#you simply do not understand the immense amount of joy she brings me

[thecryptidbard]

Surprise! I’m back.

[weemssapphic]

THE LAST BRIENNE FIC WAS SOOOOO GOOD!!! Perfecto! Was wondering if you could do one where she actually breaks up with the reader for sad angsty insecure reasons and there’s a lot of heavy angst but maybe someone else tries to take advantage of the situation and woo reader and triggers brienne and they get back together againnnn

A/N: oh lord has it really been 2 months since I received this request? I ~deeply~ apologize, I hope you still see this and I hope you enjoy <3 Not sure how heavy the angst actually ended up getting but I hope it's alright regardless. Brienne requests always bring me an immense amount of joy ✨ and thank you, I'm glad you enjoyed the last Brienne fic <3

What You Had, What You Lost

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

Words: ~4.6k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: angst, breakups, mentions of alcohol, hurt/comfort

It’s for the best really. That’s what Brienne tried to tell herself, at least. You’d be better off without her. After all, she could see the worry in your eyes before she would go off to battle. She could hear the fear in your voice when you’d told her to please come home. And as nice as it felt to come home to someone (to come home to you), Brienne was anything but selfish - you had a whole life ahead of you, and she refused be the reason you’d give it all up; she refused to be the reason you’d spend your days sitting at home, waiting for her to return; refused to be the reason you’d miss out on having a family, on bearing children; refused to be the reason people would sneer at you - for being with Brienne the Beauty.

And, maybe, Brienne was shielding herself from the inevitable heartbreak when you would finally figure all of this out yourself, when Brienne and the life she had found herself thrust into finally became too much for you. But, really, she was doing you a favor. It was for your own good, she told herself.

Her heart felt like lead and her stomach felt hollow when she came home from training that day. You had cooked something, and it smelled heavenly, and her heart sank just a bit further when you whirled around to greet her, grinning up at her the way you always did when she came home. She did her best to smile back at you, she really did - but when you frowned and asked what was the matter, she realized she’d been unsuccessful. “I’m just tired,” she said (she wasn’t ready to tell you yet, she wanted to commit your smile to memory first). 

“It’s alright, my love,” you replied tenderly, reaching up to caress her cheek and smiling warmly, your eyes crinkling at the outer corners and your faint laugh lines deepening. It took every ounce of strength that Brienne possessed not to cry in that moment, to quirk her lips upwards into something resembling a smile. She was almost certain you could see right through her facade - you knew her better than anyone - but you must’ve chalked it up to her being tired (like she’d told you), because your eyes filled with understanding and kindness and you stroked her jaw lovingly with your thumb.

Brienne’s heart cracked a little more as you began to set the table, and even more when you shooed her away as she tried to help - “please, Bri, you’re tired, sit. I can handle this.” You believed her, you always did. It was one of the pillars of your relationship - Brienne was always honest with you, and you were always honest with Brienne. If Brienne told you she was tired, then you knew it to be true. 

It was for your own good.

At dinner, you did most of the talking. Brienne simply listened, trying to commit the sound of your voice to memory, storing away every little chuckle, every time you would say her name or call her “love”. When you noticed she was barely eating, simply pushing the food around her plate, worry filled your eyes and you reached over the small table to squeeze her hand - the gentle brush of your skin on hers only working to deepen the pit in her stomach.

“Brienne, are you certain you’re alright?” Your voice was so soft and gentle that it made Brienne nauseous. She had to get this over with, before she broke down completely. It was for your own good. If she told herself this enough, she might believe it.

She took a deep breath, training her eyes on her plate. “Y/N, I have to tell you something.”

“Anything,” you replied earnestly, your tone still patient and kind, as if you didn’t suspect a single thing. Your thumb was tracing soothing circles over the back of her hand.

“I- we can no longer be… together.”

It was as though all the air had been sucked out of the room. The silence was deafening, a high-pitched ringing beginning to invade Brienne’s eardrums. Her gaze flitted to your face, watching the color slowly drain from it - she couldn’t stand it, she had to look away again. She felt you retract your hand from hers and found herself immediately yearning for the warmth of your touch again.

“I… I don’t understand.” Your voice was shaky now, and when Brienne chanced another glance at your face, she could see your brows furrowed in confusion, your eyes glistening with tears yet to be shed. Her heart dropped and she felt bile rising in her throat. Her first instinct was to wrap her strong arms around you and kiss away the crease between your brow - to litter your face with tiny pecks of her lips until your tears had made their retreat and laughter was bubbling out of your chest. But she couldn’t very well do that now - she was the one breaking up with you, and if she wasn’t your girlfriend anymore then, well, it wouldn’t be her place to kiss you or comfort you any longer.

So she put on her mask, the one she used when she needed to be strong, when she was training and commanding her men - it was the only way she’d be able to keep her voice even enough to say what she needed to say, the only way she’d be able to stay steadfast in her decision. It was for your own good, she reminded herself, swallowing thickly.

“This isn’t working for me any longer. I have to focus on my duties as Lord Commander, I cannot afford any distractions.” You see, Brienne knew you would try to argue if she told you the real reasons she was breaking up with you. She didn’t think you would accept those so easily. But her duties as Lord Commander were something she was sure you wouldn’t be able to argue against.

The silence stretched on uncomfortably long, hurt flitting across your face as your tears finally spilled over, leaving pale tracks down your cheeks. Brienne’s fingers twitched as she fought the reflex to wipe them away.

“Is that what I am to you?” you whispered, your voice watery and thick - Brienne had never heard you so upset before, and her heart ached knowing she was the cause of your pain. “A distraction?”

Brienne felt her lip twitch as all her organs seemingly clenched together in pain. Of course not! she wanted to scream. You’re the love of my fucking life and the reason my world keeps turning! I just cannot hold you back any longer! 

“I should go,” she muttered instead, pushing her chair back as she stood and turning to leave.

“Brienne!” She heard your chair scrape across the floor, your voice rising in desperation. “We’re not done here! You can’t just leave.” 

“I’ll have Podrick pick up my things tomorrow.” Brienne kept her voice level as she walked towards the door. 

“Please, darling, I love you,” you sobbed, and Brienne paused for a moment with her hand on the doorknob. She could hear your footsteps coming closer, could see you out of the corner of her eye as you reached out for her - she opened the door and stepped through it, closing it firmly behind her. 

When Brienne showed up at Podrick’s door that night, he didn’t ask any questions. He knew her well enough to know there was only one thing that could be causing her face to contort in pure anguish. He even pretended not to hear her sobs as she cried herself to sleep, and he didn’t comment on the bags under her eyes the next morning - for that, Brienne was grateful.

She realized, with a heavy heart as sleep evaded her that night, that she hadn’t even had the chance to kiss you one last time - she was already forgetting how it felt to have your lips on hers. That was the thought that sent her over the edge, tears flowing freely down her face and staining her pillow.

It was for your own good. 

~~~

“I cannot afford any distractions.”

A distraction.

Brienne’s lip had twitched. That was the only tiny little sign you could cling to that Brienne may have been bluffing. That she may not have fully meant what she’d said. 

But she’d left. She hadn’t even looked back.

“I will love you until all the stars fall from the sky,” she’d told you once. “Your love makes me feel like the luckiest woman alive.” 

Was this before or after she’d decided you were simply a nuisance, getting in the way of her duties?

You cried yourself to sleep that night, of course you did - you didn’t even have the heart to clear off the dinner table. When a knock sounded on the door the following morning and you’d rushed out to answer it, your heart had clenched when you’d seen the two plates, the two goblets - proof that Brienne had been there just the evening before, that you’d shared a dinner after work as if nothing was wrong.

You clung onto every bit of hope that you could muster up that it would be Brienne at the door, taking everything back. Your stomach twisted when, instead of the tall, blonde knight, a decidedly shorter man with a dark mop of hair and a round face greeted you. 

So she’d sent Podrick, just like she’d said.

You let him into your home, silently, watching as he moved nervously about the space, gathering weapons and armor and clothing - only the necessary things, nothing of sentimental value - and purposely avoiding your gaze.

When he was finished some ten minutes later, he stopped by the front door and, finally, looked you in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he said, kindly and with a sad smile.

You simply slammed the door in his face. This made you feel even worse - you’d always liked Podrick, and it’s not like any of this was his fault. But you were in no mood for pleasantries or pity, particularly not when Brienne was apparently too cowardly to face you.

~~~

One week. One week spent wallowing in your home, barely leaving - barely leaving the bed, for that matter. One week until you decided you had to get out and do something. Brienne had not called on you, she hadn’t once showed up or asked someone to check on you. 

A distraction. Maybe that’s really all you’d been.

You’d been meaning to get a new dress fitted for some time. The seamstress in town had always been kind to you, always chatty and empathetic. Perhaps it was time you paid her a visit - perhaps she could even be a shoulder to lean on, someone to support you.

You appraised yourself in the little mirror in your bedroom. You’d certainly seen better days - your cheeks were puffy, your eyes rubbed raw from wiping away tears, your chest was splotchy and red. After taming your tangled hair into something resembling a hairstyle and changing into something other than your nightgown, you made your way into town, with the gown that needed altering folded carefully in your bag.

The little bell above the door to the shop jingled as you entered.

“Be right with ya!” called a muffled voice from one of the rooms in the back. Moments later, a petite woman scurried into view, her face nearly completely obscured by the armful of fabric she was carrying. She quickly dropped the fabric onto a nearby armchair and wiped her palms on her dress.

“Y/N, so good to see you,” Meera beamed, looking behind you as if searching for something, brow creasing. “Is the Lord Commander not with you today?”

“I’m afraid I’ll be coming alone from now on.” You offered her a wobbly smile, unable to stop your voice from trembling as you felt the familiar sting of oncoming tears.

“Oh.” Hazel eyes truly drank in your appearance for the first time, recognition dawning on Meera’s face. “Oh, come here, love.” She opened her arms to you and enveloped you in a tight hug. It felt decidedly different from the hug you really craved (Brienne’s) - Meera was much shorter, her hands smaller as they rested on your back, her grip lighter. But she was warm, and her voice was comforting as she cooed into your ear, and so you hugged her back and let out all the tears you couldn’t bear to hold in.

The alterations of your dress were quickly deemed second priority as Meera flitted about her shop to make you a cup of tea and ushered you to please, sit and make yourself at home. She sidled up next to you then, listening intently as you spilled your heart out about Brienne.

“The Lord Commander is a damned fool,” she muttered, scowling. “How anyone could let a pretty lady like you go is beyond me.”

Her serious tone drew a giggle out of your throat, your cheeks turning rosy. 

“Couldn’t have been me,” Meera said resolutely, shrugging and smiling kindly at you - you couldn’t help but smile back.

~~~

Brienne trudged wearily towards the training grounds, unable to stop her mind from wandering as she had nothing to occupy herself with. The expression on Podrick’s face when he’d come back with arms and bags full of her belongings had filled her with such a burning sense of shame - the sad frown, the raised eyebrow as he’d simply asked her what she’d done. She hadn’t answered him - if she’d so much as opened her mouth she might’ve vomited on the spot.

The days (or had it been weeks now?) were blurring together for Brienne - she wasn’t sure how much more she could take. Every morning she awoke without your warmth curling into her, every evening she fell asleep without first stealing a soft kiss - your absence had left a gaping hole in Brienne’s chest that she was certain she would never be able to fill. And it was all her own fault.

As she strode across the training grounds, she walked past a group of her men, all huddled up. One of them immediately began snickering as she passed by, causing her to come to a halt and cock her head towards him.

“Can I help you?” she grit out, hand coming to rest on the pommel of her sword.

The man’s friends recoiled, averting their eyes, but he himself was a little naive and a little bold, so he squared his shoulders and replied, condescension lacing his tone. “It’s talk of the town that the Lord Commander’s little girlfriend found herself someone new.”

Brienne felt her blood begin to boil. “Pardon?” she hissed, her knuckles turning white as they tightened around the hilt of her sword.

“Must’ve gotten bored of being the Lord Commander’s little wh-”

Brienne let out a fierce grunt, baring her teeth as her sword flashed in the sun, coming to rest under the man’s chin. The blade pressed into his flesh, drawing the tiniest bit of blood, and his eyes widened in fear - though his shit-eating grin never slipped from his face.

“Another word and I’ll have you cast out of King’s Landing,” Brienne growled. “Am I understood?”

There was a beat of silence. The man’s eyes flitted from Brienne’s face, red with anger, to the perfectly polished blade of Valyrian steel. Finally, he nodded his assent.

“Of course, Lord Commander.”

Brienne’s nostrils flared at his smirk, her heart thundering wildly in her chest. Eventually, she withdrew her sword and took a step back. “Get out of my sight.”

The small group all but dragged their friend away, leaving Brienne to stand alone in the middle of the training grounds, white-hot rage radiating off of her in waves. Rage and… confusion? Had you really moved on so quickly? Was she the last to know you’d found someone new?

She shouldn’t be upset with you for that. That’s what she’d wanted, wasn’t it? For you to find happiness with someone who wouldn’t hold you back.

It was for your own good, after all.

~~~

Even as the days went by, Brienne found herself unable to get her mind off the rumors of you finding someone else. It was driving her absolutely mad with longing - anytime she allowed her mind to wander, it bombarded her with images of you in someone else’s arms. Always nameless, always faceless - but with wandering hands and lips pressed to your throat, bringing a blinding smile to your face that had once only been directed at Brienne.

So here she was, trying to keep herself busy, walking up to the seamstress’s little shop to get a tear in a pair of trousers stitched up. It was something you could’ve easily fixed for her - Brienne’s large fingers were a bit too clumsy, a bit too out of practice for the fine stitches that would’ve been necessary here. Brienne would have sat next to you, watching you patch up her trousers - it would’ve taken far longer than necessary, with Brienne distracting you every few minutes to steal a kiss. You would’ve swatted her away, playfully and with little force, laughing in that lighthearted way that was reserved only for her.

Brienne shook the thought from her head and swallowed the lump in her throat as she reached Meera’s shop - though what she saw through the window had her stopping dead in her tracks. Brienne’s heart twitched with yearning as she saw you, sitting on a stool in the corner of the shop - Meera standing behind you, draped over your shoulders and showing you something in a book. You looked tired, somehow unlike yourself, but all Brienne could focus on was the smile on your face - it was genuine. More than that, it was directed at Meera, who giggled and leaned in closer.

A wave of nausea washed over Brienne and her lungs began to constrict. She felt frozen in time, watching your sweet little interaction. This is what you wanted, she had to remind herself firmly. Meera was a kind woman, with a steady job - a job where the greatest danger was an accidental poke with a sewing needle. She had a good reputation in town, she was well-liked and respected. Still, Brienne couldn’t help the way her blood ran cold as the rumors she’d heard were confirmed.

It was too much. Brienne tore her eyes away from the two of you, turning swiftly on her heel and fleeing the scene, her heart pounding wildly in her chest and her eyes stinging with tears.

It was for your own good. She wasn’t sure when she’d start to really believe it.

~~~

That night Brienne found herself sitting in the dark corner of a tavern, nursing goblet after goblet of wine. She wasn’t one to get drunk on purpose, not usually, but all she wanted tonight was to forget. To forget all the images burned onto the backs of her eyelids - your tear-stained face as she’d left you, Podrick’s pity-filled gaze from across the breakfast table, the sneers of some townsfolk that only seemed to be getting worse, the smile on your face as Meera stood close to you.

But somehow, with every drop of alcohol, the onslaught of images became stronger, harder to ignore. More memories joined in, until Brienne’s head was a jumbled mess of thoughts that taunted her, snippets of her life with you - her life without you.

It was for your own good, it was-

To hell with it.

She had to see you. She would just stop by… just to see if you were really happy with Meera, if the seamstress was treating you well - and, if she was, well then Brienne would leave you alone for good. 

Brienne rose to her feet - too quickly, apparently, as she stumbled into the corner of the table. Maybe she was just a little more tipsy than she’d realized… She stepped out into the balmy night air and the world spun a little around her. Perhaps she should wait until morning, Brienne reasoned as she looked up at the inky black sky - it had to be at least midnight now, and she wasn’t sure how welcome she’d be, showing up drunk in the middle of the night. How welcome she’d be at all…

She was grateful that Podrick was already asleep when she snuck through the front door - she didn’t need his pity or his scrutiny. At least the alcohol was good for something - Brienne fell fast into a dreamless slumber, too exhausted to spend time ruminating.

Brienne held fast in her resolve the following morning - her feet carried her all the way to the home you’d formerly shared, her mind clouded with anger and despair in equal parts. When she knocked and didn’t receive a reply, she rounded the little house and stomped towards the garden, slowing her gait as she saw you sitting in the grass with your back to her.

With her heart pounding against her ribcage and her stomach fluttering anxiously, she took a few tentative steps towards you.

~~~

Gravel crunched behind you. You didn’t have to turn around - you would recognize those heavy footfalls anywhere - you’d spent years memorizing them, listening for them.

“You seem to have moved on quite quickly.” The question was so blunt that you couldn’t help but snort.

“I haven’t the faintest clue what you’re on about, Brienne. Or would you like for me to address you as Ser now? Perhaps Lord Commander?” You couldn’t keep the venom from dripping from your lips - you could feel all the hurt and longing and anger that had been simmering beneath the surface threatening to boil over, and you didn’t care to stop it.

“The seamstress.”

“Meera?” Your stomach flipped uncomfortably. You’d noticed that the woman had taken a liking to you, even going so far as to openly flirt with you. But truth be told, you didn’t see her that way - you simply needed someone to lean on when Brienne had abandoned you, and Meera was… well, there.

Brienne’s next question was so quiet you nearly missed it, lost in your thoughts as you were. “Does she make you happy?”

You laughed - it was a hollow laugh, laced with bitterness and tinged with disappointment. You twisted to look up at Brienne - she stood behind you, back ramrod straight, hands clasped in front of her. Her face was an impassive mask, or so she thought - you could see the weight of her emotions behind bright sapphire eyes, the twitch of her lips as she waited for your reply.

“Does it matter? You’re the one who broke up with me, why do you care who I talk to? But for your information, Ser, she has been a kind friend to me when I couldn’t bear to be alone.” You raised an eyebrow in challenge, and Brienne scoffed.

“A friend, yes. I can see that. Everyone can see that.”

“What are you insinuating?”

Your eyes flashed dangerously and Brienne remained silent, her gaze falling to the ground.

If this was all she came for, well, you were done here. You stood, smoothing your skirt and looked defiantly up at Brienne. “I hope now, with all distractions gone, you can focus better on your precious duties. Seems to be working out well for you. Good day, Ser.”

“Wait.” Long fingers circled your wrist in a strong grip, holding you in place and whirling you around. Stormy blue eyes met your own, Brienne’s face a whirlwind of emotions.

“You and Meera, you’re not…?” She cocked her head to the side in question. For the first time you could see the heartbreak written plain as day on her face, and, despite your anger, you felt your heart clench with longing.

“Do you really think I could forget you that easily?” you whispered, not trusting your voice not to betray you.

Brienne opened her mouth, then closed it again, her eyes flitting between your own. This was the first good look you’d gotten of her, and she looked exactly how you felt - hollow, exhausted, hurt.

“I didn’t mean it,” she whispered finally. 

“Didn’t mean what?” You felt your pulse pick up, your breathing shallow. You had to hear her say it.

“That you’re a distraction.” She spit the word out as if it were a dirty thing, and your stomach clenched. “You’re not. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“Then why did you say it?”

“Because I thought I was doing the right thing for us,” she snapped. She looked at you, her eyes pleading with you to understand. “Just because I chose this life for myself, doesn’t mean you have to.”

“What are you talking about, Brienne?” you snapped back, growing impatient.

“Don’t you want a family? Don’t you want to live your life without the fear that your partner could fall in battle any damned day?”

“And Meera can give me all of that?” You scoffed. “I have a right to choose what I want out of life, Brienne, you don’t get to make that choice for me. What’s really going on here?”

Brienne sighed. She seemed conflicted as her eyes darted between yours, her tongue coming out hesitantly to lick her lips. When she spoke, it was as if she was fighting to get every single word out. “I’m used to it, being sneered at and looked at as different - I don’t want to drag you into that. I don’t want my life to be too much for you.”

A heavy silence shrouded the pair of you like a veil. Of course it would all come back to Brienne’s insecurities. She was afraid of losing you, so she’d shut you out instead. 

“Brienne?” you said finally, tearing your wrist from her grip and taking a step towards her.

“Yes?” she breathed, leaning in as if drawn by some magnetic force. You could feel her breath, warm and ragged, on your face - her scent filled your nostrils now, a mixture of soap and sweat, somehow managing to calm you instantly.

“You are an idiot.”

Brienne’s brow creased and she frowned, but then you smiled and a lovely, scarlet blush began to creep up her cheeks. 

“I would rather spend the rest of my life waiting for you and worrying about you, than wondering what it would be like to have you at all. You’re my family Brienne. I don’t need more than that - I need you.”

*

Brienne surged forward, crashing her lips desperately into yours. A familiar warmth immediately flooded her chest as she allowed herself to get lost in you, tugging you closer by the waist. Your fingers threaded themselves into her short locks, like they always did, and Brienne breathed out a contented sigh as your tongue licked its way into her mouth. Oh, how she’d missed this.

“I love you,” she murmured between kisses, feeling you push yourself closer at those words. In that moment, nothing mattered except you and your lips - it was as if you were kissing for the very first time.

“Oh, and Bri?”

“Hmm?” “If you ever try something like that again, I swear I’ll strangle you with my bare hands.” Your smile was wide and Brienne’s laugh was loud and carefree, her heart swelling with joy. She knew it was not an empty threat - but she also knew she would spend the rest of her life guarding your heart with everything she had. Even from herself.

x

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[monochromaticbutter]

do you think ptj will do jaeyeol/jay’s character any justice? 🥲 i’ve read so many comments on reddit saying that ptj will just throw jay away because he’s served his purpose (attracting a large enough fanbase through queer-baiting) because jay’s potential to be a great character is just going down the drain (he’s the son of steve hong, he should he able to step in and help right? also big daniel is kidnapped and jay used to have such a strong “daniel is in trouble i gotta go help him” sensor so where tf is he?)

okay, but excluding all that, i think jay should be developed further as a character because he has so much potential that’s being wasted so far. i really hope ptj hasn’t forgotten about him and pulls an eli jang arc for jay because he’s super interesting to me, like i wanna know why he doesn’t talk, why he isn’t acknowledged by his family (?), where tf is he when all this is going down, what does he do in his free time, what are his likes (besides daniel lol)??? i just want to know more about him as a person IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK PTJ???

ahem, sorry for the rant, i just caught up to the latest chapter and i am FUMING because the last time we saw jay was in chapter 300+ and he wasn’t even that prominent in the chapter? i just miss when all we had to care about was daniel having to hide his 2 bodies from people, crystal being a snoop, jay and joy fighting over the same man, zack and mira’s relationship, zoe’s inner conflict not knowing she likes the very same person, etc. like what’s with all these new characters i do not give a single shit about? i loved the hostel chapters though but once they got to the worker’s arc, man…. pls just bring the original cast back.. this story is getting too much man..

so what do you think? 🥲😅😔

Thanks for the ask! This is the first one I receive so I got a bit excited <3 Apologies for the big reply!

About Jay's character potential, yes. That boy has so much potential. So many things have been implied with those little scenes he appears in, like when his dad said explicitly he doesn't want to talk to him anymore, or how lonely he's portrayed as. PTJ isn't new to inserting social issues into Lookism (bullying, poverty, exploration of workers, sexual assault, etc), so I have a strong belief that his story has a theme of homophobia, somehow, somewhere.

I'd be perfectly fine if his feelings for Daniel/Hyungseok were completely unrequited and he was just a character that happens to be gay and have a crush on him, while still having a proper development. Many people think it's either being gay or being well developed, as if gay crushes can't be simple and trivial like straight crushes. PTJ has all the pieces needed to do that (if he doesn't want to bother making them canon), the stage is flawlessly set; I'd say the reader is even led to believe something about Jay's past will appear Soon™️ after his dad shows up.

Nothing happens, though. Jay is gone for more than a hundred chapters, except the one time he appears in one panel soon before Jiho's last arc. So being honest, as much as I like to be positive, I have the same fear as these redditors.

I fear even worse, in actuality. There's a chance that, if he wants to bring Jay back and keep queerbaiting, he can simply make a big reveal at the end of him being Daniel/Hyungseok's lost brother or something. This thought is so absurdly cursed that it only occured to me after 5 years of reading Lookism. I cannot even begin to explain the immense amount of disgust I'd feel if that happened.

But at the same time, PTJ is one of those types of authors whose intentions I just can't understand. See, from the beginning of everything to about the end of Olly's arc, it does seem that he has a strong grasp on character arcs and can balance comic relief situations well with serious development. Most of the original cast proved to be much more than their looks or became less appearance-focused (which I thought was the point of the webtoon until recently... but that's a rant for another post)...

After that, everything kinda started to go downhill. I pretty much entirely agree with your point about Worker's arc. For a while, I tolerated the massive amount of new characters and said to myself, "It's just to expand on the story's universe, soon things will go back to normal". But they didn't. 100+ chapters later, I can only remember two occurances that took me out of complete boredom while reading: Jace/Bumjae being defeated and forcefully tattoed by that guy (1) and Daniel/Hyungseok being caught and tortured in a way that cut the connections between his two bodies (2).

And those two occurances are what keeps me going and having hope. Somewhere among the clown fiesta of new characters and 1v1 spam, it seems that PTJ still knows how to write character development.

I wouldn't say I'm putting all my faith in him, it's more like, I know I can't do anything about it, he's pretty much unreachable for me (other than me being a nobody in comparison, I don't use the same social media as him), so I'll do the same thing I did last year: when it begins to be too much, I stop reading weekly and let the chapters pile up. You could say I'm just hoping for the best and you'd be right, that's my main way of coping with possible queerbaiting in fiction LOL

In addition, the anime has been a light at the end of the tunnel. Jay has significantly more screentime than in the beginning of the manhwa, if I remember correctly. This might sound like a loose guess, but... If PTJ planned on scrapping Jay's role completely, he would know how upset that'd make the fans; wouldn't it be easier on him to ask the show's writers to not give as much fanservice in the anime, to prevent further headaches...?

I don't know, maybe he wasn't even allowed to request changes and left everything in the hands of the writers. Sometimes, it frustrates me to have so little knowledge about the behind the scenes of Lookism...

Overall, I'll keep writing based on my interpretation of him and the original cast, at least until some major lore bombs drop and my perception of them changes. For me, despite being well off, Jay still feels lonely and shy, both from introversion and fearing homophobia; and despite being a Cool Lone Wolf in the perspective of others, he's a complete goofball who (canonically) fears insects and dogs.

Side note: I feel less alone knowing I'm not the only one who's unsatisfied with the way the original cast is being treated + the direction the webtoon is taking. Hoping for a better future...

[angxlyxn]

preservation - aesop x f. reader

summary: Aesop wants to make sure that you stay as his, forever.

warnings: death, reader dies, minor gore (blood), asphyxiation/choking, obsessive behavior, usage of a syringe, death by use of pancuronium bromide.

a/n: identity v is unfortunately my current brainrot, so please take this.  i’m actually pretty proud of this piece and i hope you enjoy it too!

word count: ~4.6k

When you had first arrived at the manor, you had been seen by many as strange.  An oddity if you will, a disturbance in the otherwise monotonous and flat life that the others led.  You had stood upon the steps of the mansion, clutching a leather case between your clammy hand and knocking definitively on the door.  The oaken frame was soon flung open by a vivacious girl, her brown hair falling in locks about her face and tangling around her chin with a sort of carelessness.  She had introduced herself to you as Emma, and you had given her a curt nod in return.  You mumbled out your name, mindlessly letting your eyes drift about the meticulous architecture of the manor in disinterest, the girl’s lively rambles buzzing about and filtering through your previously vacant ears.  She soon had led you into the warmth of the building, a creeping feeling overtaking you as she tugged you towards the dining hall, where she said the others were waiting.  Your hands tightened around your skirt pocket, where the letter that brought you to this place was secured.  It had promised a large sum of money for your participation in some sort of “game”, of which the details were not included.  You, however, blindly jumped at the opportunity.  Lack of a spouse and job had left you nearly homeless, and you had become tired of being a scavenger, tired of having your life depend on whether or not an inn had vacancies.  So, the idea of a huge cash prize was everything to you.  

You remembered clearly the moment when you had been pulled into the dining room and hurriedly introduced by an overly excited Emma, the sea of survivors greeting you with looks varying from boredom to contempt.  One person, however, stood out to you as they looked on with an expression of interest, cold grey eyes analyzing your features and brows drawing together in thought.  You returned his stare, not as a challenge but simply out of curiosity.  Upon realizing that you were looking at him as well, he turned away from you, gently tucking the hem of his mask further over his thin nose.

A peculiar one, Aesop was.  He never did grow less reticent during your time together, always staying serious and stone-faced, yet easy to fluster.  A few survivors took advantage of his frightful nature, but most were too afraid of the embalmer to even spare a glance in his direction.

Which, he supposes, is where his infatuation with you began.  You were like him, in a way.  Generally avoided by most, with the exception of a few more social survivors, such as Kevin and Emma.  Luca, it seemed, had also taken a liking to you, and often would drag you along to keep him company.  Those were the times that Aesop hated the most.  He never minded much when Kevin would flirt, or when Emma would insist on you helping her with her gardening, because he knew that these were just patterns of behavior, and nothing personal.  Luca, however, was hard to read.  He was extroverted, yet private, and tried as he did, Aesop was never able to figure him out.  His motives were too jumbled to understand, his words always far too fast and convoluted.  And the amount of attention you seemed to divert to the young inventor was more than enough to bring forth the feelings of jealousy and disdain that seemed to occupy Aesop whenever someone spoke of or interacted with you.  

Despite these odd feelings, Aesop was disgusted by you.  The living repulsed him, and you weren’t supposed to be an exception to this rule.  He would hold back a flinch each time that you would breathe, the motion of your chest rising filling him with contempt both for you and himself.  He hated that he was so attached to a living thing such as you.  

You would be so much better off dead.  So much prettier with your eyes permanently closed, the gentle flush that usually occupied your cheeks drawn out from your skin.  

He knew that he had to resist these temptations of seeing you lifeless.  Aesop was a calculated man, but he seemed to have much less control when it came to you.  So, he decided that it would do him well to attempt to act as one usually would, and for a time he tried to fit himself into the social structure of the manor, at least more so than he usually did.

He tried to grow closer to you as someone usually would.  The male would dedicate part of his day to attempting to be social with you, although this usually just meant that he would sit near you in the library or join you by the fireplace.  Little to no words were exchanged between the two of you, and yet, he could not have wished for anything more.  During the time he spent with you, he was able to observe, able to familiarize himself with your behavior, your quirks, and your patterns.  He found immense satisfaction in watching as your expression would change as you read, taking great joy in the way that your brows would cinch together every so often.  Not to mention your other more intimate expressions.  It almost felt orgasmic to the male whenever the most lithe of smiles would spread across your cheeks.  Sometimes he would grow flustered just thinking about the gentle curve of your lips, or the way your tongue would protrude slightly in an ever so innocent way when you would grace him with that kind smile of yours.

This was enough to keep him content for a long time, but at some point, that changed.  He grew bored of just watching you, and longed for more.  He wished to feel you against him, to feel your steady breaths reverberate against his ribs.  He wanted to experience the sensation of you quivering against him, wanted to caress and tug your hair, wanted to wrap his hands around your pretty little neck and squeeze until you were begging and gasping for air.  He wanted to make it so you were completely at his mercy.

Unable to refuse him.  

Helpless.

But still he continued watching you, without your knowledge, of course.  He familiarized himself with your schedule, and found that Tuesdays were the days you were most often matched, while Sundays you always kept to yourself, not even sparing a glance at other survivors unless it’s warranted.  

Sunday was Aesop’s favorite day.  Sunday meant that he could observe you without being bothered or eavesdropped on himself, it meant that he could watch over you in an environment where pests, such as the likes of Luca and Emma, weren’t constantly flitting about you.  

Today was a Sunday, and Aesop was planning something special for you.

A bundle of storm clouds had gathered atop the manor. Rain had already drenched the wooden exterior of the building, and was now continuously pelting against the many window panes.  The sound of the storm resounded through the manor in a way that was reminiscent of a hum.  You presently were sitting inside of your room, clothed in a silk nightdress that was gifted to you by Miss Nightingale.  You didn’t have many proper clothes upon your arrival at the manor, neither had most other of the participants.  The majority of your wardrobe was provided for you by the woman herself, whom you had never seen.  

The dress itself was rather comfortable, and draped nicely over your body.  It reached the floor, the ruffled trim on it brushing against your feet periodically.  You had laid yourself across your bed, pulling the blankets adorning it up to your chest and drawing the bed curtains closed.  A book sat beside you on your bedside table, and yet you couldn’t be bothered with reading it.  You were too occupied with watching the rain outside, memorizing the patterns of the water as it fell down and clambered against the manor.  

A knock at the door brought you out of your dazed state.  You waited for a voice to precede the sound, but nothing came, and so you rose from your bed, reluctantly moving out from under the bundle of blankets and grabbing a dressing robe from your armoire.  You pulled it on, walking tiredly towards the door with an unconcerned expression and grasping the brass handle, pulling the hatch open to reveal the delicate frame of a man before you.

Aesop stood outside of your doorway, grasping his embalming kit and standing stock still, as though someone had forced a pole up his back.  

“Mr. Carl..” You said, voice breathy and calm as you pulled your robe further over your exposed clavicle.  He offered a curt nod in return, acknowledging you with a blink.  You noticed how his hands were shaking, quivering around the handle of his kit as he stood in front of you, his fingers obviously clamming up.  Perhaps he was nervous?  “Do you need something?”

He looked up at you with a frightened expression, and you were worried that you had said the wrong thing.  He looked back down, turning from your skeptical eyes and nodding profusely.

“Y-Y/n,” he began, gaze still casted downwards. “Would you mind...a-accompanying me to my room?  Th-There’s a bird that flew in, and I don’t know what to do about the thing.”  His voice shook as he spoke.  

You squinted at him.  It was raining outside.  Why had he propped open his window?  Why would he ask you for help?  Emma and Eli were both much more comfortable with animals than you, and the latter especially had a talent with birds.

“Do you want me to get Eli?  He’s much better with things like that,” you offered, your voice skeptical.  

He finally looked up to meet your eyes, his pupils dilating slightly.  

“No, I’d- I’d rather have you.  Help me, I mean,” he finished awkwardly.

You turned over his question in your mind, surveying the man’s frail appearance.  Aesop had never talked to you much, but you supposed he did have a habit of staying around you.  Sometimes you would find him following you places, and he never seemed to be more than a room away from you.  You knew very well the male’s nervous tendencies, as well as his difficulty with interacting with others.  Part of you felt sympathetic for him, but your place in the manor’s social structure wasn’t much different than his.  Still, you felt obligated to help him.  Not many other survivors, or hunters for that matter, acted too kindly towards Aesop.  If he had worked up the courage to ask you something, you might as well comply with his wishes.  He never asked much of anyone, so you supposed it was a rare occasion that you should indulge.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly.  He looked up at you, his eyes the most telling they had ever been.  His grey irises swirled with probably the closest thing to joy you had ever seen him express, mixed with a bit of shock.  You supposed the second part was warranted.  You weren’t particularly one for helping others around the manor, especially because of how selfish and cruel many of the survivors were.  You sure as hell weren’t going to help Freddy if all he would do is be stingy towards you, neither would you help Naib, who would just yell at you if you tried to assist him.  You couldn’t be too upset with him for his reactions, though.  You supposed you would do the same.  Your life before the manor, which was generally spent in poverty and isolation, had bestowed upon you the gift of independence, as well as a lack of selflessness.  You saw this as good.  Why help others if they have nothing to offer to you?  

You were only helping Aesop because...well...you supposed you enjoyed his company, however solitary the time you spent together would be.  And you supposed he had never asked for anything before…

And so you were off, following Aesop down the winding hallways of the manor.  He led you through sets of doors, each strikingly similar and equally as eerie as the next.  The clothed floor creaked beneath you as you walked, carpet growing indents in it each time either of you would take a step.  

After what felt like an eternity filled with nothing more than the sound of monotonous footsteps, you reached what you presumed to be the embalmer’s door.  It was a tall door, one that was crafted from mahogany and glazed to be a darker, more sultry color.  He hesitantly turned to face you, an unsure expression on his face as he gazed at you with distrust.  

“I…” He began, only to leave his sentence hanging.  

“You wanted me to shoo away the bird, right?”

Aesop tried not to panic as he looked at you.

Vulnerable you.

Standing outside of his room.

Once you were within the confines of his abode, he could do whatever he wished to you.  You were going to look so wonderful dead.

He wrapped a milky hand around the doorknob, pulling it open and letting you into his room.  He watched you with narrowed eyes as you walked through, observing your surroundings with a sort of careful skepticism.

You had a distinct feeling that something was wrong.  Aesop never allowed anyone into his quarters.  He never even let anyone see inside of his embalming kit.  He was excessively private.  This was strange.  And the feeling of eyes burning into your back was not helping with your nerves.

“Mr. C-Carl,” you said, shifting to face him.  “Where was the bird?”  Your words knocked him out of his unconscious stupor, and he shut his door behind him before pointing to a place near his clothing chest.  You turned around, walking towards it as he discreetly locked the door behind him.  

He watched you intently as you bent over, looking carefully through his meticulously organized room with part curiosity and part concern.  

“Aesop,” he corrected, his voice barely a whisper.  

You hummed in confusion, looking back to face him.  

“My name...please don’t be so formal.”  

Your eyes betrayed you as utter confusion seeped through your pupils.  Aesop had always been one for formalities, and he had always been perhaps the strictest about respect out of the group.  Only a few survivors called him by his first name, all of which did so without his permission.  This wasn’t like him.

By now you were certain that something was wrong.  However, you just nodded compliantly, still foolishly putting your trust in the male and shoving your suspicions down.  He was probably just trying to be nice.  

You breathed in a sigh, turning back to to corner and continuing to look for the bird.  There were no signs of one, and you grew increasingly irritated at the male for calling you as you came to the realization that there was probably no such thing in the first place.  Bringing a finger up to your temple, you muttered out once more.  

“Mr. Car-”  

“I told you to refer to me as Aesop.”

You felt a deep presence take its place near you as you stood stock still, the clarity of the young embalmer’s voice indicating that he was directly behind you.  Lurching upwards, you whipped around, an unintentionally accusatory expression on your face.  

“Please don’t...be so close to me.  I-  Why are you..” You couldn’t even finish your sentence, your discombobulated words drying up as he leaned into you, moving his face down to meet yours as you looked on with discomfort and shifted away from him as far as you could.  He just hummed in satisfaction, eyes narrowing as he observed the power he currently held over you, how you were bending away at the mere prospect of his touch.  Anyone else might have found this hurtful, but your actions just submerged Aesop into an unmistakable feeling of power, one that he faintly remembered from his time before the manor when he was still working as an apprentice.

He carefully reached out a hand, feelings of longing spreading through his fingertips as he drew them close to your face.  A slender digit traced up to your hairline, shifting some stray hairs aside.  You stood there, quivering.  

This was uncomfortable.  You had to go.  Even Aesop must know that this wasn’t normal.  Your eyes darted across the four walls of his room before falling on the door.  You spared him one more shaking glance before pushing him away from you, shoving the male to the side and sprinting towards your only viable exit.  You heard him stumble a bit behind you, the satisfaction of having stunned him motivating you to move faster.  You grasped a hand out, searching blindly for the doorknob in a less than futile attempt to let yourself out of the room.  You grabbed a hold of it, shaking wildly when it failed to click open.  

An unforeseen force grasped you by the back of your collar, pulling you backwards and eliciting a few chokes from you.  Your body collided with something soft behind you, the slim torso of the embalmer pressing up against yours in an uncomfortably heated manner.  His breathing was thick and shallow, as though he were struggling for air as he grasped you within his horribly depraved hands.  His arm slid around your middle, pulling you further into him as he breathed down your neck, heavy sighs falling against your skin and creating a sensation of chills within your shoulders.  

“Don’t run,” he said between heavy breaths, voice shaky and thick with something akin to arousal.  

Without warning, you were shoved against the cold wood of his desk, head banging against the surface as he wrapped his hands around your throat, his movements sharp and concise.  You yelped, only for the sound to come out as a series of gasps due to his inhuman grip on you.  You clawed your hands against his, eyes glazing over as you fought against the male.  He refused to let up on you, his mask itching down his face and revealing a sick half smile.  

You felt as though you were about to die. Correction: you were going to die.  But you were nothing if not a fighter.  You kicked your steadily numbing leg up, your unclothed foot colliding with his stomach.  He grimaced, his grip loosening noticeably for what must have been less than a second.  This moment, however, was enough to give you just the slightest bit of hope, and so you kept struggling. If he was going to kill you, you should at least like to go out fighting.  

A flash of clarity came to you as you shoved your hands towards his face, aiming for his eyes as your outstretched fingers came into contact with the male’s milky flesh.  He threw himself backwards, retracting his hands and hissing as he shaded his face from further assault.  

You took off, sprinting wildly towards the door and stumbling over your own feet as you tumbled away from your attacker, lunging once more and outstretching your hand.  Taking heed of your previous mistakes, your fingers slipped around the lock, releasing it before pulling the door open.  The hallway never had looked so inviting before as you jumped out into it, forcing yourself through the doorway and out into the hallway and screaming for someone to help and…

And no sound came from your lips.  In one swift motion, Aesop grabbed you back, his grip on your midsection suffocating.  He kicked the door closed, wrapping his arm around your chin in order to muffle the cries that were threatening to spill out of your mouth.  You kicked and struggled as he once again pulled you backwards, keeping one arm wrapped around your waist as he reached into the pocket of his jacket.  

“I wanted to try and make this as painless for you as I could, darling.  However, it appears that tried methods always work the best.  Choking is far too messy of death anyways, isn’t it?  I want the beginning of your new life with me to be as clean as possible, I want it to be something befitting of a person like you.”  You stopped moving, freezing up as he spoke out the word death.  “It’s a good thing I prepared for this, hm?”

You craned your head towards his mobile hand, spotting a syringe filled with a milky substance, the tip of it dripping slightly as he pushed the plunger forward and tested the liquid.  

“What?-”  You managed to spit out, gasping as you pulled against his restricting arm with all your worth.  

“Pancuronium bromide,” the male said, addressing your unspoken query.  “It’s a serum used in lethal injection.  It should be relatively painless, well- as painless as death can be.”  His voice was confident, firmer than you had ever heard it.  It was terrifying, how quickly he had switched from his customary anxious demeanor to this cold, almost professional persona.  

“No, Aesop please think about this!  I’ll- I don’t know what you want, money, or- or information or sex- but I’ll give it to you, please we can work this out, I just- Mr. Carl please!”

He paused before answering, his grip tightening even more as he began to speak.  “My love.  My beautiful, exquisite gem, my precious doll.  You really do not understand, do you?  This is the only way we can truly be together.  I cannot bear to be without you any longer, I can’t stand being without your presence.  Of course, the likes of you wouldn’t spend time with someone such as myself, so you must understand that this is just me ensuring that we can stay together, forever.”  He halted, letting his words hang heavy in the air. “I’m doing this because I love you.  This pain will be temporary, but my affections for you won’t ever let up.  I’ve never had even a concept of what love should be, but you’ve helped me to see that this is what it is, and you are the person who I have chosen to spend the rest of my time with.”  His voice grew gentler as he spoke, his tone reverent as he held you.  You grew numb at his words.  He truly was messed up, in more ways than one.  What he was describing was not love, it was obsession.  It was a cruel infatuation, one that, for some reason, had led to him feeling the need to kill you.  

“Aesop.  I- I promise I’ll be with you.  I- I love you!  I do..and I will continue to do so, but you must let me live.  I beg this of you, I just wish to spend time with you, I truly am o-obsessed with you, Mr. Carl.”  You felt him freeze up behind you at your feigned confession.  The promise of your affections had to be enough to convince him to not kill you, you were going to make sure of it.  No matter what, you were going to make it away from the embalmer, alive.  You would try anything, and eventually you would be-

“Doll,”  He began, his arm resuming its suffocating grip on your torso, the sudden pressure enough to make you draw your breath in as you fought for air.  “Please don’t be so formal.  I told you to call me Aesop”

A sharp pain spread through your neck, the feeling of a needle plunging into your skin barely registering in your mind as he held you, a low hum falling from his mouth as he held your quivering self.  He drained the syringe of the substance, pushing it further into your vein as he gazed down on you with eyes full of concentrated adoration.  He had killed before, but nothing had ever felt as satisfying as gripping your twitching body, holding onto your vulnerable form as the fluid began to spread through your bloodstream.  You shook against him as he laid you on his bed, silken sheets coming up to caress your steadily paling face.  

Nimble fingers removed the syringe, wiping the needle with a nearby cloth before setting both upon a bedside table.  His silver eyes drank in your form, pupils dilated as he ran his gaze over the red marks on your neck.  He couldn’t manage to resist a final temptation of his, reaching his hands out once more and wrapping them on top of the strips of pink skin.  He knew that the bromide would be enough to kill you, but he couldn’t deny that there was something satisfying about the power he felt as he had choked you before.  As so he gazed down at you, now too weak to struggle against his hold.  

His grip was what finally pushed you over the edge.  A deep breath reverberated through your lungs right as the life finally faded from your eyes, pupils glazing over and cornea becoming cloudy as you gazed forward with a sort of inanimate poise.  You were still, completely still.

Aesop was right.

You did look beautiful dead.

He kept his eyes on you, gazing at you distrustingly as he retrieved his embalming case, as though he was expecting you to spring back to life.  

He set it down beside you before moving your limp legs onto the bed, your body significantly heavier than it was before.  Such was one of the physical tolls of death.  

Hands subconsciously reached for a needle and thread, used normally for repairing ripped clothes and garments before burials.  It held a different purpose for you, though.  You were special, a newly immortalized doll, and one that should be treated as such.  He threaded the needle, gripping it between careful fingers before carefully lifting your eyelid and plunging it within the flesh that lay there.  He slowly sewed it to your bottom lid, a bit of blood spurting out, which he quickly wiped away with a previously pristine white cloth.  He moved on to your other eyes, repeating his same meticulous process.  A finger traced over your stitches, caressing them with a sort of gentleness that could only occupy one such as Aesop. He took another glance at your features, deciding that you needed to look at least a bit more lifelike.  Aesop hated the living, but he supposed you had always given him pleasure while alive.  He wanted to preserve his feelings, no matter what.  He plucked the corners of your mouth up into a smile before threading the string through your lips and cheeks, forcing your features into a permanent simper.  He tied off the string, appeased by the doll-like appearance that the stitches gave you.  He took out some blush, methodically spreading it upon your blanched cheeks and up near your nose, returning a bit of life into your body.  Your robe was soon pulled open, leaving you in only your nightgown.  You looked so soft, so vulnerable.  Aesop was pleased.

He caressed his hand against your cheeks before bending beneath his bed, drawing out an elongated wooden box that lay there.  He opened the top, revealing the plush white surface of the surrogate coffin.  He pushed himself up, more careful than ever as he placed you within the tomb, manually wrapping your hands over your chest.  You looked so peaceful, so utterly perfect, and you were going to stay as such.

Now you two would be bound forever, with him as your owner and you as his loving doll.  Such a relationship was born out of his pure love for you, his unadulterated affection that no one, not even yourself, could hinder for any longer.  This was a safer and more thorough solution, not to mention more desirable for Aesop.

He despised the living.

And so here you were, perfectly preserved for him.  

[asstronauts]

Alphabet Soup

rating: t word count: 1.7k pairing: jemily summary: perhaps love is in the little moments more than the grand gestures. 26 times (among many) that JJ and Emily fall a little bit more in love with each other in the everyday, smaller moments.

read on ao3, if you’d prefer

---

A - alphabet soup

JJ bought cans of alphabet soup for the boys when Michael first began to read, but Emily quickly found it much more entertaining to spell out words like "boob" or "ass" or "sex?" punctuated with a poorly modified capital P in place of a question mark. JJ had to shut it down when Michael asked what a "tit" was, and Emily panicked and mumbled something about birds.

B - bedtime

They would often unwind by reading before bedtime, and JJ found that Emily read through many foreign literature books. The nights she would fall asleep to Emily stroking her hair and reading aloud in words she didn't understand were the nights she felt most rested.

C - constellations

It was clear that Emily didn't actually know any constellations besides the Big Dipper and Orion. But when she laid on the grass with Henry and Michael, she made up stories in the stars about great heroes and the adventures they went on, and the boys fell in love with the night sky.

D - driving

JJ insisted on driving everywhere without the help of smartphone maps, which had gotten them lost on several occasions. Somehow it felt alright, when she had one hand on the wheel and one hand on Emily's leg, the windows were down, and her hair was streaming in the wind and reflecting the setting sun. Somehow it felt alright to be lost with her.

E - errands

For whatever reason, JJ made running any errand seem like immense fun. Buying groceries, getting gas, even sending a letter felt like an adventure when she was there. They'd only gotten kicked out of one grocery store — when JJ had knocked over an entire display stand of candy bars after running and jumping onto a shopping cart. They didn't regret anything.

F - forehead kiss

JJ wasn't that much shorter than Emily, but when the brunette pressed her lips to her girlfriend's forehead, JJ would feel the need to bury her face in Emily's neck to hide her blushing cheeks.

G - graveyard

On that day, JJ just needed space. So Emily took her to the flower shop the day before and drove her to the cemetery that morning and left her alone until she was ready. In the evening, they didn't speak, just laid with one another on the couch until JJ fell asleep in her arms.

H - horror movie

It was a cheap jump scare, but it made JJ scream out and grab Emily's arm, prompting the older woman to laugh at her. JJ responded with a playful slap, and Emily had to kiss her to reaffirm her love. They didn't finish the movie.

I - ice cream

On a day off, Emily took the boys to get ice cream, and when they came home raving about how Emily had managed to stack five ice cream scoops on top of a single cone, JJ knew she was with the right woman.

J - jaw

Emily's knees grew weak whenever JJ kissed up her jaw and whispered in her ear. Her girlfriend caught on and loved messing with her, working her up into a complete frenzy, then saying the most unsexy thing she could think of. Emily hated it, but she also couldn’t help but to collapse into a fit of giggles when JJ planted kisses all up the side of her face and whispered something like "corned beef" in a seductive voice.

K - kitchen

JJ would use every kitchen utensil as a musical instrument during any spare moment in cooking — while the food was cooking, while the water boiled, while the oven was preheating. She would sing into a wooden spoon and shove it into Emily's face to finish the lyric, and the two would dance in each others' arms all throughout the kitchen.

L - letters

When Emily spent her time in Paris and London, she and JJ wrote each other scores of letters the times they weren't together. They'd both filled up an entire box of papers and knickknacks until they were reunited. Even after, JJ would sometimes write a letter addressed to Emily, drop it into the mailbox and tell Emily to check the mail, for no reason except to make her smile.

M - mugs

JJ had an entire cupboard dedicated to mugs for her tea, which Emily could never understand because she only seemed to ever use two of them: one being a lumpy mug Henry had made in a pottery store and the other being a Valentine’s Day gift from Emily with lovely ceramic boobs protruding from the mug’s body.

N - notes

Emily bought a massive pack of post-its and began leaving notes for JJ around work, bringing a smile to her face every time she found a little colorful message. Some were encouraging — you can do it, you light up my world, you're amazing. Some were cheesy — i love you, je t’aime, when you see this blow me a kiss. And some were...questionable — JJ had to hide the extremely accurate (and well-annotated!) drawing of her naked body before Hotch saw.

O - omelette

Most of the time, Emily couldn't cook without the risk of burning the house down, but for some reason, she made the most scrumptious omelette. Despite not knowing how to cook scrambled or fried or boiled eggs, Emily's omelettes were always perfectly cooked, with an impeccable ratio of egg to filling. JJ tried everything she could to make them the same way, but the boys always preferred Emily's omelettes on Sunday mornings. JJ wondered if it was something she learned during her time in Paris.

P - plants

Before JJ, Emily had never been very good at taking care of plants. They seemed to die with little to no warning. But JJ had taught her well, making little plant calendars and teaching her signs to watch out for, and one morning, JJ caught her talking to one of the plants. As she listened more carefully, she heard that Emily was talking to each plant in a different language — according to the plant’s country of origin.

Q - quiet

The moments after the boys were put to bed were some of the only moments of quiet JJ and Emily got alone during the day. No matter how busy or tired they were, they always intentionally took a few moments to just quietly be with one another, curled up in the other's arms, lying in the other's lap, or simply sitting side by side.

R - rain

They'd gotten caught in the storm on the way back to the office from lunch. Despite JJ’s coat held up above them, the pair was getting drenched anyway, and they gave up and decided to make out in the rain instead. They swung their hands back and forth as they splashed over to the BAU, arriving soaked to the bone but elated, as Hotch shook his head at their sodden clothing and dopey grins.

S - Sergio

Emily had arrived home early and found JJ dancing in the hallway with Sergio to "Can't Stop the Feeling" blasting on the bluetooth speaker. She lifted her ban on Justin Timberlake that day, which had previously been in place when in a moment of weakness, JJ had declared she would choose him over Emily if given the chance. (She’d taken it back for Emily's sake, but deep down she couldn't really decide.)

T - thermostat

JJ liked the thermostat to be set at no lower than 77 degrees, while Emily loved the room as cold as possible. The first few months that they lived together was a horrible battle of constantly changing from one drastic temperature to the next, before JJ finally agreed to keeping the temperature low as long as Emily agreed to cuddle with her any time she got cold. Emily did not, however, realize that this compromise extended to the workplace, where JJ would sporadically ask for cuddles throughout the day, and Emily would have to comply.

U - ugly pajamas

Emily loved her ugly pajama sets. One of her favorites was a bright green Grinch onesie in a ridiculous Christmas sweater. JJ hated it until Emily showed it to the boys, and Michael howled with laughter and asked for one for himself. From that day forward, Emily bought her ugly pajamas in full family sets, including accompanying costumes for Sergio.

V - vanilla

Emily didn’t quite mind JJ’s early morning jogs because her favorite moments were when JJ came home after, took a shower, and climbed back into bed to give Emily a warm embrace, flooding her senses with the smell of vanilla shampoo. Emily would roll over to nuzzle her head in the crook of JJ’s neck and plant soft kisses there, breathing in her favorite scent.

W - wine

Emily drank red, JJ drank white. And Henry and Michael loved to join in, pretending to be adults by sipping grape juice from their colorful cups. Perhaps their family had unconventional tea parties, but at least they always had massive amounts of fun doing family activities tipsy. These were the nights when it was almost difficult to tell the difference between Michael and Emily’s coloring pages.

X - X-Files

JJ didn’t fully understand Emily’s deep obsession with The X-Files, but after Emily convinced her that she wasn’t only watching for Gillian Anderson, the younger woman began finding the long rambles and discussions of extraterrestrial life more endearing and interesting.

Y - yarn

JJ really wanted to get the hang of knitting and give something special to the boys, but Emily kept distracting her. Any chance she got, Emily would hold the yarn balls to her chest as fake boobs, use threads of yarn as mustaches, and drum the knitting needles against any surface. It wasn’t that JJ couldn't finish her projects out of annoyance — it was that JJ couldn’t help but laugh and find her girlfriend irresistible, forcing her to set aside her work and wrap herself up instead in the brunette’s embrace.

Z - zoo

It was Emily's explosive childlike joy when she had seen the dolphins. She claimed it was for the boys’ sakes, but JJ had noticed the pure excitement in her eyes when they saw the sign and felt the way Emily had tugged on her wrist to rush to the stadium and grab seats right in the splash zone. And in the screams of laughter and the moment when both Henry and Michael clutched at Emily when the water washed over them, JJ knew she wanted to spend the rest of her life with this woman.

[beautifullybrokendisgrace]

Dedicated Service

She kneeled in front of him and his fingers tangled in her hair as he guided her mouth onto his cock. She took him in and out with a consistent pace savoring the feeling of his vein marked shaft against her lips and tongue. The head of his cock grazed the back of her throat and occasionally he’d hold her head in place until she made the agreed upon gesture requesting to breathe normally again. The pleasure she could provide him with her mouth brought her immense joy and honestly, made her quite excited. Often, as she knelt before him, knees spread to the required amount, he’d position his foot in front of her pussy and relish the warmth that radiated from between her legs. Today, however, in light of new company, he decided he would determine just how much joy servicing his cock gave her. He had remained somewhat clothed with his pants now around his ankles and his black boots still on. He made the necessary shifts of posture and raised the toe of his boot into her cunt and instantly discovered how wet she was from the massive moisture shining in the light. This of course making her feel like his used property only causing her to ache more and release more self-lubrication.

Not only did he gauge her excitement differently, today was a very important day. Today he decided to introduce his property, Blue, to his wife. She agreed to him keeping her but wanted little, if nothing, to do with the ordeal until she was ready. Today she was ready, or so she thought. She sat and watched as his property serviced his throbbing cock. She watched as he’d toss his head back in the throes of pleasure but control himself just enough to prolong it all and not cum. His blonde haired, blue eyed property felt powerful as each second passed and proof of impending release hit her tongue in the form of precum. His wife left alone on the edge of the chaise lounge found herself with skirt hiked and fingers in her own pussy. Blue knew she was the only one that could bring him the pleasure he craved and needed. He looked at his wife and asked bluntly “do you enjoy watching another woman give me what I need?” Her eyes fell a bit as she shook her head and began to touch herself more intensely, surprising even herself.

He pulled his cock from Blue’s mouth, and for a second she forgot the rules and closed it, attempting to rest her jaw. He slapped her cheeks and simply said “open.” She obeyed quickly and looked up at him longingly. He slapped her cheeks again, harder than before and though her mouth was agape, the corners of her lips still managed to upturn in a smile. He spit onto her face and into her mouth as he shoved his fingers down her throat. Her eyes began to water but she began sucking on them and greedily accepting the assault as she began to gag on the accumulating saliva. He looked down into her blue eyes, his favorite thing about her and her namesake, and smiled so devilishly. He withdrew his fingers from her mouth and slapped her cheeks, harder still, and positioned himself in front of her again. “Make me cum my little whore; show the wife how only you can give me what I desire.” She welled with pride and ravenously took his cock into her mouth once more and sucked, licked, and deepthroated every inch of him. She could tell he was getting close and felt him take control of her head and the pace once again. She relaxed as he began to fuck her mouth rougher than before, groaning with pleasure and shouting how good his whore’s mouth felt. How much he enjoyed fucking her willing mouth and using her body as he pleased.

As he grew closer to release he told her “you will take every drop, I will not pull out of your mouth until you have drained my cock of every ounce of cum. Do you understand?” She shook her head up and down but he immediately admonished this and said “no, tell me the right way even with my cock in your mouth!” She blurted out a muffled “yes sir” as he continued to fuck her mouth. This time he firmly grabbed the sides of her head and spilled him cum into her throat. His last instructions for the evening he gave while staring into his wife’s brown eyes….”make yourself cum like a whore on my boot, show me how desperate you are to make me happy. Show me your dedicated service.”

[toloveawarlord]

What Once Was (Pt. 3) Black Army

You can find my masterlist in my bio!

Oh look. more angst!

Tagging those who had asked before: @plumpblueberry​ @jennacat84​ @otomarichan​ @otomegamesaremydrug​ @ikemenprincessnaga​

Please let me know if you ever want to be taken off or put on the tag list! ^_^

Blue eyes scanned the contents of the letter with very few words scribbled across it. Handwriting so familiar, now scratched into the parchment with incredible anger. The tip of the quill left multiple punctures. Hurt, guilt, remorse. She knew Ray to be protective of his friends, and this betrayal had rattled him.

The carriage jolted beneath her, signaling the change in roads. She’d entered Black Territory. The rumbling of the wheels across the cobblestones, like the prelude to an execution, the guilty party on a journey to their end.

If you want your things, come and collect them yourself. -King of Spades

The letter had arrived early in the morning, before the sun had even risen over the horizon. Emery found it too hard to sleep. Even Jonah’s comforting arms and gentle touch couldn’t take away the nightmares that plagued her mind. Each time her eyes closed, Luka’s image came, his features bearing all the pain she’d given him.

Instead of sleeping, she wandered the halls of the Red Army, out to the training grounds for fresh air, and then settled into the darkened kitchen to sip on tea meant to calm her nerves. It only scorched her throat as she didn’t wait for it cool. The burning barely registered, tolerable to the ache within her soul.

Emery hadn’t heard the first few times that the soldier had called her name, gaze fixed on the steam rising from her cup. It came so early in the morning that it showed that Ray had lost sleep over her betrayal as well. For him to send her this...

The carriage stilled. She'd arrived at her destination. No one waited for her at the gate, save for the soldiers standing guard that refused to look her way, yet couldn't manage to remove the sour expressions from their features.

Only her steps echoed down the empty hallway. Most of the Black Army still asleep at this hour. Memories flooded back, of stolen kisses in this exact place. Loving hands tangled in black locks, attached at the lips. Hushed laughter, amber eyes filled with nothing but adoration for her.

Her bedroom a place where the two spent many nights almost making it past each other’s clothes. Neither complaining when it still didn’t feel quite right, content in simply having the other in their arms.

Had it been enough?

As Emery gathered the items that she cared to take with her, that one question plagued her mind. Her days in the Black Army spent with a smile and constant laughter.

One box was all she could take. Nothing that had been given to her by the residents of this army couldn’t be taken. It certainly didn’t feel right. Gifts that represented their affection for the girl they’d taken in after she’d lost her job at the Civic Center. It had been by Luka’s suggestion that the Black Army had taken her on to assist with office work.

Tracing her free hand over the wooden door, she desperately wanted to open it.

“He ain’t in there.” 

Letting her arm fall, Emery dropped her gaze, only turning her head enough to get a glimpse of the Ace leaning against the wall. “I know.”

Fenrir flashed her a smile, too kind for what she’d done. “Ray wants to see ya before you go.” Her wincing and shoulders dropping brought a soft laugh from his lips. “Don’t be so scared. I ain’t mad at ya.”

“You should be.” She knew the Godspeed to be much too giving and forgiving to those around him. It would be better for him to be angry with her.

He slung his arm around her shoulder, guiding her around. “Not my style.” He’d grown to love her like a sister and seeing her hurt did not bring him any joy.

In the office, Ray sat behind the large desk, flanked on either side by Sirius and Seth. All three wore matching frowns on their features. The silence hanging in the air thick with tension.

“Are you happy?”

Emery blinked, not expecting that to be the question.

“It’s a simple question, Em. Yes or No?” Ray rested his folded, gloved hands on the desk. He refused to explain. No one else spoke up. They waited for whatever answer that would leave her lips.

How was she meant to answer? Blue eyes fell to stare at her own feet. No right words came to mind. Her heart leapt in her chest as his fist hit the desk so hard that it might have shattered under the King’s force. It rattled through her body.

Ray called for her attention. Demanded her to raise her gaze to look him in the eyes. Though he repeated her name again, and again. The words he did not say rang louder, further pressing his question into her mind.

Are you happy that you broke Luka’s heart? Happy that you found love in your disloyalty to him?

Or are you not happy because your deceit has been laid out in this room?

The truth. For once tell the truth!

Hands clenched with her nails digging into her palms to keep the sobs from breaking out of her chest, Emery stole a quick glance up from under her lashes. The King of Spades regarding her as the traitor that she was. Words refused to be spoken. Mouth dry and body tense, as if wound up in a coil that threatened to crush her entire being.

The chair scraped as Ray stood, leaving the desk behind to claim the answer he needed to hear. In the year that she had lived at headquarters, the woman had become one of their family members. He needed to know the truth, despite being fully aware that he would dislike it.

Each step backwards chased perfectly by the King until her back firmly hit the wall, sealing her fate. Nowhere to run. Emery tried to swallow down the lump in her throat. Their noses nearly touched, keeping her eyes up and her field of vision only filled with striking green irises, brimming with conflicting anger and the desire to understand her actions.

“How long has this been going on?” Ray switched topics, gloved fingers digging down into her shoulders, unintentionally harder than intended.

Her teeth sunk down into her bottom lip. Memories of spending days in Central Quarter with Jonah flooded back to her: sitting by the fountain feigning an injury in order to get his attention, teasing him while eating at a cafe in a hidden booth to see the hint of blush on his cheeks creep up to the tips of his ears, helping him understand the civilians and bridge the gap between citizen and officer.

Her heart swelled at those blissful times, an equal amount of happiness and heartbreak. She wouldn’t trade those days for anything, and that very fact left an ache within her. “Six months or maybe more-” She couldn’t pinpoint when Jonah had become so precious to her, but speaking it aloud sounded atrocious, admitting how long she had been straying from Luka to his own brother.

“I don’t understand, Emery!” Seth’s shrill voice cut through the room as if he’d wielded his dagger to sit at her throat and demanded her attention. Despite the animatedly shocked expression on his features, his eyes were void of any sympathy. “How could you do this to sweet Luka! He adored you!”

Adored.

Another deep cut. The officers were in possession of a nine-tail whip and each accusation stung like a lash to her body.

Friends, her friends. Ones that Emery had considered family, now brutally scorned her like a stranger. She couldn’t blame them. It was only fair to lay blame with guilty. That, she could accept. Yet, it hardly dulled the pain.

Sirius put his hand on Seth’s shoulder to calm him. “It takes two for this happen. Though, I can hardly imagine the Queen of Hearts willingly causing harm to Luka.”

It did not need to be said. Jonah’s adoration and love for his younger brother was known by all. No reasonable individual would think he’d commit this kind of act, making it clear that the older Clemence had no knowledge of her and Luka.

Still, Emery forced the words out of her mouth. “He doesn’t know. I never told him that Luka and I were... involved. I told Jonah that I moved to Black Territory but that was the extent of it.”

She’d created a wall between her life here at headquarters and her life with Jonah at her side. What had been two separate lives now crumbled around with the truth of her choices. A barrier that she had put up yet told none about. Thick with unintentional lies and deception.

“I believe you.” Ray stepped back enough to reach out and turn the knob of the door. His gaze falling away with a breathy sigh. “It’s best for everyone if you don’t return here.”

Ties cut with one sharp sentence. His words may have been interpreted as the army base. Most would have seen it that way. But, the disapproval in his eyes said the entire territory. No longer would she be welcome in the place under the King of Spades protection.

Emery gave a nod, voice unable to leave her throat. Mechanical movements drove her body to move, downcast gaze unable to take the despondent expressions of the ones around her. Like moving through tar, she trudged down the familiar hallway for the final time.

Fenrir fell into step beside her, carrying the box of items that she’d gathered from her old room. Comforting silence between the two until their destination had been reached. The carriage ready to carry her away. “Ya never asked where Luka is.”

Her shoulders tensed at those words. “I don’t think I have any right to.” After the immense pain she’d caused...

The Ace gave a soft hum, carefully watching the hurting woman in front of him. “Do ya love him?”

His question open, and no indication of which man he spoke of.

She knew. The topic had changed from Luka to Jonah, a curious question about her feelings. Emery wished to say no, that she equally cared for the two, making her a villain, building lies upon lies. Half-truths. But her heart answered before her mind could. “Yes, I do. So much that it hurts.”

The cobblestones caught the tears that fell from her cheeks, the imprint only lasting a moment, keeping it a secret from anyone that passed soon after.

A gentle smile spread across his lips, hands cupping her face to bring her gaze up to his. He couldn’t be angry with her for falling in love. “You should be with the one who makes you happy, Emery.” 

“He won’t forgive me. Not when he finds out about Luka.” Fear of rejection from her now fiancé brought fresh tears to her eyes. She deserved that rejection, his spiteful words of her transgressions, but her heart wished for his love.

Fenrir placed a soft kiss against her forehead. “You don’t know that. You’re worth loving, and worth the forgiveness. I promise that.”

From the window, Emery watched him fade into the distance with her old home. His words fresh in her mind, swirling around with the doubt and hatred for herself, fighting a mental battle. It was unclear which would win, love and forgiveness, or hate and pain. One thing remained constant. Jonah needed to hear the truth.

From her own mouth, it may be too late. Out of the window of the carriage, a most heart wrenching scene came into view.

Brothers bathed in the dawn light; sabers drawn.

The three tangled in a web of deception soon to be cut free.

[aion-rsa]

Community: Britta Perry Is the Worst, Which Makes Her the Best

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Sitcom characters very rarely come off of the page fully formed. Many classic (and not-so-classic) network sitcoms rely on time as an ally. Time spent with characters allows for not only an audience to get a better sense of them but also for the writers and actors to do so as well. 

Community was no exception. Each of the ensemble cast’s seven main characters (and tertiary characters like Ben Chang and Dean Craig Pelton) arrived in the pilot fundamentally unfinished. And each of them evolved over time, in some cases sharpening creator Dan Harmon and the writing staff’s original assumptions or defying them. No character, however, changed more from conception to execution over time than Britta Perry as played by Gillian Jacobs. 

Originally, Harmon designed Britta Perry simply as a romantic foil to series lead Jeff Winger. When Community first premiered in 2009, The Office was entering its sixth season and at the height of its popular appeal. In that context, perhaps bringing a sitcom to NBC without a “Jim and Pam” firmly in place felt unwise. The problem was that the “Jim” portion of that romantic duo, Jeff Winger, was richly realized (having been based on Harmon’s own experiences in community college and played by relentless charm factory Joel McHale), and the “Pam” portion, Britta Perry, was simply a Pam stand-in. 

In the first half of Community’s first season, several attempts are made to humanize Britta. In one episode, the pressure she feels as an older student in community college leads her to cheat on an exam. In another, she begins to establish her feminist profile and interest in psychology by (perhaps accurately) observing that her male friends desire to fight class bullies comes from a place of pent-up homoerotic energy. For the most part, however, Britta and her storylines exist only to complement Jeff’s. By episode seven, Britta is suddenly a part of a Jeff Winger-Michelle Slater love triangle whether she realizes it or not. 

Britta’s failure to properly evolve as a character in Community’s early episodes was significant enough that other characters on the show started to realize how…well, odd she was. In episode six, “Football, Feminism, and You,” Britta has a hard time connecting with her fellow female classmates, Annie (Allison Brie) and Shirley (Yvette Nicole Brown), because she views the time-honored tradition of visiting the bathroom as a group to be a sinister patriarchal conspiracy. 

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Earlier this year, Harmon revealed in an interview with EW that that plotline came directly from another writer on the show’s observation about just how much Britta sucked. 

“When I said, ‘What about Britta,’ [writer-producer] Hilary Winston said, ‘I don’t like her,’” Harmon said. “Listening to Hilary talk about Britta, which started with like, ‘I wouldn’t trust her if I was a woman. I understand that she means well and that she’s saying the kinds of things that you’re supposed to say as a woman, but that’s what makes me not trust her. I need a confidante behind the scenes, because the truth is, I do want to talk about shoes sometimes and I feel like she might sell me out if I did that — and I wouldn’t go pee with her.’ Stuff like that starts to dimensionalize Britta right away.”

By this point the show’s characters, writing staff, and audience had realized that there was something unlikeable about Britta. This was due to the show’s thin conceptualization of her as a character to begin with. But as we said above, time is usually on a sitcom’s side. Community had many more episodes of its first season order to tackle the issue. What’s interesting about how Community figured Britta out is not how it “fixed her” but rather how it leaned into her existing flaws.

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That anecdote about Hilary Winston not trusting Britta turned out to be a feature, not a bug for the character. A lot of Britta’s early traits – her political ideals, defiant attitude, and quick wit – were likely designed to make her appealing to both Jeff and the audience. In reality, they had the opposite effect. So the show just began to lean into those qualities as comedic fodder. Britta retained her same liberal political leanings but the show now highlighted how she had neither the courage or energy to follow through on them. She also quickly became known for accidentally ruining everything around her and snuffing out the joy from her friends’ lives.

In the season one episode “Physical Education,” Community finally provided the terminology for what would become the character’s recurring meme through six seasons of the show (and hopefully a movie). Britta is, quite simply: the worst. After discovering that Britta pronounces “bagels” as “baggels,” Ben Chang reflexively responds with “ugh, you’re the worst.” It’s a small moment to be sure, but one whose spirit Community would continue to capture with Britta time and time again.

Britta is the worst because she calls “bagels” “baggels.” She’s the worst because she ruins the reputations of all the guys she dates for Abed (Danny Pudi) and Troy (Donald Glover). She’s the worst because she insists on being nice to Troy’s awful grandma and gets the switch for her troubles. She’s the worst because engages with the least amount of civil disobedience allowed by Greendale policy. She’s the worst because she won’t buy her one-eyed cat a monocle as “that’s pretentious.” She’s the worst because she supports a lesbian student so enthusastically that she accidentally enters into a romantic relationship with her despite neither the student nor Britta being a lesbian. 

Britta is just the worst. And that makes her one of Community’s best creations. There are few examples of TV shows taking lemons and turning them into lemonade more apt or admirable than Community’s treatment of Britta. The show deserves an enormous amount of credit for realizing that it was underutilizing a comedic concept in Britta and a comedic talent in Jacobs and reversing course by leaning in to that same course.

And let’s be clear here, Gillian Jacobs deserves an immense amount of credit for taking that opportunity and running with it. Though Jacobs may be one of the lesser-heralded talents to come out of Community, thanks mostly to the Russo Brothers ascent to Valhalla and Donald Glover’s ascent to the top of the universe, she is just as valuable as anyone else involved. Near the beginning of season 3, it becomes clear just how much Jacobs relishes Britta getting to be the worst. From episode three “Remedial Chaos Theory” through episode 15 “Origins of Vampire Mythology,” Britta and Jacobs are on absolute insufferable fire. 

It’s in this stretch of episodes that Britta’s terribleness actually saves the day. The plot of “Regional Holiday Music” involves the evil Glee club director (played by Taran Killam) slowly brainwashing the study group into becoming Body Snatcher-esque glee club pod people. Britta succumbs in the end but when Abed encourages her to take the stage and sing what’s in her heart, the transcendent awfulness of her performance immediately snaps everyone out of their trance. That also leads to the classic line of Dean Pelton seeing the show’s program for the first time and whining “ah, Britta’s in this?”

In a way, “Regional Holiday Music” is a microcosm of Britta’s role on the show. Every character on Community has a part to play. Jeff is narcissistic, Annie is innocent, Shirley is devout, Troy and Abed are goobers, Dean Pelton (Jim Rash) and Ben Chang (Ken Jeong) are insane, and Pierce Hawthorne (Chevy Chase) is old. But the glue that ties together all of those disparate characters together is Britta Perry and her special ability to be the worst. 

She truly is the AT&T of people. And God bless her for it. 

The post Community: Britta Perry Is the Worst, Which Makes Her the Best appeared first on Den of Geek.

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[reifromrfa]

Threads of Thoughts | Juminzine Fic

Hi guys! Here’s my fic for the @juminfanzine! :)

This is a bit different from my other pieces, but I really hope you like it <3 I love Jumin and it was so much fun to try and write from his perspective ^^ Thank you to everyone who supported the zine! 

Also, thank you to my amazing collab partner, Franjipantree (follow her on twitter!) <3 

Enjoy! :D

Heir Exclusive is privileged to get a sneak peek into the thoughts of Korea’s wealthiest man, Jumin Han. The following is an excerpt from his upcoming memoir, Threads of Thoughts, capturing the innermost thoughts of C&R’s CEO regarding the various kidnapping attempts throughout his life. His book will be available early next year in bookstores internationally.

1st of September, 2018 | 01:42am

I have always been different. Born into wealth, my experiences differ from the normal South Korean citizen. I do not drive…I have chauffeurs. My meals are planned for me by a professional nutritionist, my physical health overseen by a personal trainer. At a young age, I have been taught how to run a business, given advanced lessons…I have been placed on a luxury jet, while other children share a bus or take the public transport.

We never choose the families we are born into. As children, we simply do what we are told, accept the cards we have been dealt; it is up to us to decide whether it will be a winning hand or not. I, of course, knew at a young age that I would inherit my father’s massive business empire —as Chairman Han’s sole heir, who else would he trust to run his company? I had been dealt a winning hand, but that did not mean I was going to relax; no, I intended to use my cards to my advantage and further increase their value.

There are those who cannot comprehend that the fortune my father amassed was gained through hard work…a sincere dedication to his business. There are those who take one look and classify my family and I as aristocratic snobs…as people who live off of their fortune, spending days languidly beside luxury pools or sophisticated parties. I do not feel the need to defend myself against such false accusations. C&R stands tall and firm because of the foundations my father erected, and as his heir, I plan to continue his legacy.

Unfortunately, the world is rife with greed. People will do anything for an easy way out...A shortcut to wealth, to a better life. This journal is where I am able to freely express my unfiltered thoughts. What I wish to talk about tonight is not about our family business…nor is it about my father. No…I wish to talk about the people who allow their greed to consume them, enough so they dare to commit atrocious crimes.

Such as kidnap.

I remember when I was a young boy…I did not question the team of elite bodyguards who accompanied me everywhere I went. I knew my status made me an easy target: sole heir of C&R, a mere child with no means to defend himself. I was already wary of people; who wouldn’t be, with my father’s endless parade of women? And having my father tell me of the threats to my life…of course I trusted him. He is my father, who else would care about my safety more than him?

Indeed, he was right about the dangers that lurk outside the walls of our estate. The first time someone ever attempted to kidnap me…yes, I still remember it vividly.

Class had just ended. I was safely in our car, seatbelt securely fastened when several black vans blocked our path and men with guns exited the vehicle. The other car with my backup bodyguards was nowhere to be seen. The guards with me immediately drew their own guns as we were surrounded by the strangers in masks. I watched the men shoot at our bulletproof windshield, try to pry open the doors with crowbars, yell out threats and demands from outside.

My father warned me about such situations. He said I should remain calm and think rationally, putting my safety above everything else. Showing fear would only give them more power, more leverage. I knew my father loved me —he still does. He would never give me false advice. Therefore I remained calm. Composed. Not showing a trace of fear to the barbaric kidnappers outside the vehicle. With the heavily tinted windows, I doubt they were able to see me anyway.

It was over before it even began. One minute, the men were threatening us while shooting at our car, the next, my bodyguards from the other vehicle came and shot their leader, bringing the other kidnappers to their knees. I still recall the bodyguards exiting the car, leaving me sitting in the back while they rounded up the kidnappers and surveyed the area. Only Driver Kim remained with me, offering a kind, reassuring smile.

My close encounter with the kidnappers was all over the news that evening. My father shielded me from the rabid reporters and hungry journalists, desperate for the drama a ‘traumatized rich boy' such as myself would offer. Yes, it was quite a shocking experience…but I would not go as far as to calling myself ‘traumatized’. Worried, my father had me examined by various health professionals, checking my physical and mental health with regards to the event…I was fine. I did not want to cause a fuss, and I was safely in the car when everything was happening. My father did not have to worry about me. I didn’t know it then, but that experience would be one of the many kidnapping attempts throughout my life. 

To be honest, I do think these experiences have affected me subconsciously. At a young age, I have learned that humans are fragile creatures…easily broken. Humans are greedy and cannot be trusted. There are lengths to which some people would go, for money.

As an adult, I am very much aware of my status and the people who relentlessly chase me for my wealth. That is why I have hired the top men who would ensure my safety and my loved ones’ security. It has made me wary and indifferent to most people.

But she…she is different. My beloved MC…my precious wife. She has brought immense joy to my life, and to be honest, I am able to breathe easier when she is with me. The threads…she untangles them for me, loosens their hold on me.

She is my life.

And it terrifies me.

I know how easy it is for things to change…how easy it is to manipulate the thread of life. Just one snip…and a life is over. It is ironic that one such as I, a man with wealth and power, can have so much to fear.

But no amount of money in the world can ever bring back those we have lost…and I came very close to losing her today. Gone are the days that kidnappers targeted me. No…they know my weakness now. They know I would do anything for my wife. If it were me they took, I would never give the kidnappers anything. Therefore, they grew bold and tried to kidnap my wife.

Earlier this afternoon, MC had insisted to go out with Assistant Kang, to do some last minute preparations for the RFA party. When several men entered the store they were browsing in, the bodyguards contacted me immediately and I rushed to the scene. I called her, of course. I wanted to hear for myself that she was safe, she was unharmed. I shudder when I remember her anxious voice…

“My love, I see the men, they are already in the store and they are coming closer…Do not worry, Jumin, the bodyguards have spotted the—ah, please sir, don’t touch me!”

They dared to touch her…my precious wife. I grew so agitated and restless, I wanted nothing more than to be beside her and introduce the stranger to my fist. God...I will make sure they know what a grave mistake they have made. Thankfully, Assistant Kang is knowledgeable in judo —she was able to defend herself and MC from the men before my men took the kidnappers away.

However, the fact still remains…I could have lost her today. Had it been a different friend with her…or had they pulled out a weapon…God forbid.

Sometimes…Sometimes I wish I could keep her locked up in the penthouse. It is the one place that is heavily guarded, extremely difficult to reach…a safe haven. She would be safe at home.

…yes, I do understand it sounds like I am…unhinged. Rest assured, I am perfectly fine. I simply prefer exercising control over matters. When she is out there…though she is protected…there are other variables I cannot control, cannot foresee. There are innumerable dangers the world poses to my beloved wife. She has become a valuable asset, because she is the queen to whom the king would willingly sacrifice himself for.

She is my everything.

One word from her lips and I am unraveled, I am bested. I am willing to do anything for her. Today, I learned what true fear was. Today, I felt like a boy once more…powerless. Trapped inside a vehicle, waiting for news…good or bad, I have no control. Today, I clasp her thread tighter in my hands…for I do not want to lose her. I can’t. She does not know how much she means to me. And I do not dare to keep her locked up inside a cage…though I desire it, her happiness is also my priority. I want to see her smiling, her radiant glow driving out the hollow emptiness in my soul.

Earlier this evening, I held her close to me, my fingers stroking her hair, wet from her bath. MC was clearly a bit shaken, and I sought to soothe her nerves, reassure her that she was safe. I pressed my lips to her head and spoke to her…

“You are home, my love. Nothing will hurt you here…you are safe.”

“Yes…I know that, Jumin. But I still got scared. If they had gotten me…they would have used me against you. And I never want anybody to use me to blackmail you, Jumin.”

Imagine my shock…my wife still thought of my well-being despite being put at risk. But none of that mattered.

“MC, you are the most precious person in the world to me. Please, I ask you to put yourself above anybody else, even me. Your safety and happiness always come first.”

“No…Jumin, you are my husband. To love and to cherish…I made that vow to you. I don’t care what happens to me…if you are well, if you are safe and happy then I am happy.”

I pull her closer to me then, burying my face in her hair.

“I do not deserve such a wonderful person like yourself, my love…But know that I am never letting you go. I love you, MC. I love you.”

And I meant every word.

A million thoughts ran through my mind as I rushed to her earlier…different outcomes, possible scenarios. I thank God that she came out of it unscathed, unharmed. However, fear remains gnawing at the corners of my mind and my heart. What if someone attempts to take her away from me again…?

No. I must study her security detail once more. In the morning, I will have her bodyguards re-evaluated; perhaps I should add more men to guard her.

Ah…my wife calls for me. It seems as though my thoughts have consumed me, I have lost track of time. It has gotten quite late and I want to be with her…to hold her close and cherish her. Rea her she is safe, and I will never let anything bad happen to her.

Because she is my love...my life.

My MC.

Until then, my old friend.

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[mydarlingklaus]

Road Trip, part 2: The many adventures of Klaus Mikaelson and his family...

Part 1 can be found here!

They had only been on the road for an hour and half and Klaus was already prepared to fling himself out of the car window.

Alaric occupied the driver's seat, drumming his fingers annoyingly on the steering wheel to the pop song blaring from the radio. The twins and Hope sat impatiently in the backseat trying not to die of boredom and discomfort from being squished together. Hope sat in between the sisters, which probably wasn't the smartest idea now that she thought about it.

Family trips were not under Klaus's list of expertise. Never had he experienced something like this in his 1000 years of existing. All he had for a family his whole life were his siblings and was always on the run and when they weren't running they were displaying the toxic traits of their complicated relationship.

It wasn't till Hope that Klaus began a family of his own, the family he's always longed for. Then Caroline and the twins entered his life completed it.

With him living in New Orleans and his family in Mystic Falls, Klaus took every opportunity he could to see them. He never planned on his first family road trip to be spent with the most annoying human he's ever come across.

"Dad when you said you wanted to rent a 'hip van' for the trip, this wasn't exactly what I had in mind." Lizzie complained leaning her head against the window glass.

Alaric looked at his daughter in the rear view mirror with a raised eyebrow. "Hey, I'll have you know this van is very retro."

"It's a gas-guzzling atrocity on wheels." She scoffed, making the hybrid softly laugh in his seat.

He huffed. "Look, it was the best six seater I could find on a last minute request. Be appreciative we were able to get anything at all."

Klaus shrugged. "You can't blame the girl for having taste, mate."

"Thank you." Lizzie beamed at Klaus's comment.

Alaric rolled his eyes, not looking forward to dealing with this 'dynamic duo' for a week.

"All right, I brought snacks!" Hope announced opening the variety bag of treats (blood bags for Klaus) Caroline encouraged her to bring.

"Oh joy, did you pack them before or after you decided to sneak your way onto our trip?" Lizzie sassed, flashing her a fake smile.

"You really thought I was going to miss out on an opportunity to go to Miami?" Hope laughed.

Lizzie shrugged her shoulders. "I would've thought you rather spend the break canoodling with your hipster boyfriend."

Hope's cheeks flare into a blush the same time Klaus instantly turned his head staring at her questionably.

"Boyfriend?" Klaus questioned with a raised brow.

Gulp.

"Umm yeah dad. Remember I told you about Landon and how he really wants to meet you." The witch hesitantly reminded earning a glare from Klaus.

No secret Klaus wasn't a fan of the girls dating, even with Caroline's reassurance that it was normal for teenage girls to date and basically ignored it as much as he could but they didn't make it easy o him. The amount of times Caroline had to talk him down from flying to Mystic Falls and threatening every teenager at the school was a chore in itself.

"Ah that's right, the loner new student who doesn't even know if he's supernatural. That Liam?" Klaus mocked.

"Landon." Hope corrected. "And he's not a loner dad."

"Sounds about right to me." Lizzie sang staring aimlessly out the window.

Hope quickly shifted her attention to the blonde witch who was insistent on getting under her skin.

"By the way in case you've forgotten, which I'm sure you have because for once something isn't about you, I was invited here."

"An invitation you could've easily declined."

"Why would I do that?"

"How should I know the motives behind your twisted reasonings? Maybe you just wanted to ruin yet another Saltzman-Forbes spring break." Lizzie suggested.

Hope scoffed. "When have I ever ruined a spring break?"

"How much time to do you have?" Lizzie retorted.

"Girls," Alaric thankfully interrupted. "We're gonna be in this classic automobile together for the next 12 hours, all right? So no more bickering." He said with the most genuine smile he could muster making Klaus's eyes roll.

Both girls huffed leaning back into their seats gazing out their windows.

Hope jumped in her seat when Lizzie abruptly punched her arm. Her eyes widened in confusion and anger.

"What the-"

"Punch buggy no returns." The blonde witch announced, turning her face towards Hope with a smug grin on her face.

Another 2 hours flew by in the blistering heat.

They stopped at a gas station for a bathroom break and to pump gas into the van. Klaus took advantage of some much needed alone time to call Caroline; updating her on the road trip shenanigans with the girls and how desperately any company would be better than Alaric and his horrific singing.

God he missed her. Just hearing her angelic voice and warm laugh through the phone was enough to melt his heart. Klaus couldn't understand why being away from Caroline was so hard this time considering how long they've been in a long distance relationship. This trip changed something in Klaus regarding their relationship and he struggled to figure what it was.

Not to mention Klaus took immense pleasure in Alaric's obvious annoyance eavesdropping on their phone call and overhearing Caroline express her love for the hybrid.

When back on the road, his irritation didn't cease especially when Alaric felt compelled to turn on the radio. He bobbed his head and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel while Iggy Azalea's "Fancy" blared into his ears.

Given that Klaus was an 1000 year old species, mainstream pop radio wasn't exactly in the forefront of his mind. The most knowledge he had of modern music was from the three teenagers blasting their playlists throughout his New Orleans home when they visited.

- 10 more hours to go...that's all...you got this.

He tried to convince himself, but the moment Aaron began singing along he could feel his fangs ready to drop.

Klaus looked behind him to the backseat, offering a sympathetic smile to his daughters to ease them as well as distract murderous tendencies.

"99 bottles of beer on the wall. 99 bottle of beer!" Alaric sang loudly, trying to orchestrate the girls to sing along. "Take one down and pass it around, 99 bottles-"

"Saltzman," Klaus calmly said now looking at the man in the driver's seat. "Let me be clear. I tolerate your existence for the sake of the three girls in the backseat and the woman I love but if you sing one more tune while we are stuck in this contraption, I will snap your neck mid-drive and throw your corpse out the car door like roadkill. Understand?" He threatened with a wicked grin.

Alaric noticeably gulped, clawing his throat and concentrating back on the road.

"Are we there yet?" Lizzie whined massaging her forehead irritably, completely unfazed by her father's life being threatened.

"How many times are you going ask?" Alaric grinned.

"Until we get there." She sassed amusing Klaus.

It fascinated him how much Lizzie reminded him of Caroline.

Alaric sighed. "Maybe if we didn't make so many stops we'd be there by now. Just enjoy the car ride in peace and, dare I say, quiet."

Lizzie simply rolled her eyes.

"Says the man who won't bloody shut up." Klaus added, earning a glare from Alaric.

"It would help if it wasn't 1000 degrees in here. I'm burning up." Hope complained fanning herself with her hand.

"That's what happens when too many people are caged into one area." Lizzie began. "Body heat really is the worst and could be deadly. If you want I can save all of us from suffering a heat stroke and throw you out head first." She smiled.

"Lizzie..." Klaus warned rubbing his forehead to sooth a migraine that would never come.

He was not cut out for this.

Hope's eyes widened. "Seriously?! What is wrong with you, and what happened to being nice?"

Lizzie laughed and shrugged.

She recalled the brief moment a couple of weeks ago when the blonde witch insisted she was going to do a character makeover and better herself. To be cordial and polite to everyone, even the youngest Mikaelson.

Clearly that notion didn't last.

"Over. Done. I'm getting back to me. I am who I am." She proudly claimed discreetly flipping one of her pigtails over her shoulder. "Right Josie?"

"Josie?" Lizzie repeated her twin's name is her when she didn't reply.

The brunette witch stuck in her own world, earbuds in her ears and blasting tunes to zone out the other girls' yelling. She stared out the window aimlessly bopping her head to her music, not realizing her sister trying to get her attention till she felt a hard tap on her arm.

She looked over at her sister with a blank expression and pulling one earbud out. "Sorry?"

Lizzie scoffed in offense. "Josie, you cannot leave me alone with just her as company." Muttering under her breath.

The brunette twin rolled her eyes. "As if I want to listen to you and Hope yelling at each other back and forth for the next few hours. I'll pass. Besides, I get carsick if I don't listen to music." She said putting her earphone back in.

Offended and stunned, Lizzie reached her hand out smacking her sister's arm and elbowing Hope in the process.

"Josie!"

"Hey-"

"Stop!"

All three girls began yelling and hitting each other in the confinement of the backseat. Hope somehow found herself in the middle of a sibling dispute and resulted getting the worse beating. Her annoyance only increased the more Lizzie unnecessarily kept shoving her to the side.

"Girls enough!" Klaus growled turning in his seat trying to break up the fight.

"Dad, she started it!" Hope complained, pointing at Lizzie who smacked her head one last time.

He sighed. "Who started it doesn't matter-"

"Of course you take her side, per usual." Hope said rolling her eyes.

Klaus scrunched his eyebrows. "Hope, stop. I'm not taking any sides."

"Really?" She laughed. "That's rich. She literally starts every confrontation and dispute but when you're in town she suffers no consequences for it. Face it dad, you wear rose colored glasses when it comes to Lizzie and everyone in this van knows it." The redhead bitterly pointed out.

A brief wind of awkwardness hovered over the scene as Klaus's eyes softened and jaw tightened.

"Green really is a hideous color on you." Lizzie snorted.

Hope growled, her amber colored eyes displayed as she lunged for the blonde with claws. Klaus thankfully managed to grab her arm and hold her back before she could cause any serious harm.

"Girls!" Alaric snapped looking through the rear view mirror as Hope sat back in her seat again. "Now this is just ridiculous how you're fighting and this has gone on long enough. We'll all be spending a whole week together so might as well get use to each others company. There's no reason to be tense or awkward towards each other so knock it off!"

"Fine. We'll knock it off when you two do." Lizzie retorted crossing her arms over her chest.

"Excuse me?" Klaus asked.

Lizzie tilted her head. "Please, you've been at each other's throats since we were kids, and Klaus I could practically feel how hard you're restraining from breaking my dad's neck."

Alaric raised a curious brow.

"And dad you practically seethe at the mouth whenever Klaus comes to visit, especially when around mom." Josie mentioned. "I thought this was going to be a nice family vacation, but then Hope was invited and mom had work and I knew everything was going to turn to a mess. Why did we even proceed to go on this trip if no one here is putting in the effort to get along?"

The two men exchanged quick glares as did the other two young girls.

Josie made a point.

Why did they all continue going on this trip together? This van was a huge tension fueled cocktail ready to ignite in any moment. The adults just as bad as the kids.

None of them realized how important Caroline's presence was, not just because she was deeply missed but she was the glue. She kept this family together and without her keeping everyone on equal ground, it was chaos.

Klaus has had his fair share of family disputes, but never has he felt guilty about it before. The hurt on Josie's face and disappointment in her eyes made him feel like the bad guy he's been striving not to be.

Nothing meant more to Klaus than his family. He wouldn't pretend to be a saint but for his girls he would be anything they need, and right now they needed him.

With a breathy sigh, Klaus turned again in his seat to face the frustrated brunette with an apologetic smile but he quickly frowned noticing her sudden sickly appearance.

"Josie, sweetheart are you okay?" He asked in a panic, causing Alaric to swiftly turn his head as well.

Her face was pale and she was hunched over in her seat.

Shaking her head, Josie closed her eyes and supported herself against the back of Klaus's chair.

"Umm, guys...I think- I think I'm gonna be sic-"

Before any further words could be said, Josie puked all over the backseat traumatizing Hope and Lizzie who were desperately clinging to the windows gasping for air.

“Seriously!” Lizzie screamed in complete distress and disgust.

Alaric multitasked, keeping 90% of his focus one he road while also yelling for Josie to aim her mouth to the bag. Klaus swiftly undid his seatbelt and held back her hair as she continued to vomit.

He was grateful the stench didn't bother him.

Klaus rubber her back and assured her she was fine before Alaric pulled the car over to the nearest city.

"You're gonna be okay, Jo." Alaric reassured after parking in a shopping center.

Hope and Lizzie practically jumped out the car, trying not to puke themselves from the smell.

Alaric looked behind his seat, consuming the view of the vicious hybrid being so delicate and caring towards his sick daughter. Klaus's hand still rubbing her back softly as Josie caught her breath.

It was a moving sight, but struck a cored of realization in Alaric.

Alaric caught himself daydreaming, pondering, about the situation and what Josie said in the car. His eyes fixated on the hybrid who was standing by the van on his phone. He knew Klaus was talking to Caroline, likely trying to talk her down from worrying over Josie.

He didn't even notice Lizzie calling him until a french fry was thrown in his face.

"What?" He blinked.

"You're not even listening to me." She huffed. "I asked when are we leaving?"

Alaric sighed. "After You're done with your food. You must be starving."

"True, I was a bit famished. Maybe Josie tossing her cookies all over Hope paid off after all." The blonde said matter-of-factly.

"Hey." Josie clearly offended.

Hope just rolled her eyes sipping on her drink.

Alaric chuckled, looking over at Klaus again who was still on the phone.

"I need to get something from the van. Stay here and finish your food, then we'll be back on the road okay?" He promised standing up from the bench.

The three girls nodded as they watched Alaric walk towards the vehicle. Hands in his pants pockets and pace hesitant the closer he got to Klaus.

"Sweetheart I assure you this wasn't the road trip I had in mind either. I take the insane bickering over holding my daughter's hair back so she can vomit into a plastic bag any day." Klaus joked.

Alaric overheard.

"Is that so? Then I guess lucky me I never had to worry about you and alcohol poisoning, your high school boyfriends must've had it rough." He teased into the phone. "Just so you know love, I'd hold your hair back whenever you need it." He genuinely claimed.

The other man softly grinned hearing the exchange between the lovers. Sometimes they were annoyingly cute, not even Alaric could deny it.

Caroline really did bring out Klaus's humanity without even trying.

Klaus's body tensed when he noticed Alaric was just very easy from him.

He cleared his throat turning into the car. "Sweetheart I have to go..." He laughed. "Yes, I promise to text you when we get back on the road, and yes Josie is fine love don't worry...and I you, my love." Klaus softly declared before ending the call.

"Caroline?" Alaric asked now in front of the van as well.

Klaus nodded. "I knew if I didn't call she'd get worried, and force me to sleep on the couch after finding out about Josie."

Alaric laughed standing next to Klaus. "That's Caroline. Always a worrier."

The hybrid leaned back against the vehicle, arms crossed and a small smirk teasing his lips.

Another wave of awkward silence hovered over them as they both leaned back gazing at the three girls sitting at the table across the way. They seemed to have actually been enjoying each other's company.

"Look, Klaus there's no secret how I feel about you and your relationship with my family..." Alaric spoke. "I know we both agreed to be cordial for the girls' sake but, easier said than done." He tried to joke but earned no expression from the other man.

He cleared his throat. "Given all me and you have been through even before the twins were thought of, can you blame me for being a bit put off?"

Klaus tilted his head curiously.

"You did horrendous things, unredeemable things. You killed people I cared about, the first woman I've ever loved, killed me and terrorized an entire town for your own pleasure. It's still difficult for me to accept that the same man who did all of that, is now a regular in my home, insanely loved by the mother of my children and worshipped by my own daughters."

The corner of Klaus's lips twitched.

"Well if we're being picky, you also killed me and attempted to throw my corpse at the bottom of the ocean so I guess we're even." Klaus teased, making them both briefly chuckle.

The mood slightly lighter as silence dominated again.

"I love her." Klaus said.

Alaric sighed heavily. "I know you do."

"I love the girls too."

Alaric softly grinned. "Yes, I know that as well."

"Then you should also know you're wrong, Saltzman." He faced him and stood tall. "You're wrong about me. I'm not that same man who blew into Mystic Falls over a decade ago. I don't deny my past or play innocent, I take responsibility for all I've done no question and have no regrets. You say I'm not redeemable and you wouldn't be the first but Caroline sees differently and she's the only opinion that matters. She took a chance on a broken man and gave me something to live for."

The other man carefully listened.

"You hate me, and I'm not particularly fond of you either so I won't hold it against you. But they are my family, and you will never take that away from me." Klaus said sharply.

"Now I'm no saint but I am good enough to care for and love Caroline and girls the way they deserve to be. Yes Mystic Falls is their current home but they also have a home in New Orleans and wherever else they see fit. Nothing is more important to me than their well-being and happiness. You know I would never hurt them, and their safety always comes first for me. Despite our differences I think that's something we can agree on."

Alaric pondered heavily as he nodded.

"I don't hate you, Klaus. You're not my favorite person in the world but I don't hate you." Alaric claimed. "It's just..."

He drifted off, unsure of making himself this vulnerable to Klaus was a wise decision. This was the closest the two have gotten to a heart to heart conversation since the girls were younger.

Sighing and nervously licking his lips Alaric continued. "Of course Hope adores you but the twins...the twins see you as Superman. You're who they confide in and are excited to see whether they're going to New Orleans or you come to Mystic Falls; they trust you. Especially Lizzie...she treats you like her rock. She talks to you more than she's ever talked to me I mean, seems like everyday she calls you about something you know? I get teenagers don't tell their parents everything but, I feel like I don't even know her anymore and when I try talking to her she turns me away or drops the subject completely but will confess everything to you." He blinked away the faint tears. "Not the best feeling in the world when Klaus Mikaelson knows more about my own daughter than I do."

Klaus's expression turned from smug to sympathetic in an instant. Though he knew Alaric would never be in his top 5 list of people he gives a shit about, he could empathize with his confession.

They've had this discussion before when the girls were little kids, but at the time it was Klaus who felt insecure. Though he didn't deny the victory he felt when the twins gravitated more towards him as they got older. He didn't want to go into detail about Lizzie's restrictions towards her father, figured that was something they needed to discuss together.

A part of Klaus ached to be petty and rub his bond with the twins in Ric's face but, his conscience in the voice of a certain blonde vampire advised him otherwise.

Pep talks were not in Klaus's list of expertise, only exception for the obvious people and Alaric was not under that category.

Dreading the inevitable, Klaus muttered a 'bloody hell' under his breath before replying.

"Your girls love you, all right? But they're not kids anymore. Of course they're not going to be crawling to your feet for everything but it doesn't meant they love you any less." Klaus explained. "Something I've learned with Hope is that the older children get the further from their parents they become and you should be grateful that Lizzie has someone you can trust by her side instead of a random lunatic."

Alaric raised his brows, bold for Klaus to make such an assumption and Klaus easily read his expression.

He sighed. "You might not want to or think you can but if nothing else, when it comes to them you can trust me Alaric. I would never do anything to harm the twins, and will only do right by them."

Against his initial judgment, Ric nodded to Klaus's claim.

He trusted Caroline and knew she would never allow anyone around their kids if she felt they'd be in danger.

Alaric snickered. "You know, you say you're not cut out for this dad stuff but you're better at it than me."

Klaus smirked. "Not sure if I should be flattered or terrified by that statement."

"Little of both." He shrugged.

"I suppose, you're not terrible at it yourself." Klaus muttered.

Klaus didn't face Alaric but the human could see the subtle smirk stretching the hybrid's lips.

The two men laughed together.

Both weren't sure if they'd ever completely be on even ground with each other, their history was too deeply rooted, but they did have a sense of respect for each other.

They exchanged respectable smiles and nods before noticing Lizzie storming towards them.

"If you two are done solidifying your little bromance, I would like to get back on the road as quickly as possible." The blonde suggested.

Both men raised their eyebrows curiously.

"In a rush?" Klaus teased.

"Yes actually. The quicker we get to Miami the quicker I can soak up the inviting sun instead of Hope's presence and my sister's vomit." She shot him a sarcastic smile before swinging the car door open and climbing in the backseat.

Alaric and Klaus both shook their heads chuckling, waiting for the other two girls to make their way over.

Ugh I hope you liked it! The link can be found here to leave a review please!

[kisssmefree]

I Was Running

First off, this gif was made by @lukesdonuts

Chapters: 1

Warnings: Fluff, Creepy Men

Word Count: 1,832

Summary: The next day Cleo is battling in her mind whether to let Calum in, but ends up being forced to.

Chapter 2

When Cleo awoke the next morning the smell of a man’s cologne met her nose first, her eyes snapping open in confusion until last night began to come back to her. She was sad to not have Calum next to her when she woke up, but she heard his deep voice outside the door and the smell of breakfast travelled throughout the apartment. She pulled herself out of his soft bed and went to the bathroom, fixing her hair and finding some mouthwash to rinse her mouth with before walking into the kitchen. Her face was brightened with a smile as she took in the scene before her. Calum in gray sweatpants only with his back to her, bending down to talk to a fur ball near his feet that was whining. “Duke you know I always give you a piece of bacon in your bowl when it’s finished, but it’s too hot for you right now,” he reasoned with the dog and patted his head before turning to look at her. “Oh hey, good morning,” he smiled politely, “did you sleep well?”

“Pretty good yeah,” she smiled, making her way to the bar stools around his island, “your bed is ten times more comfortable than my cheap ass bed.”

“Well I’m glad you slept well. I have to go to work soon,” he started, “but you can take a shower in my bathroom after breakfast and I’ll give you a pair of clothes you can change into. Will you be able to get an Uber to take you back to your car?”

“Yeah that shouldn’t be a problem at all. Thanks for breakfast you didn’t have to cook,” she told him, resting her head on her hand. He just shrugged and turned to a cabinet to get two plates before putting the pancakes and eggs and bacon on them both, placing one of them in front of her and the other in front of the stool next to her. He then proceeded to take a piece of bacon to the two bowls on the floor near his bedroom door as the black fluff trailed behind him happily. “Your dog is spoiled Cal,” she laughed.

“Hey!” He quickly spun to look at her, “this dog is the love of my life he deserves the world!” That cued another burst of laughter from Cleo and he couldn’t help but join in before sitting down next to her and they both had a comfortable, quiet breakfast.

After breakfast he pulled out a pair of sweats and a hoodie for her to wear home before getting her clean towels for the shower. She thanked him before going into the bathroom and showering in the steaming water. Once she had stepped out and put on his clothes she walked out to find Duke being the only one left in the apartment. She found a note on the counter next to a wad of cash - Sorry for sneaking out, I had to head to work. I hope this is enough to pay for your Uber. I had a great time last night. With a smiley face and his number scrawled on the bottom of the paper. She slipped the note and the cash in her wallet before sitting and playing with Duke waiting for her Uber to get there. She knew she was fooling herself thinking this was something she could get involved in. The normalcy, the domestication... the happiness. She knew it would fall apart around her. She knew she would destroy his own happiness and the bubble of beauty he has around himself. She knows she breaks everything she touches so that’s why she told herself to throw the note with his number in the trash when she got home.

Her calm drive home was interrupted when her boss called her asking her to come pick up a shift at the restaurant near her apartment. Once she got home she slipped out of Calum’s clothes and threw them on her bed before slipping on her black slacks and a cute top for work before grabbing her keys and purse and driving the 20 minutes to work. The day was busy for the small burger joint and she was hating that she had went out partying the night before, cursing the headache she began to have a few hours into the shift. “Hi welcome to Frosty’s, how many?” She greeted when she heard the door open as she adjusted some things behind her. When she spun back around she was met by a man who was staring at her like he knew who she was.

“I’m sorry, Cleo,” he stated after a long awaited pause, “it’ll just be me today.”

“Alright sir, right this way,” Cleo led the man to an open table in the back corner and quickly walked away to get his drink order while overthinking how he knew who she was. She began panicking that maybe he was after her. He had found her. He knew where she was and it was just a matter of time before- she stopped when her hand ran down the collar of her shirt and she felt her name tag. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered, shaming herself for being so paranoid.

Time had long past and it was time for her to close the joint, the rest of her employees had gone home. “Sir I’m sorry to be rude, but we’re closing. I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” she hollered to the man from earlier who was still sitting, sipping on his water. He simply nodded, throwing a couple twenty dollar bills on the table before walking out the door. Cleo quickly followed behind him and locked the front doors and went into the back to finish up the last couple things before clocking out. She went to go to the front and grab her phone only to see that the man was still outside the restaurant. She began to panic, not knowing what to do so she pulled out her phone and called one of the girls she was with the night before that she actually kind of liked, but she didn’t answer. Cleo’s hands began to shake and she dropped her purse, spilling its contents across the floor. “Fuck,” she let out, her trembling hands tried to pick up the mess before it met with the same piece of paper from this morning with Calum’s handwriting scrawled across it. Cleo knew she shouldn’t bother him, she knew she shouldn’t involve him, but she dialed his number anyways and waited.

“Hello,” his voice flooded her ear and she immediately felt relief.

“Oh thank God,” she let out, “hey Cal it’s Cleo.”

“Oh hey! I thought you’d never call, what’s up?” He sounded so happy. She began to argue with herself whether to really tell him. “Cleo? You there? Is everything alright?” He began to sound concerned with her loss of words.

“Look Calum, it’s probably nothing, but I’m at work and I’m supposed to be closing tonight and there was this creepy guy that was here for like three hours and I had to kick him out and now he’s just standing out in the parking lot not leaving. I’m sorry to bother you I just don’t know what to do and I’m terrified and I didn’t know who else to call,” her voice shook as she told him everything and before she could say anything else she heard a car starting through the phone.

“Where do you work? I’m on my way,” he said with an edge to his voice.

“Um Frosty’s... You know the burger joi-”

“I know where it is. I’ll be there in 10 minutes tops okay? Please stay on the phone with me,” he sounded concerned and the tone surprised her. How was he so caring?

“Cal you really don’t have to do all of this it’s probably nothing I’m just being paranoid,” she tried to reason with him.

“Cleo, if you have a feeling then it’s not nothing. I’m coming,” he sounded so sure of himself with his last two words that she felt her heart soaring at the idea he was driving there at 11:30 at night just because she was scared.

When Calum got to Frosty’s the man quickly got into his pickup truck and drove away while Calum walked to the front of the restaurant. When Cleo saw Calum in a white T-shirt and a leather jacket walking towards her she felt an immense amount of relief. She couldn’t contain herself as she let out a breath and took a few large steps to him before wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest. His arms quickly wrapped around her, his chin going to the top of her head and he could feel her body trembling against him. She mumbled something against his chest that he couldn’t understand, all he knew is the first thing he thought when he got that phone call was that someone was trying to hurt his girl. He didn’t care if she didn’t know it yet, but he was going to make that girl his no matter what. He slowly moved his hands to her shoulders to pull her away before putting his hands on both sides of her face. She blankly stared at his chest, the fear of what would have happened captivated her. His hands forced her head to tilt up and look him in the face. “You’re okay, you’re safe,” he whispered. She closed her eyes and lulled her head into his hand, her grip on his T-shirt slowly started to release and her breathing began to slow. “Come home with me tonight, I’ll bring you to your car in the morning,” he whispered again and he felt her head begin to nod against his hand. She didn’t realize she was nodding already before entirely processing what he asked, but she felt too calm with him to care. His hand slid down her arm and slowly entangled his fingers with hers, leading her to the passenger side of his Camaro. After getting her in he got into the driver’s seat and turned on his car. However, instead of taking her straight home, he pulls into his favorite diner.

“What are we doing?” She looked at him, tilting her head in confusion. His heart couldn’t help but swell looking at her. Her pouty lips always looked so kissable and her eyes looked so innocent, yet so so sinful.

“A midnight snack! Come on, this is my favorite place to eat,” He smiled. And yeah, maybe his heart was moving too fast, but no one was going to stand in front of it except hers. Because her heart was moving fast too, but it was on a leash, tied to her insecurities. And that leash only let her poor heart go so far before yanking it back into its cage.

[the-abyssal-lord]

Blood and Thunder

Standing upon the walls of the ruined Imperial Fortress, The Raptor Lord gazed out upon the battlefield, cultists were locked in combat with guard reinforcements that the enemy had brought along on their little attack against the Abyss Chasers. Decus scanned the expanse of churned and scorched earth before him, trying to see if he could spy his true quarrel amongst the carnage. He was admittedly surprised when he couldn’t make out a single Astartes mixed into the bloodbath.

‘What is he planning...’ Decus pondered.

The gates of the fortress were pushed open as more Abyss Chasers began to join the fray, typical, thought Decus, as he looked and could clearly see Berzerkers charging into the mess. Luckily the now open gates were not a weak point as a predator tank moved to fill the empty space, letting off shells from its great cannon into the ranks of imperial guard. Cultists and Chaos Marines simply crawled over the predator if they wanted to get into the main battle themselves, it was a meat grinder out there, but Decus could understand the joy a follower of the Dark Gods feels when they rend the flesh from a Loyalists bones.

“My Lord, we just got word that more Loyalist forces have landed on the planet.”

Vezeral approached Decus, the sorceror’s face hidden away underneath the large hood he typically wore. His staff tightly gripped in his hand, the advisor seemed on edge.

“More guard?” Decus asked.

Vezeral shook his head.

“No, more Astartes.”

The Raptor Lord felt a smile tug across his face.

‘Good’ He thought.

- - -

It was surprising when the Chapter Master agreed to the assault on this world, Vectus wasn’t expecting the mighty Gabriel Seth to consider the whole chapter for an attack on an imperial backwater like this. Seth wasn’t typically one to take things on word alone, but when Vectus mentioned imperial forces being captured by traitors, the Chapter Master seemed to change his stance on the matter. It was odd since Vectus usually saw Seth as one to not care for such small matters, but human innocents seemed to pique his interest. It mattered not, Vectus would finally have a chance to have a rematch with his oldest foe, and rescue Rosa Jesenia from the twisted heretic forces she was imprisoned by.

“Sergeant, when do you suppose we shall enter the fray below?”

Joren was sharpening his combat knife with a small stone, sat on a fallen tree. His wild blond hair was let loose as his helm sat on his knee, the emerald green optics a dull shade from the machinery’s inactivity.

“Soon, we must await the arrival of the rest of our Brothers, as well as the appearance of my old friend...”

Vectus growled, gritting his teeth.

“Who is this Chaos Lord anyhow?”

Hadriel said, the librarian was stood near the edge of the drop in the hill they were stationed upon. His deep blue armour was a strong contrast against the red of his battle brothers.

“Decus, a foul servant of the Ruinous Powers with whom I’ve clashed blades many times...” Vectus said, his voice a gravelly snarl.

Joren laughed.

“Well if he’s survived this long at least we are in for a real fight! It’s been ages since we battled a foe truly worthy of our wrath.”

Vectus crossed his arms, lower his chin a bit.

“Indeed, this will be a challenge, but by the Emperor and Sanguinius we shall pull through this yet, I feel it.”

- - -

Decus was growing annoyed, where was the Veteran Sergeant? His enemy had to reveal himself and it was most agitating to the Raptor Lord. Usually Vectus was one to charge right into the battle, aided by his brothers. Decus knew that the Sergeant had to be planning something, there was no other possibility, except for the Flesh Tearer being dead or damned, but Decus knew better, he knew that Vectus was not one so easily felled, otherwise he would have been done with the loyalist years ago. The Abyssal Lord gripped the edge of the buttress in front of him, causing cracks in the stonework to form.

“Damn him, what is taking so long?”

Decus continued to look out at the field, Chaos against Imperium, one of the sights Decus was oh so familiar with in his long existence.

“My Lord, we received more information from the signal interceptors.”

Naethar stood before Decus, his hand over his chest in salute.

Decus turned to the Legionnaire spymaster, his tone changing from angered, to commanding.

“Report, what news do you bring?”

“Lord, the battle barge is known as the ‘Victus’ it is the only known ship of its class in the Flesh Tearers fleet, as such I can surmise that this is indeed the entire Chapter we are dealing with.”

Decus once again smiled, so the honoured yet scorned Gabriel Seth was currently in orbit above this world? How interesting thought Decus. Bringing such a force had to have taken quite the amount of persuasion from the Veteran Sergeants end.

“This is indeed getting interesting.”

Decus turned back to the battlefield.

“What is your plan... Vectus.”

- - -

With his team boarded into the thunderhawk, Veteran Sergeant Vectus Ira made his way down towards the planet Cerennas, ready for whatever might be coming. He was no stranger to battle with the traitor forces, his blade has crossed path with them on countless occasions in his nearly four hundred Terran years of service to his Chapter and Emperor. Despite his preparation, he still couldn’t shake the uneasiness of what might happen should he indeed find the Raptor Lord waiting for him. Decus was no pushover when it came to combat, from what Vectus had learned, the Lord of the Abyss Chasers was formerly of the fallen Third Legion, and before the great Heresy, Decus was a fine swordsman, a Blademaster who rarely lost a duel. To put it simply, he was not one to be underestimated.

As the Thunderhawk touched down, the squad filed out, they numbered around five Astartes including Vectus, there was Hadriel, the Librarian, Joren, a melee specialist, Veneficus, a techmarine, and Mordel, an apothecary.

This teams mission was rather straight forward, they had to find a way either directly through or around the main battle to reach the fortress, and rescue the captured Inquisitor. Beyond that they had free reign to engage whoever attempted to delay their goal, Joren was the one seemingly most pleased by that notion.

“So what’s the plan Sergeant?”

Joren asked, hoisting an eviscerator over his shoulder, affixing his helm in place with his other, free hand.

Vectus pulled a power sword from its sheath, activating its energy field with his thumb.

“We shall attempt to avoid battle if we can, our goal isn’t attack, it’s a rescue mission in the simplest sense of the phrase.”

Hadriel touched two fingers to his temple, rubbing around the wires that came from his head and linked to his psychic hood.

“I sense two... no, three powerful psykers on the other side of the fortress walls, at least that’s what I can gather from this distance.”

Vectus nodded at the words given.

“Most likely Decus, his Sorceror, and then Rosa herself. Even when she’s unconscious, her mind is a powerful tool or weapon indeed...”

The Veteran Sergeant pointed his sword towards the walls.

“That is our target brothers, we must push through, or I suppose... climb over.”

Joren and Vectus laughed as they began to walk down the hill, followed shortly behind by the rest of the group.

- - -

Naethar quickly spotted the group of Astartes marching towards the walls, it was easy to pick out since they were giving the main battle a wide berth. The spymaster quickly turned on his heel, kneeling down to lean over the wall.

“My Lord, your prey approaches!”

Decus looked up at the Legionnaire and smiled.

“At long last, he reveals himself, finally I’ll be able to get my awaited revenge for the scar he left on my flesh...”

The Raptor Lord launched himself onto the battlements, looking out to see the squad of Flesh Tearers approaching the fortress. Decus activated his lightning claw, the baleful light of electricity arcing across the blades. In his other hand, he held a power sword that was defeated and covered in daemonic sigils and icons, the true fight was fast approaching.

“My damned brothers, join me in this carnage.”

Decus commanded, Tyrax, Naethar, Vezeral, and Zaerthis all joined him at the wall. The group jumped from the battlements and onto the snow covered earth, they began to march towards the incoming group of Loyalists, the air filled with tension.

- - -

With about ten feet between them, the two groups met, standing before one another, on edge with weapons drawn, ready to attack at any moment. Vectus stepped forward, swinging his power sword in some form of preparation.

“Lord Decus, an honour that you choose to greet me before battle.”

Vectus sneered, his words clearly filled with anger and malice towards his foe.

“I have not forgotten courtesy in my many long years, dearest Sergeant, regardless, we have business do we not?”

Pointing his blade at Decus, Vectus continued.

“Indeed, I suppose this will be one-on-one then? An honourable move for one such as you, Lord Decus.”

The Raptor Lord slid his claws over one another, small sparks flying.

“Quite, I assume that our groups are merely here to be witnesses.”

Vectus nodded, his voice silent now.

“Good, let’s not waste anymore time then.”

Decus launched himself at Vectus, his power sword quickly meeting the blade of the Loyalists, a resounding clang crying out into the cold air. The speed was immeasurable, two post-human warriors locked in combat, one with immense power, the other with great experience. It would’ve been something a normal human couldn’t keep track of, their weapons colliding and whipping around with incredible speed and force.

After a moment that felt like an age, the battle was seeming to slow down, Vectus breathing harder than before. He lashed out again and again, his blade meeting Decus’ with thunderous noise.

The Raptor Lord kicked with his cybernetic legs, tossing the Sergeant onto his back, and he raised his lightning claw high, ready to bring it down.

Suddenly a crackle comes from Vectus’ helm, and Joren leaps to block the falling claws.

“Run Sergeant, Hadriel got Rosa out of there! I’ll hold off the ‘esteemed’ Lord.”

Decus suddenly felt his eye twitch. A rage boiling, what does he mean? They rescued the Inquisitor? Preposterous, lies! It had to be lies, Decus thought. He brough his claw down again and again, each time blocked by the veteran marine, in the corner of his vision he could see Vectus being helped to his feet by the Techmarine and Apothecary, quickly running back towards the thunderhawk on the hill. His gaze adjusted again, seeing a librarian running at top speed in the same direction, carrying something in his arms.

How was this possible? When did it happen? Was he blinded by the duel? Anger, wrath, rage, it all filled Decus as his was in a mindless frenzy, striking at the Flesh Tearer in front of him again and again. Eventually the eviscerator was knocked from Jorens hands, and the great lightning claw tore through the Astartes body, blood flying as the loyalist died.

Decus stood there, huffing angrily as he saw the thunderhawk fly off before Tyrax and Zaerthis could reach it.

- - -

After the battle, the Abyss Chasers were victorious, the loyalist forces were battered and routed. The battle-barge Victus left the system. Despite the overall victory, Decus had lost his personal battle. The Veteran Sergeant got away, and with prisoner in tow, Naethar explained that the Librarian used a short range teleport to get in and out quickly, likely a psychic power. Despite the solid explanation, it still didn’t help Decus feel any better about his loss. He still had revenge to deliver to the Sergeant, the damn loyalist Sergeant who was merely delaying rather than actually fighting him. He would meet Vectus again, and when that time came, the Loyalist would know the true wrath of the Abyssal Lord.

[infernalmachette]

Games in their Context

Settling Catan, The weight of context. 

This paticular issue in board games is complex, because the initial intent of the creator of Settlers of Catan, Klaus Teuber do not seem to be malicious at all. He simply was playing and enjoying playing, play testing with his family and creating a elegant beautiful peice of gaming. However through a slightly more modern lense it is slightly unsettling that the indigenous people of Catan exist in a ghost space in the original game. Loring-Albright’s edition, First Nations of Catan does provide a elegant solution to the problem by implementing them as a player through the tribe token.  It does look like she wanted to keep with the games initial peaceful intentions too by making the peice mostly passive, but I feel like the militant mechanic has a lot of potential. Contextually both parties enjoyed the game immensely and I think it’s important to enjoy the games within the context you create for them and the context you exist in. Which brings me to the next reading’s points “The Euro Game as Heterotopia” 

Hetrotopia - To see one’s self 

There’s something special about euro board games in their naive choice to discard violence and heavy themes, they discard most other personal themes with them. Some people take this on a surface level and are disgusted by the impersonal nature of the abstract games, feeling alienated by the lack of simulation, like  Tom Vasel  and his opinion on Vasco da Gama. Vasel isn’t necessarily playing the game incorrectly by not making his own theme and story with the parts he’s been given, but there is a way he could enjoy it more. Devin Wilson talks about Michel Foucault’s theory on mirrored identity. How if we can see past the unreality of our “mirrored” selves we have a opportunity to shape the world beyond that.  Wilson talks about taking issue with the initial implied theme that The Castle of Burgundy seems to have, that animals are property to be eaten or used for their wool, their milk. He’s a vegan (wait don’t run away he’s making a good point) and doesn’t think we should use animals for ANYTHING that involves taking their lives or parts of them from them. So the idea of animals just being commodities doesn’t sit well with him. Instead of throwing up his hands and deciding he just didn’t like the game like Vasel would, he decided to adapt its meaning. Wilson chose to view the animals as companions, and the game suddenly became a whole lot more palatable. 

Context matters and maybe the initial themes and meaning of games initially might be unpalatable, but we can choose how we play them. 

For me personally, this is a thing I recognise a lot in my own gaming. I’m not usually very conscious of it, but the way I act in minecraft is a example. In minecraft my playstyle is to put down my roots, settle, and spend an extensive amount of time building. I can focus for a long long time on tedious tasks in minecraft, whether that be building roofs or digging out the foundations. There are rare occasions where I stop building, usually it’s to go on a big material gathering mission. The other task I’ll do is explore caves. I can spend hours upon hours wandering and collecting every bit of ore. Minecraft is reflective of the fact that I can do mindless tasks, if I like my environment and motivation enough. 

Please touch the art - Interactive art and its humanistic beauty 

Something that I find really stunning and beautiful about Connected worlds is kinda generic in relation to interactive art. Its interactive. That might be a cop out answer but the thing is is I adore the fact that the audience gets to live and exist with the art, touch it, feel like they’re affecting it. I think it’s wonderful to make art so accessible, so human so present. The cold distance that portraits behind glass has can be demoralizing, so to have this bright colourful island of interactive joy is beautiful. I especially like the aspect of it really encouraging children in paticular, making it playful and engaging them. This can foster a love of art throughout their lives, and that’s invaluable. 

E-sports and gaming addiction - Modern horror 

This video was a little scary I’ll admit. Something seems dystopian to me about the idea that Korean young people will spend endless hours playing in PC bangs, to the point where they never actually leave. I can understand the group who likes to play in them because it’s a quieter activity than clubbing though. The e-sport players, are different again. On one hand you can have positive opportunities for poorer Koreans to make a name for themselves. 

Video gaming is a relatively accessible thing because of the PC bangs, so it’s easy for rags to riches stories to happen. On the other hand there is the darker side that can affect any person playing in E-sports, of any nation. The match fixing, a dangerous thing in Korea. It is a thing that exists in other physical sports, like soccer or cricket. 

However I don’t know if we should only compare physical sports and E-sports. I feel like it would be valuable to compare E-sports to competitive chess. In a lot of situations the games are specifically strategic, not unlike chess. It’s also always held over a sit down game. E-sports does however reflect physical sports through its teamwork, and the massive dramatic stadiums for spectators. There’s a lot of mixture between the two actually, perhaps it could be held as a stepping stone between chess and soccer as entertainment play. 

[infolearn]

The Importance of Failure: 5 Valuable Lessons from Failing

“It is impossible to live without failing at something, unless you live so cautiously that you might as well not have lived at all, in which case you have failed by default.” — J.K. Rowling

Why Failure is so Important

Failure, as much as it hurts, is an important part of life. In fact, failure is necessary. I have failed more times than I’d like to admit. And I’m not talking about small failures; I’m talking about the kind of failures that rock your world, completely altering the landscape of your relationships, finances, and mental-wellbeing. And, if you’re anything like me, then you’ve also most likely failed many times over. I can’t say that I particularly enjoy failing, but failure, through its life-altering lessons, makes us into better persons. In fact, failure is life’s great teacher; it’s nature’s chisel that chips away at all the excess, stripping down egos as it molds and shapes us through divine intentions. Without failure, we’d be less capable of compassion, empathy, kindness, and great achievement; we would be less likely to reach for the moon and the stars. It’s through failure that we learn the greatest lessons that life could teach us.  

What is Failure?

What is failure, really? Why is it so important to fail at something before we can succeed? Not too long ago, I wrote an article about 12 Famous People Who Failed and it really got me thinking about the nature of failure. What is it and how does it affect our lives? How does it affect our thoughts, emotions, and our actions? When we think about failure, we think of things in a negative light. We say that failure is painful and that it causes emotional turmoil and upset, and inflicts agonizing pangs of guilt, regret, and remorse. But, for those that have known true failure, and have bounced back from it, understand that failure in life is necessary for success. Sure, failing hurts. In fact, it cuts deep like a razor, slicing its way to our inner core. Yet, it’s necessary. And the most successful people in life have failed the most times. If you try to go through life without failing at anything, then you’re not really living a life at all. Taking risks and falling down flat on our faces is part of life; it makes us into who we are. When a baby is first learning to walk, she’s going to fall down many times. This, in fact, is failure. But, ask any mother about their baby’s ability to walk and she will wholeheartedly declare that her baby will one day walk. She might fall down many times, but she will surely walk. Why is the mother so confident that her daughter will walk? Of course, we all know the answer to that. We know that falling down and failing while learning to walk is just a part of life. So, why isn’t failure at other things treated this way? What we don’t realize as is just what some people had to go to in order to get where they are in life. Like the baby learning to walk, they had to fall down and fail many times. The problem? Society tends to celebrate the successes rather than highlighting the epic journeys towards success that are filled with trials, tribulations, upsets, setbacks, and failures. It’s not as glamorous to talk about those things. “I’ve missed more than 9000 shots in my career. I’ve lost almost 300 games. 26 times, I’ve been trusted to take the game winning shot and missed. I’ve failed over and over and over again in my life. And that is why I succeed.” — Michael Jordan

Why It’s Necessary to Fail

In life, it’s necessary to fail. Failure is a steppingstone. In fact, there are 5 very powerful life lessons that failure helps to teach and instill in us. If you’ve recently failed at something in a major way, and you’re going through a difficult time right now, keep these important lessons in mind.   Failure Lesson #1: Experience The first important lesson gained from failure is experience. What happens when we fail? When we go through something and can walk away with firsthand experience, it helps us to develop a deeper understanding for life. The experience of failing at something is truly invaluable. It completely alters our frame-of-mind through the induction of pain. It makes us reflect on the real nature of things and their importance in our lives, transforming and improving our future-selves.   Lesson #2: Knowledge Failure brings with it important firsthand knowledge. That knowledge can be harnessed in the future to overcome that very failure that inflicted so much pain in the first place. Nothing can replace the knowledge gained from failure. When Thomas Edison famously failed nearly 10,000 times to create a commercially viable electric lightbulb, with each failure, he gained the knowledge of just one more avenue that didn’t work. It was the accumulated knowledge developed from nearly 10,000 failed attempts that ultimately led to his success.   Lesson #3: Resilience Failing in life helps to build resilience. The more we fail, the more resilient we become. In order to achieve great success, we must know resilience. Because, if we think that we’re going to succeed on the first try, or even the first few tries, then we’re sure to set ourselves up for a far more painful failure. The characteristic of resilience can help us in so many ways in life. Resilience helps to breed success by setting the game up to win. Gone are the lofty expectations that thing will happen overnight, and in comes the expectations that true success will take an enormous amount of work and effort.   Lesson #4: Growth When we fail, we grow and mature as human beings. We reach deeper meanings and understandings about our lives and why we’re doing the things that we’re doing. This helps us to reflect and take things into perspective, developing meaning from painful situations. Life is designed for us to grow and improve. From the very genetic fibers that make us into who we are as individual persons, into the fabric of society on a global scale, growth is a fundamental part of us. Without growth, we couldn’t improve life on every front.   Lesson #5: Value One of the biggest lessons that we can learn from life’s failures is the necessity to create and spread an exceedingly high amount of value. In fact, value lies at the heart of success and a lack of value is a fundamental pillar to failure. In thinking about your past failures, think about how much value you brought to the table. Could you have offered more value? Would that have prevented failure? When you learn to create immense value, and do so consistently, you will eventually succeed.  

How to Recover from Failure

There are many ways to recover from failure. Once you understand what failure is, and how it’s meant to serve us rather than hinder us, you’ll free your mind and open your heart to experience the joy of failure. Joy? Yes – Joy. When we’re going through failure, it’s hard to recognize the importance of it. We can’t see the forest through the trees, so to speak, when there’s a fire threatening to burn the whole village down. But, that’s just what we have to do. So, if you’ve failed in life, hopefully you better understand the importance of failing and failing often. But, how do you recover from failure? There are a few ways to do this.   #1 – Ignore the Naysayers When you fail, surely there will be the people telling you, “I told you so,” and, “You should have listened to me.” Ignore those people. Ignore the naysayers. Living a life that’s completely safe all the time, isn’t really living. If you watched J.K. Rowling’s Harvard commencement speech, then surely you walked away with a better understanding of this.   #2 – Understand that it’s Okay to Fail One of the best ways to recover from failure is to understand that it’s quite alright to fail. If you were to conduct any one of a number of searches on the Web, you would find countless stories about failure from the world’s most successful people. It’s okay to fail. But it’s not okay to give up.  Even if you failed and that failure was extremely painful, it’s not okay to give up. Keep failing over and over again if you have to. Keep on doing it until you succeed. Success will taste so much sweeter when you reach it. Pushing forward and not giving up is quite possibly one of the best ways to recover from failure. Remember, it’s not true failure unless you throw in that proverbial towel and wholeheartedly give up forever.   #3 – Realize that it’s Okay to Fail Although failure to us symbolizes pain, and we’ll do more to avoid pain than we will to gain pleasure, we have to realize that it’s okay to fail. When we realize the importance that failure has played in the lives of the most successful people, it’s far easier to reach this understanding. Failure will take you on a journey that you might not want to go on. But, the reality of the situation is that those journeys will help to mold and shape you into a better person. Recovering from failure becomes far more effortless with the knowledge and experience of that failure under our belts. And there’s simply no way forward in life without failure.   #4 – Using Failure as Leverage If you’ve failed in life, you can use that as leverage to not only recover from it, but to help propel you forward in the future. Failure can be a great a platform for growth that is simply unmatched. To leverage your failures, you have to illuminate them to your mind. Write out what you failed at and why you failed. Did you have deep enough meaning to your goals in the past? What could you have done differently? How will you tackle those failures in the future when you’re faced with them? How will you learn from the past to help shape a bigger and brighter future? Failure isn’t the end of the road as long as you don’t give up. If you still believe in your goals, you can use the failure as leverage to push past the old limitations of your past.   #5 – Revisit Your Goals Did you have clear and concrete goals in the past? Did you set goals the SMARTER way? Revisit your goals from the past and look at just how clear you were with your goals. Were they precise and exact? Did you visualize them in your mind? Sometimes, failure results from not setting goals the right way. Not only must we set goals the right way, but we must track and analyze them on a monthly, weekly, and daily basis. To recover from failure, revisit your goals and redefine them. Spend the time necessary to analyze and adjust where necessary.   #6 – Create a Massive Action Plan Want to recover from failure? Create a Massive Action Plan. Take your goals and lay out a plan as to how you’re going to achieve them. What will you do in the face of failure next time it rears its ugly head? When we have a massive action plan, we have a systematic way of achieving the goals that we set for ourselves. Once we come to the realization that those goals won’t be simple to achieve, we can approach things with a more long-term frame-of-mind. Set out a solid action plan that will help you push past the stumbling blocks of life, and watch as you slowly but surely recover from any setbacks, upsets, or failures. Read the full article

[black-strike-otp]

part 62

Smols is so happy!! Ain’t that precious. *w*

The medic must have had a rather full schedule, because it wasn’t until the wee jours of the next day Novastrike was called back into her office. For a moment as she entered the room, the little femme worried that something unexpected had come up in previous scans that she’d preformed.

However, her fears diminished the moment she walked into the room and spotted Guard standing by the bigger femme. He had that same twinkle in his optics as always that added a lot of youth to his somewhat worn and aged faceplate. It amazed her to some extent that the old mech simply didn’t have a larger following; it was easy to be wrapped up and spellbound by his charisma and politeness.

“Good morning Novastrike,” the medic stated, pressing her digits to her faceplate as her vents hiccuped with a sort of tiresome yawn.

“Good morning ma’am, sir,” Nova chimed in greeting with a dip of her helm respectfully to the duo.

The femme and Guard each gave a quiet chuckle at her polite gesture. Taking a step forward, the medic spoke frankly with a flick of her servo towards the smaller femme.

“Good news: you’re cleared and ready to get back to work. All supervision, testing, and scans reveal good health. You may continue experiencing soreness for a time, but nothing of vital significance seems to be problematic any longer. Your injuries are mostly healed. Just don’t go lifting heavy objects, take regular interval breaks, don’t strain yourself.”

Novastrike gave a vigorous nod in response. These were all reasonable and easy enough to follow.

With a shuffle on his bad pede and one good pede, Guard moved forward with his cane gradually.

“I have a request,” the old mech spoke up gently.

Nova’s audio receptors twitched forward curiously. “Yes, sir?”

“As you may well know, with Blackout out of commission for the time being, I’ve had to step up on my duties once more as a commanding officer,” Guard reminded her. “Under normal circumstance, this wouldn’t be a problem. However our medic has encouraged that I rest frequently.”

“Although Neutroboost,” he spun the mech’s name with a surprising amount of irritation, “has been willing to help, there’s still a need for more capable servos. Since we’re running shifts both on the Rising Star here as well as the Revenge II, we need more help. We lost a lot of great mechs and femmes; some of which were trusted advisers and sentries.”

As the old mech paused for a moment, Novastrike’s optics widened a small fraction. The various shades of blue grew brighter and more intense.

“I was hoping that you might be willing to be a temporary officer for the time being,” Guard asked gently. “We’ll see how it goes; I’ve already gotten positive response from my team. You’ll be helping issue orders throughout the ship and will be transported over to the Revenge II from time to time to keep the transaction between those guarding the prisoners and those working over there safe. I simply can not make the journey all day all the time. It takes more mechs to help me over there than it would you, and although the anti-gravity does not ill harm to me, the transport and landing can be a bit tedious...”

“What just a nanoklik,” Nova blurt in, “You’re just- asking me if I’d be willing to be a stand-in commanding officer?”

Guard passed a look to the medic. She gave a quiet giggle, hiding her face with a servo as she turned away.

Turning his face back towards Nova, his smile only grew as he gave a nod. “Yes, essentially. The help would be immense but I understand if-”

“I’ll do it.”

“Are you sure?” Guard inquired anxiously, his grin faltering. “It’s a big responsibility Nova, I understand if you want to continue recuperating or spending time with Blackout. Maybe you’d like some time to think about it.”

“If I’m healthy as the medic states, I’ll do it,” Nova stated with a determined nod of her helm and gleaming fierce optics. “Blackout would be more than understanding. If I can help in any way, I want to.”

“That means a lot to me Novastrike, thank you,” the elder mech spoke humbly, inclining his helm. “I think it will be a good experience for you.”

A blooming light emitted from Novastrike’s ears as the most respected bot on the ship bowed slightly to her. But what caught her attention more than anything was the remark on how this would be a good experience for. Surely all her other efforts on the ship had been good experiences. Was there something in particular he was trying to hint at?

“I’ll be sending you a thorough breakdown on the particular aid I’ll be requesting for you and when you have time, just let me know what you’re comfortable with,” Guard suggested calmly. “As I said, having more bots to mediate in the Revenge II would be enormously helpful above all else. The prisoners can be a bit... loud and difficult to handle for some, so it takes a stern voice sometimes to keep bots in order. At the moment we have some of our crew dissecting their ship for replacement parts for the Rising Star and gutting it out of its cargo.”

The small femme offered a curt nod in response. “I’ll do my best to represent you and do you proud, sir.”

Guard’s shimmering optics seemed to flash brighter. “I know you will, Novastrike. I have full faith in you.”

She beamed with absolute joy.

“And it’s Guard,” he reminded her as his smile turned less endearing and more cheeky.

“Yes, Guard, of course,” she stated with a wide grin.

Reaching over, the medic gently placed a servo against Guard’s arm. “Alright Guard, let’s have a look at your leg before I get started with some of my patients this morning.”

“Yes ma’am,” the old mech swiftly agreed. Even he seemed quick to agree to whatever the femme stated. Medic’s seemed to be the true leaders of the faction and factionless from Nova’s standpoint.

Turning his optics back to Nova, he raised his free servo towards her in a small gesture of farewell. “I’ll be sending those files soon, dear one, enjoy the rest of your morning.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it, sir,” Novastrike said with a dip of her helm, slowly backing out of the room.

As the door closed in front of her, Nova turned and bounded for the room stationed with some of those still yet left to be taken care of and released from the medic’s care. The entryway opened with a systematic hum in front of her as she dashed in and raced by bots that were lounging around the room. At just a glance, it was easy to see that some had vacated the room. Probably released just as Novastrike; others likely decided on going to rooms nearby instead where it was less crowded at the time.

Hurdling over a bot in her way, Novastrike took the last steps and jumped on top of the berth Blackout was sitting on.

The dark armored mech’s optics were widened slightly. He made a quiet noise in the back of his throat and made a motion for her to look behind herself.

Tilting her helm to the side, Nova looked back to see all the optics turned her way. She turned a slightly self-conscious smile back towards her escort, shrugging slightly.

“I’m always delighted to see you too, Novastrike,” Blackout murmured with soft amusement, “I mean, who in their right mind wouldn’t you’re beautiful, irresistible, talented, skilled, captivating, brilliant, passionate, kind, dignified-”

“Does that list end?” Nova teased, stepping closer with a sly smile.

A grin flashed across Blackout’s faceplate. “I don’t believe it does,” he mused thoughtfully.

Damn, he was unbearably intoxicating and so hard to not be drawn towards. There couldn’t be a more kindsparked mech out there. Bots feared this mech; compared him to Unicron, claimed him a Pit-Spawned monster yet he looked and her touched her and spoke of her with such gentle reverence, such adoration so much passion and fondness...

Moving closer, Novastrike dropped to her knees in front of Blackout. Her tail swished back and forth lightly before settling, laying slightly across his pede.

“I’m always happy to see you too, handsome devil,” she teased, reaching out to caress his hip.

Shifting his optics around briefly to see if anybot was paying too much attention, Blackout settled his gaze back upon Nova and quirked a slight smile. “I’m glad to hear that, dear, but there’s no need for idol worship.”

“Oh shut up,” she hissed playfully, whacking his leg with her tail. “I just like being on my knees.”

Blackout choked softly.

“You filthy mech,” she hissed quietly.

“Your wording could be better, darling.”

“Your mind could be cleaner.”

“Touche.”

“I did come baring good news, but since you’re already preoccupied,” Nova whispered quietly, “but if you’re too distracted...”

Raising an optic ridge, Blackout leaned forward slightly. “I do like good news, especially if it makes you so happy...”

“Oh hush, I’m easily made happy just being in your presence,” the little femme proclaimed.

“Mmm, I think I can accomplish that,” the former Decepticon Hound volunteered with a light smile.

“A tempting proposition,” Novastrike admitted, “and one I hope reigns true. However, the good news I bring is that I am officially released, per orders of the medic herself.”

“Ooh, congratulations my dear,” the mech announced with a flash in his optics.

“Yeah,” the white-armored femme murmured, patting his side. “So you’re going to hurry up and heal and get better, or that big room’s going to get awfully lonely real fast.”

“You’re leaving me for the captain’s quarters?” Blackout asked with a fake look of hurt.

“Well as temporary acting commanding officer...”

“Temporary commanding officer?”

Drawing her arms close, Novastrike offered a nervous sway of her shoulders up and down. “Yeah, you know, like a commander but temporarily.”

“That’s... great! Fantastic, really. When did you find out about this? What will you be doing?”

“Guard just told me a few nanokliks ago when I was with the medic,” Nova verified. “Well, he asked me, and I said I’d be happy to help out. He sounded kinda suspicious though, you don’t think he’s testing me for a permanent position do you?”

“I don’t know, it’s always possible,” the big mech stated with a sage nod.

“As for what I’ll be doing, he said he’d send me some information via a private file on my datapad. Instructions, requests, see what I thought about some things before I agreed to it all.”

Continuing to nod his helm, Blackout flashed a grin down to Novastrike as he commented, “I don’t know, Nova, but that does sound pretty promising. Even if it’s temporary, the fact Guard would come to you asking for help shows how much trust and belief he has in you.”

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Nova agreed with a faint rush of light that glowed from her ears and slowly dispersed.

Reaching down, the mech once mistaken for a Satanic being placed a servo over Novastrike. She gave a squeak of surprise, peering her optics out as his digits rubbed along her backside.

“You pamper me,” she accused.

“Mmm, perhaps you deserve pampering.”

Nova stuck out her glossia.

A quiet snicker escaped Blackout, trailing along her backstrut so that she trembled all over. Right along her weak spot; barely grazing the sturdy rough texture of his armor against her.

“I should probably get going,” she gasped quietly. “See about that datapad. You know, before you distract me so thoroughly I forget about it.”

“I can’t help if I’m distracting,” the giant mech offered.

Offering a suggestive wink, Novastrike bowed low and rolled to the side to get out from beneath his servo. She looked up to Blackout’s face as she did sat up once more.

“I know you can’t,” she mouthed. “You always look that good.”

Giving a snort of disbelief, the mech gave a shake of his helm. Nova quietly pressed her pedes to the berth as he was distracted, moving to stand up and brush along her armor as it readjusted slightly against her body and protoform.

“Get better,” she urged, wagging a digit at him. “I mean it.”

“Well I’m going to hope I do,” Blackout reported with a brisk nod. “It’d be monstrous of me not to, you’d be missing your happiness,” added with a tone of self-mockery.

“You know it,” she agreed firmly, stepping over to where his servo was still on the berth and pressing a kiss against the back of servo. “Take care of yourself.”

“I will, darling.”

Geez, it tore at her fragile little spark to hear such an impenetrable voice of depth and darkness call her darling so softly.

Waving her digits in a small sign of farewell, she stepped backwards and off the side of the berth to the floor.

Was it cliché to glance over one’s shoulder half a million times just leaving a room? Maybe a little, but it made Blackout roll his optics and grin every time she did it.

Whatever was she going to do about the way he made her spark pound in her chassis, or the flipping and flopping it did at just the thought of him? She was a smitten kitten without knowing how or even if she should possibly express it to him. What if he didn’t reacquaint her feelings? What if this was just temporary to him; just a passing fling, a curious endeavor?  She didn’t want to make it weird between them, and a small part of herself was terrified at the very idea of the sparkbreak that may be to come.

She had to set it outside of her helm or she wasn’t going to get anything done for today. Not for Guard, not for herself, not for the good of the ship.

As she walked down the hall, she gave herself a physical shake as though that would rattle away her thoughts. Her ears flattened against her helm as she placed her servos against the side of her face. Get it together femme.

Her audios swiveled forward of their own accord as a door a few meters in front of the little femme opened.

Neutroboost stepped out.

Avoiding the urge to grimace, Novastrike lifted her chin and inclined her helm slightly towards the other mech as she continued her steady pace forward.

“Good morning, commander.”

“What’s it to you if it is, or isn’t?” the mech grumbled.

“I hope it’s a good day then, commander,” the young femme offered in a voice that had a touch of a bite to it.

“Heh. I bet you do.”

The mech turned his gaze down to her. She couldn’t determine if there was any pity left inside of her for him. At this point the threats, the attitude, the thankless behavior, the way he treated others and didn’t act on behalf of the ship... He just didn’t seem worthy of respect and remorse for him dwindled day by day.

He met her gaze with an icy one of his own. Sneering slightly, he managed to grumble out in a venomous tone, “Excuse me femme, I have actual work to do over on Revenge II.”

Drawing her optic ridges together, Nova stepped aside and made a motion with her servos. “Then by means, sir, please pass. I’d hate to slow you down.”

“You could mind your manners a bit, femme,” he warned.

“And you could mind yours, speaking to a fellow commander like-”

“You’re a stand in commander only,” Neutroboost broke in swiftly. “Nothing more. Don’t let it get to your helm. You’ll be out of business very soon.”

Frustrated, Novastrike balled her servos up at her side stiffly. “How can you speak to me like that? Threaten me, after what I’ve done for you.”

“Let it go, Novastrike,” the mech muttered as he stalked by. “You aren’t getting anywhere around here.”

Craning her helm around to watch the mech’s backside, Novastrike bit down on her glossia firmly but just shy enough of breaking the metal with her derma. She��d show him.

[cbk1000]

Part two of BTS of Why Is Jenn the Way She Is What Happened In Her Childhood to Produce This??

This series began and ended with Klaroline, but more importantly, it began and ended with Caroline. Even before TO really got off its feet and horrified us all with its first wobbly preggo steps, I knew it was unlikely that Caroline would play a large role in the show. So that was my goal in the beginning: simply to transplant Caroline into TO, to explore her burgeoning relationship with Klaus, but especially to explore Caroline as the wonderfully flawed and flawless character she is. She was a perfect foil to Klaus: not just romantically, but as a way to explore immortality from a new perspective, to line them up side by side, to show that evolution in its various stages, and at its most extreme ends. Caroline was at the perfect jumping off point for a writer with a boner for tackling all the most difficult questions of immortality: young, poised between humanity and vampirism, with one foot in her old insecurities and the other in her revelations about humanity and relationships. She was fun, she was heartbreaking, she was the very bitchslap Klaus needed when he was in the midst of an unchecked tantrum. She will forever be one of the best characters I've ever had the pleasure of trying to do justice to, and I think her character arc was immense, and thank god for my unrelenting obsession with her, because I never would have found the necessary satisfaction in canon. Canon degraded, regressed, and threw her aside; I wanted to do the exact opposite. I wanted her to climb out of the tiny box of Mystic Falls; I wanted her to realize how shitty and unfulfilling and damaging her time there was; I wanted her to understand that she didn't deserve it. I wanted her to be young and confused and a little lost, but, Jesus, that's ok, you know? She has so long to  grow into herself. And I had three years to follow and document that growth, and frankly, I'm sad it's over, but I'm also proud of where she's at as a character now. As challenging as Klaus was, Caroline was equally difficult. People underestimate Caroline; she's the easy one. She's not the thousand-year-old murderous manbaby who somehow must be shaped into an actual relatable character that human readers can sympathize with.

She's not the easy one; she has so much depth and love in her. The writers underestimated her potential and trapped her in a shitty podunk town with Lieutenant Colonel of the Shitheel Fuckboy Brigade (I cannot emphasize enough how much I hate Stefan), and I could never let that fucking stand, so in reality, even if TO had realized all our most fantastic headcanons, I'd have still shit out a War and Peace-sized brick about why Caroline Forbes is objectively The Best and if you disagree you are wrong.

But most of all, this series was about the Originals and my obviously unhealthy and persistent obsession with them. This is what the goddamn show was supposed to be about: one thousand years of disturbing murder angst. They had the opportunity to examine these characters from various different historical perspectives, to really dig down into the deranged but seemingly unbreakable bonds between some fucked-up but fascinating individuals, and, well, you know what we all got instead. And I was so salty about it that I wrote over half a million words of weird murder fic.  And it was challenging and time-consuming and really, really exhausting sometimes trying to balance all these various different perspectives, to write Rebekah as a terrible bitch who is still somehow heartbreaking, and Klaus as a nearly irredeemable shithead, and Kol my little creepy murder Peter Pan. I spent weeks and often months researching the flashbacks. Random lines and scenes would wake me up in the middle of the night. I neglected Mr. Jenn. (Ask him about how I shut myself up in our bedroom like a hobo and issue strict orders that I am to be disturbed only if the house is on fire, and even then he better have tried everything to put that fucker out before jarring me out of a writing trance.) I poured everything I knew, every skill I had into trying to bring them to life, to understand them, to sympathize with them, to explore their relationships with each other, with history, with humanity in general.

And speaking of relationships...

We come to the other elephant in the room. That cardinal sin, the realm of aqua-haired Mary Sues, the dreaded OC. Poor Tim, precious murder child to some, unsympathetic narrative usurper to others. Tim was never intended to be anything more than a recurring background character who would emphasize just how fucking old these people are. Here's an acquaintance from literally a hundred years ago, just chilling in the same pink-cheeked pretty boy face he had in 1915, because has anyone mentioned how old all these fuckers are? And then I thought, you know what, I wanna' see Klaus turn and mentor someone. I want to see him manipulate and corrupt someone for the sheer joy of it. I want to show what Caroline is really getting into; I want to show all the darkest bits of him. I want everyone to know that this guy doesn't always have a plan; it's not always a scheme. Sometimes, he's just bored and he wants to ruin someone.

And then I sort of started feeling sorry for the poor bastard, because really, he seemed like a nice enough kid, polite, sexually confused in a time period when exploring that confusion would literally get you jailed. Not a slick British guy with dimples and a pun for all seasons; someone painfully awkward, someone with a deep and abiding kindness, no matter what. And then, well, he and Kol started banging, only I made the mistake of developing a friendship first, and there was this oooooohhhh noooooo falling sensation and I realized for better or worse this ship was sailing, and that I had better develop him as an individual outside of their relationship, so here we are, two years later, tap dancing and weird porn and all. He was supposed to be killed off, first before I bothered to delve into him, and later when he was bitten by the werewolves. But I didn't want to write in a shock death, I didn't want to kill him just because I knew some readers really liked him, and I kept coming back to something my sister said to me, which was that gay guys never get the happy ending. And that's true. I've watched a fair amount of LGBT films, and in almost all of them, someone leaves or dies or contracts AIDS, and we all learn a valuable lesson about the dangers of Being Gay. Happy endings are for heteros. That bothered me. A lot. Kol was always going to leave--that was always going to be his ending. But I was much hazier so far as Tim was concerned. I kept coming back to what she said, over and over again. Like, you know what, yeah--yeah. Men aren't supposed to end up together. That's what every movie has taught me. We can maybe excuse women for it, but that's not what Manly Men do. They need to be punished for even trying. So I threw them into the sunset and screamed, "Run, you fuckers!!" and now they're somewhere on a beach, doing it.

This is already too long (story of my life), so I'll just wind it up with this: I'm not a popular writer, and I've wrestled with that over years of posting fanfiction, and I wrestled with it while posting this series, especially as the shows began to jettison their audiences and that began to be reflected in review numbers. You wonder, if it's you, if it's the show. You wonder if anyone is listening. So for everyone who followed this series from the very beginning, who joined up later, for everyone who is still inexplicably here, for even those of you who aren't: thank you. Thank you to those who messaged me, who reviewed, thank you to those who followed silently along, lurking bashfully in my hit numbers. Thank you to everyone who encouraged me, thank you to everyone who talked me through some rough scenes, and some rough feelings. I never really had any faith that I would finish this in a way that satisfied myself or my readers; it was too big a project, too ambitious, too far beyond my abilities. And yet here we are, and you know what? I feel pretty good about it. (Gross but-what-am-I-going-to-do-with-my-life-now??? sobbing aside.)