#the best single fathers in china

[ancientstone]

We need more Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji Being Dads™ content, including and absolutely not limited to:

Lan Wangji licking his thumb to wipe a smudge off Lan Sizhui’s face

Jiang Cheng helping a kid tie his belt without thinking

Lan Wangji braiding the hair of a random child he bumped into in the marketplace because it fell over their eyes

Jiang Cheng carrying tissues. Always.

Lan Wangji having a secret snack stash on him, including some of Lan Sizhui’s favourites

Jiang Cheng being given an infant and instantly doing that standing bouncing rocking thing to calm them down

Lan Wangji being able to tell the difference between This Is The Normal Amount Of Quiet and This Is Too Quiet Someone Is Doing Something They Shouldn’t Be

Jiang Cheng can make kid admit to anything simply by giving them the Disappointed Stare

#the best single fathers in china #their secret? #one is suppressing every Feeling Ever and the other is buzzed on 13 cups of coffee #the untamed #cql #mdzs #lan wangji #jiang cheng #lan sizhui #written in stone

[msafterhours]

Saccharine | Act One

Male Reader x (G)I-DLE Yuqi

Act 1 (~14.5k words) [Act 2] [Act 3]

Song Yuqi (sôNG yo͞o·kē)

media darling.

an unforgettable dream, stealing fan’s hearts with silky smooth singing and sugary sweet smiles.

an idol’s ideal, image unblemished by a single hint, word, or leak implying otherwise.

absolutely spotless.

nothing messy, nothing toxic, nothing wrong with her in the slightest—

What a load of shit.

They say truth is stranger than fiction, but no story from either source could have prepared you for the things you’ve seen over your few months in this industry. Most who put pen to paper from an early age don’t dream of writing news updates, opinion pieces, or reviews for a K-Pop news site, but you’re not the type to pass up any half-decent opportunity. You’ve learned from your father, who brought this family here before you could read in pursuit of a better life than he could find in the U.S. Thus, when a family friend started up this new business and offered you a job despite your lack of experience, the thought of turning it down never even crossed your mind.

You know full well the life you’ve chosen to enter, with the lies and cover-ups and entire careers that get ruined because they didn’t smile at the right sleazy fuck. You’ve adapted fast, steeling your heart and refusing to let it bother you; after all, rules are allegedly meant to be followed. Thus, you’re happy to play their game, so long as it means you’re learning about the lone aspect that captivates you: the power of leverage. You've heard how one call from an executive can change someone’s life or how the demands of fans manifest change, but it's another thing entirely to see the human reactions behind every ripple in this pond. While you'd love to have the best seats in the house to observe from, you’re well aware of what rung you’re on—painfully aware of how low that rung sits. And as much as you’d love to catch a flight to the top, the skies remain clear. You’ll just have to grit your teeth and climb.

As you work, beginning your ascent, you hear stories. Gossip, whispers in passing, those sorts of things—things that provide context and give you power over someone. You’re constantly attuned to them, writing them down and using your contraband knowledge as bargaining power when securing opportunities. A more honest you might view your methods as underhanded, but this you knows that they’re effective. So, you keep your ears perked and remain vigilant.

Things change when you start hearing the rumors about her: some pre-debut idol who’s too small in stature and reputation to talk the way she does but too egotistical and narcissistic to act otherwise. At first glance, they’re anything but surprising and, more damningly, they’re far from fascinating, so why sidetrack yourself by investigating them? Especially since you know that in this industry, the path to the top is paved by the broken hearts of good people and tread by those willing to crush them under heel.

Then another wave of whispers reaches your ears—this second ripple even passing through some circles of importance—so you do what you do best. You start some conversations, get your contacts laughing before asking them questions—the types they won't even remember answering. Ultimately, it’s a win-win; they get to hear the sound of their own voice and you get the information you need; information that you’re more than happy to save for a rainy day.

It’s not long before you make a promise you don’t intend to keep and secure a favor from one of those contacts. You’re eager to cash in, securing an interview with one of their clients in mainland China and starting off the new year right. With an opportunity like this, you’d be a fool not to go, rumors or otherwise. That being said, there’s no reason you can’t keep an ear to the ground; a trip like this can have more than one purpose. Maybe you’ll even find a sliver of that truth people claim to tell.

The flight’s fine, the weather’s bad, and the place you’re staying is even worse, but hey, at least the food’s bearable. The night's young, so are you, and so is your career. There'll be plenty of time for penthouse hot tub parties later. For now, as the storm outside your window creates a percussive backdrop to your nightly preparations, you settle down early. You allow the night to overtake you well before your usual late hour, hoping that a rested mind will serve you well as you grab your metaphorical pickaxe and head into a potential gold mine of information tomorrow.

You dream not of the moisture outside, but of a complete lack thereof. Your dreams enthrall you with heat, flames, and intoxicating agony. With every step forward, you feel the blaze consume more of your essence, but the ecstasy that fills the void drives you ever onward. You're eager to relish the pain, letting it fuel you just as much as the pleasure as you force yourself closer. You nearly make it to the center of the inferno—getting maddeningly close to witnessing its heart—but your screams of frustration break off as your vision burns away, leaving you staring instead at the first hints of sunrise filtering into your shoddy hotel room.

Once you finish capping off this unique experience with a final, frustrated scream, you ready yourself, allowing your morning to pass by in a blink before you arrive at the talent agency. You imitate a warm smile flawlessly, tapping into some of the residual heat within as you carry a friendly conversation with the receptionist while she confirms your interview appointment.

After a quick, silent elevator ride spent rehearsing the questions you’d prepared, the bell chimes and doors part to reveal your destination. As always, you’re early to being early, allowing plenty of time to chat with the makeup artist and peruse her memories for potential ammunition. You place an attentive nod amidst one of her stories, gently touch her arm as you pretend her joke is hilarious, and allow your gleaming smile to keep the conversation lively as you perform the unspoken, crucial responsibilities your job demands of you. While her tales of past encounters barely satiate your desires, her reaction to the sudden outburst in the next room over is another gift entirely.

You can see it in how her shoulders suddenly slump, how her eyes roll with a practiced grace, and how the sigh escapes unprompted. She deflates, and you immediately ascertain that this is far from the first occurrence of its kind. She meets your gaze, and you understand that it won’t be the last. You’ve seen no face nor heard a name, but you know. It’s her.

The malice dripping off her words is matched only by the malevolence in the deep tone of her voice as it quickly grows in both pitch and volume. Her tirade berates not only the hapless victim trapped in the room with her, but also the irreparably damaged ears of every bystander in the vicinity. Even for you, someone seemingly numb to the ever-present abuse within the industry, time slows to a crawl as her verbal onslaught continues for a minute, then three, then ten.

All the while, you know full well your companion is on the verge of exploding with anticipation, wordlessly begging for you to ask what’s going on. So, when a malnourished conscience or guardian angel or maybe just a need for oxygen leads to silence, you oblige. No reason that your pursuits can’t be mutually beneficial. You wrap your words in sympathy as you whisper, wide-eyed and horrified, “Who is she?”

And as the floodgates open and the stylist tells you of the monster known as Song Yuqi, for the first time in a long time, you have to fight to keep the smile off your face rather than having to maintain the joyful facade. But that struggle quickly fades as your moment of wonderful discovery is replaced by genuine, sympathetic horror. Because she isn’t as bad as the rumors or this latest eruption made her out to be. She’s somehow worse.

And it’s not the verbal outbursts nor the sense of entitlement that makes your lip curl. No, it’s the facade she wears so well when she walks on stage. It’s the soft smile shining brightest under the spotlight’s glow. It’s who she is in the dark—who she becomes when untethered from the ramifications of her actions. It’s the diametric opposition between fact and fiction. And the worst part is, her arrogant swagger is justified. You can do nothing about it.

Yet.

The makeup artist’s story ends—as all must—and the clock mercilessly demands that you fulfill your obligations. You bid your companion farewell, surprising yourself with a rare display of kindness as you write down her name and genuinely tell her you hope to see her again someday. The distance to your destination is short; the journey is long. Each step punctuates another sentence, another line amidst the vast chronicle of misdeeds you’re currently composing. Your hands ache with a storyteller’s strain, but you bite back your desires and let the flames simmer down. It’s time to be a professional.

Your interviews tend to go well, especially whenever you control the conversation and ask the type of questions fans pretend to hate but secretly love. But whether it’s something in the water or your mind still reeling from the day’s earlier revelations, you discard the typical formula and enter the room without an agenda in mind. A pair of introductions are made, you compliment her new hair color, and she thanks you for coming all this way to conduct the interview. It’s polite and sterile and quaint—just like all the other interviews she’s done. But when you pull a pair of chairs over to the glass wall and offer her a seat with a view of Beijing, that piques her interest. And once you both sit down and get comfortable, you pull out no notebook or laptop, instead beginning an audio recording on your phone, you heighten her curiosity even further. Finally, when you begin the interview by inviting her to ask any question about you, she’s completely captivated. And you’re just as riveted as you listen to her response.

If a normal interview is a highway—carefully planned and constructed to fulfill a particular purpose—today’s is a river, naturally forming and freely flowing towards its destination. While you’re able to ask her some questions about her time on Produce 101 and her recent re-debut, you also both stray from the intended topic repeatedly, sharing tangents and truths and things you’ll never get to include. All of it should irritate you, but you know full well you’re far too invested to care. You can see how she matches your focus, see it in the way she leans closer—in the way she laughs openly and freely, unafraid of displaying her enjoyment. She sees the same, sees it in the way you join her laughter just as easily and how you intently hold her gaze as you weave a dialogue together with her. For the first time in as long as you can remember, words with meaning are spoken.

The sands of time flow far too swiftly, denying you further opportunity as your time together nears its end. You watch, noting how her eyes fall slightly at the top of the hour; you listen, ears perking up at the honesty in her hopes that you’ll see each other again. You respond, mirroring her sentiment and bidding her a fond farewell; you exit, leaving the room and finding yourself alone with only a recording and your memories to keep you company.

You know—even before listening back to the recording and transcribing her tales—that it truly is something special, something truly memorable. And it terrifies you. Because here, alone in the silence, you feel. A sensation of impending ruination creeps up your spine and shadows you through every twist and turn of this concrete labyrinth.

The vulnerability in memorability. The expectations and ramifications. The thought of seeing her again. The thought of meeting her. It all circulates through your mind, suffocating any further notions as you carefully reconstruct each particular piece of your professional persona. As the elevator descends to your level, you ponder the potential significance of this day. There’s so much to parse through, yet you’re unable to draw even a single conclusion. Perhaps later, you think as you enter the elevator. For now, you have work to do.

-x-

One step. Another. A door. A shudder. The individual pulls their jacket tight against their body, then pushes the heavy glass door open and steps out into the unforgiving Beijing winter. The wind whips through their hair, mercilessly battering their features as they exit the lobby. Many steps are taken, progressing through the journey until a turn is made. Then, a pause. Another turn, back towards the building. Their eyes climb, methodically, one floor at a time, impossibly high until they reach the top. An instant later, they’re back at ground level. Inhaling takes only a moment. Exhaling takes millennia. Their perspective drops further, to the pavement below. Another gust buffets the figure, and a sense of self-preservation sends them begrudgingly back along their way. It’s time for them to pack their things and go. The plane to Korea awaits.

-x-

You've always laughed at the idea that nothing good happens after midnight. As a seasoned writer and chronic procrastinator, you’ve thrived under the pressure of a morning deadline. Yet here you are, months later, staring at a bright screen in a dark room hours before the sun will give life to this particular Friday, agonizing over the task that you’ve been given.

Six names sit on the page in front of you. All of them “should” matter. One of them does. A fresh group has entered the arena, and their debut is as clean as their name is ridiculous. Your fingers fly across the keyboard, each pixel darkening your screen further as you sing stanza after stanza of praises. But instead of thinking of chord progressions or vocal harmonies, your focus lies solely on silence. Not the one you find yourself in now, but the one after her tirade. The one that’s remained in your mind long after your interview had ended; the one that threatened to betray the pounding hearts of every potential victim in the vicinity.

Five sections are completed, each giving well-earned praise to a deserving individual and highlighting their participation in the finished product. But that's not where your eyes fall, where the blinking cursor awaits. No, the subject of your ire is the final section, where your notes contain a few perfectly legitimate reasons to commend her contributions. A superbly safe option … if you choose to take it. But truth be told, you don’t want to. Admittedly, it’s not for the sake of her victims; you’ve never been one willing to take risks for something as worthless as the wellbeing of others. Your mind just can’t seem to disentangle itself from the fact that mere months later, she’s shining under Korea’s brightest lights. Part of you knows that it’s more petty than principled, but you honestly can’t stand the harsh reality of her getting to play by a different rulebook. So, the cursor blinks on.

Four hours remain, and you remain completely unsure of what to do. You’re stuck grasping at straws, knowing what you’d like to say, but treasuring your personal journey far too much to allow something as trivial as the truth to derail it all. You rack your mind, desperately attempting to find a compromise. Eventually, you wonder if perhaps a statement through omission rather than an overt declaration is the correct approach. It’s a risky idea, but one with great potential, especially in the name of generating clicks via controversy. Fuck it, you think to yourself. It’s worth an attempt. You crack your knuckles, lean forward in your chair, and spin gold.

Three members are chosen, highlighted above the rest for one reason or another. The justifications you give are borderline ostentatious, almost comically complimentary towards the contributions of your chosen trio. Somewhere along the way, a sense of confidence grows within you. Your decayed conscience is an entirely different story.

Two others—their praises already penned—are cast aside; forgotten and discarded in an effort to hide your disdain for their coworker and her offenses. Punished for no fault of their own. The notion would make you sick if it weren’t so damned common. At least you can find solace in the fact that you’re giving her exactly as much praise as she deserves.

One email containing your finished article is all that’s sent. Later today, the fuse will run out and your editor will be confronted by the landmine you’ve so kindly delivered to his inbox. But that’s alright. It is—quite literally—his job to deal with it.

Zero sounds pierce the stillness that permeates every nook and cranny of your apartment. Your breath halts, preserving this moment of tranquility within the ever-beating heart of the nation.

A moment passes.

Another.

The sigh that slips out is unintended, but not unexpected. It’s a deep, dejected exhalation that almost makes you wonder which decision drove you to become such fast friends with 4AM. Alas, the conclusions gleaned from that line of thinking can be drawn another day. Right now, you need coffee. It’s going to be a long day. You can only hope it won’t be an even longer night.

That night, you dream. You burn. You squint through the mess of tears protecting your eyes, trying hopelessly to catch even a glimpse of what lies at the heart of the inferno. Each tendril of flame lashes away at your essence, fracturing it into minute fragments as you endeavor to comprehend the importance of this dream and its sudden return after months of darkness. The experience seems to encompass merely a minute of enormous effort, but reality says otherwise as your alarm ruthlessly rouses you from your slumber and into the awaiting morning.

You’re covered in sweat and frustrated as hell, but that’s nothing that a shower hotter than your dream can’t fix. All throughout your morning routine, you make a conscious effort to avoid your phone. Even on a day like this, on a Saturday where most people are enjoying their weekend, you know that there’s no such thing as “off-the-clock” for you. No, on the other side of the glass screen, the ramifications of your actions—a night’s worth of reactions—await you.

The biggest departure from previous generations of written media is, in your opinion, the immediacy and accessibility of reader feedback. So, when you open a certain bird-themed app to see how people responded to your review of (G)I-DLE’s debut, you see some love. You see plenty of hate. You see … not much in between. K-Pop stans do tend towards hyperbole. Unsurprisingly, your decision to only highlight half the members is the primary subject of their ire. The comments are honestly hilarious, with many demanding an edit, others promising to block you, and one particularly invested individual threatening to revoke your access to the English language.

Might as well toss them a pacifier.

You tweet some apologetic bullshit about how you believed that highlighting all the members would diminish the significance of those who you felt contributed the most, expressing regret that the decision might have conveyed a message that you didn’t believe that all the members brought value to the debut. It’s a lovely set of lies, masking your true intentions with no plans for change. Fortunately, your sickly-sweet words and promise to include other members in future reviews seem to calm the upswell of commenters, at least for now.

And it keeps working. Once. Twice. A third time, even as (G)I-DLE nearly sweeps the “Rookie of the Year” award circuit. Then again, for a fourth time. A fifth. A sixth. Somehow, you get lucky seven times in a row. Somewhere along the path, you’re pretty sure you “should” stop this petty pursuit and play it safe. You don’t. A little further along, you realize you “definitely should” stop and realize what about her makes you feel this way.

You don’t.

There’ll be time for that later. For now, you follow the numbers forward. Along the way, among the complimentary feedback and tearful declarations of love for the group that frequent your comment sections, a slowly growing number of fans begin to notice and call you out for not including her. It adds credence to the argument for stopping, but luckily, they’re lost amongst the sea of engagement, so your growth continues unimpeded.

What isn’t lost to the passage of time are the whispers that continue to reach you, even when she retreats across the pond. The ripples reach you in rapid succession—usually a string of two or more instances where cracks start to show and her unbridled fury bursts forth, burning anyone who dares to get too close. You do your research, but you don’t have to dig very deep to unearth some terrifying truths. One cameraman is more than happy to tell you of the time he saw her punch one of the audio techs because her mic pack short circuited in the rain. A stylist shares a story of her ripping an outfit in half because it was too constrictive. A cup of coffee’s all it takes to convince one Cube employee to expose the eggshells they have to walk on around her and their internal guidelines for how to avoid her bad side. Without even trying, you amass a treasure trove of tales, just waiting to be told to someone who will listen. But you wait, because you know it’s not your time; because you know that you’re building something far too important to risk it all “doing the right thing”.

Growth’s a funny thing, and plenty of it can happen over two years. (G)I-DLE continues their upward trajectory, gaining both domestic and international fame as she becomes their most popular member. Her popularity with the general public is honestly anything but surprising, especially considering her Chinese heritage and English fluency that allow her to tap into two major media markets most groups struggle to find a foothold in. And, of course, there’s her personal appeal. If you had a thousand won for every tweet freaking out about her cute face and shockingly deep voice, you’d be retired before reaching legal drinking age. None of it particularly bothers you—if anything, you can’t help but laugh at the cyclical nature of it all. A comeback will be announced, a significant number of album pre-orders will be purchased by Chinese fans, the promotion cycle will begin, you’ll be told a story of how she lost her mind at some poor member of production, and no one outside of the industry will hear a thing. And most of the time, that’s okay. Until it isn’t.

Until you’re sitting in your apartment transcribing an interview with a nugu group—the type struggling to hit ten thousand views, let alone ten million—because that’s when your conscience crawls back to the forefront of your mind. It’s these moments, the ones where their tears streak down the window to your soul, that nearly make you reconsider your outlook on life. Their tales tug at your heartstrings as you pen them to the page, recounting how they have to work at convenience stores between promotions. It’s so painful to tell their story when they’re doing everything “the right way” while you know that one of the industry’s fastest rising stars is lounging atop a throne built of broken wills and wearing a crown made of crushed dreams. These are the moments where you’d give anything to write the happy ending these hopeful heroines deserve.

But, you know, deep down, that your conscience can’t keep you from doing anything; only keep you from enjoying it. Thus, you calm your heart and carry on. You do as you must, playing by their rules, even if they’re written in ink from bleeding hearts—you learned a long time ago that those with the best intentions leave impact craters, not legacies. So, you continue, because you know there isn’t a damned thing you can do about it.

Yet.

It’s not as if you sit idly during this time, allowing life to pass you by. No, you make the most of your time, fervently penning reviews and posting your thoughts to anyone that will listen. And, unsurprisingly, some do. You manage to carve out a minute slice of the public consciousness to fit your growing personal brand. The company grows alongside you, allowing for more video content that lets people put a face to the name as you interview more idols and grow your following. You know—in heart and mind alike—that it's ultimately just people with too much time on their hands slotting you into their empty schedule. You try not to let it affect you and succeed because they're not the ones you're looking to impress. It might not be ideal, but it’s working. For a while.

Then the world shuts down.

-x-

It’s a bit different the next time her group releases their first single. It’s a bit different when there’s only a pair of shiny new songs to capture the attention of the quarantined addicts. It’s a bit different when the responses grow larger than a vocal minority. It’s a bit different when it’s the eight-ball skirting along the edge of the corner pocket, like a threat from the universe that your luck is running out. It’s definitely different when your CEO calls and asks what exactly is going on. But his fears and fans’ frothing are both addressed with a simple strategy: silence. Less than a week passes before a new, more salacious scandal redirects the focus of the hyperactive hive mind and leaves your DMs deliciously desolate. Soon thereafter, you’re free to announce an upcoming retrospective project you’ve been wanting to start for a while, allowing you to proceed uninhibited. Well, except for your nightmare.

In this period of even further isolation, it’s been your unbidden associate, recurring far more rapidly compared to the previously infrequent incursions. As much as the sustained suffering has indisputably infuriated you, your progress through purgatory has been irrefutably illuminating. At the heart of the inferno, amidst brimstone and blaze, awaits a figure. For once, your headway almost makes you happy; for once, you’re almost anticipating the thought of heading to bed.

Unfortunately, the cruel winds of fate care little for the best laid plans, and the dream disappears less than a week after it reappears. You’re left wanting as one heat abandons you just as another rears its ugly head. It’s a brutal summer, with rising temperatures and quarantine restrictions combining to drive even the most mentally resilient members of society insane. Obviously, it’s even worse for those whose sanity slipped long ago.

Which means it hits a certain someone especially hard. Amid her group’s filming—another freedom she’s offered while you suffer alone—her multitude of misdeeds adds to the growing list of things you can’t escape. You count not one, not two, three, four, five, or even six stories of her wrath being inflicted on the poor production staff working to construct their comeback. Not a single word is whispered of her seven venomous verbal onslaughts. You’d call it unlucky, but years of experience remind you it’s just the norm for people like her.

Fall offers a welcome reprieve as restrictions are loosened, but winter’s arrival and the holiday season lead to an uptick in cases and increased countermeasures. What is often a quiet time for many is a period of ceaseless activity for you as you cover any and every award show related to the industry, capitalizing on any potential opportunity as per usual. It is, unsurprisingly, effective, and you go into the new year with significant progress made and intentions to catch up on some much-needed sleep.

It lasts all of a week before a certain group drops their latest EP.

You can’t help but chuckle at the irony of it all. An EP titled “I Burn” right as you’re on the verge of burning out. You’re too tired for innovation. Too exhausted for subtle additions. Just principled enough for a single exclusion. Your formula has driven engagement thus far; no reason to divert from it now. Somehow, some way, you manage to kindle a small spark of motivation and finish your review on time. After a few agonizing hours of anxious anticipation, your editor deems it ready to post with no significant revisions. You head to bed well before your regular hour, silencing your notifications as you pray that a soothing night of rest will revitalize you and grant you the energy necessary to deal with karma's cruel machinations.

As you slip into the silence of slumber, it’s not serenity that awaits, but sparks. An ignition. An inferno. For once, you hesitate. Instead of wading into the flames, you wait. Watch. Lethargy latches onto you, and you lament the lost opportunity as you’re forced to admit you lack the vitality to attempt this trial tonight. You sigh, turn, and begin to walk away.

A single step. A second. A third. Nine. None.

You freeze in place as you feel an icy hand capture your wrist, wrenching you back and whirling you around to face the figure. The silhouette sports a small stature, cropped black hair, and a featureless face that somehow still stares into your soul. The glacial nucleus of the inferno studies you for a moment, tilting its head curiously, then begins to drag you towards the depths of the hellfire. You fight, digging your heels in and desperately attempting to break its hold on you, but your efforts are in vain as it maintains its grasp on you and seals your fate.

You feel the licks of flame lapping away at you long before you see the damage. No, your eyes are locked on your captor and her silent satisfaction—her contentedness to bathe in the inferno as long as you crumble to ash alongside her. This incineration is nothing short of harrowing and hellish as you’re seared into cinders, but the emotion you experience most is helplessness. Your previous attempts to brave the blaze have at least been marked by your determination, your desire to uncover the truths concealed within the core, but this cremation inspires only dread. The last image that flashes across your mind is the scorching stare of a face without eyes.

For the first time in forever, you’re genuinely grateful for the freedom your alarm clock grants you. You immediately vault out of bed, jumping into an arctic shower and casting aside any concerns about doing so during the height of winter. After roughly an hour, equipped with a clear head and a cup of coffee, you confront the consequences of your choice.

Fortunately, the inflammatory comments you receive in response are primarily concentrated within the private space of your DMs rather than in the public view. You cast aside most of the messages without a second thought … until you reach one that’s a bit more interesting.

A forgettable account name? ✔

Zero comments or original posts across its entire existence? ✔

A string of likes on comments and posts singing her praises? ✔

Oh, and of course the message itself:

ASong4You: No but like seriously, what the fuck is your problem?

Check.

Literally any other idol and your mind wouldn’t be going down the path it’s exploring now. But given the rumors … given your history … even though with all those factors, it’s still one hell of a stretch …

No, it has to be her. It's too vague to be anything else.

So, you respond. Not on your main account, of course; you also have a burner. Obviously.

You compose a message to her burner in the bird app, then an identical one to her main account in the picture app, and send them simultaneously:

TurnThePage: I could ask you the same thing

You see her read it on the first account, then the second. A moment passes, allowing you the briefest bit of calm amidst the coming storm, but it’s gone in an instant as she fires another shot.

ASong4You: Seriously dude, your writer is showing, it's honestly unbearable TurnThePage: I’m sorry you don’t have poetry in your heart TurnThePage: But thank you for the compliment, I'm quite proud of my writing ASong4You: You really shouldn't be, I've seen some of the “fascinating findings” you've posted ASong4You: They make a shampoo bottle look like a New York Times bestseller by comparison TurnThePage: You'll have to send me your hair care recommendations! I love a good read :D TurnThePage: And thank you for supporting my work! It's always a pleasure to meet a fan ASong4You: Ahhh, now I see why you have to pay people to talk to you ASong4You: But yeah, before this conversation ruins my appetite, I gotta ask, what's your deal with me? I’ve literally done nothing to you TurnThePage: Like you said, people are usually paid to answer questions like that, but I'm sure we can meet in the middle here TurnThePage: What’s your deal? The people you bring to tears have done nothing but try to make your life easier, yet here you are ASong4You: Haven't you ever heard the saying “don't believe everything you hear”? Chill with the drama, I'm sure whatever you've heard is stupidly overblown ASong4You: Besides, anybody I’ve ever yelled at deserved it TurnThePage: I don’t believe you believe that ASong4You: Fuck you, who do you think you are? You don’t even know me TurnThePage: Maybe not yet, but your actions have spoken even louder than your words, and it’s been hard not to hear the echoes of both ASong4You: Do you ever talk like a normal person? TurnThePage: Maybe TurnThePage: Why, hoping I'll humor you long enough for you to find out? ASong4You: Honestly I kinda just wish you'd die in a fire, but that's neither here nor there ASong4You: Aren't there like, actual global events you could write about instead? Or did you just not make the cut? TurnThePage: Maybe ASong4You: Oh, so now that we're talking about your shortcomings, you finally shut up? ASong4You: Good to know TurnThePage: Maybe I'm trying to preserve your appetite. Unlike you, I can be considerate TurnThePage: Can I honestly just ask why? Like I've never heard anything good about you TurnThePage: It'd be impressive if it weren’t so awful ASong4You: Wouldn't you like to know? Just go ask one of the assholes that's lied about me already, I'm sure they'll make up an answer you like TurnThePage: I just figured it'd be a lot better for your members if they weren't constantly worried about the ticking time bomb standing next to them ASong4You: Don't. ASong4You: Don't bring them into this, you haven't even told me why you're being such an ass for no good reason ASong4You: I kinda think it'd just be best for both of us if you forgot about it all and started giving me the credit I deserve TurnThePage: Surely you can't think you'll be able to hide behind that cute face forever. Karma takes notes in pen, not pencil ASong4You: I'll be sure to let you know if things ever do change, but until then? Might as well just keep doing what's working ASong4You: Also thanks for the compliment ;) TurnThePage: Any time, sweetheart ASong4You: Don't call me that TurnThePage: Okay darling ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Tbh I'd love nothing more than to toss a match on your greasy ass and toast marshmallows as you burn TurnThePage: Jokes on you, maybe I like to play with fire ASong4You: Then I hope you dream of something you find hotter than your reflection

You type up a couple of responses, but end up deleting all of them, each feeling inadequate to the discomfort her line makes you feel. Oh well, you think to yourself. Not the worst thing if she thinks she got the last word in, gives me more room to do as I please.

Yet you stay—sitting, staring at the screen, wondering what’s lying beyond the glass that’s captured your attention so intensely. Your gaze occasionally drifts elsewhere, but your focus remains drawn to this singular conversation and a certain someone. Someone no more than a couple dozen kilometers away, someone you should have every reason to despise and avoid, yet someone who you can’t help but wonder about. Wonder what lies behind that smile. Wonder what hides behind those eyes. Wonder if they’re staring right back.

-x-

It’s a lonely night, made even worse by the company of their reflection. Two halves of a whole, on mirrored paths with no sense of purpose or direction.

In this absence of light, all they can see is the whites of their eyes. In this moment of peace, all they can hear is their echoing lies.

Outside these walls, the world knows each as a shining star, floating through an astral sea. But deep within, each keeps their true self hidden away, trapped under lock and key.

In their heart and soul, all that is left is hurt and pain. In the years to come, all that matters is selfish gain.

But that’s a problem for another day, a problem that no storm can wash away, a problem they both know is here to stay.

So here they sit, alone again, so here they sit, wondering when. When will they meet, be face to face, and “will they cause my fall from grace?”.

A long night awaits them, one where their dreams will host a war. A routine recurrence, repeating what they’ve done before. Yet still a welcome sight because both know what they’re in for. The inferno beckons, inviting them to find out more.

And so, despite their best judgement, they each choose to proceed. They go, without a second thought, trying to sate a need.

They yearn. They burn.

-x-

A single day of anticipatory silence ages you far more than the decade of peace that’s preceded it. You can feel it in your heart, in your blood, in the way it slogs through your veins. Your fingers bear a peculiar weight as—instead of dancing gracefully over the keyboard—they stumble and crash through your draft, producing an unrecognizable, unacceptable product. Upon the page, imperfection mocks your brittle mentality, taunting you and inviting you to waste more of your time ignoring the only problem that matters right now.

A brief respite presents a far more welcome sight: a message from the girl from that first interview, asking how your holidays were. The notification grabs your attention and excites you … but not as much as it should. Maybe it's because of what lies below—what you see when your eyes drift down. Maybe it's because of the DM sitting right beneath it, where her accusation awaits. Because that message … it incenses you far more than it should. It isn’t the implication of narcissism that so clearly shines through, but something else lying just below the surface—something barely evading your grasp while beguiling your mind.

It takes the whole day and a dozen more before the thought of her finally fucks off and leaves you with the slightest semblance of some peace and quiet—a dozen nights spent in damned inferno, incinerating any chance you’d have of enjoying a rejuvenating rest. Eventually, the distractions fade and the world settles into an undisturbed quiet, the type you love to find yourself in. The type where you can shroud yourself in silence. The type where whispers punch through peaceful tranquility.

You’re not so vain to assume you’re the first to hear the rumblings, but you are shameless enough to admit you’re probably the first person excited by them. Their spread is contagious, chaotic, and anything but controllable. All that you’re missing is a bowl of popcorn as you sit back and watch the show unfold. Someone somewhere leaks the information on their socials, and you’re more than happy to spectate the storm’s rising tides from your perch atop a higher rung … and oh, what a view.

The primary benefit of being “plugged in” to the industry is, of course, the connections. So, when you receive a message informing you of tomorrow’s upcoming announcement, you thank them and plan accordingly. But then there’s another message. And another. And …

ASong4You: Don’t. ASong4You: I know you think you’re so fucking clever and you know just what to say ASong4You: But for once in your life, shut up. TurnThePage: Have you considered saying “please”? ASong4You: No.

Well, when she fires shots like that, what else is there to do but respond in kind?

The night comes. The flames rise. You open your eyes and are greeted by the gorgeous gleaming sunlight and something even more beautiful awaiting you on your nightstand.

“(G)I-DLE member Soojin announces hiatus from the group following alleged bullying accusations from former classmates.”

You, of course, wrote up your response and scheduled the tweet to be sent within minutes of the announcement. It’s nothing crazy, nothing petty, just something to farm engagement:

“There’ve been serious accusations across a number of idols, many of whom deserve judgement. But until we’ve been presented with undeniable proof, we should be patient & not assume that they’d risk years of training & passion just to demean & belittle others. It’d make no sense.”

Okay, maybe a little petty.

You set your phone down, stretch a bit, go for a short walk, and make sure to grab eye protection before checking on the fireworks going off in your DMs.

ASong4You: All you had to do was nothing, and you couldn’t even manage that ASong4You: Like the bar was so low it was literally in hell ASong4You: Yet here you are, doing the limbo with the fucking devil TurnThePage: That’s far too many words for none of them to be “please” ASong4You: I swear, if I ever get my hands on you, the bruises I’ll leave … TurnThePage: Oh good, I could use a little color in my life

And just like that, the conversation comes to a close. This pair of dialogues contains the last words you say to each other for two entire months, months best spent enjoying a world previously hidden behind doors now unlocked by the vaccinations. The heat on your face, the sounds of travel, the sight of familiar landmarks … all of it is a welcome reprieve from the societal incarceration you’ve been taking part in. You feel truly, thankfully, at peace. But while the winds carry the scents of spring, they also carry whispers of what’s to come. And there’s one whisper in particular—one that stands out. One that results in your forehead becoming warmly acquainted with the wood of your desk.

The newly formed couple aren’t allowed to enjoy each other’s company for long, as destiny arrives all too soon and ushers you into the cab. Into the airport. Into the plane. Into the sky. Into China.

Since your last visit to the country, you’ve grown. You’ve risen. You’ve worked and wrote and watched your former peers fade beneath the cloud line. Since your last visit, you’ve lost count of the dramatic declarations and sunrise submissions that define your professional life. You’ve lost track of any consistent characteristics that define your personal life. 

The journey to who and where you are today began in this country nearly four years ago.

The reflection staring back has aged forty.

Hangzhou offers no solace as you depart the airport and are met by the garish glare of the fan-sponsored advertisement for her solo debut. A grimace, glare, and grumble are all you offer in response before turning and merging with the moving mass of travelers dispersing among the city streets. While neither land nor sea seem like enough to escape her reach, maybe you can find a top shelf to hide on.

In the meantime, this’ll be a brief trip, only a couple of days dedicated to as many interviews. The first day is quick and painless—the second is anything but. Free time is to be feared when attempting to keep a mind busy, and the open space in your calendar only allows the laughter of her successes to echo that much louder. Things only worsen when an appointment with a contact falls through because of unexpected rescheduling.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she says, voice crackling slightly through the tenuous connection. “It’s a shame. I was really looking forward to seeing the performances tonight—wait, do you want my ticket? I got a really good seat, great view of the stage.”

“Sure, that sounds great,” you reply, words escaping before your brighter side can block them. “Who’s performing?”

“It’s a whole bunch of acts, but there was specifically one I wanted to see … it was some K-Pop girl group member you’ve probably heard of,” she says, like it’s the most casual thing in the world; like it isn’t the reason you’re desperately searching around the room for a defibrillator. “I forgot her name, but I’m sure you know who she is.”

“Almost certainly,” you choke out, forcing out a laugh through gritted teeth. “Yeah, if you could email me the ticket, that would be awesome, and we’ll definitely have to make sure we do something the next time I come to China or the next time you visit Nayoung, alright?”

“Great, hope you enjoy! Wish me luck!” she responds, blissfully unaware as she ends the call.

Minutes later, you receive an email confirming your suspicions and your fears. It’s a festival with over a dozen acts, but there’s one that stands out: the first performance of her new solo album.

Fuck.

Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

There’s no way in hell you’re going there. You’d rather watch paint dry than watch her perform. You’ve avoided listening to her solo songs thus far and you have no intention of changing that��especially by seeing her live and in-person.

It’s a ridiculous notion, you think to yourself as you lay back on the bed, hands behind your head as you consider how you’d like to spend the rest of the day.

…

…

…

Fuck, where’s seat 239?

Somewhere amongst the hours of apathy that comprised the afternoon, some dark corner of your brain spawned the idea that this was going to be your best shot at seeing her in-person without financially supporting her. Somehow, that flimsy justification fused with the inexplicable pull you’ve felt and resulted in your decision to show up. Even as you finally find your seat and sit down—just as the lights dim before the first performance—you still don’t know entirely why you’re here.

Luckily, the first couple acts do a wonderful job of distracting you away from overthinking, allowing you to—for the first time since you arrived in the country—relax and enjoy yourself as the true fan of music you’ve always been. That delusion lasts four whole songs before the announcement comes over the loudspeaker and sends a chill down your spine.

She’s next.

You pull out your phone, desperately attempting to draw your eyes anywhere other than the stage. A pair of messages await you and, continuing the trend of bad decisions that’s come to define this particular day, you open them and reveal their contents.

ASong4You: I almost wish you were here to see me perform, hear the roar of the crowd as they scream my name ASong4You: Maybe one day you’ll come to your senses and I’ll make you do the same

The victory lap is … cute. You begin composing a response, but your inner monologue is immediately drowned out by the sounds of screaming as the crowd rumbles to life. You guess, purely based on their reactions, that she’s arrived. You continue your vain quest to refuse to pay her even your attention, instead inspecting the periphery of the stage, where you can see the other participants beginning to appear.

You see the dancers as they dart onto the stage; a dozen join her, then a dozen more. You’re too far to see their eyes, but their bodies tell a sufficient story: one of devotion, determination, and desperation. You wonder what paths their lives have followed—what choices they’ve made to lead them to this place and time. You wonder what they’ve seen, what they’ve heard, what they do when they think of her.

Do they smile? Do they shudder? Does she care if they’ve suffered?

You’ve avoided the inevitable for far too long. You allow your eyes to be drawn to her, pulled in by the magnetism of her performance. You’ve never denied her majesty—never mocked the magic she can create with a microphone. No, it’s her methods, her mentality, her malevolence that’s manifested your misery and madness. The worst part of all is the casual way she carries herself, as if her nationality alone is enough to conceal sins of days long past. It hits particularly close to home for you, especially as you sit here, in a country foreign to the foreign country you reside in. You can’t stop yourself from seething at how she adores the applause, how she cherishes the country and home she holds dear. Any rational thoughts that might have risen to the surface are drowned out by the screams of the fans as they chant her name, cheering for her arrival as she stands atop the stage and the spirits she’s broken.

It’s almost too much. Seeing her here, in her element, shining under the spotlight as she single-handedly inscribes her song into your memories, you’re so close to giving in.

It’d be so much easier to just follow the fantasy, pretend that her performance ends with the final note. It’d be so much easier to assume that her backup dancers are trained to leave the stage that quickly, that their fervor isn’t driven by an acute anxiety at the thought of meeting her eyes. For once, you wish you could do so—wish you could search her soul for the full story. Because here, in this stadium filled with her adoring fans, you can see, hear, feel the passion in her voice.

All you can do is wonder when it began its mutation into malice.

You slip out shortly thereafter, disregarding the remaining acts as you attempt to shake off the unsettling feeling clinging to your bones. It’s a short walk to the hotel, but the climb back up to where you’re staying feels anything but.

It’s somehow worse when you arrive in your room and another message arrives in your inbox. Continuing your streak of bad decisions, you open it as you flip onto the bed, bracing yourself for her latest assault.

ASong4You: Oh, now you have nothing to say? Figures

And that’s all she has to say.

… that’s it? Really?

You’re definitely disappointed and slightly surprised that she didn’t send more. Wait, no, you’re surprisingly disappointed and definitely surprised that … wait … fuck, which bag contains the cure for this headache?

You’re more than familiar with telling stories despite a tired mind—you’ve built your career upon a foundation of fighting against fatigue. The sensation sitting in the pit of your stomach is neither. It’s a weird feeling, somewhere between weariness and wistfulness, but stronger than your feelings of the former and even less justified than an appearance of the latter. A weird feeling for a weird day, one that was filled with nearly nothing except that one thing, but still so exhausting.

It’s a day you’d like to end. Your head hits the pillow, your eyelids flutter closed, and your consciousness fucks off.

And then the sun rises. But its shine paints the sand, not your sheets. You hear not the honking of cars but the crashing of waves; instead of the smell of fresh linens with a hint of lavender, the salty spray of the sea sends its scent straight into your senses. You shift, stand, shuffle, stretch, squint, and search your surroundings. And you see … the sea. Shocker.

But then, just beneath the squawking of the seagulls, you hear it; no, her. It’s the most intimate, unmistakable voice you’d swear you’ve never heard before. Her siren’s song serenades you, showing you the path, inviting you to join her beyond the veil, guiding you past the barrier separating you two. And there’s nothing you’d rather do than follow.

You step forward, feeling the grains of sand shift beneath your feet as you close the distance between you and the shoreline. As you descend the slope further and further—riding the high ever upward—her melody envelops you in its soothing, loving embrace, warding off some of the ocean's chill. You walk until the slope disappears from under your feet, then you swim until the waves settle to reveal a familiar, unrecognizable figure. You swim forth further, closing the distance until you’re face-to-face with the featureless countenance staring back. Even amidst the sway of the sea, the normally harsh pull of the waves seems harmless—almost as if Poseidon himself chose to grant you this moment of privacy.

You see no mouth, but you hear her words all the same—tantalizing whispers of sweet nothings as she asks everything of you. Your attention. Your time. Your heart. Your ambition. For the second time, she touches you. For the first time, she wraps her arms around you and pulls herself against your body. You look down at her, resting her head against your chest as she whispers these words directly into your heart, transcribing these truths upon the strands of your soul as you hold her. Then you look past her and see the endless void of darkness awaiting below the waves.

A chill runs up your already frigid spine, yet despite the overwhelming terror at the possibilities potentially lurking below, you stay. And unlike before, the figure doesn't drag you into the darkened depths, where your shared doom surely awaits. No, she does the same as you. She stays. In your arms, she finds security. In hers, you find solace. You close your eyes, drowning out any sensations other than the sound of her voice.

You open them, and in your empty hotel room, you find silence. You find solitude. And in this darkness, a depraved desire to deliver a response to her gloating drives you back into your DMs.

TurnThePage: I apologize for shattering the illusion that I'm here at your beck & call TurnThePage: But those of us with the unfortunate label of “contributing members of society” have things to do

Fortunately or otherwise, you don't have to wait long for a response:

ASong4You: Oh fuck off, I’m in a good mood this morning and don’t need you ruining it ASong4You: I’d tell you to go hug the ocean floor, but the walk there would be more than you deserve

It’s not the severity of the insult that unnerves you so significantly. It’s the specificity. It’s the timing. It’s honestly just everything about her and even the things tangentially related to her, but mostly those two. It’s an unidentifiable emotion that ends any response you might have had before it even has a chance to manifest, silencing your snark and settling at the forefront of your mind for the rest of the day and beyond, even long after you leave China.

-x-

Silence between you two is undeniably the norm, but even as other projects and commitments sweep you away, you can’t help but feel anxious. Even as you focus on other opportunities, there’s an inevitability ticking away at the back of your mind. So, when the whispers first resurface, you’re not surprised, nor relieved, nor excited. If anything, you’re just intrigued. And you plan accordingly.

This time, when you hear confirmation from your contacts, you’re not surprised to hear nothing from her. This time, there’s no tweaking of the statement—no attempts to squeeze in exactly as many characters as are allowed. This time, you don’t let even a minute pass before responding to the announcement of Soojin’s departure. No, this time, you load only a single shot into the chamber. 

This time, you aim for the heart.

"I wish the good-hearted members of (G)I-DLE the best of luck as they navigate the ramifications of their members' actions." (Posted at 8:27 PM)

The tiniest of alterations. The smallest of changes. Seemingly a mistake so inconsequential that even your editor wouldn’t catch it. But for one whose hackles were already raised, that implication of multiple members rather than single outlier is a declaration of war. So, when her message arrives in your inbox, you expect it to burn your eyes with the fury of a thousand suns. What you find is something else entirely.

ASong4You: So, how’s your day going?

Well, that’s unexpected. You know better than to drop your guard, but your curiosity demands that you play along, at least for now.

TurnThePage: Pretty good TurnThePage: Very productive, so that’s always nice TurnThePage: What about yours? ASong4You: Could be better ASong4You: Could be worse TurnThePage: Could it? ASong4You: Probably ASong4You: Not exactly looking to find out TurnThePage: Don’t you want me to at least try? ASong4You: No because I’m quite sure you could easily find a way to make it worse TurnThePage: I was talking about making it better

You watch as she begins typing, then pauses. Assumedly, she changes her mind because her next message surprises you.

ASong4You: You know what? Sure ASong4You: Make my day TurnThePage: I’m pretty confident this’ll work ASong4You: You’re pretty confident about a lot of things TurnThePage: You’re not wrong (Image sent at 8:43PM)

Another pause.

ASong4You: Okay I can’t lie that corgi is pretty cute TurnThePage: I know, right? I've been wanting one for years now, but it doesn't seem fair to leave them locked up when I need to travel for work. ASong4You: It’s nice of you to care TurnThePage: Thanks, I try ASong4You: Do you? TurnThePage: I do! TurnThePage: Sometimes I even succeed

This back and forth continues on for a while, neither of you willing to let the other have the last word. While not stated outright, you’ve realized that she’s somehow found herself with the same goal as you: burning down the walls the other hides behind. It’s honestly pretty cute, but more importantly, it’s genuinely dangerous. Now that the boiling point could be reached at seemingly any moment, you’ve realized that in this rivalry, results matter more than reason.

Thus, the dialogue never dies, ranging from carefully probing questions to mild disagreements to stories about funny occurrences but interestingly, never direct insults or aggression. If anything, as time passes, the frequency increases. The timestamps tell a story of two individuals tied up in ceaseless pursuit, with one message being delivered as the sun descends below the skyline and its response arriving as the following school day begins. The density of messages may be irregular, but the consistency of responses is far from it. Both of you adamantly add to the simmering coals, continuing to fan the flames with your words, gladly accepting the risk of joining the other as a pile of ash.

You want, no, need, her facade to fall. She’ll give anything to “expose” you as the type of villain that frequents Saturday morning cartoons. She’s desperately attempting to maintain her veil of innocence. You’d love nothing more than to see it go up in flames and let the world see the truth as the smoke clears. Neither of you is willing to reveal your hand, and folding isn’t an option. So, this cold war wages on.

It’s an otherwise unremarkable afternoon when the first piece falls into place. You’re scrolling through your timeline, seeking both idle entertainment and diamonds in the rough as you await responses from multiple people. You see one post amongst the sea of several, commenting about (G)I-DLE all getting new phones together because one of them got destroyed. Something about the screen getting shattered when dropped, something that seems insignificant. But you have two eyes for a reason, and what’s the point of having both if you can’t catch double meanings?

So, just in case, you file it away for later, maybe for a rainy day. Three days later, you venture back into your DMs, conversing with her as you hide from the downpour outside.

ASong4You: Honestly I think audio issues are the worst ones to deal with ASong4You: Because usually the people fixing them are using headsets to test everything, so we never have any idea if any progress is being made ASong4You: Like at least with lighting, it’s clear as day when it’s working like it’s supposed to TurnThePage: That makes sense, audio’s always been the type of issue I’m most scared of TurnThePage: Because for interviews, usually I just record the audio and transcribe it later. If the audio is fucked up, I’ve wasted hours, if not days’ worth of time TurnThePage: For me and the client TurnThePage: Luckily, not a very frequent issue, but a concern all the same TurnThePage: Feels like you’ve been hitting a lot of production hiccups recently ASong4You: Yeah, seems like a pretty unlucky streak ASong4You: It’s kinda whatever though, I don’t let little things like that bother me

… but honestly, when she lines it up like that, who could blame you for taking a shot?

TurnThePage: Pretty sure your old phone would say otherwise, but go off ASong4You: Fuck. ASong4You: You. ASong4You: Actually, you know what? Fine. ASong4You: It's been obvious for a while now that you're desperate for attention, so here. I'm listening. ASong4You: What the fuck do you want from me?

It’s such a shame, especially since the conversation was going so nicely. Oh well, you flew too close to the sun and ended up reigniting the blaze between you two. Guess that leaves you with no choice but to fight fire with fire.

TurnThePage: The truth would be too rich for your blood, wouldn’t it? ASong4You: That’s a bit rich coming from you, don’t you think? ASong4You: Considering you’ve never even met me and are just going off of what you’ve heard from rumors TurnThePage: I mean, what else am I supposed to go off of? TurnThePage: We’ve barely talked, but even just based on that, I’m pretty sure meeting you would be detrimental to my health ASong4You: Oh come on, don’t tell me you’re gonna let a little danger get in the way of a date with destiny ASong4You: Aren’t you the type who likes to play with fire? TurnThePage: Aren’t you? ASong4You: Now you’re getting it ASong4You: If you didn’t already have a reason to be backstage at Gayo Daejeon in a few weeks, now you do TurnThePage: What, you’re just expecting me to drop everything and dance with the devil on Christmas of all days? ASong4You: Yes. ASong4You: Come on, it’ll be fun! What’s the worst that could happen?

As much as every part of your mind is screaming that this is a terrible idea, you know that it’s too good of an opportunity to pass up.

TurnThePage: Alright, I’ll be there. Just for you TurnThePage: Think of it as an early Christmas present ASong4You: Only if you come gift wrapped with a little bow on top TurnThePage: Only if you ask nicely ASong4You: In your fucking dreams ASong4You: Speaking of, I have to go contribute to society. Until then, enjoy dreaming of me!

You pause, processing the statement for a moment before sending the last thing you'll say to her for quite some time.

TurnThePage: You too

You close the app, discarding your DMs at least for the moment as you allow yourself to reenter the real world—the world where silence awaits, having settled in long before you did. It’s a comfortable silence, the norm you’ve come to rely on when composing messages and emails and blogs and messages and reviews and tweets and captions and messages. It’s an intentional sensation, amplified by the thick walls and specific location away from the chaos of the city you so desperately sought. It’s the warm blanket that wards off the chills creeping in the darkness as you chase the early morning sun. It’s the friend that helped you find yourself.

It’s deafening.

You stand and grab your keys, intent on grabbing some coffee and a bite to eat before the night steals your last chance to do so. As you wait in one line and then another, you plan out your upcoming days, noting openings in your calendar and marking them down for future opportunities. After all, your schedule might already be busy, but that’s no reason it couldn’t be busier. How else would you want to spend your free time?

-x-

The year’s end heralds many things, chief among them the year-end award ceremonies and the annual echoes of insanity you’re forced to subject yourself to once more. One would think that after four iterations of the same song and dance sweeping the circuit, you’d have found a better way to congratulate the usual suspects on their trio of triumphs. While you manage, it’s a slog like nothing you’ve had to fight through since your rookie campaign. The motivation you need to excel always seems to be one cup of coffee or one more procrastinated hour away, yet you continuously fail to muster the energy to snatch it out of the fog afore you.

You somehow manage to write just enough and post it just soon enough to drive the engagement numbers you need to remain ahead of projections for the year. It’s a sigh of relief that’s followed by one of the few exciting traditions amidst an industry filled with formulaic procedures: music festivals.

The KBS Song Festival is a breath of fresh air for you as you go, in-person, for the first time. You’re able to translate your experiences onto the page flawlessly, and the reception to your piece is one of the best yet. It simultaneously excites and pressures you to pay close attention to the next festival you go to in the hopes that you can recreate or even exceed that piece’s success. There’s only one issue.

SBS Gayo Daejun is next.

It’s been complete radio silence since your last message. Two months since she read your response and you each retreated to your bunkers. The war might have grown colder alongside the changing seasons, but you know it’s no less flammable than before. You dress warmly, enough layers to ward off the cold winter air, yet light enough to have options. Just in case.

You arrive early, hours before the event’s 6PM scheduled start time. The Namdong Gymnasium is a massive venue, easily able to seat thousands of rabid fans eager to shake its foundation with their roar. You probably have a press pass somewhere in your email, but you can see the recognition in the eyes of the security when you walk up without a shadow of a doubt; you’ve been to enough of these kinds of events over the past year or so that they’re happy to welcome you in.

Once inside, it takes but a handful of quick conversations over warm handshakes to get a lay of the land and create a mental catalog of where different idols will be waiting and, most importantly, where people won’t be. After all, in life—not just in K-Pop—privacy is priceless. Later, when you find yourself alone, you begin to ponder and plan. You have plenty of time and endless amounts of patience, but not as much of either as you’d like. So, you pull out your phone and do something seemingly detestable. You shatter the silence.

TurnThePage: Tell me when and I’ll tell you where

For once, you’re happy to be swept up into a conversation as the earliest performing groups begin to arrive and greet you warmly. Your ambitions are far too grand to fit within a niche, but as you’ve actively fostered relationships with the brightest rising stars in the business, you’ve kindled a kind of camaraderie over the couple of conversations shared. You wish IVE the best of luck with their upcoming Olympic send-off stage, discuss the remix STAYC will be performing later, and make bets with Aespa whether “Got the Beat” will be weird or wonderful. Of course, the bet ends up being mostly metaphorical since it’s kinda hard to place a wager when all five members of the discussion agree it’ll be the former.

A few hours pass until there’s three until showtime. Your phone vibrates, which could mean many things, but you know what just arrived in your inbox. You allow two more hours to pass before you dip off to the side into a small alcove, allowing you to preview her response in peace.

She sent you a window of time, almost exactly when you’d expected based on the schedule of the performances. You read the message, allow the checkmark to turn blue, then put your phone away. You continue to wait, letting a whole nother hour pass until the broadcast begins, at which point you finally send her your location of choice. It’s an unutilized dressing room about a minute away from where the performers are preparing to go on stage; the perfect spot to find some priceless privacy, leaving you with roughly 10 minutes with which to enjoy it.

As the various artists claim their positions for the opening performance, you decide how best to utilize the upcoming forty minutes. You scope out the scene and develop a plan, starting by targeting those who appear to be anxiously waiting. Those who have a minute to spare, but whose lips are loosened when the second comes around and you’re still asking them to share their story. The hunt pays off, rewarding you with information about Itzy’s upcoming Japan promotions, Oh My Girl’s second album, and Red Velvet’s upcoming concert. You file the information away for later, at the ready just in case it could result in a potential opportunity.

Eventually, your internal clock informs you it’s time. You slip away from the outskirts of the main preparation area, taking a wide berth as you avoid being seen on your way to the intended location. On the way there, you grab a pair of bottles of water, mind already kicking into overdrive as you plan how you want to handle this encounter.

Once you enter the room, you’re pleased to see the mostly bare walls and lack of furnishings aside from a row of mirrors on the far wall and a trio of couches placed around a small table. You note them but disregard them for the moment, instead leaning against one of the smooth concrete walls as you pull out your phone and attempt to respond to a couple of emails. You barely get through one before the turning of a latch and a shock of recently bleached blonde signals her early arrival.

“Hey, glad you could make it,” you say, as if this whole situation were the most casual thing in the world. “Here, catch.”

She deftly snatches the water bottle out of the air, checking the seal immediately as she peers past the plastic with suspicion blatant in her stare. “Thanks, I guess?”

You’re not sure if it’s the room’s acoustics or the unfamiliar lack of a screen or microphone for separation but hearing her voice up close and personal for the first time hits. The sound waves slowly waltz up your spine, sending shockwaves through your synapses as they encircle and entrance your eardrums, then shoot down to the rest of your body and share the sensation. While you smell skepticism coating each third of her trio of words, you also catch something beneath the surface. Intrigue. Amusement. Annoyance. Excitement. And then something else, hidden amongst the huskiest tones of her exhalations. Something even you can’t catch.

You take slow, measured steps as you walk parallel to her, claiming one of the couches as your own as you sit down on one side of the table and she seats herself across from you. “But of course!” you declare jovially, creating an illusion of welcoming even as you reinforce your mental walls. “I can promise it’s not poisoned. There’s far too much I’d love to ask you.”

“Is that so?” she asks, quirking an eyebrow as she puts her feet up on the table. “You seem awfully confident that I’m willing to answer.”

“Can’t help it,” you admit with a shrug, refusing to break eye contact even for a moment as you take a swig of your water. “Side effect of a never-ending streak of successes, I suppose.”

“You’re adorable,” she coos, eyes catching fire for the first time. You watch, gaze unwavering as she leans back, closing her eyes as she takes her own drink of water, then wipes her lips with the back of her hand and holds your eyes once more. “You’re also avoiding the topic at hand.”

“Oh, am I?” you ask, knowing full well what she means but too intrigued to voice the topic yourself. “Please, do tell.”

She leans forward, blowing through any pretense as she demands to know, “Why are you so obsessed with me?”

“Ah, 6:42, starting right on schedule,” you think to yourself, smiling as you shake your head and place your water on the table. “Darling, I love me some self-centeredness, but I think you’ve misunderstood. As much as I refuse to diminish the significance of your sins, I’m nowhere near as invested in your failure as you seem to think. Honestly, if anything, dragging out this ‘drama’ has been great for engagement.”

“Oh, come the fuck on,” she says, hints of a chuckle hidden amongst the darkness in her tone as she stands and uses all 163 centimeters of her figure to barely look down at you. You almost find it ironic that here—in the midst of an argument—is the closest you’ve come to seeing each other eye to eye. “Are you really trying to tell me that the soapbox you preach from was built by the likes, comments, and subscriptions of my stans?”

“I’m not denying that (G)I-DLE’s been a major contributing factor in my growth,” you say, struggling to subdue the smirk attempting to tug at the corner of your lips. “But genuinely, you are just a stepping stone and I’m moving up. It’s nothing personal.”

“Nothing personal?!” she repeats, laughter fully unleashed as she stares at you incredulously. “Stop, it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”

“Listen sunshine,” you begin, feeling the smirk seize control as you watch her eye twitch in loathing. “We could have a nice therapeutic conversation where you lie on the big couch between us and I chronicle your odyssey of misdeeds.” You stand, making your way towards the same spot on the wall where you’d waited for her. “Or we could just leave and go back to the silence. Not sure what else we’re here for.”

As you turn and your back hits the wall once more, you see the intensity and intent in her eyes as she closes the distance. You see her muscles tense, you see her arm raise, and you know full well the slap is coming long before it makes contact. But you need no omniscience to identify the most interesting outcome, so you present your left cheek and enjoy the echoes as they reverberate throughout the enclosed space.

“You know, that wasn’t personal,” she says, shaking out her hand like the force of the impact caused her pain too. “Only deserved.”

“Probably,” you admit, savoring the sanguine sensation slowly seeping out behind your smile. “There are probably a couple dozen legitimate reasons to slap me—it’s just a shame that none of them are the one you chose.”

“God fucking damnit,” she growls, low voice dipping even deeper as she clenches her fists. “What do you want from me?”

"What do I want from you?" you repeat, letting the question linger in the air for a moment before meeting her fiery gaze head-on. Your heart pounds at a frantic rate, yet you keep your voice steady and unwavering as you continue. “I want you to drop the act. I want you to stop pretending like you’re some sort of hero when you’re the villain in every story told about you.” 

“What did I say about believing everything you hear?” she purrs, bits of that casual confidence resurfacing even as you see your words shake her to her core.

“Then tell me something different,” you demand, teeth grinding as the conversation goes nowhere. “Tell me something I can believe, even better if it’s the truth. Look me in the eyes and tell me—from the heart—that I’m wrong.”

“I … I can’t,” she admits, hints of vulnerability creeping into those eyes that burned so bright mere moments ago.

“God fucking damnit,” you growl, voice dipping lower once more. “Then why should I care about anything you have to say?”

“Why do you care in the first place?” she snaps back, voice rising with anger. “I don’t remember asking you to stick your nose into my life and threaten everything I’ve worked so hard to achieve!”

The silence weighs heavily on you both, growing more and more deafening as each passing second leaves an impact crater on your eardrum. You have so many reasons—all these puzzle pieces within your mind—yet you can’t seem to assemble a decent response. You’re both just stuck here, with all this emotion and no fucking answers to show for it. Instead, you search, staring into those blazing eyes as if the darkness within hides the truths you’ve been searching for. But in this hell you find no revelations, only the pain you’ve only ever found in your reflection. All you see is the slow infusion of crimson into her visage, the part of her lips as her pained exhalations batter your heaving chest. Your eyes never leave hers, and hers nearly mirror yours. Nearly. She cracks for a single moment—a mere second where her stare flicks down unconsciously. And it’s all the signal you need to capitalize on your chosen position.

With her frame, it truly is as easy as playing with a doll to flip your positions, pinning her against the wall as you tower over her. Her eyes widen with surprise, then narrow with expectation. You slam one hand against the wall, granting you additional leverage and knocking her even further off guard as you lean in, cupping her chin with your other hand and tilting her head up. When your lips first meet, there’s no cliches—no fireworks going off and no chorus accompanying the moment. There’s only friction and the insistent sensation of her pillowy lips against the firm control of your own. The kiss is far from gentle; passionate, yes, but not the sensual, romantic passion that others who use that word would think of. Emotions—ones that are similar, not identical—clash against one another as your tongues find each other and she tastes the metallic tang of the blood she’s spilled.

You thank whoever’s listening for well-tailored clothes as your hand leaves her chin and begins to explore, tracing her collarbone before gliding your fingertips across the bare skin of her arm. You leave goosebumps in your wake as you venture further down to her waistline and under her shirt, nails gently dragging across the toned muscles of her abs and the taut skin concealing her ribcage and hammering heart. Your hand doesn’t even have to slide under her bra for you to earn a moan, slipping past her inhibitions and feeding directly into your ego as you graciously decide to grant her request for escalation. You take advantage of your already slightly bent knees as you raise one between her legs, slipping your thigh past her own as you grind it against her sex and send her pleasure receptors into overdrive. So needy, you whisper, lips ghosting over her jawline as your breaths carry the words into her very soul. We’re barely in the opening measure, and you’re nearly ready for a crescendo.

The resentment in her eyes would hit much harder if she could maintain even a modicum of control, but with the way your knee’s grinding against her sopping heat, you almost manage to muster a miniscule smidgen of sympathy. Almost. Maybe you’ll find it elsewhere. You begin your brazen search, sending your second hand under her shirt and beginning to knead at her hints of breasts as you elicit moans so sinful they'd make Lucifer blush. Even as your knee rises further—its grinding growing in intensity as it pushes her onto the tips of her toes and you send her head above the clouds—you can’t seem to ensnare her stare. Despite her delirium, her gaze instead darts literally anywhere else, inspecting the bare walls of the austere dressing room as if they're the adorned walls of the fucking Louvre as she desperately avoids meeting your eyes. Desperately avoids confirming what her moans have already spoiled. Desperately avoids giving you the credit you know damn well you deserve.

“Come on baby, don’t be like this. You should know it’s so much worse when you lie to both of us.”

Her moans morph into growls as she desperately attempts to catch her breath, trying in vain to fuel her fire while still finding a way to respond. Anything to smother your smugness and wipe out the whispers. “F-fuck off, aren’t there more important things that mouth should be doing?”

Your wild smile widens—nearly to the point of lunacy—as you continue to lead her towards the edge. “Maybe if you ask nicely. A princess like you should know how to speak properly.”

“Fuck off you—fuck!”

Any eloquence remaining within her addled mind is whisked away alongside her scraps of breath as your teeth latch into the crook of her neck, biting with just enough force to mark her without actually breaking the skin. Her mewling in response is both maddening and mesmerizing, magnifying both her mania and magnetism as you devour another sensitive area and amplify your assault on her psyche. Simply continuing your current misdeeds is enough to heighten the tension even further, allowing you the freedom to do as you please. You give her everything she wants, and then a bit more. You give her what she didn’t want, remaining silent for countless seconds as you mark her skin and allow her the opportunity to speak. All she can offer in response are gasps and hiccups and moans—anything to stay coherent enough to experience this ecstasy. Interwoven amongst that need is her want, fragments of phrases and fuck and I and you and oh God and I’m and OH GOD and OH GOD FUCK.

“Yes sweetheart, I know just how badly you wish this could last forever, but we’re on the clock for a reason,” you drawl, dragging your incisor along her throbbing vein up to her jawline. “So why don’t you drop the act and be the good little slut you’re dying to be?” The lightest of kisses placed upon her jaw, the type a fool could misinterpret as affectionate. “Babble whatever you like, but we both know that the truth is already stained into my slacks.” Another—upon her cheek this time. “So just do it.” On her earlobe. “Give in.” Behind her ear. “Cum.” Into her heart.

Her eyes flare with fury for the briefest moments before her tremors tell all and her nails dig into your arms. You hear the desperation she’s been choking back this entire time finally break through as her grip on you tightens, her world goes dark, and she sinks her teeth into your shoulder. She sobs, shaking like a lone leaf amidst the storm as you waltz into her vault of core memories and claim your rightful spot atop them all.

In the following moments, the only thing stopping silence from settling in is the intensity of her breathing as she desperately attempts to calm her thunderous heartbeat and collect her thoughts. As for her pride ...

"Fuck."

The lone word lingers in the air, only heightening the tension as mental fog and fatigue prevent her from relighting the fire that had recently burned so bright. You wait as her breath catches once more and she chokes down oxygen, savoring the silence in the interim. While your patience has often paid off, that’s not why you refuse to speak up now. No, it’s because you know the truth that she’ll never admit—the truth that each moment of recovery acts as further recognition of your performance. So yeah, you’re willing to wait. You may be rock hard and yet to be pleasured, but your ego has been stroked sufficiently enough for seventy centuries, so why not bask in the afterglow?

Once she musters enough mettle to match your gaze, you can’t tell whether she wants to murder or mount you immediately. Likely both. She opens her mouth to speak, but you cut her off with a response, showing her the truth—the higher priority. You show her the time: 6:52. Two minutes until she needs to be back. She immediately understands, and you allow her the room to escape the wall she’s been pinned against. As you make sure the room is in order, she utilizes one of the mirrors to craft her best impression of composure. This time, both of you finish simultaneously, and she turns to leave unceremoniously.

“Wait.” Despite having every reason not to, she stops, listening to your command and turning to face you. You have no words that need to be spoken, but you toss her your scarf, just in case. She nods in understanding, then sighs in realization. Because you’ve helped make sure that no one else will find out. But you’ve also reminded her that she’ll never forget what happened here.

“Daejejeon?” she asks, curiosity peeking through as she references the upcoming music festival.

“And the afterparty,” you affirm, confirming her intrigue and your New Year’s Eve plans.

“I’ll see you then,” she declares as she turns to depart.

“I’ll see you then,” you call out to the retreating form. “You’ll see me much sooner than that.”

A lone finger is her only response. The singular nature of the gesture elicits a chuckle as you begin your own exit down a different path, knowing full well that you’ll be monopolizing her dreams for at least a few nights. And as you exit the building to view the vast darkness overhead, you can’t help but wonder what secrets await you in the silent hours of the next six nights.

Only one way to find out.

Continued in Act Two …

(Special shoutouts to @braaan and @passingnotions for their insights and the time they chose to invest into this fic, I will always be so, so thankful for your support. To you, the reader, I offer both my sincerest appreciation for your patience and a promise that there’s much more to come if you’re willing to continue forth. Yuqi shows up far more frequently moving forward, and there might even be a pretty little powder keg to add in a bit of extra color. Only one way to find out.)

#kpop smut #kpop fanfic #kpop fanfiction #idol x reader #idol x male reader #yuqi smut #yuqi fanfic #gidle yuqi #gidle #yuqi #song yuqi #slow burn

[girlactionfigure]

Chiune Sugihara was a Japanese diplomat in Lithuania who put his family and career at risk by issuing thousands of hand-written transit visas to Jewish refugees fleeing Eastern Europe.

Chiune was born to a middle class family in Mino, Japan on the first day of the 20th century – 1/1/00. In elementary and high school he was a top student, and his father wanted him to become a doctor. Chiune’s own dream was to enter the foreign service, and he deliberately failed the medical school entrance exam by writing only his name on the test. Instead Chiune attended Waseda University and majored in English. He also joined a Christian fraternity to practice his English.

In 1919, Chiune passed the Foreign Ministry Scholarship exam, and served in the Japanese Imperial Army as a 2nd Lieutenant stationed in Korea. He resigned his commission in 1922 and trained for the Foreign Ministry, learning Russian and German in addition to English. He aced the qualifying exam and was sent to work in the foreign office in Harbin, China.

Chiune’s strong moral compass led him to resign his post as Deputy Foreign Minister in Manchuria because of rising Japanese violence against the Chinese (just two years later was the horrific Rape of Nanking by the Japanese Imperial Army.) Chiune returned to Japan, where he married Yukiko Kikuchi. They later had four sons.

Next Chiune went to Helsinki, Finland, where he worked as a translator for the Japanese delegation. In 1939, Chiune became vice-consul of the Japanese embassy in Kauna, Lithuania. Part of his job was to find out if Germany planned to attack the Soviet Union, and to relay any information about this to his bosses in Berlin and Tokyo.

In 1940, the Soviet Union occupied Lithuania. At that time, approximately 1/3 of Lithuanians were Jewish, many of them Torah scholars. The USSR viciously persecuted Jews, especially religious ones, and the Jews of Lithuania were desperate to escape the country – especially because Nazi Germany was occupying more and more of Eastern Europe and would soon be in Lithuania. Hundreds of them, mostly Orthodox, visited the Japanese consulate to beg for exit visas to Japan. The official Japanese policy was that candidates for visas must go through elaborate bureaucratic procedures and pay significant sums of money. Chiune contacted his superiors at the Japanese Foreign minister to ask if the rules could be relaxed to help Jewish refugees. His request was denied, as were his next two requests.

Chiune could have thrown up his hands and told the Jews there was nothing he could do for them, but instead, as he did in China, he was governed by his strong sense of right and wrong, rather than soulless bureaucrats. He ignored his orders and started issuing ten-day visas for Jews to travel through Japan on their way to safe havens like Shanghai, China, where 20,000 Jews rode out the war safely.

As word got out about the Japanese visas, Jews from all over Lithuania as well as Poland began to swarm Chiune’s office. He simply wouldn’t say no to anybody, and spent 18-20 hours a day (!) painstakingly writing visas by hand. He created a month’s supply of visas every single day from August to early September 1940, providing an escape route for thousands of Jews. On September 4, the Japanese consulate in Kauna was closed and Chiune had to leave the country. He was determined to create as many transit visas as possible, and continued doing so up until the last minute. At Kanuas Railway Station, a crowd of Jews gathered to say goodbye. Right before boarding the train, Chiune bowed deeply and cried out, “Please forgive me! I cannot write anymore. I wish you the best!” Someone in the crowd shouted, “Sugihara! We’ll never forget you! I’ll surely see you again!”

Chiune was reassigned to East Prussia, then Prague, and then Bucharest, Romania. When the Soviet Union occupied Lithuania in 1944, Chiune and his family were imprisoned in a POW camp for a year and a half. Finally they were released in 1946 and returned to Japan, but the foreign office had heard about his unauthorized visas, and he was forced to resign. At about this time, the Sugihara’s youngest son died of leukemia at age seven.

Unemployable in Japan, Chiune made use of his excellent Russian language skills and spent the next 16 years working in the Soviet Union while his wife and sons stayed in Japan. Chiune’s exceptional heroism was unknown for many years, until 1968, when he was contacted by Yehoshua Nishri, an attache working at the Israeli consulate in Tokyo. Nishri spent his youth in Poland, and heard stories of the legendary Japanese hero. Nishri made it his mission to publicize Chiune’s heroic acts, and the next year, 1969, Chiune traveled to Israel as an honored guest of the Israeli government. Jews he’d saved lobbied for him to be recognized as Righteous Among the Nations by Israeli Holocaust Memorial Yad Vashem, and in 1984 he received the honor. At that time he was too sick to travel, so his wife and son Nobuki accepted the award on his behalf.

Chiune was asked why he risked everything to help thousands of strangers. He answered, “You want to know about my motivation, don’t you? Well. It is the kind of sentiments anyone would have when he actually sees refugees face to face, begging with tears in their eyes. He just cannot help but sympathize with them. Among the refugees were the elderly and women. They were so desperate that they went so far as to kiss my shoes. Yes, I actually witnessed such scenes with my own eyes. Also, I felt at that time, that the Japanese government did not have any uniform opinion in Tokyo. Some Japanese military leaders were just scared because of the pressure from the Nazis; while other officials in the Home Ministry were simply ambivalent. People in Tokyo were not united. I felt it silly to deal with them. So, I made up my mind not to wait for their reply. I knew that somebody would surely complain about me in the future. But, I myself thought this would be the right thing to do. There is nothing wrong in saving many people’s lives… The spirit of humanity, philanthropy… neighborly friendship… with this spirit, I ventured to do what I did, confronting this most difficult situation – and because of this reason, I went ahead with redoubled courage.”

Chiune Sugihara died in Japan on July 31, 1986. Despite being a hero in Israel, and among Jews worldwide, he was completely unknown in his own country. Even his own children didn’t know what he had done. A huge delegation from around the world attended Chiune’s funeral, and only then did he become known in Japan.

Chiune received many awards and accolades, most of them posthumous. Among them are Sugihara Streets in Vilna, Lithuania, and Jaffa and Netanya in Israel. There is a Sugihara House Museum in Kaunas, and a park in Vilna where 200 trees were planted on his 100th birthday. There is a life-sized statue of him in Little Tokyo in Los Angeles, featuring a plaque with a quotation from the Talmud, “He who saves one life, saves an entire world.” In 1998, Chiune’s widow Yukiko traveled to Israel and was warmly received by survivors who’d been saved by her husband. There is a Sugihara park in Jerusalem, and he was featured on an Israeli postage stamp in 1998. The Lithuanian government declared 2020 “The Year of Chiune Sugihara.” He has been the subject of multiple works of art, including books, films and a play.

It’s estimated that over 100,000 people are alive today because of the brave actions of Chiune Sugihara.

#Thursday Hero

[wangxianficfinder]

In the mood for...

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1. Itmf the warmest, comfiest wangxian fics that feel like snuggling up next to the fire with a blanket and a cup of cocoa/tea. @vi-sky

🧡 paint smears on sunny days by SnowshadowAO3 (E, 53k, WangXian, Comfort, Fluff and Smut, Everyone Is Alive, Modern AU, Dadji, Mutual Pining, Happy Ending, Brief Alcohol Mention, Masturbation, Blow Jobs, Hand Jobs, Accidentally co-parenting with your son's art teacher, Fatherhood)

The Art of Communication by mrcformoso (G, 4k, WangXian, Modern AU, College/University, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Meet-Cute, Engineering Student WWX, Music Student LWJ, Swimmer WWX, Martial Artist LWJ, POV Outsider, POV WWX, POV LWJ, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, Communication Issues, But Wanxian Makes it Work, LWJ has limited words, WWX has too many words, Falling In Love, First Kiss, Love Confessions, Love Languages, Requited Love)

box your errors by mellowflicker (T, 42k, WangXian, Modern AU, single dad lwj,   Domestic Fluff, Family Issues, Slow Burn, Kid Fic, let lwj have friends agenda, Hurt/Comfort, Pining)

Worship you till morning comes by feyburner (E, 6k, WangXian, Modern AU, Meet-Cute, First Dates, First Time, Fluff, Kissing, Hand Jobs, Falling In Love)

I know what my heart wants  by yakuso5u (Not Rated, 28k, WangXian, Modern AU, Single Father LWJ,   Fluff, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, Accidental Child Acquisition, Domestic, Slice of Life, Christmas references)

Many happy returns. by orange_crushed (E, 25k, WangXian, Modern AU, Mistaken Identity, Misunderstandings, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Implied/Referenced Suicide, Past Suicide of a Parent, References to Depression, Anxiety, Therapy, References to Anti-Depressant Medications, Escort Service, Loneliness, Everybody’s Abandonment Issues, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst with a Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Moving In Together, Oral Sex, Penetrative Sex, Hopeful Ending, Recovery, References to Escorting/Sex Work but No Actual Escorting/Sex Work)

can you feel it by lanzhancore (E, 5k, WangXian, Modern AU, Awkward Sexual Situations, Established Relationship, Hospitals, Slice of Life, Fluff and Humor, Idiot Lovers, Crack Treated Seriously)

I'll buy you the moon (I'll buy you two) by Thesaurus_with_no_words (E, 27k, WangXian, Science Fiction, Space, Rebels, Space Opera, On the Run, Promoted To Parent, Robots, Androids, Mechs, Battle Mechs, Hurt/Comfort, Technopathy, Willful and Deliberate Baby and Wife Acquisition, Porn With Plot, Mpreg)

~*~

2. Itmf wangxian fics where a) sizhui saves WWX b) best big brother nie mingjue and c) the lans take in WWX and are super supportive (similar to Where is home? and Stunted, Starving Juvenility)

2A)

Would You Come Home? by s6115 (Not Rated, 46k, WangXian, Family Feels, good uncle JC, Canon Divergence, Junior Quartet Dynamics, Junior Quartet, Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It)

~*~

3. hello! i would like to know if there are new wangxian mpreg fics especially pregnant wwx, please!

The Legend of Moonflower by JJSIN2020 (E, 94k, wangxian, 3zun, A/B/O, Emperor LWJ, LWJ FUCKS, he has a whole harem of male omegas so of course he does, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Beta LXC, Omega JC, Omega XY, Omega XXC, omega SS, Omega OYZZ, Beta NHS, Mpreg, Wolves, Angst with a Happy Ending, Imperial China, Character Death, Fighting, Blood, WIP)

My Heart is a Cavern of Longing, Please come home? by LadyVamp (E, 50k, wangxian, rape/non-con, graphic depictions of violence, A/B/O, Non-Traditional A/B/O Dynamics, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Bitch WWX, Forced Marriage, Accidental Baby Acquisition, YLLZ WWX, Oblivious WWX, wangxian Get a Happy Ending, Forced Bonding, Forced Pregnancy, Depressed WWX, Sex In A Cave, Uncontrolled heats, JZX Lives, Arranged Marriage, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Pining, LSZ is a Ray of Sunshine, Child LJY, LJY is WangXian's son, alpha to omega, Unplanned Pregnancy, Pregnant WWX, Mpreg)

The best kept secrets (taste the sweetest) by h0peless_oblivion (T, 13k, wangxian, A/B/O, Canon Divergence, Mpreg, Unplanned Pregnancy, Getting Together, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Child LSZ, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Fluff, Angst, It's angsty for like 5 minutes then it's happy endings from here on out I swear, Secret Baby, Past pining while fucking, Happy Ending, WWX doesn’t lose his golden core, ossible SA (not between wangxian), Madam Lán Backstory, Good Uncle LQR, WIP)

there is a lantern shining dark (upon this winter's day) by AnnaAphrodite (T, 21k, wangxian, LXC & LWJ, LSZ & LWJ, LWJ & OFCs, major character death, Not Everyone Dies AU, Mpreg, A/B/O, Omega LWJ, Alpha WWX, Omega WQ, Beta WN, Pregnant LWJ, Implied Bottom LWJ, Supportive LQR, Supportive LXC, Good Uncle LQR, Good Older Sibling LXC, Good Uncle LXC, LWJ & NHS Friendship, LWJ & WQ Friendship, Thirteen Years of WWX's Death, Bitching, Minor arranged marriage between LXC and a female oc, LXC does have a slightly morally grey moment, but he means well)

~*~

4. ITMF canon era fics where wwx is:

A) Artist

B) musician

C) dancer @constellationdks

I'm here for recently ITMF post #4: thnx for all the suggestions but they are not what I'm looking for. In my post I said Canon era, all the fics suggested are modern.

4A)

🔒 Away from Trouble by Ilona22 (M, 15k, WangXian, Not Jiang Family Friendly, WangXian gets a happy ending)

A Life Without Regrets by naqaashi (M, 74k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Crack Treated Seriously, musical cultivation, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Rogue Cultivator WWX, Murder Husbands, Happy Ending, PTSD, BAMF WWX, Cultivation Sect Politics, Worldbuilding, Módào Zǔshī & The Untamed Combination, No Yīn Iron, Genius WWX, Inventor WWX, Artist WWX, Musician WWX, Bad Parent JFM, Bad Parent YZY, Cultivation Theory, Sentient Burial Mounds, Dysfunctional Family, Grief/Mourning, Parent-Child Relationship, Angry WWX, Angst, No Golden Core Transfer, BAMF LWJ, Idiots in Love)

obscura: ink stain by AvoOwO (M, 20k, wangxian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Canon Divergence, Emotions, Heavy Angst, Painting, Temporary Amnesia, Drugs, Drug Use, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drink Spiking, Victim Blaming, LWJ Has Feelings, LWJ Has a Crush, Soft wangxian, Holding Hands, Blood and Violence, Good Sibling JC, Protective JC, WWX is a Mess, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Protective LXC, Good Sibling LXC, Good Uncle LQR, LQR Tries, OCs, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, WWX Needs a Hug, someone gets punched a lot, LWJ contemplates murder for a moment, JC almost gets it done, not quite about romance, as much as romance elements there, more so about the small things, LWJ loves how WWX smells, some nasty things are said, WWX def needs a nap, he gets one dw, LQR Gets Shit Done, NHS Is A Little Shit, Scheming NHS)

( 不忘 | Don’t Forget by dragongirlG (E, 50k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time Travel, Reincarnation, Fix-It of Sorts, Identity Porn, Social Media, Devotion, Reunions, Feelings, Family, Angst with a Happy Ending, Light Bondage, Names, References to Canon, Modern Era, Artist WWX, Sexual Content, Pining, POV Multiple, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note) is a canon/modern time travel fic with artist!wwx. )

the best of you by sysrae (E, 41k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern AU, College/University, Angst with a Happy Ending, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Getting Together, slightly undernegotiated kink, but in a very soft and consensual way, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, JFM and Mdm yu's A+ parenting, Dysfunctional Family, Mental Health Issues, Reference to animal attacks/animal cruelty, descriptions of past violence)

For a Good Time, Call by ScarlettStorm (E, 170k, WangXian, Modern AU, Getting Together, Pining, Porn, like in the writing and also as a plot point, onlyfans au, repressed LWJ, sex worker WWX, Minor Angst, major shenanigans, Background ChengQing, background NieLan, background XuanLi, Nonbinary NHS) photographer and sex worker

To See You (Again) by FrameofMind, Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (E, 84k, WangXian, Modern AU, London, No Magic AU, lan zhan FUCKS, But Like Bottomji Fucks, Friends to Lovers, Self-Discovery, Pining, Grindr, Light Bondage, mild D/s themes, Experienced LWJ, Less Experienced WWX, straight boy wwx)

adoration by Lunarieen (T, 12k, WangXian, Modern AU, Artist/Model AU, Childhood Friends, Sensuality, Hurt/Comfort, Reconciliation, Art as Love Language, Character Study, Friends to Lovers, Gender Exploration, a little bit of dissociation)

4B)

Across the street to another life by danegen (M, 99k, WangXian, Modern AU, unleashed au, Family Fluff, Set in America, Hurt/Comfort, Past Child Abuse, Addiction, Crime, Amnesia, Ableist Language, another fridged mother, POV Alternating, past wwx/ofc, past wwx/omc, Medium parent YZY, A-Yuan is wwx's biological son, Musicians, Happy Ending)

When the Lights Come Up by brooklinegirl (E, 50k, WangXian, background 3Zun, Notting Hill AU, Modern AU, famous WWX/non famous LWJ, Break ups and make ups, Musician WWX, bookseller LWJ)

4C)

A Flower in Bloom (or Wei Wuxian Crashes a Party) by UmbrellaMartialGod (E, 30k, wangxian, Post-Canon, Crossdressing, Humor, Fluff and Smut, Established Relationship, Festivals, Dancer WWX, Insecurity, Blow Jobs, Anal Sex, Porn with Feelings, mild possessive behavior)

The Darkness Before Dawn by PsycheStellata707 (M, 113k, wangxian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Time Travel Fix-It, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX, Attempt at Humor, PTSD, Oblivious WWX, WWX-centric, Blind WWX, Sentient Burial Mounds, Everyone Lives AU, Except Those Who Deserves to Die, Oblivious Pining, Not Canon Compliant, WIP)

4c dancer wwx fic: canon era wwx is raised by a group of traveling performers. I believe he was a fan dancer and possibly a musician as well

notes on a scene by wishingswell (M, 27k, WangXian, Modern AU, Ballet, Fluff)

space, skin, muscle, bone by tombenough_and_continent (T, 23k, WangXian, Modern AU, Matthew Bourne's Swan Lake, Non-Linear Narrative, Dance, Background SongXiao, background NieLan, a surprising amount of texting, gratuitous use of ballet terminology)

Falling to the Rhythm by Selenay (E, 128k, WangXian, Modern: No Powers, Dance, Strictly Come Dancing Fusion, Ballroom Dancing, Dancer!WWX, Violinist LWJ, Pining While Dancing, Oblivious WWX, Gratuitous Costume Descriptions, Gratuitous dancing descriptions, Slow Burn, [Podfic] Falling to the Rhythm by semperfiona_podfic (semperfiona))

Unstrictly Ballroom by Ariaste (T, 47k, WangXian, SongXiao, Modern AU, Everyone's alive, the gang defeats systemic heteronormativity, Stripper AU, competitive ballroom dance AU, really stupid misunderstandings, Yearning, Mutual Pining, the wrist grab, lwj makes a friend (who isn't wwx!), modern au but it's still set in Fantasy China (Gusu/Yiling/Lanling) rather than Real China, LWJ's pov, Erotic Handholding)

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5. Heyy ! I am in the mood for a fic where lan zhan is a therapist ! (wether wx is his patient or not isn’t relevant ) thank youuuu @sebyyw

Deep Dive by MimiSpearmint (E, 24k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Modern AU, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng Feels, Twin Prides of Yúnmèng are Bad at Communicating, LWJ is a Panicked Gay, Therapy, Fluff and Humor, Getting Together, Angst with a Happy Ending, Career Ending Injuries, counsellor!lwj, background NieLan, Melbourne, Eventual Smut, Crack, Baby JL, domestic abuse is discussed but does not happen, Baby LSZ, Baby LJY, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Good Sex Practices, Implied Slight D/s, WangXian Have a Breeding Kink, Cameos by various minor characters)

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6. hi! i would like to know if you know any fics where

A) someone goes off about how demonic cultivation is dangerous/immoral etc and gets their argument refuted

B) wwx teaching other people demonic cultivation

C) kind of an overlap between the two above, but any fic where wwx considers demonic cultivation worth pursuing even after the book's end/has some pride towards his accomplishments of creating it @chellsky

6A)

Cradle by Dragonesque (T, 196k, WIP, Canon Divergenc, Adopted children, Yiling Wei Sect, BAMF WWX) For #6 a & b, forgetting the name but it's super long ao3 qiongqi path au, for want of a nail, Jin zixuan lives and wwx gets hurt. Accidental yilingwei sect. Wwx gives a bunch of wen's the wei surname, it was inspired by a 2ch incomplete fic. Anyone know what I'm talking about? / I think 6A OP is talking about is Cradle by Dragonesque on AO3?

6B)

no one ever said the single-plank bridge had to be walked alone by rosemu (T, 124k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Yílíng Wèi Sect au, Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, LWJ Stays at the Burial Mounds, Fluff, Angst, Domestic Fluff, Canon-Typical Violence, Found Family, Slow Burn, LWJ and WWX get to be Dads together, the healing power of homoerotic flute/guqin duets, Happy Ending) WWX takes on MXY & XY as disciples

Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, WangXian, WWX & JL, Canon Divergence, Ghost WWX, Hurt/comfort, Family bonding, Fluff, Angst) if I remember correctly, has ghost!WWX teaching mxy demonic cultivation

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7. I’m in the mood to read a great many things, but I’d really appreciate it if you could do a rec list of fics where wwx gets to flex being a talisman master/a badass with talismans(knowingly or not) or an updated list for Immortal Lan Wanji x either reincarnated wwx or also immortal wwx. I feel like generally the first just isn’t tagged and that I’ve already read all the good ones under the other.

Btw, I’m not asking for both unless you want to compile both. Just whichever list sounds more fun to make/ find fics for.

Help expanding my library would be very much appreciated.🙏 @omgnectarina

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8. If you do find this fic, would you also recommend something in this similar theme? LWJ doing things for family and not being happy and LQR finds out and regrets his actions? @lailan-rosie (last part from a FF)

Tempo Rubato by Spodumene (E, 107k, WangXian, Modern AU, Angst with a Happy Ending, Romance, Persuasion au, Separations, Mutual Pining, Depression, Miscommunication, Emotional Roller Coaster, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Reconciliation, Eventual Smut, Jane Austen Fusion, Underage Kissing)

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9. Hiiiiiiiiii, How are you guys?

Im in the mood for a modern au fic where lwj and wwx are in a committed relationship but break up due to wwx over-committment to the wens or jiangs. It can be because they dont get to spend enough time together or its taking a toll on wwx and they fight about it. Whatever it is - i want wwx to be the one who realises things and has to make amends. Happy endings ofcourse.

I have seen many fics along this plot line BUT lwj is always the one apologizing and putting in the extra effort to be accommodating. It might just be me but i dont think thats fair. So pleeeeeeease recommend some fics where wwx puts in the work to fix things

KILF (Knits I'd Like To Fuck in) by ScarlettStorm (E, 168k, wangxian, modern, sex work, fiber arts, 2nd in series) is a long fic but it has a fight at the end of chapter 17 which is related to WWX being overcommitted (partly to JWY, I guess), and he has to be the one to try and make that right. They don’t break up, but it is a significant fight.

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10. Hey! I’ve never really done one of these but figured I might as well give it a shot. I recall in one of your posts you recommended Stunted, Starving Juvenility. Long story short, I took it and ran away with it. Now I’m pleading for any similar Fics like Stunted Starving Juvenility (Preferably no slow burns unless it’s really good) @neverforgetyou-1

Silenced With A Kiss by NinjaKK (E, 120k, WIP, WangXian, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, Flirting, Teen Romance, Cloud Recesses Shenanigans, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Soft WangXian, WWX in WWX’s Body, Secret Relationship, Falling In Love, First Kiss, First Dates, Inventor WWX, Genius WWX, Canon Divergence, Protective LWJ, Protective WWX, Ripple Effect, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Optional Smut, Supportive LWJ, BAMF WWX, Inappropriate Use of Gūsū Lán Forehead Ribbon, Has an Angry LWJ Kink)

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11. heyyy sorry for bothering you guys. itmf for more fics like Concord by deastar (currently in the angsty mood, specifically wwx feeling sad) thank you for your hard work! @aquiver-heart

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12. In the mood for fics where either lwj/ wwx is something akin to butler in A) canon era/ canonverse B) modern or 19XXs or future ✨

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13. Hi! Any fanfic about junior shenanigans saw how scary wwx is? (Especially when they saw the Yiling Laozu Era)

Thank you so much! @just-for-browsing-stuffs

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14. Itmf fics where person X is " as long as I'm here, no one can hurt you... " To person Y

A) X= lwj and Y= wwx

B) X= wwx and Y= jc and/or jyl

C) X is anyone, Y is wwx

Haha sorry for this format of asking, but I can't help it, I've been doing maths for hours now...

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15. Hello! For the next itmf I was looking for a fic where NHS asks WWX for help with NMJ’s saber cultivation problem and WWX manages to save him and prevent him from dying. Ideally with 3zun too but it’s fine if not. Thanks!

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) It's WWX going to NHS asking for help, but otherwise fits the request

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16. First part added to a Finder post ~Mod L // Also I would like more fics where wwx has a tiger/lion, i don't mind it being modern

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17. I want to read Wangxian future series watching fanfiction. Can someone suggest me few fanfiction in these genre @abz18699-blog

Characters watching/reading their series fic comp

Reaction_fanfics collection Try Oracle of Pearl . It's Future Viewing series of Wangxian.

Wangxian: Oracle pearl by Abby18699 (G, 183k, WIP, Wang Xian, ChengQing, NieLan, XuanLi, Sunshot Campaign, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Future, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Güsü Lán Juniors Dynamics, JC Needs a Hug, Characters React to Fandom, Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Pining LWJ, Soft LWJ, LWJ Needs a Hug, Inventor WWX, Chief Cultivator LWJ, Oblivious WWX, Characters watching future, Implied Mpreg)

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

[muddyorbsblr]

winter warmers collection: all wrapped up

See all the Winter Warmers pieces here! See my full list of works here!

Summary: After getting in hot water with Fury about his shenanigans that revolve around candy cane, you give Loki some advice on how to seduce someone if he really wants to go down the red and white striped road. Even if it hurt you to do so.

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: 18+ | unrequited love-themed angst; smut (minors and pearl clutchers i better not see you here if you know what's good for you); p in v; oral (f receiving)

Things to be aware of: besties to lovers; some fluff peppered in there to keep it interesting

"A Team, I swear on God, Allah, and whoever else is up there in that great big blue sky that if I catch wind of one more infraction from Laufeyson, I will forbid him from exiting this floor without at least one member of the team chaperoning him to make sure that this shit will not happen again. Do I make myself clear?"

You all looked up at Fury, who was standing at the top of the stairs whereas the rest of you parked yourselves into the seats strewn about in the common room. He exuded irritation and authority in his all black getup topped with a leather trench coat, looking down at each member of the team as if you were rambunctious toddlers who had a food fight in the dining room around the fine china rather than fully grown adults rightfully confused why once again he was giving a lecture on how to handle Loki.

"Director Fury, with all due respect, what exactly did Loki do this time?" you queried, not daring to look a the raven haired god by the island currently engaged in a hushed conversation with his brother Thor. You suspected it had something to do with his notorious flirting ways with the employees of SHIELD anyways.

"Let's start with the most frequent complaints I've been hearing," the director began while descending the stairs. "He's been dressing up in a red and white striped skin-tight neoprene jumpsuit and asking employees if they wanna--Hold on, you two!" He pointed at Parker and Bishop who were sitting closer to the door, Kate carrying Stark's little girl in her lap. "Out of the room. You're too young to hear this. Take Morgan with you."

"Well shit," the little Stark uttered, making everyone turn their heads toward Tony as the three children made their way out of the common room.

"What can I say she takes after her father," Stark proudly said with an exaggerated shrug. "Continue, matey."

"I resent that," Fury shot back. "As I was saying, neoprene red and white suit, approaching employees and asking if they would like to lick his candy cane." As soon as the words flew out of Fury's mouth, Sam and Bucky broke out into fits of laughter, asking Loki if he could lend them some of his shamelessness.

You did your best to ignore the irrational white hot needles of jealously spearing through your heart at the unsurprising knowledge that yes, this meeting was about the god once again sexually propositioning anything and anyone with two legs. Of course he would constantly try with every single person he could come across. Of course he was never satisfied with whoever he brought to bed that weekend; hell, with the mental tally you kept, you found that a woman was lucky if she was even brought back for a second time.

It wasn't even like this behavior took you by surprise. Thor had once regaled you with stories of how virile his brother had been in the parties they had back in Asgard. How many princes, princesses, debutantes, and dignitaries he had corrupted in his chambers.

The blond Asgardian meant well, of course, only trying to get you all to see his brother as something more than the possessed version of himself that the initial 6 members fought back in 2012. His ridiculous stories even paved the way for you to be able to strike a conversation with the god of mischief when he did arrive on Earth, eventually giving you both the opportunity to be quite good friends.

And yet it still stung whenever you had to reconcile with the reality that that was your ceiling; that was all you'd ever be. The friend he could conspire with to play pranks on the rest of the team, the one he could drag along to try out restaurants that you just knew he was going to bring a date to as soon as you gave your thumbs up. The cuddle buddy at movie nights with the team where he'd get so bored he ended up asleep with his head resting on your shoulder.

You had all those parts of him that he never shared with any of those other people. That should be enough. That was enough.

Except for the days when you'd get constantly reminded that it meant you didn't have all of him. You simply got the rest of him when those people who shared his bed had concluded with getting the best of him. And today, with Fury holding over the threat of undergoing a two-day seminar on sexual harassment over the heads of every member of the team? Today was definitely one of those days.

"Director Fury, let me be the one to sincerely apologize for my brother's infractions. I assure you that we will not allow for this to happen again," Thor announced, walking over to Fury and clapping a hand on his shoulder.

"I'm holding you to this," he addressed the god, before turning his gaze to roam over everyone in the room. "All of you." And then he walked out of the room, shaking his head as his leather trench coat trailed behind him almost like a cape.

"Mischief, you idiot," you grumbled, storming up and out of your seat and marching toward the stairs. "Why did you have to do that in public?" You ignored the amused smirk on his face at how you chose to cap off your question. "I mean if you really wanted to seduce someone the red and white neoprene was not the way to go. You wanna seduce a chick? Show up in her bed with nothing but red ribbon wrapped around you like you're the goddamn present, and if you really insist on the candy cane thing then spiral the ribbon along the length of your--Wait hold the fuck up why am I enabling this??"

"Doll face, please keep enabling this," Bucky joked from his seat, earning glares from everyone in the room. "What? I mean I figured if I wanna up my game with beautiful women I should consult the most beautiful woman I know," he explained, motioning toward you. The honesty in his words brought a smile to your face without much effort. Why couldn't you just get over your stupid infatuation with your friend and go for someone who was actually outspoken in wanting to be with you?

"Alright," you relented with an exaggerated sigh. "Just for you, Sergeant." He leaned forward to make a show of him listening intently to your next words. "Find a way to sneak in music. If she's into the campiness of the holiday, then use one of those sexy sounding Christmas songs. And for fuck's sake, ready a drink or a snack or something. You both will be exhausted and she'll appreciate that you actually bothered to think about aftercare."

"And what about the ones who just wanna hump 'em and dump 'em like your bestie Mischief here?" Sam's words simultaneously caused Loki to let out a low grumbling sound in the veteran's direction, as well as unleashed a fit of cackles from you.

"Truly, darling?" Loki deadpanned, the slightest lilt in his voice toward the end.

"I mean you do have that reputation, Mischief," you said through your giggles. "But honestly, Sam? Do it anyway. Choose violence and ruin her for everyone else but you."

Your words broke the room out into raucous applause as you made a show of curtsying and blowing kisses to the other members of the team. "Now see here, if you actually took the time to listen to her, Jack Frost, then maybe Fury wouldn't have threatened us with a two-day seminar," Tony remarked, immediately returning your sour mood.

"Literally nobody here needs a two-day seminar on what constitutes as sexual harassment," you seethed, leaning against the nearby wall. "We know that when the pipi's shown without consent that counts. We know that if someone puts their hands on us or makes inappropriate comments when we've shown no tangible signs of attraction and interest, that that absolutely counts." You glared at the raven haired Asgardian who was currently approaching you slowly. "Loki if I have to sit through two days of people spelling out the exceedingly obvious to me because you couldn't keep it in your pants, I swear on you, Thor, and every other deity there is out there that I will cut someone--"

You words were cut off as the god tugged on your wrist and pulled you into his arms, his free hand cradling the back of your head. "I know. I know, darling, I'm sorry. I didn't realize it would hold consequences for you as well. It will not happen again."

"Agent Y/L/N, you should be out celebrating with your friends. At least your team. They're all already upstairs getting ready to exchange gifts. The paperwork can wait for the new year, I guarantee you everybody will be too drunk off their ass to even file them correctly. You'd be doing them a favor handing them in late."

You looked at Fury with an amused disbelief in your eyes. "Never thought you'd be a bad influence on us, Boss," you answered him with a chuckle. "I'm almost done anyway. I'll just…conveniently forget to turn it in until the first week of January."

"Atta girl. Oh, and before I forget, good job with Laufeyson."

Your brows knitted together in confusion. "Boss, I--I haven't worked with Loki on any missions for the last few months…"

"I'm talking about his behavior. I haven't heard any new complaints about him being a sleaze to anyone ever since that last time that I called you all in. Asked his brother about it and he just said that I 'have Y/N to thank for that'. So whatever you did, good work."

"You might not be saying that once you find out that all I did was tell him that if I ended up wasting away two perfectly good days parking my ass in a sexual harassment seminar that I would stab someone." Your words made him bellow in a fit of hearty laughs. "So really, whatever it is, it wasn't me. Wish I could tell you who to thank, though."

"Whatever you say, Y/L/N." Fury shrugged as he walked away from your desk. "Happy Holidays and all that."

"Happy Holidays," you mumbled as you finished up the last of the paperwork, putting the forms aside so that you could work on the tags for your presents to the team. You'd just begun to start on Wanda's gift when you saw movement coming toward your desk from the corner of your  eye. The silhouette was more than enough for you to surmise who it was.

"Darling, you should come upstairs." You kept at your gift tags as Loki kept approaching you, only stopping when he was in front of your desk. "I can only guard your plate for so long until my brother makes a play for it."

His jab at Thor had you chuckling quietly to yourself before you took a deep breath and returned to the lettering for Wanda's tag. "I'll be up in about twenty minutes, Mischief. Thanks." You looked up and the sight before you had you using all your strength not to make it known that your heart had dropped and shattered to the ground.

He was holding two rolls of red ribbon. One about two inches thick, the other less than half an inch thick. You were immediately brought back to your conversation with him a few weeks ago, about what he would do if he really wanted to seduce someone. He followed your gaze to the items in his hand and gave you a sheepish smile. "Let it be known I always listen to perfectly sound advice, dear Y/N," he said with a playful wink as he walked away from your desk. "I'll see you upstairs."

"Good luck," you blurted out, forcing a contrived smile onto your face as he turned around to look at you. "Whoever she is, I'm sure she'll love it." He simply  answered you with a devastatingly brilliant smile as he walked into the elevator; you waited until the doors closed before you allowed the tears to start welling in your eyes, not bothering to even wipe them away as they rolled down your cheeks.

Half an hour later you were heading up to the little party that Stark threw together for the team, your presents for each of them placed under the tree and you dressed up in an A-line tea-length dress with spaghetti straps set in a deep green rather than the more traditional and predictable poinsettia red.

"Lady Y/N!" You turned around to see Thor already halfway through a glass of whatever liquor his massive mug held. "Quite the choice of attire for tonight. I'm positive my brother would be more than flattered." He motioned toward your dress, the knowledge that you were currently wearing Loki's colors only now making itself known to you and quickly sinking into a feeling of utter mortification. "Ohh! And it is quite fortunate that I found you so early in the night; my brother told me that if I were to see you, I am to tell you that  he will not be attending this party as he is preparing a present…?"

"Yeah, I know about the present, Thunder." His eyes lit up in a strange mixture of excitement and fear. "He passed by my desk earlier and he was holding rolls of ribbon. He's the present. He's off to seduce some Midgardian girl. Lucky bitch." You finished your sentence with a huff, tilting your head toward the ceiling and willing yourself not to start tearing up in front of Thor; he wasn't nearly drunk enough to forget this yet.

"Oh no…" he signed, lightly placing a hand on your shoulder. "My friend, surely by now you know--"

"You know what? I'm over it," you blurted out, throwing your hands up in surrender. "He can do whatever he wants, he's a big boy he can take care of himself." You placed your hand over his. "Happy Holidays, Thunder."

A few minutes of picking at the food on your plate decided your course of action for the night. And none of it involved staying with the team as they merrily exchanged their presents and got so drunk off their asses that they'd be unable to take care of themselves in the morning. You declared yourself the designated caretaker to the children and the team tomorrow and began the journey back to your apartment.

"Babes!" You turned around to find Natasha and Wanda arm in arm, drinks in hand. "You're leaving already?" You nodded at them. "Nooooo but you just got here and you look hot and we haven't even exchanged presents yet."

"I'm not in the partying mood, Babes," you answered with a sad smile. "I'll only be a downer. You all go open presents without me I'll probably just bully Thor into gathering mine for me so I can open them in my apartment tomorrow or something."

"Really? Not Loki?" Wanda queried, slurring her words and swaying slightly in Nat's hold.

The bitterness seeped into your heart again as you answered, "He's not here tonight. Too busy getting busy. Probably with someone from Operations or where the fuck ever."

"But I thought--"

"Wan, it's fine," Nat cut off the sorceress. "Y/N, Babes, you don't have to stay if you're not feeling up to it. We'll see you in the morning." They both approached you and wrapped you into a stumbling embrace. "Besides, at least one person in the unholy trinity should be sober in the morning to take care of the others' hungover asses."

"Carbo load," you told them simply. "There's a tray of pasta in the catering table, I checked. And if that's not enough, I'll see about making you two some grilled cheeses after the party wraps up."

"You're the best," Wanda sighed, resting her head on your shoulder. "Merry ho ho."

You couldn't help but let out a laugh as you pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Merry ho ho, Wanda." Nat helped pull her off of you so that could continue heading up to your apartment. Once you were only a few more meters away from home, your phone rang. A look at the Caller ID had your heart pumping erratically. Loki.

"Just in case no one's told you yet, darling," he spoke once you answered the call. "You look resplendent. Absolutely regal."

You scoffed into the phone, rolling your eyes at his words. "You're not even here, Mischief. I could be wearing a potato sack for all you know."

"And even then my words would still ring true."

Dammit, why did he have to make it so hard to not love him?Life would be so much easier if those words didn't hit me right in the heart. You sighed at his usual brand of what you lovingly referred to as "friendzone flirting". "So that was fast," you commented, your poor attempt at steering the conversation toward him and far away from you.

"What was?"

"Your seduction," you said as plainly as you could manage. "I know what that ribbon was for, Mischief. Don't even think about placing that back in the gift wrapping stock when you're done with it."

"Not quite," he answered you with a light laugh. "See, it hasn't begun yet."

You could feel what little food you had at the party start to come up at his implication. So he was calling you before he fucked his latest conquest because what? Why? Because he was bored waiting for her to put on her lingerie that he was gonna snap of anyways?

"Where are you, Y/N?" he asked with an even voice, as if he were almost cooing.

"Walking back to my apartment.  Actually scratch that. I'm right at the door," you answered as you unlocked the front door. When you were finally inside, you were taken aback at the sight of a golden drinks trolley by the entry table, containing two mugs, a jar of what you assumed was powdered sugar, a box that said Harry & David Hot Cocoa Bombs, and little containers of marshmallows, candy canes, and a little cinnamon shaker. "What the--"

"I used my key to your apartment to place my present for you." Something in his tone made it obvious to you that he was nervous about this.

"You got me a hot cocoa bar? That's--Damn, Mischief, I don't know what to say--"

"That's not quite the present, darling," he cut you off. "That's for after."

"After?" You walked toward your bedroom, ready to just kick off your heels and soak in the tub until you felt your unwarranted heartache melt away. "After what?"

Something from his end made you stop in your tracks. You could hear a woman's voice from his end, which was expected. What wasn't expected what that the voice…was yours.

"Loki, where are you?" you asked shakily, your heart beginning to pound in your chest as your brain tried to reconcile what you thought was happening. You pressed your ear to your door, dreading both the answer and what you would hear from your bedroom.

"Laying in bed, darling." Your free hand clutched at your chest as you heard his voice both from the phone pressed to your ear and from the door. He was there. "Truthfully my plans for tonight were not to seduce another nameless faceless Midgardian whose face I would end up enchanting in order for them to resemble the visage of the one I truly wish to share my bed."

"Really now?" you breathed out, your mind running a mile at minute at his words. At what they implied. "And what exactly were your plans for tonight, Mischief?"

"To lay out my heart to the woman who owns it, as well as my body if she'll have me. See, she and everyone around us have this image of me that I am a philanderer, and I fear that even if I tell her the truth of my whorish ways that she would simply choose to not believe me. I would understand. After all, it would not be so easy to believe that in my mind I have only ever been with her, that as I mentioned earlier I enchant the faces of those I lay with so that my eyes see her face looking up at me instead of an insignificant stranger's. That I love her beyond comprehension and seeing the obvious pain in her eyes the last few weeks as she looked upon me have felt like someone had taken my own daggers to my heart and twisted the blade. I knew I had to make right the wrongs I hadn't even been aware I'd done."

"Loki--"

"Open the door, darling. Please." You could hear his voice wavering as he said the words. "Let me see you."

You took a deep breath as you clutched your door handle, bracing yourself for whatever sight may greet you. Though you already knew what you would see: His godly form bared and wrapped in a festive red ribbon. Like a present.

Your present.

The image of him performing the over the top gesture in your imagination, however, was nothing compared to seeing said gesture with your own eyes. He truly was one of those exceptions wherein reality surpassed fantasy.

You steeled your expression into one of feigned indifference, one that he absolutely saw right through but you did it regardless, as your eyes roamed his sculpted physique, the red ribbon wrapped intricately around his torso that would come off in a dramatic flourish with one tug at the bow settled on the center of his chest. And attached to the thicker ribbon wrapped around him was the thinner ribbon leading to--

Goddamn he really did it. Candy cane dick.

"You look so divine it would put all the goddesses in Olympus and Asgard alike to shame," he spoke softly. You instinctively looked away to prevent yourself from any rash decisions when his eyes roamed over your body and you saw the candy cane twitch.

"And you look ridiculous," you choked out, your voice not even holding a shred of conviction. A lie so bad you may as well have worn a neon red sign saying This bitch lying.

He held out his hand towards you, beckoning you to him. "Come here and unwrap your present then, my love."

Your knees buckled at his words. "Your love," you echoed, though your tone was so laced with doubt that it sounded more like a question than anything else. When you reached your bed and placed your hand in his he sat up on the bed and pulled your hand toward him, placing a kiss on your knuckles.

"Yes," he answered you with a soft smile, his eyes looking up at you with such veneration it stole whatever breath you had left in your lungs. He placed his hands on either side of your body as he pulled you close enough so that he could press several kisses to your clothed stomach. "It's you, darling. Since the moment your eyes met mine."

His hands traveled down to the sides of your thighs, guiding you to rest your knees on either side of him on the bed, straddling his hips. Once your faces were level, you could see so clearly the emotions swimming in his eyes as he leaned forward to press a soft kiss to your cheek, so gently it was almost as if he were afraid you'd break.

"Then why all those--"

"I valued your company too much that I dared not risk it simply because I desired your body," he explained in hushed tones, as if he was confessing to you, as if they were words of contrition. "You were too precious for me to lose to my own lust. And so whenever I felt the urge to shatter our friendship, I would find another to unleash those desires upon. It mattered not who. Even when I would deceive my own eyes I knew it would never be enough, and--"

"And in the process of finding another after another with the intention of preserving our friendship, you instead shattered me," you cut him off, your bottom lip quivering and your heart breaking with the effort you were exerting to not sob and yell your words out. "Every. Single. Time." He pulled away to look into your eyes, already brimming with unshed tears threatening to escape. Your next words barely came out a whisper. "I can't. I refuse to be another notch in your bedpost."

"You won't be," he pleaded, brushing the tips of his fingers lightly across your cheek. "I love you, Y/N. You are all I would ever desire. All I have ever desired since the moment we met."

You placed your hands on his shoulders, bracing yourself both physically and emotionally for the next words you were about to let out. "I love you, Loki." The smile on his face was so blindingly brilliant and rife with relief as he leaned in with the clear intent of pressing his lips to yours; however, you pushed back against his shoulders, earning you a confused look from the god. "If we do this, the sleeping around stops. Okay? Because I won't share you—"

He silenced you by pulling you towards him, your chests flush against each other, claiming your lips in a kiss that oozed of yearning and ages of repressed love. The moment you opened your mouth to him and your tongues met, you both sighed into each other's mouths in audible contentment. "I am yours, my love," he panted as he pulled away. "All of me. I do not intend to be shared, just as I have no intentions of sharing you if you would be mine."

His. That sounded like a dream. A beautiful fantasy too blissful to be true. "Yours…" You tested the word on your tongue as if it was such a foreign concept. "I'd like that," you said softly as you ran your hands along his shoulders, traveling down to his chest and the bow situated in its center, a loving smile stretching across his face as you did so. "So…if I tug on this it all comes falling off?" 

He placed his hand over yours, placing a tender kiss on your neck before whispering against your skin, "We need not go further if you're not ready to be intimate with me yet. We could stay doing exactly what we were just moments ago for the rest of  and I would be content. Because it's you. I am finally with you." He traced his lips along your jaw and up back to your mouth, claiming it once again in a soft kiss. "Only when you are ready, tell me. Or tug on the end of the bow and—"

"Yeah you can save the speech, Mischief. I'm ready," you cut him off, pulling at the end of the bow and watching the ribbon unravel with a dramatic flourish down to the bed. "I love you, and I want you to make me yours." His smile turned mischievous as he pulled the entirety of the ribbon off and away from him, his hands then returning to your thighs, skimming under the hem of your dress. "You're not pretending anymore," you cooed.

"And yet a fraction of this reality with you is worlds better than any illusion I'd ever conjured." His words sounded so reverent that they alone sent a rush of arousal pooling between your legs, worsening the state of your already drenched panties. His hands inched up slowly, hiking up the bottom of your dress along the way. He looked at you with an uncharacteristically timidity in his eyes, as if he was asking for permission. "May I?"

His hesitation unleashed something you could only describe as desperate in you. Desperate for more of his touch. His kisses. That lust he'd mentioned earlier that he didn't want to risk losing you to. You wanted him to lose himself to that desire now. Craved it, even. Your words from weeks ago echoed in your mind, a wicked grin playing at the corners of your mouth as they came to the forefront of your thoughts.

You wanted to ruin him. For everyone else but you. And vice versa.

As if he hadn't already ruined you the moment you walked in and spotted him all wrapped up like the best Christmas present you'd ever receive for the rest of your days.

You ran your hands down the length of his arms, hooking them under the bunched up hem of your dress and pulling the garment over your head, haphazardly throwing it down to the floor, joining the ribbon. His eyes lit up as his gaze roamed all the newly exposed skin to him, immediately leaning forward and pressing his lips to the skin above your heart and proceeding to trace the outline of your bra with his lips. "No more pretending," he breathed out, the slightly cool air of his exhalation chilling your heated skin by the slightest.

"No more pretending," you echoed with a satisfied grin pulling at your mouth. You brought your hands to his shoulders once more, urging him to look at you. Once he did you pressed a fevered kiss to his lips before groaning against him, "But I want you to fuck me as if you were."

Loki pulled your hips flush against his, both of you letting out an obscene moan as your drenched clothed core made contact with his hardened member. "No," he growled, reaching behind you to undo your bra, the undergarment falling unceremoniously to the ground and joining your dress. "Perhaps another night, my darling." He maneuvered your bodies until you were laying down on the bed, him hovering over you and looking up at you through his lashes. "This is not something that deserves to be over in minutes."

"Minutes?" you huffed in utter shock and disbelief. "What happened, they tap out?"

"Frustration on my part," he answered you simply, beginning to trail kisses across your collarbone and down your chest. "Because despite my greatest efforts my mind could not be deceived. They weren't you. None of them were you." He went on a path down your body, briefly taking each of your nipples into his mouth and laving his tongue over the stiffened peak, down your stomach, and stopping at your mound. "I can tell you now, my love, that this will not last for mere minutes. I intend to take my time with you."

As soon as he said those words, you let out a sharp gasp as he so effortlessly snapped apart the sides of your panties and pulled the fabric off of your body, proceeding to place your thighs on his shoulders and lift you off the bed. Just enough that your shoulders and upper back were still laying flat, but also enough that it would take great effort for you to find the leverage to squirm away from him if you wanted to.

You twisted your body in his hold so much that he seemingly casually laid his forearm across your lower stomach as he continued to subject you to wave after wave of relentless pleasure, steadily ramping you up to an orgasm that threatened to leave you boneless. "Oh my darling," he groaned against your skin, the vibrations from his voice sending a delicious thrill throughout your entire body. "I could devour you for hours."

The whimper that escaped your mouth felt so uncharacteristic for you. Then again everything about tonight felt unfamiliar to some degree. "Loki," you whined, prompting him to close his lips around your clit and flick his tongue mercilessly against the overly sensitive bundle of nerves, and letting out a scandalous moan against the desperately over-sensitized nub that send you over the edge. You screamed his name as your back arched off the bed, the haze of your climax making you only vaguely aware of how he held you still as you rode out your release on his tongue.

He set your legs back down on the bed and you were thankful for the reprieve, allowing you a few moments to catch your breath; however, the rest was short lived, as he gripped your hips and pulled you toward him until your ass sat atop his thighs, and he placed a hand under your back to prop you up and face him, pulling you in for a kiss so deliciously carnal as your tongues tangled together and you could taste yourself on him.

"I love you," he panted once he pulled away, bringing his hand down between you and lining his cock up at your entrance. He wrapped his other arm around you and held you close, pressing his lips softly along your neck and shoulder as you eased yourself onto him inch by inch, biting your lip as you felt the mixture of pain and pleasure as your walls stretched to accommodate him.

He moaned against your neck once you'd fully sheathed him inside of you, the backs of your thighs resting deliciously on the tops of his. You laid your hand on his chest as the other wrapped around the back of his neck, doing your best to move and set a pace for you both but even the slightest shift sent rippling shocks of pleasure all over your body that all you could do was rest your head against his shoulder and desperately whimper his name time and time again.

Those whimpers quickly became moans as he held your hips firmly and began to guide your body up and down along his length, capturing your lips in a desperate, nearly harsh kiss that proved effective in muffling the tell-tale screams of pleasure being elicited from both of you.

What started as a tender, sensual pace quickly turned frenzied as you both began to chase each other's pleasure, your hips finally moving of their own accord and allowing his hands to roam your body, his lips doing much of the same. When your paces grew staggered he moved you to lie back on the bed, your back once again flat against the mattress, and he hooked your legs around his waist as he drove into you mercilessly.

"Please," you cried out, feeling the coil tightening in your lower stomach once again. "I don't think--"

"Oh you can, my love," he countered you as he pressed his lips to your shoulder in a sloppy open mouthed kiss, your brain fogging once more as you felt him flicking his tongue against your skin, and his hand moving between you to start rubbing tight circles on the swollen bud. "Come with me," he coaxed as he proceeded to kiss along the shell of your ear, your moans echoing around your bedroom as his thrusts became slower, but harder.

Your legs shook with how hard your climax hit you, not even thinking you could manage it since you'd never done it before, but it truly didn't take you by surprise that Loki had managed to do just that as he somehow hit every sweet spot inside of you with every move. He reached his own peak as your walls clenched around him, his hips jerking against yours as he finally reached his release inside of you.

"You know, if I'm gonna be honest, I would've thought that you would've gone for the gold ribbon," you told Loki as you two were sat at the little kitchen island in your apartment, both of you nursing your own mug of hot cocoa as the god held your calf in his free hand, his thumb gently stroking your skin. "I know we had some in the stock room last I checked."

"Well, my darling, you would be correct. But when I arrived at the stock room earlier today someone else had already taken the gold. That was when I knew I had to hasten my steps, make it here before…" he trailed off.

"Before what?" you asked with a chuckle.

He took a deep breath before placing his mug down and reaching over to take yours from your hand, setting it down as well, before he pulled you back onto his lap and captured your lips in a kiss that felt both possessive and desperate all at once. "This does mean that you are mine now, dear Y/N. Yes?" he asked when he pulled away, shock flooding your system when you saw the vulnerability in his eyes as he said the words.

"Of course," you breathed out, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You're stuck with me now, Mischief."

"I would have it no other way, my love." He wrapped his arms around you, one of his hands reaching up to weave his fingers through your hair. "Y/N before I made it to your apartment, I'd heard that one of the men on our team was trying to find a way into your apartment to follow the advice you'd given us weeks ago as well."

That reveal had taken you aback, your eyes widening as your brain tried to process the new information. "I'll be honest, Loki. If I walked in here and found someone else ribbon-clad in my bed I would've kicked them out. Walk of shame style. Tonight wouldn't have ended the way it did if it wasn't you."

Those words made him pull you in for another kiss, sighing into your mouth as he pulled you even closer to him, your bodies completely flush against each other.

"I'm glad you got the red, though," you said, a wicked smile pulling at the corners of your mouth as he looked at you with confusion rife in his icy stare. "I liked the candy cane look on you." You struggled to move away from him as he trapped you in his arms, proceeding to tickle your sides and render you into a giggling mess.

"My beautiful little menace," he chuckled as his onslaught ceased, pressing a kiss to your cheek. "Do you not even wish to know who it was that would have walked in shame out of your apartment had you found him instead?"

"You know what…I kinda am…mostly because I want to picture their walk of shame in gold ribbon. Who was it?"

You broke out into another fit of laughter, your body shaking uncontrollably as he held you against him as soon as he uttered the name. "Barnes."

A/N: Omg I'm so happy to finally finish this story and finish off the idea that's been running around my brain since Monday 😂 "Candy Cane Dick" story is finally done. SAS, if you know you know 😏

Everything tag list: @lokisgoodgirl @lokischambermaid @imalovernotahater @mygfloki @lucylaufeyson3 @thomase1 @springdandelixn @fictive-sl0th @mochie85 @laliceee @xorpsbane @gigglingtigger @silverfire475 @cabingrlandrandomcrap @vickie5446 @salempoe @lokixryss @sinsandguilt @lokidbadguy @alexakeyloveloki @glitterylokislut @arch-venus25 @freefrommars @littlemortals @cakesandtom @girl-of-multi-fandoms @mischief2sarawr @thedistractedagglomeration @five-miles-over @goblingirlsarah @peaches1958 @huntress-artemiss @lilibet261 @iobsessoverfictionalmen @holymultiplefandomsbatman @lovingchoices14 @avoliax @devilsadvocactus @purplegrrl27 @lokiprompts @sititran @imherefortomhiddleston @ladyjames78 @stupidthoughtsinwriting @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @kats72 @ronnieissupermegafoxyawesomehot @creationsbyme @coldnique

#loki x reader #loki x female reader #loki smut #loki x reader smut #loki fanfiction #loki fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfiction #muddyorbs writes

[guzhufuren]

China 🇨🇳 A Guide to Some of the Best Queer Asian Shows

Full list here.

Most chinese shows are adapted from explicitly queer novels, the shows are undeniably and obviously queer, but nevertheless the queer romance part is censured. The only exception is number 4 on the list, it is not censored.

1. The Untamed period drama; fantasy

An epic fantasy led by a problem child who comes back from the dead 16 years later in order to fix the broken world he left behind — and finally unite with his soulmate.

YouTube

2. Word of Honor period drama; fantasy

The leader of assassin organisation Zhou Zishu quits his position in pursuit of freedom with drastic measures. In his travels, he meets Wen Kexing, the leader of Ghost Valley who wants nothing but revenge. The two become entangled in various machinations within the martial arts world, and eventually become soulmates instrumental in each other's redemption.

YouTube & Special Episode on Tumblr or DailyMotion

3. Couple of Mirrors wlw; period drama; socialite/assassin

You Yi is a kind-hearted socialite and a successful author. Her perfect life is turned upside-down when she discovers a betrayal by the two most trusted people in her life. With no one left to turn to, she finds refuge in the friendship and support of Yan Wei, a lonely female killer disguised as the owner of a photo studio.

YouTube. the show doesn’t have a happy ending, but it can be a happy ending for you if you stop watching at episode 12 timestamp 28:02.

4. Stay With Me enemies to lovers; high school setting; unconventional families; slow burn

Su Yu is a high school student who lives with his single poor father. Su Yu gets a new classmate Wu Bi. The two clash right from the start, and after getting off on the wrong foot, their explosive relationship takes a turn.

YouTube or GagaOOLala. the show doesn’t have a happy ending, but it can be a happy ending for you if you stop watching at episode 24 timestamp 05:00. OR watch the full thing and look at this post after

5. The Spirealm inside of a video game; mystery; fantasy; horror-ish; hopeful ending

A game designer Lin Qiushi is transported inside of a game he recently played, and now he must go through 12 horrifying survivor game doors to survive in the real world. Inside his first door he meets Ruan Nanzhu, a mysterious man who offers him to team up.

The show was taken down from streaming, download files here and subtitles here.

Various WLW mini web-dramas here.

Various WLW short films here.

#mygifs #mine #chinese ql

[running-with-the-feels]

I have returned! With Liu Kang headcanons in tow! Also, this is reallyyy long so no pressure to give an in-depth response.

Liu Kang was born in a small village in Henan Province, China. Due to the small size of the village, home births were common with the only doctor being the local healer. His mother experienced complications while birthing him and ended up dying, leaving his father to raise him alone. His parents had already been struggling with poverty before but now that his mother was gone his father had less time to work. Forcing him to choose between work or raising his son, his father chose to care for him.

Kang’s father was a kind man, the kind to give the clothes off his own back away even if he needed them more. He taught him everything he knew. How to forge and prepare food, how to read and write, the best way to clean, how to fix problems around the house. Have a leak? Don’t know if this mushroom is edible? Liu Kang can help! While he knows the basics of how to do these things he is far from a professional.

Eventually, this caught up to him as he had gotten food poisoning from the rotten food, having given the fresh food to Kang. He died when Kang was six. He buried his father next to his mother in the backyard with a wooden stake as a gravestone.

He lived alone for a little over a year before a Shaolin monk passing through town saw no one cared for him and asked if he wanted to come to the monastery. After some convincing (a promise and deal with the village that his home wouldn’t be touched) he agreed.

Kung Lao is a year older than him, being 8 while Kang was 7 when they met. Lao was ecstatic to have someone around his age around and quickly befriended him.

Kang, despite having what he assumed was a normal upbringing, had a lot of unresolved trauma (mostly from his year alone) and didn’t know how to properly navigate social situations. He had unknowingly internalized a lot of his father’s bad behaviors, especially his self-sacrificial tendencies.

Lao being a fairly normal child didn’t realize this and just thought he was a bit strange and quiet. Constantly asking if Liu Kang was going to finish his food Kang, not wanting to disappoint his new friend, would give him what he had. This came to a head when Liu Kang fainted from lack of nutrition and Lao was thoroughly chewed out by a medic for taking food from an obviously malnourished kid.

Liu Kang has stunted growth as an adult only standing 5"6' when he should be around 5"8'. While short, he is very broad. Broader than Kuai Liang despite being a good amount of inches shorter.

He awakened his pyromancy when he was 10 while sparring (read: play fighting) with Kung Lao. Lao had just gotten the upper hand and Kang, in a panic, grabbed his wrist, and the next thing they knew Lao was screaming and clutching his burnt wrist. He got bandaged by a medic and promised Kang he wasn't scared of him and that "a little fire" wouldn't change anything. Even going as far as to encourage Kang to use fire against him.

Kung Lao looks at the burn fondly now, jokingly calling it the one time Liu Kang didn't pull his punches against him.

While both are pyromancy, Liu Kang and Hanzo's fire work very differently. Kang's fire is genetic and is closer to cryomancy in function (but, like with fire instead of ice). Unlike Hanzo, Kang can be burned (though he has a massive resistance) in the same way cryomancers can get frostbite. Also his magic naturally settles in his lower stomach while Hanzo's sits in his chest.

If I were to describe Liu Kang in one word it'd be repressed. He doesn't want to burden others with his feelings and is more than happy to never talk about it. Only ever talking about it once with Lao when they were preteens. And that was because it slipped out, not because he genuinely wanted to breach the topic. He's gotten better with age, but whenever his feelings are singled out he shuts down.

He doesn't believe he should be selfish (even though it's not selfish) and should be grateful for what he has. His father raised him to be grateful and the Shaolin taught him similarly, acting selfishly would be like spitting on their faces. He needs to be grateful to those who helped him, lest they throw him back on the streets.

And that's where the people-pleasing, self-destructive, and sacrificial tendencies come from! I'm moving onto happier headcanons now :)

He has a competitive streak, not that he'll admit it. And not many realize it. Johnny, none the wiser, challenged him to a cook off and Liu Kang took that seriously. An entire event was made with Earthrealm's defenders to judge the food. Honestly, the food was so good it just turned into a vote of whether you like Chinese or Italian food more. Kang won.

For the next few months, Liu Kang would give Johnny this look that he could only describe as smug. He thought he was going crazy because he was the only one who noticed it and everyone he told brushed him off because "Liu Kang's not like that". The only one who believed him was Kung Lao because he too had been on the receiving end of Kang's post-competition smugness.

Accidentally encouraged Sonya's kleptomania and was mortified when he realized it.

He secretly loves dirty jokes, but he never makes them unless he's either drunk, the opportunity is too good to pass up, or he's really comfortable with you. Even then it's rare. If the joke itself doesn't get you, the shock of it coming out of his mouth will.

If you think Hanzo has no brain to mouth filter when he's drunk, then Kang's 10x worse. Worse to the point they started a quote book that includes but is not limited to: "I sometimes wish I could get pregnant, I'd like to experience motherhood." "*Lao explaining something* Lao we literally took each other's virginity-" "*Loudly sighs and walks up to Jax, taking his cigar out of his mouth, then proceeding to smoke the stolen cigar as he walks away without a word.*" He is usually dragged home from the party by Kung Lao or Kitana, because, no, they don't need to know about our sex life.

Loves smoking but rarely does it because he knows it's bad for his health. At this point, he's convinced it's a pyromancer thing because the feeling of smoke in his lungs causes his powers to thrum. Prefers to use a pipe as they create less waste.

His type is long, dark haired, round eyed, people of prestigious descent, with bladed weaponry, who are taller than him. Being dangerous is a fun bonus.

This took forever to type and I'm going to bed now, looking forward to your thoughts in the morning <3

ohohohoohohoo yiiiiiiisssssssss

Liu Kang's headband is actually a piece of cloth from one of his mother's clothes that his father gave him to keep her close. He has fully burned ppl for trying to take it from him

Once Kung Lao realized how malnourished and self sacrificing Liu Kang was, he made it his mission to ensure that his friend ate. Lao would steal snacks from the kitchen and hand them to Liu whenever he wasn't paying attention and would also glare at anyone who tried to take food from the younger boy.

Because Liu Kang joined the monastery later than most, it took him a while to catch up to their skill, causing some of the other kids to tease him. Lao, once he learned, started fighting anyone who said a bad word about Liu, leading to them both getting in trouble over it.

It did also lead to their first kiss, with them having gotten in serious trouble after Lao broke a kids arm, so he kept trying to apologize to Liu over it, eventually causing Liu to kiss him to shut him up. As much as Liu Kang dislikes hurting the other monks, he can't deny that it feels nice to have someone so determined to protect him, even from their friends.

Lao is taller than him and consistently gloats about it, but he is also leaner which Liu never fails to point out.

Whenever the two are cuddling in bed, Liu will kiss the burn on Lao's hand as both an apology for it (which Lao always waves off) and an affectionate gesture.

Liu never talks about his feelings, even the positive ones, and it is one of the few things he and Lao fight about, with Lao wanting Liu to be more open so that he can support Liu the way Liu supports him

They also fought when Raiden chose Liu as his champion (and pls someone ask me about my Kung Lao hcs I Beg) bc Lao felt that it was unfair to pick one over the other when they where both equally skilled and Raiden could have easily brought both of them (which would be smarter) and Liu, not wanting the last time he saw Kung Lao to be a fight, kept telling him to trust Raiden's judgement and just refused to engage in the argument.

To this day, they both regret that they parted angry before the tournament, without a goodbye kiss or "I love you"

After finding out about Kitana and Liu having their budding romance, Lao pulled back, thinking he was no longer wanted (man is insecure and he hides that under arrogance) which lead to Liu thinking Lao now hated him for being chosen. They were both pining and miserable for months, leading to Kitana being very confused by the situation and not knowing how to handle it (she's not good at people, she's good at murder)

Kitana and Johnny of all people ended up hanging out and she let slip what was going on and why she was confused by it, leading to Johnny dragging Lao and Liu over to his house for the night and making them sit down and talk, acting as a mediator between them. It took several days but they eventually worked it out and then went to talk to Kitana, leading to them all getting together

Kung Lao and Kitana remained platonic, however, though they did start to get along (I am not married to the idea that Kung Lao and Kitana don't ever also get together, but I do think it would take a looooooong time before they did)(if I wrote a Liulaotana story in that vein, would anyone be interested in that? It wouldn't be any time soon but, yknow, still)

Liu Kang also challenged Jax to an arm wrestling competition and lost, which revealed that he is something of a sore loser. He won't say anything and he'll always be really polite, but then afterwards he's grumpy and throws himself into training for days on end.

On those days, Kung Lao and Kitana will usually team up to pull him out of the training yard and back into bed, helping him work his frustration out in a more productive way.

Loves a good dirty joke and is also shockingly good at dirty talk. Once got Kung Lao off with nothing but his voice and some heavy kissing and he remains smug about that. Kitana refuses to believe that story no matter how much Kung Lao blushes in mortification until Liu does the exact same thing to her.

Not only is there a notebook of Liu's lack of filter, the kombat kids have a gc full of videos of him saying various outrageous shit.

he does enjoy smoking, but Kung Jin got him to try a vape once and he threw up from how much he hated it. Sticks to his pipe after that.

Points out that Kitana and Kung Lao are similar and both his type once and neither of them will speak to him for a week bc of it.

lemme know if you have any more! these are great!

#liu kang #kung lao #kitana #liulao #liulaotana #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x #mortal kombat 11

[seas-storyarchive]

There are racists in hell, everyone finds that out when something about Alastor is brought to light

[[MORE]]

There was a knock at the hotel door. charlie answered it first, a big smile on her face.

"Hello! Welcome to the Hazbin Hotel!" She greeted the two men, one of which looked elderly.

"Greetings, Princess. My father and I are considering this redemption thing.. we were hoping for a tour first?"

"Uh, sure, of course." Charlie said with a smile. She turned to the bar, waving someone over. "Um.. Alastor!"

The man's ears turned to her, and then said man got up from his seat, dusting his suit jacket off as he approached.

"Hello, my good sirs. I am Alastor, manager of this hotel! What ever may I-"

"Uh, this nigger again?" The older man asked a little loudly as to cut Alastor off while looking to his son, who nodded with a displeased look, before looking to Charlie, "is there a place without THESE folk about? I don't want him dirtyin' my things."

Charlie was.. genuinely confused. What was he talking about? Everyone in Hell was a different color! She glanced at Alastor from the corner of her eye, seeing him frozen.

"Hey! What'chu say about my buddy?" Angel had come over, looking pissed off, with an equally pissed off Cherri and concerned Niffty. The most latter of whom crawled up Alastor's pant leg and then his arm to rest on his shoulder to pat his hair to soothe him.

The younger man spoke up, "we don't deal with those," he points to Alastor, who was uncharacteristically still, "types. Filthy, dark skinned, son of a gilly whore-!"

Angel showed a machine gun in his face, resting just below his lower lip, held by his lower arms as his upper arms were cleaning his ears. "What was that? I couldn't hear you. Speak. Up."

The man backed away. "You know what, never fuckin' mind. Come on, dad. Let's go somewhere with civilized folk."

As the door shut, Charlie turned to look at the group again.

"What was all of that about?"

"What'chu you sinners know about racism?" Cherri asked, slipping her unlit bombs into her pocket.

"Not much, honestly." Charlie said, looking to Husk at the bar who was pouring a drink, and then to Vaggie and her dad - former of whom shrugged while the latter said nothing.

"Well, racism is based on those who were like me and Cherri, born Caucasian, or white if you prefer, being mean and prejudice against people of other colors, like Al here-"

"And me." Niffty said, hugging Alastor's head because the man was still a statue. "I was born to a mother from China and a father from America. Not a single person would give me the time of day, it was horrible."

"Did- did they beat you?"

"No."

"Yes."

The 'no' from Niffty nearly drowned out the soft 'yes' of Alastor.

"Who did it, sir? Point'em out!" Niffty said, producing a needle from the pocket of her dress as she looked at her boss.

Alastor gave a shaky beathe in response, trying not to cry, when the radio dial of the radio at the bar moved rapidly as the previously turned off object came to life.

"I looked like my Maman, my mother, when I was alive." Said the radio, in Alastor's voice.

"I still don't understand." Charlie said, as Vaggie and Lucifer both decided that by Charlie was best to get away from the radio.

"Charlie, I told you that humanity fucked up the free will I gave them-"

"Fucked up indeed, monsieur charlatan." The radio responded bitterly. "My maman got tha worst ah father's beatin's. We hardla' had sud ta get new clothes ahcause father spent it on drinkin'."

"You said you looked like your mother, I assume your father was-"

"White, Vagatha, yes." The radio sighed, heavily, sadly. "Maman felt so guilty tha I came out lookin' like her, cause she couldn' pass me off as'a white chil'. Father hated me fer that more than Maman hated herself.."

When it stopped talked, there was a pause, and the radio started crying - but not as the radio demon, as a child.

"Daddy! Stop it!" Said the tearful voice of the child, as there were sounds of someone being struck.

"Alastor, bebe, I'm okay." Said the laboured voice of a woman. "Charles, leave 'im alone!"

"Oh, so you think your tough, huh boy?" There was the sudden sound of someone being stuck again, going to the floor with a grunt. "Huh? Do you?" There were more grunts.

"Charles, stop! Stop-!"

"Enough!" Lucifer had summoned a giant champagne bottle and spilled it on Alastor, making the already crazy going radio that was starting to smoke and flash like an emergency light go all static-like and then explode.

"Oof!" Niffty fell off of Alastor's shoulder as he landed on his ass.

His eyes were blinking rapidly, from the champagne or the tears, no one knew.

"Smiles.." Angel took a step forwards first, something in him feeling awful.

Alastor's wide eyes snapped up to Angel, his ears up in alert and alarm, before they went to the gun in Angel's hands. "Oh, uh.." he dropped the gun. "Look, Smiles.. none of us knew that-"

"I.. I know.." came the soft, tear filled, shaky voice of the man who kept his eyes on Angel as Niffty began to rapidly wipe off his face of any liquids on it.

Charlie, still not understanding, looked around. Angel, Cherri and Niffy were looking at Alastor in loss. Husk seemed like he was enjoying this, his ever so slight smirk as he sucked down a tall bottle wasn't missed by Charlie - or Vaggie who looked so mad at a thing she didn't understand either and had settled on a target. Then she looke to her dad, wbo looked so guilty, close to crying, glaring at his feet.

"I'm so sorry.." the man said, his voice as small as his stature.

Alastor said nothing back, too.. something to even leave, even as his shadow moved around him to hug him. Just to curl in a ball. Too lost in a time where he was beaten and judged and everything was bad that the present was non-existent for the time being.

#tw: slurs #tw: racism #hazbin hotel #alastor altruist #alastor whump #alastor angst #alastor gets a kind of hug??

[heartfullofleeches]

howdy, can i request yandere exorciste x ghoul(the mythologic one not the anime xd) reader? btw i luv your blog, keep it up 👍

Yandere male x gn Ghoul Reader

Word count:1.5k

Warning: animal death

“This the place?”

The air is heavy with the smell of smoke; embedded in the seats of a yellow car stopped on a desolate road. The engine remains stationary, ready to peel out of there as soon as possible. A single bill of currency slides between the gas separating the front and back compartments.

“Yes, thank you. Keep the change.”

The passenger exits the vehicle as soon as a hand tugs on the other side of the paper. It speeds off before the door handle can click shut; leaving the man in a cloud of smog on an already foggy night. Brief case in hand, he faces the building behind him. A two story house; lone on its block – cut from the outside world by steel gates and walls of stone. A winding path creates a further difference, green fields covering the plot. The man presses a button on a panel at the front gate, alarm buzzing before there’s a click- and someone speaks. 

“Hello?” 

“Good evening. I’m Johann David, here for the -"

“Yes, I know. I’ll let you in.”

The gate pops open without so much as a creak. Johann enters and begins his journey up the hill. The concrete is wet; grass freshly watered. Patches of dead earth were sprinkled through the field. No light left the house except for ones on its porch and from the window closest to the door. Johann knocks, door opening a crack as an eye peers out at him. The home owner looks him up and down as if assuming he wasn’t who he claimed, before deciding he seemed fine and pulling the door open fully.

A man stand at the door, face grim and eyes heavy with lack of sleep. A woman clings onto his arm, just as exhausted – if not closer to passing out right there. They both look to the man at their door, trying to keep their eyes from the scar that peaked from his collar.

“Thank you for coming, Father. We didn’t know who else to call.”

Johann flashes a reassuring smile. “It may be for the best. May I enter?”

The couple stands aside and allow him to come inside. Each holds a flashlight in hand.

“If you don’t mind me asking, why are all the lights out?”

“It… doesn’t like the light. It moves around a lot more when they’re off. You should be able to hear it better… Can we walk while we talk?”

“Certainly..” Johann joins the pair in walking down the nearby corridor. “So what makes you believe that this is something that requires my… area of expertise?”

“We’ve seen it before.. It’s not like any beast we’ve ever seen. It’s almost.. human.”

“And why didn’t you call law enforcements first?”

“We tried.. At first they didn’t listen, and when they did they left us on our own.”

“Can you describe what it looks like?”

“It's so fast I could barely catch a glimpse. It has grey skin… These.. black teeth. It lets out a terrible snarl. Oh god.. Our daughter used to feed the small animals that crossed our land, and we havent seen any in weeks. ” 

The woman breaks down crying, her husband soon to comfort. In the time, Johann surveys the walls they past. Floral wallpaper was home to many forms of art. Framed china, small statues, vintage paintings. One sticks out to him amongst the others. A hand painting of a small family consisting of a father, mother and their young son. The parents hold pastured smiles while the boy's lips remained thin. He seemed to be looking elsewhere – far beyond the painting. A blue ring hung around his ring finger, few sizes too big for his hand.

“Where did you get this?” He questions.

“Huh? Oh, we found it in the attic. I guess the past owners left it behind.”

“I see..”

“We’re here…”

The group finally reach their destination. A wooden door when an aged handle, standing at the end of the hall. The husband passes his flashlight off to Johann, his eyes never meeting his – afraid of the reality they’d face if he didn’t return. Fearing the guilt of leaving another man to die. 

“There’s a window down there, but use this if you need it… For our safety, we will lock the door after you go down there. We hope you understand. “

“I do.”

He unlocks the door; foul smell blowing from the depths below. They all recoil from it – the scent of rot and death. Taking his final breath of fresh air, Johann takes his first steps into the basement. He hears the turn of a lock behind him, taking more without a second thought. His eyes adjust to the darkness by the time he reaches the end of the stairs, clutter and debris filling his line of sight. He grips the cross around his neck and begins his search for the beast.

The area is large, made a maze by the rows of shelves blocking a clear path. Johann turns on the flashlight, keeping it low to the ground. Spots of red begin to dot the white concrete. The smell worsening with each step past them. The clashing of teeth hiss in the air. He remains unbothered; keen on finishing his mission. He comes across the window the couple spoke of, and it was there that he saw it. The creature from his dreams.

A rabbit’s blank, beady eyes stare up at him; it’s brown coat dyed in the crimson of its blood. The creature looms over, eating at its exposed organs. It’s skin was a blueish grey, clinging to the bones of it inhumanly long limbs. It’s long tongue slurped at the blood like a starving man. Johann's heart races. He removes the cross from his neck, and places it on a shelf – barely able to speak.

“Face me…

The creature whips its head in his direction. It lowers its body closer to the ground, growling. It begins to sniff the air, relaxing; as if it recognized something in the man before it. It grins madly, wiping blood off its black fangs with the back of its hand.

“Hello… Father. It seems you’ve finally earned the title.” 

Its voice was still the same.

“Please. Call me, Johann.. Y/n..”

You tilt your head, eyes lowering in recollection. “It’s been a while since anyone’s called me that. Doesn’t matter, much. I won’t be them for much longer.”

You stand up. Despite your recent meal, your ribcage was protruding from your flesh. An abnormality even for even with the state you were currently in. Johann grimaces. He can’t bear the sight.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten human flesh?”

You think for a moment. “Since my parents died. Or right after you left. I can’t remember. Getting pretty hungry though. Maybe you can be my first victim.”

Johann looks away. He never wanted to leave you. Not even after the truth of your parent’s horrible actions came out. Not even when you visited him that night; when you should have been in your grave. Losing you was like losing a part of his soul, and when he got you back he was like a miracle from a cruel, twisted God. 

“I never stopped loving you, Y/n. I gave into my family's wishes because I knew I could see you again some day if I took this path.”

“So you could kill me?”

“So I can make up for the mistakes of the past.”

Johann pulls a ring from his pocket, and its twin. Heirlooms from both of your families, exchanged when you became engaged as a young age. You were always meant to be, and you both looked forward to the future; broken only by the sins of your kin. They had a fear of death, doing anything possible to achieve everlasting life – no matter how many fell for the cause. You became a test subject, and the only one to make an unwilling deal with the devil.

“You can’t be serious. All the pain I’ve caused.. all I will cause. Just send me to hell where I belong.”

“The only pain that lingers is the pain of not having you at my side. Y/n I am willing to give anything to have you once more, even at the cost of my life.”

He kneels before you, like a sinner at prayer; rolling the sleeve of his shirt up and offering you his flesh. He clings onto your cold skin, pleading up to you. 

“Y/n, please. I love you. I don’t want to lose you again.”

You sink to his side. His eyes lock with your blank ones; beautiful as jewels to him. You take him in your arms. He goes limp. Finally at peace. Finally able to close his tired eyes and rest. He feels you lift his arm. He feels your teeth in his flesh, but he remains still. Tear free the strings of his heart and he would still remain. The one demon he would never free from his life

-

“I’m going down there.”

“Honey, no!”

“It’s been too long. I’ll be back.”

The husband unlocks the door. He enters the empty basement and searches for the priest. He finds him in the arms of the demon, arm speared by its fangs. Despite the flesh being torn from his limb, he smiles in absolute euphoria.

“The exorcism is almost complete..”

#yandere male #male yandere #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere scenarios #yandere imagines #yandere story #tw yandere #yandere scenario #yandere insert #yandere writing #yandere works #yandere oc #tw: animal injury

[diludae]

𝓐 𝓛𝓲𝓯𝓮𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓛𝓸𝓿𝓮, 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓮𝓿𝓮𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓮𝓻. 𝓣𝓱𝓪𝓽 𝓲𝓼 𝓪𝓵𝓵 𝓘 𝓼𝓮𝓮𝓴.

happy v-day! love ya lots! <333

diluc x gn!reader // fluff/angst? // valentines day 2023 // enjoy! <3

It always started with a knock.

The first knock was way-back-when in days of old, when Diluc was still as young and as righteous as the knights that he took pride in. You, the owner of the Dawn Winery’s local strawberry garden, opened the door in a hurry.

“My deepest apologies! I never meant for Willow to eat some of your berries, and it is entirely my fault. My father will surely pay you back ten fold-”

All Diluc heard was the faint sound of a giggle, and the guilty “neigh”s of his horse, now known to you as “Willow,” behind him.

“It’s quite alright, Mr. Ragnvindr. Besides, Miss Willow only ate a few. As long as she is fed, I have no need for payment.”

“Are you sure? It really would be of no problem for neither my father nor the winery to reimburse you-”

“I am positive, Ragnvindr.”

Well, now the atmosphere was plain awkward. Diluc’s plan was to apologize, pay you back like the gentlemen his father had raised him to be, and then leave. Now what was he to do with your kindness?

“May I.. pet her?” “Who, Willow?” “Yes, may I?”

“Of course!”

You and Diluc began rambling on about each other's lines of work. Diluc’s training, your gardening, and of course the ever-mischievous Willow. From that day forward, you heard a knock at your door at almost every opportunity in which Diluc found it appropriate to do so.

Of course, there had to be another knock.

Was this the thousandth? Ten-thousandth? Quite honestly, you and Diluc had lived together for so long not even the Gods in Celestia could bother to count all of the knocks that Diluc had given before he entered your shared bedroom.

“Love, I’ve got you a gift.”

For the past 2 years, you’ve been bedridden. Old age was not gracious to many, and not even you could escape time's clutches as your body started to weaken and wither. To be fair, Diluc wasn’t in the best shape either, but at least he could still move about. You didn’t envy him for it, for you only stared in awe every time he stood, his cane in one hand and yours in the other.

Diluc’s voice was hoarse, but after spending 72 years with him, he still sounded as kind and gentle as ever. In his hand, he held a small, red box wrapped in ribbon.

“Please love, take it. I know you can still move your arms.” He ended his sentence with a small smile, one which held both humor and a twinge of sorrow.

You took the box in your hands, its wrapping as soft as Willow’s coat. Inside the box, a stunning ruby necklace sat. 

“You got this for me?”

“Of course, dear. I hope you cherish it as much as I cherish you.”

Later that evening, Diluc assisted you out of bed. He knew he was not supposed to, but he couldn’t let tonight go to waste. What kind of husband would he be if he didn’t dance with his dear spouse on Valentine's Day?

So, after dressing you in the finest of silks, Diluc brought you downstairs next to the fireplace, and turned on the phonograph. Out came the sounds of a smooth, romantic piano. 

He tried his best to dance with you, but ultimately, he only held you like a fine piece of china. His grip was strong, safe, unmoving. The both of you stood still in the living room, the only sound in the room being that of the phonograph.

“I love you, Y/n.”

“I love you too, Diluc.”

A kiss was shared between the two of you, one that the both of you hoped would last a lifetime.

And, in a way, your wishes did come true. For Diluc had a love and a passion for you that lasted 72 long, lovely years, and even more to come.

Once it was time for you to rest peacefully, several years after that night, he shed a single tear before holding your hand to his lips.

“We’ll meet again. I’ll make sure of it, my dearest.”

#diluc #genshin #genshin impact #diluc x reader #diluc ragnvindr x reader #diluc fluff #diluc angst #diluc x reader fluff #diluc x reader angst #diluc ragnvindr #diluc fanfic #genshin fanfic #genshin impact fanfic #valentine

[kusagrasskusa]

Quan Chi X Reader Imagine

I'm coming out with a way bigger version of this soon btw :)

Disturbing themes. Sorta... almost rapey, but there's no NSFW or rape lmao

--

Whether Y/N was fully biologically human daughter to Shang Tsung, or a mix like Mileena, or half human half something else, or even adopted- it didn't matter. She was the daughter of Shang Tsung. And Quan Chi hated Shang Tsung.

Even the idea of some deadly alliance between them, their bloodlust against Raiden and other Earthrealmers, or whatever else was never enough to keep their fueds from raging. They hated each other's position under Shao Kahn. Shang Tsung always, despite being a mire human, bested Quan Chi in the Kahn's eyes.

And Quan Chi wanted to ensure he would become the new higher up. All it took was to break down his greatest foe.

And what else did his greatest foe love more than his own daughter? That girl- so lushful, gracious, and beautiful. No matter what she was- human or not- Shang Tsung would raise her to be the lovely hanfu of his time in China. Oh, how long ago it felt; and yet, he had perfectly replicated the gorgeous femininity of the women of his time.

He gave her free choice iver what she did. She learned magic, telekinesis and teleportation, however if she wanted to learn to fight or absorb souls was her own wish. She was only 20 at the time and she needed more time to discover what she really wanted. Live a life like her father (under constant threat of death under Shao Kahn and the Elder Gods) or a life of a delicate hanfu.

Let's just say, she couldn't hurt a fly. And as uncharacteristic as it was, Shang Tsung loved her purity.

And what more does a demon love than purity that slowly becomes...

corrupt.

-

"Stop it, you demon fool, I am the daughter o-of Shang! My father w-will!-"

"Your father isn't here now, is he?"

"S-Stop it! Stop!"

-

Tied up and bonded wasn't the worst of her fear. Why, her father kept her safe all these years that she didn't even know what she was encountering. Demons? What even were they outside of those books she read? How could she escape?

But the worst of her fear wasn't the unknown. It was him. That demon, looming iver her with a disgusting grin. She breathed out heavily, bare and shaking, as she looked up at him fear in her eyes.

"Your father can no longer aid you, Y/N. He is finished," he spoke in his clear, bold voice. He walked forward, resting his finger under her chin to stare at her deep into her eyes.

"What... what do you mean?" She whispered back, almost inaudibly.

"Shang Tsung, albeit powerful, was incapable of saving you. When you were unconscious, he had tried and failed. Your father, Shang Y/N, is dead."

Fear plunged into her heart. Her eyes widened.

Yet, somehow, a part of her naive heart refused to believe it. Perhaps that part was true. Perhaps it was just that Shao Kahn would forbid Shang Tsung from fighting Quan Chi. And Shao Kahn had no knowledge of his daughter, for Shang Tsung didn't want him to enslave her. How could he tell the Kahn now? What punishment would come from such?

And it broke the notorios sorcerer down. He knew the demon did it. He knew the demon was manipulating his poor daughter's mind and soul. He knew he should have taught her to fight- to use magic- to protect herself!

...

He at least got to see her again.

Tormented and... "trained"... by Quan Chi for years after disappearing. How cold the sorcerer became afterwards was evident. Quan Chi could see he broke down the sorcerer. And not only did he win the favor of Shao Kahn, but he won a wife. Quan Y/N.

And when the demon brought his wife to a party thrown by the Kahn, Shang Tsung could see what happened to his beloved daughter. Her eyes dark with misery, face dull without a single emotion behind it, lip busted from what would most likely be physical abuse.

... But, under Shao Kahn, what could he do? He couldn't save her. The Kahn would side with Quan Chi. The Kahn would kill Shang Tsung for not only hiding a daughter, lying about not having one, and causing problems regarding Quan Chi.

And likely, his daughter would die as a result.

Why couldn't the God's punishment him instead of his innocent daughter?

#mortal kombat 11 #mortal kombat #mk mortal kombat #mk quan chi #mortal kombat quan chi #quan chi x reader #quan chi #shang tsung x y/n #shang tsung #shang tsung x you #shang tsung x reader #mk shang tsung #mk 9 #mkx #mortal kombat 9 #mortal kombat x reader

[gogojetters]

GJ Families - Headcanon Mini-Post

I’ve wanted to do this for a while, but because I’m very busy at the moment, it’s hard to find the time to make big posts. So, I’m trying my best to be okay with making smaller, more simple posts, and this is kind of testing that format. And what better than sharing some headcanons about what I think the Go Jetters’ families are like?? It’s been a long time coming, haha.

For now, I’m only doing the Funky Five (Xuli, Kyan, Lars, Foz and Tala), but maybe in the future I’ll drop a thing or two about the others. Each character has their own little section, with a mini-Drabble about what I think their family structure is, and maybe even some little HCs about some of the members. I hope you like this layout, and feel free to ask questions ! Any rude comments will be deleted.

XULI

Xuli is adopted! She has two mothers, Alejandra and Lina, who adopted her when she was two. Additionally, she has an older brother, Sol, age 19- who is her biological brother- and a younger sister named Aurelia, age 12, who is also adopted. Xuli’s family is upper middle class, her Mum (Alejandra) working as a lawyer, and her Mama (Lina) working as a hairdresser. Xuli’s family is very loving and supporting of her endeavors, and she has her Mum’s stubborn personality and her Mama’s love for sightseeing !

KYAN

Kyan was raised in a multi-generational household, living with both his parents and his grandparents in California. His grandparents and parents are all immigrants from China, with Kyan being the first of their family to be born in the states. His Father, Mako, along with his grandparents, run a popular Chinese restaurant on a boardwalk, which Kyan used to work at as a child, while his mother, Daiyu, works as a dentist. Kyan is particularly close with his grandparents, who were very supportive of his athletic dreams in particular.

LARS

Lars grew up in the countryside, on a small farm, with his single Dad, Dominic, Aunt Cheryl and Uncle Benjamin, as well as his little sister, Juno, and his younger twin cousins, Aria and Piper. While living on the farm instilled a love of animals early, his love for machinery came from there too, watching how the different machinery there worked, and learning to fix tractors and farm gear by watching his uncle- and quickly becoming better than him at it! Lars is very close with his family, but has a specially strong bond with both his sister and cousins.

FOZ

Foz is from a richer family, and is an “age gap” kid- meaning that there’s at least 10 years between him and his siblings. He lives with his Mother and Father- the owners of a jewelry company, and an emerald mine, while his three older siblings, Stephanie (27), Andrew (23) and Austin (23), have already moved out of home to peruse their own careers. Foz isn’t particularly close with the rest of his family, having attended boarding school before the GJA, and not growing up alongside his siblings.

TALA

Tala’s family is very well off- after all, with a family history as incredible as the Glitches have, how couldn’t they be? Tala lives with her father, Gabriel Glitch - who is Grandmaster Glitch’s twin brother, and her mother, Reagan Cade-Glitch, as well as her half-brother on her mom’s side, Callum Cade, in the Glitch Estate, which has been in their family for years. Tala spend much of her time as a child in the garden, talking with the family’s gardener about new and fun plant or bug facts.

Thank-you for reading all the way through !! Again, I hope that you guys find my personal headcanons fun and interesting! I wanted the GJ to all have different kinds of family groups, as opposed to just having “nuclear” families, because I think that it’s just boring if they’re all very similar, and different kinds of family representation is important to many people, including myself !! Feel free to ask any questions you may have in the comments, and I’ll try my best to answer them ! (:

#go jetters #go jetter #geo-blogging #gogo-jetters #gj #gogojetters #Tomm talks #head canon #headcanon #headcanons #headcanons post #kyan #xuli #foz #lars #tala #go jetters tala #go Jetters Foz #go Jetters Lars #go jetters xuli #go jetters Kyan #Kyan go jetters #Xuli go jetters #Foz go jetters #Lars go jetters #tala go jetters #gif #gifs #gif warning #ok to reblog

[terrence-silver]

I know that Terry is the type of guy to be super groomed, like facials, manicures, pedicures; but would he ever get his nails polished with color? And if so, which color? 🤍

---

At one point in time, any color.

Even though, on a day to day basis, I see him opting for a tactically unassuming transparent nail finish and perhaps a discreet filling that can fly under the radar in a commonplace setting if he wants it so (or in the strict, no-nonsense corporate world that comes with well-established rules of masculinity) perhaps the best giveaway being that this guy isn't just some ordinary Joe Schmoe is how well taken care of his hands are. Suspiciously well taken care. These ain't the hands of a worker, even though they can somehow break rock. That, and his immaculately slicked back hair with not a single stranded where it shouldn't be, every day, all day, morning, noon and night; something a working class man wouldn't be able to maintain with such ease, efficacy and perfection because he'd be...you know...working? And too exhausted when he wasn't. But, Terry Silver does maintain it, and if someone ran into him on the street by accident, finding him posing as a blue collar somebody, you'd have to wonder just how he does that. He does it by having his on stand-by stylists, manicurists, pedicurists and an entire entourage of professionals there to take care of his appearance, even when he deliberately tries to make himself shabby, he doesn't do it on his own. Undoubtedly flies in fashion experts just to make him look poor. Or relatable. Or daunting. Or charitable. Or approachable. Or whatever image it is he wants to tactically broadcast next. Presentation is king. Man has an outfit and a grooming choice for any occasion.

But, outside of that?

Have we seen the 80's?

Have we seen the fashion flamboyance and the loud glam-extravaganza men tended to carry themselves with? If we could have Johnny Lawrence and his Cobra friends in highschool, macho-boy extraordinaire that they were, going around in skeleton face paint with his nails colored black for Halloween, then surely, everything under the sun's possible. In equal measure, there's the 70's, bell bottoms, face paint rock bands, deep slit sequin shirts and the disco craze --- we can even go further back into the 1960's and the Bohemian Hippie fashion if only it wasn't for the fact Terry would've been a child or a teenager then, then promptly off to Vietnam with him and the fact that if he undoubtedly tried experimenting with any flamboyance, his father would've had a thing or five to say about it; these decades are decades associated with going all out and by god, if anyone went all out, it was surely Terry Silver. Think this man had black nails, silver ones (for his own name sake), gold, red, bejeweled antique clip on nails from China that belonged to some Empress that ended up in his collection of rare, expensive and unusual items, stiletto sharp ones he could drag across the backs of many a lover, leaving his trace behind on their scratched cheeks and when he was done being a sadistic wild cat, he'd have them clipped and re-groomed into something that blends in with whatever place he's inhibiting, matching his styling with his surroundings, like so many masks for so many instances of life, in equal measure, so many nails, styling choices and grooming habits to match whatever role he wants to play next.

#terry silver #kk3 #cobra kai #nails #grooming habits #beauty #manicure #pedicure #character analysis

[adultswim2021]

China, IL: “The Funeral” | May 26, 2008 - 12:45AM | S00E01

This one feels daunting to me, and it’s not just because I cried while watching this. It’s more because I don’t know exactly how to adequately praise this one. I will say, I was excited to revisit this one, and it fuckin’ holds up. In fact, I was surprised by how much of this I remembered, because it’s been quite a while since I’ve revisited it. 

Brad Neely was maybe the best thing about Super Deluxe, excluding Tim & Eric Nite Live. I honestly feel remiss not including his Super Deluxe work somehow in a more chronologicalized way.

It wouldn’t be until much later until this became an actual weekly series. When it became a weekly series, it underwent a cosmetic overhaul, with actual animation instead of a rapid succession of stills which this special and Neely’s Super Deluxe shorts used. I always wished they’d stuck with this more minimalistic format; though I may be alone in that. I remember some people saw this show as a harbinger of bad things to come, animation-wise. People who couldn’t hang with Tom Goes to the Mayor for it’s limited-animation probably REALLY hated this.

The plot of this episode: Baby Cakes finds a diary belonging to a woman. She was a professor at his college, where his father works, as well as the professor brothers Steve and Frank. She dated Frank, and secretly despised him. She hated a lot of stuff about her life, and spilled her truth on the pages of her secret book.

Baby Cakes finds out that he’s dead, and in fact the diary was taken from just outside the site of her fatal car crash. Baby Cakes begins to cope with the fact that he’s in love with a dead woman, and also harbors the secret knowledge that Frank, who is despondent, but also oblivious to the fact that she hated him. Eventually Baby Cakes, in an act of posthumous love, dramatically reveals the truth at the woman’s wake. Frank runs naked towards the graveyard where she’s buried his friends all come to his rescue. 

I know this doesn’t all exactly sound like a hilarious romp. But Neely has a way with words and funny drawings that somehow make the material hilarious. Nearly every turn-of-phrase in this is meticulously written to be funny, and there are many expressionistic/imaginative tangents from these characters to keep it lively and interesting. There are subtle, blink-and-you’ll-miss-them sight gags. The imagery has great comic and dramatic timing. There’s references to the previous shorts thrown in there for those of us who’ve been along for the ride. It manages to be deep, soulful, hilarious, beautiful, and unpretentious.

It’s frankly incredible that I never got fully obsessed with the original shorts. I think that’s because I didn’t really like watching these on the Super Deluxe website. Sad! As a comedic influence, I underrate Neely drastically. There are all kinds of moments in this where I thought to myself “oh, I try to write shit like this all the time”. It’s sad to say that my barrier for appreciating him fully was a technical one. If I were able to buy these shorts on DVD and watch them in order on my television set, I probably would’ve repeated them into the ground. But. 

The shot of the three kids on bikes, sorta apathetically watching the funeral party bury the teacher. It’s a small detail and they show it for like, a second. This bit might be the single strongest memory I have of this show. It’s just so great. Sorta sums up what makes this great, at least in my mind.

Anyway: This originally began airing on Super Deluxe in four parts, with a few extra title cards. It flows great as one long thing, though. It seems like it’s supposed to be one long thing, in my opinion. I watched both versions, curious to see if there was a lack of censorship in the one scene where Frank freaks out and starts cussin’ up the wake of his lady love. The version I saw was still censored. It’s on Brad Neely’s Youtube channel. The thing is, these probably wound up on Adult Swim’s site as well in this format, so maybe the shorts got bleeped too, and and maybe that’s what survives. Not sure.

Hey! GUESS WHAT? I have a wonderful surprise for you.

What follows is my attempt to piece together a complete listing of Brad Neely videos that were ever uploaded to Super Deluxe, along with upload dates and times. I’ve also included the descriptions from Super Deluxe. Where available, there are YouTube links. Shortly after this special, Super Deluxe was absorbed into Adult Swim’s website, where they offered a fraction of the Super Deluxe library with additional censorship to meet Adult Swim’s standards and practices.

NOTE: The running times listed are as they appeared on the Super Deluxe listing. I included them on the off chance that they would be required to help identify a particular video that may or may not have been retitled. For the most part it was unnecessary, but I don’t feel like deleting them. A few of the videos had a 0:00 running time attached, which is why some of them are not noted. I assume that was a glitch, because none of these videos are 0 seconds long.

ALSO NOTE: first there was a non-Super Deluxe short: Washington. I was trying to pin down a date, but the best I could do was I found an article from December of 2006 that said it played as part of the Spike and Mike Festival of Animation. I went to re-find this article and couldn’t. I guess that’s what I get for haphazardly closing tabs. A Brad Neely interview from the Super Deluxe era reveals that he sold the rights to the short to Spike and Mike along with the characters of Cox & Combes, which lead to him creating the Professor Brothers. I think they were characters from Creased Comics.

January 4, 2007 - 10:41 AM EST Professor Brothers - Bible History #1 Who says the Bible is boring? Our favorite scriptural scribbler, Brad Neely, breathes new life into the Sodom and G-town yarn, complete with sexy angels, ca-ca eating and lots of things that'll send you to straight to Hell.

January 13, 2007 - 11:53 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #1 The soon-to-be-popular myth of Baby Cakes begins here. In his very first diary entry, Baby Cakes introduces us to his wizard father, his role-playing friends and expounds on what it's like to be a man-child still living at home.

January 19, 2007 - 4:40 PM EST Buh Buh (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:49 PM EST Good Person (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:50 PM EST Party List (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:56 PM EST Cat People (0:16) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 19, 2007 - 4:58 PM EST Doors (00:31) I Am Baby Cakes commercial for Super Deluxe [dot] com.

January 29, 2007 - 8:43 AM EST Professor Brothers present History Lesson #1 Who cares who shot JFK? Brad Neely's Professor Brothers know the real story behind the slain prince of Camelot. And they've got a single-bullet sing-along that's guaranteed to silence all the other crackpot conspiracies.

February 5, 2007 - 8:45 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #2 (3:32) We all have to start somewhere, and Baby Cakes is no exception. Our favorite rapping role-player takes a trip down the family line to bond with his pops and grandpops over King Drunk beers, dysfunction and fire.

February 12, 2007 - 8:45 AM EST The Professor Brothers - Late Date (3:32) If you're late for a hot double date, you'd better have a good excuse-like Frank's. It involves explaining to the Professor Brothers' boss, the Dean, why there are two soiled condoms lying in the backseat of his car.

February 20, 2007 - 8:49 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #3 (2:48) A day in the park makes for some strange diary musings in Baby Cakes' world. In his darkest entry yet, Mr. Cakes reflects on death, dream girls and the dreaded Brain Fuckler that he sometimes sees humping people's faces in public.

February 26, 2007 - 8:58 AM EST I Am Baby Cakes - Baby Cakes Sees a Play (2:18) For hundreds of years, Shakespeare's King Lear has asked, "Who is it that can tell me who I am?" Now we have an answer, courtesy of Brad Neely's beloved man-child creation, Baby Cakes. He's not afraid to get excited. Or to see a play.'

March 5, 2007 - 8:49 AM EST Professor Brothers - Office Hours (2:41) The Professor Brothers both like to make time for their students - they even schedule their office hours together. This helps when Steve wants to get Frank caught up on the new Kenny Winker tune. Haven't heard it yet? Let Steve handle the monotone singing and you just rock out.

March 14, 2007 - 8:49 AM EDT Brad Neely - Bring the Gold (1:00) Blime us! This little bastard might be the first rapper in the age of bling to disavow real paper money. That's because Brad Neely's lil' leprechaun only wants you to bring the gold this St. Patrick's Day.

March 19, 2007 - 8:57 AM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #4 (3:08) A lovelorn Baby Cakes tells his diary, "When I was around her, I felt like a goblin made entirely out of wicked genitals." We ask: who hasn't felt that way about their dad's girlfriend? Especially one named Shirley Moats.

March 26, 2007 - 8:39 AM EDT The Professor Brothers - Substitute (3:11) The Professor Brothers are always there for each other. When Frank needs to skip his US history lecture to run an errand, Steve comes through in the clutch. By offending each and every student with his utterly f*cked up take on America's past.

April 29, 2007 - 11:47 PM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - The Role Play Tournament (2:34) In a perfect world, this jam would stay perched on top of the Billboard charts longer than "Dark Side Of The Moon." Mic in hand, Baby Cakes spits some mad lyrics about D&D role-playing and his two-word philosophy: be aggressive.

May 6, 2007 - 11:25 PM EDT The Professor Brothers - Future Thoughts (2:33) What's the future going to be like? Find out in this bizarro symposium curated by the Professor Brothers. Features cameos by Kenny Winker, Chimmy Chummy and Baby Cakes!

May 13, 2007 - 11:54 PM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - Lies (2:48) Oh, cruel and deceitful world. You have tried to deceive Baby Cakes for the last time. And he's not going to take it anymore (without singing about it).

May 28, 2007 - 1:05 AM EDT The Professor Brothers - Fliff Night, Part 1 (2:39) Oh, what a night Frank had! Seems the Professor Brother was the life of the science department's big Oppenheimer piñata party. That is, until the fliff throwing came to an abrupt end.

June 3, 2007 - 11:21 PM EDT The Professor Brothers - Fliff Night, Part 2 (2:17) Oh, how the fliff has fallen! In the second half of this Professor Brothers saga, Frank recounts how his big boozy night out turned ugly. And left him single again.

July 1, 2007 - 10:36 PM EDT Brad Neely - American Moments of Maybe (2:14) US history? Boooooring. Brad Neely's alternative takes on America's past? F'n yeah! Heck, he had us at the mere mention of Nat Turner's Punchout.

July 12, 2007 - 1:45 PM EDT Kenny Winkler: Now We Can Make Love (1:41) Coming fresh off the success of his hit single, "Don't Trust Me," Kenny Winker presents the music video for his follow-up banger, "Now We Can Make Love."

July 29, 2007 - 10:38 PM EDT I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #5 (2:06) Everyone needs a little time on their own. To wear wigs. To chronicle paranatural sightings. And to catch a Brain Fuckler.

August 12, 2007 - 10:41 PM The Professor Brothers - Movie Talk, Part 1 (2:36) Great news, students! Frank and Steve are now holding a lecture series on the great films of our time. First flick on the syllabus: "A Secret Place To S#!t."

August 26, 2007 - 10:56 PM The Professor Brothers - Movie Talk, Part 2 (2:36) Seems Frank and Steve's film lecture series is a smash hit. Next up for discussion: “Kitty Karloso,” “Ad Nauseam,” and an amusing animated feature.

September 27, 2007 - 8:38 AM The Professor Brothers - Jesus F**king Christ (3:38) Take your seat and prepare thyself for the Gospel of Frank. For whatever reason, the Professor Brother has decided to testify to his American history class about that magical carpenter from Nazareth.

October 14, 2007 - 10:07 PM I Am Baby Cakes - Group Therapy (2:38) Holy crap! Baby Cakes is finally back on the mic. And he's got a laundry list of complaints to spit about. So, just close your mouth when you eat sh*t.

November 25, 2007 - 10:10 PM I Am Baby Cakes - Diary #6 (1:40) What is the meaning of life? That's what Baby Cakes wants to know. But mostly, he just wants to know about human sexuality. In this latest diary entry, Baby Cakes explains it all.

December 7, 2007 - 3:45 PM The Professor Brothers - The T.A. Interview (2:48) Let's talk about real sh*t. Frank and Steve need a new teacher's assistant. One who'll be prepared for after the bombs drop.

December 16, 2007 - 12:26 PM I Am Baby Cakes - The In-House Carol (00:48) Ho, ho, ho! Baby Cakes wants to share a very special Christmas carol with you this holiday season. And take his shirt off.

December 20, 2007 - 8:53 AM The Professor Brothers - Prisoner Christmas (2:50) Prepare yourself: This Christmas, the Professor Brothers are breaking out of academia and into a lil' ditty about jailbirds.

January 22, 2008 - 8:46 AM I Am Baby Cakes - The Coffee Line (2:53) Next time a barista asks you "Grande or Venti," do as Baby Cakes does and ask them right back: do you believe in God babies? Or magic spells? Or nothingness?

February 10, 2008 - 10:47 PM A Valentine From Eva (1:42) Everybody loves somebody sometime. Even if they're one of the most universally despised figures in human history.

April 14, 2008 - 8:52 AM Fxck The Humans (1:24) It was bound to happen. All of the woodland elves, satyrs and hobgoblins are finally coming together for a ragtime protest ditty against us Homo sapiens.

May 5, 2008 - 8:55 AM China, IL: Part One - Romeo & Romeo (3:38) In the first installment of this four-part series, Baby Cakes delves into the diary of a fellow resident of China, Illinois. And discovers death.

May 12, 2008 - 9:16 AM China, IL: Part Two - Lives After Death (2:56) In the second installment of this four-part series, Professor Frank sounds off about Helen Keller and learns the fate of his ex.

May 19, 2008 - 8:38 AM China, IL: Part Three - Cruel Duel (3:15) In this third installment of Brad Neely's four-part series, Professor Frank laments the lust, and Baby Cakes sets him straight.

May 26, 2008 - 8:49 AM China, IL: Part Four - The Lovers Reconcile (2:03) In the final installment of Brad Neely's four-part funeral, Baby Cakes and Frank finally come to that final stage of grief.

AFTER THIS: Adult Swim commissioned a 12-part series called America Now. You can click that link to watch all of them. I don’t have dates for those yet, but I’ll poke around at some point for those.

BEFORE ALL OF THIS: Wizard People, Dear Reader, which I think is from 2005.

#adult swim #adultswim2021 #china IL #brad neely #baby cakes #professor brothers

[sara-wishes]

And July. - 민기 - profiles 1 ☘️

☘️ Mingi x Female!Idol!Reader

☘️ And July. masterlist

☘️ now listening to: And July by HEIZE and DEAN

☘️ summary: When on her 4th comeback's backstage Y/N is unwillingly reunited with her brother, suddenly 8 boys are swept into her and her group mates' lifes. A tall boy in particular has taken a liking to Y/N and apparently, maybe... she feels the same? 

❀ lucyd:

JYPE's new girl group. They debuted on January 31st of 2018 and have been active since then. A group that focuses mostly on its lore, their music is creative and innovative, but usually on the 'calm' side. lucyd's fandom is called "wytness". The group's members include Liu Daiyu, Jung Y/N, Yun Aili, Junyi Noa, Sugawara Moriko (aka Marte) and Choi Chinseon.

➯ See more info about lucyd (!coming soon!)

❀ Jung Y/N:

lucyd's lead vocalist and centre. She is a chaotic ball of energy around friends and when in public and with strangers, closed off and introverted. Her personality resembles Wooyoung's, but after all it makes sense, since she is his older sister. Left her home and family, cutting all ties, to pursue the idol career against her parent's wishes. Has never forgiven herself for leaving Wooyoung behind. Was saved from poverty after leaving her home thanks to her best friend, Lee Minho. Owns two cats, Latte and Orion.

❀ Moriko Sugawara (aka Marte):

lucyd's lead rapper and one of the three producers of the group. Her father is japanese but her mother is italian, so she also adopted an italian name, "Marte", using it as her stage name. Loud but introverted, she loves anime over anything else. Daiyu is her best friend. Incredibly savage and sassy, tends to be oblivious and unintentionally uncommunicative. Dresses like an emo girl.

❀ Liu Daiyu:

lucyd's leader and main dancer. Born and raised in China, she moved to Korea to achive her dream of becoming a dancer. Dancing became her passion after going through some rough patches on her life. Acts like a mother to all of the girls of the group although she herself can be childish too. Marte is her best friend. Loves hitting the gym. Believes in single girl supremacy.

❀ Junyi Noa:

lucyd's 'main' visual. Loves cats over everything else (except her girlfriend, Lee Chaeryeong, who she is madly in love with). 'Hates' all men, loves all women. Really tsundere and unresponsive with her friends (and everyone in general), flirty with girls she likes. Born and raised in China, moved to Korea as an exchange student. Her and Chinseon share the custody of a siamese cat called Kimbap. Her best friend is Shin Ryujin.

❀ Yun Aili:

lucyd's main vocalist, producer (2/3), Face of the group, and all rounder. Dedicated, hard working and a studio 'rat', never leaves the company and only works. Her mother is finnish, so her parents named her 'Aili', but her father is korean. She was born and raised in Korea and has been neighbors with Kim Seungmin since forever. They are also childhood friends because of this. Her best friend is Chinseon.

❀ Choi Chinseon:

lucyd's maknae, main rapper, 'secondary' visual, lead dancer and producer 3/3. She was born and raised in Korea. Her dream had always been songwriting. Really shy with everyone new (mostly boys), loud and annoying with friends. Nicknamed the clown of the group, she loves video games. Used to be an emo girl. Crushes on people too easily.

🏷 taglist: @bbycrabcakes, @cookiechristie, @xxxquinnxxx, @brrrreee37, @many-names-yuna, @bashkins, @so-nyeon-dan, @pearltinyy, @funkydinorawr, @svenjafangirlt, @annicht, @justredpandasthings, @moonstarwitch, @caitleen, @cocoforkuroopuffs, @crustyrat335, @n-n4y3li, @alice0blog, @motherhwasnoodles, @likejay-z, @aoi-turtle, @7dilemma7, @strangemaximoff, @watamotee33, @kibs-and-bits, @milkyr4bbit, @xazucaradictax, @lukalime, @harmonized-disarray, @anew-inception. (names not on bold could not be found).

#mingi x reader #ateez smau #mingi smau #ateez fluff #fanfic #fluff #kpop fanfic #ateez imagines #reader x mingi #song mingi #mingi x ateez #ateez fanfic #song mingi x reader

[gizkasparadise]

What are your favorite Chinese dramas?

roughly in order...

love and redemption (romance/fantasy/action). typical boy meets girl story. except the boy is in a martial arts sect forbidden to love and the girl is the reincarnation of the god of war. complete crack in the best way: we got magical girls, a male lead who's THE definition of a love martyr, rocking power-up songs, a spiritual snake beast that will fight everyone in a parking lot, a merman??? it's incredible and surprisingly feminist + queer positive. i made a powerpoint here.

monarch industry aka rebel princess (romance/political/historical). the niece of the emperor is put into an arranged marriage with a general from humble origins in her father's attempt to accumulate military power and later overthrow the throne. lots of politics and costume porn and competency all around. zitan is my favorite useless second male lead of all time because he's so. zitan. i made a powerpoint here

goodbye, my princess (political/romance/tragedy/light fantasy elements/PAIN). a princess is engaged to a prince from a faraway land and it does not go well for her, to say the least. this is my go-to when i just want the equivalent of getting punched in the throat. beautiful sets, costumes, and soundtrack and just a doomed paintrain you can't look away from. i wrote a review here.

le coup de foudre aka i don't like this world, i only like you (romance/slice of life/coming of age). two high school almost sweethearts promise to study abroad in england together. Circumstances happen, and one of them stays in china and they separate without contact for four years. the show follows the couple from their high school days, to their reunion as adults, and features snippets of their married life in the future. based on a true story. if you like cold man/warm girl, this one is my favorite-- i especially love the sibling dynamic between the female lead and second male lead. i wrote a review here.

go ahead (family/slice of life/romance/melodrama). two single fathers raise three children together, and the story follows them as they grow up and survive what i call "the toxic mom parade." probably my favorite family cdrama. i wrote a review here

and lastly,

the romance of tiger and rose (is meta a genre?/romance/parody/comedy/wuxia). the female lead is a writer in modern-day china, who gets transported into her wuxia script-- where she's playing a minor villain who is killed like 30 seconds into the plot by her husband! the show is an affectionate parody of wuxia romances, and i love it a lot. i wrote a review here

#love and redemption #monarch industry #rebel princess #goodbye my princess #le coupe de foudre #go ahead #the romance of tiger and rose #cdrama #asks!