#< implied but important i tag it for myself

[katnissdoesnotfollowback]

kdnfb's Ten Years of Fanfiction Mania

Featuring: Unmasked

Summary: Written under an Anonymous pseudonym ~M~ to fill the following prompt ~ Historical Katniss and Peeta hate each other. They attend a masquerade ball and for some reason end up kissing each other. Sparks fly everywhere. Katniss tries to find the man behind the mask but Peeta knows it was Katniss though he doesnt say anything. They end up bethrothed even if they 'despise' each other. How they fall in love is up to u and how katniss figured out it was peeta is up to u

Rating: E for explicit sexual content, explicit language, implied/referenced rape/nonconsensual (not everlark), implied/referenced child abuse, implied/referenced suicide, implied/referenced miscarriage, discussions of illness, war, and injury in a historical setting, ptsd, minor character death. They worst of these tags happens offscreen and is merely discussed and dealt with rather than shown here.

A/N: ~Unmasked~ is my longest fic in terms of word count (around 234k), although Outside Chance and Spellbound are not too far behind and are both incomplete. Unmasked started as something meant to be fun and cathartic, then turned into a ridiculously long and self indulgent fic that I still, to this day, have no idea if the anonymous person who submitted the prompt to @everlarkficexchange even read, let alone whether or not they liked it. But I love what I produced for this fic.

Why write it anonymously and only reveal myself later? A couple reasons. 1) Historical is not my wheel house. At least not writing it. I am a shameless consumer of historical romances. I did some research for this fic but not nearly the level I would've liked to have done. Eventually, I said screw it, it's about the vibes not the accuracy. 2) I had a pile of unfinished wips when I started this, to include Outside Chance and Spellbound (both of which are still unfinished hmmmmm) and I really didn't want a lot of questions about when I was going to get back to those while I was working on this because 3) I'd just gone through a small slice of writerly hell to the point that I seriously considered deleting my entire tumblr and all of my fanfic. Details are not important right now, the result is. That's probably the closest I've ever come to calling myself done with fandom.

Then this prompt posted to EFE and wouldn't leave me alone. Eventually, I decided that if I was going to write it, I wanted to write it with as little pressure as possible. So I chose to write and post it as ~M~ until it was finished. Plus, I thought it might make it fun for people other than me if there was a bit of mystery behind it. And I don't regret doing that.

Writing behind a mask allowed me to be as long winded and self-indulgent as I wanted to without worrying about how tight the storyline was or how accurate the historical details were, or wondering if I'd be walking into my tumblr and a barrage of the kind of messages I'd come to dread receiving. The only thing I worried about, really was if the amount and kind of smut I included gave me away prematurely lmao.

While this was my first real foray into the realm of historical fics, I am hoping it's not the last. I've got too many ideas and half started pieces to back out of it now. But those, like this one, will probably remain untethered to a specific real place, and a specific time, mainly because I just don't have that kind of time for research if I'm not getting paid to do it lol. They will be works of love if not works of accuracy.

Unmasked on AO3

#ten years of fanfiction mania #unmasked #unmasked nonsense #i meant to post this like three weeks ago #ooops

[strangeknight]

#chuck doodles #marvel #brian braddock #the pope #moon knight #richard rider #mindrider #< implied but important i tag it for myself

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Lan Wangji Goes To Lotus Pier AU: Part 3: Enveloping Feelings.

(Part 1, Part 2, Part 4 (soon))

#poorly drawn mdzs #mdzs #lan wangji #Yungmeng Jiang training arc AU #I wanted to try out a different paneling style for this one - sorry I'm a day late! (there will still be a post tomorrow to keep on track) #The original 3 panel comic idea was fine but the point of this new schedule was to take time to push myself a bit more. #I was taking a look back through some comic artists I felt inspired by #and I really loved how Lynda Barry fills her gutters with patterns and doodles! #Obviously I'm not going as absolutely wild with it as she does but it was a great exercise! #I truly think the gutters are the most important and most overlooked part of any comic. There's lots going on in that space. #It's the same with timeskips. The implied movement between moments that we don't see changes depending on how wide that gap is #You're here for the funny tags so here's some that ties this time talk together: #I think LWJ was thinking about that second note from day 2 but it took him 7 days of hazing to commit it to paper. #I think he sends it a day later and immediately regrets it. Chasing down the messenger and everything. #You know if something actually happened to his brother he would never ever forgive himself for putting the bad vibes out there. #Third time skip was the hardest because there was so many possible flavours of jokes here. Day 8/9 was a personal favourite. #day 14 was also funny (week by week). I think the debate on 'how long does lwj take to catch feelings' is more or less: #'how long does it take for him to arrive at a particular stage of grief and yearning (and awareness of it all) #This is a symphony. There is an act by act structure. Every day he is fighting to keep his old sensibilities. He is losing so badly. #(I'll be returning to the main comic soon but there is more of this AU to come!)

[upsidedowngrass]

light refraction underwater

#hfjone #liam plecak #hfjone backpack #hfjone liam #my art #intermission between requests #bc i just wanted to make smth for myself #also this isnt vent art by any means but i was hoping to convey smth important to me #implied drowning #kind of? #ask to tag

[not-poignant]

I was watching RotG and suddenly I could only see the meme with the increasingly large dominos. With the small domino being 'Pia watching RotG' and the big domino being 'Efnisien, Gary, Anton, Temsen, Gwyn and Augus all starring in the same a/b/o fic'. Does RotG hold a special place for you, thinking of all the stories you've written since?

Hmm,

Yes and no? There's an even smaller domino you're not seeing which is that I had written original characters and stories before this, and Augus in particular was based off an original character I'd written before (and not published) so like, Rise of the Guardians didn't *invent* him, I did, years before I ever watched the movie. But there's also dominoes that drove me out of the fandom, and it was my bitterness re: the fandom that prompted the writing of original fic in the first place.

So let me tell you a story, anon. If you don't want to know how toxic the RotG fandom could be, I recommend you just walk away now and know that no, actually, RotG doesn't have a special place in my heart, knowing I wrote original fic to initially escape the way some small pockets of that fandom treated me. Otherwise I would have written RotG fiction for far far longer, because as the old-timers will remember, I actually had a couple of longfic ideas lined up to go immediately after SAL that I abandoned because of well...everything.

I actually spent a while after finishing SAL kind of hating Rise of the Guardians because of some nasty drama and meanness/spite towards me, particularly in the last few chapters, and it took about 2-3 years before I could even consider watching the movie again or write for the fandom again. And then by the time I'd come back, all of my original stuff was established, and I felt a lot more comfortable, and a lot more 'fuck the haters' with some of the stuff I had previously had to deal with.

(Fandom wank beneath the cut, lol)

For example (self-harm and suicide mention) one person would specifically post graphic horrible self-harm photos complete with blood tagged into the RotG and blackice tag/s specifically to coincide with my chapter releases towards the end of SAL - and she was a BNF in the fandom in her own way, so *everyone* kind of knew who she was and what she was doing - and she blamed me and my story for the self-harm, and so I had people coming to me going 'do you realise what this story is doing to this person, don't you even care.' And of course I felt horribly guilty and distressed, but I was also at this point around 7/8 chapters from finishing the story, wanting to give everyone a happy ending, and after posting the last chapter I broke down and cried because I was just so relieved that I didn't have to be tormented by this specific person anymore or see these images as a survivor of suicide attempts and self-harm myself.

But also just crying out of sheer distress because of how horrible those last few weeks were, because like, if it wasn't for the readers I would have walked away due to the pressure and bullying and coercion to get out of the fandom just because I had a story that some folks enjoyed reading. That was a level of targeted hate I'd never encountered before, and have never encountered since.

Around that time a couple of small hate groups started up about me, and I would get messages like 'you realise there are hate groups about you, right?' and I'd be like 'please don't tell me about this, people can hate me, leave them alone.' Then there was the time I just got - over around 10 days - about 100+ messages telling me to kill myself because of SAL and how 'horrible' it was re: it's 'really dark themes' which I find hilarious now, but back then, was actually really stressful when it coincided with someone literally *harming themselves* or posting old self-harm photos on days I posted a chapter, talking about how the reason she was doing it was because she hated that my story was so popular when it didn't deserve to be.

Like, no, I did not have a special relationship with Rise of the Guardians by then, or the fandom. I hated it. It's why I stopped writing for it when previously I literally had so many ideas I wanted to write for Jack/Pitch. For years after that. I would remember the good memories I'd made with SAL, but a lot of readers followed me into original works. And otherwise, all I remembered was being forced to see those photos and this person's tags if I went into the tags to look for fanart to share and promote. I'd made some very good friends (some very best friends, actually), and some of us got the hell out of that fandom as fast as we possibly could to escape these people.

So like, I would love to say that like, I feel nothing but fond memories thinking of the influence Rise of the Guardians has had on me, but no fandom that I've ever been in has ever had this kind of level of underground viciousness that developed as the story gained momentum.

When I wrote The Golden Age that Never Was I was truly detached from the fandom and the movie. I was writing based on my memories and feelings of the characters. I didn't look in the tags like I used to, and instead looked for when I was mentioned directly. I had a spike of anxiety every time I got an anon message while writing it, and I had to like...avoid fics and a bunch of other stuff to get through it.

I have watched Rise of the Guardians since and I do really enjoy it, but...I don't see the dominoes the same way you do anon, probably because of the way it all happened in my head, though I do think putting original writing on AO3 happened partly because I was in a hurry to get out of the RotG fandom. So in a way RotG is connected to that, but like, only because I was fleeing and abandoning all of my Pitch/Jack ideas as I went (to the point where people remembered them and still asked me about them years later and I was like 'haha oh no sorry I'm not writing those oh well maybe one day!')

Chances are high I actually wouldn't have written original fiction if my love for Rise of the Guardians had still stayed strong. I was ready to write two very specific longfics, and had done worldbuilding for both, and was talking openly about them, but towards the end of SAL I bolted from the fandom as fast as I could. The hate I got from specific corners of the RotG fandom is one of the reasons I started writing Game Theory before SAL was even finished - to cope with how I felt about the end of SAL and the hatred I was getting there. When some of those folks said 'omg I'll never read a story about Augus' I was literally like 'oh thank fuck, I'm going to be left alone now.'

Like...I got diagnosed with Fibromyalgia like 6 months after that, I cracked teeth because of how stressed I was, and I still have crowns in my mouth and teeth removed because of that whole period. I was sleeping an average of 3 hours a night.

...I feel a very special fondness for the people who supported me at the time, especially my good friend Silvia, who is still my beta and friend today. She is responsible for far more of the dominoes that have led to this moment than Rise of the Guardians could ever directly be. And I am extraordinarily grateful for the readers who have found my stuff since. Now the majority of readers of my original stuff have never actually seen Rise of the Guardians or read my RotG fics, and like, actually sometimes that's really nice, if a bit weird.

I have never, in my life, encountered a fandom that could get as toxic as pockets of Rise of the Guardians got, and I'm including Dragon Age: Inquisition in that, which had literal blocklists of asexual people, so you know I mean business! But as a final point, I do want to say the majority of people there were amazing, absolutely amazing, this is truly a case of a few bad apples spoiling the whole experience, and I'm still to this day gutted it happened like that, and have zero surprise a lot of people left the fandom all at once, at the same time, because of it.

#asks and answers #personal #lmao not gonna tag this into anything important #SALverse #shadows and light #basically yeah... even when i rewatched the movie #i can't help but remember what happened #and those images #of literal self-harm being posted on tumblr #and tags viciously implying i was the worst person #for the crime of writing a story that got popular #like i didnt' PLAN for that to happen and i certainly didn't know #as a result #i'd be told to kill myself over a hundred times #one of the reasons i just don't give a shit about antis these days #is that i know they're just bullies #but being a *direct victim* of that bullying with those specific triggers #was like...yeah #anyway there are so many people from that fandom who i love and think of fondly #but the movie will always remind me of *that* time #and even writing this post has left me feeling like choked up and anxious #like i used to feel all the time back then #i have complicated feelings for RotG #and it's a shame because the movie is truly gorgeous and savagely underrated

[a-s-levynn]

random confession time, i need a mental hygene moment

when i say i’m tired ‘cause i had a bad night i don’t mean i had a hard time falling asleep, it neither means me having bad dreams or just randomly waking up in the middle of the night. that’s my usual sleeping experience. i refer to nights like yesterday, waking up with a dislocated finger.

#DISCLAIMER: MENTION AND BRIEF DISCUSSION OF SELFHARM (intentional and unintentional) BOTH IN POST AND TAGS #MOSTLY IN TAGS #FEEL FREE TO SKIP #............................................................................................................................................ #____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ #all my life people called me a liar behind my back for stuff like this and it desensitizes you so fucking much towards your own shit #and like.. there is this dissonance in your head cause there is this injury you didn't had going to sleep but it's there when you wake up #but everyone dismisses it as you playing for attention.. bitch i hate my existance being acknowledged in general #i certainly do not need people fawning over me for a supposedly fake injury #i mean yeah i'm not saying i'm not prone to self harm cause that would be a lie but i'm far from being suicidal #but doing it on purpose for a reason and literally being unable to do anything about it while sleeping is a vastly different state of mind #it stops being a choice at that point because there is no choice while you are not conscious #i don't even remember how many times i had to make up some random story about an injury because the 'i dunno i was sleeping' #isn't really an explanation people want to hear #it implies too heavily that 'you have some issues' for it makes peeps around you uncomfortable #especially not talking about stuff like stabbing myself in the leg or scratching my skin off until i bleed or skipping painkillers and shit #okay me skipping painkillers is a twofold thing because i don't only need the pain from my leg at times to focus but i'm prone to addictions #i like me some free pain sue me #whatever not important #i'm just having a weird moment and i had to whine about my unintentional injuries and shit #i also drank 4 cans of energy drink after a bit over two weeks of not having one and i have way to much energy #which is good because i felt like shit since the winter holidays so this is a better state of existing in general #but i dunno i'm buzzing and i had to get this out #there isn't really any point to it i just had to #levynn cries about nonsense #levynn tries to think

[spicymancer]

So just wanted you to know, "yellow" is a common slur against Asian Americans and so Huang Feng, being a Bruce Lee (whos an Asian man) clone and all could raise some eyebrows to your intentions. And before i get accused of white knighting, i am Asian

Thanks for reaching out! This is honestly something that might be important to discuss and I appreciate your attempt at broaching the subject delicately. More after the jump.

So to start. I am also Asian. Specifically Chinese American.

As an American born Chinese, I have a weird relationship with my Asian heritage. I have a bad accent when I speak Chinese and most of my upbringing and cultural understanding is very American and western-centric. So I have certain biases at play here that I fully acknowledge. My experience is not universal. But these characters are drawn from that experience.

Huang Feng is a reference to Bruce Lee's performance as Kato in the Green Hornet. Dà Huángfēng being a Chinese term for a hornet.

The character is also narratively implied to be a secret moonlighting identity for the Yellow Ranger in my made-up sentai team. (Who, due to my own decision to always refer to the characters by their Ranger color, is literally just called Yellow by the other members of the cast.)

This is also a reference. Specifically to one of my greatest inspirations, Thuy Trang (Rest in Peace), who played the original Mighty Morphin Yellow Ranger. She was one of the first "Cool Asian Characters" that I encountered in media targeted at me as a child, problematic color choice aside. I sincerely adored her and her giant robot Saber-Toothed Tiger.

To be honest I have a complicated relationship with "Asian Themed" characters in media. So often saddled with cliché stereotypes: Martial Arts, dumplings, nunchucks, etc etc.

But the thing is, even as I roll my eyes whenever I see the Fighting Game character that is The Chinese One who wears a rice hat and a qipao. Or when one is literally just Bruce Lee. I do also immediately main that character. It's a bit of a guilty pleasure. Taking what representation I can get with mixed feelings. Similar to my enjoyment of sexy anime girl art even though it's all rooted in pretty uncomfortable sexist and objectifying aesthetics. A lot of my work comes from a place of exploring my own sexuality/identity. These characters are, partly, my own attempt to explore Asian themes and ideas for myself.

I would love to say that I'm trying to "reclaim" the term or something but I'm just some internet artist drawing cute anime girls and monster smut. For me, playing with these clichés is just another way of being self-indulgent.

Not really defending these creative choices so much as explaining my perspective on them. I totally understand if all this turns folks off! I fully respect those who don't vibe with my work and wish them all the best. It's a big internet and I'm sure they can find something super great to enjoy elsewhere!

Anyway, sorry for the long rambly post. Despite the fact that I'm posting this on Tumblr, I am not super mentally equipped to engage in Discourse, so forgive me if I don't respond to the tags on this.

So I'll just leave y'all with a neat article by Kat Chow discussing the history and usage of the color Yellow in regards to Asian Identity.

#oc questions #discourse cw #I love and appreciate all of you

[huskersbooze]

Sick

Alastor x Reader

Summary : You get sick and Alastor keeps you company <3

Warnings : Swearing(lots of it)

Pairings : Alastor x F!Reader (M!Reader here)

Additional Tags : ALASTOR POV CUZ YES. Sick reader, implied relationship, h/c, fluff, comfort

Word count : 1.01k

“Hey, you alright, kid?” Husk tilts his head to the side, wiping down the last glass of the day.

You don’t respond. Instead, you’re staring off into the distance, dozing off in your own world.

“Kid?”

“Huh? What?” You finally snap out of your thoughts.

“Geez, ya’ look like hell.” Husk acknowledges. “Are you sick?”

“I don’t know.” You shrug. “I don’t think so?”

“Go rest. I’ll work alone today.”

“What? No! I’m fine I swear-” Before you’re able to finish your sentence, Husk flips you off.

“Bullshit. Go find your radio boyfriend.”

“Don’t bullshit me-”

You try arguing but Husk only smirks when he catches a glimpse of Alastor who’s appeared right behind you.

“Well, I just did.” He says. “Now stop being so stubborn.”

“I’m not being stubborn I-” 

You feel a hand being put to your forehead and try to fight back, only to realise it was Alastor.

“High fever.” He lets go. “You’re being stubborn.”

“Oh, fuck you, Al.”

“We’ll fuck when you’re better, darling.”

You blush. Alastor grins. Husk tries to hold in a laugh but ultimately fails.

“You’re sick and you need rest, my dear. Come along.”

“I’m fine-”

Alastor can only sigh, picking you up as you yelp.

“This is completely, and utterly, your fault single-handedly.” He smiled as you pouted. “You're very much welcome, darling.”

“Whatever.”

-----

You managed to escape Alastor as he leaves to mess with Vox. (Ep2 lmao)

Upon returning to the bar, Husk was not pleased to see your ass out of bed, emphasising on how important sleep was to someone sick.

You couldn’t care less.

Though, after wiping down a few more bottles with him, your eyes doze off and your eyelids feel droopy.

“Kid?”

The world spins and fades away.

“Fuck! Kid, ya’ alright?! Alastor!”

-----

[Alastor’s pov]

I heard a little groan as my eyes widened.

"Darling." I whispered, hoping not to startle her.

"Al..?" She breathed out.

"Good morning." I joked, though so grateful she was now awake.

"Wha.. What time is it?" She asked, struggling to get up.

"Be careful." I ushered, helping her sit. "I'm not so sure myself. It's very late at night."

"Where am I?" She asked, finally waking up as she stopped slurring through her words. 

"My room. ‘I’m not sick’ my arse." I replied.

"Oh. Well, I guess you and Husk were right. I just thought I was a little sick." She murmured. 

"You are sick." I replied. "Just worse than you expected."

"Real humorous, Al." She gave a small, yet weak, giggle.

Silence filled the air between us, and we didn't say anything else after that. That was, until she gave a small sneeze. I could tell she tried to suppress it, but seeing it was late at night and so quiet, it was hard not to notice.

"Are you cold?" I asked. I could barely make out the silhouette of her nodding lightly. Without hesitating, I took off my coat and handed it over to her. "Better?"

"A lot. Thanks, Al." She replied. After another few seconds of silence, she spoke up once more. "Why aren’t you asleep?"

"You do remember your dear partner does not need, nor does he enjoy, sleep?"

"Excuse, excuses." She joked, earning a chuckle from me.

"I can't really sleep now." She suddenly says out of nowhere. One thing I really like about this girl, she says the most random things in the most random situations. "Could we do something else?"

"Are you trying to get me killed?" I laughed. "You need to rest."

"I'm aware. That's the initial plan, anyways." She joked. At least, I hoped she was joking.

"You sneaky little deer."

"Yes. That's me. Hello." She replied, sitting on the edge of the bed with her legs crossed as she proceeded to look at me in the dark room. “Besides, it’s not like anyone here at the Hotel is actually powerful enough to kill you.”

"Very well, then. What do you have in mind?"

“Some jazz and cuddles would be nice.”

-----

She chokes on another cough.

"Are you sure you're alright? You should really rest in such vulnerable state."

"I'm," Another cough. "Fine. I swear."

"If you insist."

After a while, I turned to face her, worried she wasn't enjoying herself anymore, only to find her sound asleep, clinging lightly to my shirt. See? I told you were sleepy. You just refused to listen to me. I stopped and watched the girl, moving little by little, afraid of waking her up.

She looked so peaceful. Though, it wouldn't be the first time I find her sleeping in my presence. I tugged a small strand of hair behind her ear as she shifted a little. I immediately paused. Shit, had I woken her? Though she soon returned to her slumber and she curled up into a ball in front of me.

I suppose this would suffice.

"Goodnight, darling." I whispered softly, laying next to her in the bed. "See you in the morning."

-----

[2nd person]

You awoke early in the morning, feeling well rested. Your bed was awfully more comfortable than you had remembered. You sat up and rubbed your eyes, finally opening them for the first time, only to find that you weren't in your own room. It took you a while to let things simmer in.

That's when you heard snoring next to you.

You turned to find the Radio Demon cuddled into a ball next to you in bed sleeping oh so soundly. The poor man probably hadn't had sleep in days. Before you could process what was happening, you checked the time and realized you had to be back at the bar for work in 5 minutes. Not wanting to wake Alastor up, you left him a quick note to thank him and left.

----

The whole day passed and you never caught sight of Alastor. After closing the bar, you headed to Alastor’s room,hoping to find him there.

You stop at his door and break out a tiny laugh.

On the door, a rushed sign saying — Sick. Keep out.

#hazbin hotel #hazbin #alastor #hazbin hotel season 1 #alastor hazbin hotel #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel 2024 #hazbinhotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor the radio demon #alastor hazbin #alastor x reader #alastor altruist #alastor fluff #alastor x you #alastor headcanons #alastor hartfelt #alastor hazbin x reader #hazbin hotel husk #husk hazbin hotel #husker #husk #alastor x y/n #sick reader #alastorpov

[theother-victoria]

been thinking of street racing with aventurine bc I imagine he’d like the thrill of it too…

tags: not proofread, I typed this out in tumblr drafts, some suggestive comments, flirting, gn reader, I don't know anything about street racing so pls forgive any inaccuracies, banter (they're so silly)

Aventurine, who pulls up to the race in an edgy and sleek sports car, drawing the attention of everyone else there- yours included.

You lean against the side of your car, watching him as he leaves opponent after opponent in the dust. He's skilled, you'll give him that. From the aggressive driving style and the make and model of the car, you're betting it's just some bored teenage boy with daddy's money to burn, but you'd be lying if you said you weren't at least a little bit curious about the person behind the wheel.

A few easy wins later that night and you're slated to race against him. He takes his sweet time pulling up to the finish line, but to your surprise, he rolls his window down for the first time that night and you're able to get a good look at him. He's no teenage boy but he has the same mischievous look that implies he's up to no good.

"Checking me out already?" he remarks, his (captivating) eyes twinkling in delight, although they're hidden behind his sunglasses. "And I thought I'd for sure be the one to make the first move."

Oh, so he's a flirt too. You can barely hear him over the loud purring of his expensive and modded car's engine and you know tonight's race will be a tight one.

"I see you've got money. What's a rich boy like you doing all the way out here?"

His grin widens.

"Ooh, you’re sharp. I like that and the way you talk.”

"Why don't you tell me who you are first?"

He laughs and shakes his head. He rolls up the window, much to your irritation, but not before saying one last thing and sending a wink your way.

"If you win, I'll tell you who I am. How does that sound?"

Damn. No other choice but to accept since the race is about to start.

You end up losing, but just barely. You had to push your car to its limits and he wasn't above playing dirty too, giving you a couple of close calls throughout. Although, he at least didn't endanger your life like some others have in the past, so you'll give him that.

After the race ends, you pull into a brightly-lit gas station with some people there. Shortly after, another car pulls up next to you and he steps out.

"Not bad, not bad," he says, clapping lightly. "It's not often that I find someone that can at least keep up with me, much less overtake me a couple times."

"So you were following me."

He raises his hands as a mock display of innocence.

"Hey, relax! Don't be so hostile! I just wanted to get to know you a bit better, that's all. Besides, you wanted to know who I am, right?"

You watch as he scribbles something onto a business card.

"Wasn't that only applicable if I won?"

"Eh, I've changed my mind now," he says, handing the card to you. "I don't make deals that don’t pay off and I'd consider it a loss if I didn't get at least your number tonight."

"You still didn't answer my original question. What's someone like you doing all the way out here? Surely you have more important matters to attend to, right?"

He laughs.

"Wow, you really don't know who I am, huh?"

"... What's that supposed to mean?"

"Ah, nothing. Just talking to myself. But to answer your question... I suppose it's because I enjoy the thrill of it. It's like gambling. Not knowing whether you'll win or lose, or even live or die. After all, the higher the stakes, the higher the excitement- why're you looking at me like that?"

"… You're insane."

"Sure, sure, sweetheart. I'll pretend that your reasons aren't the same as mine and that the adrenaline rush doesn't excite you every time. Why else would you willingly race, night after night?"

With one last wink, he gets into his car and drives away. You finally glance at the business card, only to do a double take and gape at it in shock when you realize its contents.

Aventurine, one of the IPC's Ten Stonehearts? No way... this guy's an IPC exec?

You don't know whether to feel proud about the fact that you got an IPC executive's number without trying or humiliated about the whole exchange...

There's a winking smiley face and an "call me xoxo" written next to the phone number.

And against your better judgement, you do just that.

He turns out to be an interesting companion. You'd think that with his demanding position, he'd be traveling all over the galaxy every day- which is true, to an extent, but he's always there for your weekly races and frequently drags you out shopping with him. He teaches you how to play poker and how to count your cards, if you didn't know how to already. He then tries to get you to play a round or two against him, which you promptly refuse each time.

("I spent all that time teaching you how to play and this is what I get in return? Boo, you're no fun. But a round or two never hurt anyone, right?"

"Aventurine, even a round or two is a surefire way to go into debt to you. Absolutely not."

He pouts and grumbles like a little kid every time.)

He also pays for additional mods to your car. When you try to refuse him, he merely brushes off your concerns.

"Sweetheart, I don't think you understand," he said back then. "I make more in a day than what it costs to mod your car. To me, this is nothing. Besides, I want an opponent who can keep up with me. If you start falling behind, well, then that's no fun for both of us, right?"

One night, there’s a particularly high-stakes race that you’re slated to compete in. The cash prize is one that’s too big for anyone to pass up.

Well, except for Aventurine. That amount of money is probably nothing by his standards.

For once, he’s not racing. When it’s your turn, he waves you over with a teasing smile as you’re getting ready.

“Say, how about raising the stakes for tonight?”

“What now?”

“Let’s make a bet.”

“… Fine.”

“If you win, we go on a date together. My treat, of course. If you lose, then you’ll have to play a round of poker with me.”

There isn’t an ounce of shame in his words. You openly gape at him as he beams at you proudly.

“… What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why though?”

He shrugs.

“Simple. I know this is a bet that will pay off. And I’ve been wanting this to happen for a long time now. So…”

He leans in close, lips teasingly brushing over your ear for a moment.

“Don’t disappoint me. I want to see you try and turn the tides in your favor for this race.”

You pull away from him.

“I accept, but only because I am not going into debt because of poker.”

He laughs.

“Go on then, sweetheart. I want to see you leave everyone behind in the dust. Oh, and don’t forget your good luck kiss!”

Aventurine blows a kiss to you. You roll your eyes as you climb into your car. Insufferable, that’s what he is. But if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s reading people. Meaning he must’ve noticed that you wanted this too.

You roll your neck and focus on the road ahead. The race is about to begin.

That cash prize and date with Aventurine is yours.

#victoria.writes #aventurine x reader #aventurine x you #aventurine x y/n #hsr aventurine #honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #hsr x y/n #hsr x you #hsr x reader #honkai star rail

[silvergreenseraphim]

Vincent and Sephiroth in Rebirth

(This is my first Rebirth observation. This post is tagged with spoilers.)

Unfortunately, I cannot play this game myself yet, but I have been watching chapter by chapter. This is the Vincent sidequest in the Shinra Manor where they investigate the source of a mysterious singing on the lower levels.

If anyone can find the Japanese version of this quest, please let me know—because I do not understand this line from Vincent. What does he mean he has had many opportunities to purge Sephiroth from the world?

Is he referring to his past with being unable to stop Lucrecia? Or is he saying he could have eliminated Sephiroth back when he was just born? That would not make much sense to me. I can’t see Vincent even considering that.

This is why I need the Japanese line. This statement is confusing.

A reference to Lucrecia here.

An entire lower level of the Shinra Manor has been revealed. An extra layer of hell where Hojo held combat trials all along. We never knew this until now. This is uncanny.

Again, I need the Japanese because it sounds as if Vincent fully believed that Lucrecia did whatever Hojo told her.

I’m not saying that this is even inaccurate after a certain point, but how much of this could be Vincent’s own love for Lucrecia convincing him that she was completely lacking in agency during the time? He gets upset when Barret implies she was not much better than Hojo.

I think it’s a mix. Based on DOC, Lucrecia was certainly ordered around and abused by Hojo after everything had fallen apart, but she did choose to go along with Jenova Project S. It was more complex than what Vincent may think right now.

At the same time, he knew and loved the true Lucrecia’s heart, so he understands that she was struggling with remorse and fear all the same. Vincent is a very empathetic being and he knows Lucrecia was never as evil as Hojo.

Vincent’s empathy is further shown after they kill the singing monster. He knows the creature was tainted by Hojo and perhaps sang to release stress. Even monsters can have emotions. Of course it sounds absurd to Barret….but….

This is a reflection of how Vincent feels. He himself shares a body with monstrous forces and he still has an empathetic heart. This could be how he feels about Sephiroth as well.

It is important to mention that Vincent’s goal has been changed in Rebirth. He wants to go after Sephiroth instead of Hojo now. Even his desire for revenge has been lessened. Very interesting.

#vincent valentine #sephiroth #lucrecia crescent #hojo #shinra manor #final fantasy 7 #ffvii #ff7 #ffvii rebirth spoilers #ff7 rebirth spoilers #rebirth spoilers #ffvii rebirth #ff7 rebirth

[strangeknight]

wolverine loves lying

#chuck chatters #marvel #sam alexander #richard rider #nova corps #scott summers #mindrider #implied but important i tag for myself etc

[farfromstrange]

Just Let Me Love You | Matt Murdock x Reader

Masterlist

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Reader (f!Reader heavily implied)

Summary: You're struggling with your body image and Matt notices

Warnings: Angst, TW: allusions to an ED, self-deprecating talk (Reader has internalized fatphobia toward herself), not proof red (I was too emotional for that)

Word Count: 2.1k

A/n: So, my body is changing and I hate it. As someone who was the Fat Funny Friend growing up, I got inspired by the song. Now I wasn't sure if to tag for a plus-sized reader because when I wrote this, I had myself in mind, and I'm not even sure what "category" I fall into, so this is pretty universal and I think any of you who are struggling with body dysmorphia might appreciate this. Heed the warnings before proceeding and don't forget to eat if you haven't already! (Also, I used my tag list to tag for this, but don't read it if this triggers you, please!)

Our brains are wired to function in a certain way. But not every brain is balanced in chemistry. 

For the longest time, she thought there was something seriously wrong with her. She never fit in anywhere, so she tried to make herself fit. Change her attitude, change her behavior, change her hobbies, and change the way she looks. She did it so many times, she lost count. 

She relied on humor, telling funny little anecdotes to make whatever friend group she was a part of at the time laugh at her. But that was all she could do. Make them laugh. She lit up the mood, lit up the room, but she seemingly never lit up anyone’s heart the way her friends did. 

They talked about their relationships, talked about their families and friends, and she played along. She listened. When she talked about her likes, they pretended to care, but within minutes, they lost interest. She thought it just wasn’t that important. Not as important as how beautiful they all were, anyway. And they were striking, she thought. That’s why everyone always chose them and never approached her. But she swallowed it to at least be a part of something. 

She always helped everyone but herself. She was there when no one else was, but even when she was a part of something, she never fully fit in. There was an impossible standard looming over her head, and she couldn’t possibly reach it. 

Don’t be too loud. Don’t be too silly. Don’t say no. Don’t talk about your problems, only listen to everyone else’s. Don’t believe that he wants you because he is too good for you, and all he wants is your best friend who is ten times prettier than you. And don’t believe that personality and humor will get you anywhere; you will end up miserably alone the same way people who look like you always will. 

The same voice, over and over again. Word turning into knives. It was exhausting to fight against the demons within her because they just sounded so damn convincing. 

When she met him, the man who stole her heart, she never thought he would ask her out. When he did, she was dumbfounded. In every possible situation, he found himself assuring her that he wouldn’t drop her for the pretty blonde in the office, or his psychotic ex-girlfriend who just happened to have the most beautiful body known to man. To her, at least. Everyone around him was just so beautiful, and he was even more so–he was the prettiest specimen in the world, and everyone desired him. Of course, she grew insecure. She couldn’t help it. It was a reflex.

She fell in love with a man who finally saw her for who she was and he loved her despite—no, he loved her regardless. For who she was. He took her, accepted her, and began seeing her as the most beautiful person in the world. For the first time, she felt appreciated, loved, and not so miserably alone. 

Yet, the fear continued to linger. The fear that one day, he would notice that perhaps, a woman of average looks wouldn’t be enough for him anymore. That she was, indeed, as unconventionally unattractive as everyone said she was from the first day she actually understood what was being said to her. She was just a child then. 

The funny friend. The awkward friend. The weird one. The girl without real friends. The girl with the silly clothes, the silly smile, the slightly crooked teeth, the belly pouch… The girl who lost weight, the girl who gained weight, and the girl who shouldn’t be so proud of herself because she had nothing to be proud of. 

“Sweetheart?” he asked her, yanking her out of the downward spiral that only continued to get worse over time. “Did you have anything to eat yet?”

He stood in the kitchen, the sleeves of his dress shirt bunched around his elbow. It was hot outside, too hot for her liking, and even his clothes were slightly stained with sweat. 

She looked up from the couch, still wrapped up in a blanket despite the high temperatures, a book resting on her thighs. He met her eyes with a smile. 

“I noticed your leftovers are still in the fridge. Could smell them,” he clarified. “I was just wondering whether that was on purpose or not.”

Worrying fit it better, she thought to herself. He always worried too much. 

She closed her book. “I might’ve forgotten,” she said as if it was the most natural thing in the world. 

His eyebrows furrowed. “You forgot?” There was a hint of amusement in his voice, but it never reached his eyes. 

“Yeah. I probably got too caught up reading or something. It’s no big deal. I’ll eat later. Or drink another latte.”

He hummed. “You know, iced coffee is not considered a healthy diet. Your body needs fuel.”

“Jesus Christ, Matt,” she raised her voice, “I’m okay!”

“You don’t look okay,” he stated as a matter of fact. 

“And how would you know?”

“I just do.”

He approached, his muscles straining against his shirt. It wasn’t fair, how good he looked. How well he carried himself. And he still had the audacity to look at her and tell her she had much more going for herself than just her humor. That she was beautiful. Pretty enough. 

“Hey,” Matt lowered himself on the couch beside her, “What’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, huh?”

“I forgot to eat, I told you,” she said.

“I don’t believe you.”

“But it’s the truth.”

“Not if you did it on purpose.”

The book landed on the coffee table and she got up, pacing the small space of their shared apartment in the heart of Hell’s Kitchen. He could hear her heartbeat pounding against her ribcage, the pent-up tears, and the tension, and he wanted nothing more than to reach out. But he waited. He gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts.

“I forgot,” she repeated. “At first. And then I just happened to pass by a mirror and…and I looked at myself. I mean, really looked at myself.”

“Oh–” He sighed. “Baby…”

“I’m smaller when my stomach is empty, you know. And I thought it wouldn’t hurt me to, uh…cut back a little?”

He was about to respond, but she cut him off. “I don’t mean that I’m starving myself. I just…I forgot to eat, and then, when I remembered, I remembered what I saw and I was just…I’m not hungry anymore. I…I don’t think it’s a big deal. I’m not doing it on purpose, I’m just…”

She stopped pacing. She met his unfocused hazel eyes that held so much pain when he looked at her. He reached out, not saying a word, and she extended her shaky fingers toward the lifeline he was throwing. 

“Oh, God,” she whispered. She realized then why he looked so hurt. “It’s getting bad again, isn’t it?”

The question hung in the room as he pulled her toward himself. 

She didn’t protest when he pulled her back onto the couch, his arms engulfing her and pulling her back against his sturdy chest.

“What makes you think that you need to hurt yourself to fit some unrealistic beauty standard?” he asked softly, his voice merely a breath tickling her ear. 

She whimpered, not wanting to answer. 

“What makes you think that not being healthy is the solution to the way you see yourself? Wouldn’t that just make it worse?”

“I just…” She took a deep breath. “I just… I just want to be enough.”

“But you are enough,” he answered in a heartbeat, placing his hand on her neck and turning her face to him. He missed her face with his gaze, but she could still feel him in every fiber of her being as he sat there and felt her pulse, and she matched her breathing to his. 

A tear rolled down her cheek. “You don’t understand what it’s like,” she whispered back. “You don’t understand what it’s like to be only seen as the comedic relief in every relationship you have ever been in while your friends pulled the guys you wanted. Because they never wanted you, and they never saw competition in you either because you were just never the center of anyone’s attention.”

He was silent for a moment. The taste of her tears reached his tongue, and he visibly recoiled at the pain she held inside of her. Matt pulled her closer, holding her a little tighter. She melted. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of leaving her to deal with her thoughts, he placed his lips against her ear again. “You’re the center of my attention,” he said. “Of my world. My universe. And I couldn’t care less about the way you look.”

“That’s because you’re blind,” she shot back, a sob rippling through her body. 

He shook his head. “No. Those who reduce you to your looks are blind, and they don’t even deserve you in the first place. What matters most is this–” his large hand found its way onto the left side of her chest, above her heart. “What’s in here is what makes you beautiful, not what covers the outside.”

“But that’s not enough, is it?”

“To me, it is.”

“Not to me, Matthew. Like I said, you don’t get it.”

She struggled against his grip, but he wouldn’t let her go. “Then let me rephrase it,” he tried again, pressing his hand further against her chest. “I care more about who you are inside because I love you. But I don’t need sight to appreciate your physical beauty along with the sound of your heartbeat. Your breathing. Your touch. You know why?”

She shook her head. “Enlighten me.”

“Because I can feel you, sweetheart, and you are the most breathtaking human being I have ever had the pleasure of laying my hands on.”

If words were enough to make a person pass out, this would surely have been her breaking point. 

“You mean that?” She turned around, her tears now glistening with a taste of hope. 

He brushed them away with his thumb and nodded. “Every last word.”

Her eyes fluttered closed at the ghost of his touch. “I don’t like my body,” the admission came quietly.

In response, Matt nodded. “I know, but you have nothing to be ashamed of. That body deserves to be loved. You deserve to be loved.”

“I feel like…like I don’t deserve you. I don’t want you to leave me for…for Karen.”

The mention of her name caused him to frown. “Karen?” he asked. She nodded. He sighed, forcing her head to his chest, forcing her to listen to his heartbeat the same way he always did to her. “Don’t even think like that,” he told her. “I would never leave you for someone else. For no one, for nothing. I need you to stop assuming that, sweetheart. It’s not true.”

“It feels true,” she cried. 

His lips brushed the crown of her head. “But it isn’t.”

“But–”

“I love you,” he said, a bit more insistent this time. “Only you. I would rather die than never be with you again. And I mean that. Bring me the poison and I’ll prove it to you. I’ll get on my knees and worship the ground you walk on if that’ll make you believe me, but I won’t leave you.”

She clung to him, her nails digging into his shirt. Matt shushed her, his fingers brushing through her hair. The rhythm was soothing. 

She sobbed until she had nothing left to give. She cried because she knew he was right. She knew she was overthinking, but she was powerless to fight it. He was the only one who could open her eyes, and even then, she more often than not slipped away. She hated it. She hated the way her brain was wired, the things she was taught, and the things she continuously and wrongly kept teaching herself. 

Eventually, though, she slacked in his arms. 

“I don’t really like myself right now,” she confessed. “But I don’t know how to stop it.”

Matt chuckled softly, his chest rumbling. He tilted her chin up. “Then let me help you,” he said. 

“How?” she asked. 

He leaned down, his lips brushing against hers in a gentle kiss. “Just let me love you.” 

Tagging from Matt Murdock Tag List: @acharliecoxedfan @gpenguin666 @linamarr @itwasthereaminuteago @mattkinsella @norestfortheshelbywicked @yarrystyleeza @littlenerdyravenclaw @ravenclaw617 @thychuvaluswife @schneeflocky @imjustcal @pipsqueakkitten

#matt murdock #daredevil #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock angst #matt murdock x you #no y/n #tw: ed #matt murdock imagines #charlie cox

[bisexualbaker]

About "Choose Not To Warn"

The existence and use of the Choose Not To Warn category on AO3 becomes a lot clearer when you realize that it's not about what warnings do or do not apply to a given work, but rather that it's about spoilers.

Between how the label is generally used and its wording, it's entirely understandable how the current interpretation of "This work can and will contain anything from your darkest nightmares" came about, but really? It's because choosing any warning label, including "No Archive Warnings Apply", are an inherent spoiler for the work.

Don't want to use the tag "Major Character Death" because it's an important twist in the work? CNTW is here for you!

Want to pull the rug out from under your readers by implying that your fic is a total horror fest and then revealing at the last minute that it was actually a fluffy roleplaying session? CNTW again!

Just hate having spoilers of any kind for your work, and that includes whether the work in question has anything to warn for or not? It's CNTW time!

"Choose Not To Warn" might be slightly misleading as a label, unless you include "No Archive Warnings Apply" as a warning itself, but I don't know that I can come up with a better wording myself. And even if I could, AO3 has more important things to deal with right now. But it might still help the average reader to know that CNTW can include a completely tame and waff-filled fluff-fest without being against the rules or the spirit of the label.

"Choose Not To Warn" means "Telling you whether any archive warnings apply is a spoiler, so I'm not going to do that."

#cntw #choose not to warn #ao3 #archive of our own #fandom meta #fandom history #language #vocabulary

[dyaz-stories]

you took the words right out of my mouth || Kim Yeong-Hu x Reader

word count: 1k

warnings & tags: mostly sweet and fluffy, implied sex but nothing explicit, just harmless flirtation

A/N: For @neohumanmonster's Born in Blood prompt! I don't know if I'll post the other prompts right away because I don't want to burn myself out, so I hope you'll enjoy that one in the meantime!

“You do realize that there are two doctors in here, right?” you ask as you enter the room, not bothering to greet the man sitting on the examination table.

Sergeant Kim Young Hu’s eyes follow you as you walk to the sink to wash your hands. Around his bicep, a makeshift bandage seeped with red. By the looks of it, it isn’t the worst state you’ve seen him in.

“I’m not letting that lunatic touch me,” he answers, his voice calm, as it usually is, and you roll your eyes.

You’d be lying if you said you were a fan of Dr. Lim. You already had your issues with the man when you both worked for the government, before this all started. Once the Outbreak had begun, it had taken you forty-eight hours as his assistant before you had requested to start working out in the field. You’re well-aware of his shortcomings.

Unfortunately, and it stings to admit it, he’s one of the most competent doctors you’ve ever met. He’d be more than able to take care of the Sergeant.

“You do realize I have other things to do, right?”

“And I am deeply sorry to have taken you away from your fifth grade biology lessons.”

…Okay, he has a point. Finally done with your thorough handwashing — it’s not nearly as sanitizing as you’d like it to be, but it’s not like there’s a lot more you can do —, you come to stand in front of him.

“Does it hurt a lot?” you ask as you start undoing the bandage. At least working with the military means that the men all know what they’re doing in terms of first-aid.

“Could be worse. I think I just need stitches.”

You’d trust him, if it wasn’t for the fact that you’ve heard him say that about injuries that could have been fatal, had you not been there. In this case, though, you’re relieved to see it does look mostly fine. Whatever attacked him slashed through him, deep enough to be concerning but without actually damaging the muscle or hitting an important artery.

“What happened here?”

“One of the guys tried to take something from a monster,” the Sergeant Kim replies flatly. “I intervened.”

“Oh, it’s good it didn’t turn out worse, then?”

“Not really,” he says with a shrug. “The monster wasn’t violent until disturbed. This could have easily been avoided.”

“Sounds like your boys need a stern talking-to.”

While talking, you go fetch what you need. At least you’ve got everything required for something like stitching someone up, which you can’t say about most other ailments.

“I’ll handle that,” the Sergeant answers from behind you, and you smile. He exudes this quiet strength that you cannot help but be impressed by. His men would follow him to the end of the world and back, if he asked, and you can see why.

“Alright, well, you know the drill,” you tell him, coming back in front of him. “Think you’ll be okay?”

It’s silly to ask, with how often you’ve had to patch him or his men up. You’re well aware of his resistance to pain. Nonetheless, your training requires you ask, even if it’s no surprise when he nods in answer.

“Just go for it.”

You make quick and easy work of the wound. You focus on being fast and efficient rather than on lessening the pain, which you know is for the best with him. It’s not long before you’re setting your tools back down, done with your work. There are a few seconds during which the Sergeant takes the time to relax his jaw, to breathe in a couple of times, and then he nods at you.

“All done?” he asks.

“You’ll need to come back here so I can check on it,” you say. “And try not to put any strain yourself with that arm for a couple days, alright?”

He nods, but you don’t put much faith in that. As a soldier, you’d think he’d be good at following orders and, to be fair, you’ve heard he did an outstanding job most of the time. Unfortunately, your recommendations seemed to fall into deaf ears more often than not.

“Is that all?”

“Sure,” you say, even if his nonchalance exhausts you. “Hope I don’t see you here again for a good while.”

This, at least, brings a smile to his lips, and you try your best to suppress your shiver. He gets up from the table, and stands up, just inches from you. He’s so close, his torso almost brushes against your chest.

“Is that so, Doc?”

Damn that man.

“You know, if you keep this up, I’ll end up thinking you’re landing yourself in here on purpose,” you say.

The smile turns more amused.

“I would never endanger myself on purpose,” he tells you with disarming honesty. “But I’d be lying if I said I minded this kind of flesh wounds all that much these days.”

And before you can tell him just what you think of that, of course, he leans in to capture your lips. It’s not the first time. It doesn’t look like it will be the last time. And you’re in one of the very few rooms in the stadium that can actually lock.

Fuck it, you decide, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him closer to you. It doesn’t matter why the two of you play that game together, the people you shared a past with and that are long gone, the fact that this relationship was built on blood. What matters is that in his arms, for however long you get to have him, you forget that the world is doomed.

If him coming back for more over and over again is any indication, so does he.

hope you liked this, it's a little sillier than what i've written for the fandom so far, so that was fun to play with. i don't know if i'll write for other soldiers because most of them... didn't leave me much of an impression as far as their personality goes, but i tried something for sergeant kim ^-^ please consider leaving a comment or reblogging if you're enjoying my writing, interactions are what keep me motivated to write for a fandom!

more writing for sweet home

#sweet home #sweet home netflix #sweet home 2 #sweet home season 2 #sweet home x reader #sweet home imagine #sweet home fanfic #kim yeong hu #kim yeong hu x reader #my writing

[antimony-medusa]

So what kind of a dad is q!Phil anyways?

So, Phil getting Tallulah and Chayanne to wear armour and learn how to fight. Also Bad doing this with Dapper, and the Brazilians trying to do this with Richas, and the french with Pomme, but when it gets discussed, it's mostly focusing on Phil because of the contrast of Wilbur not wanting his kids to have to fight. There's some really fun discussion that comes up with that!

And the interesting thing is that when we're trying to pull up other cultural touchpoints to compare phil-and-fighting-and-the-kids to, a lot of the other characters have very specific vibes, so to speak. I was in a discussion the other day where someone compared Phil in this with the dad in Supernatural, and him getting his sons to follow him on hunts. Cause he's a dad training his kids to fight, right? From a very young age? However, I don't think this is a perfect comparison, and I wanted to share the one that comes to mind for me, despite the fact that it deals with some pretty dark topics. This whole post deals with some dark topics, you might want to check the tags, just so you know.

Anyways, I never watched Supernatural, so I didn't do much more than think emoji in the moment when this comparison came up. But I checked in with friends who have watched it, and I think Phil QSMP and John Winchester Supernatural are acting from some pretty different places. John Supernatural is teaching his kids to fight because they have a duty and a lineage and have to help save the world, but at the same time there's this tragedy there that implies that he's so focused on his duty as a hunter that he's not seeing that maybe you don't need the kids for that. They could start when they were older—or maybe they could not start this! He essentially conscripts them into a battle that shapes the course of their lives, as little warriors, and they never have a choice in it. And he's not above using them as bait, because they're warriors, right? The battle is so important? They want to be involved, they want this (of course they want this, you're their dad, and they believe you that this is important). He's a true believer.

Whereas Phil is faced with a world that actively and constantly wants to kill his kids, and he's trying to train them to defend themselves. He's trying to say that there's danger out there, you take care of yourself, I'm going to put myself on the line for you, but if I fail, if I'm not there, you won't be defenseless if it comes down to it. I have had my beef with fics that take on this topic, in fact, because I've seen people write Phil as using his kids as bait to get to the codes or forgetting his kids in his code battle, and that's not how I interpret the character motivattion and actions. For me, the way I see it, Phil is always thinking of how best to defend the eggs, and everything else is in service to this. He's a man with anxiety on an island that wants to kill his kids, not a warrior in an epic battle.

Does this mean that the eggs are gonna grow up and go to therapy about their childhood full of danger? Hell yeah they wll. This is not an ideal childhood. But— and this is the crucial thing— they're going to grow up. Same with Dapper, same with Richas, same with Pomme— living your life under constant need to teleport out to safety is bad, objectively, but when the alternative is living in the moment until you die, I think the teleporting out is better, actually.

And the comparison that comes to mind for me, because of my personal experience, is not examples in media of parents training their kids to fight, but examples in media or in real life of parents dealing with serious and or terminal illness in kids. Cause that's what my family did. And boy is there resonance there.

I don't know of any parent of a kid with cancer who likes putting their kid through treatment. Chemotherapy sucks, radiation sucks, surgery sucks, immunotherapy sucks, none of this is good. I have seen this tear up parents (and siblings) inside. But it's better than letting their kids DIE, isn't it? And before you say well, obviously everyone is on the same page when it comes to things like chemotherapy, I have *seen* people go out there and post at cancer families about how they can't believe they're putting poison in their children's bodies when they should just eat better, etc. (This take reminds me strongly of the "she shoudln't wear armour cause she shouldn't have to fight" take about Tallulah.) Serious illness in kids forces you into terrible situations, but the only saving grace is that they're better than the alternative, you hope.

The only thing that makes me go ehhhhh maybe with Phil and the Mr Supernatural is him letting Chayanne fight, but Chayanne is a kid being hunted whose sister (also being hunted) is disabled, and this happens whether or not Chayanne is involved, and he wants to try and defend her so bad. I don't think saying "let her die if necessary, don't intervene" is going to be a conversation that ends up with less trauma, if you know what I mean. That is simply a situation that has no real win conditions out of it. At least this way he feels like he has some control? (Note: this is a bad situation, there's no getting around it.)

QSMP is so often a story about forces beyond our control trying to destroy us, and while Supernatural and its ilk also has that tone, within Supernatural there's at least a population that doesn't have to be part of the battle, so opting into the battle becomes on some level a choice, and involving children in that is also a choice, one that you can hold up to the standards of allowing children to have a childhood and go "is this ethical". On Quesadilla island, there's literally no opting out of this fight. There are malevolent forces that are directly trying to destroy you, destroy your children, and the question of allowing children to have a childhood has been effectively taken out of your hands. You simply have to do the best with the situation you have, and have a birthday party while keeping the armour on. And this reminds me much more strongly of situations like childhood cancer, than it does of cases in media of people concripting their children into battle.

In both cases children are trying to fight malevolent entities that want them dead, as pushed to fight by their parents, but boy, at least to me, the tone is pretty different. I think the question of "is it self defense or did you choose to be here" is pretty important.

#cw child death #cw cancer #cw childhood cancer #cw child abuse #discourse #qsmp #philza #fandom meta #bad dad phil discussion

[sprout-fics]

The Witching Hour

(König x F! Reader 'Maus')

Part 4 of 'Little Mouse'

Word Count: 2.7k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Alone mission, Mixed format, Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Protective König, Dark König, Dark Knight in shining armor, Discussions of kidnapping, Standoffs, Horror themes Warnings: Implied threats of abduction A/N: This is an extended version of 'Comms Crash'

>19:46 Incoming Transmission >Bravo-09 "Rookie" Sat-phone link up complete >Error: Unable to complete outward transmission >Running diagnostics >Incoming transmission downloaded- traffic logged >Log:

*Sounds of heavy breathing*

"This is Bravo 9, come in Bravo 7."

...

"Bravo 7, how copy?"

*Static*

"Shit. Ghost, are you there?"

...

"There must be something wrong with the comms. My traffic is going through but I can't hear you."

"Listen. I can't make it to the LZ. Got pinned down and separated from the group. Took out the sniper but there's hostiles between me and the rendezvous."

...

*Sigh*

"I'm going to have to take the long way around. I can't take that many at once, and I'm all alone out here."

*Sounds of muttered cursing*

"Just...if things get bad, don't wait for me. That information is more important than I am. You need to get it to Laswell."

"…I'd say promise me, but since I can't hear you I'll just have to pretend you said yes."

...

"...Looks like I got myself in another fine mess, huh LT?"

*Crackling sound of a heavy sigh*

"Ok, better get a move on. I'm keeping the line open in case comms come back."

"...I really hope they come back."

...

*Footsteps, leaves rustling, interrupted by brief pauses*

"...Anyone told you Georgia is actually quite pretty this time of year?"

*Static*

"Guess not."

...

"Could really use one of Soap's terrible jokes right about now. He ever told you the one about the seasoned veteran?"

*Static*

"Good. Don't ask. It was awful."

"...Shit. Hang on."

*Rustling, silence*

*Sound of nearby voices, presumably Russian*

"Don't send traffic. Wait for me to give the all clear that they've passed."

*Voices growing louder, leaves rustling*

"Christ, they're coming this way."

...

*Voices grow louder, footsteps and leaves rustling*

*Muffled sound of heavy breathing*

...

*Voices, fairly close by. Translation error*

...

*Voices grow distant, footsteps fade*

...

*Shaky exhale*

"That was way too fucking close."

*Heavy breathing slows*

*Rustling*

"Okay, I'm moving. Are the comms good?"

*Static*

"Just my luck. I don’t know about you Ghost, but my day is going just great right now.*

...

"I think they're gone. Somewhere off to my left. Thought I saw figures in the trees."

*Another shaky exhale*

"Could really use a drink right now to steady the nerves. Maybe you'll treat me back at base, yeah LT?"

*Static*

"You're no fun."

...

"I'm circling around the bluff now. If you haven't taken off yet, I should be at the LZ in 8 minutes."

"I really, really hope you guys are still there."

*Footsteps, leaves rustling*

*Gunshot*

"Fuck-!"

*Skidding, leaves rustling, gunfire.*

"There's a hostile on the bluff-"

*Gunshot*

"I'm made! Shit-!"

*Sounds of exchanging gunfire*

*Click of empty canister*

"God dammit I'm out of ammo! Shit-"

*Gunshots continue, static*

"You better get the hell out of here, Ghost. Don't wait for me. Get that data to Laswe-"

*Gunfire stops*

...

"...I..."

"Target down, but..."

...

"LT. I...didn't get him. Someone else did."

"...Was that one of you? Please say it was one of you."

*Static*

...

"Ghost."

"Ghost...I don't think I'm alone out here."

...

*Sounds of heavy breathing picking up*

"G-Ghost. Simon-"

"...It's him. It's König."

*Unsteady breathing*

...

"G-get the information to Laswell. I-I'm relaying my coordinates."

*Sound of approaching footsteps*

*Shaky exhale*

"...I-I'm-"

...

*Static*

...

...

*Loud footsteps, heavy breathing*

"Hello, little Maus."

>End of log >Downloading data >Coordinates: ****-***** >Attached: 1 file >Error: Unable to connect. Bravo-09 "Rookie" Not found

---

Massive.

That's the first thought that enters your thoughts as you stare up in the darkness, eyes searching for König in the midnight forest. When he moved from the outcrop- the same place where your attacker's body now lays, blood seeping into the mountain soil, it felt for all the world like he was part of the forest itself. Dislodging himself from the shadows, König has simply appeared, rising up from the rocky ledge and then rising, unfurling like a gigantic, mammoth creature as he stood. The darkness of him rises, then rises still, towering to a superhuman height that has you freeze, feel the blood drain from your face.

Now, as moonlight filters through the spruce canopy above, you can see the edges of him glint in the darkness. The clear night catches against the metal of his bracers, his kneepads, the clasps of his helmet that dangle by his face, ever obscured by the hood streaked with bleach tears. You can hardly see his eyes like this, hidden as they are. Instead, you're greeted with the drape of his hood, melding the rest of him into a phantom, unknown silhouette. Here, in this witching hour, König appears as a strange, aberrant cryptid of the night. Mythic, eidolon.

"Hello, little Maus." He speaks, and the silence of these woods makes his voice sound so much louder, tumbling free of his chest like a forbidden eulogy.

You can't breathe.

Instead, your eyes fixate on him, on his form, stopped at a distance on the hill above you. The slope rises under his feet, one foot planted firmly on a boulder. It looks like a fallen animal under him, one he's freshly slain as he now poses above the carcass. It only serves to exaggerate his height, his width, the pure strength coiled in his muscles. Yet his hands lay conspicuously loose at his side, empty of weapons.

The memory of the forest you'd been in when he'd taken you whispers at the back of your mind, summoning sensations from the recesses of your thoughts. Hands, grabbing, lifting, slinging you over one massive shoulder, an arm securing you to his frame. Unbreakable, bound like a steel band across your torso.

Yet then, later, gentle, searching, ghosting across your skin and seeking the source of pain that he hoped to rectify, to heal.

Deadly, as he'd let his knife slice through the enemy who had tried to catch you by surprise, drawing streaks of red splattering against brick as he withdrew his blade, only for it to descend once, thrice more past flesh and sinew.

Yet on your own body, careful, firm, the gloved pad of his thumb stroking the inside of your wrist in a motion that made you shudder.

The contrast of it is too confusing, too stark and unsettling for you to fully consider it. Yet when you finally do shake that paradox away you realize you've given him precious time to advance on you, to take you by surprise and then take you, abducting as he did all those weeks ago.

Yet König hasn't moved at all, maintaining a safe distance away from you. He watches you silently, as if awaiting a response.

He's wide open.

You lift your weapon instantly, only to remember your desperate lack of ammo that would down a beast such as this.

König merely chuckles, and it sounds like a tremor, the low, almost indiscernible tremble of it echoing in your own chest. Yet even at the implied threat he doesn't advance on you, doesn't take ground given the chance. He stays exactly where he is, in the patch of moonlights that sifts downwards from the sky and through the curtain of branches above. Yet he doesn't speak either, simply tilting his head at you as he did within the confines of your cell, like a predator watching prey but never pouncing.

You eye him warily, trying to quell the bewilderment of it all, of his perplexing contradiction. It doesn't make sense. He's abducted you once, failed once more. Yet in both times he could have hurt you, tortured you, and yet instead showed restraint, even empathy. Now, when presented with the opportunity to steal you once more König remains conspicuously still, as if realizing his proximity will only frighten you.

There's no doubt in your mind, however, that if you turned, ran, that he would give chase, catch you within moments.

"What do you want?" You ask at last, and to your relief your voice doesn't waver, echoing clearly up the slope to where he stands.

"I told you once before." He replies after a pause, and you think he blinks at you from under the hood, like a cat, slow and reassuring. "I wanted to talk in private."

If König sees your expression flicker he doesn't say anything, not to the way doubt and stupefaction passes across your face.

"I...don't have anything to say to you." You manage at last, measuring your words carefully, expecting a trap.

You think you see the way his shoulders sink in the darkness, and the gesture seems for all the world to signal disappointment.

There's a pause then, and you feel your hackles rise, expecting König's presence to change, for him to take the opportunity to launch forwards and claim you. yet instead his voice is quieter, almost hesitant as he asks:

"Your leg, is it healed?"

You blink, lips parting in surprise. Strangely, you actually glance down at your leg, to the injury you had received moments prior to your last meeting as a bullet nicked your thighs and sent blood pooling into your boot. It had taken days to scrub the stain out.

"It's...healed." You answer at last, eyes flickering back to König doubtfully. "I got patched up after we...parted ways."

The word 'escape' lingers heavily across your tongue, but you feel that, should you speak it, König would only reek of further dejection, a bitterness that may sharpen into anger, action.

"I'm glad." He tells you simply, and this is confusing, strange in a way you aren't experienced with. You're used to the terrain ever changing under your feet, the world slowly rotating under you as you travel, transplanted wherever you're needed. Yet this, this is new, the balance, the off-kilter counterbalance of this conversation, of him.

Well. Two can play at that game.

"You tried to take me then, when I was injured." You speak up, trying to narrow your eyes into the darkness of his hood. "Why? To interrogate me again?"

König shakes his head after a moment.

"No." He replies simply, and there's something off about the way he's so readily open, unlike your first meeting. "I have all the information I need about you and your comrades."

You swallow. Your throat feels parched, a low scrape at the back of your mouth.

"…Then why?"

König pauses then, watching you. Yet there's something that's shifted now, as if you've struck near the heart of this, whatever this is. The behemoth before you is quiet now, not answering, watching like a wolf in the woods down at your smaller frame. It feels as if he has the answer, knows it himself and yet still refuses to speak it aloud, as if doing so would be summoning misfortune.

You could leave it, you could take the opportunity and leave, abandon this strange farce and rendezvous with your team, get the hell off this mountain and back to base.

You don't.

"And why not now?" You ask at once, voice sharper, accusatory.

"Do you want me to take you, Maus?"

You freeze.

There's an unsettled silence between you, one that wasn't there before this. The atmosphere has shifted, as you tense and stare at him, feel your muscles coil under the fabric of your clothes, the air still and stale between you both. König hasn't moved, and yet he feels different, as if prepared to act on your response. You have the feeling, the sudden, gut implication that if you agreed, if you whispered a small, horrible assent that König would descend, take you in his arms and march back into the woods, to some forbidden, unknown destination where you'd never be seen again.

"No." You say instead, but even then there's a waver there, one borne out of uncertainty that he'd acquiesce to even that, now that the air has shifted between you.

"No." He agrees, surprisingly, and the admission is enough to make the ground tilt under your feet once more, leave you reeling in the darkness. "They think you killed that man, the one who tried to stab you. They'll think you killed this one too. If I take you now they will kill you, Maus."

You blink, and for a moment you nearly grasp for something to steady yourself, trying to find a balance against this, whatever this is, the way König's words are so plain and yet convey so much unspoken.

He killed them. The ones who tried to attack you, to kill you. Yet he didn't take responsibility for their deaths, knowing that his slain allies blood would mean a noose around his neck, a bullet through his chest, if even that would kill him.

For what?

"You- you saved me." You murmur at last, and it's a question even if it isn't posed as so. The query remains clear, echoing like a clarendon owl call into the glen here you both stand.

König's answer is simple. A single word.

"Yes."

Your inquiry is just the same.

"...Why?"

König goes quiet again, but this time there is no sudden shift in atmosphere, no menace and unspoken threat emanating from his form, cloaked in shadow and moonlight. Instead, König merely shifts on his feet, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. He averts his gaze for a moment, and the gesture seems strangely shy.

"I...wanted to talk to you again." He confesses at last when his eyes find yours, and you can see them now, see the pale whites of them under his hood where the paint has faded away, just like the outer shell of this man who would be your enemy.

The forest is silent around you both.

There's no words to describe the feeling that unfurls inside you. Hesitant, confused, shocked and yet...

Curious.

Soft. Dormant, rousing after a long sleep, when it had lain to rest on that day, where he had knelt before you, one of your hands clasped under his as he'd spoken that name to you.

Maus.

There's a though then, a toxically traitorous indulgence birthed only by the fact that this man poses no threat to you, simply stands in these woods as once who would be your enemy but chooses instead to not harm you, to simply watch and observe as one would a startled, frightened doe.

Perhaps he could be your friend, in another life, this man.

There's something sinfully endearing about this, about his shyness, his sudden vulnerability, his subdued confession, uttered with the same air you breathe in now. A sense of something that feels almost like regret. Bitter. Forbidden.

The moonlight shifts against the wafting breeze, and for a moment König's figure is plunged back into shadow.

The spell is broken.

"I have to go." You speak, and hate the way it sounds like an excuse instead of the declaration it should be. "They're waiting for me."

You tense, expecting for a moment that König will rescind his words, spring for you after all, launching down the slope with outstretched arms. Yet he doesn't. Instead, he only nods, conceding, agreeing.

You linger for a moment, unsteady, unsure. You half expect him to follow when you turn, but König gives no indication to do so, remaining where he stands.

So, you turn your back to him, making your way down the slope and away from him, trying desperately to ignore the strange churn in your stomach of emotions you can hardly decipher.

"Maus."

You pause, sucking in a sudden breath, the name like a gunshot in the darkness as he calls out for you. He sounds like he's right behind you, like he's closed the distance. Yet when you glance at him he hasn't moved.

"I'll see you again." He speaks, and the words are as much a promise as they are a threat, a strange, enigmatic paradox like a curse lain into your skin. “Soon.”

You regard him for a moment then, this strange, cryptid being who appeared from the forest shadows and yet didn't touch you. Spoke to you, answered to you, yes. Yet decided to let you go, to release you back into the direction of freedom.

A farewell lingers on your lips. You bite down on it, and when you do, you can almost taste blood.

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