#unethical means of mourning

[all-about-the-tea-parties]

apparently I’m in the minority (and the tags are feeling very American right now), but like? Our family of stoats is messy sure but like? The hell is this “omg they killed the leadership that’s so irresponsible”

Did you guys miss the part where the First Stoats entered the chat by immediately killing Sybil as a “lesson”. Don’t know about you, but watching some alien fucking unethical experimentation doomism police state don’t-ever-mourn-your-loved-ones cult leaders kill the one god damn stoat who made our family feel even a little bit safe, who was by the way, a CHILD, I might not take that as “oh they just wanted to talkkkkk”.

Nah, we’re wayyyy past talking. Did we break into somewhere we shouldn’t have? Yeah, but your whole society has been sus from the beginning and instant murder reaction is insane and suddenly OUR stoats are bad for prioritising self defense? For deciding they are morally the opposite of whoever the fuck these First Stoats are? They’ve been alive 20 YEARS! And all they’ve accomplished is training stoats to be LESS community oriented.

Maybe i just agree too much with Brennan’s approach to character motivation; but I have no issue at all with usurping ends-justifies-the-means assholes. Esp when they back us into a corner.

#feeling heated on main #couldn’t believe my eyes #what are you guys ON #burrow's end

[ploo-toe]

The Crow and the Mourning Dove - Intro

SCP-049 x SCP!Reader

Series tags/warnings(18+): fem!reader, slowburn, (eventual)smut, horror, gore/violence, death, unethical experiments, dark, mentions of past trauma, happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Just one more question for today, and then I'll leave you be.”  Leeward chose his words carefully.  “It says you were found in Marseille.  Why did you leave Paris?”

Notes: I'm so excited to begin this new series!  The song I had in mind in this chapter was Piano Concerto No. 1 in E Minor, Op. 11:1. Allegro Maestoso by Frédéric Chopin and the Warsaw Philharmonic Orchestra.  The referenced “melancholy” part is roughly at 4:40.  Here’s the youtube link for anybody interested in listening:  https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GWd0O0TlJqM

___________________________________________

Leeward had just finished up his report on the progress made in his most recent interview with SCP-049, or lack thereof, when he had been flagged down by the site director.

"Adam!  I'm glad I caught you.  I need you to take on the series of interviews Dr.Rivera was conducting. Not all of them, just this one; SCP-9528.  It's located down in humanoid containment. "  The director held out a file to him. 

Hesitantly taking it from his hand, Leeward let out a nervous but exasperated chuckle. "I don't really have a choice, do I?"  It was framed as a joke, but his words held truth to them. He was in no place to refuse the directors request and keep his job intact. 

The director let out a cold and unnerving laugh, one that didn't reach his eyes. "Be sure you get on this as soon as possible.  I'm trusting you Dr.Leeward, don't make me regret it."

There was a pit in Leeward's stomach as he watched the director leave. Confrontation was never his strong suit.  With a heavy sign, he began thumbing through the file, walking as he read. 

He was intrigued to say the least, this scp was definitely a curiosity. He had taken a pen out of his coat pocket and began making notes in the file, underlining phrases like "seemingly female humanoid", "152 cm in height", "strange eyes", "musician", "spirit maiden" whatever that means, "reaper", "friendly", "deadly" that's a little contradictory.  Reading the file had certainly left him with more questions than answers. At the bottom were notes written by Dr.Rivera.

-prefers to go by y/n, but will respond to designation

-states to originate from the 15th century

-claims to wear perfume, although never seen putting any on, emitted naturally?

-interview with song moving forward, timestamp changes with recording

-when asked about the ring on its necklace,  answers given were vague, distant, and almost… somber. 

Looking up, the designation on the door stared down at him. He must have been so lost in thought that he hadn't realized he was here already. Straightening his coat, Leeward held his keycard to the scanner, and braced himself as the door slid open. 

The first thing that hit him was the soft lavender scent when he walked in. The second was the music that filled the room, with seemingly no point of origin. If he closed his eyes it was almost like he was at an orchestral performance. But his eyes stayed curiously trained on the figure before him.

In the center of the room stood SCP-9528, arms gently moving through the air as if conducting the room around it.  As the door closed behind him, 9528 moved its head to the side, acknowledging him but not turning around.

“Where's Dr.Rivera?”  The voice that questioned was warm, and if he didn’t know any better he would think it was human.  Luckily he did know better.  

“Dr.Rivera’s starting her maternity leave today, so I’ll be the one working with you for the time being.  My name is Dr.Leeward.”  This answer seemed to satisfy the scp, its head turning forward again to continue its musings.  

Leeward sat at the table to his right, taking out his notes and signaling to the two way window across the room that he was ready and to start recording. He cleared his throat lightly before beginning.

“It says here your name is y/n, correct?” Leeward started with a simple question, choosing to go with the basics to gauge how to best lead the interview.

“That’s correct, although no one’s had the decency to call me that in ages.  The numbers you’ve assigned will suffice as well.”  It spoke with a soft French accent.  Why it hadn’t been noted until now, he was unsure.

“Well y/n, I’d like to ask you some questions; get to know you better.  Is that alright?”  He remembered seeing something in the file about “good days” and “bad days”, so he thought providing some illusion of choice would increase its likelihood to cooperate.

“I suppose.  You seem pleasant enough.”

“Good, now I know that you’ve most likely been asked some of these questions before, but I'd like to start from the beginning for myself.”  Leeward paused before continuing.  “It says in your file that you’re from the 15th century, is it safe to assume that you’re from France?”

9528 nodded “Yes, that’s correct.”

“Where in France specifically?”

“Île de la Cité.  It was fairly populated at the time, even more so now I assume.  I was one of the lucky few who lived there at the time to have a garden.”  9528 began to open up to Leeward, pleased with the topic of conversation.  The music in the room took a more cheery tone to it.  

“You say you had a garden?  What kinds of things did you grow?”

“Oh, vegetables, fruit, spices, a few medicinal herbs, etcetera..”

“Medicinal herbs, could you elaborate on that for me?”

“You see, I always preferred homemade remedies over bought ones.”

“And what did you do for a living?”  Leeward moved on, trying to find something substantial.

“I made music for the townspeople, in the market square by the cathedral.  I always hoped to entertain and lift their spirits.  It was a hard time in Paris back then.  I loved the way the children would dance around without a care in the world.  As if nothing could ever harm them.”

Leeward decided to take a chance.  “It says here that you wear a ring on your necklace.  May I ask why?”

The music in the room turned melancholy, and 9528 stilled.  It paused, as if lost in thought, or perhaps pondering what it should tell the doctor.  Leeward took the chance to listen to its melody. It sounded wistful and saudade.  The more he listened, the more it felt like he was longing for something unknown and far away.  What that meant, he was unsure.  He was brought back to the present when 9528 spoke.

“It was a gift from someone close to me.  I wear it to remember them.”  That was all it seemed willing to divulge.  The music softly paused.  “I'm growing quite tired, Doctor.”

“Just one more question for today, and then I'll leave you be.”  Leeward chose his words carefully.  “It says you were found in Marseille.  Why did you leave Paris?”

The answer it gave sounded thought out, as if only part true.  But it shook the doctor nonetheless.

“The Plague.”

#scp 049 x reader #scp049xreader #scp 049 #scp 049 x scp reader #scp foundation #scp containment breach #the crow and the mourning dove #scp 049 x oc #back in the swing of things #buckle up folks #its giving dark AND spicy #SLOWburn

[nichestartrekkie0-0]

Da'an Pov

Word count: 392

Rating: PG

Precursor to an OC fic :))

My alarm goes off. I hit snooze; once, twice. The final alarm goes off but this time I roll out of bed. My deliciously warm, pillowy, soft nest is tempting to return to, but I have a job. 

That means math, responsibilities, and a smartass that keeps touching my thermostat. Of course, the ‘responsibilities’ part is slightly more important. The smartass I have to deal with is nothing more than an annoyance at most. 

The shower instantly turns on to my preferred temperature while my coffee warms up. It’s nice to have an apartment with all the bells and whistles. Most houses in the Northern Wastes are quite simple and probably seem barbaric to the rest of the world. 

Not that Aenar care much about the world’s opinions. 

After a quick scrub and a cup of energy, I pull on my clothes. Apparently, they’re plain and boring, but I feel like I should get a pass as someone who can't see color. They’re comfortable and professional and that’s all that matters. 

Or– at least– that’s all that matters to me. 

Naturally, my time runs out before I can eat. So, I grab a quick coffee in the shoddy downstairs lobby as I run to catch the train. 

The train’s packed, the walk is cold and the thermostat is already up twenty degrees when I arrive at my small, dingy office. For the accounting team, you’d think we’d have nicer digs than a former lab. 

A shudder runs down my spine. 

Aenar usually don’t like thinking about science experiments. Specifically, unethical scientific experiments. Lab rats are still rats, animals, and still worthy of life. I don’t care if they’re considered vermin; we still keep criminals around, don’t we? 

Shaking my head, I silently mourn for any testing animal as I sit down at my wobbly desk. 

Another cup of coffee is set down in front of me by a tall human woman. My irritable coworker Angel; lovely name, not-so-lovely temper.

“Christ.” She drawls, picking at her nails, “Did you work late again?”

Rats. I’ve been discovered. 

“Maybe.” I scoff, “Why’s the heat so high?”

“Ask your favorite person in the office- he’ll give you a PowerPoint presentation as to why he turned up the temp.” 

I hold back a groan. Right. The smartass in question happens to know the thermostat code and has our boss on his side.  

So, I’m cooked. 

#star trek #star trek andorian #aenar #my fic #andorians #star trek headcanon #vulcans #my ocs <3

[minijenn]

Heheheheheeh time for Jen's Mean as Fuck How to Train Your Dragon Fanfic Concept that I'm workshopping and plan on writing eventually sometime in the future idk when shut up and just listen:

Ok, so my idea is set in that vague year or so between the second and third movies (the shows are canon to this and characters from it would appear like Dagur and Heather and Mala and so on). Depending on how said fic goes, the events of the third movie may be rendered "non-canon" to this AU, but we'll see. Anyway...

At the beginning, we get a little of Hiccup struggling to fill Stoick's shoes as chief of Berk while still mourning his dad's death and also continuing to reconnect with Valka (also insert some hicstrid fluff bc i gotta). Suddenly, a visitor arrives on Berk, Valka's older sister, Thyra (I know there are HTTYD graphic novels that apparently establish that Valka is from Berk but not here, she's from another island further south in the archipelago and she and Stoick married for the sake of a political alliance (but also bc they were head over heels for each other). So Thyra, she comes to Berk, delighted that her thought-to-be dead sister is actually alive and excited to meet her nephew, and all seems well and good. Though Thyra takes notice of the certain... connection Hiccup has with dragons and she's fascinated by it (she's a bit of a scientific type, she does alchemy as a... hobby). At the end of her stay, she invites Hiccup and Valka to go back to her island (She's chieftess now of the island her and Valka grew up on, its still unamed, i'll come up with something); while initially hesitant, they agree to go for diplomatic reasons while Astrid and the other riders look after Berk while they're gone

So they go but not long after they arrive, Thyra shows her true colors; she is kinda fucking crazy, a coldhearted unethical scientist with a thing for really dangerous experiments on dragons and humans alike. She wants to basically unite the archipelago under one unified banner, with her in charge (we stan an insane, coldhearted girlboss). She realizes (correctly) that dragons are probably the key to intimidating the other tribes into compliance, and she manipulates/forces (whumps) Hiccup into joining her cause by using both Valka and Toothless as leverage against him.

Of course, there's another big twist to all this that happens about halfway through, but I'll leave that on the down-low for now. Even so, when and if I do write this, you can expect to see lots of good stuff like more mother/son bonding between Hiccup and Valka, a subplot with Astrid stepping up and taking charge in Hiccup's absense and suspecting something is up when he doesn't come home in time, viking political intrigue, unethical science (like I said), a much-needed female villain in this damn series, and angst, angst, angst galore.

#this summary is kind of a mess whoops #i did promise i would share more details tho #lemme know what ya'll think ^_^ #jen rambles #how to train your dragon #fic idea

[xtwinfantasy]

Dream About Me

(Chapter 7) (Mason Mount/Kai Havertz)

pairing: Mason Mount / Kai Havertz (m/m)

summary: The team had its best season in a long time; qualification for European tournaments was almost in Chelsea FC's hands. The problems came right at the end of the season, when their young star player had to leave training due to the sudden death of his father, and when came back, he seemed to lose all his ability on the ball, as well as the person he used to be.

Mason starts the next season trying to get his life back on track and put the pain of that summer behind him, but everything changes when Chelsea's newest player, Kai Havertz, appears in his life. And in his dreams too… Is he dreaming?

Now, his new teammate will flip his world upside down in the craziest ways he could have ever imagined.

tags: Slow burn romance, Crush at first sight, Eventual fluff, Romantic comedy, Awkward flirting, Dreams (or not?), Late night conversations, References to depression, Grief/Mourning, Psychological drama, Drama & romance, kinda AU but not really, Mysterious Kai lol, Additional Tags to Be Added.

Start reading on:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

CHAPTER 7

After games at Stamford Bridge, traffic in the city was always a mess, and even more so when they coincidentally clashed with the home games of Arsenal, causing a complete mess on London's main thoroughfares. The complex of buildings in which most of the young men in the team rented flats was not too far from the stadium, usually taking only twenty or thirty minutes to get home by bus, but on special occasions like that, the time could stretch to two whole hours, even when Ben had offered to give him a lift.

—Hey, Ben —Mason called from the passenger seat. He wasn't looking at him, but at the traffic, at the cars almost completely stopped next to them, perhaps to keep him from noticing that his curiosity was less casual than he intended to make it seem— Can I ask you a question?

The older man raised an eyebrow.

—Uh, sure. What's the matter?

—Well, it just occurred to me... How do you know if a person is neurodivergent? 

The horns of the cars around them blared from time to time over the music they were listening to, chosen by the car's owner, who lowered the volume a little before replying.

—You don't mean you, do you? 

—No! No, no, no, actually it's just a bit of a, a curiosity about someone else, okay?

—Well, I want to clarify first that it would be unethical to talk to you about this being about you, let alone right now.

—It's not about me, seriously, it's not.

—Okey —He nodded, as the car moved forward under the green light at the traffic light. —Well, it's a little hard to answer that one, Mase. Neurodivergences are, in fact, very diverse, so they have very different kinds of particularities, and there are levels of functionality between the different types of neurodivergences, so it's very difficult to define common characteristics. The only thing I could tell you is that all neurodivergent people have mental and cognitive processes that do differ from the norm, but they don't always affect the same interactions with other people. 

—Uh, so... Would it be possible for a neurodivergent person to have processes that affect...?

—Any aspect could be affected, but not necessarily in a negative way, just different from other people.

—And they... Do they realise that they are different?

—They can, it depends very much on the way their mental and cognitive processes work. Also, if they do, some neurodivergent people make great efforts to hide the characteristics of their neurodivergence in their relationships with other people.

—Oh. Hiding it to prevent people from knowing that they are neurodivergent? 

—Yes, just as some people hide their ethnicity or sexual orientation, but that also depends on whether they want to do it or not. Some people find it too burdensome to have to do it all the time and may simply decide not to do it.

—Or do it only sometimes?

It made sense the way he had imagined it, and yet, taking into account the differences Ben had just mentioned, he felt completely inexperienced enough to even believe that he was now sure of the reasons for Kai's behaviour. It could explain a lot of things, but he wasn't going to ask Kai, was he?

—Yes, or only sometimes —he nodded. The older man was silent for a few seconds as they moved through traffic, but he had to speak again, this time looking at Mason— So, are you going to tell me who this is about?

—Uh, well... It's, it's something I've been trying to start talking to Jack about in therapy, I don't know if he's told you anything about it.

—We don't do that, dumbass —he laughed— He hasn't talked to me about any of it, at all, so I'm listening.

—It's bullshit, honestly, and I’m a bit embarrassed talking abut boy problems, but it’s Kai. Kai Havertz. 

—Oh. You think he might be neurodivergent?

—Well, there are a lot of things that make me wonder... stuff about him.

— "Stuff"? So there are updates on this, huh? —he smiled— I'm ready to hear all about it.

—As a psychologist or as a professional busybody?

—As your best mate who you might want to give an update on your life. 

—Well, I definitely owe you that, but it's not my fault, you should take me home more often after games —he joked, changing the music in the car to one of the suggestions he'd added to the playlist. At the same time, he took advantage of that space of silent time to plan his next words— I think... Maybe I should tell you all over again from the beginning, now that more things have happened.

—You're killing me with curiosity, Mase.

Mason wasn't an expert at summing things up, and though he'd tried in the previous session with Jack, now that he was under no time pressure whatsoever, he'd been able to tell Ben everything he felt about it, every detail he'd noticed since meeting Kai and how much was really going through his mind when he was with him. From the time when he'd wondered how much he could follow his instincts back when he still thought he'd dreamt it all, to now, when his visits had been a regular occurrence for a couple of weeks now and he felt much less and less surprised to see him show up on his doorstep, though his heartbeat didn't take it quite so quietly.

It took a while and some extra explanation to make Ben understand, but he managed after a while.

—You mean...? Okay, I'm not going to assume anything, so... How do you feel about him? —Ben asked. They were now in the living room of Mount's flat after finally arriving in the building only a couple of minutes ago. On the clock, the hands read eleven o'clock at night, the television was showing some reality show they weren't paying attention to, and in front of them both rested two glasses of juice.

—Uh, well, I mean, I haven't wondered about that at all. Who does?

—Everybody, Mason —he smiled. 

—Well, I don't know, I mean... Uh, okay, I think Kai's nice, he's a good person and... I like him a lot, he's someone really nice to be around —he said, shrugging. He didn't notice the insistent look Ben gave him after he said that, until it turned into a sneer— I don't have anything else to say, Ben, I, I think he's really cool.

—Well, if that's what feels right for you to say, that's fine. I think it's safe to say you're friends now, don't you?

—Uh, yeah, I think so. Yeah, we are. 

—Well, I'm glad. It's been a while since you've had a new friendship, and especially over the time your psychological process has taken. I think it's a positive development.

—Yes, well, the problem isn't really there. It's clear to me that we're friends, I suppose, but... I just wonder why he pretends that we're not sometimes. I wonder why he acts so different sometimes, in general, because it doesn't make sense in my mind, you know? And that makes me think that maybe his mind and my mind are different, I guess.

—Well, no two people are the same, Mase. So, do you think this could all be a sign that he's a neurodivergent person?

—I don't know, you're the psychologist. 

Ben didn't hide a wry chuckle at the comment.

—I'm a psychologist, not a fucking fortune teller, man —he said, pushing aside the ice cubes so he could sip from his glass— If you wanted to get a proper diagnosis, I'd have to diagnose him directly, and that would probably take some time. But, listen, it shouldn't necessarily have to be about neurodivergence, it could just be the way he is, or there could be some cultural reason, although it's also possible that he is indeed neurodivergent. Actually, I think it's important for you to know that, whatever the reason for his behaviour, that's not the issue here, the issue is how you feel about it.

His words, followed by a long silence, echoed in the other's mind. And his gaze could not help but sadden as he remembered that perhaps this was something he should worry about, or at least think about. He had been avoiding it, and he liked the idea of continuing to avoid it better.

—Uh... I mean, I... it's confusing to me. It obviously baffles me at times, but, really, I don't think he has any wrong motive for this. I don't want to misjudge him, anyway. Besides, why would I have to think about it so much? We're just friends, you know?

—Yeah —he smiled— I know, you're friends, that was clear to both of us the entire way. But, you know, Mason, people worry about their relationship with their friends too, it's normal.

—Yeah, well... I know. I know, it's just... It's a bit confusing, that's just because Kai is actually quite a strange person.

—Is that good or bad?

—It's weird. But I like spending time with him.

—Well, if he's here so often, he probably likes to spend time with you too. Relax —he smiled kindly. His mate, sitting across from him, was silent for a few seconds, his hand twirling his phone on the table. Sometimes, that kind of thought reminded him that maybe he made things a lot bigger in his mind—. Hey, but he's not coming to visit you right now, is he?

Mason smiled.

—No, no. I don't think so, he didn't say anything to me about it —he was about to remain silent without another word, but something inside him was urging him to talk more about it. Maybe it was his own mind, and if he was going to think about his teammate, maybe he'd rather do it with someone else— Hey, can I tell you something?

—You know you can, what's going on? 

—Sorry to keep going on about it, but... well, last week...

Read full chapter on AO3

#mason mount #kai havertz #fanfiction #slash fic #mason mount fanfiction #chelsea fc fanfiction #lgbt fanfic #mlm fanfic #mlm football fanfiction #football rpf #real person fiction #k/m #kai havertz fanfic #kai havertz fanfiction #slow burn fanfic #chelsea fc au

[aeterna-auroral-avenger]

RG filmography movie suggestions 6/18

The Ides of March post-viewing commentary (recommended 2 times)

"Because that's what this comes down to, integrity. Who we are. Because how we project ourselves to the world matters. Dignity matters. Integrity matters. Our future depends on it."

I'll be honest, I knew very little about this movie, save for it had a really cool poster and it was about politics. And I honestly dreaded this one at first because I hate politics.

I mean I. Hate. Politics.

Don't get me wrong, I do my research and exercise my right and responsibility when it's time to hit the polls, but ugh. Outside of that time, politics do not exist in my world. Hence why I dreaded this one.

However...oh boy. Wow.

Sex, scandal, lies, and the decomposition of life and integrity for the sake of saving face and winning. For the sake of a career not going down the drain prematurely. Suspense and some really solid acting here. I was pleasantly surprised.

George Clooney directed, produced, and co-wrote the screenplay for this movie, and let's be real. There isn't anything I've seen George Clooney put his touch to that's been bad, and this fit into the mold. Throw a talent like Ryan in as your leading guy, and wow, you've got something.

And this was something.

Honestly, the ending really hit me the hardest.

Throughout the movie, I sympathized with Stephen Meyers (RG’s character) because while he did sign up to go into politics, he didn’t necessarily sign up for everything he ran into in all of this. But the ending was when I actually started to mourn for Stephen and how this whole thing played out.

Experiencing certain aspects of your worldview crumble before your very eyes and having to choose one bad choice over another bad choice just to keep your head above water sucks. And while on the outside it seems like he's ahead of the game at the end, when he hears someone he once admired speak so boldly about integrity after he and Stephen both pulled some unethical strings to stay ahead, you can see on Stephen's face how much he's lost.

While he’s contemplating all of this, how much he's actually lost, he's asked a question.

And we're left wondering what he said.

We know the story. We know what was planned to be said. But that sad look on his face just makes me wonder. I'm an optimist, and I'd know what I'd like to think. But I'm also a realist, and I heavily suspect I'd be wrong.

When you play politics, your hands get dirty and if you come clean, you have to pay for the washing.

Overall, this was a good movie. I was more engaged than I expected. It has a lot of great names in it too, and I thought this was written pretty well. Ryan, of course, knocked it out of the park. I was impressed.

I'll never watch this one again lol just because it's not my cup of tea. But if political drama is your thing, then go for it.

It's rated R for a reason, so if there are things that trigger you, I'd definitely recommend googling what topics it deals with because there's some tough stuff that could bother someone. Nothing gory or showing detail, but still. Take care of yourself and check first.

#my thoughts #tb watches rg #the ides of march #ryan gosling #george clooney #ryan gosling movie recommendations #political drama #the ides of march movie #tb watches movies #tbgifs

[tsukuyomii45]

(Ignore my last ask, that was an accident, sorry) The genderbend angst ask actually sparked a question inside my mind: how does Obito mourn Rin in an scenario where he didn't met Madara (either because the boulder incident didn't happen or because he was healed in another way like in Infinite Dream) but Rin still dies?

!!! TW - Mental Health + Dark Themes !!!

He'd go through severe depression. He and Kakashi don't get to talk for months because Kakashi is still dealing with his own mental issues, but Obito never blames him or thinks that it's his fault because he's aware that Rin did this on purpose - and that's what breaks him the most; that she forced herself to end her life in Kakashi's hands to get rid of the village.

He also goes through PTSD, because unfortunately, his Sharingan was able to see the entire thing and burned it into his memory, so he'd dream of it every night and it's the first thing he thinks about when he wakes up.

He doesn't eat much, he doesn't sleep much, he cries every day for her, and he even at one point gave up on his dreams to be a Hokage because Rin was the only one that believed in him and pushed him to try his best, and without her his life just had no meaning.

He still continues functioning as a shinobi, though, but he simply becomes a killing machine. He projects and takes out his anger on his enemies and opponents and resorts to unethical and brutal ways of killing them. Minato wanted to put him in the ANBU, but Obito simply refused and told him he's fine as he is and didn't find any meaning in all of this. Minato tries to reprimand him regarding his brutal ways but Obito simply ignores him.

He turns into a colder person, and doesn't hesitate to harshly criticize anyone and anything because he just doesn't care anymore. He even criticizes Minato for his negligence and blames him for Rin's death because he was just never on time, which actually hurt his teacher.

After he finishes work he would isolate himself in his room in the dark, or late at night when the village is asleep, he'd head over to the cemetery to release his tears at Rin's grave, telling her that he doesn't know how to go on and live without her.

He would often teleport himself to the Kamui dimension where he would have a mental breakdown and release his pain and anger by destroying the structures, and this is why his voice turns raspy because this is where he releases his most painful and agonizing screams.

However, despite the person he turned into, his friends never gave up on him. Minato never gave up on him even though he was hurt several times by Obito, and Kushina never allows him to have an empty stomach or an empty fridge at home. Their undivided attention and continuous support eventually allows him to take a few, slow steps to heal. Eventually he and Kakashi finally get to talk and the two of them reconcile, and Kakashi promises him that he will support his dreams because that's what Rin would have wanted for him, and Rin would never have wanted them to be on bad terms, so they honor her by doing their best as friends, teammates and comrades.

#obito supremacy #naruto shippuden #obito uchiha #rin nohara #kakashi hatake #uchiha obito #obirin #obito x rin

[thedramanotes]

Why I am still watching Cafe Minamdang

Let's be brutally honest here. It's likely because of this face:

But even Seo In-guk's insane charm can only keep me watching a sub-par drama for so long.

Cafe Minamdang falls under the K-drama category of comedy-crime-procedural where characters solve weekly cases with lots of shenanigans while chasing an ultimate baddie who did something awful to our heroes personally and often professionally.

Examples of such dramas would be Bring It On, Ghost!, Fiery Priest, Catch the Ghost, and Police Academy.

These tend to be weekday dramas that don't ask much from the audience.

They are light, fast, frequently funny, and let you invest just enough emotionally to enjoy the show while it's airing and forget about it soon after.

I don't mean that they aren't well written or skillfully directed. It requires a lot of production effort to craft crime dramas that aren't taxing emotionally, but still deliver a satisfying viewer experience.

I'm trying to emphasize that these dramas are meant to be easy to watch.

And Cafe Minamdang is easy to watch.

It has a quick pace, a colourful palette, unexpectedly funny moments, and a commitment to poke fun at itself.

And sometimes that's enough.

I can't make myself care about the ritual obsessed serial killer or Han Jae-hee's childhood crush on Nam Han-joon.

But, I do enjoy the Minamdang team's dynamic and their individual quirks clashing in the middle of stakeouts and fighting criminals. It creates a second layer of narrative that keeps my attention until the next scene, and then the next.

I also like the police team members. Oh Yeon-seo's Jae-hee is most enjoyable when she's working with her team. As a less experienced detective, suddenly promoted to the head of a team, her relationship with her sunbae played by actor Jan Man-shik is one of the more genuine parts of the story.

I was also impressed by the unfolding of our protagonists' connection with the serial killer, especially with the scene where Nam Han-joon finds his friend's burning body.

So, there are something that I clearly like. But I'm still feeling disconnected from the show. And that's what I'm mourning when I see this face.

Because the story largely keeps its focus on Nam Han-joon and Han Jae-hee's relationship, and never were two "partners" less well matched.

Through most of the show, Seo In-guk infuses his own character with clownishness and charisma in equal parts.

When he's in scenes with Oh Yeon-seo he remains the same man, but adds hints of confusion and irritation to his reactions to her. He's affected by her, but he doesn't know why, so he often loses control of his mouth or temper.

On the other hand, while Oh Yeon-seo is calm, measured, and conscientious as a detective when she's with her team or with her prosecutor friend, as soon as she comes near Nam Han-joon, she loses all perspective and will sooner punch him than listen to anything he's saying.

Which doesn't sound as bad as it actually is. As a director's note for a character who has believed that Nam Han-joon is partially responsible for her brother's death, this is not unreasonable behaviour.

But somehow, it all goes wrong in the execution.

The drama having decided that this is an enemies to lovers romance, Han Jae-hee is allowed only one way to react to Nam Han-joon – aggressive distrust.

And this makes her do things that are unethical and unprofessional to say the least. Like, breaking into his home and hiding in his closet while he changes. Or punching him or threatening to punch him frequently.

There's no subtlety to Jae-hee's behaviour and no nuance that lets you sense where her emotions actually lie. The drama tells us that she's had a childhood crush on Han-joon, but it fails to show us any slow deepening of that affection in the adult Jae-hee.

And even on Han-joon's side, it's hard to see any feelings developing under his brash external facade.

So, while the drama tries to center the romance as the emotional linchpin of the story, the audience struggles to find anything to really connect with.

Now, not all crime dramas (comedy or dramatic) have a good romance. I would even argue that most of them have terrible romantic subplots that would have been better deleted in the draft.

But when you don't have a strong romance, you need to give your audience a different emotional center to invest into, and the perfect example of this was another Seo In-guk drama from 2015 called Hello Monster.

In that show, Jang Na-ra was also trapped under the burden of playing an extremely one note heroine and her chemistry with Seo In-guk was dead on arrival. But nobody really cared about that because the emotional core of the story was held by Park Bo-gum and Seo In-guk as brothers who were separated in childhood and had very different upbringings.

Now, the writer of Cafe Minamdang, Park Hye-jin, is also working on Seo In-guk's next project Smoking Gun, which will possibly be released later this year.

Here are the tags on its mydramalist page.

While the genre is right up Seo In-guk's alley, I can't say I'm very impressed with how this writer plots her crime thrillers.

And with a trope like amnesia thrown into the mix, I'm getting a very nervous feeling that I may be writing another post in six months wondering why I'm watching Smoking Gun and if this face is again to blame.

#cafe minamdang #seo inguk #oh yeon seo #netflix kdrama #hello monster #i remember you #doom at your service #mad for each other

[tasteofdeathao3]

What does the future look like in the ABI au where Israel never ages back up? Like do they tell him who he is?? Do they hide pictures and evidence of adult Izzy? If someone in the crew of handedly mentions the old Izzy how does Israel react???

Okay so i feel like it’s actually a bit of a touchy subject - for a while it’s not even a consideration, they just focus on their little baby Izzy and try to find a way to get him back to normal (though once it becomes clear that there isn’t really any way to do so, it sort of goes on the back burner). 

All conflicts regarding Izzy had mostly been solved within the first few weeks of having him, but then the second he comes home from school asking why everyone else has a mummy and a daddy, where his mummy is, why all his aunties and uncles aren’t related to him, why he doesn’t have Baba’s dark skin or Daddy’s blonde hair - it’s suddenly a huge issue again. 

Stede doesn’t want to tell him. It’s unethical, to him, seeing as he seems to have no memory of before, why would they want to possibly harm him by telling him that he’s not who he thinks he is? What sort of ideas would he get about where he belongs and what he should be doing with his life, why Ed and Stede had chosen to take him in - would it ruin their relationship? Would he hate them for it?

Ed, on the other hand, firmly believes Izzy has a right to know. It’s not fair to let him live his life without knowing so much about who he is, what if he suddenly wakes up one day and remembers and hates them for keeping it from them? 

It’s a sensitive area for both of them, something that leads to long fights that go one for long enough that Israel had to go over and sleep at Jim and Olu’s house because of how late it was getting. 

To be safe, they hide a lot of Izzy’s old things. Photographs, diaries, letters all get packed up and sealed tightly away, hidden where they hope Israel will never be curious enough to look. Ed hates it, he’s still mourning Izzy even when they have Israel, and it’s awful to have to treat his best friend like some big embarrassing secret. He becomes more open to hiding Izzy’s stuff away once Israel gets a glance at an old polaroid and asks if that man in the picture knew his mummy. He doesn’t know why, doesn’t know if it’s some residual memory or if Israel can see the likeness between himself and a fully grown Izzy, but he hides it away anyways. 

I feel like it would come out at some point. Of course someone’s bound to let their tongue slip in front of them, or will get drunk enough not to realise exactly what they’re saying. 

Honestly I don't know if he’d even believe them. I mean- why would he? Why would he believe that he was once a fully grown man who once happened to magically poof into a baby one night with no explanation. I feel like he’d just assume - even if he was told explicitly what happened - that the man in all these photos who looks just like him is some old family relative, a sperm donor maybe, who he just happened to be named after. I don’t really think he’d believe anything else without some sort of proof (residual memories maybe?)

#im still plotting all this out idk if he has any memories or not maybe he like fully remembers one day or maybe not #abi

[thingsarentgreat]

I have a relative who died during 9/11 and although I do mourn and miss him I can recognize that his death was the result of American foreign policy and fought verbally (and once in 2004 physically) with my family who supported the war in Iraq. I would rather be a tar pit than be complicit.

I probably wasn't clear from my wording, as I'm letting anger through in most of my posts, and I apologize for that.

My sentiment is, one should be allowed to do both, and mourning death shouldn't automatically mean you have a specific political agenda or are ignorant to the wider context.

One is a tar pit if they approach you in mourning for your relative's death and say "actually, that's not allowed", then interpret your mourning as a whole political statement, instead of allowing your grief to just exist as it is. Some times are really not appropriate times for that kind of presumption. To consider it a time to "well actually" a mourner conveys a lack of empathy. It shows a priority to prove how right one is over just being compassionate towards that moment in time.

It's not right for me to tell family members that they're wrong for grieving their dead friends and being scared - none of what they're doing necessarily means anything political. It simply means they're grieving their dead friends and feeling scared. I will only confront them when they're moving towards support of an unethical political response out of their grief. There's a difference, you can do both, and that's also seemingly what you did.

My post was not meant to be about your sort of situation, however, it's likely I didn't convey that within its text. Thanks for taking the time to respond.

#im giving us both the benefit of the doubt because i can understand i get very upset here #this is my Upset Place because i have nowhere else to go #to be heard and seen while also being safe #but it is also A Public Place and needs a level of proofreading in spite of its messy complicated feelings #thanks for your ask - i imagine you blocked me which is fine #i dont come onto tumblr often so i didnt see it until today #im very tired i dont think i want to actually tag this

[bakerolivias-archived]

just to clear things up, i don't think people are understanding when i say that a.laric is extremely insensitive about hope's parentage, i don't mean klaus should be made out as some kind of woobified uwu meow meow.

first off, alaric is a hypocrite because his best friend is d.amon salvatore, a serial rapist, misogynist, confederate (although whether that was d.amon's choice or not is, i suppose, debatable, but he was a white man over the age of eighteen and thus complacent) murderer, and d.amon raped the woman who gave birth to ric's children, who also happened to be his ex history student, and nobody badmouths d.amon in the name of historical accuracy, especially not to d.elena's daughter. d.amon did little to earn ric's forgiveness regardless, but because he cared about damon he chose to anyways. alaric could at least be empathetic and realize that hope loved a man who did horrible things, same as ric himself, and those two relationships are very different. one is a best friend who is very much alive, at peace, and has a family. the other is a father who sacrificed himself so hope could have a good life of her own.

hope is old enough to be properly educated about klaus's actions, no one has to sugarcoat it. but he died and his death, for obvious reasons, still hurts her. she has every right to mourn her father while also understanding that he hurt other people, but the way alaric is trying to, supposedly, "educate" her is extremely unkind on his part. he chooses to throw hope's parentage in her face in a moment when she is vulnerable (aka in the process of facing the life altering decision to become a "tribrid") and needs external support from people who care about hope's safety and quality of life. alaric doesn't have to forgive klaus, but he could have at least had some tact and respect for hope during this time. even lizzie and josie were indignant when alaric chose to play the Klaus Is A Baddie And I Don't Want You To End Up Like Him card. he also said "this is your father and i won't allow it" during a time when hope was being emotional and felt betrayed and angry, and expressed this in ways that is perfectly normal for a teenage girl? like how was that supposed to help her at the time?

klaus did some fucked up things which negatively impacted ric's life and his loved ones, but hope was already aware of her dad's more violent nature long before he died, way back in TOs5. he doesn't have to constantly put her down for the fact that klaus was a Big Bad, and she's not the right person - a grieving daughter who lost her dad - to vent his and klaus's issues to. there should definitely be some kind of boundaries there that need to be enforced.

marcel and freya are clearly better candidates for addressing the issue, than alaric. they both were klaus's family which theoretically means they would be more biased, but marcel was able to put that aside for hope's sake and give her a watered down version of klaus's darker side that was acceptable for a seven year old (your dad doesn't trust many people, kid) and freya was levelheaded and supportive of hope's choice to become the tribrid, and the fact that it would be a very difficult decision for her. she addressed the fact that klaus was complicated and unethical, but also told hope about the qualities she loved about her brother (loyal to a fault and "would burn the world to protect the people he loved"). alaric says he doesn't want hope to turn out like her father, but disrespects the fact that she loved the qualities of his personality he showed her as a father and as a person. freya assured hope that she had many of her father's loveable traits, and her mother's as well (which legacies should do more often but i digress), and that she was not just a better person than her father, she was better than them all, for making a decision that would selflessly save the lives of others even at her personal cost. there is a way to maintain a realistic balance between klaus having done several bad things and klaus being a person whom she loved and who loved hope in return.

#ignore me if i sound hostile! i promise i understand the concern #that i'm woobifying klaus at the expense of holding him accountable #i promise that's not what i'm doing trust me #klaus mikaelson #hope mikaelson #wank for ts #klaus for ts #anti alaric saltzman #legacies #tvd spoilers #legacies spoilers

[robininthelabyrinth]

skdjjshddjdjsj au where jin guangshan dies early (and by early i mean exactly 2 days before the phoenix mountain hunt) and jin guangyao is panicking bc oh no his carefully laid plans, and oh no his hunt that he’d put so much effort into organizing, it’s gonna be all ruined... unless... he can keep this under wraps... and so he manages to talk jin zixuan into helping him “weekend at bernie’s” it! cue a half-sibling bonding experience of pretending your shitty dead dad is alive for Politics™

1

“I’m afraid our father’s not here right now,” Jin Guangyao said with a smile, and ground his heel down on Jin Zixuan’s foot.

“I think he went out,” Jin Zixuan said unconvincingly, and he only mostly looked like he was about to murder someone, possibly Jin Guangyao himself. He redeemed himself a moment later by adding, “Would you like us to send a messenger? I can ask my mother –”

“No need, no need!” the visiting sect leader said quickly, clearly having flashes of what Jin Guangshan might have ‘gone out’ to do (or rather, who) and the reaction of Madame Jin if she found out about it.

In all truth, Jin Guangyao might have preferred that to the truth, which was that Jin Guangshan’s stone-cold corpse was currently stuffed into a linen closet right behind the sect leaders that had come looking for him. 

How he had died remained, at the moment, a mystery, but either way it was extremely inconvenient. Jin Guangyao had only recently been admitted into the Jin sect and his position was still very unstable – and he most certainly did not want to be blamed, given that he had gotten his current position by virtue of assassinating a different sect leader that trusted him.

He politely showed the sect leaders out, closed the door, and turned to look at his half-brother. Soon to be his sect leader.

“I didn’t kill him,” he said.

“No, I don’t think you did,” Jin Zixuan said, and rubbed his nose. “Why hide him, though?”

“The Phoenix Mountain hunt has already kicked off! The sect’s entire reputation hinges on it.”

“And yours.”

Jin Guangyao shrugged, because it was true. After this, people would accept him as a true member of the Jin sect; if it failed before it even began, he’d be the recently accepted bastard son forever. “You played along,” he pointed out, a little curious.

“…I invited Miss Jiang to accompany me in the hunt, and if my father dies before I propose, the next time I can propose is in three years.”

“Okay,” Jin Guangyao said. “We’re in agreement. Here’s the plan…”

2

“I don’t know if this is going to work,” Jin Zixuan said, tugging at the sect leader clothing. “I don’t look that much like him.”

“It’ll only be from the back,” Jin Guangyao assured him. “Now – go!”

3

“Shit! Someone’s coming!”

“Shit. Here, grab him – put him somewhere!”

“Somewhere? Where?! There’s nowhere!”

“Under the bed! Under the bed!”

“There’s not enough time!”

“Hold on, I can throw my voice over to the other room; I’ll try to mimic him –”

“You’re a ventriloquist?”

“So what? It’s not that hard. Now shut up and let me focus.”

4

“I’m terribly sorry, Sect Leader Yao,” Jin Zixuan said insincerely. “As you can see, Sect Leader Jin is drunk.”

“Dead drunk,” Jin Guangyao said, still a little punch-drunk from the close call earlier.

Now it was Jin Zixuan’s turn to step on his foot.

“This early in the morning?” Sect Leader Yao asked, blinking.

“Lanling is a free-spirited place,” Jin Guangyao said with a smile that only looked slightly forced.

“Yes,” Madame Jin said from the doorway, her voice dry. “You’d be amazed at what people can get away with.”

Jin Guangyao nearly choked, and Jin Zixuan turned pale. “Right,” Jin Guangyao said, recovering through sheer force of will. “Excuse me, I think Madame would like a word…”

Sect Leader Yao left, and Madame Jin looked at the two of them. “You’re going to have to think of something better than what you’ve done so far,” she said flatly. “The closing ceremony is tomorrow. It would be impossible for him to miss it.”

“It’s fine,” Jin Zixuan said. “I have an idea.”

5

“This feels deeply unethical,” Wei Wuxian said.

“I know exactly what you did in the war,” Jin Guangyao hissed at him. “Up to and including Wen Chao.”

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t do it!” he exclaimed. “You only need him to walk up there and do the thing, right? No talking or anything?”

“That’s right,” Jin Zixuan said. “Thank you.”

“I’m only doing it because you’re getting engaged to shijie,” Wei Wuxian said. “I still don’t understand why she likes you, but I don’t want her waiting three years – you’ll set the date soon, right?”

“My mother’s already working on it,” Jin Zixuan said. “We should have a date ready in the next day or two, and then we can reveal – well, this. As long as the date is set, it can continue without violating mourning laws, since it would be my filial duty to continue with my father’s final arrangement.”

“Right,” Wei Wuxian said. “Okay. I’ll do this. By the way, who murdered him?”

“…you know, I almost forgot about that,” Jin Guangyao said thoughtfully while Jin Zixuan hit his hand against his forehead in despair. “We should probably figure that out, shouldn’t we?”

#mdzs #jin guangyao #jin zixuan #wei wuxian #madame jin #my fic #my fics #crack fic #what like it's hard #never actually saw weekend at bernies but I can guess #Anonymous

[young-dumb-and-vaccinated]

Cult Girl: Doctorate (Hannibal x Female!Reader) pt. 4

Will

Cult girl attends her grandmother's funeral and is approached with a highly unorthodox last will and testament.

@wisesandwichshark

Trigger warnings: emotional manipulation and abuse, verbal abuse, death, slight emetophobia, body-shaming, ED mention, pregnancy and family planning

There was no use recounting anything from the leading up to the funeral. You spent that first night wine-drunk, munching on foie gras, watching Arrested Development and diagnosing each character to the best of your psychological abilities. You remembered cry-laughing at the same jokes you had memorized, and reminiscing on all the insane shit your own personal Lucille Bluth pulled on you. That was the highlight of the week. It was all downhill from there. 

Firstly, you were sick. That Sunday, you wrote it off as a hangover. Then, the hangover returned with a vengeance, just to add salt to the already open wound of having to pretend to mourn your abusive grandmother. At least the physical pain would give your acting an air of sincerity, you thought. 

Hannibal dressed in a solid black tux: it was almost uncanny to see him outside of any of his normal checkered suits. You selected a plain black dress and a strand of pearls.

The funeral was to be held at the same country club Anna’s wedding was held. Your grandmother was like a pharaoh, insisting that the empire she built know that even in death, she reigned supreme. The country club was her pyramid. 

Anna asked if you wanted to say a few words. As much as you wanted to get up and tell all her country club friends about the time she reported you as an abducted child at age twenty-two when you refused to leave your boyfriend and move back in with her, you knew that it wasn’t in good taste. You racked your brain for any story that could be considered remotely funeral-appropriate, but none came to mind. 

You spent the entire funeral trying not to roll your eyes too obviously at the stories of abuse her country club friends somehow remembered fondly. Your soul just left your body throughout the entire process and you were unsure if it would ever return. 

All things considered, it could have gone much worse. Then, it did. 

The beginning of the end was when your grandmother’s estate lawyer pulled you and Anna aside to conduct the reading of the will. He showed you to a side room, then excused himself before closing the door behind him. 

“Hello, [F/N].” Liam greeted, trying to cut through the awkward silence that came with first seeing each other after four straight years. “I’m very sorry about your gran. She was a great woman.” 

You gave him a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Thanks, Lee. I appreciate it.” 

“No she doesn’t.” Anna muttered. “And it’s Liam.” 

“I don’t mind ‘Lee’.” Liam contested. “My mum called me Lee. I actually quite like it.” 

Anna was in one of her ‘I’m so upset, please ask me why’ moods. She sat on one of the heavy armchairs with her legs crossed and eyes to the wall. You weren’t going to bite. 

Liam wasn’t so cautious. “Princess, what’s wrong?” 

“Nothing.” She pouted, not even dignifying her husband with a look. “I just think it’s interesting that I put the funeral together all by myself and someone couldn’t even be bothered to speak.” 

You shot Liam a look that said ‘way to go, jackass’. 

“Yeah,” You said, sitting down in an adjacent armchair. “That must suck.” 

Anna glared at you. “You really have nothing to say? Really?” 

You tensed up. “Let’s see, which charming anecdote would you have me tell? How about that time when she made you wear a fat suit for an hour after you complained about how the low-carb ice cream tasted like chemicals?” 

Liam looked in shock at his wife. “Did she really?” 

“Once.” Anna confessed, holding up one finger. 

You turned to Liam, as if you were sharing some hot gossip. “That was all it took to give her an eating disorder when she was thirteen.” 

Hannibal was just a fly on the wall. Anna noticed his lack of reaction. 

“And I bet Hannibal knows all about this, huh?” Anna said, throwing her hand in his direction. “Because he just needs to hear all of our private family business, right?” 

You stood up from your seat. “First of all, I take offense at the implication that my fiancée isn’t family.” 

An evil smile spread on Anna’s face. “But he wasn’t always your fiancé, was he, [F/N]?” 

“Holy shit, you cracked the code.” You said, flatly. “There was a point in time when Hannibal and I weren’t an item. Real shocker, that one.” 

“You know what I mean.” She sneered, then approached Hannibal. “Dr. Lecter, is it true that before you and [F/N] became romantically involved, you were her therapist?” 

Liam looked scandalized. Hannibal was just as put-together as always. 

“That is true.” He said, feeling no shame whatsoever. 

Anna turned back to you. “Now don’t you think that’s just a smidge unethical? For a therapist to date their much younger patient?” 

You narrowed your eyes. You carried yourself with the lightness of a woman who finally had the moral high ground. “So you want to talk about what’s ethical, huh? I suppose that means you’ve told Liam about pineapple.”

All the blood drained from her face. You crossed your arms and held your head up a little higher. 

“That’s what I thought.” You grinned. 

“Look, could we just pretend to be a normal, functioning family for ten minutes?” Anna pleaded, as if there were anyone other than herself to blame for provoking an argument.

“That’s on you two.” Liam, rightfully, pointed out. He gestured to himself and then to Hannibal. “Neither of us have said anything.” 

The estate lawyer must have gotten his juris doctorate alongside a master's in impeccable fucking timing, because that was when he decided to make his entrance.

"I'm sorry for the wait, everyone." He announced. "And I'm sorry for having to pull you aside in your hour of mourning. Usually the last will and testament is handled through email to the beneficiaries, but your grandmother was quite adamant it be approached this way."

"That definitely sounds like her." You said, exchanging glances with Hannibal. You'd talked about this for what felt like hours the week prior. She was going to pull some last-minute bullshit to humiliate you from beyond the grave. Give all the inheritance to Anna and leave a snide comment about you in a legal document. You knew it was coming. All you could hope was for it to be quick.

The lawyer pulled an envelope from his briefcase. "She specifically asked for her two living grandchildren and their significant others to be present."

"Did she say it like that?" Anna raised an eyebrow. "Or was it more like, 'Anna and her husband, and [F/N] and her therapist'?"

"Mrs. Young," Hannibal said, taking your hand. "Until you tell your husband about pineapple, you aren't allowed to judge us."

Anna glared at you. "What the hell? He knows, too?!"

"Yeah." You answered. "I tell him everything."

"Okay, who or what is pineapple?" Liam interjected. "And why do I get the feeling I'm the only one not in the know, here?"

"That's cause you are." You confirmed. "And you have your lovely wife to thank for that."

"Everyone!" The lawyer called out. Clearly, he'd seen his share of dysfunctional families. "Please, let me just read the will and you can continue arguing afterwards."

"Y'know what? Fair enough." You said, crossing your legs. "Let's rip off this band-aid, shall we?"

The lawyer opened the envelope and produced a single page. He cleared his throat.

"I, Beatrice [L/N], being of sound mind and body, do hereby bequeath all my worldly possessions-" He began reading the long first sentence. "Including but not limited to, a collective sum of $45 million, the family home and my shares of the country club, to the first of my granddaughters to give birth."

You expected nothing. You expected something. But you never could have expected this.

"Can you please read that last part again?" You asked, unsure if what you heard was the result of a stroke.

"The entire inheritance goes to the first one of you to have a baby." The lawyer clarified, trying to make it sound like a reasonable arrangement.

"That makes sense." Anna said, nodding.

You looked at her, dumbfounded. "How in the fuck on fire does that make sense to you?"

"Well, the money would be going to a good cause." She rationalized. "To raise the baby, right?"

You shook your head. "No, this is insane. Grandma has always had this weird obsession with bloodlines, and now she's trying to incentivize us to carry it out."

"What happens if neither of us can, y'know?" Anna asked.

The lawyer pushed his glasses up his nose. "If neither granddaughter is willing to produce a child, the entire inheritance will go to the Eagle Forum, so my ungrateful grandchildren can learn about family values."

"She hated the Eagle Forum!" Anna objected. "She wouldn't dare."

"She absolutely would." You pressed your fingers into your forehead. "That's upper-class white moderates for you. And she doesn't have to be around to see when they name a fucking wing after her."

"The Beatrice [L/N] center for denying women bodily autonomy." Hannibal said. "It's quite fitting."

"[F/N], we can't let that happen." Anna pleaded. "We can't let Eagle Forum get a penny of that money."

"Why the hell not?" You said. Though on principle, you agreed, you knew this was just another one of your grandmother's power grabs. At the end of the day, she chose to leave her money to the Eagle Forum. And it would be her name on that check, not yours.

"Oh my god, you actually hate babies more than you hate conservatives." Anna stood with her mouth agape.

"Don't put words in my mouth." You snapped. "I don't hate babies. I hate grandma for trying to threaten me into having one. I hate grandma for pinning us against each other and making sure it stays that way."

"What do you have against giving me a little niece or nephew, huh?" Anna folded her arms.

"I'm fucking done." You said, throwing up your hands. "This will be the last you ever see of me."

Of course, that's what you said the last time.

#hannibal lecter #hannibal x you #hannibal x reader #hannibal nbc #more cult girl #cult girl #cult girl 2 #tw pregnancy #tw emotional abuse #tw death #tw conservatives

[vrishchikawrites]

Recently learned about twitter scandal between jc and wwx stans where jc stans' main argument was that "all the dead WWX raised will never be reincarnated". What do you think of it? I vaguely remember something being told about how a person whose corpse was mutilated can not be reborn (although not sure if it was from mdzs or some other novel) but at the same time it's strange how none of the characters ever comments on that. All they say is that demonic cultivation is unorthodox and dangerous.

I don't think that's true. In canon, Lan Qiren would've definitely mentioned it if WWX's idea denied the spirits reincarnation because reincarnation is a big thing. A very big thing.

Now, take everything I've said below with a grain of salt, nay a full heaping spoonful of salt.

My very rudimentary understanding is that - once dead, the soul apparently splits into three. One part (yin) stays with the grave, one part stays with the funerary tablet (Yang), and the third part receives judgment and reincarnates (assuming the people are probably buried with proper mourning rituals and regular sacrifices) If the spirit is lingering on earth, it is likely that it is just trapped and no one has given it a proper send off.

From what I've read, entering the judgement cycle is pretty immediate after death. The spirit is taken directly to where they need to be. All the rituals that follow are to appease the other two forms. The part that remains by the grave can turn into a gui if the burial rituals aren't carried out properly with the right sacrificial offerings.

If you consider this - WWX has absolutely no impact on reincarnation of a person. That has probably already been decided by the time he gets to them.

It is also probably why no one mentions anything about reincarnation when talking about demonic cultivation (unless I'm forgetting something)

Now, if you take this in a Buddhist context, afaik, the state of the body doesn't matter at all. The soul will go where it is supposed to go based on the deeds of the person when they were alive. If that were not the case, sky, mountain, or tree burials wouldn't be a thing. And they were definitely a thing.

So, again WWX's actions wouldn't have an impact on reincarnation because that is solely dependent on the soul's actions during life.

The very notion that reincarnation is impacted by something being done after a person's passing is strange to me. Reincarnation, as I understand it, is always based in that individual's own life, actions, and character. A regular person is taken to judgement, an exemplary saint or gentleman is taken directly to either paradise or heaven.

I digress- to my understanding, once the spirit has left the earthly plane, the body is considered nothing but a left behind vessal. Does that mean a reincarnated person will become unborn of the body of his previous incarnation is desecrated?

Nope, probably not.

Now, how MDZS handles reincarnation isn't very clear. But I really doubt WWX is out there denying people reincarnation. He is desecrating graves, playing around with corpses, hanging out with ghosts, all of these actions are completely against the norm and unethical, but not ultimately damaging to the soul in question, in my opinion.

Again, take it with a grain of salt.

There are three things we can speculate on.

1. WWX wasn't sent into the reincarnation cycle - likely because his spirit was damaged in some way. But the cultivators fully believed he could be. Which is why they were taking so many measures to counter it somehow.

2. The difference between Wen Ning - Song Lan and other Fierce Corpses.

3. XXC.

All that I've said above becomes a little muddy when spiritual cognition is taken into account. WN and SL retain their cognition, other fierce corpses don't. XXC spirit is shattered beyond repair so we don't know if he will go into reincarnation.

These three things can help us guess. We have proof that spirit can be shattered during life and just before death. We know that spiritual cognition is different from resentful energy and simply animating corpses like WWX does with everyone else. I don't believe WN and SL can enter the cycle until they really die. But that's because they retain cognition. So, we could maybe speculate that other corpses that WWX controlled were already in the reincarnation cycle, with only faint impressions of their personalities left behind.

This is my opinion. I really don't think WWX's actions have any impact on people's reincarnation and destiny.

I could be entirely wrong tho and typed all of this up only to be proven otherwise. I may have missed a lot of cultural nuances that someone else may explain more clearly. 😁

#reader asks

[juniorgman187]

The Bones (Reid Series) Part 1

Summary: Almost a year after Maeve’s death, Spencer reaches out to the recipients of Maeve’s donated organs to reconnect with his lost love. However, when the receiver of her heart, Reader, doesn’t write back, Spencer goes on a poorly-motivated mission to find her. 

Playlist: “The Bones” by Maren Morris & Hozier   (BONUS: song includes major foreshadowing)

A/N: There is an OC in this story because to me, writing “(y/n)” over and over again cheapens the story and doesn’t flow well. It was a personal decision, and to anyone it sincerely bothers, I’m sure there’s a way you can insert your own name instead. This fic is also inspired by “Things We Know By Heart” by Jessi Kirby. Category: Series, Soft Angst, Eventual Smut + NSFW content* Pairing: Spencer Reid POV x Fem!OC Content Warning: allusions to death, mourning, loss, recovery, arrhythmia (this is an intro chapter, so it’ll get more interesting from here I promise) Word Count: 2.2k

This will be a multi-part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

It all started that first autumn after Maeve’s death - just five weeks past a year since I parted with her. I was absentmindedly reading when, rather out of the blue, Mary Donovan called to inform me about a Mrs. Rachel Larsen. 

Although we didn’t learn her actual name until later, she was first known to us as the recipient of Maeve’s liver. Not a single one of the three of us - Maeve’s parents and me - had expected a recipient to be in contact with us. That inability to predict such an event was caused by my neglect to remember Maeve was an organ donor. It wasn’t particularly relevant in the grand scheme of things, and for that forgetfulness, I was truly ashamed, but after reading Rachel Larsen’s letter together with the Donovans, it all came back to me. 

Every single thing. 

You see, despite the anonymity of the person writing to us, it was as if I could actually feel Maeve’s soul coming alive again, as strange as that sounds. 

She was still here with me ... in some form. 

Later that night, when I would return to an empty apartment, I would wonder why I hadn’t thought of reaching out to the recipients before. Even though I’d already started writing a thank you letter back to Rachel, the thirst for more of Maeve became increasingly insatiable. 

While I did have fond memories of her to live by, I couldn’t thrive off of them in the way that I did with that letter. Our only moments together worth reliving were those spent over the phone, a time when I didn’t even know what she looked like. But that letter from Rachel Larsen ... it was somehow more wholesome and pure than any memory of the living Maeve that I could cultivate.

You could say I was doing this to ease my mourning, meaning it should’ve made me feel better, but that didn’t stop the guilt from eating away at me piece by piece as I wrote letters to the rest of the recipients. 

The Donovans had no idea I was doing this, but I reasoned to myself that they would appreciate the surprise. Though they were still undeniably riddled with grief, smiles embellished their sullen faces when they read about Rachel’s quality of life now with a new liver. So maybe, just maybe, hearing from the rest of the receivers would be good for us all. At least, that’s what I told myself.

In one of those rare moments when inspiration strikes and it courses through your veins at the speed of lightning, I found myself being more productive than I had been in nearly a year. By midnight, I’d successfully composed five letters, each dedicated to the receiver of one of Maeve’s major organs - none of which, though, included my identity.

Given the fragile process of contacting the transplant coordinators, getting consent forms, and premeeting counseling, it would be months, if not years, before I would be able to really speak with these faceless people. Nothing against Donor Family Services - I’m sure they do the best they can - but for me, their best wasn’t good enough. So instead, I enlisted the help of someone I knew could never let me down. 

“Are you sure you want me to do this?” Penelope peered up at me from her seat, her pinky finger hesitantly hovering over the ‘enter’ button. 

“Yes.” 

With just one click, she discovered the addresses of each one of those faceless people. This singular operation, albeit somewhat unethical, was the final piece to my puzzle. All there was left to do now was send the letters to them, with the tenuous hope they might send one back. 

Luckily for me, not a single recipient questioned how I managed to find them or why this process wasn’t being handled by Donor Family Services, but I suppose if they did wonder those things, they didn’t feel comfortable asking me. Especially not after they learned who I was in relation to their donor. I didn’t intend to guilt-trip anyone with what I wrote in my letters nor did I want to take advantage of anyone’s empathy, but how could you possibly make a foe out of your organ donor’s grieving boyfriend? Exactly - you can’t. So you don’t. Instead, you send an inviting letter back, telling me you’d love to meet. Which is what four of them did.

Only one person didn’t reply, and while an 80% success rate was great, I simply couldn’t let this one go. Trust me, I would have ... had it been any other organ. 

For quite some time, I was the one with Maeve’s heart. 

I just needed to see where it was now.

᠃ ⚘᠂ ⚘ ˚ ⚘ ᠂ ⚘ ᠃

The heart has several definitions and corresponding connotations. 

Scientifically speaking, the heart is a hollow muscular organ that pumps the blood through the circulatory system by rhythmic contraction and dilation. However, figuratively, the heart can be seen as the central or innermost part of something. The heart of a city, for example. But in literature, the heart is symbolic of love. It is often regarded as the source of all knowledge, which is where the comparison between the head and the heart comes from. The head operates logically, whereas the heart functions emotionally, but despite the rationality the head holds, the heart is what people advise you to listen to because it holds the ultimate truth. 

The heart, because it is equipped with your truest feelings, supersedes any logic and reason the head might hold. 

But you see, I only ever knew Maeve’s mind. I could understand the inner workings of it - I’d probably be able to navigate through her consciousness if I entered it given the fact that our intellect matched one another’s - and I shared nearly identical thought processes with her, but that was all that I ever knew. 

And if that was how much knowledge she held in her head alone, then, undoubtedly, her heart held so much more.

Science defines the heart as an organ. Figurative language uses the heart to establish a focal point. Literature likens the heart to love. But I compare her heart to the ocean. Like the sea, Maeve’s heart was 80% undiscovered, and exploration was simply calling my name. 

For that reason, and that reason alone, I couldn’t abandon my pursuit of it. 

That’s not to say I wasn’t ashamed of this mission, though. If anything, shame for the man I had become in the face of Maeve’s death was the only feeling I was truly capable of anymore. Any other emotions were fleeting or insincere. 

Unfortunately, that slimy, disgusting feeling was only amplified times ten when I found myself driving two hours and forty-five minutes to get to Virginia Beach. 

No sane man would drive this far on a weekday for even their most prized possession, and yet here I was, exactly 180 miles away from home, seeking out someone who hadn’t had the courtesy to even write me back, let alone agree to meet with me. Who knows if she’d even give me the time of day. 

She being Valerie. 

“Valerie Elise Bishop was born on August 5th, 1988 in Henderson, Nevada, to parents Andrew and Sara, but when Valerie turned seventeen, she was diagnosed with arrhythmia,” Garcia explained to me over the phone on the car ride here. “It’s when-”

“When the electrical impulses that coordinate your heartbeats don't work properly, causing your heart to beat too fast, too slow or irregularly,” I accidentally cut in. Realizing I interrupted Garcia, I brought her back into the conversation by asking, “I know there are more than 3 million cases per year in the U.S, but isn’t it usually common for ages 60 or older?” 

“You are most certainly correct, Boy Wonder. It is more common in ages 60 and older, however, her maternal grandmother passed away from arrhythmia, so the family history increased the likelihood.” 

At the sound of this news, I had to pull the car over and physically stop just so I could grasp the weight of what I was really doing. 

“In Henderson, Nevada ... maternal grandmother passed away ... family history increased the likelihood …” Garcia’s voice rang in my head. 

It was then that I came face to face with the gravity of reality. 

Valerie wasn’t just a faceless name or a recipient of Maeve’s heart, she was a person. And her humanity only became more apparent to me the more Penelope spoke. 

For god’s sake, she and I grew up in the same state. She and I saw the same sunsets from the same little corner of the earth. She drove down the same highways and byways - we might’ve even crossed paths at one point or another! Not to mention that she lost her grandmother to the same disease that she was suffering from, and if there was one thing consistent about arrhythmia, it was very likely she’d been living with it for decades, if not her entire lifetime. It’s a long term disease that takes years to improve but only seconds to kill. All it would take is just one irregular beat, and she’d be dead. How can you possibly live with that constant fear looming over your head? 

She is a person. I had to remind myself. Not just a means to explore more of Maeve. 

“Hey, Garcia,” I turned the car back on. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” 

“What do you mean?” I could just feel panic begin to rise in Garcia. 

“No, I’m not talking about life, I’m talking about this.” Though she couldn’t see, I grandly gestured to the location, the car, and the passenger seat that was cluttered with files on Valerie. “I don’t feel right invading her privacy like this. It’s just selfish.” 

I wasn’t the only one mourning something here. 

“Are you sure?” Penelope clarified. Which was ironic considering she was the one who was unsure of doing any of this, to begin with. What was I thinking? I shouldn’t have dragged Garcia into this. Something as immoral as this was totally against her character, but she did it anyway because her loyalty to her friends conquers all. 

Like I said, my shame multiplied times ten. If not for Valerie, then certainly for Penelope. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. I’m heading home.” 

“Okay,” She softly returned. “Be safe.” 

“Oh, and Garcia?” I asked before ending the call. “Thanks.” 

“Of course. Anything for you, Dr. Reid.” 

By the time I ended the call, the sun was already setting - that’s how long I’d been on the road for. The nearly-three-hour drive I would have to make for the second time today meant I wouldn’t be home in time to beat the pitch-black sky, so considering I was already in for a long night, I made a little detour for the one thing I couldn’t go home without.

A piping hot cup of coffee. 

I felt something as rewarding as caffeine was well deserved for the self-restraint I demonstrated minutes ago. And maybe it was my exhaustion, both mental and physical, that brought me to the near conclusion that I would truly let this go, but I was honestly feeling like I could accept this. An 80% acceptance rate. Not bad, right? 

Though I was basically half-asleep while waiting for my coffee, I could not miss the barista when she said, “Valerie! Your order’s ready!”

What are the chances?

A jolt of energy surged through my body and brought me back to life, causing me to whip my head around at the slightest semblance of movement. On instinct, my gaze gravitated to the woman walking towards the front counter. My pull to her was so strong that even if I hadn’t studied file upon file on her that included pictures of what she looked like, I still would’ve recognized her in a heartbeat.

I just knew. That’s her. 

I had no plan whatsoever for how I should approach this, and yet I still rose from my seat, motivated by nothing more than the single belief that I needed to.

Was this the universe telling me that I was meant to run into her after all? That I needed to meet the woman with an oceanic heart?

But when I finally got to where she was, she glided effortlessly past me, not paying any mind to my presence. Why would she though? To her, I was no one. To her, I was the faceless person. 

“Excuse me!” I bolted to the front counter after realizing I might’ve just missed my opportunity. The barista, stunned and concerned, furrowed her brows while she waited for my question. “Is that girl a regular here?”

“Valerie?” She pointed in her direction, to which I nodded rapidly. “Oh, yeah. She comes in here all the time. She works just across the street.” 

When I came to this coffee shop, it was simply by chance. It wasn’t even the closest cafe, but it was the one I chose to go to for some inexplicable reason. 

I’d like to think it was fate. I was meant to be here after all. Because right behind me stood the storefront of a building I had only briefly read about in Valerie’s file.

The Bones,  Art Gallery & Studio

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 

PART 2 HERE!

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#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fanfiction #the bones #the bones pt 1 #juniorgman187

[hilarioushilarity]

Artist Joe & Bodyguard Nicky AU Part 3

Joe had barely started to feel just this side of faint when a warm arm wound its way around his back, a hand settling home on his hip. He found himself leaning in but caught himself just in time.

“My love,” Nicolo said, looking for all the world a doting partner. “How are you enjoying the night?”

“Much better now that you’re here,” Joe said, meaning every word, even as his head throbbed unpleasantly and his eyes prickled. A polite cough to his right almost caused him to groan reflexively, but he swallowed it and instead added, “Nicolo, this is Mr Wetherington.”

“A pleasure,” Wetherington said. The smile on his face was all politeness, but the look he gave Nicolo was assessing. Nicolo smiled guilelessly back.

Harold Wetherington was the kind of old money that would’ve made Joe’s skin crawl even without knowing the kinds of pies he had fingers in, even without having helped bankrupt the cosmetics arm of Wetherington Industries by exposing the underbelly of unethical animal testing practices - and, well could treating animals as testing subjects ever be ethical?

Harold Wetherington was the kind of man who would put out a hit on Joe in a heartbeat, if he knew just who had been behind the social media campaign that shut down his labs. People like Wetherington was why Nicolo was here, ostensibly as Joe’s partner, rather than hovering behind Joe and raising the question of why a mild-mannered artist like Joe would even need a bodyguard at a charity ball. 

Joe tensed as the pressure behind his eyes spiked painfully. The arm around him tightened slightly, and then, apropos of nothing, lips were pressed to Joe’s forehead. When Nicolo pulled back, he met Joe’s bemusement with a smile that looked a touch strained.

“Shall we go home?” Nicolo asked. “It’s quite late. Would that be alright, my love?”

“Um,” Joe said, articulately. His head was too sore to keep up with this dizzying turn of events. “Yes? Yes, let’s go. Harold, see you at the next one of these?” He made himself wait for a reply and the polite exchange of goodbyes before letting Nicolo gently guide him through coat-check and into their car. The arm around him only left his shoulders when he slid into the car, and he told himself that he didn’t miss it.

Nicolo pulled them into the flow of traffic. “How long have you been unwell for?” he asked.

“What?” Joe was caught off guard. “I’m not unwell?”

Without ever taking his eyes off the road, Nicolo reached over and placed the back of his hand against Joe’s forehead. “You are quite warm,” he said, almost to himself. He sounded unhappy.

“Not hot?” Joe tried for a suggestive smile, but the hand on his forehead was large and steady, and it was hard not to just sink into the soft leather seat. “I guess...my head’s been hurting a little lately.”

Nicolo took his hand away, and Joe tried and failed to not mourn its loss. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because you wouldn’t have let me go to the charity ball.”

“You hate these events,” Nicolo pointed out. “And also, name one time I’ve been able to successfully stop you from doing anything.”

Joe sighed, and let his head fall backwards. “You need only ever ask, my love,” he murmured absently.

“What?” Nicolo asked, voice a little strangled.

“Hmm?” Joe said, his eyes sliding closed. The pressure in his head dulled a little, but not by much. “Oh - sorry, and I mean...I do hate these things, but it’s for charity and some money does go to people who need it...not all of it goes back into rich peoples’ pockets, and um...”

“That’s not-” Nicolo broke off, then sighed, a small, quiet thing. “You should get some sleep. I’ll call for a doctor.”

Joe wanted to ask him what was wrong, but the soft plushness beneath his head called him, and his head did hurt so very much. He could ask him about it later, Joe resolved. Later, when the throbbing at his temples and the rawness of his eyes receded. “’kay,” Joe mumbled. “Thank you, Nicky.”

***

It could have been seconds later, or minutes, or hours. A hand was on his arm. “Joe?”

Sleep was reluctant to let him go, and the pain in his head was blinding. “I’m here,” he whispered.

Fingers gently touched his forehead, and he turned towards them absently. “He - he’s burning!” someone gasped. It sounded like Booker. “Nicolo, can you get him up into bed? I’m going to call the doctor right now.”

Two hands gently cupped his face. “Joe, can you open your eyes for me?”

There was so much Joe would do for that voice. He opened his eyes with great effort, to see Nicolo crouched beside the open car door.

“There you are,” Nicolo said, his voice softer than Joe had ever heard it. It did funny things to his insides. “Do you think you can get to your room?”

His room was so far away. But the thought of a bed, his bed, with its warm blankets and the smell of sleep, called. “I think so,” Joe mumbled.

“Lean on me?” Nicolo said, taking his arms and helping him out of the car. “Here we go, you’re doing great. We’ll be there soon.”

There were around two hundred steps between the garage and his room, but later, all Joe would remember of them would be the smell of the shampoo Nicolo liked to use, the press of a firm, broad shoulder beneath his arm. He wouldn’t remember the way he was lowered onto the bed, gently, carefully. Nor would he remember the way he said, “Nicky - will you stay with me, please? I- if you want to,” and the way something raw had passed over Nicolo’s face. That night, amidst the murmurs of the doctor and Booker and Nicolo, he would dream of a man sitting beside his bed, of cool, soft hands smoothing hair away from his burning forehead and feeding him water.

And in the morning, when he woke up, there would be the slightest of impressions in the blankets beside him, still warm, as if someone had stayed the entire night by his side.

A continuation of this and that. Here is the original post by @veryoldmuchguard. Yes, this is 100% just softness, but sometimes it’s okay to not polish a piece up to a brilliant shine. I do have some ideas for plot, and you might be able to see some inklings beginning in this piece.

#the old guard #joe #nicky #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #capichewrites #nicky x joe