, like you see through him. was it that obvious how pent up he was? he guesses if it was obvious to anyone else they wouldn't have the courage to bring it up. not like you, never afraid to speak your mind, and incredibly stubborn.

"...아니, i'm fine." he finally answers, you don't look convinced in the slightest. "your eyebags look like they're working overtime at the local grocery store. when's the last time you got a full night's rest?" he looks away again, not sure whether he should answer honestly or not. he's probably gotten about 5 hours this week, and that's being generous. "it doesn't matter, i hardly notice when the time is passing anyway." he tries to play it off, hoping you wont press further, and surprisingly, you drop it. "yeah, sure. if you say so. if you're functioning i guess i can't get on your case about it." he lets out a breath of relief he hadn't even realized he was holding, and instantly regrets the answer he just gave you.

shit. maybe sleep was important. untensing his body even for such a short amount of time made the consequences of crypto's lack of sleep catch up to him real quick. he holds back a yawn, before attempting to strike up another conversation with you so he doesn't completely shut down. "you said you wanted to celebrate, what did you have in mind?" "oh, i don't know. i usually just end up with some cider in the hot tub by the end of the night. what do you think?"

he thinks its a horrible idea, but maybe if you begged him enough he'd think about it. just, not in his current situation. there'd be nothing more embarrassing than passing out in a hot tub and potentially drowning. plus, depending on who was around, removing his jacket was off limits for crypto. he's hoping you'll realize on your own how dumb of an idea that really was, and you'll be okay with just watching a movie or something. whatever gets him home the fastest.

you pout at him dramatically, "you wanna go home already? but you've been here for less than an hour. you'll have all the time in the world to be a boring nerd later, okay?" oh god, did he say that out loud? maybe it was too late for him, he was already totally delirious. he plays it off by looking annoyed, but with how exhausted he obviously looks it comes across more as a cranky toddler who's been woken up from their nap earlier than they'd like. you'd never tell crypto this as you value your life, but his grumpier side is actually really cute.

"what do you want to do then? since all my ideas are horrible.." you ask, heavy sarcasm in your tone that would make anyone else think you've spent too much time around crypto, but that he finds to be quite amusing. you're rubbing off on him too, just in hopefully less noticeable ways. he thinks about your question for a second, realizing he actually doesn't have any better suggestions and huffs a sigh and shrugs. "i don't know.." he mumbles.

you laugh under your breath and quickly clear your throat when he glances back at you, "well.. what do you usually do in your free time? outside of all the extra… stuff… you do?" he shrugs again nonchalantly, "i don't have time for other stuff." glancing down at his watch, he tries to pretend like the minutes aren't passing slower than ever. he can't even use the excuse that he's wasting his time. and even if he could, he wouldn't use it to guilt you.

"if you did have time, then. what would you do with it?" "sleep." crypto responds almost immediately. his eyes have started to get much more difficult to keep open, and he knows once they're closed they won't open again for a bit. you've noticed this, and subtlety move closer towards him until your shoulder touches his. you're not sure if it's the padding in his jacket or if he's really that out of it but he doesn't react at all to the distance between you being much smaller than it was before. "i mean, nobody's stopping you. i have a spare room or you can crash here on the couch if you want."

crypto quickly shakes his head, feeling slightly lightheaded afterwards. "that won't be necessary." you decide to test the waters by gently laying your head on his shoulder. this time he flinches, but he doesn't push you away. "are you sure? you look exhausted, i don't think you could make the walk back to your apartment." he scoffs, but doesn't deny his tiredness anymore. "whatever." crypto mutters.

you lift your head up to let him adjust on the couch, and he seems insistent on falling asleep sitting up perfectly straight. "that cannot be comfortable.." you laugh as you place your head back down and gently move his to lay on top of yours. crypto almost sputters out a protest but finds he's too tired to care anymore and instead simply says "wake me up in an hour." as he yawns. "yeah right. i'll see you in 8." you smile at your own remark, and crypto smiles too before closing his eyes finally and falling asleep.

[spoonful-of-citrus-flowers]

Crossroads of the Usher Children (& Grandchild), Pt. 2

Part One here!

Victorine LaFourcade: Verna is pretending to be a patient with heart issues (Pamela) to see what Victorine will do – if she’ll try to push this patient into human trials when they’re very much not ready or not. We know that she does try to start those human trials, leading to her argument with Alessandra where Victorine kills her in a crime of passion and tries to “save her” by installing the heart mesh, only to be driven insane by the sound of it (ironically, the heart mesh still beating in a dead person’s chest would have been exactly what would’ve happened if the patient wasn’t actually Verna.)

Rather eerily, this would also have been similar to what happened with the bodies Fortunato was hiding during their own human drug trials, and I think this is why Verna chooses to possess Victorine just before her death to speak to Roderick (“success is everything”), who was working in Fortunato at that time. (It’s also no accident that Vic specifically says Ali wasn’t a ‘team player’ – the same phrase Rufus Griswold said to Roderick when confronted over the missing bodies.)

Tamerlane Usher: Her crossroads was two-fold: that moment when Verna is acting as the sex worker who is supposed to look and act like Tamerlane, and Verna proceeds to talk about her grief over her (now 4) dead siblings – making both Tamerlane and BillT look rather uncomfortable. Instead of hiding behind others, I think the choice Verna wanted Tamerlane to make was to send her away, to reach out and talk to her husband herself about what was going on.

But Tamerlane never did, and in fact, chased him away. After her failed Goldbug launch, BillT tries to call her, and Verna even says that Tamerlane should talk to him. Again, Tamerlane refuses, attacking Verna in the mirrors until her death via mirror shards.

Frederick Usher: This one is pretty obvious – Verna herself spells it out. She would’ve chosen a different way, but that changed when Frederick chose to bring Morella home against medical advice and chose to torture her.

(Putting a keep reading here because Lenore's section is the longest)

Lenore Usher: Lenore’s crossroads is really one I had to think about, not because it’s subtle (her breaking into her mother’s room, calling the cops when she sees how her father has abused her mother, and refusing to shy away from the truth of that, even when it would benefit the company – and thus her, since she stands to inherit everything now that her father and aunts/uncles are dead), but because Lenore is so upstanding, there really wasn’t a crossroads for her at all – which is why I think Verna never actually shows up in Lenore’s life until it’s time for her to die. At no point could Verna have presented her with an alternate choice because Lenore would never have made another choice. This determination is something we later see Verna react positively to with another character: Arthur Gordon Pym. Now, obviously Pym is nowhere near as morally upright as Lenore, but he also refuses to compromise on whatever/whoever he cares about to make things easier for himself at that other person’s expense. (I took the line about him not having collateral and not being leveraged not to mean that he has nothing, because Verna wouldn’t even bother if that were the case, but that he will not let them take the fall for his crimes.) Similarly, Lenore refuses to sit down and say what Pym will tell her in order to make sure her father died an upstanding man and benefit the company/Usher family.

Back to Lenore, though – Verna openly regrets having to take Lenore’s life, but that was the deal she’d struck with both Roderick and Madeline – their bloodline ends before they die. As a last parting gift to Lenore, Verna tells her of all the lives she’d indirectly helped save when she rescued her mother and got her help. It’s certainly a painful scene, more so now that I realize that due to the deal, Roderick killed all the good that Lenore might’ve done had she survived – helping undo some of the damage he’d caused with Ligodone. But her choice to save her mother ensured that it wasn’t all for nothing: her mother would recover from her injuries, and go on to do just that. It's also a neat parallel with all of the other deaths (the other deaths ultimately making their lives/last goals futile), which I’ll list out here.

Prospero/Perry: seeks to prove himself by gathering blackmail material on all the famous people at his party – but he dies with no one else knowing of his goal, and even if they’d known, all the people he’d sought to blackmail are dead anyways.

Camille: fires her assistants, who were the only other people who knew of Victorine and her sneaking out the dead chimp bodies, and then gets mauled to death before being able to tell anyone her suspicions/what she’s learned.

Napoleon/Leo: buys a new look-a-like cat to cover up the fact that he thinks he’s killed his fiancé’s cat Pluto, but Pluto was never actually dead to begin with – just wandering nearby after being let out accidentally.

Victorine: insisting on getting a possibly life-saving heart mesh to human trials led to an argument resulting in the death of the inventor of said heart mesh (Alessandra), preventing it from being further developed and marketed by Fortunato.

Tamerlane: deeply insecure about herself, constantly latching onto others to be better by association with them – her figurative self-destruction/erasure becomes literal when she dies by destroying a mirror reflecting Verna (who was representing the ‘better’ Tamerlane).

Frederick: was secretly torturing his helpless wife under the false belief that she’d been unfaithful, while wanting to keep the appearance of a good, caring husband – shortly after his death (watching helplessly as a pendulum slices him in half), his daughter exposes him for the horrible man he was, destroying any reputation he may have had.

Lenore: wanted to put Usher/Fortunato money to good use as philanthropy, but though she dies, this is still carried out by Juno and Morella.

[lindisworld]

Close || Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary - Soulmate Au! In which [Name] has Daredevil as a soulmate and Matt unwillingly wants [Name] in his life. However Fate does its job and always brings them together.

Chapter two.

[Name] was cuddled up in bed, she was cocooned in her blanket. She scrolled through countless of news articles. One that was uploaded an hour ago talking about the recent mass killings in a place not too far from her. Replicas of the stories went on, some with different narratives but all coming to the conclusion it’s another Fisk wannabe or a terrorist. 

Once Fisk was taken down and exposed of his illegal activities, people thought it was the end. No more hell breaking loose. Though, it doesn’t seem to be the case. 

Minute by minute, more articles were published. People were posting questions online if any information was leaked or any one knew anything. Citizens were the last to know until it’s too late. The firsts would be police and the list goes on. However, people don’t have much faith within the government considering the amount of people who were exposed during the Fisk scandal. 

[Name] felt warm substance drip from the side of her head, as she instantly unraveled herself from her blanket and ran straight to the bathroom. She looked into the mirror but was interrupted by a loud bang from her rooftop. 

Her heart sank as she quickly washes away the blood, checking for any gashes that could be found on her face and head. Luckily, nothing was wrong. She couldn’t ignore the gut feeling that compelled her to investigate what the loud noise was. She began to walk back to her bedroom into bed, pretending she didn’t hear anything. It’s late at night and she certainly doesn’t want to leave the safety of her room. However a feeling in her stomach was suffocating her within seconds. The sensation grew stronger and more intense. 

Before she knew it, she was heading towards the rooftop. It was as though an invisible force guided her every step, the feeling still gnawing at her but not as strong as it was before. The more she walked closer to the rooftop, the feeling subdued. Her mind running through every logic and reasoning as to why she shouldn’t be allowed on the rooftop around late at night. 

With the amount of crimes that has been occurring, this isn’t the safest thing to do. [Name]’s heart hammers against her chest, sending an urge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. It was the only thing keeping her on her feet. The throbbing sensation around her temples intensified into a full blown headache. 

She inhales a deep breath, trying to calm her heart down, her fingers making contact with the cold doorknob that leads the way onto the rooftop. With the turning of the door and a slight push, the door opens slowly. The emptiness of the rooftop was evident. It taken her eyes a few seconds to adjust to the dark, the moon providing little to none lighting.

[Name] seen a silhouette of a man who laid unconscious on the ground. She stood in the same spot frozen, thousands of alarm bells ringing in her ear indicating she might be at risk. She tried to convince herself to leave and act as if she didn’t see anything. 

Despite the obvious signs of danger, her gut intuition returns in a more intense way, almost in a nauseating sense. Something that just screamed at her to help the man. Cautiously she began taking small steps towards the figure, her intakes of breaths becoming more quick and labored. [Name] needed to relax before she passed out from hyperventilation. 

“What do I even do?”  She mumbled under her breath before kneeling beside the man. It was the so called Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. However he renamed himself as Daredevil. It was obvious blood was seeping out of his mask. [Name] built the courage to pick up the man, who weighed probably more than her. The suit probably putting a little more weight to him. 

[Name] coincidentally encountered a video of firefighter demonstrating on how to properly pick up a person who’s unconscious. She repeated the firefighter’s steps through her head like a mantra. It took her a couple of tries, before successfully carrying Daredevil into her apartment. She still struggled with his weight when she reached her door. 

She cursed herself under her breath, once again trying several times to open the door. This was one of the most eye opening things to experience. Which includes the world calling her weak in several ways.

[Name] stumbles inside her apartment, making way to her couch as she gently sets Daredevil on her couch. She lets out a tired huff and walks into her bathroom, grabbing the necessities she needs to take care of the Devil who’s present in her living room. On her way out, she grabs a few clean cloths and a sanitized bowl which she filled with lukewarm water in her kitchen sink. 

[Name] sets everything on the table, putting on a pair of fresh surgical gloves. A sigh escapes past her lips more times than she can count. 

Her fingers traced over the horns and the crack that was in the middle of the mask. Something must’ve broken it. The quality felt expensive and professionally made, it gave another layer of protection to his head. Her fingers landed at the edge of the mask, ready to pull Daredevil’s mask off, until a hand reached over hers, stopping her in the process. 

“N-no.” the man’s deep voice groggily said, his voice an octave lower, almost like it was forced to keep his real voice hidden. Despite the silence after, his hand gave a firm yet tender squeeze to [Name]’s hand, almost in a way pleading for her not to take off the mask without needing to use any words. 

“You’re bleeding from your head, mister. It needs to be treated so it doesn’t get infected, please let me check it out.” [Name] retaliates against his plea, “if you’re worry about your identity. I won’t tell anyone.” She adds, hoping she’s convincing enough.

Daredevil let out a cough, blood trickling down his chin. Out of instinct, [Name] dipped a clean cloth in the lukewarm water, cleaning the blood off of his lips. Her eyes filled with worry, if she can’t get access to his face, how can she help?

[Name] continued to drag the cloth around his mouth area, keep it clean from any more blood. “You won’t let me help, the least you can do is rest on my couch until you’re better to get home.” She states, now cleaning the mask from the blood that may have spilled on it, not knowing if it’s his or someone else’s.

Her eyes skimmed the rest of Daredevil’s body, checking for any more injuries. Not that anything was visible with his body suit. “Your mask is off limits, can I check for any injuries on your body? Nothing weird of course.” She quickly says the last part, making sure Daredevil doesn’t take her as a pervert or anything of the sort. 

If only Matt wasn’t so badly hurt from the fight, he would surely joke and tease her about it. Matt opted on giving her a nod of approval, allowing her hands to fiddle with his suit before she gently pulled it off of his body. Matt took note of her gentleness of her hands, yet no matter how much they trembled out of anxiety, she still kept a calm and collected demeanor. 

When Matt was shot in the head, his mask giving him the protection he needed. He didn’t expect to land on [Name]’s rooftop, let alone having her come up to take him to her apartment. He felt every single body ache as she helped him wiggle him out of the suit. A groan leaving his lips every once and awhile. 

Matt believed soulmates were a curse, especially him having one. He willingly subjected [Name] through countless of beatings, most nights were of him laying in his apartment with seas of bruises skittered along his body. On fatal occasions, Matt receiving a few stab wounds. The aftermath would require Claire having to stitch him up, but the question remained; who was there for [Name] to mend her wounds? 

“Thank you,” Daredevil mustered up the strength to say, “I appreciate you doing this for me.” 

[Name] shook her head, “it’s the least I could do for you.” She responds with a worried smile. “I have some clothes that might fit you. Don’t think the suit is comfortable right now.”

She got up from her spot and went to her room, rummaging through her cabinet, looking for a specific pair of shorts and a jacket.  Once the items were found, she walked back to the living room, gently setting the clothes down. 

“I got a jacket and shorts, the jacket is when you’re ready to leave and want to keep your head covered. Shorts is so you’re comfortable.” [Name] explains, before nudging his arm, “I’ll put the jacket first so you’re not cold at night.” She says. 

“You could’ve left me out there, why didn’t you?” Matt questions, his muscles ached as he gently laid back down once the jacket was on him. He heard [Name] get up and rustle around a nearby closet, grabbing a blanket for him. 

“To be honest, something my intuition told me to save you. I wouldn’t know what to call it, mister.” [Name] responds. Hearing her call him mister was amusing to say the least. Matt wanted to keep on talking, however his body was suggesting something different. His body needed to recuperate and relax. In [Name]’s home, he felt a sense of security. 

[Name] didn’t know that he also felt the same intuition in his gut, something that told him to stay awake until she comes. He had already sensed her presence, the minute her heart was pounding. Matt swore to himself to never let [Name] know his true identity. 

Matt’s body kept him awake for this long. His tiredness got the best of him as his eyes fluttered shut, his conscious slipping into pure bliss.

[Name] was hoping for a respond back but instead she got silence. She peek over at Daredevil and let out her final sigh of the night, putting a blanket over him. [Name] knew by the morning, he’d be gone.

                               

[Name] was right, Daredevil left by the morning. Once the sun was up, he gathered all the strength to leave her apartment, leaving nothing except for a weapon. It looked like a baton which must’ve slipped out of his suit when she helped him out of it. She picked up the item and gently placed it on her living room table, [Name] assumed Daredevil might pay her a visit once he’s well enough to come get his weapon back. 

Even before she woke up, Matt's ears were met with the unmistakable sound of someone he knew well, scrambling up the staircase. The familiarity of his best friend’s heart beat, Foggy Nelson. It was perfect timing as Foggy seen Matt leaning against the wall, immediately going to support Matt’s body. His body’s been through enough trauma and knocked out unconscious. This time Foggy taking Matt under his safety back to Matt’s apartment. 

An hour has passed since Daredevil’s disappearance in [Name]’s apartment and her making it to work right on time. It was slow this morning, people weren’t in the mood to be out and about after a massacre happened somewhere in the city. [Name] sent home all her staff, it made sense to close up the store midday. It wasn’t uncommon for slow days like these. Almost little to none customers walking in. So in the meantime, it was just her and the random person in the coffee shop.

[Name] built in a tv near the corner of the shop for any customers who would watch the news as they drank their coffee. [Name] also recognized the importance of staying up-to-date with current events in Hell’s Kitchen. 

“It’s a bit hellish out there,” A man grumbled, his eyes focusing on the coffee cup displayed in front of him, “They got what they deserved.” He says with a scoff, his expression a mix of amusement and derision, as if finding satisfaction in witnessing the repercussions that he believed were rightfully deserved.

[Name] jolted out of her concentration, her eyes still focused on the tv, but still acknowledged the man. “It was gang related, they now just confirmed it. People thought it was a terrorist or Fisk wannabe who killed them. ” She mumbles loud enough for the man to hear. 

“People make believe a bunch a shit they wanna hear instead of the truth,” The man responds.

“Shit, the gangs bought illegal activities to Hell’s Kitchen. Whether it’s drugs, guns, sex trafficking or money laundering, hell there’s probably more inhumane things they do without the public knowing.” [Name] explains, “Fisk is gone and everything criminal related is a free for all.”

”The innocent people who get murdered for getting in the crossfire of gangs isn’t fair, you know. Their lives shouldn’t be cut short because they were there in the wrong time. Someone needs to put the gang’s ass to the ground.” [Name] rants, the man listens attentively to her. His face emotionless, she couldn’t dictate what he was thinking. Whether or not, she gave her opinion to the wrong person. 

“Everyone who was involved will get their ending. They’re definitely getting what’s coming. It’s unfinished business.” He said almost in a menacing tone, he voiced anger, not towards her but towards someone else. 

“Maybe I oughta join the people who’s murdering them, I know damn well police ain’t doing anything.” [Name] jokes, knowing she wouldn’t take another human’s life. Let alone live a life of a criminal. The man lets out a dry chuckle at her response.

“Name’s Frank.” Frank briefly said and takes another gulp of his now cold coffee. “ I’m [Name].” She introduces herself and gave him a pleasant smile.

“In under different circumstances, we would’ve been great friends.” Frank truthfully told her which causes [Name] to raise a brow. Different circumstances? She didn’t bother to question and brewed another pot of coffee.

“Here’s another hot coffee, we’ve been talking for awhile. Coffee must’ve gotten cold. Don’t worry about paying. It’s on the house.” [Name] said, filling another cup of hot coffee once it beeped indicating it did it’s job. She placed the cup in front of him, warning him that it’s hot. 

“Thanks.” Frank said, blowing into the cup, trying to cool it down enough to drink. “For the free coffee. Also you got the right mindset. Not many people see it the way I do.” He added.

“Yeah, no problem Frank. Some people are close minded, defending the wrong side.” [Name] said casually, as she reached out to take the cold coffee from his sight and promptly carry it to the sink located nearby. Suddenly ringing invaded her ears. She brushed it off without much concern as it was a common occurrence. It didn’t fully affect her until when she saw Frank’s mouth move in motion yet she was unable to comprehend his words. 

Her brows furrows in confusion, she grabs the tv remote, turning up the volume. [Name]’s heart races in a panic, quickly rushing towards Frank. She gets his attention with finger snaps, she pointed towards her ears and shook her head. Every movement she did, her ears didn’t pick it up. It was just an uncomfortable silence.

“I-I can’t hear.” [Name]’s voice trembles, tears brimming her eyes. It’s one thing when her ears ring, but it’s another thing when she can’t hear anything around her. She didn’t know how to function with her sense of hearing gone. [Name] grabs her phone, calling Marci who was on speed dial. 

“Hello?” Marci answers the phone on the first ring, Frank cleared his throat and grabbed the phone from [Name]. 

“Your friend, something’s wrong with her. Need you to come check on her.” Frank kept it short, he didn’t want to waste any time on getting [Name]’s help. Even if it was a short encounter with her, she seemed like a good person. 

“Who is this? I’m coming right now! Fuck. Keep me on the line.” Frank heard papers rustling on the other line, he set the phone down and clicked the speaker button. He was ready to walk towards the entrance door to flip the open sign to close. But a trembling hand stopped him. 

Frank glanced up at [Name], her frantic expression made him sit in place. He observed as tears streamed down her face, her entire body trembling with fear and desperation. Her left hand held a death grip on his arm, and the right hand pulling at her earlobes, snapping occasionally hoping to regain any sense of hearing. 

The deafening silence that enveloped her had left her desperate for any sign of sound. At the wrong time, a customer walks in causing Frank to turn around and ushered them to leave. 

“We’re fucking closed today. Come back another time,” He snarled at whoever it was, the person got the hint and immediately left the shop. Probably never coming back to her shop again. 

“You’ll be okay,” Frank said loudly and slowly, allowing [Name] to read his lips. The door swung open again, Frank ready to yell at whoever it is. 

“Lea-“

”[Name]!” A voice interrupted him as the figure ran past him to get to [Name]. She was quickly taken in by an embrace. [Name] let out a choked out sob and cried into Marci’s white blouse, staining it with tears. 

“What happened to her?” Marci asked, “We were chattin’ and she began to panic about her hearing. My guess, she can’t hear us at all.” Frank shortly explains, not wanting to create any more small talk. 

“Take care of her, will ya?” Frank gave [Name] a small pat on the back and walked out of the coffee shop before Marci could bomber him with unnecessary questions. Being friendly with people isn’t his thing anymore.

a/n: not proofread!! not sure if i wanna have Frank Castle as a love interest or not? lmk what yall think 🙏

ps. i might change up the story as i write, not sure tho

[maybebitterxox]

CALLING ALL GENLOSER FAN ARTISTS!

TW // Descriptions of gore

This whole concept centres around a genloss AU, one that’s not too far from canon but is just a little bit more disturbing.

We know that, at least with Ranboo, Sneeg and Charlie, they’re controlled by various headwear; Ranboo his mask, Charlie his headphones in Episode 3 and Sneeg his hat. With Ranboo and Charlie, it’s made clear that taking it off is what regains the consciousness of the person; however, Ranboo is warned by Hetch that if he tries to take his mask off prematurely, his “whole face comes off with it”.

(We know this doesn’t apply with Charlie or Sneeg as their headpieces are removed easily, and Sneeg’s whole hat thing is just a big exception to everything, but sssshhh just pretend. As I said, this is based on an AU).

Now, Hetch was likely saying that just to convince him not to try to take the mask off. But what if he had been serious? Consider an AU where the mask is literally surgically attached to Ranboo’s face, and all the other headpieces being used to control other cast members are exactly the same, making it incredibly difficult, or even deadly, to remove them.

Now consider a group of frantic people, afraid, panicked and angry, who are willing to harm themselves to hellish extents by removing their headset objects to regain control. Consider one person on the carousel breaking free of the control and ripping masks, earpieces or hats off of the rest of the cast in a panicked state in an attempt to save them too, or multiple people working together to remove controlling devices from another cast member who cannot do it themselves.

Thus is born a gory fanart idea of the characters having tried to rip away the thing keeping them under control, or of another character having done it for them. Here’s kind of how I imagine it would look like:

Earpieces: This is one that will work with any character, because if you look in the episodes, you will see all of them wearing obvious earpieces for communication purposes (Ranboo talked about how there was no real way to hide these earpieces, much like the cameramen in episode 2 and 3, so they’re made to seem intentional and to fit in with the storyline. So yes, they’re canon). To get something attached to the ear off wouldn’t be the worst; in fact, it would be mild in comparison to most of the other options here. Maybe ripping it out would just badly injure the ear and damage the skin, maybe the whole ear would have to come off depending on how it’s been attached (which is plausible, ears are surprisingly easy to rip off). So you could really draw any of the characters like this, with a bloody, mangled ear and clutching the remains of the earpiece in their hand (or just the whole ear itself).

Regular face mask: Ranboo, the Ghouls and Jerma (the Puzzler) all wear a mask over the lower half of their face. The Puzzler’s is technically prosthetics, but let’s assume it somehow acts in the same manner. Skin would obviously be ripped away and maybe even flesh, which could give them a half zombie-esque look with holes that expose their teeth and gums. Very grim to picture but also cool. And in Ranboo’s case, maybe he would have to cut the wires out from his neck as they could be attached there too, or down his back.

Rat Face Mask: A good three quarters of their face skinned and ripped away. Their eyes and mouth/general lower face area would be fine, but the rest… ouch. Also a zombie-esq look like the regular face mask, but more on the upper half of the face.

Showfall Media Mask: Yeahhh the employees get the worst deal out of this. Their entire face would be basically torn apart, but instead of blood, consider wires poking out of the rips in the flesh, or maybe even out of the eye sockets. I imagine you would see this after one of the cast would try to pull the mask off of an employee they encounter.

Hats: Okay, this one set up to look pretty stupid, as you would immediately imagine it taking all the hair off the top of their head, which would look ridiculous. But rather imagine wires maybe being threaded into the skull through the hat; maybe in a sewn on kind of way, maybe just with just multiple drilled holes in the head that the wires run down through. Wires would be trailing out of the head once the hat has been removed, or you would see them stitched into the skin under the hair. Blood would be soaking their hair and face, which would be pale because of the blood loss. Niki, Sneeg and Vinny apply here.

Glasses: Ethan and Charlie both have glasses, which are an easy deal, like the earpieces except better. Just ripping off skin/flesh where the glasses are attached, so the bridge of your nose and the side of your face. Painful, but won’t affect any of your necessary reflexes/senses such as hearing, sight or vision, and won’t kill you.

Headphones: As I mentioned earlier, Charlie’s headphones are removed without injury in episode 3, but ssshhh and just imagine. I would think that they would probably have wires connecting into his ears, so after they were taken off there would be loose wires poking from the ears and a lot of blood coming with it. Also probably a complete loss of hearing accompanying it, even though you can’t exactly draw that. That or both of the ears have to go.

Horns: Charlie also has his horns as The Spirit in Episode 1. This all depends on how you’d imagine them being attached to him; if you’re thinking like just fake horns on a simple band (like the actual prop used), then it would be a similar deal to the hat with the wires running into the skull along the band, most likely in a sewn style. If you like the idea more of two separate horns fully attached to his head, then just imagine they were stitched there and had to be pulled off. Yikes, poor Charlie.

You can also do combos. If a character has an earpiece and a hat, draw them as though they needed to rip both of these items off!

This is just a concept I came up with that I think would be really cool to see. No credit needed for the idea if you do take inspo from this, but do tag me in art as I love to see it!!

Also, just a little specific idea I have related to this is either Charlie in episode 3, Sneeg in episode 1 or just the carousel crew from episode 2 trying to remove Ranboo’s mask, maybe even just out of curiosity or ignorance, to horrible results. Very disturbing, but a good prompt for both fanartists and even fic writers I think

[grizzersmamma]

Beyond the Loch | Monster CoD AU | Chapter 3.

Summary: “With monsters now being used the world over to wage war, the military is desperate to encourage non-human citizens to join their ranks. A young kelpie, John ‘Soap’ MacTavish, is invited to join the infamous Task Force 141, the first task force in history to be headed up by a monster. Soon after joining, he encounters a black dog, an omen of death known only as Ghost. Determined to prove that not all black dogs are harbingers of disaster and misfortune, he decides to become Ghost’s field partner, becoming close to the spirit while everyone else flees from him terror. Only time can tell if he’ll come to regret it or not.”

Notes: Decided to create my own CoD Monster AU! I’ve seen loads of different AUs, but this will be my own personal take on what creatures the different characters would be. 

Pairing(s): Future Ghost/Soap. Other to be added.

Warnings: Unedited because I’m tired ;w;.

Series Masterlist

Previous: Chapter 2.

Next: Chapter 4.

Kelpies are an oddity, Ghost has decided. 

Of course, he cannot know for sure if all kelpies are so strange or if it’s simply the personality of his new sergeant. For now, he will have to assume that it is a quirk of the species, but just in case, he’ll have to continue observing the other man from a distance. It has been less than 48 hours and already he is causing quite the stir.  

Currently, the sergeant is stood in the middle of the field of grass that surrounds the base on all sides. He has shifted from his human form and into a more natural shape. Ghost isn’t too proud to admit to himself when he finds something or someone impressive, and the equine from of John MacTavish is certainly that.  

A stunning, muscular stallion with a black coat that shines a deep green in the sunlight like the iridescent feathers of a bird. It’s an unnatural, ethereal animal so similar to a regular horse yet completely different at the same time. The mane has been cut short, closely resembling the Mohawk the man sports, but his tail has been left to grow out. He watches silently as it swishes, snapping at any instincts foolish enough to try and land on the monster’s body.  

Ghost settles himself onto the grass across from the other man, no longer in his human form. A batch of new recruits has recently arrived and the captain has decided that it would be best to get the human ones desensitized to the monsters they will be working alongside as soon as possible. And so, Ghost has been forced to spend his brief break between jobs lounging near them in his canine form.  

There is, of course, a healthy level of curiosity among the humans, many of them trying to take subtle looks at him from where they’re training. With any luck they’ll soon grow bored of gawking at him and his fellow monsters. He hates the attention.  

Soap, however, seems not to have that issue, flaunting his stunning form much to the delight of the younger soldiers . It takes him a while to finally notice Ghost’s presence, ears pricked forward in his direction and head raising to stare at the dog. He snorts, shaking out his mane before tilting his head slightly to the side so their eyes meet. 

He doesn’t behave like a prey animal staring down a massive dog bigger than it. He watches Ghost with great intensity, but not with the flighty nervousness of a horse, rather a predator observing potential prey. His eyes don’t flutter about in search of danger, they stay pinpointed on the other animal in interest. Two dangerous predators, one obvious in his threat, the other a mimic, pretending to be a gentle, fragile creature. He can see why naïve humans would so easily fall for such a beautiful creature only to be torn to pieces in the blink of an eye.  

But Ghost is no newly whelped pup, he knows how it feels to be regarded by another beast.  

His point is proven when Soap suddenly yawns. His mouth opens, but rather than opening normally, his whole face splits open. All the way from the centre of Soap’s lips to the hinge of his jaw pull apart like a snake, showing off the row of shark-like serrated teeth hidden within. A human head could easily fit between the monster’s jaws and Ghost doesn’t doubt he has the strength needed to separate one from the rest of the body.  

He hopes one day he’ll be fortunate enough to see it for himself.  

Despite his interest, he forces himself to tear his eyes away from the other monster, ignoring the way his fur is standing on end under the horse’s intense scrutiny. He goes back to observing the fresh meat instead, watching the rather poor form of the men only just learning their way around the obstacle course.  

The men have all been handpicked from their previous positions and brought on board to join the task force due to their promising potential, but they’re all rough around the edges, at least by Ghost’s standards. They seem to be able to sense his gaze, occasionally glancing in his direction before looking away again just as quickly, as if his eyes alone will eat them alive.  

He supposes it doesn’t really matter; he likely won’t be working closely alongside any of them. The Ghost works alone. 

Soap seems to be much more suited to working with others. He’s easily approachable and seems to get along with everyone he encounters. No wonder Price decided to invite the man to join the team, he can already tell that the kelpie was a good choice. Just a few hours earlier, Soap was showing off some of his skills under the guise of training.  

If the rest of the men hope to work with the new monster, then it’s imperative they learn how Soap behaves and how to work his abilities into battle plans. He’d only showed off a half-shifted form the same as he’d done the previous afternoon, displaying his agility and speed below the water. He’s swift and dangerous, with powerful muscles that move him through the murky lake like a crocodile. 

And now, Soap is trotting across the field, head pulled back to form an elegant curve. He looks like one of those fancy horses performing dressage, each movement carefully choreographed so that not a single ounce of energy is needlessly expended. It isn’t until the kelpie lifts his head to regard Ghost with a pleased whinny that he realises he’d been staring again. He feels his own ears flatten back against his head, irritated at himself. 

The horse, however, seems mighty pleased with the attention, flicking his tail and snorting.  

Ghost can’t help rolling his eyes at the behaviour, leaning down to rest his head on his paws with a soft huff. Thankfully, he's saved from explaining himself to the sergeant by a young corporal jogging over and waving down the kelpie. The human quickly starts to relay an order from Price and while the two of them are distracted, Ghost is able to slip away unseen.  

Well, as unseen as a black behemoth of a dog can at least. 

He manages to get to the building where the command team offices are located before shifting back into his human form. His clothes materialise around him - one of the perks of being a ghost - and he's able to slip inside.  

Price's office is located beside his own, allowing them to easily reach one another. More often than not, Ghost will find himself scooping up his laptop or whatever paperwork he needs to fill out and bringing it to the Captain's office rather than his own. He typically prefers his own company, but occasionally even he feels the need for some social interaction. Even if the interaction is limited to sitting silently while in someone's presence. 

He decides to pause at his own office, collecting the handful of papers that have been deposited on his desk. He's due to meet with Price now for details on an upcoming mission, but it will be a fairly unofficial briefing seeing as it's set to be a solo mission. He might as well bring some paperwork to complete afterwards. 

When certain he has everything he needs, Ghost raps on the captain's door, waiting patiently until a soft "it's open," comes from the other side. The room is fairly dark when he enters, the cool, dim lighting being what the dragon finds most comfortable. The man should be lazing around in some deep cave up in the mountains, but he's doing the best he can with what he has to work with. 

The captain is courteous enough to switch on the lights when dealing with humans and their inferior eyesight, but Ghost is more than happy to be lurking about in the darkness with only the bright glinting of Price's visible. It's a pleasant place, especially with the scent of cigar and dragon smoke in the air.  

"Captain," Ghost greets with a brief nod.  

He's met by a deep rumbling sound that could easily be mistaken for a growl, but Ghost has been around the other monster long enough to recognise the slightly gentler tone, more of a pleased purr than anything aggressive. It's an internal battle to resist the urge to wag his tail at the greeting. Lord knows he would never be able to live it down, instinctive or not. 

"Lieutenant," Price hums back, resting the cigar he had been in the process of smoking on the edge of his ash tray. "Take a seat, we're just waiting on one more," he continues. 

"One more...?" Ghost asks slowly, eyebrows furrowed behind his mask as he dutifully takes the seat the captain had gestured to. Perhaps one of the intelligence operatives had more to inform them of? 

"Yes," Price confirms, rumbling softly to himself as he strokes his beard in thought, "the new sergeant, MacTavish. I've decided to assign him to this mission." 

Ghost beats down the way he immediately goes to bristle at that, remaining calm as he says, "I thought this was a simple in-and-out mission?" 

"It will be, hardly anything worth losing sleep over," the dragon confirms, leaning back into his chair, "which is precisely why I thought it would be a good first mission for Soap. To test the waters, see how he works with someone else." 

Now that's a little suspicious. Soap has a long list of successful missions working alongside both humans and other monsters. There's no need to test how the kelpie would do around others and he highly doubted the other man needed to be eased into the job. "Anything else?" He knows that Price can see his narrowed eyes, even if his suspicious frown is obscured. 

The lizard is entirely unfazed, offering a mere shrug before taking a puff of his dying cigar. "Not particularly," he smiles, but is apparently unable to hide the intensity in his slitted eyes, "although, I will require a report on MacTavish's abilities, what you think of him." Price might have waved his hand lazily at the addition, as though it was unimportant, but Ghost is smart enough to read between the lines. 

The captain isn't trying to find out how Soap works with other people in general, he's trying to find out how he works with Ghost. 

Price is saved only by the sound of another knock on the office door, otherwise Ghost would be telling the man exactly what he thought of putting him with the sergeant. It was a terrible idea that would only get the kelpie hurt, and Soap didn’t deserve to be dragged down just because he didn’t have the common sense to keep well enough away.  

Most people were smart enough to keep Ghost firmly at a distance from them, only ever cooperating with him when they needed something from him. And he was fine with that, really, it was better for everyone that way, no matter how many times Price tried to prove to him otherwise.  

Ghost didn’t need another Roach on his hands.  

While Soap isn’t exactly a replacement perse – it has been several years since the horrible failure that ended with Roach in critical condition and almost a dozen men dead – Ghost can’t help seeing the similarities in their situation. A young, bright eyed and eager sergeant being assigned to work alongside him only to end up medically discharged or worse because of a bad call.  

For everyone who gets close to Ghost is always plays out the same way. They pry apart the thick walls he’s built around himself and remind him how to feel hope, entertaining the idea that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.  

Yet it never is, and Ghost isn't going to allow himself to grow attached to any other poor soul that just so happens to be unlucky enough to stumble into his life.  

Price calls for the person outside to enter and a moment later Sergeant MacTavish is standing beside Ghost’s chair, facing the captain. “Captain Price, Lieutenant Ghost,” the man acknowledges, offering a nod to both in turn.  

“Have a seat, MacTavish, and we’ll get on with the briefing,” Price returns, nodding at the seat beside Ghost.  

The briefing takes only a short while, with the simplicity and prior discussed information making everything go much faster. But for Ghost it feels as though it drags on for hours and he can’t wait for it to be over so he can finally have a serious conversation with the captain again away from potential prying ears.  

When there are no further questions from either himself nor Soap, Ghost waits patiently for the other man to leave, but Price is quick to pipe up before he can, “I need to speak with the sergeant, so for now, you’re dismissed lieutenant.”  

His fingers twitch slightly in annoyance, but not wanting Soap to know something is wrong, he stands and offers the captain a salute. Ghost is a professional, he can tolerate working with someone, even if it would be easier to simply complete the mission alone. He’s not going to allow the presence of some new sergeant distract him.  

[ingravinoveritas]

Hi! :) So, about posting habits and copying:

Georgia posts this screenshot of someone asking her to tell David that they're in love with him/want to marry him (not sure anymore, but I'm counting on you to remember haha), responding yeah, I'll get right to that, or something akin to that.

It's funny enough and her reply doesn't come across as anything more than humorous, in my opinion, especially since we've seen this theme for years, on Twitter and Instagram. It's on-brand-Georgia.

Her tone, albeit the sarcasm, is still pretty nice, playing the ball back by pretending that she's not telling David because then she'd have to compete with the person who wrote in. I'm sure whoever texted her this was giggling at their phone when Georgia responded. I'm not sure if the same thing will be the case with fan interaction number two, however: Cue, Anna.

Because now, a few days later, Anna posts what is pretty much the same interaction with a fan (about Michael, obv.), but all the charme is gone? Or is that just me?

Let's get something straight, though: The fan message she got was a lot less "sweet" than the one Georgia received (how many kisses does it take for a message to become either passive aggressive or just too hyper or even kind of insincere in tone?), so I won't be too harsh on her for responding in kind (xxxx). Still, had me cringe a little.

Thing is, the more or less blatant copying of Georgia's social media voice keeps fascinating me. Whilst, at most times, it's obvious but still fine as its own thing, this time the whole post really just seemed too...Georgia. Firstly, because it really is like a total replica, secondly because Georgia has worn the "playfully possessive"-badge for years now. I'm not saying that Anna is just pretending to also be that, I genuinely don't think that's true, at least not fully, but what I am saying is that she's clearly aware of this sort of humour being well-received within the fandom and also very intentional about timing. It's always... funny? Noticable? exactly when these "replica posts" appear.

Although, in this case we also have to consider that she responded at the time she got the message (or a day later, at most), so the timing isn't really on her. In fact, this might just be a fan actively going for having the same interaction with Anna that another fan had with Georgia, basically setting her up. Especially considering how the DM was worded - again, it seemed a little too intentional/over the top.

(But yeah, a couple of hours earlier: The Tennant's face sitting post (and, whew lol), so is this trying to somehow keep up with their dynamic again?)

I want to stress that I don't think that any of this is a bad thing. There's literally no harm in her trying to cater to the fandom with this tone of voice and seeming a bit unoriginal. And what do we know, maybe she and Georgia really are that similiar, it's not like Georgia's humour and interactions are that singular. But I'm still having a different response to Georgia's posts in comparison to Anna's, even though they are so similiar, and that's what it comes down to.

Maybe that's completely unfair towards Anna (to some degrees it must be, since Georgia simply has been around longer and therefore claimed her kind of tone, if that's even a thing), but maybe it also comes down to authenticity - or a lack thereoff?

(Grouping these together since they are related.) Well, I hadn't seen AL's story this morning until I got your message @wanderingsemi, so thank you for the heads up. And it is, as you said, an almost exact replica of an Insta story Georgia posted a week ago. Let's get the visual up here, so folks can see both stories:

So, the first thing I will say is that I often have difficulty with discerning people's tones online, as the lack of vocal inflection/other indicators tends to make things challenging. I appreciate you sharing that Georgia's tone came across as humorous to you, because while I definitely did get the sarcasm, I also felt a sense of contempt coming from Georgia's reply, too. I do agree, however, that her response was very much "her," in her trademark style, and is something we've come to expect over the last few years now.

It's probably worth mentioning that these are both odd/weird things to send to your fave's partners. I know social media has largely eroded a sense of boundaries in a lot of fans, but it's just an awkward thing to say overall. (I submit that it's actually more awkward/inappropriate than RPF, because RPF is fantasy and is not something any of these people would come into direct contact with unless they went looking for it.) That being said, while neither Georgia nor AL can control the things fans send to them, they can choose to respond (or not) to said comments. So thinking about your Ask, @armangelus, we have Georgia here essentially doing the same thing as AL--being possessive of David in response to a random DM--yet the results are wildly different.

Which then brings me to AL's response. Going back to our discussion on tone, I am not sure that I interpreted the message AL got as being "less sweet" than the one Georgia received, as they seem incredibly similar to me. I'm not sure the message-sender was actually being passive-aggressive, but because AL seemed to look at it that way, it is then reflected in her response (and is fitting with her past responses/personality, which has been passive-aggressive on multiple occasions).

For a little backstory (and this largely comes from @problematicwelshman, whose blog is well worth reading for a lot of tea related to Michael and AL going back to 2019): AL's social media was entirely scrubbed when her and Michael's relationship first came to light (end of June 2019). This also coincided with Michael's longtime PR person quitting, and a seeming overhaul of AL's social media presence. Initially, though, a lot of her posts were in her own voice, but they did not seem to go over well/she was not connecting with the fandom (see this post for links to examples, most of which involve belittling Michael/making fun of his weight and appearance).

Then in mid-2021, this all shifted with an event Michael appeared at for the 150th birthday of the Royal Albert Hall. Suddenly AL was praising and complimenting him in ways she never had in any of her past posts. This also happened to coincide with Georgia starting the #Shebergs hashtag (which sounds like an iceberg, a.k.a. the thing that took down the Titanic, so I'm still not sure why that was chosen as a portmanteau of AL and Michael's names), as well as AL promoting Last Train to Christmas, a movie of Michael's that she appeared in that was released at the end of 2021. So this was another social media overhaul/PR effort, seemingly perfectly timed with AL having something to promote and trying to advance her acting career.

But what this was also the start of is what you alluded to, which is that inauthenticity. I can completely understand you having a different reaction to AL's story than Georgia's, because as you said, that charm is not there, which I think is because it's Georgia's charm, not Anna's. And as much as she might copy Georgia's tone or the types of content she posts, you can't really copy charm--it's either something you have, or something you don't. I think it also ties into the other thing you referenced, which is the "playfully possessive" thing. It actually is something that Anna has copied, also on multiple occasions (see below)...but much like with this story, it doesn't come across the same way as when Georgia does it:

(Another notable thing about the response on the left is that AL was not even tagged in the original tweet, which also copies Georgia's pattern of randomly replying to fans on Twitter--usually as a result of searching David's name, which she has been known to do.)

So yes, I think we can definitely see a clear pattern here, which has seemingly only become more blatant as of late. And while I agree there is no harm on one level of trying to appeal to the fandom, I don't think it's unfair to AL at all because there is such a clear, agenda to what she is doing that becomes more obvious as you look back over the past few years. That, in my opinion, is what makes it seem so forced and not genuine, and is why one might feel a different reaction to her post versus Georgia's.

Those are pretty much my thoughts, rambling as they were. I appreciate both of you sharing yours as well so that we could have this discussion. Thanks for writing in! x

[joltyflare]

(Sun and Moon Show Theory #4 :Ruin Will Get Reset)

This is basically an alternative to the last theory I posted.

Also, yes, I'm posting another post about Ruin, hush.

So, Ruin thinks he will die. He's made it quite obvious he wants to die and that he'd be at peace now that he has taken down the Creator Council. Tons of beings are going after him or just simply want him dead for what he did to all those dimensions. Yet he's somehow still alive just twiddling his thumbs in his cell (well, not even doing that since he can't move his thumbs-). By all accounts, Ruin thought he'd be dead now. Moon and Eclipse both wanted him dead pretty badly. Eclipse has wanted him dead for a while now and Moon did at first when he realized he'd been lied to. Yet he's still alive.

I feel like he's being kept around for a reason. Like, yeah, said the reason could simply be so that he goes out with a bang after some more angst, but I feel like there's a possibility he won't be killed off. I mean, Moon has said killing doesn't really solve anything since all their enemies seem to come right back like dandelions after you cut the lawn. Earth despises Ruin but does not want him dead. Sure, almost everyone else does, but I'm sure it'll come down to the celestial family being the ones to decide his fate.

Perhaps he'll still be alive in his cell when Solar himself is revived. If this does happen, it could possibly mean Solar may be the one who will decide his fate. From what we know about Solar, he isn't vengeful. He'd only kill Ruin if he believed him to still be a threat to everyone.

But there's a chance he won't be forgiven. There's an even bigger chance he doesn't want to be forgiven. Keep in mind Ruin lost everyone he loved long, long ago, and has made it his mission to avenge them and save other universes from suffering the same fate. He has made it clear that he misses them and doesn't believe he has any place in life anymore now that he has completed what he set out to do starting so long ago. He also struggles mentally with the things he had to do during that time, where he'd been forced to harm people under the guise of a persona in order to fit into his universe without being caught, stopped, and possibly killed before he could kill all the Creators he possibly could. So, yeah, even he himself doesn't want to exist due to his self-loathing and suffering.

Yet it wouldn't make sense for the protagonists to kill him now. He's at their mercy. Sun has already gone through hell after killing Bloodmoon and Moon himself believes killing doesn't solve anything. Lunar does too now and Earth always has and hopefully always will. She hates Ruin but would never wish death upon her worst enemy, it seems. Solar, if he were to be revived before Ruin woke up, wouldn't want to kill him. It wouldn't make sense for the protagonists to kill someone who is at their mercy (again, since they did it to Eclipse), right? Plus, they'd be giving him what he wants, which they would also not like very much.

Yet Ruin will never be trusted. They can't trust him after all his lies and the way he manipulated them time and time again, especially when he pretended to be their clumsy little harmless friend. Nothing he can do will ever regain their trust and he is quite aware of this. Nobody would ever, ever trust him or even like him as he is now, knowing what he has done and is capable of.

So what's the alternative?: A reset, similar to what Moon went through. He doesn't have to fully die but he doesn't have to live as he is either. He can start a new life without trauma and without judgement (mostly, as I'm sure there will be people still unforgiving and after him after what he has done, not caring about him being a different person). He can finally have the celestial family as his real family, with no trickery involved or needed. Moon said he was starting to see him as family and, in this case, Ruin could have a family. He wouldn't be tainted with memories of his old Creator and the world that was torn into pieces before his eyes.

After all, Ruin isn't evil by default. His default personality seems like it would be quite sweet. This means he wouldn't be dangerous after a reset. There's no need to kill someone who isn't a threat if you don't have to, right? It would make the most sense. Ruin himself would likely agree to this. Maybe he'd even need to think about it but I can see him ultimately agreeing to a reset and seeing it as a merciful option.

Anyway, here's my theory on what could happen!! If it doesn't happen...well, I'll write a fanfic about it. I like the idea a lot and it's a nice alternative to Ruin dying.

[kokinu09]

Fake Love

Inspiration :

For you, I could pretend like I was happy when I was sad

For you, I could pretend like I was strong when I was hurt

I wish love was perfect as love itself

I wish all my weaknesses could be hidden

I grew a flower that can’t be bloomed in a dream that can’t come true

—BTS, Fake Love (English Translation)

💥Trigger Warning : Toxic Exes, breakup over the phone, implied friends to lovers, gay panic moment, MinSung (Minho x Jisung)

Word count : 2,347

AO3

A/N : This was intended to be a short little prompt and it obviously got away from me! 🤗 Originally supposed to be for @rainfallingfromthesky but the MinSung makes me think @keepswingin will be a fan. 😂 Hope you enjoy it!~

~*~

“It’s just not working out,” Jisung tells her gently, phone pressed to his ear, bracing for the inevitable argument.

“Wait, what?! You’re breaking up with me?!” She exclaims through the line.

“Yeah… I’m sorry…” he apologizes as sincerely as he can muster. But he’s not really sorry.

This girl has been doing nothing but ask him for money or to buy her things all week! Most of the time, she doesn’t even respond to his texts! It’s too obvious that she doesn’t and hasn’t even cared about him or his feelings for the past four months. So he’s decided now is as good a time as ever to let her go. Cut his losses and move on.

The laugh he hears in response is sarcastic at best before she switches to an overly sweet coo. “You don’t wanna break up with me! Come on, Ji baby! Why don’t we go out to a nice restaurant and talk about this!”

Usually, he’d feel bad for handling a breakup over the phone instead of in person, but he’s so glad he did in this case. The way his eyes roll to the back of his skull in annoyance at the suggestion would have definitely offended her worse. He’s struggling enough just trying to keep his breathing even and not letting out any noises of frustration. Maybe he should have just texted her at this point.

“No, no. There’s no reason to draw this out,” he says, hearing a ‘but’ as he goes on to keep her from interrupting. “It’s been fun but I don’t think we’re good for each other. It’d just be best for both of us to go our separate ways.” He rushes out and crosses his fingers that she won’t make this harder than it needs to be.

On the other end, he heard her scoff. “Really, wow. I guess the rumors really were true. Do you think you’re better than everyone else, Han Jisung? ‘Cause I hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re not all that.” She sneers. “It was embarrassing hearing about you from all my friends. Seeing all those videos of you having a panic attack walking through the airport. What kind of Idol gets anxiety from just getting on a plane!” She laughs cruelly.

“Ouch, okay then. I see what this really meant to you,” Jisung snaps back angrily, not that this was any news to him.

He already knew she was only into him for his money but his heart still hurts that he still hasn’t been able to find someone who likes him for him. Whether he had money and fame or not.

“You won’t have to worry about me ‘embarrassing you’ anymore. It’s over.” His tone burns with anger as the words leave his lips. Sharp-edged, firm and indisputable. No room for argument.

“Fine!” She huffs in arrogant annoyance. “You’ll be back.” She adds he can hear the cocky smirk she must be wearing as she says it.

Breathing a laugh, “Doubtful,” he says, ending the call before he can waste another second on their pointless relationship.

Jisung sighs as he drops his phone to the mattress, pressing the heels of his hands against his eye sockets. He’s exhausted. It’s been the same thing over and over again since he’s tried dating.

He hates it. He can’t tell who genuinely cares about him or who’s only out for themselves. It always starts off great and they seem so sweet and affectionate. Then, at some point along the way, it just flips and they’re flirting with the other members or only giving him attention when they want something.

His mind is a mess, thoughts racing in the worst possible directions. From the self-conscious worry of ‘Is it him?’ ‘Is he the reason it never works out?’ To the despair of ‘he’ll be alone forever.’ ‘He’ll never find someone who truly loves him.’

The buzz of his phone beside him pulls his brain out of its spiraling. He glances at the back of it, debating if he dare flip it over and see who was messaging him. It was probably her, continuing the arguments or pleading for another chance.

It’s always the same.

With a resigned huff, he grabs his phone more aggressively than was probably necessary as he flips the screen to see the notification. The tension in his brow immediately eases, sighing out a relieved breath at seeing it in fact wasn’t a text from ‘Little Miss Gold Digger’ but instead was from Minho. A pointless text about his meal, complete with a picture of proof. Too zoomed in to really tell if it looks good or not.

Even still. No matter how mundane the topic is, Jisung finds that he’s never annoyed by his best friend’s messages. He actually looks forward to them. They make him feel normal for once.

He closes his eyes as his head tilts back with a smile spreading across his lips. A feeling of deep gratitude replacing all the negativity that had filled his chest. Thankful that he’s not truly alone. He has Minho and the rest of his members going through it with him. The few people who understand everything he’s going through. Minho, the one who knows him better than anyone else in the world. Who he can turn to with his struggles without worry of judgment.

He’s already pressed the call button before even giving it a second thought. And Minho doesn’t disappoint, answering on the first ring.

“Ah, my dinner looked too delicious for you to resist, huh Jagiya?” He laughs, the infectious sound tugging at the corners of Jisung’s lips.

“Yeah right, I couldn’t even tell what you were having, hyung,” he replies with a chuckle that quickly dies with his sunken mood. “But uh, would it be ok if I come by your dorm tonight?”

There’s a pause from the other end of the line.

“Of course you can,” he says easily before asking, “Is something wrong, Hannie?”

Jisung cringes at the question because he can’t be honest and just say ‘everything is wrong actually.’ Minho would worry about him. And Jisung already felt like too much of a burden by asking to come over.

So he’ll lie to ease it a little bit.

“Everything’s fine, hyung. I just, don’t wanna be alone right now,” but he can’t stop the honesty that slips out. Minho was good for that. No matter how much Jisung wants to hide the truth, it always comes out around him.

“Come over, Hannie. We can talk if you want after we watch a few episodes together,” Minho offers, a gentle undertone to his voice. Understanding and willing to listen. When he’s ready, of course.

~*~

Two episodes quickly snowballs into five as it often did when Minho and Jisung binge-watch a show together. The TV is switched off when Minho finally decides it’s getting a little late.

Jisung uncurls himself from around the dancer with a stretch and yawn. Another habit the two have adopted over the years of watching anime together. Slowly migrating across the couch or mattress until they are huddled up to each other for warm, comfy cuddles.

It’s never been something they’ve thought about much. They enjoyed the skinship and didn’t question it further than that.

“I guess I could go back to the other dorms now,” Jisung sighs, shoving his palms against the cushions to push himself up.

“Hold on, Hannie. We’re not done here yet,” Minho says, grabbing his wrist to yank him back down on the couch. Jisung chuckles but doesn’t put up much of a fight as he relaxes back into his seat.

“What are you talking about, Weirdo? You’re the one who turned the show off!” He retorts playfully. But Minho turns his whole body to face him, giving his undivided attention.

“Don’t you wanna talk about what was bothering you earlier?” He asks, tilting his head as his elbow props it up on the back of the sofa.

Jisung stiffens.

He’d almost forgotten. But everything comes flooding back to the forefront of his mind. The struggle, the longing, the loneliness. He’d almost forgotten of that in the few hours he spent with Minho.

But it will inevitably all come back when he leaves again. Searching for the person who will fill the cracks left in his heart.

How was he even supposed to explain that?

The rapper lets out a heavy sigh, eyes fixed on the way his fingers pick at a frayed string on his jeans. “I broke up with that girl I was seeing. You know, the blonde one?”

Minho hums. “Good, I didn’t like her anyway.”

“Huh?!” Jisung shrieks. “Why didn’t you say anything for the last four months?!” But Minho just shrugs.

“She wasn’t butting into my Hannie time too much.” Then he pauses, dramatically tapping his chin in thought. “To be honest, I kinda forgot she existed half the time.”

That makes Jisung chuckle almost humorlessly. “Yeah me too,” he sighs. “The only reason she liked me was the fame and money. When I told her I was done, she even made fun of me for my anxiety. She didn’t care about me, she never did.” His words quiet and fragile as they left his mouth. The unspoken worry of ‘Will anyone ever love me?’ lingering in the air.

“Well that’s her loss.” Minho says firmly, and Jisung sees the anger burning behind his eyes when he looks back at him. “And if she really can’t understand that your anxiety is not a choice, then she didn’t deserve you in the first place.”

If he thought about it, looking close enough, he could swear he saw smoke coming out of Minho’s nostrils with how angry he seems. It sends a wave of warmth spreading through his chest as a quiet chuckle bubbles out. “Of course you think that, you’re my overprotective best friend!”

Minho stays quiet for a moment, his eyes seeming to search his for something he can’t quite place. But his gut flips with a nervousness he’s not used to with his best friend. Then Minho sighs softly in resignation as he leans back, breaking the tension strung tightly between them.

“No, Hannie, I mean it. You deserve the world from whoever you choose to be with.” He corrects but Jisung furrows his brows as a pout scrunches his face.

“Ok, sure. Whatever you say,” he grumbles. “I haven’t found anyone even remotely close to treating me like that so far.” He lets out his own deep sigh. “I want to find the real thing but it’s so hard. Everyone’s a fan but for all the wrong reasons. I’m so sick of this fake love.”

“Then stop looking out there and look around instead.”

Jisung’s head snaps up to look at the older boy across from him. Minho holds his gaze, intently watching for his reaction. Does he mean what he thinks he means? And why has his stomach erupted into a fit of butterflies?

“Wh-what are you talking about, hyung! Don’t say weird stuff!” Jisung laughs nervously, trying to play it off as if his brain wasn’t suddenly speeding at a million miles an hour. As if his heart wasn’t racing with a mix of panic and giddiness.

Minho’s eyes crinkle in the corners as a smirk forms on his lips. “There’s nothing weird about being honest about how you feel!” He teases lightly, clearly enjoying Jisung’s squirming and flushed cheeks.

The younger makes an embarrassed noise, covering his face with his hands to hide the darkening shade of red. “Ah! You’re just messing with me!”

Warm, gentle fingers wrapping around his wrist to pull his hand away. Jisung’s wide eyes lift to look at him. “I’m not.” He replies with a softened smile, his hand keeping contact with the skin of his wrist.

The look in his eyes made his spine tingle and his heart flutter. It dawns on him that he hopes it’s true. Hopes that Minho feels something stronger than friendship towards him. His stomach does a somersault at the prospect.

When did the feelings for his best friend grow past admiration into this deep fondness? And why has he never noticed it happening?

He isn’t sure how long he sat there trying to wrack his brain for an answer before Minho’s chuckle snaps him out of his own head. “You’re overthinking it, Sungie.”

He wasn’t wrong, but how could he not?! This is his best friend! What if they try to make something work between them and then it ruins what they already have?!

Minho’s grip on his wrist squeezes lightly, pulling him out of his thoughts again. A soft smile is there waiting for him.

“I don’t need you to say anything right now. Just, think about it, ok?” The dancer requests, eyes pleading.

Jisung wants to tell him how he feels. But how can he do that when he hasn’t even sorted through his feelings himself? So he gulps down the lump in his throat and nods, trying to portray his sincerity through their held gaze.

The way Minho’s eyes crinkle happily again makes Jisung relax, his chest filling with warmth. “Good, now come here, Sungie. One more episode won’t hurt, right?” He readjusts with his arms open, welcoming the other boy in for cuddles again.

Jisung laughs under his breath but doesn’t argue, scooting closer and tucking himself against Minho’s side like he always does. Minho’s arm tightens around his shoulders before relaxing, rubbing his back comfortingly.

As the episode starts up, Jisung finds himself letting out a content sigh, snuggling deeper into Minho’s chest. He doesn’t have to overthink this. This is his comfort place. And Minho can read him without him saying a word. Complicated wasn’t a thing between them. They’ll figure out what they want in due time and everything will be fine. He’s sure of it.

And even though he feels like he’s been through hell trying to get here, maybe he’s finally found a safe place to keep his heart.